Connor, my rack would definitely fit inside our mailbox!


After spending a solid hour of my morning registering for a million food places/stores so I could fully take advantage of birthday discounts, I knew it was time to get moving.

This would have been a lot easier had I not decided to go running yesterday for the first time in more than a month.

I’m one of those strange people who likes to shock my body into shape. Catchy right?

I spend several weeks at a time eating junk food and watching Netflix until one day BAM! I decide to start training “Hunger Games” style.

Bejing. Tokyo. London. Who cares?! In my mind, I’m a fucking Olympic athlete.

It’s all really epic with lots of “Eye of the Tiger” blaring from my headphones and super short running strides, until I have to call my roommate asking if we have any ibuprofen around…or IV morphine because let’s face it, I may need something stronger after going from Rocky II-IV to what now resembles a really under-cooked noodle.

Along with feeling pastalike, I have been extremely frustrated with our mailman these days. We live on a street with a lot of other businesses, so often times he will not leave our packages at the door, which is fine.

Except when it’s not.

I ordered this great push-up bra that’s supposed to make your mountains high, valleys low and rivers wide enough to get through the day. I was trying to explain to my roommate Connor he should have just shoved the bra-filled package in the mailbox. Except for…I said it more like this,

“Connor, my rack would definitely fit inside our mailbox!”

This charming statement was almost as awkward as trying to write the date after New Year’s. My voice always tends to “carry” when I am saying something inappropriate.

Needless to say, my miracle bra was returned to sender and ain’t no mountains gonna be high enough for my birthday next week. What’s a girl to do?

Despite my girlish desires to shock my body into shape and raise my mountains, lately I had been feeling quite…I’m not sure how to say this…guyish?

I found myself ignoring text messages, bailing on plans and saying things like, “Yeah, man.”

What does that even mean?

While on the phone with my roommate Connor I was all like,

“Connor I could be a guy I’m so vague.”

While he tried to defend himself saying guys were not vague, I began formulating what could have been a 10-minute long metaphorical comparison between men and fog.

My Metaphor In a Nutshell: Fog is cool and mysterious, but, at the same time, confusing and dangerous.

Looking back, I’m not sure if even I could have dragged that on for 10 minutes. It’s pretty self-explanatory.

I think the recent absence of my roommate has driven me to extreme measures of playing both his role and mine.

Me: Ooh, what should I wear tonight?

Me Being Connor: Who cares what I wear? Bitches always be prowlin’.

Me: I wonder if anyone will ask me to hang out this weekend.

Me Being Connor: I’m gonna do me all weekend…Thas right! Ya heard?

Me: Man…this fucker hasn’t even texted me back. God. Fuck.

Me Being Connor: Yo hussy (Connor’s latest nickname for me), where my phone be?!

Unfortunately an acting career is not in my future and I still don’t know what the fuck I’m going to wear tonight.

Despite my newly acquired skill of deciding where to eat, the only decision I can make about my weekend and next week’s birthday is champagne. Because yes. Champagne is a decision.

Ever since New Year’s all I can think about is champagne. Champagne in the morning. Champagne at night. Champagne in bed. Champagne in the shower. I want to be buried in a guitar case filled with it, and not even the expensive kind.

Regardless of plans, I hope the “It’s my birthday I can cry if I want to” rule still applies, because if I’m getting that drunk tears will definitely be shed … and texts sent.

You fuckers have been dangerously quiet lately. I gotta say, I don’t like it! Leave a comment!

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!

Wait, what?!

Humor, Lifestyle, People, Relationships

Useless disclaimer: This post is racist.

If you are a guy friend of mine, there almost inevitably becomes an occurrence in which someone will assume I am your girlfriend.

We are eating dinner together.
They charge my meal to your card.

We are out and about together.
We run into your friend who insists you introduce him to your girlfriend.

We get pulled over by the cops together and they search the car.
asking if we live together.

Wait what?!

Anyhow, everyone looks at me and labels me ya know?

One word.


I’m always like…ew gross…as if I’m completely repulsed by the idea.

I am.

They just look at me and think. Girlfriend material.

I try to explain to them…No I’m much more stretchy than that. Lots more give in the fabric.

But nevertheless, they continue to throw f-ending acronyms my way.

They look at me – the skin, the hair – girlfriend. All the way. She screams girlfriend.

Just once I’d like someone to look at me and think…

Classy hooker
Sugar mama
Gay best friend
Uncle tom’s cabin

Wait what?!

I am honored, however, to be considered the girlfriend of these fine young male friends I so often accompany to date-like settings.

I wonder what it might be like for them when people assume I am there girlfriend.

You know what happens when people assume…

Assumptions are made.

I wonder what it’s like for them when they have a girlfriend, are looking for a girlfriend or when they wish I was their girlfriend.

Wait what?!

Hell no I’m not his girlfriend! Wait, why are you laughing? Is it such a crazy, out-of-this-world reaction for them to think I could be your girlfriend?! I could totally be your girlfriend!

Wait, what?!

Everyone keeps sending subtle messages my way hinting about my love life.

Any new boys Savannah?

I haven’t heard you mention finding anyone attractive in a long time.

Ooh aah who was that guy with you?

Cool shirt.

Wait what?!

Some messages are more subtle than others.

I have a slew of excuses I have been excusing every time they say something.

No who needs boys?!

Statistics say hott guys have gone down 60% this year.

That was my brother.

I know this shirt’s cool! And even cooler because it can only be worn by an independent woman!

Some responses are more blatantly bitter than others.

The other day I was walking through campus to the parking lot feelin’ all girl power/me power when I saw this Asian couple (them being Asian has no relevance to the story I’m just racist…or trying to paint you an extremely accurate picture of the scenario) trying to set the self-timer on their camera. At first, I walked right on by.

Carefree go me!

Then I was like dude I feel good! I walked back and offered to take the picture for them.

There they were. Holding each other. On campus. In front of Christmas lights. Together.

I hate this.

Wait what?!

Throughout all of this, I tried to remind myself that they will probably end up deported, working for 1 cent an hour carrying only the one child they were allowed to birth.


Sorry I just thought of karate out of the blue. (Out of the yellow)




Jiu jitsu. They are all the same really. No, not the martial arts, the people. They all look the same.

Us Caucasians, however…so many defining features. Blond hair, brown hair, red hair; blue eyes, green eyes, hazel eyes; pale skin, tan skin, freckled skin…so many more options than them.

You can tell us apart.

Except for when I am with one of my guy friends. Then, instead of considering us apart, we’re like two parts…meshed into one part…

Wait what?!

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.

I Am Nothing If Not Practical

Humor, Lifestyle

I left my purse at the bar.

I fell and scraped my hand in an alley.

I was at some point in an alley.

I slept on my friend’s couch.

There are several missed calls on my phone.

There are several outgoing calls on my phone.

Where to begin…Well I typically end up falling because I almost always drunkenly decide at some point it is a good idea to start running.

Hey Savannah, what is a quicker way to get from point A to point B? Perhaps you should quicken your already very unstable step.

I feel like cops probably do not give me a public intox on account of it being so damn funny to watch.

I am now waiting for the bar to open so I can hopefully go retrieve my purse. I imagine someone turned it in realizing how broke I am. Everyone keeps asking me how much money I have in it and I’m like…None I just really like that purse.

Lord knows I could use a new driver’s license picture.

The only reason I took off my purse was because it was hanging over the toilet while I was trying to puke. Both puking and taking off the purse seemed like really sensible ideas at the time. I am nothing if not practical.

It is kind of a mystery to me why I left the bar at all considering all of my friends were still there. I mean…all of my roommate Connor’s friends were still there. I mean…my roommate Connor was still there ya know?

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

Once I realized I lost my purse, I think it struck me how drunk I was and I decided to cut my losses. Drunken me has tunnel vision to go home which is a really good idea when I have my keys.

Sober me thought I did not need my keys because I had my trusty roommate who has a very similar set of keys and who unfortunately was not with me when I for some unknown reason decided to leave the bar.

It was nice waking up and knowing that my roommate was worried about me but I always dismiss it like….No need to be worried, I just walked to my friend’s place…in an alley…where I fell…oh and have you seen my purse?

Not a big cause for concern.

I texted my friend to thank him for helping me rinse off my scraped hand and getting me a blanket and he said I seemed fine.

I sincerely think there is a deep part of me that is thinking Savannah you are drunk. You are drunk right now. Act cool okay? Then I do. It just comes that naturally to me.

Unfortunately no one ever realizes I am drunk unless I tell them. They always inform me how normal I seemed and I am like great…Well the next time I seem normal take me to the hospital because I have alcohol poisoning okay?!

It is always sort of a reverse situation when I am sober. I had one girl say she was surprised I remembered her because of how drunk I was when we met. It was also surprising for me considering I was not drinking at all that night.


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.


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…