Saturday, December 31, 2011

cool. remember that one time i fucked up my face?

A little over a year ago I took out a piercing I had because I chipped my tooth on it eating a chicken chili verde burrito on my birthday (thanks for nothing BRANDON). Tonight, I put the piercing back in. Why? Because drinking by yourself rules and it seemed like a good idea...This is one of many things I'll regret in the morning lately, but who cares? Hurts like a bitch too. Happy fucking new year. "Cool," I said, crying...

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Sometimes I get afeared

I don't like to walk down the street, alone at night, in the Biiiiiiig Ciiiiiiiity. Because if I was a rapist and saw me walking down the street, well, I'd probably rape me. Same with the murderings. Easy target, you know? Sometimes I'm scared to be me.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

My next tattoo

I want to get a tattoo on my upper chest that says "not welcome". That way when people start bugging me or pissing me off, I can just pull down the collar of my shirt a little and say, "You see this?! It means NOT WELCOME!"

Visually, it would be stunning.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Advice from my mom:

Me: I'm going to hangout with one of my friends probably.

Mom: Is it a guy?

Me: Yeah.

Mom: He better not be making a booty-call.

Me: WHAT? No, Mom, he is not making a booty-call.

Mom: Good. Because that's not allowed. You can't have guys making booty-calls on you.

Me: OHMYGOD. Mom. What if I make a booty-call? Is that allowed?

Mom: Yeah. That's fine. You can make the booty-calls. You should hang a cow over your bed too.

Me: What are you talking about 'hang a cow over my bed'?

Mom: It will remind them that the milk isn't for free.

Monday, November 7, 2011

The Infamous Sandwich Texts

I only did one cool thing over the course of my recent break-up. In a moment of weakness I sent a text that I instantly regretted, which spurred The Infamous Sandwich Texts. This is a transcription of the only thing I did during that whole pile of shit that's actually worth talking about. YOU'RE FINALLY WELCOME. (and I was actually starving. so.)

Completely one-sided and all me:

Come over. I miss you.

Eh. Never mind. Moment of weakness. I have a sandwich here that promised me that it wouldn't lie to me and try to ruin my life.

But seriously. I could use a sandwich.

No whole grain mustard tho cuz that shits for yuppies.

I don't want to be your friend. I'm just trying to get a sandwich out of you.

I have to admit to you that throughout this relationship I've been using you for sandwiches and ice cream. I'm a fucking asshole.

But seriously. Where the fuck is my sandwich?

I will settle for pizza, but I won't be happy.

You could compromise with a pizza sandwich. If there's a meatball on there tho, you're a dead man.

And don't bother with chips. That shits for losers.

Unless we are talking British 'chips'. In which case--bring it.

A salami sandwich would be fine. No Swiss tho. Cuz it smells like feet and mice made the holes.

Sometimes you don't appreciate the sandwich you ate at 11:30 and you need another one. WITHOUT MEATBALLS plz.

I'm starting to feel like I should've started this whole thing off with: I'm going to kill myself if I don't get a sandwich. I would have gotten better results.

*some people* think they don't owe anyone an early morning sandwich. And that's a Sad Fucking Fact in this country.

Even a homemade sandwich would be fine it it was poison free. I don't know what your problem is.

You know what kind of sandwiches I like. I don't know what's so hard about this.

I'm really surprised that you're such a sandwich republican. It's a fucking weird side to take if you ask me.

I'm just saying that if you happened to come across a sandwich, I could use one. I remembered you to be a lot more giving when it comes to sandwiches.
I want to make a sandwich Hitler joke but I don't want to get in trouble.

I wouldn't beg you for a sandwich. But I would say, 'give me a sandwich'. Just so we're clear here.

Just a warning: sandwich cookies are not actual sandwiches. I'm not fucking around here.

I don't know when you started being all anti-sandwich. I warn you that you WILL lose friends over it. But no one ever listens to me.

Saturday, October 22, 2011

Adventure girl makes a mess

I've been off the charts with shenanigans lately. And since I'm a storyteller, I'll divulge...

A friend of mine invited me to go see a double feature and the movies seemed swank, so I was like, 'Hell yeah! I'll bring the wine!' My friend brought the food, and we proceeded to drink one bottle during the first movie...We sneaked, we laughed, we drank, it was good.

The second movie started and I was all excited, because it was the main movie that I wanted to see. The opening credits rolled, I pulled the second bottle of wine out of my bag, fun size twix in my mouth, things couldn't be better...Until, the full, unopened bottle of red wine slowly slipped from my fingers and completely shattered on the floor of the movie theater...

I lean over to my friend, "We have to fucking go. Now. Now. We have to go. Let's go. We need to get the fuck out of here." My friend asks, "...was that the empty bottle...?" Me, "No. Can't you smell it? Shit. Let's. Go."

As the 30 other people in the theater begin to ascertain which idiot broke glass during the movie, we make a plan to bolt in ten minutes. During that time frame, I pull a $5 bill out of my bag and write "sorry" on it about 10 times, then place it on top of the broken wine bottle. It's called 'doing the wrong thing the right way'. I only wish I could have dropped a $20...

I go to the bathroom. A few minutes later my friend meets me in the lobby. Drunk, I use my best straight face as I loudly fake a phone call in the silent lobby, "WHAT?! When? Is it serious? The HOSPITAL? No, I'm at the theater, I'm leaving right now. Which hospital? I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Bye." We walk out with serious, studious expressions on our faces...
They'll never suspect me...

It's called 'saving face'. Also, these kinds of things are just becoming a normal weeknight for me...

Lesson, not learned.

Saturday, October 8, 2011

Poor decision making...

Recently I've developed the habit of going out and getting all crazy on my 'Fridays'. This may involve bars, karaoke, house parties, having people over or staying out all night. I usually just wait to see what the night brings...I am burning the candle at both ends. And what a delightful light it brings...But in the midst of this chaos, I am also dutifully seeing my therapist, so that I stay on track with my real-life shit. Which brings me to my story...

I make my therapist appointments for my day off...And on my day off, I usually seem to be recovering from severe partying. So, I biked to my therapists office with a hangover to beat all. Why did I bike there? I have no fucking idea. I like to think I was still drunk at 4pm. Maybe...So, I have my water, and I tell her, "Just so you know, I don't feel well. Too much last night, toooooo muuuuccchhh." I blabber on for about 20 minutes and suddenly I'm like, 'shit. imma barf in here.' I stand up, freaking out, and I'm like, "Where's the bathroom?" She tells me and I'm running down the hall hiccup-barfing...I make it to the bathroom without much incident and proceed to violate the toilet...After a few minutes in the bathroom I try to make myself look 'presentable' which only involves me staring at my reflection in the mirror, then undoing my hair to cover the water/barf? splatter on my shirt. You better believe that I'm a classy fucking lady, potential barf splatters don't fly in my book.

So, how did I preserve my upstanding reputation? With a joke of course. I sauntered right back into that room and I was like " WOW! I feel SO much BETTER!" I'm okay with it. I'm paying her not to judge me.

(But seriously, lesson learned).

Sunday, October 2, 2011

Life goals and shit

I'm not very good with the follow through of life goals. Except one, that I've been following through with for most of my life. That life goal is to never get stung by a bee again. I realized today that the last time I got stung by a bee, I was probably in fifth grade, and I was like 'never again assholes', or probably more like 'never again stupid jerks'. (I didn't develop a foul mouth until about 4 years later). But I've actively been on the watch for bees ever since. I heard that bees are dying out. That doesn't make me feel that bad because I think bees are little monsters. I even had a giant bee on my foot this summer, which made me not go outside for about 3 weeks, but it didn't sting me. So. I fucking win.

I'm going to bee really pissed if I get stung now that I've written this though. I hate jinxing myself, but as a warning to the world, bees get all fucking crazy in the fall cuz they know that they're going to die after the frost. So, everyone beeware.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

I hate the bus

I hate the bus so much. So, so much.

Yesterday I was on the bus and the windows had condensation on them. I was watching this kid wiping the condensation off the window, then I realized that he was doing it with a used band-aid. I almost threw up all over the place. Where was his parent? Sitting right there, not caring.

I have made a new promise to myself that the next time I need to get up/sit down on the bus or train and the person in the aisle seat doesn't get up, but just swivels over so that I have to squeeze into the window seat, that I am going fart right in their face. My ass is at their face level, and they are being rude. So, they get a fart from me to show how equally rude I can be. I'm so sick of the lowest of the low, grossies and jerks, on public transportation.

Luckily I'm getting a bike this week so I can avoid the turds for the next couple of months. But, seriously, the jerks on public transportation test my patience. And I am failing the test. Failing with a saved up fart. So, watch out Chicago.

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Spider germz

So. How many germs does a spider have on it? Because I smoked a re-fry that a spider walked on...Also, this is still not the grossest thing I've done to get some nicotine in me...

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

In which children don't get movie references

The other day two ten-ish year-old girls came through my line. They were buying milk, eggs and fabric softener. HA! No, actually they were buying various things that kids normally don't buy. Like milk and other shit. Anyway, I didn't see a parent around or anything and they had a $20 bill, and since their total was more than $20, they had to take a couple of things off...No big deal...So I ring them up, give them their change then lean in and ask them, "So, you guys, you're not in some type of Home Alone situation where your parents went on vacation and forgot to bring you with, right?" So then these girls just narrow their eyes, look at me and say, "Our parents...are at... HOME". And that's when I realize that they probably didn't get the reference and I was coming off like a creeper. But I still think their parents went on vacation and forgot them at home. For the record.

Friday, September 2, 2011



And then I fell in love with my gynecologist...

So on top of an already horrible and awkward couple of weeks, I decided to go get my clean bill of health, and I put in a rush order for it. Mostly for peace of mind (I have no idea how far the lies went), but also because I felt like being proactive should be a new goal for me, and mainly because makin' the rounds, and getting the STD/STI (what do the kids call it these days?) tests is some sort of marker.

So...yay for me.

Basically, they had to fit me in with some doctor that I'd never seen before, which is fine, but I've never seen a dude gynecologist, so I was a little like '...okay...I guess...', in the end, I wanted to get this stuff out of the way fast and if the price I had to pay was some dude poking around down there, well, it's not like that's never happened before. So, like so many things in life, I went for it.

So, I'm sitting in the room, in a gown made for a 600 lb man, wrapped up like a giant burrito, looking like a major turd (don't worry kids I did take a shower, I'm not that bad), expecting some old doctorly looking dude to walk in, and WTF kids, this talldarkandhandsome, age appropriate, not-too-professional, guy walks in and I'm just like, "SERIOUSLY?! UGH. Can things get any worse? Why can't he be weird or uggo or old or SOMETHING?!"

I gave myself about 1.5 seconds to wrap my mind around it. More than anything else at the gynecologist, you just end up being uncomfortable and embarrassed, and if you're me, then you say about 10 stupid things about nothing and act like a freak, don't worry, I didn't disappoint. For instance I started out one sentence with "Can I just be frank and kind of gross?" Which made him laugh...IMADEHIMLAUGH, IMADEHIMLAUGH, IMADEHIMLAUGH! +1 for meeeeeee!

Do you think he at least wants to be friends? JK. I don't have time for that shit.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

I growed them for you!

Not really. I did grow my nails really long these past few weeks. Not for you though. For myself. Just to see what it was like to be a lady. They were strong, they didn't break, not even at work. I had my doubts. It was an experiment of sorts.

But I can now say, seriously, long nails are sick. In a bad way. Like, kinda gross with stuff getting under them (don't try to smash hamburger up or anything). And, just a pain in the ass. I guess dudes don't really understand this because they never get very long nails, but honestly, you're not missing anything.

I couldn't type. I had to be careful with everything. Like sex stuff and making doubled up paper bags at work, opening boxes and scratching itches. What a fucking joke. I don't understand women and their desire for long nails, being a 'woman' and trying it, I've discovered that it's some serious bullshit.

Every time I looked at my hands I was like, 'ew, um, are these actually my hands?' And the answer was 'no, these aren't my hands, these are the hands of a freakshow'. Am I glad that I did it? I guess, but I'm never doing it again. EW. I actually had to cut them twice cuz the clippers couldn't handle the immensity of my extension.

I'll never be a fancy lady. Never.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

A moment at a family party

Me, drunk, eating a plate of pasta salad. I place it precariously upon the table, promising myself that I will be careful to not spill it--


Me (speaking sadly, as if I've given up on life): "Great now I've got pasta salad on my vagina."

Best part? I only spilled it ON TOP of my long shorts, but my Dad was still like "I'm out of here!"

I'm bringing vagina's back baybee.

Monday, August 15, 2011

HA HA! I went tanning!?

So. Today I had the opportunity to go tanning (for free). And. I. Took. It.

I've never EVER been in a tanning bed before. I've laid out in the sun, randomly, at different points in my life, but I've never cared enough to get a tan-line, or keep up with anything at all.

And this sounds insane, I know it sounds insane...But last year my mom BOUGHT a tanning bed for her HOUSE. I was like, 'That's weird, don't do it...'. But no one listens to me ever. So, it happened.

Now, my mom uses the tanning bed, and my sister does too, but neither of them (somehow?!) look like mandarin chicken yet, so I guess they both actually do know how to moderate themselves. I had my doubts in the beginning.

But today, maybe because of Jersey Shore, maybe because of pure curiosity, maybe because I wondered what it was like to be a 'real woman', I jumped in and fake'n baked myself. And it was life-changing.

Not really life-changing, actually, but weird. First I used some lotion which made me smell like pure summertime. Then I had to put on some weird glasses that suction-cupped my eyes to death. After that, I tried to relax. Yeah, but I couldn't. Because I was all like:

'You are getting RADIATED!'

I had to remind myself that once in a tanning bed is not going to give even the canceriest of cancer victims a 'final push' over that edge. As of twelve hours later, I do feel a little warm on the skin front, but not any worse than spending thirty minutes in the bright summer sun. And it brings me that much closer to the Jersey Shore life. I'm kidding...OR AM I!?

And don't judge me too much. I was curious for an ENTIRE YEAR!

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

A conversation about Jersey Shore...

I am always jibber-jabbering at anyone and everyone who will listen, unfortunately for him, it usually happens to be my boyfriend. So, yeah, the season premier of Jersey Shore happened the other day and it was on my mind, so of course, I was thinking about reality tv, and what that means...

Me: What would you think if your kid was Snooki and ended up being a reality tv star?

Boyfriend: ...I would be very disappointed...

Me: What if your kid ended up being Jwow?

Boyfriend: I would molest it...

Me: What if your kid was The Situation?

Boyfriend: I would kill it.

I hope our future child is not a reality tv star...Unless our future child ends up being Snooki, because Snooki rules and I don't care if my that disappoints my boyfriend...

If I could actually learn life lessons (which I refuse to do) I would learn to stop it with the hypothetical situations...Says Mike Hypothetical The Situation...

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Trick(s) and tip(s) to being a classy(ish?) fucking lady

I know about a total of (1) trick(s) to doing makeup. I will share it with you. If you put on mascara and happen to blink or a spider makes you jump or some shit and you get it (mascara) on your skin DON'T try to wipe it off. Instead, wait a minute for it to dry and take a Q-tip, and it will wipe right off. I shit you not. Seriously. Next time, do it. The only thing you have to remember about this helpful hint is to (1) LET IT DRY. And (2) HAVE Q-TIPS. Boom. You're a real woman now.

And on the subject of being a "woman" (which for the record, I don't identify with at all [but that's a different subject for another blog post]), I have found an awesome way to trick people into thinking that you sort of care about your appearance...So, let's just say that you are lazy and didn't wash your hair and your front hair OR bangs (call it what you will), are greasy. Well just take a simple bobby pin and twist it up a little and pin it. Use a bobby pin that is special in some way if you can, like colored or some shit, it will add interest and detract from your greasy-ass hair. THEN put on some earrings. (This only works if you have your ears pierced or own clip-on's [ARE YOU 102 YEARS OLD?]). Anyway, put some fucking big-ass/flashy earrings on and everyone will be all like, 'Oh, you look so nice today!'.

I'm not kidding. Try it if you don't believe me.
It sounds too good to be true, but it's not. I'm giving you the fucking key here.
This is almost everything I know about being female.

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

I don't have a mullet and a shitty face

AHA HA HA HA HA! It's that rare time of never when I actually feel good about myself. Sometimes just seeing a picture of someone is enough to do the job. Right now it's really good to be me. SERIOUSLY. Oh Google, how I love you sometimes.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

The biggest little lip-rip

The last two movies I've gotten from Netflix have been really good. I watched Black Swan, finally, and though I thought I would hate it and find it gratuitous, I actually found it to be really intense and fascinating. I was leaning in toward the screen for the last twenty minutes of that movie. And tonight I watched 127 Hours, which I was afraid I would find boring, but decided to go with it because I have been in love with Desario for about 11 years...Yeah, it was a really anxiety ridden movie, but just seeing him smile...ahhhh. I really urge you to check it out.

Then I was outside smoking after I watched 127 Hours, and I pulled a drag off my smoke...and that thing happened where if your lip is wet and the cigarette is dry, you can accidentally rip the skin off your lip? Do you know what I'm talking about? Well, that happened to me and it was the biggest little lip-rip that's ever occurred. And I really felt, through all that pain, like I could relate to James Franco's character. Almost exactly the same.

Monday, July 4, 2011

Happy Birthday America!

I find it ironic that on today, of all days, INDEPENDENCE DAY, I was smoking PARLIAMENT lights. I never smoke those, technically, I shouldn't even be smoking because it turns me into a terrible person, and a terribly sick person, but I do anyway. My point, is that I'm a good god-damned American who smokes patriotic AMERICAN SPIRIT cigarettes. American Spirits make me cough less, I know it makes me sound insane, but it's true, and now I'm hacking up a lung because someone had to go buy some Parliaments on the Fourth of God-Damned July.

Next year I plan on not smoking at all and planting like a hundred apple trees in honor of our first pilgrim, Johnny Appleseed. You're welcome future Fourth of July!

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

A moment for you:

My boyfriend bought us a huge pack of toilet paper. He then leads me into the bathroom, points to it and says, "Look at all that toilet paper Emily! I want you to feel like we're rich."


Tuesday, May 31, 2011

I was saying 'Boo-urns'

Oh yes, I am sick once again. After two days of self imposed quarantine in my apartment, I decided that it was time to venture over to the doctor for proper medication; codeine and antibiotics...

And god-damn, it was sunny this morning. As soon as I stepped outside, my arms went up to shield my face and I started hissing like a vampire thrown into a sunbeam. I am in no way proud of how I dressed to go to the doctor. I had my rats nest of a hairdo in a shitty ponytail, or as you would probably call it: a mange-tail. No socks, which proved to be a HORRIBLE idea because my stupid new shoes tore the shit out of my stupid ankle. The crowning glory of my look, besides no makeup, was the dirty, dog-hair riddled tank-top I found on my floor.

Yeah, it's about 85 degrees in Chicago today, but I'm walking around with a kleenex and making bug-eyes on the bus because I can't stop hacking. I'm what you might call 'ladylike'. Ugh.

So, after I infected everyone on the bus with my various diseases, I finally arrived at the doctor's office. They have these masks there for people like me to wear so I don't get everyone else sick, but if I wore one then I would feel like a fucking insane freak, so I always get this moral dilemma, which ends with me sitting as far away from everyone as possible and pretending like I didn't see those masks. Whatever.

And I SWEAR TO GOD that the doctor kept looking at my upper breastel region in AN UNDOCTORLY WAY! I caught him glancing like at least 3 times. And since I'm never paying attention to dudes doing that shit, if I catch someone I must assume that they are (1) really bad at looking and (2) that I didn't catch them the 10 other times they were staring at my chest.

I just really don't have it in me for that kind of shit today. AND I forgot to buy kleenex at the pharmacy. So, you know, sometimes you lose. Then you lose again.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

A timeline of unfortunate events

2.40am- My boyfriend and I go to bed.

2.43am- My boyfriend falls asleep. I am still awake.

2.44am- My boyfriend starts snoring.
Me: *whispering* "Hey, roll over..."

2.46am- My boyfriend starts snoring again.
Me: *still whispering* "Hey, you're still snoring. Roll over..."

3.30am- More snoring wakes me up.
Me: "Lay on your side. You're snoring. Lay on your side."

4.00am- Seriously?!
Me: "You need to lay flat on your stomach. IT'S BECAUSE YOU'RE SNORING.
Lay on your stomach."

4.30am- I wake myself up coughing. Did I mention that I'm sick? Oh, yeah, I'm sick. So, I go
take a cough suppressant and go back to bed...

5.00am- Guess who's snoring again. Hint: not me.
Me: "I'm going to stab you."
My boyfriend: "Wha? Stab...Wha?"
My boyfriend: "Your mom's going to stab YOU."

I'm tired.
And yet...I still, somehow, love him...

Monday, April 25, 2011

I was a telemarketer for 3 weeks once

Back in my day there was this telemarketing business in my hometown. It was a total rip-off to the people we called, and to the employees that worked there. Big surprise right?

I'm not too proud to admit that I telemarketed for a few weeks of my young life once...

There was a binder of things we were allowed to say to people. They were called 'rebuttals' and they were specific and dumb.

The best one always goes through my head, even years later, because it was so humiliating for everyone involved:

Potential person getting ripped off: "This seems too good to be true! What's the catch?"

Me: "The catch is Red Snapper, and we're fresh out."

Imagine me saying it slowly and completely deadpan, no emotion in my voice what-so-ever. Yes, yes, yes. So perfect. Oh, to be 17 again...

Monday, April 11, 2011

Burlesque me no questions

If you knew me quite well, you would find it at least a little weird that I started taking burlesque classes. I know that I think it's totally fucking weird. I went into this not knowing very much about burlesque. I guess that it's basically classy stripping. But more positive, and more fun.

I don't REALLY know though, because I've never been to a burlesque show, and I kind of doubt that I ever will go to one...Who knows though, because I never, not even in a month of Sundays, ever thought that I would be taking a class like this.

AND NO, I do not get naked in this class. EW.

It's basically learning a few moves like sexy walking and 'bumping', 'grinding', and 'shimmying', all of which I can barely do (and some of which I can't do AT ALL [seriously]), in case you were curious. But being out of my element is kind of fun. And thinking about burlesque in the olden days makes me feel all black-and-white-movie about myself. So, that's pretty cool.

The only thing is that you're supposed to be all bouncy about everything that you do, and I've spent the best part of my life trying to NOT be bouncy. Eh, I just hate to jiggle, it doesn't feel awesome. I think that's normal behavior, but I'm being forced to go against the norm.

The only other real problem that I have in this class is the mirror. I know that's totally stereotypical (but also, not really), you see, every time that I'm trying to be serious about my skillz I end up glancing at my stupid face in the mirror, then turn into a ham. I can't keep a straight face to save my life.

But, sometimes you just gotta change it up bitchez.
Everyone should probably take some weird class that they wouldn't normally be interested in.
And that's my advice for the day.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Open Letter: To People With Babies

Dear People With Babies,

First off, you should know that I fucking LOVE the shit out of babies, AND children. I really, really do. I like trying to make them laugh, I like watching them interact, I like playing with them and listening to their insane stories. I even enjoy trying to figure out what the hell they're trying to say when they aren't making any god-damned sense. I truly can say that I get a real kick out of kids. I even want to have a pup or two somewhat soonish. It's a short term goal.

You need to know that I really, REALLY LOVE KIDS. Because what I am going to say next is going to make me sound like a hater.

There is no excuse for some of the things that you People With Babies put others through, specifically; me.

I do not care if your kid is running around a little. (Kids forget rules all the time, that's why we call them kids and not adults). I do not care if your kid doesn't say 'please and thank you' (kids don't understand social norms). I do not even care if your kid is having a fit (that's your problem, so you figure it out).

What I DO FUCKING CARE ABOUT is when you let your kid chew on shit in your shopping cart and then when I go to scan it, I GET FUCKING SPIT AND SLOBBER (AND ONE TIME BARF) ALL OVER MY FUCKING HANDS.

Now, you might say, "Oh, don't freak out, it's just a baby", yeah, I totally understand that, but it's not MY FREAKING BABY and NOT MY FRIEND'S BABY. It's just somebody's baby who may or may not have a contagious disease. Babies do have diseases. It's a god-damned sad fucking fact in this world.

So, when I get your kids expectoration all over my hands, I often-times am stuck on a register for an hour, sometimes longer. YOU ARE RUDE AND I CAN'T JUST GO HOP OFF AND WASH MY HANDS. That means that I have to touch the next persons stuff with spit on my hands. THIS MAKES ME AND THE CDC VERY UNHAPPY. I am working in retail, and getting paid for retail work, not working and getting paid to deal with bio-hazards THANKYOUVERYMUCH.

I am busy wondering why people are so rude. If I put spit on something and made you pick it up, you would probably either punch me or tell my boss on me. So, WTF PEOPLE? Also, and this is a fact; I know that the packages of almost everything are super dirty and have, at the very least, been on a floor. I take stuff out of boxes for a living, and my hands often get quite dirty just from opening and shelving a box or two of whatever. Think about what you're letting your kid put in it's mouth for a god-damned second. Then remember to bring a semi-clean toy for your little peanut to occupy itself with.

When your kid has a sloppy nose, I give you a kleenex. Don't hand me stuff with a bunch of spit on it. Stop being rude.

Social tips for parents from an anti-social, non-parent.
With love and rage,
emily illinois

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Snarky little peanuts

I, for some reason, have been pretty sick, on and off, for basically this whole past month. (Probably most of the reason why I haven't been inspired to post lately).

AND, I've been in a bad mood for the past two hours. Partly due to Faye Dunaway and Warren Beatty...Maybe...

And my boyfriend just picked one of my prescription bottles up off the counter and (referring to my middle initial which is "B"), says to me, he says, "What does the 'B' stand for?"

I instantly yell, "BITCH!!!"

It's like a smooth-rollin' comedy duo up in here.

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Where was I?

So, I guess that this is what cough medicine looks like now. Hello Millennium.

Saturday, March 5, 2011

Drill instructors are sexy?

Here's how I define 'sexy' today (because I'm sick); 'sexy' is someone that I would feel compelled to have sex with even when I am so sick that I can't stop coughing.

Maybe this definition doesn't work everyday, but it works for me, today.

I just went to the doctor because I can't stop coughing (I am sick), and while I was waiting forever for the bus, I saw on the bus-bench that someone had written, "Drill instructors are SEXY!!!" I totally disagree. Maybe some drill instructors are sexy, but most probably aren't. In fact, I can't think of anything less sexy right now than some dad-guy yelling at me to do push-ups and run around. Especially if he has a flat-top and a red face.

Anyway, not sexy. I am in no way compelled to have sexual relations with that stereotype...Try again bored kids at the bus stop.

Friday, March 4, 2011

It's how I think I am coping

Ten years ago I figured out that I can get really frustrated. Like really fucking frustrated. Like so frustrated with simple shit that I just want to scream--for like 5 minutes non-stop. That's humanly impossible. But I so wish that I could.

Since it's technically impossible for me to scream at the top of my lungs for for 5 minutes straight, I, at some point (probably during an acid binge in the late 90's), started visualizing Shaking The Shit Out Of Things.

It doesn't really work that well. And I've never actually got past the 'visualizing' point, but these sick days that I've been homebound with my boyfriend are bringing me dangerously close. I love the dude, but if he makes me try to explain how I don't understand how to post a link on Twitter and make it small one more time, I am probably going to have to come out of this cough-syrup induced haze and Shake The Shit Out Of Him.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Help a bacon-loving sister out!!!

One of my friends is involved in the amateur cook-off for the Chicago Baconfest! And she needs votes to stay in the top 5! Please help by voting for her! It takes 5 seconds and about 2 clicks. There is no registry or email needed.

Follow the link (and scroll to the bottom of the page) and vote for #15-- Rebekah Persaud with her delicious Toasted Bacon Ravioli!!!



Remember how awesome I was?

Yesterday at work I was kicking ass. I dominated my sections and defeated all obstacles. I helped a million people and even had time to drink half a cup of coffee. I was winning! Until my last hour. Suddenly my vision went like this:

Like there was this weird crescent taking up my field of vision in one eye. It was like I had stared into a bright light (but I hadn't). And as the minutes ticked by, it got bigger and bigger. Until I had a huge blind spot. I got distracted by what was going on in my eye. I couldn't help anyone. I couldn't work. I couldn't even explain myself to my coworkers. BUT I ONLY HAD ONE HOUR LEFT.

Anyway. I knew instantly that I was getting a migraine. And for me, when my vision goes like that, initially there is no pain. But eventually there will be. And that is a fact. So, as I'm trying to finish my last hour of work I am panicky. I am trying to tell myself that it's just because I KNOW THAT I'M GOING TO BE IN SERIOUS PAIN SHORTLY. But that isn't the case, and it's not that I was panicky. It's that I turned fucking retarded. My I.Q. dropped 50 points. I'm not kidding. I started to think that I was stroking out. For example; somebody said, "Omega 3" and I had no idea what they were talking about. I was like, "???What the hell is that? I feel like I know that word, but I'm not sure if it's made up or not? Is that a serious word? I can't spell it. ICAN'TSPELLIT!!!" (this was all going on in my head).

GOD. Last night was dumb.

To make a short story short, because I know that you don't have all day, I did make it home. Somehow. I probably looked insane on the train with a crunched up face and a wonky eye, but at least everyone left me alone. I got to my apartment, walked in my door, took two Excedrin Migranes, picked up my dog and went to bed. And that's the story of how awesome I was.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

God, I love the dollar store...UPDATE

I was at the dollar store by my apartment yesterday. I go there to buy toilet paper, paper towels, and other stupid shit that is cheaper there than at other places...Anyway, I had the spoils of my visit and I was waiting in line to pay and I was vaguely listening to the two employees talk, while ignoring customers, as they rang people up. There were maybe five people in line in front of me, so I got a good earful.

There is one thing you need to know: I work for a major retail establishment completely focused on customer service. I am a fucking customer service expert. And a goddamned amazing conversationalist when I want to be.

So. I'm listening to these two cashiers who are back to back ringing people up (slowly, might I add [I'm a fucking speed-demon at register {not to brag}]), and I must have heard them say "Fuck That Shit" about 5 times. As I get closer I hear this conversation:

Cashier #1: I can't believe that lady yesterday, complaining bout our customer service. Fuck That Shit.

Cashier #2: I KNOW. What an idiot. We're GREAT AT CUSTOMER SERVICE.

Cashier #1: We ARE great at customer service. She was so stupid.

(At this point cashier #2 has a woman step up and smile, to begin the transaction)

Cashier #2 to next customer: WHAT?! Do YOU have SOMETHING to SAY?!

I don't know how well this translates in the written form, over me telling you personally, but it was fucking ridiculous. Basically, the cashier was being confrontational with a CUSTOMER while talking about how much they all FUCKING RULE at customer service at this dollar store. OMFG.

Gotta love Family Dollar. I was so sad that I was alone and didn't have a friend to witness this stupid shit.

I really wanted to tell the bitch with the hickey and the other bitch with a bull-dog underbite that I AM THE ONE WHO FUCKING RULES AT CUSTOMER SERVICE. But I didn't say shit because I didn't want them to jump the counter and beat the shit out of me. And I also have a really good job, while they work at the dollar store. So. You know.

*UPDATE: I was in there the other day and one of the same employees was 'stocking' and TALKING ON HER CELL PHONE! WTF? I want that job. But, not really...

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Menstruation just got fun, thanks to U by Kotex...Srsly.

I can't believe that no one had thought of this yet. I mean, I've been menstruating for about seventeen years and it's been pretty monotonous. Bleed, go buy tampons. Bleed, go buy tampons. And on and on and on. But recently I saw some colorful tampons and I instinctively wanted to buy some, but then I reminded myself that the 'cool' tampons were for the kids and not for oldie-moldys like me. (This made me sad, but saved me fucking money [$] in the long-run). But then, I remembered something: I DON'T GIVE A FUCKING SHIT. Seriously, I don't. So I bought some of those motherfuckers and found them to be satisfactory and make me just a little happier to menstruate. And I just can't fucking believe that someone in advertising over the past-how-many-years, didn't say: 'Hey motherfuckers, the ladies want their tampons to look fucking cool.'

It's like I want to get my period now, just to use these cool motherfucking tampons.
Bleed motherfuckers, bleed.

Monday, February 21, 2011

I was on a Pixie-Kick. Sue me.

What I do:

OH SHIT! Remember Snowmageddon 2011?!

I took these pictures, but never put them up...SO HERE THEY ARE!!!

The indoor ones are of the windows in the Solarium of my garden apartment.

And the outdoor ones are from my journey to work on the next day. The one with three piles of snow is ACTUALLY THREE MOTHERFUCKING CARS COMPLETELY COVERED IN SNOW!

Anyway, the thundersnow was pretty kickass.

Please enjoy my historical pictures.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Dear Diary,

Now that I've finally quit smoking so that my future children won't be born addicted to nicotine, I've found that all I do is eat. candy. non-stop. I might have been eating like a fiend before, but at least now I have a reason to tell people. At this point of winter I feel like a huge blob and I look like one too, I'm very excited to start biking again once it's a little warmer.

Holy. Shit.

The above paragraph makes me feel like Doogie Howser, M.D.

F this shiz...Illinois, out!

Sunday, February 13, 2011

To my readers:


And, I really would. XO!

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Chinatown = your future presents

I just had a good little look around Chinatown...I only went to a few shops because it was getting late...But I have, in that short amount of time, decided that all the presents that I buy for people in the future will come from Chinatown. Like a giant piggy bank that looks exactly like the little one that I just bought at the thrift store yesterday...So, if you don't want kick-ass presents from Chinatown in the forms of fake food, strange kitchen items and giant piggy banks, you probably shouldn't invite me to your parties anymore. Consider yourself warned.

Monday, February 7, 2011

Deck it/me, either way...

I won't tell you how many decks of cards I already own...But this had IT'S OWN KICK-ASS FAKE WOOD BOX. I don't care if I have a problem. I am having fun.

Deez nuts.

My boyfriend asked what kind of nuts I was going to put in this thing.
I just looked at him.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Watching a living nightmare: Jersey Shore

OH MY GOD. What am I doing?

Apparently I will watch anything if it's easy to stream/watch On Demand...Whatever.

Have you ever watched Jersey Shore? These people are terrible. The females display some of the worst traits that females possess, exaggerated x WTF. And the dudes are so horrible in the most stereotypical x FTL (Fuck Their Lives) kind of way THAT I JUST CAN'T BELIEVE WHAT I SEE AND HEAR ON THIS SHOW. Seriously.

I feel like a terrible person for watching this. But it's fascinating. These people exist in this backwards retarded universe. I just can't understand how any of them are able to survive. I really think I would blow my brains out if I had to exist for more than two hours in this shit-storm of douche.

And I can't stop watching.
Smack me in my face if I start obsessing about being tan.

The rage

Females, DO NOT do this when writing to my boyfriend:


It makes the anger come out.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

My yearly Gilmore Girls episode

About once a year I'll watch The Gilmore Girls. I happened to be watching an episode today. One of the characters did something that may have been wrong, or may have been right, depending on how you look at it (is this not what EVERY episode of The Gilmore Girls is about?) Anyway, when I asked my boyfriend whether or not the character was right or wrong he said, "Either way, I don't give a shit". And now I can't stop laughing. The end.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

THE INFAMOUS: C & C Combo!!!

What is a C & C Combo?

Well. Sometimes you have to buy condoms. And sometimes, for various reasons, that can be awkward. Sometimes you have to ask your partner or your partner has to ask you to buy condoms. And sometimes it just sounds LAME to say, 'Hey, should I get some condoms from wherever or what?' SO instead, I say, 'Hey, should I get a C & C Combo or what?' and then not only do you not sound lame, but you also have a code and you don't have to leave CVS with only condoms. You have to buy something else that starts with a 'C', like Candy or ice Cream or Coca Cola Classic (triple bonus points) or Campbell's Soup or whatever is the weirdest thing you can think of to combine with condoms. It's kind of fun. And you're welcome. I think it's funny to make the cashier blush. But if I think the cashier is looking at me like I'm a slut, well, then, that pretty much sucks. But at least I'm not having illegitimate children left and right (this is how I console myself). xo. Kinda drunk right now. Sorry, but enjoy anyway.

Monday, January 24, 2011

REPOST: Open Letter: To Hibernation

Dear Hibernation,

I am busy sitting here trying to understand you. I am doing this because I feel a deep need to hibernate right now, but I am not even sure what that means exactly. I learned about hibernation in grade school, but it was not as fascinating then as it seems to be now.

I am pretty sure that cold blooded creatures like me cannot hibernate. I perch on my heated rock under a sun-lamp on cold days like these. As I sit there, I dream of hibernation. To be a raccoon or some kind of bear and hibernate all through the winter, only to wake up a couple of times to eat some fish or garbage or whatever it is that animals eat, that would be the life. And that is all that I remember learning about you.

I think it would be cool to tell people that I was hibernating. At work they would say, "How was your day off?" and I would reply, "Oh, you know, I just hibernated, like usual." I think that would really impress people at work. At least more than saying, "Oh, you know, I was just thinking about hibernation." If I had to say that, they would think I was a total loser. (And I am not).

Anyway, I just hate winter and being cold. I am wishing for you, hibernation, but I am not some kind of weird, it’s just never gonna happen. It’s one of those things I talk about, but will never be able to do. Oh well.

Hibernating is so sciencey,

Emily Illinois

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Water Boat With Water Fowl Hopefully Not in Foul Water...

Thrift store findz! ♥

I saw my future

Do you ever do something and then think about how doing that same thing will suck when you get old?

Like, every time I flush a toilet in a public bathroom, I use my foot to hit the handle and flush the toilet. No matter how high up the flusher is, I will chorus-line kick myself into a strained muscle to not have to touch the handle or deal with possible splash-up from the water swirling...Every time I do this routine I think to myself, "Way to go Self! You dominated this toilet!" Then I think, "What the fuck am I going to do when I'm all old and unable to maneuver my shit like this?" Then this overwhelming fear/sadness ensues. Right there in some skanky bathroom.

And last night the same thing happened in my own bathroom. But in a slightly different way.

I was getting out of the shower, and every time I get out of the shower I hate to have my wet feet touch the ground in any way. Whether there is a clean towel there or it's just the tiles or whatever. So, I'm standing there contorting myself to try to dry off my feet before I get out of the shower and I'm almost falling over and I realize that there will come a time in my future where I won't be able to behave in this irresponsible, contortive, slippery and dangerous way anymore. And my wet feet will HAVE to touch the ground. There's a metaphor there somewhere. But I'm too lazy.


A fowl. Owl.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

A deer, dear

My fartpartment

When my boyfriend moved in with me he brought something I had never had before: a little dog. Jack is his name, and farting is his game.

Jack is a farting master. He can stink up a room in about ten seconds. Everyday I lay on the couch and pet him, and everyday he farts in my face. And his farts aren't normal, they stink like regular dog poo x10. Probably because we feed him this 'no filler' type of food, but, jeebus his farts stink. And they linger. You might be thinking, 'Why is this girl going on and on about dog-farts?' The answer to that is: this is my life now, it's an everyday thing. AND IT ANNOYS ME! The only way I can deal with it is by knowing that Jack is 12 years old and should be allowed to fart his head off at his old age...

But, there is a "Gas Competition" going on here. For every Jack Fart, my boyfriend matches it with either one fart or about three burps. I'm surprised I'm even able to be alive with all this gas swirling around in here. It's bad. I mean, there will be times that I'm cleaning the kitchen and I'll leave the room to put something away, then when I'm about to go back in, my boyfriend will be standing in front of the kitchen and physically stop me and be all like, 'you can't go in there' and then I'm all like, 'yes I can dude, I'm cleaning the kitchen' and he inevitably says, 'NO. I farted in there!' Then I have to wait forever to finish what I was doing. He says that I have some retarded magical power to need something from where-ever he just farted. I say that it's a small apartment and he just farts everywhere all the time.

And it's not like I don't fart or burp, I totally do, but it's just not a constant stream of smells and loudness every 10 minutes THANKYOUVERYMUCH!

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Just a past conversation

This popped into my head yesterday. It's a conversation that happened between me and my ex probably around a year or so ago. It really makes me appreciate what I have now.

Me: I feel like you never look at me. Do you even notice that I'm here?

Him: Maybe I would pay more attention to you if you had a movie playing on your face.

And yes, that did make me cry.
I'm so glad that whole relationship is dead and over with.

Monday, January 10, 2011

The oldfactory

I smelled something the other day. Something delicious. And the only category I could place that smell in was "Rich-Man's-Wife". Then I was like, well, if that's what a rich man's wife smells like, then what do I smell like? That's when I realized that when I'm not smelling like B.O. and garlic, I usually go for "Stripper-Smell", which is a flowery, perfumey smell. It's fun, it's easy and yes, it's cheap. Oh, you want to know what a rich man's wife smells like, right? Well, the perfume she wears lingers, it's complicated, and the expensiveness of it gets stuck in your nose.

And when I thought about what exactly I would WANT to smell like, I realized that I really prefer "Powerful-Lesbian-Who-Pulls-In-6-Figures"...That's really the one that stands out the most...

There are so many interesting smells. Dare you to notice.

Friday, January 7, 2011

A simple trip

My mom came to visit me recently. Here is the phone conversation after she got on the train to come see me:

Mom: Hi Honey! It's so funny! That guy who takes your money...Um...In the hat!...

Me: The conductor, mom?

Mom: Yeah! Ha! He asked me which stop I was getting off at and I suddenly couldn't remember! I'm such a scatter-brain! He said that he would just come back! Isn't that funny?

Me: Oh. Jeeze. I can't believe you don't know which stop to get off at...Did you write it down--

Mom: I'm going to have to run to the bathroom in a minute here...

Me: Okay, just make sure you bring your bags in the bathroom with you.

Mom: Why? They're heavy.

Me: Because--you don't want anyone to steal them. You're not being serious right?

Mom: Nobody'd want these heavy bags! Besides they'd feel really bad because there's a book of bible verses in there.

Me: They probably wouldn't care about the bible if they're already stealing...Seriously...Listen, just don't leave your bags alone. Okay?


Me: Are you being serious? Are you having this conversation on the phone on the train? ARE YOU BEING SERIOUS? Is this conversation really happening?! SERIOUSLY?!

Don't worry kids. Things got better as time went on. My freakout slowly dwindled, kind of...Wish you were here! HA HA ha ha ha!