Tag Archives: funny

#latebloomer

I guess it’s fitting to write a post about my birthday that is late and have the word ‘late’ in the title, but I promise it was wholly unintentional. For the past week I’ve been trying to write my annual birthday blog post, but you guys, my heart is so full of love and gushy and wonderfulness that everything I write is crap. I know, wah, what a terrible problem to have. Last year I wrote this blog post about turning 27 and somehow it transformed into my magical spirit animal (other than Tilikum, the serial killer whale, who will forever be my actual spirit animal) and led me through the best, most action-packed year of my life.

I’ve been trying to write about that, and about letting go of anxiety and just living and how all of the things will happen to you when you do that (including bed bugs, so get ready) but the thing is that you guys already know all that stuff that happened to me – ebook, going back to school, fighting the bed bugs and winning in a triumphant blaze of glory, so like… why should I tell you again?

But then yesterday, I was standing in my apartment, failing at whatever it was that I was trying to do (probably make coffee using paper towels as a filter because that happened) and I heard the voice of either a school counselor or someone I made up in my head say to me a phrase I haven’t heard in a while –

You’re a late bloomer. That’s all.

Remember when that was adults’ answer to everything? What, you haven’t gotten your boobs? You’re physically a late bloomer! What, you haven’t slow danced with a boy and you’re in college? You’re just a late bloomer! No worries! It’ll be adorable to tell stories about later!

Thing is – I was legit a late bloomer and I was SO aware and upset about it as a teen. I wish I could scour my old Yahoo! account and find the email I wrote to my friend Jessica in 8th grade about how everyone else had gotten their first kiss and how the tipping point for me was watching this episode of Charlie Brown where even Charlie Brown got his first kiss and what grade was he even in anyway? But all of that would involve me logging into Yahoo! and ew.

So eventually, as late bloomers do, I blossomed or wtfever. Or started doing all the things normal teens/20-somethings do and the worries about late blooming faded away for some years. It wasn’t until this year, when I found myself doing some of the grown up things I was supposed to start doing upon college graduation and for the first time they happened naturally, instead of throwing myself into some weird multiple personality thing where I feel like I’m my mom but also my own child and I’m trying to convince myself to pay bills but my child self is like “whatever I’m just gonna lock myself in the bathroom and pick at my face” and my adult self is like FINE THEN YOU CAN’T GO TO THE PARTY LATER AND ALSO THAT LEAVES SCARS YOU IDIOT.

A few weeks ago I realized that I’d not only Spring cleaning-ed, but also Summer and Fall cleaning-ed (that’s the official conjugation y’all, I swear) and it felt really nice and not at all like someone was removing my kidneys to sell on the black market, which is how cleaning usually feels. There are other things too, but I don’t want to sound braggy about actually paying that doctor’s bill from three years ago so I will stop. Point is – I’m pretty sure the things I’m experiencing are about 4 years delayed, and it’s got me kinda concerned.

I don’t think people talk about late bloomers after high school because no one wants to be like, “hey, you aren’t going to want to have babies until you’re too old to have babies and that is probably going to suck” or “you’re not going to get your shit together financially until you’re 39 and, honestly, you should have been putting all that money you spent on booze and sandwiches in an IRA like 10 years ago. Seriously, you’re gluten intolerant. Stop with the sandwiches.”

I think I’d feel better if I knew that one upstanding citizen was also a late bloomer, but the closest I’ve gotten is all those BuzzFeed articles that are like “Ten Famous Actors Who Didn’t Get Famous Until Their 40s” and like yes, it does make me feel better that Jon Hamm had a rough start but I’m pretty sure that’s not the outcome I’m headed towards. So because it was my birthday last week and also because I’m procrastinating schoolwork, I’ve made up some things that could TOTALLY be true about some famous people we all look up to.

cooltext1311743296

look guys, I learned how to use .gifs! UPDATE – apparently I did not learn how to use gifs. It works in my editor I promise.

Ok here goes –

Hillary Rodham Clinton, Former First Lady, Secretary of State, Bill Clinton’s Handler and probs gonna be President. Also star of TextsfromHillary.tumblr.com, the biggest of all wins. Imaginary late bloomer.

Hillary avoided routine gynecological visits and her annual physical until 33.

George Washington. Father of our nation and professional hair model. Imaginary late bloomer.

George refused to make his bed because that’s where his laptop lived too and it didn’t seem to mind, for god’s sake.

Jane Austen. Wrote stuff. Imaginary late bloomer.

Jane changed her major at least 6 times. She finally decided to do “that writing thing her dad wouldn’t shut about” so she could take a victory lap as a super senior.

George Soros. Finance guy bf talks about. Imaginary late bloomer.

George spend his mid-20s working as a Starbucks Barista. His band hated on him for selling out.

Jackie O. Rich person and style icon. Imaginary late bloomer.

Every time Jackie would get a phone call from an unknown number, her friends would be like “yo Jackie, you gonna get that?” and she’d roll her eyes and be like, “whatevs, it’s just TimeWarner telling me they’re gonna shut off my internet again if I don’t pay my bill.”

Katsuaki Watanabe. President, Toyota. Very good at looking serious. Imaginary late bloomer.

Katsuaki never outgrew the desire to play Edward 40 Hands.

Joan of Arc. Milla Jovovich played her in some movie I watched at Catholic school once. Imaginary late bloomer.

Joan’s roommates often complained that she never contributed to the house toilet paper and cleaning supplies fund.

________________________

Don’t you feel marginally better? I do and that’s all that matters because this was supposed to be my birthday blog post so I am extending birthday rights to today.

Peace, love and I’m considering changing my age to 24 because then I’ll be normal, 

BWCE

P.S. –

Miley Cyrus. Paid lots to stick out tongue. Early bloomer.

Blooming is overrated anyway.

Advertisements
Tagged , , , , , ,

Where’s the Sign Up Sheet to Become a Celebrity?

So a few weeks ago I moved to the bedroom across the hall. The thing about moving rooms within your own apartment it’s almost harder than a normal move because I didn’t get movers. Also, I decided two years ago that I wanted to realize my childhood dream of having a canopy bed, so I bought one from Ikea. I regret this decision most days for the following reasons: #1 – The bed bugs loved the canopy when I used to have all this black tulle wrapped around the frame. #2 – Ikea.

Can we all agree that the creators of Ikea were malicious sadists? Seriously, when I think of the conversation that lead to the founding of Ikea, I imagine that in between rounds of torturing fawns one of the dudes was like, “Hey, you know what would be fun? What if we made a furniture store that was absurdly cheap.” and the other guy was like “Why would we do that? Hey, hand me those hot coals.” and the first guy was like, “Because if we make a furniture store that’s absurdly cheap, we can get everyone on the planet to think it’s awesome but actually create the world’s worst maze for people to walk through.” So the second guy was like, “That seems like an ok use of my time, but not murder-y enough.” And so the first guy went, “WELL HERE’S THE THING. Not only will the maze they have to walk through to get to the checkout be terrible, we will also name all of the furniture names in an unrecognizable language, and we will pump the smell of cinnamon buns through the store, despite the fact that it’s incredibly difficult to find the area in which the cinnamon buns are sold because it’s a furniture store, not a restaurant and we will make ALL OF THE DIRECTIONS FOR ASSEMBLING INCREDIBLY HEAVY FURNITURE IN HIEROGLYPHICS. AND THE CINNAMON BUNS WILL SUCK.”

And then the second dude was like, “Oh. Sweet. I’m in.”

“If you have a problem, just call us!” Have you guys every tried *calling* Ikea for help? THE WORST.

I spent most of a Sunday afternoon dodging giant pieces of canopy bed as they fell apart on top of me, cracking pieces of my canopy bed, looking up new beds online while I considered selling my bed and inexplicably ripping the paint off of my wall with a piece of the bed. Eventually I prevailed. Well, sort of… there were a couple of pieces of the bed that no longer seemed like they mattered so now they live under the bed, and I”m probably going to have to duct tape one side of the canopy because it’s broken in half and sagging over my bed. At the end of it all, I sent Chris a very long text describing all the ways I planned to dismantle and burn the hell bed, video tape it and send it to Ikea whenever I am finally able to afford a different, non-Ikea bed.

It looked a lot like this.

Anyway. The reason I’m telling you about all of this, is to tell you why it’s terrible that I started following Rihanna on Instagram. Really, I shouldn’t follow any celebrities on Instagram, but Mindy Kaling at least keeps it down to earth and makes it seem like she’s working hard for the money.

The whole time I was at risk of severing a limb with particle board made by Satan’s minions, Rihanna was in Barcelona. BEING BLONDE. Every time I’d check my phone, hoping that someone on Facebook would post about wanting to buy a canopy bed from Ikea, I’d see Rihanna… shopping at Chanel; sitting on stairs smoking a cigarette; wearing things with cutouts in them. Rihanna’s Instagram feed basically says, “Look at how much better my life is than yours.”

I think that was literally one of the comments on her photos. It was at least a hashtag.

When I was younger I wanted to be a celebrity because I wanted people to ask me weird questions about myself that no one asks you in real life like, “What do you was think the key to getting were you are today?”  Then I realized I can just write a blog and make the questions up for myself (new post idea: Getting interviewed by an imaginary Diane Sawyer). For a couple years I was like, “wow. Now I don’t need to be a celebrity. Look at me… having it all.”

And then Rihanna’s Instagram had to go and ruin it for me. I want to be a celebrity again. Celebrities have so much downtime. When Amanda Bynes threw that bong out the window and everyone was reporting on it, I was sitting at my desk like, “That lucky bitch doesn’t have to be in an office right now?! I’d kill to live on 47th street. Who has time to go wig shopping? ”

The rest of us have the raw end of the deal… don’t we? Celebrities are always complaining about how busy they are and justify it by saying, “I suffered from exhaustion last year. You know? I had to go to A SPA.”

I suffer from exhaustion every WEEK. It’s called Monday, celebrities. Seriously though, based on her Instagram feed, here’s what I think Rihanna’s typical day is like versus mine. These are the busy ones when she has a concert or something.

Given this new info (that yes, was entirely made up by me), I have been strategizing again. Trying to figure out how I can become a celebrity. Seeing as that I don’t really act, dance, sing or start fights with everyone around me, I’ve ruled out pretty much everything in terms of the performing arts and reality TV.

Do you guys have any thoughts? How else do people get famous?

Peace, love and death to Ikea, 

BWCE

Tagged , , , , , ,

The Cicadas Are Coming and It’s Going to be The Shit

One of the things that I loved about growing up in small town Georgia was what a BIG EFFING DEAL everything was. It snowed ten inches? The blizzard of ’93 will live in infamy. Hurricane Opal hit Florida? We had no school because of wind. Some crazy dude climbed to the top of a crane and the SWAT team had to lure him to the edge of the crane with water, taser him and catch him with helicopters? Ok, that one was pretty crazy. I loved the feeling of community that came from being in a smaller place. If something happened, bad or good, it happened to the whole town. Everybody was talking about it, so much so that I have vivid memories of making friends at a generator-lit Wal-Mart during Ice Jam 2000. Maybe I just like natural disasters that are given names.

Anyway, that’s why I read Gothamist every day. It reminds me that despite the fact that I’m living on an island with like a gagillion people who will probably stab me if I take too long to swipe my metrocard when the express is at the station, it’s still an island that’s (physically) smaller than my hometown of Snellville, GA.

I love reading every morning about the soda ban, the Citibike battles and the newest restaurant that’s serving Korean-Russian-Trinidadian fusion out of a tire that washed aboard a boat that washed into a warehouse in Red Hook during Hurricane Sandy. I want to be part of a community, and Gothamist makes me feel like I’m part of the coolest (most expensive) community ever. Other than whatever people are doing in like, Dubai, but I don’t think I have the energy for that anyway.

If you’re not paying attention to news about the Northeast right now, all I can tell you is this –

THE CICADAS ARE COMING!!!!!!!!

As a Georgian, I’m kinda like… you guys ever heard of locusts? Or, I dunno, bugs? Basically everyone is freaked out (or ironically freaked out, I can never tell) about the fact that cicadas go dormant for 17 years and then come back just about the time the trauma has subsided in order to torment people with the sounds of their incredibly loud mating calls. According to Gothamist, “their 90-decibel calls can rival the sound of a subway!”

I am still not impressed, possibly because I live on The Street That Is Apparently The Only Bus Route To Boston, so it is constantly loud. But the other reason I’m not impressed is because I believe in New York. This amazing city can handle 9/11, blackouts, hurricanes and anti-semitic Sesame Street characters. Do you really think we’ll crumble under the mating call of the cicadas?

In the words of the Nappy Roots, “Aw naw, hell naw ‘main.” We’re gonna rock the shit of this insect infested summer.

NYC loves rare shit.

Last year someone made a dinner out of rats. Do you really think we’re not gonna eat the fuck out of these cicadas? A couple of weeks ago I read a series of articles about how “ramps” were overrated, which lead me to something about how the “ramps” were in season. I dunno if I’ve ever had a ramp, but it looks kinda like a scallion so I imagine it’s not THAT different. But New York loves rare.

All I can say about cicadas V. ramps is SCREW THE RAMPS. THIS SHIT IS ONLY AROUND ONCE EVER 17 YEARS.

Can you even imagine? The absurd cocktails and infusions? 

In researching this post (lol, because I research), I Googled, “Can you eat cicadas?” Yes. Yes, you can. I would like point out the fact that because cicadas shed their exoskeletons that there are multiple textures associated with the cicada.

“Have you tried our Cicada Crush? It’s like a grasshopper but with cicaca-infused creme de menthe. It’s divine and oh-so-rare!”

Spicy Cicada Crunch Roll, anyone?

And what about the jewelry? 

You know that every boutique everywhere is going to start selling gold-dipped cicada carcasses. Mary Kate will get one immediately.

Cicadtronica = the new Seapunk. 

Don’t hate on my poor music production skills – there’s a reason I’m not in music anymore. I can just imagine hipster bands everywhere, sticking their iPhones out the window at night, sampling cicada noises and putting crazy reverb on their calls. Seriously, have you listened to Seapunk at all?

So yeah, New York, don’t stress. I have faith in us making The Summer of The Cicada the best summer ever.

Here are two jokes I came up with that didn’t fit into this post but because it’s only every 17 years I”m going to get to write about cicadas, I’m gonna use them here.

#1 – I’m going to be singing this a lot this summer – “The park has cicadas. C-I-C-A-D-A-S!”

#2 – Where are the cicadas going? IN ONE DIRECTION.

If only the cicadas flew over from England, this would be even better.

Peace, love and LOOK OUT THE CICADAS ARE COMING!!

BWCE

Tagged , , , , , , ,

Lies Britney and Xtina Told Me

The summer between 7th and 8th grade, my family went on a road trip that started on the West coast and eventually wound throughout Arizona, Nevada and New Mexico. There were moments of total excitement, like seeing the sun rise over the Grand Canyon with my mom, but I mostly remember being bored in the back of the rental van and begging my dad to turn on the radio to whatever pop station was within range. Because we lived out of the country at the time, summers back in the US were all about re-culturing myself. The second we were past customs, I’d convince my mom to buy me a copy of Teen People and I’d clutch it tightly like it was my tourist’s guide to pop culture.

The summer of 1999 was truly a magical time for 13 year old Tiffany. I discovered my first real role models: Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera. For the next 5+ years, they were my guiding lights. I bought every CD, every DVD, every magazine and devoured anything I could find about the two of them. They were so young, so beautiful and so talented – I wanted to learn how to be exactly like them. Unfortunately, no one explained to me the art of photoshop, publicists or that the lessons Britney and Xtina were teaching me were lies. Real life is not a 1999 pop music video (thank god!), and the day someone bought me my first indie record, I was set free.

The lies – 

If you’re doing any less than 500 sit-ups a day, you should probably just kill yourself or accept your future as a worthless fatass. Remember how crazy Brit-brits workout routine was? I used to do hundreds of stomach crunches every night before bed in 8th grade, because I wanted her abs so badly. No one told me that in order to be able to see those abs, I’d need to lose the 20 pounds of fat on top of them first.

Red and black are legitimate colors to put in your hair.

I think most teenage girls live under the assumption that copying the haircut of their idol will somehow transform the into looking like their idol. I knew there was no way my father was going to stand for me dying any part of my hair red, or any non-natural hair color for that matter, since he defined it as “deviant behavior”. I did, however, try my hardest to get my stylist to dye the tips of my hair black. The conversation went something like this –

“I just want some black in it. You know, like Christina Aguilera’s hair.”

“Your hair is brown. You won’t be able to see it and it will mess up the texture.”

“Ok, well can you at least cut it so it makes a V in the back?”

“I am not going to cut your hair like a stripper. You’re 16.”

When someone breaks your heart repeatedly, the best revenge is learning how to dance on a chair.

Texting hateful things at 3 AM is always the solution, duh.

Adding “bitch” to the end of sentences is a good way to announce myself. As it turns out, my boss doesn’t appreciate when I enter meetings, strike a pose and say in my breathiest/attitudiest voice “It’s Tiffany, bitch.”

Being driven crazy to the point of being unable to sleep isn’t a good thing. Really all of the lyrics to “Crazy” were terrible. They sound like a desperate cry for help from some battered woman or maybe a drug addict. “I’m in too deep?” GURL, GET YOSELF AN ADDICTION COUNSELOR.

At a certain point, I was going to have an occasion to which I’d need to wear one of the following items: polyester midriff baring tops, leather assless chaps and a “shirt” that was really just a scarf woven around my tits. 

I imagine being a chaperon at a middle school dance in 1999 was a terrifying and revolting experience.

Justin Timberlake is the coolest. Ok, this one wasn’t a lie. JT has been and will always remain the coolest. If you’ve found this for some bizarre reason, I LOVE YOU JT.

AND THE WORST LIE OF ALL –

In my teens, my love life was going to be an overdramatic series of ups and downs. Boys would chase after me and make themselves “What a Girl Want[ed]”. At a certain point, I’d break some poor boy’s heart and have to justify the fact that “Oops, I[‘d done] it again!” by telling him I “was not that innocent.” After breaking up with my super-sexy boyband-esque first love, I’d find myself pushing my boundaries in a club with “Boys [feat. Pharrell Williams]” and at the end of it all I’d learn I was really just a “Genie in a Bottle”, waiting for someone to come, come, come on and let me out. 

“Every time I try to fly, I fall.”

Peace, love and indie kids have it so much easier than us, 

BWCE

Tagged , , , , ,

You Go Girl!

Disclaimer: I could just as well have named this post “A Lot of Drake Songs That Tiffany Likes.” I love people’s Get Pumped Up playlists. I think they say more about a person than any other playlist. It’s universally understood that you don’t fuck with someone else’s Get Pumped Up playlist because what contents lie inside it are private. Additionally, no one is going to grab your iPod at a party and be like “I choose to play your Workout Mix. That sounds like the best choice!” As a result, it’s the only playlist that gives its owner free reign to put whatever he or she wants. There’s no need to make sure it’s cool, or varied. It doesn’t have to ebb and flow like a playlist named after a season (**Fall** is always my best season-inspired playlist).

Well, friends, because we’re BFF, I’m sharing my Get Pumped Up playlist with you. I know you’re hoping to discover I secretly love Glee ballads or heavy metal. I’m sorry to tell you that my playlist is no more than a reflection of exactly who I am: A large, black, millionaire drug dealer.

Jay-Z – “Hate”

So the first thing that you need to know about my method of psyching myself up is that haters are a major part of it. Who are my haters? I’m not really sure. I don’t know if I have any. I mean, I’d assume that some people are like ‘God I hate that girl. What is up with her sandwich obsession and why does she apologize and turn bright red every time she very slightly bumps my foot or leg with hers?’ or some variation of that, but I doubt they care enough to be actual haters.

I think the reason that I want haters is because I know how much I kind of love the people I hate. For me, hatred equals  obsession. My hate-ees(?) range from celebrities to That Girl from That One Class in college who was constantly trying to prove that she should have tested into a higher level of music theory outright (dude, you took the test. You didn’t have enough Harmony skillz for Harmony 2. Quit asking about Ionian scales already, we’ll get to it next semester). I follow these people more than my best friends because of how hungry I am for more ammunition. I am giddy in my hatred and I can only hope that there’s at least one person out there in the world who hates me enough to stalk the shit out of me. You hear that, hater(s)? I LOVE YOU TOO. [Update – in between writing this post and Tuesday I have discovered someone who wrote a pretty bad review of my eBook and the website it’s on keeps tweeting about it. SO I guess I sort of have a hater, at least for right now. Win?]

Ok, so back to hyping myself up. Because I don’t know if they’re real of not, I have to focus on who I think my haters are and then I hype myself by thinking about all the ways I’m “showing them”.

Yeah, mean bag lady from the supermarket. Look at me now. Jogging.

Drake“The Motto”

There are some great, nay, perfect hype up lines in this. “Go uptown New York City big,” is a good one. It’s where I discovered YOLO, which was a wonderful thing for a few moments before the internet or hipsters or something ruined it. Whatever, I still love YOLO. But the reason this song is one of my ultimate hype of songs is because of the line “How ya feel/ How ya feel/ How ya feel/ 25 sitting on 25 mil.”

While I am 27 sitting on the 25 cents I have in my Bank of America savings account, and even that only exists because I have the Keep the Change program, sometimes I feel awesome and I think I can relate to how awesome Drake feels.

Drake & Rihanna –Take Care

This song makes me feel good about being young and making bad choices (parents, shield your children from Rihanna at all costs). Because being in a relationship is (wonderful) boring, listening to this song takes me back to the last time I was single, which was also boring, but I like to remember it as being dramatic. Lines like, “What’s a life with no fun / Please, don’t be so ashamed / I’ve had mine, you’ve had yours / We both know / We know,” and “Dealing with a heart that I didn’t break.”

So here’s the part in the blog post where you’ve started judging me. REMEMBER WHAT I SAID AT THE BEGINNING. Pumped up playlists are great because they’re terrible, shameful reminders of all the ways in which we take ourselves and our lives too seriously.

Young Jeezy – “Put On

I don’t know if anything pumps me up more than songs about Atlanta by rappers from Atlanta. I don’t actually know what constitutes the act of ‘putting on,’ but I assume it has a something to do with showing the haters that Atlanta is the best.

What now, person who grew up in Cincinatti who got the last sesame bagel this morning? I’m putting on for my city significantly harder than you are putting on for Cincinatti. Are you even putting on for Cincinatti at all?

JoJo – “Get out

There’s something so girl powery about this song. The closest thing I’ve ever had to being cheated on was when the compulsive liar I was “if I DID want to be in a relationship it would definitely be with you”-ing at the time had some sort of make out/hickey competition after I’d gone home to go to sleep because I had to get up for work at Waffle House in the morning. I don’t think it really count as being cheated on, but again in my love of dramatizing past situations in my mind I like to think about this experience as having actually been a music video in which I stood on some sort of stage in front of all of our friends and sang this, interspersed with B roll footage of my laying on my bed looking skinny and sad.

Drake – “Money to Blow

Best line – “I am what everybody in my past didn’t want me to be”

Guess what freshman year judge of my vocal proficiency exam who called me not a very musical student? I’m a project manager now.

2 Chainz – “I’m different

Because I am different, goddammit.

Rihanna –Good Girl Gone Bad

Seriously, why would anyone ever let their child listen to Rihanna? This is another dramatizing my past song. I’m pretty sure that I have not gone bad in any of the ways that Rihanna is warning men I may be forced to go bad if they become “The Reason” by always going out with their boys or something. I don’t think I really understand what this song is about, actually.

Ke$ha –Tik Tok

This is on everyone’s pumped up playlist… right?

T.I. – “Tell ’em I said that

Along with its menacing beat, the key line in this song for me is “These n(words)s ain’t G!” Back when I did floral sales, I used to play this on the way to meetings to get myself in the zone to sell. I’d stand there on the train, dressed in a pencil skirt and holding a giant binder full of flower pictures and imagine the meeting. I was going to give a presentation so good that at the end the restaurant owner would lean back in his chair and think, “Wow. I never thought about it before, but my callas lilies really aren’t G, are they? I’ve got to buy this chick’s flowers.”

T.I. – “I’m Back

THEY SET A CAR ON FIRE IN THE MUSIC VIDEO. T.I. IS FROM ATLANTA. I PUT ON FOR MY CITY.

Lil Wayne –Get High, Rule The World

I retired this song a while back, but I think it deserves to be noted. First because this list doesn’t adequately express my love of Weezy, but second because there was a year or two where this was my anthem. It was definitely during my stoned music school phase when I liked to delude myself into believe that if I were to get high, I might still be able to rule the world. If I did my own mixtape version of Lil Wayne’s version, it would be “Get High, Get a Mediocre Score on my LSAT Prep Test.”

Ne Yo -“Miss Independent” ( the alternate option is Webbie’s “I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T” depending on my mood) –

There was a big “She Work Hard for The Money” theme in 2009 pop songs. I think Keri Hilson had something to do with it, but I was way into it. The other thing that happened in 2009 was that I moved home from college and right back into my parent’s house. If there really were a song for me, it would be something like “C-O-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T / You know what dat means? / She got her parents house/ she got her parents car / they get a tax break / she got a bachelor of arts.”

Even now, I can’t listen to Ne Yo croon about this gorgeous, well established woman and think “that’s totally me.” I pay my own bills (sort of) and sometimes I put on a pencil skirt and tuck in my shirt, but I usually discover it has some stain from whenever the last time I was feeling like a Boss and treated myself to Starbucks, which I promptly spilled on my Boss-gear. When it comes down to it, the only “own thing” I have is $2,500 in credit card debit. That’s allllll mine.

Oh! One other reason why I get pumped up by Webbie’s take on self-sufficient ladies is because it’s a song with spelling in it. AREN’T SONGS WITH SPELLING THE BEST?? I swear the only reason I supported Fergie’s solo career was because I had so much fun spelling with her.

Honorable mention: Drake’s “Make Me Proud“. This song has SO MANY of my favorite pumped up lines, and I love the idea of being loved because I may one day make the decision to run on the treadmill and only eat salad, but then Nikki Minaj comes in and starts bragging about her vagina and it ruins all of it for me.

Song that should not be on anyone’s playlist and frankly should not exist: The Black Eyed Pea’s “I got a Feeling”. If you hear this song while you’re getting ready to go out, don’t go out. Your night is going to be a bad night.

Peace, love and peace and love to all my hatttttttersssssss, 

BWCE

Tagged , , , , , , , , ,

I Will Always Be the Worst at Crushes

Given all of the stuff that’s been going on with my EBOOK (yes, did you not notice yet? I HAVE AN EBOOK. IT IS HERE AND EVERYWHERE ELSE I’VE LINKED IT. EBOOKEBOOKEBOOK).

Anyway, I trailed off up there because I wanted to promote shit (buy my eBook. WRITE A REVIEW)… given all my dating eBook stuff, I figured I’d talk to you guys a bit more about what I’m like when I’m single and attempting to date people I meet not off the internet.

If I could describe my lifelong experience with dating in one sentence, it would be “Awkward desperation with bouts of irrational overconfidence.” Confident or self-hating, in retrospect I am embarrassed by all of it. Broken down, I’d describe the phases like this –

My first crush on a character in an Animorphs book. This was safer than having a crush on a real boy, because I didn’t even have to sexualize my crush or try to lure him with my own sexuality. Along with being not real, the character was trapped in the body of a hawk. Some of the most romantic and intimate moments of my life were had with Tobais, the hawk-boy, in my own imagination at age 12. I kind of wish I’d stayed in this phase forever. Shit was relatively uncomplicated.

Most subsequent crushes were on boys who didn’t speak to me. If my first real crush knew my name, it was only because people were making fun of me (more on my first crush here). Crushes from afar continued for most of my teens. My understanding of sexuality came from this one ten second clip of this episode of Dawson’s Creek that I saw in the “TV room” in my basement where Joey and Dawson were making out (while laying down!) on the bed. I replayed that scene in my head, imagining all the boys who would never kiss me (or even know my name) for the next 6 years. I didn’t watch many PG-13 movies.

Eventually I discovered gay boys… this was the best part of high school. Gay boys are one of the best things that can happen to fat and/or awkward and/or theater girls. All those things tend to go together, but sometimes it’s a mix and match. The first time I met one of the gay boys, I was in love with him for about two years. The thing about gay boys is that no matter how much frustration you feel because you really wanted that whole Joey/Dawson make out thing to happen with them, you can’t fault them for giving you a little bit of hope and confidence while all of the other boys are busy not knowing your name and trying to recreate scenes from Jackass.

Around 18 I started “dating”, or something like that. I’d call it hooking up, but it often didn’t get that far. Going to Christian college added another level of complication to things. I have thought more than once in my life, “Was that Bible Study like, as friends… or did it mean more?”

At a certain point, I did start making out with people and was like “OMG IS THIS WHAT LOVE IS LIKE?” It took me a few years to learn that no, love is not like that. Love is boring and wonderful in a “let’s watch 10 episodes of SVU in a row because we both appreciate Ice T and sex crimes” kind of way. These relationships were often more exhilarating than real love. I could spend 27 million hours dissecting them with my BFFs. I think I spent the fall of 2003 to the fall of 2010 trying to decipher about four sentences boys said to me with my best friend. I didn’t realize until way later that love affair I was having was really with my best friend, and her ability to dissect one sentence (usually, “If I DID want a girlfriend, it would DEFINITELY be you.”) into 43 different possible interpretations. 

“I’m good at sex!” I look back on this period and feel the most embarrassed. After my first real (and pretty terrible) relationship, I decided to overcompensate for my resulting feelings of inadequacy by becoming this “sexually liberated” 20-something. I’d also lost some weight, so I was drunk on some newfound self confidence (and just plain drunk because my tolerance was severely lowered from starving myself). I thought I was awesome at dirty talk; I thought everyone was hitting on me; I sent hundreds of drunk texts that ranged from aggressively slutty to aggressively crazy… I’m surprised any of my friends who knew me during this period still speak to me.

After graduating college and entering life in the real world, I realized having crushes feels just like high school all over again. This weird thing happened after I’d gone through my I’m-too-sexy-for-my-dresses-that-are-a-reasonable-length phase. I realized that the only way I’m comfortable with a romantic situation is when I have already made out with a person. This means that I have to make out with a person BEFORE I know I’m into him. This means I have a window of about one hour after meeting someone and even then, it’s helpful if I’m drunk. A lot of my “relationships” have started with me thinking, “this blurry figure inching towards my face seems cute and cool. I want some cheese fries.”

Having made out with someone is my opportunity to override my tendency to become the same awkward idiot I was at 16. If I meet someone I like and spend enough time around them pre-make out, I’m doomed. For example, In my history of “real” jobs, I’ve had giant crushes on two previous coworkers (Please note that I said PREVIOUS, current coworkers. I read that sexual harassment poster in the kitchen). The first giant crush happened despite the fact that I had a boyfriend. Due to a combination of guilt and fear that I would forget about said boyfriend and kiss-attack my coworker’s beautiful face, I talked about my boyfriend non-stop. “Oh, you also like Ray Lamontagne? Yeah, I LOVE him too. You know who doesn’t like Ray? My boyfriend doesn’t, but god… you’re great – uh, I mean he’s great. Ray Lamontagne is great. Ha ha… ha? Ok, I should go call my boyfriend now. I have a boyfriend, who I love and have to call.”

The second giant crush was even worse. I had to spend a lot of time with this person, and if he ever thinks about me he probably thinks I was a kinda dumb. Conversations were something like, “Hey Tiff, want to meet at eight?” “Really? Do you think that it would be ok considering that we work together? Wait? What? Oh, yes, at EIGHT. Sorry, I’m so stupid I thought you said… nevermind. Eight is perfect. Gooooooo company we both work at where I have to see you every day!”

In hopes that it was all the coworker-ness getting in the way of my “game”, I willed myself to develop a crush on an acquaintance in my group of friends. It was shockingly worse than liking a coworker. At least with the coworkers I had an excuse to start a conversation. Nothing oozes sex appeal like saying talking about work. “So. Our margins this week. Am I right? Your place or mine?” With the acquaintance I found myself edging creepily over to the circle he’d be in, chugging my drink in hopes that it would give me a shred of confidence. Weekend after weekend, I’d have chugged so many vodka sodas while trying to come up with a way to start conversation, that by the time I had my opportunity I’d be so drunk I was teetering back and forth on my heels trying to come up with something to say. He probably thinks of me as That Drunk Girl Who Never Remembers What I Do For  A Living Because It’s The Only Question She Ever Asks Me.

This is why online dating was great for me! Remember how I have an eBook about online dating? Seriously though, if you can manage to have one non-awkward conversation with your crush, I applaud you. You are doing better than I ever did.

Peace, love and Joey/Dawson kisses, 

BWCE

Tagged , , , , , , , ,

I got 99 problems, but bed bugs ain’t one

JK, they’re #1. Right up there with my waist being wider than my hips and the fact that I haven’t yet won the lottery. As a former aspiring songwriter (my saddest label) I like to make up songs about my life. “Where did you go/ My strainer” sung to the tune of No Mercy’s “Where do you go?” is on heavy rotation in my kitchen and “I don’t want to go to work,” my folk tune original has topped my Monday morning charts since 2010.

The bed bugs and all of the information I’ve learned about them have provided me with ample material for a host of songs. Ha ha, get it? Host. Because I’m being eaten alive in my own apartment… too soon?

Possible tag lines for the TV ad: “All the music you’ve been itching to hear” / “It’ll keep you up all night long!” / “Reality bites… your music shouldn’t”

Man, I miss CD compilations. If it were the nineties, I could be all –

FOR A LIMITED TIME ONLY, GET THIS YEAR’S TOP HITS. “NOW: THAT’S WHAT I CALL A BED BUG INFESTATION!!” IS AVAILABLE TODAY FOR ONLY $19.99. AND GUESS WHAT? THERE’S MORE! BUY IT IN THE NEXT TWO HOURS AND GET A PACK TITE TOO! THAT’S A $319.99 VALUE FOR ONLY $19.99!!

“Now: That’s What I Call a Bed Bug Infestation” features hits from today’s top artists:

Lil Wayne / Future / Drake – “My Bitches [bed bug sniffing dogs] Luv Me” 

Sample lyrics – “I’ve got dem bed bugs and rubbing alcohol / I’ve got an exterminator I can call / I don’t know what I would do witout OFF© / Ima heat things til they cannot crawl / That’s why my bitches luv me.” 

The Black Eyed Peas – “Where Are the Bugs?

Sample lyrics – “I’ve been itchin’ / I ain’t lyin’ / I can’t sleep and I feel like cryin’ / I’m so grossed out I could shriek / I think a bed bug bit my cheek / Pest Pro, Pest Pro, Pest Pro, help me / Send some an expert who wears gloves / I’ve been lookin’ but I’m still questioning / Where are the bugs?” 

PSY – “Bed Bug Style

Sample lyrics – ” Najeneun ttasaroun inganjeogin yeoja / Keopi hanjanui yeoyureul aneun pumgyeok inneun yeoja / Bami omyeon simjangi tteugeowojineun yeoja / Geureon banjeon inneun yeoj / EHHHH Rashy Lady / Op, Op, Op / Oppa Bed Bug Style” 

I wish this were a real

Justin Timberlake – “Pack & Tite

Sample lyrics – “I be always packing my shit tite / shit tite / I can’t wait til I can move outta my apartment / Been heatin’ fabric so much / It’s hot like an oven…”

Taylor Swift – “Trouble (I Knew You Had Bed Bugs When You Walked In)

Sample lyrics – “I knew you had bed bugs when you walked in / So shame on me now / You’ve been shopping at thrift stores againnnn / Keep your blankets on the ground oh / I knew you had bed bugs when you walked in / So shame on me now / Should have sent you vacuum-packing / Now I’m throwing all my bedding out!” 

The video to that one is great because it opens with a minute and a half of Taylor dramatically inspecting her suitcase after returning from a stay at the Ritz Carlton while talking about how she felt compelled to keep it on the floor even though she’d been burned before. Something about the carpeting was calling to her.

AND OF COURSE, WHAT ULTIMATE COMPILATION WOULD BE COMPLETE WITHOUT ALL YOUR FAVORITE GOLDEN CLASSICS:

Journey – “Don’t Stop Your Steaming”

Aretha Franklin – “B.I.T.I.N.G.ME”

The Beatles – “We Can Get Them Out”

Britney Spears – “Oops! They Bit Me Again”

Frank Sinatra – “Strangers in the Night” (I know, too easy!)

Carly Simon – “You’re so Vein (I bet you think that they’re gonna bite you)”

ACT NOW OR MISS OUT ON THIS ONCE IN A LIFETIME OPPORTUNITY TO GET YOUR COPY OF “NOW: THAT’S WHAT I CALL A BED BUG INFESTATION!” AND YOUR VERY OWN PACK TITE!

CALL US IN THE NEXT 5 MINUTES AND WE’LL THROW IN A NOW RUBBING ALCOHOL SPRAY BOTTLE!

Peace, love and call 1-800-got-bugs to buy now, 

BWCE

Tagged , , , , , , ,

Buy My Ebook and Use it to Get Drunk

Or, you know, reading it is an option too.

BUT YOU KNOW WHAT’S MORE FUN THAN READING?

Drinking, duh.

If anyone had told me a year ago that I would have a Thought Catalog Original ebook I would have been like, “Seriously, quit fucking with my emotions you asshole. Life is hard enough.” If anyone had told me when I was 18 that I would have an ebook about online dating, I would have been like, “ONE DAY I’M NOT FAT AND I GET TO DATE???” So really, surprises all around.

YOU GUYS I HAVE AN EBOOK. HOW DID I NOT TELL YOU THIS WAS HAPPENING?? I TELL YOU EVERYTHING!! Well, really it’s because I had convinced myself that at some point Thought Catalog was gonna be like, “oh nm, forget it, we don’t want to do this,” and you know my whole knock-on-wood thing.

I told them it was ok that the cover photo wasn’t brunette, because I’ve always wanted to be blonde anyway.

A month ago yesterday, TC contacted me and asked about turning my online dating project into an ebook. I explained to the editor that there was a little more to the story than what was posted on my blog, because during that time I was getting back together with the person who inspired the whole thing. They asked me to include that story, edited the whole thing (brilliantly) to make me sound more literate, and now it’s on the internet forever and for-always so that my grandmother can read about how I broke up with someone after he sent me a dick pic. Sorry, grandma!

Oh yeah, you want the drinking game part. Here it goes:

Every time I mention a form of transportation: Take a sip

Every time I think about something deep while en route: Take a shot

Every time I mention Austin: Take a shot

You see the words, “Spicy Special”?: Take a fucking shot. It’s the best sandwich ever, and if you’ve never had it you need to come visit me so I can personally buy you one.

Every time I mention my job: Finish your drink, because, seriously, if you’d had the job I had last year you’d be drunk too.

Whenever I mention my guinea pigs: Shots! Shots! Shots! Shotsshotsshots! (so that’s like, 2 shots. Of limoncello, because I’m not a sadist or anything). Yes, this is becoming a more involved drinking game than you’d planned. You can also just take shots of whatever shit you have hanging out in your fridge. Beer and siracha anyone?

When you get to the part about the first time I had a kiss forced upon me and the subsequent times too: WATERFALL. YOU WILL NEED IT.

Ok, dear reader, you’re drunk. Hope you liked my ebook. Write an awesome drunk review on Amazon (give me 5 stars, duh) and send it to your friends. If you don’t already have enough reasons to promote me, I have bed bugs (next week I return to blogging in a weeklong series about bed bugs), so seriously. HELP THE ITCHY.

Peace, love and sorry grandma,

Tiffany

PS – For anyone who is new and has happened upon my Online Dating Project section, I’ve removed a lot of the posts but kept a few teasers. I recommend the ebook! It’s cheap, and I once watched Austin read it in less than an hour and laugh his ass off the whole time.

PPS – To get a little sentimental, the best part of this whole thing to me is that as a (sorta former) songwriter, I’ve written songs about practically every crush and ex love ever, but have never written a song about my current boyfriend. When I started reworking these posts into an ebook, I called up my boyfriend and was like, “well, everyone else got songs, but I guess you get an internet book?” Ok. Cuteness done, I’ll go cut myself or something to counterbalance.

Tagged , , , , , , ,

I am The Worst at spring.

I was down in Georgia for a wedding last weekend, and upon turning on my phone to compulsively check Facebook the second the wheels touched down at La Guardia I was bombarded.

SPRING IS HEREEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Apparently a little bit of sun and weather above 34 degrees counts as spring in the northeast, but nonetheless, Facebook declared it and in my bones I knew it was true.

I really, really want to like you, spring. I want to embrace your slightly longer days and get excited about layering but when it comes down to it you’re just a fucked up fall. Fall is this wonderful time when the weather eases you into a sweet cocoon of blankets, lulling you to sleep with shorter days and GIVING YOU BACK THE HOUR THAT ASSHOLE SPRING STOLE.

Spring reminds me of my failures. Instead of delicately peeling back the layers and emerging a well-rested, graceful butterfly, every spring I’m bursting out of the seams of my winter cocoon, a fat, pale moth. If I had wings, they’d be made of the giant grey sweatpants I wrap myself up in the second I get home every night.

Fat sweat pant moth.

Here are some more reasons why spring sucks: 

  • The realization that this is not The Year. By the time April rolls around, I’ve given up on all my New Year’s Resolutions, have tried and failed at at least three crash diets and I’ve determined that this is not the year that I magically developed an aversion to food. I haven’t started paying my bills earlier, bringing my lunch to work or making my bed with any greater frequency than any of the other years and spring has come to remind me of that. 
  • Boots. Most of the time, you still have to wear boots in the spring. I hate wearing shoes in general, and boots that have weathered at least one winter (or two if you’re like me and only buy boots every other year) become stinky torture devices in which my feet are doomed to feel overheated all day long.
  • Not wearing boots and ending up in a random snow storm. In the fall this is exciting. It’s like, “Ohhh how cute. The first snow! I’m going to buy wine and not care that I ruined a pair of flats I’d just broken in.” In the spring it’s like –

  • The other night I ordered a calzone in my sleep. I’M SERIOUS YOU GUYS. I have no idea how it happened, the last thing I remember is watching reruns of The Following and then going to bed, but the next day one of my roommates was like, “I ate your calzone,” and I was like, “That’s not my calzone,” and then I checked my email and I had ordered seamless web around 1 AM. I know this doesn’t seem like spring has anything to do with that, but spring is a sneaky motherfucker. 
  • The end of spring break blues. Or in my case, the end of Passover blues. I work for a Jewish company so I’ve get a TON of holidays off. Now that they’re over, realizing I don’t have another holiday until May is catastrophic.
  • TV IS ABOUT TO END. And I just can never get into the summer shows.

Maybe one day I will begin to like spring, but I don’t see it happening anytime soon.

Peace, love and I’m going to be cranky until Memorial Day, 

BWCE

 

 

Tagged , , , , ,

April Fool’s Do-over Day

I am a huge fan of April Fool’s Day. I wasn’t as a kid, mainly because everyone’s tricks were super lame, but since the internet April 1st just keeps getting better and better. My only issue is that every year I resolve to come up with some awesome prank, and every year I fail miserably. Sometimes I’ll have ideas that I’ll fail to execute out of a combination of laziness and fear that I’ll really piss someone off, other years (like this one) I’m without a single idea for a prank.

It’s similar to Halloween, where I’ll spend so much time trying to come up with an idea to no avail, and then days after Halloween the best idea ever will hit me. I think we need do-over days for both of these holidays, starting today.

I herby declare today April Fool’s do-over day. When your coworker is out to lunch, grab his or her headset, slather vaseline all over it and when he picks up the phone and gives you a WTF look jump out of your seat, run around the office in circles and scream “APRIL FOOL’S DO-OVER DAY! APRIL FOOL’S DO-OVER DAY!”

No one will ever fucking expect it.

Here are some other pranks I’ve come up with for you to execute today. Sure, everyone will hate you, but you will have the last laugh.

  • Change all of the clocks and calendars in your back to say April 1st. Wear the exact same thing you were wearing the morning prior. When your roommate walks out, strike up the exact same conversation you had the day before. Try to convince them they’re living in their own personal Groundhog’s Day. Once he’s called his psychiatrist and asked him to up his medication grab the phone from him and yell into the receiver, “JK IT’S JUST APRIL FOOL’S DO OVER DAY! DOC, THIS SHIT CRAY!”
  • Create an OkCupid profile using a picture of Ryan Gosling. Find your nemesis’ profile on the site. Begin messaging her, promising her that you really are Ryan Gosling and that you’re, “sick of the dating scene like everyone else and just want a nice girl like her to settle down with.” Convince her to meet you at a bar that night and then when she gets there be like, “APRIL FOOL’S DO-OVER, BITCH!”

  • Know someone on a diet? Replace all of the salad dressing in the fridge with mayo. When he’s complaining about the fact that he gained two pounds the following week, smile coyly and whisper under your breath, “April Fool’s do-over, fatty.” 

Or you can reenact what I did yesterday, which was fooling myself into believing that I had bed bugs, gutting my entire room and spending 1/3rd of the money in my bank account (it wasn’t very much to begin with) on a bed bug mattress cover and at the end of the day say a big JK APRIL FOOL’S DO OVER to yourself.

I wouldn’t recommend it.

Peace, love and pranks, 

BWCE

Tagged , , , ,
%d bloggers like this: