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Sunday, August 10, 2014

How To Uneventfully Get Your Wisdom Teeth Removed

I got my wisdom teeth out this weekend.

Medically, it went as planned, i.e. four teeth were removed and I'm assuming the surgeon wore gloves. However, as is to be expected from my life, it was quite the experience in every other way possible. How does one turn a seemingly run-of-the-mill procedure into a full-on calamitous event? Wellll....

Step 1: Arrive on time yet completely unprepared to fill out the paper work. Where is your insurance card? Beats me. Where is your referral form from your dentist? I actually do know, but the answer is not, "Right here in my purse." Did you fast for six hours? Yes. No water either? Nope (lie). Shake violently out of nervousness.

Step 2: Meet with your surgeon. Get reprimanded once again for not having your referral form (no one told me!). Have a group chat to examine your x-rays and decide what needs to be done, as if we're renovating a sunroom. Find out that while all four teeth are impacted, the bottom two are stuck in your jaw bone and the roots are either cuddling with your inferior alveolar nerve or have it in a chokehold. Removal of the bottom teeth could leave you with permanent nerve damage in your jaw. Cute!

Step 3: Be presented with three options: completely remove all teeth, do nothing to the bottom two and wait for them to get infected thus prompting emergency removal, or get a Coronectomy aka chop off the tops of your teeth but leave the roots intact so as not to disturb their sexy time with your nerve. Ask surgeon why none of this was ever brought to your attention before because uhhh it seems a bit serious. He avoids the question. Ask again. He avoids. Start crying and yelling at him that dentistry is horseshit. Essentially watch the scene from Knocked Up play out right before your, your mom's, and the assistant doctor's eyes:
Swap teeth for vaginas and this is exactly what happened
Step 4: Surgeon will ask you to consider all options and come back in a week.
Skylar - Actually, I'm moving to New York in two weeks so that's not going to work for me.
Surgeon - *Scoffs at your ambition*
Tell him to give you five minutes. He scoffs again. Continue to cry. He storms out of the room.
Step 5: Surgeon returns. Have him shove consent forms in your face without explaining what's going on. Apparently you're agreeing to the Coronectomy because that's what he thinks is the best idea. Good talk, bro.
Surgeon - This is the hardest procedure I will do all day.
Step 6: Surgeon will speak to everyone in the room except you. Mom steps in and says, "Uh, she's right here." He looks at you and might roll his eyes but it's hard to tell because he's Asian. Tells doctor's assistant to prep Room 6 and leaves. Immediately burst into tears and throw in some hyperventilation for good measure. Everyone tells you to calm down, which obviously helps a ton. 
Step 7: Get escorted to Room 6. Immediately notice Ryan Reynolds look-a-like assistant and suddenly feel calm, cool, collected, and angry at yourself for not wearing any makeup. He puts a blanket on you, which seems a bit forward considering the other people in the room but hey you're down if he is. Unfortunately he seems more interested in doctor's assistant. Slut.
Scrubs optional
Step 8: Get tubes shoved up your nose and offer up your arm so they can insert the IV, which goes off without a hitch because you have very prominent veins. Shout out to doing bi's and tri's last week. #killinit #fitfam #weightlifting #swole
Step 9: Come to in a holding room with your mom laughing at you hysterically.
Skylar - Do I look good enough for a beauty pageant?
Mom - Oh definitely.
Skylar - K good because I have one next week.
Mom - You do?
Skylar - Mhmmmmm.
[guy in next room singing "I Gotta Feeling"]
Skylar - Tell him I can join in if he wants, I totally know this song.
Skylar - Mom, when they tried to put my IV in I had to look away because I hate needles and blood.
Mom - I know.
Skylar - On campus in Louisville they always asked me to give blood and I always said I wanted to but I didn't weigh enough....*whispering* but I doooooo.
Step 10: Go directly home and pass out, but not before Snapchatting this picture to all of your friends:
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Friday, July 25, 2014

7 Reasons Why I Defriended You

We're all adults here. As adults, we understand that sometimes friendships just don't work out. It's not anything anyone said or did or thought, it's just a fact...

Unless it's a Facebook friendship. In that case, a connection between two people relies solely on what is said or done or thought. If Christina and Sarah can see my profile but you can't anymore, and you don't know why, you probably committed one of the following crimes against my sanity:

We're full broken, not just bent

You Got Married - Lesbihonest: We weren't that great of friends in college. I actually almost defriended you a year and a half ago, but then you got engaged and I just had to see which Pinterest crafts you chose to employ in your reception (beautiful vintage lantern centerpieces, by the way). I'll stick it out for a week after the big day to view your pictures from the honeymoon in Punta Cana, but then we're back to square one, where the only conversation we've ever had was about our Shakespeare II class. Soon enough, every #TBT will be of three weeks ago (THAT'S NOT A THROWBACK) and how shocked you still are about being "Mrs. Brown!" Byeeee.

You Are Now Your Baby - Where'd you go? / I miss you so / Your profile pic is now a baby / In a Graco
Fine, your kid is adorable. His chubby Michelin Man legs evoke squeals of delight and I want to squeeze his cheeks. That being said, is he that fat because he ate you? Because I haven't seen your face grace my timeline in a solid three months. Children are beautiful miracles, yes, but I would like some indication that you still exist. Replacing your profile picture and cover photo with Avery's face and replacing all of your embarrassing college albums with pictures of all of her "firsts" is zero fun for me to stalk. Peace and blessinz.

You Advertise Your Good Deed - Hayley Joel Osment could've payed it forward to a lot more than three people if he had posted about his deeds on social media. Here's my thing: I'm proud of you for being a kind person and helping people in need; good on you, Mother Theresa, that's very admirable. I just think it loses a little bit of its sparkle when you post a three paragraph status detailing how saintly you are. Doing things out of the goodness of your heart is respectable--doing things to get 34 'likes' in five minutes is not. Keep it to yourself. Take it easy.

You and Your Boyfriend Apparently Don't Have Phones - If you have to post "I love you!"'s and "You're the best!"'s on your significant other's wall every other day, you won't even make it to the first grievance on this list. Text each other. Call each other. Be with each other. I feel like the third wheel of a hang out sesh I didn't even RSVP to and now I'm super uncomfortable, making comments about the episode of Shark Tank that, apparently, I'm the only one watching. Deuces.

You Post Pictures of Your Paleo Meals - "OMG guys this Dairy Free Dark Chocolate Coconut Pudding is so much better than regular pudding." Easyyy, there's no reason to be a fucking liar. I have followed your fitness journey long enough to see ab definition and a singular chin, I'm over it now. Ya look good. Why do you continue to accost me with nightly snapshots of your hunter-gatherer dinner? If you think I'm going to believe that your cauliflower crust pizza is better than my Papa John's Double Bacon 6-Cheese you're wrong. Eat some gluten, live a little. See ya later.

You're a Staunch Republican - Subscribe to whatever political affiliation you wish, that's all you, girl. Hell, open up an educated conversation about current issues, we could use a few more intelligent people speaking their minds. The second you start attacking a specific group of people or way of life simply because TFM sold you a "Reagan Bush '84" tank is the second I stop respecting your opinion. Having a view on a governmental matter is not a segue into being a douche. Seacrest out.

You Don't Ring a Bell - I literally don't know who you are. Awkward squint and head tilt.

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Thursday, July 10, 2014

My 5-Piece Desert Island Survival Kit

I did not watch Lost.
I did not watch Fantasy Island.
I've been told that I look like Mary Ann from Gilligan's Island, but I've never seen more than half an episode of that show either.
Thus, my familiarity with desert island life is not exactly up to snuff.

When Man Crates--a new company that ships awesome gifts for men in custom wooden crates--reached out to me asking what I would pack in my own personal survival kit, I was admittedly at a loss. "Um a cell phone and alcohol to keep me entertained until help arrives, duh," didn't exactly seem like the best response, and I actually believe that my friends would let me stew for a few days just to get some piece and quiet and to avoid being forced to watch pimple popping videos on YouTube (The Zit That Won't Quit. You won't be sorry).

Therefore, I needed to consider what my essentials would be, and you know what? Leave me on that island; with the necessities I've come up with, I don't want to come home.

Justin Timberlake, shirtless: He must look exactly like the picture below. I cannot stress this enough. We're stranded? We're running out of food? The animals are coming to gnaw on our thighs? It's okay, Justin, it's fine, let's just hug it out and never let go. Maybe an "I Thought She Knew" or "(Another Song) All Over Again" serenade while you rub my back will help us think of a survival strategy.

Drum Kit: I have always wanted to learn how to play the drums, and I would finally have the time to do so. As a perfectionist, I do not like trying things if I don't know I'll be the absolute best at them, so with this opportunity to learn (as well as JT's guidance) I could channel my inner Neil Peart and go nuts. 

Ketchup: I effing love ketchup. Like, more than I love my family (minus the dog). If I'm expected to cook mystery animals over an open flame, I will be needing an excessive amount of the red stuff. I recently sent a Snapchat to my friends about a culinary experiment pairing carrots and ketchup that they all found disgusting, but I'm willing to bet, given the circumstances, they'd respect my ingenuity in the interest of life-saving preparation. If things start to go south and Justin hasn't paid me a compliment in the last five minutes, he's getting whacked and I'll savor his biceps with a heap of Heinz.

A bat: I love being outdoors, I just don't appreciate the bugs that come with the territory. One bat can eat between 600 and 1,000 mosquitoes and other insects in just one hour. I like those odds. Bug bites on the tops of your feet are like, the worst, and I really just don't feel like dealing with that.

Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, the 4-book boxed set: Every literature professor I had in college would groan in agony to hear how much I love these books. They have been my favorite since high school, and I can read Bukowski, Plath, and King all day long, but Brashares is my girl. Have I read all four upwards of ten times? Yes. But you can't be alone and scared on an island when you have the story of long-lasting friendship and a pair of magical Levi's on your side, can you?!

Speaking of, there is one thing I definitely would not be needing on this adventure: Pants. I barely like wearing them when lounging around my house alone on a Saturday, there's absolutely no way I could be convinced to keep those babies on if I'm fending for my life. Shirts, you're next.

I'm clearly a smidgen on the complicated end, but Man Crates makes it easy to find the perfect survival essentials and/or gift for the guys in your lives. Their mission is to end the difficulties that have long been associated with buying gifts for men, and whether he's an athlete, a beer lover, a carnivore or more, Man Crates has something awesome that he's going to love.

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Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Love and Order CVU: Creeper Victim's Unit - Rate My Date

After the story of my embarrassing life hit the internet, I was inundated with texts and Facebook messages from other girls who had experienced similarly catastrophic dates. In the interest of group commiseration, I decided to create a series that would tell other girls that they're not alone, and tell weird guys that maybe they should pump the brakes a smidge. If you have a story that you would like shared, feel free to send it my way!
In the Serial Dating System, the people are represented by two separate, yet equally important groups: the bros who do creepy shit and the ladies who have to text their friends, "SAVE MEEE." These are their stories.

My friend had tried for a year to set me up with this guy she had dated a few times before she met her current boyfriend. I finally agreed, and she gave me his number so we could start talking.
We agree to meet for drinks one night at around 7 p.m. He texts me at 6 saying he is having dinner with his dad and will be late so we would meet at 9 instead. At 8:55 he calls to say he's almost there and he will text me as he is walking in. He actually doesn't end up getting there until almost 10.
I had made an effort to look nice, wearing heels and a nice top. He was in ratty Pumas and an Under Armour hoodie. He proceeded to talk about himself for three hours, all while we were sitting outside on a patio in the cold and not bothering to ask if I was chilly (not that I wanted to wear the hoodie, but it's the principle of the thing).
I finally gave him the hint I was ready to go home. He kept texting me asking to meet up again, and told me I was a "solid 8.5 to his perfect 10," and felt that with time I could "rank even higher."
--Bo Derek

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Chris Brown & Justin Bieber: The Fat Obnoxious Girls at the Bar

Justin Bieber posted an edgy black and white pic to Instagram on Monday to announce that he and Chris Breezy were in the studio recording a new train wreck of cracked out vocal runs and excessive-yet-necessary autotune "for the fans."

Upon receiving this update via Twitter--because it's NEWS--I made this face:
which is the exact same expression that appears when I'm at a bar and I spot my least favorite patrons walk through the door: The Fat Obnoxious Girls. Coincidence? I think not.

Let's clear something up from the get-go: I don't hate them because they're fat, they're fat because I hate them. And bigger girls can look sexy as hell if they know how to properly dress what their mama gave them. FOGs don't, and as soon as they walk in with their lopsided tube tops and mini skirts that even my friend with Hyperthyroidism wouldn't touch, they're automatically added to the Can You Not? List.

FOGs enter any venue already making a scene. "Woo!"ing and shimmying and screeching along to "Don't You Worry Child." "LET'S TAKE A SHAHT!" they scream at each other. "I BET I CAN DRINK MORE THAN YOU!" they scream at the two guys at the bar. "ARE YOU GONNA BUY US FIREBALL SHAHTS?!" they again scream at the two guys at the bar. The two guys at the bar are too nice/frightened not to, so the four take their shots.

"I CAN ALREADY FEEL IT!" the FOGs scream. It is 11:30. "OHMIGAHD AVICII LET'S DANCE!" The two guys at the bar are dragged to the dance floor to be mercilessly grinded on.

The mini skirts are creeping up to unfortunate locations, and no effort is being made to pull them down. So much skin. The guys at the bar evacuate the dance floor but the FOGs don't care and continue to grind on each other, shooting heavily-black-eyeshadowed "YEAH YOU WANT THIS" glances to other innocent victims who respond with vehement head shakes.
"AHAHAHA EVERYONE'S WATCHING US!" they scream at each other. Half-true; it's really hard to look away when a hoo-ha is about to introduce itself to the world and armpit deodorant balls are glowing in the blacklight.

The event photographer is gathering a group for a photo, and the FOGs do not hesitate to jump right in.

The FOGs automatically think that this group is their new party crew and decide to join in on multiple additional pictures...

...in which it's painfully clear they do not belong. After three or four more photo bombs, one of the members of the group asks, "I'm sorry, do we know you?" to which FOG #1 replies, "YOU WANNA FIGHT BITCH?!" and immediately reaches for a chunk of hair.

A girl brawl breaks out: kicking, slapping, haphazard fists that only make contact maybe twice. The bouncer tries to break it up but FOG #1 is a pro and has latched on to Group Member's upper arm. FOG #2 supportively screeches, "YEAH THAT'S RIGHT BITCH! YEAH THAT'S RIGHT!" but won't get physically involved because she's the prettier one, knows it, and doesn't want to risk facial injury.
The fight is eventually controlled, boobs are reinserted into tops, and all participating parties are asked to leave the bar. "FUCK THIS PLACE! FUCK ALL Y'ALL! ALL Y'ALL ARE RACIST!" the FOGs scream, ignoring the fact that everyone in the general vicinity is white.

They continue to talk loudly about how they're never giving money to "this shitty hole in the wall" ever again (just like they did when they left last weekend) and FOG #1 lights an e-cig while they wait for a cab outside. 

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Tuesday, June 10, 2014

24 Pieces of Advice for 18-Year-Old Skylar

My 24th birthday is tomorrow. I know, I know, so exciting, I wear a size XS/S, I like everything Kate Spade, dahlias are my favorite flower, yadda yadda whatever. Despite the fact that I will now be entering my "mid-20s" and leaving "early 20s" debauchery behind (....), I'm not one of those people that freaks out about suddenly being old.

24 is not old. Not even close. Works for Hugh Hefner!

However, 30 is getting there. You're still workin' it, but you're expected to have your life slightly more together and could potentially have a baby. Whoa. A lot can happen in six years, and while I'm excited for all of those opportunities, I realize there will be a lot of lessons to learn along the way. I'll probably look back at my current self and think, "Really?" mostly because that's exactly how I think of 18-year-old me.

If I could go back in time, I would try my best to save myself and avoid being such a dumbass. Clearly I turned out [arguably] normal, but there are some unnecessary events that could've been avoided with some guided wisdom. Here is that wisdom:

1. Change your hairstyle - You look like a little lad who loves berries and cream.
2. You're still growing - Your body is on like a three year delay, which is jussst adorable. Hold on to that green dress, it'll look better on you in a few years.
3. That girl's actually kind of mean - Don't hang out with her anymore.
4. That guy turns into a huge hippie - I know, right?!
5. That guy turns extremely religious - Hahaha. I mean good for him.
6. Step up your party clothes game - Who wears a cardigan to a house party? This is embarrassing.
7. This is the last year you'll be able to eat meatball subs every single day without consequence - Cherish it. For the love of God cherish it.
8. Never take an 8:30 a.m. class, Math or other, ever again - We both knew that was a terrible decision from the get-go.
9. Say yes to [almost] everything - Everything's an opportunity, everything's an experience, don't miss out on any of it just because you were tired. Surprise: you'll be tired no matter what. Just say yes and go.
10. Save every piece of your writing on an external hard drive - Your computer crashes in four years and you lose it all. Fuck.
11. Wear less eyeliner - It's just a better look.
12. Stop making inappropriate profile pictures using FaceinHole - Funny, sure. But your head on Miranda Kerr's body isn't getting you a job after college and it makes your mom sad.
13. "Ugh I miss you we need to hang out! Lunch soon?" - Use as necessary.
14. You are a trendsetter for hating Twilight - Congratulations! And stay strong, it catches on.
15. Breaking the rules has zero consequences - Anyone who tells you otherwise is a liar. You'll have much better stories down the road.
16. Have patience with the difficult people - They'll come back around, and you will have been the bigger person. Snaps.
17. Getting embarrassed is a waste of energy - No one remembers when you just laugh it off, so just laugh it off.
18. Your AP Government teacher who told you you probably wouldn't amount to much because you couldn't care less about PACs? - He can respectfully go fuck himself. And if you had told him so to his face it wouldn't have mattered in the long run. Hindsight is 20/20.
19. A walk of shame is not shameful if your hair looks good - Finger comb, shoulders back, work it.
20. Call your grandma - At least twice a week. She enjoys this. She will like you better than the rest of the family. They will argue this point. They are wrong.
21. Running on the treadmill for 15 minutes doesn't count - Permissible because you've still got a rapid fire metabolism on your side, but refer to #7. Step it up before it's too late.
22. Most of the guys you know today will look like 40 year olds in six years - Cut your losses, it's for the best.
23. Succumb to saying "y'all" for the time being - It's not the only regional accent you'll adopt in your life, might as well just enjoy it while it lasts.
24. Keep writing - It's working. :)

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Thursday, June 5, 2014

Rules for Riding the Metro

The Washington, DC Metro system is an enigmatic entanglement of day-old newspapers, single-tracking delays, and suffocating BO. Nowhere near as old as the New York City Subway or even the Chicago L, we can basically think of the Metro as the sullen youngest teenage sibling of America's rapid transit systems that listens to Mae and rebels by not showering. It's a great way to get to work every day!
Every day.
As long as everyone is following the unwritten rules of public transportation (no eating, no staring, no noise whatsoever, etc.), the commute is perfectly fine. However, there are certain, specific rules that are just as inherent but apparently much more difficult to follow, and failure to adhere to those rules will definitely get you yelled at by strangers (or worse, seriously mean-mugged).

If you don't feel like reading the following rules and are planning on riding the Metro or one of its national affiliates sometime in the near future, for the love of God wear deodorant, or, at the very least, keep your arms at your sides. Seriously, how and why do people smell SO BAD?!

Don't be a hero, use the handrail - Core strength is seriously lacking in the DC/Maryland/Virginia area, and instead of going home and doing a 30-second plank every night, residents of our community instead opt to turn into the human incarnation of that Boneless Girl computer game that was popular in the Myspace era. I don't want to touch the poles either, but I ain't too proud to grab on when the Metro car operator is touchy on the brakes and the danger of flying headfirst into Yarn Lady's crochet needles is imminent. If you can't be confident that you'll stay solidly on your feet for the duration of the ride, suck it up and hold a handrail while you wait for a seat to free up. Soft knees, people, soft knees.

Don't be a statue - Personal space does not exist here. As someone who has spent the better part of a 45-minute commute with her shoulder involuntarily cradled by a sumo wrestler's belly button, I can attest to the fact that trying to fight the inevitable is pointless, and getting all up in someone's business is just the way it's gotta be. When I go to sit in the open seat next to you, mooove, bitch. Pretending that by not moving a muscle to accomodate my presence in your bubble you somehow "win" for the day is a huge waste of passive aggressive energy that you could instead use against your wife at couple's therapy. Forcing me to sit on half of your thigh and/or briefcase is a very odd way to stand your ground, and you're automatically worse than the "You can't sit heeah" kid from Forrest Gump because you're not even enough of an asshole to say it out loud.

Do announce your weekend sexcapades to the entire car - Technically you're not supposed to (read: shouldn't) talk on your phone, but if you're going to do it, make it entertaining. Do I want to hear you loudly gush about your upcoming trip to Kennebunkport? Nope. Will I completely ignore the third chapter of The Green Mile to eavesdrop on your convo about "Kevin" and how you totally told "Kevin" off at Barcode on Friday but whoopsies ended up going home with him after Spider Kelly's on Saturday and now he wants to hang out tonight but then what do you do about "Brad"? Keep it comin'!

Do check your AARP card at the door - I love old people, but only when they're actually old. Remember the, "I like eggs" grandma from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? She is my fave. Along the same vein, Grandpa Joe (the one who miraculously dances around after years of bed rest when chocolate is mentioned) is the worst kind of old person. They're wrinkly enough for one to correctly assume that they're at least 65, but they're walking around without so much as a limp and know how to operate an iPhone better than I ever will. Just because there is a sign that says "Reserved for the elderly and disabled" does not mean you deserve it, and asking me to give up my seat for the sole fact that you were born before 1950 is absolutely absurd.

Do not impact my day with your unforseen sickness - True Life: I was riding the Metro home a few months ago, standing up against the door in a mildly-packed car. Either I hadn't eaten enough that day, or my scarf was tied too tightly, or I have brain cancer (thanks WebMD), but whatever the problem was, I suddenly felt as though I was going to faint. Super dizzy, hot flashes, weak knees, nausea, the whole shebang. I had never experienced this before so I was a little scared, but I white knuckled the pole and stared intently at the floor to fight the sensation for one single, solitary reason: I refused to delay my commute home. If I passed out, they would have to stop the train, unload it, call an unnecessary ambulance, and all of the fellow riders would hate me. Too much. A little syncope never hurt noboby! Should you ever feel as though you're going to puke, implode, or die, here's the simple fix: don't. I am not missing my Zumba class just because you can't maintain consciousness.

If you think I've forgotten a critical Metro-riding guideline, please let me know. If you see something, say something, amirite?

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