One Lovely Blog 

I was nominated by, The Cake is a Liar for The One Lovely Blog Award. I’m new to following this blogger, so I’m pretty stoked to read more posts. How can someone not feel instantly drawn to know more about a blog with a baked good in the name? I mean, really. Love. Thank you, lady. 

I’m supposed to share 7 facts about myself, post the award picture, and nominate 15 bloggers for the award. I’m going to do one of those things. I’m a real rebel. 

Actually. 

I’m really lazy. The mobile version of WordPress makes it way too hard to add links in my posts. It took me 3 days just to get The Cake is a Liar in my post as a link (notice it’s not a link the second go round. Yeah). It’s so hard and I just don’t wanna. So, if I follow you, comment on your blog, or regularly like your posts, you’re cool as shit. So, you’re nominated! Yay! One love. 

Also, I tried to copy and paste and I tried to save the pic, and it would not cooperate. So, no effing picture. Can you tell my eye is twitching? 

I’ll just get to the facts you’re so anxiously awaiting. So, without further ado. 

  1. I’m really into Steampunk. Corsets, lace-up boots, bubble gun, top hat adorned with a mermaid riding a steam-powered accoutrement, metal, lace, and octopi. That about sums it up.
  2. Speaking of dressing up, I’m kind of into more than just Steampunk. ‘Kinda’ meaning ‘obsessed’. I’ve been: Vampire Mary Todd Lincoln, Civil War era “Lady of the Night” zombie, Wonder Woman, Sally from Nightmare Before Christmas, Runner Zombie, Poison Ivy, Punk Rock Zombie, Punk Rock Vampire, and Batgirl. All created and put together by me. I know…
  3. I’m almost 80% gray. I’ve had to dye my hair due to premature white bastards since I was 21. Just recently, gray hair has become trendy. All I want to say to the girls who go to a salon, sit for hours under a sweaty cape, and pay upwards of $100 to attain what I work so hard to cover is: You cray. That is all. 
  4. When I’m in a really cranky mood and one too many students turn in utter no-effort-crap, it takes everything in me to not just write, NOPE across the page.
  5. I love sickly sweet alcoholic beverages: moscato, framboise, Moscow Mules. The sweeter, the drunker. 
  6. I also love dark beer. If I drink beer, it better put some course black hair on my chest, or it’s weak shit. I will never say ‘no’ to a dark, creamy beer you practically have to chew. 
  7. I’ve recently become obsessed with those videos where they make something insanely ridiculous like, chocolate-dipped bacon-covered jalapeño brownies, in an accelerated speed, with adorable unicorn kitchen decor. Can anything be better? The answer is ‘no’. 

Can you tell I’m an exhausted teacher and it’s almost Friday, and all I want is an entire bottle of wine, and half of a sheet cake? 

Piece of Sh*t Car a la Adam Sandler 

Friends, my car is dying an ugly, ugly death. We had been given a year, but the diagnosis is now, much worse. The sickness running through the fluids and electrical system has recently sped up, and I am now making funeral arrangements. I’m devastated, but not surprised. When you have no emergency break,  and chunks of seat break off, daily, you know your car’s days are numbered.

Everyday, driving to and from work is pushing it. I also have to drive sans air conditioning, and like an 80-year-old with nowhere to go. It’s awful.

It’s not even like I’m that close to my car. It has no quirky name, and no emotional connection to me, whatsoever. I mean, when your car needs major repairs just to pass smog each year, it isn’t exactly considered a prized possession.

No, I’m dreading making car payments. At the ripe-old-age of 32, I’ve never been tied down by car payments. My piece of poo on wheels only cost me $5,000 and it’s been paid off since 2006. I am dreading having to make a substantial payment on a car every month. I’m a teacher, not a billionaire.

With that, because I’ll be a slave to the bank or car dealership for 48 months or longer, I want to be able to have a damn nice ride. I’m not even picky, either. ‘Damn nice’ in my world means having a “clicker” and power windows. But, while I’m not exactly “picky” due only to being poor, I’m super particular, at the same time. It’s a Jetta, or the highway.

Since I’ll likely be driving the most expensive thing I’ll ever possess soon, I know I’ll also be an anxious mess. I like to keep my nice things nice, and we know how people are assholes. I’ll be paranoid about it getting dinged, scratched, or hit. The anxiety is already creeping in. UGH. I think I have an ulcer. 

When you are super OCD, decisions like this are not fun, like most people would treat them. No, all I’m thinking about is how long I’ll have to give up morning Starbucks runs or buying beef because I’ll be paying on a car. I’m dreading the car hunt, because shopping around for something you really can’t afford really kinda sucks. Also, my car has already been keyed by some asshole, and I haven’t even seen it yet.

Wish me luck on my search. Pray I hit the lotto. Something. Anything.

My friend and I would blast this song as we “dragged main”, in my first piece of shit car, an ’86 Mazda 626 with maroon interior and purple tinted windows. We thought we were so hilarious.