tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4517797762495169202024-03-05T08:17:39.243-05:00My Everyday Overreactions.i've been told i need to take it easy, but if i did my stories wouldn't be as good. lailz.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05431003104341069638noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451779776249516920.post-31958442679453359282012-11-04T23:05:00.000-05:002012-11-06T19:21:23.722-05:00Dear Past Me, You're a Moron. In the car today Brad Paisley's song "Letter's to Me" came on the radio and it got me thinking about everything I've done in my past. I started reflecting on the last 22 year of my life and I came to a realization...I've done <b>A LOT </b>of dumb shit. Like <i>really really</i> dumb things...and the best part is I usually got caught.<br />
<br />
I've decided to write a series of letters to myself over the years.<br />
<br />
<br />
Also, for legal reasons...<b>MOM, if any of this is news to you sorry bout it. You've missed your window of anger and can hold nothing against me. Love youuu.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Dear me at 3:</b> Your sister is not going anywhere. This means stealing the Skin So Soft (bug spray) out of your Dad's soccer bag, hiding it in your Play School oven, and drinking it at 11:30 one night in hopes of getting the attention back is a terrible idea. It only ends bad for you; they make you eat charcoal and your father will spend the 20 minute car ride back (and some random afternoons to this day) yelling at you.<br />
<br />
<b>Dear me at 7: </b>I understand you're new at this school, but telling the other kids you have a pony that lives in your bed room will blow up in your face. You'll start to make friends, and when you do they'll come to your house and ask about said pony. You'll get out if it by telling them it died, and crying.<br />
<br />
<b>Dear me at 9:</b> Don't try to curl your sister hair with a power drill, it won't work. Sorry Syd.<br />
<br />
<b>Dear me at 12: </b>When you fail your first math test, don't forge your moms signature, but if you do don't hand your teacher a check right after. You won't be able to talk your way out of this one...telling your teacher your mom was pretending to be left handed for a day won't work. Neither will crying. Chalk that test up as a loss, you'll quickly learn numbers aren't your thing.<br />
<br />
<b>Dear me at 15: </b>Taking your parents car to go get dinner while they're out is a bad idea. You need to remember, that sister you harassed for years can now talk and she will enjoy telling on you the moment they get home. You'll be forced to go a month with out AIM and your cell phone. You'll think about running away but I'm letting you know now your bedroom window is a lot higher off the ground than you think. Don't try to sneak out of it. You will try, and you will fall. <b><i>HARD.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b>Dear me at 16: </b>DON'T TAKE THE US HISTORY TEST OFF OF MR. ABBOTT'S DESK. You and Mike, and everyone else <i>will get caught</i>. Don't take it to the library and make copies of it, <i>you will get caught. </i>Don't give them to Alexa to pass out, <i>you will get caught. </i>You will walk into class the next day and it'll be a <b>COMPLETELY </b>different test, and you will be screwed. You will then be called to the office and forced to tell the wonderful Mr. Abbott about why you and all your friends thought it was a good idea. You'll have fun with this one.<br />
<br />
<b>Dear me at 17: </b>You and Liz shouldn't throw a party at her parents' house. In the event you do, <i>DO NOT PUT THE PICTURES ON FACEBOOK. Y</i>ou'll get busted for lots of things because of Facebook, so you should avoid it. Starting now. You'll be forced to spend the next two summers hiding from her parents. Sorry Betty Ann and Keith.<br />
<br />
<b>Dear me at 20: </b>You're so close to 21! Don't use your fake ID at Angry Ale's. The bouncer will take it, and your boyfriend at the time will leave you outside, BY YOURSELF, because "its not his fault you're not old enough." <i>But wait, there's a plot twist.</i>...after he leaves you outside, you'll realize he's your ride home. <b>HAVE FUN WITH THAT ONE.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
After reevaluating my life, I'm beginning to have second thoughts about my Life Coaching Career. But just for the record, I still stand by my dead horse story. Sparkle just couldn't handle the move.lailz.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05431003104341069638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451779776249516920.post-85531858692010947712012-10-29T23:27:00.001-04:002012-11-06T19:26:42.186-05:00Is College Really that Important?According to some old dead guy, there are two kinds of people: Students and Professionals. Both have equally stressful and hectic lives. Well folks, I have somehow managed to become a combination of both.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am a Professional Student. Thanks to the wonderful people at UNC Charlotte I have taken the "5 year plan" to a whole new level, and by level I mean its turned into the "5 1/2 year plan." Clearly the Public Relations department at my school needs the whole summer off, and feels no need to offer summer classes. This being said, I have started a new campaign called<b> "things I'd rather do instead of going to college."</b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This is just a rough draft, so bear with me... </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
1. A Rapper. </div>
<div>
<ul>
<li> As some of you know, I have a hidden talent: mad rapping skills. I do enjoy free-styling in my spare time. I understand that having "mad rap skills" is a must, however there a few other prerequisites I feel I have. Like most rappers, I enjoy an adult beverage while lounging in a "hip new club" with my "homies" and have no problem "popping champagne like I won a championship game". Another qualification: I look amazing in a flat bill hat. </li>
</ul>
<div>
2. A Race Car Driver.</div>
</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>I personally think I'm a great driver. If anyone tells you otherwise they're mistaken or lying. I can totally drive fast, and thanks to my AMAZING internship I have added driving fast<i> in circles</i> to my skills. Also, if I win, I am fabulous at popping champagne (note above).</li>
</ul>
<div>
3. A Surgeon</div>
</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>At this point in my life, I have not only seen enough Grey's Anatomy to have the skills to operate, but I have in fact preformed medical procedures...on a dog. Welllllll, I pulled a tick off of my roommates dog once... that counts, right?</li>
</ul>
<div>
4. Life Coach</div>
</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>I make great life decisions. Judging by this blog, I clearly have my life together. I obviously have the skills to guide others in their life-altering decisions. <b>Obviously</b>. </li>
</ul>
<div>
5. Private Investigator</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Some people call it stalking, I call it conducting an investigation. Its only stalking if you get caught... by the police. I have uncovered so many "who done its" and "what ifs". A girl said her uncle died: FALSE, she went white water rafting - BUSTED. You say you're tired and staying in: FALSE, you're at your boyfriends - BUSTED. You say you left your charger at home: FALSE, you just turned your phone off - BUSTED. You say you have a serious boyfriend: FALSE, you went out on one date, one time - BUSTED. You get the gist. </li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
These are just a few of the things I feel like I could do instead of finishing college. Some might say I'm ridiculous, others may totally disagree. I for one think these are wonderful ideas...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b><u>Update:</u></b> I just ran this by my father. He loves all the ideas and hopes I can make enough to pay him back for my first 4 years... I may reevaluate this plan after all. </div>
lailz.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05431003104341069638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451779776249516920.post-40583235597689031072012-07-18T21:05:00.000-04:002012-11-04T23:13:28.026-05:00Lady Drivers.I look at myself as an expert on a number of topics, today I will touching on something I feel I am extra qualified to comment on. Lady Drivers. I feel I am qualified to write about this for a number of reasons- I am a lady (yes, a lady...and a very classy one at that), I am also a driver.<br />
<div>
<span style="background-color: #666666;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #666666;">In the state of North Carolina we are forced to take an extensive class that last for the greater part of our high school careers. It covers the basics...turn signal, parking, staying between the lines...all the things necessary to become a totally functioning driver. You then proceed to take the road portion of the driving test, in which the student actually drives, on actual roads. I feel like this is where most girls, and their serious inability to drive begins...</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #666666;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #666666;">I don't know how many of you remember your driving teacher, but if I remember correctly I was more qualified to instruct this portion than my actual instructor was. Mr. Willy was a 87 year old man, whose feet could barely touch the passenger side brakes, he wore your standard Coke Bottle glasses....</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #666666;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPfms5ffnH0EbkY0J47sMF0WCJ5YObAsJKVj97hGHMtQRu04o0pZ3Oz1MJqgu_k5Lx3WQ1btmO1CB8dxcDMOr1waJv60jFFLfAuyEEIH1rPVDhusgC3lwbEFvc1Oa-fXP0QJ1H6Kaqwvio/s1600/blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #666666; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPfms5ffnH0EbkY0J47sMF0WCJ5YObAsJKVj97hGHMtQRu04o0pZ3Oz1MJqgu_k5Lx3WQ1btmO1CB8dxcDMOr1waJv60jFFLfAuyEEIH1rPVDhusgC3lwbEFvc1Oa-fXP0QJ1H6Kaqwvio/s320/blog.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: #666666;">I'm not kidding, he seriously looked like this. </span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: #666666;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: #666666;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: #666666;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #666666;">This man, as sweet as he was, had more interest in flirting with sixteen year old me, than making sure I could drive. You could tell this man just wanted a friend, because let's be honest, sixteen year old me...not super cute..
</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY3gfIV1cQ0cAAKfM1v8e3hbQbK4Hv5U1v_9PKX56PJGg70nrYBO_O5zrX9ii8EaEQ7ne2oESZFhhwk-6uT2sp_8LUUpI23tUtJjL7vJRduW_ch8oR4AtL3sGfCpIzFHoNGShY8SgaXHwA/s1600/189866_1009392600405_3467_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #666666; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY3gfIV1cQ0cAAKfM1v8e3hbQbK4Hv5U1v_9PKX56PJGg70nrYBO_O5zrX9ii8EaEQ7ne2oESZFhhwk-6uT2sp_8LUUpI23tUtJjL7vJRduW_ch8oR4AtL3sGfCpIzFHoNGShY8SgaXHwA/s320/189866_1009392600405_3467_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: #666666;">...But really...</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #666666;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #666666;">Judging by the looks of my hot mess of a sixteen year old self clearly implied how lonely, and desperate this man was for a chatty friend...and let me tell you, Gramps had met his match. We spent a majority of our time chatting about the weather, my hopes and dreams, and how he he fought in some war the we won (whoo america). To be quite honest I have no idea who else was in the car with me those few days, all I know is I had a new friend for life. </span></div>
</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: #666666;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #666666;">Not to toot my own horn, but I'm a pretty awesome driver (references available upon request). I would almost like to consider myself an amateur race car driver...and I'm sure like myself, there are a number of ladies that have worthy driving skills, I however know none of them. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #666666;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #666666;"> Let's skim over the list of drivers in our group of friends...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<ul>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: #666666;">We have one girl who feels like going the speed limit is considered speeding. She also believes that trucks that read "Stay Back 100 yards" really want you to add an extra zero to the end. Needless to say, I wouldn't have her drive my get away car. Many mistake her for an elderly woman, but no. she's twenty-two. </span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: #666666;">The next on our list has almost killed all of us at least once. The most recent time was on a trip back from a wonderful beach week. Now, I am fully aware of the fact that texting while driving is frowned upon in the state of North Caroline, but sometimes things come up. I understand, and respect that. THAT BEING SAID, when you're on the interstate going SEVENTY MILES AN HOUR with one of your closest friends riding shotty YOU SHOULD NOT DO IT. I'm shocked a cop didn't pull us over, and preform a sobriety test at 10:30 in the morning. She might as well been drunk, or at least I thought she was. </span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: #666666;">My best friend talegates like its her job. </span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: #666666;">One of my roommates manged to receive TWO speeding tickets in a six month period, then proceeded to con me into going to her state mandated driving class, in which I wasted a eight hours on a perfectly good Saturday...This same roommate was also almost killed because some dumbass we used to be friends with was unaware that making a successful left turn involved having three traffic free lanes, not two. </span></li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #666666;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="background-color: #666666;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #666666;">I understand some of us can blame our drivers ed teachers, but when you are the one causing yourself to be a crap driver, you should be taken out back and shot. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: #666666;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: #666666;">Example: </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaZVMoFkGq0maktCgEDtKyhhKTDiLk8Z_nZwJ35DEpLoaR3LXOt9BiCK1w45HgsCdF9fyuf1gAaLWqQIjXePAoIIDO4cFY5lxAZVt4z_zDs0hdJUWqciijimqvCNvTy86MeoWoU74fU-8E/s1600/339317_2235176004224_126168979_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaZVMoFkGq0maktCgEDtKyhhKTDiLk8Z_nZwJ35DEpLoaR3LXOt9BiCK1w45HgsCdF9fyuf1gAaLWqQIjXePAoIIDO4cFY5lxAZVt4z_zDs0hdJUWqciijimqvCNvTy86MeoWoU74fU-8E/s320/339317_2235176004224_126168979_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #666666;"> Meet our new neighbor. This is her giant red truck, that she doesn't know how to park. Our apartment complex is built on a solid parking system, to which everyone has their own unspoken assigned spot, she just happens to be taking the spots that belong to me and my roommate. I know it is possible to park a truck this size, my roommates boyfriend does it all the time. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #666666;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #666666;">So please ladies, can we please not make our cases</span> worse? When buy a car to drive, make sure you can ACTUALLY drive it, because if you can't you're making everyone else looks ridic...and lets be real, some of us don't need anymore help with that. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
love, lailz. </div>
</div>
lailz.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05431003104341069638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451779776249516920.post-46298181157475777552012-06-27T00:11:00.004-04:002012-06-27T00:11:52.917-04:00there is a reason you were fired...as most of you know for the last two years i've worked as a hostess at an amazing restaurant here in charlotte. after working at the from door for as long as i have, i have been blessed with the honor of seeing all the hot messes that have been hired, and just as quickly let go.<br />
as i am sitting here in class, doing everything in my power to NOT pay attention, i have been reflecting on these previously stated hot messes...so in an attempt to continue my lack of desire to participate in class, i would like to discuss some of the ridiculous decisions made by the, now terminated, people i have worked with.<br />
<br />
DISCLAIMER...No real names are used. You can't yell at me :)<br />
<br />
- most jobs require a uniform...a very strict uniform, and when you get hired they provide you with the resources you need to obtain this uniform. my uniform at work requires a lovely combination of black dress pants, black belt, and super cute button down shirts (thats a lie). THIS UNIFORM IS NOT HARD TO FOLLOW....that being said, there was this one girl, lets call her Ocho Milla (loosely translated to eight mile, i however referred to her as one of the faces of meth) so when Ocho got hired she was well liked by the staff...little did we know she was bat-shit crazy. Ocho had successfully managed to screw up every aspect of her uniform MULTIPLE times. not only was she unaware of the differences in the colors black, and navy blue but she also did not grasp the concept of deodorant...home girl had to go....<br />
<br />
- like i've said before i am a hostess, however i work with a staff of mostly servers so i have a basic idea of how that aspect of the restaurant works...now before everyone i work with yells at me, i'm not saying your job is easy, but i don't think its rocket science. that being said, i feel like some people think it is...i have an amazing management staff, i do however thing we need to edit our hiring process by including an IQ test...<br />
we hired this one girl, she was super super sweet, we'll call her Honey (because after you hear this story you'll want to hug her and say "ohhh honeyyy"). Honey was a super cute girl, they hired her as a server...after being there for about a month she still didn't know the menu, but since she was so sweet they let her stay around and keep studying the menu. At first i thought this was a great idea....it wasn't...there were warning signs no one took into consideration until it was too late...there were so many, but i really only have space for one...<br />
...Honey left her car door open during the entire length of her shift. now, when i say open i don't mean she left it cracked...i mean this girl left her door WIDE open, for hell and half of Georgia to see. the problem i, and many others had with this situation is the logistics of the whole situation...in order for her to manage to leave her door open she had to unaware of what was going on in her life simply based on the location of her car in reference to the front door of the restaurant.<br />
see what i mean? i bet you said "ohhh honey" in your head.<br />
<br />
AND FINALLY....this one might be my favorite....<br />
-This next employee was a total gem. To be quite honest, I can't use the name I normally call her because my other reads my block...So we'll call her Tuesday (here's your hint: See You Next Tuesday.)<br />
...One night Tuesday decided to go out one night, get shawasted, and go on a date with a Cop to a groovy little spot in uptown Charlotte called JAIL. The only number Tuesday had was the number to the restaurant, and thank goodness someone was there to answer her call!<br />
<br />
<u><b>Sidebar</b></u>: The person who answered her phone call was probably the worst person to have answer your "i'm a dumbass, and got a DUI I need phone numbers call". Don't get me wrong, I loved our kitchen manager, however, he is not the person i want when i'm trying to pull the sympathy card.<br />
<br />
When she was finally bail out of the slammer...which caused her to no call/no show on her shift....she decided to go into work and explain herself. I'm sure you can imagine how that conversation went. I like to play it out in my head something like this<br />
<br />
(When you read Tuesdays lines please read them using the voice of Roz from Monsters Inc. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RtWBlDC2-ss">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RtWBlDC2-ss</a> if you need a reference.)<br />
Tuesday: OH MYYY GOD, i'm so sorry i missed my shift...for a totally legit reason.<br />
Management: blah blah blah you're a moron. it's 5:30 in the evaning...on a tuesday, do you seriously smell like shitty Merlot?<br />
Tuesday: WHATTT? no. it's my new prison smell.<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">Management</span>: you're a moron, but since we're good people we'll give you two weeks to find another job.<br />
Tuesday: blah blah blah i'm a moron.<br />
<br />
Look at the wonderful management stuff given Tuesday a helping hand! I bet you can't guess what Tuesday did just the next day...She got so hammered she over slept her shift and didn't show up for work again!<br />
what a winner! This doesn't even included the series of ridiculous events that is her personal life...Including, but not limited to: passing out in the front seat of her car in the wrong drive way, being fired from another job for the same reason, getting busted about lying about her age, having a gay man tell her he has a better chance with a straight man, getting kick out of numerous peoples houses- specifically for her stinky feet and atom bomb farts.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Looking back at the few that I've mentioned today i've realized something...whenever i feel like i'm having a bad day, just think about these people and it'll turn things around.<br />
<br />
xoxolailz.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05431003104341069638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451779776249516920.post-5008855596534690862012-02-23T01:01:00.001-05:002012-02-23T01:15:54.684-05:00i am willing to admit i'm wrong this time...i've always liked hanging out with guys rather than girls, i used to think they weren't crazy.<br />
<br />
my best friend and i have somehow managed to get stuck with a few of the same guy friends since high school. one is a frat-tastic smart ass, another doesn't really think before he acts..or lights crap on fire, and the third is a ginger. I have kept them around because when i get a little crazy they usually give me two options. one, stop being a brat (its usually a different B word) or you have to buy us beer... and usually only one of those things happen...hint: its not choice one...<br />
<br />
but as the last week has gone on i've come to realize something. something that doesn't happen very often...i might be wrong about this whole thing...<br />
<br />
if you keep up with my blog you should remember the post <a href="http://myeverydayoverreactions.blogspot.com/2011_10_01_archive.html">crazy eyes are a real thing</a>. this post confirms the fact that women are crazy. there is no argument there. but after some serious research I've come to realize that one, guys are crazy, and two they're part of the reason we're crazy.<br />
<br />
i'm sure every guy reading this just rolled their eyes, but just wait...i have examples.<br />
Men are giant 8 year olds.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #76a5af;">"if you don't stop texting me, i'm gonna text your mamma and tell her to tell you to stop." </span><br />
<br />
<ul><li>Yes, those words were actually sent to a girl i have a class with, by her ex...who is 25 years old...who did in fact text her first. i watched this conversation take place. As if the argument taking place via text wasn't enough to take me back to the days of rocking out BSB on my portable sony cd player (which i still have), when told he needed to "grow up" he the proceeds to say something to the effect of "I hate your guts."<br />
...the third grade called, it wants its insult back.</li>
</ul><div>We're not the only ones that have a special "time of the month."</div><div><ul><li>i'm not going too far into detail with the biology behind this one, but trust me it happens. think about all the men in your life, guy think too. whether its your boyfriend, your bros, or your dad it happens. everything is fine. then boom. there it is. </li>
<ul><li><u>example:</u> i was in the middle of the rant that inspired this post today with a friends whose been with her boyfriend for about a year. the moment i took a second to breath, she chimed in with the words "Lailz, i think you're right." the sound of those words were like music to my ears. she then goes on to tell me that her boyfriend became rather hostile towards her, over something that was completely HIS fault. there was some arguing, then click. someone hung up on the other one...but was it her? one might assume so. it was him. within five minutes he then committed the, popularly used to us ladies,<span style="color: #e06666;">"guilty conscience call back." this is a call placed with in 1-5 minute period of time when the hostile party he yet to simmer down, and is still riding the emotional crazy train. </span>this call usually consists of a little whining, unnecessary begging for forgiveness, and sometimes to occasional tear. all of while we later realize was completely irrational and uncalled for. well folks, yes. his call back, as far as she would admit, did contain 2 out of three of the ridiculous emotions listed above.<br />
now guys, when your girl acts like this what is the first though that comes to mind...exactly...my point has been proven. (if you can't figure it out, i'm not telling) </li>
<li><u>example:</u> in class today, i happened to catch the tale end of a conversation between the two girls behind me...<br />
<span style="color: #93c47d;">chick one:</span> girl, my boo got so mad sunday night, we ain't twlked since.<br />
<span style="color: #d5a6bd;">chick two:</span> aww shoot girl, why?! did he hur about you and dion?!<br />
<span style="color: #93c47d;">chick one: </span>no girl, i lost the remote.<br />
<span style="color: #e06666;">me</span>: not to intrude, but you have got to be kidding...<br />
that is a prime example of an over-reactive mood swing, trust me. i know.</li>
</ul></ul><div><br />
</div><div>please correct me if i'm wrong, and i mean PLEASE, but i see a few good reasons to believe i'm right. you hear people say things like men are simple, or don't read too much into it because he is a man. </div><div>blah. <br />
blah. <br />
blah.</div><div>when you have one go from not speaking to you for two weeks, then calling you twenty-two times in thirty-six minutes...or another who you speak to everyday, then somehow falls off the face of the planet...or one whose getting a divorce, but still lives with his ex wife and wants you to come visit...or one that steals your dog and moves to Las Vegas...or that reminds you he still has a key to your house...</div></div><div><br />
</div><div>so next time, before you tell your friends about your "crazy ex-girlfriend" check your stats bro and make sure you're not the crazy one.</div>lailz.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05431003104341069638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451779776249516920.post-70548495341848437132012-02-13T23:10:00.001-05:002012-02-14T00:52:55.871-05:00cupid, i work in a restaurant, its nothing personal..i hate valentines day.<br />
<br />
a lot.<br />
<br />
yes i know. typical single girl response; but before you sit there and roll your eyes, let me explain something to you. i hate valentines day for another reason.<br />
<br />
don't get me wrong, i may or may not be a little hostile i don't have a<i> "valentine"</i> per say, but my hatred stems from a much deeper, more complicated place...that place being where i work.<br />
<br />
i love my job, i really do. i work with some crazy, but amazing people; not to mention the guest that come in on valentines day.<br />
<br />
FOR EXAMPLE:<br />
<br />
1. i work with this girl, she's great. i do however hate her boyfriend. every year right around valentines day he sends her flowers. not just your standard ,make every girl in the place vomit, roses. NO. he sends her these giant works of art that have to be fork lifted in. under normal circumstances i would only gag, and give a subtle eye roll but on this day the flower delivery man had AMAZING timing. he though it would be a good idea to come in, at 12:30...in the middle of our lunch rush and hand me the flowers. which then causes everyone within a 15 miles radius to ask me who sent me my beautiful atonement. flower man, you suck.<br />
side note: i would also like to mention my two wonderful roommate are in relationships with men who like to<br />
send flowers, so i get to spend tomorrow with florist of south charlotte.<br />
<br />
2. apparently valentines day is the one day of the year men think they're creative. well men of the world, your creativity is a pain in my hostess butt. i hate to break it to you, but i am not impressed by your last minute Harris Teeter flower purchase that you so kindly (i wish there was a font for sarcasm) ask me to put on your table...along with a bottle of champagne you'd like pre-ordered...and have me put on your table...in ice...and the order of guacamole you'd like to pre-order and have me put on the table...oh and you'd like to sit in the corner table that seats six...for three hours.<br />
sorry bro. this isn't burger king, and you can't have it your way.<br />
<br />
3. valentines day has been the same day for a million years. the day DOES NOT CHANGE. so when you call me the night before and ask to get a table at 7:30 and my response is "we only have 5:30 and 8:45 available." please refrain from having this conversation with me<br />
<span style="color: #0b5394;">bro-"ok. well, what about 7?"</span><br />
<span style="color: white;">me- "No sir, i'm sorry all we have is 5:30 and 8:45"</span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394;">bro- "what about 7:45."</span><br />
<span style="color: white;">me- "how about 8:45?"</span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394;">bro- "no."...and hang up</span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><br />
</span><br />
now please, someone explain to me how your procrastination is my fault?<br />
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><br />
</span><br />
these are just a few of the, strictly, work related reasons this holiday is crap on a stick.<br />
i have yet to mention chocolate covered strawberries are everywhere, and they are my one weakness...but i refuse to buy them...so if anyone i work with reads this, you should being me some tomorrow night, because i can't be rude and say no.lailz.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05431003104341069638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451779776249516920.post-13566895453399902692012-02-06T22:09:00.001-05:002012-02-06T22:11:00.478-05:00i need to find a rock, and just stay under it.<span style="background-color: #666666;">Public. Public is a place people can congregate openly. Public is where you are free to be who you are, and the world embraces it. Public, public. for the people. by the people. </span><br />
<div><span style="background-color: #666666;"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="background-color: #666666;">that being said, public is not the place to do non-public things. perfect example: you do not empty your bladder in public, that is, in fact something that is frowned upon. i'm going to take a guess, and this is a long shot, and say this is why they created public restrooms. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: #666666;"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="background-color: #666666;">the public restroom is a wonderful creation, it was created so the public could take part in out of home activities without natures call impeding on their time out and about. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: #666666;"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="background-color: #666666;">some places have big bathrooms, some places have little bathrooms, but all in all everywhere has a bathroom. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: #666666;"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="background-color: #666666;">all that being said, lets get down to business (pun intended)...</span></div><div><span style="background-color: #666666;"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="background-color: #666666;">in a perfect world i would be able to go outside and only interact with a select few. this is clearly not a perfect world (they let Madonna perform at the Superbowl, get real america). because of this not so perfect world i am forced to live day to day not knowing what moron is going to jump out and, in Chuck Norris fashion, roundhouse kick the crap out of my afternoon. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: #666666;"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="background-color: #666666;">As a woman i know the ups and downs of make-up. i know touch ups are necessary. i also know that <u>anyone who carries around a curling iron in their purse deserves to be voted off the planet....</u></span></div><div><span style="background-color: #666666;">I was at lunch, in a public place. this place had a public bathroom. this public bathroom was clearly made for quick trips. one sink, no counter, and the i'm pretty sure my iphone screen was bigger than the mirror, yet there were two stalls (add this to the list of things that blow my mind). there was clearly only room for one person in that bathroom, and i had to make my move. i go in, do what i need to do, then as a clean member of society i decide to wash my hands. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: #666666;">i get in line behind what looks to be an imitation Dolly Parton. She stand there touching up her eyes, her lips, and all the other plastic body parts attached to her face. i literally stood there for five minutes waiting in her to finish. after a solid seven minutes i thought to myself "maybe she just doesn't know you're behind her."...once this thought crossed my mind i then took upon myself to suffer from a tuberculosis like coughing fit. i assumed she would notice me, and be on her merry way...</span></div><div><span style="background-color: #666666;"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u style="background-color: #666666;">FALSE.</u></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u style="background-color: #666666;"><br />
</u></b></span></div><div><span style="background-color: #666666;">Dolly turned around, smiled at me, and told me i should really get my cough looked at. as if that wasn't enough she then proceeds to pull a CURLING IRON out of her purse, and plug it into the wall. i was at a loss for words. me. no words. when does that ever happen? </span></div><div><span style="background-color: #666666;">she then curled her hair while i stood there in shock, she even got a little hair spray on my face....</span></div><div><span style="background-color: #666666;"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="background-color: #666666;">just when i though i had just endured the most ridiculous public bathroom experience in my life, once Mrs. Parton packed up her big 'ole bag of tricks and walks out, she stops halfway out the doors, turns around and looks at me...(this is the best part)...and says "patience is a virtue young lady."</span></div><div><span style="background-color: #666666;"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="background-color: #666666;">i have now loss what little faith i had for the public, and Dolly Parton. </span></div>lailz.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05431003104341069638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451779776249516920.post-53717733956308874842011-11-20T14:49:00.000-05:002011-11-20T14:49:31.570-05:00IHOP: International House of PHUCKERY.In order to work at IHOP you clearly only need to have completed 2 semesters of middle school...MAX. <div><br />
</div><div>as far as i can remember IHOP and i have always had a positive relationship. we've had a rough day here and there, but for the most part we've managed to be civil. welp my friends all that ended today. </div><div><br />
</div><div>now some may say my hangover was effecting my mood, i however beg to differ. the MORONS working there effected my mood. </div><div><br />
</div><div>1. IHOP hires the guest stars of "How to catch a predator." this guy was not our server, and thank god for it. he was tall, skinny and had the creepiest baby mustache i've ever done seen. on top of that he kept touching the heads of the children and doing little dances every time someone said "rooty tooty fresh and fruity." i wasn't sure if i wanted to punch him, or call Chris Hanson.</div><div><br />
</div><div>2. IHOP hires serves that have no idea what waiting a table is. as many of you know i work in a restaurant, so maybe i'm a snot but i feel as if serving tables is not rocket scientist. you have a section, you know that section, YOU LOVE THAT SECTION. when your table goes from being empty to being sat, common sense should tell you to go up and talk to the nice people. maybe take a drink order, you know. server stuff. it took him 15 minutes to come to the table. he stood there and watched us FOR FIFTEEN MINUTES. ok Danny (his name) get with it. </div><div><br />
</div><div>3. the girl working the cash register should know how to work the said register. her name was Barbie. that should have been a red flag. we go to pay and the moron has no idea how to divide up our bill. so she ended up charging Brooke for both my and her sandwiches. then another person we were with had to pay twice because she rang up his food on two separate tabs. once Brooke and i realized something was wrong, Barbie said there was nothing she could do and we needed to figure it out ourselves...really barbs? </div><div><br />
</div><div>4. the manager yelled at me. after we realized how dumb cash register girl is, i took it upon myself to ask the manager if she could re-ring us up so Brooke didn't have the charge on her card. i looked at the manager and literally explained what happened to her FOUR times. she had no idea what i was doing, and all she could do is yell. YELL. "I DON'T UNDERSTAND." she yelled this at me FOUR times, FOUR. i ended up looking at her and yelling back "NEVER MIND." </div><div><br />
</div><div>there was so much dumb working in that place, that i feel as if i lost a few vital IQ points. needless to say IHOP, i will be taking my breakfast elsewhere. Pancake House seems like that could be a winner. </div>lailz.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05431003104341069638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451779776249516920.post-60167285168086262292011-10-28T16:55:00.000-04:002011-10-28T16:55:21.266-04:00crazy eyes are a real thing.1. sorry i've been MIA all summer. my life has been a hot mess full of busy-ness (yes, its a word. look it up.) i promise i'll be better at keeping up with this. SWEAR.<br />
<br />
2. Lets get into the real stuff.<br />
<br />
<br />
There are many reasons i'm glad i'm not a man. i love shoes, i love clothes, and i love having a week of my life dedicated to judgement free eating, and bitching. i also love being a girl because i don't have to date one.<br />
<br />
WE ARE CRAZY. this is not a joke. anyone woman that tells you otherwise is a liar. BIG FAT LIAR.<br />
<br />
i have proof. three pages of proof. i'm talking college rule.<br />
<br />
<b><u>BACK STORY:</u></b><br />
i have this friend, for anonymity purposes we'll call her Tra'fonda. (good luck guess who, ha) she's like future bridesmaid kinda friend. so, Tra, met this bro. We'll call him Bill. they date for a week, and let me tell ya the week went well...and then the week ended. you'd think being told "you're just too good for me to date." would call for a peaceful separation...FALSE.<br />
<br />
the week ended in a hot mess let lead to a THREE PAGE LIST of things she hates about him. FRONT AND BACK.<br />
<br />
i'll cut her SOME slack. the front side of page one is things she likes about him...but who wants to read that :)<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul><li>-he hasn't texted me back.</li>
<li>-he goes off-line when i sign on</li>
<li>he said "liking me" wasn't the problem</li>
<li>he sweats A LOT</li>
<li>he never cuddled</li>
<li>he never brought an overnight bag</li>
<li>he wasn't crazy about taking pictures</li>
<li>he hated dancing</li>
<li>he said my food was decent</li>
<li>he always hung his towel where mine was supposed to go</li>
<li>i drank too much...I DON'T DRINK</li>
<li>he lives in a dorm...</li>
<li>he wears cargo shorts, EVERY DAY. who still does that?!</li>
<li>he didn't like my singing </li>
<li>he wears his class ring, who still wears college rings?</li>
<li>he never let me wear his t-shirts</li>
<li>Dana Zimmeron</li>
<li>his longest relationship lasted 8 months</li>
<li>doesn't apologize for anything, even though its always his fault</li>
<li>he used the word "dookie"- the third grade called, they want their word back. </li>
<li>he said i was a daddies girl </li>
<li>he said i was spoiled </li>
<li>he never rubbed my back</li>
<ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">um in my book, that's a deal breaker...</span> </li>
</ul><li>he didn't snore. what man doesn't snore?!</li>
<li>he loves cold weather</li>
<li>HIS EX IS A RED HEAD</li>
<li>it's now 10PM and no signs of life. </li>
<li>the fact that he made me make a list of things that i hate about him</li>
<li>yelling at me for</li>
<ul><li>parking in a handicapped spot.</li>
<li>not wearing a seat belt</li>
<li>hanging my feet out of the window</li>
<li>putting my bare feet on the dash</li>
<li>telling my my underwear didn't match</li>
</ul><li>WANTING SPACE- if you want space go talk to NASA, or move to Russia. </li>
<li>being a slack ass, jackass and asshole all at once</li>
<li>stealing pens. PENS.</li>
<li>not wanting an inside dog</li>
<li>eating liver mush</li>
<li>now its 12AM-no text</li>
<li>GET A HUBCAP</li>
<li>texting me and asking how my day went, then not responding</li>
<ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">that's just rude. </span></li>
</ul><li>taking me home to his mom, AFTER A WEEK.</li>
<li>he smokes a pipe</li>
<ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">is he 80...?</span></li>
</ul><li>he talks about needles</li>
<li>introducing me to everyone in his hometown as "the one" </li>
<ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">IT WAS A WEEK LONG RELATIONSHIP</span></li>
</ul><li>he texts other girls</li>
<li>taking 16 years to text me back</li>
<li>he proves everyone wrong, just to prove them right</li>
<li>he doesn't say goodnight </li>
</ul><br />
<br />
And this folks is why we are all crazy. keep in mind this list was just after a week. can you imagine any longer?<br />
The sad truth is we all have these same thoughts...if not worse.<br />
<br />
<br />
watch out boys. i hope you know the big ball of crazy you're getting yourselves into.lailz.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05431003104341069638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451779776249516920.post-65150000059918884692011-03-14T23:10:00.001-04:002011-03-15T01:30:37.427-04:00share the road.i'm a fairly decent driver. i share the road with bikers, i let pedestrians cross the street, i'll even let in the occasional ass-face who waited until the last minute merge into traffic. you'd figure because of all my automotive "pay-it-forwards" i'd have better street karma...<br />
<div><br />
</div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">negative, ghost rider. </span></b></div><div>today those traffic gods were out to kill me. </div><div><br />
</div><div>mondays generally suck for everyone. especially those of us (me) that have to be up at 7:30 to make it to their 8am geology class with Sleepy and Smelly. so somehow i managed to get my butt out of bed (considering i got three hours of sleep last night, i'm shocked i made it too class...but that's a whole other story) got dressed (my outfit today consisted of closest t-shirt in reach, gym shorts, and tennis shoes but since there is a sock monster in my house i had to go sockless. i don't recommended that) and run out the door. the drive was going swell until i got out of the neighborhood. in order to get out of my neighborhood you have to turn left, and apparently the soccer mom was too afraid to do so. i sat the the stop sign behind this chick for LITERALLY ten minutes...things only went down hill from there. my next navigational move is a right at a large intersection, no biggie because at this particular intersection you <b>CAN </b>turn right on red. clearly the jeep in front of me didn't get that memo. i sat through every single light change before jeep even considered moving and even then they had second thoughts. i almost got out of the car to make sure the driver was still breathing. from this point on it's a straight shot to my 8am handicapped spot (thanks again grams). the speed limit on said straight shot is 45, not 25 not 35 not 40...FORTY FIVE MILES AN HOUR. the one day i'm in a rush to get to class no one else in the world is. after what seems to me an hour of hardcore maneuvering i make it to class.</div><div><b>(<u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">SIDE NOTE:</span></u> both sleepy and smelly made it to class on time today; however, they wee both still sleepy and smelly.)</b></div><div><br />
</div><div>There is not enough character space allowed on this page to continue on with the rest of my motor vehicle encounters today, so here is a brief summary...</div><div>1. Ass-face lady, wearing a Michigan hat came inches from backing over me (i have a new respect for those of you at Ohio state, and your hatred of that whole state.)</div><div>2. 5 cars were moments away from clipping my poor little civic, but my lightning face reflexes saved the day. </div><div><br />
</div><div>...then again i only managed to sleep 3 hours last night, so a lot of this could be my fault, but then again, if you look at it, really its boyfriends fault. </div><div><br />
</div><div>so shout out to my boo, thanks for trying to kill me. </div>lailz.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05431003104341069638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451779776249516920.post-87248938833979544032011-03-01T17:03:00.000-05:002011-03-01T17:03:04.592-05:00parking lots.me and parking lots do not get along. me and people don't normally get along either. put those two together, and oh dear Jesus, it is no <span class="definition">bueno. so this morning i'm trying to park, and much to my dismay i forgot how stupid some people are. as i hit the second floor of the worlds oldest parking deck known to man, i spot a spot! i whipped around the corner so fast i swear i felt the whole thing shake. i get ready to pull my little civic in, and then i realize the DUMB ASS in the mini-van next to me is taking up her spot, plus half of mine...to top that off this biotch is still sitting in her car...watching me try and adjust myself . she then proceeds to get out of her car <span style="font-size: x-large;"><u><b>AND WATCH</b></u></span>. after about five minutes of backing up and yelling i gave up and continued on my epic journey. Once i hit floor five, i'm starting to wonder if class is really worth all this baby mamma drama. then from afar i see it, in all its parking spot glory just sitting there next to the door to the stairwell and all. My heart began to flutter in excitement! once i get close enough to pull in out of nowhere this chick, who seems to be the lovechild of Troy Polamalu, Aretha Franklin and maybe a little Shrek...so anyhow this Shemale was LITERALLY standing in front of my car so i couldn't pull into the spot. she was playing the Defensive line, guarding this wonderful spot from me. TR-RETH-EK (this is what i would imagine her name was) was holding the phone to her ear in one hand, and the other one out telling me to stop. we was about to have ourselves a little parking spot show down, civic vs. mount rushmore...it was on. i started to inch closer verrrry slowly. once i got close enough to be within the parking lines homegirl starts to yell "oh my god white girl is gonna run me ova." i swear, those were her exact words...at this point i had no fight in me, so i surrendered to TR-RETH-EK, or so she thought. yes, she did see my drive off into the sunset but she also saw me call security on her. i ended up being late to my 9:30 this morning, but it was all worth seeing TR-RETH-EK, and friend get $100 tickets for violating school policy and disrupting the flow of traffic. </span><br />
<span class="definition"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="definition">life is good. </span>lailz.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05431003104341069638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451779776249516920.post-84957792017340879122011-02-25T18:23:00.000-05:002011-02-25T18:23:18.316-05:00geology.if you know me at all then you know i am not a morning person.<br />
i don't normally function until at least 10:30, and that's on a good day. so this might come as a shock, but i am in fact taking an 8:30 geology class every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. this being said i have done everything in my power to wake up as late a humanly possible on these days. i now have it down to an art, i can wake up whenever as long as i am out the door by 8:10. now many of you might wonder how i pull this<br />
off...<br />
<u><b>DISCLAIMER:</b></u><b>don't judge me for the following statement</b>...<br />
when my grandma passed away, she left me two things: her wedding ring...and her handicap parking pass. before you do judge me (which i know you are) i only use it for this class, nowhere else....i feel like grandma would respect that...<br />
<br />
<br />
so now on the the real story... <br />
if i can wake up for class, then i think anyone can. this means that the two guys in my class that LITERALLY come in late everyday can figure out a way to make it. the first guy, we'll call him Smelly comes in everyday at exactly 8:45 on the dot. Smelly sits next to me, now smelly wouldn't be all that bad if he just came in 15 minutes late everyday. maybe he works late, or lives far or whatever i could deal with that. No, he's 15 minutes late every day because he stands outside and smokes a cigarette then continues to drink a LARGE red bull. We all know the reason flamingos are pink, because when they eat nothing but shrimp they turn that color...well red bull and cigarettes have the same exact effect on humans. he REEKS of red bull and cigarettes , its like not matter how much Smelly bathes it wont go away. This brings me to Sleepy, Sleepy shows up to class between 9-9:30...class is over at 9:50. not only does Sleepy show with less then half the class to go, he shows up with NOTHING to write on or in, why take up slots in a class that you're indefinitely going to fail. maybe having to deal with Smelly and Sleepy is karma's way of telling me to not pull the handicap card anymore...lailz.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05431003104341069638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451779776249516920.post-68721714173379066362011-02-23T23:50:00.000-05:002011-02-23T23:50:09.657-05:00thin mints.i'm not fat. i am a normal person, i am a normal person that has been sitting on her butt for most of the winter because its been too damn cold to drive to the gym. i am also a normal person who, when it's warm, likes any aquatic land mass (except for the lake because i hate mud in between my toes) and also likes wearing as little clothing as possible on said aquatic land mass. that being said i decided on Monday that i was going on a little diet. Nothing too crazy just a little less binging, and a little more celery. i have been doing awesome, no fast food, lots of fruits and vegetables and no junk i was really happy for myself...until today, when the door bell ring...around 7:30. i start to think to myself "seriously, i'm trying to watch Teen Mom 2. who the eff could this be?" i open the door, and to my shock stands a little girl, but not just any little girl. no, this girl was a girl scout. and in the girl scouts hand was a bag...and i bet you can guess what was in the bag, my worst nightmare. Thin Mints and Samoas. who in their right mind would do this to me? no, she didn't have the wrong house, no someone wasn't playing a sick joke. these cookies were for me, my mother thought it would be a good idea to buy enough cookies for the 3rd world. i'm now convinced she wants me to eat so many cookies that i explode and so she no longer has to support me financially.<div><br />
</div><div>thank you girl scouts of america for single handedly undermining my entire summer. </div>lailz.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05431003104341069638noreply@blogger.com0