Well, I’m Going to Hell.

I’ll be the first to admit that I am not the most angelic person on the planet.

I don’t always wear my seatbelt, I eat dessert before dinner, and I’ve been known to throw out a curse word or two in a moment of frustration. While not deplorable, those kinds of antics are most certainly not getting me any closer to the golden gates, if you will.

A while back, I did one good deed and immediately assumed it erases all the bad stuff I did before and after, so I wrote a wish list I’d like to have for my afterlife, you know, cause I’m going to heaven and stuff.

As much as I try to be a good person, sometimes the bad just slips through the cracks. I can’t always pretend that I enjoy watching movies with Kristen Stewart in them, or tell the truth when my parents ask me if I have eaten any vegetables at all this week.

I know, I need to make some changes.

I have to believe heaven is just the best place ever to exist. Just naps all day, wine all night, and just a non-stop party with all your friends and family members.

I also have to believe that hell is the absolute worst place to ever exist. I am NOT trying to go there, but I have been put in some situations on this earth, and they have changed me to the point where I am henceforth making an honest effort to be so good that they won’t even ask me questions about myself when I try and enter like they do when I attempt to sneak a full sized shampoo bottles through airport security.

I fully believe the following are accurate events on Hell’s calendar:

Mist:

There are no sunny days in hell. Just constant mist in your face. You don’t get a raincoat or an umbrella. But in reality those things never help anyways. You’ll get gently pelted with moisture for your eternal afterlife and never be able to protect yourself.

DMV:

All you want to do is get up and have a relaxing day on your couch, maybe watch some netflix and eat some takeout. No. You will be forced to get up at 6am with the rest of Hell’s legion and told to wait in line for seven of the eight hours of freedom you have for the day. Once there is a glimmer of hope and you’re the next in line to go to the counter, they will say that it’s closing time and you have to do it all over again tomorrow.

Traffic Jams:

You’ll be having a bad day, because it’s hell, and you’ll want to get in your car and take a mindless drive to release some stress. Only you can’t because everywhere you go there will be stop and go traffic. You will never get to drive freely on the open road blasting music like you would in heaven.

And for those who were really big assholes on planet earth, you get stick shifts. Have fun with that, bucko.

Push-Button Faucets:

Washing your hands seems like a basic task. Not when you have the bathroom army determining how much water you’re allotted at your sink interval. You’ll always have leftover soap, and never enough water to wash it off. Soap hands for life.

Group Text Messages:

You’ll have one response to the initial message, but you’ll never be able to silence the eight other people in the chat who have ignored or forgotten you’re in the group text and have gone on to have a riveting conversation about cat pregnancies and plaid button-up shirts.

An Almost Loaded Website:

All you want to do is check your email. And you’ll forever be waiting to do it.

That Person You Can Never Pass:

You’ll want to walk to the grocery store – which in hell, is Trader Joes on a Sunday – and there will be that person in front of you walking at a glacial pace, taking up the entire sidewalk. You will never be able to pass them. Just destined for a life of following in the footsteps of the slowest human being on the planet, which is ironically the worker who called out of the DMV that morning and is the sole reason as to why they are short staffed and horrible.

Constantly Trying to Assemble Ikea Furniture:

After your seven hour stint at the DMV get ready to come home and assemble IKEA furniture! No directions, just rudimentary sketches that don’t pertain to anything. You’ll always slam your finger, and there will never be enough screws. God bless.

…

Be good, folks. This hellish life aint for you. I know it’s not for me. I’m going to find the nearest church and confess all my sins now, see you in a couple years. It’s a long list.

24 Things I Irrationally Hate

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Irrational Hatred: An immediate dislike for someone or something that can’t be justified or has no reason behind it. The main reason being that he/she/you/they/it ” just drives me insane.”

Kristen Stewart and the fact that she never makes eye contact or smiles.
Starbucks employees who spell your name incorrectly, I’m on to you.
The first stall in any public bathroom.
Dave Matthews Band.
Using the word literally when something isn’t actually happening at the moment.
Teenage drama television shows where the central characters never have parents.
Boys, because they don’t have to wear bras. (If you’re a boy that wears a bra, GOOD FOR YOU!)
You, if you drive the speed limit.
People that knowingly leave their shopping cart taking up entire parking space; you jackass.
Girls who are able to apply makeup without making themselves look like a streetwalker that owns the corner of Harlot Avenue and Pay Me For This Boulevard.
People who order salads at restaurants because they’re “watching their weight.”
Tankinis… What are you?
Odd numbers. Get out of here.
Horizontal stripes for being my favorite pattern but at the same time paradoxically making me look four times larger than I really am (or am I?)
The weather being a universal and acceptable conversation topic.
Upforkers – for obvious reasons.
Crop circles. Farmers already have a tough life, let’s not make it worse, okay?
Chipotle for promising me things and not delivering.
Paying for things.
The snack aisle vortex at the grocery store for having a magnetic pull on my weak soul leaving me with the inability to avoid purchasing birthday cake oreos.
Hiding tampons in your sleeves, shirts, pants, ears, and pockets because even as an adult for some reason it’s still weird to have people know it’s that time of the month.
Cab drivers. Oh wait, nope that one is rational.
Diets and the people who can actually stick to them. I’ll be over here on day two spoons deep in nutella and stuffing my face with marshmallows (see #20).
Those elastic-waisted, maternity pants that are ~~supposedly~~ only for pregnant women. Non-preggos have fat days, too.

Had A Crappy Week? Here’s How to Feel Better.

#mylife

Everyone has those days that result in a volcanic eruption because you’ve spent the better half of the week or month suppressing your emotions. It all just happens to unravel at that very inopportune moment when you go to grab that KitKat you’ve wanted all day, but your hand comes back with nothing because no one wanted to throw the empty bag in the trash.

It may look like you’re just really upset that you can’t have your post-lunch treat you’ve dreamed about all morning, but in reality, it was just the last in a long line of emotional floodgates that had to open sometime or another.

If you’re like me, you don’t display your emotions. I pride myself on being able to mask a lot of what I’m feeling through the work day, and once I cross the threshold of my basement apartment, I go full blown dramatic actress in a death scene on Broadway.

Tears are streaming from places I didn’t know tears could stream, I’m thinking that curling up in the fetal position on the entryway floor is both comfortable and reasonable even though my bed is three feet away.

I’m a hot goddamn mess.

Other people can wear their emotions on their sleeve, with integrity. I can immediately tell when someone is an emotionally balanced human because he or she is able to accept mood swings as a natural part of living and know that people aren’t happy 100% of the time.

I guess I grew up differently.

My mother would argue that I am dramatic. But realistically, I have outbursts full of emotion because most of the time I suppress what I’m actually feeling. I don’t ever speak out about things until they have built up, boiled over, and reared their ugly head inside my mind to the point where I need to bitch, complain, yell, or freak out about it until someone listens and validates my emotional state.

I realize this is unhealthy, but when it’s been a certain way for twenty years, it’s hard to consciously make changes. I’m working on it. Maybe.

I have triggers for when I know I’m getting close to an emotional explosion. It allows me to assess what I’m feeling and then take the appropriate measures to immediately store it in my feeling chest until I can’t possibly squish another one in there.

And then I accept the emotional overload.

For starters, I always assume it’s because I’m due for a cry. I take out my personal calendar, go back page by page, and try and remember the last time I shed a tear. If it’s a sizeable amount of time, I take it as my cue to stay in on a Friday, pop in Marley and Me or A Walk to Remember, ball my eyeballs out, and be good to go for Saturday night.

Never underestimate the power of using a q-tip. If you’re feeling crappy, take a shower, get a q-tip for each ear and go to town. Cleaning the wax build up out of your ears after a hot shower will not only make you feel better, it will make you realize you’ve been listening to your television on a concert-level decibel which will also make your roommates happy they don’t have to listen to the George Lopez show with you until 2am anymore.

If your car has any gas in its tank, take it for a good ole mindless drive. Make sure you have a playlist on deck that transports you back to the happiest time of your life, which for me was the Medieval Times field trip in 7th grade when we played truth or dare in the back of the bus and I got to kiss my crush in the coach bus bathroom (BIG DREAMS, WHATUP?!).

Though unpopular, exercising is an awesome way to reduce stress and deal with problems. You never realize how much crap is weighing on your mind until you set out for a three mile jog and you end up running for six miles and then finish your workout at a boxing class. Just kidding, only crazy people do that (What? Who am I?). But seriously, go for a run, a walk, or a hike and just think. It’s amazing what some exercise and fresh air will do for your mind.

On the complete opposite side of the health and fitness spectrum, I have found that dabbling in gluttony soothes the soul like a stick of butter on a pancake. When having a bad day, there are few things more relaxing than sitting in your bed, sweatpants up to your boobs (allowing room for expansion, of course) holding a tub of Ben and Jerrys in your right hand and a bottle of Cabernet in your left. Wine and dairy don’t seem to go together, but after the fourth glass, you can’t really tell what anything tastes like anyways, so eat up, boozebag.

We all have weeks where we want to tear our hair out and poke other people in the eyeballs so they can feel our pain. My advice to you is to not do that, because a hefty lawsuit and being fired from your job are far worse than admitting you enjoy crying when you watch Bambi or you thought about punching Kristen Stewart during your boxing class.

Trust me, these things work.

Fool Me Once, Shame On You!

I’m going to say it; there’s a lot of trickery going on in the world right now.

I’ll be the first to say I’m not discrete. I think wearing sunglasses allows me to stare at people without being noticed. It does not. Maybe when I turn thirty that will finally sink in.

Until then, please ignore my piercing stare through my slighting tinted lenses when you’re walking to work – I’m just harmlessly judging you. No cause for alarm.

I like to believe I have a keen eye when it comes to being able to determine what is real and what is fake. I am also one point upgrade in my prescription from being deemed legally blind, so maybe having a keen eye doesn’t really factor into my picture at all.

I’m not going as far as saying I’m gullible, but I guess I’m just prone to deception.

It’s easy to fall victim to every day impostors. But with a few double takes, a good google search, and a question everything personality, you can find out that things aren’t really what they seem.

Tinder (and every other dating app that is solely based on physical appearance):

Ever get matched up with a guy or girl and you’re hitting it off? Witty banter all the time. Can’t wait til he or she messages me back. This is great! His picture is awesome, his name is Kale and he’s a vegan. He’s got board shorts and a tuxedo tshirt on in every picture, looks like my type of man! Is that a fedora? Sign me up. When you finally agree to meet up with this technological man of mystery, you’re expecting tall, dark, and handsome Mr. Rico Suave in his Hawaiian tourist attire to be seated at the restaurant awaiting your arrival. Until you show up and it’s a 5 foot 2 kid named Kaleb and he’s already eaten a seaweed salad because you were five minutes late and he’s a stickler for time management. He was only tan because that picture was taken on spring break and he was standing on a rock wall so he looked taller than his friends.

You’ve been duped.

Sales:

You’re walking down the cereal aisle of the grocery store and you see a two-for-one deal on Frosted Flakes. Do you need two boxes of overly-sugared breakfast treats? No. But sale items make you think you’re getting a better deal, when you’re really just getting fatter. I hate you, sales. I hate you with a fire of a thousand suns. I go into the store thinking I need one avocado and a bag of chips and I walk out with four sweet potatoes, a Native American, and a Thanksgiving turkey in July because it was a festive presale. I didn’t even have a coupon either!

Food Photography:

I think food is becoming a trend in my life. We’ll get to that another time. There is nothing I love more than a lean cuisine. I pick things specifically because of how the food looks on the box. If I see broccoli practically jumping off the cardboard and into my mouth, I’m going to double down on those bad boys and take them home. When I open the box and in the container is a sad, congealed cheesy mess of a meal, I have immediate food remorse. The picture never adequately displays how the food looks. It’s like going on a first date with make up and showing up the second time around barefaced and hungover. Just not pretty.

I realized I just equated eating a grocery store frozen meal to dating. This is why I am single.

Baby Carrots:

This one hurt the most. I recently found out that baby carrots are just shaved down big carrots. How insane is that? That must be the only thing on the planet where the full sized version isn’t good enough to the point where they have to make a mini version of it to sell better. Just trust your parents, kids, vegetables are good for you! Wait, is that why pygmy goats exist? Can someone get me a confirmation on that?

Craigslist:

You’re in the market for a new apartment. You’re scouring the internet for a deal, and you come across this unbelieveable find. Why is it still listed? This can’t be real life! The pictures look great, immaculate construction, clean, wood floors, and nicely decorated. Until you show up and it’s a revamped bomb shelter from World War two and your room has three walls that consist of deluxe paper towel sheets and chicken wire. Cozy!

SitComs:

Laugh tracks aren’t really people laughing at the jokes. They are essentially telling the viewer when to laugh. So does that mean sitcoms aren’t funny? I don’t even know anymore. I’m brainwashed by television and I’m not afraid to admit it.

…

Like I said, folks. The world is full of trickery. Keep your head on a swivel. Keep your eyes on the prize.

I’m going to go investigate whether or not I actually have a lactose allergy or if my mom was just saying that to me so I wouldn’t eat ice cream. I wouldn’t be surprised. I’d plow through a carton of mint choco chip when I was a kid; she may have just been doing me a service.

What’s Up With That Wednesday?

Featuring: Silverware in the dishwasher!

I feel you, bro! #deathbydishwasher

What’s up with people sticking forks and knives pointy side up in the silverware cleaner? Really though. Do you want me to get stabbed?

Maybe I was raised in a forks down household, I don’t know. But the idea of someone purposefully putting a fork prongs up really grinds my gears. What do you do with scissors? Do those just go blades up, too?

No. They don’t. Because it’s dangerous.

You wouldn’t put a capless pen ball point to the sky in your collection, so why treat your silverware differently? No one wants to empty the dishwasher and get stabbed, just like no one wants to go for a writing implement and get ink daggered.

I’d really love to find out why people do prongs up. If anyone has any intel into the cerebral cortex of an upforker, please let me know.

It’s very important. Maybe even more important than meeting Leo DeCaps, I’m just not sure yet.

No, nevermind, nothing is more important than Leo DeCaps.

Now excuse me while I go manually flip over all the utensil shanks in my dishwasher. I swear people are trying to kill me, they’re just not being subtle enough. I see you, people. You’re not going to get rid of me that fast.

You want to know if I hate my job?

It’s all in a day’s work.

If you are one of those people who springs up out of your sleep sack bursting with energy, excitement oozing out your eyeballs, ears and nose, beaming with unlimited joy because you’re just so elated to strut into work and get grinding, you are not a real person because no one is that happy.

On the contrary, if you are lucky enough to not absolutely abhor the idea of going into work, whether it be the office environment is awesome, you love the people, or you’ve found yourself in a career in which you are equally passionate and satisfied, that is amazing, and don’t take it for granted.

A lot of people hate their jobs.

Fortunately, I am not one of them. In the two scenarios I described above, I fall into the latter. Even though when I was growing up, my father repeatedly told me to avoid marketing and advertising, as he has been in the business for over twenty years, I stayed true to my stubborn and disobedient nature by doing the exact opposite of what he told me and was formally employed at a marketing agency starting in August of 2013.

I’ve either ignored or stubbornly brushed aside a lot of my father’s wisdom tidbits throughout the years, but one piece of advice I did accept rings true. He has always urged me to constantly look for ways to better myself in my career and never settle.

For me, this is one of those aim high, shoot low situations. Because while I’m ambitious, I realize the reality of me attaining my actual dream job is extremely unlikely, and here’s why:

I don’t think my dream jobs are actually real jobs.

What I do know is that I am extremely qualified for these positions should they exist. Also, if they do happen to exist, and on the small chance that a CEO of a company that has an opening for one of these positions may be reading this, the hope is that he or she will direct their mouse’s curser to the “Want To Give Me A Job?” tab and promptly fill out a contact form in order to offer me employment.

Like I said, aim high, shoot low. I’ll stick with my day job for now. But just in case, here is a list of jobs that I am extremely qualified to obtain, if only they existed in real life:

Onion Ring Connoisseur

If you don’t know by now, you should understand that one of my truest loves on planet Earth are the majestic side item this world likes to call onion rings. I just love them. So much so that I make a point to try them at every restaurant and rate them. Gotta have a great crispy outside, and a non stringy inside. Not that difficult, but apparently very difficult because I’ve only found a handful of restaurants crack the top half of the 1-10 scale, so all you fine dining establishments better step up your game. And maybe call up Dennys and ask what their secret is, because those rings are FLAMES.

Live Tweeter

This is a position that does actually exist, but I assume is extremely difficult to obtain. There is nothing I love more than crushing a bottle of wine and making outlandish judgments about celebrities on award shows. Well, maybe puppies. I do love puppies a lot. If I could do that for monetary compensation, my endorphins would be so high through the roof I’d practically be metaphorically flying through the Twittersphere.

Dog Voice Creator

Ever wanted to know what your dog would sound like if it was a human? No problem, bring it on down to my apartment, I’ll take one good look at him or her, and promptly give you an accent that you can have 0% confidence in its accuracy. It may not be correct, but it will give you the slightest smile when your dog is incessantly barking at that squirrel for you to think about him or her saying, “I want to go outside, Mom!” in a British accent with a monocle and a pipe. Disclaimer: Golden Retrievers are always going to be surfers, it just makes sense.

Complaint Writer

UPDATE: still waiting to “receive something in the mail”

I have no problem writing long winded emails to large corporations citing my reasons for unhappiness. If anyone had a problem and they couldn’t find the words to verbalize their dissatisfaction, I would totally love to be that person. Case and point: this little letter I wrote to Chipotle about the time I missed their haiku contest and was unintentionally disqualified from winning the contest. (Inquire within to get help writing your complaints today!)

*** Really, I’d like to be an actual writer paid for my work. But that just seems absurd. So I’ll go on selling my soul to Elite Daily solely for exposure hoping that someone thinks I’m worthy somewhere down the line.

… So, anyone want to give me a job?

March Madness: How to Stay Sane for the Next Month

If you don’t know anything about basketball, that sucks for you because you’re going to surrounded by it for the next couple of weeks. It will haunt your dreams, your social life will revolve around it, and you will see normally sane people spiral into a complete and utter mental state to the point where you may actually have to commit them to an asylum.

But there’s good news! You don’t have to sit and be miserable for the next three weeks, because even you, non-sports liking human, can have fun with March Madness. Because like it or not, basketball is going to be broadcasted nationwide on every television in every restaurant and apartment, so you may as well get used to it.

Here are some survival tips for anyone who doesn’t want to actually go mad this March:

(yes, I know, my puns are some next level stuff, BACK OFF)

Even if you know nothing about basketball, fill out a bracket. It will give you someone to root for each game, and you’ll get the satisfaction of picking a winning team and rubbing it in that kid’s face who tracks college players from birth til graduation when his bracket sucks more than yours does.
Use this as an excuse to hang out with a kid you have a crush on. Have that hot kid you like help you fill out a bracket, maybe meet up with him at a bar for some beers. All you have to do is cheer when lots of people cheer, and boo when people boo. Look excited. Take a shot. Ask a question. Wait refrain from asking questions, boys hate explaining things to girls. Actually, just show up and have a good time, it’s not that difficult.
Make up a drinking game. Shot for shot, literally.
Use this to determine whether or not your potential life-long partner is insane. The great news about March Madness is that you get to see people in their primal state. Winning and losing brackets reduce human beings to their cores. There is no better time than now to rule out potential crazies. If he knocks over a lamp, kicks through a door, or threatens to punch a baby due to a loss, there’s a good chance he won’t do the dishes or take out the trash after a tiff later in life.
Read a book. If you don’t like sports, that is not a problem. How about expanding your vocabulary with a good book? Think about all the new words and phrases you’ll pick up because your significant other is hogging the television. You’re pretty much guaranteed to surpass him or her in intelligence, so why not start now? You’ll be the most sophisticated insulter this side of the Mississippi. Or that side. Depending where you live.
Go work out. If you’re stressed out because you’re missing this week’s episode of Pretty Little Liars, have no fear, the gym has televisions and treadmills. Kill two birds with one stone by running out your aggression and simultaneously still wondering why in the hell these four girls are still getting tormented and no one is doing anything about it. It is shocking. Really.
Suck it up. If you’re a problem solver, or a generally easy going human being, you’ll realize that this is a time of the year that isn’t going away. Much like football season, baseball season, and hockey season, the playoffs create a cutthroat atmosphere and you can either adapt or die. If you’re going to get pissed off and mope because you can’t watch the finale of Cupcake Wars, you have bigger fish to fry. Invest in DVR, sit down with a drink, and make a sacrifice like guys do when you make them go shopping or eat vegetarian options for a week.

It’s Thursday, and I’m Thirsty.

Thus, unfortunately – or fortunately depending on how you look at it – I don’t have anything new to contribute today, but something noteworthy did happen. So I’m going to but on my current events cap and botch the absolute crap out of this reporting.

Bear with me.

Fred Phelps Sr., the infamous leader of the deplorable, anti-semitic establishment that is the Westboro Baptist Church passed away today; and while his death is nothing to celebrate, we can revel in the irony of it all, and realize that he was a psychotic human being with nothing else to do but to plot to ruin other peoples’ lives.

If there’s anything you can take away from this event, it is that God does not in fact, “hate fags,” and being who you are is what you were born to do. Don’t be afraid to show your true colors. Unless you’re naturally green and scaly, you might be part lizard, and you may want to get that checked out.

Real talk. Regardless of race, gender, sexuality, or economic status, we are all on this planet together and deserve to be on this planet together. No one human is above any other, and you are all perfect the way you are.

Rant over, enjoy your Thursday, and drink a beer for me.

Oh, sorry. Quick question. When is the rapture, though?

Click the link for more information.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/local/obituaries/fred-phelps-sr-leader-of-westboro-baptist-church-dies-at-84/2014/03/20/a0c5cd30-ae2b-11e3-a49e-76adc9210f19_story.html

The Girls’ Guide to Packing for a Trip

We the people women, in order to enjoy the most perfect excursion, establish justice, make good fashion choices, ensure domestic tranquility, peace of mind, and provide sanity of our peers, must follow the following set of rules when determining which outfits to bring forth on said trip:

Article 1: Overpack

Are you going away for a night, two days, tops? You should most definitely put enough outfits for a week long excursion through Europe. A general rule of thumb: if you have too many outfits in your suitcase, you don’t have enough outfits in your suitcase.

Article 2: Bring Things You Never Intend To Wear

For example, if you plan on going skiing, it’s a good idea to pack a Hula skirt. As women, we tend to fantasize that our decorative costume attire will somehow serve a purpose on our future vacation trips. That, or we like to think that our drunk purchase of a $88 genuine, handcrafted, bamboo hula skirt freshly made by a nice Caribbean man named Peter during Spring Break ’09 wasn’t a complete and total waste of money.

Article 3: Always Pack A Bathing Suit

Point blank, you just never know when there will be a hot tub or an indoor pool. You do not want to be that girl who has to wear some boy’s boxers and the sports bra you brought for sleeping because you were too lazy to stuff two small pieces of fabric into your underwear pocket.

Article 4: Forget Something Important

Toothbrush. Tampons. Make Up. Anything that requires an annoying, necessary, extra trip after an extensive journey is encouraged. You will spend so much time planning your attire for the exterior of your body, you’ll completely forget that you need to adhere to that mondo pimple conveniently located on your forehead, or making sure you’ve supplied yourself with an instrument to ensure your breath doesn’t smell like taquitos and Cabernet each morning.

Article 5: Rely On Friends For Outfit Adjustments

You’ve packed an entire suitcase, but the second everyone does the, “3, 2, 1, UNZIP!” suitcase challenge, it’s a mad dash wardrobe buffet. You brought your favorite outfits, heels that make your legs look awesome, and the dress that makes you look so hot even on a fat day. Yet, you are going to throw all that into the wind and contemplate thoroughly about the kind of lubricant involved in order to fit into your best friend’s size two pants even though you haven’t been that small since sixth grade.

Article 6: Don’t Skimp on Hair Products

If there is one thing that is certain, that is that you don’t know how your hair will react outside its element. You may have a shower sent straight from Jesus himself, but that means nothing when it comes to your hair being outside its natural habitat. Go to CVS, stock up on all the travel bottles and sprays you can fit into that annoying clear plastic bag, and be prepared. There will always be pictures, and frizz looks good on nobody, not even Beyonce.

Article 7: Conveniently Avoid Looking at the Weather

You could be attending your best friends wedding in South Carolina in May. Instinctively, you will equate below the Mason Dixon line with warmth, you will pack accordingly, and get off the plan with shorts and tshirt and a slap in the face from 45 degrees. Please refer to Article 4 where you will forget something important, ie: a jacket, sweatshirt, or your general ability to use a computer and navigate the internet to determine the temperature of your destination.

On March 19, 2014, The Coalition of Women in the World hereby decree that said rules constitute the process of packing for a trip. Failure to comply with the above stated rules and regulations will result in the fact that you are either a male, a mother, or a generally organized human being.

I’ve been here a few minutes too long.

Do you ever get that uncomfortable feeling that creeps up on you at the worst time? Maybe that one that shows up after you’ve been having a blast, making fast friends, and then all the sudden you realize you one of three people left at a friend-of-a-friend’s house and the friend that brought you has disappeared into thin air?

Yeah, it’s that well known feeling of shock, horror, and awkward turtles letting you know that you are lingering. You’ve just been there too long.

We’ve all done it. I’ve had my fair share of overstays, not taking hints, and utter annoyances. It’s a natural progression from being completely oblivious to social cues to blossoming into the world of knowing when to utilize a timely exit.

But for some, this realization never comes to fruition, so we are left with the human crumbs of a once delightful friend cake. The remnants that hang around too long, are hard to get to leave, and ultimately, end up ruining a perfectly good dinner date.

Are you that guy or girl that likes to greet friends and relatives with a warm embrace? If so, good for you! I’m all for a handshake to hug combination when it comes to people I haven’t seen in a while. But for the love of Rudolph at a clown convention, don’t hug me for more than fifteen seconds. Chin to shoulders, maybe a pat on the back and a, “Nice to see ya, bucko!” and let’s just move on.

If that’s not enough to make you uncomfortable, let’s bring up that person at the party who tells jokes that no one understands. I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t quite understand why you’re equating your wife with professional cow tipping. But I’m going to fake laugh anyways and try and change the subject to something we can all relate to, like stickers, puppies, and wine.

Oh yeah, and screw you, hangover, you sneaky son of a bitch. If I wanted pain of death without actually dying to last more than an hour, I would avoid drinking all together. Instead I take the good with the bad, knowing that my headache is a mere consequence of my inability to avoid peer pressure, pop an Advil and move on with my day. But sometimes, Mr. Hangover, you want to hang around all day, and frankly, I don’t approve. It’s rude, and it confines me to a twenty-four hour horizontal period of indoor vampire activity because sunlight hurts my eyeballs. Take a cue from the last kid at the party and leave before you’re unwanted.

It’s that smell that seems to permeate the air at the worst possible time. You could be out at the bar with your friends, having a girls night, taking shots and reminiscing about the time you studied abroad and got robbed in broad daylight. Then all the sudden this stench hits your nose like a punch from Mohammad Ali. You cannot get over it, you cannot look past it, and you cannot figure out where it is coming from. If you are the person providing the general public with a smell strong enough to bring the fun level in a room down, please make a note to check yourself before you wreck everyone else. It’s common sense to have a sense of smell; use deodorant.

I’d like to politely say, “stop it forever” to The Cranberries. You do not have to, have to let it linger. The band had to practice some sort of ironic witchcraft that allowed that song to have staying power, but nevertheless, I’m here to plead with the masses and ask to remove it from your rotation, permanently.

It’s all fun and games to take a trip down memory lane. Some of the greatest memories I have as a child are so vivid in my mind it’s like they happened yesterday. But there is something about seeing an image that is so mentally scarring that it’s almost like an iron, tattoo needle, and a camera all came together around your cerebellum and said, “this one is going to stick with you forever.” Do I want to forget the time I unintentionally intercepted a sexual text message between two people with whom I should not know anything about their sex life? Absolutely. Is it going to forever be burned into my brain only to leave when I die? Yes.

But that’s the thing about the lingerer – it doesn’t go away when it should. I don’t understand why the good things never seem to hang around, like maintaining your goal weight after after a birthday party at Junk Foods R’ Us, or not feeling pain when you walk in heels.

Basically, whoever said too much of a good thing is bad never had anything good happen to them. They probably wanted to make out with the person hosting the party, had a blast and stayed longer than anticipated, but ultimately ended up staying too late and making it awkward.

And that sucks for that person, but let’s not make unwanted hang arounds a thing, okay?

Half and Half

half wit. half wisdom. a whole lot of nonsense.