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.

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...

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.

`_´

http://xkcd.com/943/

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.

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.

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--


FLLUUUGGG!!! I JUST SPILLED A WHOLE PLATE OF PASTA SALAD ON MY LAP!


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.

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!'
'YOU ARE GIVING YOURSELF SKIN CANCER ON PURPOSE!'
'I CAN FEEL THE CANCER GROWING!'
'MY BODY FEELS WEIRD ON CONCAVE PLASTIC!'

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!

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...

A cat video for you!

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.

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.

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.

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!

This one's for EVERYONE!!!

This one's for the ladies

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."

(O_o)

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.

R.I.P. My Bike

http://chicago.craigslist.org/chc/bik/2355968073.html

To Donald Trump, BOOM!