Who does that?!

Dating, Humor, Relationships

Well. I’ll start with Sunday night.

I got extremely drunk.

No.

Changed my mind. I’ll start with Friday night, which conveniently enough for you starts with the exact same sentence.

I got extremely drunk.

Fuck it. Let’s just fucking start with Thursday. Because prior to a full bottle of champagne, 5-10 shots of whiskey and a few beers I’m sure I nursed all the way back to health, there was a Thursday night.

Thursday Night

I went over to my friend Kelsey’s (my cute blonde friend for those of you who don’t know) for a harmless girls movie night. But I’m guessing you’re aware I didn’t add the word “harmless” in the last sentence for no reason.

Oh there’s a reason alright.

I walk into Kelsey’s house (again without knocking because I am apparently the most entitled fucking motherfucker on the planet) and plop myself on a chair opposite to her male roommate. Let’s call him KMR (Kelsey’s male roommate)? Eh?

I’m a mess. No makeup. My jacket is falling off my shoulder. And I’m like 82.3% sure this guy (KMR) hates me. So naturally I had to convince him that he didn’t.

I start perpetually interrupting his studying with questions like…What kind of music do you like? What are you doing tonight? What a great joke you just made? What do you think….ABOUT THE FACT THAT I AM CLEARLY NOW FLIRTING WITH YOU?!

I’ll tell you what I think. I think it’s fucking stupid. I think that I am freaking role playing in the role of Spain versus the freaking Aztecs because this is what I like to call a freaking CONQUEST.

Anyhow, I planted seeds that I really had no intentions of watering in the next 48 hours, but then someone freaking handed me a full water pot and I was all like…guess I should do something with this. So I did.

Friday Night

I can hear the rain on the rooftop, I’m flipping digital book pages with my finger and enjoying a nice little evening with a girl I like to call “Boring Savannah.”

You see. Boring Savannah is a lot like me. Brown hair. Petite. Easy on the eyes.

But let me tell you a little something about Boring Savannah! Boring Savannah only aims those easy eyes at literature. Accompanied by grilled cheese sandwiches- the kind which are made from the comfort of Boring Savannah’s home.

But then.

Low and behold. In walks Wild Savannah with her thigh high boots, YouTube eye shadow tutorials and a little chalk on her hands from shooting pool. Before Boring Savannah could even say anything, she was in the shower shaving her legs, out of the shower stabbing herself with eyeliner and out the door with a short skirt on a windy night.

So, watering pot in hand, I headed back to Kelsey’s to continue my lame attempt at flirting and also to drink. Yeah. Definitely to drink.

I polished off a bottle of champagne and was feeling buzzed, but not enough so to be dragged to a country bar where cowboys swing you around for what feels like hours then buy you a beer that resembles water.

I realized trying to connect with Kelsey and her friends or her roommate’s friends was tougher than I thought it would be. So I cut my losses and headed home.

No sorry, that wasn’t me who headed home. Who was it that headed home? Oh wait. Now I remember. Boring Savannah went home.

But Wild Savannah. She definitely went to her favorite bar for a night of pool-shooting, whiskey-drinking, boy-torturing fun. And it was. Seriously. It was a really fun time.

The bar is about to close. I’m closing my tab. This was so much fun. I spent way too much money on alcohol. Totally worth it. Why is KMR here?

Then KMR’s all like….”Wanna get outta here?” (or at least some version of that. Again, I spent a decent amount of money at the bar. In other words, your girl was hammered!)

Then I was all like…I mean yeah. The bar’s closed. Why would I stay here? You know how bartenders are always saying…”You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!” Well I went home.

I just took ole KMR with me.

So we walk to my place and I’m not really sure what all we talked about. If I had to guess, it was something like…Are you sure I’m pretty? Really, do you think I’m pretty? What was it that you said earlier…about me being pretty? Say, what do you think about us talking about me being pretty all night until I forget and then start the whole thing over again tomorrow? Great. I should be available too.

Anyhow we reach my place, where I give my absolute worst attempt at a one-night stand. Which, let’s face it, is not really surprising considering the lack of experience.

But anyhow, it doesn’t really work. I mean everyone’s undressed. All the right parts are here. Seeds were planted. Plants were watered. I don’t fucking know why I can’t do this right now.

I literally walked out of the room. Got a glass of water. Sat on my couch. And drunkenly had a whole nature versus nurture debate in my head.

Okay that’s not entirely true.

I did walk out of the room, get a glass of water and sit on my couch. But instead of falling somewhere in the middle of nature and nurture, I had a minor mental breakdown. The poor guy left my apartment with a wicked one-liner and had to walk all the way home.

You know those rom-com movies where the male character tries to have sex with some slutty girl but he can’t go through with it because he’s still in love with the lead actress. Well. It was sort of like that.

Except for I’m the male character and KMR is the slutty girl.

It took me trying to have a one night stand with him to realize that I am still very much broken hearted.

And not about one guy. Or two guys. Or my laptop dying. My heart is just broken. There is no real rhyme or reason. It’s just broken.

I kind of feel like it’s one of those times when no one tells you that there is lipstick on your teeth or that your shirt is inside out. Could NO ONE have told me that I was broken hearted? Seriously?

For months, everyone’s been all like…Keep it up dollface. You go girl! I even think I heard Alicia Keys yell-singing about fire in the background.

HELLO? Lipstick is on my teeth. My shirt is inside out. If this girl is on fucking fire you should probably call the fucking fire department!

I just wish it didn’t require me drunkenly humiliating myself to finally realize and openly admit that I am….broken hearted.

It’s just.

Fuck.

Saturday

I woke up early after a drunken night.

My first instinct is to go jogging, which was sort of awful because Wild Savannah often turns into a much less fun version of herself called Hungover Savannah. But it was sort of ideal because I needed to go retrieve my car.

I jog for miles, only to end up at an old swing set where I used to hang out with Ben (an ex- friend/boyfriend/someone I couldn’t appropriately express affection to) after midnight.

While I thought it would bring back all the good memories of the time Ben and I spent together, it actually brought in a cold front when I remembered him telling me his feelings for me and then crying when I couldn’t return them. I completely stopped talking to him.

Side note: His swing was broken. Metaphorical? I think not.

I swung back and forth for a while listening to “Vienna,” by Billy Joel, which I sometimes feel is the saddest song ever written. Although I know it’s not.

I had to stop swinging because, again, I was hungover, and it had also begun to rain on my swing set parade.

I spent the remainder of my day slut-shaming myself to my friend Andy and working a shift that I forgot I’d volunteered for three months ago.

Sunday

Sunday night I receive texts from three different people asking to hang out, and I don’t want to say no to any of them.

I quickly cooked up a group hang and landed myself back at the bar in the midst of hushed conversations.

On my left is my good friend, let’s call him KT.

I’m trying to explain to him the KMR event and my newest heart condition as quietly as possible.

On my right is a new friend, let’s call him Jake.

Jake is trying to confess his romantic feelings for me as quietly as possible.

Across from us are a couple, let’s call them Sonny and Cher. Cher is telling everyone at the table that she thinks Sonny, her boyfriend, has a “crush” on me. She is not being as quiet as possible.

On my left, KT is telling me that my lack of sexual exploit is hurting the sexual liberation of women. Basically that I need to live life a little more and that it may indeed free me of my heart condition.

On my right, I’m telling Jake that I’m not interested in anything more than friendship. Hello? Did you not hear about the heart condition?!

I mean, I know I’m not like bed-ridden surrounded by flowers, but hey, it’s still happening ya know?

Across from me, I’m just freaking speechless. I mean. What is the appropriate response when someone thinks their own boyfriend likes you?

So I guess what I’m trying to say is that, I’m a little mad.

I’m mad that I can’t have one night stands. I’m mad that guys who don’t even know me, think they double like me (like-like as opposed to just liking). I’m mad that my friend feels insecure in her relationship.

And mostly, I’m mad that I didn’t knock on Kelsey’s door. Who does that?!

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Or In Case Vegans Decide To Overthrow The Government…

College, Dating, Humor, Lifestyle, People, Relationships

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

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

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

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

First round is not on me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

See?! Anyone Could Be In A Rut!

Dating, Humor, Lifestyle, People, Relationships

If one more person tells me I look tired, I am going to think about doing really really terrible things to them.

For instance, repeatedly trying to open my car door at the exact moment they try and unlock it.  They will click the button over and over, look at me confused as to why I’m not getting in the car, and then sigh.  It’s still locked.  Oops?  

Or or or, for the rest of all time when I have a question for them, I will precede it by asking if I can ask them that question.  “Can I ask you a question?”

EVERY.

SINGLE.

TIME.

Better yet, I will precede every insult with “no offense.”  No offense, but I notice you too are looking rather tired…You son of a fucking bitch.

So there I was sweet talking her into a small room to experience a close encounter with me.  I found myself undressing and slipping her silhouette slowly onto my own.  While every piece of her seemed to fit with mine, I suddenly realized…she had a zipper.

By her, I am referring to the most perfect black dress in the history of ever.  After explaining this to my roommate Connor, he was like, “Do you always sweet talk your clothing into the dressing room?”.  I was like, “No, sometimes I take them straight to my closet if ya know what I’m saying.”

Connor: “You buy them without trying them on?”

Savannah: “So you do know what I’m saying.”

Now this most perfect black dress in the history of ever had a different kind of zipper.  No no no, this was not your average zipper.  Rather than zip zip zipping all the way up the side like zippers are so often designed to do, this zipper had no desire of the sort.  This zipper wanted to stay put and no amount of pulling, sucking it in, or pushing the fabric together was going to change its mind.

Now assuming most dresses are not made to be one side-less, I recognized the worst of all fates.  The dress did not fit.  I left the store without my dress and only one thing on my mind…Blondie.

I knew deep down inside that the blonderexic girl who stole the heart of my fire whisperer would have fit into that tiny black dress, yet I could not.  This only inspired like 20 related pep talks.

Do you think Blondie ends her jogs because she’s too tired?  No, she keeps fucking jogging until people like me call her blonderexic behind her back.

Do you think Blondie has that second helping of ice cream when she is upset?  No, she trades it for a salad and then goes jogging again.

Do you think people tell Blondie she looks tired? (I swear if I find that dead horse, I’m going to beat it.)  No, because she jogs so often, she is immune to being tired.  That and she is probably getting a good night’s rest in the arms of…well you know.

If there is one thing I’m sure of, it’s that Blondie probably never bases her pep talks on me.  Although I know my thoughts aren’t exactly healthy, I literally jogged that extra mile…then I finished my ice cream because I earned it when jogging the extra mile.  I earned it right?

The truth is, I am tired.  It all suddenly makes sense why Sleeping Beauty was my favorite Disney movie.

In fact, when I was about 6 years old, my mom was taking a nap and refused to put that movie on.  She had always told me to call 9-1-1 in case of an emergency and so…I took her advice.  If not getting to watch Sleeping Beauty wasn’t an emergency, then I just didn’t know what was.

I told whoever was on the other line the situation at hand.  To my dismay, they asked to speak with my stubborn, good-for-nothing mom.  I was like…But wait…there is bad parenting going on in this household!  Can’t you see?  The man’s trying to hold me down.  

Mama bear was mad, but fuck, so was I.  Hath no fury.  We all look back at this story and laugh.  When I say we, I mean she laughs.  Bitch should have put my movie in!

Take away the sleeping.  Take away the beauty.  Hello, Savannah here.

Everyone keeps telling me I should get more sleep.  I am always like…Sorry, I gave it up for lent and never looked back.  I always feel like what they are really trying to tell me is…”I noticed you are not wearing any eyeliner today.”  I know this is what really distinguishes me from looking awake versus tired because days I wear eyeliner no one says these horrible things.

While working late last night, my primary reason for being so sleepy, I ended up talking to a coworker from another country.  I had always found him to be a little repetitive and annoying, but that quickly changed.

Lying on the desk before us, was a newspaper clipping of our weekly horoscopes.  After reading my own horoscope, he was like, “Those things are so stupid.  They could apply to anyone,” .  I quickly asked him his birthday to which he responded he didn’t care.  I was like, “NO.  WHAT IS YOUR BIRTHDAY?” (in a very low, commanding tone).  He hesitantly informed me he was a Sagittarius.  After reading his horoscope aloud (a must when reading horoscopes), he asked me, “What is rut?”.  His horoscope had suggested he was in a rut and needed to work on getting out of it.  I was like…When you don’t have sex for a really long period of time?  In other words, me.  

I explained to him what being in a rut really meant and he was like, “See?!  Anyone could be in a rut!” and I was like, ‘No…correction..YOU, Sagittarius are in a rut and only for this one weekly horoscope…understand?!”  I started to feel myself getting angry because he was obviously suggesting I was in a rut.  Was he not?!

Aquarius’ do not have ruts.

After our fun banter over zodiac signs and him saying I looked tired, my tests on him had still somehow resulted inconclusive.  I knew I needed to test him further in order to make my ultimate decision about him.

I had just the test.

I whipped out my phone and quickly looked up the picture of a dress I’m thinking about buying.  Yes, to answer your question, there is almost always a dress I am thinking of buying.  I interrupted him doing his homework to ask him what he thought of the dress.

With almost no hesitation he said, “Good dress.  Look good on you.” and immediately went back to his homework.  There was no question about it.

He had won my heart.

My coworker passed the dress test with flying colors.  With two simple statements, he had won my heart.  At the end of the night, he even shut off all the lights at work because he didn’t want me to have to do it being that I looked so tired.  I am not altogether certain what swooning means, but when he did that, I’m pretty sure I swooned.

So yeah, I am tired.  I am tired from working late, jogging extra miles, fighting with little black dresses, and…from not sleeping.

I am in search of a sharp spindle on which I can prick my finger and fall to many hours of uninterrupted sleep.  If true love’s kiss happens to awaken me…so be it.