Tag Archives: Health

7 Reasons Why Life Would Significantly Improve During A Zombie Apocalypse

8 Apr

1. Money would basically cease to exist. Forever. Worried about your current financial situation? Wondering how the hell you’re going to pay your rent this month? STILL paying off your car? Well recent 20-something college grads, go ahead and let out a collective sigh of relief. The Zombie Apocalypse is upon us, and we no longer have to worry about any of that! Think about it. Career plans would be tossed out of the window. “Oh, boo hoo, I went to college for four years to be this one thing and now I’m getting paid minimum wage to be something completely different from that one thing I wanted so badly but now don’t even know if I want it anymore, blah blah blah the world is so unfair to me it’s so hard being young and 20-something in this world” ZOMBIES ARE ROAMING THE STREETS. Ain’t NOBODY got time for that kind of thinking! Get a gun, get some food, get to high ground. Seriously. No body cares if you studied to be a lawyer or… a BRAIN SURGEON. (See what I did there?)

2.) All of the stupid people would die right away, or become Zombies, which (in turn) are acceptable to shoot in the head. Admit it. You’ve met some stupid people in your life. You’re not necessarily a VIOLENT person, but… given the option to fart in the general direction of the guy who cut in front of you in McDonald’s who then proceeded to ask how much a “Dollar Menu Fry” was, or just keep walking, you’d probably choose to fart on or around him. And what if… what if that guy just happened to become a soul-less zombie? Well then what? Are you just going to let him waddle around the McDonald’s, aimlessly staring off into the distance, groaning, and maybe infecting the chicken McNuggets with his rotting flayed flesh? Aw HELL nah! You’re going to get a cross bow, and you’re going to shoot that drooling idiot in his dollar menu head. How much is a dollar menu fry? THE PRICE OF YOUR BRAINS SPLATTERED ON THE GLASS DOORS OF MCDONALD’S, YOU UNDYING GROAN FACTORY OF ROT.

3.) We would all learn to use so many kick-ass weapons it wouldn’t even be funny. Cross bows. Rifles. Hand guns. Axes. Baseball bats. Swords. Broken branches of trees. Bombs. Fire throwers. Fricken NUMCHUCKS. And those really heavy spiky metal balls on the ends of chains that they used to use in the olden days!!!! I am not a violent person, but given the chance to seriously hurt or kill something in self defense… I’m not going to lie. I’d probably go pretty ape shit with it all and get really into it, like the overprotected 18 year old girls who literally go insane during their first semester of college. Only I’d be going insane during my first Zombie Apocalypse…. Seriously, my arms would be so toned. Which brings me to my next general life improvement…

4.) My arms would FINALLY be toned, due to the excessive lifting of heavy objects, like guns, limp bodies of our recently deceased loved ones, and the debris of decaying buildings. No, but really… EVERYONE would be sexier, due to the immediate demand of intense physical activity. EVERYONE would start getting in shape! And if they weren’t getting in shape, it’s because they were too fat to out run the zombies, and now they’re basically doing what they did while they were alive: roaming the earth in search of food. So we’d just get to shoot the fat useless zombies, and enjoy the sexy transformations of all the agile humans around us. Which brings me to my next point…

5.) Relationships would suddenly feel more intense, due to never knowing if you’re going to live for years or die tomorrow. It’s kind of like the entire idea of love would become that moment, that single night before the love of your life ships off to war in the morning. Think about how intense and interesting that would be. “Oh, you’re one of the last few living people on this earth who isn’t trying to eat my brains out, and you’re a (insert preferred sex), AND you have sexy arms!?!? Let’s do this thang.” Say goodbye to the bro code, the pick up lines, the bars and second-guessing. Hell! Forget dating games, period. This shit’s serious. Absolutely no body would care if you’re 28, lost your job, still can’t spell “restaurant” without using spell check, and don’t have a car. Guess what? You can finally act out that Grand Theft Auto fantasy and STEAL ONE like a BOSS.

Then again, I guess first dates wouldn’t change too much. They would still consist of grabbing a bite to eat (foraging for food in remote/abandoned places while in fear of your lives), telling each other about your families and pasts (“Well, my mom got bitten, you know… and almost ate off my left arm, well- that is- until my little 8-year-old brother picked up a near-by pitchfork and stabbed her in her head before she could bite down. That was kind of a lot. But we were all really proud of him that day… That was actually yesterday. Night.”)  and the timid goodnight kiss at the front door (“So… should we like, climb up this tree and attempt to do it before more zombies come this way?”)

6.) Pop culture would FINALLY cease to exist. Let’s just take a moment to imagine this, okay?

Justin Beiber… as a ZOMBIE.

I’m just saying…

If I was your boyfriend, I’d never eat your brains. Unless I was a Zombie. And then I’d eat your brains.

Imagine shooting your least favorite pop stars in the head. How fun would that be?!? And you wouldn’t have to feel guilty at ALL because you’re doing the world a grand service by shooting Kim Kardashian’s brains out!!!

…Wait…

7.) I could finally prove to everyone that I really WOULD win the Hunger Games. Well, okay I’ll be honest: I don’t really think I’d win the Hunger Games. I can’t stab other kids and shoot them and cut their throats out just because the government tells me to do that. But if I had to protect my family or the people I loved from other people or ZOMBIES trying to kill them? Lesbihonest. I’d probs win the Hunger Games. Like, if the Hunger Games were actually a Zombie Apocalypse that didn’t take place in a huge stadium, but rather… like, the world? I’d win the Hunger Games. For sure. No doubt.

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Helga and Olga’s Moving Service

8 Oct

My Mom and I decided to rent a U-Haul truck in order to pick up all of the furniture that we agreed to purchase from Craigslist humans. I had always thought, somewhere in my little juvenile mind, that U-Haul trucks were always driven by experienced, trained truck driver mover people. I guess I never formulated the thought “U-Hauls are rented by every day people to help them move their every day items from one every day place to another.”

First, though, we have to find it. So, we pile into Dory and attempt to locate the U-Haul renting place.

Mom: Plug in Chester and see where he wants us to go.
Me: (Loving the ever-changing name of my GPS) Okay. Benny says to drive 3.2 miles and then make a left.
Jedediah: Drive, 3.2 miles. THEN- turn left.

We drive along, enjoying the sunny Florida weather and each other’s company. But the closer we get to our “final destination” the darker the skies start to get. The buildings go from tightly positioned business buildings, Paneras, and Wells Fargo banks to creepy, dirty abandoned garages with signs on the sides of them that say things like “Brakes R Us” and “Tires 4 Less.” We are actually entering a ghetto.

Mom: Are you sure Jack is taking us the right way?
Me: Yeah… he says this is the right way…

We finally see a big U-Haul sign and turn in.

Michelangelo: You have reached, your destination.
Mom:
Me:

We lock up Dory, and as we walk away, I can’t help but feel like this is the last time I’ll ever see her with perfectly in-tact windows. The guy inside helps us with our reservations, then leads us outside. I’m expecting a small truck, something sensible that will hold some bedroom furniture and a bookcase…. The U-Haul truck is the size of a small house. Like, a family of four could actually reside in it for a few days and not feel completely miserable. Mom and I exchange a look that says, “Are we seriously going to drive this beast right now?” So we get in. The dude checks our gas and everything and then closes the door.

Dude: (hitting the side of the door twice) Enjoy!

There is a moment of stunned silence. We look at each other. And then, Mom does this:

So we’re on the road again. Just, you know, driving along. It’s a little nuts because we have to swing WIDE on every turn.

Me: Oh, crap, Jason wants us to turn right up here. Swing it WIDE, Mom.
Mom: OH, I’ll swing it wide!
(The Beast starts to turn)
Me: WIDE! WIDE! WIDER!
Mom: I’M TURNING IT! I’M TURNING IT WIDE!!!!
(We complete the turn. There is a moment of silence. Then we both laugh hysterically, thoroughly pleased with ourselves.)

We follow Victor’s instructions (“Turn left! Then, stay on the right lane.”) and soon we find ourselves face to face with a toll booth. There are two lanes for this particular toll booth: E-Z pass, and EXACT CHANGE. There is no other option.

Mom: (forcefully calm) Um, Carolyn? I’m going to need you to get into my purse and see if I have any change.
Me: (slight panic) I don’t think we do! We used a lot yesterday on the toll roads-
Mom: CAROLYN. Look in my purse now. There is someone coming up behind us and I need to pay this toll.
Me: (rummaging through everything, trying to find her wallet) Are we going to be arrested in a U-Haul?!
Mom: How do the windows open!?
Me: (pulling out a dime) What?
Mom: HOW DO THE WINDOWS OPEN!?
The Car Behind Us: BEEEEEEP BEEEEEP!!!
Me: I don’t know!
Mom: I NEED CHANGE!
Me: I’M TRYING!!!
The Car Behind Us: BEEEEEPPPP!!!!
Me: (handing her some silver coins and praying it’s enough) HERE!
(I notice a sign that says “STAY IN VEHICLE” just as Mom opens the door of The Beast. She then decides to hitch half of her body out of the door. She chucks the coins into the toll slot, then looks back to the car beeping behind us and waves.)
Mom: SARRY!!!

We arrive at the first Craigslist house, which actually turns out to be an apartment. But remember how the skies were darkening earlier as we drove into the ghetto? Yeah, well, there was basically a monsoon that managed to hit and run, so now the path leading up to the first apartment is a lake. Seriously, the deepest, longest, dirtiest puddle I have ever seen.

Me: Great. This’ll be great.

We try to avoid Lake Puddlegan by avoiding the sidewalk all together and just walking through the grass, but this is like trying to avoid eating meat by going to a Hibachi steakhouse. It’s just… a stupid idea. I have on my brand new gold flats and I am not pleased that I now have to lug 10 ton wooden bedroom furniture through a marshland to get to the ramp-less four foot high U-Haul. We get to the apartment. We knock on the door. We wait. We knock again. We wait. No one answers. Then-

Distant Foreign Voice: I’M CAH-MING! I’M CAH-MING!

We turn all the way around away from the door and see a sweaty, jiggly Latina woman hurrying towards us across the marshy courtyard. She has her hair pulled back in a pony tail, and she’s obviously been moving things all day. She looks exhausted.

Latina: Sorry, I’ve just gatta few men movingha my new furniture in while you take the old stuff out! Cahm een! Cahm een!

We walk in, and we take a look at everything we have to move… A positively massive dresser with six drawers, a queen sized mattress, a box spring, a bed frame, an 8 ton headboard, and a 4 ton mirror for the dresser. Oh, and a sensible 2 ton side table with two drawers. Keep in mind this is all solid dark wood, okay? This shit is HEAVY. I immediately try to stifle a laugh because there is no way my middle-aged mom and I are going to be able to move all of this outside, through the lake, and UP and into that huge Beast.

But then, the movers who were helping move Latina’s new furniture into her apartment actually morphed into human gifts from God. They just started taking all of our furniture out to the Beast for us. I couldn’t believe our luck. I mean, sure, I still helped by taking the drawers outside, trudging through the marshlands, and lifting them up and into the truck. But before I knew what was happening, everything was in The Beast and we were pulling out, waving goodbye, and saying “Thank you!!!” so much they probably wanted to kill us. Maybe this day was going to turn out alright.

(Driving to the next house to pick up a couch and a loveseat.)
Me: Mom?
Mom: Yes dear?
Me: I’m going to start calling you Helga and you should call me Olga.
Mom: Haha! Helga and Olga’s moving service!
Me: Haha! Yeah!
Mom: Forget ze men! Ve wheel move eet ourselves!
Me: Hahaha! Exactly! I’m so impressed with our strength!
Mom: I’m fifty three years old. I’m too old for this.
Me: Ha ha… hey, um, Mom?
Mom: Yes Olga?
Me: There is literally no way that an entire couch and a loveseat are going to fit in this truck.
Mom: You underestimate me.
Me: AND a bookcase! We still have to get that huge bookcase!
Mom: It’ll fit.
Me: But HOW? Like, do you understand what I’m saying? There is no more-
Me: IT’LL FIT.

We arrive at Craigslist house #2. The Couch Apartment. We drive around this apartment complex for ten minutes, trying to find apartment 15. (Keep in mind we’re in a giant U-Haul, and the apartment complex’s turns are very sharp. “TURN IT WIDE! TURN IT WIIIIDDEEE!!!!”) The numbers go from 12… straight to 17. Oh. Okay. That’s just great. It makes zero sense, and it’s getting darker, and I’m pretty annoyed that at one point in time, someone actually thought it would be a good idea to have apartment 12 positioned next to apartment 17. I feel like I’m searching for platform 9 and 3/4. Finally, we go around to the back of the apartment building. As we go, I notice little mounds of dirt along the path. Oh. You know. Just some fire ant colonies, chillin.’ And then… we see it. We see a flight of stairs. It’s a narrow flight of stairs, very narrow, and very tall, with rails on each side.

Me: Um… Mom?
Mom: Just… just go.

Yep. It’s apartment 15. Of COURSE it is. So, we trudge up the stairs. An image of my mother and I attempting to carry a couch down this flight of death flashes through my mind. I knock on the door.

Dog: RAURAURAURAURAU!
Woman: DOWN! BACK!
Dog: RRRRAAAUUUUURAURAURAURAU!
Woman: BACK!!!
(The door opens, revealing yet another Latina woman, sweaty and tired from a day of moving.)
Woman: HELLOO!!!! Come een, come een, sorry! Everytheeng’s a mess-!
(Meanwhile, she is holding back the killer dog who is barring his teeth and barking and growling at us.)
Woman: Oh, don’ mind him! E’s harmless- DOWN! BACK! Hold onna minute, lemme jus put him away.
(She pulls the snarling dog into a bedroom, shoves him in, and slams the door before he can escape. The barking stops immediately. It’s kind of eerie in a way… I wonder what she keeps in there to keep the dog occupied…)

We look at the couches… How do I put this? They are actually the size of kayaks. Like, the length of kayaks, the width of refrigerators. And they weight about as much as a washer and dryer. A full washer and dryer… And ironing board. And a car. I tell myself that we are about to move these pieces of furniture down the flight of death, across a windy trail full of fire ants, and UP and into The Beast… which is already basically full of furniture. Okay, I think. We can do this.

Woman: So! Where are the movers?
Mom:
Me:
Mom: Well…You’re looking at them.
Woman: (Bursts out laughing)
Mom:
Me:
Woman: … Oh. Uh.. Okee then.

We decide that the couches are going to be too wide to move out of the front door, so we unscrew the feet. Mom positions herself in the front, and I bring up the rear.

Woman: Are you sure you’re gonna be-
Mom: Yep! We’ve got it.
Me: (Thinking) Do we, Mom? Do we really?
Woman: (skeptical) Okayee…

We shove the couch through the door, and immediately brace ourselves for the flight of death.

Mom: (forcefully calm and collected) Okay! Carolyn?
Me: (really struggling with the weight of the couch) Mrerrrugh Yeah??
Mom: Okay, when I tell you to push, push a little bit, okay?
Woman: (Muttered to me) Is she gonna be okee down there all by herself?
Mom: READY?
Me: Yeah.
Mom: One…
Me: She’ll be fine.
Mom: Twooo….
Woman: (actually praying) Dear Jesus…
Mom: THREE! PUSH!

Using all of my strength I push! I push as hard as I physically can! I keep pushing!!! But nothing happens.

Mom: Are you pushing?
Me: Uhggg yeah…
Mom: Well push harder!
Woman: Oh Jesus…
Me: I’m- ugh!- Trying!
Woman: Oh Jesus, oh guh-ness, lemme juss try to help you, okay?

Woman than proceeds to get with me on the back of the couch, and suddenly, the couch lurches forward.

Woman: OH JESUS!
Me: MOM!? Mom, are you okay down there??
Woman: I’m so sarry!
Mom: …Yep! Just… keep pushing!
Woman: Are you ALRIGHT!?
Mom: Yes, I’m fine! Just… Keep pushing!
Woman: Oh Dear Lord, oh Jesus… how old is she? Jesus…
Me: Ugh!- shes’s- UGH- fifty-three?

We keep pushing. I literally don’t know how my mom is accomplishing this. She is fifty three years old. She is in the front, literally holding the couch ABOVE her head by HERSELF… while Woman and I are struggling together with the back. I mean, I know my mom has been working out. She’s been doing these workout tapes at home, and she’s even been drinking this protein vitamin stuff… but in the words of Woman, dear LORD what are they putting in that crap!? She is actually the Hulk.

We finally get down the stairs and start along the winding path back towards the Beast. We’ve swiveled around, so now Woman and I are walking backwards towards the parking lot, leading the way. I trip over my own feet (“Oh JESUS, are you alright!?”) and my bare foot lands- you guessed it- in a mound of fire ants. Keep in mind I am still holding my third of this boat-couch. I try not to scream and wake up the entire apartment community, so I quickly say “Mm hmm!” and brush my foot against my bare leg to try to rid myself of the sand. I don’t bother to look if there are ants on me. I figure if I start to feel burning, I’ll deal with it then.

We get to The Beast. I can’t really describe what happens next because it’s too difficult to put into the written word. But basically it consists of me climbing up over the already positioned items, reorganizing everything, guiding the couch UP and over and INTO The Beast, shoving it through a tiny opening, it getting stuck, changing positions with my mother, climbing over the already precariously balanced couch, helping Woman lift the couch UP and into The Beast, screaming directions at each other, watching two strapping young men walk by who say “Hey need help?” and then when we say sure, they look at the couch and the tiny space we are trying to fit it in and say, “Oh, uh.. actually we have somewhere to be…” and keep walking.

We FINALLY get the couch into The Beast. Only… now that it’s in the truck, my Mom is pinned behind it in the back.

Me: Uh…Mom? Can you get out?
Mom: Um, yeah… just. Hold on.
Me: Do you need us to move anything?
Woman: (glares at me)
Mom: No! I’ve got it. Hold on.

She then proceeds to CLIMB her way out of the truck. Like, literally morphs into a lemur and maneuvers her fifty three year old body in positions that I am not even sure I could get my twenty three year old body to do. Literally, we’re talking heel stretches and toe touches…. She then jumps down from the platform onto the cement.

Mom: Okay! Let’s go get that loveseat!!!
Me: (thinking) Are you on crack?

With Woman’s disgruntled help, and probably the help of annoyed Jesus (“OKAY already! ME! I’ll help you with the couches, just stop saying My name!!!”), we manage to get the loveseat out of the apartment, down the flight of death, through the fire ant wastelands, and UP and into The Beast. There is literally not a single square inch available in the truck. We wave goodbye to Woman’s back. She’s already running back into her apartment and slamming the door behind her. She didn’t sign up for this today, and I don’t blame her for running. We are, once again, back in The Beast.

Me: Mom?
Mom: Yeah honey?
Me: Are you… okay?
Mom: Yeah! Why?
Me: I think I just saw your body do things it hasn’t done in years. You were literally carrying that couch by yourself. Are your arms okay?
Mom: Yep! That’s what working out will do for you! Come on! Let’s go get that bookcase!
Me: Mom, I really, really don’t think there’s enough room for-
Mom: Honey? I have moved SO many times in my life. And believe me- we WILL get that bookcase to fit.
Me: (In a fake German accent) Okay, Helga! I veel trust yew!
Mom: ONWARD!!!

By this time, it’s like 9:45 and completely dark outside. We arrive at our “final destination.” We’re in a little development on a cul de sac. The house that holds my bookcase is completely dark.

Me: Um… is anyone home? D’you think?

As soon as I mutter those words, a buff little man bursts out of the door and shuffles his way down the driveway towards us.

Buff Man: ‘Ello ‘Ello! Welcome! Come een come een! Ve mahst be very very quiet though becahse ze babies are sleeping! Okih? OOOOkih!

He is as German as they come. I look at Mom, and she looks at me, and it takes every ounce of strength in me not to laugh.

Fredrick leads us into his house and shows us the bookcase. We agree that it is gorgeous, just what we’ve been looking for, yes yes we want it, yes really, oh yes we can tell that it’s German, it’s a GREAT piece, yes… And so, Fredrick leaves the room to get some change, and Mom positions herself on one side of the giant heavy bookcase.

Mom: Ready!?
Me:

We pick it up and carry it through the house, passing pictures of toddlers and happy smiling faces, careful not to bump it on anything because we don’t want to “wake ze babies!”

Fredrick: (trailing along behind us, whisper-screamed) Wait! Wait! No, no, I wheel help! I wheel help yew!
Mom: (whispered) No, no, it’s fine, we’ve got it…
Fredrick: I help! I help!

He continues to trot along behind us, shouting out that HE WHEEL HELP. We finally get to the back of The Beast. I open the sliding door, and reveal the leaning tower that is my new bedroom furniture and couches. We all stare at it for a second. It’s almost like we’re stunned into a wordless respect for the mountain of items. Then-
Fredrick: Yeeeew… wheel probably not feet this een there. Okey?
Mom: Oh yes we will, there’s plenty of room!
Me: Mom, he may be right…
Mom: (Climbing up onto The Beast) Come on! Lift that up here. There’s some room at the top. Thaat’s right…
Fredrick: Oh no, no no no yew wheel not be able to get theese bookcase een that leetle hole.
Mom: I promise, it will fit. Just lift it up here.
Fredrick: I do not vant to offend yew, baht I reeeelly don’ theenk- I mean, ve cahn try, but…
Mom: (hanging like Spiderman on the side of the mountain of furniture) Yep! Just lift it on up here!
Fredrick: (looking at me) Are yew sure yew can do theese?
Me: Just lift.

Fredrick and I then proceed to lift the heavy, dark, German bookcase ABOVE our heads.

Mom: Thhaaaat’s right, just lift it up here! There’s room!!!

And low and behold, there is. There is room. I don’t know why I ever doubted it. Helga always knows. She always knows. We close the door and thank Fredrick again and again. We start to pull out when suddenly-

Fredrick: Wait! Wait!!!!

I look in the rear view mirror and see him running after us. He has two coronas in his hands.

Fredrick: Here! Take zees weeth yew! Becuss I deedn’t haff change! Two beers, yah?

Don’t have to tell me twice. I grab the beers, thank him again, and then we’re off. Driving home. Finally. After a day of lifting and moving and lugging and grunting and tripping and shoving… we are going home! We have all of the furniture! And yet…

Me: Hey. Um, Helga?
Mom: Yes Olga?
Me:We… still have to move this stuff into the apartment tonight… don’t we?
Mom: YES! Ve sure do!!! But Taylor will be there to help us.

Taylor, my sister’s boyfriend, who has just gotten home from a long day of work, has agreed to help us move the items from the truck up a flight of stairs and into my new apartment. By this point, my arms and body are so exhausted I can’t even feel my fingers when I curl them. I literally have no idea how this is going to happen.

To make a LONG story short, we got the furniture into my apartment. Obviously. But I’m going to leave you with a few pictures, in hopes of illustrating the process.

Taylor The Great

Helga.

…Olga.

No pain, no gain.Helga and Olga’s Moving Service.

5 Things That Will Automatically Make You Feel Better About Your Life In General

30 Sep

Day 20 of the 90 in 90 blog challenge.

1.) Listen to 90’s pop Pandora radio. Whether you happen upon Spice Girls, your favorite boy band, or that song about the girl who cried a river and drowned the whole world, you’re going to be reminded of a different time. A time when the internet wasn’t such a part of everyone’s every day lives. A time when people still ordered pizza by calling another human being on the phone, instead of watching a creepy time tracker loading bar fill up with ever-changing creepy stalker-ish messages like “T.J. is making your pizza/ T.J. is putting the pizza in the oven/ T.J. has hiccups but is still making your pizza with a smile/ T.J. is putting your pizza in the box/ T.J. is getting in the car/ T.J. is driving right now/ T.J. will be there any moment so get your money ready/ T.J. is there and your money isn’t ready/ T.J. is in your house/ T.J. is pissed off because your tip was less than 3 percent you cheap jerk.” (Sorry… I recently discovered online pizza ordering and it, obviously, blew my mind and simultaneously creeped me out.) But ANYWAY. You’ll be reminded of sleepovers, Pokemon trading cards, spelling tests, Nickelodeon, and playing Spyro on Saturday mornings. Boy Meets World, being on a mediocre sports team, and stretch pants with stirrups. You’ll be reminded of how it felt to just be a kid. A time when you sat in the backseat, screamed out your order, and someone always paid for your McDonald’s.

2.) Wash your hands and brush your teeth. I’m serious. This is like, the best thing to do in the middle of the day. Sure, people say they wash their hands all of the time, but do they really? One of my favorite things to do is to go into an abandoned public restroom and just wash my hands for as long as I want. It’s like a mini shower, and I always leave feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. Brushing your teeth in the middle of the day is also like, the best thing ever, especially if your breath isn’t even bad. It’s a mouth shower at a time when you’re not used to getting one.

3.) Look at everyone in the room and give them a mental compliment. Have you ever done this? I like to do this on days when I’m losing faith in humanity. Sometimes, it’s good to take a minute and stop judging everyone and everything, including yourself. Put your mind on everyone BUT yourself, and tell yourself something nice about the other people around you. How is this going to make you feel better about YOUR life, you ask? Just do it. Trust me. The best part is, you don’t have to audibly tell them what you like about them, so you can skip something I like to call The Awkward Compliment Exchange…

Me: Hey, Suzie Soandso, I really like your hair.
Suzie Soandso: Really? Oh gosh it looks terrible today, it’s so dirty and messy. But YOUR hair looks great! And I love your shoes!
Me: (What I say) Aw well thanks!
Me: (What I WANT to say) B*tch please! I didn’t ask you for a compliment! Just take mine and move on! I LIKE YOUR HAIR OKAY!? I DON’T CARE IF IT HASN’T BEEN WASHED IN TWO DAYS, IT’S DOING THIS REALLY NICE WAVY THING AND I LIKE IT!!!

4.) Google pictures of Shiba Inu puppies.

The best part about this ^ ? They grow up into this:

Shyeah… I know.

5.) Buy something you’ve wanted for a long time. Whether that be a crispy chicken sandwich from Wendy’s or a new iPhone 5. Every once in a while, it’s nice to do something awesome for yourself.  It’s one thing to accept a gift… by accepting a gift from someone else, you’re kind of signing an invisible and silent agreement: Yes, I love it. Every time I have anything to do with it I will probably be reminded of you. This is even harder when a significant other buys you the gift you’ve wanted forever. It’s like, Yeah, thanks. I’m really happy that this is now in my possession, but… what happens when I hate your guts? Will I still be happy I have this? That’s why it is SO important to do things for yourself sometimes. That way, when you go to wear that necklace, or hoodie, or sharpen your really expensive beard trimmer or something, you’re not slitting your wrists in a moment of nostalgic depression. You’re just pampering yourself, out of the love you had (and still have!) for yourself.

What It Feels Like To Watch a Chick Flick When You’re Single… And I Mean REALLY Single.

25 Sep

Day 15 of the 90 in 90 blog challenge.

You will be afraid at first. You will wonder if this is a good idea, or if this is just a recipe for disaster… A masochistic cry for help to anyone who may walk in on you bawling your eyes out.

First of all, picking out a chick flick to watch… all alone… by yourself… without the arms of a strong man around you… is terrifying in itself. It’s like, what can I watch that will cause enough nostalgia and bittersweet sadness to satisfy my need to feel sorry for myself for a few minutes, without also making me lose complete faith in humanity, while also perhaps possibly giving me a fresh new perspective on life and relationships so that I can walk away thoroughly emotionally drained and simultaneously refreshed?

My parents went to bed and so I finished season 5 of True Blood. (Pam, you never cease to amaze me… ) And so I’m clicking through the free movies section thinking, “Okay, Carolyn. You can either go to bed right now and walk away… or… You can do this. You’re in a stable, good place and you CAN watch a chick flick alone. No amount of previous emotional pain can keep you from enjoying a light hearted romantic comedy, OKAY!?” So I go to the sundance channel, hoping that some romantic obscure funny Indy film will catch my eye. There are a ton of random one-word titles… Like… Octopus, or some shit, and when you click on it the description reads something completely unrelated like, “A young man who works in a laundromat realizes his true potential by shaving his beard and weaving mahogany baskets.”

Then I saw a title that caught my eye. I Hate Valentine’s Day. I didn’t even read the description. “Perfect,” I thought. “This is literally perfect.”

Turns out the movie is about a girl who only gives guys 5 dates and then cuts it off, because she loves the fluttery, “honeymoon” stage of dating, but believes that “when the romance is gone, just move on.” She meets this guy and is all like, “Oh you’re cute and you don’t know it, here is my masculine philosophy on relationships and now you want me because I seem fool proof and free spirited I have gorgeous hair and teeth” and he’s all like, “I’m nervous around you but I like it and I want to do something special for you always and forever, despite my complete lack of creativity and resourcefulness” so of COURSE they do 5 dates and then want to keep dating, but neither of them has the balls to say anything. During their time apart the main character finally realizes that she’s been harboring hard feelings towards her father for having an affair and she’s been keeping all men at arm’s length for all of these years because of it. Then this random UPS man has a really moving monologue about him writing “Happy V Day” in syrup on his wife’s pancakes when she’s busy getting their rambunctious kids off to school, and how those little things are really what true love is, not all of the embellishments and stupid dating things that don’t last. So then they both “learn” and “grow” from their experiences and time spent apart and of COURSE there’s the scene at the end where she looks out her window and he’s on the street all like “Here are some references that you only mentioned in passing but I’m bringing them up again now during the climax of the movie so that everyone, including the audience, can see that men really DO listen sometimes! And here are all of your closest friends and family members assembled in the street standing in the shape of a heart,” and she’s all like “Okay let me run down these steps and into your arms and smile REALLY big while you kiss me and I’ll say ‘You’re my boyfriend’ in a really adorable way and then the credits will roll just when our actual relationship is getting started.”

And this whole time I’m sitting on the couch by myself. My cell phone is off to the side. Not being used. I’m not texting anyone. I’m not feeling guilty for not texting anyone, either. I watched an entire movie without having to talk to anyone. Sure, my cell phone was right next to me just in case I did get a text ( I mean come on, people, let’s not get too crazy… ) But it was nice. I was sitting there, watching a movie, completely alone. And I didn’t feel sad or like I was missing out on anything or anyone. I felt at peace.

Sometimes, it’s good to be alone for a while. And let’s be honest, people who are in relationships always say that to lonely depressed single people. Did you ever notice that? But you know what?  I’m only just starting to believe them. Because when I finally do meet someone who has the ability to make me happy, I want to be happy and secure enough with myself, alone, to fully appreciate and enjoy the butterflies they can give me.

But… now that I think about it, I guess I really don’t want someone who is going to “make me happy.” I want to be happy before I even meet them. That way, they’ll just magnify my crazy good, already-there-to-begin-with happiness. Wouldn’t that be something?

So I guess I got what I was asking for when I watched I Hate Valentine’s Day. I got nostalgic. I got a little sad, and yeah, I thought about the love-gone-wrong in my life. But I also learned that I CAN watch a chick flick alone. And not only that, but I can do it without crying. And I can do it while feeling good, and happy. And later, while writing a blog, I’ll realize that I even got a fresh new perspective on relationships and life.

Who knows? Maybe I’ll watch Octopus tomorrow or something.

An Easy Choice. Kind Of.

23 Sep

Day 13 of the 90 in 90 blog challenge.

(Close up of WOMAN’s anguished face.)
WOMAN: Are you feeling… tired? Worthless? Do you feel like there is no reason to live? No reason to breathe? No reason to… do your laundry?
(Shot of a housewife picking up a pair of pants out of the washer. Suddenly, she drops them mid-transfer to the dryer. She covers her face in shame.)
WOMAN: Studies show that 23 out of 36.4 Americans have trouble figuring out what to do with their lives at some point in time during their lives. Life is confusing and hard, and everyone is suffering.
(Shots of various people dropping laundry, cleaning supplies, and briefcases. They all cover their faces in shame.)
WOMAN: But now! You don’t have to suffer anymore. Now? There is Lunatylemidonolozoft.
(The various people uncover their faces and look up towards a growing, warm
light.)

WOMAN: Lunatylemidonolozoft is a drug. It has been clinically proven to treat some problems of some people, some of the time.
(A business man bends down and picks up his briefcase.)
WOMAN: It has been clinically approved by a group of men who wear perfectly ironed shirts and have name plates on their desks in their offices. They also sometimes floss after brushing.
(A father helps his daughter ride a 2 wheeled bike for the first time.)
WOMAN: Lunatylemidonolozoft is not for everyone. (A college student places a notebook in their backpack at the conclusion of a lecture.) People who fall asleep easily or enjoy eating at Subway should not take Lunatylemidonolozoft. (An Australian Shepperd catches a frisbee.) Side effects include, but are not limited to, headaches, dizziness, nausea, substantial weight gain, arm pit irritation, explosive acne, arthritis, unfortunately timed flatulence, constipation, complete nervous system failure, and a sudden unexplained fear of elevators. These side effects have only affected people who have taken Lunatylemidonolozoft for three consecutive days or more. (A mother watches proudly while her daughter brings a casserole dish to the table.) In rare cases, people have reported vomiting blood, losing their voice, and growing skin tags under their tongues in the shapes of European countries. These claims have yet to be proven. (A man opens a jar of mayonnaise for his wife.)  Do not take Lunatylemidonolozoft if you are pregnant, nursing, hoping to become pregnant, have been kind of pregnant once or maybe twice, planning on becoming pregnant next Wednesday, or are currently holding a baby. (Close up of a hand signing “Happy 1st Birthday! Love, Grandpa.”) Sexual problems including a lowered sex drive, erectile dysfunction, left breast loss, or just the complete inability to have an orgasm, ever, are common but reversible, maybe. (A construction worker stops his jack hammer, wipes his brow, and smiles at the sun.)
WOMAN: Just listen to these testimonies!

REBEL TEENAGER: (Blank stare.) I used to feel like nothing mattered and I felt worthless. Now, with Lunatylemidonolozoft, I don’t feel anything…. (Beat.)  It’s awesome.

DENTIST: I was having trouble getting out of bed. I was letting my patients down, my wife down, but worst of all, I was letting myself down. Now, with Lunatylemidonolozoft, I feel like a computer. And I still let my wife down.

HOUSEWIFE: (Tongue swollen with skin tags) Thewfs uh gud chanths I won geh bettah.

PREGNANT WOMAN: (Popping a pill while absentmindedly rubbing her belly. Then, she notices the camera. Wide, guilty pupils.) … Oops.

WOMAN: (strolling through a field of wildflowers, letting a chiffon scarf billow behind her.) So talk to your doctor to see if Lunatylemidonolozoft is right for you. You don’t have to be sad and confused about your life! You don’t have to feel worthless! You can start to get your normal life back. It starts… with Lunatylemidonolozoft.
(Close up of the Lunatylemidonolozoft bottle)
WOMAN: (Voice Over) Lunatylemidonolozoft;
An easy choice. Kind of.

The Best Gift of the Summer

21 Sep

Day 11 of the 90 in 90 blog challenge.

I knew this night was coming.

I tried to fight it off, tried to tell myself that it wouldn’t be that hard. I figured if I could say goodbye to the cast of “Chicago,” my boyfriend of two years, and my entire college life in one night, I could certainly say goodbye to these two morons and not be too damaged about it.

When I first started my summer here, I was afraid. I was scared of having no one. I was afraid the people in my cast wouldn’t “get me” due to my obscure, off-the-wall sense of humor, my obsession with carbohydrates, and my need to sometimes be left alone in a quiet corner with only my journal.

And then Dallas and DJ walk in. I see tall, dark Dallas and think “Please let him be straight!” Then he sticks a perfect triple pirouette and and says quietly to himself, “I’ve still got it, bitches!” when he doesn’t think anyone is listening aaand I give up on that hope. I wave at them and introduce myself. Dallas gives me the biggest smile in the whole world, and DJ politely does his adorable little DJ grin and half-wave.

We start rehearsals, tentatively singing our separate parts in fear of being judged, while secretly trying to hear everyone else’s voices in order to assess their talent. Dallas and DJ listen to me sing the big note at the end of “God Bless America.” Dallas says, “Gorge!” and DJ says, “YEAASSS.” I like them immediately. Later, while we’re taking a five minute water break, Dallas and I are by the lockers. I forget what awkward thing was said, but I did the “Brrrr” awkward moment sound effect, and Dallas burst out laughing.

“Deeje!” He called, “She just did the ‘brrr’ noise! She does it too! Oh, I’m gonna like you. I can tell.”

It was pretty much history from there.

I spent mostly every single night of this summer with them. I found we had the most fun when we did nothing at all. We watched ALL of the movies. We snuggled in bed and argued over who had to be big spoon. We figured out ways for the three of us to sit comfortably on a two person couch. We went to downtown Cincinnati together. We went to an adult novelty store together on the fourth of July. …I don’t know why we did that…

Slowly, our personal space boundaries grew to be non existent. I found myself being able to jokingly touch Dallas anywhere without it being weird or awkward. DJ and I discovered we both have an innate need to snuggle at least twice every three days. Walking into a room where one of them already was just felt good. It was like I could let out my breath when I saw one of them sitting on those disgusting, sweat-infested suicide-suede couches in the humid smelly armpit that was the Festhaus greenroom.

We taught each other things. I taught them how to cook Cajun vodka pasta. The two of them together continuously showed me how little I actually know about musical theatre. (Brrr…) Dallas taught me to stop thinking so much. He taught me how to let go and let my heart make a decision once in a while. I taught DJ that it’s okay, and even necessary, to be sad sometimes. DJ taught me that no matter how bad it gets, you can always keep going. You can be stronger than you ever thought you were. DJ and I taught Dallas how to listen to that little voice inside of his head, and to always be true to himself, even if that means making hard decisions. They taught me that nothing is planned, especially within relationships, and sometimes you just need to dive in. They encouraged me and listened to me, rooted for me, coached me, cried with me, snuggled with me, laughed with me, drank with me, slept in awkward positions with me, (and in Dallas’ case) showered with me. They plucked their eyebrows with me, yelled at me, told me when I was being stupid and over thinking everything, kissed me when I needed kissing, hugged me when I needed hugging, and left me alone when they knew I needed my space.

I’ve learned so much about myself simply by knowing the two of them. The whole summer, we’ve said that I am a complete mixture of the two of them. I’m mature for my age, like DJ. Like him, I tend to over-think everything, and rarely do I find myself diving into love with reckless abandon, like Dallas does. Yet at the same time, I’m so much like Dallas. Our crude sense of humor, our crazy violent outbursts, and our very deep need for emotional connection with those around us. Where DJ and I are tentative, once I get into a relationship, I am very much a Dallas. I’m passionate and wild with my feelings, never apologetic, and I love big or go home.

I’ve had an amazing summer, and I’ve been “#soblessed” to have been in the shows that I was in. I’ve been in and out of relationships, cried heaving sobs and laughed belly-cramping laughs, gone on road trips to cities I’ve never seen, reconnected with old friends, and learned (once again!) to never judge a book by its cover. And yet-

Having the two of them near me, to listen to my life problems and give me advice, to be there for me at a time when I felt like everything I knew was over and gone… That was the best gift I was given this summer.

It’s rare in life that you find people like them… People who are so open to who you are in that exact moment, whatever that means. They never judged me for anything I was feeling. Instead, they listened with open hearts and open minds and were always honest with me, even when I didn’t want to hear it. They forced me to get out of my head and encouraged me to take a chance on a relationship that proved to be just what I needed. And when I suddenly realized that I needed the chance to be alone for a while, they didn’t judge me or say I was making a mistake. They supported me.

And then… just when they had taught me to follow my heart once in a while and let go, they came through once again, and talked me out of making a decision that would have caused WAY more heartache than happiness. Just when I thought they had taught me everything they could, they showed me that sometimes, your heart should ache. And by denying that yearning heartache of the person it craves, a sense of strength and clarity can also arise from a place you didn’t even know you possessed.

It’s amazing to find a friend who knows you better than you do. What’s even more incredible is when you find two of them in one unforgettable summer.

And so, this blog post is for them. For the two incredible, inspiring, kindest, make-any-bad-day-better people I know. And as I sit in their apartment for the last time, Oxford curled by my feet for the last time, I see the summer I spent with them flash before my eyes…

I see us laughing on stage together.
I see Dallas farting on me right before rushing onstage to sing “Standing Outside The Fire.”
I see DJ and I on a picnic blanket in Eden Park, drinking lemonade and feeding sparrows out of the palms of our hands. I see them sitting at the kitchen table, playfully arguing while I silently wash their dishes with a smirk.
I hear Dallas’ big footsteps coming down the old creaky stairs.
I see the three of us sprawled out on a couch screaming expletives at each other for sharp elbows and sticky thighs.
I see Dallas getting a ticket for parking in a “non-parking space.”
I see DJ and I sitting on the platforms during the very first mic check, and I can still hear the strain in his voice, the interior war raging inside of him as he tells me why he’s not been himself lately.
I see the hurt in Dallas’ eyes when I tell him why I’ve been distant with him, and in that moment, I realize I was wrong.
I see us go from “Hey… do you mind if I have one of those…?” to dirty hands racing across cafeteria tables to fight to the death for the last fry.
I see the three of us rolling our eyes at the security guards.
I feel the sun on our shoulders as we lay by the wave pool.
I see Dallas glaring at my antique jewelry saying, “That has bad juju. I don’t like it. Get that shit away from me.”
I see DJ’s apprehensive first sip as he drinks his first glass of wine.
I feel Dallas’ wet hand grasping mine as we go down a giant water slide, with me dressed in a banana suit.
I hear the beat of the bass vibrating in my ribs while we watch a tragic drag queen croon Wake Me Up  by “Evanescence.”
I hear myself say through tears, “But I love him!” and Dallas answer, “If that’s how you feel, then go be with him!”
I see DJ petting a purring Oxford, and Dallas’ jade face glaring from the table.
I smell the Oreo truffles and the rotting rotisserie chicken.
I hear us burst out laughing, all three at the same time.
I see us hugging, and hesitating before letting go.
I feel them.

Even now, while they sleep in a separate room, drunk from the excitement of a new love that only took the entire summer for them to discover, I feel them.

They are the brothers I never had.

They are the open ears.

They are the look from across a room that can send me into a fit of laughter with the simple raise of a perfectly-plucked brow.

I’m pointing at Dallas.

They are my protectors.

They are my secret keepers.

Simply put, they are my friends.

And I love them.

The Perfect Man… Physically Speaking, Of Course.

19 Sep

Day 9 of the 90 in 90 blog challenge.

I’d like to start this post off the right way, so let’s all just take one moment to pause, observe, and reflect on the beauty that is… Joe Manganiello.

Exhibit A… As In “A Great Big Hunk Of Man Meat Just Waiting For Me To OM NOM NOM BITE It!”

But like… How is this even fair? Not only for women and gay men, who will surely be left staring at the computer screen with their jaw literally unhinged from their face, but for all of the straight guys out there, too? How are you possibly supposed to make your body look like this in real life?!? It’s like when I look at pictures of Adriana Lima. I just look at that woman and I can’t even begin to be jealous because it’s not even a comparison. It’s not like, “Oh, you have nice thighs, I’m jealous of them.” No. That bitch has nice EVERYTHING. And I am perfectly okay with that. I respect that. But guys… where are you going to find an Adriana Lima in real life, am I right? And WHERE AM I SUPPOSED TO FIND JOE!?

I’m writing this because I recently had a wonderful, 3 hour phone conversation with my mother about a week ago. During this time, we managed to talk about anything and everything, but one of the topics that stands out in my memory was when my mother asked gently…

Mom: Well, honey, if you were to pick out your perfect man, what would he be?
Me: (Embarrassed, hesitant) Oh gosh, Mom, I don’t know…
Mom: Come on now! Strictly physically speaking. What’s your type? Who do you find incredibly attractive?
Me: (Immediately) Alcide on True Blood.
Mom: …Who?
Me: Do yourself a favor and just google search “Alcide True Blood.” You by your computer? Yeah, do it.
(Fifteen second pause. I hear the clicking of her keyboard.)
Mom: (breathy, distant) Oh… oh, my.
Me: Yeah. You’re welcome.

It’s not even the fact that the man plays a werewolf who can kick some serious supernatural bee-hind. (Because, let’s face it, ladies and gays, that’s pretty hot… “Oh, I’m sorry, you just want to run in here without a shirt on, morph into a wolf, and eat whoever/whatever is attacking me? That’s cool… No, yeah, go right ahead, please. I’ll just be over here drooling in the corner, waiting for you to finish.”) I think the thing that really gets me is the fact that Joe is so large around his middle section. Do you know what I mean? I want a man to feel big in my hands, someone whose waist doesn’t even come CLOSE to being the same size as mine. There is just, something so incredibly sexy about a ripped, huge man waist that I can’t put my finger on… but I’d like to put my whole hand on… and maybe my cheek… and lips… OKAaaaYYY! Next specimen!

Andrew Garfield

Exhibit B… as in “B my boyfriend.”

Andrew, I don’t think you realize what you do to me. Andrew Garfield was the first actor I’ve ever stopped listening to during a movie because I was so distracted with his physical appearance. I literally had to keep asking DJ, “Wait, what did he just say?” And DJ would reply with, “Shh.. I’m watching his arms.” That’s really saying something, coming from a girl who is usually so wrapped up in a movie that someone could literally start to pee on my lap and it would be about 15 seconds before I realized what was happening. But like… look at that smoky sensual gaze! Look at those ARMS.

Oh, you know, I’m Andrew, I just manage to look adorable no matter what I’m currently wearing or doing.

Look at that SMILE. Ladies and gays, correct me if I’m wrong when I say there something deliciously adorable and irresistible about a man who smiles like a little boy. Call me creepy, but I think that is one of the best features a man can have. Huge, rough, manly-man I’ll-take-down-any-jerk-who-over-steps-his-boundries body, but adorable little-boy happy-cuz-I-got-a-sticker-on-my-spelling-test smile.

“Aaand I also manage to look really mature and professional in a suit, while still retaining my little boy smile that you love so much. No big thing.”

But like… I can’t. GET THIS MAN IN MY LIFE IMMEDIATELY! 

OH. Well, this is awkward… Hi Emma. Sorry about that. I was just saying how irresistible your co-star and now BOYFRIEND Andrew Garfield is… Girl. Do you even know how good you have it? Just look at that splattered-with-blood-spilt-for-you torso and that disturbingly defined tricep… But anyway! How about you keep being beautiful and talented and dating Andrew Garfield, and I’ll keep moving right along to the next subject. Truce?

Hugh Jackman

Exhibit C… As in, “C my muscles in 3, 2, 1…”

‘Cause like… I actually just can’t.

Dear Hugh,
So… Let me just clear a few things up. For me. Okay, so… Not only are you ripped as shit, but you’re also from Australia. You can also sing and dance while still retaining your masculinity, and not only that, but you sing and dance VERY well. Let’s see, I’m looking at your resume here, and… Yep, that’s right, you’ve been on Broadway. But… you’re also the Wolverine.
Okay! Glad we cleared that up. I am 23, still single (I know, It’s a miracle right!?) So, feel free to have your people call my people. I’ll try to pencil you in, but I can’t make any promises. Except for the promise to marry you. K… Byeee.

So, I guess to answer my mom’s question of who the perfect man is for me, strictly physically speaking, these three gentlemen would be prime examples. Of course, being completely attracted to the physical aspect of a man is hardly all that matters… It just really helps when you’re 56, really pissed off at each other, and have to sleep in the same bed as him… 

But my perfect man wouldn’t just have the body of a god…

He would also be smart. I mean REALLY smart.
Someone who knows about things that I don’t… Like math. And cars. And politics. And how to fix a toilet.
Someone who has valid opinions, who can voice them in an intelligent and passionate manner.
Someone who can make me laugh like none other.
Someone who feels just as proud that he got me, as I feel proud that I got him.
Someone who likes dirty jokes, candlelight, and classical piano.
Someone who can cook steak just the way I like it, and leave cooking the pasta to me.
I want a man who makes me feel like a woman, a lady, the epitome of what those words and concepts mean.
I want someone who is creative, spontaneous, decisive.
Someone who can take charge when I need them to, but always takes my wishes into account.
Someone who plans little surprises here and there, a note in my pocket or on the dashboard of my car, just to let me know I’m still his #1.
Oh, and for the love of all things grammatically correct, he would know the differences between “Their” “They’re” “There” “Your” “You’re” “To” “Too”  and “Two,” and would use them correctly in EVERY text/letter/message.
He’d be a good father. Loving, strong. A good role model.
He’d be a prankster, always keeping me on my toes.
He’d like to sit in the corner and read old books while I write my newest novel.
And he’d still like making out with me, even after years and years of doing it.

While posting pictures of celebrities and ogling their muscles and imagining a “Mr. Perfect” is fun and everything, there really is a bit of truth behind it all. “There are too many mediocre things in this world. Love should not be one of them.” This quote has stuck with me for quite some time now. And sometimes, it takes a good quote, some serious self-evaluation, and a 3 hour phone conversation with your Mother to make you realize that you don’t have to settle for anything. You can be picky. You can be really picky, if you want. Because why shouldn’t you be? Why shouldn’t you hold out for someone who makes you wanna lala? Am I right!?

And, I mean, ogling a few pictures of Joe doesn’t exactly hurt, either.

You’re welcome.

….Oh, and for all you straight guys out there. If you’ve managed to make it through this estrogen-filled rant of ridiculous requests, here. I figured I’d reward you with some Adriana. 

You’re welcome.