#AtoZChallenge: ‘S’ is for Surgery

A little over a year ago, my husband got a vasectomy. Before you go, “TMI, my friend, TMI,” you should know that the moments leading up to that procedure were hilarious (well, embarrassing at first, but hilarious later), and those moments are the basis of today’s post.

Between pushing 40, having two kids, and having a wife whose birth control packets were often only half used, my husband decided that a vasectomy was necessary. After it was scheduled, he was instructed to take a Valium the morning before surgery, something that he had never taken before. I hadn’t taken it before either, but we both assumed it would just loosen him up and help him relax a little.

It relaxed him, all right. It relaxed him to the point that the half hour leading up to surgery was simultaneously the most hilarious and embarrassing half hour I have ever spent in my life. Eventually I took to writing down his comments on my phone, since I knew they’d make for great blog material later.

Here’s how that half hour went…

Regarding another urologist who walked into the building:

After a bunch of nurses walked in, he loudly remarked:

When his urologist entered:

(Someone clearly didn’t read his vasectomy procedure packet.)

On a female patient who came in:

Thoughts on Valium, while kicked back in a chair in the waiting room:

Regarding a nurse who came in only five minutes early.

I have no idea what this one was about:

After the procedure was over:

(I wasn’t very amused there, since I was kind of on the fence about the procedure. I love all the babies.)

I vote that they should officially rename the vasectomy the “Snip-Snip-Sniparoo.” At the very least, they should add that plus “No more babies for you” to their educational material.

Which was your favorite Valium inspired comment?

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#AtoZChallenge: ‘R’ is for Religion

When I was a kid and teen, my grandmother used to call me a “heathen.” Whenever I was sassy, made crude jokes, or did something silly, I was “acting like a heathen.” I’ve taken to calling my kids heathens, too, although it’s usually more of a term of affection. Usually.

Even though I lovingly call them heathens, they are definitely straight up heathenly at times. Some of the funny questions they’ve asked or comments they’ve made regarding religion has qualified them for that. (And some of the comments that inspired the doodles that follow are completely innocent, but I’m sticking with calling them “heathens” nonetheless.)

Recently Baby Girl asked some questions about God. “Who is he? What does he do? What are his powers?” I answered these questions to the best of my ability and this was how she responded to that:

When she’s not busy comparing the big guy to Superman, Baby Girl has a pretty interesting prayer she sometimes says before supper:

No, God, please don’t.

The boy has always been known for saying funny things, and he is definitely no exception when it comes to religion. When Little Man was about five, his grandma talked to him a bit about Jesus and heaven. Let’s just say that he took things very literally.

The boy also got pretty clever one day when I was trying to drive home the point that he should listen better…

Another time when Little Man was five, he shared his thoughts on God’s personal appearance and responsibilities.

Bow tie…ponytail…is God part of an all male revue that is blessed with the powers of Harry Potter?

Finally, there was this moment that certainly made someone else think that Little Man a legit heathen. We were at Chick-Fil-A one day last year and LM was playing in the play area. He came out after a while and told me that some lady in there had started going on about religion to him. He was visibly annoyed by this.

I asked what happened exactly, and LM said that he had said, “Oh my god” about something, and the lady scolded him about that.

I cracked up at the absurdity of that. Little Man told me that he informed her that in his house we say “Oh my god” all the time, to which the lady replied that God cries every time we do that. I apologize in advance for the Dorky family causing the next great flood.

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#AtoZChallenge: ‘Q’ is for Quiz

Once again, we’re not blasting too far to the past for today’s post. A few weeks ago, I asked both of my kids a set of 23 questions. I’m pretty sure these questions originated with Eric from All In A Dad’s Work, but I could be wrong. (And if I am wrong, he has a series where he asks his kids lots of questions that you should check out, as his children are hilarious.)

These questions were asked with no prompting, which will probably be painfully obvious with the amount of one-question answers or off-topic answers they give me.

(Little Man is 10 and Baby Girl is 3.)

1. What is something mom always says to you?

LM: Cuss words. (Laughs) “Clean up your room!”

BG: “I love you.”

2. What makes mom happy?

LM: Saying cuss words. (Laughs) Cuddling with us, being around me and Baby Girl.

BG: Hugging.

3. What makes mom sad?

LM: Not saying cuss words. (Laughs) Being around smelly dogs.

BG: Yelling. Ooooh!

4. How does your mom make you laugh?

LM: With your blog and Yo Mama jokes.

BG: Her scares me.

5. What was your mom like as a child?

LM: I have no idea.

BG: Like Bilbo (our dog).

6. How old is your mom?

LM: 34

BG: 12

7. How tall is your mom?

LM: I have no idea.

BG: This big.

8. What is her favorite thing to do?

LM: Watch TV.

BG: Work.

9. What does your mom do when you’re not around?

LM: Not anything good.

BG: Hop your butt around.

10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for?

LM: Being the best mom ever.

BG: Prize.

11. What is your mom really good at?

LM: Being the best mom ever.

BG: Working.

12. What is your mom not very good at?

LM: Being the worst mom ever.

BG: Eating.

13. What does your mom do for a job?

LM: Sit back, relax, and watch TV. (Laughs) You predict the weather and write and get paid.

BG: Work. You do the “ah-ti-cles”

I do write, but I do not predict the weather.

14. What is your mom’s favorite food?

LM: Coke, easily.

BG: French fries.

15. What makes you proud of your mom?

LM: Everything.

BG: Working.

16. If your mom were a character, who would she be?

LM: Godzilla. Because you’re evil and big. Not big in a fat way, but big like big and tall.

BG: Spiderman.

17. What do you and your mom do together?

LM: Play chess, watch TV, talk.

BG: Play and puzzles

18. How are you and your mom the same?

LM: In every way except for gender.

BG: Hugging.

19. How are you and your mom different?

LM: In gender and that’s it.

BG: (Makes a goofy face)

20. How do you know your mom loves you?

LM: You’re my mother, duh.

BG: You kiss me.

21. What does your mom like most about your dad?

LM: Everything.

BG: You do something funny

22. Where is your mom’s favorite place to go?

LM: Home.

BG: Chuck E. Cheese’s with me.

23. How old was your mom when you were born?

LM: No clue.

BG: 3

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#AtoZChallenge: ‘P’ is for Pregnancy

Today we’re going back over 10 years, to when I was pregnant with Little Man. I was a bundle of nerves during that pregnancy, and let me tell you, between the pregnancy hormones, my tendency to have mood swings whether I’m pregnant or not, and being tightly wound from the anxiety, I wasn’t always the funnest person to be around.

My husband is probably going to think that is the understatement of the year when he reads this, and you guys might think the same by the time you reach the end of this post. I’m not one to cry much — unless I’m watching Disney Pixar films, and then I can’t stop the waterworks — but I would cry over just about anything while I was pregnant..

The Vegetables

My husband and I had only been married for a year when we got pregnant with Little Man. We decided that I was going to be a stay-at-home-mom, so one of the things I did during my pregnancy was try to improve my cooking skills. This didn’t go very well for me, which you already know if you’ve read the Mommy Started The Fire post.

One day I decided to make stir fry, which included cooking a bag of frozen vegetables. The instructions said that I only needed a little bit of water to make the veggies, and I thought that was a mistake, since I’d never seen anyone cook veggies that weren’t covered in water (unless they were fried) before. (Dear 23-year-old me — steaming exists.)

My husband assured me that the veggies would turn out fine if I followed the recipe. Three minutes into cooking, I was convinced that he was wrong and got super upset about my plan of making a good supper being ruined.

This happened:

Let’s just say that my husband was pretty bewildered with this. After he calmed me down and I got myself together, I cleaned up the mess and got a new packet of veggies. I cooked them according to the instructions, and guess what? The instructions were correct. I just needed to have a little more trust in both the people in charge of putting recipes on the back of frozen food packs and my husband.

Navigating

In addition to being a sucky cook, I’m also terrible at driving places. I have a hard time remembering where things are, my brain doesn’t do directions, and I tend to panic when I’m trying to go somewhere new. If Driving Under the Influence of Stupidity charges were a thing, I wouldn’t have a license at this point.

One day I had to drive somewhere in the town I lived in and got lost. I tried using the GPS I got for Christmas, but it didn’t help because it told me to turn on a road that didn’t exist. I had never felt so betrayed before in my life — we waited in line at 5AM on Black Friday to get that GPS for a bargain, and it did this?! In a state of panic, I called up my husband, who was at work.

He was more amused than bewildered this time, especially when he asked why I didn’t use my GPS, and I told him that there was an attempt. He later told me that after he told a couple of guys at work that I was lost again, they also asked why I didn’t use my GPS (they were aware of my tendency to call and ask how to go places) and had a good laugh over it.

Grocery Shopping

There was more than one teary shopping incident during that pregnancy (there is no worse feeling than knowing you have to walk to the back of Walmart during the ninth month), but for this post, I’ll focus on the one that left a cashier kinda freaked out.

This was during the last trimester of my pregnancy. I went grocery shopping at Aldi and had the cart loaded up. During checkout, I got out my debit card to pay, and when I swiped my card, it asked for my PIN. I started to enter it, but then my mind completely blanked — I didn’t have a clue what the number was. Thanks, pregnancy brain.

The store was mostly empty and there was no one else in my line, so the cashier didn’t have a problem with me calling my husband to get the number. Unfortunately, he didn’t answer, which caused me to freak out a bit. I then called my grandmother to see if she had any idea what my PIN was, but she didn’t since she had no reason to know.

Cue the tears.

You guys would have been crying, too, if you had Aldi’s danish pastries in your cart and had to leave them behind. I’m only focusing on LM’s pregnancy for this post, but if I had opened it up to tear-fests during Baby Girl’s pregnancy, I’d write about the time I angry cried over the ice cream store being out of cookies and cream. Pregnant women don’t play when it comes to sweets.

I didn’t figure out the PIN while I was there. I had to leave the cart and wait for my husband to get back to me before I could pay for those groceries. Y’all better believe that I avoided eye contact when I eventually went back in. Good times, those pregnancy days.

Bonus: Poop

When Candy at Geek Mamas suggested that I should’ve saved the poop story from yesterday for today, the P day, I told her that I already had planned to write about pregnancy. That reminded me of something that combines the pregnancy and pooping worlds: The Fear.

There comes a moment during pregnancy when a woman makes a realization. Much like the, “Wow, I don’t even know this little leech yet, but I really love him!” moment, women also experience a, “Holy shit, I could poop during delivery!” moment. The Fear. That moment isn’t nearly as joyous as the former.

I was into the second trimester when I realized that it was possible that I could poop while trying to deliver my child.

I could see it happening plain as day — I’d be in the final stages of my drug-free delivery (lol) and instead of pushing out a baby, I’d accidentally push out a turd.

You’ll be happy to know that — after months of worrying about this and trying to figure out ways to prevent such a thing from happening — I didn’t poop. I asked my husband after delivering Little Man, and he assured me that no extras were delivered. Whew.

What’s something silly that you’ve cried over? 

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#AtoZChallenge: ‘O’ is for “Oh, My God”

Today’s post is going to be short and sweet (and hopefully funny). This one happened a few weeks ago, so we’re not blasting too far into the past for this one.

We were at Walmart recently when Baby Girl had to use the bathroom. I love that she’s potty trained and that we don’t need pullups except for at night, but I hate public restrooms. There are exactly three restrooms in my town that don’t make me feel like I’m going to die when I go into them, and if I absolutely have to go, I’ll do whatever I can to get to one of those.

Yes, it’s possible that Little Man gets his fear of public restrooms from me (even though I totally play dumb when the doc asked). Remember this?

Unfortunately, when you have a little kid, avoiding public restrooms isn’t always possible.

After Baby Girl loudly announced her need to void her bladder, which no less than three other people heard, we headed towards the family restroom. It’s big enough to avoid touching the sides of the grimy stalls and is usually cleaner.

Usually.

You’ve probably gathered that wasn’t the case on that day, and it wasn’t, not by a long shot. Here’s what we saw:

Despite being a toddler who was known for licking poop once, Baby Girl is also squeamish when it comes to public restrooms, so when she saw the poop on the toilet, she started yelling.

Out we went. And just after we exited the family restroom, Little Man, who was waiting outside started yelling.

Good lord. One of the workers took notice of Baby Girl’s partially clothed body and cracked up. I yanked up her pants and headed to the ladies’ restroom. Thankfully we were able to find a stall that was poop free that time.

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#AtoZChallenge: ‘N’ is for Notes

I love getting notes and pictures from my kids. I have a special drawer that I save them in. Those notes and pictures are few and far between from Little Man now, but Baby Girl makes up for it with the scribbles she gives me. Little Man did recently gave me the following note, though, which made my heart melt:

That’s enough of the sappy stuff. Now I’m going to move on to some of the drawings and notes I’ve found that gave me a good chuckle.

First, here’s the family portrait that Little Man drew when he was 6 or 7.

A stick thin waist and boobs almost as big as my head? Yes, please. (Or maybe not, since that would definitely cause some back problems.) It always really cracks me up to see kids around kindergarten to first grade age draw out their families. They almost always go with huge boobs for the adult women.

And speaking of boobs, there was that time in first grade (I think) that he  took issue with my not handing over my bathing suit when he asked.

I can only imagine what his teacher thought when she saw his free write that day. I love how he also included boobs in this photo, too, even if they are rather lopsided. Some free write notes from the same time that I didn’t include were about Little Man’s dog’s privates being cut off (ouch) and being very “thrustrated” as me for not letting him sit in the floor to write.

Heads up to parents of young children — if they want to give someone literal garbage for a Christmas or birthday (or anytime) gift, let them do it, because they absolutely will call that shit out.

See what a party pooper I am? If memory serves, the “something special” was leftover McDonald’s Monopoly game pieces from the previous summer.

Little Man fully understands the power of the written word. He will often air out his grievances in writing, and started doing so when he was five. He wasn’t always as verbose as he is now, but the point was still taken:

Last but not least is this one from when LM was in kindergarten, I found this scribbled on the back of one of his worksheets:

You got told, Joe.


Thanks to everyone who gave me some feedback on the poll asking about how much new content I should have if I put together a Dorky Mom Doodles book! Here are the results:

I’ll shoot for around 25 to 30 percent new material, more if the creative writing/doodling juices start flowing.

Thanks for joining me for the April A to Z Challenge! If you’re participating, please leave a link in the comments section so I can check out your post.

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#AtoZChallenge: ‘M’ is for Money

Today’s Blast to the Past post takes us back about a year.

I’m hard of hearing. Some of y’all already knew this, but now the rest of you do, too. I’ve struggled with hearing since I was a baby. While this has certainly made things difficult at times, it has also made for quite a few humorous situations.

There have been times where I thought someone was making lewd comments, but wasn’t. There was a time when I accidentally volunteered to teach a Sunday School class because I misheard something. (This probably amused my husband more than it did me, especially since it lasted about a year.) And there was the time when I looked like the biggest asshole in the world.

One day my husband and I went to Walmart with the kids. As we were parking, I noticed that a local karate studio had a table set up out front. I assumed that they were trying to get people to sign up for a free lesson, which which I planned to shut down immediately. Little Man had tried the karate thing when he was younger, and it wasn’t for him. Plus, being a person with a bit of social anxiety, it makes me really uncomfortable when people approach me like this, so I really wanted to scurry past.

As we walked up, one of the people in a karate outfit said something to me. I didn’t hear what he said, but I assumed he was trying to sign up people…

After we walked inside, my husband burst out laughing. He laughed and laughed and laughed to the point that he had tears running down his cheeks. I asked what was so funny, and he eventually sputtered out the following:

Holy crap.

Y’all, I felt awful. What kind of monster says they tried donating to a society that helps people with Down Syndrome one time and didn’t like it and won’t do it again?!

I was too embarrassed at the moment to walk back out and explain things, but by the time we reached the checkout counter, I had worked up the nerve. I got out a few bucks and planned to tell the guy that I hadn’t heard him earlier and apologize.

Well, as luck would have it, the group had left already. So now there is someone in my town who believes that an asshole whose experience donating to a Down Syndrome society left such a bad taste in her mouth that she’ll never do it again exists.

Thanks for joining me for the April A to Z Challenge! If you’re participating, please leave a link in the comments section so I can check out your post.

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#AtoZChallenge: ‘K’ is for Katniss

This one’s coming to you a day late. The kids are out of school this week for Spring Break, so we took an overnight trip to a local indoor waterpark, so I’m running behind a little.

Here are a few things that we’ve established so far in the A to Z Challenge: I’m no Lance Armstrong, I suck at ordering food, and I can’t do seat warmers. Today I’m going to establish that I’m not Katniss Everdeen.

This Blast to the Past happened around the time that the second Hunger Games movie came out. I was pregnant with Baby Girl at the time, and I got it in my head that I should get a compound bow so I could shoot all the things.

I purchased a compound bow with a 45-pound draw weight (cough, a junior bow) since I wasn’t very confident in my muscular abilities.

From the moment I first held that bow in my hands, I knew that I was destined for great things. Maybe I wouldn’t be shooting assholes from the Capitol with it, but I would be hitting bullseye after bullseye with it. Maybe I’d even enter a competition or two with it and win something. Or maybe, just maybe, the government would get wind of how awesome I was and seek my assistance in hunting terrorists.

Unfortunately, that whole “knowing I was destined for greatness” thing was short-lived.

While testing out the bow, I tried to pull the string back and found out that it was rather difficult. My husband got a kick out of this, since I was having a hard time with a bow that was meant for kids as young as age 10. After I finally pulled the string back all the way, it slipped and scraped the side of my arm, leaving a bit of a cut (or string burn, whatever).

My husband tried to fix the bow for me and set the draw weight lower. It went down to 16 pounds, which he offered to go to.

“No, I don’t need that,” I said. “Bring it down to 35 pounds.”

I got the look. “Are you sure?”

Of course I was. He fixed it and handed it over. I again tried to pull the string back, and again, it proved rather difficult. I cursed the bow and gave it back to my husband.

“Bring it down to 25 pounds.”

“That was at 25 pounds,” he informed me. “I saw how much you struggled at 45 pounds.”

I was quite offended. “No, I didn’t,” I protested. “Fine, just bring it down to 20 pounds then. I’ll manage with that.”

He took it down all the way to 16. It still wasn’t easy to pull back, but I did it without struggling as much.

It was time.

The three of us went outside and set up a target, and Little Man brought out the bow he got for Christmas. He shot his arrows, and then it was my turn to shoot mine.

I quickly found that keeping the arrow on the bow while pulling back the string really complicated things.

The first arrow slipped and got within 5 feet of Little Man, who was standing to the side of me.

Oh my god! How was that even possible? I told LM to move behind me. My husband pulled him behind me about 10 feet.’

I shot again, getting a better grip this time, and didn’t slip. The arrow went about 10 feet over the target and bounced off the top of the storage building. Oops.

I had one more arrow. This time, I only shot slightly above the target and hit the storage building dead on, putting a hole in it.

At that point, I was rather frustrated with how things were going and said, “screw it.” I took my stuff inside, packed up everything, checked Amazon’s return policy, and print off a return mailing label to send it all back.

My stint as Katniss Everdeen was over that quickly.

Thanks for joining me for the April A to Z Challenge! If you’re participating, please leave a link in the comments section so I can check out your post.

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#AtoZChallenge: ‘J’ is for JTT

If you enjoyed all of the cringe in ‘H’ is for Hanson Wallpaper a couple days ago, then you’ll probably like this post, too. Pretty much any girl who grew up in the 90s had a crush on one of the following people: Devin Sawa, Rider Strong, or Jonathan Taylor Thomas (JTT). You can check out my friend Becca’s blog to, in part, verify this fact.

I was a JTT girl. He was cute, funny, sarcastic — what wasn’t to love, right? When he ventured out from Home Improvement to making movies such as Tom and Huck and Man of the House, well, that was even better. (We will pretend like Lion King and Pinocchio don’t exist as far as JTT goes…those were an insult to my tween self who wanted to see him in the flesh.)

One summer when I was 11, my family and I went to the beach for vacation with some of our extended family. One of those people was my older cousin, who also had a huge crush on JTT. She claimed him as being hers since she had spotted him on TV first, and if you remember anything from that age, then you know that being the first to claim someone is everything. (Case in point: when Baby Girl and I watched a Hanson concert on TV the other day, she asked who the brothers were and announced that Zac was hers. Unfortunately for her, he was claimed by me over a decade ago, so she’ll have to move along.)

Why on earth is a child this age claiming someone, anyway?

Being the first to lay claim meant that when you inevitably cross paths with the celebrity while you’re out shopping at Walmart or getting snacks from the gas station near your house, that you got dibs. This is like calling out “shotgun” — the front seat, just like the celebrity, is yours for the taking.

For the record, my list is not laminated.

With that in mind, while we were on our vacation, we spotted a guy who looked exactly like JTT. And by “exactly like,” I mean that he could have passed for JTT’s fifth cousin. As you may (or may not) have guessed, laying claim to someone not only meant that you get dibs on that celebrity, but it also meant that you get dibs on anyone else who looks remotely like that celebrity. It doesn’t sound fair, but it’s one of those unspoken rules.

Even though I had no claim on the JTT lookalike, I still joined my cousin in the stalking. Yes, stalking. What else could you call two girls who hung back about 30 feet and followed a guy around for a few days, watching his every move?

There was even one moment mid-stalk fest where my cousin’s dad came looking for us because we had been gone for an hour past when we were due back to the hotel, and we tried to blend in with some people on the beach so we could continue watching the beta version of JTT work on his body boarding skills.

Yikes.

So, JTT sorta lookalike, I don’t know where you are now or if you ever got more decent at riding waves on your body board, but know that you had a couple of fans. And if you were aware of being followed, then I apologize, and I promise that if you ever feel like someone is watching you now, it isn’t us.

It just hit me that my son is only a year younger than I was when this happened, so I guess it won’t be long before he’s following around someone who looks like Jyn Erso from Rogue One or has someone tailing him. Yikes again.

Thanks for joining me for the April A to Z Challenge! If you’re participating, please leave a link in the comments section so I can check out your post.

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#AtoZChallenge: ‘H’ is for Hanson Wallpaper

If you’re new to this blog, then you’re probably thinking, “WTH, Hanson? Those MMMBop kids?” right now. If you’re a regular here, however, then you’re probably (and rightfully) thinking, “Them again? Crazy stalker person.”

My theme for the challenge is Blast to the Past, and considering that I’ve been a fan of those guys since I was 13, it was inevitable for them to show up here. I’m not here to convert anyone into a Fanson in this post, though. After 20 years of trying, I’ve finally realized that most people don’t have good taste respond to my Jehovah’s Witness like tactics. Instead, we’re going back to 1997-1998 at the peak of my Hanson obsession to take a look at what guaranteed that interior decorating would never be career option for me.

Back when I was an awkward teenager (which really isn’t that different from being an awkward 34-year-old), I loved getting magazines like Tiger Beat and Bop. They had all the stories and pictures of the cute musicians and actors that any tween/teen girl could stand. (Hello, JTT, Rider Strong, Will Friedle…Brad Pitt was in there, too, but I didn’t get what was so great about him until 2005.)

When Hanson blew up, they had centerfolds and pin-ups in these magazines regularly for at least a year. And my grandmother bought me pretty much every one. I’d always promise not to ask for a magazine before we went grocery shopping, but I’d still make my way to the aisle with the magazines. After I picked one out, I’d carry it around, looking longingly at it as we walked down aisle after aisle, and she’d eventually say, “Go ahead and put it in the cart.” Her enabling my addiction obsession meant dozens and dozens of pin-ups, centerfolds, and full posters of Hanson. From the title of this post, you can probably guess what I did with them — I hung up every single one.

Just to keep the doodling easier, I drew it like this. FTR, all four walls had photos that were probably not more than a millimeter apart, making legit wallpaper.

So much cringe happening there with the Hanson wallpaper. I would often remove all of the pictures and reorganize them by size or guy or whatever. And this is where a slight problem came in. Want to guess how I hung all of those pictures? With thumbtacks. Tape would be too damaging to those valuable pictures and wouldn’t hold up well when I rearranged everything, so I used 2-4 thumbtacks to hang each picture.

Let’s just say that the walls didn’t look so great after I took down the photos…

My dad discovered that his drywall had been screwed up one day when he came in and saw me redecorating and saw that hundreds upon hundreds of tiny holes had been poked in his walls.

He was not impressed with my cleverness at preserving the integrity of my posters.

This was one of those situations where what I did was so bad that my dad was so mad that he didn’t even flip out. He told me that he had the right mind to make me spackle every single hole and left, muttering under his breath. When he put the house up for rent a couple years ago, I half expected for him to tell me to get my butt over there and spackle the walls, but he didn’t. (And to my brother — if you read this and do buy the house, I’m not spackling those walls for you.)

For the record, I presently have no pictures of Hanson hanging on my walls — just a few autographed guitar picks in a frame. (I do have a Lord of the Rings poster and a Wonder Woman poster, though, because clearly I have no intentions of being an adult anytime soon.) After a year or two of being obsessed, I threw out all of the Hanson pictures. Some years later I tossed the Hanson scrapbook. And a couple years after that, I stuck my Hanson t-shirts in a storage bin. (No, I wasn’t one of the cool kids in high school, in case you’re wondering.) Now I’m just obsessed without a bunch of embarrassing pictures.

So, which famous person/people were you totally crushing on in middle or high school?

Thanks for joining me for the April A to Z Challenge! If you’re participating, please leave a link in the comments section so I can check out your post. If you’ve got a cringier story than my Hanson wallpaper, by all means, share it below.

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