If Only I'd Been 16 and Pregnant....: This is Why I had SUCH a Hard Time Making Friends in College...

Dear Ryan Seacrest,

I need my own tv show. It's not so much a want, more a need. For both of us.

A bit about me: I am a typical 9 to 5'er (correction 9 to 6'er, that whole "9 to 5 bit" is a major falsity, I'll write to whoever started that lie later), who feels my talents would be better served in front of the camera of my own half hour (could be an hour if the editing was done right) television show. I am willing to do almost anything on my show (well except maybe bite the head off of a pigeon a la Ozzy Osbourne, but definitely don a unitard and walk the streets of Los Angeles with a midget a la Chelsea Handler - I love love love miniatures, but that's a separate letter). I am also great with people and can chase them down in 5 inch heels if necessary (don't ask). I think alcohol is 50% of the food pyramid and carbs should be the other 50. I used to be so ugly I had to sneak up on water to get a drink. I have a dating history that rivals "Another World" (RIP). I can also have an entire conversation with an answering machine or any other inanimate object.

Call me.

P.S: I don't eat meat.

Friday, April 15, 2011

This is Why I had SUCH a Hard Time Making Friends in College...

I moved to New York City when I was 18 years old to attend college. I lived in a dorm with 3 other girls (a compulsive exerciser, a crazy, and a c u next tuesday) and had been in my dorm for about a week when one night I decided to cook some fish...in a skillet...on the stove. I put in the vegetable oil and then let it heat. And boy did it heat. In my 18 year old brain time was merely a number, not a number worth watching very closely mind you. So when I put the fish into the SCORCHING hot oil it splashed up on my arms. And holy ball sack let me tell you how awesome that felt. I put on a brave face before deciding it was time to take me and my searing flesh to the medical center. Sure enough I had second degree burns. So I got both forearms wrapped up and on my way I went.

I thought for sure people would asked me "what the hell happened to you?" when I went to class. But nope. No one did, not one person. Self-centered assholes.

Months and months...and months later I was talking to a girl from one of my first semester classes and mentioned something about burning my arms. She goes, "oh that's what you did? We all thought you tried to slit your wrists."

Awesome. Now I know why I was resorted to sitting next to the girl who ate her hair....