I Need An Adult

 

I was telling my mom this story the other day and she got a little upset with me.  I think mostly because I’m 24, almost 25, and I still need an adult to figure shit out for me, and legally I’m an adult.  She even said so.  Her exact words were, “Leah, you’re 24 years old, you are an adult, you need to start acting like one.”

No mom, I don’t get this adult stuff.  It’s hard.  Make me mac and cheese?  Please?

Comfort food at it's finest

Comfort food at it’s finest

But the story I was telling my mom… I don’t know if she was laughing because it was actually funny, or if she was shaking her head, trying to figure out how someone who shares half of her DNA could be such an airhead.  I’m pretty sure it’s a mix of both.

I was at the BX the other day looking for a thermos.  For those of you who are nonmilitary, a BX is basically the Military version of Walmart, where you don’t have to pay sales tax and most of the stuff is ridiculously cheap and all made in china.  I shop there to get a lot of bare necessities because the sales tax in Louisiana is around 9%.

Anyways, I thought that this product would be with the coffee mugs.  Or at least the stainless steel travel mugs.  After about ten minutes of me wandering up and down the aisles, I was getting frustrated.  I was going to bring hot chocolate to work since it’s been getting in the 30s at night and with the wind and humidity, I was feeling miserable.

After searching and searching, I found a really, really old man lost as well.  I went up to him and asked him if he knew where they’d be.  He said it was probably in the camping section.

This didn’t occur to me.  I thanked him and headed over to the outdoor section and kept looking around.  I found travel mugs and tents and that, but I was getting really frustrated.

I saw a sales associate helping someone and actively avoiding me, so I did the only thing I could think of.

I stood with my fists clenched on my sides, and I yelled at the top of my lungs, “I NEED AN ADULT!”

The sales lady slowly turned her head to look at me, confused.  The way I was acting, I think she was trying to figure out whether or not I was some punk kid or an adult.  I certainly look like I’m in my 20s, but I’ve looked like I’m in my 20s since I was 14 years old.

She walked over and asked what I needed.  I told her I needed a thermos to keep my hot chocolate warm at work.

She showed me where they were, I thanked her, and paid at the register.  Then I ran into the Troll and his girlfriend to discuss thanksgiving, where they will be joining us.  Because Alex and I never half ass food.

 

When has there been an instance where you needed an adult?  Do you have times where you just want your mom to cook you comfort food?  Are there times where you just want to curl up and eat ice cream? 

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Four Years A Bride: The First Date

Alex and I had a strange start.  He was kind of a stalker, and after that email, he would text me frequently to get to know me more, something that I found more annoying than anything.  I hate using my cell phone.  More often than not, I forget I have the damn thing.

But he wanted to date me, and I had to give him credit, he did not give up.

Never gonna give you up

Never gonna give you up

When it came close to the first date, two of my coworkers stated that they wanted to see who it was that I was going to go on a date with.  They were convinced he was a serial killer, but when I said the date was in his dorm, they calmed down.  You see, on a military base, if you yell SARC, ten people will come to your aid and whomever you’re yelling SARC about will automatically be detained until further investigation.  Kind of, guilty until proven innocent for sexual assault.

Which was perfect since I was going to be hanging out in his bedroom for our date.

He asked me to drive to his dorm, which was around a quarter of a mile away.  It was in Alaska, in the middle of winter, and I told him that if he wanted to go out with me, he’d walk to the bowling center to meet me.  Twenty minutes later he walked in the door and asked me if I was ready to go.

“Hang on, my friends want to meet you,” I had told him.  He walked right over to them and started talking to them.

“Hey there!  I’m taking this beautiful girl to my dorm to cook her some stir fry and watch a movie, is that okay with you?”

To say the least, my friends were stunned.  They had expected him to be fairly nonchalant and just give a wave, but he called me beautiful, he sort of asked their permission, and he told them exactly what was planned.  They approved.

They were shocked he was so gentlemanly

They were shocked he was so gentlemanly

So we got into my car and went to the commissary to get the stuff needed for chicken stir fry, when we ran into a girl Alex had recently taken on a date.  She was a year younger than me and when she saw Alex with me, she started to send him nasty texts and gave me a dirty look.  He informed me that after a week of dating she was trying to make plans with him that were six months to a year in advance.  I couldn’t help but laugh, calling him a heart breaker.

We got to his dorm and I sat in his kitchen, watching him cook, while he told me about himself.  I saw that he was better looking than I had first realized, that he was just really forward because he’s just.. well, very forward.  He was the third of seven kids total in his family, his parents were divorced when he was six years old, same as me, he was raised everywhere, he went to culinary school before he was in the military, and he wanted to be a responsible adult.

I couldn’t help but respect him more and more throughout the entire date.

When he finished cooking the food, he leaned in, less than an inch from my face, and I think he was going to say something snarky, but I kissed him instead.  Just a peck, but it surprised both of us.

That night, we watched “Yes Man,” where he explicitly pointed out the scene where Jim Carrey said, “Your furniture looks great form the yard.”  And since I had been working so much that week, halfway through the movie I ended up falling asleep.  I woke up under the covers, Alex wearing a pair of pajama bottoms, and his arm around me.

“I didn’t want to wake you up, is it okay if I just hold you?” he had asked me sweetly.

I told him sure and passed out.  The next morning he gave me coffee in bed and I dropped him off at work, and I went to my job at the deli, thinking about that really weird date.

The day before our second date, he went to the bowling center to get a bite to eat.  I had told my coworkers about the date and when he walked in, my friend E ran up to him and said, “ARE YOU LEAH’S BOYFRIEND NOW?!”

He was shocked at her outward display of curiosity, and he responded the only way he could think to.

“Oh I hope so.  I really like her.”

She texted me and told me that, and I felt better.  When I saw him the next day, I had him recount that conversation.  After he told it to me, he turned to me and said, “So, am I being hopeful?  Are you my girlfriend?  Please be my girlfriend.”

That was December 10th, 2010.  And I said yes.  So we were dating.

 

Fear not, how I ended up getting a wedding ring will be next in this saga.  What was your first date like with your significant other?  Was it awkward or awesome?  Let me know in the comments!

Dat Fine Ass

So this happened.

Me: Alex, I may have to leave you.

Alex: Alright, I’ll bite.  What happened?

Me: All these sweet talkers are just sweeping me off my feet.

Alex: Oh?  What are they saying?

Me: Twice today, I had someone say to me, “Damn girl, dat ass is fine.”

Alex: Oh man.

Me: I know, right?  How do I resist the charms of “Dat ass is fine?”  Also, “Damn girl, gimmie yo’ number.”

Alex: I totally understand if you leave.  I can’t compete with that.

Me:  They must have been pretty confident too, considering nobody would even stand up when they hit on me.

Alex:  Damn, I have no idea how I can ever compete with that.

Me: I know.  I’m sorry, but those sweet talkers are just too irresistible.

Alex: Did they even mention dem tits?

Me: Nope, just dat ass.

Alex: What did they do when you said you were married?

Me: Well, one guy just got up and left.  No sorry, no apology, nothing.  Second I said married, he walked out.  The other guy said, “Well damn girl, if that ever changes you look me up.”

Alex:  Well at least they gave up once you pulled the marriage card.

Me: Yeah, because apparently touching a married woman is worse than telling them about dat fine ass.

Alex: Obviously.

I’m Out-Weirding Everyone

It’s no secret:  I’m bizarre.

Really bizarre.

I tell people this when they first meet me, and they usually say something like, “Oh my god, me too!  I like to play videogames when I’m home, I’m like, so weird!”

Then I hug them, pet their hair, and whisper in their ear, “Oh sweetie, you’re just a novice, let me tell you about the major leagues.”

My new job is full of people from everywhere.  We have pacific islanders, Caribbean islanders, one Midwesterner (me), a couple Floridians, a couple from Washington, and so on.  I think we only have one person actually from Louisiana, but he lived in Seattle and Hawaii for a number of years so he doesn’t really count.  One gal is from New Orleans, but Nawlins isn’t Louisiana, it’s just Nawlins.

While they are a little eccentric, I seem to always weird out everyone when I decide to open up and say something bizarre.  For instance, it was cold the other day, so I hugged my coworker to warm her up.  She said, “Oh my god Leah, It’s just so damn cold!”

So I replied, “Would licking help?”

Except two people.

Except two people.

Because, you know, if you lick someone, they jump around and scream from how grossed out they were. I thought that this was a generous offer, but her reaction was to jump away from me and hug my other coworker, exclaiming I was trying to lick her.

Another day, another coworker asked me if I could twerk.  So instead of saying yes, I begin to twerk.

And a lot of our clients saw.

And I did not care.

And the cake topper, one of my coworkers who seems to enjoy the eccentric that is I, she asked me to run around the building after we had closed, waiving my arms and screaming, while she did it as well so she could share it on snap chat.

And since she’s the size of my left foot*, in the video, you see her running fast and screaming while waiving her arms, and you see me, my belly bouncing, my ass clapping, while I’m going “AHAHAHAHAHHA!”

And I sent it to Alex, to which he told me he was proud.

So if you meet me in person and tell me, “Oh my god, I’m so weird, I get drunk and scream!”

I’m going to hold you, stroke your hair, and whisper in your ear, “Oh sweetie, you have no idea what weird is.”

I am going to blow your fucking mind

I am going to blow your fucking mind

If you hold me and tell that to me, I’m going to want proof.  Maurna may have me beat with her third nipple and her infatuation with her vagina, which didn’t weird me out, it made me want to go visit her to prove it.

Because, you know, I hate being shown up.

Do you think you’re weird or nerdy?  Prove it.  Tell me a really horribly awkward story that proves your weirdness.  

*My coworker is really short and very small in general.  Her head only reaches my shoulder and she’s a very sweet little thing.  I love working with her.  She’s great.

Four Years A Bride: How I Met Alex

I’ve been trying to find a way to write this post for quite some time.  I feel that it’s a sweet story, with tons and tons of hilarity.  But also some moments of WTFness and I feel I’m finally ready to share.

I should start at the beginning.  Back in 2010, I dropped out of college at UAF for a variety of reasons.  I wasn’t mature enough to take college seriously, I didn’t want to move back to Minnesota, I had convinced myself that I was happy working at a deli for barely above minimum wage, and I was having more fun doing underage drinking and staying out until four in the morning than actually studying.  Also, I was an English Literature major, and English Lit majors never find jobs.  It’s just a fact of life.

Why yes, I can analyze Shakespeare... I just can't do actual work

Why yes, I can analyze Shakespeare… I just can’t do actual work

So I cut my losses after two years of school and dropped out.  I started renting an apartment from an army guy and a girl who lived in my dorm freshman year.  I lived there for five months before moving into a house with three women as old as my mother, while working full time at the deli.  I eventually got a job at Eielson Air Force Base as a cook at the bowling center.

So from 7 in the morning until three in the afternoon, I worked in a deli.  Then from 4 until 10 I worked as a short order cook in a bowling alley.  I would work for weeks at a time without a day off, and overall I was just exhausted.  But I wanted to prove I could survive on my own.

About a month after working at the bowling alley, I had gotten an account on Plenty Of Fish, a dating website that I do not recommend to anyone.  It was awful.  But right before one of my best friends got married, I got an email on my Plenty of Fish Account.

The picture was of a man who had coke bottle thick glasses, a goofy smile, and a shaved head.  His email was novel length (in his defense, my profile was also novel length), but it had weird comments in it, such as, “Is it too soon to say I love you?  We should get together sometime soon.  Where do you work?  I’ll stop in and try out your cooking.”

This person hadn’t even met me before, and it all just came off as so damn creepy.  I explicitly said “Only Midwesterners or Alaskans should contact me, I’ve never much cared for east coasters or southerners, and west coasters don’t really have the work ethic I care for.”

I know that sounds biased, but I’m a hard worker (at least I like to think I am) and whenever I’ve worked with Californians, it seems that they have no sense of urgency, which drives me batty.

This person informed me that he was raised on both coasts.  Born in Connecticut, from age 6 until after high school he lived in California, but spent a good deal of time in Maine, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, New York and North Carolina.  He also had family from Missouri.

To say the least, he was very detailed in his information.  And it just went on and on.

So I did what any sane person would do: I told him to leave me the hell alone.

He emailed me back within ten minutes, asking me why I thought he was being a creeper.  I told him that I had no interest in dating military men.  Also that his picture was creepy and I didn’t much care for the pedo-stache.  He changed his profile picture immediately, asking if I liked him without the mustache.

He looked far less creepy, but he still wasn’t really my type  All I could think was how rude every east coaster had been that I’ve met.  And I was afraid that if I said the wrong thing to him, he’d flip out.

I told him he looked less creepy, and he should back the eff off.

Far less creepy without the stache

Far less creepy without the stache

He emailed me one more time, asking me to just let him take me on one date so he could prove himself.  I told him no.  So he said he’d leave me alone.

Since I’m really, really weird, I had to show everyone this horribly creepy email that he sent.  I was at my friend J’s house, her daughter was doing homework and we were having a glass of wine in her living room.  When it came to dating, I liked to talk to her.  She was 14 years my senior and was that in-between of the wisdom I needed, but the modernity I needed to seek advice.  She wasn’t old fashioned and she knew what she was talking about.

When she read the email, she gave me a dark look.

“He doesn’t sound creepy, Leah, he sounds lonely,” she mused.

I shook my head.  “Really?  I thought he sounded horribly creepy.”

She pointed at some of the sentences in the email.  “No, see?  I bet you he just got stationed here and he’s fresh out of basic training.  He probably hasn’t had a real friend since before basic.  If he is new here, you should give him the benefit of the doubt and go out with him once.  For all you know, he could be prince charming.”

I thought about this, and since I was fairly tipsy, I emailed him, with J looking over my shoulder.

My friend said I should give you the benefit of the doubt.  When were you stationed here and when did you first join the military?

He responded fairly quickly.

I joined eight months ago and I got stationed here about two months ago.  I still haven’t met anyone really and I really didn’t want to come to Alaska.  Why do you ask?

Shit, J was right.  I felt horrible for treating him so poorly.

I’ll make you a deal, if you can guess where I work on base, I’ll let you take me out to dinner.  I’ll give you a hint, I work where they make the best food on base.

He waited a day to respond, to which he asked if I worked at the Enlisted Club.  I was deeply offended, the Enlisted Club was awful at that base.

Hell no, I work at the bowling alley.

I’m stupid, if you can’t tell.

The day after I sent that message, I got to work a few minutes early and I saw a guy at a table checking out his phone.  I didn’t think anything of it so I went into the back office to clock in.  When I came out, the guy I saw sitting was at the front counter, and the top of my head only barely reached his shoulder.  He had a shaved head, coke bottle thick glasses, and his name tape matched his screen name on Plenty of Fish.

Fuck.

He was first to speak.  “I know you!”

I stopped dead in my tracks.  I was greasy from working my morning job, I hadn’t changed into my evening job uniform yet, it was -20 outside so my cheeks were really red from the cold, and my facial expression was deadpan.

“I don’t know you,” I retorted, casually walking towards the snackbar.  Since his legs are ridiculously fucking long, he caught up to me with no effort at all.

“Well I know you, your furniture looks great from the yard.”

Totally legit

Totally legit

I stopped to look at him.  “What?” Is this fucker stalking me?

He realized his mistake.  “Oh no, it’s a quote from a movie.  Come to my dorm and I’ll show you.”

WTF

WTF

As you can see, he isn’t the smoothest chap.

“How about no?”

“Hey, you said if I figured out where you work, you’d let me take you out on a date.”

“But I told you, so it doesn’t count.”

“It totally counts.  How about your next day off?  My treat.”

Since I was broke, I figured why not.  And I figured that if I went on one date with him, he’d leave me alone.  Besides, he was pretty cute in that nerdy type of way, and his voice was so high pitched that he seemed harmless.  So I agreed…

Don’t worry, there’s more story to come.  How did you meet your significant other?  What kind of creepers have you met?  Let me know in the comments!

Damn Retarded Yankee

So today, apparently, I was upgraded from a “Damn Yankee” to a “Damn Retarded Yankee.”

This confuses me too, since us yanks are far more educated on average than the average confederate.  Or southerner. Or whatever the hell they’re called.

 

Basically these assholes.

Basically these assholes.

Anyway, after I got off work, I noticed that my nose was full of black heads.  One thing anyone who is in my very close inner circle knows is that I’m OCD with my skin care.  I don’t wear makeup or sun screen, but I moisturize my face every night and always have the high end lotions and lip balms to make sure my skin always looks fresh.  I have a professional waxer for my eyebrows and mustache, and overall, I’m just very OCD with my skin.

Today I noticed I had a lot of black heads and I needed nose strips, because apparently I love to induce pain to get rid of black heads.  So on my way home from work, I walked into Walgreens and got what I needed.  I stepped in line and I was the third person in line.  An elderly black woman was behind me and a tiny little white guy was in front of me.  The white guy was buying some cold medicine and was minding his own business.  He looked grumpy and mean and ‘murican, so I turned to the woman behind me.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” I said to her.  She smiled.

“Yes, I love this cold weather.”

Good, someone who shared my likeness for the cold.  “Oh I love it.  When it’s cold like this, I open all the windows and put a bunch of the blankets on the bed and wrap up like a cocoon.”

The woman was about to respond to my comment, when the guy in front of me practically yelled.

“That’s just retarded.  I’m sorry, you’re retarded.”

What the fuck, right?

“Well, I’m a Yankee and I like the cold weather.”

“That makes you a damn retarded Yankee then.”

When I looked up damn retarded yankees, I kept getting pictures of Red Sox Fans

When I looked up damn retarded yankees, I kept getting pictures of Red Sox Fans

Dude.  What the fuck was this guy’s problem?

“Sir, I lived in Alaska.  I don’t deal with the hot weather.”

He continued to talk, which surprised me because I was easily 4 inches taller than him and twice his width.  And I am wonder woman.

“That makes you doubly retarded.  Why would anyone want to live in the cold?”

See, this is how I feel about the south.  Why would anyone want to live in the south?

“Because you’re not sweaty and sticky all the time,” I countered.  The super sweet woman behind me nodded in agreement.

“That’s what air conditioning is for.  Besides, what activities can you do in cold weather?  Nothing, that’s what.”

BECAUSE THIS IS APPARENTLY NOTHING

BECAUSE THIS IS APPARENTLY NOTHING

I was feeling a little frustrated.  “There’s a ton to do in the winter.  Skiing, Skijoring, dog sledding, ice fishing, snow shoeing—,”

Then he cut me off.

“Find warmth.  That’s what you do.  Nothing else.”

Then I had it, this guy was probably perverted.

“You can snuggle up to someone for warmth and see what happens,” I said, rather smugly.  Probably too smugly.

“Yeah, and you can just turn down the AC so it’s hot outside and cold inside so you can snuggle up.”

“THAT WASTES MONEY AND RESOURCES!” I nearly roared, making a few heads turn.

Don't worry, the AC is on and it's a thousand fucking degrees outside

Don’t worry, the AC is on and it’s a thousand fucking degrees outside

“It’s better than living somewhere that’s cold where you’ll be eaten by polar bears.”  He grumbled something else, but I wasn’t sure what.

“THERE ARE ONLY POLAR BEARS IN THE ARCTIC CIRCLE!”

To which he checked out and repeated I was retarded and that I should have a nice night.

The cashier rang me up and said, “I’m from Nebraska.  I prefer snow too.”

So we high fived for the Midwest and I hugged the lady behind me for helping me out with the moron who thinks I’m retarded.

And believe it or not, I didn’t even hyperbolize this story.  It’s damn near spot on.  Because I’m a magnet for weird fucking encounters.

Have you ever had a random stranger call you retarded?  Have you hugged a stranger and had your wallet not stolen?  What is the weirdest encounter that you’ve had with a stranger?  Tell me in the comments!

My Dog is MenoPAWSal

So a couple weeks ago, Sahara wet the bed.

This may seem weird, because dogs are sometimes eager to make our lives hell, and Sahara has a nasty habit of waking me up early in the morning by putting her head on my ear and whining very quietly, but just enough to make me want to break a window.

Right before falling asleep.  Alex is on the bed next to her.

Not my fault, mom

However, she never, ever has accidents in the house.  And she had it while she was sleeping… on our bed.  I discovered it at two in the morning.  When we moved her, there was a big spot of pee, and she looked just as confused as we were.  So we took her outside and she went potty.

Since then, she’s been having to go outside more and she’s been a little lethargic.

Since her annual visit was due, I took her into the vet and mentioned it to the vet.

When I mentioned to the vet about her lethargy and her one time wetting the bed, he asked me how old she was.  I told him that she was a stray in the Alaska bush and we had an inkling that she was between five and nine years old.  At least that’s what the vet in Alaska said.

He saw that she was spayed, and gray around her muzzle, and told me that she’s going through menopause.

What. The. Fuck.

Dogs go through menopause?

Spayed dogs go through menopause?

I was so confused, that the vet decided to explain it to me.

While it wasn’t exactly menopause, spayed females have no hormones so they can lose bladder control, especially if they’ve had puppies before.  I asked my mom if she has bladder problems from menopause and babies, and she told me way too much information, so I figured Sahara was going through something similar.

So, the vet told me that if the bed wetting continues, I should bring her back and we’ll put her on hormones.  Because my menopausal dog was hormoneless.  We had to make her hormonal.

When I got home, Alex asked how the vet appointment went.

Me: Well, Sahara has menopause.

Alex: You mean… meno-PAWS?!

Me: Sure.  Menopaws.  She might have to get hormones

Alex: Will she get weepy and complain that her kids are leaving the house?

Me: I don’t know—

Alex: Is she going to start eating ice cream out of the carton and cry at stupid movies, then forget where she is and get angry with her mood swings?

Me: I DON’T KNOW! I JUST KNOW THAT SHE’S GOING TO BE MOODY AND PEE EVERYWHERE!

So I rubbed Sahara’s belly and reminded her that she probably ate her puppies and that Luna wasn’t going to go anywhere because Luna hates going outside when it’s hot.

Because I’m a damn good doggie mom.

Have you ever had an instance where you found out something that seemed horribly implausable?  Do you have a dog who is at risk for going into menopause?  Any ideas how to take care of a moody dog?  Let me know in the comments!