I'm Fine With Immigrants, As Long As They're White!

Hopefully you made it past the above title and are reading this sentence right now. For the record, I ABSOLUTELY do not feel that way. The sad thing is, a lot of people in the United States do. From talking to a handful of extremely close-minded and ignorant people in my life, the general consensus seems to be "Come on over if your skin is light and you have a sexy accent, but if you're Hispanic, Middle-Eastern, or African then you're not allowed in." Since Mexico is attached to us, and the border can be easily traversed by foot, a lot of the hubbub surrounds Mexican citizens who illegally cross the border. Canada is right above us and also attached to the United States. I can guarantee you that there is a good quantity of illegal Canadians currently residing here. But it's OK right? Because they mostly speak English (albeit North Dakota-English, don't ya knowwwww?), have been wearing flannel long before hipsters have, love bacon, and most importantly, look American. Is Avril Lavigne even a legal citizen? I say it doesn't matter and we should deport her anyway.

Some Canadian humor to lighten up this post. I was born in Montreal and am a dual citizen by the way!

I know not everyone feels this way and that there are kind, open-minded people in this country who want nothing more than to have equality. However, every time I hear someone passionately complaining about foreigners, only to rave about how hip and cool people from Europe and Australia are moments later, a part of my soul dies (it's like destroying one of my horcruxes). White people with sexy accents are foreigners too. In fact, WE'RE ALL FUCKING FOREIGNERS. News flash: unless you're Native American, you're a foreigner. Yea, put that in your pipe and fucking smoke it.

And while I can definitely admit that illegal immigrants can take a huge toll on our country economically, is killing or imprisoning them really a viable solution? I ask this because some people do believe that it is. Here's a recent email I received from my father (who isn't the epitome of rationalization and fairness, as you know):

LET ME SEE IF I GOT THIS RIGHT!!!

IF YOU CROSS THE NORTH KOREAN BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU GET 12 YEARS HARD LABOR.
IF YOU CROSS THE IRANIAN BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU ARE DETAINED INDEFINITELY.
IF YOU CROSS THE AFGHAN BORDER ILLEGALLY, YOU GET SHOT.
IF YOU CROSS THE SAUDI ARABIAN BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU WILL BE JAILED.
IF YOU CROSS THE CHINESE BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU MAY NEVER BE HEARD FROM AGAIN.
IF YOU CROSS THE VENEZUELAN BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU WILL BE BRANDED A SPY AND YOUR FATE WILL BE SEALED.
IF YOU CROSS THE CUBAN BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU WILL BE THROWN INTO POLITICAL PRISON TO ROT.
IF YOU CROSS THE U.S.BORDERILLEGALLY YOU GET
1 - A JOB,
2 - A DRIVERS LICENSE,
3 - SOCIAL SECURITY CARD,
4 - WELFARE,
5 - FOOD STAMPS,
6 - CREDIT CARDS,
7 - SUBSIDIZED RENT OR A LOAN TO BUY A HOUSE,
8 - FREE EDUCATION,
9 - FREE HEALTH CARE,
10 - A LOBBYIST IN WASHINGTON
11 - BILLIONS OF DOLLARS WORTH OF PUBLIC DOCUMENTS PRINTED IN YOUR LANGUAGE
12 - AND THE RIGHT TO CARRY YOUR COUNTRY'S FLAG WHILE YOU PROTEST THAT YOU DON'T GET ENOUGH RESPECT
 
I JUST WANTED TO MAKE SURE I HAD A FIRM GRASP ON THE SITUATION.


Naturally, I had to write back:

A lot of those countries listed are doing terribly economically and socially. Under normal circumstances, people like you think very poorly of countries like Iran, Afghanistan, and Saudi Arabia. Why would you suddenly want our country to be modeled after them?

Explain...


To which he responded:

Missing the point. Enter LEGALLY. 


And my final retort, with some editing from Sam:

Rather than suggesting all immigrants become legalized for the betterment of our nation, your original email implied that punishments (such as death and lifetime imprisonment) are justifiable when someone is an illegal immigrant and said punishments should be carried out in the U.S.

Love,
T


I tried really hard to maintain my composure near the end. I'm not sure if my anger is still palpable. My last response was originally this:

Your original email didn't imply that at all. It probably would've been better to write/send an email laying out how taking care of illegal immigrants is poorly affecting our nation economically, socially, etc. and also include a sentence stating that for these reasons, immigrants need to become legalized. Your email was bullshit Republican propaganda which implied that said punishments that occur in those other countries are justifiable and should be carried out in the U.S. You really think KILLING people or making them "disappear" is a viable solution for illegal immigration? If so, then I feel sorry for you.

Love,
T


I think cutting down the anger percentage was a good choice on my part. He FWDed it to my two cousins in California as well. I rarely ever speak to them (which I should do more of since the two of them, my dad, and myself are the only people left in the world with our last name). I can only hope they don't feel the same way and don't think that I feel this way either. I'm almost tempted to send a response back to the original sender, the elusive Holly, who I've never even heard of. I won't.

Anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say is, why can't we just accept all legal immigrants from all nations? Perhaps we could come up with a more informative legalization movement and an easier way to help those who are living here illegally become legal. I honestly don't think people like my father are against illegal immigrants so much as they are against non-white, non-English-speaking immigrants of all kinds. Again, not everyone feels this way. Not even all right-wing Republicans feel this way. The ugly truth is that there are a lot of people who do believe this. Far too many, in fact (one is too many if you ask me). This sentiment needs to be replaced with love and acceptance. Would any of us be here today if our ancestors or even us, personally, didn't receive love and acceptance in this country at some point? No. We'd probably be illegal immigrants.

A Post For the Mens

Last night, at an outing with my work team, one of my co-workers told me that although he is not my blog's number one target group, he does read it and like it. That made the ol' noodle start storming with the possibilities of who/what my target group consists of: Avocados? Buffy? Ex-Sephora employees? My mom? Charmander? I couldn't conceive of a group of people that my blog would be specifically catered to, so I asked my co-worker what target group he was referring to. "Chicks," he said.

Now, although I like to think that I have a strong, devoted, hunky, male fan-base that isn't just my boyfriend, Sam, I am now entertaining the possibility that I could be wrong. So, without further ado, here is a post that's not about makeup, homemade sea salt hair spray, or gynecologists (cervix goblins) and is, instead, about the things that are really important in a man's world.


Ribs

Grabbing a rib from a giant pile on a plate and chomping the meat straight from the bone makes you feel like a strong, powerful lion (except lions rarely use plates). Ribs are delicious and  lots of animals have edible ones. Whether baby back, short, spare, or Adam's, ribs are always a delicious, manly treat. Without counting the wheel and fire, ribs are probably one of the most well-known caveman accessories (talking out of my ass at about 80 knots here [I'm not sure why I'm on a boat either]). Fact: Men can perform surgery on themselves, breaking off their own ribs which will then generate into a human woman.


Tom Selleck's Mustache

Need I say more?

Blowing Up Old Spice Headquarters

Picture it: Explosions that smell like pine and musk, people running for cover from "Playmaker"-scented smoke clouds and fire, you standing there, covered in soot and sweat, surrounded by dynamite. Albeit a bit on the dangerous and life-threatening side, blowing up Old Spice headquarters would surely earn you a spot in the Manliness Hall of Fame (which I just made up). You'll probably be arrested afterwards but hey, that's the risk REAL men take.


Hard Liquor Just

No juice. No soda. No tonic water. No vermouth. No. Fucking. Ice. I'm not talking about throwing it back in a little, baby 1 oz glass either. Ordering scotch, whiskey, bourbon, moonshine, or anything else that will burn like turpentine going down without anything to dull down the potency is the way to drink like a fucking boss. I did this once in the comfort of my own home and was immediately mistaken by one of my roommates as an alcoholic, male intruder. Two sips later and I stopped menstruating.


Owning Something That Could Kill People

Don't listen to your friends when they tell you that buying a gun, cobra, black widow spider, or machete is a bad/dangerous idea. If you own something that could kill someone, you call the shots. Why? Because if someone else tries to, you could murder them. A man doesn't sit back and let others steer the boat (the one I was on before, I guess?). He takes the wheel (paddle?) into his own hands and tells everyone else what to do. What better way to insure that this happens than carting around toxic pets or lethal weapons? I can't think of any.


Sweat

Picture it glistening on gigantic, hairy pecs. Go on, do it. Sweat is where it's at if you're a man. Fact: Most men actually conserve their own sweat and use it as bathwater biweekly. Pro-Taylor Tip: Deodorant isn't just for the underarms. Smear that shit everywhere if you sweat like a beast or just rub it on your forehead to prevent nasty, greasy, sweat-drenched bangs. If you're a man, ignore the above tip. Just sweat all over the place and don't give a single fuck.


Bear-Skin Rugs

So, you have your plate of ribs, you're Tom Selleck, you just blew up the Old Spice headquarters, you're drinking scotch in a fancy glass, you have an uzi and a box jellyfish at your disposal, and you're all hot and sweaty. So, what are you lounging on? You bet your ass you're lounging on a bear-skin rug. Nothing says "I'm a fucking man" like being in a complete state of relaxation on the hide of a dead carnivore. The only think better and more suited to the comfort of a true man would be if velociraptor-skin rugs were available. I sense a business venture!


So, now that I've captured the attention of men everywhere with this list and have about a zillion new male followers, I'd like to break the news to you that this list was complete bullshit. I have a vagina and I love all of the things on this list. In fact, there's probably nothing on this earth I wouldn't give up to have Tom Selleck's mustache on my face and a velociraptor-skin rug to stretch out my stems on. A couple makeup posts here and there does not a chick blog make. Let this be a lesson to you all!

Some of My Favorite Things

Normally, I'm a big grumpypuss (grumpipuss? grumpy-puss?) and it takes quite a lot to lift my spirits. Despite that, there are a handful of small things that will turn my day completely around or at least force a temporary smile onto my face. These things are as follows:


♥ Walking by an intensely air-conditioned store in the summer and feeling the cold air rush over me for just a second.
♥ Free food at a restaurant or store for absolutely no reason.
♥ When my favorite song EVER randomly comes on Pandora (It's not Colors of the Wind by Pocahontas. I SWEAR).
♥ Eating the tip/first bit of pizza, pie, and cake and the middle/last bite (filled with all the toppings and sauces) of a sandwich or burger.
♥ Finally getting in bed after cleaning all the things and looking around at a spotless room.
♥ Getting a hand-written letter from somebody in the mail! It rarely happens and brings me back to 1865...when I wasn't alive.

Hellooooooo!

♥ Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathons on Logo and the Twilight Zone marathons on Sci-Fi.
♥ Putting on face masks, kicking back, feeling like Mrs. Doubtfire (but hotter, I hope), grabbing a snack, and watching some TV.
♥ When my antisocial cat, Shadow, grooms the back of my hand and therefore proves she actually loves me.
♥ SAM.
♥ Seeing a good Before & After (I'm looking at you, Promise Phan).
♥ Three-way calling two of my best friends like we're 14 again. Except now that we're older, we don't pretend that one of us isn't there while the other asks the unsuspecting friend leading questions about the quiet spy friend.
♥ This is a rare one, but when I take a picture with someone, look at it afterwards, and I actually look nice instead of like this.
♥ My rabbit starting to recognize me as the "treat-bearer" and following me everywhere. This, at a quick glance, looks and feels like love, devotion, and friendship.
♥ Playing a word for a ridiculous, obscene amount of points in Word Feud and practically sealing the game for myself.


That's about it. Other than the things on that list, there's really nothing that can make this Debbie Downer happy (unless calorie-free cheeseburgers are invented).  >:(

DISCLAIMER: All of that grumpy business is actually not true at all. I'm generally pleased and easy-to-please unless you change plans last minute on me, break/lose something of mine, are Natalie Portman, are against abortion/women's rights/equality/evolution/gay marriage, kill kittens, etc.

Artist Review: Adele

I'm really just making this post because I have absolutely no idea what to write about and just want a platform where I can rave like a banshee about Adele. Before this, I spent about ten minutes trying to write a post combining science and sandwiches, but then I realized that I had no idea what I was talking about and am just really hungry/wanted to include HD pictures of sandwiches in a post. To fulfill the latter desire:

Get in mah bellay!

Now that I've been placated, let's talk about Adele. I have no idea where she came from, but it seems like I blinked my eyes and her complete discography was all over the radio and everyone and their mom knew who she was. Prior to finding the spotlight, Adele was hurt bad. I mean real bad. That, or she is extremely creative and imaginative because almost every song's message is "I love you but ow, my heart" or "You really cut me deep and now I'm going to fuck up your shit." Her voice is like an angel's wet willie and I find myself listening to her albums on repeat. I also find myself singing with her, full blast and pants-less, in my room at 1:00am on a Sunday night (Monday morning?). But that's a different story. Her single, Rolling In The Deep, sounds like Etta James or Tina Turner but BETTER (yea, I said it). I have yet to have a negative reaction to my semi-fascist force-people-to-sit-down-and-listen-to-Adele sessions.

On top of all her mad harmonious skillz, Adele is just an awesome person. She is a curvier lady who does not give a single fuck about the beauty standards of society and the pressure that is put on her in the music industry to look a certain way. Below are some of Adele's most fabulous, body-positive quotes:

FUCK. YES. Reading stuff like this makes me feel incredibly empowered as woman who constantly struggles with loving her body (don't we all?). To stand up and say stuff like this, without shaming the other women who choose to go a different, more provacative, route, takes a lot of cajones and cerebros (that's balls and brains for you non-Spanish speakers [I don't speak Spanish either. I had to ask Sam, which led to me wondering if Spanish zombies moan "Cerebrossssssss..."]). Anyway, now I'm distracted by zombie thoughts and by how many parentheses are in the previous sentence. Punctuation, y u make me sad? Moving forward, Adele is a positive role model for women everywhere to learn to love themselves, respect other women, and do what's right and comfortable for them without judging and putting down others. Behind those angelic wet willies is a woman worth listening to, both with accompaniment and without.

I think that concludes this installment of "Taylor's Unfocused And Grammatically Offensive Tirades," or as you like to call it, "http://majorstranger.blogspot.com/." To sum up everything that's been discussed, here is a picture of Adele eating a sandwich (burgers are sandwiches, right?):

Be Nice

I remember being out with some friends a couple of weeks ago when we passed a young couple walking the opposite way on the sidewalk. As we passed them, they both smiled at all of us and said "You all have a wonderful night!" It was completely unprovoked and entirely refreshing in a city filled with rushing, over-crowded, scowly faces. As a group, we decided to pay those well wishes forward to the next person we saw. About a block up, we found an 300+ pound man alone on a stoop, sporting the grumpiest face I have ever seen. Simultaneously, we all shouted "You have a wonderful night!" to him. His face lit up like the 4th of July and he smiled at all of us, completely surprised, and said "You too!"

Example of how not to be.

Over the years, I have made it my personal objective to be a kinder person. I used to harbor extremely judgmental thoughts about other people, even if I didn't know them. I would verbally bring down complete strangers with a friend or two in order to feel better about myself. I'm honestly ashamed to admit this, but I'm sure there are a lot of people who used to do (or possibly still do) the same thing. I've grown up a lot since then. I've come to realize that different doesn't ever equate to bad and that if someone is happy with their self and their life, then who am I to say anything? Who am I to judge? Since learning this valuable lesson, I have been able to make new friends (and keep old ones) who are on a similar track. Many people have "toxic friends" who bring them down. I only have positive people who lift me up. Granted, sometimes you guys make me feel stabby, but you're still good people and I still love you. I don't think I would've been lucky enough to meet such an amazing, kind, open-hearted, caring boyfriend if I didn't learn to open up my own heart.

That's not to say I'm a rainbow candy unicorn to everyone in real life. I'm still sarcastic and goofy and will call you out for saying something ridiculous, like when you're drunk at the bar and think the name "Lily" has five L's in it (right Sam?). But I'll never talk you down to bring myself up. Sometimes I feel negative, judgmental thoughts creeping into my head at the end of a rough day, but I've learned to recognize them and then push them out full force. It doesn't matter to me anymore whether you're fat, thin, handicapped, black, white, deaf, big-haired, overly made-up, gay, straight, transgender, post-abortion, a jesus lover, schizophrenic; as long as you're happy and not hurting or policing anybody else, then keep doing your thing and don't let anybody bring you down.

Niceness breeds niceness. If one person does something nice for another, it can change their entire day for the better and increase their chances of doing something nice for someone else (or so I've experienced, this isn't scientific). If you can learn to quell your judgment and just be nice, you have learned more than most people have been able to grasp in their entire lifetime. One "Bless you!" (or "When you die, nothing happens," if you're an atheist) after a sneeze, two helping hands for a woman with a stroller and a toddler to help her down a flight a stairs, three extra seconds to hold a door for the person behind you, these little things make all the difference. If all of us could just be nice, just BE NICE, we could change a lot around this place, don't you think?

You all have a wonderful night.

Why You Should Never Elect My Father For President

My father isn't a bad person. He's had some life struggles and a big chunk of his adolescence involved copious experimentation with a smorgasbord of drugs (I once asked him which drugs he hadn't tried, to which he respond, "Well, I never tried cocaine"). Sometimes I think that pieces of his brain disintegrated entirely somewhere between 1963 and 1978. In my childhood, I knew him as a lonely, bipolar alcoholic who, for obvious reasons, wasn't the best parent. But a lot has changed since I was a kid (such as being prescribed medication and kicking the sauce) and in the past couple of years, we've actually developed a somewhat friendly and stable relationship. Plus, he does one of the best Jerry Lewis impersonations I've ever seen.

Last night I went to dinner with my dad for the first time in a couple of months. We went to my favorite spot, Friend House, and he tried Pad See Ew for the first time in his life. We chatted about our jobs, my roommates (if you're reading this, you guys suck rule), our respective significant others (hi, Sam), and many other things. We even reminisced about that time I tried to add him as my father on Facebook and he rejected it twice and then, when I finally sent him a message asking him why, he responded with "Maybe I'm not." Dark, no? It wasn't until the topic switched over to politics that I was clutching my proverbial pearls.


And here's why:

♥ My dad is a tea-partier. I really don't need to expand on this.
♥ He thinks that the couple who recently decided to raise their children in a gender-free household should be sterilized, sent to jail, and have their kids taken away by Child Protective Services. These were his exact words.
♥ After ranting for a bit about how he believes that the government should have very little involvement in everything, I dared to ask him how he feels about abortion (my question was inspired by this Anthony Weiner video). First, he asked if his response could come with some sort rule set that he feels is morally accurate. I said absolutely not. By now you probably guessed that he did that anyway. My father's view on abortion is that he "is pro-choice as long as stupid girls don't repeatedly use if for birth control while places like Planned Parenthood pay for it free of charge with our tax money." I told him that this doesn't happen as often as he seems to think it does and that any instance of this is a reflection on the government's inability to provide proper sex education and resources to young women (especially in lower-income areas). You will

My dad: looks harmless, right?

see here and here, that no abortion at Planned Parenthood is free or paid for with taxes, but you probably already know that. I shared this with my father too. Unfortunately, it remained unabsorbed.
♥ Next, we decided to delve into gay marriage. What can I say? I needed to know. My dad thinks that committed homosexual couples should have the same rights as committed heterosexual couples but it should not be called "marriage." According to him, this is because "marriage" is defined as being between a man and a woman. I asked him if he meant that his argument was one about preserving sanctity. He said yes. I cited drunk, drive-through weddings in Las Vegas that get annulled the next day (think Britney Spears) as not preserving sanctity but still being legal. He said that that's just "goofing around." I asked him why we can't change the definition of marriage since our society is growing and changing from what it once was when these definitions were set in place. He said that if we change it to include LBGT people, what's next? Bestiality? Pedophilia? I told him that it was disgusting to even compare gay marriage to those things considering they are non-consenting and that by saying gay couples cannot call it "marriage" and cannot use the same terms as straight couples, is saying that they are unequal to straight couples. He said that these rules/definitions were founded upon Judeo-Christian morals and that everyone should respect these religions and follow their guidelines. I brought up the point that many Jewish movements support gay marriage and that other religions do not have to respect or follow any other religion's guidelines since this is a country that is supposed to separate church and state and uphold freedom of religion. He scoffed. For the record, my father isn't even religious.
♥ Finally, as the icing on the cake, he told me that he can't wait to stop working at his job because of how "ghetto" the students are. I would bet my life that what he meant to say was "black."


My co-worker, Scott, suggested that I should take his TV away from him. I concur. That, or I should just permanently block FOX News. I guess it just boggled my mind to actually know someone who believed, in earnest, all of these wackadoodle things I hear spouted from intolerant, right-wing mouths in the media. I wish there was a way to change my dad's mind and believe me, I've really tried to. You can't teach an old dog new tricks though, and 64 is REALLY old in dog years.

People Who Should Evaporate

Ok, well maybe not evaporate because that isn't violent enough, but definitely be maimed and/or murdered. You may think that's a bit harsh. I don't. I simply cannot wrap my head around a plausible reason as to why these individuals do the things they do. I think after these people are seen or caught doing the below things, a person should come and escort them to Mordor where they will be thrown into the fires of Mount Doom. Perhaps the person who escorts them could be Gollum and he can bite off their finger before he throws them in, just for good measure.


The Stair-Stopper

Whether they are mindlessly bullshitting away on their cell phone or just standing there drooling onto their feet, these idiots have decided to completely stop walking on the stairs and make everyone else go around them. Sometimes they make it all the way down or up the stairs only to stop at the bottom or top, respectively. A lot of the time, they do this on the steps going in and out of the subway (especially unforgivable). These steps only have enough room for two lines of people: one going up and one going down. By standing on the steps and being a moron, the Stair-Stopper forces everyone behind them to maneuver around them and face-first into the line going in the opposite direction. Traffic is entirely at a stand-still and nobody can go anywhere all because someone decided that they are the only person on the planet of importance. The prevalence of Stair-Steppers increases greatly when it's raining and they decide it's an ingenious idea to stand on the subway steps, just under the ceiling, to escape the rain. You are ruining my life by doing this and when I pass you, I will say "Are you serious?!" in the nastiest tone I can muster up. Also, beware of the rare and elusive Escalator-Stopper. They stop at the very top or bottom, just as the escalator ends, so that you have no choice but to flatten your whole body against their back and ass. Delicious.


Cat Callers

To Mordor with all of you! There is nothing I hate more than having my appearance assessed by a complete stranger. Does hanging out of your car by the waist and yelling "Hey Sexy!" ever work for you? Be honest, you're probably still a virgin. Nothing would make me happier in this world than if I could approach someone of the opposite sex on the sidewalk and not feel sick to my stomach with anxiety. This is because a hearty chunk of the time, they have something to say to me that has to do with the way I look. It's especially amusing when, if I react unfavorably to the public comment about my face, body, clothes, hair, ass, or tits, I'm called a bitch, whore, slut, etc. Anyone who knows me can vouch that despite my chronic sarcasm (it's terminal), I'm quite the amiable person. The jury is still out on why getting angry when a perfect stranger makes a comment about my waist-to-hip ratio constitutes my being a mean prostitute. I am not a piece of meat. I am not for you to comment on. I did not get dressed today for you. Please fuck off, on behalf of all women.


Mr./Ms./Mrs. Lasties

I am very weird about the order in which I eat things and I've been told that I'm not the only one who is like that. I will eat all around the edge of sandwiches and burgers and make it so that my last bite is the cheesy, saucy, ooey, gooey center. When I eat gummy bears, I save all of the green and white ones for last because they are my favorite. It's almost like I'm doing work when I start eating something in order to get rid of the less palatable parts of my meal. So when a friend (or soon to be enemy) asks me for a bite when there is only one, amazing, perfect bite left, I'm livid. Don't get me wrong, I'm an extremely generous person and that is why this sucks the most. I will give them the last bite and all of my green (which are strawberry-flavored, believe it or not) and white gummy bears, but inside my soul is dying. I can remember one instance of this from my childhood which practically traumatized me. Everyone agrees, I'm sure, that Jolly Ranchers tasted 114% better when they came in a roll and were square-shaped. I used to live, LIVE, for the moment when a red Jolly Rancher was next. There was no taste like it. However, this pack was especially barren and it wasn't until my absolute last Rancher that I saw a glimmer of cherry-flavored hope. That is, until my mom asked me if she could have one. I know, I know, I should have killed her. Instead, I gave her that cherry Jolly Rancher and continued sucking on my nasty, grape Jolly Rancher with a heavier heart.



Captain Miserable

Let me guess, you don't like this music, you don't like this party, and you don't like these people.We all have our moments when we're very difficult to please; whether it be from a lack of sleep, food, or just because we're in a foul mood. However, Captain Miserable is always difficult to please and will never just be happy and go with the goddamned flow. They are usually a friend of yours which makes it even more challenging because you have to be kind and supportive. They never seem to be satisfied with where you're going or what you're doing, but they never come up with an alternate idea. Captain Miserable most likely has a lot of other issues going on under the surface, but at the moment they aren't willing to fix any of them and would rather bitch, moan, and make your life a living hell. Save us all the trouble and just go home and sort through your shit. That, or bring us somewhere that you enjoy. If you're unable to do either, then you just have to suck it up and have fun. These are the rules.


Loud-Ass People

Just shut the fuck up. Nobody cares. That is all.


Social Preachers

"You should really be vegan." "Do you care about the ASPCA?" "Let me ask you a question about your hair!" Absolutely not. Social Preachers can be found on the street trying to sell you things, at parties trying to shove their views down your throat, or they can even possess your best friend temporarily. About a year ago, I was cornered at a party for about two hours by a guy who claimed that veganism was the only way to live. Through further conversation, I actually discovered that he ate fish (technically pescatarian), but continued to tell people he was vegan to "impress them." I remained severely unimpressed. When I first moved to NYC and was a gullible newb, I fell for the SSP (Street Social Preacher). I ended up paying $40 for a ~salon experience~ that expired, to my horror, only a little while after I bought it. It remained unused and I would have been better served wiping my ass or making pasties with said $40. The moral of the story is that 99.9% of the people who stop you on the street want your money. They don't just want to talk to you about the ASPCA, they want you to give them money for it. Just want to volunteer? Too bad. Once you start talking to them, they will guilt you with stories and pictures to try and bleed you of all of your income. My rule? If someone has a clipboard, fucking RUN. As for the vegans (I know that not all of you are undercover pescatarians), I'm cool as long as you don't try to convert me. I like cheese far too much and you'll just have to deal with that.


No wonder that website thinks my blog is "upset most of the time" when I'm writing shit like this every other day.

My First Chocolatey Post

Chocolate, but not my chocolate.

So this is the very beginning of it all. The first post ever on the first page ever of my first blog ever (except not really, I have like five others). What better way to kick this baby off than to start off by telling the world how much chocolate I just ate? I'll describe it as best as I can (even though I sort of blacked out during) so you can feel as if you were there with me.

I was minding my own business, finished up the leftover Mongolian BBQ from yesterday's lunch, when a coworker quietly suggested I try some Kinder Shoko-Bons. After having consumed my body mass in Kinder Buenos yesterday, I really didn't have the will power to refuse. The four Shoko-Bons were immediately followed by four Dark Chocolate Hershey Kisses, four triangular pieces of a Milk Chocolate Toblerone, two Hershey Krackel fun-size bars (fun-size indeed), one mini Milky Way, and one mini Almond Joy (which I promptly told to fuck off since I've never liked coconut involved in my business affairs). At this point, I was using the more pedestrian chocolate as palate-cleansers for the European and Mexican chocolates we had leftover from team members' various vacations. It was finally brought to my attention that I had been doing laps around the immediate office area and shoving whatever resembled chocolate into my face. As most of you may know, this is quite the dangerous endeavor when you remember how much chocolate going into your body resembles chocolate coming out of your body. Now that I've slowed down, I'm finally writing this first entry after hours of tinkering in the "Design" tab but mainly, I can't stop thinking about the more chocolate that's a couple of feet away from me.




Anyway, now that story time is out of the way, I'm sure you want to know what kind of shit to expect from my blog in the future:

♥ Food is at the very top of the list. Even if my post isn't about food at all, there might be pornographic pictures of food. This is how I roll (mmm now I want a roll).
♥ How my life relates to various episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and what this means when discussing my general mental health and well-being.
♥ Makeup and clothes: why I buy so many, where on my body I put them, and if they stop being used after the second or third go and remain in a drawer/closet for the rest eternity.
♥ I might explain why I hate any fictional media involving space. I also might not and you'll just have to come to terms with that.
♥ Feminism, sexism, racism, and ableism. Expect a lot of isms.
♥ Things that make you go "Awwww" and then your eyes or ovaries (provided you have a set) explode. An example of this is the YouTube video, Cookie Monster. May the first sentence of this bullet serve as a warning when watching this. I will not be held responsible for any dangly eyes or splodey ovaries.
♥ New York City reviews: I will complain about the subway, rave about the Brooklyn brunches, and pull my best poker face when describing the underground warehouse parties.
♥ Toilet-related things. Doodie is the best word in the world and I love talking about poop. It makes me happy and kind of proud. Hopefully you feel the same way.

That's about it! I hope everyone is pumped for the ride of their life. Since there's never a good way to end a post, especially your very first one, I'm just going to...