This is why I drink.

New year's Resolutions.

How many times have we been through this?  When will you learn!? Year after year I will wholeheartedly promise to do, or not to do various things, only to find myself doing them (usually) the very next day.  It was a good fight.  It lasted a whole 12 hours...10 of which I was sleeping off a hangover.

Private profiles on Instagram.

Are your pictures of food extremely secretive? Do you have a very private cat?  Oh I see, your super filtered, perfectly angled, selfies must be ultra exclusive. Damn you!  I have never needed to see anything more in my life.

After holiday candy sales at Target.  

You are just wandering the isles when you see the sign out of the corner of your eye.  You know what it is, but you try to not make eye contact.  ”75% off.”  How can you pass up a deal like that?  Fill your cart now, and hate yourself later.  I need to hit the liquor isle up too since I am going to want to drink after I gain ten pounds.

Hair straighteners,

Like heels, I have a love/hate relationship with them.  On one hand, they make you look fabulous, on the other, they are the devil.  Every girl who has ever used a hair straightener has a battle wound to prove it.  I have burned everything from my forehead to my neck and even my boob, and for every burn, there has been a bottle.  If Chi created a vodka line, they could rule the world.

Influenza: a step by step guide.

Well folks, it finally got me.  I have been avoiding it for years, somehow managing to dodge it winter after winter.  I knew sooner or later it would catch up with me, but I always figured it would be once I shit out a couple of germ magnets who brought the virus home from The Cootie Kingdom (aka school).

I was out Saturday night with some friends, and what I thought would be my biggest concern Sunday morning would be nursing my hangover. Little did I know what was in store for me. The MOTHER FUCKING Flu.  I never thought I would be wishing for the latter...

I am currently on day 4, and I have become a completely useless human being.  I am unable to feed myself, and my personal hygiene has become questionable.  I did manage to shower a couple of times in hopes of washing away the virus, however, I have not seen a hairbrush since Sunday so I am hoping dreadlocks are the new black.

When you have the flu, there are only a few things you can really do.  So far I have created a pretty solid list of ways to pass the time/virus.

Step 1: Try to prevent the obvious by drinking tons of orange juice and inhaling copious amounts of Emergen-Cs. Consider shooting it directly into your veins, but remember extreme fear of needles.  

Step 2: Sleep.  Wake up still feeling sick.  Not enough sleep.  Sleep more.  More.  Comatose.  Am I dead? Nope.  Still sick.

Step 3: Chicken Noodle Soup. Better than Penicillin? Lies.  All lies.

Step 4: More orange juice.  Can you OD on OJ?  Let's find out.

Step 5: Cry.  Release that demon virus through your tears.

Step 6:  Shower.  You probably smell... and by probably, I mean definitely.

Step 7: Make that a bath.  Too weak to stand.  Don't get out until you look like a senior citizen.

Step 8: Crawl back into bed.  Shake. Freeze. Cry. 

Step 9: Sweat. Strip naked. Freeze. 20 blankets. No blankets.  This sure is fun.

Step 10:  Sleep for 100 years.

Step 11: Eventually (to be determined) wake up feeling better and carefully rejoin society. Slowly. A lot has probably changed since you went on hiatus.  You may have missed another Kardashian wedding or starlet meltdown.  Try to act normal.

Step 12: Realize you have lost 5 pounds with out even trying, and pray for at least 2 more flus this winter.

I never got the memo.

As I have mentioned in the past, I mostly hang out with guys and only have a handful of female friends.  I have just always gotten along better with boys because my sick sense of humor tends to offend most women.  I also really like video games and fart jokes.  I am basically a dude with boobs.  A 12 year old dude with an amazing rack.

Seriously though, being a girl is a lot of work. It's exhausting really.  We are held to very high standards and expected to follow a lot of rules.  I just can't keep them all straight.  Here are some aspects of being a girl I will never fully understand...

Wearing my hair in more than one way...down.

Not ordering a double cheeseburger with a side of cheese fried dipped in ranch dressing on the first date.  Boys see this and think I have a tapeworm.  There is a real possibility I may die alone...and hungry.

How to wear tights with out putting a hole in them, usually half way through putting them on.

The smokey eye, cat eye, or really how to use eye shadow in general.  I always end up looking like the morning after.

The color pink...especially women who wear it head to toe. Are you a two month old baby trying to confirm your gender?  Do you think you are Elle Woods from Legally Blonde?  Maybe you are convinced you are a pretty, pretty, princess?  Not so much.  What you are, however,  is a walking penis repellent.

How to stop trying to out drink my 6+ feet tall male friends.  It's never going to happen no matter how hard I try...well, except maybe one.  You know who you are, cough*Roy*cough.  Lightweight.

Lipstick.  It makes me look like I have bad collagen injections. It feels weird, tastes gross, and ends up on everything.  I don't get it. I would like to know the fascination with foundation (aka slimy fake skin in a jar) is as well. Will some girl explain these to me?!

Spanx.  They do not make you look thinner. They only push your fat up higher and make it uncomfortable to sit. eat. drink. move. breathe.  I mean really, nothing screams sexy like a granny panty/girdle.

When to wear white.  If you aren't supposed to wear it after Labor Day then why do they make white coats?  Also, how do you wear it and manage to stay clean?  Do you just not eat, drink, or sit with it on? I can't commit to any of those for more than 5 minutes.

Posing awkwardly in pictures...hand on the hip, head tilted to a 45 degree angle, THAT FUCKING DUCK FACE.  It's a picture.  Look at the camera and smile. You throwing up the rock sign does not make you look like a bad ass, and the peace sign does not make you look like the Dali Lama either.

And the most befuddling...

how to paint my nails without painting my cuticles. fingers. hands. arms. hair? fuck.

Friends...with benefits?

I went out last night to visit a friend in town from New York.  There were a few new faces, but mostly the usual suspects.  At one point throughout the evening a female friend became uncomfortable when a guy she recently hooked up with took a seat across from her.  To try to console her I pointed out that I too, had hooked up with someone at the table, and it was no big deal.  Upon further investigation, I realized we were all a bunch of hoe bags and pretty much everyone at the table had hooked up with someone else.

We started to talk about males and females as friends and after some careful reviewing and some questionable years in college, we both realized we have hooked up with a decent amount of our male friends.  When I say "hooked up" I am including something as simple as a drunk make out session.  I just wanted to clarify that fact since I have a plethora of male friends, and if I was sleeping with all of them, I wouldn't have time to write this blog (and my vagina would have fallen off by now).  There is also no time frame on this epiphany either, meaning I may have kissed my buddy Johnny once in high school, and we are still friends.

I used to think men and women were capable of platonic relationships, but like the time I thought I would look good as a blonde, I was wrong.  So very wrong. Either you two have already hooked up, or one of you secretly (or not so secretly) wants to, or at least wanted to when you first met.  No man has willing taken a trip with you to IKEA without hoping to try out the new bed he helped you put together.

Before you boys start befriending me on Facebook, know that I have not hooked up with every male friend of mine because there are a few loop holes to my theory. You can be friends with a member of the opposite sex without an agenda if you two have

A. known each other since childhood
B. dated the other's brother/sister/close friend
C. they are gay and you are straight or vice versa
D. all of the above

That is it.  Seriously ladies, even if you are missing limbs or body parts, as long as it's not your vagina, your male friends are trying to have sex with you.  Even if they aren't actively trying at the moment, they still would if you presented them with the opportunity.  It's like when someone asks if you want to grab some dinner after you had a late lunch...you may not be hungry, but you will always say, "Sure, I can eat."

America. Fuck yeah.

There have been several discussions about guns filling up my Facebook news feed recently.  The obvious argument being whether or not they are our constitutional right as Americans...

I am not going to go all political on your asses about the topic...I mean seriously, after all this time I feel like if you'd expect that from me on this blog, well then you don't even know me at all...

Instead I am going to go ahead and talk about some of my other rights as an American which I like to pursue regularly.

I have the right to...

• think Taylor Swift is a saint and not in fact a crazy bitch, and every guy she dates is an asshole who is entirely responsible for their breakup.  

• have a crush on Russel Brand, without reason, even though I will probably catch an STD from merely typing his name.

• never actually see a doctor but rather visit WebMD and self-diagnosis myself with cancer every time I have a sore throat.

• click on a YouTube link and spend the next four hours watching videos of puppies and kittens.

• refer to any woman thinner/prettier/better dressed than me as "that bitch."

• assume I am fabulous day in and day out, and anyone who tells me I look tired is just jealous...including the mirror.

• play any song I want on repeat for 6 hours, even if I never learn the words or never finish the song entirely.  I also have the right to sing along to the only 3 lines I do know and the right to be tone-deaf.

• eat cake for breakfast.  YES I DO ROY!  Stop judging me!

• be 31, have several jobs but no career, not married, and childless.  I can drink all the vodka I please, on the beaches I want, on all the vacations I take while you are discovering the spit up stain on your jacket while stuck in traffic on the way to your office job.  

• shake what my momma gave me, without apologies for all the jiggle.

• stay up until ungodly hours to watch movies on TV which I already own, which I have already seen roughly a thousand times, none of which have received more than two stars.

• buy an item of clothing, wear it 473974 times in a row, and decide I hate it the very next day.  I also have the right to decide it is the greatest thing in the history of the world a few months later. 

• lather, rinse, and repeat.  All.fucking.day.long.  I don't have kids so I have all the time in the world.

• be on a first name basis with everyone at Taco Burrito House...and know their wives. And kids.  How is little Alejandro's orange belt coming along?

• hate red wine. White wine. Most wine. And prefer the taste of something that has more sugar than a cupcake, preferably served in a pineapple, with a little umbrella.  Throw in a twisty straw, and my life is complete.

• still have a crush on Shawn Hunter and fan girl out when I hear they are making a Boy Meets World spin off.

• buy another scarf.  Yes, ANOTHER scarf, without having a cold neck. 

• have a love/hate relationship with my ass...You're awful, I love you.

• assume that when I throw a shoe at a spider on my bedroom wall and miss, he is going to round up a group of his buddies and kill me in my sleep.  I also have the right to sleep (or lose sleep) on the couch for as long as I see fit.

• steal my friends' phones and leave statuses about explosive diarrhea or liking it in the butt.

• be a grown up and still find this funny.

Frenemies.

I was recently thinking about a concept most women can relate to...frenemies.  I say "women" since men are capable of being friends with other men without secretly wishing harm upon them.

Women are complicated.  We are beautiful, magical, beings who have the ability to be jealous, spiteful, little people if the wrong one crosses our path, and every woman has had that bitch not only cross her path but has invited her into her life unbeknownst that she would try to ruin it.

I am not saying all women want to hurt their good friends,  however, every woman has that one friend they wish would trip on her stilletos while accepting her "Woman of the Year" speech.  Anything you have ever accomplished pales in comparison to her achievements, and as long as you two remain "friends," you will always be playing the supporting female role in the movie of your lives.  She would probably cast an older, fatter, version of yourself to play the part of you as well...

If you got a raise at work, her husband bought your company.  When you get a new haircut she tells how much better it looks now compared to that train wreck you had going on before. If you lose ten pounds, she is there to deliver you a celebratory dozen cupcakes on her way to the gym.

In most cases, this creature of darkness is one you have known since childhood.  You two probably grew up being compared to one another by your parents, teachers, and friends thus setting the bar for the level of competition that will continue until one of you loses and dies first. "I can't believe that bitch got married and had kids first, and now she had the nerve to die before me too? Who does she think she is?  Was.  My condolences. May God rest her soul."

There is no way to avoid a frenemy unless you can avoid women altogether, and you can't...there's too damn many of us. So just remember, keep your friends close and your frenemies closer. That, and if she tells you how amazing you look at the holiday party, burn that fucking dress. She's lying, and you probably look fat.

I do what I want.

Those of you who know me, know I love to eat.

And drink. 

And eat some more. 

Even if you don't know me (but you read my blog), you don't need to be a rocket scientist to know how much I love food.  I would marry a Kuma burger if I could, however, we wouldn't make it to our honeymoon.

If you are anything like me, you are too busy doing the happy dance while you are eating to pay attention to portion sizes. Then, one fateful day while you were enjoying your bowl of Cap'n Crunch (finding your way through the maze on the back) you accidentally stumbled onto the nutrition facts.  You knew you had made a terribly wrong turn when you discovered your giant of bowl of cereal was in fact 3, ok ok, 4 portions.  Who, TELL ME WHO, eats 3/4 of a cup of cereal?  Surely it's not the Captain since he is not the poster boy for nutritional health...

It goes far beyond breakfast too.  I'm willing to bet most of you have finished a pack of Ramen and thought, "I could sure go for another one of the those." That would leave you consuming 4 portions of mediocre noodle product. I'm starting to think this has something to do with the "Freshman 15"...

I was curious as to how many peoples' meals I was actually consuming on any given day so I looked up some standard food portions...

Here are a few of my favorite...

Please.  If that's a portion, I am going to consume a whole casino's worth of cheese as well as three to four packs of playing crackers.

Oh, you're not showing me that the plate on the right is mine, while the left shows the rejects that get fed to the dog?  Fuck you.

Thanksgiving portions...

For a 2 year old?  How dare you even suggest I consume anything less than twelve times this on any given Turkey Day.

Sooooo this last one may or may not be accurate, but after finding out a muffin is three servings, I'm not sure what to believe anymore...

Questions?

If you guys ever want to ask me something, or have a topic you would like me to rant about, feel free to submit it to my tumblr ask box.

http://www.oohstephanie.tumblr.com/

Thanks!

First World Problems.

Hello all!  I just got back from my favorite place on Earth, San Diego.  My brain is a little fried from a 5 day drinking bender so today's entry is going to be short and light.

While on vacation, my friends and I kept joking about the ridiculous things we complain about that shouldn't even be issues to begin with, aka "First World Problems."  Turns out, we are all a bunch of spoiled brats who complain about things like being too full after an abundance of delicious food.

Here are a few of my favorites from the trip...You know you have said, or at least thought one of the following, you selfish bastard...

"I have a closet full of clothes, but nothing to wear,"

"There is nothing to watch on any of my 900 TV channels."

"I left my iPhone on the couch when I went to poop and was bored the entire time."

"I'm so hungover from drinking that entire bottle of champagne."

"3G is so slow compared to Wifi. It's taking forever for my Instagram photo to load."

"I took a nap, overslept, and now I am even more tired."

"My expensive, new, shoes really hurt my feet."

"One of my delicious nachos just stabbed the roof of my mouth."

Bonus "problems"

 And my personal favorite...

We really are a bunch of assholes.

See you next Tuesday.

I'm off to California for vacation so I may or may not write...you never know if the mood will strike drunkenly at 2 am.  If not, you'll hear from me when I get back.  Try not to miss me too much.

Photoshop's a hell of a drug...

"The problem with quotes from the internet is it is hard to verify their authenticity"  -- Abraham Lincoln


Those of you who saw nothing wrong with the above quote need to go play in traffic.  In fact, if you believe everything you read on the internet, you need head to six corners and set up a picnic.

A lot of things circulate online (Facebook especially) that are complete and utter bullshit.  I see friends sharing all kinds of crap on a daily basis, but I just laugh and keep scrolling.  Most recently, a man who claimed to have won the last Powerball jackpot was supposedly giving away one million dollars to a random person who shared his picture. 

First off, the numbers on the ticket were not printed in numeral order, which they always are.   Second, if you just won half a billion dollars, would you be on your Facebook asking people to share your picture and checking it every five minutes?  I know I would quietly delete my Facebook altogether to keep that friend I had one class with Freshman year of college from hitting me up for money with some sob story about his one-eyed cat needing surgery.  Everyone I have ever known would be trying to get a piece of my million dollar pie, so I would move to a private island with all my closet friends so everyone else would leave us the hell alone...

Think back to KONY 2012. From the get-go something didn't seem right about that guy, and I thought he was full of shit.  When I suggested Jason Russell, (the guy who made the video) seemed like an ass face, several people called me insensitive...

Soooooo...how's your little, red, string bracelet saving the world now? In case you were wondering, I believe it went toward Jason's bail when he was caught running through the streets of San Diego naked.

Next time you see something on the internet, don't jump the gun and assume it's automatically accurate.  After all...

I rest my case.

This is why I drink.

Alarm clocks.  

Alarm clocks are the Devil Bobby.  Have you ever thought about this concept...I mean REALLY thought about it?  It is a device to jolt you awake from a sound sleep...it is solely designed to scare (the shit out of) you awake. What a horrible way to wake up.  Since I didn't die of a heart attack this morning, I'm going to celebrate with a mimosa.

Weight loss commercials...  

Especially those where I look like the"before" picture.  Thanks for reminding me you lost 70 pounds while I am eating cake for dinner.  Now seems like the perfect time to pair my meal with a nice Riesling...

Meeting people for the first time/running into someone you haven't seen in awhile...  

Do you wave hello?  Handshake?  Hug?  What if they extend their hand while I am in mid wave? What if I am reaching out, but they aren't paying attention, and I'm left hanging? What if they move in for a hug while I am reaching for a handshake?  It's all so awkward.  Let's all get drunk and make it simple with high fives.

Santa can suck it!

So I know I am late to the party, but I just discovered Ebay.  It's not that I didn't know it existed (I wasn't living under a rock), I had just never gone to the site and bid on anything.  By the way, currently my definition of "anything," means everything.

No one previously told me Ebay is a magical internet land where you can find exactly what you are looking for and a whole heap of crap you aren't but now can't imagine your life without.

My path to bidding utopia began on accident.  I was getting an early start on my X-mas shopping and using Google to locate an item.  That crafty, little search engine knew exactly what it was doing when it suggested I visit Ebay to find it.  Just like millions before me, I walked right into its trap.

It's been three days, countless hours of lost sleep, and over a dozen dents to my credit card later, but I can't stop.  My purchases keep on getting more and more ridiculous, and by ridiculous, I mean awesome.  I can't post all of the things I purchased because they are gifts for friends who frequently read my blog, however I can post a few of the gifts for the ones who don't get online much.  Although now that I think about it, they probably don't deserve anything for not supporting their friend...

I can't explain the inside joke amazingness that goes along with each of these items, but you can still appreciate their face value...

The lucky recipient of this tender, little guy also gets a box full of Baby Ruth's.  Those of you who don't know me are kind of wishing you did right about now huh?

I will be able to sleep easy knowing this will be plastered all over my male friend's bedroom wall.  

How cute is this little pint sized rapper?  They had a Biggie too, but you know, west coast all day baby.

Um, what time is it? It's half past Hall...maybe a quarter to Oats?  It's amazing, that's what it is.

Did you just read that in your best Arnold voice?  If not, well now you have.  I bet you didn't know he made Christmas T-shirts.  Sing it...The more you knooooooooooooow!

The cat, the crown, the neon colors...I can't, I just can't... not buy this!  I have a friend who is going to hate me once she stops laughing and realizes I am going to make her actually wear this... 

On that note, if you need me from now on, I will be in front of my computer until my eyes bleed.  

Hey thanks.

Ah yes.  It's that time of year again...Thanksgiving. A time where we celebrate all the things we are thankful for by stuffing our faces until we want to vomit, then waiting hours to digest so we can do it all over again.  Sure, you get to spend time with your family, and somewhere throughout the day there is football...but we all know what Thanksgiving really is: The Eating Olympics.

Personally, I have been training for this day all year.

Regardless of all the delicious food and sweet Black Friday sales, there is an actual point to this holiday.  We are supposed to express gratitude for all the good things in our lives. On that note, I thought I would share a few reasons I am thankful (besides the obvious: family, friends, etc)...

First and foremost, I am thankful for pants with elastic waistbands. After I shatter my skinny jeans tomorrow, they are going to be my new best friends until about oh, mid January.

Second, I am super thankful for alcohol.  If you know me, you knew this was coming, but it doesn't mean I am any less serious about my love and appreciation for vodka.  Vodka makes a bad day better.  It makes all family functions tolerable.  It even gives you something to blame for all your bad decisions.  It also makes you an amazing dancer (in your head), great in bed (so you think), and super hilarious (to yourself).  What's not to love?

I am also thankful for all those pictures of cats, dogs, or any animal really with the broken English/funny sayings on them. They are responsible for hours of entertainment and endless turning of frowns upside down.  

Scientists in a recent study I just made up said your day just got 27% better.  You're welcome.

I am always grateful for the casts of all the bad reality TV shows out there. See, every now and then when I am questioning my impact or place in this world, I can turn on my television and instantly feel better about my life choices because there are people out there who exist with absolutely no purpose at all, and people love them regardless.  The entire cast of The Jersey Shore is famous for being tan, drunk, animals.  Honey Boo Boo and clan gained popularity for being crazy hillbillies, while Kim Kardashian's claim to fame is having a big ass and a sex tape...I mean, if that's all it takes, well I'm already half way there (before you start googling my name looking for a video, I was referring to the junk in my trunk...).  

With people like this in the world...

I know that even if I don't cure cancer,  I am still not a complete waste of a human being...

And last but not least, I am thankful for Ryan Gosling.  That is all.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Nothing really matters...

The world is coming to an end.

No, not because of the Mayan calender.
Not because of Dick Clark dying either.
Not even because of the "upcoming" zombie apocalypse.

The world is ending because there will be no more Twinkies...

And no this not a Zombieland reference (for those of you who have somehow missed out on the extreme awesomeness that is Zombieland, catch up on your cardio then watch and learn)...

Twinkies being discontinued means fat kids at heart like me are going to reek havoc looking for a replacement.  What kind of manufactured baked goods are we going to deep fry now?!  Don't even suggest that bitch, Little Debbie.  I don't trust her and think she somehow played a part in all of this...

Seriously, who wants to spend a small fortune on gourmet cupcakes when you can get a whole box of creme filled deliciousness for about $3? Why would I want to eat a fresh, slice of homemade pie when I can buy a convenient portable one filled with some kind of mystery, fruit syrup? Don't insult my mediocre taste palette by expecting me to eat things that actually expire in a timely manner.

Now when picking out the perfect collection of road trip food, (chips and/or combos, beef jerky and some sort of Hostess snack cake) something will be missing.  From here on out, every low budget vacation will be ruined before your significant other was even given the chance.  Go ahead, get us lost...our trip was doomed from the get-go, and life has lost all meaning anyway...

The end of Hostess means the end of an era. People of all ages grew up on their little pre-packaged pieces 
of heaven.  This lack of sweetness will leave a void in all of our borderline, diabetic hearts.  We should all morn this loss like a childhood pet...a spongy, delicious, childhood pet.

You are an asshole.

If you are a pedestrian while I am driving,  you are an asshole (T-t-t-today Junior!)

If you are driving while I am a pedestrian,  you are also an asshole  (Pedestrians have the right of way bitch!)

If you are a cyclist who ignores the bike lane, you are an even bigger asshole, and I will fantasize about running you over.

If you NEVER carry ANY cash, you are an (inconvenient for everyone else) asshole.

If your child is just awful, but you constantly blame their bad behavior on the fact that they must be hungry or tired, you are an asshole...and so is your child.

Pants on fire...

I like to think of myself as a pretty decent human being.  I don't steal, or cheat, or break the law too often. Realistically, you can't expect me to walk all the way to the corner to cross the street.  I'd rather take my chances playing Frogger with reckless Chicago cab drivers before I walk an extra block in six inch heels.

Besides occasionally failing to abide by a few rules, my moral compass points due north.  I generally go out of my way to help people in need, and I try to do the right thing as much as possible.  I'm not saying I am a saint by any means, but I do try to be an honest person.  I'm not implying I never lie either, however when I do it's never regarding anything important.  I told a fib last night actually... "I'm not thaaaaaaaaaaaaaat drunk."

If you claim to be completely truthful all of the time, go get your driver's licence.  If you are a man, you are not that tall.  You may claim to be 5'11", but we all know you are 5'9" and decided to "round up."  Ladies, you can go ahead and add at least 10 pounds to whatever weight you claimed to be at the time it was issued.  Let's be honest, you haven't seen those numbers (at least in that order) since, but I don't see any of you rushing to the DMV to tell the world you have let yourself go.  I for one, haven't been the weight on mine since I had the stomach flu in 2005.

Think back to any job you have ever had where you called in "sick," but really meant, "hungover."  Technically you weren't feeling well.  True, you probably did have a headache, and I'm sure your throat actually did hurt (from all the vomiting) however, we both know telling your boss you took 16 tequila shots last night won't get you a big promotion so you stretch the truth bit.  No harm, no foul.

Have you ever had a personal trainer or a nutritionist? If so you probably had to keep a food diary, and you for sure, are a liar.  Telling your trainer you had a momentary lapse in judgement today at brunch is one thing,  putting in writing that you ate an entire bag of Cheetos dipped in Nutella at 2 AM is another. You don't want him thinking you are fat and pregnant, especially because you are already getting judged for your alcohol consumption...

If you are a man, then you have absolutely told a lie to every woman in your life, hence why you are alive and able to read this.  You wouldn't tell your mother her cooking was sub par or your girlfriend that she did in fact look fat in that dress. You have even pretended to like all of her friends including (but not limited to) the obnoxious drunk one who always ends the night in tears and/or vomit,  the one who sleeps with all your friends then constantly asks why none of them want to date her, and the one so insane you wonder how she is legally allowed to live alone.

We all tell white lies to keep society running smoothly.  Don't feel bad.  It's perfectly acceptable so the next time your friend asks you if you like her new haircut, you don't have to tell her it looks like a drunk Gary Busey got scissor happy.  Honesty is not always the best policy.

Stephanie for president.

A lot of people have been asking me if I was going to blog about the election and/or its results, and to be honest, I had not planned it.  Politics are a serious/touchy topic, and you should all know by now, I prefer to talk about shit that has no real affect on anyone's life whatsoever. However, things were getting ugly in the Facebook world so I figured why not address the issue on everyone's mind in my own way?

I am not going to talk about who I voted for or why the one I didn't is an ass.  Instead, I want to take a minute to talk about a general idea...winning an election is really about one thing: making promises to do things people want done.  It's a simple concept really.  Whether or not you actually do those things is irrelevant (unless you want to be re-elected), but overall, it's the promise of doing that brings hope... and votes.  I mean seriously, if you don't plan to campaign again, why not just take it to the next level?  On that note...you should all vote for me in the next election.  Here are a few things I can "promise" if I win...

If I am elected president, I will get everyone a puppy.  That's right.  I'll be like Oprah up in here..."You get a puppy.  You get a puppy.  EVVVVVVVERYBODY gets a puppy!"  Not a dog lover?  "Who wants a kitten?!  You get a kitten!  You get a kitten!  EVERYBODY gets a kitten!"  If you don't like either, you are shit out of luck because I am not giving away free turtles too.

If elected I can guarantee the better something tastes, the fewer calories it will have and the better it will be for you.  Scientists at The White House (yes, we have those in the Lincoln bedroom now) have discovered a loophole in the system so from now on personal trainers will encourage you to eat nothing but pizza and french fries, cupcakes filled with cookie dough will be the latest health food craze, while lettuce will give you a fat ass.  Cheeseburgers will become an essential to any weight loss plan, and we will blame shit like beets for America's obesity epidemic.  Those damn beets.

I just solved all our weight issues, so I have decided to replace most staircases with slides and/or fireman poles. Elevators are boring, and people are always getting stuck in them anyway.  We are all thinner and healthier so it's time to have a little fun. On a side note, I will also require any place that is boring as shit, to have arcade games and/or ball pit rooms. Now you don't have to dread going to the DMV because you can hunt ducks or throw barrels at monkeys while you wait. A better America, one pinball machine at a time...

So the next time you are puppy/kitten-less, eating a crappy salad when you really want a hot dog, or stuck taking the stairs like a chump, remember this blog.

Stephanie for president 2016

Sugar Hooker.

Hi, my name is Stephanie, and I'm addicted to sugar.  Some may argue I am also addicted to alcohol, but that's neither here nor there.  I will however, openly admit to being head over heels infatuated with that sweet nectar of life: sucrose.  It wasn't until recently when I was consuming Halloween candy for breakfast that it hit me how bad my obsession has actually gotten. Sure, lots of people enjoy dessert after a savory meal or crave occasional sweets, but my addiction goes way beyond that...I would mainline sugar if I could.

You can't. I looked it up.

However...

I'm kidding.  I can't even use a Neti-pot.

Over the years, I have tried desperately to rid all delicious toxins from my life.  I tested every approach known to man.  I tried to wean myself off slowly, cutting my consumption a little each day so ideally, I would not crave sweets anymore. All that left me with was a sheer sense of panic leading me to spiral out of control on my final day.  Turns out, it is possible to eat an entire "death by chocolate" cake and not die.

I thought my next approach was genius...what if I purposely binge?  My logic was simple; If I consumed a plethora of desserts in one sitting, I would get sick, therefore turning myself off the junk for good. I used a similar approach in college and haven't touched Jagermeister since.  The only problem here was the discomfort of my sugar coma was like a short lived hangover...as soon as I felt better I was elbow deep in candy bars.  Instead of waking up in a stranger's bed, I woke up with strangers in my own...Mr. Goodbar, The Three Musketeers, Mike & Ike...you can't "walk of shame" your way out of that one either.

I even tried the most obvious approach, quitting cold turkey.  This lasted for about 12 hours, and I feel bad for anyone that came into contact with me during that dark period...shit got ugly.

Admitting you have a problem is the first step, although I have no intent on completing the other 11. I have a problem I am not trying to solve, but rather keep under control. So far I haven't hit rock bottom, however, don't be surprised if you see me turning tricks for Twinkies in the near future...

This is why I drink.

I know you saw the title so you were expecting to see things that agitate me so badly they lead me to alcoholism, but I also want to drink when things are just going my way. This week I thought I would list some things that make me so happy, I just want to pair them up with an alcoholic beverage.  Who doesn't like a celebratory cocktail?

When you go out to eat, have something amazing, and have left overs.  Some how you managed to not inhale all of the culinary masterpiece that made your taste buds dance. The whole day at work, it's all you can think about because you can't wait to get home and relive the magic from last night.  Turn the lights down, have a glass of wine, and take your time.  You don't want to rush this...

Driving home from work and hitting every green light. Don't you just want to high five all your neighbors you pass on the way to your door?  You have 28 extra minutes of your life back so poor that glass of champagne.  It's a celebration, bitches.

The nights where you have about 19 drinks and 24 shots but wake up feeling great.  You even stocked up on Gatorade in anticipation of your demise, but hallelujah.  You're alive! It's a miracle you don't have a hangover, let alone alcohol poisoning so doesn't it make sense to reward yourself with a Bloody Mary?  Go ahead, you deserve it.

Brace yourself.

If you live in a four season climate like I do, every winter brings several obstacles to overcome.   Right about now we will all begin to bitch about how cold it is, yet what we know as actual cold has not even hit yet.  It's forty something degrees, and we are acting like we have no idea it is going to be negative ten next month.  Did you forget the weather so cold you want to cry, but your tears will freeze to your face so it's not even worth it? It's kind of like a hangover...when it's over you look back and think, "It wasn't that bad," but the minute it happens again you bitch and moan, "I can't live like this!  I'm dying!" You always know it is coming, yet you do nothing to prepare.

First, there is the redundant question of, "What happened to all my warm clothes from last year?  How is my closet only filled with only flip flops and tank tops?"  Suddenly it goes from 70 degrees to 40, and you are left wondering if paying rent is more important than getting a new pair of boots. The answer is always, depends how cute the boots are, of course.

My personal favorite winter battle is the one I am currently losing with my heat.  I keep telling myself it may warm up one more time so there is no need to turn it on just yet. Then my cat walks by with icicles in his fur, and I mutter, "Put on a sweater and some socks and quit being a pussy."  No pun intended.

Soon the "claiming of the parking spots" will begin.  Everyone knows if you dig out your parking spot, it is perfectly acceptable to put anything you can find in its place to save it.  I have seen walkers, brooms on cinder blocks, and even vacuums holding spots. If you're anything like me, you will forget to call "dibs," and soon your entire street will be reserved.  However, you wouldn't dream of moving someone else's chair for fear that you will get murdered...and you will in fact get murdered.  Why do you think Chicago's murder rate is at an all time high?  Oh, you thought it was the gang violence?  That's so cute...

Finally, here comes the "winter weight."  You aren't going out as much but ordering in more, and no one is going to be able to see you under 9 layers of clothing anyway so why not add some extra insulation.  Bears do it right?

Before you lose sight of your feet, don't worry you have until New Year's to pretend to care about how fat you are, which will last about a week or two. You will then give up again, and panic right before it starts to warm up.  At lease you can pretend it was all just a bad dream until next October...

Guys, hang in there. It gets better.

Last night I was having a conversation with a guy friend of mine regarding a girl he has been seeing who, according to his stories, is bat shit crazy.  This got me thinking about how truthfully, most girls are crazy.  Let me rephrase that, ALL girls are crazy, some are just more crazy than others. Guys, it is your job to find the one who is the least amount of crazy and hope she doesn't turn into the latter...

Let's be honest, you have to expect all women to be a little crazy.  We have periods and hormones which cause us to be excessively sensitive  As girls, we get upset over shit you guys wouldn't even think to care about.  We tend to over think and analyze everything as well, even if it doesn't need to be.   We know we do this, but we can't help it.  It just comes with having that extra X chromosome.  It's loaded with feelings apparently.  Average (tolerable) girl shit like this aside, there are for sure some of us who need medication.  I have heard some stories from guy friends in the past so terrifying I wanted to move and change my number just in case she was watching us have the conversation.

There is some hope out there fellows.  I really do believe that the female crazy fades with age.  In my early 20s, I will be the first to admit I was an insane force to be reckoned with.   I was hot headed, super jealous, and would flip my shit at the drop of a hat.  If we dated then, I am so sorry for all the gray hairs and premature wrinkles I may have caused...

As I've gotten older, I have become more secure with who I am and what I look like so I don't get jealous of other girls like I used to.    I've accepted I am not perfect, and honestly, I wouldn't want to be since that is a lot of pressure... Also, I've learned to control my emotions and not let the small stuff bother me either.   Basically, the older I get, the less fucks I give...and who says there are no advantages to aging?                                         

I can honestly say while back in the day I may have been a tad bi-polar, I have never hid in a boyfriend's back seat or physically beaten a guy I was seeing (no seriously, this has happened to some of my friends). To this day, I don't go through phones of the people I date or read their emails because if I ever feel the need to do this, I don't trust you, and there is no point in dating you to begin with. If you feel the need to look, chances are you are going to find something you don't want to see...

Regarding exes, I really don't want to hear every detail of your former relationships either.  As far as I'm concerned you were a virgin before you met me.  You and your ex only held hands, and I can hold hands way better than she ever could anyway.

                               

Dear diary...

Just kidding.  I never kept a diary.

Even at its high point of popularity, I never really trusted the idea.  I always feared that no matter how amazing the hiding spot or how intricate the locking mechanism, someone would read it.  Maybe it would be my narc of a sister, or my conservative parents, or even worse, my best friend.  Sure, now she knows everything about me, but back then I harbored some pretty intense secrets I wouldn't have trusted her with.

Everyone knows, at that age best friends can turn into worst enemies faster than you could say, "Don't have a cow, man." What if we wore the same outfit on the same day, and as revenge she told my crush about my undying love for him and our future children?  That is merely too much for a fifth grader to take, and I was far too wise to succumb to that kind of travesty.

Writing has always come pretty naturally to me,  I was the girl who crammed out an "A" (ten or more page) paper the night before it was due with little effort. Before you start calling me a bitch under your breath, know that I am math illiterate to compensate.  No seriously, 126 x 12 = orange?

I have always loved to write and even considered majoring in journalism to (hopefully) one day have a career in the field.  However in college, I switched my major twice (hence why I have a double minor) and finally settled on Communications since I was sick of hearing jokes about being in college for 7 years without a P.H.D.

I remember signing up for my first creative writing course Freshman year.  On the first day I thought, "This is it. I finally have it all figured out."  The class started out great.  The weekly assignments were thought inducing, and I really felt I had found my niche. It wasn't until the final week of class that my teacher assigned each of us a song and told us to write a piece regarding our interpretation of the song's meaning.  I was assigned "Warehouse" by The Dave Matthews Band.  Before you judge her song choice, it was the year 2000, and he was still considerably important.  If you still think he is important, you probably also think Patchouli smells good, therefore your opinion is invalid.

Regardless of what the song is actually about, I wrote about what I felt the lyrics meant. I was sure I had nailed this assignment like all the others seeing as to how it was a creative writing assignment and not a research one.  You can imagine my dismay when I received my paper back with a giant, red, "C-" on it.  I stayed after class to question this obvious lack in judgement, and she simply responded with, "That is not what I felt the song was about at all."  I'm sorry but wasn't the assignment for ME to write about what I felt the song was about?  I couldn't fathom how I was being told my personal interpretation was wrong, in a creative writing course nonetheless. She clearly was not Dave Matthews so how the hell could she be so sure of the song's correct content?  Long story short, I went to see her superior to explain my predicament, and I got my "C-" changed to an "A".

I can't even remember her name, but I do remember she was pretty old back then so I'm going to go ahead and assume she is dead by now.  It was because of her, I switched majors; she taught several of the other writing courses at my college, and I didn't want to deal with her again.  A decade later, I have finally returned to my passion. I know, I probably shouldn't have let her get to me, but I was 19 (and my judgement was questionable at best back then).  Looking back, I didn't have it all figured out like I thought. Turns out, the only thing I truly had figured out was my teacher was a bitch.

Bye Bye Benjamin.

I lost $100 today.

I am not sure how or where it went for sure...I just know that is is gone. Initially I got kind of upset because well, it's a hundred bucks, and I went to work today despite the fact that I am dying.  I felt like shit at the concert Tuesday, and I missed work yesterday because I have a nasty cold and a 102 fever (Bieber fever I presume).  After dragging myself into work feeling less like a million (and more like 12) bucks, I lost a decent chunk of my paycheck.  

The best way one can look at this situation is this: hopefully whoever finds it really needed it. If not, this would also be an acceptable way to spend it...

That lucky bastard. I wish I had thought of that sooner.

In my next life, I want to come back as Justin Bieber.

I took my boss's daughter to his concert last night.  I was less than enthused to go, however, we had 4th row seats so at least I could see him possibly throw up on stage again. 

On a side note, I anticipate my hearing will return by the end of the weekend.

As much as I hate to admit it, he put on an amazing show.  There were lots of theatrics and pyrotechnics.  The stage moved, and he even shot out of it several times. I will also reluctantly say this, that little fucker can dance...and sing...and play the drums.  I had no idea he was talented beyond auto tune.  However, what was more impressive than his talents, was his fans' reactions to him.

My boss's daughter starting crying hysterically when merely his body guard came out to announce him.  She continued to cry the entire show and most of the ride home.  Girls were screaming, sobbing, and fainting all over the place.  I'm talking girls of all ages...toddlers to moms all sporting Bieber shirts and having aneurysms. I mean, I get it.  There was a moment during the show when he grabbed a camera (to film himself for the jumbotron), and he mouthed some words and gave a little wink.  It was adorable, and I momentarily reverted to my 12 year old self.  I am a grown ass woman, and I caught the Bieber fever.  How did this happen?  I wore protection.

Watching all these girls freak out got me thinking...how amazing would it be to have that affect on millions of people's lives?  What if the sheer sight of you caused people to cry tears of joy and/or pass out?  I would love to make people hyperventilate just by showing up. Think about it, if just one person reacted to each of us the way these girls reacted to Justin, I think we would all be in pretty good shape. 

"5"s are the new "10"s

Being shallow is part of who we are...we can't help it.  We live in a society that has trained us to think physical appearance triumphs character.  As you get older looks will matter less, however, the younger you are, the more of an asshole you are going to be.  Truth be told, we are/were all some level of asshole.  You have rejected a less than attractive nice person or two in your day so stop kidding yourself...

Ladies, stop going for "9"s and "10"s and give those "5"s and "6"s a chance.  Why, you ask?


Exhibit A: Ryan Gosling.

Let's be honest, we would have all ignored him in high school.  However, if we did, we also would have killed ourselves by now.  R.I.P. to the girl who actually turned down his prom invite.  God rest her poor soul.

This next one haunts my dreams.  Look at Zac Efron then and now.  

Are you thinking of all those guys you shot down back in the day? Don't you just want to punch yourself in the face?  No?  Look at those muscles again.  Checkmate.

How about Matthew Lewis?

Wait for it....

This really happened. I know. I KNOW.  Thank you modern dentistry.

If you ever watched "Even Stevens" you may remember the dorky younger brother...what you may want to forget is the babe he turned into. Are you thinking of all your little brother's friends you ignored who had a crush on you?  It stings a bit huh?

Finally, check out Bradley Cooper back in the day...

One of people magazine's sexiest men alive was beyond goofy looking throughout his teens.  He probably cried himself to sleep a few times, but the joke is on all the ladies who refused his advances.  He can now dry any tears he may have on the thousands of panties thrown at him daily.