Monday, September 22, 2014

What's for dinner?

This one is for all the indecisive females. We have all gotten the same complaints from our significant others when it comes to meal time. The daunting question is, "What/where do you wanna eat?" to which we reply with what is apparently an infuriating (who knew?), "I dunno. What do you want to eat?" It has come to my attention that this reply is somewhat unsatisfactory to our lovers. So please allow me to address this situation as eloquently as possible. 

 There are several reasons why we answer this simple question so broadly. Let me just say that if your female does respond as dramatically or/and negatively as you claim she does when you suggest places/things to eat, you dont need to feed that bitch anyway. However, if she does legitimately freak out at your suggestion it probably means that you've been together for 3+ years, she has a shellfish allergy, and you wanted to take her to Red fucking Lobster. Jerk.

Reasons we "don't know" what we want to eat include, but are not limited to, the following: 

 1.) We really just dont know. No. Seriously. We have no idea. Move on with your life. 

 2.) We are leaving the decision up to you because we care about your wants and desires. You're welcome. Asshole. 

 3.) We legit don't care. Just fucking pick a place. I'm hungry. 

 4.) Why don't YOU know what you want to eat? Huh? Quit your bitchin'. 

 5.) We don't know what we want to eat because we are presented with far too many options. Dont blame us. Blame America. 

 6.) Why can't you just pick a place? Is that so hard? What happened to your spontaneity? Where is your sense of adventure? Have we grown so complacent in our relationship that you have to blame me for something we're both indecisive about? Why dont you look at me anymore? I GOT MY HAIR CUT! YOU DONT NOTICE ANYTHING! YOUR JUST LIKE YOUR [enter gender appropriate parent here]! NOW LEAVE ME ALONE AND SNUGGLE ME BUT CALL ME PRETTY AND DONT SPEAK TO ME YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE SWEETHEART! 

 7.) #6. That bitch doesn't need to eat. See what I did there? 

 8.) Unless shes pregnant. In that case, please feed her. 

 9.) We have very eclectic tastes in food. Food choices may or may not be influenced by our mood, time of month, music, who is with us, what color shirt you're wearing, whether it's a jean day or a sweatpants day, if there's a dog in the vacinity, what movie is being watched or was recently watched, what activities we have planned for the foreseeable future, what kind of bra we have on, the level of sexual confidance we are currently experienceing, if we went to the gym that day, who the president is, where we went to college, what state we were born in, how we did our hair that day, Vint Cerf and Bob Kahn, altruism, blue, I would like a micropig, seventeen, debouchery, you probably stopped reading this at number 5, and that's cool, i'm not mad, if you did continue reading this, good job sport, k I'm done, what kind of diet we're on, or/and our views on third world famine. 

 10.) We may, in fact, be testing your knowledge of what our preferences are. This is indeed a trap. Sidenote; not all of us do this and it is, for the most part, frowned upon by the rest of us. But it happens. #bitches 

In conclusion, this post was mostly just fuckery, but I hope I enlightened someone out there, internet.

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Twenty VS Almost-Thirty

There has definitely been some shifts in my priorities over the last (almost) ten years. Some of which are so endearingly hilarious, that I had to share them with the internet. I can't help but laugh and shake my head at myself for what I thought was important. I'm sure I'll be doing this reflection business again in another ten years. I could have saved so much time, money, energy, and dignity. I think our scope of significance expands drastically between twenty and almost thirty. I wish I could've avoided all the stress and headaches. But then I'd have no lessons to learn from. So ... here goes:

*Shopping for shoes*

20-Year-Old-Me: "Oh my god, I need these shoes. Right now. There will never be another pair like this available. Ever."

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: "Oh, look. I bought these exact same shoes ten years ago. I wore them twice."


20-Year-Old-Me: "I'm always going to have my hair done. All the time."

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: "Sloppy-bun-on-top-of-head? Whatever. At least my bangs aren't in my fuckin eyes."


20-Year-Old-Me: "Oh, I can eat anything I want. I have a really fast metabolism. Go me."

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: *Eats half a french fry. Gains 7 pounds.*


20-Year-Old-Me: "Cute purses! I have to buy them all!"

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: "The cheapest/most functional bag I can find!"

*Being a grown up*

20-Year-Old-Me: "Yay I'm an adult and I can do whatever I want!"

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: "Adulthood is a fucking trap. When do I get to be 7 again? Never? Awesome. Wake me when it's over."


20-Year-Old-Me: "I'm always going to wear thongs. All the time. I can't wear granny panties. Ew."

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: "Where are all my normal underwear? Why does this have fucking ribbons? Ugh."


20-Year-Old-Me: "French manicures forever!"

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: "I'm sorry. I'm not paying $35-$50 to have someone glue tiny, dehibilitating pieces of plastic to my nails simply to have to endure the inconvenience and unrelenting rage that accompanies them. No."


20-Year-Old-Me: "Yay boys! ...Right?"

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: "Yay girls!"

*Fucks given*

20-Year-Old-Me: *cares about what everyone thinks*

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: Some solid advice- letting go of what you think people might be thinking of you (a practice I'm still working on myself) is so much less stressful. Omg. I can't even begin to explain it. Just pretend that you don't care. Like you don't give any fucks. Just for a second. I'm serious. Go ahead. I'll wait. ... Wasn't that a pinch of fantastic? I mean, wow. So great. Moving on...


20-Year-Old-Me: "I'm just going to keep dying my hair. Until forever." 

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: "Whats that? My roots are 5 inches long? Who has time to dye their hair every two goddamn weeks? Psh. It's ombré. That's in now, right? Yolo."

*Shoes again*

20-Year-Old-Me: "I'm just going to wear high heels every day. It's classy."

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: "Why would I ever wear these vindictive torture devices? Ever? They hurt my soul and make me feel like a wobbly baby giraffe. Fuck this."


 20-Year-Old-Me: "I can take a couple years off from school. I need to experience life!"

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: "Why did I not go to fucking college when I was twenty? Why the fuck did I think that was a good idea? Now I have to be in school till I'm 30. Fucking fuck."


20-Year-Old-Me: "I love vodka so much. It's my favorite. "

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: "Vodka? It tastes like poor judgement, no thanks. Box wine? Yes, please."


20-Year-Old-Me: *size 4*

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: *sobs*

*Invited to le friend's house*

20-Year-Old-Me: "Ok I'll be right over!" *spends 1-3 hours "getting ready" (whatever the fuck that means)*

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: "Does this require a bra? Or pants? You know how I hate pants. Also, will there be wine?"

*Going to le gas station*

20-Year-Old-Me: "Better put on makeup & jeans." 

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: "Sunglasses and fuzzy slippers it is!"

*Going to le grocery store*

20-Year-Old-Me: "Better put on makeup, jeans, that new shirt I got... It wouldn't be ridiculous to wear these high heels to get groceries, would it?"

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: *gets out of bed, throws on sunglasses & nearest article of clothing that seems socially acceptable, goes to store*

*Going to le Walmart*

20-Year-Old-Me: *wears pajamas*

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: *wears fucking pajamas* 

Because... Walmart.

*Conversations with friends*

20-Year-Old-Me: "Dude! I can't remember anything about last night after like, 2 AM. What happened? I woke up in my Halloween costume from 6th grade. It's June."

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: "Mortgages, blah blah, babies, yada yada, politics, yip yip, marriage, yap yap, and stocks."

*Out with friends*

20-Year-Old-Me: "Let's stay out all night and make bad decisions! Wooo!"

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: "You want to meet out at 8? Ok but I have to be in bed by 9 so...this is gunna be lame."

*Sleep patterns*

20-Year-Old-Me: "I don't need a nap. Who has time for napping? Yay energy!"

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: "Naps are the most amaz... ZZZZzzzz..."


20-Year-Old-Me: "I'm always going to be fashionable. Always. I'm going to change with the times." 

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: "Da faq is that girl wearing? Are those leopard-print-neon-blacklight-fuzzy leggings? What is wrong with the world?"


20-Year-Old-Me: "My job is my exercise. I don't need to work out."

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: "If I don't go for a run immediately I might crawl out of my own fucking skin."

*Bad habits*

20-Year-Old-Me: "I love cigarettes."

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: "I love being able to breathe."

*Going out*

20-Year-Old-Me: "Woooo let's dance all night! I LOVE dancing!"

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: "I'm quickly becoming claustrophobic, this bitch just spilled her vodka tonic on me, and if one more person walks into me while I'm standing still and then looks at me like third world famine is my fault I may elbow them in the jugular. Can we leave now?"


20-Year-Old-Me: "I don't really want kids."

Almost-30-Year-Old-Me: "Give me all the babies. ALL of them. Now. Thanks."

I'm fully aware that I could've spun this post into a slew of positive messages for the younger generation. But pessimism is funny.