I Might Be A Death Eater
Have you ever had one of those days where you’re just feeling stabby? Like the next person who so much as blinks at you deserves a pen to the jugular? Who am I kidding? I’m stalking you I’ve seen your tweets, I know the answer to these questions.
I’m pretty sure the act of stabbing someone in the neck with a ballpoint pen would be really satisfying. I mean, the force you’d have to use to get through the skin? And the feeling of getting into the squishy insides and the large amount of blood? It would be messy, but imagine how calming it could be.
I digress.
Anyway, lately I’ve been feeling stabby. This would all be well and good if it weren’t for the fact that it’s an everyday occurrence. Every day I wake up wondering if today will be the day my coworkers hear a commotion and walk into my office to find me covered in the blood of my inept officemate, a student worker, or some random passerby.
Basically what I’m trying to say is that I feel like Harry Potter. Yes, I said Harry Potter. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.
This may or may not be how I look most days. Minus the boy parts.
Oh fine. I’m a big nerdy mcnerderson and I love HP. And I used a cutesy nickname too. Shut it.
From HP and the Order of the Phoenix…
Harry Potter: This connection between me and Voldemort… what if the reason for it is that I am becoming more like him? I just feel so angry, all the time. What if after everything that I’ve been through, something’s gone wrong inside me? What if I’m becoming bad?
Sirius Black: I want you to listen to me very carefully, Harry…the world isn’t split into good people and Death Eaters. We’ve all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That’s who we really are.
So, yeah, I think something’s gone wrong inside of me. I know there’s a light part of me, I just can’t seem to act on it. Clearly, I’m on the one-way train towards becoming a Death Eater and Sirius is nowhere to be found to stop me.
Maybe I’m wrong, but wanting to stab people in the jugular and/or toss them out a window of a tall building isn’t a good sign. Neither is waking up grinding my teeth and absolutely seething in the middle of the night. Top all that off with my friend asking me (in all seriousness), “Is there anyone that you actually like?” And I’m just about ready to quit human interaction and move into a cave with some wild dogs.
All of this just make me think that maybe all these years I’ve just been pretending to be kind of nice/kind of sarcastic, when really I’m just dark, twisty and angry on the inside. Or perhaps I have an evil alien baby growing inside of me. Or, worst of all, I’m slipping into a weird Harry Potter fantasy world in which I’ve signed up as a Death Eater and the kids all call me She Who Shall Not Be Named (coincidentally, a former “pet name” for my stepmom).
I’m not sure what the cure is for any of these problems. I don’t want to be the dark, angry one. I don’t want people to avoid me for fear I might stab, bludgeon or bark at them. I’m getting back into using running as an outlet, which helps for a bit, but no matter how much I try to be positive and get shit done (ala ben), I eventually just revert back to a state of Voldemort-style rage.
As they always say, ‘Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater.’ Or something.
Any ideas for less rage and more happy, are welcome. Likewise, any ideas for less harry potter and more being an adult plausible, happier life paths are also welcome.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go order some ballpoint pens.
TMI Thursday: Mommy?
It’s that time again peoples. You know you love it. Or maybe it’s like a train wreck and you just can’t look away. Either way, as LiLu says…Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!
Many moons ago I had quite the tiff with Madre about something that I always feared but never thought would happen…she was getting on facebook. The woman, who is the “tech liaison” at her elementary school, but who also, bless her heart, calls me whenever any type of computer/electronic/technological thing breaks/won’t work properly/stops doing “that magic thing.” Even when I was 2,500 miles away, this was still the routine. So her getting on facebook seemed like something I wouldn’t have to worry about in reality.
Then one day it happened. She asked me if I’d be her friend on facebook if she joined. I responded, haha there’s no way in hell of course not dearest mummy (yes I’m British, in my own mind). Needless to say, this answer, whether it was a joke or not, was not received well (aka silent treatment). So eventually I had to be her friend and pretend like I didn’t see pictures of her hanging out with her middle-aged, karaoke-ing, possible band groupie friends.
Then, just a few weeks ago, by way of the wonders of my iPhone and the facebook app, the shit hit the fan. And I remembered why, on that fateful day, I had thought, ‘hmm maybe I shouldn’t be facebook friends with Madre.’ Little did I know it wasn’t the potentially incriminating photos of me double-fisting, black-out drunk or with a dude who’s standing ‘too close for us to be only hugging’ that would make me remember why this mom on facebook thing was a bad idea.
Standing on the train platform, waiting with friends, I read this status update from my MOM:
On a train platform! Facebook, did you want me to go the way of Fat Joe in Prison Song? That’s just reckless. And really, mom? You’re going to end your sentence in a preposition? You’re a teacher dammit!
Cue dry heaving and utter confusion, followed by death. And I’m almost positive this wasn’t an account hacking. But I never want to ask or talk about it or look at it or think about it again.
Make the lambs stop screaming.
UPDATE: So after hearing this was some stupid status meme, I think I’m even more disturbed. Not only is my mom on facebook, but she’s also one of those people. I’m not sure what’s worse, that my mom is that guy, or that at this point in her weird mid-life crisis-like “revival” it’s entirely possible that she would have lunch with a homeless biker. Shudder.
Pause…
So, I don’t know Brandy and she doesn’t know me, but I’ve recently discovered her blog and quickly realized that she’s awesome. I’m also a big believer in the power of positive thinking and the power of our big little blogging community, so I wanted to share her message with you.
———————————————
My name is brandy. And I have a blog.
And a plea.
I use my blog to showcase the crazy I meet everyday, share the stories of the kids I teach and document my love for tequila, dairy products and the abdominal muscles of Ryan Reynolds. Rarely do I talk about personal issues on my blog- as personal as the dude that I adore (who I actually met through my blog- single ladies, let that be a very good reason to blog, the possibility of meeting someone as wonderful as my man), but I need your help. And it involves my dude.
He’s a guy who made math comics for my class, so they would love learning about addition. He’s the kinda guy who sends my friends gift cards when they are having hard times, who remembers every story I ever told him, who was the first person I celebrated with when I got a teaching job. He’s the guy who sent flowers to me at school- dozens of my favourite pink roses just because he loves me. He’s a guy who has spent a year patiently explaining (and re-explaining) everything there is to know about football during the important games when silence is preferred. He’s made me word puzzles and comics and stayed up late playing Scrabble with me (even though I beat him almost every time). He’s listened to me cry about school and family and jobs. He is everything I never knew I needed and everything I always knew I wanted.
The holidays have hit us hard. He’s recently been told he may have something called multiple myeloma- an incurable cancer, that gives a person an average of five years of continued life. Though this news has came as a shock, he continues to be exactly who has always been- spending his time worrying about me, rather than worrying about himself. He’s the most selfless individual I know- (he stayed late on Christmas Eve to work, so his co-workers could leave early) and a post like this would never be something that he would promote or encourage but when I’m overwhelmed and feeling helpless, the blogging community has always given me tremendous support and comfort, two things I desperately need at this time.
As I write this, the future is uncertain and we aren’t sure what’s happening. He’ll need to see an oncologist soon, to verify what’s going on in his body. My hope is that everyone who reads this think positive thoughts and if you are a person who prays, could you add him to your list? (You can refer to him as ‘brandy’s hot awesome dude’). If you don’t pray, please keep him in your heart. This cancer is only a possibility and I believe that the prayers and positive thoughts of people can make sure it never becomes a reality.
I want to give a big thank you to the blog owner who scraped their original blog plans and graciously put this up. My goal is to get as many people as possible to see and read this post. If you are reading this and want to help, copy and paste my plea into your blog or send a link through twitter, so more people can keep him in their thoughts. I would be so very grateful (even more grateful than I am to my friend who first showed me the picture of Ryan Reynolds on the cover of Entertainment Weekly. If you haven’t seen it, google it. You. Are. Welcome).
I realize this all sounds dramatic, a Lifetime movie in the making- but this is life. Right now. And I’m throwing away any hint of ego and am humbly asking for you to pray or think kind thoughts. If you are able to pass this on, thank you and if you know anything regarding MM- please email me (my email is on my blog). This isn’t a call for sympathy or a plea for pity. It’s just one girl hoping you can think positive thoughts for the person she adores. If my current heartache provides you with anything, let it be with the reminder that life is short, love is unbending and no one knows what could happen next. Maybe it is silly, but I really do believe that positive thoughts can make a huge difference. Thank you for reading this and if you haven’t already? Please tell someone you love them today.
I did.
2010: The One in Which Jesus = The Godfather
Sure, it’s that time of year where people make resolutions and whatnot. But I’m really not that imaginative. Also, I’m likely to break any kind of “do good, be healthier, stop mocking random strangers in the street” type of resolution anyway. Besides, who needs any other kind of resolution when your only goal for every day is to be more awesomer?
And yes, awesomer is now a word. Deal with it.
But since I’m a nice person and I love you peoples, I thought really hard and came up let LiLu come up with one tiny, practically insignificant, yet totally amazing resolution that I am determined to stick to…
New comment on your post #3294 “Ringing in the New Year, Riot-Wine Style“
Author: Cheddar
Comment: I am inspired…I’m putting on my long johns and gettin’ down, Charlie style. Or maybe my dress. We’ll see where the night takes me.
On Thu, Dec 31, 2009 at 1:28 PM, LiLu wrote: Just so long as you’re not wearing REAL pants. Pants are for suckers.
On Thu, Dec 31, 2009 at 4:34 PM, Cheddar wrote: And I think I just figured out my New Year’s resolution: Pants are for suckers. Cheddar out.
On Thu, Dec 31, 2009 at 1:36 PM, LiLu wrote: You’re smarter than Jesus. (Don’t tell him I said that. Despite popular belief, dude holds grudges.)
On Thu, Dec 31, 2009 at 4:38 PM, Cheddar wrote: You definitely have to watch out for that guy. I hear he’s into that whole “eye for an eye” deal.
On Thu, Dec 31, 2009 at 1:40 PM, LiLu wrote: Medieval shit and all that. I like my thumbs where they are, thanks.
On Thu, Dec 31, 2009 at 4:42 PM, Cheddar wrote: LiLu Four Fingers just doesn’t have the right ring to it.
On Thu, Dec 31, 2009 at 1:43 PM, LiLu wrote: Not unless Scorsese’s offering me a part. Then I’m cool with it.
On Thu, Dec 31, 2009 at 4:49 PM, Cheddar wrote: True story. I guess if Jesus finds out we could just maybe kiss his ring and make everything better?
On Thu, Dec 31, 2009 at 1:50 PM, LiLu wrote: On this, the day of his daughter’s wedding. Excellent.
On Thu, Dec 31, 2009 at 4:51 PM, Cheddar wrote: Well done us.
And this, kids, is why I blog. We are some of the coolest people I know.
2010: The Year of the Pants Off, Dance Off. Or the year I get fired for not wearing pants. Or the year people call me easy for not wearing pants. Or the year I gain 400 pounds because I can’t go outside without pants on. Or all of the above. Whatever happens, the future looks bright.
TMI Thursday: Let the Holidays Begin
It’s that time of the week again lovelies…TMI Thursday. Read on for a humiliating, tasteless and wholly unclassy TMI story from yours truly. If you can stomach it, head over to LiLu’s spot to check out all the other dry-heave inducing greatness we’ve got for you this week.
Just to warn you, I am writing about vomit again. I’m not really sorry. Except for the part that I was the one who vomited. I might regret that.
I never intended to move back to California and develop a drinking problem. It’s just that it’s so easy. After two years of having approximately 2 friends within 2,000 miles of me, I’ve come back to a place where I live with college students and sometimes I have to choose between more than one social activity in a night, most of which involve drinking. Add those facts to the family history and you’ve got the recipe for disaster TMIs.
Some people might not think that Taco Tuesday is a holiday, but when all of your friends have left town because they think they need to “spend time with their families” for the “holidays” or some silly business, Taco Tuesday is all you’ve got. Rather than going out for $2 tacos and drinks, Baggage, The Nurse and I decided to stay in and make our own Taco Tuesday.
I think he's giving out free mustache rides. Is that splooge on his shell?
Things took a turn for the worse when I brought the 30-pack and we had nearly finished it in about an hour. Three of us. 30-pack. Beer pong. Bad news.
From what I’ve been made fun of about, the following ensued after I had blacked out: more beer pong, making fun of a guy in a seersucker shirt (clearly deserved), dancing with myself (and not in the cool 80s way), talking shit, wearing sunglasses at night, taking a shot of whisky, partially vomiting that shot into the sink.
For some reason, Baggage thought it’d be a good idea to let me into his roommate’s room to sleep. Apparently it was a great idea until I vomited on the bed, the pillows and somehow actually into the toilet. Yeah. Never going to live this one down. Waking up on the cold bathroom floor is not something I planned on when Taco Tuesday began, and not something – despite what you may have read on this blog – I do very often.
So, after living through the shame of carrying a Santa-sized bag full of taco-vomit-soaked bedding to my car and realizing I had dried taco-puke in my hair, I spent Christmas Eve Eve dying of death and washing and re-washing Baggage’s roommate’s stuff. All before my 19-year-old sister arrived at my house for the night. I’m a really good role model.
Later being accused of being pissed off after the vomiting because “I can’t hang” was the icing on the cake.
In case you’re keeping track, since I’ve moved back to the Golden State, my scoreboard looks something like this:
Vomit 2, Cheddar 0 | Blackouts 2, Cheddar 0 | Cheddar 9, Unclassiness 0
I don’t think I’m getting invited back to Taco Tuesday.
That is all. I’m sorry about all the vomit. I promise to wash everything, if you can find my sunglasses.
Happy New Year kids! Go find someone without face herpes to kiss at midnight! May tonight and 2010 bring us all much love, laughs and TMIs…
Catch ya on the flipside!
Better Off Dead
Remember that time when I was all, “hey I’m gonna start a blog and write about my wacky life?” and then I did but then either my life stopped being wacky or I became an even bigger slacker than I used to be? Yeah, well here we are: me, the über blog slacker and you, the person who googled “cloudy pee” oddly dedicated reader.
I think I might be back with a vengeance or I may be getting waaaaay ahead of myself (most likely the latter). But I hear that around the end of the year normal people make resolutions to do better things in the next year or something. Since nothing around these parts qualifies as normal, I’m gonna go ahead and NOT do that. Especially since, so far, my list of things I want to do more of in 2010 includes: yelling (in a good way), kicking ass, blogging (instead of working), standing on things (tables, chairs, etc.), and using the word bitchen.
But, there’s change ahead, I think I can feel it. Either that, or I’m having a stroke. Does it smell like burnt toast in here? (Yes, I did just joke about strokes. Maybe this is why people keep their small children and pets away from me.)
Anyway, I’m not really sure where I was going with this, other than to say that maybe I’ll actually accomplish some of those things on that list I made because deep down inside I desperately want to be like Nicole (who is even cooler now that she’s The Bloggess‘ intern AND living across the Bay from me). And no, I’m not brown-nosing. I think it’s called a blog crush, or, at perhaps, mild creepiness and obsession.
Moving on, I’d just like to say that going forward I may be giving up free time that I should be spending helping the less-fortunate or working out, to return to my regular reading and commenting and writing which was much easier to do before I got what people keep telling me is a real job but in fact may be some sort of mini-series version of candid camera or punk’d. So, when I weigh 400 pounds and need a walker to get around, I’m going to blame the blogosphere. Which will probably result in me becoming a reality TV star, losing the weight, writing a hilarious blog about being overweight and making enough money to donate to charity to make up for the lack of community service. So I guess this new path is really going to work out for me in the end, so thanks in advance to all my favorite bloggers.
I’ve really careened off course here, although I don’t really remember what my original course was, so let’s just say I’m back on track. The good news is, I’ve got plenty to tell everyone because my life, in fact, has become more wacky in the last few months and, let’s get serious, with the holidays having just passed, I’ve got plenty of crazy family incidences to discuss. And I mean crazy in the, ‘my parents indulged me/enabled my potential alcoholism by buying me chelada for Christmas,’ kind of way.
Don’t call it a comeback. No, really, don’t. I hear it takes 21 days to form a habit. And let’s be honest, the only thing I’m that dedicated to is drinking.
TMI Thursday: Somehow It Wasn’t Me
It’s that time again peoples…TMI Thursday. As lovely LiLu always says: Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!
Remember the time when I decided to celebrate my 25th birthday by combining three of my favorite things: day drinking, dive bars and public transportation? And we took the train up the SF Peninsula, stopping at dive bars and drinking en route all day? And the plan was to drink early since I had to be at work at 9:30 the next morning? Yeah, that happened.
The drinking was serious, the costumes were amazing, the bars very divey and the people/pictures awesome. Only the plan failed and I ended up in the Castro on Halloween night. And didn’t get home until 4 a.m. The Castro looked something like this (supposedly)…
And this…
Anyway, it was a shitshow. After drinking all day, someone decided that rather than sending my drunk ass home, they should take me to a party at SF State. But instead, we ended up in the Castro, unclear how or why that happened but it did. Things I don’t remember (once we got to SF) but supposedly happened: eating sandwiches at a deli, nearly getting kicked out of a bar, running into something so hard that I had a giant bruise on my thigh before the night was even over, “losing” my fireman helmet in a bathroom at the train station, getting back to BART.
Things I do remember include: taking back-to-back jager bombs with Baggage at a very very very crowded bar. And by back-to-back, I don’t mean standing with our backs to each other. Meanwhile, SS was having a panic/anxiety attack because it was so crowded(?) Obviously, Baggage and I are great friends. After realizing that SS was seriously freaking out, we went outside to try to get her some air. She sat down on the curb, calmed a bit and then somehow convinced us that we should let her go home on BART by herself. What? Worst friends ever.
When SS decided she could get up, Baggage attempted to lend her a hand to help her up. In what was probably not a statement of her independence as a woman, SS promptly VOMITED ON HIS HAND.
Yes, on his hand. Who does that? And I was the one who was blackout drunk. It really defies logic.
And speaking of vomit, add to the list of people who had a worse night than I did, my other roommate BV, who, despite not coming on the train, not only vomited on herself and her shoes but ALSO came home with a giant gash in her calf.
Basically, I’m counting this as a WIN for me. And I’ve got to give credit to Baggage for being awesome and 1) taking the whole vomit on the hand thing in stride and 2) being the last man standing on my 25th birthday after approximately 15 hours of drinking, and without whom I probably would have been found raped and murdered being licked by dogs and/or homelesses in a gutter in SF the next day.
The end (for now).
And yes, I did just tell this story so that I could feel better about myself. I write a blog, don’t act so shocked.
I’m In Love, I’m In Love and I Don’t Care Who Knows It
So, I know there are plenty of things I should have been writing about for the last few weeks that you might like to read (or maybe not?) like say, my 25th birthday celebration shitshow, my growing urge to jump out and/or push others out the window at work, how I didn’t go to Costa Rica, or the effect this whole having a real job and being an “adult” thing is having on my blogiverse/reader. But, to be honest, those stories don’t matter right now because I’M IN LOVE…
with a stripper crockpot.
My baby
Yes, I realize I am a complete and utter nerd. And sure, you can laugh. But that’s probably because you don’t know the joys of having a slow cooker create delicious meals FOR YOU while you spend the day makin’ that paper at work. It is glorious.
As my roommate pointed out, “It’s beautiful and it cooks for you. What else do you need in true love? Plus it has sausage.”
Yeah, she went there. But really though, how many of you can say that much about your significant other? I mean, it’s dishwasher safe. That’s what I thought.
The crockpot is probably one of the greatest inventions of all time and I just wanted everyone to know that I love my shiny new crockpot that I got for my birthday. If I’m not careful, I might name it. I’m not a crockpot noob, but this is my first fancy slow cooker and I’m going to use it well.
Really, you can’t go wrong with this thing. It’s digital, it switches to “warm” when it’s done cooking, and you can pretty much just throw whatever is in your fridge in there and turn it on and it comes out delish (and it makes the house smell awesome). And there’s Stephanie’s blog with over 365 things you can make in a crockpot (including our favorite: BOOZE). All of these things add up to the crockpot being the greatest lazy people’s cooking tool ever created. It’s amazing and everyone should own one.
Plus, if you do it right, you won’t even burn the house down…TWSS
Slow cooking FTW!
PS – I promise not to be one of those girls who constantly talks about her crockpot and stands up for it even when it’s wrong and posts stupid pictures of us making out food with each other.
Halloween Baby
However you might feel about pumpkins, I think we can all agree that Halloween is truly a holiday for all ages to have a good time. Minus those “Halloween is a celebration of the devil for heretics and sinners” people, but let’s be honest that’s probably why all the cool kids love it.
File under: amazing, creepy, things PETA hates
It’s crazy to think that 25 years ago on All Hallow’s Eve, my mom was laid out on a surgery table having a giant, slimy, bloody, placenta-covered baby me pulled out of her. All 10 lbs., 10 oz. and 23 inches of me. Can you imagine? That poor woman was carrying a toddler, for a nice hot summer. No wonder I love her.
Anyway, I was thinking about getting all sentimental and deep about what 25 years old means to me, but then I remembered that Halloween is all about parties, candy, booze, sugar-highs, haunted houses, costumes, hangovers, trick-or-treating, scaring the shit out of others and general debauchery.
Besides, everybody knows that being deep is something to save for Arbor Day and the Summer Solstice.
With all the mischief and mayhem and excitement about being able to finally smoke buy porn drink rent a car on the cheap, I’ve been thinking (big ups to Jenn for the inspiration) a lot about the madness that has been being a Halloween baby. As if yearly costumed birthday parties and people (obviously) giving out candy in my honor weren’t enough, I went to the college capitol of STDs Halloween mania, where 30,000 of our closest friends celebrated my birthday with me every year. Therefore, compiling this list (yeah I said it) of my top 15 Halloween/birthday moments was a tough task, but somebody had to do it. What are your favorite Halloween memories? Here’s hoping I add some more on Saturday. Enjoy…
Reason why Star Wars fans should not procreate.
Cheddar’s Top 15 Halloween Birthday Moments
15. First birthday – Dove head first into the bobbing for apples tub. Pretty sure there were no apples left. Began impressive bobbing for apples career, ended by Bob Sanchez 19 years later (see #8)
14. Seventh birthday – Seven, seven-year-olds. Crying, pizza making, Mom left alone with us while Dad went to the movies. ‘Nuff said.
13. Eighth birthday – Crazy driver nearly hits children while trick-or-treating. Dad throws godson’s stroller at hood of car. Amazing.
12. 21st birthday – Bunkmate and I clear path of (hookup) destruction at party. Run into Bunkmate’s makeout partner (hickies and all) at Denny’s birthday brunch the next morning. Die laughing.
11. 18th birthday – Dorm friends head out on Nov. 1, nearly vomit at site of dirtiest kitchen in IV. Boxers McGee climbs rips open bathroom screen and climbs out of the window.
10. 24th birthday – Halloween in KnoxVegas. Followed around by super awkward Jamaican from my master’s classes.
9. Third birthday – Video evidence of my grandfather entering the house and scaring the shit out of me while wearing a Richard Nixon mask. Convinced it would still scare me today.
8. Ninth birthday – Mom makes cake of Candlestick Park, complete with baseball figurines. Cake falls apart. Mom freaks and buys a new cake, even though I like the Candlestick after the ‘89 quake cake better. Jokes ensue.
7. 22nd birthday – Tuesday night at the Carlos Club (aka 5 people including the bartender and us): Samoan bartender makes us shots containing jager and crown royal, calls them “magic.” Possibly homeless man at the bar talks shit loudly about Native Americans. I somehow resist the urge to fight him. Thank goodness we lived within walking distance.
6. 13th birthday – Hotel party at the Embassy Suites. Pretty sure this was the one that convinced me I never want to have a daughter.
5. 19th birthday – Organize brief gathering for my birthday. Can’t convince roommates to bob for apples with me. Compete against two guy friends. Bob Sanchez beats me, on my birthday. Rips off shirt in triumph. (PS – I want a rematch)
4. 21st birthday – Sort of hookup with a Nigerian Prince. Throw a skinhead out of our house to meet the black guys he was yelling at. Do a happy dance knowing that he got his ass beat.
3. 10th birthday – Joint party at the park. Things go wrong when the other birthday girl gets clocked in the head rocked by rogue pinata. Classic.
2. First birthday – Family friend rides off down the street on a Big Wheel in a Rainbow Brite costume. Parents don’t realize she’s missing for several minutes.
1. 21st birthday – Engage in drinking competition with an 18-year-old. At work. After being at the bars for several hours. Stealth barf in my office. Pass out on couch. Wake up with pink cardigan and “I love my body” pin. Call it a success.
And you are?
My name is Cheddar and my favorite color is plaid.
Please send all complaints and gifts right this way.
Check It Out…
