Catch Colds, Not Feels

(Or be like me and catch both. Your call really.)

I’ve been sick for a little over 2 weeks and it doesn’t seem to be going away. Speaking of things that aren’t going away, I’ve run into a slight predicament in the realm of romance. (And not VD you pervs… geez.) Rather that something that was never supposed to be anything other than friends hanging out has recently become slightly more than that, at least on my end.

EDITOR’S NOTE: If the person I’m talking about (and you know who you are) is currently reading this right now (although that’s doubtful, and I’m not sure if you do actually read this), please click away. I promise I won’t say anything bad or personal but I also don’t want you to be aware of the aforementioned feels I currently possess. Also, you don’t need to know the extent of my crazy (even though you probably already think you do) and I don’t want any of my nonsense and most-likely-fleeting feelings to affect our friendship. Thank you for respecting my privacy, now please go away. :)

Alright, now that we’re alone I can get back to the business of explaining my current problem. I truly believe that old age is turning me soft because I rarely get sick and I rarely have genuine human feelings of this nature.

archer-blood-test-turning-into-people-memearcher-blood-test-but-i-dont-wanna-be-people-meme

So basically I have a friend who I’ve known for almost a decade and now that I’m back home we’ve been hanging out. It’s been really chill and fun (as hanging with your friends often is), and up until recently it’s been totally casual. (Side Note: I never know how to spell the truncated version of “casual”. Is it “cash” or “caszhe” or “caz”?? Someone please let me know in the comments.) Then a couple weeks ago, we were sitting at the bar completely “caszche” and I suddenly got an overwhelming urge to kiss him.

…Uhhh, what now?

First of all, WHAT THE HELL, ALANNA?!?! Second of all, Like come on girl, it’s HIM. Your FRIEND. The guy you once saw get so angry about losing in Pokemon Brawl that he got up and left your other friend’s house. Plus, I’m not looking for a boyfriend or anything even resembling a serious relationship. I just broke up with my boyfriend of four years and not only would that be disrespectful to him but also to the new guy. Not to mention it would be irresponsible for my own sanity and general well-being.

But the thing about feels is that they don’t care about logic or rationality. Your amygdala is just like, “Soo… I’m gonna take a nap. Sorry about your lack of good judgement, peace out fam.” Then your hypothalamus, along with its little buddy the nucleus accumbens, is all like, “Alright alright alright,” (a la Matthew McConaughey) and before you know it you’re attached to your phone in case he texts you and wondering what he looks like naked.

(Also, please don’t bust my balls if that’s not entirely correct. I’m not a neurologist and it’s been a while since I took that class.)

So all of this basically is fine, just me freaking out about having feels to begin with. Especially for someone I’ve been friends with for so long and want to remain friends if things go back to normal. The weird thing is that even though we’ve been friends for a billion years, I realized that I actually know very little about him. I mean, I know things like what sports teams he’s into and his opinions on the election and why his brand of beer is superior to mine. I know that he constantly travels on the basketball court like we don’t live in a society with rules and I know what memes will make him laugh.

But the other day, we were just talking (like humans do, ya know?) and he starts talking about his family and their quirks and stories about his parents and nephews and all that. Suddenly, I notice that I know NOTHING about his family or even his life outside of the superficiality of drunken conversations and trash-talk while playing video games. I thought back for a second and realized in the almost ten years of knowing him, he’s never once mentioned anything about his family and now he’s sitting here talking about growing up with his siblings and how their relationship has changed over the years.

“Hey, nice to finally meet you, my name’s Alanna. What’s yours again? Oh, that’s right, your name isn’t even your real name, it’s your middle name but I didn’t even know that until like 7 years down the line. Nbd, fam.”

I feel like I’m in one of those movies where after years and years the people find out their friend/spouse/family member is actually a spy or a member of the royal family (except on a waayy less significant level). Normally, I’d question my own listening skills and scold myself for being too self-involved, but this time I wasn’t just being a self-centered bitch. I talked to my one friend the other night about this whole thing and she was basically like, “Wait.. he has a family?” and I was like, “I KNOW RIGHT?!” so there ya go.

She also joked about how her and some of the guys were assessing this situation and how the guys were like, “Yeah they’re ‘chilling’ but they’re not ‘chilling’. I give it like 2 weeks at the most,” and my friend was all, “Yeah, yeah, whatever… I think this is actually happening.” (I’m directly involved and I still question whether or not I’m in a coma or perhaps have slipped into another dimension where nothing makes any sense.) My friend made a very legit observation that none of us have ever seen the guy bring any girls around.

Literally. None.

That tripped me out pretty heavily because he obviously dated and did other human things but none of us actually witnessed it. And we’ve all brought around our various dudes and hos, even if it was just some bullshit thing. Not him though. I remember seeing one girl drive up while we were playing football like 6 years ago but she didn’t even get onto the front yard. He just walked all the way over to the road and talked to her while she stood next to her car, and from 100 feet away we were all creeping like, “Ooohh shiittt, waddupp,” (and damn, even from that distance it was obvious she was hot af) but when he came back up to the field he didn’t say a single word about her, the conversation, or the situation at all. He just left us in the lurch leaving us to make up our own conclusions as well as some pretty funny jokes.

The moral of this story is that I like a guy who may or may not be the Batman.

so-thats-what-that-feels-like-batman-gif

I’m not even worried about analysis or labels or anything, it’s all in good fun and my life is going pretty great in general at the moment so in a totally uncharacteristically-“me”-type-way, I’m just enjoying having fun and chilling with a friend. (But not “chilling”, of course.)

If you read through this entire post, congratulations. You get a prize. (The satisfaction of reading 1200 words of nonsense.) I hope you’re all having a wonderful December. Merry Fuckery and Happy Lols to you all. <3 <3 <3 <3

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 :)

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.  :)

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? 

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.

155
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…

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 :)

I Like Pina Coladas And Pretending To Be Sane

(Jimmy Buffett & Rupert Holmes knew what they were talking about.  I just figured out how to make mixed drinks with my NutriBullet so I think it’s safe to say I’m getting my life together.)

Hello, my darlings.  It’s been a long time.  I’ve longed to feel your sweet caress against my parietal lobe.  Or whatever part of your brain can see blog notifications.  Once again, the world has taken me hostage with homework (avoiding it), bleakness on the news, and the fact that I JUST discovered “vlogging”.

It’s blogging, but with videos.  (Otherwise known as crack.)

Ghost Hunting Shane Dawson Psychic Twins Youtube Vlog
Shane Dawson is currently my favorite, as well as anything with ghosts.

Supposedly, vlogging has been around for over a decade but as far as I’m concerned, it’s the new hip thang yo.  Sure, I used Youtube for listening to music, but I had absolutely no idea there was so much awesome stuff out there.

Ghost hunters, conspiracy theory videos (my long lost love), and people reacting to things… it’s like I was in an internet-coma and finally woke up.  It’s actually making me consider making my own “vlog” but I’m not totally sure how to do that and I don’t know if anybody would bother watching because my life is terribly boring.

I could vlog about the ghosts in my attic?  Although they’re not too talkative these days.  My hope is that they’ve moved on to heaven or whatever but it’s more likely they’ve decided to haunt more interesting/less-talkative type people.

(Perhaps my Burmese nextdoor neighbors?  A nice spooking with the added benefit of being introduced to a different and fascinating culture.  Good for you, ghosts.  Eat, Pray, Love and all that.)

real ghost gif sheet lol

The other reason I’ve been absent is because school.  It’s trying to kill me but I remain strong.  Plus I’ve been getting involved with people and things which is completely out of character for me.

For example, one night I had rum and pina colada mix and my Nutribullet was like, “Hey there pretty lady, ya know you can add those ingredients to me with ice and have a party,” and I was like, “OMG WHY HAVEN’T I THOUGHT OF THIS BEFORE?!?!?!”  And my Nutribullet said, “Because you’re not the sharpest blade in the blender,” and I was like, “Good one, Nutribullet.”  So I took the advice of a household appliance and got pretty tipsy on some delicious iced cocktails.

Then I was all pissed cause Alessandro was watching Fox News and the world is getting on my nerves with political nonsense so I thought to myself (out loud), “Why don’t I write a letter to people and tell them to shut up because they’re being annoying?” and Alessandro was like, “You should do that,” but I wasn’t talking to him so I said, “I wasn’t talking to you,” and set to work on writing a rum-and-stupidity-fueled piece to Thought Catalog (which I had no idea that they’d publish because I mean come on, but they did).

Alanna Open Letter To Millennials Thought Catalog

Anyways, I made the mistake of assuming nobody in my real life pays attention to me or what I do on social media so I posted the link on my actual Facebook page.  Somehow, people saw it and then started seeing links to my blog and my instagram and twitter for my blog, and now everyone(ish) I’ve ever known since high school found me and is following my stuff.

“Why is that bad?” you might ask.  Well, if you’ve been following me or know my writing even a little bit, you know my candor vis-a-vis the people I know in real life and how I say terrible things about them as well as revealing many secrets about myself.  So whether it’s libel or slander or just being a dick (because what I say is true so technically it’s not libellous), I’m gonna piss a lot of people off.

Have you guys ever posted something you’ve later come to regret?  Or have stories of family and friends kill you for what you write?

Tell me about it in the comments.  Or come to my house and chat because that’s how easy it is to find me now.