Confirmed: I'm a Dude Magnet

I’ve never been one for horoscopes, but I could spend hours upon hours reading about the affect of birth order on personalities and then analyzing all my friends. It’s pretty neat stuff, you should look it up if you’re interested.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’m the youngest of 4 children, with 3 older brothers. 

This is typically how things go.

Every time someone discovers this about me they always, without fail, ask me with a bewildered look, “What’s that like?” which is just about the stupidest question to ask someone. Um, I don’t know, I also have brown eyes and a cat and I’d be happy to tell you about those experiences as well...?  Sometimes I just want to respond, “What is it like to have a huge piece of spinach stuck in between your teeth” and then see how long they spend trying to get “it” out. But in their defense and in the defense of stupid small talk everywhere, I think being the youngest girl has had paramount influence on my personality.

For example, I am 100% spoiled rotten. It’s not my fault that the idea that I’m a princess has been reinforced everyday of my life, whether it be through trashy T-shirts given as gifts that say “Daddy’s Little Angel” in rhinestones or that I figured out a few fake tears go a long way from a young age.

Try doing a Google search on your particular birth order. Some of the descriptions are spot on, others made me laugh. According to one site, I 

"Expect others to do things, make decisions, take responsibility.”

This is definitely true. Every night I like to hold a contest to see who in the vicinity of wherever I am wants the honor of making me dinner. Oddly, entries have been at record-breaking lows since moving out of my parents’ house.

Here’s another truth nugget about youngest children: 

"If youngest of three, often allies with oldest child against middle child."

Funny story, we actually used to have 5 kids in my family, until my oldest brother Tom and I teamed up during an especially rousing round of Crazy 8’s and killed Dylan.

During the extensive minutes of research I did for this post I learned that lastborns are “happy-go-lucky,” which I guess to an extent I am. I mean, if we said we were going to Chipotle for lunch but you decide you want Subway instead I’m probably not going to pee myself over it. In all seriousness, I do feel distinctly uncomfortable when the mood is not an overall enjoyable one; I hate when I even think that people are mad at me and I will throw jokes around during serious moments just to end the awkwardness.  (Most of the time they just make things more awkward.)

In one final testament to the credibility of birth order affecting your personality, according to BirthOrders.com, I am basically hot shit:

“Younger sisters of brothers are magnets to men...They often find that they have more men attracted to them than other girls.”

DEFINITELY TRUE.  So in summary, if you want to know what it's like having 3 older brothers, let me just say this: It's hard being super attractive and spending the majority of my time fending off boys, but I've accepted this as my lot in life.  After all, not everybody can be this hot:

Get at me, boys.

Gobble Gobble, BIDDIES

One of a biddie's favorite activities is complaining.  When she's not texting, spending her dad's money, or grabbing a light lunch at Panera with her best girl friend, a biddie can usually be found bitching about something (she can also bitch during these activities, say about how her iPhone is soooo annoying, how her dad forgot to give her the monthly allowance, or how there's not enough cheddar in her broccoli cheddar soup).  The life of a biddie is certainly a hard one, and as we all know living in the first world ain't easy.  Even on a joyous, food-filled day like today, so many things could go wrong, like looking fat after dinner or your friendboy forgetting to text you a heartfelt "happy Thanksgiving babycakes."

But in the spirit of the holiday, let's think about all we have for which to be thankful.  First of all, tomorrow is Black Friday which means you can go wrestle with middle-aged women over the J. Crew winter quarter-length sweaters (but hey, they're 10% off so it's not LIKE you would just let her have them!). **

Look at this ecstatic biddie in her natural habitat: fighting and beating older ladies for four sets of twin sheets. THIS COULD BE YOU!!!!!

Secondly, even if you're not the biggest fan of family fun time over the holidays, don't worry because in a few short days you'll be back at school with your friends who love you enough to put up with your complaining (like mine, shout out to all 6 of you...you know who you are).  If you suck and have graduated college then I really don't know what to tell you because on Monday you'll probably have to deal with the person across the cubicle from you who clears his throat every 5 minutes...which is what I imagine post-grad life to consist of solely.

If you suck and you're in high school, then I also don't really know what to tell you because your life is just going to keep getting worse until you graduate, so hang in there champ!  

You can also be thankful because it's getting colder which means you can wear baggier clothes which, by the transitive property means that you can start eating all you want (just in time for Thanksgiving leftovers, yeehaw).  There's at least 4 months before the marketing world will start throwing around venomous words like "swimsuit season" so until then LIVE IT UP GIRLFRIEND.  Along a similar line of thought, Christmas IS just around the corner and judging by the Urban Outfitters catalog I recieved/drooled on recently glitter is totally in this year and I've made up my mind that this Christmas I'm not accepting any gifts that don't sparkle.  

Today I made a list of things I was thankful for (because I was trying to think outside myself for once, or some crap like that).  Anyway, I strongly suggest doing this, you may surprise yourself.  If you really can't find ANYTHING to be thankful for (it can be super simple, like that chicken and dumplings exist, that you don't have a little brat to feed Thanksgiving dinner to first before you can eat, or that Earth sustains life), here is a little gem of literature my friend Harrison alerted me to tonight from the beloved Shel Silverstein book, "Where the Sidewalk Ends":

The One Who Stayed 

You should have heard the old men cry,
You should have heard the biddies
When that sad stranger raised his flute
And piped away the kiddies.
Katy, Tommy, Meg and Bob
Followed, skipping gaily,
Red-haired Ruth, my brother Rob,
And little crippled Bailey,
John and Nils and Cousin Claire,
Dancin', spinnin',turnin'
'Cross the hills to God knows where--
They never came returnin'.
'Cross the hills to God knows where
The piper pranced, a leadin'
Each child in Hamlin Town but me,
And I stayed home unheedin'.
My papa says that I was blest
For if that music found me,
I'd be witch-cast like all the rest.
This town grows old around me.
I cannot say I did not hear
That sound so haunting hollow--
I heard, I heard, I heard it clear...
I was afraid to follow.

I didn't actually read past the word "kiddies" but I was still pretty happy about it.

[RANT ALERT] Lastly, just because you're already thinking about ways to burn off all that turkey doesn't mean it's Christmas yet.  Call me Scrooge but if you start quoting "Elf" or talking about how you've "been looking forward to listening to Christmas music literally allllllll year" anytime before December 10th I will not be friends with you (so if you're one of the 6 and have been looking for an out here's your chance).

**By the way, I just found out it was a thing people do to start shopping the night BEFORE Black Friday, a time I thought was supposed to be reserved for digestion and watching the 7th Land Before Time.  So there's that.

A Picture Post Because Words Are Hard

Today I'm too lazy to actually write, so instead I'm just going to post pictures of things I found on the internet and trick you guys into making you think I've written a new post.

I can't argue with this solid piece of advice, it's worked wonders for me.

Owls are funny.  If you want proof do a google image search for "O RLY." 

I WISH.

This will be my child, and not only on Halloween.

Well somebody was waiting for this text.

I laughed at this for probably 3 minutes.

No they're not that's not possible.

Seriously biddies, get a freaking makeover.

Happy Thanksgiving break everyone!  Also if you want to read more about what I have to say about the holidays, go to this link to see a real stupid group blog I have to write for one of my classes.  If you do it I'll get an A.  Not really but still just do it.

Annoying People Friday, Edition Uno: People Who Need to Calm Down

I wanted to do a post about annoying people, then I realized I encounter far too many breeds and types of annoying people just in daily life to fit in one post, so I think I'm going to make it a weekly thing, as you can see by the title of this post. Sorry it's not a cute little alliteration like "Tutorial Tuesday" or "Way Cool Wednesdays" or other forms of that crap, but here goes...this week's category is People Who Need to Calm Down.

The Anxious Bus Passenger

Because I care about the environment and sustainability and the earth and things, I rely pretty heavily on public transportation to get around campus (the real reason is that I got into a pretty gnarly bike accident in September and haven’t gotten the guts up to ride it again…and by gnarly I mean I scraped my knee).

A real-life example of my personal biddie lifestyle, and also the result of my lack of coordination. 

Now, I’m pretty outgoing but there are a few times when I hate talking to people, like when I’m working out or riding the bus. I usually pick a seat on the bus furthest away from other people, but sometimes you have to share a two-seater. Heaven forbid you sit next to the Anxious Bus Passenger because this person will let you KNOW what stop they’re exiting at, about 3 miles prior to the actual stop. They start gathering their stuff up and kneeing you and half-standing up and breathing heavily and cold-sweating. I’m aware you want to leave but the bus is still moving and it’s not like I’m going to hold you hostage, so take a freaking 1000 milligram chill pill. 

The Beer Pong Champion

Last time I checked, beer pong was a game and games are supposed to be fun. This is the guy that takes beer pong way too seriously and consequently sucks all the fun out of it. He probably looks like this toolbox:

I can't decide if I want this to be Photoshopped or real life... 

He wants to question every rule, know if off-the-ceiling shots count, and has a strange name for every re-rack to make him look like he knows more about the game than anyone else. Do NOT be partners with this kid, and DEFINITELY don’t play against him, because if he wins he won’t shut up about it and if he loses he’ll probably try to kill you later.

The Picture Poser

This biddie takes her camera everywhere, not because she wants to remember her glory days but because she is always on the prowl for her next Facebook profile picture. Do not be friends with her because you will always have to be historian. The catch is not that she’ll always be pushing a camera in your face asking you to “take one of me and BladdyBlah!” but that she’ll demand to know if it’s good .2 seconds after it’s taken. It’s not even like she looks any different from picture to picture, it’s just that she’s obsessed with herself. If you don’t answer fast enough she’ll snatch the camera out of your hands and announce, “Ugh I look like SHET, take another one.” Is that the kind of friendship you want to be trapped in for the rest of undergrad? That's what I thought.

The girl on right has pretty good skinny arm form, you have to admit. She probably fell over right after this was taken, and then made sure it was flattering. 

Apologies to anyone who realized they are any of these people while reading, but also you're welcome. Now you can change your annoying habits and probably lower your blood pressure in doing so.  Happy Friday!

Why Everyone Probably Hates Me

There are a few things in life that I just don't understand.  One is why boys can be funnier than girls (I could tell the exact same joke as a dude and I'll bet you $20 people would laugh more for him than me) and another is why I have friends.  Seriously, I am so obnoxious sometimes it's not even funny.  For example, the majority of my time today was spent posting unflattering pictures of my friends on their Facebooks and annoying the people sitting around me in our meeting by putting pieces of paper on their backs without them noticing.  I think I'm hilarious and I laugh at my own jokes all the time and on top of that I have an annoying cackle.

Story of my life.

I talk about the same things over and over again and my friends have heard every not-funny story or joke I know...twice.  At parties I steal people's cameras and take really zoomed in pictures of their eyebrows and stuff.  I spend an absurd amount of time trying to figure out ways to prank my friends or get away with lies that range from simple to elaborate in nature.  I'm never not being sarcastic, I'm competitive to a point where I provoke fights with people who didn't even know they were in a competition with me, and I rarely stop talking.

The only thing I can figure out is that my friends recognize the high probability that I'm going to get super rich right after graduating college and they're keeping me around so they can mooch off of expensive crab dip I have at my mansion-parties or take joy rides in my collection of Corvettes.

Dating Etiquette

As predicted and not at all surprisingly, the drastically increasing popularity of my blog has had a direct influence on the amount of dates I've had recently (see chart below).

So now that I'm a dating expert (jokes, the last date I went on was probably sophomore year of high school to IHOP, during which one of the employees got arrested), I'm also an expert on date etiquette, and because I'm generous I'll let you in on a few secrets.


Always avoid dates to places that involve food because you're just setting yourself up to look unattractive.  At least for me, I take care of that on my own and I don't need shoveling food in my mouth to aid me in the process.  If you absolutely cannot convince your date to go to a movie, park, or local little league game, don't fret.  You can still salvage the date, just be mindful of your menu options.

• No salads.  There's always about three Frisbee-sized pieces of lettuce that are really difficult to avoid.  You look like a prude if you cut it with a knife but the alternative is having Peppercorn dressing all over your chin/nose/hair.  Also, they always add some weird garnish that I end up spitting out immediately...parsley is surprisingly bitter, or maybe that wasn't parsley.
• Stay away from Mexican.  Farting is funny, but not on a first date.  
• Spaghetti is off-limits for obvious reasons: slurpy noodle noises (speaking of, DEFINITELY no wonton soup), spaghetti sauce on your napkin-bib, awkward sexual innuendos due to the meatballs, etc.
• In general, avoid food that could have any sexual connotations.  This includes corn dogs, ice cream, sub sandwiches, and probably even stale bread and water (?). 

So as you can see, your safest bet is to just ask for a whole bunch of the free mints and snack on those throughout the meal.  If they're the kind that dissolve in your mouth, consider yourself a lucky bitch.


Always offer to pay, at least your half.  Even if you don't actually offer, make it sound like you did ("I would offer to pay but I'm reallllly trying to save money/just spent all my cash/my cat ate my wallet, you HAVE to let me pay next time though!!").  It shows that you are considerate of his budget and also a forward-thinking lady.


It's easy to panic when conversation is slow, but under no circumstances should you ever bring up your middle school years, bathroom humor (I know, this one is hard), or previous relationships.  Come to think of it, you're taking a risk even with hobbies, political opinions, and religious views.  Maybe the best option is to just sit silence, after all, being able to be comfortable with someone is key.  And don't use a napkin as a bib.


The case may be that he's a really great guy, but your stars just aren't aligned.  By this point he probably already has your phone number and knows your real name (if you're an amateur), so if he keeps texting you and you're not feelin' it, gradually pretend to go insane.  Nonsensical responses that get increasingly weird are pretty effective:

Pretending to be super obsessed with him might work too, but be careful because that could backfire and before you know it you could find yourself engaged.


The main thing to remember about dating is that it should be fun, not stressful.  A first date can be the precursor to a great relationship and also marriage, so DON'T SCREW IT UP because you're getting older with every second that passes.


On a similar note, check out this funny link.  Thanks internet, for being weird.

Tutorial Tuesday: How to be an Adult

This summer I worked as a camp counselor for 10- and 11-year-olds. I had a great time feeding them lies, like that I work part-time as a taste-tester for Cheetos, that I’m related to the Duggars, and that my dad owns a quarter of the Amazon rainforest (seriously they are stupid and will believe ANYTHING). But aside from getting paid to play games that involve hitting kids with balls, I learned a valuable lesson. Being an adult is just like being a kid, except you pretend to know more things. It’s all about being able to fake knowing what the hell is going on (which at any given time I usually have no idea about). Think about everytime you asked your mom a question when you were growing up. The answer was a lie. Adults know nothing.

About halfway through the summer we had to take our campers on a backpacking trip. They would ask me how far we had walked, and I would say “about three miles.” EVERY TIME. I have no idea how long a mile is, besides that it’s five thousand something feet which also has no relevant meaning to me. But because I’m a few years older and said everything with a serious face they believed me, no questions asked.

So when people say that high school or college didn’t prepare them for the real world because all they learned to do is bullshit, I say “exactly!” That’s the point. I’m fully prepared to BS my way through the rest of my life, pretending like I know what I’m doing.

A lot of my peers, including myself, have a pretty vague idea of what we want to do with the rest of our lives. I like to tell people I want to be a war-coverage journalist, but let’s be serious. I am a biddie, and although I do have a weird attraction to army guys there is NO WAY I am about to head into a war zone. And let me be a feminazi for a hot minute here and say that more often than not, women have to choose between a family and having a career to which they can devote their full potential. And yes, while I have considered trying to be the next Chelsea Handler, the truth is I will probably write for a small newspaper part-time and have four kids. Don’t get me wrong, I am totally okay with that. It just means that I have to give up a lot of other dreams of mine, like being a rap hype man, gypsie, or a Jeopardy contestant trainer. So my kids better freaking appreciate my sacrifice. :)

My Perfect Man

Now that I’ve established myself as an internet phenomenon, I’ve started preparing for the wave of gentleman cyber-callers I’m bound to be emailed by…any day now…So I thought it might be a good idea to be upfront about what I look for in a manfriend. Every girl has an idea of what her future husband will be like. Maybe he likes kids, gives good back massages, or feigns an interest in her expansive “childhood” beanie baby collection. Who knows, to each her own. But over the years I’ve constructed a pretty solid, if detailed, list of what my perfect husband will be like. Here are my requirements, and no I will not settle for less.

He must be tall and blonde, with a fauxhawk. He should play guitar and sing, as well as hold the high honor of Eagle Scout. He has to make me laugh, but cannot be funnier than me. I also have to be smarter, and I realize this SIGNIFICANTLY lowers the pool of possibilities. I’m not picky about personal style, but a solid (yet not excessive) flannel shirt collection is definitely a plus. If he drives a pick-up truck but owns a convertible Mustang on the side that he’ll give to me on our second date, his chances are looking pretty good. (I will however accept a golden retriever puppy in place of the Mustang.) He can absolutely not criticize my driving habits, and he must be willing to argue with me but also ultimately see that I’m always right. He will let me name at least our first four children and must be aware that James Taylor is the ONLY music suitable to listen to during brunch. He has to let me paint each room of our house a different color, and must also be willing to live in the middle of a sunflower field. He also has to be the kind of dad who transports our children via buggy attached to bicycle. He has to love pranks because I can assure you there will be a prank war occurring during each second of our 53-year marriage. Brownie points if he proposes to me at the top of a rollercoaster, so that way if I throw up out of nervousness I can just blame it on the 200-foot drop I experienced right after he popped the question.

*Applications accepted until position is filled.

What Happens When I go to the gym

I don’t necessarily like going to the gym, but I do like people-watching and I also like mentioning it off-handedly later because it makes me feel better about myself (“oh yeah, when I was at the gym today blah blah blah…”). So alas, I drag myself to UREC (for you non-JMU non-party peeps that’s our on-campus gym).

First I check to see who is swiping JAC cards (also for you non-JMU non-party peeps you have to swipe your student ID to get in). If it is My Future Husband, I have to quickly position my hand around my JAC card so that our hands will touch briefly but electrically as he takes it from me, and then I smile coyly and tell him to also have a good day. It’s a really heated exchange that’s happened twice.

Next I go upstairs and immediately sign up for an elliptical machine. This usually involves staring down the girl whose machine I want so she knows that someone is waiting. Then as I wait I usually do a few of those weight-lifting things which gives me a good opportunity to text people incessantly.

I always bring my notebook or something to read because I think it’ll make the workout go by faster. It doesn’t. First of all I can barely focus on reading when I’m in my natural habitat (stationary and eating) so what about moving my arms and legs at a fast pace while getting increasingly sweaty would enhance my mental cognition? No, I can’t focus on the material I have to learn for a test tomorrow, but I can stare dumbly at a NASCAR race for five minutes without questioning it. I DON’T EVEN LIKE NASCAR. Another thing that happens is that I try to sneakily look over at my neighbor’s machines. I hate when the girl is working harder than me, because that’s unspoken code that we’re now in a completely unprovoked, one-sided competition to see who can burn more calories in a shorter amount of time. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this but I’m crazy, and also competitive, and that combination has left me with three friends and a great reputation.

Then there’s the contraption that boys hang from in the middle of the room. I’m sure someone thought this was a great idea, to put all the girls facing all the boys lifting themselves up using their ‘roided-up and tatted-up arms so each gender could feed off each others' sexual attention. This person was wrong, because nothing that happens on this structure is appealing. Dudes sweat and grunt and probably love it because they’re being taken back to their chimpanzee roots (swinging from vines and stuff).

They say the best part about working out is how good you feel after. I whole-heartedly agree; I feel accomplished, healthy, and confident that every boy will now want to date me because I’ve completely transformed in the last 60 minutes. This feeling disappears about the time when, say, I LOOK IN THE MIRROR and realize that I look like I just walked out of a sauna and got hit by a bus.

Then I go get an 800-calorie strawberry sugar bomb smoothie to appease myself.