Tag Archives: adulthood

How I Made Fire Smell Like Cookies

11 Jan

Hey guys! Guess what?? It’s story time!

When I was in elementary school, lightening hit our house and the resulting fire burned it down.

When I was in sixth, seventh, and eighth grade I had a series of vivid nightmares involving people… well, burning. I couldn’t use a stove without flinching during middle school.

I wanted to punch all those pyromaniacs in middle school in the face, but there were too many of them.

When I was in eighth grade one of my brothers and his friend decided to play the lite-all-the-things-on-fire game one lovely Saturday afternoon… It caught fire to his sheets. At the end of a long and very stressful day, our house was left in a heap of extra-crispy wood clumps.

If you’ve ever seen Stranger Then Fiction with Will Ferrell– best movie ever– think about that moment when Harold raises his arms in the air and yells hopelessly at the narrator… I had one of those moments that day.

In high school, our dog house, the backyard, a calender, and a small pile of sticks caught fire as well– still my brother and his friend. You would think after, you know, burning down the house, they’d burn up all their fire-related curiosity (Haha, you see what I did there? Yeah, Shakespeare ain’t got nothing on this witty lady).

But no. Apparently, that’s not how little brothers work.

What this led to was a strong sense of caution around fire, verging on pyro-phobia, that followed me well into college.

Today, however, I did something cool.

I lit a candle.

candle

He didn’t talk to me as I thought he would. Regardless, I’ve decided to name him Calcifer. I expect he’ll ask me to go save his master Howl any moment now.

If you look on the label, it has cookies on it. I figured it was worth the risk, if it could make my life smell like baked goods.

I’m not sure where we got this candle. I found it laying in a drawer in my parents house. It could be a magic candle, I guess, set there by the same lady that gave life to Pinocchio.

On the other hand, though, it could be an evil candle, set there by a dark wizard from the future determined to destroy me before I get to a point in my life where I do something vaguely important. Either way, my life has just before much more interesting.

The smell of the candle is somewhat disappointing, though. It smells like a creamy-sugary-delicious smell, not the burning-crispy-brick smell that I usually get from homemade cookies.

My next life goal is to set fire to the rain. Go big or go home, as they say.

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Being Adult: Because I’m a Lady. That’s Why.

10 Jul

Hey y’all 😀
Happy Monday Tuesday? Yes.
I like titling things, and then giving them subtitles. It makes me happy. SO I’ve decided that since I have a lot of things to say about my transition from teenager-hood to adult-get-a-real-life-hood, that I’m going to label them ”Being Adult”. Maybe this will also give me a reason to use the ‘Categories’ function too. So fancy.

As a college student approaching graduation, I’ve been collecting advice about: 1) How To Be Financially Independent From Your Parents and 2) How To Be A Classy Lady.

In regards to the second point, the best advice that I’ve gotten had come from ‘The Aristocats’: ladies don’t start fights but they can finish them and ‘Because I’m a lady, that’s why’ is an appropriate response for any occasion.

From personal experience, though, I’ve figured out that, as a lady, I gotta start reading labels before I buy important stuff—like pads.

[Hey guys. I know you guys cover your ears and walk away every time a girl starts talking about ‘feminine supplies’. I know this. I have brothers who do the exact same thing. But chill out, yo, because I have a solution.

Every time you read ‘pad’ or whatever just replace the word with PANDA, in your mind. BAM. Problem solved. You’re welcome.
I’ll even place in some visual clues, because, if you’re like my brothers, you’ll forget…
…then I’ll end up stuck at work because you got caught up in a heated part of Half Life 2 and couldn’t stop until you reached the Auto Save. Not cool, man. Not cool.]

I mentioned in my last blog post that it is impossible to walk into a grocery store and just find one particular thing. A couple of weeks ago, that item was [PANDAS] pads.

I was hoping that this would be a quick trip in and out—with minimal human interaction.

However, I was in a Kroger that I wasn’t very familiar with.
I didn’t have a firm layout of the store, but I figure:

The [PANDAS] pads would be in the same isle as the other stuff for ladies, right? The isle with the fancy shampoo and soap and baby stuff.
When I got to the isle, low and behold, there are these huge, bright pink packs with a picture of a [PANDA] pad on the front.
As I take a pack off the shelf, though, I notice an old guy in the isle across from me and he is giving me the look of judgment. He has two different brands of toothpaste in his hands, and is clearly making the difficult choice between Crest and Colgate.

I respond with, “Because I’m a lady, that’s why!”—in my head, at least. Then I drop eye contact and walk away.

I have found the item in less than five minutes! Success!
This is how adults do things. Efficently. I know, because, at this point, I’m feeling like the most adult-y adult there ever was.

I go through the self-checkout like a boss.

Do you have a Kroger Card?

Hell yes, I do. Well, my parents do. Same-same.

Press the ‘Cash’ button if you’re using cash, and ‘Card’ if you’re using—

Cash. Like a boss.

Put you bills into the bill slot face up—

BAM. Done.

Collect excess cash out of the cash dispenser and coins out of the coin dispenser. Thank you for shopping at Kroger.

I collect my cash and my bag, snap the receipt out of the machine, and walk out of Kroger and into the sweet air of victory.

Then I got into my car…

Once I get into the car, I set the bag down next to me and out of the corner of my eye… I see something.

What I saw was the word ‘bladder’.

Oh @!!#%$^.

I take them out of the bag and read the label.

Pads, indeed. They were pads for ‘discreet bladder protection’ and ‘unexpected wetness’. Not normal pads. Could these even be used for… what I needed them for? Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know.

Pandas– for the woman on the go

I could go in, return them, and get what I need… but do I really want to explain this to someone?

Oh, hello, could I exchange these bladder protecting pads for some of these other pads. I didn’t read the labels… on purpose. Stop laughing.

No. I wasn’t going to back in there to explain this to some judgmental cashier.

I still needed [PANDAS] pads, though, so I went back in there ready to buy some proper [PANDAS] pads.

I avoid all the employees who may have seen me come through a few minutes ago, and eventually reach the same isle as before—and that old guy is still in the same isle across from me. Apparently, toothpaste isn’t the only trick decision he has to make today, as he holds both the off brand deodorant and Old Spice deodorant in his hands.

We make eye contact for a moment. He smirks—he knew exactly what was going down.

‘Ladies don’t start fights, but they can finish them’ rang in my head, and I was tempted to give this guy a round house kick to the face.
Instead, I pretend that he didn’t exist, and looked up and down that isle. It has shampoo, conditioner, gels, hair brushes, baby products, and, apparently, bladder [PANDAS] pads.

But there are none of the [PANDAS] pads that I need in this isle. But where the hell else would they be?

I walk up and down that isle five or six times. Not there.

Then I walk up and down the cosmetics section. Not there.

Then, I try the next isle over. This isle is labeled: ‘Paper Towels. Toilet Paper. Paper Plates. Cleaning Supplies. School Supplies.’ Surly, it has to be here, because the next isle over are ‘Boxed Dinners. Soups. Condiments.’

I begin walking down and, once I get mid-way through, I spot them.

Between the paper towels and pencil sharpeners are the [PANDAS] pads that I’m looking for. Finally.

I quickly head to the self-checkout, and, as that machine says ‘Thank you for shopping at Kroger’, I can’t help but think:

Kroger 2-2.

Being Adult: Grocery Stores

29 Jun

I don’t know where it came from, but, somehow, I caught a cold. The first thing I did when I noticed the symptoms was make a trip to the grocery store—to pick up some medicine and chocolate, of course.

I’ve discovered, though, that it is impossible to go in a grocery store and just find a single item.

Finding the nasal decongestant in a grocery store is like trying to find a McDonalds in the middle of Narnia—you’re not sure how you got there or if the McDonalds is even there. There’s a McDonald’s everywhere though, right? So you think there’s gotta be one around there somewhere…

Ultimately, you’re tired, confused, and just want some nuggets (or nasal decongestant, as the case may be).

He could probably find a McDonalds, too. Mr. Tumnus is just that good.

[I just want to take a moment to point something out. My visual interpretation of Mr. Tumnus looks exactly like my interpretation of Hagrid. This is some high quality art work, y’all.]

Hagrid could probably be Mr. Tumnus in an overcoat and boots… and on stilts.

I have the exact same problem when I go into a grocery store to do normal shopping too.

Once every couple of weeks I will wake up and open the pantry door, looking for food. (Or coffee. In fact, it’s almost always coffee that I look for in the morning. Coffee is pretty much the substance I center my life around these days.)

Regardless, once I open this door two things immediately come to my attention:

  1. There is no coffee here…
  2. Wait. There’s no food here either.

And, thus, I know that I have to do grocery shopping.

The moment I enter a grocery store I’m simultaneously confused and annoyed

confused because I’ve instantly forgotten what exactly I need;

annoyed because some soccer mom comes up behind me with a buggy that’s as big as the SUV she drove to get there.

Normally, I have no problem with soccer moms—hey, my mom was one, AND they tend to make some awesome cookies. In a grocery store, though, they move through that place like they’re running a marathon, and, somehow, a couple of them tend to get stuck behind me.

She tries to cough quietly, telling me to move out of the way, but it comes out as more of a wheeze.

Quickly, I dodge right. BUT, little do I know, I’ve leaped right into the produce isle—soccer mom starts following me.

Throughout the store, we go one isle after another, and every few seconds I hear her tapping her shoe waiting for me to move along.

I’ve only been buying my own groceries for a half year now, though, and I still don’t know what I need to survive for two weeks. It still takes thought to figure out whether I not I need something.

It’s stressful, so I start to go a bit crazy with the shopping…

 

I know I need cheese, but we’re in an isle of Cheese-Its. We already passed the cheese section, didn’t we? Maybe. I don’t know.

And, really, they’re sort of the same thing.

Oh! Lunchables! Delicious!

 

Once we get to the cereal isle, soccer mom calms down a little—the sheer variety of cereals preoccupies her for the moment.

In this window of time, I have a moment to explore the pasta without her impatient sighs. This is probably why I eat so much pasta.

 

 Ew, what is this? It looks like horse radish… wait. It is horse radish.

 

The freezer isle is a little bit easier to manage.

She focuses on the kid’s frozen dinners. I focus on Lean Cuisines.

She gets those fancy pizzas with cookies or cheese-stuffed crust. I get the Kroger-brand stuff. If I close my eyes and pretend, the Kroger brand begins to taste just like the fancy stuff.

 

Hm. Do I already own bacon? Well, there ain’t no such thing as too much bacon!

Coffee! CoFfEe! COffeE CofFEE CoffEE! Yay!  

 

Toward the end of our grocery journey together, we reach the toilet-paper-and-napkins isle…

I look at the isle, then I stare hard at my buggy. Mainly, I want to know:

How fast will it go? And How far can it take me?

The opportunity it perfect. I’m in an isle that is covered in soft plushie cleaning supplies—it’s like bowling with bumper lanes! But I’m the ball!

BUT once I take that fateful step back—to gain some speed—I run into her. The soccer mom.

We exchange a look. Mine says, “Oh, my bad, forgot you were there.”

Hers says, “Don’t. You. Dare.”

 

As fate would have it, we both end up side-by-side at some self-checkout lanes, and it’s a constant staring match.

This lady gives me a judgment look because she knows I forgot the simple things, like milk and bread, and, instead, loaded up with chocolate and coffee and fruit roll-ups.

Meanwhile, I stare at her counting how many different types of yogurt she got—hell. I didn’t know that much yogurt existed. I do NOT remember seeing that much yogurt in the dairy section.

Rumor has it that there are these things called “grocery lists” that help people get what they need when they go shopping. From what I understand though, their existence is like Big Foot’s—people say they’ve seen it in the wild, but no one is able to prove it.

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