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Archive | December, 2011

The Delayed Hangover

30 Dec

Yesterday I got out of work in a great mood due to the fact that I was starting my five day weekend. What made me even more happy was the fact that I was out early and long overdue for a good day drink. A good friend of mine, *Ike, had told me he was “penthouse sitting” for a friend in the Back Bay for a few days (like house sitting, but in a Back Bay penthouse…yeah).  I’ve been slightly sick this week, but when he invited me over I thought to myself, “I might never get the chance to be a faux Real Housewife of the Back Bay again, carpe fucking diem, Mollz”. So naturally, I booked it over to this penthouse with my besty, *Messica (Mess for short), and like any host with the most, Ike had drinks waiting for us when we got up to the top floor. Ike gave us a tour up to the penthouse roof deck that overlooked the Prudential: …and then we made our way into the living room, where I was afraid to walk with my beat up Uggs on. We had more drinks and just chatted, Ike always has the most amazing and hilarious stories, so we were pretty entertained by our penthouse host…

At some point we started talking about hangovers, and we had to agree with Ike when he said that the WORST kind of hangover is “the delayed hangover”. The delayed hangover is one of those hangovers that creep up on you late morning-afternoonish. It’s like, you wake up and the few first minutes of your day is spent deciding whether or not you are hungover or not. You don’t feel like projectile vomiting, so that’s good. You are craving Egg & I, and it pisses you off that it no longer exists, which is a normal/non-hungover appetite. You aren’t sweating profusely, there is no McDonald’s wrappers next to your bed, and you can open your eyes without your brain feeling like it’s being stabbed with multiple sporks. It’s pretty much safe to say that you are in the clear. You think to yourself, “You go, girl! Tolerance of steel! You’ve got the world by the balls! Get out there and do something productive, you champion!”. So you begin your day.

At first, your morning goes smoothly, you shower, make yourself a cup of coffee, upload some Easy E onto your Ipod, brag on your Facebook status that you’re not hungover, then your friend calls you to invite you to lunch. Perfect. She gets to your house, beeps and you head out into the world. Your first thought is, “Shit, didn’t realize it was THIS sunny outside, too bad I sat on my cheap knockoff sunglasses from the cart at the South Shore Plaza and they cracked. Guess that’s what I get for being a cheap shmuck.” You run back inside and steal your sister’s shades and a baseball hat. You are already starting to get that “under the weather” look. Kind of like this:

or this….

So you hop in your friend’s car and brag some more about not being hungover what so ever, and you mutually decide you are craving something greasy and disgusting that will make you loathe yourself after consumption. Your friend turns in the direction of wherever you decide to go and your stomach does a flip flop. Your friend is driving like an animal, completely her fault…douchebag. You should have driven, she’s probably still drunk from the night before. Then you hit a red light, and the car is completely stopped. Your stomach does yet another flip flop, and then ten more. And your friend who thinks she is Jeff Gordon, (or maybe she doesn’t, you just can’t accept your current state) opens the sun roof. The sun starts beating down on your pale, Irish skin, making you sweaty. You grab your bottle of water and chug it real quick. Why does this Poland Springs taste EXACTLY the same as the sugar free Red Bull and vodka you had last night?! Is this a sick joke?! Or could it be, that your appetite is ruined, causing everything to taste like the alcoholic beverages you consumed the night before? Before you can answer that question, you are rolling down the window of your friend’s vehicle, head outside far enough to be decapitated by oncoming traffic, puking on Quincy Shore Drive. When you are finished puking your guts up, you push the seat back and fall backwards, you’ve never been so tired. You feel like shit.

The lunch date is off. You blew it. Your friend drives you home, where you collapse in the bathroom and remain violently ill for another half hour before pulling the shades down in your room and sleeping from noon to 5pm, since 5 hours is the universal time it takes for learning one’s lesson, then sleeping off the learned lesson, and beginning to prepare to repeat the same mistake again the next evening. Hence the saying, “It’s 5 o’clock somewhere’…or maybe I just made that up right now. Who really even knows. Some advice I have for you to avoid a delayed hangover is to chug water and eat something before you go to bed, then when you wake up, test yourself physically for a hangover. You can do this by doing some jumping jacks, or running up and down stairs or something. If you puke, you’re either hungover or  REALLY out of shape. If you don’t you’re good to go on with your day, and maybe even repeat the night before (hopefully you were in a penthouse the night before). Whether you are hungover or not the next day, good luck! 

*Names changed to protect the awesome.

(Thank you to Ike- my Because Molly Said So manager and funniest friend in the world; Messica- for letting me use her in my dumbass stories all the time with such a stupid code name; and to MW: Sorry for puking in your new car on Quincy Shore Drive, I had a delayed hangover,  you’re an excellent driver & the opposite of a douchebag.)

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Facebook Etiquette 101

28 Dec

Lately I’ve been cheating on Facebook with Twitter. I never thought this day would come, but I started noticing that tweets are just funnier than status updates. I’m not sure why or when people started treating Facebook statuses like journal entries, but it’s happening more and more frequently. And no matter how many times you clean up your Facebook friends list, there is always someone on your newsfeed who is guilty of writing batshit crazy statuses. Right now, I could name about 5 people who do it on mine, but I won’t delete them because: 1. they are nice enough people in real life 2. I’m a pussy 3. When I’m in bad mood, their statuses make me feel better about my own life & 4. Sometimes these statuses are entertaining (but mostly just sad). People, I know it’s the internet and you have this sense of anonymity but please, get some tact and stop doing the following shit:

  • Listing your daily routine: “Such a gorg day out! Taking the kiddies to the playground for an hour, then taking a much needed nap, then cooking mac & cheese with hotdogs thrown in because I’m like Emeril! BAM! lol, then giving the kiddies some Benadryl so I can catch up on Sons of Anarchy with the hubby. Life is SO good!!!!” Really? Life doesn’t sound that good…maybe you need to polish off the rest of the Benadryl. Another thing about these people is that they usually don’t know what commas are. Run on sentences are underrated in their eyes…
  • Talking about your kids constantly: Don’t take it personally, kids are awesome and I love to hear funny things my friends kids are saying & doing. But if you are always letting us know that your baby just puked up strained carrots, or is acting like a little bastard while your trying to watch Maury, then maybe you should just sign off Facebook and call your mom for help…maybe she’ll give a shit (but probably not).
  • Telling the world about your baby daddy/mama drama: Okay, even though I think this is the trashiest thing in the cyber world to do, I also think it’s hilariously entertaining. Especially when baby mama and baby daddy go back and forth in a comment thread. Sorry girls, but you are usually the guilty party in posting this kind of shit: “So nervous for family court in the AM. I’m scared he’s going to lie and tell the judge I smoke butts and watch Maury while the kids are running around breaking all my nice shit, well my mom’s nice shit but whatevs. When it rains it pours =(…well off to get my nails done! Hit me up!” –Like…what?! I haven’t gotten my nails did since prom 2005 (but at least I’m over tips)! Then you have all these chicks underneath the status writing feel good comments like, “You are so above that piece of shit, move on and live your life!” Yeah, get back to your life of daytime television and having Sue Ling glue your french tips on. Maybe fit some tanning in, too. You deserve it, girl! Stay classy.
  • Posting chain status updates about causes: Nothing more annoying than this: “The girl you just called fat? She has a serious medical condition called Big Mac Addiction. The boy you just said was smelly? He likes the smell of his own farts. The red head you just called a ginger? He cuts himself to episodes of Pete & Pete. The crackhead you just called a crackhead? He’s on crack. Next time think before you bully someone. Not many people will have the courage, but re-post this if you are anti-bullying.” If you are trying to stand up for a certain cause, go out and volunteer, or donate some money or something. Don’t try to raise awareness by taking up space on my newsfeed and encouraging others to do the same. No wonder you were probably bullied. Cut the shit.
  • Preaching about sobriety: This is something I am very passionate about and have talked about in previous entries. Stop screaming about how sober you are. Put the serenity prayer on your refrigerator and let that be enough. The more you preach, the more we think you relapsed when you aren’t preaching. Call your mentor. Or invest in this shirt:
  • Posting quiz results: You are way too big of a whore to be born during the 1920′s, sorry the quiz gave you the wrong era. You also took the quiz  “Which Drug Are You?” and got weed, but you’re definitely not chill. I’d say you’re more like meth. Also, you could never pull off Jasmin’s outfit, so even if your quiz told you that you which Disney Princess you are, don’t bother sharing it with all of Facebook. The results are in and they state that you need a full time job.

That’s about all I can remember at the moment. I hope you will abide by this list of things not to post (except for the occasional white trash fight that I can read while I’m bored on the Red Line). If you don’t think you have the power in you to stop, then no wonder you have a daily quota to meet of the number of times you need to recite the serenity prayer. Get some self control, mang! And don’t ruin Twitter for everyone else with your bullshit (I’m sure you can’t fit all the bullshit you have to tweet anyways). If you can’t cut the shit, then sign offline and buy one of these bad boys: *special thank you to A*

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The Preemptive Breakup

28 Dec

One thing that I cannot fathom participating in, is a shitty relationship. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been in shitty relationships in the past, but that was when I was just a 15-year-old-dumb-ass-naive-fool-with-no-morals-or-respect-for-anything-or-anyone-including-myself. Haven’t we all been there? I hope to fucking God not. Thankfully, I’m over those days and now in a loving and caring relationship with my soulmate who better propose by doomsday of next year or it is fucking over (You get that Ryan?! OVER!). I’m just being humorous, don’t worry. Seriously though, I love myself, probably too much, and respect myself enough nowadays to shit on ex’s who disrespected me years ago on an internet website that gets one to three thousand hits per day with a population that is predominantly located in the city those guys are from. Just kidding, I won’t go there…in this entry. 

Even though I am totally over letting someone treat me like dog shit, sometimes I hear annoying stories about people who are not. None of my close friends are in shitty relationships anymore fortunately, but some of them have been. And I’m going to violate their privacy by writing about them. Actually, I’ll just write about Barney and a shitty relationship he was recently in, since he pretty much gives me permission to write about anything going on in his life. Luckily, this bipolar-one-flew-over-the-cuckoo’s-nest-crazy-bitch he was seeing deleted all of Barney’s friends on Facebook, so maybe she won’t read this. But I wouldn’t bet on it. Anyways though, this chick was emotional and insane and Barney knew they were headed towards a bad break up. Barney knew he had to take action, before Crazy did first. He decided to pull a George Costanza, and put the ball back in his court with a tactic called The Preemptive Breakup. The preemptive breakup is when someone sees signs of a crumbling relationship, and senses they are going to be the dumped, but then turn the tables by initiating the breakup before their partner gets the chance. This strategy allows one to exit the relationship with some dignity and grace. Unfortunately, Barney wasn’t graceful or dignified enough, and failed at breaking up preemptively. Crazy approached the subject first, and told the Barnster that she didn’t want to hurt him in the long run and things had to end immediately. Things were a downhill spiral for Barney for a little while (refer to the first BMSS blog entry entitled, “Barney”, in which he was doused with gasoline and almost burned alive), but he was resilient and bounced back…kind of. I’m just glad that the relationship didn’t end in violence.

So like I said above, I think it’s annoying when people don’t respect themselves enough to pull out of a shitty relationship. Trust me, after the first 10 times you bitch about your  shitty relationship, no one wants to hear about it anymore. So maybe it’s time that you follow Barney’s lead, which is a route I don’t normally encourage EVER, and go ahead with the preemptive breakup. Only don’t fuck it up like Barney did. Succeed at it, and always remember: “Do or do not, there is no try” (hashtag Yoda quote…I’ve been hanging out with Star Wars nerds way too long). Go on, get on the phone and dump that bitch ass! Better yet, hop on AIM for the first time in 10 years and do the dumping over instant message. Afterall, you deserve the best. 

Man Child Pt. 2

27 Dec

Men can be Man Children without being sick. And I’m about to tell you another way a man can express his inner child. I don’t know if you were ever subjected to Star Wars, unfortunately my brother was hooked on it as a kid, which meant I had to endure the movies repeatedly. I can’t tell you how many times as a kid I stepped on toy Millenium Falcon paraphernalia that was scattered all over the living room floor, but I can tell you it hurts almost as bad as stepping on a Lego. Or if your a guy, as bad as stepping on a Polly Pocket.So yeah, I had to watch Star Wars because my little brother was obsessed. I shouldn’t say “was” though. At a party he threw last year, I noticed my brother and his friends were being super quiet (they were in the basement, and in my house you can hear everything through heating vents). After a few minutes of silence, the vents in my house vibrated with the Star Wars theme song. I guess it was a Star Wars themed party. Hey, at least it wasn’t a stripper party, so to each their own. When I started dating my boyfriend I was kind of bummed to learn that he was a closet nerd who, like my brother, loved Star Wars (nothing against nerds, just against Star Wars). Not only does my boyfriend love it, but his #2 hero is a Star Wars character. Maybe you’ve heard of him…his name is Boba Fett. I didn’t know much about Boba until 5 seconds ago when I just Wikipedia’ed that shit and learned that Mr. Fett is a bounty hunter hired by Darth Vader to find the Millenium Falcon. Like Dog the Bounty Hunter only not real and inspired by George Lucas. Yeah…So Boba Fett is my boyfriend’s hero. And I think that’s kind of adorable that he has a hero, so I encourage it by purchasing him the Star Wars complete saga on Blu-Ray for his birthday. Part of the gift was the promise that I would watch the movies with him. I fell asleep in roughly 16 minutes during the first one and haven’t popped it into the PS3 to watch since, but it’s the thought that counts, right? And I consider myself a very thoughtful girlfriend. Just the other day I was waiting in an INSANELY long line at a store purchasing Spanx to give the illusion that I was 10 pounds lighter over the holidays. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a big box with a Boba Fett mask inside. Immediately I thought, “Wow, my boyfriend would shit his pants over this Boba Fett mask”. So I bought it. And sure enough, he was ecstatic enough for a fashion shoot: Even I got in on the Boba Fett Fashion Show 2011…Exciting, I know. But I started to grow wary of the gift I presented him with when he turned the PS3 on and started playing Call of Duty with the mask on: Ugh, I know: MAN CHILD. The day after he got the mask was Christmas…and I guess I wasn’t the only one who noticed his love for “The Fett Man” (as he lovingly calls him). Yup, his brother’s and their girlfriends got him some Fett odds & ends as well. So obviously, we needed a second fashion show that showed all of the Boba stuff: Yup. This is my real life. I don’t think I’m alone, every guy has an inner nerd, and a hero that makes him even nerdier. As long as your boyfriend’s hero isn’t Jeffrey Dahmer, or your girlfriend’s isn’t Aileen Wuornos, it’s not unhealthy. And as I mentioned earlier, Boba Fett is only my boyfriend’s #2 favorite hero. Sorry Bobes, but my boyfriend’s heart belongs to Robocop. He’s watched it 17, 346.5 times, so I guess I should feel sorry for myself, too. But I’ll save that for Man Child Pt. 3 I guess.

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Weird Shit Happens To Me

27 Dec

One morning last March I woke up dead sober and looked out the window and this is what I saw:

Birthdays Suck

27 Dec

I really am not a big fan of the word “hate”, it sounds so hateful. But if there is one thing I hate in this world, it’s birthdays. Birthdays bring out the worst in all of my girlfriends. They are the reason I sometimes think I should roam the planet- or Quincy, since I don’t leave- alone. Maybe I won’t have friends anymore after they are finished reading this post, or maybe they’ll agree with me and cancel all their future birthday plans (hashtag wishful thinking). I miss the simpler days of Hoodsie cups and cone hats and clowns that made me almost pee my overalls in fear. I’m not sure what the fuck happened to birthdays, but I don’t like it. The main reason that I hate birthdays is the sense of entitlement people feel on their own birthday. It’s like that song, “It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to”, go ahead and cry bitch, you deserve a good sympathy cry. You and a billion other people were born on this day 24 years ago, so how about you bitch your loved ones around for 24 hours?! Nope. All set. I have friends that celebrate their birthdays for a fucking week. What is THAT?! Did you not get enough attention growing up that you feel you have to compensate by having your broke ass friends cover your tab for a week? Then if, God forbid, someone can’t make it to all of the parties lined up that week for that one friend, the birthday girl gets all pissed off, saying things like, “Well, I sent out a Facebook invite for this party 17 weeks in advance, so if she can’t make it, that’s kind of F’ed up. Like, it is that hard to take work off for one day?!”. Um, since when is it okay to ask your friends to take a day off from work to celebrate yourself? I don’t even take my own birthday off, what makes someone think I will take theirs off?! In-fucking-sane. One of the worst birthday party celebrations takes place on party buses. They start off innocent enough with a Facebook invite stating that everyone who attends will need to pay $10-15 each to cover the charge for the bus itself. Then you are happy when you read in the event description that most clubs in Boston will comp the cover charge and let the party bus go’ers cut the line. Then when you get to the spot the bus picks everyone up at, you realize the event description is full of bullshit lies. The birthday girl goes around collecting the money, but tacks on another $10 each to get on the bus because half the confirmed party guests bailed last minute. Then you get on the bus and start boozing immediately, and it’s actually a fun time. Until you have to pee and you realize there is no bathroom on this dumb ass bus. Unless you want to pop a squat in a sketchy Boston alleyway, you have to hold it until you get to the first club. When you get to your first destination, you are told that this place doesn’t participate in the party bus line cut/comped cover. And you find out that the other two clubs on your hostess’s checklist don’t participate either. So you spent like $50 on just getting into these shitty clubs so you can watch the birthday girl drunkenly ride a mechanical bull. Then you drop more money on drinks for yourself, and a drink for the birthday girl of course. God knows she’s not drunk enough already. Basically, you spent a day at work to pay for a ride to town on a painted school bus, in which you might piss yourself, and then you have to babysit your now 24 year old friend. And it’s not like you can go to these events sober, especially when you witness a crotch shot of your friend riding a mechanical bull.

The most annoying kind of birthday girl is the birthday girl who complains the day after her party about how awful it was. Wow, only 10 out of the 18 people you invited to your extravaganza showed up. Guess what? The other 8 are talking shit about you right now because you’re obnoxious, and only 4 out of the 10 at the party are your real friends anyways. The remaining 6 guests just had no other plans for the night. Complaining about how lame your special day was is a first world problem, and you need to end the madness.

I guess it’s that time in this blog entry to come clean and admit to everyone that my last birthday event was entitled, “Mollypalooza”. But before you call me a hypocrite, please know that my Palooza took place in Quincy Center, and only lasted one night. Wicked lame, but it was the best way to ensure that most of the people invited actually show up. Keeping it local is cheap and easy, like the girl you went to prom with (unless you went to prom with me). I should also add that not all of my friends have these My Super Sweet 16-esque birthday parties. Just last week one of my girlfriends had hers at a  local bar, complete with a few friends, drinks, and nachos. And it was a much better time than any party bus or Tequila Rain experience I’ve ever encountered. So to the friends I have left: please stop getting pissed off if I can’t make it to your party. You know that I’m a broke ass who dances like Elaine Benes. Stop subjecting everyone to your bull riding crotch shots. And don’t say I owe you a drink if I just paid multiple cover charges after exiting a school bus that I paid way too much to ride on. I’ll buy you two drinks if you don’t act like I owe it to you, because if anything, you owe it to me and my sore feet. Save the self absorption for your wedding or divorce party, otherwise you can consider this blog entry an early Regrets Only response from yours truly.

A Very Quincy Christmas

26 Dec

I told myself and everyone who follows my Facebook page that I would take a break from writing over the next 4 days so I could get drunk and embarrass myself in front of family. But then I realized that I don’t get embarrassed in front of my family because they are drunk with me. So I might as well drink and embarrass myself on the internet. I just want to make sure that you guys have the Quincy-est holiday possible. And if you don’t remember how to do that, I’ll remind you.

  • Stock up: I  suppose it’s too late to tell you, since it’s 8:16pm on Christmas night…but I hope you stocked up on spirits early. If you didn’t, you had to learn the hard way that the packy is closed on Christmas day and i guess you are fucked.
  • Skip Mass: This year I’m boycotting church because my parish’s school got plowed down. And that’s the very building where I socialized and learned nothing about God every Sunday morning/Wednesday night up until confirmation  (hashtag CCD). Okay, I lied. I’m not boycotting, I’m just a heathen who sleeps late and hasn’t been to church SINCE confirmation. Tell your dad to tell Jesus you said “Hi”, and catch up on those Z’s!
  • Count your blessings: Be grateful you asshole, the Christmas parade is over with for another year. That means you can drive from your significant other’s place in Montclair to your house in the Wollaston flatlands without sparking too much road rage due to every single street near Hancock being blocked off. Thanks, J.C.!
  • Get caffeinated:I don’t know about your family, but my family can hold it down and we all drank a little bit too much on Christmas Eve. Nothing coffee can’t fix. Too bad there’s only one Dunkin Donuts open in Quincy, and you have to go on a quest to find out which one it is. I shouldn’t talk, I never went on that quest, I just took an Advil and downed the Red Bull I stocked up on the day before. Smart girl.
  • Be Pathetic: What is the most Quincy thing you can do on Christmas night? Get pathetic at Cathay Path..err…Pacific. I was planning on staying in after dinner at my boyfriend’s mom’s house. But then I went on Facebook on my phone and saw my friends Mess and Barney were promoting a night out at my favorite Cantonese & Polynesian Cocktail lounge via status. I can’t resist an Asian cuisine karaoke joint that looks like an Olive Garden with these statues greeting me: . …Speaking of which, I gotta go throw my Uggs on and get moving. Merry Christmas motherfuckers!

XOXO.

Bangs

22 Dec

Today I want to talk about the bangs that I rocked for about 18 years of my life. Seriously, I was pretty much born bald with bangs. My bangs were the essence of my childhood, and also the symbol of my teenage awkwardness. When I was little I felt that my bangs were adorable and complimented my 8 year old features. Like how adorable am I at my 5th birthday party? Like, put me next to my sister and I was all, “I am the cute one, she’s just my sister.” I remember when I needed my bangs styled my mom would take a piece of scotch tape and line it horizontally across them. Yeah, I guess we were poor. But anyways,  she would have to realign the tape like 14 times, ripping the tape off and I’d bitch and moan until she got it perfectly straight, then she would cut. And something that would make me cry was when she would cut them too short. I would go to school feeling like the biggest douchebag. Here are some pictures of some random people I Googled looking like douchebags with bangs that are cut too short: So yeah, I loved my bangs…until middle school when I started getting awkward. At first my bangs were a great tool for covering up any forehead acne. But then my bangs just got in the way. Especially when it rained. When it rains and you have bangs, they get all matted to your forehead and you look homeless no matter what you do to fix them. Same thing happens when you are active and get kind of sweaty. Your bangs give you the “sweaty girl in class” look. If you brush them out they separate and look stringy and gross. Here’s an example I found via Google of gross, wet bangs on a dummy: Eventually one of my guy friends discovered that I looked EXACTLY like my little brother without bangs, so on the bus home from school he would sneak up from behind me and pull my bangs back and say, “Everybody look! It’s Tommy!” And I was a weakling so I would just take it and die a little inside. Here’s a picture of me without bangs when I was 8 years old: Just kidding, that’s my little brother who is not going to be happy that I put this picture up. Around age seventeen is when I realized that I just couldn’t live with bangs anymore. I also realized it was going to take a lot to grow my bangs out, because I had developed a syndrome that I made up called “Awkward Forehead Syndrome”. AFS is a result of having bangs for over a decade. Symptoms of AHS are:

  • Fear of your own forehead
  • Fear of clips/bobby pins/headbands
  • Feelings that your forehead is too pale, too big, too shiny, among other negative characteristics given to a forehead
  • The desire to drink your bangs problems away
  • Fear of going out in the rain or snow
  • Fear of humidity

Yeah, it’s a very serious condition. But I knew that I had to get my shit together and work through it. I was a survivor. So I began to grow out those motherfuckers, easing into it by going from bangs to side bangs. Throughout the process I utilized red headbands to take the attention away from my forehead. And after a long year of rapid hair growth, I had done it. I can proudly say I am six years bang-free. And I’ll never look back… because in life you need to look through the windshield, not the rearview…bitch.

A Useless Thought with Shaun Maloof

21 Dec
A Useless Thought with Shaun Maloof
Often times I hear the question if you could be any animal in the world, what would you be? I wouldn’t be a big intimidating king of the forest bear. I wouldn’t be a sleep on your couch all day while you work dog. I wouldn’t even be a look down on everything while I glide through the sky hawk. I don’t think there are many people out there that would choose to be a goldfish but I’m one of the few. Here’s why. 
Goldfish have the most fun of any animal on earth. Sounds far-fetched? Well consider this. Goldfish have a 3 second memory. Crazy, I know. You could never be bored with that. Shit would never get old. I’d be wicked easy to care for too. Just give me some of those goldfish corn flakes or whatever you feed them every once in a while and a swim-thru castle. Maybe even throw in one of those pointless plastic plants that are always associated with domesticated fish. 
I’d just be swimming around in my two gallon wonderland and all of a sudden “ooooh a castle!! I’m gonna go check this shit out.” Swim inside of it and look around. “Meh, whatever, nothing great in here, I’m going back outside.” Three seconds later, “ooooh a castle!! Hopefully there are corn flakes inside. I can’t remember the last time I ate.”  
That would happen over and over again. How could that ever get boring? It couldn’t. Nothing but pure entertainment for those three to four weeks that you’re alive. If I was a goldfish I wouldn’t be afraid of death either. I just lived like a king in Atlantis for the three weeks I was alive so lets be honest, I had a good life. So flush me down the toilet, throw me in the trash, even bury me if you’re that die hard about goldfish. I don’t care. I can’t wait to be reincarnated as a goldfish.

Man Child

20 Dec

Okay, so I feel bad because clearly I am calling my boyfriend out on this, but this isn’t just about him…it’s about ALL men. He just gives me so many real life examples of what I write about. So anyways, men are the BIGGEST fucking babies when they are sick. And by sick, I mean when they have the sniffles. I get it, having a cold is annoying, but why are you laying in bed moaning with a sweatsuit on and seven blankets covering you? You want to sweat the common cold out of you? The amount of time it takes to sweat it out probably lasts the duration of the illness anyways. My boyfriend and I work at the same place, and if he’s out sick I have the pleasure of not only getting phone calls from him speaking in a low and wary voice asking me to bring him home a pharmacy of cold meds, but I also have our coworkers asking me, “Oh, how is the poor thing doing?”. Muthafucka, he caught that common cold from me and I was here all week! He’s not a poor thing, he’s currently chugging Theraflu, laying in his bed, cuddling with his Playstation 3 remote, watching UFO documentaries and low budget films on the Sci-Fi channel all day! Then I get to his place after work and he’s like, “Oh…you got me acetaminophen?” and I am all, “Yeah, bitch, what’s the problem?!”, and he looks at me with his puppy dog eyes and informs me that “Ibuprofen is the only drug that takes my minor headaches away, but that’s okay, I can just lay in the dark and put a pillow over my eyes and listen to soothing ocean sounds on the internet. You don’t have to run back to the store.” Damn right I don’t have to run back to the store, I just worked 10 hours and now I have to write a blog about the dude with a jheri curl who works at every APrime in Quincy, you get in the car and you get the Advil, and get me 3 sugar free Red Bulls and a big ass bottle of Pino Grigio while you’re out!The worst is when you think your boyfriend is just being a hypochondriac, but it turns out he is actually pretty sick. A couple of months ago,my boyfriend had a cold that as usual, I thought he had caught from me. We stayed in over the weekend which is pretty much unheard of for us, and he rested and ate numerous buffalo chicken subs from Pizza Connection, which usually makes him back to normal. But Sunday evening, he was still bitching about his headache. I told him that if he wasn’t better by the morning, he should go to the emergency room. He’s not usually one to go to the doctor’s, so this is pretty big. Sure enough, he’s not better, so the next morning I head to work and he heads to the E.R. A couple of hours later, he calls me panic stricken to say he just had a spinal tap and it was worse than being eaten by a great white shark, and he tested positive for viral meningitis. Shit! So I head to the hospital, armed with his Burger King dinner per request. When I get there, he’s shooting the shit with some hospital staff from his bed, watching football, laughing and joking around. Grand old time, barely felt sick anymore at all. Literally the happiest guy I’ve ever seen in a hospital gown. He was LOVING this diagnosis, completely milking the shit out of it. He was flaunting the seriousness of it, flexing his muscles over the entire thing. He was kept overnight for observation, where they observed he was clearly at the very end of this illness, and released early the next morning. So now I’m faced with a dilemma, basically I’m fucked. I can’t minimize his whining to mere man child behavior anymore, or else I’ll hear, “Molly, I have a slight headache, which resulted in a serious illness last time that involved an overnight stay in the hospital.” Maybe I sound bitchy, but don’t forget who bought this guy all those buffalo chicken subs and every Call of Duty he owns! I don’t care, men are still babies when they are sick. Or maybe I’m just pulling a Jeannie Bueller with this kind of attitude? Screw it. Love you RK: Sorry for saying you are a baby and sorry for lying and saying you listen to soothing ocean sounds on the internet when you are sick.

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