34

And then I turned 34.

My birthday celebration this year was full of old friends and new, accidental good times and planned activities, work, play, and, of course, carrot cake.

As the five of you know, I celebrate the entire month. That sounds selfish and indulgent and narcissistic, but I'm crazy happy to be alive and know that in the timeline of human existence, my life is less than the blink of an eye. It's important to me to spend more than an hour or two being conscious of all the goodness that has made the past 34 years worth it, and a month is barely enough time to really absorb everything. As I get older there may be more to reflect on, but even I think celebrating your birth and life OUTSIDE of your birth month is an asshole thing to do.

You have my word I will never celebrate outside of the month of May. Unless my 40th birthday trip to France runs over into June. :)

The month started off with a bang. I graduated from nursing school, somehow getting an A in all three of my classes (take that, community college). We had an end of year cookout, where I started to regret not hanging out more often with some of the awesome girls I met, and then my mom and dad came to my pinning ceremony, which made it feel official. Leigh brought me flowers, Mack got done with surgery, and we all went to Sugano for sushi.

Class of 2012.

Well, Sugano didn't open until 5:30. If you don't know, Sugano is off of Eastland Drive in a strip mall of dirty. It was asking a lot of my mom and dad to go to this place, which has drying fish hanging from the workstation, in the first place, and when I asked if we could go into the Office Lounge, a dive bar down the strip that usually has someone getting arrested outside of it, I'm surprised she didn't pack us up in the van and force me into being classy. It was my day, which gave me permission to manipulate everyone around me into going into seedy bars. So that's what I did.

I sauntered through the cluster of smokers like I, in my bright red lipstick, belonged at the Office Lounge. I put my hand on the door like I, in my long black dress, owned the place. I pulled. And nothing happened. Then all the smokers, who immediately knew I was an alien and a retard, showed me the right door. Nothing like botching an entrance to a dive bar to really keep you from standing out.

We crowded into a half-circle booth while my dad bought Budweisers and was accosted by a man who wanted to split the jukebox investment with him. My dad gave him a couple bucks, and the guy played our favorite songs. None of which were our favorites and all of which had some reference to shaking it.

My dad. Clearly freaked out. Also, see that Nascar Excitement on the chalkboard? Yeah.

"Go to the Office Lounge" is now off the bucket list. Thank you, mom and dad.

Dinner was great, but we had to hurry afterward because Leigh and I had a softball game. I started playing about a month ago with Phil, Dave, the Ohnheiser boys, some Pepsi people, and some of my nursing friends. I haven't played softball in 15 years, and after an outfield collision with Brad the Semi and a subsequent interruption in gall bladder function, I know why. For starters, I'm not really that good at it. I can throw and I can bat, but I'm terrified of grounders, can't hit with any precision, and my depth of field is sometimes completely off when it comes to pop ups. But there's something about the ball field that makes it feel like summer. Budweiser agrees, which is why they put softballs on the cans of beer that I brought to the field on the night of my actual birthday.

The umpire sang to me when I got up to bat. Also, I tried to slide. And failed.

Dave brought me a half of a shot of whiskey. Phil brought this pose.

Running out of room for all those candles.  But I'm still in the one box category!

Lungs work better now than they did at 21.

This has been the scene of many of my adolescent birthdays.

I didn't really make any birthday "plans" because I knew I was going to Indianapolis with my sisters and my cousin the weekend after and with a softball game at 7 on a Wednesday, there's not much space for planning something else. I wanted to try the new West Sixth Street Brewery, and since we play softball in the hood, it was close and my birthday was as good a time as any. We all migrated over there and shared one of every beer and some kettle corn. 

I usually hate microbrews, but every single one of theirs is actually good.

They started to close at 11, but rather than go home, Mack said we must all go to Green Lantern. It was hotter than hell in there, but because it is also in le hood, the bartender, who was there alone before we got there, didn't want to leave the door open. We commandeered the juke box and the pool table, Mack got a coupon written on a napkin, and I gave dancing lessons. Because I am an fabulous dancer.

Sam and Rob playing pool stick guitar better than they played pool.

And then Mack broke out the magic. I love the magic.

My birthday day was awesome. I got phone calls and Facebook messages and texts and emails and people sang to me and made me vegan almond joy cupcakes and let me get away with things. None of it was planned, all of it was perfect, and I even got a clarinet from Mack. Yes, Shannon, I really wanted a clarinet.

The only real thing I'd intended to do for my birthday was to go to Indianapolis for a weekend getaway with my sisters and my cousin Andrea. Andrea's husband had a freak brain injury a few years ago when she was 6 months pregnant and how she has managed to keep her sanity and not become an alcoholic is beyond me. Actually it's not. She is and always has been amazing, able to fill a room with her laugh and beaming smile with the slightest provocation. And man, do I like to provoke her.

Shannon, Leiah and I carpooled up to Indy, met up with Andrea, and proceeded to have one of the best dinners of my entire life. The food was okay, but I laughed so hard my face hurt. Leiah and Shannon tried to get killed and raped on the walk back to the hotel, but even that didn't get in the way of our good time.

You have no idea the application of physics we used to get us all on here.

AKA the Rape Corridor. Go ahead, Shan.

Leiah logic after 2 mojitos and 3 beers... walk on the yellow line and the cars won't hit you.

When we got home, we marveled at the different manifestations of DNA, and Shannon credited my grandma for my bulk. Trouble is, my grandma and Leiah's grandma ARE THE SAME GRANDMA. DNA is a funny bastard.

We spent the next day shopping and laughing and dancing. We ate dinner at the Slippery Noodle, the oldest bar in Indiana, where DNA had us all ordering BLTs (mine sans bacon), and then we went to the bachelorette breeding ground known as Howl at the Moon. That places was full of annoyings, including one guy in a shirt with flames on it and another whose buttons had been ripped off. So we left there and ended up at an Irish pub playing good music, where we proceeded to be the only ones on the dance floor. At 4 am, we made it back to our hotel, at which time Andrea sat in a mound of biting ants and had to strip down while running through the hallway back to our room. It was a grand finale, brought to us by Pineapple Upside Down shots.

Shannon DID NOT want to do shots. I knew we were going to Howl at the Moon, so I had 2 beers, a shot, and a glass of whiskey.

Look at Shan, double-fisting her way through Howl at the Moon.

I can't believe next year I'm going to be halfway to 40!

It Is My Birthday Month.

For your convenience, I have put some gift ideas on Etsy. That is all.

When there is a minute I will tell you all the stories of my recent debaucheries. They are quite delicious and full of danger. And definitely deserving of a present.

Already for my 34th birthday my body has given me strange epigastric pain that is either GERD or an aortic aneurysm. I'm ignoring it until I get health insurance unless by some magic I win over the people at the Health Department tomorrow afternoon.

My very first mini marathon!

Hellllloooo. You know me. I did not run a mini marathon. But I did go to one and cheer and hold up witty signs.

Ruble, who could build a spaceship if someone told her she couldn't, ran her SECOND mini marathon on Saturday. We haven't been able to see each other much lately since I've been busy with school and she's been traveling with work, so I headed to Louisville to cheer her to the finish line much like she's been cheering me to the finish line of nursing school. Which is to say she meets me for drinks after every test.

Not the type of drinks we normally have together.

Luckily, Steve has some previous experience as spectator and he came with custom-made Bloody-Mary-On-The-Go Kits, which made spectating a lot more fun.

There were about 18,000 runners, but Ruble was easy to spot with her bright pink shirt and glowing attitude. I swear she sprinted to the finish line and barely looked like she'd broken a sweat. I think she could have gone at least another 13 miles. I also think she's probably thinking about smacking me for saying that.

 

The runners, who were all shapes and sizes, were pretty entertaining, if you like watching a horde of lunatics jaunting past you. We saw Spartans and Elvises and guys in tuxedo jackets with tails and girls in tutus. But none of those people were as awesome to watch as Ruble, who once again was taking a challenge head on and fighting her way through it with grace and laughter and the quiet motivation that comes from the promise of a cold beer.

Way to go Ruble! I am so proud of you!

I got nothin'. Except a need to stay up 3 more hours.

I'm transitioning to being awake a night so I can go do three 7p-7a shifts for school, and I can't begin to tell you the steaming pile of crap this is. All week I've been up working at 8am, and I'm so tired my eyes feel like bouncy balls and I keep losing circulation in my feet, but can I go to bed? Noooo, because I need to sleep all day tomorrow.

It's a good thing I'm not hungry or that little rant up there could have reached seriously bitchy proportions.

Anyway, I went to Indiana a couple weekends ago for that funeral, and I had the most amazing time. I really have the best family, such a funny, smart, loving group of people. I got to meet my cousin Ryan's new baby boy and my cousin Isaac's new girlfriend (she bites him!). I reconnected with my step-sister Christy, who always made trips to farm country a blast. I discovered that my 82-year-old grandma's ringtone is "Who Let the Dogs Out" because she likes the barking. I finally gave my cousins Josh and Kristin that hug they desperately deserved. I toured my dad's new cabin in the woods, a place Ben named "Grampa Greg's Forest Adventure Park." I played volleyball with my cousins Andrea and Tee and my uncle Vince, and we laughed over "Starfish Boob Power" and "Downtown Becky" and the fact that Vince was doing sports with a 24 oz. Mountain Dew in his back pocket. I sat on the back porch with Leiah and Betsy and Andrea while her kids climbed all over her and we lamented about life. I went mushroom hunting and saw a trio of 50-year-old women turn into 9-year-olds on stick horses playing "Shane, Kill and Miss Kitty." Uncle Tony cooked hot dogs on the grill, uncle Vince made a bon fire that could have wiped out a small town, and I got to tease my dad about his soft hands. Aunt Tina got Tony an ice cream cake for his birthday and out of niceness added "and Steve" to it, but then she realized it wasn't Steve's birthday so she scraped the icing off but it was so obvious it became the best part of the cake. Shannon finally let me win Kieron over with loud noises. Becky made me vegetarian lasagna and collard greens. We all crowded into the living room and watched UK make it to the final game. I learned how to make microwave popcorn in a brown paper bag, and Charles got a steam facial in the middle of the kitchen like a real man. Lilly greeted me every morning with arms open wide, a smile across her face, and a waddle in my direction. I swear, that is better than seeing the sunrise, and this group of weirdos that share my DNA are the reason that my heart beats.

Emoting.

My aunt Kathy died a horrific death last week. As part of my grieving process, I escaped the present and blanketed myself in old photos and 8mm video clips my dad, her brother Greg, gave to me a couple years ago. I didn't know Kathy very well lately, but the times I spent with her as a kid and a young adult were formative and are precious.

The things I remember most about Kathy are the giant birthmark she had on her arm, playing with her kids, my cousins Josh and Kristin, at her house on Otto Street, one time when I was very young and she used her food stamps to buy me Planters Cheese Curls, and a story she told me about slamming on the brakes in front of a cop that was riding her ass when she was 7 months pregnant. Why these moments with Kat keep bubbling to the surface of my mind more than any others, I have no idea. Memory is funny like that.

The thing I loved the most about Kathy was her wild streak, and that's probably what ultimately got her in the shape she was in at the end. Kathy joked after my grandpa had a fatal heart attack on the toilet that it was her criminal record that he'd chosen as reading material that did him in. She had a bright smile, one that squinted up her eyes and was usually followed by a deep laugh. She let me crash on her couch when I couldn't stay with my dad, she told me grown up jokes, and she refused to take herself too seriously. I think Kathy deserves credit for giving me the gift of self-deprecation, for shaping my sense of humor, and for that tiny speck of rebellion and criminal intent that is deep in my gut.

Because it's what I do, I set out to make a memorial video of my aunt Kathy. And because it is what I do, I started looking for some ideas to rip off, something that had music that really spoke to the spark that Kathy gave the world. My project isn't complete, but these things were just too amazing not to share.

Facts

I was helping Leiah paint her new pad the other day when Ben walks in and starts dictating to me proper paint technique and how he wants the closet to be blue. I swear I have no idea where he gets this brand of bossy, but I had already painted the closet yellow and I knew he was fighting a losing battle. To spare his ego, I decided to pull out the old tool of distraction and asked him about his girlfriend at day care.

"So who's this girl I hear has been kissing you at day care?"

"She's got yellow hair and her name is Sky." He gets right down to the nitty gritty, doesn't he?

"Sky, huh? Well, is she cute?"

"No," he said, exasperated that I would even ask such a thing. "Girls are pretty."

"Oh, so is she pretty?"

"Yes, girls have to be pretty."

"What happens if a girl is not pretty?" I sincerely asked.

"She goes to jail," he sincerely answered.

This was a serious talk, and even though the inside of me was rolling on the floor laughing, I knew if I wanted to get more of these delightful 5-year-old insights, I had to hold it together. Naturally, I switched the topic to boys. "What about boys? Do boys have to be cute too?"

"No," he says, and I swear if he knew how to roll his eyes he would have. That is how annoying I am. "Boys are handsome."

"But what if a boy isn't handsome? What then?"

Ben looked at me like it's a miracle I made it this far in life being so dumb. "They have to wear ladies' clothes."

There you have it. Ugly girls go to jail and ugly boys must dress as ladies.

Tweedle Lee Dee Dee.

St. Patrick's Day has got to be one of my favorite holidays. There's beer and day drinking and a parade and legends of tiny men with pots of gold and everyone dresses up in green and you get to pinch the non-compliant... all of my favorite things AND socially sanctioned violence!!

This year, at the invitation of Ms. Seana O'Neill (Irish names do not get more legit than that), we decided to participate in the Tweed Ride. We got all dressed up in tweed, hopped on our bikes, and took over the roads in downtown Lexington. Group drunk driving has never been so fun.

Luckily no one got hurt and no one got arrested. That's not to say that no one crashed their bike in the middle of the road or that no one got in trouble for laying in a stranger's yard to look for four-leaf clovers.

We met a few new interesting people, some with very old timey facial hair, some with toy cameras, and one who was driving her special kind of crazy around downtown to espouse the health benefits of smoking. Yes, you read that right. Her dad never would have died from COPD if only he'd kept smoking. Her van is a rolling campaign for smoking.

In a moment of "better judgment," we ditched Lynda the Smoking Lover and headed to McCarthy's to toast the Irish. I thought I was drunk until I went into McCarthy's. One old guy talked to me for about 10 minutes before I finally had to say, "It seems like what you're saying is very important to you, but I literally do no understand a word coming out of your mouth." To which he replied, "grengngheljhlblarerebgbjljheerersnsghshsrghgh." I think the old lady he was with peed her chair too.

McCarthy's was just bad enough to give us sense and just good enough to be a good ending. We got to watch the UK game and as we started heading home, a real Irishman gave us the accent and wished us a happy St. Patrick's Day. I was in bed by 10:30, and my hangover was completely gone by the time I woke up. The luck of the Irish.

For those who care.

I have just a few weeks left of nursing school. That fact doesn't jive with the absence of knowledge in my brain, but somehow it's true. I have almost accomplished this bizarre idea that settled in my mind three years ago. I'm still not quite sure how it all happened, how nurse trumped graphic designer and professional organizer and party planner on the list of Things I Could Do to Make Money, but it did and so we are here.

The past three years have been spent getting used to poop and snot and giving shots and pretending to hear heart murmurs and trying to mask the look of disgust on my face when lunch comes to the unit. I have been completely annoyed with the woman thanking God for helping her stand while I cleaned the diarrhea off of her legs. I have been shocked by the drug addict whose arm had become so swollen it had to be cut open and left that way until she recovered. I have been heartbroken at the baby with CMV who was deaf and struggling to breathe and tragically inconsolable. I have been humbled by the man whose sinus infection went into his brain and took away the personality he always had. I have been astounded by the woman whose heart was being paced by the device taped to her throat. I have been mesmerized by the Congolese woman who clucked her way through childbirth. I have been scared of the wound-up man pacing the halls of the psychiatric unit with an animalistic look in his eyes. I have been grateful for the news that they got all of one man's lung cancer through surgery. I have been inspired by the 91-year-old woman with no children and no husband who had an endless string of friends at her bedside.

I have seen and been a part of things I didn't know were possible, and even more incredible, I have cared for people going through these things. Somehow, I managed to merge compassion, intuition, responsibility, knowledge, and common sense to a productive and useful end, even though that end was usually one lap around the nurse's station.

I can't believe how fast it has gone by, how much has been crammed into it, and how much I have yet to experience. And I can't wait for the part where I make money again. I think we should probably have a party to celebrate.

Another week in Kentucky.

Last Tuesday I got out of school and went to walk the Arboretum with Leigh. It was so gorgeous even Mack couldn't resist the Kentucky, and we met up with him at the field to watch him fly his airplane. The whole day felt like I was high on drugs and it was all because of warm sunshine. I even brought my scooter out of hibernation.

On Friday, the sky turned tornado green, pea-sized hail bounced around the backyard, and apparently West Liberty went from being a town to being a field of garbage. It was a strangely pretty day on Friday, with bursts of sunlight trading places with ominous clouds until the sheets of rain blew in and swirled up what's left of the leaves in the gutters and made fun of us for "new construction."

And then today. Today I wake up to four inches of snow on the ground. I feel like I live in a state of bipolar.

Babies belong in skinny jeans.

Because I have not seen her or her wonderful mommy in months, Anna granted me a play date last weekend while she was visiting her Gigi.

She showed me what a good zoo keeper she'd by closing the doors on all the animals on her Busy Poppin' Pals toy. Then she taught me how she keeps her petite frame by doing a quick jumpy workout. Then she got on all fours and demonstrated her new reverse-crawling technique, which is sort of like forward crawling but totally opposite. Then I taught her about those naughty little piggies that are always running off to do errands, and she got a real kick out of the weee-deee-weeeeee-weeeee one.

After about 45 minutes of casting her spell on me, Anna's Gigi came home. I know only an idiot stands between the baby meat and its Gigi, so I stepped aside while Jen's mom fed Anna her homemade lunch. She ate just a few bites, and then the baby angel whose soulful eyes rival those of Hanley got very sleepy. Her Gigi was going to put her down, so I moved in to steal one last cuddle.

That's when Anna grabbed my face, leaned in, and gave me the sweetest open mouth kiss of my life. We are lovahs.

Feel the Love

Mack took me to a $200 dinner at Bellini's last night. We both put on fancy clothes and I had gorgeous hair. The seared ahi tuna tasted like bacon, but I'm going to believe the chef who claims bacon had nothing to do with that dish so that I don't have to toss the leftovers. The whole thing ended with tiramisu and a walk arm-in-arm to the car.

But all that was nothing compared to this.

That is a hand-drawn card of a bunny riding a unicorn with a tail that has a heart growing a flower on it. And a sun. So long Hallmark, hello HallMack.

The inside of the card was even more wonderful than the cover, full of the most wonderful things I've ever had said to me. I almost cried, but I was dressed all fancy and my mascara would run and Mack hates feelings.

Like most people on Valentine's Day, Mack and I ended the night laying in bed together, where he really put the moves on me.

(Apologies for the mental picture of Mack putting the moves on me. I know it's a big price to pay for the Words with Friends joke, but I appreciate your tolerance.)

I miss my pookie.

I was going through some pictures today and came across a bundle from New Years that just made me laugh. I spent most of the holiday break at my parents' house since that's where the babies are and my mom had her gallbladder removed, but I managed to make it home in time to see Sarah before she headed back to Ohio to school people in geography.

Sarah wanted to go to Chinoe Pub because there is karaoke and undeniably amazing people watching. And because, according to Sarah, it's a bar you can comfortably wear sweat pants to. Pretty much everyone there was in sweat pants, but THAT DOES NOT MAKE IT OKAY TO WEAR SWEAT PANTS TO A BAR. I had to issue a mandate that I would never let Sarah wear sweat pants to a bar before she is 80, which, according to Betty White, is the age at which you dress for the bathroom. Sarah may only be 33, but she has more in common with 90-year-old Betty White than you'd think.

For instance, both have played naked darts.

Anyway, we planned just to stay for a couple hours, but before we knew it, 5 had passed and Mack was pretty much owning the karaoke stage. Sarah and I  picked out a Who song for him to sing since he sings just like Roger Daltrey, and Mack took the stage, pointed our way, said, "This one is for those two lovely ladies over there," and then broke out with Fat Bottomed Girls.

If it wasn't so hilarious and kind of true, we would have been insulted.

Part of the reason I love Sarah is how much fun she is to pick on. Whenever I see her, it's sort of a secret goal I have to pick on her so much that she eventually cries, usually from laughing so hard. There have been one or two occasions where the crying might have been from cigarette burns, but that's ancient history now. Sarah is a great sport, bottling up any annoyance she may have that would feed the fire and taking it in stride until she finally gives in to the absurdity of it and sheds tears (of joy).

This time Mack started with the subtle taunting, filling Sarah's mug up to the brim so that she had to slurp it before she moved it. See, Sarah is so fun to taunt that even Mack, the man who hates fun, can't resist.

Sarah, in true Sarah fashion, flashed her "are you sure you're not 13" look, gave a chuckle, and succumbed to what became one of the best recurring themes of the evening. And that is why I love and miss her so much right now.

Dulywed

Says me: "Babe, if you need to have sex with me on the kitchen table later, I'll allow it."

Says he: "Do you know how tiny our kitchen table is? No way."

I think that makes this marriage official.

Rolls

These rolls go in my belly. And then I get rolls on my belly. I call it January-February Disease.

Thanks, once again, to the Pioneer Woman for the photo tutorial on how to make these delicious swirls of diabetes and the insanely fab recipe (which I halved and still got more than 30 rolls).

Jen, I'll be bringing you your very own batch of miniature ones the next time I see you.

In the mood.

Guess who has a test tomorrow? Which is why I also have a party mood board for an upcoming baby shower!

My friend Becky, who I met through the Lexington Art League, is having a girl, and she and her husband Nick are artsy types. They're designing a nursery based on Dave Egger's book It Is Right to Draw Their Fur, which has lots of drawings and sentiments that are funny/tragic/awkward/poetic. Here's one of my favorites:

I love the twisty darkness of the animals and the sayings, but it does make for a challenging baby shower. Lots of artsy types are on the invite list, so rather than typical shower games, we're going to do a Onesie printing activity, where guests get to block print an Eggers-ish animal or an unusual sentiment on a Onesie. I've never done this particular crafty project before, but if it works out, it could become an obsession. You have no idea the instant gratification of cutting stamps.

Now, isn't that more exciting than ulcerative colitis? Or, better yet, anal fistulas?!

Uno Año

I believe this sufficiently depicts the evolution of a sugar high. And the joy that is cake and babies.

Apples and trees and no, this isn't about gravity.

I made my New Year's resolution to watch 2 hours or less of television a day. I know, that is a sissy resolution and what am I doing watching that much television as an adult in nursing school anyway. But, you guys, have you seeeeeen Workaholics? And Gold Rush? And you know Jersey Shore is back on, right?

Anyway, I'm doing a pretty good job keeping to the 2-hour max... okay, there was a sort of hangover day where I watched way more than that, but to be fair, it did make me really annoyed. To fill the extra time, I've started a few good books, signed up to plan a baby shower, did a photo shoot with sweet little Iris, and have been going to the Y to do yoga. I'm also cooking a lot more often, the dishes stay pretty done, and I am way on top of laundry.

Learning pharmacology, though. I have not yet become that desperate.

Tonight, after I turned off the Betty White birthday special, I decided to go through some photos from Christmas. That's when I found this gem.

Much like having Renee was like being a grown up and getting to know Shannon all over again, except this time I was 30 years older than she, having Kieron is like getting to see Renee if she was a baby boy.

He feels so familiar in that video that I spent a couple of hours tonight going through Shannon's old blog and watching videos of Renee when she was a brand new baby. This just proves that genetic stuff is uncanny.

Renee was a little ham hock when she was a baby, so tight and stacked it earned her the nickname The Meat. Well, if she was The Meat, Kieron is The Sausage.

He is already more than 20 pounds, he eats in his sleep, and if babies could play football, he'd be a starting player. They have the exact same nose, the exact same disdain for being annoyed, and the exact same ability to make their auntie do ridiculous things to make them laugh.

Wishy Washy

Someone's got a birthday coming up, and since she's got the smartest auntie in the world, she is learning some valuable skills in preparation for the big day.

While "where's your nose" isn't going as well as we hoped, she's pretty much there with giving five and has basically mastered this vital skill...

Why does the fan have all that shit on it?

My "Uncle Ron" died of pancreatic cancer.

My mom got in a fender bender.

Charles lost his job.

Hey, 2012, lay the fuck off, okay. And just because you deserve it, here's me and Ben giving you a giant middle finger because THAT'S HOW HE DRAWS HANDS.

My List of Things that Are Destroying Humanity

Sorry, but I can't keep this in anymore.

1. Crocs
They're just rubber toe jam vessels. It's disgusting, just revolting, to think of cooks, dishwashers, nurses and surgeons wearing these foot condoms. Look, guys, tying isn't that hard, and if you "cain't bend," the last thing you need is a shoe to enable you.

2. Recliners
I like to lay down and watch TV as much as the next person, but when you're being that lazy, you shouldn't have an audience. You should be filled with a quiet shame that keeps you from making sitting on your ass in a Cadillac chair your favorite past time. The recliner is in the living room, where other people are living. You do not need to show off your sleep apnea and how close you are to death by sleeping in a recliner. 

3. Snuggies
Really? Is it that hard to keep the blanket up by your neck? Are your arms really so cold all the time that you simply have to have a backwards fleece robe to keep from getting hypothermia? Is a throw blanket seriously not cutting it for you? If you put on a Snuggie, even if it's at an outdoor sporting event, someone needs to slap you.

4. Forever Lazy
These actually have a way to zip open the ass. ZIP OPEN THE ASS. Why bother? If you're in a Forever Lazy, you're probably shitting your pants anyway because getting up to go to the bathroom, sitting down on the toilet, and squeezing out a loaf is just something you're too lazy to do. Forever Lazy ought to be called Mostly Dead.

5. Fast Food
This shouldn't even get to be called "food" anymore (except Wendy's, which does actually manage to cook some things themselves). It's chemically engineered mouth garbage, and it's worse for our humanity than meth. I'm convinced that both of them make you mentally retarded if overconsumed. I know the deliciousness of a McDonald's French Fry, and even knowing they're toxic, I sometimes succumb to them. By sometimes I mean once every 5 years. Some people consider this cotton candy shaped as burgers and fries as suitable for breakfast, lunch, and dinner... for themselves AND THEIR KIDS. We tax cigarettes and alcohol and those are now killing fewer people than fast food. That fast food isn't being taxed is a sin.

6. Walmart
Just going in to Walmart gives me anxiety. I usually last about 3 minutes before I've got to get out of there or else I'm going to start buying stuff to make bombs. I don't even care that Morningstar Sausage Patties are $1.30 cheaper there than at Kroger. I would pay $6 more just to avoid seeing those people driving their carts and filling them with ice cream, pork chops, and Mountain Dew, knowing they have health insurance and I don't.

7. Suburbs
Strip malls and cars and sameness, oh my. And I don't know why, but people triple in size in the suburbs. I grew up in the suburbs, and the suburbs of my youth are not the suburbs of today. We moved to the suburbs so we could ride our bikes and play in the safety of a cul de sac. Now when I end up in the suburbs, I never see a kid riding a bike or shooting basketball. I see fences and rigidly landscaped yards with Japanese Maples and giant garages. I know people live in the suburbs, but you never see them. 

8. PINK Sweatpants
I used to think PINK Sweatpants, the "college"of Victoria's Secret, were kind of cute. That is, until 90% of the women in my college starting wearing them to school. Sweatpants are fine if you're prepping to kick Creed's ass by racing up the stairs at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. They're even fine if you're wearing them at home so that you don't resort to wearing a Forever Lazy. Sweatpants, however, are not appropriate attire for the public. Has the fashion sense of women really devolved so much in 50 years that sweatpants and Ugg boots are the best we can do? Am I crazy to think that jeans and a shirt aren't that hard to put on?

9. Cigarettes
These are worse than fast food by like a millimeter. Maybe even a micrometer. Maybe they're just as bad. As a past social smoker and an intermittent drunk smoker, I just wish they'd do me and everyone else in the world a favor and ban these things already.

10. Cars
People drive these 4,000 pound missiles like their riding in a little red wagon. They text and fiddle with the radio and talk on the phone and then they try to kill me in a crosswalk or run over me on my bike. Not to mention their contribution to our environmental woes and our sedentary lifestyles. We have one car, and when it's 17 degrees outside, I'm incredibly grateful for it. But I don't use it as a kitchen, I understand how a 4-way stop works, and if it's 17 degrees out, I'm conscientious enough to give way to the pedestrians.