Anecdotal information to solidify the theory that I’m terrible.

I spent a large chunk of my life being absurdly embarrassing, so it’s pretty hard for me to actually get embarrassed by anything these days. And unlike Taylor Swift, I know I’m the problem. So here is a list of embarrassing things I have done or said in my lifetime that shows that I might just suck:

I flicked myself in the eye to get out of Sunday school. I was in second grade and hated Sunday school because, it’s Sunday school, so whilst my mother was at work and my father was in charge, I flicked myself in the eye. I scratched my cornea and told my mother that I “ran into a doorknob” because that seemed less embarrassing. I had to wear glasses for six months. I also briefly had an eyepatch. But I didn’t have to go to Sunday school, and that’s what’s important here.

A bike cop tried to arrest me at NIU. I was 21 and stupid drunk, and when I’m stupid drunk I like to take walks. This walk landed me in front of a frat house. Said frat house had giant gold lions and giant gold animals are cool if you’re a drunk idiot. I tried to take one, however, it was too heavy for my lady arms. I was also still holding a can of Bud Light. A bike cop strolled up and yelled at me, so I laughed and went to go on my merry way. But no, he wanted me to pour my beer out and he lectured me about something I don’t remember. Being a total idiot, I said “What, are you going to arrest me and put me on your handlebars?” I ran away muttering about how dumb everything is and opened another beer.

I gave myself a concussion. Ice is fucking stupid.

I put a peanut butter sandwich in the VCR. I was a small child, I’m not sure why I did this, as I have a vague recollection of telling my mother that I’d totally eat peanut butter sandwiches all the time forever and ever. Incidentally I don’t really eat peanut butter as an adult. I ruined the VCR.

I cut my hair off with sewing scissors. At age three, I had lovely, long dark blonde hair. Mom was sewing something ridiculous and giving me scraps of fabric to cut up, because I loved to cut shit up as a child. She stopped giving me scraps, I got bored, and chopped my hair off to my chin. I wanted more attention, so I went up behind my mother and cut her hair to her chin, too. Twinsies! I cried at the hair salon thinking they would glue my hair back on. And then my hair turned brown over the next couple months. This lead to an identity crisis where I refused to look in reflective surfaces.

I cut my hair off with cuticle scissors. I was really bored after school when I was 15, and also really tired as I hadn’t slept in over 24 hours (finals probably). This lead to thinking such as “Perhaps it is time to have bangs again.” My sister wouldn’t share the regular scissors so I worked with what I had. I chopped some bangs with the cuticle scissors real quick, took a nap, and woke up with the immediate thought of “Shit, what did I do.” I figured dyeing my hair burgundy would fix this. It didn’t.

For many years I thought Melissa Etheridge and Rod Stewart were the same person. It’s still really fucking hard to tell them apart. Same goes for Jodie Foster and Helen Hunt.

The first time I figured I was depressed, I was 13, and it was because Taylor Hanson got married. He has so many kids now and I just don’t understand how life ended up this way. Also, he bumped into me really hard once and didn’t apologize.

I got really drunk on Christmas Eve when I was 20 and told the whole room that my great aspiration in life is to be a Revolutionary War reenactor. No good excuse for that one, except I fucking love The Patriot. Everyone just looked at me weird so I said “Fine, you guys don’t get it. Go ahead and think I’m weird. I’m going to go sit on the porch.” Even the neighbors thought I was weird and their kid actually was a war reenactor. This is actually why I don’t drink white wine very often.

I got really drunk on Christmas Eve when I was 23 (Ok, last Christmas Eve) and gave my 11 year old cousin a lecture about boys. I know nothing about dating, nothing. I date like a frat douche. I judge men on their shoes. When men hit on me I give them fake names. I gave up halfway through the lecture because the booze hit me so I just put on Pretty In Pink and told her to watch it and figure it out.

I nearly lost the bottom of my bikini after jumping off of a boat. The boat was full of 14 year old boys. I was 19. This was not the best scenario for me. At least I ended up tan.

I called one of my teachers “Dad.” I was really fucking tired and you cannot send a little tired child to school and expect nothing to happen because of it. He made fun of me. I was in third grade.

I got hit in the head really hard with a tennis ball during practice in high school because I was staring at a boy for some reason. My coach said “And that’s what you get for having hormones.” He said this loudly. In hindsight, the getting hit in the head with a ball part wasn’t so embarrassing, as I have been hit in the head with a basketball, a baseball, a softball, a golfball, a soccer ball, a hockey puck, a kickball/dodgeball, the ball I used to throw for my dogs, a football, a volleyball, a frisbee, and a goddamn birdie.

“It’s so swollen I couldn’t fit a dick in there if I tried.” I said this to my mother, about my jaw, at a family Christmas party. I was sober.

I read a Twilight book in public. I was also wearing Uggs and jeans. A friend saw me, said “I’m so mad at your outfit right now,” and no one saw me for the next eight months because I went off the grid and left the country and didn’t tell anyone. I’m really sad that someone’s last memory of me for more than half a year was Twilight and Ugg boots.

I jumped into Lake Michigan at night, while drunk. Not my finest hour. I had a life vest on, but I ripped it off and threw it.

I hugged a cab driver. He listened to me complain about my weird ~love life.~ That deserves an embrace. But if I ever do that again I hope I’m not wearing a rubber miniskirt.

I had a sexy dream about Brody Jenner and I told people about it. I watched a marathon of Laguna Beach and that was the result. Also the dream wasn’t so much sexy as it was a mashup of Laguna Beach and that scene from Jackass where Steve-O puts shrimp in his mesh bathing panties.

I accidentally kissed my stalker. I was also wearing a party dress. I ended up puking in the middle of the street 15 minutes later so I think everything worked out how it was supposed to.

I think leggings are pants. I have a big butt, okay.

Sometimes when my phone rings I just stare at it. I hate talking on the phone because I like to do things constantly. Maybe I’d like to pee, maybe I’d like to shower, maybe I just hate you. It’s really hard to be on the phone during these times.

When I was 17 I laughed at a boy I hated for asking me to prom. I will say the laughter was an accident, but considering how it went down, I couldn’t control myself. I had been complaining about something in my eye, so he said “Maybe it’s a sign.” “A sign of what, that I’m going blind?!” “No… a sign that I want to go to prom with you.” Cue laughter, rejection, and me asking a boy I actually liked to go with me, and proceeding to go with him instead.

My best friend called me and said in response to my behavior over spring break “You were ACTING like a frat douche? You ARE a frat douche.” She’s right. Considering I was in the woods wearing nothing but a bikini and a leather jacket wielding a machete. I woke up one morning in a bikini, and woke up the next morning fully dressed. I’m also really good at beer bongs and beer pong and that kind of lowers my self esteem. That is, until I outdo an actual frat douche.

Sometimes after I go on a date with a guy, I block him on Facebook. To be fair, if I suspect you’re a serial killer because you stared at me without blinking for an hour while complimenting my teeth repeatedly, that’s uncomfortable for me. Also if you’re 33 and take me to FLAT IRON and spend two hours saying how “cute” it is that I’m 23 and proceed to “when I was your age” me, I hate you. If you went out with my sister once, that’s weird. If you take me with you to your AA meeting, I’m probably hungover. Because of this I haven’t accepted a date in several months.

I’m mad 50 Cent didn’t respond to me on Twitter. I had a question, which was simply “Why on earth is your cologne not called 50 Scent?” Which, is quite an important thing to wonder. If Devon Sawa can retweet me for being funny/appreciating Die Hard, 50 Cent can answer my thoughtful and deep inquiries.

When a guy I know, who has a girlfriend, sent me a dick pic, I took a screenshot. I have no real intentions with this piece of blackmail, but I did send it to my gay friend. I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again, what the fuck am I supposed to do with a dick pic? Send back “OH YEAH BABY, NICE CIRCUMCISION JOB!”?

I get irrationally angry when men think I have crushes on them. Are you Taylor Hanson? No? Then no crush. But to be perfectly honest, I am the pickiest human being when it comes to men. I get legitimate crushes on guys once every few years, and I’ve almost always ended up dating them, so my instincts are pretty good. Except for some reason almost everyone I’ve dated has a back tattoo. Do I need a therapist for that one? I don’t believe in therapists. They can’t prescribe funny pills.

When I was a bartender, I clocked a guy while I was working, then proceeded to go back to work. He shoved me because I used the men’s bathroom and he had to pee, but the line for the women’s bathroom was too long and I had not yet realized I could be like fuck yall I work here so I’m cutting in line. So, when he shoved me, I hit him and went back to business. He tried to order a drink from me five minutes later so I told him to go fuck himself.

I turn into a feral Marissa Cooper when I’m allowed to drink too much. I’ll say the hot tub is too deep, I’ll spend an hour on the phone and tell people “don’t worry about it” when they ask who I’m talking to, and I’ll go to sleep in my swimsuit.

I judge my peers when they constantly change their relationship statuses on Facebook. You were engaged last week, you were single the week before, you’re “it’s complicated” now… I’m confused, but I also think anyone who is ever “it’s complicated” on Facebook is a tool. I hide my relationship status because fuck you guys.

I can’t keep plants alive. I killed a BAMBOO plant that my exboyfriend gave me. After we broke up, I kept looking at it and saying “What, do you expect me to water you with my tears? Fuck off.” So, it died.

My college advisor told me that one of my teachers hated me because I’m “classically pretty and remind him of his first wife.” This isn’t my fault, right?

I am basically Snow White when it comes to animals. I have four squirrels who come up to me like puppies waiting to be fed everyday. Also, a possum.

I drank two dirty martinis while writing this. Shit happens.