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Everybody has that one little embarrassing irrational fear that they keep to themselves, right? Maybe you’re afraid that your childhood dolls will come to life and haunt you or you suffer from a severe case of pteronophobia, the fear of being tickled by feathers. Do not fear, my friends. I am here to put all of your silly little fears to ease by showing you that there is in fact someone out there with even weirder fears than you. Or possibly just a severe case of obsessive compulsive disorder.
1. Ladybugs. Ever since the ole ladybug infestation of ’05, I’ve never been able to look at those tiny red demons the same. I once had an assumedly dead ladybug living on my ceiling for over a year, then one day it just up and flew away. I don’t understand why, but I’ll never be able to get over that moment for as long as I’m alive.
2. Every day I wake up in fear that I’m accidently going to mistake a bottle of superglue for my eye drops and will fuse my eyeballs to my eyelids, therefore never being able to open my eyes again.
3. Every time I get into my car after dark, I must perform a very particular ritual that I like to call a “burglar check,” which consists of me walking in a circle around my car. If I somehow forget to check before I drive home, I will become terrified and constantly flick my lights on and look back, as if to catch the burglar in the act of crawling out of my back seat to kill me. So far, the “burglar check” has proved successful.
4. Due to my extreme dislike for milk and my low calcium levels, I’m particularly concerned that at any given moment, all of my teeth will spontaneously crumble into tiny pieces and fall out of my mouth. According to some dream analysts, this could also be taken to mean that I’m “not in control of my own life,” but we’ll just go with the whole milk theory.
5. I can never go late to a dinner party, because I have a crippling fear that all of the food will be eaten and I will starve. I blame this completely on my “neglected middle-child syndrome.”
6. This is definitely my most shallow fear, but I’m going to tell you anyways, and you’re not going to judge me. I’m afraid that no one is going to write on my Facebook wall for my birthday. Or just tell me happy birthday in general. This is weird to me, because I HATE celebrating my birthday and the attention that comes along with it. But at the same time, I would be devastated if I received anything less than a million “HBDs” on my Facebook.
7. Spoon or fork? This mind-shattering question is usually the hardest decision of my day. I fear that if I choose the wrong utensil for my daily microwavable Lean Cuisine, I will spend the rest of my day wondering how my life could have been different if I had used a fork instead of a spoon.
8. Since I was little, I have had a fear that I’m accidently going to yell out something extremely inappropriate during church and everyone will look at me and whisper that the poor Davis girl has lost her marbles. I secretly think I have a mild case of Tourettes, so this fear is very real to me. I think this might also be a sign of some sort of deeper psychological issue, but we’ll worry about that later.
9. Ceiling fans. I have always been afraid that my ceiling fan will spontaneously detach from the ceiling and start flying around the room like a razor-sharp Chinese throwing star. I mean, those things can spin pretty fast if they’re not properly bolted to the ceiling. And don’t try to tell me that that thought doesn’t cross your mind every time you see a wobbly ceiling fan. It doesn’t? Oh. Ok. Nevermind.
Hey guys. It’s me, Thanksgiving. I just wanted to stop by and make sure you hadn’t forgotten about me. I know you’re all really super excited for Christmas, but I wanted to take a second to remind you what I’m all about. In case you have forgotten, hundreds of years ago, a bunch of European dudes hopped off their boat onto this new land that we like to call America. At first, they were all like, “Woah, what’s up with these weirdo Indians and their creepy pigtails?” But it didn’t take long for them to all become the best of friends. The Indians welcomed their pale new friends with open arms. One thing lead to another, and then BOOM, Thanksgiving. Stuffing, green beans, turkey, and a whole bunch of friends. What could be better? Definitely not that little jerk Christmas. Everyone thinks they love Christmas, but they don’t realize how manipulative he is. Presents, lights, stupid trees with sharp little stars on the top? Christmas has become a materialistic holiday that is all about one thing: money. But not me. To celebrate my day, all you need is some warm food and someone to call family. Thanksgiving is the one day of the year that everyone can come together to celebrate, no matter if you are black, white, poor, rich, or an incredibly out of line grandmother with way too many ridiculous opinions. Because today, even your intoxicated Grammy is part of the family, and it doesn’t matter that she gave all of your siblings Christmas presents except for you, because today, she’s family.
This being said, it really upsets me when people forget about me. Just last week, I was driving down the street when some little 12-year-old girl named Justin Bieber came on the radio singing Christmas songs. Seriously guys? Does no one even care about my feelings? IT’S NOT EVEN DECEMBER YET. And the inconsiderate ass holes that hang up their Christmas lights on November 1st? I hope you burn in a fiery, tacky Christmas hell.
So all that I’m asking for on my one day of the year is for a little compassion. Sit down with your family, turn off the obnoxious Christmas music, put the eggnog back in the fridge (actually, you should probably just throw it away because eggnog is Satans breast milk), and take a day to relax with those you love. Whether that’s by watching Tony Romo’s beautiful body run around the field, by eating so much that your dad literally has to carry you away from the table, or by just being with your family, remember to be with the ones you love. Well, that’s all I have to say for now, so I hope that everyone has a happy thanksgiving, and SUCK IT CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!
It’s the simple question that’s on everyone’s mind on a Friday night in Norman, Oklahoma. “What should I do tonight?” As a junior, this has proven to be a much more difficult question than I could have ever imagined. Since it is no longer “socially acceptable” to be seen slumming it around the frat houses every weekend, I am left with only one real option. The black hole that is Seven47. By daylight, it’s a nice, trendy little restaurant with a mean quesadilla. But by nightfall, this quaint little restaurant is somehow transformed into a dark, drunken cave full of overly done sorority girls and the ever-fratty frat bros looking to get lucky. This is ironic, because the sight of a guy buying a drink for a girl is about as rare a baby riding a unicycle. It doesn’t happen, but it would be so cool if it did.
Because of this, over 90% of the people inside Seven47 are all competing for that precious front of the bar position, and once you get there, nothing can stop you from that teeny tiny $6 Long Island Ice Tea. If you’re one of the lucky ones who make it out of the bar area alive, there’s about a 100% chance that you are either posted up in a corner or doing laps. Donuts. Circles. Basically just wandering around the bar in a circular motion, over and over. If the place is really crowded, this circling action can last up to several hours.
Now, I realize that you’re probably thinking I am a huge hypocrite because there’s a pretty good chance that you’ve seen me there. And there’s an even better chance that it was last night. So maybe I am a hypocrite. Or maybe I’m just man (woman?) enough to admit that although I hate something, I keep going back. For me and so many others like myself, Seven is like that addictive, abusive relationship that you keep going back to. It steals your money, wastes your time, and often leaves you feeling like you got the shit beat out of you the night before. So if there is one piece of wisdom that I can pass along to the one innocent Seven47 virgin that reads this blog, it would be to stay far away from this awful place. Don’t listen to people who say that they love going there, because these people are not your friends, they are liars. But if you are one of the unfortunate souls that have already been sucked into the curse of the Seven47, well, then I guess I’ll just see you there tonight.
Lately, I have come to the conclusion that I am really good at getting guys. It’s almost as if the fairy godmother of cool decided to permanently live inside my body and party. I have felt for a while that I needed to share my gift with my reader (shout out to at-home-red-headed-girl, shout out to you.) I just didn’t want to seem cocky. But at this point I’m like screw it, the world needs to know and frankly, The Millionaire Matchmaker needs to hear this, too. I mean she is good, but she’s a little too traditional for my taste. I am more of a 2011 Love Expert. Anyway, I promise that if you listen to everything I say, you will have a guy begging to buy you a Qdoba burrito in an hour TOPS.
First things first, you have to know where to find these male specimens. I mean anyone can meet a guy at a bar or at a party. But you, my precious pupil, aren’t like everyone else. I’ve put together a short list of places where you are sure to find love:
A Cash for Gold Center- Think about it…first he has gold, so he’s either a pirate or one of those guys that only wears wife beaters, basketball shorts, and gold chains and has a chest tattoo that says something suave like “I Believe I Can Fly.” Either of those options are totally hot. But now, he has CASH. So who’s going on a shopping spree to The Buckle?! You are!
A Men’s Bathroom- A complete amateur might try and call this bold move “creepy” but they are probably still using that “don’t text him Quotes from The Notebook 20 minutes after your first date” rule. Let me paint you a picture. There you are in your favorite little black dress and 6 inch heels, leaning up against the urinal of a 7Eleven smoking a Camel Crush. Do you know what that image says to a man? It says “Wow, not only is that girl really proactive in taking control of her life, but she isn’t afraid of germs, and I love that.”
The Scene of A Car Accident- Everyone, at one point, has looked over at a stop light and seen someone really attractive in the Le Sabre next to them. Most would try to gain eye contact and give them a wink or something, but I think you need to be a little more forward than that. I’m thinking collision. It will give you something to talk about right off the bat and insurance will just pay for the rest.
Now that you’ve landed the man of your dreams, I want to make sure and leave you with the proper hypothetical tools in your hypothetical toolbox so that you can continue to shine in your relationship.
1. Make absolutely no effort in your appearance. If your man doesn’t find you attractive after you haven’t showered for a week and smell weirdly similar to a Whataburger, then he obviously isn’t the one.
2. When he says things like “Hey, I think I am going to go out with my friends tonight. Call ya tomorrow?” you must respond with “ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?! YOU TOLD ME YOU’D WATCH ROSEANNE WITH MY FAMILY. DO YOU NOT EVEN LOVE ME ANYMORE? SHOULD I JUST UNBUILD THAT TREE HOUSE I MADE FOR YOU BECAUSE YOU TOLD ME YOUR PARENTS WOULDN’T LET YOU HAVE ONE AS A CHILD?” It’s important for him to know how much your relationship means to you and how not okay you are with him having social or emotional contact with any other human being including his mother.
3. Plan lots of fun, yet clever dates. A few of my favorites are:
-Glamour Shots: There is no better way to grow closer emotionally than dressing up in themed costumes and provocatively posing.
-Visiting your Grandmother in the Nursing Home: Having your Nana throw spinach at him and call him “Janine” will be the perfect segway into talking about starting a family. He will be in his caretaking mode, so right in between rubbing her corns and rolling her wheelchair to dinner just look him straight in the eyes and say “I want our own little miniature version of this. Lets reproduce, babe.” and if he responds with “Um..I’ve only known you for two weeks and we are only 20 years old,” then you are definitely not on the same page.
-Reenacting Episodes of Criminal Minds: I’m not going to explain why this is fun and beneficial to a relationship. It just speaks for itself.
4. If he doesn’t answer your texts, that’s fine. He’s playing hard to get. Real women don’t play games, so keep texting him. I don’t just mean like a few “hey, just call me when you get a chance” text messages. I’m talking full-fledged, fill-his-inbox-to-capacity texting. He’s going to love it. He’s going to see those messages and be like “marry me. now.” Do you know why? Because you took matters in your own hands and weren’t afraid to get what you want.
5. Take every opportunity to cry. Crying gets you anything you could ever want. He wants to play Call of Duty but you want to watch A League of Their Own and make crepes? Cry. His brother is on leave from Afghanistan for three days but you scheduled a couples yoga retreat? Cry. He doesn’t want to learn how to french braid your hair? Cry. Another great thing crying provides is the opportunity for him to comfort you. If you’re always crying, then he’s always comforting you and you’re always hugging. See how this all works?
Seriously guys, thank me later.
Dear American Children,
I know that you are aware of what time of year it is. The leaves are changing and the fall wind is blowing the excitement of Halloween through your hair. You dream of hopping into the costume that your mom made after a few boxes of wine last Friday night and instantly being transported into a world of magic and glee. Well I advise you, young ones, to hold onto that feeling as long as you possibly can because as soon as you reach adolescence, the joy of Halloween is quickly made into a fortress of social scrutiny. Basically what I’m saying is that those fun little Halloween Express commercials are absolutely lying to you. The girl in the scary (with a dash of gothic sexiness) witch costume isn’t cool. She also isn’t happy. Do you know why? Because the guy dressed up as a hunky version of Bob The Builder isn’t buying her a “Jack O’ Lantern,” he’s buying it for the slutty cat. Yeah, that cat is going to find out if he can really “fix it” while witch girl is sitting on the sidelines next to the girl that was gutsy enough to actually dress up as a baked potato. All I’m saying is if you’re going to rebel against anything in those angsty teen years, I would pick the Disney Channel. Its a cruel world out there, filled with evil stares and whispers. Nothing like Halloweentown. Good luck. Be brave and whatever you do, show some cleavage.
May the Force Be With You,
I have always been a firm believer in the non-slutty Halloween costume. I mean the way I look at it, any girl can slap on some garters and platforms and call themselves a “Bumble Bee” but I am an original. My creativity can’t be squandered by the typical desire to well, for lack of a better word, be desired. Frankly, I think that your costume says a lot about you as a person. This thought became even more evident this weekend as I hit the town to soak up the festivities. I was dressed head to toe as a sheep and was feeling pretty fly until I realized my cotton ball-covered homemade gem was less than well received. It was clear that every costume fit into its own little “clique.” It was exactly like the lunch room dynamic in the movie Mean Girls, you had your group and if you veered from it the structure of the social norm would be completely shifted, causing an animal-like uproar. The groups were assembled as such:
The Slutty Occupation Costume- Everyone knows these girls. The ones that buy those Legs Avenue brand cop, nurse, or construction worker costumes. It really doesn’t matter how many times you tell your friends that that costume is so “unoriginal” you still secretly wish you were them. You wish they’d invite you to sit with them at lunch, but you know what, Girl That Dressed Up Like Frodo, they never will. They will just continue to mean mug you from behind their Solo Cup of Andre champagne and use their syringe to squirt your boyfriend’s R&R whiskey into his mouth. Their occupation of choice may be blue collar, but the truth is they run this town.
The Popstars- The slightly less popular but still highly respected Popstar costume has been done for many generations, but this year as I sat in the corner observing them in their natural habitat, I had a revelation. Our “pop” culture is super weird. Think about it: 10 years ago girls were putting pigtails in their hair, slipping into middrift sweaters and calling themselves Britney Spears. While slightly irritating, it wasn’t very peculiar. Now it’s all brightly colored wigs and stilettos in the shape of inanimate objects. None the less, the Rhianna, Katy Perry, and Ke$ha of the party seemed to be quite a hit with the frat boys who, not surprisingly, were almost all dress as Edward Cullen in a desperate attempt to woo the ladies. And yes, Ke$ha brushed her teeth with a bottle of Jack nearly 6 times on demand.
The Regular Animal Costume- This is where my dog costume-clad roommate and I fit in. We were shunned to sit at the poorly assembled card table with the other confused animals for the duration of the night. I felt exactly like Lindsay Lohan’s character on her first day of school, except instead of being greeted by Janice Ian and Damian, I was welcomed to the table by a pair of “cats.” It was pretty apparent that these girls had missed the stripper memo as well. I wouldn’t put us in the band geek category but let’s just say, we definitely were going to be spending our prom making a “stand against the man” at a local coffee shop.
The Foreign Exchange Students Dressed as Babies (see picture)- This is definitely the bottom tier of the social scale. Though my category doesn’t provide me much street cred, I still wouldn’t launch myself this far into social suicide. I don’t know if I would even let them sit at my lunch table. I honestly didn’t even know a costume so horrifying could exist until I had to experience it first hand. I was just sitting there shedding cotton balls and minding my own business when up behind me popped Angel and Raphael the bouncing, blubbering and slightly terrifying Spanish exchange students. They were completely naked except for a strategically placed diaper and a pacifier hanging out of their mouths. They loved my handy work on the sheep outfit and insisted I take a picture with them and load it to “Ze Facebook.” As I posed, I looked on to see the popular girls whisper and point as my last hope at being cool trickled away.
Though I did eventually swallow my pride and load our picture to Ze Facebook, I took a valuable lesson away from this Halloween experience. You should never throw away your morality and dignity for a chance at popularity. Being yourself is the best you can offer anyone and that should always be enough. Except for on Halloween that is, so slap on your skankiest green dress and call yourself Kermit the Frog or no one is going to buy you a drink, sweetheart.
Everyone knows the feeling. You’re sitting around the dinner table with your family when all of a sudden, your mother drops the bomb on you. “Hey kids! Don’t plan anything over that one weekend, because we’re going on a family vacation!” In other words, “Hey kids! Instead of getting to go to your friend’s lake house for the weekend, you will all be piled into the ole suburban like sardines and forced to entertain yourselves for 15+ hours with minimum food and water. It’s going to be fun and you will go and you will like it, dammit.” At that point in time, nothing could possibly sound worse than going on a road trip with your family. I know this because that was usually my first thought after hearing such news, but I could never tell this to my parents for fear of hurting their feelings.
The Davis family thrived on taking the most outrageous family vacations this side of the Mississippi. And when I say outrageous, I don’t mean that in a cool, flashy, Vegas-style vacation way. I mean that in more of a Clark Griswold family vacation type of way. My first experience on a Davis family road trip goes all the way back to my toddler days when my father received the luxury of flying to the beach while the rest of us piled into the station wagon. My mom, being the overly paranoid woman that she is, decided to rent a mannequin from a costume store and dress him in my fathers clothes, letting him ride shot-gun all the way to South Carolina in order to trick strangers at truck stops into thinking she wasn’t traveling alone. But here’s the kicker. We were even instructed to address the mannequin as “Dad” to make it seem more realistic. That’s normal, right?
This was only the first of many bizarre roadtrips for the Davis family. After countless, tiring hours of “she wont stop looking at me” spent between me and my sister, and constant death threats from my parents, I have to admit that I’ve seen some things that I know I’ll never forget. Worlds biggest ball of twine? Seen it. Deepest hand-dug well? Been there. Largest functional steam shovel? Oh you mean Big Brutus? Don’t fret, I’ve seen it all. Now I realize that you’re probably thinking that I’m crazy and I have absolutely no perspective on what the world is really like because I’ve never backpacked through the Swiss Alps or deep sea dived in the Caribbean. But I say quite the contrary, because I’ve seen things that most people will never get the privilege of seeing. No one really cares about that trip you took to Europe in 3rd grade, and I can guarantee that you’ve never seen anything as cool as the worlds highest jumping mule. So next time your parents are thinking about dragging you along on some lame road trip, don’t immediately dismiss the idea, because you never know what awesomely weird stories can come from it.
Im going to go ahead and make a statement that I am instantly going to regret making on the internet. I am very easily bullied into things. That being said, I am even more easily persuaded into doing things by my mother. Unfortunately, this instance perfectly demonstrates this issue. I had just walked in our house from a grueling summer away from home filled to the brim of self deprecating poolside jokes as the more physically gifted individuals walked by and a lot of alcohol induced pork nachos that I don’t regret at all. I had thrown my bag on the couch and was about to fire up an episode of The Real Housewives of Some Big City Nobody Cares About, when my mother erupted from the kitchen. She was wearing a flowered swim cap, a wetsuit and uttered the words that would become some of the most terrifying worlds I would ever hear…“I’ve signed us up for water aerobic classes.”
Okay, part of that was a lie. She was wearing her normal Chico’s outfit but the wetsuit would have been a lot funnier. Now, I know exactly what you’re thinking. “Water aerobics is easy. You’re young, Katherine. You’re in your prime. Everyone there is going to be like 80-years-olds. You can do this!” Well thank you guys for that. But unfortunately you are only half right. Yes, everyone is over the age of 75 but they are also a lot more physically fit than I am. Honestly, at first I was feeling pretty cocky when I shoved my body into that Speedo one piece, grabbed that noodle and plunged right into that uncomfortably lukewarm pool. The instructor came out and my cockiness only escalated. Her name was Evelyn and she looked very sweet. I kind of wanted to cuddle up with her and watch Designing Women, maybe talk about my feelings. But Evelyn was not sweet at all. She was what has once been called, a bad bitch. Homegirl was not even a little afraid to get her Reeboks wet and she kicked my ass up and down that YWCA swimming pool. Alarmingly, it wasn’t just Evelyn. It was every senior citizen in the tri-state area and even more alarmingly, my mother was their leader. It was like a water filled concentration camp but instead of a dry wasteland, it was a pain filled body of water set to the beat of “Build Me Up Buttercup.” I didn’t stand a chance. As I slowly drowned during “the rocking horse” I was forced to watch my mother giggle and laugh with her new friends as she showed them better techniques with their “water jog.” I was an outsider. It was like gym class all over again, except this time I couldn’t con my teacher into letting me sit on the stage and gossip with him while everyone else ran laps.
Finally, after an hour of horror it was over. I was out of breath. I was discouraged. I was probably bleeding somewhere. I got out of the death trap, took my pride and I ran to the locker room. I didn’t just run, I sprinted. You would have thought there was a Neiman Marcus semiannual sale in that locker room. I rolled into a little ball and prayed my mom wouldn’t find me. But of course after she got done speaking to her aquatic minions, she waltzed into the locker room like she was Michael Phelps or something. I wanted to push her off her hypothetical throne. I wanted her to feel the pain that I felt. I was thinking of the most hurtful thing I could say. I was ready. But as our eyes met, she beat me to the punch. “Sweetie maybe this just is a bit hard for you.” I guess she was right. Whatever, girlfriend. You may be good at high speed kicking across a lap pool but I challenge you to go against me at Toddlers and Tiaras trivia. I am sure you’re wondering if there is a moral to this story. If I am actually going anywhere with this. Well the answer is I’m not. I’m not actually going anywhere with this at all. I just wanted to tell this story so maybe my one chubby, unathletic, red-headed reader can go to bed tonight knowing she isn’t alone.
With that, I say hats off to you Mabel, Trudy, Evelyn, and Pearl. You ladies are more woman than I’ll ever be.
I wouldn’t consider myself to be an extraordinarily bright person, but I also wouldn’t consider myself a complete idiot. I’ve had my IQ tested, and I’ll just tell you that I am of pretty average intelligence. I know what you’re thinking. But what about that time you got honorable mention in the science fair for your experiment entitled “Hotdogs: The Silent Killer”? Ok guys, I’m not here to brag about past accomplishments. I’m here because there are some things in this world that even I will never understand.
People who enjoy running. I thought running was supposed to be a punishment for when you mess up in another sport, but I recently found out that some people actually run for fun. And this whole ‘runner’s high’ lie that people talk about? You’ve got to be kidding me. The only runner’s high I experience happens after I’ve been walking on the treadmill for about 10 minutes and I suddenly remember that I have another Totino’s pizza in the freezer that I will most definitely be eating as soon as I return from the gym.
Math. Nothing in this world will ever be more confusing to me than basic algebra. As I have previously mentioned, I wasn’t blessed with the best memory in the world, so remembering the formula for the cubed square root of a cumulonimbus doesn’t come easy for me. Also, I’m about 50% sure that I don’t know what a cumulonimbus is either.
Grown men who play video games. I’m not going to say that I don’t still enjoy an occasional game of Mario Kart, but I just don’t understand why it is socially acceptable for fully-grown men to play video games. Take the game Call Of Duty, for example. I know the drill. Fire up the ole Xbox, throw on the expensive geek headset, and start shooting other cartoon people. I’ve seen my brother and friends sit on their couch and play this game literally ALL DAY. Maybe it’s a weird macho thing that I will just never understand, but I’m sorry, if you are over 15 years old, there is just no excuse.
The Bachelor. Living in a sorority house, I received a lot of grief for not getting into ‘The Bachelor’ like all my sisters were. So one day, as I heard my friends talking about where they were watching the show that night, I had a thought. Maybe I was being too harsh on the show and all of its loyal followers. Maybe the show really wasn’t as lame and completely boring as I had assumed. So I sat down and forced myself to watch an entire episode. What I learned from this was that ‘The Bachelor’ was not only as stupid as I thought, it was worse. I’ll stop here for fear that my die-hard roommates might try to set fire to my belongings after reading this.
Meatloaf. A bunch of weird meats all mushed together in the form of a loaf, smothered in ketchup. Nothing makes less sense than meatloaf.
Lifted trucks. I mean, I get it. If you drive a lifted truck, it obviously means that you are packing it down below, and you want to make sure that everyone knows that. Right? It doesn’t matter that it looks silly and is incredibly inconvenient to get into and I can only assume that you have trouble with drive-thrus and parking garages. Doesn’t matter. People need to know. There’s also a pretty good chance that you’re the same guy that thinks it’s cool to cruise around with the bass so loud that your arm hairs literally fall off. You’re not cool, you’re just a douche.
Airplanes. It’s been explained to me so many times that I’m almost embarrassed to admit that I still don’t understand. I mean, it makes some sense when teachers explain the physics of it during class, but don’t try and tell me that you’ve never been in an airplane thousands of miles in the sky and thought to yourself, “HOW IS THIS HAPPENING?!” It just really blows my mind, and it kind of scares me, because if airplanes can exist, who’s to say that it isn’t possible for robot airplanes to take over the world one day?
Great guys who date awful girls. He’s funny, he’s smart, he listens to good music and he loves his family. He’s the ideal guy, except for one tiny little detail. The girl he has been dating for the past year is the worst human being on the face of the planet. Sure, she looks like she could easily be Megan Fox’s body double, but the girl has no soul. Not to mention, the term ‘stank face’ was coined for her. It’s been happening for decades past (word on the street is that ole Ben Franklin’s girlfriend was a real bitch) and I’m very sure that it is a mystery that won’t be solved anytime soon.
Craisins. Half cranberry. Half raisin. What?! I can partially comprehend how mixed race babies and labradoodles are created, but craisins are on a whole different level of confusing. Sometimes I just like to imagine that some skanky cranberry named Janelle decide to sleep with some sketchy raisin named Pedro that she met at the club, and then nine months later, the world had craisins. Yeah, that seems like the most likely explanation.