Hey You Guys.

Hey strangers (winky face),

Can I complain for a second about how much I hate automatic flushing toilets? Jk I don't need your permission. I hate automatic flushing toilets. I have since I was a little girl. I specifically remember going on road trips with my family, stopping at rest stops in Ohio, and refusing to go pee. Because of automatic flushers. 

My mom would try to brace me by telling me when they were automatic, but I think it'd end up scaring me so much that I literally could not go. I mean, how the hell do they know when I'm done? I'LL tell YOU when I'm finished, alright? Don't just assume. I control you. And half the time I end up walking in on a toilet who clearly did not do its job. So they're pretty much entirely pointless.

I think I was terrified that they'd suck me in. I mean that's pretty much a kid's worst nightmare, right? Screw monsters and running out of Cheetos. Toilets. And they genuinely surprised me every time without fail. The loud noise scared me. And scarred me. Plus how gross is it for a rest stop bathroom toilet to splash toilet water all over your butt when you're least expecting it? I'll tell you how gross. Super gross.

As someone very dear to me so eloquently described, "They're like the interrupting cow joke come to life, but in your most private moment." Well said, love. 

Now, automatic soap dispensers/paper towels/faucets make more sense, even though they're extremely flawed as well. I'm too lazy to complain about those right now, and I won't lie and say I'll do it later. Cause I won't. 

K gotta go bye.

She's Just Being Miley

So I don't normally talk about anything besides myself on here (cause, I mean, what's more important and extremely interesting than me?), but this seemed like a good idea at the time (key words: at the time.).

Raise your hand if you were outraged by Miley's VMA performance. I think I threw up in my mouth a little when I first watched it. And so did Will Smith. Is anyone else confused as to what "twerking" is? Cause I'm not getting the picture from Miley. Cause she can't dance. And weighs like 100lbs. Another thing: how does one lean like a cholo?

In case you haven't seen it yet, this is what I'm referring to. I recommend you watch the two side-by-side, or else you'll just watch me making faces like someone just farted. For four minutes straight. And it's kinda boring, I won't lie to you.

Woooo happy Labor Day weekend go do fun things.

It Started With A Whisper

Hey folks,

I recently experienced the dumbest 24 hours of my life, and now you're going to relive them with me. Let me please remind you that I did, indeed, graduate magna cum laude with two degrees and high honors from a highly regarded liberal arts university. K let's go.

It all began on a Wednesday. I was leaving for vacation in two days, and I realized that I still hadn't paid my credit card bill. Which would be due when I was gone. So I grown-uped up and wrote the check, put a stamp on the envelope, and left it on the table so I could mail it the next day (to all of you scoffing at me for not paying my bills online: fuck you, I do what I want). Then I continued running around like a hamster trying to get my shit together for vacation. However, the next day, I of course forgot to mail the check. How could I forget when the envelope was sitting out on the table just staring at me, begging to be mailed!

OH I KNOW HOW. Cause I recycled it. By accident. I had a bunch of other junk mail in my hand, and I accidentally included my credit card bill when I made my deposit at the recycling bin. This is what I get for being kind to the environment. Apparently too kind, since I threw a couple hundred dollar check at it. You're welcome, Mother Nature. But don't worry you guys, I took care of it. I cancelled the check and called the credit union the next morning before I left for vacation. That same morning, I also misplaced my sunglasses in the dishwasher. What, you've never done that?

I know what you're thinking: whatever Jamie, so you recycled a check and put your sunglasses in the dishwasher. Big deal. Well here's the worst of it: as I was planning what time to get to the airport for my 11am flight that Friday, I somehow forgot that little detail where you're supposed to get to the airport an hour before your flight. Which I am very well aware of. Apparently my brain had some really bad gas that day, cause I looked at my watch as I was on the train, and it said 10:10am. I was still a good 45 minutes away from the airport, and my flight was leaving at 11. Shit. SHITSHITSHIT.

I had a few minutes of complete and silent panic, got off the train, caught a cab (which I shared with a very nice man from Texas, who paid for the whole ride), and got to the airport at 10:30. Gates close at 10:45. No lines at security (phew), but of course in my frenzy I forgot to empty my water bottle. I had to go back, dump it, and then go through security. Again. They probs thought I was some super good looking terrorist or something.

10:40, through security, I double-check my gate on the monitor, and what do I see? My flight is delayed two hours. And I could not have been happier.

I posted up at the gate from the twilight zone and read while observing the weirdest people/things ever. Just a sample: an entire boyscout troop (probably taking a break from filming Moonrise Kingdom), a Jewish woman complaining loudly on the phone about our flight being delayed (and talking about Miami), a woman with lime green hair (I'm assuming it was her natural color), a man meditating with some weird object balanced on his head, and a little white dog running through our gate with no apparent owner. The dog also pooped. In, like, three different spots.

So that's it I'm dumb.

Cooking Disasters: Brought to You By Jamie

Hullo.

I guess it's been just about a month since I've last posted (act as if you actually noticed), but you know, summer and life happened.

As I was munching on tortilla chips and cheddar cheese at 10:30am, I realized that not only do I need to go grocery shopping, but also that I've made some interesting cooking faux pas in my time here. But first I'd like to pat myself on the back for spelling "faux pas" correctly on my first attempt. Fucking French.

I'll start off with the worst of them all: that one time I accidentally added baking powder instead of corn starch to partially made turkey chili. My roommate and I were cooking Sunday dinner, and I was (wo)manning the pot. I grabbed a bunch of the ingredients we'd need from our poorly organized spice cabinet and set them out on the counter. Blah blah cooking stuff happened, and I added what I thought was corn starch to the ground turkey. Then it started to bubble. And I was like, hey. I don't think that happened last time. Why is there a large blob forming in this pot right now. OH I KNOW WHY cause I can't read and added baking powder. To our delicious turkey chili.

Now, not like I need to emphasize this, but Lauren and I are super bad ass and neither of us like to waste things. Especially things of the food variety. So we looked at each other and were like ok. Let's save this meat. We promptly got out a colander, poured in the Hiroshima turkey, and rinsed it off with water. I promise I'm not making this up. And you know what? It turned out delicious, no one died, and we saved a few bucks by not disposing of my cooking disaster. End.

I've also set off the smoke alarm because there was a bunch of spilled shit in one of our burners and it started smoking. I of course frantically ran around trying to figure out where the hell our smoke detector was, located it, and began jumping up and down waving a paper towel at it to clear the smoke. And it totally worked.

To add to that list, I once spilled about a quarter cup of vegetable oil in my preheated oven (that was a lovely smell), cut my finger three times while chopping things (and once on the blender), acquired several mild burns, dropped an entire brick of cheese on a not-so-clean kitchen floor (totally rinsed it off and used it), and nearly stabbed myself in the stomach while trying to cut a spaghetti squash in half. There are plenty more, but I don't want to strain myself too much trying to remember them all.

To top things off, here's a list of (edible) stuff in my fridge right now:

• 2 eggs
• 9 slices of American cheese
• about 1/2 inch of a brick of cheddar
• leftover pasta
• feta cheese
• ground turkey
• super old pickles

I shit you not.

So yeah, I think the last time I went to the store was 3-4 weeks ago. I guess I'll be living off cheese for another day or two. I'm gonna go HAM at Market Basket on Tuesday.

Is it too late to try to convince you that I'm a good cook? Cause I promise I am.

This Post Sucks.

You know what sucks? Besides lady bugs? I can't say "pop" out here. People giggle at me. And then I of course turn red cause I blush easier than... something/someone that blushes really easily. I actively have to pause and censor myself whenever I talk about SOOOODA. Soda. To be truthful, I didn't really realize that people have other words for it. Am I right, Chicago friends?

Have you guys seen this map? It's pretty damn entertaining. I was loling at it at work for an embarrassingly long time. It was 5:00 and I was over everything, so things just seemed extra funny, ok? Thanks to that map, my coworker so kindly pointed out that no one says "gym shoes." They're "sneakers." Is it just me, or does "sneakers" sound hella dorky? They're gym shoes. I mean where did the word sneakers come from anyway? You don't sneak around wearing them. There's nothing sneaky about them.

And if you ask me, the whole bags vs. cornhole debate should have made that map. I figured once I peaced out of Indy that I'd never hear it be called cornhole again. Unfortunately I was sorely mistaken. I've heard a few people call it cornhole on the East Coast. Don't people realize that cornhole means butt hole? Boom. Case closed.

I've also recently been made fun of for saying "washroom." Is that not a thing? I usually say bathroom, but I figured washroom sounded more polite for some reason. EXCUSE ME FOR TRYING TO SOUND NICE. 

Confession: I've been watching MTV's Awkward for like an hour. Don't judge me.

I'm Pretty Cool Sometimes.

Because I'm just that awesome, and because I have absolutely nothing else to write about, AND because I spent a good portion of my Saturday stalking myself on Twitter (yeah ACT like you've never done that.), I've decided to be extremely narcissistic and share with you my top ten favorite tweets. By me. But hey, of all the forms of narcissism, this will probably be the most entertaining possible. I GUESS I'll throw in my top ten favorite tweets from others too. Oh these are also in no particular order. I'm way too lazy to actually rank them. Enjoy.

Me--

• How I know I'm still not quite mature: I giggle when I see "Speed Hump Ahead" signs.
• My dad asked me what a beer bong is today.
• Just realized that me walking into a screen door this weekend was not, in fact, a dream.
• Somehow managed to get toothpaste in my eye.
• Afterthought: airport security smells like feet. This whole shoe-removal thing should be reconsidered.
• "Get your hand out of your pants for ONCE in your life." #thingspeoplesaytome
• Saw a hair salon downtown the other day called "Great Head." I think they may want to reconsider that one.
• My mom called my brother a son-of-a-bitch. #nuffsaid
• I think I just heard someone burp really loudly outside my window... or else there are bears in Somerville.
• If I eat a regular burrito for breakfast, does that make it a breakfast burrito? #ponderthat
• Well someone is definitely nailing something on my floor. Whether it's a person or an actual nail I may never know.
• Just bought some Triscuits; the bag was opened, but the box was sealed. This will be an interesting way to die.
• Things I've said today: "I didn't go to bed at 9, I took a nap. There's a big difference."
• I want to know who named their Wifi TheresAlwaysWifiInTheBananaStand and give them at LEAST an HJ.
• Why can't perfume commercials just be all like, "it smells good"?
• I just asked my mom in complete seriousness to pull up my pants for me.
• Sometimes, when I start to doze off at my desk, I hold my breath to try to stay awake. Counterproductive? Perhaps.
• Just discovered moldy cheese and screamed "OH NOOOO" so loud that my neighbors must think my dog died.
• I think my mom drunk texted me last night.
• Eating a bubble gum flavored jelly bean goes against all of my natural instincts.
• Things in Isabel's purse: bottle of water, umbrella. Things in Jamie's purse: flask, deodorant. #priorities 
• Do you ever yawn so big that you drool? Yeah totally, me neither.

Those other people--

Professor Snape
#PickupLineOfTheNight My name may not be Luna, but I know how to Lovegood.

Very Rude Tweets
My mind was blown when I realized that "Glee" spelt backwards is "Shit".

Very Rude Tweets
When I see a bruised apple at the market, I give it a soft hug and whisper, "Who did this to you?"

Dani DiV ‏
Snow day at school means I'm the head teacher, which means 200 Spanish kids just learned the Waka Waka dance. My work here is done.

Very Rude Tweets
What kind of bees produce milk? Boobies. 

Shit Nobody Says ‏
Free beer? No thanks.

TextsFromLastNight ‏
(613): I spent most of the night trying to drink out of three bottles of beer at once. I don't have to be told the reasons I'm single

Shit Nobody Says ‏
Gingers do have souls.

Mark McCarthy ‏
I guess Channing Tatum is hot, if muscles are your thing... please don't let muscles be your thing.

Anti Joke Apple ‏
I used to be addicted to soap, but I'm clean now.

Workaholics Quotes
"Anders: What is that, it's not beer? Adam: No it's whiskey. I watered it down though.......with beer."

Zach Galifinakas ‏
If I have 10 ice cubes and you have 11 apples how many pancakes can fit on the roof? Purple, because aliens don't wear hats.

Anti Joke Apple ‏
What do you call cheese that's not yours? Cheese.

Shit Nobody Says
That was me who just farted.

Zach Galifinakas ‏
Next time a stranger talks to me when I'm alone, I will look at them shocked and whisper quietly "You can see me?"

Anti Joke Apple ‏
taco cat spelt backwards is taco cat. Carry on.

Mark McCarthy ‏
That moment when you started a tweet with "that moment" and realized you had nothing of any value to offer the world.

Anti Joke Apple ‏
If Chuck Norris has $5 and you have $5, you both have the same amount of money.

Anti Joke Apple ‏
What's the similarity between a bird and a turtle? They can both fly. Except for the turtle.

Zach Galifinakas ‏
you're a boob. just tittin. you're my breast friend.

After rereading this blog post I began to hate myself for basically recreating Twitter on my blog. So if I hate me, I'm sure the vast majority of you also hate me slash are severely disappointed by this post. DGAF. YOLO. Am I using YOLO right? Thought so. And for those of you who actually counted, there were way more than 10 tweets in both lists. I'm more awesome than I originally gave myself credit for.

I suppose I might as well use this opportunity as a shameless plug: follow me on twitter. If you dare. All of the cool kids are doing it. So basically there are only 62 cool kids in existence. Cause that's how many followers I have right now. (JMe_Kostecki) I also just had to look up my twitter handle cause I couldn't remember what it was. Whatever. That was a lot of very staccato sentences.

Stay sweet.

My Mom Thinks I Do Drugs

Sup nerds?

So did any of you see this on buzzfeed? Well I did. And I was dumb enough to think that my mom had any TRACE of a sense of humor. Despite her typical overreaction, I managed to get a few laughs in the process. Mostly because I felt really sneaky/tricky. For those of you who don't know me well enough, I'm the worst liar on earth. Which is a good thing? Question mark?

I figured I'd try it out on my bro bro first. I actually thought he'd freak out more than my mom. Wrong.

Jamie: Got 2 grams for $40
Jay: Thats pretty good for east coast weed
Jamie: Oh shit sorry, that wasn't for you
Jay: I'm telling
Jamie: Haha it was a joke, i saw it on buzzfeed where you text your mom that and post the reactions. Im getting mom next. Your reaction sucked btw
Jay: Was gonna say, jame thats not much weed
Jamie: I thought hard drugs go in grams and weed is oz?
Jay: Seems right. Well 2 grams of blow will make u some friends

Womp wommmmp. Not that great of a reaction. Possibly because I caved right away and said it was a joke. But that was because I was terrified of Jay telling on me. I mean, what if mom took away TV for a week or something? Or even worse, my BIKE. How else would I hang out with my friends?!

Next up: mother. That link doesn't really relate, but I just felt like it.

Jamie: Got 2 grams for $40
Mom: Oh yeah? Grams of what?
Jamie: Oh shit, wrong person
Mom: Right...
Mom: So why woulf u send that to me? To make me more paranoid?
Jamie: I didn't mean to send it to you
Mom: So grams of what? Didnt realize u smoked
Jamie: I don't smoke
Mom: Never mind, dont want to know
Jamie: Check your email
Mom: Nah, really dont want to know. Going to rf for spring fling. Have agood night.
Jamie: No you really need to check
Mom: At rf
Jamie: Hahahaha mom it was a joke. Check your email when you're back tonight and you'll get it. [I emailed her the link to the buzzfeed article so she'd get it and have a nice chuckle]

Mom's email: Didn't think that was funny or the right thing to do. Sorry, no sense of humor. Bad taste....

Notes:

• rf=River Forest Country Club. I bet she was so paranoid about her daughter being a potential drug dealer that she could barely enjoy her expensive wine and fillet mignon. Poor soul.
• I had recently told her about my stalker, so she was already in freakout mode. She texted me the day after I told her saying that I should look out my window at night to make sure he's not there. HAH. Please, mother. She also texts me every few days asking if I've seen him lately. And when I texted her after a date the other day she said, "well I'm glad you're still alive!" Last time I tell my mom anything ever. 

Other nuggets from this prank:

Jay: hey stupid, now mom is losing her fucking mind. shes googling which drugs cost that amount
Jamie: HAHAHHAHA tell her to check her fucking email!
Jay: haha nah im gonna let it play out. she went to river forest so im sure she'll talk to people about it there and get real worked up

Jamie: hahaha we're the worst children ever. she shouldn't even believe that i'd do drugs anyway!
Jay: jamie shes not smart

Jay: i ll drop drug phrases for the rest of the weekend, see what else she googles

That's fucking teamwork. Worst-children-of-the-year award. Happy mother's day!

Midweek Update

Remember this guy? Anyone? I'm talking about dream boat #1 in this case. So I've had the great pleasure of interacting with this guy seven, SEVEN, times now. I've seen him 10+ times. At trivia, at the train, at a sandwich place by my apartment-- you name it. I've seen him there.

Today a line was crossed. Let me 'splain. I walked down the stairs to the green line to catch my train around 5:30. From what I've learned about Joe (we'll call him Joe), he tends to leave work right at 5:00. I kid you not, I've stayed later at work for the sole purpose of avoiding seeing him at the train. This city is way too small. Of course I end up spotting good ol' Joe, say "mother fucker" under my breath, immediately stop walking, and hide behind a concrete column. Unfortunately, Joe happened to be turning my way right as I saw him. I knew he spotted me. I took out my phone and pretended to be very interested in text messages I'd sent three days ago.

However, Joe does not pick up on social cues, so things such as reading a book or being on your phone do not discourage him. I felt him drawing nearer. I know what you're thinking. Fake a phone call, right? NOPE WON'T WORK. No service down in the T. And it's annoying as shit when people talk on the phone on the train, so I refuse to become one of those assholes.

I waited around for my train for about seven or eight minutes, felt him getting closer and closer, and decided to take my alternate route home instead of waiting for the same train that he was. This route requires me to walk one mile home instead of taking the bus, and it was raining today. That's how desperate I was to avoid this man. I'd rather walk a mile home in the rain than risk yet another awkward encounter with him.

So I hopped on the next train. HAHA! You'll never reach me now, Joe! You'll be stuck waiting for a Lechmere train for at least five more minutes! I WIN! Regretfully I did not win. He followed me on the train. FOLLOWED ME ON THE TRAIN. My heart was pounding. This dude is legit stalking me right now. I knew from previous conversations that he always takes the train to Lechmere and walks home from there. What. The. Fuck.

I, of course, pretended like I never saw him and avoided eye contact like it was my job. But I knew he was still there, probably reading my text message over my shoulder to Sarah which read, "Oh my god he fucking followed me on the train." I was hoping that he wouldn't get off at Park with me, but that's the easiest way to get back to the area where we live. Yes, we work AND live in the same general areas. Lucky me. I got off the train and walked to wait for the red line. I didn't see him get off the train behind me, so I was hoping I lost him. Wrong again.

He "casually" walked past me, acted shocked to see me, and said oh hey! He even said something about how his "supervisor made him stay late today," and that he was "sick of waiting for a Lechmere train." Yeah, ok, and I'm 6'6" and from China. Luckily once the train came, a few people got between us, so I didn't have to talk to him the rest of the ride home. He got off the stop before mine, and I did not say goodbye. Guess I'm staying till 6:00 every day now.

You know, I almost felt sorry for him when I saw him at the bar by himself, and at dinner by himself on a Friday night, but once he started following me home I lost all pity. If you have to follow people around to try to be friends with them, or whatever it is he's trying to do, it's a little bit creepy. I take full responsibility for all of my insensitive/bitchy comments. Haters gon' hate.

FYI since I posted twice this week I get a free pass for the next three. See you squares in May.

I Had A Dream

I had a dream last night that I had a baby. It was super easy and it only took like a minute. I had no recollection of the whole nine-month-pregnancy thing, and I had to think hard as to who actually had sex with me. Of course it turned out that I thought it happened when I was super drunk, and vaguely remembered having sex with a coworker (who I'm not a huge fan of, by the way). Needless to say, I dream-hated myself for it.

I brought the baby to work and just kind of left her in a cube. I'd visit her a couple of times a day. I'm a busy woman, ok? I don't have time to just dote on a baby all day long. Besides, other people were taking care of her too. Then I discovered that my boobs had milk in them. That was weird. Yeah, see I wish all of that weird giving birth pregnancy stuff were just a dream. It sure is messed up enough to be.

Anyway, I was trying to decide whether or not (and how) to tell my coworker that it was his baby. All the while, I was concentrating all of my thoughts on hoping that my child got all of my looks, because he's not much of a looker. And is super short. But he is rather smart, so I would have been ok if my daughter got all of his smart jeans (lol see what I did there? jeans... HAH). I ran into him on my way to the bathroom and I was like, heyyyy Donald (fake name used)... so you know that baby over there? It's yours. And mine. We made that thing. Then we went back to his cube to loudly discuss details of our sexual encounter in front of everyone. No shame.

After that, I had a super long meeting. When I was walking out with two other coworkers, we saw tons of buildings getting blown up/demolished. Then an airplane took a hairpin turn and hit another building, a giant cruise ship tipped over, and another plane just went straight into the water. Thank you, Tsarnaev brothers, for further fucking up my already fucked up dreams. You will rot in hell with Saddam forever. And he's gay, so have fun with that.

Boston Strong.

Things I Thought About While Laying In Bed Saturday Morning

Be prepared for none of this to make any sense. Partially because I'm not quite sure if I was 100% awake while forming these things I claim to be thoughts.

Do dogs have belly buttons? No... definitely not... so hold on, if they don't have belly buttons, then they don't have umbilical cords... how do they get their food from the momma dog then? I'm going to have to google this once I get up.

Why can't I sleep past 7am anymore? This is very frustrating. I remember in high school I'd sleep until 3pm. And I was sober too! And I'd be all like, man, waking up before 11am is ROUGH. Now I'm elated if I sleep past 8am. I'm old. People hate me when I say I'm old because they're all at least 25. Shit, I'd hate me too.

I should blog about these random things I'm thinking about. I'm going to forget them instantly, I know it. I'm way too lazy to get up and get my computer though. And I think I'm drifting in and out of sleep, so I don't want to ruin that either. Have you ever caught yourself slipping into a dream? You're thinking about something, mulling over the possibilities, and all of a sudden you're pregnant and you don't know how it happened. Then I'm like holy shit, I just observed myself slipping into a dream. Then again, this is coming from a girl who caught herself sleep walking. And who has recurring dreams that there are spiders in her bed. I'm never gonna get married.

I wonder if I could feasibly kill this crow that won't stop making noise. I used to find comfort in a crowing crow. Well that just sounds redundant. A crowing crow. Too bad they all died from West Nile. Except for this fucker outside my window. Maybe if I had a slingshot I could kill it. Or feed it Tylenol somehow. I learned in this book I'm reading that someone purposefully killed a "neighbor girl's" cat by feeding it Tylenol. That's kinda fucked up.

I should get out of bed and look at clothes online to prepare for my shopping trip. People don't do those things... I'm weird. Whatever, I haven't looked at any magazines lately, and there are like two people that dress well at work. Not much to go off of here. (At this point I think I very slightly lifted my head in an effort to get out of bed, decided nothing was worth getting up, and promptly and exaggeratingly (just made up a word, what up. oh man, inception parentheses.) put my head back down.)

I wonder if there's a most-comfortable-bed contest. Cause mine would definitely make it to the top 10 (hugs pillow closer).

I haven't had a good cry in a while... when was the last time I cried? Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Good because apparently my life is tolerable enough to not make my eyes rain. Bad that I'm potentially numb to emotion. Plus, crying feels pretty fucking good sometimes. It's like all of the anxiety/stress just leaks out of your eyeballs.

I had a dream last night that one of our friends down the hall came over to keep some things in our fridge because they didn't have room. She unloaded a 12 pack of Coke, and stuck them on the outside of the refrigerator. They were magnetic. That would be pretty kick ass if Coke could do that. Coke magnets. Are you taking notes? This is some good shit right here. Except for the fact that they'd be too heavy to stay on a fridge. And they'd be warm.

Welp, see ya later.

Reasons Why I Dislike Revolving Doors

Can I start this by saying how hungover I am right now? Really hungover. Like, a lot. That's what happens when you try to drink two nights in a row after graduating college. And Butler's loss to Marquette last night was absolutely devastating, so naturally I drank my feelings.

But anyway, I guess it's time to discuss revolving doors. I'm not a huge fan of those. I get that they're probably better at keeping the inside temperature consistent and all, but I think they're a pain in the ass. They take forever. I really don't want to put that much time and effort into entering/exiting a building. Then the normal doors right next to the revolving ones always say "Please use revolving doors." And I mean, they said please... so I feel the need to listen to them. (Shout out to Isabel, who is a huge rebel and always uses the normal doors. Like a boss.)

And what about when a stranger accidentally (or purposefully?) goes into the little pie slice with you? Way awkward. What do you even call those things anyway? Compartments? Sections? Quarters? I don't know, SHIT.

I also hate it when the door is turned so that two of the spaces are open. Which one do I choose? What if someone starts coming from the other side and smushes me?! It's a legitimate concern. It's almost happened to me. Then when you do see someone coming from the other side you have to run a little to make it in before you get owned by the door, and that's just dramatic. 

The one awesome thing is when someone else is either in front or behind you, and then you don't have to do any of the pushing at all. I'm probably close to the worst person to share a revolving door with. Don't care.

Going back to the hangover thing, I legit had to stop writing this post because thinking that hard and being that productive was making me want to vomit. I also have not left my apartment today, I never put in my contacts, and I'm not wearing a bra. No need to tell me how awesome I am, I already know.

Met A Guy Named Chip Last Night

So I guess I drank a lot last night. Enough for my roommate to force me to take out my contacts, to remind me to take off my pants (like I ever need a reminder for that, PSH), to pee outside, to not close my blinds, and to sleep in my bra. Oh, and to eat a grilled cheese at 10am. Which means I was proooobably still drunk when I woke up. DGAF YOLO SOCKS.

How did this happen, you ask? Well, do I have a story for you (it's not that exciting, don't get your hopes up). It all started in Fenway. And ended in Fenway, actually. We probably should have bar hopped a bit. Anyway, we went to a sports bar in Fenway to watch Butler beat Xavier (WOOT), and discovered a man at the bar cheering for Butler. There were about five different games on the TVs, so we waited till we heard three 'woos' till we went up and talked to him. Just to be safe.

Turns out our new friend was betting on Butler to win. Good decision. Obviously we befriended him and his two balding friends, and they proceeded to buy us drinks all night. I think I had three large beers (24oz-ish), a whiskey coke, and a shot of Patron... as well as two large beers prior to that. Needless to say their bar tab was enomous.

Side thought: sometimes I get a strong urge to push a button. So I push the shift key since it doesn't do anything anyway. Pushing buttons is fun, don't judge.

One of our new buddies went by the name 'Chip,' and all I could think of was this guy. And I may or may not have told him that. Not sure. Anyway, as the night went on, Chip got rather handsy. He kept fucking touching me, and I was all like, dude, lay off. He was perfectly normal/polite for the first hour or so, but then he was apparently a bit over-served. And I heard him talking to Lauren about my butt. Not ok. For some reason I agreed to exchanging numbers (I'm not very good at saying no/denying people), so hopefully he's too embarrassed to ever contact me. Fingers crossed.

Then closing time happened yadda yadda we caught a cab home and I promptly died. This wasn't a good story, I'm sorry. Got too lazy to go into details that no one will care about. Commence lazy Sunday in Ninja Turltle underpants.

P.S. Totally just did 15 pushups, waddup.

If You Do This, I Hate You

Hey party people,

I know it's been a while (as if anyone noticed), but I've had nothing to write about. Sorry I'm not. I think it's about time for another hateful rant, don't you? I've been noticing that there are a lot of people who piss me off. Some individuals simply don't understand how to behave appropriately in public, and it gets on my nerves. I'm sure you're wondering what you should (or shouldn't) do in order to avoid being one of those people that I'd like to punch in the nuts, so I was thoughtful enough to compile a list (shocker) of people who get on my nerves. You're welcome.

1. People who read a book while walking. It's pretty much the pedestrian version of texting and driving. They end up walking at a snail's pace, and they never move out of the way when you're walking straight at them. No book is that good that you just HAVE to read it at every waking second. Be a normal person and read while sitting down. Or, like, talk to people.
2. People who sneeze rapid-fire like seven times in a row. Stop fucking sneezing so much and breathe. There are only so many blessing that I can give out, and you used them all up about five sneezes ago.
3. People who talk on the phone on the bus/train. It's called privacy, ever heard of it? I don't want to hear your conversation, and you shouldn't want me to hear it either. Cause I'm totally judging you.
4. On another public transportation-related note: when you're getting off the train/bus and the person sitting next to you won't stand up to let you off. Is it really that hard? Now I'm just going to rub my butt in your face and that's just awkward for both of us.
5. I also hate people who blast music from speakers on the bus/train. I don't want to hear your gangster rap, nor your Mexican folk music. This is not a party. This is a train.
6. People who don't move out of the way when you're running towards them. I'm putting in the effort to exercise here; the least you can do is move your ass two steps to the side. Share the sidewalk, people.
7. People in groups of two or three who somehow manage to take up a 20 foot hallway. How? Seriously, how?
8. People who fart on the bus/train or at the gym. There are enough people coughing and sneezing all over the place, do you really have to add to that with your gas? I swear I'll throw up one day in the not-so-distant future. Hold it in. For everyone's sake.
9. So basically, I hate people. I apologize for not being apologetic.

That's all, folks.

Maybe This is Why I'm Single

Yo to my bros.

I had some complaints about the last post, and I figured I should step it up. I quote: "You just made a list of foods you're craving..." I KNOW WHAT I DID, ALBERT. I WROTE IT. And I'm not proud of it. Although, I'm going to take the fact that someone actually called me out on my half-assed post as a compliment.

Let me also preface this by saying I am completely and entirely content being single. So any of you out there who have been taking my self-deprecation a bit too seriously: stop that.

Moving on. I've compiled a list of weird things about me for your reading pleasure. Now, these aren't cute, endearing weird things, like the fact that whiskey is my drink of choice, or that I wear a size 6 shoe. These are more along the lines of quirky, there-might-be-something-wrong-with-you weird things. Hopefully you still want to be my friend after reading this. Here we go.

I have reoccurring dreams that there are spiders in my bed. I jump up, turn on my lights, and frantically search for said spiders that, of course, don't exist. Any of you hunks out there who previously thought, dang Jamie, I'd totally toot it and boot it-- you should strongly consider booting it. Unless you want to be woken up in the middle of the night by me looking for spiders that don't exist.

Another fun sleep-related fact: a couple of months ago I caught myself sleep walking. Which is scary. Even scarier is that I sleep naked.

I always put on my right sock first, followed by the left, then my right shoe, then left. Is it really that weird? Not really sure. I have a hard time distinguishing a routine from OCD.

Whenever I return from a trip, I have to unpack right away. Not because if I don't do it right away it won't get done, but because if I don't unpack that same day, it stresses me out. I don't care how late it is or how tired I am or how long it's going to take. This was no exception when I studied abroad in Spain. I was completely unpacked hours after arriving.

I've spilled egg on my computer a few more times than I'd like to admit. What, I like to listen to music when I cook.

I'm completely addicted to Lip Smackers chapstick. I'm pretty sure I've been using it for 10+ years. That's brand loyalty, motherfuckers. I also don't understand how people feel like they've accomplished something when they actually finish a chapstick without losing it. If you're over the age of 12, it shouldn't be that difficult.

When I was little, I used to eat sandwiches with salami and ketchup. I mean it's essentially a modified hamburger. Don't knock it till you try it.

Another food fun fact (alliteration, what's up): I can't eat apples straight from the core anymore. I have to cut them up. Why, you ask? Because there was a goddamn worm in my apple one time, that's why.

My palms are super wrinkly. They have tons of lines on them. And I don't know why. On the bright side: I'd probably be a palm-reader's DREAM.

I make my bed everyday. All day, err day. It gives the illusion that your room is actually clean, hollaaa.

I can hear better out of my left ear. It's never been "proven" by a doctor or anything like that, but I just know, ok? Because of this, I always hold my phone up to my left ear, and I always sleep on my left side (cause then it blocks out more sound, get it?).

I wear pink rubber gloves when I wash dishes. That way my nails don't chip and my hands stay silky smooth and everyone's happy. Or at least I am. Don't hate.

I'm obsessed with making lists. Grocery lists, lists of things I need to do on the weekend, lists of things to pack, lists of things I need to do at work... I made a list for this post. So I'm organized, SUE ME.

I have slight panic attacks when people puke. I can't explain it, and I don't know how or why it started. I just remember freaking out when I was little if my brother was sick. It's not even an if-you-throw-up-I'm-gonna-throw-up thing. I just need to get away and stay away. If someone got sick in class in middle school, I was the first one out the door. One time in high school I was hanging out with my friends in someone's basement and someone threw up. I practically ran up the stairs and went home. So don't count on me to take care of you when you have too many tequila shots. You're on your own, bud.

Well I'd say that's enough weird things about me for one day.

Ttyl lyl brb lylas bbl ttfn k bye.

I'M PREGNANT

JK no I'm not. In the words of Katherine Heigl in Knocked Up: "you have to have sex to get pregnant." And we all know I'm not faring well with the opposite sex in Boston.

Pregnancy jokes aside, I've been getting crazy food cravings lately. Very specific, crazy, strong food cravings. And not cravings like ohhhh my goshhhh I want some chocolate right now. Cravings so real I swear I can taste them. In my mouth. They've been happening often enough that I started writing them down, and I felt compelled to share them. Plus, I haven't blogged for, like, three weeks. WHATEVER I know no one actually cares, so I'm not sorry. I'll keep this one short cause I'm lazy. And, you know, I have tons of exciting things to do this weekend after getting 22 inches of snow. So I can't be wasting my precious time blogging for the five of you that will actually read this.

Food etc. that I've been craving the past few weeks:

• Red wine. This happened at two separate moments hours apart when I was at work.
• Tacos.
• Easy Mac. No shame. That shit's delicious.
• Tomato soup.
• Queso dip.
• Banana bread. 
• Peanut butter cups.
• Sourdough bread. There's a huge shortage of sourdough bread in the world.
• Baked potato.
• Teriyaki steak and/or chicken.

Some of your are probably all like, whatever Jamie. All of that food is delicious. Who cares. But I'm telling you, these cravings have been out of control. I don't know if I smelled something or had a taste in my mouth that made me think of these things, but I've never experienced such real/strong/specific cravings before. And let me remind you: I'm not pregnant.

Byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Recent Research Shows...

...that people who go to the YMCA in Cambridge have absolutely no awareness of appropriate gym attire. Srsly tho.

Lauren and I have been going to the Y in Cambridge for a little over two months now, and during that time I've gathered quite a bit of data to support my thesis. The evidence below suggests that the majority of YMCA gym-goers are either blind, or get dressed in the dark.

Exhibit A: Purple sweatpants with elastic at the bottom, black socks, and silver ballet flats. That's not even acceptable in the comfort of your own home, let alone at a gym. In public. Where people see you.
Exhibit B: A 70-year-old man who looks like he's 18 months pregnant wearing a tight, gray t-shirt tucked into his spandex is not ok.
Exhibit C: Believe it or not, I've seen quite a few people wearing swim trunks as workout-wear. Although this YMCA does, indeed, have a pool, it also has a locker room in which members may change their clothes. Which means loud, floral print swim trunks in the cardio room are not acceptable. Especially when paired with a t-shirt that says "crabs."
Exhibit D: Capris, argyle socks, and Vans. Since when are Vans considered athletic shoes? It was also a man who was wearing these items. Didn't see that coming, hmm?
Exhibit E: Plaid shorts + sleeveless t-shirt + converse = not a gym outfit.
Exhibit F: Green, plaid pajama pants with "LOVE" on the butt (that were also entirely too tight), pulled up to her belly button, and accompanied by a gray t-shirt tucked in. Woof.
Exhibit G: Gray cargo shorts, a wife beater, high white socks, and snow boots. I've seen this guy five or six times wearing the same exact thing. Now that's just unhygienic.
Exhibit H: This one was my absolute favorite... a black t-shirt with a picture of a panda on it, cargo shorts, high white socks, and black dress shoes. Seriously?

Don't get me wrong here, I'm no gym fashionista. I think it's dumb when people try to look good when they're working out. If you still look good by the end of a work out, you didn't work hard enough. But whatever happened to the trusty gym shorts and a t-shirt look? C'mon people. Stay tuned for additions to this list. It's pretty inevitable.


I will see you there, or I will see you on another time.

I Hit On A Guy Last Night

...Not to be confused with "I hit a guy last night." There was no physical abuse involved.

Now that that's cleared up, I hit on a guy last night. Lauren, Mark (AKA Big Mac), and I ventured out to some new bars in Union Square. Per usual, our pregame lasted far too long, and we didn't actually leave the apartment until 11pm. First stop: Sally O'Brian's.

I'd passed by that bar before on a Friday night (I was going grocery shopping, don't mistake me for having a social life), and it sounded like it was bumpin', as the kids say. As we were crossing the street, I spied a massive, white beard through the window. We should have turned around as soon as I saw that. The place was full of people my parents' age or older. Don't get me wrong, I actually really enjoy hanging out with my parents and their friends, but this was on another level. They looked like creepy, townie-type old dudes. And we saw a woman sitting at the bar doing a crossword puzzle. At 11:45pm. On a Saturday night. After one beer, we clearly needed to move on. Next stop: Bull McCabe's.

Bull McCabe's is right across the street and has live music every weekend, so we braced ourselves for a cover charge. We decided if there was a cover, we'd rather be spending that money on beer instead of an average band that we might not even like. Of course, the doorman said there was a cover, so Lauren thought up a story and she thought it up quick (the Grinch? Anyone?), and we made like a tree and got the fuck out of there. Last stop: The Independent.

We've been to The Independent a few times, and I've always liked the place. There are actually guys there. Like, a lot of guys. Young guys. So that's nice. I'm very rarely in a place where there are more men than women, so it was very refreshing. The DJ was spinning some sweet sweet 60s/70s funk, and I was diggin' the vibe. We ordered a round of Narragansetts and bellied up. There was a group of girls dancing behind us having a great time, and we knew it was only a matter of a few beers until we'd be tearing it up on the dance floor with them.

In the meantime, I was attempting to lock eyes with a few cute guys across the bar. (This post is way too long already, I'm sorry.) I'm usually not a forward person, I'm too shy/unconfident for that shit. But I was the perfect amount of drunk to feel ballsy enough to approach someone, but not drunk enough to embarrass myself in the process.

After weighing the pros and cons with my trusty roommate, I worked up enough courage to go over and see what his deal was. The worst he could do was say no, and the best would be that I could have a potential date. I decided to take the no-nonsense approach, and the conversation went something like this (And I got the inspiration from here):

Me: Hi. What's your name?
Cute Guy: Andrew.
Me: I'm Jamie. Are you straight?
Andrew: Yes...
Me: Do you work?
Andrew: Yes...
Me: Do you have a girlfriend?
Andrew: Yes...
Me: Well then why isn't she here!
Andrew: She's at home studying.
Me: Ok. Well I just thought you were cute so I figured I'd come say hi.
Andrew: Well thanks, I'm flattered.
Me: Nice to meet you, have a good night!

Obviously it wasn't as awkward as that reads, but you get the picture. Now, usually I'd be filled with sober regret the next morning for an interaction like that, but I'm actually pretty pleased with how it played out. I'm not embarrassed by it, and I'd totally be amused/flattered if someone did that to me. So I got rejected. I then proceeded to cry in the bathroom for 30 minutes. That was a lie. I just continued drinking and dancing, and it was actually one of the better nights out we've had.

What I learned: start out with "are you single," don't end with it. And I GUESS I learned that I'd rather be shot down than not to have tried in the first place. I most likely will be trying this approach again in the future.

kthanksbye.