Million dollar ideas

I couldn't sleep last night so I decided to do what any female insomniac would do...shop online.  I began tossing things into my shopping cart left and right only to ask myself, "Who are you kidding?" before exiting out of each window.

After my pre-buyers's remorse, I played on all my favorite websites and eventually turned to Instagram when internet land became boring.

Somehow, through a long chain of stalking, I came across a page called "Rich kids of Instagram."  If you have seen this, you probably feel the same why I do about it...it makes you want to kill yourself a little.  If you haven't seen it yet, don't look or you will most likely spend your evenings crying yourself to sleep.

It's a bunch of overprivileged,  unappreciative, teenagers who fly private, own cars worth as much as most people's houses, and spend more money on Starbucks than you and I will earn in our lifetimes.  I'm not going to lie, I was bitter. I was suddenly mad at my father for not inventing Toaster Strudel and my mother for not marrying the man who had.

I sat awake and pondered how I too could be popping bottles in da club.

Here are some of the ideas I came up with...

I could...

go the Anna Nicole Smith route and sleep with a corpse a few times in hopes of being awarded millions of dollars. What's a little necrophilia for some caviar wishes and champagne dreams?

develop a hit new reality show for MTV that takes place in Wicker Park called, "Malort got me pregnant."

be like Zack Braff and use Kickstarter to fund something I clearly don't want to pay for myself...like my alcohol addiction.  If you pledge $50, I will drunkenly sing karaoke to a song of your choosing. If you pledge $100, I will do a body shot off of you/you can do one off of me, and if you become a backer for $500, I will enter a wet T-shirt contest.  Contribute now!

sign up for every medical experiment known to man.  I will probably grow a beard, but at least then I can join the circus for some extra cash.

embarrass myself on fiverr.com by offering to twerk for $5 a song...even though that sight for sore eyes is clearly worth at least $13.50.

sell a kidney on the black market.  Don't worry, my kidneys are fine...it's my liver no one would want. Any takers?  Inbox me.


take my napkin doodles and phone pad scribbles to New York and have a group of my friends dress fancy and speak with French accents to convince the art world I am the next big thing. My sketch of a cat riding a skateboard is easily worth at least six figures.

sell all of my clothing and join a nudist colony.  I probably have at least 20 million dollars in skinny jeans and 50 billion dollars in heels alone.*

*I rounded up.


invent the next big game you can play on Facebook, where you pretty much accomplish nothing, waste hours upon hours doing things that aren't worth doing in real life, and send me 100,000 invites a day for coins or some shit. Maybe I'll call it "Stay at home mom" so you can have all the joys of motherhood, without the ungrateful, screaming, children.

If people play "Farmville" and "Sorority Life," anything is possible.

Happy stalking, Stalker McStalkerson.

Someone inboxed me and asked if I had an Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, etc.  Well lucky you, I have all three. No Formspring or Vine (as of yet) but you can ask questions anonymously here. My Facebook is private, but you can follow me on twitter @ooh_stephanie or on Instagram under ooh_stephanie.

Go nuts.

Who doesn't love some good internet stalking?

This is why I drink.

Public transportation.

The smell of urine, random piles of vomit, mystery sticky patches on the floor...all accompanied by a crazy hobo talking to himself and barking at random strangers. If you're extra lucky, Jesus himself will make an appearance, cross and all, to tell you he died for your sins.

Next stop, any place that serves alcohol.

Chick-fil-A.

Why would chicken make me want to drink you ask?  Because their breakfast sandwiches smothered in syrup are so good they make me want to slap my momma, but I can no longer eat them knowing they do not support marriage equality. Luckily, all I need are a few Bloody Marys before you can cover pretty much anything else in syrup, and I won't be able to tell the difference.

Rush hour traffic.

Why do they call it "rush hour" if it literally lasts from six am to eight pm? Sure, it takes a break for lunch, but it gets right back to business after, making sure it takes you at least an hour to get somewhere ten minutes away.  Oh you have somewhere to be?  Make that two hours.

Don't worry though, the traffic will completely open up right as you are approaching your highway exit.

You mad, Bro?

I recently got a big girl job and have been working/training a ton the past two weeks. Today was my first full day off in awhile, and how did I get to spend it?  Think of the thing you would least like to do in the world.  Jury duty? An alcohol free children's birthday party? Those sound like a vacation on the beach compared to my Thursday. Even better, I got to spend my morning at the gyno.

No, my vagina is not falling off. I just needed to refill my birth control, which apparently requires fluorescent lighting as you get violated by both your doctor and several inanimate objects. I, for one, am convinced they store those medieval torture devices in the freezer just for their own amusement. Also, on top of all that excitement, you get some kind of violent Shiatsu massage. Performed on your boobs. By your doctor's knuckles. 

I feel like I need a shower and somebody owes me dinner and a movie. 

Even though that traumatizing visit only happens once a year, it will haunt you the other 364. It's just another annoying part of being a girl we have to deal with. In order to cheer myself (and all you ladies out there) up, I thought I would take a moment to remember all the advantages of being a girl...

At any given moment, someone, somewhere wants to have sex with you.  

Even if you are not attractive, you can put on enough make-up to have guys think you are kinda hot. 

See exhibit Ke$ha

(You will never be able to watch Pulp Fiction the same way again.)

You get free food and don't have to pay for drinks if you don't want to.

You can watch The Real Housewives of crazy town and no one will judge you that much.

You can also flirt/cry your way out of most undesirable situations.

You never have to kill spiders or those horrifying 1,000 legged nightmares.

If you stand by your car buried in snow, holding a shovel, looking pathetic, someone will dig you out.

Purses.  So much room for activities.  (Seriously guys, where do you keep all your treasures? Especially in skinny jeans.)

We don't have to wear pants. Fuck pants.  

Any time you feel like being a bitch or are acting crazy, blame it on your period.

Boobs.  Boobs are awesome.  I sometimes just hold mine. Why? Because I can.

You will never get kicked out of bars for being too drunk...you will just be escorted onstage to partake in a wet T-shirt contest.

and my personal favorite...

Two words: multiple orgasms.  AMIRIGHT?

You are an asshole.

If you don't use your turn signal, you are an asshole.

If you come to a complete stop before you make every turn, you are such an asshole that you deserve to be rear ended (and if I was rich and could afford to pay my deductible and the raise in insurance, I would send you flying into the next state).

On a side note, I would also hire this cat to drive me around.

If you drink water from the faucet, but fill your dog's bowl with bottled water, you are an asshole.

If you claim to eat whatever you want and never gain any weight, you are a huge asshole, and I can't wait to see you in ten years.

And even though I have one...

If you are a cat, there is a 99% chance you are an asshole.

You're getting old.

Last night I went to see The Cold War Kids at the Metro.  If you don't know who they are, you are missing out.  Listen to this, and prepare to have your mind blown.

You're welcome.

Anyway, I had a few drinks and several shots too many, and I am paying for it today. It was a painful realization that although I still feel 21, I am in fact, no spring chicken. Despite my best efforts to preserve myself physically, (i.e. Costco sized tubs of anti-wrinkle cream) life has other ways of reminding me of my actual age.

First my friends all started getting married and having kids (on purpose nonetheless), and now my best friend (vodka) is turning on me.  I feel so betrayed. As long as gravity doesn't start to take its toll, I'm still in business for a few years...

So until then, here are some other surefire ways to tell if you too are getting old like me...

You spend so much time getting ready you are ultimately exhausted from the process and debate even going out at all.

Your house contains plants that are actually alive...and aren't marijuana.

You look at pictures of your 21 year old self, and your first thought is, "I was so skinny." Your second is remembering how fat you thought you were.

You would rather nap than attend happy hour. You would rather nap than do anything really.


Everyone at the bar begins to look 12. Not 25. Not 21.  12.

You start wearing sunblock. Pale is the new black right?

At the mall, you walk past Abercrombie and Fitch and have respiratory failure/go deaf simultaneously.

You look at a Snicker's bar, calculate how many minutes you have spend on the treadmill to burn it off, and decide it's just not worth it.


You would rather buy your own drinks then have to talk to that creepy guy for five minutes.

You think, "I would never let my daughter leave the house wearing that," when you don't even have kids, and you wore things three times as revealing.

During the week, that second glass of wine is always a bad idea. You will however, continue to drink it/regret it the following morning.

You have a bad knee, or back, or something you generally ignored for years which has finally given up on you.

A once week long birthday extravaganza becomes just a dinner. Ok, take out.  Fine, delivery.

You find yourself explaining the importance of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles to today's ungrateful youth.

Now you turn down those free open bar parties from the bar because cheap, well liquor is the Devil Bobby.

Coffee used to work, but now the only way to feel its effects would be to inject it directly into your veins.

You truly can not remember the last time you were not even just a little bit tired either.

California thinking.

Hello friends. I'm back from sunny California and equal parts cranky and freezing.  I had a great time, and I even learned a few things, especially how different it is from Chicago. I was born and raised here, but since I frequent California around 4-5 times a year, by now I have pretty solid idea on how things work over there. On that note, here are a few things I think most southern Californians must say or think on a regular basis...

"It's another beautiful day in Zamunda!"

"Maybe if I drive super fast and really close to all the other cars around me, I will beat them to the red light."

"No seriously trust me. This one place has pizza just as good if not better than Chicago. I think the owners are from there actually."   (You shut your whore mouth)

"Frozen yogurt for 35 cents an ounce?! Why yes, I would like 75 dollars worth."

"It's 60 degrees outside so I better put on my winter coat."

"After brunch, let's stop and get mani/pedis...and boob jobs."

"The speed limit says 65 so why are you only doing 90?"

"Wanna meet for dinner? Let's say some time between 6 and 11... ish."

"I think I felt a raindrop. I better call in sick to work. It's best I not drive in such conditions."

"What do you guys want to listen to: Sublime or Slightly Stoopid?"

"I ate too much In and Out Burger and now my stomach hurts. Good thing I have some medicinal marijuana from the last time I stubbed my toe."

"Your new tribal tattoo looks sick bro, but not as gnarly as your Chinese symbol for "YOLO."

"My girlfriend's cousin's neighbor's sister's accountant did Justin Timberlake's taxes so we're practically related."

"Since last call is at 1:30 so we should probably start pre-drinking around 7? No you're right, 4 is good."

"What? A truck is totally considered a compact car."