If people could read my mind, I'd get punched in the face a lot.

I have had some amazing experiences over the past few weeks and I wasn't sure how to wrap them all up in one blog. Then I had the idea to buy some wine this afternoon, which lead to the GLORIOUS idea to drink it, and here I am, blogging my face off. What can I say? Wine makes me want to share my thoughts with you. Yes, YOU.

For anyone who doesn't know me (whether that is your choice or mine), here's a personal fact: I like to people watch. Correction: I LOOOOVE to people watch. You can safely assume if I am ever in a room with you, I am watching you. So with that being said...

I was at a bar a few weeks ago. Not alone, I had a bodyguard (he didn't know he was my bodyguard, but I find it's best not to tell your protector that's what they are; it only makes them nervous). It was the kind of place where dudes parked their motorcycles on the sidewalk because they could, and ladies wore ghetto gold jewelry because that made them classy. I guess in all fairness, I wouldn't call it a bar. It was more of a hole-in-the-wall dive and easily one of my new favorite places. So...

We walked in and were immediately hit by the smell of cigarettes and unpaid child support. All in all, it was everything I could have hoped and dreamed it to be. We ordered some beers and settled in to watch the crazy unfold.

It didn't take long before Brett Michaels showed up. It wasn't THE Brett Michaels, but I wasn't going to tell him that. I am fairly certain he was already drunk by the time he got there; he complimented me and my "twin sister" on our outfits. He stumbled around like he just got some new legs. I figured he was due to pass out or puke, and then something amazing happened: His ex-wife walked in with her shiny new husband. WHOA BABY. How do I know this, being a first-timer to this fine establishment? Brett told me and everyone who would listen that not only was that his ex, but she was STILL in love with him and only divorced him because he was in jail. I turned to my man and said, "We're getting another round after this."

What, did you honestly think I was going to leave? When the universe hands you a perfect storm, you don't put on a raincoat and grab an umbrella. You kick off your shoes, walk into it head on and declare, "I WANT TO SEE BRETT MICHAELS START SOME SHIT." Plus, I REALLY wanted to find out what he did that landed him in jail.

Slight side track here: It is a pretty well-known fact that I'm immune to sensing danger. I just don't have a survival instinct. With that being said...

Brett was on a roll, REALLY letting his ex-lady know what she was missing. Is the band singing "The Final Countdown?" Brett was determined to sing it better TO his lady AND her Shiny New Husband, WHILE he played pool...poorly. (note to Brett: Not all pool shots need to be taken 'behind the back.')

Just when I was getting into it (about the same time New Husband was cracking his knuckles), Bodyguard informed me we had to leave. Nooooo! *fist shaking* I think he sensed the impending shit storm that was about to unfold. Again, I can't sense danger so I must depend on those around me. I finished my beer (it's hard to drink when you're pouting) and we left. "We're leaving together but it's still farewell..."

Onto Bar # 2. This was one was definitely cleaner. My shoes didn't stick to the floor at all. The ladies room had soap. But that doesn't mean there wasn't any people watching to partake in. Oh, they were ALL around us. As we all know, at some point after 10:30pm you will usually find "The Make-Out Couple" at a bar.

They were there and they were ALL OVER each other. They were making out so hard, the guy could barely keep his NY Rangers jersey on.

While that was happening, there was a different kind of love occurring on my side of the bar. Drunk Fist Bump Man was in the house and as luck would have it, he has got a HUGE man-crush on my man! So of course, it didn't take much for that bromance to get kicked into high gear. Fist Bumper: "HEY!!! I love you man! It's so great to see you!" *forces awkward hug* Bodyguard: "Uh, hey man, what's up?" Me: SMILING EAR TO EAR

Oh, that's the other thing I guess I should tell you. I don't play favorites when I people watch. If I know you and you are the victim of some weirdness, I will not only watch it happen, I will revel in how awesome it is for ME to watch YOU feel awkward. Which is exactly what I did. (I'm that jerk friend your mom warned you about) For the rest of the night, Fist Bumper celebrated pretty much every bar "milestone" with Bodyguard. "Someone just ordered a shot?! Hey bro!" *fist bump* "Bobby just came back from the bathroom?! YEAH!" *fist bump* "LAST CALL?!?!!?! F--K IT!" *several fist bumps* I think the total fist bump count was up to 22. I could be wrong, but this isn't CNN so who gives a shit?

Back to The Make-Out Couple. A guy can only take so many hours of sucking the lips off a girl's face before he needs a little more...uh, well...lovin'. Apparently his lady wasn't privy to that bit of information and by 1am, our Rangers fan had had enough. He left his lady (and his Bud Light) at the bar so he could dance to the band. Or rather, WITH the band. And help them sing their songs, you know, in case they forgot the words he was making up. One would think she would have gotten up with him, but nope. She just sat there, a sad gal left behind. I'm pretty sure we all know how their story ended, though: He threw up in her car and then passed out on her cat when they got back to her place. But I bet she still made him a bowl of cereal the next morning. #she's a keeper

My final story is a pretty short one and happened while I was at work (a place which does not serve alcohol, to the dismay of many employees).

We had a new guy start in my department. I've nicknamed him, "Terrified Coworker," because he is. I have never seen such an extreme case of social anxiety in my life before I met this guy. On his first day I tried to joke around with him to loosen him up and I am pretty sure he almost cried. (insert Tom Hanks here) Acknowledging that lately, I seem to have that affect on guys, I immediately backed off and didn't speak to him for the rest of the day. However, while he was sitting with other members of the team, "job shadowing," as we call it... I realized something: He laughs through his nose.

You read that correctly. THROUGH. HIS. NOSE.

He doesn't open his mouth when he laughs, it is entirely through his nose. I didn't think that was physically possible, kinda like keeping your eyes open when you sneeze or scratching an itch on your foot while it's still in the shoe. It's hard to describe the sound of a nose-laugh, but it goes something like this: HRRMPH HRRMPH HRRMPH HRRMPH! However you cut it, it's strange, unnatural, and I am pretty sure I can't trust him. Ever. I'm sure this particular story will develop over time, so stay tuned for that.

Well my friends, I hate to be so abrupt in my wrap-up but that's all I've got to offer for now. Until we meet again...stay cool and if you see me around, I'll be watching.

“I used to be self conscious about my height, but then I thought, fuck that, I'm Harry Potter.”― Daniel Radcliffe

On more than one occasion I have had someone, somewhere tell me I had low self-esteem, all because of some joke I made about myself. Don't these people realize one of my mottos is "What people think of you is none of your business?" Yet, they volunteer that shit. Did I ask your opinion? Then shut your lips. And quite frankly, it is shit. For as much as it pains me to have to blog about this, I have a diarrhea-level urge to set the record straight.

I do not have low self esteem. I am a realist. With that being said, let me explain some things:

I was raised in a household where physical attributes didn't mean a whole bunch. It was understood that there would always be someone prettier than you out there, so figure out an alternative. My sister got off easy; she's the smart one. She is good at math, quick to make friends, she can dance and is generally excellent at everything she does. Thank God she got her Masters degree, I was running out of ways to disappoint my parents (I can only get so many tattoos).

Then there is me. I don't have the brains my sister does. Math is hard. Dancing isn't an option: I don't just not have rhythm, I have anti-rhythm. I'm terrible with names and when I meet someone for the first time, I end up nicknaming them "Branch" (in my head). It makes me awkward in social situations. Short of discovering a hidden talent (plate spinning? belly button whistling?) my go-to thing ended up being humor.

If only it were that easy.

Humor is a tough thing to pull off. You have to know your audience and find a common ground that you can both laugh about. Unfortunately for those around me, I am not good at identifying either of those things. As a result, I have inadvertently publically shamed people at work, made people cry (sorry random guy in bar, but thank you for serving our country), and I am pretty sure that priest would have laughed during my confession if he could see the "I'm only KIDDING!" look on my face (75 Hail Marys? Jesus Christ, it was a JOKE!)

Needless to say, the only thing left in this world that I can safely joke about is myself. It isn't low self esteem; it's self-deprecating humor. (I know that's a big word...Google it) Hang with me long enough and you'll realize I'm a pretty big fan of myself. Just because I acknowledge that I have the coordination of a new born calf, a farmer's tooth, big hips and a fire victim's hairline (and those are the easy ones!) doesn't mean I'm self conscious about them. I was never known for my striking good looks, ninja math skills or exceptional coordination anyway so why attempt to play that hand now? You'd have to be blind not to notice these things about me. But you know what? I can rebound on a trip & fall like a BOSS. I use my farmer's tooth to open things that most people need scissors for. I've swung these hips to bounce skinny girls out of the way so I could get into the bathroom first. And my hair? I'm pretty sure it has more fun when I'm sleeping than I do (at least, that's how it looks when I wake up in the morning), but I'm cool with it.

I save all my bragging for my diary. Let's be honest with each other: If all I did was tell you how awesome I was, how I was a hero at work, how AH-MA-ZING my arches are (these feet were designed for high heels) and how I'm 97% sure I sound exactly like Carrie Underwood when I sing in the car, you'd feel pretty bad about yourself. Plus - you'd think I was a douche nozzle for being all braggy and you would be right. It's like those girls who brag about getting hit on all the time. Big deal, you're pretty... Talk to me in 35 years. I can eat a mixing bowl full of pasta in under an hour. Oh sure, that may not have guys banging down my door and in 35 years I'll be the size of a house, but at least it's a true accomplishment. Not that it matters anyway, because that shit goes in my diary. Now, the next time I slip on ice and slide under my truck when I try to get in it? That's a story I will shout from the roof tops.