Go Team Action Sweatshirts! Plus....pumpkins!

Alright, so I'm super tired, so I gotta make this quick.  I have to be up in 6 1/2 hours to go zip lining, which will be sweeeeet!  In addition to being really fun, hopefully it'll give me something to write about (3 hours in a group of strangers could be....inspirational...).  But anyway, I wanted to post some pics beforehand and write about my pre-zip planning. 

I don't have a large selection of active-wear because I'm not that active of a person (although I'd like to be?).  Generally, I feel that jeans work for me in most situations.  Besides, active-wear never seems to be that important to the process. Yet, all the time I see special hiking shorts and "performance fleece" (not to be confused with the extremely sedentary "failure fleece?").  So when thinking about what I should wear while zip lining, I started looking at the stereotypical active-wear-type sweatshirts.  They're crazy expensive!  I decided that, for the price, the sportsy sweatshirt I was looking at needed to retain certain qualities:  could I successfully karate chop my way through the thick jungle canopy of Georgia in said sweatshirt?  Could I do jumping jacks and round-house kicks in it?  Could it repel rain like some sort of force-field around my body?  Surprise!  It couldn't!  The "performance fleece" performed as well as a regular sweatshirt for the difference of about $100 (and good news, it's not supposed to rain anyway, so no rain force-field needed).

Nonetheless, the idea of "action sweatshirts" didn't leave my mind.  This is going to be an "extreme-to-the-max" type outdoorsy adventure for Keith and I, so we needed something to symbolize our excitement and designate one another as zip lining teammates (vs the other people in our group, of course).  So yay for iron-on transfer graphics!

Yeah, I stole it from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia.  And yeah, it doesn't really make sense as we're not in Philadelphia.  But "zip" sounds like "flip," the jingle is catchy, and spirit of Flipadelphia relates to the our excitement for zipadelphia.  Plus zipeorgia and ziplanta sound dumb.  You need the extra syllables of the "delphia" to make it work, I guess. 

That's Keith in his (and my cute cat being cute as usual).  Here's mine:



Jealous?  You should be.  I'm going to be able to do all sorts of karate in this action sweatshirt.  And while you're busy being jealous, here's a picture of my pumpkin I just carved a few hours ago:

You should probably just listen to this song in the background while admiring my pumpkin because it's good enough to be in the trailer for that 3D owl movie (which I liked, by the way).  Side-note:  I totally cheated and used a template for this pumpkin.  Oops!  Still awesome, though.

Keith's pumpkin turned out pretty sweet, too.  It could be in that Nightmare before Christmas movie. 

In summary, sweatshirts are best when accessorized for action and pumpkins are made for Hollywood.  Crap, 5 1/2 hours until zip line.  Gotta sleep so I don't fall to my death (just kidding, it's a moderately safe activity as long as the zip guides get more sleep than me).

Later!

Why Airshows Are Kinda Neat But Not Really

Living next to an airbase is pretty much awful.  You never know when things are going to get loud, and when they do, you'll see my cat swiftly army-crawl to and from all her tiny hiding spots. I've been startled out of sleep in a half-conscious panic by some of the things that fly over our apartment.  And after that, you get to listen to everyone's car alarms go off.  Fun.

(By the way, if you google or flickr images of "army-crawl," you just get hundreds of images of people's babies, all of which are not very good at demonstrating an army crawl.  I was going to paste a picture of my cat's face on someone army-crawling, but pasting her onto a picture of a baby wasn't an accurate illustration of my point.  This is where I would have put that picture, so use your imagination and laugh because a cat crawling around with an army helmet on is probably pretty cute.)

Anyway, if you know me, you know I don't care for airplanes much (I blame this cartoon.).  I definitely don't like being in them, and seeing/hearing one fly overhead is enough to get my heart rate up.  Even so, I'm planning on seeing parts of the airshow this weekend because A) it's free, B) it's probably entertaining, and C) I just have to go outside and tilt my head up.

So free entertainment is one benefit of living next to an airbase.  But after that, it's mostly all cons.  If a plane nosedives into our apartment (and, unlike the slightly improbable Bugs Bunny cartoon, doesn't run out of gas the moment before crashing), that's going to cause some problems.  Also, the volume of the show is going to be annoying, but I'm used to that a bit.  One inconvenience I wasn't expecting, though, is the pre-show spectators.  The airbase is right between where I work and where I live (see map below:  A = work, B = airbase, C = Subway, D = live). 


View Larger Map

I figured the weekend traffic would be obnoxious, but I can avoid that area when I don't work.  Apparently, though, two days of actual airshow are not enough for most people.  On the Friday before the show,  it appears that some people like to randomly pull over to the side of the road, get out of their cars, and squint towards the sky to watch the planes practice.  They also apparently have to go to the same Subway I go to for lunch and clog up the line!  Blurg!

I'm probably just being a local, crabby jerk-head, but it does seem kinda dumb to watch and photograph the sporadic, unscheduled, and less impressive practice-runs.  It'll be way more entertaining to squint up at the sky with your mouth open tomorrow and Sunday.  Until then, keep your eyes on the road and move out of my way...I gotta get back to work and do important things (one of which is definitely NOT writing this post...seriously, it's not...shut up!).

That's a pretty accurate picture of my lunch-hour experience (Georgia folk sure do love their moonshine).  I hope you enjoyed the good-ol'-fashioned copyright infringement.  Also, I made the barrel roll joke before any of you jabronies could.  Sorry!

This is my weekend airshow futurecast...barf or no barf, should be entertaining.

Later!

Back for Birbiglia Day!

After almost a 3 month computer hiatus (sorry, I'm apparently horrible at keep blog promises), I'm back-in-typing-action!  I attempted to get back to it a few times now, and it just wasn't meant to be.  I'd type something out, hate it, erase it, start over again, and repeat.  A few days ago, I got a couple paragraphs of a post started and saved it to work on again later.  I'm serious when I say it wasn't meant to be:  when I re-opened the post, it was blank (and for anyone familiar with blogger, that's kinda strange since the composing app saves whatever you've typed every few seconds).

But it all makes sense now because I realized that it's Mike Birbiglia Day (or so I'm claiming it to be)!  This is the post that is meant to end my hiatus, since it starts where I left off last.

"So what is Mike Birbiglia Day?" you might be wondering.  Well, he's calling it Book-tober because him and his savy promotional team organized a signing and called for fans to host make-out parties (seriously) in celebration of his book release.  But even though I can't be in New York for any book signing and since it's not technically a party even if Keith and I make-out, I'm still celebrating because I get my copy of Birbig's book in the mail today.  Plus, they just recently uploaded my video chat with him to YouTube! Yay!

And so a new post is born.  And it has a video clip for a twin (non-identical, of course).

This clip is a bit awkward for me to watch:  it's pretty obvious that I have a bit of a crush, which apparently makes me giggle...constantly...and sit still...never.  My web cam's mediocrity (or perhaps my inability to set it up properly) makes for poor video of myself, but at least his team was able to fix up the volume problems (I could barely hear him during our chat) while adding some humorous edits.

Anyway, I hope my embarrassment is your entertainment. Enjoy!
 

          

P.S....Pumpkin had her surgery and is all better now.  Yay!  But for a while, she was pretty mad at me, and I kinda deserved it.  After all, she's the one who broke the ice between Mike Birbiglia and I.  Who do I think I am putting her in a cone after that, right?

Pumpkin thinking she could climb with the cone on...

Video Chat with Birbigs

My normal blog schedule has been pleasantly interrupted by this piece of news:  I get to have a short video chat with my favorite stand-up comedian (and giant inspiration for this blog), Mike Birbiglia!  If you haven't seen or heard his stand-up, go here.  He'll also be in Chicago in October (for all of you I miss dearly in Illinois).  I'll be attending his November show in Atlanta for sure.

Anyway, I'm not here to brag; I'm here to ask you all for help.  For being one of the first people to pre-order his book, I get to meet him via video-chat on Tuesday.  If you know me, this opportunity could either be really awesome or a horrible disaster.  Don't let this near-future event become an Awkward-Amy blog post!  Help me pick what I should ask him or give me advice on how to not turn this into an awkward mess!

Possible questions to ask Mike Birbiglia:

1)  Will you marry me? Check "Yes" or "No." (Then I hold up a sign with check boxes by "Yes" and "No")
2)  What's your favorite color?
3)  Could Jesus microwave a burrito so hot that he himself could not eat it?
4)  Can we hang out when you're in Atlanta?
5)  Did you ever find that porn that destroys lives?
6) Will you follow my blog (come on, man, I bought your book!)?
7) Are you in the market for an editor with pretty much no experience but the ability to work for next to nothing?
8) Do your cats hate tags as much as my cat does?  If not, what sorts of things do your cats not like?

See!  I need your help!

Does this picture make me look crazy?  Whatever, it's awesome; you know it.

Help me please with your comments!

-Amy

Well.....GOODBYE! (Part One)

Exits can be awkward sometimes.  I try to be polite when saying goodbye to someone new, and if I know the context for the meeting or conversation, then I usually know the right thing to say when parting ways.  For example, I might say after a job interview, "I'll look forward to hearing from you."  To a new friend:  "Give me a call sometime."  To a customer, "Thanks, and have a good day!"  You get what I mean.

But here's where it has a potential to get awkward:  What if there is no context?  What if you have no reason to be talking to this particular person?  Should you always say goodbye after random conversations?

The random-conversation-with-strangers-thing happens a lot in Georgia.  Usually it's kinda nice and mostly uneventful, but I sometimes feel awkward when the random conversation stops or when I have to walk away from the stranger.

This happened at a Golden Dragon Acrobats show Keith and I saw last recently.  We had pretty good seats at the outdoor amphitheater (it was super hot out!).  Fifteen minutes before the show, our row was looking pretty empty.  A few moments later, a woman talking on a cell phone came walking down the aisle towards us.  Although mostly all of the seats were empty at that time, her ticket--of course--was for the seat right next to mine. For the next five minutes, there was nobody around us except for my new elbow buddy to my right.  And my poor artistic rendering below does not accurately illustrate the awkwardness of the situation.  Let's just say, in real life, none of us looked like stick figures.  We were one couple and one stranger squished together in a sea of empty seats.

Since the woman was talking on her cell, I heard, when I wanted to, everything she was saying.  I was in and out of conversation with Keith, so I didn't hear every word, and it wasn't like I was intentionally eves-dropping.  But my awkward radar is always on, picking up tense moments are uncomfortable silences everywhere within my line of sight and range of hearing.  This one was only inches away.  I saw her hand go over her mouth and heard the volume of her voice drop.  This call was about to get interesting:

"Keesha, it was all rolled up like a Vienna sausage," she whispered into her phone.

What?

The person she was talking to had to have been deaf.  I could hear the sentence clearly, but for some reason, Keesha could not.  The woman to my side let out a few embarrassed oh-my-god-why-am-I-telling-this-story-in-public giggles, and attempted to retransmit the information.

"I said:  Keeshaaaaaah, it was...ALL...ROLLED...UP...like a Vienna sausage!

She had to repeat this phrase a few more times for the person on the other line, and then she ended the conversation shortly thereafter.  Don't ask what they were talking about; I was unable to discern any more information.  One could hypothesize, though...haha!

Anyway, after that, more people started to fill in the empty chairs around us, the awkwardness subsided (for the meantime), and the show started.  It was pretty a good show, too, which meant that expressions of awe and amazement were shared with the stranger closely seated to my right.  By exchanging little remarks like, "How is he still walking after that!?" and "Hahaha!  Holy crap!" and, during intermission, "What kind of food do they got up there?" we became less than strangers.  But we never learned each others' names, and this presented some problems when the show was over.  How do you say goodbye to someone you don't really know?  It felt like I should have said something, but here's what I couldn't say:

Nice to meet you.--I never really met her and didn't know anything about her.

Hope you enjoyed the show!--I don't work there, and it's not up to me to hope she enjoyed the show.

Well, it was nice watching the show with you! *Followed by a wave or handshake.*

That last one could have worked.  But the show was over, and my brain isn't that fast when I'm trying to not be awkward.  Instead, it just goes, "BLAAAH!" and I walk quickly away, which I did...and probably came across as rude.  But, what else are you going to do when you're the over-analyzing Queen of Uncomfortable Situations?
                                                                                                                                                                                                    

 

Pictures of the neat-o fan I got from the Golden Dragon Acrobats "Cirque D'Or" show!

Part Two coming soon (I promise?).

Well....goodbye!  Haha!

-Amy

Triad of Ridiculousness: Part Three (Finally!)

It's hard to spread out one day's events over the course of three weeks, but I managed to do it.  Here's the final story of my Friday, June 18th, 2010.  Enjoy!

Please Be Patient While I Beat This Person Up

After the first two awkward situations, I wanted to go home and finish my day by hiding from all the crazy outside.  But before I could get there, I had to take my chances battling the streets of Atlanta.  Like always, it would not be an easy drive home.

Things started out smoothly enough, and I was almost home without incident...until I passed this gas-station.  And then this car pulled out in front of me.  And then this car and I stopped at a red light.  And then the driver of that car started beating up her passenger.

Yay!  I got to witness some good-old-fashioned-battery-fun!

This is how it happened:

The light turned green and I noticed the car in front of me wasn't moving.  Then I saw the driver take off her seat-belt.  She turned to whoever was in her passenger seat and started throwing punches, and she was throwing them pretty hard.  I even saw a couple elbows mixed in there.

Whoever was in the passenger seat didn't fight back.  I really hope it wasn't a kid.  If I knew it was a kid, I definitely would have called the cops, but I couldn't tell.

So, I had been sitting behind this car for a couple seconds while Crazy was wailing on her passenger, and cars were starting to line up behind me.  The light was green, and I wanted to go home.  Plus, I felt bad for whoever was getting beat up.  So I did what most people in my situation would do:  I honked.

Then she gave me the finger:  a long, middle finger with a slightly curved, two-inch fake nail on it.

Seriously, how rude of me!  How dare I not sit silently and patiently in my car during a green light while this lady blocking traffic beats someone up.  Clearly, I had forgotten my manners.

After a brief contest to figure out whose middle finger was better (mine won), she slammed on the gas and turned into the parking lot of a "Cash Your Checks Here" store.  Perhaps she needed some money to fix any fake nails broken during her moment of assault.  As for my night, I went home and had a great time writing my blog and ignoring the constant insanity happening outside my door.

-Amy

Triad of Ridiculousness: Part Two

Not You...But Maybe A Friend?

In case you're wondering, today was a lot more "chill" than last Friday was. But I have to continue with these stories because a triad isn't a triad without three.  Plus, this next one just does not make sense to me, and maybe someone can help to interpret it.

Okay, so remember:  I had just gotten a super crazy voicemail from a lady who was mad at me for mailing a magazine to her dead husband.  After listening to her rage-filled mumbles, I thought, "On that note, I'm going to lunch."  Since my job is awesome, and I get an hour for lunch, I decided to go to a Target one town over in a quest to find a shirt that was on clearance but out of my size at my local Target.

Bad decision.  First, they were also out of that particular shirt.  Second, I had another strange encounter that I was forced to over-analyze frequently for days after (without further understanding).

After picking out a few things I wanted to buy, I went to a cashier to checkout.  While ringing up my stuff...it happened!  She spoke the words that always come before something ridiculous ensues:  "This is going to sound weird, but"...(*In my head:*  "CRAP!")..."do you know anyone who would want to be on TV?"

What?

Me:  *Awkward giggle* "I don't know.  On TV for what?"
Cashier:  *Ignores question; gives me a quick but visibly disappointed look-over* "Maybe...someone with long hair?"

Let's break this down and analyze the thoughts that my brain was able to muster during this seconds-only conversation:

Thought #1:  Be on TV?  That could be cool.
Thought #2:  Wait, why is a Target cashier asking me if I want to be on TV?
Thought #3:  Waaaaait, why is she looking at me like that?
Thought #4:  Hey, what's wrong with my hair?!  My hair's frickin awesome! (true)
Thought #5:  Maybe she's a hairstylist who's going to be on TV for something?

Me:  "Are you a hairstylist?"
Cashier:  "No.  I'm a producer for Fox News.  We're looking for women who want to be on TV.  I was thinking maybe some friends of yours might be interested?" *Writes something down on receipt and hands it to me* "Here's my number if you know anyone."
Me:  "Oh, okay...cool, thanks."

Thought #6:  No, not cool.
Thought #7:  Wouldn't want to be on Fox News anyway.
Thought #8:  WAIT!  Why would a producer for Fox News have to also work as a cashier at a Target?!

Nothing that happened during that conversation made any sense.  But the most awkward part was when she pretty much said, "You're not really TV material, but you look like you might have friends that are!"  Haha!  I must admit, though, I do have some pretty good looking girlfriends!  And they all mostly have longer-ish hair.  If I didn't live half a day away from everyone, I might have passed along the number.  But probably not because I'm pretty sure that lady was a giant sack of Target cashier lies.  Other than that, she seemed pretty nice.  Haha!

This drawing is far from accurate...but hope you like it anyway!  It's titled, "Getting Rejected By A Cashier at Target."  I know you're jealous by how artsy and complex I am!

Stay tuned for Part Three and maybe something fun and random before that.

-Amy

Triad of Ridiculousness: Part One

My stories of awkward hilarity are starting to backlog, but I want to start on today's occurrences (it was nonstop!) while they're somewhat fresh in my memory.  So I hope you enjoy the Triad of Ridiculousness, which includes this post and the next two.

That Damn Magazine!

One awkward part of my otherwise insanely awesome job is the calls I get when people want to cancel subscriptions.  I've since quit asking for reasons, but usually they volunteer the information anyway probably from the expectation that I'll ask.  Today I got one of those calls, and I'm so happy I wasn't around to answer the phone.  The voicemail went like this:

"Hi, Amy.  My name is Mrs. blah. My husband, blah, has been dead since February.  Will you please stop sending that damn magazine?!" *click*

Like any normal person would, I have some problems with this message.  First, if you're a stranger and plan on leaving me a crazy voicemail, don't include my name.  We're not on a first-name basis, and you creep me out. 

My second issue pertains the vagueness of the message.  I took out the names and replaced them with "blah" for a reason.  Of course, I'm not going to identify anyone, but I couldn't give you the names if I wanted to.  The person did not announciate clearly or spell the it out for me.

Now, not only do I not have a name, I don't have any sort of address or contact information to search by.  I can't call back this woman to get the information I need to cancel their subscription because she was a jerk and hung up without leaving a phone number.

Third problem:  we publish seven magazines.  That Damn Magazine is not one of them.

Forth problem:  we never got a letter from those people who send notices to businesses when someone dies.  Oh...really?  Oh yeah, that is right.  Those people don't exist.  I just made that thing up right now.  Really?  Usually the family notifies us that they don't need the magazine anymore?  Oh yeah, that sounds right.  They're usually not jerks about it? That's good.  Being a jerk about it would put me in an uncomfortable situation, even though I have no ill-intentions or control over her problem (I'm not all-knowing...yet!).

Of course I'm sorry for her loss, but it should be obvious that there's no way I can be aware of her situation unless she notifies me somehow. It's not like I sit at my desk all day and mail magazines to dead people while laughing evilly.

Here's the "sucky" part:  this problem isn't even over.  This very awkward voicemail got me (and her) nowhere, and next month I'll be getting another phone call.  She will likely be more mad next time around.  Awesome. 

Did some good come out of this?  Yes.  I got to forward the message to my coworkers, which resulted in a few laughs.  Am I going to hell if it in some form exists?  Likely.  But maybe my knowledge of voicemail etiquette will lead to at least some minor success there.

 Laterrrrrrsssssss!
-Amy

Unwritten Rules of Georgia Driving #1

Welcome to the School of Awkward Awareness and Prevention.  I'll be your professor.

The first step to avoiding an awkward situation is knowing where and when you're likely to encounter one.  According to the ASOA --Amy's Scale of Awkwardness (awaiting recognition from the scientific community)--car accidents and near misses are two of the worst circumstances you can find yourself in.  If you cause the accident, you have to deal with an onslaught of uncomfortable confrontations with the other driver, your passengers, police officers, insurance agents, etc.  It's bad.  With a near miss, you might encounter the other driver when stopped and be forced into the always nerve-wracking exchange of insults or death-stares.

When accidents aren't your fault, the awkwardness of the situation is more in your favor, but this is not guaranteed.  The other driver could be crazy and try to blame the accident on you.  Worse, they could be drunk, and then you have to battle your urge to punch them in the face.  Not fun. 

All in all, these are situations to avoid, if possible.  To help those who wish to challenge the death trap that is the Georgia highway system, I'll be occasionally posting the unwritten rules of Georgia driving.  Enjoy! 

#1  It is unnecessary to be in the lane closest to where you are turning.  If there are other cars coming, go ahead and cut them off.  What's important is that you get to where you need to go.

If for some strange reason you misplaced your balls and feel it's "dangerous" to cut people off, it's perfectly fine to stop exactly where you are and block traffic for as long as it takes to get into the other lane.  Don't bother putting on your turn signal.  It should be clear to everyone else why you stopped in the middle of the road.
More to come!

-Amy

Location Location Location

Location can be everything when it comes to the development of an awkward situation.  It can be a coincidental occurrence (wrong place at the wrong time).  For example, I was at lunch with a few people from work today when a coworker mentioned that she recently saw an attractive cop and was pleasantly surprised to see that he was in shape.  As soon as she blurted out that cops tend to look pudgy, two uniformed cops walked near our table (in case you're wondering, they weren't in shape...haha!).  Awkward.  I don't think they heard, but still, were we at a different location, that awkward moment probably wouldn't have happened.

While most awkward situations tend to be more coincidental--which make for the best stories--some can be avoided if you're aware of the source's location...unless you have to pass by that location multiple times a day.

Thus, I give you today's blog post.

Some people have this idea that the south is pretty much a giant redneck bar where everyone is racist and illiterate.  I can't speak for all parts of the south, but I can say that Atlanta seems pretty average.  It's not as normal as McHenry, Illinois, but all big cities are going to have some characters.

I said Atlanta is pretty normal...but...I work outside the city.  My office is a few buildings away from, of course, a redneck bar where everyone is racist and illiterate!  And this if the only one I've come across yet.

The sight of this bar is enough to make me feel awkward/mad/frustrated all day.  See pictures below:

One side...

Reverse side...

These are the current marquee postings outside of this bar that I pass multiple times a day.  The arguments they both attempt to make are so flawed that I'm not even going to waste your time by stating the obvious (even backers of the Arizona law would find the first sign to be an embarrassing reference).

The place is as dirty as it is offensive. But does it create an awkward situation?  I'd say so...probably a more tense one than anything, which is the worst kind of awkward.  This marquee is right across the street from a taqueria, supermercado, and other businesses ran by Latinos.  I get upset driving past it; I can't imagine how they feel.

Oh....redneck bar...you're like school in summertime---no class.  But I'm jus sayinj.

-Amy

Blogspiration

That title is a bit cheesy.  This post explains the story behind the blog (blog-inspiration...blogspiration...whatever).  It's not much of a story, but it's one illustration of the weirdness that I encounter almost on a daily basis.  I'm sure others run into weirder stuff, but I need something to blog about, and I'm trying to stick with a theme.  Why am I explaining myself to you?!  Anyway, here it is:

People force me to be awkward:  they put me in these weird situations.  I admit, others handle them a lot better than me, but it shouldn't be this way so often.  Exhibit A:

I'm in Subway, I order my sub, I pay.  I get my cup for my drink and head to the soda machine.  There's a lady at the machine with a teenage girl--mother and daughter or grandma and granddaughter, perhaps.  I wait behind them for my turn...and wait...and wait.

The teenage girl looks back at me a few times and attempts to hurry along the older woman.  Eventually, she gets fed up, rolls her eyes, and leaves the woman to go sit down at a table by herself.

At this time, there's some room (the woman was a bit on the larger side) at the soda machine for me to squeeze in, fill my cup, and get the frick out of there, since I was now late getting back from lunch.  I advanced to the machine only to find that the soda I wanted was farthest from me and right in front of the lady.  Awkward.

By this point, I was more than curious about what this lady was doing at the pop machine that would take this long.  Now next to her, I glanced down to see that she already had a few Subway cups filled and sitting on the counter in front of her.  What's more, though, was that she she had a small stack of them coming out of her purse.  She grabbed the next Subway cup (obvious to me by then from the embarrassed look on her granddaughter's/daughter's/whatever's face that they were brought from home and smuggled into the place via said purse), and proceeded to fill it.

What came next was the icing on the awkward-cake.  The woman, now aware of me beside her, decided the situation wasn't weird enough and started humming hymns and vocalizing the occasional "lord" and other phrases from the song.  Perhaps she thought that would make me judge her less.  Haha!

In all honesty, I could care less how many cups she pulled out of that purse (although she was taking it a bit to the extreme with multiple cups).  I'd be lying if I said I never thought about trying the same thing--if only movie theaters didn't change cup designs so often!--only I don't have the Southern Balls, and I don't know any hymns to hum.  Plus, I'd get caught, and as you know now, I'm trying to avoid awkward situations, not walk right into them.

Mostly, I was irritated with the situation because I just wanted her to move maybe 1 foot to her right so I could get my beverage and be out of there.  Just because you're going to steal like 5 drinks, you don't have to be rude and make others wait for you to finish up your thievery.  Haha!  So finally when my patience died, I extended my arm awkwardly in front of her body and under my soda of choice.  Eek!  Those were some uncomfortable, "lord"-filled seconds.

Lucky for you, I've taken some time to illustrate the moment: 

Notice the "Not to Scale" disclaimer.  I was much closer to her than was shown in this "reenactment," but I didn't want to the picture to get sloppy. It's pretty much dead-on other than that...yep...Haha!

Stay tuned for more tales of awkwardness and randomy-type stuff.

-Amy

Blog in progress . . .

Ugh!  I'm pretty sure I'm going to go back to school for computer something (science? programming? graphic/web design?).  I don't know yet, but it really bothers me when I can't figure out how to do something (like design this blog).  Haha!  I rather have everything customized, but I'm currently limited in the tools to do that (go Paint!).  Additionally, my knowledge of html currently goes as far as copy and paste with a few code tweaks here and there.

So explains this blog!  It's a work in progress as I figure stuff out.  It'll probably be some time before I have it how I want it, and I didn't want to delay "releasing it to the public" until then.

Fonts.  When I view my blog, I think it looks kinda awesome.  At the same time though, it's because I installed a new font to give it a customized look for the header and titles.  There's a problem, though.  I knew it wouldn't work because no one else will be able to see the sweet font, and it'll probably end up looking dumb without me knowing it. (Just in case you don't know how to install a new font--I didn't--these instructions worked perfectly on my work computer, which uses XP.  The laptop at home that uses Vista was a little different but not hard to figure out.  If you have troubles, Google search gets results).

Anyway, I'll probably end up changing the font to a boring one (boo!), but one that everyone will be able to see at least.  I want this to be an equal opportunity blog, after all.

Template.  It's funny and kinda dumb, isn't it?  This is supposed to be a blog about being awkward.   Red-monster-guy-in-jeans-grinning-at-you-like-an-idiot-as-you-read:  that's pretty awkward as far as ready-made blog templates go!  Plus, he reminds me of characters from the awkward (but true) stories I'll be sharing.

So that's the reasoning behind the design of this blog.  It'll probably change as I try to not get bored of doing this.  Cross your fingers because I've got stories to tell and paint cartoons to make!  Haha!  I say that like you're actually looking forward to them and that I'm not just doing this because I'm bored and need hobbies.

Completely unrelated:  my sweet tea (yeah, I drink sweet tea now, shut up) has a bunch of white mystery mini-chunks hanging out in the bottom of the cup.  They kind of look like dissolving food pieces or something (likely poison).  It's gross but the tea is tasty, and I don't have anything else to drink at the moment, so I'm going to keep on drinking.  If I am hospitalized shortly, tell the doctor about the white mystery mini-chunks.

-Amy

Go for blog

3....2...1...we have liftoff.  I'm starting a blog.  Again.  This might be number 3 or 4.  I don't know where the others went, and I haven't been good at keeping up with them in the past.  I figure now, though, I have no excuses.  I have a lot of free time.  A LOT.  I'm not in school anymore, so no homework to complain about.  I moved far away, so my social life isn't all that active.  And I have access to a computer during work.  The good kind of access. *wink*

Anyway, there are no excuses not to write, and I think a blog might be a good way to keep people up-to-date on my life.  Those who are interested at least.  And not that they have to be or should feel obligated to know what's going on with me.

So begins the over-analyzing.

I think I'm crazy, and that's partially the reason behind this blog.  My inability to keep my anxiety in check has lead to one good thing:  this blog!  And entertainment for you.  I hope to make you laugh and maybe spark some conversations about situations that I over-analyze.  Since I've moved to Atlanta, I feel like I'm having awkward occurrences on a daily basis.  It could be the southern culture that I'm just not used to, or it could be the fact that remaining jobless for about a year made me somewhat of a recluse.  Well, either way, I'm a part of society again, and it feels different this time around.  Enjoy my stories, illustrations, and photos, leave a comment (or keep it to yourself...whatever), and see how I'm attempting to deal with being totally freaking awkward.

-Amy