A Few Guarantees For My Wedding

I’m getting married, y’all!

Psych. I should probably actually talk to boys first. Well, actually, I should talk to men…but I’m easing my way up…I’m still shy around 10 year olds. Anyway, if I were to get married, here are a few things I can guarantee about the wedding.

1. There will be no tulle involved. None. A lady came into the fabric store I worked at and ordered 30 YARDS of tulle because she was making her wedding gown. And to that I say, no. No no no no no. One inch of tulle is too much.

2. No garters for you. Nobody needs to see my leg on my wedding night except my husband, and he will definitely not be removing a garter with his teeth (I saw that once and was very uncomfortable). People don’t wear garters anymore, guys.

3. I will mandate that everyone wears incredibly bright colors to my wedding. None of this taupe nonsense, please. We’re celebrating, and colors will be involved.

4. I will be allowed to make several awkward and not-funny jokes while at the altar. No one will laugh, and that’s ok. I will also probably trip as I walk down the aisle, and that’s ok too. My husband-to-be will also make awkward jokes, and I will laugh because I like awkward jokes, and then we will kiss in front of a bunch of people which is also technically super awkward.

5. I will not be bridezilla because this is not my day, this is just a day. A very happy day, of course, and I will be ecstatic, but I will not turn into The Hulk and murder people when I don’t get my way.

6. I will more than likely wear a red dress at the reception.

7. I will give a toast at my wedding because I like attention and also I have never given a toast and really want to.

8. You are required to dance. Also, there will be no soul music. Most likely there will be one or two Mark Knopfler songs for the slow ones, and after that if you’re not jitterbugging and/or limboing, you’re not welcome at my wedding anymore.

9. We will smoosh cake in each others faces, if only because I really want to know what that feels like.

10. I will drink champagne out of the bottle, because that is both classy and stupid which are the two words that I want to epitomize everything about my life.

You’re all invited. I’d like cookware for presents.


Cappy Writes: A Disney Channel Original Series

In high school, I was voted “Most Likely to Star in Her Own Disney Channel Show.” Which makes sense, if you think about it, since I wear glittery pants that have iron-on patches and seriously weird flared bottoms. Also, I’m zany! So, I’ve decided I should probably start writing my show, since it’s my destiny anyway!

Opening credits: Cue montage! Girls painting their nails on a blanket at the park. Boy pushing back his hair and smiling at the camera. Parents laughing and shaking their heads at their kids’ antics. Oh, the antics! Boys TP-ing a house. Girls pillow-fighting. More antics!

Doin’ her thing and havin’ some fun! Every day is brand newwww! Look at Cappy, she’s the zaniest one! Out of her entire crewwwww! Cappy, Cappy, writin’ and angstin’ and learnin’ guitar. Cappy, Cappy, she’s a little bizarre! YEAH!

Girl (Cappy) crosses her arms, turns and smiles at the camera, then loses her balance and falls over. A pan flies into the air.

We see Cappy, a tall, blonde teen sitting atop her bed, clicking away on the keys of her laptop. Cappy’s room is super girly; Christmas lights hang around the ceiling and an orange tie-dyed comforter covers her small bed. A One Direction poster hangs on the wall facing the bed. Cappy, a hippie at heart, wears a peace sign necklace and about 400 bangles on each wrist. They clank together as she types.

An IM from Cappy’s best friend Mira pops up on the computer:

cutiegrl44: hey girlie! how’s the writing going?

capattack: good! can’t figure out how to end the story tho. do Trey and Cassie end up together or no?

cutiegrl44: they totes get together! just like you and Thad will!

Cappy sighs and logs off messenger, looking back at the story she’s been writing. “I just wish Thad knew who I was,” she mumbles.

Cut to the hallway of Cedar Swings High School, where Thad is leaning up against his bright green locker and laughs with his soccer buddies. His blonde Beiber-esque hair flops into his eyes, and he combs a finger through it to clear his line of vision. Cappy and Mira walk by quickly, and Cappy avoids his gaze as usual. After they pass him, Mira hisses, “WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY HI?” Mira is tiny and feisty, and her curls bounce as she talks.

“He doesn’t even know me. And I don’t know what to say!”

At that moment, Thad looks over, catches her eye, and smiles a very wide, very white smile. He pushes his hair back again, then shakes his head around a little. Cappy swoons so hard she falls over.

Cut to credits.

Next week on Cappy Writes!

Thad might smile at Cappy again, but it’s unclear from the preview. Cappy looks confused about how to end her story. Mira and Thad talk about something, probably Cappy, but that’s also unclear. Thad does more hair pushing. Someone starts a food fight in the cafeteria. Mashed potatoes fly and antics ensue.

The Ride

Please enjoy the scenery from my bike ride.

Tonight, I discovered that nothing beats a bike ride.

As many of you know, I love love love road biking. But lately, I haven’t really been riding. Like, at all. And there are lots of reasons for that. Okay, mainly just one.

I just finished my freshman year of college. I started out at my dream school, but then it turned out that the only place it was amazing was literally in my dreams. I seriously hated that college. And that’s to say nothing against the academics there, because I took a freaking fantastic linguistics class and learned a lot about Shakespeare, but it was just the wrong place for me. I didn’t feel like I fit in, and I had a really hard time making friends (which is kinda hilarious, because I’m not exactly shy).

And then there was the severe, debilitating anxiety that I experienced at that time. I started having panic attacks every night, and then I started having them in public places. For those of you who have never experienced this kind of anxiety, let me just tell you this: I have experienced nothing more terrifying than a panic attack in a dining hall. I — honest to God — thought that the people standing behind me in line were going to hurt me. I had to leave without eating, and I feared going back for several weeks because I connected my panic with that place. So I started staying in my room all the time, sleeping through classes, panicking at night, literally crying in the bathtub at 3 a.m.

I don’t say this to make people feel sorry for me, and I definitely don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. But this is the real story of my life, and it has shaped every action I’ve taken since that time. So knowing me is knowing this, and I haven’t talked much about it to anyone yet.

Anyway, I transferred to a school closer to home in January, joined a sorority and the school paper, and am so completely content there. That’s not to say that the anxiety is gone, because it definitely isn’t. I have the occasional panic attack, though with the help of a fabulous psychologist those are becoming few and far between. I still feel anxious almost all the time, to varying degrees, but it’s not as bad as it was last year. So I’d say I’m definitely improving.

What the hell does this have to do with biking, you ask? Well, I think when you start limiting your activities based on how much anxiety each one causes, you start going a little bit overboard and limiting everything. I don’t do much these days. Yeah, I read, blog occasionally, study for math placement tests (yuck), work around my house and babysit (cutest kids ever), etc, but I get so scared and anxious doing everyday activities that I worry about what will trigger the anxiety. And for some reason that means that I’ve pushed biking out of my life, even though you’d think I’d know that exercise outdoors would make me feel better.

Believe me, I do know. There are just a lot of barriers I still have to get past.

So getting back to the story…I took a long ride tonight. Today was a crappy day, and I was feeling all anxious and jittery, and those thoughts of, “Hey, just go upstairs and get in bed” were starting to jump into my head. Somehow, this time, I pushed them aside and hopped on my bike. Believe me, that ride was hard. I haven’t ridden in so long. But it was kinda like getting together with an old friend, one who never lets you down but also never lets you quit.

I rode 8 slow miles through the countryside, and by the time I was done I couldn’t really walk (and my butt still hurts). But somewhere between panting up a hill and riding past a pasture full of horses, I forgot all of that anxiety. Even if it just lasts a couple hours, I’m really glad I rode tonight.

Although…I can’t lie; the smell of horse poo is lingering in my nostrils still…

Author’s note: I would love to hear your stories of anxiety, depression, etc should you feel compelled to share them. I understand how sensitive this topic is, and rest assured that this will be a safe place to voice those stories. Or not. It’s up to you.
On a related note, please refrain from attacking any commenters or belittling their experiences. Thank you.


Well, it’s been another one of those days: the kind of day when you just let the elevator’s doors slam in someone’s face as they rush toward it. The kind of day when, if you worked at a coffee shop, you’d purposefully make everyone’s drinks scalding hot. The kind of day when everyone around you deserves to FEEL YOUR PAIN.

Well, okay, maybe not quite that bad of a day, but it’s just a poo day.

Last night, I dropped my laptop on my big toe. “How does one drop a laptop on one’s foot?” you might ask. Well, it’s actually quite simple; you just hold the laptop above your toe and let it go.

I, however, decided to switch it up a bit. I’d put my computer in a canvas bag to bring it upstairs with my other things, and just as I was about to put it down on the ground, the strap of the bag broke and the laptop sped toward my toe a 6,000 mph.

It was truly magnificent, the amount of swear words that I held back because I knew my mother could hear me. I’ve never wanted to scream so badly in my life (and I’ve slammed my finger in a large wooden door and had three serious knee surgeries).

Anyway, in the end, my mom couldn’t hear me because she was downstairs working on something with my dad, so I just sat on my bed and writhed around while groaning.

My mom finally realized what was going on and I asked her to get me some ice. As she did so, she told my dad what had happened, at which point he shouted, “SHE DROPPED HER MAC LAPTOP ON HER FOOT? IS THE LAPTOP OKAY?” Thanks, Dad, I really appreciate your concern.

Funnily enough, that was my boyfriend’s first question as well…

After my mom brought me ice, I explained how I’d dropped the laptop on my toe. “The strap broke?” she asked, picking the bag up by its other strap, which also promptly broke…hitting her toe. It was a pretty priceless moment, though she thankfully didn’t actually hurt her tootsie.

My poor toe, however, is now slightly swollen, completely unbendable, and a really gross shade of purple. I kept telling her I was useless now, so she should just shoot me like they do horses.

I’ve been hobbling around work all day and am finally sitting in a back file room with ice on my foot as I prop it on a desk…thank goodness I work at my parents’ office at the moment and they don’t mind me waiting back here while my toe grows back.

But hey, at least my pedicure didn’t get messed up…although I’m worried about what I’ll find when I finally take the polish off. Probably more purple.


There’s this phenomenon called mondegreen (which I learned about in Linguistics, big surprise) which occurs when the brain misinterprets song lyrics. It was a sad, sad day in Linguistics when I realized realized that mondegreen is practically an integral part of my life.

Welcome to the land of the ice and snow, where the middleducks run and the hot springs flow.
Or, at least, that’s what I thought were the lyrics to The Immigrant Song. And since I thought that when I was little, I can’t stop singing it that way.
Me: Hey guys! I love me some Led Zep! Ahhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaa….ahhhaaaaaaaaaaaaa…welcome to the land of the ice and snow where the middleducks run…errr…I mean…
Them: What the hell’s a middleduck?

Psycho sister, insane!
Funnily enough, my sister sang that to me when we were little. Ohhhh, she knew that those weren’t the words to the hit song “Psycho Killer,” but neither of us knew French and it was funny to hear her call me psycho. Funny how it doesn’t amuse me so much to hear her say it now…

And then, of course, The Strokes decided to befuddle me. I love them, but I will never simply be able to listen to one of their songs and know the lyrics. Julian slurs too much… The real lyrics are in bold, and the ones I thought up in my insanity are in italics:
Happiness is two different things: What you take and then what you bring. One is pleasure, one’s discipline. One’s devotion, one’s just a ring. Desire and reward. Long term and short term joy. Don’t waste your heart…
Happiness is two different things: one you take and when what you ring. One’s the pleasure one’s insuringgggggg…one’s the ocean, one is a ring. Inaaaaaruuuuuwwweaaaahhh, luhhaaaaadaadeedaaa…don’t work so hard…

The song goes on, as do the misinterpretations, but I don’t want to embarrass myself further. Basically, I shouldn’t be allowed to call The Strokes my favorite band anymore. I have disgraced them.

PS: I totally call dibs on forming a band and calling it The Mondegreens. Just know it happened here, and don’t you dare take that away from me.

Saint Cappy’s Day

Hi y’all! It’s officially Saint Cappy’s Day, as mentioned previously in this post.

Since Saint Cappy’s day is all about celebrating yourself, I thought I’d give y’all a few reasons to love being single:

1. Some people have arranged marriages. At least you don’t have to deal with Derk and his 12 goats buying you from your father’s farm and making you his prized woman. You’d be baking SO MUCH BREAD for the rest of your life. And you’d have 8 children, all of whom tended to the cattle in the morning and made cheese with you in the afternoon, but even though they were helpful you had to cook for all of them and cooking for 10 people every day is really tiresome. Then one day your son Yani would break his arm climbing a tree (silly kids, they never learn) and you’d have to wrap it up yourself because the closest “doctor” had a snaggle-tooth and lived in a hollowed out tree.

2. You could be a sister wife, married to a man named Jethro and wearing a calico smock. You’d have two bedrooms and you and your sisters would alternate sleeping in Jethro’s bed, which is uncomfortable since he sleeps with his pitchforks (he loves farming). You’d have about three kids of your own but 15 total, and it’s really, really hard to love 12 kids that belong to your husband but not to you.

3. You could be part of a harem. And trust me, that doesn’t just mean you’d get to wear fun pants. Your husband would be super beardy and make you feed him grapes all day while another wife told him stories of Ali Baba.

4. You could be a nun and God would be your husband but lord knows he’s barely ever home. And he’s got this goodie two-shoes son who doesn’t even do his carpentry work but instead just hangs out in a river playing with badgers and bathing people. And everyone would always be comparing you to God’s ex, Mary, and telling you how WONDERFUL she was. And you would just be quietly washing your unmentionables in the stream when the townsfolk would come by and sneer at you because everyone knows God still loves Mary but she ran off with that Joseph character and…

Anyway, happy Saint Cappy’s day. Don’t forget to love yourself, and whether you’re single or not, at least you’re not married to God. He’s a piece of work.


Kissing and Collaboration (Take Notes, Kids)

Hi y’all! We (Cappy @ Writer’s Block and Girl on the Contrary) have decided to collaborate on a blog. We know, we know. The world’s been waiting for this one for a looooong time. We’ve known each other (through the interwebs) for over a year now, and we thought it would be only appropriate to celebrate our anniversary by posting together. So here goes.

Cappy: The first kiss: it happens to the best of us. And they happen over and over (if you’re lucky…or unlucky, if you’re looking simply for “the one”). Of course, Girl on the Contrary and I were about 97 when we had ours (not together…) since we’re slight flirtation failures, but nevertheless, it happens.

We’re romantics. You can tell by the fact that we wear corsets and walk around knighting people all the time. So we figured we’d talk about what we deem acceptable and unacceptable vis-a-vis first kisses.

Girl on the Contrary: Cappy is being too modest. She was actually 95 when she had her first kiss, she just didn’t want to tell you that for fear you would think she was a “hoochie-mama” (those were her words, not mine, I would never say “hoochie-mama”, I prefer the term amorously gifted. It hasn’t caught on yet.) She was right about one thing, however, I do like to knight people but only those who have shown themselves to be valorous in some way- like letting me cut in front of them in the grocery store check-out. I’m not really romantic, I just like romance. Anyway, I definitely like kissing so it’s worth discussing, and by worth it, I mean Cappy and I plan to make a lot of money writing about kissing. So, like, really worth it.

The Place

Cappy: On a balcony. So Rom & Jul.
In a wheat field during a sunset…but hey, don’t wear shorts, or severe chafing will ensue and your kiss scenario will be demoted to the bad section of this list.
On a sailboat…during a sunset? Don’t lean against a sail or anything though. Don’t want to lose your balance and get eaten by a shark! That’s not romantic.
On an albatross. Because, really, it’s bloody well majestic.
In a hot air balloon. Just don’t hit a plane or something. We’re not sure it’s possible, but it would be just our luck.

GotC: In a closet. As I understand it, when two people go into a closet together- it turns into Heaven for like 7 minutes. Also, beaches. Also, also, my living room couch. It’s so simple yet so perfect.


Cappy: A field just as a crop duster passes overhead.
An albatross that really needs to potty.
A balcony…because, really…do we WANT to compare ourselves to Rom and Jul? They. Died. And it wasn’t just like a little, painless death. Their deaths were filled with poison, heartbreak, and stab wounds. I blame the friar.

GotC: I agree, it was totally the friar’s fault. Also, cars. It’s super awkward and there are arm rests and seat belts to deal with. Also, also, under bleachers at any sporting events. Steer clear of the under the bleachers because before you know it, other kids will be calling you “amorously gifted.”

The Mood

Cappy: Dark-ish. Because he might not be that cute. And you don’t necessarily want to see his fish face looming in on you and then you all of a sudden think, “WHAT AM I GETTING MYSELF INTO?!” But then maybe that’s what you SHOULD think, and you’d better think it fast before he starts ripping your clothes off.

GotC: If Clueless taught me anything, it taught me that lighting it crucial. Florescent lighting is not flattering on anyone so avoid places with florescent lighting. Dusk is nice. So is twilight. I’m pretty sure those two are the same thing.

Cappy: Totally dark. You don’t want any wandering hand action to be happening…unless, you know, you DO want wandering hand action. But at this point we’re only talking about the first kiss, not the first grope.

GotC: Too bright. You don’t want to see too much, trust me on that.

The Caress:

Cappy: If he grabs your head and locks it in, we have a problem. But if he touches your face, whispers something nice, says you’re pretty when your eyes are closed, etc…well, actually, he’s probably just Edward Cullen and you should get your holy water out. The caressing should be nice, but really, no matter what he does, it’ll seem kinda dumb when you say it out loud.

GotC: Ah, the caress. Super sappy, super romantic, super necessary. A touch of the face, a holding of the hand, when he pushes your hair behind your ear……..I’m going to stop now because I think you get it and if you don’t, you need to watch some movie adaptations of Jane Austen novels, they usually get it right in the sweet caresses department.

The Whole Package:

Cappy: You should feel nice afterward, and your tonsils should remain intact, thank you very much.
And that, my friends, is kissing advice from two foxy ladies who just like to keep it real. You like us. Admit it. Actually, don’t admit it, just show your love with a little smoochin’.

GotC: You should be smiling, and every time you think about it afterward, you should smile. And if you’re not smiling or don’t ever think of it again, it wasn’t done properly. Also, according to conventional wisdom, unlike us, you’re not supposed to talk about it.

So there you have it. We’ve tested all these scenarios out, so they’re like, totally scientific and everything. Just listen to us and we promise, you’ll have a lotta luck in love. Meow.

Girl on the Contrary is a sassy, sassy lady. You can read more about her here, or in this post I wrote about our love. We share similar tastes in music, love, and life, and both have an unnatural obsession for Alice in Wonderland. And I love her dearly because she was one of the first people to read this blog (she was here before you. Feel bad about yourselves). If you know me, you want to know her. Or, contrarily (get it? get it?), if you know me but wish you didn’t…well, what are you doing here anyway?

Lovestruck, Elevators, and Marry Me David.

I love college basketball. I especially loved it a few years ago when our local team had some pretty great players on it.

One of those players was David. Sigh. Oh David. I loved David in that sad way a high schooler loves a college guy; it was like Shakespearean tragedy. We were never meant to be. But I watched him from afar, his ginger hair flowing (ish) and making him look like his head was on fire…in a sexy way.

Now that he’s not in college anymore, he works in my parents’ office building, which is also across the street from mine. From time to time I go to deliver something to my mom and hop back in the elevator, only to have DAVID get in next to me. I swear, it’s so sad how I almost piddle my pants every single time I see him.

Him, walking into the elevator: Hi. [polite smile and nod]
Me: Nrrrgnghhhh [pee]
Him: [silence, because he didn’t notice that I’m an idiot]
Me, in a very quiet whisper: Marry me, David.

This is how it should've gone down.

Well, he married someone, but she is not me! In all fairness, she looks a bit like me (tall and blonde, and that’s about where the resemblance stops), so I just have to assume that he was so heartbroken that he couldn’t find his mysterious elevator girl (also known as pee-girl) and was forced to settle for someone similar. I saw them getting ice cream the other day. They were cute. Boo.

Anyway, the point of this blog post is this: We finally spoke today. I know. I know!
I was in the elevator and it stopped on his floor. I was thinking to myself, “I wish David would be here, but all I see is this shorter (yet nice) fellow wearing a north face. Where is David?” when all of a sudden, there he was, in his gigantic ginger glory. (I never miss a chance at alliteration.)


Me: [Silence, because I really didn’t want him to think I was psycho]
His friend: Hello! [He was super cheery]
Me: Hi there! [David, love me]
DAVIDDD: [bangs his head against the wall of the elevator violently like, 8 times]
His friend: Dude, you’re so out of it today.
David: I know! [Bang bang]
Me: [Attractive laugh]
David, turning: Hi, how are you?
Me: I’m great thanks [you spoke to me!] It’s been one of those days. I feel like banging my head against a wall too.
David: [Attractive chuckle] Oh man, what a day.
Me: [Marry me please!] Well, have a nice day! This is my stop.
David and Friend: You too!

So obviously, you can see that we will be going on a date tonight. Yes, he has a wife. Yes, I have a boyfriend. I don’t really see your point. Nothing can get in the way of the love between David and Elevator Girl.

Plus, I looked pretty cute. And there’s only a 5% chance that there was something in my teeth. So there.

коты, kočka, kaķis, חתול, and кот

Here are some recent Google searches that brought people to my blog:

коты, kočka, kaķis, חתול, and кот – Those were all separate searches, which is disconcerting since I don’t know what any of those words mean and therefore don’t understand how Google directed them here. But uhhh…mazel tov?

we love each other like we love food – That’s a lot of love. Because if you’re anything like me, you love food A LOT. Sometimes I think maybe I don’t have enough love left over to love anyone, since I love food so much. It fills up my love quota every day.

i really like you – Oh, thank you! I really like you too, even though I don’t know you at all. But I probably like you. Unless you’re a creep, in which case you should leave me alone, please.

etequate of life – Part of the etiquette of life is proper spelling. So you failed. Sorry.

dancing like your having sex – I’m sorry, but first of all, you used the wrong you’re. It’s dancing like YOU’RE having sex. Second, I think I specifically told you not to do that. It’s icky. What would Jesus say? You know, if he weren’t dead and everything.

my wife beats me – This has happened before. I’m seriously worried about the well-being of my readers. Seek help, sir, as domestic abuse is a serious issue!

how to dress like a stud muffin for Halloween – I don’t think I can help you there. Maybe just go naked?

what are people who hang around bikers who don’t have bikes – Not bikers. They’re called not bikers. And they’re also losers because biking is awesome and they should join in on the rollicking fun times. Unless you mean bikers as in motorcyclists, in which case whatever cuz I don’t like motorcycles.

hello my name is gabby – Hi Gabby. I’m Cappy. How are you? Oh, and also, why would you introduce yourself to Google?

julian casablancas cool? – That is NOT a question. He is. He IS. Mmm.

cat – I love cats. I LOVE CATS!

things you could say to creep the love of your life out – Basically, just quote any sentence from this blog. You’re welcome.

i’m so smooth with the girls – Oh, are you now, Tarim? I’m assuming you’re called that or some other Middle Eastern name, but I really don’t know, and now I feel like maybe I’m being racist. OH NO! I’m sorry :(

writers block pregnancy – At the rate I’m going, I will never be pregnant, so I can’t help you there.

kiss without touching – Ehhh, I don’t think you can do that. Unless it’s like, this crazy existential touching and you’re a zen buddhist or something, in which case GOOD ON YOU, cuz that’s pretty awesome. Congratulations.

what kind of school do you need for rocket scientist – A whole bunch. If you need to ask, you’re probably not cut out for it. Also, it’s “schooling,” not “school.” Man, I sound uptight today. Grammar Nazi alert.

i like a girl who isn’t lesbian but im also a girl – I’m sorry. That’s probably super hard. You should’ve sent this in to my agony aunt post or something! Way to pay attention, jeeeez. You should probably move on, cuz I don’t know if this chick’s gonna be into you if she’s straight.

who writes the borovkoff blog? – That is a question I do not have the answer to. I’m sorry. But probably a Russian man…

Fortune Cookies Suck

This is an example of a useless cookie.

Stop being a vague cookie!

I don’t think Fortune Cookies are living up to society’s expectations of them. They are like the black sheep of the family, though which family that is I’m not quite sure. Basically, society (the parents) expected great things of fortune cookies but they just let us down. They didn’t go to college, they got pregnant at 17, and now they’re doing crack in an alleyway behind an Albertson’s just waiting to die.

Well, I say: DIE. Die, you useless piece of cookie.

I hate when they say stuff like “you have a great sense of humor.” Yes, yes, I know. Thanks. That wasn’t even an ego boost. Or “you will take a great trip.” Well, my next vacation isn’t for another EIGHT YEARS, so…basically you’re slacking off on your duties. Stop doing crack and tell me my fortune.

I want very specific fortunes. “You should totally stay with your boyfriend through college. It’s a wonderful idea, and my goodness your outfit looks wonderful today.”
Or “Today, you’ll want to flip someone off because they’re tailgating you. By all means, go for it; they will not have a gun.”
Or even “You might want to carry some pepper spray on your jog today, cuz someone’s gonna try to rape you.”

Those fortunes are helpful because they contain vital information for our everyday lives. Telling me I’m gonna go on a trip is not going to be helpful, because I either a) already know that or b) am not going on a trip.

How about specifics? Specifics! Names, dates, compliments on my hair, etc would be very much appreciated. And the stuff about my hair would totally be true, so… Even “Oy, miss, you have food in your teeth” would be appreciated.

But it’s hopeless. People have even made up games to make fortune cookies better. Adding “in bed” to the end of each fortune has become popular with the teenagers of the world (and my 25-year-old co-worker Scott). But even then, “you will have a wonderful trip in bed” isn’t a great fortune since it sounds a little violent, and “you have a great sense of humor in bed” is pretty insulting, to be honest.

I just wanted to write this post so you’d all know how disappointed I am in our child, the fortune cookie. Somebody get her some rehab. She’s all cracked out.