The Ravenous Beast Within Me

I hope my boss doesn’t read this for multiple reasons. One, I’m blogging on the clock. Two, well, you’ll see. There is a small part of me that wonders in fear if my boss has one of those programs where you can see what everyone else in the office is doing on their computer. I am comforted, though, knowing I’d be long gone if that were the case. #porn. JUST KIDDING, celebrity gossip and lots of homework.

A couple days ago, Edible Arrangements came into our office and handed me seven large chocolate stars on sticks--one for everyone in the office. She said, “If you don’t eat it right away, make sure to put it in the refrigerator because it’s a chocolate covered pineapple.” So I handed them out to everyone and relayed the pineapple warning. Except my boss.  Pause, let me paint you a picture.

My boss always leaves his door ajar, and his office is diagonal to my right. Therefore, if I look to my right I have a perfect narrow view of him at his computer. And he’s constantly sittin there in my periph. It’s honestly a little awkward. I get uncomfortable and feel like he can see my thoughts.

But ANYWAYS, I decided not to tell him it was a pineapple. It looks like a giant solid innocent chocolate star (my dream). And I am strung out for entertainment here. If he took a bite and even just flared his nostrils in surprise, it would be worth it to me. #secretaryprobz. I was hoping for more though.

…

Three days later, he came out and handed me his chocolate star and said, “Here, you can have this for all the hard work you do.” I laughed, but quickly realized he was serious. I don’t think he knew everyone in the office got one... And he definitely didn’t know there was a dank rotten pineapple hiding in their. So I composed myself and said, “Thank you” and took the nasty thing. It was sitting there on my desk staring at me. I got a waft of the milk chocolate smell, at least I think...it could have been all in my head. But when I get chocolate smell wafts, I NEED CHOCOLATE. My bosses door was closed. I tried to talk myself out of it, because hey, that’s disgusting. But all at once I lost control. I started viciously pulling at the decorative wrapping. It wasn’t budging. That should have been a sign. I whipped my drawer open, grabbed the scissors, and cut over and over and over until it broke free. I was a mad woman. My animalistic fingers dug at the thin chocolate covering as I ferociously shoved the pieces in my mouth. I started to smell the squishy old pineapple, but even that couldn’t stop me. Chocolate juice was dribbling down my chin and falling on my skirt. Things had gotten out of hand. I glanced at my reflection in my black computer screen...I was a monster. I could feel the lines of chocolate in between each one of my teeth. And I liked it. Just then, a client walked into the office. I quickly did the classic forearm swipe of the lower face region. I talked to him grandma style, sans teeth. He walked towards me and smiled at me with a smile that was too big for a client to secretary smile. I wondered what he saw. I got up and walked to the bathroom to wash the chocolate out from under my fingernails and to regather myself as a civil human being. I looked in the mirror and saw that a pool of chocolate juice had gathered in the indent of my lower neck (I should know what that’s called but I don’t and I’m NOT going to look it up). And it had created a perfect brown liquid trail down my cleavage. Skirt, shirt, and bra all stained in one beastly episode. Well done, self. But that wasn’t all. There was a good sized chunk stuck to MY FOREHEAD. Now, I actually wasn’t too surprised about that. You can ask my parents. Part of dinner ending up on my forehead was nothing out of the ordinary. We never knew how it happened, but somehow it just kept happening. I think sometimes I get too excited when I eat and I lose control. It’s like those cartoons when they shove huge amounts of food in their mouth and food starts flying everywhere. That’s me. Four separate times now I have been told I look like Gollum when I eat. FOUR TIMES! Four times don’t lie.

So I laughed at myself. Because sometimes you have to laugh out loud at yourself in the mirror.

The moral of this story is, 'Sometimes you just really need chocolate, and it's okay to do weird things to get it.'

Dating Rage, Tinder, and My Butt Crack

Dating rage. It’s real. ALL TOO REAL. I know that everyone gets dating rage from time to time, but mine is a special breed. I don’t get angry that boys are confusing, frustrating, or hard to read. I don’t get upset that a boy I like doesn’t like me back. We’re not dealing with the usual, people. 

I come back from dates wanting to throw my kitchen table out the window. And I hope that it lands on my date. No, too far Tam. (I’m on a nickname basis with myself). I keep finding these wonderful, attractive, successful, fun guys. And they all make me wanna barf my pants. Hence, THE RAGE.

One guy I went on a few dates with was sitting with me after we went out to lunch. He is seriously a beautiful man. HOTT. He is a college graduate, working a full time job, easy to talk to....literally nothing wrong with him. Yet as we were sitting there and he was telling me how he wants to take care of me when I’m sick (seriously SO sweet), all I wanted to do was make weird youtube videos and jump on the bed with my roommate, which in turn made me so angry I wanted to kick every wall in my apartment (and I would do it by hopping on one foot from wall to wall, NOT walking).

Another guy I went on a few dates with was SO MUCH FUN. Holy dump, he could probably have fun looking at pictures of bald heads (okay that might actually be fun) or cleaning up wet toilet paper or writing a research paper about pots and pans. He was cute, he knew what he wanted in life and he was going for it, and he was very kind. But most of all, he was the definition of entertainment. It was exciting with him. We were weirdos together, it was nice. And yet, whenever I was with him, my mind was elsewhere...thinking about the Dr. Oz episode when I learned everyone should poop at least once a day (uh oh)...thinking about that ugly cat I saw earlier...thinking about when my sister farted in the exact tune of “Whoop there it is”. I thought about anything and everything except for him. And that made me want to punch a thousand heads.

Another guy, I can be 100% myself around. Maybe too much myself. Definitely too much. Things get out of hand real quick when we’re together. Only problem, the thought of kissing him in my head is equal to eating a tire.

Another one, perfect, ya pretty perfect. I love hanging out with him. He’s gonna make bank. Somehow, I’m attracted to him (nobody’s sure how....he’s not your classic hottie boomba lottie). He makes me laugh, I make him laugh. It works. But... I would NEVER EVER EVER marry him. Thinking about being with him for eternity makes me cry soft, sad tears. 

The worst part about my problem, IT MAKES NO SENSE! 

Sometimes the rage starts before the date ends. The poor guy is just trying to get to know me. He asks something like, “What are you studying in school?” My mind says, “I’m graduated you little idiot! Get out of my face!” He asks, “Where do you work?” My secret reply, “I’m unemployed so shut the H up about it you insensitive butthole!” But don’t worry, I act really happy to be there and interested in what they’re saying. Seriously though, this is the face I use... 

Works every time.

 But by the end of the night it usually ends up more like this...

There is no reason for my misplaced and inexplicable rage. I think I'm really just mad at myself, so I take it out on the world. That's healthy, right?

I’m sure every guy I’ve dated thinks some of this is about him, but it’s not, because I blocked you all from this post, for your own good.

**If you're interested to know what I'm actually looking for in a man, refer to this blog post http://iwishiwasblack.blogspot.com/2012/09/my-husband.html ...that's all I want, is that really too much to ask?

On another (but related) note...I’m on tinder. It’s more for entertainment, it’s literally in the entertainment category on my phone. I’ve swiped 'no' to about 5,000 and 'yes' to 2. And I only said yes because one of them said “Love me tinderly” and the other said that duck face pictures and cats are deal breakers. And that’s all it took.

Scariest feeling in the world- wiping a smudge off your screen and accidentally swiping 'yes'. My heart dropped so low I thought it might fall out my butt. 

**Tinder tip: Guys, real talk, if there are any pictures of you flexing with your shirt off I will swipe no and then come find you and knock you out. Also if all your pictures are so far away that I can only see that you are a man or a lesbian, I’m going to assume you have a face only a mother could love.  

Who knows...maybe I’ll have the horror of telling my children I met their father on a dating app that I in no way support. (I did get matched with those 2 yes’s...)

On yet another (but very unrelated) note...I have these pants. They are one of my favorite pairs of pants, if not my #1 absolute favorite. But they always show my B crack. Standing up I look great, better than great- these cords really do things for me. BUT If I bend over, there’s my butt crack...if I reach for something, butt crack...twerk, butt crack....sneeze, butt crack. My butt crack, though, is a sacrifice I’m willing to make in order to work those beloved $3 thrift store pants. Life is all about sacrificing for the greater good. Hey, maybe I’ll wear them on my tinder dates. Boys like a little butt crack right? 

Why Do I Always Forget?

Why do I always forget what Taco Bell does to me? How is it that Taco Bell consistently leaves me on the bathroom floor waiting for something to shoot out one of my ends (you just never know which it’s gonna be) ...and yet I always go back for more. Sure, while it’s in my mouth, that creative Doritos shell with that mild sauce from the heavens takes me places I’ve never been. But after those tacos have had their way with my digestive system, can I look upon them with the same deep affection? Apparently so.

Little addictions... We all have them. Those things that might not be so good for us, but they provide us with a temporary happiness that we are not willing to give up. Maybe it’s a breed of happiness we are not able to get otherwise. Maybe we have become so comfortable that we are afraid to leave them behind. 

In the long run, giving up these unhealthy or sinful addictions would improve our quality of life and possibly provide us with opportunities and new happinesses we could’ve never imagined. But that’s just the point isn’t it? We can't imagine it right now. Fear of the unknown. We don’t want to give up what is comfortable for us and what we know for something we are unsure of. I guess it’s all about faith. We’ll get nowhere without it. We’ll sit in our same comfortable spot in life without progressing. We’ll never even know what we’re missing out on. 

Take Taco Bell for example. Where’d I come up with that example? Oh ya, I just ate it and died a little inside. Mmm that mild sauce gets me. It gets me better than my friends do. I mean take a gander at this collection. 

**the part of my collection I could hold.

It gives me tummy aches from hell. But that hasn’t stopped me from stuffing handfuls in my purse and adding it to every non-dessert (even maybe some dessert) food I eat. Taco Bell is yummy and comfortable and I have never been ready to leave it behind. Tonight, though, I hit rock bottom. I was hungry. Taco Bell was cheap and easy (just like your mom), and I knew it would taste good. Yes, I could’ve cooked a healthy meal. But I was scared. I mean what if I passed out with hunger before it was ready? What if it didn't TASTE YUMMY?!?! (If you know me, you know I’m all about the yum). But tonight I made a decision, once and for all, to give up my beloved T-Bell. I know I’ll miss it, but it’ll get easier with time. I know every time I see a reminder (like a taco, or a bell)  it’ll hurt a little bit and I will be tempted to revert back to my ways. But I have faith that my body will be feeling healthier and happier soon enough with this change, and that will keep me going.

So yes, stepping out of our comfort zone to better ourselves and improve our lives might hurt at first. It might get worse before it gets better. Giving up addictions, no matter their size, is always hard. But I’ve learned that life is all about developing delayed gratification. Doing the hard thing now to secure a better future. It’s how we have healthy bodies, healthy minds, good educations, satisfying careers, quality relationships. It’s how we develop real, long-lasting happiness. 

So you know what, let’s stop finding ourselves on the metaphorical (hey, or literal) bathroom floors waiting for something to shoot out one of our ends. We can do better.

What I Learned from the Spider at Work

I was sitting there in my office chair on the phone with a client...when it all began. I saw something hanging from the ceiling. SPIDER! (I can't explain this, but when spiders are hanging from the ceiling, their creep factor is multiplied by five thousand.) My heart rate shot up. It noticed me noticing it. It started twitching. Then I started twitching. I was answering the client’s questions as best as anyone could, you know, when facing looming death. I was making noises as if I was dodging a missile attack (I mean I might as well have been). The client was not amused. Dial tone. Toss the phone. Oh no...WHERE’D HE GO??? The Marilyn Manson of spiders was nowhere to be found. After jogging a couple laps around the front lobby, shaking like a wet dog, and slapping my entire body twice, I decided my noises and twitching had scared him away (If I had a nickel for every time I said that...). 

I went back to work. Entered some tests, answered some phone calls, did some filing. Then I had to go to the bathroom, so I put up the sign saying I would return shortly. I’m washing my hands in the bathroom, checking myself out in the mirror, when I see my hair moving. My body tenses up, and as my face slowly moves closer to the mirror, I see him. Creepy McGee prowling around on my scalp. Without time for my mind to register what my body was about to do, my hand reached up, grabbed the spider, and placed it in the sink. Woah... who am I, crocodile dundee? If you would’ve asked me a few minutes before what I would've done if a spider was in my hair, my answer would have been something like.... “Pass out so my mind doesn’t have to endure this kind of trauma.”....or “Stop, drop, and roll until I’m 100% positive the spider could not have lived through that many rolls.”......or “Give up on life. It’s just not worth it.”

But no. The moment came and I rose up to the occasion. I rose up and above that dang occasion. Seriously, if anyone can think of a way I could’ve possibly handled the situation better, let it be known.

So the lesson here is, if you’re terrified to do something, afraid of the impending future, don’t be. The strength will come. The strength you didn’t know you had will appear when you need it most. 

God (or in my case adrenaline) will never leave you high and dry.

....ya, imagine that in spider form.

(most regretted google image search of my life- Marilyn Manson. and I've had some big regretters)

Most Embarrassing Class at BYU...

American Sign Language. Hands so down. And I’ve taken a dance class where we wipe our partner’s worries off of their bodies and then stomp on them. (It didn’t work. I think my partner felt violated and it gave her another worry.)

Please remember throughout these stories that ASL classes are silent, no talking is allowed—only signing, so every little noise is amplified. And uncomfortable situations cannot be easily explained.

...One time when my deaf teacher was describing magpies (the kind of bird) to us. A girl in my class raised her hand and asked, “What kind of sound do they make?” Void of emotion, my teacher said, “I don’t know. I can’t hear.” Really, of all the questions you could've asked... I'm pretty sure I saw her neck veins enlarge as all her blood rushed its way to her face. Nice one, Julie.

...One time I said the prayer and I forgot to close my eyes. The class has to keep their eyes open to watch me sign. But the person saying the prayer is definitely still supposed to close theirs. I just stared at them the entire time, watching them watch me. Awkward. I realized right when I sat down. Dang it Tamara.

...One time we were learning about different sicknesses and ailments. The teacher would show us the sign and then we’d each have to say how we fix that ailment. He showed us the sign for hiccups, then we went around the room saying how we each get rid of the hiccups. I signed, “I drink milk upside-down.” Then I showed how I do it, with opposite side of the cup next to my mouth and my head turned upside-down. (It really works, trust me.) The class looked at me kind of strange but didn’t say anything. I thought, ‘Well yea, I guess it is a little weird.’ Then after a couple more people signed how they get rid of the hiccups, I realized something. I turned to my friend Liz and said, “Did I just say that I drink poop upside-down?” She said, “YES!” I immediately raised my hand and clarified that I do not in fact drink poop upside-down when I have the hiccups. Milk. Definitely milk. Not only did I tell the class I drink poop upside-down, but I then proceeded to show them how I do it. And nobody questioned it.

...One time we had to describe a picture of a person (using no voice) to the class and they had to draw it in their notes. As I was describing the large lips, I puffed my lips out and the most accurate fart sound slipped right out of my mouth. It was one of those “prrt?” ones that seems to ask a question. It was lengthy. It was loud. The whole class erupted in the kind of laughter that is being forced out of your body and you have no say in the matter. The teacher, being deaf, signed to the class, “Why laughing?” As I watched what each one of them signed, I realized my class thought that sound had come from my butt. All I could do was make that face where nothing moves except for your eyes grow three time their original size. Ya know, one of these:

 I don’t blame them for thinking it was authentic. The sound was flawless.  Now, this was one of my first ASL classes, so I didn’t have the vocabulary to explain that the sound came out of my mouth when I was trying to show that my person had big lips. I know, I could’ve aggressively pointed to my lips and turned around and crossed out my butt. I decided to own this one though. I walked back to my seat smiling, because if I could’ve chosen a fart to do in front of my class, it would’ve been that one.

...One time the class got up and stood in a circle to play a game. I hadn’t been watching the teacher sign the directions, so I figured I’d pick up on it and follow along. The girl next to me went first (oh crap, I’m next). She made an imaginary football with her hands and threw it across the room. Ohh, okay I’ve played a game like this. We take turns making something with our hands and then someone guesses what it is and then it’s their turn. I got this. I do the sign for football, then I make an imaginary flower and hold it and smell it. Nice. Well played, Tamara. The class looks at me with confusion and pity. After a few long seconds of this discomfort, one guy (without guessing my flower) makes an imaginary Frisbee and tosses it across the room. Another guy catches it and makes an imaginary baseball and throws it across the room. A girl catches it and makes an imaginary volleyball and throws it across the room. ...Oh my. I made a flower and smelled it. And held it there like a dang idiot. She didn’t even throw the football to me! IT WASN’T MY TURN AND I SMELLED A FLOWER!            

...One time I burped. The loud kind that rumbles for awhile.

Poop

At my last appointment, my doctor asked me, “Are you having normal bowel movements?”

First of all doc, let’s call it what it is. Poop.

Second of all, what IS normal poop?? Poop, by its very nature, is not normal. I mean its food that was once in your mouth coming out of your butthole, is it not? And no matter how it looks going in, it always looks pretty much the same coming out…

That ain’t normal.

Sometimes there’s corn in it. And you didn’t even eat corn.

Nothing about poop is normal.

Do you mean to ask if my poop is like everyone else’s poop?? Well I don’t know, doc, I only see my own dang poop! Do you want to show me pictures of assorted butt nuggets and I’ll tell you which one reminds me of my own crap? Do you want me to take a dump and invite you in? Do you want to drink some hot cocoa together while you tell me about your arse biscuits and we can compare and contrast?

My numba dos smells like peach and crème…Is THAT normal doc? IS IT?!        

                                   

I wanted to say all of this. He deserved it after asking such a loaded question. Instead all I could say, in a voice that came out more like a pick up line than I would’ve liked, was “I like to think so.”

My husband

Am I marriage hungry? I don’t know. But I hate the negative connotation that comes with wanting to be married. I’m excited for marriage. You should be too. Unless you’re already married. Then you should be excited about your marriage. Excited about the eternity you get to spend with this person you love more than anyone else.  Excited that no matter how bad your day is, you get to come home to someone that loves you no matter what. 

I think I’m excited for different reasons than most people…

I’m excited for my husband to be sick. I can’t wait to take care of him, rub his back, listen to him complain and feel so bad for him, throw away his keenex for him, and lie down with him even though I might get sick too.

I’m excited for my husband to come home really sad and miserable from a hard day’s work. I’m excited to do everything in my power to cheer him up. I’ll tell him everything I love about him and how amazing he is. I’ll do a dance for him. I’ll make up a rap for him. Whether it works or not, I won’t regret trying.

I’m excited to slave in the kitchen over recipes that I think he will like (even if they have nuts or veggies in them) just to hear him say thank you, or even mmm.

I’m excited for him to tell me his deepest darkest secrets. And I’ll tell him mine. And we’ll never judge one another. We’ll just love each other.

I’m excited to fight with him. I’m excited for us to get mad at each other.  I’ll always apologize. I’m good at that. Then maybe we’ll end up kissing because we can’t help it.

I’m excited to play sports with him, because he likes sports and I like him.

I’m excited to be dirt poor together. We’ll eat Spaghettios and Top Ramen almost every night, but occasionally we’ll splurge for mac n’ cheese (not even store brand, I'm talkin Kraft). We’ll shop at the thrift store and we won’t be able to get that smell out of our clothes. Our date nights will be the dollar menu and the dollar theater, and we’ll love every second of it every time. Maybe one night we’ll get really stressed out and cry together because we can’t make rent. But it'll be okay because we have each other.

I’m excited to forgive my husband when he does stupid or rude things.

I’m excited for him to force me to eat my fruits and vegetables, no matter how much I resist. He’ll want me to be healthy, because he cares about me.

I’m excited for my husband to make fun of me because hey, sometimes I’m an idiot. He’ll laugh at me when I take jokes way too far. He might take them further. Then I’ll laugh at him.

I’m excited for us to get old and for me to die first, because he’ll know I won’t want to live without him.

I’m excited for him to not be ready for this thing called marriage. We’ll learn and grow together. Trial and error. It’ll be hard but so worth it. We’ll teach each other how to be husband and wife. Getting married will be the best decision we ever made.

I’m excited for him to get fat and ugly someday. I’ll just love him more. Because he’s mine.

I’m excited for my husband to be just as weird as I am. We’ll have random ghetto dance parties together in the kitchen. Sometimes we’ll talk to each other in meows or barks or maybe grunts. We’ll see who can make the weirdest noise in public. He’ll say really awkward things that make everyone uncomfortable except for me, I’ll just smile because I’m so proud of him.

So I guess here’s what I need in a husband:  A super weird guy that’s dirt poor, that gets sick and sad a lot, that has dark secrets, that makes fun of me, that does stupid and rude things, that will get fat and ugly, that will get mad at me and fight with me, that will force feed me, that’s not ready for marriage.

Honestly, what is wrong with me.

Oh and he has to fart a lot. Loud ones. Juicy ones. Okay not juicy ones, that was too far. I apologize.

So, am I marriage hungry? …still don’t know. I like my life right now, and I’ll wait as long as it takes to find this weirdo. One thing I do know. I am baby hungry. Will I wait until I’m married to get pregnant? We’ll see…

This will be us...

Or this...

Then this... 

Then this...    (...or will this come first?)

Then this...  Wait what?

Eh?

But seriously...

For sure this...

And some of this...

So ya, I'm excited.