Awkward Girl is slowly melting

If my hands dissolve into a pool of sweat all over my keyboard before I finish this, I’m sorry…

I know I have not posted in a while, and I am terribly sorry about that. I know you all just live to hear about all of my awkward encounters. But you see, I’ve recently been immobilized. Paralyzed. Destabilized.

Because…it is so damn hot!

Now you can judge all you want, but I happen to live in a very beautiful place where the temperature is never supposed to exceed 75 degrees. I have been blessed with this picturesque weather, but it left me utterly unprepared for the heat wave that just smothered the whole town. The highs are in the 90s, and its like all of sudden, no one knows what to do with themselves.

And we are not equipped to deal with it. Its 70 degrees year round, we don’t need air conditioning! Until now. I sit in class, feeling the sweat slowly drip down my back and the heavy air crushing me. I can’t breathe. I can’t think! How am I supposed to learn in this environment!

And I can’t bring myself to do anything. Its like I’ve entered survival mode, and the only thing my brain can think about is how to get cool.

Open the window…

Turn the fan on…

Sit as close to the fan as possible…

Closer…

Roll up shirt…

Tie up hair…

Hold water bottle to neck…

Drink water…

Become frustrated…

Violently open water bottle and dump water onto your chest…

Realize you’ve made a mess…

Clean up mess…

Sit back down…

Realize you are still hot…

Cry.

Laugh all you want people, but the fact of the matter is, Awkward Girl does not know how to deal with this heat, and it is only making me more awkward. I’m only a faction of my real self. I shuffle around campus with my head down like a zombie, and it takes all my will power not to shout “I’M MELTING!”

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Awkward Girl vs The Party People

As I said before, I go to a school that has a bit of a notorious party-school reputation. Well today is perhaps the largest day of partying that happens all year. The boozy, crazed, day-ger (day rager, for those of you fortunate enough to have no idea what that is) attracts people in the thousands, and draws students from far out of town. It’s a sloppy mess that always results in injuries, damaged property, and an all-around head-ache for our police department. Because of that, I make a point to have no part in it whatsoever.

Most people started off today by slathering on some tan-in-a-can, picking out the perfect belly-revealing crop top (or the equivalent neon or patterned short-shorts for the male crowd), and by noon everyone already had a buzz. When I woke up today, I laid in bed for a while, reading On Writing by Stephen King, before getting up and putting on my workout clothes (because I tell myself if I put them on, I am more likely to work out), and heading to the dining commons for brunch.

WELL, little did I know that the hordes had infiltrated not only campus, but the one place where I can usually count on getting a quiet and solitary meal in the mornings. I walked into the dinning commons like normal, and handed the lady my card to swipe me in, and that is when I realized that we had been taken over. My heart dropped, and my fight or flight kicked in, screaming at me to RUN AWAY! But my card had already been swiped. I had paid for this meal. There was no turning back.

I walked with my arms close to my sides, chin down, trying to avoid making eye contact or bumping into the hundreds of people wandering around in their festival-like attire, clearly oblivious to ALL of the general protocol that those who frequent this dining commons know naturally.

I stood in a line 30 people deep, waiting for my egg whites and potatoes, still amazed at the sheer amount of people inside a place that is usually deserted at 11 AM on a Saturday morning. After that, I waited in an equally long line for some fruit, and that was when I could really tell that no one actually went here. To the girl in the Bose State t-shirt, “No, I am not waiting for fruit. I like to just stand here for no reason with an empty bowel in my hand. GO HOME!”

Once I finally got all my food, and found a place to sit down where I wasn’t bumping elbows with the non-students next to me (which took twice as long as usual) I ate my food quickly, determined to leave this hell-hole as soon as I could.

Needless to say, I will spend the rest of my day holed up in my room, avoiding all future awkward interactions with my drunken brethren.

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Awkward Girl vs. Mascara

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I just wanted to show you all some proof of how dreadful a time I having getting ready. This morning, the mascara wand JUMPED out of my hand, and onto the dirty ground, splattering mascara everywhere in the process. Of course, I stopped and took a picture so I could show you all. You’re welcome.

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How awkward are you?

According to Buzzfeed (and yes, I piddle my life away taking these stupid quizes):

“You’re super awkward! But aren’t we all? Hey, it’s OK. We’ve all had trouble with our basic motor skills from time to time. IT JUST HAPPENS. Just remember: No one’s watching. Well, unless they all are. In that case, everyone is watching. Oh no.”

Take the quiz yourself and see what you get! Comment with your results 🙂

http://www.buzzfeed.com/daves4/how-much-of-an-awkward-person-are-you

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Awkward Girl Tries to Prove a Point

Currently, I am on reprieve from school due to a glorious thing called Spring Break, and so I am spending some time at home. I spent the past weekend teaching my little sister how to ride a bike. I should say younger sister, since at fifteen years old she isn’t very “little” anymore. Disregarding the fact that she is fifteen, and only yesterday learned how to ride a bike (hey, don’t look at me, blame my parents for that one), it has been quite the interesting, but overall rewarding, process.

The journey was not without its fair share of blood, sweat, and yes, tears. But I don’t want to overload you with the compelling tales of navigating Walmart and Target to find the perfect bike, breaking and entering into an elementary school to practice, eventual success, followed by a second day of trail riding and plenty of face-plants into the dirt. This post is dedicated specifically to one minor incident—a product of my sheer stupidity (or awkwardness; take your pick).

We were at the tail end of our adventure, already having done quite a bit of biking, and my sister and I were hanging out on the nearby college campus waiting to be picked up by our dad. As we were killing time, my sister was biking back and forth, “practicing,” she said.

One thing I noticed was that she was very hesitant to go over small bumps, like little hills in the grass or dirt, or cracks in the cement. Trying to boost her confidence, I told her that she doesn’t need to worry about little bumps, because bikes were made to go over them. To prove my point I declared, “Bikes can even go up curbs!”

To which she replied, “No they can’t!”

“Yes they can,” I shot back. “I’ll prove it to you.”

I’m sure you know where this is going…

So I hop on my bike, and start heading for a nearby curb, thinking to myself as I approach it, “You’ve done this before, right?” To which the other side of my brain responded, “Yeah! Totally!” Unfortunately, none of my brain could remember the specific technique.

Left side: “Are you supposed to go straight on? Or angled?”

Right side: “I don’t know, but you better decide, because here it comes!”

All this figuring meant that I was going at a pretty lackluster speed, and so, as you can imagine, I hit the curb (at a slight angle), and contrary to my previous claim, my bike did not climb over the curb, but instead veered to the left, and catapulted me off and into the grass (at least I was smart enough to pick a curb that was lined with grass).

I hopped up really quickly so as to not let my sister think I was hurt, and instinctively gave two thumbs up at her. I was expecting to see her concerned, but of course she was just laughing hysterically, almost falling off her own bike.

Now I have two new scrapes on my right leg, completing the work that my previous wipe out had begun. At least my left leg has remained unscathed. For now…

Moral of the story? Bikes can’t go up curbs*. And Awkward Girl can’t prove points either.

 

*I realize that yes, if done correctly, bikes can in fact go up curbs. After telling the story, multiple people were kind enough to inform me that jerking the bike upwards as you hit the curb is the technique I was looking for. Too bad I didn’t know that when I was stupidly racing toward one, determined to prove my point at all costs. You win this time awkwardness…

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Awkward Girl has a Photo Shoot

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I’m sure the title of this entry alone was enough to send your mind spinning with all the ridiculous possibilities for awkwardness that would come from me being in a photo shoot.

Let me start by answering your first question, which I’m sure is, “Who in the world would want you to be in their photo shoot?” Or perhaps another valid first question is, “Why in the world would you want to even be in the photo shoot?” The answer to both of those questions is inherently the same, which is that I had to take these pictures for my work. We are doing a publicity campaign, and everyone needed a semi-professional picture to be taken. You can imagine my dread upon hearing this.

This story really begins hours before the photo shoot, when I was getting ready. But considering I thoroughly catalogued that painful process for you in a previous entry, I will spare you from having to read about it again.

Instead, I will begin with the photo shoot itself. The only thing I know about modeling is what I “learned” from the minor obsession I had with ANTM in middle school. To set the tone, the photographer asked if I wanted to pick a song to play. I panicked, as I frequently do when put on the spot, and just consented to whatever song he thought was appropriate. That song ended up being Barracuda, by Heart. After being told to channel my inner-fierceness, I began to be photographed.

I’m pretty sure the first few photos are of me just making a very confused or perplexed face, as I tried to grasp the concept of channeling my “inner-fierceness,” and contemplating what that would even look like. When I finally realized that I was being photographed, and should probably smile, I pulled out one of those all-teeth, wide-mouthed grins that six-year-old boys, and apparently Spongebob, seem to be really good at. It probably took about 50 frames for my cheek muscles to finally relax, and for me to start smiling like a non-psychotic person. But before I could even get two or three good pictures in, the photographer decided to break out the fan.

Let me interrupt myself here to just say that I HATE wind. It is my absolute least favorite type of weather. I deplore it. And now I know that this applies to artificial wind as well. Part of the reason that I hate the wind so much is because I just don’t have wind-friendly hair. It never all flows in one direction—my  bangs stick straight up, and after I end up with hair that looks like it came straight out of an 80s yearbook photo. NOT CUTE.

After seeing the pictures afterward, I can assure you that me and the wind do not mesh well on camera either. In half the pictures pieces of hair are stuck to my mouth, and in the other half of the photos I’m doing some weird thing with my lips where I am trying to dislodge the hair subtly without using my hands. The result is a weird quasi-duck face, with a furrowed brow, and somehow crossed eyes.

I guess I’m just as awkward on-camera as I am off-camera. All I have to say is that I really hope they don’t pick one of the confused, manic-grinning, or mentally constipated ones for my head shot.

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Awkward Girl Gets a Bug Bite

Yes, a bug bite. This post is about a bug bite. “Who cares?” you say. “What’s the big deal with a little bug bite?” you question. Let me assure you, dear readers, this is not your average bug bite, and I have had a good amount of run-ins with bug bites. Part of being awkward means that me and nature don’t get along real well, so I have had my fair share of bites, stings, pinches, etc.

This has to be the worst bug bite I have ever gotten, which is saying something because one time when I was 8 I sat down on top of a red ant hill (yep, I’ve been this unfortunately awkward my whole life) and got straight-up attacked. True story. Maybe I’m being a bit melodramatic, but I stand by my original claim that this is definitely one of the worst bug bites I have ever gotten.

I kid you not when I say that the affected area is the size of a QUARTER. That’s right, 25 cents worth of sheer itchy pain.

But perhaps you are still skeptical. You think to yourself, “yeah that sucks, but I mean, is it really that bad?” Fear not, for I have yet to tell you the worst part of all.

This itchy, painful, quarter-sized bug bite from hell is located right on my butt. In other words, the WORST, and most awkward location to possibly get a bug bite.

I’ve been walking around all day trying not to itch it, and when I do, I feel the urge to shout out, “I have a  bug bite! That’s all!” And you know what else, being the unlucky college student that I am, I of course had a final today. I’m sitting in one of those tiny, uncomfortable little lecture chairs, trying to focus on Alexander Pope, but all I can think about it how insanely itchy my butt is! I wriggle around in my seat, hoping that will somehow relieve the burning sensation. And this goes on for an HOUR AND A HALF until I finally finish my final and run out of there.

There is one silver lining to this whole incident. I read online that if you put toothpaste on your bug bite, it will help stop the itching, and it actually kind of works. In other words, my butt has never smelled more minty fresh. 

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