Diets are hard because oreos are easy to prepare

As I write this, there is a shitty nutri-system commercial playing in the background with people bragging about how much weight they’ve lost by eating cardboard. Like most people, I’m trying to suck all the fun out of my life by eating more vegetables and exercising. But it’s hard when there is so much pizza to be had. Self control isn’t something I thrive at especially when it comes to the tastiness of high fructose corn syrup. I’m not overweight or anything, but I would love to be strong enough to put up a little bit of a fight if a murderer attacked me.

Me being healthy!

Me being healthy!

My mom’s best friend is a super buff gym rat who literally gets paid to work people out. Let’s call him Chad. To help me stop eating junk food, I asked Chad to follow me around and prevent me from eating bad food. I view this as a small, but helpful step to the self control I hope to attain by letting someone else do the hard work for me.

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I had a banana at around 9AM while I was watching some terrible show about real estate agents in New York. At around 9:30, I felt it was appropriate to start eating my oreos. Chad watched me walk over to the cabinet and started to approach me when he saw that I had two oreos in my hand. I took a bite of the first one and he stopped in front of me and said, “I’m not supposed to let you have those.” He reached out to take the oreos, but my ninja like reflexes were too quick. This is probably the only time I would ever be too quick for anyone – when oreos are at stake.

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I popped the other half of the first oreo in my mouth and flipped my hair in a “haha fuck you” kind of way. That’s when it all went down hill. I started to move away from Chad, but he started to speed up. I began jogging around the kitchen counter, trying to chew the first oreo quickly so I could have the second one before he caught me. Chad began running faster, so I had no choice but to speed up. This is probably the fastest I have ever run, but Chad grabbed me by the arm.

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Luckily that arm wasn’t holding the oreo, so I shoved the second oreo in my mouth. I couldn’t let him win; I bit into it so that he would only be able to take about 25% of it out of my mouth. Chad shook his head as he walked away with my quarter of an oreo, but probably in a “wow you’re so determined” kind of way. Obviously I shouldn’t have had oreos for breakfast, but I feel like running away from Chad burned a few calories, so it evens out right?

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Bad Cereal & Other Disappointments

I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. I’ve literally been as busy as Obama since school started. Except, Obama doesn’t have a personal blog, so I’m technically busier.

Update: I’m currently eating a bowl of rice krispie cereal with about 10 spoonfuls of brown sugar, almond milk (to add in a healthy kick), and a glass of wine. I don’t know why anyone eats this cereal. It tastes like a wet couch cushion. There is literally no flavor and nothing to look forward to. At least with lucky charms, you can eat all the fake cheerios and then save the marshmallows for the climax of your meal. The brown sugar helps, but I must add in that I considered having a second bowl of just brown sugar and almond milk to satisfy my drunk belly.

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Update 2: (I’m not complaining, but I’m about to complain). I have a decently full schedule this semester. I have to take five classes, work two jobs, be the head of marketing for some magazine, and teach a class. I’m not sure who let me be in charge of anything, but I’m in charge of a lot of things. Be that as it may, I am taking a creative non-fiction class to satiate the urge to talk and write about myself all day long. I will be posting some of those stories as blog posts until further notice. Definitely give me feedback if you can! I prefer comments like “omg best writer ever!” and “Ernest Hemingway reincarnated as a woman.” If you HAVE to be constructive, please let my ego down easily.

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I was going to run in 2020 as a surprise candidate, but Kanye beat me to it. I wish I could buy you all pumpkin spice lattes and Ugg boots. To be continued…

Strangers with Pamphlets

I have waited my entire life for a Mormon to knock on my door and hand me a pamphlet. I’ve heard countless stories about this happening to other people and always felt left out and neglected, inevitably causing my abandonment issues. I just want to hear the spiel – that’s it. Sure, I have a lot of burning questions I’d like to ask and I’d want to keep them at my door step longer than necessary, but I mainly just want to hear what they have to say and be invited into their club.

I spent three hours this morning preparing for a run and convincing myself it was a good idea. This is always a long and tedious process. I was in the middle of sitting on my couch perusing the Internet to find the perfect pair of eye shades when my door bell rang. I got up and looked into the mini hole in the door. My heart skipped a beat with excitement and my hangover immediately disappeared. My big day had finally arrived – it appeared that there was a Mormon man at my door.

I opened the door and tried to hide my excitement. Even though I knew he was going to ask me to be in his club, I would pretend to be surprised. After he asked, I would give the same speech I say in the shower when I’m accepting my Emmy.

He had a pamphlet in his hand and handed me one.

WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW THE TRUTH?”

This was the pamphlets opening line. Aggressive. But ok yes, I would like to know the truth. I opened the pamphlet and the man asked me if I had ever wondered about any of the questions. My excitement dissipated as soon as I realized this was not a Mormon packet. He was a Jehova’s Witness.

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Gif by Giphy

I indulged the man in conversation even though this was not the club I wanted to be apart of. He told me to pick a question on the pamphlet that I had wondered about. I chose: “What happens to us when we die?” I’m not very religious despite going to Catholic school for nearly half my life, but I had always held onto some hope that good shit would happen to me after I kicked the bucket. Perhaps an alternate universe where Oreos would make me skinny and Channing Tatum was obsessing over ME, rather than the other way around.

The man ignored the fact that he was in a college neighborhood and that there was a high probability of me being a college student. He proceeded to read me the answer on the pamphlet that I had in my hands. He read:

At death, humans cease to exist…”

I figured.

The dead…are conscious of nothing at all,” states Ecclesiastes 9:5. Since the dead cannot know, feel or experience anything, they cannot harm or help the living. -Psalm 146:3,4. “

What. This man is not only not a mormon like I wanted him to be, he’s calmly explaining to me that there will be no Channing Tatum and Oreos when I die. In fact, there will literally be nothing. He doesn’t seem rattled by this idea at all as I press him with questions like, “But are you sure?” and “Really?”

Gif by rebloggy.com

Gif by Rebloggy

After reading this section to me, I realize he’s trying to leave me. I linger at the door a little longer, but to my disappointment, he does not ask me to be apart of his club either. It felt like a bad breakup and suddenly I needed ice cream and tissues.

“NO! I will not let them do this to me,” I thought. “I’m too good for them!” I went on a run (that’s an extreme overstatement. I jogged a 12 minute mile) to make myself feel better.

As I was approaching my house on the way back, a miracle happened. The man with the pamphlets was walking toward me. As soon as he recognized me, he turned around and tried to walk back the other way. I heard his internal dialogue from a mile away:

Oh crap. This is so awkward. I just wanted to go back to my car. I wonder if she recognizes me. Of course she does. I should’ve just invited her to our club. She seems so cool and has great hair.”

Gif by picslist.com

Gif by Pics List

I considered running up to him and asking why he didn’t ask me to join, but decided to let him walk the wrong way. For now, I’ll continue to fantasize about an after life where people carry me everywhere and beg me to be in their clubs.

 

7 Things No One Tells You About Adulting

At this point in my life, not that many people want to assassinate me. And yet whenever I’m in my huge 5 bedroom house alone, every little noise makes me think someone is about to come kill me. The most worrisome time this feeling occurs is when I’m in the shower; please, for the love of God, I don’t want to die naked. I haven’t even completed my diet yet! Realistically if I looked like Adriana Lima or Heidi Klum, I’d be like yes, please let everyone I went to high school with find my perfect body and be insanely jealous. But not now; my bod just isn’t ready.

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I just moved into my new place and will be living with five other girls. However, only one of them has moved in so far and she’s not home all the time. Whenever I’m home by myself, I’m constantly checking to see if the doors are locked and, like I mentioned previously, each little noise that the house makes immediately makes my brain go into “intruder alert” mode. If you think about it, it’s pretty narcissistic for me to think so many people want to kill me. I’m really not even important enough yet to get death threats or any other cool things celebrities get to go through. Like why would all these assassins be in my house? And if they’re so good at their job, why can I hear them? This is one of the things no one tells you when you kind of almost live by yourself temporarily. Here are some other things you will encounter so you can be prepared. You’re welcome.

7) You will have to kill all the bugs yourself.

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If you saw my previous post about my self-diagnosed arachnophobia, then you know exactly how hard it is for me emotionally whenever I encounter bugs. When you’re alone and you see a bug, you have to kill it; or in my case, give it your best shot and attempt to kill it. I have no sympathy for the ugly little critters trying to move in with me. Like, bitch no, you don’t pay rent. The other day, I saw a very small spider on one of the walls in my room. After a few minutes, I built up the courage to get a napkin and do the deed. I go to squish him and BAM, Little Lucifer the II jumps onto another part of the wall. OH GOOD. A JUMPING SPIDER. I try again to squish his puny little body in between my napkin and the wall, and of course, he basically flip jumps off the wall onto the floor with his tiny middle fingers in the air pointed at me. I’ve lost him. Now I’m late for work and have a new roommate.

6) You have to figure out how and when to take the trash out.

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…and if you take it out on the wrong day, you get fined and have to go to court. Basically the same as if you get caught for assassinating someone. Also, you still have to take it out even if it’s raining. Hopefully the love of your life doesn’t walk by when you’re in your pink robe covered in wet dirt trying to take out your trash.

5) You have to uncork your own wine bottles.

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This was actually the one thing that I enjoyed doing. I usually get wine bottles with caps so that there’s no way I can interfere with my drinking habits unless I drop the bottle on the floor. Every time I’ve tried to uncork a bottle of wine, I end up either breaking it up into little pieces and having to drink half cork-half wine, or I push the cork into the bottle. If you ask me, pushing a cork back into a bottle of wine takes more skill than uncorking the thing. Anyway, now I know how to do it without ruining my wine.

4) There’s so much shit you have to clean.

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I was always vaguely aware that my parents cleaned the house, but I rarely ever cleaned anything myself. I know how to fold clothes and that’s about it. No one told me that parts of my house will be dirty in ways that I couldn’t have possibly imagined. I decided to try to clean my bathroom after a few days of living in the new house. One of the nastiest things I encountered were the blinds covering one of the windows. They looked like they hadn’t been cleaned since World War II; I couldn’t even figure out what color they were supposed to be. At first I tried dusting it off, but this dirt was pretty insistent on never moving. My boyfriend was with me at the time and he thought it would help to SPRAY FEBREZE on the dirt. When I tried to go over it with the duster, the dirt started sticking together and began falling onto me. Cute. Eventually we figured out that wet wipes would evict the little specs from their residence on my blinds. They’re a shade of white by the way.

3) Sometimes your landlord won’t return your text messages.

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I’m not sure how to solve this one yet.

2) Fire alarms do indeed come out of the ceiling if you pull hard enough.

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The night before my first day at my new internship, my fire alarm started chirping every two minutes even though I had just changed the batteries. Luckily my superhero boyfriend was there to Google how to fix it while I laid there and complained. After about 45 minutes of him running around the house trying to steal the batteries from the other alarms and watching strange YouTube videos about how to fix the problem, he ripped the fire alarm out of the ceiling and saved the day. I texted my landlord to tell him about the problem (this time he replied) and he said he would come replace the batteries. I briefly informed him that “mine is on the couch.” He did not think that was as funny as I did.

1) You can and you will drink alone.

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And it’s awesome. Sip on some Pinot at the end of a long day and you’ll sleep through the sound of assassins trying to break into your house.

Little Lucifer

Arachnophobia is defined as:

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I believe I have this. I am not a doctor, nor have I gone to a doctor to confirm, but I fucking hate spiders. And I’m sure they hate me too. They find me everywhere: the shower, my room, outside. I know that technically, I’m infiltrating their environment if I’m outside, but I’m narcissistic enough to believe they shouldn’t be there. Spiders are like serial killers to me. They look creepy, they move fast, and I’m almost positive they have axes in their back pockets.

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My friend Carolina sleeps in my room on Mondays and Tuesdays because she has work across the street from my dorm. We were studying together on Tuesday and I decided to take a break. My breaks last about an hour, while my study periods drone on for about 10 minutes. Journalism is a truly torturous major. I was laying on my bed during my short study break and there it was: a killer black spider crawling around on my ceiling. Once I see a spider, I can’t ignore it- similar to when a sex scene comes on while you’re watching a movie with your parents.jennifer-lawrence-scared-funny-face

When I pointed it out to Carolina, it was clear that she was not willing to kill miniature Satan with 8 legs. I continued to ask her to kill it despite her hesitance. I insisted that my arachnophobia would get in the way of killing it properly. As she continued to refuse to put her big girl pants on and step up to the plate, I tried to make her feel guilty while I built up the courage to approach little Lucifer.

Let me make one thing clear: I want all spiders to die. I’m not against murdering them all. I just have a hard time getting near them. It’s not a moral issue. I don’t want you to mistake me for a decent human being.

I had goosebumps all over my body (SINCE I HAVE CLINICAL ARACHNOPHOBIA) and I walked over to a chair in my room.  For whatever reason, my school puts rocking chairs into the residence halls, as opposed to regular chairs – It’s weird that the administration assumes we’re all 90 years old. I began to position my rocking chair underneath the spider; I did this while keeping one eye on the spider.

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All of a sudden, the spider decided to do the little Spiderman thing and hang its web from the ceiling (like the asshole that he was). I began to scream as if someone had told me vodka would stop being sold in the world. This inevitably made Carolina start screaming as well. Part of me thought that the spider had jumped on me in an effort to either be friendly or kill me and I danced around trying to get if off, breaking my necklace in the process. Cool.

When I finally settled down next to Carolina, we looked at the ceiling and tried to find the spider, hoping it hadn’t left the ceiling. I thought it had committed spider suicide and jumped to its death. In most instances, I would have felt relieved by spider suicide, but my carpet is navy blue and I wouldn’t have been able to confirm little Lucifer’s death.

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Then, there it was, back in its cozy spot on my ceiling. One of my floor mates had heard our screams and texted me to ask if everything was ok. I wrote back “no. spider. please kill it.” It turned out that the only person willing to kill El Diablo was a little under 5 feet tall, a feisty female munchkin at best. She walked in casually and asked me where it was. I pointed in its direction trembling with fear. She stood up on my rocking chair and reached for tiny Satan, and just when I thought my life would be back on track, she could not reach El Diablo r; she was too short. In my time of crisis, I was overwhelmed with the idea that a spider would be living with me permanently (he hadn’t even bought me dinner; it was too early in the relationship). However, the munchkin was able to think quickly and left the room momentarily to go put high heels on. As far as I was concerned, it was the most innovative idea I had ever heard of. “She will be the next Steve Jobs,” I thought. “Or Samantha Jobs, I guess (since she’s a girl).”

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She stood up on the rocking chair with her bravery and high heels and killed little Lucifer with one smoosh of a napkin. “MY HERO!” I screamed. The munchkin smiled and walked out of the room just as casually as she had walked in. Carolina and I sat there basking in relief and continued to avoid homework at all costs.

 

Transformation Tuesday: It’s Britney Bitch

Britney Spears has taught us a lot since the 90s. I thought it would be fun to examine her Transformation for Transformation Tuesday and lifelong lessons that we can all cherish. Here’s what Britney has taught us over the years:

1) It’s good to start your career off being adorable and with a considerable amount of clothing.

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2) Wearing pigtails while insisting on your lack of innocence will in fact benefit your career.

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3) A camel toe will rarely detract from a woman’s overall hotness. She also confirms our fear that we would have to go on a serious diet in order to live in outer space during the 90s.

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4) Snakes are a great sub-accessory to your belly button piercing.

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5) Wow. Really Justin? Those sunglasses? Come on now. (Not sure about the life lesson to be learned here).

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6) You do not need Tarzan to be Jane.

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7) Debunking the myth that all flight attendants are unattractive.

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8) Debunking the other myth that you need to put clothes on before going to work, taking casual Fridays to a whole new level.

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9) The guy who prides himself on his Ed Hardy T-Shirt collection will make a good life partner.

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10) You can still look cute during mental breakdowns. Hubba Hubba Brit, I’d swipe right.

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11) Future Britney would not swipe right on past Britney.

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12) Umbrellas double as baseball bats.

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13) It’s cool to mix Xanax and vodka before your VMA performance. It will help keep your lip-syncing on track.

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14) Teaching elephants to sit, stay and roll over is sexy.

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15) Being sexy is sexy. You can wear whatever you want in your teens and 20s as long as you make up for it by looking like this in your 30s. I am willing to forgive the denim on denim thing featured earlier in this post.

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A special thanks to Britney. Her song “You Drive Me Crazy” led to a lot of embarrassing choreographed videos starring my sister and I during 2003. And her other song “Work Bitch,” gets me through most of my workouts. Brit approves.

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You’re Welcome in Advance

To say my family is unconventional is a tremendous understatement. It’s kind of like saying  Angelina Jolie is “cute.” We are extremely unconventional. OR conventionally challenged. To me, conventional means having the white picket fence, mom, dad, kids, dog, butler and MAYBE chef. This family is the epitome of the proper American family. They hang out all the time and their biggest problem is that their dog still shits in the house and refuses to be potty trained. My parents separated when I was 3, but had never been married (I was kind of the best unplanned accident that ever happened to them). I’m extremely close with my mom and she tells me everything. Recently, she has decided she should put herself out there and start dating more. She’s beautiful, smart and hilarious. However, she is difficult to date and seems to attract a lot of odd/entertaining men, which is fine because now I can blog about more shit that I think is funny.

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She has been using OK Cupid and Tinder for the most part because they’re easy and more people are on them. I think those two are the easiest to navigate because when I was like 15 I thought it would be funny to make an E-Harmony profile, but I failed to realize their questionnaire is as long and complicated as the Bible. So there is a half assed, half filled out E-Harmony profile somewhere out there with my fake name on it. OK Cupid and Tinder are much easier, so she uses those. She has not actually gone out with anyone yet, but she has been texting this funny 45 year old man named Jeff. I asked to see his profile and most of his pictures consist of him either fully naked or half naked in various places around the world. Don’t worry, he covers up his man parts, but that doesn’t ease the shock and mild confusion of seeing any 45 year old man naked. I find this brave on his part because these pictures serve to elicit laughter, however, the idea of anyone laughing at me while I’m naked makes me want to wear every sweater I’ve ever seen. Kudos to you Jeff.

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I took my mom’s phone while she was driving and continued the conversation she was having with Jeff. I introduced myself and he told me about his pursuit of my mother. I encouraged him to pursue her, but first I needed a favor from him. Since, I am constantly looking for new and creative ways to market my blog to people because I’m needy and require a lot of attention (and for feedback from different kinds of people), I texted him “Follow my blog or we can’t be friends.” He followed my blog.

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So for those of you who are in similar situations and are trying to get more followers, don’t forget to steal your mom’s phone and ask strangers who are trying to date her to follow your blog. Worked like a charm!