I turned 21 last week, which means I now claim legal ownership over the beer in my refrigerator. Here’s the final tally on desserts that I amassed during all the birthday hooplah:

  1. A pan of cheesecake brownies
  2. A cookie cake
  3. A brownie with cookie dough on top (!!!)
  4. A bag of mini M&Ms from Tara
  5. Heart-shaped Valentine’s brownies that my brother’s girlfriend made
  6. Chocolate cookie bombs, which were balls of cookie dough inside a layer of brownie INSIDE a casing of CHOCOLATE (ASDGKDHGDKL)
  7. Two giant cookies that I bought for myself, unaware as I was that a veritable hurricane of sugar (see above) was on its way

My roommate and I went home for the weekend, which I tried to call my Birthweekendday, but it didn’t catch on even a little bit. On Valentine’s Day Tara and I played a really cutthroat game of Monopoly with my brother Alex and his girlfriend. I was just on the verge of expanding my empire and unleashing HELL when Allison arrived, and she put a stop to it. (I guess it was for the best.) We then went out for dinner and a stand-up comedy show. (The comedians were from LA, so they made a lot of jokes about snow and potholes.) The next night, my mom made me breakfast for dinner (I WAS IN HEAVEN) and then Allison and Holly took me to a bar downtown. I’m not going to lie here, it did get pretty wild. We left the bar after a bit and went to Burger King, where we were told we had to order and leave because the dude manning the frying pans had to go pick up his daughter at 11:30 (seriously) (and we weren’t even surprised… this has happened before) so we took our food from that Burger King to the other Burger King. We even ordered more food. We’re not assholes. The only thing weirder than going to a Burger King already laden with Burger King food is doing that and then not buying anything.

I don’t feel very different, being 21. However, I seem to have missed my window of opportunity for fleeing from busted frat parties and jumping fences and going on some kind of drunken excursion in the woods. Teen movies told me this would happen. Teen movies lied to me.


Considering all the trees I’ve fallen out of and all the mailboxes I’ve rollerbladed into, I’m just glad I made it this far

I am beginning to think I got whiplash a few weeks ago when Allison and I were hit by that car. The last time I got whiplash was when I was rear-ended by a police officer. But I mean, this isn’t even impressive. The other car didn’t even hit us that hard. I’m just the kind of person things happen to. I don’t know what it is about me, but I tend to get hurt in the most moronic of ways. When I was thirteen, I accidentally stapled my own hand. When I was camping with my family that same year, I broke my toe because I pretended to lock my brother in the RV bathroom and he flung it open when he realized that, no, it actually can’t be locked from the outside, and I was hit with the door and knocked off my feet. I’ve bruised my tailbone twice, once when I sat down where there wasn’t actually a chair and once when I threw myself off of a roof. I have been shot in the head with Alex’s Airsoft gun. I once fell onto a Barbie Malibu Dreamhouse that didn’t even belong to me with the result that I ripped open my entire leg. I received two bloody noses during my short stint as the worst basketball player on our fifth-grade team, both because I wasn’t paying attention. I once fell out of a go-kart that my dad and my brother built and somehow managed to run myself over. I cracked my head open at summer camp. The first time I ever got stung by a bee was because I wedged a large stick into the hive.

I’ve gotten better with age, but for somebody who hates blood and needles and is very, very squeamish, I apparently had no sense of self-preservation at all as a child.

I wish I had taken a picture of the dinosaur doodle, because it really was magnificent

I spent today with a friend I haven’t seen in a while. We made this dessert, which was a layer of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, then a layer of fudge, and then another layer of Reese’s, but these were crumbled. I remained in a sugar coma throughout much of the movie that followed.

Afterwards I went out to dinner with Tara and Allison, and I left my number for the waiter because he gave me free French fries and asked, quite sincerely, if I am an artist, because I drew one hell of a dinosaur on the check.



There’s something to be said for eating cake on the couch all day

It’s incredible how life can go from boring to exciting in a span of about three or four House episodes. (That’s how I measure time now.)

I mean, I woke up this morning bitter and frightened, because first of all I did not rally in time to go to the Darren Criss concert with Tara, which  sucked. And second of all I had just awoken from a Hannibal-themed fever dream, which, as you can imagine, was pretty traumatizing. So for the first half of the day I watched a House marathon while eating toast and leftover birthday cake.

Things took a turn when I went to the bank, because Allison called and asked if I wanted to go for frozen yogurt. I figured, well, I’m already out, and I like frozen yogurt, and I like Allison, and House will still be on when I get home because they literally will never run out of episodes. We did that for a while, and when we got back to her car it was to see a man getting arrested right next to it. This proved to be awkward, because Allison was fumbling with her iPod while the guy was getting shoved into a police cruiser literally right next to us, and I kept saying things like, “We should go. We should really go,” and Allison would reply, “I haven’t found a song, hang on.”

Then we went to Target and got hit by another car in the parking lot. It was around then that I decided going out and doing things was completely overrated.

These are my Friday nights

I feel like my life is just a long series of battles. Battles with spiders. Battles with strangers at Buffalo Wild Wings over trivia.

That wasn’t the plan, though. We went and saw The Hangover III, purely out of curiosity, and even by my very low expectations I wasn’t very impressed with it. Then Allison wanted to get food. Tara and I weren’t hungry, so that narrowed Allison’s options down to fast food, because it’s not so weird being the only person eating at a fast food place. While I was driving us to McDonalds, however, Allison had a change of heart, and I was forced to hang a right at the last minute and go barreling into Buffalo Wild Wings, whereupon Allison ordered some chicken wings and fries and we embarked on a glorious trivia adventure.

We were there for about two hours. About halfway through we realized we were playing against these people at a table across the bar. I was the only one facing them, so they kept making eye contact with me and giving us the thumbs up or otherwise making some other facial expression. We got competitive. We started cheering whenever we got one right. I high-fived Allison’s face. They beat us twice and then finally we won, so we decided to quit while we were (sort of) ahead. On our way out they all said, “Good game, girls,” and one of them shouted, “TWO OUT OF THREE!”

We almost said, “Same time next week?” but chickened out.

Spoiler Alert

Allison has a penchant for ruining things in movies or TV shows. And she loves it. She loves doing it. She’ll point out something about a character or something that you didn’t notice before, and once it’s been pointed out to you, you can’t un-see it. She was responsible for introducing me to the whole J.J. Abrams lens-flare in Star Trek thing, and she’s ruined several Teen Wolf characters for me. When we went to see Star Trek Into Darkness the other day (which I LOVED… I whispered to Tara, “This is the best day of my life,” and then approximately two hours later I whispered to her, “THIS IS THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE,” so you know it was good), Allison pointed out that somebody had a butt chin. I don’t remember who, but she whispered it, and it was out there. Forever. It was like in that episode of How I Met Your Mother, Spoiler Alert, where they ruin Ted’s girlfriend for him by pointing out that she never stops talking, and you can hear the breaking glass sound effect of shattered illusions.

Tara and I simultaneously turned to her with pain in our expressions and hate in our hearts.

I just said, “Why would you do that?”

And Tara said, “Some people just want to watch the world burn.”

Aaron Tveit and The Great Gatsby

My friends and I were driving to see The Great Gatsby last night. I had successfully called shotgun. Allison was driving, and Tara was in the back. I said, “There’s a video on tumblr I want to send you both. It’s of Aaron Tveit clapping with one hand.”

“With one hand?”

“With one hand,” I confirmed.

“Like this?” said Tara, flapping her hand around.

“More like this,” I said, showcasing appropriately and utilizing both hands because that’s how Aaron does it.

“Like this?” said Allison, immediately taking both hands off the steering wheel and flapping her hands around and for some reason also choosing that moment to accelerate wildly, which caused me to shout, “ALLISON, YOU’RE DRIVING!”

She grabbed the wheel again so Tara and I would stop screaming. When it became clear that we were not, in fact, taking a quick detour into oncoming traffic, Tara said, “We almost just died.

I shrugged. “Well,” I said, laughing. “Well. I mean. It would’ve given me an excuse to finally write a letter to Aaron.”

“Yeah. ‘Dear Aaron,'” said Tara, “‘your one-handed clapping business is the reason my friends and I were involved in what was for them a fatal car accident. Thanks.'”

“Empty Chairs at Empty Tables,” said Allison solemnly.

“Oh my God,” I said, “you’re terrible,” and then I couldn’t resist adding, “On My Own.” I paused. “This conversation just took a turn for the morbid.”

“Yeah,” said Tara, “I hope The Great Gatsby cheers us up and I certainly hope no one dies.”