So now its Tara’s turn to be a guest blogger on my page. And she’s not holding back.
But before you read it, I’d just like to say that while I know its hilarious, and hilarious always equals “totally true”, there are a few things I would just like to comment on before you start reading why I’d make a terrible super hero.
First of all, I did not watch every episode of 90210. I totally missed like at least half of the final season because I was in college with my own “for real” drama, which it turns out is way more interesting than TV drama. (But only because they didn’t have reality TV back then, cause that shit beats real life every time.) However, Luke Perry is probably at least 70% to blame for me failing 9th grade math.
Second, yes my boyfriend is super cute, isn’t he? (But um, pssst, Tara? Even though I love you like a sister and I’d do anything for you, get too friendly with him and I’ll cut you and not feel bad. Just sayin’).
Third, I would argue that points 4 and 9 actually are super powers, not anti-super powers, as Tara believes.
Here’s why: #4 keeps people off-balance and often leads to great spontaneous comedic moments. Especially when small children repeat me. And funny is always good.
And worth corrupting minors and offending grandmothers and priests for.
As for #9 – this pretty much means I get whatever I want. In high school I had a TV and VCR, in my room, along with a phone and a double bed that was perfect for sleep overs. Tara was always jealous of my sweet set up (made more sweet, I like to believe, by the gray and pink early 90’s inspired design elements), but did she ever think to wonder how I got all that? And all the traffic tickets I’ve gotten out of, the jobs I’ve kept despite gross incompetence? You’d be surprised what a few tears can do…they even led to Eunice Kennedy Shriver being nice to me for 5 whole minutes. If that’s not a super power, I don’t know what is…
Anyway…I’ll let you all read her post and see what you think, because now that she’s reminded me about the squirrels, I have to figure out where the bathroom is in my office building (again), so I cry in private.
Remember a few weeks ago, when Mer was a guest contributor on my blog? She was all, “Tara almost starved her children because she’d rather see their cold, dead, emaciated bodies lying on the floor than crack an egg or risk getting burned on the stove top. So I had to drive down there just to make those sweet babies some pancakes and rice krispie treats.”
Um, that was an exaggeration. They’re not that sweet. And they’re no longer babies who can be fed via my breastmilk, fully saturated with chocolate and caffeine, which is why they are in a constant state of near malnutrition. Finally, they certainly weren’t near death, as several friends had dropped off some treats in the last month or so and we hadn’t even resorted to picking the last of the strawberries out of my neighbor’s garden.
So don’t go thinking Mer’s some sort of superhero or anything.
Truly, she’d make the worst superhero ever. I mean, sure, she could rock a pair of thigh-high boots and her cleavage would look majestic in a sequined spandex top. But that’s where the likeness ends, folks.
And because she was so focused on bragging about how she can melt butter and marshmallows together in a single pot, she didn’t stop to think about how I know approximately 134,577 secrets about her. I’ve known her since we were twelve years old and we’re now, like, 100. I know that she once owned a Thighmaster. I know that if a clown even looks at her, she’ll cry. I know that she’s watched every single episode of Beverly Hills 90210 and lusted after Dylan McKay and his scarred eyebrow so hard that she almost failed ninth grade math. I even know how and with whom she lost her virginity. The first, second, and third time, mind you.
(Dry spells that last longer than 1 year = renewed virginity, y’all.)
See, she forgot about my extraordinary knowledge base in her quest to showcase her ability to hypnotize my hungry children with her fancy pancake shaper-thingies and a liberal use of sprinkles. She also failed to consider that I have an underdeveloped conscience, a verbal filter that crapped out on me the day my husband ran for the hills, and an active aversion to the delete key on my laptop.
As an additional factor, she’s got this really cute boyfriend whom she’s still trying to impress.
Anyway, let’s talk about the Top 10 Reasons Why Mer Would Make a Spectacularly Awful Superhero:
1) She has absolutely no sense of direction. None. I’m not just talking about east vs. west. No, I mean left/right and up/down, too.
2) She has no pain tolerance. Like, she can barely handle a hang nail without excessive whining, an unveiling of her wound as though she’s displaying a newborn baby, and at least three phone calls to her mom, who studied homeopathic medicine for this very reason.
3) She loses stuff. Aside from obvious stuff, like her virginity and self-control around M&Ms, she has also lost tickets to an awesome concert, at least 50 dollars in cash, all her tax records from 2008 and 2009, and the left shoe from a pair of kick-ass heels that she once wore to an event attended by the Kennedy family.
4) She really enjoys using the word “f*ck”. In front of children, preferably. And it’s done in a sneaky, non-angry way, so you don’t even have any warning.
5) She absolutely falls apart when she’s around someone who is in a crisis situation. Like, if you are ever in a life-threatening situation, please understand that you will die. And as you are taking your final breath, there’s a decent chance she might reach out to you for comfort, as watching you die is obviously very traumatizing and will linger in her mind long after your wretched death.
6) She doesn’t like being too hot. Or too cold. Or wet. Basically, she really can’t handle the elements. Like, if she could fly, instead of being all, “Omg, I can fly”, she’d just get super pissed if a bug flew in her mouth or she got sunburn. Oh, and “camping” is not a term that she’s ever going to look favorably upon, no matter what she tells her ex-military boyfriend.
7) She’s not brave. At all. Once she became nearly catatonic for several hours after watching a momma squirrel eat her baby squirrels on her back porch. We were all super worried about her and ended up having to stop making little baby-squirrel-screaming noises every time she walked into the room.
8) I can’t even bear to discuss the concept of “Mer” and “weapons” in the same sentence.
9) She’s a crier. Big time. She tries to normalize it by saying that my ability to hold my shit together when I watch the final scene in romantic comedies means I’m “dead inside”, but my extensive experience as her friend tells me that this girl is a crier who can be tipped into hysterics about as quickly as it takes a momma squirrel to eat her first baby.
10) She’s a little bit racist, so she’d probably only be willing to save white people or Asian babies. Okay, that’s a lie. She’s not racist at all and she has no particular affinity toward Asian babies. But when she read this, she was probably like, “What the f*ck? If I could stop crying long enough to find my left shoe and figure out which way was south, I’d totally kick her ass.”
There. You see?
I’m super confident that this list has thoroughly convinced you that Mer should never, ever, EVER be considered a superhero. Well, not for the general public anyway.
The thing is . . . she’s kind of my superhero. Sure, she might not be brave, or organized, or particularly good at problem-solving in a crisis, but she is stellar at feeding my little ones, driving seven hours in order to spend New Year’s Eve making me margaritas and watching Redbox movies, reading all the drivel I write on the internet, listening to me whine about my failed marriage, lending me her Thighmaster, letting me making fun of her guest post on her blog, and agreeing that I’m smarter and prettier.
Okay, I may have made that last part up.
Regardless, she’s mine. So, hands off.