I know you are, but what am I?

Last night I went by my parents’ house for dinner.  My father asked me to set the table so I grabbed a handful of knives, forks, and plates and set them out.  My mom came out of the kitchen horrified that I forgot to include several items including the charger plates.

For those of you who don’t know what they are, don’t worry.  I am pretty sure only my mother and Martha Stewart keep several sets handy at all times. 

Basically, they are large, plastic plates you set the dish that contains your food upon, but the chargers themselves are not safe for direct food consumption. 

So yeah, you got it.  They are giant, useless, toxic plates not made to be eaten off of at all.

I pointed this out, but my mom insisted I use one regardless, along with two separate forks/knives, and cloth napkins.  I tried to inform her that the President was not coming to eat crappy Chinese food with us, but she just said, “When you get married and finally decide to become an adult, you will register for things like charger plates and understand.”

Psht. She doesn’t know me at all because the first thing I will register for is “Big Top Cupcake.”

                                    

Charger plates aren’t the only item that make you a grown up apparently. There is numerous other crap you can buy to get some adult street cred so I have composed a list (because that is what adults do, they make lists right?) of all the other items in your home that let you know you are officially a real functioning member of society, sort of.

An iron/ironing board. 

Because you finally realized Downy Wrinkle reducer doesn’t actually work, and using your Chi flat iron just won’t cut it anymore. The “effortless,  just rolled out of bed” look now only applies to your hair which actually took you 45 minutes to achieve. 

A garlic press.

If you specifically went out and bought one, you have actively decided the powdered version had become too juvenile for your exquisite palate, and you needed its real counterpart. More so, it means you are actually cooking something worthwhile and not just using an old Tupperware to heat up Spaghetti O’s anymore.

A juicer. 

You have always hated eating your vegetables, but now you decide to drink a shit load of them for breakfast so you will feel less guilty eating Pizza for every other meal for the rest of the week your
life.

Alcohol. 

When you are actually able to keep a fully stocked liquor cabinet instead of just a dusty, half empty bottle of Peach Schnapps on top of your fridge, you are on your way to adulthood. However, you haven't arrived until you own…

Different glasses.

You no longer drink wine out of coffee mugs and everything else out of Red Solo cups (you don't want to admit you have washed more than once). You own a plethora of glassware including nice champagne glasses, even though you still can’t afford a decent bottle and only drink it on New Year's Eve to feel fancy.

An extra set of bed sheets.

Instead of washing your sheets, being too lazy to put them back on for days, and sleeping directly on your mattress like an animal, you have extra sheets you promptly apply. Bonus adult points if they aren’t Jersey or have a thread count above 300. If you have an actual bed skirt, coverlet, and shams as well, you should win some sort of award. 

A coffer maker.

One day you realized you actually had bills to pay so you broke up with your $10 a day Starbucks habit. Who needs a Salted Caramel Mocha Frappuccino when you can have Foldgers in your cup for mere pennies a day? 

You do. That’s why you buy the fancy creamers to hold you over until you get a bunch of gift cards from work on various holidays.

Furniture you didn’t have to put together.

There will come a time when a trip to Ikea will make you cry and just the mere thought of assembling a dresser will leave you wanting to kill yourself. You will never be able to avoid Swedish Hell on Earth entirely, but at least now you have all that liquor handy when your friends drag you there on a Saturday afternoon with the promise of "fifteen minutes tops" and a cinnamon roll. 

A paint color any form of beige.

I don’t care if it’s called “Eggshell". If it walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it’s beige, and you’re officially old. If everything else in the room is beige as well, you're Pottery Barn.

Paper goods.

When you have tissues in your bathroom, napkins in your kitchen, and toilet paper stocked in your home at all times, you are half way there. When you have finally established the difference and stop blowing your nose on paper towels, you have made it!

And last but not least…

Useless items.

If you have candles you never burn and soaps you will never use, congratulations, you are finally an adult. You might as well start watching your cholesterol and flossing twice daily. Just make sure not to dry your hands or face on the fancy towels.

This is a blog about penises.

I just got back to Chicago from vacation in sunny San Diego so naturally I hate everyone and everything.  However, I did have a great time so it was worth the current state of hypothermia I am experiencing.

I made it my personal mission to visit every beach within 50 miles, including one that happened to be a nude beach.  While I was aware that Black’s Beach had a nude side, I did not think it was the one closest to the parking lot after hiking down the path. Imagine my surprise when I reached the bottom and was greeted by a man wearing nothing but sunglasses and a smile.

My friend and I found a spot a respectable distance from any given sun bathing naked man and laid out to work on our tans.  Within minutes I realized it was impossible to do anything besides stare directly at every single penis passing by no matter how horrifying.

I haven’t had nightmares like that since sister of the year let me watch “The Exorcist” when I was eight…

Most of said men were old so I’m sure they no longer gave a fuck what they looked like, however there were several guys of all ages, shapes, and um, sizes who didn’t seem to care as well. One young guy in particular set up shop no more then ten feet away from us and proceeded to lie out a la Burt Reynolds on that bear skin rug.

While “Burt” presented himself, another older gentleman paced up and down the beach making the women feel uncomfortable and the men feel inadequate.  

My friend and I began to discuss the obvious, and we both agreed that neither of us would bang him with each other’s vagina. He seemed to think he was doing the world a favor by showing it off, but really he just scarred me and my friend for life… and probably both halves of any woman who has ever slept with him.

We got into the discussion of which is worse: a small dick or an extra large one? And since my mother doesn’t read this blog, let’s talk about penises!

According to a study my friends and I have unknowingly been working on for years, penis size does matter, but not in the way you would obviously think.

I know most women will instantly jump for/on the excessive one, but the truth is, there is such a thing as TOO big.  Sleeping with a guy with an enormous penis is like getting tattooed: It’s going to hurt, you will probably need ibuprofen and a bottle of Jack, and it may take several attempts (if you decide to even finish). 

There is definitely a line (which the dude on the beach could have drawn in the sand) between big and practical joke big, and trust me, if Ron Jeremy there was your boyfriend, you would spend less time laughing, and more time icing your lady parts.

Now what about the latter? Ladies, we all know a tiny wiener is less fun to play with, but if you really like a guy and he is really good with his other body parts, I feel as if most of us are willing to make an exception….at least for the duration of the relationship because we all know the minute you two break up you will refer to him as “Tiny Tim” and laugh with your friends.

I happened to date the Guinness World Record holder for World’s Smallest Dick back in college, and he is currently married to a pretty hot chick while beach penis wasn’t wearing a ring (I checked because I actually felt sorry for his possible wife). Coincidence?  I think not.

Personally, I would rather my man be average and experienced (and have my vagina stay intact) than huge and completely useless. After all it’s the motion in the ocean, and no one needs a Tsumani fucking up their (sand)box.

Haters gonna hate.

I have been writing for a few years now, but it wasn’t until recently that a popular, third party site had begun to publish my work. It also wasn’t until recently that I learned a few things about what that entails.

Having your blogs shared with a vast audience of people is rather exciting and something anyone should be proud of accomplishing so I wish people would stop shitting all over it.  Remember that saying, “If you don’t have anything nice to say then say it anonymously in the comment section?" Funny, I don’t recall that one either, but according to every single article I have read online, that seems to be a popular mantra.

I never understood the concept of leaving negative comments, anonymously or not, on someone's creative outlet. It's a simple concept really. If you didn't enjoy whatever they created, don't read it, watch it, or listen to it again. Breaking News! It takes more effort to express your disdain than it does to keep scrolling.  If you have time to re-write a never ending story expressing your negative opinions then you definitely have time to write something more worthwhile. Just keep in mind someone like yourself will probably rip it apart faster than a gold digger to a pre-nup.

Now I understand my sense of humor is sarcastic, sometimes sick, and usually inappropriate so it doesn’t mean it’s for everybody. If you are overtly sensitive, I am not your gal Sunday, and I have even considered put a disclaimer at the beginning of each blog…"If you don’t love booze, dick jokes, or ‘Step Brothers’ references, you may want to move along.”

I have also discovered that no matter what I write about, I will inevitably piss someone off. If I write about making my boyfriend a sandwich, the feminists will attack me.  If I publish a piece about the color blue, people will call me a racist for not writing about the other colors. I could talk about how much I love peanut butter, however the jelly enthusiasts will declare war, and let’s be honest, the war on Jiffy is one nobody wins.

If you too are a writer or considering being one, do not let the internet bullies of the world affect your willingness to share your art. Write about whatever interests you, and people with a like mind will read it. If there are people who have sexual relationships with inanimate objects, there will be someone who can identify with your work.

And now since I have probably just offended someone who is marrying their Mustang next week, I will most likely be attacked so I leave you with this…

Remember, comment sections are like that kid in the second grade who came down with the first case of the "cooties"... they are disgusting and should be avoided at all costs. 

The Types of Drunks Your Guy Friends Become on a Night Out.

Recently I wrote a blog about the different types of drunks my girlfriends become on a night out. Since I believe in equality among the sexes, and well, my male friends are sloppy alcoholics also, I decided to dedicate a special blog to them.

So without further ado, I present...

The types of drunks your guy friends become on a night out.

The Incredible Hulk.

Sober, he does push-ups on his knees, but once he downs a few drinks he suddenly develops super strength and only uses it for evil. He crushes beer cans, smashes mailboxes, and destroys anything and everything along your path really…which is a loooong walk home since you can't get a cab because he's carrying an uprooted stop sign.

Digress to College Drunk.

This guy wants you to “Chug! Chug! Chug!” everything including your glass of Merlot. Whether he is bouncing quarters into everyone’s drink or depantsing your buddy, you are always left wondering not only how he managed to graduate in the first place but how he dresses himself every morning as well.

The Naked Guy.

There is always that one male friend who constantly finds an excuse to get naked.  “Is it hot in here or just me.” Neither. Now put your pants back on before you get tasered again.

Chef Boyrdee.

He can’t make toast, but he is going to attempt to cook a four course meal out of the expired boxes in his cabinet/condiments in his fridge. He will pass out half way through destroying the kitchen, while you get to have a heart attack as the fire alarm begins blaring around 6 am.

The Weekend at Bernie's Drunk.

Against all better judgment, he downed a flask of Jägger in the cab so naturally he will be doing one of three things by midnight: puking, sleeping, or puking on himself in his sleep.  Since no one else is ready to leave or trusts him to make it home alone, you throw some sunglasses on him and drag him around town. He will wake up with no recollection of the night before, as well as a drawing of a dick on his face.

The Ladies Man.

This multitasker is simultaneously hitting on every woman at the bar while avoiding personal space boundaries as he asks you how come you two never got together. Why? This is why. Now go back to hitting on the incredibly hot bartender who likes you even more than that stripper from last weekend you won’t shut up about.

Mr. Make It Rain.

This guy has milk crates for a coffee table yet suddenly he is buying rounds for everyone at the bar. Bottle service for $1000?! No problem.  If you’re a good friend, you may want to fill his pockets with those limes and lemons so he can feed himself when he wakes up homeless.

The After Hours Guy.

You guys shut down the two AM bar. Four AM too. In fact, the staff is literally mopping around him as he is trying to order another drink. Have no fear though, some guy he met in the alley told about some “sick party” under a viaduct where you will surely not get murdered.

The Double Dog Dare Me Drunk.  

Someone at the diner mentioned they hated mayonnaise so suddenly your friend is about to put away a ten lb. jar of it while the rest of the restaurant cheers him on.

The Mike Tyson Drunk.

Unlike “The Incredible Hulk” who wants to just fight inanimate objects, this special breed of intoxicated is trying to fight every guy at the bar. When sober he never fails to hold open a door or say "Bless you,” after every sneeze, but now you are hanging off his arm to prevent him from attacking a guy who said sorry twelve times for accidently bumping into him over an hour ago.

I mean seriously, why can’t he just take his pants off like your other friend?

The Types Of Drunks Your Girlfriends Become On A Night Out

Friday night some female friends and I decided to catch a show at Lincoln Hall.  The night started out innocently enough with dinner, a few drinks, and some live music. Some time around midnight Fireball Whiskey reared it's ugly head, and at least two of us got pregnant.

When we closed down the first bar, one of my friends suggested we head to "Underground," but in my drunken state I naturally assumed she was talking about "Underbar" so I agreed. It wasn't until the cab started heading south (and I tried to correct him), that I realized I had made a terrible mistake. If you are from Chicago, you know just how terrible, but if you are not from here, imagine thinking you are headed to a local dive located below an underpass yet you arrive in a skeezy, Vegas-esque style club downtown.

We might as well have headed to the strip club, because I saw just as many vaginas...

All in all, most of the night was an entire shit show. It started out with several of us, yet two of us emerged from the club while it was still dark out, and only three of us are accounted for a day and a half later. Luckily, I turned down the guy with the bottle service pouring up roofie-coladas all night.

This got me thinking how every girl's night has certain kinds of girls involved and always ends up pretty much the same. It really doesn't matter which friends come out or where you go, there will always be the following:

The Lost Cause.

Everyone has that friend who "loses" her keys, her ID, or her phone. You will spend most of the night attempting to track down her belongings which were in her pocket the whole time.  She will however, without fail, wake up with only one shoe.

The Destroyer.

Whether she is dropping glasses, bottles, or her phone, she brings a symphony of shattering sounds wherever she goes. She is usually the one who ends up ripping menus into pieces and/or throwing limes at a random passerby as well.

The Dancing Queen.

You can usually find her pushing her self to the middle of the dance floor and grinding on anything with a pulse. She is tone deaf and has no rhythm, but that won't stop her from preforming a one woman show on the bar whose encore closes face first on the floor.

The Make-Out Bandit.

She came. She kissed. She conquered. She also got a shit load of free drinks.

The Houdini.

She will disappear and resurface more times than Lindsay Lohan has entered rehab. The only way to keep tabs on this one would be if Louis Vuitton came out with a line of those mini backpacks with the leash attachments.

The Other Half.

You have known her for years yet haven't seen her in months since "she" became a "we." Her boyfriend finally escaped for a night out so she dusted off her heels and came to meet you. She will spend the entire night texting him/simultaneously making you nauseous. With any luck, she will leave by midnight, but not before flirting with every guy in the bar to prove she's still got it.

The Shots, Shots, Shots!!!! Friend.

You tell her you have to work tomorrow. You have brunch with the boyfriend's family whom you have never met. You have a top secret meeting with The President. You are still a pussy if you take anything less than 23765891 shots with her every six minutes.

The Semi-Sober One.

For whatever reason she is not as intoxicated as the rest of you even though you watched your other friend make her take all those shots.  She is level headed, therefore when one of you suggests hopping into the back of a pick-up truck to some random's house party, she is there to attempt to talk some sense into you...or at least distract you long enough for those guys to find a group drunk in its entirety.

The Cry Baby.

The friend that is now upset with the one of you who wouldn't let her leave with sweatpants at the bar guy, who may or may not have been her future husband. Now she will never know, and if she winds up with a collection of cats, it is your fault!

The Girl on a Mission.

"I am getting hammered tonight!"
"I sooooo getting laid tonight!"
"I am going to eat a burrito the size of my head later!"

Either way this girl has her mind set on something, and IT IS HAPPENING. Don't try to get in her way or you may lose a weave or finger.

If she wants to bang the guy with the lazy eye, that's her prerogative...just as long as I get my effing burrito!