Gotcha Bitch: Matthew McConaughey

Matthew McConaughey is one slick bastard.
The man is essentially doing what I have desired my whole life to achieve: do whatever the eff you want, don’t change for nothin’, and make cash mahney while doing it.

Technically, we could call him an actor. In reality, however, we all know that McConaughey most likely shows up to the set, reads over the script, says, “Yeah, I’m gonna say whatever comes to mind, actually,” and then goes and smokes weed in his trailer for three hours. I really don’t think we can call what he does “acting” simply because he isn’t.
He’s being himself.
In every single movie.
Seriously, every time.
Observe:

Failure to Launch: Plays a 35-year-old man-child who lives with his parents, has commitment issues, and is friends with Justin Bartha who is always type-cast as the goofy sarcastic friend. Has a chill playboy attitude, wears expensive-looking clothes, drives a sports car, and a cute twangy southern accent. Leaning against his love interest in the movie poster.

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days: Plays a 30-something ad executive who has commitment issues and is friends with Adam Goldberg and Thomas Lennon, his goofy, sarcastic friends. Has a chill playboy attitude, wears expensive-looking clothes, and rides a motorcycle. Has a cute twangy southern accent even though the movie is set in NYC and his family is supposed to originally be from Staten Island. Leaning against his love interest in the movie poster.  

Ghosts of Girlfriends Past: Plays a 30-something fashion photographer who likes to hit it and quit it (thus having commitment issues), and is brothers with Breckin Meyer, who typically plays the sarcastic, down-to-earth, half-funny character. Has a chill playboy attitude, wears a suit pretty much throughout the entire movie, drives a sports car AND ghosts around with a pimped out Michael Douglas. Still has the twangy southern accent even though the movie is set in Massachusetts, which is unfortunate because with those looks and a Bahston accent I would practically lose my mind. Leaning against his love interest in the movie poster.

The Wedding Planner: Plays a 30-something doctor who is getting married (!) but is easily seduced by Jennifer Lopez. Justin Chambers is funny I guess (?). Is actually pretty nice and tries to be dedicated to his hot blonde fiancé but “settles” for a super-hot Latina…all while driving a nice car. Has a twangy southern accent in the country-bumpkin town of San Francisco, CA. Standing behind his love interest in the movie poster (?!).

Dazed and Confused: Plays a 20-year-old who looks like a 30-something-year-old man. Likes younger, high school girls, which is fine because no one should believe in commitment when they’re 20 and/or live in the 70’s. Surrounds himself with goofy, sarcastic, stoned friends, as well as Adam Goldberg. Drives a 1970 Chevy Chevelle Super Sport and wears a Ted Nugent t-shirt. Has a twangy southern accent because OH MY GOD the movie is set in Texas. Doesn’t lean on anyone but is definitely L-I-V-I-N.


Craigslist Chronicles: Missed Connections

Craigslist personals are my guiltiest of guilty pleasures. I can’t get enough. Sometimes I hear ridiculousness on the news and think, “There’s no way there are people out there that are actually that strange” but then I read some of the absurdity on Craigslist and I say, “Just kidding.”

 

I’m not ashamed to declare that my hands-down favorite personals section is Missed Connections. In the olden days of 1995, people would write notes on old receipts and stick them on windshields in Home Depot parking lots hoping to foster some romance.

 

Hey Hottie, lookin’ good in those high-waisted jeans. You are too pretty to be carryin’ that hose all by yourself, how about you give me a call and we discover the secret garden together?

307-271-4303

Love, Rick

 

Now, all Rick has to do is post a similar note up on the internet and hope and pray that Hottie is as desperate as he is. THIS IS LOVE IN THE NEW MILLENIUM, PEOPLE.

 

I used to just mess around on Craigslist for fun with my roommates, reading the creepy messages in appropriately creepy voices and spending ten minutes arguing about who should respond, only deciding in the end that thanks-but-no-thanks we were all too busy for rape that night. Then one fateful afternoon, I was casually reading through and came upon a message that fueled an entirely new obsession:

 

Dear Waitress, Sorry my friends n I were so loud and obnoctshus last night. LOLZ. We all agreed that u were really cool n hot, especially with those big blue eyes n blonde hair. U looked great in ur short denim shorts. LOLZ. I’d love to hang sometime. Msg me if u see this.

 

This was about one of my roommates.

I was positive.

 

I texted her immediately and told her that she had found love in a hopeless place and asked if their first child’s name would be spelled “Hayley” or “Heighleah.” For whatever reason, she was not amused or interested in this character, which is her loss because clearly he’s going places. However, I now knew that Craigslist encounters could be real, and thus Detective Skylar was one the prowl.

 

Louisville Missed Connections were interesting, but the Northern Virginia ones are where it’s at. NoVA is by no means a small place, but you can go to a Target 40 miles away from where you grew up and still see your soccer coach from when you were eight. Nowhere is safe.  Naiveté would lead me to believe that “Strbcks Jenny” couldn’t possibly be the girl in my ninth grade biology class, but optimism reminds me that there’s a chance, and compassion wants her to find and marry the tall black man with beautiful green eyes who ordered a venti, non-fat, no foam, no water, six pump, extra hot chai tea latte.

 

Could “Costco Hot Blonde Mom” be my next door neighbor? Did I teach dance to the daughters of the “MILFs of South Riding”? Is the guy pining after his ex-wife of 15 years seeking therapy, or is he also the one posting about a discrete NSA lunchtime affair in Casual Encounters?  I am riveted.

 

"SWM brown hair, fit, loves music"

I’d [probably] never respond to one of these ads for the sake of curiosity. I like pushing the envelope for my own entertainment, but if it comes down to seeing if Brian from Loudoun is really referring to me when he says he saw a petite brunette at Walgreens who looked like Denise Richards (flattery gets you nowhere, Brian) or having my bones made into wind chimes, I’d rather just sit in my sweatpants and Google new hobbies to take up.

 

That being said, I really hope “G” finds Teresa from Coastal Flats. He’s posted about her like five times in the past ten days and I really think there's something there.

Thrust into the Real World: Month 8

This month I began to seriously consider getting my first tattoo.

 

This is surprising for several reasons:

1.      I have a very low pain tolerance. When the dentist novocaines me and then asks if I “felt that pinch,” I always say yes, even if I didn’t, just to be on the safe side. I’ve made it perfectly clear that when I get my wisdom teeth out I want to be put into a medically-induced coma for at least three days, because I want nothing to do with that entire procedure.

2.      I’ve always said that in this day and age, it’s more unique to be tattoo-less than inked up, and we all know how much I like to go against the grain.

3.      This guy took my original idea, and how do you top that?

 

The quote I’m considering has always been a favorite of mine, and definitely conveys exactly what it is that I do every time I sit down to compose something for you lovely people. Whether it’s something a little more somber or absolutely preposterous, the words you’re reading are a window straight into this awkwardly-shaped head of mine. Regardless of if you find me entertaining or not (shut up, you totally do), you should feel very lucky because I’d sooner ramble on for three hours about the pros and cons of owning a Perfect Meatloaf Pan than share my emotions.

 

Let’s break down my idea:

 

Placement: It’s a toss-up between inner forearm or on my fingers. Some of you might think the wrist is very cliché, but A) screw you and B) I use my hands to write with, where else is it gonna go? Go admire the fairy on your foot and never talk to me again.

 

Quote: “There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.” –Red Smith

I have dwarf arms and baby fingers so the probability of this whole thing fitting anywhere comfortably is slim to none. Therefore, I’d probably shorten it to just “open a vein.”

 

Color: Red.

 

Detail: This is where I’m most indecisive.

If I put it anywhere near my wrist, I want the words to be followed by a quill or fountain pen “cutting” the skin with a little blood dripping. I know this sounds morbid, but it also sounds fucking awesome, and we all know that I’m about as suicidal as a pig in a peach orchard so relax, this isn't a cry for help.

If I put it on my fingers, the fountain pen (outlined in black) would run the length of my middle finger and the words (in red) would be inside the handle.

One option is obviously a little more discreet than the other, but the cool factor beats camouflaging it for job interviews every time, so you can imagine which one I’m leaning towards.

 

If anyone wants to illustrate these ideas out and send them my way I’d be more than grateful; I still draw the same way I did when I was in 3^rd grade so obviously my attempts haven’t completely convinced me yet.

Also, any feedback on whether this sounds legitimately cool or just Skylar cool would be wonderful. I once thought a short spikey pixie cut would look really good on me. Guess which “cool” that was?

The Five Phrases We Should All Let Go

I believe that every word that comes out of a person’s mouth should have emphatic significance (see what I did there?).

 

Whoever introduced synonyms to me in elementary school should be kissed by someone who knows how and promptly bought Chipotle. I love to talk, I love to force others to listen to me speak, and the sole reason I abstain from smoking cigs is because I’m terrified I’d have to get a tracheotomy and my sweet sweet voice would be replaced by robot sounds.

 

As far as I’m concerned, language is a privilege, and my love for it is consistently ruined by people who pollute the air with god-awful catch phrases and misspelling of the word “congratulations” (there is no D. Stop it). Below are the five phrases that I think we should all agree to retire.

 

1.       “That’s all.” Typically used when someone makes an opinionated statement about something that they’d rather not have disputed.

Ex: “The University of Louisville is the best at everything. That’s all.” (p.s. SHOUT OUT TO THE SUGAR BOWL WINNERS HEYYYYYY)

Can also be used when something weird/out of the ordinary has happened and a person wants to play it all nonchalant.

Ex: “I was just told I have the potential musculature appropriate for a career in female body building. That’s all.”

Why it bothers me: It’s used totally hypocritically. If you tell me, “Fuck you. That’s all,” that is definitely NOT ALL and there’s about to be a (what?) girl fight.

 

2.       “Epic.” Typically used when someone wants an event to sound much more impressive than it actually was.
Ex: “Dude last night was so epic. Tyler puked in a girl’s hair and then helped her clean it out; Chris snuck into the DJ booth and played like four Hootie and the Blowfish songs; we went to McDonald’s and John ate his fries with mustard; and then I DD’d everyone. Fuckin wild night, bro.”
Why it bothers me: People have actually told me stories like the one above. I feel bad for them. Epically bad for them.
 
3.       “Fail.” Typically used when someone doesn’t go out on a Saturday night because they’re too busy looking up memes on (what else?) FAILblog.
Ex:

Why it bothers me: The grammar Nazi in me can’t get past the obvious fragment going on here, and anyone I’ve ever met who uses “fail” in everyday conversation is incredibly annoying so it’s the associative property at its finest.
Why it really bothers me: People usually use “epic” and “fail” together. I can’t even…
 
4.       “Is this real life?” Typically used when someone is easily entertained.
Ex: “It took me less than thirty minutes to straighten my hair. Is this real life?”
Why it bothers me: All it took was a drugged up child with two fingers who thought this was going to be forever to start this phenomenon. My friends are drugged up all the time and it’s never even made a blip on the pop culture radar….UNTIL NOW:

5.       “Mind blown.” Typically used when someone realizes something that the rest of society figured out a long time ago.

Ex: “Just found out that Fez's name on That 70's Show stood for Foreign Exchange Student. MIND BLOWN.”

Like Facebook, Google, and speakerphone, our parents will revive this phrase about 5-20 years after it’s worn out its welcome with the rest of our vocabularies.

Ex: “My microwave has a Popcorn button. MIND BLOWN.”

Why it bothers me: I’m just a really huge know-it-all and nothing fazes me.

"Honesty is the best policy...when there is money in it." -- Mark Twain

Before you read anything below, read this: 6 Harsh Truths that will Make You a Better Person

 

No seriously, read it, it’s worth it. He curses, I promise, just do it, alright?

 

I read it three times. And I’ll probably reread it again. It’s not often that the opinions of others legitimately make me reconsider how I live my life.

 

“If you continue to bleach your hair blonde it will be dry and fried and look terrible,” said my hairdresser of 15 years.

“Duly noted,” I replied, and a year and four more home-highlighting sessions later, I finally decided to bring it back to my roots. I think my split ends are currently holding a family reunion on one strand of hair. WORTH IT.

 

The point is, Wong/Pargin’s piece really got to me and made me realize that every inspirational quote on Pinterest is bullshit. I don’t want to let things be, John and Paul; I want to make them be. And the only way you make things be is by cutting out the animal by-product in the dog food that is Life and getting down to the biz. When this blog is a published book and you’re all receiving Bentley’s from me for Christmas, then I will reveal the ways in which I have decided to internally change myself. But it takes a village to raise a child, and I need help. So here’s what you all need to do for me in the New Year:

 

Side note: this does not get you out of buying me a birthday present. Nice try.

 

Tell me how you really feel: Just recently someone told me that they were tired of my “snobby, judgmental outlook.” Way to hit the nail on the fucking head, babycakes, and thank you. Why has no one else ever had the balls to tell me that I’m a shithead? It’s not news to me, people! I’m just forgetful, and it’s nice to be reminded. I didn’t even get mad when they said it; I’ve actually never had more respect for that person in my entire life. Wanna take me on a date? “We should hang out sometime” is getting you nowhere. “What movie do you want to watch?” “I don’t care.” = We will be sitting here deciding longer than the actual movie takes to watch. I hate hate hate when people beat around the bush, so just come out with it so we can get this road on the show.

 

Tell me how I really feel: When going through a particularly difficult time this past year, I had several great friends who coddled me and wrapped me in blankets and scooped me up in hugs and told me everything was going to be okay while I cried and wiped snot in their hair. Then their shift was done, and the scene was over, and everything was okay again. Problem was, things were not okay again. On a day that was especially not okay, a certain great friend asked me how I was feeling, and, channeling my inner 15-year-old emo kid, I responded along the lines of, “I don’t even know anymore.” No hesitation, he replies, “I do. You’re depressed.” And wouldn’t you know it; I realized I was a walking Cymbalta commercial. This did not sit well with me, and forced me to work on getting obnoxiously happy again. While the rest of my friends had brushed the unknotted section of my hair completely smooth, he took one go at the knot and then shaved my whole head. So when I’m complaining about customers and their coupons and someone replies with the token I-haven’t-been-listening phrase, “That’s crazy,” what I’d really like them to tell me is, “You feel like a failure because you don’t have a real job yet and you graduated eight months ago.” Hit me with your best shot and fire away – I genuinely appreciate the honesty.

 

Miraculously, they still like me after this

Tell me when I look stupid: I am not afraid to try new things with my clothes. Sometimes, this works to my advantage better than others. One night earlier this year, I emerged from my room wearing a short skirt and thigh-high socks while applying red lipstick, thinking I was pulling something off. My roommate quickly informed me that I was most definitely not and that I should change. “Fuck it, I like it, let’s go,” I said. Luckily, people had cameras that night, and the pictures revealed that she was right: I looked ridiculous; like, 10-inches-too-short-to-pull-off-thigh-highs ridiculous. Another time, I had been invited on a pseudo-date to go go-karting and then out to the bars. I dressed for the bars, not the go-karting, resulting in my 4-inch heel getting stuck beneath the gas pedal as I spun out in an embarrassing display of why-did-I-ask-this-girl-out. Point is: if I look like an idiot, help a sista out and let me know. This only applies to clothing, though. I’m completely aware of when I’m acting a fool at every other point in the day.  

 

Tell me whatcha want, whatcha really really want: (You knew that was coming.) Comment on my effing blog posts and tell me what you think about them. I’m sitting here thinking I’m hilarious and clever and wonderful and like, really pretty, and I’d like to know whether or not anyone agrees (especially about the pretty part. Why won’t you love meeee). I’ve got ideas fo dayz but that only helps when people actually want to read about them, and I’m more open to suggestions than Lindsay Lohan’s nostrils. I know all you avid Russian and German readers have something interesting to talk about, so let’s hear it!

 

Bottom line: 2013 should be the year of brutal honesty. Don’t spare my feelings because, lesbihonest, I don’t think I even have them anymore.  Things don’t happen from everyone folding their hands in their lap and politely asking a person not to say “douchebag” at the dinner table, so let’s throw some bows and get all up in each other’s grillz. Dig?

Thrust into the Real World: Month 7

This month’s theme was “How to Get Employed Without Really Trying.”

 

I moved back to Virginia, yadda yadda yadda, had to get a new job because a diva is a female version of a hustler and I need dem bagsa dat money, yadda yadda yadda, apparently I’m super personable and well-spoken because within three days of being here I got two jobs and an internship.

 

Now don’t get excited for or be proud of me, because these jobs do not challenge my skill-set whatsoever. I yet again work at a women’s clothing store, honoring coupons and answering the question “Do you have a petite’s section?” when the large black and white sign reading “PETITES” hangs about six feet overhead. I also work at a winery, hosting wine tastings and pretending I know what customers mean when they talk about a chardonnay’s “tannins.” This job is actually pretty cool, mostly because anyone who comes in at 11 a.m. on a Saturday to get sloshed is instantly my best friend. Do I think I’ll abandon my current career path to become a full-blown sommelier? No, because then people genuinely expect you to know the difference between Pinot Gris and Pinot Grigio. Ain’t nobody got time fo that.

 

The internship is actually my pride and joy of this whole shenanigan. Obviously it’s at a magazine again, but this time I’m in the fashion and beauty part of it, which, as How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days has taught me, only leads to good things like free samples and Matthew McConaughey. For avid readers of this blog: take my sense of humor and pair it with a review on Matte Nail Polish: Hot or Not? and you basically have the next four months of my life. I’m seriously so excited!

 

Remember how October sucked? This past month has been October’s prettier, smarter, better-dressed older sister who drives a 2013 Mercedes SL550. I’m thankful to be rakin’ in dough while getting one step closer to moving up to New York and getting paid to write about my opinions on things (although probably with a few less “shit”s). In all honesty, the fact that I’ve started showering and getting out of bed on a regular basis again is enough of a celebration for me. Three cheers for not being a complete fuck-up!

 

Yes.

 

Karaoke is my Nemesis

My family, as a whole, is a quirky bunch. There are many traits that I have inherited that, try as I might, cannot be denied or even sufficiently hidden from the rest of society. I’ve come to accept this in most cases, such as my inability to tell a story without including way too many irrelevant details that turn a two-minute “this one time…” into a twenty-minute dissertation. I’m also not suited for quiet settings – these vocal cords are powerful. There is one quirk in particular that I wish had been some kind of genetic mutation that my infant self could have beaten the odds of, but sadly, it made its way to the idiosyncratic forefront: screwing up song lyrics. 

We’re going to blame my dad for this one. He started it all sometime back in the 70’s when he was singing along to The Beatles’ “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” and asked the person next to him, “How could he tell?”
“Tell what?” they asked.
“That she had Colitis.”
Good ole Bill thought they were singing, “The girl with Colitis goes by” instead of “The girl with kaleidoscope eyes.”

Yes, it is okay to laugh, we make fun of him for this all the time. Unfortunately, I can’t laugh too hard, because I do it too. Frequently, and unapologetically. I’m under the impression that if I interpret the words a certain way, that is how they should be, and no lyrics website will tell me otherwise.

 

Below are a few of my most notable creations, and I will continue to sing them loud and proud.

 

Rihanna – “Umbrella”  

When the sun shines, we'll shine together
Told you I'll be here forever
Said I'll always be a friend
Took an oath TOUGHEN UP, Ima stick it out til the end

 

Rihanna is from Barbados. She has that little island accent that makes you want to punch yourself in the face, it’s just so cute (too soon?). For this reason, I gave her the benefit of the doubt and thought she was pronouncing toughen “toe-fen” and up “ope.” Since this song was such a huge hit, I was corrected quickly, but since we all know how much I like to be told what to do, I was steadfast in belting out the lyrics that I thought were “better.” Quite honestly, I think Rihanna’s more recent songs are pretty terrible anyway, so maybe she should take note of my improvements and adjust her lyrics accordingly.

 

Manfred Mann’s Earth Band – “Blinded by the Light”

Blinded by the light

Revved up light a deuce DOUCHE

Another runner AND A RONER in the night

 

If I had initially been introduced to the Bruce Springsteen version of this song, I’d be a completely different person. Not only does The Boss know how to annunciate his S sounds (sorta…), his lyrics read, “cut loose like a deuce,” which doesn’t exactly make sense either, but at least I’d be able to decipher them. Let’s not even get into what I think a “roner” is, because I have no idea. Did the Earth Band even have another hit after this? Probably not, so who am I to criticize their British ridiculousness? Those people think beans on toast is a meal, I’d rather not question their vocabulary.

 

 

Pussycat Dolls – “When I Grow Up”

When I grow up

I wanna see the world

Drive nice cars

I wanna have groupies BOOBIES

 

Everyone thought this when first hearing this song. It still rings true in my mind because when I was younger, I did want boobs. I’m apparently still not there… The point is, the song could totally work both ways and for a tune that’s about becoming rich in the future, it’s not so far-fetched to believe that a trip to the plastic surgeon wouldn’t make the list.

 

 

Usher – “Burn”

I know this is something I gotta do

But that don’t mean I want to

What I’m trying to say is that I love you I just ALEXIS

I feel like this is coming to an end

 

I know what you’re thinking. “Who did you think Alexis was, Skylar?” And to that, all I have to say is that Usher is not known for his fidelity and admitted it in “Confessions” on the same album so it’s not my place to judge which ladyfriend he’s singing to at any given time. I’m particularly bad about this one, because I just can’t seem to get it into my head that the lyrics could be anything else. As someone whose name does not appear in any song out there (except “Skylar’s Song” by Vince Neil for his daughter who had cancer; not exactly an upper), I applaud Alexis for paving the way for the rest of us to get broken up with via catchy R&B melodies.

 

Sugar Ray – “Every Morning”

Every morning there's a halo hangin’ from the corner

of my girlfriend's four post SPOPO’S bed

 

Again. What kind of name is Spopo? I wish I understood myself.