Monday, December 31, 2012

suck it, 2012

They say the way you spend midnight on New Year's Eve is the way you're going to spend the rest of your year. I'm glad that saying is farther from the truth than any predictions made by Miss Cleo because otherwise I would have spent the entirety of this godforsaken year blacked out, drunk on tequila, lying on the floor of a karaoke room. Actually that probably would have made 2012 a little more bearable.

My resolutions for the past year were to blog more and get out of retail. Oops. The only thing I succeeded in was regressing further into the emotional maturity of a tween girl. My resolutions for 2013 are to actually blog more and to stop being late to every single thing I attend as I am convinced the reason I get invited to nothing now is because I am always late (and also because I never show up).

I think we all put too much emphasis on New Year's Eve. I'm about to leave my apartment but my makeup is terrible and I'm wearing the same outfit I wore for NYE 2010. I'm not going to kiss anyone at midnight, I'm too tired and embarrassing to drink to excess, and I'm already pathetic at 24. This year sucked. I'm only celebrating the fact that it's over.  To be honest, a huge part of me really wants to stay home and fall asleep at 11:30. If sleep is all I do in 2013 it will already have been better than 2012.


But enough complaining. Here's to the money I didn't earn, the job I failed to quit, the weight I didn't lose, and the pop culture that consumed my existence. Thanks to those who have yet to abandon this blog, even though apparently I am not one of those people.

Happy New Year! and many thanks to Ke$ha for my mantra of 2013:

found out you're full of it I'm over it so suck my dick

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

one day you'll find that I have gone

The best part about being a 'writer,' for me, is that I have the ability to express myself in words in almost any situation.  The worst part about being a writer is when the words refuse to come out. Like right now.

And since I don't know how to talk about it or write about it without a geyser of anguish gushing down my face, I'll lay it out in the simplest terms.

We had to put one of our cats, Suzie, down today. She'd been losing weight and getting weird over the past two weeks, so when we finally brought her in we got the worst diagnosis possible: inoperable cancer. So she's gone and even though I've now lost six pets over the course of my 23 years this one hit me the hardest. I don't know what it is about aging but the older I get the more difficult it is for me to deal with loss.  I'm dazed and I'm confused and I'm hurt and I don't want to deal with this. Not now; not ever.

Suzie has never been my biggest fan, but over the years she (at the very least) grew to tolerate me because I was obsessed with her as I am with all cats. She took to sleeping on my Zac Efron pillow right by my heater a few months ago because she has great taste in human men and was probably cold. She stopped hissing at me and rubbed up against my legs a few times. I guess her tiny heart finally grew a few sizes and she was able to squeeze me in there. Maybe she sensed the end was coming; animals always do. Whatever it was I guess it's over now.

Maybe it's immature and strange to feel so much sadness over the death of an animal but... why? Forgive me, this is all so cliche, but no animal has ever made me feel like a worthless piece of shit the way some people have. No animal has ever made me feel like I was too fat or too stupid or too anything to be loved. If you're good to them, they're good to you, and that's the way it should be always and forever world without end. So I'm not sorry if I'm a lot sad for losing someone who never deserved to suffer; I'm not sorry that I'm not ready for this kind of loss.

The only thing I'm sorry for is bringing so much sadness to my blog. To add a little levity to this post, here's a link to my second blog entry ever, aptly titled "Suzie."

http://hairspraying.blogspot.com/2010/09/suzie.html

So Suzie,


I miss you and I love you and I forgive you for ruining so much of my stuff. It's alright. They were just things.

Monday, June 11, 2012

i've tried playin it cool but i'm too old and creepy

NOTE: This blog post was written about 1.5 hours after I'd taken some powerful, prescription sleeping pills (I haven't been sleeping well lately). Please try your hardest not to judge me; though no one will ever judge me as harshly as I judge myself.

farewell to my dignity
Do you remember Nsync and Backstreet Boys? I remember them. I am reliving that entire aspect of my childhood life, but this time it's weirder and more intense because the Internet exists and Twitter encourages obsession and everything is out of control.

I am however grateful that Kanye West's twitter exists
 
If you haven't heard of One Direction, the UK boy band currently in the process of dominating the universe and my heart, you probably live under the heaviest rock in the Ozarks or do not ever talk to me, because they are everywhere and I am engrossed in their every movement.  If you know anything about me it's that I am a sucker for catchy pop music and cute boys. People are often embarrassed to admit they like Starships by Nicki Minaj or Part of Me by Katy Perry or that they used a friend's little sister to meet One Direction at a New York City signing recently (o yes more on that later), but I am missing the self-awareness required to act similarly ashamed of the garbage I am drawn to.

I will never be cool

When I was 14 I listened to Nirvana and The Beatles and all those other bands that give you cool points. I listened to it then and I swear I listen to it now still earnestly. but at this point in my life all I want is a cute boyband that makes me feel as old and feeble as Dumbledore in the sixth Harry Potter book. You know, right after he drinks that potion in order to get one of the Horcruxes out of that cave that would only accept blood as an offering to open up.  If Niall attended Hogwarts he would be in Hufflepuff.

Neville is that you
They're all just so fun and charming! I'm going to be real with you, boys are not as charming now, at 23, as Harry Styles somehow manages to be at 18. And I try to pretend like I don't think he's adorable because I'm so old. But he is and it is sooo embarrasssiiiiing, be still my arthritic hands and aching back.

Just to let you all know how far gone I am regarding this stupid boyband - well, the least embarrassing thing I can admit to is spending hours on end watching every single interview they've ever given. If you can find and post an interview I have not watched I will pay for One Direction to play your child's birthday party, provided your child is me. The most embarrassing thing I am willing to admit is using my friend's little sister as an excuse to go to their album signing when they were here in NYC. I have actually done much worse but these sleeping pills aren't strong enough to let me delve that far into my shame so you only get the one story. For now.

If only I were pathetic in the endearing way like Zac Efron
I have never felt so old, so out of place or so out of touch with reality as I did the moment I stepped through the doors to J&R music world. My friend instantly went apeshit upon sight of Harry Styles' perfectly disheveled mess of curls, and nearly knocked her little sister to the ground in an attempt to get some far away shots of the group before we got to the table. Luckily for her we had plenty of time to wait and watch. 

We got to the venue as soon as the signing was supposed to start which was apparently a huge mistake, as there were about 78 million people already in line (rough estimate). Some people waited there overnight.  Do you honestly think Louis is going to accept your Ring Pop proposal when you've been sleeping in the street for 24 hours just to meet them first when entrance was guaranteed anyway??? They know how long you waited. They are judging you even if they refuse to admit it. I am not judging you though because I am probably more batshit than anyone I could even begin to judge.

same
We had to wait 4 hours to go down a table where the group barely had time to look up from the thousands of album covers they were signing and regretting because that photo is ugly.

Oh, but then I came along and they did look up. I am twelve thousand percent positive I attracted attention because I was the only one towering over their shitty fold out table. I was also one of the few around me who wasn't screaming because of my withered old vocal cords. Also they probably thought I was a mom. More importantly why did I spend 4 hours of my life waiting to meet a group of teenagers? Why am I writing about it now? What is wrong with me?

everyone else in the room can see it
As soon as I gazed into the beautiful green eyes of Harry Styles, I was a goner. Actually, my filter was a goner because apparently I don't understand any setting other than 'crass' when my mind goes blank. Rather than say something like "What Makes You Beautiful is an iconic pop hit" or whatever fans say that isn't 'marry me' I said "jesus christ, how do you deal with this shit everyday?" sounding like the old, bitter Brontosaurus that I am. He smiled that smartass grin of his and was about to part those Mick Jagger-esque lips to respond at a glacial pace when Louis had the gall to cut him off and respond with a sassy quip, "Well I like carrots SO..." and then he proceeded to roll his eyes in such an exaggerated fashion that I was pretty sure he could see his own brain matter back there.

 
we possess the same level of maturity

Then I was literally shoved down the table by some security guard who was clearly not used to dealing with a girl in her early 20s at these signings, where the median age was somewhere between embryo and fetus. After telling him to never put his hands on me again, I looked back to the table, having bypassed Liam entirely because Zayn was right next to him.

They really should ward off a section of the signings where Zayn has his own booth made out of Swarovski crystals and 14 karat gold and his 21+ fans get glasses of Cristal and Veuve Cliqcuot or shitty Tequila, I'm not picky. But since he's rich it should at least be Patron. Since there are only seven One Direction fans of legal drinking age in the US I could probably have a few bottles to myself while Zayn sits on his throne drinking apple juice or shirley temples.

cuz your friends
they look good
but you look better
Sidenote: in case you've never read my blog or encountered me as a human being or even seen a photo of me, you might have no idea that I'm the unluckiest lady when it comes to matters of the heart. Even at the age of 23 I can't seem to get my shit together and talk to a guy I'm interested in unless there are at least 12 shots of liquor in me first. I was approached by a decent enough guy at a bar a few weeks ago and didn't know whether I was being tricked so I ignored him. So I'm bad with guys. In short: the idea of looking at someone as stunning as Zayn Malik was overwhelming because I can't even talk to a guy who's as basic as a beige carpet. The idea of speaking to him made me want to set myself on fire in a garbage room. I probably should've done a few shots beforehand.

But back to life back to reality. As soon as I honed in on Zayn's blessed quiff, there was no one else present. Liam who?? Niall who?? Paul their terrifying bodyguard who?? I felt so blessed to be able to watch the gloss of his hair shine over us plebeians as he stared down upon the endless CD booklets in front of him and signed them, barely looking up at anyone ever. Those 3 seconds of beauty made the 4 hour wait worth it, lack of eye contact and all. His beauty is unwavering. and it gets more and more alright for me to be attracted to him by the day. Someday he will be 21 and by then our age difference will just be a number I refuse to acknowledge.


Just as I was getting ready to move on to Niall, I guess, Zayn looked straight up at me and right before my palms started dripping barrels of sweat onto the floor he spoke to me.

Everyone is subject to preconceptions. Excuse me for thinking someone whose beauty is matched only by his own reflection would be kind of a dick, or at least shy and unresponsive. When Molly and I were talking about this in line we decided we'd rather have no interaction with Zayn as his beauty was too intimidating. Based on his sometimes overwhelming reticence and his propensity to eat while he sleeps he seemed to be the least likely to give a tenth of a fuck and make painful small talk with irritating fans.

mfeo

In the right place at the right time with just the right amount of hairspray, Zayn looked up at me, smiled, said, "Hey babe! How are you? You alright?" and with that the sky parted and a light shone down upon me. I replied with a really sexy and enticing blank stare followed by an, "I'm ok." He went on to stare at me and said, "I love your hair, babe. It's very rock n roll." At this point I tried not to throw up in my hands until I realized he was waiting for a response. Naturally I responded with the stupidest shit I could think of, "Thank you! I like......your......ummm....eyes.....?" I literally searched his face for something specific to name. I couldn't say "I like your album" or "You have great hair too." No, I had to scan his face and eventually went with the most obvious choice: eyes. Everyone uses eyes as a compliment. I tell my cat he has beautiful eyes every day, because he does:

he is a very handsome cat
None of this probably sounds too bad until you take into account I have the vocal expression of Daria on Lunesta. Probably the facial expression too. In other words I probably sounded like the most insincere, sarcastic little shit, especially compared to the legions of happy, nice 12 year olds they'd met throughout the day. I was clearly too old and too into it to feign disinterest so I just came off sounding like a total dick.

Suddenly, there were toxic amounts of secondhand embarrassment radiating off everyone within a 30 foot perimeter of me. The embarrassment probably showed on my face when I actually said, still talking to Zayn who was for some unfortunate reason on his part still looking at me, "Oh that was embarrassing, sorry, don't know why I said that... I'm not 16 years old so.." and he winked at me and laughed as I was being pushed down the line by security and girls. Niall looked up at me and smiled and I waved and said 'bye' because nothing was going to top a forced compliment from the most beautiful person I will ever meet.

Here, this stunning King of Vanity complimented my hair with no prompting. I almost asked if by 'rock n roll' he actually meant 'dirty.' Instead, I made an ass out of myself and actually cared because I will always be a 13 year old girl at heart. This is officially the most embarrassing blog post I have ever written in my entire life so I'm going to go play in traffic.

I know you are all reacting to this blog post the same way Liam is

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

show me the meaning of being lonely

I wasn't going to post this because it's actually a less entertaining read than I was hoping for but that's what happens when you are drunk and blog but I promised I'd post it so here you go Michael; you've been warned. Two nights ago I went to a wedding where I suffered through the awkward pain of knowing only 3 people there - all of whom were in the fucking bridal party aka busy for the first hour and a half of the wedding. This meant literal hours of solitude and regret and drinking. I decided to live blog because it was less painful than sitting at a table and doing even less. This.. is my story.


I am off to a great start. 20 minutes late to the wedding, just in time to catch the tail end of the ceremony. Thinking the wedding was at 9pm instead of the actual 7pm might be the stupidest thought I have ever had. Then again I used to wonder what year colors were invented so I'm probably just an all around dumbass. I lingered around the patio conversing with no one for a good twenty minutes before deciding to head inside and stand around a table for another ten minutes until finally sitting the fuck down and whipping out my phone to take down my pathetic thoughts. You're welcome, no one.

Whoever thought up the concept of waiters going around the room forcing appetizers on guests needs to be buried alive. There are only so many cheeseburger sliders I can eat while sitting alone at a table meant for five before my total loserdom becomes obvious to the entire room. Okay great I was not appropriately warned about the temperature of the mini baby back ribs until after the skin on my thumb and forefinger was nearly singed off. I yelled a very elegant 'son of a bitch' while making some truly awkward eye contact with my waiter, who didn't even offer me a damn napkin. I then proceeded to drop the thing onto my pathetic table for five (currently and forever seating only one). The waiter said, "oh...careful... it's hot..." AFTER witnessing this embarrassing display. No shit it's hot, I literally need some cream for this burn you asshole. I would also like a NAPKIN to wipe off the barbecue sauce that's now on this table but that's fine I'll leave my shame out on display instead.

This is not getting better I am actually eating my feelings. Seriously, I have been offered food at least four times by the same person in the last 15 minutes. This is a different waiter from before. I christen that guy BBQ and he can suck my dick.  Anyway, I realize Nice Waitress is only doing her job but at this point it's probably just easier for her to offer food to the singular Lonely person in the room (aka me) since she knows it's too awkward for me to decline, as opposed to how much easier it is for a group of 5 to pretend like they don't notice her. I work retail; I've been there. Maybe she feels bad for me because I'm sitting at a table by myself drinking an Old Fashioned while socializing with Instagram because I know literally 3 people at this wedding and all of them are in the wedding party. This means I am left to my own devices for apparently the first hour and a half of the wedding.

P.S. I am not 1950s enough to appreciate Old Fashioneds but free alcohol is free so suck on that Don Draper. Jon Hamm looks best as a Mad Man because his hair is stupid and I'm drunk.

this is disgusting
Really though, why don't they teach a class on Awkward Social Gatherings in high school? I have never felt less uncouth than when I was just scarfing down mini fish and chips followed by a champagne chaser that I FOUND on a table because I have no social graces and failed to realize the champagne is actually not a Free For All but meant for the toasts yet to come. Cool I guess I'm the token alcoholic at this party now, with five empty glasses littering my table. The only water around is the water with candles in it and I think I might die if I drink that. So what I'm thinking is I should drink it

Oh god people have moved to the area where I am currently seated. I thought I was safe from congregation but apparently I am not. This is actually worse than being skinned alive. There is no sweet relief of death. There are only awkward stares, averted eyes; people can see me.

one is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
Oh god someone literally just asked the worst question in the world: IS ANYONE USING THESE CHAIRS?? CHAIRS... PLURAL... ashamedly fucking no one is using the goddamn chairs so take them and use them for your party of 12 you popular jackass. I do not understand the Serena Van Der Woodsens of this world. I am more of a Dan Humphrey but minus the terrible qualities so what I'm trying to say is I don't actually identify with any of the Gossip Girl characters because I'm not a shitty teenager with lots of money. Basically I can't just talk to strangers especially when all the strangers are already immersed in conversation with other strangers. The fuck am I supposed to do? Run up to their group of 3 and inject myself into their conversation about wild birds or whatever the fuck it is people talk about at weddings?

I'm really praying the photographer here is getting some great shots of me sitting alone at this table, typing away on my phone. I have a feeling the people here think I just crashed the wedding and am in it for the free booze. Which isn't entirely untrue if you think about the fact that i was never officially invited (I know the lovely bride but I'm a +1 of the bridesmaid), but I never thought I'd be suffering so much just for leeching. Dear karma I have checked myself and after all this liquor I have certainly wrecked myself so kudos to you for showing me the way. I am the drunkest person at this wedding  

At this point (1.5 hours later) my friend finally joined me at my table and I was able to drink without feeling as pathetic. Highlights for the rest of the night include: taking 7 dessert boxes when most people took none (see photo below), texting my co-worker about my love for One Direction, falling down on the street (resulting in a large and painful bruise on my knee) and puking in my friend's hotel shower later that night (the more you know, Jeannie). But I didn't cry! I am a beacon of success

I found 3 more of these boxes in my bag later

Thursday, February 23, 2012

the drunkest girl in the room

Have you ever been the drunkest person in the room? Everyone you loathed two hours ago is suddenly so tolerable and, dare I say, so wonderful that you could just sit down on the floor of the Vietnamese restaurant you're currently in and just cry tears of unending exuberance? and then follow those tears up with uncontrollable wails of sorrow that you didn't even know existed within you? and follow even that up by puking in your friend's hands before passing out until the next morning? (Long live New Year's Eve 2008.)

also long live every New Year's Eve since then

If you think this post is some thinly veiled attempt at writing about how much of an asshole I was this past New Year's Eve and every other social event I've ever attended that includes too much alcohol and not enough self control, you are correct.  You also hopefully did not come across this blog by googling prospective employees for your company. If so, please stop reading now, unless you are my current employer, in which case feel free to read on and fire me (jokes!!! those student loans are not going to pay themselves off over a course of ten years).

Whenever I get really sad or angry, I have a tendency to forget that drinking isn't actually a cure for feelings. I don't really enjoy talking about myself or anything other than cats because hearing the sound of my own voice makes me want to start planning my own funeral. So rather than discuss my very real feelings of uselessness and mediocrity, I turn instead to tequila shots and the tears simply follow suit, typically unprompted. Most of the time this is a subconscious decision to turn to alcohol in times of much needed emotional purging. Unfortunately, the truth surfaces only after I've had four shots too many, and at that point there is no turning back. Because if I could turn back time, if I could find a way, I'd take back those words that hurt you and you'd stay.


everything I've ever needed to learn about life I've learned while watching The Simpsons
I can probably drink Ke$ha under the table, but believe me, no one wants to see me try (ask anyone who has hi Nancy!). I've thrown up in parking lots, cabs, restaurant floors, my own hands, the list is going to stop here even though it could continue. and trust me when I tell you the tequila does not taste as good coming up as it does going down. and let's be real it tastes pretty fucking bad going down to begin with.

While being the drunkest person in the room is super fun for said drunk person, it is an absolute nightmare for everyone else involved. Unless you're stuck with some incredibly douchey friends, at least one person will take it upon herself to take care of you, and drunk people are the worst.  They cry all night, pee all over themselves, vomit all over everyone else and are entirely incomprehensible. The only difference between a drunk person and a colicky baby with diaper rash is that the baby has the excuse of only being alive for like a month.  What's my excuse for 23 years of bad decisions?

oh that's right
As for December 31st 2011, I blacked out shortly past 12:30am (a new low) and left my poor, wonderful co-workers to literally clean up my mess. They took care of me all night, though I have no memory of it, which is the scariest part of drinking too much. There is nothing more terrifying than waking up and having no clue where you are, how you got there or who you might have slept with (but thankfully did not).  There's nothing more disgusting than rolling straight into a wet pile of vomit. There's nothing more embarrassing than realizing that the vomit you're now covered in is all yours, but the bed that you've soiled is not.

Make no mistake I am not proud of any of these things because I'm not 15 years old.  Drinking to excess stops being cool the second you can do it legally, especially if you're not only the drunkest person in the room but also the oldest. It's okay to drink; it's okay to get drunk. but it stops being fun and starts being embarrassing when you're throwing up last year's turkey burger all over your co-workers bedsheets.

So here's to my New Year's Resolutions of 2012: stop drinking away the pain and blog about it instead. Get ready for some painful prose.