1. Basketball/volleyball/soft ball/flag football/badminton/most "team oriented" sports that you're forced to play in middle school P.E. class. I was always that girl, the one that everyone hates because of her exaggerated lack of coordination and suckiness in general. In most cases I was allowed to just stand around and loudly broadcast to my team to "WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT GIVE THAT BALL TO ME" but there were some mortifying occasions when I was forced into participating and I was so worthless that I embarrassed not only myself, but the whole class of preteen girls. Oh.
2. Any occasion that's even vaguely romantic in origin. You haven't heard a real stutter until you've heard my well-wasn't-that-romantic stutter.
3. Whenever someone makes me hold their baby while they are standing there watching me.
4. Whenever I have to try to improvise humor in front of anyone else. Drama class in 7th grade is a vivid and painful thing to remember for me.
5. When adults yell at me or try to talk me out of something. Even when I know that I'm right, I get really mushy and timid when a grown-up is "putting me in my place" and end up nodding too much and being like "yeah, okay, thanks, so sorry, gosh I'm dumb, 'kay bye!" even though I should be like "rawr rawr rawr, you're wrong and I'm right and do what I say and this is your fault so stop blaming me and stop talking like I'm 7-years-old." Afterward, I kick myself for being so easy to walk all over.
6. Any time there are bodily fluids involved. (Kaitlyn and Addy can attest to this: reference the infamous Meaghan Smith concert when Addy barfed in a hotel bathroom) Like tonight, when one of the (@%#$*!) dogs that I'm taking care of while house-sitting in California vomited all over the floor. But this was not average vomit. It was illogical, inexplicable vomit. It was alien. Let me give you a visual. Do this for me: hold your arms out in front of you in a circle as if you were hugging an invisible beach ball. Yes, thank you. This is the circumference of the barf-pool that came from a single Labrador tonight. Also, I am not exaggerating. Lucky for me, my dad was at the house just then so he had the "exciting" job of cleaning it all up, a task that would make a strong man weep from despair. A decent person would have offered to help, but since I turned utterly useless at the very sight of so much puke, the only thing I offered while my dad cleaned and cleaned and tried not to swear or kill the (@%#$*!) dog who produced such a monstrosity, was borderline insane, raucous laughter. My dad said: "This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me". And I held my sides from laughing so hard. My dad said: "I will never eat again". I doubled over. My dad said: "You probably could've helped out a bit, Avery" and I had to sit down on the floor because my knees gave out from laughter. I am a very selfish, mentally unwell person, this proves it.
One last thing: there is the most charming, perfect secondhand bookstore in Burbank that is complete with teeny-tiny passageways between floor-to-ceiling, double-shelved towers of crammed-in books and boxes and stacks strewn around the floor. There are yellow pages and first editions and second editions and eleventh editions and book-smell everywhere. You pay to a man who lives in a tiny hole in the books. There is every single classic imaginable (except Catcher in the Rye, apparently, which I am on a constant quest for) in a thousand different stages of decay and covers that show the decades changing. Price-tags have dreamlike numbers written on them such as "$3" or "$5" and everything is so perfect there you can't help but get greedy and start to want to purchase everything in the whole store. Due to my lack of cash at the moment, these books are what I have purchased so far:
-One bent-edges copy of The House on Mango Street, first edition of Vintage Contemporaries reprinted in 1991. I paid: $3.
-One dirty copy of The Little Prince (English instead of French, sadly, but at least I'll be able to read it), from its first printing in 1943. I paid: $2.
-One almost-new copy of Go Ask Alice (the inspiration for this blog's name, yes), 2006 edition. I paid: $4.
-One gracefully broken-in copy of The Bell Jar, the latest edition, which is the exact same one I've been pining after at Barnes & Noble but it cost a whopping $16.99. I paid: $5. Oh baby.
My total: $14.
My would-be total at Barnes & Noble: $46.96.
I'm not done shopping there yet, obviously. The Book Man who works there already knows that we're going to be best friends forever, since I told him so when I was paying for Little Prince and Mango Street that first time I discovered the store. If you go into the back section, on the bottom shelf under a carefully selected no-one-would-pick-this-up book with Tom Hanks's face on the cover, you will find my to-buy book stash. I'm so in love.
I will let you down.