A Break Up Letter

 

Today, after a bit of a serious diagnosis, my doctor has told me that I must give up all fried foods (sigh... ok), bacon (really?), sausage (I'm okay with that) and cheese (WHAT THE FUCK?).

 

Anyone who know me knows that I eat mac and cheese at least five times a week. This is no exaggeration. How will I ever live without it??

 

Unfortunately, after much pleading and a few tears (literally) my doctor has forced me to let my habit go. And so here it is, my break up letter:

 

 

Dear Mac and Cheese,

I wish I never had to say goodbye to you, Mac and Cheese. I wish that our creamy and noodley moments could have lasted a lifetime. Trust me, quitting you is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. You stole my heart when you were nothing more than a bright orange mess from a Kraft box. You won it forever when you became organic and white.

I know others have judged you for being easy and cheap. But we both know I never have. I loved you for those exact reasons. I forsook all others for you. I let vegetables rot in my fridge, cans of beans collect dust in my pantry, casserole dishes remain unused for months on end. All for you!

Your magic powder sauce, your strangely tiny noodles, the food poisoning I got from you when someone added bad bacon once. All these memories will be eternally etched in my heart.

I already miss you.

You should know, Quinoa has asked me out tonight. For a year I have shot him down because of you. But tonight I have said yes. I will probably even sleep with him. I know he will never love me the way you did. But he isn’t trying to kill me so I feel it is time to give him a chance. You don’t care about my life, Mac and Cheese. Or my cholesterol levels or my liver. You never have. But Quinoa does. And I deserve that.

Our relationship had become toxic. Quite literally. And because of you I must now undergo surgery and radioactive treatments. I should have got tested long ago. I knew better than to take you to bed unprotected. Eat you out of bowls while lying naked and unaware. It pains me to even think of it.

I’ll always love you, I truly will. The time we had together will forever bring me happiness and I hope you can one day forgive me for leaving you this way. Remember that one time you bet me I couldn’t add real cheese and make you taste any better? And I did? And you did? And I ate two boxes of you and vomited. Oh, how we laughed. That’s the day I knew I was in love with you.

I didn’t mean this farewell to be so lengthy but walking away from you was never easy for me, was it? Lately, however, you have gotten violent and I have seen you in restaurants with other women.  I don’t want to be “one of your women”, Mac and Cheese.  I’m better than that and I wish you would have thought the same.

Sincerely,

The One Girl Who Loved You More Than Anything

An Open Letter To Titanfall

Dear Titanfall,

My original intent with this letter was to tell you to go fuck yourself how much I miss my boyfriend. I had planned on complaining about the amount of time and affection that he has put into his Xbox since March 11^th. However, I know this is all your fault not entirely your fault since South Park, Dark Souls II and some other game I can’t remember all came out this month as well. Oh! And let’s not forget that he is still stuck on last month’s Plant vs. Zombies: Garden Warfare (a game far superior to yours because… well… Peashooter).

But as I composed my complaint, I realized that you might be the best thing that has happened in our relationship. At least from my perspective. And so I am rewriting you both a thank you and a what-the-hell-is-happening-in-this-game letter. Let’s start with the latter, shall we?

Really? What the Hell is Happening in This Game?

1.     WALLS

Let me get this straight. Are you telling me that the chaingun thingy that the titans use to UTTERLY destroy each other does not have the power to pierce through a simple wall? I mean, I see some of the walls have sustained previous damage. Please tell me from what fucking weapon?!? Because nothing Wil has played has done any damage to any of the buildings! And I know they are not indestructible. Every map shows post-apocalyptic destruction to everything. In other words, your fake-planet-robots-dropping-from-the-skies game has a few unreal elements to it don’t you think? Walls should blow up.

2.     RETARDED A.I.

I know ‘retarded’ is not a politically correct term so I apologize if I have offended anyone, but seriously… what the fuck is happening with your A.I. bots? Do you intentionally put them in Wil’s way? Because those morons always seem to be running around aimlessly EVERYWHERE. Minions my ass. And why the hell do they look so much like the pilots? It confuses us drunk gamer girlfriends who are trying to keep up with what is going on… which brings me to my third point.

3.     NOT WINE FRIENDLY

Holy shit, you have a fast camera. It is dizzying. After half a bottle of wine, I get motion sick just glancing at the TV. Look, gamer guys have girlfriends too. And we girls are usually drinking. So when we try to help out (Thank you for the corner screen with the arrows… my boyfriend loves it when I constantly shout “BEHIND YOU!” or “TO YOUR LEFT!”. It’s not annoying to him at all.) we become very sick very easily. Slow the fuck down. Please.

4.     THE NAME TITANFALL

Okay, I know there must be a reason you named the game this and I am sure I could just Google it and find out but I’m too lazy and I don’t mind sounding like a dumbass. Here’s the deal. I have spent hours, HOURS, trying to figure out why you are called “Titanfall”. At first I thought, ”Oh, it’s because the titans fall when they die.” Seemed rational enough. But a stupid reason to name a game. Then I thought, “Hmm, there is a lot of orange and red in this game and those are fall colors. Hence Titan FALL.” But I realized the makers probably didn’t have vaginas so... no. Well, maybe it is because the titans drop from the sky. Yes! That must be it! Ah, but then it would be called Titandrop. So what the hell? Why the ridiculous name?

5.     REPETITION

I know, I know! Most games are repetitive. But other than the map changing and about five different game scenarios, I feel like Wil is literally in that movie Groundhog Day. Except in the future, and as a pilot, and on another planet. But other than that he is in the EXACT the same dilemma as Bill Murray was. Look at Wil! He’s running around shooting things! Now he’s climbing a titan! Now he’s peeleing back something on its head and is shooting it! Now he’s repelling around buildings! Now he’s in a mech suit! Now he’s not! Now he getting stepped on! Now he’s dead! And repeat. For six to twelve hours.

6.     STORY LINE

I still have no idea what the fuck is going on. Neither does Wil. Why is everyone killing each other?

7.     CAPTURE THE FLAG

(deep sigh) Jesus. Have you never even seen a movie about war? Read a book about war? Because in no history movie or story, or in history itself, did a great battle get won because some guy stole a flag and brought it back to base camp. Never. Maybe in paintball, yes. But this is supposed to be a war, right? IT MAKES NO SENSE! And it pisses me off. I mean, if all Hitler had to do was run across France, grab a flag and run back, the outcome could have been much different. Germans are quick little bastards. (shaking my head)

Now that I have gotten that off my chest, I think it is appropriate to finally thank you for all the good you have done for my relationship.

How You Saved My Relationship

1.     CATAN

Yep. I downloaded Catan on my phone and I now play it during most of Wil’s game time. I’ve gotten pretty fucking amazing at it, actually. And he doesn’t interrupt me or bother me or tell me to stop. Just beautiful silence as I collect wood and monopoly card everyone’s ass. It makes me feel closer to Wil. Seriously. Plus Wil is the handsomest when his mouth is shut.

2.     HE NOW PRETENDS TO LISTEN

Gamer guys have this awesome talent at nodding during a game and pretending they are hearing everything you are saying. Which means I can go on and on for hours about my day, my girlfriends, what I ate, my future exercise plans, hair color options, what to wear tomorrow and so on. And he can’t go anywhere. He’s stuck pretend listening. I LOVE IT!!

3.     WE HAVE BETTER CONVERSATIONS

Conversations about his day used to be very monotone recaps of his naps and work schedule. Now they are exciting play by play actions on his leveling up and how/when he will reach the next generation or how his team was awful or which weapon choice he used to win Attrition or what burn cards he currently has. It is animated and loud and adorable. And makes for a much better story than, “I ate Taco Bell, watched a Sponge Bob marathon and slept for three hours.”

4.     HE FEELS GUILTY

Whoa! Calm down! Guilt is not always bad. No. No. No. After thirty some-odd hours of game time, Wil is starting to feel like he is neglecting me. So what does he do to make up for it? Oh, I get presents, and loving texts all day, and planned museum dates, and grand romantic gestures. I’m in girlfriend heaven right now. Speaking of which, when the fuck is the next Titanfall coming out?

5.     FINGER AND THUMB CONTROL

Oh, I’m watching his hands get exercise. Need I say more?

So despite the fact that your game makes no sense, has no storyline and is not at all observer friendly (it really is a weird ass game) I must thank you from the bottom of my heart for all that you have done for Wil and I. Keep up the good work!

 

Yours Truly,

Seeks

My Own Advice

 

A few weeks ago I had a good friend tell me I never take my own advice. Mostly she meant this about men/dating so my initial reaction was, “God damnit! Yes I do!” But that’s just me being an asshole. The truth is, I really don’t. In any area of my life. Here are a few examples of advice I have given friends:

1.      Friend: I hate living in Michigan! It’s cold for 8 months out of the year. Ugh! I just want to live somewhere with nice weather and better job opportunities. This place really sucks.

Me: Then just move. It’s literally that simple. Look, either pick somewhere you want to live and draw up a game plan on how to get there or stay where you are and quit bitching about it. You are the only one with the power to make change in your life. So make change and hush up already.  

Sucking At My Own Advice: You’ve read my blog, right? I’m still in Dallas. I’m still complaining.  

2.      Friend: All I do is eat chips and Milky Ways all day. I want to eat healthy but it sucks cooking for one.

Me: That’s awful! You have to have a balanced diet! For Christ’s sake, you’re not 21 anymore. Plus eating for one should make cooking easier. And Milky Ways? Really? Do they even make those anymore? How are you alive right now?

Sucking At My Own Advice: Five words… Champagne and mac and cheese. Oh yeah, I mix it up sometimes. I had some taco bell this weekend with some broccoli cheese soup. Might have even had some potatoes covered in cheddar and half a bag of Doritos. But that was the most food I’d had in a week. Usually, I do one meal a day and a bottle of bubbly. That’s where my ‘balanced diet’ is right now. So the real question should be how the fuck am I still alive?

3.      Friend: I finally bought that purse I was talking about!

Me: You were talking about a purse?

Girlfriend: Yeah. The Gucci one for $400. The one I bought last year is starting to get worn.

Me: Whoa! $400 on a purse? Jesus, that seems reckless! You should seriously rethink your spending habits.

Sucking At My Own Advice: I spend $80+ a month on audio books. Yeah, you heard me. Audio books. That comes to $960 a year in case you can't do math. And I saw her purse. It’s fabulous.

4.      Friend: I have so many back problems. I can’t even get comfortable when I lay down. It’s why I can’t exercise any more.

Me: But you have to exercise. You should be doing yoga at least four times a week. It’s great for staying in shape and it would totally fix your back.

Sucking At My Own Advice: My idea of exercising is taking the stairs to Wil’s apartment. Which I only do one out of ten times. And that’s usually because I have to pee and the elevator takes forever. Oh, and yoga? I do yoga about once a month. For 45 minutes. And, trust me, I have mastered the art of half ass-ing even that. I am hands down the unhealthiest woman I know and should never be giving exercise advice to anyone. Ever.

5.      Friend: Blah blah blah… my boyfriend… blah blah blah blah blah.

Me: Blah blah blah… leave him… blah blah blah blah blah.

Sucking At My Own Advice: Wil would have to murder a puppy and a couple hundred non-crying children before I would consider leaving him. Either that or become a Yugoslavian. Those fuckers are mean! (Is Yugoslavia even a country anymore?)

So my goal this year is to take some of my own advice. But not #3. Audio books are the only reason I am able to fool people into thinking I am smart. And obviously not #5. He has really cute ears and he puts out on a regular basis. Try finding that combo in a man. It’s damn near impossible.

Post script: I started getting angry emails today about my lack of updates. I’d apologize but I wouldn’t mean it. I’ve been busy watching TV and playing Catan. Serious shit, you know? BUT I will be better at it this week, kiddies. Might even do two updates today. Depending on whether or not I hit the bar for some green beer. Green beer and writing never mixes well. Just look at Oscar Wilde... green beer awful.

 

- Fin

 

Let 'Er Rip!

There is nothing more fabulous than a Saturday Brazilian waxing at 9am. Who needs coffee when you can have all your asshole hairs ripped right out of you? No one, I say. No one.

I’m going to be honest; last Saturday wasn’t my first Brazilian rodeo. Or even my first waxing. I’ve been through this waxing shit far too often than I’d like to admit. I could have laser-ed this pubic mess into ‘never growing again’ for the amount of money I have spent tearing these babies out. But why be practical and miss out on all the pain? Why??

Okay, here’s how it usually works: I go in, take off my pants, lay on the table, shut my eyes, clench the sheets and wait for it to be over. (This is starting to sound like my sex with my ex.) Real simple, right? But that is not at all what I did this time.

Wax Lady: Go ahead and get ready while I check the wax. Do you remember how many weeks it’s been? (turns around)

Me: Sure. I think I’m at about 7 weeks. (Takes off shirt and bra. Starts taking off pants)
Wax Lady: (turns back around) Whoa! Why are you getting naked?
Me: I have no idea! You said get ready and I guess I instinctually thought that meant get naked!
Wax Lady: No… just your pants, remember?
Me: Oh my god. I am so embarrassed. I have no clue why I got naked.
Wax Lady: I have that effect on people.
Me: What the hell was I thinking?
Wax Lady: Don’t worry. You aren’t the first to do that.
Me: Yeah. But think about it… someone says ‘get ready’ and my subconscious decides that means nudity. Imagine if this had been a dentist appointment!

So, yep. That happened. And you can’t undo getting naked for a stranger. Even one that tears all the hairs out of your crotch.

And let’s be realistic about this. What the hell am I so embarrassed about anyway? Once you’ve been on all fours, ass cheeks spread and someone smearing wax on you from hole to hole, is there really any reason to blush about ANYTHING? I mean, I’m not even that intimate with my boyfriend… and we do the weird stuff.

Anyways, all of this got me to thinking. Of all the things we women do for men, Brazilian waxing is the fucking strangest. Seriously, men? This is what you want? Do you even understand what we go through and how odd this whole thing is? No? Well, let me enlighten you.

1.      Nothing is more awkward than having someone tell you, “Hold this here so I don’t wax your lips together.” Oh, you will hold. You will hold hard.

2.      Once someone has spread your ass cheeks apart and said, “Always save the best for last.” You feel obligated to tip 25%. Why? Because you both know it was worse for her than it was for you. She deserves every penny!

3.      Do you know how uncomfortable it is to have someone staring down your vulva in order to determine the best way to tackle your jungle problem while talking about the weather? Do you? No? Because now when someone says, “I can’t wait for it to warm up again,” my vagina clenches up a little. It probably always will.

4.      When it’s over, your vagina looks battered. It is red, swollen, dotted, bald, and angry. And this lady standing in front of you, the one who’s all smiling and talking about her kid’s soccer game, she has seen it. She has seen your vagina at its worse and you both have to pretend like the whole incident never happened.

See, men. See what we do for you? I think at this point every woman who has endured a Brazilian deserves cheesecake and a bottle of Merlot. It’s only fair. Make it happen.