Thrust into the Real World: Month 6

This month sucked. Hard. We're not gonna talk about it.

Here's a picture to help us all forget about it:

The Nose Knows

I recently read an article about the five things women immediately notice about a man. The first three were confidence, demeanor, and dress, to which I openly responded, “Bowshit, bowshit, and bowshit.” Then I scrolled down to find that the fourth one was “hands,” and I thought, “Now we’re getting somewhere.” (The fifth one, to all of you OCD nut jobs out there, was physique. Feel better? Xanny up.)

 

Personality traits mean absolutely nothing to me in the first two minutes of being introduced to someone. We both know that I just want a free drink and you’re trying to be incognito in checking out my boobs, so why would I even worry my pretty little head about your behavior? This isn’t a third grade parent teacher conference.

 

What do I notice right off the bat? Noses. No hesitation. I can tell a whole heck of a lot about you by your shnoz, deducing much about your character strictly based on the placement of your nostrils. My friends will ask me my opinion of a guy based on his clothes, but it is in the man-snout that I can really determine if I approve. Let me break it down for you right quick:

 

Pointy-beaky – You’re a fun guy when you want to be, but only when you want to be. In other words, you are uptight and would have rather stayed in to study for the LSAT or catch up on last week’s Criminal Minds but your friends dragged you to the bar. I can already tell that after two more Michelob Ultra’s you’re going to become extremely douchey and probably try to criticize my outfit in an attempt to vilify my confidence and get me to go home with you, but tough cookies T.J. Detweiler; this isn’t recess and I’m nowhere near stupid enough to play those games. All signs point to you being an asshole, and by “signs” I mean your NOSE.

 

Lil Christmas Bulb – There’s a lot of personality in that round nasal ornament, and I like it. You don’t think you’re very attractive, and I can’t tell if I find you attractive because of your adorable bashfulness, or because you really are just good-looking. Whatever the case may be, you’re intelligent but shy, which is fun in the moment but if I can’t break you after fifteen minutes (I’m patient if a cute boy is at stake, and only then), peace out girl scout. You have the charm a-brewin’ at the tip of your beak, but if you don’t know what to do with it then you might as well be Voldemort.  

 

Somewhat Whoville – You are silly and fun and the life of the party, which is so great when we’re all in a group having a blasty blast for one night. But you’re like this all the time. ALL THE TIME. How much coke does one have to do to keep this up? I am intrigued by your genuine friendliness and effortless wisecracks, but I have a sneaking suspicion you’re 27 years old living off of your dad’s paycheck and that you see absolutely nothing wrong with it. If that flag was any redder we’d have to slip it a Midol. Welcome, welcome fahoo ramus / Welcome, welcome get a job-mus.   

 

Manly & Prominent – Gets me every time. You are my weakness, and the Grecian presence in the middle of your face has swooned me into believing anything you say and doing anything you want me to do. There’s something about a big honker that says, “I have my life together” and “I’ll take you out to dinner, wherever you want, yes of course we can go to Sonic,” and for some reason that just makes me feel inexplicably wonderful.  

 

There are, of course, combo meals with all of these. I may not realize a Prominent Beaky dude is as big of a jerk as he is until the second date when he asks what my dad does for a living in an effort to determine our financial compatibility (this has actually happened). A Whoville Bulb, while extremely holiday-spirited, is just too big of an emotional basket case for me to handle. In all honesty, I won’t be truly happy until Justin Timberlake is mine, so while I work out the logistics of ruining a new marriage, feel free to reread the above analyses and apply them to your next social interaction. Who knew noses could be such a relationship time-saver? You’re welcome.

Vote or Die

It’s Election Day.

 

This used to mean exercising your rights and making your voice heard at the polls.

Now, it means sitting at your computer and ranting about your well-rounded, fully-informed opinions via Facebook. And probably not voting but definitely letting everyone know that “If so-and-so wins, I’m moving to Canada.”

 

I don’t post my political beliefs on Facebook for two reasons:

#1 I don’t believe it’s my place to shove my views down everyone’s throats.

#2 That’s what my blog is for. Teehee.

 

I would like to take this time to have a one-sided discussion with some of the Facebook statuses appearing on my newsfeed, because I figure if someone can disparage the issues that I believe to be most important to this country, I should do the same to their ego. Vote Skylar 2012.

 

“Well Obama...It's been fun. Oh wait...No it hasn't.”

You are a frat star who wears $200 sunglasses and went to a private Catholic high school; I really doubt that any of Obama’s policies over the last four years have affected you all that dramatically.

 

“Cliché something or another about how you should vote! But, really, you should!”

This is completely unrelated to the election, but I really hate when people think posting statuses like this is funny. It’s not. It’s not ever funny. Next time, don’t. I appreciate your unbiased approach though.

 

“Super excited to vote for the 1st time! I just wish George Bush was on the ballot!”

You should be very embarrassed and might consider waiting another four years. Also, I'm pretty sure you only feel this way because your boyfriend votes Republican.

 

“Here's to endless war and warrantless wiretapping and the destruction of individual rights.”

Very subtle. Granted, this isn’t entirely accurate in terms Romney’s true goals for the presidency, but at least you got the gist of it and subsequently started a Facebook status argument. Those are my crack.

 

“I'm predicting Obama will take an early lead tomorrow... Until all the Republicans get off work. #RomneyRyan2012”

This was clever the first time I saw it. Then everyone started slapping it up on the interweb as if their cunning ass came up with it all by themselves. Then I got hostile, because I hate copycats.

 

“I’m voting for Regina George, because she got hit by a bus.”

“I’m voting for Cady Heron, because she pushed her.”

Mean Girls quotes are overdone, but your timing on this was excellent. Touché.

 

Whether you’re an elephant or a donkey, or one of the other political positions that sorryI’mnotsorry will probably never win an election, get out there and do your thing. If you’re not informed about the issues, that’s why God invented Google. If you’re actively choosing not to exercise your right, it’s safe to assume that your founding fathers are not Washington, Jefferson, and Franklin, but Mike D, MCA, and Ad-Rock…and that you won’t understand that joke for at least another three days.  USA! USA! USA!

I'm A Mouse, Duh

I’m not one to toot my own horn (…pfft), but if there is one skill that I exhibit that is greater than all of my other skills, it is coming up with and properly executing awesome Halloween costumes. Minus an unfortunate decision my sophomore year to go as Sexy Rambo (I looked plain stupid and my only saving grace was my bullet belt), I have mastered the art of the fun costume that can be interpreted as “sexy” if some bro is desperate for some action, but is otherwise memorable and usually does NOT involve wearing heels. Yay!



Flo, 2010. My pride and joy.

 

I racked my brain for this year’s ensemble, and although it involves a few more props than I’ll probably be sober enough to keep track of, it’s sure to be another crowd pleaser. I will not be divulging said costume idea quite yet because I can already think of at least three grotsky biatches who will steal my genius and look hideous in the process, and I don’t need that blood on my hands. Just know that it’s arguably one of my best yet and involves an apron.

Long story short, I’m all about creativity when it comes to Halloween costumes, and will never in my life don any get-up bearing the name “Oh My Goddess,” “Ivanna Nibble,” “Miss Demeanor,” or any combo of the three. However, I do give a high five for originality, and as absolutely ridiculous as the new crop of racy costumes is, I can’t knock them for trying. Basically, if I saw you wearing one of these at a party, I’d still assume you were a pretty big whore, but a whore with a sense of humor, aka my favorite kind.

Chinese Takeout Box – The girl who chooses this costume is what we call New Hot, meaning she was fat in high school but successfully completed the Insanity workout over the summer and emerged as a babe who still hasn’t totally solved her issues with food. This costume is not reserved solely for the Asian Persuasion; however, it should be understood far and wide that many racist and stereotypical comments are going to be made both by the wearer and other party goers. The plus side of this costume: you can either use the cute takeout container clutch to hold your geisha makeup for touch-ups, or you can really not combat your edible demons and smuggle in egg rolls which you will sneak bites from when no one’s looking.  

Corn – Food costumes can typically viewed as [somehow] sexy because of the manner in which they are consumed. Strawberries are inherently sensual; people usually feed each other grapes; and unless you’re in fourth grade I’m not explaining the implications behind a banana. But corn baffles me. In this costume, you are basically saying, “What’s up, everybody! I’m an excellent source of fiber as evidenced by my unaltered presence in your poop!” or “Hey guy dressed up as the Indian from the Village People! You call me ‘maize’!” The costume itself doesn’t even demonstrate the “joke” well enough for you to get mad when someone assumes you’re a herpied penis with gangrene. Time to pick another veggie from the cornucopia.

The Lorax – The <1% of hot girls with dreads can rejoice: there is finally an environmentally-conscious costume that says, “I go green but I also go down on the first date.” Previously, if you wanted to show that you were nature’s homegirl, you were forced to dress as a melting polar ice cap, a fish caught in a plastic six-pack ring, or a topless mountain (the sexual innuendo of which will be lost on you because you’re actually passionate about putting an end to surface mining). All of these eco-friendly messages are conveniently wrapped up in a bright yellow, skin tight dress with fur bracelets. Play a solo drinking game to see how many shots it takes before “I speak for the trees!” turns into “Hold my hair back, please!”    

Rooster – Prepare yourself for a night of “cock” jokes and being asked if you’d like to see someone’s “pecker.” You chose this, so it’s safe to assume that your answer to the latter will either be “Yes” or “Been there, done that.”

Honey Badger – First of all, the wearer of this costume is like, so last year. Second, the additions of a stuffed cobra and the repetition of the phrase, “Honey badger don’t give a shit!” are the only things that will provide you with a glimmer of hope that it won’t be assumed that you’re an off-color excuse for a skunk. The eyes of the hat even seem to say, “I can’t believe pop culture has taken it this far” as they roll back in embarrassment. Touché to you for choosing something so obscure when Sexy Giraffe and Sexy Elephant were your other strange options, but save yourself the drunken tantrum when the 400^th person asks you what you’re supposed to be and you kick off your furry leg warmers in defeat.

 

 

Oscar the Grouch – Looks like someone has some awkward childhood issues they need to hash out with Dr. Drew. This costume is every girl’s dream, as it shows enough skin to prove to everyone that you got the, “This is my annual opportunity to dress like a slut!” memo, yet it covers your muffin top and pooch, hiding the fact that you threw away the memo that told you to start doing crunches back in August. It draws green, furry attention to your boobs, and is fashioned into a universally-flattering halter style that allows you to tie the straps way too tight and make your rack appear to be much more impressive than it actually is. You will be forced to do a little explaining, as the miniscule Oscar half-face hat doesn’t really offer up much clarification, but the fact that you get to be a complete bitch to everyone around you and claim that you’re just “in character” really seals its spot in my winners’ circle.    

 

 

All images are courtesy and property of Yandy.com

Thrust into the Real World: Month 5

I am proud to announce that I am typing this from my new laptop, Hilary.

No relation.

Like the second important woman in any person's life, Hilary is a downgrade. She was $700 cheaper than Wanda, is noticeably slower, and doesn't have the cool swirly designs around the keyboard that I could never decipher. We haven't talked about it yet, but I'm sure she has daddy issues up the wazoo and will probably divulge said issues after a night of tequila shots. I'm psyched.

Luckily, I'm not a judger (I'M REALLY NOT!) and I love Hilary for everything she is and more.

With Hilary, I finally have an excuse to go to the library even though I've graduated, because my love/hate relationship with that place turned to full-on adoration when I rehydrated my shriveled eyeballs after my last all-nighter. Also, despite several failed attempts, I have not figured out how to hack into my neighbors' WiFi accounts, so in the spirit of being a cheap bastard I make the 20-minute trek to campus and get bonus points from my tuition.

One of the most awesome changes that I noticed right away from Hilary was the fact that she maintains battery life. Like right now, she's unplugged, and unlike Wanda the Drama Queen, she keeps on truckin like nothing's wrong. This is the way it should be. Not having to rib-check those who are blocking my access to a free electrical outlet? Am I in Heaven?! She is also not causing third degree burns on my thighs, which I just think is totally sweet.

Finally, Hilary serves a professional purpose. My resume and all other "Help Me Get a Job" documents were saved on Wanda. I'm an idiot, so saving them to something like a thumb drive didn't occur to me (note to future employers: JK IT TOTALLY OCCURRED TO ME I'm responsible and career-driven...). Hold on to your hats, but in this fabulous economy and thriving job market, you somehow can't move forward without a resume. Bumsies. I practically kissed Hilary on the mouth (speaker?) upon purchasing because this meant I could finally amp up my little brag sheet with all of the things I've been up to the past few months, aka people will like me and hire me and I can finally be back on the east coast where I won't get shanked for admitting, "I've never had Skyline before."

Long story short, I'm back in business, and bigger and better things are just around the corner! (Ya hear that, Abraham_Linksys?? Just give me your password and I could roll-bounce! Be a friend to make a friend, dude.)

Gotcha Bitch: Ne-Yo

It is impossible to get anything past me.

That's not actually true, as evidenced by my boyfriend's several successful attempts at surprising me with anything from M&M's to a TV to a freakin bed, but when I am given ample time to figure something out I am the master at observing the situation and cracking the code.

My most recent bout with being a sleuth came when I heard Ne-Yo's new song "Let Me Love You." When the radio announcer introduced the new tune, the first thing that popped into my head was a song by Mario of the same name, circa 2004. Of course, I currently have no idea how Ne-Yo's new song goes, because all I can think of is Mario's song, which led me to a life-changing epiphany:

Ne-Yo is a copycat.

It is my overwhelmingly correct opinion that Ne-Yo gains success from the previous accomplishments of other artists. Nice try, Popped Collar, looks like I figured you out. And unlike the girl in the Bacardi commercial I will not be swooned by your fedora.

Miss Independent - Raise your hand if the first person you thought of after reading those two words was Kelly Clarkson. She released her version during the heyday of girl power songs such as Destiny's Child's "Independent Women (Part 1)" and Christina Aguilera's "Can't Hold Us Down." Immediate success, giving lots of awkward middle school girls hope that society would not limit them to a life of huge foreheads and questionable bob haircuts (whattup). Five years later, Ne-Yo decided to recycle this success with his own version. "Omigah he is like the perfect man, he totally gets that I'm my own person I LOVE HIMMM," said other women. "Oh reeeeeal original," said I.

Think About You - This is Ne-Yo's David Guetta collabo. I believe the thought process went something like this: "People like dubstep. David Guetta makes dupstep popular. David Guetta worked with Usher. I am Diet Usher." Regardless of the melodic dissimilarities, "Think About You" and "Without You" are basically the same thing, because everything dubstep is the same thing, aka I'd rather bury my head in the ground like an ostrich than listen to it. I'd have a lot more respect for Ne-Yo if he had avoided the dubstep route entirely, but what would the world be without tantric beats and glow sticks flooding the radio airwaves? Lack of strobe lights is the reason for political unrest in Syria, count it.

Lazy Love; Sexy Love; Crazy Love - Ne-Yo isn't even innovative enough to not imitate himself. How many schizophrenics have you dated, sir? I'm afraid to ask, but considering the sheer amount of baby mama drama songs he has produced, I can only assume that his Number is way high, and we all know what that leads to, right? Syphillis and illegitimate children. Maybe hang up the falling in love fantasy and adopt a hit-it-and-quit-it mentality like the rest of the music community. It's working out phenomenally well for Taylor Swift.

So Sick - This isn't actually a copycat song. I just find it incessently funny when people tell me, "I'm so sick" and I reply, "...of love songs?" This song came out in 2006. I have a lot of friends.

Thrust into the Real World: Month 4

This was a month of firsts.
It was my first time living completely, entirely by myself in my whole life. This led to me following Alanis Morissette's recommendation of walking around naked in my living room aka the entire apartment, which led to my first meeting of my across-the-airshaft neighbors. They really like me now.
It was my first experience with Reggie the Roach, an eight-foot-tall, 600 pound monster who scared me away from my countertop for a day and a half. I might be exaggerating, but not really. This allowed me to give Lowe's its first experience in selling the largest supply of roach killer imaginable, and now Reggie is mounted on my wall like a prize buck head. DON'T MESS WITH ME.
It was my first time not having a first day of school. I thought I'd have a sentimental breakdown about this, but as soon as the "It's the third day of classes and I already have an exam?!?!" statuses started popping up, my superiority complex reared its perfectly-teased head and I felt juuuust fine.
It was my first time ever having my power and gas shut off. My mom and dad did a great job of never letting this happen when I was growing up, and despite the dumpiness of some of my living spaces in college, I could at least always ensure my straightener would turn on. What...a luxury. The biggest #firstworldproblem that arose from this was the fact that I could not keep my phone adequately charged, which (when coupled with my lack of digital clock) meant I never knew what time it was and had to rely on primitive instincts to determine when I should leave for work. FYI: darkness means its 8 pm.
So my life has more or less calmed down. Hopefully more fun firsts continue to come my way, while Reggie's vengeful relatives continue to quiver in fear instead of eating my face in my sleep.