I don’t have too many celebrity crushes.

Brad Pitt. Meh.

Tom Cruise. Bleh.

Leo. I wouldn’t necessarily kick him out of bed, but he’s still pretty meh.

Howevs.

I do have a cute, little obsession crush on a couple of celebs.

So, without any further ado…..

Jeffy-Poo Bridges

Ladies & Gents, Mr. John Bell

Is it just me, or am I beginning to sense a pattern here?

Daddy issues, anyone?

*laughs nervously. takes gulp of wine.*

Hello. My name is Allison and I am a slob.

Hi Allison!

Thank you for asking me to share my story today.

I’ve been a pretty big mess for as long as I can remember.

My closets, drawers, under my beds….they all pretty much mimic what’s going on inside my head: CHAOS.

I’ve tried to handle this on my own. I’ll clean out  and organize everything to the best of my ability.

Then I’ll think, “Oh, I’ll just throw this here bra on this here chair in the corner of this here room. Just this one time. I can totally handle this. I will not get out of control.”

Hmph! WRONG!

Before you know it, the chair is no longer visible and there are shoes in my bathtub and tampons in my pantry….or some weird shit like that.

They say you have to hit rock bottom before you decide to seek help. Help, in my case, would consist of a very organized person to come and create a place for everything.  I think I can handle it once I have a place for it.

Anyhoo, this was my rock bottom.

Rock Bottom

I present to you Exhibit A.  One of three drawers in our den.  Is it a junk drawer you ask?  Well, obviously, it is now. Howevs, it started as a drawer for our 1,000 remote controls.

The remotes are still in there.

But, they are certainly not alone.

*Sigh*

Behold, the contents of the drawer.

*Golf ball

*Gas-X

*TWO, count them, TWO harmonicas

*Some weird ass mints – Ver-mints

*One new unopened Palm

*Six remote controls with one or no batteries in them

*Burt’s Miracle Hand Salve

*Golf glove

*Banana clip

*Two lighters

*One stray cigarette

*One decorative lizard missing one leg

*Said lizards missing leg

*Stray batteries

*One bumper sticker

*Two sunglasses

*Tylenol Flu (nighttime, of course)

*Two Band-Aids

*One empty sheet of Blue’s Clues stickers

*One cordless phone

*Scotch tape

*A wallet I thought I had lost

*Dog eye drops

*A ton of other weird shit that you don’t need to know about.

Little Lizard

Little Lizard's Leg

Two Harmonicas

Bumper Sticker

Unopened Palm (Sorry mom, I have an iphone)

Are you there Martha Stewart? It’s me, Allison.

I need a new wardrobe, a new attitude and a smaller ass.

I have been feeling totally blah lately.  I hate all my clothes, so I live in elastic.

Word of advice:  Elastic is NOT YOUR FRIEND!

Elastic is the bitch in high school that lends you clothes and fucks your boyfriend.

You feel all cute and skinny in elastic.  There is always room for seven more cookies when you are wearing a waist band that could fit three of you.

Then, all of a sudden, you decide you are going to put on regular clothes.  It has been 8 days and all.  You go in your closet and, after bawling for an hour in the corner, pull out a pair of jeans with *gasp* buttons and a zipper!

Thank you, elastic pants, for  letting me know I gained 4,000 effin pounds!

I have been in a frumpy funk for the past couple of months.

XX-L sweatshirt anyone?

I am totally expecting a camera crew to show up at my door any day now.

“Allison!?  This is Oprah. Can you hear me?  Your husband let us know you might feel better about yourself (and he will feel better about looking at you)  if you get a COMPLETE MAKE-OVER!!  You’re comin to Chicago, baby!”

My husbands advice to me,  “just lay off the snacking late at night, babe.”

Of course my response was, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME?  THAT I GROSS YOU OUT AND THAT YOU ARE EMBARRASSED OF ME?”

Did I mention my husband weighs like 140 freaking pounds?  He doesn’t like sweets and he rarely snacks in between meals.

Yep.   I married a freak.

I have been receiving signs left and right that I need to go on a diet.  Crazy things, like not being able to breath in my jeans.  Also, someone apparently went into my drawer and switched out all my underwear to a smaller size, because they only cover like a third of my ass now.

And don’t think I didn’t notice that someone swapped out all the mirrors in my house to “fun house” fatty mirrors.  Not funny.

This was the final straw though:

Asshole Banana

Anyhoo, I  started a stupid, mothereffin diet yesterday. I’m thinking that announcing it to my internet friends will make it feel all official and shit and hold me somewhat accountable.

First step:  drinking  some more water. I set an alarm on my iphone to remind me to drink a glass of water every few hours.  My husband thought this was pretty nerdy.  It worked though. I’ve been peeing like a racehorse. And said pee is now clear. Pretty impressive, eh?

I know how to eat right. I also know what I need to do.  Less calories – More exercise! This would be super awesome if I didn’t love me some calories and if I wasn’t so flippin lazy.

Really, I should consider taking it easy with the wine at night.  I can’t even imagine how much weight I would lose by simply laying off the sauce.

Who am I kidding though? I need to be drunk to handle the size of this ass right now.  You can keep right on moving wagon.

Wish me luck.

This may come as a shock to some of you.

I’ll wait for you to sit down.

I was a weird child.

Not like killing animals weird or eating my own poo weird. But, still, pretty weird.

Let’s discuss.

Exhibit A

I grew up during the days of Growing Pains.  I had a MAD obsession crush on Kirk Cameron.  What’s so weird about that, you ask?  I mean, we all had celebrity crushes.  And I’m pretty sure most kids made-believe they were, like, dating a celebrity, right?  Right. Totally normal.

And then there was me.

I made believe I WAS the celebrity.

*Here is where it gets weird*

I wasn’t sitting around pretending to be Soleil Moon Frye or Micheal Seaver’s girlfriend.  I was pretending to BE  Micheal Seaver.

I was Kirk Cameron.

I used to pretend I was effin Kirk Cameron!

There I said it. Twice. It feels pretty good to get it off my chest. I think I have only told two other people that in my entire life. My husband and one of my best friends from high school.

My husband looked at me like a freak and said “You used to pretend you were a guy?” I quickly said, “Just kidding! Just kidding! I’m sure. That would be all kinds of fucked up!”

The other person I told was my friend, Kim. She, on the other hand, actually accepted me,  Kirk and all! Although, she still uses it against me at times. “Ok there Kirky! Whatever you say!”

But, I mean, its’ not like I would go around telling everyone I was Kirk Cameron.  THAT WOULD BE CA-RAZY!

*laughs nervously*

I only pretended in my head, you guys.

Occasionally,  I would pretend I was Kirk’s girlfriend.  Most times, though,  I was all Kirk and nothing but the Kirk.

I would lay in my bed at night imagining different scenarios with me as Kirk.

I kissed a few pillows as Kirk.  I went to the beach as Kirk.  I went grocery shopping as Kirk. It was all Kirk, all the time!

But, mostly I just remember laying around, being cool. Being Kirk.

Eventually I cut that Kirk shit out because I started thinking “Hmm, this is probably real fucked up, me pretending I’m a boy and all.” And because I had college applications to finish.

Whatevs.

I never pretended to be any other male celebrity.  I never wanted to actually be a boy.  I just wanted to be Kirk.

The old Kirk, of course. Not the freaky adult Kirk evolved into. No pun intended Kirk. We straight.

Show me that Smile Again

Exhibit B

When I was around 12 years old I went to one of my first concerts.

Cyndi Lauper.

I was so fascinated.  I totally wanted to be her! Or at least be friends with her.

During my Cyndi phase I lived in a duplex in Tyler with my mom and sister. The other half had been vacant, with a for rent sign, for a few months.  Everyday I waited to see who was going to be my new neighbor.

I waited and I prayed, that it would be Cyndi Lauper.  I would ask God each night to, “Please let Cyn move in next door to me.  She would meet me and totally want to babysit and hang out with me ALL THE FREAKING TIME, GOD!! C’MON GOD!!  C’MON!”

It eventually got to the point where I was convinced that my new neighbor was going to be CYNDI MOTHERFUCKING LAUPER! I mean, how could God not answer this freaky ass little girls prayer?

Shockingly enough though, he didn’t.

The day the stupid family moved in next door, the stupid family that was NOT Cyndi Lauper, I was devastated.

I was all “Whatevs God! Thanks for totally making me question your whole existence and all that. Hmph!”

Maybe God wasn’t able to fully understand that girls just wanna have fun. I get that. I really do. God’s not a girl.

Or maybe he thought I was gay because I used to pretend I was Kirk Cameron and so he was punishing me.

Regardless of his reasoning, because of the whole Cyndi debacle, I still have days where I wonder if he exists.

That is until I hear a familiar voice on the radio. A sign, perhaps?

You said go slow–
I fall behind
the second hand unwinds

Then I’ll think, “Wait a minute, Allison. Maybe God did try to answer your prayer. Maybe it was just that Ms. Lauper couldn’t get there in time to sign the lease and the stupid family stole it.  She was always busy, you know.  Between touring, coloring her hair and putting on all those clothes, I’m surprised she had time to pee. I can barely put on leggings on over my Spanx in under 15 minutes. I can totally relate.

Maybe God just couldn’t control Cyndi Lauper.

Who cares though. I mean, honestly, I’m so over it.

Really, I am.

*laughs nervously*

Cyn and I just hanging out in the early 90′s