Tag Archive: USA


Hello blogosphere!

Long time, no see!!

As you may have deduced, I have returned from my trip abroad and made it safely back to the lovely USA. My trip was awesome and amazing and every positive adjective you can imagine and I definitely did not want to come home, but now that I am home, I am definitely glad to be back.

The following things were what I was most excited about coming home to:

  1. Chiefy
  2. My Bed

Yeah, that’s it.

Besides being exhausted and wanting nothing to do with stairs or being awake, I have also been a complete basket case.  The reasons, however, I just don’t feel comfortable sharing with the entire world on the internet, so I apologize for that. I really didn’t need to share that part with you guys, but considering the mess I’ve been, I just haven’t been myself since I’ve been back.

I met some really great people and really, really loved every minute of the trip. It was amazing and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I’m beyond glad I had the chance to experience everything I did.

Now that I’m back, I have so much to do and getting back to reality kinda blows.

I have so much work still to do for class and it seems like I have a never-ending supply of laundry. I only packed 50 pounds worth of stuff, but I just am struggling to put everything away. I hope I remember how to be in the real world and execute the functions of my job. That will be an adventure tomorrow morning. As will waking up at a normal time in EST.  My body clock is all out of whack and I never have any idea what time it is.

I just wanted to quickly update that I made it back safely and that I hadn’t abandoned my blog for forever.  I’m back and am trying to get back into the swing of things.

🙂

Not too long ago, I got a message on facebook from a family friend. She is younger than me and definitely not of the legal drinking age here in the lovely USofA. Luckily, good old Canada is just next door. So, she asked me to borrow (have) one of my old IDs so she and her friends could cause a raucous among the canucks.

This normally would be no big deal; my moral compass does not frown upon aiding the youth in their drunken debauchery- just ask my angelic brother (keep on fighting that peer pressure, brother bear! love you!).  I thought, oh what the hell! As long as her father does not find out that it was ME who supplied those hooligans with an over-21 ID, then shooooot, those girls better have a good time. I refuse to be held responsible for the corruption.

What? I'm totally fine. Not wobbly at all!

But then I remembered I’m a hot damn mess when I drink. And although I drink waaaay less than I used to (I may have been black-out drunk for the years of 18 and 19), old habits die hard. At 22, I’m responsible. I’m an adult. I make wise choices. I know my limit.

Stop laughing, okay? SOMETIMES I make wise, responsible, adult choices.

ANYWAYYYYY, I accept that I am a heap of trouble after two drinks.

Unfortunately for the family friend who shall remain nameless to protect the innocence of both of us, I had to tell her that I’m irresponsible and lack any identification other than my current ID.

I decided not to share with her all the details as to why I no longer have any past IDs or any extra ones laying around. But, dear readers, I’ll share some of those details with you now.

Junior year of college is when I really started getting sloppy. Or when I just stopped being as accountable for hanging onto my own belongings. Looking back, it seems like sophomore year of college was better because I had other people to hold my stuff when I got too drunk. One winter’s night, I was over-served.  Generally, when this happens, I’m still pretty anal enough to feel the need to brush my teeth, take my contacts out and remove my eye makeup. I’m fairly certain I even changed into some semblance of pajamas (read: no pants).  I can’t remember now how I made it home that evening, but the important part is that I did indeed make it home.

I awoke the next morning with the panic that I had noooo idea where my cute little wristlet was. Frantic, I launched myself out of bed and ran into the living room. There, I found evidence that we had done some “pre-gaming” (the counter and glass table(s) were stickyyyy and a couple of empty fifths remained). I also found that I apparently struggled with my shoes and had made like Hansel and Gretel, leaving a trail not of breadcrumbs but clothing, beginning at the front door. Nowhere in the million pockets of my zip-up fleece (at least that made it home, unlike the one that was STOLEN at that one party… RUDE.) was my wristlet. I checked my jeans. Not there either. Not even looped through one of the belt loops.

I stalked down the girl who lived at the place I had been the night before and sent her a message on facebook, asking her if someone had left a wristlet behind. I scoured mine and Erica’s apartment. I called my other friends, asking if they had it, remembered me having it, or knew where it might be.  NOTHING. No one knew anything.

Begrudgingly, and under the advice of my all-wise mother, I reported my debit card “lost or stolen” and resigned myself to the fact that I had indeed lost that tube of chapstick, a $20 bill, and my wristlet. AND that I would have to give up a perfectly adequate break between classes usually dedicated to a nap to waiting FOREVER at the Secretary of State’s office that Monday.

A WEEK LATER, I finally got around to making my bed. (My dad probably was probably stopping by, lol.)  Before I even got a chance to get busy making hospital corners with my sheets, I noticed there was a lump I didn’t appreciate. Something black and small had found its way underneath the blankets.  CAN YOU GUESS WHAT THAT SMALL BLACK THING WAS?!

My freakin’ wristlet. Filled with my now-canceled debit card, a tube of chapstick, a $20 bill and my driver’s license.

I don't want to talk about it.

FACE-PALM.

I’m an idiot.

I know this story just makes me look like an idiot who just misplaces things only to find them in random-ass places rather than someone who has had to replace her license three times in the last year, but the point was that I’m a shitshow and shouldn’t be allowed to carry my own stuff. I also understand if you think less of me now.

Ps. I now have two driver’s licenses because the one I lost a month ago was magically sent to me in the mail. If only she had waited one more week to go to Canada…!

Today is July 4th.

That means that it’s Independence Day here in the lovely United States of America. The Land of the Free.

I learned yesterday on the conference call at work that 26% of American’s have no clue what that means.

The question posed to all of us yesterday on the call was “What percentage of Americans do not know what country the United States gained their independence from?” and the girls at work were like “KATIE!”, which meant I was to un-mute our phone and chime in with my answer, which was 24%. Because I just know random stuff like that. I didn’t chime in. But other people did, and they threw out answers like 76% and 5%  because they obviously lack the weird trivia knowledge I have been blessed with. But whatever, I was like, “it’s probably, like, 24% or something.” And then he told us the answer.

26%.

What the fuck? How does that happen?!

That is more than a quarter of Americans. One in 4 Americans have no effing idea. THE HORROR!

That’s just appalling. Because you knowww that it is precisely that 26% of Americans that celebrate this day hardcore. They’re the ones riding their John Deere mowers in their town’s 4th-Of-July Parade. They’re the ones who are grilling out and eating massive quantities of potato salad (yum, by the way!). They’re the ones who have more than one cooler filled with American-made beer in their back yard, on their boat, in their kid’s stroller, their golf bag, the plastic pool intended for small children (or family pets). That 26% dresses in red, white, and blue, buys illegal fireworks and blows shit up because it’s freakin’ independence day!

But that 26% has no clue that it was Great Britain. Idiots.

Anyway, I wanted to talk about something else that is important.

I was thinking this morning after reflecting on a particularly disturbing dream (read: free willy eats family friend- sad times!).  Marine creatures kinda freak me out. And I remembered that Brittany, aka the best character on Glee, made a comment about sharks and dolphins. I think she said “did you know dolphins are just gay sharks?”  I’m convinced she’s right.

All of this led me to this conclusion:

Manatees are just retarded dolphins.

Happy 4th of July, my lovelies! 🙂

Please be safe- don’t blow your hand or face off and don’t drink and drive!