Coachella Saves Relationship

PopSugar

 

EAST RUTHERFORD, NJ-Local lifestyle Instagram curator Ashley Blake recently returned home from Coachella, a little known music festival sponsored by Absolut., American Express, and H&M among others, with a renewed sense of commitment to her partner, Denver Schnelling.

Held most years since 1999 in Indio, California, Coachella is a unique experience for friends who plan to take Molly for four straight days until the only lasting memory of the trip is when Mike gets way too aggressive about wanting a soft pretzel before kicking over a neighboring teepee and leaving the group for good.

Blake, 24, confirms that recently she and Schnelling, also 24, had stopped communicating over the issues that matter most to them. “I’m starting to think he actually believes that Richard Simmons just decided he wants to be left alone. How can I talk to him when it’s so fucking obvious that his housekeeper has him tied up in the basement and he needs all of us to help him?”

Schnelling takes responsibility for his part, admitting that he did not notice Blake’s newest Uniglo bodysuits, saying “I used to think it was adorable when she wore the one with the blue and the green swirls, but lately I guess we don’t have as much fun as we did when we first started hooking up behind my roommate’s back.”  They agreed that a trip to Coachella would allow them time to bond and purchase a new vaporizer.

It was during Calvin Harris’ third appearance on the main stage for a surprise collaboration with Billy Ocean when Blake and Schnelling realized they wanted to get out of their own metaphorical cars and into each others dreams for the immediate future and that this new vaporizer is the tits hahahahaha.

As of press time, Blake and Schnelling have been dating for 11 weeks and plan to enroll in the same abnormal psychology class at Bergen Community College this fall.

 

 

Celebrate Pride like Bob the Drag Queen

 

Hey girl. It’s been a minute or 7 years. And I’ve got the itch.

I want to tell you things that mean so little in the grand scheme of your day, much less your life. Let’s skip past the years for now and delve right back in to nonsense. You don’t need to know the details about that time in 2011 I came home to hear Mr. Barista say “miso sorry me no want no more marriage with you” in full UMOT style. You saw that coming.

You also knew everything would be better than fine in the end.

Today I want to tell you a story about my televangelist cousin. He’s a super nice guy as far as the teenage abstinence religious set goes. He podcasts about leadership and exercise and positive affirmations for fun! He’s going to London and needs his followers help to plan his trip (le sigh that followers is not a sarcastic comment in 2017. Please read it with heavy sarcasm for me. I’m committed to keeping my writing GIF free for now. Shit, is GIF free the new gluten free?)

His 12,497 followers came through with the suggestions! They all must have walking around money to burn when in London because they know exactly what to do! When in London you simply must go to Paris. You can take a high speed train and see all of Paris in an afternoon!

Spread the gospel. Obviously.

Spend most of your time in London being very careful not to be robbed. You have to pay attention to your wallet at all times. Do not go to the London Eye unless your wallet is in your right hip pocket, or else you might be pickpocketed and left for goddamned dead in the street.

Don’t stay out too late because someone will scam you with a lie. This is an actual quote.  I personally stay out late all the time and the only scam I’ve ever heard is it costs $1 to take a picture of the man who walks around with a cat on his head, which in my opinion, is a hard but fair bargain.

This feels good, right?

Circle Back Around

Editor’s note: This post is brought to you by marijuana.

It’s like that thing when you’re g-chatting with one of your friends who’s trying to cheer you up because you are sad and he sends you the most bangin’ dating website ever of which you run and tweet to amazement of your followers. And then later that evening you’re playing Words With Friends with your ex boyfriend from college who you may or may not have lost your virginity to when he brings up said tweets and reminds you that your freshman year roommate was in a porn called “Cap’n Stabbin’s Anal Adventures”, something that you haven’t thought about in years and then tweet about immediately, forgetting temporarily that another one of your roommates is also on Twitter who then responds that she too remembers your roommate who was in a porn in college at which point you remember screening said porn when you were still with your now ex husband and wanting to vomit which then reminds you that you guys met at Easy Street, which is now Sullivan’s, which is also where you first met said friend who originally sent you the awesome captain dating website and introduced you to your most recent ex boyfriend which is why you were bummed and needed cheering up in the first place.  And because of your ex husband you realize that that is why you work at Steal Your Soul,  Inc. and because of Steal Your Soul, Inc. you started a blog and then got on Twitter which is how you met aforementioned original friend above and everything is so meta right now and you wonder what your freshman year roommate who was in the porn is up to right this very second, but you should probably go to sleep since it’s midnight and you need to be at Steal Your Soul, Inc. in the morning.

Bring It Back To Basics!

Baby beer!

My manager told me I dress too much like a hobo last week and suggested I, “bring it back to basics” when it comes to my way of dress in the workplace. I’m not sure exactly what that means, but I dig it. I dig it a lot.  As a matter of fact I like it so much Imma go ahead and declare 2011 as the Year of Bringing It Back to Basics!

For example: Are you low on cash but still want to go out and get zany?  Bring it back to basics by smuggling in a flask filled with your favorite booze.  Annoyed with too many babies on Facespace?  No problem. Bring it back to basics and start posting pictures of your fake babies out at various bars around town in hopes moms of the internet get the hint. (They won’t, but it’s fun regardless).  Has your check engine light been on for the past two months and your car smells like burning?  No problem! Bring it back to basics and simply ignore the fuck out of that check engine light.  Spend money on car repairs? LOL! No thank you! 

 

You can see that bringing it back to basics is 1-rad and 2-basically means not giving a rip about most things, which works with my general disposition and outlook on life.  Give it a try and see if you find yourself checking your mail monthly and taking out your recycling only when the number of wine bottles lined up on the kitchen floor starts to resemble a small army of awesome!  Your outlook on life will thank you. You’re welcome in advance.

A Christmas Miracle!

The way we were

Last night I decided to celebrate the upcoming birth of your Lord and Savior by getting mad zany with a couple of equally crazy bitches who enjoy drinking and all around bitchery just as much as yours truly.  After several vats of wine a fella approaches us and asks if could be so honored to buy us a shot (in honor of the Baby Jesus), to which we replied, “Fucking duh”.  Now the problem with accepting any form of alcohol from someone with a penis is that you’re then expected to talk to them afterward.  Café Darkness does not like this and fortunately for me, I was not the one stuck having to make conversation (yay!) and continued being awesome while my friend fell victim to his rambling. However, being the good friend I am, I promptly responded to the third jab to my leg (which in girl speak means stop fucking ignoring the fact I’m getting ear raped by this douche bag and help me) and saved her straight away.  That’s when a Christmas miracle happened and the most awesome exchange of 2010 occurred.

Me to Friend Who Needed Saving:  I can’t believe Kelly is going to be at the Christmas party later.

Friend (Not knowing WTF I was talking about but knowing to just roll with it): I know, right? Whatta bitch.

Me: I can’t stand her. Even though it was years ago I can’t stand the fact she hooked up with Dylan in the pool when I was studying abroad in Paris for the summer!

Him: What happened? Who hooked up? What?

Me: That bitch Kelly hooked up with MY boyfriend in a pool when I was in Paris. She was my best friend but now I hate her!

Him: Oh my god, how long ago did this happen?

Me: High school, but still, I lost my virginity to him at prom! It was kinda a big deal.

Him: Oh my god, that is terrible!

Me: I know, right? I was so upset about it I ended up not going to same college as everyone else for a semester but then was so lonely I transferred back but then eventually left the show because I was too much of a bitch in real life to tolerate.

Friend (Who is about to lose her shit):  Donna Martin graduates?

Me: Barely. But yes.

Him (Who is clearly the dumbest and drunkest person in Richmond): God man, that really sucks. I’m sorry to hear that.

Me: Then my parents moved to Japan and everyone randomly continued living in my old house which always confused me. Anyways, you ready to go to this party?

Friend: Yes.

Him: Ok, I’ll let you ladies go ahead and go to your party, but I feel for you. Breakups are hard. Even from high school.

A Mother’s Love

Vomitorium

Sometimes visiting my mom is like going on Oprah. Or rather, at least what I would imagine going on Oprah would feel like, minus everyone getting a car and her dictating what books I read. I go for a quick visit and all of a sudden I’m being told everything I’m doing wrong in life and how I should fix it and why don’t I just listen to her once in a while, god damn it?  My evening with dear old mom when something like this:

 

Upon me entering and not even sitting down yet:

Mom: Okay, lemme see it.

Me: Uh. Really? Can I sit down first?

Mom: No.

Me: Oh. Ok.

Mom:  Jesus, that thing is ugly. I mean, it’s not *as* bad as I thought it would be, I guess. Kind of looks like a prison tattoo. 

Me: Yay?

Mom: No.

Me: Oh. Ok.

Mom: So…..any new boyfriends?

Me: Noooooope!

Mom: Zero prospects?

Me: Affirmative. S’aint happenin’.

Mom: What’s the problem, here? Why can’t you meet anybody?

Me: Dunno. I mean, to be honest, I’m not even trying even a little.  I’m just living my life.  I don’t care.  I want the iPhone 4.

Mom: What? Huh?  You make zero sense.

Me: Forget it. It was a joke!

 

About ten minutes later:

Mom: You need to find a boyfriend who will cook for you.

Me: Ha! Ok! Sounds like a plan!

Mom: You’re malnourished.

Me: No. A steady diet of peanut butter and macaroni and cheese is perfectly nutritious.

 

Five minutes later:

Mom:  What about some of those dating websites?

Me: LORD, NO!

Mom: It has to be better than speed dating, right?

Me: I’M NOT SPEED DATING! JESUS! Do you think I’m that desperate?

Mom: Well………..

 

 

One minute later:

Mom: Maybe if you stopped getting tattoos and you cut your hair you would get a date.

Me: I don’t want a date.

Mom: You do.

Me: No.  Dates cause problems. Right now I’m problem free. Let’s keep it that way.

Mom: You will never give me grandchildren.

Me: Correct.

Ah, a mother’s love.  What a sweet, lovely thing it is.

Foodie

It's OK, I don't know what any of that is, either.

Foodie (noun).  A made up word one pretentiously calls oneself to let you know they eat food better than you.  Those who use this word in a non-ironic manner alert everyone they are going to talk about the meal they prepared last night in excruciating detail, much to the disdain of those around them.  For example:

Foodie: “I prepared the most amazing lamb shank last night with a fantastic ginger and cilantro rub. Although you would think the ginger and cilantro would fight against each other, the tenderness and gaminess of the lamb really helped blend the flavor profiles beautifully.  I even paired it with a fantastic seasonal IPA I found at this new market around the corner.  Definitely making that again around holidays. Plus also, ceviche.”

You: (Blank Stare). “Oh. Ok.”

Foodies spend an abnormal portion of their free time talking about “the best” of any and every type of food.  Which restaurant has the best Cuban sandwich? Where can you find the best crab benedict asparagus breakfast burrito omelet?  How about the best Thai-Korean-Ethiopian taco truck?  Whereas there is no end to discovering the “best of” any type of consumable good, for some reason that is beyond comprehension, coffee and pizza seem to be the holy grail of “best of”.  Foodies, if left to their own devices, would talk about coffee and pizza 92-93% of the time, with the remaining 8-7% spent discussing next spring’s vegetable garden. 

When one encounters a foodie, it is best to simply nod your head and heartily agree with all of their recommendations and concur that is next to impossible to find a decent tuna tartare in this god damn town, but yes, that new Ugandan place down the street is going to be the best thing to happen to restaurants in the history of the world.

Go away, please.

Oh, you like me? Neat. Let's date.

Recently T Saur has been getting mad creepy.  A few weekends ago I was at a local watering hole (shocking) and when I got into work that Monday he immediately ran over to me and barked, “Did I have a nice weekend?  Because he saw me at (fill in the blank) bar.” Please note, this is not the first, second or third time T has claimed to see me out and about and not come over and said hello. (Which is actually preferable).  As a matter of fact, now that I get to thinking about it, this has been happening about once a week for a few months now. Are you following me around?  Gross. 

Anywhoos, this past Monday he rushes over straight away in his stinky eighteen-piece suit and once again asks me how my weekend was, doesn’t even wait for an answer before placing this on my desk:

Whaaaaaaat?

 

Total pregnancy test, amiright?  I even asked him why he placed a pregnancy test on my desk and he laughed and said no, it’s a wine opener and he thought I would want it? You know, because after the trillion bottles of wine I’ve consumed I probably don’t have a wine opener.  I guess it was kind of nice, if not a little weird and totally unnecessary.  Fast forward to yesterday. Again, it was first thing in the morning and I’m my standard thirty minutes late getting here.  He runs over and says in an uber scary dead pan voice, “I like the color of your hair”, to which I replied, “Oooooookay. Thanks?” You like the color of my hair? What? Why are so weird with everything in your life?  Go. Away. 

Speaking of lives, what’s going on with my life lately? What with my stalker from last week, T Saur and the crazy Vietnam Vet Hobo who asked to, “ride in my car” yesterday I’m seriously beginning to question what kind of crazy mojo I’m putting out there.  TLW no want your crazy. Please leave my life.

Creep Street

Same!

Trying to picture a scene that’s hard to believe: Me. At a bar.  Drinking.  Okay, now that you’ve imagined the unimaginable let’s make it weirder.  Let’s assume I’m there with some friends, (What?  I have friends? Yes. I do. Fuck off). Let’s then assume that one of them is wearing a shirt with a college football team logo of some sort on it. Then picture a random stranger walking up to said friend and stating that he also went to that college and wow wasn’t that big win last Saturday bananas? (Stephen Garcia’s dick is huge, BTW).  Conversation about said football team continues and this girl zones out and runs to the ladies room as I have the bladder the size of a baby squirrel.  

ANYWHOOS, so when I get back to my seat I’m informed that this strange man “knows” me and knows my name.  Seeing as I have never laid eyes upon him I immediately inquire  from where do I know him?  He mentions several friends of mine and I’m all yeah, ok, fine, but how do you know me?  He tells me he’s seen my picture on their Facespace and I’m all, oooooookay, that’s the creepiest thing I’ve heard all week.  He says no, it’s not creepy. He’s just seen my picture and wasn’t I at Gus’ a few Sundays ago watching football? I said that I was and this is getting real weird, real quick.  He thought for sure he saw me there and was going to say hi but decided not to say anything because that would be weird.  I ask him how right now is not weird, but a few weeks ago would have been weird?  He didn’t really have an answer for that since he was super busy drinking his grape flavored Red Bull and Vodka. “All grape flavored drinks are just better” he told me. 

Much to my disappointment he continued talking to me and told me he works for AT&T.  I asked him to please make it so I could make phone calls in my apartment as that is my home and it’s a pain in the fucking ass to drop calls on the regs.  Then he asks me where do I live on (fill in the blank) Street?  KIM, I never told Creepster what street I lived on. So then there’s that.  He eventually meandered away as he drunkenly realized I was not the slightest bit interested in him wearing my skin as a suit. 

There you have it folks.  Just a typical Thursday night out attracting the biggest freaks in RVA. HOLLER LOUDLY!

Dislike/Like!

Asshole

The longer I’m alive the more I realize I’m bothered by things that most people don’t even give a second thought to (i.e. Bed & Breakfasts and checking my mail). Conversely, things that make other people go bananas don’t faze me in the slightest (i.e. my pollen covered kitchen floor I didn’t clean for weeks last Spring).  Please see below:

Things I can’t stand:

People who back into parking spaces. I hate you. You’re wasting everyone’s time. Just. Pull. In. This morning I saw a woman hold up traffic in my parking deck by backing in her space. In the amount of time it took her to park, I parked my car and walked the length of the deck to the stairs. Please note she was still parking when I descended the stairs, so she could still be sitting there readjusting her stupid spot for all I know. 

Riding in elevators with strangers. This creeps me out to no end. I will walk up a trillion flights of stairs before I ride in an elevator with someone I don’t know.  Standing so close to a person in silence is maybe second to none to getting a gynecological exam whilst talking about your vacation plans.  (Hi, you’re feeling my ovaries; I don’t want to talk about The Outer Banks right now.)  The more people in the elevator, the worse it is and I start to feel like a trapped Chilean miner within seconds of the elevators doors closing, but without the psychological treatment they’re receiving on the daily.

Going to the movies. I don’t like people telling me I need to be someplace to watch something. Similarly, I do not watch anything on TV when it actually airs. If it’s not OnDemand, I don’t know what you’re talking about.  I do things when I want to do them, not when The Man says I should. Run and tell dat, homeboy!

Cleaning things that don’t need to be cleaned. Did you know some people bring cleaning supplies with them when they stay in a hotel?  Me either. Did you know some people clean the inside of their washing machines?  Same.  How about people that actually take the time to store their winter or summer clothes properly and place dryer sheets between them?  Who are these people?  Where did you learn to do this?  I’m scared. Leave me now, go live your weird, strange life.

 

Things that don’t bother me:

My moldy shower.  This would really skeeve a lot of people out, and understandably so, but for some reason my shower mold is kinda like an old friend. We hang out a little bit every day (ish) and catch up on life events. I heart my shower mold. Don’t go changin’, boo! I like you just the way you are!

Eating the same thing everyday.  I don’t really care that much about food, thus eating the exact same thing everyday does not annoy me.  I pretty much just eat whatever is the cheapest thing at the grocery store that week because I’m too poor to eat fancy. Pass me the peanut butter, bitches!

Unorganized closets and kitchen cabinets.  I was shocked and appalled when I recently discovered that people organize these things.  Like for real. They’re straight up neat.  I had gone all of these years assuming everyone just shoved their crap in the closet like I did and shut the door. I mean, why wouldn’t you? Isn’t that what closets are for? To store all of your stuff you don’t want out and about?  You don’t see the inside of the closet and/or cabinets so why does it need to be organized? I’ve got better uses of my time than organizing a closet. Like napping. Or petting my dogs.