2 for 2

28 Mar

They come in packs of two.

Spanks, or the knock off brand. Whatever. We all know what I’m talking about. The belly crushing underwear that makes your ass look amazingly artificial and your intestines constrict.

One fun consequence: they will make you poop your pants. Just saying. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow- but soon. And it’s something you may remember for the rest of your life.

Let me paint you a picture. Set the scene if you will. So here I am, just moved back to town, broke, tired, starting school again and working a new job. I go out on this date- a first date. We go to this brewery with awesome southern food and everything is going well. Kinda. Mid fried okra I start to get the rumble. You know. The rumble. And as the rumble sets in the date launches off on this intense story that he’s all into and pantomiming and I’m attempting to discretely back away and try to politely excuse myself to the bathroom.

He won’t just SHUT UP!!

I’m like starting to sweat. I don’t want to be rude, but these tummy tuckers are seriously about to make me shit myself. I back away attempting to excuse myself and he just leans in closer to give his story more intensity.

Then the situation gets real. I tell him I’ll be right back, run to the restroom, drop some mad heat, and wish I didn’t exist. Underwear in the trash, I return, tail between my legs so to speak.

Funny, he actually asked me out on a second date after that. QUESTIONABLE.

What’s worse is I didn’t even learn my lesson. Because they come in packs of twos. And I still had another pair. Months go by and my memory fades and… I wore the fuckers again. And again, it crushed all of my organs into a tiny little ball and again, I pooped my pants. Well, sundress the second time.

Moral of the story?

Don’t wear underwear.


If the Genes fit

27 Mar

So I got my DNA results back, y’all. I got a DNA test kit for Christmas to look at what makes me me. As it turns out…I’m white. Super duper white.


So I’m basically just walking skin cancer.

Le sigh. No Dino DNA, no Albino Mongolian, not even a little bit Ninja Turtle. Just white.




I have the good toilet paper

7 Feb

I’ve turned into an old lady since slightly before my 5th 29th birthday. I’m even crankier in the mornings, I need even more sleep, I have a bedtime now, I’m stuck in my routines which makes having houseguests a unique form of torture for me, I can’t drink white wine after dinner and I carry antacids in my purse. As I grow older, one of my best friends has decided she would rather be 22 again for some reason.

One night, late at night *eyeroll* – it was like 9pm – she called and told me we were going out ‘dancing’. Now, this is Albuquerque on a school night, there is nowhere to go out dancing and if you pretend to you end up in some total amateur shit hole questioning your life decisions and wondering how humanity could have failed us so colossally.

I considered my sweatpants, my pizza bagels, and the fancy toilet paper I had just bought. I thought about pillows and snuggling Frank and warm running water.

Instead of saying anything coherent or normal I answered “No, I don’t know what kind of toilet paper they are going to have.”

This is what my life has become.

Mi quinto 29

28 Jan

Things I would like for my birthday:

A haircut and my nails done
An electric drill
A robot
A garden in the backyard
Peace of mind
Some focus
Comic books
A trip to Maine
Someone to tile my bathroom for me
A vacation
A full tank of gas
A cheeseburger

A mulligan for the last 17 years


Also, these are my other birthday lists, if you are interested in the evolution of Lindsay

It happens

7 Jan

So here’s my last two weeks in a nutshell.

My old English professor came over in a bathrobe, crying, so now he’s staying with me.

My colleague already lives with me.

My colleague told HR I wanted to file a sexual harassment complaint and that wasn’t real.

Then the man I never wanted to file a complaint against crashed a motorcycle and died.

Then my friends got in a fight, kind of, and I spilt town. Went and had a Santa Fe day.

I can’t do it. Call me when it’s over. There’s too much drama at the holidays.

Parks and Wrecks a Haiku

5 Oct

I told a coworker to write a poem on the old typewriter I found. I could see him counting on his fingers and thinking of phrases silently. A normal person would assume he was writing a Haiku.

I got this instead:

"Lindsay in disguise

Grinchy grin always wins

Always use the half rule"


I actually kind of love it.

Spirit Animal

26 Jul

I come from a bobcat. True story. Explains a bit, I suppose (I’m also a descendant of pirates).

So before I get to the story of my birth, let me tell you about my brother’s. It’ll give you a little context to my understanding of life and death.

My mom and dad wanted to have a kid for forever and had all these complications and then finally my mom got preggers with my bro. So as she went into labor and headed to the hospital my family was all a buzz and excited. My Grandmother and great-grandmother got in the car and headed down the mountain (we’re Appalachians) to the hospital to see him be born. It was a time of excitement and happiness. But a terrible car accident happened on their way and my great-grandmother died. My Grandmother was badly injured, I think she broke her legs and all. The joy of my dumb brother was interupted by this tremendous tragedy. So I always assumed that my great-grandmother, Granny Meade, was my brother’s spirit because he kind of is a little old lady on the inside. Very much.

So then came me, the whoops baby. Or as I like to say, the most awesome miracle and best news ever.

My dad worked for the phone company while he was doing his post grad. He climbed up the telephone poles and fixed stuff. I don’t really know, it was back in the days of land lines. He found a stranded kitten one day, put it in his shirt pocket, and brought it home to my mom.

Oops, it’s a baby bobcat.

Anyhow, they raised the bobcat and named it Chris. There are pictures of Chris cuddling with my brother as an infant and then as a toddler. He was a good *big* cat. So anyway my mom was pregnant with me, broke her femur (largest bone in your entire body. Go big, mom) waterskiing, was recovering from getting the cast off her leg, and Chris started acting weird. He curled up under the table and was having trouble breathing. My mom, extremely pregnant, still mostly one legged, crawled under the dining table to lay with him and hold him. She called my dad crying. My dad, thinking she’s gone into labor, rushes home. And as they sat with Chris the bobcat as he died, under the dining table, guess who came into the world?

If you guessed me, you’re right. So my brother has Granny Meade and I have a bobcat’s spirit.

It all makes a little more sense now, huh?

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