A Halloween Tale of HORROR: or how the food challenge went.

Dear Moms in their forties who think it’s their twenties,

Halloween is upon us, and we all know what that means!

Gorging our fat asses with candy while we binge watch ‘Once Upon a Time’ and telling ourselves that we’re gonna make it big someday, and life is gonna be worthwhile!

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But there is also the more forgotten gems that Halloween bring to the table, the often sought after horror stories to frighten us to the core.

So after you bring your children to complete strangers doorsteps in search of future sugar dependencies, return home and put them to sleep, and crack open that large bottle of Malbec you’ve been saving for all of today since you bought it last night, kick back and filter through your child’s pillowcase while you peruse the following tale of horror which I have written for you specially this holiday!

Also it rhymes!

The Tale of Insurmountable Intestinal Damage:

On a night much like this, not to far in the past,
a young man decided, to get off his ass

He’d been planning for days an event most unpleasant,
that allowed him to stand out, amongst all the peasants.

Scott Disick Quote (About big star, gif, lord disick, peasant, peasants)

‘I shall show them’, he said with his fist clenched above,
‘that I can achieve greatness when push comes to shove!’

But as days passed he pondered a thought ’twas most scary,
if he failed in his task, ‘twould not be legendary.

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His mind raced each night and his fears grew with time,
to let down all his peeps, a most horrible crime.

‘I need strength!’ this lad thought, as he woke to a new day,
‘So my friends will all know I’m as fierce as Beyoncé.’

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So he researched and read, as the time did grow near,
and he summoned a plan to which he would adhere.

He had done this before, but not quite as big,
a food challenge which he’d consume like a pig!

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‘I have watched Man v. Food and eaten before,
I’ll just walk in and beat it and walk out the door.’

For this challenge he figured could be done in a flash,
but a burger this big, it required some cash.
For the business must profit from the food that they lose,
whether in people’s bellies, or puked on their shoes.

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So he saved up enough for the burger to sit,
in his stomach obstructing a few days of shit.

And what did this contain, that made one a winner?
Well it might as well have been a Thanksgiving dinner.

And I don’t mean just one plate, or as much as you’re able,
We are talking the whole fucking Thanksgiving table.

Eating Contest

He had eaten one once, on vacation for fun,
a 30 ounce burger, including the bun.

He had beaten that burger, took it down in one sitting,
And was not a bit worried that he wouldn’t be shitting.

With his face on the wall and a milkshake that followed,
his win it was better than all that he’d swallowed.

But this one was bigger, this burger he’d try,
well he’d have to eat five pounds, and try not to cry.

One Direction

He readied his will and alerted the masses,
on an upcoming Friday they’d get off their asses.
They’d follow in glee just to watch him gain weight,
while he shoveled food sealing his fat-asses fate.

And where would he die should his heart stop its beat
Wagon Train Barbeque in ol’ Schenectady.

allison is jealous

He awoke to the day he’d be shoving his face,
and left his work early to prep for the race.

He posted his threats where the whole world could see,
On Instagram and all his friend’s Facebook feeds.

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He drank pots of coffee and a whole lot of water,
To stretch out his stomach for foods soaked in butter.
And two English muffins were all he’d consume,
But just hours before his impending food doom.

His girlfriend arrived after all day at work,
To drive him and watch him eat food like a jerk.

Alex McCord singing Les Miserables on Couples Therapy deserves a Tony.

One by one they arrived, his friends by his side,
To root and to cheer while he swallowed his pride

There was Matt and Melissa, Rachelle and Kurt too,
Hillary, Jon and Matt, a cool dude.

A girl from his high school with whom he’d not spoke,
sat by with her beau probably hoping he’d choke.

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The waitress arrived and their order she took,
though the challenge was prepping, they forwarned the cook.

A glimpse he had caught of the burger in back,
And he feared that he may have a real heart attack.

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Back to the table he sat with a thud,
Ready to become this mass eating chud.
The waitress came over arms growing quite wary,
He realized he just might be screwed, it was scary.

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He dove in ferocious and ready to eat,
and this burger though big was a most tasty treat.

That’s when it dawned on him starting this session,
That all he’d be earning here was a life lesson.

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A lesson that pulled pork and brisket would teach,
And Mac n cheese, cole slaw, eight ounces of each.
He’d plunder through bacon, two fried eggs and cheese,
Eight slices in all to bring him to his knees.
A one pound hamburger that’s really not bad,
But a bun that was huge, like the size of my dad!

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Deep fried jalapeños, onion straws just because
and he’d have to keep going, to prove what he was.
Two more pounds or so of fried onions and fries,
Enough to make normal men bleed from their eyes.
And all this concoction though balls hard to rhyme,
Must slide down his gullet in a half hours time.

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So he plowed through the proteins, and did it quite quick,
And that’s when he started to feel awfully sick.

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He rested and breathed while his time would diminish,
Melissa said out loud, ‘No way that he’ll finish.’

But he needed support not Melissa’s mean sass,
So he turned with his mouth full and said, ‘Kiss my ass!’

Ms-J-ANTM-Stare

The restaurant was hushed everybody in awe,
overwhelmed by all the consumption they saw.

And that’s when it happened, the mighty food wall,
when all of a sudden his will it did fall

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With nine minutes left, his strength it did waver,
but our subject he did everyone there a favor.

For the food it did rise, up his throat to the top,
And he surely would boot, if eating did not stop.

So the scariest part in this horrific tale,
is he threw in the towel, a huge epic fail.
But with 5.5 lbs he choked 4.3 down,
and the restaurant though sad, sort of gave him a crown.

Out of all those who lost, like one seventy-five
he’d finished the most, and he walked out alive.

On the ride home he farted, his left arm went numb,
and that’s when he realized his food quest was dumb.

So in no more food challenges would our hero partake,
and he washed down his heart attack, with a thick ass milk shake.

Happy Halloween y’all!

And in case you’re impatient and scrolled ahead, here is a video of me reading it in loungewear with a pipe:

Still breathing but the left side of my face is drooping for some reason,

Me.

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A Food Challenge: Or how not to be a little bitch.

Dear teen moms, chocoholics and anyone currently wearing Burt’s Bees,

 

I would like to preface this entry with just a little background information. In my late teens to early “comfortable in this four year relationship” twenties, I consumed food like it was going out of style. A bottle of red wine looked like a juice box to me. A large cheese pizza, unlike the one Kevin ordered for himself in Home Alone which he probz wrapped some up and put in the fridge for breakfast, slid down my gullet with the ease of an Ellios personal pizza.

And there may have been a time I embarrassed people I somehow convinced to eat at a buffet with me, by wiping a few trays out of stock.

Like once.

Okay maybe twice.

Anyway the point is I was a hangry teen boy and I ate my feelings and coped with life by pretending salty snacks and unlimited whatever’s for $9.99 weren’t going to hurt my body.

Which is why I weighed like 260 pounds.

beauty

Ladies. Hello.

Yadda yadda yadda, throw a break up in the equation, some body issues and self loathing, and I was ready to get my posterior into shape. And also pants. That were smaller.

And so I did. But unfortunately, my ability to consume food like an asshole has been known to rear it’s ugly and overdone head.

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Please note the following film titles that were recently released were actually written about me:

‘Just because you can eat all the sushi doesn’t mean you have to’

‘The never-ending pasta bowl is not a food challenge’

‘That Guy: ordering 8 rounds of endless apps at Fridays’

And so, while you were all snuggled tight in your cubicles at work or dumping ice on your head this past month to raise awareness for ALS, I was doing something so unproductive with my time it may actually be the most senseless thing I’ve ever done.

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Last month I packed my bags with all of my size medium t shirts and 32′ waisted pants to visit the wonderful land of Tennessee.

Note those sizes kids, because in a week, everything will change.

Yes! A wonderful vacation with the all knowing and ever beautiful gf (mom, this means girlfriend) of mine at her mother and stepfather’s abode.

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We were welcomed to the state by all of the beauty that the ol’ smokey mountains and teeth missing natives had to offer, and settled down for a nine day stay at an a-frame cabin just outside of Alcoa.

A small summary of Tennessee (or the part I was in) for those that have never been, in terms of what you see from the car:

Trees.
Lots and lots of trees.
$20 tattoo store. Attached to a gas station.
Gas: $3.12. (New York, eat a dick)
Hardee’s.
Trees.
Chik-fil-a.
Sonic.
Walmart.
Hardee’s.
Guns!
Bigger guns!
More bigger guns!
Church related building.
Giant crucifix.
Giant-er crucifix.
Mountains.

(20 minutes later)

Mountains.

Now, I will say that I had a blast, and the hospitality was great. Nashville is a hoot and honestly I didn’t have to hear that fucking ‘I’m ready’ song on the radio once because if you don’t listen to country out there, you’re a foreigner or just visiting from some place like Maine or New Hampshire.

But one thing that is abundant in this state is food. And it’s good food.

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I’m talking beef jerky that tastes so flavorful, but is so spicy it could cause you to black out on the toilet but reach for another piece when you wake up.

I’m talking mexican restraunt after Mexican restraunt.

Salsa and chips until your balls fall off.

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Unless you don’t have balls.

Then just salsa and chips.

But like my last vacation that took me all the way to the land of crazy decisions on so many levels in Portland OR, I wanted to challenge myself.

Literally.

Luckily gluttons for punishment (literally in this case) like myself, there is a website called EatFeats where you can look up food challenges by state and city.

Well wouldn’t you know about thirty minutes outside of our vacationing town was a wonderful challenge I knew I had to do. So Maggie, me, her sister and her sisters boyfriend Angel (which we all learned translates loosely to ‘Little Bitch’ in English) ventured to settle at a table for optimal internal destruction.

The Chubby Burger challenge can be found at the Hot Rods 50’s Diner and this place was fantastic, wall to wall memorabilia and televisions playing show intros from long ago. Regardless the walls were also covered with a smattering of my fellow former competitors and their ‘accomplished’ times.

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Long story short I was about to attempt to eat a stupid amount of food (33 oz. Burger and 1 lb. of French Fries) and join them on the wall.

We placed our orders, and I asked our waiter, some guy that looked like he walked out of a Good Charlotte video and into this wonderful diner, what the record was and he muttered something about six minutes and someodd seconds.

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That was my goal. That was the glory I wanted to achieve.

And so after we ordered, this is the thought process that followed during the course of my epic food challenge:

Ok Alex we got this. Six minutes is nothing. All these people on the wall are inferior to you. Your gut can demolish their times.

Is this crazy? Should I do this? My friends are always amazed at how my stomach holds some things. That means I should.

Right?

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Or are they worried for me?

If they’re worried should I do this?

What if I die? That would be the worst kind of impression to make in front of the girlfriends family.

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‘Hi I’m Alex. I love your daughter. Wanna see me stroke out at a novelty diner over a novelty burger?’

The girlfriend seems proud. Her eyes are wide.

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Proud.

Maybe proud.

Maybe gauging my heart rate.

Oh good the waiter is making his way over. I’m actually pretty hungry now that I think about it.

Despite the fact this is my second lunch-ish today.

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Whatever he has our food it’s time to sack up.

What.

The.

Fuck.

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Who the fuck ordered a Mack truck?

Quick. Come up with a course of action! All your years of watching Man v. Food sitting on your ass have prepared you for this.

Why the fuck does he have a stopwatch? This is THAT legit?

We’re not gonna ballpark the time thing?

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Angel looks hungry as fuck.

I’m glad he’s doing the challenge too. I feel like someone else eating this much food makes me look slimmer somehow.

But what if he beats me? He’s already established his place in this family.

They like him…

You have to force dominance down everyone’s throats. Show everyone how much bigger your di…

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…appetite. Show them how much bigger your appetite is.

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Make sure they all know you’re gonna make this food your goal for the next few minutes and when you’re done you’re going to look like king of the fucking jungle.

Beyonce.

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You are fucking Beyonce.

Now who feels comfortable in their own skin? Huh?

You do Alex.

Ok, course of action. Don’t let them throw you off again. Cut the patties in half.

Good. Now eat the first four patty halves. Don’t bother chewing much. You’re a man.

You’re a pro at swallowing.

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Wait. No.

Don’t say that out loud.

Shit this burger tastes good.

Stop, you’re wasting time dwelling on flavor.

This burger is bland! Think cardboard! Just swallow faster.

That’s what she said.

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Heh.

Dammit.

Okay! The last patty!

Make the burger a burger now! Eat that shit whole and then you just have fries in the home stretch.

Shit you’re eating so fast. You’re the best. You’re the alpha male here!

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Angel hasn’t even made a dent in his burger! And he looks full!

Damn Alex, you are so fucking attractive right now. You should get a time check you might beat the record!

Time check! Where the fuck is that waiter! Shouldn’t he be watching closely to make sure I don’t like, shove the burger in my pants and fake the win or something?!?

Hey waiter! Bring your stopwatch daddy needs a time check!

Seven minutes.

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Damn.

Well thats okay! Now you might not barf, you can slow down!

Woo hoo! You finished the actual burger! You’re a king!

I wish I had a mirror so I could watch myself eat this burger.

If I had a mirror though I wouldn’t be able to see Angel across the table though.

Look at that little bitch across the table, taking little bitch bites.

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Wait, is his girlfriend making fun of him?

Did she just call him a little bitch out loud?

Fucking awesome Alex, you look so good right now! Ugh! Don’t stop compounding the problem with more cheese and grease!

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Let’s deal with these goddam French fries now!

Squirt ketchup and mustard all over them! Flavor changing tactics are officially your niche!

Do a fist pump to celebrate your milestone!

Left arm won’t move?

I wonder why my left arm is numb.

Am I supposed to feel light headed?

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Don’t get side tracked.

Maggie is so proud of you. She didn’t call you a little bitch once! Look at her holding back tears of joy for you.

Or vomit?

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Maybe she’s trying not to vomit?

Either way, no girl has ever looked at us like that before Alex.

Except Melissa that morning you ate the pound of bacon by yourself in the garage.

And the time you took your tinder date to the Capital Buffet.

And the time that you worked at the pizza shop and burnt the one pizza but only the center and the rest was fine and so you ate the whole thing because who the hell are they to say you can’t do anything with that pizza just throw it away hell no don’t throw it away you just eat it yourself and cover it in bleu cheese fuck the world you’re a pizza eating god.

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Ok so maybe a couple of times.

These French fries are cold what is this shit? Whatever just eat them with a fork.

Wait. This mustard tastes horrible on these.

Who the fuck dips French fries in mustard.

Alex.

You.

Dumbass.

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I’m either full or I have a large mass growing inside of me.

Maybe I’m pregnant?

Oh my god I can’t raise a child…I do food challenges for fun…what kind of parent would I be.

Maggie noticed somethings wrong. We can’t have this baby. I can’t be pregnant. Reassure her everything’s fine.

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It must be the food. It’s probably gas.

There’s still a whole plate of fries.

But I can feel the food level inside of me like halfway up my swallow hole.

We have to finish Alex.

You can’t go home defeated. And all eight of these people eating here are counting on you.

They came to see you win.

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Or get lunch.

But whatever you can do this. Drink some soda!

Shit that’s good soda.

The carbonation is giving me gas.

We definitely shouldn’t fart right now. Seriously who the hell knows what would happen with this much food inside of you.

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You can go to the bathroom when you’re done.

Ah crap I have a cramp.

Rock back and forth. Curl in the fetal position and pretend you’re somewhere relaxing and warm. Like bed. Or Hawaii.

Don’t cry, it’s going to pass.

Everyone is noticing. Your eyes are tearing up. Quick do something tough.

*flexes bicep*

Good. They get the point.

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Or their confused.

Either way no one sees the tears.

Six bites left baby you got this.

Why does very bite feel like forty five pounds?

Will they still count it as complete if I’m harboring the last four bites in my mouth because there’s no more space in my throat?

One bite left!!!!!

Left arm still numb. Use the right one! That’s it!

Damn it’s so heavy. Put it in your mouth.

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Swallow!

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Yes!

You did it!

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You are the fucking princess!

Someone find that guy from Good Charlotte! Tell him I beat his wimpy ass challenge!

Yeah that’s right! Stop that stopwatch.

Stand up for your victory!

Legs not working?

Fuck it, right handed fist pump!!

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Look at Angel!

He’s so done.

Pfft.

Ameteur.

Now we look really good.

We did so good.

Let’s order a milkshake now.

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Let’s further this issue with liquified dairy and pretend we’ll see zero complications come of this.

And that kids, is how I got myself on the wall of fame, became a doctor, won a t shirt, and lost sight of a size 32 waistline to this day.

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And I regret nothing.

Still breathing but not sure how,

Me.

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That’s not how it works : Part one.

Dear Benadryl, creators of LOST and twenty-somethings everywhere,

Let me start by informing you that I have officially lost control of the fucks I give at this point. They were here one minute, and now they are all gone. Which is great because it’s a wonderful charm factor with the new beau.

Anyway, I was riding home the other day when I acquired a flat tire, and while I waited for AAA to show up and inform me they don’t handle bicycle issues, I decided to scope out some social networking sites.

I hit what I consider to be my usual three:

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…and it dawned upon me, that the feeds were being overrun with uplifting, and inspirational quotes.

So obviously this all sits well with someone who titled their blog ‘Most Things are Garbage’.

And I’m sorry, maybe it’s just me, but am I the only twenty-something that reads all of these and finds them to be so contradictory to the way the world actually works?

Quotes about life, love and the fruits of our looms, being re-posted over and over and over by people the same age as me, who apparently have such an optimistic outlook on things that it almost seems like nothing ever goes wrong in their lives?

Like really though?

Well I rustled up just a few of them, and decided I would fix them, on account of they were obviously broken, so that realistic ones could get out there and these graphics can make more sense to me when I scroll down my newsfeeds.

So, with all that said and since I’m unbelievably cranky, here is the first part in what will probably become an ongoing time killer for me, entitled:

That’s not how it works : part one.

(P.S. SUNY Albany thanks for the Art degree, I’m clearly utilizing it to its maximum capability)

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Ah. Love.
Wild creatures you say?
And why the hell is it on a wrinkly bed?
No. Stop lying.


That’s not how it works.

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That’s real. That’s science.

More on love…

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This is it? Love?
I don’t love people that scream at me.
I certainly would put a fork through the hand of anyone that comes near my food.
Why the hell is she going to act weird around me?
Isn’t love already uncomfortable enough?

No. That’s not how it works.

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Guys. Kid yourself. But if your future beau posted the first one ever, the sad fact of the matter is your relationship is gonna be hella weird and it’s gonna go south fast. If a girl tackles you to tell you she likes you…run. Far. Because we’re better than that. We also graduated from middle school over a decade ago. A DECADE! How old do you feel!

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Thank you. Whoever made this.
Because as everyone suffering from anxiety, fear, or insecurities knows, we can just let things go.

What’s that? You owe hundreds of thousands of dollars in student loans?

You can’t find a job out of college?

You got fired for someone else’s negligence?

It’s cool guys. Let it go.

No. That’s not how it works.

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That’s how it works.

And don’t let it go. That’s littering.

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Ladies. Ladies. Ladies.
Even if this were the case…


…that’s not how it works.

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Period. And really…I think that’s all we need to know…

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Do you really though?
At least I can find solace in knowing it’s not just about my looks, since you can’t see my face…
What about days where I’m subpar?

What about when I royally fuck things up?

Like shutting your cats paw in the bathroom door?
Or like when my feet really smell?
Or when I try on your shorts just to show you how good they look on me, but not you?

Stahp! That’s not how it works.

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That’s how it works.

Because in the real life people have feelings. And those feelings can range from blissful vomit inducing love to requesting your partner sit on a running chainsaw.

Anyone that says otherwise is a liar.

And they’re probably super brave for posting nothing but positive things about their super awesome relationships.

(Right before they break down in tears)

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So, having someone special in your life can change the fact that Monday always follows Sunday and you have to wait five days before you can forget real life responsibilities on the weekend?

No.
No no no stop it.


That’s not how it works.

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But really, if you find someone that can manipulate time and shift the week around, hang the hell on to them, otherwise what you have found is someone that consumes so much of your time and brain, that the days of the week just mush and meld together to form one solid glob of days. It’s no wonder tomorrow isn’t just another day, you do the same thing over and over.

Be an adult.

Go to work.

No romance relieves you of your responsibilities.

Trust me.

I’m a doctor.

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I just want to know who wrote this. It sounds like it’s been ripped straight out of the diary from a person living through the zombie apocalypse. Does the world really feel so vacant early in the morning?

No. No it doesn’t.


That’s not how it works.

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Like do you not have a job? If you’re up at sunrise it’s probably late enough in the morning where people are likely on their way to work.

Do you not have pets?

Cats are all up in your shit in the mornings, and dogs…forget it, get your ass up or they’ll poop all over your house waiting for you to stop being fucking lazy.

And what the hell time do you go to bed that you can be up that early and experience any feeling other than wanting to jam a screwdriver into your temple?

You’re clearly not a grad student.

Definitely not a responsible adult…with a job…

You must be in middle school. There’s no other explination…

Or it’s Saturday.

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Is this real life?

Why does this graphic exist?

Does the world care when someone puts this online?

You want to laugh until you die?

What about other things? Exercise? Eating? Sex?

Staring contests?

(You’re gonna lose)

That’s not how it works.

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Priorities. That’s some real shit right there.
Orange is the new black returns June 6.
Don’t tell me that my marathons don’t count because I’m not running.

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Now you understand.
The plate is trust. The plate is love.
The plate has been broken.
Your apology is a weak and basically useless strain of glue.

No.

That’s not how it works.

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Honestly. You ruined what was probably a full set by breaking that plate.

I hope it was a bargain find at Big Lots.

This metaphor is dumb. You can’t apologize to a plate.

The fuck do you expect it to do? Sweep up it’s pieces and glue itself back together? And if someone really hurt you so badly as to compare the damage to a shattered plate, why the hell are you sticking around to explain to them some backward ass truth of how you no longer feel for them after what they did.

Be beyonce. Walk the fuck away.

Find better.

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Any day? Is it actually?

That’s. Not. How. It. Works.

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And vice versa.

Everyday is just a new day to come upon something else that bugs the everloving crap out of you.

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Your inner strength grants you the ability to soar above everyone else.

Be strong bb the world is a place where you will flourish on your own by yourself and that’s all you need.

False.

That’s not how it works.

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How’s first class treating you? This is more realistic.

No but for real if you’re just buying flights left and right that must be some bomb ass establishment your working at.

Did you luck out or what. And did you actually pay off that college debt or are you just paying on the interest while you continue to defer them?

Whatever you did, congrats on the flight. Say hi to anywhere that isn’t Albany for me.

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Wait for good things. They will almost always come to you if you have patience. Kick back. Relax. Let the universe work it’s magic.

And when you get got, and all the things are great, remember that you have it in you to exude respectful and not even remotely celebratory reactions and attitudinal qualities.

That’s.
Not.


How.
It.
Works.

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You all do it. Don’t deny it.

Whether you’re passive aggressively typing short answers with periods seemingly after every word, or putting up your dukes by simply choosing to not talk to a person any other way than through an emotionless, inflection-less void that is text messaging.

Are you really sorry you had to say this over text messaging?

Genuinely?

Unless someone karate chopped you in the throat and broke your windpipe or broke both your legs rendering you un-travelable, you delete every character of that text and make a phone call or a house visit.

No more games kids.

And if you value your life, leave out the fact that so and so said something to so and so about whoever doing whatever.

Finally:

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You’re excited.

You get it by now I’m sure…

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You’re gonna plan to do so much. But it’s gonna be hot. And you don’t really like sweating.

Netflix and a pizza?

Ok so maybe not THAT bad.

Anyways-spread these to the world.

But don’t blame me when your friends think you’re an asshole.

Somehow still enthusiastic,
-me.

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Be Underwhelming: Rules for Impressing Lovers on Vacation.

Dear Mom and Dad, Wegmans and whoever plans to travel soon,

I wanted to let you know that I heard your caution to take things slow during this new relationship. The advice you gave was clear and concise and any normal human being would heed your warnings.

But much like the time you told me not to try making s’mores in the toaster oven, and though I still maintain they would have tasted great regardless of the house burning down, I have chosen to ignore your decree.

And so in an attempt to woo my new lady of the night (no she’s not a hooker she just works until 6 so I usually only see her in the evenings), I asked her to go on a vacation.

I know what you’re going to say…and honestly, I feel like we have known each other for years! I really feel as though I know enough about her to invite her on a long car ride to meet family members I usually wait until the second Christmas to introduce.

I believe it was the wise Chris Brown who once spoke of amorous feelings when he said:

“I’m on some new shit, I’m chuckin them deuces up.”

Such wisdom. He most certainly does not GAF.

(Mom this means ‘give a fuck’)

And so we set out on a drive down the east coast to Virginia Beach for one unbelievably relaxing vacation. I figured I would just update you and let you know about all the rules I learned about vacationing with lovers and the plethora of events we got to experience together making our power couple status comparable to that of HOV and Bey.

Rule 1:

You’re going to want to get an early start on your vacation. In this case I made sure to accommodate our circumstances well. When I say circumstances I mean she drove the whole way. So as a surprise, and in order to ensure she wouldn’t have to hit rush hour traffic or be driving late into the evening, I set my alarm for 4:30 a.m. just to make sure she was wide awake and ready to cart our asses around.

Don’t worry, I used Miley Cyrus for an alarm ringtone so she would wake up really happy.

We stopped at McDonalds for breakfast, and I couldn’t decide which breakfast sandwich I wanted her to buy me more, bacon egg and cheese on a bagel or a biscuit, so I just ordered both with a coffee and I definitely should have gotten the biscuit only, the bagel was sub-par but whatever I didn’t buy it.

Well, whatever the mud they called coffee actually is, it ran through me quick and I had to stop at a rest area. Plus it gives your beau a half hour to stretch their legs while they cart your Ms. Daisy ass around.

Rule 2:

If you stop for bathroom breaks, take your sweet time. You’re gonna be on the road a while, and even if your partner doesn’t have to go, you don’t want to rush.

Also, in the event you clog the rest stop toilet, I know you are wondering and yes, definitely tell your boo as you exit the bathroom. They will be proud and they will congratulate you with things like:

“Those things are made to take down anything and everything…just…how?”

“You’re so pretty”

Rule 2a:

Fart.
Fart a lot.

Rule 3:

If you stop anywhere for an hour or two, and there is a mall nearby, and you’re a man, prepare to be there for three to four hours. I don’t plan these things well, and I like shopping, but somehow whenever my new boo takes me to the mall to grab

“a strapless bra”

it really means

“new flip flops, a maxi dress, wait maybe this maxi dress, or this maxi dress, can you pick one of these the navy with gray striped maxi dress or the navy with charcoal striped maxi dress, never mind I’ll get both, new hat just in case there’s sun, probably a soda, but no not that soda, I want the soda from that place, ew this one has zero carbonation, probably a haircut at this Sears salon would be cost affective and convenient because we’re here, don’t you need sweatpants oh well whatever I’ll just wear them, oh I work here so I get a discount we should walk the perimeter of the store eight times just in case I can use my store discount maybe, do you think it’s warm enough for flip flops maybe I should return them, oh and did you want to stop in the Chik-fil-a we originally came here to eat at?”

Rule 4:

As a passenger, it is your absolute duty to entertain the driver. They are going to get stressed, and you are going to hit traffic, and when you hit this traffic and they double down with exhaustion and anxiety and all they want to do is sleep and stop driving, that’s when you have to up your game and prove you are the best car co-pilot ever as well as a useful lover not just during the secks.

Tell them how good they’re doing. Things like:

“Honey, you’re overreacting you just need to learn how to merge properly.”

“That was the exit a half mile back you just chose not to get over so we’ll just find the re-route.”

“Your emotions are surprisingly tame for having your period, that in itself is something you should be proud of.”

And when THAT doesn’t work, pull out the big guns, and distract the other drivers trapped in the gridlocked hell by smushing your beautiful face against the passenger side window. Your driver will laugh through her tears and that four car fender bender you cause will be a distant memory in thirty to forty minutes.

Rule 4a:

Definitely take a lot of pictures of your girlfriend even if they don’t want you to, like in the rain or when they’re trying to “snuggle” or whatever.

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Rule 5:

No matter how good of a person you are, don’t fuck with the universe by saying things like “we made it safe and sound” a block from your destination…

…because the universe will summon animals, like Bambi…

…and your driver/girlfriend will barrel into Bambi’s skull at a high rate of speed…

…and she will have another panic attack because this is the first deer she has ever hit EVER and she will of course, have just been talking about how nothing has ever gone wrong with her car since she’s owned it just before this occurs.

Definitely keep your thoughts on safe arrival to yourself.

And whatever you do, don’t refer to your lover as Bambi murderer or Venison creator for the rest of the trip.

Rule 6:

Take some time for you. Get a pedicure. They are fantastic.

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The chairs assault your back like you owe it money, and they do all kinds of things to your feet that you never knew you could do. Like shave them, lotion them, and give your legs a massage that could make a paraplegic moan with joy.

Rule 6a:

Don’t make paraplegic jokes. Ever.

Rule 7:

Visit all the novelty gas stations/grocery stores/fast food joints you don’t get to in your shitty overbearing town of Albany, like Wegmans, WAWA, Wegmans, Sonic, Wegmans, White Castle, Chil-Fil-A, Wegmans, IKEA, and Wegmans.

Seriously, Albany, fucking Wegmans. Stop being so lame and just sell booze at the grocery stores this is ridiculous.

Rule 7a:

Something to keep in mind when traveling is that your bowels are on a fairly strict regimine. Disruption in the form of temperature change, altitude change, or even the stress of having to criticize someone else’s driving for a week can block you up for some time and that can get uncomfortable.

Definitely DO NOT get food at the above locations and pile it on top of the compounded issue.

UNLESS! You have never tried them before…

In which case, in order get the spicy chicken club sandwich with waffle fries, IKEAS Swedish Meatballs and a salmon dill wrap, McDonalds at least twice, a buffalo chorizo based egg dish for breakfast at a kick ass diner, any and all breakfast sandwiches at WAWA, seafood at the Virginia Beach shore in grilled and fried format, a gigantic bagel sandwich at a cute sandwich shop, a giant bagel schmeared with cream cheese also because YOLO, and a creamy chicken and spinach Alfredo.

But be warned, piling this internal organ layer of food together leads to the next rule.

Rule 8:

When you stop up your hotel rooms toilet, you absolutely positively need to notify your lover first. It doesn’t matter how invested in the current episode of ‘Flip it to Win it’ they are, you shut it off, look down at the ground shamefully, and then inform them that you’re going to have to be a little late to the free beverage and cheese hour at the hotel lounge because there is an inch of toilet water on the floor in the bathroom.

Then call maintenance. Priorities.

Then when maintenance arrives, say something to the effect of:

“I have no idea how that happened”

or

“Does this happen often?”

Then, because your insides didn’t suffer enough the last five days, go eat enough cheese and creamy pastas to block up someone with IBS comparable to that of Pompeii’s eruption.

Rule 9:

Because you got a great deal on Priceline from that guy from Star Trek, you are located on the 8th floor, in a private bode where silence is encouraged and loud noises are frowned upon.

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Take this opportunity to prove to the world that even though you’re not super well endowed (thanks a lot mom and dad), you can still get the job done.

I’m not saying to have the sex loud and rambunctiously while you’re on vacation, but I am saying you should at least spend some time slamming your palm against the neighbors wall while you make noises similar to the ones you’re going to hear when you visit the zoo the next day.

You’ll feel better. I promise.

And you definitely won’t cry by yourself eating leftover room service from the night before because your girlfriend “needed to hit the steam room for some alone time”.

Rule 10:

When you visit the museums your bae wanted to see, definitely opt for the audio tour. Even though they will complain afterwards about how much of a pain it was, it earns you an hour of silence while you pretend you’re listening to your tour but really are enjoying not hearing about how “tired” someone is from all the driving she has done.

Rule 11:

Other states don’t have the concept of always being hungry grasped, so you need to be aware, places like Richmond and Virginia Beach, close down their restaurants at 2 p.m. right at peak “grab a samwich somewhere to tide us over” time and then they don’t re-open until 5 when it’s dinner time.

You should definitely look like a man in front of your new girlfriend and freak out because you’re hangry and there is no where to get a god damn peice of food that isn’t from a seven eleven and you should definitely blow it out of proportion and pout because girls love that shit and when they tell you to stop being dramatic you should definitely blow that shit out of proportion and say things about how you should just break up then because obviously she doesn’t value your relationship when you can’t get a fucking sandwich after walking around all goddamn day and only eating a handful of goldfish.

(I used to have a temper problem and I’ve really been working on it at the request of my mother, and I think we can all agree looking back on rule 11 that we learned a really valuable perspective on how well we’re doing because we haven’t had an outburst like that in a while, and we are super fortunate to have a girlfriend who will at least wait until we get back home to break up with us so that we don’t lose control in a foreign state)

Rule 12:

If you do get pouty, definitely make sure when getting off your exit to go back to your relatives, that you exact revenge on the driver for calling you a princess and telling you to calm down by telling them you know where you’re going, and then saying left here, right there, for fifteen minutes before you end up in a church parking lot and then admit you have no idea where you were going and then when your girlfriend gets upset you have the upper hand and can say things like:

“Now who’s being the drama queen?”

You win.

FINALLY, Rule 13:

Make sure you tweet everything that happens. Broads love twitter. Document the trip, you’ll be better off:

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Still taken but unsure why,

Me.

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Losing my online dating virginity.

Dear Mom and Dad, general contractors and Honey Boo Boo,

I know, I know. You’re a little hurt that tinder didn’t work out for you. Those girls and guys truly don’t know what they’re missing, and that’s okay. Maybe next time don’t lead off with the fact that you enjoy spreading peanut butter on your body and walking down the street informing people that you’re nutty.

I’m not saying I’m an expert at this point.

No. I am.

But listen, as an expert in online dating I need you to understand what I had to go through to find someone compatible with me…

…and able to drive a car.

Briefly, to keep you up to date – these are some of the wonderful experiences I had on the Internet:

1. One of my first suggested conversations was with this luscious vixen of the interweb.

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She was probably wonderful, but like you I didn’t give her a chance.

We could have had a lot in common for all I know

Maybe she enjoyed Beyonces XO album as much as me

Maybe she thoroughly enjoyed coating her foods in melted cheese.

Maybe her eyes were blue at one point.

Maybe a little cocoa butter applied to those facial scars nightly would relieve some of their visibility!

My point friends, is that there is someone for everyone out there.

 Except Robbie.

You remember him right?

He’ll never find someone with that attitude.

Not even a one night stand.

Do you know how hard it is to get the sex online these days you guys?

There are so many deviants out there just lookin to throw any ol’ thing into any ol’ other thing!

Some people want to tie you up.

Some people want to have you as their love bride for an hour.

Some people want to peel your skin off while listening to the ‘Bodyguard’ soundtrack.

I told you about my one night stand from the Internet dating sites, right guys?

No?

Eh, I’ll save it for another time, it’s a good story.

But let’s talk to Foo here a second…

Foo you like high maintenance women right? I met one that would be perfect for you…

…if you like blowing wads of cash for no reason and expect nothing but sadness in return.

2. She basically told me from the start she was a Russian Princess. She requested that I actually follow through on sending her a detailed report via email in Times New Roman and double spaced about why I am awesome. So I did. And we had conversed for what seemed like an entire day so I basically assumed we were together.

But then I began to notice a pattern in her Instagram photos that she demanded I stalk for an hour but not tell her about after the fact.

Burberry.
bebe.
Coach.

Dear god. The Brands.

That I couldn’t afford if I tried.

So I figured I’d indirectly bring it up in a very subtle manner by asking things like,

“Wow, how fucking important are brands to you!?!??”

Basically she said she liked to look nice but was totes comfortable kicking back in a nice pair of sweats from Hollister.

Have you ever called bullshit on a person you meet online Foo? Apparently they don’t like it. And what they hate even more is when you screen shot the evidence and send it to them as proof:

Exhibit A.

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Exhibit 2.

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Exhibit d.

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Anyway I tried maintaining niceties after that but then she basically decided I wasn’t worthy because she didn’t like some of my taste in foods:

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Alas, I continue my journey forth…

When…

Who the hell decided that it would be okay for me to get a pimple on my face while trying to meet people?

I have a perfect complexion, and when I break out…it generally results in me smearing foods on my face in an attempt to home remedy the shit out of that bad boy.

What it is good for though, aside from convincing women that Justin Timberlake is my half brother twice removed (I think we have a common uncle somewhere, somehow…I can’t remember the exact details ladies), is keeping me from going out in public very often.

Don’t be fucking silly, obviously I have to go to work…

Otherwise I can’t make money…

Which means I can’t buy coffee…

So you see the dilemma?

 But it’s problematic because if you read my earlier entry about joining all these online dating sites, I was really excited to get out there and start throwing around my “magic wand” in a very Harry Potter-esque fashion.

Avada-ka-diddle!

Wing-hardium levi-OH-sa!

(side note if you haven’t read Harry Potter those jokes won’t make sense to you, which renders them useless in this context…but to explain, I made two of the spells from the book sexual and its funny.[Side-side note: If you haven’t read Harry Potter, get the hell off this blog and go read Harry Potter…we’re not friends anymore until you do and I will straight up put my neighbors stray cat before you on a list of people I would go to bat for until you change the above circumstances])

When all is said and done though, I return home to slather a cucumber and pulled pork concoction atop the now twice popped pimple, to rid it of some of the swelling and fire engine red tint that it was screaming forth from my chin. I read somewhere that that is how you get rid of these things…by putting food on it, or something.

Now that I think of it, I may have just been contemplating what to do about this aforementioned zit while I was watching the food network. Now I cant remember…

but how good is pulled pork?

Also, I want to clarify that I am not a super huge bastard and I am not just using all of these legitimate people to poke fun at the world of online dating…It’s an actual place, this online world, and the people in it are genuinely looking for that special.

So sorry if this last one is offensive, but as the great John Mayer once said, “I am free, free falling.”

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3. Guys listen. Don’t answer messages from people whose usernames are basically DearGodINeedAllTheCats69.

This one’s graphic but here’s a walk through…stop reading now if you’re squeamish, this girls mouth is an atrocity.

 

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Obvs. But I get it you have to break the ice somehow.

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This is where every normal woman in the world gets irritated and walks away. Right?

Right?

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Right…normal I guess…

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I’m sorry. To clarify, you want me to what now?

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This is where I should have given up.

Probably.

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Do you see how the Internet is a scary place now guys?

Well I had a guys night before Kurt went back home and we all thought it would be awesome to try and speak only in song lyrics.

It makes a pretty good track listing, in case you need a new playlist.

ALEXFOSTER’SBRAINPRESENTS:

That’s a fucked up thing to do: Vol. 1:

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1. What’s Going On by Marvin Gaye
2. Chicken Noodle Soup by DJ Irrelevant

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3. Jungle song by Katy Perry
4. That really happy song by Bob Marley

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5. As Long as You Love me by that group that wasn’t NSYNC.

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6. Just a Friend by that large guy that beat boxes.
7. That song where Alanis Morissette talks about blowing the guy from full house.

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8. Pompeii by that band that won’t matter in a month
9. Apologize by One Redirection

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10. YEAH by Usher and the screamy guy
11. Ignition (remix) by that pee guy

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12. That nineties song by Sugar Ray

So that game is fun if you ever need to make a running playlist or something. Basically though it gets really hard and then you stop talking and periodically get creepy messages like this:

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Well long story short is that it’s really hard to find people that just get you for you, like Kurt does…

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So that’s basically where we are in life guys. And Foo…

Were still the same guy basically so I feel you.

Oh, except I met someone on two of the sites and I’ve been seeing her for a bit.

So were still the same except I’m not single anymore!

Or Asian!

And don’t worry readers, I already told her she can expect me to put our sexcapades and interesting happenings on the Internet for all of you to read.

Until next time!

And remember Mom and Dad…Most Things are Garbage.

-not single anymore.

 

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Tactics in puffing your chest out: a letter regarding judgment.

Dear malpractice suit filers and minions from ‘Despicable Me’,

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I know it’s been a while since I’ve shared with you. Life got crazy since I entered the world of online dating. All kinds of people came into my life and I’m not sure still how to deal with feelings and awkward social situations.

But something happened in the world of online dating recently that kind of threw me a little bit.

I got into a bit of a predicament; a catty tiff with a man who identifies as a bi-sexual.

I know. I’m sure this sounds ludicrous, and I’m certain I’m probably blowing it out of proportion, but I was mildly offended and disheartened.

Quick back story:

Basically I really pride myself on currently being a person who anyone can get along with. In the past maybe not so much, but I am a lover of all things people and all things equal. Whatever some may want to refer to as the “homosexual agenda” or ‘LGQBT Equality’, I have and continue to support because frankly it’s nobody’s goddamn business to decide who/how people are, and honestly people are people.

Moving on, this blog is not about politics. That’s all I will say personally on the matter. So if you’re closed minded or don’t care you can stop here…

But if you choose to continue reading I will address three things before I display my efforts in online defense against what I’m electing to call a bully.

1. My personality is less than masculine and I live my life as a very carefree and comfortable male. I identify as straight, I rarely come across as such, I have male acquaintances that I love deeply, and I have and I am comfortable enough to state facts like:

Adam Brody is attractive.

The singer from Maroon 5’s abs could take me on a date if they really wanted.

This quart of Breyer’s chocolate ice cream I’m currently shoveling in my mouth is going straight to my hips.

HOWEVER I am also comfortable in stating that I only have the sex with and to this day only find myself wanting to be in relationships/in love/whatever-with females.

It is what it is. You don’t really have a say. That’s the wonderful part about being a human being.

2. I feel as though I certainly get along well with those identifying as LGQBT and I very much am okay with that. Some of the best people I know identify as something other than heterosexual and I am truly blessed to have them in my life.

3. Stereotypes amongst humans are abhorrent. Whether racial, religious or lifestyle based. Honestly we should all be good to each other and cut the bullshit when it comes to ignorance.

Quick survey!

Since my ego is deflated from arguing, I need a boost before we continue, predominantly from the gay men in my life, because I want to feel better than the ass-hat in question made me feel.

The roommate of my current beau who hasn’t had a long time to know me yet:

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And of course because he’s selfish he expects payment for participating in research.

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A fair trade in my opinion.

The ‘friend’ of the new beau’s roommate that has the same name and they pretend like it’s not weird when they’re getting handsy:

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A wonderful man I have known a bit and attended high school and participated in musical theatre with:

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Too kind. Really.

My always trustworthy GBF (gay best friend) since the age of 11:

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And I guess for accurate results…

My hetero-life partner/best friend:

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Two things learned:

1. I am average in the eyes of some males who find themselves involved amorously involved with other men.

2. On a scale of which Ryan Gosling is a ten – I will never be a ten.

Back to what happened:

OkCupid has this wonderful set up where you can state what you’re looking for based on their previously decided upon criteria, for those identifying as straight males, the options read something to the effect of:

Girls only.
Girls who like guys.
Girls who are bi-sexual.
Everybody.

I’m not the brightest pop-tart in the box, and so in looking to just meet new people in general I selected everybody under the belief that anyone I would be meeting should be free to like whomever they want not strictly women who like men and women, or only men.

Though when a male named ROBBIE messaged me I admit, I was caught off guard. Not in a fear based way, but because I identified as straight and he, after conversing, appeared to be interested in trying to pursue an amorous based Internet correspondence.

Essentially, I told him I was a wizard and that I was all knowing. Then he stopped talking and seemingly ended the chat.

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Well that lasted a whole sleep cycle before he countered my non responsive self by showing some teeth.

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Yikes.

To be clear, leading up to this conversation, there was nothing that came across as pursuant of me, and it was more like a questioning of how I knew him. (Mutual friends/people that make nice to your face while you compete in the local karaoke competition at the ‘gay bars’ in Albany.[Him, not me, I don’t go to bars])

My immediate response was to be blunt and defensive. Honestly I felt a bit offended.

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I’m sassy, and while I probably could have been nicer and informed him of how I knew information (limited) about him, I bit back. I wasn’t being mean but I was confused why it was even an issue if my profile states I’m a straight male.

But Robbie pulled his claws out.

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1. Everyone in Albany is a straight male seeking companionship on the Internet and being called out by non-heterosexual male?

2. I think, though I can’t be certain, ‘tragic’ is one of those words to use when you can’t come up with an honest reaction to someone saying no…I definitely have used it in that context at least.

Clearly there was a misunderstanding, which I admit was in part to my misconception of the sites options. To be clear, I wasn’t looking to make a joke at the expense of anyone other than myself when I joined these sites.

Believe me or not, frankly IDGAF.

I tried to respond with sassiness, but also attempted to keep it light and direct it back toward a friendly ‘we could be chummy’ perspective.

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Sadly, bye doesn’t always cut it for me and I really just want to be liked, and I was really sad to hear Robbie being so careless as he really didn’t know me.

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And that is when it happened…

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Robbie clearly felt the need to backpedal a smidge:

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Long story short, I suppose I need to be more up front and conscious in certain scenarios.But I would like to just take the opportunity to crush the notion that heterosexual men are strictly interested in attaining ‘dat pussy’.

We all have different methods going about pursuing romantic interests, and while some brahs elect to seek strictly fornication of the shortest extent, some guys are genuine and good.

Like Foo. He’s still single.

Come on ladies.

Fondly,
Alexander.

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Leggings as a Thing: a Response to Fashion Week.

Dear Dolce and Gabbana,

It’s fashion week here in the Most Things are Garbage household.

This means three things.

Number one: the repercussions from Super Bowl are the devil. All that salsa laden food covered in various cheeses and seasonings probably influenced by salt has all settled in the mid section of my body, and it is holding my waistline hostage somewhere on the tipping point of a 31 spilling over into a 32.

But cheese. Dear god the cheese.

Number two: my cat and dog are not my biggest fans. Don’t get me wrong, dressing them up is great and fashion week is all about the looks, but my dog is super comfortable when he is naked and roaming free in life, and really who the hell isn’t?! It just makes it easier for him when he decides to embarrass me in front of all the dates I bring home from the Internet as he pleasures himself at their feet while we watch Amelie on the couch.

Number three: Research!

I believe it was Spider-Man who said “With great fashion comes great responsibility.”…

…or something like that.

I mean it’s 2014 now so I feel as though fashion is unbelievably lenient now-a-days, and that there is a lot more room to be flexible.

Personally, I’m usually an all dark everything-all black everything kinda guy usually. My standard wardrobe would make the interior of Drake’s Maserati blush.

As far as dress goes though, I am not on the up and up with the latest trends or the hot styles now. It is complicated and written a long while back, but if you really want to know the progression of my fashion technique, you can read this.

Basic gist: My mom picked out my outfits until I was 24 and I made those sex-bracelets out of soda cap things to wear, and then passed them off to my parents as me being creative and not at all slutty. Also, those bracelets didn’t work and I usually ended up breaking all of my own while I played with my action figures on a nightly basis. Then I made progress somewhere after an ex-gfs insistence that I dress human, I understood how important the world of fashion truly was. There’s only so many times someone can say, ‘Stop shopping at Delia’s’ before you finally start listening.

Blah blah blah, a few years later I’m basically Tyra Banks.

So I basically understood all things fashion except one:

When the fuck did it become socially acceptable to wear leggings as pants.

Mom! You didn’t prepare me for this!! I’ve seen some horrible things!

To me saying leggings are pants, is like saying cotton swabs make a good substitute for pepperoni as a topping on pizza. No, just stop it doesn’t make sense!

I had to get to the bottom of it, this fashion phenomenon that has been sweeping the world.

Well as I generally tend to do before I believe anything I’m told, I heavily considered setting out to conduct a very detailed experimentation. I weighed the pros and cons of actually wearing a pair of leggings as pants for 24 hours, and was quite hesitant but a friends Facebook post pretty much solidified the decision for me:

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Sold.

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Luckily for me, I gave up on shame several months ago. I mean really what does in matter in the long run, grand scheme of things in life, a male wearing leggings out as pants should be considered normal right?

Well staying true to the daily experiment, I began by purchasing a 10$ pair of jeggings at target in the women’s section. It was not awkward for I had my female companion in friendship in attendance with me. I grabbed a bag of gummy worms and a copy of Bridget Jones’ Diary for checkout so there would be no misconstrued notions about what I was doing.

“Ten dollars?!? Where did you find these?” exclaimed the female cashier.

Somewhere between shirts that look like dresses and accessories I have zero idea how to utilize.

One, two, skip a few and here we are at D-Day. I made sure to wear my leggings to bed so that I awoke physically wearing them for the start of my 24 hour period.

I fixed myself a pot of coffee and a hearty plate of bacon because, well these have an elastic waistband and who the hell am I trying to impress really?

I mean with the exception of that OkCupid date at Starbucks but was there any doubt that I wouldn’t kill that?

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And so, as their time wound down as house guests, Kurt and Rachelle in all their marital bliss, invited me to join them around the Capitol Region while they ran errands.

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I figured since I was basically going to be miserable wearing basically no pants all day, I may as well take in some pre-wedding bickering to really twist the whole knife of joy lodged in the torso that is my life.

Well we made our way through several locations to collect data, as will be evident below in the results. To begin, in the car I did the only thing any reasonable person would do when conducting an experiment of this caliber:

Post about it on Facebook.
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I apologize to no one. I have done everything right up to this point.

Next, I took a ‘from where I stand‘ photo to post to the Instagram at a later date after results were concluded.

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It was eerily reminiscent of the majority of shots I tend to see on the Instagram, so I knew I was doing something correct.

Suddenly, and without warning, my 00’s pop princess mix on Spotify was interrupted by the buzz and buffering of multiple notifications. Apparently, my post on the Facebook had caused a stirring in the loins of many females, and opinions began rolling in a la the form of comments:

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I am not saying no more pants is a bad thing. I’m also not saying the female who posted this has never taken her pants off in front of me.

(She hasn’t. I got friend zoned when I was like 9 for saying the word ‘vagina’ in front of her on the summer camp bus. Boys are gross.)

What I am saying, is that females rushing to the defense of their sacred skin-tites was not enough to convince me!

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Well you know women…20140210-155346.jpg

So of course there were many more opinions to be given:

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Obviously by this point I was welcoming any and all opinions because I knew in the long run half the research would be done for me. Part of the plan all along.

There were funny opinions:

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There were honest and sincere opinions:

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There was sassy-ness:

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There was classic disagreement amongst the female species:

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Obviously there would be no final group consensus as we all know that females can never just agree on something.

I knew that the fate of leggings as pants lay I’m the hands of me, and I had to get straight to business.

Below are my findings:

Daily itinerary by location:
Big Lots
The family Dollar
Michaels Craft Store
Starbucks (OkCupid first date)
Home

Variables:

Constant– me, my beauty, my ass, my sass, hair.

Changing– butt uncovered 50% of the time at each location, customer type in store.

Reasoning and rules:

1. The golden rule.

Leggings being worn as pants is applicable first and foremost ONLY if the booty is covered. It is scientifically proven, and therefore is the first regulation to this process. See scientific findings below:

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Booties are meant to be poppin, but not in leggings ladies. Covering your bottom makes all the difference out in public.

See:

Hot:

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Not:

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2. Present yourself well!!! 

Choose your outfit carefully. Whatever the fuck tunics are, they are apparently closely associated with the legging ensemble. I chose a tank top under an oversized sweater. It was sensible and not too ragged. It requires a certain chutzpah to pull it off in public, and while you may feel comfortable, the attitude makes all the difference between:

‘Look I’m lazy am I doing the shopping right oh god what is my life I miss my cats time to go home’

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And…

‘Look I’m basically Beyoncé you’re just frontin’, I AM Sasha Feirce and yuh jealous’

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3. Know what to expect.

There is a very good chance you are going to get some looks. Am I right or am I right ladies? You have to be aware of your surroundings, and science proves that with certain places come certain levels of judgment. In reality, we all know the real judgment free zone is not planet fitness, but Walmart.

Below are the findings from my day:
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If you notice, places you would expect to see leggings as pants (Big Lots, Family Dollar) are more judgmental than those places you are expected to be creative and different (Michaels, home). This is because your brain loses the ability to give a shit how you look when you go to locations you fully expect to see a lazy ensemble.

4. There is a direct correlation between pockets/zippers and comfort: 20140218-090744.jpg

Where sweatpants are basically the closest thing to allowing your bottom parts to feel more free than my refills at Starbucks, jeans can be binding and constrictive. Leggings comfort level becomes clear when put in these terms.

5. Say no to UGGS.

Look I’m not saying UGGS look stupid with leggings, I’m saying UGGS look stupid. You need to own this look, and frankly everyone looks foolish in UGGS.

Be a boss, sneakers for the win kiddos:

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Final verdict:

LEGGINGS ARE COMFY AS FUCKKKKKKK!!!

Here’s the bottom line though. If you love your body and you’re comfortable, who gives a shit what you’re wearing.

Odds are you’ll end up reclined in front of Netflix anyway.

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Honestly, with the amount of criticism put on body types and choice of dress nowadays, I personally vote for the whole if you like it, wear it at this point.

Science agrees:

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Just do you, learn to love the skin you’re in, and you’ll be fine.

And take lots of selfies…always…

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Bless this mess,
Alex.

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