GUEST BLOGGER TIME! WOO! Emily Schmidt's "Awkward Times"

.....5, 6, 7 8! IT'S GUEST BLOGGER TIME! WOO!

EMILY SCHMIDT is...

*an improviser

*a smarty-pants

*an NYU grad (ooo la la)

 *a super funny lady

*my friend...jealous?

I'm super pumped to welcome Ms. Emily Schmidt to my blog today! You must think I'm a lazypants and don't like writing my own blog, but fear not, Judgey McJudgersocks...I just think Emily is super funny. Here's what's great about Emily, she actually went to college and got a degree in writing-related stuff. I ain't got no edumacation in that written word thang. No sireeeeee.

So please do me a favor and give a round of applause from your laptop for....EMILY SCHMIDT!

****************************************************************

Awkward is playing dress-up in kindergarten and having feet too big to fit in your friend’s mom’s heels. Awkward is a fifth grader forced to listen to her elderly teacher talk about her miscarriage. Awkward is your freshman roommate trying to burn you with a lighter in the dorm elevator as a “joke” and so “you can know what it feels like.”


“Awkward” became a part of our everyday vernacular again some years ago, like those stupid tiny-heeled boots that make me look like a circus monkey. Everyone and everything was suddenly awkward. For those of us really and truly cursed with the inability to make correct social decisions, this is still painful. That was our word, really all we could cling to in the middle of the night - that, and our mismatched bedsheets.

Suddenly, it was perfectly acceptable for my genetically-favored classmates to apply the wrong shade of lip gloss and, “OMG it was SOO awkward!!” Is it? Is it really that awkward when I have to walk around un-showered and wearing a garbage bag for Newspaper hazing? Do you understand how greasy my hair gets if I don’t wash it every morning? Yeah. Let’s rethink.

Being awkward became hip, and that’s when events in my life got a little bit out of control. Hispters made things complicated when they introduced the everyday personal application of irony. Suddenly, I could buy a Betty White t-shirt instead of having to make my own with iron-on Google images. What was cool? What was weird? How is anyone who is normally socially disadvantaged supposed to navigate the irony?

What happened was that people started rewarding me for finding myself in awkward situations and it became funny - a novelty, like kids gathering around a fireplace to listen to their decrepit grandpa tell stories about the war (this never happened to anyone, ever).

My interior flow chart is permanently effed. Instead of appropriately avoiding bad situations, I head straight for them, as if they were free Jimmy Fallon mustache rides. Where everyone else would take a sharp left, back to start, I follow the arrows around the contorted map until even my therapist has no words for me.

It’s subconscious. If someone doesn’t want to be friends with me, due to whatever circumstance, it becomes my personal goal to make that person my best friend. I will go out of my way to say hi, invite them to events and generally create various uncomfortable situations. I don’t even realize I’m doing it until it’s too late. These, of course, make for funny stories but at what price? My dignity? Well...that’s long gone.

Really, it’s no one’s fault but my own. I was born this way, consistently taller and lurkier than all of my peers and ready with the most inappropriate comment possible. Maybe I should be thanking hipsters for making me and my actions more acceptable to society. Instead of being shunned, I’m now part of an elite group that will unwillingly sacrifice themselves for a truly awkward story.

So, I guess the next time you find yourself surrounded by TOO MANY attractive and interesting boys, all vying for your attention, be more delicate when choosing to describe the circumstance. That, my lady friend, is not awkward. Leave this word to those of us who, if ever in that situation, would accidentally bring up our periods with food in our teeth and find a way to deeply offend at least two of them. And then fall down while trying to get off the bar stool gracefully. That is the correct application of the word.

An OPEN LETTER TO NOSE PICKIN' CAR DRIVERS!

Traffic has been wacky these days and allowed me a lot of daydreaming time in the car. I have noticed an amazing new trend with drivers...NOSE PICKERS! I now present to you an OPEN LETTER TO NOSE PICKIN' CAR DRIVERS!

Dear NOSE PICKIN' CAR DRIVERS,

Whatcha lookin' for up there, folks? Gold? Treasure? Your keys? Your license and registration?

Whatever you're searching for--I can see you really digging from over here in my car. And let me tell you, it is intense what is happening over there. 

I suppose I can appreciate your private nose picking time. I would much rather have you digging in your car, rather than a table next to me at Chino, but I must say it's hard to sip on my Jamba Juice while I watch you scavenging for your breakfast. 

I commend your perseverance at stoplights, and even your multi-tasking abilities while driving, picking, and singing along to Katy Perry's "Firework". Well done, chap.

I wonder many things while I watch you at this stop light. May I list them for you?

1. Do you have a tiny dashboard kleenex kit you could use?

2. Do you sanitize your steering wheel before letting a valet park it?

3. What happens when you find what you're looking for?

4. Is this something you do alone, or just while the kids from the carpool are in the back of the van?

5. Have you considered tinted windows?

6. Is this a self-soothing method you use to deal with stressful traffic situations?

7. Do you know I'm watching you?

8. Do you care that I'm watching you?

9. Do you do this with hopes that it will encourage me to pick as well?

...and finally!

10. WHY ARE YOU PICKING YOUR NOSE WHILE DRIVING?

Mmmk. Just some thoughts for you. Happy picking!

xo,

Me

If I were stuck in the snow, would you help me?

Snowpocolypse 2.0 hit the Twin Cities yesterday and today. 

Oh, joy! More snow(Booooo!)

There is a general unspoken rule among most Minnesotans when it comes to snow time. If you are in the vicinity of a person in a stuck car around blizzard season, you stop and help them. Today I experienced some of the most appalling behavior by some young gents EVER.

As my Jetta attempted to get out of a snowbank at the end of my ally today, I came upon 4 or 5 twenty-something dudes complete with snow-blowers and shovels. As I got down on my hands and knees in the snow trying to dig my way out, these dudes just stared at me. Finally I got up from the snow and asked to borrow one of their shovels. They threw it in my general direction and then continued to stand and chat by their pick-up truck. There I was on all fours, then on my twos, digging and shoveling. Not ONCE did these very strong men offer to even push the Jetta for a second. I dug for quite some time and then stuck the shovel in a snowbank by the car while I tried to drive out of the ditch sitch. As I sit in the car, foot pounding on the pedal, screaming at the Jetta to "just budge an inch!!!", I hear a knock on my window. One of the dudes stands at the window and says, "I'm taking my shovel back now. Peace out."

Yup. That's right. A petite blonde chick attempts to get her Jetta out of the snow for more than 25 minutes in front of 5 dudes that could have easily given her a shove, and they take their shovel back and go on their merry way. Trashy.

Here's the thing about this situation, I'm perfectly aware that it was not their "job" or "duty" to help ME out with my problem, but they were standing right there with their fancy snow machines for almost a half hour WATCHING me struggle, and they did nothing. No push, no dig, no words of encouragement as frozen tears sped down my cheeks. Nothing.

I have spoken in the past about the importance of being a gentleman, and today was an astonishing example of how it seems as though being a gentleman doesn't seem to matter to a large portion modern men. In the past week alone I have walked through doors with dudes who let it slam in my face, been called nasty little names by boys who clearly lack a filter, and just been glared at with some stink-eyes. It's really too bad and I hope that this is "just a phase".

To the gentlemen that I have in my life: you're goodies, stay that way, and a lady will swoop you up reaaaaal quick.

To the boys who would like to be gentlemen, but are struggling through your "douchey" phase right now: It's not cute anymore. Knock it off and put on a nice, clean shirt too.