#notdentist

Kids. 
I am here to talk about a very serious issue. 

The issue of #notdentist. We need to talk. As you know, I've recently discovered the joy of #livedating, otherwise known as #babe or #datestalking. But date stalking is not just a one way street. Oh no--it's a two way. I do not merely get stalked, I also occasionally...stalk. 

Let's start from the beginning. 

A co-worker and I (we'll call her...Sally...to protect her identity) were talking about the man manchild who is the unknowing star of #livedating. His profession (dentistry) came up as well as where he lives, where he went to school blah blah (these are normal kitchen questions, right? I don't sound creepy yet). We discovered that Sally knew an equally annoying male from the same dental school graduation class.   She asks me his name to see if it's the same person. Problem--I don't know his last name. Soon after this, she sends me a picture of the graduating dental class.

"Show me which one he is." (Oh please, don't pretend you've never shown your friend a Facebook picture of a total rando)

He's not there.

By everything he's told me about graduation dates, schooling, etc...he should be there. He's not there. 

So. We move to Plan B. He's told me 20gazillion times the name of his "dental partner." We do a quick web search (#JONUDGIES--that's no judgies, people) and pull up the practice's web page.

He's not there.

We go into full on stalker-mode (this is my dating life on the line, durr). I call the dental office. 

"Hi, a friend of mine referred me to Dr. XXXXX's partner but I just can't remember his last name. Can you tell me his name?"

"Dr. YYYYY."

"Noooo, it definitely started with an M....@#$@ (name protected) M something..."

"No one by that name works here."

He's not there.

We pull our friend Janey in, who used to work in investigative reporting. While Sally's first vote is to stalk Facebook, Janey's first move is straight to the sex offender and prisoner public records. 

He's not there.

Phew.

Finally, I am forced to confront him for maximum clarity revealing the situation. 

"What's your last name"

"You don't know my last name?"

"No."

"XXXX" (name protected)

Janey's expert stalking investigative reporting reveals:

Profession: lie

College history: lie

This, children, is how 20/20 starts. But thanks to my friends Sally, Janey and #livedating partner Amanda...this is how 20/20 ends. With a group of friends banding together, raising red flags of awareness. If you or a loved one you know is dating a "dentist" who lives at home, has more than 100,000 tweets (no lie), sends you possessive texts like "Dinner. Seven. I'll pick you up." when you had absolutely no plans with him and invites you on trips to Texas when you've known each other for 3 days--raise the red flag. 

                  

Together, we can protect each other. 

Move Over, Carrie

A few weeks ago, I made the first move. And it was glorious. A perfect "wait, you too?!" moment. What ensued was two weeks worth of flirty texts and two-hour phone calls during road trips that make you remember just how fun it is to get the butterflies. And then.

Radio silence.

Last night, after a week's worth of radio silence, I sent out an SOS. A flirty, "to hell with it, I'll never see you again" text to check the waters again. Today (a full 24 hours later), I heard back from the fellow for the first time in over a week.

"Sorry for being absent. Been hectic l8ly."

My first reaction (besides thinking who the eff still texts using numbers to abbreviate?) was to text a quick "Oh you're fine, you don't need to apologize for anything." But then, I stopped. Did he owe me an apology? Was he fine? The fact is, everything had been going great and then radio silence....so was it really "fine"? If I was being honest, what would I say? 

But really, what would I say? We are taught that a woman who cuts all communication after a break-up or failed one night stand is "handling it with grace" and "cutting her losses." A woman who holds the man accountable and asks for an explanation or dares tell them that their action was rude/deusch-y/etc is  "having trouble moving on." Who picked those descriptors? Who decided that not speaking your mind was "graceful" and "tactful"? Shouldn't we be encouraging people to speak their mind, good or bad? 

My blog is most often found by typing into Google "dating disasters comedy blog." But my reaction to his text today made me think, am I setting myself up for a dating disaster? If I tell him it's fine, that he has nothing to apologize for, I'm really giving him a free pass. Granted, this is someone I've just been texting with so it's not life or death. But, I think this same thing is applicable to more serious relationships. If you tell your significant other that "it's fine," they really are getting a free pass to go on about their life and keep repeating that bad behavior. How often have you been out with your girlfriends and told some dating disaster story and their response is a sympathetic "oh he totally knows better, what a dick." Does he? What if we're all running around saying "he knows better," but he doesn't actually know better because no one has told him? We're all assuming someone did, or will, but no one actually does say "that was a dick move, don't do it again."If we continue to run around the dating pool without speaking up for ourselves and just assuming that some girl some where at some time told him what we're really dying to tell him, are we setting ourselves up for a dating disaster? And how can we ever break this cycle if a woman who cuts all communication with a bad date/relationship is deemed "tactful" and "graceful" and someone who doesn't is met with a raised eyebrow and a "hot mess" label? 

If I look at my life for evidence, I would have to admit that the idea I sometimes set myself up for dating disasters is true. I'm trying to lose weight and make a healthy lifestyle, and I brought a box of cupcakes home from work. I want to be a nonprofit executive director, but I procrastinate signing the paperwork that would be the next step in making that happen. Examples are endless. I'm setting myself up (potentially) for disaster.

How would dating change if we were all completely honest? No, it's not fine. Yes, you do owe me an explanation. Explanation received? Cool. No hard feelings. But, if you're hoping to find a long-term significant other in the near future I encourage you to stop that annoying action. 

What do you think? Are we setting ourselves up for dating disasters by not being honest? When did being honest become synonymous with being negatively critical? Would you rather date a completely honest person, or does the thought of potential "harsh honesty" scare you? 

Oh, and I still haven't said anything back. Because I don't know what to say. Society taught me to make excuses for people and say "oh you're fine, you don't need to apologize." But maybe I don't want to make excuses for people anymore. 

Move over, Carrie. There's a new single girl in town. 

Hug Me Friday

Happy Friday, friends! I'm sure everyone's Monday (Tuesday?) weekend update posts will be nice and long to accommodate for the THREE DAY WEEKEND. Woot woot. What will I be doing?

A lot of this:

While listening to this:

(I heard a lot about this music video. And then I watched it and caught myself going "Dear God. I would actually prefer your to be naked MORE than you already are because your outfits are so hideous. Also, TI is the best part because he just looks so genuinely confused as to why he's there.)

While reading this:

Pre-ordered book magically popping up on my Kindle? Yes please. I'm a huge fan of his work. Hope this one lives up to the expectation!

And in case you choose to read some funniez while recovering from a delicious hangover sunburn, check these out:

Dating Disaster Funniez

The Five Assholes You'll Date In College

Part One

Part Two

Appendix A

This was the first thing I ever wrote on my blog when it started, 

and remains to this day my favorite post. 

It's sharp, witty, funny and sassy. 

Dating Disasters

First Impressions are Golden

GIF Letter Funniez

Letter to my Workout Instructor

Good Try

Dear crazy bitch...

Letter to the Graduates

How to Survive Mouth Surgery

Here are some tips and tricks to get you through your latest mouth surgery. 

1. Embrace this time to avoid coworker interaction, because you literally can't talk. 

2. Don't laugh. No really. You don't realize how many muscles laughing uses until you can't use them. 

3. Embrace your liquid-only diet by repeating "This will jump start my bikini body. This will jump start my bikini body."

4. Delight in being returned to childhood for a few days by eating only spaghettios, apple sauce and tapioca pudding packs. 

5. Buy protein shakes with built-in compliments. 

6. Take advantage of your opportunity to send your loved ones really dramatic text messages. 

I Like My Bars Dirty

How do I like my bars? Dirty. I love a good dive bar. The more sections of wall that consist of tacky wood paneling, the better. The more creepy townie men who stare inappropriately before turning religiously back to the sporting show on the fuzzy TV, the better. I don't want to pay a cover, I don't want to have to look cute just to get sticky alcohol spilled all over me in on an overcrowded dance floor and I don't want to have everything bathed in a shade of weird purple 'trendy' lights.

Also, I am not skilled enough to order drinks at these hip bars filled with dancing, flirting, glittering 20somethings. I still order drinks like I'm in a frat house, because that's where I learned to drink. I like my drinks strong, and I prefer them in a solid glass mug or something non-breakable. Once, right after I moved here, I told a bartender that I wanted a Dr. Pepper and vodka. He was in shock. He asked me if that was a fancy drink from Michigan, because he had never heard of it. I just went with it and said yes. In reality, I could not tell you the difference between a mai thai, a cosmo, a martini or a rock collins. I am used to simple drinks: liquor, chaser. Two ingredients. Or maybe three, if we're going to get wild and make pink panty droppers (beer, vodka, pink lemonade).

So give me the dive bars: the ones with the best food, the weirdest people, the dimmest lights, the dirtiest floors, and the least decorated walls.

This is the actual level of lighting within the bar. I can barely see the back wall. 

Perfect.

Bars using posters of Gossip Girl will be given extra points in my book.

Just look at the dirt and the wood and the bottles. Clearly, you don't come here to flirt. You come here to drink. (Also, on the wall behind me there was a collection of mammoth beehives. Why? Because they can. Or maybe it's their version of a breathalyzer. When you start believing bees will actually come out of them, you've had enough.)

But the following really took the cake. This backwoods, old-man bar had squirrel decorations. That's right. Dead squirrels. Posed. Costumed. In shadow boxes. Like it was no big deal. Like this was a completely normal thing to do. And the closer you looked, the more squirrels you saw. 

Oh Missourah, you take the cake on old man bars. Cheers to you. 

Linking up with my boo Steph to celebrate her one-year blogiversary! Happy blogabirthaday, babay. 

Letter to the Graduates, via GIFS

I think I might have found my calling guys. My "blog niche" so they say. Letters via GIFS. Eh? 

Anyways. It's graduation season. I literally had a panic attack reading everyone's graduation statuses the other day and had to remind myself that I already had a job and a place to live and didn't need to go into full on panic postgrad mode. Rough life. Then I heard a Pure Michigan commercial in Missourah and almost started crying in the car. But that's besides the point.

Dear Graduates:

It's your big moment. Which you will undoubtedly forget is your big moment because you'll be too hungover from the celebratory parties the night before. Well. It's still your big moment. Here's some advice, or general musings from someone one year out.

Post grad life is hard. It's freshman year all over again, except with more bills, more responsibilities, and less people your age standing around equally confused and helpless.

People envy your youth, your relative freedom and your wide open availability...but they also would never switch places with you. What they don't tell you: postgrad life is lonely. You go from seeing your friends 24/7, to maybe three times a week. If you're lucky. Sometimes, you count it as a good week if you have one social event. Sometimes, one social event per week is all you can handle.

But when you get lonely, remember: your phone isn't just for tweeting and roughing up selfies with vintage tints on Instagram. 

It's also for calling people. So when you get lonely, use it. 

And NOT to call your bartender. That brings me to my next point.  Bartenders are not your friends. At first, you will glory in happy hours, drink specials and the buzz of social activity that you find there. But remember, for both your emotional and financial health, their purpose is to rack your tab up. They "care" about your problem or story so long as it is a story that requires more liquor. Be careful.

I know. I'm disappointed Nick Miller isn't my bartender too.

Get off of Facebook. Get. Off. I know. You "miss them." But in the middle of stalking people who you're used to being able to reach out and touch every single day...you're going to see a lot of things that will drive you mad. Engagement announcements. Job announcements. Self-realization announcements. You're going to go crazy if you sit there and compare yourself to everyone. How did she get that job? Why am I not that comfortable with this new phase of my life? How did she make that new friend? 

The green-eyed monster is not your friend, so by all means, please don't invite yourself into his home (Facebook) and sit for a nice long chat. Get off.

You'll be broke as fuck. 

Many people will encourage you to make a budget. Do. And then realize that no matter how hard you budget, half the time you will still have no idea where your money went. Your first year is a giant teeter-totter that you can never balance. You need friends, and the surest way to make friends is to go out and do things. Repeat: you're broke as fuck. Know when to skip invites (hint: work lunches are the first to be cut), and when to say yes.


I know that this all sounds really, really harsh. And I'm sorry. But I wish above all else that I hadn't rushed into things. That I hadn't rushed into the "perfect" job, moving out and doing "adult things." You will have your entire life to work, so don't rush into it. Fill out applications. Look for jobs. But also lay in the sun. Get a book. Breathe. You just went through a four mile marathon of insanity. Breathe. Don't freak out over the fact that "everyone else has a job, I'm so behind." You're not. For every person that does have a job, there are five more just like you still pulling their hair out searching the web and living in their parents' basement. Don't move out of your parents' basement prematurely. Evil things wait for you, things that you think are "adult." Calm the fuck down. You will have 85 years of your life to do "adult things" like pay the bills and buy your own groceries and clean your bathroom. Six more months of not having to do the mundane shit you call "adulthood" is worth the small annoyance living with your parents is. Don't rush into the rest of your life. Because once you're there, you can't go back. One day, your parents won't be there. So enjoy the extra dinners while you can.

How the rest of us feel when you say how excited you are to just "be and adult" and do "adult things" in the "real world."

You never get this time in your life again. So live every day. Every day. Some days will suck ass. Some days will be cloud nine. I am telling you it's going to suck. But when it sucks, remember: it's supposed to suck. And yes, it does feel this way to everyone else. You're not alone in the fact that you're pissed off and wish you had never graduated. So in those moments, take a deep breath, get a drink, sit outside, sit on your bed. Breathe. And remind yourself it is 110% okay to feel completely lost. Stop pushing yourself. (Granted, in "my day," we didn't have a Taylor Swift song glorifying this god-awful stage in life so I'm sure now that you do being "totally lost, confused alone in the best way" is hip. You probably don't even need this list because that song told you everything you need to know (sarcasm, people).)

Anyways. Have fun, kids.
Love,
Autumn

What advice would you give new graduates?

An Emotional Graduation

This one's for me. I'm not writing it for sympathy.  I'm not writing it for any other reason than the fact that this blog is primarily for me. And when I look back at these posts in a year, I want to remember this day. This day, when it didn't hurt to think about you, write about you or see your name on my phone. This day. The day the sunshine didn't hurt.

But I'm also writing this because I want to be honest. I want you, reader, to know who I am. There's nothing better than a brand new friend who knows nothing about you, except an old friend who knows everything about you.

It's spring. All around me, I see photos of people graduating. I think of everything they're about to go through. I think of dogwood days and sunshine and my own graduation. I think of where I was at this point a year ago.

But to think of that, we need to go back a little farther.

****

During my senior year of college, I was in a super serious relationship. We fell in love. We made choices, sacrifices. Or more, I made sacrifices. But they were willing sacrifices because I had so much faith and trust in us. We put his job first. I decided not to take the GRE, not to apply to graduate schools and not to apply to any other jobs or programs until we figured out where his job would be first. If the point was to be together, it didn't make sense for me to apply to anywhere until we knew where his job would be. So I put everything on hold. We had a plan, we had a date, we had everything. Until we didn't. Or more realistically, until I didn't have it all anymore. I started getting really weird texts from him at all hours of the night talking about dark holes and dark places and not dragging me down with him. Most of our calls ended with both of us in tears, him from depression and me from trying desperately to help him through something I couldn't. And then three months later, three months of dealing with his depression and my sudden lack of concrete anything, I learned it was all a lie. There wasn't any depression. But there was another girl, that he couldn't fess up to. Thanks, Facebook. Those months were rough. Suffice to say, when I walked across that graduation stage I felt emotionally and physically drained. I didn't have a plan like most of my friends. Any plan I would've pursued, I'd missed the boat on. It was too late for grad school apps or most of the other programs I wanted. Worse than not having a plan was feeling like someone else had put me in that position of having nothing. I felt lost. Insanely, insanely lost. I hadn't just lost my boyfriend, I had lost my best friend. The person I would normally go to with these feelings of uncertainty was no longer on the other end of the phone.

And it kept going. A lot of people don't understand why it took me so long to "get over it." Because it never ended, that's why. Just when I would get going again, he'd pop up. I finally accepted a job offer halfway across the country from him, in Missouri, when he popped up again. Suddenly it was more phone calls and 3 am voicemails with hopeless declarations of love and apologies. Suddenly it was "well what if I moved there too?" I didn't want to say no. We were planning on getting married, you don't just flip a switch and suddenly not want that again. But like the first time, it ended again. It was a midnight phone call talking about how much he missed me, and then an 8 am Facebook post about his engagement to "the other woman." I realized her and I had switched roles. Suddenly I had become 'the other woman.' And that's when it ended.

*****

Here's my point. I've been R****-sober for three months now and it feels GOOD. It feels AMAZING. I finally feel like me again. I'm finally HAPPY. I look in the mirror and I don't see a girl recovering from a plan gone completely awreck. I see a girl with OPTIONS and a FUTURE and genuine HAPPINESS. And this is a big deal to me. And yes, I knew these things before. Yes I knew my self-worth wasn't rooted in that relationship. Blah blah blah. But life happens and love happens and I think anyone who has been in that type of deep love understands what I mean.

Some of you may roll your eyes. Some of you may think I'm exaggerating  Some of you may think that I shouldn't give a fuck anymore. Well, whatever. This one's for me. And for me, today, I'm EXCITED. I came out the other side of a situation that was pure insanity--fake depression, hidden girlfriends, failed futures, lost loves--and I came out laughing and healthy and happy. I gave myself a pat on the back once just for surviving it. But I'm past that. I'm better than that. I'm happy and ready and excited. Today, I'm grateful that I get to stand in the sun and make any damn choice I please. I'm happy that the thought of him no longer makes me cringe.

I feel like this is my second graduation. Now, when I stand out in the bright rays of the sunshine and look towards my future I feel uncertainty and butterflies and misgivings and excitement and joy all at once. I may be scared, but I am filled with such, such joy at the certainty that any choice I make is mine and mine alone. No one is in control of my future except me. I get to choose. Nobody's writing this story except for me. And that my friends, is a most wonderful, wonderful feeling. 

Happy graduation, Autumn.

Thank you to all of you who read through that whole thing. I hope you'll stay along for the ride--good things are to come! And a huge, huge thank you to all the women who made me feel so comfortable at the beginning of the week when I posted Dogwood Days--I couldn't have pushed publish without you. 

Really? Really.

Things that normal give people a rush of endorphins but for some reason just make me angry: Working out and Fridays. That's right. I said it. I don't know why, but for some reason on Friday I am just irrationally annoyed by EVERYTHING. I know. I'm a hater. And since I am filled with angst and annoyances, I'm going to blog about them. Because I can. Here are some people I am not so silently judging today, and to all of you I say:

People who sit on checks and don't immediately cash them. You have money in your hand!!! Why not get those dollas?!?!? Also, I dislike the fact that they give me a false sense of security in my bank account. I don't actually have that amount, you're just SITTING ON IT. Also, if you are going to send me passive-aggressive emails about how you 'don't have that check yet', but when I write it you proceed to sit on it for OVER  A WEEK...I DOUBLE JUDGE YOU. Why were you so eager to get it, if you're not going to CASH IT????????

People who wear unnecessarily tight button-up cardigans with hoods (what) and cowboy boots. I'm sorry, but if you want to strut around and feel manly and Southern with your cowboy boots...then don't wear a cardigan a 12-year-old girl would.

People who are overly nice to everyone. All the time. No matter how much they actually hate them.

People who use sugary-sweet nicknames in a work environment. 

She's referring to me. I flipped out.

Bloggers who write a whole post declaring they "don't care about the drama." If you take the time to write a whole post declaring how much you don't care, you care. And that's fine. We don't care if you care. We care if you pretend to not care. Be real.

BUT

There was a silver-lining on this dim morning. A GROUPON for BASEBALL. I've never been to a baseball game, but since it's STL's city-wide obsession I have to go. A few of my girlfriends and I are going on Monday night. You know what makes baseball games so perfect (in my mind)? 

Hot dogs.

Single dads.

I'm dreaming of a plethora of single dads, just looking for an attractive, child-loving woman who doesn't shy away from a hot dog. That's right, single dads, I'm here for you. And if you're not there for me...well, there's always the baseball players to fall back on. 

HAPPY FRIDAY. 

Link up your twitter accounts this week to share some blogger love!

Where it all began

40 year old men love me. And strangers. Strangers love me.

Examples:

• 40 year old single dad who followed me around in the grocery store
• 40 year old man who came up to me at Starbucks and asked if I wanted to get coffee
• Homeless man who offered me his phone number because he "thought everyone could use a friend"
• Stranger who let me eat their hamburger
• Stranger who offered me a ride home from the Megabus
• 40 year old man in airport who told me I looked beautiful that day
• Three 40 year old men who came to my rescue that moment and helped me find a cab
• 40 year old man at Chicago Union Station bar who told me he "wouldn't creep on me too much"
• Stranger who tried to hook me up with his son at a bar
• Strange taxi cab driver who gave me a kiss on the cheek

And the list goes on and on. While I can't seem to find any men my own age to hit on me, never fear...a 40 year old is near. Sometimes I ask myself, why? Why me? Is it my baby pudge cheeks? My lack of makeup? My split ends? Do I look young enough to be a prize, but just hot mess enough to be attainable? When did this start?

Answer: 2006. Junior year of HIGH SCHOOL. And the proof is in this photo. 

My friends and I went to France on a school trip, and my friend Cade and I shared a camera. Flipping through our photos a few weeks later, we found this gem (ignore my model half-smile). 

WHO IS THIS MAN?!?!?!

I'll tell you who...my first-ever creeper.

The Unreal Life: attracting strangers and old men since 2006. A legacy of creepers. 

That Time I Went to the Gospel Church

I like adventures. Do I like big adventures? Yes. Am I a broke postgrad? Yes. That means that even when I can't have big adventures, I try to make little adventures. Adventures out of exploring new things, new places and new people. Anything can be an adventure, if you put your mind to it.

Once upon a time, I lived in a magical place. Called Grand Rapids, MI. I'm obsessed. I have zero shame about admitting this. Once a week, I would go to my favorite bakery (conveniently located on the edge of the ghetto, so as a teen it was really win-win for my parents and I. I felt rebellious by going to the location, while my parents were satisfied by the fact that their daughter thought going to a bakery was rebellious). Every time, I drove past the same church and saw the same sign "PRAYER TIME. TUESDAYS. 10 AM." So finally, one day, I was like, why not?

Keep in mind, I'm Catholic. My idea of prayer time is that we would enter the sanctuary quietly, kneel, pray as long as needed and then leave. I thought it would just be an excuse to go see the inside of another of Grand Rapids' beautiful, over-looked churches. Boy was I surprised.

It was everything you would imagine an African-American Baptist church prayer circle to be. They raised their hands. Interjected whenever their heart moved them to. And they called me "Sister H***." They were some of the nicest, genuine people I've ever met. And their sincere prayers opened my eyes to the types of things going on in Grand Rapids that I had no idea about.

It made me want to learn more. To dig deeper, and go deeper. I've always had a struggle with that. I want to go to the ghetto, I want to go to the poor, I want to go in the middle of it all. I want to observe and watch and see what their life is like. See how their kids grow up. See success stories. See failures. And in that way, be moved to action. But...then reality hits. I am a SWF. In reality, I shouldn't do any of those things because it is literally not safe. I need to find the balance...

Tips? Thoughts, comments, suggestions? How do you live the big life you always dreamed of as a teenager, once you enter the reality of a post-grad?

That time I told my niece Mary was an attention-whore

I didn't hear the tornado sirens, but I did see the pack of five moms running in unison and that's kind of the same thing, right? That's right. I survived my first Missourah tornado.

Consequentially (not really, the storm has nothing to do with it) I am having immense writer's block. I read a blog today that really struck a chord with me when the writer said that blogging forces her to be more present in the moment and drag things out. Because really, our life is funny and it is adventurous, but so often we're waiting for "the next big thing" that we miss it. So, while I'm here, I want to remember being here. And a huge part of my life here in good ol' Missourah has been the kids I get to work with in the nursery. I recently realized that perhaps my sass has gone a little too far, especially when it comes to children. I imagine their not listening...but they could be...So for now, until my writer's block heals, enjoy the following sample of my sassy-child interactions.

12-year-old: hey! hey! hey! 

me: WHAT

12-year-old: i got a lunchbox (he has been repeating this for about 30 minutes, 

and I finally catch on)

me: yeah? did you get the velcro too? 

*12-year-old's mouth drops open in utter horror*: how do YOU know that song???

*church choir singing*

6-year-old girl: this music SUCKS

me: HEY. That is the music of the LORD. 

Israel (the special needs boy I watch, who has absolutely no sensory perception) has developed a new habit of whenever he's in a crowd, just putting his arm straight out (Hitler style, no joke) and pushing through into anyone in his way until they move. So of course, he does this to a 60 year old woman, and of course, his hand comes to the height of her butt. Which he proceeds to push on. For a few too many seconds. 

Me: Israel! If you're gonna touch her butt, you could at least say hello!

Creepy 70 year old man behind me: Heh heh, he's just starting early. 

And now...the grand finale. Throwback Thursday...to Christmas...me...and the love of my life...re-enacting the Christmas nativity story. Please enjoy the key parts where I teach her that:

 +Mary was "big and fat and pregnant and this made her very tired"  

+Jesus's "first friends were other animals in the manger, who he sometimes slept with but surprisingly never crushed him" 

+Mary loved all the attention she got when the three kings came bearing gifts

And yes, she does jump in shock when I sneeze at the end. Seriously. Best 5 minutes you'll ever spend.
(Also, sorry I'm not sorry I'm not a professional videographer and at one point my fat fingers cover the mic for like...a minute. But just turn your sound up, it's still gold!)

Like I said...I should watch what I say more...

Day made? You're welcome.

First Impressions are Golden

It's no secret here that I like to endlessly mock my ex-boyfriends. But, I'm also good at poking fun at myself. It's important to have balance. So, today, I'd like to share Monogamous Mono Man's first impressions of me. First-meeting and first-impression stories are my favorite topics to ask of anyone. So, without further ado...

First Impression #1
MMM and I first met before we were even officially enrolled in the same college. We were both invited to compete in a 'Distinct Scholars' Scholarship Weekend' (Spoiler alert: when not perusing the Internet for the perfect GIF I am actually quite smart. MMM and I bonded over three things: vodka and nerdiness. Shoot. We don't have a third thing. Womp womp.). So anyways, here we are. Me, a terrified, anxious ball of nerves who couldn't remember the essay prompt and was scared shitless from an interview panel with six professors who asked me what I would say to an Arabian man who thought stoning his wife was morally acceptable. And MMM, a quiet, nervous white boy from an all-boys Lutheran school. We had to take a group picture, but the group was too wide for one shot. So naturally, all the girls had to sorority squat (foreshadowing of our bright future) in front of the boys. I was in front of MMM and accidentally hit with my boot-ay. Feeling quite sassy I turned around and said "I better not feel anything hard back there." Winner, winner chicken dinner. He confessed later that it was the dirtiest thing anyone ever said to him and the first thing he told all his friends about when he got home.

His reaction:

My reaction:

First Impression #2
MMM and I lost each other in the great sea of people that is a 1,000 person school and didn't run into each other until 3 years later, when we were juniors. We had traveled far from our nerd-days and entered into our frat-tastic days of drinking and partying. We all have that 'one spot' we went to in college, and mine was the Sigma Chi house. In Sigmachi, there were two bathrooms for parties: the first floor, dirty, sticky, smelly gross one or the basement, single one that was kept clean by a devoted group of three who kept it spotless for their shack-attacks (that's another word for sleepover partners, kids). Anyways. First impression #2: I kicked in (literally) the door to the nice bathroom downstairs and demanded MMM (halfway done peeing) get out because I had to go. He was very obliging.

His reaction:

My response:

The Final Rose First Impression #3
After yet another year, we found each other again. This time, relatively sober and fully clothed. I was at a 'Zookeeper and the Animals' party, fighting adamantly with one of his brothers over whether the feathers in my hair made me a turkey or a jungle bird. I voted jungle bird. MMM tried to come up the staircase and I blocked his way until he would vote. And that, friends, was our last first impression.

His reaction:

My reaction:

His mom's first impression
I made a holocaust joke. Which she didn't get. Womp womp. And hey--no judgies! My last French class was reading holocaust literature, in french, for four months straight. Dying babies and children and women and starvation and burning EVERY DAY. It was AWFUL. And sometimes tasteless things happen in the privacy of my sorority basement. Also, pre-gaming holocaust literature class does not make it any better. FYI. Take it from an expert.

___

God bless his little heart for making it through all those wildly awkward first encounters. Happy Friday, y'all. I'm off to make some bad choices and hopefully some more golden first impressions that I can blog about come Monday =)

Oh, and in honor of Back that Azz Up Friday (which has really boosted my day), I give you:

What crazy first encounters have you had?