red-solo-cup
Advice From Someone Who Should Never Give Advice, I'm Single Now, Lists, New Beginnings, On The Bright Side... Alcohol, Story Time, The Drinking Game Series

Breaking Up And Binge-Drinking: More Games For Your Solo Cup

(Yes, my relationship is over but my love affair with alcohol will never die. Remember: people come and go but liver damage is forever.)

This September, Alessandro and I celebrated our four-year anniversary. We met on campus in my sophomore year of college and moved in together after a little over a year as we continued our education together. Things were good. It was easy. Considering my love of dysfunction, I should’ve realized something wasn’t quite right.

Make no mistake, in this story I am the bad guy. We met just as I ended my first relationship and I hopped into this one without really giving myself time to think or grieve or remember to go to class. Sure, I loved him, but not enough to imagine a future together or to not feel the need to talk to other guys. (I KNOW I’M THE  WORST, SHUT UP ABOUT IT.) Anyways, recently we started to see we didn’t have enough money to keep living in our apartment together so we both moved back in with our parents and decided to call it quits.

It’s weird being alone after 7 years of boyfriends. I still have my friends but sometimes you just wanna tell someone that you found a really long nose hair or saw a bumper sticker that said “I brake for wet leaves”, and you go to pick up your phone to send the news but you realize nobody except your significant other would even care, and suddenly you’re like,

“Shit… I really am alone.

beetlejuice-lydia-i-am-utterly-alone-gif

Then you start to ask yourself what you used to do before you had someone to chill with 24/7 and your mind becomes that scene from SpongeBob Squarepants where he’s trying to remember his name.

spongebob-brain-fail-gif

All you know is fine dining and breathing. (And in my case, drinking.)

With that in mind, I’ve developed a few more drinking games you can play by yourself because who’s about to stop you? Certainly not your significant other because you’re alone and no one loves you.

Drinking Games to Play Alone:

  1. Download Tinder. Take a drink every time you swipe right, chug if it’s a match.
  2. Go through your phone, Facebook, picture library, etc. and drink whenever you delete a picture of your ex. (Because that’s how you win. At drinking AND at life.)
  3. Make a list of all your past lovers/significant others/crushes and text ALL OF THEM. Drink if they text you back. Chug if they hit you up for a booty call.
  4. This one’s obvious and possibly overused but open Chat Roulette, Omegle, whatever else they have now and shuffle through the people. Drink whenever you see a penis.
  5. Solo Beer Pong: All you need for this is a table, a wall, cups, and ping pong balls. Put the table against the wall and arrange cups in front of you the way you normally would in beer pong but only your side. Use the table and the wall to bounce the balls into your own cups. Drink when you make the shot, etc. (normal rules apply).
  6. Turn on one of your favorite (or least favorite) movies or tv shows. Make your own drinking game!! (It’s fun.) For example, I used to make drinking games for the Presidential debates but I was too good at them and I almost got alcohol poisoning so I stopped. (I’m actually thinking about making a whole series of drinking games for movies and tv shows to put on this blog so if you have any requests, leave them in the comments below.)
  7. Put your playlist on shuffle. Try for mostly love songs. Drink every time you cry. (This also works for sad movies and looking through the aforementioned pictures of your ex as well.)

Well, that’s all I have for now. If you want more, refer to my last post about drinking games to play alone. It’s a decent read. If you have any ideas you’d like to share, feel free to leave them in the comments below. And remember: you’re never alone when there’s booze and twitter.

red-solo-cup

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trash-mountain
I'm Single Now, Just Your Everyday Neighborhood Nonsense, Life Lessons, Lists, New Beginnings, Who Is Alanna?

Things That Moving Taught Me

(Lessons about life, love, independence, and the point of exercising. But most importantly, lessons about myself. And why other people can suck it.)

If you follow me on my myriad social media, you might know that I’m going through a huge transitional period in my life and basically everything you know about stuff unrelated to my physical body/mind is different now. (Try to keep up.)

I broke up with my boyfriend, took a leave of absence from school, and moved back in with my mom and step dad. I’ll talk about the details of the breakup and other things in another post, but this one is about the process of moving from one place to another.

If you weren’t already aware, it fucking sucks.

Although I feel like quite the beast because other than my dad carrying the big furniture out of my apartment, ’twas all me (not Alessandro cause he left me in the lurch mad hard) and doing all that by myself made me realize that I can do anything so haters to the left.

Here’s the list of things moving taught me. Enjoy.

  1. 90% of my possessions are just trash or scraps of paper. Also clothing. I have too much of it.
  2. Carrying all those books back and forth is exactly why people don’t read. No one should be this literate.
  3. I have more boxes than actual things to put in said boxes.
  4. I never thought I’d have anything negative to say about consumerism, but here we are.
  5. Where is all the cocaine?
  6. Of all the things I have in common with homeless people (heavy drinking, flannel, boxes,etc.), the ability to pack lightly is not one of them.
  7. Officially jealous of hobos.
  8. There’s no scenario wherein I don’t fall down the stairs again at the end of this. (SIDE NOTE: I did fall many times but luckily not down the stairs.)
  9. Initially, I wrote this list on a physical piece of paper because I CAN’T LEARN FROM MY MISTAKES.
  10. So. Much. Paper.
  11. I spent more time staring at everything than actually packing.
  12. Seeing my life laid before me in boxes and trash bags made me wonder why no concerned citizen hasn’t intervened on behalf of this poor mentally challenged young woman. I really shouldn’t even be allowed to drive.
  13. Adults don’t need this many posters.
  14. Nor this many American flags unless they operate a military sign-up post.
  15. I need to stop getting drunk and buying crap online.
  16. Going through all this reminded me of the time I hid a $1,200 check somewhere and the apartment became a “National Treasure” movie. (I still haven’t found that check.)
  17. My neighbors stole all my trash cans as one last “fuck you” before I moved, so I waited until the last day and made my own Trash Mountain on the sidewalk. It was glorious and evidence as to why you shouldn’t fuck with me.

    trash-mountain

    Not exactly like my Trash Mountain, but close enough.

  18. My back is going to hurt forever.
  19. I totally don’t need a man. (Except for my dad because even with all this hardcore girl-power flowing through my veins, I still can’t lift heavy furniture.)
  20. This is the first time in a long time I feel like I’m moving my life in the right direction, so despite everything that’s been going on, I’m really truly happy.

By the way, I’m dyeing my hair blonde next week so strap in for that mess. Pictures and more to come later. Bye now :)

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Coming Soon, Contests, Humble Beginnings, Lists, On The Bright Side... Alcohol, Other Writing And Art, People From My Past

It’s My 2-Year Blogiversary

(Not much has changed. I might actually be less funny and relevant now. But I’m older, so ya know… silver linings.)

Two years ago today (well, technically it was August 2nd but let’s not bust balls), I wrong my first blog post for this dumb little site all because my dad said that I wouldn’t follow through with it. So much beauty sprung from spite.

It’s like a poem.

My first post was pretty bad. I rambled on for multiple paragraphs about lion terrorists and how I peed myself in my car and looking back, I have to wonder what the hell was I thinking? That girl sounded like she was on drugs and honestly she probably was.

Snapshot_20120512_8

Throwback to when I first started writing here. Sure, the crazy is poignant, but I was so thin… Is health and sanity really worth it?

 

I’ve been reading through my old posts and there are some creepy coincidences happening with events from this time in 2014 mirroring events now. For instance, just a couple days ago I stepped on ANOTHER nail and it went through the SAME FLIP FLOPS!!!! And the ex boyfriend who got his girlfriend pregnant literally 2 years ago is back with that girl and she’s pregnant AGAIN!!! (Not with his baby, but that’s none of my business…) Then there’s the whole Ice Bucket Challenge thing which nobody talked about since summer of 2014 and suddenly it’s back in the news again because it worked. I wrote a post concerning my advice and general thoughts on college 2 years ago and wrote another advice article for college kids called “A Letter To My Freshman Self” just this past week!!!

Chris Pratt Guardians of the Galaxy WHAT gif

Mind = blown.

Anyways, as I’ve looked over the vast empire of bullshit I’ve built these past two years, I’ve noticed that you all seem to really like reading about the stupid stuff I get into when I get drunk and sad, so you’re all basically reveling in my sorrows and addictions. Shame. On. You. I wag my finger in your general direction. You also have a deep interest in drinking games you can play by yourself which tells me two things: 1) I need to write another post with new and improved solo-drinking games, and 2) A lot of you must be drinking alone or at least enough that it might be a problem so I understand the need to commiserate.

Always Sunny in Philadelphia alcoholics gif 1Always Sunny in Philadelphia alcoholics gif 2Always Sunny in Philadelphia alcoholics gif 3Always Sunny in Philadelphia alcoholics gif 4Always Sunny in Philadelphia alcoholics gif 5Always Sunny in Philadelphia alcoholics gif 6Always Sunny in Philadelphia alcoholics gif 7Always Sunny in Philadelphia alcoholics gif 8

Exactly.

Another thing I used to do a lot is list a few choice search terms that led people to my blog, and no matter how long I write on the internet, I’ll never get used to the crazy, funny, and mostly disgusting phrases typed into search engines. (I clearly use the word “bitch” waayyy too much so the blame is partly on me.) Now without further ado, here’s some search terms that somehow brought you here in 2016 so far:

1. solo drinking games; drinking games to play alone; drinking games to play by yourself; one person drinking games  (You see what I mean?)

2. do i go banging on peoples doors asking for them to suck my penis america?
(Fabulous)

3. your pussy aint worth the fames you playing  (I don’t understand what it’s saying, but somehow my feelings still hurt.)

4. teens kitten twitter  (I realize this seems harmless, but I don’t trust it.)

5. fuck yall all i need is jesus

6. officially bullshit  (Refer to my “Bullshit” post.)

7. i just love my all fucking haters

8. twitter typical white girl funny scary video of phone ringing in bed (…What??)

9. what does the expression mean when they say i’m not always a bitch just kidding go fuck yourself  (This should be self-explanatory, I’m disappointed in whoever wrote this.)

10. dee you bitch  (Lol, an “Always Sunny” reference never fails to warm my heart.)

11. guess who’s not going back to high school  (Frenchie? But seriously, take that guy’s advice: “Turn in your teasing comb and go back to high school.”)

12. bitch am not into you  (…Whatever, I’m not into you either. Mean.)

So there you go. Two years of bullshit and not much has changed. Keep an eye out for my next drinking game post because I might do another giveaway with money and giftcards and perhaps a featured blogger contest.

Thanks again for being a part of the nonsense with me all this time. Come for the pumpkin spice, stay for the unadulterated crazy.

Jenna Marbles Thank You Tasty Muffin Snake gif

 Later taters! ;)

 

 

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Sidney Poitier Mr Tibbs Cat Face
Just Your Everyday Neighborhood Nonsense, Story Time, The Chronicles Of Diane Kitten, They Call Him Mister Tibbs!, We're All Mad Here, Who Is Alanna?

R. I. P. Diane Kitten

(Well, not really.  I mean, kind of.  Like you think you know someone for a whole year and then they turn out to be a completely different person so you sorta feel like the person you knew is dead.  That’s where I’m at right now.)

Alessandro and I finally took Diane Kitten to the vet after almost a year of having her (not out of neglect, we’re poor) but because she randomly started coughing and it was clear she was having trouble breathing.  We rushed her to the kitty Emergency Room and found out she has asthma so it’s all good and she has medicine and feels much better now.

We found out some things like she’s about 2 years old and has a little tracker in the back of her neck (which I totally wanna remove, especially considering we looked for her owners for a longggg time and nobody claimed her so they’re clearly just bad people).  We also found out she is not a she.

Caitlin Jenner Diane Kitten Vanity Fair Cover

Diane Kitten is a boy.

Then again, how am I supposed to know how he/she identifies?  It’s my fault for assuming he was a girl, but apparently he’s neutered so it makes sense why I was confused.  Also I hoped he was a girl for solidarity purposes, imposing my own desires concerning his gender upon him which is totally philistine and not at all forward-thinking.  I never thought I’d be this type of mother (cat-owner) and my surprise as well as my feelings of loss at the news were quite disconcerting.

I looked it up though, and there exists a phenomenon within the transgender community that people don’t really talk about.  There is often a need to mourn the person you (or your friend/family member/etc.) used to be so that the true person can live and flourish in their real identity.  It’s actually good to grieve the loss of the prior identity and gives the transgender person a feeling of closure without any guilt in moving on.

I’m likening my feelings to this phenomenon because even though it’s just a cat, I feel like I got to know him as “Diane Kitten” and in my childish brain, I built up this whole personality surrounding that female identity.  Now I feel like I have to get to know him as a boy and mold an idea of who he is around this knowledge.

The worst part is changing the name. I was proud of that name.  (She even has a twitter account.)  The deal was that if we found out Diane was a boy, Alessandro would get to pick the name, so he picked “Mr. Tibbs”, Sidney Poitier’s character from the movie “In the Heat of the Night”, which is a badass role and Sir Sidney Poitier is probably the coolest person you could name someone after, but he already has lots of social media accounts and Virgil Tibbs had to deal with so much racism and bullshit which I would like to shield Diane/Mr. Tibbs from.  “They chew you up and spit you out.”

Sidney Poitier Mr Tibbs Cat Face

“THEY CALL ME MISTER TIBBS!!!”

So here we are, going through the gender identity process together.  Tibbs has certainly taken to his new name like a justice-minded detective to the mean streets of Sparta, Mississippi.  I’ll miss Diane, but I can’t wait to spend the next couple decades growing and learning with my perfect little boy.  :)

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Alanna Neanderthal DNA
I Call Bullshit, Just Your Everyday Neighborhood Nonsense, Lists, Tell Me Your Secrets, Who Is Alanna?

Whiter Than Ghosts Swimming In Clorox: My DNA Results

(I had no idea how aptly named my blog was.  It’s sad because a little part of me always felt gangster, and I really hoped my internal makeup was more diverse.  “White Girls Be Like” was never more real.  I can’t even…)

Recently, my friend Jessie of “You’re Fine” took a DNA test and wrote about it on her blog.  I was like, “Awesome, I wanna try that!” and bought a test from 23andMe to see my own ancestral breakdown.  I figured it wasn’t going to be as interesting as Jessie’s, but maybe I’d find out something cool or find a relative I never knew about.

First of all, I had no idea about the process of sending away your DNA.  Basically you have to spit into this little cup thingy until it reaches the line (they say it takes about 5 minutes for most people, but I was spitting in this thing for half an hour).  Then you do some sciencey stuff and wrap everything up in the package they give you and put it in the mail.  A million years later (or about a month), you get your results online and all this cool stuff telling you about yourself and some stuff you already know (like, “yes, I know I have red hair, thanks for the info”) but also some stuff that you wouldn’t think they’d know which is cool.  For instance, they knew I was a sprinter (back in the day, not now) because I have some gene that says something about my muscles and how they’re made to sprint.

On the website, there’s a million reports all about what your DNA means (I highly recommend doing this, it’s super fun), and you can click on said reports to give you more detailed information.  I started off seeing my ancestral breakdown.

Alanna DNA breakdown

So… I’m white.

There’s a bunch of smaller percentages under these, but mostly I’m British and Irish.  Big surprise.  Another thing they can tell you is how much Neanderthal you have in you.  Apparently I have quite a lot, and I’m not sure what that says about me, but my mom laughed and said, “That makes so much sense!” which is always nice to hear…

Alanna Neanderthal DNA

More Neanderthal than 58% of other 23andMe customers.  I’m basically a cavewoman.

Some other things they told me I was likely to possess were interesting because I totally broke the mold and said, “Hey, DNA!  I don’t care what I’m ‘supposed’ to be like.  I’m gonna be ME.”  Here’s a list of stuff that was wrong:

  1. Unlikely to have a cleft chin.  I totally have one.  In fact, my cleft chin is a definitive factor about my face.  My uncles used to think it was funny to take a tissue up to my chin and say things like, “Hey, Alanna, I think you forgot to wipe,” or, “You have an ass on your face.”  The latter isn’t very clever, but still hurt my feelings.
  2. Unlikely to have a widow’s peak.  Uhmm… hello??
    Alanna widows peak

    Sailor’s wives come to my head to see if their husbands have come back to port. 

     

  3. Likely to have detached earlobes.  Mine are definitely attached.
  4. Likely to have a little unibrow.  Wow.  Not nice.  I don’t have a unibrow and I actually don’t seem to grow any hair in between my eyebrows so take that DNA people!!
  5. Likely to have straight or wavy hair.  Okay, this one is half right I suppose.  My hair is pretty curly but sometimes just wavy depending on the humidity or if God wants to punish me that day.

Other weird stuff about me is on the reports like the fact that I have wet earwax (shut up, it’s not that gross) and something about if I can tell if my pee smells like asparagus after I eat it (asparagus, not eating my pee).  I can also share my reports, so if you’re interested in how my ring fingers are longer than my index fingers, feel free to shoot me an email.

All in all, I’m just another white girl who likes to hang out in basements (probably because they remind me of being in a cave).  Have you ever tested your DNA?  If so, what’d you find out?  If not, what do you suppose you are?  How Neanderthal are you? 

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Alanna and Freddy Kreuger Nightmare of Elm Street
Just Your Everyday Neighborhood Nonsense, My Boyfriend Has A Mustache, People From My Past, Story Time, Who Is Alanna?

Nightmare On North Pine Street

(Or maybe it’s “Inception”.  Either way, somebody is screwing up my dreams and I don’t know what to do about it.)

So Alessandro and I have officially decided that we’re gonna get engaged once he gets a proper engineering job and saves up enough money for a ring (please hold your excitement and congratulations for the post where we actually get engaged and I have a giant-ass diamond on my finger).  What’s bothering me though is that someone I haven’t seen or thought about in YEARS keeps showing up in my dreams like Freddy-stupid-Krueger.  Like I don’t know this person anymore, I have no idea what they’re doing with their life, I don’t even know what they look like now.

(In fact, he could actually look like Freddy Krueger.  Maybe he was in some type of fire incident that involved him killing little kids and the townspeople taking their revenge?  Or he could look perfect and handsome, exactly as I remember him but now grown up so perhaps better.  The point is I have no idea and shouldn’t even care because I am happy with the person I’m about to spend my life with SO WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME???????)

The story of this person infecting my life begins with myself at the tender age of 12, attending my first track practice of the year in early March. I actually took a year off from my little private school to see what public school was like and was only on my old school’s track team because the public school didn’t have a track team for 6th graders. I had also finally gotten out of my awkward stage, grown 5 inches, and (if I do say so myself) achieved quite the little body in six-grader standards. Plus, my bangs had finally grown out from the year before which taught me a great life lesson about never ever getting bangs ever again.

The first day of practice was freezing cold and even my heavy sweatshirt and thick sweatpants couldn’t keep out the piercing wind. I met one of my friends on the hill overlooking the track to chatter about nonsense and current 6th grade gossip when I made the unfortunate mistake of looking down onto the football field. 200 yards away (maybe, I have no ability to judge distance) I locked eyes with the single most perfect human being I had ever seen (he even put 2005-era Chad Michael Murray and Ashton Kutcher to shame). While my friend rambled on about whatever it was (I wasn’t listening), me and this demigod continued look deeply (and from far away) into each other’s eyes and I couldn’t feel the bitter cold anymore. I interrupted my friend asking, “Who is THAT?!?!” She looked down at the young man also standing with a friend and said, “That guy? Oh that’s [yeah-right-I’m-not-saying-his-name-I-know-who-reads-this-now-and-you’re-probably-all-laughing-at-me-cause-you-know-exactly-who-it-is]. He’s friends with my brother.” My very first words regarding this person was my reply: “I’m going to have his babies.”

(Sixth-grade-Alanna was quite the little minx and very brazen. She also had recently learned what sex was due to her newly-found public school education and something called “health class”, otherwise unheard of in Catholic school.)

My friend got all excited because this type of news was her oxygen and she continued to support me through the years of ups and downs from my perilous unrequited love.

Flash forward to 9th grade (since then, I’m still crushing hard and have reentered Catholic school), the first day of high school, first period Latin class: I’m wearing my “cool” new uniform and am feeling all grown up, ready to take on the world and let the real learning begin because nothing could distract me from my pursuit of higher education. I was pretty nervous so I wasn’t actually looking at anybody as the rest of the class filed in. When it came time for our teacher to assign seats, she said, “Okay, [I’m-still-not-saying-his-name]? Switch seats with Alanna, that’ll be your desk.” I didn’t think anything of the name since it’s pretty common and got up to let this person take my seat. The kid behind me gets up and our bodies touch as he passes by me in the narrow aisle and I almost faint because the boy I’ve been obsessed with for 2 years was totally within kissing distance not 5 seconds ago. My brain stopped working for what seemed like a short time but was apparently a while, and I wasn’t roused from my standing-coma until the second, “Alanna? Your seat is behind [this-is-getting-embarrassing-but-as-you-all-know-I’m-too-candid-for-my-own-good]. Isn’t that funny? You two were sitting in each other’s assigned seats totally by coincidence!” He turned around and smiled at me (fully aware of the crush I’d been harboring for him all this time) and for the rest of class, I didn’t hear a word anyone said except his, all of which made me blush to the point where my face was the same color as my hair.

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This is our only picture together.  What a cute couple lolamirite?

I continued to be in love with him until November of my 11th grade year when I made the conscious decision to fall out of love with him. I changed up all the ways I walked in the halls so as not to see him between classes, I stopped going to lunch and study hall (he was in all of mine because the universe has a sick sense of humor), and I avoided all school events he was likely to attend as well as stopping going to church because our families always went to the same mass. Eventually, I stopped thinking about him and met my very first boyfriend. That year, my crush graduated and other than a couple times watching Penn State football games and a few Christmas masses, I haven’t seen him again.

Until about a month ago, that is. And not in real life either. Just whenever I go to sleep.

I’ve actually tried staying up days at a time, but when I finally fall asleep, the dreams are longer and more vivid than ever. I have no idea what’s happening but it needs to stop. It’s actually come to the point where I wake up and am surprised by Alessandro being next to me instead of him. Maybe I should re-watch the “Nightmare on Elm Street” movies and see how those kids handled it. (Although I’m pretty sure they all either killed themselves or got locked up in insane asylums. If I stop blogging, you guys know where I am.)

Alanna and Freddy Kreuger Nightmare of Elm Street

So why is this happening?  Can somebody dig up Freud to help me?  At this point, I’d kill for a night of tossing and turning over ghosts or killers.  High school is truly to be feared…

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Penis Island
Just Your Everyday Neighborhood Nonsense, Who Is Alanna?

Shutupshutupshutup.

(Also, shut up.  Everybody’s got an opinion, and frankly, I don’t care about them.  Except you guys’ opinions.  Because you matter and aren’t assholes.)

Pretty much everybody in my life are being dicks recently and I’ve been daydreaming about buying them all plane tickets to some remote island with a badass 5-star resort (all-expenses-paid-type-deal) but then tell the pilot to drop them all off and leave them there and then they find out there’s no resort or actual phones or internet or boats and they just have to all be together with their dickishness.

Penis Island

This is what I imagine it would look like.

Then, after a suitable amount of time to suffer my wrath and my irony, they would be allowed to come back and never criticize me again because of my epic superpowers and leader-of-the-world-ness which I plan to gain via Faustian bargain.

This plan is foolproof.

So who would you send to Penis Island and why?  Also, should this be a real place?  (I think it is actually.)  Let me know in the comments about the dicks in your life.  Love y’all :)

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