"Are you on Linked In?"

Like what? Since when is that the new way to get somebody's contact information?

Let us rewind to 7:30 am Thanksgiving morning shall we? So here I am at a "fitness" club playing tennis with the rich and famous. Don't mind me as I stroll in with my Head tennis bag filled with nothing else but a tennis racket and Bailey's Irish Liqueur, of course. HAPPY THANKSGIVING! Alright let's get this exercise stuff over with so I can begin my holiday festivities. After the longest hour and a half of my life in which I struggled way more than necessary playing tennis, I had made it to the promise land. AKA the lounge of the club. *pop* Champagne bottle open and the cheers-ing has begun. As the ladies all take their seats I find myself perched next to one woman's nephew, flown in all the way from that other coast, more specifically California. As I make myself a lil breakfast plate and adult bevvie my mind is in a happy spot for all of 2 seconds when the interrogation begins.

"Where are you from?" "What do you do?" "How long have you lived here?" "Have you been to California?" "You must be smart, what was your GPA?" "Do you enjoy your job?" "Is tennis your only sport?" "How do you feel about the Financial something something something Reform Act?" HOLD UP. what?! I don't even know what that means. Seriously bro, have you not noticed I am giving one word responses and not asking you anything?? I'm just not that into you and honestly all I want is to enjoy my coffee with Baileys and these nummy lil muffins. Plus your eyes are bloodshot. Perhaps Visine could have helped you out this morning.

As we're all finishing up our pre-Thanksgiving celly, this bro mans up and makes a move. "What was your name again?" Smooth bro... "Ashley. Cool. Are you on Linked In?" Then in slow motion, the Aunt swoops in out of no where. "JEFF. STOP. SERIOUSLY. NO. You have no.. Just stop. Like for real." *silence* *more silence* *awkward stares thrown my way from the tennis ladies* Hurry. Think of something, Ashley. Think quickly. "Welllllll..... ha. um.... is there any more Bailieys? I'll just have some on the rocks." There are very few times I'm speechless. I would like to thank California homeboy for adding to that list.

Also over this Thanksgiving holiday, I once again confirmed that I am in no way ready for motherhood. That's right. I'm a female in my *gulp* mid-late... 20's and I do not want and am also very much not prepared for motherhood. Know what I say about that? LONG HAIR DON'T CARE. Let me explain a bit more.... I took care of this dog and it was needy... and annoying... and clingy.... and I just couldn't deal. I had to change around my social calendar for this thing. I even had to pick up its poop! Yarf! If I can't take care of a dog, I fer sure can't take care of a mini-me. Check back in a few years. I might be interested in a dog by that time but for now I'm more interested in the beers, bros, and blogging sans kids/dogs/anything that needs my attention for more than 30 mins at a time.

As one final little note and disclaimer, I would like to say that I'm in no way a bro hater. In fact there are plenty of bros I like and talk to but I can't put them in the blog. It's just not as humorous. They're like... the nice bros (oxymoron I know. I know) that if I blogged about would change the feel of the blog into some mushy "How to get the guy" blog and we all know that's not the path I'm headed down. Unless of course, you're reading this and are the editor of a Love and Relationships portion of a magazine and want to steal my work and make me famous. In that case... I blog about all bros and all situations.

Vegas Baby!!

Now that I have captured your attention I want you to know that this blog has nothing to do with my recent Vegas/Cali trip. Shockingly, nothing too crazy happened aside from the homeless man calling me angel and the rando limo driver blaring Gorilla from his iphone/car speakers. Other than that... it was just your typical family vacation. Or at least my typical family vacation. Thanks Mum and Pops for having fun genetically intwined in your DNA.

Welp. Lies again... maybe this will be a Vegas/Cali blog. Because the more I think about it... the more I realize there is a lot that the world needs to know about this trip. Liiiike for example, the farther west you go, the less pushy/in a rush people get. Let us begin with my trip to the airport in New Yawk. Such a lovely day to be at the airport. It's so peaceful at 5 am in the morning. Oh wait. No. There's that crazed person running through an airport terminal that is literally no bigger than a gas station. Seriously? I thiiiiink you'll make it from security, all twenty feet to the "gate." AKA 1 of 4 exits to the plane. Lay off the coffee bro.

Passed out on the plane and woke up in Chitown. Ayo wassup Oprah! As I'm doing the nike shuffle to my next gate I hear a man on his phone. "I am literally not going to make it to my next flight. It leaves in 10 minutes." I start to think to myself 'gosh that sure does suck. hope it never happens to me.' And then I realize this homeboy isn't even walking at a New York pace. He's strolling through the airport like he's the Queen of England. NO LONGER FEEL SORRY FOR YOU. When my lil legs are moving quicker than yours, we have a problem. Catch the next flight, bro, and see ya never.

Next flight to Vegas goes swimmingly and I exit the aircraft. Having never been in Vegas I expect Showgirls, bright lights, slot machines, and good looking high rollers to greet me as I enter the terminal. As I burst out of the jet bridge very Mary Tyler Moor-ish I look left and right to seeeeee..... NOTHING. Da Fuh... is this Vegas?! *crickets* Huh... well this seems odd.

After picking up the all important luggage I phone the rents who landed in Terminal 1. Pops, unable to figure out public transportation tells me we're catching different cabs back to old Vegas. Ehhhhh. Wrong answer. Leave it to the Little One. I arrive at Terminal 1 and find all of the hustle and bustle I was looking for. Alright. So maybe only the midwest is slow paced. We arrive at the taxi line and the hustle/bustle that I thought Vegas had quickly disappeared. We waited in a taxi line that took ages. Walk down half a block. Walk the other way half a block. Step...step....step.... Um... helllloooo isn't anybody excited to be in Sin City? Can we put some umpf in our step or would we like to see Vegas from the airport line?

*Insert a few days of Vegas Shenanigans*

Helllooo California! We have arrived! The only thing I have to say about California... you wouldn't have traffic jams if you even tried going the speed limit. If you were feeling a lil devilish you could try for 5 over but hey. I understand we're all about hugging trees and being peaceful here. Don't want to get too out of line. (ok... might be extremely over-exaggerating here but seriously New Yawk drivers would completely steam roll these drivers. And why doesn't anybody use their horns there??!)


*Insert a few more days of family bonding and other Cali Shenans*

You know you're waiting for a flight back to New Yawk when a majority of the people have designer bags, pets in carry ons, and jewelry that could blind a person from 20 ft away. I sit next to a man that has no problem with taking up my half of my seat. I'm oddly fine with this. Get to the airport and exit the plane to see the teeny tiny airport is so packed that people are hovering like hawks waiting for an open seat. Yessssss. Love. New. Yawk.

Every Guy Deserves a Chance

Whoever invented that saying is full of shit. My motto is trust your gut... and if you're one of those pretty girl types and don't have a gut... then just do whatever you want because pretty girls can do whatever they want anyway.

Let me take you back to a little over a month ago when I kept running into this guy. He lives in my building, pretty good looking, definitely has a job... overall this guy's resume seems to be a winner so when he asks me to go get sushi, my obvious response was of course! Wooo date night here we come.

Friday night rolls around, I hustle home from work and get all pretty. I exit the elevator and my knight in shining armor is awaiting me. Fabulous. This guy is also punctual. Looks like I have found my future husband. I'll take a vintage wedding ring thanks. Fast forward through the awkward hellos, how was your day blah blah blah. I'm bored with this convo type of stuff and let's move on to the good stuff.

As we're strolling down "the strip" towards the restaurant (ooooh la la so romantic) the curve balls begin, but initially I don't realize what I've gotten myself into. "Oh... I'm on a really strict diet right now. I'm in my workout/diet phase." In my head I'm just thinking ooookay. Typical New Yorker. Loves the gym and a nice piece of grilled chicken with a side of nothing. Fine. I'll get over it and teach him how to love fried foods like we in the Midwest do. RED FLAG

We finally make it to the restaurant and sit down in a cozy lil spot in my favorite sushi establishment and I'm feeling generally ok about the situation. Neither person makes a move for the drink list. Fine. Not a big deal. I've been in this drinking game for awhile. I don't need to see a menu to know what I'm ordering. When the waiter stops by to ask for drinks I look at my gentleman caller and ask if he's getting anything and his response.... "I don't drink." WUT. Jaw off the floor Ashley. Jaw. Off. The. Floor! RED FLAG.

As we move into the first serious conversation (and mind you less than 10 minutes into sitting down at the table) Mr. Sober asks me if I'm religious. RED FLAG. Dear God, man. You sure do know how to make a girl swoon.

Time to order so I ask if he wants to share sushi and his response is "No, I prefer to get my own since I'm pretty particular about what I eat but you'll have to try a piece of this special roll that I created and they make just for me." Um.... am I supposed to be impressed here? I'm confused. Are other girls impressed by this? It's a sushi roll, bro. It's not like we just asked for a custom built car. Rawr. red flag...

Ok so I try to recover our conversation after we order. There must be something salvageable here. Wrong. I was very wrong. Out of no where... this guy drops the biggest bomb so nonchalantly. "Yea... I just got back from my 20th high school reunion." *practically chokes on food* *world freezes**eyes widen*Let's just say I wasn't alive all that long when this bro was graduating high school. Red flag...

Where does the conversation lead to next you ask? Oh... he decides we should talk about kids. "Do you like kids?" "Not really." I think I blacked out for the next ten minutes (from my H20 of course) because I can't remember what we talked about but it definitely had something to do with kids, Halloween, and a baptism... and maybe something in Colorado. I don't know. Whatever. Please get me home. Tooooo many red flags!!!

We're finally done and the check arrives. Mr. Red Flag^infinity degree pays (very appreciative. thanks for the sush) and I get up to walk out. Freeze! No no. It's not time to go yet. Mr. Red Flag must return the signed bill to the waiter in case some lil gremlin is out there trying to steal this guy's credit card information. RED FLAG. Like what is this? 1990!? My date can't figure out why the waiter isn't returning. After 20 minutes of me desperately trying to find common ground I'm about to march the check up to the waiter myself when he finally returns. Whew... I've made it. A short 10 minute walk and I can close this chapter of my life.

Here we go walking down "the strip" and what does this bro decide to do? He tries to stop at every single place along the way! "Ohhh.... we should stop and play pool." "Um... I thought you said 9 pm was your bedtime? And... I'm not good at pool. It's got that whole geometry aspect that just really doesn't do anything for me...." "Ohhh have you been to this place? They have great desserts. Would you like to stop?" "No... I thought you were on a diet?" Shuffle shuffle shuffle and we've FINALLY arrived at our apartment complex. I've made it. NO. Wait... nope. sure didn't. We must stop and talk to the concierge about the cute kids that will be trick or treating. All the while the thoughts in my mind are racing... maybe I could just sneak away into the elevator. Say I've got a stomach ache. Anything. Annnnything just get me home. Whew done with the concierge but OH WAIT. A little girl with a puppy comes out of the elevator. Eff it. I'm never getting home. Finally I just walk to the elevator and push the up button. I'm getting the H-E - double hockey sticks outta here. Oh look. He followed me. Should have tried that ages ago... like when he asked me if I was religious. I get off on my floor. Give an awkward lil wave and "welp. thanks for the dinner! see ya!" Elevator closes annnnd scene.

NEXT BRO PLEASE

Ohhh haaayyy!

Guys. What... happened?! I haven't blogged in weeks and I bet you all (ya'll for my non-existent southern followers) are sitting there behind your lappy toppies screaming "give me moooore!" Have no fear... I has returned. Now I unfortunately blacked out a good 2 weeks of the last month but not for the reasons you think. I've said it before and I'll say it again. Sooo liiiike I have this job and I have to do work and sometimes I don't get to blog. So it's not you... it's me. HA.

ANYWHO! I went to the Yankees/Twins game last week. The game started at 1 in the afternoon so what do my friends and I decide? Well we naturally decide that our day'o'drinking must start at 9 am with breakfast. Wasssuuupp colllege??? Started the morning out right with some tast-ay breakfast burritos and a stiff screw driver. Turns out that liquor either hits you faster in the morning or the OJ does a fantastic job of masking the vodka. Welp. Time to get the 10:30 am train.

Our crew gets on the train and we apparently have a mental lapse and forget the fact that most people are just waking up/starting their days/drinking coffee sans alcohol but that doesn't stop us from being the loud obnoxious kids on the trains. "HEY. HEY. WHAT BAR ARE WE GOING TO AGAIN?"
It's fine. We were judged but to quote Miley Cyrus "Remember only God can judge ya."

Fast forward to the stadium, post making friends with a Yankees stadium food vendor and other Minnesota transplants to New York. To the bar we go! Who wants a fireball?? Errrryone wants a fireball. Bartender says "$10 per shot." Merrrrr. Nobody wants those shots anymore. Thanks New York for being ridiculously over priced. We just bought 4 bottles of liquor for a teaspoon shot. Over it. More beer!

Time to go to the stadium! Some baseball happens. Blah blah blah but I'm more concerned about some cheesey fries. My Midwest friends know what's up. I approach the vendor and very sternly say "I'm... from the midwest. And I LOVE cheese. Can you please drench those fries in cheese? I don't even care. I'll pay extra." Whatever I said worked because all I know is I got some fries with my cheese and I.Was.In.Heaven. Sometime between eating my fries and pretending to watch some baseball our friend informs us that he left his ID and card back at the bar. Fail. So we leave the game after the 7th inning to return to the bar.

We all have the sudden realization that.... well... we're innnn the bar... we might as well have another drink or 3... Party party party. Minor spaz on some New Yorker for calling me not cultured because I was from the Midwest. Exit bar. Train. Confusion. Lifetime movies to end the night. Sunday morning wake up with no hangover. Success. Call me a proooo-fessional drinker.

Doppelgangers are cool....

when your doppelganger is a hot celebrity. Let me tell you a lil diddy about my "doppleganger." A few years ago I had multiple people tell me I look like Avril Lavigne. Sweet... I look like a blonde chick that wears a lot of eye makeup. I suppose that does sum me up. I'm ok with it. Well as we all know, lil miss Avril made a comeback (just like this blog) about a month or so ago. So a couple weeks back, my officemate turns to me and says "Avril is just so unattractive!" Pan the camera to my jaw dropping. Say whaaa?? My ego just crumbled like the Berlin wall. Fine. I got over it....until...today. I'm sitting at my desk, yet again, and I get a message from a friend. "I finally figured it out. Your doppelganger is Avril Lavigne!" Fuh....  But just in case Avril ever reads this blog, I am a fan and I think you're beautiful and if you ever need a sidekick, I'm here for you girl. Call me.

That's all you get for today. It's a Wednesday and I got things to do bro!

You Could Fit In My Trunk

Ohhh haaaayyy! I'm back! No, I didn't give up on the blogging thing already... I just was busy seeing the west coast behind a haze of wine goggles. However, I think Cali got it all wrong. Death Valley is definitely in Napa. Definitely. Thought about creating a shirt that says I survived Napa Valley with Napa crossed out and Death written above it. Maybe that's my new business venture if blogging doesn't get me famous here soon. So anyway. Here I sit back on the east coast just bursting with stories. Lucky for you I could blog for daaaays.

But since none of us has days to sit and read my stories, let's do a cliffnotes version of my trip to California:
- Starting in NY we decided to go east to Cali. We were not boy scouts. How are we supposed to know how to use a compass.
- Got car service at 3 am from a drunk man who realllly likes Taylor Swift. "Feelin twenty twooooo" Help me Baby J
- Saw the sights of Sacramento from a bike... and a hatchback trunk... really beautiful stars out there
- Had an enlightening experience in which I learned the 5 dollar bill is ALSO considered a dollar bill yet vending machines are selective and only accept 1 dollar bills...
- On day 5 of the trip I had to ask what time the sun sets in Cali. FYI It's approximately 9:15

So when I was telling my friends about the trunk situation, a friend surprisingly asked "you can fit in a trunk?!" I naturally replied "well you could fit in my trunk!" awkward siiiilence and theeen laughter. Fast forward to a little bit later in the night when we are all on the subway... a very crowded subway... I look over to my friend and say "at least we have poles this time!" More silence. More laughter.  The point I was really trying to make was that I wasn't train surfing this time and I was so pleased to have a pole to hang on to. Despite my adventures with the Pussycat Doll workout video... I have had no experiences with poles of any sort.

Also. Cali has a severe lack of bros. Looks like I'm living in the land of the bros. Plenty of material to keep this blog going.

Slap It. Slap It. Grind It. Pop It.

What is UP Pussycat Doll workout video! I can't take any workout seriously that the person yells slap it over and over again and expects me not to laugh but nonetheless I decided to do the workout. Step 1... close the blinds. Can't have any creepers watchin THIS. Step 2... move coffee table. Need as much space as possible to be sexayyy. Step 3 Get in the zone. Step 4 Push play. Ok so the beginning wasn't bad because we were warming up but I should have know what I was in for when we started doing body pops.... and then it just escalated from there."We're going to bring out your PCD sexiness." Oh gawd. Why is being sexy so painful? First... are there no bones in these girls bodies? I'm pretty sure people aren't supposed to move like that.  I would just like the producers to know that they failed at making me feel sexy. Woke up this morning and literally could not walk because my hammies hurt so bad. Guess I got somewhat of a workout in but I can tell you with 100% confidence that I do not look sexy walking around today. I also think the DVD should have instructions: Consume 3 adult bevvies before doing this workout to not feel like an idiot. Should I be embarrassed that I'm so sore today? Does that mean I didn't know how to be sexy before and now I'm using all these new sexy muscles? Like my hamstrings? Such a sexy muscle....

Pop quiz. How many times did I say sexy in that last paragraph? Winner can have my PCD workout vid.

It's Saturday and I'm sitting here with my Starbucks blogging. So. Cool. Don't worry everyone. I'm sending out the feelers as we speak. "What are we doing tonight?" "Hang out with me." "I'm really fun. I promise." hashtag neeeeeeddyyy. I'm not opposed to continuing my day long Lifetime movie marathon but it's going to make for some unusually boring blogs. Can't get famous that way.

I'm Only a Little Bit Crazy

I came across the sudden realization that everyone is crazy and it's only amplified in New York. For example... I was hanging out with New York's finest today to get some good people watching in. Doesn't take long before the entertainment shows up. Some man stumbles over to my bench, doesn't ask to sit down (rude) and lights up his cigarette while somehow still managing to keep his head up. You would think this story is going down the path of a drunken civilian story. Psyyyche. He was wearing women's shoes! White studded flats that in no way matched his outfit. At least he knew to wait on the white shoes til after Memorial Day. Sunday entertainment number 2 shows up and it's a man with slicked back hair just creepin around the benches starin at all the ladies. Best part is... he has the type of glasses that you can't see his eyes (perfect for creeping) but he was doing it wrong! He slid his glasses down to the end of his nose and was peering over the top of his glasses. Peek a boo! I see you! Creeper....

With people like that in the world I can't possibly be thaaaat crazy right? I'm only minimally crazy... and it's in the entertaining way... right? Looking for some validation from the blogging world. My craziness has a direct correlation with the number of drinks I have. As adult bevvy consumption increases so does my crazy. Anything after 6 drinks is what I like to call Full On Crazy.  (Sorry Mom and Dad).

Examples of the crazy: Last weekend... I decided that at 3 am my friend and I needed to go to the store to get the eggs I was going to cook in the morning. Walmart is, afterall, 24 hrs. We walk over to Walmart to find it's closed. Guess I shouldn't have been so confident in telling my friend it's open 24 hrs. But that doesn't stop me! Let's try the grocery store. stumble stumble shuffle. Get to the other store... also closed. waaaahhhh. How am I supposed to cook my eggs in the morning!? Doesn't even cross my mind that stores are open in the morning. Crazy.

Next example: getting mad at people for not saying hi to me when I see them out. Have I checked the mirror lately? I'm 4'9 and I'm in a bar. Nobody can see me unless they literally trip over me. But let's just ignore that fact and get sassy with everyone. Totally fine and not crazy.

Example 3: I attempted to air crochet to teach my friend ... in the middle of the bar. Imagine what THAT must look like from across the bar. "You hold the needle like thissss and then you just loop it like thisssss" Doesn't sound that crazy but I bet it sure did LOOK crazy.

I definitely think all of this is fine though because bros like crazies right?

Snooki Ruined my Chances of Becoming Famous

The world can't have 2, famous, 4'9 partiers that aren't afraid to say what's on their mind.... so I would just like to say that I don't have a kid and can therefore maintain an entertaining television show sans those little things. Hire me!

Yesterday... I said something that was dumb. Shocking. When I was younger I had a back surgery and one of the scars comes right up to my stomach over my lil ribcage. Got a little confused had to have a serious texting convo with my mum on what the heck happened. Meanwhile in the office I'm trying to explain to my officemate about how a rib was used to fuse my spine "yea... so now I have the same amount of ribs as men do." I'm about to turn back to my lappy toppy when I notice that my officemate is giving me the "what the fuhhhh" look. I casually respond "ohhhh.... that's just in the Bible isn't it....?" Thanks J for feeding me lies. Now I look like an idiot.


The answer is 206. What is the number of bones in men AND women, Alex?

I Can't Blog Every Day

Because I have a job. Duh

ps why hasn't this made me famous yet?

Well I'm No Sacajawea

I'm clearly not a descendant of Sacajawea. She can lead Lewis and Clark across fricken 'Merica but I can't even get from Grand Central to the nearest watering hole... AND I use an iphone! I once was within blocks of Grand Central and somehow landed myself by the highway staring at the water. "Welp. This can't be right." Merrrrr. Pulled out my handy dandy iphone to give me directions back to GCT. After shuffling down a few one ways I quickly realize the directions are for when I'm IN A CAR. Blaaah. Fail fail fail.

So what do I do this weekend? I hike. Not a good idea for the directionally challenged. Twenty feet into what I call "the jungle" I want to turn back. It's cold. It's raining. And I'm HO. The whole time I'm dodging plants that I claimed were poison ivy (nobody wants a girl that's got an itchy rash) and trying to navigate out of the jungle without crossing any mountain lions or other mountainous creatures. After awhile we come across a wonderful fork in the road and a trail map. Option 1: South Loop Option 2: South Loop Shortcut. I'll take the shortcut thanks. 50 feet later another fork. Option 1: Quest Option 2: South Loop. My roommate asks which one we should take and I firmly state "South Loop" since nowhere on the map was there a mention of Quest and I'm not looking for any new adventures. So we climb some rocks, cross some creeks, dodge some low hanging branches and only fall once, just to find out... we went the wrong way. Now... there's nothing more depressing than realizing you have to go back through the jungle you just survived and then go on some path that the hiking gods call "the quest." Ugh. Get.Me.Home. This jungle is more treacherous than I expected and all I can think about is how I'm going to be the star of the next "I survived" episode. Thanks Bio channel for getting me hooked.

What do I do in a state of panic? Why I sing Disney songs of course. No other place happier than Disney. A few Pocahontas and Little Mermaid songs later... we're back on the right "path!" All hesitations I had before have gone out the window and I'm flying towards the exit (or where I think the exit should be). Finally back in the car I make the life decision that maybe...juuuust maybe... hiking and/or being outdoors is not something I can list as something I like to do... unless there's more beer of course. :)

"If I smile it will look like I'm having fun right?" 

This Is A Serious Post...

Noooot. Hello. Last night was Friday, I'm sitting here with a HO (hangover), and I ended my night with Cheeburger Cheeburger loaded fries. I.Have.Stories.

So my close friends know that when it's late in the night and I order a vodka water or a dirtay marti-nay I need to be cut off. When I know I need to hydrate but don't want to stop partying... I go for the vodka waters. When I'm hungry and not ready to leave the bar, I order the Dirty Martini so I can eat the olives. Just call me a professional drinker. Anywho, last night I start out the night with a dirty martini which makes me think there's no way I can wake up with a HO since I'm starting the night rather than ending the night with the dirtay martinay. LIES.

The guys were traveling in packs last night. Multiple herds of bros yet my roommate and I were just chillin at the bar not talking to any of them. One brave soul approached us and opened up with  "well you two look like you've been having loads of fun for the last hour or so." Red flag. Red flag! I'm not concerned with the fact that I look miserable... I'm concerned with the fact that thiiiss is his pick up line.  But since I can't pretend to be interested in the basketball game anymore I decide to talk to him.

Long story short, El Suave had convinced us to move locations in the bar so that we're closer to his pack 'o' bros. The first guy approaches and I hear "I own a company, and houses and apartments (blah blah blah I'm bored) and my dog commutes back and forth with me in a purse." WUT? Did that just happen?? Got my attention there and definitely don't want to talk to youuu anymore.

Incoming bro #2! His personality is similar to Michael from That 70's Show mixed with the back woods of West Virginia. AKA not all that smart. "Oh Iowa? That capital is Dessss Moin-esss right?" Well um. No, that's not how the English language works but at least he knows his capitals so I'll let that one slide. Fast forward the conversation to when my roommate death grips my arm and is hysterically laughing. "He thought Seeee-ox City was the capital until he found out it was in South Dakota!" Maybe it's the liquor at this point or just my general state of being but I'm confused. "See-ox City. Ya know... SIOUX CITY!" HAAAA. Time to exit stage left and salvage the night with some loaded fries  from my favorite late night establishment, Cheeburger Cheeburger.

I made the mistake of not using any adjectives in the name of my blog. More Bros might have been a bit too vague.

When You Said Topical I Thought You Were Talking About Ointment

And that's how my brain works. There's everything that's happening in the real world ... and then there's my world. It's only natural that when somebody says that his statement is "relevant and topical," I think of an ointment. The fact that my blog title has a comma and a period after bros also sums up my life. It's unsure... it's awkward... but I like it.

So you know how people can midlife crisis multiple times? Well at least my dad did but his was like deja vu. He got a tattoo and a motorcycle. A few years later he went for the repeat. Got a bigger bike and added to his tattoo. I guess I followed in my dad's footsteps, only I went for the quarterlife crisis. My first go around I decided I needed to move to New York. Overall a pretty spectacular decision. I think I'm quarterlifing again but I decided... to blog. Whooooa. WILD. Problem with this decision is I thiiiiink that blogging was cool a solid 10 years ago but I've never been one to claim that I'm part of the trendsetters group but I do plan on heading the Bring Back Blogging movement.

I'm a 4'9 girl that was apparently not born with a filter on my mouth. I wasn't actually born 4'9 obviously... but I reached that height at 13 and apparently decided that's as tall as I wanted to go. With that said how could somebody that tall (or short depending on if you're a glass half empty type of bro) go through life and not have entertaining stories to go along with it? I actually think the small stature and lack of filter go hand in hand. Nobody wants to get mad at a short girl. I'm the same size as most children....in fact there's a good portion that are taller than me.

Since I hit that glorious age of 21 and could finally get into the bars, I've experienced things most people haven't. It's that terrifying feeling where one minute your feet are firmly planted on the ground and the next thing you know... you're floating in the air. I'm not referencing the fact that I fall all the time (signature drunk move - deserves a post of its own) but the fact that bros take the term "picking up a girl" literally. I've become an expert in weighing my body down and the "help me" move. The "help me" move consists of the look of sheer terror and the outreached hand to closest friend and depending on the moment, a possible mouthed "help meeee."This is just one small struggle. I have many... and they're all entertaining.

It's Friday and all I can think about is how my life needs more beer, more bros, and moooore blogging!