Posts tagged awkward

Things that freak my shit out

Here’s the thing. I like to think – and I probably give myself too much credit – I’m fairly open about lifestyles.  Although admittedly, after a recent conversation, I have found that I do draw the line at beastiality, mostly because it’s just cruel to animals.

But there’s something that just pushes my buttons: THE DUGGAR FAMILY.

I’ve obsessively kept track of this family with gapers block-esque disbelief through TLC Specials/shows as their numbers have swelled from mid-teens to now the inconceivable number of 20 members. Every time I watch an episode of their show my “creeped-outness” meter explodes, and I usually yell out loud at the television at least once.  Plus, I inevitably have repeated flashbacks to that Harvey Danger lyric: “I’ve been around the world and found that only stupid people are breeding.”

And then I feel guilty for not being open minded enough.

So if you’ve paid attention to the Duggar family at all (and I really hope you haven’t, but I commiserate with the I CAN’T TURN AWAY FROM THE TV feeling), you know they are an uber-religious family who has decided God is responsible for providing them with as many children as He wants them to have. Ergo, their 18 current.  To be honest, any sort of blind religious fanaticism like this somewhat irks my annoyance radar, but I understand I’m a product of a Dogma-Generation (read: In err, we’ve taken a set of good ideas and made a belief system), and most of the time I can accept such monomaniacal religious beliefs with a grain of salt.

Sidenote: my well-meaning but Born-Again Christian aunt just gave me a copy of The Shack for my birthday. Oh joy.

Anyways, my recent freak-my-shit-out moment with the Duggars occurred when the eldest son, Josh Duggar, married the girl he was ‘courting,’ Anna.  As a feminist and member of the 21st century, I resent the paternalistic and condescending implications of any “courting,” especially in the brain-washed way the episode portrays it.  According to the Duggars and the Kellers (Anna’s family don’t judge that I know her last name pleasethanks), after one is engaged, they may officially begin to go out in public together, but must have chaperons any time they are together so they don’t GIVE INTO THEIR OVERWHELMING DESIRES AND GODFORBID KISS BEFORE THEIR WEDDING GAAAAAAASP.

Now, I know several friends and couples who have chosen not to have sex before marriage. I admire and appreciate their reasoning, religiously and otherwised based, for that decision.  And I can almost handle the whole Duggar-Keller not-kissing thing… if it wasn’t so fucking Children-of-the-Damned-like on the show. The internet tells me there’s (surprisingly, to me) a decently-sized movement to this No-Kissing thing (admittedly I know 2 people who have decided to save their first kiss for their wedding day).  But the true zombieosity of this concept meant it took me a long time to process through and accept.

Yet, after several months and more internet time & research wasted than should have been, I’ve come to peace with it.

But there is one thing I just cannot handle or understand.

Dear Josh and Anna Duggar:
Although I disagree with you, I respect your choices regarding life, marriage and child-rearing. But there’s one thing I need you to answer.  WHY THE FUCK DO YOU ALWAYS DRESS ALIKE????? TERRIFIED MINDS WANT TO KNOW!!!
Kthxbye,
Terrified Minds

No, seriously, someone explain this shit to me, because, in a rare moment, the internet fucking fails to provide me even a fake answer:

Brown Stripies!

Brown Stripies!

Blue!

Blue!

White and Kakhis!

White and Kakhis!

I promise you, although I can find no further pictures to post, this penchant for twin-dressing is the norm when they are on screen.  Seriously… why? I want to know. I could understand it if you were siblings being dressed by your parents.  BUT YOU’RE NOT.  You [claim you] are adults, so why must you wear the exact. same. striped. shirts?

Help. Someone. Please.  Shed light. Please.

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How to become a sexual predator without even trying

There’s a simple solution if you’re interested in how to become a sexual predator without even trying:  Move to Juneau, Alaska.

Everyone in Juneau, as a general rule, tends to look approximately 7-15 years younger than they actually are.  Attribute the phenomenon to youthful living or lack of sun damage if you want, but it’s a frightening – and well acknowledged – occurrence.

5 years old... or 25?

5 years old... or 20?

Case in point: my first night in Juneau last year, my roommates and I played a board game with an older couple and their 14-year old son who was a freshman in high school.  A friend of the family came over to play, and we assumed he was a friend of the son’s from school.

Later in the evening we discovered the friend had actually just graduated. From college.

Carrying on.  This past weekend I was at the Folk Festival in Juneau, listening to the most horrific version of “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” I’ve ever heard. We’re talking physically painful here. In order to avoid stabbing myself in the ear, I was desperately searching around the room for distractions when I happen to notice that this guy standing next to me is actually fairly attractive.  Now, I’m not a particularly girl-y person. This generally isn’t something I stop to take note of, but at Folk Fest 93.8% of all males tend to look more or less like they just left their Vermont commune and traveled across the continent via hitchhike, rickshaw, and mule.

Noting this, I take another quick glance… and I realize that the guy looks 17. Naturally, I immediately censor my thoughts and internally note, “Okay, that’s icky and wrong.”

But 2 minutes later I remember previously told stories about how everyone in Juneau looks 12 when they’re actually 38. So I decide it’s okay.

But then I realize that he might ACTUALLY be 17.

BUT I CAN’T TELL.

So I awkwardly try to stare/not stare and decide whether or not it’s FUCKING ILLEGAL FOR ME TO BE OGLING HIM.

And he totally catches me staring at him. ‘Cuz… uh, you know… Hi. I am standing right damn next to him. Subtle.

But he’s sort of checking me out too a tiny bit, and just as my itty bitty ego is getting a boost, I come to the disturbing realization that I ALSO LOOK 17.

Eventually, after a few more awkward minutes of staring while simultaneously doing age math, I just walk out, and never figure out his real age, due to the fact that in addition to the age-math-confusion, I tend to have absolutely no guts when [soberly] talking to those of a male persuasion.

But now, with this all dissolving unconcluded, I feel a little bit icky for pseudo-lusting-after this guy who could potentially be 17 goddamn years old. Or he could be 26. BUT HOW THE HELL DO YOU FIGURE IT OUT IN JUNEAU?!?!?

Damn you, Juneau. I’m going to end up arrested one day for involuntary statutory rape and it’ll be all your fault.

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THE SHAKING MUST STOP

The past week or so, I’ve been feeling rather peaked.  My favorite maladies of trigger-point headaches and mysterious nausea have combined to attack my immune system and make it physically uncomfortable to be awake, to the point where I’ve missed one day of work and left early another.

Now, on top of the general malaise, the universe has apparently conspired to compound my suffering by causing my office building to shake.

Every. Ten. Seconds.

No, really.  I’ve timed it.

It shakes to the point that a piece of paper taped to my monitor visibly vibrates.

It shakes to the point that there is an audible rattling from things on my desk.

It shakes to the point that I can feel it while standing, sitting, or doing the polka.

But apparently it doesn’t shake enough that everyone in the office feels it.

My department is mystified.  The shaking is so bad that we feel like it’s contributing to headaches and distracting us from our work, but people in other departments claim they can”t feel it.

The shaking must stop.  It must. I’m losing my bloody mind.

The supposition amongst my coworkers is that there is pile driving going on nearby due to construction on a bridge or the like.  And for the most part I buy that.

But a small part of me is a tiiiiiny bit afraid that the entire city of Chicago is going to pull a LOST moment:

Island there

Island there

Island Gone

Island Gone

The shaking must stop.

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Barack v. Beyonce

Things I know:

A) I spend far too much time on the internet/youtube.

2) I dislike Beyonce. Strongly.

iii) I am from Chicago, IL. Draw your own conclusions on how you think I may feel about Barack Obama.

Four) I’m not sure I can accurately describe this, and am for once, sans-words:

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Environmental research can be scary

See, this is why I shouldn’t be allowed to work at an environmental company, because then I get to sit around and do ‘research’ on the new developments in the field, which basically allows me a lot of time on the internet.

Occasionally I stumble across interesting or hilarious findings, such as the Mafia racketeering wind power.

And then I find things like this, which leave me half super-horrified half, and laughing hysterically:

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I’M A UNICORN!!

Or a scientist… same diff.  All wishful thinking.

Marketing pictures we took for our lab services. Ignore the fact that I am very much not a scientist at all.

Hmm this water is so interesting

Hmm this vial is so interesting

I totally know what this machine does

I totally know what this machine does

Why look it's a jar of stuff! How fascinating.

Why look it's a jar of stuff! How fascinating.

Totally pointless post.

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Things that are awkward

Q: You know what’s awkward and uncomfortable?
A:  Having an annual exam.

Q: You know what’s even more awkward and uncomfortable?
A: Having a student do your annual exam. Which means that some things have to be done twice to “double check” the student’s evaluation.

THANK YOU, AWKWARD.

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