Babies.

So...I went home this weekend.

And it was excellent. I miss my fams and my pets while I'm at school.

But while I was there, I found out something that seriously pissed me the hell off.

Background: In the latter part high school, I hung out in a group of three: me and my two best friends. I was super close with them. They were hardcore Christians, but they still accepted me and didn't judge me, which was awesome. And I didn't judge them, obviously, because I was friends with them.

But one day the summer before college, I brought over some tarot cards I'd received as a gift. I thought they were kinda cool, so I pulled them out to show them. And they freaked the hell out and didn't talk to me the rest of the night. So I got up super early and left.

It was awful, because they were my BFFs and it sucked that they judged me like that. It would have been cool if it was just like, "That's really cool that you found something that you might like, but we're not into that. Let's do something else." But no. Suckage.

So that was the end of a friendship.

This weekend, I found out that yet ANOTHER person I knew in high school had a baby. She is also one of their very best friends and goes to their church.

And do you know what?? They were so damn happy for her. There was no judgment at all. So I guess it's OK if you sin by having sex before marriage AND a baby, but to look at tarot cards? That's seriously fucked up.

It's not like tarot cards are even like satanic or anything terrible. They're just for fun, or at least they were for me, and I made that clear.

That just pissed me off. Why are people so happy for all the young people that are having babies based on an accidental pregnancy? It should be embarrassing. It IS embarrassing. Gone With the Wind got it right. You should probably try your hardest to hide that shit instead of celebrating a mistake that is so easily prevented.

Rant over.

What is this feeling??

This is based loosely on personal experience.

Scenario 1: You first feel this probably after you wake up one morning. You're washing your face, and then you notice that something isn't right. It kind of feels like there's a little tightness—maybe a dull pain. And you think, "Dammit! No! It can't be!" But after feeling around, you confirm that it, in fact, is.

What is this feeling??: You have a pimple. Potentially on your chin. Potentially in the same freaking spot you've gotten a pimple your entire life since puberty. Maybe there's even a scar there. But that's OK, because at least you don't have to worry about picking at it! It's already scarred! Awesome!

Scenario 2: Again, this is probably after you wake up in the morning. Or maybe even if you wake up in the middle of the night, as I so often do. Your brain says, "Hello, you are awake now, open your eyes." And you do, but it seems like more of a struggle that usual. It feels like after you fell asleep, somebody came and dabbed your eyes with jello and then it melted and hardened.

What is this feeling??: You have eye boogers. You should probably rub them. Or maybe someone really did come and dab jello on your face. In which case I would suggest an alarm system.

Scenario 3: You have to pee. Or poop. Or...sit on a toilet for whatever reason. Maybe you just enjoy toilet seats. That's cool. But when you go to sit down, you get to a certain point and then find that you can't control your muscles past that. You have two choices: fall the rest of the way to the toilet seat, or hold it.

What is this feeling??: You have pulled your ass muscles. You probably ran too much. Or did too many squats. Hooray fitness! But hopefully the results you are seeing makes it worth the difficulty in the bathroom. 

Scenario 4: You feel as if someone lit a match in your cleavage. It's like sunburn, but worse. You go to touch it and quickly find that this was a terrible idea, for you have only stoked the fire.

What is this feeling??: You had an incredibly persistent itch and forgot that you have long fingernails now because you have vowed to stop biting them so you don't look so damn nubby. So you kept scratching at that stupid little itch and now you've removed a few layers of skin. It's going to hurt for a couple of days. I would suggest lotion and less-hot showers. And also an avoidance of push-up bras.

Scenario 5: You are ENRAGED. The fire is not in your cleavage, but in your soul. You want to punch people in the face. No, you want to punch BABIES in the face. All babies ever in all places. This is the extent of your anger.

What is this feeling??: Well, it could really be a plethora of things. Perhaps you're watching "Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader?" and the contestant spells the word vowel "voul." Perhaps your football team just lost to fucking VANDERBILT. Maybe you have a class with Poop (in which case, I am so terribly sorry). Or maybe your calculus teacher decided to give you an extension on the homework that you stayed up until 6 a.m. to finish. But you're definitely pissed. 

Please do not actually punch babies.

Simply because I want to be Jenna Marbles....

....I have decided to take a cue from her and spend some time really reflecting on the things that I am truly terrible at.

Leave me a comment on here or facebook with things you suck at! It's OK, we all suck at something. Or lots of things.

1. Running.

I have begun an endeavor with one of my roommates called "Couch to 5K" in which we are supposed to be able to run a 5K in eight weeks. That is in fact two months. I am doubtful of my capabilities. I really REALLY suck at running. Like, my intense jogging speed is the same as my walking speed. I just happen to be doing a sort of hoppy walk. Also, my ankles turn out because otherwise my knees don't go straight. And so I look like a stupid duck idiot when I run/jog/hop-walk.

But I HAVE made progress! I ran for three minutes straight! Two times! In the same day!

2. Remaining calm.

I worry about all things all the time. It's a little not funny because it's actually a disorder. But it is mostly funny. I just get stuck on the dumbest shit. Usually it's that I'm afraid I've done something to make boyfriend upset. But most of the time I have done nothing and he's not even acting any different. There is just no reason. None.

3. Being quiet.

I am a loud and boisterous person. I just am. And you either love me for it or hate me for it. There's not a lot of in between with me...like there isn't really a middle ground with people who are like, "Eh, I guess Kelly is OK." No. It is love or hate. At least in my experience.

4. Doing hair.

I'm with you on this one, Jenna. Most days it just goes up because I don't give enough of a fuck to actually do something to it. I blame my hair for not quite being curly or straight, but somewhere in between, like at an awkward crinkly/frizzy/stick out wherever it wants to stage.

5. Putting pants on.

I literally have no sense of balance. Even with underwear, where I just have to stick my foot through a hole and put it right back on the ground, which takes all of about two seconds, I will fall over. It has happened before. And I end up hitting the ground hard with my legs all tangled up in my bunchy pants and then my mom runs upstairs like, "I heard a crash! Are you ok??" and I'm just sitting on the floor in my twisty pants and feeling like a turd. So I try to lean against something now.

6. Drawing.

Ugh, it's so embarrassing. I'm AWFUL. And my parents always say, "You're not bad at drawing! You won a drawing contest!" But that contest was in Kindergarten. And my prairie dogs looked like mutant aliens. Their heads were severely misshapen. Their moms must have been taken acutane when they were pregs.

7. Sleeping like a grown up.

I sleep with stuffed animals. I stopped for about a year or so in high school because dammit, I wanted to be an adult. But then I started again when boyfriend got me my beloved giraffe Geoffrey for V-day last year. And I will always sleep with stuffed animals. Probably when I am married even. I mean, I guess it doesn't have to be an animal. It could just be a pillow.

How could you not want to cuddle with that???

I JUST WANT SOMETHING TO HUG, OK?

Giving the finger to parking services

Just, this:

Also, this, because I forgot:

I hope they get attacked by gigantic spikey snakes. I will BREED snakes that can sniff out Auburn University Parking Services and then I will adhere spikes to their backs with special snake super glue and send them on their sniffing way. Slither on, spikey-ass snakes. EAT PARKING SERVICES.

EAT THEM.

The sneeze heard 'round the world

There is a girl. She is in my abnormal psychology class. I'm relatively sure she lives in boyfriend's apartment complex. She is loud and obnoxious and talks way too much in class. I do not know her name. But if I had to make up a name to fit her personality, I would pick Poop. 

I can tell you, friends, exactly when I noticed Poop's obnoxiousness. One day in class, we were talking about how accurate IQ tests were. And our professor asks, "Do IQ tests really measure intelligence?" Poop says, "No." Professor asks why. And Poop says, "Well, you can be in college and be dumb as rocks. Like athletes. They're dumb." 

Athletes. 

They're dumb.

Good point there, Poop. Truly, well thought out and well executed.

Another day in class, we were discussing panic attacks. Our professor had also brought up test anxiety earlier in the class to show the difference between fear and anxiety. And Poop raises her hand and tells this delectable story:

"Can test anxiety cause a panic attack? (professor tried to stop her here by telling her yes, but Poop would not have it.) Because my cousin had a panic attack during finals last year. Like, we were outside waiting to go in for the test and she started like hyperventilating. I thought it was funny."

And our professor, god bless her soul, gets this look on her face and says, "Yeah...it's not really that funny."

Seriously. Why is this girl a psychology major?? Please, PLEASE do not become a counselor, Poop. 

Based on these two events, my friends/classmates and I have begun taking a tally of how many times she talks during class. She's averaging about 25 times per class period, which is FIFTY MINUTES. Now, I know I'm a liberal arts major, but it's pretty clear that that is actually twice a minute that Poop feels she must make a comment. 

Our professor has clearly begun to detest her as well. Whenever Poop raises her hand, she tries pretty hard to ignore her. But it's difficult, because Poop tends to just speak up anyway. My favorite thing was when she said something and the class audibly groaned. Hilarious.

But here was the tipping point. This earned her five tallies on our "Number of times Poop speaks in class tally." She sneezed.

Now, when I say she sneezed, I don't mean a normal "Aa-choo" sneeze. This sneeze was fucking nuclear. It was terrifying. I don't know that I can accurately describe it through typing, but it was something like, "Huh-GAHHHH."

And we LOST. IT. My row of friends and I legitimately laughed for 10 minutes straight. Whenever we would finally get it together, one of us would re-imagine it in our heads and we'd start all over again.

At least Poop gave us some entertainment to break the monotony of pure frustration she leaves in her path.