I Don't Know What to Say

 

So, I had to Google a writing prompt for today because I am tired and annoyed.

 

The prompt:

7 tips to make your blogging easier.

 

Is it “easier” or “more easy”?

I fucking hate grammar.

The English language is trash.

Let’s not get into the following:

Your

You’re

Too

Two

To

See

Saw

Seen

I FUCKING HATE SEEN!!

I used to be a ‘grammar Nazi’ until I realized the internet does not give a fuck about spelling, grammar, or my feelings on those subjects.

Also, I have fat thumbs that do not text well, so I am the Queen of sending a text and then doing this:

 

*from

*tits

*you

 

Because those words often get sent as:

FORM

TITA

TOU.

What can I say, my brain works way faster than my Alfred Hitchcock thumbs and I often send typos, even thought I hate them and get annoyed when other people send them.

 

Ahem.

Massively off topic.

So, onto the 7 tips to make blogging easier or more easy.

 

1.     1.   Find something to say.  I mean, DUH, but sometimes words are hard and feelings need to be locked down, which is where prompts such as this one come in handy.  Regardless of whether you use a prompt or not, you damn well better show up with something to say.  Doesn’t matter if it is profound, important, meaningful, or even interesting.  You better have something to say.

2.       2.  Pictures are helpful, but not important.  Like, I LOVE putting pictures of Ryan Gosling and Jason Momoa in my posts, but I have also done a couple of posts with no pictures – my emotions were so raw, there was no way to find a picture on Google that could have helped illustrate my point more than just the words I had to say.

I mean...you're welcome!

.      3.   Find a blogging mentor and do whatever you can to not copy their voice.  The creator of Kale and Cigarettes and Samantha Irby are my heroes.  Kirk Hensler and Samantha Irby mean everything to me when it comes to being raw and sharing shit, but I don’t want to copy their sound, I just want to be as brave and open as they are.  (PS – Google them, they are both fucking fire).  Let your mentors inspire you to honesty, vulnerability, but never plagiarism.

4.  4.       Don’t take yourself seriously.  This is good in blogging, but also life.  There is a shit ton of evidence that this experience we are all having is a simulation - https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/do-we-live-in-a-simulation-chances-are-about-50-50/ - which means you NEED to have a sense of humor about all of it.  Not one of us is going to get out of this journey as corporeal humans on earth alive, so play and have fun.

5.    5.     Use your spell-check.  I don’t always do this when I post, but you can be damn sure I do it when I come back on the 2^nd day to check my ‘stats’.  Speaking of stats, I am EXTREMELY popular in Russia.  Why is that?

6.   6.    Do not censor yourself.  We like it when you overshare and say too much and get all up in your feels.

7.       Don’t overthink things.  I just did and I came out with a very pretentious, high-handed post tonight which makes me so annoyed with myself that I want to delete every word I just typed, but I won’t because I am over 500 (makes up for last night’s under), so WINNING!

 

‘Night, ya’ll!

 PS - It is "easier".  You're welcome.

You're welcome again.

Taking a Facebreak, Or Why I am Breaking Up With Facebook For A Week

YOU GUYS!!!!!

Facebook is AWFUL!!


Apparently Facebook did a study where Facebook made you feel bad about your life after scrolling.

BUT WAIT!!

Facebook also did a study that proved Facebook makes you feel better about your life after scrolling.

Then there was a study at Cornell.

Facebook is GOOD for you.

Then Thrillist said it is bad for you.

Then the Germans said, NO, FB is actually helping you make better connections.

It's all too confusing...Facebook is fun, but it annoys me that I pick up my phone and check it when I wake up in the morning.

I hate that about Facebook.



Here is why I like Facebook:

Ummm, yes please!!

I'll take two!!

Always

But, the real deal is this.  I used to read myself to sleep every night with an actual fucking book, and now I fall asleep dropping my phone on my face, because I am scrolling down my Newsfeed.

I very much love seeing pictures of my friends raising fabulous humans, I love seeing your birthday/anniversary/christening/bris/wedding/etc. pics, I honestly do. 

HOWEVER, I am SOOOOO over all of your fucking drama. 

I hate when you post chicken farm pics, puppy mill pics, and allllllll of your posts chastising snowflakes or celebrating 45. 

Do you HONESTLY think your political FB posts influence anyone??? 

WHY do you post pics of  ridiculous memes how your "Republican" people and your "Democrat" people are better than the other guy??

Do you HONESTLY not know that politics is a bank, the "two parties" are the managers,  and you are an account holder with an overdraft???

clears throat

Anyway, I am sick of you Lefties sitting back and doing nothing but posting memes.

I am sick of you Righties sitting back and posting memes.

Has any ONE of your memes ever changed someone’s mind??

Has it???

Pics, or it didn’t happen.

On my FaceBreak, I am going to call the local, state, and national reps I am interested in and DEMAND what I want.

On my FaceBreak, I am going to walk in the dirt with no shoes.

On my FaceBreak, I am going to talk to everyone I see and blog about it.

Sooo, on my FaceBreak, you should text me instead of trying to Messenger me, and if you don’t HAVE my cell….um, that’s probably intentional.

Sooo, on my FaceBreak, if you want to know what I am up to, you will have to check in here:

http://makeawriter.blogspot.com/

But if you don’t want to read more, or talk to me,  then just look at this until I am back on FB...

You're Welcome!!!

In Which Crazy Cat Lady Becomes Crazy Cat Hater

Cats are assholes.  End of Story.




Actually, it's not really the end of the story. 


If it was, I would seriously be failing at this #500wordsaday even more than I already am.




Last night, I was composing a witty, well-written, explosively funny (I can say that, because it may never see the light of day) blog post, when my asshole cat jumped up onto the table (I STILL haven't found a desk that will fit in my "office") and knocked my water glass over onto my laptop!!! 


Instant panic mode, as I dried off the laptop and tried not to rip the cat apart with my bare hands.


Result - no blog post on Day 2, so I'm doubling up today. 


1000 words.


You're welcome.

Fuggin' animal. 




I seriously hate cats. HATE them.  As I am an Official Crazy Cat Lady (I even have a coffee mug to back that up), i.e. more feline occupants in household than humans, you can imagine the sheer hell that is my life.




I didn't want cats.  Cats suck.

However, my mother 'thoughtfully' gave Lexi a cat for no particular reason, against my wishes.  In fact, more than 'against my wishes', because I actually said, "No, Lexi cannot have a cat because I hate cats and never want to own one again". 


She somehow interpreted that as, "I may be saying I would rather set myself on fire than own a cat, but I really mean that you should promise my child a soft little kitten, thus putting me in the position Asshole Mom of The Year when I try to deny said kitten entry into my home.'




 Communication has always been an issue for us.




 Lexi, of course, fell in love with the furry demon at first sight, and when it spawned 2 kittens, fell in love with them in spite of the fact that we already indicated to some other people they were available. 


Because I suck at parenting and am unable to say no when the lip and the big, fat, slow-rolling tears, and the shoulder shaking sobbing starts, I ended up with THREE FUCKING CATS!!!


Sorry for the language, guys, but I ASK YOU!!! 




THREE CATS just doesn't adequately convey the rage, horror, dismay, and disgust I feel about sharing my life with cats.  They have their own 'room' - very large closet - they each have their own litter box, and they have their own dishes, but STILL!!  It all sucks.




A couple of years ago, I decided I was going to start dating again.  I never got farther than flirting with the idea of a dating website, partially because of the screen name dilemma, but also because I have become Crazy Cat Lady. 




Seriously, who dates Crazy Cat Ladies??




What reasonably sane, non-ChiMo, sex maniac is going to hook up with Crazy Cat Lady?? 




Any takers??




::::::crickets chirping::::::::




See??






So, in addition to requiring that I get far more acquainted with shit -- literal shit -- than I am comfortable with on a daily basis, and that I set aside for them a good portion of my income that could be better spent on sushi, books, and 21st Amendment beer, these fuckers have also made it a certainty that I will not be in a relationship until the year 2025....




That's right, I will be 50 effing years old before I can justifiably cart the Triumvirate of Cock-blockage off to a vet for euthanasia, and will then be free to go out and try to trap some random dude into hooking up with my wrinkled, grey-haired self. 




GAAAAH!!!!




Also, just as a bit of a side note, my cats are totally gacked-out addicts.  I occasionally buy them birthday and Christmas presents (I know, I know, total Crazy Cat Lady behavior, and I probably just ensured that, even at 50, no man is going to want to date me if he reads that statement), usually involving catnip.  Those crazy hookers go bat-shit (cat-shit?) crazy, rolling around on their toys, licking them, and then eventually tearing the toy to shreds so they can smoke, snort, and eat the contents.  Seriously. Crack. Head. Cats.




Unlike dogs, which shower their owners with affection for merely being alive, cats -- or maybe it's just mine -- are the most ungrateful fuckers on the planet.  Never a tail-wag, never a happy yip or even an acknowledgement that you exist and have just bought them food/toys/cracknip, etc.


Also, they wreck your stuff with their claws, and they stick their whiskers up your nose when you are sleeping, causing you to do a sort of double gainer, triple Salchow-type maneuver off the bed, resulting in a neck spasm that incapacitates you for a full day (possible that is just me).




I am not sure if these stupid animals can be entirely to blame for my drinking problem....you know, I was drinking copiously loooong before I allowed my manipulative child to con me into accepting three diabolical, devious, crackhead, slut-bag animals into my home....but I am going to say that they are mostly to blame at this point because I can.


Rotten. Furry. Bastards.



I just read back over this and realized that I used a lot of bad words....Sorry, but this was written in a holy-fuck-did-that-whore-of-a-cat-ruin-my-laptop fog of rage.




My laptop is not ruined, thankfully, but the rage is still here, because I was writing yesterday's brilliant post in Word, and it did not survive the flood, which means I am beyond pissed off because I was actually laughing out loud while I was writing it.....which means, of course, that you all would have been as well- right?




In looking for pictures to post in this blog (I like pictures, I feel they help the narrative, although I have been criticized for it), I Googled "Ryan Gosling Cat" and came up with a bunch of really disturbing Disney-themed-Ryan-Gosling-and-a-cat memes....They were too weird, even for Crazy Cat Lady, so this is what I settled on.



See??  No cat. DOG.  Because he's hot AND smart!!







Until tomorrow....

Good Enough

I am doing a 30 day writing experiment....


As part of the deal, I read all these posts by these amazing bloggers, get crazy inspired, and then I log into my own blog and I just....BLAH!

These bloggers are out living life, being yoga instructors, and in Kurt's case, eviscerating themselves daily, in the name of art.

Meanwhile, I am over in the corner, fooling around with font colors and posting pictures of Ryan Gosling.  I feel like I showed up in the Hamptons driving a 1993 Ford Escort, while wearing something from Jaclyn Smith for Kmart Collection to Donatella's annual bash....

Just.
Not.
Good Enough.

In my 20s, I was obsessed with Sarah McLachlan.

I played her CD all the time in my car, in my house, on any jukebox that had it.

And my favorite song was "Good Enough".

That song spoke (speaks) to me.

Am I Good Enough?

No, says my inner critic.

Not good enough to have a real relationship with an adult.

Not good enough to have someone love me for me.  People love me for what I do for them (says inner critic).  And that is all.

Not good enough to get published.

Not good enough to get an agent.

Not good enough to.....well, everything.

That is the story I have been telling myself my whole fucking life.

YOU ARE NOT GOOD ENOUGH.

So, when I log onto my Facebook, and  see all these magical writers and yoga instructors, and filmmakers and photographers posting some MAJORLY profound shit, while I am posting about being a fat, old, boring spinster--accompanied by #bluntcards and #RyanGosling pictures, I have to tell myself that I should just stop.

My shit is just not good enough, 

Who cares if I am single and still halfway in love with the only person who has ever dumped me and not returned?

Who cares that I am obsessed with Ryan  Gosling? 

Who cares if I hate technology and have not turned my cell phone on in 2 months?

Who cares if I read Beka's blog or Kate's blog or Joslyn's blog or Vanessa's blog and wish I was as deep and profound and fucking real as they are every single day??

No one.

No one cares.

And all the Ryan Gosling pictures in the world won't make me real.

Like the Velveteen Rabbit, the only thing that makes me real is loving myself.

And I don't do that so much...

But I am trying.  This experiment is making me write more--I have a short story collection that I am barreling through after every post.

So maybe, just maybe, this experiment is helping me become 'Good Enough'.

Or maybe that is another story I am telling myself.

If that ends up being the case, there is always wine. 

And that, my friends, is 'Good Enough' for me.

Little Blinky Lights

The PNW driver their mad skillz...etc

Pacific Northwest drivers suck.  They are literally the worst drivers ever.  Besides my mom. 

No, seriously.  She is, like, the WORST driver on the planet.  For reals.
Is YOUR nickname 'Leadfoot Lucy'??

PNW drivers, as a whole, are the woist.  If you tell them that, they will blame the' transplants':

'It's all those damn idiots from California!" They huff.  "They are wrecking everything"

Yeah....sorry about the tax dollars and the new business and the vehicles with better emissions quality than yours. 
(For reals, though, sorry about the sun-dried tomatoes.  No, seriously.  Whatever idiot decided all '90s cuisine needed sun-dried tomatoes was probably from CA, and for that I apologize.  Sincerely.)

I love the PNW.

There are only 2 places I would rather live--holla, Amalfi and the San Juan Ridge!-- and nowhere else I want to raise my child and watch my nieces and nephews grow up.

Having said that....you fuckers need to go back to driving school.

I lived in the South Bay at the beginning of the 'tech boom' in the mid-90s.  I had a 15 minute commute that took roughly 90 minutes during rush hour due to the masses of people getting on and off the freeways.  But, guess what?  I never got rear-ended, people merged by using the little stick by the steering wheel to make the little blinky lights come on so we all knew what their next move was, AND there were 3 (4 with the commuter lane) lanes with 3 distinct purposes on the freeways.

Again, I LOVE IT here, but seriously??  The far left lane is for passing and speeding.  The middle lane is for the speed limit (or 5 over, whatevs, I'm not THAT judgy), and the lane on the right is for getting on and off the roadway, and for Sunday drivers and for my dad.

If you use all 3 lanes for all of the above purposes, shit gets weird.  And, worse, if you fail to activate the little blinky light to navigate all 3 lanes in your attempt to arrive at the stop sign at the end of the off ramp 12 seconds before me, well......I hate you.  But, also, you are an idiot and highly unsafe.

Learn it. Love it. USE IT!

I managed corporate housing a long time ago, and people would fly into PDX from all over the country, get on I-84, and show up in my office to get keys.  If it was not every single one of them, then it was all but, like, 2 or 3, that came in and asked me, "Where did these people learn to drive?".  These people were from major cities across the country and would all profess shock, awe, and a healthy dose of fear at the "driving" they witnessed on their 10-400 minute drive to my building.

Never have I driven somewhere that I have to slam on my brakes at the end of the on-ramp (you know, the runway you are given to get up to speed with the flow of traffic??) because some PNW ding-dong is at a complete stop at the end, waiting for a gap in the 50 mph traffic so they can hop right on and head north.  Or maybe they were getting road head or eating Voodoo Donuts--who knows??  They certainly didn't have a turn signal on, letting me know their intentions....

Even I would go back to Driving School if this was the instructor!

Everything You Never Wanted To Know About Me, Even Though You Didn't Ask

Here we go again.  After a 4-month hiatus from this fun little blog, I am back!  The goal is to write #500WordsaDay for 30 days. 




I am hoping I can stay the course; I blew it on the 10 day fiction challenge, mainly because I was in a very crazy place and would have probably written a bunch of stories about people losing their shit and getting stabby with their relatives--I was in a very stabby frame of mind then.

This was me.  All day, err day.

I have decided to kick this off by letting you know what you are in for when you read this blog.




I write bad words.  I don't use a lot of profanity in my day-to-day life, but I write a lot of bad words.  I write bad words on this blog, in my fiction, in my gratitude journal, and sometimes on post-Its when I am on the phone with idiots at work.




I am 40, but I don't feel like a grown up most of the time.  Sadly, I look much older than 40 which gets depressing occasionally, but I am dealing with that.  Not well.




I read too much.  Seriously, that's a thing.




I haven't had sex in so long that I am re-virginized.  That is also a thing.  In my head, anyway.




My fiendish little sprite of a daughter listed her 5 favorite people in the car on the way to school this morning, and I didn't rate.




I am in a constant neverending battle against grey hair and abdominal fat.  I have been losing for 9 years straight.




I have never made New Year's Resolutions in my life, but I did this year and I am doing ok.  Just ok.




I have very oily skin.  I recently started wearing a ton of makeup (don't ask), but by 3:00, it has all slid off my face and I am back to looking like an effeminate dude.




I can't stop myself from reading the comments at the end of news articles that I read online, and I always want to write scathing responses to the idiots that make particularly ignorant comments.  But I never do.  Because this:

Don't feed the trolls!

Netflix fills me with dread.  There are too many choices!  I can spend hours scrolling through all the selections, mentally putting several on hold, and then forget what I had put on hold when I am done with all the scrolling.  So I just watch FRIENDS.


Once upon a time, I decided I was going to try internet dating.  But I got so turned off by the thought of choosing a screen name, I decided to continue being a spinster.


I bought Powerball tickets this week and had my island picked out and everything.  Obviously, I did not win, but I was actually surprised that I didn't.  Really.  I mean, I played.....I showed up, shouldn't that count for something?  Chuh.  What a racket.


I don't like scary movies, but Stephen King is my super-duper favorite author in the wholewideworld!

<3

You will probably see too many pictures of Ryan Gosling in the next 30 days.  I apologize in advance.


So.....yeeeaaaahhhh....enough about me.   I promise tomorrow's post will be a lot more interesting.


I mean, it HAS to be, dunnit??

You're welcome.

Who Needs OK Cupid When You Can Go To Jiffy Mart???

OR, Meditations on Why I am Destined to be Alone FOREVER!!! 

Remember when I said I was going to try online dating?

That lasted for, like 12 seconds....mainly because I couldn't think of a screen name that accurately conveyed all of my admirable qualities, yet disclosed the fact that I am a hot mess at this point in my life..

But still.....

It WOULD be nice to have a "significant other", only so my sister's BF and my niece's fiancee could have another dude to chill with....Also, so I could stop being a fifth wheel at our numerous family get-togethers....

However.....

I am not really cut out for raising some other person's child at this point...

And, yes, that may sound cynical, but let's do some review:

1.  I was getting gas at the Safeway gas station after work a few weeks ago, and some beefcake in a muscle shirt (um, it's Vantucky, ya'll---deal!) approached me and asked for my business card....HELLO???  Did I stumble into a warp in the space-time continuum???  Is it suddenly 1996?  I felt like reaching into my purse to make sure my not-so-smart phone was not, in fact, a Zach Morris brick.....

(side note: Ladies---do you remember those random dudes at clubs that had "business cards" that had their name, their PAGER number, and "Entrepreneur"....or was that just me??)

I don't have business cards...my company is in the middle of a 'brand change' and, instead of having lovely teal (who the fuck uses teal for ANYTHING anymore??) and yellow [barf] cards, I am 'eagerly' awaiting my new black/orange/white I-work-at-a-FroYo-shop logo cards.

So I gave homeboy a number that was very close to my cell.  Did I deliberately give him the wrong number? Nope!  I LITERALLY don't know my cell #.  When I finally converted from 530 to 360, I gave TC my number....I know, I know....


As a result, I NEVER use my phone.....just in case he sends me a text, thus storing his number in my phone, thus making it easy for me to drunk text him.....Instead, my cell is ALWAYS dead, which is why I never call any of you....not personal, just self-preservation, guys.

Anyway, I digress....

2.  My boss says, "SCREW THIS, let's grab a margarita!"   Excellent....  (mind you, this was after we both started work WAY too early and finished our work day WAY too late)  Anyway, Rrrrraoul the Bartender (you gotta rrrroll that R!), makes us some rad margaritas and sends us out into the world--side note; we each asked for extra lime juice, food, and water with our cocktails, so no DUI.  I walk out to my car, and some codger with a potbelly, bald pate with a luxurious waist-length ponytail, and A GOLD FRONT TOOTH asks me if I would like to have a drink with him..........He looks about 70 (no judgement! I am 40 and look 50!), and I LOVE the elderly (but I don't LOVE them, if you get my point), but I don't think he wanted to regale me with tales of Iwo Jima and putting the flag up---more like he wanted to show me his circus tent.  I politely told him I had an 8-yr-old to get some to, and wished him happy hunting. 

His response?

"Ahhhhh, you're too old for me anyway."


Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucccccccccccccckkkkk..................Really???

So, the other day, I reminded myself that I now have THREE children to raise (long story, different blog post), and have no time for a BF, FWB, SO, or any other acronym that represents a diversion of my time, money, or energy from these kids.....


3.  Tonight I run to the store.  Grab some necessities, get cash back.  Drive to Jiffy Mart and buy a pack of Marlboro Lights.....(I know, I know, I KNOW!!!  I am working on it!!!)  I walk out to my car and hear some schmuck catcalling, yowling like a cat in heat.  

Of course, I don't look over. 

Why would I?

In spite of the fact I was wearing an extremely low-cut top, thus displaying the magical twins (seriously, they are rad!), I still look like a meatball in a Carrot Top wig.  

After homeboy yelled, "Hey RED!" three times, I glanced over...


25ish stud with a groovy tribal tattoos on his fabulous biceps looks at me, winks, grabs his crotch (who DOES that??) , and smiles at me---revealing a missing front tooth---and says, "Yo, baby, I'm in love."

Not at all like this!

Mother. Fuck.  REALLY???  This is what I get??

4.  I read online about that corpulent, perverted, incestuous fuck-stick Josh Duggar being on Ashley Madison AND OKCupid, trying to find broads to hump him, even though he looks like a potato.....

................................................................................


Really??


5.  Where is Ryan Gosling when you need him?

6.  Imma be single 4EVA!!!


I'm okay with that.

 



















Totally. Not. Kidding.

What's In A Name? That Which We Call a Pervert By Any Other Name Would Look as Desperate

Or, Holy Shit, This Internet Dating Experiment Has 
Ground to A Halt

Yup yup.......

Okay, so I am stuck.

I haven't even managed to sign up on an internet dating website.

For various reasons, I decided OK Cupid was the way to go.  Actually one reason - the smartest, most hilarious blogger on the planet uses it, so I am too.

Or was.

Or might be.

See, I got stuck.  On, like, Step 3.

Step One:  I am a Woman Looking for a Man.  Oh. em. gee. 

Seriously?  It has come to this???  

Oh, well.  Deep breath.

Step Two: Email address.  Whew!  This is getting easier!

Step Three: Enter a User Name.

.......................................................................................................................................

..............................................................................................................

............................................................................................

 Total. Effing. Blank.

I literally stared at the screen for about two minutes.  Mind. Blank.

Blank, blank, blank.

Seriously?  What screen name could possibly represent the awesomeness that is me?

ChubbyOldNerd?

SmartButBoring?

KindaSluttyButThatsNotWhyImHere?

Everyone knows I have a kind-of list of pre-reqs that are non-negotiable.  But I can't just have my screen name be a link to that post....right?  Cause that would be weird.

What I did, was hop on over to Match.com and check out some screen names on there...you can prowl that website for free, FYI.  Apparently, OK Cupid is not so lenient.

First I decided to look at the guys screen names.  

Oh. Holy. Fuck.  

Seriously?  ShyGuy69?  LibraMan69?  LovePDX69?  BigPoppa69?

ARE YOU KIDDING ME????

If you have '69' in your screen name, Im gonna assume you look like this and your cover picture is stolen off the internet!

 Seriously internet dating dudes.....SERIOUSLY????
I decided to check out the ladies and see if they could offer up something other than 69.  

Ahem.

ShyGirlPDX.  MissSassy.  Bubbles4u. LilMizTude.  Dollface77. Hottie74.  SassyNSweet.

Lotsa 'girl', lotsa 'baby', lotsa 'doll'.  And lots of selfies with duck lips.  

Did I miss something here?

Is it 2010? 

Because I thought we all agreed that duck lips are out.  Didn't the internet threaten to stop working if people who are not named Kardashian didn't stop with the duck lips?  

LITERALLY the ONLY PEOPLE ON THE PLANET that can still get away with duck lips.  So. Just. Stoppit.

(Side note, ladies; guys HATE those pics.  Seriously.  AND, duck lips are neither sexy, funny, or even ironic anymore.  You just look dumb.  For realz, there are surveys about this shit and everything.)

Anyway, these broads are my age and they are picking screen names like LittleShyBubbleDoll (ok, I may be exaggerating just a tiny bit with that last one!). 


Ugh!  

I hopped off Match.com a little wiser, and a little more annoyed with the human race in general.

And, still, no screen name.....

'Bout sums it up!

What kind of screen name would possibly convey that if you don't 'get' Star Wars, then we have no future?  Or that if you fill your FB page with pictures of flags and 'Murica! bullshit, I am probably going to puke on your shoes (before I get drunk and puke in your car)?

I am probably over-thinking this -- shocking, I know!-- because, obviously this whole thing is meant to drag me out of my comfort zone and keep me from sleeping with TC anymore/ever again, as well as possibly result in a BF/GF-type situation (although possibly not since just typing BF/GF made me uncomfortable and thinking of ways to leave the country).  So, I suppose I should not spend so much time worrying about what sort of screen name will make it clear to anyone that if I ever get a chance to make out with Matt Damon, Ryan Gosling, Eric Decker, David Beckham, Christiano Renaldo, Simon LeBon, Christian Bale, or Bradley Cooper, I will, regardless of our relationship status, or that I will dick-punch you if you talk shit about my football team, or....well, you get the idea, right?

RG outweighs a  BF any day of the week!

By the way, if any of you earthlings reading this have any suggestions that do not involve the number 69 (because ew) or the "word" (more like perversion) LIL, feel free to post them in the comments....I may just give you a Snickers if I use it...or a BJ, whatevs.


Stay tuned, guys, shit is probably going to get even more demoralizing and humiliating......which, come to think of it, just might end up being my screen name!!


Because GoslingStalker is already taken.


I checked.

This is sounding better and better every day, folks!