But at least it’s coffee scented?

Humor, People

I know I have not posted in a while, but that is because I have been burning my coffee scented candle at five ends. And now wax is starting to get in my hair.

My very unkempt hair.

The past few weeks I have been on an emotional roller coaster.

Unfortunately this roller coaster does not pause at the high points, where you can enjoy the view, but instead slows down to a near halt at the low points, where I just keep wondering when the ride is going to freaking end.

But as I’ve mentioned before, I am not even tall enough to ride the freaking roller coaster (See Post: Why Can’t I Be Tall?). Instead, I am sitting below on an uncomfortable bench, shoveling ice cream into my petite body and waiting for my friends to come hang out with me again.

Everyone keeps sending me that predictable “How are you?” text and I just keep replying:

Eh.

Ugh.

Umm.

Eek.

Anything that is just 23% shy of actually being a word.

This makes it worse because I just provoked them to send me the other predictable “What’s wrong?” text.

Which might be fine. Except for it’s not.

I don’t know what’s wrong.

So I throw a not-so-curved curve ball and reply, “Nothing is wrong.”

That’s right.

Nothing is wrong.

Nothing keeps me up at night. Nothing makes me eat two bags of popcorn. Nothing makes me regret throwing away Taylor Swift’s last album. Nothing makes me tear up when I’m drunk. Nothing IS wrong!

FYI: This weekend I’m throwing a pity party. Everyone’s invited! BYOB! And maybe bring some 2nd B in that acronym for me too because, in case you haven’t noticed, NOTHING IS WRONG!

Ugh.

Nothing has gotten so wrong that I might start using hash tags in my blog posts again (See Post: A Crowbar Huh?).

Eek.

It’s been so long that I have a million things to tell you and not sure where to start.

I used to lay it down in chronological order, but my aforementioned, never- fucking- ending candle, has me all confused about where things begin, where things end and what the fuck is even happening.

Umm.

But at least it’s coffee scented?

I’m going to go wash this wax out of my hair and then come back at you with a post about my spring break trip!

Eh?

Sneak Peek: It involves drunk dialing, guitar playing and hunger striking, which for those of you who don’t know, has virtually nothing to do with eating.

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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

Hell Week

Humor, Lifestyle, People

I’m only happy when it rains, except for when it rains it pours and I’m not happy at all because regardless of rainy metaphors there was a big cloud hanging over my entire last week. Hell week I call it.

Monday

My week started with Monday as they so often do, contrary to the calendar’s misleading habit of placing the Sunday column at the beginning of the week. Last I heard, Sunday was still very much apart of the weekEND but alas, something I’m sure I will never understand.

First thing in the morning, my lowlife, good for nothing hair straightener died. It seems odd to me considering the electrical outlet really does all the work.

Hey straightener, I am an electrical outlet, for all other purposes your power source. All you have to do is connect with me and make some sort of spark that initiates you to work, but you can’t even do that now can you?

While I first attempted to sweet talk my straightener, telling it how beautiful its lack of curves were and how I loved waking up to it in the morning but no response resulted.

My second attempt was a little angrier,

“Hey you! Straightener! Who do you think you are not working on me this morning? Have you seen my hair? Do you see this face? It’s the look of someone who is going to beat you to death if you don’t power up! Ole curly over there never pulls this shit on me at the beginning of the week, which does not start with Sunday just so you know!’

Tuesday

I had a paper rough draft due for the one college course I am taking. I stayed up until 3 a.m. to complete it and it was by far the worst paper I have ever written. I started many a sentence with “But” as a way of sticking it to my third grade teacher. I used 5-6 oxford commas. I wrote in first person, second person, third person, sketchy person, pretty much all the people were present. I am also convinced that I plagiarized. She did not ask for a soft draft ya know?

Wednesday

Some call this Hump day, which I’m sure did not originate from Fergie herself because my top showed no cleavage and my jeans could convince no one that I actually have a “butt” goin on back there which is probably because I wasted all my “buts” on my plagiarized, going off-roading in this Jeep Wrangler rough draft.

This was the worst day of all because I spilled scalding hot coffee on my arm. That was the first time I have ever used the word “scalding” in a sentence, but it felt necessary because that shit fucking hurt. God damn fuck bitches fuck balls fuck my life it was so fucking awful. I had microwaved the coffee for approximately thirty seconds too long and because of this was destined to spill it on my arm, which too became scalding hot after what I now refer to as the “hump day accident.”

Getting burned by a hot liquid is far worse than your average hair straightener-to-the-neck burn, not that I would know since my hair is indefinitely frizzy and wavy as fuck.

I called in at my second job and spent the entire day studying for my exam on Thursday, which constitutes the title hell week alone. I would much rather be balls deep watching Gilmore Girls on my phone at work than studying. Speaking of which, I actually cried when Rory got named valedictorian even though I have seen the show before…just to give you a small insight into how emotionally invested I am in this show.

Thursday

Despite my 8-10 not countless but countable hours of studying, my exam was a catastrophe. There was a fire, flash flood, tornado and volcano eruption all at once, followed by a set of really tough free response questions to which I did not have the answers. If my hair had been straight, I may have remembered what torsion stress was on the body, but nevertheless it was not. It had been thrown up in a bun like my non-straight hair so often is. Literally thrown. I used an underhand toss with a little twist of the wrist at the end. I am talking slow pitch here.

While the exam has yet to be graded, I am sure my professor is in for a surprise because students so rarely go from getting a 97% on the first exam to a 23.5% on the second. That awkward moment when a teacher hands back your exam face down after handing everyone else’s to them face up. My face will definitely be looking down.

Friday

At the ripe hour of midnight, which although on Thursday night is technically considered Friday, I dropped my phone and prevented the touch screen from working. I prevented it so hard. That is the moment when I drove my little self to Walmart to buy an alarm clock so I could wake up for work in the morning. It turns out my coffee pot does not have an alarm clock, but if it does I would not know because we are not on speaking terms after the hump day accident forced me to reheat my coffee.

My new alarm clock, Go-Getter I call him, was the loudest fucking waker-upper in this county, taking initiative in ways my hair straightener never could. I ripped the plug from the outlet so fast it would have made your head spin. Talk about a rude awakening. I shelled out $100 for a new phone the next day, which I would have done solely for the purpose of waking up to a more pleasant iphone indigenous sound. I am unsure if that was the appropriate context for indigenous but fuck, I just don’t care.

While my week was nothing short of hot hot heat coming from both coffee and the opposite to heaven down under, my weekend turned out to be much better. I spent time with my ‘rents, which I call them not only because they are my paRENTS but also because they cannot accurately be called home owners.

We had a grand old time at the antique mall, dancing down the aisles singing Electric Avenue. At one point we actually harmonized to America’s “A Horse with No Name.” You can see where I get “it” from…whatever “it” is. I will present to you a fun picture slideshow of this; photography credits to myself and snapchat.

Saturday night, I partied with my 30 something year old brother who acts like a 21 year old and thinks like a male. I could now write a novel on things I wish I had never heard my brother say. It was a no take-backs kind of ordeal.

He actually stayed the night with a girl he just started seeing, leaving me to get a ride home from some guy who claimed he liked Slipknot. I thought I was laughing with him until I realized he was not laughing at all. If I am going to spend the time tying someone’s shoelaces together in a knot, it is definitely not going to be the kind you can just slip off.

My skeeze of the day should go to him for his awful taste in music alone, but he gave me a ride home and I had already awarded it to my pool opponent who kept jacking off with his pool cue and then laughing hysterically. Hahaha. Fuck you.

Monday is here, it may or may not be queer, but if it is…I accept it for exactly what it is, which I cannot stress to you enough is the first fucking day of the week, despite your average calendar year!

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