The Truth About Women (You’re Welcome Guys)

Females are complex creatures. We do many strange things that the male race does not understand. In fact sometimes I don’t even understand the things we do. But nonetheless these things are done without fail. In an effort to dispel some of the rumors and confusion I thought I would do my best to answer/solve the many mysteries of women.

I did a poll of random men* on the street to find out the most confusing aspects of female-dom. And these are the question that I received:

Why do you guys always go to the bathroom together?
Why do women take so long to get ready?
Why do you all make that stupid face when putting on mascara?
What’s with painting your fingernails and toenails?
Why do women always fall for the ‘your air filter needs changed’ trick at Valvoline Instant Oil Change?
Why do you need so many shoes?
Do you really need 15 different kinds of shampoos and conditioners?
You have that sweater in 4 different colors. Why?
Are you really so helpless that you can’t change your own tire?
6 inch heels? What the heck?
Is Ryan Gosling really that attractive?
Why is your purse so heavy?
Why do I find your hair EVERYWHERE?
Why do women shave their legs?
Why do women have periods?
Do women like facial hair?
Are women crazy?

Why do you guys always go to the bathroom together?
Simple. We don’t want to be murdered. If you go to the bathroom alone and there’s a murderer hiding in one of the stalls, BAM, your done-zo. If you go with 3-4 others you’re good. That’s too many people to murder without someone noticing. Plus if you don’t know where the bathroom is in a restaurant it’s a lot better to wander around aimlessly with someone else rather than alone.

Why do women take so long to get ready?
Because we can. The end.

Why do you all make that stupid face when putting on mascara?
Well, because we value our eyesight. One rogue mascara brush to the retina and you’re out of the game for days. It’s a known fact that unless you also open your mouth the eyes are not capable of fully opening.

What’s with painting your fingernails and toenails?
…..ya, I don’t know.

Why do women always fall for the ‘your air filter needs changed’ trick at Valvoline Instant Oil Change?
Because that bald-headed man is terrifying. Plus the air filter looked kind of dirty. So ya, sure change that sucker.

Why do you need so many shoes?
C’mon. Really? You can’t wear tennis shoes with skinny jeans and you can’t wear boots with sweat pants. A girl needs options. And perhaps 95% of the shoes don’t get worn, big deal. Someday I WILL need those whale print rain boots. You don’t know.

Do you really need 15 different kinds of shampoos and conditioners?
Yes.

You have that sweater in 4 different colors. Why?
Um, because it fits. If you find something that works, you get ALL of them.

Are you really so helpless that you can’t change your own tire?
Yes. I’m sure if I tried hard enough I could do it, but I don’t want to try. Go ahead buddy. Save the day.

6 inch heels? What the heck?
That’s just Lady Gaga. We don’t claim her as one of us.

Is Ryan Gosling really that attractive?
Um….yes.

Why is your purse so heavy?
You do not need to know. It’s women stuff. Plus if you knew the real reason you’d probably regret asking.

Why do I find your hair EVERYWHERE?
That’s a fair question….I don’t know the answer.

Why do women shave their legs?
Um…pretty sure that’s your fault guys. I know for a fact I don’t do it because I enjoy it. Someone, somewhere (most likely a man) decided women were infinitely more gorgeous with smooth shiny legs. I hate that person.

Why do women have periods?
……….Go back to 5th grade health class. Ok bye!

Do women like facial hair?
Absolutely! As long as it well-kept. No ZZ-Top beards or any kind of mustaches. We find those terrifying.

Are women crazy?
Asking that question is a sure-fire way to find out the answer.

There you go fellas. The answers to all the questions you’ve ever had about women. Now you know every thing about us and what makes us tick. You will never be confused by our actions ever again.** You are very welcome.

 

 

*False. I typed in ‘why do women…’ on google and took the top things that popped up. Also I made up the other 98%.
**Nope.

Puzzle 307, You Have Ruined Me.

Remember back when you were 8 years old and the cool kid in your class at school would have a fantastic themed birthday party. Everyone in class would be handed a card with the Looney Tunes gang inviting you to a good old-fashioned b-day party. And even if you didn’t want to go to the party, you had to. It was the event of the year.

With gift-wrapped Barbie (or Hot Wheels cars depending on the sex of the birthday person) in hand you’d slowly make your way to their front door. Very hesitantly you’d ring the doorbell and be welcomed into a Looney Tunes heaven. Bugs, Daffy, Taz, the whole gang was there to welcome you. After 2 hours of Looney Tunes cake, ice cream, and pin the beak on Daffy Duck it would finally be time to go home. As you exited the party the birthday girl (or boy) would reluctantly hand you a goodie bag. You’d take it and maintain your composure and wait until you got to your car to rip that thing open and see what was inside. Themed pencils, erasers, a some candy was the norm, but sometimes, if you were lucky, there would be a slide puzzle in there.

8 little squares inside one large square, forming some kind of animal picture. You’d slide those little squares around until the original image was indistinguishable and then you’d set forth on your journey to put that picture back together. Hours would be spent sliding square to the right and then back to left, up and down and every which way you could. For a week that would be your obsession. You were determined to get that picture back and to no avail, you were unsuccessful. Each and every day you would strain your fingers to solve this puzzle until eventually you either popped out the pieces and put them back in the right order, or just got angry and threw the darn thing away. I was convinced that those puzzles were of the devil. Until I found the grown-up version of slide puzzles.

Several months ago I downloaded a free game on my phone. A harmless little game called Unblock Me. The goal is to shift brown block around and clear a path for the red block to escape through a hole in the wall. It started out easy enough. 3 or 4 moves and I was done and onto the next level. I breezed through the beginner levels and made it to intermediate. Then I got to puzzle #307.

This in itself is depressing because that means I’ve successfully played at least 306 puzzles. That’s way too many puzzles for a 23 year old to have played. (Realistically, I should be out socializing and whatnot) But this puzzle 307 has been sent to ruin my life. For the past 3 weeks I have attempted to win. Every spare second I have, I slide those stupid brown block around. I move them in every possible direction, only to have them return to the exact space in which they started.

I cannot beat this puzzle. Every time I decide to quit, it sucks me back in. I don’t know what to do. It consumes me. I see puzzle 307 in my sleep. It’s become my obsession. Even now, as I write this, I’m thinking up a new game plan to win. And it’s not going to happen. I don’t know why I keep trying.

I haven’t seen the sun in weeks because I’m constantly trying to outsmart this app. It has become my foe and I have to defeat it. If it takes me another 3 months so be it, I will succeed. Puzzle 307….YOU WILL NOT DEFEAT ME!

But seriously guys, I need help. Either help on solving the puzzle or mental help in the form of an intervention. I’ll accept either at this point.

Where Is Michael Phelps’ Dad? The World Wants To Know!

[I made absolutely every part of this up. Except for the quote from wikipedia. That part was true. The rest is all a lie. I apparently get my jollies from making up horrible facts about famous people. Sorry. Please don’t leave any angry comments telling me I’m an idiot for making up lies. Those hurt my feelings. Thanks]

 

Despite having spent 17 of my 23 years in education there are still many things that I do not know the answer to.  Why is the sky blue? why do women have to shave their legs, what is silly putty made of and where in the heck is Michael Phelps‘ father? I know the guy has a father. I won’t get into it but science says there must be a woman AND a man present to make a child. Unless you’re going with the stork theory, which could explain Michael’s extremely large wingspan. But because I don’t believe in the stork, I know this man has to have a father.

I’ve watched a lot of Olympics in my day. When a 15-year-old Michael Phelps showed up on the radar during the 2000 games in Sydney, no one knew what a star he was going to be. And no one knew how many sleepless nights I would have because of his apparent absentee father. I’ve quite literally agonized over this for years. You see clip after clip of his overbearing mother, Debbie Phelps, but not once has Michael Fred Phelps Jr. been shown rooting for his son, the human fish.

And because I am an inquisitive person, I did a little digging on the man. And of course I went to the best research place on the world wide web, wikipedia. According the pedia of wiki’s “Michael Phelps (the father), is a retired Maryland state trooper who played football in high school and college and tried out for the Washington Redskins in the 1970s. Phelps’ parents divorced in 1994, and his father remarried in 2000.” Through a little more research I discovered that the man was not in Beijing when Michael Phelps (the son) had a record-breaking week, stating that he preferred to watch from home. Other than that, there is nothing about the guy. He’s well-hidden from the spotlight and is a mystery to me and the rest of the world.

Now even if I had an estranged relationship with my child, I would still be there rooting for their success. Sure I probably wouldn’t sit with my former spouse, but I would still be present in the building. Well, that is if I wasn’t one of the most hated people in America.

Michael Phelps (the son) has a middle name of Fred. Fred Phelps. Ring any bells? You know, Fred Phelps, the dummy who is the leader of Westboro Baptist Church. The group of idiots who find a reason to protest absolutely everything. Those guys.

If that was my estranged father I wouldn’t allow him to follow me to the Olympics either. And I certainly don’t blame his mother for ending that marriage and cutting ties. That guy is a terrible person. Plus on the other side of it, if I was the most hated guy ever, I wouldn’t sit in a crowd of 1000’s of people who wanted to punch me in the face. That would not be an enjoyable experience.

I support Michael Phelps’ decision to keep the identity of his father a secret. I would definitely not let anyone know I was related to him. Plus, now I understand a little more about how Ryan Lochte could possibly hate Michael and his puppy dog eyes. It’s obviously because he knows the truth behind Phelps’ family tree.

This guy…

Pastor Fred Phelps

The world’s most hated Phelps

is this guy’s secret father

English: President George W. Bush poses for a ...

The world’s most favorite Phelps. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Mystery solved. Case closed.

 

More Sparkle Spray STAT!

 

Olympian Aly Raisman sheds tears because of the tautness of her ponytail while teammate Gabby Douglass looks on and laughs

This may surprise you guys but I love the Olympics.

When the Olympics come around I watch sports that I’ve never heard of with the focus of someone who could themselves, be an Olympian. Handball, water polo, field hockey, white water kayaking, I’ve watched it all. And one thing I’ve noticed through my rigorous studies is that all of these Olympians are happy. They have joy on their faces, as if they don’t care if they win, they’re just glad they made it to the Olympics. Well, that is all athletes except the gymnasts.

Yesterday as I watched the gymnasts flip, spin and jump around, I noticed that they all looked as if someone had murdered their dog and they were seeking it’s vengeance. I would expect anger out of a gymnast from China. I’m pretty sure if Chinese gymnasts don’t win gold, they get their legs cut off, but even the US gymnasts had anger and hatred in their eyes. Last I checked Béla Károlyi didn’t chop off legs.

Normally you think of gymnasts as happy and bubbly, but not these ones. These ones frightened me, until I discovered the source of their anger: their ponytails.

When I wear a ponytail, it’s simply to keep my hair out of my face, I just pull back the excess hair, wrap a scrunchee around it and BAM! pony tail. These gymnasts ponytails were blood seeking vessels. I’ve never seen a tighter ponytail on someone’s head then the ones I saw last night on NBC. Maybe a this hairstyle makes a better gymnast. I’m not scientist so I did a little bit of research. (The things I do for you guys. I’m just a real giver.)

Luckily, last night the US gymnastics team was mic’d up and I found the hidden footage* and dictated it all so I would have proof that their ponytails were incredibly tight and I wasn’t just crazy.

Coach John Geddert: “If your hair is wispy you will lose points! Slick it back!”

Olympic Gymnast Jordan Weiber “It’s already in a ponytail coach. What else do you want me to do?”

Geddert: “Slick it back more. Tighter. NO TIGHTER. UNTIL YOU LOOK SURPRISED.”

Weiber: “But coach, I can’t feel my face anymore. If I move my eyebrow 100 hairs rip out of my scalp.”

Geddert: “That just means you need more hair spray. And not that boring stuff. The stuff with sparkles. YOU NEED TO SHINE! More sparkles spray STAT!”

Weiber: “Well, okay, you’re the coach…..”

Obviously if your face feels like it may rip off because your hair is pulled back so tight, it’s going to be difficult to show any emotion. Gold medals before full heads of hair and comfort, that’s what I always say. Plus who wants to see someone happy when they succeed anyway.

If having no fly-aways wins you a medal, then I say, go ahead ladies, just grease those suckers back. Plus if your hair is pulled back super tight maybe you can jump higher and spin faster….like a windup toy.

*Nope.

 

 

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You See, What I Meant Was, You’re Singing A Song About A Pontoon? That’s Super Cool!

Several weeks ago I posted a blog sharing my, somewhat sarcastic, thoughts on the Little Big Town hit, ‘Pontoon’. (If you promise not to verbally harass me, you can view it here.)

As it turns out, I’m not allowed to have thoughts about the hit song of the summer, because the people who enjoy the hit song, ‘Pontoon’ do not have the ability to read sarcasm on the internet.

At first people commented in a vain attempt to explain the song to me. I get the song guys. It’s a carefree song about spending the day on the lake. Shakespeare it is not. You’d literally have to be an Eskimo who lives in the arctic where there are only frozen lakes and no where to put a pontoon, to not understand this song. I just don’t like it, okay? Sometimes I hear songs I don’t enjoy, it happens. This does not however mean that I don’t understand what the song means.

Then my lovely commenting friends moved on from the kind responses in attempt to explain the song to accusing me of drug use for not enjoying/understanding the song. Again, I get the song. I was attempting to be humorous and mock the song. I failed clearly. It has very little to do with drug use. I don’t even use drugs, unless Mucinex counts. But that’s only because I have nasal congestion.

And then I received my favorite comment this morning. It was one sentence, merely the words, “Oh, this was supposed to be funny? Hmm.” Apparently they didn’t think it was funny. Now this comment seems sort of kind and not verbally abusive in any way, but it was signed “your mom” at the website “youreanidiot.com” with the email address of “poop@poopshoot.com”. Normally my mother is very supportive of my endeavors. Apparently even she cannot stand my mockery of Little Big Town and their love of pontoons.*

I guess what this says is I have become a hated member of the internet blogging society. So in an effort to clear my good name, I’m going to retract my mockery of Pontoon.

What I really meant to say was:

Dear Little Big Town,

I recently heard your hit song Pontoon on the WSIX in Nashville. As I was listening to the song I thought to myself, “WOW! This melody is incredibly well-crafted. I just want to bob my head forever while listening to it!” And then you started singing!! Those lyrics are nothing short of magical. You painted a phenomenal word picture of what it is like to spend your day on a Pontoon boat. When I finished listening to the song, all I wanted to do was buy myself a boat and hit the open water! Never did I think to myself, “this is a goofy song. Maybe I should write a blog adding my commentary to the lyrics.” Not once did I think that. Because this is a GREAT song. It’s obviously become the song of the people**. So kudos to you guys! You have a hit on your hands. I hope it makes you millions of dollar, so that maybe you can buy an even bigger pontoon!

Sincerely,

Amanda

*Guys, that comment wasn’t really from my mom. I think it was probably a very mature grown-up who thought they were hurting my feelings.

**Redneck people who love boats, and apparently the angry people who read my blog. Only those people.

To Whoever Stole My Mike Sweeney Card: Give It Back!

 

In second grade, I had a crush on Mike Sweeney.

I was 7, he was not. He was also probably married and had children at that point as well, but that didn’t stop me. Because first of all, I was…7, 7 year olds do not have a concept of what is socially acceptable.

At this time in my life Mike Sweeney was the catcher for the Kansas City Royals. Also, at this time in my life, the Kansas City Royals were terrible. You could pretty much get tickets to a game as long as you promised to not boo the home team. (or for like 5 bucks, either way) Because of this, a large portion of my summer was spent at Royals games.

In an effort to ‘woo’ their fans the Royals had autograph days where for an hour before the game certain players would sign autographs for adorable little children and uncomfortably obsessed adults. And on one particular game day, the player of choice was none other than that hunky catcher, Mike Sweeney.

My little 7-year-old heart could barely take it. Standing in line behind the 12 other people who chose to attend the game that evening, waiting in anxious anticipation for the man himself to show up. And finally, after what seemed like an eternity later, there he was. In his uniform and everything ready to sign a stack of team printed cards.

Finally, finally it was my turn. Hands shaking, I made my way up to the table. I said nothing. I probably just looked at him with a goofy grin. I was a shy 7-year-old. (Let’s get real, that’s how I would react if the same scenario was happening right now, 16 year later) Then the unthinkable happened. He asked me my name. I didn’t know how to react, but then my brain finally stepped into play and I quietly mumbled, “…Amanda…” Then he handed it to me with brilliant pearly whites shining. He handed me my newest prized possession. I took it in my still shaking hand. On this card THE Mike Sweeney had written:

“To: Amanda
Jer. 29:11
♡ Mike Sweeney”

I nearly passed out. As a 7-year-old I was pretty convinced that this “♡” meant Mike Sweeney was my new boyfriend. But you know what guys, I don’t think it did mean that. I’m pretty sure it just meant he was being nice to the shy, pathetic 2nd grader who didn’t know how to speak, but whatever.

This baseball card has been a priceless piece of my life since that day. And now, now it has gone AWOL. Somewhere between moving from Kansas to Tennessee, Mike Sweeney vanished. I don’t want to overreact, but I’m 110% sure that someone stole it to make my life sad and meaningless. Without that card how will I ever prove that Mike Sweeney once, for 5 seconds of his life, knew my name? I need it back and I need it back bad.

Without this card, my childhood is lost. So what I need is for whoever wanted to ruin my life, to return it to me ASAP. I won’t even be mad at you. But without Mike Sweeney, my childhood never happened. Do you want that on your conscience? No, you do not. Plus I’m going to just keep whining about it if I never find this card. No one wants to deal with my whining for the rest of their lives. I’m a really annoying whiner and that’s probably why I don’t have a husband, but I digress.

So in conclusion, if you find a Mike Sweeney card addressed to Amanda and you are not Amanda, it’s mine and I want, no I NEED, it back.

Also if you happen to be Mike Sweeney, could you maybe just send me a new one so this whole messy thing can be behind me? Thanks!

 

 

How To Survive A Heat Wave

It’s hot. I will not argue with anyone about this. The air is hot, the ground is hot. I’m pretty sure even swimming pools are hot.

I’ve noticed however, that people aren’t sure what to do with themselves when it’s hot. There are really two schools of thought in dealing with this delightful heat wave. First you can do as I do, and hunker down in the air condition only leaving the house for life-sustaining sustenance, or you can do everything you normally do, but with less clothes on.

I currently live in Nashville. They love their crusted foods around here especially if it is fried and/or topped with bacon. So, needless to say, the people around here are not, dare I say it, delicate little creatures. I have seen things that I never want to see again, things that are burned into my memory and will haunt my dreams forever. It’s as if some people just don’t care, which I guess that’s not bad, having your own mind, but sometimes, sometimes they should care.

And that is where I come in. I have created Amanda’s Top 10 Rules For Surviving a Heat Wave

1. If your back/front is hairier than your head, always, and I do mean ALWAYS, wear a shirt.

2. Along those same lines, if you can’t pull your pants up over your belly, you know, wear a shirt.

3. If your shorts resemble a pair of underpants, don’t wear them on the outside. Maybe just let them remain as they are, underpants.

4. A swimming suit is not proper outerwear, even for Walmart. Grab a t shirt and some shorts, throw them on. Voi-la. Proper attire.

5. Whiskey will not help you stay away from dehydration. Stopping from mown your lawn to have a smoke and a drink is probably the worst idea.

6. If you’re wearing jean shorts, maybe stay away from the knee-high black leather boots, ya?

7. Once you’ve completely soaked a t, feel free to change into a dry one. No one will be mad.

8. Confederate flag bikinis have never been and will never be, in fashion.

9. Socks with sandals? Really? It’s warm enough for sandals, what’s with the socks? Maybe use some common sense.

10. If your toes point in different directions or your toenails are more than 1 mm. thick, stick to closed-toed shoes. (This one may mostly be personal preference. I hate feet. So much.)

 

So there you go guys. Follow these rules and we can make it through this. And we won’t even need a puke bucket.