Code Word: SITUATION

We can all agree that “situation” is a terrible code word. It is the actual word for the thing, and in no way represents any sort of concealment of meaning. Alas, it WAS the code word, so, while volunteer bartending the other night with a girlfriend of mine at a charter school fundraiser, we were instructed on multiple occasions that if something happened (like someone was way too drunk and inappropriate) find someone with a walkie talkie and say we have a SITUATION. Um okay. Errrr, totally no one will know what we are talking about. The problem will be squashed without anyone knowing that there was a disturbance in the Force.

But this got me thinking. Why had they mentioned it SO many times? It came up in training, then it came up the day of the event. But then I was working the party. It is open bar and let me tell you, we ran out of white wine within the first 90 minutes. This is a white wine drinking crowd. To be fair, there was only white wine, red wine, a signature pre-batched cocktail, and an assortment of local beers to choose from. So, it isn’t like any of those uptown bitches could order a Titos and soda.

Anywho, the party was fun. I saw friends there, and we all get drunk. (Spoiler Alert: There was never a “situation.”) We went out and drink more. YAYYYYY drinking. This was Thursday so Friday sucked hard. Real hard. I actually managed to sort of pull the same outfit I wore the night before into a sort of work appropriate ensemble and headed (a bit late) to the office. FML.

I had abandoned my bike at the school, which was just 2 miles from my house. This was a good idea because a) I was drunk and b) schools are safe places to legally lock up bicycles.

Which lead to this: IMG_0696

Yeah, that is my hungover ass chowing down on a scooped bagel with my favorite peanut butter. Gotta get through work, right?

Did I mention Friday was rough sauce? I was feeling superbly down but instead of having a self-pity party, I Googled the “saddest movies” and ended up spending $3.99 to rent P.S. I Love You. TEARS. Oh the tears for Hilary Swank and Gerard Butler. And then slept.

Saturday, I was filming a commercial with some girlfriends of mine. It was fun! We got our makeup done and put on costumes. But then the day dragged. And dragged. And the mimosas were being felt but no food. So we went out to eat (Finally!) after we were done shooting – 7 hours later… SITIUATION!!! (oh shit, that was Thursday. There is no walkie talkie person AND the situation is me. Whooops.)

Sad face. Attempting to get home, I found more misadventures. Perhaps a later share…it is not exactly my story to tell anyway…But I made it home. Wohoo! With most of my belongings (Double Woohoo!) And then, after some SERIOUS (and I mean serious) cuddle time with a new favorite, I got my shit together to walk to the corner store for this:

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OH yes. Honey Nut Cheerios to save your soul. I ate the whole box in two days (why I don’t buy cereal or gummy vitamins -but that is another post for another day)

Did I mention I turn 31 in a week? Because I do. I got off at Trainwreck City for the weekend but have no fear. I got it together, eventually.

On Tuesday the next week I finally picked up my bike. I went to running club on Wednesday and have been adulting SO hard you would be impressed. (I am!)

31 should be fun. I’m working on ousting some shitttay people from my life and looking for new adventures with some fresh faces that aren’t so darn dramatic. Wish me luck.

Also, happy bathing suit season. I’m officially cut off from dairy and sugary carbs until my birthday.

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Apparently I’m a Cunt

When Sometimes Boyfriend’s new ogre of a girlfriend decided to scream in front of the whole street like a drunken fool, “Why are you such a cunt!?” and smash a drink over my costume it reminded me of a bully one time on the school bus. Happy Mardi Gras! (My outfit is wet, shall I explain to the world why you used a female vagina as an insult?!)

Back to bulling. Man, that time on the bus was rough. It was the day I learned that a) I’m not symmetrical and b) what a queef is. This was a rough day (that day and today) Boys are the worst.

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My wig never recovered…

Back to bullying – on the school bus! In the 90s when that was a thing.. So, after the whole bullying escapade we all get called to the principal’s office and I had to (Miriam Webster) explain what a QUEEF was. SO, said. “It is a fart from the vagina”, ma’am. (that last bit is debatable…)

I love words. Today I learned how to be classy. Thanks for making me proud to be a cunt.

Also, I have not been in (lost, I promise) a fight since I was twenty, so… I will not be provoked even though in my mind I played out all the winning hair pulling massacre that one dreams of when girls are being mean.