Good morning Star-shines!
Yesterday I spent 4 hours alone at one of the homes of the family I nanny for. It was one of those situations that the furnace repairman could come at any time between 9:00am and 12:00pm and since the ways of the repairmen are so esoteric, there was no way of guessing what time he would possibly choose to come. Let’s just say I arrived at 8:45 (innocently under the impression he may actually arrive at 9:00) and sat around in the freezing cold house alone for 4 1/2 hours for creepy furnace repairman to show up (LATE!) question my right to be in the house (I’m the nanny…) and then inform me (multiple times) that he would love for me to be his nanny (ew) (no)(middle aged men DON’T have nannies). And he didn’t even fix the furnace, I question whether he wasn’t just some rando crazy off the street that I naively let into the house. The point is, I had a lot of time on my hands so I decided to throw together a new “about me section” (maybe it’s just me but writing about myself always takes me back to my middle school myspace days). It’s nothing special but it’s a little less gauche than the last one which I literally hated from the moment I put it up. In honor of my handy work (talking about myself), I figured we should celebrate by more talking about me. I mean I’m so good at it and it’s really an awful talent to let go to waste.
SEVEN THINGS YOU PROBABLY NEVER KNEW ABOUT ME:
The most amazing place I have ever been in my entire life is Florence, Italy. I would do just about anything to go back including giving up my first born child to Rumplestiltskin. The cobblestone streets were filled with history and art and music and most importantly, GELATO, it was magical, it was beautiful and everyday felt like a whimsical dream. My second favorite place in the entire world is “The Baths” which contrary to the implication is not a giant clawfoot tub, it’s a natural wonder (in my opinion) on the island of Virgin Gorda in the Caribbean. It’s pretty gorgeous, there are mermaid caverns, and lots of sunshine and sometimes there are Rasta men with thick Caribbean accents who make friendship bracelets.
I absolutely despise being alone, as in I start to go mentally insane after approximately 2 hours. I can’t even do homework or write a blog by myself, I have to go to a coffee shop or library or somewhere I can just be around people so I don’t become one of those crazy people who rips their own hair out or something insane (ahem, Amanda Bynes, ahem). That being said, as of this morning, I’m ALL ALONE for a week (not really creepy stalkers because I have my roommate and her boyfriend) but Jeff is gone. Who is going to stroke my hair as I fall asleep? Who is going to tell me that drinking an entire bottle of champagne on a Wednesday night is a bad idea? Who is going to take Boo out when it’s raining?! We’ve already established I don’t have any friends soo that isn’t an option. If I start to tweet violently aggressive messages towards the media, or about my obsession with any random male celebrity (Drake in Amanda’s case) please send me to Florida so Jeff can take care of me. Thanks.
I’m the world’s most terrible driver, as in I always go five miles under the speed limit, I have mini panic attacks every single time I have to change lanes (IT’S SCARY) and if I have to parallel park there’s a good chance the car behind me is getting the teeniest tiniest little love tap. I’m pretty sure I was cut out to be a rich Manhattan socialite with a driver to shuttle me around in a black town car or limo all day every day. Plus, that leaves more time for mimosas considering there is no way I would ever have to drive myself to and from brunch.
I like my bananas to be green, as in I only like them when they aren’t ripe. Jeff thinks this is the weirdest thing but something about eating a yellow banana (or WORSE a yellow and brown speckled banana) makes me want to gag. Give me a good ol’ unripe banana that leaves a bitter aftertaste dancing around my mouth and we’re golden. Oh, also on a fun side note, as a child I would refuse to eat bananas at all because they reminded me of monkeys which terrified me. Think about it, monkeys are actually really creepy…
Once upon a time there was a horribly outrageously hilarious day in which I made Jefferson cry three times in two hours. That day was last Friday. He started off his sob fest after I read him a poem I wrote for my children’s literature class. I was dying because it really wasn’t that sad of a poem, it wasn’t like I wrote a haiku about puppies drowning or anything. But speaking of such a sad topic, next we watched Marley and me and he was crying the whole entire time. I might have shed a few tears at the end but my soul is pretty darn black so you can never really tell. I helped Jefferson get his life together (or so I thought) by reminding him that Marley lived a long happy life with his family and of course that Boo is still so young and we have many happy years left together. I thought we’d moved on but fifteen minutes later after saying something sweet and mushy, he was crying again. Moral of the story, anyone that says they want a sensitive man has not experienced my boyfriend.
When I go out with friends I like to make up false identities. Sometimes my friends are in on these shenanigans and sometimes they’re not. Either way, I’m using my imagination just like my kindergarden teacher taught me to. Usually I like to pretend I’m a rich socialite model named “Gemma” or something exotic like that. Because rich socialite models don’t mind trouncing around frat parties in their louboutin heels right? I mean I can’t even name all of the Victoria’s secret angels I’ve run into during Greek Week, they can’t stay away! Anyways, we really must get ourselves back on topic, this conversation is errant! If you’ve never made up a secret celebrity identity for yourself to use when random guys try to hit on you, I suggest you try. If they believe you it’s cool because they’re going to go brag to their friends that they met the girl who just placed landed a spread in the January issue of Seventeen magazine. If they don’t believe you, it’s cool because they think you’re a crazy pathological liar and chances are they won’t be hitting on you again.
When I was a kid I was a real freak show, I know, I know, hard to believe. I was the world’s most terrible and mean sister. I used to trick my baby brother (a toddler at the time) by pretending I was dying. Yes, I will now begin accepting nominations for “Cruelest Big Sister in the Whole Wide World”. Basically I would fall to the floor pretending to gasp for air and pleading with him to save me. He would quickly burst into tears and I would console him by croaking that there was one way he could save his one and only sibling from an untimely death. Usually this method of saving me would involve letting me use the gameboy for the entire afternoon, or giving me the last mini snickers bar or something of the sort. The poor scarred child would agree and I would miraculously heal. Then I probably spend the rest of the afternoon cackling wickedly to myself with my mini snickers in my lime green bedroom, as most sociopaths do. Don’t worry though, he eventually got back at me…which is a another story for another day (if I can ever bring myself to tell it…it really was pretty scary).
I think this little write about myself exercise has been wildly successful…I may have discovered that the real reason I don’t have any friends at my new school. Could it be that I’m a sociopath and pathological liar who only likes green bananas? Let me know what you think!
Au revoir my sweets!