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So let’s talk about first impressions.

13 Sep

My days on a college campus are several. And one thing that seems to be getting carried away is the lack of complete self-respect when it comes to presenting yourself in a positive light.

I realize sweats and gym clothes and flip-flops and UGGs (ugh) and generally looking like you rolled out of bed, are going through a divorce, your cat just died, or you have been swallowed into a vat of heaping depression is the “look” these days for most 18-22 year olds… and beyond on a campus. Congratulations. Reallll original. Said no one ever.

This trend is also seeping into daily life,  going out gear, and especially the go-to shopping uniform. But COME ON!

Do you realize that people make their first impression of you as a human being within the first 5 seconds of meeting you and that impression is based 90% on what you have decided to put on your body?

This is a SERIOUS issue that many young girls and boys (and older boys and girls… I do not discriminate based on age only outfits) are not taking seriously. Why would you want to put the impression out there that you are lazy, have zero taste, and generally have no respect regarding your appearance or the rest of the world that is going to have to see you? My eyes are burning!

Thus leading to an even bigger challenge of having to overcome that first impression in a future situation that you may want or NEED to be taken seriously or may be looking to benefit from the relationship. That hurdle to overcome a first impression is like a high jumper in the Olympics highest goal to overcome. And odds are you will be face-planting onto the pole nose first.

It is much easier to present yourself in a professional and adult manner in the beginning… and then run yourself into the ground by sticking your foot in your mouth or telling an off-color joke or bringing up politics later that will effectively ruin your image just as well (I have NO experience THAT whatsoever so don’t even ask…….)

People get it together. If you want to be taken seriously in a world where image is everything and jobs and future survival is not as easy as it looks on reality TV, you need to be taking the steps in daily life to set yourself up for networking and opportunities in the future. Pretty sure no one ever made it big with a sloppy bun and a hoodie sweatshirt. (Unless you put out… then maybe. ūüėČ )

Plus, if everyone is wearing the exact hideousness then how are you setting yourself apart from the crowd? Oh, wait, you aren’t. And no one is ever going to take you seriously or remember you. EVER.

Welcome to reality where the judgements are fast and harsh and the judges are around every corner.

One Question: Do you have one? And how many? And where is the nearest Chili’s? Ok that’s three questions.

11 Sep

Image

So It has been a while. My bad. But I’m back… for now.

I am now settled and being productive… in hell… aka middle America… and don’t worry, it IS as terrible as it sounds.

However, one thing that comes with living in a college town, specifically one in the middle of nowhere (it’s like they dug this hole and let 20,000 hormone ridden zombies loose because that was the only sensible place to contain them all where they couldn’t hurt…anything but cows and corn) is the fact that the men are boys, and there is no way to escape them.

They. Are. EVERYWHERE.

Little 18 year olds with huge egos and a lack of alcohol poisoning knowledge. Every Thursday- Friday it’s like WWIII and they start dropping like flies at 9 pm being carried out like wounded soldiers by their equally inebriated friends… “I’m ready to Paaaarrrrrtttyyyyyyyyy”. (Figure out how to hold your liquor or just stay home children. Hasn’t anyone heard of a rally puke?? ūüėČ GET IT TOGETHER!!)

The one good thing about being surrounded by teenagers is that they are too dumb to realize that you,¬† in fact, are not a teenager yourself (every time I get mistaken for 19… yeah that’s years-old… I can’t help blushing and wanting to laugh hysterically while simultaneously pinching their cheeks…they’re just so adddoorrraaabbbllleee) thus leading to being constantly carded for dates that one should NEVER go on anyways…The worst date I ever went on was to Chili’s where the man of the hour used his hands to shovel sour cream onto his tacos.

I was 18.

At 27 I would have shrieked and ran and taken at least 15 scalding hot showers and a minimum of 5 sessions of therapy.

Been there. Done that.

I digress.

Besides finding the fountain of youth in idiocy I have also discovered a growing trend that perhaps needs to be a new question box on Match. com. “Do you have any DWI’s?” And even more important “HOW MANY?!?!”

The first question holds a good chance that about 60% polled are going to have a DWI…depends where you are hanging out I would assume.

The second question… hold your breath and get your running shoes laced.

This DWI epidemic is an increasing problem in the single world, and when a female realizes that she either needs to dress appropriately for bike pegs,  drive to pick up her date herself, or just stay home and eat like Jared before he found Subway, the romance seems to go straight out the window.

When did this become a thing to worry about??

And it’s not just dudes, girls have them too.

Is it because we all hate our lives in this politically and economically toxic situation we find ourselves in, or are we seeing a generation come about that thinks the rules perhaps don’t apply to them and that they are so entitled to never get caught?

Either way, just keep arguing that I’m not 27 but 19 boys… and I’ll meet you at any Chili’s you want.

Nature SUUUUCCCCKKKKSSSS.

27 Jun

When did nature become a novelty for mankind? Didn‚Äôt we construct all these buildings and invent cars, electricity, and TV as well as develop the process of identification and exercise videos so we wouldn‚Äôt have to go back into nature? But for some reason people think it‚Äôs awesome to be ‚Äúone‚ÄĚ with nature‚Ķ with a carload full of crap that you have to put together and set-up amongst the poisonous plants, rabid animals, and abundant insect kingdoms.

Nature has rejected me since as long as I can remember. More than rejected me. It kicks my ass and packs my bags for me.

As a white girl, with long eyelashes I can bat at a moments notice, the only violence and discrimination I have ever experienced has been in nature.

I almost lost a foot… and my mind… to 6 summers of consecutive life threatening Poison Ivey. (Although, it did get me out of church camp, which was OKAY!! with me. I’ve never been a fan of organized anything…too many rules, chants, and activities. I HATE activities. And I especially hate chants. Chants remind me of why people go on shooting rampages.)  I’ve been on numerous bouts of steroids from spider bites. I usually can bet there is a snake that with the slightest nibble will kill me instantly nearby, and the sunburns are endless.

Much to my dismay, I was raised in nature. Horses, land, gardens, chickens, the full enchilada. Go figure. So it’s been a 24/7/365 battle since I was born.

My father used to take me on painful canoe trips which would involve me talking in high pitch wails as I tried to use my negative muscle mass and defeated mental capacity to simultaneously maneuver us through the water whilst trying not to drown, be engulfed by what was under the water, and not die from whatever was gonna bite me above the water. While he watched. Needless to say I was not a happy ‚Äúcamper.‚ÄĚ

Our family camp trips ended up with the four of us piling into the van ¬ľ mile away from home wishing we were dead.

So maybe I come by this honestly?

However, there is no ‚Äúquit‚ÄĚ in quitter‚Ķ wait a second‚Ķ.

So I decided this summer I was going to defeat nature.

This was a stupid ambition.

20 minutes into attempt #1, the high pitched wailing had commenced.

I don‚Äôt understand this concept of float trips. People pay a lot of money to float down a piss infused river trying to avoid all the white trash drunken idiots that cannot control the fact that they should not be set free in this environment‚Ķ they should be caged in a zoo‚Ķ and they should not be allowed to produce cubs. It’s like an episode of Man Vs. Wild, but Bear Grills is nowhere in sight to make it “Bear-able.” ūüėČ

 The only thing good about nature is fire. But you can build a fire… in air conditioning… with mosquito nets strung about wherever necessary.

Even after my 6 hour hell ride down the worst roller coaster ever invented, we were done. Thank God.

Let the fire portion commence.

However, nature was not done with me. I woke up with a lip the size of Asia and numerous other swollen appendages. The swelling was moving to my throat. I looked like I had been in a bar brawl with a gang of ginormous bikers that the only thing they hated in this world was blonde girls with long eyelashes that bat them whenever danger erupts.

I got the hell out of dodge and consumed enough Benadryl to kill a small dog.

After my 48 hour Benadryl coma, I only had the emotional scars to prove it. And thus decided to take a stab at it the next weekend…

Cause the first run was so much fun. Duh.

2nd time was way worse. I was attacked by the most horrific wild animal of all of them: Douchebags. Be VERY wary of this creature. They can yeild their revenous heads at a moments notice.

Douchebags should not be allowed around me. I have too much negative muscle mass I’m willing to throw around coupled with a harsh vocabulary.

After 6 more hours of hell, wondering why I did this to myself… again. I was dunked in the piss infused water by douchebag #1. I would have cold-cocked him with my paddle…if he would have let go of it. And instead decided to punch/slap (it’s a skill) him in the face and call him an abomination… annnndddd then attack his lazy eye condition.

PERHAPS I reacted unfavorably.  I’m waiting for the court order.

And I think I was really just taking it out on Mother Nature and her silly existence in my once well furnished, temperature controlled, sparkling porcelain toileted, and technology ridden world.

 That bitch burned me, bit me, and dirtied all of me. (Speaking of dirty…why do people even bother taking showers while camping? Like it’s gonna help washing off the outdoors when you’re STILL IN the outdoors. It’s like wearing a maroon polyester suit to …anything… ever… unless you are Napoleon Dynamite. It’s a waste of time.)  

Nature had a round two waiting for me. I woke up to rain and seriously poor engineering of our tent. I was ready to NEVER enter nature again. And have never packed faster in my life. Thankfully, I wasn’t SERIOUSLY bit (due to my Lynus-esque cloud of bug spray and my ingenious ability to wear 6 layers including a hood, gloves and knee socks… in 90 degree weather)… but I was emotionally scarred forever. Again.

 And thus brings us to my declaration of an indoors only policy from now on. (I would rather be herding chickens.)

 Who’s with me??

Get me a baseball bat and Jennifer Aniston. STAT.

15 Jun

When did Office Space the movie become a reality in American workplaces? (And why aren’t we all as good-looking as Jennifer Aniston?!? Scam.)

¬†I‚Äôve had more jobs than I‚Äôve had haircuts and the more ‚Äúexperience‚ÄĚ I get the dumber I feel and the closer I am to taking a baseball bat to the entire building‚Ķ and then the world.

 When did people become so stupid??

We wonder why America is flailing and failing…

It might be due to the number of dumbasses in charge of the coffee pots and fax machines.

In my office we actually have TWO!!!! TWO!!!!  automated warnings (one at the top of the flight of stairs and then one at the bottom 16 stairs later in case you freaking forgot in the last 5 seconds) that tells you in a cheap Siri-style voice to watch your step and hold on to the railing as you pass… cause you know some fat idiot in ugly shoes freaking fell down the stairs and broke their face… and tried to sue… cause they didn’t want to admit… their shoes were ugly… and cause that’s what you do. Sue the bastards is the answer to everything these days. (Because we… naturally…LOVE unnecessary paperwork as an entire society. It’s in our blood. Passed down from the Viking generations… of the late 1200’s… B.C.)  

I have made a game trying to go up and down the stairs faster than the automated bitch can keep up with her warnings.

I have discovered all this is helping is¬†to lift my ass …and up my dosage of crazy pills.

And don’t get me started with the printers and faxes and scanners! These pieces of crap are designed that way so the IT guy has something to do in between hacking into people’s computers to spy on what they had for lunch and listening to the New Kids on the Block Pandora station, dreaming of what could have been if he sang better and had less of a knack for ink cartridges and Microsoft Outlook tips.

Our printer is almost as fast as a 15-year-old tripping on acid trying to plow a field, plant corn, and watch it grow!

Almost.

I feel like we have all decided to just put up with all the shittiness because ‚Äúhey!‚ÄĚ there‚Äôs nothing better to do and those 8 hours a day aren‚Äôt gonna dick around themselves‚Ķ might as well spend the time really making an impact on the world and bettering ourselves‚Ķ

…one useless 60+¬†email chain at a time.

Fly Me Away.

4 Apr

Flying is such a luxury.

Until it is a bitch.

I have flown a lot of places and encountered a lot of things, but my 36 hour route to hell was not what I had expected. And I completely blame Ryan Air (and the French). It is the WORST airline of all time. What was originally going to be a cheap trip to Germany turned into the most expensive experience of my life. After 2 trains and an airport shuttle I found myself at the Neiderhein Airport.

Where is Neiderhein¬†may you ask… It’s in the middle of FREAKING nowhere.

So I’m excited because I¬†made it to the airport in one piece, got through security with my overweight bag… naturally… and was seated nowhere near children… or¬†schizophrenics. SUCCESS!

Then comes the news that we are delayed… for three hours. I didn’t realize how hot planes get on the inside when you are just… sitting there. And I had on 6 layers of clothes… naturally. So after peeling off my layers and trying to psychologically convince myself¬†that I wasn’t¬†sweating through 6 layers and¬†that I didn’t look¬†like I had just got out of a KISS concert¬†(I felt like Tina Fey in 30 Rock looking for the pilot…Matt Damon… to have an enraged standoff with and start raiding the snack cart),¬†my flight was cancelled due to the striking of French air controllers (apparently the French strike for everything… naturally).¬†I was at a loss.

However, the girl next to me was not. She had the definition of a meltdown. Actually two meltdowns. One in English and then one in German. I was not worried about how to get to Spain at that point, I was concerned about how to get away from the erratic psycho losing her mind next me. I was looking for the small children to take haven with. I had never seen more of a need for waterproof mascara, xanax, and a muzzle.

And then came the reality… the line. Ryan Air had 2 people ready to rebook¬†at least 4 cancelled flights (that’s like 5,000,000 people I’m sure).¬†Dumbasses. And I’m in Germany without a working phone and cannot understand any of the German or Spanish updates going on around me. Trying not to panic¬†I do the only thing any sane person would do. I start roaming (Lord knows how much that cost. And I don’t want to know. EVER). So amidst the languages… I figure out that there are no flights for two days even going to the¬†COUNTRY of Spain. And with all the people in front of me the soonest I would get to Espana would be 5 days from now. Awesome.

Ok. My¬†flight back to the states is 4 days from now. I’m no rocket scientist but that math is no bueno. So I do what any sane person would do.

I panic.

On the inside of course.

But then I regain my control and start looking for options. I book a flight to Madrid on another airline at another airport. Ok, so now I have to get to the airport. One shuttle, two trains, a subway and a really nice German man and his family get me to the second airport. As soon as I arrive I get notification my flight is cancelled… naturally.¬†Perfecto! Just what I was hoping for. So I book another. Cancelled.

So now it’s 3 am I’m in the completely closed airport camped out under a giant Giraffe (I named him Ferdinand…he was the nicest soul I had met all day)¬†being circled by floor cleaners, flickering lights,¬†and constant¬†hammering…¬†becoming schizophrenic myself. (Overnight in an airport is like camping but 1,000 times worse because it wasn’t planned, the floor is marble,¬†and all the cafe’s close at midnight.)

Any trains from Germany to Madrid take an astounding 24 hours… naturally… I don’t know what circles they are going in… and renting a car costs over 1,300 euros… because that’s affordable (and after asking people to find fellow¬†road¬†trippers¬†I realize that in Germany an 11 hour car ride is not a possibility in their world. And this thing called¬†“roadtripping” is not a thing. ¬†I had a hard time not laughing because that’s like 2 states and would be faster than my train/plane purgatory¬†I was finding myself in. And if you don’t believe in roadtripping¬†I would think there would be less strikes¬†and more options than 24 hour trains!!! But I digress,¬†in reality a roadtrip¬†would have taken me 5 days instead of 11 hours due to my lack of inner compass.)

Now, not only am I freaking out, I smell like a homeless person who should be on the sidewalk not cozy under Ferdinand with a makeshift pallet¬†consisting of dirty t-shirts and socks. I’m ready to slit my wrists. But I can’t find anything sharp. WON’T THE UNIVERSE THROW ME A BONE!

At 5 am I finally get a HIGHLY expensive one way ticket to Madrid (rape)… the only one going out that day… and there’s a chance it might be cancelled…naturally.

I go for coffee (I really just needed a scotch or two… or a bottle).

Apparently good morning in German is something that sounds like “Morgan.” I thought the barista had lost her mind, and I tried politely explaining I am not Morgan but Lauren and maybe the guy next to me was Morgan. She then proceeded to snarl at me “Good Morning” in English like I belonged on a short bus with the other crazies… not free¬†amongst society.

I have never wanted to punch anyone more.

6¬†hours later… my flight is¬†finally¬†in the air¬†and may I say that Lufthansa is the best airline ever!! I wanted to take that stewardess and put her in my pocket. And they served breakfast!! It was like I had made my journey through the Hunger Games¬†to heaven … except I passed out and missed breakfast. But still! It’s nice to feel like an actual person when you’re paying an arm and a leg to be in flight and not scum that is in the way of the journey¬†(airlines really have lowered their standards in all areas and need to regain their dignity. Ryan Air you need to take notes from Lufthansa …. as well as every other airline in existence).

So after another 3 subway transfers¬†I arrived at my destination… 36 hours later ¬†and have never been so excited to hear Spanish and so reluctant to ever fly again.

Ferdinand, I will never forget our one magical night under the track lights. However, I hope to never see you again… naturally.

Roadtrip anyone?

Shit Goes Down.

28 Mar

So I’ve been a lot¬†of places and seen a lot of things. My morning commute today was one for the books.

Barely awake, rushing to my last Spanish class (thankthelord), and looking for any one of the million Starbucks without a line out the door, I encountered the definition of HORRIFIC.

I was on Gran Via… a street¬†similar to Broadway in New York City… when shit went down. And when I¬†say shit went down, I mean in the most literal of all senses. I’m doing my morning Pac-Man¬†zig-zag through the masses and during my zag I look to¬†the right in anticipation of coffee and see a homeless man.

A homeless man pulling down his pants.

Ok this isn’t as shocking to me… that stuff happens¬†more often than you would think… I was just really thankful he had on pants at all… but then came the sound of¬†his shit¬†hitting the pavement… and it was juicy. Killmenow. I have never before wished my Mary Poppins carpet-bag¬†contained a full size ceramic toilet and an entire package of double roll 100,000 ply Charmin more.

WE AREN’T IN CHINA! I once saw a woman holding her child over a trash can in Beijing while he… did his business. Oh what I wouldn’t give to go back to that simpler time.

Today was much more traumitizing.

Can’t you at least find a park or a deserted ally to do your business…not in center city in front of Burger King and the rest of normal society BEFORE I’ve had my freaking coffee!!

Toto, we aren’t in Kansas anymore.

I’m gonna go throw up, need a therapist, and need to figure out a way to¬†invent a pocket-sized¬†port-a-potty for future encounters.

Go Lesbians.

12 Mar

After 10 weeks of awesomenes in Spain. ruts were hit this weekend causing me to miss home.

Gasp.

I didn’t think it could happen, but I miss America with a fiery vengeance.

*EXCEPT for the insane politics that are leading up to the next election which make me want to become permanently Canadian and  flee the possible second civil war and the white trash habitants that weigh over 356 lbs.

Just to be clear.

Sometimes a girl just wants to talk. After weeks of broken English, endless frustration, and many flailing calories burned by¬†Nahum.¬†My spanish is¬†about where¬†it was when my ship landed in Spain¬†10 weeks ago. I have a friend that speaks the king’s English but that shit is cray! Most of the time I think she’s making up words and calling them English. I just wanna bitch about something vocally. This hasn’t happened in some time. I’m not a talker. But man a complete sentence in American would be muy¬†muy¬†bueno. I must be sick or something.

Men.¬†I NEVER thought these words would be coming out of my mouth. But American men are REALLY nice… ahhem in comparison… the bell curve isn’t really peaking by any means.)¬†I will not take them for granted in the future… Ok, ok… I will TRY not to take them for granted in the future.¬†In Spain the men play games similar to chess. Meaning I know neither the rules, where the board is,¬†or what pieces we are using. But I do know that in the end they are¬†king and¬†it’s check mate for you no matter how you play your cards. Best just to surrender and become a lesbian… or nun.

Tricky bastards.

My mom’s cooking.¬†The worst thing about me is my lack of attention to detail. This skill would have been a good one BEFORE I food poisoned myself.¬†However, this also¬†exemplifies my skills at magic. Because I food poisoned myself with pasta. Ta-Da! Skillz. (To be fair apparently the vegetables I bought had shrimp in them. Note to self shrimp in the¬†Spanish language¬†= gambas. And they need to be cooked throughly… or just avoided altogether.)

Nothing makes you want to kill yourself quicker than a bout of strong, self-inflicted, food poisoning. Check mate.

Internet.¬†I JUST WANT TO SEE THE SNL¬†SKIT OF THE REAL HOUSEWIVES OF DISNEY!!!! It’s super frustrating that no American sites work¬†outside the States. But rest assured they are all working on becoming available in my area. Good to know Hulu, NBC, ABC, some things on YouTube, and Pandora. Check mate my ass.

PS i’d kill for some Smoothie King and a Redbox.

The end of the world one orange oompa loompa at a time.

29 Feb

Snooki might be pregnant.

Lord have mercy on us all.

Everyone say an extra prayer that this rumor is false. The last thing ANYWHERE needs is more orange fist pumping oompa loompas.

Some people should not be allowed to reproduce. It’s a fact. I include myself in this category, so it’s not discrimination.

Poor Poor kid. Can social services be called before the egg has hatched? I’ll Google it.

Maybe the world is going to end.

Seriouslyshootmenow McDaniel

12 Feb

So this is going to piss several people off. Especially those of you that do this.

Ya, you.

You know who I’m talking about.

But I HAVE to address it, or my head might explode.

But WHY?!?!?!?!?!?! is it acceptable to have “couple” Facebook pages.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

You know where people are like BethandSamSmith or Ican’thavemyownlifeanditsblendedintomyfacebooklifeJones or Fullonballandchainshootmenow Sanchez. Good Lord!!! It’s the most annoying invention ever. I have tried to just use my initials on Facebook and it won’t accept it, but a couple can put the word “and” in-between their names, meshing their complete existence together and it’s accepted by the Facebook system.

W.T.F.

Is it a lack of trust??¬†Who’s email do you decide to¬†use??¬†Is it so you can stalk yourself AND your significant other¬†simultaneously freeing up more time to hang out with eachother, talk to eachother, makeout with eachother… and go to the¬†gym? No, you’re right, the gym takes way too much time for anyone sane.

Perhaps my misunderstanding is due to my single status… but I don’t think so (see¬†previous commitment -phobe post.) ūüėČ

I wonder what happens when they get divorced. Do you have to tell Facebook why you are separating your name from your spouse’s and you need to just have Ben back from Benandsheniqua Precious (and then you have to explain why you had to take her last name as well and Ben Precious isn’t really a name you want to commit to any longer)¬†and it was all because you forgot to take the trash out and and then the baby started crying and spitting up everywhere and the dog escaped and before you knew it…¬†shit went south… and now it’s Facebook official! Yay.

Puhhhhllleaaassseeee.

Hawt Bathroom.

1 Dec

What is the fascination with Facebook + self-portraits + bathrooms. This combination is not a good one, but a popular one nonetheless that has caught on quicker than fashion dies here jeggings and the cancer kills microwave cake (which is surprisingly delicious BTW).

If¬†your “friends”¬†wanted to see your bathroom,¬†they would come over and ask to use it. I don’t need to see you shirtless next to a toilet flexing your muscles or sucking in your F.U.P.A. I can only imagine what happened 5 minutes before that photo-op… The possibilities are endless…and they most likely end with 1 or 2?¬†Gross.

If¬†the self-portrait¬†HAS¬†to happen, can’t someone¬†at least try¬†getting creative and start taking the narcissism¬†to a more classy level? Like self-portraits of yourself loading the dishwasher or posing in front of the fireplace or¬†toasting a strudel¬†or changing a lightbulb. At least then I know you either are¬†A) a neat and tidy self-obsessed person/photo-taker B)¬†a self-obsessed person/photo-taker with excellent taste in¬†instant breakfast¬†C) a self-obsessed person/photo-taker who is actively trying to achieve premium lighting or¬†D) a self-obsessed person/photo-taker who likes fire.¬†(Please, please let it be D!!!) ūüėČ

In any case ALL of those say way more than I’m a self-obsessed person/photo-taker who just took a crap and has¬†zero¬†to negative one million¬†decorating skills.

Thanks.

PS Turn the freaking flash off and tidy up the sink!

…and then put some clothes on a get a hobby.

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