WebMD needs to go to hell.

I am so sick of getting a sore throat, perusing WebMD for a good two hours, only to self-diagnose myself with rabies. Now I’m stuck with the task of trying to talk myself out of this obviously rational thought.

Have you ever been inside my head, WebMD? It’s not fun is it? And yeah… I haven’t figured out why it’s so sticky yet either.

So stop telling me I’m going to die, WebMD! Or that I’m pregnant, which is basically telling me I’m dead, you asshole.

Sadly, this is a true story. I actually thought I had rabies two weeks ago. I woke up after a night of drinking with a weird scratch on my wrist that looked like an animal bit me and it didn’t help when people confirmed this fear.

“That looks like an animal bit you...hard.”

So of course at 2 AM and quite possibly buzzed, I found it completely necessary to Google the symptoms of rabies, which inevitably led me to magical land called WebMD.

Now, was it just a coincidence that I had an ill-fated bite mark on my left wrist? And that I had a terrible sore throat that day, which inevitably got worse as I coughed up my beer at the sight of the symptoms of rabies? AND come on, who isn’t scared shitless by water?!

MY. THOUGHTS. EXACTLY.

Obviously, I didn’t sleep that night. And obviously, now my poor roommate was bestowed with the gift of having to talk me out of the absolutely real rabies diagnoses.

“Matt, tell me I don’t have rabies.”

“You don’t have rabies.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

“So I have rabies?”

“You have rabies.”

“…God damnit.”

I wish all of this wasn’t true. I wish I wasn’t fucking crazy, but sadly this is what happens when crazy ladies are given access to Google.

I can honestly tell you I’ve been freaking out about this rabies “situation” for the past two weeks AND I can tell you that if I suddenly stop posting... it’s because I’ve died from rabies.

In lieu of flowers, please send pizza and cases of Michelob Ultra to St. William of York. She was a sassy bloke and will surely be missed… by her dog, Stella.

So let’s eat and drink until we all vomit, it’s what Natalie would have wanted.

So, I have to know...

Who would you choose to narrate your sex life?

Mind-boggling isn’t it? Isn’t it.

Can you tell I got distracted by "30 Rock" last night? Whatever, fuck off, that shit is like porn to me... (well it's nothing like porn to me, but Liz Lemon makes me more like a normal part of society.)

Any who, I chose…if you were wondering…Will Arnett, e-trade baby or Norbert from "The Angry Beavers."

The best answer may win some shit...maybe.

Now answer, bitch(es).

Crazy people LOVE this (points to herself)...

It never fails, I seriously attract the craziest motherfuckers out there. Granted, living in NYC isn't exactly helping the situation, but COME ON.

Case in point, let's just look at a snippet of a convo I had with a lovely old-lady customer at urban outfitters the other day. Now read carefully, because she starts all sweet and old-lady like, but it does not end that way.

Crazy Old Lady: I love your shirt!

Me: Why thank you!

Crazy Old Lady: Such a beautiful shirt for a beautiful girl.

Me: Why thank you!

Crazy Old Lady: So what do you do?

Me: Uh...this.

Crazy Old Lady: Did you go to college?

Me: I did.

Crazy Old Lady: And this is the best you can do?

Me: Well...I'm also a nanny...

Crazy Old Lady: Back in my day, ladies didn't go to college to get a job like this.

Me: I see.

Crazy Old Lady: Yep. You'd graduate high school, get a sales job, then marry a boy.

Me: In a perfect world.

Crazy Old Lady: You girls now. You're all stupid. You know you have the ultimate power right?

Me: I do?

Crazy Old Lady: It's right here. (Motions to her lady parts.)

Me: Oh that. I was aware of that.

Crazy Old Lady: Boys think you all are all soooooo easy...and desperate.

Me: Wait? We aren't?

Crazy Old Lady: You'll never get married if you put out.

Me: Wait? I won't?!?

Crazy Old Lady: Have you heard of a "hump and dump?"

Me: I have not. ( I have by the way...who the fuck hasn't.)

Crazy Old Lady: It's when the boy takes you out, humps you, then dumps you.

Me: Oh.

Crazy Old Lady: Do not "hump and dump."

Me: I'll make a note of that.

Crazy Old Lady: Seriously, don't. You want to get married right?

Me: Meh, we'll see what happens.

Crazy Old Lady: You girls need to get your priorities in check.

Me: Probably.

Crazy Old Lady: Well if all else fails do some Zumba.

Me: I will!

Crazy Old Lady: Really?

Me: No.

Crazy Old Lady: Hah! You're a funny girl. (Looks me up and down.) But you really should look into Zumba. Goodnight!

Uh...yeah...cause that's a normal conversation to have with a complete stranger.

This is why I was fat when I was younger...

1. Dunkaroos.

....i used to just hoard all the vanilla icing cups and finger to the mouth with that shit.

2. That gooey pure sugar shit that came in tubes.

....oh don't even pretend like this wasn't crack for 4-year olds...I used to sell this shit in the back alley of my private school in 2nd grade...I kind of wish that was a lie.

3. Reading.

...this probably didn't help...but god damn those Captain Underpants comics were fucking epic.

4. Corndogs.

....it's a gateway drug, really.

5. Ramen noodles (cooked or uncooked).

...god damn I could eat that shit any way/shape/form...and that is why I am proud to be an AMERICAN...and white.

6. Cake

...fat kids love cake...or so I've been told in numerous rap songs.

7. This guy.

...god damn you cookie monster...you brilliant genius you.

8. Ellio's Pizza.

...it's a gateway drug, really.

9. Eating spoonfuls of sugar...multiple times a day...

...no seriously I used to sit on my kitchen counter and eat pure sugar...then one day the sugar container was "misplaced" by my parents...only to have my parents find me hiding in the living room shoving spoons full of sugar into my mouth hours later.

10. Being fat probably made me fatter.

...well...it did.

Retail...what total horse shit.

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I'm a nanny...

Shocking, I know.

Well, yesterday the two boys wanted to play pretend restaurant and they made the menu specifically for me...

...did I just win the "best nanny ever" award? Why yes. Yes. I. Did.

Do you really think women can be funny though, nat?

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Subconscious Natalie...let's chat.

My sex dreams are usually pretty shameful. I usually wake up drenched in a sin-sweat questioning out loud…

“Was I drunk in my dream?”

“Is my asleep Natalie more of a whore than awake Natalie?”

“Did I eat a whole package of bologna slathered in mayo before bed, again?”

And I must admit, this makes me really worry about subconscious…well to be frank…it’s not like I wasn’t concerned before…it’s just the past 13 sex dreams I’ve had have been kind of a red flag. A huge fucking red flag.

Sex dreams are not supposed to be embarrassing.

It’s like my inner psyche has even lower standards than my only reality…and that’s really low…

…dreams are the one place that Catholics can hide their sinful thoughts from Jesus/ Black Santa/the assistant manager at Taco Bell…

Whatever don’t act like he isn’t a god. Did Jesus give you 89-cent taco Sundays? Um, no he didn’t…all he did was die for you sins…big whoop.

…and I just proved my point.

Anyways, I’m convinced that my local pizza delivery boy has pulled an Inception shenanigans on my dreams because I wake up way too many mornings crazy deep dish pizza and sex.

…That or I watch way too much amateur porn.

…or I eat more than the average consumption of bologna…I also just had to sing the Oscar Meyer Wiener song out loud to correctly spell bologna.

God damn you, original speller of bologna…god damn you.

So is this what my life has come too? A plethora of meat/mayo/porn/shameful sweating… sprinkled with a few SNL marathons every Tuesday and Thursday?

And yet boys still want to boink me with their man junk?

It’s the riddle of the sphinx…I swear to god.

I'm sorry to report....

So I’m sorry to report but I actually will not be writing about my NYE. My mom reads my blog religiously and honestly, I just don’t feel like getting “that” phone call this week…

“Really, Natalie? Really?!?”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. I swear.”

“Sure it wasn’t. By the way…what does ‘jungle fever’ mean again?”

“Oh, no going through a tunnel, going to lose y---“

Love you, mom. Seriously I do. I’ll call you after work today. The bleach worked amazingly, by the way!

So to make it up to you guys, I have compiled yet another brilliant list of why men should never be attracted to me/what getting high for two years straight does to your brain and/or Oh. Dear. God. I hope she’s lying (…I’m not).

1.    One time I tried to steam a shirt I was currently wearing…I had a burn mark on my stomach for two months.

2.    Tried to get one of my friends high but accidentally burnt half of her right eyebrow off…and didn’t tell her….don’t worry she figured it out.

3.    I’ve been trying to write this post for the past three days.

4.    I screamed, “We’ll double team it!” in my feature writing class senior year of college…the professor didn’t laugh…nor did the uber-religious Christian chick in that class.

5.    You know what’s awesome? Spraying vanilla icing on a mini-donut.

6.    You know what’s even more awesome? Spraying vanilla icing directly into your mouth.

7.     I straightened my hair for three weeks because I was too lazy to walk down to Duane Reade and buy hairspray.

8.     If I don’t have to leave the apartment that day…I won’t put on pants.

9.     If I know I have to leave the apartment at a certain time…I won’t put pants on until five minutes before said time.

10.   If Matt’s not home…pants will not be on.

11.   I was a closeted Barney fan until sixth grade.

12.   I have run into a screen and/or glass door five times in my life.

13.    My mom has tricked me into eating a dog treat…well she tricked me twice.

14.   One time I got so high, I started hallucinating and walked into my empty apartment only to hear, “THIS IS THE DEVIL!” My roommates found me sitting on the kitchen counter dipping Tostitos into a can of vanilla icing.

15.    I have dropped sweet and sour sauce all over my legs twice in my life…one time I was super plastered and my roommates found me covered in sweet and sour sauce, screaming, “I’m going to kill myself!” after they had gone to work-out. SIDE NOTE: It was the same roommates from 14.

16.   I’m currently not wearing a shirt...but I have a superman bra on…that I’ve had since I was twelve…

17.    I usually watch “Intervention” with at least one 40 in my hand…prefereably a Hurricane.

18.   I woke up with chocolate all over my bed the other day…I did not go to sleep with chocolate in the bed….

19.    All siblings were banned from attending field trips from my brothers school, for something I did when I was four years old.

20.     Champagne/Tequila and/or wine turns me into a Grade A whore.

....Turned on? That's what I thought. 

I should be surprised, but I'm not...I'm really not.

But seriously, they have some pretty legit deals on some sexy sex toys! ow! ow! Get on with yo' bad selves, sexy orthodox jews.

Check them out! Kosher Sex Toys 

I hope I never change. Ever.

My New Years was pretty epic and while yes I will write more about the actual night in the next few days seeing as its riddled with shit-showness and alcohol abuse, I have to take a second just to state how mother-god-damn-fucking happy I am right now.

And while yes I know that this moment is inevitably fleeting… there seriously is nothing quite as satisfying as the validation one can be given about their “less than stellar” life choices through pure monumental bliss.

I’m not saying I have finally gotten my shit together, because actually it’s quite the opposite. I’m a shit-show, sober and/or drunk. But I have finally accepted that that is who I am…a shit-show. A pretty hilarious shit-show if I do say so myself.

I’ve made some stupid choices in my life. Said some stupid comments. Done some stupid things. (I accidently shot hair spray in my eyes yesterday. I don’t think that really needs any explanation.) But they’ve all lead me to this moment of clarity, and for that I will be forever grateful.

And that’s why my new years resolution is to never forget this feeling. Even after I’m plastered, bawling in the corner of my bathroom because he broke my heart (that was years ago…but who am I kidding… it will happen again). Or when my “perfectly timed black joke” fails on stage.  Or… when I accidently spray hairspray directly into my eyes in front of multiple people, only to fall on my ass because I’m laughing so hard at my own stupidity.

I’ve never wanted to be weirder more in my life, than this moment right now. You never remember the normal people in your life, but always the weird ones. And that fact alone will keep me happy for years….well that and industrial sized vats of mayo.

SCHAZAM!

And now to hold you all over until my next post, I have taken the time to jot down some of the epic things said between my friends and I on that lovely night we like to call New Years Eve. I will let you decide which ones I said:

“That dudes hot.”

“Yeah, I like his chucks. And by chucks I mean his penis.”

“Our priest’s name is father “who touches little boys.”

“I specifically remember thinking if I go to sleep tonight… I will die.”

“He got tipped over  50 dollars and received a slew a highly sexually comments directed at his penis… so yes… he had a good night.”

“BBBBBBBGGGGGGGGGIIIIIIIIIIFFFFFFFFFF!” (Black. Guy. I’d. Fuck….a term I created that urbandictionary.com still won’t recognize….assholes.)

“I remember thinking…if Kerry left she would have grabbed her coat…but it was still there.”

“And I thought… I’ll grab my coat after I find Natalie.”

“Our drunken logic is magical.”

“She’s a NYC girl she’ll find her way home…I want McDonalds.”

“She's dead let's just move on its what Natalie would have wanted.”

Texts I received that night after I was able to recharge my phone that :

“Oh hey. Where the fuck are you?”

“Natalie…where the heck are you…Kerry came home with us cause she lost you…if you need a way home call us an we will get you home…please call us.”

…yeah….it’s a good fucking story.

HAPPY NEW YEAR, FUCKERS.