I'm Single Now, Just Your Everyday Neighborhood Nonsense, New Beginnings, People From My Past, Story Time, Who Is Alanna?

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

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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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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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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…

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Coming Clean Into 2016: I Finally Showered!

(Jk.  I showered in the interim.  But only because the back of my head turned into a giant dreadlock and my cat fell in the toilet.  It’s been a tough month.)

This isn’t really a cohesive post because I’ve been sick and I have to go back to school next week and I want to jump off a cliff.  I’ve been hiding in bed with Rufus (my giant stuffed dog), Nyquil, and large bags of chips.  It’s also come to my attention that I’ve gained weight because apparently when you turn 23 you can’t sit around eating bullshit and drinking entire cases of beer anymore.

(I don’t actually know what to do now because that stuff is pretty much all I do.  In addition to buying novelty pillows on Amazon Prime.)

Huggable Pizza Pillow Amazon

It’s becoming a serious problem.

Not to mention that evvverrryyything is falling apart.  Over Christmas, Diane Kitten decided to celebrate the holidays by eating tinsel and scoot around the apartment dragging a long shiny string from her butt with a little turd ball on the end, and I couldn’t even snap a picture because everything was happening so fast and my body was in a laughter-seizure.

Then for the New Year (and because she only drinks water that poses adventure), she was sitting on the bathroom sink watching me pee (it’s weird, I know, shut up) and when I got up, SHE JUMPED INTO THE GODDAMN TOILET.  I screamed and she screamed and it was totally madness (not at all Sparta), but luckily Alessandro ran in and saved the day by fishing her out and covering all of us in my urine.

In light of all this crazy, I barely did any work on my novel, washed none of my clothes, didn’t clean my house at all (except for the bathroom), and wasted my entire break in bed/playing Grand Theft Auto V.  Also, my body is turning on me because for the very first time in my life I threw up after drinking.

Diane Kitten with Vodka

Two things I love that are trying to kill me.

So now I have to lose weight, stop drinking, do my laundry, and find a new therapist.  (The one I see at school for free is great, but she’s really nice and I tend to lie to her so she doesn’t see how nuts I am.  How are you supposed to tell a sweet little Christian lady your opinions on the best methods of torture/execution or details of the dirty dream you had about your cousin?)

You can read all about it in my book.  If I ever actually finish.


 

Anyways, so I don’t bum you guys out too hard, I’ll end with a conversation between me and myself which Alessandro so rudely interrupted…

ME:  They say, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth”, but why the Hell not?  Are they self-conscious about their teeth or bad breath or something?  And if so, somebody give them a mint and some Crest White Strips.  Or is it because they’ll bite you and then they wouldn’t technically be a “gift horse” but rather a “punishment horse”?

ME:  Or is the expression, “Don’t PUNCH a gift horse in the mouth”?  Because at least that would make sense.  Nobody likes being punched in the mouth, including gift horses. Also, what even is a “gift horse”?  I have to look this up…

ME:  [Making a verbal reminder on my cell phone]  “Lookup ‘gift horse’.  And the expression about it.”  I’m picturing a horse with a fancy hat that rides into towns in the Wild West, bringing gifts to all the good pioneer people, like a sort of equine Santa Claus.  Unless you punched him in the mouth.  In which case he comes to your house and takes a giant horse-dump in your stockings.  Instead of coal.

ALESSANDRO:  [Poking his head into the bedroom with a look of great confusion]  Who the HELL are you talking to??!  Are you alright?!? 

ME:  I’m reminding myself to lookup the origin of why you shouldn’t punch a gift horse in the mouth.

ALESSANDRO:  It’s, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

ME:  Why not though?

ALESSANDRO:  Because a horse’s teeth indicate how healthy it is, so if someone gives you a horse it’s considered rude to look at its mouth since you’re assuming they gave you a weak or sickly horse.

ME:  Well then the saying should really be, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth until after the person who gave you the gift horse leaves and then you can be all kind of judgemental about their crappy non-gift horse.”

ALESSANDRO:  …Uhhh…. I guess so

 

Exactly.  Get with it, colloquialisms.  Nobody wants to end up with a broken horse.  (Actually… yes you do.  Oh well.  You guys know what I mean.)

horse plays with ball and falls lol gif

So, how’s everyone’s new year been?

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I Haven’t Showered For A Week Because My Dedication Knows No Bounds

(Yeah, that’s right.  I’m being honest.  Gross, but honest.  Because the truth will set you free.  Free from hygiene and other human beings, perhaps.  Yet sometimes we must get ugly to create something beautiful.)

I gotta say, though, chilling in my own filth isn’t too bad.  It gives me an excuse not to run errands or hang out with my friends and Alessandro hasn’t bothered me for sex while I’m trying to write.  Also, I don’t even smell.  You’re probably thinking, “Yeah right, Alanna.  You probably stink like shit but can’t smell yourself because you’re gross and noseblind.”  But then again….. Idgaf.

it's always sunny the gang broke dee tumblr

yolo.

The reason I haven’t showered (in case you were wondering) is that I’ve been busy with very important things like banging my head against available walls until words come out, reading a part of my novel in front of other human beings (!), and attempting (unsuccessfully) to take videos of cats having sex outside at night.

(“Kitty Porn”, perhaps.  But the videos are just of blackness and me drunk and laughing in the background which is probably for the best.)

In other news, I had to actually read the words that I wrote out loud and IN FRONT OF ACTUAL PEOPLE.  I opened for Jon Sealy, author of The Whiskey Baron, at my college last month.  In a huge auditorium with about 30 billion people.  (Or like 30.  I’m not Rain Man, with all the counting and stuff.  I was just trying not to throw up.)

I don’t have many pictures, but here’s one I can share with you.  It’s a screenshot from a video my mom took with her phone that neither of us can figure out how to move onto a computer or even Facebook.

Alanna Reading 1

I’m wearing all black because I assumed it’d be a “90’s coffee shop” setting with a guy playing bongos and berets as far as the eye can see.

My piece was incredibly dark and personal because I didn’t know the protocol for reading in public and had no idea so many people would be there (including other students who got front row seats to my crazy).  In the video, you can hear my mom gasping when I swear or say terrible things about self-harm or alcoholism, which is funny but also quite upsetting, and my voice is ridiculous.

They need to develop the technology to make you sound like Patrick Stewart ASAP.  (Meanwhile, NASA is having Scott Kelly take instagram pics of space.  Priorities, people…)


Speaking of priorities and instagram, here is the latest installment of The Chronicles of Diane Kitten.  Truly, there is nothing she can’t do.

Diane Kitten Books Instagram

So well-read and freshly-bathed.  An inspiration to all.

Apologies for the nonsense post, I wrote this at like 3am and am in desperate need of a shower.  Goodbye for now, amigos!  Have a fantastic day and may all your books be wonderful!!!

Feel free to tell a story about the longest you’ve gone without bathing or what you’re reading at the moment.  Perhaps your feelings on gun control or Patrick Stewart?  I wanna hear it alllllllll… <3

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The Art Of Falling Down Stairs

(My most graceful moments have happened in my Timberland’s. They’re like ballet slippers but for people who actually have to do stuff. Like carving trails through the woods or kicking some fool’s door in ’cause he hasn’t paid you back. It’s a versatile shoe.)

I’ve had my boots since the sixth grade which would make them a little over 10 years old. We’ve been through so much together. Good times like when we hiked through that old Native American trail and I would’ve slipped down this hill into a ravine if I didn’t have my trusty ‘ol Timb’s on.

Bad times like when my ex got arrested that one New Year’s Eve and I fell down a stripper pole (see story here).

I’m not much for believing in luck, but I reaallllyyy cannot figure out these shoes. If anything, they’re more like a rollercoaster of good and bad experiences that prove the great Karmic balance of the universe.

Like Thursday, for example: I woke up to find out one of my cousins died, but then I got to class and everyone loved my story so much, my teacher even convinced me to turn it into a novel (so that’s something I might be doing in the near future, just so everyone’s aware). I spent most of the day alone but then one of my best friends tells me he’s coming over and we’re gonna drink whiskey and tell tales of the sea. Needless to say, I’m totally stoked. Then as I’m gliding excitedly down the stairs to receive him at the door (that sounded dirty, but you know what I meant), I pull a full-on Scarlett O’Hara and tumble down the stairs.

Gone With The Wind falling down stairs

No one’s made a gif for this, probably because making it to the end of this movie is hard work in itself. But imagine this, except that I live in a tiny old brownstone and my staircase is like 30 feet down and maybe 3 feet wide.

If anyone reading this is a tumbler, I hit the halfway point of the stairs, started sliding, and then ended with a full birandi(sp?) (landing on my back instead of my feet).

Alessandro was upstairs chilling, all like:

gone with the wind rhett gif 1
gone with the wind rhett gif 2

The irony here is that about a year ago when we lived at our last apartment, the same friend who I fell down the stairs to see (running just isn’t fast enough), fell down those other stairs and literally broke his face. The ambulance came and I had to hold his head so he didn’t drown in his own blood, and then they put a metal plate in his face that makes all the metal detectors at government buildings start freaking out.

So, ‘ya know… silver linings and such. (There’s humor everywhere if you look hard enough.)

Anyways, back to me. Now I have what looks like a banana crossbred with a softball coming out of my leg and it hurts to type. If you know what getting the tar beaten out of you feels like, I’m totally there right now. And of course, Alessandro is once again too busy working to take care of his sad hobbled girlfriend.

(Side Note: some people have been asking why I don’t just wear my new Timberland’s instead. Well, I absolutely would, but when I was ordering them I wasn’t picturing myself wearing them but perhaps 50 Cent, and they came out a little flashier than I would have liked.)

Badass, right? But I'd look like an idiot.

Badass, right? But I’d look like an idiot.

So be careful out there, everybody! (And avoid all stairs if possible.)

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