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.   

How did we sleep at night?

I don’t know about you, but this weather puts me in the best mood.  It’s finally fall, and you know what that means…cozy sweaters, pumpkin flavored anything, and Halloween.  I love Halloween, especially scary movies.  Well, I think I like them.  I’m not sure because I usually end up watching most of them through my fingers.  Lots of things in horror films scare me…psycho killers, vengeful ghosts, getting possessed by the devil, all of which are pretty obvious things to be afraid of no?  This got me thinking about how I never thought to fear these things when I was little…instead the things that used to scare me back then probably shouldn’t have, and the things that should have scared the shit out me didn’t. Let me explain.

When I was younger the movie Beetlejuice used to give me nightmares.  I know what you’re thinking, but it was the bane of my existence. My sister would chase me around yelling his name three times, to which I had to do the same to prevent him from showing up and ruining my life. Don’t even get me started on those fucking sand worm/snake things.  Even in high school when I worked at Blockbuster Video, I would see the cover box for it and cringe.  I couldn’t phathom what asshole categorized that movie as a comedy.  Were we watching the same film!!!?  Before you plan on tormenting me,  I’m finally over it so feel free to shout his name as much as you’d like.  

The next one may seem kinda ridiculous to those of you who didn’t grow up around Chicago, but it induced terror in each and every one of us for years: Pop Rocks and Coca Cola.  Some horrible child started a rumor that Mikey from the Life cereal commercials (“Hey Mikey, he likes it!”) had consumed the two together and well,  he simply exploded.  We all lived in fear that one of us would forget about the lethal combination and would accidently mix the two.  What a horrible way to go.  I would like to find that asshole, and punch him or her in the throat because for years,  I missed out on so much deliciousness.

And who could forget the boogie man?  We didn’t know anything about him besides his nickname yet we were all so terrified of him.  He “supposedly” lived under the bed, but I for one never saw him.  I checked every night too.  We all lost sleep over a man no one could describe, had ever seen, and whose exact location could never be identified.  Sounds logical.

These are the types of things that scared us (and by us, I mean me mostly) as children, but never should have.  What about all the things that we so lovingly embraced, that if we were to encounter now a days, would require months of therapy?  

For example, one of my favorite movies was, “The Hugga Bunch.”  It was about these little furry people with giant heads and beady eyes that came through the mirror (not terrifying at all) to take you to Huggaland where you were forced to hug them all day and fight off an evil queen.   A few years ago someone had mentioned the Huggas, and I remembered how much I loved them so I looked them up. This is what I found.  Skip to about 43 seconds in and brace yourself…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ssz3ZsRJOrE&feature=related

Yeah, that really just happened.  Half of you are keeping your lights on when you go to bed this evening, and the other half of you are covering your mirrors. However, despite the obvious, they never scared me back then.  I even cuddled with one every night…and it was the ginger one at that.

What about the concept of the tooth fairy?  A woman with wings flew into your room while you are were asleep to steal your teeth.  She left you a dollar so you wouldn’t call the police, obviously, and everyone was so excited to see this bitch why?  I remember trying to stay up all night to try to catch a glimpse of her.  Now I wonder if the real reason people use the expression “sleep with one eye open” was to keep a lookout for this crazy woman with a tooth fetish.

Another good one is Santa Claus.  A fat, older man with a passion for toys and young children sneaks into your house to leave you either presents (if you were good) or coal (if you were bad)…and how did he know if you were good or bad?  He watched you.  All.the.time.  He could see you when you were sleeping, and he was watching you when you were awake.  Yet, we repaid this pedophile stalker  with cookies and milk.

Last , but not least, who didn’t love Bozo the clown?   These days clowns have become a source of fear for pretty much anyone with working eyes, but back then every child dreamed of making it on his show to play with his buckets and to get their hands on that sweet ass bike and a brand new, crisp $100 bill.  These days you couldn’t pay me 100 of those bills to go anywhere near that fucker or his buddy Wizzo (remember that creep?) because the sheer sight of balloon animals causes me to hyperventilate.

Looking back, it amazes me any of us were able to get any rest as children.  Shit, I may even lose sleep after writing this blog. 

No seriously, I don't get it.

Two things I really enjoy are vodka and people watching so I go out fairly often.  I usually find myself somewhere within Wicker Park in the middle of an urban shit show.  For those of you who are not from Chicago, Wicker Park is where all the “hipsters” like to hang out.  I say that with quotations because no one wants to actually admit they are one.  Sorry kids, but if you drink PBR, have a mustache tattooed on your finger, or have claimed to like anything before it was cool, you are a most likely a hipster.  Regardless of what these people classify themselves as, I have been noticing some re-occurring trends among them, and well, I just don’t fucking get it. 

Let me start with the one that baffles me the most…harlem pants.

Who the fuck thought this was a good idea?!  Whoever it was, they should be shot.  Everybody knows, “You ain’t cool unless you pee your pants,” but the designer of these eye sores must have thought he would be Chuck fucking Norris if he shit in them instead.  If you own a pair of these, I hope it is because you have bladder control issues and are trying to hide your Depends. That would be the only logical explanation for purchasing something so wrong.  So very, very wrong.

I’m sure a lot of you own these, so maybe someone can explain to me why they are so popular…

These are Jeffery Campbell shoes. They come in a million hideous patterns and cost a small fortune. Let’s be honest, you look like a freaking Clydesdale.  I know you ladies think they look hot, but I have never heard a man tell any woman wearing these to leave her shoes on, if you catch my drift.  If you don’t, it’s because you wear these shoes, and no man has ever said that to you.  Seriously, stop wearing them.  They hurt my eyes, and if I’ve had a few cocktails, they make me dizzy.  You wouldn’t want me to vomit on your super expensive new shoes would you? Although it may improve the pattern…

Next is my personal favorite. Upside down cross clothing.

You’re a bad ass….a rebel who can’t be tamed.  You break all the rules… because nothing says anti-establishment like Forever 21.  Even Satan himself thinks you’re a poser.  Now go change your shirt, and head to church before your parents slap you, and in all honesty, we both know you deserve it.

Last but not least, I have noticed this trend has become increasing popular despite the obvious…they are mom jeans.  Actually, I don’t even think my mom would wear them so why are you women deliberately trying to look like you drive a mini van?

Any form of high waisted pants are a bad idea. No one’s ass has ever looked good in these.  I can’t think of a time when I ever thought, “I sure wish I could make my round, ample booty longer and flatter.”  Ladies, you will have plenty of time for that in the future when gravity takes its toll so for now, why don’t you enjoy being a lady? Put on a dress once in awhile….or at least a decent pair of pants.

Dating throughout the decades.

Last night I had a conversation with one of my best friends about her recent dating experiences.  She was complaining about how exhausting the whole process is and how much she hated it.  It got me thinking about how long some of us have been playing the game, and yet we’re still stuck on the same level.   

I would like to think the idea of dating began as far back as elementary school.  I can remember telling my mom I had a “boyfriend” named Billy in the second grade.  I probably would have started sooner, but cootie shots were not made readily available until around then (circle, circle, dot, dot).   Billy and my romance lasted about a week until Timmy showed up with a better flavored snack pack, and I had to move on.  When Charlie had fruit snacks, it was all over for poor Timmy.  I really think this behavior set the tone for how we were all going to treat future dating prospects.  It’s all about the upgrade.

In junior high I stopped my gold digging ways and got a little more mature.  I no longer used the term “boyfriend” but rather told my mom me and whomever were “going out.”  Where the hell were we going?  We didn’t see each other outside of school, however, we exchanged mix tapes, and we sat together at lunch so everyone knew we were clearly in love.  I mean, you don’t bring out the big guns (aka Boyz to Men) for just anyone.

High school got a bit more complicated.  It went something like this…hormones, hormones, I hate him, I love him, hormones, you are my soul mate, we are soooooooooooooo over, hormones.  Ah, good times.  Your entire relationship is based off who is popular that week or whomever has a car, and to think…you thought you had given up on your shallow habits…

I really don’t feel you have a normal concept of what dating is until after high school.  College is around the time you begin to raise your standards.  You start to realize there are so many fish in the sea, and you want to eat them all of them.  I mean, who doesn’t like sushi? At this point, you date anyone and everyone because you are trying to figure out who you are and who you are compatible with.  You will undoubtedly pretend to be everything you are not, into sports you don’t understand, and into bands you would rather turn deaf than have to listen to another one of their songs.   Eventually you will figure it out, but by the time you do you are in your late 20s, and everyone is becoming a little less attractive.

This is around the time all of your friends will start to get married and have babies.  You will start to notice the pool of potential mates begins to dwindle.  Your once high standards have gone from, “Where does he work and how much money does he make?” to “Does he have a job? No? Well, does he at least have all his hair?”  Sheer panic will start to set in, and you will find yourself browsing Eharmony just to see what’s out there.  Don’t worry, if you wait it out a few more years, all the divorcées will start to surface.  Who wouldn’t want to date a man with a crazy ex-wife, a whole terminal full of baggage, and a bunch of dysfunctional children that wouldn’t even be tolerable if you gave birth to them yourself?

For those of you single ladies about to hang yourselves, don’t worry.  There are some perks to this whole dating game.  Think of all the free meals, designer handbags, and orgasms you have received over the past decade…a little token of appreciation from the dating Gods for years of emotional abuse.  It could be worse…you could have married that guy who skied in his jeans.  Guys, think of all the crazy bullets you have dodged in the past and be thankful you didn’t marry that girl who used to watch you sleep.