And now I have a child phobia

Sometimes I get really excited at the thought of having my own kiddo one day. I know- weird, right? I mean, shouldn't I be savoring my youth right now and not fantasizing about being tied down by burps, bottles, blankets and butt rashes?

Don't worry, I'm not trying to give birth to a miniature me anytime soon. I already have my hands full trying to properly train both a puppy and a boyfriend, all while working full-time and finishing up my degrees. Still, I plan on being a mother one day when I have all my ducks in a row.

Though I understand and respect the fact that some men and women choose not to have children, I can't imagine not having one. Kids are cute, entertaining, and hilarious! Yeah they have their bad days but hey, who doesn't? I have like four mental break downs a week, which each typically include a lot of kicking and screaming, so I could easily handle a two year old's temper tantrum. In fact, my child and I will probably have joint tantrums in which together we punch pillows, scream at imaginary people, hit our heads on the wall, and then calm down with milk and cookies. It would make for some great mother-child bonding.

Moreover, having a child will provide me with an excuse for doing a lot of things that I really love doing but, being a young, childless female, am often looked down upon for. For instance, I could finally wear yoga pants all day, every day and simply blame it on the fact that 'little Johnny kept me up to 4 am last night' or 'I've been so busy chasing after little Johnny that I haven't had the chance to do a load of laundry'. Other mothers will praise me for mustering up the strength to actually put on pants, much less yoga pants, and go out in public despite being terrorized by a demon child. Whether or not my child truly is a demon that prevented me from dressing in respectable attire is irrelevant. So long as there is a believable alibi, I'm in the clear. Most importantly though I'll be super duper comfy- and guilt free- in my black stretch pants.

Also, having a child means I will finally have someone in my life that doesn't judge me for my unnatural and often absurd addiction to sweets. When I am inspired to eat ice cream for breakfast one morning or suddenly feel like making Chocolate Peanut Butter Banana Sandwiches (my own creation) in the panini press at 11:30 at night, my child will not shun me as being weird or gluttonous. Instead he/she will undoubtedly support me and be more than eager to join in on the fun. At last I will have a partner in crime to join me in my sugar binges! And let's be real- kids love sweets, meaning I will ultimately become the coolest mom on the block. I will stand apart from all the other flat butt, veggie forcin' mothers. I take great pride in this.

Lastly, when the house is a mess and company is on the way I will no longer stress myself to the max by attempting to do a house wide clean-up in 4.29 minutes. Instead I'll just say, "Hey there! Welcome to the house. Don't mind the mess, little Johnny was a bit of a wild one today! Ha Ha." To be honest I'll probably be contributing to the mess myself. I'll 'innocently' leave a dirty bowl on the living room table or a used towel on the bathroom floor, all while knowing in the back of my head that I can later blame it on my first born. Like I said, so long as there is a believable alibi, I'm in the clear.

So, yeah. One day I want a want a child (maybe two if the first one doesn't traumatize me too much) and I'm fairly excited at the thought of it.

Actually, correction: I was excited at the thought of it.


That is, until I saw this:

... and got totally creeped out. That young girl literally looks devilish. At first I was fully joking when I referred to my future child as a 'demon', but now I am fearful that one day that may be the actual case. From the eerie look in her eyes to the chilling smirk on her face, this child is a certified screwball. Oh! And don't forget to check out those slyly folded hands (which are probably concealing a knife) and the POINTED TOES. My God, the pointed-freakin-toes. Seriously. They give me goosebumps, people.

 

Now I'm afraid that I will have a child and this will happen:

Or maybe even this:

At this point any commentary from bona fide parents would be greatly appreciated. If I don't receive any positive reassurance sometime soon then I may schedule an appointment to have my tubes tied in the very near future.

If I run across another horrifying news story it may end up being a full blown hysterectomy.

A post in which I sound like a priss

I have a bit of a phobia and, as you may likely assume, it is not entirely 'normal'. But then again which phobias are?

Wait. I take that back. Some phobias are in fact normal. I mean, I totally get why people are dramatically fearful of dark, hairy eight-legged arachnids, and I entirely understand why being lifted 1,000 feet above the ground leaves some feeling paralyzed. There is a reason why certain phobias such as these are notably common: they make sense. Spiders are gross and heights give you a sick feeling in your stomach. People should not like them. Period.

Get my point? END OF STORY.

So what is my phobia? Goodwill. Yes, folks. You heard right. I have a morbid fear of gently used donated items. This is nothing new either. I have been awkwardly afraid of the discount megastore since I was just a little girl.

Oh, the horror!

I spent a reasonable portion of my childhood with my grandma, either at her house or tagging along with her on various trips and errands. I typically enjoyed all of these trips, especially since my grandmother is void of the ability to say ‘no’ to a begging child (translation: she bought me a lot of stuff). There was but one place I loathed visiting and unfortunately it was one of my grandmother’s routine stops: Goodwill.

My grandmother would habitually drag me along with her to Goodwill so she could sort through their bin of second-hand sewing patterns- and when I say ‘drag’ I literally mean drag. I strongly vocalized to my grandmother my adamant disdain for the place but she didn’t care; she had sewing projects on her mind. I still debate as to whether or not this was child abuse.

That was me, a sad and abused child

Some of my detestation for Goodwill is a bit unexplainable. For instance, I get a mysteriously ill feeling every time I walk into the front doors of the store. It’s sort of like the feeling I imagine a person experiences when stepping foot into a house that is haunted by ghostly spirits. (Hi, I’m Clarissa and I’m super dramatic!)

I’ll save both of us the difficulty and instead focus on the reasons which I can explain, provided in numerical form.

1. I strongly believe that everything in the story, from the clothes to the books to the furniture, is completely contaminated by boogers and dust mites. As a child I would either refrain from touching anything in the store or frantically wash my hands after coming into physical contact with an item. Of course the latter would then require me to use the Goodwill bathroom (which I have yet an entirely separate phobia of); therefore, the safest bet has always been to keep my hands in my pockets at all times.
2. The majority of people in Goodwill are straight up weird with a capital “W”. This includes both the employees and the customers. Every where you look there are combovers, camel toes, tube socks and LA Gears. It goes beyond physical appearance, too. I personally cannot trust the mental soundness of anyone willing to buy and wear a used pair of shoes or, even worse, used UNDERWEAR. No, this time I am not exaggerating. Goodwill does in fact sell used underwear, or at least boxers, briefs and tighty whiteys. I saw the wretched rack with my own eyes, people.
3. One time my grandmother was checking out a blanket at Goodwill and when she unraveled it a huge spider came charging out in her direction. We both screamed and jumped around wildly because, well, spiders are scary- remember? Also, I’m 99.9% sure the spider was a fatal black widow, meaning my grandmother almost lost her life that day. In other words, Goodwill tried to kill my grandmother.
4. Another time at Goodwill, when I was approximately fourteen or so, I was followed around the store by a pedophile. Again, I am not exaggerating. That day my grandmother and I were approached by two Goodwill security officers and shown actual video surveillance of the prowling man. He had since left the store but we were still told to be wary in case he was lurking outside. Once being informed of the perv stalking her youthful granddaughter, my grandmother immediately wrapped up her shopping (THANK GOD) and we were escorted to her station wagon. The officers advised us to keep an eye out in case any vehicle begins following us and to call 911 if we sense any suspicious activity. From that day on I’ve refused to walk through Goodwill without mace and a switchblade. Ok, fine. That part is an exaggeration.

Anyway, there you have it: My 101 four reasons why Goodwill gives me the creeps. Perhaps surprisingly though, I actually mustered up the courage this past Saturday and visited the Tacoma Goodwill with B. I still refused to touch anything and openly gawked at all the shoppers that were fondling stained flannels and worn shoes, but it was definitely an unforeseen effort on my part. Naturally I rewarded my brave attempt with the purchase of an ice cream sundae… and, of course, a vigorous hand washing.

College, schmollege

I'm currently rounding out my senior year at the University of Washington and am now under pressure to choose a graduate field of study. Unlike an undergraduate degree, achieving your graduate degree is not at all a liberal process. There are no longer vague prerequisite courses that allow you to gradually build a solid footing; there is no longer the opportunity to select leisure electives to fulfill empty credits; there is no room for switching majors/concentrations half way through. At this point I need to know exactly what the hell I plan on doing with the rest of my life. If not I will be wasting a substantial amount of money and believe me, I already have enough student loan debt to keep me occupied for many years. Many, many years.

So please, people. Help me choose what I want to be when I grow up.

I feel your pain, girlfriend.

I know I want to work with people, preferably in an intimate and creative way. The occupation that has been at the front of my mind for awhile now is teaching. Not only would I be able to work closely with people- staff, students and parents- but I would also be able to release some creative juices via curriculum and lessons plans. If I go this route I am 99.9% sure that I will teach high school science. I'm not a science buff by any means but there is a huge shortage of secondary science teachers thus equaling a higher number of job openings and, most importantly, the chance for federal student loan forgiveness.

So what's the problem, right? Well, here's the thing.... teachers neither get paid much nor well, though I'm sure you and every other American already knew that. Like, duh. For all the time and energy you invest in helping to shape a positive future for countless students you are rewarded with a rather meager salary. Don't get me wrong, it's not all about money. Still, money is something I am definitely forced to consider when attempting to plan out my future. By the time I wrap up all of these tiring years of full-time schooling (while concurrently working full-time as well) I want to enjoy myself, which, to some degree, requires a ballin' bank account.

These ballers are having nothing short of a fun time.

Secondly, I have good grades. And when I say "good grades" I mean damn good grades. I'm a straight up nerd to the to the umpteenth degree. My GPA would give me exceptional advantage in terms of gaining admission to competitive graduate programs, i.e. law. I feel I should apply my academics toward... shall I say... a more prestigious career.

I'm sorry, teachers. I admire you! Truly, I do. It's just the rest of society that fails to do the same.

All I know is that I have roughly two months to figure out the rest of my life, or at least the professional/occupational realm of my existence, which will naturally bleed into all other areas of my life and thus is a big freakin' deal. Do I become a teacher? A lawyer? A neurobiologist? The next leading NASA chief engineer?

I'll give it another month or so and then I'm going to draw a name out of a hat.