You know how people use the phrase, “I did not give it a second thought.” We have clarified there was a second thought so obviously it was proceeded by a first thought. I have decided that when you are drunk, there is no second thought…one thought…the first thought…and that’s the only fucking thought.
First thought: I should call my ex-boyfriend.
Second thought: Whoah Savannah slow your roll. You should probably call your best friend instead.
First thought: I should call my ex-boyfriend.
Second thought: (sorry too busy calling my ex-boyfriend)
When you are drunk, everything becomes impulsive as fuck. You are invincible and no drunken phone call can change that. For the record, I’m not an alcoholic and that’s Barbie therapist confirmed (reference from previous post).
As you may all know, I blogged for about a year on another site and had no readers due to my knowledge or lack thereof about tags and categories. As I’ve recently been making some big decisions about my future, I thought it might be time to recycle a blog post, since you fuckers never saw it. Check it out…
Well, after receiving a rather unfriendly email from the director of a Master’s in Professional Writing program essentially saying “need not apply,” I was feeling discouraged. “This is a competitive program…33% acceptance rate from a national blah blah blah.” For a writing program? What is this, a competition to be unemployed? Who do you think you are, the editor of Vogue? Please god someone tell me what to do with a Bachelor’s in Biology. Perhaps my contradicting shy and outgoing personality simply could no fit into the cut-throat world of writing. The only person I had been fooling was myself. Even the science-related schools I was qualified for were practically gasping at my apparently less than average 3.5 GPA. Time for a solid game of Never Have I Ever. Never have I ever thought I would be disappointed to graduate a semester early. Never have I ever wished I could go back in time and change things. Never have I ever watched any of the Godfather movies. Fuck, this is not even fun without alcohol. Someone get me a drink stat. While I’d love to send the director a very well-worded reply telling him to “fuck off” in the most MLA/APA proper style, I typically refrain from those types of conflicts. I’m certain that this email was brought to me under the intentions of honesty and saving me the $40 application fee. $40 should be more than enough money to knock this lightweight off her feet. Giving up on my hopes and dreams, however, that shit is priceless.
I’m sure all my high school folk who are unlikely to remember my name would be laughing at this ex-overachiever, top 3% of her class, advanced placement joke. I’m already practicing a more tactful way of saying, “Would you like fries with that?”. “Care for some fries?”. “Would you like to add a side of fries to your already inflamed arteries?”. “What do you say we get outta here after sharing a large fry?”. “Fries might make an excellent addition to your mouthwatering artificial cheese cheeseburger.” “Might you like some fries coated with sodium?”. Ok, I’ll admit that was sort of fun. Maybe a career in fast food could prove to be rewarding after all. Sadly they probably would not even hire me, calling me under-qualified with no experience in the food service industry. Am I over-thinking this? That was rhetorical. I am hyper-aware of my own over-thinking. Alas, another hung over day at work to complain about the daily struggles in my over-privileged, under-appreciated, and highly consumerist lifestyle. As it turns out, I better get these blog readers rolling because this may be my only glimpse into the world of literature. Luckily, there will be plenty of time for sulking when I am stuck inside all weekend due to the icy cold weather. If only my warm-hearted nature could understand why I couldn’t pursue the career I desired, the guy I liked was not showing signs of liking me back, or better yet why it has to be so windy outside every time I wear a skirt.
I have recently decided to continue or attempt to continue my pursuit at a master’s in a writing-related subject…but perhaps at a different university than my fucking shitty, good for nothing, so-called Alma mater. Any thoughts or advice will be ignored but appreciated. Sorry, I’m on a first-thought only basis and anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of…basketball…or tennis…(said no one ever except Lorde). Thanks for reading my lame jokes and feel free to leave some comments ya fuckers! Let me rephrase that. Leave me a fucking comment!