Friday, June 12, 2009

A Middle Aged Man's Phalange

The reason I don't watch sports isn't because "I'm a girl." I don't watch sports because big, sweaty men getting sweaty together really doesn't interest me that much. I don't find sweat and balls an entertaining combination. (balls as in basketballs, baseballs, etc.) (not that the other kind of balls and sweat make a great combo either.) (not that I would know.) (not that I'm against men's balls.) (not that these side thoughts are inappropriate and awkward in the least bit.) (not that my father occasionally reads my blog.) I just don't understand the male fascination with things you can do with balls. Or really just things men can do with balls. Sports should really just be deemed Men With Balls. Or Things Men Do With Balls. Or Watching A Man Try To Grab That Other Man's Ball. Or you could simply call it Gay. (not that I have anything against gay people.) Not only do men LOVE watching other men play with balls, they have parties in honor of the practice. So not only are you a grown man who willingly admits to watching men get sweaty together, but you'll invite your fellow male friends to join you in getting off on watching these men get sweatier...and angrier...and hotter. And then you act like it's a Man's Thing. Well I know the truth.

"Hey honey, me and the boys are watchin' the game tonight, so you stay in the kitchen."

What They Want You To Think: "We are so manly, us manly men, cause we like sports and beer!"

What They Actually Think: "I don't want you seeing me get a hard on over these men and their rippling biceps and skills with balls."

And that's another thing. Not only do they congregate to oogle over ripped men, they drink while they do it. And I think it's pretty well known that drinking often gives people the feeling of...horniness. So they're males. All together. All watching men with balls. All horny. Interesting...

You don't think I have a point, do you? Well I do mother fucker, and the point is that I saw Jeff Fisher tonight.

"Hey, that's Jeff Fisher!"



"The coach of the Titans football team, over there by Smoothie King!"

"Talking to those two people?"


"Oh yeah, I recognize him now..."


I mean come on, what would you do if you saw someone "famous?" Scream out their name from half a parking lot away, THAT'S what you'd do.


And yes, you would use their first name.


The couple he's talking to turn, look at us, and turn back to Jeff, completely ignoring us. Those pretentious gina wads.

"Well that was awkward."

"We should just approach him and be like, "Jeff Fisher?!" and he'll be all like, "Yep that's me," and we'll say, "Oh, I LOVE the Rams!" and he'll be like, ", I coach the Titans," and we'll be like, "Oh. Dude they suck," and we'll walk away. Then who'll feel stupid? JEFF FUCKIN FISHER, THAT'S WHO.

"Hey! He's getting in his car!"

Jeff drives by us, and we were prepared for whatever might happen. (Actually we were trying to think of something cool to yell but all we could think of was 'I LOVE YOUR ICE CREAM, MAN!" which, yes, we ended up yelling) and he waves at us, which, you know, was nice of the guy, so we're thinking, hey, maybe he's not so rude after all, until the couple he was talking to, who were following him to go somewhere, drive by us as well. And you know what that little fucker of a hubby did?


I mean, what? Talk about a wannabe. Sorry, bud, it's not YOU we wanna see, it's Jeff. I'm sorry if you're all jealous and pissy that you're just "the friend in Jeff's shadow" but flipping us off so you get all the attention that was initially focused on Jeff? Now that's just fuckin' desperate. It's one thing to have your dick in a box, but it's another to just BE a dick in a box.


Yeah. Okay. I did it, and it was immature. But come on, some wannabe Jeff flips you off, what ya gonna do? You're gonna step out of your car and call them a fucking bitch, that's what you're gonna do. And what kind of friend is he, anyway? He just made Jeff look like a total dick, which I'm sure he is since he hangs out with a 40-year-old man who gives teenagers the bird. I mean, I could report him for flashing. Who knows? A middle finger is long and thin, I could easily have mistaken it for something else, you know what I'm sayin? I'm just a teenage girl, I could have been emotionally scarred by that old man and his long, skinny body part. Seriously, a middle aged man's phalange? Not something a girl my age needs to see.

Fuck watching sports. Fuck Jeff Fisher. Fuck Jeff Fisher's friends. And most importantly, fuck Jeff Fisher's ice cream.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Show Me The Money

I need cash and I need it quick. It was only 12 years ago that I was told money does not grow on trees, and I haven't gotten over it since. The weird thing is, it never occurred to me that a tree would be a place for money to grow until I was told that it does not grow there, which really just doesn't make sense at all. Ever since that moment of---

"Money doesn't grow on trees, Natasha."

---I have been contemplating if money grows anywhere at all. I mean, who said money grows? I assume it does indeed grow somewhere, since if it didn't, why would you even add the "on trees?" Wouldn't you just say:
"Money doesn't grow, Natasha." But no, it's 'money doesn't grow...on trees." Which means, "Money doesn't grow...on trees, that is..." Did you catch the difference there? By adding "that is," I have not only proved my point but made my point sound quite mysterious, as well. ON. TREES. So money grows...somewhere else? I've actually found it incredibly easy to think of some likely candidates for discrete locations money could grow.

1. Bushes
2. Tulip Buds

3. My Grandfather's Mustache

Because of this recent epiphany of mine, there are two things I have been asking myself.

1. Where THE HELL does money grow?

2. Where can I buy money seeds to

With these money seeds, which I'm assuming, no...which I'm
inferring, do exist since in order for something to grow it must begin as a SEED, or any other S-word with the long-E sound, (yes, I do mean what you may be thinking I mean) I could make billions. Literally, make billions. What would occur if a girl like me was growing billions in her backyard?

1. I would give billions to the poor.

2. I would give billions to sick children who can't afford medicine.

3. I would build billions of giant pools in my backyard.

See? If a girl like me had money seeds, there would be no starving people, no sick people, and I would be incredibly tan. Basically, it would bring about world peace. There's a reason the words 'peace' and 'seeds'
almost rhyme. Because they're almost the exact same thing.




, all I'm asking is if anyone knows where these damn money seeds are, please let me know. I have things to buy, college things, things a college student needs, such as:

1. a laptop

2. textbooks

stylin' clothes

Obviously these things are a MUST. Therefore, I MUST have money. It's not my fault that I don't have a job. It's called
laziness, people, and it's not easily cured. Jobs are for people who like to "earn" things. People who like to "deserve" what they get. People who look down upon two of my best talents:

1. Mooching

2. Thanking People For Giving Me Things

So what? You have a job. Well that's damn dandy if you like to serve other people and be stranger's bitches, but I'd rather give out my address and see who mails me some cash. I mean, let's use some math here.
ONE Natasha gives FOUR HUNDRED people ONE envelope for themselves and ONE envelope for a friend of theirs and asks for at least FIVE dollars, what is the ratio of people who WILL send Natasha money in comparison to the ratio of people who WON'T and then WILL be found mysteriously dead one week later?

Calculating answer...

...still calculating...

...there's a reason I took
Pre-Cal 2 years in a row...

Alright, according to my calculations, approximately LOTS of people will send Natasha a rounded sum of SOME money and she will have about ENOUGH bills to buy some cool shit.
Therefore, YOU, the Y variable in this equation, have FOUR options.

1. Tell me where money grows.

2. Buy me some money seeds.

3. Mail me your money.

4. Mail me your mom's money.

All proceeds will be put to very good use, I assure you.

Semi-Charmed Road Trip

There I sat, embarking on what was to be the longest journey I'd ever traveled without Ma-Ma or Da-Da. There I sat, mentally prepared (due to a consumption of Red Bulls that should be deemed illegal) as well as physically prepared (shades that block the sun and well as make me look just plain awesome) for this dangerous, death-defying, terrifying, nerve-wracking, insane in the membrane road trip all the way from Nashville, Tennessee to...

(a city in coughCOUGHKentuckyCOUGHcough)

That's right, folks, there i sat, ready to risk my life for 5 hours of freeway in order to see one band, one band
back from the 90's. (Screw Nirvana and their desire to be raped, screw Green Day and their food dishes involving human organs, I'm talking about a suicidal and a lord of alcohol. I'm talking about...Third Eye Blind, baby.) I had to go through a lot for permission for this trip. It went from me asking to see Third Eye Blind in Ohio...


To me asking if I could see them in Kentucky...


But permission was eventually granted, therefore I knew there was one thing I could NOT do: fuck it up.

I started by making sure I had all the necessary essentials a road trip feeds off of.

-full tank of gas (despite the fact that while getting that gas the little door to my gas thing just FALLS OFF and I still am not able to get it back on)

-CD's (despite the fact that my stereo makes every song skip, and yes it is not the CD it's the stereo because I've tested them all on other car stereos and guess what? No skipping. So while I'm trying to jam out to some Landon Pigg, and it's a slow and beautiful love song, all I get is "I TH-TH-TH-TH-TH-THINK THAT POSS-POSS-POSS-POSS-POSS-IBLY

ALLING FOR Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-O-U-U-U-U-U-U-" which totally ruins the romantic effect since if someone was telling you they were falling in love with you, you don't want it to be a I-think-that-possibly-maybe-I'm-reminding-you-of-Porky-Pig-kinda moment

-glasses in order to see better should it rain (despite the fact that one of my windshield wipers is torn and so it looks like I have the normal two wipers and then they got busy and had a deformed baby wiper that tags along. Or maybe the male wiper just grew a third arm. The point is it ruins the whole point of wipers since once they both wipe and return to their original positions, the third straggler-outcast-over-achiever wiper is still trying to wipe my windshield and therefore I still can't see. There's a reason windshield wipers go BACK AND FORTH, they don't just GO and then STAY right in your line of vision so you're forced to stick your head out the window as you drive which can one, cause a wreck and two, cause a bug to fly in your mouth which would one, cause you to choke and two, cause you to wreck. It's a lose-lose situation, people.)

-a sister to read road signs out loud to me, a.k.a. a sister to blame should/when we got lost (despite the fact that on her side of the car it is difficult to look out the windshield to read signs since there are three giant cracks running down it that only seem to be progressing along with their attack with the purpose of making my whole windshield look like it has veins, which all started due to a Crab Apple In Storm Incident that I'd rather not explain)

-a male amigo to tell us NOT to ask for directions (despite the fact that, according to my father, my dashboard is "falling off." Okay sure, that wasn't relevant at all, but since we're on the subject of Things Wrong With My Car, I thought I'd throw that out there. Maybe get a couple answers to my questions? Such as: HOW DOES A DASHBOARD FALL OFF A CAR. WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN.)

So we were all set. Covington, here we come! The three of us pull out of my driveway...


Take a right out of my cul de sac...


A right out of my subdivision...


And get pulled over.

"You were going 55 in a 40 mile zone blah blah blah I'm a cop because I get off on having my crotch in people's faces through their window cause I'm too cool to bend down and look them in the eye so suck it bitch here's your ticket."

First ticket of my life. 104 freaking dollars. Traffic school, here I come. But once that douche got back in his undercover cop car...


Three cups of coffee, one pack of gum (advice quickie: if you're going to chew a whole pack of gum in one day, DON'T CHEW BIG RED. I did that one time, and my tongue was swollen for 14 hours, swollen to the point where I couldn't speak.) (another advice quickie about Big Red: don't lick the wrapper and stick it to your forehead. it burns very badly and you will have a giant red rectangle on your forehead for the rest of the day.), zero directions mishaps, (props to the driver, man. oh wait...that's me. Thank you so much!), and the most intense automatic hand dryer I've ever used in my entire life (this thing made it look like an unidentified flying object was about to land on my palm), we finally reached Covington.

"Excuse me? Could you tell us where the Madison Theatre is?"

We were driving through downtown, the obvious hotspot for nightlife. We had rolled down the window and asked some men on the sidewalk for directions.

"Yeah, it's just down that way!"

"Stellar! Thank you!"

"Should we just park now and walk?"

"Yeah, we seem really close."

"So close..."


So we paid 4 dollars. Parked. Walked. And soon found ourselves in the midst of the downtown crowd, with 5 minutes left until the concert started. Perfect timing.

"Should we ask someone for directions again?"


"Okay, Male Amigo. You guys stay here and I'll ask that woman."

So I walk up to some random woman.

"Excuse me? Could you tell me where the Madison Theatre is?"

"Hmmm...I think...I think that's in Covington..."

"Covington...right. Um thank you..."

"Hey guys?"

"I think all we need to do is walk down that---"


"---street and it's probably down there some---"



"You know that woman I talked to?"

"Yeah, what'd she say?"

"She said, 'I think that's in Covington.' "



"...ha......ha.....wait what...."

"Well then where the hell are we?"



"Hi. Um, could you tell me...uhh...well just...what city is this?"







"We're supposed to be in Covington."

"We're supposed to be in Kentucky."

"Well fuck."

"HA! Okay, BACK to the car!"

Lucky for us, we still made it in time for the show. In a venue with a disco ball and chain smokers galore. One opening act, one amazing show, and one dancing blonde chick who kept bumping into me, and we were done.


Pops didn't want us spending the night there. Ten hours total behind a wheel. All on the freeway. No plans on stopping. I. AM. JACK. TRAVEN.

Got home at 4am. Woke up the next morning to a shocked but proud Pops of me for traveling the longest road trip of my life and living to tell the tale.

I have yet to show him the speeding ticket.

Monday, June 8, 2009

Coolness Via Walgreens

The information you are about to read is all true.

So I'm sitting in my car at Walgreens. Yes, Walgreens. You know, the place where all the cool kids go to what? To sit in their cars and be what? Cool, that's what. So I'm sittin' there, bein' cool, as usual, at the coolest pharmacy that has ever rocked this world, on a Wednesday afternoon. Yes, the coolest time to be sittin' in your car at Walgreens. My window is down, because, as every cool kid knows, you gotta feel a cool breeze if you're gonna be sittin' there bein' all cool and whatnot, when a woman approaches my side.

The woman is in her 40's.

The woman is large.

The woman is limping.

"Hi there I'm sorry to bother you I'm with my sister and we just escaped from a domestic violence situation and we're trying to drive somewhere to get away and our gas tank is on empty and we have no money and I was just wondering if you could help us out 'cause we just got out of a domestic violence situation and we just need some gas so if you could just spare anything we'd be very grateful."

So I'm sittin' there, right? And yeah, I'm lookin' cool, being one of those cool teenagers who loiters outside of pharmacies, well, not just any pharmacy, but the cool pharmacies, (Walgreens)and I'm looking at this woman and yeah, since this was the very first time a stranger had ever approached me asking me for money, of course it came across my mind that she could be lying out of her ass. You know, she just saw me lookin' cool and thought I'd be cool enough to give her some cash. Now, my impulsive reaction would be to lie and say I have no money, but this Limping GENIUS had approached me right as I was emptying my wallet of a handful of 20 dollar bills. So lying was out of the question. Not that I was afraid she would jump me if I had blatantly lied; she was limping after all, but maybe she was telling the truth? Then who'd go to Hell? I would. So, in my mind, my options were a) give her some money, or b) go to Hell. So what did I do? I tucked the 20's underneath my thigh that was conveniently located right beneath me (fate, was it?) and gave her five ones. Yes, I gave the beggar woman 5 dollars.

"Thank you so much."

And she limped away.

Three days later.

So, I'm sittin' there, just chillin', bein' cool/lookin' cool/actin' cool, and I happen to be at Walgreens. It's a Saturday night. (Look, I have a reputation to keep. You can't just be all cool all the time sittin' at Walgreens then just randomly STOP lingering outside of the famous pharmacy to what? To go to a party? To be social? To interact with other human beings? Please. Like I stated before, I have a reputation to keep. A reputation of cool.) So, of course, I'm at Walgreens, and yes, of course, my window is down. I'm listening to some tunes, cool tunes of course, when I hear something.

"Excuse me? Excuse me?"

So I turn to my left, in a very cool manner nonetheless, only to see two women sitting in a car pulled up right next to mine. They're in their 30's, each smoking a cigarette. So I'm thinking, okay...if they can afford cigarettes, then they're not going to be asking me for money...

"Hi there we're trying to get to Gatlinburg and we are completely out of gas and we just won't make it since we ran out of money completely and we were just wondering if you'd be so kind as to help us out in some way."

At least the first woman got straight to the point.

"Oh, you mean you need some gas money?"

"That would help us out and that's be wonderful thank you kindly."

So yeah, I gave her some money. Okay, it was only two dollars this time, but I mean COME ON, two people in one week? When only three days ago that was the first time that had ever happened to me in my LIFE? I mean, good god! It's unbelievable! I'm a teenager! You think I have cash? If I had cash, wouldn't I be INSIDE Walgreens? BUYING THINGS? I'm not, am I? No, I'm loitering in the parking lot listening to music. No drinks, no food, no pharmaceutical drugs. I mean, THEY NAMED A SANDWICH AFTER ME. Ever heard of a Po Boy?

She leaves.

I'm pissed.

Two days later.

Yeah, I'm back at Walgreens. I know, I know, it takes a really cool person to be parked in the same parking lot three nights in one week doing absolutely nothing. It's called sacrifice. The Sacrifice To Be Cool. I'm almost done with the thesis, actually; it'll be available in bookstores soon, don't worry. You, too will learn the ways of Coolness Via Walgreens. So it's a Monday night, not really a party night, but to be cool you gotta be cool at any time of the week, so there I was at Walgreens. Sitting. Window down. Wallet in glove box. When I look to my left.

A man is approaching the car.

I turn to my sister, who had been present for the first two accounts.

"No. Way."

I wait.

He is still headed to my window.

"Not. Possible."

He approaches my ever-notorious window.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry to bother you, but I was on vacation with my daughter and we are trying to get back home to Alabama and we have completely run out of money---"

I'm going to be honest with you, this was the moment where I started laughing right in that man's face.

"---I'm sorry, believe me I'm not a bum, I've never gone up to anyone in my life and asked for money but we are just trying to get home, we're hungry, I mean we're hungry---"

You don't look hungry, you quarter-ton-er.

"---and I'm a 49-year-old Christian man and if there's anything I could give to you in return---"

Like what, Christian man? I thought you were broke.

"---then I will absolutely come back and give it to you---"

Ew, pervert.

"---but I would just really appreciate your help right now."

I'm sitting there.

Looking cool.


I couldn't help it.

"I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at you, it's just this is the third time this week...nevermind. Here, I have three dollars, I hope that helps."

"Thank you so much. If there's anything I could give to you---"

You could give me my three dollars back, asshole.

"No, no, it's fine. Don't worry about it."

"Thank you so much. This will come back to you in some way."

Yeah since the first time I gave someone money it came back a second and a third time.

And I start cracking up. I mean, this is beyond ridiculous. I have now given THREE bums cash in a span of SIX days. That's a bum every other day. It's just not what I need. I JUST got money for graduation and I've already given away ten dollars of it to one limper, one smoker, and one christian man. I mean it's getting to the point where I'm gonna start going by Jesus.