Tag Archives: humor

Lesson #15 – Get Up Offa That Thing

19 Sep

and dance ’til you feel better!

 

Dancing never fails to create instant enjoyment. There are no excuses not to dance, even if you aren’t good at it. I mean, you’ve seen white moms and dads dance, right? You certainly can’t be any worse than that. Well…unless you’re a white mom or dad. But you have fun, don’t you, white moms and dads? Of course you do!

Look at my friend’s happy, dancing grandpa–he has a walker and he raises the roof/double fist pumps with the best of them:

 

Screen Shot 2014-09-19 at 10.36.28 AM

 

I’m not nearly as awesome as grandpa, but who really is?:

 

Screen Shot 2014-09-19 at 10.45.41 AM

 

 

Okay, maybe my boyfriend is as awesome as grandpa:

 

Screen Shot 2014-09-19 at 2.05.56 PM

 

So the lesson is that you should get up offa that thing and dance. It’s fun, good exercise, it makes you happy and apparently leads to some truly entertaining photos. Have a great weekend!

Lesson #13 – Get To Know People

17 Sep

You never know what great, weird stuff people will tell you when you get to know them. Just this morning at a conference, a woman told me her brother is a famous drag queen named Peaches Christ. I then put down my croissant and quietly sipped my coffee for the next half hour while she shared some of the best stories I’ve ever heard.

In the picture below, Peaches is in the middle as Bette Midler’s Hocus Pocus character…except they are the Manderson sisters instead of the Sanderson sisters. Cheeky.

 

peaches

 

 

So, get to know people. You might learn something new, find a job lead, or hear fabulous stories about a drag queen. It’s awesome.

Lesson #12 – We Don’t Know What The Hell We’re Doing

7 Sep

Let’s just go ahead and admit that tons of us have no friggin’ clue what we’re doing and the idea that some clear path exists  is just silly. It’s okay to hope, and it’s great to expect great things, but can we agree that most of us are winging it? And I don’t care what Mary and Joseph over on Facebook are trying to make you believe because they, too, have no idea what they’re doing (although they may be better at portraying themselves as amazingness and perfection).

From what I’ve noticed, people are constantly questioning kids/dogs/houses/careers/husbands/wives/identities/sexual orientations and where to go for certain things or who to ask about this or that and what to do when blah blah blee bloo blah. This is a wonderful thing, though, isn’t it? As it turns out, we’re all human for the most part and the answers aren’t always the same for all of us. What a relief.

And maybe some people don’t want you to know that. Maybe some people forgot about how they got to where they are and they will receive a reminder sooner or later. Regardless, we’re humans and new experiences rarely are executed with finesse and precision and that’s life.

Be grateful for your experiences–yup. Pay attention to opportunities and act on them–absolutely. Don’t be a jackass–duh. But if at some point or another you fail or have no idea what’s happening, just understand that it doesn’t mean you’re doomed. I know this because I’ve never known what the hell is going on…if that makes any sense. I still don’t know what I’m doing, and I suspect this will continue throughout life in one way or another. Life would be boring otherwise.

Personally, this has been one of my favorite, strangest lessons in life. It’s the reason I write. I once broke up with a guy during a major snowstorm, watched the Screech from Saved By The Bell porn, and then fell down an icy hill with a handle of vodka after calling a group of children a bunch of little shits. Yeah…I was lost and had no idea what I was doing. I once attended a wedding alone the day after my last boyfriend died and I managed to choke on steak, throw up AND accidentally moon a group of people when the wind blew up my dress….not exactly how I hoped to handle death.

But there is no clear path, is there?

This is life, people, and it’s stupid-beautiful, and it’s totally fine that we have no idea what the hell we’re doing.

Whew, that felt good.

Lessons #4, #5 and #6 – Boogers, Pepper Tooth and Best Friends

14 Aug

Lesson #4 – You can pick your friends, you can pick your nose, but you can’t pick your friend’s nose (…courtesy of my boyfriend and dads everywhere).

Lesson #5 – Best friends don’t let best friends walk around with pepper tooth (when food, usually a spice of sorts, has decided to hang out along the gum line or is lodged between two very visible teeth).

It is a known fact that all people with teeth, possibly some unknowingly, have suffered from pepper tooth. This leads to embarrassment. That’s where best pals come in because the people who love you will mention it. And you know what? One might even let you pick his or her nose if you want. That thought kind of reminds me of one time in high school when my friend and I tried to synchronize our menstrual cycles and we read that to do so, I would have to smell her perspiring armpit. I was disgusted, but figured it would be worth it afterward because we could sit around and eat ice cream together while watching sad movies. Kind of like this–

 

what

 

–except our boobs were less pointy. Anyway, one afternoon after our field hockey game, I smelled her armpit and it was gross and nothing ever even came of it. Ten years later, I read an article indicating that attempts to replicate the original study have been inconsistent and evidence doesn’t support the menstrual synchronization possibility.

So, don’t try to pick a friend’s nose (says my boyfriend) and don’t smell another person’s armpit.

Lesson #6 – Stay in touch with your best friends because they will tell you when you have pepper tooth. They’re great for other reasons too, but that’s just my example. It isn’t always easy to stay in touch now that everyone is getting married and having babies, but best friends are worth it, and time spent apart nearly seems nonexistent when you get back together again. How great is that?

Lesson #2 – Just Because Jeff Goldblum Didn’t Write You Back…

6 Aug

 

 

Just because Jeff Goldblum didn’t write you back when you were 11 years old, doesn’t mean you aren’t a goddamn superstar. Maybe he had a good reason, like you being too young at the time, for example. Perhaps 31 years too young, even. Maybe he was busy and didn’t care that you sat in your basement watching Jurassic Park on repeat for days and were mega in love with him. And how could you not have been?

 

umyum

 

Look at that exquisite chest. I understand if you can’t read any further. You’re happy now. Your life is complete. I get it.

And you know, who even cares that he recently got engaged to a woman who happens to be 30 years younger than he is…and a gymnast? Who cares if there’s a photo of her showing off her impressive flexibility with a split-style leap, much to Jeff’s delight?

If I were you, I wouldn’t care, because it doesn’t mean you’re less awesome. It doesn’t you aren’t a goddamn superstar. It doesn’t mean you won’t find a great love in your late twenties who, oddly enough, brought up on his own that he admired Jeff Goldblum’s chest, too.

So, really, the lesson here is that you don’t have to feel bad when people turn you down. You don’t have to feel bad when others are ahead of you in life, work and love.  Don’t feel  inadequate when the job hunt is slow, or you keep getting dumped again and again. Your time is coming, whether or not Jeff Goldblum appreciated your love letter written on pink, sparkly stationary.

Hang in there, my friend. Hang in there. Your time is coming and you, too, will bloom just as beautifully as the rest of the roses. I’m drunk. I love Jeff Goldblum.

 

Click here for Lesson #1

Lesson #1 – Just Have Fun Already

6 Aug

Sometimes, for years at a time even, we do this crazy thing where take life too seriously. We all know that, yet it still happens. In our defense, it is kind of hard not to take life seriously when we live in a world where a lot of things aren’t going as planned, kids stab other kids, jobs are difficult to find, people are depressed, no one is perfect and watching the news often feels like a tragic chore.

I took life way too seriously for about 12 years. I so wanted to swim and have fun on the beach, but was convinced I didn’t have the body for it because I didn’t fit in and that “wasn’t fair.” So instead of having fun, I spent 12 years being a pathetic Sad Sally. While I was sweating and worrying, I could have been pretending to be a beautiful mermaid. I could have been doing handstands, or impressing boys with my shiny braces and bountiful bangs, or rocking a jet ski or at least enjoying myself in other ways instead of moping around.

You’ve probably taken something too seriously and when you thought about it too much, you were miserable and stressed, right? Did your stomach hurt? Were you constipated? Were you kind of evil and bitter? What does that tell you? The key I’ve learned is to stop focusing on it and go laugh at stuff like farts or have a drink instead. Or multiple drinks–your call.

The first time I finally wore a swimsuit in public after 12 years, I had to be coerced onto the beach. After that process, I then had to be coerced into the water and within 20 minutes, I was knocked over by a wave and my boobs popped out of my swimsuit and I did like 900 somersaults and I emerged from the ocean with seaweed in my hair and snot on my face and I was stumbling around like a baby giraffe taking its first steps and you know what? It was one of the best days of my life because it was hilarious and fun and I didn’t give a shit about what people thought about me.

Then I realized that worrying and taking it all so seriously was such a waste, and that there is just no point to not having a good time.

 

 

 

Sunrise

7 May

Sunrise-New-York

 

It sneaks in, pouring like warm honey
through the cracks of
my window shade.

The city streets stretch–
and slowly liven as
icy dew forms
upon my soul,

for I too must rise
and shine for another day of
absolute horseshit at literally the most

Mundane.
Job.
Ever.

Fine, sunrise,
you relentless nag.
I’m up,

but I swear I’ll quit today
if that bubbly,
know-it-all bitch, Denise,
doesn’t stop squawking about her wedding.

A Trip To David’s Bridal

2 Apr

Wedding season is quickly approaching and on Monday I finally had to suck it up and go to David’s Bridal to get fitted for a bridesmaid dress. This was my first trip to a bridal store of any kind, and this one happens to be in an iffy neighborhood, so I was basically having an anxiety attack about it, especially because of the feedback I got from Yelp reviews:

“It was obnoxious seeing trashy girls in neon yellow dresses parading all over the place with midriffs and cleavage hanging out. Especially in the location of Maryland this David’s is located.”

and:

“I didn’t appreciate the tiny dressing rooms or the communal area for brides to show their dresses to friends/family. Why? Because I didn’t appreciate the screaming kids or the creepy dads/fiancés/other males staring at me and commenting like I was a piece of meat, all the while they were there to support someone else. I felt so gross!”

 

My personal trip to David’s Bridal, however, was a godsend. We were in and out of the store within 18 minutes, there were zero screaming children, no creepers, and the dress was on sale and fit perfectly. It was astounding, really. Only a true bridesmaid ninja could pull that kind of thing off.

Relieved about the ease of the trip, we exited the parking lot and gaily rolled up to a red light. I began telling my mom a story about my ridiculous boss when suddenly she squinted and cut me off–“Wait, is that a dancing nun?” she asked.

I looked over and sure enough, a nun was dancing on the corner, waiting to cross the street. We were so in awe that neither of us could blink or utter a single word. I mean, it’s pretty rare to see a nun jamming out on the corner at 4:45 pm on a Monday (or ever) and I swear to you that not even the hand of God could have stopped her groove.

Then a miraculous thing happened right when the light turned green–the nun whipped around and startled us with an unexpected, prominent five o’clock shadow.

Our jaws dropped in unison before my mom yelled “Heavens! A transvestite nun!? A drag queen!”

I was howling.

As we drove off, I peered in the side view mirror just in time to see Sister Mary Fabulous working it across the street like she owned everything within a 20 mile radius. “Bless her,” I thought to myself, “I wish I could have that kind of confidence.”

I guess that might seem like an odd thing to think about a guy dressed as a nun. Was this prostitution? Is Monday a good day for a drag show? Was it just a crazy guy?

These are questions that will never be answered. Trust me, though, if you saw that strut you would have prayed for some of Sister Mister’s confidence, too.

 

nunnery
 

Once again, thank you to Jon from Pastrami Basket for a surprisingly accurate interpretation!

I Hate The Gym: Part 2

20 Mar

So what do you do if, like me, you hate the gym? Today I’m giving away somewhat juicy tips and free links for maintaining a kind of decent hot bod like mine. If you’re looking for “sort of sexy” results or maybe just need some new moves added to your repertoire, this is for you. Please note that I’m not a trainer or a doctor, just a 29-year-old poor writer who hates the gym and so, I improvise:
 
station
 
And side note, don’t let anyone see you doing the videos posted below. They get pretty embarrassing at some parts, especially if you’re trying Buti Yoga (don’t try it, but if you do, please tape it for me).
 
Some Fitness Tips That Might Work
 
1. Do cardio. Run or bike outside. Walk. If you look like a jackass doing those things, try a Zumba workout 4x per week. That’s what I do in my basement (and I keep the lighting low in case my boyfriend is secretly taping any of it). Sometimes I interchange this with a Persian cardio video or a routine that I come up with in my imagination. Basically, the key is to dance, jump around like an idiot, get your heart rate up and sweat for 50ish minutes.

Sometimes I throw in a run up the steps and weighted hula hoop freestyle or I break out my pink boxing gloves and punch the air like a fancy lady Rocky Balboa, but mostly I just dance and jump around and pretend I’m in a sexy music video. I lost 9 lbs doing this and this alone without changing my diet.
 
Links:

Free Zumba  (which I downloaded for free because of the quality)

Persian Cardio
 
2. Bodyweight training. Assuming I’m not too hungover, on Saturday mornings and Wednesdays I do a yoga class or core class taught by Jillian Michaels (who I hate) or Fiji McAlpine. This past week I tried Buti Yoga…which I don’t suggest unless you enjoy shaking your ass while in a push up position. Also, for the fellas, I think you all should try aerial yoga for my personal entertainment. Don’t forget to wear tight little shorts which will assist in whatever is happening here:
 
Screen Shot 2014-03-19 at 2.20.47 PM

Screen Shot 2014-03-19 at 2.25.23 PM 1
 
Links:

Jillian Michaels (makes me so angry)

Fiji McAlpine core yoga

Buti Yoga (good friggin’ luck)

Aerial Yoga (gentlemen, do this please)
 
3. Fad diets suck, so my diet is just me trying not to get too crazy with my boxed wine and pizza. I suggest only eating your feelings on 1 and a half nights of the week (or 2 maybe). During the rest of the week, I count my calories using MyFitnessPal and I hate myself for doing it and sometimes I yell at people, but it works and is extremely rewarding.
 
Soo, that’s it. I know I’m doing something right because a young gentleman referred to me as a “dime piece.” If you choose to partake in these activities, don’t forget to drink water and eat veggies and protein and stuff or whatever actual diet people tell you to do.

Remember, there’s still time to have the mediocre body you’ve always wanted by summer. Dude, it’s better than nothing.

Ricky

20 Feb

We had a meeting this morning. When it was over, this guy Ricky asked for my office phone number so I could give him more details. So I gave it to him and then said in my proudest, smoothest voice, “Ricky, don’t lose that number.”

Yes, my friends, it was a perfectly executed joke about one of Steely Dan’s most popular songs, “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number.” Not only that, but it was expertly delivered to the perfect audience–a room full of 40-50 year old men who all appreciated it and laughed…except for Ricky. My smile faded as he sat there looking at me blankly. Then, the most preposterous thing happened:

 

______

Me: You know, like the song by Steely Dan?

Ricky: I don’t know Steely Dan.

______

 
Weird.

I let it slide, but I’ve been stewing ever since. Really, Ricky?  How is it possible to have zero knowledge of Steely Dan when you’re an American man in your 40s–especially if your name is Ricky? You’re actually telling me no one has used that line on you before? Do you have a radio? Can you hear? Do you even enjoy music? 

Are you really saying your friends never mentioned it? That’s impossible. Clearly you have no friends or the worst friends ever.

You know, it’s not like you have to be in love with Steely Dan to know the song. You don’t even have to know the song is by Steely Dan. What’s important is that the majority of American men over the age of 25 have heard “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number,” even if it was just at the grocery store or in a friend’s car or something.

That includes you, Ricky. I know you’ve heard it and I’m on to you, you monster.

Phew.

So get this, you guys. As I was sitting here writing this and stewing away, I got an email. From Ricky.

 

Screen Shot3 2014

 

Ricky went right ahead and lost my number. Unless he’s a great liar, he may not even understand how funny that is. What an ass.

I refuse to give it to him again. Surely this is a sick joke or some kind of plan to make me lose my mind. Whatever. You can go send my middle finger off in a letter to yourself, bud, because you’ll never win. Do you hear me?

You’ll NEVER WIN.

 

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