Monday, October 29, 2012

Hurricane Sandy: The Bitch Makes Landfall

It's raining.
Unless you’ve been in a cave, or currently live in burkina faso, you’ve probably heard about the frankenstorm currently blowing her way across the east coast. I’m one of the few NOT off work today, but for my fellow hurricaners, here’s a list of five things to do when you’re stuck inside.

1. Getcho drank on. So, work’s cancelled, there are abundant road closures, and likely no cable to distract you from the mind-numbing drip of your leaking ceiling. What should you do to entertain yourself? Drink, of course. Wine makes board games, network TV, and awkward roommates instantly hilarious. Pop the cork and proceed to get crunk. Cheers to The Sandy Fachina.

2. Reheat any and all leftovers. There’s a chance your power will go out. Or perhaps it’s already made a not-so-graceful exit? Pull a Giada and create “easy ten minute meals” using whatever you can scavenge. Gorge yourself now while the fridge still works. Two-day-old lo mein tastes better with a side of peanut butter pickle sandwich anyway.

3. Obsessively track the storm at weather.com. Or, for unprecedented levels of storm excitement, check out Tom Skilling’s FB page. He's adorkably enthusiastic. Monitor national and local closure coverage and determine with meteorologist-level accuracy whether you’ll get to sleep in again tomorrow. Or, mentally prepare yourself to stumble into the office hungover and headachey from greasy food and boozey booze.

4. Do a victory dance when work is canceled. AGAIN! Break out into a one-man Zumba salsa party in your living room. Burn a calorie or two.

5. Make a hurricane baby. Or at least practice making a hurricane baby. Liquor up, pop that birth control, and have fun making whoopee.

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Let's Talk About BJ's

One of my friends is a total slore (slut+whore for those of you unfamiliar with the term) and a touch anorexic. But I love her. Whatever.

Anyway, I was only a little surprised when she asked me over lunch the other day how many calories I thought there might be in a mouthful of semen. I was drinking a coconut water at the time (which, I’m sorry, totally tastes like jizz even if you’re not in the middle of a conversation about it) and proceeded to laugh/choke/spit a cloudy stream of it all over my sandwich.

Soggy bread in hand, I mulled over the possible nutritional benefits of man milk. It’s just protein, right? But, like – how much protein? Like an egg? Or a small piece of chicken?

If a vegetarian is nutrient-deficient from inadequate meat consumption, can she increase her protein intake by giving a guy head? Just how many blow jobs would it take to replenish a protein-depleted individual? Suddenly math gets interesting…

And ok. What about vegans? They shun animal products in favor of a strict plant-based diet. But …we’re animals. Should a vegan avoid performing fellatio to prevent errant spermies from slipping down her throat?

Next time you hear some activist-hippie-plant-lover yammering on about their wholesome, life-affirming diet, ask them about their sex life. If nothing else, you might get them to shut the hell up.

Oh – and in the end, I googled it. 15 calories and 150 mg of protein per mouthful. Approximately.

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

The Times They Are A-changin'

I get bored easily. Really, really easily.

Like, if I paint my nails gold in the morning, I’m picking it off by 3 pm, and re-painting them charcoal gray before bed. And it’s not because I want my nails to reflect my mood and mornings feel sunny and sparkly and bright, it’s just that I like switching up the little things.

So, it strikes me as odd that I’m so slow to make big life changes.

Once I settle into a routine, I feel compelled to make it work. I have overwhelming patience for flaky friends, dead end jobs, and miserable living situations. In college, I paid $1000 a month for a grimy, possibly asbestos-ridden, mouse-infested unit for THREE years because it was kind of sort of near my boyfriend’s apartment… And we had an awesome beer pong set-up... And moving’s such a pain… And Chicago’s really cold… And wah wah wah.

So is my impatience for the little things caused by my unending tolerance for the big stuff? Or, does my general steadiness lead to these sporadic bursts of mini-change?

Thursday, October 18, 2012

Relationship Advice: If There's No Room for This Article of Clothing... Leave.

Remember when you held up my tiny tank top and asked coldly what it was doing in your drawer? You glared at me like my shirt was a grenade moments away from annihilating your entire neighborhood, rather than the innocent piece of black fabric I knew it to be.

God forbid I take up two inches of your precious closet space.

If this had been days or even weeks into our relationship, I might have understood, but this was several months of regular sleepovers and the official label of "Girlfriend". So why were you so possessive of your space? Why couldn't you make room for me in your life? Were my actions so outlandish and overly-familiar that you felt the need to lash out over a shirt?

That silly shirt has since become a symbol of everything I'm looking for in future relationships.

I want someone who knows my tank tops have nestled in few drawers other than my own. I want someone who recognizes how lucky he is to take off my shirt. I want someone who feels proud to have an article of my clothing tucked away in a corner of his room – a guarantee of future visits.

You might not have thought about it that way. In fact, I’m pretty sure you never grasped the enormity of the situation at the time. But your spiteful, entitled attitude should have sent me running.

I kick myself for trying to make you like me when clearly, you didn’t even like my shirt.

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

What Women Really Want from Men

So... what do you all think about this? Offensive? Funny? Spot-on?

Just saw it on a dating site and it cracked me up. I love the first part about women 21-25 wanting a guy who's the "Total Package". What? Like, women who hit 26 suddenly stop having standards and will settle for anything?

I guess it really comes down to priorities. When you're 22 and have no money, you won't hold it against a guy if he's dirt poor too. But, if you're 30 and have your shit together, you expect the same from a boyfriend.

Anyway, check out this infographic and let me know what you think in the comments!

What Do Women Really Want From Men - Infographic
Sugardaddie.com – A Millionaire Dating Site

Monday, October 15, 2012

Drinking Habits of a 24-year-old

It’s Sunday morning and I’m not hungover.

Not even a little bit.

When did everyone start drinking craft beer at parties? When did they start caring about IPA’s versus lagers? Where the hell did all the everclear-laden pink panty droppers and date-rape drinks go? I swear, I drink beer to sober up after a long night of boozing. Beer is just bready water after all (or watery bread?). 4% alcohol? Pshawww. That’s like my shampoo…

These days, my friends pop Advil like it’s their job the morning after a rough night. They chug water, lie in bed, and moan about not being 18 anymore. Really, guys? Weak.

I guess my semi-small stature prevents me from consuming especially large quantities of any type of liquid, but I do think I’m better equipped to handle alcohol than the average 5’3 female. In four years of college, I never once vommed mid-party. But now, with everyone around me acting all subdued, I don’t want to be the wacked out drunk girl doing shots from 3-year-old bottles of Jaeger.

So, I sip my chilled beer calmly and engage in pseudo-intellectual conversation with skinny-jean-be-clad hipsters. I’m enjoying myself, sure, it’s just that now it’s in a mature, dare I say, adult manner? I guess a diminished alcohol tolerance is just one of the many signs that I’m finally starting to grow up.

Friday, October 12, 2012

It's GO Time!

Today is the last day of my first job. So, it’s the end of an era, really.

I feel like there should be some sort of graduation ceremony with speeches, buckets of bubbly, and a wild party to cap off my accomplishments and carry me through to the next phase of my professional life.

Everything comes to an end (duh). And I tend to like the idea of endings because they are expected and inevitable. But change is scary. It seems like everything I know about my life right now is falling apart like some doomed relationship in an Adele ballad, and I’m just moronically forging ahead hoping to find something different, better, best.

I am quick to fall into a stable routine and I’ve never been the type to disrupt the status quo. But I've gone and done it.

As huge as this feels, I have to keep reminding myself that leaving your first job is expected and normal and frankly pretty mundane in the grand scheme of things. I’m happy, and healthy, and employed. I have wonderful friends, and great coworkers, and family members who support me no matter what.

This transition is a bit daunting now because I’m right in the thick of it all, but as things mellow out, I know I’ll be happy with my decision. Life is pretty simple, after all. Just do what you love.

Monday, October 8, 2012

8 Ways to Ruin a Potential Relationship

1. Introduce him to your parents on a day when he and your dad happen to be dressed identically. Are madras shorts making a comeback or something? They probably shouldn't be...

2. Circle his bicep with one hand and exclaim (loudly! in public!) “Aw, look, my fingers can touch!” Even if it’s clear his arms could use some bulk, he doesn’t need you to remind him.

3. Make jokes comparing his manhood to rigatoni. Just because it’s your favorite kind of noodle, doesn’t mean he’s ok with being compared to the choad of the pasta world.

4. Offer up a pair of your ex-bf’s boxers after a Saturday morning shower sesh. Turns out every guy ever in the world would prefer to wear increasingly scummy undergarments for a weekend than step into another dude’s junk holder.

5. Go apartment hunting on craigslist and email him links to one-bedrooms you like. Even following with “not yettttt (winky face)…” doesn’t make this ok.

6. Facebook stalk him immediately following your first date and tell him how adorable his cousin-from-Wisconsin’s kids are. Bonus points if you can name drop the family pets in later conversations. Nothing freaks a guy out so much as overzealous fb research.

7. Explain in excruciating detail the amazinggg dream you had about him last night in which he emptied your dishwasher and took out the trash. No, those aren't euphemisms for something sexy.

8. Tell him you have a strict life timeline that has you walking down the aisle when you're 26 (just two years away, sweetiekins), pregnant at 28, knocked up again by 30, and popping out the last kid before 33. I mean, a little planning never hurt anyone...

Confession: I’m not saying I’ve done ALL these things, but I’ve definitely done more than I’d like to admit. Oopsies.

Thursday, October 4, 2012

The Morning After: Big Bear Traditions

Last weekend I met a Very Important Person in your life. I was nervous - trembling really - when I crossed the threshold and saw her standing there. I wanted so badly for her to like me. I wanted her to see how good we are together. I wanted her to instinctively know that I was worth your time and attention.

Last weekend I met your barista.

Our Saturday morning coffee runs tend to become something of a hipster safari. The pretentious caffeine addicts nurse their soy, double shot cappuccinos and peruse the weekend section of the paper with a kind of detached appreciation.

Though you regale me with stories of epic handlebar mustache sightings, I've merely been privy to a disturbingly large number of men with scraggly facial pubes and pit stains. It’s been weeks now, and I have yet to see a truly impressive, lip-framing fringe.

But that’s okay. Because with you, there’s always next weekend.