I have awful hangovers, always have.  Much like me, my body is a drama queen and operates only in extremes- things I put in it either make me feel great or make me feel like a pile of batshit.  My hangovers have gotten worse over the years, but I’ve had enough to know there are 5 stages to every single one of them and that if I can make it to stage 5, I can begin to live my life again as a normal human.

1. DENIAL.

I wake up.  Riley is staring me in the face.

“How are you feeling?” he says in a really nice voice.

“FINE.  I’M FINE.  I FEEL LIKE I COULD DO A TRIATHLON AND SAVE THE BABY SEALS AND FIGHT THE WAR AGAINST TERRORISM ALL THIS MORNING BEFORE LUNCH WHILE ALSO PAINTING MY NAILS.  PLEASE GO AWAY SO I CAN DO THESE THINGS.  OR SO I CAN GO BACK TO SLEEP.”

“Do you need anything?”

“YES I NEED SOME JUICE.  BUT NOT BECAUSE I’M HUNGOVER.  I NEED IT BECAUSE I’M AWESOME AND IT HELPS ME TO BE EVEN MORE AWESOME OF A HUMAN THAN I ALREADY AM.”

And then my nice boyfriend goes and gets me some juice and I drink it like I have never had juice before in my existence.  At this point, I am still denying the fact that I did indeed drink too much the previous night and also that I am not invincible.  I am still convincing myself that I love juice just that much and that I feel FINE, OK.

THE MAGIC JUICE OF LIFE

2. POUNDING HEADACHE.

NO MAKEITSTOPMAKEITSTOPMAKEITSTOP.  I’m still in bed, writhing around like a sea-monster and holding my temples or the bridge of my nose because that makes it feel better but finally I have to concede that I did, in fact, yes, I did drink too much and probably some chemical is required to make this shitstorm stop that is flying around in my head.

“RILEY OH MY GOD CAN YOU GET ME SOME BC POWDER BECAUSE I THINK I AM DYING AND IF YOU DON’T WANT TO CLEAN UP YOUR DEAD GIRLFRIEND’S BODY YOU SHOULD DO AS I SAY.  I WILL HAUNT YOU LATER WHEN I DIE IF YOU DON’T GET ME BC POWDER RIGHT NOW.  THANK YOU, MGMT.”

If you have never had BC powder, let me tell you a little about it.  It’s a little parchment paper packet that you unfold, and it has white powder in it.  It looks like cocaine even though I have never seen cocaine except in 80s movies.  You’re supposed to fold the paper in half and funnel the stuff into your mouth and then drink something to make it go down.  Basically, it’s ground-up aspirin, and basically, it tastes like the devil himself took a huge shit in your mouth.  If that’s your thing, then think of something else that is awful.  If it’s not your thing, that metaphor will make more sense.

This is where the juice is very helpful- the evils of BC powder are immediately neutralized by washing it down with a few humongous gulps of delicious orange juice or Diet Coke or anything that has a taste.  But I implore you- do NOT use water to wash that poopshite down.  NO.  If you didn’t realize this already, water has no taste to it and therefore you will taste only the wrath of the BC powder.  Effective?  Yes.  Tasty?  Not at all.

If I had known that I was making Trace Adkins happy by effectively vanquishing my hangovers, I would have just suffered the headache this whole time...

The headache starts to go away after about 10 minutes of more writhing around and holding different parts of my face so they don’t fall off from the sheer pain of the headache.  Finally, I feel like a normal person without a raging ocean crashing in my forehead when suddenly the next stage comes and hits me harder than the last.

3. THE DIZZY STUPIDS.

Two things start happening in this stage of the hangover.  First, I get incredibly hyper and start thinking that I can in fact do a triathlon and save baby seals and do the rest of it.  Then, I actually get out of bed and WHOA.  I am simultaneously as hyper and naive as a 10-year-old and have vertigo like an 80-year-old.  I start running into furniture and tripping over the floor (I SWEAR TO GOD THERE’S A RIPPLE IN THE FLOOR), and my hand starts shaking when I try to hold anything.  Then I start coming up with stupid ideas that will never make any sense to anyone (I COULD BE THE NEXT JESUS.  YOU DON’T KNOW.  I’M THE SAVIOR OF THE WORLD OK).  If I ever tell you I am presently hungover while talking to you, please disregard anything I say and chalk it up to the hangover.

SERIOUSLY IT'S THE HANGOVER YOU BITCH SHUT UP SMILE WITH YOUR EYES

4. VOMSTRAVAGANZA

This is obviously the worst part of the hangover, as all of the fun effects of alcohol have faded, and my body is telling me to get rid of the poison as soon as possible.  This stage lasts anywhere from 5 minutes to 8 hours, depending on how much of a little bitch my body feels like being that day (and, I guess, depending on how much I drank and whether or not I ate anything the day before…I realize that I do in fact have some part in this).

hueeeeeeeeck barf vom vom vom

At this point, all I can do is sit around and wait for the next wave of nausea to come along and obey when it tells me to go bow down to the porcelain god.  Finally, I reach some sort of mutual agreement with my stomach because then I want to

5. EAT EVERYTHING IN SIGHT, INCLUDING SALT AND SALT AND SALT AND…ALSO SALT.

At this stage, I start getting really excited about food because I remember how good it is and my stomach stops rejecting everything (yes, even water) that I put in it.  Usually when I am in this stage, I will kill someone for Mexican food, or Indian food, or really any sort of ethnic food that is not American.  Also that’s not true because I will eat the shit out of some Wendy’s when I have a hangover.  There is generally some sort of leftover headache from all the dehydration and events of the day, but I don’t even care by then because I’m stuffing my face and am the happiest I have ever been in my life.

Yeah, I don't know.

Oh yeah I forgot about the 6th stage.  It comes days later when I

6. FORGET WHAT HANGOVERS FEEL LIKE AND DRINK TOO MUCH AGAIN.

Dammit.

CHRISTMAS MUSIC.  YES omg I could listen to that crap all day long every day, and guess what, I actually do for two entire months listen to almost nothing but Christmas music.  If someone tries to play a song for me that is not Christmas music, I punch them in the face.  POW just like that.  I have started listening to Spotify lately, and I saw that Michael Buble had a Christmas album out.  Now usually I would be like MICHAEL BUBLE HAHAHA YOUR NAME SOUNDS LIKE BOOBS ALSO YOUR MUSIC IS PROBABLY LAME EVEN THOUGH I’VE NEVER LISTENED TO IT.  But this time was different.  In all honesty I am listening to that album right now, and I have to say, it’s not bad at all.  Spotify may even get me to listen to that band I hate, She and Him, Jesus H. Agricultural Christ, how I hate them.  I cannot stand Zooey Deschanel’s voice.  But I am seriously considering soiling my laptop with their music just because it’s a Christmas album.

Ooh look at me, I'm Zooey Deschanel, I'm so quirky and cute! I wasn't satisfied with a really successful career in film even though my acting is mediocre at best, noooo I had to go and piss all over music too with my twangy affected voice! Also let's talk about how we are not living in a J.D. Salinger book, Zooey. SPELL IT RIGHT PLEASE

Also, confession- I still listen to Hanson’s Christmas album that I got way back in middle school.  I shouldn’t have put that on the Internets just now.  I just invited a world of shit to my door.

Oh, you boys with your Christmas sweaters and your faces that aren't as cute as they used to be. That's ok, you still have nice hair. At least, two of you do. Ok, just one.

DECORATIONS.  A holiday where it’s socially acceptable for me to make my house look like Narnia???  WHAT DID YOU SAY????!!!!!!  Starting directly after Thanksgiving, I drag in as many tree and bush branches as I can find and make the house into a magical Christmas forest complete with fauns and elves.  Ok maybe not fauns and elves, but the amount of Christmas decorations I own is frightening, in part due to my mother and grandmother.  They overload me with Christmas ornaments and decorations every single year because they get them on super sale after Christmas the year before.  Don’t tell them this but I give a lot of that shit to Goodwill because WE DON’T LIKE PLASTIC IN THE MAGIC CHRISTMAS FOREST.  Jeez.  Get it right, Nana.  NATURAL MATERIALS ONLY PLEASE

WELCOME TO MY HOUSE. DOES IT CREEP YOU OUT THAT I HAVE A LITTLE GIRL IN HERE WHO IS NOT RELATED TO ME. I THOUGHT SO.

FOOD.  This one is probably pretty obvious.  If you know me, you know I love food.  Themed food?  Even better.  Every year, my mom and I make sugar cookies with red and green sprinkles on them and they are the best thing I have ever eaten.  We also have about a million cookie cutters in the shapes of reindeers, holly leaves, Christmas trees, angels, and a crapload of other awesome Christmas things.  The worst one is Santa because that bastard has a ball on the end of his hat that always breaks off when you’re trying to get the dough out of the cookie cutter.  Bad design.  But then I’m always like oh look Mom this one is ruined NOM NOM NOM I ATE IT HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA.  And then I get a sugar high and run around the house in circles and my mom rolls her eyes and sighs.  What did I raise? she thinks to herself.  Or rather, what did I not raise because this woman is obviously stuck in 3rd grade.

SUGAAAAAR

PRESENTS.  Um.  DUH.  Every year I’m like “oh mom and dad you don’t have to get me anything, no no no.  I’m older.  I’ve stopped all that now.  No but really what are you getting me.”  Because I am that shallow.  Yes.  Also sometimes I buy myself Christmas presents.  Don’t judge.

Speaking of Christmas presents, guess what I got (early).  A video camera.  YAYAYAYAYAAYAYAY.  And as soon as I figure out how to use it, I’ll post some videos on here.  I have no patience with learning how to use technology.  NONE!

NO. Ok, maybe. Only if you're nice.

I'M THE OLD ONE IN THE MIDDLE. JESUS. UGHGHGHGHGHGHGGHGHGHGH

And then I walked around like I had a peg leg for two entire weeks.  I couldn’t straighten my leg at all or walk down stairs in a non-embarrassing way.  The moral of this story, children, is that you should make sure you are well trained if you are stupid enough to sign up for a 13-mile-or-longer race.

More athletic than me. True story.

However, I did get to stuff myself with all manner of unhealthy ingredients the day before, all in the name of running.  Doughnuts, crab legs, pasta, ice cream, etc. etc. etc.  By the end of the day I was actually really sick of eating crap and was ready to have a salad but I was like NO YOU CAN’T BREAK NOW, YOU’LL LOSE EVERYTHING YOU’VE WORKED FOR, THINK OF THE CHILDREN.  I don’t know what children I was talking about.  In retrospect, I think I just made myself kind of fat for the weekend but whatever.

I have never been particularly athletic.  And when I say “particularly,” I mean “not at all.”  My mom and dad put me in like every single sport available when I was a kid, and I sucked ass at all of them.  Here is a list of the sports and physical activities I did during my youth, in chronological order:

• tee ball
• gymnastics
• ballet
• tap dance
• tennis
• swimming
• softball
• track
• cheerleading
• basketball
• soccer

Here is a list of the sports and physical activities I was good at during my youth:

• …

You’ll see that there are in fact no activities listed here because I was terrible at all of them.  One time during PE when we were playing basketball, everyone was on one side of the court because we had switched sides at that point in the game, which I didn’t quite absorb until too late, and I was like guys, we’re over here.  Guys.  Ok I’ll just go make a basket now.  FOR THE OTHER TEAM.

Oh god. The shame.

I just was thinking about all of this because of the race and my peg leg and because I’m watching TV tonight and, as usual, there is nothing on.  I just watched American Bobo Story because I’m bored as shit and was then flipping through the channels coming up with nothing and decided oh hey maybe I should watch Black Swan for the seventy gajillionth time.  And then I was like oh hey she’s putting on her toe shoes and then I was like GOD I NEVER MADE IT TO TOE SHOES IN BALLET BECAUSE I SUCKED SO BAD.  Seriously I did ballet from age 3-13 and really?  You’d think someone would get farther than I did.  You would think that.  But you would be wrong.

1. I am by far the pickiest person I know when it comes to clothing.  Whatever I wear has to fit me exactly right – not too tight, not too loose, not too short, not too long – and be something that defines me in terms of my own personal style, which sounds really stupid when I actually say it out loud. WHATEVER.  When you put that much pressure on yourself, shopping becomes a torture only rivaled by watching a Limp Bizkit video while eating pig tongues and being submitted to boyfriend farts under the covers.  Guh.  Gaaaaaag.

Which is why I never buy anything and wear pajamas most of the time.

2. I have expensive taste.  The other day, I saw a freaking awesome jacket in the window of the new Free People store at our mall, and I went in to try it on.  Fortunately, it was too small, and I say fortunately because this is the jacket itself:

WHICH COSTS $698.00. WTF. WTFWTFWTFWTFWTF.

The name of this jacket is "Embellished Vegan Leather Jacket". Vegan leather???? I'm sorry??? I must have missed something. Is this like Tofurkey? Or maybe more like Pullups...the diaper that isn't a diaper. The leather that isn't a leather.

But seriously, everything that I ever see is like a bagrillion dollars and it makes me cry a little bit every night into my pillow to think about it.  It’s like having dated Johnny Depp and it didn’t work out and now you’re seeing Phillip Seymour Hoffman because he’s the only thing that you can afford wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Which is why I never buy anything.

3. EVERYTHING SUCKS.  No seriously?  Everything in stores sucks right now.  Also, it’s not like I live in a town without a good mall.  We have a bunch of stores, including high-end ones.  For some reason, everything still sucks a big pile of disembodied asses.  Like this spawn directly from the bowels of Satan himself:

Excuse me I think your vagina put an ad on your stomach saying open for business

And then it looks like you had a fart cloud the size of the atomic bomb that destroyed all life and hope.

Which looks like Monet threw up on a comforter.  Holy mother of God.  I would buy this if I didn’t think Riley would slaughter me in my sleep and that nobody would find out because the blood and body parts would just blend in with everything else.

Then I went and looked at Pottery Barn.  It looked like the paisley/floral/monogram monster had come and taken a huge shit all over every bed in the place.

RAHHHH WE LOVE PAISLEY IT REMINDS US OF GRANDMA

RAHHHH WE LOVE FLOWERS THEY ALSO REMIND US OF GRANDMA

RAHHHH WE LOVE MONOGRAMS IT MEANS PREPPY GIRLS ARE NEARBY AND WE LIKE TO EAT THEM FOR DINNER

NUMBER FOUR.  Here is the real reason that shopping sucks for me.  I have no patience.  NONE.  Online shopping is actually really easy for me because if I don’t like something, I can just click on another link.  However, if I am actually in the mall, I have to walk my ass into the store, pretend like I’m interested in something so as not to hurt people’s feelings even though within the first 5 seconds of being there I can usually tell that I hate or love everything, and then do the same for every damn store in the mall.  Riley is always like but how do you even know, you look through the store in like 3.5808329 minutes and that is not even enough time to figure out if you like something or not.  But I know.  BECAUSE I HAVE EYES, OK.

Also, I would like to state for the record that my boyfriend is obviously a woman by the amount of time he spends in stores when we are shopping compared to the time that I spend in stores.  He’s like, oh this would look so sexy on you, just try it on.  I’m like no that looks like an egg fart.  He’s like JUST DO IT AND SHUT UP GOD YOU ARE NO FUN TO SHOP WITH and I’m like well maybe you are a woman and you should go shopping with my friends and I can stay home and do something productive in life.

Which brings me to things I would rather do than shop.

1. Drink wine.

2. Do my actual job.

3. Eat glass.

4. Eat a muffin made of glass and nails.

5. Listen to Limp Bizkit on repeat for one day.

6. Listen to Nickelback have sex with Creed and Limp Bizkit for 3.5808329 minutes.

7. Be forcefed muffins made of glass and nails by zombies who are also fans of Nickelback, Creed, and Limp Bizkit and then be eaten by said zombies.

I’ve been having a lot of zombie dreams lately because of The Walking Dead.  You know what’s weird is that they’re really not very scary dreams.  The zombies are just kind of there, hanging out.  And in one of the dreams, I was having tea with a bunch of drag queens in my yard at exactly 7:20 pm.  Everyone knows that is three hours and 20 minutes too late to have tea, especially with drag queens.

But I didn’t.  Although I really did want to wear a pink tutu and seaweed hair and drink Bailey’s from a shoe.  Dammit, why can’t I get my act together.  OH WAIT it’s the same reason I have piles and piles of clothes on the floor and drink wine that has been left out for days and has drunk flies in it.  I guess there’s still time to go get a costume, but my lazy ass is staying in my house and handing out sugar to children.  To celebrate Halloween this year, I decided to watch scary movies/TV shows for an entire weekend (cliche, I know) and talk about them here.

• Paranormal Activity.  The only reason I watched this was because it was on my Netflix streaming and I don’t have to pay for it.  Holy shit.  This movie was terrifying. I spent the whole night making Riley hold my hand so I could squeeze the shit out of his fingers when I got scared.  The only thing was that I didn’t like the end because it reminded me of Devil’s Advocate when the demons twist the faces of the people that you think are people but they’re really demons.  You know that part.  It looked cheesy then, and it looks cheesy now.  Other than that, I kept yelling at Katie and Micah to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE NOW JESUS CHRIST WHAT ARE YOU DOING GET OUT.  Seriously, why don’t people just leave when these things happen?  After we had finished watching it, Riley went over to a friend’s house, which I thought was just rude, seeing that I was obviously in a state of terror.  Fifteen minutes later, I went into the kitchen to get another glass of wine (what. don’t judge me) and saw A CAR PULL OUT OF OUR DRIVEWAY.  I called Riley STAT and was like hey were you sitting in the car texting for 15 minutes and just left? and he goes no, I’ve been at Tim’s this whole time, fool.  Ok he didn’t say fool.  But here’s what freaked me out- our driveway is pretty long, and this car was right next to the house- it wasn’t like they just pulled in halfway and then turned around again.  Please tell me that wouldn’t freak you out.  Then when we went to sleep I made Riley hold me so nothing would drag me down the hall into the closet and then I freaked out because he was breathing heavily when he went to sleep which OF COURSE made me think that he had been possessed and was going to murder me in my sleep.

excuse me...i think you have something on your face...like a demon

• Paranormal Activity 2.  That’s right, fools.  I watched this one the VERY NEXT MORNING after the other one.  It wasn’t as good because I pretty much knew the story by then, but it was still scary.  I certainly did not like when the demon thing hurt the dog, and let me tell you why.  It’s because I like dogs better than people in general.  Also, I will be going to see Paranormal Activity 3 in theaters very soon because why wouldn’t I.  These movies are fantastic.

• 1408.  I had seen this before quite a while ago and didn’t remember it.  I now know why.  Mostly because I love John Cusack in High Fidelity and in 1408 he has like 3 more chins and some love handles and a mullet and some large suitcases that he seems to have stuffed under his eyes.  You know, I think I’m about to break the woman code here…I have begun to realize that I only like John Cusack in High Fidelity.  I know…it’s sacrilege.  High Fidelity is my favorite movie of all time, which is enough to make me watch any John Cusack movie that was ever made, but most of them just disappoint me.  Oh wait, I do like Serendipity.  I guess I like Grosse Pointe Blank too.  Also, it does not snow or rain in hotel rooms.  1408, you are dead to me.  DEAD I SAY

YES

NO

• The Human Centipede.  Another one on Netflix streaming.  Most of Netflix’s streaming movies are a load of poopy crap, and this was no different.  I watched about 45 minutes into it (wherever he sews the two girls and the dude together) and then got RULL bored with it.  Obviously the basis of it is unbelievable.  Just FYI, if someone’s asshole is ever sewn to your mouth, you have been a complete idiot in life and have made bad decisions.  Again, the thing that really got me was the 3 dogs sewn together.  No dog deserves that.  Slutty girls?  Maybe so.

OH EXCUSE ME WEIRD SWEDISH MAN CAN WE JUST COME INTO YOUR HOUSE FOR A SECOND AND NOT EXPECT TO BE MURDERED OR SEWN TOGETHER LIKE A HUMAN CENTIPEDE

• The Walking Dead.  This TV series came highly recommended, but I am a huge skeptic of zombie movies/TV shows BECAUSE THEY ARE ALL THE SAME.  I exclude 28 Days Later, Shaun of the Dead, and Zombieland here because the first is really pretty great, and the second two are HILARIOUS.  The Walking Dead is basically a zombie movie stretched out into a TV series, which bores me.  Also, why do people in these shows that are supposed to be set in our century act as if they have never heard of zombies?  Pretty much everyone I have ever known knows what a zombie is, but it’s like people are hearing about the Internet for the very first time in the year 2011 when they encounter zombies.  Stupid.  Where have you been living?  Under a rock?  Maybe that’s why zombies are invading your poorly prepared town.

It's almost a gift of some women to make ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING slutty. ZOMSLUT 2011

I think I’ll dress up as haven’t-showered-in-2-days girl tonight.  Oh wait, I don’t have to dress up for that.  Bahahaha.  I wonder if I can find a way to make it slutty.

This is what happens when you look up "slutty hippie" on google image search.

Here is a list of what I’ve been thinking about lately.  You will see by looking at it that I don’t think about things that are of huge consequence, but if you think I care then you would be wrong.

• Debt.  I am out of it.  It feels like the best thing that has ever happened to me.  People always told me it would feel like this, but I didn’t believe them.  It’s like hot chocolate with marshmallows made of unicorn shit.  Everyone knows that unicorn shit is a delicacy.  HUSH.
• Cleanliness.  I have started to be cleaner, but there are still some things that need work.  Like the other day, I left a bottle of wine uncorked.  There was a little still in there when I was cleaning up after a few days (yes, it takes me a few days to clean up anything), so I was like cool I’ll just finish it off.  I poured it into a glass and went off to do something else, not thinking to look into the glass before I took a big gulp of it.  A gulp that contained a black fly and probably 10 fruitflies.  I spewed wine all over the floor and the worst thing is that when I went to clean it up, the fly was still wriggling and alive, dying slowly in wine spit.  Ugh.  I think I drank all the fruitflies and also the wine tasted like vinegar at that point.  Next time I will look into the glass before I drink.
• Grocery stores.  I will kill all of them.  Grocery stores are literally the worst place in the universe, even before flea markets.  I hate them so much that I will go hungry for days and just eat flour and uncooked rice before I make myself go into one.  Where I live, there is a Food Lion, Harris Teeter, and a hippy grocery store.  I hate all of them equally for different reasons, which is unfortunate because food is one of my all-time favorite items.  They also contain weird shit that I didn’t even know existed, like this:

CHICKEN FEET. WHY. WHO IS EATING THESE.

And this:

THIS IS A SEA CREATURE I KNOW IT

What is that?  Is that an octopus?  Who is eating octopus on a regular basis and buying it at the Food Lion?

• Protests.  There are a lot of protests going on lately.  There is no way I could ever go to one, and I will tell you why right now.  One time I went to a George Clinton show at the House of Blues in Myrtle Beach, which is tiny, and I almost hyperventilated.  Unless I am drunk, I will not even think about going anywhere with crowds like that.  The only good thing to come out of that George Clinton show was I heard a song that goes “a tail ain’t nothing but a long booty and a booty ain’t nothing but a butt”.  I don’t know how people get away with writing songs like that.  I guess if you look like George Clinton then you can do anything.  I certainly could not pull that off.

NUMBER ONE. Never eat anything that falls on the sunroom floor because the sunroom is where the cats’ shitbox is and you will get shit in your food even if it is tiny microscopic.  And then you will die.

NUMBER TWO. Never tell anyone what you watch on TV at the gym because they will think you are a girly girl and will kick you for it (OK IT’S SEX AND THE CITY RERUNS AND ONE TIME I WATCHED AN E! TRUE HOLLYWOOD STORY ON KATY PERRY BECAUSE I COULDN’T FIND ANYTHING ELSE ON BESIDES FOOD NETWORK AT 4 PM AND I CAN’T WATCH FOOD WHILE RUNNING DON’T JUDGE)

NUMBER THREE. NEVER BUY ANYTHING ONLINE BECAUSE IT WILL LOOK LIKE MONKEY SHIT AND A ROTTEN COCONUT WHEN YOU PUT IT ON YOUR BODY.

Recently, I violated rule number three thinking that I could somehow skirt around the terrible consequences that come with it.  NO.  I found this website a few weeks ago and was like asld;kfjasldifui yay fun clothes!!!  My birthday is in two weeks, so I thought it would be a nice birthday present to myself to get these:

Yes, I do always buy myself a birthday present for my birthday. I don't know why. Probably because it's an excuse to buy something. Whatever. You do the same thing. Don't judge.

I ordered them and anxiously awaited their arrival on my doorstep.  THESE WILL BE THE SHOES THAT SHOOT ME INTO SUPERSTARDOM, I thought.  Ok I didn’t really think that because we all know that shoes are incapable of making someone famous.  Unless of course, you are her:

It's like a glittery elephant had sex with a shoe and this is what came out. FABULOUUUUUUUS

I was actually at the office (I know, right…I work from home…it was an anomaly) the day that I got the email that my lovely superfantastical boots had arrived.  I rushed home, let the dog out of the crate, peed real fast, jerked open the front door, and delightedly ripped open the cardboard box that my boots were mailed in.  Seriously I was so excited that when I was ripping the damn thing open, it gave me a papercut.  Really.  Not kidding.  It’s a little pathetic.  I even got mad and was like JUST OPEN GODDAMMIT THERE’S NO TIME!!!!  THIS IS AN EMERGENCY

I opened them and was like…ok I think we can work with this.  Maybe.  Ok these look a little big.  I’ll just try them on just to see.  I tried them on and HOLY SHITBALLS BATMAN LOOK AT THE CALVES THEY ARE HUGE GAPING HOLES.

Ok so I know it's not that obvious in this really badly taken picture (THANKS A LOT RILEY) (KIDDING), but there is a 1.5-inch gap from my calf to where I'm pulling out the rest of the boot. THAT IS NOT RIGHT.

I don’t have gigantic calves.  I’ve been running a lot lately, but even then.  Even then do I not have calves that could literally stop up the trunk of a glittery elephant (that also has sex with shoes).  I could fit my dog and all three of the cats in one of these stupid boots.

DAMN YOU ONLINE SHOPPING!!!!(imagine me raising my fist to the heavens and shouting)!!!!  I thought I was safe with ordering shoes because A) they usually fit without you trying them on and B) let’s face it.  Women love shoe shopping because shoes are the one thing that don’t make women feel bad about their bodies.  That and jewelry, but many women seem to like shoes better for some odd reason.  Here’s what makes this even worse: I HATE HEELS.  I HATE THEM.  HATE THEM HATE THEM HATE THEM.  I used to have these shoes in 6th grade:

SEXAYYYYYYYY

I have been looking for shoes my whole life that are both fashionable (I realize now that silver Birkenstocks are not fashionable and claim no responsibility for my fashion choices before the year 2007) and comfortable but like actually comfortable not like hey these tiny heels are so comfortable to walk on THEY’RE NOT I KNOW THEY’RE NOT, DON’T LIE.  Do these mythical shoes exist?  DO THEY?!?!?!  I thought that maybe I could try to wear some heels that were also boots (which means my legs and feet wouldn’t be trying to fall out of them) and that had chunkier heels so that I wouldn’t look like a baby giraffe figuring out how to walk.  But no.  I was punished for my presumptuousness.

So then I got these instead:

These are like Poison had a baby with a shoe. Or like the 80s took a shit. Whatever.

And I wore them to our show last Thursday.  And that was a mistake.  I am already 5’8″ without help and with these, I’m more like 6 million feet of awkward bobbing and weaving.  People were like looook your shoes are so prettayyyyyy and I was like thaaaaanks I may soon die an awful death of shoe huuuuurt and sufferiiiiiiing.

This concludes this life lesson (really it’s for me, not you).  I realize that you probably can wear heels and you are probably really good at it, for which I commend you.  I, however, will be sticking to more “sensible” shoes, i.e., boring old-lady shoes.  Additionally, I will not be ordering anything online in the foreseeable future because MONKEYSHIT/ROTTENCOCONUTS AND DON’T YOU FORGET IT BITCHES.

SAS = SEXY ASS SHOES. if only.

This is real. Someone actually stuffed all these little dead kitties and made it look like they were having tea together. Oh, if only that happened with alive kitties. My life would be so much better.

Apparently, Riley and I never had to clean up after ourselves when we were growing up. EXCEPT THAT WE DID. We had good mothers who made us pick up our rooms and dust (oh god, the dusting. My mom made me dust EVERYTHING IN THE HOUSE EVERY WEEK. Including all her silly trinkets that you couldn’t even see dust on) and clean the bathroom and do the dishes. I lived in perhaps the cleanest house on the planet when I was growing up. At my father’s retirement party, they had a slide show where one of the pictures was a book on his desk at work entitled “How to Clean Almost Everything.” I am not kidding. There were a million jokes at that party about how clean Bill’s house is and how manicured his lawn is.

So maybe that is why I now clean nothing unless it gets to the point where I’m living in biohazardous waste. Maybe I am still rebelling against being made to clean so much during my youth, even though I am 28. If that’s not maturity, I don’t know what is. Let’s take a tour of the shit house. Come on in.

Here in the bedroom is where we have the ever-present “laundry mountain” at the foot of the bed, which is of course unmade. Usually, there are two mountains, one clean and one dirty. Somehow, I can tell them apart, probably by the smell. There’s a door off to the right side that goes upstairs to the music room, where my band practices. Sometimes, the laundry mountain has relocated itself to the floor, so they have to wade through it to get upstairs, and I have to wade through it every night to get into bed. I’m beginning to think of it as a conversation piece rather than a pile of laundry.  Also, yes, that’s a guitar sticking out of the laundry mountain.

This is exactly one week later. As you can see, the bed is still unmade, and the laundry mountain has grown slightly but not changed all that much. It's like a laundry monster vommed all over the bedroom.

This is the litterbox. We call it “The Igloo of Death.” It smells like shit, all the time. I swear my cats must go out and order the greasiest fast food they can find when I’m not home. Their poop smells like the apocalypse is coming. Sometimes, Charlie, our dog, sneaks into the litterbox and gets some “takeout.” You know what I mean.

That's Gatsby and Buckley. Look at their arrogant little faces. They're proud of how nasty they can make their litterbox smell.

We have another litterbox upstairs for Molly, Riley’s cat. She hates my cats because they try to play with her and sometimes eat her food. But mostly she just hates other animals and makes horrible trollish noises when she sees them. Anyways, Riley and I went on vacation a few weeks ago, and the door to Molly’s litter got stuck, so she peed and pooped outside of her box. Riley found the poo chunks when we got home and cleaned them up. Except the other day at practice, Jim pointed out that there were two renegade poo chunks beside Brian’s bass case. Whoops.

Then, there’s the dog. Look how cute he is.  DO NOT BE FOOLED.  Charlie has a problem with submissively peeing when he’s scared or nervous or excited. I seriously have watched him pee a) in his own bed, b) on two of his toys, c) on MY bed, and d) ON ME. Last week, we were at my parents’ house, and Charlie literally stood over me and peed on my legs when I was sitting on the floor. I couldn’t even do anything about it but sit there and let him finish peeing. I felt so violated. I’d like to believe that it was because my mom gave him way too much water and he wasn’t sure of where the bathroom was, but he was probably just mad at me about something.

THIS FACE LIES

Also, he pulls things out of the bathroom trashcan on a regular basis and makes them his chew toys. This angers me because a) he has roughly one billion chew toys that we bought him and b) I don’t like looking at my own tampons on the floor. They are not for decoration. They serve one purpose, and after that purpose has been served, I put them in the trashcan WHERE THEY BELONG. Also, Charlie, I saw that thong you chewed up. At first, I was like, how did my ass do that to that thong? How is it possible? And then I remembered that Riley said Charlie had gotten some of my underwear from the laundry mountain and had ripped it apart. Of course Riley didn’t throw it away. Why would he? No, he let me find it, put it on (it was from the clean mountain, I swear I’m not so dirty that I wear dirty undies), and then wonder why it felt weird and stretched out. DISGUSTING. When I asked him about it, he said “Well, I liked that one. I wasn’t ready to let it go yet.” ?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Incidentally, this reminds me of one time in high school where I went swimming at the beach, then went home and pulled down my bathing suit to pee and found a small dead fish giving me the chicken eye from the crotch of my bikini bottom. Seriously. There was a dead baby fish right next to my hoo ha that entire time.

I'M WATCHING YOU. AND YOUR VAJAYJAY.

Also, our basement floods. It once flooded, by the way, WITH SHIT AND PISS. This was not our fault. Our pipes broke in half because of tree roots, causing the toilet to back up and sewer water to spew forth with a mighty rage all over the basement floor. To Riley’s credit, he cleaned it up stat with a shop vac. We have a song about it, it goes “suckin’ up poop with the shop vac, la la la.” We haven’t shared that song with many people, until now.

Our basement flooded again last week when rain fell from the sky with a mighty rage and did not stop for like 4 days. Thank god that this time it wasn’t poop all over the basement floor, just groundwater that seeped up from the pipes and in through the basement door. It’s still gross and it was too much for the shop vac to handle and the landlady has not sent anyone yet to clean it up so I live in a swamp. Also, it smells and I am forced to do laundry wearing Riley’s combat boots to wade through the swamp. It’s like Vietnam, if Vietnam involved more laundry and less guns.

Someone please help us. Send us a maid or maybe a life coach. We are drowning in our own filth.

Today, I was driving around town, probably late to something (definitely late), and I was flipping through the radio stations (MOM SHUT UP I WAS FLIPPING THROUGH THEM WITH THE ARROWS ON MY WHEEL NOT ACTUALLY LOOKING AT THE SCREEN ON THE CAR RADIO AND TRYING TO DRIVE SIMULTANEOUSLY, I’M NOT GOING TO DIE FROM CHANGING THE RADIO STATION IN MY CAR AND RUNNING OFF THE ROAD OK. P.S. YOU ARE PARANOID).  Just kidding, my mom doesn’t read this blog.  At least I hope she doesn’t.  So anyways, I was driving around town, flipping through the stations, and I was like WHAT THE EFF @#&#%#$& WHERE IS ANY MUSIC AT ALL NOT EVEN IF IT’S NOT GOOD.  So finally, I get to something that I can at least stand, and I’m like ok fine whatever, we’ll see what this is.

If I’m absorbed in another activity, I have a tendency to block out the first activity until it gets to the point where I can’t ignore it.  This point came probably 37.3879 seconds into the song for me, when I realized I was listening to CREED.

Here is how I've always felt about Creed.

These things happen.  You’re listening to a song, and you are ok with it and maybe even getting into it a little.  Maybe you’re car-dancing, I don’t know.  I don’t have a camera in your car.  And if I did, that would be creepy and I would never tell you about it.  HUSH.

And then you realize that you’re listening to Creed.  Or worse, NICKELBACK.  OH MY GOD.  I have never hated music as much as I do when I hear it coming from Nickelback.  Thankfully, I have never found myself listening to a Nickelback song and liking it. It goes against the values I was taught growing up.

Rule #1: Don’t kill people. Rule #2: Don’t listen to Creed or Nickelback without making fun of it and vomming in your mouth. Rule #3: If you do find yourself listening to either of these two bands for more than 2 seconds without changing the radio station, you must automatically say 5 hail marys even though you are not Catholic and then cover yourself in mud and run screaming through your neighborhood yelling I HAVE SINNED I HAVE SINNED.

I think we all remember the facehole contest where the pickle had more fans than Nickelback. Sometimes I forget how nickel is spelled, like just then when I was typing it. Don't worry, it's nickel, not nickle. I checked.

Let's also take a minute to discuss how Chad Kroeger could be Zaphod Beeblebrox for Halloween. Maybe the pickle could serve as his other head.

Anyways. It’s like those times when I sit down and watch the TV Guide channel to find something on TV, and then I end up watching the damn TV Guide channel for like two hours instead of an actual show. On a related note, in college, my friend and I used to watch the TV Guide channel while he was waiting for my roommate to go study at the library. We even learned the song that they play in between segments and used to sing it ALL. THE. TIME. It was instrumental, so you can imagine how annoying that was if you were not the one singing it.

Does anyone remember when Debbie Matenopoulos was on the TV Guide channel? I do.

Getting back to embarrassing things. My local Borders is closing, so they’re having a sale.  I have been in there maybe twice in my whole life (I prefer cheap used books), but when I saw that huge banner pronouncing 50 TO 70% OFF, STORE CLOSING, I was like YES PLEASE THAT’S FOR ME, I’M BROKE BUT I STILL LIKE READING THE BOOKS. I wandered through the store for something like two days looking for books that I had at least heard of (it was kind of like when people have gone through and looted a gas station during a riot and they took all the good stuff and left nothing but off-brand candy and stale pretzels…god how I hate pretzels). I finally came up with three books, one of which was the 5-Factor Diet by Harvey Pasternak.  NO JUDGING.  CELEBRITIES LOVE THIS DIET, OK. Also it was five bucks. I cannot pass up a sale.

Anyways, I was reading it with great interest last week (not really, it sounds basically the same as a bunch of others and I’m pretty sure that weight loss/fitness = eat less and exercise more, WHATEVER COMMON SENSE), and I sat it down on my nightstand when I was done reading it for the night.

On Saturday morning, Riley went and picked up some French toast for me because he is the best boyfriend.  So I’m like oh ok I’ll just put my empty syrup container over here on the nightstand because I’m lazy and don’t want to get out of bed to throw it away.  And then THIS happened:

SYRUP ON HARVEY PASTERNAK'S HEAD. I JUST REALIZED HIS NAME WAS HARLEY NOT HARVEY AFTER LOOKING AT THE BOOK COVER AGAIN AND LOST A LOT OF RESPECT FOR HIM.

Seriously, syrup on your diet book?  That’s shameful.  Especially if it ripped off part of the title page because it was stuck to the nightstand. Yes, that happened.

WHAT WOULD TONY HORTON SAY

FRIDAY.

• Our plumbing broke.  It was not fun.  Riley literally cleaned up shit off the basement floor.  This was not the “good” part of the weekend.  What’s worse is that we realized our plumbing had broken the day we were going to have a party.  Really good timing.  If our plumbing was a person, I would have punched it in its uggo face.
• We had said party.  There were a lot of people there I didn’t know, which was ok by me.  Someone called the cops at 9:30 in the pm when our friends Brainbows were playing on the stage Riley and Brian, our bassist, made all by themselves in about an hour (ok, it was mostly Brian who made it.  He’s a carpenter.  Sorry, boyfriend.).  I have a feeling these people who called the police were old.  My neighbor Emily said they called the cops on her once for playing music too loud on her computer speakers.  I also have experience with having people rat me out for loud computer speakers.
• We moved the party inside.  The couch had to be moved into the kitchen to make room for our stuff, and a lot of people sat on it while in said kitchen.  It was weird for me to see strangers on my couch in my kitchen, but it was also strangely gratifying.
• Brainbows finished up their set, and we (SPIRALFIRE YES ALL CAPS CAUSE YOU KNOW THAT’S HOW I ROLL) went on around 11 or so.  It was super fun but we played our songs really fast, which made me tired and out of breath.
• Everyone went home.  Some of us went to the 506 for a dance party.  It was fun for an hour or so, but I got tired really fast because I had already drunk a lot of PBR from the keg we got.  That was a bad idea.  It was also a running theme for the weekend.
• We went home.  We passed out.

drunk pumpkin. drumpkin.