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.

A crowbar huh?

College, Dating, Humor, Lifestyle, People, Relationships

#liveinahouse #eatfoodtosurvive #Ihavefivesensessometimessix

Hash tag this hash tag that

#youshouldstopfuckingusinghashtagsbecauseit’sgettingonmynerves

On a side note, I really enjoy hash browns.

I know it is a little late for Thanksgiving, but one of the many things I have come to appreciate lately is my roommate, Dodecahedron. (If you have not read my blog before and want to know about this so-called roommate See Post: That’s My Roommate)

In the past few months he has been really helpful about driving me after I’ve been drinking and just showing a general concern with where I am when I am not home between the general hours of 1 and 5 a.m.

He usually sends me a text that’s all like…Hey where you at?

Then I start typing a text that’s all like…

Dude I’m just tryin’ to party man. (This occurs roughly around the same time I decide to take up surfing)

Then I stop and think to myself…Sometimes you’re not just tryin’ to party man. Sometimes you’re in an alley, your hand’s bleeding and your purse has been missing for 2+ hours.

I start rephrasing my text message.

I’m okay roomie, just been drinkin’ a bit too much…and also I love you. And 3-5 out of my 10 ex-boyfriends if you could tell them that for me! I would do it myself but I’m already on the phone balls deep talking to my girlfriend, who may or may not be picking me up from this alley, about boyfriend #4 before we try and tackle my location.

On the plus side, I think some of my ex-boyfriends even look forward to my semi-annual drunken texts.

Aw dude, Savannah just texted me! She said she still misses/loves me…that girl…sheesh. What a sweetheart?!

The next day I send a small disclaimer.

Hey, sorry about the drunken texts last night…guess I still haven’t gotten over you.  But hey! Cheers to another year of trying!

Alright so now that I’m done appreciating on my roommate, I’m going to switch over to one of my favorite topics…

#hatersgonnahate

One of the things I really hate is staring. Despite what may or may not be accurate, I always become determined to figure out what someone’s motives are for staring.

#gottagettothebottomofthisstaring

I usually come up with the following reasons:

A) You’re in love with me.

Understandable. But still highly inappropriate. Stop it! You’re making me blush!

B) You hate everything about me.

Hate? Muah? But why? I’ve dedicated my entire life to pleasing other people!

C) It’s your culture to stare.

Ever heard of assimilation? Say where are you from? Where were you born? Stop fucking staring at me!

D) You think you’re better than me.

Fuck you! You don’t even know me! I once had to walk to my car in the snow! Then I had to drive really cautiously on slick roads!

Then I realize they were not staring at me at all, but instead staring at the tall, hott blonde girl standing just behind me.

My whole illusion is shattered.

Fuck you! I deserve to be stared at too! Geez, what’s it gonna take to get some attention? NOTICE ME!

Pathetic.

So lately my phone has been blown up with texts and phone calls, making these really annoying bell sounds that I am going to change just as soon as I get a few more complaints out of my system.

One of the first text messages I received said…

Hey sloot.

Believe it or not, this is one of the more endearing nicknames Preston has for me. (If you want to know who Preston is, See Post: Not Even For A Million Dollars)

Instead of these people reaching out to me while I’m sliding in my socks across the wood floors of our apartment singing Jessie’s Girl, you wait until I have a take home final, an article to write, a few overnight shifts and really unkempt hair.

#I’mbusy

During my overnight shifts, I typically get approached by more guys than my average day shifts. Every year this is re-proven.

This year I met the skeeziest of them all, who I prefer to call none other than…

#stalkercustodian

First, he’s sweeping the floor.

Now he’s mopping the floor.

Then he’s buffering the floor.

So if anyone wants to know why the first floor in the library is the only floor clean in the library, then just know it is because of stalker custodian, who is drastically beginning to resemble a man I like to call…

#rapistcustodian

Now stalker custodian used to be satisfied just #staringatme.

But now, stalker custodian likes to #talktomeforwaytoolongforpersonalcomfortandsafety.

Stalker custodian has now told me several stories, one in which he got pulled over by a cop when driving with his roommate because they both had firearms sitting in the seat and were wearing hoodies.

#shocker

Another fun story involved him beating his ex’s new boyfriend with a crowbar.

In retrospect, I probably should have replied saying something like…

“Oh yeah, my BOYFRIEND and I’s weapon of choice is also a crowbar,”.

Instead I said…

“A crowbar huh?”

#I’mscared

His last story was a really charming tale of puppy love, one in which his dog physically ate the neighbor’s dog.

#Imissthecrowbarstory

So while he is planning our thug wedding, I am planning my own funeral.

#deathbycrowbar

The worst part is that I think he falls under category A of my reasons for staring.

He loves me.

#skeezeoftheday?

For the record, I have never once nor will ever find stalker custodian attractive. He pretty much ruined that for me with the chain hanging out of his excuses for jeans denim pants.

What is that chain for because it’s freaking me the fuck out!

Unless it’s like bondage…because that could be kind of hott.

But like different guy/different chain ya feel me?

I once participated in this lab research study and made a bondage joke. I was like…

Wow Savannah, that was highly inappropriate.

Sadly that was just after my Kanye West joke and slightly before my Holocaust…you know what, never mind.

#misunderstanding

To This Very Day I Begin My Mornings In Denial

College, Humor, Lifestyle, People, Relationships

While reading through other blogs, I found myself leaving all of these extremely insightful comments.

For instance…

“Perhaps if I were more forthcoming about my opinions I would see better results in customer service, relationships and really all across the board.”

Well, how forthcoming of you to come forth with such wise words. Perhaps? When have you ever said perhaps? Perhaps I will use forthcoming in a sentence for the first time ever.

“It is nice when there can be comfortable moments of silence on a date.”

Really? And you would know that because? Answer me this Savannah. When have you ever been silent on a date…or silent for that matter? Silence speaks louder than words but I am guessing you didn’t know that.

“Clout is hard to come by these days.”

Is it really? Do you have clout? Have you known anyone with this so-called clout? What else is “hard to come by” these days since you seem to be the expert? Perhaps you should be more forthcoming.

“Slut”

And so quickly you revert back to old habits.

I have come to the conclusion that people must think I am stupid. In most instances they would be correct.

I have no idea what pension is and pretty much tune out when anyone tries to explain it to me. I understand it is related to finances, but I have so little money I just assume it will never apply to me.

Does it have any relation to pensive? If so, I could likely involve it in poetry of some sort…accompanied by percussion. Pensive percussion. Alliteration…I know what that is!

I am just dying to understand what an interface is and how it works. I assume it is not an outer-face, sad face, or a sequel to Audrey Hepburn’s Happy Face so for god’s sake someone tell me what it is?! Can it be considered pensive?

Cue percussion.

I suck at chemistry, but only in the scientific sense. Put me in a lab and I am 100% guaranteed to drop a beaker, set something on fire and ask multiple times for someone to hand me the flask…which almost always ends up being really disappointing.

At least 50% of the time when you mention someone that is generally well known in society, I will not know who you are even talking about. “So, Savannah what did you think about that policy *insert mystery person* instigated?” you ask me on any given day of the week. “Oh you know…mostly just pensive.”

Point being, I am a little stupid.

But hey, I am also a little smart.

In fact, I was one of the runner-ups for giving the commencement speech at my high school. I wrote this great speech where I compared the 5 stages of grief to waking up to your alarm clock for school in the morning. To this very day I begin my mornings in denial.

I am pretty sure the administrators threw my speech out because of its so blatant disdain for the slaughterhouse they call high school. The acceptance stage definitely came after graduation!

You see, I graduated in the top 3% of my class along with 29 other people who were really really unpopular. My standardized test scores were baller and I killed my classmates ever so softly with kindness.

For the counter-argument, again that I am stupid, I have also never listened to a teacher my entire educational career which might somewhat explain my perpetual misunderstanding of pension and my now career-less future. I do not have attention deficit disorder, I have been firmly diagnosed by a non-licensed physician with I don’t care disorder.

That is right.

I do not care about pension, interfaces, chemistry or that stupid commencement speech that I should have given!

But…because there is always a but in these kinds of situations, I do care about writing.

I am, dare I say it, serious about writing. This is really something because I am virtually serious about nothing, making times like genocide, suicide, really all the -cides extremely inappropriate.

When I love something so much I start rhyming things with it: write = sight, kite, might, light, fight, tight, contrite…it all makes me very pensive.

Then I squeeze it really tight…like a puppy. Tight rhymes with write!

I have been waiting my whole life, to not only drop F-bombs, but all kinds of alphabet related bombs you cannot even imagine. Just so you know, when I say F-bomb, I meant forthcoming…fuck.

Anyhow, I just wanted you all to know that I am not entirely as stupid as I sound. Not entirely.

So leave a comment you stupid motherfuckers because I care about writing, sighting, fighting, smiting, lighting…

Oh I’ll show you a wet noodle!

College, Humor, Parenting, People, Relationships

The other day my boss was looking over some maps that have the abbreviation PI stamped across them and asked what I thought it meant.

I quickly responded in order of priority, “Public intox, private investigator, 3.14159,” because trig is not so far behind me that I do not remember the first five digits of a mathematical constant named after something that comes in apple, chocolate and banana cream.

I think I have nearly reached maximum capacity for inappropriate things to say in the workplace.

It reminded me of the time I told our university financial aid office that they should buy me a drink first after answering a million personal questions falling just short of which side of the apartment is your bedroom on, where do you put undergarments and oh yeah what is your address? Turns out finances are no laughing matter.

Despite the 10-12 funny and borderline charming phrases I say on a daily basis, it was nice being home this last weekend to get the praise from mom I had so long deserved.

I once killed a gnat at the dinner table that my mom had been trying to kill for some 10 minutes and she cheered me on and said, “Look at you, way to go!” I was like…Oh yeah? You liked that? You should see me scrape dried food off a dirty plate! Or make a free throw through the spokes of our living room fan into a mini basketball hoop! That’s always a crowd favorite.

My mind quickly flashed to all of the different mini successes I had in the past week, like when I opened a can of green beans with a screw driver, caught my phone before it fell beneath my seat in the car and made my first grilled cheese with a waffle maker. I could just picture my mom in the background shouting phrases like Hazzah, well done and keep it up pumpkin. Nevertheless.

I even managed to write a really great song in the midst of a busy day. I call it, “Why Do I Put Things in Such Weird Places?” . It is maybe the catchiest song I have ever written and is even going to have some chord changes just as soon as my air guitarist starts picking up on my musical cues. If only ma had been there to hear that.

It is ironic that I expect such high praises because I get very awkward very fast when someone gives me a compliment. A couple days ago, my article was on the front page of our school newspaper and my coworkers were excited and proud. One of them complimented me and said, “Wow that was a long one too,” and I suddenly got bashful and whispered, “That’s what she said,” as I ran into the other room.

Just yesterday, the fire whisperer tried to tell me that he enjoyed this grilled cheese I cooked in the waffle maker and I had no idea how to respond. The appropriate response was probably thank-you, you’re welcome or something common folk like that, but instead I started rambling about dry and wet noodles because my roommate Connor told me his grilled cheese was not crunchy and compared it to a wet noodle.

I was like…Oh I’ll show you a wet noodle! Then I went and took a shower because I felt disgusted with myself.

(If you are new to my blog and want to know who the Fire Whisperer is See Post: Kisses Here and There or if you want to know about my roommate Connor See Post: That’s My Roommate )

So what is new with me?

1. I was reading a Q & A with Bob Seger in Rolling Stone magazine the other day and noticed that he had recently read the novel Quiet by Susan Cain. That is right. Bob Seger and I read the same books. No big deal. Except for it is especially because Old Time Rock n’ Roll has been my go-to shower song since I was like 12 years old. I have been picturing him and I reading the same book, sitting in the same position both under a tree ever since.

2. My mom bought me a coat while I was home this weekend. After buying one online under the guise of it being for me, she liked it so much she kept it for herself. I asked her at the store if she would buy a different one for me to even the playing field and without waiting for her response threw the coat in the cart along with 2 tee shirts and a brown fake leather jacket. She was slightly passive aggressive with me the rest of the evening but she has no idea what it is like to have such keen fashion sense and so very little money to flaunt it.

3. My friends got me this little bobble-head turtle at a music festival they went to recently and I naturally felt the need to name it Stevie Nicks.

Side Note: I name all of my stuffed animals, plants, pets etc. after rock stars.

I have been listening to the song Gypsy on repeat for like two days now and am like legitimately considering having the first line tattooed on my upper thigh. Don’t ruin this for me.

4. I rediscovered the awesome apple flavored NutriGrain bars that I used to hate when I was little thinking that only cheap moms bought these cheap, uncool granola bars. Little did I know that cheap moms are the ones who listen to cool bands like Deftones, Limp Bizkit and Korn; cheap moms are the ones who dress rad in wrap dresses and fake leather jackets; and that cheap moms are just trying to feed you and raise you the best they can. FYI: She did.

I now love these low priced granola bars and although do not plan on having kids would look forward to the days of becoming a cheap mom because news flash to my younger self, cheap moms rock!

I don’t know if is the past, present and future gypsy talking, but I have been extremely sentimental this week.

Sorry for the I am now taking a nap on my computer desk boring blog post, but not much has been happening these days except for the usual train wreck of non-straightenened hair, coffee buzz and a strong desire to use the word dashing in reference to good looks.

For each comment you leave I will drink another cup of coffee.

If that is any incentive.

Don’t you know I have to get a return on my emotional investment?

College, Dating, Humor, Lifestyle, People, Relationships

So what are the happenings? No, not that movie where spoiler alert, all the plants are responsible for everyone committing suicide. Here…are the happenings:

1. I licked about 200 envelopes this morning and am fairly certain I will never taste anything again. Some bitch comes in and informs me that I could have used a wet sponge. Great, I’ll just start about 199 envelopes ago, but since I only have 15 left I am going to continue using my fucking dried out, worn down, will never experience ice cream to the fullest extent again tongue.

2. I am now a coffee drinker. My therapist always starts out with what are supposedly easy questions like how are you, how’s your day, what’s new with you. All I could think to say was,

“I drink coffee now,”.

I drink coffee because coffee wakes me up in the morning without being a bitch about it, doesn’t tell me I’m a pushover, doesn’t show up at my apartment unexpectedly pretending we’re friends, doesn’t assign stupid paper airplane projects, doesn’t fuck up the nails I just painted with its long furry tail and…wait, what are we talking about? Oh yeah, coffee. It does sometimes burn my tongue, but I think I like that now because it reminds me I still have one after did I mention licking 200 fucking envelopes.

3. I went to the bar last night and started talking to one of my friends about this girl he is dating. It was awful because everything he was saying about her felt like everything any of my ex-boyfriends would say about me. I was like…Fuck I am perfectly comfortable in my own shoes, so I guess I don’t really need to put on yours now do I? Despite the fact that my shoes had given me a blister the size of Alabama forcing me to limp around the pool table like a drunk rapper, I really had no desire of putting myself in his shoes and seeing things from a perspective other than my own.  Fuck my good for nothing, “I told you so” last blog post title (See Post: It’s All A Matter of Perspective Really.)

4. I started watching the new season of American Horror Story with my high school friend Julie (fuck she needs a nickname) and her sister Theresa and realized immediately what a bad idea that was. I can barely say the word clown, much less watch a show that revolves around a clown murderer whose holding a young, pretty girl captive. I called my roommate Connor just to make sure he would be at the apartment when I got back, because there was no way I could be alone in that creepy, creaky old loft apartment after watching 45 minutes of commercial-free psycho clown. Connor was like, “Why didn’t you just stop watching the show?” like I was some idiot.  I was like, “I don’t know Connor, maybe because I already attached myself to 1-3 characters and identified myself with 1-2!  Don’t you know I have to get a return on my emotional investment?”

5. I have been having a lot of unanswered questions these days. Like, can I watch both Gilmore Girls and How I Met Your Mother on Netflix intermittently or is that going to be too damaging for my fragile emotional state? Is this drapey necklace with my step-dad’s Audioslave tee shirt too fashion forward? Is this ‘Bama sized blister on my foot ever going to go away? Oh yeah and is that cute guy I messaged on Facebook really going to come to my Halloween party? Guess that slipped my mind…I am usually not one of those girls who develops long-lasting cyber crushes but I have become one of those girls who develops long-lasting cyber crushes. Love at first sight for me is long hair and mutual Facebook friends. I was pretty upfront about my creeper status and he seemed interested enough to come hang out so I guess I’ll take a chance on…his name is Chance. I’m taking a chance on Chance…on chance on chance on chance on chance on chance…sorry it’s a vicious cycle.

6. All my so-called independent, girl power, feminist friends seem to want to talk about is marriage and kids…which if you know me at all, you know I find very uncomfortable.  Kids well…See Post: Slim To None…Those Are The Chances.  Marriage. I don’t know it just bugs me.  There I was sitting in a room trying to explain to 3 lovesick girls why I did not want to get married.  They all sat there telling me about how their parents had been married 20 something years and I was like…My mom’s been married 3 times, so yeah. CASE IN POINT. What actually bothers me the most about marriage is calling someone my husband. I HATE the word husband. I asked Julie if I could call him my musband instead.  She was like, “You could call him your forever boyfriend,”. I see what she did there. Never boyfriend forever boyfriend…real funny! But actually yeah, forget husbands and musbands, I could totally be into a forever boyfriend.  

7. I have a super fun weekend planned that is going to combine A Bug’s Life with Divergent minus the dystopian society if you can imagine. Can’t wait to tell you all about it!

Skeeze of the day goes to my friend at the bar for reminding me that being a GF (good friend) is hard and I suck at it.

 

 

Speaking of cigars, where the fuck is my picture?

College, Dating, Humor, Lifestyle, People, Relationships

That awkward moment when I get a snapchat from my roommate Connor saying he wishes I was there accompanied by a picture of our apartment.

Then, that awkward moment when I get a second snapchat moments later saying it was sent to the wrong person.

No worries Connor, I totally knew that was meant for someone else.  It’s not like I actually thought you might want me to be at our apartment hangin out together. Nope, didn’t think that at all.

That awkward moment when I give my phone number to a guy who started staring at his sneakers and whose volume dropped to a whisper as he asked.

Then, that awkward moment when I have to keep making excuses to not go out with him because I am a disgusting human being incapable of bluntly rejecting someone.

No really does mean no…not that I would know…ya know?

That awkward moment when I volunteer for a shift at work I have no desire to work or actual intention of working.

Then, that awkward moment when I have to explain to my boss that my volunteering was just a momentary lapse of judgement.

Or a ruse to make him think I am actually a good employee…Psych!

All are messages that were not meant to be sent.  Maybe communication really is key.

So, the other day, I walk in to my roommate Connor’s room and see a couple new picture frames sitting by his window.

Naturally, I am intrigued.

I casually walk closer to see exactly who Connor deemed important enough to inhabit these cheap, good-for nothing picture frames.  What did I see you ask?

Well, behind picture frame #1 : Connor and the Fire Whisperer

To me, this says… I’m a casual guy.  I feel confident in my manhood and am not afraid to have a picture of me and my same-sex bestie for the world to see.  Adam and Steve..Adam and Eve who cares?  Fuck, he’s like my brother.  

Then, behind picture frame #2: Connor, the Fire Whisperer (again *gasp*), and his newest old love interest (his ex and maybe new girlfriend) who we will now call Old Flame.  I’m not sure where I got my obsession with fire …since I’m an aquarius, a fucking water sign but whatever.  I digress.

To me, this says…This girl is on my mind.  I want to let her back into my life, but I need to know I can trust her.  Good thing the Fire Whisperer has my back.  I don’t want her to think she has won me back over quite yet.  I’m still a man.  Bros before hoes ya know?

While the pictures were sending all the right messages, I could not help but notice the absence of one message that I had been searching for.  If the message comes in a bottle I won’t be disappointed ya feel me?

Me: Connor, it seems like there is a picture missing here.

Connor: What do you mean?

Me: You know, like a certain someone is missing from these pictures.

Connor: My mom?

Me: No.

Connor: My dad?

Me: Still no.

Connor: My sister?

Me: Close but no cigar.  Speaking of cigars, WHERE THE FUCK IS MY PICTURE?

He sort of laughed, which I obviously did not find funny.  Who needs a million pictures of his bromance and an old flame when he’s got his lame pun-making, solid rent-paying, funny blog-posting roommate?

Who?!

I quickly cleared up a space for a third picture frame because a pair of picture frames just looks downright awkward anyway.  Every interior designer knows that frames come in three’s!  Behold the power of three… Three’s company.  Three is a charm.  Three is the number of times my mom has been married.

Then came the task of selecting which picture of us should be framed.

Let’s see, there is the one where I forced you to take a picture with me at the pub and you are making this awful I was forced into this face.  Ooh, or there is the one we took right after that where you are actually smiling, but the sentiment of you not wanting to take the picture still lingers.

Wait, how about that one we took together at your friend’s wedding that I begged you to take me to as your plus-one because I wasn’t invited.  Not all that different from the I was forced into this face but hey.

Oh, I’ve got it!  The one we took at the bar 8 months ago the night I cried to you about my never boyfriend…not all that different from last week.

Lots of great ones to choose from.

It all suddenly makes sense why Connor has no picture of us by his window.  There is now a small window of time for me to get a new picture of us…get it?  Window?  Fuck.

After perusing Connor’s photos and reliving our experiences together, I started to wonder if Connor and I were just roommates and not actually friends.

Who exactly does he think he is?  I have all the friendmate/roomend potential in the world.  Don’t believe me?

Connor needs love advice: I will get out the dating flash cards, white board, and will go all the way to Saudi Arabia, though I’m not sure what good that would do.

Connor is hungry but broke: I will work my corner, make us some quick cash and take that motherfucker to Buffalo Wild Wings the very next day.  I meant my corner office.

Connor needs a ride to work: I will hop in my silver four-door car, hand that fool the keys and ride with him to fucking work five minutes early.

What does a girl have to do to fucking prove I deserve a picture frame god damn it?

As you can see, I have been a little on edge lately.  Why?

1. There was a spricket in the only working stall in the bathroom at work.  I did not like that.  I did not like that one bit.

2. My showers are cold because our hot water is turned off.  Our landlord told us our apartment was all electric, but we actually have an imaginary gas bill we never received.  Anyone have a good lawyer because I’m ready to put him in some fucking metaphorical hot water.

3. I am broke.  I will take a corner office…hold the office if you know what I’m saying.

It has been a busy few weeks with no speed bumps, spike strips or any other signs of slowing down.  But, you know what would make it better?

It starts with a picture and ends in frame.

You know what else could start with the word picture and end in the word frame?  A fucking comment.  Leave one.

Skeeze Of The Day Goes Out To Chris J.

College, Dating, Humor, Lifestyle, People, Relationships

In honor of throwback Thursday, it is time that I told you about the curse…the Chris curse.

The Chris curse has plagued me for as long as I can remember, which I have to guess began sometime around middle school.

Without further ado, I give you…

The Rules of the Chris Curse:

1. Chris is always a boy.

I told my roommate Connor that there was nothing like a good lesbian moment to prove you are straight…I regret that very much.

2. Chris always has a girlfriend.  If he did not have a girlfriend…well that might just be too easy.  If Chris were single they may have never put It’s Complicated as a relationship status choice on Facebook.

3. Chris always likes me just a tad bit more than his girlfriend.  The level of which he likes both of us varies depending on the particular Chris involved.  I am never sure if it is the whole “want what you can’t have” concept or if I am just awesome.  I choose to think I am just awesome.

4. Chris’ girlfriend sends me packing in the meanest of manners.

Every single Chris I have ever, EVER met has met these four criteria to the tee.  I know what you are thinking.  This could happen with any guy.  It could be Bill, Bob, Joel, Ezekial, what the fuck ever, but NO.  This only happens with Chris, it only happens with me, and it only happens in this particular way.  So there.

While we are playing the name game, I want to quickly give a shout out to Diet Coke for their new “Sharing” campaign.  Thanks to the random selection of the vending machine, my diet coke had the fire whisperer’s real name printed across the back.  Nothing like a diet soda reminding you that your ex will never share anything with you again.

But back to the topic at hand, the Chris curse.

The Chris curse began in middle school, followed me throughout high school, and even managed to rear its ugly head a couple times in college.  It all led to what I hope, but despairingly know is not, the last Chris.

Chris J. we will call him.

Chris J. and I met in physics class after the tragic departure of my high school sweetheart my sophomore year of college.  His cute smile and gentle nature led me to believe he was the only one that could guide me through Newton’s Laws of Motion.

Newton’s Third Law of Motion: For every action…there is an equal and opposite reaction.

My Third Law of Motion: For every me…there is a girlfriend of Chris.

My perhaps not so equal but definitely opposite reaction was Chris J’s girlfriend of 4 years, K.  Let’s just call her K.

After many study sessions filled with hard work, laughter, and good spirits, Chris J. wanted to introduce me to his very serious but long distance girlfriend K.  He actually thought we were a lot alike…great.

I met K and immediately thought she was pretty, funny enough, and she had good shoes which seemed reason enough to like her.  After the breakup with my high school sweetie, I was looking high and low for girlfriends and there she was…I found her up high because she was much taller than me.

After a couple of hangout sessions with the three of us, we made plans for me to come visit them that summer.  I would call us a tripod but let’s face it…one leg needed to hit that road and I bet you know which one it is.

I flew down to see him, I mean them, that summer and naturally stayed at K’s house, which was practically a mansion because her dad was a dentist.  Her mom spent a grand at the mall one day while I was there and I was sure they were selling drugs on the side.  When I spend $50 at the mall I’m like…Whoah Savannah slow your roll…you still need to buy a soft pretzel.

Anyhow, my days there were spent meeting their families, swimming at K’s in-ground pool, and begging the two of them to take me to the Seabrook Psychic chanting “Seabrook psychic Seabrook psychic” over and over in the car…because yes, I am the kind of person that chants. I find psychic visits to be stupid but overwhelmingly entertaining.

All was going swell in my world until one day I woke up and K was not in her room.  I actually couldn’t find her anywhere, so I proceeded to watch a 7th Heaven marathon on tv.  Cable is a luxury not all of us can afford.

Eventually she came into her room and said

“CJ and I got in a fight,” to which I responded, “Do you want talk about it?”.

She did not want to talk about it.

She explained that the fight was about me and she did not feel comfortable with the closeness Chris J. and I shared.  Understandable.  I apologized for anything I felt like I could possibly apologize for and continued trying to be the best friend I could be at that point.  At that point I was in her house, her bedroom, watching 7th heaven on her tv.  What more could you really ask?

The next day, she drove me to the airport 4 hours early, which may have been the best time I had the whole trip.  I ate Mexican food and bought my family a million state-related gifts like jalapeno-flavored chocolate and hats because I had not spent any money on my trip.

After the fight, I never saw or spoke to Chris J. again.  I sent them both apology text messages and only received a few very spiteful responses from K.  I assumed Chris J. was in lock-down mode instated by K herself.

The truth is, the Chris curse hurts me and here’s why:

I like Chris…more than a friend.  Chris is sweet, Chris is fun and Chris is way too awesome for Chris’ girlfriend.  Well known around my home state for denying my feelings, I have never been able to admit how I felt about Chris (all Chris’)…until now.

I almost think I did not realize how I felt about them until I saw Chris J’s relationship status change to engaged on Facebook less than a year ago.  Chris J. and K are now married and on their way to societal bliss, which I would have fucking known had they just taken me to the damn Seabrook Psychic!

As you can imagine, my skeeze of the day goes to Chris J., which I like even more because it rhymes.

Skeeze of day goes out to Chris J., who I sincerely hope is the last Chris of my Chris curse.  Do you think it ends when one of the Chris’ secedes to holy matrimony?

Future cheers to the Chris who breaks the cycle!

…if Chris ever breaks the fucking cycle!

Or In Case Vegans Decide To Overthrow The Government…

College, Dating, Humor, Lifestyle, People, Relationships

I arrived home Friday night mostly wondering why the Lords of Dogtown cast was in my living room including but not limited to my roomie Connor, the fire whisperer, my boss, a coworker, and some guy who said our apartment could be a sitcom.

He was like, “You guys, a boy and a girl not dating, live in a badass loft apartment above a youth ministry service in walking distance from a quaint pub,” and I was like Hmmm, I don’t see your angle.  

Regardless, I knew it was a man’s world and I needed to peace the fuck out.  I put on my warpaint and left with my best gal pal Julie for a night on the town…only to meet up with the same boys later because really, who can stay away from boys?

To my great pleasure, I got drunk and I’m pretty sure I even announced a cheers to my bedroom being the place to be with both Dean and the fire whisperer (remember Dean?  See post: Who The Fuck Is In My Bed Right Now?).  In fact, I am certain that I should just share one great big bar picnic table with all my ex-boyfriends including the fire whisperer, the never boyfriend, my ex-roommates, current roommates, ex-friends, current friends, and hell let’s throw in my family and just make a night of it.  Who’s in?

First round is not on me.

It was a fun night only to be followed by an anything but epic Saturday watching the movie Divergent with my roommate Connor.  I explained to him how much I loved girl power movies like this because it got me all psyched up.  Why do you think I watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer for like 14 solid years of my life?

After watching movies like this, I go through these intense training phases where I do push-ups in my room and go jogging late at night listening to Eye of the Tiger…just in case I am the legendary vampire slayer prodigy, a zombie apocalypse is going to arise or in case vegans decide to overthrow the government (the most likely if you ask me).

Then, of course, there is the romance aspect of all these girl power movies.  I had to again explain to Connor that there is nothing better than a romantic rescue from a dreamy man my age.  In fact, I often consider putting myself in more danger just to increase my chances of being rescued.

I asked Connor what might be some potential rescue opportunities.  He suggested needing my oil changed, running out of gas, getting a flat tire, dead car battery, blown tire, overheated engine, small leak, and so on…I was like I’m sensing a pattern.  After naming every car-related rescue known to mankind, I was like I GET IT!

I am certainly not opposed to watching a guy fix my car…so long as he is shirtless, single, and actually capable of fixing my car.  I don’t have time for impostors, but perhaps an exception could be made depending on how similarly said impostor looks to Jared Leto.  Yes.  Exceptions can be made.

Connor must have felt pretty psyched up himself after watching the movie Divergent because he started punching me repeatedly in the leg all weekend.  Nothing like a good thigh punch to start your day…and continue it all day long…and end it as well.  Forget car-related rescues, anyone interested in rescuing me from my roommate’s left hook directed at my lower appendages?  What, no takers?  Awesome.

Oh and did I forget to mention Thursday’s laundry debacle?  By that, I am referring to using my only two girlfriend’s in town for their washer and dryer…which would’ve been great if I hadn’t waltzed in like I owned the place when one of them wasn’t home.

No worries, I was only to be greeted by one of her male roommate’s and the editor of the school newspaper.  Oh hey.  Just tryin to get those towels out of the dryer.  Pretend I’m not here..which I know firsthand is difficult because I’m trying really hard to do the same thing.  I was on my last sock and desperate times call for desperate measures.  Sometimes you have to use your friends for all they are worth…right?  Someone fucking confirm I am right.  Please.

It is now monday, which I formally attempted to cancel but was denied higher consent.  Drinks have been drank.  Cheers have been made.  My laundry is done.  My beaten legs have healed… And I missed a meeting, showed up a half hour late for a shift at work I did not know I had, and even managed to mess up a great opportunity…but fuck…It is monday after all.  We all have to start somewhere right?

FYI: I would love to start somewhere that involves lots and lots of commentary…you feel me?

The Sky Is The Limit

College, Humor, Lifestyle, People

So, I came back from my trip only to find out that my professor (let’s just call her Professor Bitch from now on) is giving me a zero on one of the assignments because of the day she assigned it, even after telling me it would be okay before I left.  Oh yeah, guess I should have just scanned it and sent it to you from our built-in car fax machine.  I was like F=1/2 mv superscript fuck!

I’d like to tell you that I told that bitch how it was…but I did not.  I always tell people that I’m not a doormat and will stand up for myself when the time comes.  But somehow my watch always skips a tick or a tock and before you know it it’s 5:00, a time for drinking not confidence building exercises.  So now, not only do I get a zero on the assignment, but I’m also 3 weeks ahead of everyone else because they did not get to the other assignment.

I am surprisingly glad to be home.  Despite Professor Bitch’s attempt to ruin my week, I was super stoked to be back around people that understand my twenty-something year old plight and who do not think shots of whiskey are the end of life as we know it.

Do you know what is the end of life as we know it?!  The fucking ice bucket challenge.  It’s not a fucking cure for global warming and apparently not for ALS either.  Stop pouring ice on your head like you just won the Superbowl and challenge yourself to donate some fucking money.  Bucket O’ Green challenge for you Irish folk.

Lately, I find myself using the phrase, “I’m not about that life.”  Someone says, “Hey, you should go do the ice bucket challenge.”  and I reply, “I’m not about that life.”

Today, I was like Okay you hipster Savannah, what life are you about?  My immediate inclination was thug life.  I like to listen to rap music loudly in my car, walk while I drag one leg behind me, and fuck I’m all about getting some tits in my face at the nearest strip joint.

Okay, but seriously.  What life am I about?  I have sort of put my life on the line applying for journalism master’s programs that I really have no business applying to.  But there is the lingering thought…What happens if I don’t get accepted?

Stripping and prostitution seem like the most obvious answer, but let’s face it, my love just doesn’t come for free despite what my skeezy roommate Connor might suggest.  In fact, my love comes for a high price, sort of like the ones they don’t list next to expensive gowns and jewelry in catalogs or like the restaurant menus with no numbers after the decimal point.  There are also lots of commitment strings attached.  It’s really like a big fucking celebrity rider.  Must show up for important life events…Needs access to ice cream at various times of the day…Must have an broad knowledge of things like pilot lights, spare tires, and pension… whatever the fuck that is.

Since any form of sexual entertainment is off the table for now, I’m inclined to think marrying rich is my only real option.  While knowing how to inoculate an agar plate or focus a fluorescent microscope on a specimen may seem like practical applications in the real world…they are not.  They are about as practical as knowing how to open a beer bottle with a quarter and a magnet.  Here’s a job!  SAID NO ONE EVER!

I told Connor I could try stand-up comedy and he was like…”Why?  So you can laugh at all your jokes like you do now?”  I was like well fuck, someone has to.  Then I informed him that the field of comedy was limited to overweight men and insecure women…………………….so come see me at open mic night Wednesdays 7:00 at our local Holiday Inn (no not the Chingy song).  Thank god it does not interfere with karaoke Tuesdays at Motel 6.

Here’s the thing, my Bachelor’s Degree in Biology is fucking worthless.  It’s the most 8 1/2 X 11 thing you’ve ever seen and it just mocks me.  Look at me, I’m just a piece of paper.  It only took you 12 grand in loans, approximately 8 million flash cards, and 10 heartbreaks…but hey I’m here!  Just chillin on your wall…in a frame…from the ole Hobby Lobby.  

I got an email the other day from our Alumni Association basically asking for success stories from recent graduates and I wanted to commit suicide.  I felt like emailing them back and telling them how I could not find a job so I started having sex with professors for money, acquired a gambling addiction, and was now running with the basketball player crowd encouraging them to shave points this season.  How’s that for success you stupid sons of bitches?

Regardless of whether or not I get accepted into a Master’s Program, I have decided I am finally leaving my college town this summer.  Everyone keeps asking me where I’m going and I just reply, “The sky is the limit.” which is code for…I have no fucking idea.

This means I have almost a year left to leave with the biggest bang possible.  Preferably the most bang for my buck if you know what I’m sayin’ …I think you do.  I am currently working on a list of how to make this the best last year here ever, one which I will fully intend to share with you in my next post.

My skeeze of the day goes to this older guy at the bar the other night.  I was completely wasted and he tried to kiss me and then asked if I wanted to go home with him.  Points for being straight forward, but trying to take advantage of me in my drunken state…so skeezy.  I remember telling him no, walking my little 5’0 self home, and then at some point puking.  For the record, age is not just a number.  It’s often two numbers that stand side by side and are listed in order of priority.  Whether that first number is a 1, 2, 3, or a 4 has started to become very important these days…no matter how drunk I am.

If you wanted to drop a comment in that box…I’d be cool with it.  Just so you know.