Damn you Google image search for stock photos of empty kitchen sinks! #men.
I’m absolutely going to get shit from someone for this…fuck it.
I am more than a little confused as to how anyone who is sharing this article: Abercrombie & Fitch basically hates fat chicks, is surprised. Yeah, the CEO sounds like a douche. But so aren’t most people who wear Abercrombie & Fitch over the age of 18. My first mission when I started dating my fiance was to have an intervention on him to get him to stop wearing A&F. Seriously though, A&F has always hated fat chicks. I mean, their size large is pretty much the equivalent to an extra small everywhere else. Don’t feel too bad if you can’t fit into their $40 “slightly destroyed” t-shirts, most of America is fat so maybe they’ll lose some business. Unless this was an extreme marketing ploy to garner attention and get more business, in which case A&F 1, fat chicks 0. It is a fact (at least I thought it was) that A&F has always been totally open about hiring based on superficial qualifications, and honest about their blatant racism.
Girls who can’t fit into A&F clothes should be rejoicing that they no longer have to be subjected to an overload of terrible, seizure-inducing beats, cologne that smells like you are present in a car during the Summer while teenagers are fornicating to LFO, and clothes that are described on a scale of slightly, to moderately, to completely destroyed. I hate to brag, but I can fit into a large at A&F, but I don’t like paying for someone to rip my pants. And back when I could fit into a medium at A&F (1999ish), I didn’t do it, because I was an Old Navy Girl growing up. And by “Old Navy Girl” I mean poor.
What we as a society should really be outraged about it that Lane Bryant is neglecting skinny chicks!!! Get angry, skinny bitches!!!! Get real angry!
When I met you I said my name is Keiffa, you look like the girl from Abercrombie & Fitch.
This past Saturday was my cousin’s wedding. Being a caffeine addict, and nothing to do with the fact that I had stayed up til 4am while hosting a game night at my place (it was a real rousing game of Cards Against Humanity), I had to stop for some sugar free Red Bull before hitting the road to the venue. The closet store to me is Walgreen’s on Adams Street, so I ran in there real quick all decked out in wedding gear, tripping because I suck at walking in heels no matter how many times I wear them…
I grabbed myself some new eyeliner and the Red Bull, then got in line and called my sister to find out if she had left yet and what she was wearing. My sister was driving my father, and being the prankster he is, was chiming in in the background, answering my girly questions. My phone’s volume was all the way up so I when I asked what my sister was wearing, I could hear my father in the background screaming “NYLONS! I’M WEARING NYLONS, AND YOU?!”. I’m used to this, so I just said “Shhhh!” a few times as the cashier rung up my stuff, asked my sister again about the heels, my dad screamed “nylons!” once more, then, growing annoyed because I couldn’t even hear my sister over my father I said “Alright! Bye dad!!!!!” and threw my phone in my bag. I looked up and it dawned on me that the cashier, who was stifling a laugh, had thought I was talking to my father the entire time. Upon realizing that she thought my father was a cross dresser in front of a now decent sized line that had grown and was staring at me while I was being rung up, I started to attempt to explain that I was talking to my sister, and not my father. She interrupted to ask if I had a rewards card. Not having my card on me, I gave her my phone number, and she punched it in to get me a discount, still laughing and shaking her head. When my name popped up and I had given up trying to explain, she asks “You’re Molly McKenna?” to confirm the correct store card was in the system. I nodded, and immediately someone popped out of the line and goes “Are you Because Molly Said So?!”. I said “Yes! What’s your name?”, she replied that her name was Joanne and she reads my blog. I thanked her and walked out of the store, frazzled.
So Joanne, if you’re out there reading this, I need you to know that my dad is not a cross dresser!
That is all.
So I was babysitting this weekend and watched Rugrats at the ass crack of dawn because the rugrat I was babysitting is really into it right now. At first I felt nostalgic and wanted to go to Icecream Mountain (and by “go to Icecream Mountain” I mean drop acid and eat a pint of Ben and Jerry’s). Then I felt psychotic because Stu Pickles’s pants were so flooded that I had to physically leave the room.
So my new “thing” is looking up houses for sale online when I’m supposed to be blogging/doing literally everything else I’m supposed to be doing. I 100% know that I cannot afford to buy a house right now, maybe if I would stop ripping the tags off my Marshall’s clothes before trying them on I will be able to afford something in the two hundred thousand range by 2019 (probably not because I don’t save receipts either), but a girl can dream, right? Anyways, I’ve had a few towns on my list of “Places That I would Settle For That Aren’t Quincy”, and those places are basically everywhere except Randolph, Holbrook, and Brockton. I won’t list my reasoning, because it’s Friday and I’m not in the mood for an inbox full of white trash defending their turf because it’s home to a Piccadilly Pub and one of the Massasoits. Does that make me a snob? No. It makes me a realist who embraces stereotypes of the South Shore and is also in denial of her own city’s flaws. Otherwise known as a “douchebag”.
Anyways, I feel like at some point I will have to prepare myself for the inevitable: leaving Quincy. But it’s going to be hard to figure out where to go, and my standards are very vague other than knowing I won’t commute much further than 5 seconds outside of Boston. Based on my list of every city/town other than Randolph, Holbrook, and Brockton, I’ve realized I need to narrow down my options. I give Weymouth way too much shit to ever attempt driving a Uhaul over the Fore River Bridge. That and I don’t want to live in a town that leaves you to fend for yourself for up to twenty minutes on route 3A because a sail boat is trying to get by. Oh, and imagine checking into a place called “N Dub” on social media? As if I were on 8 Mile Road instead of the predominantly Caucasian suburb that is Weymouth? No thanks. Braintree is cool, it’s home to the mall and in general, I am a mall fan. But it’s about as pricey as Quincy, so why even bother switching to a town that has a school mascot called a Wamp? Milton is also nice, but I’m not really over that time it’s citizens picketed outside that restaurant in East Milton Square to “keep Quincy out of Milton”, in regards to a liquor license. East Milton needs to be put in it’s place and just accept the fact that a place that is in 5 minutes walking distance of Atlas Liquors, a 7-11, and Dairy Freeze might as well just secede from it’s town and become another section of Quincy, gang sign and all.
To conclude, unless I decide that I’d rather throw down the money to live in Hingham and own a boat than have children, it looks like I am just never leaving Quincy. A sobering thought, but I think I’m okay with it. Making adult decisions based off of superficial bullshit that I create in my own mind sure is hard. Mom’s spaghetti!
Buzzfeed recently came out with this list of differences between life in your early 20′s versus life in your late 20′s. I can’t say I disagree with most of it, but I want to add in and call bullshit on a few things since, you know, I’m an old woman now after turning 26 this month. PS: Anyone in their 20′s every notice how angry people in their early 30′s get when you call yourself old? I know I’m not really old, I’m just saying it because I feel like a 16 year old girl trapped in a 26 year old’s body. And because I’m full of shit. But really, early 30′s isn’t old either, only a few years older than me. The only thing separating us besides time is that I watched Mary Kate and Ashley detective videos and they missed out. I don’t know what they get so pissy about…
So here is my comparison of life in my early 20′s versus life in my late 20′s (“late 20′s” used loosely because I’m more mid-20′s )
The morning after drinking
Early 20′s: My life was a joke. My idea of “early” was 10am. If I put myself in an 8am class in college, I’d immediately drop it and brush it off as a brief moment of insanity while applying for classes while intoxicated. Then I would get drunk to celebrate my sudden clarity. I proceeded to do this for 4 years. Maybe 5. Okay, 6.
Late 20′s: My day starts at 6:30am and ends between 7 and 9pm. So excuse me if you think I’m a grandma for only getting moderately shitfaced until no later than 10:30pm on a week night. I just refuse to puke in a bathroom at my place of employment for self -inflicted reasons.
Someone was gossiping about me:
Early 20′s: I cared and cried about it and confronted whoever was doing it and let it go way too easily.
Late 20′s: I still care if it’s someone I thought was a friend, but I have an easier time accepting that they are an asshole. I have also started telling people who partake in this behavior that they should pound sand and never speak to me again. (No lie, I told this chick a few weeks ago to kick rocks). Then I blog about them.
Early 20′s: I didn’t like clubbing because I don’t like sweaty strangers and their boners poking my hip. To make matters worse, I’d lost all my Asian club-drug lord connects back in 2003ish, and Molly hadn’t hit the scene yet. Plus I’m awkward so I preferred to sit or stand in a bar instead of attempting to sway. All solid reasons to oppose clubbing. But I would go anyways and experience extreme agitation while throwing out a lot of nasty looks at guys for poking their sweaty boners in my general direction.
Late 20′s: I still don’t like the boners of sweaty strangers poking my hip, and I’m still awkward, so I prefer to sit or stand in a bar. Only difference is now I’m giving girls in their early 20′s nasty looks for wearing neon crop tops with tassles all over the place and cheap plastic rainbow jewelry. We get it, you’re into club drugs. But if you’re going to take them, go to a club and get away from me while I awkwardly stand at a bar.
Early 20′s: Fast food, Ramen, and taco/nacho/corndog day at Tilly (for all you Bridgewater State Alum), all day, every day, no regrets.
Late 20′s: Put it this way, I ate a small fry from McDonald’s late night last weekend for the first time in about 8 months and I still want to kill myself. I refer to it in my own mind as “that dark time in my life last week”, and when I think about it for too long, I can smell the McDonald’s burning through my nostrils.
Early 20′s: These thoughts would run through my head if I stayed in: “What am I missing?!” “I can’t stay in on a weekend/Tipsy Tuesday/Wasted Wednesday/Thirsty Thursday!”
Late 20′s: These thoughts run through my head when I stay in: “THANK GOD.” “Anyone know any shows I can get into next on Netflix?!” “Taco night at my place, all two of you are invited! Bring Scrabble if you have it and I’ll even let you smoke a cigarette outside my bathroom window!”
Early 20′s: Eh, I was only with you because I was bored. Chump.
Late 20′s: I’m going to be a cat lady who spends her time watching conspiracy theory documentaries on Netflix.
For some reason, this blog is dedicated to Peter Clarke.
I asked some of my Facebook blog followers what I should do tonight to celebrate my 5th anniversary of turning 21. I was not surprised when the first comment, as well as the most liked comment, suggested that I do Oxycontin. Defeated, I decided to make my own list of shit I can do (that is not Oxycontin) in Quincy to make my 26th birthday as unmemorable as my 1st birthday, and just like every other weekend spent in this fine city. Here it is:
1. Pills. You know, I’m not in the mood for a full blown addiction after my 18th birthday. Let’s scratch number 1.
2. Pregame. Perhaps one of Quincy’s (and every other city in America) most beloved ritual, the pregame gets us feeling *nice before venturing out into the depths of the local dive bar scene. Just get a twelve of probably some form of Bud product at Atlas, because for some bizarre reason just one or two beers before going out is never enough, and sit in someone’s mom’s living room until 10:30 at night before calling the cab company that will not be named but described as “the one with the really bitchy operator” to pick you up.
*nice: unnecessarily drunk
3. Bar hop: Ew, way too many Randolph people are inhabiting some of the Quincy Center bars lately. I mean, I don’t know if they are really Randolph people, maybe Stoughton, but same difference, I think. So get one beer at your first bar, then complain about how trashy everyone is and how people are dancing in a non-danceable bar, and then head to the next bar (usually located right next door or directly across the street). Repeat this step until you and your friends are in no state of mind to make general observations anymore and are squinting in S6 wondering why it’s not tinted blue anymore and grown men who don’t even work there are screaming at you to get out (side note: no disrespect to S6, place is my favorite in QC, but I had to express how confused I am when it goes from being tinted blue to normally lit so suddenly).
4. Decline Peggy’s &/or JJ’s: Nothing against these establishments (the last time I gave my opinion about a bar, I was nearly sued. And by nearly sued, I mean psychos with zero sense of professionalism were inboxing me on Facebook about “contactin someone” – I think “someone” meant lawyer, but the spelling was too hard to conquer), but nothing good ever happens after last call in Quincy. Then again, one could even argue that nothing good ever happens before last call in Quincy either…so there’s that. But another factor you might want to consider is if you feel like getting coked out of your brain or not. I pass on putting things up my nose, so I tend to decline a trip to a place where I know nine out of ten people will only be happy to see me for unnatural reasons. In my defense, ten out of ten of those people are people I don’t want to see sober or not. Avoid the hangover and skip the after bar. Besides, if I rush out of the parking lot too fast to go somewhere else I might miss a *Quincy fight.
*Quincy fight: A gang of 2 or more manchildren jumping another manchild for looking at one of them the wrong way 4 months prior while trashed in a crowded bar.
5. Fall asleep with a JBC: Nothing says regret like waking up to Wendy’s in or around your bed. Wait, I guess waking up with a JBC next to you on the floor also says regret.
Sounds like I’m going to have a pretty solid birthday, no? And many more to look forward to. Is it lame to stay in?
Disclaimer: Don’t inbox me accusing me of making Quincy look bad with this blog. I love my hometown and if you can’t laugh about some of it’s weirdness or flaws, then you are probably someone who listens to Dane Cook during long roadtrips to lame places.
The thing I love about Facebook is that it allows us to express ourselves in ways that are stupid, useless, pointless, and irrelevant in every day life. And it’s always coming up with new ways for us to do this. Today I logged into Facebook and saw that there was a little emoticon thumbnail added to the status update box. At first I thought it was just one of those “Molly is feeling happy” mood type of things. But then I realized that it is much more detailed than that. This new feature on Facebook allows us to let our Facebook friends know when we are listening to Wu-tang, drinking juice, or reading Memoirs of a Geisha. That’s right, Facebook has done us a solid (again!) and chosen default verbs for us to click on whenever we need to let people know what we are doing. Like eating a banana (exciting news for perverts!).
I think this feature will prove beneficial specifically for teenagers who are friends with their English teachers on Facebook. When that teen shares that he/she is busy reading Of Mice And Men, teachers will KNOW (for a FACT!) that this kid has his/her shit together and does the assigned reading. Because everything you read on the internet is true, right?! Good thing there is no default verb for “drinking watered down Cossack in the woods behind the elementary school” though. That could get ugly. The only problem I see with this is the situation in which you are reading Hatchet while drinking cider. Facebook doesn’t allow you to select both, so I guess we will be forced to make a decision. Which is more important? A young adult novel by Gary Paulsen, or a delicious apple flavored drink? Hopefully they will come up with an update with that kink worked out stat! I really don’t like to prioritize trivial things or make minor decisions.
Facebook features ain’t nothin’ to fuck with.
Sometimes in life there are mistakes we make all the time, and we never learn. Take me for example. About 3 times a month I get in a good (enough) mood heading to work in the morning and decide that I don’t want to look like the face of death anymore. I then take some eye make up out of my bag during a red light and attempt to apply eyeliner. I find myself coming within 1mm of stabbing my eyeball out when the light turns green 100% of the time. Just another lesson that is never learned.
In case you give a shit, here’s my bucket list so I don’t regret living:
1. Do drugs at Coachella. I don’t normally do drugs. And I don’t normally go to Coachella. But recently in an interview Justin Timberlake said he did drugs at Coachella once, and if Justin Timberlake says he did drugs at Coachella, that means I need to do drugs at Coachella before I die. Also, the journey to Coachella must be taken in a Volkswagen van with a broken air conditioner for full effect.
2. Save someone from jumping off the Neponset River Bridge. Look, I know rush hour is brutal. I know that the Neponset River Bridge is brutal even when it’s not rush hour. Therefore, if there are any lost souls who look like they are about to exit their vehicle and take the plunge, I’ll be there to to talk them out of it via a gift card to Cathay Pacific. I mean, it’s in walking distance and when on the North Quincy/Neponset border contemplating ending it all, you may as well stop in for a pupu platter and reconsider.
3. Give Rider Strong a slow clap during a live studio taping. Is there anything more awkward than a slow clap from a studio audience? Yes, the answer is that there is something more awkward than a slow clap from a studio audience. And that awkward thing is Rider Strong’s acting at the end of Boy Meets World. Slow clap city.
4. Be a featured bartender on my own website. One of my dreams has been to be a career bartender. Perhaps a lifer at a local dive. And I’m not kidding. I think pouring drinks for drunk people would be so rewarding when it’s not annoying as shit. The only problem is that no one hires people who have never been bartenders unless you “know someone”. People want “experience”. Pfshhh! Sick of this “know someone” and “experience” shit. I could just nominate myself, but then people would accuse me of rigging the votes. Total bullshit.
5. Tell Isaac Hanson that he used to be my least favorite Hanson brother, but now he’s tied with Taylor Hanson. Been there done that, bitches! Waited behind South Shore Music Circus for over an hour in like 90 degree weather, sweating, just to tell Isaac Hanson how I really feel. You jel? Don’t be. Seriously.
6. Live tweet my wedding vows. Guess I’ll just have to wait until November for this one. #Sigh #IsThatConsideredRude? #Ido #Motherfuckers
7. Notarize divorce papers. Well, that was an awkward two minutes of my life. Sealing the demise of an institution. Destroying the “til death do us part” line. Sorry, bro.
8. Open up a restaurant that sells pulled pork sandwiches and beer only. Just pulled pork and beer. Nothing else. Everyone loves pulled pork sandwiches. And everyone loves beer. Win-win situation right there, no?
9. Blog my way through a panic attack. Ever have a feeling of absolute dread wash over you, like you are about to die or something really bad is about to happen? Me too, like 3 times a day. And know what didn’t help me get through it once? Live blogging the entire attack. Seriously, nothing shows you how much of a total cuckoo head you are until you reread your panic attack blog a month after writing it. Total psycho. But at least this psycho brought awareness to mental health issues in America. What have YOU done to raise awareness?!
10. Create a meme that goes viral. I’ve tried this before and no one wants to share shit. I haven’t found my niche yet. So lately I’ve been taking a lot of candid pictures, seeking the perfect awkwardly timed photo that expresses a theme. On Easter I got a pretty good one of my hipster brother looking like the new face of the First World Problems meme, but that one is old news. I need something fresh and original. It will come.
11-100. TBA. Feel free to hit me with important things to do.