Awkward, Dating, Girls, Humor, Internet Things, My Idea Of Being An Adult, Thoughts, You're Fine

I Don’t Want to Be a Princess

We can go ahead and consider this a new Single Schmingle installment since I’ve discussed this very topic with Myka and Meghan. Bear with me here.

I always thought Mia Thermopolis was crazy. Who wouldn’t want to wake up one day and find out they’re a princess? The girl got a full blown makeover for free, a millions beautiful ball gowns, a tiara she got to wear occasionally, and full service at her disposal. Granted, if you’re introverted like Mia, all of that attention can make you feel like you have a thousand tiny ants crawling all over your body. You’re uncomfortable nearly all the time. You might even feel guilty. And I am exactly like that.

Something Colleen said to me last week struck a chord with me and I can’t shake it off. After I told her the complete switch in enthusiasm from Navy Man when I told him I wanted to be casual and friendly, she said, “You shouldn’t have said anything. You should have just let him treat you like the princess you are.”

“But I don’t want to be treated like a princess,” I said.

“Why the hell not?”

I thought about this for the past few days. I can’t be the only girl out there who feels uncomfortable using a guy to feel special, only to know that I’m not actually interested in him. I’m shocked that girls actually do this. They let these guys take them out to fancy restaurants, buy them presents, and then whisper to their girlfriends that they don’t really like him, they’re just waiting out the storm.

I feel weird if a guy even pays for me all the time. I just don’t think it’s necessary. I’m the type that if a man brings me to a fancy restaurant, I’ll order the cheapest item on the menu. I’m more of a hot-dog-cart-with-a-side-of-cheesy-fries kind of girl. But I know that’s just how my mom raised me. She always said, “Never depend on a man. Learn how to take care of yourself.” I think a mother with three daughters has to feed them that mindset nowadays. Especially a single mother.

Of course, it’s always nice to get pampered every once in a while. Some flowers or an ice cream run when I’m feeling down. But nothing major. I’ve been in relationships where I never got those things, mostly because we grew too comfortable with each other that we forgot how to appreciate one another. And even if those small gestures did happen, I was so surprised by the event that I was asking a million questions to figure out why it was happening.

I can’t help but wonder what would happen if the roles were reversed. What if was the one to ask a guy out on a date? What if was the one to court the guy around and pay for the date? This isn’t some feminist, all mighty woman power post. It’s just a thought. How would the date turn out in the end? Would it be the same? I feel like with every date, the guy is the one who is trying to impress, meanwhile, I think the girl should be equally impressive. We don’t give men enough credit. Some women out there might roll their eyes at that last statement but I’m serious. It takes a lot of guts to ask someone out. And then you have to take that person out and all of the pressure is on them to impress them, and make sure they’re having a good time. Here I am, nervous for nearly every single date, when it seems all I really have to do is stand there and look pretty, maybe laugh at his jokes, and share an anecdote or two. That’s my only job.

I’ve never laughed over a guy asking me out on a date. I’m always flattered, no matter who they are. But men get rejected all the time. For women, it’s once in a blue moon. And when it happens, it doesn’t feel good, does it? Let’s face it, ladies. When it comes to casually dating, we’re kind of spoiled. Even if you never make it to date number 2, you still got a free meal.

However, after discussing this with Myka and Meghan why we may perhaps feel weird about going on dates, no matter how long we’ve been doing it, it could be the slight chance that men have kind of given up. In 2017, a typical date is “Netflix and Chill”. We could have done that in the comfort of our own home. You invite us over to “watch a movie”. We know what that means, gentleman. We suddenly feel like they don’t want to actually get to know us, because who discusses life, hobbies, and family in the middle of a movie?

Of course, this post is all over the place. A lot of it may be contradicting. But that’s just because I’m another crazy woman who doesn’t know what she wants.

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Miscellaneous

Moving is such a horrible concept. I have moved a lot since 2009. I moved from dorm to dorm on campus, and then apartment to apartment in various states such as New Hampshire, Massachusetts, California, Connecticut, and now South Carolina. I have to say, moving to South Carolina has been the worst by far.

Moving is never a smooth transition. Something always goes wrong, but it’s usually fixable and not a giant headache in the end. If you lose a coffee mug or two, you just buy a new one. If your sheets rip during the drive, you just buy some new ones. However, my move to South Carolina has been absolutely terrible that I would rather the earth opened up, swallowed me hole, and spit me back up as a demon torturing myself in order to justify the reality of my situation(s).

At first, everything was hunky-dory. I drove down with Mumford in one piece. The movers arrived to the apartment before I did with my mattress, bed frame, and cabinet, which I was happy about. I unloaded everything from my car rather quickly with the help of Colleen. I was ready to somewhat relax and put my bed back together until I realized some of the pieces to my bed were missing. I texted the mover who apologized and checked his truck and did in fact find the rather small and annoying pieces that were preventing me from sleeping on a firm surface other than a floor. He said he was in Florida already and would be back in my area the following afternoon. But then the following afternoon came and went, and after reaching out, he told me first thing in the morning he would arrive. And then “first thing in the morning” came and went, and yet I was still here, sleeping on my mattress on the floor like a drug addict in an abandoned house in the woods. My room is pretty tiny, so not being able to put my bed together kind of stalls me from putting everything else together. Once the bed is together and placed in the right spot, I can then sort through all of my other things.

I finally texted the mover again, and after several hours, he told me he would be by with my pieces in “about nine days”.

200-13

NINE DAYS.

I can’t put anything anywhere. I have more stuff arriving this week. I live in a pile of clothes on my mattress with a useless bed frame exploding my tiny bedroom. I. Am. Not. A. Happy. Lady. Right. Meow.

I informed him immediately like the princess that I was behaving as that that arrangement did not work for me at all. I need a bed. It’s only been three days and I’m already throwing crap around because I have no placement for them yet. I still have no idea what’s happening with the bed so I’m just going to shove issue #1 aside for now.

Now onto issue #2 – I bought a brand new bookcase that arrived today. We go to unload the heavy pieces from the box only to find that they did not include any of the nails to actually put said pieces together, leaving me once again with another piece of useless furniture I cannot assemble at this point in time.

200-14

It’s official. South Carolina does not want me to put my furniture together. It has not welcomed me with open arms. I just want a bedroom that wouldn’t make Jesse Pinkman cry.

So I’m just going to go in my room now and huddle in the corner to look at what’s left of my belongings in hopes nothing else happens.

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Awkward, Festivities, Humor, You're Fine

Not-So-Secret-Santa

Every year, I fail at Christmas. Three years ago, I bought an entire box of Christmas cards to give to all of my coworkers, family members and friends. I got distracted by one thing or another, and the cards were never sent. Two years ago, Christmas crept up so fast, I ended up baking brownies and sending them to my family. And then I did the same thing last year. But this year, I get an A++ for Christmas. Until yesterday.

Here is the dilemma. My company had their office Christmas party last week. My department was a little boring in the fact that we basically sat around in silence eating cookies, mac and cheese, and possibly spiking the eggnog (that’s just about the craziest thing we did). Meanwhile, the department down the hall had an ugly sweater party, and they played Christmas carols, ate pizza, played games, etc. My department does a Secret Santa every year. I decided not to participate. I’m still fairly “new” to this company, and I only know a couple of people fairly well. Plus, I’m nearly broke now after finally, for the first time ever, getting each and every one of my family members and friends a Christmas present. Once the party was over, I thought “Okay good. I can now focus on family.”

Flash forward to yesterday, and my coworker Katie hands me this giant Christmas bag. It’s a full/queen plush blanket. It’s the softest thing I’ve ever owned. If I thought getting up early in the morning every day was hard, it just got a hell of a lot harder with this blanket.

xzcxzKatie forgot to take the tag off and I saw she spent $40 on me.

dsfdf

I didn’t even think to get my boss and Katie something for Christmas. I THOUGHT THE SECRET SANTA WAS FOR THAT. I blatantly chose not to participate for this very reason. So now, of course, I have to get them a gift by tomorrow.

It gets worse.

My other coworker, Michelle, whom I don’t particularly like very much, but I tolerate, also gave me a gift. I was praying to the gods all evening last night hoping it wasn’t going to happen, and voila, a gift was handed to me this morning from her. So in order to not look like a dick, I have to get Michelle something too.

What is the point in Secret Santa if we are just going to give all of our coworkers presents anyway? That is the reason behind Secret Santa – to include everyone. When we were in elementary school and we did Secret Santa, you got your person the gift, we all exchanged them in the classroom before Christmas, everyone got a gift and went home happy, and that was that. I didn’t slip other kids in my classroom a gift on top of my Secret Santa gift. That would be cruel and insensitive.

Exchanging gifts at work is painfully awkward and confusing. If you get one person a gift, you feel obligated to get the rest of your coworkers gifts as well, even if you don’t know them very well. That’s why I was thankful for the Secret Santa – I didn’t feel like I had to get anyone anything if I wasn’t participating. The only thing I did partake in was bringing Peanut Butter Pretzel Bark to the party, which was basically my gift to everyone. This job is costing me a fortune this year.

Please feel free to share any Secret Santa horror stories in the comments. Or go ahead and be bitter with me.

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4 Methods On How to Handle a Fight You Weren’t Originally a Part Of

I’m in a bit of a predicament that I’ve haven’t been entwined in since my middle school days, so I’m a bit rusty when it comes to handling the situation. Let me do my best to paint the picture for you while brainstorming some methods I learned from catty middle school girls.

A couple of months ago, I was part of a group chat with four other co-workers. We mostly goofed off, sent each other silly gifs, and discussed the next after-work cocktails night we should have. It was all fun and games until something extraordinarily awkward happened.

Meet Don. He’s a bit of a grump with some serious mood swings. He acts like he hates you, and then the next day, says “Good Morning” and asks about your weekend. He’s a confusing, angsty soul.

Meet Katie. She’s sassy, firey, and has no problem letting you know how much she hates her job.

Katie said something sassy in the group chat, and Don fired back. With my clear eyes, it seemed like he was being sarcastic, which that is a language Katie doesn’t speak. Katie took offense to his comment, which started a very short mini argument between the two of them. The other two chatters were silent, and so was I. What do the kids call it? Ghosting? Yes. I did my best to ghost the conversation.

Within minutes, Don left the group chat. Since then, Katie hasn’t really spoken to him. Nothing has changed on my part because I barely spoke to him before the group chat anyway. Fast forward a few weeks, and one of the silent chatters mentioned how Don wanted to go out for after-work drinks, but without Katie…and apparently me. Fast forward to last night, and I found that Don unfollowed me on Instagram, along with Katie.

Needless to say, this guy doesn’t like me, and it’s clear that it’s by association. I’m friends with Katie. I talk to her, and eat lunch with her everyday. Therefore, since Don doesn’t like Katie, he MUST not like me too.

I’ve never dealt with something like this in “adult world”. Especially by a thirty-something-year-old man. What bothers me about this situation is that 1. Katie and I are nothing alike, and 2. this person has made up his mind about me without actually getting to know me, and 3. I’ve done absolutely nothing.

And now I’m left wondering how on earth I got dragged into a fight I was never originally a part of.

So here are some petty mean girl tactics that I haven’t pulled out of my closet since 2005.

1. The Silent Treatment

As adults, we have learned the art of keeping a straight face, smiling, and acting like nothing is wrong, especially in front of someone we don’t particularly like. In teenage girl world, you test out the silent treatment. The person you are in a brawl with asks for a pencil, you stare straight ahead without even a head nod to acknowledge the slight breeze in the air.

dsfsdfs2. The Stink-Eye

Any time they make eye contact with you, just act like they have a booger on their face.

gfdgg

3. Be Overly and Obnoxiously Nice

I don’t mean hold the door open for him or offer the last office doughnut. I mean being so nice that he knows everything about it is sarcastic.

“HEY DON. HOW WAS YOUR WEEKEND? I LOVE THAT SHIRT ON YOU. YOUR WIFE IS SO NICE. LIKE OMG.” – Valley Girl Voice

erew4. Take the High Road

Raise your hand if you’re over the age of eighteen and simply have other things to worry about? SAME.

Ignore methods 1-3 and just “take the high road”. I simply unfollowed him and will continue to move on from this invigorating friendship we once shared.

Feel free to share your methods on handling catty situations as an adult. I could use all the help I can get.

*Names have been changed to protect the semi-innocent.

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I Need a Paper Bag and a Bottle of White Zin

I don’t get easily stressed.

Well that was a big fat lie. I actually get very stressed but I pretend like none of it bothers me so that I can keep my cool and lie to myself even more.

I stress out about everything. I’m surprised I don’t have more anxiety attacks. I have one maybe once a year, and each time it creeps up my shoulder like the grim reaper. Why does my chest feel like this? Am I having a heart attack? Are the walls bleeding?

If something bad happens, I do a Nick Miller head nod and say, “Well…that happened…” And then I brush off the fleck of stress off my shoulder and continue with my day like I’m cool as a cucumber. I do this over and over and over again for months until one day, I explode. It’s like an episode of Ren and Stimpy, and I whip my head around my environment taking mental screenshots of everything I’m avoiding: the dishes are piling up, I need to take out the trash, I haven’t glanced at my mail for two weeks, my unfinished painting is looking sad, is that mold I smell in my sink?, why does it sound like my cat is choking to death every morning?, and for the love of God can he please stop clawing at all of my nice furniture?, am I going bald?, why does my hairline make me look like one of those patients in a Bosley commercial?, I still haven’t registered my car (I hope I don’t get pulled over and have to do the whole “Look at me, Officer. I’m cute. Please don’t yell.”), I have a zit the size of my evil twin on my neck.

Welcome to the inside of my mind. Grab a drink, take a load off because I certainly can’t. I feel like Mrs. Bennett in Pride & Prejudice and I don’t even have five daughters to marry off.

There has been a lot of things happening since last week that my mind simply cannot grasp and/or handle. When I reach a certain point, I babble and say/do weird things. I’ve been so up and down about various things that I feel my heart might burst into flames. So many people tell me I need to de-stress so I Googled some ways to do that and I already call quits on most of them.

1. Meditate

What am I, a monk?

Meditating would look a little like me sitting on my bed eating an entire bag of popcorn and not breaking eye contact with my cat.

2. Exercise

I already exercise regularly, so with my tsunami-like brain waves, my running has been golden. I’ve been walking into Planet Fitness like Usain Bolt. But what do I do after I run off all of those bad vibes? I stress eat. It’s like I never even went to the gym.

3. Drink Green Tea

Because sticking leaves that closely resemble marijuana into a steaming hot cup of water is going to make my troubles go away. Why don’t I just stop shaving and pray every evening to a bowl of granola while I’m at it?

4. Take a Nap

Sure, I could stumble into my apartment after work, crash on my bed and pass out at 5pm. But it doesn’t change the fact that my student loans need to be paid the following day.

I’d rather just take a bottle of wine to my face, talk to my pile of mail, and go to bed.

Tell me some of your de-stressers, or lack thereof. I’ll be sure to take some notes.

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Shopping with Men: My Thoughts

I’m trying to tackle the psychological reasoning behind girls bringing their male significant others shopping. I feel like since the beginning of my time here on planet earth, I’ve been one of the few percent who hate shopping with boys. I truly despise the experience. If I walk into a store and I spot a boy tagging along with his girlfriend to the point that he should just wear a leash, I make a B line to the other end of the store to avoid him at all costs. Why, you ask? Because I can smell the fresh scent of an awkward death by hanger approaching. Or I’m just trying to convince the males of the universe that I naturally look this wonderful and I put zero effort into it at all. It’s probably a mix of both.

Remember that Good Charlotte band? Did they fall off the face of the earth or have I been out of the loop? Anyways, they wrote this song called “Boys & Girls” where they claim girls don’t like boys, girls like cars and money. Sure, if you’re a famous man with unlimited fortune. But for the average Joe, I’ve never seen this happen. You don’t see some Target sales manager in his thirties being dragged by his girlfriend to Gucci stores and drooling over his 1996 Hyundai. So I call bullshit on Good Charlotte and everything angsty that they represent.
From my observation, there are two types of girls who bring boys with them to go shopping. The first is the girl who has the unrealistic sense that her boyfriend is going to give her fashion advice. This is where those girls just keeping digging themselves into a hole. Her expectations are that her boyfriend is going to be like, “Oh Amanda, teal works perfectly with your skin tone.” Guys are smart because they know they cannot say anything negative about the floral blouse his girlfriend just picked out because that will result in a 24 hour fight where she calls him crying and yelling, “YOU THINK I’M FAT, DON’T YOU?”
Instead, it looks a little more like this:
“Heybabeheybabeheybabeheybabe…”
The boyfriend looks up from his phone.
“What do you think of this?”
“Um, yeah. Looks great,” he says. And then before you know it, you’re purchasing an outfit that closely resembles the customers of Walmart that Buzzfeed keeps posting as if it’s news. All because you dragged your boyfriend who most likely does not want to be there and will do and say just about anything to keep his sanity.

fgfdgThe second type of girl is the one who expects her boyfriend to pay for these items. This also makes no sense to me because majority of the dudes I see following their girlfriends around the racks are teenagers. And they don’t have any money. I don’t care if he makes $10.50 an hour at the water park working part-time. He has no money to spare. So hold onto that $5 Claire’s ring tightly because that’s all you’re getting for a long time.
But what bothers me about it is the never ending topic of feminism. It’s what we all wanted, isn’t it? So by pulling your boyfriend into a store, finding a pair of jeans and looking at him with puppy dog eyes isn’t setting us back fifty years, then I don’t know what. If you’re a working woman, buy the damn jeans yourself. If you’re not a working woman, better go ask your mom!
I recently went shopping with Mr. Jess and it was as awkward as you could imagine. Mostly on my part. We went to the Outlets in Connecticut and each store we passed, he asked me if I wanted to go in. I felt like a toddler being asked by her parents if she wanted to sit on Santa’s lap but he seemed a lot bigger in person than she’d imagined so she instead backed away slowly nearly knocking down the Christmas tree. I kept nodding my head shyly, secretly hoping he’d be like, “Hey, I need a tie. Let’s go in here.”

We walked up to a Brooks Brothers and we both made eye contact that we should maybe sorta kinda go in. Only we walked in, stared at each other in silence before Mr. Jess finally said, “I don’t actually have an interest in this store.” And I said, “I don’t either.” We stroked a shirt and ran out. We were in the store for a total of fifteen seconds.
When we found J. Crew (which, by the way, I’d like to be buried in, in case any of you bloggers are responsible for the placement of my dead body), I was finally in my happy place. That is, until Mr. Jess said he wanted to buy me something. I followed it with an “ICK” noise, and then a, “Why?” He seemed confused by my reaction. When a guy asks to buy me something, I immediately feel like this is a Hugh Hefner moment, and I’m just one of his playmates he’s trying to amuse. After I apologized for my response as if he had just told me he had Ebola, I politely declined the offer. Most girls probably would have slapped me. I guess it’s just how I’m wired.
Perhaps I’m the weird one. Feel free to express that to me.

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I’m a Casual Fan

If you hear me say, “I love sports,” you can go ahead and believe me. But take it lightly.

I do love sports. You should see me when March Madness starts. I’m an absolute lunatic. But that’s probably the only event in sports that you would see me act this way. Everything else, I’m as mellow as a Southern Belle sipping lemonade in summer.

My biggest struggle when admitting that I love sports is being questioned as to why I don’t watch every game, or know every player, event, arrest, what-have-you, in the news.

When I first started my job in Connecticut, I learned that everyone in the office seems to agree on two things: dogs and baseball. They all LOVE baseball. When they’re not showing each other puppy videos, they are talking about the most recent game. But I’m in a sea of Mets and Yankees fans, while I’m the lonely Red Sox girl who gets crapped on, but to be honest, I’m used to it by now. When I learned my boss is a huge Yankees fan, I bought the most obnoxious Red Sox mug on Amazon and sipped my coffee early in the morning to see if she would react. She definitely noticed.

But now, as Amy Schumer puts it, I have to “fake it til I make it”. I have people come up to me and say, “So how about those Red Sox!? I bet you’re happy.” The awkward thing is that I didn’t watch the game. So I just nod and do a very enthusiastic, “Oh yeah!” and quickly move onto another topic.

I do love the Red Sox. If the game is on, I’ll watch it. But I don’t go out of my way to watch it. Do you get what I’m saying? I have things to do. There are times when I’d rather read or paint. Sue me. I gave up “trying” to prove myself last year when a guy said to me, “Oh, you like the Red Sox? Name five players on the team.” Sexist much? When I named the five players, he scoffed and said, “HE WAS TRADED TWO WEEKS AGO.”

“Wow! A whole two weeks!? You’re right. I’m just a dumb girl trying to fit in with the guys.”

200wSorry, but I have a life. I’m not always paying attention.

I get the reaction, “So, you’re not a real fan.” What does that even mean? Because I don’t paint my face or punch a wall, I’m not a real fan? I think that’s absurd. I feel like girls have it tough when it comes to watching sports. If we don’t show interest, we are just like every other typical girl. If we show too much interest, we must be faking it or trying to impress someone, which follows with the test, “Name five players on the team.” You wouldn’t say that to your bro, would you?

I will straight up tell you that I hate football. Everyone devotes their ENTIRE Sunday to watching every single game on TV. It’s not how I want to spend my last free day before the dreaded Monday. So, while the rest of the world is freaking the fuck out, I hole myself up with a book until it’s all over. I don’t even pretend to care. If the Patriots win, I’m all like, “Yay, that’s great! Want to go grab a pizza?”

Therefore, I am a casual fan. If you invite me to a baseball game, I will happily attend. If you want to check the score of the football game, I will not protest. But don’t expect me to know statistics, or what position a player plays.

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5 Reasons I Hate Concerts

I’ve only been to a handful of concerts in my life. My first one was to see Joey McIntyre with my sisters and my mom. I was probably seven at the time. Some of you might remember him from New Kids on the Block. I went to see Jewel when I was twelve and it was just as mellow as you could imagine. I saw Panic! at the Disco somewhere around sixteen, then The All-American Rejects when I was eighteen, some random country band that I don’t remember the name of in college, Mumford and Sons back in June, and then recently last weekend Blink-182.

I can easily say that I hate going to concerts. I don’t understand how people could go to Coachella. I expressed this while living in California when my neighbor said, “It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. Coachella is a place to go when you really want to get into the music.” A little shrooms and acid probably helped his situation. I absolutely love music. I can’t drive in a car, go for a walk, or clean my apartment without it. But I don’t love it so much that I feel the need to experience it live with thousands of other people in a dirty stadium, side by side like a bunch of sardines.

Let me just give you my list of reasons for despising concerts.

1.) Constantly needing to pee.

Finding a bathroom in a crowd of twenty thousand people is terrible. Not only do you have a high chance of getting lost in the sea of people and not finding your way back, but you most likely have to stand in a line, or go to the bathroom in a porta potty. Just the very idea of going to the bathroom sounds exhausting and I’d rather get a UTI.

2.) Dealing with other people.

Half of them are screaming in your ear while the other half are drunk or high off something and bother you to no end. You have to watch other people dance, and that’s usually painful. They are always bumping into you, or you have to avoid a mosh pit. tumblr_mn8bh5MYEN1s287fvo1_500

3.) If you’re short, you probably can’t see a thing.

At least they have a TV screen so you can see what’s happening on stage, right?

4.) There’s a lot of standing involved.

You’re standing in line for food, for the bathroom, to get into the concert, to leave the concert, watching the actual concert and before you know it, you’ve been standing longer than the viewing of Gone with the Wind, including the intermission.

5.) Traffic.

Enough said.

 

And we do all of this for the low low price of $200, approximately.

I’d rather stay home and listen to their music on iTunes while singing in a hairbrush and my cat hides under the covers.

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Five Years FAUXward

I haven’t watched the summer finale of Pretty Little Liars yet, so please, no spoilers. But honestly, I’ve grown to not care anymore. It’s the same predictable crap over and over again. SOMEONE DIES. “Oops! Jokes on you guys!”, says Marlene King. I’m going to guess that someone dies in the summer finale, or gets close enough to death to scare the bejesus out of viewers. What bugs me is that none of the liars are actually ever close to dying compared to all of the other characters. They’ve had close calls but realistically, we all knew those bitches were not going to die. Looking back, their close calls are comical. Like in season one when Toby chases Emily out of the dance and she has this weird fall and somehow breaks her arm. Or Spencer getting choked by Ian in the bell tower, very Poe-like by the way. Hanna has had more brushes of death than anyone else when she gets run over by the car, and then most recently held hostage. Oh yeah, and let’s not forget Aria disappearing from a train FULL OF PEOPLE leaving her dramatic Leonardo di Caprio hand print against the window only to find her in a coffin with an irrelevant dead guy.

dfds

They aired the “Five Years Forward” back in January, and I was on board with everyone else, excited to see a change in the show. I was looking forward to seeing how the girls progressed in the course of five years, but I was met with disappointment because absolutely nothing changed. Let’s discuss these “changes” Marlene King had in store for us:

Careers

Spencer is/was some big time political advocate of some sorts, working in Washington D.C. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she was the President’s assistant within a year or two. Hanna quit her insane assistant to a designer job and is now happily starting her own clothing line with the help of Lucas who is a millionaire all on his own at the age of twenty-three. Aria landed an editorial job at a publishing house and is now going to be a best-selling author. Let’s not forget Allison, who is a high school English teacher after spending most of her high school career in hiding, yet somehow managed to finish college and get her teaching certificate.

eadfdf

I thought these girls were supposed to be fresh out of college? What happened to the unpaid internships and eating Chinese food out of the container in the dark because you can’t afford electricity? Or the fetching of coffee because you’re at the bottom of the totem pole?

The only liar who has the most realistic job right after college is Emily, who is now a bartender. Good for you, Em! You’re keepin’ it real.

*I realize she hasn’t actually finished college yet, but you get the picture.*

Relationships

Everyone is getting married. Hanna was engaged, but BIG SURPRISE, now she’s not. Toby is engaged to someone irrelevant and is currently building a house for his love in Maine. Aria and Ezra were about to elope in Italy until they found out Nicole might still be alive (and then when they found out she wasn’t, Aria so badly wanted to throw a dance party to celebrate her continuous death). Allison eloped with that psycho Elliot and then tripped on a bump in a rug that somehow Elliot planted, and we all watched her fall dramatically down a flight of stairs. I laughed out loud.

Also, everyone except for Spencer somehow ended up with their ex. We all know the Emily and Paige story will continue.

dad

Alcohol

Now that the liars are of age, they obviously will be drinking in every single scene.

fgfg

Here’s how it actually works after college: you go to your shitty job, come home after sitting in bumper to bumper traffic, put on your sweats, throw on Friends, eat take-out, and then remember at 10pm that you should have had a glass of wine, go to bed instead.

Sticky Situations

It really hit home for me last week when the girls found the zip drive that contained all of the videos from when they were in the bunker. As it turns out, Noel Kahn was in on everything the whole time. You could see his face clear as day. Spencer wanted to hand that shit over to the police but Hanna was nowhere to be found because she was too busy being stupid, trying to trap Noel and nearly killing herself in the process. The girls were all kumbaya about it and were like, “Hanna isn’t here. It’s only right that we do this thing together.”

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Why?! They were acting like they were having a girls day and were about to go get their nails done and were scared Hanna would feel left out if she wasn’t informed first. So naturally, they waited like the dumbasses that they are. Spencer hears a noise in her house, freaks out, sees a shadow and OH LOOK, THE ZIP DRIVE IS GONE. Any chance to take down Noel Kahn is ruined.

Congrats, girls. You’ve done it again.

Their common sense and maturity level is still at an all time low.

And how many mysterious love children are going to turn up in this show? Your estimates are much appreciated.

I guarantee the series will end wrapped up in pretty paper with a nice big bow on top. Everyone will get what they want.

P.S. The guy who plays Marco, Spencer’s new love interest, is like 40 years old….

Previous Liars posts:

The Fundamental Dynamics of All Things Ridiculous Portrayed in Pretty Little Liars

Another Pretty Little Liars Discussion

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Anecdote, Connecticut, Humor, My Idea Of Being An Adult, Rant, Sarcasm

I’m a Young, Fiery Woman…Don’t Make Me Choke You

I hope I didn’t scare you away with my title. It was the thought that crossed my mind as I sat at the DMV for four hours on Saturday. I had 0% food in my stomach. I feel like it’s important to add that information.

The only people excited to go to the DMV and walk out of the building a brand new person, alive, confident, and charismatic, are 16-year-olds who have passed their driving test and can finally cruise with their friends down the boulevard. That changes drastically when you have to go back approximately seven years later to renew your license. You think, “But I already passed the test. Do I seriously have to renew this? THIS IS BOGUS.”

Scratch that. The first time that kid goes to renew their license, they’re turning 21 and in the United States, that means they can legally drink which basically takes the fun out of it. So, they STILL walk out of that DMV a confident and charismatic person because they can shove that new shiny ID in the bouncer’s face as they stumble into the club. Many of us New Hampshire kids found reasons to head up to Canada for the weekend just to drink Canadian alcohol and eat poutine. Not I…I don’t care for your poutine, Canada.

Renewing your license after the age of 21 will make you think of a million things you’d rather do, such as eat a bucket of tarantulas or stab your arm repeatedly with a rusty knife.

Let me paint a picture of what the DMV looks like in New Hampshire:

A tiny, one room building with approximately two people working at the counter. You don’t even need a ticket number. It costs approximately $50 for the application and the actual license. You do a five second vision test, take a decent picture because nobody is rushing you, and you’re out the door twenty minutes later.

Let me describe my four hour adventure at the Bridgeport, Connecticut DMV:

I walked in and felt like I was crossing the border through Ellis Island. The security guard on duty looked like she would be of no help since I watched other lost souls run up with questions and she barely lifted her nose from her phone and told them to ask a manager. YOU GET PAID FOR THIS?

I eventually stumbled into a line I wasn’t entirely sure I was supposed to be in and walked up to the woman at the counter. I explained I was transferring my license and car registration from another state. She handed me my ticket number and told me I would be handling my license first. I think the angels above knew I would be waiting a ridiculously long time and opened a seat in this sea of irritated people. I sat down and pulled open my book Smoke Gets In Your Eyes by Caitlin Doughty. I started to rethink the book choice in public as it’s about cremation and Caitlin’s experience working in a morgue. I realized everyone else was zoning out and wouldn’t notice my morbid choice of read. Two hours passed, and my number was finally called. I ran up to the counter to find a man with no expression waiting for me. Since he didn’t start with, “Good morning” or “What are you here for?” I figured I’d start this wonderful experience by telling him what I needed to do. I pulled out my papers for registration and license before he slammed the breaks with his hands and told me to stop.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa…” he started. He sighed very loudly as if I was the worst possible person to walk into that DMV. “I need you to put everything together. You’ll need your passport, social security number, proof of address, and your current license.” I pulled out everything I had prepared and handed him my application. He slapped his hands together in annoyance.

“I SAID you need to put EVERYTHING together. Just put all of it on top,” he barked.

Well well well. If there’s one thing about me someone should know it’s that when I get barked at with a heavy level of attitude, I have no problem giving it right back.

So what did I do? I slammed all of the documents on the counter in front of him, hard.

“THERE YA GO,” I said sarcastically. Maybe he realized he was being harsh because he seemed slightly wounded by my reaction.

“Ma’am, you don’t need to slam it…”

fefeTHIS GUY was getting angry because of my attitude due to the fact that he gave me attitude. I started to feel the fire within my fingertips. I wanted to punch this guy’s lights out. What I wanted to say was, “I understand you don’t want to be here, and neither do I. I’ve been here for two hours and have accomplished nothing. Can we at least agree we should burn this place to the ground? Let’s do it together.”

Instead, he yelled at me for not having a second piece of mail for my proof of address (which their website states you only need one), but the angels were looking out for me once again because I luckily was using my electric bill as a bookmark. WIN.

By the time I got to the vision test, I was having an emotional breakdown and thought about bailing because in the end, this isn’t worth it. Oh, Connecticut. Never mind. I’ll just move back to California to avoid your DMV services altogether.

Let’s fast forward a bit after my crappy picture was taken. It’s going on 1:30pm and I got to the DMV at 9:30am. I watched residents, who took their picture AFTER ME, run away with their license in hand. And I was still waiting by the counter, tapping my feet with every passing minute. The woman looks up as she called my name.

“Did you get your license?” she asked.

“Nah.”

“Oh shoot. I noticed like eight people got theirs before you. How strange. I guess it didn’t print.”

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I went home afterwards and took a three hour nap. I never even got to register my car, which means I have to go back. I think the angels are saying, “You ungrateful, bitch. You’re on your own now!”

Your thoughts and prayers for my second trip are welcomed.

 

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Humor, Internet Things, Rant, Sarcasm, Social Media, You're Fine

2016 Pet Peeves

It’s been a little over a year since my last post about my pet peeves which means I have a new set of pet peeves to share with all of you.

1. The Upcoming Election

I will not tell any of you who I’d prefer as president because to be quite honest, whether I say Trump or Clinton, I’ll get backlash for it no matter what, so what’s the point? There’s a pretty good chance I won’t even vote this year.

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Before you’re all like, “JESS. YOU HAVE TO. IT’S YOUR AMERICAN RESPONSIBILITY.” I must make things clear that I actually don’t have to do anything. I have the RIGHT to vote, meaning, I don’t have to if I don’t want to.

Secondly, I’m responsible enough to realize that I’m not “in” with the politics enough to even make a decision. I don’t watch the debates/conventions because I’d rather knit my cat a sweater. I truly don’t understand most of it, so why sit through the drivel?

Before you’re all like, “You should try to understand it and educate yourself.” I should also be flossing more but I don’t do that either.

I’ve come to realize that no matter who becomes our next president, all I’ll hear are complaints for the next 4-8 years just like we do with every president. MOVING ON.

2. “The Game” on Social Media

What I’m about to complain about will make me sound like I’m five. But I don’t care. Every person I’ve talked to about this has admitted it bothers them as well. I’m looking at you, Paul! Paul and I called it, “The Game”.

It’s when you find someone you knew from maybe work, or high school, or college, and you follow them. We will use the Instagram platform for this as it seems to matter the most to me. I’ll follow that person, genuinely wondering what they have been up to. And then they post something the next day and you realize….that motherfucker never followed you back. This has been happening to me a lot lately and I can’t seem to figure out why. I’m not talking about people I briefly met four years ago. I’m talking about people I’ve known since THE FIRST GRADE. People I worked with EVERY SINGLE DAY. It’s insulting, really. I stumbled across this app called Followers + for Instagram. I felt silly downloading it but it tells you your stats for your Instagram account, and since I’m promoting my artwork on there, it seemed like it would be useful. There’s a section on the app that tells you who unfollowed you, or who you may be following and they haven’t reciprocated, and vice versa. I decided to take a look at who never followed me back. It was either a huge mistake, or a complete blessing because it was an alarming number of people. A ridiculous number of people I went to middle school, high school, and college with. I recently followed a guy I knew all throughout high school and he never acknowledged it. AND WE WENT OUT ON A DATE. My big brother from my grad program? Ignored me. A girl I stayed with in California for an entire month? Ignored me.

You guys are my friends. Am I not a likable person or something? I understand none of you have met me, but my personality on my blog pretty much mirrors my personality in person. There’s really not much of a difference. I may have a slightly bigger nose than you imagined but that’s it. I understand that a lot of people may just be oblivious and not notice when someone they know follows them. But after YEARS of the same person liking and commenting on their photos, you’d think they’d stop and be like, “Hey, who is that? I must know them, right?”

Well, being the five year old that I am, I unfollowed all of these people. It was satisfying to say the least. Here I was, kind of caring about their lives and the feeling wasn’t mutual. BYE FELICIA.

You know, I always felt a strong connection with Josie Gellar in Never Been Kissed for this exact reason.

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3. Combining Couples Names

Tiddleswift? Really? I feel like this should have died years ago. When did this start? 2009? 2010? It’s been going on for way too long.

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4. Spilling your guts on Instagram and Twitter

I’m talking about the quotes that say, “I don’t remember what it’s like to not feel broken.” Leave that shit on Facebook if you feel compelled to tell everyone you’re depressed about something. Isn’t that what Facebook has become? Everyone’s therapy? Don’t bring Twitter and Instagram into that mess. Those are places for happy and funny thoughts, along with a massive amount of puppy pictures.

5. Instachat?

STORY TIME.

I had a Snapchat once. I deleted it after a day because I thought it was stupid.

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What are some of your 2016 Pet Peeves? Please share your annoyances with me.

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Anecdote, Awkward, Connecticut, Food, Humor, Rant, You're Fine

I met the most pretentious Mexican ever and it weirded me out.

Some of you don’t know that I’ve recently started dating someone. I won’t give his full name away because I’m not even sure how he feels about that, so let’s just call him Mr. Jess. I bet he’d be keen on that name anyway. I’ve met many of his friends in Connecticut and some of them invited us Taco Night last Friday.

While in the car gazing at gorgeous Connecticut farmland, Mr. Jess turned to me and said, “There’s one guy that will be there, and I’m curious to know what you’ll think of him.”

“Why is that? Is he weird? An ass?” I asked.

“Eh…he’s…interesting.” Mr. Jess explained that this guy, who we can call Mr. P (P for Pretentious), has been showing up to his soccer games every week and the encounters haven’t been pleasant. He brags about running 15 miles a day (which by the way, if you’re running 15 miles a day and you’re convinced that’s healthy, you have other issues you need to work out). From what Mr. Jess described, he sounded like an egomaniac.

As soon as we walked in the door, Mr. P was standing in the kitchen cooking up a storm. Everyone boasted how great of a chef he was, so I naturally was looking forward to these tacos. As some of you have been reading about for the last two years, I make it pretty known that I’m a TERRIBLE Mexican. My tacos consist of meat and cheese. That’s it. MAYBE a little avocado, if I’m feeling adventurous that evening. The only thing possibly authentically Mexican about me is that I can hold my own when it comes to spicy food. While the girl sitting next to me was sweating through her eyeballs, I was heading over for a second round. I will admit, his tacos were pretty delicious.

That is until he spent twenty minutes explaining the process for cooking the shredded chicken, and the beans, and the perfectly intact corn tortillas. You’d think this guy made a ten course dinner with a lemon drizzled duck displayed with an ice sculpture. THEY’RE TACOS. Probably one of the easiest dishes to learn. One kid asked, “Is there any rice?”

Mr. P smirked and said, “They’re corn tortillas…”

I stopped mid-bite. The kid looked perplexed.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Mr. P said, “You don’t eat rice with corn tortillas.”

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I almost dumped my tacos on his head.

Now, I know what I said before. That I’m a terrible Mexican. But even I knew this was a bag of bologna. I began shifting in my seat and Mr. Jess noticed that I had much to say in this matter. If there is one thing I know about Mexicans from my family and visiting the country a billion and one times, it’s that Mexicans eat rice and tortillas with EVERYTHING. Most even put the rice INSIDE their tacos. My heart was pounding out of my chest. This all felt like a dream. It was hands down the most ridiculous statement I had ever heard.

That’s like saying Italians only eat fettuccine pasta with Alfredo sauce. Absurd.

That’s when I established that this guy made himself sound knowledgeable of things, when in fact, he wasn’t. He’s like that guy in Midnight in Paris who just knows everything about every subject you can think of when what he is saying is wrong 75% of the time. I immediately turned to Mr. Jess to confirm that this in fact, is not a thing.

It gets better guys.

One of the girls offered me a glass of wine. I would normally accept this offer, but lately wine has been slaughtering me. One glass, and I’m that girl walking around town with no shoes. It’s not usually like this, but my body is going through a weird phase so I just have to go with it.

Mr. P asked why I wouldn’t take a glass of wine.

“Well, I threw up from wine last week. It was just really sweet.” This part is true. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I don’t like sweet wine. It makes me feel like I’m on cocaine or something.

“You look like someone who would throw up from drinking…”

dfsd

I’M NOT ACTUALLY. BUT THANKS.

“I don’t usually. It was a rare occurrence in college, in fact,” I answered with a stone cold face.

“What college did you go to?”

“University of New Hampshire.”

“Oh…that’s why,” he said.

dsfds

“………………………………………………………………………..what do you mean?” I asked.

At this point, Mr. Jess is picking a mark on the table and staring at it. Although, he did grin at my reaction.

“Well, I went to UCONN.”

“…..okay. And?”

“UCONN is a huge party school,” he answered.

“So is UNH….” I shot back.

“No…UCONN parties Monday-Sunday.”

“So does UNH. Our state motto is ‘Live Free or Die’. We take our motto seriously,” I said.

Mr. Jess turned to me and said, “Do you want a brownie?”

I was confused and didn’t understand why he was randomly asking me this, especially since I wasn’t done with my taco.

“COME HAVE A BROWNIE WITH ME.” I realized this was code for “Take an effing brownie and meet me outside to eat it, away from earshot.” I grabbed a brownie and ran outside where he was thrilled to hear that I too, thought this guy was a total douche.

“Oh good. It’s not just me,” he said.

I later learned that Mr. P supposedly spent some time in Mexico City visiting family, which is where he learned to make Mexican cuisine. Gag me.

I know everyone is different in their own way, and I’ve met many, many Mexicans in my life, but I’ve never met one that was so pretentious and egotistical before. Most Mexicans are pretty modest individuals. Let’s just say, I may drink all of the wine next time I’m in a room with him.

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Girls, Humor, I'm not a mommy blogger, Out of the Ordinary, Rant, Social Media

How Does She Pee?

I’m not really up with the times when it comes to the Kardashian’s. I don’t watch the show, except for that one time when nothing else was on and Kourtney admitted to taking like, 30 pregnancy tests and she was only 95% sure she was pregnant.

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I was at the gym the other night, just minding my own business, trying to break a sweat, when I saw Kim Kardashian blow up the TV in front of me, and she was wearing this:

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I can never understand why the Kardashian’s are considered the “fashion forward” celebs these days. First of all, is this a highly intensified jumper/romper? Are those boots ATTACHED to her outfit? If so, how the hell does this woman pee?

I ask this because I recently wore a jumpsuit/romper to work a couple of weeks ago. I got many compliments, but it didn’t change the fact that it was such a bitch to go to the bathroom in.

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I don’t know about everyone else, but my mind has the tendency to screw with me. For instance, I’m driving home from work:

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I catch a glimpse of my street corner and suddenly a wave hits me. I REALLY NEED TO PEE. I was perfectly fine about three seconds ago up until now. I speed into my parking lot like I’m training for the Olympics, grab the twenty items from my car and wonder why I have so much stuff with me and how I don’t recall bringing all of this to work, jingle my keys around to find the one that opens the door to the building, fish for my mail because I’m too lazy to come back downstairs to get it, jingle with my keys again to find the key that opens my apartment, bust in through the door, chuck everything in my hands on the floor and fly to the bathroom like Superwoman. Now add a romper to the mix and you might as well pee your pants because you’re never getting that shit off.

How long did it take Kim Kardashian to put her boots on? Especially if it’s attached to her outfit? I can just picture myself trying to carefully slip my entire leg into those babies, and my toes getting tangled up in the web of string. I’d never get those things on. But I have to hand it to her, that’s commitment to her shoes right there. Once you get those things on, you’re wearing them all day. I’ll buy heels and take them off 30 minutes into wearing them because I’m lame. Since it takes so much effort to put those boots on, I wouldn’t want to take them off either.

In conclusion, I’m convinced Kim Kardashian is not a real human, but a fembot. Yes, I said fembot.

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The woman doesn’t pee, and she wears ridiculously high heeled boots that take longer to tie together than it was to write War and Peace. 

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Anecdote, Awkward, Festivities, Humor, Manic Monday, You're Fine

Why Hecklers Are The Worst Kind of People

It is finally baseball season. A time for families to enjoy a nice day out at the ball park with hot dogs, beer, and sunshine. Whether you’re sitting behind home plate or in the nose bleed section, you’re almost always guaranteed a good time. Until you realize you have plopped into a seat directly next to a squawking heckler. Or worse, a group of them. 

I’ve been to my fair share of ball parks including Fenway, PNC Park, Busch Stadium, Dodger Stadium, as well as many others. I attended almost all of them while rocking some form of Red Sox gear because that’s the only baseball gear I own. Of course, by doing this, I expect to hear some lighthearted backlash, especially since I’m a Boston fan and everyone else in the country hates us for various reasons. But there is a big difference between lighthearted, teasing fun, and just being a dick.

Yesterday, I attended my first Mets game. It was a chilly 40 degrees and for the most part, I sat in the shade bundled up in my jacket, USC baseball cap, and blanket. I didn’t wear any Red Sox gear, and thank God I didn’t. Directly in front of me were a group of four young men, roughly the age of twenty-one, who were the worst kind of people. A man walked by in a Boston cap, and the men decided to yell obscene, highly inappropriate insults at the poor man who just wanted to enjoy a friendly Mets game on a beautiful Sunday. They not only did this to the Boston fan, but they did it to Yankee fans, Philly fans, and basically any other person who didn’t wear anything Mets related. The best part was that every time something even remotely interesting happened in the game, they all stood up, as if they were going to get a better look than they already had. This then, resulted in me watching the entire game from the big screen like I’m watching it from the comfort of my own home, which is exactly how you want to feel when you go to a baseball stadium, right? That’s the purpose of going to a baseball park. To feel like you never left your couch! I missed 85% of the plays and I was real bitter about it.

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One guy continuously yelled, “Fuck the Red Sox!” over and over and over again. I must remind you all that the Mets were playing the Phillies, so try to figure that one out….

Anyone who shows up to a baseball game in this manner has clearly never been to a baseball game. I expect this kind of behavior at a soccer match or a football game, where everyone gets rowdy and yells and it’s a whatever-time. But a baseball game? A quiet, sunny day, relaxing and watching a baseball game is not the time and place for obnoxious screaming.

I think what bothers me most is that some fans can’t seem to take a chill pill. So what if some guy with a Dodgers hat shows up to a Cardinals game in St. Louis? I personally think that anyone who goes to a stadium where both teams playing against each other aren’t even “his” team, he is showing at least some form of respect and trying to enjoy himself in YOUR park. Why do you have to be such a douchebag? He’s literally Swiss! He could probably care less about who wins. The guy just really likes baseball games. So when a heckler mocks and insults someone the entire time, they are completely ruining their experience and they will probably never want to go to that park again. Way to go, bro.

I thought I was going to lose it the more I had to be around these fools. Everyone around us looked at them with disdain with the exception of a few who gave them a tiny sliver of encouragement which was so not what they needed. They reminded me of those guys in high school who were so terribly obnoxious and would do some sort of pizza contest in the cafeteria while everyone pounded their fists on the table chanting things like, “O’DOYLE RULES!” and yet these guys always have a shit load of friends and girls hanging off their every word.

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Meanwhile, I’m in the corner like, “How and why has this come to be?”

But the best part about witnessing these hecklers is that you will most likely see a fight break out because someone finally overheated, or you get to watch security tell them off. Either one is extremely satisfying.

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Anecdote, Awkward, Humor, Manic Monday, Memories, You're Fine

That’s Not My Name

This has been happening to me ever since I was a kid. Every new school year on the first day, it was the same thing. The teacher peered down at her list of new students to take attendance. She’d go down the line, calling out names like, “Colin? Joe? Elizabeth? Mary?” All of the kids raised their hands and said, “Present!” or “Here!” or “Moo!” if you’re a jokester. Then I’d hear, “Jessica?” The students, including myself, glanced about the room. “Jessica?” Still no answer.

And then…. “Jessica……(putting her glasses on to read the last name) Ren…Ren…Renya?”

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First of all, that’s not even how you pronounce my last name. It’s not even how you spell it. Secondly, my name isn’t Jessica.

I could be botching this story entirely, but when I was a wee little thing still shoved in my mother’s belly, the doctor tried to determine whether or not I was a boy or a girl. The problem was, I moved around so damn much that he couldn’t get a good look. I was like a cheetah on cocaine. Or I just wanted to keep my privates private. Who knows. So, the doctor figured since I had so much energy, I was probably a boy.

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So, that’s what my parents planned for. My dad really wanted to name me Jessie James. To their surprise, I showed up with not a penis, but my mom was too tired from all of the birth giving that she didn’t feel like changing my name. So she kept the Jessie part, and dropped the James, to my relief.

For years, I’ve tried to understand this weird phenomenon where people just change my name for me. It is clearly written out in black, printed ink, yet still, everyone who meets me calls me Jessica. Even when introducing myself, all friendly and happy, “Hi! My name is Jessie!” They reach out for my hand and say, “How are you, Jessica?”

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Maybe some of you can try to explain this to me. Is it a politeness thing? It doesn’t ever seem to happen to anyone else. For instance, I rarely come across a situation where some girl is like, “Hey, I’m Lizzie!” and the other person says, “Hello, Elizabeth!” NEVER. Same thing with Will and William, or Charlie and Charles. So why must it happen with Jessie and Jessica? I’ve spent a good portion  of my life correcting people who call me Jessica that I’ve just given up at this point. When I get irritated, my friends are like, “DUDE, just correct them!” You don’t even know. You. Don’t. Even. Know. I’ve accepted it now, even though every time I’m called Jessica, a piece of my soul dies away.

There definitely is a stereotypical response to my name. Now that I’ve gotten the “Jessica” bit out of the way, let’s jump to the part where everyone starts singing, “Jessie’s Girl” whenever I walk by. It has happened at every single job I’ve worked. “You know I wish that I had JESSIE’S  Girl!” Yeah, yeah. I get it. I’m here to tell you that Jessie’s Girl is not my theme song.

I think The Ting Tings stole it from me.

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