Last week, my new workout girlfriends and I managed our way through a cellulite-crushing hip hop fitness class with the same amount of agility that one might have trying to sprint through quick sand. With our endorphins high and the cheeseburger cravings on emergency level, we headed to the locker room, laughing about our poor life choices and discussing what women use to stuff their bras.
“Pudding. I’ve heard pudding is an excellent bra stuffer.”
We are going over the fascinating details of the pudding pushup when Trish (not the real name) undoes her ponytail, begins shaking her hair to-and-fro as if we are all in an organic conditioner commercial, and casually says:
“I love that hip hop class. But I just don’t know if I could do those moves and get all sweaty in front of a guy. I would look weird! Yea. I just couldn’t do it.”
I am not sure if Trish noticed that as she recited this comment, I was standing in front of her wearing a fanny pack, mismatching socks, and a classic D.A.R.E. t-shirt. I looked like a little boy geared up to take over the neighborhood park with water balloons and cheese crackers. You could tell by my choice in outfit that my last concern in life is whether or not my fitness activities will deter a man. If you know me well, you know that I consider fanny packs to be quite the sexual attraction.
Yesterday I went to a comedy show in Hollywood. I shared a table with a very beautiful woman named Heather (not the real name) who had posture better than the flag pole outside of every elementary school. Heather was chatty. Which is fine. But I was busy stuffing my face with chicken sliders.
“It is so weird that they serve food here,” she said as she watched me salt my fries.
...is it that weird?
I start thinking that maybe she is correct.
...we are in a comedy club. With people in it. At dinner time. I am hungry. I am hungry. I am hungry. These are my thoughts. I am hungry.
I offer her a sweet potato fry or two. But no more than two. Because I am selfish.
“Ehyou wahnt one?” My mouth is kind of sort of maybe like a hamster preparing for the worst Montana winter.
“Oh. No. The guy I am dating only likes girls from New York. And those girls are so beautiful, graceful, and thin. So --- I can’t eat as much as I used to. It would be awkward if I ate.”
... would it be awkward? I am hungry.
WHAT I HAVE TO SAY
If someone says that you are weird, awkward, not normal, special, or strange -- thank them.
In second grade, Handsome Todd (real name) announced to my class that I was weird
after I read aloud a short story about mermaid cats. Instead of thanking Handsome Todd, I didn’t say a word in any classroom until ninth grade when Pretty Brianna (almost real name) told me that I was funny. And that she liked my pocket-less jeans. I spent approximately eight years quiet and not myself because some dude with freckles and a cool Pogs collection told me I was weird
I am proud of my credentials as a weird, awkward, and “different” woman.
In first grade, I made sure to wear diamond-studded suspenders in my school picture. It is still one of my favorite portraits.
My sister and I stood on our front lawn for an entire hour in full-on scarecrow costumes to see how many people we could fool into thinking we were actually scarecrows. One person honked. That was good enough.
When I first learned about Balto the hero sled dog, I tied a jump rope around my hips, put my sister in a wagon, gave her the ropes, and walked around the neighborhood, barking. The bully neighbor would throw rocks at us as we sped (trotted) by. The now fully grown bully neighbor is in jail. Actually, I don’t know that for certain. But if he kept throwing rocks at people into his adulthood, the statistics show that he would be in jail.
Remember the mermaid cat story that Handsome Todd cut down? Seven years later, I won a prestigious writing award for my short story about my cat. The award was so prestigious that I can't remember the title of it. And to clarify, the short story was not about a mermaid
cat. But I plan on writing that novel eventually and making a lot
I thought this photo was an excellent idea to send into a modeling agency:
They told me I was pretty and creative. But they weren’t looking to sign on any models to their agency at the moment. I now use this photo to blackmail myself.
During a fashion show, the zipper on my dress broke. Instead of running off and crying, I did a little shimmy and shake on stage. The audience didn’t feel sorry for me. They laughed. And I think they liked my underwear choice.
Yea. OK. My toenail polish isn’t the best. It’s a little discolored. But that is because I am busy working
If I want garlic, I will order garlic. I don’t care what date I am on. That is what gum is for.
I used to be embarrassed that I have two cats. I now make YouTube videos with them (please view example video here
Eat noodles in a prom dress at your local chain restaurant. Read your rhyming animal poems aloud. Do dedicated burpees in the middle of the gym floor. Lift more weight than the guy on the bench next to you. Trip on absolutely nothing but your own movement. Laugh at yourself running to classical music on the treadmill.
Awkward burns more calories. Laughing out loud keeps the fat away.
You better shake it out. You better run into a glass door. Make a fool of yourself and fall in love.