Tag Archive: parents


This evening of Easter, I don’t have much to say.  It’s been a day full of family-time, and it’s been really nice.   I can’t say I’m really religious, but I counted today as a win the moment I stepped into church this morning and didn’t bust into flames.

With that said, I will leave you with this:

I didn’t have any pictures of bunnies or Jesus saved on my computer, so this’ll have to do.

I can also tell you this quick anecdote about a nerd-alert moment I had at the bar last weekend:

Me, to a man/boy I’d never met or seen before: IF HARRY POTTER WAS REAL, WHAT HOUSE WOULD YOU BE IN?!

Him: I FUCKING HATE HARRY POTTER!

Me, to Seneca: He’s probably in Slytherin.

Harry Potter Nerd Alert!! I’m in love and can’t get enough!!!

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Here is what I have learned about success:

It’s all about managing expectations.

For example, I try to go first whenever I can when giving presentations in class.  That way, no matter how ill-prepared I may be or how often I fumble over my words or even how lame my powerpoint presentation really is, there is no one to compare it to yet.  Going first allows the presenter to set the expectations for the rest of the presentations and is the one that the rest are measured against.

If I can help it, I never, ever go last.  Going last is simply not an option.  I’m not that much of a douche bag that I will email my professor ahead of time and insist on going first, but I definitely try to be that person that is like, “Oh, yeah, no big deal, I’ll go first if no one else wants to.” You know, all nonchalant.  And when someone else is like “Oh, I want to go first!” (because that always happens- there are always other freaks like me who want to set the bar low) I’m always like *Hulk’d up* NO I’M GOING FIRST, YOU IDIOT FUCK!

Just kidding, I don’t turn green, grow three times my regular size, or bust out of my white (??) shirt and purple pants.  I don’t even shout at my classmates. I simply keep it real and let everyone know what’s up: I must go first.

In life, I finally learned to be that kid at a birthday party to have her gift opened first.  There were far too many times I tried to be that girl whose present was so good it had to be saved for last. You know, that whole save the best for last bullshit.  But what parents don’t tell you and what you learn after birthday party after birthday party is that it sucks when someone else gives the same gift as you- or worse, someone gives a better present than yours.  That is a situation that takes you on a bullet train to Sucktown.

The best time to give your gift is first.  That way, you have the best gift of the day, even if it’s just for a moment.  That’s a moment you can’t get back. And, that way, if there is a duplicate gift situation, you don’t look like a dickhole and you don’t have to sit in the corner and cry because someone gave the same gift you did.  You can know that you have won. (Because winning is really all that matters- ask Charlie Sheen.)

At work, you have to manage expectations too. If you do something really impressive one day that is something that is expected to be repeated, you better believe that you have just set a precedent.  You will be held to that standard from now on.  That is totally fine if you don’t mind working your butt off to constantly exceed expectations and/or consistently perform at a high level.  But if you’re lazy as fuck and it was done on a fluke, then you’re pretty much up Chocolate Creek without a popsicle stick. If you’re lazy as fuck at work and really just want to do the least amount of work as possible, then you should never do anything more than what is expected of you. Because that is the kiss of death for you, and you can no longer be lazy as fuck.

I have finally realized that even dealing with some family drama, it all comes down to managing expectations.  Drew and I have tried (and failed at) the being-sneaky approach- that just ends in tears (including my own). We can’t just lie about our plans and spring them on a certain person at the last minute- a shitstorm of drama explodes out of seemingly nowhere.  We have also tried the let’s-be-really-vague-about-our-plans approach and that just ended in bitterness, shouting, resentment, anger, and, yes, you guessed it, tears (including my own).  Being vague has usually just resulted in having to lie (which we all know I am not good at) and/or just really awful family moments.

So, this time, we are trying the honesty-is-the-best-policy approach.  This approach includes telling both parties exactly what’s up and setting clear expectations for everyone involved. That way, when the time comes to leave, no one is surprised or upset.  I’m psyched about this.

Here’s hoping.

So, my friends, go forth and embrace this managing expectations lifestyle I have adopted.  Share with me your success stories. Or just stories about your childhood birthday parties. I would enjoy that as well.

Well. I’ve been sitting here for 51 minutes trying to think of something to say.

I finally came up with this:

This picture is pretty much an excellent way to sum up a night that Megan and I will never forget, and a night that Rob will never remember. Because he was blackout drunk and crawled through East Lansing trying to get home after we decided it was totally fine for him to leave by himself while we hung out with the complete strangers we found.

And by found, I mean that I flagged down some random Escalade, jumped inside and told Rob and Megan it was totally fine and to get the fuck in the car, and GO GO GO!!

Yeah. Really safe.

A complete blur. And shady as fuck.

We had been drunk for a while and looking for something to do in East Lansing after the MSU vs OSU game. (Can I just tell you how much I love game day?! SO MUCH!)  We were hanging out near Harpers when we decided that we should go to my friend’s apartment because she was having people over. We would hang out for a little bit and go to the bars later, because oh, yeah, it was still light out and too early to be as drunk as we were.

The only thing was that we needed a way to get to my friend’s apartment, which was hella far away.  Instead of calling a cab or even trying to call a friend who could drive, I just decided to flag some vehicle down. Like I’m in NYC or something, trying to hail a taxi. Who am I?

So, yeah, I flag down this white Escalade, which is filled with three or four (I can’t remember) guys.  They stopped and, for some reason, let me hop in.  For some reason, Rob and Megan followed after me and away we went to my friend’s apartment.

Talk about poor life choice. And awkward city.

Shenanigans.

Anyway, I can’t remember what happened, like the exact events of the evening. I do remember Rob, Megan and I going into my friend’s bathroom and all three of us peeing in there. At the same time. Not okay.

I also remember one of the boys changing his pants in a parking lot.

And I remember drunk-dialing my dad.

We also went to one of the bars in East Lansing for a while and danced our faces off. That was when we let Rob walk himself home despite the fact that he couldn’t see.

There’s also a memory of Megan peeing outside, in public. Twice.

We also walked all the way back to my apartment and kept Erica up until, like, 7am.  I made two of the boys watch High School Musical because I didn’t want to have sex with either of them.

The best part was that after all of the shenanigans and staying up until 8am with a strange man I had met just by jumping in his vehicle, I had to go to a staff meeting at work.  I showed up, all disheveled and loopy from a lack of sleep and super hungover.

Megan and I always reminisce on the shitshow that night turned out to be.  Generally, I just consider myself on the up and up as long as I’m not hopping in vehicles filled with strange men I don’t know.  And when I’m not pounding 100 proof shots of Captain Morgan.

We also try to embrace the whole no man left behind mentality.

Unless it’s Seneca- we usually let her go wherever she wants.

Or Leah- but that was one time, and had I been aware enough to be a part of the decision, I never would have let her wander East Lansing by herself during St. Patrick’s Day weekend. That was not my fault. And things worked out… kinda. She found her way home eventually.

One of my childhood memories includes our endless roadtrips to Florida for family vacations. At least once a year for a long time, we would drive down to Florida. This was before there were DVD players built into vehicles.

Mostly, I remember spending my time coloring in the backseat and ending up with some pretty jank coloring pages. I also remember singing along to Disney movie soundtracks at the top of my lungs. There were also some very long naps.

The other thing I remember is listening to Charlotte’s Web as a book on tape.

Dude. Why on earth did I ever stop listening to books on tape?!

All you have to do is sit there and listen to someone read to you.

It’s not even like that lame reading aloud we had to do in elementary school, you know, when you had to follow along. Or when you sounded like you had a stutter because reading out loud in front of people is hard. Or when you had to play that game where someone would be reading and then, like a dick, that someone would shout “popcorn!” and call your name and you were supposed to start reading but because you were busy picking at the chipped nail polish on your fingers or worried about the hole in the crotch of your leggings (because that’s all I wore in third grade, apparently! Thanks a whooooole lot, Mom!) you hadn’t been following along so you looked like an asshole.

What? I’m not bitter.

That is the best idea ever. Books on tape, that is. Not that shitty “popcorn” reading game.

I feel really good about this audiobook idea.

That’s why, when Harry Potter 7 came out and I hadn’t had time to read the book again before seeing the movie, I decided, OH EM GEE, I can totally just listen to it on CD!

Luckily, my mother is addicted to her ipod and happens to be a huuuuge fan of audiobooks. I never thought I’d be happy about that fact, but I think she might be on to something.

I listened to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on CD. First thing in the morning, as I was getting ready for work in the morning, I’d fire up whatever disk I was on and let Jim Dale’s voice fill my ears of Harry’s last quest for goodness to conquer evil.

Once I finished Harry Potter, I perused my library’s choices of audiobooks.  I decided upon Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult. I seriously love her books. I never know what is going to happen. The ending is always a surprise, and that’s really awesome for books. I highly recommend pretty much anything by her. I read The Pact by her earlier this fall and that book was also excellent!

Finally, today, I started Goodnight Nobody by Jennifer Weiner. I enjoy her books as well. It may seem silly, but I actually was carrying the paperback version of this book around in my purse for probably a month. I hadn’t gotten past the first chapter. With the audiobook, I can listen while I get ready in the morning, I can take the book with me in the car on the way to work or when I’m just running around town. SO CONVENIENT!!

I’m seriously obsessed.

I’m never reading a real book ever again.

(Writing that kind of broke my heart. I take it back. I heart real books!)

I remember in the fifth grade, we had to write a memory or something for our silly little yearbook. I remember that I was sitting in the middle pod of desks, next to the boy I had loved since the first day I saw him in third grade. He had broken his arm. Again. Now, I can’t remember what happened to make him break his arm this time. I can think of the time my friend broke her arm by falling off the monkey bars on the playground at recess in elementary school. And I can remember the time my other friend broke her arm when she fell on her rollerblades when we crashed loverboy’s birthday party in sixth grade, but I can’t think of why he broke his arm that time.

That is neither here nor there.

What I wanted to tell you was my memory.

Ding Dong! The witch is dead! Which old witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead!!

I was little, and my parents were still married. We still lived at the house on the lake, the one I remember as my first home even though it wasn’t the first house I lived in as a child. We were outside, and Maggie, our golden retriever, was outside in the driveway with me and Dad. I can’t remember if Mom and Drew were outside with us.

I must have just watched the Wizard of Oz.

Standing at the base of our driveway, by the wooden fence in the front yard, I stood. Though I’m not sure what I was doing down by the fence and the road, I’m sure it was something awesome, like picking grass, or licking rocks, or climbing the rickety, not-made-for-climbing fence. Out of nowhere, I heard something hit the ground with an odd jingle-smack. When I turned to look what it was, I saw that a set of keys had hit the ground behind me. From the sky.

I looked up and saw that the once perfect blue sky was dark, and there were words written in the sky. Don’t ask me what the sky said because I sure as hell can’t remember.  I could swear I saw that mean old, green-faced witch ridin’ off into the sky.

Yeah. That was my memory. That’s the memory I chose to write down to be published.

Really?! I think about that now and just think, Really, Katie? REALLY?! What the hell!?

The best part about this is that I swore that this memory was legit. I would have bet my life on the fact that this actually happened. Of course, when my mom read what I had written down (of course, once this silly little booklet was printed), she had no idea what the hell I was talking about.  The other best part is that I didn’t have a doubt in my mind about the validity of this memory. I didn’t believe I had anything to be embarrassed about by sharing this memory. I believed I had experienced something paranormal, g-d it! I had encountered a physical object falling from the sky! I had seen a witch writing words in the sky!

That was fifth grade. In fifth grade, I still believed  that this memory existed. Who am I?!

I was a weird kid.

Oh, remind me to tell you about the time I ran into a moving van on my bike. Or the time I got my fingers stuck in a wiffle ball. Or the time I found a power tool (drill) and put it to my forehead, turned it on and left a cut in the middle of my forehead. Or the time I played the piano with my face and cried every time I banged my head too hard against the keys.

I bet you’re glad you stuck around to read this.

Last week, I went with my mother to a furniture store.

We went to look for a maroon love seat for the study.

This new house is really becoming exciting. When all of this mess began, I was pretty psyched for her because it was kind of fun talking about all the fun things we would maybe have in this new family home. But then there were a lot of repetitive questions and I lost interest. And then I started to feel bitter because this was replacing our home. This brand spankin’ new house was going to make us have to get rid of the house I grew up in. And that made me sad. So I ignored all the new-house stuff. I became really irritated when conversations turned to all the “fun stuff happening with the house” because I really didn’t like this new-house stuff.

But the house is almost done. It has to be done by September 24 for the parade of homes. It’s gorgeous.  And now it’s super exciting for everyone.

So with everything coming together, we needed to find a maroon love seat for the study.  And we were going to just look at bedroom furniture for the room intended for Drew.

I was really, really helpful. Like when Mom asked me to go re-measure something because we forgot the dimensions, I went to the part of the store that had the dresser Mom was looking at for Drew’s blue room.  But then I saw this:

THAT BEAR IS WEARING A BASKET LIKE A BACKPACK. OF COURSE I WAS GOING TO WANT TO OWN THIS PIECE OF ART.

Hello! I LOVE BEARS! (And dinosaurs. But there were no backpack-wearing dinosaurs. Sad.)

So THEN I found THIS:

What a precious little bear face! I immediately wished that “my room” hadn’t been painted a perfect yellow color and that all my furniture and bedding wasn’t already decided upon. I wished I could change the design concept of “my room” to BEAR LAND.

And then I found THIS and knew that we had definitely made the wrong choice with the yellow.

DANCING, HAND-HOLDING BEARS. I was IN LOVE. How can you NOT love that?!!? It’s hilarious and precious! What an excellent conversation piece!! THIS IS ART!!!

I obviously was taking way longer than she had anticipated, so after a while, Mom came looking for me. I had been running around like a ninny, looking for all things bear-shaped/themed.

I found this gem when Mom found me:

It reminded me of the time I murdered one of God’s creatures. And Mom wondered what the fuck I was doing.

I told her I had a brand new design concept for any room of the house. I told her bears would look glorious in any room, or that we could spread them out throughout the house.  I told her that they would be great conversation starters and that if no one else would appreciate them, I would appreciate the bears enough for everyone on earth. Because I loved them.

But then she scolded me, reminded me I’m an adult and t0ok my phone away.  I followed behind her, dejected, as we made our way to the place where she paid for her maroon love seat and Drew’s bedroom furniture.

Looks like I did a lot more looking than she did. And the bears remain at the store.

I have the best Christmas Present ideas….!

There’s a story that seems to come up all the time at work. It gets talked about between us girls and it gets told in front of our customers. It’s all-around excellent, always appropriate story.

If dead animals and murder are always appropriate and excellent.

One morning, I was driving to work. I wasn’t running late, I wasn’t in a hurry, I wasn’t feeling rushed. I was just driving, like normal. I was probably listening to Justin Bieber. I had probably stopped at starbucks and thought it had the promise of a good day.

And then a squirrel darted across the street. And then it stopped. And it turned around, darting back the way it came. And then it stopped again. And turned around to go the way it was originally going. And then it stopped.

I watched all of this happen.  And I thought it was finally gonna cross the street. So I took my foot off the brake and started to accelerate again.

Then the little guy changed his mind one last time. I didn’t have time to stop. I wanted to, really. I can’t even tell you how badly I wanted to stop the car. But, dear readers, even with cat-like reflexes, that little squirrel couldn’t be saved. I ran the squirrel over.

I’m a murderer.

At that moment, I burst into tears.

Then, I busted out my phone and mass-texted the shit out of my phonebook. I texted my dad, my mom, two or three of my coworkers, and a couple other friends. It was highly upsetting.

My parents tried to make me feel better by sharing their roadkill woes. It didn’t work.

When I got to work, I still couldn’t shake the feeling of being a murderer.  I had stopped crying, but I still felt really bad.  My first customer asked me how I was doing, and he got an answer he definitely hadn’t been anticipating.

“Well, I ran over a squirrel this morning, so now I’m a murderer. Today’s not going how I thought it was gonna go.”

Silence.

And then my coworkers piped up with tons of laughter and did work to make what just came out of my mouth way less awkward.

It’s now a classic tale shared with all. I enjoy that this story is shared with friends and strangers alike. I enjoy that months later this story comes up out of nowhere and takes the workplace by storm. The story goes over really, really well too. There’s just something about me, I guess, that makes people find murder endearing.

I’m a catty little bitch.

Obviously, this is not a new realization for me or anything. I’m just putting it out there for you. I’m here for you. ‘Cause I’m also considerate like that. Who knew, right!?

It’s just that I think all these bitchy, judgy things about people and SOMETIMES I even say that stuff out loud.

This is all coming out because of recent events. Lately, my mother and I have been fighting more than usual. I wouldn’t say that we normally fight all that often. I mean, we’re both pretty … verbal… when it comes to being pissed off, so generally things are solved in the moment. When one of us feels wronged by the other, or a disagreement occurs, things escalate quickly. At the same time, though, things are usually resolved and forgotten about after just minutes of screaming our faces blue at each other. It may result in tears but I would say we forgive and forget pretty quickly.

Lately, though,… oh man, it’s been bad. We just yell and say mean things we don’t really mean and then shut down. Nothing gets solved, feelings stay hurt and we get angry. Then we stay angry. And everything we do just eats at us; I annoy the hell out of her with every action and she drives me up a fucking wall with everything she does. This goes on until it just boils over and something snarky comes out and the other one loses her shit.

Being a catty little bitch means that I nitpick and remember the mean things that were said in the heat of the moment that should be forgiven. This means that even after all is said and done, and we’re back to talking and laughing and joking around like always, I can still hear the tiny voice in the back of my head (which obviously belongs to my mother- because good or bad, she’s the one I hear through all the madness) pushing those things we argued about back to the forefront of my mind.

Being a catty little bitch means that I can tap into that part of myself that no one should know is there and say the meanest thing possible in that moment. Because in that moment, it feels good to say it. It feels good to stab the knife in and twist it a little bit. It feels good to know I have earned a reaction, even if it is her heart breaking a little bit. If feels good because in that moment, I won.

The thing is, after that moment passes, I always wish I never would have gone there. I wish I could take it back. I wish more than anything that those words could disolve from her mind and she could un-hear them.

I’ve been a catty little bitch to the woman who gave me life, to the one person on this earth who truly loves me unconditionally. So, I’ve been working on it, because it hurts me too when I hurt her.

And on the eve of my birthday, she deserves a thank you. (And an I’m sorry.) (And an I love you.)

But let’s get real: I’m still gonna hate on people. It’s, like, what I do.

Haterz gon’ hate. Cliches are cliches for a reason; they’re true. Bahahahhaha

I have been thinking and thinking all day long about what I was gonna write about today. I just couldn’t think of anything. And now, I have too much material. I have too many thoughts that don’t go together at all. One, I am sure, is an over-share. One is a confession. And one is just totally random, like that time I announced at work, unprovoked, that I wished my cat would just die (and Casey got really upset).

I guess what it comes down to is that this is my blog, and I can do whatever I want here. So I’ll just over-share as much as I want. You shut your mouth; you like it, and you know it.

One: The Over-Share

Yesterday, I had been hanging out in the sweat-lodge that is my room here at Grandma’s. Except, lately, it hasn’t been too much of a sweat-lodge. The two fans I have going and standing over the vent in my room seems to be working out for me this week. Win. Anyway, I was doing something (I can’t even remember what it was anymore. HOW OLD AM I?!) and just minding my own business. Kickin’ it with me, myself, and I.

Then I decided, ohhh em gee I’m totally brillz!

Two words, my friends: bubble bath.

Never mind the fact that I don’t even knowwww the last time I took a bath. Never mind the fact that it was 58,492 degrees where my room and bathroom is. Never mind the fact that baths make me feel like I’m dying.

I was like, Self, we are sooooo doing this.

I gathered up a book, my computer for some tunes (couldn’t find my headphones), and my phone. Just in case. (bahaha).

If I was going to be “relaxing” I thought I’d set the mood, like they do in movies. I dimmed the lights in the bathroom and set my computer on the counter, far away from water with the soundtrack to The Holiday playing on my iTunes. If I woulda had candles, girrrrl, you know they woulda been lit. I went ALL out.

There I was, chillin’ in the bathtub with my vampire book and my computer started making noises. Skype noises. What. The. Fuck. Inappropriate!  My mother was calling. OF COURSE I DIDN’T ANSWER. Hello! I was in the BATHTUB.

So I reeeeeeached, awkwardly, to get my phone (careful not to drop it in the tub! That would have been dumb.) and called that bitch up on the phone. But then we got to talking and I was no longer relaxing and then I didn’t want to be talking to her while I was naked so I made us hang up.

Two: The Confession

Before tonight, I had never eaten KFC or watched a show called The Ladies of Demolition Derby.

Now I can finally cross those things off my bucket list!

Three: The Random Fact

I went looking on the interwebz for a prompt to write on my blog because I seemingly lacked the ability to open the cabinets full of thoughts in my brain. So, the prompt I was going to use was “What book could you read over and over again?” from Plinky. I had a good answer, too. I didn’t even have to think about it. I just knew immediately what book that would be.

I’ll tell you right now. The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky.

What I can tell you about this book is that it’s truly amazing. I have read it a number of times and I get something new from it every single time. It makes me cry and it hurts my heart and it makes the reader feel. It’s just… amazing.

Here are a few gems from the book:

so this is my life. and i want you to know that i am both happy and sad and i’m still trying to figure out how that could be.
*the perks of being a wallflower

when the police came, they found my brother asleep on the roof. nobody knows how he got there.
*the perks of being a wallflower

i really think that everyone should have watercolors, magnetic poetry, and a harmonica.
*the perks of being a wallflower

maybe these are my glory days, and i’m not even realizing it because they don’t involve a ball.
*the perks of being a wallflower

sam and patrick looked at me. and i looked at them. and i think they knew. not anything specific really. they just knew. and i think that’s all you can ever ask from a friend.
*the perks of being a wallflower

i am very interested and fascinated by how everyone loves each other, but no one really likes each other.
*the perks of being a wallflower

Read it. You’ll love it. I just know it!

xoxo

SO. GOOD.

Remember last time I was here and gave you a half-assed blog post because I was hungover?

If you said yes, then you can suck it because despite being hungover, I shared a precious father/daughter moment with you. And you’re an ungrateful little shit.

Okay, let’s be friends again. I really wanna tell you a story.

It’s pretty clear by now that I was a hot damn mess last Saturday night. My antics are still being described to me by those who were present (or received drunk-texts… I was particularly pleased with the ones I sent to my boss. OOOOOPS!). There were some events that I had forgotten took place. That’s the best, by the way, when your friends let you know about all the dumb shit you did and said DAYS later. (Thanks, guys.)

The point is that because of what a shit-show I was on Saturday, I reached a new level of lazy on Sunday, which, after all, is the day of rest. So go ahead and hate that I did NOTHING but sleep and watch Dawson’s Creek all day long. Just know that Jesus says it’s okay.

I mentioned it on twitter but I totally got a new phone on Sunday. I got myself a Blackberry. WHICH, by the way, they call it a Crackberry for a reason. I’m obsessed. I’m in love. It’s glorious.

Dino is superior to the stupid LG Shine.

I had to get a new phone because my old one just like… stopped working. It kept turning itself off and then told me to insert my sim card and I didn’t get why because my sim card was totally already inserted. Like, all Saturday night while I was trying to drunk-text the shit out of my contacts list, it kept being like “Katie, you’re a drunk bitch and you don’t even deserve me.”  But, we made it through the night alive, so that’s all that matters. Sunday, though, apparently all bets were off because it just decided to really stick it to me and really stop working.

So, to the AT&T store I went, in all my hungover glory and told that little bitch of a phone, “fuck you, I’m getting a smartphone, you idiotpieceofshit.” Just like that.

Luckily for Jon, the poor soul who had to deal with me, I had just showered… kinda recently. And by that I mean an hour before I went. But I didn’t brush my hair or even put make up on (duh). I had gotten up from the couch long enough for me to shower, put some underwear on underneath my sweatpants and brush my teeth before I started another episode of Dawson’s Creek and my brother Skype’d me.

As I walked into the mall from the parking lot, a group of four or five attractive African American gentlemen were walking out right towards me. One of those guys decided to fuck with me. He looked me up and down and was like, “how you doin’, pretty girl?” and I actually laughed at him.  Irony. Bahaha I mean, I did nottttt look “pretty” so he was clearly just rubbing it in. Rude.

Anyway, I got into the AT&T store and decided I should probably remove my sunglasses. And OF COURSE the hottest guy working had to be the one to have to help me. Jeez, this hangover was just fucking me left and right.

Long story short, turns out I was due for an upgrade so I had the best pricing available to me. And when I went to look at phones and figure out which phone I wanted, my hands were shaking so bad I finally told Jon I wasn’t actually a meth-addict or some other drug addicted degenerate despite the looks of me. I told him, “I’m sorry, I’m fine, I’m just really, really hungover.”

Right after that, our conversation flourished and I definitely felt a connection. We had similar attitudes towards drinking and terrorizing East Lansing. It was nice.  We also had a brief conversation about how I repel technology. It was nice as well.

Even during all of this embarrassment, I had resigned myself to the fact that this is just kinda how my life goes. And then I didn’t feel embarrassed. I stood at the counter, watching the Shake Weight commercial on the TV on the wall while he did all the crap he needed to do on the computer and transferring all my contacts and shiz to my new phone. We conversed about how awkward and hilarious that commercial is and I decided that my little hungover adventure into public looking like a huge mess was a success.

I feel pretty good about it.