Thursday, January 31, 2013

Things I will never understand.

I like to consider myself an intelligent person. I graduated from a good college with several degrees in various subjects.  I try to stay up to speed on current events.  I often find myself completely hypnotized by The Discovery or History Chanel daily.  Despite, all my attempts to be a well rounded, educated member of society, there are just some things that go way over my head.

Now I know some of the following have perfectly logical explanations (i.e. how a cell phone works), but regardless if you explain it to me a thousand times I will never understand the following...

Why aren't Unicorns real?  There are horses. There are Rhinos. What more do you need? Perhaps the only thing missing from this equation is some Barry White or Marvin Gaye...

The P in front of the word Pneumonia. Did we put it there to mess with all the English as a second language people?

Why do you need to fill out damn near a hundred forms to adopt a puppy, but anyone can reproduce.  Shouldn't we have some sort of screening process for potential parents?  I know at least a dozen people with children who couldn't keep a goldfish alive...

Uggs.  A. They are hideous. B. They are made to keep your feet super warm, but they are not water resistant. What is the point of boots that you can't wear in the snow, and why do you ladies keep buying these useless eye sores?

Why are tomatoes considered a fruit because they have seeds, but cucumbers are not? Bananas have no seeds at all, but they get to be a fruit. Who decides who gets to be delicious and who gets to be every child's arch-nemesis?  I want that job. "You sir get dipped in chocolate. You there, you get fed to the dog."

Why does Walt Disney hate parents? He's always killing one (if not both) off. I bet his mom made him eat his vegetables every night so he said, "I'll show you lady."

Math, technology, anything science related, and jello.  All befuddling.

People who talk about how awesome a Zombie Apocalypse would be. First and foremost, I have no desire to work on my cardio... I know, "The Walking Dead" is amazing, and Zombie Land is fantastic, but if you think the actual dead coming back to life to feast on human flesh sounds like fun, you're an idiot...and I hope you get eaten first.

Why do I continue to buy beauty products that promise to do the impossible?  No clump mascara, anti-wrinkle creams, maximum hold hairspray...  I know you're all a bunch of fucking liars, but I just can't help myself.  There really should be an Ulta's Anonymous ...

Why when you are feeling kind of down, do you decided to play the "Let's see how depressed I can get without killing myself game," by watching every tear-inducing movie you can think of or listening to the saddest songs you can find on repeat? I also like to play the, " How many pints of ice-cream will it take for me to feel better" game, although the only ones who wins that game are Ben and Jerry.

Decaf coffee and non-alcoholic beer/wine.  I will never understand this.

Saturday, January 26, 2013

Dear boobs.

Dear boobs,

Five different people this week asked if I, uh, had some work done or if I was with child since you have become borderline ridiculous looking. Your recent increase in size is nothing like I anticipated when I was a flat chested preteen praying for your arrival. Thanks again for deciding to literally pop up over night which was not suspicious at all. I would also like to thank my mom for naming me "Stephanie," which of course sounds nothing like "Stuffanie."

Children sure are swell.

Anyways, Fun bags, you were awesome.  You were large enough to fill out clothing properly but not so big that people questioned your authenticity. You were perfect so why did you decide to change? Lately, you have become practical joke big, and I am not amused. I thought you were supposed to stop growing as I got older and leave that up to my ass.

(Ass, I'm kidding.  Don't get any ideas...)

Listen up ladies, recently all you have been doing is preventing me from sleeping on my stomach comfortably, jumping on trampolines, and fitting into anything besides a garbage bag.  I feel like I should just go ahead and bleach the shit out of my hair and buy some lucite heels since you seem to think I am working in the wrong industry. I guess the only question is do look more like a "Destiny" or "Chastity" to you?

I've tried everything to get you to lose some weight, but you don't want to oblige. Since it's apparent you don't seem to be going anywhere, I'm going to lay down a few ground rules.  Unless you return to your natural state, I think it's fair that from now on I never have to wait in line at a bar/club, will never receive another speeding ticket, nor should I have to buy any drinks ever again. I would also like to have some random guy ask me to blow on his dice for good luck in Vegas. I've seen that happen to a bunch of your friends, and well, it looks like fun. Also, I don't think a free cup of coffee or a taco or two every now and then is too much to ask.

Small price to pay for the back aches and never being able to find the super cute bras in my size. You are coming out ahead here girls, then again, you always come out way ahead.

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

(Other) things that piss me off.

Girls who wear work out clothes all day, especially when they haven't worked out in five years. No one believes you just left the gym when the Starbucks's beverage you are carrying has more calories than a Big Mac. Skinny people drink tea, not caramel macchiatos.

People who buy expensive clothing for their children.  If you are still shitting your pants, they shouldn't be designer.

The Wind Chill.  It's 17 degrees out, but with the wind chill factor it feels like -12. Why not just say it's -12?  Don't get my hopes up thinking I only need to wear three layers and not four. Still waiting for all this global warming everyone keeps talking about...

The term "Born again virgin." You gave it up, get over it. Unless you have a time machine, there is no getting it back either. You can call yourself whatever you like, but your vagina knows the truth.

The fact that "A Taste for Love" from Forgetting Sarah Marshall is not real. Why has no one gotten on this!?  It's an obvious gold mine if you asked me...

People who change their Facebook profile picture back to one that is so old, it was on Myspace. You are not Benjamin Button, and you aren't fooling anyone. Stop it.

Also, people who put up pictures of their children as their profile picture. I was unaware your 6 month old has a Facebook. That's incredible! Or have you had some work done? You look like a teenager again! Oh wait...

If you put up one of those disgusting, life-like, ultrasound pictures, I will vomit on you, and your Facebook privilages should be revoked.

When it costs me at least $20 to make a salad I am actually willing to eat, while ramen is 20 cents and has more salt than any given Chicago sidewalk in January. On the bright side, I could use all that money I am saving for my Lipitor prescription.  

People who think having children is life's biggest accomplishment. Congratulations, you had sex. I've done that plenty of times, uh I mean never Mom, I've never had sex, but if I had...big woop. You forgot the necessary protection and had a child. Having a kid is easy, raising it to not be an animal is the hard part so unless your child stays out of jail and becomes a functioning member of society, stop bragging.

Bad grammar. We all learned about heterographs in the fourth grade. You may not know what they are called, but if you don't know the difference between them (you're/your, their/they're/their, etc) by now, YOU'RE an idiot, and you need to re-evaluate YOUR life.

Saturday, January 19, 2013

My Empire of Dirt.

I grew up across the street from the elementary school I attended.  There were several playgrounds, and I spent a fair amount of my childhood there. Most of my time at the park was spent digging up Indian Clay and saving it in buckets in my backyard.  I, for some reason, thought I could sell it back to the Indians and make a hefty profit.  I figured they were too busy making moccasins and awesome turquoise jewelry to dig it up themselves so they would gladly pay me to have it back. I never said I was the brightest child, but at least I had a creative business plan.

This recent reminder of my childhood get rich quick scheme got me thinking...Can you imagine if it had worked?  I had discovered something more coveted than diamonds, and my empire became the Tiffany's of Indian Clay. My life would have definitely gone a bit differently...

Now keep in mind, I just got rich off digging up dirt located for free basically everywhere, so let's continue pretending anything is possible. If I say the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are real, they are real dammit.  It's my fantasy.

So on that note, here's just a few things I would do with my massive fortune...

  • pay scientists to stop researching medications for bullshit things like "Restless Leg Syndrome" and focus on cures for more important issues... like hangovers. 
  • (I also thought about having them figure out how to get my cat to talk, but then I remembered all the things he has seen and  realized it's best for both of us that he remains silent, locked in my apartment.)
  • buy all the Tequila in Mexico and a time machine, so thousands of girls on spring break could have their dignity and/or virginites back.  
  • also go back in time, move to Canada, and have sex with Justin Bieber's father just to insure that if some other 5 year old discovered the source of my wealth, I would still be covered financially.
  • hire the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles as body guards since I would need help protecting my immense fortune, and secret service men are sooooo boring.  Plus, this way there would be an abundance of pizza around at any given time.
  • pay all my favorite bands to collaborate a soundtrack to my life. Songs would include...

                                                  "Well that was fun...let's never do that again."

"Fuck you scale, why do you lie?"

"Dear liver, I'm sorry. (Baby please don't go)"

"The higher the heels, the closer to God."

"If slathering everything in ranch dressing is wrong, I don't want to be right." 


"Damn it feels good to be a gangster."

  • pay Nicki Minaj to go away. Far, far away. I watched a clip from America Idol in which Nicki said no to a girl with a wonderful voice because they had on the same eye shadow.  That warrants a punch in the vagina right there. Plus, who do you think you are talking to Mariah Carey like that? She is a legend with the voice of an angel, and you can't blink or even rhyme properly. I hope you get bitched slapped by a drag queen. End rant.

and finally,
  • get a goose that lays Cadbury eggs.  Don't care how, I want it now.

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

This is why I drink.

Teenage girls.  They are moody, unpredictable, and just plain mean.  If one is within ear shot, you must live in constant fear. You never know if the way you say "Hello" will set them off into a dramatic, angst filled, rage. You personally are to blame for all their problems, which are all so very, very important.  Take every bitch you have ever encountered/worked with and combine them all into one person, and she will seem like Mary Poppins compared to any 16 years old girl.

Periods.  No, not the ones at the end of a sentence, although exclamation points are way more fun!  I'm talking about those things that come once a month that make most women fat, crazy, and ruin all your best plans/vacations.  When it is here, you count down the days until it is gone.  When it doesn't show up on time, you start to pray for its arrival.  Even if you haven't have sex in months, you are convinced you are pregnant regardless, and it must be a Jesus/Mary situation.


The lighting in women's public restrooms.  You spent hours getting ready...picked out the perfect outfit.  You are having quite possibly the best hair day of your life. You are feeling like a million bucks, until you have to break the seal.  You head to the restroom and walk into what seems like a fun house. Damn you fluorescent lighting. In two seconds you went from old Lindsay Lohan to a recent version. You look like a hot mess, might as well be one too.

Saturday, January 12, 2013

Suddenly Sterile.

Despite all my better judgement, I decided to stop at the grocery store on my way home from work today.  It's Saturday, and I try to avoid doing anything besides drinking and/or sleeping on my days off.  Within ten seconds of entering the store, I remembered why I avoid public places as such on the weekends...because it makes me want to never have children.

Besides the dozen children running freely throughout the aisles, there were several knocking things off shelves and crying, but there was one in particular which made my ovaries shrivel up and die.  I'm going to go ahead and name this child "Damien" for identification purposes.  I would go with Lucifer, but Damien seems a bit more subtle.

Little Damien seemed innocent enough at first.  He was an adorable blue eyed, blonde haired boy, around 5 years old.  He flashed me a big smile, and the little peanut stole my heart. Looking back, I now understand how women fall for good looking serial killers.  You obviously ignore all the red flags if someone has dimples...

I waited behind the nugget in line while his mother loaded the groceries onto the belt. He was quietly playing with some stuffed puppy in the back of the cart.  I breathed a sigh of relief to know that there was at least one well behaved child left in the universe.   Unfortunetly, I was so very wrong.

Damien looked up for a brief second, and the candy rack by the register caught his eye.  He grabbed a pack of gum, and asked his mother if he could have it.  She told him, "Not today dear," and he lost his shit.  Now when I say "he lost his shit," I don't mean copious amounts of tears, I mean that I half expected a demon to burst out of this kid's stomach.

He began with any typical child's conniption fit.  He cried, yelled, begged, and when nothing seemed to be working, he stood up in the cart and let out a string of profanities I'm not even sure I know all the meanings of. His mother didn't seem too phased by this, meanwhile I wanted to get home to wash my ears out with soap.

I was shocked by his behavior, but I suppose it's nothing too out of the ordinary.  Sure, children get mad and swear when they don't get their way, but this one seemed to have been watching too much Bob Saget stand up.  Despite his rant being extremely vulgar, everything still seemed somewhat normal up until the point Damien leaped out of the cart and onto the conveyor belt, kicking things off in every which direction.  I backed up a bit (for fear that my face was next) as his mother picked him up and placed him back in the cart.  She didn't say a word.

What happened next will haunt my dreams.  Damien picked up his stuff dog and ripped its fucking head off.    He threw the head at his mother and began to pull the stuffing out of its body, all the while growling and muttering what I assumed to be satanic hymns. I wanted to say something, but I feared I would follow in the poor dog's footsteps.

Again, mother of the year said nothing but picked up the pack of gum and handed it to the sales lady.  Damien sat back down as if nothing had happened, and they left as I stepped over a gruesome crime scene.

I am still a little shaken, and if today has taught me anything, it's to never have sex again. Ok that's a lie, but I will consider making my partner wear two condoms. If I do ever decide to have children, I will just have to tell myself the lie all future parents need to tell themselves in order to reproduce, "Mine will be different."

You're an asshole.

If you have ever purchased designer jeans with holes already in them, you are an asshole.

If you tag me in a photo on Facebook I look less than fabulous in, you are an asshole, and you better sleep with one eye open.

If you have ever referred to yourself in the third person, you are definitely an asshole.

If you claim to like working out, you are an asshole, or lying...but mostly just an asshole.

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Things that piss me off.

I recently made a joke on a Facebook photo, and the person got really offended and flat out attacked me.   I didn't know him personally or how he ended up in my Facebook friends to begin with. We had a ton of mutual friends so I probably just figured we had crossed paths at some point.

The guy had posted a picture of some rapper's new house. I wrote that I had no idea who the guy was.  Someone asked me how that was possible and another questioned if I lived under a rock. I was kind of offended since I consider myself one hip, hip, lady (is that what the cool kids say these days?). I simply replied with, "Cut me some slack, I don't listen to rap." A mutual friend had joked, "LOL you're so white, " to which I responded, "Suuuuuper white." I meant it in the sense like, "I have no idea who Tom Brady is...ugh I'm suuuuuch a girl."

I said I was joking and removed all the comments (and had my friend remove his) to try to calm captain sensitive down, but he was seeing red regardless.  Relax, dude.  It's winter in Chicago. I am suuuuper white, but don't you worry. Hopefully by mid summer I will be a nice shade of Mexican.

Regardless of how this douche cheated the system and snuck into my friends, he was promptly deleted and blocked but not before I told him to eat a bag of dicks. I sure do have a way with words.

Pissing that guy off got me thinking about all the things that piss me off so I thought it would be fun to share some of those things with all of you...

The way Cheetos stain your fingers. First you are enjoying your favorite snack, then you are the person with orange fingers at the party, and no one wants to talk to that creep.

Skinny girls who call themselves fat and fat girls who call themselves curvy. I'm not hating on a few extra pounds cause God knows I'm storing my extra winter insulation right now, but call it what it is...if it walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck... it's not curvy, it's fat.

People who use the expression "real job".  Does it give you a real paycheck?  Well then, sounds real to me.

When people post the ending to my favorite shows on FB before I get a chance to watch them. Sorry, I missed their original air time. I was at my non-real job.

Kesha. Seriously, stop it. Let's be honest, going out gets expensive, and you can't afford to party that much.  We all know you spend most of your money on glitter, and what's left is split between the morning after pill and penicillin.

People lecturing me on my eating habits or telling me I drink too much. Yeah well, you talk too much.

When I'm super busy, everyone wants to hang out, but when I am at home all lonely, sitting on my ass, even my cat avoids me.

My skinny jeans. You are so tight right out of the dryer I have to do lamaze style breathing just to zip you up, but an hour later you are so loose and saggy I look like Lil Wayne. Unfortunately for me, if we were in Us Weekly I am sure he would have worn it better.

The fact that I don't look like a Victoria Secret model, can't sing like Adele, and I'm not Eva Mendes (or whoever Ryan Gosling is dating at the time you are reading this). It's fucking bullshit.

Sugar free desserts. How? Why? What? You sit on a throne of lies.

Celebrities who share their weight loss plans and claim to eat "a small handful of almonds" for their daily snack.  No one has ever been full off a small handful of anything. I could eat every almond in Chicago and still be hungry. You are a liar. A skinny, skinny, liar, and I hope you choke on said almonds.

Saturday, January 5, 2013

America. Fuck Yeah. Part 2

I got a lot of responses to my last blog about my rights as an American so I thought I would continue it again today.  If you missed it, you can find it here...

On that note,

I also have the right to...

  • use eenie meenie miney mo to make most of life's tough decisions.  I also have the right to pick the exact opposite anyway. "Mo" is not the boss of me.
  • put up the fist mic, and sing loudly into it every time Elton John's "Tiny Dancer" comes on.
  • think fruit snacks are a perfectly acceptable dinner, and beef jerky is part of a well balanced breakfast.
  • want to open a yoga studio/gym and call it "Camel Toe."
  • refuse to wash my car because (at some point) it is going to rain.
  • never admit when I gain any weight but rather blame the dryer for shrinking all my clothes. Dick.
  • like Coldplay, and not be gay.
  • eat gummy bears in twos so they don't get lonely in my stomach.
  • write things like "gonorrhea medication" or "mustache rides" on the memo line when I am writing checks to friends.
  • Facebook stalk someone so hard that I end up back at my own profile.
  • think everything my cat does is fucking adorable.  Disagree?  Well, your child's finger paintings aren't so magical either.
  • believe Matthew McConaughey was not at all acting in Dazed and Confused, and he really does love those red heads.
  • be more afraid of my Google search history going public than a possible zombie apocalypse.
  • hate pants and avoid them at all costs.  Dresses, skirts, a toga?  I don't care.  Fuck pants.
  • quote Step Brothers at least once a week.        *This week's quota was reached while visiting my parents when I told my mom, "This house is a fucking prison, on planet bullshit, in the galaxy of this sucks camel dicks," when she asked me (and not my sister) to clear the table.

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Let 'em watch.

I was out the other night for a friend's going away party. She is moving out of state, and it was the last time for us to get drunk and be obnoxious together for awhile. While most of the group spent the night sharing stories and making fun of each other's Instagrams, she was often nowhere to be found. She would periodically resurface to hug each of us and cry uncontrollably but mostly to play tonsil hockey with a guy she has been seeing.  Yes, tonsil hockey...I'm bringing it back.

This got me thinking about public displays of affection, aka PDAs, and how I feel about them. When I see two people going at it in public, my initial reaction is to scream, "Get a room!" However, rooms are expensive (and far), and the booth at the bar is right there so I try to let it slide without throwing too many random things at them.

PDAs are purely circumstantial though.  I don't recommend mauling each others' faces where people are eating or somewhere children are present like a public park. There is no need to scar any more of America's youth since there are plenty of children from Teen Mom who are already going to rob you in 20 years so keep it in your pants or else...

With that said, I'm all for drunk make out sessions at the long as you keep it PG-13. Unless you are both celebrity hot, no one wants to watch two average looking people dry hump by the pool table. Although, let's be honest, it hasn't stopped most of us in the past. Even if it was just one blurry night in college, you too have put on a public show worthy of a late night time slot on Cinemax.

Although shameful, your lack in judgement wasn't your fault since the intensity of your PDA is in direct correlation to how much alcohol you have consumed. The drunker you are, the more exciting your display will be and the less you will care about how many people are watching.  Had a drink or two?  You will sit on the same side of the booth and exchange a couple of kisses when no one is looking.  Finish a bottle of whiskey by yourselves?  You two are about to put on an award winning performance while a group of frat boys cheer you on. It's not that you two don't want to get a room, you are just too drunk to remember where you live.

Even though PDAs will always be disgusting to those not involved, try not be too much of a hater next time you see two lovers making out.  You've been there before, and you'll be there again. Next time you are, it's more than likely you will never see half of those people again anyway, and you are so wasted you wouldn't remember if you did so honestly, who cares if they see you eating that hot guy's/girl's face at 2 am.  Making out is awesome, and you're only young and unapologetic once so I say, fuck it. Let 'em watch.