Malerie V

Professional bystander of others' awkward moments. Boxed wine connoisseur. Class clown of 2002 & 2006. Reigning champion of my family's Trivial Pursuit war. Here are my smörgåsbord of thoughts:

Category: Uncategorized

Too Soon

For a 29 year old, I’m pretty experienced with dating. I don’t know what that says about me, but I’ve mastered the art of escaping tortuous ones.. or so I had thought.

This particular date occurred about two years ago. I had met this gentleman, we’ll call him Tom, through an online dating site. We had been talking for a few days: he lived about 20 minutes away and asked if I wanted to meet up for drinks on a Saturday night. Upon our initial meeting, no red flags were waved. You couldn’t get into the door of the bar we initially chose due to a college basketball game being televised, so we opted to walk to another bar a few blocks down (which unfortunately for me is one my friends and I frequent. This is vital to the story).

We sat at the bar and grabbed a drink, starting with normal first date banter: where we grew up, what we did for a living, etc. Immediately off the bat Tom started talking about what we would do on our future dates: batting cages, the movies…. where we could go on our vacations. I was flabbergasted to say the least. Friends and family can tell you there are few times in my life my mouth is not moving, but it caught me off guard. I veered the conversation into talking about whatever sports team was playing on the television around us and prayed that comment was just first date nerves.

A friend of mine spotted me at the bar and came over to say ‘hello’ which was a relief. I introduced Tom, and explained that she was getting married in a few months, asking her how the planning was going. The conversation was brief and she left. I told Tom that I had known my friend and her fiance since before they were a couple, and it was incredible to watch their relationship fully blossom into marriage. His reply, “She will say that about us on our wedding day.” — like Shelly Duvall at the end of “The Shining” I knew I had to get out. I’m not proud to say it, but I have seen enough Lifetime movies in my day to know that this was bad news bears. I had met the only man on earth who was more obsessed with me getting married than my Mom.

I turned to my right and a group of my friends entered the bar. Normally, this would be celebrated, but I needed Tom to leave… about 20 minutes ago. They all came over to say “Hi” as Tom introduced himself as my boyfriend much to the surprise of my friends and myself. I’m not sure what Tom’s relationship timeline is, but apparently an hour of conversation constituted a relationship. I went to the bathroom and told my friends of my predicament; we all agreed he had to go. After I returned, I pulled Tom aside to tell him that the date was over. He told me he would drive me home (even though I had driven myself there) assuming I was leaving for the night. I clarified to him that although he seemed like a nice (manically overbearing) guy, I didn’t think we were compatible. Just when I thought things could not get any weirder or worse.. it did. Tom took the news worse than me the first time I saw “The Lion King” as a child, which was not well.. at all. He cried. He didn’t just cry, he SOBBED. In front of the ENTIRE bar. In front of EVERYONE. He mumbled something about our future together as I stood there in shock. Completely unprepared for this reaction, I gently patted him on the back and escorted him out the door. He walked to his car crying while I returned to my friends inside. I sat down at the bar only to realize that Tom had opened his own tab, ordering one of the most expensive beers on draft. I paid both of our tabs and went home.

Below is a picture one of my friends took that night. Everyone having a good time with me in the background….




Have one. Or ten. Or a concussion.

I loved having sleepovers as a child. Obviously, who didn’t? The thought of spending 12 straight hours with your same friend was almost overwhelming to the heart. SO MANY THINGS WE WOULD DO TOGETHER. And then after, we would tell all our other friends how many fun things we did without them. TAKE THAT! We live such eccentric elementary-aged lives. You’d never believe it.

So when I was younger my parents spoiled my brothers & I, and would often get tickets to the local AHL (American Hockey League) games, and since tickets weren’t as expensive as the NHL, they’d let us take our friends with them. This was MAJOR as a child because not only were we having a SLEEPOVER we were priding ourselves in front of the whole class, showing off whom our best friend was. Caitlin always came with me (shout out to my elementary school BF!). When you’re a child having a best friend is the equivalent of having a significant other. You want everyone to know who your best friend is. It’s sort of awkward when you think about it in retrospect as an adult, but seriously when you’re younger it’s really super important to show off your friendship.

So it’s a Friday night and we’re going to the Phantoms game, and Cait and I are PUMPED. The teams are warming up, (I can’t quite recall the other team they were playing at the time seeing as I was in about third grade), the music is blasting, and we’re standing by the ice pounding our little fists on the glass shouting at the players as if they can hear our little prepubescent voices.

Frank the Animal was currently on the roster. If his name doesn’t ring a bell to you, the man was obviously a beast on ice. I’ve always had a soft spot, even at a young age, for the ruthless bad boys, and as he warmed up I hit the glass as hard as I possibly could to get his attention. Much to my surprise, he actually turned around. It was the end of the warm ups, and the man started gathering the pucks on the ice. Then, holy hell, he started skating back to us TO GIVE US THE PUCKS. When you’re 10 years old at an AHL game, and someone is actually paying attention to you, better yet you’re favorite player, this may be the best moment of your life.

He starts throwing the pucks over the glass to us. Now, I’ve always grown up playing sports. I’ll be honest, I’m very athletic. I’ve won awards, trophies, MVPs. Maybe it was an off day. Maybe it was something about being so overwhelmed since my idol saw me. I don’t know what it was, but I. DIDN’T. CATCH IT. Not only did I not catch the first puck Frank threw, it hit me. square. in. the. damn. head. I stammered a bit, I’m a little zonked, he throws the rest of the pucks all in one toss. I cannot make this up, EVERY. SINGLE. PUCK. that man threw over the glass hits me straight in the face. Ten frozen pucks hitting this ten year old girl right in the face, knocking me straight to the ground. My parents, a few rows away, watched laughing hysterically. According to my friend, brothers, and parents, Frank looked absolutely horrified. I actually think the man knocked me unconscious. Oh, & the cherry on top, LITTLE KIDS CAME AND TOOK EVERY SINGLE PUCK & RAN AWAY LEAVING NONE FOR ME.

I don’t remember if the Phantoms won that night. Probably because I had a concussion. But I do know that to this day that was my family’s favorite Phantoms game ever. Oh and I made my parents buy me extra pizza that night to stop my crying. Damn straight.

I’ll miss the many many, few, hours we spent together

High school. We all had shitty jobs. I just literally had the shittiest. I worked at a kennel. Ya know, where people drop off their dogs & cats when they go on vacations. I thought it was awesome at the time. I just go and hang out with dogs all day. It wasn’t that bad. I didn’t have to think too much and the most pressure that I dealt with was if the dog was barking too much.

Things did get weird towards the end. We had these deals where you could spend extra money and we had to read the dogs bed time stories and tuck them in with a doggy ice cream. I wish I were joking. They were the “Spot” books. Dogs don’t like to be read to. I found that out the hard way. This is besides the point.

One night I was closing up shop. The dogs were in the cages and I was doing the final walk through when I saw a dog that didn’t look too well. He actually looked so unwell I felt the need to address my boss and say something about it. “Hey, Nicole, the dog in number 7 looks pretty sick.” We walked into the back to the kennels. She stared at me. She stared at the dog. She stared at me. This dumb 17 year old. “You have to take this dog to the vet…immediately.” What the What. “ummm. you are talking to me right? because there’s no one else back here.” I asked as I stared at here like an idiot. “Yes. put this dog in your car and take it to the  vet NOW.” Well…I didn’t know where the vet was, but god damn did I drive fast.

I got my brick Nokia out and called my mom in sheer panic “DOG. SICK. VET. CAR. WHERE IS IT?” “ummmmm…. are you talking words? what?” My Mom ever so patient with me, always used to my overdramatic ‘what the hell’ moments I throw out random words and finally complete the story and tell her where I need to go. Pre-GPS.  I didn’t have time to print out the mapquest directions so she guides me through the phone how to get to the vet. I AM FREAKING THE FUCK OUT. I’m not one to deal with high pressure situations such as this well. I don’t take tests well. I’ll stand in front of little kids and chat all day, but things like this, AWW HELL NAW.

I get to the vet. I wipe the sweat from my brow because, god damnit, I was just an ambulance for a dog. So I carry this dog that is probably half my size into the vet. And it’s getting worse. It’s looking worse. And it’s started vomiting. Foaming a bit around the mouth. You know how they say that when true emergencies happen people develop this superhuman strength? I guess that’s how I carried this dog in. Because it was not light. As soon as I check in, I feel a little relieved. “you did well, Val.” *pat on my own back*


WHAT. THE ACTUAL FUCK. IS WRONG WITH EVERYONE. can no one tell, that me, a 17 year old, is driving my car, older than myself, around not dealing with emergencies well? And I’m pretty sure I have a French test tomorrow & Phsyics homework due. This is NOT on my agenda. I call my boss. I relay the info. She screams into the phone to do the same thing. WELL THEN, THANKS GUYS. I have NO No NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO idea where the animal hospital is. They try to give me directions, but all I know is nothing is sticking in my brain and I’ve always failed that part of state testing every year. MAPS AND DIRECTIONS. Always my lowest score. My Mom always hated that. She’s like a modern day cartographer and I can’t even get myself around the damn block. Whatever. I call my Mom: AGAIN. Tears are in my eyes and my voice is shaking at this point because, for chrissake, this dog is now dying in my backseat. It’s throwing up:Everywhere. It’s moaning. And I’m driving like a madman trying to find this Animal Hospital. I AM THE AMBULANCE, DAMNIT. Seriously, vomit everywhere. And I can hear the breathing shallowing and I swear it’s a race against the clock and I’ll run the damn red lights if I have to because, damnit, this is important.

I FIND THE HOSPITAL. I get the dog out with the help of a worker. I’m not a superhero anymore. I’m so dumb, panicked kid that is seriously on the verge of having a meltdown if you don’t sedate me stat. We get the dog to the back immediately. Not even there for 5 minutes, they all look at me, “Sorry, miss, we’re going to have to put your dog down.” They knew it before even diagnosing. I knew it. They knew it. We all knew it. HO-LY SHIT. I. LOST. IT. I SOBBED. AND SOBBED. STRANGERS HELD ME. The Dr. tried to console me “How long did you have him?” “He *gasp* came *gasp* in *gasp* on *gasp* Tuesday!!!” (It’s Thursday) Everyone just stares at me awkwardly. “He’s *gasp* not *gasp* my *gasp* dog!!!” LONG SOBBBING SCREAM AND LOTS OF TEARS. I then try to explain between sobs that I’m going to have to tell the family on vacation that they’re dog died. They try to tell me the dog was old and things like this happen in life. BUT YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. No one understands you when you live the life of an over-dramatic dramatic. Everything is….well… dramatic.

Eventually I go back to my car after the Dr.’s called my Boss. My Boss talks to me and tells me “I thought this would happen.” Bitch put me up to it. I sit in the diver’s seat. There’s vomit. EVERYWHERE. I sigh. It smells. I cry. I drive home. My Mom hugs me after hours of torture. She cleaned my car for me that night. A saint, I swear. But that, my friends, was the worst night of working. I actually had to take like 3 days off after for emotional stress. I think my boss actually MADE me take off to be honest. DESERVED. RIP family dog. I still think about you.

George of the Jungle

When I was child I had the worst luck ever. I broke bones ways no one ever has & have stories no one ever believes (which is the reason most people told me start writing). They make for good laughs at bars & 90% of the time I have to call my Mom just to prove they even happened. I reckon I should probably just start carrying my childhood X-rays around, or have at least one member of my family or childhood friend with me at all times to confirm that I’m not making these things up.

So here is one of my best friend Bridget’s all time favorites:

In first grade we got a lot of snow that year. It wasn’t anything too crazy, but we did get a decent couple of snow days. Now I was too young to go with my brother and their friends sledding (they didn’t want me tagging along anyway), and my Mom was cool enough to drive my brothers to a hill so they could spend the day on the ‘slopes.’

We had one of those old sleds that went crazy fast:


I spent the day at home with Mom. Snow angels. Making a snowman. Hot coco. I could care less what my brothers were doing because, to me. I had the best of both worlds. I could play outside till my fingers were numb, then when my fingers were actually numb, I could just go inside and eat and drink and be merry.

The afternoon was getting late and it was around the time my Mom had said she was going to pick up my brothers (remember the pre-cell phone era when we actually scheduled these things?) so we jumped into the car and headed over to the hills. I was itching to get on the sled. I begged the entire way there.

Mommmmmmmy, just onceeeeeeeee pah pah pah pleaseeeeeeee. The boys were sledding aallllllll dayyyyyyyyyyy.

When we got to the hill the boys had had enough of the cold & my Mom had had enough of my whining. You can go down the hill ONE TIME and THAT’S IT. 

That was all I needed….

I braced myself because I knew this was going to be everything my first grade heart desired. I saw my brothers flying down as we were approaching in the car and I wanted to show off in front of their friends that I wasn’t just “some baby little sister” that was scared to do things. I picked up that flyer sled and hopped belly first down. Faster. Faster. Faster. By this time the snow was freezing over and was turning into ice. The tracks they’d been riding all day were established, but I was young and small so the sled was going anywhere it pleased.

Being 6 years old there’s some things you need to learn by trial and error. This was one thing I learned by trial and unfortunately error. On these sleds, I came to realize, you steer by moving the front two pieces of wood. Yes, you can steer them. No it is not safe to just jump on and go for the ride. As my sled went faster and faster I screamed for my dear life. until…..until…

until it happened. I can’t tell you what hit first:my head or my arm, but the tree was the roadblock that I did not want to use to stop the sled. I remember my Mom and my brothers running down to me. I think there were laughs…there were definitely laughs involved. And I laid there thinking about that moment of glory I so foolishly ruined. Damnit. Maybe next time.

My Mom took me home and prepped me for a wonderful night in the ER on her night off from work (one of many, bless her soul). I remember she used an American Flag bandanna as a sling. The hospital stay wasn’t long, but I didn’t have to go to school the next day.

My Mom was always strict about us going to school, so I was excited that I didn’t have to go the following day. Snow day, then sick day!? Booyah. I sat at the table and ate my breakfast with my good hand. That’s when she served it to me: Just because you aren’t going to school doesn’t mean you aren’t doing work today. 

My Mom put the timer on and made me play with the god damn speak & spell for AN HOUR STRAIGHT. As if that machine wasn’t horrifying enough, as if SLEDDING INTO A GOD DAMN TREE isn’t bad enough, now I have to talk to this devil robot. Fooey!

So, in conclusion, this is Bridget’s favorite story because when I told her family what happened, her Dad never let it go. To this day he relentlessly  will still sing the George of the Jungle song at me. I never did look out for that tree, and I’m still a bit weary when it comes to sledding, and now sometimes I have to spell words out like a fucking robot.

I just wanted to be like the big kids..

I was the youngest. I was the only girl. When we played kick the can or jailbreak I was always picked last. And it wasn’t because I was slow. I wasn’t. I was always athletic. I was quick. I was sly. Hell, if anything being the youngest I knew how to sneak around more than my brothers. “No more cookies before dinner.” Well who do you think left the gate open so the dog accidentally got out leaving the rest of the family scouring the entire neighborhood while the last Chips Ahoy magically fell into my mouth? It was because I was the youngest. And when you’re the youngest you automatically suck. It’s just the way of the world.

I wasn’t an idiot. I played my cards when I needed to. But I was the black sheep & I often had a hard time dealing with that role. My brothers were best friends growing up (& still are). On family trips my best friend was a stuffed dog named Fluffy. Man, we ruled the world together. Unfortunately for me, only I could hear what Fluffy said so he wasn’t really a big help when I needed him to have my back. Damn dog. He had one job to do.

In first grade my parents decided our family summer vacation was going to be to Busch Gardens. Wowweee. Were my parents crazy? Yes. Yes they were. Put 3 kids in the backseat of a car for a 7 hour drive: Let’s see who kills who first. FAMILY. ROAD TRIP. Now this is before any of this stupid ipad, ipod, iphone, portable DVD player. Good ‘ol license plate game, punchbuggy, stop hitting yourself, and my favorite I swear to god if you touch me one more time I will kill you (even though this is a three person backseat and there is literally nowhere for any of us to go).

Oh, hey. Did I mention yet about how I was the youngest? Cause, yeah, I’m the youngest. Do you know what that means on a family road trip? It means YOU HAVE TO SIT BITCH THE ENTIRE TRIP. Now if you are wondering, I haven’t been anointed to sainthood….yet. I feel it coming though. Because sitting in a car for 7 hours straight while your brothers pass your head back and forth like a ping-pong ball is actually in the Bible as an automatic entry to sainthood. Believe me, it is.

My Dad had just bought a new car. I remember how proud he was of it (for good reason). Every time a door was open a voice in the most annoying way possible would repeat “The door…is ajar.” I didn’t know what ajar meant, but I remember being in first grade thinking “This bitch doesn’t know the difference between a door and a jar. Get it together, Chevy.”

I digress. We were well on our way to Virginia when my Dad decided that he was making a pit stop at 7/11. Now here I am, about 6 years old, this teeny little thing making my way into the convenient store, probably wearing some sort of Disney princess attire, all smiles on our Griswald vacation. Then my Dad hits me with some major news, “Family vacation: Get whatever you want.” awwwwwwwwwwwwww yeah. Free for all. When you’re a a kid and you hear that? It’s Christmas!!! You’ve just hit the jackpot. I’m going to get everything Mom always says I can’t get. I knew immediately when my Dad said that I was teetering the line between “Baby Val” & “Big Kid Val” & today was the day that “Damnit, I’m going to take a stand!” My brothers were obsessed with drinking Big Gulps. It was just this thing they did with their friends. Something about having your own 2 liter of diet soda waiting for you, I don’t know what it was, but I wanted that power. I walked my way over to the Big Gulp cups and I filled that sucker to the brim with Slurpee. Because, shit, what else could possibly make a 7 hour car drive better than a 6 year old bouncing off the walls on a sugar high. Cherry, Blue Raspberry, Coca-Cola, I was a 6 year old mixologist.

As soon as my father saw me grasping that colossal cup with my tiny paws he shrieked with anger. YOU ARE NOT GOING TO FINISH THAT! WHY DID YOU GET THAT? ummmm, Dad, seriously? You have been a father for long enough know to know the rules of having children. If you’re going to play the “get whatever you want card.” I’m going to take that to the max. I will, and I did. “But daddddddyyy, you said we can get whatever we wantttt.” Pouty-eyes, crazy curly hair that flew in every direction, Little Mermaid dress, my fanny pack that carried my life necessities at the time which included my pogs and chapstick, my jelly sandals, I knew the game and the man wasn’t going to turn me down looking the way I did. Fine just don’t spill it in my car. *mumble under his breath*

To this day I’m still a child when it comes to car rides. The light jostling of the road sends me into slumber so peaceful I wish I owned a racecar bed. It’s a blessing and a curse. Well I settled myself into the bitch seat and planted that big gulp in between my legs and we started our journey…and we journeyed…. and we journeyed….and then. it. happened. I can’t tell you what state we were in. I can’t tell you what highway were on. I can only tell you that for 10 minutes in my life I swear to god my Mother had to hold my Father back and cute curls, dewey eyes, and all-around adorable demeanor were no match for the fact that I swear to you my Father almost took my life in the name of his Chevy Lumina that day.

The Big Gulp was Everywhere. I just closed my eyes for a minute I swear. But in that second that Big Gulp, well. All over my brothers. All over my dress. All over my Dad’s new backseat of his car. Remember that scene in A Christmas Story where Ralphie loses the nuts & bolts and accidentally curses throwing the father into a fit of rage? multiply that by 1,0000x. I spilled that baby all over the entire car. I cried. I sobbed. I cried some more. I prayed the few prayers I think I knew at the time which was probably “Good Night Moon.” Not only did I NOT finish my Big Gulp, I did EXACTLY what my father told me not to do. We pulled ourselves together on the side of the highway. I think by the end of the drive my Dad was able to look at me again. The vacation itself was awesome, but guys, I have never had and never will have a Big Gulp again.

Working At the Car Wash

I loved sleeping at my grandparents’ house when I was younger. We got to stay up late. We watched awesome movies. We built forts. We ate ice cream. It was stellar. When I was about four years old I remember one weekend we stayed over my Grandmom’s. It must have been late Spring or early Summer. We did everything in the book for the perfect sleepover. We didn’t have a bed time. We ordered pizza for dinner. We made sundaes. The new Ducktales movie was on, and my grandparents had HBO AND the Disney channel (we had neither). I was in little kid heaven. We sprawled our sleeping bags out in front of the TV & made awesome-kid camp.

The next morning I remember I was so excited because my Mom had packed my favorite new clothes: My Mickey & Minnie mouse jean overalls that we had just purchased. I was ecstatic to sport this new attire. I was gonna strut my stuff around Northeast Philly and show everyone who was boss in my Disney threads. Lookout, World, Val was in town, yo.

We ran some errands with my Grandmother. Nothing too major. At that age it was still cool to be with her and hang with your brothers & just be out of the house. We probably ran to the grocery store, pharmacy etc. Then, she dropped a bomb on us: How would you like to go through the car wash? Well, everything just got real for me. I’d never experienced something like this. We washed our cars in the driveway with a bucket of soap & the hose. What the hell was she talking about “go through” the car wash? I lost my words, my thoughts, I had no idea what could possibly be happening. She drove us to the local gas station and we began our journey…

Seating arrangements:
Frankie:Front Passenger
Keith:Back Driver’s Side
Valerie:Back Passenger’s Side
We begin….
The giant monsters from above came down and smashed the top of the car violently. Soap sprayed from every direction. Water engulfed the entire car. We were driving straight into the depths of hell. I screamed. I kicked. I knew it was the end for us. Grandmom had us in a suicide pact. I didn’t volunteer for this! The hot grease sprayed. Keith just stared at me silently and watched my struggle. Frankie and Grandmom seemed to be enjoying themselves. What the hell was this nonsense? I even heard her voice calmly say, “It’s okay, Val, we’re almost done.”


I screamed for five. minutes. straight. I screamed my heart out. Till my little throat couldn’t take it anymore. I cried. I sobbed. I think my tonsils were on the verge of rupturing. Could no one hear me? Was I invisible? Why was everyone ignoring me? Was the car that important? I never want this again!!!

I saw light. We finally made it out the other side……..

My Grandmom turned around and then realized that my window had been open the entire time and I was covered in water, soap, & hot hot grease…..& Keith did nothing to try to help me close the manual window.

Flashback Blackout

So lately I’ve been spending a lot of time trying to figure out what some of my earliest memories are just for the hell of it. Luckily for you, I’ve racked my brain, & this is one that I’ve come up with:

I was four or five at the time, and my Mom was taking me out to lunch with my Aunt. I can’t specifically recall if it was Denny’s or Ground Round, but the kid’s menu most definitely came with a prize. Now I know what you’re thinking: One of these dinky-ass toys that you get from McDonald’s or Burger King. NO. It was a majestic piece of Carmen San Diego greatness. This was going to elevate my spy game to the next level. I was going to be so undercover, you wouldn’t even REALIZE I was a spy. Am I just some ordinary kid walking down the street doing normal ordinary kid shenanigans? NOPE! I am actually more badass than Harriet the Spy, sleuthin it up left & right. So what was this great piece of art disguised as a toy? It was a small camera. My god, guys I wish you could see the way it is so perfectly painted in my brain right this moment. It was yellow & black. It had a wristlet like telephone wire so you could wear it & never lose it. So you could bring it everywhere a great detective would need it, because secretly, it didn’t even take pictures, secretly, IT WAS BINOCULARS, and get this, your eyes were the real cameras. So deep. So poetic. Oh man, Ground Rounds understood my tiny Sherlockian soul.

The second this camera was placed in my hands I knew adventures were about to began. I knew my life was going places. I was about to embark on some journey of greatness. I understood my calling! I knew I couldn’t take my eyes off this camera because something great was about to happen. I analyzed every angle to it as I exited the restaurant. My Mom and my Aunt chirped away about things I knew were meaningless as I walked holding the key to my new career.. then…..then….. then……

then I walked into a parked car and, in turn, knocked myself unconscious because I was too busy staring at a freakin toy camera instead of paying attention to where I was walking. Thanks, Mom for being my lookout on that one (I know you’re laughing while reading this, it’s okay. I forgive you.)

Life Stories Out Loud: New Year’s Eve Edition

(this was taken from my tumblr. also please note that this bar was so run down & ratchet it has burnt down since then*)


I was unsure of what I wanted to do for New Years Eve & pretty much just winged it up to the last minute. My friend was having a few people over and planned to eventually walk to a local bar. I thought, “Why Not?” and headed over for some drinks. We play some games, drink some brews, & decide we’re ready to head out. “Hole in the Wall” can’t even explain the level of this bar. I once went in & there was a bird just standing on the bar chilling out.

So it’s full of it’s typical lowlife locals, which isn’t a problem I can go with the flow almost anywhere. Midnight passes. Hooray. Cool, it’s 2014. A man approaches me and asks if he can buy me a beer. Seeing as I never turn down free drinks, I agreed. Conversation is going pleasantly and he’s not too bad looking so I’m feelin alright. Until out of nowhere this 60+ something old woman approaches me (& the man) screaming wildly about things I cannot understand and flailing her limbs everywhere (along with her drink). I finally catch the gist of the freakout, turn to the man I was speaking with, & say, “Did you come here with someone?” He stares at me. I ask him again. He replies “We aren’t serious.” The old lady points out the woman he came with across the bar. I ask “Are you kidding? Is this really happening?” He replies, “I may have came here with her, but I’m going home with you.” Then the elderly woman proceeds to call me names that elderly women should not be using as if I set this whole thing up. 

This is why I’m single.

My 600lb Life?

So Saturday I was watching a marathon of the show “My 600 Pound Life” & every episode they’re like, “I don’t know how I got this way,” but they’re eating McDonald’s while saying this to the camera. & I’m like “No, I literally don’t know how I got this way because I get blacked out drunk & then I wake up & there’s an empty tub of hummus next to my bed.” Weird. So now I’m thinking I should have a show.