A few weeks ago I took a poll. Here are the results:
Because I have no concrete evidence of how many people actually participated in this poll, I can only speculate that with 183 subscribers, it was somewhere in the range of 6,072. In which case, I congratulate myself for having so many dedicated readers. There has never been a success in my life quite as remarkable as fabricated statistics.
The main thing I gather from these results is that the only thing people hate less than politics is calling me a pretentious shrew, which really is the mother of all compliments if you think about it. Yes. I can accept this world where beards are more important than love, and 50% of voters are completely indifferent to what I write. I accept it like I accept anything. Except Kristen Stewart. I don’t accept her. Not as an actress or as a human. That was not a vampire joke.
Anyhow. Thank you to everyone who participated in this. I appreciate your feedback.
And to those of you who did not, I invite you to stop being such a loser. It’s bad for your complexion.
The girl with a bad complexion
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.
The girl who misses her blog readers
PS: Thinking of doing an October Blogging Challenge (one blog per day). Thoughts?
I recently fell asleep on the toilet.
I’m not going to say where I was or how it happened, but I will tell you I was getting paid at the time and it wasn’t an accident. While I admit I am slightly ashamed of my inappropriate slumber, overall I feel pretty okay about it. After all, some people shower with kids at their jobs. I just fell asleep. Lena – 1, Penn State Staff – 0.
Still this has me slightly concerned. Not just about my evident narcolepsy but the fact that I am so un-stimulated at my current employment that I can disappear to the bathroom for ten minutes and nap without anyone in my three-person office noticing. Really makes one feel a sense of value in the American workforce.
Nevertheless, I have decided that I can’t let this happen again. If I’m going to disappear for ten minutes, unnoticed, I’d rather it be to do something really important like read US Weekly in the bookstore or talk to Butch, the new janitor who likes to wink at me while stroking his mop. Just kidding. I stroke it for him.
Nothing in the last paragraph is true.
Anyway. Today while driving home from work I started to think, which was a strange adjustment after five hours of not thinking at all, about all of the other people in the world who are as un-stimulated by their work as I am, and wondering how they handle it. It didn’t take a great deal of brain power to determine the answer to all of life’s inevitably dull moments.
Now, everyone knows that I have a special place in my heart reserved for people who Google ridiculous things, because more often than not they end up at my blog. I’m not sure how it happens. I’m not sure how the search phrase “sometimes I feel sad and then I remember I have a nice big round ass” brings someone to my blog. But it does and it makes me happy.
So when I got home I decided to review all of the Google search terms that brought people to my blog in the past month, and much to my irrational level of happiness, I discovered that many a lost soul has reached my blog through deep, heart-wrenching, questions entered in the Google search box, only to be lost in the abyss of porn and pictures of cats that make up 96% of the content of the Internet.
Because of this, I have decided that I will take this time to respond to only the most imperative of questions my blog was formerly unable to answer. Here we go.
1. How tall is Kris Jenner?
Kris Jenner is 5 feet of unfortunate fertility and 6 inches of erectile dysfunction.
2. What are the worst things for a man to say to woman?
Woman: “Do these jeans make me look fat?”
Man: “Not as much as the ones you wore yesterday.”
Man: “It’s a lucky man that gets her pregnant.”
Woman: “That’s our daughter you’re talking about!”
3. Do Italians like skinny or curvy women?
Italians aren’t selective. They love women. All women. In fact, Italian men love women so much that by default, one gay Italian man will have more heterosexual sex in one month than four straight Jewish men will in their entire lives. I didn’t just make this up.
But realistically, every woman will have sex with at least one Italian man in her life. If she doesn’t she might be a lesbian, but is probably just a Mormon. In which case she will have lots of unsatisfying arranged sex with a much older man she is possibly related to, enough times that she will decide she hates all men, including Italians.
PS: Sorry, Mormons.
4. Why is it that that other woman has big legs?
An evolutionary defense against short Italians. And all Mormons.
5. Why is my urine very orange?
There are only three reasons urine is ever orange.
A. You have liver disease. Good luck with that
B. You eat too many carrots. F*** you.
C. You live in New Jersey. All of the above
6. Who is that tattooed man drinking coffee and wearing a pea coat?
It’s difficult to say without seeing the man in question, but nine times out of ten, it’s Taylor Lautner pretending to be straight.
7. How can I tell if a girl is wearing a butt pad?
Her butt cheeks are disproportionate to her desperation.
8. Are meth addicts proud of their addiction?
9. Why do I curse so much?
Because socially forbidden words are more satisfying to use than academically impressive ones.
And you know once you’re old it will be really funny.
10. What is it like to live alone with a pet dog?
Depressing. No one else you ever live with will love you so much they will hold their pee for 9 hours until they see you. It’s all downhill from there.
That’s all for now.
The girl with tan shoes and pink shoelaces
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.
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:
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 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.
…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.
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.
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.
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 🙂
The girl who only feels entitled to call herself female for the one hour directly following leg shaving
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.
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.
The girl who hasn’t changed contacts since 1978
There are insects pitching tents in my apartment. Not in the dirty way ; though considering the vast population, probably in the dirty way too. They are setting up camp in various locations from the bathroom ceiling to the living room doorway, tormenting me with their presence, while no doubt researching rates for the increasingly popular window-front properties in my bedroom. I know deep down they don’t mean to pummel my existence, but that is just what they have done. They have pummeled my existence.
It’s been total insect anarchy since the bug on my toothbrushincident of last week. They just keep showing up and they won’t go away. There like a bunch of Occupy protestors. They accomplish nothing while making life a little more unpleasant for all who come into their company. Like last night when my bedroom was commandeered by a spider and some variation of a mosquito and I was forced to relocate to my living room for sleep, just to have my living room attacked by another spider and a stinkbug.
After several hours spent in the presence of savage wildlife I didn’t have the heart or testicles to kill, I managed to accumulate 2 hours of sleep. So today, along with my usual emotional instability, I am struggling with undiagnosed narcolepsy. I’m like Harriet Tubman, only slightly less historically relevant.
This week has been a gold mine of search terms used to find my blog. I invite you to feast on these 10 glorious representations of the maximum capacity of human intellectualism, that continue to fill me with great hope for the future of humanity.
Here is Our Top 10
- Women are bad at parking because they are always lied to about 8 inches
- Physical characteristics of inbred people.
- Girl with blond hair bob blog ß(THIS IS ME!!!!)
- I gave your girlfriend a dictionary
- How long do meth addicts live?
- Orangutan boobs
- Ted Bundy dating game
- Does soul mate = gold digger?
- Human soul pie chart
- Biggest rack of 2012
The girl who thinks “Cheerio!” as a farewell is SO April 2012
As of today I have officially been blogging for one year. I have posted 70 blog entries, 22 of which were published this month, meaning a third of one year’s worth of blogging took place in one month. It’s like that birth control that makes you only have 4 periods a year, only BETTER!!!! And nothing like that.
So all night I’ve been trying to figure out how to commemorate such an anniversary. I had intentions of writing some sort of passionate, forlorn tale about seeking love and approval of the internet masses but still feeling dead inside…however if you know anything about me, you know my intentions hold less value than a State of the Union address, so that didn’t get very far. Distractions set in, tragedy struck, and all I can begin to entertain (?) you with tonight is this literary work of unparalleled genius:
The Girl With the Bug On Her Tooth Brush:
She was born a regular girl,
Never a looker,
Always a bore,
Almost a lush,
But became much more,
The girl with the bug on her tooth brush.
In an apartment on the top of a hill
With youth to kill,
A six legged creature betrayed her trust
And she lost all will
The girl with the bug on her tooth brush
She let it survive for days before
Saying good morn
What else rhymes with brush
This poem doesn’t make sense anymore
The girl with a bug on her tooth brush
Enough of that shit. Here’s what went down, yo.
Two days ago I discovered a gargantuan specimen hanging loose all over the wall above my closet. I wasn’t feeling it. But I made a conscious decision to ignore it and let it settle into its new space. Peace, love, cohabitation. I can dig that concept. I’m pretty sure Squanto wouldn’t chuck a bug from his tee-pee and if there is any one historical figure I model my daily life after, it’s Squanto, motherf***er.
This morning I stumbled into my bathroom, pretending to be drunk, but really just bloated from eating too much marshmallow fluff the night before. And there it was. Squanto , the bug, chillaxin’ all over my bathroom mirror. Not cool, Squantsy. But I decided to let it go. I was running late for work and rapidly decreasing gas prices were screaming my name.
So after a long day, I came home prepared to blow the blogosphere away with my brilliant commemorative posting. But when I reached the bathroom to remove my contacts I saw this:
There was definitely a brief Janet Leigh scream that expelled from my mouth.
No big deal.
So after approximately 1 hour of uninterrupted panic, I finally mustered the courage, a word not used lightly here, to pick up the toothbrush, carry it to the apartment door and throw it out into the rain. I felt a momentary rush of exhilaration before sheer embarrassment set in that I am a 23 year old adult woman who took over an hour to garner the bravery to carry a toothbrush twelve feet across an apartment. This embarrassment was of course followed up by frustration with myself for wasting precious minutes of my existence worried about something as arbitrary as a bug on my toothbrush when I should have been doing something more productive, like writing a blog entry or learning how to count.
So after a rollercoaster of mixed emotions and near death, bug-related experiences, I have determined that the best possible way to commemorate my year of blog writing, is to not commemorate it at all, and simply be the neurotic side show freak anyone reading has come to expect.
Good night and good luck.
The girl with a bug on her toothbrush
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:
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.
The girl who “doesn’t talk trash, just recycles it.” – Pacey Witter
I’m half Japanese. Or rather, I eat a lot of sushi. Plus I write haikus like a beast and am a bad driver.
Is this politically incorrect?
“Weekly Search Term” Haiku
Cute baby rabbits
Scott Peterson psychopath
Body in Kitchen
Here is Our Top 10
- Puppies helping babies
- Unwanted impregnation literotica
- Motivational facial
- Person with two belly buttons
- Something bad to do to someone
- Cute fat Chinese babies
- Why do I hate twitter
- A really fat baby bear
- Pictures of inbred brothers with big ears
- Hawt fat chick
I really hope everyone else enjoys these as much as I do.
The girl composing unwanted impregnation literotica with a really fat baby bear, about two inbred brothers with big ears and a hawt fat chick bearing cute fat chinese babies with two belly buttons. It’s almost as good as the one about puppies helping babies who hate Twitter, to get motivational facials.What a bad thing to do to someone.