Why on EARTH do people write on the Myspace/Facebook walls of celebrities/bands/athletes? I really don’t understand it. Do they think that Lance Armstrong is going to write on their facebook wall and shock the world. I like the one’s with questions the most, that go along with the woe is me crap. You know when they’re all “I love you John Mayer! But WHY are you playing a show in Tampa and NOT Orlando. I can’t afford it to go! Maybe (wink wink nudge nudge) YOU could buy me a ticket to your show and pay for my gas or BETTER YET have your tour bus pick me up yaaaayyy!!”
Listen you guys, if celebs are writing back, I have a plea. NICK CARTER I LOVE YOU. Yes, YOU, of all people. No don’t go asking me why, I just fucking do. Can you see this? Come to my fucking house and kiss me. Ben won’t get mad. Nah bro it’s fine for sure. You my lurv boo, my lurv.
Ok I’m gunna go watch Paranormal State then write on Ryan Buells Myspace page about how hot I think he is. He’s Z list, he’ll def write back, no?
I’m legit ready to burst so I can stop working from home, get the eff in the car, go to Walmart, buy a Swiffer, and clean my bathroom.
Like the suspense is killing me. This must have been how teenaged girls felt at 11:57 last night awaiting their dose of Edward Cullen. Sigh….
I decided to go to the corner store this afternoon, and on my way back I noticed what appeared to be a pair of women’s under-roos under my neighbors vehicle. As nonchallant and graceful as I could (meaning snorting giggles and tripping over my own two feet), I attempt to see what brand and make they are. NO I am not a PERV, I moved in 4 days a go and there is a very good chance that while moving, a pair has gone awry and decided to make it’s home on the streets of my beautiful neighborhood. And really who am I to judge? I would rather spend my life free as the wind than covering my….
Anyway, so, they are mine. AND of course, I’m freaking out because I’m convinced my neighbors know they’re my undergarments and are all now sitting around downstair neighbor Jay’s dining room table over a pitcher of sweet tea judging the hell out of me. This bitch! I knew it the second she opened the door she would be trouble! Stripping in the streets! Damn northerners!
Sigh….so now the great internal debate I am having is whether or not to retrive said escaping panties. I certainly can’t go out NOW in the daylight, I’ll have to wait until 3 am when I’m head to toe in black and perhaps shitfaced so as to distract that I am fetching undies from the gutter. I wouldn’t wear them again, gross, but I shouldn’t LEAVE them. Or should I?
What wou YOU do if those where your undwear, under there?
Things that are going on that are pretty f'in awesome if I do say so myself
So, things are on the up and up despite my little financial set back. The new apt is almost unpacked and coming along beautifully. I bought all new bathroom and bedroom stuff so it’s all matching and very adult like (very uncharacteristic for both myself and Benjamin). Also, last night we discovered that this pizza place by my office that I’m obsessed with actually delivers to our place, which makes it EVEN better. When we pulled up yesterday there was a cruise ship passing by, and we’re so close to the water, so it was kinda scary, I’m all “Holy Bejesus that thing is going to land in our lawn”. But it didn’t. So there’s that. AND my commute is legit like 5 minutes now (but I stopped for coffee and almost got lost so I freaked out and had to pull over so it took me about 15-20.whatevs).
BUT the best part of ANYTHING EVER is tomorrow is SAINT PATTY’S DAY. And I don’t know if you guys know this, but I’m very much Irish (what with the flaming red hair, freckles, growing up in South Boston,Irish Step championships under my belt, and love for Drop Kick Murphy’s). ANYWAY, so tomorrow is pretty much my Christmas and when I woke up this morning and the Good Morning America or the Today Show or whatever the hell Ben was watching was in Ireland and had Irish Step Dancers, I got that giddy Christmas eve feeling! Not only am I going to celebrate my heritage and drink and be merry, but it’s also KINDA like my birthday! Yes, that’s right, I was concieved on Saint Patricks Day! Too much information YOU BETCHA but let’s be serious, now you can say you know a girl who is LEGIT the most Irish person EVER in the world. Other than Michael Flatley.
And the NKOTB concert was f’in amazing and my cousin and I had these AWESOME seats we were so close we could see SPIT coming out of Joey Macs lips when he was hitting his high pitched notes! Twas a merry good time, except for the drunk girl next to us who fell asleep. Or the part when skanky girls threw their undies at the stage and Donnie sniffed em. That was pretty gross. But all in all it was amazing because no one loves NKOTB MORE than me. Oh, and we got those HUGE buttons from like back in the day, and we WORE THEM. We’re pretty badass thankyaverymuch.
Ok back to reality! Maybe I’ll have LIVE DRUNKEN BLOGGING while I get ready for tomorrow night’s festivities, which are still TBA. Top o The Mornin to ya kiddies!
I’ve decided to plan the WORST wedding in the universe and ordering things from ebay for my reception (including my dress) in camolauge so I can get on My Fair Wedding so David Tutera can hook my mothafuuuu shit up, yo.
And also get that Vera Wang my mother won’t buy me because when I was 18 I was 24/7 drunk and got a very absurd tat on my back that made her cry for 4 days straight. Yes I’m 27 and refined now but she’s Irish, she likes grudges.
So, I want to work on this new project/blog that’s like an advice column, only funny, witty, and snarkyish (word?no?moving along..) I want to do this from like a guy vs girl prospective. Anyone interested? I think it will help me get my funny creative juices a flowin, help with my writing and what not. Shoot me an email. GRACIAS!!!!!
Now it’s off to the New Kids on The Block concert to have a fist fight with my internal 14 year old. Carry on.
Isn't it weird eating fast food sober? Like, I'll eat it and I'll be like, "Oh that's good." But when you're blacked out at like 5 in the morning, it's like "What is this?! What five star restaurant are we at? What chef works here?! ARE WE IN NARNIA? What magic treat has entered my hand? Where is our wardrobe?!"
I really am bothered by the fact that I draw like a 4 year old with her first set of crayolas. I have 0 artistic bones in my body. EXCEPT for my angelic voice. You guys should hear me sing. My favorite is ‘Papa can you hear me’ from Yentl.
so on sunday, i’m going with my two girls to a st patty’s day parade party, and they both have great “everyone loves an irish girl shirts’ and are of some irish descent. well i’m not. and i’m really contemplating taking a sharpie to a white tee and writing “hey, italian girls need love too!!!”
i mean, there’s no holiday with a parade that everyone drinks perseco and eats antipasti!
thoughts? cause i really might do it, i’m just afraid of people yelling at me and being mean for some reason.
Are you going to Southie? I would be afraid, my hometown can have that affect on people. Just kidding (or am I?). You guys have the feast in the North End of Boston! That’s your parade. My Nonie is Italian and she wears green on Parade Day! Everyone’s a drunken Irishman on St. Patty’s. Trust :)
WHY!?!?!? Why when everything is going SO well for me do I have to get bitch slapped in the face by the universe. WHY??!?! I don’t get it. We were ahead financially so we decided to a) get married (this shit AINT cheap) and b) move into a place that was weeeeee bit over our budget but we were all fuck it whatever we’ll be fine….
FINE WE ARE NOT. NOT ANYMORE THANKS TO YOU MURPHY AND YOUR DAMN LAW.
Listen, I understand we are in economic hard times and I shouldn’t be crying about money. But you know what? I am.
So now I’m looking for PART TIME JOBS. Do you understand what that means? That means that I am more than likely going to be spending my free time in a god damn apron A-FUCKING-GAIN. Dramatic? YUP. DRAMATIC. The last time I worked at a fucking resturaunt I worked for this absolute DISGUSTING pervert of a man with a Nepolean Complex like you would read about. He spent more time talking about tits than he did actual work. And let’s talk about the P.O.S. chick manager they had. OH YEA, she was shits and giggles with a side of Bipolar Ranch. Fucking crazy bitch screaming at me and always calling me “Red”. Like “Hey RED! Come over here and help me use your toothbrush and saliva to clean every orraface of this returaunt because I like to over achieve since I decided to be a whore instead of going to college so I compensate and think I’m wicked important because I have a swipey card that allows me to comp meals at this mediocre wing resturaunt! I am very important I can comp meals!”
OK. FINE. She didn’t say that. But she certainly thought it. And she DID feed me some SERIOUS F bombs when she “didn’t” fire me (according to the State of Florida you have to be “let go” by a real manager not one with just swipey card capabilities in order to collect unemployment. That’s not in the handbook, but it should be). But then I came in to try to win my job back and she was all nice to me when I was meetin with the head douchebags. I just left. I was like, way to much fakery and wing sauce around here. I vow to NEVER wear an apron AGAIN. These people are CRAZY!
And now, after 1 year and several months of unaproned bliss. HERE WE ARE.
So, I’ve been thinking a lot latley about how much I absolutley feel like I suck when it comes to being Kelly the Bride. I think it might be that I hate when people fuss over me, but every time someone brings up my nups, I just wanna like curl in a ball and rock back and forth. I’m not SCARED or anything, I’m just kinda like, "Ok? Ring exchange? Check. Vows? Check? Massivley adorable pictures of me in shiny dress to make exboyfriends world round sigh in unision? Check? But is anything REALLY going to change? I really don’t think so. I think we’ll be the same Kelly & Ben that people look at and smile and say, “Wow, weirdos really can find each other and not just on the internets!” (Although, I did kind of find out we were officially dating via Facebook but that’s another story for another time).
I feel like a lot of “marrieds” fall into this trap where they get a ring on their finger and they start acting all crazy like. They can’t go a SECOND with out talking about their wedding, and ganging up with other marrieds to make non marrieds feel like they have lice, and OH MY GOD with the effing inside jokes already ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I registered on the Knot (dot com) to help me find a place that’s afforable to have the wedding and on the message boards, these girls talk in friggen code. I think I have it down…sort of
FI- I think this means fiance? Usually the sentances stream like so, “So the FI and I went to meet with the DJ today! Snaps ladies! One more for the check list”. In MY mind this reads, “The friggen idiot and I went meet the DJ. He’s a bigger idiot than the guy I’m marrying, but it’s whatever, someone get me a fucking drink already!”
MOH- Maid of Honor? Who knows? “My MOH is being such a bitch about her floral arangements! IDK WTD!?!?!” In MY mind, this reads, “My Mongoose Orange Headpiece hates flowers so I took the arrangement and beat it over her head! Drinks on me!”
BMS-Bridesmaids? “My BMS are horible! They hate everything they try on, everyone says they look fat, and NO ONE will pay attention to ME!”- Honestly? I thought this was someone speaking in broken english about PMS and had the whole damn thing screwed up. Like when you put a sentance in an internet translater and it come’s out speaking Yoda to you. Whatever.
MIL- Mother in Law? “My MIL and I got into a huge fight about doilies!”- I see this as you are speaking of a MILF, forget the F because you’re still all riled up about some sort of lesbian tryst you particpated in with some Mom You’d Like To…..
Moving along here. I just don’t get these brides. I feel like when I became a Bride to Be I just joined some cult and everyone’s sipping the juice (from a punch fountain, with cala lillies strewn about the setting under an ambience of tea lights and garland). Why such madness? Why all of the sudden is it more fun to play Scrabble on a Friday night with other marrieds (after of course an Everybody Loves Raymond marathon), that it is to go see your friends who haven’t given up freedom at the bar and have some down home dirty fun with your favorite bitches?
It’s all about growing up, I get it. But I never really saw myself as the grownup who had tea parties and tortured the hell out of all of her friends with wedding woes, bridal registry freak outs, and couples only tappas parties. I’ve always seen myself as, “Who are you? Why are you at my party? Whatever, Kegs in the tub. Someone get Anita down from that Keg Stand, WE HAVE GUESTS YOU KNOW!!”
Your list is making me NUTS! I posted an add 4 days ago selling PERFECTLY good furniture and not only was it witty, but I’m selling good shit. And who responds? The fucking whackos. That’s who. They all want 63 pictures of a freakin 20 dollar couch. A TWENTY DOLLAR COUCH. If, when I was broke, someone tried to give ME a couch for 20 bucks (with an added bonus of a $50 couch cover, I mean, let’s be serious here) I would flip my SHIT. I would have driven to New Hampshire for that bitch (Ok, maybe not, but at least Braintree!). I mean dimensions and 20 more pictures of a stereo system, surround sound system, I’m practically GIVING this shit away. You could buy my shit, turn around and resell it at some fucking yard sale and probably get more than half of what you paid me. Honestly. And so I’m going through all these motions, bitches calling me 5-6 times a night asking MORE questions about the $20 couch, exchanging emails with MORE pictures, and YOU BITCH, you don’t even SHOW UP to get the shit. Are you joking?!? Do you think, what with all the packing and moving and WORKING and living I do, I wanted to waste my time jacking around with you so you could just turn around and not come pick this shit up! On top of that, I’m tellin OTHER mental cases such as yourself that they can’t have the 20 dollar couch cuz your douchey ass is coming to get it.
So listen Craig, put some sort of like “Don’t Dick People Around” memo on your site. I don’t have time for this bull. Ok, so what if I do have the time, don’t judge me!
Oh, and if you’re in Tampa or the surrounding areas, buy my shit, would you?
Do you have ANY idea what you’re doing to me. Well, its absolutley rediculous. Boxes and packing tape, stress and woe, it ain’t fair. If I had my way I would just throw everything away. But we both know my fiance’s a pack rat. Yup. He’s a hoarder. How sad is that? I know, I know. Anyways, so, if this could be easier it would be great. Then I wouldn’t want to pull my hair out.
OH! And if you’re in TAMPA buy my shit, yo