Tuesday, January 7, 2014

things i don't do

This post was done by Cassie on A Little Lovely blog and I felt the need to chime in.
I don't do really high heels.  I'm already 5'7" and my hubby is just about 5'10."  It just doesn't work for us.

I don't do puke.  When I was a kid I was terrified of throwing up, so much so that I developed a little bit of OCD from it.  Like, I would have to have all the suds off the shower walls before exiting or else I would throw up.  Or I had to flip on all three light switches at exactly the same time or else I would throw up.  Or I had to pray "Please don't let me throw up" the same amount of times I said "Thank you."  It sounded like this.  "Please don't let me throw up, please don't let me throw up, please don't let me throw up, Thank you, thank you, thank you."  CRAZY PAST STEF.  Now that I'm an adult, it's much better but if I have a kid puke in my classroom, we literally all evacuate for the remainder of the day until the room has been sanitized through and through.  That sanitizing is all done by our nurse who is now used to my phobia.

I don't tell secrets.  If you tell me something in confidence, you don't have to worry.  I am like a human vault - I have no desire to run out and tell people anything.

I don't do seafood.  I wish I liked it, I really do.  I've tried just about everything, but nothing strikes a cord.  Actually I once gagged a little after trying a cocktail shrimp.

I dont do foreign cars.  My dad has raised me to be a Ford-lover.  Nothing else would be acceptable.

I don't do leftovers after one day.  Gross.  Just gross.  Unless I'm starving and the meal was amazing there's no way it will be eaten by me.  At the same time though, I don't like wasting it.  That's where Jeff comes in.

I don't do late nights.  Even back in my college days, I seldom stayed out late, especially during the week.  Unless it was country night at the bar or my fellow teaching classmates were having a bar crawl, I was snuggled in bed by 10 pm.  My early morning classes were planned purposefully and I liked it that way.

I don't do shots.  Alright, there was this time in college when we did a shot at every bar we went to, and that was like seven.  (Oh, that's not a lot?)  I was so sickly hungover the next day (through my roomates vacuuming and cooking smells) that I vowed to never take a shot again.  I haven't.

I don't do sympathy.  Meet the female version of Dr. Phil.  If someone is behaving like an idiot, I tell them they're behaving like an idiot.  Like women who let guys swear in front of their kids.  Or guys who stick around after their girlfriend, the Flirt of the Town, fooled around on them.  GET A GRIP.

I don't do football.  Totally un-American, I know.  Maybe if I understood the actual game I'd be more interested in watching it.  I just ride along for the wings, the beer and the cute hoodies.  I just cheer when everyone else does.  First down, what what!  No for real, what is a first down?

I don't do organic.  My dad is a non-organic farmer and has taught me a lot about what organic really means and why it's a big line of BS.  We have to feed the world, people.  Organic ain't gonna do it.

I don't do Black Friday.  The whole presents-at-Christmas thing just bugs me.  Why are we buying gifts for eachother but in the end we've both just spent a lot of money on things we could've bought for ourselves?  I get it:  gift-giving is fun and heartwarming for a lot of people.  But to wait in line for an enormous TV that's like $100 cheaper than yesterday?  I freaking hate Best Buy anyways.  Isn't that what Black Friday is about?  Best Buy and their stupid electronics and employees who suck at their job?  Oh yeah, and Kohl's.  Kohl's is the worst store ever put into existence.

I don't do crafts.  First of all, I suck at them.  Second of all, I don't have the patience.  Third of all, that shiz is expensive.  I got into scrapbooking back in like 2001 and I easily spent my entire summer's paychecks on ridiculous stickers and letters.  All I managed to have in the end was a really awkward ensemble of pictures from my trip to Paris (where I looked like your average pimpled 16-year-old without a tan) and pictures of me and my first boyfriend at Homecoming (where I had the curls-stacked-on-my-head updo.  You know what I'm talking about).  Scrapbooking is worthless.  So are crafts.







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