Lists and Panty Hose

The other day, I was looking through my "notes" on my phone and found one from three months ago labeled, "Stuff I Hate." Intrigued, I opened it and found this:

First, it's "viola," people. It's French. Google that shit. Second, I don't even sort of remember writing this note, but it's completely me. I'm the type of person that hates so many things that I feel the need to make a list. So, I figured I'd continue the list and make a mini-series of sorts. First up: cheaply made panty hose. 

I love panty hose in the winter. With them, I can look cute in a dress and not freeze my ass off. However, I'm a cheapskate. I loathe paying six bucks for panty hose, so I'll go with the cheaper, less durable option. Not any more. 

New Years Eve, I had just the right amount of fun and ruined my good pair of panty hose. So, I had to buy some new ones, but I didn't want to spend "a lot" of cheddar. I found some at Ross for $3. Score! 

I wore them for the first time on Wednesday and within 10 minutes, they were ruined. Literally. I walked out of my apartment and got into my car and somewhere in between there, a huge run found its way onto my panty hose. 

By the end of the day, it was down to my ankle. This kind of stuff only seems to happen to me. Needless to say, I'll start buying the good stuff. 

I hate cheaply made panty hose. 

Sincerely,

The Average Person

Scales

It's January, so everyone is working on their New Years resolutions, right? At least for a few more weeks? Today, I heard a group of women talking about the pounds they would like to shed this year. It was the normal discussion of fad diets and diet pills that really work, when I heard something that struck me. This woman was telling her friends about how she was going to start tracking her weight so she could see her progress at the end. This is reasonable. Then one friend said, "Make sure you weigh yourself in the morning!" And another piped up with, "And do it naked!" The first friend added, "Yeah, you'll weigh the least." The whole group agreed.

I've heard this before. People always talk (and write) about your "real weight" being what you weigh in your birthday suit right when you wake up. This makes absolutely no sense to me. In my opinion, a person's "real weight" is what they weigh on a normal day, eating normal food, in their normal clothes (minus shoes because come on, those things add at least 3 unnecessary pounds). Whose bright idea was it to use the part of the day that you are basically starving as an indicator of what a person really weighs? Granted, anyone is going to feel skinny (or dead) after not eating for 12 hours, but you don't go out and buy clothes based on this absurd "real weight" concept. You try on clothes at any part of the day and buy them for how they fit you at that time. Can you imagine buying a pair of pants a size too small because, "Oh, these will fit me awesomely before I eat breakfast." NO. As a little experiment, I weighed myself at 8AM and again at 8PM. Want to know the difference??

8AM

There was none.

8PM

If you can tear your eyes away from my awkward feet (I put on socks just for you in the second picture), you can see the giant difference in my weight. This actually surprised me because I've done this before and there usually is at least a couple ounces of difference, but nothing really dramatic. The health "experts" make it seem like you are going to throw off your entire weight loss plan if you don't do what they say. Now, notice I also didn't weigh myself naked.

 

1. I'm not ready for the internet to see me naked yet.

2. I'm wearing something I normally wear! On a normal day! For my normal weight!

 

The hair bow adds at least a pound.

See? After tracking your weight like this for a few days, you'll start to have an idea of what you normally weigh with your normal wardrobe. It's so much nicer to have realistic expectations rather than stressing over how soon you'll reach the weight that your body is when it is starving first thing in the morning.



Sincerely,


The Average Person

In the Average Kitchen

 

 

You always see blogs that have these beautiful, elaborate, "easy peasy" meals that their writers create for their readers, but what about the epic failures in the kitchen? You never see those. I want to see more kitchen goof-ups. I mean, total bombs that make you fake a smile for your family while you eat it and your kid gags it up before the end of the meal. That is the picture I want to create here.

 

I made a bomb of a meal last night. I'm a woman, not superwoman. I'm also a mom, and though my son may call me "Batmom," I'm no superhero. That being said, I have no time to screw around in the kitchen and all my meals are either easy, ugly and edible, or total goofs that no one will touch. 

This particular piece-of-shit recipe was a new one. I've never cooked with Spaghetti Squash before, so I thought, hey, I'll give this a shot. The recipe only had 5 ingredients, so there's no fucking that up, right? Wrong. Total failure. 

First, it started out with this mess. You poke holes in the squash and bake it for something like an hour. Then, you cut it open, scoop out the seeds and "easily scrape the insides out with a fork."

 

It got a little ridiculous.

Bullshit. It took a fork, a spoon and a fucking knife to get this shit out. At this point, my son looked at it and said, "What's that?" in a very, "there's no way I'm eating that" tone of voice. In the end, I finally got the squash's guts out and decided that I didn't cook it long enough. 

Next, all you had to do was melt butter in a sauce pan, add garlic, basil and the spaghetti squash.

How delicious....not.

If by the second step you can see how terrible a meal is going to be, common sense says, "just stop." But, obviously, I have little to no common sense. 

 

This doesn't look very appetizing. Let me taste it...yeah, not very appetizing. Whatever, I'll serve it anyway.

And I did. To horrible reviews. I think the exact words my son used were "yuck" and "disgusting." 

Then, the last step of the recipe is to look at your empty plate after you forced down the terrible meal as a good example for your child and realize....you forgot to add the most important ingredient.

So...wait, this meal MIGHT have actually been delicious??

Well, shit.

 

 

 

Sincerely,

 

 

 

The Average Person

The Average Resolutions

WHOA, the new year got here fast. Amiright? Although I'm actually facing some pretty huge changes in 2014 (i.e. a semi cross country move), I'm not going to make any promises of new beginnings or any of that shit.

Instead, here is my little list resolutions, if you care to know:

I'll be 25 this next year and I feel like it's a good time to start taking care of myself.
Since I already run frequently, I need to focus on what I'm putting into this hot bod.

So....
 

1. No more soda

2. No more red meat

3. More veggies

 

THE end.

Happy New Year, followers :) Do some living this year.

 

Sincerely,

The Average Person

Ketchup

Cute title, right? But, for real, let's catch up.

First, I want to brag on my mad skills. 

This is my hurricane son's bedroom about 30 minutes ago.

This is my son's room NOW.

I even made a redhead materialize.

Who's the boss? I'M the boss. That's a work of art right there.

Back to business, I recently took a couple of kidless road trips and I remembered that they actually aren't torturous trips designed by the devil. I delighted in the fact that I could drive all 5 hours without stopping to pee once and that I could buy snacks and didn't have to share with anyone. 

The first trip I took, I went to see Justin Timberlake in concert. I went with one of my dearest friends and had an absolute blast. We stayed in a HOTEL. I felt like the Queen of the world; my bed had FOUR pillows on it. Heaven, obviously. Aside from the absolutely incredible performance by JT (if you haven't seen him live yet, bucket list that shit NOW), the most notable part of the trip was when my friend's gay intuition took us to dinner in one of the gay strips of Dallas. 

So, we arrived at the hotel room and immediately lounged on our beds and talked about what to eat for dinner. My friend looked at surrounding places to eat on his phone and mentioned an Italian place close by that looked tasty and cheap. Those are my two favorite adjectives when describing food, so of course I jumped on board. We got ready to go and when we arrived in the neighborhood, I immediately sensed something different. For one, the only people I saw on the street were men. Two, one or more of the shops we passed displayed more risqué clothing than I've seen in other neighborhoods. But, what definitely sealed it for me was the framed pictures of drag queens and a poster for The Bridegroom in the Italian restaurant. I looked at my friend and we both realized what had happened. It was awesome. There was even an amazing, two story gay bar across the street that, of course, we went to after eating pizza slices the size of our faces. In short, that trip was awesome.

He sings to my SOUL

My next trip was this past weekend to see an old friend graduate from college. This trip was so nice and so much fun. My friend lives in an insanely small town and I met some great new people. We drove around town, blaring Miley, giving no fucks, held hands at the mall, and danced to Katy Perry's Dark Horse at a local bar like nobody's business. It was a perfect, relaxing trip. 

On the way home, I stopped at Baby Head Cemetary because I'd been dying to ever since I passed it on my way to see Justin Timberlake.

It's exactly as creepy as it sounds. Apparently, a child in the 1850s was killed by Indians and its remains were left on the mountain near here - thus it was known as Baby Head Mountain. Later on, a community formed near the mountain and took the name Baby Head as well. I know, that got morbid fast, right?? I'm really into history and cemeteries always fascinate the fuck out of me. Anyway, the oldest grave in this cemetery was from the 1850s! So, obviously, I spent almost 45 minutes in this tiny graveyard. 

And now, we're caught up. I'm going to go drink a beer in celebration of my mad cleaning skills.

Sincerely,

The Average Person

Me + Christmas Music = No.

I had a great Thanksgiving; but, after the usual amount of family drama, exhausted and overstimulated toddlers, and fierce loathing of my family's city, I'm happy to be curled up in my bed, writing to you all.

Now that Thanksgiving is over, it's socially acceptable to play Christmas music. Although, my sweet mother doesn't quite understand the whole "socially acceptable" thing and forced me to listen to her favorite CDs on the 4 hour ride to see our family the day before Thanksgiving. If there's anything you should learn from reading this blog, it's that I hate Christmas music. Of course, I'm not a total Scrooge, but I literally enjoy about 5 Christmas songs and there are literally 800,000 of them, with more being written each year! Why don't I like Christmas music? I can't really tell you. Maybe it's because there are 500 versions of all 800,000 songs and every public place you enter in December seems to be playing the exact same loop of them. Or maybe it's because songs like Santa, Baby and I Saw Mama Kissing Santa Claus exist. I mean, really. One is about flirting with an old, fat guy to get nice shit and the other depicts a potentially ruined marriage. WTF, Christmas? Obviously, there are a number of reasons why I hate Christmas music.

One of the albums I was lovingly forced to be exposed to was Michael Buble's Christmas.

Even he looks uncomfortable with his rendition of Santa, Baby.

 

This album is at least 2 hours long. It's like Michael Buble decided that he was going to sing every Christmas song ever written, which, as I said earlier, is a lot. Congratulations, Michael Buble. Your Christmas masterpiece is longer than a book on tape. Wait, do they even call them that any more? Whatever.

All that being said, Fate thought it'd be super hilarious to bless me with a child who loves Christmas music. Of course.

Sincerely,

The Average Person

Average Christmas shopping

Yes, I know. It's not even Thanksgiving, yet. Why are you posting about Christmas shopping? Because Christmas shopping in December is panicked, stressful, and crowded. That's why.

Anyway, last weekend I finished my Christmas shopping. That's right; I'm that good. Even though I was shopping for Christmas gifts early, there were still tons of people in the stores. It was like everyone had my idea, but almost everyone had their kids with them. I thought this was strange, then I realized, they didn't have my idea - they were pre-Christmas shopping.

This is literally the stupidest idea any parent has ever had. These parents were leisurely walking through the toy department with their kids (while I, cool, determined, and, of course, prepared, knew exactly what I was looking for and had to struggle getting around their leisurely asses) asking them to point out things that they wanted. Now, try to imagine that you are one of these kids:

My parents are letting me explore the toy section. They never let me do this. They're telling me to pick stuff out?! I'm getting a new toy today!? AWESOME!

Oh, you poor, unfortunate soul (cue Little Mermaid music). They're only trying to get an idea of what to get you for Christmas; no treats for you today. This obviously (and rightly so) did not compute with the kids. One in particular threw himself on the floor and wailed that he wanted the toy "right nooooow" while his parents frantically hushed him and told him that they just wanted to make sure that they told Santa the right toy to get him. I sat there, thinking, he's not going to buy that. HE BOUGHT IT. He got up, wiped the snot off his face and walked out of the store with his liars for parents.

This brings me to another point: kids are stupid. We take them to stores where you can obviously buy the toys that you want, but then tell them that every Christmas, a big, fat guy brings them the exact presents that they wanted. Hell, in this case, this kid's parents showed him the toy that he is going to be getting for Christmas and then convinced him that they were Santa's personal shoppers when he tried to catch on. Any person in their right mind would see right through this bullshit, but not kids. Kids will believe anything. I once made my kid believe that our asshole tortoise was really a Ninja Turtle on vacation.

I made the decision to not create the Santa Claus illusion for my son mostly because I want the credit for the hours, people shoving, and sitting in traffic it took to get him all these badass toys.

Which goes to say, my Christmas shopping adventure was successful. My kid's going to love me in a month. Me, not some fat guy.


Sincerely,


The Average Person

Alive!

I'm ashamed of how long it's been since I posted, but in my defense, I was sick. Like, really sick. Like, my liver started failing sick.

You know those symptoms of minor illnesses that "one in 192121998789 people" get? Yeah, I'm that person. Always.

Anyway, I'm better now! So, I'll post more.

Things currently on my mind:

I want a dog. SO BAD, IT'S RIDICULOUS. I'm on Petfinder every day just pining for that perfect pup. I want a shelter dog, but really, I want a pound puppy. Not actually a puppy because I don't have the time for another baby, but I'd love to rescue an awesome dog that deserves another chance.

Candles. I don't know what it is about cold weather, but I must have at least three candles lit at all times or I will die. Not really, but you get the idea. I'm obsessed. Right now, I have 6 going. Too much? Nahhhhhh.

I'm really tired of people here in Texas complaining about how "cold" it is. It's 50 degrees! That's really not that cold. Stop it.



Now, wasn't that an exciting read?? I promise I'll post something more interesting once I get back into my groove.


Sincerely,

The Average Person

The Average Dental Appointment

I'm not huge on going to the dentist. I've never had a cavity and I take good-ish care of my teeth. Well, beginning two years ago, I began going to the dentist regularly. I have many reasons for disliking the dentist's office, one of which is that there is no way that I can engage in small talk with someone's hands in my mouth. I just can't do it. But, really, I hate going to the dentist because my dentist is obsessed with me getting this toothbrush:


The Philips Fucking Sonicare Toothbrush



This is a $90 toothbrush! Ain't no way I'm paying that much for oral care. If you've gathered anything from reading my blog, it should be that I am a giant cheap-ass. Now, the dentist's reasoning is this: I have a permanent retainer behind my bottom front teeth that I've had since I had braces when I was a kid. His argument is that I am not able to clean in between my bottom teeth properly without this $100 toothbrush. And you know what? Maybe he's right. It's a pain in the ass to floss those teeth, so I don't. If the toothbrush wasn't $120, I would probably be all for it. BUT I'M NOT.

So, I hate going to the dentist. Every time I go, he gives me a lecture about how I really need this toothbrush and every time I smile and say, "You're right. Let me sell everything I own so that I can clean in between my teeth a little better." One time, he even gave me an expired coupon. He says, "This won't actually save you any money, but if you stick it somewhere so you'll see it often, maybe you'll remember to go pick one up!" So, I stuck it in my trash can.

Before this last visit, I was really dreading my appointment. I hadn't picked up the $150 toothbrush and he was bound to say something about it. I was about to cancel my appointment and vow to never see him again, when I had the best idea: I was going to trick my dentist. Starting a week before my appointment, I took the time to floss my bottom teeth every day (such a pain in the ass) and I brushed three times a day instead of my usual two. By the time my appointment arrived, my teeth fucking sparkled. Of course, the dentist asked me about my entire life while his hands were in my mouth, but he never said anything about the toothbrush. Then, as I'm walking out the door, he says:

"I'm glad you finally picked up that toothbrush. Your teeth look great."


BOOM, BITCHES.

I tricked a dentist.

If you think about it, I guess it could be said that he tricked me into cleaning my teeth better. But only for two weeks before every dental appointment. So, I still win.

Sincerely,

The Average Person

The Average Vacation, Part 2

So, I left off with my son pooping his pants in Chickfila, then passing out as soon as he was put in his car seat. The adventure didn't stop there. It never does.

Once I'd recovered from my hysterics, I pulled out of the parking lot and my GPS immediately led me the wrong direction. And so begins our 3 hour journey.

Hour 1: RHM was still asleep this hour, so it was a fairly uneventful one. I was able to listen to some new CDs and "relax" some.

Hour 2: RHM woke up, so we stopped at a gas station for a potty break. This gas station was literally the most disgusting station I'd ever been to. Now, let me back up and say that I originally exited at this location because I saw a big Exxon sign that looked new and shiny. Once I and several other cars exited, we all realized that it looked so new and shiny because it was new. Brand new. So new, the building wasn't even completed yet. So, we were forced to pull into the reject gas station across the street that will obviously go out of business once the Exxon opens. Now, RHM doesn't like going to the restroom unless it is HIS idea, so each bathroom break on this trip took tons of coaxing, bribing, and, in some cases, threatening. In this particular instance, the offer of Iron Man fruit snacks did the trick. We get into the bathroom and it literally looks like the scene from a horror movie. Especially if that horror movie had the title, Germs: The Takeover. I reluctantly took RHM into one of the stalls and after several cries of "Don't touch that!" "Definitely don't touch that!" "WHY are you on the floor??" and "Don't even think about licking that door!" we made it out alive. We both practically bathed in hand sanitizer, got in the car, and continued on our way.

Hour 3: RHM was content listening to music and the world was at peace. There's a section of this journey that doesn't have any gas stations for about 60 miles. I have almost run out of gas there in the past. So, once we reached the "This is the last gas station for a really long time" sign, we stopped to fill up on gas and take a potty break. When we got back into the car, things went well for a few miles. Then, this big, black SUV zoomed in out of nowhere and pretty much attached itself to my bumper. Now, I was going about 5 over the speed limit, so obviously, this was super annoying. There was a car in the left lane that wasn't going fast enough for this SUV, either, so he rode my ass for the next 10 miles. Finally, I started getting cheeky. I pumped my brakes, reduced my speed, and made cranky comments under my breath. You know, typical passive aggressive road rage techniques. Finally, the car in the left lane got tired of Black SUV's shit and sped up and changed lanes so that he could pass us. As he's passing, I planned to give him a dirty look, maybe flip him the bird...whatever. But I noticed that the SUV was an Escalade. With huge spinning rims. And plates from Mexico. HOLY SHIT, I JUST PASSIVELY AGGRESSIVELY ROAD RAGED ON THE MEXICAN CARTEL. So, naturally, I played clueless as they passed and pretended to be rocking out to my music. Whew.

Finally, we arrived at our destination. But not before almost wrecking because of my shock of seeing this:

WHY would they still leave this up? To give people heart attacks?

 This gas station has obviously been closed for years.

The rest of the vacation went pretty well. We visited my dear friend and RHM only intentionally pissed on her floor once. She took us to the beach where our umbrella WOULD NOT stay in the ground, I chased RHM for 10 minutes trying to get a family picture and failed, and I left looking like a half albino lobster. I seriously need to start asking for help when applying sunscreen. There were literally hand prints on my back.

One of my favorite parts of this vacation was the night before we left, my friend wanted to make us dinner, but we needed to get the ingredients at the store first. RHM was watching Bubble Guppies (gag) and when I told him that we were leaving, he flat out refused. Being the clever mother of a two year old that I am, I told him that it could be pirate mission and we could go look for treasure. He's obsessed with pirates, so he obviously bought it. When we got to the store, he didn't want to sit in the basket, so I convinced him that the basket was really a pirate ship and that was a huge hit. He told me that his pirate name was Captain Sea-Dog and tried to slip candy into the basket several different times. I was totally into it. Probably more than Captain Sea-Dog.

Tia's dinner was AWESOME, by the way

The next day, we made the trip back home. The drive was fairly uneventful, just more potty stops and bribes of Iron Man fruit snacks. We stopped at SeaWorld before we went home and RHM spent at least an hour running through the shark aquarium. I was totally down with that.

All in all, a good vacation. I'm ready for another one. Here are some pictures from the trip! Follow my shenanigans on Instagram for real time scoop on my next adventure: @theavgperson

The view from the Port Isabel Lighthouse

Awkward family photo

I ran around the beach for 10 minutes for THIS?

Sincerely,

The Average Person

Conversations with a Mini-Human

So, I was out eating lunch with RHM today when a pretty, blonde teenager walked in the door. RHM watched her for a few minutes, then looked at me and said:

RHM: Okay, that's my mom.

AP: Uhhh, no. I'm your mom.

RHM: No, you're AP. That's my mom.


I'll have to keep an eye on this one. Two years old and he's already trying to go home with pretty women.


Sincerely,

The Average Person (AP)

The Average Vacation, Part 1

Over Labor Day, I took RHM on a mini-vacation.

That sounds like fun, right? A breeze, even? Let me add another element: potty training.

That's right! I'm potty training RHM and, for the most part, he's doing fantastic, but the week before we left, he started regressing somewhat. I could have just stuck him in a pull up for the duration of our getaway and made my life 110 times easier, but I didn't. I'm determined to make this thing stick. So, I packed up RHM's entire wardrobe of pants and big boy undies and we hit the road.


First stop? The Children's Museum. For this leg of the trip, RHM donned his Mini-Thor persona and heroically peed his pants within five minutes of entering the building.

Wardrobe change #1.

Mini-Thor conquers the world with his Viking ship.

Mini-Thor explored and played at 100 miles per hour.



I shall milk this cow, then I shall go play with bubbles..

Wardrobe changes #2 and 3.

He created masterpieces in the art room, visited Mexico, and played with bubbles. We also adopted a small toddler who appeared to have Down's Syndrome for a good part of our visit. I mean, seriously, where were this kid's parents?!

Odin's beard! Tamales!

Wardrobe change #4.

Whelp. I only brought 4 changes of pants to the museum and the choices were:

1. To trek at least 4 miles to the car to get more out of RHM's suitcase
2.  Head off to the next part of our journey.

Despite RHM's screams as I dragged him out of the museum, I chose the latter. Oh, and we finally met up with our adopted toddler's group - a daycare visiting the museum that didn't even know he was gone. How terrifying. Oh well, happy ending there.

RHM got some fresh drawers and we decided to stop at Chickfila before we started the 3 hour drive towards our next leg. Our Chickfila visit was uneventful. And by "uneventful" I mean "complete catastrophe/totally traumatic." RHM and I ate our meal without issue and then he asked if he could play in the playplace. I'm thinking, "Okay, we've got a 3 hour drive ahead of us. If I let him exert all his energy now, MAYBE he'll sleep through most of it." So, I said, "Cool."

RHM played in the playplace for about 20 minutes while I sat behind the glass watching him and making witty remarks to all the other moms hoping their kids pass out after stuffing their faces with chicken and playing until they're pooped.

Now, it's ironic that I used that phrase because at the exact minute in went through my head, a small boy tugged on my sleeve and whispered, "Miss, your son smells like poop." I snap my head up and see RHM's devilish grin and the Beginning of the End trickling down his leg. Oh god. I'm the mother of the child who SHITS HIS PANTS in the Chickfila playplace.

I have never moved as fast as I did in that moment. I scooped RHM up and ran to the bathroom, with him screaming every step of the way because he wasn't done playing. Once in the bathroom, my suspicion was confirmed: diarrhea. Diarrhea everywhere. I ended up just chunking his pants and underwear, cleaned him up, put on a new set of clothes and walk of shamed it through the restaurant to the car. RHM still screaming.

Almost as soon as he was buckled in his seat, RHM passed out. And me? I just started laughing hysterically. There's just one more story to tell his first girlfriend.

To be continued...



Sincerely,

The Average Person


P.S. Enjoy my pictures? Follow my shenanigans on Instagram: @theavgperson

Conversations with a Mini-Human

RHM: Sing Twinkle, Twinkle Itty Star.

AP: YOU sing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star

RHM: Okay! *sings* Twinkle, twinkle, itty star, now I know my ABCs.

AP: ....basically.



Sincerely,

The Average Person (AP)

My tortoise is an asshole.

This is Tuga.





















He is my...ahem, RHM's tortoise. Tuga is an asshole.

He gets SUPER stoked when I walk through the door and tries to climb up the sides of his box to get to me. He makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. He can't wait to see me every day! HE LOVES ME! Then, I feed him and he COMPLETELY ignores me and CHOWS down on his food like some kind of animal. When he's had his fill, he slowly creeps to the corner furthest away from me and sleeps for the rest of the day.

I started to get kind of sensitive about it.

Then, I realized: Tuga's a typical male. Well played, Mother Nature. Well played.


Sincerely,

The Average Person

The Average Fashion Blog

Oh, hi. I wasn't expecting you; how are you? I know, I know, I took a little hiatus while that little human that calls me "mom" healed from his accident. BUT I'M BACK. Lately I've gotten a lot of comments on how fashionable I am and how I should write my own fashion blog post. So, here I am. Okay, so these comments may have come about during a conversation between me and my Pineapple Upside-down Cake cocktail, but I'm going for it, anyway! If I this post is well-received, I may even share my recipe for this delectable cocktail. That's not a bribe, people.

 

SO. It's widely known that the world is a shallow, expensive, materialistic place in which women are forced to look cute at all times or be shunned and put in the "uggo" category. If I had one wish, I'd change that. And no, that's not a Miss America "World Peace" cop out; I seriously wish the world's expectation of women could be changed. But, alas...it can't. So, what I'd like to do is change your expectation for yourself. In my own experience, it almost never matters if I actually look cute...I have to feel cute. So, I make it my goal to feel cute every day, whether it's just wearing a pretty nail polish color or doing my eye shadow differently than normal. Here are the steps in the Average Person's daily "feel cute" routine.

Hair

It's kind of important, right? If you're having a "bad hair day," your whole day will be thrown off. Here are my tips:

1. Start off with a lousy, 4 year-old T shirt to take a picture for your internet blog. The internet's not forever, right??

2. Ignore the first step.

3. Notice that the second step wasn't actually a step and start off with wet hair; right out of the shower.

4. Comb through it. Then wait 30-ish minutes for your hair to dry and viola!

HAIR.

Helpful Hint: If you don't have 30 minutes
to spare, you can also blow dry your hair.

 

 

Make-up

 

Almost as important as hair, make-up can make or break your look. Too much make-up and you could be mistaken for a hooker; too little and you've got people asking if you're sick all day. What do I do, you ask? (It's okay that you didn't ask, I'll tell you anyway)

 

 

 1. Eye liner. Any color, top eyelid only, winged end optional.

      

2. Apply any color(s) eye shadow you'd like and inadvertently pose seductively.

 

3. Apply mascara to top and bottom lashes.

4. Apply whatever the hell color lipstick you want. Lipstick is the KEY to feeling cute.

 

Then pose in your car with Mini Thor!

 

 

 Accessories

Accessorize, people! I don't care if it matches or not. Whatever accessories you love, USE.

Why, yes, I do love this nail color. And not ONLY because it's name has the word "mimosa" in it.

Pinterest has given me way unrealistic expectations of what nails are supposed to look like.

I have weird feet, but my shoes are FAB!

 $10 Ross shoes and $6 Forever 21 sunglasses. The cheaper, the better baby.

Obviously, I can't take a picture like a normal person.

The Whole Package

Let's talk outfits. Now, I made a comment in the accessories section about cheap being GREAT. Society makes us think that more expensive means AWESOME, but that's only sometimes the case. Everything I'm wearing in this section is second hand or bought on sale (or at Ross). Something about me: I will rarely buy any fashion items for full price; I wait for sales (and I shop at Ross). There is NOTHING wrong with that. It's smart! Don't let society trick you into spending a ton of money simply because of a brand. There's absolutely nothing wrong with a knockoff. Unless you're one of those Prada/Gucci/Coach snobs...but, I  highly doubt any of those are reading this blog, ha! Anyway, here is the Average Person in three different CHEAP outfits.

This whole outfit cost me $10.50. The top and shrug are from JC Penny's, the skirt is secondhand from a friend and the chunky necklace was .50 cents at a thrift store!

I got this shirt at Ross for $6 and I picked up the American Eagle shorts at a thrift store for $2!



This is my signature outfit. I have this shirt in EVERY COLOR. $5 at JC Penny's and the shorts were on sale for $9 at a department store in my home town.




 

And there you have it! Now, don't get me wrong. My other signature outfit is an old T shirt and skinny jeans. Your definition of "feeling cute" may be completely different from mine. So, create your own "cute" and feel good about yourself. Size and style be damned. Don't let the media and those scary, skinny models get to you. Be you and your own "cute."


Sincerely,

The Average Person

Conversations with a Mini-Human

My two year-old is pretty quirky. Quirky enough that I think my sweet readers might enjoy his antics as a blog series of sorts. Here's the first conversation with my Red-Headed Mess:

AP: Okay, let's put your-

RHM: SHORTS ON!!

AP: Hey! Look at us, finishing each others'-

RHM: SHIRTS!

AP: ....maybe not.



Sincerely,

The Average Person (AP)

Tragically, Traumatically Anti-Climactic

Ever had a day that began as increasingly intense and traumatic, but ended as tragically anti-climactic? I have entirely too many of those days. However, I will write briefly about the one I had yesterday:

 Yesterday began as any other day...actually, no, it didn't. Yesterday morning my Red-Headed Mess (hereafter known as "RHM") came home from a night at his grandmother's house. Something about RHM's immediate behavior told me that the day would be an interesting one. It may have been that he began running laps around my apartment while dragging along his rolling Go, Diego! Go! suitcase as soon as he burst through the door.
 But, who knows? Anyway, after an invigorating morning of chasing my offspring around my apartment and an unsuccessful after-lunch nap, we were offered a way to get out of the apartment. Let me start by saying that yesterday was apparently one of the "hottest days of the year" with a lovely temperature of 100 degrees...at 8PM. So, at 2PM there was NO way we were leaving the apartment unless wherever we were going involved water. Which is exactly what my buddy, HerMighty Danger, had to offer: adults on the covered porch, kiddos in the sprinkler. An outlet for RHM's nonstop energy and adults for me to talk to?? I'M IN. So, I threw RHM into his Spiderman swim trunks and hauled ass to Danger's house. Once we were there, it was a grand ol' time for about 30 minutes. Then the incident happened. It was like slow motion. RHM was running down the sidewalk toward Danger's daughter. He was wet. The sidewalk was wet. BAM. RHM down, I repeat, RHM down.

I saw it happen and, really, I actually foresaw it happening the moment RHM's fat little foot hit the pavement mid-run. So, I guess what I'm saying is that I'm psychic. NBD. Anyway, RHM slipped and twisted his ankle. It looked really painful and, man, did he let me know it. We sat together while he bawled and I iced his ankle and called the nurse and EMT in my life. The consensus was to just give it some time because it really didn't seem broken...it was most likely just a sprain. So, we packed up and left, effectively ruining the festivities at HerMighty Danger's. Now, let's be clear; RHM is the toughest kid I know when it comes to tripping or otherwise hurting himself. The longest he cries when he falls is about 5 minutes. Long story short, due to RHM writhing on my bed and screaming in pain, I took the kid to the ER despite all my resolutions to never go to the ER again every time I go.

From the moment we stepped foot into the ER, RHM began flipping out. It's like he knew. The next two hours consisted of terrified screams, waiting around, and yelling "don't touch me!" "I don't want to watch TV!" and "I want to go home!"

My kid was pretty upset, too.

Anyway, after some very traumatic x rays, some even more traumatic x ray retakes, and more waiting, the doctor finally saw us. The result?? A sprain. LIKE I ORIGINALLY THOUGHT. They gave RHM some Tylenol and sent us on our way. Once we got out of the ER, RHM was perfectly happy. No crying. No screaming. Of course, he still can't walk on it, but it was still very anti-climactic. Now, I am very thankful that RHM didn't have any broken bones, but do you see what I mean about the day building in intensity and then coming to an abrupt halt by ending in RHM and I enjoying ice cream together...?

Life is crazy.

Sincerely,

The Average Person.


UPDATE: The kid has a fracture! Long story short, the ER messed up big time and MISSED a fracture. RHM is in a full leg-length cast for at least the next two weeks and he's totally bummed about it. So, I guess it turned out to be just tragically traumatic...not so much anti-climactic. Well...maybe a little.

Is the Average Person Badass Enough for Roller Derby?

What's the most badass sport a girl can participate in? That's right, roller derby. A group of badass women playing a sport that makes them tough and sweaty. YOU KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT.

It just so happens that my hometown has a roller derby team. The team is fairly new as the league started in August 2012 and began participating in bouts (DerbySpeak for games, matches, etc) in April 2013. The team is called the "Kerr'Ella De'Villes" - it's an adorable play on the name of my hometown along with the badassery of the puppy-skinning character that instills fear in the heart of every person's 5 year-old self. 

KCRD Logo. Seriously? SO badass. 

The Kerr County Roller Derby league was started by Pink Tink (Alonna Richey) who had previous experience with a Corpus Christi league. Pink Tink started the league basically because my town has NOTHING TO DO. Okay, that's not true, but there really is very little for women to participate in that doesn't include booze or babies. Or both. Thus, the Kerr'Ella De'Villes were born.

This is my pal, Hermighty Danger (Kathryn Dover).



                                  

I know what you're thinking.
DIZ-AMN, those are some photo-licious skillz.


 

She's pretty cool. I remember going to her house while she was watching Whip It and talking about how she wanted to be on a roller derby team. Next thing I know, Hermighy Danger was in business. The ass kicking business.
















Anyway, because of Hermighty Danger, I was able to observe these wicked cool ladies at one of their practices. Now, readers, these practices ain't nothing to mess with. The scheduled times are 6PM to 9PM on Mondays and Thursdays and consist of off-skate exercises, on-skate exercises, countless drills, skating practice and scrimmages. If you're thinking about joining KCRD, let me start off by saying that roller derby is not for weaklings. I mean, you don't have to be strong in the beginning, but you have to have stamina and determination. My first question about roller derby was about how often people get hurt...because I'm a baby. However, my informant told me that hardcore breaks and injuries really aren't that common. In fact, KCRD has only had two broken ankles since August 2012. What are more common are sprained ankles or hurt knees that get worse because the player just won't let the injury keep her on the bench (I told you they were badasses). So, in my opinion, roller derby is just like any other contact sport in that it is entirely possible for minor injuries to occur, but as long as you let the injury heal properly, you won't be permanently benched.

My next question was about MONEY...because I am a cheap-skate (GET IT?!). Hermighty Danger told me that roller derby has the potential to be expensive, but that it is worth it. I was told that what most girls are recommended to do is buy a "starter pack" which includes skates, knee pads, elbow pads, wrist guards, a helmet and sometimes a mouth guard. Now, this starter pack can be around 300 bucks a pop, but I'm told that it will last a long time. Eventually, you will want to upgrade and customize your gear, but the starter pack is great for beginners! Each player also pays $40 in dues each month to cover the rent for the team's facility and other costs that may arise.

I also had questions regarding how to actually play the game and my informant gave me very detailed information that I couldn't recreate if I tried. So, I'll summarize: there is a lot of fast skating, blocking while skating, and scoring points while skating. The cool thing about KCRD is that you don't have to know how to play! Or even skate! They will teach you the rules, give you tips on skating, and encourage you every step of the way. How cool, right? The thing is that they need reliable girls to play on their team. So, the question of the hour: are you badass enough join a roller derby team? YES! KCRD needs players, non-skating officials, referees, and any kind of volunteer that you can think of. Even if you're too afraid to skate or too broke, you can still help out!

Want to join? Do this: "like" Kerr County Roller Derby on Facebook, message them and tell them you're interested. They will let you know where and when to attend a practice so that you can observe the practice and meet all the girls. Everyone is super friendly and ready to accept new girls into their team. The only real requirements are the dues and gear mentioned above and players have to attend 80% of practices each month. Seriously, check these ladies out. Even if you have a medical condition that you think might keep you from playing, message the team and they'll let you know for sure.

Not sure that roller derby is for you? That's fine! The resource these girls need the most is support. Watch a bout or a practice. Once you find them on Facebook, you can see all the information about upcoming bouts. In fact, their next bout is in Corpus Christi on July 5th. You can also purchase KCRD merch to support the team:

Shirts:$15. Stickers:$3.

 "It's freakin' fun!! I think everyone should at least WATCH a practice or bout. Once you understand it, you realize how much fun it is! It has seriously kept some of our girls from drinking everyday or from depression. You get exercise and you gain a whole new, awesome family! Everything is worth a try. I am glad I am doing this. It is one of the best things I have ever done." -KCRD member



 

These ladies are a BLUR on their skates.

 

 

 

 

Sincerely,

 

The Average Person