Quirk #8 : Pet Peeve #3

8) I like butter on my sandwiches instead of mayonnaise. It’s a quirk I acquired while studying abroad in France in college. Butter is their universal condiment, and I found I like it waaaaayyyy better than mayo. Less tangy, more salty, je pense… Try it, c’est délicieux.


3) So… I seriously judge people when they use poor grammar on social media. ESPECIALLY when they use the incorrect ‘your/you’re’ and ‘there/their/they’re’. I mean, seriously. How long was this drilled into our brains throughout our public school education? Is it just laziness? Or is America really going to hell in a handbasket… Oh god I don’t want to think about it.

Current Jam: “Express Yourself” Madonna…

Long stem roses are the way to your heart
But he needs to start with your head
Satin sheets are very romantic
What happens when you’re not in bed
You deserve the best in life
So if the time isn’t right then move on
Second best is never enough
You’ll do much better baby on your own
(Baby on your own)

Christmas Crap.

This holiday season has been…. strange. Normally I’m a Christmas whore. I love decorating, baking cookies, listening to carols, all that shit. But this year, I flaked out on helping my mom with the tree, I didn’t even get one for my apartment, I barely helped with the cookies, and my shopping technically still isn’t done… What’s my problem? Maybe it’s because I miss that sense of wonder and excitement that comes with childhood. When’s the last time I ached for Christmas to arrive so I could finally know if I got my red rider beebee gun??? I’m an adult now. My wish lists are boring, filled with small appliances and practical necessities. Since that blatantly whoreish consumerism is no longer fulfilling I’m trying to replace it with some kind of goodwill towards someone…

I did finally manage some mischievous spirit via homemade cards. I have a reputation for making thoughtful, clever and witty cards for my family members and close friends. Unfortunately, now they are in such high demand that I hesitate to make them anymore. If I don’t have a good idea, what’s the point? Luckily I had some festive inspiration this time around:

Yay. Barfing elves and Santa in a bikini are funny. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Last night was a table filled with family, a belly (too) full of short ribs and truffle oil mashers, and the best darn manicure I’ve ever done on my little cousin. After dinner we sat around the table, collectively massaging our food babies, and posited thought provoking questions for conversation. One such query: what do you see your life being like in 10 years? I was taken aback at first. I hadn’t really thought about it! The last 5 years or so I’ve been so concerned with the immediate future that the distant future looks hazy and quite uncertain. I thought in general terms: I want to be married, with children. I want a career that I love, and I want to be able to make money with my writing.

Marriage: this is kind of a duh for me. I know that I do one day want to be married. I want to live happily ever after with my best friend. I’ve always been a romantic at heart and I always will be. As to who and when, those are scenarios I try not to actively anticipate because I don’t want to force that area of my life into some pre-conceived box. Not anymore. I used to do that; but I’ve become, for lack of a better word.. jaded? I fear the depth and breadth of that kind of relationship. The building part isn’t hard; it’s the maintaining. That’s a very difficult process that many couples fail… Not just putting in the work, but wanting it to work.

Children: this…. worries me. This declaration almost felt more like an automatic response that a genuine desire. I feel relatively confident that I will, one day, want children. But I’ve never been particularly in love with them. For the longest time I didn’t get the attraction of a 6 month old to every vagina in a 5 mile radius. These days I’m mildly entertained by toddlers and babies, but it still doesn’t feel like enough… I hope I’ll evolve like Miranda Hobbes from Sex in the City. Ya know, I’ll like my own kids. But I still worry… About waiting too long, about complications, about realizing that I actually don’t want kids and fearfully wondering how that will impact my marriage… if my life follows that order.

Career: Hey, I don’t know exactly what its going to be, i just want to love it. Right now I wake up every morning with a sigh and a roll of the eyes…. I don’t want to do that for the rest of my life.

Writing: I want to be good enough to make money, whether it’s something just like this or a completely different venue. I wrote a column about working in the service industry in college. Even though I wasn’t paid for it, I miss it. Seeing my name in print is like no other high, and I wanna ride that addiction for a long time. Preferably with (small? I’ll take what I can get?) dollar signs alongside.

Current jam: “Single Ladies (put a ring on it)” -Beyonce…. (I just decided my new workout routine is going to be learning the whole dance, because I am a nerd who is perpetually behind the times.)

Pet Peeve #2

2) Girls who compete for attention with dudes they’re not even interested in: This I do not understand…. Well, perhaps I understand it, but I don’t condone it. Platonic relationships between men and women occupy a precarious sphere of push and pull. It is an unfortunate fact of existence and evolution. I battle with it occasionally, because I truly enjoy the company of men. But I’ve learned that a certain level of distance and decorum must be kept. Why? Because I am a lover not a fighter. I sincerely try to NOT be vindictive or manipulative, and maintaining that level of distance prevents any miscommunication between my guy friends, their girlfriends and my boyfriends. And so, with all this effort I put forth to prevent unnecessary boat-rocking, I’m a little annoyed when I see girls actively pursue a guy they have absolutely no interest in. Guys who, in their eyes, were dirty pennies until some other vagina threatened to swoop in, and suddenly their rank exploded to the gold standard. It’s just… bitchy. There’s a reason you didn’t fuck him; there’s a reason why you fucked him but didn’t date him. So get over yourself. You’re not God’s gift to men. Give this person you claim to care about a chance to be happy. Earth-to: With very few exceptions, you will never be the primo woman in his life. That will be his girlfriend/wife. So get over that now. If that offends you, just take a moment and put the shoe on the other foot: how would you feel if your hubs had an extremely personal, yet platonic, relationship with a girl… Of course your knee jerk reaction is one of feigned acceptance. The ‘oh I’m above that because I’m awesome’ attitude. Good luck with that, sweetheart. Hearts aren’t always awesome. They don’t always react rationally, no matter how we try to force it.

Current Jam: “Hope” Descendents

My Life is the Bottom of a Purse


No seriously:

I’m finally back to life after a week of fever-induced insanity. My 5 month long bender caught up with me, and after 3 days of above-average excessive revelry I found myself laid up with what my doctor called a “substantial” kidney infection. A revolving 103 degree fever and an ever-renewing sheen of sick sweat left me feeling akin to a gross, drowned rat. I did, however, meekly attempt reflection during my few moments of clarity…

I suppose this is a common complaint for those living on the go-go-go, but god dammit sometimes I am a scatterbrained ‘tard. I often worry about the onset of age, and whether I will be one of those senile old ladies with purple hair who simply can’t keep a thought in her head. Ya know, alzheimers-y. No matter how large or small, no matter how many or how few pockets, I will inevitably lose everything in my purse even as everything occupies it. I will swear I hear my keys in there, and then swear they’re not in there, only to find them when I furiously dump its contents unceremoniously on my bed. My phone hides like a sock in a dryer; As I check every nook and cranny in that cavernous bucket I’m convinced it slyly moves, sinisterly chuckling at my ineptitude. My sunglasses… well let’s just face it, half the the time they’re either in my hand or on my head. I’ve even been known to forget, yes FORGET, that I’m holding something and act surprised when it hits the floor.

Then there’s my incorporeal thought processes:

How many times can I possibly check my grad app statuses before I remember, oh yeah everything’s in. Nothing left to do but sit back and wait.

How many places can I write down my grocery/christmas/shopping list before I remember to actually take the damn thing with me when I leave my apartment?

Why do I insist on keeping receipts when I KNOW I’ll be throwing them away in about 2 weeks with nary a second glance??

Ya know what, can this fucking year END ALREADY? I’m over it…. so many resolutions on the horizon.

Current Jam: “Victory” Trampled By Turtles

Blood and Water…. Or Wine.

So I began this post last night at 1 am:

I’m in Jacksonville. It’s my sister’s 30th birthday – we’ve been partying since 4.

My sister and I have a very special relationship. For example: she asked me to go to the bathroom with her. She had to pee and was wearing a gold sequined miniskirt. It was…. kinda tight, and she needed help un/rezipping it. So I dutifully went, and leaned against the towel rack as we shat the shit…. Until she gasped and looked down.

“what? Did you get your period?”
I asked.

“…no! I just pooped a little!…. I need to poop!”

….so I continued to dutifully lean, nose plugged as she lit match after match, apologizing and laughing simultaneously. It was kind of gross.

Side note: for some unknown reason my male relations and close friends seem to believe it is perfectly acceptable to playfully slap mah bum. I have to constantly berate them for taking such liberty. In the same breath, however, I intrinsically know its not a demeaning gesture. I think because my ass is just so damn prominent, it’s considered a perfectly acceptable substitute for a high five…. Especially if my hands are filled with booze.

“Breakfast at Tiffany’s” -Deep Blue Something.