The Modern Family Unit: Two Twenty Somethings and a Cat

so deep in roommate love

The world is changing. Thats a fact. I read that on the internet, but I feel like it rings pretty true. The standard for normalcy has definitely altered in the past, lets say eight years. Im only saying 8 years because I don't really think I was aware of too much before I was 15. Its really hard for the twenty-somethings of today because we don't want to fit into the mold that was cast by past generations. Okay, let me re-phrase that,  some twenty-somethings don't want to do that. I think the majority of us are not going to marry young and stay in our hometowns to start families. Those of you that are doing that, thats great, really it is. I support you! I will go to your weddings, toast your happiness, drink too much and then cry with my single friends later. But when I sober up and dry my tears, I will realize that like many of my peers, thats just not what the cards hold for me. Sometimes I wish it was. Sometimes I'm glad its not. Sometimes I clarify things unnecessarily. Most of the time I am crazy thankful for auto correct because I had a real hard time with that word.

So here I am. Living in New York, in my tiny apartment, 1003 miles away from my family. And like everyone who moves away from their family, I have through some miracle, squeezed my way into a modern family unit. While so many of my friends were getting engaged and having kids, I moved to a new place with my almost-common-law-platonic-husband and our cat child.

seriously, how are we single?

It really hit me today when on his way out the door to go to work Caleb said "I left you some money on the counter, get some trash bags when you go to the gym." Its smacked me in the face so hard. Somehow, in the last seven months, Caleb and I have morphed into this best friend, husband-wife, mom-dad, brother-sister, multi-functioning family unit. We do chores without being asked, buy each other groceries, remind each other of shit we need to do, act as the worlds worst wingmen and care for our pain in the ass cat. And what have we realized through all this? What is the one thing that we have learned over all these months? We have learned that we should never, under no circumstances, ever, for any reason, ever in a million years, be allowed to have kids.

Ever.

As I mentioned before, our cat is basically our son. His name is Barry. Were he a human, child services should be alerted.

 this is a turrible picture.

Things we do to Barry that we shouldn't do to kids:

1) throw him across the room.
This isn't as bad as it sounds. But believe you me, if a 15 pound cat climbed on your face at 7am, you would grab him with your eyes closed and just hurl him as far as you could. He's fine. He lands on his feet. Usually.
2) call him names.
What? He doesn't speak english, or, as far as we can tell, anything but cat. So, when he does things like, oh I don't know, chew through my headphones like he did this morning, I reserve the right to call him all sorts of names that don't make sense, but I feel would be offensive to a cat.
3) step on his tail.
...kids don't have tails, so we probably don't need to cover this one. And this is always by accident. But Barry just lays in the most annoying places.
4) refuse to feed him and call him fat.
Cry all you want Barry, but sometimes you have just eaten enough. But you can't take away a kids food and call them cubby. Thats not nice. And thats really bad parenting.
5) pour a glass of water on his head if he's being annoying.
What water-boarding would be to a child, mildly upsetting punishment is to a cat. He's really never bothered by this and the joke is usually on me when he jumps into my lap soaking wet. But he looks like a wet rat, so that embarrassing for him.
6) lock him in a closet for 8 hours.
This was an accident... kind of. He always climbs into the closet and wont get out! So I was all like "okay Barry, haha, I'm just gonna shut the door on you and see how you like it." And then I forgot and went to work. And then five hours later I was like "ohhhhh...nooooo...."And then three hours later I went home. He was fine. He napped. I guess. I actually don't know, since, you know, he was in a closet.

cat hat

So there you have it, we are a single child home with two parents in a very open marriage. We have all the support system of a little family without the obligation to give each other a kidney if needed. It doesn't make being away from our actual families easy, but it does make it easier. I also would like to clarify that Caleb is both husband and wife, seeing as he fixes things and cooks, while I am both brother and sister, seeing how I make huge messes and fight with myself.

Thanks for being super awesome Caleb treating me as if I were a family member you know you're stuck with, but still happy to be around. I would gladly ruin a kids life with you any day. If more marriages were like ours, eating, talking about boys and watching unhealthy amounts of tv, while laughing our faces off at each other, there would be a lower divorce rate.

The Job Hunt

Finding work is hard. It really really is. I mean, I suppose they call it the "job hunt" for a reason. In many ways, I feel that me looking for a job, and me going hunting would play out in much the same way.

First off, hunting and job finding are both things that I don't want to do. Ever. They are not fun things to do for a 23 year old princess of a girl. Coincidently, they are also both things that I am terrible at. I have never been hunting, but I am sure both my lack of skill and knowledge on the matter would prove to be a possibly fatal endeavor. I am job hunting, which, by my lack of a job, I think we can also conclude I am terrible at doing.

Based on my minimal research of recalling when my brother and step-dad would go hunting, I think you prepare for animal killing and job finding the same way. You wake up early. You dress yourself so you will blend into your environment (camo or like, a blazer). You attempt to eat a large and protein filled breakfast so you won't be hungry during the journey. You drink a little coffee, but then you're like "nooo, I shouldn't have another cup because then I'm gonna have to pee..."

So off you go. Allllll day. And its BORING. And STRESSFUL. And you keep seeing what you think might be a good 'kill,' but its just a rock. And you think you got one! But then you realize that you missed completely. By the end of the day you are tired, hungry, cold, defeated and feeling like a total failure. Also, you didn't manage to forage any dinner for yourself. You have no carcass and no money. You are very sad.

Although now that I'm thinking about it, maybe actual hunting would be more fun. Actual hunting, or, at least the way my brother does it, would mean that I just get to sit in a tree all day and eat jerky. Job hunting on the other hand is mostly just me hauling my ass around Manhattan, being told time and time again that they're gonna "call me." Yeah, okay. Unless they are all abiding by the 'three day rule,' time like, six I think its safe to say I am still unemployed.

Maybe I will be a bounty hunter... That way I can actually hunt and be employed. I watched Star Wars, I can do that.

If anyone is reading this an wants to offer me a well, or even semi-well, paying job, I accept. That would be great. Thank you so much. To show my appreciation, I will trap you a bear.

Monday, I could wait till Tuesday...

The days of the week are a big thing for us as humans. We put a lot of pressure on our weeks as a whole, and like to do a lot of little things to the days of the week to make them more manageable. We like to write things down in boxes to tell us how to make it through each individual day. And then we try to make all the days less painful by attempting to make them... cute? Humorous? We like to do things like:

- Give the days little nick-names, like "Thirsty Thursday" or "Wine Wednesdays" or "Sunday Funday"... uhh... "Throwback Thursday?" (Thursday is clearly our favorite.)
- Wear underwear and socks that correspond with the day (FACT: I had 'Day of the Week Underwear as a child, and Meg Ryan LIES. They do make Sunday. Sunday is purple).
-We make really funny e-cards and stuff that say clever things like "Thank God its Friday!" and have pictures of creepy memes or cats with angry eyes.

Part of me really felt like we did more weird stuff with the days of the week... huh... whatever. Anyways, I'm at a really interesting place in my life right now, and that place is called "Unemployed." So the way I look at my week now is very different then the way I looked at it when I was working. Like an adult...

Never-the-less, to me, this is the week:

MONDAY- Its acceptable to be sleepy all day and a little bitchy. No one expects you to have it together on a Monday. In fact, people want you to be pissy and hate the world. Because apparently, the beginnings of all things are terrible. As a general rule, I request all Mondays off, just so I can have that extra day to be unpleasant in my own home. Also, so I could watch 'Gossip Girl", but thats over. So now I just use that hour to cry. ha... But Monday night does have football, which people seem to like.

TUESDAY- For me, Tuesdays are harder then Mondays. On Tuesdays, you have no excuse to be a)late b)tired c)anything less than a ball of sunshine. Also, Tuesday is only day 2. Out of 5. No one ever brings donuts on a Tuesday. I also feel really bad about being lazy on Tuesdays, because its almost like I am admitting defeat on day 2 of a war.

WEDNESDAY: This day always stresses me out. Mainly because I never learned how to spell "Wednesday." I would demonstrate how pathetic my spelling attempts were, but auto-correct won't let me. Also, my MacBook is super protective of me and doesn't want me to look like a moron. Which we can all agree is super sweet. Also, this is the halfway mark. But its not really. Its just halfway through the 'work week', which is great, assuming that the 'weekend' is something we are looking forward to, and not just two more days that will potentially suck.

So far it seems like I hate each day of the week, which I totally don't. I'm like, a really happy person. I thought. Until this moment? Moving on.

THURSDAY: This one I like. I don't know why, but it has always been my favorite. Its the last day before Friday, 30 Rock is on, it vaguely reminds me of Whinne the Pooh for some reason... Does Piglet at some point say that Thursdays are "Blustery' or am I making that up?

FRIDAY: Woo! Its Friday! We love this day! The obligation to go out and do things, the feeling that really exciting things are gonna happen in the two days ahead, unwarranted optimism, and the knowledge that tomorrow, you get to sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. All day. Its Friday right now. Im on my couch, watching Matthew Perry's new show. Falling in love with him a little more each passing minute. Trying to also think of ways not to lame tonight...

SATURDAY: This day doesn't really count as a day of the week. The Jews had it right; this day should only be for sleeping. Until sundown, then its party time. Thats what the Jewish faith is right? Upon daydreaming of the relaxing day that is Saturday, I stretched out my legs and stubbed all of my toes on my coffee table. I am in intense pain.

SUNDAY: Each and every Sunday is like the end of a vacation. Well, a two day vacation that was proceeded by 5 days of crappiness. Its a bittersweet day. In New York, its a day of Brunching, and not much else. Its kind of creepy how no one ventures out to do anything besides brunch... creepy in a 'deserted Manhattan' kind of way. Its also nice that we can all go to bed early and not feel bad about it. Because tomorrow, is the worst day ever. Again. And again. And again. And again.

So yeah. That is how I see the days of the week. Right now, its like I rotate between Friday and Saturday since I don't have a job. Did I mention I don't have a job? And then any day I get a call for a job, BAM! Its my 'Sunday'... BUM BUM!

I also like to say the days of the week by singing that 'Sting' song. You know what I'm talking about. Don't play.

When I Grow Up, I... nah

                                         

I have decided that this year is the year of the 'grown up.' Or something along those lines...Its like my version of the Chinese New Year, but different in the sense I am not Chinese and also I don't know when their New Year is... Why? Because when you get to be legitimately into your twenties, thats what you are right? Grown up?

When I was a kid (well, more of a kid then I probably still am), I would look at the college kids and think they were soooooo old. And those people out of college? Well, they were married, or having kids, or something like that. Well, maybe 10-year-old Carly would look at me now and think to herself "Wow. Thats an adult. I have to be polite to her and pretty much do what she tells me. I also am obligated to feel super awkward around her." Maybe she would think that. But then why, why do I look in the mirror and see, I don't know, this ageless, non-agey, how old am I? face???

There are times where I feel overwhelmingly adult. Like the following:

-Whenever I pay my rent. Paying rent sucks big time. Its like someone sets off a little bomb in my bank account every month. And it takes a whole 'nother month to recover.
-Grocery shopping and buying... vegetables. And eggs. And things you can't microwave.
-Every time I know anything they mention in the news.
-When I know the name of the wine I want... Or I make it a whole day without eating french fries.
-Any time someone asks me for directions and I can accurately give them. Or any time I know which was north is.

Times I know I am mostly still a kid:

-When it takes me two minutes to figure out how to turn off a public bathroom sink
-When I accidentally watch two hours of 'My Little Pony' on Netflix, or 'Teen Titans'
-My inability to order and kind of mixed drink... at all.
-Anytime my socks don't match
-When I lock the cat in the closet for 8 hours, or forget to feed him
-My refusal to own, or wear a pair of khaki pants. Never will I ever.
-Each time I reference Dr. Seuss to give sage advice

To make it all the more confusing, there are people constantly switching between calling me 'ma'am', 'sweetie', 'hun', and 'miss.' I am no 'ma'am', I will tell you that. Only people over the age of 60, or who give me their subway seat can call me 'hun', and I just reallllllyyyyyy hate being called 'sweetie.' ALMOST as much as I hate being called 'girl.' I know my gender, thank you. I'm aware. I will only accept being called 'girl', if it is sandwiched between a sassy 'hey' and one more 'hey.' Or if its said with a distinct 'u', like 'gurl.' I would prefer if each person made up their own distinct pet name for me, so get on that everyone.

Also, do I shop in the juniors section, the miss section, or the women's section??? I know I shop in the kids section for shoes...

But I really feel like we twenty-whatevers are caught in this awful vortex of faux-adulthood. We don't know what we want to do, or how to go about getting it, or at least I don't. I am torn on a daily basis between wanting to play in the park and wanting to put on some heels and attempt to 'go out.' Okay, not a daily basis, but like, once a week. Thats an awful example. I'm torn between....ummm... sleeping till noon and balancing my checkbook? Who am I kidding, I always choose sleeping till noon when I can. I count it as a personal victory every time cleaning my apartment trumps my desire to play Mario Kart. And its so hard not to be overly aware of the floating, unidentified age-sphere. By my age my mom was married, and had a kid (me, as it were), had a career, had acrylic nails and did things like, make dinner and run errands and go on vacation. I don't do or have any of those things. I run errands on my cell phone, and I make food so I don't die... but not in a very adult way. But here I am, 23, a girl with 'Little Mermaid' sheets, and a Dragon pillow, muppet underwear and a 'Labyrinth' album I count as artwork. So perhaps I am not adult at all...

Maybe I should save adulthood for my late twenties, and spend the rest of my early and mid twenties being youthful and charming. Because I want to keep listening to my Disney music, wearing three different patterns at once and having 'Lord of the Rings' marathons on my days off.

I think I have found the way to stave off wrinkles. Its not expensive eye cream, its carrying 'gushers' in your purse and coloring in coloring books. You're welcome world.

                            "Adults are Just Obsolete Children and the Hell with Them." -Dr. Seuss

New Years has the WORST Mascot...

Alright boys and girls, here we are. Two days into the New Year and I am right where I want to be: inside, curled up on my armchair, watching some BBC with Hannah and Caleb and Barrykins. The only thing standing between me and complete bliss is the slight chill in the air, and my unwillingness to stand up and retrieve the blanket I am sitting on... But, we can't have everything, now can we?

2013. Mt first New Year in a new city. And strangely enough, it does feel different. Maybe its easier to start new in a place that still feels new... I don't know... we shall see. But! I made my resolutions whilst drinking wine on my couch with Hannah, and I will stick with them! I did almost everything I resolved to do in 2012, so I have high hopes that future Carly is gonna keep it together. Which brings me to the topic of the entry: New Years Resolutions. Not mine, oh no. I know mine. I have had lengthy discussions with me about my resolutions, now I want to talk to my macbook about your resolutions. How do I know your resolutions? Because you were kind enough to post the all. over. facebook.

Now I have come to terms with the fact that by logging onto the FB, I am going to be slapped in the face with a gob of information I don't care about: weather updates, political views, mirror selfie pics, bible verses, engagements, pictures of your food... Don't get me wrong, I'm as self-centered and vain as the next 90's baby all grown up. I am incredibly guilty of posting things no one in their right mind cares about, case and point, this blog you are reading now and still trying to decide if you care enough about to keep reading. (At this point I would like to take a moment and jedi-mind-trick you into caring.... "This is the blog you are looking for.") But I was a little surprised with the number of people who posted their personal goals on the FB stalker feed. Although I feel flattered that you deem me a good enough friend to share the fact that you think you are overweight, or too pessimistic, or unmotivated, or unorganized or whatever, don't think that I don't know what you are really after. No, not 'attention.' Please, Facebook as a whole, shoot, everything we all do is an ill concealed cry for attention and affirmation. No, what I know you are after is accountability. You want to be held accountable for your declarations of self-improvement. I hear ya'. Loud and clear my friends. So what I'd like to say to you is:

Challenge Accepted.

Any time you post a complainy facebook status? Busted! Every time you post a picture of cake? Caught! So be wary. Because I am watching you... Because thats what you really want, isn't it? I mean, I can't think of another reason you would post it as your status. You neeeeeeed us all to know. If it gets bad enough, I will come and personally train you. I will make you a dating profile. I will eat an entire pie in front of you, just so you won't. Because thats how much you mean to me.

Because I have sooooo much free time to spend patrolling your profile... And I definitely have the attention span to keep that up... So this is totally gonna happen... But just in case it doesn't, and just in case you think I gave up on you and I don't care, just remember: I do see your activity through the technological window. And I do care. And I am judging. So rest easy.

**disclaimer: This post is not pointed at any one person, or any specific people at all. So don't be offended oh resolution proclaimers. I commend you. It is bold to publicly declare ones intent and be held accountable for said proclamations. Part of me envies your boldness and confidence in personal drive and successes. The other part of me is highly annoyed you think you are fat. The third part of me is slipping into a food coma as I type and is not aware of what is going on...

Happy New Years friends! To fresh beginnings, pintrest pinnings and cheshire grinnings.

also, whats the deal with 'Baby New Year?' Worst mascot ever. It makes me feel like the New Year is one big baby shower for the earth... and then I feel awkward because I didn't get it anything...

Santa is German and is only halfway to Town...

With Christmas less than a week away, the claymation-marathons have officially begun. And by that, I mean that Caleb and I have just been watching them over and over and over. Like the same one... we have been watching 'Santa Clause is Coming to Town." It is my personal favorite of all the Claymasterpieces, because, while being heart-warming, it is also at a level of un-paralleled hilarity, that only magical Christmasy-ness could achieve.

To read this blog, I would suggest popping in the movie and doing a "watch-and-read" type of thing. You know how ABC Family used to do "Dinner and a Movie" nights where you would cook and watch? Yeah, this won't be anything like that, because this will actually be fun.

It starts:

This news-story opening is much funnier as an adult. Seamless transition into Claymation-land guys. Perfection.

Lets talk about our mailman:

Mail-Man Dude: Ahhh Fred. No dancing for you, but what can you do? Also, as an apparently world-wide letter carrier, you think he would know that it is against the law to open other peoples mail. Its really cute that he wants to read what the kids are asking Santa about, but the letter is addressed to "Santa." So don't be a nosey-nelly Mr. Astaire. And more improtantly, don't get arrested. And WHERE are these kids you are talking to?? All that are around are woodland creatures!

Next scene!

Burger Meister Meister Burger: Is sent a baby, clearly names Claus (like, the German boys name) and gives it to his incompetent soldier who promptly looses the baby. To the wind...

The wind which is strong enough to carry away a baby in a sleigh, but NOT strong enough to blow away the animals, or the pile of sticks that they have piled up. Okay, sure.

So then we have these 'elves,' Dingle, Jingle and other 'ingle' names, eventually they gave birth to Pringle, who left the elfing family to create stackable chips. Good call Pringle. They all live with the "Elf Queen", Tanta... no rhyme. She thinks the baby is a great idea, but what ISNT a great idea is to keep the name that he was given. Who would want to be called Claus when you could be called Chris?!

Now, as we learn the elves were once the First Toy Makers to the King. What Caleb so aptly pointed out, is WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?! They never tells us! Tanta says that she hopes that one day their glory would be restored, but fails to mention what they did to get demoted and then fired. So... now are the once Second Toy Makers, the First? And can we take a minute and talk about how this chick is Queen to all of four elves? You know, thats probably why she got fired. No King wants some random elf lady calling herself a Queen, when she is most likely just deranged.

Which brings us up to the point where Chris is taught life lessons by forrest dwelling animals. And seals (which clearly live in the forrest...) teach him how to laugh. Which, as the movie states, is the most important thing that he learned. The elves that he spent the last, I don't know, eight years with must have been so beat up about their royal humiliation that they never, ever laughed. Thank goodness that seal-barking is an acceptable substitute for human laughter. Why have paid studio audiences for things when we could just drag in a bunch of seals? Though I doubt it would be cheaper... Ho Ho Ho.

So years go by, and both the narrator and Chris tell us that he is a man. He wants to take the toys to the aptly named 'Sombre Town.' Tanta, after 20 years, finally, made Chris his suit. Cool.

Next we meet the Penguin friend. After Chris deduces that the penguin is looking for a branch...no, a stick....no! a Pole! The north pole? No, SOUTH pole, all by pengu here jumping around and honking, Chris tells him, that while he can basically be of no help in aiding him in finding his home, he should just give up and come along to Somber Town. Topper, as he is now named, kisses Chris. I think she believes that Chris just proposed... oh well. It would never work. P.S. Where did the penguin get the scarf!?

Fact: Going near someones property is not trespassing. Hear that Winter Warlock? NOT TRESPASSING! So I don't care that you are super angry that Chris and Topper have taken a path that puts then about two miles south of your mountain. You can't get mad about that. Thats like me getting super angry about someone looking at my sandwich. Or someone sitting in the seat next to the one I saved. Sure, its annoying, but not grounds for any sort of aggressive action. But, there you go plotting their demide upon their return.. yeesh.

Somber Town:

Pan to BMMB coming out of the building getting ready to go down the stairs. If you take a moment to look at the stairs, you will notice that they are toy free. Seriously, rewind the movie and look. No toys. So then how does BMMB trip on that toy duck? Where does the duck come from? This duck is KEY to the unfolding of the rest of the story. The hatred of the duck leads to the hatred of the toys, which leads to the banning of the toys, which leads to the arrest of Chris, which leads to the escape, which leads to Christmas! After some serious discussion, Caleb and I found the only possible explanation. The guard. The guard must have planted the toy right at the last minute! Think about it, the guard is treated like crap. He is probably real bitter toward the Burger and wants his revenge. Bam. He is to blame for it all.

Cameo: The King is also the doctor and the father of the children whose house gets searched.

I love the sharpie drawn declaration that toys are illegal. Also, if the word 'dungeon' is written in bubble letters, it looses all its scaryness.

Fact: Every cold hearted Christmas character can have their heart melted by a toy. most likely it will be a toy they have always wanted since childhood. Ex. Jessica the school teacher. Ex. BMMB given a yo-yo.

Lets skip to the first solo song Chris gets to sing. You know the one I'm talking about,. But if you don't, let me give you a refresher on the lyrics:

"Oh what a good girl,
Oh what a good boy,
Oh what a big smile,
All because of a toy."

wait for it...

"If you sit on my lap today,
A kiss a Toy is the price you'll pay.'
When you tell what you wish for,
In a whisper,
Be prepared to pay."

Now it may just be me... and Caleb... but doesn't this strike you as being a little, oh, I don't know, rapey? Wildly inappropriate? Grounds for getting charged as a sex offender?

"If whatever you take.
You give a little back.
Then whoever you love,
will give a little love back,
So give a little love,
Get a little love back."

Why did we never realize this before? If I met anyone who was like, "hey, give me a little kiss and i'll give you a little surprise," I would promptly whip out my mace and give a little of that back!

To be continued...

Auto Save Fails Again!

                                         this picture now has nothing to do with this blog post....

So, this post was going to be an in depth analysis on "The 12 Days of Christmas" after a little girl shattered that glass for me and made me realize it is basically a song about a man who like to give birds away as gifts. I wrote the post. I was long. And it was super funny. You should feel really disappointed that you will never get to read it, because it didn't save. I was on day 11 when it just shut down. So that was fun for me. Maybe I'll try again, but right now I am taking as a sign the universe deemed it unfunny. If the universe decides to re-deem it funny, it can send it to my inbox.

Is it too much to ask for the auto save to do what its title suggest it does? Save in an automatic fashion? I could go on a really long rant about it, but I won't. Because we all know how much I respect machines and fear their imminent rise to power. I forgive you MacBook.

so here is another, other, musing:

I have spent the past few weeks surrounded by people. They are everywhere I go. I find myself trying to swim through oceans of slow, foreign speaking humans who have taken the city by storm. But its like one of those storms that is always raging and there is no end in sight. I made the mistake of walking through Times Square the other day. At night. The other day, at night. So, the other night. Anyways, being in Times Square is like being in a sea of people trying to locate the bathroom in a restaurant they have never been to before. When you stand up from your seat, look around, walk the direction you think you should be going, stop, look around again, walk back the way you came, turn around, turn in a full circle, walk three paces to your left, bump into a waiter, knocking dishes to the ground and then sheepishly asking for directions. Its like that, but everybody in the universe is there, doing it all at once, and the joke is, there is no bathroom! Times Square is the destination! I don't know what these people are looking for!

And what makes it worse is, I'm short. Like, tall people try to walk over me, short. And people are always like "It must be so nice to be so petite." or "You are so tiny and adorable." or "You are so lucky, you never have to worry about dating a guy who is shorter that you because the only people shorter than you are children and little people." Which, yeah, sure, those are all true I guess. But here are some things you don't think about:

1) My face and your elbow? Same height. Where does your elbow end up when you turn around suddenly? In my face.
2) That stuff thats molding on the top of my fridge? Yeah, I don't know if thats even a thing because I can't see up there.
3) Clothing stores clothes racks.
4) No one can see me behind the registers I work behind. Or that car. Or that shelf. Or that bush. Or that sign. Or that other human.
5) I end up with my face in peoples armpits on the subway.
6) When you walk up the stairs in front of me, its full on ass-in-face.

That one is the worst. Every single day I walk up the stairs at the subway station and its just 12 to 23 steps in butt in face time. Its unavoidable. So everyday when you are getting dressed and you want to know if your butt looks okay in those jeans? Well, I am the person to ask, because I see my fair share and can make a comparison.

But there is the one revenge we short people have against the tall people of the world. And that is found on a rainy day. Umbrellas. An umbrella over my head, is an umbrella coming straight at your neck. So beware. Be wary. Be watchful. Short people will accidentally and unknowingly behead you all.

Also short people make convincing elves, seeing as three different kids told me that they know I am a real elf because I look like one.

And just so you all get your Santaland fix, here is the cuter exchange I had today:

"Did you see Santa?"
"YES I DID!"
"Was it awesome?"
"It was the BEST moment of my whole life I have had so far."
"It was!? Wow. What did you tell Santa you wanted for Christmas."
"I didn't say nothing because I couldn't talk because I was FLABBERGASTED." 
"Ohmygoodness."
The dad: "Don't ask him to tell you what it means. He is four, but insists that this is the only way to describe how he is feeling."

Also, I met a girl who asked Santa for a dragon. So it looks like the big guy has two of those to deliver this year. :)