Category Archives: ramblings about writing

Overcoming those “brown streaks of greasy lard hardened to the bottom of my crock pot” People in Life

A few months ago my sink was leaking. I asked my landlord to fix it, but he was too busy not replacing the bathroom door that is too big for the frame and fooling the zoning board into believing my apartment is large enough for safe occupancy, to get to it. So I ignored the problem and stuck the ceramic insert of my crock pot underneath the leak.

This was months ago.

The leak has since been fixed by the able-bodied, bearded man who lives there 3 days a week. But the crock pot remains, surrounded by discarded by plastic shopping bags and kitchen utensils the crack-dealing tenant who previously inhabited my apartment left behind, and I never threw away, out of either respect or laziness but probably apathy. That’s how unsanitary I am.

So now the watery animal fat residue that once filled the pot has evaporated leaving nothing but a few brown streaks of greasy lard, hardened to the bottom of the formerly useful cookware, that has since been condemned.

It’s magnificent.1204122132

….

There are moments in life when I feel like humanity, at its best, is no better than the brown streaks of greasy lard hardened to the bottom of my crock pot, resting peacefully beneath the sink. Like when media-induced pregnancy terms (see what I did there?) turn trendy, and fully-functioning intelligent people start saying things like “preggers” and “baby bump.” Like when children dress like hookers prowling stage corners in Southern gymnasiums waiting to be judged by a panel of adults and a near empty room and TLC broadcasts it calling it “reality” TV. Like when I’m met with the realization that there might be people like this that actually exist.

Untitled

I think you get my point.

Today at work, the able-bodied, bearded man sent me a link of an article on Huffington Post about  New York Post’s most recent cover story, and I was reminded of these feelings.  If you aren’t completely dead inside, you may want to cover your eyes:

o-NY-POST-COVER-570

Being that I’m not dead inside, looking at this completely horrified me.

The very existence of this photograph, not to mention its publication seems to prove my previous statement to be completely true. Humanity is no better than the brown streaks of greasy lard hardened to the bottom of my crock pot.

1. How could a person(among others) stand by long enough to take a photograph and not stop to help the man in need?

2. How could a person use this photograph of someone else’s last moments to further themselves by having it printed by a major publication?

3. How can enough editors at that major publication come to the joint conclusion that printing this is acceptable?

I don’t get why we as a race feed on the destruction of our own. I used to believe this resulted from some sort of conditioning we undergo by exposure to the ultra violent mainstream media that closer resembles Quentin Tarantino storyboards than legitimate journalism. But from the Colosseum, to public hangings, to CNN video clips of soldiers being beheaded, the only thing I can conclude is that this sickening voyeuristic need humans have to continue diminishing the value of their own lives by diminishing the valviolenceue of others, is somehow natural. Though it has been tempered by Western culture, it is prevalent enough to allow individuals privileged enough to land jobs at major publications, to collectively agree that this sort of thing is ok.

So, is it okay?

No. At least I don’t think so. Although history has proven that it is somehow common for humans to behave this way, I still believe it is only natural to some people. Like drug addiction or bad taste in music.

Even so, the rest of us are very stupid creatures. We continue to find shock value in the same things. We continue to reinvent political correctness instead of questioning why we have to reinvent it at all. In the case of this story, I know there will be backlash and anger and New York Magazine may lose sponsors or pull copies, who knows. But in the age of the Internet, what good will that do? The story is out there. The picture is out there. And as long as it’s there, we will bring attention to it. Like I am right now.

What we need to do is redirect our attention from the scum-sucking backwash of failed humanity, to the astounding ways humanity has and will continue to flourish. We need to forcibly detach ourselves from the things and people no better than the brown streaks of greasy lard hardened to the bottom of my crock pot, and do good. Be good. Promote good in ourselves and in each other. It won’t change things. Bad things will always happen and those people will always be their to exploit them. But they don’t have to exploit us.

Love,

The girl who means everything she says, despite the fact that she has no intentions of cleaning her crock pot.

At all.

***Though I could write a book on how strongly she detests the New Yorker after this but would rather try to keep it short and divert your attention to this.

 

Things I hate PLUS a Poll – Because your vote counts…sorta

I am overwhelmed with hatred today.

That’s not really true.

I am overwhelmed with anxiety over completely irrelevant things, but am masking it as hatred to make me appear more in control of my life. Because somehow irrational hate seems more stable than irrational anxiety. Like Hitler. Only cuter.

This is incredibly offensive. I’m so, so, sorry.

So I’m thinking that airing my grievances to a world of uninterested readers will help validate my instability, allowing me to wallow in narcissism, and force my beliefs upon others. Like Jehovah’s Witness. Only better. Way better.

Here we go.

Reasons Lena is Irrationally Hateful Today

1. People who talk about how sarcastic they are:

It’s like skinny girls calling themselves fat or Republicans calling themselves human. If you have to make a point of telling someone how sarcastic you are, you obviously are not very good at achieving true sarcasm. Unless you are being sarcastic when you say you are sarcastic, in which case, I feel great admiration for you, you clever little minx!!!

…but no one does that.

Ever.

You, faceless woman, do not deserve to exist

2. #Hashtags:

I hate hashtags more than I could ever have anticipated hating anything.

There is nothing more disrespectful to the evolution of human communication than composing a barely intelligible statement about something completely irrelevant to humanity and following it with a hashtag to further explain what you failed to capture to begin with.

***UPDATE:  I just spent the last 15 minutes reading my own tweets and falling in love with myself. Apparently, there is something more disrespectful to the evolution of communication than hashtags–my existence.

3. Black Nail Polish

I don’t understand this trend, nor do I understand trends beyond the point of rejecting them on impulse. But the black nail polish trend makes me uncomfortable. Why? Because it’s ugly and ugly things shouldn’t exist outside of science fiction novels and Jersey Shore cast parties.

So why, sorority girls of the world? Why do you wear black nail polish? You look like you belong on The Hills. And if you aren’t familiar with The Hills, it is that really awesome TV show about why we should bomb California.

JK,  Brian Wilson!

Ok, so I realize these aren’t exactly earth-shattering revelations but I don’t have a lot of intellectual stimulation these days. Therefore, I am conducting the first and probably last, depending on the outcome, Girl with the Blog poll and I would like each and everyone of you to participate.

If you select “Other”, please explain yourself in the comments section. I will be waiting patiently on the edge of my seat.

Thanks!

Love,

The girl who ate 50 calories worth of Ice Breakers in the last 20 seconds

i am alive, or something

I am alive.

I considered posting just this sentence however in an ironic sort of way it seems cryptic. As if maybe I’m not alive and my homicidal captors felt it would be wise to update my blog before ditching my body behind an abandoned Blockbuster. But I assure you, I am (not) alive.

I realize it’s been about three Miley Cyrus haircuts since I’ve written but the happenings of life have taken over mine.  Luckily for me, my blog is still getting hits from Google searches like “Why are Mormons so hot?” and “I’m going to be friendless for the rest of this year.” Although I think that may be the same person.

I want you all to know, that I have every intention of posting again very soon so feel free to loosen the noose. But right now I don’t have time. I have unwritten novels and hopeless dreams to attend to. I know you understand.

Love,

 

The girl who misses her blog readers

 

PS: Thinking of doing an October Blogging Challenge (one blog per day). Thoughts?

 

PPS: This happened—

Read Full Post – “Pregnancy and Media Whores”

 

Welcome New Readers, Old Readers, and Vietnamese Pedophiles! – The Girl With the Blog Guided Tour

Sometimes I worry about how much I have in common with Octomom.

Both attention seekers, rippled with stretch marks, pretending that the Internet’s validation of our existence isn’t the glue holding our very feeble lives together. The resemblance is uncanny.

Just a regular Sunday

But having my most recent blog post Freshly Pressed was a deeply disarming occurrence in my life. Don’t get me wrong. It may just be the best thing that has ever happened to me – which I would hope either makes you feel really happy for me, really depressed, or slightly aroused. The latter for the sake of my ego. Both foreign and domestic Internet pervs complete me.

Nevertheless, being Freshly Pressed did result in some fine things happening to me and my blog. Like this:

And this:

But mostly this:

I realize the everyday pretentious blogger may scoff at 167 subscribers, but the everyday pretentious blogger also doesn’t require his/her subscribers to admit to “wanting to be a sucker” before subscribing. Plus this is 104 more subscribers than I had last week.

So…

Yeah…

 

So I was thinking since I have 104 new people to become acquainted with before they inevitably decide they can’t tolerate me, I will take this opportunity to further introduce myself and my blog and hopefully alienate only a handful of you. Here we go “little suckers” – or something more affectionate and less creepy.

http://www.thegirlwiththeblog.com – A Guided Tour

You are good honest people and I’m not going to lie to you. I write a lot of crap. This isn’t me being cute and self-deprecating. This is me keeping it real like Dr. Phil. I’d like to tell you that everything written prior to the day you subscribed is a gold mine of wit and exuberant talent, but in May I wrote an entire blog entry about the song “She Blinded Me With Science.” So really, I’m mostly a hack.

To help you filter through my literary feces I’m going to point you in the direction of some of my blog entries that I wish had been Freshly Pressed, or acknowledged by anyone other than disapproving family members.

Six (more) Characteristics of My Future Ex Husband

Real Women Have Confidence

The Charms and Harms of My Mother’s Man

The Girl Who Shouldn’t Have a Blog

Lindsay Lohan’s Playboy Comments Make Me Want to Die: A Discussion of Phony Female Empowerment

Why Gay Marriage Should Never Be Legalized and America Rocks!!!

The Great Plights of Humanity – Four Issues Untouched in the GOP Debate

How Ryan Gosling and Lifehouse Songs Have Ruined My Life

…I’m over this. I have roughly 90 posts. Read them. Or don’t. Whatever.

So in addition to the above links, as a new subscriber to TGWTB there are some things you should know

1. I am the asshole boyfriend of the WordPress blogosphere. I don’t write regularly, in fact sometimes I don’t write at all. For weeks. Months even.  You send emails, I shrug you off. You start to forget about me. You think to yourself “this f***wad doesn’t deserve my body or my time.” Then BAM. I am blogging every day the month of May, confusing you, annoying you, seducing you with my melodrama before once again vanishing for weeks at a time for the length of the summer. I’m like Rip Van Winkle, without the good excuse.

sweet beard, brah

2. I’m only 5’4 so I stand on a lot of soap boxes. I hope you dig it.

3. Receiving email notifications about blog comments, likes, and new subscribers brings me greater pleasure than any man or instant pudding mix ever could.

That’s all.

The Girl – The Abridged Version

Pretty much everything there is to know about me can be found in the “About the Girl” section of this blog. But to avoid this post coming off as one mother of a pimp fest for my blog (although, I mean…yeah…) I provide you with the following insights into my psyche:

1. At least 3 times a week I eat something with mold on it, only to lie awake in bed at night wondering if I’m going to die because I am allergic to penicillin and wasn’t penicillin discovered through mold on an orange? Or was that something else? Why did I have to listen to Dashboard Confessional and cry during high school Chemistry?

2. I hate people with really narrow feet. More than I should. More than anyone should hate anyone.

3. While sitting at my desk in a bra and shorts, I determined that the real reason clothes were invented is to distract fat people from how gross they look naked.  I’m fat. I’m allowed to say this. And I’m not that fake fat blogger who only talks about being fat to appeal to lonely people in Idaho. I’m genuinely fat. So much to the point that I had to put on clothing so I could concentrate on something other than my fatness. Like writing this blog that ends with me talking about being fat. Awesome.

That’s all.

So please old readers, new readers, and Vietnamese pedophiles who somehow find my blog, please read me, write me, and call me, maybe. But most importantly, share 3 things about you that make you as effed up as me. Then we can freeze each other’s bras and practice french kissing.

Happy to have you 🙂

Love,

The girl who only feels entitled to call herself female for the one hour directly following leg shaving

 

Blueberries, Elephants, and My New Greeting Card Line

I know you think I lied to you. I know this is how you feel.

But it hasn’t been seven years. It’s been 2 weeks. Plus I wrote you every day for a month. So there’s that. Can we suck face now? Ok.

“Make it rain, motherf***er!”

I’ve been at work for 1 hour and 44 minutes and all I have done so far is search for local you-pick blueberry farms (please note: as a lazy American there is a very good chance I will never follow through with doing this, but will instead spend December complaining about the fact that I can’t make a frozen blueberry smoothies or locate the United States on a map….whaaaaaatt????) and watch elephants taking baths on YouTube. I could feel bad about this, but seeing as my boss is painting her nails and watching Arrested Development on Netflix, I only feel like a slightfailure of the educational system. Plus nothing is more badass than an elephant taking a bath.

 But I’ve had trouble with motivation lately. Perhaps it’s my 65 hour work week or the fact that the only thing that truly motivates me in life is my inner drive which apparently died the day I purchased a Roku, but I actually have a lot “in the works” I just can’t bring myself to do anything about it. For example, I am scheduled to take the GRE (graduate school admission test) in August and have received all of my study materials in the mail. But aside from rereading the flashcard for the word “apocryphal” and trying to determine which Dawson’s Creek episode I heard it in, I haven’t done so much as breathe in the same vicinity of my math tutoring book since purchasing it, which really is a problem since I can’t correctly do math even with a calculator. This is not an exaggeration.

the answer is always “not enough.”

I need to foster some creative energy. The good thing about the May Blogging Challenge was that I had to be borderline creative at least some point every day and since I am very much a deadline-driven person, the challenge of the challenge was actually quite fulfilling. But then June came and I catapulted into a feeling of depression and lack of life purpose like, if I’m not blogging about bugs crawling on my toothbrush, WHO AM I???, and WHERE DO I BELONG?, and WHAT COLOR IS MY PARACHUTE?

It’s been an existential crisis.  

 So I’m thinking in order to stronghold my creative potential I will have to develop a new project. I’ve been interested in establishing a greeting card line where I can capitalize not only on my deep understanding of human emotion, but also my strength as a phrasologist (not a real word).

Here is what I’ve come up with so far:

Front:

 

Inside:

 

 

Get it?

…cause Jews don’t celebrate Christmas.  

IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE IRONIC!

I think I need to work on this.

Have a great day, lovebirds and otherwise unhappy single people of the world.

Love,

The girl contractually obligated to get a dragon tattoo

The Conclusion of the May Blogging Challenge

Well, ladies and gentlemen, I have achieved the impossible. It is May 31, 2012, the official end of my May Blogging Challenge and I am proud to say I have actually accomplished my goal to blog every day.  This is a big deal. It is the first time I have achieved a goal I have set for myself since dropping my high school shoplifting habit.  

Needless to say, I’m feeling rather pleased with myself. During the month of May I explored the parasitic aspects of my mother’s relationship, established the “Sunday Night Round Up” which is basically my way of saying ‘I’m too lazy to write a real blog and you people will read anything (suckers),’ diminished Twitter for the 47th time which has shockingly had little effect on people’s decision to use it, revealed six more characteristics of my future ex-husband, diagrammed the woes of my crack den apartment, honored Bob Dylan with a creepy yet serious birthday shout out, explored all of the ways and reasons I suck at being a young person, and most recently revealed to a shocked internet audience that real women have confidence in addition to their curves, muscle tone, and everything in between. It’s been an interesting month; a fulfilling month. But I am exhausted and I need a break that does not include me blogging about needing a break. You feel me? I know you do.

completely unrelated to post

So I am going on a brief hiatus, that will likely last anywhere from 12-? hours, while I figure out how to approach my blogging schedule in the future. While I don’t plan to continue the daily blogging, I do hope to establish some sort of consistency, as I know you will be waiting, uncomfortably on the edge of your seat until my next post.

Any feedback or suggestions on blogging schedule preferences, hit me up in some fashion, via comment, email, or midnight knocks on my door. I won’t answer, but I will call the police and relish the thought of your incarceration.

In the meantime, check out the last 31 blog entries. I promise, I worked semi-hard on them.

Love,

The girl who hasn’t changed contacts since 1978

Steal My Heart, Pacey Witter

I’ts 11:48pm and I have no blog entry for the day.

I’m ashamed. I am embarrassed. I am not wearing any pants.

That’s not really relevant.

I’ve thought long and hard for a good 2 minutes about how to handle this and have decided not to sacrifice my May Blogging Challenge, but simply explain myself in the only way I know how. Dawson’s Creek:

 

Exactly where I paused it to write a blog about my inability to pause it

 

I’m in love with Dawson and his creek, although I could use a little less Dawson and a little more creek if I’m being honest. My true love is Pacey.

Sigh, Pacey Witter.

Pacey Witter/Joshua Jackson/Charlie from Mighty Ducks was the first teen idol poster I Skotch-taped to the back of my bedroom door. Distinct memories of my 6th grade self talking to him and kissing him goodnight might embarrass most people. But in my case I’m simply using them as explanation for my lack of literary prowess today.

All the ladies (and some boys) will understand.

Goodnight and I’ll try harder tomorrow.

Love,

The girl who “doesn’t talk trash, just recycles it.” – Pacey Witter

International Pimp My Blog Day

I have no friends. I have no IRAs. I have no access to medical marijuana.

I have nothing.

Nothing but this blog. It may not help me pick out clothes, give me hope for a stable retirement, or force me to hallucinate about totem poles carved out of watermelon, but it is there. It is there when I need it and more often when I don’t. The problem is, no one reads it.

Ok, fine. That’s a lie.

A lot of people read it. At least there are more people who read it than there are people I know. Which isn’t saying much when you consider I know 4 people. But nevertheless, it is not enough.

In my old age, I’ve become grubby and selfish and even needier than usual. I WANT MORE READERS! And why not? This blog is a comprehensive publication! One day I might blog about governmental affairs of the Obama administration, the next about the impressive size of my bladder. Say, whaaaaat? It ain’t no big thang.

That is why I am asking you, committed readers, to please pimp my blog. Pimp her all night long until she is sore and miserable and in need of topical ointments. She wants to be read.

Email a post, tweet a quote, tattoo my name on your face. These are all great ideas that will not only validate me emotionally but also bring further readership to my blog. Which is an international issue I am sure you are all incredibly committed to.

For those of you who are new to this, allow me to remind you of the true depth of investigative blogging I do here at thegirlwiththeblog.com

Like for instance, sometimes I talk about beards:

Reason #49 Why I Will Always Be Alone: No Man In His 20s Can Satisfy My Facial Hair Needs

Bearding Out All over the Place: A One Woman Effort For Beard Conservation

Other times I write about politics:

See Ya Later, Ambien: How Obama and the Indefinite Detention of U.S. Citizens Will Help Me Sleep At Night

The Great Plights of Humanity: Four Issues Untouched During the Latest Republican Debate

And occasionally pop culture

Lindsay Lohan’s Playboy Comments Make Me Want to Die: A Discussion of Phony Female Empowerment

Pregnancy and Media Whores: A Lesson in Abstinence Training

Plus 59 other blog entries for your and no one else’s enjoyment! So please, PIMP MY BLOG, bitches!

Then listen to this song. It’s great.

Love,

The girl who knows there’s no success like failure and that failure is no success at all.

An Exploration of the Search Terms Used to Find My Blog

It goes without saying that my blog has become a staple in contemporary American culture. Late night talk shows reference it, MSNBC counts on it for breaking opinionated headlines, and E! is currently working on a reality show entitled “The Girlwiththeblog Next Door to Kim and Kourtney Taking Kendra to Khloe and Lamar to Buy Some Dirty Soap.” One does not get this sort of pop culture recognition without a certain level of mind-numbing dedication.

While my weekends are spent watching Netflix with my mother and singing a capella church hymns in my best “1960’s African American Baptist Choir voice,” my weekdays are spent, hour after hour, drooling into a coffee mug, staring at the computer screen, refreshing the “site stats” page of my blog, monitoring how many views it gets per day. Haha, jk. Not really. Anyway.  I realized long ago, that on this same page there is a breakdown of not only how many views per day, but how I got said views, (facebook, google, pornhub, etc.). Furthermore, the “big brother” tendencies of WordPress allow me to see the search terms used to bring all you strange, desperate folk to the land of beards and belly rubs. I’ve never written about belly rubs. I just felt like writing that.

Nevertheless, during one lazy-eyed, drool-inducing afternoon, I took a gander at these terms. Upon browsing them, I was shocked. Nauseous. Over-reactive? Maybe. But seriously, my mind could not formulate a connection between Google searches like “sex with cocoa puffs” and “walmart redneck woman holding child by leg” and my wholesome,

YA-rated blog. I was befuddled. Then I realized, wait! Just, wait a second here. These cocoa puff redneck fetish freaks don’t want to find my blog and are most likely sad in the pants when they do. They are searching for something else. Something more “appropriate” for their needs. Something like:

“Sex with cocoa puffs” search result:

it's like, a book

Ok, I admit. I was a tad disappointed when the most exciting thing I saw upon searching “sex with cocoa puffs” was a picture of this lone, potato. But after seconds of digging I realized, there’s like, a book about sex and cocoa puffs, written by Chuck Klosterman. A man who evidently, not only has highly impressive facial hair, but also the same Sun Records t-shirt as me and every other white kid who digs 1950s rock-a-billy. This search has not only helped me to further understand the audience that seeks my love and affection, but also inspired my next writing project. Literotica fan fiction about Chuck Klosterman. Swoon.

So, in an effort to be the blog with the best customer service, I am going to do yo’ asses a favor. I am going to use my readers’ search terms and take a stab at finding what they were truly looking for. To make this less boring, I am going to limit my search to Google Images. Sorry, Bing. No one likes you anyway.

 

 

 

 

Search Results of Terms Most Likely Used In An Effort To Find Something Other Than This Blog:

1. “Gingerbread Man Sightings”

nothing to do with gingerbread men...

I’m not exactly sure what a gingerbread man sighting is, but I imagine it something similar to that of a Sasquatch; most commonly taking place on Western Oregon mountain tops and in Republican Senators’ hotel rooms.

The.Creepiest.Thing.I've.Ever.Seen.

2. “Fat Chick On Toilet”

  Fat chick on the toilet or not, the funniest thing about this Myspace mirror pic is the fact that these eleven year old’s are pretending to be sexy.

And honestly, I know some people may find the picture to the right offensive. But let’s be honest. Every time I pee, Smucker’s Grape Jelly comes out. Just keepin’ it real.

 

 

 

 

3. “A Pie Chart for Forced Marriage”

“Dude, like, what marriage isn’t forced, am I right, bro? High five, motha-lovas, hang ten, yo.”                     -me as a man afraid of commitment. And a tool.

Honestly, I haven’t a clue what these peeps were looking for. I imagine their search was quite frustrating,  as I could not find any pie charts related to forced matrimony, in the 72 seconds I looked. But to fulfill my obligation, I chose two images related to love. Ideally, if you are reading this, you are just happy to find something that acknowledges your search efforts. And then you will subscribe, share my blog with all your friends, and marry me under the the pollution clouds of New York City.

 

 

4. “Penis Chart By Height of Girl”

Ok, um, this may be a tad presumptuous, but I think it is safe to say, the dude on the left probably doesn’t even have a penis visible to the naked eye. Not that there is anything wrong with that. But it’s sort of along the lines of how only horrifically, unattractive girls wear shirts that say “2 Hawt 4 U” and “Don’t Hate Me Because You’re Ugly.” O.Henry would so dig that irony.

And is it just me, or is kinda creepy that a pie chart of the favorite colors of three year old girls shows up on the first page of a penis-related search? Hmm, let’s think about that.

 

 

 

5. “Hot 19 year old male”

Call me crazy, but I actually thought when I searched this I would get some pictures of hot 19 year old males. Silly me. I should have known I’d instead get a debonair version of Mr. Peanut and an Olympic athlete of the most homo-erotic sport known to man. Seriously, who finds male gymnasts hot, aside from other male gymnasts? Not to be P.I.C, but the only thing that would make this guy gayer would be if he was wearing a rhinestone sweatband.

 

 

 

 

 

6. “Quotes about ungrateful people”

I don’t think I could have found a better image than this one, since it is in fact true that only ungrateful bitches and insensitive assholes drive. But in the spirit of trying to find something more appropriate to the search, I give you this. The one profound thing ever to be found on this blog:

“I have learned silence from the talkative, tolerance from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind; yet strangely, I am ungrateful to these teachers.” – Kahlil Gibran

And I have learned to stop writing from those who have said it better. So, yeah. Yeah. Yeah.

Since I get, oh so many views per day, from oh so many disturbing search terms, I could squander years of my life, writing this entry. However in an effort to get offline and actually do something with my existence, I am going to condense the rest. Here is a sample list of other entertaining terms used to find this here blog:

“I’m a woman with a beard”

“Dragon Sex”

“Fat woman empty wallet”

“Hide the sausage”

“Pie chart of election of 1860 electoral votes of candidates” (I know, like so totally academic)

“He left hickies on my boobs”

“Professional + Girl + Promiscuous”

I know. WOW. I keep one classy blog.

I hope this helped all you twisted, psychos, looking for results to your mostly unsettling searches. Keep searching, keep reading, and keep contacting me. Even with hate mail. Call me names, threaten my womanhood, offer your Peanut Butter to my Smucker’s Jelly. Maybe we can make Goober together.

I swear I’m not high.

Love,

The girl who, by herself, once ate an entire jar of Goober Grape in less than 48 hours.

42+ Days Since My Last Blog Post – Where for Art Thou Readers, Bitches?

Dear Literate Citizens of First World Countries,

The time has come for me to address you. I think it is safe to say I have lost all of the fans/organ donors I once had as result of this blog. It’s been a month and a half since I have posted something new and frankly I don’t blame anyone for jumping ship at my shoddy attempt at blogosphere stardom. I have let myself, my country, and my libido down.

I will not attempt to explain away my neglectful inaction; for there are no words sufficient in definition, or multisyllabic enough in pretentiousness to appease the disillusioned cries of my reader(s). I will instead use a method of defense learned only from experiencing the deeply trenched heartache of an abusive relationship: I will pretend that it never happened.

…So anyway, these past six weeks have been like, so totally, epic. I mean FAIL! What???? Oh no! Like everyone else I seem to have forgotten what those words meant before social media subculture belittled their worth and true definition. Are you lost? Get ready, suckers. I haven’t updated in 42+ days. Not much is going to make sense tonight.

It is November, for which I must say I am pleased. September and October were straight up bitches, headed for the must kill shelter. Here are just a few things that went down:

-I quit my job. Yeah, that’s right. The one I formerly bragged about with my great salary, private office, and increasing self importance. I quit. Why? Because when you live in a nation with a 10% unemployment rate, and you move 900 miles away from home and find a well-paying, professional job in three weeks, the only logical thing to do is quit without finding another one first.

this girl is clearly just a ho

-I left Tennessee and moved back to Pennsylvania. Yeah, that’s right. I threw in the towel on my Southern adventure right in time for winter. Why? Because when you live in one of the warmest regions of the country, the only logical thing to do is leave the everyday sunshine of a 70 degree fall

climate and move back to the north; the place responsible for your semi-annual contraction of bronchitis and daily weather-related depression. My tongue sticks to everything during a Pennsylvania winter and not just because I’m promiscuous, wink, wink ;)…sizzle.

-I found God in Kentucky. Yeah, that’s right. God resides in Kentucky and let me tell you, he is busy at work. Not only did he arrange to have several billboards of the Ten Commandments erected along the h

...as I cross into Ohio

ighway, but like the great debater he is, also followed up with a reminder of what is to come if we do not follow said commands with 10×10 billboard images of Hell and a “Welcome to Ohio” sign.

-I drove through Ohio. Yeah, that’s right. ALL of Ohio. First night I stayed in Cincinnati. Oh, Cincy. What can be said about thee? Cincinnati is like my waist: bigger than you would expect, but not something anyone is going to enjoy. Next stop Cleveland. For those of you who are not well-versed on Ohio geography, Cincinnati is in the southwestern corner of Ohio, directly diagonal to Cleveland in the northeastern part of the state. I had to drive five depressing, rainy, hours through Ohio, because I insisted on visiting the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Now when I say I “insisted” I am lying. I didn’t insist. There was no one to insist to! I was alone, as I often am in life, love, and the bedroom…. FAIL! Lolz. What? Anyway. I arrived at the Hall o’ Fame, or “the hall” as the locals call it (no locals call it that). I spent 3 ½ hours there only to find an entire hallway dedicated to Jimi Hendrix and not a single window display for Bob Dylan. I am still composing a strongly worded letter to this so-called “establishment,” hoping to disembowel them of their title. Now don’t get me wrong, I like Jimi Hendrix. His seven minute career was very impressive. But Bob Dylan has penetrated the holes in my heart, impregnating my soul with his words. No person has ever loved another as much as I love him, not even Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries. Fail!

Edie Sedgwick

-I have started to wear leggings, tights, or as I like to refer to them “fat highlighters.” Yeah, that’s right. I am “trendy.” However, before the unfashionable tar and feathering occurs, let me explain. I like to wear dresses. I wear them all the time, along with pearls, leopard print shoes, and 74 coats of mascara, so I can walk around pretending I’m a fat Edie Sedgwick. But during the winter months, my pasty legs can’t handle the elements. So I did the only logical thing – bought black tights! After all, nothing is more Edie than black tights, aside from highly toxic amphetamines and Lou Reed’s penis; both of which I am yearning to acquire.

As for the other 42+ days I was not writing, I can only account for some of them with the following activities:

-30 hours spent at Occupy Nashville

-2 hours spent watching “Kim’s Fairytale Wedding.”

-14 hours spent watching reruns of “Kim’s Fairytale Wedding.”

-Undocumented amount of hours spent smoking hallucinogen

-15 hours driving to Pennsylvania

-30 minutes eating a gas station taco salad in Cleveland.

-1 ½ hours a day watching Judge Judy with my mother.

-Infinite amount of hours regretting my TV watching and wondering how anyone could find me lovable.

But now that it is November, things are bound to change. I am applying to graduate school for next fall, have joined a gym, have rejoined the local writer’s group I rely on as my sole social outlet, am attempting to finish my novel before the year’s end, and spend my afternoon’s crying to reruns of One Tree Hill.

Still unbalanced, still writing, still the girl with the blog.

Love,

The girl with the blog that is never updated because the girl happens to be a lazy a**hole.