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.

xo

Advertisements

How to be a Complete FOOL.


Step 1: Pull over to take photos of sunsets.
I’m OK with the occasional nature lover (I am one myself) pulling over to the side of the road to take photos of sunsets, wheat fields, small bushes, owl scat, etc. But please. Don’t PARK YOUR HUGE TRUCK (which you probably don’t even use to actually haul things, you jerk) IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD (or country highway, I suppose I should say) AND GET IN MY WAY. Especially when there is a driveway centimeters from where you pulled over. PULL INTO THE DRIVEWAY! I am a patient driver. Except when you do that. And especially not when you wave me around your car. Um, DUH, I’m not going to wait for you to get your butt back in your car to go around you, you infuriating man.

Step 2: Take a million photos of you and your boyfriend kissing or cuddling.
Chances are, people think you’re a really obnoxious couple anyway because you think cuddling in public is really cute. It’s not. Nobody wants to see your tongue anywhere near your boyfriend’s tongue. EVER.

Step 3: Be terrible at spelling.
By fourth grade at the latest, you should be able to distinguish the difference between they’re, there, and their, along with your and you’re. Also, it’s a lot, not alot. Very has one R. I before E except after C.
I mean, does anybody READ? If you’ve seen things spelled properly for years, why do you continue to spell like a five year old?

Step 4: Have obnoxious facial hair.
This is not to say “don’t have facial hair that sings the song that gets on everybody’s nerves or screams obscenities during romantic films.” Please don’t be dense.
I’m talking weird little bits of hair that give the impression that some small rodent died on your chin. If you take that much time grooming something that’s one square centimeter, you have time to get a life.