Don’t Be a Halloweenie

I know that Halloween is over a month away, but I am already pretty excited. In fact, I started an orange-and-black paper-chain countdown, just like for Christmas, except it’s kind of long since there are 41 links on it. And I almost burned down my apartment by surrounding my bed with Jack-O-Lanterns, because I kicked one in my sleep and it rolled into the fake cobwebs I set up. I’ve already started my all-candy diet in preparation of the big day!

Okay, not really. Except for the first part, where I am reallymotherfuckingexcited for All Hallow’s Eve (is that the same thing as Halloween? If yes, I am very smart. If no, shut up, go read a history blog).

For those of you who have no sense of fun who don’t like Halloween, allow me to shoot down all your reasons so you will appreciate the best holiday ever.

“I’m too old to celebrate Halloween.”  If this is your excuse, you’re either 13, or stupid. And if you’re 13,  you should take advantage of the one time all year it’s okay to take candy from strangers. If you’re an adult-sized person, don’t be so crazy. You don’t say, “Gosh, sorry, Grandma, but I can’t come to Easter Sunday because I’m just kind of too old for Easter now!” No one is too old to dress up like a slut and get drunk with their friends in the name of whatever-Halloween-stands-for.

“I don’t like getting dressed up.”  Then wear your own clothes, and tell everyone you’re a serial killer, a la Wednesday from The Addams Family. Ta-da, problem solved.

Ariel isn't a serial killer. Don't even joke like that. This is just a really good costume.

“I am lame and I hate good things.”  I believe psychiatric help may be a good starting point for you. (Seriously, I’m out of reasons why someone could dislike Halloween.)

Okay! So now that I have bullied you into celebrating the Best Holiday Ever, we are all in the Halloween spirit. YAYYY! I mean, OOOOOO! (That’s how ghosts say yay.) Now comes the real problem…the costume. I’ve been kicking around a few ideas, but none of them have really grabbed me as of yet. I thought I might be Fiona from that weird episode of Adventure Time where it’s Fiona and Cake instead of Finn and Jake, and then I decided I might be some form of sexy animal, and then I thought up being one of the kindergartners from Recess, except slutty. Clearly I have a way to go.

Luckily, while I think about it, Halloween is the perfect excuse to eat lots of apple cider donuts and watch scary movies when I should be doing things a productive member of society would do. So no rush.

What Google Thinks About You

Hey there! Are you a snoop? Would you consider yourself “nosy”?  Do you share a computer? Do you enjoy invading people’s privacy and/or learning things about them without their knowledge? Or, failing that, do you want to know more about yourself based on the ramblings of a crazy random Internet girl (me)? Well, then, this is the post for you!

What Your Google Searches Say About You (You Sick Freak, You)

If you commonly search things like: bars with no covers, beer, mixed drink special at Blarney’s Pub, how to make own mojitos, cheap vodka, my x-byofriedn’s neumbr becux heis nit nioce

Then it means: You’re probably a raging alcoholic, typically college-aged, but you don’t realize it because everyone you know is also a raging alcoholic! You might also be a slut.

If you commonly search things like: boobs, Asian girls, jugs, girl-on-girl, ostrich porn, live sex videos

Then it means: You’re really into ostrich porn. Oh, and maybe also other kinds. You’re probably a seventeen-year-old boy, or a twenty-seven-year-old boy, or a thirty-seven-year-old boy.

If you commonly search things like: The Wild Hearts WordPress, stupid blogs, blogs where girl talks about dumb things

Then it means: You’re awesome.

Also, this is the "pictures of people with animal heads" post. Just in case you were wondering.

Wasn’t that helpful? I hope you have learned all about yourselves, People of the Internet. As ever, I’m happy to assist you.

 

Prom, Anyone?

There should be proms for grown-ups.

I mean, seriously. Why is it that once you graduate high school, there aren’t special parties for no reason? Being an adult is great, don’t get me wrong. But there is a big difference between wearing a little black dress out for cocktails and feeling like a princess in a giant gown. And yeah, you get to do that when you get married, but you can only tie the knot like ten times, and around number five, people aren’t going to RSVP. So there should just be like a yearly Big People Fun Dress Up Party Dance Night (or BPFDUPDN).

Besides, teenagers can’t appreciate prom. Half of them are totally ruining their photos with hideous braces-covered smiles, and the other half are too busy making out with awkward boys/girls in braces to really soak up the moment. And they can’t even drink during–some shots would really make it easier for the awkward high school set to hold each other’s clammy hands while they “dance.”

Long story short, I would like an excuse to wear a ball gown. And since I’m not friends with anybody who throws “balls” (well, I am, but not the kind of ball you’re thinking of), I would like someone to create this event.

And if you’re saying, “Fuck that, my high school prom sucked,” well, don’t you think it’ll much better with booze and girls who actually put out? Plus, you don’t have to worry about your parents hearing you come, which is always a bonus.

WHOOOOOO, I’m gonna start online shopping for my BPFDUPDN dress. Someone else take care of the pesky details like the venue and the invites, ‘kay?

I think I'm buying this one.

Put This in Your Cookbook

How to Have a Good St. Patty’s Day: the Recipe

Ingredients:

  • Slutty green clothes (1 pair)
  • Alcohol (6 shots/3 mixed drinks; add more to taste)
  • Loud bar with grindy dance music and strobe lights (1)
  • Friends (any number; must be flavorful)
  • Money (a lot)

Directions:

  1. Put on slutty clothes with friends.
  2. Go to bar.
  3. Buy mixed drinks. Mix them liberally with friends and bar.
  4. Buy shots. Shake vigorously on the dance floor.
  5. Black out.

Seriously, it’s foolproof. Way easier than whipping up some souffle or whatever-the-fuck with Martha Stewart-level difficulty and weird foreign ingredients.

A Gypsy Heart Is a Wild Heart

In case you haven’t noticed, in my heart, I am a gypsy.

As such, I would really appreciate receiving a caravan for my birthday. Stocked full of wine and cool gypsy stuff, like jangly coins and scarves.

Seriously, though, even though I am not Romani by blood, I am pretty sure I’m a gypsy anyway. I can just feel it. Or maybe it’s all the wine I’ve been drinking.

Half-Drunk Is a Waste of Money

I got a little tipsy last night. And by “tispy” I mean dancing, double-fisting drunk.

Seriously, though, there are few joys in life as great as getting bombed. First of all, it makes you happy (unless you’re one of those dicks who starts crying the second the Keystone is cracked). I mean, what? Magic liquid that washes away sadness? It’s like something out of a geeky fantasy book.

Secondly, name one thing that isn’t improved with alcohol. Add “drunk” to the beginning of any activity and it becomes 1,000 times better. Sledding = drunk sledding! Dinner with the parents = drunkenly listening to old people’s stories! I mean, which sounds better to you, dancing or drunk dancing? I thought so.

Of course, this might be my raging alcoholism talking, but even though I got pretty hammered last night, I think that might be in the cards for this evening too. And, let’s be honest, tomorrow as well. Life is short, and I would rather spend my precious minutes in a Midori-sour-induced haze than any other way.

Plus (thirdly? Fourthly? I don’t know, my brain is floating in vodka instead of cerebrospinal fluid) it gives you lots of good stories. When you’re old, would you rather tell your grandkids about how you stayed in every night and played Battleship, or would you like to start stories with, “When I drank that bottle of Jack…” I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be a legend. (Whoa nelly, that sounds a little epic for a post about how much I love to drink. But you know what I mean, Internet.) Whatever, go mix yourself a little something sweet (with about 40% alcohol by volume).

Winter Wilds

Do you ever just feel like doing something absolutely outrageous, like dancing on a table or streaking or rescuing a giraffe from the zoo and making him be your pet? I get this feeling that I call the “summer wilds,” on account of the fact that it typically takes place in the summer, but I guess my brain is seasonally confused because I have it right now.

Seriously, on January 2nd, I am done with snow and being freezing cold everywhere I go and wearing thirty-seven layers. And not the cute kind of layers, but long-johns (okay, I don’t actually wear those, although if I did it might solve Thing I Hate About Winter #2) and fifty scarves. The snow is all charming and adorable during the holidays, but afterward, when it’s all pollution-dirty and icy? Not so much.

Right now, I just want summer. And I know, those people who bitch all summer about how hot it is and then change their tune are dumb. But seriously, it was -11 yesterday, so fuck it, I want sunshine and sand.

Either way, though, I kinda have that let’s-go-crazy mentality usually reserved for when I’m not pale and suffering from frostbite. Except that I know I’ll be all, “Yeah, let’s rage, come on, let’s go!” and bop outside with some contraband FourLoko and then be all, “Shit, no,” and stumble back into a warm bed.

Long story short, I am just going to shut up, calm down, and appreciate the good things about the world being an icy hell. Like warm cozy blankets, and hot coco with whipped cream, and watching people slip and fall in the snow.

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