Tag Archives: holidays

I need a new bendy straw.

27 Dec

I’m one of those people that constantly needs to be doing something to maintain any semblance of sanity. Since school let out and the holidays are over, these last two days have been hell.

Not to mention my younger sister is officially engaged and my older sister will be within the next week.

Meanwhile, I’ve sent out four applications to doctoral programs on all four corners of the United States so as to get away from everyone I possibly could know.

And my left eye hasn’t stopped twitching since November.

At any rate, I’ve been working extremely hard to get something together so I can feel like I’m being productive. Teaching part-time at two institutions (which ends up being full-time) while working as a program assistant and being a full-time graduate student has me in the mindset to where if I’m doing nothing, I go crazy. Which, to be completely honest, is why I date. It’s a distraction and something to keep me occupied.

I deleted my online dating profile after receiving a message from a former student, saying he was totally intrigued by my profile and wanted to get to know me better. He didn’t realize I was the teacher who failed him.

I’m back to dating in the real world.

I had a really great date with Beard guy, but he kind of face-raped me while we were at a bar. 1) I don’t kiss in bars. 2) I don’t kiss in public. 3) I don’t like being face-raped. 4) I don’t do well with guys that are overtly complimentary. 5) I don’t do well with guys that are insanely insecure and continuously ask why I like him. Dude, put your vajay away. Needless to say, I haven’t seen him since.

Although things with Team Jacob were going pretty well, he has this weird complex that I find incredibly annoying. There’s a fine balance to be struck, and he’s on the side of awkward enough for me to be attracted to, but almost too awkward to pursue anything with me.

Finally realizing that completing my applications to doctoral programs would be the best use of my spare time rather than making something “work” with some guy temporarily because I’d be leaving in a few months anyway, I have the boys on hold.

So after sending out my final applications and scrolling through the engagement/marriage/baby feed of my Facebook, I decided to celebrate/mourn/cope with a jug of sangria. It’s the cheap kind, so I mix it with schnapps. Twice the alcohol content and a significantly better flavor.

According to the history of my browser, the following are Google searches of this endeavor:

  • Exercise while drunk
  • How to properly shave a cat
  • Life size Barbie
  • Colorado prostitution laws
  • I think my cat is trying to kill me
  • How to tell if you have a brain tumor

–AM.

Avabot 9000: the consequence.

24 Dec

When I really, really need to focus, I like to pretend I’m a cyborg. In my mind, laser beams shoot from my eyes that evaluate my surroundings that determine, mathematically, the probability that I will crash into something, or the impending doom that awaits me if I choose a certain route. So far in the twenty-three years of my life, this tactic has kept me safe, but most importantly, incredibly entertained.

The cyborg feature of my imagination comes in most handy when I’m driving in inclement weather. The laser beams shoot from my eye sockets and check the road conditions as I’m driving. (Black ice — function: eliminate acceleration. activate blind scientific faith. jesus, take the wheel, por favor.) I haven’t had any issues or malfunctions.

As with everything in life that comes in handy, especially when trying to determine the possibility of allowing a gentleman suitor to escort me home (evaluate: popped collar, etnies, gum chomp. determination: major bro. likelihood of venereal disease acquisition: imminent. recommendation: accept vehicular transport. feign illness. coital denial imperative) the robotic feature to my demeanor has also helped in situations of absolute unpleasantness. 

In general, I’m a fan of the holidays. Food, gifts, family, and all the shit that comes along with it is for the most part enjoyable. This year? I’ve put serious consideration into taking up alcoholism as a New Year’s resolution.

2013 will be the Year of the Drunk. Check your Chinese calendar and look out, folks. Shit ’bout to get real.

I’ve also become considerably more hood since I started dating Team Jacob. He gets his name because he looks like Taylor Lautner in the first installment of Twilight. He’s been asking me out for the last year and a half, and I’ve finally taken him up on the offer and find him absolutely charming and adorable. Both of those qualities I hate, because they make me like him, and liking him goes against my robotic nature. He’s shaved his head since the dubbing of Team Jacob, but that’s his best identifier. And you know how I’m a fan of identifiers.

At any rate, this holiday season has really brought out the drunk ass mess that’s been locked up in me. My younger sister — three years my junior — is newly engaged. My older sister’s boyfriend, two days after the engagement of my younger sister, asked my father’s permission to marry my sister.

While I’m delighted that they both found happiness or whatever, I also kind of want to find myself in the bottom of a bottle of tequila. With the worm.

Nestled up next to its wrinkles.

Happiness.

This evening was a delightful celebration of the wondrous cheer and fruitful love that the holidays bring. My parents invited their best friends, their sons, and their sons’ wives to dinner. While we gathered in the kitchen, basking in the warm scent of roast and sipping the savory Merlot I brought, exchanging obligatory congratulations to the new engagements, my younger sister looks to me and says, “I’m sorry, Ava. This winter’s been rough for you, huh?”

“Yeah, it totes has. I cry myself to cleanliness in the shower while I’m clutching the empty bottle of tequila. If only I had a man in my life to pass me the limes while I curl up in the fetal position on the floor of the tub, scraping away the scales forming as a result of loneliness and desperation. P.S., I’m pregnant. And the baby could be one of four races.”

So I raised my glass, toasting to the local economic boost due to the increase in alcohol sales.

Six glasses of wine later, she gave me shit for not cleaning the dishes. My reply? “Yeah, sorry bro, I’m not training to be a housewife. That’s all you. And hey, can I get a refill on this glass? It’s almost empty.”

Fuck the holidays.

But in all seriousness, I was extremely grateful for Avabot 9000 at this particular junction in my life. He/she/it allowed me to keep a smile on my face with mechanical interaction to the guests.

Now, if only I could get Avabot 9000 to serve as a permanent stand-in to all family holiday parties. She can keep her shit together better than I can.

–AM.

P.S., I love the fact that I used “robots” as a tag in this blog post. I feel like I’d totally be okay if the world ended.

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