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." 

and

"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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 bar...as 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.