I'm A Terrible Parent: My Decline Into Spinsterhood

My latest mental breakdown has been pretending to be a parent.  Hold on guys, put down your phones and hang up on Amber alert, I did not take or receive some child in any way.  If you were just packing up your child to send to me, stop that as well.  So help me, if I wake up with one child in my backyard/mail slot I will be rather upset.  Almost as upset as the time Wendy's only gave me 4 love nuggets* in stead of 5.  Dark days those were... *shudder*

But my food woes aside, I've recently been wise enough to "adopt" a small kitten.  I can almost hear the surprise from...nobody.  Yes, I know, what else does a recluse need more than a stereotype pet for a pet.  Friends, the answer is "What is friends?"

This is, of course, the perfect place to talk about this subject.  I mean, the internet LOVES cats.

Anyways, after having this thing for some time now, I feel that my parental responsibilities are lacking:

My degenerate child ready to
mess you up

I never monitor his eating habits so I'm enabling his oncoming obesity, I often let him eat the spiders when I'm too scared to squish them, and at certain times of the night he might be flying through the air after biting my feet--with love of course, he's flying through the air with love...and profanities flying from my mouth.**

 "Where are your poor parenting skills?" you might ask.  I know, I know, I'm pretty amazing at my job of keeping a small creature alive, but it's not all fun and games.

I have recently tried training him not to bite destroy ______ (insert anything that fits into mouth) by spraying him with a spray bottle filled with water.  It usually goes like this:  "Don't bite that." *squirt* *bite bite* "I said no!" *squirt squirt* *bitebitebitebite* "NO YOU LITTLE F**KER!" *squirt squirt squirt* Then he stops, looks at me with a look that says, "Really?  You're gonna spray me with water?  Nice try SUCKA'"--where he continues to gnaw on my foot.

Because of these tendencies, this creature has earned some nicknames.  After spending time with my brother-in-law, he earned the name "Overseer Kitty" due to his dictator like qualities; my brother gave him the middle name "Figaro"; I lovingly call him "Bitch Cat, Demon, Mussolini," and "Thing that vomits on my floor and keeps me up at night," or "TTVOMFAKMUP"...I usually stick with the former.

You must be thinking to yourself, "Gee, I really MUST have one of these things in my life.  In fact, send me ten--no TWENTY!"  Hold on cowboy, don't you know about the threshold of catitude?  It goes something like this:

One Cat: The beginning of your declining social life.  You still go outside and socialize and the sun is still a familiar sight.

Two Cats:  Alright, you're starting to tread on thin ice bud.  You still see some need for social interaction, primarily the checker at the grocery store--I mean, you gotta eat.  Hm, it's pretty bright outside today, better stay inside.

Three Cats:  Woah there buddy, you're neck deep now.  I guess I have enough food for the week, so let's have a Netflix marathon instead of shopping.  I did laundry...three weeks ago?  It's clean enough.  A stray ray of sunlight filters through your blinds and you sparkle...odd.

Four or more:  You've heard rumors of the outside world, but can't really remember what people look like, much less yourself.  Legend of the sun have been heard, but you don't believe it actually exists.  You often whisper things like, "precious..." and you skulk around the house in nothing but your underoos.  Your neighbors often call the police to check to see if you've been eaten by the cats yet; a typical Tuesday.

So I jest (slightly), but I have taken my first step down the stairs of spinsterhood.  We all know that after that first step, you trip, break your hip, and hit every other stair on the way down.  I think the third step is an abundance of thick woven sweaters (Check!).

I guess occasionally this thing (who is named Moose for no particular reason) is cute and provides some form of entertainment now and then, so I guess I'll keep him around and see how it goes.  Like I've said before, someone just call the ambulance before the cat eats me. We all know he's already tried.




*Why are they "love nuggets?" you ask.  Well you see, in my high school days of depravity, Wendy's was a staple food in my life.  Getting chicken nuggets every time we went was not even a question so my good friend Austin decided there must be some sort of secret ingredient.  Yes, it was love.  The forlorn looking middle-aged woman behind the counter had made those nuggets with love.  Thus they were love nuggets ever since.  Yes, I have accidentally said that to the employee before when ordering.

**I know that this isn't talked about often, but can we throw babies in the air when they're misbehaving?  I mean, come on guys, it would probably work on some level.  No?  Well, I tried to incorporate some new parenting techniques into your lives.  Sorry for trying to be a modern parent.

Awkward Wednesdays #2: But...I Just Don't Know...

One fateful semester, I decided to take a business class.  Business & Society to be exact.  Mostly I took it to see if dabbling in business was anything that interested me at all.

*Spoiler Alert*

It wasn't.  If anything it made me less inclined to take any more business classes from then on (even though I then took accounting the subsequent semester, but that's another story).

So like all classes you hate (i.e. basically most classes, don't lie to yourself), you usually make those "class friends"  You know, the kids you sit around that you'll chuckle with when the instructor says something off-color or strange.  Everything is very surface but it makes class more tolerable.  In this class particular, I sat next to a really chatty guy and a semi-quiet guy like myself.

I've actually talked about chatty before here, he's just a bunch of fun.

Anyways, on this particular day I had arrived to class five minutes early and had settled into my usual seat next to semi-quiet guy.  Not soon after, our chatty RM quickly came into the room and looked at me, twitching a little bit.

"Dude, I kind of have to pee."

Dear lord, why is he telling me this?  "...Well, why don't you just go? We have 5 minutes."

"Yeah, but I don't know if it's one of those times where you think you have to go but you really don't."

"Well, you probably shouldn't risk it then, just go to the bathroom and see."  Really, I shouldn't have to be telling you this.  By this point in your life, you should have mastered proper bathroom etiquette.  

See this?  It's your porcelain friend.

"Yeah but...but I just don't know.  It's so far away, I don't want to waste all that time"

"Why are you telling me this?! Just go to the bathroom, it's maybe 50 feet away!"  Maybe on the way he'll meet his soul mate, girl who doesn't know if she's on her period or not.


"AH, fine I'll do it, please let there be a lot."

"Good luck"

*2 minutes later*

"Dude, it wasn't a false alarm, thanks.  It just kept going and goi--"

"--you're gross."

But really, false alarms are no joking matter.  Please, turn on the Sarah McLachlan music now and listen.  When you have a false alarm to urinate, you must--and I mean MUST, tell everyone around you.  Only with their proper judgment will you know if you should move your body to a restroom and release your bladder. Otherwise, your rogue actions may cause severe trauma in your life.  You'll have to pee knowing your actions weren't known by others.  For shame.

End music.

Awkward Wednesdays #1: Car Ride

You know, I've been thinking about life and realize I'm a terribly awkward person.  You know what else?  The rest of the world is too.  Sometimes we all just have "those moments" where we fall off a stage face first, or accidentally grab a stranger's ass thinking it was your boyfriend's/girlfriend's (Just examples you guys...maybe)

When we look back, we shudder, cringe, vomit, and shake uncontrollably, then think to ourselves, "Really, how did I do that...really, come on."  Yet there's nothing we can do.  Things happen and we eat cake.  Or keep living or whatever.

So I decided that to live with these, I'm going to share an awkward story every Wednesday. Or at least on Wednesdays.  It's the only kind of alliteration I could come up with.  Awkward.  Wednesday.  You get the point.  Then we can all revel in the awkwardness together.

Here we go:

Work it girl.  So confident

One morning in 7th grade, I woke up and did what I had always done as a 7th grader.  Showered, picked out my outfit complete with my Harry Potter-esque glasses (picture two large, see-through saucers sitting on my face, I think that fits.), ate my breakfast of wheat toast, and began walking to school.

You see, my Jr. High was approximately three blocks from my home so I never saw the need to obtain a ride from anyone.  Look at little Ryan go, all independent like a young Eminem without the rapping.

Off I went, out the back door, backpack strapped tight, pants too short thanks to my gangly legs, and down the street.

After passing two houses, I rounded the corner and abruptly stopped.

*Honk honk!*

"What?  Who is honking at me? " I thought to myself

I stood on the corner and turned around only to see one of my neighbors stopped near the sidewalk one house away.  They honked again and I looked again.  Standing there looking like a stretched out version of Dobby, I slowly walked toward the car.  What was going on?  I knew exactly who these people were but I had no need for a ride and wasn't even particularly late.  Wait, maybe I was late.  Crap.

*Honk*

I turned around and walked toward the car, opened the door, and plopped myself into the back seat.

"Oh...Hi Ryan." said the mom in the drivers seat.

I smiled politely and sat there.  I mean, they're the ones who honked at me to get in the car, why were they all staring at me?

Not soon after, another passenger entered the vehicle and we were our way.  Something was seriously off about this trip though as we all sat in silence the whole time.

We quickly got to school and I was early.  Hm, I guess I wasn't late at all.  Since I was 15 minutes early, none of my friend were around since mostly everyone showed up 5 minutes early or 5 minutes late.  Mormon standard time at its finest.

I did what any socially inept child would do when they show up to a desolate school.  Walk to your locker, go get a drink, go to the bathroom, check your locker again, swing by the drinking fountain again; nope, just janitors still.  Oh look, your Spanish teacher has arrived in biker shorts...yeah go check your locker again, look away, look away--dear lord, make it stop.

Eventually the kids started filtering in and I found my friends and then proceeded to my first class.

I thought to myself how weird it was that I had been offered a ride when it was so unnecessary, I hate being early to school...wait...

The honking, the waiting, the honking in front of a house, the next passenger, the stares, and the silence...

Why Ryan...why?

I had walked up to a car, opened the door, and sat down.  I had done so when they were honking for someone to come out of a house.  Not at me down the street.  I had hopped in a car like some hobo with a crazed smile and something odd still on their breath.  They had stared like I was a hobo with a gland problem and no pants.  No invitation.  Shit...

Shame.  Little Harry Potter felt an immense of shame in his first class; like a whale trainer getting eaten by Shamoo, he felt shame.  Great, now I'm going to bite someone and they'll drown.  That's how this works, right?

So, gangly McSkinnylegs had to sit the rest of the day stewing in a pile of chewed up whale trainer...

You can thank me for my terrible metaphors later.

If you see me riding my bike

Then please hit me with your car.

No, do it, don't even hesitate.  I promise, it won't hurt that much...ok, it will probably hurt a lot, just do it.

Something in my head recently told me it was irresponsible to drive my car to the gym that is 3 blocks away when I could ride my bike/run there.  Of course this comes with the price of pain.

I like to keep in shape, but I've never really biked recreationally before and it's...difficult.

Just on my way to school

-I'm scared of getting hit by cars

-My legs burn like the 7th level of hell since the gym is downhill on the way there and (obviously) uphill on the way back

-My bike is from the late 70's/early 80's and the gears are very touchy and in the middle of the bike underneath the handlebar.  Meaning I wobble like a goon whenever I try to change gears (this is where the getting hit by cars comes into the picture).

-Cars

-I still don't know the hand signals for turning

-FLATTENED BY AN AUTOMOBILE

And running is no better you guys.  I'm going to go against my own word for a sec, bear with me:  Running is worse than getting to school and realizing you forgot to study for a test, you're in the wrong class...and you're naked.  Also a dog bit you on the way to school and then he talked smack about your mom.

Yet, I still go running.

What's wrong with me?  Maybe it's all the preservatives I've been eating this week and they're triggering something that makes me guilty about not exercising.  That or I've been infected with that hippie college virus I hear about.  I almost got out of University clean you guys, why now? I don't have money for a Prius.  Next thing you know I'll be composting all my old food and wearing Tevas with socks.

On that day, you can hit me with your car.


Sidenote:  Ok guys, I have jumped on the Lana Del Rey train many months late, but I'm a little obsessed right now.  Something about her voice is so haunting...