You know when you have a really good cup of tasty tea. And you know it’s too hot to drink, but you do it anyway because you can’t get the idea of how good it is out of your head. … Continue reading
The first step to the survival of any crises is to stock up on alcohol. It will get you though the boring nights of life without the internet, and help in the impending zombie attack. Because everyone knows hurricanes leave zombies in their wake.
Speaking of Zombies, you may want to brush up on your zombie fighting skills, try popping in Shaun of The Dead or The Karate Kid (the original, none of this mini fresh prince of Bel-Air crap…you need real help!).
You will also want to stock up on things that don’t need to be refrigerated, i.e. Oreos, Peanut butter, bread, cereal, chocolate, wine, etc.
Next, tape your windows. Use duck tape to make designs of your choice on the windows. It shows the zombies you’re willing to fight, and will also prevent major glass from breaking all over you. But mainly shows the zombies you’re going to put up a fight.
In order to make sure you don’t become a zombie you must, MUST stay inside. Do not drink tap water, and if the rain gets on you wipe if off immediately then, drink a Pepsi. It’s the only thing that will cure the water driven zombie virus from spreading. Though, you will probably have to cut off whatever appendage got wet.
Also, be sure to make a giant fort in the middle of the middle most room in your house/apartment/cardboard box. Use thicker blankets for the window side of your fort and stock it with a mini fridge and plenty of weapons. Yes my friends, you finally get the blanket fort you always dreamed about as a kid.
After the four-week mark, when most of your family and friends have turned into zombies and the hurricane has officially passed, you may want to go outside. DON’T. It’s a trap. You need to be strong and stay inside. If you do need to go outside, maybe the national guard is stupidly evacuating you, be sure to make a Pepsi bomb (Put a mentos in a bottle of Pepsi, shake vigorously) the zombies will be confused by the fizzing bottle then burn when the Pepsi hits them. It’s the only way to get rid of them.
Do not be fooled by their cries to help, they are just hungry for your brains.
If you do manage to get out of your apartment and into your car without being bit/killed then jump in your car and drive as fast as you can to Canada. Apparently zombies are afraid of Canadians, so obviously it’s the best choice if you wish to survive the zombie apocalypse caused by hurricane Irene.
So first off, I kind of want you to adopt me. I realize this is a strange request coming from a middle class white girl in her twenties who has two parents, but just hear me out.
When I say adopt, I mean let me be Daniel Larusso to your Mr. Miyagi. Dorothy to your Glenda, Cat to your Holly Golightly…well maybe not because I’m allergic to cats and pooping where I eat kind of grosses me out.
Before I go any further I think it is imperative (points for using a word from my word a day calendar? no? okay then) that you know there is a loud italian opera playing somewhere in my portuguese filled picture-esk suburban neighborhood..I think this gives you a clear understanding of why I need to be the Whitney Houston to your crack. *
I realize you probably get about a million (or 5 million and a half) emails/blog posts/articles/hand written letters daily. But I’m a little different. Partly because:
- I am not a crazed fan that is trying to get a lock of your hair
- Would get you extra sauce for your chicken nuggets without you having to ask me
- Have no problem exchanging scene ending lines while putting on a pair of aviators looking into the distance and
- I would be willing to introduce you in an Oprah voice whenever you entered a room.
What can I say? I’m just a nerdy recent college grad hoping that my sarcasm and decent writing skills will some day lend me to doing something that I love to do. Until then, I’m going to go back to answering phones and changing smelly diapers.
Courtney (probably one of your biggest fans)
*that was a little strong, but I feel it works.
It does nothing but give me the shakes and remind me of when my mom used to say it. Usually because I 1. forged her signature on something (don’t get excited it was probably for extra credit or one of the educational groups I was in) 2. Broke something (my middle name is Grace incase you haven’t met me) or 3. she just felt like yelling at me (probably for a good reason, but in my world I can do no wrong…kind of. No let’s be real I’m hardest on myself).
Needless to say the phrase does not do wonders for my self-esteem. I start second guessing choices, doubting my abilities and often find myself a tad unloveable. Yeah I said it, unlovable. Don’t get me wrong, I know that I am pretty stinkin’ loveable, but at times… even i doubt my greatness.
And it only takes six little words to cause me to become my awkward 13-year-old self again. That’s when trouble happens, self-doubt:
I tell myself that I’m horrible, and no one should like me…you know basic things a 13-year-old tells herself. And even though I know I should stop, I can’t help it. That little annoying (super mean) voice takes over and says everything that those awful girls in jr high said about me is true.
and just for the record, I totally rocked my black shorts with yellow socks combo…so suck it.
But meanwhile, this annoying mean girl voice just sticks in my head telling me how worthless I am until I finally do talk to the person. And by then every insecurity has taken over, I stutter out every word i am trying to say and usually am sweating through every article of clothing. It’s just not a pretty sight.
Although I know that it will be fine, for some reason I just can’t convince myself of that. I’m getting better at recognizing the voice though, I just tell myself to quit it. It lasts for about a second, then I go back to some more self-hating.
But you know, always a work in progress.
“Some people are only in your life for a season, and some people are in your life for a reason.”
I’ve never fully accepted that quote until now. As I sit in my bed with my fan on high eating chocolate covered coffee beans at 2 in the morning, attempting to hold back tears.
Let me start from the beginning.
His name was Shawn, we had exchanged a few emails online but I wasn’t convinced he was suitable. I tend to have extremely high standards. I told him to meet me at a bar, by me, and that I was going to wear some bright blue shirt i didn’t have. I got a message the next day saying how he had been waiting at the bar for two hours asking why I was a no-show. I gave him some pathetic answer and continued on to my normal routine of sleeping with the guy a few doors down from me.
It wasn’t until a week later when I received one of the worst emails I’ve ever opened, not only did it personally attack me and my leadership skills but she said I was mean. Which, I am not. I texted my regular booty call, but he wasn’t available. Needing to sleep with someone, because when things go bad I go to bed, I messaged Shawn. One call later and he was on his way, slightly buzzed but the promise of sex never stopped any guy from getting to a destination.
We got back to his house, yes I left without saying anything to my roommate in the middle of the night (around this time actually) bad choices all around, and headed straight for the bedroom. He would be the third person I had ever slept with. And let me tell you, without going into too much detail, it was fantastic…fireworks type deal. The worst part was the permanent kiss he left on my neck, luckily it was winter and I’m obsessed with scarves. Before I got out of the car he asked when he would see me again, my response “you’ve got to take me on a date if you want more” he laughed and said “I was willing to do that from the beginning.”
The next day, although zombie like, I was walking on cloud nine. My first text from him was regarding my amazing kissing skills, from there it progressed into text after text of little 160 character flirts, filled to the brim with properly placed emoticons. And three days later, as promised, he took me on our first date.
Which was awful, not only did I discover he was a sore loser (after I kicked his butt at bowling) but he also made me feel bad about getting flowers from him. We got back to his house and he “cooked” dinner, aka heated up frozen chicken and fries. Then heading back to his bedroom, he put on a movie and we did what we do best.
That continued for three solid days, with breaks for class and water in between.
On the third night we talked about everything. I told him about my fear of commitment, and he told me about his fear of being alone. And then laid a doozy on him. I told him about the rape, I didn’t want to but I felt so comfortable with him …I wanted to be honest. He reacted as any guy would, he held me so tightly I could barely breath and said “I will never let anything hurt you.”
…his famous last words.
Three weeks later we hit a rocky patch. It was then that I realized all of the relationship talk had been for show. So I asked him point-blank what he wanted. “Casual sex” was his response, I was crushed. I wasn’t expecting him to say it, and instead of moving on I agreed.
Because movies have taught me that if I continue to have sex with someone eventually he’ll want to be in a relationship with me.
I spent the rest of my semester fighting with Shawn then reconnecting with him between the sheets. But on the weeks I was ignoring Shawn I had my convenient, down the hall no feelings attached, friend.
School ended and after graduation I thought I was off to a fresh start. I told Shawn that it (whatever it was) wasn’t working out for me. And I ended whatever it was that was going on, so I thought.
I got the occasional drunk booty call, or just the occasional drunk call for that matter. And after weeks, I finally gave in.
We didn’t have sex though, we were just together…like I had always wanted.
So it started again. Me hating myself, then realizing what was wrong, then telling him I had to stop…then seeing him and forgetting everything I had said.
Which brings me to now. After not seeing each other for three weeks, and a text fight where I may have said he is horrible in bed (a horrible lie), he called. I can’t say no when he calls. He came over, we ate pizza, listened to music, caught up and watched a movie. Which led where it always leads.
But this time was different. This was the last time. We talked about everything. I put my head on his stomach listening to him, not knowing when I would get to see him again. Then I told him I’d been seeing someone, I was hoping right then and there we would tell me to stop and say that he had been an idiot and wanted to be with me.
But he didn’t, he looked at me and said stop being self-destructive. And that’s where it started, the we can be friends talk. I shot him down and told him I would need space, but we all know what that means.
I was thankful the lights were off because I could feel the tears building in my eyes as I buried my head into his arm for the last time. I walked with him through my kitchen, where just hours ago we had stood at the window, his arms wrapped around me, watching fireworks. Now we were standing at the door like strangers not knowing how to say goodbye. I wrapped my arms around him like normal, trying not to go for a kiss but wanting to taste his lips for a last time. He wouldn’t let me, “Don’t kiss me, it will just make it worse” I could see it in his eyes that he didn’t want to lose me, but knew this was the best option.
I watched him walk out of the door, “Be good, and don’t be a stranger. I’m only a phone call away. “
Then he was gone.