Freaks of the Mag Mile

My family has had an apartment in downtown Chicago for my entire life, and I'm living up in Chicago all summer for work.  I would not consider myself touristy in any way shape or form. Therefore, I tend to avoid a certain Chicago tourist hellhole like it is the Bubonic plague. Not to mention in the summer, the only season where it is socially acceptable to vacation in Chicago. This land of awkward posed photos is known as Michigan Avenue aka the Magnificent Mile. I mean the shopping is great, but I consistently fail to see what is so magnificent about hoards of obese people taking pictures of their toenails in front of a Walgreens.

However, the gym I joined while living in the city is located on Michigan, and taking an other street is a ridiculous waste of my time. So needless to say, on my daily walk to the gym I am greeted to all the confused tourists/ homegrown freaks the Windy City has to offer. I got the great idea (when I was trying to avoid working out) to take pictures of some of these gems. Please note these pictures were all taken in a two day period, this is not a compilation of a month of weirdos. They're out there everyday people .



Little Betches with Dolls 
I could make another blog entirely out of this category, because Chicago is the undisputed home of the mini betch carrying a $150 American Girl Doll everywhere she goes. Restaurants, the bathroom, the beach, they must be carried along like creepy, plastic babies. I'm pretty confident Europeans come to Chicago and think this is a crazy, Stepford Wives, city where we believe dolls are alive and need constant attention.

This girl sat clutching her plastic best friend in front of Water Tower for like 30 minutes, no parents in sight and looking serious as hell. I don't know if there was a Mulan/ "Reflection" like musical number happening inside her head, or if she was contemplating drowning herself Hamlet- style because her mom refused to buy her the Victorian era doll accessories.

I don't know what I like more about this, the casual naked doll or the mom's jumpsuit. I also like that this isn't an American Girl. I hope this girl never conforms to the mainstream, I hope she grows up to wear jumpsuits and continues to stick it to the proverbial man.

Old Dudes Relaxing in Front of Ralph Lauren
Ralph Lauren is arguably on one of the busiest street corners on Michigan, or as men over 50 see it, a casual place to just do them.

Perfect time to read a magazine in a back brace on a small fence. So serene.

Leaning on Ralph Lauren, drinking a strawberry milkshake, haters gonna hate.



Overly Creative Vagrants 
Michigan Avenue is the home to the best pan handlers the city has to offer. I don't know if it's the stiff competition or they just like to step it up, but these hobos really put their heart into it.

This guy. His sign said that he needed money for breast implants. I still can't decide if this guy is really homeless or just like a witty, dirty hipster.

This guy stopped begging to answer what I'm going to assume is a business call. He is also wearing a kilt. Maybe he is an impotent Scottish doctor like Trey MacDougal on Sex in the City.



Touristy Tourists 

Snapped this as his wife was trying to figure out how to operate a camera (top right, big button, it's been like that since the 50s). This is definitely cover photo material bro.

Tourists holding up Michigan Avenue traffic to ask a cab driver where Michigan Avenue is.

Tourists love this guy. He's by Water Tower like everyday and a line literally forms to snap photos with him. What the what? Chicago isn't even the home of Hershey's , or have the biggest store? And he looks like a robot teardrop.

C'mon Guys
Chicagoans who look stupid. 

I walked behind this guy for like six blocks. He never once set down this dog. His mustache continued to look just as awesome throughout the experience.

Cops who roam around Water Tower. Everyone can rest easy knowing we are safe from the expected cavalry attack by the Redcoats.

They only two people I saw leave Tiffany's all day. I have no idea where they are headed at 3:30 pm, but apparently it is black tie.

Emma Explores Holy Matrimony

This weekend I went to a wedding. I know this shocking to some of you, because I am so anti- marriage. Sorry I'm not sorry for opposing the last form of legal slavery. And by that bold statement, I actually mean that no one in their right mind would willingly sign up to hang out out with me forever. It would involve 50 plus years of drinking, watching Keeping Up With the Kardashians, and sometimes a lovely combination of the two. The only circumstance where I see marriage really happening for me is if I am paid large sums of money to act as some fabulously rich closeted gay man's wife/ beard, which I am totally down with. (Seriously call me if you want my services, we can buy a yacht and eat expensive salads together until we both die in a horrific Pilates accident)

So the wedding I went to was my grandparents' neighbor's daughter. She babysat me a couple times  when I was like 5, and sometimes I went jet skiing with her younger brothers who are like 25 now.  So clearly, I already have a strong emotional connection to this new couple's love and happiness. However, I do have a strong and beautiful connection to the idea of an open bar. If you are going to be all annoyingly in love and make me write about finding "the one" in a Hallmark card, I'm going to walk around carrying three drinks and my shoes off all night.  The people that threw the wedding were super wealthy, so clearly I was prepared for free things. There was giant white, air-conditioned tents set up looking at the lake, a make you're own ice cream sundae bar, gorgeous lanterns and decorations, a live band plus a DJ, and three separate bars. Game on wedding, game on.

After 3 pre-dinner cocktails,  I have to sit down and listen to speeches about how in love these two people are and I have to watch them dance in, all cute and happy and junk. This reminds me that I am about as single and pathetic as Jennifer Aniston right now, and then I remember that even she has some random dude who is like banker or something. I decide champagne is a good idea. At dinner, I have to listen to a 30 minute long speech from my Grandma Cyndi (who is roughly 2 bottles of Veuve Clicquot deep at this point) about how I need to find a man from the Chicagoland area and marry him immediately. When I let her in on the fact that I want to get a job and be a human, she laughs in my face and tells me to stop biting my nails. She ends the conversation by telling me if I have kids and move to California like her friend Sarah's daughter, "she won't love those ridiculous children" . She then told me "some Sicilian bitch" two tables over wasn't being friendly enough to her, so she needed to get more champagne. I decide I need two more cosmos.

I cruised the wedding with my cool Aunt Heidi, just straight crushing it and judging the bride's weird high school friends who showed up dressed like hookers. I then ran into the bride's brothers, my jet skiing buddies from back the day. They are both so hammered they can barely stand, and had just finished humping the dance floor during the band's rendition of the Lionel Ritchie classic "All Night Long."  One of the drunk brothers decided he was magically Michael Fassbender and started hitting on me in front of my uncle (I respect his enthusiasm). A highlight was when smoothly dropped the line that his family got my high school graduation announcement, and he jacked off to my senior pictures for a month. I finally know what it's like to feel like the prettiest girl at the dance. This is clearly the Prince Charming I've been waiting for.

                                                     ^ Me and my broha getting diggity down

After this encounter , I head back to the bar where I have developed a cute little friendship with my favorite bartender. He kept making me fun new concoctions, which seemed like creative combinations of Grey Goose and roofie. After taking tequila shots with the parents of the groom, I hit the dance floor.  I found a five year old child who was literally killing it all night. She was getting low to every song, all while rocking cranberry juice in hand. I tried to steal her at the end of the evening because I'm convinced she's my daughter. At this point, I was grabbing random drinks off tables and ballroom dancing with my uncle.

                                      ^ Me and my partner in crime, her favorite moves included the high kick, the ass slap, and the sexy hair whip.

I head to the bathrooms and resist to urge the vomit, it's still undecided whether it was from alcohol or all the stupid love stuff being thrown in my face. I head back out to the floor, and I see the bride and groom acting all adorable. Drunk Emma decides she's above all this nonsense, visibly rolls her eyes at them, and heads to the ice cream bar to pour Bailey's all over her sundae.

Long story short, I ended the night dancing to Luke Bryant,  barefoot with all the bridesmaids and the toddler who loved to party. My uncle eventually threw me over his shoulder and into the car.

                                    ^ How I ended the magical evening of love and happiness


The moral of the story is don't invite me to important, high class events and also offer open bar. Also, don't offer open bar and then surround me with a love so sickening I want to drink myself to death. Also, don't close the open bar before I leave, because I will get mad and grab a bottle of Grey Goose off the bar to drink/ use as a microphone when Katy Perry comes on.

Kathen

Speaking of my band of crazy pseudo- children, there is one in particular that I should introduce. I am writing this now, so that in 30 years when she attempts to  destroy human civilization using only wealth and stripper glitter, scientists can read this blog and discover a way to destroy her. (I would suggest robots that look like Hello Kitty, but actually shoot lasers and knives out of their eyes)

Her name is Kathen and she is four years old.  She is also the definition of a betch. I am 64% percent sure she secretly writes betcheslovethis.com when her family is sleeping. Her hair always looks like she just woke from a night of binge drinking, and she will most likely bite you the first time she meets you. She talks with a weird accent because she hasn't been talking for that long. Doctors and her parents were worried something was wrong with her, because by two she still wasn't speaking. Turns out she was fine, she just didn't feel like conforming. She made up her own language and made adults bend to her will by learning it. Socks were "gagas" and I was "uckies." We clearly had a special relationship since day one.  Until she was about three, every time I would try to pick her up she would say " Coco poopy", and smack me directly across the face. 

She loves anything, pink, Hello Kitty, sparkly, or involving princesses. Her favorite games are "Put Whore Eyeshadow All Over Emma's Face" or "Make Emma Paint My Nails Like a Degraded Servant."  She loves to dance, and if anyone within a 10 foot radius of her says the word "Hey" , she will finish the chorus of "Call Me Maybe" at a volume Carly Rae herself can hear all the way in Canada. At her last birthday party, she bitch-slapped her little friend and then pushed her out of the bouncy house, because she also showed up wearing a pink tutu. She's like those girls from Toddlers and Tiaras, if one of those girls shared DNA with Tyra Banks and a drugged Paula Abdul, and also did a lot of speed.  Clearly, she is my favorite cousin.

I will admit I take some of the blame of her Paris Hilton circa 2006 personality. I have taught her thousands of bad habits, and instilled in her my hate of everything.  Whenever she is asked to do a chore she responds, " Sorryyy, baiiii" and throws up the peace sign.  I, however, will not take any responsibility for her releasing a sex tape at 17.

Things Kathen has said to me unprovoked: 

"You hair looks all frizzy and if you don't goes and fix it, boys will go and spit on you."

 "Why did you dress like an ucky boy? You look weird, and I don't like it at all. Girls will think you're a gross boy." (I was wearing a hoodie)

"Katy Perry is my best friend ever, but Katy Perry wouldn't like you. Not a bit"

"I hope my 'Merican Girl isn't fat. That would be bad."

"You are pretty, but you would have more friends if you wore eyeshadow"

"I want a salad for dinner. And if you put carrots in it, you are poopy and I will jump off this counter and die."

"I will bite your eye out of your face if you don't wake up."

At a recent family party, she had one of her classic Kardashian- style, drunk on reality t.v. , meltdowns. Her father decided it was a swell idea to release her family's pet turtle, "Tito" into the wild and let the kids watch. The minute Tito hit the road, Kathen erupted into tears. She screamed "TIIIITTTOOOOOOOO" over and over again, like she had just lost her transgender stepchild in a Lifetime movie. When her mom came over to console , she screeched at her mother to "Get away and shush her mommy mouth."

                                             ^a picture taken soon after Tito's release

Three Rice Krispies Treats later, Kathen's heart was healed. She then overheard my brother teasing me for not wanting to go ride a jet ski alone. I told her I was scared of crashing it. Her response was as follows:

" Yous is a big fraidy cat Emma! Member, big girls don't cry, big girls don't cry!"

After that inspiring Fergie quote, I brought up the inconvenient fact that she had been sobbing 20 minutes ago.

"Yous are a big girl, you are in college. I'm only four. You have to brave, I can still hit people whenever I'm sad."

Truer words have never been spoken.

Raging with Toddlers

You know those hot summer days when your friends make wicked awesome plans? Like someone with divorced parents invites you to their cool lakehouse when their dad isn't there? Or everybody wants to go up the city and tan on North Ave? It's days like this where my clan of pale suburban folk contractually binds me to an event known as "the family party".

Whether its a 1-year-old's birthday they won't remember, some obsolete holiday like Memorial Day, or just no reason at all, my family forces me into these noisy, sweaty gatherings. Don't get me wrong, I love the majority of my family. And I know some of you weirdos are reading this right now saying,

"What? Golly gee! I love my family parties! We all go boating and me and my cool older cousins drink wine coolers and talk about college, or we all sit in our garage eating Italian beef and swapping crazy high school stories. Family parties are just the bees' knees!"

And I feel you, family- loving kid who talks like you're from the 50s, for some people family parties are the best. But unfortunately for me, they are filled with awkward small talk and unpaid babysitting. This is because my father's sperm met my mother's egg at a very inconvenient time for me. They are both the oldest child in their family, and I am their first kid. And their siblings didn't start having kids until I was past my fun, youngster years. So you know that cool, older cousin who talks about booze and plays hip music? Yeah, that's me. Me and brother are the ones responsible for making sure all the other little muchkins are having a bitchin' time. My closest cousin in age is about 10 years old, and after that there's a flock of little ones. I am too old to play "Run Around like Meth Addicts and Tag Each other Haphazardly" with the pants pooping crowd, and am apparently too young and insignificant to be worthy of anything more than small talk with the adults(except for when my Grandma Cyndi gets drunk on champagne at 11 a.m.). If one more random relative ask if my first year of college was fun (duh, how original), I'm going to take these baby quiches and salmon patties and shove them down your middle aged throat.

Not to mention nearly all my cousins are boys, so when they are picking who they want to play Star Wars with, my younger brother wins out. Suddenly, I am the fat kid at camp wearing board shorts and a white tee while everyone else is swimming in bikinis.  (Which by the way, why won't they just let me be Queen Amidala?! There are female characters, you ignorant little assholes)

So on this humid as hell Father's Day weekend , while enjoying a family party yourself, just know I stand with you. I will be suffering too, being sexually assaulted by my baby cousin's toothless,wet mouth. Perhaps I will be hiding in a bathroom, checking Twitter for 30 minutes and faking indigestion.  And if you are one of the lucky ones, who is enjoying a great weekend on the lake with their older cousins who are in bands and take European back-packing trips, be grateful. I will be changing swim diapers, ingesting large amounts of Jewel cookie cake, and listening to my old relatives talk about their lactose intolerance and new medication.

                                       ^what I end up doing a family gatherings, Instagraming pics of me and my 7- year -old cousin after consuming mass amounts of guacamole

Da Homiez

I've been asked to do a post about the friends I've met during my first year of college by my one and only reader (who is probably a chubby 13 year old somewhere in Iowa). And to answer your question, I have none. My best friend is me, but I guess I can dedicate a post to people I bribe for company with booze, cab rides, pizza, and body heat. (All names have been changed so their actual friends won't know they talk to me)

I was going to keep this posted limited to friends who are allegedly female, but I realized I would not be painting a full picture without including my two favorite manfriends.

Sauce
If I was to magically gain a ferocious widow's peak, an ethnically ambiguous complexion, and male reproductive organs, I would be Sauce. I am the female version of him, or he is the male version of me (I'm not sure which is less disturbing). We both have an affinity for interrupting public events by dougie-ing, sex in the lounge, not studying, making fun of the less fortunate, and drinking at inappropriate times. I also enjoy telling people Sauce is a different race every time I introduce him, examples include: Hispanic, Native American, and Inuit. He also fell down an entire flight of stairs holding a plate of wings.

Buck 
I actually have never met anyone less like me than Buck. He is quiet, reserved, responsible, hardworking, and nice to everybody. Some would call that boring, I also call that boring. However when you are living life running around like a drunk toddler on crack, it's nice to have someone who will throw you over their shoulder and drag you out of a party gone wrong. He is actually one of the funniest people you will ever meet, once you wait the 3.5 years for him to warm up. Buck has watched the Justin Bieber movie multiple times, thinks his life should be like Community, and is made instantly uncomfortable by the mention of nudity, homosexuality and dirty sheets. And sorry ladies, he's taken.


Now to the ladies...

Mrs. G 
Mrs. G is a fellow Midwestern girl. She experienced a prolonged awkward/chubby stage in grade school, which was swiftly followed by a chronic fear of food poisoning stage. She has now overcome these obstacles to blossom into the successful, blonde bombshell teen she is today. She is the only friend I have who watches as much SNL as I do, and she is also the only person I know who blacks out drunk and then watches The Big Bang Theory alone in bed. In classic only child fashion, Mrs. G can take a small occurrence and use Broadway level dramatics to either turn it into the funniest story ever, or the world's longest drunken crying hysteric fit performed by a cat magician. Her perfect night is a night wrapped in her Snuggie, watching Mad Men in a dark cave, with a Jimmy John's Italian Nightclub by her side. And good news boys, she's single.

Fish
Fish is my life partner. She has strong biceps that she cuddles me with, she is also as strong as the mighty Mississippi. She often matches her athletic shorts to her shoes and sports bras. Fish also is notorious for attending sorority events,  and then only being conscious for a total of 20 minutes. She doesn't judge me because I can't do simple math, and I often judge her for being too nice to random assholes. She's very athletic, and when she was younger her teachers often thought she was a victim of home violence due to her many bruises and injuries. She can be seen wearing yoga pants, a sexy backpack, and sitting creepily alone at Norbucks. She likes country music, being alone at parties, and Sargent. Also, don't try to sexually assault her for her smartphone on Sheridan, you will be sorely disappointed. (But you will gain a pretty bitchin' frog cell phone charm)

Elle 
You never really know someone until you live with them, and this beautifully describes my relationship with Elle.  We both embarked on a magical journey this year, and this journey was to figure out just how Britney-Spears-circa-2007-batshit-crazy we both are. Elle talks in her sleep, talks to herself, and talks to herself in her sleep. She needs to put her entire closet on the floor before she can decided on one outfit. She bleaches everything in our room when she's drunk, puts on Pride and Prejudice when she's having a breakdown,  and nothing makes her mad like someone else trying to DJ (She's going to play Kevin Little's "Turn Me On" twelve times and you're going to like it asshole). I've also discovered that she is a Mother Theresa-like angel, because she puts up with my equal level of insanity. She made it a whole year dealing with my nakedness, snoring, and horrible drag queen singing. And for that, I thank her.

Max
Max is a California girl , and by California girl I mean she never shuts up about California. Sean Penn lives in her basement and she has had sex with James Franco more than once. She cannot perform any task while in motion, she will halt an entire group in order to zip jacket or pull out her cell phone. She also cannot hold more than two things in her hand at one time, she will then stop and ask you to hold the other thing. By day she snorts kale and eats only grilled chicken and balsamic, but when the sun sets and the Cuervo hits her tongue, she transforms. She now wants to eat fried chicken and waffles and will allegedly pay you 2,000 dollars to order her a pizza with various meats. I know all these things because she is my best friend and, according to my mom, my lesbian lover. We are always together. Whether its writhing sexually on the floor to "Let Me Love You", seeing MIB 3 with me because I think Will Smith is the actor of our generation, or tag team vomiting in a Bobb bathroom (winter date night), Max is always by my side. And although this is out of character for me to say, but I will always be by her side. I will be there to buy her drinks at the Keg so she can promptly dump them on herself, I will be there draw attention away from her Peanuts- style dancing, but I will not be there when she's running. I'm sorry but I can't back that up and run with her, it's just not happening .

If you weren't mentioned in this it's probably because I think too highly of you to defame you on this blog, you're too much of a real person to humiliate, or I just don't like you.  Either way, you should be glad you're not mentioned.

                                        ^ how I snuggle my friendz

When your ex- boyfriend gets a new girlfriend...

And other things that make you wish Zuckerberg didn't get into Harvard. Facebook is a great invention for people for that have awesome lives, attend awesome concerts, buy awesome clothes, and have awesome families who take edgy portraits on vintage couches. This is because you (beautiful people) get to post cool things and accentuate just how swimmingly your existence is going.

However, if you're like me (and by that I mean if you eat fro-yo alone in athletic shorts and a bra while watching Arrested Development) Facebook is a constant reminder of how you are still a giant toddler whose life progresses in no way, and that you will never be cool enough to attend those concerts where people only wear bedazzled bras and suck on pacifiers. ( Are those soaked in drugs I don't understand? Or is it just a style thing? These are the questions that plague me)

At any given time when my life sucks, I am just a click away from being reminded about how well everyone I've ever encountered is doing. I am also a click away from countless tagged pictures of me where I look like one of the morbidly obese doll collectors on My Strange Addiction.  If Facebook could talk to me, this is what he would say.

 FB: Hey it's Facebook!  You're taking finals right now , right ?

Me: Yeah, Facebook. It's just really not a stellar week for me, Glee ended on a bad note, my new jean shorts fit my crotch weird, and my forehead looks larger than usual.

FB: Aw that sucks best friend! But guess what I can show you?! Remember you're long term ex- boyfriend? He's Facebook official with a new girl! Let's look at every picture she's ever taken!

Me: Idk , that sounds unhealthy. She looks like a gym type and has skinny arms, this seems like a dangerous journey to embark on.

FB: What else are you going to do? The mounds of work you have? Please. You're not going to paint your nails because you suck at it. We both now where this is heading, so pony up and get your stalk on.

*Two hours of high school graduation photos, couple Instagram photos with adorable captions, and playing the Phil Collins/ Tarzan classic "You'll Be in My Heart" on repeat later*

Facebook has now abandoned me in dark, terrifying place. My dumb ass is now telling Siri to remind me every day for the rest of my life to never sit down in shorts, because it makes my thighs look bigger than they actually are.

I have no solution to this problem. Zuckerberg is sitting pretty in a nerd castle somewhere laughing heartily. He knows people will never stop wanting to know how much their ex- boyfriend sucks now, and if the slut from your high school is actually working at Denny's.  

Tips When Naming Your Children

I'm sorry America, and excuse my language, but I am sick of this shit. Not only do I have to pretend your sticky- mouthed flesh sacks are adorable, but I'm expected to refer to them as Tracker Jacker and New Moon. Keep in mind new hipster parents, you are naming a person, not a Neopet. You cannot name your baby MistyCloud696969 and then ignore until it dies of starvation because you wasted all your money on the Rainbow Paintbrush. Actually, that's probably happened already somewhere in the South and child services is none the wiser.

The point I'm making is , is just because you do interpretive paintings of Beatles' songs and call that a profession does not mean your son won't want to be an investment banker. Odds are he will grow up, think you're batshit crazy, and curse you everyday of his life for naming him Corduroy. 

A few rules you can quickly pull up on your iPhone (or if you write NU security alerts, smartphone) after finishing labor :

Boys 
Congrats! You had a boy, now calm the hell down and control your crazy mother hormones. This is the easier naming of the situation of the two, but for some reason people still name babies Toby.


- Whatever you name your son, make sure it can be shortened to a short, declarative, adult, boardroom name. Jackson can be Jack, Benjamin is Ben, you get it. Or just sack up and name him something manly in the first place, James, Henry, Nate, Luke, Patrick, Adam. These are names for humans. 

-DO not name a son a dog's name. Just because they both like to get dirty and play with themselves does not mean boys and dogs are the same thing (shocker, I know).  Cooper, Max, Archer, Jasper, Ryder, Hunter should all be inscribed on collars, not on college degrees. 

- The letter "X" should be nowhere in your son's name. Also, stop ending boy's names with "C". It's Zack, not Zac. It doesn't make him different or beautiful in his own way, it just looks like you can't spell.

-No inanimate objects, clothing materials, or brand names. If you're name is Levi, River, or Khaki, come find me and I'll buy you lunch. You honestly just deserve it for making it this far. 

- No Toby, No Hugo. Just stop it already freaks.

- This is going to sound disturbing, but a good rule of thumb is this: Would you sleep with him? I know it's often hard to imagine taking your newborn infant home from a bar and getting weird, but do you want him to die alone watching Fraiser ? Go back in time and imagine you're in a club rocking out to Pat Bentar (Whitney Houston, 98 Degrees ? I have no idea what era new moms are from) and some attractive man approaches you named "         ", do you instantly decide he kills young girls in fields? Or is he worthwhile?

Girls
Congrats! You now have another being that will grow to be just as crazy and emotionally unstable as you. Just wait until the first time she doesn't have a homecoming date. Shit will hit the fan, maybe even literally.

- STOP NAMING YOUR DAUGHTERS ISABELLA AND THEN CALLING THEM BELLA BECAUSE YOU WANT HER TO HAVE SEX WITH VAMPIRES.

-Stop using the virtues, Faith , Hope, Chastity, etc. You're honestly just asking for it here. Name your daughter Chastity and you just insured she is having sex in the back of a Pathfinder during Shorewood Fest by the tender age of 16.

- Stop with the unnecessary "Y".  Everyone sounds dumb saying the letter "Y", it's like when slutty girls talk like everything is a question. Haley does not need to be spelled Hayleyyy. Also, it is not a requirement for all girls names to end in "Y".  Kelly ,Jenny , Haley, Bailey, Lily, Kaley,Ally, are just a few names that remind me of an over- eager 14-year-old member of the babysitters club when I look at you.

- Also, stop with the flowers. It's stupid. Why is everyone's middle name Rose? Do you push a baby out of your ladyparts and all middle name creativity goes out the window?

-All classy names end in "A", it's a solid standby if you just want to give this kid a name already. (Let's face it , she'll change it eventually when she either becomes a stripper or gets married) Julia, Rebecca, Laura, Cecila, and of course , Emma. These all can make even a trailer park beauty queen seem fancy (worked for me)

I feel like I've given you all a lot of guidelines that no one will follow because you're all hippies. So please, just give me a call immediately after you give birth and I will talk you off the proverbial Toby ledge .

Finals Week and Civil Disobedience

It's finals week here at Northwestern, mostly because this school was founded by Methodists. And as we all know Methodists often practice cruel, sadist torture on the 18 to 24 age demographic.

What's that you say? Methodists are simply harmless Protestant worshipers? I'm just bitter because I'm in the library trying to figure out what a study carrel is while my Pac Sun-wearing, state school -attending high school friends post Facebook albums named "sexi summer timez 2O12".

I don't care. I refuse to study for this English exam I have tomorrow. English is a dumb major for girls who ride hipster bicycles and wear Tory Burch to get on style blogs, all while under the pretense of attending law school later on (they usually just marry political science majors who actually attend law school).

I'm desperately waiting for the professional pictures to be sent out from my sorority's spring formal. If wanting to see artsy photographs of your friends enjoying a classic dance floor make-out is wrong, I don't want to be right. In this stressful time, I need something, I need a slideshow of inebriated barefoot dancing to bring meaning back to my life.

So I've taken a page from Ghandi and MLK, because this issue is just as pressing as civil rights. I refuse to study until my pictures are delivered to my email inbox. If this backfires, so be it. At least I took a stand, I gave a voice to the voiceless. Give me pictures of me dougie-ing alone in a corner holding two Long Islands , or give me death.

Hello Child Molesters!

Guys who sell their children on eBay, Craigslist prostitutes, moms on Facebook, and I'm pretty sure  those are the only people who still use the Internet.  This is my internet platform where I am hoping to gain the attention I pathologically seek due to some void in my childhood, also a boyfriend would be nice.

I am a journalism student at Northwestern University, I eat emotionally, and pick the polish off my nails  2 hours after I paint them. For these reasons and more, it's clear I will be single and homeless for the rest of my natural born life. You can find me typing this blog 20 years from now in a cardboard box with 10 cats all named after characters from Star Wars. My favorite will be a tabby named Jabba.

If you are going to continue to read the things I write about ( I'm going to be honest, just stop now.  It's going to get depressing) you should know I have a few very apparent biases. You were warned.


Biases

I am biased towards blonde females. Let's be honest ladies, there's a war going on and we're winning. Male humans just have a thing about blondes. They definitely don't respect us as much, but I'm pretty sure I could put on 300 pounds and as long as I still had light blonde hair/ accessible genitalia a male would want to have the intercourse with me. I think it has something to do with porn, or Marilyn Monroe ?  I'll get back to you.

I am biased towards the Midwest/ Chicago. I'm sorry I'm not from California and was not birthed underwater while growing up on a steady diet of quinoa and kale, but I'm still hip. I'm sorry I'm not from the East Coast, and didn't go to prep school while simultaneously being groomed for a career in finance/ dousche- baggery.  I still think Ugg boots are stylish, my favorite food group is porkchops, Disney World is an exotic tropical escape, and I crushed it in teenage beauty pageants.

I am biased towards 30 Rock, Tina Fey, SNL, Amy Poehler, Mindy Kahling, Rachel Dratch, and basically anyone who is funny, but still smart enough to write a book.  I would totally go lesbian for Tina Fey. As long as I never actually had to do anything lesbian, and we just got to hang out like pals until I died from a cat eating my face.

I am biased towards cats. Cat memes, cat .gifs, cat sweaters, clothes made for cats, posters featuring cats etc.

I am biased towards nerdy pre-pubescent boy things. Star Wars, Marvel superheroes, roller coasters, Batman, Nerf guns, Indiana Jones, Men in Black, Mario Kart, and football. Clearly originating from another void in my childhood.Seeking male relatives approval?

I am biased towards drinking, dancing and having fun with friends. I think Yeah! by Usher is the song of our generation. Dynamite by Taio Cruz is a close second .

I am biased towards horrible music.

I am biased towards sororities, Benefit cosmetics, and Panera Bread.

There's probably 123,969 more, but you're just going to have to figure that out on your own and be offended.