Unsure of what I just wrote about…

I have been thinking about this blog post and what the hell I’m going to write about. I’ve had severe writers block the past couple weeks. Then I realized, I’m not sure you all need a “planned” post from me. The feedback I’ve gotten is that y’all just enjoy my random thoughts. So, that’s what this post is going to be. Oh, for my birthday, my friend got me this awesome blog planner, which I intend to use! But I’ll start that for the next post.

This is how desperate I am to date – I have my Instagram name on my Tinder/Bumble/Hinge/OkCupid profiles so that in the event I miss a valuable match, they can reach out to me anyway. I get so many random messages from dudes that saw me on those sites and are just shooting their shot. I respond to almost all of them, even to just say thank you for the kind words. The other night, I got a message from someone that had like 2k followers and only pictures or videos of him surfing. You couldn’t see his face in any picture, but he was trying, so I was not going to rule it out. He had asked me to hang out sometime and I said that I was flattered but it wasn’t very fair that he knew what I looked like but I had no idea who he was. So, he asked if he could add me on Snapchat. I agreed since my Instagram name and Snap name are the same – I can’t very well pretend I don’t have one. He sent me a picture of his face and he was cute. I sent him a picture of me sitting on my couch in sweats, glasses, no make up and wet hair fresh out of the shower. He thought I was so cute so I humored him and tried to get to know him. He kept asking if I would come over his house to hang out… he lives 1.5 hours away and it was 8 pm on a Monday. I told him before I hang out with him, I’d like him to not be a stranger, so I was trying to get to know him first. It took all of 5 minutes into our very first conversation for him to send me an unsolicited dick pic. Mind you, I sent 0 flirty things or pictures and even showed him my ugliest state of being. I responded with, “wow ok that was unexpected and not at all what I am looking for right now. I’m a lady.” He said, “sorry, you just made me excited.” So I responded with, “idk why I am literally so ugly right now,” while he said, “ur my type.” THIS IS LITERALLY WHAT I LOOKED LIKE:

Haha, Mom! You can’t use this as blackmail anymore because I’ve posted it for all of my fans to see.

I really feel sorry for “his type.” Then, without any more words being said HE SENT ME ANOTHER DICK PIC. I said “dude I am not into this, what the hell.” He unfriended me after that, LMAO. I was like what the hell just happened. Within 5 minutes of responding to an Instagram message, I am getting dick pics on Snapchat. Men are actually stupid – If you refer to one of my previous posts, they are literally skid marks on society. *In Russian accent* “I am woman. I am stronger than man. Men are (say it with me) trash. I am right you are wrong.” Now, I know what you are thinking. In my defense, he did not know or read my blog and that I do enjoy the occasional dick pic. But, only when solicited from ME. I don’t understand why dudes think women just want an uncalled for picture of their gross ass wee-wee. P’s are not equivalent to boobs or butts, which are very pretty and soft. It’s like opening a picture and seeing an elephant rampaging toward me about to kill my friends and family. At least wait for a girl to ask for it…if that’s what you are looking for, make sure we are drinking wine before you start a conversation. Then we are sure to ask. Alas, I cannot erase this image from my brain. Nonetheless, I keep waiting for my Prince Charming to come along, so I keep sifting through fan mail until I find the one.

I will say, not every outreach is bad or negative. I’ve gotten messages from some pretty great guys (these are few and far between). Unfortunately, the stars don’t always align just right, preventing the match from happening, but I still appreciate the love! The good messages just aren’t funny like the bad ones are. I think the key with me that I am finding is that I would much prefer to start on a “friends” basis with someone rather than jump right in to dating. There is too much pressure on “going on a date”. Group hangouts are much easier for me than one-on-one. I get too nervous for dates that I can’t stop pooping and somehow always find an excuse not to go. If I have ever done this to you, don’t take it personally. I am just inept at romance, HENCE the singleness. If you friend-zone me first, I will want you much more, so there is a tip for you fellas. Now, this DOES NOT mean friends with benefits. This means, I want you to care about me and my life like I will care about you and your life. I don’t want to be hit up when it is beneficial for you. I want to be treated as a human or how you would treat your other friends. But, whatever.

Anyway, there is my random post for the week. Love you all. Keep it spicy – like I did with my hot sauce on my eggs this morning and now I can’t drink hot beverages.

XOXO, TSL.

It’s my muh fuggin’ birthday.

It’s my birthday today. The big 2-8. To be honest, I thought I was 28 all of last year so I have officially reached an age where I can’t remember how old I am. To all my elder readers, relax. Let me have my time to dread the end of my 20’s – I know you all did. And if I hear one more person say, “Oh, I was on my second kid at your age,” or, “By your age, I was already married and starting a family,” I am going to lose it. Not that I want any kids right now or maybe ever, but that’s like telling someone to grow the fuck up and start a family. BELIEVE ME, if any man wants to settle down and marry me, point them in my direction because there sure as hell ain’t any running my way. Also in my defense, I could have had many babies by now but I have chosen to remain on birth control because babies are gross and I’d rather not ruin my perfect swimsuit body. I can’t even say those are back-handed compliments because what about those statements are complementing the person who is turning 28? I should say to them, “Great! Well, I hope I’m not dead at your age.” But the one time I said that it didn’t go over so well. Let’s reflect on my highs and lows from the past few birthdays.

Here’s an alien that escaped Area 51 on November 6, 1991.
Twenty-Five

I can honestly say I had a quarter life crisis at 25. This was the year I decided I needed to move home from Nashville. I had gone through a good portion of my savings trying to stay afloat with various part-time jobs. It reached a point where I truly didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life or where I was heading. I was the one that moved away from home when I could and tried to start a life on my own, and here I was moving back in with my parents, jobless, with no ambition. When I first thought I would move back home, I started applying for jobs in the Delaware area, to no avail. It was about 3 months after I moved back to Delaware that I finally landed something (December). During the week of my birthday, I got super sick with a horrible sinus infection, so I was on antibiotics. Has anyone ever told you antibiotics and alcohol don’t mix? Because they told me but I had to find out for myself. I didn’t get overly intoxicated… it was just like any other night out at the bar. But I sure did end up in the hospital the next morning. I was staying at a friend’s house and had to call my mom to come get me to take me to the ER at like 5:00 am – just a case of severe dehydration. After 5 hours in the waiting room and two Gatorades later, we left without ever being seen. They gave me an anti-nausea pill that made me more nauseous and charged me $300. So that was cool.

There was one highlight, however. My friends and I were at a local bar, sitting at a high-top table. The bar was pretty crowded, but with enough of my friends sitting at the table, I knew I would be able to go to the bathroom and leave my purse and jacket safely at the table. I asked my best friend, Anne, to watch my stuff, as one normally would – why do we do this? If it were me, I would never witness a stranger come up and steal my friends’ stuff without trying to stop it. Nevertheless, we have to put a disclaimer out there in case we need to prove how bad of a friend they are. Well, while I was in the lou, a girl (stranger) sat in my seat at a table of complete strangers to her and attempted to move my stuff. Anne asked her politely to move, as the seat was very clearly taken. The girl refused, so Anne got a little bit stronger-toned with her. This chick reaches across the table and slaps Anne in the face. I am so sad I was in the bathroom during this scene. When I got back and after I was filled in, I thought Anne was on her way to fight this girl. I followed, ready for anything that may ensue. We just ended up at a bouncer telling them of the situation, and the girl that was throwing ‘bows was carried out of the bar – not without reaching out to slap Anne again on her way out. Maybe an hour later, we got an Uber home and this chick had the audacity to try to get in our Uber!!! We had to tell the driver to step-on it without explaining. Anyway, I am still to this day talking about the glorious night that my best friend got slapped in the face for me.

We call this, “The Abby Face”.
Twenty-Six

I really don’t remember what I did for this birthday, so it might not have even happened.

Twenty-Eight Twenty-Seven

This was the birthday where I was like, “Ok, I’m old. We don’t really need to celebrate.” We went to the local bar, Trolley Square Oyster House, for my birthday to see my brother’s gig (Dustin & Cassidy for all those locals that are reading). It was a great performance – they played an acoustic set of top 40 music from the 90’s – today. Every basic bitch’s favorite music. I had a good turn-out as far as my friend group, but I could NOT stay awake. I was yawning and complaining the entire time and eventually, at 11:00 pm, I convinced my friends to let me go home to bed. I was the first to leave my own birthday party and I can guarantee my friends had a better time than I did. I’m not even mad about it.

This is me, on my 27th birthday, wanting to go home.
Twenty-Eight

I am married now, with my second kid. LMAO, not – I am accepting applications though. This year, I feel really good about myself. I am an extremely famous blogger and Instagram influencer. I own a home and am in grad school. I have a steady career – even though its not what I want to do, I know I will get there. I have the most fantastic friends and, as you all know, I have recently awakened ~sexually~. I am feeling like a pretty great, strong, independent woman, who doesn’t need a man but also will take one. I recently got my second tattoo, so hide your moms because I am not sure I am suitable to bring home at this point. This past weekend, I celebrated my birthday with one group of friends, had SO much fun, and then attended a Halloween party in which WE WON FIRST PLACE in the costume contest!!! Check out my previous Halloween post for an update with my winning costume. Tonight, I am having dinner with my momma, and this weekend I am celebrating with my other friends. Of course, the results of this birthday could drastically change by this weekend, so I will keep you posted. Praying for at least one fight.

I did find out that I am a Scorpio sun AND moon… The signs that most everyone knows about themselves are sun signs – your outward personality. Your moon sign is your emotions and inner moods. Let’s just say, this makes a lot of sense and really explains why I identify so heavily with psychos Scorpios.

Signing off, happy birthday to me. Stay spicy.

XOXO TSL

This is me today. Still a princess with pretty good genes.

Well, this is embarrassing…

If you haven’t heard of Nate Bargatze, you need to look him up right now. Start with his special on Netflix, “The Tennessee Kid”. He is, without a doubt, the funniest comedian that I have seen. I think I watched his special 20 times already. There is one on Comedy Central, “Full Time Magic” that is also very funny. He tells these horribly self-deprecating jokes with the straightest face imaginable. He is a slightly overweight dude, average looking, with possibly a thyroid condition because his eyes bulge out like a turtle. That’s why I would suggest watching his specials before you listen to his stand up. However, if you are in desperate need to listen over watch, he has “Full Time Magic” and “Yelled at by a Clown” on Spotify. In “The Tennessee Kid”, he talks about one time he was golfing when it was really hot out and before he drove back home, he wanted to change his shirt. He had an extra one in his trunk and changed it while he was standing back there. Just then, an old man looking for his wife in the parking lot hobbles over and goes, “Olivia?” Nate stared in awe for a minute, while trying to use his hands to cover up. He says, “I’m not sure who he offended more, her or me. There I am, a sweaty shirtless dude, at a car he doesn’t recognize, and that was a dead ringer for Olivia.”

I thought it would be a really good idea to tell you guys about just a few of my most embarrassing moments. I have ranked them in order of least to most embarrassing. Sit back and enjoy.

4. A very traumatic incident…

When I was about 10 or so, I was bored at home with just my oldest brother and his friends. They were in high school so naturally they didn’t want me hanging out with them. So there was this chest that we used as a coffee table in our living room – It was antique with a latch that would flap down for some sort of padlock (we didn’t have the padlock since it was purely decorative). We used to play hide and seek with friends and we would use that as a hiding spot. We could close the top and the latch was so old it would stay standing up since there was no lubrication. So, I was really bored one day and put myself in there – mind you, I could only fit in there in the fetal position. Well, when I shut the lid, I heard it. A “clank” that will echo in my brain for the rest of my life. I was locked in there. My brother and his friends were outside and I was left alone, waiting to die in this old ass chest. At least they wouldn’t have to pay for a coffin. At the age of 10, I thought maybe – just maybe – I was strong enough to rip free the chains that held the lid on to the hinges from the inside. I thought if I kicked and wiggled the lid enough, the latch would miraculously fly back up and I could simply walk out like Houdini. It was probably a good 20 minutes before my brother came in to use the bathroom and heard my kicking and screaming. He opened the lid and cussed at me like a sailor. Alas, I was freed. Needless to say, I was banned from my living room for the next few years and am now on anti-anxiety meds.

3. Did I do that?

When I was 16, my family went to California to attend my cousins wedding. My sister-in-law got me nice and drunk (so like, 3 drinks because I was about 90 lbs), and I had no cares in the world. I called over this cute guy, about 20 years old or so, to dance. I was having a good time. All was well until my brother started to get uncomfortable with this dude dancing with a 16 year old and asked him to back off. I’m not sure he knew I was the initiator in this situation. He definitely didn’t want to see what our high school dances looked like if that made him uncomfortable. I was very PG with him. Anyway, I moved on to the next person like nothing happened. When my family and I finally went back to the hotel for the night, I was volunteered as tribute to sleep on the cot since we didn’t have enough beds. I woke up with a raging headache and some unhappy parents. I found out that I was the source of quite a bit of drama at the wedding. Apparently, when my brother asked him to back off, my dad accompanied them outside and attempted to fight this dude. Neither my brother nor my dad are fighters. For your knowledge, this guy ended up being the groom’s cousin. I wish I knew what happened, but I don’t think any ‘bows were thrown. Ultimately, the groom asked his COUSIN to leave, even though my family is the one that made a scene. Homeboy wasn’t happy with that because he kicked in the back tail light of our rental car. Oops.

2. Thirteen years later…

This one probably wasn’t a big deal at the time, but it has stuck with me for 13 years now. I was a late bloomer in high school. For one, I had braces during the most vulnerable years of my life – freshman to junior year (thanks Mom). But also, I was late to have my first kiss, first make out, etc. There was this guy that I liked throughout high school (he was a few years older) but he had a girlfriend most of the time. Anyway, I met up with him one night during my sophomore year, and I felt like a total bad-ass meeting up with a senior. We were in the front seat of his Jeep and we moved to the back seat to make out. As I was getting on his lap, my foot got stuck under the front seat. And I don’t just mean stuck. I mean, I was planning on moving in there at that point. I was like, “This is it. This is where I live now.” I had no idea how I was going to pay the mortgage on a Jeep but it was about to be what I had to do. He had to help me pry my foot out but my shoe and sock came off in the process. I didn’t want to look like an idiot with one shoe and sock on so I took the other off. At this point, I think I was overstaying my welcome. After making out for a bit we had to search for my sock under the seat which probably only took 30 seconds but the way I remember it, we are still – to this day – searching for my sock. I was absolutely mortified…13 years later. He probably doesn’t even know/remember this happened, but the North remembers.

1. Well, shit.

Two years ago, about a year or so into my current job, I started to put on a little weight – sitting at a desk all day and constant food gatherings at work really added some extra hay to the cart. I was really feeling like I wanted to make healthier choices and try to lose a little weight. I had seen a commercial for a “weight loss assistance” pill called Alli. The way it works is it traps the fat in the foods you eat and converts it to oils, allowing your body to digest fats with ease. The instructions state to use it in combination with eating healthy, as it was not a weight loss pill – it just gives a little assistance. Well, if I were going to completely change my diet I wouldn’t need the pill. So I started making better choices and incorporated more healthy foods into my diet. I still had the occasional french fry, but any fatty or greasy foods you eat get converted into oil and, well, “slip” out of your body. I went to go use the restroom to pee at work when I smelled something…something bad. Sure enough, I had shit my pants. I was so embarrassed and had no idea how I didn’t know before I used the bathroom! I didn’t feel it or smell it until I was in the bathroom. I had to throw my underwear out at work… Thank GOD it was 4:00 so I didn’t have to suffer all day with that, even though my coworkers probably already had! I returned to my desk, commando, hoping nothing else slipped out. I stopped taking Alli immediately. I went to return the medicine to Target. When the sales associate asked if anything was wrong with it, I told her the truth. Turns out, I was not the first or the second person to return the product for the same reason! And, only after this happened, my coworkers started telling me about people they knew that took that pill and the same thing happened.

I have MANY more embarrassing moments in my arsenal, so if you’d like more, let me know. I’ll see if I can get some new ones to happen to me in the meantime. Tell your friends about me. Keep it spicy.

XOXO, TSL.

Life Lived Out Loud.

I was reading listening to Elvis Duran’s audio-book (my first ever), titled Where Do I Begin? Stories from a Life Lived Out Loud. Elvis Duran has always been one of my favorite MC’s and I listen to his morning show on the way to work every day. He is crass, outlandish, and hilarious to listen to, so I wanted to check out his book. I was not disappointed – it met my expectations of crazy stories from his life that he was not ashamed to tell, regardless of what repercussions might come his way. He talks about funny sex stories, public urination, having to navigate his career as a sometimes-hated person, living his life unapologetically himself. I enjoy listening to his book is that it is super relatable. I don’t mean the fame and the celebrity radio show. He is a normal person who happens to have crazy life stories in which his audience can find humor, but at the end of the day, he likes to go home, do nothing, and be lazy. My goal with this blog is to be relatable to you, my readers. I recognize that I am not a celebrity and most people may not care about my life stories if they don’t know me. Also, it is much easier for men to talk about going to pound town than women because of a certain stigma. But the point is, when someone can share their life in such an open way, others start to feel comfortable with the cards that they have been dealt and start to realize that you can be yourself. Anyway, that was not the topic of this blog post. I just wanted to take a moment and reflect on why I am doing this. I have received amazing feedback on this blog and I thank each and every one of you. You will be on the dust jacket in my book one day. Also, I have business cards! You can find me wherever you find business cards.

Although I am a lazy person who enjoys sitting on my couch and not talking to others, much like Elvis, I do enjoy a night out where I get absolutely shit-faced to the point that all those frogs are lookin’ a lot like Prince Charming. I was drunk at my usual spot one night when the bartender dared me to make out with a guy at the bar for $20. I told her I’d do it for free because he was hot, and I did. At least my beer goggles told me he was hot. No idea what he actually looks like and for all I know, we sit next to each other every time I am there. One weekend, my friend and I went so wild during our 1 hour pregame (who the hell pregames at this age), that she blacked out and played human pinball with all of the bar guests. At about 10 pm, after a good vom sesh in the bar bathroom, I took her to my house, threw her in my bathroom and went right back out to the bar by myself. I know, I’m a good friend.

I remember sitting at the bar, hanging out with 2 of my favorite bartenders, Lauren and Trevor, when Lauren asked if I would sleep with Trevor if he was the last person on Earth. I said, “I would sleep with Trevor if he wasn’t the last person on Earth.” Lauren says, jokingly, “ew with his butt chin and everything?” -_- Now, if you know me, you know that I too have a butt chin. Lauren was so funny about it because she said “as soon as that was coming out of my mouth, my brain yelled ‘ABORT! ABORT!'”. Nonetheless, at that point in my drunk journey I would have slept with anyone at that bar. I even said that aloud. One super hot guy next to me turns and says, “Anyone?” I looked him dead in the eyes and said, “Anyone.” At that point, he got up and left, but it didn’t stop me from making those “you up?” texts. And, when your booty call comes to pick you up at the bar during closing time – I bet you couldn’t read that without singing the Semisonic song – and he is friends with everyone there, it is very obvious what we’re doing, I’ve come to learn. I got several texts the next day about it.

The best part of this story was when I got home with said booty call, my friend was still laying on the bathroom floor. I put her in my bed with a bucket and a glass of water next to her, and went to my guest room. I woke up around 4 AM to use the bathroom and there she was again, on the bathroom floor, underwear-less with a tampon string hanging out. I am really happy I am the one that found her that way rather than homeboy. I put her back in my bed, put a pair of my underwear on her – this was after her refusing she needed underwear even though she was very aggressively on her period and laying in my bed with white sheets – and went back to sleep. Upon waking up, she comes into the guest room and cuddles with us. She has no shame. It’s a weird friendship but I love it.

Apparently, I am the easiest person to ghost. It happens a lot. Like, a lot a lot. I just recently (yesterday) found out that the booty call mentioned above had been ghosting me for a month… I didn’t know this until he told me and apologized. We immediately made up though *wink* and he awkwardly high-fived me goodbye. Just this morning at 9:30 am, I received a text from a Tinder ghost-past saying he was going to be in town this weekend if I wanted to still f*ck him. Never met him in person nor has he spoken to me in 2 months so I’m going to pass, but thanks. And of course you all know about the other ghosts – Parker, Kyle, many others I can’t name. These fuckbois must not know how dope I am. It’s OK, though, because I will blast their shit on here. Y’ALL LUCKY I DON’T USE YOUR REAL NAMES.

To anyone reading this, just do me a favor and don’t give out candy to all those ghosts this year on Halloween. They don’t deserve that sugar.

Remember, live life a little more spicy and make light of your uncomfortable situations. They may get you a NY Times Best Selling Book.

XOXO, TSL.

It’s October…

October. One of my favorite months.

As I’ve said before, I am a Fall baby through and through. You know, the scarves – wink wink. As I was getting the remainder of my belongings out of my mom’s house recently, I found that I have SIX BINS of Halloween decorations. SIX. Not only is six the sign of the devil, but I can’t believe no one stopped me from buying all that. I had a Halloween party one year which I was really excited about, and Party City is 5 minutes from my work, so I spent many a lunch time looking for ghouls and goblins. Nonetheless, I do enjoy this holiday and thought I would run through some of my costumes from years past with you.

2018 – Trolls

My friends, Matt and Lauren, and I love to dress up for Halloween together. We attend an annual Halloween party (I finally got the official invite myself this year rather than tagging along <3) where costumes matter. There are tons of prizes and gift cards for winners so each year we get better and better. Last year, we were trolls. We won third place!

You don’t understand how vulnerable it is to wear nude spandex.
2017

This was the year I had my Halloween party since the one we usually go to was taking a year off. I decided I wanted to be a white walker thing from Game of Thrones. I got a cute body suit that had an ice skeleton on it. I ended up being a fat ice skeleton wearing a lot of eye make up. It didn’t work out the way I planned.

That beer went right through me! Ba-dum-ch! Anyone who’s thigh bone melts into the pelvis bone should not be wearing a skeleton body suit.
2016

This was the first year I attended the Halloween party with Matt and Lauren. We wanted to be punny. I was jobless at the time so I had A LOT of time on my hands to make my costume. I was Taco Belle, Lauren was Dairy Queen, and Matt was Burger King – I am starting to understand why the following year I was a fat skeleton. We didn’t win anything and in fact, everyone asked what we were.

All tacos pictured were made by yours truly.
College years through 2015

The few years prior I just wore a cheetah pajama onesie and called it a day. My favorite costume was in college when I was a Facebook friend request. My best friend, Anne, went as a cupcake. Here we are:

Her hair was the cherry on top.
This year

I never was one to be anything slutty for Halloween (except in high school when I was just an actual slut). This year, we are determined to win the costume contest at the Halloween party. So instead of being something punny, we are going to embrace Halloween and be full on demonic “clergy”, as Matt would say. Really, we are going to be demonic nuns – think, “The Nun” movie. But I don’t think Matt can be admitted into a clergy as a nun, so we will just be a collective clergy. Can’t wait to show you so we can haunt your dreams forever.

Update: WE WON FIRST PLACE.

Yes, demonic nuns wear New Balances… we need to be comfortable, too.

I’ll keep this post short and sweet and return next week with something a little more spicy for you.

Weekend Update

I apologize that I missed writing a new post this week because my co-worker got me into the show Outlander. Let’s face it, I would rather spend my free time in the 1700s with the lasses and lads in Scotland than with real people. I even catch myself reading everything in a Scottish accent and calling people “Sassenach”. I certainly don’t sleep anymore and who needs to watch porn when you have these OK sex scenes? I will say the lad in it is quite the eye candy (pictured below). So after crying my way through the entire 3rd season and desperately wanting a love like the main characters have, I realized I needed a break. I was starting to wonder what my friends, (the main characters) Claire and Jamie, were doing at this very moment. I just ask that you forgive me if you start reading this post in a Scottish accent. Sláinte.

you’re welcome.

Parker update:

Guys, you wouldn’t believe it. Last night, I was on Tinder and do you remember my post about Parker? Well I came across him again and swiped right because I wanted to know if he would match me and had anything to say (also if he read my blog post). He matched me right away. That enough was enough to make my laugh my ass off but then he said “Abby… we’ve matched before. Then you ghosted me.” I said, “Um, you must not remember who I am.” He said he did and that he went to message me one morning and I had deleted him on everything. My apologies, I didn’t realize that when you blocked me on Snapchat, that I had accidentally deleted you. This is the same guy that called me a psychopath, but my predictions were right. HE was indeed the psychopath. Parker actually told me that his ex had taken his phone while he was at a bar and told me I was a psychopath and that he was sorry for anything he said because it was really her. I said, “hold on hold on hold on. You asked me to have a threesome with some chick and I said you were treating me like a walking vagina and not a human being and then you said I lured you in under false pretenses for my social media, then sent me IT the clown.” Of course, he didn’t know what I was talking about and actually said “I never wanted to have a threesome with two chicks.” Oh, so you wanted me and two guys? *thinking* ok so what did you say your name was again? LOL just kidding… But I was like, “so you’re trying to tell me your ex wanted me to have a threesome with you and someone that isn’t her (because the chick’s picture he sent me was her Tinder profile), and then when I declined, she got mad at me and called me a psychopath?” This dude is on bath salts or something, and I am not entirely sure he still won’t pop out of a vent or drain in my house like Pennywise himself. This was the highlight of my Friday night. He was actually groveling for my forgiveness and said he still wanted to see me naked. Well duh, I’m amazing who doesn’t? I reminded him that I asked him a question about his life and he snapped and said, “No, don’t do that. Don’t make this something it’s not. We are just whores for each other and nothing more.” He said, “it was a joke. Obviously we would talk in person.” I am genuinely confused by this guy’s mental state. He one hundo p is schizo.

If there is something I’ve learned in the past few months, it’s that silence is more powerful than having the last word. I used to be someone who always had to say my mind before I could end a conversation or fight, for closure. But I’ve since come to find out that if you remain silent, and let the other person have the last word, you have all of the power because they will realize that they no longer have meaning to you. That’s what I did with Parker. I remained silent mostly, giving him just enough to keep talking. Then, when I was no longer satisfied with the convo, I stopped answering. Filtering yourself and holding back things you wish you could say is not something I encourage. However, men are stupid and giving them the silent treatment is the most powerful thing you can do.

I so badly wanted to take screen shots of this conversation for you all, but before I could, HE deleted ME on Tinder, again. Just typing this story is cracking me up. I do this all for you – my readers – put myself in awkward situations so you can laugh with/at me. People have been telling me lately I need to start a podcast and get business cards. I’ve never listened to a podcast nor do I have plans to start anytime soon (so stop suggesting ones for me to listen to). I also don’t expect anyone to have to suffer through my annoying voice until I’m more famous. I am considering the business cards and taking design suggestions (free of charge and credit of course).

Alright, I’m going to start season 4 of Outlander. If you don’t hear from me for another week, I’ll be crying on my couch.

Idk what to wear.

The other night, I legitimately cried because I couldn’t find anything to wear out. I had my whole outfit planned and when I put it on, it didn’t feel right. My friend said, “it looks so good! Why are you changing?” It’s just too damn hard to explain that the thing isn’t clinging to this thing right and the other thing is bothering me and it’s just a whole thing. It’s not as if I don’t have a bazillion clothes, but my go-to outfit (that one shirt that I wear with that one pair of jeans every other weekend) was being a complete asshole and was not wearing me right. When I went to change my outfit, I realized that I have so many clothes and I only wear a combination of like 10 things ever. Do you know how many things I have in my (3) closets “just in case”? Ladies, I know you know.

In high school once, I purged my clothes and threw out everything that I didn’t wear or fit into anymore. My mom said that I would regret getting rid of my high school t-shirts one day, so that is the moment I stopped getting rid of ANYTHING that *might* be of value to me. Don’t get me wrong, I am known to get rid of a ton of things that I know I won’t use anymore or have never worn, but there are some clothes that I can’t bring myself to get rid of in case I get invited to a theme party where I can finally wear that sequin tube top that I got at Wet Seal in 10th grade… Not that my fat-ass would fit into something I bought when I was 90 lbs lighter. Yes, I’ve gained 90 lbs since my golden years, move on people. Even since 2 years ago, I am a little heavier and can’t fit into the clothes that I once loved to wear. But will I get rid of them? No, instead I will continue to put them on every time I get dressed and get upset that the clothes are stupid and poorly made and didn’t grow with me.

The mirror is the only critic of the outfit we choose anyway. It doesn’t matter how hot or not we feel, we will still look like complete shit in photos. And that ONE TIME you find the outfit of your dreams, no photos will be taken to record this moment in history; it’s Murphy’s Law. Also, no one will care what you are wearing except mean people (me) that will judge you no matter what you wear because we’re (not) jealous that you can wear (fit into) a mini skirt and crop top in winter and be comfortable about your decision. And for some reason, we get excited to get all dressed up on holidays like New Year’s Eve. Why am I wearing leather leggings and a sequin top with heels to this dive bar in the middle of Winter… Either I will see everyone I know that will not care what I look like, or I will see only strangers that will also not care what I am wearing because they’ve never seen me before in their life. I think the thought of going out in clothes you don’t normally wear is a sort of cleanse – like, I am going to be the person I’ve always wanted to be and flirt with all the guys and make friends and end up buying the whole bar a round of shots because I look good. In actuality, I will go out feeling hot, but still unnecessarily awkward when there is no where to sit so you have to stand there and look busy, while I make my friend go up to the hot guy for me even when I pretend to attest. But, when the guy agrees to talk to me, I will compliment the outfit for its success. The other day I was with my dad and said *fanning myself*, “I don’t know why, but I get really hot when I drink.” He said, “Those are drunk goggles, sweetie.” Touche.

The worst thing about finding an outfit on the 15th try is your room ends up looking like Goodwill and you have to take your Ghost Buster’s monster vacuum out to clean up all of your clothes, at which point they all go into the washing machine even though they were never worn but you are too lazy to hang them back up or fold them. Then they sit in the washing machine too long and smell like mold so you have to wash them again, as with drying. They probably still won’t get hung up and next thing you know you are living out of your dryer and pull out options to bring back upstairs with you and they end up on your floor. Again. Those poor clothes just went through the ringer because they weren’t special enough to be loved by their owner, or washed with *color* life-saving detergent. It’s a vicious cycle, I’ll tell ya. Might as well just buy new ones.

Holding on to clothes “just in case” is never, ever going to help you, ladies. You’re not going to lose weight and fit into that dress again. You’re not going to be invited to Brian’s neon party because you’re a fucking adult (and if you’re not a fucking adult, you’re probably too young to be reading my blog). You’re not going to go to some fancy ball on NYE because you don’t have friends like that, and you are not going to decide you do actually like to wear bright colors. And, while I’m projecting, can we please end the wearing-a-bra-out-to-the-bar-and-calling-it-a-shirt trend? This shit has been going on for too long. You don’t see anyone else wearing their bathing suits or underwear at the bar, so just because it covers your nipples, doesn’t make it OK to wear as a shirt. GROW UP, PUT SOME CLOTHES ON, AND HAVE SOME SELF-RESPECT (AND RESPECT FOR THOSE OF US THAT CAN’T WEAR THAT SHIT ahem). You look like slutty Winnie the Pooh.

TBT to when I thought these tights were fashion.