A Few Fuck-Yous…

…Brought to you by international air and train travel.

1. Fuck you for wearing your skunk perfume on a plane (also on the train…I’m looking at you, passengers of renfe who showered in old man cologne). I’m glad you’re making an effort to smell good but we’re all hurtling through the sky in a coke can so everyone can smell everyone else a little too well and I will sneeze on you.

2. Fuck you for wearing your nicest heels and jewels through the security line. I’m glad you’re wealthy and old, but there’s really no reason to hold up the line with your nonsense just so you can stick your fake nose a little higher in the air.

3. Fuck you for looking nice on an airplane, honestly. This isn’t so much of a fuck you as it is a how is this possible? I look like a gremlin who was caught in a flood and a tornado and a hornets nest. It’s just rude to look so much better than me, and to make it all look so effortless. I’m wearing socks with sandals, goddamn it, because I’m tired, these shoes were too heavy to check through, and my toes get cold. I’m a wreck. This is a PSA.

4. Fuck the system. Or…yeah. Fuck this whole first class business class nonsense. I get it, because I, too, would like to actually be able to stretch my (very long) legs out whilst flying. But I can’t, because I don’t have money flying off of trees and landing in my wallet.

5. Speaking of first class, fuck the stupid curtain. “Okay so what we’ll do is take the rich people and put them up front and then keep the plebs away from them with a mesh curtain.”

6. Fuck airports that don’t have free unlimited wifi. Sorry I have a six hour layover and wanted to write on my laptop but only had 30 minutes to do it, JFK. Sorry. So sorry I refuse to pay $5 an hour for shitty wifi. On that note, fuck writing a blog post on your cell phone whilst using data.

7. Fuck. I’m so fucking tired. I’m in that mood where nothing matters so I don’t understand why people put any effort into anything non-essential. Also I broke a nail and I’m annoyingly emotional about it.

8. 12 hours down, 8 to go. There’s no place like home. Fuck everywhere else.


November 9, 2016

You may have noticed that uh…my country has made a terrible decision.

The fact that Donald Trump is the president elect made it hard to get out of bed this morning. Just existing today has been a struggle for so many of us; I’m afraid and angry and sad and disappointed and horrified. And the fact that I am not alone in my terror just seems to make it worse. I’m not only worried about myself and my rights, but the rights of millions of other minorities, people of color, LGBT+ people, immigrants, etc etc etc…

I want to shut down. I want to scream, I want to cry. I want to give in to the most primal parts of myself that are trying to tear me up from the inside out. And in a few ways I have. I left school early because I just couldn’t see straight. Breathing is hard. I’m trying to see the sunlight for the gift that it is, trying to smell the fall leaves and feel joy but…there’s a fog covering my brain and I don’t know when it’ll lift.

The only thing keeping me afloat is a sense of duty toward America. I want to take care of her now. I know a lot of people’s immediate reaction is to run away, to move elsewhere. And if that’s something you feel you have to do in order to be safe, then do it. Really. I promise I understand.

But I’ll be here, because I won’t abandon this country only to watch it be destroyed. When something you love is being abused and mistreated, you don’t leave. You support it. You love it. You take extra care of it. You fight for it. I never felt particularly patriotic before, because patriotism felt tainted by selfish, radical right wing politicians. But today, I feel the need to hold this country tighter to my heart than I ever have before. Because we need it. We need extra love, extra kindness, or we might just fall apart.

There are too many unknowns. I’m scared for my rights as a bisexual woman. I’m scared for the safety of those I love. But I promise you we will find a way to get through this. We’re gonna be okay. I don’t know when, and I’m not really sure how, but I’m gonna go with my gut on this one and say somehow it’ll all be okay.

Take care of yourself. Do things that make you feel alive and happy. Take care of your soul, lest it be crushed. Take a break from the news if you feel like you can. Do what is best for you. Eat well. Sleep if you can. Kiss your mother. Find a dog and pet it. Allow yourself a few moments to rebuild, then move forward. There’s a lot to do.

Its time to be there for this country and make sure everything we value is taken care of. I’m very angry, but anger has never solved anything. We have a chance to truly define who we are as a country, so act with grace and love. Let unity dominate your thoughts. Let your every action be driven by kindness, not hatred. Allow yourself to be afraid, and know that is valid. But try to be motivated positively by that fear and be productive, not destructive.

Be a beacon of light, because this is the darkest time we’ve faced in a long while. Remember that peace has gotten us through tough times before, and it won’t fail us now.

I love you all. Please take care of yourself and everyone you know. We are flawed, but that doesn’t mean we can’t rebuild.

I Gots Opinions

Blogging three times this week may be breaking my record for the year. I miss you guys, and I really hope you missed me, because without you I’m just typing to myself while shivering because this apartment is so damn cold…and that’s just depressing. So hi! I love you all, and I’m really trying to get back to my blog-y self!

I realized recently that in the past two years, this blog really has changed. It started out as a humor blog, but as I grew up I faced a lot of real challenges: depression, anxiety, confusion about my sexual orientation, traveling abroad and getting e. coli, just being in college, dropping out of a sorority… It felt hard to be funny, you know? I’d sit down to blog and I’d either:

A) Have no clue what to say because my brain was so exhausted from my stats class that all I wanted to do was eat pie and sleep. Or…

B) Totally know what I wanted to write about but feel restricted. I think I feel like I’m not allowed to write about certain things because my parents and family read this, or because friends of mine subscribe and I wouldn’t want to offend anyone by what I say. Of course, there’s always the “I need a job someday so I probably shouldn’t swear too much or talk about any suspicious activities” but then I remember that I very rarely act suspicious and to my knowledge have not committed a crime (unless you count being too damn sexy). I’m an adult. I’m 22 years old, and even though I don’t feel 22 (Taylor Swift lied), I’m at least qualified to talk about things in a very direct and sassy way.

I gots opinions, y’all. They’re hilarious and totally worth your time, so here it goes:

1. Should you choose to be a dude and let your chain hang low (whatever the hell that means), maybe pull up your damn pants. If I have to see one more guy waddling around with a belt around his thighs with his little booty cheeks sticking out for all the world to see, I will scream. I will scream at your butt, sir.

2. Maybe we could all just stop driving trucks, because unless you need that truck to haul logs or move hogs or to dig out bogs, I would really appreciate you not getting 8 mpg just for the hell of it. Save your money and go on vacation or something. On a similar note…

3. Could we all put this “I’m country” act to bed? I grew up on eight acres of field with a little orchard. My neighbors lived far away from me. I went to school in a farm town. Technically, of all of us, I’m country. (Except dear God I’m not.) You grew up in downtown Seattle and dirt is a foreign concept to you. Have you ever seen a cow? Have you been to the county fair? So I know we live in a town near some wheat fields, but maybe stop talking with a totally unexplained southern accent, and take off your damn Carhartt.

4. Enough with Tinder. You aren’t going to find the love of your life on that stupid dating app, and to be honest you probably won’t even find someone to make out with tonight. I used it once, and ended up getting stood up like 3 different times and going on a few dates with a complete jackass. If you want to date someone, just walk up to someone in class or at the bar or in the freaking grocery store. If you want to hook up, walk up to someone in class or at the bar or in the freaking grocery store. You’re only ever going to find a bunch of weirdos who send you unsolicited pictures of their penises without warning, and nobody wants to deal with that.

5. If you insist on using dating apps, utilize spellcheck. Your phone has autocorrect for a reason, and that reason is: you can’t spell worth a damn. “Hay girl your hott” literally makes me want to vomit, especially if you’re a 26 year old elementary school teacher. Also, if you’re a 26 year old, stop looking for random college girls and start making friends your own age. It’s like when people would graduate from high school and come visit the sophomores at lunch. Everyone thought it was cool until they realized that those high school graduates were reeeeally lame.

6. Speaking of dick pics…what the hell. I still don’t get it. I’ve tried so hard to understand the motivation behind sending them, but I just cannot understand. There’s nothing inherently wrong with male genitalia, but I can assure you that it is much more pleasant when it is seen in person. When you want to see it. When it’s attached to a guy you like. Who is being nice to you. And who doesn’t just whip it out willy-nilly (get it, willy? HA) without any warning.
Basically, think of it this way. I have no idea what to do with a picture of your penis except yell, “OH DEAR GOD” and immediately show it to all my friends who also think it’s icky. You just sexually assaulted me via telephone, and my brain just exploded because why did you do that I can’t figure out why you did that and then it takes every ounce of my self-restraint to not throw my phone across the room in horror.
Most recipients of dick pics don’t sit there staring at the picture for hours pining for it. Most recipients feel violated and dirty and just want you to stop virtually rubbing your genitalia all over their phone.


I Have a Few Issues With Bathrooms

Bathrooms should be sanctuaries. Sanctuaries where we poo. But lately I’ve been noticing a lot of issues with these supposed “tranquil” areas.

1. Why does the bathroom stall door open inward? Because when I’m on campus, wearing a backpack and a huge coat (it hath snowed, everyone), I already barely fit in the stall while the door’s closed. But then, upon attempting to leave the stall, I’m faced with a conundrum: how? How do I leave? I try to pull the door open and accidentally hit myself in the face! Now not only am I stuck in a poo “sanctuary” but I’m bleeding profusely from my schnoz and am possibly concussed. And then there’s always the possibility of an accidental falling-in-the-toilet situation. Which would just be unfortunate.
Someone needs to remedy this. I’m lookin’ at you, engineers.

2. What’s with those nonsense faucets that only spew water for about 2 seconds? You know, the ones where you lather up and then push a button with the back of your soapy hand, only to have a momentary spritz of water before the water stops. Those faucets are teases. “Oh, you want water? Sure, have some water. Nice, warm water to help you sanitize your icky hands…oh just kidding. I’ve run out. PUSH ME AGAIN.” Again. Engineers, you’re half-assin’ it.

3. Nothing you touch is sanitary. Ever. How can I exit the poo sanctuary in peace when the whole time I’m dodging bacteria like a germaphobic kangaroo? Those minxy faucets clearly are disease ridden, judging by the amount of times everyone has to punch them to get more than a tablespoon out. And the doors always have handles and open inward (both on the stalls and upon exiting the bathroom). I don’t want to touch a door handle after I’ve just washed my hands, because lord knows I’m in the minority when it comes to sanitizing my mitts after pottying. I’ve seen so many people leave that sanctuary uncleansed. Ew.

Basically, someone needs to do something about this, but it can’t be me. I’m too emotionally involved, and that would just lead to nonsense, like adding zen gardens into every toilet and having a toilet attendant who compliments you on your hair before you leave. Somebody. Do. Something.

Technology Does Weird Things to Me

When I say that, I don’t mean I’ve been operated on by mutant robots (my appointment isn’t until Friday, and they say I should make a full recovery, but I’ll definitely have a bionic arm. Hopefully it doesn’t turn against me). I do mean that the interwebs and iPhones and whatnot make me do and say and care about weird things that I never would’ve done/said/cared about before.

Example: The other day, I looked up a YouTube video I’d previously commented on (it was a Mock the Week episode and Dara had made a weird face. I commented on said face and got the most upvotes…top comment! Jeah!) and got waayyyyy too excited about getting top comment. Then, someone had commented sassily in reply to my comment, and I wanted to be super rude to them and tell them to shut up.
And then I realized I was being insane. Getting top comment on a YouTube video means literally nothing in the scheme of my life. Being sassed by some random girl via the internet also means nothing to me. Being a jerk back makes me an asshole (so good thing I wasn’t!).

Basically, the internet barely matters. It matters to me in terms of this blog, because it’s an outlet for me to vent/be awesome/get my name and writing out there. But 99% of the internet is completely useless to me. Same goes for technology in general, unless I need heart surgery or a bionic arm or I really need to stalk someone.

iphoneWhich is why I ditched my iPhone on Sunday. Boom, universe exploded.

Guess what my phone does now? Calls and texts. Which is more than a phone was invented for in the first place anyway. Texting is technically superfluous, but it is the most superfluous thing I need in my life right now. Do I need Netflix on my phone? No. That was cool, but no. Do I need my bank statement on my phone? No. Also super cool and helpful, but a pen and paper will do the trick when I need to keep track of my finances. Do I need to play games on my phone? Definitely not…that’s not even really that cool anyway. There are pros and cons of smartphones, so I will now list them for you because I am good at listing. Also, it shows the world that I can indeed count.

6. Pro: You can access just about everything from your phone in an instant. This is super awesome when you need directions to Mindy’s house and Mindy lives in the middle of freaking nowhere and you’re lost because you took a left at Bessie the Cow instead of taking a right. Also awesome when you want to show someone a real-time video of you at the Great Wall of China, or when you need to check to see if the guy you just met is a serial killer (is there an app for that?).

4. Con: You can access just about everything from your phone in an instant. Why would I need sports scores delivered to my phone immediately, dinging 30 times to tell me that my favorite team lost? Unless I have a serious sports-gambling addiction, which I should get help for, I don’t need to know these things. Also, the fact that there’s an app to add a laugh track to my life is seriously disturbing.

5. Pro: You can check your email! Yay, now you can get work done while you’re on the toilet!

11. Con: see above…because really, nobody needs to do that.

3. Pro: People can always contact you! This is great for emergencies.

55. Con: People can always contact you. This is terrible for everything except emergencies.

I think you kinda get the pattern, here, right? Basically, smartphones are awesome, and they can make life way easier, but they also make everything a little more complicated. Also, I would like to look up from my phone and actually see the world once in a while. Some people are great at putting away their phone and enjoying life, but I wasn’t, so I MADE myself exercise self control.

Anyway, this may only last for the summer, but it’s a fun experiment, and I feel more awesome already! Thoughts?

Fingerless Gloves and Other Pointless Things

I’m all for looking awesome, but sometimes I wonder why looking awesome has recently come at the expense of wearing useless things.

The fingerless gloves have got to go. Honestly. Unless you’re homeless or happen to need them in order to properly be a mechanic or something, you should be ashamed of yourself for wearing them. You should be ashamed of yourselves for imitating homeless “fashion.” Homeless people do not wear clothes for fashion. They wear them because they’re clothes. And the fact that you have chosen to emulate their “wardrobe” is an affront to homeless people everywhere.

Stop wearing your headband across your forehead. The purpose of a headband is to keep things OFF of your forehead, not add a bedazzled strip across it. Why would anyone think that looks attractive, you ask? Answer: They’re cutting off the circulation to their brain.

Your lensless/non-prescription glasses make you look like a fool. You’re not playing Harry Potter. You’re not, even though you dreamed you would. Weren’t you the kid who made fun of the “nerds” wearing glasses? Well, you’ve apparently joined their club, but they don’t want you. I speak for all glasses-wearing nerds because…I am not one…and…um…

Jesus doesn’t care that you tattooed his fish onto your hip. In fact, he might be frowning from the right hand of God right now, because you purposefully put it there in order to look sexy. I understand that many people feel that their faith is so important to them that they want to permanently mark their body with it, but…well, actually, I don’t understand that. Because I thought that faith was meant to be spiritual, not physical, and I’m pretty sure it’s not meant to be shown off while wearing a bathing suit.

And finally, stop putting inspiring posters/plaques up in your dorm room. I don’t want to walk into a room and be immediately told to live.laugh.love. or some other nonsense. And for heaven’s sake…the God sayings have to end.

Now that I’ve proven that I’m a total grump, have a wonderful day!

Double-Talk (Part 2)

What they say: I like your outfit, you look really comfy.
What they mean: You look like a slob; my goodness, couldn’t you have at least tried this morning?!

What they say: You always have the cutest clothes! I swear, they’d look bad on anyone else but you!
What they mean: Those clothes look bad on everyone. Why are you wearing them, you tramp?

What they say: You were too good for him. It’s best that you broke up.
What they mean: You have terrible taste and MY GOD I’ve been waiting for you two to break up for months. He’s a loser, and you are by association. Also, I never told you while you two were dating because I’m a terrible friend.

What they say: Have you seen my [object]?
What they mean: Drop everything and help me look, slave.

What they say: Does this make me look fat?
What they mean: If you say yes, I’m dumping you.

What they say: I look fat.
What they mean: I feel a little crappy about myself but know I don’t actually look fat, so if you could just reinforce that…thanks.

What they say: You’re the nicest boy I’ve ever met, I’m so glad we’re friends.
What they mean: I have terrible taste in guys so I will never like you. I’m too busy mooning over twits. Thorry!

What they say: I’m busy.
What they mean: Leave me the hell alone, you’re obnoxious and I’d rather eat my pants than spend time with you.

What they say: We just don’t need any employees at the moment.
What they mean: Seriously, it looks like you’re wearing my grandmother’s sweater. So no, we don’t want you selling clothes here.
Or they could just mean they’re not hiring at the moment…whatever…

What they say: Having reviewed the many applications we have received in the past few months, we regret to inform you that we cannot accept you to Harvard at this time.
What they mean: Your daddy didn’t donate enough to our library.

What they say: We just don’t have similar interests.
What they mean: You stayed up until 3 AM playing beer pong on a Wednesday night, and really, I don’t feel like cleaning up your puke anymore. Pack up your Abercrombie wardrobe and get movin’.

America’s Ass

America's ass sits on the Chair of Life. Careful, it's gonna break.

America’s ass is too big for its gigantic pantaloons.


Michelle Bachmann: You were worried about Bill Clinton being too big of an influence on Hilary? Please. Bachmann said, in front of a church congregation, that she studied tax law because her husband wanted her to and it was her job to obey him.
Government is too big? She worked for the IRS, was paid by the state to take care of foster children, she became a congresswoman (and thereby employed by the government), and her husband is a psychologist who (besides being insane and trying to cure people of their gayness) receives money from Medicare and Medicaid.

And then of course, we’ve got Christine O’Donnell who was like “I’m not a witch!” which is fine, because I honestly don’t care whether she ever was or not, but if you experimented with Wiccan practices, don’t you think you should let gay people marry each other? I don’t totally know how that logic works out in my head, honestly, but it just seems to me that once you’ve got a taste of how people treat you once they feel you’ve “sinned” you’d understand that gays get 100x more of that every day for no reason.
But better yet, my pal Christine apparently (wrongly) thinks she understands how interviews work, since she called Piers Morgan “rude” and “creepy” for asking her stance on gay marriage and not simply sticking to questions she had prepared an answer to. She was like (and this isn’t a direct quote, but it’s pretty close) “You should ask me questions about what I want to talk about, and what I want to talk about is my book…because I’m greedy and want people to buy it.” That last bit was loosely paraphrased.
No, Christine, interviews don’t work that way. You go to an interview and you answer the questions, unless they’re totally out of line and don’t make any dang sense like, “What’s your favorite dog biscuit to snack on, you bitch?”

Freedom Fries: Seriously? We think we’re right all the time, and anyone who doesn’t jump on our wagon of stupidity doesn’t deserve to have their name spoken in our country? The French didn’t even INVENT French fries, so chill.
Anyone who still calls them Freedom Fries has to be completely delusional.

What we did to the Dixie Chix after their comment about Bush: You are aware that you bought their CDs to burn them, right? Yeah, enough said.

Hummers: Hi, you aren’t in the army, so STOP DRIVING THAT CAR. You’re a jerk! I don’t even care what you need to do with it, you’re a jerk. Your car gets about 12 mpg. My car gets at least 35 in the city. I am better than you, and I have no problem saying it. I am better than you because I don’t drive a freaking Hummer. I mean, what were you thinking?!
Same goes for every other car that gets crappy gas mileage and/or is gigantic. I’m sorry. I judge you.
Actually, no, I’m not sorry. If you don’t need a truck for work/farming, you shouldn’t have one. If you have a suburban because you have 8 kids, maybe you shouldn’t have had so many dang kids. Do you know how much waste you produce? Unless your kids all turn out to be Jesus and like, environmental scientists or little Ghandis, you’re a fool. Again. I’m judging you.

As Americans, we just run around thinking we deserve all this stuff; money but no taxes (which pay for the things we use, such as Medicare, roads, public schools, social security), FREEDOM but no responsibility for what we do to other countries that aren’t “free” enough, etc etc. It’s sick. Why do we expect to not have to work for anything? We’ve become the lazy country and everyone else knows it. The Founding Fathers would be so proud. Especially since most of us still think Ben Franklin was a president.

So. Wanna feel like you’re not a complete jerk? Go to the SocialVibe link on the bottom of my sidebar and do some (really quick and free) work for charity. It’s for Ugandan children who are starving and being forced to fight as child soldiers. Just do it, or may God smite you.


Here’s a question: Why do fitness clubs have to find the most obnoxious “slogans” imaginable and then print them on a t-shirt? It’s getting a little annoying.

I was walking behind two guys in the hall today. They’d come from the direction of the gym (I later realized I recognized one of them as someone who works at the gym) and were all “look at our swaaaag, mmm yeah, booty, also…pects.” They were also talking really loudly, so I was judging them.

Anyway, the one who works at the gym was wearing his “uniform” and it said “UP YOURS” on the back in really big letters. I was a little confused until I got closer and saw that it was “clever” and “witty” and said, in smaller letters beneath, “Push Ups, Chin Ups,” etc etc. Har har, gym man, that’s so great.

Now, I realize that I’m insulting the guy for a mistake choice his employer made, but mostly I’m trying to insult him for being a total toolbag.

Anyway, as I walked back to work from my errand and chance meeting with these “lovely” men, I realized that I’d seen a lot more of these slogans from my gym (Oz Fitness…I’m sure they appreciate the wonderful press I’m giving them). So without further ado, I will now be commenting on their ridiculousness:

Grab Fitness by the Ball!
That’s weird. I don’t enjoy that inuendo, but thanks. Now I really don’t want to attend your weird dodge ball class. It’s bad enough trying to run away from angry, sweaty men who are throwing stuff at you without having to worry about being molested or sexually harassed.

Have you said the F word today?
Who wears a t-shirt that says that?! No, I haven’t said the f word today, but I will in a moment! Oh, it stands for Fitness? Well FITNESS YOU! Moron.

Body Parts
Okay, this one doesn’t offend me, but I kinda don’t get it. What about body parts? Are there some in your trunk? Do you have a couple extra upon your person? Would you like to cut mine off? This is strange and, frankly, somewhat frightening.

And finally, “UP YOURS”
No, my good fellow. Up YOURS. I don’t like you. When I left the gym the other day, you didn’t say “have a nice day” or anything. You just let me walk by, lonely as a cloud, without wishing me well. Sure, I was grunting and limping and you were probably afraid for your life, but still…

I Am Cappy: Hear Me Grump!

Let me start out by calmly explaining my day to you:


Okay. Now that’s settled, I’d like to say that these are extremely FIRST WORLD type problems and I honestly have no right to be upset, but I’m gonna be anyway because today I want to be selfish.

The phones are ringing off the freaking hook . Seriously, the MOMENT I walked in the door today the phone rang.  And the calls aren’t from anyone important. They’re from asshole (pardon my French, but really. They are assholes. So there.) people from the “phone company” wanting to speak to “the person who is in charge of the phone lines” because they’re from CenturyLink and want to “save us money.” Well SHOVE IT, we don’t USE your phone service, as stated ON MY TELEPHONE WHERE IT SAYS TEL-WEST.
So I told him I was in charge of the phone lines. He totally didn’t believe me. How dare he not believe me? How dare he not accept my small-child voice as that of a business owner? How daaaaare he question my authority as a receptionist business owner?! The sneaky, rude ninny (I’m trying to censor myself, or there would be way too many Fs all over this page. Yeah, I’d say flibberflabber. But my dad reads this). Anyway, he totally didn’t believe me but was like “blahhblahblah” and I didn’t pay attention because my head was catching fire from rage, and finally I said, “We get calls from you all the time and we don’t have phone service through you, so could you please take us off your list or something?” Yeah, I said “or something.” I’m really authoritative. He said, “I just need to confirm that you are the person in charge of the ph–” and I hung up, like the strong willed woman I am.

And then I yelled about it to Scott, my co-worker. And he laughed. He doesn’t understand how difficult my job is.

Then, someone texted me and tried to force me to ask for pictures of their diddlydingums (I’ve never used that word, oh my goodness what’s happening to me?), so I had to set THAT straight. No, I do not want to see anything under your clothing, you nasty piece of nasty. NASTY! And also, rude. Now I can check “get sexually harassed” off my bucket list, so thanks.

And then, to top off my white-girl problems list, I ordered a BLT downstairs at the coffee shop and the chick put mayonaise on it. Here’s the deal. I expressly chose the BLT because I figured it would only have bacon, lettuce, and tomato on it, as described on the sign under the word “BLT.” There was absolutely no mention of mayo. I have been BLINDSIDED by this mayonaise, and I do not appreciate it. And of course, by then my lunch break was over and I was too tired (lazy) and angry to go down and ask for a new one. Also, I never tell people when they make my order wrong, which is dumb and I need to learn how because I’m an adult and my goodness what is my problem? I can’t even tell people I don’t want something. Unless it’s pictures of their nether regions, because that is a big no no and I ain’t down with that.

I tried to eat the sandwich with the mayo, but honestly, I kinda wanted to die. So I didn’t eat it. I will give it to a homeless man or something. With my luck, he won’t like mayo either, and he’ll throw it at my face.