WebMD For Hypochondriacs

I have always been a “glass half empty” kinda gal, (shout out to my mom for that one) so when it comes to any sort of pains or ailments I may have, I always assume it will end it death. WebMD and Google have never been a friend of mine when it comes to these sorts of things but frankly, I’d rather not use the last few moments of life trying to get to the bottom of my illness. If you are in the same boat, you won’t believe anything less than death so let me spare you some time; here are some cold, hard facts about some of the symptoms you may be feeling:

Any pain on the left arm whatsoever; whether it is internal or external: You are without a doubt having a heart attack. Suddenly your chest begins to feel heavy and you can’t breathe. You should go to the hospital immediately. Prepare yourself to have an open heart surgery and likely never wake up.

A headache: Sweet Jesus, what is that poking out of your head? That is one large tumor you have there.  Wake up you imbecile, you have cancer.

Otherwise, you are definitely dying of the repercussions of the fight you were in at the birthday party in fifth grade. The nurse gave you staples? Yeah right! She injected a rare disease into your head and it is finally catching up to you. Your only symptom right before your die? A headache!

Swollen lymph nodes:  This one is fairly obvious. I’m surprised you are still reading this and not already knee deep into writing your will. You have Silent Death Syndrome and you’re bound to die any minute. Forget going to the doctor, you have no time. Take some sleeping pills and write a letter to your friends and family to let them know how much you love and appreciate them. Be sure your makeup is exactly the way you prefer it to be when you are buried; death is near.

Stomach pains: You are pregnant.  Not sexually active? Still pregnant! Somebody has slipped something into your bathwater and you should expect a kid in just a few short months. 

Doctor confirms you are without child? You have stomach cancer! He dropped the ball and didn’t bother to X-ray for that because he doesn’t take you seriously. Now it’s too late and you are practically already dead.

A speck of dirt on your skin: A new mole has appeared overnight and I've got news for you buddy, there's not a chance in hell it's benign.

There you have it. You can thank me by watching my back from above. Or below, whichever.

If You Love Your Siblings, Punch Them In The Face

While at the store waiting for my prescription the other day I sat next to two young children; no doubt brother and sister, who were sitting contently and playing with their Iphones.  I assumed the wait would be short so I left mine in the car, a dreadful mistake that I can assure you will not be made again. I waited for what seemed like hours without even a glimpse at Instagram, Facebook or Twitter and boy oh boy was I stressed out. Beside me though, the kids weren’t making a peep. Not a single argument, not a single punch in the face; just two siblings, enjoying their devises. 

While sitting there, technology-less, I couldn’t help but picture what it would have been like 10 years ago had it been my brother and I sitting there instead, sans cell phones of course because my dad had little respect for our desires. I can’t deny it really brought me back to a simpler time…

…A time where, just for fun, I would put the dog’s choke collar on my little brother and run down the street, dragging him behind me. So young, so careless, so free. Sure, he cried but it was a cry of love and thankfulness.

…A time where  I made him steal lipgloss from the grocery store for me, only to be caught by a secret shopper and forced to go to anger management classes together. A beautiful, time in our lives where we learned to express our feelings by using the phrase “It makes me feel sad when you…” Of course, my brother had nothing to insert there because I only brought him joy.

…A time when I walked in on him putting his mouth on the gallon of milk and I forced him to drink the entire thing. 

 A reenactment of our childhood; printed for an uncle a few years back.

…A time when I occasionally hit him with my vehicle ever so lightly by “accident,” just to get a little rise out of him.

…A time when I locked my car doors and forced him to crawl through a small crack in the window if he wanted a ride home.

…A time where I took my brother and younger cousins on a joy ride on the four-wheeler, specifically choosing a location with thick brush and then ducking down to ensure they were the ones to get smacked in the face by the dangling branches; a beautiful bonding time we can all reflect back on today. 

As I sat there, reflecting, I couldn’t help but feel sad for these two siblings who will likely never know the feeling of the other’s urine drizzling on them from above or even the way the other’s hands feels around their necks. 

Moments later, their mother called them from the front of the store telling them it was time to leave and as the little brother got up, the older one tripped him. I laughed out loud and high-fived the older brother; maybe there is still hope for them to have a happy childhood.

How Long Does It Take 2 Blondes To Make 24 Cookies?

Tonight Kendall and I decided to get in the holiday spirit by baking/decorating some sugar cookies. “What a great night o’ Christmas fun this will be!” we so foolishly thought. Little did we know, we would soon be faced with the biggest challenge of our lives.

First, we immediately realize that we had all the ingredients but no cookie cutters. Sadly, I was literally just at Hobby Lobby staring at cookies cutters, wondering when I would ever use a thing like that and then moving on. So, we decide to head to Albertsons on a whim, forgetting that I had gotten us a pizza until we were already knee-deep into the trip. 

Naturally we arrive only to find out that Albertsons doesn’t carry cookie cutters so I was forced to pull out my protest signs out of my handy dandy protest backpack and stand outside to attempt to get the store shut down. We were ignored completely by literally everyone except one gent who kindly spat in my face and attempted to pee on my shoe. Thinking maybe the guy was onto something, I started attempting the same behaviors toward other people and I was physically removed from the premises shortly after that. Little did they know, I was planning on leaving soon anyway. We had just decided we were going to use butter knives and create our own damn shapes to stick it to the man. GOT YA GOOD ALBERTONS. WE GOT YOU REAL GOOD.

Moving on. When we get back home Riley had eaten the entire pizza. I try to remain calm by remembering that in less than an hour, I would be eating some scrumptious sugar cookies anyway.

We have a few issues with basic mathematics (1/3+1/3) but manage to bake some dang good pretty decent cookies. When it came time to decorate however, we realize we don’t have any powdered sugar for the icing. Since I couldn’t head back to Albertons, mostly because it was a personal choice and a little because I have been banned, I decided to go door to door for some powdered sugar. Most of my neighbors saw me through the peephole and pretended they didn't hear the knock but about 7 doors in, a sweet man who barely speaks English finally answered and WIN! He has powdered sugar. 

 The wine bottle = Our rolling pin. Some real Martha Stewarts in the house.

Finally, we start whipping up the icing and although it LOOKED like icing, it tasted like chalk mixed with bath soap which may sound appealing but I assure you it is not.

Anyway, Merry Christmas to my coworkers; these little drops of heaven are for you:

Nope, wait. False alarm. Riley just ate them all. 

Lucky bastards.

My First Restraining Order

Time to recap my birthday celebration, YIPPEE. Friday night I rounded up a few stray girls I met in the liquor store to join me in my birthday festivities. My only requirement was that they were least a 7/10 on the attractive-o-meter (although let’s face it, some are cutting it CLOSE) and that they could chug a whole bottle of liquor in less than 30 minutes. This is what I came up with:

They weren’t the worst group of girls I’ve ever hung out with. We started out at my favorite Mexican restaurant (deemed favorite based solely on the strength of the margarita) and then headed  to the bars afterwards to dance the night away. Naturally, I killed it on the dance floor per usual (Including doing leap frog in that dress. A classy choice.) and after about 30 minutes of dominating the dance floor, I had several people lining up to offer me jobs as well as their hands in marriage.

Hours later, after finally rejecting everyone politely yet firmly, I got in my car to head home. Miles into the car ride, I came to the realization after hitting several mailboxes and a few pedestrians that perhaps I shouldn’t be behind the wheel. Luckily, I saw a bicycle cop nearby so I grabbed a stick and stuck it in his back wheel causing him to go flying off his bike and allowing me to steal it and continue on my path more safely. (Nobody respects bicycle cops anyway.)

Eventually I made it home safely and quickly after arriving, I had a knock at my door. The bicycle cop. I answered it assuming that he was just there to compliment my excellence in bike riding but instead, he yelled at me pretty hard and cussed me out. Needless to say, I was pretty turned on by his blatant disrespect for me so I invited him to move in with me.


That my friends, is the story of my birthday + my first restraining order.

To wrap it up, I would like to share JUST SOME of the insults I recieved yesterday at work:

1.       “You have a square head. No seriously, your head looks like SpongeBob square pants.”

2.       “Do you think you’re deep? Because I think you’re shallow as hell. I don’t even think a goldfish could swim up there.”
3.       After telling a coworker I have trouble sleeping because my mind is too active he said: “Really? Because I imagine your head just being a big whirlwind of dust up there.”
4.       “Have you ever thought of how much more attractive you would be if you stopped drinking and taking sleeping pills?”

For All You Single Ladies

Good afternoon long lost friends!

I apologize for the lack of recent postings but I’ve been under the weather drunk. I've also been avoiding Facebook at all costs; instead of checking it every hour on the hour, I only check it every few hours. In case you haven't logged on lately, let me get you up to date:

With a little bit of this in between:

Meanwhile, while you assholes are in love and smiling from ear to ear, I'm over here like:

For all of you single ladies in the same boat, let me assure you that despite the way it may appear, you are not the only ones who can’t catch a man with a full head of hair if your life depended on it.

 Let me make you feel better by summing up a few recent dating stories:

1.     After a few good dates, we have plans during rush hour traffic. He is supposed to pick me up but just an hour before our plans, I receive a text saying “Would you mind driving? I get nervous in traffic.” ……NERVOUS.IN.TRAFFIC?!!! A grown man!

2.     A first date that is going seemingly well until:

Him: Would you ever be in a wet T-shirt contest?

Me: Um. No.

Him: So is that a strong no then?

Me: Yes.

Him: Check please!

3.     A first date in which the guy orders a martini. FOR HIMSELF. Next thing you know he will be telling me he has a small dog too.

4.     A first kiss in which he literally sticks his tongue in my mouth and rests it there. That’s right, just plops it in and doesn’t move. My mouth is not a Motel 6, buddy. Deal.breaker.

So while I’m thrilled that everyone is happily engaged, frankly I’m a little confused where all these great catches are coming from? Or maybe they aren’t such a great catch after all! So next time you see that yet another happy couple got engaged, just remember that he probably stole the engagement ring.

Vote For Your Fav!

Which do you like better? First or second?

 

My Life Thus Far: In A Tiny Brown Nutshell.

Four score and 26 years ago (or something like that) on this very day, was the most glorious day the world has ever seen. The snow was falling thicker than the layer of grease my hair would soon come to know and alas, a babe is born. A beautiful, 6 pound 7 ounce tiny angel of bliss who the world immediately loved and adored. I'm talking about me here. It's my birthday. In honor of this occasion, I give you: My Life Thus Far: In A Tiny Brown Nutshell.

December 11, 1986: I shoot out of my mother’s womb wearing a small tiara and a permanent frown.

 

  Unfortunately my mother didn't think I was photo-worthy as a babe so I stole this from the internet. I assume it's fairly accurate.

8 months old: Regardless of parental neglect, I begin to walk. I am a baby genius. Sadly, that trait did not carry on to adult Kasey.

5 years old: Yippidee skippidy, my brother is born. [ie: my parents forget about me completely]

3^rd grade: Sporting a mushroom cut, some boy asks me if I’m a boy or a girl. My mom allows me to get my ears pierced so there is no further confusion. (The confusion does not end here)

 

  Sorry for the poor photo quality but I think you catch my drift here.

4^th grade: Still sporting the mushroom cut. I develop my first crush so I come up with a “sexy walk” in order to catch his eye. The “sexy walk” basically consisted of me taking overly large steps and swaying my bod back and forth. I imagine it was somewhat painful to watch. My crush made fun of my new found walk and started liking somebody else with a normal hair cut and a less offensive demeanor.

5^th grade: Apparently I master the sexy walk; I get my first boyfriend on April Fool’s Day but I can't handle the pressure so I hide behind the bushes for an hour after school ends to avoid him. His brother later meets me and mistakes me for a boy because my leg hair is out of control. I run home, crying hysterically and my mom lets me Nair my legs to avoid any further gender confusion. (There is still confusion anyway)

6th grade: I start [and stop] developing boobs which I mistake for small tumors and cry my eyes out until my mom clears things up for me.

High school: Hung out with the “Rat Pack” making lemonaid stands to fund my college education while my dad stalks my every move. In my spare time, I physically abuse my brother to ensure he doesn’t turn out gay. (You are welcome, John.) 

What a lovely Christmas card this could have made.

                                                          

College Years: (2005-2009) ?????

Yep. This sums it up.

Post-College 2009: Move back in with my parents, contemplate suicide daily while trying to cope with the "real world."

2010: Move into my own apartment. Slowly but surely begin to grasp that I am expected to pay my bills every month and go to work daily. 

2011-2012: My nephew is born and I adopt Riley. I can't help but crack my first smile.

December 11, 2012:  Here we are. 26 years old. My womb is drying up and my liver is failing but I'm going to get rich this year, I can feel it in my bones.

I salute you mom and dad, you raised a champ. Thanks for birthing me.

It's My (Fake) Party And I Can (Fake) Cry If I Want To.

My friends and I spent the entire work day Friday trying to figure out what to do that night and let me tell you people, I don’t get paid enough for that kind of stress.  Eventually we decided on an excellent idea (see #1) that ended up being a huge success but it was definitely took some brain power to get there and unfortunately I have now maxed myself out until the new year. I know we have all been in this predicament before so I went ahead and created a list of a few ideas to mix things up on the weekends:

  

1. Throw a fake bachelorette party with your friends. Who says you have to be engaged to have a bachelorette party anyway? Wait, disregard that last question but let’s face the facts; you may never get married so you may as well fake it for a night to get free drinks and lots of attention. In case you are worried about guys not being interested in you if you are the “bride to be,” you are dead wrong. Men are scumbags and “you are not married yet!” If you do actually meet a guy with a conscious (HAHA!) you can fake cry and claim your future husband is cheating on you. Actually, you should just ahead and make it a plan to use the crying thing at least once, it really freaks people out. Don’t forget to get the bachelorette party playing cards to make things more interactive!
 

      2. If your friends are all busy, finally agree to go on a date with that guy who has been pestering you and be as obnoxious and disgusting as possible. If he is wearing a shirt with a pocket, lean on his shoulder while laughing and “accidentally” drool in it. Spill your drink all over yourself and then laugh like a crazed lunatic. When he goes for the kiss, either head butt him or kiss him and then immediately spit while looking back at him, disgusted. 

      3. Dress up as unattractive as possible, use a fake name and create an alternate personality.

                                            

In the pictures above I was a white trash mother of a whole litter of kids named Rock, Stick, Grass, Chair, Rock, Grass, and Headstone. My sisters and I had thick accents and we dominated the dance floor with some incredible dance moves that would move your soul.  We were a real hit and we got so many free drinks we had to start throwing them over our shoulders. (Party foul)

Unfortunately the weekend is over now so unless you are way more awesome than I am and go to bed post 9 pm on the weekdays, you will have to wait a whole week to use those gems. Until then, get those flasks ready; the work week is upon us!

Love At First Scent

When I first laid eyes on Monica, I despised her. She was the new girl to the office and I certainly wasn’t trying to be her friend. A few days after meeting her however, I grazed past her desk and smelt the strong, strong odor of mothballs mixed with hair grease and I knew right then and there that I had finally found somebody who showered as little, if not less than I did. We went to happy hour later that night and fought over a hideous man just to see who would win (me) and I fell in love with her even more when she complimented his teeth and proceeded to TOUCH THEM. It was obvious that this girl had some big issues and frankly, I was into it.

Nearly 10 months, 9843982398 drinks, 100 showers, (between the two of us) lots of laughs, and one trip to Florida later, we are still holding strong. Oh sweet, sweet Monica, I pray we will be friends for life. Do we fight? Almost daily. Do you get on my nerves? Almost hourly. But man oh man do I love you.

And as I write this, I recieve this text, confirming my love for her once again:

Happy Friday!

Happy One Month Blog-iversary To Me!

Today marks one whole month of me keeping up with this little blog! In honor of this great accomplishment, I am going to celebrate tonight! One drink for each of my sweet sweet followers = 45 drinks. So basically, my typical Thursday night.

I will leave you with this adorable photo of Riley. If this doesn't make you want to run up to your local SPCA and adopt-a-pup ASAP, I don't know what will.

Tis The Season For Stalking!

December is pretty much the best month in the year; my birthday, Christmas, holiday time off, my birthday, tons of excuses to drink and my birthday. Unfortunately however,  it is also a season for break-ups, most likely because your significant other didn’t care about you enough to buy you a Christmas present.

Luckily, holiday parties are happening every weekend and your ex is probably going to be in attendance of a few of them so it’s time to strap on a disguise and a slightly aggressive weapon of your choosing and start stalking his ass!

A few years ago, before I had perfected my ability to be the world’s most perfect girlfriend, my college boyfriend kicked me to the curb within the first 5 minutes of a 3 hour road trip while I was driving. He proceeded to sing and play drums on my window while I cried my eyes out and drove us home, getting yelled at occasionally for my poor driving skills. I know what you’re thinking: What. A . Catch! And yes, he is single and ready to mingle if you ladies want to holler at him. Anyway, the break up came as a complete shock to me and I certainly wasn’t prepared to just sit by and let it happen so I made some plans to crash his upcoming Halloween party which my invitation was revoked to.

The night of his Halloween party, I dressed up in all trash bags, unidentifiable sneakers, no jewelry and some hand-made signs in case anyone tried to talk to me. (My voice is pretty distinctive.) I brought a friend with me for support and some perfume which I kept in a zip lock bag attached to the trash bag dress I was wearing so that in the event some skank tried to talk to/get close to my ex, I could spray her right in the eye.

I walked into the party and he greeted us, complimented our costumes and we danced the night away in between asthma attacks – it’s no easy task breathing under trash bags. I was able to keep an eye on him the entire night and never even had to pull out my perfume!

Now, I’ll admit this process was a little easier on a Halloween party but Christmas parties can work just as easily! Simply wrap a scarf around your face and cut out only the eye holes and claim that you have a serious disease and can’t be exposed to cold weather. Not only will you get to stalk your ex but you will also most likely get to draw first in the Christmas exchange because you’re on the verge of death!

Happy Stalking!