The Art of Writing, Aging, & Laziness

I tell myself all the time how utterly lazy I am, and how I don't write enough. Mostly, when I finally come home from work (usually after working unpaid overtime-usually my own decision), I just sit down in front of Netflix and binge-watch either an action-packed anime or a down-to-earth, touching romance/drama like When Calls the Heart or Call the Midwife.

I decided today (Easter) that I am going to use today as a more-realistic New Years Eve. I am not Catholic or Christian, so maybe the best way to celebrate today is to use it to review my New Years Resolutions, discuss how I let them drop, and write new ones I will actually follow. One is to write as much as I did as a kid. For inspiration, I decided to read some of my old diaries for guidelines from my young self.

And I found these three, consecutive gems:

Dear Journal (2/10/06),

I have no clue what to write. Nothing important has happened today. Bye.

Dear Journal (3/1/06),

I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. 

(Yes, I wrote that 29 times in my middle-school diary that day. Why 29? No idea. That's just when I stopped.)

Dear Journal (3/20/06),

There is no way I'll EVER finish this journal! 

Okay, so they weren't all gems. And maybe I do write better entries in my journal now.

Happy Easter.

A List of Things that Have Happened This Week, & It's Only Tuesday

1. I played cards with my fiance's parents. I view this as a win because, even though I hate cards and anything that makes me feel competitive outside work, I did this for his parents.
2. Then I told his parents that I didn't like playing cards, as a way to not-so-gently gently-hint that I will not play cards as a family again. I'm not sure if I was rude or not, so I don't know how to view this.
3. I found The Angry Heart and made a plan to resume reading it. I viewed this as a win since I no longer go to a therapist (she's always late), so I should get help by reading the book.
4. I put the book back on my childhood bedroom floor and picked up a Doctor Who novel. I viewed this as a loss because I was already in the middle of at least 15 books (honestly.)
5. I put the Doctor Who novel down after about 6 pages. I viewed this as a win, because I should finish a book before starting a new one. At the same time, I viewed this as a loss, because the book couldn't have been more than 200 pages and, in my mind, I should be able to read that many pages in just a view hours and check it off as read on Goodreads to show up all my Goodreads friends who read less books than me this year.
6. I resumed Bridget Jones's Diary. I viewed this as a win, if I could finish it.
7. I woke up Monday for work, ready to be optimistic about my career. I viewed this as a huge win. Very different from usual when I wake up wanting to cry (honestly.)
8. When I entered the office at 6:35am, I realized how much I forgot needed to get done over the weekend and had about three different min-panic attacks before 8:30am. I viewed this as a loss.
9. I reviewed a client's file because his website just went from the design phase to the development phase and realized that I forgot he was paying for SEO work. This entire time. And I hadn't been managing any SEO work, so I knew it wasn't going on. I viewed this a death sentence for any possible promotion.
10. I panicked, tried to find my boss to pathetically apologize, and realized he had just started a meeting. I viewed this as a loss because I wanted to get my scolding over with.
11. I waited an hour and a half, pretending to his wife that I wasn't fearing for my job while working with her on a focus study, and then, finally came to terms with the fact that I screwed up a few months ago by dropping the ball and that all I could do was start his SEO work now. I viewed this as growth.
12. When my boss got out of his meeting, I asked if we could talk, sat down nervously, showed him the file, and asked when he had intended SEO work to start. He said after the site was launched. I viewed this as a miraculous surprise.
13. Practically screamed inside my head because there was a chance I didn't do anything wrong (but did I accidentally have our bookkeeper charge the client prematurely? Should I check?) I viewed this as a possible win.
14. Decided not to check with the bookkeeper yet. There is always Wednesday. I viewed this as a win because the main problem I had feared had been determined (by my boss) nonexistent.
15. Came home, wrote some web pages for extra pay, and listened to my mom get upset about work. I viewed this as usual.
16. Let my mom's anger about work make me angry about my work and life and living arrangement and began throwing soft things in my room, to not make a sound. I viewed this as a loss and a serious problem, because I always let her mood become my mood (when angry.)
17. Hid in my room at 7pm instead of watching regular Monday family show with my parents out of fear of my mother's anger about her job (which wouldn't be directed at me, but I didn't want to deal with it.) I viewed this as a loss, because what if my parents where upset I didn't watch Kevin Can Wait with them?
18. Came out of hiding for 7:30pm family show and realized everything was magically okay again. I viewed this as an obvious win.
19. Went back to my room at 8pm and realized that I had accomplished absolutely nothing with my day (besides finishing optimizing one page of content and writing another page.) I viewed this as another great loss of valuable time where I could've been doing something with my pathetic life.
20. Went to bed hideously upset with self. Loss.
21. Woke up at least 5 times over the night in a panic that I hadn't been reading my daily automated project reports enough and probably missed a new task assigned by my boss and was going to get yelled at. BIG loss.
22. Still couldn't sleep at 2:30am, so I checked my daily project report from the day before and realized that I missed nothing. Win!
23. Went to the bathroom then lied in bed for at least another hour. Loss of valuable sleep time.
24. Woke up, repeat. Had the exact same day as before, only with different client issues arising and I actually had time to take my hour lunch break and read more of Bridget Jones's Diary. I viewed this day as neither a loss or a win, overall.
25. Felt guilty about taking my lunch instead of working. I viewed this as a loss of valuable time I could have been making myself indispensable to the company and ensuring a promotion.
26. Decided to reward self by letting me watch TV and read Bridget Jones's Diary instead of "doing something productive." I viewed this as a win I deserved for a day of hard work. Surely I would work even harder tomorrow.
27. Heard from my fiance that he missed a call from the voluntourism company that I had talked to about going to China for a week to volunteer at a Panda Breeding Center. I viewed this as a loss of a great opportunity to make myself, my life, and my possible career life more like something I actually wanted.
28. Made my fiance call them and tell them that he wanted to help out (which he doesn't) and ask more about the program he was interested in (which he wasn't.) I viewed this as a loss because I was not considering him.
29. Felt a little guilty about trying to make my fiance go to China to help feed pandas with me, where there probably would be no other volunteers and workers who spoke almost no English, but not really because it's important to help others, especially pandas. I viewed this as something I hoped would work itself out.
30. Was reading Bridget Jones's Diary and suddenly felt immensely worthless for not reading this sooner. Every other book-loving woman in the world has read this, right? What's wrong with me then? Then I felt immensely worthless for not finishing a book last month. Then for reading so slowly. Then for not reading enough. Then for not working on The Basil O' Flaherty, my online literary journal. I felt incredibly, horribly bad about being worthless and a waste of space for about 30 minutes for about 10 different reasons (and this worthlessness-guilt-I am a waste of space-should die-am abandoning my journal and readers and contributors-feeling is my constant state.) I viewed this as a loss of my life and reputation and future since I obviously don't know how to be productive.
31. Started talking in my head like Helen Fielding in Bridget Jones's Diary. I viewed this as a humorous win.
32. Realized I actually had nothing in common with Bridget Jones because I am 23 and already engaged and not living in perfect, perfect London or working in book publishing. I viewed this as a loss for three reasons.
33. Became tired and wrote this blog post. I viewed this as a win, actually (only if someone reads and comments.)
34. Decided to buy the $61 Build-A-Bear Charmander stuffed toy my fiance had been pressuring me to treat myself to all afternoon.

Thoughts From A Girl With OCD

I have had OCD (obsessive violent and/or sexual thoughts) my whole life. Probably even before I hit puberty. Like most OCD-sufferers, I just thought I was evil reincarnated.

Now that I know what it is, finally at the age of 23, I accept that I'm not evil reincarnated (how narcissistic of little kid me to think that I was the most evil, villainous thing there was!)

However, that does not mean the struggle has completely gone away. . . .

Common OCD Thoughts When Meeting A New Male Client:

Boss: Jordyn, I would like you to meet Mr. Client. Mr. Client needs a new website.

—Mr. Client holds out his hand in greeting—

Mr. Client: Pleased to meet you!

Me: Pleased to meet you too.

—Sudden image of my kneeling down and sucking his dick enters my mind while we shake hands—

Boss: —unaware— Please sit so we can get started.

Mr. Client: Great, well, as you know, I am a family man, and I really want my clients to get a sense of that on my website.

Me: Okay. —takes notes—

My thoughts: Images spread of me pulling down my pants, sitting on his lap, and riding him.

I look to Boss, convinced he can read my mind. Finally, he looks back and smiles.

Oh no, he CAN read my mind!

I look at Mr. Client, who is talking to Boss, and giving me a smile in the corner of his mouth.

Oh no, he can read my mind too! I better stop thinking!

Mr. Client: Website, blah blah blah, family, blah blah blah, products and such.

My thoughts: Trying to force the image of his old, wrinkly dick in my mouth out of my head. Image only grows stronger. Image Me seems to be enjoying it, and Image Client is not.

Boss: I think we got a lot of good information today. Jordyn, what do you think?

Me: —looks down at jumbled, nonsense notes— Yes, I agree!

I reach over to shake Mr. Client's hand, the picture of his cock finally out of my mind. I am thinking clearly again.

Me: It was great meeting you. I will send you the first design once it is finished.

Mr. Client: Great! It was nice to meet you too.

Mr. Client gives me a friendly smile again and I think—He DID read my mind!

The End.

Short Post On How My Life is Going

I know it has been a while since I have posted anything, so here are some insights on how my life has been going:

·      I ran into an old high school teacher outside my therapist's office the other day. He knew why I was there, I knew why I was there, and then we just parted ways.

·      I saw my boyfriend's unfriendly cat scarf down a mouse found in his room after my boyfriend and I had been fooling around in said room.

·      The cat actually let me pet her.

·      The cat hissed at me once my boyfriend left the room.

·      The cat dropped the mouse and, still alive, it now lives behind my boyfriend's TV.

My life is a cat trying to eat a mouse, letting it go accidentally, and then spending the rest of the day trying to get it back in its clutches.

It is also a lot of therapy.

Tales From The Laziest Person

— The setting for this act starts at nighttime, stars in the sky, when the young woman is alone in her room. Ceiling over the young woman's head, covering her from the cold night. It begins with her huddled in bed. She yawns, because she is lazy. Suddenly, the young woman realizes that she can't take this any more. It's just not for her - but what should she do? —

Act I

Scene I

Young Woman: I don't like working a regular job. I think I will apply to a fancy grad school to study English!

— The young woman pulls out her laptop and researches universities. —

Young Woman: Ugh, they all require a second language! — Thinks — What language can I learn quickly?

— The young woman types in What Is the Easiest Language to Learn? and searches Google. —

Young Woman: — Reading — Many scholars consider Dutch to be the easiest language for English speakers to learn. Many of our words come from the Dutch, and our sentence structures are similar. Hm. I will learn that one!

— The young woman closes her laptop in triumph. She considers beginning this great study now, but then realizes that she is tired and goes to bed. Dutch can wait until next week. —

Scene II

— A week later, the girl is at Barnes & Noble. She finds one book on Dutch, for beginners. —

Young Woman: Ugh! Does this mean I can't learn everything about the language from this one book?

— She looks at the price. —

Young Woman: Ugh, $40! I'm cheap and lazy, so no thank you!

— The young woman leaves without the textbook, but with another smut novel. —

Scene III

Young Woman: I have realized my mistake in the last few days, so I have returned to buy this book and begin my journey in this new language!

— Buys book. —

— Begins to read book. —

Young Woman: Hm, a lot of the words are similar! In is still in! The formal you is just the letter u! I text that to people everyday! I am formal in Dutch everyday! But still. . . .

— Gets an idea. —

Young Woman: I bet I can learn easier, and faster, if I learn Dutch words and then write poems around those words!

— The young woman reads the book for words to fit into a poem. —

Young Woman: I have found most of the words I want for a poem, but this is hard. I'm too new.

— Gets an idea. —

Young Woman: I will write the poem in English first!

— The young woman writes a poem and then tries to find all the phrases in the Dutch book. —

Young Woman: Hm, these words and phrases are sooo scattered across this book. This is hard.

— Gets an idea. —

Young Woman: Ah ha! I will use Google to find the phrases!

— The young woman types her poem into Google to translate. She finishes writing the English poem in Dutch. —

Young Woman: Ah ha, I'm a translator now! And I just started learning Dutch! I bet if I keep going, I will get so far ahead—

— The young woman realizes that she is bored and closes the book. She starts something new. —

A Poem: "My Sister Is Coming To Visit"

My sister is coming to visit
so I hire a therapist. My sister
is coming to stay, and I turn
to the bottle, my hands grip,
hold fast, keep steady
past the wave. My therapist
scolds, my mother
seems torn, and my sister
is coming to stay. My money
is drifting to liquor and sessions,
my sanity is drifting
away.

My sister is coming to visit. My blood
is turning to wine.

Dialogue About Consideration For Others

- One week before my boyfriend's birthday. Me and Mom in her car. -

Mom: What are you and [Boyfriend] doing for his birthday?

Me: I'm going to buy him all of his favorite food.

Mom: Aw, that's sweet.

Me: That way, his face will be stuffed so he can't say anything stupid, and it will be less likely that I will yell at him on his birthday.

Mom: I'm surprised you allow him to talk at all.

Me: I know, but I'm trying to train him.

Mom: How so?

Me: For one, I told him he can't ever be gross like Dad.

Mom: How are you going to enforce that?

Me: Whenever Dad says something gross, I look at [Boyfriend] and say NO.

Mom: Hm, that's smart, but it won't last.

Me: It will. He can't say anything gross, until we have children, when they are little and think fart jokes are funny.

Mom: Until!

Me: What?

Mom: Until! You said until!

Me: What?

Mom: I knew it! Dad told me you were only lying about not wanting kids to mess with me!

Me: I meant if I accidentally get pregnant and decide to keep it.

Mom: Until!

Me: If I accidentally get pregnant and decide to keep it.

Mom: You think that annoys me, but it doesn't! I'm pro-choice.

Me: - Then why aren't you pro-my choice? -

Why I Can't Ever Live Alone

Most graduates can't wait to live alone. I just realized that I never can.

Reasons Why I Am Too Immature to Live Alone

1. Tornado Warnings Don't Scare Me

I live in Peoria, and so far (until recently) a tornado had never come close to my house. We get warnings all the time in spring, but after years of my parents pulling me downstairs to take shelter in my footy pajamas, I realized that none of the tornadoes ever hit us. Just because they hadn't hit us yet. Because I am smart.

So, a few weeks ago when a tornado came very close, I tried switching the channels to get away from the pesky weatherman pulling an all-nighter to save my neighborhood. When my father demanded I finally come downstairs, I grabbed my laptop. And the novel I was reading. And some water. And toilet paper, for after I drank the water. And then I finally decided I had enough necessities to be safe and sound.

My brother had immediately ran downstairs and was shaking. His hand looked like it was going to fly off his arm any moment.

"Stop it," I had said while I tried to find a station that worked, but my parents yanked the remote away to watch the dedicated weatherman.

2. I Would Never Be Able to Shower

After the tornado, unfazed even though this one almost came to our street, I was the only one that stayed up past midnight. Then I realized that I didn't want to shower in the morning.

I made the adult, reasonable decision to shower now so I wouldn't have to shower in the morning. So I got a towel my mom will wash, pajamas my mother had washed, and my retainer for after the shower.

I took off my clothes, turned on the hot water, and closed the shower behind me. And realized that this was how every horror movie trailer starts.

NOTE, I said trailer. Because I'm too scared to watch the entire horror film. And instead just watch the trailers. While covering my ears. And shutting my eyes. And praying (yet not religious) until the trailer is over so I could finish my Parks and Rec.

Again, I made another reasonable decision to not close the shower behind me, and instead soak the floor so I could observe if any spirit or murderer crept in. Because seeing the intrusion could totally help my naked 90-pound body stop a spirit or murderer from killing me.

Not only am I not smart enough to realize that I could never, ever stop my own death, but I would drown my bathroom. And I can't swim.

Think about it.

3. Too Awkward to Exist

I work at a marketing company where I sometimes walk through websites with my clients. One client has a YouTube video on their home page, and they were wondering about the random video suggestions at the end of the video.

And I forgot that I was logged into my work email, so the YouTube channel I was connected to would be the one automatically created for my work email. And I forgot about all the VH1 100 Best Songs of the 90s videos I had been watching.

So the clients and I were skipping through the video on their home page and we came across four suggestions. Two of them were related to their business. One was some video game YouTube video because my boyfriend uses my laptop to watch his nerd things.

And the last one, in the upper right corner, was "I Touch Myself" by the Divinyls.

The two choices were clear: Confess that these were my personal recommendations, or think that a video with a thumbnail of a girl lying on a bed was a random suggestion that would come up for all their users. Even for children and the elderly.

And I spent the next few minutes telling them that "I Touch Myself" was actually a song, and that I just listened to a lot of 90s songs. I'm still not sure they believed me, but the website is launched so I don't have to see them again, so whatever.

When they left, I immediately deleted all of my recommendations on my work email YouTube channel. Especially the Britney Spears ones. I think if that suggestion had been a Britney Spears video, I would have been more embarrassed.

Because I am so un-adult that I think a well-known pop song would be more embarrassing then a possible porn video.

Short Blog on How Territorial I Am

When Roommate 1 (mentioned in previous blogs) had two kittens in our apartment, they spent the first two weeks peeing on everything. Her bed, her floor, our kitchen floor, the stuffed animals I had on the couch, the couch itself, Roommate 1 while she slept on the couch as the kittens peed on the couch, and our shoes. Somehow, they always had enough pee to also leave large, damp spots in their litter boxes, and I wondered at how big their bladders could be, in such tiny bodies.

I can proudly say that now I get it.

Possibility #1) The kittens were mad at Roommate 1 for naming them after lovers from her favorite movie, Stardust. Even though they were found as strays, clearly the cats were brother and sister. If my mom had done that to me and my little brother, I would have peed on more than just my bed a couple times and the floor in my kindergarten classroom. I would have peed on her. And my brother. Because my brother was a brat. I was a brat too, but I was an older brat, so it was okay.

Possibility #2) This was a territorial thing (which is the correct answer because this is what the vet told us, and kittens don't watch Stardust.) The cats were new, but being cats, they wanted to own the apartment we humans paid rent for, so they peed on it. They peed all over it, and I saw regular yellow streams of our deposit seeping into the carpeting.

I now know this was a territorial thing because I had a similar experience myself. Last weekend, my boyfriend's roommate was finally (finally!!) away for the week with his girlfriend, and my boyfriend and I got some much needed alone time. Eventually, I had to use the bathroom, and when I was peeing I noticed the roommate's bathroom things were still there.

Probably because he has the same supplies at his girlfriend's place, I reasoned as I washed my hands, not giving it another thought. That is, until I dried off my hands and realized I suddenly needed to go to the bathroom again.

How could that be!? I thought, but then I glanced at the roommate's toothbrush and cologne bottle again. And I thought about how much fun it would be to pee on both of those right then.

Now, I'm not going to tell you whether or not I peed on my boyfriend's roommate's things—that is not what this blog post is about. This post was just meant to show you how territorial cats, and humans, can be.

The rest I will leave to your imagination.

5 Tips for Your Overnight Bag

On TV and in books I noticed that sometimes, women just fall asleep at mens' apartments/houses without any essentials! I was watching Trainwreck the other day with my boyfriend, and I couldn't believe that Amy didn't have some sort of overnight bag! Does this actually happen? How lazy are we, ladies, that we have forgotten the overnight bag?

Now, some girls might not want to carry overnight bags because they are bulky and too-obvious when walking home the next morning, which is why I decided to write down some must-haves for when spending the night at a guy's (or girl's) place!

1. Toilet Paper

If you are a lesbian, this might not be applicable, but guys never have enough toilet paper. And if your guy has a roommate, there's an even greater chance that the toilet paper is actually being used as paper towels, pillows, or holiday decoration. Or maybe they are competing to see who can go the longest without caving and buying toilet paper. I don't know why guys do these things, but you should be prepared.

2. Hand Towels

No matter how many times I ask, my boyfriend (of over 3 years) does not keep a hand towel in his bathroom. It's a miracle he has soap, honestly, so ladies, bring your own hand towel. Or do what I do and just wipe your hands on your boyfriend's roommate's things in their shared bathroom. Or wave your hands around the room until everything is covered in dabs of water. That's fun too.

3. A Tiny Trash Can

This is where you can store all your overnight items! And afterwards, when carrying it home with you, everyone will just assume you're a trash man! Or homeless, whatever, but the real reason the trash can is important is if you have any items (tampons, pads, skin care items) that you might need to throw away the next morning. Because some guys may not have a trash can in their bathroom (which I have seen), or, if they do, it is completely full with pizza boxes. You will need to dispose of your necessities yourself.

4. Your Retainer

Don't forget that retainer you have had since middle school, ladies! Do you want your man (or lady) to see that you no longer care for your teeth? No, so along with a toothbrush and toothpaste (again, in case the guy doesn't have any toothpaste), after being intimate with your date, make sure to have your old, crusty retainer, and make sure he sees you put it in your mouth! Not only does this tell him that you will make sure your teeth are straight forever, but it also hints that you are done and it's time to go to sleep!

5. Sleeping Pill

The younger the guy, the worse his bed is. My boyfriend still lives at home, so the options are his lumpy futon or his old bunk beds (which are too small for just one grown adult, and he tries sharing the bottom bunk with me.) You will need to find something other than a comfortable bed to put you to sleep.

Almost Losing It to My Best Friend

*Note: I change names to protect the innocently stupid.            

            Now, it wasn't my original plan to lose my virginity to my best/worst friend. In seventh grade sex ed, I was one of the few, proud students (I think there were 3 of us) who raised their hands when the guest speaker asked that day if any of us planned on waiting 'til marriage.

            Personally, even though at the time I, who hadn't appealed to any guy since grade school anyway, wanted to wait, I didn't like this guest speaker. She spent the first half of the class calling up six students and giving them cups of water. One boy had flaky, orange Cheeto remains in his cup. She then had the students pour water into each other's cups, "proving" that if you shared fluids (had sex) with six people, you would get a STD for sure (Cheeto flakes were the STD.) She then spent the other half of the class telling us how jealous her daughter's roommates are of her virgin, college daughter, who was waiting until marriage to "sleep with" (mom language for bang-bang) her wonderful, virgin boyfriend.

            I sometimes wonder if that actually worked out for our guest speaker's daughter, or if she eventually had sex with six different partners and got a case of Cheeto-flaked herpes.

            Maybe her virgin boyfriend cheated on her, causing the perfect daughter to have sex with a rebound, leather-wearing, Cheeto-eating new boyfriend.

            This was my take-away from sex ed. That, and a day when a random short, slightly pudgy man with a small bald spot on the top of his head came in and expressed his disgust for women who put out. Really, I don't know what this little, 30-something man's qualifications were for talking to impressionable kids with budding hormones about intercourse, but there he was.

            This speaker told us about how he had a girlfriend who actually agreed to have sex with him! Sounds like he was just trying to brag, right? No, instead of being grateful, he slept with her until he married someone else, a good, virginal girl!

            "Never marry the girl you sleep with," was this random, one-day educator's advice, and I wondered why he would say that to a room that was 3/5ths female.

            Don't worry, I was always very liberal and didn't take his nonsense seriously. I only wanted to wait and wear a purity ring because the Jonas Brothers wore purity rings, and Nick Jonas was hot. It was my goal to meet Nick at a concert, fall in love, wait until marriage in our early twenties, and then sit on his face.

            But then, my $6.95 faux-diamond purity ring designed by Bitten by Sarah Jessica Parker turned my finger green a few weeks later, and a few of the stones fell off. I took that as a sign. I'm big on signs. More recently, while I was reading Jen Kirkman's I Can Barely Take Care of Myself, half the flowers my current boyfriend bought for died, only one day in my care. Super sign. (P.S., I'm thinking Super Sign will be the title of my first book, or The Rectum is an Exit, Not an Entrance, and Other Negotiable Things.)

            What does this have to do with my story? Did I see a sign that I should sleep with my best/worst friend, Dallas? No, I was just kinda horny. And my mother was always accusing me of sleeping (see, mom term) with Dallas. The nerve of her! I couldn't have one guy friend, freshman year of college!? She was just an old school, out-of-touch prude! Why couldn't a guy and a girl JUST be friends!? I was so f*ing outraged about this, that I immediately went to Dallas' house and made the f* out with him!

            I also learned that every square inch of your community college is really a kissing-zone. Dallas and I made out in the common TV area, the cafeteria, outside the cafeteria, did upstairs-outsidies in the courtyard, and grinded in the stairwell.

            The stairs were actually built for this. They were ideal! Between floors, there were two sets of stairs separated by a short platform, with very obnoxiously loud doors at the top and bottom of the stairwell. Not only could we stand in the middle platform, leaving enough time to walk up or down the stairs if we heard footsteps either way, but the doors made a loud, Chewbacca-like roar whenever we were about to be interrupted.

            In conclusion, community college stairwell make-out sessions are awesome, and you should all try them sometime (unless you're a Harvard or Yale snob. Bleh.)

            Not in conclusion actually, because I have to tell you about deciding whether or not to lose it to my best friend.

            The Pros:

            1. He had experience. A lot of experience.

            2. If I didn't like the actual act, at least I knew I would like the stuff that led up to it (cause we already did the stuff that led up to it.)

            3. My mom was accusing me of having sex with him anyway (like she accused me of having sex with everyone), so why not? If I'm a slut, I might as well actually get the joy out of being a slut!

            But, then, there were The Cons:

            1. Dallas was an idiot.

            2. Dallas was an idiot who slept through all his classes and couldn't keep a part-time job.

            3. Dallas was my best friend, and what if I lost my best friend?

            4. Dallas was an idiot who had been hit by 11 cars.

            5. 11 CARS. ON HIS BIKE. AND HE KEPT RIDING HIS BIKE. WITHOUT LOOKING BOTH WAYS. I PULLED HIM OUT OF THE WAY OF A CAR ONCE. HE WAS SUPERIOR TO AND STUPIDER THAN A REALLY STUPID CAT.

            And so I didn't lose my virginity to my best friend, the 11-car-miracle-wonder boy. How did this boy never get in the local papers?

            In case you are wondering, I also never met Nick Jonas, fell in love, waited until marriage in our early twenties, and sat on his face. I did go to a Jonas Brothers concert for my fifteenth birthday, though. That is another story.

An Atheist and His Pagan Daughter Walk into a Bar,

with a priest, a rabbi, and a duck. They all get drunk on PBR, and then the atheist decides to order a REDD's Apple Ale. He points it to the priest as he drinks.

The atheist says, "Do you remember this apple?"

The priest says, "Go to hell."

The atheist laughs and says, "You keep playing with that 'hell' toy until it breaks and no one believes you."

The priest puts down his bottle and raises his arms to the heavens.

He says, "How can you not believe in Jesus!?"

The rabbi mutters, "Jesus was just a bad Jew."

The priest says, "You take that back!"

The rabbi turns to the priest and yells, "He threw us under the bus!"

The priest yells back, "You threw him on a cross!"

The duck, while slurring, interrupts, "Quack. I much prefer the god Poseidon, quack."

The pagan cheers, "Yeah!" and high-fives/high-wings the duck.

The priest, in disgust, pleads, "Why can't you see you're wrong?"

The atheist turns it around, "Why can't you see you're wrong?"

The duck says, "Quack. I need to get back to the pond, quack."

The pagan has an idea. "I'm going to pray to the God of War that you all stop fighting!"

The atheist, the duck, the rabbi, and the priest look at each other.

"Then who will we persecute?" they all wonder.

"You can go back to the Muslims," the duck offers.

Everyone high-fives. "Yes!" they cheer. "Them!"

The atheist says, "But I'm still going to hate all of you."

The priest and the rabbi nod.

The atheist and his pagan daughter leave the priest, the rabbi, and the duck at the bar.

The priest turns to the rabbi, "Jesus was right, you know."

The rabbi looks at his bill. "$7 for a beer!"

The duck says, "Quack."

Short Blog on How Selfless My Boyfriend Is, & How Selfish I Am Part 2

Setting: This late evening in my bedroom. We just finished watching 50 First Dates, my boyfriend for the first time and me for the 50th time, and I was getting ready for my pre-SNL nap.

My boyfriend: I have a question for you, Jordy.

Me: (Silence, because I am trying to train my boyfriend to continue with his stories instead of taking unnecessary pauses)

My boyfriend: (After a pause) If we had a situation like you and I just watched—

Me: I'd dump you.

My boyfriend: You didn't even let me finish!

Me: I'm guessing.

My boyfriend: Anyway, if we had a situation like in the movie we just watched, where one of us lost our short term memory—

Me: I'd dump you. Look, I guessed right! Yay, me!

My boyfriend: What!? So, I would wake up in the morning, and not remember the days before, and think we were still together. . . .

Me: And I would get married to someone else and have kids, but I would continue to text you. If you wanted to hang out, I would just say I was too busy with work that day, and suggest the next day.

My boyfriend: What!? I would take care of you! I would support you and love you, and you would leave me?

Me: (Shrugs) You wouldn't know.

My Childhood Hamster Had Balls!

    When I was ten, I wanted nothing more than a cute little hamster that would follow me to school and around the house in a hamster ball. On my eleventh birthday, I thought this wish finally became a reality when my father took me to the pet store to pick one out!
    “I want that one!” I said, pointing to the smallest, most delicate looking hamster I could find. This hamster was like the pet-equivalent of me, but better—this hamster was a redhead! I had selected a tiny orange, black, and white one just so the hamster would match my favorite new name, Ginger.
    I don’t think I wanted a hamster so much as I wanted a Ginger. Really, the whole point of getting a hamster, for me, was to name it Ginger, because I love names. As Told by Ginger was the best cartoon at the time, in my humble opinion, and naming inanimate stuffed animals, dolls, and even select corners of my house was not good enough. I got a child-sized guitar, named her Maddie, and never played her. Then I got a normal-sized guitar, same thing happened, named her Sally. Sally is covered in dust in the basement, and Ginger is dead.
    But back to the story:  I needed to give a living thing a name. I needed that type of power, to mark a living thing forever. “You!” I’m sure I yelled like a dictator in that pet store, “are now Ginger forever! To everyone! And you can’t argue about it!”
    (On a side note, this is why I don’t want children. I only think I want a house full of children so I can name a house full of children and force their first hobbies on them. I just want to force a girl to forever be called Carolina and spend her early years playing soccer, and a boy to forever be called Troy and spend his early years learning the art of dance. And then resent me for all these decisions. And they wouldn’t be able to do anything to take these early decisions back!
    I’m a tiny, tiny, fragile little girl. This is my Napoleon complex.)
    At the pet store, the part-time employee in an oversized blue polo stupidly gave a tiny eleven year old (who looked seven) the box of live hamster to hold, while my dad helped me pick out a cage and accessories. In the end, I got a large, clear tub to stare at my hamster at as long and as often as I cared to.
    I couldn’t wait to make the hamster love me, as all pets do! We took Ginger home, set the hamster up in the tank, and I ignored the new edition to my family for the next several hours as my dad took me to a birthday hockey game.
    I think this neglect so early in our relationship is why Ginger got fat. That, and I stopped taking Ginger out to roll around in the hamster ball. It was fun at first, making Ginger roll around and around as long as I wanted in a tiny room, until I noticed that little brown pellets rolling around the ball, which could fall out the ball’s cracks for breathing (why do hamsters need air? Why?)
    Shortly after this, Ginger started plotting a hamster-sized escape. We put the large tank on my tall dresser, which Ginger learned to crawl up and down out of, and into my closet. There, Ginger nibbled on the feet of my oversized stuffed animals. Because it’s not like Ginger was fed enough (over-fed, ungrateful hamster.)
    When Ginger got very obese-ly fat, I saw my first pair of balls. Being eleven and prematurely narcissistic, I assumed my hamster was whatever gender I wanted the hamster to be. Nope, oops. Ginger was a George, and I learned about male anatomy (which was good, because my parents never got around to giving me the talk after my first period. I needed this lesson in biology.)
    I also learned about death. One day, when I got home from school, I did the normal routine:  cross the hall to my room, put the backpack on my bed, turn to head back out for a snack, but as I turned my head this day, I noticed Ginger/George’s tank was missing.
    “Ginger?” I asked the air above my dresser. I still always called George Ginger.
    “Dad?” was my next thought.
    “Yeah?” he asked, nonchalantly ducking his head in my room.
    I pointed my little finger to the naked dresser.
    “Oh, yeah, I had to take that out,” my dad stated. “The hamster died.” Then he left my room to go to second shift at work, having already had a productive day of letting his daughter know that death ultimately meant nothing. Life moved on.

Mix-Matched Socks and 10-Year-Old Bras

I’m just not together enough for matching socks. Matching socks are for people who haven’t completely given up. Matching socks are for people who actually pour their cereal into a bowl, instead of eating it with their fingers out of the box. Matching socks are for people who, when they realize they forgot to brush their hair that day, don’t just look in a mirror and say Hey, good enough! Most mornings, I just try to find the same type of socks (ankle socks, knee-highs, etc.) so my feet don’t feel weird.

I hope my feet are color-blind (I know they look color-blind.) That way they won’t lose self-esteem every time I put on one pink sock, and one green.

Sometimes, I’m pretty sure I have a couple matching pairs in the piles of boxes blocking my closet. I never unpacked from college. Before you say that’s understandable, I graduated last May, not this past December. I would rather sit around listening to music before work than dig through my dorm stuff for two purple socks. I can often find two blue socks, but they are always different shades. Close enough, right?

I get even worse. Today I was wearing one of those bras a shirt just can’t cover enough. With most bras, shirts still can’t hide the outline, but this bra outline really stuck out. I looked at myself in the mirror, and knowing that I had at least 35 minutes until heading to work, I tried to convince myself that I didn’t need to swap bras.

I think this problem was because this bra was so old and the wire was bent. This was the nearly 10-year-old bra I said I threw out in previous posts (I didn’t because I’m a hoarder. Who knows when I am going to need it? Aren’t women supposed to pass training bras down to their children? No?)

I eventually swapped bras because I realized Did I really want to be this lazy? Even though the answer was an obvious Yes!, I didn’t want others to know I was that lazy. Also, because I was actually wearing matching socks today. Sure, I only had matching socks because I found a pair last week and haven’t taken them off since, for fear of never finding a matching pair again, but nevertheless, I had matching socks. I was together enough to swap out the 10-year-old bra too. Just not together enough to throw it away yet. . . .

LinkedIn Updates

Why does everyone think they are good at social networking just because they have a smartphone? I receive one email a day about my LinkedIn connections adding new skills, and one of the skills is almost always social networking.

Why No One on LinkedIn is Actually Good @SocialNetworking:

1. You have 80 connections and half of them are from strangers trying to get more connections or scam you into taking a temporary, part-time job doing “social media marketing” for their “start-up” company, i.e. spending your afternoons and evenings trying to scam others into trusting your new company.

2. You, like me, just graduated from college. Networking in general in the real world is not like networking in college. It’s not the same as your school constantly throwing networking events to help you “connect” with other professionals, i.e. harass the few alumni the school could bribe into attending this event (suspicious about how many times the name of a particular section in your campus library changes?)

3. If you were good at social networking, or any networking, you would have a better job, at least if you were good at social networking on LinkedIn. If you were good at social networking on Match or Tinder, you would have a better boyfriend. And if you were good at social networking on Instagram or Twitter, you would be Kendall Jenner. Are you Kendall Jenner? (Oh, wait, yes? Wow, Ms. Jenner, I’m so flattered that you read my blog! I love your hair, BTW.)

I say this as someone who probably has social networking listed as one of their skills on LinkedIn, but is too lazy to check. 

Fun with Childhood Bunk Beds

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Short Blog on How Selfless My Boyfriend Is, & How Selfish I Am that I Can't Even Lie to Him About What I Would Do if I Won the Illinois Lottery Jackpot, & this Title is Longer than the Post

My boyfriend:  If I won, I think I would give each of my friends one million dollars.

Me:  That's stupid, don't do that.

My boyfriend:  Why not?

Me:  Because it's stupid.

My boyfriend:  Why would I ever need more than $10 million dollars in my life?

Me:  No, that's still stupid.

My boyfriend:  I would pay off all my student loans, and your loans too! Then we can both be   debt-free.

Me:  Aw, that's really sweet, thank you. You should buy a ticket now.

My boyfriend:  What would you do if you won that much money?

Me:  I would pay off my student loans, too.

My boyfriend:  What about me? I would pay off your loans!

Me:  I would pay off...my sister's loans. . . .

Doing My Boyfriend's Homework Because He Dates Me for My Sexy Brain, and another story

I’m the nerd who does my boyfriend’s homework now. He’s an English major, so if he doesn’t understand how to find meaning in an abstract poem, or if he needs help creating a lesson plan, he sends them to me. I then stay up late with his assignments, tucking myself into bed after sending his homework off as an attachment, also safely tucked, in an email to my boyfriend. What I’m saying is that his homework and I go to bed together more consistently than my boyfriend and I go to bed together.

My boyfriend pushed off going back to school until after I graduated from college, and at first I thought this was a money issue. No, it was an I-need-to-make-sure-Jordy-has-time-to-do-my-homework issue. Sometimes I think I use him for his car and he uses me for my brain. Neither of us use each other for our bodies. Trust me.

As I sat there last night, creating my boyfriend’s first lesson plan for him, I realized I never considered becoming a teacher. Really, I didn’t, which people find odd because most little girls who enjoyed school as much as me have considered becoming a teacher (for the record, I did not enjoy school at all. I just liked getting made fun of by my fellow students better than getting yelled at by my siblings. Life is a real bitch for a badass middle schooler.)

The whole “teacher” thing stopped being appealing to me when me and my older sister used to play school with our American Girl dolls (yes, we were spoiled, we had American Girl dolls, plural.) My sister, let’s call her Satana, was always the teacher. I could be the teaching assistant if Satana felt like being nice that day, but mostly I was the annoying mom who wanted to be involved in her children’s schoolwork. The mom who insists on sitting in on class. The mom Professor Satana hated—so why did she play with me?

Because my children got F’s. Straight F’s. According to my sister, the teacher, Satana, her dolls were all A++ geniuses while mine couldn’t figure out simple math, or how to construct a complete sentence. My dolls made her dolls feel VERY good about themselves. Written on my dolls’ papers were words like dismal or disappointing or lack of originality. Satana’s dolls got Perfect! and Good work! So much better than those loser dolls on the reject side of the classroom, with the over-involved mom!

Her dolls were just in grade school, but they spent their free time working on Harvard and Yale applications and going to Mensa meetings. My dolls created mud pies in the yard. And then ate them. My dolls were idiots, apparently. I did not raise these dolls well.

And now my sister is a teacher in Bulgaria (I know, right?), close to the boyfriend he met in Romania. His name is Martin, and that’s a whole other story. Who goes to Romania and meets a Martin? Who works at a call center for Microsoft? I could’ve introduced her to seven Martins here in Peoria! But again, that’s a whole other story for a different post. This post was about Satana killing any desire I would’ve had to become a teacher. And me being a nerd who does my boyfriend’s homework.


*Note, if you had a similar situation with your older sister, or if you liked the blog, or had any feeling really, please comment!

When You're Almost 23 & You Look 12

I'm pretty sure that physically, I am still a few years from adolescence. I mean, I got my period almost 10 years ago (very light flow these days, should I be concerned?), I improperly fight zits (I'm very lazy and barely wash my face, but I do save time for washing my face by skipping brushing my hair), and I have stubbly body hair everywhere (also a very lazy shaver.) But body/curve wise, nothing. I can still fit in my original training bras, which I finally threw out last week due to pride and their formerly white, now grey color.

This is all funny because my boyfriend's last name rhymes with pedophile, so his friends naturally tease him about this. This is actually the one thing that really annoys my boyfriend, so I hold back that going on dinner dates with him does remind me of a dream I had when I was five.

Of course, I hold back to him, but I will tell the general public. That's what the general public is for.

It was my first dream about dating. I always had crushes (my first two were in preschool, and I made the teacher blush by being VERY flirty), but this dream was like my entrance into the world of romance (but I wouldn't be kissed until 10 years later, and I don't even want to tell you how many years later until I lost my virginity.)

I was wearing one of those romantic, breezy dresses from old movies. It almost reached my ankles and I could twirl widely in it. I think the dress was blue, or some other color that matched my eyes.

Since this was my first dream of a date, my unconscious made sure I was somewhere comfortable, and dream me started walking to the living room, where my date, Chuck E. Cheese, was waiting.

Chuck E. Cheese was in a black tux, and a swarm of other giant fake mice circled around us, to watch my very first dance, in a fancy grown-up dress, with Chuck E. Cheese.

When my boyfriend and I get pizza, I sometimes think about my first dream date when I was five. When he takes me to fancy dinners, I think of the dress I wore in that dream, and how I am still basically playing dress-up. And when my boyfriend leans in to kiss my goodbye at the end of a date, when he hasn't shaved his face in awhile, I think of how furry Chuck E. Cheese was, and I wonder if my five-year-old unconscious had to deal with the mouse's face tickling me too.

My boyfriend would hate this constant comparison.


Note:  if you liked what you read, or are a regular reader, please comment and share your thoughts below! Also, share any weird five-year-old dates with Chuck E Cheese. Or is that just a me thing?