Isn't it Ironic?

Just call me Alanis Morissette right now because her song was the theme song of my Saturday night.
Basically any event that could've gone horrible did. I mean the amount of horrible things that were happening to me was actually becoming hilarious by the end of the night.

It all started when I went out on a date with my boyfriend (that's a long story that will be explained in another post) and it was absolutely beautiful outside. We both got dressed up and walked to a little Italian eatery thats about a 10 minute walk from my house and were seated outside. When the waiter sat us next to the kitchen door I knew the rest of the night was going to go downhill from there.. and it did… fast and hard. As in it started thunderstorming/monsooning right before the waiter took our order.
He tried his hardest to move us under the three inches of awning to keep us dry, but of course my boyfriend was still getting rained on. The waiter moved on to trying to put up an umbrella for us and then the rain was just running off falling on our heads. This whole situation was taking about 20 minutes and the rain was pouring out of the skies so hard I could barely see across the street. After the two of us whom were becoming more and more wet by the minute, we decided to just leave and call a cab… which, of course, never showed up. So we walked home as it started drizzling. Of course it was the only time I have ever worn my three inch wedge heels and walked to dinner. Let me tell you walking in three inch heels, wedges or not, on wet cobblestoned streets is basically a remedy for a twisted ankle.

We didn't walk more than two minutes before he stepped in a puddle deeper than an olympic sized swimming pool. A few more minutes passed & a car drove by & splashed the both of us with basically a gallon of yummy street water, classic Carrie Bradshaw circa Sex & The City theme.

Did I mention that by now it was  9:15pm and we hadn't eaten anything all day? At this point we were the grumpiest cats anyone had ever seen and were basically muttering satanic latin tongues to the gods. We agreed to just eat at the next place we came by, which was another Italian restaurant that I had been wanting to try. The woman sat us quickly and we were ready to order when she explained that they were cash only… & we only had our debit/credit cards. I almost smashed my water glass on the side of the table & slit her throat with the broken class, but I decided calmly walking outside was the more mature option.

By this point I could tell that my boyfriend would have literally eaten out of a dumpster for leftovers so he just got take out pizza from a place around the corner from my apartment.
I mean the evening was so horrible that I was expecting to have lost my keys somehow because it just figured. Thank god I didn't although I'm still surprised. I finished my lovely evening in a bubble bath with white wine so I can't really complain. The events were just so ridiculous that I'm laughing about it while I'm typing. You can't make this stuff up people & I swear to you it only happens to me.

Heres What I'm Listening To:

Ironic - Alanis Morissette

No Habla Espanol

I'm sure everyone remembers what it was like to have your parents nag you the minute the school bell rang for summer break to get a job. Thanks to child labor laws I was spared the nagging until at least middle school, where my parents promptly decided that a 13 year old should be allowed to join the workforce. Although I'm sure that it is still illegal for a child of that age to be employed, my parents disregarded it and were shoving me out the door to apply for any and every job at the shore resort town where we spent our summers. When all the employers scowled at me when I asked for an application, I was extremely thankful for the laws of our country and was spared another year to bask under the summer sun without having to worry about slaving myself for minimum wage. 

Don't fret because the next summer it was the same agenda again and I was out searching high and low for any job that would hire a barely legal worker. Unfortunately the sketchiest Mexican restaurant on the island determined I was acceptable enough for their summer crowds. The owner promised me under the table payments and off the books so I didn't have to worry about getting taxed, but also he didn't have to worry about paying me anything close to minimum wage. My parents were excited to get me out of the house and actually accomplishing something, so of course they were supportive on my new, highly illegal, position. 

My first day I was shown the "ropes" of the restaurant business and basically instructed to do everything. I was to bus tables, clean the tables promptly after the customers were finished, clean the restaurant before and after close, bring all of the outdoor seating in and out before and after closing, answer the phones, and the best of all, take the orders…. in Spanish. Of course they had to be written in Spanish, the only language I had managed to spend absolutely zero of my brain cells on learning in school and failed. They had to be written in Spanish because the illegal immigrants cooking the damn food couldn't understand what the customers were ordering. For those of you who think I might just be a racist asshole, no, really, they were really illegal. Most often people ordered an item on the menu but got some variety of what the actual order was… "Oh okay chicken burrito with no lettuce or cheese?" Okay… fuck. "pollo burrito no lettuce no queso" The workers in the back would come to me and speak some form of Spanglish to try to ask me what lettuce was and I would just have to point. Maybe the customer ordered a beef chimichanga? Honestly, 9 times out of 10 they probably got chicken because I still to this day have no clue what beef is in Spanish. I wish I could feel a slight bit of remorse for the restaurant but the prices were outrageous, the food was mediocre, and I was basically slave laboring myself out for barely $5 an hour.

I proceeded to work there almost every day for two months. Of course I barely made any money, spent all of my time there, fucked up every order, and was exhausted at the end of everyday for busting my ass.  That quickly came to a close after I received one of the sketchiest phone calls in my life, telling me to "not come in for awhile" because "the state is inspecting the restaurant and because you're not officially on the books it would just not be a good idea…" I decided that maybe the best idea would be to just never to go back. Adios motherfuckers. I received a phone call a few weeks later from the owner telling me the "coast was clear" but I ignored that call from my Tommy Bahama beach chair faster than I ignore my self-esteem at a Taco Bell drive-thru. 

Christmas at the Parents

I haven't had the ability to blog for a bit because I was at my parent's house and mostly I would be hiding at my boyfriend's house without a computer. Sorry!

(Christmas Sushi!)

Christmas at my parent's house was probably a similar experience as everyone when they move out of the house: full of awkwardness and trying to find any opportunity to spike your drink. Our usual Christmas Eve traditions were carried out as usual. The family hangs our stockings on Christmas Eve, reads 'Twas a Night Before Christmas aloud to everyone, and then watches a Christmas Story. Luckily this year I was able to have about three glasses of wine, anisette, and some Maker's Mark and Dr. Pepper. Because of all of that though I was definitely falling asleep after the leg lamp scene during the movie. I was so tired on Christmas Eve I couldn't wrap my presents last minute like I usually do but just passed out instead. 

My mom woke me up at the crack of dawn the next morning. She gets way more excited Christmas morning than I have in over ten years. After peeling myself from my pillow and realizing that I was awake before most of the earliest birds in the morning, I dragged myself downstairs to realize that my parents had put the presents out at God knows what hour in the night. We all opened our presents for a few hours and I sipped multiple mimosas with the concentration levels mostly favoring champagne. Mostly I had received a few books and perfumes I had asked for and this five-in-one music player. Basically it plays any form of music you can think of, from vinyl records to my iPod. It's dope as fuck. Thanks Santa/Dad! I've been playing my Black Keys and Nick Drake records all morning. All in all, Christmas at my house was pretty good this year especially because our family was finally altogether.. and I was drunk most of the time. 

(Christmas Day outfit)

(Mimosas, presents & Sushi)

(Sushi wanting to open her stocking)

** Warning: Sappy boyfriend post below **

The story of how my boyfriend and I met is so our generation. Rewind to middle school, to pimples, to braces, to me being "scene", to awkward encounters… to MySpace. My next-door neighbor who I had grown up living next to at my shore house and I used to spend hours locked in my room myspace-stalking profiles and looking at stupid youtube videos. She had shown me his myspace and I thought he was cute so I added him. We began talking somehow, I don't remember how that all worked. I probably commented on one of his pictures all desperate. (pc4pc!) I don't even remember how we got each other's numbers or how/why we even hung out in the first place. But we did and we hit it off. Enough to date that summer and I really did fall for him. We took each other's virginity. What I felt for him was real.

Unfortunately, when school started back up in September, he broke it off with me and broke my heart in the process. His excuse at the time was he didn't want to do a long distance relationship - especially with it being our freshman year in high school. LAME.

Eventually I got over it and started dating. I met another guy who I dated for four years. He helped me grow and mature into the person I am today and supported me through everything and anything. Towards the end things got really bitter between us and I broke it off - things just weren't the same anymore.

My current boyfriend and I had remained in touch throughout all the years and, surprise, the two of us had recently become single. We began talking a lot more and when the summer happened this year we started seeing each other a lot. The rest is pretty much history. The two of us have been dating for awhile and what I feel for him his crazy - I honestly don't know how to explain it. He's the funniest person I've ever met and makes me feel something I haven't felt before. We're both crazy and weird together. We're very passionate and extremely strong-willed people, but sometimes it blows up in our faces. Trust me - I'm sure my neighbors think we're crazy listening to us laughing and making cat noises one minute and then the next screaming at each other. Our relationship is crazy just like the two of us, but at the end of the day it's us two, and it is real and it is raw.

(The two of us on Halloween this year)