Always the audience, never the musician.

Humor, People

Yesterday I took one look at the stove and I just knew.

I knew it needed to be cleaned.

Three minutes into cleaning the stove using something called Easy Off, I realized, I could no longer move my right hand. And by right hand, I mean the one that looks like a foam glove you would wave at a sporting event.

I started flooding it with water while singing Toxic by Britney Spears. I’m addicted to you. Don’t ya know that you’re toxic?


Anyhow, my hand still looks pretty rough and I told every single person in the bar last night why, starting with the words “So today…”

Okay so enough with my nonsense. I better catch you up on this thing I refer to as “My Life.”

1. My roommate Connor is MIA. He left to go see his girlfriend and never came back. This might be a really appropriate time to talk about my dad. Pass. Anyhow, I am going to refrain from posting “Have You Seen My Leaves Beard Hair All Over the Bathroom Roomie” flyers for a few more weeks because I knew how susceptible Connor is to sex slavery. Ooh just thought of another Britney Spears song. Fun.

2. My blonde friend Leah is now staying with us (me) for four days of every week. She bought groceries, cleaned the apartment and cooked me dinner all in one day, confirming what I already knew. She is better at life than me. But I marked housewife off my list and ate that dinner she slaved over that fucking god forsaken, hand swelling, good for nothing stove cooking. Ya know I actually get the whole slavery thing now. Neat.

3. I have been hangin’ out with this pack of musicians. That’s right. I called them a pack. I’m a lone wolf no more. Just runnin’ with a pack of musicians. Because yes. I’m the kind of person that “runs” with others. Anyhow it’s great. Except for when it’s awful.They just look at an object and suddenly it’s an instrument and suddenly it’s a concert and suddenly it’s a really awesome concert because suddenly they’re just really fucking awesome at everything and suddenly I hate them so suddenly I throw myself onto the couch dramatically so that I can pout. It’s all very sudden.

Always the audience, never the musician.

Anyhow I actually am in love with my wolf pack. All three of em. How many wolves do you need to call it a pack? 20, like cigarettes?

Anyhow there’s “C” who plays the drums and is awesome at it. Anytime I put my iphone in and start playing some cool indie band I love, he has to casually announce “Oh I played with them one time back in Vietnam.” Except for he says it without the “back in Vietnam” part. He was misquoted…by me. Did I mention I want to do journalism?

Okay okay, then there is Andy who I have mentioned previously. He’s like my bestie but let’s not make a big thing of it. He plays this thing called a dobro guitar, which you basically lay on your lap because you’re lazy. I like to call it a “Go Bro!”. Anyways, he’s good at that. So that’s annoying.

Last but certainly not least, there’s “N”. They actually named Guitar Hero after him. He is the guitar hero. Literally. I tell everyone he’s the best guitar player in the world, which is really unfair since I have not met every guitar player in the world, and is not at all unfair because I know absolutely nothing about guitar playing.

And also, you know how couples “finish each other’s sentences?” That did not really need to be in quotes did it? “Who fucking knows” N, as I call him, finishes my jokes it’s crazy. I’m halfway through my second knock and he’s all like, “Who’s there?”


N’s there.

Alright so I’m not going to tell you fuckers to leave a comment, because last time everyone did so begrudgingly. But you should get that chip, which is laying on your shoulder by the way, and just put it somewhere else.

Like in a comment box.

Accompanied by a really friendly comment.


I Feel Like My Cupcakes Are Smashed

Dating, Lifestyle, People

I’ve found that being a secretary is a lot like being the star player…of the blame game.  People always call you saying, “I called you last week!  You said your boss would get back to me!  It is now THIS week, no longer last week, and I still haven’t heard from him.  Did you even give him the message?”  Yes you stupid slut.  Now, did I give my boss the message?  Yes.  Has he gotten back to them?  No.  Have I reminded him of said message?  Yes.  Again, has he gotten back to them?  No.  But it’s obviously my fault, so feel free to blame me you stupid fucking cunt.  Rant over.

Who am I kidding?  My rant is never over.  Last night I worked my first shift as a bartender.  Due to it being a slow night, it actually went…..dare I say it….okay?  The shift actually went okay.  You know what else is okay?  Oooohh my let me tell you.  

The other night, I showed my roommate Connor (who by the way was not entirely thrilled by the nickname Catman) one of my articles.  He said…and I quote…fuck it I’m not using quotes.  He said the article was “okay” (changed my mind, I’m fucking using quotes).  I was like Okay, you sly okaying motherfucker.  You know what else is okay?  Your face.  Your face is okay…no no wait, I meant to say your mom.  Your mom is okay!  Okay?!  I looked up at him with my deepest, saddest puppy dog eyes and said, “It’s okay?”.  The face must have gotten to him because his explanation trailed off as he left my room.  I know that writing and criticism are sort of a package deal, but okay?  What the fuck does that even mean?  That’s the word I use in a text message preceding three dots to indicate my fucking sarcasm.  We all sometimes abbreviate it to just “k” so people really know we’re pissed.  Not only is this text one word, it’s also just one fucking letter.  That’s how little I care about you right now.  One letter’s worth.  You’re not even worth the full-out spelling…k?

Needless to say, I was disappointed.  No, I wasn’t disappointed in catman Connor.  I was disappointed in myself.  The article I’d written had prompted one of my least favorite words in the English language…okay.  It’s one of the rare words where you can add “fuck” in front of it, but it still doesn’t sound right.  Ahhhh, fuck Connor.  I’m so not OKAY with this!  This little half pint feels like her glass is half empty and she wants to get turnt up.  The glass is emptying further as she talks in third person.  

This week, I sort of hit rock bottom.  It caught me off guard because I wasn’t even aware that I wasn’t still at sea smooth sailing.  All this sudden, I’m in the mountains falling full speed with only one word in mind…”okay.”  Sorry, I hadn’t beat the horse dead quite yet.  I digress.  This week I felt like I was walking on eggshells.  Every single moment of every day, I felt like I could cry over the slightest things like Connor telling me my article was just okay, the lady on the phone complaining my boss hadn’t called her yet, or even the fact that by the time I got to work all the cupcakes in the break room were already smashed.  That’s how I feel.  I feel like my cupcakes are smashed.

As I said in my last post, I was bored with my straight hair.  I literally curled my hair and noticed virtually no difference.  Although as an added bonus, I did get a text message from a guy saying he liked my “new” hair.  Now with all my cupcakes smashed, do I have to break out an apron and start baking new ones?  How many fresh start metaphors do I have to make before I actually get a fresh start?  I want one of those moments where you flip to the next month on a calendar and get to see the new picture for the first time…or maybe one of those moments where all the clothes on your floor have been placed neatly back on their hangers…ooh or like when all the counters in your apartment are clean because Connor keeps bringing up your lackluster love life compared to his “way with the ladies.”  For the record, there is only ONE lady to be exact.  Just one Connor!  Just one freaking lady…I love that lady.

The worst part of all of this is, that after a long day filled with writing a horribly, non-APA formatted article, a drive to my hometown, bridal shower, bartending shift, and multiple intermittent crying sessions, I still could not go to sleep.  There I was at 3:15 a.m. thinking how Connor probably thought I stayed the night with someone (ya ya laugh it up), my article was just “okay,” and wondering how much my utilities bill would be this month.

I absolutely hate when I’m lying in bed tired, but can’t fall asleep.  I’m always like…Body, why aren’t you asleep right now?  I’m yawning..hint hint.  I’m fucking tired, why can’t you make this happen?  I did everything you asked.  I put on more comfortable clothing, I turned the lights out, I assumed the appropriate position…fuck I took my bra off!  What do you want from me?!!  Okay, reread that portion in italics excluding the first sentence and pretend I’m talking to an imaginary boyfriend.  That’s totally what she said.

Okay, that made me laugh.  Maybe some laughter is all I really needed start climbing up from the rockiest of bottoms.  I have been so preoccupied with master’s applications, newspaper articles, and my million jobs that I forgot to have any fun.  I did not listen to any of the advice in my last post except for curling my hair…which pretty much got me nowhere….except for a compliment text from a friend and a creepy bar attender that literally tried to throw a dollar at me.  Sadly, I accepted the dollar.  Give me a break, I work four jobs for a reason.  Remember when I mentioned the utilities bill?  Eek.  

I really wanted to award my skeeze of the day to the guy who threw the dollar at me, but he also tipped me like 120% of his bill soooo….not all that skeezy I guess…Or maybe, I’ve become a well-paid stripper and I didn’t know it.  One of the two.  So yeah, skeeze of the day goes to that guy throwing the dollar at me…Jeremy’s friend I call him. 


Hall of Heroes

Dating, Lifestyle, People

I hate it when backstabbing Facebook pops up with misleading notifications.  You’re all like Yes!  People are liking my shit!  only to realize that people are actually liking other people’s shit.  You comment on one cute girl’s picture and a million notifications start popping up confirming that everyone else also thought that picture was cute as fuck.  Facebook has also started randomly notifying you of random people’s birthdays.  It’s always this awkward moment because at first you feel obliged like Man, maybe I should post on their wall telling them happy birthday, then you realize you have no idea who the fuck that person is thinking, Birthday wishes comin at ya from a facebook stranger.  Creeeeeeepppppper status.  Man, fuck you facebook.  Is it so wrong for me to want my facebook experience to be about me?  Cheers to low self esteem…just don’t expect me to mix the drink for said cheers…because I can’t.  Last night I had someone ask me for a Bombay and tonic and I was like, Bombay is a location.  I suddenly felt like a CIA agent Someone, this guy needs a location!  

My roommate and I live downtown and often get mail for a bunch of random companies that previously shared our address.  We recently received an envelope addressed to Hall of Heroes.  I looked at Connor, then at the envelope, and then at my reflection and stated “Looks like you’ve come to the right place.”  I quickly meowed, declaring myself as catwoman and was like wait, “If I am catwoman, what the hell are you gonna be?”.  Connor catman to the rescue right meeeeooooowwww!  After opening the mail, I began telling Connor about my first meeting with the school newspaper.  I volunteered to write 2 stories for the first issue, one about ways to get involved with religion on campus…hahahaha, I can hear your laughter from here!  To be fair, no one else volunteered…shocker!  My second one is about the best places to eat and drink which, let’s face it, is much more my speed.  If there is one thing this girl knows how to do, it is how to show you a night out on the town.  Just don’t expect your night on the town to end up in my bed…because that’s gettin old reeeaaalll fast.  Oh wait, did I forget to mention the new hide-a-bed couch I made my “boyfriends” carry up our two flights of stairs?  Funny you should mention it.  I think my roommate wants to kill me, because not only is this couch floral and originating in the 1970s, but is also heavy as fuck.  After the first flight of stairs, the boys took a break saying, “Well, this looks like a good place for the couch.”  The couch was my favorite price…free and I couldn’t help but to snatch up this offer as an alternative for my latest bed crashers.  Dean meet fold-out couch.

Today is fucking thursday and you know what means.  You know what that means right?  It’s time for a throwback to the good ole’ days back when I was not working four jobs and pining over an ex-boyfriend.  Four years ago today, I lost my virginity.  I’m just kidding, I have no idea what day it was.  Upstairs, inside the home of my high school sweetie’s parents, I lost my virginity.  There was one huge problem, I had my socks on.  While he was finishing up his ten second version of love making, my socks were completely covering my little size six feet.  It was awful.  Maybe I am just fixating on this because I was not entirely happy with the whole situation, but geez, you can get me out of my top but not my socks?  Anytime I have sex now, I make sure those constraining pieces of fabric are ripped from my feet in the sexiest way possible.  If I see those fluffy fabric surroundings anywhere near my feet, I always stop the guy like, “Whoah, whoah, I can’t do this.”  He freaks out and backs off.  “No, I just have to take my socks off.”  (takes socks off and turns Netflix on)  “You may continue.”  Socks are appropriate for some circumstances like puppetry, sliding on wood floors, and monkeys…but they are just not appropriate for sex.  I recently read this article in Cosmopolitan magazine that said socks can increase pleasure during sex.  The deep exhale from my laugh practically turned the page for me.  Say yes to protection…but no to socks.  Just because I can’t make a Cosmo, doesn’t mean I can’t read one.  Get your facts straight Cosmo…until next issue.

My skeeze of the day goes to a guy named Michael.

First Text from Michael (at 1:00 a.m.) : Would you wanna come over and get to know each other?

Me: The only person I hang out with at this time is my roommate.  Sorry.

Second Text from Michael (1:02 a.m.) : Do you wanna come over and have drinks?

Me: No.

Third Text from Michael (1:05 a.m.): Could I take you on a date sometime?


Need I explain?  Maybe it really is easy being skeezy.

Who The Fuck Is In My Bed Right Now?

Dating, Lifestyle, People

I love how people are always so derogatory towards cops like, “Fuck the Po-lice!”.  But then, when they need help they’re always like, “I’m gonna call the cops on yo ass!”.  Really?  Go ahead…have and eat your fucking cake.  When I see a cop, I suddenly become a Mexican illegally crossing the border.  I start asking everyone in the car, “Am I speeding?  Did I roll through that stop sign?  Do we have drugs in the car?  I repeat, are there drugs in this vehicle?!  ANSWER ME!!!!”.  I have to confirm that there is no illegal activity happening in the car because my incessant need to listen to rap music loudly has already drawn the officer’s attention.  “Nothing to see here folks.  I’m just a small town girl, living in a lonely world…I’m happy, I’m feeling glad…no sunshine in this bag…just livin’ in gangster’s paradise.

While walking to class the other day, I passed a bunch of football players at the university who pulled their typical, “Heyyyy giiiirrrrllll how you doin?”.  I usually respond with a solid, “Hey.” which surprises them initially.  I’ve decided that one of these days I’m just going to stop and talk to them.  I’ll say, “How am I doing, you ask???!!!!  I’m doing fucking terrible.  I got this awful phone call from my grandma, then I got a flat tire, and then this bitch tells me….” and just allow the story to unravel from there.  Cat call on line one.  Please hold.

Throughout my entire time in college, I’ve always wanted one thing…nope, not a degree, although that was an added bonus.  All I wanted was a student/teacher affair.  Honestly, I would’ve even settled for a teaching assistant.  It’s not about grades, as I’ve made a solid 3.5 without using my body as incentive.  But really, how hott would that be?  “I’ve really been struggling with my homework, think we could work something out?  You may need to shut the door…this could take awhile.”  Don’t act like you’ve never thought about this.  Every new semester I would go to class thinking, This is my chance.  Maybe this is the one.  Then, the professor would walk in with a balding head, beer gut, and awful glasses from another time period; all while sporting a checkered shirt and vest.  My heart sinks. This is definitely not the one.

Saturday night, I went to a local music festival and immediately met this good looking guy….then the worst of all things happened…………………………..He said…………and I quote…….”I like coors lite.”  What?!!!!  TAKE IT BACK!   What crazy person made you think you liked that? I waited for the ensuing laughter to ensure me it was just a joke.  Silence.  The only joke was that he thought he had a chance with me after such foul language.  Deceived by his trendy shirt and sexy tattoos, I was disappointed to find your average country boy.  While I can see the appeal to a rough and ride em’ cowboy, this girl is not looking to saddle up.  We parted ways shortly thereafter, knowing that our romance could not withstand the pressures of differing beer tastes.  Goodbye partner.  Goodbye forever.

I arrived home from the festival only to realize there was a small party awaiting me in my room.  Wine and ice cream sandwiches to end the night in my bed in my room…NOT.  I crawl into bed at the dark shadowy hour of 5:00 a.m. and suddenly feel someone next to me.  An arm wraps around my body and at first, I oblige.  This is nice, I thought to myself.  Thank you for the shoulder rub you cuddly stranger you, I thought from my zombie-like sleeping state.  Then I abruptly came to my senses…Who the fuck is in my bed right now?!  I quickly sorted through all the possibilities.  Not my friend Leah, that was definitely a guy’s voice.  My never boyfriend?  Never.  An ex-boyfriend?  Doubtful.  Current boyfriend?  You don’t have a boyfriend!  Roommate?  No, he has his own bed.  Ex-roommate?  When did they get here?  I look over my shoulder and I recognize who is lying next to me. Dean.  Dean is lying next to me.   I quickly hop out of bed and start tiptoe running to Connor’s room.  Our conversation went something like this:

Me: Why is Dean in my bed?

Connor: I don’t know, he said he was sleeping on the couch.

Me: He isn’t on the couch Connor. (serious face)

Connor: Tell him to get out of your bed!

Me: No, it will be awkward.  You tell him to get out of my bed, he’s your friend!

Connor: No, it’s gonna be really awkward if I tell him.

Me: I’ll sleep on the couch.

Skeeze of the day goes to Dean.  That’s my bed, you slick motherfucker!  He did apologize in the morning to be fair…but crawling into your friend’s roommate’s bed and cuddling….pretty skeezy if you ask me!  I do know, however……

It ain’t easy bein skeezy.


I’ll Be Back By The Pool Tables

Dating, People

As I watched my roommate sharpen my eyeliner pencil with a pink pocket knife (after desperately explaining to him that I lost my sharpener and simply could not wear a leopard top without eyeliner), I began to think about my approach to the other gender.  While when most girls see a hott guy they are like “Man I’d love to (insert sexual act here) with him,” when I see a hott guy I’m like, “Man I’d binge watch the shit out of some netflix with that guy.”  Meeeeoooowwwww.  On a couch…together…ow ow!

As you may all know, I have a slight addiction to billiards.  One of my favorite things about playing pool is the fact that every fucking person playing pool has to try and make a pool-related joke.  All pool-related jokes suck balls…get it?!  But really, they suck.  My favorite pool joke is when you accidentally scratch and you hear that faint voice in the background, “You made one!”.  Fuck you.  Fuck you all.  My second favorite pool joke is when someone asks me to break.  Trust me, that always gets a good laugh.

Playing pool is the PERFECT place to meet skeezy guys (yes, skeeze is a very versatile word).  Here are just a few types of guys (skeezes) that play pool:

1. The Arrogant Pool Player– I just banked off of 3 out of 4 walls, hopped the ball over yours, for a fucking combo because I am that good.  No, it’s not slops….I meant to do that…Dude did you not see me call that pocket seriously?!  Speaking of how good I am, I should probably coach you on every shot you take because you don’t look like your very good…mostly because your short…and female…Whoaaahhh you are short and female, why don’t I just wrap my arms around you and show you how to shoot straight if you know what I’m sayin….I think I do you fucking stupid fucking motherfucker.

2. Going Nowhere With Life Pool Player – Nah man, I don’t really have a job.  I’m just tryin to live life ya know?  Just shootin pool and livin life ya know?  We could totally get dinner sometime…if you’re buying.  Fucking Skeeze.

3. I’m Just Trying To Hit On You Pool Player– I don’t usually play pool, but I just saw you over there by yourself.  Do you come here often?   And like..what does that tattoo mean?  Soooo did that septum piercing hurt? (Obviously him and I have a lot in common.)  Man, you’re so good at pool…what a pool shark you are lil thang…(Looks at Me)  I think we both know where this is headed…back to my place, am I right?  No sir, you are not right.  I stand corrected, no you fucking skeeze, you are not fucking right.

4. The Hustlin’ Pool Player– I’m not very good at pool.  I haven’t played in sooooooo long…like so long.  You’re probably gonna beat me.  Did I mention I’m not good?   Oh you’re not good either, I promise you’re better than me (he says as he makes three striped balls on the break followed by a solid run of the table then stating, “So, we’re playing for drinks right?”). Good game SKEEZE!

5. Wish I Could Bang You On This Pool Table Pool Player- Now this one is a rarity but it happens.  If you don’t fall under categories 1-4 (AT ALL) and are good at playing pool then you just got like 101% hotter in my eyes.  This here, ladies and gentleman, is not a skeeze!

My skeeze of the day goes to a guy who goes by the name “Cross.”  I feel like his name alone constitutes his skeeziness…but to add to this, he is wearing a cross necklace and a shirt with a cross on the front.  WE FUCKING GET IT!  He fell under category #3…enough said.

Pool player number 5 come find me please, I’ll be back by the pool tables.  What’s that?  You can’t find me?  Look for the girl surrounded by pool players 1-4.  FUCK.

I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend


Dick pics.  My roommate and I somehow got into a conversation about dick pics which lasted longer than I expected (that’s what she said).  I explained to my roommate that if a girl was asking for a dick pic then she must have become extremely fond of your penis, because dicks are not cute.  They’re just not ok?  Let’s play my second favorite drinking game (because yes, pool is a drinking game for me; i.e. a game that should be played under the influence of alcohol): Never Have I Ever.  Never have I ever been sitting around watching netflix thinking, Man I wish I had another opportunity to view a familiar guy’s penis, I should probably text


first name: Josh

last name: bar where I met Josh


and see if he will send me a dick pic.  


I have one friend who is always talking about how large her boyfriend’s penis is and how much she loves it.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for the girl, but I don’t feel the same.  If some guy pulled out a penis that large I’d be terrified… like, “Don’t come near me with that massive, unnatural looking appendage.”  I’m 5’0 and barely weigh over a hundred pounds, that thing freaks me the fuck out.  Just so we’re clear, vaginas are NO better.  They are terribly ugly and most of the time I just pretend I don’t have one.  Then I get in the shower and I’m like, “Whoa what the fuck is going on down there, sudoku?”  Sex is hott, but genitals are not.  (The rhyming was unintentional but effective.)


The other day I was at the bar and some guy asked me if I had gone running earlier.  I did.  He asked me if I ran around in my sports bra on purpose to get guys’ attention with how hott I looked all sweaty.  I was like no…yes…no…wait, you think I’m hott?  I keep jogging past the local fire station hoping that one of them will come put out my fire…and by fire, I mean the red hot flames of desire.  Rescue me, I’m just too too hott.  I meant hot with only one “t” of course.  Okay, now I’m just embarrassing myself.


On a different note, one of the things I love about people is how we translate what we’re hearing into something more suitable.  I did this all the time with my ex-boyfriends as a survival technique.  They would say hey and I’d be like You think I’m beautiful?  They might say How are you? and I’d be like You’ve been thinking about me all day?  I’m not completely delusional but it has spared me from the drunken crying on many occasions.  The truth is, guys can be dicks.  Girls can be very shitty too, but again I say, guys can be dicks.  The real dick pics are the pictures of guys who didn’t show up when they said they would be there, laughed at you in front of all of their friends, and made you feel like something was wrong with you just because you weren’t perfect.


In an effort to save this post from getting too serious, I’ll give you a little insight into the “breakup” of my never boyfriend and I.  When I ended things I said, “I know you weren’t just hanging out with me to have sex, because we both know I’m terrible in bed.”  We both ended up hysterically laughing on his porch because we knew it was true.  My version of sex is pretty much my version of watching netflix or reading, I just lay there and enjoy.  Although my heart was breaking, I knew, even then, that you shouldn’t take things quite so seriously.  Hence, my blog.  Skeeze of the day goes to my never-boyfriend for, well, being my never-boyfriend.