My So-Called Singleness

We all know what today it, so I'm not going to put it in huge bolded letters. Okay, I'll do it anyway, just because you begged and pleaded on your knees. IT'S FRIDAY!

Lately, basically on every social networking site and billboard, people are complaining about Valentine's Day and how they're "#ForeverAlone" and they'll never find someone to spend the most socially constructed holiday with because they're the most disgusting human being to ever flop, wet and naked, out of someone's vagina. To those people I just have one thing to say: Shut up. Valentine's Day doesn't mean shit. It is literally just another day of the year that you can do whatever the hell you want to do without it being special. Stop feeling sorry for yourself because it's not attractive, and that's probably why you're single. Log off Facebook, get off your butt, and go out and meet people, okay? Trust me, you'll survive a day out in the real world.

Okay, now that I've gotten that out of the way, I want to talk about myself (finally).

Despite my sisters' suspicions that I have a "secret boyfriend," I am going to admit and confirm here (because my blog is a primary source for this kind of information) that I am single. And, by single, I mean that I am not presently in an official, committed relationship with anyone. But, please, GOD ALMIGHTY PLEASE, do not go out to set me up with your cousin with bacne because I am taken.

Wait, what? 

I'm about to say something that people don't seem to understand. You can be in love with someone who you're not in a relationship with. Shocking, I know! Actually, you can feel and do a lot of things without being in a relationship with someone. As long as you're respecting yourself and not out ruining lives, whatever you do is cool. For me, I am emotionally and mentally unavailable for courting, impregnation, and wiring you money to a bank in an unknown Middle Eastern country, and I have been for a while. This pretty much means that if you approach me in a "I find dates on OKCupid because that's the only place girls will fool around with me out of desperation" kind of way, it's going to go a little like this:

Some guy I kind of know: So, you should totally come back to my place and check out the new drapes in my bedroom and drink something that'll get you loose and wasted.
Me: Listen, bud, I'm kind of involved with someone right now.
Some guy I kind of know: Oh, but your Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter all say you're single.
Me: Yeah, but trust me. I'm off the market.
Some guy I kind of know: Who is it? Do I know them?
Me: Probably not. He went to jail for beating up this one guy who hit on me. He's kind of the jealous type.

Okay, so it doesn't actually go like that, but you get the point.

The truth is that love is complicated. You should never feel pressured into being in a relationship unless it's the right time for you and the other person. For me, that time has not come because life is complicated and I am personally not ready to jump on the back of some guy's Harley and ride off into the sunset. I have too much on my plate and too many therapy sessions to attend before I'll feel like that's something I should be doing.

To be honest, I hate talking about my "love life" because people always try to complicate the things that are simple. They can't take the honest truth because there has to be a catch or something I'm not sharing.  Sure, I do keep things to myself because I (and anyone else involved) have a right to privacy and because it is really none of your business.

And, for those wondering, I'm happy with the way things are right now. I'm grateful for the time I have with the company I have, and that's all a girl needs. Who needs flowers and chocolates that'll eventually give me diarrhea and a changed relationship status on Facebook when I've got all this love and beauty in my life? Flowers will die eventually. Chocolates will be eaten. Facebook will become extinct just like MySpace.

Love and beauty are immortal as long as you keep your eyes wide open. 

Other People's Fridges

Have you ever gone over to someone's house, apartment, secret hideout, or artfully pretentious loft and just happened to casually look into their fridge or whatever place they tend to store food? I do it all the time. In fact, we're not real friends until I've judged you based on where you put your food. But, you know, because I'm a "lady" or some shit like that, I will never tell you what I think of your kitchen. This is mostly because I'm afraid I'll find out that what I find queer about your fridge/cupboards/ pantry/whatever is actually normal and that my family is the queer one's in this situation.

I mean, I have a list of things that bother me.

• If they refrigerate unopened things. (STOP. NO. PLEASE. THERE IS ROOM IN THE CABINET FOR THAT.)
• If they refrigerate Kraft parmesan cheese. (THAT IS NOT REAL CHEESE. IT DOESN'T NEED TO  BE KEPT COLD. STOP. IT WILL PROBABLY NEVER GO BAD. YOU WILL DIE BEFORE THIS POOR EXCUSE FOR CHEESE GOES BAD! IF PIZZA HUT CAN GIVE OUT PACKAGES OF IT WITHOUT KEEPING IT COOL BEFORE HAND, TRUST ME, YOU CAN TOO. PLUS IF YOU DON'T HAVE SOME REAL PARMESAN CHEESE IN YOUR FRIDGE, WHY AM I FRIENDS WITH YOUR NO-GOOD WHITE BREAD ASS? I DO NOT NEED THIS! MY MAN HAS TWO JOBS!)
• If they refrigerate basically any condiments that aren't jarred mustards, pickles, or mayo. (COLD KETCHUP IS GROSS. STOP.)
• If they refrigerate barbecue sauce. (SERIOUSLY? DO YOU ACTUALLY LIKE POURING DISGUSTING COLD, THICK GOOP FROM A BOTTLE ONTO YOUR FOOD? MMM GIRL.)

The list goes on.
I really just have a huge problem with unnecessary refrigeration of foods.
And, if I'm being the bitch I probably really am deep down inside my innards, I honestly made that list above by looking into the fridge of my apartment. (sorry roomies, I'm just like that).

To be honest, the only fridge I never had a problem with was my dad's walk-in back when he was in the catering business ("helping you celebrate life…"). Sure, it smelled mostly like cheese and raw vegetables, but he knew how to keep a fridge. He couldn't just put shit in there when he was storing food for a wedding reception for hundreds of people. He needed that room for things that ACTUALLY NEEDED TO BE DAMN REFRIGERATED.

Basically, I judge you if you don't use your fridge space responsibly. Fridges don't come cheap, asshole. Think of those kids in Africa who don't have a fridges.
When I see that you can't even handle your fridge space, how am I to know how you'll handle our friendship? Just makes me want to hitchhike my ass home and clean things, dammit. 

So, kiddos, please, treat your fridges with respect.

To 2014 & Beyond

Happy (late) New Year, everyone! (epecially those who got smooches at midnight. You go, Glenn Coco!)

This a special post for two reasons:

• It's the first post of 2014! Yay!
• It's my last post as a 20 year-old! 

So, 2013 was actually a very shitty year for me. I cried a lot. Shit, I'm still crying. Despite the many blessings I found last year, there is no denying the fact that 2013 brought many challenges and strenuous situations to my door. I'm very good at pretending that things are okay or ignoring the fact that sometimes I just need to walk away. I'm just a bit too stubborn to keep myself from doing those things, though. This past year gave me so many new experiences and new knowledge of life and the people around me. I figured out where my loyalties lie, where my love is able to grow, and to what lengths I'll go for those I love and care about no matter where they may be. I made a lot of mistakes that, in the end, in my opinion, gave me greater successes than just sitting back would. I discovered that I have greater and more powerful skills, talents, and ambitions than I thought. I learned that I'm a lot stronger and loving.

In 2013, I . . .

• Met my favorite band
• Had my first "real" job
• Took a big step toward my dream of having a writing career
• Learned how to help massive hickey's heal
• Learned I never want to have any massive hickey's ever again
• Successfully kept a blog for an entire year
• Learned to love like beer
• Ate way too many bags of Sour Patch Kids
• Kissed faces, hugged bodies
• Learned too many things about penises
• Cooked things that were edible (not penises)
• Smelled a lot like sweat and sweet&sour chicken

I have a lot of people to thank for giving me the tools and inspiration to make 2013 such a captivating year; a year that I'll never forget and a year that may go down in history (okay, okay, maybe just my lengthy and repetitive autobiography) as the most exhausting year of all years. From my own family (for never asking too many questions about things I'd rather them not know too much about) to the amazing writers I get to go to school with (for always giving me inspiration and letting me know I'm totally batshit crazy for putting a dead baby in a freezer), I'm so thankful for everyone who has touched my life. Julia - for never shutting up about anything; Bruce - for never leaving my side even after I've said something out of line or when things are too numb to touch; Tori - for just being you, doll (and always agreeing with my crazy ideas about boys and how stupid they are); Hannah - for meowing at my door at times when you didn't even know I needed it; Mel - for telling me my story plots are completely useless. Switchfoot - for making good music that eases the pain of all wounds. There are a lot of others out there, but I don't really feel like listing all of you.

So, here's to 2014: a year of new horizons and wide pastures to explore. From turning 21 (and finally being able to not go to bars as a personal choice) and seeing Panic! At The Disco in a few weeks to starting my last year as an undergraduate, I hope that 2014 brings things I want to remember; not just things I'll never forget.

So, here we go….

All I Want For Christmas Is Practicality

Well, here, once again, I find myself looking into the eye of a storm of holly, jolly, and a belly that shakes like a bowl full of jelly as Christmas quickly descends upon a majority of the world. The whole damn family gang is back in session and we'll all be senselessly quoting "Home Alone" and griping about controversial issues and how all medical TV shows lie about the residents hooking up in the on-call room. (New drinking game: take a shot every time someone says "Fuller, go easy on the Pepsi").  What is it… a mere three days until I get to disappoint all the people I know with gifts they didn't ask for and gifts that I definitely didn't go the extra mile for? I swear, every year, Christmas seems to come a little quicker and a little out of nowhere (but seriously, where did the last year go?)

In all seriousness, this year was the hardest year for me to try to make some kind of list of things I might want as gifts this year because no one really knows what I want ever. When I was little, it was so easy to just grab one of those 50-some-odd-page Toys R Us catalogs that came with the Sunday paper and take a marker and circle all the things I desired (mostly things that began with the phrase "Barbie Dream…"). I'd then just hand it to one of my parents with an added paper that said "Cash, money." I was one classy person before I became an adult.

Today, it's not so easy.

Society: Now that you're almost 21 and a fully legal adult who can partake in alcohol soaked activities, you need to stop asking for band t's from Hot Topic and jars of queso and Barbie dolls and merchandise for things you may not be interested in a few months from now.
Me: What?
Me: Escuse me?
Me: Then what is there to long for selfishly?
Society: Practical things. You know, like adult things.
Me: Adult things? From the XXX Adult Superstore downtown?
Society: No. Don't be a smart ass.

So, naturally, my christmas list this year looked very strange as I was typing it up at an unholy hour in the night. I found myself spelling out words like "socks" and "lotion" and "a cute kettle."  The lack of links to band t's and juvenile items was startling. I didn't even know what kind of person I was turning into as I continued to jot down items I'd never thought would be produced from the tips of my fingers unless I was writing some kind of abnormal fetish-infested erotica that beats 50 Shades in freakiness. 


But then I ask Bruce (one of those fully legal adults who can partake in the alcohols) what he wants for Christmas, and (proving my assumption that he'll just leave me to use my imagine to find a good gift for him wrong) tells me he wants all these fancy and "practical" adult items.

Him: *lists a couple of items I've never heard of but are definitely practical adult choices*
Me: *blinks*
Him: *sparkles with adult radiance*
Me: How dare you be more of an adult than me, you schnitzel eater!

Meanwhile, my overly-sophisticated sisters can't seem to make a list that includes an item that isn't less than $50 (well, except for Julia, who kindly just told me she wanted "merch" for Christmas). As far as I can tell, Christmas just gets harder and harder to make affordable as you age.

Unfortunately for me (and everyone blessed to receive something handpicked by me), I'll probably always be an awful gift-giver. And for this, I must apologize. I hope everyone enjoys their $5.99 DVD's of Les Miserables I snagged off Amazon at the last moment. 

But, you know, thank God for Dad who is happy just to have you there.