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.