Indoctrinated

I spent most of 6th grade in Phoenix, Arizona, where I attended a predominantly Hispanic Catholic school as the new girl, though I was neither Hispanic nor Catholic, because my mother was afraid that I’d either join a gang or be shot dead by a gang if I was enrolled into the public school system. There’s a lot to be learned from attending Catholic school, but I think I can sum up everything I took away from it in one short list, though that’s not to say that these aren’t the most important life lessons I’ve ever been given.

1. If you forget to eat breakfast on Wednesday morning, not a big deal. Wednesday means mass and mass means flesh bread and blood juice.
2. If a girl tells you she was “macking” some boy yesterday after school, do not ask what “macking” means. You will be laughed at and ridiculed. I am here to tell you now that “macking” means “to let another 11 year old put his/her tongue in your mouth and slosh it around for 30 minutes or so.” Totally gross, right?
3. In order to roll your skirt up and make it shorter without the nuns noticing, purchase longer shirts, so that when they’re tucked in, you can pull them out enough to cover the rolls.
4. If you were not baptized Catholic, they will not let you partake in confessional, no matter how late you stayed up the night before wondering if you’re supposed to start off with “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,” or if that’s just in the movies. Instead, you will be forced to wait in the pews while all the other Catholics spill their guts about lying to their parents and not doing the dishes and making bad grades and “macking” after school. Unfortunately, as an 11 year old, you will not take this as an opportunity to not have to tell some pastor that you stole Chap-Stick from the Happy Store last month. Instead you will worry incessantly over what all the other Catholics will ask you when confessional is over. The last thing you want to be when you’re 11 is DIFFERENT.
5. If you find yourself in trouble, the nuns will never know whether or not you really said all those Hail Mary’s.
6. Sure, there are only 300 people attending your school, but YOU SUCK AT SOFTBALL AND COORDINATION IN GENERAL. NO, YOU CANNOT BE ON THE TEAM. WE’D RATHER PLAY ONE MAN SHORT. YOU ARE BANISHED TO THE DRAMA CLUB.
7. Folding your laced socks down is so uncool now. Who dresses you? Your mother?
8. Why don’t you wear a bra yet?
9. Reeboks? Are you fucking kidding me?
10. DIE.

Testing the Atomic Bomb

My overly-muscular pit bull mix, who we adopted from the animal shelter about a year ago, is the only dog I’ve ever had whose farts are actually audible. And by audible I mean the last time she broke wind, I threw myself under the sofa and questioned my vote for Obama, because OHMIGOD THE TERRORISTS ARE BOMBING MY NEIGHBORHOOD. I woke up last night to witness one of these anomalies and heard as she leapt out of bed, sprinted into the living room (slamming her body into the doorframe on her way), and waited there for a good 20 minutes before finally retreating back to our room. Unfortunately, though she tested positive for steroids in 2003, she’s afraid her own ass is trying to do her in.

Putting in my Application Now

Me: I'm going to the gym tonight. I saw a picture of Audrina online today, and I died a little on the inside. Her body is amazing, other than her boobs. Perfectly flat, amazing stomach and nice legs.

Boyfriend: Yeah, she has a pretty nice body. But so do you, so stop crying.

Me: I know, I know. BUT my belly isn't also flat when I'm sitting down.

Boyfriend: Well, you better make your way down to 8% body fat then. Maybe do an Ironman.

Me: I'm pretty sure Audrina's never done an Ironman.

Boyfriend: I'm pretty sure I never said Audrina has done an Ironman, nor did I imply it. I did, however, imply that she likely has the body fat percentage of someone that has done an Ironman.

Me: So then how do I achieve the body fat percentage of someone who's done an Ironman without doing an Ironman?

Boyfriend: Strict diet and an expensive Hollywood personal trainer making you work out 5 days a week? Maybe gastric bypass. Living in harsh arctic conditions for a few years would probably do it. Or you could just do "Survivor" for a season.

It's the Thought...

Mom: "I sent you a $100 check for your birthday. Can you wait until next Friday to cash it?"

Push for Assistance

In an effort to rebalance my whacked out hormones, I recently stopped taking oral contraceptives. I’ve been walking around for the past few months snapping at people, because, god, do you really always have to look that way? And who ate the last goddamn yogurt? And no, I don't want to sleep with you. I'm tired. And awww, this toilet paper commercial always makes me tear up. I love you.

Thanks to my new boss’s inability to trust me to be able to do my my monkey job because I haven't been in the industry for four hundred years, I have a lot of free time on my hands at work- time to spend comparing condoms on the internet while my boss pulls his hair out as he tries to run the entire company. Furthermore, my entire life revolves around reviews. I absolutely refuse to go to a restaurant, see a movie, or buy anything new without first consulting the internet. And thus began the hunt for the perfect condom. After a quick Google search, I found what I was looking for- the holy grail, the crème de la crème, the pick of the litter of latex contraception- the Crown Skinless Skin condoms, described as the thinnest condom on the market, odorless, tasteless, the condom of the (porn) stars, and made in Japan. The Japanese not only have us beat in the automotive and technology industries, they're kicking our asses in the sex industry as well. Being the slave that I am to instant gratification, I couldn't waste time with ordering on the internet and waiting 7-9 days for the delivery of my discreet, unmarked, sex box. I did another quick Google search and found that I MIGHT be able to purchase them at my local CVS. If they didn't have them, though, no worries, backup plan! The Durex Extra Sensitive condoms came in at a close #2 on the "Best Condoms of 2009" list. American made! I could simply snatch up a box of these babies and use them while awaiting my Crown Skinless Skin delivery from The Condom Depot. Sure, I'm a little neurotic, but you will never find me without a plan.

We walked into CVS, teenagers again, all paranoid that the store clerk would have a pretty good idea of what our evening had in store for us, as well as exactly what it was going to look like. Buying condoms alone? Not a big deal. The store clerk knows you're probably going to get some, but with who? It's a mystery. Buying condoms together? You might as well both strip down right there on the counter and show everyone your nakeds, because guess what, THEY'RE ALREADY IMAGINING IT.

We hurried down the Family Planning aisle only to find that the condoms were locked in a glass case. I scanned over the brands quickly- no Skinless Skins. However, there were about 12 different variations of the Durex Extra Sensitives- 3 packs, 12 packs, 24 packs, lubricated, not lubricated. After a brief consultation, we decided that 3 were too few, but 24 were too many. We were set. We wanted the 12 pack of Durex Extra Sensitive condoms. But how? Above the glass case was a large red button which read, "PUSH FOR ASSISTANCE." You have got to be fucking kidding me. I convinced myself that there was a man sitting in a small room, his sole duty to come quietly to us when a small red light went off at his desk. Surely CVS wasn't going to expose me in front of all of these Sunday afternoon post-worship shoppers.

WRONG.

"ASSISTANCE NEEDED IN FAMILY PLANNING." Not exactly the anonymity I was hoping for.

An older overweight store clerk rushed over to us, refusing to look at either of us directly. Clearly he was as embarrassed for us as we were of ourselves. He unlocked the case.

Looking straight ahead and through the condom shelf, he's all, "Which ones?"

"Um, the Durex Extra Sensitive 12 pack right there..." I mumble back, keeping my cool, like I'm picking out scratch-off lottery tickets.

"Hmmmm.... which pack? Ribbed or not ribbed?"

"Um.... not ribbed. Thanks." What am I, ordering a cheeseburger? SURE, LET'S MAKE IT A VALUE MEAL.

Twenty-four

I turned 24 years old this weekend. Still not old enough to blame my age for driving halfway down the street before realizing I've forgotten either my phone, wallet, purse, other phone, deodorant, or clean underwear at home, and I need to turn around.

Why I Hate You

You drenched yourself in old man cologne again, and we share a 12x12 closet office.