One Lovely Blog Hop

Award Post

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

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

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

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

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

There can only be one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

1. cookies+sangria

2. Missionary Impossible

3. Man of Wisdom

4. Ben’s Bitter Blog

5. From Diapers and Tutus to Meetings and Boardrooms

6. And On That Note She Wrote

7. Binary This

8. I Prefer Deep Blues and Sea Foam Greens

9. Mom Goes On

10. One Gentleman’s Perspective

My Weekend: Part II

Humor, People, Relationships

After raising my white flag to the fire whisperer, which appears to be the only flag I have (making it extremely awkward when I need to raise a red flag as a warning and surrender by accident), I knew it was time to take hold of my weekend.

(If you are new to my blog and want to know about the fire whisperer See Post: Kisses Here and There)

I spent all day Saturday shopping with my friend Andy, pretending we were a couple when the store clerk pressured us to sign up for a credit card.

“Babe, we have one too many credit cards already. I just don’t think you can handle the responsibility.” I said as the clerk looked at us disappointingly, not only because of our credit card denial but also out of jealousy for the red hott love I had just created.

“She’s the boss.” said Andy with a shrug of his shoulders and not even the slightest hint of a smile.

“Only in the bedroom.” I replied casually as the store clerk progressively got more annoyed.

Andy really doesn’t need any more credit cards…just sayin’.

After my shopping excursion with Andy, I received a terrifying phone call from my best friend Julie. I could tell she had been crying, which may not seem like a big deal but let me put it into perspective for you.

One drop of milk is spilled: I am bawling my eyes out. What has the world come to?! It’s like my dog has died, someone put bubblegum at the roots of my every hair and all 5 of my boyfriends dumped me on a conference call.

A small enclosed room with no means for escape is quickly filling up with milk around Julie and no one can hear her screams: Julie has a stone cold expression on her face because she has physically removed her own tear ducts.

Julie does not cry. I have been friends with Julie for over 5 years now and have only seen her cry maybe once or twice and she did not make a habit of it. Sensing that this was a bad situation, I knew we needed to see each other immediately.

After Julie explained her cry-worth situation, we headed to the bar where all cry-worthy situations must be handled effectively. We sat in silence for a while as we people watched near the entrance from the patio to the bar.

Finally, a cute redheaded girl comes walking through and I can tell Julie has taken notice of her cuteness, which I don’t find cute at all, here’s why…

Me: She’s friends with the NB (Never Boyfriend).

Julie: I hate her necklace.

This is why we are best friends. As I have told you once and will tell you again, friends that hate together stay together.

Despite my desperate and pathetic attempts at cheering her up, Julie was drinking two beers per my one and I knew there were multiple causes for concern. Leah later met up with us at the bar and unfortunately fell just short of birthday attention from across the picnic table because I had a very teary eyed, drunk Julie by my side.

To add to this mess, I had decided to take a chance on Chance (on chance on Chance on chance on Chance…) who is supposed to be meeting me at the bar that night. I had scouted out his location but…When exactly is the right time to leave alone one best friend who’s crying and another best friend who’s celebrating a birthday alone?

A question I still cannot answer.

I found what I considered to be a decent time to escape and introduce myself. Despite being nice, genuine and chatty, I found myself peaking over his shoulder to check on my table repeatedly during our conversation. Understanding the plight of an overtime-working friend, he released me to check on my friends.

Separated for a half hour or so, which I used to send my exhausted, drunk friends home, I met back up with him later to continue talking because believe it or not…I was kind of into it.

Unfortunately, I got stuck into a conversation about Pearl Jam with one of my roommate’s friends who is most obviously my skeeze of the day. I had no time for pearls and jams when I was trying to…you guessed it…take a chance on Chance.

I went home feeling defeated. I was still very mad at myself from the night before. I had not cheered Julie up. I had not given Leah a very fun birthday weekend. I had not given Chance the best chance. To top it all off, nothing was topped off because I was still sober.

The next day I ordered a pizza and then practically harassed the delivery guy asking him why the pizza was mad at the root beer and if Rosa Parks were here would the root beer get to sit in the front seat with the pizza?

I am certain he thought I was crazy.

Cluster Fuck

Humor, Lifestyle

In my previous post, Sisterhood of World Bloggers Award, I mentioned renaming my country “cluster fuck.”  This was obviously a joke, but I actually think we should make a new goal for my country.

I feel that the general population just needs to be more comfortable with saying “fuck” on a regular basis.  This could be beneficial in more ways than one.

It would reduce suicidal tendencies such as internalizing feelings.  It would be a great new addition to the dictionary because there are so many forms of the word (i.e. fuck, fucker, fucking, motherfucker, motherfucking, fucked, fucks).  It could open up a variety of new phrases for people to direct at one another.  I fucked up.  Fuck bitches.  Fuck balls.  Fuck you.  Fuck it.  Cluster fuck.  Just some examples.  Let me guide you on appropriate times to use fuck.

A) Did you find yourself in bed with a girl last night…that wasn’t your girlfriend?

“I fucked up.”

B) Are you at the strip club shoving dollars in discrete places?

“Fuck bitches.”

C) Where are your keys?  Oh no, did you lock them in the car again?

“Fuck balls.”

D) What did she just call you?  She said you were a…?!  *gasp*

“Fuck you!”

E) Are you wearing shorts and a tank top, only to come outside and realize it’s way colder than you expected?

“Fuck it.”

F) Wait, she’s here with him?  Oh my gosh, but he said that about her.  And why isn’t she talking to you?  Ooh, but why aren’t you talking to him?

“Cluster fuck.”

Now, that was just an introduction course on my very broad knowledge of using the word fuck.  I’m not trying to advocate swearing in general, because it obviously can be fucking offensive as fuck when used inappropriately.  But fuck it!  Try it out and get back to me.

Okay, so I promised you all a list of how to make this the best last year in my college town ever, but it kind of sucks.  I think I actually made a list of how to make this the most mediocre last year in my college town ever.  Please let me know if you have suggestions.

1. Have a kickass Halloween Party.  I plan on fulfilling every guy’s fantasy and being a cheerleader, while simultaneously fulfilling my own fantasy of being a cheerleader.  Connor was like…”A zombie cheerleader?”  I was like…”Um no.”  I expected him to give me some speech on how lame that was, but instead he just said okay.  It was almost to my disappointment because I had a whole counter argument half prepared.

2. Finish my master’s program applications.  I fully plan on having a whiskey-drinkers only party for the moment I open all my rejection letters.  It will be very exclusive.  Only sympathetic friends will be invited.

3. I’m going to have a paint party.  It sounds fun right?  Paint?  Party?  No.  It’s really just a ploy to get all my friends over to help me paint some of the uglier walls at our apartment.  I’ll be like…Look there’s wine!  Now get to work you slackers!  If they start to rebel I will order pizza.

4. I am going to watch every season of Gilmore Girls…again.  It is coming to Netflix in October.  My goal in life is to become Lorelai, the mom on the show.  She is epic.

5. Make an About Me page for this blog.  Trust me, this is in the works.  But really, what don’t you know about me?  I tell you guys fucking everything!  Which…looking back maybe isn’t the most appropriate eek.  You should give me some feedback in the ole comment box and tell me what you are looking for in my about page.  Think you fuckers can handle that?

6. Rather than making a goal to make new friends, I am going to challenge myself to grow and maintain the friendships I already have.  The truth is, I have the most bitchin group of friends ever.  If I had nickel for one of my friends telling me I work too much…I would have a shit ton of fucking nickels.  Oh and by the way, I’m soooo working on a post to tell you a little bit more about all my friends.  Get excited!

7. Get a black cat.  I already told you about my desire to name it Michael Jordan.  Why a black cat you ask?  Black cats are like my spirit animal…I don’t know what it is, but they follow me everywhere.  I literally have a black cat cross the road in front of me once a month.  That is not a joke.  Once a month AT LEAST!  It freaked me out at first, but now I just think they are my guardians.  It’s all very strange and witchy.

8. Get new tires for my car.  I know this does not sound exciting or necessary for the best year ever, but I could take mini trips with my friends yo!  Mini trips?!

9. Get a New Year’s kiss.  Is “get’ the right word here?  Oh, let me just go get a kiss.  Acquire?  Achieve?  Be presented with?  Fuck I don’t know.  I’ve never had one on New Year’s and you know how I feel about kisses.  I am not exactly sure who the victim will be, but based on current events will likely be the guy/girl in closest proximity at 11:59 p.m.

10. Get a matching tattoo with someone…anyone.  I know it sounds immature, but I love making these common mistakes.  For me they are more like a bucket list.  Get a matching tattoo, get arrested for a public intox, quit a really good job…

11. Last but not least, I am going to have the most killer Christmas party ever!  I won’t elaborate because I have a huge blog post comin your way about that!

My skeeze of the day goes to a guy named Andy.  I met him a year ago and he asked for my number but doesn’t remember that.  He approached me last night saying, “I am Rob’s weird friend.  You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to.  It usually ends badly.”  I’m not even sure what the fuck that meant.  (take note of my use of “fuck” in that sentence).  My intuition is telling me it was skeezy so there you have it.  Of course, there was also that guy who asked me why I was so small and then proceeded to hug me…which was a little skeezy but mostly just fucking weird.  Can I make two skeezes for one day?  Three dog night says one is the loneliest number, so two for one special today only!

Slim To None…Those Are The Chances

Dating, Lifestyle, Parenting, People

So here’s the thing, I don’t want kids.  I just don’t okay?  But let’s face it, this has not stopped me from writing and saving an ongoing list of names that I would use if I were to have kids including but not limited to Casey, Isabelle, Eleanor, Sophie, Spencer, and Marlow…all meant to be girl’s names by the way.  It makes it so much worse that I have saved this list to my laptop, so every time I open up another word document…there it is…mocking me.  Sometimes it even talks to me like…

Savannah I thought you weren’t having kids.

Then I’m all like, Shut the fuck up, you sound like my mom.  The thing is, I have some really big concerns when it comes to children…or uh…parenting.

1) I find beating your children to be an acceptable form of punishment.  I get the whole “you catch more bees with honey” saying, but maybe you don’t.  Maybe you should just use a fucking fly swatter okay?

2) I have this extreme discomfort with people touching my things.  I’ve sort of had to let go of this a little bit because my roommate and I have no doors in our apartment and often share things like my stereo…but rest assured, I have not let go completely.  Imagining a child with chocolate ice cream all over their small hands and face touching my favorite black purse with the gold accents….not okay.  I will fucking beat that child to death (please refer back to #1).

3) Babies…kids…they are so fucking immature.  It’s like GROW UP ALREADY.  I get frustrated when they can’t communicate with me like an adult.  Every time I meet a kid it becomes very awkward, very fast.  I always extend my hand for it to be shaken, only to realize that kids do not shake hands.  Stirred not shaken.  Then I’m like, Well how the fuck do you introduce yourself?  Talking in a really high pitched voice (the way you do with dogs) seems to be the way, because every time I do this, all the adults in the room nod their head like I’m on the right path.  I’m not.  I’m always talking to friends and family thinking Ugh, stop being such a child.  Then I stop and think…oh god…what if you really were a child.  Eek!  Then I’m like…I should get the fly swatter.

4) They are such a huge responsibility.  Dude, I cannot even keep track of the key to our apartment.  I’m not even sure if I blogged about this (I’m also forgetful which could become a problem), but I lost the key to our apartment and had to break in.  Christ, if I can break in to our apartment I’m pretty sure anyone can.  Well, I had another key made, then almost lost it again.  Luckily, I left it on the library desk with my roommate Connor who now smugly says, “Don’t lose that.” every time I pick up the key before an afternoon jog.  Son of a fucking bitch.  But imagine if that key were a child…a small, jagged edged child.  I would lose it and you can’t make a copy of that…unless you have twins.

5) They creep me out.  Every fucking horror movie preview (I say preview, because afterwards I’m already too terrified to actually see the movie), there is a small, pale child singing some lullaby that creeps me the fuck out!  The itsy bitsy spider is ruined…it’s just fucking ruined!  Thank you for providing me with two phobias, arachnophobia and havingchildrenophobia.

I’m going to stop here, but honestly it’s not for lack of further reasoning.  I could go on all day and will upon your request, but I’d prefer not to think about children any more than I already have.  But it is confusing…that I’ve made this list of names.  Well, not all that confusing.  I have to fess up…hormones, evolution, the whole bit is all true.  Every time I am in love or gosh even having sex with a guy (which, let’s face it, means I’m in fucking love) I want to have their babies.  I’m like oh my gosh I want to make mini you’s with washboard abs, blue eyes, and a niche for making me smile…can we?!  Can we?!  It’s fucking awful.  Although I have selected all girl’s names,it’s weird, I have never imagined or desired making mini me’s.  Like…Oh great let’s make a short brunette with a tendency for weight to accumulate in the gut region and a really melancholy way of singing Mary Had A Little Lamb.  She will have so much potential then stay in her college town…FOREVER.  

So, you get the idea.  Despite my growing list of names, I’m not having kids…or at least not any time soon.  Last weekend, my mom was telling me to save the tablecloths in case someone else in the family got married (FYI: I am the last of the kids not settled down).  That was the moment I died of laughter…literally I died.  There was a funeral, a wake, and everything….which was ideal because we saved the tablecloths.  I’m sure my friends and family were confused in their mourning by the use of teal at the ceremony, because I have no real affinity for that color.  Savannah…may she rest in peace…as we eat these teal cookies…on their teal plate…on a teal tablecloth.

A part of me is genuinely worried that I will become what everyone refers to as a “cat lady.”  These actually exist.  I work at a library…these actually exist.  I’ve become more concerned about this recently because I find myself meowing randomly…sometimes to the melody of an ACDC song…and also have a new found desire to buy an all black cat and name it Michael Jordan.  Don’t ask me why.  

At the end of the day, I am a dog-lover at heart.  I imagine someday I will be taking my golden retriever on a walk when suddenly it will break free from its leash to meet a black labrador, who has simultaneously broken free from its leash, and just so happens to be accompanied by a fine-looking gentleman my age.  Uh, what are the chances?  

Slim to none…those are the chances.

Kisses Here and There

Dating, Lifestyle, People

As Connor and I were discussing our love lives…and by “our love lives,” I mean my love life,  Connor teased me about all the perks I was getting from what he refers to as my “boyfriends,” a subset of guy friends that I spend time with on a friend level.  Sure they help me move, bring me lunch, and even help me study, but I said, “Connor I just want kisses!” as I dramatically tossed aside the curtain in his doorframe.  At our apartment, we have an “open door policy.”  In other words, our apartment has no doors.  He laughed hysterically as I walked out but then I was like, No really.  I just fucking want kisses.

So fuck throwback Thursday (of course the one time you actually requested it), but I have much more pressing news.  The girl you know and love (me) has a crush.  I’m talking about butterflies in my tummy, weak in the knees, and fantasizing about us banging on the kitchen counter kind of crush.  Who is this crush you ask?  None other than my ex-boyfriend, the fire whisperer, you know….the one I denied having feelings for in my very first blog post.  I lied.

Although I have drunkenly called him almost every night the past few weekends, I still woke up soberly convincing myself that I did not like him…like that.  But, just like the inner hypochondriac in all of us that convinces ourselves we have cancer or an STD, me convincing myself I did not like him…like that…was not true in any way, shape, or form.  Although I’d pretended that sober me and drunk me were two very separate people, they still have one word in common.  Me.  Despite his sometimes greasy hair, skeleton resembling body, and god-awful singing voice to accompany his guitar strumming, I just sort of like him.  He is extremely annoying and peppy, but fuck…I like that too.

It’s time I passed this torch I’ve been carrying to the next Olympian, because the fire whisperer is my ex-boyfriend, Connor’s best friend (my roommate), and when it comes down to it; one of my best friends.  Not to mention, he too, is carrying his very own torch…just not for me.  His flames of love burn for a thin blonde with long legs and a name that’s difficult to spell/pronounce.  Bitch has my crush on lock and this blogger does not have the key.  All lock and key metaphors aside, the fire whisperer actually has a key to our apartment now and has become what I like to call a “not roommate roommate.”  In other words, a roommate who does not pay rent.  Don’t worry, I’ll take eye candy over rent any day of the week…I’m not talking to you Connor, I need your half at least fuck.

I told my roommate Connor about my school girl crush and he just laughed (shocker?) saying, “I saw that comin’ miles away.”  Sadly, so did I.  I practically busted out my winter wardrobe just so I could wear my heart on those long long sleeves of mine.  While sitting on his floor embarrassed to admit my feelings, he said I should post a Craigslist ad…Wanted:  Kisses Here and There.

Truth be told, I am perfectly okay with having my little crush.  It is as fun and harmless as a mosquito bite (assuming you are not overseas in which case you should be concerned about West Nile etc;).  Just because I remember the past does not mean I am living in it.  While I may seem sad escaping my ex-boyfriend inhabited apartment to go play pool by myself at the local pub, I am actually incredibly happy.  Having a crush is fun, even when it’s headed in my favorite direction…absolutely nowhere.  So….kisses here and there…kisses are nowhere.  Although my brilliant niche for algebra made me extremely capable of finding my “x,” I was not prepared to ask “y,” how, or when.  The past had walked into the bar (the bar is a metaphor for my life), but I was still ready for my future…well…sort of ready.  Look out world, I have an inexperienced, under-qualified resume coming your way!

My skeeze of the day goes to the fire whisperer for fucking bringing me coffee, getting me gifts when you are out of town, telling me I look pretty, helping me with dishes (near the kitchen counter where I fantasize about you), and just fucking being fucking nice you fucker!  STOP FLIRTING WITH ME!  No, don’t.

Oh, and to the fire whisperer if you’re reading this which fuck…you probably are.  Don’t act all surprised since I’ve been drunk calling/texting you for weeks.  I’m not sure what I said, but if I had to guess, it probably included but was not limited to words like miss, feelings, and you.  Someone really should take my phone away, but then again…Where’s the fun in that?