Worst Date #1

So it’s a new year and I’m going to try and update this more often. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about horrible first dates I’ve been on and I think I’m going to do a series of entries about these bad dates because it’s time for a highlight reel of the best(worst) first date conversations. We’ll start with not completely terrible and end with the worst. Idiot #1, you’re up!

Idiot #1: “okay so I thought we could eat at Ryan’s, I have a coupon and it’s steak night.”

Me: “like the buffet? Honestly, I’d rather not. Buffets kind of make me sick with all the people around them, sticking their fingers in stuff and sneezing. I don’t need to go anywhere expensive, but I just really don’t want to go to Ryan’s. I mean, Applebee’s isn’t bad plus they have that three course meal for 11 dollars and one of the choices is steak.”

Idiot #1: “okay so you won’t eat anything if we go to Ryan’s?”

Me: “more than likely, no.”

Idiot #1: “okay cool. I just wanted to know before I paid for you to eat and then you didn’t eat anything. Let’s go there then! This is gonna be a cheap date!”

This is what I wish I’d said:

“Okay, first of all, what the hell? Have you never been on a date before in your life?! I’m not saying I need to be taken to the fanciest restaurant in town, but don’t take me to a buffet. You could even take me to Chili’s as long as I didn’t have to eat food that had been picked at and sneezed on right in front of me! I don’t care what they do in the kitchen, but when I see a 400 pound man with no shirt on under his overalls, licking the soft serve machine I’m going to have a bit of an issue making my own sundae. I mean, it’s our first date, do you really want to eat 4 plates of cobbler right in front of me?

Secondly, I don’t even know where to BEGIN discussing the fact that you flat out told me you were using a coupon. I don’t even like coupons! I don’t have a good reason but somewhere between the ‘omg I saved 49 cents on green beans by buying 7 cans of them!’ and the treating the grocery store like it’s a flea market with your, ‘well I know this coupon is expired but surely I can still get the dollar off of this milk of magnesia.’ couponing has rubbed me the wrong way. JUST STOP IT. and for God’s sake, please sort through your freezer bag of coupons PRIOR to getting in front of me in line. If I hear, ‘Sorry I’m taking so long, but I know it’s in here and after all it’s 50 cents off of Cheerios so I don’t want to miss out.’ one more time, I’m going to burn all the red plum coupon books in Tennessee. I’ll just give you the damn quarters! Ugh. But whatever, I suppose I’m not completely against being economical, but I mean if you had to use the coupon, at least wait until I’ve gone into the bathroom to call my friend and then let the server know. Call me old fashioned, but I think meal coupons are better reserved for family and friends.

Finally, did you feel like this was going well? Did you feel like a star when you ate two steaks in front of me and a ‘lobster’ tail while chewing with your mouth open? Did you think you’d aced the date when you said, ‘ugh…looks like my roommate’s gonna be pissed when I plow the bathroom later!’? Answer me honestly: when you go to bed tonight, in your heart are you genuinely going to believe you made good choices? I thought so. You know what? Ryan’s is only 10 miles from my apartment, I’ll just walk it. No big deal.”

This is what I said instead, “um, yep, I suppose it will be a cheap date.”

Pick a better dying wish!

So I’ve been watching a lot of the show Cake Boss on Netflix and while part of me is absolutely amazed at all the stuff he can make out of cake, there is an even bigger part of me that just dreams of smashing all of his cakes. Not because they’re not beautiful, but because I have this deep urge to make everything awkward or horrible. He just spends so much time making all these objects out of cake and I just want to ruin them all and be like, “WHAT. IT’S STILL CAKE.”

I spend the majority of my days thinking up horrific “what if” situations and ways I could make a situation completely uncomfortable and awkward. I’m always thinking, “what would happen if I called that anorexic girl a fat ass?” or “what if I brought up her dead dad at her birthday party?” I just have this unhealthy obsession with wanting to find out how someone would react to a completely horrible and tasteless comment or situation. I’ve been pretty good about never actually following through with any of my horrible thoughts, but the more uncomfortable I am in a situation, the more jokes I start making.

That’s the main reason I don’t want to become famous. Because when you’re famous you have to meet those make a wish foundation kids and if I get around a 12 year old who’s dying, I’m just afraid my discomfort would cue the jokes. Then I’d derail my entire career because I’d have spent the majority of making their wish of meeting me come true with an afternoon of uncomfortable giggling and long pauses. And obviously I wouldn’t blame myself for my career going down the toilet. I’d blame the make a wish kid because they provoked my humor and they should’ve known what they were getting into when they decided their life’s goal was to meet me.

I mean come on, you hypothetical make a wish kid that’s already making my life hell. Go have someone helicopter you up Mt. Everest or something. You’re dying for god’s sake! You’re going to sit in a room with my awkward ass when you could be having tea with Mickey Mouse? Because I’m not going to take you to Disneyworld unless you can get us to the front of the line because you’re dying. Otherwise, you’d be lucky if I took you to the playplace at McDonald’s.

And I won’t watch your shoes if we go there, you’re going to have to put them in the cubby just like EVERYONE ELSE. Mary J. Berger doesn’t watch ANYONE’S shit, make believe or not.

I thought there was a phantom…

I never need to go with my first train of thought. Ever. I don’t know why it took me 24 years to realize this but whatever, it did. The important thing is that I realized.

Anyway, I like to keep the little suction cup gps holder stuck on my windshield at all times but the past few months I’ve been noticing that it always ends up in my console. So today I decided it was of the utmost importance to call Rob at work as he is in my car a lot and maybe he’d brought some phantom in the camry with him who lives to frustrate me…

Rob: “Representative Evans’ office, this is Rob. How may I help…”

Me: “yes yes, you know it’s me, you have caller id. Listen, I’ve got something really important to discuss with you.”

Rob: “right now?? Can it wait? I’m off of work in 30 minutes.”

Me: “no it absolutely cannot. Have you been moving my circle-y thing?”

Rob: “what?”

Me: “you know. Clementine’s cradle. It’s circle-y and sucky and lives on the windshield. Or it’s supposed to which is why I’m calling. Have you been moving it or do you have a phantom attached to you?”

Rob: “oh. The gps. Yes, I’ve been taking it off your windshield because you don’t want someone to break in and steal it.”

Me: “OH THANK GOD. I did NOT want to have to call California psychics. Do you know they charge by the minute?”

Rob: “wait. Why would you not think to ask me first? And if anything if you thought there was a spirit why wouldn’t you call a priest instead of a psychic?”

Me: “now you’re just being ridiculous. The psychic would tell me if there was a phantom in the car and THEN I’d call the priest to get rid of it. Obviously.”

Rob: “how can you say ‘obviously’ and act like you have any knowledge in this area? You’re acting like this has happened to you before.”

Me: “what? I have lots of knowledge about this. Just because it hasn’t happened to me doesn’t mean I don’t know everything about it.”

Rob: “no, actually that’s exactly what that means. Anyway, I’m more concerned about the fact that your first thought was to call California psychics, then a priest, and then me. We drive your car all the time, clearly i would be the culprit.”

Me: “well I was trying not to assume guilt on your part. Forgive me for being gracious. Also I forgot about you.”

Rob: “So let me get this straight. We have been dating for 2 years, I am the only person you drive in your car, we take your car places together at least 3 times a week and when you discover something is going awry in your car, you forget about me and your first thought is to call California psychics?”

Me: “they do extensive testing on their psychics to make sure they’re legit.”

Rob: “any place that charges by the minute is not a legitimate operation.”

Me: “whatever. The bottom line is that you need to stop putting Clementine’s cradle in the console.”

Rob: “I will not stop doing that.”

Me: “Fine.”

Wait, do you really not know?

So my siblings and I went to see the midnight showing of Harry Potter the other night and this little 13 year old boy named Logan sits next to me and starts chattering at me like a magpie. He opens with, “I know a joke about Parkinson’s disease but I’m not going to tell you because it’s bad.” Okay? As opposed to a GOOD joke about parkinson’s? What exactly would that be? And I mean, are we talking about bad as in “that’s so wrong” or bad as in, “Michael j. Fox was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease and wrote some books and maybe will be cured by stem cell research someday…” I just think people should be more specific.

Anyway, then his aunt, who is like 15 years old, gets into the conversation by leaning over and saying to me, “Hey girl, if he starts bothering you, just hit him.” I was like, “Um, pretty sure that’s a felony and I am not going to jail on Harry Potter night.” to which she replies, “Ah, he’s 13, he can handle it…it’ll be okay.” I wasn’t aware that there was an appropriate age in society for when you could hit someone. I wasn’t even using the open arm rest in between us for fear of accidentally brushing into him and getting kid germs so I’m certainly not going to slap the shit out of him with my bare hand. I don’t think she was even supposed to be telling people he was 13 because he told me that his mother made him pretend to be 12 because she refused to pay for an adult ticket for him.

At this point, his mother and sister sit down. Well, as Logan keeps talking to me, despite my polite cues that I am done with the conversation, his mother keeps giving me a dirty look like I’M a pervert. Okay, first of all, lady, your outfit is so revealing you might as well have not worn anything at all so don’t look at me like I’M the pervert. Secondly, I have a rule in life that I never start conversations with children that I do not know. When you’re a 24 year old woman at a midnight Harry potter premiere, the absolute last thing you’re going to do is willingly strike up a conversation with a strange 13 year old. That’s the first step to being falsely accused as some sort of offender, having to introduce yourself to your entire neighborhood and keep your porch lights off at Halloween so no one comes within 10 feet of your door. So yeah, don’t look at me like I’m not keeping my creepiness in check. I may have over 300 pictures of my cats but I’m no Mary Kay Letourneau.

Anyway, Logan begins talking to his sister about some other show they have 2 tickets to and he says, “Oh great, so me and mom can go…or you and me can go.” and his sister says, “Or me and mom can go.” apparently this was the wrong thing to say because Logan looks at her and coldly says, “If you leave me alone in the house, I will tear it to ruins. I will TEAR IT TO RUINS.” Well shit, that little psycho is serious. He’s gonna write bad jokes about Parkinson’s disease on the wall and then burn the place to the ground all because he’s been left alone. Usually I just watch Netflix or something when I’m alone, but I guess his method works too.

Finally, as the movie starts, I look at my siblings and say, “What are we seeing again?” and they politely laugh because it really wasn’t funny. Minutes pass and I feel a hard poke in my ribs and Logan loudly whispers, “Wait, do you really not know? Was that a serious question? Because we’re seeing Harry Potter…” nope, I just got on fandango a month in advance and ordered 3 tickets to a random movie and then waited in line with people dressed as owls and house elves just because i wanted to surprise myself.

On the plus side, I now see why 13 is the appropriate age to hit someone.

Trust me, there is no gun.

Ever run into those people that are so naive you just want to bury your face in your hands the whole time you’re talking to them? I do. A lot. In my last semester in college, I took a criminology class, which stands for, “Let’s sit around and all tell varying accounts of our cars getting broken into because we left our iPod on the front seat.”

Anyway, so this girl puts up her hand and starts telling her story about crime, and she’s all, “When I moved to Manchester, someone broke into my car and stole 50 dollars.” So the class is like, “Oh okay, that sucks.” but then she continues and says, “Then someone went and took all my mama’s jewelry from our house. so then she started goin’ to all the pawn shops because she assumed my brother sold ’em because he was on drugs. Anyway, so she calls me down there and is like, ‘Angel, you gotta come down here and identify the jewelry,’ and I’m like, ‘What? why me?’ but my mama won’t tell me why. So i get down there and it turns out my boyfriend, the daddy of my baby, was the one that was stealin’ from us. He’d even set up a surveillance system for us at our house so we could tell when my brother was stealin’ stuff. But here was the absolute worst part, when we asked him why he did it, he told us that someone had put a gun to his head and forced him to break into our house and steal from us! Can you believe that?!”

So I’m like, “oh my gosh, I can’t even believe that. I hope you aren’t with him anymore.” and she gives me a strange look and says, “what do you mean ‘not with him’? I ain’t gonna dump the father of my child because he was forced at gunpoint to rob me and sell my mama’s jewelry! We’re not pressing charges, we’re just hoping they find the lunatic out there with a gun!”

It took everything within me not to scream, “wait what?! Are you serious right now? In what universe is this a feasible explanation! Let me see if I’ve gotten this straight: your baby daddy set up a surveillance system in your house that he knew how to disassemble to catch your drug addicted brother, a foolproof scapegoat, stealing your mother’s jewelry. In addition to that, i’m guessing he had a house key since he was there setting up this system so he was able to break and enter without breaking. So you honestly believe that there is some maniac out there with a gun that forced him to steal your mother’s jewelry, pawn it and then not tell you?! Good lord, every thought you have is horrible! Guess what? There is no man with a gun, unless you’re talking about your psycho ass baby daddy who clearly is running this ridiculous shit show you call your life! Get your head out of your ass, girl!”

But instead I said, “oh. I hope they find the guy who did this so justice can be served.”

I need to update this more often.

So I date someone who is obsessed with movies.  I am not a movie buff whatsoever, in fact, I tend to obsess over the wrong parts of movies, which is a point of contention between Rob and me.  On Friday night, we were watching Scream, because I had never seen it before.  Anyway we get to the part where Neve Campbell and her boyfriend have sex in one of the bedrooms at a friend’s party.

Me:  “Hold on, wait!  What is she doing?”

Rob:  “What do you mean, what is she doing?  They just did it.”

Me:  “What?  Yes, no, I get that.  I mean, what does she think she’s doing NOW?!”

Rob:  “She’s brushing her hair…”

Me:  “EXACTLY.  And whose hair brush is that?!  She’s in one of the many bedrooms of this mansion so WHOSE hairbrush is she using?!”

Rob:  “Who cares?”

Me:  “I care. I know it’s not hers.  She wasn’t carrying a purse with her and there’s no way a hairbrush of that size would fit in her pocket. I mean really, that is so rude.  I would hate it if someone used my hairbrush. It’s just nasty. Neve Campbell is such a jerk.”


Ten minutes of this and Rob has stopped the movie and I still don’t know whose hairbrush Neve Campbell was using.


I am terrible at math so when I had to take the required Math 1010 in college, I just about flipped my shit.  I would sit in class and watch my teacher explain the stuff and show us problems and I would just not understand it so at night while I was trying to do my homework, instead of finding someone local, like in the math tutoring lab, I would call up my friend Corey who was 3 hours away.  As I’ve stated in previous entries, I also harass Corey about technology and he is still my friend.  Cores has the patience of a saint.  Anyway, this system of him helping me worked out fairly well until we got to a geometry section.  So setting logic aside as I often do, I decided I’d still call Cores for help and I would just be able to DESCRIBE the problems to him and he could draw them himself.

Without further ado, I give to you the story of how I got a B in Math1010:

ring ring

Cores:  “Hello?”

Me:  “Okay so there is a triangle and it is asking me for things that I just don’t know.”

Cores:  “Hi Mary.”

Me:  “Yes, hello.  Anyway, so there’s this triangle and I only have just the one bit of information but they want to know what the length is for side x and side y.  How can they do that? They only give me ONE teensy amount of information and expect me to know what the entire triangle is measured?  No.  I don’t even care.  I’m not going to be an architect and I don’t even like this triangle.  There is no need for me to know this.”

Cores:  “Okay.  Let’s start from the beginning. What kind of triangle is it?”

Me:  “Oh it’s not tiny but it’s also not very big.  I’d say it’s medium sized.  What is the measurement for X?”

Cores:  “Sigh.  I don’t know what it is yet.  I need more information.  Do you remember your teacher explaining different types of triangles?  Like isosceles, scalene, or right?”

Me:  “Nope.  Is the size of the triangle really that important?  Just draw a triangle.”

Cores:  “Well it matters because that can help us figure out the angles, which can help us figure out the sides. So just describe the triangle to me.”

Me:  “Ugh.  So many steps.  Okay it’s actually a nice looking triangle now that I’m not so irritated with it.  It’s very straight and it has the tiniest little square in the corner. I like that, it’s cute.”

Cores:  “Great, so it’s a right triangle.”

Me: “Perfect.  Now that you have your details, what is X?”

Cores:  “Mary. This is just the beginning…”

An hour later, after explaining each step twice, putting me on speakerphone with his roommates who were engineering majors and it becoming a collaborative effort with one of them shouting, “SOH-CAH-TOA, USE SOH-CAH-TOA!”, we were done with problem #1.

This is how I got my B in Math1010.

Worst Sea Lion EVER

So does anyone else have ridiculously weird dreams?  Because I do.  And an odd number of them have been about sea lions, which kind of concerns me because I don’t even like sea lions and I hear that dreams are your subconscious trying to tell you something and maybe I’m supposed to like sea lions, except these sea lions suck, so I still hate them. This is my most memorable sea lion dream:

My family and I rented a beach house for the summer except the beach was in Cleveland, Mississippi, which is actually in the delta.  Anyway, so in this beach house there is a giant fish tank and I get this strange fascination with the fish tank.  I spent hours and hours staring at that tank.  Well then out of nowhere, this sea lion cub who was in the tank for some reason manages to slip out, and he definitely wasn’t a cute sea lion.  He looked scary like those sea lions in Happy Feet, except he was tiny.  Also he kind of moved around like Goo from Gumby except he definitely wasn’t a mermaid that flew and spit goo balls.  Anyway, so this sea lion gets out and starts moving toward me and is biting and biting at me so I try to run away.  Well, that turns out to be impossible because this sea lion is ridiculously fast, so then it begins to bite me and my family relentlessly and you can shake and shake your leg and it won’t get off because it latches on and just bites.

So I call animal control and they’re like, “Oh no, sorry we can’t be there until 6 pm tomorrow morning” and I’m like, “Well the sea lion cub is going from each of my family members and taking turns biting and biting us and we can’t even shut a door on him because he is way too fast for us, so he’s just following us everywhere!”  and the guy is like, “well i’m really sorry you’re going to have to hold on until tomorrow.”  so I have finally had enough so I grabbed that sea lion cub and I threw it on the ground really hard and broke its hand (yes, its hand) and when the animal control guy overhears this he suddenly has time for us and rushes over to the house to collect the cub.  Well, when he gets there he starts lecturing me and looking at me like I’m the world’s worst person because I broke a really bad sea lion cub’s hand (again, yes, hand) and so I get in his face and I’m like, “NO!  NO.  You don’t look at me like I’m a bitch, because he may be a cub but he is VERY aware of how he’s treating people!”


Because he was.  Bitch ass cub.

I am 99% sure Jesus doesn’t have a facebook…

Okay, so last year Jesus added me as a facebook friend.  I’m pretty sure Jesus doesn’t have a facebook but on the off chance that he does, I really didn’t want to be the person that rejected Jesus as a facebook friend. That seems to me to be one of those things that is sure to bite you in the ass.  You just can’t take that sort of thing back. It’s kind of like at the beginning of Beauty and the Beast when the prince rejected that old lady because she was unattractive but when she got all pretty, he’s like, “oh whoops!” and she’s like, “nope.  you’re a beast now with a dying rose and a seeing mirror!”  So yeah, definitely don’t want a situation like that, so if a haggard old lady adds me, I guess I have to accept her too.  Anyway, this afternoon I was checking out his page because facebook told me to reconnect with him and now my 98% certainty that Jesus didn’t have a facebook went up to 99%…though I’m not taking him off because there’s still that 1%. I’ve included some screenshots:

This is why I’m 99% sure this isn’t the real Jesus:

1.  Both of my parents are pastors and my sister is in seminary and no one ever told me that Jesus was born in 1978.  He was only 11 years old when I was born.  So either my family is withholding information from me because they hate me and want me to be ignorant or this isn’t really Jesus.

2.  I see that Jesus attended a fraternity recruitment in 2008.  In some ways that would make sense to me, because he is a brother to all, plus the ability to turn water into alcohol is an awesome party trick that would make someone a top candidate for a fraternity; however, Jesus isn’t turning anything into roofies so he’s not that useful to a fraternity.

3.  Jesus attended someone else’s event and got tagged in their photos, but he didn’t come to MY birthday party?  Please.  If that was really Jesus,when he got the facebook invite to my party he would’ve DEFINITELY showed up and taken pictures with me.  HELLO?  I’m photogenic!  So photogenic in fact that our picture would’ve been so good that he would’ve had to make it his profile picture.  That’s right.  Profile picture good.

4.  While Jesus was not a native speaker of English, he was perfect so he would definitely know the difference between by, buy, and bye. I also don’t think he would be so enthusiastic about his religious views, because he was far from conceited.

5.  Jesus would have more than 52 friends.

Though, as much logical thought as I have put into this, I am still not going to take him off of my friends list.  It’s kind of like after I watch a Ghost Whisperer marathon and I’m like, “Okay there’s no such thing as ghosts but I’m still not going to go into an old, abandoned house and risk running into an old woman in a wheelchair who steals children’s souls because she beckoned the shadows into the house with her seances.”  You know, you just can’t be too careful.