Who am I?

So today I gave my first of (hopefully) many mentoring talks to the middle schoolers and, although most of them weren’t super excited about the idea of discussing harder-to-talk-about-topics (though I did have one class who were very engaged, go me, I know), I still think I got through to most of them (at least I can pretend that I did to sleep better at night). This week’s topic was personal identity; more specifically, asking yourself “Who am I?” and then trying to work through figuring it out.

It’s kind of an interesting and difficult topic to broach, especially given the age group, because it’s an awkward and weird time for most kids in middle school. But not only that, figuring out who you are can be a challenge no matter the age, because who really knows who they are? I certainly don’t know who the fuck I am. I know what kind of person I am, towards my friends and family and even people I don’t like all that much, and I know what kind of things I like, and the kind of labels you could put on me (if I ever let that happen, ‘cos ain’t no labels goin’ be holding me down, yo), but what does that really say about my core being? I know your identity is made up of many different parts all mashed together, so at least heading in this direction is a good start for me, but how do you ever really know who you are or who you are meant to be? I think the answer is you don’t.

Think about it, you aren’t the same person you were ten years ago. Maybe you still have some of the same qualities and traits, but if you met the younger version of yourself, you’d probably be like what the fuck is wrong with you.

What unfortunate-looking hair. I looked like a boy. Fail.

What unfortunate-looking hair. I looked like a boy. Fail. I still have that shirt.

No, really, what was I thinking?

But seriously, we are a complex creature, mankind, and we’re constantly adapting and evolving to suit our own needs as well as to adapt to our ever-changing environment. I think we just have to do the best with what we have and be good people and enjoy life along the way. And if that doesn’t work for someone else, they can bite me.

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Filed under Advice, Opinion

How to move efficiently

We all do it. Some more than others. It’s exciting and scary and fun and annoying, all at the same time. Sometimes we move around the world (wish I could do that again), across the country (once was enough thanks) or down the street (that’s more like it). Either way, I’m finding the more I move, the more crap I’ve accumulated (despite my attempts to downsize at every possible opportunity- seriously, where did I get so much junk from? Oh, I have a shopping addiction? Shut up). So to make the move more efficient, here are some tips to, er, make moving more…efficient (good word choice there, Julia, way to change it up. Fail).

Throw everything in the trash. This includes clothes, electronics, pets, all of it. Just throw it all into the garbage and you won’t have to pack or transport any of it. Or have a bonfire with all your things and roast some marshmallows instead, I don’t really give a shit.

Totally should have used this method for Felix. Would have been so much quieter during transport.

Totally should have used this method for Felix. Would have been so much quieter during transport.

Wait ’til moving day to pack. Whatever is left after you’ve thrown everything else out can wait to actually be boxed up and prepared to go in the truck, car, van, etc., until the day of. No one will mind waiting while you put all your shit in boxes.

Pack the toilet paper somewhere inaccessible. It’s not like that will be the first thing you need when you get to the new place.

Throw a fit when things go wrong. It’s especially helpful when trying to move to make things as difficult as possible for yourself and everyone around you, especially if they volunteered their weekend to help YOU move. Drag your feet a lot, pout and complain at every available opportunity, and if something goes awry (let’s say, it downpours and your mattress gets soaked), let it ruin the rest of your day. There’s no point in being in a good mood whatsoever, because moving isn’t supposed to be fun, anyway, so don’t ruin things by trying to be positive or having a good outlook or some shit like that.

Avoid unpacking as long as possible. There is nothing more homey than a house full of boxes. Not to mention how appealing your new place will be when you have guests over (don’t worry, you’ll definitely make them jealous).


If you take any of this seriously, you’re an idiot. But then again, you’re reading this blog so there’s already something wrong with you.

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Filed under Entertainment, how-to, Humor

I didn’t really need to use that door, anyway

I never thought I would be one of those people with a “sketchy” car. But I guess we can’t always get our way. By no fault of my own, other than the fact that I opened the door just like I’ve done every day for the past 7 years that I’ve owned the car, my door handle decided to bust off. Leaving my driver’s side door utterly unopenable from the outside (I’m so annoyed I’m making up words that don’t even exist).

I love when your morning starts off exactly like you didn’t want it to and never would have thought it could.

Now, to get into my car, I have to reach in from the passenger’s side to open the driver’s door from the inside. Talk about sketch. I just hope the passenger’s side handle doesn’t bust, too, or I guess I’m climbing in through the trunk.

I will say it really makes you appreciate the little things that you take for granted, like when things are supposed to work properly the way they were designed to and then oh, I don’t know, they just decide one day they aren’t going to cooperate anymore and stop working the way they’re supposed to. Cool, thanks, I really appreciate that. I guess there are just certain things you don’t consider on a daily basis as ever happening to you, and then when they do…

Screw you, door.

Screw you, door.

What the fuck.

But for real, how does that even happen?! Whose door handle snaps off like that for no fucking reason? I wasn’t even pulling that hard, and it literally snapped off like I was putting everything I had into breaking it off. Geez. This would happen to me. All I can say is my entire drive home from work, idling at every stop light and staring at all those lucky bastards in their cars with all their door handles attached, made me incredibly envious. I know you shouldn’t envy others for what they have that you don’t (something about not coveting thy neighbor’s wife I think?), but I would really like to be in a car with working door handles. Just saying.

I do not see the humor in this. But I figured I might as well write about it.

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Filed under car accident, Cynicism, Society

Where’s the app for that?

I wish there was a way to control what your dreams were about each night. Because I’m sick of having all these scary, overwhelming dreams all the time. And not scary in the traditional sense (because everyone knows how obsessed I am with horror, so I wouldn’t mind those types of dreams), I’m talking about the kind of dreams that make you wake up confused, wondering if something has gone awry in your life that you just didn’t recall until this very moment. I’ve had crappy stuff go down in dreams only to wake up thinking it was real, with that gut-wrenching feeling in the pit of my stomach because something shitty just happened that I wish hadn’t. Then I remember it only happened in my dream, not in real life, but the uneasy feeling lingers, making me feel miserable and depressed for the rest of my life. Well, at least for the rest of the morning. And I know they say your dreams are linked to your subconscious, so whatever you’re dreaming about must have been on your mind to begin with. But I disagree, because I dream about situations and people that I couldn’t give two shits about anymore all the time (which is really quite annoying, because then I’m just reminded of them when I had forgotten them in the first place. So thanks for that, subconscious. You suck.). So they are wrong (whoever “they” are).

This is the part where I could lapse into some convoluted ramble about dreams and why we dream about what we dream about and get into that whole overwhelming debate about “what it all means” and what’s the bigger picture, but I’m not going to. Because I don’t care (well, mostly I just don’t have the energy to write about such abstract ideas because I just woke up from a shitty dream and my brain is busy trying to get over it). And besides, that isn’t what this post is about, anyway. It’s about the brilliant idea I had about how to control our dreams.

Someone should create an app for it. There, that was my big idea. Thanks for reading. Bye.

No, but really, I wish there was a machine, or more preferably, an app that allowed you to control what you dreamt about each night. It would be fairly simple, actually. All you would do is input the information the dream requires to exist, such as setting, characters, plot; much like writing your own short story, only you could change and rewrite it every single night for the rest of you life, if that’s what you wanted. Only the data entered into the machine would be allowed into the dream, so you’re guaranteeing no shitty thoughts seep through. The app would then plug directly into your brain’s central command center (I’m thinking we get some WiFi happening there, and hook it up wirelessly, because it would probably hurt a little bit otherwise), and your brain would receive directions from the app on how to construct the perfect dream (at least the perfect dream for you, everyone’s will be different obvi). And that’s it, your brain would only create dreams that were designed specifically by you, easy peasy. And if for some reason you didn’t want to dream that night, you just set the app to its standby setting (because everything has a standby mode, why would this app be any different?) and your brain would allow a soft blanket of blackness to wash over you as you sleep, with no dreams to interfere with your perfect slumber.

So there. I’ve put the idea out there into the cyber-verse, now some tech geek please come along, steal my idea, develop it and send me the first prototype so I can start having more pleasant dreams. About rainbow dinosaurs. Living in a tropical paradise. Where it’s Halloween year round.

My app will crush this app. Although Apple will probably develop & sell my app for me. So I guess I'm competing with myself. Damnit.

My app will crush this app. Although Apple will probably develop & sell my app for me. So I guess I’m competing with myself. Damnit.

I’m also going to pretend I didn’t just Google “apps that make dreams better” only to find Apple already created a dream-controlling app. Mother fuckers. Mine will still be better. So you can suck on that, Apple. Oh wait, you’re probably going to be the ones who monopolize my buying audience, so I guess I should be nice. No, screw you for stealing my idea. I hate you. But really I love you. I’m going to go purchase this app right now. Let you guys know how it turns out.

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Filed under Entertainment, Humor, Ideas, Opinion

Who let me have a phone, anyway?

I really shouldn’t be allowed to text. Like, ever. Or at least my texts should be limited to simple yes/no responses, or things as straightforward as “how was your day?” Or “are you going to be home for dinner?” Or “did you find the baby alligator I left in your bath tub?” Errr, scratch that last one.

But for real, it’s a dangerous thing when I’m given the power of technology (take this blog for example. I bet you can’t unread half the weird shit on here even if you wanted to. Which, let’s face it, you don’t, because I’m hilarious and awesome, and you’re probably at this moment trying to figure out how you can stalk me out and meet me in person. I live in Florida, that’s all I’m going to say. If you can figure out how to find me, I’ll give you a dollar. But only if you knock when you show up at my front door. Don’t ring the doorbell, it always makes me jump. What was my point again?).

When I’m given the opportunity to speak in front of a large crowd (or a group of any size, for that matter. Except my cat. I seem to have no trouble having lengthy, intellectually-stimulating conversations with my cat, however one-sided they may be), I usually trip over my words, speak incoherently and generally talk as if my brain was having a stroke but my mouth refused to accept it. Put a computer or phone in front of me, though, and watch the fuck out. I will blow your phone up with so much random nonsense you will probably be forced to change your number. But it will totally be worth it because you’ll at least get a few laughs in before you decide to never speak to me again because, let’s face it, I AM pretty hilarious to the trained eye (for those of you with untrained eyes, or for those of you with no eyes at all, please refer to my handbook for the best ways to decipher my jokes and appreciate my sarcastic sense of humor. And by sense of humor I mean stupidity. And by handbook, I mean guidebook. And by guidebook, I mean it doesn’t actually exist, so just ask the guy next to you if he knows what the fuck I’m talking about, because I can’t explain it to you. I’m too busy writing award-winning novels that will never get published and blogging about stupid crap that’s actually incredibly important. You’ll see what I mean one day).

See, I'm fucking brilliant.

See, I’m fucking brilliant (I’m obviously the glue comment).

Okay, so you’re probably starting to get a sense of what I mean by now. Which is good, because I have no idea what I’m talking about. Oh right, texting.

This is my problem with texting. For those select few of you who actually matter to me (and I’m sorry in advance for all the terribly witty texts I’m going to send you in the future of the rest of my life), I can’t not send a lengthy text (I also can’t avoid speaking in double-negatives, apparently). Especially if I’m in an extra creative mood and you just happen to send a quick text asking what time we’re meeting for the movie tomorrow night. Because I will more than likely respond in such a convoluted fashion that you’ll regret ever being associated with me in the first place. My brain functions a lot better when I give it the proper amount of time for reflection before saying something instead of just allowing it to go spewing off in every direction the way it does when I speak. So if given the proper medium (I.e. a text or email), I’m going to take full advantage of the opportunity I’ve just been presented with. There’s a lot of brilliant stuff going on inside my head and if I’m given the chance to share it with the world (or, in most cases, the one sad sorry son of a bitch at the other end of my text message), I’m going to jump all over that shit.

Actually I'm a moron. And I ramble too much for my own good.

Actually I’m a moron. And I ramble too much for my own good.

But mostly I just like to entertain myself, and my cleverness makes me laugh to no end, so if I can ramble on for days about nothing and still think I’m fucking brilliant, then I’ve accomplished exactly what I set out to do. Because my intentions were never to actually answer your simple text message question. It’s really your own fault for being so naïve to think I would actually give you a straight answer. Because I probably never will. So I guess it sucks to be you (whoever you are. Who is this, again? And how’d you get this number?).

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Filed under Entertainment, Humor