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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….

You can’t have everything you want at once. I found this out the hard way when I tried to eat a cheesy gordita crunch™ in a convertible with the top down. Life is full of lessons, like sacrifice. You either have to put the top up, or the taco down, but you can’t have both. Because if you try, you will end up turning onto the freeway, resulting in 80 mile per hour speeds, refried beans flying god knows where, and half of your hair in your mouth.

Sacrifice is the worst because you usually don’t get any sort of gratification after. Like when I decide to drink vodka sodas instead of piña coladas on my vacation and expect to wake up a smaller dress size after 3 days.

My good friend reminded me about this important virtue when I expressed that I want nothing more than to move to New York and write comedy for a living. She reminded me that although that goal is swell, and not too far-fetched, that I might actually have to do some writing.

Prove myself?! Fuck that! Can’t I get anything just by being cute and blonde anymore? I guess it worked better when I was 16 and still had my cheerleading body. Now I have a potato body, and people want to hire me for my talents, for which I have none.

So here’s the adulthood dilemma. Work hard for a long time with no light at the end of the tunnel, in hopes that when you finally get to where you have tried so hard to go, that when you get there, you don’t frigging hate it! My biggest fear is working my ass off to accomplish something and realizing what I’ve accomplished is a shit job, and I hate it. This concept of “wasted time” if you will.

But here’s the thing. We’ve probably already done this like 5 times already. Think about how you almost died getting through your college finals, only to end up working as a customer service representative at Enterprise Rental Car for the first 6 months after college. But then remember how you met your now best friend and roommate at that shit hole, and he introduced you to graphic design, and now your back in school on nights and weekends trying to get a different job, that’s more suited to your interests, and hopefully doesn’t suck as much as wearing a headset and sitting in a carpet covered cube all day.

It’s just a continual process to the eventual happiness I’ve heard everyone gets in their 30’s. (20 somethings, put down the razorblades, I’ve heard your 30’s are super cool.) Are razorblades even a cool way to kill yourself anymore, or is that so 2004? What’s hip these days, prescription drugs? Anyway the thing is, it’s not productive to think about the struggle, it’s all about the journeeeeeey man.

Some of my fondest memories come from times that I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, and was working way too hard doing shit I hated. I met all of my best friends while I was in college, and even though I went to school from 8-12 and worked from 12-8, I would hang out with them as much as possible, and find creative ways to fit my homework in. There are so many amazing people in my life I met working stepping-stone jobs. In fact, I’m still friends with someone I met at a job that I only worked at for 3 months.

And as much as I love being told what to do (Gentlemen call me, wink wink), and it would seem like such a relief to know the right path to take, sometimes you have to step forward onto a journey that you hypothesize will lead to a good thing. And while you are on that grind, try to make it as fun and as positive of an experience as you can. Reach out to people that seem dope, make friends, make plans when you can, pursue your interests on your free time, and don’t forget to drink wine. It really really helps.

Namaste.

 

Just in case any of you were wondering what online dating looks like….. 

 

I used to be really sheltered. And I for the most part, still am. I grew up in a small college town where people wave at each other and let each other go at 4 way stops, and people fucking merge, man. Like they let you in a lane when you need to get in. It was a glorious place to live. And this was my view of the world. I never involved myself in politics or watching the news because I knew it would make me angry or upset. I mean, I cry when I see those pop tart commercials where the pop tart is a little cartoon and gets eaten by another cartoon. BECAUSE I FEEL BAD FOR THE POP TART. 

So naturally I can’t handle real life. I just can’t hang.

Inevitably I became an adult and now I can’t avoid the terrible things going on around me as easily. People like to talk about whats going on around them or whatever. I would prefer to communicate via Fuck Jerry Gifs and videos of baby pigs eating apples but NO. We have to talk about GUN REGULATION and TERRORISM. ugh. I hate it. I really really do.

I understand it’s necessary to talk about, I just wish they didn’t even have to be subjects of discussion. Andy Warhol once said, “Everybody should like everybody.” Right?! Fuck you guys, just like do your own thing and believe what you want to believe in and if something makes you so angry you want to hurt someone or something, there is a Ben and Jerry’s down the street and so many cute puppy videos on Youtube. Handle your shit like it’s 2015. 

That’s what the internet is for. Like have you ever seen those videos that are like 10 minutes long and it’s just a series of different people falling down or hurting themselves? Or that one video that got 1 million views that was just a baby panda sneezing? Those people knew that we were going to be hearing about innocent people dying all day and it fucking sucks. It just fucking sucks, so they were like here you go. Here’s a little tiny turtle wearing a sombrero. Because, you need it.

(Apparently a photo of a tiny turtle with a sombrero only exists in my imagination and not on Google.)

So hang in there, pet animals, take deep breaths, be thankful for the luxuries in your life, hug your friends, call your grandparents and let people merge.

So for those of you that don’t know, pot is legal in Oregon now. I find this equally awesome because I don’t have to wait for my sketchy dealer to get off at Little Caesar’s to toke up. However, it also makes smoking pot less cool, because now your grandma can do it while knitting in her living room and your parents are accepting of it so you don’t have to hide it. Let’s face it, things are more fun when you have to hide them.

I had a boyfriend that snuck into my window and stayed the night for 2 straight years because I was 16 and wasn’t allowed to date boys. Having a secret relationship was so Romeo & Juliet, but once we hung out all the time because I was “old enough to be around the opposite sex” or whatever, we found out we hated each other’s guts and it wasn’t fun anymore.

I will argue that doing drugs works the same way. Legal things just aren’t as fun. Think about it. Scratch off tickets. Legal. Not very fun, Paying for parking. Legal. Not very fun. Being drunk in public. Fun. Not legal (In Oregon). Attending a back-alley petting zoo full of endangered species and exotic birds. Very fun. Not legal. Catch my drift?

The reason I’m bringing this up is because I awoke to a link posted on my Facebook wall that was video coverage of a news story from KGW8. The video showed a close up  of yours truly ordering “an ounce of OG Kush” from the pot store across the street from my house.

Those sons of bitches got me on camera buying weed.

Legally. Just waiting in line like the rest of the loser deadbeats, like can I get 1 weed please. I wish, I wish it was called like Cannabis #1 or something, but no, I said fucking OG Kush on television. If I am going to be on camera, I want it to either be because I’m at the Emmy’s, roasting someone famous, or getting arrested for urinating in public (because getting arrested is still very cool. Ask anyone that raps.)

The first thing I thought when I saw the video was shit, did I have to wear my Chiquita banana sweater to the weed store? I also thought, how long have I been this fat?! Like it is a recent thing, or has this been going on for some time and no one had the courtesy to let me know? My second thought was, damn, this is really going to affect my street cred negatively. Not to mention piss off Derick as soon as he gets off at Little Caesar’s and sees this.

So here’s a little advice for you guys that still want to smoke legal weed and be cool:

1. Pretend like it’s illegal and keep tallies on how long you can keep it from certain people that you smoke.
2. Don’t keep your weed out in the open. Hide it in prescription pill bottles, crown royal bags, and small wooden boxes.
3. Don’t smoke pot out of basic pipes, bongs and bubblers. If you want to be cool, smoke pot out of a crushed diet coke can with safety-pin sized holes poked in the top and/or an un-used piece of fruit. I’ve found apples work best, but get creative!

I hope my experience and advice can help prevent others from being publicly lame. Remember, don’t stop doing drugs, just do it in a way that is less mainstream.

XOXO,

The Weekday Hangover