Crisis

Yerrr. It’s me. Your girl. I haven’t written in a few weeks honestly because the majority of the people in my life have requested (demanded) that I not include them in my blog in any way, shape, or form and it makes it a little difficult for content purposes. You would think that people would loosen up a little and let me talk about their STD’s for the sake of my ART but some people are just selfish I guess. Anyway, I’ll see what I can come up with.

In what was truly an eye opening experience for me, I discovered yesterday that there are, in fact, Americans that care about soccer. I always thought that soccer was sort of like football, baseball, and basketballs distant cousin with a wonky eye that no one wants in the family photo-op because they’re going to fuck up their likes-per-minute ratio on Insta. Or maybe that’s just me. 

Anyway, Italy played England yesterday for the final in the EuroCup (???) and won with a final score that I truly can’t be bothered to google. Just talking about it is giving me PTSD war flashbacks because for some reason I agreed to bartend at an Italian restaurant during the game and people were hanging from the rafters. Literally. At one point, I looked up and someone was hanging off the mezzanine. I also heard rumblings that a fight broke out in the Board Room and that someone had taken off their belt and was snapping it together in the manner of a parent who was threatening to beat their child, but I decided not to involve myself in that one. I had just narrowly avoided my own fight with a busboy who can only be described as on some sort of spectrum. I walked back into the kitchen drenched in my own sweat, and saw him sitting down on his phone looking fatigued. After I screamed at the top of my lungs for him to get behind the bar because we were out of glasses, beer, and really anything that would have enabled us to serve 350 people he immediately sprung to his feet. Unfortunately, his version of rising to the challenge was running in and out of the bar at gale force speeds like a bull in a China shop swinging full baskets of glasses.

Nevertheless, after the game I was able to dip out from the bar and leave my 19-year-old coworker to fend for herself with a busboy who may or may not have done a bit of crystal meth while I went to see what was going on outside. And I really wish I hadn’t. Every man, woman, and child who had any semblance of Italian heritage or had ever seen an episode of the Sopranos for that matter had taken to the streets to celebrate Italy’s win. There had been a makeshift moshpit formed in the middle of Bedford Street that inhibited any cars from passing through and that song We No Speak Americano was playing on repeat seemingly from nowhere. I drew the line when a young man who I knew was hanging out of a moving car at a full 90-degree angle screaming inaudibly draped in nothing but the Italian flag. 

In other news that can be filed under my 13th Reason Why, I am soon to be homeless. My mother’s SURPRISE reasoning behind her SURPRISE visit is apparently that she is planning on selling our childhood home and casting my sister, our fleet of cats, and myself out onto the streets. Although my sister and I are rapidly approaching middle age and can probably be expected to fend for ourselves, this was far from a welcomed announcement. I’m only about a month in to the consistent SaLaRy LyFee and my savings can be described anywhere from bleak to entirely nonexistent. To that end, I am not entirely looking forward to apartment hunting on a budget in one of the priciest zip codes in the United States. I’m a simple girl with simple tastes, but some of these apartments in my price range I’ve seen on Zillow are enough to send a chill down my spine. I could always rent a room from a stranger on Craigslist, but being raped and murdered in an cocaine den in the Cove has begun to seem less and less appealing. I think I’ve surpassed the age where my tragic death would be national news, and it would instead probably be nothing more than little blurb on the second page of the Advocate next to that week’s bear sightings. Not worth it.

I also have one final (ish) thing to say, and it involves an encounter I had the other night that’s been weighing on my mind. 

I was sitting at the bar sucking down an Aperol Spritz when someone I had given an over the pants handjob to in highschool and had not had that much contact with since approached me. 

“Heyyyyyyyyyy Rachel. So good to see you,” He said, visibly intoxicated. I hate when people say this. It isn’t good to see me. You know it. I know it. We all know it.

“Hey,”I sighed. 

“How are you?”

“I’m good, how are you?”

“Good, good. I’m glad to hear you’re doing good.” I nodded, thinking that this would be the end and I was going to be able to efficiently get out of this conversation in six words or less. It’s not that he wasn’t  a nice guy, I’ve just reached the point where my social bandwidth has a verrrrrry low threshold. I don’t even want to have conversations with myself.  

That’s when he hit me with the following:

“I really am glad to hear you’re doing good. You know, I said the other day to Matt (mutual friend) that judging by your Instagram posts . . .” his voice trailed off and I thought he was going to mention that he read my blog or something to that effect and I smiled preemptively. 

“Look, I know a person in crisis when I see one,” he said.

The smile dropped from my face. “In crisis? Do I seem in crisis?” 

“I’m glad you’re doing good though , really. Anyway, it was nice seeing you!” he said ignoring my response completely and walking away.

I sat there, dumbfounded. In crisis? What exactly is it about me that seems like someone who in crisis? On second thought, maybe he does read this blog.

#italy #eurocup #soccer #england #fairfieldcounty #househunting #realestate #bartending #aperolspritz #aperol #homeless

Yelling Free Britney ’til I see Britney

HeYyYYY youuu  GuYYyyysss (Goonies Monster Voice)

My schedule’s just been jam packed lately what with my blooming political career and all the time I spend googling lists of federal holidays, Jury Duty volunteer forms, and really anything else that may enable me to take the day off. Fortunately, multi-tasking is actually one of the only skills I didn’t exaggerate (lie) about on my resume, so I’m used to having a lot of balls in the air and occasionally one or two in my mouth.

With that being said, I’ve been able to better utilize the time I spend dodging phone calls from Government employees demanding press releases and get some writing done. Unfortunately, I’m not really sure which direction this week’s ramblings are going to take because I have a lot to say and no one to say it to, so just bear with me.

Let’s kick it off with some negatives. Although I was essentially hogtied and forced against my will to go to Florida to see my mother just a few weeks ago, she decided that was not enough quality time for us and arrived yesterday for a “visit”. I’m not going to say that my propensity toward alcoholism stems from her, but I will say that upon her arrival she immediately demanded that I take her to the liquor store for “this cool new cinnamon flavored tequila” that she’s apparently a huge fan of. Then, before I had even pulled out of the Bevmax parking lot, she unscrewed the cap and began drinking straight from the bottle.

“What are you doing?” I asked, looking at her appalled in my rearview mirror. I’m in no position to judge someone’s alcohol consumption, but I at least pour my Pino Noir in a spare empty water bottle if I don’t have access to a stemmed wine glass on the go. I’m a lady.

“What?! I’m only having a sip!” She screeched. And then proceeded to have several large “sips” that I’m pretttty sure resulted in her being drunk by the time we made it back home. (It’s a seven minute drive)

Upon returning back to our casa de los locos, my mother decided it would be a good time to pick up the phone and verbally accost her mother. I was sprawled out on the couch in the upstairs living room searching for the will to live when I had the pleasure of overhearing the conversation on speakerphone.

“MA. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“I’M WATCHING THE TV. WHAT YOU WANT?” This is the standard greeting my Nannie uses when answering the telephone. It’s worth mentioning that although she sailed over from Italy presumably around the time of the Great Depression, her English has remained abysmal.

“MA. REMEMBER. THE DOCTOR SAID YOU NEED TO GET OFF THE UNISOM.” On the way home from the liquor store, in between slugs of tequila, my mother had informed me that she had the pleasure of taking my Nannie to her doctor’s appointment earlier in the day. At the appointment, Nannie launched into one of her frequent rants about how dead people come to her at night in her sleep and speak to her. Because she isn’t the kid from The Sixth Sense, her doctor was deeply unsettled by this proclamation and suggested she lay off the over the counter sleeping pills. Apparently, although not shockingly, my Nannie responded rather aggressively and informed her that she had been taking Unisom to help her sleep since her time working the night shift in a factory. This was 43 years prior.

“FUCK-A YOU,” she shouted, and immediately hung up the phone.

There is one thing that I honestly didn’t even want to delve into because it makes my fucking blood boil, but I truly can’t even put into words how shocked and disgusted I am with the ongoing Britney Spears conservatorship drama.

For those of you who live under a rock, Britney finally addressed the court herself yesterday regarding her current ENSLAVEMENT at the hands of her father and demanded that her testimony be made public so people can really understand what’s going on. I literally cried listening to the audio, and some of the most shocking revelations are as follows:

1.       After wanting to take a break from touring in 2018, she was forcibly institutionalized and “sat in a chair 10 hours a day, seven days a week”. She also was forced to go on the “mood stabilizer” lithium by her own therapist (who should have had nothing but Britney’s best interest in mind and sounds just as fucking corrupt as the rest of them)

2.       She is unable to get married to her boyfriend or take out her IUD to try to conceive because “they” (her gremlin fucking father) don’t want her to have another baby.

3.       She stated that the only thing that is possibly comparable to her own current situation is being sex trafficked because she’s been forced to work against her will, and all her possessions, including her credit cards, cash, phone, and passport have been taken from her.

Hear me, and hear me good. So. HELP. ME. GOD. If this is not changed and changed FAST I will RIOT IN THE FUCKING STREETS. I will PERSONALLY fly down to Louisiana and find whatever crawfish fucking dive bar that alcoholic MONSTER spends his time in. Britney is being held against her will in a Gilead- from-The- Handmaids-Tale adjacent NIGHTMARE where she unconstitutionally does not have the right to procreate. Considering the fact that she was high functioning and performing nightly at her own Las Vegas residency only three years ago (which, mind you, SHE WAS NOT EVEN ABLE TO SEE THE REVENUE FROM BECAUSE SHE’S ONLY GIVEN AN ALLOWANCE OF 2K A WEEK DESPITE BEING WORTH 60 MILLION DOLLARS!!!!!!!!!) I can only assume that it is evident to anyone with TWO FUCKING EYES that she is being unlawfully exploited, demoralized, and broken for profit.

I’m honestly going to have my own nervous breakdown so I think it’s best if I stop here. If there’s one thing you take away from this post today, it’s FREE BRITNEY.

#freebritney #britneyspears #conservatorship #mom #grandma #alcohol #alcoholic #tequia #wine #money #constitution #abuse

Hired, But Tired

Hello all,

As I sit here at my desk in elastic waist “business casual” pants which I may or may not have purchased from the maternity section on amazon, I am once again starting to question whether or not office like is, in fact, for me. As I believe I mentioned in my previous blogpost, I have finally gotten a real job that doesn’t require me to sling blood orange margaritas and I’ve embarked on my journey into the corporate world. After an ill-fainted trip to Naples where I spent the majority of my time crafting the perfect blend of Pinor Noir, melatonin, and Xanax that would render me unconscious in 15 minutes or less, I returned well rested and ready to conquer the world. Naturally, as is a reoccurring theme in my life, there were many aspects of oFficE lYfEeeee which I was woefully unprepared for.

Let’s start with some of the simpler things that have been putting a proverbial bee in my bonnet.

1.       Office temperature. On my first days of beginning said job I was informed that the air-conditioning was “on the fritz”. This occurrence happened to coincide with some of the hottest days in recent memory, with temperatures reaching the low 90’s by midday. Considering the fact that my body’s reaction to even mild heat is similar to that of a middle aged woman in the throes of menopause, I decided to go on yet another amazon spree and purchase hundreds of dollars of short-sleeved office dresses and my own personal desk fan. As of last Friday, the air conditioning was ostensibly fixed and I can now say without much exaggeration that the temperature in here is on par with the Arctic Circle. I have goose bumps writing this and my nipples could cut glass.

2.       Prior to this job I had never used Outlook, or anything more advanced that my G-mail account which I was forced to make in tenth grade for class and haven’t changed since. For some reason, the idea that I may not have been hearing back from employers because I had “xoxo” at the end of my email address (as a subtle nod to Gossip Girl) entirely eluded me during my years long job hunt, but I digress. Anyway, as I navigate the brave new world of company e-mailing, there is one aspect which I can immediately say that I am not a fan of. Being accosted via calendar e-vite for meetings (usually for reasons unspecified) is one thing, and I honestly prefer them to someone strolling by my desk unannounced while I’m cutting my cuticles. But the repetitive reminders at 15 minute intervals starting hours prior to the meeting is literally just kicking me while I’m down. The meeting itself is more than enough to send me into a full blown panic attack, but the by the minute reminders that its steadfastly approaching is tantamount to virtual waterboarding.

3.       This one may not be entirely relatable and could possibly be something I need to speak to a licensed therapist about, but I am having a huge issue with office bathroom decorum. I try to drink about a gallon of water a day because in my mind that’s going to somehow cancel out the 3 aperol spritz, 1 glass of rose, and 42 glasses of red that I inevitably drank the night before. I also am pretty sure that my bladder is the size of a pea (no pun intended). To that end, I use the bathroom several times a day. Now this would be fine, if it were not for two things. 1. I have to walk past the entire office each time I go to the bathroom and I’m beginning to worry they might think I’m snorting cocaine and 2. I made the mistake on my second day of explaining to the armed guard outside of our office doors that I drink a large amount of water which is the reason behind my frequent trips, and he took that as license to make jokes about my bathroom use EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. I pass by him to get to the corridor the bathrooms located in. Not only does the incessant small talk fill me with crippling anxiety, but the idea that someone is monitoring the length and frequency of my trips to the women’s room has filled me with pure existential dread. I have looked into adult diapers, but I’m afraid that they might be visible in my stretchy slacks.

This list could go on and on, but I think that I’ll give it a rest at the risk of sounding ungrateful for the opportunity that’s giving me full on imposter syndrome. Happy Flag Day.

#work #office #officelife #2021 #hot #heatwave #anxiety #fear #amazon

Catch flights not feelings.

Hello all. I’m currently flying down to nature’s resting home, otherwise known as Naples Florida. I’m actually writing this on my notes app on my cellphone in a last ditch attempt not to lose my fucking mind on the people sitting in front of me who have NOT SHUT THE HELL UP FOR ONE SINGULAR SECOND the ENTIRE DURATION of this flight. I have always felt that people who insist on making friends while traveling should probably look inward to figure out the root of their neediness and desperation. Probably some sort of abandonment from their childhood, but that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, from what I can deduce from their conversation which I’ve had the pleasure of listening to for the past hour and a half, shes  a rich old woman from Greenwich and her sons a writer (semi debating asking her to pass along a photo of me and my number. Judging by her whooping cough, that inheritance is going to be coming sooner rather than later) and the other COMPLETE STRANGER has a lot of important opinions he is compelled to share.  The overhead light is also glistening off his bald head directly into my eyes and I’ve just had enough at this point.

I’m willing to admit that I’m a bitttt grouchier than usual for a number of reasons not having to do with the fucking dynamic duo sitting in front of me. First of all, last night (coincidentally on the eve of having to take a 6 am flight) I got drunker than I have been in quite some time. And that’s really Saying something. This was probably some subconscious form self sabotage, but Regardless I woke up at 4:55 still drunk and said you know what absolutely not. Naturally, I then had to get on the phone with the people at Jetblue and beg them to put me on a later flight and let me just tell you they’re not the sharpest knives in the drawer over there.
To add insult to injury I then had to have my father drive me for fear of missing yet another flight, and he ALSO seemed to have the gift of gab. At one point he started blaring a rock song that repeated “jereeemmmyyy spokeeee in classs today” over and over and turned to me with a huge grin on his face.

“This songs great. You know what it’s about?”

“No idea,” I said while debating opening the car door and flinging myself onto the Meerut parkway.

“It’s about a kid in school who went to the front of the class one day and put a gun in his mouth and shot himself.” And I honestly couldn’t find the words to respond at that point.

I’m also not particularly thrilled about going to Florida to visit my mother, not only because she’s extremely high strung (that’s putting it mildly) but because the average age in Naples is about 87. And it’s not a youthful 87. Some of these people I’ve seen around the pool look like they have one foot in the grave and another on a banana peel.

Anyway, I finally got a real job that doesn’t require me to meet my boss at a Sheraton hotel in the middle of the day for reasons that still remain unspecified , and it’s a shockingly good one. I don’t want to jinx it so I’m going to wait until I officially start before I tell people, but I went in for a training day on Wednesday and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Except, and this is a big except, the fact that I was accosted at the front desk at a CRISP nine a.m.

“Three times in one week, wow you must love it here!” The front desk guy said at a decibel that can only be described as deafening.

“Yeah, I’m gonna be working here.”

“Okay before I let you up I just have to make a call.” What happened next I’m almost certain was some sort of comedic sketch he had been working on in his spare time. He picked up the phone and in a hushed voice, while remaining DIRECT eye contact, said “Shes here. I know. She needs to know. I’m going to have to warn her. I guess she’ll have get used to it.”

After he hung up (presumably with no one) he said “ I just have to warn you about the elevator.”

“What?”

“You have to be careful.” My patience was already wearing thin at this point and if I was going to be mugged in an elevator I’d rather just get it over with.

“Okay what is it?” I asked.

He looked over both his shoulders, motioned for me to come closer, and said “Around the fourth floor… there’s ninjas. They can be pretty sneaky. Then.. as you get up to the ninth..” he took a long pause to really BUILD the anticipation and then said “poisonous gas. I’ve been here a while so I’ve built up an immunity. Maybe you will too. But the ninjas-“

I was already half way in the elevator at this point and decided it would be better for both of us if I cut him off mid monologue. “Yeah nice to meet you, I’ll keep an eye out.” And that was how I started my first day.

#flight #vacation #flying #jetblue #dating #diet #wine #hangover #tired #florida #naples #mom

9 to 5

Hey. Hope you’re all strapped in. It’s been a whirlwind.

I realize that I haven’t been following through on yet another one of my goals for 2021 which was to post a blog every week. But, unlike the continuing expansion of my waist line, this one truly isn’t my fault.

I believe I mentioned in my last blog post that I went on two promising interviews. The first, which was a contributor for Life and Style and Intouch magazine, didn’t work out. Shockingly enough, I think they deemed my particular writing style to be too off-brand for the wholesome celebrity news conglomerate that they’ve built. I also may have mentioned during the interview process that dedicating an entire article to Kylie Jenner’s “steamiest quarantine looks” was not “in- touch”, but was in fact out of touch with reality- which I’m sure did not help my position as an applicant.

The second job, which I was offered and subsequently accepted, is an assistant to the CEO of a film company that is coming out with a documentary on the pandemic. It’s been quite the adjustment to say the least. Not only has that been eating up a lot of my otherwise boundless free-time, but it’s caused me to become increasingly concerned for my health. I find myself shooting awake at night in fear that I’ve missed yet another impromptu phone call from my boss, who can only be described as an Ari from entourage/Al Roker hybrid, and also I’m pretty sure clumps of my hair have been falling out more frequently in the shower. Some people just aren’t cut out for the business world.

There is, unfortunately, another aspect of my life which has been encroaching on my leisurely schedule. And I’m sure many of you have heard about it. Without naming any names, a certain Nancy Drew wannabee thought they were on the fucking case and took to the most reputable news outfit they could find, Facebook, to make ceeeertainn outlandish claims about a Bar we all know and (kind of) love. For those of you who remain blissfully unaware, there have been rumors floating around that the bartenders of the establishment which I work for are spiking the drinks. As the person who actually bartends four nights of the week, let me just say this. If I had drugs, by no means, by no semblance of the imagination, would I waste them on the customers who have seemingly made it their PERSONAL MISSION to make my life a living hell during brunch. Sharing is caring, and trust and believe I don’t care about any one of you. Also news flash Karen, you’re blacked the fuck out because you had one and a half Bloody Mary’s, seven mimosas, and two Casamigos shots. Take it up with the fact that you probably never went to college and therefor never got the chance to build up your alcohol tolerance.

While it may sound like I’m being harsh, being accused of being at the helm of a criminal enterprise is honestly exhausting. I’ve had to personally field several phone calls from concerned patrons, and was verbally attacked the other night by a rogue passerby with far too much time on his hands. He stormed in, demanded to see who was “BEHIND THE BAR GIVING PEOPLE BENZOS”, and when I politely told him to get the fuck out, he began screaming incoherently about date rape drugs in front of a nice family trying to enjoy their tuna tartare.

Let’s see.. what else. I finally scheduled my real estate test just in time for the inevitable collapse of the market so that’ll be great. Honestly, I watched one season of Selling Sunset six months ago and decided it was my destiny to be a fucking real estate tycoon, so I have no one to blame but myself. Regardless, I’ve come this far so I might as well see it through to the end. I also needed to get a new phone and had to struggle with the people working at T-mobile in the mall, and it really did a number on my already fragile psyche. I can’t bare to go into the details of the actual encounter but just know that I first called the store to ask a simple question and an employee answered “Hello?” and I said “Hello?” and he said “Yeah?” and I said “I’m sorry, is this T-mobile?” and he said “Oh yeah sorry I was expecting a call what’s up?” On the corporate company phone. Honestly, I just don’t know how much more of this world I can take. I’m exhausted even typing this.

#breakingpoint #health #exhaustion #9to5 #work #employee #employer #boss #bar #drugs #drink #drinks #benzo #scandal #style #writing #newblog

This Shits Fire

Gooood (not really) evening everyone. After spending about fifteen minutes locked in the freezer hysterically crying at work yesterday, I decided it was time for a much needed vent sesh. As it turns out, I am not mentally or emotionally equipped to deal with 40+ persons attending a gender reveal screaming at me because their chicken and waffles were supposed to come with scrambled eggs. Go figure. Nonetheless, I figured I’d save myself the trauma of attempting to find another therapist (one tried to make me play with dolls to regress back to my childhood and my last one I am 99.999 % sure was using a shake weight out of camera frame during one of our Zoom sessions) and just let out some of my emotions on here.

Last week I had two job interviews, each of which I was initially very excited about. However, much like my jean size, things change. I don’t want to go in to too much detail due to the risk of a potential employer reading this, but one of the two lunch interviews/meetings I went on occurred at a PF Changs inside of the Westchester Mall. I think that’s enough said.

Just like former rapper and (alleged) con-artist Ja Rule, I too have been scammed, hoodwinked, and bamboozled by career opportunities in the past. A few years back, I accepted what I believed to be a genuine internship at a recording studio in New York City. When I arrived, I was led into a small room approximately the size of a broom closet by a man who I was under the (misguided) impression was a partner in the company. He informed me that I would not be performing typical intern duties in the office, but I was to work with him directly on a “special project”. After lighting up a joint and offering it to me several times during our first encounter at 9:30 in the morning, he explained the special project was a “cool hip Millennial NYC travel guide” called This Shits Fire. I hesitantly agreed, and worked with him for several weeks until I noticed that no one else in the office would so much as make eye contact with him. Also, in addition to everyone from clients to the janitor avoiding him like the plague, he began sending me a series of indecipherable two- word text messages late at night saying things like “FAR OUT” “BUZZ WORDS” “COOL TEENS” and “TREND SETTER”. And I would say “what?” And there would never be a follow up response. If you were wondering, all traces of the website, and him ever working for the company itself, have since been erased from the internet.

Anyway, I needed a quick reprieve from my own sad, depleted existence and decided to browse the internet for some more hot topics and here are a few things I want to discuss.

Real Housewives All-Stars. The cast has begun filming in the Turks and Caicos and it consists of Ramona Singer, Countess Luann, Teresa Giudice, Kenya Moore, Kyle Richards, and two other housewives I can’t be bothered to Google. I know, I know. These ladies wouldn’t particularly be my first choice for the show either. If I was going to put together my own dream cast, it would of course include Queen #1 housewife of all time Bethenny Frankel and at the very least ONE cast member from Potomac. I know Ashley Darby is busy after just having her second child with everyone’s favorite crocodile dundee/ to catch a predator hybrid but couldn’t we have at least gotten Karen Huger on there? We know she needs the check. Alas, watching Ramona interact with other human beings is one car crash I can never look away from, so I’ll be watching regardless.

Demi Lovato vs Frozen Yogurt. I have had enouuuuughhh. I’ve been trying to bite my tongue here as long as I can but at a certain point you aren’t a “survivor” you’re a “whiner.” Not everything is a battle. Sugar free frozen yogurt options for diabetics is not a battle. And furthermore, not everything needs a documentary. I don’t need to open up Youtube to play the unreleased song “Twerkulator” by the City Girls and see a promo add for your TWLEFTH DOCUMENTARY about your mental health struggle, your eating disorder struggle, your substance abuse struggle. Pick a struggle and fucking stay with it.

Kourtney Kardashian and Travis Barker. They’re hot, they’re older, and they’re giving us all hope that we can waste ten years in a toxic relationship and come out on the other side hotter and happier than ever. I’m all for it, but did Travis’ birthday tribute to mother of three Kourt need to include a video of her sucking on his thumb? Probably not. And while I’m honestly rooting for them you know what they say, the faster you rise the harder you fall.

Well, that’s it for now. I feel better already and I haven’t even had my first glass of wine yet.

#work #job #housewives #bravo #bravoallstars #kourtney #kardashian #romance #love #dating #demilovato #frozenyogurt #therapy #newblog #blogpost #travisbarker #millennial

License to Kill

Hey all you cool cats and kittens. To kick off today’s aimless musings I’d like to make mention of the fact that merely a week after I called Prince Phillip a “reanimated corpse” and said it was time for the Royal Family to start digging a shallow grave out back, he has officially passed on. May he rest in peace. With that being said, I believe his death shortly after my last blog post is yet another shining example of my gift of foresight.

Over the years, I have truly believed that I have a sixth sense, inspired partially by my unique ability of reading people and situations, and partially by a childhood infatuation with the show Charmed. Despite this, there has been several times in my life where my mystic abilities, and truly just the gift of common sense, have entirely eluded me. And for whatever reason, each of these instances have seemed to revolve around driving. Here are a few of my personal favorite examples.

My parent’s attempted to avoid the possibility of me getting my license for as long as possible. While all of my friends were Tokyo drifting in the Donut Delight parking lot in their parent’s Volvos, I was still forced to rely on anyone I could trick into giving me a ride to school in the morning. Finally, shortly after my eighteenth birthday, my mother realized she could only hold off the inevitable for so long.

  1. It was a long and somber trip on my way to the Danbury DMV and I could feel the familiar twinge of my psychic ability warning me that this was a bad idea, but I shook it off. The only prior driving practice I had was with my father in a church parking lot two days prior, and let me tell you he isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer himself. Regardless, I arrived and was greeted by a man who I could only describe as Jabba the Hutt’s clipboard wielding doppelganger. While much of the session remains a panic induced blur, I remember the last five minutes pretty clearly. We pulled back into the lot of the DMV and I had my head held high. I hadn’t committed any major driving faux-paus during the test, and I was feeling overly confident.

“Okay Rachel, have you ever backed and parked before?” Jabba asked in between deep breaths. Apparently, sitting in the passenger seat had left him winded.

“Yep!” I lied.

“Okay, pull up and back into that spot.”

“No problem!” I lied again. There was a problem. As I backed into what I thought was an empty parking space without so much as a quick glance over my shoulder, I heard a large thump followed by a preeeettty intense scratching sound.

“What was that?” I asked, somehow oblivious to the fact that the car I was driving was literally perched on top of another car in the lot.

“ARE YOU JOKING? DID YOU EVEN LOOK? WE AREN’T RESPONSIBLE FOR COVERING THE DAMAGE TO OTHER CARS DURING ROAD TESTS. WHERE IS YOUR FATHER?” I could see he was reeaaaallly starting to work himself up now, and I thought it would be a good idea for me to try and relax him with my wit and charm before he had a full on coronary.

“Well.. did I pass?” I said with a smile. He looked at me with an expression I would imagine one would give someone who had just run over their dog, and began practically foaming at the mouth.

“Put.. the.. car.. in…” **deep gasping breaths** “Turn.. off.. the.. car.. and.. get.. out.”

“I’ll take that as a no,” I said as I quickly unfastened my seat belt.

After six long painful months and five shame inducing attempts, I finally passed. I’m still convinced they were holding some sort of grudge against me over there which is why I failed the subsequent four times, but I never had enough concrete proof. Shortly after, my parent’s graciously decided to bequeath to me a 2006 gold Toyota with two permanent hubcaps, and what turned out to be a pretty serious gas leak.

2. I had been driving around the steel death trap for about a month and once again was ignoring all warning signs, supernatural or otherwise. Sure, the car would frequently die in the middle of the road for no reason, leaving me at the mercy of any unhinged passerby with jumper cables. Didn’t think much of it. Sure, sometimes I would put gas in the car, park it, and when I went to turn it on again the tank would somehow by on E. Maybe I just didn’t put enough, I thought. Then things got weird.

About a week prior to the incident I had noticed that the floor of the backseat of the car would frequently be damp. Maybe it’s from the rain, I thought. Mind you, this car barely had power steering, much less a sunroof I could’ve possibly left open.

One night after work that week I reached behind the passenger seat to grab my mascara which had rolled onto the floor. The carpeting was soaking wet, and I realized it hadn’t rained in days. Maybe I spilled something, I thought.

As I drove home, I noticed that the front hood of the car was literally sparking every time I put my foot on the gas. I had cautioned my parents several times that I could sense the car would lead to my untimely death, but they ignored me, assuming this was nothing more than a ruse I was using to get a nicer car. They were wrong.

As I pulled onto my street with the engine sparking I couldn’t wait until the morning when they were awake and I could finally prove to them that that the car was a literal ticking time bomb. My usual spot in front of my house was taken, so I decided it would be a good idea to park in the driveway of the house for sale across the street. It had been empty for months, and I didn’t see much of an issue in parking my smoking vehicle there for the night. What was the worst that could happen?

After I went inside, I got into bed immediately and poured myself a glass of wine. I began thinking about what kind of new car I wanted, and how I was going to guilt my parent’s into getting me it. I had just settled on threatening to call DCF on them for child endangerment when I heard a loud boom. I sat still for a moment, wondering if it was a gun shot. Within seconds I heard my sister’s bedroom door open, and the sound of her racing down the stairs into the living room.

“OH MY GOD. RACHEL! RACHEL!” She cried out. I sighed deeply, wondering how much someone getting shot in front of our house was going to change the trajectory of my evening. I got up and walked downstairs, only to see my sister Jessica looking at me in abject horror with tears in her eyes.

“Oh my god I thought you were in the car!”

“What car Jessica what the hell are you talking about?” And then, as I glanced out of the bay window, I saw. There it was. My car. Engulfed in flames on all sides about eight feet high. And slowly but surely spreading to the neighbors garage door.

By this time my mother had also awoken and was doing zoomies like a Boston Terrier out on the front lawn in a blind panic, and slowly but surely, each of my neighbors came out onto the street to watch the events unfold. Fortunately within minutes the fire department had arrived and put out the blistering inferno that was my Toyota Camry, but not before the fire had singed the garage and left a gaping hole in the home’s freshly cemented driveway. Once the flames were out and she had finished accosting the firefighters, my mother returned to the house.

“I can’t believe this. I really just can’t believe this.” She said shaking her head

“Well, I told you that that car was a liability and you didn’t-” before I could even get the words out, she slammed her bedroom door.

There are several other instances which I could delve into, but I think I’ll save them for another time a. because these memories are bringing up a lot of old wounds for me and b. because I have rambled on long enough. Have a blessed day everyone and remember to drive safe.

#driving #drive #driverslicense #charmed #newblog #newpost #royalfamily #princephillip #death #fire #viral #magic #psychic

Doctor Rachel: Part Deux

Hello everyone. I hope you’re having a truly blessed and bountiful week. As I fruitlessly scramble in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon for the missing charger to my favorite vibrator, I couldn’t help but feel my time would be better spent answering some more reader questions. I believe I promised a part 2 long ago, and much like Batman, when you needed me the most I disappeared. Again the names are redacted because some submissions are from friends, some from family, and some from strangers on the internet who inexplicably were desperate enough to seek my advice. Let’s dive in.

Dear Dr. Rachel,

I have a two part question. I’ve been in a relationship with a guy for about a year and I love him a lot and can definitely see having a future with him. We really only have two problems, and they both have to do with our sex life. Lately he’s been complaining that we haven’t been having sex enough. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to, I just sometimes feel like it’s easier and more enjoyable to just.. take care of the job myself. Secondly, I recently told him that when I am “on the job” it’s mainly only to lesbian porn and I think it really freaked him out. He’s made a couple comments about it, including that he doesn’t think it’s normal. Is there something wrong with me?

Sincerely,

Asexual or Bisexual?

Dear Sexual,

I just want to start off by saying there is nothing wrong with you. However, it sounds like there might be something wrong with your boyfriend, who seems to have had his fragile grasp on masculinity threatened simply by you vibbbing out to two women going Downtown Charlie Brown on each other. Would he prefer you to masturbate solely to men with far bigger penises than his? Because if that’s the case, Google Johnny Sins and you both can thank me later. Anyway, you are by no means alone in this sentiment. The majority of girls I know prefer watching girl on girl action. I think I read somewhere that it’s because it’s more intimate and makes us feel safer than heteronormative porn or something, but personally having the veiny penis of a stranger accosting me via my computer screen couldn’t be further from my idea of a good time. Also to answer your first question, it is perfectly natural for you to rather fly solo from time to time. You know what you like, you can get in and out as quickly as you want, and don’t have to risk getting lockjaw. So my advice to you Sexual is dim the lights, put your bf’s texts on Do Not Disturb, and feel free to select the Pornhub category of your choosing.

Dear Dr. Rachel,

My boyfriend and I have been together for a long time and have even recently gone to look at rings. I’m excited about possibly getting engaged, but I’m worried because I’ve never really gotten along with his family. No matter how hard I’ve tried, his parent’s and sisters have always been standoffish toward me and treat me like an outsider. It’s gotten to the point where I’ve just been flat out refusing to go to their family’s home for holidays and birthdays, which has caused several fights with my boyfriend. I really love **name dedacted** but it just makes me wonder how we can have a future together long term when his family still treats me like a stranger after all these years?

Sincerely,

Family Feud

Dear Family,

Ah, a sister after my own heart. Here’s the deal. By no means. Ahem, let me say this louder for the people in the back, BY NO MEANS is it necessary for you to continue to put yourself in an environment that causes you to feel uncomfortable. I don’t care if it’s your family, your boyfriend’s family, or the Royal Family. In that same vein, it is no one’s responsibility other than your potential fiancée’s to ensure that you are comfortable and treated with respect by his cringeworthy clan. If he outright refuses to mitigate the situation in any way it speaks monuments not only about what kind of man he is, but what kind of life partner he would be. With that in mind, you can’t force people to like you no matter how great you are. So my advice to you is to follow the ancient (Chinese?) proverb and speak softly and carry a big stick. What it means is as follows: don’t argue. Don’t engage. Keep your head down until it’s time to play hardball and reaaaalllly law down the law. At the end of the day a person has two families. The one that they are born into, and the one that they choose to make for themselves. Guess which one lasts?

Dear Dr. Rachel,

I’ve been feeling a little stuck lately. I was furloughed during quarantine and haven’t been able to find another job in my field. I’ve also been single for a long time and haven’t been able to go out and meet people organically since all this started (I don’t like dating apps). I don’t want to make it sound like I’m blaming Covid for all of my problems, but this wasted year has made me feel completely behind in my life. I want to make up for lost time, but I don’t even know where to start.

Sincerely,

Quarter- Life Crisis

Dear Quarter- Life,

I can’t tell you how many people (myself included) feel this way. You’re not alone, and it also couldn’t be further from the truth. People tend to view their 20s as a competition, and drawing comparisons based on unrealistic depictions of other people’s lives on social media can be really damaging. I truly believe that everyone operates on their own timeline and, not to sound overly cliché, you’re exactly where you need to be in your life. Or maybe that’s just what I need to tell myself after drinking an entire bottle of wine and watching eight episodes of Ginny and Georgia in one sitting. Anyway, it sounds like this is the perfect time in your life to find out what you really want and what makes you happy. I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume the office job that furloughed you wasn’t your dream career regardless, so why not find a passion and follow that? Just remember instead of feeling stuck, you can always start over.

Alright that’s all the wisdom I have in me to impart on you bitches for today. As always please let me know if you like the blog or if you think I’m wasting my time and energy. And also more importantly if anyone out there reading this can find me a job so I don’t have to continue SLINGING MARTINIS UNTIL MY FINGERS BLEED feel free to slide into my DMs at your earliest convenience.

#advice #dating #relationships #boyfriend #family #newblog #blog #friendship #fromzerotohero #martini #work #quarantine #covid

Hot Topics

Happy Quarantine anniversary everyone! Exactly one year ago today was the last time I blacked out mask-less at my favorite bar amidst friends and strangers without a Covid care in the world. The following day much to surprise and dismay, our governor who’s name I can never remember issued an official shut down order for non essential businesses. And just like that, in the immortal words of Drake, Nothing Was the Same. While I remember feeling scammed, hoodwinked, and bamboozled into believing that it would be nothing more a brief 2 week shut down and reset, I can’t help but feel overly nostalgic about the initial months of quarantine. Discovering Tiktok. Taking up new artistic hobbies. The sheer panic inducing existential dread of the unknown. What I wouldn’t trade to go back.

As the world prepares to open up in it’s entirety far earlier than I planned or am prepared for, I decided a great way for me to take my mind off things would be to focus on some buzz worthy news stories that effect my own life in no way. Let’s dive in.

I acknowledge I’m a little late to the party here but I would be remiss if I didn’t at least touch upon the Oprah Winfrey Megan Markle interview which no one has been able to shut the hell up about since last Sunday. I have to admit that I did not actually watch the full two hour interview because I was somewhere at the bottom of a bottle at the time but I have seen a few of the clips and here’s all I’m going to say. My great great great grandfather did not (probably) fight in the revolutionary war for us to still have to give a shit about the royal family. And speaking of our ancestors, it’s honestly time for The Firm or The Institution or The Cat in The Hat or whoever the fuck it is to stop trotting out the reanimated corpse of Prince Phillip. The man is 99 years old, why are you still putting him through extensive heart surgeries? It’s time to let sleeping dogs lie.

This one has also been taking over the airwaves this past week for reasons unbeknownst to me. According to something called “GlowUp University” which Google makes sure to highlight is shockingly NOT an accredited institution, GenZ has spoken. Skinnny jeans and side parts are out, middle parts and baggy bootcut jeans are in. May we all bow our heads in shame. Once again, I’m going to make my opinions on this matter swift and to the point. I don’t give a flying fuck what some 17 year old from Des Moines Iowa named Oaklynn or Journi thinks is cool. Wearing my hair with a center part makes me look like one of the founding fathers and I’m not doing it. Call me in a couple years when your curtain bangs go out of style and you’ve had the glow of youth stomped out of you.

A-Rod and Jlo’s possible break-up. File this one under.. not surprised. I actually had no idea that the entire world was stannnning this couple so hard and the bombardment of memes calling her the Lord of the Rings or whatever because of her prior engagements seems a bit excessive. I’m actually a pretty big Jennifer Lopez fan and not just because I’ve dated someone who looks remarkably similar to Marc Anthony. Anyhoo, I’m preeeetty positive that he got caught red handed sneaky linking with some southern charm star not too long ago so I figured that relationship wouldn’t be long for this world. Can’t wait to see who she dates next. Maybe Kanye?

Finally, thanks to “money bagg Joe”, our president who I find myself strangely becoming more and more sexually attracted to by the day, STIMcomeetax szn is upon us. So, if you see me in the streets acting brand new or trolling Groupon for a brazilian buttlift 360 lipo package discount just keep it moving.

#hottopics #news #trending #Jlo #Arod #breakup #incometax #stimulus #joebiden #meganmarkle #oprah #harry #thequeen #monarchy #england #jenniferlopez #tiktok #genz #sidepart #middlepart #skinnyjeans #lipo #weightloss #quarantine #connecticut #wine

Brunch or Bust

Hey. It’s me. Your girl. Writing from my familiar seat in rock bottom which last night took the form of running out of Pino Noir and drinking an old champagne split from my cousins wedding two years ago. The perfect end to a perfect weekend. For those who remain blissfully unaware, after many many years I have somehow managed to remain a waitress with a weight problem and wine dependency. Not moving forwards, not moving backwards, just stagnant. It’s time for a change.

As I believe I’ve mentioned in past posts, I have fruitlessly attempted to apply to every job you can imagine and I am about one failed cover letter away from joining the employee roster at my local Boston Market. Honestly, if I got a discount on their Mac n Cheese and the title of head cashier I would do it in a heart beat at this point. I’m not quite sure what it is that results in every application I complete either being swiftly denied or ignored altogether because my resume is filled with.. well let’s say that they’re not so much exaggerations as they are complete and total lies, but I digress.

Anyhoo, I have always wondered what my last straw would be. Would it be someone demanding something from me and justifying it by claiming they’re really close with the GM, despite the fact I dated him for 7 years and have never heard of them? Nope. Would it be being expected to simultaneously take a private party of 30 upstairs, bartend for a full dining room downstairs, and serve tables outside in a short sleeve polo in subarctic temperatures? Nope. Would it be me bussing my own tables, making my own cappuccinos, only to have the underaged busboy lifelessly look at me without response when I ask him to pour my table water? Close, but no cigar.

As it turns out, my last straw being snapped in fucking half was a result of the ever elusive and calamitous Sunday brunch shift. I want you to understand one thing about me. I’m not a morning person. I have never been, and will never be a morning person. If someone so much as glances at me before the clock strikes noon, it could be the last thing they ever do. It’s called having the nocturnal schedule of a genius and entrepreneur. Look it up. That being said, imagine me having to go into work at the crack of dawn (otherwise known as 10 a.m.,) running on nothing but 7 glasses of red wine, 4 menthol free cigarettes, and 3 hits of a weed pen from the night before. Then imagine me being thrusted into a dining room filled with people demanding an eggs benedict with no meat, eggs scrambled instead of poached, with the bread on the side? It’s a recipe for disaster.

This past Sunday, however, was far worse. In the perplexing albeit routine absence of a manager during the restaurants busiest shift, I was forced to personally deal with a host of complaints from customers. Sure, I could deal with a large gay man literally threatening my life if I didn’t get the DJ to turn the music down. I feel you boo, I don’t want my eggs with a side of house music either. But what I could not, would not, and WILL NOT deal with is being verbally assaulted because a girl with acrylics and a People’s Bank card could not seem to grasp how much a Casamigos Reposado costs.

“This isn’t what I ordered! I showed you what I wanted on my phone. There are cameras here, aren’t there? Where are the cameras? I wanna look at the footage! This was supposed to be ten dollars. I’m only paying ten dollars!!!!!!” Mind you, at this point she was screaming so loud I thought she was either going to burst into tears or her head was going to start spinning around like the exorcist.

“Okay, calm down. I’ll fix the price for you.” Alcohol was literally seeping out of my pores at this point, and I could not care less that the reason for the tantrum was most likely that her bank balance was $11.50. Apparently, I should have chose my words a little more wisely.

“Don’t you EVER in your FUCKING life tell me to calm down. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Ma’am, you’re screaming and everyone’s staring. If you just-” (It’s one of my favorite things to passive aggressively call customers ma’am)

“I’ll TALK TO YOU ANY WAY THAT I WANT. YOU’RE A WAITER. YOU KNOW WHAT LET ME SPEAK TO YOUR SUPERVISOR.”

When I calmly and rationally explained to her that this isn’t her local T-mobile and we don’t have “supervisors” she responded, “GO SUCK A DICK YOU STUPID FUCKING BITCH”.

I sighed deeply, wondering where exactly I had gone wrong in my life that allowed me to get to this point. And as I was telling her it was time for her to go, I realized. It wasn’t just time for her to go. It was time for me to go as well.

#brunch #server #serverlife #waitress #restaurant #customer #customerservice #wine #weed #hungover #newblog #fromzerotohero #wedding #hashtag #whatisthepointofthesehashtags #unemployed #jobsearch #2021

Britney 911

Aaaand we’re back. I just want to talk briefly about something that has been weighing heavily on my heart for some time now. Something that has caused me a pain which I have not felt since I finally got to make out with a guy I had a huge crush on in high school and he started prodding and twisting my nipples like he was tuning a car radio. (They were so sore I couldn’t wear a bra for a week and I pretty much had to put the kibosh on things when he tried to incorporate biting into the action but that’s a story for another time) The subject matter which I’m actually referring to is none other than queen icon legend Britney Jean Spears. I wont delve into too much detail because I don’t want to work myself up into hysterics but you need to all go watch the new Hulu documentary “Framing Britney Spears” immediately. It didn’t have a lot of information which I wasn’t already privy to because incase you can’t tell I am ALLLL over this shit, but basically she has been wronged her entire career by everyone from Di*ne S*wyer (my new enemy) to the ramen-headed douche bag that is Justin Timberlake. Anyway, her scum sucking dementor father has had complete control over her life for the past decade and when she refused to perform or make music until he relinquished power over her finances, career, and daily life (seriously the girl isn’t allowed to have unapproved visitors or DRIVE A CAR) she was forcefully institutionalized. I don’t know if I buy the whole “she’s sending secret messages through her Instagram” thing but I have heard through a friend of a friend of an insider that although she’s allowed to chose her own content, her posts and captions have to be approved first. So help me god, if there is not a day of reckoning for that backwoods hick dad-ager I’m going to lose it.

Let’s see what else.. in the spirit of adulthood and independence I have decided to change my outlook on putting gas in my car – otherwise known as one of my most profound grievances in this world other than taxes being taken out of my paycheck without my consent. I already pay for the car. I pay for the insurance. I pay for the annual fees. DO I REALLY NEED TO PAY FOR GAS FUCKING WEEKLY ON TOP OF IT ALL? What kind of FASCIST NATION ARE WE LIVING IN?? I’m breaking into a sweat just typing this.

Anyway, I’ve come to realize that only putting 10$ in my tank at a time isn’t “sticking it to the man” so much as it is sticking it to myself. So, as a last hoorah I thought it would be a phenomenal idea to let my gas tank run until it was completely empty before finally swallowing my pride and filling it up all the way. Well, another shocking plot twist which I was blissfully unaware of is that gas pumps stop at night, and when I stopped off after work literally running on fumes and despair I was in for a rude awakening. Why? What is the purpose of this? Are they really that many masked vagrants siphoning gas at a local Shell? It was a crisp 12:30 a.m. at a dimly lit gas station and I might as well have been holding a sign that said “Please sexually assault me”. Long story short, I’ll be writing a letter to my local senator about all of the aforementioned issues. Including Britney Spears.

Well, in case it isn’t glaringly obvious from this post centered around Britney and putting gas in my car, my life as a single bachelorette has been far from exciting. It’s time for a change, if for no other reason than to have something to talk about in this fucking blog.

#britney #freebritney #britneyspears #britney911 #hulu #documentary #netflix #government #facism #dianesawyer #single #relationships #newblog

Yas Qween.

Hiiiiiiiiiii *Jill Zarin voice*. Another month of the all encompassing nightmare which has plagued us since last March is upon us. And to make matters worse, Valentine’s Day is hovering right around the corner. I always thought people who made a big deal about being alone on Valentine’s Day were as uncreative and generic as the holiday itself, but as I stare down the barrel of being single on Vday for the first time in seven years.. I’m less than thrilled. Like, if a single couple flaunts their happiness and mediocrity in my face I will end up on the news, less than thrilled. And to top it all off, it’s not even like I can partake in a pathetic “Galentines” gathering like certain horse girls with an overbite from my highschool WHO SHALL REMAIN NAMELESS because all of my friends are currently in a relationship. Toxic or otherwise.

Since it’s been snowing for the past 18 hours I’ve had a lot of time to self reflect and decided that I would much rather focus on literally anything other than my own suffering. So, I’ve been watching a lot of TV. Here’s what I’ve been watching.

Broad City (Hulu)- I acknowledge that I’m pretty late to the party here but I’ve watched three full seasons in three days and I’m obsessed. For anyone else who’s also been living under a rock it’s written, created, and stars hipster besties Abbi & Ilana and chronicles their lives as broke Jewish qweeeens living in Brooklyn. Ilana Wexler is honestly my spirit animal (every one of her outfits are going on my vision board), even though we have nothing in common other than the fact that I too have ignored my shellfish allergy to the point of anaphylactic shock.

Nightstalker: The Hunt for a Serial Killer (Netflix)- I honestly can’t stand people (I’m using the word “people” in the name of feminism but we all know it’s women and we all know what type of women they are *coughs* horsegirls from my highschool *coughs*) who think that liking true crime is a personality trait. tRuE cRImEEe aNd WinEe aM I riiTE??! With that being said, I did dabble in this documentary originally because I saw the youths on TikTok saying that he (Richard Ramirez) was hot. Sure , the bone structure was above average and we all know I love a latino bad boy, but not enough to get past the whole horrific rape and murder thing. Anyway, the documentary was really well done, only four episodes, and cut right to the chase by focusing predominantly on the height of his viscous crime spree/ ultimate capture. I also wanted to give the chubby underdog Detective Gil a big hug. Just watch it, you’ll like it.

American Horror Story: 1984 (Netflix)- I think I’ve previously spoken about my disillusionment with the AHS Franchise following Freakshow and I honestly couldn’t get past two episodes of the calamitous disaster that was Hotel. I also just read an article on Vulture about Ryan Murphy’s fall from grace and how he basically thinks he can get away with whatever he wants as long as he throws Sarah Paulson in the mix which is WHAT I’VE BEEN SAAAAYIIIINNNNGGG, but that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, I started this season because the whole Night Stalker thing was a subplot to a group of promiscuous twenty somethings being hunted in a cursed summer camp by (atleast) two separate serial killers. I know it sounds like there’s a lot going on there but it’s actually pretty good and yes, the actor who plays Ramirez is hot. God I’m lonely. Anyway despite there being no Jessica Lange or Evan Peter’s in sight I’d still recommend it, even though something about Matthew Morrison sickens me to my very core.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (Netflix)- I’ve seen this movie before but in what was most likely a wine induced haze I seemed to have forgotten the entire plot, sooooo I watched it again. Just so so good. It’s based off of a 2005 novel of the same name and follows reporter Mikael Bloomkvist and local resident psychopath/ computer hacker Lisbeth Salander, played by Rooney Mara. What, like, ever happened to Rooney Mara? She was in this movie and as far as I’m aware never heard from again other than the fact that she’s engaged to undeniably unstable Joaquin Pheonix. Rooney girl if you’re out there, we miss you. We need you. The sequel fucking sucked. Anyway, the unlikely duo team up to help solve the 40 year old disappearance of some rich guy’s niece. I’m still a little unclear on the ending, but def worth the watch if you’re into a good vigilante thriller.

There’s some other show’s/movies I could delve into but I’m currently watching the Wendy Williams Lifetime documentary and I am truly at a loss for words. I love her, but the bitch is unhinged. She’s screaming, she’s crying, she appears to be on pills. And not the good kind.

Also if you’re reading this and you like it whether I know you or not please feel free to message me because I’m starting to feel like a reeeeaaaaal loser. Bye!

#WendyWilliams #AHS #Netflix #Hulu #Review #Nightstalker #RichardRamirez #RooneyMara #BroadCity #Lifetime #Moviereview #valentinesday #valentines #newblog #blog #dragon #tattoo #brooklyn #snow #snowstorm #galentines

To Bumble or Not to Bumble?

Hey pals. I’ve been a little quiet lately because I haven’t found the inspiration to write much but people have been super receptive to my weekly rantings so I decided to pause rewatching Schitts Creek for the fifth time and pick up the computer. I wanted to quickly dive into some pop culture stories of the week before discussing my own sad life.

Armie Hammer- Is it Armie? Or Arnie? Ok I just googled it’s Armie. I’m honestly really confused about this whole thing and I haven’t cared enough to look up the details but apparently he’s like a cannibal? And he messages women on Instagram telling them that he wants to own them as slaves and cut off their body parts and eat them? Yikes. The whole thing sounds like Christian Grey meets Jeffrey Dahmer and I would normally be kind of into it but I think these girls are saying they were branded with knives and now they’re traumatized so I’m not really down with that dipset. But isn’t it like, illegal to kink shame in 2021? Isn’t that what the youths with purple hair and nose rings say on Twitter? I don’t know. On one hand, I’m like how traumatized are you if you’re flying out to a luxury villa in the Turks and Caicos after receiving these messages, but obviously I know victim bashing is no beuno so I’m gonna leave this one alone.

Kristin Cavallari- I have always loved Kristin Cavallari. I have also never understood the appeal of Lauren Conrad who is literally the human equivalent of watching paint dry. We get it, you’re a “girl’s girl”. I have met more interesting people standing in line at a Stamford HomeGoods eyeing the discount candles. Put down the vintage Polaroid camera and stop Instagramming the colorful macarons. Hang it up. Anyway, I have naturally stopped following Kristin’s life in the decade that’s passed since she made the ill fated decision to join the failing franchise of The Hills. (I couldn’t bring myself to watch the overly curated E network space filler that was Very Cavallari) However, I kept seeing amongst the multiple Bravo accounts I shame follow on Instagram that her and her big dick daddy ex husband Jay Cutler posted a picture with eachother with the same ominous caption “The world is full of users. 10 years. Can’t break that.” Everyone was freaking out so yet again, I did a light google search and discovered they were referring to some Southern Charm “star” named Madison who I guess slept with Jay and attempted to use the ten minutes of sex to jumpstart her fifteen minutes of fame. Yawn. The only part of this that even remotely interests me is everyone who knows Kristin knows she’s a bitch you don’t come for unless she sent for you so I’m looking forward to her ripping everyone to shreds. I also hope her and Jay get back together because they’re both so hottttt.

As for for me, I’m newly single and looking for any way to claw myself out of the pit of despair I’m currently residing in. This has included several hapless attempts at working out, getting robbed blind at a local Whole Foods on “healthy” diet items, and scheduling a Botox/filler consultation. I’ve also decided to switch to vodka as a way to shave off some calories so I’m eager to see how that journey goes for me. Anyway, as I bask in the effervescent glow of heart ache and pain I find myself asking the age old question: to Bumble or not to Bumble? Or is Hinge the one the cool kids are using? I really just want to use whichever one makes me look less pathetic and desperate. I haven’t actually used a dating app since the last time I was single i.e. 7 years ago and that was Tinder (enough said), but I did download Hinge once when my boyfriend and I were fighting and it was .. not great. I got a bunch of matches (humble brag) but there was about a five minute gestation period between the initial message and them inviting me to their apartment/parents basement/ dungeon. Don’t people go on dates anymore? Or can’t they at least pretend they want to meet up for a cocktail before asking me if I’m on birth control? Also, if you do meet up with someone, do people still just make out anymore? Like, can I get away with an over the pants handy and call it a night, or am I too old for that? I’m presuming the ladder. Anyway, if anyone has any tips for me on how to navigate the single life I’m all ears. It truly is a brave new world, and I don’t think I’m everyones cup of tea.

#dating #single #bumble #hinge #southerncharm #kristincavallari #madison #drama #popculture #news #love #apps #datingapps #newblog

Dr. Rachel

Happy inauguration day everyone! As we stand on the precipice of what will hopefully be a more united and harmonious four year term, I can’t help but feel swept up in all the positivity and hope that’s been radiating on my time line all morning. That being said, I’m feeling more generous (delusional) than usual and decided to grace my reader(s) with some advice to life questions they have. Because if there’s one person who should be giving out life advice, it’s a 26 year old waitress with a drinking problem. Some were posed by strangers on the internet and some by friends of mine so for the sake of anonymity, I won’t be including names. I also took a little creative liberty and decided to start each question referring to myself as Dr. Rachel as an homage to queen icon legend/ overall bitch Dr. Laura Schlessinger. Let’s dive on in.

Dear Dr. Rachel,

I’m in my late 20’s and I’ve been with my boyfriend for a little over two years. He’s older than me and way more established in his life/career and I’m pretty sure he’s going to want to settle down soon. He says he doesn’t want to put any pressure on me, but thinks we should start trying for a family by the time I’m 30 because “pregnancy complications are common in women over 30”. I’m still a few years away, but I don’t know if I’d be ready by then to care for another human being for the rest of my life. Are we seriously supposed to still be having babies in our 20’s in 2021?

Sincerely,

Carefree and Childless

Dear Childless,

I have a question for you. Is your boyfriend a doctor in the reproductive/ fertility field? If he isn’t, he sounds like a huge fucking creep. I can’t fathom why he is even aware of pregnancy statistics, much less dropping them in casual conversation as a way to scare you into carrying his demon spawn for 9 months. Sounds like he’s controlling, antiquated, and has a small penis. Break up with him before he turns into Christian Bale in American Psycho. As you pointed out, it’s 2021 and we aren’t being oppressed by men or “societal norms” any longer. The fact that conceiving over the age of 35 is considered a “geriatric pregnancy” is insane to me and women in their 40’s are still perfectly capable of having a healthy and happy child. Sure, some of the ones I’ve seen are a little unfortunate looking and give off some serious “give us the ring my precious” vibes but let’s face it, it’s a roll of the dice no matter what age you are. I truly believe having a baby is one of those things that you’ll know when you’re ready and the time is right. Unless you get knocked up by accident, in which case Mazel Tov.

Dear Dr. Rachel,

I have a friend who I’ve been close with for years who’s recently become harder and harder to deal with. She only seems to want to engage in conversation when we’re talking about her, and rarely asks me what’s going on in my life. I also feel like anytime I open up to her about thing’s I’m going through she’s either really harsh and critical, or super short and uninterested. She’s one of my best friends, but talking to her has just been impossible lately. I’m not sure if she’s always been like this and I never realized, or if we just outgrew each other.

Sincerely,

Friend or Foe?

Dear Friend,

It sounds like you have a Foe. We’ve all been there, frenemies are a dime a dozen these days and can sometimes be hard to spot. I’ve definitely had my fair share of friends who have been overly harsh and critical under the guise of “caring about me” and “wanting me to be happy”, while simultaneously making me feel like a huge fucking loser. On one hand, I totally agree that you should be able to give your honest opinion to your friends, and certain friends who refuse to get a therapist might need a little tough love. But here’s the deal. Your job as a friend isn’t to criticize or judge, and if it gets to the point that your close friends feel the need to hide things about their personal lives from you then guess what? You’re the problem. As for you friend, here’s what I would do. Just be honest with her and tell her you feel like you can’t talk to her about anything for fear of being put in front of the firing squad for still having sex with your ex boyfriend who has a current girlfriend who was your former cowoker or whatever it is. Hopefully you guys can have an open and honest conversation about the kind of support you need from your pal, and if she turns the conversation back to herself, just ditch her. She sucks.

Dear Dr. Rachel,

I come from a super conservative family and we’ve always had a little friction between us because of our differing beliefs, but lately it’s become unbearable. Every time I go on Facebook they’re posting conspiracy theories about how the election was stolen from Trump and just generally inaccurate/ racist things that are really embarrassing. I don’t want to be associated with them, and it honestly has been making me depressed to see how out of touch from reality they are. What should I do?

Sincerely,

Depressed Dem

Dear Depressed,

Let me just tell you your first mistake. Going on Facebook. Facebook is a cesspool of people who never went to college and girls from your high school who refer to themselves as a “girl boss”, but are really just assistant to the regional manager of a multi level marketing pyramid scheme. This might be off topic, but if you start a job at 8 a.m. on a Monday and by lunch time on Tuesday you’re the Senior Vice President District 12 Managing CFO of Avon, it’s time to start asking some fucking questions. Anyway, I’m sorry your family sucks. The truth of the matter is that this is the last chance for Trumpers to feel comfortable with being outwardly racist idiots under the protection of the president for at least the next four years. (Soon) gone are the days where white supremacists can feel comfortable driving down the road in their “Grave Digger” monster trucks with a confederate flag in the back and a Trump 2020 sticker in the front. Their time is over, they’re going to be forced back into the shadows, and they’re pissed. If staying off Facebook during this tumultuous transitional period back to reality is too difficult for you (if this is the case maybe you have your own demons you need to tackle) might I suggest simply unfollowing your racist relatives? Or you could always go on the offensive and every time your Aunt posts about Biden having dementia you could comment and say you know who else has dementia Aunt Brenda? Grandma. And you haven’t called her in six months.

Anyhoo, I have a few more but maybe I’ll save them for another post. Or maybe I’ll just keep my mouth shut. Stay tuned!

#democrat #republican #election #biden #trump #friend #love #pregnancy #dating #relationship #innauguration #vote #advice #advicecolumn #women

Diary of a (Beauty) Addict

I can’t help but feel that my posts have become a little insular and mildly depressing so I decided to switch gears and write about something I’m passionate about almost as much as wine and self-loathing: makeup. I have loved makeup since the days of the Maybelline Dream Matte Mousse Foundation (always worn about six shades darker than needed) and the ICONIC Lancôme Juicy Tube Lip-gloss. I’m by no means an expert but I have wasted thousands of dollars trying almost every new product any “beauty influencer” recommends in desperate attempt to hide my perpetual undereye bags and rosacea. Here are a few of my favs.

Foundation-

This isn’t relatale to say in a time where people are literally depending on stimulus checks from the government for survival but my personal holy grail foundation, and I’ve tried about 50, is the Dior Airflash Spray Foundation. The price tag, combined with the (necessary) additional cost of the accompanying Dior Buffing Foundation Brush is admittedly lavish for the time we’re living in. But I promise, it’s fucking worth it. It provides a medium to full coverage and glides on so evenly and effortlessly it makes anyone feel like a pro. Not to mention, the brush is so amazing and soft that I’ve come danggggeeerously close to orgasming while using it. Also here’s a little piece of trivia for you- this is the foundation that they use on the models at all of the Dior shows, so honestly $111.50 not including tax is a relatively small price to pay for looking like a supermodel. Just go get it. You’ll thank me.

Concealer(s)

These bags aren’t designer, they’re fucking tragic. I’ve tried almost as many concealers as I have foundations and I will admit that there are many less expensive drug store dupes which work almost as well. (See: Maybelline Instant Age Rewind Eraser) But I have to live my truth, and these two are the best of the best

  1. Tarte Colored Clay CC Undereye Corrector. I’ve had dark under eye circles pretty much since I left the womb and this was the first corrector I found that truly gave the illusion being well rested, no matter how many glasses of wine I had the night before. I honestly don’t know why this product doesn’t get more hype amongst beauty gurus, but it provides more coverage than your average concealer without looking chalky or caked on.

2. Tarte Shape Tape Contour Concealer. Speaking of hype, there’s a reason this product is so popular. It’s my favorite concealer by far, and definitely worth hunting down a nearby Ulta (it isn’t available at Sephora for reasons unknown). It’s brightening capability is unmatched and always makes manages to make me look less dead inside which believe me, is not a simple task.

Mascara-

I have tried it all. I have tried Too Faced “Better Than Sex”. I have tried Buxom’s Lash Volumizing Mascara. I have even tried Lancôme’s Monsieur Big Volumizing Mascara, a personal favorite of soon to be single and thriving Kim Kardashian. Don’t ask me why, but I’ve found the L’Oreal Voluminous Lash Paradise Mascara to be the best of the best. Located at any local drug store for a whopping 11$, it is the only product that keeps my eyelids from looking completely bald after an ill fated lash extension encounter. Seriously, it’s been like two years and they never grew back. Don’t do it. I’m looking at you Amazing Lash Studio.

Primer/Setting Spray/ Fountain of Youth

I have asked for Too Faced Hangover 3-in-1 Replenishing Primer and Setting Spray in almost every Secret Santa I’ve taken part in because it’s just. that. good. This Nectar of the Gods is a cult favorite that will leave your skin looking replenished and dewy with just one or two sprays. You can apply it before makeup, after makeup, or without any makeup and it’ll get the job done.

I have tons more products but I’m mentally exhausted from a long day of doing absolutely nothing and the bottle of Pino Noir on my nightstand has been calling my name for the past hour. Sooo maybe if people like this I’ll do a part 2. Goodnight and don’t forget to wash that makeup off your face before bed. You’re getting old and your pores are screaming.

#makeup #sephora #makeuphacks #drugstore #drugstorebeauty #ulta #dior #tarte #shapetape #beauty #brands #tiktok #foundation #maybelline #influencer #concealer #mascara #settingspray

Cabbage Soup & Military Coups

Well, get your boots and your coat and get ready for a shitstorm of all the random thoughts filling my mind today. Today is the official start to my new year and I’m writing off the first week(ish) as a much needed adjustment period. I have yet to make my vision board due to pure laziness and have considered instead making a virtual vision board but I’m not quite sure if it’ll have the same effect. I’m also restarting the cabbage soup diet for the third time in a desperate attempt to either jumpstart my metabolism or trick my body into thinking it’s starving to death until it starts eating itself a la the movie Bring it On. Is that how it works? Probably not. And if anyone is feeling overwhelmed with the urge to message me and say that there are no quick fixes and I need to cUt OuT ThE dRInkInG aNd WoRkOuT, save your breath. You’re tacky and I hate you. A friend of mine also suggested we try out something called “colonbroom” which promises you’ll loose 8-12 pounds in two weeks. Unfortunately, I made the grave mistake of signing up for their mailing list prior to ordering the product and if I get another email with the header “Having a shitload of problems?” or “We have a shituation here” I’m going to call the fucking police.

It is worth saying that I went on an 8 mile uphill hike yesterday and I am feeling like a true beacon of health and wellness, despite essentially being forced. It wasn’t totally terrible, but I didn’t particularly feel any of those endorphins the 16 year old fitness gurus on Tiktok are always going on about. Like yeah, I felt invigorated and energized before I had the glow of youth stomped out of me too, JENNIFER. That being said one of my goals is to actually use the treadmill I bought in the height of quarantine, which is now in the corner of my boyfriend’s bedroom collecting dust. I read an article (saw on Tiktok) that if you use it 30 minutes a day on speed 3 incline 12 or something the pounds just fall off. But the jury’s still out on that one.

Speaking of jury’s, (wow do you see that seamless transition, Jane Austin could NEVER) I realize that in my tone deaf attempt to wrap up Gucci Gate I never touched upon the whole cataclysmic domestic terrorism that went down at our once Great Nation’s capitol the other day. I’ve never understood why people say that they don’t “like to get political” or outright refuse to discuss politics. Why? Do you really have anything else that’s more interesting to say? Judging from the (admittedly small) wave pool of of people I’ve had the pleasure of coming across in my 26 years, the answer is no.

Anyway, I honestly found myself emotional watching a group of camo laden white supremacists storm the Capitol building. The fact that a paramilitary coup was able to advance to such an extent in the United States, juxtaposed with the very grave reality of what would have happened if they were Black Lives Matter or Black activists in general is harrowing. I also don’t know if you happen to have seen photos of some of these Ivy Leaguers that defaced federal property and posed a national security threat, but it’s safe to say if the rest of the world wasn’t laughing at us before they are now. Just keep in mind, this civic disgrace is going to be immortalized in school textbooks for years to come. Kiiiiind of a tough pill to swallow. Also final thought, how is it that the FBI was able to identify and halt the ill-fated “Storm Area 51, They Can’t Stop All of Us” movement from last year but they had absolutely no fucking idea that this was coming? Do I smell a conspiracy theory?

Well I need to wrap this up and make some much needed doctor’s appointments before 5 p.m to start my new year on a proactive note. Not only am I feeling under the weather, but I think it’s finally time to tackle the fact that I have four fully grown wisdom teeth which should have been removed long ago. I also should probably make an appointment with another fertility specialist, as I’m preeeeetttttyyy sure I have one good egg left (if that). Wish me luck!

#capitalhill #coup #terrorism #whitehouse #washington #dc #newyear #newme #diet #health #excercise #fitness #fitnessroutine #tiktok #cleanse #unitedstates #politics #conspiracy #conspiracytheory #republican #democrat #newblog #blog #fromzerotohero

A Bleak New Year

Today was truly a day bleaker than most. And believe me, that’s saying something. But I promised myself that I would try to write everyday to keep the creative juices flowing, so I figured this would be a productive way kill some time. I probably wont publish this post because let’s face it, just like in life, they can’t all be winners.

Last night I decided it would be a good idea to watch the new Pixar movie “Soul” that everyone keeps going on and on about. A friend of mine told me that watching the movie made her want to “go out and live” and honestly I figured I need to drink a biiiiiig cup of that Kool-Aid, so I decided to watch. I think the combination of my overly high expectations and the fact that I was guzzling Pino Noir until my vision blurred left me a little underwhelmed. The animation was incredible and the movie will definitely win a shit ton of awards for the graphics alone. But meh. So he (I legit can’t remember the main characters name I think it was Paul or something) spent his whole life and part of his afterlife dreaming of becoming a professional musician and then after one 30 minute set in a half vacant piano bar he’s like “Nah. Not for me actually. Guess I’m ready to go to the Great Beyond.” Like what? It’s not like he was playing sold out shows at the Apollo, I wouldn’t have been jumping for joy either. Maybe he could have stuck it out for another performance that didn’t most likely require a two drink minimum?

And then those blue stick figures sent him back to Earth and he’s like welp, I may be 50, alone, unemployed, and technically responsible for the death of a cat but we’ll see what happens. Talk about depressing. I’ll tell you one thing if I was a kid and my parents brought me to see this movie I would’ve probably started therapy a looot earlier. Maybe that would’ve been beneficial actually. And also like, why was everyone Australian?

I continued to drink myself into a stupor while watching AHS Freakshow (my least favorite of the franchise so far if anyone cares. At some point, someone needs to say yes Ryan Murphy, you may be a genius but calm the fuck down. Some artistic choices just don’t need to be made. Half the time I feel like I’m fighting off a seizure) which probably contributed to me waking up with violent anxiety at 8 a.m. Spoiler alert, I’ve struggled with depression and anxiety for most of my life hence my award winning sense of humor. Anyway, periods of pretty extreme anxiety come in waves for me, and I think the root of a lot of it is when life slows down and I don’t have much going on so I have too much time to overthink. Def not looking forward to a period of that again, but that’s enough of my pity party of one. Moving on.

I took half a .25 Xanax which one of my best friends Caela lovingly reminds me is essentially a placebo, but it lulled me back to sleep until about 30 minutes prior to my job interview. Luckily, it was a Zoom interview so all I needed to do is slap on some foundation and a cardigan from H&M to hide my huge tits. It went pretty well, although I’m like 99.9999% sure the girl who interviewed me was several years younger than I am. I’m sure other people have experienced this, but isn’t it kind of belittling to have to sit there and convince someone who was a freshman when you were a senior that you’re a detail oriented hard working team player?

My day wrapped up by some light (not light at all) arguing with my boyfriend before we decided to “try something new” and cook dinner together. It pretty much goes without saying that when you have dated someone for seven years its hard to keep that spark alive, and believe me we are no exception. He insisted we cook halibut and rice because he “can not have a meal without rice” which I believe I lovingly mentioned in one of my previous posts. I wouldn’t exactly call myself the biggest fan of rice, and I’m pretty sure that he was secretly texting his mother for her famous arroz recipe while I wasn’t looking.

The meal actually turned out really well with no thanks to me because he didn’t actually allow me to do much. I asked him why he feels the need to micromanage every aspect of life and he just laughed, but I don’t think he really understood what I was talking about. Sometimes I think the language barrier might be what’s keeping us going. Or atleast keeping us from killing each other. Anyhoooo about 4.5 seconds after he finished eating he retired to my couch where he has been sleeping coocooned in a heated blanket. I’m sitting on the floor, again running the blow dryer on myself for warmth. It’s time to start drinking.

#drinking #alcohol #soul #pixar #disney #wine #boyfriend #datenight #friends #healthy #healthyeating #diet #cooking #AHS #anxiety #depression #mentalhealth #lmfaothesehashtagsaresoembarrrrrasssinnngggg

Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot?

It’s official. We have escaped the dumpster fire hell scape that was 2020 and have embarked on the new year a little fatter, a little drunker, and a little more depressed. My resolution’s, in no particular order, are as follows:

  • Lose weight
  • Drink less
  • Get a job that doesn’t require me to wear an apron
  • Write everyday
  • Think positive

It is day 3 of the new year and I have already broken each one of these resolutions. Podcast host Jackie Schimmel (one of my personal favs) recently said that maybe we should all accept that this is the best we’re going to get. She said we should stop setting ourselves up for failure by mounting grand goals that we can’t possibly reach. Let me tell you one thing. If this is the best version of myself and as good as my life is going to get, there’s nothing stopping me from hurling myself in front of a bus. So I beg to differ.

In that spirit I have been begging anyone who will listen to make vision boards of exactly what we want in the New Year. For anyone who’s unaware, vision board’s are basically a collage of images you put together as a way to manifest or put out into the universe your desires so they come true. Basically, you speak things into existence via a glue stick and old 17 magazines. Anyway, all of my friends have more or less refused, so I guess I’ll have to fuck off to Michaels Arts & Crafts by myself.

I realize that I had more or less recapped the first two reunions of RHOP and completely missed the third “supersized” episode. It was partially because it wasn’t as good as I was expecting and again partially because I’m disgusted by Andy’s biased behavior, but I do have a few notes.

  1. I can’t fathom why Andy has chosen Candaice’s side. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want Bravo to be considered liable or accepting of physical violence? Regardless, he kept coming for Monique and would not let up. That whole “are you a recording artist?” remark wasn’t cute. It was downright rude and belittling, and he knows damn well she stated in her first season several times that she used to rap.
  2. I AM SO GLAD THAT JUAN DIXON IS NOT HERE RIGHT NOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. What??? Can you relax, Robyn? I literally hopped on Twitter to see if other people were as confused and blindsided by Robyn’s outburst as I was. They were.
  3. Monique delivered a heartfelt apology complete with the tears and outward display of emotion Andy was looking for and it still wasn’t deemed good enough by Candeegal. Clearly, it was good enough for me.

That’s it. That’s all I have. For once in my entire life I actually found myself wishing that our favorite Australian sexual predator Michael Darby was there. He would’ve at least provided some entertainment.

I’m also devastated to have found out that Monique will not return next season. She was aparently offerred a contract for season six, but declined to return. T’Challa Forever.

Let’s see what else can I write to procrastinate from preparing for what is bound to be an ill-fated Zoom job interview tomorrow. I don’t know if I’ve said this before, but I personally think the masterminds behind this entire pandemic are the creators of Zoom. They have only benefitted from Covid-19 and have some how become a tool society revolves around in the span of 9 months. I would delve into the job but I signed a NDA. Are you allowed to say that you signed an NDA? Or is that in itself breaking the NDA?

Anyway, a lot of people reached out to me following me posting about Gucci Gate which was super nice. However, it’s still very much ongoing and we have yet to reach a resolution so I’ll wait until I either have the belt or am in jail to give you an update. Until then, feliz ano nuevo!

#newyear #newblog #newbitch #bravo #housewives #RHOP #Gucci #Covid #zoom #resolution #visionboard #art #craft #friend

A Christmas Miracle

Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas Eve. I just wanted to further spread my holiday cheer and let my very few readers know that I did, in fact, witness a death the other day. It was in the paper and I’m now considering some sort of counseling for PTSD. Apparently, he was pronounced dead at the scene and hasn’t been able to be identified. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

I was going to recap the second part of the RHOP reunion but I’m so livid at the way Andy handled the whole Monique v Candaice feud I honestly don’t want to aggrivate myself by reliving it. As I just mentioned, I’m dealing with enough trauma right now. What I will say is he came off as completely biased towards Monique and like, that wasn’t cool. He said “Monique, you’ve had a year to process your emotions, you knew you were coming here and Canadice is sitting here crying and upset. You seem very unemotional about everything.”( I’m paraphrasing here because I didn’t bother to take notes but that was basically the gist. ) But yeeah, Andy, she’s crying for screen time. And you know that. She knows that. We all know that.

And why would she still be that upset to the point of uncontrollable tears and a dramatic walk off to recollect herself A YEAR AFTER THE FACT? I find it hard to believe that this is the first time she got her ass kicked. Doesn’t her mom beat her? You lost. It was embarrassing. At least you held onto your wig. Time to move on.

Honestly, I just can’t believe that all of the women are acting like Monique committed some sort of dire transgression. I want to fist fight my friends all the time and the only thing that stops me is knowing I’d probably lose. Anyways, the editors were totally on Monique’s side despite Andy’s blatant unprofessionalism which I was LIIIVVVINNNGGG FORRRRRRR HONNEEYYYYY. Every time Monique recounted her side of the story and it was disputed by the other women, they cut to clips which proved everything she was saying to be factual. Giselle pushed her shoulder (she thought it was Candaice), Candeegirl was waving her hands in her face, and she snapped. End of story.

Other thoughts about the reunion which I just said I wasn’t going to recap but have somehow ended up recapping.. meh. I have to say I do love the behind the scenes production fourth wall breaking they’re doing. During the break a production cam followed them into their dressing rooms and captured Giselle and Robyn- a friendship which I no longer find to be even marginally amusing. It’s giving bitter, desperate, and mean.

“You’re a binder loser.. you have copied things and put it in a binder.” Wow. The prose. Robert Frost could never.

My dad wandered in during Ashley’s monologue and said “Why are they all wearing yellow?” That’s a good question. A gooooood question. I will say I did appreciate Andy’s soft spot for Ashley when he said he rooted for her. I root for you too Ashcakes! Although she kind of lost me when she tried to justify Michael’s multiple cheating scandals by saying that he forgave her when they were separated and she “had some fun”. To quote Ross Gellar, YOUU WERE ONN A BREAAAAAAAAAKKKK. It’s not the same thing.

Let’s see.. what am I missing. Rising Karen vs Giz tensions, me falling asleep when Robyn or Wendy talk, OH yes a forgotten queen icon legend Katie Rost mention! She apparently said she had a sexual encounter with a former castmate?!?! WHOOOOO? I need to know. Also, I think I’ve said this before but Justice for Katie. I’m pretty sure she was taken off the show because she kept calling out Bravo on twitter but I also think its because she has mental health issues which made her a liablity for Bravo, but I digress.

Anyway, I’m going to go finish wrapping presents which I can’t afford for people in my boyfriends family who don’t like me while I force myself to watch Christmas movies so I can at least pretend I’m enjoying the holiday. People usually measure their fleeting youth in how many “good Summers” they have left. I, on the other hand, measure it by how many good Christmas’ I have left. And seeing as I haven’t had a good Christmas since about 2014, it’s safe to say my time is running out. Feliz Navidad!

#bravo #christmas #holidays #death #recap #joy #christmaseve #death wrapping #cheer #andycohen #RHOP #newblogger #blog #fromzerotohero

Witnessing a Death and Other Christmas fun

Welcome back to the manic rantings of someone past their prime. I want to take a second to shout out the whopping 43 viewers of my previous blog post. It was about 42 more than I expected. My one other viewer was anticipated because I foolishly sent it to my mother who called it “interesting” and “long-winded”. Hopefully this New Year I’ll finally learn from my mistakes. Anyway, I actually had a few things I wanted to get off my chest before recapping the second part of the RHOP reunion but, I’m fairly certain I just witnessed a death on the brisk walk from my boyfriends house to my own.

For the one person who also subscribed to my blog (i see you girlllll!) and is interested in following my weight loss journey a la the aforementioned cabbage soup diet, buckle up. I got my period, the cabbage soup slowly but surely began to repulse me, and I just shared pizza bagels for lunch with my cat. Anyway, I thought it might jumpstart somewhat of a fitness regime if I went for a nice leisurely walk and apparently, I could not have been more wrong. In between believing that every passing car was either falling in love with my effortless mysterious beauty or planning to kidnap me in broad daylight, I noticed a young ish guy slouched over at the drivers wheel in the middle of a busy intersection. I watched him for a second, but I saw his car begin to move so I assumed maybe he had his head down and was looking for something. Then, as I was churning out ideas for this blog and began walking again, I heard a loud crash.

I turned around and of course it was the beanie clad guy in a run down ford explorer who had veered over into the other lane and crashed into a fed-ex van. Quick interlude here, this is the first time I’ve actually ever seen a fed-ex van. I’ve seen fed-ex trucks, sure. But a van? Jeff Bezos has amazon employees racing around the streets in custom Amazon G-Wagons and you guys couldn’t shell out a couple extra bucks to update your transportation model? Step your game up fed-ex.

Anyway I turned around because I thought maybe no one else had seen that he clearly fainted or was rendered unconscious somehow and as the good Samaritan I am, I figured I should probably speak up. That was until some girl with maybe a liiiiittle too much time on her hands jumped out of her car and proceeded to run down the street at full speed and pry open his car door. This was clearly her time to shine. I stood there from a distance and watched her shake the guy repeatedly (probs not the best idea for someone who was just in an accident). She was inaudibly screaming and collapsed her head in her hands as the aforementioned Fed-ex driver emerged from his own vehicle looking pissed and waving his hands around. Like buddy, read the room. There’s some serious shit going down and your packages would’ve probably been late anyway.

I stood there for another five minutes as other people began pulling over and leaving their own cars to help and I thought to myself should I go over there and offer some assistance? As I heard what sounded like several ambulances and cop cars approaching I thought.. mmm better not. I have Christmas shopping to do and do I really have the time to hang around giving my eye witness testimony? The answer was no.

Anyhhoooooo I do have other thoughts to share with yall but I think I’d better put them on another post so as to not appear insensitive. I say that as I am about to use some suuuuper insensitive hashtags to hopefully get this blog viewed such as #crash and #death. Times are tough out here for a bitch and who knows he might not even be dead. I’ll probably give it like a light google tomorrow and report back.

#Crash #christmas #newblog #zerotohero #murder #fitness #excercise #diet #death

RHOP Reunion Part 1

As I embark on day 2 of the cabbage soup diet I have very very few things bringing me pleasure right now. One, or possibly the only, thing giving me even a crumb of serotonin currently is The Real Housewives of Potomac. I’m going to give my reader(s) the advice that I give my friends, my family, the teenage cashier with the wonky eye at Grade A. Don’t. Sleep. On. Potomac. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times. It’s five star television deserving an Emmy, a SAG award, and a Nobel Peace Prize.

Once a die hard RHONY fan, I too slept on Potomac. But as we entered season 12 we lost our queen, icon, legend / overall pillar of the community Bethenny Robyn Frankel and from there, it was Murphys Law in it’s purest form. Rising star and personal favorite Tinsley Mortimer left New York (and the show) to move to Chicago with her bloated prince charming Scott. It seems all upper east side princesses get their fairytale ending after all. Then, we slowly but surely watched Dorinda Medley transform from making it nice to making it unbearable to watch. As we moved further along into the season Dorinda appeared to embark on a rage spiral reminiscent of my own when I discovered the calories in a single glass of Pino Noir. Not to mention Sonja, also known as the single greatest housewife of all time (this is not up for debate, argue with your momma) Morgan’s lifestyle of mixing booze and certain unidentified prescription pills has appeared to catch up with her both mentally and physically. Anyway, a combination of all of the aforementioned things left a hole in my heart desperate to be filled. Enter Potomac.

I wont give you a long detailed account of the events which has transpired over the past five seasons that has gotten us to this point (perfection), you’ll just have to go back and watch. I personally recommend starting with Season 3 and skipping over the first two. Season 2 is decent but Season 1 was definitely struggling to find it’s rhythm. Anyway, if you have watched RHOP and are wondering my thoughts on it here you go. Also before I begin just know three things I stand by. 1. I’m team Monique. 2. Michael Darby is a balding aussie sociopath. 3. Justice for Katie Rost. What the fuck happened to her?

And so we begin. The reunion got off to a slow start. My notes for the first five minutes consisted of this-

“How do you look good at 7 a.m” asked Karen while looking FLAWLESS

“Full of anxiety but that’s notcovid related” Candiace already draaaaggggggggiiinnngg it for sympathy

I like Ashleys red tinted hair

STOP TRYING TO MAKE PONCHA HAPPEN THAT TRIP TO PORTUGAL WAS ONE OF THE MOST BORING HOUSEWIVES TRIPS OF ALL TIME. — I can’t emphasize this enough. We had to suffer through a multi episode arc already. Enough.

I will say that I think Candiace was the best dressed at the reunion and I loved her canary fan. As for Robyn.. the wig. It looks as though it flew out of the window on the car ride over to the sound stage and was run over by an eighteen wheeler.

Anyhoo we started off from the jump with some amazing Gizelle v Karen banter which has always been my favorite. I will say I had no idea there was this much contention between the two of them prior to this. They always had their problems but I thought there was a genuine friendship beneath all that shade. Guess I was wrong.

“Your style sucks”

“That’s your opinion, Karen.” No, that’s everyone’s opinion Gizelle. Hire a stylist.

Another honorable mention of this convo was Gizelle, “IT SAID ENDIIIIIIIIIIIIII”. Not much of what my former favorite Gizelle says these days amuses me but this absolutely did. Also, the whole blaming her style on “Pretty girl syndrome”? Yes, I agree Gizelle is flawlessly gorgeous, but Monique is easily the most beautiful on the stage lets stop paying her dust and pay her the respect she deserves.

Moving on to the next segment, I’m just going to come out and say it. I Dooonnntttt like Wendy on the show. I’m sure she’s a great person and I listened to her on one of my favorite podcasts Everything Iconic with Danny Pellegrino and she was definitely so likeable and sweet. But honestly I don’t care about her plotlines and I want to take a bathroom break whenever its one of her solo scenes. And it goes without saying I cant hear about the degrees anymore. No one is “putting you in the position” to defend your degrees, you continuously bring it up because it’s your only narrative on the show.  I don’t like how quick she was to choose up and pick sides to gang up on Monique. You don’t know her, it was just beneficial to you. I will say when she said “Now we’ve said it” it was an amazing call back to early season RHOB Camille and I luuved it.

We moved on to Candiace and I drew in a deep guttural sigh. I like Candiace. I truly do. I lie awake at night trying to decide who I like least of the cast and she is nowhere near my bottom two. But when they started discussing her “music” the hairs I missed in the shower on my labia stood up. I dooont knooow whaaaat heaaaaaaaaaaaaaallls a heaaaarrt. That song is just. Its just not good. Stop trying to make it happen its not going to happen.

I also want to take a moment to say that I love Ashley. I think she’s my favorite cast member, and no Ashley slander will be tolerated. It’s not her fault she’s married to a rapey crocodile dundee. But, when she said she performed her hit (in my mind) Coffee and Love “live without issue”. Hmmmmmm, that’s one way to look at it. I wont say anything else but If you haven’t listened to the unhinged ADarbs single I urge you to drop what you’re doing and go listen. Also my single handed favorite line from the entire reunion is when Ashley said, “Shut the fuck up talking about my husband itching”. I really love when Ashley gets a little hood. Ugh. A sister after my own heart.

Also, the face Robyn made when Ashley implied it was rude to say the baby looked like Michael was hilarious and the only thing she has contributed to this entire reunion. We don’t say that, but now we’ve said it. I also don’t like how Monique was excluded from the colorism conversation and it was aimed at Wendy and Candiace. She is also a black woman not traditionally considered to be “lightskinned” and wasn’t given a chance to talk about how she felt about it, despite also being called aggressive amongst other (worse) things. by viewers Also they’ve ALLLLL definitely been called aggressive at one time or another with the exception of probably Robyn who’s asleep half the time.

“So you can use ghetto or hoodrat but you’re not supposed to use aggressive” EXACTLY MONIQUE. EXACTLY.

Then. We get. To. The. Binder. The last five minutes of this reunion were honestly my favorite five minutes of television in recent history. I could not pick my jaw up off the floor, and I honestly found myself feeling bad for Gizelle. First of all, was I the only one completely blindsided by the whole Jamal thing being a fake plotline? Like I had no idea. Why would he ever agree to that? What does he possibly get out of that? He’s a pastor.

Monique starts reading her receipts – despite several attempted interruptions- to Andy who was clearly struggling to hide his delight. At one point Monique turns to him and says something along the lines of do you want to see this and he goes yeah I wanna see it. DON’T WE ALLLLLL. Basically the conversations were between Jamal Bryant skeevy perve scum bag pastor extraordinaire and his side chick/ possible actual girlfriend during a time period which he was believed to be with Gizelle. Candiace’s little side comments throughout this entire reveal really killed me. First she commented to Wendy that Monique has been “waiting to drop these receipts for a while” which leads me to believe she’s had this information for some time and has been sitting on it until she felt attacked enough to bring it to light. ASSSS YOUUUU SHOOOUUUUULLLLLLLLLLDDDDDD. Then, after Gizelle confirming that it is in fact Jamal’s phone number and subsequently he is the sender behind these illicit messages, Candaice remarks, “Thats unfortunate”. Yes Candeegal. It is.

Giz kept a stoic face throughout all of this which I take to mean she either knew of this all along and was, in fact, fabricating a relationship with her ex husband for a television plotline OR was genuinely hurt and startled by this information and just trying to save face. Hopefully, we’ll find out more on the second part of the reunion because I hear she gets visibly upset and it would be nice for some genuine show of emotion from her. Anyway, we end the episode on a zoom in of the binder and ugh. **chefs kiss**. I also saw an episode of WWHL where Andy says that the binders going in the Housewives Museum. Is there really a housewives Museum? Where is it? Where can I purchase a ticket? CAN I LOOK IN THE BINDER?

#RHOP #potomac #housewives #RHONY #bravo #skinnygirl #teammonique #girls #fromzerotohero #ashleydarby

Introduce Yourself

Well here we are. 4:43 p.m. on a Tuesday afternoon, wearing one of my many
house robes, running a blow dryer on myself for warmth. Or, what it’s otherwise
known as, rock fucking bottom. Actually, I think rock bottom was when I
hesitated at the thought of spending the $48 that is apparently required to
start a blog. Shouldn’t it be free? It’s called FREEdom of speech. Wow that was
terrible.

Anyway, by hesitated I mean I stared at the screen trying desperately
to figure out if I had $48 dollars to spare (I don’t) before unsuccessfully
trying to charge it on my maxxed out credit card (it declined). Anyway,
WordPress recommends the first post when starting a blog should be introductory
and you should tell a little bit about yourself. In case you haven’t deduced it
from the first paragraph alone, I’m a hot fucking mess.

 

I’m a 25(and 15 months) year old waitress who despite having a college
degree has been unable to get a job that doesn’t require slinging craft
cocktails. Sure, we could blame the pandemic. But actually, I think it has more
to do with my seemingly inherent unwillingness to write new cover letters for
every job I want to apply to. The EasyApply feature on LinkedIn has become my
best friend, and frankly I’m not embarrassed to admit that. It’s kind of a one
sided friendship though because none of the jobs ever get back to me. But
honestly, who has the time?

Anyhoooooo, I decided to start a blog as the ultimate form of
procrastination because I’m about 99.9999 percent sure that no one will ever
read this and if they do it’s because I’m planning on putting the link in my
instagram bio and it’s going to be people I knew from highschool going wow,
what a fucking loser. But hey, its 2020 and no one will hire me and I have
nothing better to do and the other option was start a podcast and then people
would really make fun of me. But who knows, that might be fucking next. I also
named this site Wine and Zoloft because those are the two main pillars to the
foundation of who I am as a human being.

Anyhoooo (part duex) I don’t really know what this blog is going to consist
of but my first post is going to be about one of the most important things in
my life right now. The Real Housewives of Potomac Reunion.

#fromzerotohero #potomac #realhousewives #bravo #wine #pinonoir #zoloft #2020 #pandemic