Going to space for spite

I have no excuse for why I haven’t written a while except that I’ve been busy which is actually a terrible excuse but that’s what it is. But, as my sister points out, I won’t ever become a famous blogger without blogging so…here I am.

Here’s what I’ve been up to:

I went to Costa Rica and I held a toucan and I stood in a waterfall and I did great in my first semester of graduate school and I decided to travel to space.

The toucan and waterfalls were great and I’m really happy about my first semester but I am not one to be satisfied when one goal or milestone is reached and so I’ve set a new long term goal which is: go to space. For pleasure, not business.

I have a ton of reasons why I want to go to space but my main reason is spite. Spite at who? Literally everyone. I can no longer bear to be in a conversation which begins with “I just got back from….(insert country here)” and ends two hours later with a random passerby showing me pictures of her trip of enlightenment to India.

Quite frankly, I’m not that interested and no one’s travel story is that interesting. I definitely want to know where you went and what your opinion was, but the details of your feelings and thoughts every day can be left to your journal. This includes myself. Literally everyone who has ever been out of the country is guilty of this. We get it, you went somewhere, you saw a different corner of the world and now you’re changed forever.

The above problem could easily be solved by going to space. The next time some begins to tell me about how they backpacked through Europe and didn’t shower for several weeks and their body was dirty AF but their spirit has been cleansed, I can nod very enthusiastically, turn on my bright eyes to look super interested and then say “that is so cool, I totally know how you feel because when I was in outer space….” And that will be the end of that and every travel-related conversation.

I also think space tourism would be the perfect way to spite the government, who does not think space travel is important and decided to cut our space exploration program. Going casually to space for no other reason than to be in space would probably drive them up a wall considering they don’t even think people should go to space to learn or explore. How PISSED would they be if they saw a selfie of me in space with a frozen margarita with the caption “this drink is out of this world”?

I know spite isn’t the best reason to do something but I also know that drinking too much makes me miserable and I should wait until my food cools before I try to eat it but I JUST DON’T CARE.


A Cry for Help, Thinly Veiled as an Update on my Life

Listen, I cry a lot. It’s not really a secret and it’s not really weird. I cry at dove commercials (Hello? The little girls who think they are beautiful and then grow up and don’t anymore? I’m not a fucking robot) and at BudLight commercials (Dogs) and at songs which feature women overcoming bad relationships. I cry at Landslide and Rather Be and people who are nice for no reason. This is just a fact about me and I’ve come to accept it. My friends I’ve made in grad school think its endearing even though every time I tear up one of them laughs at me and then we inevitably get yelled at by our teacher.

I don’t think my crying at these things point to the fact that my life is a mess, but there ARE things I cry about (and other things in my life) that do point to this conclusion. For instance, when my teacher cancelled my 8:30 class, which means I get to “sleep in” (til 8am), I cried. Not normal. I also cried when I walked into Monmouth’s gym for the first time and saw how empty and beautiful the track was. Very not normal. Last week in class, we watched a video in which a young woman came out to her mother (I think…it was completely in Vietnamese) and I. Fucking. Cried.

These facts alone might make you think “ok, she’s definitely a sensitive gal, but maybe she’s just a softie” you might even think it’s kind of sweet. No. It’s not. Here are some other things you should know that truly show you that my life is just an all out disaster and I’m slowly spiraling out of control:

  1. I suspect my neighbor is stealing my garbage. Long story but basically my garbage went missing. Not my garbage CAN, my actual garbage. I never put the can out at the curb and it wasn’t even garbage day. SOS.
  2. Last Tuesday, I lost my flash drive with all my assignments for school on it. On friday, after three days of constant rain, I found it in the parking lot. It had clearly been run over and had some serious water damaged, but I decided to plug it into my computer anyway (I had to do some handy work to un-warp it so it would fit in the USB drive).
  3. My uncle just delivered me four boxes full of wine and champagne and so I have a lot of solo drinking in my future.
  4. I have a midterm due tomorrow that I haven’t started yet.
  5. I decided to give up cheese. Then cooked a casserole in which cheese was a main ingredient.
  6. I just received pepper spray in the mail from my friend’s grandma because I’m “all alone at the beach.”

I also ignored my co workers all day in favor of listening to the new Taylor Swift album and it was the most productive I’ve been in weeks.

Normally I would say if you want to help, send alcohol but at this point I have more wine and champagne than I know what to do with. My second request would probably be pepper spray but I have that covered too.

I guess my main request is a camera system so I can find out why my garbage keeps disappearing and also so I can more accurately gage the percentage of the day I spend giving myself pep talks out loud.


Once again, the human race has appalled me. The best and worst thing about people is, as always, the capacity they have to shock me even after I think I’ve seen it all. Below is a tweet I saw earlier and some responses to that tweet.



Reading this had made me want to retire from the human race. I understand that this tweet was in reference to song lyrics that may or may have been (but definitely were) inspired by real events. My issue is not with the tweet, my issue is with the responses. How are we still at a place where people (men) feel comfortable to post things like this on the internet for everyone to see. 24 people every minute are the victim of sexual assault, domestic violence, or stalking. (http://www.thehotline.org/resources/statistics/) That means that when you make a joke about abuse/rape, the likelihood that a person who is a survivor of abuse hears that joke is devastatingly high. If they overhear you and break down in tears because they are reliving it, or they collapse to the floor because they are having a flashback, are you going to tell them, to “relax” because it’s just a joke? 

GIRLS: when boys make rape/abuse jokes, they’re not jokes. They’re stating their opinion. If they lived in a time before the feminist movement, they probably wouldn’t even bother to disguise it with “comedy.”

So, hey, snaps for progress???

The trolls that responded to this tweet are like people who probably only make up a small percentage of the population…but men (and women) who “don’t need feminism” are alarmingly common. 

To anybody who says, “I don’t need feminism,” please look at these photos and tell me this is not blatant, horrifying sexism and victim blaming. And if the answer to sexism isn’t feminism, WTF is the answer? You don’t get to say “I’m not sexist but….” No. No. No. Shut up. SHut your mouth. If you’re not a feminist you are indeed, sexist. Sorry! No middle ground people. You either have respect for women and think they are equal or you don’t. BYE.

I NEED FEMINISM BECAUSE I am so so so so tired of men saying “it’s a joke, relax!” I am tired of men thinking I am uptight and can’t take a joke because I speak up for myself, I am tired of them grabbing my ass and shouting at me from cars. I AM SO FUCKING TIRED of feeling like the space I take up is space I’m taking away from men. I am tired of hearing people say “boys will be boys” when they really mean “I respect women and girls AS LONG AS that respecting of women and girls doesn’t get my boys in trouble.” I’m tired of people telling girls that if a boy is mean to them “he probably likes you.”

A story: On my first day of work I was asked if I could do dishes. Before I could respond, a male coworker said, “of course she does, she’s a female.” I’m sick and tired of feeling ashamed that I laughed nervously because I was new and I didn’t want to make waves. I’m so fucking tired. DON’T FORGET GIRLS: EVERY TIME YOU REFUSE TO LAUGH AT SOMETHING THATS NOT. FUCKING. FUNNY, AN ANGEL GETS ITS WINGS.

Do’s and Dont’s of traveling with me (most rules also apply when traveling with small children)

Today, a friend of mine suggested that I write the “do’s and dont’s of traveling with your boyfriend” because I just got back from Maine with my love, earlier this summer I went with him to AC, and I guess I need to write a blog post. But the problem with writing do’s and don’ts of traveling with your significant other is that my boyfriend is exceptionally easy to be around except when I’m hungry or tired, and then he’s impossible. Wait, maybe I’m the impossible to be around? Whatever. The point is, there’s not much I CAN’T do around him because he deals with me very well. I mean, after knowing me for one week he literally CARRIED me home because I was too drunk to walk. And he still continued to date me. So I decided that it would probably be a lot easier to write the Do’s and Dont’s of traveling with me (/being around me in general) because I require a lot more maintenance. So here we go:

1) DO pack a lot of snacks
As has been pointed out to me by at least half the people I know, I am very much like in infant in that I get incredibly cranky when I am hungry or tired. (I’m ALSO like an infant in that I like to have a bottle in my hand at all times and I often have trouble walking. My head is also disproportionate to my body which seems to be an issue a lot of babies have as well.)

2) DON’T double check details.
Triple check. Quadruple check. I like to think that I’m really spontaneous and go with the flow, but I like to have my vacations planned down to the minute. After a dozen breakdowns and 3 calls in 2 days to the Whale Watching company, I finally felt confident that our reservations were made. My boyfriend called me dramatic but I just don’t think anyone understands my love for any animal large enough to kill me by accident.

3) DO schedule time for naps
I don’t care I am meeting Beyonce and choreographing a dance with her, NOTHING is fun for me if I’m tired. NOTHING.

4) DON’T ask me to drive if I haven’t napped.
One time on my way home from the beach I slapped my self repeatedly in the face for the last 35 minutes to make sure I didn’t fall asleep at the wheel.

5) DO bring enough champagne for at least one glass per hour of the trip and 3 glasses for the last hour of the trip to help me cope with leaving.

6) DO bring Benadryl
I’m allergic to everything including grass, pollen, dust, and sometimes shellfish.

7) DON’T try to make me stop eating shellfish
Despite making me violently ill on many occasions, shellfish is my favorite food. I DON’T NEED YOU TO UNDERSTAND ME.

8) DO make sure the trip includes an animal sighting.
The most disappointing part of the trip to Maine was that I didn’t see any Moose. The highlight was seeing whales. As mentioned before, I love any animal that you might not want coming at you at full speed including very large dogs, horses, whales, sharks, elephants, etc.

9) DON’T try to make me go to a club with a dress code.
The only time I should have to dress up to get drunk is at a wedding.

10) DON’T believe that I’m hungover.
Hangover symptoms are basically just withdrawal symptoms. Don’t ever forget that.











**Credit to my boyfriend for helping me with this post even though he had to “reach and exaggerate” because everything I do makes me “sweet, funny, adorable, and amazing.” SEE WHAT I MEAN?!?!?!? He’s just too easy to be with.**

Dads Playing Beer Pong

Yesterday I discovered two pros of being a graduate: 1) there’s a lot more drinking with parents involved which means alcohol is often bought for me and 2) even when me and all my friends wake up and we’re hungover bitches, it’s hard to be annoyed because we are all just happy we’re together.
Yesterday, I was at a graduation party and this morning I woke up from a dream about roast beef sandwiches that felt like it lasted for 12 hours. wtf? I hate roast beef and I usually don’t dream when I’m drunk. Weird all around. After 3 of my friends passed out between the hours of 11 and 1, myself and my one remaining friend were determined to not sleep. My friend group likes to make this pact a lot; it sounds good at the time but the problem is, we think that the more we drink, the more we will want to stay up and party, when in actuality, the more we drink, the more likely it is that we’re asleep in our clothes by midnight (such was the case with one of my friends who woke up in her maxi dress this morning with her sunglasses next to her on her pillow).
But before I get to this morning, I need to mention last night. If I had to assign a theme to the night, that theme would be: Dads Playing Beer Pong. I was on a team with my dad, who claimed he had never before played beer pong in his life. When he told me this, one million thoughts crossed my mind. “When was beer pong invented? How old is my dad? what did they do in college? I guess they played quarters; also…what’s quarters?”

Anyway, it was distressingly apparent that my dad had never played before because he only made two cups in our first game. Even more horrifying, I only made one. My dad’s lack of skill was understandable, but by my estimate I’ve played roughly ten thousand games of beer pong in my life so what was my excuse? As I got drunker, I got better and by the end of the night, our record was about .500 which was respectable but nothing to brag about. I needed to play Flip Cup immediately where I could really shine. When it came time to play the game that I was put on this Earth to excel at (flip cup), I got overly excited and shouted at a fifty year old father that he needed to “TREAT THE CUP LIKE YOU TREAT A LADY!” Whatever, it made him better and we won the next round.
After 12 rounds of flip cup, 20 cups of beer, and being “shushed” around 100 times, I finally called it a night and carefully coaxed my drunk friend to the edge of the bed so I could sleep where I wanted.
When I woke up, my hand was outstretched expecting a blue gatorade to be put in it, and all my friends were still asleep around me. I shuffled around to make enough noise to wake them all up without making it apparent that I was trying to wake them up. My one friend wondered what the fuck she was doing on the couch while another was confused as to why she was still in her maxi dress. I was feeling pretty proud of myself because I had managed to take off my bra, change my shirt, and remove my earrings. My one friend announced that she hadn’t been this hungover “since college” which sounds impressive but she could have just as easily said, “this is the worst hangover I’ve had since last month.” I can always count on my friends to make me feel like I have my shit a little bit together.
You never know which Hungover Me you’re gonna get. I could be a raging bitch or I could be asleep. This morning, though, Hungover Me was intensely curious about things that don’t matter. After eating our pork roll sandwiches telling each other that we hated each other a few dozen times, I started to try to better myself and my friends by asking the really hard questions: “if you cut off your ears, can you still hear? Would you rather have no arms and no legs or be blind, deaf, and mute? Are seahorses fish? What are lederhosen? Where does the saying “dressed to the nines” come from? What is sassafras?”

After learning about the dangers of sassafras, traditional German clothing, and Vincent VanGough, I thought it was the perfect time to make my exit before all my friends remembered how annoying I am when they’re trying to sleep and I’m trying to solve the problems of the world.
I guess post-grad life is only terrible if your friends aren’t perfect and if your parents are sloppy drunks.

How I got accused of Grand Theft Auto & why it was Snooki’s Fault

If there’s a celebrity that tons of people hate and they also are famous because of a reality show, generally I’m a huge fan (this excludes Teresa Guidice for reasons too numerous to list at the present time). So naturally, when Jersey Shore aired, I was ecstatic, partially because I love to watch train wrecks such as myself on TV and partially because I believe the closer in proximity celebrities are to me, the more likely it is that I will become famous (a dream of mine, duh.) OBVIOUSLY, Snooki was my immediate favorite because her tan was bad, her fashion was questionable, and she was a hot drunk mess. ALL of my favorite things in a best friend/reality star I’ve never met.

Seeing as I have a beach house a few miles away from Seaside, I was expecting to brush elbows with them a lot (or, in the case of Snooki, my elbow brushing the top of her head.) Unfortunately, after a few weeks of filming their second season, I had not run into them at all, so I decided to take matters into my own hands and creepily prowl around Seaside in search of them. I was driving around for a few minutes when I saw a huge crown up on the boardwalk. Jackpot. I could see Jenni and I assumed (correctly) that Snooki was with her. The street was also pretty crowded so I was frantically searching for a place to park when I saw an open spot. I was so fucking excited I almost passed out at the wheel. I was sooo excited that my parking job was a little cray and when I backed up to straighten it out….I hit another car. For one half second I thought I would just run and forget about it. Thats a lie. It was more than a half second. In fact, I was completely prepared to leave the scene when a cop on a bicycle (how embarrassing) rode over to me and insisted he take the report down. Literally, just my luck. With tears in my eyes, I looked up to the boardwalk and watched my BFF (Snooki) disappear from my sights. The officer walkie-talkied in my plate numbers while I plotted ways to get into the Jersey Shore house that didn’t involve me catching an STD. I was still plotting in my head when the officer put his hand on my shoulder and said, “miss, are you aware the car you’re driving is stolen?) WTF??! I think I started crying and I’m not proud to admit that I may have thrown my mom under the bus by telling him she bought this car for me and she probably didn’t know it was stolen but she always was fond of a good deal so I couldn’t be sure. He was not deterred by my tears and next thing I know I was handcuffed and THAT was my first time in the back of a cop car.

Just kidding. The cop wasn’t even in a car, remember? He was on a bike. Turns out, he read my plate number wrong and I was free to go. I didn’t even damage the other car so nothing bad even happened (except for my party soul-mate getting away). Now whenever I’m stalking celebs I generally just go on foot (all the better to shout my twitter handle at them anyway).

I kind of feel bad for Barbie

I consider myself something of a feminist, considering I’m a woman and I think I can do everything at least as well as men and most things better than them. But the one thing I will never understand is why people hate on Barbie. Does everyone realize that she had a long time boyfriend whom she never married, a thousand different careers, a well rounded social life, and a little sister that she took care of? I mean, it sounds exhausting and dolls of me would not sell as well because I could never handle all of her responsibilities and Doll Me would only have two accessories: a tiny bottle of vodka, and a set of pajamas.

But I digress.

Barbie does all these really great things and she looks good doing them and all anyone fucking talks about is her body. Isn’t that exactly what we are trying to discourage girls from doing?? What if instead of saying to little girls, “you know Barbie is just a toy and if she were real she’d have to walk on all fours and she’d have to wear infant shoes” (which little girls don’t care about because they have no idea what you’re trying to explain to them) we were like “wow girls, look what a great big sister Barbie is and isn’t it cool how she’s a doctor and an astronaut and she has time to surf on the weekends and she also is a skateboarding ballerina. Doesn’t she make you wanna try new things and be the best you can be?

Barbie is a pretty liberated woman and all anyone talks about is how thin she is….does anyone else see the irony??