A Friend for All Seasons

I'm fortunate enough to have a very large, very diverse group of ladyfrands stationed all over the country to assist in every freak out, humble brag and what-if scenario. These girls are all special in their own ways, which not only keeps things interesting but is also super handy when I need advice on something that Jennifer is too religious for but is right up Sasha's alley (no offense) (slut).

Everyone needs a friend for every conceivable life scenario. I've enlisted the help of my beebs and had them send me some of their favorite examples of convos with friends that they definitely could not have with anyone else. (Livin' with my bitches, #LIVE.)



 
 

The McFriend - This sweetheart would never, ever judge you for eating delicious snacks, especially when they're bacon-wrapped. She is crucial, because while the rest of your friends are trying juice cleanses and eating kale and cucumber salads, this faithful comrade will indulge every edible whim and snag some extra ketchup and/or honey mustard. She personifies the judgment-free zone, and will always be quick to blame your slight weight gain on water weight or your period, because it sure as hell wasn't your recent three-day-long Chipotle binge.

The Ex Sympathizer - Everyone has exes, and everyone has exes that won't go away. Some friends turn into feminists when you mention you and your ex were casually texting the other day and berate you for "going back to that pathetic piece of trash loser." Way harsh, Tai. This friend understands that shit happens, and that if you happen to wake up next to that piece of trash loser one morning after a night of innocent reminiscing over Patron Café shots, worse things have happened. They may not encourage further chats with said piece of trash, but they're probably texting you the message to the left immediately after waking up next to their own pathetic loser. Condolence high five!

The Creep - While most girls are not "psychos," we do all have some rather eccentric thoughts that occasionally float around in our heads. Do we plan to act on them? No. Is it nice to know that someone will have our back 110% if we ever decide we want to? Absolutely. The Creep will take your weird idea and take it a step further to say, "Hey! You're not alone! I, too, am a recreational sociopath! Let's get brunch."

The Nasty Gal - Some girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice. Others are absolutely disgusting. This friend is clutch when you haven't showered/shaved your legs/swiped your Woman Card in three weeks and you just feel like sharing something grotesque. She probably has brothers or just really couldn't give less of a fuck about social norms, and has no problem discussing bodily functions at length. While this friend may not be your first choice to bring as a plus one to your meeting with Her Majesty the Queen, she's the perfect sidekick for an all-night bar hop that may or may not end with eating cheese fries off the floor.

The Cosmo - True to her name, this friend is a walking women's magazine. Quick with a sex tip of the day, questionable first date advice, and a seemingly endless supply of photos such as the one to the right, she will never need you hangin' should you need some *ahem* emotional uplifting. Perhaps not the ideal candidate to get you through a serious life crisis, but if you're just looking for a quick pick-me-up, you've got your girl.

The Fort Knox - This girl is a steel trap. If and when you decide to do something semi-socially uncouth like join a sugar daddy website or sell your eggs on Craigslist, she will be your emergency contact and confidante in case the meet-up goes awry. She'd never dream of letting your secret slip because while she's not one to criticize, at the end of the day you both know that your scheme for bagging a rich dude/making some extra cash is a little sad. Whatever, you do you. FK is a text away at any hour of the night or day!

 The Disney Channel - Sometimes, it's nice to have someone around who doesn't look down upon you for the fact that you still love old TV shows as much as you did in 2001. Sometimes, it's nice to watch these shows together via Skype, text, or Facebook message. Sometimes, you still cry when the Bug Juice campers leave at the end of the summer and even though half of them will be back next year it's still a big deal and you consider them your friends. Sometimes, it's obvious why you're [both] alone on a Friday night. Yikes.










If you have a friend that encompasses all of the above traits and more, she is a magician and might also be fake. It's nice to spread your ridiculousness out over a few different people anyway, lest they get sick of your nonsense and abandon you altogether. Seek out each of your friends for their individual strengths--especially the one who is good with makeup and hair. That is one essential betch.

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Instagram Stole My Sanity

I legitimately think I'm losing my mind, and it's all thanks to an app.

I posted my last Instagram picture sometime back at the beginning of June.
I've done many things since then.
Exciting things.
Fun things.
Adventurous things.
Things I want to brag about to everyone I know.
How am I supposed to do that, call them on the phone? Screw that. I want them to ogle my exceptional life via square photos.

When my photos first wouldn't post, I gave Instagram the benefit of the doubt.
"Oh, it's just a silly little mishap. Probably too much traffic from people posting regrettable Memorial Day Weekend pics. No problem. Maybe I shouldn't be THAT GUY and post a picture of my Blueberry and Peach Coffee Cake anyway," I thought.

Then I baked strawberry soufflé. Then I saw a homeless man wearing a full-on Cat in the Hat costume with Mardi Gras beads on my lunch break. Then it was my birthday. Then my friends from Louisville came to visit. And I couldn't post any of those pictures.

This is the screen that appears whenever I try to upload something.

My friends, though sympathetic, are no help at all.

 

 

 

 

 

I've reported my problem to Instagram Help Center which basically told me it was my fault and I should find a stronger WiFi connection and/or get a life.
In reference to the former: my WiFi connection is solid.
In reference to the latter: uh, fat chance.

So now I'm left with one option; the point that I never actually want to reach but which seems to come so naturally to me: complain mercilessly.
Reporting my specific problem to Instagram has done absolutely nothing, so I've taken to Twitter to show them not only how perplexed I am, but that desperation mixed with mental instability is a cocktail in which I indulge on a daily basis.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Please, Instagram, I beg of you, just fix my account. I'm trying to be the voice of a generation, and I can't very well do that without participating in Throwback Thursday.

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.

Skylar - OH REALLY THAT'S COMFORTING.

 

Step 6: Surgeon will speak to everyone in the room except you. Mom steps in and says, "Uh, she's right here." He 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. Grey's Anatomy is real.

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

 

**GET HACKED UP**

 

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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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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It's Amazing I'm Not Disowned: A Mother's Day Tribute

I was a really sweet, loving, pleasant daughter until I turned 16. In the grand tradition of teenage girls, I became a Class-A Bitch and made my parents' lives a living hell for no other reason than being a high school student. I never did anything illegal or remotely bad ass, so run-ins with law enforcement were a non-issue, but I'm sure they would've preferred I spent a night or four in jail than have me sitting around dropping [admittedly awesome] snarky one liners and responding to innocent questions with this face:

I'd like to think that that bitchiness has subsided somewhat, although I'm sure if I'm wrong my mom doesn't find the repercussions worth it enough to tell me. Instead, I choose to keep her on her toes with random tidbits of TMI and general whining about #whitegirlproblems that she handles with grace, patience, and just enough reciprocated sarcasm to prove that I wasn't adopted.

It really is amazing she didn't trade me in years ago when you consider what she's up against:

"CAN I PLEASE JUST HAVE A NORMAL ONE FOR ONCE?!"
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My hypochondria runs most of our conversations
 



A run-of-the-mill email subject line

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's time the world knew

So here's a shout-out to the cutiest of patooties: Mawm/Maaahhhhm/Mayo/Seriously?/Toni, you are a champ, and I love the crap outta you.

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Playing With Myself

When I was younger, my mom's tactic for getting me to get a chore done faster was to put me in an imaginary competition with a girl from a different country (typically Jamaica. Nope, no clue why).

"Skylar you have to beat the girl from Jamaica in unloading the dishwasher!"
"See if you can vacuum the living room faster than the girl from Jamaica!"
"I need you to take the dog on a long walk. Be gone...longer than the girl from Jamaica."

My mom is a scheming little genius, but this trickery instilled a lasting competitive spirit in me that has since caused me to seek and find the game in every situation. Why suffer through a nine-hour road trip when you could be racing on the real-life version of Need for Speed's Rusty Springs track? I need to unlock the secret ninth car! I want to drive the Warrior! The Mitsubishi Eclipse next to me doesn't know it but we're totally in two-player head-to-head racing mode right now, and I. don't. lose.

 

Life should definitely not be taken seriously, so if you need to participate in your own personal game show to get yourself through the day, feel free to get yourself started on one of my favorites:

Treadmill Races: Everyone does this. If you are side-by-side with someone on a treadmill, and you both happen to crank your speed up to 7 at the same time, it's so on. Once, I had already run my two miles and was about to slow down to a walk when a girl jumped on the machine next to me and immediately cranked it up to a sprint. Part of me thought, "Have fun with your shin splints, idiot," while the rest of me realized she was about to win. Win what? I don't fucking know, but I wasn't going to lose it. My inner Shaun T said to dig deeper, so I upped my speed to a 9.5 and prepared to dominate.
She totally noticed.
Other people totally noticed.

 

It was the most unnecessary display of female peacocking that has ever taken place inside of a university gym, minus the sluts in the corner successfully out-whoring each other with their thrice-rolled Soffe shorts. We hung together for about a minute before the awkward side glances started to happen, silently asking, "What is even happening right now?" Need I remind you that I'm not a quitter, so I ignored the gargantuan cramp developing in my ribcage and pretended like this was just a casual yog. This was a girl after my own heart, because she stuck it out for another 15 seconds before she let out a small gasp and desperately punched the keypad down to a cool five miles per hour. I'm a gracious winner, so I continued on for 30 more seconds before I calmly turned down to a 3.5. I went on to walk home like a newborn deer because my legs were completely shot, but whatever, I had Flo-Jo'd the shit out of that girl.

 Clean Up on Aisle 3: If I don't have a game plan upon entering the grocery store, it is a complete disaster and I end up panic-buying three bags of almonds, pizza dough, and a greeting card. A shopping list is not only an orginizational tool, it's a necessity. However, even with an outline of my needs I can still get distracted and find myself spending an inordinate amount of time comparing the protein amounts in various brands of hummus.

 

I came up with a solution to this problem by accident. I had been running errands all day and was starving, but the grocery store was the last stop on my itinerary so I just scooped a 32-ounce Gatorade and kept moving.
By the time I got to the parking lot I was legitimately in fear of my bladder. Boy, was she angry. Still, I needed food, and the Get Out of the Store Before You Pee Your Pants game was born. I was checking out, with precisely everything on my list, in 12 minutes. Now, when I know I don't want to waste time/money perusing the aisles, I drown myself in water and then do a little jig as I pick out my 10 for $10 yogurts before I speed home.

Secret Singing: I really get down with my bad self while listening to music in my car. If Rihanna ever had a freak vocal cord accident and needed someone to sing the rest of her set list, I could grab the mic and belt out both parts of "Stay" without issue. I took voice lessons for five years and, as the youngest child of three, am a natural-born performer, but I still have serious problems singing in front of people. Even within the confines of my car, where no one can actually hear the sweet magic coming from my mouth, I am self-conscious about the guy next to me on the highway noticing my solo performance. To avoid embarrassment, I have come up with a series of tricks that allow me to trust the voice within while appearing completely normal to the outside world.

1. Pretend to be on the phone - Unless you live in California, New Jersey, or any other state that prohibits cell phone usage while driving (safety first!), simply holding the phone up to your ear and singing your heart out just looks like a very passionate conversation to onlookers. Foolproof.
2. Nose scratch - The point here is to create distraction in the vicinity of your mouth. Just make sure it is very obvious that it's a casual scratch. Appearing to dig for gold is infinitely more embarrassing than being caught belting out "Timber."

3. Drinking from bottle - Pretend you're going to take a sip of water, stop short of getting any liquid in your mouth, and proceed sing it loud and proud. Bonus: it works as a mini microphone!

Six Degrees of Tanning Bed Music Separation: I will admit, this one is a bit excessive. You're literally just lying there, so you've gotta do something to stave off your mom's incessant warnings of skin cancer. A typical tanning bed sesh lasts about 12-15 minutes, or about four popular songs from 2007. Let's say these songs are "Buy U a Drank" by T-Pain, "Kiss Kiss" by Chris Brown, "Umbrella" by Rihanna, and "Good Life" by Kanye West.
Lets play: I clearly remember getting in trouble at a high school dance for grinding up on a kid from my math class too intensely (you're welcome, buddy) while "Buy U a Drank" played romantically in the background. T-Pain was also featured in Chris Brown's "Kiss Kiss" that year, and with two years before the Rihanna Smackdown would go down, those two were still cute together. Rih came out with "Umbrella," which I'm still not sick of, featuring Jay-Z. Jay-Z and Kanye West are butt buddies. Kanye had released Graduation aka not as good as The College Dropout and Late Registration and "Good Life" which featuuuuured...T-Pain.
Technically that's only five degrees of separation but I can feel my moles changing in color and border regularity so it's time to get out.

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My Life According to Buzzfeed Quizzes

One of my favorite lunchtime pastimes of yore is MASH. Countless hours were spent figuring out if I'd be living in a mansion with Brian Littrell and our 37 kids, working as a trash collector and driving a hearse; or in a shack with the school janitor and our zero kids, working as a firewoman and driving a BMW, aka the more plausible option.

 

I put a lot of stock in these games. If it was down to my crush or the kid who saved his boogers on the underside of his desk [for later, natch], my world was shattered when Fate chose the latter and I was forced to imagine my future life of eternally cleaning snot off the coffee table.

There was no chance in MASH.
MASH was real.

Luckily, Buzzfeed's newest trend of posting personality quizzes satisfies my 20-something need to "find myself" in the most accurate, foolproof way possible. I truly believe that everything happens for a reason, so despite the fact that it's physically impossible, it's nice to know that were I capable of growing a beard, I should grow a goatee--because I'm a "trend setter."

My life is supposed to go a little something like this:

• First of all, my dad is not my real dad. Fortunately, Phil Dunphy is an excellent stand-in for the-man-the-myth-the-legend Bill; i.e. TV Dad and Actual Dad are essentially the same person, and this is neither a gain nor a loss. 

• As much as I adored my time in Louisville, I was apparently better suited for THE Ohio State University. Both have a killer football team, show off how good I look in the color red and let me throw gang signs, so this sounds like an easy swap.

• While I may be celebrating my 24th birthday this summer (June 11th, if you had tossed around the idea of getting me anything in the price range of $50-$450 from Kate Spade), I am actually 35. This is because I'm "training for a half-marathon," prefer Twitter to Tumblr, and consider clothing a necessary extravagance. Since I have the face of a preteen I might actually look 24 by the time I'm 35, so yet again this doesn't make much of a difference.

• All of this is happening in the 50's, because that is the decade I belong in. Anyone who is aware of my proclivity for poofy skirts, Charlotte York, and wearing an apron when I bake will completely agree with this. Anyone who is aware of my dirty sailor mouth and general disdain for rules will not.

• My soulmate is someone named Matt. Call it a hunch, but these quizzes might not be completely accurate.

• On the other hand, I will take the results as the gospel because the city I should actually live in is New York! If you weren't aware (which kudos to you for achieving, because I mention this at least twice a day), moving there and becoming a writing powerhouse is all a part of my three year plan. I'm glad I finally have proof that it can has to happen. Buzzfeed, you beautiful little genius, I'm sorry I ever doubted you.

• Living in NYC could allow me to live out my childhood dream of being Annie on Broadway; however, as destiny would have it, I'm actually supposed to star in Wicked. From two years of being around choir kids in high school who felt the need to belt out showtunes at a moment's notice, I happen to know all the words to "For Good," so I suppose I'll leave my ginger-headed aspirations behind in the name of predestination.

So there we go. I'm apparently meant to follow the wisdom of Phil's-osophy as a 35-year-old student in Ohio in the mid-50's, where I'll meet a Matt who will agree to move to New York and watch me night after night in the role of Elphaba.

We can only hope that this Matt guy isn't put off by a little female facial hair.

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