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.

Photo by giphy.com

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.

 

I Love You Like I Love Bowling

*This one’s a little long and if you really love me you’ll read the whole thing*

Chris and I have been together since February. Since a lot of our friends went home for the summer, we have to keep busy and try not to kill each other. So far, we’ve done a phenomenal job. We go to the movies, attend Yankees games, play connect 4 etc. However, the most exciting experience we’ve had so far (in my opinion) was when we went bowling. We pre-gamed, as you always should before doing something like bowling, brought some liquor with us in a black thermos and much to our delight, they served beer at the bowling alley by the pitcher.

I walked up to the front desk with false drunk confidence and asked for some bowling shoes. I felt bad for the two men working at the bowling alley on a Friday night and considered asking them to bowl with us, but decided against it since they had to keep an eye on the bowling shoes. Someone’s gotta do it. We walked to our bowling station and were ironically placed in between two large families. It was 10PM on a Friday, so we felt that our intoxication was valid and should’ve been foreseen by anyone and everyone in our path.

Photo by pandawhale.com

Photo by Panda Whale

Chris and I began bowling and I started off strong and got some strikes. I might as well have been a middle aged man with a balding head and a beer belly judging by how well I was doing. But as I continued drinking, my strikes decreased in likelihood since we were bowling without bumpers, like real adults. I had forgotten how greasy bowling lanes can be and part of my clown shoe slipped at the beginning of the lane and my feet flew out from under me. Clearly, not my fault. Before I knew it, I was on the floor and chose to sit there helplessly until Chris stopped laughing to come pick me up. This took a while; Chris was laughing so hard, I thought he was going to have a hernia. The families on each side of us glared at me and no doubt expressed internal thanks that I was not their daughter.  We continued to bowl in between spurts of drinking as my bowling skills, or lack thereof, continued to diminish.

Photo by jokideo.com

Photo by Jokideo

Chris has a lot of amazing qualities. He’s smart, funny, has a beard etc. But he has the emotional intelligence of a chimpanzee. He is repulsed by emotions and believes everyone is simply too sensitive. He says he loves that I don’t “cry all the time.” It seems as though his real soul mate could be Hannibal Lector or any other notorious serial killer. If we ever break up, he’ll have a lot of trouble dating anyone else for the rest of his life. But at least I’ll be the best girlfriend he’ll ever have, which is always my primary goal. I aim to be everyone’s favorite person.

I stumbled up to the bowling lane and threw the ball. It went immediately into the gutter as if I had been aiming for it. I walked back to Chris, defeated, and after he stopped laughing, he said:

I love you.”

I was stunned. He had never said it before and for whatever reason he chose to say it in a bowling alley with strobe lights while we were both wearing shoes that would no doubt give us the bubonic plague. I didn’t know what to say. Of course I loved him, but it seemed to be taking my brain 8 years to process what he had said. I’m sure my facial expression looked as if he had told me he took a dump on the floor. So I didn’t say anything and we continued to bowl.

By the end of the game, my score was so low, you would’ve thought he had been playing a coma patient. So I can rule out professional bowling as far as careers go. Chris went to return his shoes while I was taking mine off and he called me to meet him outside. After returning the plague shoes, I met him in the parking lot and was pleasantly surprised when I saw that he had taken his plague shoes with him. I asked him why he took the bowling shoes, seeing to the fact that we didn’t make it a habit to bowl regularly. He said he didn’t know and that he just walked out with them. I love this about Chris. He does stupid things for no reason all the time and to me, it’s adorable and hilarious. Plus now he doesn’t have to pay for bowling shoes next time we bowl.

We sat down on a curb in the bowling alley parking lot as we waited for our Uber driver to take us home. I looked at him and said:

So you love me?”

Yeah.” he said, defeated by his own feelings.

I love you too.” I said.

He seemed excited and relieved as if I had told him he didn’t have to clean the dishes that night. We continued to talk about his new 5-finger-discount habit after stealing the bowling shoes. The Uber picked us up and we went home.

It was around 1am and I asked him if he wanted me to make cookies. He said yes (he never says no to food even if he’s not hungry, but honestly I’ve never viewed being hungry as a requirement before eating food). After proceeding to severely under-cook the cookies due to intoxication and my overpowering desire to just eat the dough without it being cooked, I went to my room to give Chris one.  He wasn’t there, so I went upstairs to look for him. To my amusement, I found my 6 foot tall, drunken mess of a boyfriend laying on the floor with a toilet paper roll as his pillow. I sat down next to him eating a cookie and offered him one.

I don’t want it,” he mumbled.

But you asked me to make these. Asshole. Why are you on the floor?”

I don’t feel good,” he replied.

So I sat with him, getting cookie crumbs everywhere while he made a rather large dent with his head in my toilet paper. When he was done taking a nap on the floor, we went to bed and he reminded me that he loved me over and over and over again. And now he won’t leave me alone:

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Photo by www.oystermag.com

Photo by Oyster Mag

I Hate Going to the Dentist

…and it’s not just because they get entirely too close to my face. Did I invite you to my barbecue? (no) Then why are you all up in my grill?

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I’ve been having temperature sensitivity pain with one of my teeth and my go-to strategy of hoping it would go away wasn’t working. So, I made the executive decision to make an appointment with a random dentist I found online. Also, chewing on the left side of your mouth makes eating so much less enjoyable. (On the bright side, I totally lost a pound). My first mistake was not checking this man’s yelp review:

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If you got a one star review from doing YOUR JOB, that’s probably a bad sign.

I arrived five minutes early for my appointment and immediately felt uncomfortable because the office appeared to be someone’s home from the outside. I walked in apprehensively and presented myself to the receptionist. She handed me some papers to fill out while I waited. I sat down and noticed a few magazines and toys for children. I promptly filled out the paperwork and handed them to the receptionist. She was older and married; and was probably oblivious to the yelp review I just found.

Whatever

A small man with gray hair and creepy eyes walked out to greet me and asked me to follow him into a room. He was nothing short of  an oompa-loompa minus the green hair. I wish he had had green hair; it would have been a more enjoyable visit. I greeted his dental assistant and sat down in an ugly green dental chair. The equipment seemed old and outdated. I peered around the room and couldn’t help but notice the uncanny resemblance to a serial killer’s torture basement. While I waited for Patrick Bateman to pop out with an ax or chain saw, the dentist (let’s call him Eugene) made small talk with me. I told Eugene that I major in Journalism and that I currently have an internship working for a small tech-start up in NYC. I briefly explained that I was the Content and Marketing intern for the founder of an iPhone app.

Everyone’s trying to make the next app…or whatever.”

Eugene was clearly jealous that my job is more fun than his, so I ignored his condescending tone and generally arrogant demeanor.

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So anyway, I got a cavity filled like three weeks ago and ever since then, my tooth has been really sensitive to cold and hot food and drinks.”

…I said, changing the subject back to why I was there in the first place. He poked around in my mouth and would continue to do this several times during the 25 minutes I was there. He asked me a few more general questions before deciding to take an x-ray. He came back while we waited for the x-ray and I asked him what he thought could be the problem.

Well worst case scenario, you’ll need a root canal.”

I nearly shit my pants. Who says ‘root canal’ that casually?

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He came back with the x-ray and spent 5 minutes looking at it before I asked if he saw anything odd. He didn’t see anything and came back to stick sharp objects in my mouth and tap the problem tooth. Eugene explained that I MIGHT need a root canal. Since he came to that conclusion so quickly, I asked why he thought this and if it could be something else. In so many words, he essentially said:

I don’t know, but you might need one.”

I felt like I knew less than I did before making this mistake of an appointment. He asked me if I wanted to see what the process of a root canal looked like with his superior-I’m-smarter-than-you-because-I-supposedly-have-a-dental-degree tone. He pulled out a picture book and explained the procedure to me, but I was too busy trying not to vomit and planning my escape.

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It could be from the filling that was put in to your tooth. So we can take that filling out, then put a different one in and see what happens. There’s no guarantee it’ll work though.”

I did not trust Eugene with a drill this early in our relationship that was quickly going downhill in my mind.

I don’t understand why the tooth in front of the one that got the filling hurts if the filling is the issue. Can you explain that to me?”

Eugene seemed puzzled when I threw this curve ball at him. I assumed he could tell the tooth that had the filling was different than the one I had pointed to. He poked around in my mouth some more and I finally decided he didn’t have a real D.D.S. Perhaps his career as a ventriloquist did not work out and he was left with dentistry. Either way, I needed to get out of this horrible office. I implied that I wanted a second opinion and got out of the chair quickly and narrowly avoiding ramming the top of my head into the light that was positioned above my face. Farewell, Eugene and may the Yelp reviews be ever in your favor (NOT).

Actual photo of me running away from Eugene.

Actual photo of me running away from Eugene.

 

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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How to Trap a Guy in 10 Ways

Alllllll the single ladies: In honor of Valentine’s Day, I’ve compiled a ‘Cosmo-esque’ list of sure-fire ways to trap the guy you’re ‘kind of seeing’ and make him your official boyfriend and/or husband depending on how ambitious you are. You’re welcome.

10) “Of course I want to play Mario Cart with you!”

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In order to pull this off effectively, you should probably learn how to play the actual game or any video game really. He won’t be able to resist your shared love of video games. This will also ensure that he will spend more time with you since this is what he does when you leave.

9) “Rooting for your fantasy football team babe”

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You don’t have to know the names of anyone on the actual team. However if you want to go the extra mile, learn how fantasy football works and throw some terms around every once and a while: “show that wide receiver whose boss!” “Nice auction draft.” He will appreciate your support in this extremely important imaginary game.

8) “Three some? Count me in!”

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You’re probably in college and it’s time to experiment anyway. What could be a better Valentine’s Day surprise than adding another equally or less attractive female to the mix?

7) “I organized your snapback collection.”

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Boys don’t know how to arrange shit. That’s where you come in and organize your future man’s super cool snapback hat collection. Feel free to arrange by color, logo and/or according to D-bag level (scaled from 1-10).

6) “Beer is my favorite drink too”

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Beer is one of the keys to a man’s heart. There are only like two other keys, so take this one seriously. Sip it slowly and when he’s not looking, throw back the vodka shots you’ve been hiding in your purse.

5) “Please tell me about your gym routine”

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Nod and smile. Look impressed. Nod and smile.

4) “I picked up this playboy magazine by accident at the store. Did you want it?”

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He will be too excited to notice that you said you ‘accidentally’ picked up borderline porn. He will not care how you acquired the magazine. However, he will think of you as that really cool girl who got him porn. Also, another great Valentine’s Day gift.

3) “Yes, you should definitely get a motorcycle.”

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Motorcycles are actually very expensive and require a lot of effort to maintain, so he will most likely never get one. Agree to ride it and fantasize about it with him. He will appreciate the support.

2) “What a cool tribal tattoo!”

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Whatever you do, do not ask what tribe he is from. You will surely confuse him and ruin the plan! You must compliment the tattoos, even if they make no sense to you or anyone else for that matter.

1) “Your haircut looks really good.”

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There is a formally written rule somewhere in the boy code handbook that states: “you must cut your hair 3 inches too short each time you get your hair cut.” Go along with it. It’ll grow to a nice length in like two weeks and then history will repeat itself and they’ll do it again and again. This is something you will need to get used to.

Protesting Against Stupid People Who Get to be on TV

Surprise, surprise I haven’t been keeping up with any of my New Years Resolutions. Partly because I’ve temporarily misplaced the notebook that I wrote them in, but let’s be honest with myself…New Years Resolutions are there to remind you of how skinny you’re supposed to be.

But I’m here like:

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My mom tried to tell me that the scale we have adds 10 pounds to your actual weight. I almost got excited and then she added “Well that’s what I tell myself anyway.” She’s self aware and delusional at the same time. But I don’t hold it against her because that’s how I approach dating. “He hasn’t called because he’s intimidated by how funny and awesome I am. Clearly.”

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So while I was sitting on my ass (which is growing exponentially as the days go by) yesterday, I was watching “My Strange Addiction.” It’s one of those horrendous television shows on TLC that follows people with *gasp* strange addictions. I managed to squeeze in 4 or 5 episodes before I started to feel my IQ plummeting. I thought it was interesting that the show mainly featured women. Like why aren’t more men addicted to smelling moth balls? They were addicted to eating things like gasoline, cat treats, tire parts, and vapor rub. It really made me wonder how you begin an addiction like that. How does one discover that they enjoy drinking GASOLINE? The girl who drank gasoline was a 20 year old brunette whose face consistently mirrored the expression of a disinterested turtle. Even her crying face was super stoic and basically read ‘This intervention is yawn inducing. Where’s my gasoline bottle?’ She explained that she began her potentially fatal habit because she ‘always liked the smell of it.’ So one day she said to herself ‘well if it smells good, it must also taste good.’ I wonder what would happen if I applied the same logic and tried to eat humans that I thought smelled nice. Perhaps I could be featured on the show. I love both crazy and stupid people, but I would really prefer that they weren’t featured on television as often. As a form of protest, I have compiled a list of shows that should have never made it on TV:

My Strange Addiction (‘Watch Me Eat Weird Shit’)

Keeping Up with the Kardashians (also known as ‘First World Problems’ and ‘I Made a Really Good Sex Tape’)

The Honey Boo Boo Show (with the chubby people)

Jersey Shore (‘Orange People that Drink and Go to the Gym’)

Real World (‘Girls Making Out with Other Girls Occasionally’)

16 and Pregnant (‘They Don’t Have Condoms in the Midwest’)

Toddlers in Tiaras (‘The Opposite of Child Protective Services’)

I didn’t include My 600 Pound Life because I like watching it and it gives me a warm fuzzy feeling inside regarding my own weight. Also, it works as an appetite suppressant. Feel free to add to the list!

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My New Career Path

I frequently have quarter life crises’ that result in me eating a lot of carbs. Usually, these ‘meltdowns’ or as I like to call them, periods of enlightenment revolve around my future. I am a sophomore in college and am constantly in search of what everyone else wants: money and happiness. Hopefully those two aren’t mutually exclusive. In other words, I want to make a shit ton of money doing something I like. Since professional wine drinker is ruled out for obvious reasons (mainly, I just don’t know how to make people pay me for it), I searched ‘most fun jobs’ on google and here are some of the results:

But first, me trying to get my life together:

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Wine Maker

Totally legit and right in my field of expertise. Except I know nothing about wine. My mom taught me to choose wine by how aesthetically pleasing the label is. Thanks mom. Screen Shot 2014-12-18 at 5.28.03 PM

Ferrari Driving Instructor

I could do this if more people trusted me with heavy machinery. Unfortunately, I’m really not the best driver. I’m the one who gets pulled over for driving too slow.

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Magician

No. I’m not creepy enough for this. I’m also not coordinated enough. No one would trust me to chop them in half with a saw while they’re inside a box.

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Chocolatier

HELL YES. I can see myself like those chefs on the Lindor truffle commercials twirling liquid chocolate and shit. The only down side is that I would put on a few lbs. WHATEVER BITCHES. I’m going to be a Chocolatier.

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Grandma got run over by… astrology?

So I spent Thanksgiving with my super entertaining grandparents who are in their late 60s and live in New Jersey in the middle of nowhere on a lagoon. My grandma is one of those people who kind of talks in a seemingly endless stream of consciousness, which is only interesting to me for the first few minutes of the car ride. Anyway, she is very into astrology and believes she can use it to tell the future to a certain extent. For those of you who aren’t in the loop about astrology a.k.a science for crazy people (not to be confused with scientology. I mostly just feel bad for scientologists. I won’t get into that right now for fear of offending people I deem nutty). Astrology is based off your horoscope. For example, I’m a Pisces and someone made up all sorts of personality traits and characteristics that people with certain signs tend to have. One of the reasons I think it’s a load of shit is because my sign says I’m shy. I AM NOT SHY BITCHES.

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Moving on. Essentially, everyone has their own astrological chart and it can be found on this database that my grandma has access to. I have no idea how this began or how she got into it. I can only assume it began with a mormon knocking on her door or a piece of mail that should have been disregarded entirely. So, we ordered a pizza and I asked her to read my astrology chart and tell me if anything cool and amazing is going to happen to me AND if I’m ever going to have my own personal chef at some point because that is very important to me. She began by telling me that I would have three husbands in the span of 12 years. First of all, I’m 19 and marriage does not sound appealing to me at all, so the fact that I am supposedly going to make this mistake three times sounds ludicrous to me. I couldn’t help thinking that she could be making it all up since the chart looks like gibberish to me and I can’t read it. It took all of my will power not to ask: “Grandma, are you bullshitting me right now?” But I stayed quiet because I needed to know if I was going to have a chef and children. And she doesn’t like it when I curse.

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She also mentioned that I will reach the the height of my career (which will have something to do with humor according to her) in about 6 years. I will also have three children. A chef was not mentioned.

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Here’s how I interpreted the gist of what she said: “You’re going to be a stand up comedian divorcee with a drinking problem, three kids, and will receive some kind of award when you’re about 25.”

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Somehow, this all sounds fine and dandy to me. You’re the best grandma!