I’ll have one soon.

Humor, Lifestyle, People, Relationships

It’s been a long time my friends.

I have been away because I am currently writing a book. You heard me. I’m writing a book.

Oh, and also working like four jobs, volunteering for a cat rescue center (I’m more of a dog person, really) and going to school.

But also, I’m writing a book.

Truth be told, I’m putting all my inspiration into this book right now. With that being said, I still think you all deserve an update.

I’ll have one soon.

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Who does that?!

Dating, Humor, Relationships

Well. I’ll start with Sunday night.

I got extremely drunk.

No.

Changed my mind. I’ll start with Friday night, which conveniently enough for you starts with the exact same sentence.

I got extremely drunk.

Fuck it. Let’s just fucking start with Thursday. Because prior to a full bottle of champagne, 5-10 shots of whiskey and a few beers I’m sure I nursed all the way back to health, there was a Thursday night.

Thursday Night

I went over to my friend Kelsey’s (my cute blonde friend for those of you who don’t know) for a harmless girls movie night. But I’m guessing you’re aware I didn’t add the word “harmless” in the last sentence for no reason.

Oh there’s a reason alright.

I walk into Kelsey’s house (again without knocking because I am apparently the most entitled fucking motherfucker on the planet) and plop myself on a chair opposite to her male roommate. Let’s call him KMR (Kelsey’s male roommate)? Eh?

I’m a mess. No makeup. My jacket is falling off my shoulder. And I’m like 82.3% sure this guy (KMR) hates me. So naturally I had to convince him that he didn’t.

I start perpetually interrupting his studying with questions like…What kind of music do you like? What are you doing tonight? What a great joke you just made? What do you think….ABOUT THE FACT THAT I AM CLEARLY NOW FLIRTING WITH YOU?!

I’ll tell you what I think. I think it’s fucking stupid. I think that I am freaking role playing in the role of Spain versus the freaking Aztecs because this is what I like to call a freaking CONQUEST.

Anyhow, I planted seeds that I really had no intentions of watering in the next 48 hours, but then someone freaking handed me a full water pot and I was all like…guess I should do something with this. So I did.

Friday Night

I can hear the rain on the rooftop, I’m flipping digital book pages with my finger and enjoying a nice little evening with a girl I like to call “Boring Savannah.”

You see. Boring Savannah is a lot like me. Brown hair. Petite. Easy on the eyes.

But let me tell you a little something about Boring Savannah! Boring Savannah only aims those easy eyes at literature. Accompanied by grilled cheese sandwiches- the kind which are made from the comfort of Boring Savannah’s home.

But then.

Low and behold. In walks Wild Savannah with her thigh high boots, YouTube eye shadow tutorials and a little chalk on her hands from shooting pool. Before Boring Savannah could even say anything, she was in the shower shaving her legs, out of the shower stabbing herself with eyeliner and out the door with a short skirt on a windy night.

So, watering pot in hand, I headed back to Kelsey’s to continue my lame attempt at flirting and also to drink. Yeah. Definitely to drink.

I polished off a bottle of champagne and was feeling buzzed, but not enough so to be dragged to a country bar where cowboys swing you around for what feels like hours then buy you a beer that resembles water.

I realized trying to connect with Kelsey and her friends or her roommate’s friends was tougher than I thought it would be. So I cut my losses and headed home.

No sorry, that wasn’t me who headed home. Who was it that headed home? Oh wait. Now I remember. Boring Savannah went home.

But Wild Savannah. She definitely went to her favorite bar for a night of pool-shooting, whiskey-drinking, boy-torturing fun. And it was. Seriously. It was a really fun time.

The bar is about to close. I’m closing my tab. This was so much fun. I spent way too much money on alcohol. Totally worth it. Why is KMR here?

Then KMR’s all like….”Wanna get outta here?” (or at least some version of that. Again, I spent a decent amount of money at the bar. In other words, your girl was hammered!)

Then I was all like…I mean yeah. The bar’s closed. Why would I stay here? You know how bartenders are always saying…”You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!” Well I went home.

I just took ole KMR with me.

So we walk to my place and I’m not really sure what all we talked about. If I had to guess, it was something like…Are you sure I’m pretty? Really, do you think I’m pretty? What was it that you said earlier…about me being pretty? Say, what do you think about us talking about me being pretty all night until I forget and then start the whole thing over again tomorrow? Great. I should be available too.

Anyhow we reach my place, where I give my absolute worst attempt at a one-night stand. Which, let’s face it, is not really surprising considering the lack of experience.

But anyhow, it doesn’t really work. I mean everyone’s undressed. All the right parts are here. Seeds were planted. Plants were watered. I don’t fucking know why I can’t do this right now.

I literally walked out of the room. Got a glass of water. Sat on my couch. And drunkenly had a whole nature versus nurture debate in my head.

Okay that’s not entirely true.

I did walk out of the room, get a glass of water and sit on my couch. But instead of falling somewhere in the middle of nature and nurture, I had a minor mental breakdown. The poor guy left my apartment with a wicked one-liner and had to walk all the way home.

You know those rom-com movies where the male character tries to have sex with some slutty girl but he can’t go through with it because he’s still in love with the lead actress. Well. It was sort of like that.

Except for I’m the male character and KMR is the slutty girl.

It took me trying to have a one night stand with him to realize that I am still very much broken hearted.

And not about one guy. Or two guys. Or my laptop dying. My heart is just broken. There is no real rhyme or reason. It’s just broken.

I kind of feel like it’s one of those times when no one tells you that there is lipstick on your teeth or that your shirt is inside out. Could NO ONE have told me that I was broken hearted? Seriously?

For months, everyone’s been all like…Keep it up dollface. You go girl! I even think I heard Alicia Keys yell-singing about fire in the background.

HELLO? Lipstick is on my teeth. My shirt is inside out. If this girl is on fucking fire you should probably call the fucking fire department!

I just wish it didn’t require me drunkenly humiliating myself to finally realize and openly admit that I am….broken hearted.

It’s just.

Fuck.

Saturday

I woke up early after a drunken night.

My first instinct is to go jogging, which was sort of awful because Wild Savannah often turns into a much less fun version of herself called Hungover Savannah. But it was sort of ideal because I needed to go retrieve my car.

I jog for miles, only to end up at an old swing set where I used to hang out with Ben (an ex- friend/boyfriend/someone I couldn’t appropriately express affection to) after midnight.

While I thought it would bring back all the good memories of the time Ben and I spent together, it actually brought in a cold front when I remembered him telling me his feelings for me and then crying when I couldn’t return them. I completely stopped talking to him.

Side note: His swing was broken. Metaphorical? I think not.

I swung back and forth for a while listening to “Vienna,” by Billy Joel, which I sometimes feel is the saddest song ever written. Although I know it’s not.

I had to stop swinging because, again, I was hungover, and it had also begun to rain on my swing set parade.

I spent the remainder of my day slut-shaming myself to my friend Andy and working a shift that I forgot I’d volunteered for three months ago.

Sunday

Sunday night I receive texts from three different people asking to hang out, and I don’t want to say no to any of them.

I quickly cooked up a group hang and landed myself back at the bar in the midst of hushed conversations.

On my left is my good friend, let’s call him KT.

I’m trying to explain to him the KMR event and my newest heart condition as quietly as possible.

On my right is a new friend, let’s call him Jake.

Jake is trying to confess his romantic feelings for me as quietly as possible.

Across from us are a couple, let’s call them Sonny and Cher. Cher is telling everyone at the table that she thinks Sonny, her boyfriend, has a “crush” on me. She is not being as quiet as possible.

On my left, KT is telling me that my lack of sexual exploit is hurting the sexual liberation of women. Basically that I need to live life a little more and that it may indeed free me of my heart condition.

On my right, I’m telling Jake that I’m not interested in anything more than friendship. Hello? Did you not hear about the heart condition?!

I mean, I know I’m not like bed-ridden surrounded by flowers, but hey, it’s still happening ya know?

Across from me, I’m just freaking speechless. I mean. What is the appropriate response when someone thinks their own boyfriend likes you?

So I guess what I’m trying to say is that, I’m a little mad.

I’m mad that I can’t have one night stands. I’m mad that guys who don’t even know me, think they double like me (like-like as opposed to just liking). I’m mad that my friend feels insecure in her relationship.

And mostly, I’m mad that I didn’t knock on Kelsey’s door. Who does that?!

This is not a ceremony for mourning, but really just a celebration of life.

Dating, Humor, Lifestyle

Remember when I used to write all those lame posts about how awful my weekend or week was? Good. You don’t have to.

This weekend sucked.

My laptop died. I got stood up (and not as in the opposite of being sat down). I had to help carry a couch (the one I gave away for free). AND…I settled on an apartment, one that’s roughly the size of my left shoe. Also my right one, but that’s beside the point. Right next to the point. Like a nightstand to a bed. Right freaking beside it.

It’s Monday at work and I hand the last book in my pile to my boss and say, “Be careful. This one’s fragile.”

It may as well have been my heart.

After a weekend of frustration, my heart certainly felt as fragile as a paperback from the 1920’s.

Where to start…

On my night stand sits this paper.

It’s white. 8 1/2 X 11. For all other purposes, your generic piece of paper.

But it’s not. It’s my apartment lease renewal form.

I was supposed to turn it in last week but have been procrastinating on checking the box that says “Not renewing.”

All I want to do is renew ya know? Its like for my whole life I had one freaking purpose and you want to know what it was? To renew. Anything that’s old, send it my way, I want to make it new!  But no.

I have to give up my apartment.

I don’t want to. That apartment is me.

It gives people lots of space. The foundation is a little unstable. It’s downtown. That’s me! I give people space! My foundation is a little unstable! I’m a downtown freaking girl!

That apartment is me.

I know people say when you love something you have to let it go. And I have. Soccer. My ex-boyfriend. That gray trench coat I couldn’t afford. I let them go like a freaking balloon at balloon release ceremony. Because apparently that’s a thing.

But if there’s one thing that I don’t want to let go of…it’s that apartment.

Do you think that’s why it’s called an apart-ment…because you are meant to move apart from it?

I just keep listening to “The Apartment Song” by Tom Petty repeatedly.

Anyhow, I found this new place to live. It’s another apartment. Two bedrooms. One coworker.

She’s nice ya know? Really. She’s nice.

She wears cardigans. She’s got really excellent grammar skills. The kind of girl who wears chapstick. She’s really nice.

But here’s the thing.

I’m not nice.

I wear tank tops. And when I do wear cardigans, I’m passive aggressive about it the entire day. Grammar?! Not even entirely sure what that means. And let’s face it, the way that I can tell which beer is mine out of the ten sitting on the table, is the bright red lipstick smeared across the top.

I’m not nice.

And ya know, I’m not a size queen. Like I don’t really care what size my bedroom is…but logistically speaking, this just won’t work.

I’ve got about 150 vinyl records and a record player that are pretty much non-negotiable. My bed on the other hand…I could be talked out of…

Priorities.

The truth is, I’m sort of angry with my bed. While sleeping, my laptop fell off the bed to it’s death.

What I’m trying to tell you…is that these words are being typed from a desktop. That’s right. From atop a desk.

My laptop is dead. Funeral TBH tomorrow at 3 p.m.. Keep in mind, this is not a ceremony for mourning, but really just a celebration of life.

I have a whole funeral playlist mapped out.

Boom Clap (the sounds I heard when she fell to the floor)

The Deep Freeze (to describe her screen)

Digital Love (it was a deep love we shared)

The Backpack Song (for all the times she stayed in my backpack)

The Funeral (well…it is a funeral after all)

I am going to quit boring you with my laptop funeral playlist, but be warned, it’s gonna be killer….

which could ultimately lead to more funerals.

Whatever…and I don’t mean the fraternity.

College, Dating, Humor, People, Relationships

Last night I met a fraternity.

Alpha. Delta. Kappa something.

Greek letter. Whatever.

Let’s just call the fraternity that from now on– whatever.

The first guy I met from whatever asked me if I came to the bar alone because I looked “kind of stranded.”

What I was thinking: Is that just how you envisioned me when you drugged my drink?

What I said: No. My friends are over there (imagine me pointing somewhere in the distance).

THEN, as if mocking me, was all like…”So you’re just an independent women then?”

What I wanted to say: Does your chest hurt?

What he would have said if I had said what I wanted to say: Why?

What I wanted to say next: Because I’ve stabbed you about 100 times in my mind!

While I resisted the urge to rap that Webbie song about being independent, I got all “girl power mad” in my mind. That’s a thing by the way. Getting all “girl power mad.”

I knew in my heart that this entitled motherfucker would never vote a Hilary for president…or a Heather, Jenny, Sarah, Jessica or any other slut you can think of — and I mean slut in the best way possible.

But I’ve been doing this new thing where when things make me mad, or another form of mad like “girl power mad,” that I just find my center of calm.

It just so happens that my center of calm involves daggers, flames among other things that can inflict violence.

Anyhow…

After finding my center of calm, I met another boy from whatever, who tried to explain to me what exactly whatever was.

I have this thing where when I meet people in Greek organizations, I just start asking them really direct questions like, “What’s the point of a fraternity?”.

They immediately get super shifty, start sucking at pool — seriously, someone could do psychology research on this shit. With just one question, it’s like their identity is broken.

Just to give you some insight, he first tried to explain to me where his fraternity house was located.

What He Said: Are you familiar with this town?

Me: Um…yeah?

What He Said Next: Well like you know where the Alpha Pi (something or other) house is right?

Me: Um…no.

What He Said Then: Oh.

But after that we had a totally interesting conversation…about nothing. Really thought provoking though! I’ve been thinking about nothing all night.

I’ve decided that I don’t really like whatever. Here’s why:

They all kept calling each other “brothers,” which is weird to me because clearly there is no familial relation and I find it bizarre that they wish for there to be.

Then they all ran in a big pack like a cult. No wonder whatever guy #1 was so threatened by independence. He’s never fucking experienced it.

On top of all this, it’s like one bad style mistake after another. Seriously, guys wear those jeans? No wonder those sorority sluts are undressing them! Christ.

Yeah yeah, I drank my hatorade this morning. Mostly because I’m kind of hungover.

Did someone say electrolytes? Yeah. Didn’t think so.

I don’t have time for just whatever ya know?

To be honest, which I sometimes am, I had a good time last night. I got to shoot pool which really helped with the whole “center of calm” thing. (Mostly because they put a weapon in my hands.) I got to hang out with the wolf pack. (You know…howlin’ at the moon and stuff.) And I got to wear yet another one of my solid black ensembles. (Speaking of which!)

When I first arrived at the bar, I asked the wolf pack how I looked. On a scale of 1-10, of course, because guys get all panicky when you ask them to describe their opinion using actual adjectives.

C gave me a 9.

I fought my inner girlness and let that -1 slide. But don’t get me wrong, I thought about it for at least 22 minutes.

I was feeling pretty good, like 9-level good.

Later on that evening, this singer guy started hitting on me. I only know he was a singer because he literally serenaded me by the bar.

Now that’s not something I would recommend if you’ve ever been called tone-deaf or told that your voice resembled a dying animal, but I gotta say, for him it totally worked.

I love musicians.

I can’t say it enough.

Here, I’ll say it again.

I love musicians.

Anyhow, singer and I parted ways to go join back up with our friends.

Later on, I went to the bathroom and saw this gorgeous blonde girl walking out before me. I mean it. Gorgeous.

She was the worst kind of gorgeous too. Thin. Tan. Blonde. Did I mention thin? The kind of girl who would really threaten whatever boy #1.

I went back to the wolf pack and I was like…Yeah. I’m definitely a 9.

Later on, I disappointingly saw singer boy buying blondie an obscene amount of drinks. Because of course…he found the 10.

I tried to explain it all to the wolf pack on our way to a different bar.

Because there she was, all blonde and wearing this white summer dress, looking just fucking angelic. And there I was, wearing black from head to toe like the fucking angel of darkness.

Does good really always trump evil?

Whatever…and I don’t mean the fraternity.

Times are changin’

Humor

Okay, so forget Austin.

I’m over it.

Austin was fun, but multiply part one by two and three and I’m sure you can do the math.

Right now, I want to be at the bar playing pool. Why?

There’s sticks, there’s balls and they don’t belong to a skeezy guy.

What am I doing instead?

Pouring myself a glass of ice cold soda as I wait for the Google results of “How to cut a pineapple.” Yeah. True story.

While I’d love to tell you 4 non blondes style what exactly is going on, I can’t.

A) I don’t need to be drinking caffeine this late at night.

B) Does everyone already just arrive on this planet with the innate knowledge of how to cut a pineapple?

Pineapples are all spiky like they’re trying to warn you about something fruity, which is now interchangeable with fishy, which someone thought was interchangeable with suspicious. So yeah. Pineapples are all spiky like they’re trying to warn you about something suspicious like…

Hey. Open up this pineapple and you might find yourself drinking soda in the middle of the night instead of playing pool. How do you like them apples? You obviously don’t, because here you are with a fucking pine version of something that poisoned the purest of Disney princesses. Ick.

So here’s the thing. Times are changin’. I’ve heard people say it in the general “the world is gonna’ end” sort of way, but now I really believe it.

Times are changin’.

I’m losing my dream apartment. I’m losing my fave roommate Catman Connor. I’m losing weight. Most importantly, I’m losing this negative attitude.

So yeah, I’ll admit, I burnt my candle at both ends.

It’s completely gone now.

So in the future, when someone asks me to hold a candle to some swimsuit- model-resembling ex-girlfriend I can be all like…Sorry don’t have one.

But I’ll tell you what I do have. A pineapple. A motherfucking pineapple.

I’m not sure what the next few months have in store for me. It could be good. It could be bad. It could be…fruitful? Who freaking knows?

All I know right now is that…

I’m pretty nervous for my internship. I may need a storage unit for my shoes alone. I’m going to miss a lot of my friends next year. And…

Times are changin’.

But more on all this later, I’ve got soda to drink, pineapple to cut and time to change.

How To Cut a Pineapple Like a Badass

Spring Break Part One: Scene Setting…Just So We’re Clear

Humor, People, Relationships

On Spring Break I took my top off (but only so I could shower), made many drunken phone calls (but not to an ex-boyfriend) and went shopping (but not for anything in particular). BUT. Spring break was fun!

For spring break, N and C took me to Austin, Texas for one of the best trips of my life.

While I was fairly excited about going, I had my reservations.

A) Austin sounds like the name of a five year old child whose parents have some sort of fibrosis. And the traffic. I hear there’s traffic.

B) We were staying with N’s not-so-evil twin brother and his wife. I have met them before, but there’s always a lot of pressure meeting friends and family of friends. They have known each other for years and here I am. I mean…there are people out there who have known me for years, but I don’t like have references or anything.

C) The entire car ride there, N and C played this stupid name game with actors’ names, which might have been great if I had not spent my entire life going to the movie theater for the sole purpose of eating popcorn.

D) All of the above.

D. The first letter of the word disaster and the last letter of the word fucked. Just so we’re clear, when I answered “D” I meant A-C. Just so we’re clear.

We arrived in Austin late at night and suddenly, I got nervous. Seeing AL (couple nickname for N’s twin brother and wife) made me nervous.

When I’m around new people I always feel like they’re judging me.

And they are.

They’re always like…

What’s with that freckle on her arm?

Why does she say statements like questions?

…Okay. (See! Her pitch gets higher at the end!)

I don’t know about this girl, but what I do know is…

Then they follow it up with something that they know. Or something that they think. Like, I think it’s supposed to rain tomorrow.

Okay? (see she’s doing it again…)

Plus all these people (N, C, AL and all the other fucking letters in the alphabet) are older than me, more intelligent than me, and brush their teeth more thoroughly than me ya know?

Anyhow, my emotional reservations were cancelled when we stayed up until five a.m. watching N, C and A pick up one of ten million guitars hanging on the wall, and when L gave me the biggest guest bedroom in the house.Okay! And that’s not a question just so we’re clear.

Now that I’ve set the scene, I realize this could be like a three-blog-post kind of affair. That’s right. Three posts. Just so we’re clear.

But at least it’s coffee scented?

Humor, People

I know I have not posted in a while, but that is because I have been burning my coffee scented candle at five ends. And now wax is starting to get in my hair.

My very unkempt hair.

The past few weeks I have been on an emotional roller coaster.

Unfortunately this roller coaster does not pause at the high points, where you can enjoy the view, but instead slows down to a near halt at the low points, where I just keep wondering when the ride is going to freaking end.

But as I’ve mentioned before, I am not even tall enough to ride the freaking roller coaster (See Post: Why Can’t I Be Tall?). Instead, I am sitting below on an uncomfortable bench, shoveling ice cream into my petite body and waiting for my friends to come hang out with me again.

Everyone keeps sending me that predictable “How are you?” text and I just keep replying:

Eh.

Ugh.

Umm.

Eek.

Anything that is just 23% shy of actually being a word.

This makes it worse because I just provoked them to send me the other predictable “What’s wrong?” text.

Which might be fine. Except for it’s not.

I don’t know what’s wrong.

So I throw a not-so-curved curve ball and reply, “Nothing is wrong.”

That’s right.

Nothing is wrong.

Nothing keeps me up at night. Nothing makes me eat two bags of popcorn. Nothing makes me regret throwing away Taylor Swift’s last album. Nothing makes me tear up when I’m drunk. Nothing IS wrong!

FYI: This weekend I’m throwing a pity party. Everyone’s invited! BYOB! And maybe bring some 2nd B in that acronym for me too because, in case you haven’t noticed, NOTHING IS WRONG!

Ugh.

Nothing has gotten so wrong that I might start using hash tags in my blog posts again (See Post: A Crowbar Huh?).

Eek.

It’s been so long that I have a million things to tell you and not sure where to start.

I used to lay it down in chronological order, but my aforementioned, never- fucking- ending candle, has me all confused about where things begin, where things end and what the fuck is even happening.

Umm.

But at least it’s coffee scented?

I’m going to go wash this wax out of my hair and then come back at you with a post about my spring break trip!

Eh?

Sneak Peek: It involves drunk dialing, guitar playing and hunger striking, which for those of you who don’t know, has virtually nothing to do with eating.

Always the audience, never the musician.

Humor, People

Yesterday I took one look at the stove and I just knew.

I knew it needed to be cleaned.

Three minutes into cleaning the stove using something called Easy Off, I realized, I could no longer move my right hand. And by right hand, I mean the one that looks like a foam glove you would wave at a sporting event.

I started flooding it with water while singing Toxic by Britney Spears. I’m addicted to you. Don’t ya know that you’re toxic?

Classic.

Anyhow, my hand still looks pretty rough and I told every single person in the bar last night why, starting with the words “So today…”

Okay so enough with my nonsense. I better catch you up on this thing I refer to as “My Life.”

1. My roommate Connor is MIA. He left to go see his girlfriend and never came back. This might be a really appropriate time to talk about my dad. Pass. Anyhow, I am going to refrain from posting “Have You Seen My Leaves Beard Hair All Over the Bathroom Roomie” flyers for a few more weeks because I knew how susceptible Connor is to sex slavery. Ooh just thought of another Britney Spears song. Fun.

2. My blonde friend Leah is now staying with us (me) for four days of every week. She bought groceries, cleaned the apartment and cooked me dinner all in one day, confirming what I already knew. She is better at life than me. But I marked housewife off my list and ate that dinner she slaved over that fucking god forsaken, hand swelling, good for nothing stove cooking. Ya know I actually get the whole slavery thing now. Neat.

3. I have been hangin’ out with this pack of musicians. That’s right. I called them a pack. I’m a lone wolf no more. Just runnin’ with a pack of musicians. Because yes. I’m the kind of person that “runs” with others. Anyhow it’s great. Except for when it’s awful.They just look at an object and suddenly it’s an instrument and suddenly it’s a concert and suddenly it’s a really awesome concert because suddenly they’re just really fucking awesome at everything and suddenly I hate them so suddenly I throw myself onto the couch dramatically so that I can pout. It’s all very sudden.

Always the audience, never the musician.

Anyhow I actually am in love with my wolf pack. All three of em. How many wolves do you need to call it a pack? 20, like cigarettes?

Anyhow there’s “C” who plays the drums and is awesome at it. Anytime I put my iphone in and start playing some cool indie band I love, he has to casually announce “Oh I played with them one time back in Vietnam.” Except for he says it without the “back in Vietnam” part. He was misquoted…by me. Did I mention I want to do journalism?

Okay okay, then there is Andy who I have mentioned previously. He’s like my bestie but let’s not make a big thing of it. He plays this thing called a dobro guitar, which you basically lay on your lap because you’re lazy. I like to call it a “Go Bro!”. Anyways, he’s good at that. So that’s annoying.

Last but certainly not least, there’s “N”. They actually named Guitar Hero after him. He is the guitar hero. Literally. I tell everyone he’s the best guitar player in the world, which is really unfair since I have not met every guitar player in the world, and is not at all unfair because I know absolutely nothing about guitar playing.

And also, you know how couples “finish each other’s sentences?” That did not really need to be in quotes did it? “Who fucking knows” N, as I call him, finishes my jokes it’s crazy. I’m halfway through my second knock and he’s all like, “Who’s there?”

N.

N’s there.

Alright so I’m not going to tell you fuckers to leave a comment, because last time everyone did so begrudgingly. But you should get that chip, which is laying on your shoulder by the way, and just put it somewhere else.

Like in a comment box.

Accompanied by a really friendly comment.

Teeth Are People Too

Humor, Lifestyle, People

You may have noticed I have been a little absent lately. This is because I got busy. But in an outside of the bedroom kind of way. I have had this new, unheard of, version of writer’s block. Instead of not having enough things to write, I have had way too many.

I don’t even know where to start.

Breakfast this morning?

My trip to the dentist?

The movies last night?

Endless.

Possibilities.

Breakfast this morning?

I didn’t have it.

My trip to the dentist?

He told me I had a wild tongue. No really. Wild. It was way more appalling than seeing fifty shades of boring last night.

The movies last night?

Weak. Like me after an afternoon jog down the street.

So the other day at work, my coworker whose name is foreign to me (and every other American for that matter) really got under my skin. I decided to wear my headband horizontally, hippie style, right? Chic, I know.

He has the audacity to ask me, “Why are you wearing tiara?”

I knew exactly what he meant, but I was way more into playing dumb.

“What are you talking about?” I said to this foreign named gentleman with a snippy mouth.

“When you wear like this (makes hand gestures towards my headband), it is crown, no?” said this stupid freak in broken English.

“No, it’s just a headband A******.”

Keep in mind, I did not call him an asshole, his name just starts with an “A” and is legitimately that many letters long. Convenient though right?

If I were a princess, I would’ve smited (smitten? sp?) him. I mean banished him to his own country. Sorry I got religion and government confused…

Because that never happens.

Anyhow, he got on my nerves. And so did that fucking god- awful shot of anesthetic my dentist gave me.

There he is. Staring at me. Right up close. Looking into my mouth — my nose. Like he owns the place! Then sticks a needle into my gums like the corner of the sharpest freaking tortilla chip on the planet.

Ouch.

I have feelings ya know? Teeth are people too.

Of course he knows that, this sorry excuse for a doctor. He has to know that I didn’t drink all that soda, eat all that chocolate and watch all that television for nothing.

I did all of that so that someday, preferably on a Thursday morning an hour before work, I could come to his office and feel the deep deep drilling of his….whoah no, sorry I mixed up the movies last night with the dentist.

Fifty shades of grey. Where was the deep deep drilling I had my heart set on seeing? Ugh. Fan fiction.

I dragged 5 of my friends to see the late showing of what I hoped would be eyebrow raising, goosebump causing, nail polish removing sexual tension and just…no. No.

God fuck this shit. I’m tired of working. I’m tired of shelling out $40 a week at the dentist. And mostly I’m tired of you sons of bitches not leaving me any comments. All this social media is everyone just trying to connect to one another!

So leave a fucking comment…connect four style!

P.S. I’ll post more often. In the words of some hip- hop artist I’m unaware of, this new writer’s block “got me like whoah” .

One Lovely Blog Hop

Award Post

Aspirations of flight picked me to do the one lovely blog hop!

The rules for One Lovely Blog Hop are as follows: list 7 interesting facts about myself and nominate 10 other blogs I find awesome to join the blog hop.

7 supposedly interesting facts about my life: (Let me just preface this with a…”I don’t find these interesting at all,” comment. Because I don’t.)

  1. My birthstone is garnet. Classy. Yet still so bold. According to Google, it is considered a great gift to symbolize trust and friendship….Ha.

2. I had a twin in the womb. It did not exactly make it out of the womb. There is something deep inside of me that wants to shrug my shoulders and be all like…Survival of the fittest man.But I feel like there’s a bunch of con-choice lookin’ at me all like WTF?! Can you imagine two of me though? Epic, but let’s get real.

There can only be one.

  1. I have had blonde hair, red hair, black hair, brown hair, straight hair, curly hair…well, you get the picture. Every time I go through a break-up, I dye my hair and then pretend I’m Sydney Bristow from Alias for 7 minutes and 30 seconds. It’s a thing.

4.Every childhood picture of me I am wearing the craziest outfit you can imagine. Think leopard pajama pants, striped tee and bunny ears. Not all that different from my fashion sense now, but I always look towards my mom bitterly like…Could you not have done something with that situation?

5.Every time I hear sirens or see an emergency vehicle I panic. Oh God! What do I do? Pull to the right of the road? The left? Follow my heart?Which side of my chest is my heart on? After a scenic google search, apparently the heart is relatively close to the center of your chest, which doesn’t really seem like the best place to stop my car when I hear sirens. But hey, it’s not life and death ya know?

6.I have always wanted a song written about me. I know that it’s not that groundbreaking, but it’s true. I always tell my musician friends to which they respond, “Everyone wants a song written about them!” to which I respond, “Wow you just categorized me with everyone…no wonder you can’t write a song about me!” Ugh. Musicians.

7.Wow we are already on the last one of these nifty facts. I haven’t even had nearly enough time to talk about myself yet! It’s like you think you’ve come this far (*insert hand gesture*), when you’ve really come this far (*insert hand gesture*) but to everyone else, you just seem like a crazy person typing 7 facts about yourself on your work desktop ya know? So #7. Not my favorite number exactly. I would tell you my favorite number, but we only have 7 facts and why would I waste one of them on my favorite…16. My favorite number is 16.

There you have it. Seven not so interesting facts about me. Now. Check out these 10 blog – aroonies.

1. cookies+sangria

2. Missionary Impossible

3. Man of Wisdom

4. Ben’s Bitter Blog

5. From Diapers and Tutus to Meetings and Boardrooms

6. And On That Note She Wrote

7. Binary This

8. I Prefer Deep Blues and Sea Foam Greens

9. Mom Goes On

10. One Gentleman’s Perspective