But What Now?

            I have seen and experienced some pretty hilarious shit in my life so far, but I don’t think anything if funnier than hearing high school couples talk about how “in-love” they are. If you are in high school, reading this blog, and in a “serious relationship” with your significant other, I would suggest you stop reading this right now, or else prepare to be given a harsh dose of reality.

            I’m going to say this frankly: you two are not in love. You two are not soul mates. The chances of you two getting married are close to 0.0000000001%. It’s more likely for your man-candy to become a tutu-clad trapeze artist and join the goddamn circus that is for him to put a rock on your desperate finger. The reality is this: you two are just extremely infatuated with each other. Your crazy teenage hormones are all pumped up adrenaline, and are just looking for some excitement. They don’t really know what’s going on at all.

            As you all probably know, a relationship can start very quickly, sparked by the littlest things. Let’s use a hypothetical situation. You’re a freshman walking to your locker; it’s just another school day. Suddenly, you pass that new girl, Summer, in the hallway. Damn, she looks cute today. So you start noticing her more. And more. And more. You ask her for her number. A couple weeks later you ask her out, and she says yes! But what now?

            No pressure or anything, but this is the turning point of your whole fucking relationship. The fulcrum, if you will. You could simply go on to be just an average, happy, teen couple, or you could just as easily morph into the lovey-dovey, handholding, PDA performing, vomit inducing duo that everyone hates. Congratulations on losing all your friends and being entirely wrapped up in each other!

            Now it’s time for graduation, and you and Summer have to break up because she’s moving to Botswana to pursue her dream career of becoming a professional bowler. You look back and realize that you wasted the last four years of your life with a girl who will probably not get anywhere in life, and who you’ll most likely never see again. Because of your deep infatuation (NOT love) for each other, you never got to make any real connections with other people, and you are just now comprehending that you don’t really have any other friends.

            Fortunately, college is a new chapter for you and you have the opportunity to start over. So you go into your first day of college hoping to keep things light and branch out a little. You sit down in your first lecture and listen to the professor introduce yourself, when someone taps you on the shoulder. You turn around and see a pretty girl smiling down at you. Her nametag reads “Autumn”. You’re shit outta luck lover boy. Looks like you haven’t really moved on after all.

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This Is Your Liver Calling

Hello Partiers,

            This is your liver calling. I know you’ve all been hearing from me a lot lately, and I understand that I can get a little annoying sometimes- after all, all you ever seem to want to do is party all the fucking time. However, I just wanted to send out a friendly reminder that your life expectancy is around 85 years, and most people like to remember that time clearly instead of walking around in an alcohol-induced haze.

            I don’t want to be that complaining bitch that everyone hates, but I just feel like I’ve been very overworked lately. It would be great if you could give me a break every now and then, and lay off the Miller Lite. I’ve pretty much forgotten what other fluids taste like. In addition, if it’s not asking too much, I would also appreciate it if you could maybe find ways to deal with your hangover that don’t involve the consumption of more goddamn alcohol. I’m more than a little tired of worrying that you’re about to kick the bucket every time you start kneeling in front of the porcelain toilet bowl gods. 

            I’m know I’m just a slab of tissue and muscle, but even I know that puking your guts out on a nightly basis probably isn’t good for your overall health and/or safety. As far as social status goes, I’m also not certain that your so-called “friends” are still going like you after they find out that you made out with every single one of their boyfriends that night you had too much Jack. You can blame it one the booze honey, but you still have to face the consequences.

            While we’re on the topic of consequences, I would also like to inquire about the toll that your vodka addition is taking on your grades- not to mention your wallet. You might be pretty enough now to have boys buying you drinks and nerds doing your homework, but what are you going to do when the scotch starts doing it’s job and you start looking like a worn-out, homeless, cat lady? It might be nice to have a back up plan. Just something to consider.

            Don’t worry too much about your life or anything. If all else fails, I hear that Dairy Queen is in desperate need of employees. Or, if you’re into the whole concept of irony, you could always become the spokesperson for the fight against teen drinking. You have tons of personal experience.

Sincerely,

You Most Important Organ

             

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Forty Year Old Hookers

            It’s Halloween season, which can mean a number of things, depending entirely upon your age, morals, and originality level. For elementary aged kids (the best age to be at, if you ask me), this time of the year means finding the best costume to go trick-or-treating in, showing off the pumpkin-carving-induced cuts on your hands to all your friends, and making sure that your mom buys the best kinds of candy at the grocery store. Being under the age of 12 pretty much gives little kids an unlimited amount of energy, and the ability to slip into a candy-induced coma with relative ease. Not to mention free admission at the super sketchy haunted houses.

            As you get older, however, the definition of Halloween is totally and completely altered. Suddenly it’s not about the candy or the jack-o-lanterns anymore. For high schoolers or “young-adults” as we are so frequently called, October seems to be the best month of the whole fucking year. Halloween is the one day out of 365 that girls are allowed to dress like complete whores and not be called out on it. It’s always a silent competition among sluts- how much skin can I possibly show without being completely ass-naked? It seems nowadays that there really isn’t a limit as to how far some sluts will go to get noticed.

            Apparently, wearing your itty bitty third grade dance recital tutu to a Halloween party is totally acceptable- just make sure you slip on a pair of cat ears in case someone bothers to look away from the cleavage that is bursting from your lace push-up bra long enough to ask what you are. And please, do try your hardest to forget that it is twenty fucking degrees outside and the only people roaming the streets at this time are desperate forty-year-old hookers. While you’re at it, try not to remember that this is the time of the year that most kidnappings and abductions occur. But in all fairness, you can’t blame any pot-bellied redneck that might pull up hoping to get a feel- he was probably about to ask you your fee for the night, judging by the clothes you’re wearing (or not wearing, actually).

            If you are one of the few brave souls that actually dare to make Halloween a fun and creative night, props to you! Can’t say that I’ve seen you around lately, but I’m sure you’re still out and about somewhere. I just want to genuinely show my appreciation for you and your work. It’s wonderful to know that there are actually people out there who like to dress up for reasons other than showing off the extent of their skankiness. I understand that you all are a dying breed, but I hope society can at least be inspired by your innovation before you become extinct.

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There's No Age Limit On Fun

Sleeping Figures

The number one thing I hate most about life is waking up in the morning. The ten (twenty on a Monday) minute transition from my warm, soft, comfortable, loving, king-sized bed to the cold and unforgiving tiles of my damned bathroom floor is definitely the hardest part of my day. Not only do I have to wake up and prepare for the awkward events of the day that are sure to follow, but I also have to try to look presentable while doing it.

After hitting, cursing at, and pleading with the snooze button on my alarm clock, it usually takes me approximately eight minutes to realize that as much as I want to, I can’t live in my bed forever. This is around the time that my legs spring into action, find the ground, and use gravity to drag the rest of my lazy body off my coconut-scented plush pillows. After entering the hellhole that is the rest of the world outside my bedroom, I eventually wake up, and everything is just peachy from then onwards. But it’s the brief transition period that really takes a toll on my health and sanity.

On the somewhat frequent occasions that my clock radio fails to wake me from my much-needed beauty slumber, I am forcibly awakened by one of my family members. Because of the emotional trauma I have had to experience in my past due to being woken up incorrectly, I feel that some form of protocol for waking someone up needs to be put into place.

First off, it is never, ever, ever appropriate to violently shake someone awake and/or yell loudly in his or her still-drowsy face. Studies and personal experience have shown that these actions lead to a rockier relationship with one’s family and friends, and also have potential to result in a variety of injuries for both parties. In addition, it is exceptionally unfitting to spray freezing water onto one’s sleeping figure, regardless of how late the sleeper is for school/work/any other seemingly important appointment.

Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, a sleeper should never be held accountable for any violence or rude language when they are being awakened. The awakeners should always remember that the sleepers love them, and don’t actually wish harm upon the awakeners- regardless of the ill wishes and vulgarities that may escape their lethargic lips.

With that said, one’s sleeping mind has been proven to not be an accurate representation of one’s awake and alert mind. Therefore, anything someone does in a state of slumber cannot be held liable to his or her state of mind. Basically this just means that in an extreme case, the sleeper you are trying to rouse could potentially murder you, and not be held responsible for it. Keep that in mind next time you’re aiming up your ice-cold spray bottle at an innocent sleeping figure.

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