Archive | November, 2011

10 Things 90s Kids Will Have To Explain To Their Children « Thought Catalog

30 Nov

10 Things 90s Kids Will Have To Explain To Their Children « Thought Catalog.

 

Loved this…just wanted to share!

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the crazy cloud.

28 Nov

On Sundays I work with all women. It is a supportive, difficult,  inspiring, hilarious and absolutely exhausting environment. Why exhausting? Well, while a lot of the time we are having fun, there’s usually a part of the day when we are all thinking way too much and getting worked up about things that probably don’t matter. 9 times out of 10, we end up talking about the things that we think that men are thinking, but we never actually know. And yes, we are all a little crazy and then we feed off the crazy of our friends. It happens. I call that “place” that we all seem to go the “crazy cloud.”

I’d like to give you an example of a Sunday on the crazy cloud, all in good humor (names and subject matter have been changed):

Sunday begins–

Hope: Last night we went to *name a place* and had so much fun, but my man said *name something stupid* and I called him a dick and now it’s the end of the world because he isn’t talking to me and I don’t know what to do so I am going to overreact.

Susie: My boyfriend did that once and I didn’t talk to him for 3 weeks and he came around.

Kelly: My ex husband did something like that once. Relationships are hopeless.

Hope: I give up, I am going to find someone who deserves my time. If that doesn’t work, I’m going to be a lesbian.

Susie: You could get anyone. So yeah, fuck him! You deserve better!

Nikki: My husband did that before we got married so I kissed someone else in front of him. I don’t recommend that. It worked, but don’t do it.

**2 hours pass and they meet up again**

Hope: You know, I dig the guy and I think I am just going to say sorry because he hasn’t said anything yet and he’s obviously mad at me.

Susie:  He probably just meant *this* and instead it came out like *this* and now he feels stupid.

Kelly: Men don’t know anything about anything and he was only thinking of himself. The other day this guy and I got into a food fight over something like that. Don’t expect anything better than him because men are all the same.

**hours pass, they meet up again after marinating in the fact that men are terrible**

Hope, Susie, Kelly and Nikki basically just all talking at the same time: I was just thinking, and I think that most guys think *name something we think that men think, but we aren’t sure if they are actually thinking at all*

Hope: Oh, wait, he just sent me a text. He had fun last night and he got to sleep for a couple extra hours this morning.

Susie: See? There ya go. Just let him come to you.

Hope: Thanks, Susie, for talking me down from my crazy cloud.

–Sunday ends

my milkshake brings all the crazies to the yard

18 Nov

 

I’m still not exactly sure what Kelis means by “milkshake,” but I would like to announce that I am an owner of one. How do I know? It started last year. Before I had a milkshake, my yard was void of all the boys and now that I have a milkshake, my yard is overflowing with them.

It sounds exciting, I know, but wouldn’t this have been way more useful about 5 years ago? I don’t want it now. It’s too overwhelming. I’m busy and I just want to live my life. Also, it’s not like it’s just nice, honest, hot guys up in my yard–I’ve got old guys, creepers, crazies, homeless men, trashmen, white trash men, hipsters, douche bags, married dudes, alcoholics, 15-year-old boys, a guy with anger issues, guys with girlfriends who want threesomes  and even a guy with a foot fetish.

How do I give back this milkshake!? I think I got a dud or something. I just want to be me and be with someone who is himself and together we’ll fit.

Also, whoever that person is would probably find this funny:

 

do midgets…

16 Nov

My old roommate was really short and had trouble reaching the pedals in her car. It got me thinking…do little people drive cars?  Is there such a thing as pedal extensions?

I decided to look it up and become more knowledgeable on the subject.

I typed “do midget,” but I didn’t even get to learn about their transportation options because my attention was drawn to the much more important inquiries asked by the rest of the world:

I have a good feeling that you’re okay with the fact that I wasn’t being politically correct that day.

Peter, the asexual Geppetto

7 Nov

In 2005, I had a brief lapse in judgement (one of many) and decided that I hated Baltimore so I dropped everything and moved to London, England. I moved in with some Irish guys, got a job and eventually went on some fancy dates with British dudes. It was a rollicking good time.

I love the British accent and whenever a British guy approached me, I swooned and I swooned hard. Ladies, here’s the thing–just because it has a British accent, does not mean you should accept all date offers. There needs to be a filter. I didn’t have a filter, so when 32-year-old Peter Mahoney approached me for the first time and said I was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and we were going to get married some day, I enthusiastically replied, “YAY!” and three days later we went on a date.

The date was nice, but something seemed kind of “off.” I thought maybe it was because he was trying too hard, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. My reaction at the end of the date was “eh.” We went on a couple more dates and each was as “eh” as the last. There was no spark and I couldn’t tell if he was quiet, boring or asexual. He finally kissed me on the third date. It was awful. We went back to his house and he kissed me again. It, too, was awful. He gave me some tea and we stared at the wall. No one spoke. Then, when we went up to his room, I wasn’t allowed to turn on the light. How odd. When I asked why he told me not to worry about it. Then, he asked me if we could just cuddle. It was all very weird.

When I opened my eyes the next morning, the very first thing to catch my eye was a tiny wooden marionette. I looked at the shelf above it and there was another, but it was larger. Then I saw another. And another. One was dressed as a clown but it didn’t have a face. Then I realized that none of them did. Wooden marionettes were everywhere and none of them had faces. There were at least 25 of these things. Why?! Fear built within me and I shook him awake. I needed answers. “So, I couldn’t help but notice these faceless marionettes,” I noted casually. “I make and collect them,” he responded, “and I also have some puppets downstairs.” It was time for me to leave.

When I got to the bottom of the steps I received a surprise greeting from his mother, and guess what? She had made us fucking breakfast. His dad poured me some coffee. I ate as quickly as possible, went home and never talked to him again.

I had no clue he lived with his parents. I had no clue he made faceless marionettes. You know what? If you’re into puppetry or you want to make marionettes, you make those creepy fuckers and then share it with the world because that’s what you do and you love it. Own it and you’ll find someone who is loving and proud to own it with you.

I, however, was not going to be that girl. I know I can do better than “asexual Geppetto.”

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