Who does that?!

Dating, Humor, Relationships

Well. I’ll start with Sunday night.

I got extremely drunk.


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.



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 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 1920s.

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? It’s 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 co-worker.

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  I can tell which beer is mine out of the 10 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…


The truth is, I’m sort of angry with my bed. While sleeping, my laptop fell off the bed to its 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. Be warned, it’s going to be killer, literally, 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.


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.

It’s Like My Dad All Over Again

Dating, Humor, Relationships

I went to the bar to casually (may or may not) meet someone for drinks. Unfortunately this someone had become a serial bailer which I only 3/4 expected.

Luckily his absence landed me the attention of a dreamy young man shooting pool. Unfortunately after making out in the front seat of some old fashioned car to which I could not figure out the fucking door handle, he started to throw around catch phrases.

“I don’t want you to think I just wanted to sleep with you,”

“We should go upstairs,”

“I think you’re interesting. As a person.”

“So, my ex-girlfriend…”

He had gone from 0-60 so fast and was not even using his cool car in the process.

I was like…Who said anything about all that?

I mean your face is a 10 but let’s face it your body’s more like a 6 and mine’s dancing dangerously between a 7 and 8.

Okay okay, I’ll admit I have always been bad with numbers. My body is probably more 4-6 range but hey who wants an equal partner? I am looking to trade up!

His playbook cited phrases led me to an extremely long attempt at getting out of the car. Again, that door handle was fucking difficult as fuck and this girl has been blue balling it since high school.

While I could have left the car upset at his blatant attempt to sleep with me or for making out with some random guy, I mostly felt awesome that I finally kissed someone who wasn’t my ex-boyfriend. Can someone say bucket list?

In addition, most of my ex-boyfriends had not been so generically attractive so I was stoked. I mean my high school sweetie was kind of a babe but I think I yawned through the majority of our relationship.

Needless to say, I spent the next day mostly forgetting that “I” came before “J” in the alphabet and awaiting the return of my favorite roommate.

I returned to our apartment to find the rent money laid out on my bed in neat columns. I was like…Does this mean we’re going to the strip club? Couples lap dance say what?!

We didn’t.

My roommate’s old flame has moved back into town so he already had plans. As he stood in the doorway I pleaded him to stay (mostly for dramatic effect). I picked up our mini basketball and said these charming words…

“It’s like my dad all over again,”

We both laughed and he left…which actually worked pretty well considering I already had plans for the night too (that phrase applies to my dad as well wink face). Unwink face, dad and wink face in the same statement is creepy as fuck.

I went and had dinner with my old roomies Preston, Conner and James where for 3 whole minutes thought about how upsetting it was that people in the world were starving without food and other nourishment…until the waitress dropped off our chips and queso and I was like…Whoah Savannah! Charitable you is so 3 minutes ago! 

But back to my roommate…

Despite my roomies’ dollar layout on my bed there is a part of me that wished I would have waited for him to go pay the rent because our landlord always gives me such a hard time. This time their office had a new nickname for me.

Drinking Queen.

I played it off all cool…Whatever could you mean?

She was like…

“Your name is on a chair at the bar,”

I was all like…

“You noticed that huh?”

I am sure my parents would love that nickname.

They probably ask one another daily…

Oh honey, aren’t you glad we raised such a beautiful, hard-working, intelligent, loving, again beautiful alcoholic?

Yes. The answer is yes every time.

I used to try and hide my hangovers from them (i.e. wearing sunglasses at the breakfast table – “No it’s not because I’m light sensitive!”), but now I just explain to them what really happened.

Mom! Dad! So I was walking home last night and the craziest thing happened! This large, dark-skinned man walked up to me and held me at gunpoint telling me I would not be released until I took 6 shots of whiskey, 2 shots of vodka, drank a couple beers and shot a few games of pool. What was a girl to do? Aren’t you SO relieved I am safe at home right now?

Anyhow, when Connor got home we talked about our time apart. His was good. Mine was good. Somehow (I really have no idea how. Really. No idea.) he got this impression that some crazy shit went down with me while he was gone.

It kind of did (story for another post). Nothing, however, he would find interesting.

He did.

He starting roaming around my room saying that he was going to get to the bottom of this.

I was like…

“Good luck,”

That was the moment I realized I sounded like a Taken trailer. Again, can someone say bucket list?

He picked up a pair of inside out jeans on the floor and said…

“It looks like there was a struggle,’

Believe it or not, he is as awful a person as I am.

Long story short, my roommate is back say what?!

I’m 5 days hungover say what?!

And…I can now without a doubt assure you I do not care one bit about world hunger. (*whisper* say what?!)

My parents are proud.

Not necessary but would you like me to put the Rufi in it for you?

Dating, Humor, People, Relationships

(I really don’t want to have to explain this, in the same way I did not want to begin this blog post with parentheses, but a necessary evil. Throughout the post I will be mentioning numbers which are referring to my New Year’s post, 99 problems…and 2015 is one.)

So there I was crying and watching How I Met Your Mother (HIMYM).

I know you commenters told me to stay away but Robin’s my girl. While some have deemed me the third (technically fourth if you count grandma) Gilmore girl, I wanted 5 dogs long before they produced HIMYM. Just ask my high school sweetie…just maybe don’t mention my name in the process considering we are not exactly on speaking terms.

If you watch HIMYM, then you know, like most good shows there are a lot of pretty “epic” moments.

Last night, I had one.

Again, there I was, crying and watching HIMYM. I said to myself,

This isn’t you.

Even though this is definitely one of my many sides let’s get real. This is like the fucking epitome of me…notice how epitome ends in “me?”

I dropped my laptop. Literally. (#1 accomplished)

I put on my lowest cut top that looks like I’m not trying too hard, but still somewhat hard (that’s what she said…or someone said, I am leaning towards Robin). I put on mascara, red boots and my trench coat (it was raining just so you have a little scene setting) and headed to meet one of the most independent women I know…Abigail.

If you want a small tidbit on Abigail see post: Bitch Thinks I Use Flash Cards. To answer your question, yes, Abigail is the bitch who you thinks I use flash cards. I do.

I get to the bar and explain to Abigail that prior to my 5 minute hair and makeup fix, I was crying and watching HIMYM. She asked if it was the episode and I was all like…


She turned towards the bartender and said,

“We are going to need shots.”

A girl after my own heart.

I knew that I had to get fixed up and go to the bar because while there is a side of me that likes to sit at home crying/watching netflix, there is another side of me that is determined to charm every guy on the planet (specifically men in the service industry and coworkers) and make them fall in love with me then never actually give them a chance. Just call me Britney Spears because…Oops, I did it again.

The other day, my friend Kelsey and I went to get food where I think she was pretty excited to watch me harass the cashier, because this is not exactly uncommon for me.

Kelsey was all like…Can I get uh…where I interrupted her raising my voice (#70 complete) a little…Tell her no! Tell her no! She’s asking for it!

He ignored me and was like…Sure…to which I replied, “Psh, you’ll say yes to anything.

He still didn’t give me much more than a smirk (rookie mistake) which only made me want to push his buttons…more and more.

Anyhow, back to last night.

I pretty quickly had some guy compliment me on my red heeled boots and I was all like…Rank them on a scale of 1 to 10 go!

Surprisingly he did…Men really will say yes to anything I swear. But be warned if you say no to me, I will do almost everything in my powers to turn that frown upside down so to speak…turn the no into a yes if you didn’t get that lame joke.

Long story short, Abigail and I had a night out on the town where we ended up being some of the last people in a bar dancing to some song that keeps saying “Ima make you beg for it.” I am pretty sure the last 3 guys in the bar thought they won the lottery because of our not so stripper striptease. Not because of me (See #89), but because of my really hott friend Abigail with implants.

Then there I was…with my temporary tattoo from New Year’s, because yes. Yes I am the kind of person who would put on a temporary tattoo for New Year’s.

The truth is, I do not want to be the bummed out girl who is once again crying over the fire whisperer.

At first, I was all like…How am I gonna get over him?

Then I was like wait! You have gotten over the fire whisperer like 500 times, there is practically no one more qualified! I am so qualified to get over the FW that I could put it on my resume under both the skills and previous employment sections.

Piece. Of. Cake. Do you want to know what isn’t a piece of cake?

A piece of a pie. A piece to a puzzle. And also…trying to get food this morning while I’m hungover.

Skeeze of the day goes to this guy who offered to “carry my drink” last night. Not necessary but would you like me to put the Rufi in it for you?


Electronics go together right?

Dating, Humor, Lifestyle, People, Relationships

I apologize for my leave of absence, but I have had the flu…or at least so my doctor says.

I was like…

What exactly was it that tipped you off? My hair? This sweater? My negative flu test results?

She sent me home with flu medication which will be great!  …if I actually have the flu.

I know Dr.Slut was busy and overwhelmed by a ton of other patients and probably exhausted from the holidays but what does it take to get a freaking Z-Pak around here?! …which by the way is an antibiotic not a rapper.

Having the flu has brought back a lot of cherished memories for me. Like for instance what it’s like to feel your ears pop a hundred times every time you swallow. Or that awesome sensation you get in your throat just before you cough up mucus. And last but certainly not least, the ever memorable sneezing uncontrollably and then awkwardly wiping away snot in front of peers and coworkers.

Ah, but have no fear, I did not let this so-called flu interfere with my Christmas spirit.

This year, the question on everyone’s mind was…What did my mom get me for Christmas?

This has been an ongoing joke amongst my friends after last year’s Christmas debacle when my mom bought me a tablet case…for the tablet I don’t have and online photography lessons…for the camera I don’t have.

After Christmas had ended, my mom approached me smad (sad/mad) that I seemed a little disappointed by my gifts that year. She threw all the fun words at me selfish, childish, rude, cranky…you fill in the blanks.

I blamed it on mother nature then immediately started looking forward to next Christmas, laughing in expectancy of the slew of useless but equally charming Christmas gifts my mom would get me.

Leave it to my mom to throw a curveball. Instead, she got me all these gifts I do like. The nerve!

After an even more disappointing Christmas than expected, I took my potentially flu-ridden self and headed back to my college town in a car full of awesome Christmas presents…ugh.

But before that…because believe it or not, there was a before that…

Here’s what you missed:

1. I got an internship!

So…that happened. I answered the phone in a really bitchy voice thinking that it was one of the million car insurance companies that kept calling me after I filled out a couple of car quotes online but instead it was this sweet lady offering me a summer internship.

Hey stupid car insurance company calling me again?! Wait, you’re calling to offer me an internship? Thanks! And by thanks I mean never call this number again! Ya hear?!

Needless to say I was a little caught off guard but still extremely excited!

My internship is with a newspaper in the features department no big deal! My friends keep asking me what a feature is and I try to explain it to them…

Let’s say a puppy were to climb up a tree and save a kitten from a burning branch…

Everyone behold my future in journalism.

2. I may have…hungoutwiththefirewhisperer. (If you don’t know who the Fire Whisperer is…you may have to read my entire blog starting here: Kisses Here and There) Moving on.

He asked me if I had ever considered getting a journal…I was like…You think my blog is juicy?! You should see my diary…

3. Preston (If you don’t know who Preston is, see post: Not Even For a Million Dollars) got me some unique Christmas presents this year. The first being a gift card to the nail salon. Practical. Thoughtful. The second one being…Do I have to say it?

A vibrator.

He had been joking about it for a while so I thought it was exactly that…a joke. Turns out, not so much. I accepted the gift casually. No big deal. Just a gift. From Preston. I can take a joke. This is a joke right?!

I was feeling cool as a cucumber for a while but then things took a turn for the worse when I decided to clean my room.

I kept picking up the gift and then moving it somewhere else, quickly realizing I had no idea where it belonged.

Where exactly do you put a vibrator in your room?

Oh how bout over here by my curling iron? Electronics go together right?

Why not under the bed? I can’t put it near the bed!!!! People will think!

Perhaps in this drawer…that no one will ever open…until that day…when someone decides to open it!

Do you hide it somewhere just waiting for the day when someone finds it and gives you that look like…Why were you hiding this Savannah?

Do you put it out in the open for everyone to see? No big deal. It’s just my…

I finally set it down in this basket thing and finished cleaning my room because lord knows nothing was getting clean while I moved a vibrator from location to location in my room and closet.

Let me know if you have any suggestions. Keep in mind the open door policy at my apartment (we have no doors) so people do tend to…roam.

One of my other friends asked me if Preston got it for me as a joke or if he really thought I needed it.

I looked right.

I looked left.

I don’t know. Probably both.


4. Dean (If you do not know who Dean is read post: Who The Fuck Is In My Bed Right Now?) helped me carry in all my Christmas presents, in order to show me some Southern hospitality in accordance with his adorable Southern accent…did I mention adorable?!

Okay so I think you’re mostly caught up on the on-goings, goings on, whatevers of my life.

Sneak Preview:

1. New Year’s I am having a major girl’s night out and a killer blog post I secretly promised you.

2. I have the apartment to myself for a few more days now, which we all know is a recipe for trouble…naked trouble.

3. I have this awesome new red dress…and currently no real plans to wear it but damn! Dayyyyuuuummmm! It looks good!

My skeeze of the day goes to dun dun dun…the fire whisperer AGAIN! He got all excited to show me this song that just says the word “sleeze” repeatedly! Sleeze and skeeze…TOTALLY different.

Leave a comment you silent, quiet, boring, sleezy, skeezy motherfuckers!

99 Problems…and 2015 is one.

Dating, Humor, Lifestyle

Instead of resolutions for the new year of 2015, I am going to create problems…99 to be exact. You ready?

1. I’m going to fuck something up. Technologically speaking. I may drop my cell phone in a sink full of soapy water. I may get a virus on my computer. Who knows, I may set my hair on fire with the blow dryer. The possibilities are endless when you have a power cord and an outlet. Just ask my hair straightener (See Post: Hell Week)

2. I am going to get a tattoo that I hate. I will hate it so much that I try to scrub it off in the shower. And fail. Every time I look at it I will feel disgusted with myself. It will also be in a very noticeable place so that I lose out on 25% of the jobs I apply for in the future and receive 10% more dirty looks from the elderly. Kids these days.

3. I am going to spend too much money shopping online. New shoes here, skinny jeans there. Oh look! I’m broke!

4. I am going to paint my nails and then mess them up because I was too impatient to let them dry.

5. I am going to let my car run out of gas. I’ll have completely forgotten I was getting close to empty and then my car will just stop in the middle of a big intersection…during 5:00 traffic.

6. I am going to lose something important to me. Probably my favorite necklace, an earring or my favorite vinyl record. Poof. Gone. To the place where all bobby pins, socks and important papers go.

7. I am going to trip and fall in front of a lot of people. I will be drunk in front of my favorite two ex-boyfriends and then just bite it. For the next week and half there will be a shameful red mark on my forehead from the concrete on the bar patio.

8. I am going to be clingy. I am going to static cling so hard to someone that they will write a chick flick about it calling me some painfully similar name like Havannah or Samara.

9. I am going to get jealous. Green is not a good color for me.

10. I am going to overeat. I will eat so much that I make myself sick and then wonder what I ever did to deserve it.

11. I am going to start a book, stop midway and never go back to finish it.

12. I am going to sleep through my alarm and be late for work.

13. I am going to drink coffee or soda right before I go to bed and lie there all night crunching numbers from my bank account in correspondence to all the car parts I need replaced.

14. I am going to develop a new crush for someone completely unavailable. They will have a girlfriend of 5 years, be a religious freak obsessed with celibacy or be in some awkward position of authority to me.

15. I am going to make my parents mad at me.

16. I am going to make my roommate mad at me.

17. I am going to make EVERYONE I KNOW mad at me.

18. I am going to quit drinking soda…then relapse…8 times.

19. I am going to forget to water my plants.

20. I am going to lock my keys in the car.

21. I am going to say something inappropriate too loudly.

22. I am going to add fuel to a fire. Any fire.

23. I am going to get into a fender bender.

24. I am going to say the opposite of what I mean. Hello (goodbye). Yes (no). Go right (go left).

25. I am going to bring up politics. That’s always a problem. See #22 .

26. I am going to borrow something and never give it back. NEVER!

27. I am going to leave dishes in the sink for several days.

28. I am going to leave the lid to a bottle unscrewed too loosely allowing the liquid to spill all over the inside of my purse. My version of water boarding.

29. I am going to cause a jam in the copy machine at work, which should be easy considering it usually does this without my administrative assistance.

30. I am going to listen to music too loudly while my roommate Connor is trying to sleep…and sing along, because what is music really without my backup vocals?!

31. I am going to take an hour long shower. A hot one. Hot applying in both versions (hot and hott). Sorry roomie there wasn’t enough hotness/hotness for the both of us.

32. I am going to get a flat tire. But probably in the middle of nowhere so that I can wholeheartedly confirm to my stepdad that I wasn’t listening when he tried to teach me how to install a spare tire.

33. I am going to go to a horror movie and be so scared by it that I can’t sleep. Ever. Again. Or look in a mirror…cuz’ those are just fucking creepy.

34. I am going to leave my house being all…I don’t need a jacket. It feels great outside! Then….realize I did need a jacket.

35. I am going to say something unintentionally mean to someone. Wow you look tired today. Are you pregnant? Oh I thought that skirt was supposed to have a hole in it.

36. I am going to drop a glass on the wood floors of our apartment…and never sweep. This way both my roomie and I can find every last piece of glass with our feet…or better yet with my hands when I’m crawling on the floor drunk.

37. I am going to wear a button up shirt that is way too right and then flash everyone when the button over my boobs keeps popping open.

38. I am going to cuss/swear in front of my boss. Fuck.

39. I am going to lose my traffic ticket virginity.

40. I am going to forget to pay my cell phone bill on time and then get my phone shut off…mid- conversation with a guy I really like.

41. I am going to leave my purse at the bar…again.

42. I am going to get thrown out of the bar…completely sober.

43. I am going to fall asleep at work. Nighty night boss, coworkers and patrons.

44. I am going to cut my legs shaving, probably in one of those high-risk areas like my kneecap or around my ankle.

45. I am going to pocket dial someone while I’m singing something embarrassing in my car loudly…like Katy Perry or Taylor Swift.

46. I am going to vomit in public…I’d like to say it will be because of a stomach virus but let’s face it I had one too many margaritas.

47. I am going to drunkenly text all my ex-boyfriends, reaching an all time high for the FW.

48. I am going to drunkenly text my mom and tell her I love her….with a proceeding text that says I’m drunk.

49. I am going to forget an important person’s birthday. Not like Barack Obama but someone important to me…like Michelle Obama.

50. I am going to get locked out of my apartment at like 4 a.m. and then call my roommate crying, no sobbing, asking him to let me in. If he doesn’t answer…try try try again.

51. I am going to go to a casino and lose all my money…which likely won’t be a big time commitment considering the amount of digits in my bank account.

52. I am going to get dehydrated.

53. I am going to pronounce something wrong in front of a lot of people. Like instead of pronouncing colonel like kernel, I am going to sound it out…col-o-nel.

54. I am going to take a naked selfie on snapchat then exit out, only to realize all naked selfies on snapchat get leaked…luckily my snapchat username has no resemblance to my real name and most people don’t care as much about me as say…Jennifer Lawrence.

55. I am going to go several days without showering until someone actually notices…then says something to me about it.

56. I am going to be swinging my purse around then accidentally hit someone with it.

57. I am going to press the button that opens my car trunk by accident and leave it open for hours so that my battery dies and I no longer own an old basketball, jumper cables and windshield wiper fluid.

58. I am going to forget to turn my headlights on…and get pulled over…again.

59. I am going to wear lip gloss, my hair down and a short skirt…all on the same windy day.

60. I am going to tell a guy I just want to be friends…….who also just wanted to be friends you arrogant freak!

61. I am going to try and open a bag of chips during a lecture…quietly.

62. I am going to make a huge deal out of something, anything really, that’s not actually a huge deal. THIS STAPLER IS OUT OF STAPLES!

63. I am going to get in a heated argument with someone in comment form over the internet. Not on wordpress hopefully. It will probably be on some yahoo article about a celebrity. Everyone knows that actress is a whore! I hate her….and her long legs, eyelashes and boyfriend track record!

64. I am going to get in a drinking competition…and lose…but make sure everyone goes down with me!

65. I am going to wear a brightly colored bra under a transparent shirt…which of wouldn’t have done if our freaking apartment had better lighting!

66. I am going to break my sunglasses. It’s inevitable.

67. I am going to give a friend bad advice. YES you should go out with your ex-boyfriend that cheated on you with 5 girls and 2 guys! The answer is simple.

68. I am going to say I am going to do something that I am definitely not going to do. Yeah, we should totally go out sometime! And by sometime I mean NEVER!

69. I am going to text someone in a way that makes them think I’m mad at them. I’m not mad at them. But they think I am. It’s all very complex…

70. I am going to raise my voice. That’s right. Consider it risen! (Get your minds out of the gutter!)

71. I am going to get my nose ring caught in a sweater. It’s my own form of self-torture. Some albinos tie a spiked strap around their thigh…I go sweater shopping.

72. I am going to gain 5-6 pounds. Then lose 5-6 pounds. Then gain 5-6 pounds. Then lose…you get the idea.

73. I am going to press the wrong button on the elevator. Fuck the 3rd floor! I’ve always hated it!

74. I am going to wear converse on a rainy day. Sloshity slosh slosh sloshin all day.

75. I am going to “accidentally” forget my wallet one too many times with the same person.

76. I am going to get too drunk…if there is such a thing.

77. I am going to mistakenly kiss one of my friends. Probably drunkenly but I wouldn’t put it past me sober either.

78. I am going to watch too much netflix.

79. I am going to develop vision problems, likely correlated with #78…this wouldn’t be a problem if I had vision insurance. I don’t.

80. I am going to say the right thing…but at the wrong time.

81. I am going to say the wrong thing…but at the right time?

82. I am going to be the third wheel…and then the fifth wheel…and any other wheel that is unnecessary for motion.

83. I am going to cry myself to sleep and get a combination of eye shadow, eyeliner and mascara on the whitest of my pillows.

84. I am going to listen to my music in the car so loudly that I don’t notice the bright lights and sirens coming from the 3 firetrucks and 1 ambulance riding my metaphorical ass.

85. I am going to wipe my eyes right after putting my makeup on so that for the rest of the day people keep asking me if I got in a fight. I will have no idea what they are talking about and just assume that I look equally vulnerable and feisty that day.

86. I am going to apologize WAY too many times. I’m sorry for this. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for being so fucking sorry.

87. I am going to start saying one particular phrase annoyingly often. Players gonna play Katie. Players gonna play Connor. Players gonna play Andy. PLAYERS GONNA FUCKING PLAY!

88. I am going to purchase an extremely unflattering pair of jeans. My mom’s jeans will be better than these.

89. I am going to dance while I’m drunk…which you would know is a problem if you have ever seen me dance while I’m drunk…or when I’m sober really. Me and dancing not so much.

90. I am going to press the wrong number on an old fashioned calculator during an extremely long calculation. CE…clear fucking everything.

91. I am going to get a fucking stupid fortune in a fortune cookie.

92. I am going to turn up the thermostat so high that I am hot all night, but not awake enough to go turn it down.

93. I am going to lose cell phone service…when I need cell phone service?

94. I am going to get lost while using the GPS on my phone.

95. I am going to get a jealous of my friend…every thought I have will end in the words “than me.”

96. I am going to hit decline on an important phone call all because I am not finished singing the song that is playing.

97. I am going to put off my laundry for so long that I run out socks.

98. I am going to see a spider somewhere…and think really hard about killing it…then run!

99. I am going to have the most problematic year ever…get excited!

99 problems…and New Year’s is one!

A crowbar huh?

College, Dating, Humor, Lifestyle, People, Relationships

#liveinahouse #eatfoodtosurvive #Ihavefivesensessometimessix

Hash tag this hash tag that


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…


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.


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!


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.


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…


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…


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.


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?”


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


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


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

He loves me.


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.


That Girl

Dating, Humor, Lifestyle, People, Relationships

That that that. I want to use the word “that” in almost every sentence I formulate but it turns out… that that is not necessary.

That dress.

That book.

That song.

I want to be buried with a tombstone that just says “that girl.”

That’s that.

I hate grammar and you know what else I hate?

Christmas sweaters. I think they’re fucking stupid and it makes me so angry that I can’t outwardly express it and end up internalizing it to a point of extreme physical aggression that I only exhibit when cleaning my kitchen counters.

That shit is spot free.

Anyhow…(still working on the transition phrases but hey! Look how well “anyhow” flows here)

I am aware it has been awhile since my last post and I have a lot of really good reasons for this.

A dog ate my blog post, not my own dog because I don’t have one, but someone’s dog. Perhaps the fucking annoying one that keeps barking downstairs ensuring me that “love thy neighbor” will always be a real fucking bitch. Literally.

I have also been really really sick. Cough. Cough. Sneeze. Sneeze. I always cough and sneeze in pairs.

To add to all of these really fine excuses, I mean reasons, why I have not posted in awhile I just got a new Rick Springfield 45 vinyl and have been pretty occupado singing Jessie’s Girl in nothing but socks, a white button-up and sunglasses.

Jessie is a friend. Yeah I know he’s been a good friend of mine. But lately something’s changed it’s hard to define. Jessie’s got himself a girl and I wanna make her mine.

Risky business.

Cause she’s watching him with those eyes. And she’s lovin’ him with that body I just know it!

Sorry I was not done quite yet.

The 45 setting on my record player is a little fucked up so imagine that same thing but slower.

Jjjjjeeessssiiiiieeee iiiisssss aaaa fffrrriiieeennnddd.

Slow Rick Springfield kinda sets the mood ya know?

It has been so long since my last post I have no real idea where to start, stop, continue or find my missing in action take home final.

I am not applying for any master’s programs. Some combination of financial struggle, fear of rejection and my own laziness contributed to this final decision. No big or small envelopes coming through the post office for this little lady.

I did, however, decide to apply for some summer internships. I have had two interviews thus far and so few words to describe them with.

I hate wearing dark, business casual tights, trying to convince people I am better than I actually am and Christmas sweaters…I hate those too.

Speaking of things I hate…too many tabs being pulled up on my laptop. Who is the fucker that opened up all of these internet tabs? Facebook. Netflix. Your email. Christ.

No master’s program, applied for internships…what else is new?

Oh, my library crush. Do you remember way back when I mentioned being on the elevator with an attractive guy fresh from the hallway with the vending machines? See post: It’s All A Matter of Perspective Really .

That. My friends. Is my library crush.

While I have been determined to ask him to ask me for my number, he is suddenly nowhere to be found!

Fuck that. Ya know?

He should probably get his act together and get his ass to the library because finals are coming up!

That way I can imagine myself approaching him like five more times before I admit to myself I never actually planned on doing it in the first place, then I can lie to my coworkers saying “I’m over it,” and tell them I thought he was more attractive than he actually is.

I have been imagining us in the elevator together.

Me: Do you wanna make out?

Library Crush: (slight pause in surprise) No.

Me: Me neither.

I feel like by the time he has rejected me, at least one of us will have reached our elevator destination.

Is there an 80’s song called Elevator Love? I feel like there should be.

So, last night I went to two Christmas parties.

Christmas party one was a work party held at the most beautiful house with the most beautiful Christmas decorations I have ever seen.

It had high ceilings and a Christmas tree that looked like it belonged in a department store. I kept awkwardly asking my coworker if I could come over and read a book in her living room, but fuck, it looked like a fucking Christmas cottage.

I imagine myself in her living room sipping on hot chocolate non-sans marshmallows reading a really distasteful novel near the window…staring…no gazing out at the streets thinking about my French lover who is separated from me due to family troubles and a denied visa and who is no doubt listening to Jessie’s Girl and thinking of me and only me.

Christmas party two was with the school newspaper, which apparently is dominated by male sports writers who are young, shy and cannot envision French lovers, Christmas cottages or how in the world Jessie ended up with the girl that he did.

I must really be feeling the 80’s these days because I bought leg warmers while I was supposed to be Christmas shopping for everyone else. I know it’s really selfish but it’s like fuck, you fuckers are so difficult to shop for but me. I know exactly what I want.

I often times think instead of gifts everyone should exchange money in proportion to one’s financial situation, but in my case would unfortunately result in a lot of one-way exchanges.

On the plus side, I can go to sleep at night knowing that no one will ever marry me for my money. A legitimate concern for some.

There are lots of advantages to being poor like when you go out to dinner with your friends and you try to pay, then they all give you that look like…I’ll get this one Savannah. We know you need that money.

One time I went to the bar and did not bring any form of money whatsoever. I swear every guy in the bar casually asked me why I was drinking water and I was all coy about it.

Oh you know, just trying to stay hydrated.

I’m still hungover from last night.

I’m trying to cut back.

Fuck. You caught me. I’m broke.

I left the bar wasted as fuck.

I am going to write a book called “The Perks of Being Poor”.

Catchy right?

I don’t actually want to fucking write a book. I hate books. Not really, but I don’t want to fucking write one.

You tell people you’re a writer and they automatically assume you want to write a book.

I’m always like…No I actually just want to write lists, grocery lists, to-do lists, a list that will fucking explain to you I don’t fucking want to write a book!

Sometimes I want to write a book.

Weight. Off. My. Chest.

Anyways, my new nickname for my roommate Connor is dodecahedron. I keep telling him he needs more sides for all the side chicks he’s got. Roommates got game ya know?

I actually think I may need less sides. Like a 1/2 side for my lack of game.

Ole dodecahedron has a new nickname for me as well. Lasagna.

We went to eat at an Italian restaurant and kept telling the server to wait and come back for our orders because we couldn’t decide. Twenty minutes later I ordered lasagna and dodecahedron could not stop laughing.

Me: Why the fuck are you laughing right now?

Dodecahedron: You waited all that time and then ordered lasagna.

Me: You know what Connor?! I love lasagna! I AM lasagna! Every time I ask anyone what Italian dish they think I am, it’s lasagna EVERY TIME!

Dodecahedron: Why, because you have so many layers?

Dodecahedron’s got jokes.

(If you are new to my blog and want to know more about Dodecahedron See Post: That’s My Roommate)

I am now on season six of Gilmore Girls and about 98.2% more emotionally invested than I was before.

Good cop/ bad cop is a real thing.

I have added a verse to my song “Why Do I Put Things In Such Weird Places,” that goes something like…Why do I lose my cell phone at such inconvenient times?

I have waited my whole life to become a one hit wonder.

I like T’Swift’s song Blank Space. I can’t help it. I’ll be humming casually in my car and then suddenly realize it’s to the tune of that song and then belt out the rest loudly. It’s so fucking catchy but also makes me mad.

The whole song is about money which kind of targets a sensitive topic for me because I sort of imagine asking T’Swift to spot me a twenty at the bar and her being all like…Bitch no.

I actually think the song is about dating and not money, but because I am concerned about money am projecting that onto the song like one of the Rorschach ink blot tests.

New Money. Suit and Tie. I can read you like a magazine.

Did she just say money? God all she fucking thinks about is money!

I actually do have a disdain for Taylor Swift, not only because Time deemed her “American’s most important musician,” but also because she pulled her music off Spotify because people were not paying for it.

If you value your music, you would think you would want to share it with the world, primarily with people like me who cannot afford it but still want to engage in singing about unhealthy relationships that share similar features with yours ya know?

But at the end of the day, someone might marry her for her money.

So there’s THAT.

My Weekend: Part 1

Dating, Humor, Relationships

After having a full day to recover and half of my Tuesday morning coffee, I am now prepared to tell you about my weekend…which most unfortunately has to start with Friday…Part 1 as I like to call it.

Friday night, I came home from work to celebrate my friend Leah’s birthday, only to be greeted by none other than…you know him, you hear about him and I’m not entirely sure how you feel about him…the Fire Whisperer. Beer in hand, he welcomes me into my own apartment offering me a beer which automatically smoothed over my mildly ruffled feathers.

After a shower and makeup prep in front of like 6 people at our apartment, we receive another guest…the Fire Whisperer’s hott blonde roommate, because let’s face it one hott blonde in his life was just not enough. In fact, his general inclination towards hott blondes suggests I should just get one myself.

My general approach to his ever-continuing presence in my life as of late has been none other than cordial. Hello, hey there, have a good day…you get the idea. Although I have installed a “help Fire Whisperer out if he really needs you” clause into my manifesto, I still felt there was no need to tell him what I had for lunch that day, what songs I was sinking my teeth into or why a chunk of my iPhone screen is MIA.

In honor of Leah’s b’day, we all headed to the bar driven by the FW himself. I quickly purchased a beverage then headed straight for the pool tables, because FW or no FW, that is just where this petite girl belongs. After nudging my way into a game of doubles, I found myself approached by the one and only…Dean. (See Post: Who The Fuck Is In My Bed Right Now?)

Drunken Dean, in the most adorable Southern accent you have ever heard, confesses his true feelings for me. I am beautiful. I am a great writer. Again, I am beautiful. etc; Unfortunately, this has become quite uncomfortable for my doubles partner who is desperately trying to make his way towards getting my phone number.

Dean leaves me and then returns several times, each time telling me I am “degrading” myself by hanging out with these guys…which I am by the way doing nothing of the sort. My head is always in the game.

Dean: I am leaving Savannah.

Me: Okay Dean.

Dean: No really, I am leaving. I am going to go now.

Me: Okay Dean, I will see you around.

Dean: (slowly walking away) I am leaving. (whips back around and turns towards my doubles partner) You’re just another blog post to her!

Despite being hilarious, the whole dramatic thing was quite endearing and definitely held major motion picture potential. The night did not end there.

After a rough night of avoiding the FW, an awful girl from high school and my own conscience which must have been stumbling around somewhere drunkenly, I was ready to head home.

The bar closed as I stood outside with the FW’s roomie, where she said these confusing words…

“I don’t know what you’re waiting on, you should just go.”

Her drunken state and mild tone suggested there were no mean intentions, but I was like…

Fuck, she’s right. 

I walked home which led to a lot of angry friends and some volume raising comments coming from the FW in my kitchen. I texted him an apology only to receive a fairly harsh text back saying how unwelcome he felt in my presence. I was like…You have stayed at my apartment several nights this week, how much more welcome can you be? I can hear your voice from my bedroom at 3 a.m., I am guessing that that’s your beer in my freezer and our alarms go off intermittently all morning until you become the first person I see after waking up…something tells me the Welcoming Committee has come and gone ya know?

Despite my general aversion towards his comments, I knew the convo was still a work in progress so the next morning I tried to explain myself.

After another fairly angry text calling me childish, I was just like…

Fuck, you’re really asking me to be mature right now?

To be honest, being cold-hearted was way more fun than I imagined and has led me to believe I have a much firmer grasp on Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon, having now seen and participated in the dark side for at least 3 full days of FW attendance. While I may seem to be back at sweet and sunny, I now find myself lighting candles more often, drawing pentacles in my notebook and hanging out in cemeteries where to my knowledge no family members or friends are buried.

I digress.

My courteous but not overly friendly disposition towards the FW had no cruel intentions, but were rather designed to extinguish my crush in a more permanent sense of the word. To me, this crush had become equally annoying and probably way more distracting, particularly when reading dystopian novels, watching action films and trying to study for my waste of time college coursework.

This crush just kept coming back to me like a fucking horseshoe. In fact, I was sure I would take it to the grave with me which is just fine because I’m so small my casket should have plenty of room for unrequited love, ones that got away, oh and regret…That will definitely be present, or past depending on how you look at it.

I have, however, been determined to put this crush to bed, no pun intended. Pun intended.

After playing the pity card, the FW seemed to understand the plight of a “trying to get over you” 20 something year old girl and all was maybe not forgiven/forgotten, but more than likely moved on from. Want to know what else was moved on from?

My crush.

Just like that, I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

Although I know getting over him did not happen instantaneously, his reaction to the night extinguished my crush…for good. I realized quickly that the only thing the FW and I needed to share was our love for pizza, annoyance with stupid people and our best friend…Catman Connor.

Dying for part 2? Me 2!

After you have your morning coffee, leave me a comment and we will see where My Weekend: Part 2 takes us.