Monthly Archives: February 2014

Act My Age? Sounds Boring.

Do I always have to act my age?

I think I’d like to act like a 7 year old until about 11am, so I can sleep in, roll out of bed and eat cinnamon toast with a nice side of Monster energy drink. (Okay, I guess I’d like to act like an unsupervised 7 year old.)

Then I think I’d like to act like a 19ish year old for a few hours. I might not be judged as harshly for throwing my dog a birthday party and pinning good looking celebrities on Pinterest. Don’t mind me drooling over Benedict Cumberbatch and literally every celeb who has ever rescued a pet.

Act My Age? Sounds Boring.

Yes, this happened. And it was glorious.

I may even act like a 30-something year old and pin some organizational tips, recipes for freezer meals (knowing darn well I rarely cook anything edible), and blueprints for the house I’ll never be able to afford. Unless I marry a rich guy who lets me put garish lazy river pools in our backyard.

I can act my age long enough to finish my job application, and even try to contain my mixture of excitement and disappointment that I hear back from one of my applications, and it’s the one where I’d be working with a bunch of high school kiddos. WORK THAT USELESS DEGREE, GIRL! GOOD FOR YOU GOING TO COLLEGE. #NoHardFeelings

Then I’ll revert back to college aged to play video games. You know, as long as you let me pretend I had time to play video games while working and going to school. Actually, screw it, I’m just going to play Pokemon or Spyro the Dragon anyway. I’ll just chill at age 7 even longer.

Act My Age? Sounds Boring.

I WILL beat the Elite 4 with a Charizard, Growlithe, Rapidash, Jolteon, Vulpix, and a Psyduck. I WILL BURN THEM.

And finally, I think I’ll wind up my evening with coffee and my computer, desperately trying to write a novel my brain knows nothing about. (That sounds like mid-life crisis, right? So age 50ish?) I’ll give up and fall asleep to either American Dad or Family Guy, depending on how tired I am from waking up at the crack of 8:30 in an attempt to be productive today.

I think that’s one of the nice things about being in my 20s. I do what I want. (As long as I can tune out my mother complaining that doing what I want means doing nothing.)

On that note, Happy Adoption Anniversary to the cute but frustrating dog I adopted three years ago despite everyone and their mom saying it was a bad idea. (I DO WHAT I WANT!) And… yay for a possible job interview? No? Meh.

Act My Age? Sounds Boring.

*Shoves pictures of my kid dog in everyone’s face*


D*mn Right I’m Going To Pick Out The Lettuce

After learning that one of our favorite chain restaurants was permanently closed, the bf and I headed to a smaller, possibly local (?) Mexican joint. We walked in the door and immediately asked about some beautiful drinks a waiter was carrying.

We got chips and salsa and ordered 16 ounces of awesome called a Crazy Horse. (16 ounces each, thank you very much.) Mango, peach, guava, and strawberry margaritas mixed in the second biggest glass I’d ever seen. For the life of me I still can’t figure out what the blue part of the drink was, but it was good, so I won’t complain.

About that.


16 ounces is the perfect size to drink with dinner, apparently.

I perused the menu and found a burrito that sounded awesome. Chicken, rice, beans, pepper, and onion. And when the burrito arrived at the table? There was an extra ingredient. Sneaky, disgusting, slimy. Lettuce.

This restaurant in particular did not have abnormally gross lettuce. To me, it’s all gross. If it’s not listed on the menu, how the heck do I know to request its absence? I don’t.

Seriously, almost every restaurant ever – why do you want me to eat lettuce so badly?! It’s mostly water, it’s not like it’s some life changing food. If you want to ruin smother all your meals with crunchy, green water, at least give me a warning!


Fact: I don’t even eat lettuce in salads. Spinach all the way! Also fact: I didn’t plan to post this image anywhere so it’s not very good. Oops…

I mean, what if I was allergic to lettuce? I’d be DEAD! Twenty two years of picking out little green specs has given me a keen eye, but sometimes I miss a piece. (And trust me, I CAN taste it, no matter what my mother insists.) If people can be allergic to sunlight it doesn’t seem impossible I could be allergic to lettuce.

In fact, I do feel a bit ill every time I crunch into a sliver. I have the chills just thinking about it.


Truth, this isn’t me after lettuce. This is me after half a bottle of rum. But I wasn’t about to eat lettuce just to take a picture.

Please, restaurant owners and future restaurant owners – you can taste lettuce. And to some of us, it tastes NASTY. It’s not a garnishment if it’s hidden inside of my food. It’s just an obstacle to enjoying my meal. Please stop acting like it’s no big deal to sneak in cheap ingredients. I’d rather have a small burrito than one filled with little green land mines.

At least slap a warning label on that sucker: Contains the single food item you’ve spent more than two decades picking out of your food (please ask if you want omitted so you can actually enjoy your food while it’s warm).

No, that piece is NOT too small to taste and I will not eat until I’m confident there is no lettuce left on my plate