Author: knwolf

Game is something I don’t have. My friends over the years have given the usual advice: Don’t always be the first person to text. Don’t tell them you like them until they tell you first. Don’t always be available all the time. Say you’re busy. I always take this advice in …and then completely ignore it, which is probably why I’ve been ghosted like 2,009 times. 

I’m just at this age where I’m too busy doing cool shit to have the energy to be anything more thought out than who I actually am. 

If that’s coming on too strong, talking about unpopular subjects, being over enthusiastic or even the exact opposite at times, that’s just me. Sorry bout it. 

The thing about games is you can’t play them forever. Like how long do you keep it up for? When is it finally appropriate to be like, look, I know I’ve been playing it cool and ignoring the fact that you don’t know how to recycle glass, but my medical record states “neurotic,” the strongest feeling I have towards children is indifference, and I smoke methol cigarettes everytime I have more than 2 glasses of wine. Take it or leave it, fuck boy. 

I just feel like there is this conflicting message out there for young women that you need to “be yourself,” while also catering to a timeline that makes your  partner more comfortable, that makes you more appealing, less needy. Be yourself girl… but be a little less available next Tuesday, it makes you look codependent.  Guys hattttteee that. Also consider highlights.

I blame magazines mostly. My desire to be a “professional” writer  died  when I read a Cosmo article that featured the tragedy of bulimia, one girls survival story, and then the next page recommended that if you really want a guy to like you, you have to please him sexually all the time, and don’t forget to rub icecubes on your nipples and tie a ponytail holder around his shaft. Like, what the hell guys? American journalism at is fineist. They didn’t even site their sources, like, it’s not as if Roger from Sacramento was quoted, “yeah, my lady tied up my genitals like a messy bun and I was wicked aroused!” I think that idea was just a wild hair up someone’s ass and a severe lack of editing.

So what?! I say if you are free next Tuesday and you have a love interest, ask them to hang out if you want to. If you’re thinking about them, send them a text. Do exactly what you want whenever the frigging heck you want, and if you don’t get a positive response back, that person is maybe just less dope than you originally thought. 

This is coming from someone who romanticizes everything, so I get it. It sucks when the cute, indie  bartender doesn’t respond to your friend request, but I have never been happier being and saying whatever I want, and being 100% authentic instead of fretting over every text message in a “I should have, could have” fashion. 

Sometimes I say weird shit. Let’s roll with it. 

Anyway this PSA wasn’t really sparked by anything in particular, I’m just thinking about stuff I used to stress about that I feel a lot better not stressing about and thought it might be helpful to share.

As a side note, probably don’t share your medical records.

I can’t navigate a fucking grocery store.

Mostly because I can’t plan my route effectively and end up walking around 3 miles back and forth between the health food section, the non-health food section, and then always somehow the auto body parts and paint section. “I was just trying to find a plastic bin,” I explain to the paint mixer as I’m sitting cross-legged on Aisle 53 tangled in the bungee cords I was testing for stretchability.

I don’t believe in Fitbits, because I have enough things to make me feel bad about myself than tracking my calories, but if I did, that shit would be blowing up on Sunday afternoons when I do my weekly shopping.

Hot people, what are you doing at Fred Meyer? I’m not interested in doing anything about you, you just make me feel shitty about wearing a beanie and no underwear. There is nothing worse than showing up to a crowded supermarket when your hungover as shit, because you don’t get paid for 4 more days and can’t afford take out, and the produce aisle is full of attractive couples, holding hands and making you feel shitty about your life decisions.

Last time I was at Freddie’s, I went to grab my grocery list from my purse, (which I don’t even know why I bring because I only eat turkey lunch meat and eggs on this stupid diet) and I ended up pulling out a pair of my own Victoria Secret low-rise hipster boy shorts. Of course, of course I would come to the store, during the most popular time of the day, when all the hot people are here, and pull my underwear out of my purse, in the produce section, and then drop them in front of the potato stock guy. Maybe he saw this as a sexual gesture, like dropping a hanky, maybe I passed for a college sophomore who was having an extended walk of shame. I’ll never know what he thought, because we looked at each other, and I bent down and grabbed them, coughed a chunky I’m-getting-over-a-cold cough, and ran away. I really need to stop stuffing my laundry anywhere and everywhere.

Also, I don’t know about you guys, but Self-checkout stresses me the fuck out. Something bad always happens. The bag is either not in the check out area, or it is and it isn’t supposed to be, and people have to watch the epic battle of woman vs machine for 20 minutes before I can get a receipt. I’ve never felt more helpless than when I have to find my produce code while a line of 5 people watch me sweat, and wonder if my dress is on backwards. News flash dick bags: It is  on backwards, and  do you want to know another thing?! These aren’t generic almonds. They’re tamari almonds that cost $11 a pound but I’m ringing them up as bulk, non-organic almonds , and the reason I’m sweating so much is I’m nervous about getting caught, so you can all suck it and WAIT IN LINE.

After I’ve walked a half-marathon, and got through the final video game boss of a payment system, I am faced with the ultimate choice. DO. I. PUT. MY. CART. AWAY. There are some catalysts here to consider: Is it raining? Would anyone see you if you were to leave it to the side? How far away are you parked from the cart return? Are you shopping alone? Do you feel like you’re going to puke?

Mostly I try to be an upright citizen and put my cart in the little metal corral. But sometimes…..sometimesssss. I don’t. There you have it, a proper confession.  I get in my giant, gas-guzzling SUV, leave my cart in the parking lot, and head home with 1 pair of underwear, 4 bungee cords, one of those $10 for 3 bottle of wine deals, turkey lunch meat, no produce what-so-ever, and a shit ton of tamari almonds.

 

 

Well friends, here we are again. After years of waking up hungover, with the voice of a 60-year-old school bus driver, I still solomnly swear each time that I will never drink or smoke cigarettes again.

I am getting too old for this shit. Something has got to give before I start looking like the corpse of current Mic Jagger. (Mic Jagger hasn’t officially died yet has he? So many people have thrown in the towel in 2016 it’s hard to keep track)

Not only did my metabolism grow wings and flap off towards the sunset when I turned 25, but I also lost my ability to only be hungover for one day.

Harry Potter got to be told that he was king of the Wizards on his birthday, and I woke up vomiting Velveeta Shells.

The funny thing is is, we all know what to do to avoid a hangover by now. I’ve been stealing my dads hard liquor, and refilling the bottles with tap water for over 10 years now. This isn’t my first rodeo.

So why? Why is this happening to me? Why am I curled up in the fetal position with my shirt on inside out, surrounded by Taco Bell hot sauce packets?

Obviously, I don’t feel like I’m to blame here. So I’m going to list all the things you are supposed to do in order to prevent this sort of thing from happening, and expose the cracks in the system:

1. Stay hydrated Have a glass of water between drinks. 

Okay, I can see why this should be an easy rule to follow because water is free, and my general rule of thumb is that if something is free, than do it and/or drink it. However, the thing about water is, your bartender isn’t going to come up to your table and be like, “Oh Miss Wolf, can I interest you in another glass of plain ass water?” No way. They make you get up and find that shit yourself, and I simply don’t have the time between cigarettes and shit-talking strangers to get up and look for it. Especially not when I have a vodka grapefruit in hand that looks thirst-quenching. The tonic water in my cocktails should also totally count for something. And while I’m on this rant, I want to be called Miss Wolf more often.

2. Don’t drink on an empty stomach.

The thing about this piece of advice is you never realize you haven’t eaten anything all day until your throwing up chunk-less red liquid at 2 a.m. (Yes, it does look like blood, and yes it is kinda cool). I’m a gal on the go, and don’t always have time to make a 30 minute dinner for one. (Yes, one. Get off my dick about it). Sometimes, I just skip dinner and go straight to my pre-bed, or “night time” wine. I can’t be bothered to boil pasta noodles, but you best believe I can fit in 20 minutes to polish off a bottle of $9 Cabernet and write a short novel in my journal about life’s futility.

3. Liquor before beer, you’re in the clear.

Whoever made this up, obviously had never experienced tequila. When you are 3 Patron shots down because someone mistakenly invited you to a 21st birthday party and you want to prove that you are still a care-free person, you are NEVER EVER IN THE CLEAR. Some people say that tequila makes your clothes come off. I think it turns people into the worst version of themselves. Slutty people get sluttier, angry bros start fights with other angry bros, and socially awkward people end up crying in a corner with a purse full of stolen refrigerator magnets. (Yours truly).

You can see now that being responsible with alcohol is a much harder task  than people make it out to be. So maybe be a little less judgmental when you see someone ordering a food cart burrito with smeared eyeliner, or puking in the conference room trash can. Just because some of us have been drinking legally for years, doesn’t mean the peer-pressure jello shots and clear lack of better judgement can’t still get us down.

Tune in next week to see if I can finally get my shit together!

XOXO – The Weekday Hangover

 

 

  This is how it’s done:

 I was trying to take another picture of my roommate’s cat today, and didn’t have any more phone storage, so I went through and deleted all my text messages. I had some all the way from 2013. 

Naturally, I found a lot of texts to random numbers from Tinder fellas.

I always respond to boys giving me their number with a calculated finesse, and always a dose of flirt for good measure. Notice the winky face above. 

I noticed this one never got a response….