If You Give Heroin To Your Kitten, You Just Might Be The Worst Person Ever.

(But, ya know… there’s Hitler so… I can’t do that math.)

REGARDLESS, FUCCKKK THAT GUY!! He also dragged it behind his car which makes me sad just thinking about it. (You, however, can read about it here.)

I feel like there's some euphemism with bats and heroin... oh well.
I feel like there’s some euphemism with bats and heroin… oh well.

Anyway, the whole thing got me thinking about why no one has been commenting on my posts and I’m like, “Hey guys, uhmm… what’s the big idea?” Maybe I have to come to your houses and make you eat your keyboards.

But no one wants that. Especially me.

Still, this whole blogging thing is confusing. I spent the entire morning trying to create a mailing list and I couldn’t figure out how to get the goddamn plugin on here. I USED TO LITERALLY WRITE WEB DESIGN SCRIPTS. How the fuck am I unable to figure this WordPress shit out?? I might do this one guy‘s skype-seminar thing. I talked to him and he seems cool.

I also need to post more.

I all honesty, I’ve been either drunk or hungover the past few days and it’s hot as shit here in Pennsylvania (where people do sick shit to cats) and I cannot escape the bees. Or the spiders. Seriously, attempting to just go out on my porch for a cig is like going into that cave from “Harry Potter and the”.. whatever it’s called, where all the giant spiders chill and Ron is like “No way, bro,” but stupid Harry Potter isn’t afraid of anything and makes him go in there? Well I’m Ron Weasley (ginger AND a pussy), and I can’t go outside.

"...spiders? Why couldn't it  be 'follow the butterflies?'"
“…spiders? Why couldn’t it be ‘follow the butterflies?'”

That’s life in PA, though. Truck-sized insects, kittens on heroin, shitty sports teams. This might as well be Florida. (No offense, Florida. It’s not you, it’s me.)

However, if anyone out there knows how to get rid of spiders and wasps (some, by the way, that are giant and purple and LIVE IN THE GROUND), please let me know. I’m very close to burning my house down to stop them, which would be bad considering I’m on the top floor of a duplex with 2 other families… so, ya know… time is of the essence here folks. :)

On the bright side, I’ll never be as bad as the guy who gave heroin to a kitten. Or Hitler.


UPDATE: Check out this giant web on the streetlight outside my house!!!! That’s only a bit of it!!!


Help me!! :(


(The pile of dirty laundry is becoming sentient.)

Living with another person (especially another gender) is madness and also a double-edged sword. Or bittersweet. Whatever.

One the one hand, you have someone to hold you at night when you’re scared that the ghosts  in the attic want to attack you (and someone to take out the trash and stuff), which is all nice. On the other hand, if they weren’t around, you’d never have to do dishes or cook food (if you’re like me and only use bad-for-the-environment disposable things, and WHEN you eat, if ever, you exclusively use the drive-through at Hardees. Or sometimes McDonald’s if you’re in the mood to drive the excruciating extra 3 miles).

Plus, I would ALWAYS (mostly) know where EVERYTHING is because I put it there. And if something WAS in fact misplaced, I’d know that it was the ghosts from the attic trying to fuck with me.

(Or I was drunk and forgot.)

In which case, all I’d have to do is call the paranormal club at my college (ya know, that show, Paranormal State?) and they’d totally go Ghostbusters all over the crib. Maybe Bill Murray from 30 years ago would show up…

Anything is possible.

"I want you inside of me..." "It sounds like you've got at least two or three people in there already."
“I want you inside of me…”
“It sounds like you’ve got at least two or three people in there already.”

Granted, I’m not the cleanest person either. I might not be alive if it weren’t for [my boyfriend]. At least I try, though.

Like last week when I did my own version of “Y.M.C.A.” and replaced the lyrics with things like,
“Young man, there’s no need to feel down
I said, young man, pick your clothes off the ground
I said, young man, this is not a playground
There’s this new. thing. called. a. hamper!”
All while doing the motions a la Village People. It was pretty impressive.

Life is just proving that I have in fact become my father because how intense I get whenever anything is moved. Like my laptop, for instance, which I found on the floor this morning HONEST TO GOD looking like someone had just tossed it off the couch onto the ground.


Also, he leaves his pot-smoking stuff EVERYWHERE. I hate looking at it and it smells.

(I usually only smoke when I’m wasted, but at least I have the decency to clean up all my beers!!! Which is actually quite miraculous considering how very drunk I get, and is extremely considerate of me, taking time out of my busy beer-drinking/ashtray-fire-extinguishing schedule.)

(Saintlike, some would say.)

Oh, by the way, this is a picture of my boyfriend. He recently got his hair cut, which made me very sad. Fun fact: he’s got something called “congenital anosmia” which means he was born without a sense of smell. It’s like his nose is blind or deaf. (Note the excellent mustache.)

That’s my boyfriend :) Quite like Eddie Munster as a grown-up, right?

All in all, if it weren’t for [my boyfriend], I’d probably be dead right now and also not going to school since he kicks me out of bed every morning and makes me go, which is annoying, but nice. Double-edged sword or not, life isn’t all bad, and if you have someone who will try to convince you that there’s no ghosts in your attic wanting to kill you so that you can all hang out, you’re pretty lucky. :)

I’ve Shown You Mine… Let’s See Yours.

Oh…well hello there. I didn’t see you come in. Since you’re here, allow me to introduce myself:


This is an excellent example of what I assume "White Girls Be Like". (Note: duckface, headphones, laptop cam)
This is an excellent example of what I assume “White Girls Be Like”. (Note: duckface, headphones, laptop cam, etc.)

^^That’s me^^

My name is Alanna [LastNameRedacted] for legal reasons, obviously. I am currently 21 years old and studying English at Penn State University. Not the real one, though, with football, Jerry Sandusky, and lions roaming around terrorizing the halls (which is probably true). No, just one of the small satellite campuses where kids go because they couldn’t get into the real one. Mine is located in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania and used to be a military base/fallout shelter because of the close proximity to a nuclear power plant. Also an international airport.

(Talk about asking for a terrorist attack.)

(Or possibly lion terrorists. Which definitely roam the halls of Penn State.)


I’m blogging here because I’ve always dreamed of being a writer, but publishing companies aren’t chomping at the bit to pick up an inexperienced writer with no ideas and like, 15 years of journals. I am also blogging because Jenny Lawson (a.k.a. The Bloggess) said she could see me blogging.

Maybe she’s psychic and literally saw me blogging in her mind or possibly a crystal ball.


I suppose my domain name (whitegirlsbelike) is correct (because I AM in fact a white girl, and I DO be like…etc.), but please note that this blog is for all races and I just suck at coming up with titles and such. However, this blog will pretty much be about my life and thoughts and that stuff.

The only problem is that I generally have a “Not Safe For Work” approach to my life, and I hope my parents don’t see this. (If you know them, please don’t tell them. Thank you.) I’m not gonna be all “diary-style”, but much of my anecdotal repertoire features major themes such as drugs, alcohol, sex (kind of), and various other criminal activities.

You’ve been warned.

Beware of bat attacks. And lion terrorists.
Beware of bat attacks. And lion terrorists.


Sooo anywaysss…..

Now that you all know me, we can be best friends.

Yayy! :)


Also, you can comment here and tell me all your deepest, darkest, most incredible secrets. For example, I’ve been stuck in traffic while having to pee really bad on multiple occasions without something to pee in, so I’ve peed my pants IN MY CAR approximately 3 times. Perhaps four?

So what are YOUR secrets? Or thoughts? Maybe you were conceived in a dumpster? Or possibly you’ve murdered your entire family? Let me know!! I don’t judge, I promise.


Adios, amigos! Have an excellent rest of the day!