I'm black.

     1.      “The Cosby Show” is probably my favorite TV show.

…ever.

     

     2.     That being said...I’m obsessed with Bill Cosby.

… I’m pretty sure he is God... yes, God is black.

     3.     I once brought a rotisserie chicken to a public pool.

…and ate the whole thing…I was on a low-carb diet at the time…I have no shame during low-carb diets…aw hell…I have no fucking shame.

     4.     I love rap songs with lyrics derogatory towards women.

…I wish I were joking.

    

     5.     Have you ever won an in depth argument about rap against a black man?

…I have.

     6.     You know what’s awesome?

… Watermelon.

     7.     You know what’s even more awesome than watermelon?

…Malt liquor…specifically Hurricanes…in a 40 ounce bottle(s).

     8.     I like this song a little too much… 

     9.     And this song… 

     10.  I once threatened to kill a random girl who chucked a mug through our screen-glass door.

… long story short, there was a crazy ass party going on across the way one night, and someone threw a “Happy 50^th Birthday” mug at our balcony breaking the glass door, when we went outside to investigate the situation, this drunk whore of a chick started flipping us the bird, and rumor has it, I went fucking psycho. I don’t remember, I momentarily blacked out from rage… the bitch was lucky though, if I had been anywhere near her, I would have beat the shit out of her. I’m not joking.

     11. Have you ever been asked if you were half-black, when you so obviously are not?

…I have.

     12. Recently won a free shot at a bar.

… for knowing a rap song.

     13.  I paid for Taco Bell with all change while going through the Drive-Thru

…on numerous occasions.

     14. I am most likely going to get Type-2 diabetes.

…no seriously…I’ve put chocolate syrup on bacon before…I am most likely going to get Type-2 diabetes.

     15. I live in the ghetto.

…people living in Harlem say what?! No seriously, what do they say?

Fuck you all, well no...fuck this cold.

So first off, you all suck and it looks like I’m for Lent giving up mayo and porn…which makes me wonder now what exactly constitutes as porn…don’t answer that, I’m going to need a loophole for this one. I’m also going to throw in sweets, for a couple of reasons really. 1. I feel like since I’ve moved up to NYC I don’t eat mayo as much as I used too, and 2. I’ve been a pretty douchy Catholic lady lately, gotta keep the big man happy, yah dig? Yah dig.

Secondly, I’ve been a little M.I.A. from this blog lately because I caught a pretty epic cold/flu/death cough, whatever the fuck you want to call this, and it has left me in pretty delirious state of mind.

Well, in all honesty, it was probably a relatively normal cold but I went out a couple of nights in a row and let me tell you something, whiskey, miller high-life and Nyquil do not create the elixir of health, that they so obviously should.

For some reason this cold has made writing a hellish event for my noggin. As I type this very sentence it feels like I’m looking at the screen cross-eyed...this does not feel good.

And seeing as I’ve obviously already WebMDed my symptoms I had a panic attack, which led to a panic rash, which led to a panic food binge… I’m blaming the food binge on the delirium brought on from this cold…and not the fact that I hadn’t left my apartment for 3 days straight and in all honestly couldn’t think of anything else to do.

I called my mom to get a little motherly TLC but instead I got this:

“Holy shit, you sound terrible.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Maybe you have pneumonia.”

Now here’s the thing about my mom. She used to be a nurse AAAANNNND she knows how much of a hypochondriac I am. So why the fuck she would utter the words, “you have pneumonia,” is beyond me. And I ain’t got no health insurance, (thanks assholes who screwed over military kids in this healthcare bullshit), so pneumonia ain’t a word I want to hear uttered from a former fucking nurse.

BUT it was. Which sent me into a whirlwind of emotions such as confusion, and paranoia and lastly an insatiable thirst for twisted Cheeto puffs.

God damn you twisted Cheeto puffs, why do you have to be so god damn awesome?

So as you can clearly see, nothing really changes when I get sick, well nothing aside from the fact that I sound like a dude…and I may have just sneezed into my hair just now…

Turned on?

Oh fuck...I guess I'll let you decide.

Well shit…today is Ash Wednesday, and being the good Catholic that I am…I completely forgot.

…so seeing as I’m a total Catholic douche…I am going to let you (the viewers) pick what I give up for lent!

No seriously…you get to decide…and then watch then watch me blog about my living hell…

What are the choices you ask?

1.    Porn

2.    Unsolicited bitchiness

3.    Mayo…I don’t want to talk about it….

4.    Eating sandwiches…while watching porn

5.    Fruit

6.    Unsolicited cursing

7.    Unsolicited cursing…while watching porn

8.    Unsolicited cursing…while watchin porn…while eating a mayo drenched sandwich

9.    Michelob ultras?

10.    Hot chocolate

11.    Hot chocolate…while eating mayo…while watching porn…while eating a sandwich

12.    Salt

13.    Diet coke

14.    Crack

15.    Cocaine

The choice is yours.

I'm glad to report that my roommate is a douche too.

So much of a douche, that I let him guest post on my douchey blog and you should check out his blog @ My Life is Lame.

Enjoy!

"Making Out With A D-Bag"

Mom, don’t read this.  Seriously, stop. I’m not kidding Mom.  I don’t want you to think your sons a d-bag.  Of course, you may think this already, but let’s not make it worse, so seriously Mom, stop reading. 

I like making out…When it’s leading to something else…like a new car (Come on Mom, please stop reading or this could get as awkward as that one time you found condoms in my dorm room).  Which reminds me, one time my Mom and Dad caught me packing up some condoms when I moved out of my dorm freshman year.  I tried to do it when no one was looking but then my Dad goes…

“That was a condom.”

I then made the situation better by following that comment up with an awkward turtle hand motion.  

Anyways, I like making out…when it’s leading to something else.  Otherwise, I completely check out.  I start thinking about what I need from the grocery store, the current unemployment rate, and who the final cylon is on Battlestar Galactica.

I once was making out with a girl who had made a bet with her roommates that she wouldn’t hook up with me.  This is how that went.

“We can only kiss.”

My eyes roll.

“No tongue.”

Battlestar Galactica.

If I’m going to put some effort into foreplay, it should at least pay off.  You hear me Sarah Chain?  It should at least pay off!

So there.  That’s how I really feel about it. So Mom, I’m sorry, I told you to stop reading.  And Sarah Chain, call me. We have some unfinished business.  

So my birthday is coming up...

Well in like seven months, but still. Buy. Me. This.

Who doesn't want to play with razors and bushy tufts of ginger hair?!

Penises

Penises have always, always confused me. And when I say confuse, I kind of really mean that I have always been jealous of any person with a penis. You people with your penises; you live a charmed life.

But alas, no matter how long I chased after this “fairy tale” life. I was never able to capture this wanting. No, this need, to pee standing up.

It happened when I was seven. I accidently walked in on my brother in the bathroom, and there he was. Peeing and standing! It made absolutely no sense. How was the pee making it into the toilet? How did I not know I could do this?

I closed the door, allowing my brother to finish his “important” business and impatiently waited. And waited.

“Come on, Nathan! You’re like a girl in the bathroom!”

He opened the door, with the putrid smell of ass wafting in the bathroom.

“Enjoy.”

But I didn’t care. This was going to be my moment. Adrenaline rushing, I flew into the bathroom –forgetting to close the door –unbutton my pants and wait for the sound of tinkling. But it didn’t happen.

“Natalie Paige Wall!” screamed my horrified mother as she caught me hovering over the toilet and staring down at my pee-drenched underwear.

“What are you doing?!”

“Peeing.”

She grabbed my hand, shoved me into new clothes (which was a dress that I absolutely hated and threw a fit about) and dragged me outside to my father.

“It’s time for the talk.” She said airily to my dad.

“Really?”

“Talk to your daughter!”

Twenty minutes later and a lot of awkward phrases from my father, I was pissed off. All of a sudden god seemed like a dirty little bastard to me. Life was so unfair. Never would I get to write my name in the snow with my own pee. Never would I be able pee wherever I wanted. It was so wrong, so unjust. But God couldn’t have thought of everything. There must be a loophole.

“Wait, so why don’t I have a penis again?”

“Cause, you are a girl.”

“Wait, can I grow one?”

“No.”

“Can I make one?”

“No.”

“So you are telling me that I can never pee standing up.”

“Yes.”

“What if I arch my back?

“No.”

My father was lying! This was bullshit. I know I can pee standing up. I can just feel it. So, whatever, I don’t have a penis. Saying I can’t pee standing up just cause I’m a girl, well, that’s just racist, dad. I just need practice, that’s all.

And oh, did I practice. I practiced in my bathroom, I practiced in my parent’s bathroom, I even practiced in public bathrooms at the mall, but my mom always seemed to catch me.

“Natalie, why are your feet facing the toilet?”

“I don’t know.”

“God dammit, Natalie!”

But it never happened. No matter how hard I tried and no matter how far I arched my back. I never heard that tinkling sound of success.

To this day, I still sigh a breath of jealously any time I see a guy pee standing up. It was never a hygiene thing for me or some OCD thing. It was pure laziness. You men get everything, and you don’t even appreciate it.

Words that gross me out...and kind of piss me off...

      1.     Smear

…Nothing good can come from “smearing” anything onto anything. Well nothing that isn’t food related. So yes, Ray Liotta…you may smear chocolate all over my body, but only if you insist.

     

      2.     Vagina

…Vaginas are icky, which is why I like to stick to my very scientific vernacular of “lady who-hahs.” Trust me…I’m a lab assistant at Mt. Sinai, and yes they all think I’m hilarious. Well all the black sassy nurses think I’m hilarious…

     

      3.     Clitoris

….Ew.

      4.     Tinkle

…What are you four? Any adult that uses this word in a serious manner, should be force fed lard. Immediately.

      5.     Moist

…This word is ONLY okay when you are talking about red velvet cake…and German chocolate cake…and Twinkies…

      6.   Bowel Movement

…Basically, if you this phrase in a serious matter, I would also life to force-feed you lard, because I’m assuming you use the word “tinkle” too. Don’t you?!  You sadist piece of shit, you!

      7.     Puss

…Probably because I always accidently say “pussy” when I try to say “puss”, and then I get super embarrassed when people call me out for saying “pussy” instead of “puss.” Whatever…fuck you all! It’s still fucking gross.

      8.     Family

…Ew.

      9.     Secretion

…Things shouldn’t “secrete.” They should be “injected” with Bavarian crème…chocolate crème…. artificially enhanced lemon goo crème…

      10. Babies

…This is just the most unnecessary blight on society ever created.

      

      11. Thick

…Unless you are talking about a burger, this word has no meaning to me.

     

      12. Prenatal

…Stop shoving your prenatal hullabaloo in our faces, assholes. (See #10) Just eat your fucking vitamins and shut the fuck up. Unless you want me (and the rest of the rational society) to ralph onto your “prenatal” stomach. Believe, I would be honored.

Uh, lets be nice, America.

It never ceases to amaze me how appalling the normal human being can be when goods and/or services are involved.

Being a dick to the person behind the register is not going to get you what you want. Being a dick to the customer service lady is not going to get you what you want.

ACTUALLY, pretending like you care about the customer service lady’s teacup poodle, while they look to see if they can order your iPhone three weeks before your original upgrade date is the best way to get what you want.

I know, America. I know. We’ve been told that to get stuff done men need to be assholes and women need to be stone cold bitches. But this is just a lie that assholes and bitches have repeatedly told us all to feel less crappy about their own personal crappy actions upon society.

You want to get something? Be nice. Be overly enthused by the person’s mere existence on Earth. Shoot. Tell them they piss intelligence and oooooooooooooze sex appeal. Lavish them with compliments. And maybe buy them some chocolate? I don’t know, chocolate always makes me nicer, so I’m assuming that tactic will work on everyone.

This is not rocket science, people. We’ve all been in this situation before. Whether you were the person being crapped on, or if you were the crapper-oner.

I just recently had my phone go to the crapper three weeks before the original upgrade date and after repeatedly being told that I would have to wait at least two more weeks to replace my phone, I bit the bullet and finally called the main customer service line.

After being on hold for Christ’s knows how long, frustrated and a little bloated, I was furious. I wanted to lash out at whoever was going to be on the other line. But I didn’t. I’ve been on the other side of this situation, and I knew if I had one hint of attitude in my voice, I wasn’t going to get squat.

So I bit my tongue, pretended like I was a southern belle, and allowed the compliments to roll off the tip of my tongue.

“Oh my goodness gracious! You have a poodle? Well do tell!”

Maybe this is just a unique situation for myself, but I have this weird ability to get strangers to talk about anything. Either that, or I just know when to be nice to get what I want.

Next thing I know she says the magical words,

“Well let me just check something.”

Three days later, I had my brand new iPhone. All because I was nice to the stranger with the power, well that and my killer southern accent.

Birth control, why are you trying to kill me?

Birth control scares the shit out of me and I mean really scares the shit out of me. I pretty much think it’s going to trick me into thinking I’m not pregnant and then 10 months later I’m watching the premiere episode of my belligerently-sassy self, on “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant.” Well, either that, or it’s just going to kill me.

We’ve all seen the commercials:

“Have you taken Yaz?”

“Yes…”

“Did you die, yet?”

“No…wait…what the?!”

Now, I’ve never used the pill and I never will, because yes, I think it’s going to kill me. So instead, I use condoms, but those are only 99.99% effective. So, um fuck.

Of course any time I have protected sex, I think I’m pregnant, and my period is so fucked up to begin with, it’s impossible to track.

So instead of being smart and calming the fuck down, I just get on WebMD and cry myself to sleep because WebMD says I’m either pregnant or rabies or that I have a brain tumor that about to explode out of my left earlobe, and at this point of my hysteria, I’ll take the brain tumor.

And for the record, just to make myself sound a little more sane for being freaked out be WedMD's diagnosis for pregnancy, the symptoms they give are basically the same things that happen right before your period. So according to WebMD, you're either about to get your period...or your about to be given the unwanted gift of life.

Sidenote: WebMD is seriously pissing me the fuck off lately!

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m pro-life, well technically, I’m pro-my life, and a baby would just really mess that shit up right now.

My friends have even offered to take care of my potential “love mistakes” in the past and probably only because they knew I was crazy and that I was not actually pregnant.

So what needs to be done? Well there are a plethora of things that should be done. Like fixing global warming and finding Waldo. But until then I think I'll just drink.