Tag Archives: facial tics

3 Reasons Why I Am a Baby

Or, 3 Reasons Why I’m Thinking I Won’t Cope Well With the Physical Challenges of Pregnancy (If and When That Time Arrives)

1. Hunger makes me cranky.

I am one of those people whose body reacts with ridiculous histrionics to any sort of depletion. One time I was hiking out of the Grand Canyon with some friends when I suffered a sudden onset of low blood pressure and dehydration. Did I just feel crappier than normal but otherwise keep on trucking, perhaps a bit more slowly? No. I fainted all the way up that accursed trail and had to be half-dragged to the top. Embarrassing. And really annoying for my poor friends. Sorry, guys. The point is, my body is sensitive. I don’t just get hungry—I get the shakes. My limbs feel like noodles. My head throbs. My tummy burns to the point of nausea. We’re talking full-scale catastrophe. And of course, in this weakened state, my irritation at silly things skyrockets. head asplodes

2. Physical discomfort makes me pouty.

You know those times when you remember your tongue and you spend a few minutes feeling uneasily aware of that big weird thing in your mouth before you can finally forget about it (you’re welcome!)? I’m that way about everything. If there’s sweat rolling down my skin, I feel every maddening drop. I feel that little wisp of hair just barely brushing my left eyeball. I feel the awkward arrangement of my legs in a chair too tall for me and the fact that there’s nowhere to rest my arms. I notice the constriction of my clothing and the slightly-too-tight sandal strap. I’m sitting here driving myself nuts over the patches of my skin that feel dry and stiff (face, lips, hands, feet). Unless these things are immediately remedied (::pauses to apply lotion::), I am too distracted to accomplish anything. But, as happens more often than not, if I’m in a situation where I can’t address the annoyance right away, I grow convinced that the universe is deliberately persecuting me.

hangnail

Upon developing a hangnail and having no immediate access to nail clippers.


3. Pain makes me want to cry and kick my feet.

The thing I hate the very most about pain is my inability to control it. In fact, the pain begins to control me—it limits my mobility, my motivation, my productivity. I become impatient at these limitations and frustrated at my helplessness, which translates into a puerile impulse to break everything in sight. Yesterday I scattered scrambled egg bits all over the kitchen because I couldn’t lift the frying pan the way I wanted to because my neck is all seized up, so I threw the eggy spatula into the sink with no little petulance. Take THAT, stupid neck.

Highly Sensitive Person

If you identify with any of the preceding statements and wonder if you’re teetering on the edge of insanity, I recommend 1) having a hot bath and calming the heck down and 2) reading this book. You’ll be glad you did.

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5 Reasons Why My House (Or, Technically, Condo) Is Almost Put Together But Not Quite

Or, 5 Reasons Why I Continue to Experience Facial Tics Whenever I Stroll About My Domain*

1. The living room wall is bare.

Pictures of my house always end up looking like the cat version of Where’s Waldo?

Y’all, this wall is huuuuuuge. It really needs something special to draw the eye, and though I finally came up with something, I haven’t found the time or (let’s be real) the courage to put it together. Here’s my idea for a three-canvas hand-painted mural large enough to span most of the width of the couch:

Imagine a few inches of space between each canvas where those black lines are. It’s the height of elegant yet folky self-aware nerdiness, no?

I spent a couple hours designing this and I’ve got the canvases primed and ready, but I haven’t yet busted out the brushes and smock. Artoo really deserves to look his best, so the dork in me feels a lot of pressure to get this perfect, and I’m no artist so the whole thing is kind of intimidating. I’m thinking of finally tackling it this weekend. For the right effect, I should probably, you know, get a beret. And set up an easel by a south-facing window. And turn on French accordion music. And possibly contract tuberculosis. Really get that artisty vibe going, if you feel me.

2. The front entry needs furnishing.

All that’s missing are some weeds and a rusty old hubcap.

What I’d really like here is a non-pile-of-junk. As you can see, I have the opposite right now. I’ve been scouring Craigslist for a small buffet or sofa table or even baker’s rack that might serve as a nice decorative piece and also functional landing strip for the front door entry—but no dice. I guess for now I’ll have to live with a giant cardboard box, a folding tray, and a heap of shoes instead. Welcome to our home! ::massages temples::

3. The bar/buffet is lackluster. 

Thank you, Trader Joe’s, for making it possible for us to buy an entire case of wine without going bankrupt. #livingthedream

I painted this brown a couple years ago when it was against a light wall in a room with a bright sofa and chairs. But now it looks blah next to the taupe walls and dark cherry-ish stain of the other furniture in the area. I’m thinking I should paint it a sort of medium slate blue, perhaps? I’m feeling like there’s not enough blue in my life right now. However, the last time I painted something in our garage I nearly killed us (I didn’t realize high-gloss spray paint fumes were that toxic, gah), so I feel kind of reluctant to haul out the drop cloth once more. But seriously, this thing is so boring it makes me grind my teeth.

4. The nightstands look grouty.

Ick. The edges look like they’re coated in dried crumbly toothpaste.

Grouty is too a word. Shush. So I tiled the tops of these black end tables before we moved with a pretty coppery glass mosaic (don’t you just lurrrrves it?) and they turned out beautifully, except for the fact that I couldn’t be bothered to put a little wood strip as a border. Mistake. The light-colored grout around the edges looks grainy and messy and unprofessional and I just want to SCREAM. I was thinking I could get some black caulk and smooth it over the edges? What do you think? Is black caulk even a thing?

5. The craft/storage area is wonky.

Yarn, yarn ball winder, craft paints, brushes, sponges, glue gun, glue sticks, software, music CDs, headphones, chargers, device accessories, Irish tin whistles, recorders, guitar, photos, wedding videos, memorabilia, sewing machine, pins, scissors, thread, notions, fabric, stationary, checks, post-its, notebooks, pens, pencils, markers, printer paper, coupons, file box, manuals/warranties, extension cords, tote bags, throw pillow covers, candlesticks, candles, knick-knacks, and seasonal decor.

Help me, Craiglist—you’re my only hope. I seriously need a giant but cheap entertainment center or armoire in which to stash all this stuff. I’m obsessively organized, yes, so it’s at least neatly arranged and contained. But it still looks junky and cluttered and I want it to disappear behind some cabinet doors STAT. Lately, since my Craiglist search has been unsuccessful, I’ve been considering building something out of plywood and MDF and using cute fabric panels instead of doors to hide everything. But for that I’d need a Dremel (drrooolll), and believe me, I don’t need to be giving myself an excuse to buy power tools right now.

*I am omitting “The light carpet is a godawful hideous dingy disgusting disaster that never EVER looks clean no matter what I do” from this list because we are just renters and a girl only has so much control over these things, ok? ::crazy eyes:: 

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3 Reasons Why This Commercial Deeply Annoys Me

Or, 3 Reasons Why This Ad and Thousands Like It Are Responsible for That Twitch In My Left Eye

1. It promotes the assumption that all women don’t like sports.

Look, girls just don’t get the same encouragement to watch and play sports when they’re young as boys do. It’s a handicap being barred from the Almighty Boys’ Club from birth—otherwise we might be more likely to ref games and rattle off stats and call plays or pitches like naturals. As it is, ladies generally have a lot of catching up to do. And, God help us, we have a lot of condescending shitheads around to snicker when we use the wrong term or ask a dumb question. But despite all this, some of us ACTUALLY ENJOY SPORTS. Ok? Is there any way we can, like, circulate that memo nationally, or something?

2. It promotes the assumption that all women only want to talk about their feelings.

Note the way she throws out those ominous phrases: “I feel like” and “I’m oversensitive” and “It’s just that you and I…”. Har har, ladies are so crazy, am I right, fellas? She hauled this poor dude to some fancy restaurant so they can endlessly discuss her emotions. What a drag. Women suck.

3. It promotes the assumption that all men don’t care about their relationships.

Sexism goes both ways, people. Ads try to pigeonhole women as the cleaners, the dieters, the shoppers, the sex kittens or the moms. But ads also try to cast men as the beer-drinkers, the truck-drivers, the idiots, the sports fans, and the jerks. Those assumptions are just as inaccurate as the stereotypes promoted about women—and they’re just as damaging.

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