Try Not to Pee. Just. Try.

So, I haven’t written in a while (obviously). Finals are next week and life’s been nuts, but you all know that! For the time being, I wanted to show you some videos I’ve seen lately. We all love animals being silly, so I’ve brought you three of those. And since dancing children is another crowd pleaser, have one of those too :)

Love you all! Enjoy!

1. I’ve watched this way more times than I should admit:

2. This has become my new favorite way of saying no:

3. Yay quacking dog!

He’s better than Elvis (Pay particular attention to 1:25 when he finishes):


How to Put Your Foot in Your Mouth

Step 1: Post this on your blog. Because nothing says “I am in total control of the things I say and never put my foot in my mouth” better than writing about how Elvis fans just need to get over his death – and posting it on the 33rd anniversary of the day he died.

Step 2: Ask overweight women if they’re pregnant.
I actually haven’t done this. It’s one of the few stupid things I haven’t said/asked, but I know of plenty of people who have. So just don’t ask anyone if they’re pregnant. Women in the grocery store don’t need to be asked when their baby is due, especially if their baby is, in reality, just a food baby or something. For all you know, you could be asking an obese, infertile woman when her baby’s due, causing her to be the saddest woman on the planet because a) she is overweight and b) she can’t have the baby she’s always wanted because she’s infertile. Sad. Don’t make people sad.

Step 3: Talk about girls to their boyfriends.
This can go a couple ways.
A) You are a guy and talk to another guy about how hot that girl over there is. You don’t know that the other guy is her boyfriend. You are informed of this by a swift kick to the face by boyfriend man.
B) You are a girl and really like a guy. You decide to show him how much better you are than that girl over there, so you trash talk her. You then find out that no, he is not single and yes, you are a prize fool.
C) This is a slight variation on part A, in that you talk to a guy about how many times you’ve gotten it on with that girl over there. You are not made aware that the guy is her boyfriend because he’s silently plotting ways to kill you slowly and painfully. If I were you, I’d invest in some serious pepper spray and/or a machete, because at this point your foot is so far in your mouth that you’re practically digesting it.

Step 4: Randomly decide you love someone and then tell them.
I haven’t done this. I swear. Okay, I’ve totally done this…about a million times in 7th grade. Those were hard times. Hard times that will NEVER be mentioned again under penalty of death, okay? I’m pouring my soul out to the entire blogging world, so just cut me some slack.

Hey Hey, It’s My Hormones!


So. I am a girl. I am a girl with working body parts and organs and whatnot, so I inevitably get the painters in during “that time of the month.” This is where all male readers will freak out and exit the page, am I right? It’s actually not that big of a deal – I have no problem discussing it, and without it no one would be born. And without baby humans, what would the world be? A lot less loud, probably, and eventually, once humans no longer existed, global warming would reverse itself and on and on and on. But enough of that.

I think someone is shoving a knife into my uterus. This is REALLY where the male readers exit the page. Sorry…but really. It hurts. No amount of midol/advil/ibuprofen/whatever will make it stop. I am practically curled into a ball as I write this and every once in a while I writhe in pain. Yes. I writhe. I have succumbed to the power of the period.

I am hormonal. I am the queen of the hormones. I am so emotional that if anyone speaks to me tonight I will probably erupt into tears. I am so hormonal that I am writing a post about my period on my public blog that people read, so apparently, I am so hormonal that my judgement is impared. Are hormones like vodka? Should I not drive?

My back hurts. My front hurts. My head hurts. I feel sensitive. Help.

I don’t even want children! What is the point of this? Is 17 too early for menopause?

Outside My Window, Something Seranades Me


Is this you? Are you this?

Dear weird owlet/cat/small child outside my window,

First of all, what are you? You are making a strange squealing/squeaking/(dare I say) burping noise that I can’t properly identify you by. This species ambiguity is freaking me out.

Also, why must you make this noise outside my window? Like…RIGHT outside my window? Every single night this week, it’s been “squeal/squeak/burp” over and over and over until I have to practically blast The Strokes to drown you out. But once they’re blasting, sleep is out of the question since The Strokes are louder than you anyway.

See how difficult you are making my life?

Maybe you could move to a different tree/shrub/hole in the ground. And hopefully you aren’t a small child, because that’s creepy and dangerous – you could be eaten by a coyote or owl or something even scarier, like Katy Perry. I’ve heard she shoots babies with her whipped cream gun bra.

With all due respect, I ask you to shut up.