Kittens On Rollerskates

yeah, seriously, i'm 28. woops.

From time to time my mouth opens of its own accord and forms sounds that are destined to cause me huge amounts of distress. These incidents range from the odd bizarre comment during an otherwise average social interaction to the catastrophic business oops!, and their frequency is not decreasing as I age, which I was heavily banking on. Pretty soon I’m sure I’ll go too far and someone will legally need to become my primary caretaker. Here is a highlight reel:

1. The Nazi Comment. At one point I was–I swear to god this is true–a realtor. First I need you to know that realtor is actually an acronym for something I forget but the gist of which is ethics and meaning business and networking and hiding your tattoos. This was back when I had not yet accepted that I am built largely of atoms and inappropriateness and defiance, and that makes me fun, but just a horrible candidate for being a real estate professional, or pretty much even a real person. Sidenote: the ID number they issue you when you become a realtor is called a NRDS number. A nerds number. So I was selling this house, and the people buying it were German, like not of German lineage but genuine Germans with instant judgements and accents you only ever hear from villains, mainly but not limited to in an early nineties Will Smith movie (fave genre). I was and remain terrified of them. So we were all at closing and there they were, just sitting across the table like a pair of cinematic terrorists, and there I am, with cigarette burns and a red wine stain on my shirt, gettin judged on. And then they asked if the homeowner’s association of the neighborhood was going to let them put in a pool, and my mouth opened and started moving and time stopped and here’s what I said: “Probably, it’s not like they’re Nazis or anything.” BLADOW. So, did you know that in Germany they let you have freedom of speech but not if it’s to do with Hitler? Because, now I do. They are deadly serious and very, very sensitive about that particular reich. They have not forgotten. Complete. Silence. I am a nightmare.

2. Delicious Chicken Periods. So I have this amazing friend, and I am not nearly good enough to be her friend. I just want to preface all further statements with that. She has an amazing family (involving the highest paid model in the WORLD in 1940 as a grandmother, a famous bandleader for a grandfather, etc.) and she herself is the kind person you kind of want to take over the body of and exist as from now on, as soon as you meet her. So, there was a fancy dinner party for her birthday. This was during realtor-era Me, when I didn’t know that everything leaving my mouth needed to be edited and carefully perused for potential future danger, and also when I had not eaten meat for like 6 years, but was completely on board with eggs. So I’m sitting at the table and somebody very fancy asked me what my rationality was for eating eggs when i wouldn’t eat meat. Wine was involved so I was like hhmmm, why exactly again? Not entirely sure, but how about we go with “Well because eggs are basically chicken menstruation and not actually embryos, so they have that going for them. They are just delicious chicken periods.” Nice one, Camzerz! Please, please remember this, self: Important people don’t think you’re funny at all. Once again, total silence followed by the echo of said friend’s head smashing into the table as she internally danced to the soundtrack of regret that she invited me in the first place. I cannot blame her, though I maintain that she knew what she had coming.

3. Glad About Not Seeing Anyone I Hate. This one is a lesser exemplar of my awkward nature, but still a super reason not to invite me anywhere almost for any reason. If you are from Chapel Hill, you are for sure all too intimately acquainted with the fever dream known as Thanksgiving. It is the horrible time of year that everyone you have ever known for your entire life has chosen to come back home and re-present themselves to local bars. So there was this one kid who I was vaguely high-school friends with through a magical, magical person that I wish lived inside of my skin instead of in Florida, that’s how neat he is. Anywayz, this guy was recently voted most magical musical act ever in the greater Boston area, or something to that effect. He is nice and talented and neat in general and as such, really deserved to just escape me as opposed to remembering me as someone cool who liked pot and should be said hello to. So he’s like, “Oh, hi! What’s new?” and I am like “Oh, hey! Not much, hope you’re doing well! I am just glad that I haven’t seen anyone that I completely hate yet tonight.” Um, what? Okay, I guess? Why? Why would you say that? So many options! I could have been a not abysmal interactor and said something like “Things are good! And you?” or “Wow! Great to see you! How is wherever you live and how/what are the things that you do?” But no, I needed to–in the first sentence to someone I haven’t seen in 5 years–talk about hate. I basically take the filter-free route, which is silly for someone who thinks so fucking much. Luckily it is easy to make me laugh which is my sole saving grace.

I think by now I’ve kind of realized that I am just sort fated to be a hot mess when I have any sense of Being Paid Attention To. It’s like the combination of stage fright and the burning desire for more attention blend and curdle into the wording equivalent of that bomb disguised as gum from Mission Impossible. I hope my future mother in law will not be fancy, because I will definitely be commenting on her boobs or horrible art or “fun”damentally (see?) problematic approach to childrearing–”So, were you just pretending to not notice the incest or are you just that into his uncle?” Or I’ll try to bond over the amazing outsider art I did via the Graffiti app on my understanding friend’s facebook page the other day, or something equally regrettable. But what else is there to do, really? I’m just this way, it is a chronic condition. And parents, if you’ve somehow found access to this blog, I am kind of sorry about it but mainly sorry that I never cared about potential or whatever and I know that saddened you. You did the best you could with what you were handed and that happened to be a fistful of unmanageable. Bless ya.

In other newz, we had a fun night in raleigh last night at the au revoir din-din for Steven–I willz miss you! Here are pictures from the stunning bff/kff, http://katekatelovesyou.com/, and a soundtrack by the ever-lovin’team sweet, http://www.goteamsweet.com/ (the one called “yelle” plz.)