Forgive me web friends, for I have sinned

Today I did something that I vowed I would never do. I did something that for once may actually cause me to lose all family, friends, and even acquaintances. Something so horrid and shameful that I must admit it in writing in order to cleanse myself of all sinful feeling… sorta like when Catholics go to confession except I’m not Catholic but instead a member of the technology generation and it’s to the interwebs I pray.


Moving along… It’s been nearly eight hours since I did this dirty deed and I still feel uneasy about the whole thing. To be honest, I’m confused as to what really happened. What caused this tragic turn of events? Was I brainwashed? Mind spasm? Quarter-life crisis? I want to know how I got here and what direction I should go next.

Tonight as I sit here in my living, with the lights down low and candles lit, I hopelessly scream out, “Why, oh WHY, did I do this? Someone please tell me…. Why on earth did I…. buy… CLOGS?!”


YES. It’s true, my friends. I, Clarissa [Last name revoked due to privacy/weirdo issues], purchased a pair of wooden clogs.




Mine are a tad less traditional than this


It all happened so fast. One minute I was walking into the store and the next minute I was walking out with a pair of stocky wooden slip-on heels. I’m shocked, I’m appalled, I’m embarrassed, and I’m… torn. Yes, TORN. I have suddenly succumbed to the current most hated trend in fashion and am not sure whether or not I’m ok with this.

I blame it on Jeffrey Campbell and his extraordinary talent at shoe design. Nearly every shoe that that man turns out tugs at my heart strings. I’ve always been a fan of chunkier shoes, which Jeffrey Campbell excels at. I also adore his funky mod designs that drastically separate his shoes from all other generic shoe designers. If there is anyone to turn me on to the whole clog thing it would certainly be him. And he did... I think.



A sample of his manipulative work


I’m still in a bit of shock though, and also denial. I almost refuse to allow myself to go along with this. As I type this I contemplate returning them back to the store first thing tomorrow morning. Not only will I have more cash in my wallet but I will also have my dignity back intact.

Then, while piecing this post together, I came across this collection of images:

MILEY CYRUS WEARS JEFFREY CAMPBELL CLOGS, TOO! Suddenly everything feels so much better. I mean if a mega celebrity like herself sports identical shoes than I’m fine! Actually, I’m better than fine- I’m extra hip and totally on top of what’s hot in Hollywood!

Yeah, not. Discovering that picture did nothing but make me feel even more mortified. Today I not only bought a stupid pair of Dutch inspired shoes, but I also likened myself to Miley Cyrus.


ULTIMATE FAIL.

Movin' on up

I'm in need of some change. I need change like the entire Jersey Shore cast needs life coaches. I'm getting a strong case of the blahs and am starting to think a change of scenery would do me good. A new town, new home, new people, new places... Essentially I want to pack up all my measly belongings and move to a resort in some distant tropical locale.

Unfortunately, I have a lot of things on my plate right now and the likelihood of me being able to drop everything and start entirely new is equivalent to -99.9%. In other words: it’s not happening, partna. I have one more quarter left until I’m done with my BA degree- hallelujah!- and then next June I’ll start school again for my MA in teaching. All of the grad programs I’m looking at are local so I’m pretty much stuck within this area for the next year and a half or so. That’s not a bad thing though. I love Washington and the Pacific Northwest. In fact, I would love to stay within this region for the rest of my life.

With that said, I think I’m just sick of *exactly* where I live, which is downtown Tacoma. Don’t get me wrong, Tacoma in general is a great city and I especially love how they’ve revamped the entire downtown area. Our vintage apartment is extremely fun and unique as well, not to mention conveniently located near all of downtown’s lively places. Even with all that though, I’m still yearning to get the heck out of this place. I’m done with the bars, bums, and recently installed parking meters. Our apartment is so hard and cold with its sharp corners, towering ceilings, huge windows, and old wood floors. I want a home with a garage I can park my car in and a backyard my dog can roll around in. Oh, and a fireplace I can drink wine next to! Is that too much to ask?

I want to leave this place:

Cross the westbound side of this bridge:

And live here:

Yes, I want to move to Gig Harbor, an area that is polar opposite of downtown Tacoma. It’s slower, less built, and much more Martha Stewart. Sadly, even being an energetic woman in her early twenties, this is what I crave more than ever. I want to trade in my boisterous twenties in exchange for the life of a humdrum forty year old. It’s official: I’ve lost my youth. Next thing I know I’ll bring drinking Ensure, poppin’ prunes, and seeking a membership at the Elks Club.

You can go ahead and attempt to save me, but I think it’s too late. Instead please support me and promise not to defriend me for my whacky ways. I’m crossing my fingers that moving across the bridge will be the end of my aged ambitions. If it gets any worse, like me having Tupperware parties and planting petunias in the backyard, I give you permission to shoot me.

Not seriously but I do give you permission to grab me and shake me vigorously while screaming, “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”


Deal?

Clarissa+Gum=Love

I have a passionate infatuation with gum. How passionate you ask? Let’s just say that I go through several packs a week. I’m like Violet Beauregarde from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. It’s that serious. The chances of you catching me without a pack of gum in my bag is about -.05%. In truth, I probably have multiple packs on me, typically at least one fruity flavor and one mint flavor.


At this rate it can be somewhat of an expensive habit so I often buy multiple packs when a certain brand is on sale at the grocery store. I would guesstimate that I spend approximately $7-10 a week on gum, which to me, a broke college student, is a sizeable amount of money. I still make the sacrifice though since it’s not a bad habit to feed into. Gum not only freshens your breath but it also cleans your teeth. What’s so bad about that?

After all, I could be addicted to meth. But I'm not. Thank God.


Gum > Meth.

Anyway, I was at Fred Meyer yesterday buying eight hundred pounds of grapes- another costly addiction of mine- when I came across a catchy display of new gum flavors. Upon closer inspection I discovered that Wrigley’s Extra gum has released a new line of flavors titled ‘Dessert Delights’ featuring the following flavors: Key Lime Pie, Chocolate Chip Mint, and Strawberry Shortcake. Being a huge fan of everything and anything in the dessert category, I immediately swooped up a pack of the Key Lime Pie. I was so stoked I may or may not have unwrapped the pack before even stepping foot outside the Fred Meyer exit.

My verdict?

HOLY YUM! It’s amazing. As I raved to a few people, you can not only taste the creamy key lime but also the buttery graham cracker crust! It's every Weight Watchers member's dream come true. But really- try the gum. NOW. It’s so realistically delicious. I plan on trying the other flavors as soon as I get through this pack, which will likely be at the end of today.

After discovering this astounding gum, I began to brainstorm other realistically delicious flavors. To touch upon Charlie and the Chocolate Factory again, it’s kind of like the three-course meal flavor Willy Wonka developed, which contained the flavors of tomato soup, roast beef with a baked potato, and blueberry pie- all which are experienced in sequential manner when being chewed. Y'know, like a real three-course meal. Der.

Without further ado, here are some flavors of gum I would trade my right pinky finger for. (Because who uses that finger anyway?)


Pumpkin Pie with Whipped Cream

Mango Sticky Rice

Banana Nut Bread



Red Bean Mochi



Cherry Cheesecake



Champagne


B’s dream flavor?



Turkey Dinner

Barf.

Feel free to chime in with your personal fantasy flavors.

Or not.

Whatever.

Lazy Sunday

B is out of the house today. He's in Seattle taking care of some final business before Basic Radio's record label showcase this upcoming Thursday. In other words, he's doing 'future rock star things'.

So while he is off being a Very Important Person, I'm at home... alone... and bored.

That's pretty much the face I've been making since I woke up at 7 o'clock this morning. I'm bored out of my mind, folks. I've already taken a shower, eaten breakfast, and surfed the internet for what seemed like an eternity, so I'm running out of things to do. I don't know a thing about football so I can't even entertain myself with the Seahawks game airing today. I can't even play with my dog because, well, she's doing this...

Luckily I only have a hour or two to kill and then I will be meeting up with my best friend and her son. We're going to head up North and partake in some shopping, which is funny considering I'm broker than broke. I'm not really sure how it's all going to pan out since, a.) I don't want to overdraw my account, b.) I don't want to use a credit card, and c.) I don't steal things. We'll see how it goes.

In the meantime, enjoy these self-portraits I took.

See- I wasn't kidding about the whole being bored thing.

(And I wasn't kidding about the broke thing either. Any and all donations are gladly accepted.)

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 where I sound like a girl

Lately I’ve been having a lot of ‘ladies nights’ with some of my close girlfriends. We’re talking, like, three or four gal nights a month which is surprisingly often for someone like myself.

Though I have nothing against my feminine counterparts, I prefer to spend a large majority of my time at home. I’m a creature of comfort and my notion of a good time is lounging on my couch in sweats with my man at one side, my dog at the other and a fat bowl of ice cream in my lap. Again, I love my best friend with every ounce of my heart and I adore the nights I spend with my other gal pals, but there is just something I find undeniably appealing about being a hermit. For now I will blame it on Astrology and the fact that I’m a Cancer. I don’t really know much about signs, horoscopes and all that jazz but I do remember reading something about Cancers being home bodies. So, yeah. That is my story excuse and I’m stickin’ to it.

I’ve really been enjoying these ladies nights I’ve been partaking in, especially since I’ve been having them with a group of women that are pretty similar to myself. Like me they all enjoy wine, good food and outspoken conversations. They are also fairly rowdy women, which is great since I can be quite noisy (particularly when alcohol is involved) and hate the feeling I get when I'm amid a "softer" crowd. It's sort of how a howler monkey would feel if it were trapped among a bunch of sloths. Awkward and uncomfortable.


This is a good depiction of me after a couple glasses of Merlot

I am penciled in for another get together this evening and though I am excited, I am also a tad nervous. You see, I’ve been dealing with a small issue that is a result of these events. Actually, in the feminine realm this is not a small issue at all. It is a MASSIVELY GINORMOUS issue in fact.

It is every woman’s dreaded nightmare…. weight gain.

This is the most inaccurate portrayal of female weight gain that I've ever seen

Yes, I’ve noticed my weight fluctuating lately. Nothing big, maybe a pound or two… or three or four. It’s truly nothing that I should cry about to the World Wide Web; however, it is a little alarming. Why? Because regularly I’m a notably healthy eater, so much that it sometimes annoys those around me. Thus these pounds are not exactly ‘natural weight gain’. Instead, they are the product of one *single* night of indulgence.

To put it blatantly: I eat A LOT of food during these ladies nights. So much that my body cannot keep up with all the fat and calories it’s ingesting within such a short period of time. We’re talkin’ countless chicken wings, huge bowls of rice, many bags of kettle corn, multiple pieces of cheesecake, continual bits of pie... and so on. I know some analytical brains out there may argue that this is not humanly possible but hey, guess what? IT IS. Well, either that or my scale is playing some serious mind games with me.

I don't know what she's so heartbroken about either

Luckily I think that I’ve discovered the perpetrator and I’m sad to say it’s actually one of my dear friends… Vino. Yes, I blame my gluttonous eating on the numerous glasses of wine I consume during these events. There is something about wine that makes me lose all inhibitions, especially with food. After the first glass of wine I find myself having vivid fantasies about seven-layer chocolate cake topped with a dozen scoops of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and covered with an entire jar of hot fudge. By the third glass I am actually eating all of that.

With all that said, I’ve come to realize that I may need to scale back on the wine consumption at these events if I wish to continue fitting in my skinny jeans. I feel so vain saying this but I’m being honest. I mean, what girl doesn’t want to look good? I know I do. If not for my own sanity than at least for B’s, since any substantial weight gain on my part will cause him to have to suffer bouts of me crying in the closest, clenching my skinny jeans tightly in my hands, and screaming out loud, “WHYYY?! WHY DID GOD HAVE TO MAKE ME SO FAT?!!”

THIS is frighteningly accurate portrayal of the above scenario

Yes, I have issues.

I’m going to scale back on the wine tonight to see how it goes. If it fails to help then I may have to resort to stapling my mouth shut after glass numero uno. That seems like a creepy alternative though so I am going to try and avoid it at all costs.

Wish me luck.


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.

I'm embarrassed of myself

There have been various moments through out my life, both past and present, in which I have been acutely embarrassed… of myself. I figured I’d share some of these sources of humiliation with the World Wide Web so that perhaps someone out there can enjoy laughter at my expense. Or, at the least, so that I can make someone else feel a lot better about their own self- 'cause I'm all philanthropic like that and stuff.

Let's roll.

#1.) As a child and adolescent I ate a lot of things off the ground- but I swear it was only fallen food items and always food that I myself had personally dropped. Still, this was no ‘5 second rule’ type of thing. It was like a 5 minute rule. I clearly remember one time, around the age of 11, when I crawled on all fours beneath the kitchen table and ate up every single chocolaty Coco Puff that I had spilled on the floor… along with various dust fragments and dog hairs. Perhaps this is why I have such a strong immune system.

It's only ok if I do this though. I will not put up with eyelashes in my Denny's omelet.

#2.) I once had a pager, a.k.a. a beeper. Not only that but I thought it was so, SO cool. It was red, sparkly and made me feel like a P-I-M-P. Friends would be like, “Alright Clarissa, I’ll call you later!” and I’d be like, “Nah, just hit me up on my beeper.” I even had the little clip that hooked onto my pants. Yeah, I know. It was and still is totally vomit inducing.

#3.) My favorite foods include imitation crab meat, oatmeal with mashed banana, fried onion topping and sticky rice wrapped in seaweed and dipped in fish sauce. With that said, it just occurred to me that imitation crab meat, fried onion topping and sticky rice wrapped in seaweed and dipped in fish sauce would be delicious, followed by oatmeal with mashed banana for dessert.

I will steal these out of your pantry and eat them off your green bean casserole

#4.) My grandmother is one of my best friends. I frequently call her up to see if she wants to go shopping, grab dinner, go see a movie or just simply allow me to come over and lounge on her bed for a few hours. I understand that this is not necessarily something to be embarrassed about; however, what is particularly embarrassing is that more often than not my requests to hang out are turned down. Apparently my seventy-four year old grandmother has better things to do than hang out with her loser granddaughter. Though typically she is already preoccupied with other plans, there are still a considerable number of moments in which my grandmother is supposedly “sick”. Now I know elderly people deal with an increased amount of health concerns, but I find it to be no coincidence that my grandmother always seems to have a cold, strep throat, or headache every time I call her to hang out. It’s as if my phone call has the power to suddenly strike her with pneumonia. Sound impossible? I agree.

Sorry grams but your cover is blown.

I'm surprised she even agreed to take a picture with me.

So yeah, I'm not only an embarrassment to myself but also to those closest to me. I'm sometimes surprised that there are actually people that do indeed like me. It probably helps that I stopped eating off the floor and gave up the pager. I now own a Sidekick though which is almost as equally as embarrassing as a pager. Unfortunately I'm stuck with it until an iPhone falls from the sky which I doubt will be happening anytime soon. Well, unless someone is willing to buy an iPhone for me and then throw it at me from twenty feet up a tree.

Eh?