What you see is what you get...

To some people, appearance is v v v important. Now, I wasn't raised to leave my house in du-rags and pajama pants like some of you heffas, But don't think that hasn't stopped me from dressing like a 17 year old boy that blew 8 months of his allowance at Sheikh Shoes. Ralph's....Yogurtland...99Cent Store, my mother taught me that you should always go through life as if you had stepped out of a Ann Taylor catalogue...or an Oprah Winfrey Book Club Meeting. Super classy and elegant, you know? However, she and I have VERY different standards. Like Beyonce, my mother has 2 different hairstylists, one to cut and one to color. Is 2 egregious? Yes. But I let someone put their fingers in my hair about as I left a dentist poke around in my mouth.....fuck.... I really need to go to the dentist. Nails are always painted to perfection is the seasons' triendiest colors. I'm pretty sure she works manicures into her budget. I don't have that problem because I have chewed my finger nails down to nubbly stubs! #moneysavingtips. I clipped my toenails the other day ONLY because they were cutting a hole in my favorite pair of socks. Sidenote: You ever clip your nails and they spring 5 feet off your body like a Ginzu knife flying through space. I say Ginzu knife because if you’ve ever had one of those little motherfuckers hit you, you know they are sharp. Like papercut sharp. And where the fuck do they fly to, anyways? Why do they fly so far?! And how am I supposed to findthem?! She dressed like a lawyer that just walked out of a courtroom on Law and Order: SVU. Meanwhile, my cut off white tee not only shows off my soft serve abs (I cut that shit way too short on accident) but all the stupid food I've crammed into my mouth hole over the last few days. Spaghetti sauce splatter, Mustard sprays, Toothpaste smudges and coffee drips. Its really one of my finest works of art. Like if Jabba the Hut had gone to the Academy of Art. But not only am I creative, I am also an innovator. Just the other day I discovered that the Australia sized hole in the crotch of my faded capri stretchy pants was big enough to masturbate through. The point is, I try.... I'm lying.

31 going on 16

I am sitting in my mothers house writing whatever the fuck this is supposed to be and watching Wendy Williams. Why, you ask? Because I’m a bum that’s why. When I had my own place, I would do this same thing but with WAY more weed. Which reminds me. *5 minute smoke break* ANYWAYS....while most people would be wallowing in the pits of despair, I’m not, ( I totally am) because this is a new chapter (my life has spiraled out of control) and great things are on the horizon (why is this happening to me?!). There are so many things to be happy about. For example, I haven’t had to use paper towels/ fast food napkins in leui of toilet paper since I moved here. It’s amazing what a Costco card and little bit of responsibility will get you. An 82 pack of toilet paper if you had any questions figuring that out. So, I basically live next to the laundry room, which means I have absolutely no excuse not to wash the 6 pairs of underwear, 12 t-shirts and the miscellaneous assortment of socks I moved down here with from the Bay Area. I really gotta get the rest of my shit down here before summer starts or else I’ll be cutting the sleeves off my Bill Cosby sweater and wearing that to the beach as a swimsuit. Since I'm an unemployed, I basically have the house to myself all day, which I spend pretending to exercise and catching up on all my shows. Read: doing a singular set of jumping jacks and watching LAHH:ATL and Hoarders. The only 2 shows worth turning on the television for. Moms also keeps lots of booze in the house. KEPT. Past tense. She is extremely particular about her alcohol usually sipping on Grey Goose and a selection of fine wine that she keeps in the mini wine cooler. Which means that the Pineapple Ciroc i foundt the other day is ALL MINE. I’ve been making a some REALLY healthy smoothies with it everyday. And since Ciroc is vodka, and vodka is clear, its like a cousin of water. But with way more fun. And a few DUI’s.... depending who you ask. I am also a dog mom now. Sassy the geriatric chihuahua terrior mix is now my charge. Meaning I walk her 3 times a day (which is quite frankly the only reason why I put pants on at all), make her outfits, and basically serve as her human body pillow. This dog has more control over me and my life than I do. #sassyforpresident

Coyote Ugly

See. Most people have those friends that when you ask them “hey, give me a topic to write about” they say something like “capitalism”… or “pizza”… or if you’re REALLY lucky something as juvenile as “farts”. If they are anything like me, they won’t respond at all. But if they are anything like MY friends, they will send you a photo of your ex. But not just any photo of your ex. The WORST possible photo of your ex. I’m still perplexed as to how it exists, to be completely honest. And even more perplexed as to how it actually made it to my inbox. Because I can honestly tell you my first thought upon laying thine eyes upon such a portrait was “what the fuck am I dating, and how can I coyote my way out of this relationship?”. ...Virtually of course. And for those of you who don’t know, “coyote” means chewing your arm off in order to get out of being trapped. And I know it all sounds harsh now but I don’t give a fuck, tbh. We’ve since called it off officially, which is should be evident by the radio silence on all social fronts; although sometimes that gives people the “absence makes the heart grow fonder” vibes. I tend to live by the “absence makes my knife grow sharper so please respect my space and don’t creep on me, mmmkay?” credo. But I kept that photo as a reminder. Just in case I started getting weak and thinking about fucking with 3x Krazy again, I take a peek at that photo and voila! My vagina dehydrates into a sundried tomato…. Like….like a raisin... in the sun. So this is a cautionary tale. Wait before you send a photo of yourself when you’re drunk. Tag a friend into the decision making process. Sleep on it. Flush your phone down the toilet. Eat it. Whatever you gotta do. Just don’t ever get caught slipping. ESPECIALLY when you’re an asshole. You might think you’re giving off Beyonce, but you actually giving off Ving Rhames. IF I was super petty (which whatever is immediately under super petty, that is what I am)(But like, i’m so close to super petty I’m actually bleeding into it) I would have sent that as my response every time they reached out to me after we broke up. IF I was super petty, I would have put that photo on a coffee mug and sent it to their coworkers. IF I was super petty, I would have put that bitch on a ribbon in the sky and had it fly around. But I’m not. I’m slightly less than super petty and still super sweet. I’m Petty Crocker. *deletes 1133 horrible selfies off phone*