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.

You are an asshole.

If I call you and you don't answer, but you text me right back (and you aren't at work or out of minutes), you are an asshole.

If you own a pair of Crocs, you are an asshole.  Yes I am aware of their level of comfort...you're still an asshole

If you have ever given yourself a nickname, you are an asshole.

If while driving, I let you cut in front of me and you don't throw up the "thank you" hand signal, you are an asshole...and I want you dead.

Hey I moved!

I know a bunch of you have told me I need to get off Tumblr, so I finally caved, and here I am.
Hello google blog spot.  I will try to make my page super, mega, ultra, awesome at some point, but for now enjoy my minimal design and random rants.  I should have my "ask box" up and running soon too, but for now you can ask me any questions or post topics on my old blog page...
http://oohstephanie.tumblr.com

BTW, since nobody helped me pack, none of you get pizza and beer.

This is why I drink.

Those damn Sarah McLachlan ASPCA commercials. Yes I love puppies.  Kittens too.  I wish I could adopt them all, but you want me to sponsor one I don’t get to play with?  Changing channels…thanks for reminding me how selfish I am. 

Snooki, Paris Hiton, and someone named “Big Ang” all have book deals while all I have is my lil’ ol’ blog.  I even know the difference between “your” and “you’re” which is more than I can say for some people…

Manicures. No matter how long I wait for my nails to dry, I will still manage to fuck one up somehow…then fix it…then fuck up a different one. “So Steph what did you do last night?”  ”Painted my nails…for 6 hours.   I also drank an entire bottle of wine. No relation…”

Victoria’s Secret.  This store befuddles me…too many unanswered questions.  Why does every bra in this store have 4 inches of padding or chicken cutlets? Why is everything neon, animal printed and/or covered in rhinestones?  Why does one bra cost more than half of a hundred dollars? Why do I need to wear my bra 8 different ways? And most importantly, who the fuck looks like that…and why can’t I?

That water bra should be filled with vodka.

I'll sleep when I'm dead.

I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t at least a little bit tired.

A lack of sleep has become a state of normalcy for me.  It has been years since I have slept through the entire night…so many in fact, I can’t even remember the last time.  I average about 4-5 hours on a good night, usually with twenty minute bouts of random alertness for no reason. This past summer I went weeks on 3 or less hours a night.

Insomnia is a funny thing.  Your body can be exhausted, but the second you lay down to sleep, your mind won’t shut off.  You lie awake thinking about everything yet nothing at the same time.  Some nights, if I am really lucky, I don’t sleep at all and start to hallucinate…

It’s not all bad though. There are some advantages to being a robot…

Have you ever grocery shopped after 1 am?  Oh right, you’re normal so probably not.  I recommend the next time you are up past midnight, you give it a try.  There are no people playing “chicken” with their shopping carts, screaming children begging for cookies, or long lines of elderly coupon cutters who can’t seem to locate their “50 cents off ” a box box of Grape Nuts.  Plus, I can buy all the Ramen, vodka, and wine I want without being judged. 

Thanks to my insomnia, I was probably the very first person with a George Foreman grill since I was the only one awake when that infomercial first aired.  I believe it was around 4 am since no one thought a retired boxer with a dream of fast cooking meat was worth a prime time slot.  Jokes on them, I have cooked at least 300 chickens and 200 cows on that thing since then. Don’t be jealous of my Slap Chop or Chef Basket either.  If you own a Snuggie, you know what I’m talking about.  Delightful, absolutely delightful.

If you ever watch TV past 3 am, you also get to see some cinematic gold that you may miss out on during normal viewing hours.  I have caught some mindblowing gems such as “Sharktopus” and “Leprechaun: In the Hood.”  You guys watching Emmy award winning television shows are suckers.  Psh, enjoy your “4 star” movies too.  

Also, why would you want to waste your time watching actual porn when you can catch soft core versions mixed with your favorite horror films?  ”The Hills Have Thighs,” or “The Bare Wench Project” anyone?   That’s what I call killing two birds with one stone!  You just can’t get those kind of quality films at any other hour.

And who said nothing good ever happens after two am…

Just another Saturday night.

Last night I headed out to my favorite local dive for a few (ok, ok, several) drinks with some friends. I had a long day at work and was excited to share some laughs with a few of my favorite people over some delicious, fruity, beers.  I was looking forward to just disappearing into the corner of the dark bar and drinking my troubles away, but the universe had other plans for me.

I don’t normally get hit on when I go out.  I am not saying I don’t get smiled at occasionally,  but when you hang out with mostly dudes (big dudes with tattoos at that), the boys don’t come lining up to talk to you.  Last night, even though I was out with Roy (if you know him, you know) the men of Chicago seemed to show no fear.  One in particular was a whole new level of brave/degree of douche.

It all started when I skipped outside to make a quick call.  He asked me if I had a light, and within seconds he was mumbling under his breath.  I asked him what was wrong, and he replied, “Everything.  Well, lots of things. Just about everything.”  Not really knowing how to respond I just said, “Well it could always be worse right?” After a quick pep talk on life’s ups and downs,  I got Mr. Sunshine to crack a smile and thought that was the end of it. Good deed of the day complete.

I was looking at my phone, only half paying attention when he began talking about politics.  Before I could get a word in edgewise, he switched the conversation to religion.  After his rather offensive rant, I simply looked up and said, “You’re not very good at this are you?” I proceeded to head inside as he called out for me to wait up.  He then offered to buy me a drink to make up for raining on my drunk parade.

I was definitely not interested in him, however I am interested in free booze so I obliged, and we sat down and waited for the waitress.  Within about fifteen seconds the conversation turned to jobs.  He told me he was an “entrepreneur.”  I asked what business he was in, and he replied, “Prescription pills.”  I tried hard to sound sincere when I asked if he was a sales rep.  He could have quit while he was ahead, but he told me he was in fact a drug dealer.  As I burst out in laughter, he walked away.  I chuckled all the way back to my table thinking that was the end of it for real this time.  I was wrong, so wrong.

About 30 minutes later my drug slinging suitor returned.  I gave Roy the signal that he may or may not have to beat this guy if he said anything inappropriate to me, but instead of cursing me out or apologizing maybe, he asked, “Do you know where I could get some blow?”  I asked him if it was 1998 and let him know I do not do any drugs.  He asked me why not, and I told him, “Because I am a grown up.”  

I thought for sure he would have walked off again, but he stuck around and tried to start up a conversation about my plans for the following weekend.  I told him I was going to be busy leading a D.A.R.E. class at the local Y.M.C.A. He continued to talk about some great Mexican restaurant when I realized sarcasm was clearly lost on this guy. I pointed out it was never going to work out between us so he should just save his breath.  I wished him luck with his cocaine use and pharmaceutical sales, and sent him on his way. 

And people always ask me why I am not married already…

My quote book.

I keep a little notebook in my purse, and I write down funny things my friends say.  This tradition started when a drunk friend of mine (who had been cut off by her boyfriend) yelled, “You can never free down a turned shot!” An instant classic was born.  I highly suggest all of you do this.  I know with my friends, there is never a dull moment.

I thought I would keep tonight’s entry light since I am still a bit brain dead from 6 days of thinking I can party like/with rock stars so I am going to share a few favorites from my book…

“I am so happy I just heard ‘November Rain’ on the radio.”  ”Ah man, lucky! I love Prince!”

“What are you laughing at? You’re next Grandma!”

“I’m getting chest pains in my stomach.”

“Push it real good is on!  Let’s go dance!”  ”I don’t think I am qualified to push it real good…”

“Obama’s no Nelly.”

“You can’t pull out AIDS.”

“Oh Dear God!  There is BBQ sauce everywhere!”

“I haven’t put my dick in anything since November!”

“I like to drink Vodka/waters to try to keep myself hydrated.”  ”I like to drink Vodka/salt waters to make myself feel worse.”

“Your nails are like running into your ex boyfriend…it’s just uncomfortable for everyone.”

“I’m going to punch you in the back of the forehead.”

“Imagine what the neighbors think…first they were making out, and now they’re touching their own butts.”

“No young girl wants you unless you can break this table with your dick.”

“I can’t go to prison…I’ll be fucked.  No literally, I will be fucked in prison.”

“Is that the same guy who wrote I hope they serve alcohol in beer?”

Anonymous asked: What are your favorite song or lyrics?

What is your favorite song or lyrics?

 Anonymous

I love too many songs to pick just one as an all time favorite, but I have favorite songs by favorite bands and favorite lyrics…Some are amazing on their own, some just have personal meaning to me.

Let me name a few…  

“The hardest things to say are the words that mean the most.  So I’ll bite my tongue till it bleeds and I doubt you’ll even know.” -Bayside

“I’ll make my way across the frozen sea, beyond the blank horizon,
where I can forget you and me and get a decent night’s sleep.”  -Saves the Day

“I know someday you’ll have a beautiful life,
I know you’ll be a star in somebody else’s sky,
But why, why, why can’t it be, can’t it be mine?” -Pearl Jam (I am not really a Pearl Jam fan, but an ex of mine was, and I always really loved these lyrics).

“You see, it’s never bad enough to just leave or give up, but it’s never good enough to feel right.” - Taking Back Sunday

“I can honestly say
That I never, ever, ever felt this way
Your lips, your eyelashes, your skin
These are the parts of your body
That cause my comatose to begin.” -The Spill Canvas

“You’re the closest thing to perfect but the furthest thing from me”-
 The Juliana Theory

“It’s been a hellish fight to not think about you all the time,” and, “I want to wake up naked next to you…kissing the curve of your clavicle.” -Alkaline Trio

These are just a few off the top of my head…I could seriously go on forever.  Send me in some of your favorites too!

Anonymous asked: What are your thoughts...

Hey Steph, What are your thoughts when an ex wants you back saying that they changed and they lost something special?

 Anonymous

Exs wanting people back is a common occurrence …You never how good something is until it’s gone…and you see someone else realizing how good it actually is.

As far as changing goes, saying you have is one thing but proving you have is a whole other story.  I think people can change certain things about themselves, but who you are is who you are.  For example, if you are an angry drunk, you can give up drinking, but the minute you decide to have a drink, you are right back to where you started. 

While I do believe in second chances, they are circumstantial. Did this person (your ex) make a simple mistake that can be forgiven or is it something that you can not get past?  If you are going to harbor the anger of what happened, there is no point in pretending  it didn’t happen and trying again.  If he cheated you may never be able to forget, and your trust is forever broken.  Only you truly know if you can get over whatever broke you up in the first place.  

If the problem is something re-occurring (for example he is a drug addict who promises to quit but never does), then I say it’s time to move on.  Even if you do believe in second chances, you shouldn’t believe in thirds and fourths…

This is why I drink.

Shopping. I can not find clothes that fit both my chest, and my body.  If I try to buy a medium, it won’t zip over my boobs…a large looks like I am wearing a garbage bag. They need more than 3 sizes at most stores. Can I get a smedium or marge please? 

When celebrities complain about being nerds/picked on in high school…Oh boo hoo, you got teased as a kid?  Breaking news: everyone got teased as a kid. It was always something…your name, your clothes, anything really.  At least you are hot and famous now so you have the satisfaction of telling all your former bullies to suck it.  Most people can’t dry their tears on hundreds, so quit your bitching.

High heels.  No literally, I have to drink if I am wearing those bad boys all night.  I love them since they make my legs look great, but the higher the heels I am wearing, the more beverages I am consuming.  It’s simple math.

Constant political statuses on Facebook/Twitter.  Great, you have an opinion.  You are entitled to it, but do you really need to shove it down everyone’s throats? I just want to look at pictures of food and puppies, geez. Think of Facebook as a first date…no religion or politics. 

Chivalry is that you?

I have a lot of single friends, so over drinks I hear plenty of dating horror stories. On that note, guys, I have to ask…have most of you just given up? It seems nowadays some men don’t put forth any effort, and I think part of the problem is some females as well.  I said part so don’t get too excited boys…most of you are just lazy.

Living in a major city,  there is a lot of competition out there.  There are millions of people here, thousands of which are good looking.  Even if you are one of the half way decent looking ones, you still have to compete with those who are taller, thinner, better dressed, with more lucrative careers, who make more money, drive better cars, and live in nicer places. The dating scene is nothing more than keeping up with the Joneses, and it is exhausting.  This is part of the reason so many people no longer date but rather hook up. One night stands are fine and dandy, but they are not going to bring you soup when you’re sick.   

I remember when I was high school, the boys who took me out came to the door, met my parents, took me out to dinner or what have you, and walked me to the door at the end of the date. It seems lately most guys meet a girl, and instead of calling to ask her out, they text her (it’s impersonal and lazy, and if you do this, you should be ashamed of yourself). They then offer to meet up somewhere and end up splitting the bill…on the first date.  How is this okay? I’m sorry, I’m all for equality in relationships, but a first date is not a relationship.

You are either trying to get to know her better or pursue a girl you already like, and having her meet you somewhere to buy her own dinner is not the way to make her fall head over heels in love with you.  If you are taking the time out of your busy schedule to spend it with her, isn’t she worth a burger or a few cocktails?  If you are only looking to play “just the tip” then you don’t need to waste your money, just hit up Flat Iron at about 3 am. If that is what you are into, God Speed. You may end up spending that extra money you saved on an emergency trip to the clinic when your penis falls off though.

Men no longer feel they need to seek out a quality woman because there are plenty of low quality ones out there who require a lot less effort.  I mean, I get it…why would you want to wine and dine a woman to get laid when you can give a give some slut at the bar a nod and take her home.  I think if more ladies played a little harder to get, men would have to try a little harder to well, get us.  No one is going to want to buy the cow when they get the sex for free. 

I can honestly say I don’t care about how much money you spend. I would rather be with a guy who will pick out all the marshmallows from a box of Lucky Charms for me, than a guy who buys me stuff. I don’t need fancy things, and if there is something I want bad enough, I can buy it for myself. I’m like a Jamaican, I’ve got five jobs Mon!

Chivalry is more about making a woman feel like a lady. Open doors, pull out chairs,  give her your jacket if she is cold, and walk on the side of the street closet to traffic…these are the things that matter most and don’t cost a penny. You don’t need to spend your whole paycheck to get a girl to like you. Sadly, a decent percent of men have forgotten this concept. Chivalry isn’t dead, it’s just in a coma, and it’s time to wake up.

What are your thoughts, when girls share a guy or vice versa?

what are you thoughts, when girls share a guy or vice versa?

 subfrontchicago

When it comes to sharing my guys…I am like an only child, I don’t like to share my toys.  It’s mine, and even if I am not playing with it right now, it still belongs to me, and you can’t have it.  I understand dating casually is kind of like sharing, but I have never been a casual dater.  I am either single or have a boyfriend for 3127869 years so I don’t really get the concept of seeing someone one day and having them see someone else the next.  If I am not good enough to be the only one you want to see, then I will find someone who thinks I am.  =)

Anonymous asked:What is your favorite and least favorite season of the year, and what do you like to do during both?

What is your favorite and least favorite season of the year, and what do you like to do during both?

 Anonymous

I really like all the seasons, but fall has to be my favorite. I love sweater weather and when the leaves change colors…Halloween (free candy) and Thanksgiving (gluttony at its finest) are bonuses because I love to eat.  I also know winter is coming, which means Christmas and snowboard season, which I LOVE.   I guess I like spring the least since not much happens besides rain, which fucks my hair up… so yeah, spring can suck it. Summer’s alright, but it gets so effing hot/humid here you want to die most days.  If I’m not sitting directly in front of my air conditioner eating popsicles,  you can find me at the beach or a street fest.  Chicago has a lot of those in the summer, and I try to hit up one every weekend.

Oh, porn. You're so silly.

A friend of mine, male of course (shocker), suggested I write about my thoughts on porn.  I think he was half expecting to stump me for knowing nothing on the subject and half hoping I would do some research and get back to him with my findings.  Well, jokes on him because I love porn as much as the next perv.  I find it humorous mostly but at times, entertaining.  I do however, have a few issues with most porn I come across nowadays.  

Let’s start with the plot lines…I mean really, are they necessary?  Don’t we all just fast forward to when the magic happens? Ladies, I think at this point in our lives we have all learned that there are no hot pizza guys, and even if there were, they are there to deliver us crappy pizza not orgasms. Sorry to break it to you boys, but none of your teachers want you to stay after class for any reason other than detention.  Maybe if porn showed guys picking up drunk chicks at last call, or more boys buying girls shoes first, it would be more believable.  That may actually get you laid instead of hoping the two lesbian girls who live across the hall will get locked out and take refuge in your bedroom.  

Also, what is going on with the male leads in these movies?  I have yet to come across an attractive man attached to an attractive penis.  Sadly, there are no Ryan Goslings in porn.  Most women have to resort to watching the rain scene in The Notebook for anything even remotely close.  I may or may not be speaking from experience. Just kidding, maybe. Most men in porn have bad spray tans and tribal tattoos neither of which turn me on, and if you find either of those attractive, you either live on the Jersey Shore or it’s 1995.

Although the same can be said of the women (third world country boob jobs, bad tans, worse tattoos), there are some decently attractive ones from time to time. I guess not only disgusting looking women have daddy issues so that’s a plus for you fellows.  However, good looking or not, all of these women are setting you up for failure.  Chances are *spoiler alert* most of them are faking it, and the women you bed in real life will not be enjoying themselves nearly as much as the women in your adult feature so try not to get your hopes up too much.

Not only that, but someone needs to wash these ladies’ mouths out with soap. If you are ever with a girl, and she begs you to cum on her face…I would run, not walk, to the nearest clinic because you need a shot of penicillin asap.  I’m sorry guys, but there is not enough alcohol on the planet for any self-respecting woman to ask for such a thing.  Dirty talk is one thing, but risking blindness is a whole other ball park. If she calls your daddy and you like it, you may want to stop reading my blog, and re-evaluate you life.  

You are an asshole.

If you are posting pictures of a salad while I am eating a cheeseburger, you are an asshole.

If you are posting pictures of a cheeseburger while I am eating a salad, you are also an asshole.

If you try to sing along with songs you don’t know the lyrics to, you are an asshole.

If you are on a date and you two sit on the same side of the booth, you’re both assholes.

Holy hangover Batman.

Despite all signs pointing to my demise this morning, I am alive and well.  ”Well” may be an overstatement, but I am alive and somewhat mobile so that’s a start.  

Last night I met up with some friends at a local dive for a mellow evening.  All of us had shit to do today so we agreed a low key night was in order so if you think I am writing this from my bed, mid afternoon, you assumed correctly. 

The night started out innocent enough, a few friends watching the game, enjoying some cocktails.  All nights that end in a shit show begin like this…everyone involved is unknowingly headed down that dark road…the road that leads to copious amounts of Advil and Gatorade.

The funny thing about hangovers is you know exactly what is coming, yet you do nothing to prevent them from happening.  As a matter of fact you do the exact opposite.  Half way through the evening the thought of your busy day tomorrow crosses your mind, and rather than finish your drink and head home, you decide it’s a better idea to take a shot, which of course turns into 20.  Of what?  Doesn’t matter…If it burns and comes in a bottle, you’re drinking it.

If you touch a hot stove and get burned, that one experience is all you need to never touch it again so why is it hangovers do not seem to register in our long term memory?  When it comes to liquor, we will never grasp the concept that there are consequences for our actions. I guess I did manage to learn one thing from my epic hangover this morning…we are all just a bunch of alcoholic masochists. 

My strange addiction(s)

Have any of you ever watched a show called “My Strange Addiction” on TLC?  I love pretty much all shows on The Learning Channel because they expand my mind and show me there are all different kinds of people (weirdos) in the world.  ”My Strange Addiction” features the best of the best including those who eat dry wall, have sexual relationships with inanimate objects, and dress/live as adult babies.   Every episode gets more horrifying (such as a guy who digs hair out of other peoples’ shower drains), but it’s like a bad car wreck…you want to look away, but you can’t. You need to know if everyone involved is okay.  Although most of these people will die alone eating couch cushions, they seem to be doing just fine right now.  Some even have spouses (who haven’t left them yet).

This got me thinking, what may seem strange to one person, may be totally normal to another.  I mean sure, eating drywall is definitely not normal, but in India cows are sacred so eating them is taboo, yet in America most of us love a good burger.  Not exactly the same thing, but you get where I’m going with this.  I try not to judge people (too much…I mean I am only human) because we all have strange addictions of our own.  Think about it, you do some weird shit don’t you…when no is around?  Sure you do.  I thought I would share some of my strange addictions so you all feel a little less bad about yourselves…

I sing everything.  No literally, I am like Buddy from Elf on crack.  The worst part is I don’t even realize I am doing it.  Friends always start laughing, point it out, and I am completely oblivious.  If you make up songs about doing the dishes, it makes them much more enjoyable. Trust me.  

Avril Lavigne.  I know what you’re thinking, but you read that correctly.  She’s my girl crush.   I think she is adorable, and I wish I looked like her and/or could make out with her. I do realize she is Canadian and engaged to the singer from Nickleback….I still wouldn’t kick her out of bed for eating crackers…

And hopefully you will all still read my blog after this last one…

I like to eat cold, Chinese take out in my underwear.  Yes, cold.  Yes, in my underwear.  Why?  I have no freaking clue.  I don’t know what it is about those little, white, boxes that makes me want to take my pants off, but it does. It’s comfortable, and it makes my beef and broccoli taste more delicious.  Don’t judge me.

"I never."

If you ever participated in any drinking games, there is no doubt in my mind you have played, “Never have I ever” or as the night progresses, (and your increased alcohol consumption prevents you from continuing to speak in Shakespearean dialect) “I never.”  For those of you who never left their parents’ basement, the object of this game is simple…someone says something they have never done, and if you have done said thing, you drink.  

The game always starts out innocent enough with things along the lines of, “Never have I ever gone skydiving,” or “Never have I ever rode a horse.”  I like to refer to this as round one.  Round one will continue for about 20 minutes, and you will learn nothing interesting about anyone involved.  Great, Johnny has been to London, but Jenny and Becky have not.  Groundbreaking stuff.

It’s not until round two that things always take an unexpected turn.  Someone will throw out a mildly sexual “I never,” and the game will progress from there.  You will start to find out things about your friends/companions that you never knew (and maybe never wanted to know).  This is also the round where couples will begin to turn on each other.  Sure, the night was going well until so and so found out her boyfriend had a threesome in college, while he was feeling pretty great until he found out she has taken it up the butt…and to think, he has been trying for months to no avail.  I’m pretty sure “I never” is responsible for 15-20% of break ups.

Round three is when the real fun starts…everyone will be highly intoxicated, and the game turns into a personal attack on one other.  The closer you are friends, the more drunk you are going to be.  Things like, “I never had sex with two brothers,” will start to surface.  They will continue to escalate until you get to the, “I never had sex in a Burger King bathroom with John Smith so drink up Tina!” level of the game. This level will only last until someone starts crying or dies of alcohol poisoning, sometimes both. Depending on how good or bad your friends are…shit will either get very ugly or it will be a very long night…I’m not sure which is worse.

Despite the outcome always being the same, you will continue to play this game for years to come.  It’s never a good idea, but how else are you going to find out if your cute downstairs neighbor may let you video tape her?

"It's me, Chlamydia!"

Hello kids, gather around.  It’s story time.  Someone suggested I talk about sluts with STDs, but instead I thought I would branch off a bit and share a little tale about the time my gyno convinced me I had Chlamydia.  Before I continue, I would like to make it abundantly clear that I did not, nor have I ever had any other STD.  I still have my clean bill of health letter from my last check up…thinking about framing it actually…

A few years ago I paid my yearly visit to my lady doctor. After the very intrusive pelvic exam, I was half way out the door when she asked me if I had even been tested for Chlamydia.  I said I had been tested for all STDs a couple of years prior, but I had been with the same guy since then so there was no need for another test.  She picked up my form, gave it a long, hard, look and said, “I see you are 28 years old, correct?  That is the prime age for contracting the disease…”  I confirmed my age and repeated that I had only been with the one guy, for several years, in a committed relationship so although I appreciated her concern, my vagina was a OK.  

She then continued, “One in three people has the disease and is completely unaware…”  She proceeded to look at the nurse, look down at herself, and then nod in my direction.  I pretended to miss this less than subtle gesture.

She expand on that fact with, “Most people who have the disease will not have any symptoms…”  I tried to reassure her I was not in fact the whore she thought I was, but it was not getting through.  I knew I should have worn a longer skirt…

It seemed I was not leaving the examining room until I took the test. At this point I figured if this lady really wanted to spend another five minutes in my vagina, I would let her if it got me the hell out of there sooner.

I asked when they would call to let me know I didn’t have Chlamydia since I DID NOT HAVE CHLAMYDIA (those were my exact words), and she informed me they would not be calling me unless the test came back positive…as in no news is good news.

I carried on with my business and headed to California for my vacation as planned.  A few friends and I were out for lunch when my phone rang with an unknown 847 number.  I looked down, thought, “Eh, if it’s important they will leave a message.”  I put my phone down, picked up my Bloody Mary and suddenly turned pale white.  My friends saw the color flee my face and asked what was wrong.  I told them, “I can’t answer.” When they asked why I said, “It’s Chlamydia.”  

I explained the story as my voice mail went off.  They convinced me to check it, and right as I was about to vomit, I heard a lovely message about my dry cleaning needing to be picked up.  Thank God.

The next morning it happened again…a new unmarked number, a new shade of white. I just kept hearing Towlie’s voice from South Park squealing, “It’s me  Chlamydia! Don’t forget to wear a condom!”    It was my eye doctor.  I needed to schedule an appointment.  

Six, yes six more unknown numbers later, I started to lose sleep.  I started thinking of all the people my ex had been with, along with the people they had been with and so on, and FUCKING so on. It seemed never ending.   Three rolls of tums and a full bottle of vodka later, I cracked and called the office, and of course, I was clean. 

To this day my friends in California and I will call each other from random numbers at all hours shouting, “It’s me Chlamydia!”  After all, it’s all fun and games until someone actually gets the STD. 

Anonymous Asked: Is there anything about yourself you would change if you could?

Is there anything about yourself you would change if you could?

 Anonymous

You mean besides into a Victoria’s Secret model?  Well, I wish I was a little bit taller, I wish a was baller…besides that, no, not really.  For years I hated my nose and the way my lip creases towards it when I smile.  I was seriously contemplating a nose job until I had a conversation with someone who convinced me otherwise. Now I kind of like it.

(If you are that person and you’re reading this, thank you).  

Spoiler alert: It does.

Last night I couldn’t sleep (again, shocker) so I decided to actually scroll down my Facebook wall instead of logging on for five minutes from my phone while I’m waiting for anything, anywhere. This usually only occurs after I have checked my Instagram and Twitter and played all of my games in Words with Friends.  Lately, it has become a last resort in my cure for boredom.

The sad thing is, I used to love Facebook.  It was an easy way to keep up with friends, post pictures, and to send event invites without having to email each person individually.  At first it was exciting to reconnect with old friends and college buddies and to find all those people (you have always wondered what happened to) from your past…discovering your ex had gotten fat, merely a bonus. 

Lately however, things have taken a turn for the worse in the Facebook universe.  My entire news feed was filled with a ton of bullshit.  I’m talking things along the lines of, “If you like puppies and think killing them is wrong then hit like,” and, “Who needs a man when you can have chocolate!”  No seriously, I saw that.  If you posted that last one and you are reading this, I’m sorry, and I hope all that chocolate will keep you warm at night.  If you keep eating it to replace actual male companionship, that extra insulation should help.

There were endless amounts of inspirational quotes, pictures of food, and flyers for parties at bars I didn’t even think were still open featuring DJs I didn’t know were still employed.  I was scrolling through my news feed thinking, “Don’t care. That’s depressing. Cat pictures. Kid pictures. Thank you Captain Obvious. Congrats on that sandwich. Sports update.  Still don’t care.”  

I understand that not every day in life will be exhilarating, but does that mean you have to post pictures of your stack of laundry?  Do you think if you don’t like the page saying you are against child abuse people are going to think you beat your kids? It’s okay, really. I already assume most of you do (or have at least thought about it)…so the next time you decide to let everyone know you are headed to the gym, ask yourself this question, “If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around to hear it, will my workout still count if I don’t tell everyone about it?” 

This is why I drink.

Yesterday my roommate Ashlee and I spent nearly five hours trying to put a dresser together.  We may have taken a two-three hour nap in the middle of that five, but I am not counting it out because I had nightmares of missing screws and 100 page direction booklets in twelve languages (none of which seemed to be English). 

For those of you who have ever put together a piece of furniture, you know the horror I speak of all too well.  There were tears, swears, and cocktails. We had to take assembled pieces apart several times, and I would also like to add that even though we have finished, there are about fifteen (unexplainable) left over parts.  

Putting together poorly constructed furniture is only one of the reasons responsible for my alcoholism. On that note, I thought it would be fun to start a semi-regular post about all the reasons why I can’t keep wine stocked in my apartment.

Babies on planes.  It never fails that the sweet, sleeping, child in the row in front of me will wake up in a fit of wild rage five minutes after take off and continue to be pissed until we touch down on the runway.  

Jury duty.  As far as I am concerned, if I have to wake up early and pancakes and/or bacon are not involved, everyone is guilty.  

Ex-boyfriends.  Since we are done dating, aren’t you supposed to move away to ex-island? *patent pending* I see you would rather stay here and show up everywhere I am going to be for the rest of my life. Let me guess, you will have your new girlfriend in tow as well. Fiancée, my mistake. Could you please pass me that bottle?

The line at Kuma’s Corner.  You want to pretend it is not worth waiting for, but deep down, you know it is.   It sooooooo is. The sheer thought of the word “Kuma” makes you salivate. You can even try to fool yourself by going to another burger place and telling yourself it’s just as good, but it’s like having frozen yogurt when you really want ice cream…It’s bullshit, and you know it.

Practice makes perfect.

I received a recent topic suggestion to talk about under age girls in bars/clubs.  

Where to start…oh I know!

I hate them.

It’s bad enough I have to compete with 21 year old girls, who look and act like children, but now I have to compete with actual children.  I may look good for my age, but I can’t keep up with that shit.  Plus, they can’t keep up with me.

For a little woman, I can sure put away some cocktails.  Maybe all those years working for a vodka company have left me virtually immune to it.  I say “virtually” since every now and then I wake up fully clothed, my house filled with smoke from a pizza I attempted to cook with one eye open, missing a shoe.  This usually only occurs after about 5-7 drinks and 8-10 shots.  

At the beginning of the night, I see these girls enter the bar, order one drink and a shot, then disappear.  They usually resurface crying/vomiting in the bathroom hours later trying to comfort one another by saying, “You are too good for him!” over and over. Although I have never met “him” I think it’s safe to assume he made a wise decision getting out now.  

The lucky ones who managed to stay upright have yet to master the art of being hammered without acting like an asshole. Most of them can usually be found giving each other lap dances on the dance floor….always entertaining yet horrifying at the same time.  Even the young ladies that act somewhat composed, can not control their crazy eyes just yet. You know, when you are talking to one (usually trying to help her find her lost friend or phone), and you are not sure if she is talking to you or the person to your right?  Maybe she is talking to the street sign since that is where her left eye is focused.  You begin to wonder if she really is that drunk or if she does in fact have a lazy eye…you start to feel a little bad until she loses her balance and hits the pavement face first.  Drunk, definitely drunk.

I don’t care about how many bottles of Boone’s Farm you put away at cheerleading camp last summer, if you can’t make it through the night without dropping your glass or falling down stairs, you should stay home until you are 21 and practice. Believe me, this is something that takes years of hard work and dedication.  I for one should know.  If pretending you are not a hot mess (while actually being one teaspoon away from alcohol poisoning) was a sport, I could win the gold.