An Ode To Twitter

Twitter (n): a means of expressing one's self in 140 characters or less. A creative outlet. A poor man's source of news. A safe haven for grammar nazis to congregate and correct your typos. A social channel.

Over the past four years (OMG, WHAT?), I have had an awesome time on this microblog. This site was Xanga 2.0 for me. It was a way to express myself in a concise statement. A way to communicate with those that I never would've connected with otherwise. A journal that I didn't have to worry about my brother breaking into. One of those electronic early 2000's voice-automated journals that I didn't have to worry about forgetting the password to. See below for a pixelated photo of said journal.

Eventually, I gained followers. No doubt due to my handle, dancing GIF, and the ever-growing popularity of generic "problems" Twitter accounts such as #whitegirlproblems. SIDE NOTE: I'd also like to think that people fell in <3 with my original content and rambling, but a girl can dream, right?

With each new follower, I got a little more self-conscious. More people means more eyes, more criticism, more opportunities for embarrassment, more pressure. I'm working on it, but I tend to care a little bit what people think of me. Especially thousands upon thousands of strangers. My friends and family started to tell people and before I knew it, there were way too many friends of friends coming up to me at parties (okay, it was probably 2 parties) talking to me about my Twitter.

It started to become all about my follower count. I spent my time in class (sorry every Ohio State comm professor) thinking of the next tweet, the next witty remark. I know it sounds lame, but it was an integral part of my life. I finally got to 100,000 followers the summer of 2013, which was a pretty huge feat. HEADS UP: I also have pretty huge feet. SIZE 9ISH, WHADDDUPP.

Through Twitter, I learned that writing was one of my true passions. It led to my internship and now my full-time job. Working at an advertising agency has been challenging and fun, but I started to realize there's more to life than retweets and faves. Writing each day at work is fun, but coming home and feeling obligated to tweet for @awkgrlprblms didn't sound so fun anymore. I started to feel drained. Kind of like how you pour pasta into one of those strainers and the water seeps through into the sink. Except my noodle wasn't really working. So, I don't know if this pasta metaphor is as meaningful as I thought it was. UGH, NUTS.

Anywho, I started to see a decline in my followers. I pretended not to care, not to notice. UH, YEAH, RIGHT. I took it super personally, that's just who I am. My coping mechanism transformed into a moping mechanism. I stopped tweeting as much, fearful that whatever I wrote would cause a further decrease in followers. People clicked that pesky "unfollow" button anyway. I tried to surround myself with fans (see picture below) to lift my spirits, but it didn't work.

LOL, anyway. I guess the point of this blog post is to go a little behind-the-scenes/behind-the-laptop-screen. YOU GUYS ARE SCARY, OKAY. This has been such a fun account (and will continue to be), but if it feels like I stopped churning out tweets, that's true.  Turns out life is pretty crazy and busy and awesome. So, yeah, I've lost 10k followers over 2 years. That's okay. 

I am a 23-year-old normal(ish) young-fauxfessional. By the way, "fauxfessional" is a fun term I made up for anyone in the corporate world that still makes Pringle duck beaks. 

Truth is, I shouldn't have even 1,000 followers. There are way funnier, more intelligent people out there. So, it's cool that you guys have buckled in for the ride. Some were here from the start (when the dancing girl in my GIF was actually relevant) and others have jumped aboard later. Regardless, yeah, I've lost 10k the past two years. BUT, I've grown up a little since and now have a 401K. WUT, WUT?!

I am going to continue to "bring out the big puns" with each tweet. Do I tweet as regularly as I once did in between taking notes in Bio 101? Nah. BUT, you can bet that I will still say random awful things that will make you cringe a little from time to time. And hopefully write more blog posts, because this was fun...right? RIGHT?!?!

Just keep an eye out for my new memoir: -10K to 401K

-Awkward Girl/Mary Kate 

Is Mayonnaise An Instrument?

Hey guys, it's me. Remember me? I'm the girl who is proficient-ish in puns and cutting the crusts off of PB&J sandwiches.

I am going to try to blog more. Seems like a healthy outlet. Like, an outlet you could plug a lava lamp into without fear of getting electrocuted. Or something.

I've learned over the years that I do much better when given a writing prompt. And a time limit of some sort. Currently it is 902 PM, I am going to give myself until 933 to write a blog post on "Is Mayonnaise An Instrument?" (thanks @chewbacca__ for this beyond weird thought-starter).  

Instrument (n): a tool or implement, especially one for delicate or scientific work.

All right, let's break down mayonnaise here. It is a condiment, so one could argue that it carries out the function of making turkey sandwiches a little less boring. Coming from a girl who has a chronic Case of the Mundane, I need a little mayo in my life to keep things interesting. And let's be real--the perfect sandwich is kind of a scientific work.

When it comes to burgers, I like my mayonnaise like I like my men--ON THE SIDE. Haha, does that make sense? Probably not. And so I digress.

The more I think about it, a restaurant is kind of like a symphony of sorts--you've got forks scraping and clanking while A Thousand Miles plays faintly over the sound of impatient patrons tapping their feet anxiously while awaiting the arrival of their food. 

There's usually also a little kid leaning over the booth making weird faces at you while you're trying to enjoy your basket of chicken fingers. And an obnoxious wanna-be comedian loudly chronicling some lame story to his less-than-enthused friends.

This is where the "mayonnaise as instrument" weaves its way into the tapestry of weirdness that is this blog post.

Instruments (in the musical sense) produce noise. Next time you're annoyed at that wanna-be comedian, simply scoop up a spoonful of mayonnaise and fling it at the dude so that he yells in surprise. Yelling = noise. THEN point to the little demon kid doing handstands in the booth ahead of you and blame him. THERE YOU GO. Wanna-be comedian will lose story-telling steam as he goes to the bathroom to wash his face and the child will be reprimanded by his parents and taken outside. Or to the nearest McDonalds play land where he can get lost in the ball pit, hopefully.

But also, maybe don't fling that mayonnaise at the wanna-be comedian if she happens to be feverishly pretending to text during those awkward silences in which her friends don't laugh. Because she might be me. And it isn't fun jumping over the tumbleweeds bouncing past your table to run to a public restroom in order to wash mayonnaise out of your hair.

LIFE UPDATE

Hey guys. How are you? Just dropping in because I realized it's been 6 FREAKING MONTHS since I wrote in this thing. I don't even know where to begin. I think that's why I haven't written since April. Graduation has happened. The real world has happened. Me being a future aunt has happened. Europe has happened. My sudden liking for country music has happened. My post-grad life has happened???!?!?!?!

I am going to attempt to recount the last 6 months, but this does not mean you have to read it. This is merely an exercise to see if my life is actually as boring as I think it is (spoiler alert: it is). Anyway, graduation is weird. Just don't do it. Your cap won't fit and your hair will blow into your mouth and you'll start sweating and have to take off your gown halfway through the ceremony.

This brings us into May. What's that saying? April showers bring May flowers? Well, in my travel companion's case, it brought mono. YES, MONO. MONONUCLEOSIS. AKA THE REASON MY EURO POST-GRAD TRIP OF A LIFETIME WAS CANCELLED. I wasn't going to ride around the streets of Paris in a bicycle with a wicker basket full of baguettes alone, so my start date for work was pushed up (did I mention I'm a copywriter?) and I was thrown into the real world three weeks sooner. Turns out the real world isn't so bad. There's crushed ice at the office and free food (if you hover outside of client meetings long enough). Also, dogs.

May wasn't all that bad though. Found out that my brother is going to be a dad, which is cool because I've been wanting a cute little niece for 22 years now. And babies smell good. Like, what is it about their little baby head that smells so good? Add that to life's greatest mysteries, along with "who stole the great Hope Diamond?" and "what killed the dinosaurs?" and "who makes the finest pizza?" and "what's in your brother's dresser drawers?" Anyway, babies are all right in my book. Expect plenty of baby-related pictures December 25th! For now, please enjoy this generic baby photo I found on Google images!

Remember when I was super dramatic earlier and complained about my Europe trip getting cancelled? My roommate's 6-week incubation period ended early July just in time for us to hop on a plane and spend a pretty penne on fine Italian cuisine in Rome! Okay, maybe we didn't make it to Italy, but I really wanted to use that pun. SUE ME. We did make it to:

• Dublin
• London
• Amsterdam
• Brussels
• Paris
• Barcelona

Dublin was one of my favorite places. Everyone was super nice and we took a day trip to the coast, which was beautiful. A Czech guy at the hostel kicked me out of my bed claiming that it was his, while an Irish guy at the bar thought I was a lesbian because I was wearing jeans. So, needless to say, I WAS KILLIN' IT OVER THERE.

Next up was London on 4th of July. My roommate and I somehow found ourselves at an alternative rock concert in Camden. We made friends with a 19-year-old in a bear shirt, who subsequently tried to make out with me on the dance floor. Not going to go into details, but there were a plethora of 19-year-olds that tried to make out with me during those two weeks. Not because I was a hot young thang (quite the opposite, I didn't do laundry for two weeks and was living out of a backpack), but because people are just so aggressive and young in Europe. One Australian guy literally walked up to me, asked where I was from, and proceeded straight to "Australian-American kiss?" Everyone was so horny and hormonal. Kill me. 

Anyway, London was cool. It rained majority of the time, but at least I got this sweet photo from the 4th of July backdrop at the alternative concert! Yes, that is Ronald McDonald dancing. If only I had captured the American flag flying gloriously in the background.

I did get Big Ben in all his glory though!

After three nights of going out in Dublin and London, two nights in Amsterdam was all I could handle. Did I mention that I already had to call my mom and ask her to put emergency money into my bank account? Getting drunk and eating excessively is expensive in other countries, apparently. We took it easy in Amsterdam. Well, as easy as stumbling upon the Red Light District totally unprepared can be. It was kind of weird and sad. Mostly just sad. It kind of reminded me of when Dudley taps on the snake glass case at the zoo. 

Anyway, have you guys ever had an edible marijuana baked good thingy? Getting high off an Amsterdam edible should be on everyone's bucket list. Imagine being tickled so hard that you can't stop laughing, but for two hours straight. Everything was hilarious. And, I mean everything. I couldn't stop laughing and was talking straight up gibberish. I thought I lost my new watch and mumbled "the lord giveth and the lord taketh" before eating half a pizza and then stealing my roommate's other half. I then passed out for three hours, Doritos bag in hand. Amsterdam was so cute though with all of the bikers and canals and cheese everywhere. Not all who wander are lost, some are just trying to hit up all the cheese samples in Amsterdam.

Brussels/Paris were merely pit stops for us to break up our journey to Barcelona. We stayed in Brussels for one night, where we splurged on a 2-person room. All of our other hostel living situations were at least 6 or more to a room. We then made our way to Paris where we were there for a mere 6 hours in order to catch a night train to Barcelona. Don't worry, we did squeeze in a Belgian waffle and awful touristy pic or two. ACT LIKE YOU KNOW ME. What is that? You don't? Oh, haha. 

Honestly, typing out this blog post is so tiring. Sucks that my favorite city in the entire universe had to come at the end. I don't know if I can do the beautiful beaches sangria justice. I might be a little biased since it was easily the sunniest destination of the whole trip and "Unwritten" started playing on the train ride in, but actually I think it was just that great. Our living situation was the best we'd had all trip. It was my roommate and I (along with our friend from school who was an au pair in Madrid for the summer), two British girls that we really connected with over butt sweat, and two optometry students from New York that hated us all. Did I forget to mention that the World Cup was going on this whole time? Cue the butt sweat. Everyone gathered at the bar in our hostel lobby to watch the game + no air conditioning = puddles. 

I was obnoxiously fanning myself with a map the majority of my time in Barcelona. At least when I wasn't averting my gaze at the TOPLESS BEACH. Ah, so scary and terrifying. Basically, we stayed out every night until the clubs closed at 5ish because of course we did. To tapa (puns are everything) it all off, a Barcelonian waiter said I had pretty eyes. So, naturally it was my favorite city. 

Here I am covering my face with my two friends from Britain England the land of the Spice Girls.

This Latvian chick in the braided bleach blonde hair from our hostel literally wore a bathing suit to the bar.

All in all, post-grad life is treating me well. I even went on a few dates with the same guy! If I can do it, you can do it. Unless the "it" we're referring to is this weird foot trick. You actually probably can't do this. But I can:

P.S. I am super fun to travel with!

P.P.S. Mono did this to my roommate's eyes. It's probably a good thing we pushed that trip back after all.

MEXI, CAN I?

Let me start off this post by saying that those tanned legs are not my own and I had to steal all the photos in this post from my roommate.  Apparently I missed out on the whole "loves to take photos" gene that every other girl on the universe has.  What can I say? My genetic makeup is from the Target clearance bin not MAC.

I figured the only remedy to this post-vacation blues was to take a pigeon-toed stroll down memory lane into the abyss of salty air and even saltier margarita rims that was Cancun.  Literally, one of the best weeks of my life.  There is no such thing as a bad question--UNLESS that question is "should I go somewhere for my senior spring break?"  

The trip started out like any other--I was up until 4 A.M the night before searching for my iPhone in the confines of my house, afraid to alert Find My iPhone for fear I'd wake my roommates.  One upgrade to first class and lecture from the flight attendant on drinking too much alcohol later, I arrived in Cancun with phone safely in hand and guacamole on my mind.  I had set three fairly simple goals for myself:

1. Get tan(ish).
2. Eat guacamole.
3. Become friends with British or Australian boys (though I'd settle for a conversation or eye contact or a simple "excuse me, do you know where the snack bar is?")

I am proud and shocked to say that all three were accomplished by the end of the week minus the whole tan thing, but whatever.  Other items to check off include the following: 

• Witnessing two German boys take a selfie on my friend's camera.
• Attending a $100 Snoop Dogg concert free of charge, thanks to my new Aussie friend/minor crush for four days. RIGHT? CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? I MADE A FRIEND...who I talked to about my love for finger dancing and general disregard for touching and who also visited Columbus with his friends the following week. Very odd.

• Guess which one is me.
• Uncomfortably having to ask a random British guy in the hallway to tie the bow in the back of my dress because I couldn't do it myself and my friends were all waiting for me in the lobby.  Side note: Asking "where ya from, love?" is only okay if one has a British accent.

• Being able to look awkward from a long distance.
• Waking up with a swollen Angelina Jolie lip on steroids. Turn down for strong Cancun sun and blisters on my lip for four days.

• Obligatory balloon hat photo obstructing my face? Check.

• Leaving Senor Frogs with minimal scarring and pretty nifty photo-dodging sombrero-wearing skills.
• I feel like I should have two bullet points underneath each photo, but I am running out of things to say.

• Did I mention that I am, like, really good at dodging photos?

• The only thing worse than Croc tanlines.

• Getting to work in my whole "do you shop at Sharker Image?" pun.

• CROWD SURFING. And by crowd surfing, I mean navigating the edges of the dance floor wishing that I could drink a Capri Sun in order to liquify myself and seep underneath the crack of the exit door to the nearest quesadilla stand. 

This post brought to you in loving memory of all the people that stopped reading half-way through.  I'd applaud those of you still reading if I didn't have to eat directly out of this pint of ice cream.  Did you know that once you open it, you have to finish it all in one sitting?  Rules are rules, folks.

Anyway, that's my spring break in a nutshell or shall I say seashell? HAHA.  Next stop: Europe. But first, probably the pantry or something.

Peace, love, and queso,

Awkward Girl

P.S. If you plan to ever drink in Mexico, you better...WAIT FOR IT...WAIT FOR IT...peso yourself okay it's been real.

The Hills Are Alive With The Sound of Nostalgia

Why do I find myself more distressed than Lauren's Hollister jean skirt as of late?

BECAUSE LC IS NOT MARRYING STEPHEN, THAT'S WHY.  To be fair, I'm also pissed about Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears ending. As well as Hilary Duff and Aaron Carter. And basically any couple that I liked in the early 00's.  Life's a beach and I just can't sandal it.  I want life to be a Laguna Beach.  Full of Sun-In and petty high school arguments and awkward moments where Lauren says some vapid statement that girls latch onto and immediately put into their AIM profiles.  Below you will find my fantasy LC marriage scene.  However, let it be known that the following scenario was not shot over an eight month period in the city of Laguna Beach, California.  It is from my imagination.  Therefore, the people, the locations, and the drama are 100% not real and 100% not funny.  

The chairs are set up along the beach in pristine rows, like the red lines on a piece of looseleaf paper or the heavy black eyeliner sitting atop every female attendee's eyelids.  The waves crashing against the shore drown out the sound of Christina singing "My Only Hope" while the salty sea air licks the open wounds that only a successful Rent audition could have healed.

Stephen, standing next to Christina's minister father, looks dashing in a Hurley shirt and matching swim trunks.  He does not know that at that very moment a young Taylor Swift is singing along to herself in the darkness of her room with only the television illuminating her face.  She watches as Kristen dances on a bar in Cabo, shakes her head, and whispers "white whores" to the empty room.  Her future song and music video starring Stephen is to be called "White Horse."  This is no
coincidence.  

 Jason (known as Wally to a select few friends) watches from the back row with a blank look on his face.  As Jason's perfectly gelled hair blows gently in the breeze, we hear a wistful sigh from Jessica who is sniffing his hair while sitting directly behind him.  Alex M. looks on in disgust and sticks her face into a bowl of Cheetos.  A mother nearby cradles her crying child closer and scoots down a seat.

Morgan sits nearby, muttering under her breath.  She has resolved not to stay in Laguna, yet here she sits wedged between Kristin and Alex H.  Kristin's hair is pulled loosely into a tiny ponytail which contrasts with her tight tube top and jean skirt.  She is playing snake on her flip phone and her choker shell necklace glints in the sunlight blinding Alex H, who has not showered in a few weeks.

The crowd stands, LC is gracefully walking down the sand in rolled up jean capris and wedged flip flops. The little person from the Blink 182 concert that Trey so valiantly argued with is perched in some nearby crabgrass, biding his time, waiting.  For what?  He does not know.  He will never know.

Suddenly, there is a clap of lightening.  Beads of perspiration form on LC's upper lip.  There will be no suitable firewood for the beach bonfire immediately following the ceremony.  Lo laughs in the background, "It ain't no thing but a chicken wing!"  LC scowls, she is still upset that Lo admonished her for failing a class her senior year.  You never side with a bff's parents when it comes to grades, it's just, like, the rules of feminism.

The rain drops slowly at first, then quickly builds momentum.  Large pellets of water come from every angle, the crowd runs for cover under the nearby shelter.  Jessica trips and falls.  "Leave her," someone shouts.  Through the mayhem, the shrieks, and the orange self-tanner forming a small river along the beach, LC does not budge.  The black mascara tears streaming down her face and plopping onto her strapless shirt do not perturb her.  "Let the rain fall down and wake my dreams.  Let it wash away my sanity," she croaks before swan diving into the ocean and taking up residence with Ariel in the murky depths of the Pacific where she will give Scuttle thingamabobs in exchange for stray french fries from Jack In The Box.

Somewhere, Hilary Duff plays the harp and Heidi Montag's melted face floats out to sea.


Peace, love, and the twisted inner working of my mind regurgitated into blog form,

Awkward Girl

BRING IT ON, EARLY TWENTIES.

It seems I haven't written a blog post in quite some time now.  Now, I could pretend that I've just been super busy (which isn't a complete lie) or I could tell the truth and say that blog posts scare me. Not in the "guys with long dirty fingernails" way, but close to it.  The fact is, stringing words together just isn't as easy as stringing uncooked pasta onto yarn.  Don't get me wrong, I love writing.  Sometimes it's just hard to get those creative juices flowing when pulp is stuck in your crazy straw.  Anyway, I'm going to talk about my life in the next few paragraphs.  Stop reading if you don't care about me. Or if you do care about me. Truth is, Hercules is on Netflix and that's a hell of a lot more entertaining than anything I'm about to write.

First order of business: Yes, that is a photo of me from last Halloween. I want you guys to know that I am a real human being with hair and a face. The tips of my hair aren't blue, but we can pretend they are. Also, TELL ME I'M PRETTY. Haha, I kid, I kid.

Second order of business: SENIOR YEAR HAS ARRIVED.  I live in a house with six other girls, which is fun because now the blame is dispersed amongst six other people when the cookies mysteriously go missing.  Classes are fun in the way that getting tree sap on your hands is fun.  I'm at a job that I really like. I'd say "love," but I'm physically incapable of loving any establishment that doesn't have a freezer full of those Spongebob popsicles with the gumball eyes.  Life has been a bit hectic, hence why I haven't been tweeting as much.  If you can believe it, there is a beautiful world outside of your smartphone full of sunshine and squirrels and dollar drink specials.  Graduation is right around the corner, but so is Dairy Queen, which means that any anxiety that I might have about becoming an adult can easily be washed down with a cold milkshake.

Third order of business: I HAVE A BOYFRIEND. Haha, just kidding.  I reactivated my Tinder for a day and remembered how awful the average college male is, so no complaints here.  I've decided that my "type" is a mix of The Buried Life guys, Cory Matthews, Scott Disick and Eric from The Little Mermaid.  So if you are a fun-loving sarcastic fellow with curly dark hair and a mermaid for a girlfriend HMU. Or if you have a pulse, whatever.

Fourth order of business: I'M GOING TO BE A WORLD CLASS TRAVELER. Kind of. First stop, Cancun for a week full of queso and bad decisions (revolving around queso).  I'm staying at some place that sounds like a stripper name, should be promising.  Second stop, Europe for two weeks after graduation.  The second stop isn't official or anything, but I've only drunkenly eaten a baguette in the U.S. so it might be cool to do it overseas.  Also, I would love to walk the streets of England (Britain? United Kingdom?) and hum Fergie's "London Bridge" while searching for a cute guy to make out with in an air duct. Please tell me you've seen Winning London because if you haven't then you'll probably think I'm a hussy.

Fifth order of business: Anyway, there's some stringing of words for you.  Nothing too exciting, but it's me, so what'd you expect?

Peace, love, and I feel like I have to end the post this way because consistency is key,

Awkward Girl

I don't hiss and smell.

Here's the thing: PDA is awful. And I'm not talking about the cute couple innocently holding hands at the mall, I'm referring to that guy in front of you in the line at the Verizon store rubbing his girlfriend's butt.  Excuse me mister, but can you please wish for me to be transported to a land far away that has copious amounts of puppies and popsicles because clearly your girlfriend's rear end is some sort of magical genie lamp.  Also, sweet flip phone.

*Sips from Capri Sun pouch*

Here's the other thing: College is awesome. That fun motorcycle-riding uncle with the tattoo who took you out for ice cream as a kid and drunkenly starts congo lines at family weddings is like if college were a person.  College is a sacred institution in which the beer flows freely (both down your mouth and all over your shirt), the chicken fingers are always cooked to perfection and getting yelled at by drunk guys on roofs when you're walking back from the library on a Thursday night is inevitable.  It's like a summer camp except all the bug juice is spiked.  You're in that awkward "I'm kind of an adult, but LOL not really" phase and it's marvelous. 

Adulthood is that annoying ex (that I've read so much about in novels) who incessantly drunk dials you and sends texts saying "You up? You know you have an 8 AM class tomorrow, you should really go to bed."  Excuse me Adulthood, but you're being super desperate and it's a major turn off.  Our relationship won't be Facebook official until May of 2014 and until then I will be playing the field with this plate of pizza and Lizzie McGuire movie that I just bought for 5 bucks at Half Price Books.

*Blows up now empty Capri Sun pouch, offers it to friend, laughs hysterically*

Here's the final thing: College = PDA central. Drunken tightly packed hormonal specimens in dark enclosed quarters with liquid courage coursing through their veins and Ke$ha playing in their heads are to PDA as frat guys are to tank tops.  There's always someone making out in a corner or grinding or doing weird things that are just not okay.  Can't we wait until we're in the comfort of our footie pajamas are all that touchy stuff?  

In the words of Cher Horowitz, you see how picky I am about my shoes and they only go on my feet.  Just because we had a lovely conversation about Nintendo 64 Tony Hawk pro skater and our affinity for all things Harry Potter does not mean I want you to jump down my throat.  Unless your name is General Tso, then hey bb u look delicious ;) 

Basically, I just want us all to be respectable nice young people and not engage in make out sessions in the middle of bars because that's tacky.  Pretend you're under a microscope. A literal microscope. The bar is a petri dish. Your sweet plaid pants-wearing grandpa with the hearing aids watches in horror as you let some guy grope you in front of the bartender. That is all.

Peace, love, and SAY NO TO PDA,

Awkward Girl

P.S. THIS HAPPENED LAST NIGHT AND I'M STILL CRINGING:

(the entire conversation involved me rambling on about how awkward I am)

Guy at bar: So then have you ever been awkwardly kissed?

*leans in*

Me: YEAH AND I DON'T WANT IT HAPPENING AGAIN

*drops mic, walks off stage, trips, questions whether or not I should've let him kiss me in the middle of the bar, decides that's gross, worries he could've been my future husband, shrugs, orders 10 chicken nuggets at McDonalds and pays for the cab driver's too*

Try to kiss me once at a bar and succeed because you kind of just went for it and I didn't have time to process what was going on, but ultimately shame on me.

Try to kiss me four years later at a bar and fail because I'M A CONFIDENT YOUNG WOMAN HEAR ME ROAR, no shame on me. Just a nail polish stain.