books

Oddly Specific

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Don’t I look like a teen from the Midwest who wishes she was from Iceland? And think about everything that has to go into that – I’m not even “exotic” enough to think that I look like what I would imagine some hip chick from Iceland looks like. I’m so unexotic that I have to reduce my look to the ridiculous point of Midwest teen trying to look like she’s from Iceland.

Explanation: my face and lips were really swollen last night and I thought it looked interesting, so I took a picture and now here we are.

Book Review: House of Secrets by Ned Vizzini & Chris Columbus

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

About a month ago, I won an advanced reading copy of House of Secrets by Ned Vizzini & Chris Columbus. As any literature nerd will tell you, the combination of these two writers is to bookworms and YA novels as crack is to your weird third cousin and his scary girlfriend. Vizzini is a hero amongst angsty, misunderstood book-loving teens everywhere while Columbus is the man, the myth, the legend behind the Harry Potter films, spearheading every Muggle’s fantasy of seeing Harry, Ron and Hermione on the big screen.

It’s basically the best nerd-cocktail to grace bookshelves since Tales of Beedle the Bard.

Yeah. I said it.

That being said, it should come as no surprise that even though I had a free copy of the House of Secrets in my possession, I purchased the super shiny important official copy from my local Barnes & Noble yesterday because I’m crazy. Crazy like a fox. Crazy like a fox that loves books.

It also doesn’t hurt that I’m unemployed right now and therefore have even more time to devote to the awesome story (again).

Let me start this “review” (with the term being used loosely as I have nothing to recommend me as a “reviewer” other than my MA in English Literature and a life-long love of the written word) with a statement to qualify my deep affection and connection to this book: I have depression which I am currently on medication for, but which still has the annoying symptom of making it difficult to concentrate on one thing for longer than about 30 minutes. Sadly, this lack of focus includes books and, as you can imagine, is a very frustrating component of this whole depression thing. In the last year I have had a very start/stop relationship with books and other projects that has been very hard to get control of and as a result I had not finished one book for a very long time by my standards. To give you an idea of said standards: before the depression symptoms took full hold of my life, I was reading a novel a week and loving it.

And then House of Secrets came along. I finished the book in less than a week. In fact, I couldn’t put it down. I came home from work and immediately plopped onto my stomach, head at the foot of the bed, legs spread and feet swinging in the air taking on Reader’s Pose – the lesser known of the yoga poses – to read for two or three hours at a time, unaware of time passing around me and ecstatic when I rose from the pages of the book to discover just how much time had vanished in the joy of reading. It was like being awake after too long a sleep.

So, I suppose this “review” is more of a “thank you” letter than anything else.

However, there are still some important and wonderful things you should know about the book that will no doubt encourage you, fellow book-lover, to buy the book and enjoy as I have enjoyed.

First, JK Rowling, JK Rowling, said this about the book, “A breakneck, jam-packed roller coaster of an adventure about the secret power of books, House of Secrets comes complete with three resourceful sibling heroes, a seriously creepy villainess, and barrel loads of fantasy and fear.” So, there’s that.

Secondly, fans of Inkheart will love House of Secrets because it hits all the important points that Inkheart missed, either due to a bad translation from German or just poor plot structuring, while still a great tale Inkheart leaves something to be desired from both the characters and the telling of the story, while House of Secrets gives you parts of the story you didn’t know you wanted and rich character development, making it an easy and desirable read. There are so many plot turns and great moments to endear the reader to either Cordelia, Brendan, Eleanor Walker or all three that even when they make rash decisions or do things that seem farfetched it doesn’t matter because Vizzini and Columbus resolve it all in one way or another. And don’t mistake “resolve” for “elimination of conflict” in this case; the conflict is never truly eliminated in House of Secrets, rather it is just made less frightening by the determination of the Walker siblings and their refusal to be beaten by an insane witch, incredibly aggressive warriors and bumbling supernatural pirates. This may not sound attractive, but it adds a complexity to the story that other YA novels do not possess.

Vizzini and Columbus waste no time getting right into the adventure with an absolutely shocking event that spins the action into overdrive by page 54. And this book has it all, adventure, the supernatural, family conflict, comedy, romance, great heroes and terrifying villains. One of the ironic joys of reading a YA novel as an adult is being able to exclaim, “What the fuck?!” to oneself while reading, which I am not ashamed to say happened to me every 20 pages or so in this book, with each surprise being better than the last.

And that’s about all I can say. I don’t want to reveal too much, and with this book, I feel like an in-depth review (at least from me) would give it all away.

If you’re interested in the book and want to learn more, here are links!:

“Like” House of Secrets on Facebook: facebook.com/houseofsecretsbooks

Stay up-to-date on Ned Vizzini’s awesomeness: nedvizzini.com/

Click here to purchase the book!

. . . or you can Tweet to win a copy of House of Secrets! Click here for details.

And if you would like to read some stellar YA book reviews from an up and coming YA author, check out the blog of my fellow book-lover friend, Aubrey Cann.

Autumn: The Season of Unassigned Reading!

Autumn has finally hit Northern California, and I couldn’t be happier. However; when it becomes fall around here, yours truly loses any and all desire to do schoolwork. All I want to do is curl up with my British edition of Harry Potter, drink chai and snuggle with Jeff (the boyfriend), Hermione(the cat) and Zelda(the dog). The last thing I want to do is do assigned reading. Anyone who has ever majored in Literature knows what I’m talking about – it’s a problem that is unique to us. Anyone who has never been a Lit major doesn’t understand how you could take courses where all you do is read novels and somehow find time to procrastinate due to your own reading.

I didn’t used to be like this. I remember in junior high I used to kill my school reading before I did anything else. The first time I ever picked up Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, I couldn’t get through my schoolwork fast enough. Study hall with Harry Potter and Hermione Granger? Yes, please! While everyone else was out at recess or lunch, I stayed behind to do my reading so that by the time school was over I had my book pulled out of my backpack and was there with Harry in Potions before I even reached my grandmother’s old Chrysler. I would devour books, and I would always finish my homework first.

But now? Now I have this weird problem where I’ll really jam on an assigned reading for school, but then I’ll get bored with the next book and do my own reading for pleasure. I also have, and always have had, an issue with assigned reading. I just think it’s shit. I always wanted to be a part of the class where a teacher just got the students stoked as hell on something they wanted to read.

Why is this so important? Because not enough people are exited about reading and I think it’s because “literature” is shoved down our throats before we are even cognitively aware enough to know just what the hell it is we are doing in a classroom full of other eight-year-olds!  Because teachers teach to tests and because some of them became teachers just to get weekends and holidays off. Because you are told that if you don’t read (insert novel here) then you will be punished. Who wants to read anything under those conditions?

I’m also just a hippie about reading. Read what you want as long as you are reading! Read the hell out of that Twilight or 50 Shades of Grey, as long as you’re reading.

When you aren’t reading, just do what I do and look at photos of autumn-ish things on Shutterstock. Like this:

Shutterstock Autumn

Relaxing beauty!

Shutterstock Autumn

Peaceful. Majestic.

Shutterstock Autumn Books

Look at how happy she is! I bet she’s reading something whimsical as fuck!

Shutterstock Autumn Books

Poor assigned reading . . . it got left behind.

Now, excuse me while I go to the used bookstore and buy books that won’t further my education.

Monday Pubes

I don’t have a whole lot of time to write a post this week, but I figure something is better than nothing. So, I wrote you guys a haiku. I’m not even sure if it’s a legit haiku, but here it is:

A True Story

Trimming my pubes now

A breeze catches a loose one

In my eye it goes

I have very little time for the awesome things in life right now, so that’s why this post is so short. No matter what I do, time escapes me lately. For example, this morning I woke up totally on time and ready to go. I put on a new dress I bought last weekend, walked all the way down to my car in my crazy stripper heels, looked down and realized my dress was crazy-see-through. Like vulva-see-through. Awesome, but not work appropriate. Will I wear it to the casino on Thursday nights for karaoke? Yes. Will I wear it to my new grown-up job? Maybe not so much. So, I run back upstairs (really, it was more of a trot hobble due to my crazy shoes. I trobbled.) and tried to find a different outfit. I was taking clothes on and off so fast that I got sweaty. Then I almost started crying because I was bloated, on my period and sweaty – all by 8:30 AM.

It’s only Monday.

In other news, I started a “book club” with my mom. We are reading Devil in the White City by Erik Larson, and because of my busy school schedule and her busy work schedule we are trying to read it at a steady but easy pace. If you would like to join us in our reading adventure we plan to have one part read a week. There are four parts and the epilogue so that’s five weeks.

If you haven’t heard of the book here is a warning: it’s based off of real life events and it’s about a serial killer. If you are even kind of squeamish or get scared easily this may not be the book for you. Let me know in the comments if you’ve read the book before (no spoilers! You will be shunned!).

I love all of you.

Happy Monday!

Diarrhea: An Opportunity for Multitasking!

I’m sorry. I still haven’t mailed out any awesomeness.

Here’s why:

I’m still getting used to having weekends. That sounds counterintuitive, I know, but it’s really messing with my head to suddenly have a real grown-up job with real grown-up weekends after working retail for the past six years. My schedule just feels . . . funky. Honestly, it feels like I’m getting away with something. Like the Weekend Police are going to knock down my door, waltz in and say, “Excuse us, ma’am. Are you taking a weekend? That is simply not allowed.” Like Brazil. Have you guys seen that movie? It’s a trip. Don’t watch it. I mean, do watch it because it’s weird, but you shouldn’t feel good about it.

I’ve been having nightmares about working retail again. I’m not kidding. I wake up in a cold sweat mumbling about candles. It’s exhausting.

In addition to this new fangled weekend thing, I also just started my final semester of coursework before I can (eep!) start my thesis. You can imagine that I’ve had a lot on my mind, and I’ve just been in a generally weird wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey sort of situation. (Tell me in the comments if you know what that’s from! Without clicking the link, smartass!)

This probably seems sort of whiny, but I really am grateful for the gift of weekends. I just don’t know what to do with them yet. I’ve had such an odd schedule for so long that to have the same one as almost everyone else is really messing up my groove.

With that being said, I found a reprieve from all the madness this weekend and it took the form of diarrhea. Really violent, watery, noisy diarrhea. It hit me on Friday (sorry co-workers, but that’s what I was doing when I wasn’t at my desk. I was shitting big scary shit bombs in the bathroom) and continued until, well, Monday. Really, it wasn’t that bad, it wasn’t a constant flow (I’d be in the hospital) but more of a daily surprise. My thoughts were: When will it hit? How long will I be in the bathroom? Should I bring homework with me when I go?

Yes. The answer, as I found out, should always be YES.

Being stuck on the toilet is a wonderful opportunity for multitasking! On Monday, for example, I did the following things while shitting my face off:

  • Painted my toe nails.
  • Brushed up on Irish history.
  • Read a little James Joyce.
  • Planned a barbecue with Jeff (through the closed bathroom door).
  • Caught up on my Craftgawker.
Woman Poo

See this bitch? She’s happy because she decided to multitask while she has the shits.

Photo Source

See what I mean? Diarrhea can be a very productive situation! I will admit, and freely so, that I am a self-proclaimed Toilet Texter. Listen, there are conversations to be had and plans to be made. I will not let a little hot-molten-lava-poo stop me. Now, don’t confuse me with a Toilet Talker – those are the people who talk on their phone when they walk into a public bathroom, or they just don’t get off the phone when they take a shit.

That’s wrong. Don’t do that.

I write a lot about shit, don’t I? Those of you that sent me your addresses are probably starting to wonder if I’m going to send you a stool sample.

In addition to the poo, I have also been PMSing, which is another reason why this post didn’t get put up on Monday. You may have noticed that it’s Thursday night. Yikes.

I’m really sleepy. Period sleepy. Women know what I’m talking about – I’m going to get my period on Saturday (one of the wonders of the pill, I know right when I’ll get my period) and this whole week has been a snooze fest. I sat down to do reading for my Modern Irish Fiction class and I fell asleep at 8PM, drooled all over the article I had been reading, woke up at 1AM and couldn’t go back to sleep until 3AM. That was just Tuesday.

This past Saturday, when my PMS kicked in, Jeff and I took a nap. A four-hour nap. We were making the bed and didn’t even get the pillows on. We drooled on each other – it was nice. (He isn’t PMSing, he’s just a dude who likes naps with his lady.)

Speaking of periods, I want to bring up a new saying I think us gals should try to make happen: I’m draining the lasagna.

Stay with me.

You know how people still say shit like, “Aunt Flo’s in town” or “I’m on the rag”? I hate that shit. Fuck Aunt Flo, and I don’t use “rags” anymore – I alternate between light tampons or the Softcup depending on my mood.

The way “I’m draining the lasagna” came about was this: on Saturday night, my lady friends and I were cleaning up after dinner. One of them had made a paleo lasagna that was delicious, and also very juicy (in a good way). Before she packed up the lasagna to take it home, she drained the juice into the sink. The other lady friend said, “Are you draining your lasagna?” One thing lead to another and I suggested that it sounded like a way to refer to one’s period.

Hense – I’m draining the lasagna.

Now I could go into details about why this is funny, but it would defeat the purpose. Anyone who has ever really looked up close at a vulva knows what I’m talking about. It isn’t that much unlike a lasagna.

Or you can always just say you’re on your period. That works too.

You’re draining the lasagna – what book do you read?

My Ántonia by Willa Cather. I always feel really cooped up when I’m on my period (especially when I have period diarrhea, which is another beast entirely) and I like to read Cather because she depicts these huge open spaces, and dammit if that woman doesn’t write nature in a way that you can see every single blade of grass. She makes me feel peaceful as fuck.

How’s your period? Do you have diarrhea? Tell me about it in the comments! Take a picture! Let’s make this exciting!

Get Engorged!

Let’s start (end) this Monday off right, shall we?

First things first – I am sorry for not posting last Monday, but some shit went down. My car basically, um, broke. It was a rather time sensitive issue (I start school this week and I commute) that I needed to get figured out pronto. So, I bought a new car. A new used car from CarMax, that is. And I literally bought and paid for it. No car payments for this gal! I gotta say, it feels pretty great. I highly recommend it. Anyone who has ever truly needed to buy a car in a short amount of time knows that there isn’t much else on your mind while you’re looking for a new car. So, I do apologize for no post, but I’m sure you understand.

On another note, those of you who sent me emails concerning the post Amanda Meets You will be getting your item-o-coolness very soon. I will be mailing out stuff this week, so get ready! I might not get to all (five) of you this week, but everything will for sure be mailed out by Friday of next week. No later. Promise! And thanks to everyone who did send me an email! I’m actually really excited about this!

Now to the juicy bits. I thought I would give you guys an idea of just how disgusting I actually am and tell you a little story about what I did on Sunday.

I drank a lot of booze.

I ate some meat.

I’m pretty sure I embarrassed my friend who was totally trying to score with a dude.

I definitely said something along the lines of “I bet her pussy is engorged as fuck!” This was said within range of both her and the guy who was, presumably, making her pussy engorged as fuck.

I say this kind of shit when I’m drunk. Terrible drunk friend. Right here.

So, lets address what’s going on right now and get real deep into this shit: chicks get super into other chicks when they’re drunk. That means we say things like what I said to my poor friend. Then we say things like:

  • Yeah. I’d grab them titties. I’d rub my face all up in them titties.
  • I fingered a chick once.
  • I got fingered by a chick once.
  • Who doesn’t love a good, passionate fingering?
  • I wouldn’t mind a finger in my butt. (You can see a theme developing.)
  • Who haven’t I fucked? (Lot’s of people. For the record.)
  • No. No. You should try my vibrator. Seriously. Come over.
  • Do I have anything on the nape of my neck that you need to lick off?
  • Lick it off. Lick it.
  • Vulvas are fucking magical. If you don’t think they are fucking magical, then you’re a motherfucker. (I really said that last night. To five people. My female friends agreed whole-heartedly. Whole-vulvadly?)

You’re thinking: Amanda! You’re so filthy!

Nuh-uh! Tell me you haven’t said that shit with your chick friends and I’ll tell you . . . well, you’re probably incredibly religious. Or you have some kind of hold-up. That’s fine! I don’t judge!

Except I do. And you should say this stuff with your girlfriends. And you should feel like you can and you shouldn’t let anything hold you back. Women need to be in touch with their bodies and we need to be in touch with other women’s bodies as well. It doesn’t always have to be as filthy and extreme as what I’ve shown here, but we need to be honest with each other and embrace the fact that our bodies are absolutely fascinating.

And pretty fun, too. Who doesn’t enjoy the female form? It’s all squishy and round and bouncy and . . . yup.

See what I mean? Tell me you didn’t get a little blood flow thinking about some hot chick you know?!

So, let’s do some clarification real quick before we wrap this bad boy up: by no means do I think women should be objectified or thought of only as sexual objects. What I want to get across with this post is that women should be comfortable enough around each other, or at least have a tight enough circle of girlfriends that you can say your version of the stuff I said to my friends last night. You’re missing out if you don’t. It’s so amazing and freeing, and I only wish more women felt comfortable enough to get crazy and talk about the magical properties of the vulva and vagina!

Since this did get a little porno-y, I’m going to recommend one of my favorite children’s books just to even things out: Matilda by Roald Dahl is one of those books that features a main bitch who knows how to get shit done. Any Roald Dahl book is really a good choice, but Matilda in particular is quite an invigorating read for the young girl. A strong young woman who doesn’t take any abuse from anyone, but instead uses her wit and intelligence to succeed? Yeah. That’s a great story.

Go on, ladies. Tell your friend you wouldn’t mind licking her pussy. It’s like a high-five with words.

Tell me in the comments about your favorite homoerotic moment with your girlfriends!

Happy Monday, everybody!

 

Sacramento, California – It Sucks

I hate Sacramento. OK, maybe this is because I got to spend a relaxing week in Santa Cruz, but still. I’m not happy about my return home y’all.

Seriously – when you enter Sacramento there should by a sign that says, “If You Lived Here, You’d be Miserable by Now.”

My downstairs neighbors are adolescent meth users.

Everyone has allergies.

People are always sweaty because there is a constant, dry heat from the end of May to the end of September.

Everyone drives like shit. And I can say that because I have been on a few road trips and I swear to god, people actually know how to merge the moment you make it out of Sacramento. It’s like being freed from an enchantment of bad driving.

The level of unhappiness amongst Sacramentans is through the roof.

Actually, wealthy people are usually pretty happy here. That’s because they can afford big houses sans neighbors, great allergy meds, a really nice pool and a driver so they don’t have to worry about the traffic – they can just hire someone else to do it for them.

What is awesome about coming home from Santa Cruz? Well I got a sweet job that allows me to (gulp) leave my job at the mall.

I made this face when they told me:

ermahgerd dog

The job is the tennis ball. It’s a metaphor.

This means I will have nights and weekends and a job that I truly enjoy doing. But I think the picture says it all.

We also got a dog:

Rescue Dog

Scarlett Divine – Mistress of the Underworld (Rapist Killer)

For anyone who is wondering: we have her in a crate because her previous owner trained her that way and it makes her a little more chill in her new environment. We want her out of the crate and solving crime throughout Sacramento as soon as possible, but it’s all about baby steps.

Also, apologies for not posting yesterday. I had to go to the doctor and get put on some meds and then I slept for 14 hours. Any post I would have produced in my brief moments of lucidity would have been not just awful, but unintelligible. So, really what I should say is, you’re welcome.

And what about books, Amanda?

Well, to be quite honest, I’m not reading any fucking books right now. Between being sick and taking care of the new dog I feel like my brain is going to melt out of my head. I’m serious – last night I watched three hours of TobyGames on Youtube. My brain is not in the mood for reading. Shit happens, you guys.

And if I had to pick a book to read it sure as shit wouldn’t be this one:

Catching Fire Book

Awarded Best Sequel in the World by No One.

I tried reading this. I really did. It’s the only book I’ve ever gotten more than halfway through and then quit. Why did I do this? Because it’s the first book all over again. Here’s the deal – it starts off all original and I was all, “Shit Katniss, how you gonna get out of this, girl?” And then I was all, “Oh, because you’ll just go back in the arena and do the first book over again.” I would have given a heads-up about spoilers, but it isn’t a spoiler because if you’ve read the first book it already happened. So, I gave up on the series, and listen, I’ve had about a million people tell me I need to finish reading the damn thing and I’m just not going to do it. You fucked up, Suzanne Collins. You have fucked up.

And to be clear, I still stand by the fact that even though I think Catching Fire is shitty, if you love it and it gets you reading, well that’s awesome. Keep on reading and read what you want. I’m just a bitch with an opinion.

Bet you have a book you hate! Tell me about it in the comments and we can have a healthy discussion about terrible reads!

Girls Poop 2: Shitting in Nature

This weekend, Jeff and I went backpacking into Desolation Wilderness.

Here are some features of the trip at a glance:

  • 5 mile uphill hike to the campsite. 5 mile downhill hike back.
  • Secluded lake where we could get freaky in nature if we felt so inclined (hint: we did feel so inclined).
  • Back breaking tent camping, i.e. we only brought one sleeping bag and an inflatable mat that we found out no longer inflated only after we had completed our three-hour hike into camp. Hooray.
  • Really scary crotch smells.
  • Nature shits.

Let me say one thing about this post before you go any further: I use the word “shit” a lot. I could have used “poop” or “crap” or “dump” or any other word that describes a bowel movement, but I chose “shit” because it has a certain sort of pizzazz that really pinpoints the feeling I’m going for.

Now, for those of you who aren’t familiar with shitting in nature, it’s quite a process. First, you have to find a spot far enough away from the camp so that you, literally, aren’t shitting where you eat. Then, when you do find a spot, you have to dig a hole at least six inches deep, shit into said hole and use biodegradable toilet paper. IF you don’t have biodegradable toilet paper, you have to take your shitty toilet paper and put it into a paper bag and cart it around with you for the rest of the trip because, and I don’t know if you knew this or not, there isn’t really any trash pick-up in Desolation Wilderness.

This is a good process. It keeps the Eldorado National Forest beautiful and clean, and it’s really not that hard to do. Inconvenient? Slightly. Difficult? No way. There is a problem with the whole notion of having to travel to shit, however, and it’s that sometimes you just don’t have enough time to get to where you’re going.

Let me illustrate with a story, shall I?

Jeff and I were already a little over halfway done with our hike when I started to get the shit-sweats. This is when you don’t have to poop right then, but you know it’s going to be a rager when you do. I gave Jeff the heads up, with the thought that I would be able to make it to camp, but just in case to “Please, please help me shit in nature.” Up until that point in my life, I had never shat in nature, so I was a little nervous about the whole process. There are so many fantastical mountain creatures that I imagine would love to bite my asshole while I’m squatting over a rock releasing my bowels. There is also the inherent fear that women have of something being/getting in your vagina without your knowing it, so that came into play, too. I’m getting chills just thinking about it.

Then, suddenly, it happened. I felt absolutely sure that I was going to shit my pants. I threw my pack off, yelled at Jeff “Toilet paper, toilet paper!” and ran as far as I could in the short amount of time my body had given me – and there I was, shitting on a rock with beautiful Lake Tahoe behind me, sweating and moaning into my hands.

It is funny, so go ahead and laugh.

After a few moments alone with my thoughts, I told Jeff to come over and hand me the toilet paper, but “Dear God don’t look at the shit-baby I created.”

But then we both looked at it anyway.

I felt sort of proud.

I created . . . that?

I said that it was, “At least six cupcakes worth of shit.” Then we high-fived (with my clean hand) and marched on for another hour and a half to our campsite.

So, what did I learn from this adventure? Well, I learned that a man who loves you will stand by your side while you shit your face off and congratulate you after you’ve survived the scariest nature shit of your life. I learned that scenic shits are the best shits. And most importantly, I learned that if you do backpack up a mountain for an hour and a half without stopping, and you’ve never done said activity before in your life, your body will react in some exciting, new way, and that way will probably be something close to explosive diarrhea.

But what book did you read while you were camping, Amanda? Who gives a shit about your shit?

I started reading a romance novel (eek!) but it’s really pretty damn good. I didn’t think I would ever enjoy a romance novel, but Diana Gabaldon really has it together with Outlander. So far, the protagonist is a rockin’ babe who doesn’t allow herself to be bossed around by anyone, even after she is transported back to the 18th century from 1945 . . . after touching a magical boulder? What? I know, I know, sounds stupid, but it isn’t!

I’ll let you know what happens when I finish the book, but apparently it’s a series and a really great one at that. The girl who rang me up at Barnes and Noble got all hot and bothered just from seeing the book on the counter and couldn’t shut up about it. I’ve never heard any of the people at Barnes and Noble get that excited about a book. They usually just tell you about how the book they are writing will be better than any of the books you could buy in the store.

But now, my friends I must leave you. I’m going to go take a shit on the toilet. And I’m bringing Outlander with me.

Let me know your crazy shit stories in the comments! Sharing is caring!

How to be Neurotic

After How to be Inappropriate, I realized that I have a lot of How To advice that I can offer. Some of the How To ideas that I have played around with are:

  • How to fart like a lady.
  • How to make fun of horrible people without them realizing it.
  • How to compliment someone and accidentally make it seem like an insult.
  • How to have awkward sex.
  • How to change a tampon in front of your significant other.
  • Guest post from Jeff: How to watch your significant other change their tampon.
  • How to have anal sex  – which is a post that might actually come to fruition pretty soon. There’s a lot of -ahem- shit that needs to be said about anal sex that the ladies don’t know and should know if they want to put a penis in their butt. I’m talking about pornos that make things unrealistic, son.

The list goes on.

However, I decided to go with How to be Neurotic because I’m really fucking good at it. That’s it. That’s my reason. I hope you like it. And whether you do or not, I will sit here waiting for validation until I get it. Then when I get validation, I will still think that you were just being nice to spare my feelings and wonder what you really think of me.

That was step one, folks.

Here we go – a list of the things that should be on the neurotic (female) mind during various activities.

During Sex

Did I just fart?

Did he just fart?

I’m gonna poop.

I have to pee?

Shit. I queefed.

I’m pregnant. I can tell.

Is the front door locked?

If we ever leave the front door unlocked that will be the one time someone shows up to rob us. They will rape me and kill Jeff and I will have to spend years learning karate to avenge him.

Yeast infection?

What time is it? I need to wake up at seven.

Where’s the cat?

While Cooking

How much do I like this shirt? Enough to wear an apron? I’ll just go for it.

Fuck. My shirt.

Is this bad? I can’t tell. I’ll just make it into soup.

Will my soup make everyone sick?

Was I supposed to put the flour in first?

Will Jeff like this?

If he doesn’t like it, will he stop loving me?

Does he like any of my food?

He really hates all of my food but keeps it a secret because he loves me so much.

Tapeworms.

Is that a hair?

While Shopping

I’m fat.

I wish I was fatter so I could fit into this.

My boobs are too big.

Nope, they’re too small.

The person who tried this on before me had ringworm, didn’t they?

Yeast infection?

I have back fat.

I have armpit fat.

I’m not the problem! Clothes are the problem!

Nope. I’m the problem.

I’m going to the thrift store.

Body lice?

Book

If you want to read a book about a girl who does her best to handle the various neurotic episodes that fill the lives of young girls entering womanhood, then read I Capture The Castle by Dodie Smith. It’s one of my favorite books of all time. If you have a female in your life of any age, get her this book! The main character is a wonderful role model for women everywhere and the book is filled with some of the better beautiful prose in this world.

Let me know what you think of this post in the comments!

Go on, validate me.

How to be Inappropriate

Tact

Sometimes I have a problem with tact. For example, a few weekends ago at Jeff’s little brother’s girlfriend’s graduation party (meant to be said in one breath) I said the following things to Jeff’s little brother’s girlfriend’s father under the influence of a large portion of a bottle of tequila:

  • Don’t tempt me, son. I’ll whip these titties out.
  • My bra unhooks from the front, so we can get this party started real quick.
  • You gave my boyfriend chewing tobacco?! You sick son-of-a-bitch.
  • I’ll kill you.

Note that most of my comments are about my breasts. This was due to the fact that I was wearing my summer-time racer back super push-up bra that knocks my tits more or less to the sky, and when I consume any alcohol in said bra I tend to bring most of the attention in the room to my voluminous breasts because when I don’t have that bra on, I have normal – borderline – B-cups. Also note that the comments were made in a threatening context. I was threatening to release my breasts from their lacy cage as a form of punishment. This was not a “hey hot old dude with a beer gut . . . you wanna?” situation.

Yesterday, when trying to convince Jeff to go on a walk with me, which he hates doing, he said, “I don’t want to walk unless there is a destination,” to which I replied “Our destination is fitness.” And then I laughed loud and impressively at my own clever joke.

Today, my grandma had a real pill for a nurse. The woman was clearly miserable in her profession which, leaving all obvious issues of the economy out of it, I have little or no sympathy for. If you hate what you are doing then don’t do it. Find another job. Answer phones from 9-5, work in a gas station, sell homemade sex toys, I don’t care. Just don’t be a nurse if you hate people. It’s not that hard to not be a nurse. In fact, it’s much harder to be a nurse than it is to not be a nurse, so I really don’t see what the problem is. The long and short of it is that this woman was a wretched bitch and I flipped her off behind her back and made a duck-face at her when she left the room. My grandma looked at me and said, “Child” because that’s what she calls me, especially when she is shocked by something I’ve done.

Last week, a woman came into the candle store and I nuzzled right up her asshole like a good little salesperson (because even though I don’t like working in a candle store I’m working on changing that, and I am determined to be nice to people unless they are shitty to me and then it’s on) and said, “So what brings you in today?” and because she was a bitch she said, “The sale. Obviously.” Now, let me make this picture perfectly clear for you: we are having a semi-annual sale. This means big white and red sale signs. It also means that we get people in the store who aren’t our traditional demographic and thus people we might not jibe with. So, we get a lot of people who, when we ask them what brings them in, respond in what they think is a really cute and original way by saying, “The sale” and then they chuckle. Har har. Because of all this, by the time I greeted this woman – who really was just blatantly rude in that her rudeness was as of yet unprovoked on my part – I was in no mood. So, I said, “Well what part of the sale brings you in? It’s a big sale. There’s lots to it.”

“The seventy-five percent off sign is what brought me in, ok?”

“Well, if you like the seventy-five percent off sign we have it right over there, but I’m afraid it isn’t for sale.”

Zing.

How to be Inappropriate

What I’m trying to say here is I’ve got a mouth on me. When I was really young, my grandmother used to tell me to keep my mouth shut or I was going to get my ass kicked by a girl bigger than me. My mom still tells me to keep my mouth shut and Jeff shushes me in public constantly. Yet, do I learn? No. Well, I know I should keep my mouth shut but I don’t apply the method. It’s just not for me.

By now you’re asking yourself, “Amanda, how can I publicly embarrass myself on a daily basis just like you?” It’s easy, friends!

Step one: say what you think everyone else is thinking but what no one wants to say out loud. For example, last night my friend and I were at a country bar watching Jeff dj. Said country bar has a mechanical bull that costs $5 to ride, yet sadly this is not an equal opportunity bull. You see, the asshole running the bull favored big breasted women as he was able to make the bull “shimmy” in way that caused much quivering of the females’ breasts, at which point he liked to pause and say, “What time is it? It’s boob shaking time!” and he posed other serious philosophical questions to the audience like, “Are they real or fake?” Firstly, a much catchier thing to say than “boob shaking time” would be “titty time” but we aren’t discussing poetry. After our first dose of “boob shaking time,” I turned to my friend and said, “I would love to see that sack of shit get up there, masturbate until his teeny tiny little penis was as rock hard as it could get, then shake it for the audience. WHIP OUT YOUR BALLS, ASSHOLE. SHAKE ‘EM MUTHAFUCKA!”

I’m almost positive those were my exact words. There were several women in the general area who shared my sentiment.

The point is, you can say what you know (or think) everyone else is thinking but doesn’t want to say out loud and break the tension, taking the focus away from said asshole and on to something much funnier. (This is not to say that objectification of either sex is appropriate, but that using someone’s own nasty methods against them in order to illustrate the nastiness of their actions can sometimes be very effective).

Step two: Have no shame. Refer to the above “Don’t tempt me, son. I’ll whip these titties out.” Usually, having no shame in the right environment can lead to a great time.

Step three: Own it. You want to be the crazy person in the room? Then you have to go balls to the wall. Don’t pause, don’t apologize, just own it. Otherwise you’re the person who’s on the fence. Remember, if you are always unpredictable people can predict that you will be unpredictable which makes people happy because they have you pegged as the “unpredictable” one.

(Appropriate) Book Recommendation

The Chronology of Water by Lidia Yuknavitch is a book that taught me more about how to be myself. Yuknavitch writes about what it took to become comfortable with herself and her body. This book is difficult to comment on because it will always be about so much more than what anyone can say it’s about. The book is ineffable and must be read to be understood. Sorry to get all literary up in here, but it’s true. The book is awesome in the true sense of the word and I recommend it to all.

Your assignment this week? Read The Chronology of Water and say something terribly inappropriate in public. Loudly.

Question for you guys:

I’m thinking of posting one day a week and I’m wondering what day of the week you guys would like a post most of all? I’m thinking Mondays would be nice since the day is usually a little lame by nature, and it would be a nice pick-me-up for me and, hopefully, for you guys too.

Tell me your thoughts in the comments!