Category Archives: Uncategorized

The duck-billed platypus of blogging categories. Mammal? Bird? Beats me.

To My Family: Stop Inviting Me to Annoying Parties

Nothing grinds my gears more than receiving an obligatory “invitation” from an extended family member to a party SMACK DAB in the MIDDLE of a Saturday or Sunday. Like, hello? It’s my weekend, people. Leave me be.

No I do not care to go to a 2 year old birthday party. He/she won’t remember, anyways. Not to mention the fact that I NEVER SIGNED UP FOR THIS SHIT. I’m a 25 year-old young profesh. I am unmarried and I like to go out and get fucked up every weekend. I can’t even keep my plants alive, goddamn it. NOTHING about my lifestyle even MILDLY suggests that this is my “thing.”

So, fucking calm down and stop inviting me.

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You’re lucky that I show up (severely hung-over) to your baby showers. Or wedding showers. Or eighth grade grad parties. After your first kid, DON’T expect a shower. After you’ve gotten married once, DON’T expect a lavish second wedding. It’s rude and you’re taking advantage of me. Also, if your kid is under, like 12 years of age and is not my niece/nephew/child, WHY ARE YOU INVITING ME?

Like, seriously?

All I have to say is that when my time comes, FUCK all of you. When I get married, I will choose the MOST ANNOYING and inconvenient date to celebrate as my GIANT GRANITE SLAB of KARMA I’m throwing back to ALL OF YOU. Memorial Day weekend? Labor Day? Columbus Day weekend? No, not annoying enough.

I’m going to get married ON THE FOURTH OF JULY. I will renew my vows six months later on CHRISTMAS MORNING. No, actually, BETTER YET- I’m going to get married at 9AM on January 1st- the day of the nation-wide hangover. I am inviting your kids. I will not serve you alcohol.

Because, goddamn it, I am sick of your annoying, inconvenient and presumptuous obligatory invitations to parties for the stupid annoying milestones your kids cross.

Oh, and once I have kids, expect an invitation to an “I’m Potty Trained” party, or a “First Day of First Grade” party. Maybe I’ll even have a “It’s My Half Birthday” party EVERY YEAR in addition to their regular party because I AM SO ANNOYED. Ugh.

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Filed under Family, Uncategorized

J-Man = Jack Daniels

So, one day, I decided to go to a psychic. I think I was feeling crazy about dumb shit going on in my life, whatever, I’d do it again.

I remember the psychic sucked and clearly was pulling shit out of her ass, but she told me that I would meet a man who’s name begins with a “J” and he will be my soul mate and we will ride happily off into the sunset like a magical prince and princess team. She told me two other specific things: I haven’t met him before and we’d meet at a holiday party.

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Whatever, lady.

I was fascinated by this, despite the fact that there are like a BAJILLION “J” names, right? Jason, Justin, John, Jacob, Jafar, Jesus, Jose… etc. Does she think I’m completely desperate? Whatever, this game is fun.

So I’m not sorry to admit that I kind of fell for it. The holidays were only a month or so away, so I wanted to test this thing out. I was intrigued. My friends and I pegged him “J-Man” and we started acting really creepy over the possibilities.

Possible J- Man #1: Jacob
Does his name begin with a J? Yes
Had I met him before? No
Were we at a holiday party? No
This guy looked somewhat promising. Some friends and I were vacationing in VT for a long weekend. This guy was a friend of a friend I never met before. He wore flannel. He had a scruff beard. I was about to see him as a possibility, until some desperate biddy got all up in his chain and started hitting on him. I think her name was Amanda and she did the flirt-girl laugh. Not J-man. Or, maybe he was her J-man for the night.

hahahaha

Possible J-Man #2: John
Does his name begin with a J? Yes
Had I met him before? No
Were we at a holiday party? No
Another friend of a friend. Bitched to him about another guy. What’s wrong with me?

Possible J-Man #3: Sean
Does his name begin with a J? No
Had I met him before? Yes
Were we at a holiday party? No
This guy was a former co-worker and his name did NOT start with a J. OBVIOUSLY a no-go. Got the friend vibe. Whatever, this story’s boring.

muahhaha

Possible J-Man #4: Mike
Does his name begin with a J? No
Had I met him before? Briefly one time
Were we at a holiday party? YES
Mike and I were at an ugly sweater party. I was rockin’ the Bill Cosby, Mike was rockin’ the Snowman sweater vest. I made a joke about how he was wearing a turtleneck. He told me he liked turtlenecks. I think turtlenecks are emasculating. I prefer men that wear shirts showing chest hair.

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Actual J-Man: Jack Daniels
Does his name begin with a J? Yes
Had I met him before? Many times
Were we at a holiday party? Are birthdays considered holidays?
One night, right around the most stressful time in a law student’s life (finals), I went into total drunk betch phase at someone else’s birthday celebration because I suck and I’m an attention whore. I was texting all the boiz. I was buying tequila shots. I was reaching over the counter of the bar to steal those giant olives because I was drunkgry. I was yelling and bitching and being a total obnoxious mess.

It was because of J-Man, you know, Jack Daniels. Have you met him? He’s a creepy little fuck. You start your night with ONE Jackie and ginge and before you know it you’re telling the cab driver you’re going to puke and then you bring a bowl to bed so you can puke all over yourself ALL DAY until your ONLY ONE TRUE FRIEND brings you McDonalds and forces you to keep your food down.

After that brief fling with Jackie D, I called it quits with him for a long while. I ignored his seething glare in the liquor store.  I walked right by when I saw him, half-opened, by my liquor cabinet. We were on a break.

We’re on better terms now, but I still get that puke-mouth taste whenever I sip down some Jackie D.

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Filed under Booze, Uncategorized

Hot Mess Express: Your 20’s Suck and Your Shit’s NOT Together

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When I imagined my twenties as an 18 yr old entering college, I pictured myself living with a hot “struggling artist” boyfriend in some cool city like NYC, writing politically-conscious stories for Cosmo or Elle magazine, but secretly (but never admittedly) pining for the job as the classless blow-job-tip article-writer.  I never imagined myself hating the real world as much as I do and hoping for some boring and rich guy working some Chandler-Bing-esque 9-5 to swoop me away into a life of financial security. Had I known what life after college REALLY looks like, I would’ve filled my ’97 Volvo S70 with canned goods and driven straight to LA to pursue my (and every other self-absorbed 18-year-old in 2006’s) dream of becoming Lindsay Lohan pre-Herbie Fully Loaded.

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Eventually, I would’ve spent all my rent money on weed and extacy and called my parents crying and begging for a plane ticket home.

As I sit here and write this, I see this alternate life sounds 10x less shitty than the life that my college-educated friends and I have.

Having your shit together after college means you’ve consolidated your loans. It means you’ve ONLY $50K in debt and don’t live in the suburbs. You work a job that requires 3-5 years experience OR a college degree. You’re in school for something, even though you’re racking up more debt and you’re still unsure of whether or not you actually like it.

Having your shit together after college means your roommates aren’t your parents, or if they are, you’re at least enjoying home-cooked meals while you waste 20 hrs a week working at Costco while slowly picking away at those FUCKING loans.

I don’t mean to sound cynical, but it sucks. Your 20’s suck because they’re being spent building towards less-suckage.

Right now, I consider myself lucky. I’m in school, I have a job and I live on my own in some joke of a city outside of the actual city.  Some of my friends tell me I’m “together,” despite the fact that I’m 3 years away from $250K worth of debt and I have the emotional maturity of a 12 year old BOY. In addition to this, life after college for me sucked ALL THE WAY up until this point. I got laid-off from some job I absolutely hated, I got fired from another job as a waitress and I spent my fun-employment on Sporcle.com and filling out HOURS LONG applications to random administrative positions I never got call-backs for.

YOUR. TWENTIES. SUCK. And because your life sucks and is up in the air, you’re selfish, which makes you an annoying person to be friends with and even more annoying to date. I mean, how are you supposed to give a shit about others beyond superficial gChat convos when you feel your life getting sucked away with every Outlook email?

I’m not sure if this all changes, or we get used to it. Maybe into my 30’s I’ll be conditioned into this life as a mindless drone working towards that house downpayment which feels like a cruel joke to me now.

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Guess I’ll get wasted this weekend and take my shoes off and cry about how much my life sucks after I get kicked out of a dive bar for pushing someone and telling them to fuck off. But my Instagram pictures will make it look like I party like Prince Harry and give as many fucks as Ke$ha.

TELL ME I’M WRONG, TWENTY-SOMETHINGS. TELL ME I’M WRONG.

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Filed under Uncategorized, Work

The “Look”

As a young 20-something female from the burbs who recently moved to a more “urban” area, I’ve adopted a defense mechanism to save me from disgusting, embarrassing and/or uncomfortable situations. I call it the “look.” The “look” is a face I make for approximately 5-7 seconds: head slightly down, eyes peering at you from the right, brows raised, lips closed but not pursed. It says everything and nothing all at once. It says “Why the fuck are you standing in the doorway? They’re trying to close the doors to the damn subway so we can peace the fuck out.” it says “Why the fuck are you clipping your fingernails here? You’re disgusting.” and it even says, “Stop staring at me like I’m a fucking plate of lasagna. Try to be a bit more subtle, creep.”

I’ve perfected the “look.” I’m serious. I mean, I don’t mean to brag but people see it and they GET me. I know this because one woman put her nail clippers away pretty much ON CUE. I felt powerful.

Now, there are some situations when this “look” is not enough. I need a Plan B. I NEED A BACKUP PLAN, PEOPLE. Sometimes the “look” simply will not do.

For example, a few weekends ago I was in some trashy skank club/bar/wait-is-this-a-high-school-dance? in Manchester. We were all swaying our butts and doing that white girl thing. Two of my girfrans had some dudes come up behind them and they started junk-swaying together. I hate that shit and will have none of it, so naturally I began to panic because junk-swayers usually attack groups and I was the only victim left. Lo-and-behold, I got attacked. I moved away. My attacker didn’t relent. Then, I shot him the “look.” HE DIDN’T LISTEN. He continued his attack. Then, I turned around and shot the “look” for, like, twenty fucking seconds. He said to me, “You want to dance?” and I said “NO!”

HELLO? Did you NOT understand the “look”? DID IT NOT SPEAK TO YOU? I’m confident that the fact that he was foreign might have skewed the translation, but I’m still pretty shattered by this.
Do you have a “look”? Does it work? DO YOU HAVE A BACKUP PLAN TO YOUR “LOOK”?
Tell me!

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The Formula for a 2012 Rap Song

Ok, I’m a genius and about to make millions on it. I figured out the formula for a 2012 platinum rap song. It wasn’t easy, but once I cash in on this shit I can finally afford to buy my own island.

My song is in the works so I feel comfortable sharing my findings with you. Down below I’ve written a list- a list of five things you need to have in a rap song to make you a star. Times are a-changin’ so use my advice wisely because it might not be the same come 2013.

1. Tell everyone who you are. In the beginning of your song, you need to identify yourself. You must not use a common name and you will probably sound a lot cooler if you can find someone else to say your name for you.

2. Name obscure places. I want you to do me a favor. Grab an atlas, blindfold yourself and point randomly. Do that five more times. Point to cities, continents, oceans, countries, etc. No one will care. You need to name these places in your rap song so people assume you’ve been there and did something off the wall. That way, everyone will think you’re cooler and only cool people sell records (besides Nickelback, that shit came from way out in left field).

3. You have to talk about how much you drink. If you want people to like you, you have to drink. No one should trust a person who can’t have at least one drink. But, since you’re a rap star, you need to drink more than everyone else and you have to talk about it. Oh, and if it’s not Patron, go home, you’re useless.

4. Demand that people start dancing. Your rap song needs to get even the whitest of the white guys to want to break it down. No, you’re not going to politely tell people to get on up to that dance floor. You need to demand this from them. Get repetitive.

5. Describe a hot chick that you have had sex with or one that you are confident you will have sex with in the near future (ie tonight or something). This is crucial. If you can’t get laid, then you’re not a rap star and no rap star says no to the idea of telling everyone about it. T-Pain revolutionized this with his smash hit “Apple Bottom Jeans.” I get it- maybe you feel a bit uncomfortable with this. Don’t worry. Just call her “sexy,” or “baby,” and make sure everyone knows that it’s a casual thing. Can’t think of someone? Make her up. No one will know the difference. I promise.

A “bonus” I’m adding here is that you must mention how much money you have by bragging about what you can afford. Since you’re not a rap star yet, you probably have tens and twennies in your wallet, not fiddies n hunnidz. I get it. Maybe you’ve come from nothing. That’s fine. Now is the time to mention jail if you’ve been there. Usually the best rap stars talk about jail first and then mention their money later, once they’ve made it all fast.

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Filed under Celebrity, Uncategorized

Bad Fashion: The “Hotness” Test

Have you ever seen a new fashion trend and said “What the fuck?” to yourself? The fashion industry comes out with something new or recycles some style from the 90’s that makes you look like you’re walking around with a load in your pants. I’m taking about Kelly Kapowski acid-washed high-cropped jeans or those Jasmine harem pants or overalls or anything that makes you look like you weigh 500 lbs more than you actually do. I want to know what runs through someone’s head when they’re considering purchasing them, don’t you?

I mean, what the fuck? How can you think the illusion of a droopy crotch is sexy? When looking at a woman wearing Kelly Kapowski jeans, what man says to himself, “Hmmm she’s so sexy. I can’t wait to unzip that unreasonably long zipper covering her foopa to reveal those granny panties underneath. YUMMY”? No man. NO ONE!

Now, I have this theory. Many people assume that the women who buy into these hideous styles are trying to be trendy. This makes sense because they’re usually out at parties in the city with flatironed hair and tons of colorful makeup on. However, I DON’T BELIEVE THIS IS TRUE. My theory is that the joke is on all of us. They think they’re hot shit and know their pants are ugly as fuck but figure, “Hey, if I can go out and get laid wearing these heinous pants, I’m a fucking goddess.”

Am I right here? I mean, if you can get laid wearing harem pants, then you must have a pretty attractive face and a body to die for. If I were a man, it would take a lot for me to look past that.  You’d have to look like Megan Fox or something.

Maybe I’ll take this theory a bit further. Maybe it isn’t the women themselves fucking with us, but the higher-ups in fashion. They sit together and come up with these trends to challenge all the young ladies out there that think they’re hot shit. It’s some unwritten and understood agreement.These fashion moguls are like, “Hey, NYC babe, you think you’re sexy, huh? Try getting laid in these vintage floral mom jeans. Muahahahha!” And these twenty-somethings everywhere collectively sign whilst saying, “Challenge accepted.” Then they go out, buy the ugliest new trendy snow pants they can find, wear them out that Saturday night and don’t stop droppin’ it like it’s hot until some hipster buys them a PBR. It’s the ultimate way to test how hot you really are.

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What Your Reality TV Show Says About YOU

Women love reality television. Whether it be a Bravo cooking show, Real Housewives, Toddlers in Tiaras or Teen Mom, the fairer sex can’t get enough of fake real life. There’s something about watching other people do stupid shit and pretend like it’s completely normal that makes women glued to the tube like stripes on a zebra. Oh, and any woman who says she doesn’t watch reality television is a liar and shouldn’t be trusted. She’s most likely trying to sound more intelligent and intimidating than you. Don’t trust what she says.

Here, I am going to categorize the types of reality television into four different groups and use scientific research to make shallow assumptions about the type of person you are based on your reality TV preference. Ready? Let’s go:

1. Competitive Connie 

Basic Premise of the shows: A lengthy competition with a new challenge each week. One or more contestant is eliminated each week until the final contestant stands and wins something ridiculous like $250,000 and a lap dance.
Real life examples: America’s Next Top Model, Top Chef/Iron Chef, Cupcake Wars, The Amazing Race, The Apprentice, American Idol

What this means: So you’re the most normal category of reality TV watcher. Good for you! There’s enough drama and cut-throat competition in these shows, but you actually end up learning a bit about cooking/cupcakes/modeling/whatever while watching, so it’s not a total waste of time. You are probably very intelligent, adventurous and athletic. A TOTAL catch!

2. Dominique the Diva

Basic Premise of the shows: Quasi-famous people are being followed by cameras 
Real life examples:
Keeping up with the Kardashians, Real Housewives, Basketball Wives, Mob Wives

What this means: So you’re either one of two extremes: a raging bitch or a ditz with five brain cells. Men, stay away.  You are completely undateable. Only upside is that you have a healthy love of justice and equality and know how to stick up for yourself.

3. Self-Esteem Boost Sara

Basic Premise of the shows: Non-famous people being followed by cameras (not to be confused with #2) either because they’re completely ridiculous and don’t realize it or because they’re in a pathetic, shitty situation you’re lucky enough to not have to deal with. 
Real life examples:
Jersey Shore, Teen Mom, Toddlers in Tiaras, Intervention, Hoarders, Judge Judy, Cheaters

What this means: You probably hate the current path their life is going down, so you use reality TV show to reaffirm the idea that, “well, at least I’m not that guy!” into your brain so you feel better about yourself. You’re also a good girl at heart, so watching these shows kinda makes you feel a little BAD, doesn’t it?

4. Romantic Ramona

Basic Premise of the shows: Looking for love! XOXO 
Real life examples
The Bachelorette, The Bachelor, Millionaire Matchmaker, The Challenge: Battle of the Exes

What this means: You want to be swept off your feet (obvi) and you’re either looking for love or in love! You will probably make the greatest girlfriend/housewife ever. You love to cook, clean and cater to your man, but you are a bit emotionally needy.

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June 25, 2012 · 2:44 PM