Because Molly Said So

Landlines, Hoodsies, and Bitches.

Molly — Tue, 18 Jun 2013 01:49:55 +0000

I bet the title of this blog lured you in. Well, be prepared to be disappointed because I’m not going to talk about Hoodsies or bitches. Just landlines. Hoodsies and bitches just remind me of the glory days of landlines. Back when our phone numbers started with 479, 472, 471, 328, 770, or 773. Back when life was easy and people ate ice cream in cups with wooden stick things because we didn’t give a fuck about splinters on our tongues. Hmm, guess I am talking about Hoodsies. What of it?!

Anyways, Ryan and I went to Best Buy tonight after finding out we have landline capabilities on our internet/cable package. Why not? Plus I’ve always wanted to have an answering machine that states “You have reached the landline voicemail of Molly, Ryan, Boba Fett, and Baby Mama. We aren’t available to answer your call right now because Boba Fett and Baby Mama are parakeets and Molly and Ryan are humans and humans don’t give a fuck about their landlines. Leave a message and we probably won’t listen to it until we are drunk and remember we have a landline sometime in 2015.”

So we get to Best Buy and ask where the landlines are located. We are told they are located in the way back corner of the store where all other relevant technology is located. Right next to Zack Morris’s cell phone, probably.

We pick out the landline of our dreams: a ZTech with answering machine capabilities…cordless (duh!). Originally I picked out a white device for 20 bucks because fuck spending any money on a landline, but Ryan pressed for a more masculine and futuristic model in a slate gray color with black trim and lime green back light for an extra 15 bucks. Nice! as we walked away from the landline section, we started to feel kind of old in our 26 & 27 years. So old that we immediately decided we needed to cancel out our time travel to 1994 with the purchase of a brand new MacBook Pro. Some would say that we are big timers, I would call it frivolous and/or irresponsible, but at least Michael Cera’s doppelgänger who rang us up got some commission.

I have to say the landline experience has been daunting so far. We learned our phone number began not with a 471, 472, 479, 328, 770, 0r 773…but much worse: a 405. What does that even mean? I don’t want to know. After that first devastating blow we learned that our connection wasn’t even set up. Comcast had lied to us…and this wasn’t the first time. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on you again. Fool me 8,765 times and I’m throwing the modem out the motherfucking window. Just kidding, that would be an overreaction. Instead I will crack a beer on a work night and blog about it.

All this talk of landlines got me to thinking about the 90′s when things weren’t so complicated, and modem was just a word that mean “more them” in ebonics. Mo’ dem’. Remember when you didn’t have a cell phone to text your friends to go out to play? You just called them up, their mom answered, to which you shyly asked “Is so and so home?” and they hollered “SO AND SO!!!! PICK UP THE GODDAMN PHONE AND MAKE IT QUICK! I’M TRYING TO GET ON THE NET!”. Once on the phone you’d say “Wanna go out and play?”. Then you’d make shitty plans to meet at a trash can somewhere halfway between your houses and ride your shitty bikes around until dinner time. If your friend lived closed enough for you to not care about walking home you could just fuck the phone call and yell to mom “HEY MAAAAH! I’M GOING TO CALL FOR SO AND SO!” and let the screen door hit you on the way out.

Nowadays you can’t even get a solid 479 number. I can’t complain too much. For I will be devastated the day that I am no longer a 617 area code. At least I still have my 617.

Namaste.

Trashy Status of the Day (6/11/13)

Molly — Tue, 11 Jun 2013 16:47:27 +0000

This is what happens with the gifts you give your friends at baby showers.

Weirdos in the Neighborhood

Molly — Tue, 11 Jun 2013 16:31:23 +0000

I think everyone must have had that complete weirdo in their neighborhood growing up, right? I lived in the Wollaston flatlands for the majority of my childhood, and sometimes when I see my friends from the neighborhood and we get to talking about some of the characters that lived on our block, we start getting a little freaked out. When you’re a child you don’t always see the warning signs of a weirdo. But years later, you do a double take. Like, a friend of mine who lived two houses down from me recently goes “Hey, do you remember that 50 year old guy with the mustache who lived behind you who would climb the fence into your backyard to play games with us? And your mom would always call us into the house when she saw us with him? Wasn’t that a little weird?”. Like, back in 1993 we probably just viewed this guy as Raffi’s doppelganger. But now that we are a little older, we feel a little more wary.

Anyways, the street I grew up on was a side street off the beach that had a little private way across from my house. For the most part, the neighbors who lived on the private way were nice and friendly. One of them even wrote me an epic card after I got engaged. But at the end of the private way, there was a bungalow filled with broken dreams and horror. At least that’s what me and my friends thought when we were 9 years old. It could have been that the house was kind of run down and looked like a hoarder lived inside. But mostly it was because the owner of the house had a backyard filled with broken toys from the 70′s strewn all over the yard. It was like a real life Sid’s room from Toy Story. A toy graveyard. Scary shit.

Fuckin’ baby dolls with missing eyeballs on the front porch. Clowns, maybe, I forget. Just a house of horror. The most memorable and disturbing image was the Kermit doll hanging from a tree by rusted chains. It’s not easy being green, but what kind of sick bastard hangs Kermit from a tree? I had watched enough Muppet Babies to know that Kermit was the heart and soul of Jim Hansen, so seeing him hanged in the backyard 100 yards from where I slept at night just didn’t sit well with me. So my friends and I planned Operation Free Kermit, in which we used stealth maneuvering to sneak into the yard, and free Kermit with a pocket knife I had stolen from my dad’s bureau. Mission accomplished. We then decided that we needed to free any other imprisoned toys, so we broke into the guy’s house via the unlocked basement door. Upon entering the residence, we got freaked the fuck out and ran out the door and back to the safety of my driveway to have Freeze Pops and reflect on our recent B&E.

I tell this story because even though I never felt traumatized, I found myself in Tedeschi’s a couple weeks ago purchasing a sugar free Red Bull. While I was waiting in line, something green caught my eye. It was a Kermit. I had this indescribable urge to purchase this innocent green muppet and bring him home. So I did. And Ryan was like “What the fuck? Why?”. But can I really put into words what I had seen back in 1996? You know what though? Maybe we misjudged the homeowner of the Muppet Baby graveyard. Maybe he was just a lonely hoarder who needed a friend. Or maybe he was really just a misunderstood James Earl Jones, like Mr. Myrtle. God, childhood could be so confusing.

Unneccessarily Long Life Update That You Don’t Care About.

Molly — Thu, 06 Jun 2013 14:46:27 +0000

I got a few messages asking why I haven’t been blogging. Welp, I don’t have any new blogs because I have been busy with life. So just let me live, would ya?! Anyways, I guess I will give you an unnecessarily long update on my life that you probably don’t even care about. Here goes…

#CatholicGirlProblems: One thing my parents have requested for my wedding is that the ceremony be in the Catholic church. Full mass. Sorry in advance to all of my guests, but it’s a small price to pay considering all the help I’ve received from my parents for this wedding, and in life. I also can’t imagine not getting married in the Catholic church. Church is where I envisioned myself walking down the aisle when I was a child, and I would feel shortchanged if I didn’t. For those of you who have been married in the church, you know that you have to go to these pre-wedding marriage classes called Pre Cana. I’ve heard from tons of people that you can bang these classes out in one Saturday and be done with it. Not me and Ryan! We are in this class that meets 4 times for like 4-5 hours per session in a town that is over an hour away from Quincy because we always hit traffic. Brutal. I mean, we aren’t a perfect couple by any means, but we don’t need to listen to some guy who vaguely resembles Matt Foley, motivational speaker, preach for 4 hours at a time about TLC (no, I don’t mean T-Boz, Left Eye, and Chilli. I mean talking, listening, and checking: the proper way to argue with your spouse!).

Next week’s topic is Natural Family Planning, which I think is the Matt Foley doppelganger’s way of telling the class that Jesus wants us to not pull out when we are fertile because our purpose is to be fruitful. We always just planned on being selfish together, maybe getting a boat and another parakeet, but I guess we’ll see what happens.

So Pre Cana is going great. It’s not as awkward as this “anonymous” entry survey we had to fill out the first day:By “anonymous” I mean you are assigned a number the first day and you are told to put that number on top of the survey. so…yeah. Anonymous. Anyways, I won’t knock it. I’m Catholic and you gotta do what you gotta do. Sacramental stuff, you know?

#LizAndLorraine: Oh and I told you guys about this already. Time and effort. (Today and tomorrow: 30% off sale with coupon code TAKE30 at checkout!)

#NewJob: So on top of Liz & Lorraine and Pre Cana, I’ve also been busy mentally preparing myself for a new job I’ve been offered. I don’t like to blog about anything related to work because you never know what kind of shit you can get yourself into when you blog about your job. But I think if I keep it vague, I will make an exception this time. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m a total psycho and leaving a job to me is a really big deal. It’s especially stressful when you leave a job that you like. The last time I left a job, it was a job that I worked at for 4 years and genuinely liked. I was in a small office and friends with all of my coworkers and liked what I was doing every day.

When I started my the job I have been at for 3 years (but am leaving), I had a little bit of culture shock because it was at a big university in Boston with a million different kinds of people. I told myself I wouldn’t go through that awkward getting to know you phase when it came to making friends. I would just be myself and everything would work out. But that first year it didn’t work out. I didn’t make friends easily (I think people from Quincy have a different sense of humor than people from other places, but that’s just a theory). I even had my first taste of that whole “not everyone is going to like you” thing. There was one person in particular who seemed to literally loathe me and I didn’t understand it and I still don’t, but it made me a lot more reserved and unsure for the first year. I lost a little bit of confidence (and gained it back eventually!). But I guess that’s just a learning experience, right? Because things got a lot better when I got promoted at the university and started the job I’ve been at for the last 2 years. I started forming solid friendships here and getting to know people that come from totally different backgrounds and all that corny melting pot crap. I also had the privilege of working with tons of really awesome students from all over the country (and sometimes the world). Most of the students are around my age and I got to watch them graduate with degrees that are much higher than my Bachelor’s degree, and it has been pretty inspiring. So inspiring that I knew I had to kind of get out and do something else eventually. Love my job, but I was hearing this little voice in my head telling me it was my time to exit. I got experience, learned a lot, and grew as a person, and that’s what the point is, right? To continuously grow and learn and evolve as a human? I have a feeling that’s what Maya Angelou or Oprah would fucking say.

So I am leaving the job I like for something else that was offered to me by someone I kept in touch with from my old job. I am going back to the company I originally was at for a position that is higher than my previous position was 3 years ago when I left. At the time I left this company, I felt like I knew the job that is now being offered to me, but I didn’t feel I was ready for it, so I left to do something else for a few years. I learned, grew, and now I find myself being offered the opportunity I didn’t feel prepared for 3 years ago. And now I feel ready for it. Sometimes you need to step away from something to get some insight I guess because I’m more excited for this new position than I am nervous. It’s also kind of weird how you don’t realize you grow up a little bit, and then one day you are excited that you can sleep late when sleeping late now means sleeping until 8am.

But I’m not that grown up I guess because me and my fiance are the only assholes laughing during prayer at Pre Cana because we think the speaker looks like Chris Farley while all the uber-Christians chant in a monotone voice in a circle while holding hands. Still not sure why they have to be so culty about it, but to each their own I guess.

Namaste.

Negativity is SO Negative.

Molly — Thu, 30 May 2013 20:29:04 +0000

I have to go on a little rant here this afternoon, probably because I’m bitter that it’s 90 degrees and I’m spending my day unwillingly indoors, but let’s vow to not talk about that now or ever again. What I want to rant about is negativity (is it an oxymoron to complain about negativity? Probably, but fuck you). So, the worst and most awful thing ever is negativity. Sure it’s soothing to bitch til kingdom come when you’re not pissed off about something. It’s cathartic. But I’m not talking about that kind of negativity. I’m talking about those people in your life that are ALWAYS negative. Like, to the point that you don’t want to answer their calls or be around them because their negativity makes you depressed to the point that you put towels over all your windows and watch reruns of 1980′s sitcoms for 72 hours without showering. Like, I’m talking getting drunk and watching a marathon of Judith Light all by yourself in the middle of the day while you binge on some kind of a cheesy product like 15 boxes of Bagel Bites or something. Just the worst form of depression one could ever imagine. That’s how chronic negative people can make you feel.

The most frustrating part about these people are that no matter what kind of uplifting words of encouragement you have for them, they just end up finding a way to shoot you down. They will literally sit there and try to find ways to make their situation seem unavoidable and lacking any kind of a bright side. Example:

You’re like: “Sorry your life sucks right now because _______________ (fill in the blank), but at least you still have your cat that loves you!”

and the negative person is all: “Actually, my cat hates me because I’m a disappointment in general and can only afford generic brand cat food AND I stepped in dog poo on my way home from work, so my life sucks in more than one way.”

You just can never win with a negative person! Now, I’ve said it before and I will say it another million times: I am a psycho, and how other people in my life feel can really rub off on me. If someone around me is in a bad mood, it can really effect my mood, too. I just like to surround myself with positivity. If someone wants to hangout and when they meet up they sit there and sulk, it makes me really wonder what the point is of being out. It’s cool to go out with friends when you’re feeling down, it can cheer you up. But to sit there scowling the entire night is another story. Put a smile on because it sends signals to your brain that you’re happy. You can literally trick yourself into thinking you are happy. You need to TRY to be happy. You have a choice. If you don’t try, and you say things like “You know how my life goes, nothing good ever happens to me, that’s the hand I’ve been dealt” then guess what?! NOTHING GOOD WILL EVER HAPPEN TO YOU, YA SAD SAP! AND NO ONE WILL WANT TO BE AROUND YOU BECAUSE YOU FIND WAYS TO MAKE YOUR LIFE SEEM MORE MISERABLE THAN IT EVEN IS! NEGATIVITY TENDS TO GRAVITATE TOWARDS NEGATIVE PEOPLE BECAUSE MISERY LOVES COMPANY. SO FUCK OFF WITH YOUR NEGATIVITY AND LET THE POSITIVE PEOPLE LIVE! AND IF YOU CAN’T BE POSITIVE THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD STAY INDOORS AND WATCH WHO’S THE BOSS FOREVER!

That is all. Namaste.

Fuckin’ Weather.

Molly — Thu, 30 May 2013 13:32:02 +0000

Weather certainly brings out the annoying on Facebook, doesn’t it? You’d think that everyone would be accustomed to New England’s bipolar temperatures and storms by now, but nope. Instead it’s hot and we get:

Mobile uploads of car thermometers. Because we needed a mobile weatherman to tell us that it’s hot. Because we don’t feel.

OR we get a clever picture shared from a website like Buzzfeed of someone baking cookies on their dashboard. Good one. Try not to get salmonella.

And when we hear thunder looming in the distance our newsfeeds blow up with:

“Wish my thunder buddy was here!” SO topical! Well I have news for you: your thunder buddy left you for someone who doesn’t quote Seth McFarlane after the age of 15.

And when it snows we get to see this meme 73 times in an hour:

And if we are really lucky, we get to see that meme in different variations:

And perhaps the most annoying thing that people do on social media regarding the weather, is complain about people complaining/talking about the weather. On that note, better end this blog now.

It Wouldn’t Be Summer Without A Mirror Pic Of An Awkward Sunburn Taken in Stadium’s Bathroom!

Molly — Wed, 29 May 2013 15:34:38 +0000

I know it’s not officially Summer yet, but it kind of feels like it’s here when you post a picture you took of yourself in the bathroom of Stadium of your awkward sunburn onto your blog for the whole city to see! Right?!

My entire face was exposed, why is my forehead the only part of my head to get scorched? Cue 50 people per day telling me that I have a sunburn (because I didn’t notice) and that I should wear more sunblock to prevent skin cancer (because I don’t know that). I mean, isn’t the worst part of a sunburn not even the sunburn itself, but the idiots telling you that you have a sunburn?! Second worst would be taking a shower with a sunburn, and third being sleeping with a sunburn. It’s hard being so Causasian.

I’m Getting Sick of Jenna Hamilton’s Shit

Molly — Wed, 29 May 2013 14:44:16 +0000

If you’re a loser 26 year old who watches then live tweets while drunk off wine corny MTV shows geared for 16 year old girls, then we are very similar. I guess….I mean, doing that IS what defines us, no? Because I watch the show Awkward, and I’m pretty into it. But I’m getting sick of Jenna Hamilton’s shit. She’s the “awkward” protagonist who doesn’t really look like a teenager, nor act like one. She over-analyzes stupid shit and never makes poor life decisions, like most teenagers do, with the exception of the occasional wet blanket who was afraid to water down their parent’s liquor cabinet. I feel like the show would be a little more believable if Jenna took Molly during finals or something, but I guess that’s because I grew up in a city where teenagers eat club drugs for breakfast or just to go out and sit in a booth at local dive bars.

But anyways, I digress. The entire show has been based around Jenna chasing after Matty McKibben, otherwise known as this dime piece:

After realizing that Matty is slow to commit, she moves on to his best friend Jake who is kind of a pussy but also kind of sensitive and girls like sensitive. This doesn’t last because Matty is still the object of her desires, so she dumps Jake and gets with Matty, finally DTF’ing (defining the relationship). So this third season is Jenna and Matty, together, finally. Matty dotes on her and is still fly as hell, and just a good guy all around. We know from previews from this season (and from last night’s episode closing) that Jenna is going to develop a crush on this kid Colin, who is in her English class and all “deep” and stuff. Well, I just want to come right out and say FUCK THAT. Jenna has already almost come between a friendship, and now she is finally with Matty and is suddenly setting her sights on this emo douchebag who already has a girlfriend! You know what Jenna is?! She is spoiled!!! She has gotten every hot guy in the school to sweat her and still wants more because she isn’t “creatively challenged” enough by her current counterpart. I mean, what does she want to do? Psychoanalyze Edgar Allan Poe while she gets 16 and pregnant on the weekends with this guy Colin?! Makes me so mad that she can’t just make a fucking decision and be happy with it without falling for the next male specimen that compliments her metaphors in an English paper about losing her virginity at Summer camp. It’s just not right.

Anyways, thank God this is just a show and not real people, right? Ha…

Awkward.

Ac-count-a-bil-i-ty!

Molly — Fri, 24 May 2013 13:35:12 +0000

Accountability: acknowledging and being responsible for one’s own actions. For the most part, we are where we are because of our own decisions. We made a decision. We acted on it. There was an outcome. We are here. This idea is something that my own generation struggles with after years of entitlement and coddling. It’s the fucking Twilight Zone, man.

Broke? In a perfect world we realize we should have done an internship/gone to college/worked harder. In reality we blame it on the economy and the government and affirmative action.

Overweight? In a perfect world we realize we shouldn’t have eaten Pizza Connection ten times in a week. In reality we blame our weight on pain from breaking our leg in 1992.

Unhappy? In a perfect world we realize we should be proactive to give ourselves the best lives we can to achieve being content because happiness isn’t a place, it’s a choice. In reality we blame our parents for not getting us the Barbie convertible or kissing us good night enough in the 80′s.

Butthurt? In a perfect world we realize our feelings are hurt because there is some truth to something we don’t want to be true. In reality we ignore scientific/medical/known statistical FACT and twist the truth so far until it fits our lifestyle and gives us an excuse and reason to get angry when someone speaks the truth.

Alone? In a perfect world we search from within ourselves to find a common denominator, a common trait, or a reason we are pushing people away from us because it’s not normal that no one wants to be around us. In reality we blame it on the personality defect that every person we have ever come across on this earth displays. It’s not us, it’s them.

Everyone in this world has some kind of a predisposition that serves as an obstacle for us to overcome in order to achieve a certain goal. It’s how we first accept and then react to these predispositions that builds our character. Bitching and moaning turns us into a group of self-entitled monsters. No one is perfect, but when we acknowledge our flaws, we evolve. Let’s get our shit together. Accountability: learn it, love it and maybe you’ll finally earn that trophy you’ve been damning your frenemy to hell for achieving before you. Wherever you go, there you fucking are. Ya feel me?!

Namaste.

Proper Memorializing

Molly — Thu, 23 May 2013 13:52:27 +0000

There isn’t a weekend in the entire year that says Summer quite like Memorial Day weekend. It’s basically the official kick off of good weather and great times. But this weekend, while we are having a good ole American time, let’s remember that Memorial Day is really about paying our respects to fallen men and women in the United States Armed Forces. My father used to take me over to Cedar Grove Cemetery ever Memorial Day to pay respects to my late veteran grandfather. It’s important to remember how we are able to enjoy a weekend in our country quite as free as ours. People have fought and still fight for that very right. Never forget it!

So, pay your respects… then it’s time to really start memorializing. By “memorializing”, I mean binge drinking after 12pm donned in Ray Bans, boat shoes, and nautical colors. If you have a boat, perfect. Just blast some Springsteen and make sure it’s not a sausage fest cruise. If you’re poor, find someone with a pool (preferably inground) and a grill that’s not shitty. Bring the Bubba Burgers so you don’t come off as a cheap ass, cart around a cooler with wheels for easy pulling, and crack a cold one 17 times. Repeat this process every weekend until Labor Day and you’re good!

UPDATE: It’s going to rain this entire Memorial Day weekend. Maybe let this sink a little bit, perhaps cry in the bathroom at work for ten minutes. Look at yourself while you cry to make yourself feel extra bad for yourself. Then get your shit together and consider a trip to Foxwoods. I mean, does it get any more American than Native Americans and casinos? My country tis of thee, indeed.

Namaste.