Everyone has hobbies. People like to scrap book, sew, cook, hunt, fish, collect finger nail clippings of past lovers…all the normal stuff.
A hobby that I personally hold very dear to my heart is complaining about bitches that PISS me off.
The positive people can try to argue with me and say this doesn’t qualify as a hobby. But they can suck it at this point because they have yet to live in Glendive, Montana where staring at the carpet for hours at a time trying to find patterns in it is a hobby.
Anyway, something that has been a pet peeve to me for a while is the way girls take compliments.
I don’t know how many times I’ve read/heard about situations where a guy went out of a way to tell a girl that she was pretty/beautiful/gorgeous to get the response:
“NO I’M NOOOT”
Bitch please. If a guy is taking the time to give you a compliment, then I think you shouldn’t be a dumb ass and try to fish for more.
That’s right. I have a vagina. I know what you’re up too. Knock it off.
Guys like confidence. It’s a very attractive trait to possess.Even if you aren’t confident, for the love of God pretend. It’ll start to come naturally if you fake it for a while (Yes, that’s what she said). Guys aren’t going to want to compliment girls if they think it has to be an hour long debate on the fact that you are NOT ugly.
This bitch session goes with a story of how I learned this the hard way:
Back when I was a sophomore in high school…a friend told me she was putting herself down to get compliments from a guy. I don’t like to think anything through, so I thought to myself
“Oh hey, I want to be told I’m pretty. I’m going to try that next time a guy compliments me”
A few days later, a cute boy I’d been developing a crush on for a while was texting me. He was sweet enough to tell me he thought I looked very pretty that day.
I saw it was the perfect opportunity for an ego boost. I replied “OH NO I DIDN’T. MY HAIR WAS FRIZZY. I FELT FAT. SO YEAH…NOT WHAT YOU’D CALL PRETTY”.
He decided that was a good time to tell me “Yeaaah…guys like confidence.”
So then the epiphany that I was being a dumb ass hit me. It was time to try to reverse what I’d done.
My infamous text I’ll never forget sending said the following:
“Oh no! I didn’t mean I was ugly. I think I’m pretty too. I have so much confidence. It’s almost annoying how much confidence I have. I’m probably one of the most confident people ever. No worries about that.”
It’s been three years, and I have yet to get the reply to that text. I gave up hope about seven months ago.
So take it from me, when a guy is nice to you SAY THANK YOU and maybe add that you appreciate him telling you that. So it will maybe get around the fact that girls actually LIKE it when guys are respectful.
Sometimes I wonder why I even dare to leave my house in the summer. Usually my embarrassing moments are a result of my severe hay fever.
I’ll explain why . . .
I look like I’m strutting my stuff with pink eye. That ruins everything. How am I supposed to impress all the boys with a swollen eye that’s flushing out mucus every single time I blink? It’s not as hot as it sounds.
I’m constantly snorting the snot dripping out of my nostrils back in.
There have been times when I’m tempted to wear a “allergy fanny pack”, containing my special nasal spray, tissues, prescription eye drops, numerous pills, and cough drops (sneezing so much gives me a sore throat). Lock up your boyfriends, girls. Here I come.
I wheeze every time I inhale. Adorable.
Sneezing. . . when I’m in public, I have two options. I can hold in my snot, and pee a little (curse you weak bladder). Orrrr, I can hold in the pee . . . and blow snot every where. I always have to make a quick decision before the blow. Multitasking has never been my skill.
Snot runs down my throat if I’m not constantly blowing my nose.
My nose is constantly red from all the nose blowing
I’m constantly complaining in a stuffy, wheezy voice ABOUT my allergies.
But sadly, this hasn’t been the worst part of my summer.
A whole 4.7 seconds of my summer beats ALL of this on the “wow, that was fucking embarrassing” scale.
This is a story that will take some of your time, but I’m pretty sure you’ll agree it was worth the time once I reveal to you what an ass I made of myself.
PRCA Rodeos have sponsors just like every other sport. You know how all the other sports just simply hang up the sponsors signs on the side? Everyone gets the message, and they don’t waste anytime boring you with a presentation of each business sponsoring the event with a damn flag for each one.
But noooot PRCA rodeos. It has to be a big deal.
If you are honored to be picked to carry a flag (HA!), you have to make sure your practiced up so the asshole 14 year old girl doesn’t make a point to tell you how you’re fucking up the routine and that you’d be better off in the stands sitting on your ass staying out of the way. (…sigh…)
Anyway, this whole “hauling ass around an arena in front of a somewhat large crowd on a horse carrying a flag” has been something I’ve been forced to do for the last three years by several people in my life. I’ve cried. I’ve screamed. I’ve begged. I’ve faked injuries, sickness, doctor appointments, and have even tried to literally hide. Not once did I succeed.
So this year, I was actually busy enough and got to skip the first day of the two day rodeo.
Thinking I had gotten out of it all together, I showed before the rodeo the second day with no hat, no boots, and most importantly no HORSE. It was literally impossible for me to join the “flag girl posse”. I put on my best “aw shucks, maybe next year” face. But inside I was doing a dance that consisted of me holding up my middle fingers high in the air, and spinning around while singing “AIN’T GEEETTTINGGG ME THIS YEARRRR!” (it’s really hilarious if you’re picturing it like I am).
Oh boy, was I wrong.
I was in for a shock when….alas!….they presented a perfectly tame horse by the name of Best Buy who happened to clear his schedule just so he could be my very own flag horse!
Picking up acting tips from Disney Channel sitcoms didn’t pay off in the situation.
As my smile literally turned upside down, and my eyes widened (I’m pretty sure they were flashing ‘FML’ in the center), it became obvious I wasn’t thrilled.
The man behind all the magic, John Smith (great guy, but he scares the living hell out of me), glared at me and said
“Get that stupid look off your face and get on the damn horse. If you work for me, there’s no screwing around”
I decided replying “DOES VOLUNTEERING FOR YOU MEAN I GET TO SCREW AROUND?” wasn’t the best thing to say.
So as I crawled atop the creature, I failed to notice the “I’m going to fuck up your life” gleam in his eye.
They had boots, a cowboy hat, and even a saddle for me. I was so grateful . . . .
I learned that Best Buy had never carried a flag before, but he was the tamest horse around the place. So there was nothing to be worried about. I actually wasn’t dreading it after cruising around on Best Buy for a while. He seemed like he was a nice guy who was just trying to do his best! A couple hours before the rodeo, we moseyed down to the arena to get to the “official” practice, and see if my borrowed steed would carry me around with a flag. I sat upon Best Buy, and braced myself for a blow up as the western clothing store flag was handed to me. Best Buy didn’t even flinch. We walked, trotted, and lopped around with the flag flapping behind us. We had no cares in the world. I dared to get a little bit excited!
The “flag posse” arrived for the official practice. I was told the routine, and stood in line with my horse to run into the arena when I was told.
Best Buy and I flew into the arena, and I guess Best Buy forgot to inform me he had a change of heart. Best Buy threw himself into a bucking rage before I could even get ahold of anything. He threw the flag and myself into the ground, and took off by himself.
I laid in the dirt feeling like the world’s biggest asshole when I turned my head to see my dad in the stands holding up his camera phone smiling and yelling, “MACKENZIE! I GOT A REALLY GOOD PICTURE! AHAHAHA!”
I was humiliated, but decided to give Best Buy a second chance. The horse decided he had been a jerk, and performed perfectly the next five times we did the routine with the other horses. I thought to myself, “It could have been worse! It could have been during the actual performance!” So I regained my confidence, put Best Buy in a stall, and went to find my sparkly shirt that matched all the other girls.
Two hours later . . .
The time has come, it’s time for Best Buy and I to put it all on the line, and perform in front of an energetic crowd flawlessly. I’m as confident as a woman warrior ready to wave my flag like a spear that’s used to stab through my enemies heart. My head is up high, and I’m ready to impress every single person in there. After two previous years of experience, I’m about to show the JS Rodeo Company that I’m the best damn flag girl they’ve ever HAD! Best Buy is playing the part of a war pony by snorting, and tossing his head around. The horse was even pawing the ground as to say “let’s….do…..this”.
We get lined up behind the four other flag girls, and it begins . . .
The first girl runs out, the second, the third, and as the fourth is making her way out . . .
I lean down and whisper in Best Buy’s hairy ear. . . “this is our chance to shine, my friend”
Everything seems to be slowed down to increase the intensity and epic-ness of the moment. The director of the flag girls is nodding her head at me, and mouthing “GO!”
Oh we go alright. I puff out my chest, put a smile on my face, get a good grip on my flag, and dig my heels into Best Buy’s sides. I had to resist letting out a war cry.
It was such a perfect moment. I knew the crowd was cheering, but all I could hear was my heart and Best Buy’s hooves pounding to the same beat.
As the wind hit my face, I noticed the flag seemed to be floating in slow motion behind us as we came around galloping around a corner.
I thought to myself “It’s like we’re fly-”
That thought was never finished, because I actually did fly . . . like a human fucking lawn dart.
The spiritual connection between Best Buy and I was quickly “disconnected” when the evil beast decided he didn’t need me along to finish our quest.
Best Buy didn’t exactly buck, it was worse. . . .
As I was thinking something special was going on, this horse was obviously thinking
“Well, it’s time for me to ditch the bitch”
Best Buy took a huge leap, planted his front feet, and ducked his head. I was thrown over his head, and face planted into the dirt a ways in front of him. Instead of laying there and pretending I was dead, I bounced up from ground spitting dirt. I somehow managed to smile as I got out of the arena once they caught Best Buy. I assured all the concerned people I was okay and pretended to laugh it off as I tried to shake the dirt out of my ears. I wasn’t going to be laughing once the pain in my ribs, butt, and pride hit me.
I walked out to the pick up, and decided I had every right to curl up in the back seat and bawl my eyes out.
I will leave the country next year if that’s what it takes to get out of carrying a flag.
This morning as soon as I woke up, I hopped out of bed, did my morning stretches, had a healthy nutritious breakfast, and knew exactly what I wanted to blog about today!
I woke up , looked at the clock, cussed, slept some more, rolled out of bed, and had tiny pizza rolls and a Coke for breakfast. Plus, I STILL don’t know what I want to blog about. I could blog about the fight I had with my ex-boyfriend (Mom, I know you are going to read this and feel inclined to ask me about it. Don’t). I could blog about how I need to shower, but it takes too much effort to stand up for that long. I could blog about my annoyance when someone only leaves enough coffee in the pot to fill up the bottom of your cup. I could blog about how grumpy I am! …..except it appears I’m already doing that! I looked for inspiration in the fridge. Nothing there. I looked through all the music on my iPod, and no song really jumped out to me yelling “OH I TOTALLY KNOW WHAT YOU SHOULD WRITE ABOUT TODAY!”. The only song that brings me any joy at all today is “All I Want for Christmas is You” by Mariah Carey. This song is the most played on my iPod I just discovered. It’s my go-to song when I feel like I’m going to break down in tears….or throw a brick through a window. So obviously I’ve been feeling like this a lot lately. So when you see me looking pissed off at the world with my ear phones in know that I’m not rocking out to Five Finger Death Punch, Lamb of God, or ….another one of those angry sounding bands. I’m listening to the LEAST angry song in the entire world. (Reason 31 why Mac is uncool).
Something good happened today though! Rudy (Mom’s cocker spaniel who loves to ruin my life) sprinted into my room this morning like he always does and I immediatly pulled the blankets over my head because I know his routine like the back of my hand. Instead of trying to pull the covers back by digging at them so he could lick my face or try to rip the hair out of my scalp by playing tug-a-war with it, or burp in my face, or humping my stuffed animals when I don’t give him attention, he curled up by my feet and went to sleep. I got my foot ready to kick his ass off my bed, but he actually looked not so evil as he slumbered away. So I let him stay.
See, I’m not that big of an asshole! (most of the time)