Russia, puberty, and hell. So, you know, the usual.

So in my fancy blog dashboard it tells me a bunch of crap about the people who are reading my blog...which until a few days ago was just my mom. But guess where blogspot told me there were poor people reading my blog?

RUSSIA. Dudes, I have like 30 Russian readers (or one person 30 times). I feel like I need to reach out to my fanbase there. Who knows if they even get my mean girls jokes?? I need to be more relevant to them. But all I know about Russia is kinda dated...like Stalin, Gorbachev, and Fiddler on the Roof kind of old. So I did what any person of little to no intelligence would do, I googled Essence of Russia. And this is what I got:

So, what I am gleaning from this is that really, my Russians not getting any references to Mean Girls is the least of their problems. In addition to being good at suffering, they hate America (aka Toby Keith) and they have no men.

This pandering to my public has got to stop. It is stressing me out. I am breaking out like I am going through puberty. I mean, if I had ever gone through puberty. I am still holding out hope for that growth spurt!

But isn't puberty a golden time in the life of a young person? Like, overnight, everything is different and half your friends look like 30 year old pedophiles and the other half can still talk in a range so high that only dogs can hear it. And you're feeling all weird because you don't even understand what is going on in your own body, so everyone takes it out on everyone else. A simple fart would set off a witch hunt and subsequent burning at the stake. Which totally sucks, because really, the world would be such a better place if everyone just pretended like farts didn't exist. Not as good as the world would be if farts ACTUALLY didn't exist, but we don't deserve that world yet.

Puberty also sucks because suddenly you like people. I mean, I liked boys in elementary school. Because society told me to. So I did what any regular kid does and I looked at all my options, and chose the least deplorable one to have a crush on. And let me tell you, what a beautiful system that is! It gives you an outlet for your ridiculous need to write stupid love notes and play MASH, but then when he turns you down or doesn't like you back you just choose the next least deplorable option. No emotional attachment there. Kids don't need rebound crushes, because they're not insane like adults. But then you hit puberty. And suddenly you have emotions coming out every orifice. And WHAM all of a sudden you like people not because society tells you to, but because nature  tells you to. Your brain starts talking about weird things and won't shut up. "Hey, kaitlin, did you notice the muscles in that guy's forearm? Because guess what? I'm your brain and I notice stuff like that now. Wanna know what else I've noticed lately? That you look awkward and probably will until the last 30 seconds of your senior year. Also, I have A LOT to tell you about menstruation. Can we schedule a sit down about that sometime between yourfacelookslikepizza and peopledon'tknowtheyneedtoweardeodorant o'clock?"

There also comes a time in every young person's life that they make the jump from would-only-kiss-someone-for-a-dare and actually-want-to-kiss. For some people, that doesn't happen until college (SERIOUSLY. THESE PEOPLE EXIST). For me, it happened in 8th(?) grade. I'm fairly certain it was my awkwardness that attracted Robert. So one day we went with a big group of people to a haunted house, and that is where we had our first kiss. First kiss for both of us. I'm pretty sure the universe gave us some sort of award for that. We shared several other (tight-lipped) kisses that night. All of which were the best I'd ever had. To that point. Things were exciting and amazing.

And then I got home. I thought my parents would be able to tell that I had kissed someone. I probably was giving off some sort of I-hit-a-milestone stink. I don't know how they didn't see it on my face, because I was feeling guuuuuiiiilllllty. I was pretty sure I had messed up my whole life and I was going to hell. I couldn't sleep that night. It was a night-long panic attack. The next day I went to school and told Robert that we had sinned and I felt awful and I was going to give up my life of philandering to become a nun in Russia where I would be able to really get in some solid suffering for my grievous misdeed. Also, there are no men there, so that would help too. Needless to say, Robert and I did not kiss more after that.


From Russia With Love,

Kaitlin