These are my KONFESSIONS

I think there's something that you should know.  I probably should have gotten this taken care of a while ago, but I still haven't done it so I might as well just admit it now.

I don't know how to ride a bike.

I know, I know.  It's like a childhood staple.  But I just never... learned.  It's like my parents just gave up on me when I wasn't enthused.  I was a strange child, to say the least.  And this was one of the oddities that defined who I was and who I still am today, at nearly 21 years old.

A non-rider of bikes.

I tried to learn a couple summers ago but it was a failed attempt and I still cannot do it.  It was a hot day in the middle of the summer, and a couple of my friends and I got bagels and plotted to teach me in a cul-de-sac.  I had collected a bike from my garage that hasn’t had much use in recent years, and we headed off to begin my lesson.

Now, maybe I would have learned better on a normal bike.  But no.  Of course this bike had extra skinny wheels.  They were practically paper thin.  Also the bike was old, and the chains were rusty.  Basically it was a death trap.

So my friends told me how to go about this venture.  Sit on bike.  Put feet on pedals.  Push off and go.  Nobody was around, and we had the street to ourselves.  I could safely maneuver the area without fear of getting hit by a car or getting eaten by a lion.  Easy enough, right?

Wrong.  DEATH TRAP, remember?  The bike was trying to kill me.  I couldn’t make it 3 feet.  I didn’t really even WANT to do this anymore.  One of my friend’s little sisters were riding circles around me as if to taunt me, telling me I couldn’t do this.  I can’t ride a bike and I never will and they’re better than me and I don’t even deserve to ride a bike because at this point I was 19 years old and I was as good as dead without the skill anyway so no point.

And it makes me sad to say this, but I gave up.

Honestly, I am sort of afraid to try again.  I have good balance and agility and I'm pretty good at learning new skills, but let's be real here.  I am tall.  And therefore my distance from the ground to the bike is much greater than if I was a 5 year old.  This distance may be small by perhaps dinosaur standards, but it is not by my standards.  It is an enormous gap of space, so enormous I might as well be an ant trying to learn how to ride a bike.  That fall could be fatal.

So I am writing this post today mainly as a confession that I lack a skill that most people have by the age of 7.  And also to see if there’s anyone out there willing to take me on as a pupil.  I want to learn.  I am ready to learn, and I will not give up this time.  Bloody knees be damned, I must become a bicycle rider.

I have also determined that this must happen this coming summer so that when the Apocalypse happens at the end of the year and cars stop working, I can at least attempt to ride away from the Zombies and the fire storms and the big black hole in the middle of the earth.

Valentines.

This year, I decided to make individual and personalized Valentines for my friends.  I took some of their favorite things and handmade unique cards to suit them.  I worked at a Hallmark store for 5+ years, so I'd like to think I know a thing or two about cards.  And how to use them to get the things you want in life, like friendship and unicorns and butterflies.

I meant to post this yesterday, but I forgot.  A little late... but worth the wait.  Ew I didn't mean it that way, you dirty dirty people.

Also, the pictures aren't the clearest but I didn't notice until today when I uploaded them.  So sorry for the blurriness.  But here are some tips and ideas for all of you to create your own cards for your friends!

For your Pokemon loving friend:

For the Lil Wayne loving friend:

 For the Las Palmas loving brother:

 For the math major friend:

 For the Jenna Marbles loving friend:

 For the meme loving friend:

 For the Moe's loving friend:

For the Harry Potter loving friend:

 For the baking friend:

 For the gay best friend:

 For the Justin Bieber loving friend:

For the Kardashian loving friend:

My day was extremely successful.  I had several Valentines.  May you take forth my card-making wisdom and implement it into your daily lives.  You're welcome.

Irrational Thoughts: A Look Inside My Brain

So my parents subscribe to my blog now.  The one complaint my mom had was that I told the internet world in my previous child-author-slash-illustrator-prodigy post that she was going to the bathroom.  I was just protecting the world from saying what she was really doing.  She was concocting a plan to take over the universe.

Better, Mom?

Now back to our regularly scheduled programming…

I think I am sick.  I have a problem, and sometimes it consumes my life.

I suffer from irrational thoughts.

Now, before I scare any of you off, they are not remotely dangerous nor are they going to inflict harm on myself and/or others.  This tends to be the concern when I tell others that I have said irrational thoughts.  Immediately people assume that I am going to creep into their bedroom in the middle of the night to bludgeon them with a hacksaw while simultaneously shooting at them with a bazooka.

Why is everything always about OTHER PEOPLE?  These are MY irrational thoughts.  Stop trying to make irrational thoughts for me!

Also, the things in this post are not meant to be confused with irrational fears.  I have none of those.  My fears are all completely rational, and anyone who says otherwise is lying to themselves.  I only have three real fears: stinkbugs, tunnels, and escalators.  They are all fucking terrifying and therefore they are RATIONAL.

My friend recently did say though that she is afraid of getting stuck in cement, and that thought has got my mind churning and it may make its way onto my COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY RATIONAL fear list in the near future.

Anyway, I am going to give you guys some examples of my irrational thoughts.  And you will see for yourself the process of my brain.

1) When my chest hurts

What a Normal Person would think: I have indigestion.  Something I ate must have been too hot or too acidic or too unhealthy for my esophagus to handle.  I need to manage my food intake.

What I think: I am dying.  I am probably having a heart attack and I should lie down and say my goodbyes to my worldly possessions.  Goodbye cruel world, it was nice knowing you.

2) When some part of my abdomen hurts me

What a Normal Person would think: I think I have cramps.  Maybe it is from the abdominal exercises that I partook in this morning, or maybe I am about to menstruate.  It also could be because of that strange and undeterminable thing from my refrigerator that I decided to eat this morning.

What I think: I HAVE APPENDICITIS.  Even though the pain is not concentrated to the lower, right side of my abdomen where my appendix is located, I have appendicitis and my appendix is going to explode and I will die.  Never mind that this pain happens fairly regularly and so I probably would have already had appendicitis approximately 600 times before in my life, it is appendicitis NOW and I should probably see a doctor about this.

3) A toothache

What a Normal Person would think: I probably have a cavity from all of the sugary foods that I consume on a regular basis.

What I think: MY TOOTH IS FALLING OUT!  I already lost all of my baby teeth, so what is happening to me!!  This makes no sense!  Now it feels loose as I wiggle it around in my gums!!  Why is this happening to me, WHY!!!!

Now, perhaps, my most irrational thought of all.

4) Nothing happens [to trigger any of these feelings]

What a Normal Person would think: My, what a lovely day it is!  The sky is blue, the birds are singing, there are deer outside frolicking!  This could be the best day EVER!!!

What I think: I am sulking.  I have no friends.  Everyone that says that they are my friend is lying to me.  Everybody is a liar, and also everybody hates me.  What have I done that was so terrible to cause everybody to hate me?  Even flowers hate me.  The moon hates me.  Barbecue grills hate me.  Rocks hate me, though they have no reason to hate me because they are rocks.  Except that I walk on them sometimes so now I can see why they would hate me.  Life is terrible.  Nothing good is on television, all books in the entire world suck, and music SUCKS.  No, music doesn’t suck, just most music sucks, so I’m going to listen to the same song on repeat all day because it doesn’t suck and it is the only thing that I can tolerate right now.

Now, there really is absolutely NO REASON for any of those thoughts to cross my mind.  Sometimes it just happens, and I don’t know why.  That’s why it is irrational!  If I could explain it, then it would be rational and therefore this entire post would be a lie.

But it does happen from time to time, out of nowhere.  Perhaps something happened to me in childhood that would explain this but I don’t know where to begin.  I can assure you that these thoughts do not last long, only a few hours at a time, and few and far between.

I will avoid people when I feel this way so as to not lash out at them and tell them that they suck or to avoid sobbing and blubbering like an idiot.  And then a few hours later, I am fixed!  And I can continue my day, happy as ever.  And then I look back at my day and think, “PSH!  Why did I think everybody hated me??  Everybody LOVES me!”

And I am back to normal.

And So Here We Are: A Look into the Beginnings of my Literary Excellence

My mom came into my room before and said, “I have to show you something.”  It sounded serious, too, because she also said, “You can look at it, but I want it back.”

She then handed me a literary masterpiece and left me alone to peruse it for a few minutes while she went to the bathroom.

Entitled: The Inside Story Of: My Kitten by: Lindsay Lewandowski (apparently I was quite the fan of colons back in the day)

This is a story that I wrote probably circa 1998, because that is the year that we got said kitten.  I was 7 years old, and this is how the story unfolds.

Side note: Clicking on the pictures will make them larger so you can see the full detailed artistic skill that I had achieved at such a young age.  You're welcome.

My kitten is frisky, but he was really frisky when he had claws.  He climbed up the screens!

The speech bubble on the side says “Get down!” in case you can’t read it clearly.  (Also, if you look closely you can see my dramatically painted glittery nails.  I'm fancy, huh?)

We named him after Kobe Bryant the basketball player.  Kobe Bryant Lewandowski.

This all happened before the Kobe Bryant scandal happened, I can assure you.

Our kitten eats alot of friskies!!

I clearly had not yet grasped the concept of correct grammar, nor had I yet read this post from Hyperbole and a Half.  I am also not sure why the picture is so small and yet I had so much room to draw.  Artistic license, most likely.

Just like our cat, Kobe when he’s tired just plops down where he is.

I also seem to have yet to grasp the concept of correct sentence structure.  Luckily I can assure you that I have grown up to be a writing tutor at my college that I currently attend.  So everything has fallen into place.

And again, still not sure why the picture only takes up approximately 1/4 of the page.

Sometimes he jumps on the tables.

This is still true, 14 years later.

He also likes to lay on the warm clothes from the dryer.

Still also true.  And has also rubbed off on me as well.

Kobe loves to play with his food.

Again with these tiny drawings.  I’m assuming the vast blank area of white page is just something left up for interpretation.  Or perhaps I knew this was just the first draft of the book, and so later on in life I would have to go back and add more to the pages to complete it.  I’m going to go with that.  Because who WOULDN’T want to publish this book?  It’s pure gold!

He curls up when he sleeps.

Still true.

He likes to play with his rats.

See, this is where the book starts to concern me.  My cat does not play with rats.  If anything, he plays with mice.  FAKE mice, I’d like to add.  If at some point he had played with rats, I’d like to think I would have been aware of it.  Maybe he really did play with rats and thus I have blocked out the traumatizing memory.  I certainly hope I just had momentarily forgotten the word mice in my 7-year old brain.

Well that’s the end of my Story!! ----->

Glad that randomly got HUGE OUT OF NOWHERE.

The End!!

Two conclusive pages are most definitely necessary in literature so profound as this.

Here is a picture of Kobe circa 2010, laying in a basket.

Here is also a picture of him circa 2008, laying on a bunch of towels.

As you can see, my drawings were extremely accurate in their interpretation of what he looks like.

Now I have to go return this book to my mom for safekeeping.  Because goodness knows this might be worth something someday.


UPDATE: As I finished posting this, my brother brought Kobe into my room.  He is now sleeping much too adorably on Paul McCartney at the end of my bed for me not to take a picture.

(the blanket is an Abbey Road blanket that he likes to lay on.  He's not ACTUALLY laying on Paul McCartney.  Geez, who do you think I am?  A Paul McCartney-enslaving MONSTER???)

The Abyss

I got lost in Wal Mart last week.

It probably doesn’t sound that traumatizing or even mildly realistic, but it happened.  Okay, well, I guess more like I lost my parents in Wal Mart last week.  Which should probably now sound even LESS traumatizing, considering I am nearly 21 years old.

No.

I was walking towards the shampoo aisle with them right behind me, and then when I turned around to double check that they were in close proximity, they were gone.  Okay, I thought.  I’ll just get the hair products that I need, go back, and catch up with them.  So I wander into the beauty products, pick up my items, and head towards the grocery section.

And they were nowhere to be found.

Now, normally, I would not panic.  But this is not an average day in Wal Mart.  First of all, it is two days after Christmas.  So Wal Mart has more people than usual.  Second, they are always redoing my Wal Mart.  And it is big.  So when I’m home and I go in there, I never know where anything is.  I never even know where I am.  Sometimes, I forget my own name.  Third, you don’t know where I live.  People in my town live for Wal Mart.  They DIE for Wal Mart.  They would KILL for Wal Mart.  If there’s a deal, they gotta have it, and they gotta have it NOW.  Lastly, it is Wal Mart.  That should say enough.

So I am perusing the food aisles looking for them, as they had mentioned that they needed to pick up some things for dinner, but they are not there.  I meander into the women’s clothes section.  Why they would be there, especially my father, I do not know.  But I am in a state of panic and so I am going through the motions without thinking.  No parents.  I then head into electronics.  Still no parents.

At this point, I start tweeting.  I try to keep my cool, managing to type out on the tiny keys of my BlackBerry, “I've lost my parents in the abyss called walmart. Wandering aimlessly in electronics.”  But my wandering was not aimless.  It was not even wandering.  It was quick-paced, brisk walking, bordering on a light jog.

Keep in mind my arms are full of beauty products and now also a bag of tortilla chips that I somehow acquired along the way.  And I still somehow managed to tweet while in my current mental state.  I am actually impressed with all of this as I write this now.

Anyway, I leave electronics and start walking through home décor.  Still no sign of Parents.  I look down the toy aisles, because naturally that is where Parents would be.  False, I am in a state of panic and my senses are skewed.

My pace increases, and suddenly I am faced with an entire section of Christmas clearance items.  My heart rate drops, my breathing pattern slows to regular, and panic is gone.  Why I did not think of the Christmas clearance section in the first place is beyond me.  This is my parents we are talking about.

The first aisle I turn down, there are Parents.  With Christmas clearance stacks in their baskets.  Yes, baskets.  They have two.

Tweet: “Update: found them in christmas clearance. I am not surprised.”

Now that I am safely assured of where Parents are, I continue my shopping.  I even casually slip through the aisles, now able to relax and find things I do not need but have my parents buy for me anyway.  Life is great!

Finally, my parents are content with their clearance items.  They have made their way to grocery items and are deciding on dinner.  I decide to stay near the registers, awaiting our pending departure.  And that is when I spot these:

I look at them.  I pick them up.  I read their box.  I picture myself wearing them.  I seriously contemplate purchasing them for a minute.

And that is the moment I realize we need to leave Wal Mart immediately.

The Devil is on Earth as we speak.

Stink bugs are, without question, the most vile insect in existence.  I should know this because not even my cats will eat them.  And they eat everything, including ribbon.  And plastic bags.  And sometimes their own vomit.

Stink bugs are my mortal enemy, and I do not throw that term around lightly.  For those of you fortunate enough to not know what a stink bug is, here is a picture of the hideous thing.  You've been fairly warned before you look that IT is gross.  IT is evil.  And IT will kill you.

Just looking at a picture of them makes me want curl up into a ball and saran wrap myself in hopes they don’t find me.  And don’t be fooled that they just looked like ordinary insects either, because they are not.

Yes, that is an impossibly large Samurai sword attached to ITs back.

They are ninjas.  I kid you not.  They are everywhere and nowhere all at once.  You don't even see them coming.  But suddenly, bam, there's four of them coming at you.  You don't know what to do first.  Duck and cover?  Run away screaming?  Violently strike them until they are indistinguishable pulp?  (I recommend you avoid that last option, lest you wish your hands to smell vaguely of their foul odor for days, hence their name.  They really do, truly, stink.)

There are hundreds, no, THOUSANDS, maybe even BILLIONS of bugs that invade my home yearly.  I have done some research, and this is what I have discovered about the beasts:

• Brown Marmorated Stink Bug—Translation: Assholes.
• Scientific name: Halyomorpha halys
• Accidentally introduced into eastern Pennsylvania—Eff you, PA.
• Serious pests of fruit, vegetables and farm crops—Basically, if you don’t want them to invade your home, live nowhere near vegetation.  Might as well call a lumberjack and get all of your trees, shrubs, and anything green removed because they will just eat them up.
• Their eggs attach to the underside of leaves in masses of 20 to 30—Holy. fucking. shit.  Clusterfucks, literally.  Clusters of fucks.
• Check your house thoroughly to ensure there are no cracks or holes left in any entry point—Don’t have windows or doors on your house.  Better yet, don’t even have a house.  Because these things will find a way in, and they will destroy your life. 

These are necessary precautions that must be taken in order to avoid these deadly and vicious creatures.  Luckily for me, I have a sort of 6th sense and I can detect when they are in my immediate surroundings.  With my cat-like reflexes, I am aware of where they could be lurking at all times.  Often you will hear them before you see them.  They twitch, shudder, and make a propeller-like sound when in flight.  This aids in determining where they are.

If all else fails and a bug gets much closer than is safe, then:

1) Run.

2) Scream.

3) Hide under a table.

4) Cry.

5) Find someone else to take care of the problem.  If they don't want to help you,

1. bribe them.
2. keep yelling until they are forced to help or else will miss the remainder of the final quarter in the very important and life-threatening-if-my-team-loses sports game.
3. keep crying until there is no other option than to help because you're not breathing or making any noise and they'd rather just kill a bug than take you to the emergency room so you can be hooked up to oxygen but you're pretty much already asphyxiated and so you go into a shock-induced coma which you will be in for approximately 17 months and upon waking up you will have no idea who you are or where you are and suddenly it's like that new Channing Tatum movie and you're married and don't know your own husband and he has to make you fall in love with him all over again which is awfully familiar to the plot of 50 First Dates but no one really likes Adam Sandler anyway so I guess it's okay to make a similar movie 10 years later.

Typically bribing works.

Because my family has to deal with this situation far more often than any of us would like, we have determined the best way to rid our house of them so as to avoid as much panic caused by me as possible.  Well, I say "we" loosely.  In actuality, it is often times my dad or brother and occasionally my mom who get the bugs while I flee.

1) Get a cup.

2) Fill said cup with water and dish soap (though personally I believe a little rubbing alcohol or perhaps some heroin may be more effective).

3) Grab a pen and said cup filled with water and soap(/rubbing alcohol/heroin).

4) Put said cup underneath bug.

5) Use pen to flick bug into said cup.

6) Watch intently while rubbing hands and laughing maniacally as bug drowns in said cup.

Win.

(more information on these Devil Bugs: http://ento.psu.edu/extension/factsheets/brown-marmorated-stink-bug, http://stinkbugsguide.net/get_rid_of_stink_bugs.htm)