The Three Bedroom, One Bathroom Death Trap with Working Fireplace and Hardwood Floors.

Evidently I’ve moved into some sort of slum without knowing it.

When my roommates and I first walked through our apartment we were blinded by its charming woodwork and working fireplace. We loved the location, it had plenty of space, and it had off street parking! I love old buildings, so I was smitten and absolutely had to live here.

I’m writing this post so I can look back on it next August when it’s time to move to a new place because I guarantee I’m going to fall head over heels for another old building and think that it’s a brilliant idea to move into a place that is falling apart around me.

This whole fiasco began on the day we moved in. The previous tenants didn’t clean at ALL after they moved out, so we were left with grime everywhere. They also left nails in the walls and peeling paint. How sweet of them to make it as shabby chic as possible, right? But I still loved all the pretty woodwork and the awesome fireplace.

Then our landlord informed us that he would be having the parking lot ripped out and repaved so we would have to park on the street (like peasants!) for two weeks. Again, just a minor annoyance that I was willing to get over for the sake of my cute apartment.

Then on Sunday morning whilst I was sleeping in after long night of drinking, I heard a loud crash in the dining room. Being the paranoid person that I am, I assumed someone had tied a death threat to a brick and thrown it through the window. But, being still drunk I decided to wander out and see what the heck all the commotion was. It turned out the light fixture in our dining room decided to spontaneously fall from the ceiling and smash into a million pieces. I have no idea how I managed to avoid getting broken glass in my bare feet, since I walked around the whole damn dining room (a drunk Kayla is a stupid Kayla) before realizing that I should probably go put shoes on. Luckily, Boyfriend helped me clean it up. And when I say he helped me, I mean that he really did everything and I just kind of wandered around and tried to make the Swiffer Wet Jet work. I don’t know why he puts up with me.

Upon closer inspection (I like to Sherlock Holmes the shit out of everything) I discovered that the fixture was being held on by nothing more than two rusty screws and some tape. Our upstairs neighbors like to stomp around like elephants and crank up the bass every weekend, so it was only a matter of time before SOMETHING fell. I’m just hoping the ceiling continues to hold up.

When I arrived home from work the next day the ceiling fan had been replaced, which was delightful but puzzling because I had yet to email him about it breaking. I’m going to hope that one of my roommates emailed him first because the only other way he could have known is if he had the place bugged. I’m so not willing to delve into THAT theory.

The cherry on top of this whole thing is that after I discovered the new fan, I also discovered that our toilet no longer flushed. Our indoor plumbing had been reduced to what amounts to a chamber pot.

I can handle shit falling from the ceiling, but DO NOT mess with my plumbing, sir!

I always have to try to fix things, even when I know NOTHING about how they work, so of course I had to open the toilet tank to see if I could tinker with it. Lo and behold, I discovered that the flusher was being operated by none other than a STRING and a PAPERCLIP.

I’m not exaggerating. That’s all there was to it. And the string had broken, leaving our flusher inoperable.

Being the MacGyver wannabe that I am, I immediately found a string and rigged it so we can flush and not have to live like heathens until this new little problem is fixed. Unfortnately, the string only works with the tank lid off so we now have the most ghetto looking toilet situation ever.

At this point, I’m just waiting for total catastrophe. What’s going to happen next? Will our windows fall out of their frames? Will our couch fall through the ceiling and into the basement? It’s like a fun guessing game except everyone loses. Except our landlord of course, he’s laughing all the way to the bank.

Oh, and now we have murderers in the basement. Probably.

This has all the makings of a fantastic Lifetime movie.

Conversation between me and Emily. She's that Asian that wrote about pumpkin pie last year. And I still have no idea how she eats pumpkin pie with chopsticks...but I digress.

Me: After you're done brunching you should stop over and check my basement for murderers. Please? This is not a drill.

Emily: ...are there typically murderers in your basement?

Me: Not usually, but the outside door to the basement was open when I got home yesterday so I'm pretty sure there are murderers in there now.

Emily: At least they're being nice and staying in the basement and not coming upstairs to bother you...

Me: That's true. But I really need to do laundry and I feel like they're just too lazy to bother breaking into the main floor.

Emily: Maybe if you just throw your laundry down the stairs, they'll wash it for you.

Me: That's actually a good plan. Unless they wash them with poison that will kill me slowly. The cops would never figure it out.

Emily: Do you have poison detergent down there? Or is it more of a BYOP deal?

Me: Definitely BYOP. You think I have high-tech slow-killing poison detergent laying around???

Emily: Well, if their plan is to kill you with slow-killing detergent, then you should be safe to go down there. No knives?

Me: I'm not saying that's their plan. Killing someone slowly with detergent isn't as much fun as slicing and dicing. Probably.

Emily: Probably. But they just bring slow-killing poison detergent JUST IN CASE? That seems impractical.

Me: Maybe they were Boy Scouts. Aren't they supposed to always be prepared???

Emily: Murderous Boy Scouts?!

Me: I don't know! I just know this is totally unfair. I'm super nice about murderers. I'm totally pro-Dexter.

Emily: But you're not a bad guy.

Me: So...you're saying I should kill someone? So they make me part of their murderer club instead of killing me?

Emily: ...yes.

So now I'm pretty sure this murderer thing is just an elaborate scheme by my friends to get me to commit murder and end up in jail forever because there's no way I wouldn't get caught. I'm just not sneaky enough. Which means I have terrible friends. Or a little too much imagination for one person. One of those.

Because I like a little danger in my life, and by "danger" I mean anxiety and by "a little" I mean TONS.

Generally, I love quirky things. They're unpredictable and I find that endlessly amusing. However, one object that I would like to stop being quirky is my phone.

I have that Blackberry flip phone thing (I have no idea what it's called) and I was so excited when I got it. I'd always wanted a Blackberry and the fact that I could get one in the form of a shiny purple flip phone was just the cherry on top. No pocket dialing, easy-to-use keyboard, and the completely necessary Twitter and Facebook apps led me to believe that this phone would be the best ever. We strolled blissfully into the sunset, my cute little Blackberry and I.

Cut to 6 months later when I'm literally bashing my phone against the wall to make it unfreeze, because however quirky you may be, NOBODY wants their technology to be acting of its own volition.

 Recently it's started this new SUPER FUN feature where it throws all of my carefully selected settings right out the damn window and does whatever it pleases. Usually this occurs when something needs to be updated, even if it's something nonessential like an app. So when I take it to the Sprint store and am all "WTF you guys, this phone is the WORST," the Sprint Guys are all just like "Oh, well you need to download the latest version of the Facebook app. Don't worry, I'll do it for you," in a very patronizing sort of tone that makes me feel like an invalid (that's probably just in my head though because it's embarassing to be a 24 year old that can't fix something so simple on technology that she's been using since FOREVER.)

This morning, my phone decided it was time to play games with poor fragile mind and changed the ringtone for my alarm. Now, this normally wouldn't have bothered me; I don't really care what sound my phone makes as long as it wakes me up.

Unfortunately, my phone chose "Silent."

Really, dude? Silent? There should be a freaking 24 digit passcode that has to be punched in before any phone can even BEGIN to change its owner's alarm to Silent.

My mom has zero sympathy and just asked why I'm not using the alarm clock she bought me. Um, hello? Because that would require me taking it out of the box and setting it up, and why bother when I have a perfectly good phone that will wake me up MOST OF THE TIME.

The saddest part about this is that I'll probably just continue playing Russian Roulette with my phone. Old habits die hard and I hate alarm clocks.

In which Kayla loses her mind over admittedly subpar television.

I don't know how vocal I've been about my love for Glee on this blog, but from the first moment I heard Lea Michele belting out "Don't Stop Believin'" I was hooked. I happen to love musical theatre, so it was pretty much a no-brainer that I was going to be obsessed with Glee. The first season I got together with my musical-loving friends for every episode and watched with the sort of enraptured joy that is usually only present on the faces of small children on Christmas morning. And it didn't hurt that Lea Michele is a dead ringer for Idina Menzel, musical goddess divine. I've been lovingly calling her "Baby Idina" ever since.

For three seasons I laughed and sobbed through each episode, usually while drinking more wine than is recommended. I really felt for these fictional characters with their drama-filled lives and I soaked up all of the emotional storylines. You can imagine how upset I was when it was first announced that several of the cast members, including Lea Michele (BABY IDINA! DON'T LEAVE ME!) would be graduating at the end of season three. But I knew that the integrity of the show would suffer if these kids stayed in high school for seven years so I told myself that it was necessary and that the show would carry on and continue to be as magical as ever.

Throughout season three I prepared myself for the departure of many of my favorite characters. I really didn't know how I was going to go on without Rachel and Kurt, but I knew that I had to get through it somehow. It helped knowing that Blaine (YUM!) would still be around. I got through the last few episodes like a champ until it was time for the highly anticipated graduation episode. I wanted to watch it. I really did. But I just couldn't. I wasn't ready to say goodbye, and the episode sat unwatched in my DVR for ages.

Just when I was finally ready to watch the episode and accept the loss of Rachel and Kurt from Glee, Mike told me that it had been announced that all 15 regular characters would be back for season 4.

SAY WHAT!?!?!?

Now, don't get me wrong here. I'm thrilled that I'm not actually losing my favorite characters. But seriously, Fox? I was a hot mess trying to get through this tough time as a fan of the show and I feel like you set this all up just to get awesome end-of-season ratings. I'm sure it worked, but way to be a total mindf***, you jerks.

I told Mike that this reminded me of when Hannah Montana was supposed to be "ending." I was on a good ol' fashioned college spring break in Panama City Beach, FL when the "last" Hannah Montana episode was set to air. Luckily, I was sharing a hotel room with a few other devotees of the show so we got a bunch of junk food and camped out in our hotel to watch the final episode together. It was beautiful, and we all sobbed. And then at the very end? They announced that Hannah Montana Forever would be airing soon!

Again...SAY WHAT!?!?!

Do you seriously mean that I spent precious vacation time INSIDE to watch this STUPID EPISODE, which I CRIED over, just so you could CHANGE THE NAME of the show and get ratings???

Mike found this entire thing extremely hilarious because he has no soul and can't understand my complex feelings about both Glee and several Disney Channel shows. Rude!

I'm a catch: MINE!

We've already established that I need to think before I speak and that some of my methods for wooing guys are a little unorthodox. What you don't know is that what I've posted here is only the tip of the ice berg.

As, I've previously stated, I seem to be incompatible with anyone who lives in the same state as me. Thus, I'm required to go on dates with people who are not familiar with Milwaukee. A while ago I went on a date with someone who had just moved to the area (fresh meat, muhahaha... cough). We went to dinner and afterwards we decided that we were going to get a drink, but we had to decide where.  I originally suggested a gay lounge I like, but then changed my mind, stating:

“I don’t want to go to a gay bar, because I don’t want other gays to see you.  I want you to be my little secret.”

I followed that with:

“I’m just kidding.  Kind of.  Not really.”

Even after I said that he still went for drinks with me. Though it was probably because I had picked him up and he assumed he had to comply with my wishes if he didn’t want to end up tied up in my basement while I prepared to test various Saw-esque devices on him.  Though that’s a silly thing for him to think because I don’t even have a basement.

A PSA on the Miracle of Childbirth and Appropriate Use of Facebook

 I decided to take a few minutes out of my extremely busy schedule to talk about something that has been plaguing me on Facebook for the better part of 3 months now.

*cue the Sarah McLachlan music*

It has come to my attention that my Facebook friends have been procreating at an alarming rate. Even worse? These kids are actually LEGITIMATE, not teen pregnancies. So now I'm feeling ridiculously old and behind in life because I haven't popped out a kid yet.

But probably the worst side effect of all is that my Facebook Stalker News Feed is full of the most alarming content.

I'm not talking about the zillions of cute baby pictures. I actually enjoy those. I know there are some real Scrooges out there that go all HULK SMASH when their Facebook is overrun by infants, but I think all of your kids are just freaking adorable.

I'm talking about the aspects of motherhood that are gross and/or controversial and that have no place on my social media feeds.

Here are a few of examples:

1. Breastfeeding. It's natural. It's good for your baby. It's a bonding experience. I get that, I really do. But if I see ONE MORE status proclaiming that "Breast is Best!" I'm going to lose my mind. First, don't you dare think you're a better mother just because you're breastfeeding your kid. Not everyone can do it and that's okay. Breastfeeding your kid until he's 4 doesn't make you some kind of super mom. The same is true on the flip side of this coin. If someone wants to breastfeed their kid until he's 4, that's nobody's business. You go on with your breastfeeding self, lady! I'm not a mom, but I think motherhood should be a lot less bitchy and judgmental.

2. Crime Scene Delivery Photos. Again, I totally understand that birth is a natural part of the human existence, but until I experience it myself, I'd like to remain blissfully ignorant of exactly what I should expect when I'm expecting. That means I don't want to see any pictures of your kid covered in birth goo. I try to pretend you just rolled it in watery ketchup before taking pictures, but my brain keeps sabotaging that delusion. I understand that you might want pictures of your gooey newborn around just in case your kid questions if he/she was adopted or not, but social media can wait until it's been wiped clean and given a cute little outfit.

3. Placenta. NO, don't cross that off. I'm serious. PLACENTA. This only happened once, but I'm still haunted. I know placenta is supposed to be super chic right now; for example, January Jones had hers made into pills that she takes everyday. I don't think I could do that without vomiting, but if placenta is your particular cup o' tea, you'll have no judgment from me. [That rhymes! I should put it on t-shirts!] HOWEVER, sharing placental [is this a word?] photographs on Facebook is so beyond inappropriate for several reasons. First, see above for my little rant about breastfeeding. Just because someone isn't going to EAT their placenta, doesn't mean they're a bad mom. And vice versa. No judging. Second, I came across that photo on my NEWS FEED while I was EATING my lunch. Which was leftover lasagna by the way, and which you RUINED with your gross picture. There is a time and a place for placenta. Facebook is NEVER the place. And my lunch break is NEVER the time. Got it? Good.

In conclusion, I don't care how you choose to raise your kid. Unless you're teaching it to torture and/or maim animals and children or you are torturing and/or maiming your kid. As long as you're not breaking the law, how you give birth to and feed your kid is none of my business. Whatever you decide to do with your placenta is none of my business.

And that is why I am BEGGING you to stop putting these things on Facebook.

BECAUSE IT'S NONE OF MY BUSINESS AND I DON'T WANT TO KNOW! Thank you for your consideration in this matter.

Most people are NOT this bad at wave pools.

Mike has been recounting our fabulous adventures in Vegas for you, and to continue with that I’m going to tell you the story of how we drowned. Don’t worry! As Mike said, it didn’t stick. I think that means we’re immortal. Or that we’re so bad at everything that we can’t even drown properly. One of those.

Mandalay Bay has a really awesome pool area. There’s a wave pool, a regular pool, a lazy river, and ton of lounge chairs on sand so you actually feel like you’re at the beach. Also, BOOZE. Lots and lots of booze. It’s my version of heaven. The pools especially come in handy when it’s 104 degrees out, aka so hot that your organs start to feel like they're boiling inside your body. So Mike and I developed a fantastic little routine to get a tan and stay cool:

Step 1: Lay on your back. People-watch through your sunglasses.
Step 2: Cool off in the pool!
Step 3: Lay on your stomach. Read your Kindle. [You can’t really people watch from this angle because the chairs are so close together. If you look up you have a direct line of sight to the groin of the guy in the chair behind you. Awkward. This is why having a Kindle/book is important.]
Step 4: Cool off in the pool!

It was a pretty fool-proof plan. Except we forgot to account for the drowning.

The wave pool didn’t look terribly intense, and it wasn’t our first time at this particular rodeo, so we strolled in with perhaps more confidence than we should have. This is always our downfall.

We waded into the pool, enjoying the cool water and easing our way in at a leisurely pace. That was, until some angry lifeguards were all, “HEY! GET BEHIND THE BLUE LINE IF YOU’RE GOING TO BE IN HERE!” Because APPARENTLY we were supposed to fly in the pool at warp speed to get behind this silly “line” immediately after entering the water. I mean, do I resemble Michael Phelps in ANY way? No? Then why on EARTH would you expect that I can swim that fast?

We picked up the pace, trying to get behind the line before the waves started, but then we noticed the mass of people behind that line, waiting for the waves, and waiting to crush us in our moment of stupidity. Panic set in as everyone started yelling to us that we had better get out of the way, while making outrageous MOVE-THE-F***-OUT-THE-WAY hand motions. We frantically tried to increase our pace. Which? NOT easy when you’re walking through thigh-high water and you don’t happen to be an Olympic swimmer.

Then our ears filled with the sounds of rushing water. The waves were coming and we were STILL not to the magical “safe” line. I managed to get a little ahead of Mike. [Okay, I might have pushed him back to save myself. I’m not proud of that, but I panicked.]

The waves rushed at us and it wasn’t long before I lost my footing and fell on my butt, carried forward by the force of the waves. Mike was excited because he thought he had managed to stay on his feet. He was feeling quite proud of himself until the wave drove me into his back and he fell onto my lap. I’m sure it all looked EXTREMELY graceful to the crowd.

After we finished laughing hysterically [to keep from weeping out of embarrassment] Mike confessed that he didn’t know that it was me that had knocked him down and he had been terrified it was a total stranger. Although this story would have been MUCH more hilarious if he had landed in a stranger’s lap, the way it happened is so very Mike & Kayla.

Fast forward about twenty minutes.

After overcoming our earlier embarrassment, Mike and I were feeling quite daring. We found ourselves in the 6-7’ deep end of the pool. I’m not sure why either of us thought this was a good idea. I can only assume our state of stupidity was caused by far too much time in the sun.

Forgetting that he was not, in fact, 8 feet tall, Mike decided to stop treading water and simply stand on the floor of the pool with his hands in the air. I treaded water and looked on in confusion, but just figured he had wanted to cool off with his head in the water. But then when his hands remained above water, I wondered if that was his way of telling me that he was drowning. I contemplated whether or not he required rescue, when his hands disappeared and I saw him FIXING HIS HAIR UNDERWATER. At this point I was really confused. Is he drowning and just wants to make sure his hair looks good when he dies? WHAT DO I DO?

Finally, he resurfaced. I asked what the hell he had been doing and he said that he had gone underwater by mistake, but then realized he probably looked like he was drowning [which he WAS] but he would rather have drowned looking cool than have to go through the embarrassment of being rescued by a lifeguard. Fixing his hair was just his way of acting natural.

Yes. Natural. Because EVERYBODY fixes their coif while submerged for extensive periods of time in a 7 foot pool.

At this point we realized that our time in the desert sun was probably causing some sort of permanent brain damage, so we went and bought some yummy frozen alcoholic beverages, got drunk, and then spent an hour giggling in our hotel room.

Like I said, FABULOUS ADVENTURES IN VEGAS!

We live!

Dearest Readers,

Kayla and I recently received a very concerned email from reader Laura in response to our lack of posting; so, I wanted to pop on and tell you first, that we are indeed alive, and second, that we will be coming back in full force very soon!

Kayla has been busy with end of semester projects and exams (she be so smart!) and I've been busy with love, then heartbreak, and now sanding a wooden dowel so that's it's smooth enough for comfortable recreational use.

Think of our hiatus as the break between seasons of a television show. Well, Kayla is almost done with school and I'm building myself a life coach in my basement to help me deal with my issues; so, Season Two is on its way and will be spectacular!

Two weeks from today Kayla and I are flying to Vegas for (read: to crash) the 2012 Billboard Music Awards; so, that should be spectacular. In the [probable] event we get arrested, that too will bring interesting stories. So, either way, you have something to look forward to!

For now, I must go respond to an email requesting information on the purchase of a penguin. Some people need to be more diligent about researching their Google search results.

With love and unicorn tears,
Mike
Emperor of Gay, Co-Director of Hilarity

Adventures on the Michael-Coaster

One of the requirements to being best friends with Mike is that you must be prepared for insanity at all times. As Mad Eye Moody (RIP) would say, it requires CONSTANT VIGILANCE!!!!

At any moment he could spring one of his insane ideas on you, and you have no choice but to hop on board and enjoy the ride. At times it can be exhausting, but it's always interesting and it's never boring.

Here are a few such ideas Mike has come up with in the past year or so.

1. Breeding dwarf hamsters. I can't even make this stuff up, you guys. There was also a blog about how to tame your hamster. The only good thing that came from this is Mike's hamster, Albus, who's the cutest thing ever. I love him to pieces.

D'awwwwwww! See! Adorable. 

2. Galactic Ice. The next money-making scheme was the open an Italian ice cart. In theory, this was actually a pretty good idea. The plan was to sell Italian ice from Little Jimmy's, and the whole thing should have had a relatively low start-up cost for a small cart. Unfortunately, the city of Milwaukee has absolutely ridiculous laws for street vendors, like requiring them to have running water on their carts. It turned into a logistical nightmare. Also, I was not okay with the idea of him spending every weekend of the summer selling flavored ice instead of hanging out with me. Unacceptable. But he did make a pretty awesome website and logo.

Italian ice + Star Wars!? Come on, even I have to admit this is awesome.

3. Sparkle Sack. This endeavor is a bit difficult to explain. I don't know if you guys have heard of Birchbox or Glam Bag, but they're beauty sampling services where you pay $10/month to get a random box of samples. There aren't really a whole lot of sampling services for men though, which is what led Mike to come up with Sparkle Sack. It's pretty much the gayest name we could think of. Mike was all on board for this project until we realized the sampling service idea is probably a fad and not really viable long-term. Not to mention the logistics involved. I'm sure it's a mess to run. Plus he sort of alienated all the straight guys by naming it Sparkle Sack. I highly doubt anyone's going to want a Sparkle Sack delivered with their Sports Illustrated. I don't have a picture for this, so here's a picture of what Mike said I should wear to Pride Fest. Soooooooo not happening.

Image Source

4. The Top Secret Fashion Project. This is Mike's newest idea, and I've been told that if I tell you what it is he'll have to kill me and everyone who reads this. So I'm really just trying to be the hero by not telling you.

He did say that I should ask if anyone knows where he can get fabric made from yarn spun from the fur of sugar gliders who have died of natural causes. He'd seriously love you forever if you have a source for that.

Image Source. WAIT! He wants to do WHAT with my fur!?!? 

It's just like Legally Blonde, but with business school.

So, I started my third semester of graduate school this week. I was expecting to just stroll right into class and feel like I had never left, but this was not the case.

I sat down (in the back row, naturally, so the other kids would think I'm a badass) and took out all of my gear. Laptop, notebook, pen, white-out, cell phone. Check! It was then that I looked around the room at everybody else's stuff and then looked at my own.

You guys. My computer is HOT pink. Not like a business mauve, or an intelligent-looking magenta. It's like sorority girl at a rave HOT PINK. My cell phone? Also pink. With zebra stripes. You guys, my white-out dispenser is even pink. Don't worry though, I do NOT have a Lisa Frank notebook (only because they don't make 3 subject college-ruled ones), mine is just plain black.

And my classmates? SO judgmental. They kept glancing at me with looks of disdain. They were CLEARLY thinking, "Whoa, what is that girl doing here? Does she know this is an MBA course? I think she must be lost."

After a few minutes of judgmental stares even I began to doubt that I was in the right spot. I began a strange internal monologue:

Wait. AM I in the right place? Am I in fact a graduate student? I'm not actually lost on my way to a sorority mixer, right? OMG am I in a sorority!?

Halfway through class our professor decided to have us introduce ourselves and talk about our background, business experience, and hobbies. I'm a smart and fairly eloquent girl, but whenever I have to introduce myself for a class I get extremely nervous and completely lose control over the words escaping my mouth. After hearing everyone talk about their spouses, kids, awesome smart-sounding jobs, and smart-person hobbies like cricket,  mosaic tile art, and learning Japanese, my nerves tripled. When it was my turn I rambled out a bunch of nonsense that I can't even remember anymore, probably in a stupid Valley Girl voice. I remember what I said for my hobbies though. "Um...I write two blogs! And I'm really into social media. I read a lot. And um...I live in a forest, so I love hiking."

*FACEPALM*

Honestly? I don't hike that much. I just threw that in because I do enjoy it and I wanted to sound a bit more well-rounded.

I texted Mike for some moral support and he was absolutely no help at ALL. He said, "I'm imagining your classroom right now. It's like Legally Blonde, but with business instead of law."

Honestly? That's kind of dead on. Or at least that's how it is in my head.

We decided that Mike should come into class one day and pretend to be my assistant. I'd be sitting there in class as usual and he'd hover around turning pages and making sure my hair is perfect at all times. During our 10 minute break he'd unfold an entire makeup vanity and I'd have a wardrobe change. I figure if I'm going to be stereotyped as the dumb, superficial, blonde girl I might as well act the part and get a few laughs.

Seriously, guys. I'm actually really smart. I swear!

Why I Will Never Have Snooki's Tan

I have a really hard time using tanning beds, and not for the reason you may think. I'm not at all afraid of the fact that they're cancerous. I'm pretty much at peace with the fact that I'm going to get some form of cancer eventually so I might as well have fun while I can. And let's be honest here, I could stay inside and never let the sun touch my skin and still end up with skin cancer.

Author's Note: I don't condone excessive fake baking. It's stupid for a few reasons. 1) It IS cancerous. D'uh. 2) It will make you look OLD AS FUCK. So unless you'd like to try for the senior discount at your 30th birthday dinner, limit your exposure. 3) Snooki. Do you really want to look like her? Have you seen her? Here's a picture:

Yeah you're never stepping in a tanning salon again, right? Good.

Anyway...

My friends always rave about how they love tanning because it's soooo relaxing. For me, it's about as relaxing as an MRI.

My mania begins about three minutes into my session. I've got my lotion and those little glasses on and I've managed to stay still and calm thus far. Then the panic sets in as I start to convince myself that I'm trapped in the tanning bed. I mean, what if the lid doesn't open and I end up stuck in here forever until I look like those gross mummy dudes I learned about in Mortuary Studies class? So not sexy. To calm myself down I open the lid just to prove to myself that I can. This rush of sweet relief from my mind-numbing panic doesn't last though. Once the panic has begun, it finds its way back to me each time I shut the lid.

In the course of the next 5 minutes, I have to open the lid at least 5 more times. JUST TO BE SURE, GODDAMMIT.

Then my panic becomes amplified by new and even more terrifying thoughts. What if my luck's run out? What if it was just a fluke that I was able to successfully open the bed 5 times in a row and now I'm stuck here forever!? WHAT IF I'M BURNING!? OMG I can't be LOBSTER RED for class tomorrow! I have to give a presentation!!!

At this point I wave the white flag and jump out of the bed. Fuck this noise. I can't believe I PAY to be driven to complete paranoia.

Self-tanner is so much less stressful.

The Christmas Nazi

This post is long, but bear with me because it’s IMPORTANT. This might be the most important thing I’ve ever written. And to be completely honest, writing it made me realize that I AM OUT OF MY FUCKING MIND. As if we all didn’t know that already.

I’d also like to preface this by stating that the Nazis were ASSHOLES. I am personally horrified by the crimes they committed and this post is not meant to laugh at those criminals nor their victims. The only reason that I call myself The Christmas Nazi is because “nazi” is really the only noun that sums up the mania that takes over my mind during the month of December. If you’re already offended by this preface or you think you might be offended by me comparing my fanatical behavior to that of a Nazi’s, then do both yourself and me a favor and leave now.

You see, ever since I was a small child, Christmas has been a magical time for me. And by magical, I mean stressful because try as I might to make everything perfect, my family manages to screw it up every single year.

The most stressful part about Christmas during my childhood was trying to find the perfect tree. A lot of kids have tantrums in toy stores. I had them in Christmas tree lots. My parents never got the tree that I wanted, mostly because it was always 12 feet tall and wouldn’t have fit through the door of our house. One year I decided that I couldn't bear to go through it the heartbreak and disappointment anymore, so my family went tree shopping without me and decided to fuck with my fragile mind. When I arrived home, instead of a beautiful tree in our living room, there was a 6 inch Christmas tree branch in a vase sitting on top of our TV. My asshole parents even “decorated” it with paperclips and popcorn. After seeing me completely lose my shit, my parents brought in the real tree. I was not amused. The Christmas tree saga finally ended when we moved into a bigger house with extremely high ceilings. My parents bought a fake, pre-lit Christmas tree that’s about 9 feet tall. It’s perfection, mostly because it’s one less thing for my family to potentially screw up.

In addition to having the perfect tree, there a few rules that must be adhered to each year if my family wants to avoid my nuclear Christmas meltdowns.

1. The Christmas Season

The Christmas season does NOT begin until the day after Thanksgiving. I don’t want to hear any Christmas music or see even a red and green bow until that day. It just pisses me off when Thanksgiving feels like an afterthought. It’s not fair to Thanksgiving, okay? And don’t even get me started on the fools that begin Christmas before Halloween.

2. Christmas Tree GuidelinesThe Christmas tree must be decorated to an approved playlist. I will sing, so just get over it. I let my family help with the decorations, but as soon as they go to bed I rearrange everything so it no longer looks like a bunch of lazy/blind people did it. The tree must be up until at least January 2nd. If I had it my way we’d leave it up until March, but my family sabotages that shit every year so I don’t even bother with that pipe dream anymore.

3. Decorating the HouseI decorate the house. Nobody else knows where the Flurryville snowmen statues go. Trust me, these people mess everything up. And don’t bother trying to rein me in when I’ve been possessed by the Christmas spirit. I realize that you can’t swing a sprig of mistletoe without knocking over some Christmas paraphernalia, but it looks fucking magical so just deal with it.

4. Family TraditionsMy family sucks with traditions. Every Christmas tradition we have was started by me and I enforce them strictly. First, Christmas cookies must be baked every year. I’ve spent 3 straight days in the kitchen baking cookies BY MYSELF because everyone else was “too busy” to help me. Last year my mother helped decorate the cookies and she frosted a snowman with YELLOW frosting. I swear to Sweet Baby Jesus I have no idea what the hell these people are thinking. Other traditions include opening one present each on Christmas Eve and the rest on Christmas morning. My brother screws that one up EVERY YEAR because we have accommodate his plans with his girlfriend. It’s ridiculous. You know how I got around that? I dated the son of a Jehovah’s Witness. It was PERFECT. I also began the tradition of eating freshly baked popovers every Christmas morning and I have to wake up at the ASS CRACK of DAWN to bake them because nobody else in my family knows how. The last and most important tradition that I started is the annual screening of How the Grinch Stole Christmas (the original animated version) and A Christmas Story. I always try to enforce White Christmas and It’s a Wonderful Life too but that never works because my family is disrespectful when it comes to the classics. Last year they made me watch that god-awful Arnold Schwarzenegger Christmas movie. I’d rather gnaw my own arm off than be subjected to that again.

If any of these rules are broken, I completely lose my shit. I know it’s probably not in the spirit of the season to become a crazy Christmas bitch every year, but Christmas is the one time of year that I like to pretend my family is perfect. Nothing makes me happier than waking up in the morning and seeing our perfectly decorated tree in our beautifully decorated living room. And as much as my family bitches and moans about how crazy I am, I know they enjoy having a perfect Christmas holiday just as much as I do. They can roll their eyes at my antics as they shovel their mouths full of the Christmas cookies and popovers that I so lovingly made because I KNOW that they’re secretly thrilled to have such a psychotic Christmas Nazi in the family. I may be bat shit crazy, BUT I MAKE CHRISTMAS HAPPEN.

Penguins 4 Sale!!!

Mike and I were watching Batman Returns and Mike was really disturbed when [SPOILER ALERT] the penguins came out and pushed Penguin's body into the water.

[Here's a video for reference: http://youtu.be/twrvftwNZJY ]

Mike: Those aren't real penguins right? Penguins aren't that big.

Kayla: Yes they are. Emperor penguins get that big. Like the ones in Happy Feet.

Mike: WHAT? *grabs onto my arm* No no no no no no that's so SCARY! Those aren't penguins, they're MUTANTS.

Kayla: Mike, they're penguins. What's scary about them?

Mike: They're HUGE. They could eat someone! THEY'RE GIANT MUTANT PENGUINS!

Kayla: Didn't you want a penguin?

Mike: Yes, but I want a TINY one. Not a giant one that will eat me in my sleep!

Kayla: Fine. Please hold while I Google this.

[1 minute later.]

Kayla: "OOOOO!!! Mike!!! I found some tiny penguins for you! They're called Fairy Penguins!"

Mike: "Oh that's perfect because I'm a fairy!!"

Kayla: "Exactly! Let's buy one!"

Fairy Penguin! [Image Source]

So then I Googled "penguins for sale" and came across a website called Penguins 4 Sale. How perfect! Regular kismet, if you ask me! This is what it said:

Dear Friend,
How to get a Penguin you ask? Now is your chance at “Penguins 4 Sale”

We stock a variety of specialy bred and small Fairy Penguins. Our Penguin farm is now overstocked. So we are selling our penguins at cost price. Thats right. Your only paying for shipping charges.

How to get a Penguin?
Well we are only allowed to keep a certain amount of Penguins, and we have exceeded this limit. So our loss is your gain....

Own a Penguin as a pet!
Due to the contrary belief, penguins dont need to spend all there time in water. So this allows time for you and your Penguin to snuggle on the couch. Penguins are smart and realise who there owners are. They are very social and actually enjoy human company.
They also get very excited at feeding time. Even more so at Bath time.

Pet Penguin Housing!
You will of course need a place for your Penguin to have access to water. This will be a clean source of Fresh water. (P.H levels will be sent with the instructions attached to your Penguin). Minumum 1 x 2 Meter baby pool is sufficient. But the bigger the better of course.

Will temperature effect my Penguin?
Our Fairy Penguins are brought up in a special environment. They adapt quickly to the surrounding environment. But it is advised to not keep them exposed to excessive heat.
Cold is not a problem... But they will get cold. So dont leave your Penguin outside in the snow!

Shipping your Penguin!
Shipping your Penguin is done in specially made polystyrene transport boxes. They are given a very subtle sedative to calm them. This slows the heart rate and allows for them to go without food for 5 days.

Your Penguin will come with a special pack of frozen food that can be thored and given to your Penguin when he arrives.
He will appreciate this and instantly bond with you.

Feeding your Fairy Penguin!
Feeding your Penguin is easy. You can choose to net fish at your local stream or water edge. But and fish outlet will have a cheap variety of whole small fish. It's even better to strike up a friendship with a local prawn trawler... he will always keep a lot of small fish for you.. Just freeze what you dont use... and thore when you need it...

Owning a Penguin!
You wont want to go on holidays anymore.. Because you will not want to leave your amazing pet.
If your Penguin get's ill in any way. Local vetrinary clinics can easily treat them, as there body structure is very similar to most mammals.

A Penguin for you or as a gift for a friend...
You will love your new pet Penguin but imagine the happiness and joy brought to others seeing their gift for the first time.

Buy a Penguin NOW! ONLY $25


Now, if you weren't sold based on the IMPRESSIVE grammar and spelling present on this website, the price alone should convince you that you NEED to own a penguin.

Unfortunately they note at the bottom of the page that they are currently all out of penguins so you'll have to check back later. I'm sure it isn't so they can increase their ad revenue for every shmuck who checks back daily to see if there are any more penguins to buy.

Then, much to my complete and utter SHOCK, Mike discovered that the website is a sham! [Bet you didn't see that coming.]

From Yahoo! Answers: :
Question:
Is penguins4sale.com a legit website that will actually sell you a penguin?
Apparently for $25, they will send you a fairy penguin, and I'd like to know if anyone has ever figured out if it's real. http://www.penguins4sale.com/

Answer:
DONT BUY IT
ITS A SCAM
they sold me a stuffed animal with wings and a wand!

So, kind of hilarious, right?

I'm always looking for a way to fuck with people, so I went back to the website [enjoy your ad revenue, dirtbags] to see if there was an email address I could send an inquiry to. I didn't find an email address, but I did find a little link at the bottom for "Terms & Conditions."

The terms are longer than the freaking Bible, but I did find a couple of hilarious little gems:

You must notify Penguins 4 Sale within 21 days of the date of your invoice or acknowledgement if you believe any part of your purchase is missing, wrong or damaged.

I would like to order a penguin and contact them to say this: "Excuse me, but my penguin is missing all of its vital organs. They seem to have been replaced with stuffing. Please explain."

This is probably my favorite:

Penguins 4 Sale WILL NOT HAVE ANY LIABILITY FOR ANY DAMAGES ARISING FROM THE USE OF THE PRODUCTS IN ANY HIGH RISK ACTIVITY, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO THE OPERATION OF NUCLEAR FACILITIES, AIRCRAFT NAVIGATION OR COMMUNICATION SYSTEMS, AIR TRAFFIC CONTROL, MEDICAL SYSTEMS, LIFE SUPPORT, OR WEAPONS SYSTEMS.

So, guys, if you let your penguin operate weapons systems or nuclear facilities, Penguins 4 Sale is NOT responsible for any fallout. Got it? Good. You should probably also not leave your penguin in charge of life support. And don't even get me started on air traffic control. Penguins suck at that. [Because they can't fly. Get it? Hahahahaha!]

NaNoWriMo Ate My Soul!

Here is my schedule for every day of November:

Wake up. Go to work where I write for a living. Come home. Write recreationally (that's a word, right? spell check doesn't think so...) for five hours. Go to bed. Repeat.

I am currently participating in National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo.

The goal of NaNoWriMo is to write 50,000 words in 30 days. I've decided to use NaNoWriMo to finish a novel that I've been working on since September; so, I've scheduled a week of vacation at the end of the month and kicked my goal up to 100,000 words by December 4th (the last day of my vacation)

What this means is that of the 13 hours of writing I do a day, very little-if any-of it will be dedicated to writing blog posts. I know what you're thinking: #sadrhino*

There is good news though:

1. You still have Kayla. And let's be honest, she's funnier than me anyways.
2. I haven't left you completely high and dry. For instance I still have a post that mentions porn coming; so, you have that to look forward too.
3. Kayla and I are bound to do something crazy that I won't be able to resist writing about!

Perhaps Kayla will even regale you with tales of my inability to spell. Or to form a sentence. Or to use a . (period) as my pinky is freakishly long and always lands on the / . (<--oh look, I actually managed a period at the end of the sentence on my first try!)

Anyways, I am telling you about my unavoidable absence in advance because I hate when bloggers just vanish and I don't want you to think I died (would you notice?).

Also, if you even remotely like writing, you should check out NaNoWriMo. It's probably too late to jump in this year (unless we have any participants among us already?), but you can feel it out for next year. They also have a screenwriting version in the spring!

So, never doubt my love for you! I will return in full, annoying force!

*Center Stage: Turn It Up is a terrible movie but is so worth watching just for the last scene** and to hear Kenny Wormald say "fire" and "ballerino."

**I originally wrote "seen" instead of "scene" but Kayla fixed it when reading the post before giving her stamp of approval. And I wonder why people doubt me when I say that I'm a writer. >_<

Deer Pinatas & The Story Ruiner

I was in the car with my parents one day when we passed a deer farm. Being from rural Wisconsin I have a hard time understanding why people need to go to a fenced in area to shoot deer. I can hardly drive my Volkswagen without smacking into one of the damn things, so they're not exactly an endangered species. It just seems a little unfair to raise deer just so people that are too lazy to actually find one in the wild can still kill something and feel all manly. I voiced this disdain to my parents and said, "You know, they might as well just whack a pinata full of venison at this point," which they thought was hilarious.

"Heyyyy gurllll!!! Oh my gawd that orange vest is so last season."
BANG!
Not even fair, right?

The next day at work my mom decided to share the story with our coworkers. My mother is notorious for taking a funny story or joke and butchering it until it's rendered completely nonsensical. She usually forgets the punchline too, so one of us has to deliver it for her, which completely ruins the flow of the whole thing.

As she was setting up the deer farm story I got more and more tense because I just KNEW she was going to fuck it up and ruin my brilliant one-liner. I was completely shocked when she reached my line and instead of attempting to deliver it she just looked at me and said, "Well…?"

I stared at her in stunned silence for a moment. Did she REALLY just hand over the story rather than murder it? IS THIS REAL LIFE? [Love that drugged little post-dentist kid! teehee!]

I was so shocked that I stuttered through the first couple of words, nearly butchering the whole thing myself, but I managed to pull it off and receive peals of raucous laughter for my efforts.

My mother will probably kill me when she reads this, so in an attempt to save my life:

Love you, Mom! Even if you are a story ruiner. <3

Baby, Baby, Baby, BABY?!

Star, the most reliable news source there is, says Justin Bieber is a daddy. I'm sure you know this, but in case you live under a rock, Mariah Yeater is claiming that she and the Biebs made their bieby after a concert in California last year.

Personally, I don't know why everyone is so upset. I mean, the Biebs was clearly doing research. He currently brings a fan on stage to sing to her, but how long will that satisfy Beliebers? I mean, it is kind of childish. I think he was just researching the next audience participation activity for forthcoming concerts which promise to be more adult:

One lucky fan will be brought on stage and impregnated by Justin Bieber while he sings "Baby!"

Rumor has it that the Biebs will have finished by the end of the first verse, but I'm sure the fan will have passed out from ecstasy anyways.

Also, can we discuss how this Mariah Yeater girl (19 to Bieber's 16 at the time of the incident) is an idiot? She basically went to the court and said "I raped Justin Bieber." I've never seen someone work so hard to get a jail sentence.

She is also probably fearing for her life right now. Has she never heard of Beliebers? Fox, another fantastic news source, is reporting death threats against Yeater. Made via Twitter.

Kayla also believes that this child, the aforementioned bieby, may also be the second coming of the sweet baby Jesus. As she points out, "He was born unto the Virgin Bieber."

Gas Station Man is NOT Amused

For those of you who don't know the intimate details of my life (I'm pretty much an open book), I work for my family's small manufacturing company, CMK Calmer.

On Monday my dad/boss asked me to make "Help Wanted" fliers and drive to every bulletin board within 15-20 miles of our business to post them. Being the fantastic employee I am, I made some beautiful fliers and went out yesterday afternoon to post them. I was strangely optimistic about this endeavor. Unfortunately, I failed to take my current appearance into account.

I'm currently sick as a dog and wearing UGGs and a scarf my mother "lovingly" calls my "Hobo Scarf." This renders my wit, charm, and flirting capabilities completely useless. My throat is scratchy, so I sound like a man. My nose is red and runny, my eyes are puffy, and YOU JUST WANT TO ASK ME OUT RIGHT NOW, DON'T YOU? Knew it.

That said, you'd still probably rather see me in a Playboy spread than Lindsay Lohan, right? I thought so. Hef's clearly lost his mind.

My first stops in the immediate vicinity went well. Most of the bulletin boards were unguarded, and the few people guarding their boards were nice about me posting on them.

Then I drove a little out of town, and things got ugly.

Everyone became strangely possessive over their bulletin boards. Did I miss a memo here? Is there some sort of sacred bond between a gas station worker and his community events board? This is how one of my conversations went:

Me: Hey! Um, I was wondering if there's a place I can post this flier? We're a small local company looking for some new employees.

Gas Station Worker: ...uhhhh....We only post stuff that's for sale.

Me: Yeah exactly! I'm selling jobs! For free. =D

Gas Station Worker: -_- ..................

Me: Ohhhhhkay. Bye.

And that's how most of my afternoon went.

Oh, except I did get hit on once. By this man who looked old enough to be my grandfather. He winked at me as I left and then ran to a window to watch me walk back to my car.

Highlight of my day.

My inner thoughts while buying lipstick online.

As a beauty blogger, I'm pretty much obsessed with makeup (look for a future post about my ridiculous collection). Admittedly, my spending habits are horrible, and my inner monologues while buying makeup online are nonsensical at best. Here are some conversations between my conscience and I while buying lipstick from several online stores.

Buying a random brand on HauteLook, ideeli, etc. of lipstick for $15:

Me: OMG MAKEUP IS ON SALE!!!!!! YAYYYYYY!!!!!!

Conscience: I've never even heard of that brand and neither have you. Don't you think that's weird given that you're a beauty blogger, Kayla?

Me: But! But! It says a lipstick is usually $50 and they're selling it for only $15!!!

Conscience: OMG!! Why didn't you say so?! BUY ALL OF THEM!!!!!!!!!!!

Me: Even the brown one? I don't think I can rock brown?

Conscience: WHO CARES? IT'S ONLY $15 AND IT'S USUALLY $50!!!

Me: You're right. It must be made out of unicorn blood. *buys*

Buying a MAC lipstick for $15:

Me: Ohhhh I've heard such good reviews and I've seen a TON of swatches of this lipstick! I should really buy it!

Conscience: Isn't $15 kind of steep? I mean it's not even on sale. You should just leave it in your shopping cart so it can perpetually haunt you.

Me: But...but...I really want it. And I know that I'll use it a lot. How come $15 was fine for a HauteLook purchase that I knew nothing about but it's too expensive for a lipstick I know I'll love?

Conscience: Listen, bitch. Who's in charge here?

Me: Right. Sorry, conscience! *doesn't buy but leaves in cart to perpetually haunt*

Buying a NARS lipstick for $24:

Me: Wowww....$24 bucks for a lipstick is a little pricey. Plus I'm pretty sure I already own 20 lipsticks that are extremely similar to this. Buuuuuut I really like the name of the lipstick and the packaging is just gorgeous, sooooo what the helll!!! [A/N: I can't even blame this one on my conscience/voices in my head, I love NARS, mostly because they have the prettiest names.]

Buying a Chanel lipstick for $32:

Me: O_O Must. Have.

Conscience: Seriously, Kayla? Is it really going to be any better than every other lipstick you own?

Me: Shut up, Conscience. Just think about how pretty it will look in my purse. And how cool we'll look applying it in the bathroom at the bar. All of the other drunk girls will be so impressed/jealous.

Conscience: What are you waiting for?! BUY THAT SHIT!!!

Moral of the story: I'm fucked. My conscience loves makeup just as much as I do.

Fun with MRIs

Due to the accident that Mike and I were in that we can't tell you about because we'd have to kill you, I had to get 4 MRIs and a CT scan. I've never had any major medical issues before so these were both new to me, but I kept telling everyone that I'd be able to power through because I'm a motherfucking CHAMP. I'm not entirely sure what I was thinking because they don't give sedatives to motherfucking CHAMPS, only to weenies that can't handle being confined in small spaces (i.e. me). Missing out on relaxing drugs was mistake number one.

Mistake number two was electing to do 2 MRIs in a row rather than spacing out all four. I'm not sure if you're aware of how MRIs work, but basically you lay on a hard plastic table that slides into an obnoxiously loud and rather small tube. The best part? You're not allowed to move. At all. If you do, they punish you by making you stay in longer. When you have 2 MRIs done in a row, you have to stay in the tube for twice as normal, so I was laying on that damn plastic board for over and HOUR trying not to hyperventilate even though I felt like I was in an alien abduction involving poorly-tuned pipe organs.

Do you tune pipe organs? Whatever, you get the idea.

Mistake number three was not my fault at all only partially my fault. The radiologist told me that not only would I be laying immobile in a tube, but she would also have to restrain my head with two plastic cages over my face. She said that a lot of people feel better with a washcloth over their face so they can't see the restraint. At this point I conveniently forgot that whenever I have something covering my face my brain convinces my body that it can't BREATHE. So I cheerily said, "Sure! Give me the works!" The "works" resulted in me laying on a plastic stretcher in a noisy tube with a washcloth and cage over my face while hyperventilating and still trying to stay completely still. This sounds very S&M but I assure you there was nothing remotely sexy about this situation.

When it was FINALLY over they let me out of my restraints and told me I could sit up as soon as I could. I all but flew out the door before remembering that I had no idea how to navigate the labyrinth of hallways leading back to the patient locker room. It was then that I realized the lady that had put me into the machine was NOT the same one that took me out of it and I had been talking to her as if she was the same person, even referring to things I had talked about exclusively with the first woman.

I'm pretty sure they did that just to make me look dumb.

I hate MRIs.

Thank God (or my parents?) that I'm not a conflicted Mormon.

Facebook isn't very good at ad targeting:


So the above image is tiny because I fucked something up when I took the screen shot weeks ago. What you can't see is that there is a Mormon dating site ad right above a gay dating site ad. (For anyone living under a rock, I’m a homosexual.)

Just when I thought it couldn't get any better I got these ads today:


Let's break it down: a creepy gay dating site (sooo not into bears), a school site with a spelling error in the ad, and then a Disney ad to comfort me after the previous two ads?