Monday, June 30, 2014

24 reasons why being a 24-year-old is fabulous...

When I was twelve I wanted to be fifteen so that I could drive our old farm truck. When I was sixteen I couldn't wait to turn eighteen so that I could buy $2 scratch offs at the local Shell station. (I guess? Never been a smoker, much). And once I hit college at eighteen I could not wait to enter adulthood and turn twenty-one. We all know why on that one. Well, I'm twenty-four now and I still don't "feel" like an adult. I am independent and responsible and do my own finances and take care of a dog, yes, but I'm most happy when watching Home Alone or Harriet the Spy, and I get more excited over a rocky road ice cream cone than most toddlers. So I think about age frequently even though it's just a number (no, really, it is) as I have friends from seventeen to seventy. But I've finally reached a point where I'm embracing life as a twenty-something. I don't really care to turn twenty-five anytime soon because being twenty-four is pretty great. And I made a list of twenty-four reasons why this is true (for me at least)...

1. You're taken a little more serious as a human as opposed to a 23-year-old.

2. You're taken way more serious as a human as opposed to any college student.

3. Having an emotional breakdown/quarter-life crisis is totally reasonable at this point since you're in that awkward I'm-not-in-college-anymore-but-I'm-not-a-routined-adult-yet phase.

4. You can still make a fool of yourself at bars (just not as often as college students).

5. You learn that wine is so much better than liquor.

6. Seeing today's youth makes you incredibly thankful you were a 90's kid.

7. "An insane work schedule" is a perfectly acceptable excuse to anybody for not having a significant other at this point in your life. Even if your work schedule is the total opposite of insane.

8. Not knowing what you want to do with your life is also perfectly acceptable at this point.

9. You can be a cat lady and it's just funny and/or adorable because you're not fifty.

10. Going to therapy is not frowned upon as being a millennial in today's economy is rough.

11. The importance of a good facial moisturizer is understood.

12. You learn that work/personal drama ain't worth the time. Neither are the Regina Georges.

13. You've finally realized who your real friends/homegirls from college are.

14. You can make new besties without having the aforementioned college BFF relationships affected, because you've learned it's okay to branch out of your comfort zone a little bit.

15. Full House marathons at night are appreciated a little bit more.

16. Naps become a coveted and beautiful thing.

17. Parents are also viewed as a beautiful thing as opposed to just former lifestyle nazis.

18. Awkward relationships with younger siblings slowly start to evolve into legitimate relationships.

19. You learn it's okay to ask for help and actually take the advice of older, wiser humans.

20. You'd rather volunteer at the Arboretum or DMA on a Sunday than walk around or visit one of 'em hungover.

21. Brunch is spent discussing friends' real, meaningful, life events versus who hooked up with who at the Sig Ep house the previous night.

22. It's admissible to date men in their 30's because you're not a "young, college girl" anymore.

23. You get more excited over finding a new coffee shop to hang out at versus a bar or brunch spot.

24. You're still old enough to know better but too young to care. Yep. Definitely.

Amy agrees.

Friday, June 27, 2014

are you my future roommate?

Alright you guys... as my writing class character Sage would put it, I'm on the cusp of earthly success. Really, I am. Many good things have happened in the last week and I'm turning over a new leaf. But with any yin there's a yang. Always. In my life at least. And I'm not sure which one is supposed to be the pain-in-the-ass one, but finding an apartment/roommate is my bad one.

As much as I would love to live by myself, for one it's just too expensive, as I'll never be at home, and two, I've seen way too many crime shows; I like the comfort in knowing that if my roommate hasn't seen me in a week or so (s)he could do a courtesy body check for my parents. However, I've had so many bad roommate experiences in the past that I just cringe at the thought of settling with just anybody, even if it's just for a month or so 'til I find the perfect Dallas abode this fall.

So... I made a list of the most important things I think of/am looking for when it comes to a roommate, and if you meet at least 70% of the requirements please contact me. I can assure you the karma gods will reward you immensely.

1. SLEEP - I am rarely home as staying busy out and about keeps me productive. With this being said, I need my sleep to function. And by sleep I mean seven hours minimum of uninterrupted, Ambien-induced zzz's at night. No knocking on my door, no loud karaoke-ing in the shower, no organizing stainless steel pots and pans in the kitchen, etc. after 11PM. That is all I've ever asked and I think I've had maybe one roommate of the past fulfill this dream of mine. Because trust me, this momma will turn into your worst, raging nightmare if I'm sleep-deprived.

2. FRIENDSHIP - Yes, we have to like each other somewhat to be roommates. I'm all about being cordial with the person sleeping ten feet away from me. However, we cannot be best friends. When I get home late at night after a long day you cannot be offended if I go straight to my room and Netflix it up without saying a word. It's nothing against you, I'm just an extrovert publicly and an extreme introvert when at home. Of course we can have the occasional wine/movie nights on the couch, go grocery shopping together every so often, and text memes back and forth all day. But for the sake of having a stress-free living situation, we simply cannot be Thelma and Louise.

3. DOOR - This one goes along with the previous one. Sort of. If my door is open and/or unlocked, feel free to come on in and tell me about your day (unless I'm in bed with the lights out and Netflix on, then just email me about your day and I'll respond within a reasonable time, depending on your scenario). But I need my "me time," so if my door is closed/locked and you're not bleeding/dying/crying/burning, it's best for both of us to just keep that door shut. I'll leave it all to your interpretation but just trust me on this one.

4. CLEANLINESS - When it comes to my room, I'm EXTREMELY clean and OCD about keeping things organized. However, I don't care if your room is a damn zoo. You can have piles of laundry everywhere. I don't care. As long as you aren't affecting my queen bed, keep on keepin' on. To each his own. Seriously. And I love to vacuum so I've got that covered for both of us in terms of the whole place. Now I can't handle trash smells so if you're bad about taking the trash out when it's your turn, I will. Don't worry, though, it may be taken care of but I'll be super passive-aggressive about it. Also I'm a fan of partying with friends at the bars, not at the casa. Casual dinner parties and low-key Sunday brunches? Sign me up. Having your friends over for Girls or SNL? You go for it! I probably won't even be at home. But I will flip my sh*t if I wake up to a frat house on a Sunday morning. After four years of SMU, I'll be okay if I never see another red solo cup or step on another sticky floor again. Not a prude, I'm all about friendship and rainbows, but not a fan of wild animals in my personal space.

5. KITCHEN - I love to cook but like I said, I'm never home. So if you like to cook, great. Fabulous. We can schedule a wine/dinner date once or twice a month. I'm always down. I also love to bake so maybe that could be a roomie bonding thing, too. I eat out a lot and always bring home leftovers. Why? Because I'm going to eat them the next day when I'm in a hurry. SO DON'T EAT THEM IF THEY'RE LABELED. I label things. It's become a habit after past roommate situations. But if it's not labeled and/or I tell you that you can have it, go for it, sister (or brother). I'm also all about buying groceries in bulk to save a dime or two, so Costco roomie dates could be a possibility.

6. MANNERS - If you're just a nice human and respect my wishes above, we will be perfect roommates. I'm extremely laid back and open-minded about almost anything when it comes to roommates. But I am not a fan of people assuming that they can use something of mine "because we live together." If you simply ask or shoot me a text if I'm not home, you can absolutely use my Netflix, Amazon Prime, Hulu, Apple TV, shampoo, straightener, clothes, jewelry, toothbrush, dirty socks, toilet paper, maybe even bed, whatever, you get the picture. I don't care what it is. If you need it, I'll gladly let you use it. I'm a weirdo that notices the slightest earring out of place or dress missing. Again, this is pure conditioning from horrible roommate pasts, so all I ask is that you ask.

So... if I don't sound like a complete and total lunatic to you, contact me at your earliest convenience. I promise I will buy you Pluckers and bring home cupcakes and surprise you with wine and DVDs if you're an awesome human/roommate. And willing to live within a five-mile radius of downtown Dallas. Specifically Deep Ellum. And I'm not high-maintenance or wanting anything fancy, so as long as our abode has a decent pool and there aren't too many gunshots nearby, we're golden.

Thursday, June 26, 2014

how your life could be changed at 7pm (cst) tonight...

Alright, you guys... today is THE day. My DCH sketch writing class will be performing our big, grand, fabulous, finale showcase tonight at 7PM sharp. At the world-famous Dallas Comedy House, of course. In Deep Ellum, at 2645 Commerce Street, just in case you need the address, because I want everyone reading this (that includes all of you out-of-staters, too!) to be there and be square. I just checked Expedia and there are still departing flights to Dallas from LaGuardia, GSP, LAX, MIA, Bergstrom, IAH, and O'Hare for all of my favorite humans scattered throughout the US of A. I don't think I missed any anyone, except for my Europeans and consistent reader from the Cayman Islands, which BTW, can we be friends? I'd love to come and visit... and maybe vacation... for forever... just an idea, you can get back to me at your earliest convenience.

Anyway, our showcase is going to be amazing. Magnificent. Awe-inspiring, if you will. Well... all seven of my other classmates are guaranteed to be wonderful. They are funny people. I still laugh after seeing each one ten times. I, on the other hand, cannot guarantee you anything. Hot mess = this girl at rehearsal last night despite the 9,824,175 hours that I've put into this thing. All of my other classmates are badass DCH graduates with insane amounts of talent. Emphasis on the insane with the underlining. They make me better, yes. And I love that I learn so much from them. But they give me stage fright every. single. time. Because they're all so dang good! Even after eight weeks of being around those crazies for essentially a third of my week. (I spend a lot of time at the DCH, okay.) And for the past five days or so I've been listening to a recording of my monologue, in my God-awful, deep, man voice, still lingering a slight East Texan accent. Gotta work on that. But it's almost to the point where I'm going to start saying my roughly-four-minute monologue in my dreams. If I ever sleep. But then again, I can sleep when I'm dead, right? Because DCH life is way more fun and worth the dark rings under my eyes.

So... I vote that you come out and support us. And if you can't get a flight booked within the next few hours at least tweet us some cheesy words of encouragement or something. Or don't, because that might just look weird. Nah, go ahead and tweet me (@malloryjn) because I'm going to need it. (I've already had to take four dramamine over the past twenty-four hours due to extreme nervous nausea that I cannot get rid of.) Or tweet Amanda (@amandaaustindch), our fabulous teach who has also spent 25,027,502 hours reassuring our my whines and editing our material. She at least deserves a wine glass or two-beers-cheersing emoji tweet. There's also a neat article by Joe Tone on the history of AA and DCH on today's Dallas Observer Blog that takes maybe a minute to read, so do it.

*AA is for Amanda Austin, not Alcoholics Anonymous. I'm sure you all guessed that but I just wanted to clarify.

This writing class has been life-changing, as with anything involving DCH, improv, and the arts in general. I mean, it inspired this blog, you guys... so I'm just saying... you could easily google 'sketch writing class' and change your life, too. I really just love using the phrase, "life-changing" or "change your life, too" when rambling about anything DCH or improv because it's totally cheesy/overused/cliché. And 100% accurate. The amount of happiness that my classmates have provided me surpasses that of any lifetime supply of Nutella, Plucker's chicken wings, puppies, kittens, or Netflix. If that says anything. So...

You can buy your tickets HERE. They are only five dollars. That's only five Washingtons. Or one Lincoln. That's only 1/25 of the average therapy session. Um, sounds like a steal to me! And you'll have as much fun as the precious elderly people or Bill Cosby below. I promise.

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

why spicy foods are my life & the kfc hoax made you all idiots...

A) This is a quick post because as procrastinating Patty I've got to get to perfecting my DCH monologue, but... Remember the time I posted about why you should be nice to Expedia employees? Well... I take it all back. Mostly. Because earlier today I was emailed my itinerary, flight number, preferred seats, etc., and it turns out that nothing was canceled (even after the second time). I've been so busy this week that I could seriously use an NYC weekend and I almost didn't even bother to call and cancel it.

B) I discovered the MOST AMAZING RECIPE EVER yesterday that I want to share with all of you guys. I love cooking. And baking. And experimenting in the kitchen. And most importantly, I love spicy food; especially spicy dish recipes that take less than twenty minutes. I put jalapenos, Sriracha, Tabasco, and/or Tony Chachere on EVERYTHING. Literally everything. Unless it's sweet (as opposed to salty). My dad and I are huge salsa fans (our latest salsa experiment was trying 2 Brothers Chipotle Habanero salsa from Central Market; it's golden) and try to grow every king of ghost, habanero, and super hot pepper possible on this planet. It's our thing. As for my mom and sister, Braum's gravy is "hot" enough for them, so there ya go.

C) But... if you take one packet of Lipton's chicken noodle broth/soup, 4.2-ish cups boiling water (I added the .2 extra because all of the extra, ya know), 1/4 white onion diced, 3 tbsp. minced garlic, 2 scrambled eggs (you're gonna toss 'em in raw in the boiling water, egg-drop soup style), 3 tbsp. soy sauce, and 2/3 cup of Sriracha; let it all boil/stew/soak in each other's juices for 10 min. or so, and voila. It's f*cking magical. At least for me. I was so proud of myself for finally finding the quickest spicy soup recipe possible that is dream-worthy. So, you're all welcome.

D) This is the last random point (and most feisty, for sure) but to all of you out there who were shocked and/or disgusted over the KFC girl hoax, get over yourselves. You're all dumb. The people who staged that BS were actually genius because guess what, you all believed it. BLASPHEMY! You all "felt oh so sad" because it was on the internet. Therefore it must've been true! OY VEY. Idiots. If you want to see or read about something sad go to a local Holocaust museum or volunteer at your local shelter. At least the sh*t you see there is real. As for a Facebook thread, you're a moron if you believe wholeheartedly every word printed. Kind of like this blog. I come off as an unhappy, cynical millennial, but honestly, I thank God for the first breath I wake up with every morning. (Even that sounds believable, see?) So the next time you read something pulling at your tear ducts, use yo logic.

Monday, June 23, 2014

why you and/or your brand should be on twitter non-stop...

The other day my great uncle Carl asked why I tweet so much, why it matters, and how my obsession with social media began. And I've been asked countless times how I've managed to rack up 18k tweets since March 2009 (which honestly isn't a lot for anyone who's familiar with social media), so being challenged to argue the importance of social media marketing is not a problem as I have valid justifications to back my rants up with. The older generations who simply do not understand "it" have asked me so many times what a "twit" or "peentrest" is that I've considered doing free workshops for 'em just because I feel bad for their unfortunate misunderstandings. And the older folks can get pretty aggressive when it comes to new age technology. Trust me.

But here's the thing... I've received probably $2,000+ worth of free sh*t for simply taking twenty seconds to write out 140 characters about or to a brand. Not kidding. A gold Kara Ross choker straight from the runway? Check. Harper's Bazaar Greatest Hits book autographed by Glenda Bailey? Check. $200 Kenneth Cole gift card? Check. The entire Simple skincare line? Check. Which BTW I had tweeted about wanting Allison Williams's skin from HBO's Girls, so I received a hand-written letter from her, too. (Yeah, yeah, it was probably her Weber-Shandwick publicist but so what). And I've learned that there is a specific way to tweet. Luckily, I was blessed with a sarcastic tongue and I'm not starstruck easily so that's worked in my favor. And by that I mean that if you tweet at a brand all the time or not with the correct tone, you ain't gonna be seen or heard, sister. (or brother). 

Which speaking of... a brand deciding who to "see or hear" is crucial. Crucial, I tell you. I have many brands that follow me on Twitter and/or tweet back and forth with me frequently. And you know why this continues? Because I only give them my money, and they continue to pay an extremely wise social media manager to "thank me online." I wrote down 50+ examples for you guys but I won't bore anyone for that long so I picked the best ones; this also seems to be where the older folks "get it." 

1.) Taco Cabana followed/tweeted me (in a personal tone; not some as-seen-on-tv cheesy manner) two years ago after I tweeted about one of their strawberry margaritas. Do you think I ever go to any other fast-food taco joints? Hell no. (Okay, Taco Bell is an exception, but it's Taco Bell. They're in their own category). 

2.) In Austin last fall I instagrammed and tweeted a photo of the divine chicken quesadillas from Gloria's with the caption, "photogenic heartburn." They got my sense of humor and commented back. Hasta la vista, Mi Cocina, Uncle Julio's, Chuy's, El Fenix, and Iron Cactus. Gloria's has my heart forever now. (I eat a lot of Tex-Mex, okay). 

3.) When I find a local joint I feel at home with, i.e. St. Pete's Dancing Marlin,' I'm gonna blog/tweet/IG/Yelp about it and check-in on Facebook all the time. They follow me and continue to acknowledge my online support for 'em versus a few other Deep Ellum dives. So guess where I'm going to continue racking up insane beer/greasy nacho tabs throughout the week while I write in between DCH? St. Pete's Dancing Marlin.' You betcha! *Cue Sarah Palin voice*

4.) Tito's Vodka wished me a happy birthday without me even tagging them in a tweet a month ago. That means their social media guru was doing the SEO job right and deserves a raise. Guess what vodka I'm only going to consume 'til I'm dead? Tito's. Getting the picture?

5.) Sarah Colonna is one of my all-time favorite comedians and writers. She is top-notch in terms of "celebs" on Twitter. I've mentioned her in numerous tweets and she's responded with genuine enthusiasm every. single. time. So whenever Sarah C does a show at the Addison Improv or in the general state of Texas, I'm there. Guaranteed. I'll most likely pay the higher "pre-order" price for any book she publishes as well because she's taken the time to appreciate her fans. 

6.) We all know I love Kenny G, instrumental/jazz/piano music, etc., so whenever I find a fabulous new station, like Jamie Bonk's for example, I tweet cheesy happiness for it. Pandora reciprocates the excitement. Always. So trying Spotify (or anything else) has never crossed my mind. Nor will it. 

7.) Salon Pompeo: We've been Twitter friends since I was a freshman at SMU. The first time I tweeted about 'em after my first cut/mimosa there I was $old. Do you think this momma lets any other Dallas salon touch her locks? Nope. Nada. Never. Aside from their social media skills, though, Pompeo houses the best stylists in Dallas so even if they did break up with me online I'd continue to go. 

8.) I'll stop at eight since that seems to be my magic number on here, but just to give credit to a few more... Expedia, Southwest Airlines, Walton's Fancy & Staple (we go through pounds of their Good Stuff Seasoning each year), Henri Bendel, YoplaitSkymall, 7-Eleven, Eatzi's, Purina, Klout, Lux Tanning Spa, Coppell Piano Shop, Contiki Vacations, Kat Cole/Cinnabon, Clarisonic, Discover It Card, Barclays banking, and Viggle app are among some of the best brands online that continue to foster an online relationship with me as a consumer.

And that sounds so dramatic and weird but guess what, I'm loyal to the bone to these brands. It doesn't cost me a SINGLE DIME to be on Twitter. I will only spend my dollar bills on them as opposed to any competitors. For life. Because I'm a narcissistic millennial and when a brand acknowledges my online gratitude/shout-outs, they're making this customer happy, and they're making profit. It's as simple as that. Older folks love capitalism, so there ya go.

And I hate to say it but if a brand has poor social media skills, no consistency, doesn't tweet during business days, lacking profiles, you-name-it, I'm going to go and spend my money elsewhere. I'm going to stop "spreading the word" about you because you/your brand doesn't care to keep up with the ways of my generation. We live in a world where online persona is extremely important, as materialistic and/or meaningless as that may sound to some. But hey, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. So if you're anti-Twitter, or any other social media site, get with the program and jump on board. Hopefully I've convinced you in some way or another how important social media is. And if not, let's talk further. I could go on for years. Also, at the end of the day, social media is just a lot of fun. That's why I do it. Rest assured that if it weren't fun I wouldn't be doing it, and would've given up years ago when I was like sixteen. 

Saturday, June 21, 2014

megan amram, eatzi's ranch dressing, & a housewife...

I'm currently posted up at the Eatzi's off Lemmon because I've been craving one of their salads for the longest and Ewing practice this AM created an appetite. And by golly I've gone to town on my mixed greens with salmon, cheese, carrots, cucumber, and egg doused in ranch. Healthy, right? But oh so good. Their ranch is on an entirely different level. It's divine. I would probably eat it on chocolate cake. It's that perfect. And I was going to blog about a few of my favorite TV show writers today until the universe blessed me with this gem of a Highland Park housewife at the table next to me. You guys... she's a gold mine of character inspiration. Basically she's blabbed about what she likes for the past thirty minutes while her friend sits there, probably daydreaming of a wine barrel to dip her head into or something. I would be.

Now I'm not saying this condescendingly because this gabber sounds like buckets of fun. She's definitely the 50-something who kicks ass on the DCC tennis court and Crystal Charity Ball dance floor. I mean five minutes ago she boldly stated, "I just don't like pork chops! Nope. Never have." And I was like hell yeah, sister! You tell 'em! Earlier she couldn't stop laughing (by herself) for always having to eat her peas and mashed potatoes together. Because that's how she grew up eating 'em! Don't ya know?! And her friend continues to just sip her large fountain drink with a lid. She probably has whiskey in there. And if she doesn't she will soon because now Marjorie (that's what I'm calling the entertaining housewife) is advising the friend on how to be a disciplining parent in 2014. "Times way different than when they grew up!" Oy vey. Here we go. A Dr. Phil session. Sweet Lord I'm gonna have to toss this Dr. Pepper I'm sipping on and go back inside for some vino. Just kidding. They're going to leave soon because they didn't get any food. Who knows.

So, now that I've forgotten everything I wanted to write re: my favorite writers/humans and can only think about pork chops and peas, I'll just insert a few of my favorite Megan Amram tweets. For those who aren't familiar, Megan is a writer on Parks & Rec (my all-time favorite) and the Kroll Show, among others. She's also hilarious on Twitter.

Friday, June 20, 2014

8 As-Seen-On-TV Products We All Secretly Want...

I'm a sucker for as-seen-on-TV products, and will admit to frequently googling 'ridiculous infomercials.' As mentioned before, I'm also a huge fan of Life Alert parodies. They're just the greatest thing. So earlier when I saw this ludicrous commercial advertising Stretchkins (see #8) I just had to get on the YouTube; thus leading to the creation of this post which is probably one of my most favorite ever. So grab your Snuggie (obviously I have the Santa one) and maybe even a shake weight (totally have one of these, too), and enjoy the entertaining bliss below.


Come. On. Who would not want one of these? They're out of stock on Amazon or else I would buy one for every highbrow person I know. Could you imagine being interviewed for like a serious law or accounting job by an HR lady sitting in one of these?


Alright... A) I would kill to see a couple frolicking on a beach in their "wearable towels" like the one from this gem, B) There is totally an art to putting this thing on so nobody with a life, or under the influence of anything, could properly put it on, and C) The toga option. That is all.


You're gonna get a box of Beano as an anniversary gift before you get a Better Marriage Blanket; but more importantly, I'm going to run away and never come back the first time you produce a smell needing military-grade fabric to cover it up =  no marriage needing a blanket to better it.


I would sit at a park and do this all day every day. Yes.


I would never publicly admit to having one of these, but think of all the blueberry muffins I could burn off while blogging or having a Netflix marathon in a sauna pant...


I love to bake and prefer using real recipes/ingredients but I'll be honest, I just want Cathy Mitchell to be my live-in grandma. Or new best friend.


Um, who hired the wannabe-rapper to do the background music? And where was this when I was in college? #genius


Nobody wants a Stretchkins but the commercial deserved an honorable mention. Here's the thing... Does Taft-Hartley not have a clause protecting child actors from future embarrassment due to things like this? And I can guarantee you any kid playing on a basketball court with one of these will have zero friends. Zero.

*Videos courtesy of YouTube
*Actors/Actresses' enthusiasm courtesy of Adderall XR

Thursday, June 19, 2014

why you should be nice to expedia/retail employees...

Alright, as I'm typing the first few words of this post I'm trying to figure out the best way possible to word this so that I do not come off as a total psychopath... So let's put it this way, I've worked in multiple retail jobs dealing with people from all walks of life, beliefs, demographics, economic statuses, you-name-it. From an upscale Dallas bakery to Neiman Marcus to a small-town AT&T brick and mortar. And I've learned one thing... if as a consumer you are nice to a retail employee, you will get a lot further. A LOT. Trust me.

Well... about six weeks ago I learned that I needed to cancel a flight I had booked to NYC for the Del Close Marathon/to visit one of my long-lost college BFFs, D. Posner, as I had two scheduled showcases at the DCH during the same weekend. I had a Kim Kardashian ugly cry moment because I had scored such a good deal on the flight, needed some NYC time (mentally I'm always in NYC, physically I'm stuck in TX), and improv is the love of my life. But, commitments are commitments so I called Expedia and negotiated out of my flight hassle-free. Sort of.

Basically, I didn't cancel my flight completely because a part of me said, "Don't do it!" and after two hours of negotiating on my iPhone smeared with sweat and makeup (sorry, just trying to paint the picture), the customer service rep said I could cancel fee-free up to the twenty-four hour mark prior to departure, as she was more than likely ready for lunch break and sick of hearing me gab. But here's the thing... when I initially called to cancel I was as nice as I could be (I simply don't understand loud people obnoxiously demanding from the get-go) and for the first ten minutes said nothing but, "Yes, ma'am," "No, ma'am," and "How is your day, ma'am?"... That got me nowhere. She didn't care to hear my Texas mannerisms. She wasn't buying my faux story of "my boss is making me cancel due to shift changes. Whomp. Whomp." Maybe she had had a bad day. Maybe her supervisor ruined her morning. Or maybe she just didn't want to help a 24-year-old dripping with white girl problems and disgusting charm. Can't blame her but who knows. So after forty minutes or so I did a little switcharoo...

I morphed into the repulsive b*tch that any retail worker dreads as A) I have never done that in my life and as a half-assed actress I wanted to try something new, and B) I've worked in the toughest of retail industries and have witnessed the meanest dragon humans get what they want from being Cal Hockleys times a hundred. TIMES A HUNDRED, I TELL YOU. So, yeah, it was awful and took me b*tching out of my comfort zone for an hour to get what I wanted the first time. Sort of. But what did that get either of us? My flight certainly wasn't canceled, my blood pressure had skyrocketed to what my Dr. Young would deem "rehabilitation level," and I probably had just made that girl's day even worse. Who wants any of that? I sure as hell don't.

So today when I had to call to ultimately cancel my flight I decided to be so disgustingly sweet to "Jane" that her moral compass would allow nothing but a fee-free cancellation within the first ten minutes. And I was right. Being nice always wins. Or so I believe. It didn't take five minutes of me charming her thickly-accented pants off via asking about her day, how her shift was going, how the weather was, and how she was going to celebrate July 4th. *PSA: make sure your Expedia agent lives in the USA before asking of Independence Day plans. #awkward. But, she was more than willing to help me in an instant without charging an arm or a leg because I was nice, and that's what retail workers love. Most of 'em at least. And as a former retail employee I would sincerely thank the Lord above whenever I was blessed with a nice customer. Seriously. That's how mean the world can be.

So take your pick... The next time you speak to any employee working with the public decide if you want to spend two hours b*tching and ruining the day of everyone involved, or fifteen minutes being delightful (whether it's fake or not) to get what you want. And is your want a life or death matter? If not, then just be nice. If so, cautiously consider your Regina George antics.

*Disclaimer- I obviously tried to pick the most stereotypical/wrong image of a customer service rep. 

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

8 Ways 'Hocus Pocus' Describes My DMV Experience...

The website wasn't working so I had to go to the local DMV to finally renew my license after my birthday a month ago. Better late than never, no? Here's how I felt about the whole thing... 

Upon walking into the DMV... 
When being told to take a number behind the 500 other humans already waiting... 

When it was finally my turn...
When the DMV homegirl joked I was "nearly blind" during the vision test... 
How I thought I looked in the dreaded mugshot...
How I know I looked in the dreaded mugshot...
Having to pay the renewal fee as if my miserable day spent there wasn't enough of a sacrifice...
Skedaddling out of the DMV 90 hours later... 
*Gifs courtesy of

Monday, June 16, 2014

Working For Lindt Chocolate & Marrying Kenny G...

I am on a mission to become a spokeswoman for Lindt Chocolate. And I firmly believe that I could boost North American sales if I were given the opportunity, along with unlimited truffles. Specifically the peanut butter flavor. My grandmother gave me a bag last week of the assorted chocolate truffles and surprisingly I had never tried 'em before. Holy. Batman. Aside from the fact that I basically needed the jaws of life to open the bag, the aroma that flowed out once opened is what I would imagine an angel's breath to smell like. And when I popped the first one into my mouth it was a divine match made in heaven. So I think that if the man pictured below from the LindtUSA website can do this, so can I!

Aside from aspiring to be a chocolatier for the day, I've been blaring my Kenny G pandora station while writing my monologue for DCH writing class over and over and over again. Writing stuff down old-school style (pen and paper) is the best way for me to memorize something. And in typical Mallory fashion, I've waited until two days before our final class to get my sh*t fully memorized. Our writing teach Amanda emailed us earlier and I catapulted right up out of bed, paused my Netflix marathon, and got to work. Just the thought of not having my sh*t fully finalized by class time with her gives me great anxiety, as she's intense. But in a good way. So that's what me and Kenny have been doing for a while. Also most people don't get my obsession with Kenny G/jazz music but I've thought about it many of times. And when I was younger my great uncle Paul Green (as my sister and I called him) was my everything; we grew up with him & my aunt Darlene while my parents worked/we lived in the city. And they ALWAYS had instrumental jazz playing throughout their house. Always. And to this day we're still struggling with his passing but every time I listen to Kenny G-esque music I think of him and am in my happy zone. Pure bliss, I tell you. So maybe that's where my obsession arises from. At least I'm assuming. But I just really wish I could marry Kenny G so that I could wake up to his beautiful sounds every. single. morning. Good God that would be glorious, you guys. 

Lastly, may I suggest, Ever I Love You by Tim Janis is one of the most beautiful songs to listen to. Incredible. Just incredible. 

Sunday, June 15, 2014

To Those Worried About My Finances...

Tonight I had someone at post-Father's day dinner/drinks say, "How do you give that kind of tip while unemployed?!" and ya know what, as a mannered, Southern woman I just gave the "God bless you" look and politely responded with, "let's not worry about that," as only an inexperienced lady would say that. I said at that very moment to myself that I wouldn't blog about this but you know what, I'm blogging about it. Because A) I will always give more to someone working in retail tip-wise, and B) I'm sick of being scrutinized by those who do not know me for my spending habits.
Here's the situation... from the moment that I could speak I was selling something. My bullsh*tter charm has gotten me more places than most. Whether it was "Frogs and Turtles by Mallory" for sale from the many lakes of my East Texas hometown or the ridiculous Lisa Frank bookmarks I created on my super-cheap Microsoft laptop from 2001; printed, laminated, and sold to my gullible classmates for $1.25-$2.25 each, I was making money from the get-go. And my parents and grandparents (both small-business owners) were proud of my natural tendencies. I know how to find a customer, and keep 'em. Without taking any clothing off.

I've been babysitting since I was nine and have saved every dime from Christmas, birthdays, you-name-it since I was old enough to have a savings account. Eleven years old, to be exact. And I never spent a dollar while my younger sister blew every penny on all kinds of dumb things. I invested every single dime in stocks, bonds, CDs, and various other portfolios because that was my "thing" as a dorky weirdo obsessed with reading the daily stocks (just ask my hometown librarian, Mrs. Andresen) stuck in a small town. And that's why I have the savings account that I have now. Along with a few years of hard work at horrible retail/corporate jobs. My money is only to be spent on education or travel. Period. And if that involves Tiff's Treats or Blood & Honeys or a tip to a nice waiter, so be it. Those who are curious about why I tip waiters/waitresses intrigue me, though... I kind of wish I could give a finance/morals class to 'em, honestly...

And this is a passive-aggressive post because my true friends have never questioned me nor will they ever. They also don't care. My parents and grandparents taught me how to manage the moolah and despite a Badgley Mischka beige alligator tote being the first "big" pre-SMU purchase, this momma knows what she's doing. We shall not worry. Let's just enjoy life and worry about, well, nothing. Because worrying ain't good for nobody. If you are worried, especially about my Benjamins, take an improv class at DCH or enroll in therapy. Or start selling bookmarks. Or reading and investing. Doesn't matter if you're a girl. Just be smart and make yourself some money because nobody else will in this world.

Susan Messing & Getting My Freak On...

I opened up Facebook before this post and literally just read on the new, creepy, right-screen feed that this girl from high school "completed a level in Candy Crush Saga," so I feel way more productive in terms of blogging right now as opposed to other adult things that I most definitely could (and should) be doing. (Speaking of, if anybody has ANY connections with the Adam Hats Lofts, please let me know as I'm determined to score an abode in Deep Ellum one way or another). 

Anywho, I took a lovely two-hour workshop this morning with Susan Messing, a non-apologetic, badass, genius comedian/improviser, and intensely captivating instructor at the world-famous Dallas Comedy House. When I first read about she and Frank Caeti coming to the DCH in the blog a few weeks ago I absolutely had to sign up for her mini-class appropriately titled, 'Protecting the Freak.' Thank God I did because A) I learned stuff, as per usual; I'm always learning stuff at the DCH, and not just improv stuff but also life lesson stuff, and B) Susan M is a kickass comedian so there was no question when it came to clicking that TicketLeap link. Whenever there's a chance to take a workshop and learn, I do it, because why the hell not?! Even if it is Father's Day, which, Doug completely understands my newfound obsession/dedication so he didn't throw a sh*tty-daughter-of-the-year plaque at me when I left at the crack of dawn this morning.
Susan Messing's beautiful face courtesy of NCCAF

Aside from Susan M being just over-the-top awesome and to the point (which I like those kind of people), I'm glad I was in attendance as everyone else taking the workshop was a DCH graduate, experienced performer, troupe member, etc.. And whenever I get the opportunity to learn with people better than me I'm truly fortunate. That is the best way to learn in my book. It's not an intimidation factor, I'm not scared of the wise men, I simply prefer them. I've trained myself to listen to and absorb what everyone else has to say, their perspectives, the good and bad experiences, what works, what doesn't, etc., and that's my favorite way of grasping stuff. And grasping stuff is always good, no?

But ultimately, Susan M drew a distinct line between letting your freak out on stage/having fun, and separating the subject matter/character wants from real-life normalcy/appropriate-ness. She promotes being as crazy as you can be when improvising but in a manner that still showed respect to the art of improvisation. I liked that. And her fierce respect for improv came across in such a subtle/inspiring manner = the skillz of a badass teacher, in my opinion. It was really cool. She also seriously respects the audience at any show which came up in discussion during the last half. And that really resonated with me because I've never heard a comedian or performer make such a firm point in terms of the audience, and how performers should respect them for getting off their asses to come out and see a show, as opposed to most people assuming an audience should just respect the performers for having the balls tits to do their thing up on a stage, ya know. So I admired that, especially coming from someone with a sailor's mouth like mine. Which is quite an accomplishment. But that was all the more reason for me to listen up. Anybody that's non-apologetic when throwing an F bomb in talking to/with me is somebody that I greatly respect and trust. Sounds crazy, I know, but that means their comfortable and honest. And that was Susan Messing.
Random Deep Ellum photo courtesy of Miss Melanoma

So in formal conclusion, Susan M's native Jersey demeanor and ability to make every word that comes out of her mouth be as funny as hell was just a really great way to start the day. I can't wait to one day tell my offspring about the badass women before me that taught me so much; I had my last level three improv class directly after her workshop but despite doing improv for a solid five hours today, I could totally have kept going. I also was a beeping robot out of control in one of our Ewing class runs today so snaps to SM for giving me the pre-class confidence of being a weirdo computer today instead of my usual b*tchy housewife or stoner boyfriend. My scene partner Adrian totally supported me and it was just too much fun. And now I'm posted up at the St. Pete's doing this therapeutic nonsense and putting away some of their insane nachos, with my DCH shirt on, so apologies to everyone for being that girl. It's gotten to the point where Sam knows what I want when I walk in so this is one happy girl right now. I'm also in sweatpants so the fact that they're accepting of me in pajamas basically says a lot. Praise the Lord for Deep Ellum!

Friday, June 13, 2014

Rick Perry & Genetic Misogyny...

Equality symbol that my dog Phoebe would be proud of, too.
Alright... I typically don't blog about political issues because my intense policy-shredding tendencies as a former poli sci major will go haywire, and it's 2014; we're basically to a point where you simply cannot be political online as the human race has evolved into Xanax-thirsty children. And this blog is meant to relieve blood pressure, not catapult it. But as a staunch LGBTQ advocate and political junkie I must make some sort of attempt at mocking mentioning the latest Rick Perry gibberish. I have several out-of-state friends that I keep up with solely through my blog and/or social media feeds so here is my sincere apology as a Texan with manners for our joke of a governor's latest word vomit. (PS I refuse to capitalize 'governor' until we have a real one in office worthy of me pressing that 'shift G.')

For those who are unaware or merely don't give a sh*t but are curious what all this poppycock is, (I finally got a chance to use 'poppycock' in my writing! Thanks, Rick!) the world-famous political pundit, Rick Perry, spoke in San Francisco this past week at a hopeless biofuel/solar/wind energy conference (I can assure you he cannot even spell 'global warming,' so get your ticket refunds people!), on behalf of the Commonwealth Club of California. Which, I honestly must give credit to because I know they've been googled 90,000 times since this debacle. And in inviting the esteemed Texas governor I'm sure they were thinking, "Free PR FTW! Let's go Glen Coco Perry!" as he so graciously compared homosexuality to alcoholism; claiming both to be diseases and/or lifestyles of a choice.

Lolz. Ricky boy, for the umpteenth time you have proven to be a misogynist moron. Because ya know what he later claimed? That he is "...not a doctor." (Fernandez, ... Which I find odd because our state's abortion laws/views are pretty intense and dictated by a man who now claims not to be a doctor. Weird! Silly, confused man must have been under the influence of something because things got pretty weird (for Californians at least) after that. BUT WE KNOW IT WAS NOT ALCOHOL BECAUSE HE DOES NOT CHOOSE THAT LIFESTYLE THAT HE "MAY OR MAY NOT BE GENETICALLY INCLINED TO."

Aside from the fact that his claims were just bad jokes, as we all know he truly wants to be an improviser deep down but is genetically untalented, I'm more concerned in how we're going to repair his genetic coding in being a f*cking idiot since there's no "reparative therapy" currently for that... Shucks. How do we convert all of the insanely mean and cruel homophobes to be "normal" again like the "gays" he wants to enroll in "conversion therapy?" I mean really, he's a misogynist. And how is being naturally inclined to oppose hate something better than just being a person? I don't get it. Never will. I come from a family politically split down the middle, and fortunately I don't give a sh*t what anyone thinks, especially them, when it comes to LGBTQ topics because I hope that one day I don't have to refer to anything as LGBTQ. Do we ever refer to dumb people who shoot other people as DPWSOP topics? No.

I'm a big advocate of The Trevor Project and It Gets Better so while I'm #praying (sorry, that's my attempt at mocking the dramatic #praying hashtag on twitter, for the record I'm a praying Christian but my religion is nobody's business) for Rick Perry and his drunk press team. I'm also #praying that you guys go support these awesome organizations and vote for Wendy Davis as Governor of Texas this fall. Let's create some good PR for Texas (and just good for the world) and get this fool into a nursing home. It's time, you guys.

Also, I'm posted up at St. Pete's, as per usual, waiting to devour their dancing tuna sandwich and grabbing a blood & honey with my homegirl, Kaari, before we go see Frank Caeti and Susan Messing's show at the DCH! And Sam, my waiter and single mom of three, deserves a raise because she supports my girl power rants.

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

St. Pete's Dancin' Marlin & McDonald's President...

So our sketch homework for the sixth and second to last *cue Janet Leigh shocked shower face* writing class at the DCH was a two page, two person scene with all of the goodies like format, characters, dialogue, setting, etc., and the goal of making it blatantly obvious who everyone was, what they were doing, and perhaps even who they were sleeping with, whatever was to float our boats, just without stating the actual deets. So we all got different character prompts last night, and was told to keep our pie holes shut as we would be reading them in class.

*Spoiler Alert* Clearly the challenge is/was to be concise and write good enough so that everyone knows what the heck is going on. At least I think. And if you've ever read anything of mine you know that I'm not one at a loss of words. I just really like adjectives. And using 'And' to start a sentence. And the two fools I was prompted with was a mailman and the McDonald's President...  Clearly I was going to have a blast with this but picking one premise to go with was hard, as the possibilities were endless, like the calories I receive when putting away McD fries.

I wasn't sure who I wanted to be the weirdo or the straight character because I've never met a mailman I didn't like. But I stuck 'em in Georgia and didn't get too crazy. Jose was the creepy mailman transferred to McDonald's CEO Jeff Stratton's fancy Buckhead neighborhood, a fine suburb of Atlanta, and he was obsessed with finding a CEO dudebro. So basically Jose saw an Equinox member flyer in Stratton's mail, got a free 7-day pass, went when Stratton was there "coincidentally," and acted like they were BFFs for life. Stratton didn't remember him obviously until Jose described the silk robe Stratton wears at 6AM getting the paper. After curiously asking if Jose was an initiated member Jose informs him that "due to the new Harvey Milks not selling so well" he was doing a blue-collar trial despite trying to live the life of a CEO. Eventually Jose joked to Stratton about how he heard Dan Cathy also visited the gym but ignorantly remarked that "he probably won't be spotted if any homos are around," of which sophisticated Stratton ignored, as his cardio sesh was almost done. Finally, Jose unknowingly confirms his fast-food CEO stalker status when claiming that Burger King's Danny Schwartz wasn't friendly or nice like Jose's mancrush Stratton, and he admitted to not liking their sliders or latest crinkle fries. At which point Stratton's only instinct was to GTFO, in cordial CEO manner of course, but Jose was oblivious to his dudebro Jeff's realization as Jose tells him not to worry about his Sunday paper because, "special people get special service." and The End. Weird, yeah? But much more fun than being productive. Also here's to hoping (and assuming) nobody from class reads this before 6:30PM.

Speaking of being productive, I'm presently posted up at St. Pete's. Again. Trying to memorize my monologue but it's just so pretty outside and I love people watching and blogging meaningless fun facts, so I get a D in effort today. But no patio this time because I got HALF a sunburn last week on my face, which thankfully my equally embarrassing, two week-old, ratchet spray tan is more noticeable now so it's all good. SPDM is my new favorite joint though as I tend to become a regular at rare gems I find and like, and I'm a big fan of knowing who works at the joints I frequent. And the Dancin' Marlin staff has been nothing but accommodating every time I visit. We're also recent Twitter friends so that sealed the deal aside from everyone here having extremely good customer service.
Last but not least, I decided this week to change my Facebook pic every day to one of my favorite TV show/movie characters. A) It's probably annoying to my friends and maybe even weird, but it's a lot less narcissistic, and B) I have so many of them that this could potentially continue into 2015. I'm secretly obsessed with the perfect scene shots of actors/actresses' faces, not headshots but the ones on here, and that I tweet to describe how I feel sarcastically, and the ones I respond to my friends' texts with. I could google memes all day. Seriously if that could be my day job oh dear God I would be so good. So Monday was Ferris Bueller, Tuesday was Amy from Enlightened, today is about to be Hannah Horvath, and the rest of the week will be a surprise, if even only to me or my Facebook stalkers.

Okay, I just ran into Chad Haught here, a super cool dude and the Director of DCH so I'm going to attempt to memorize my stuff and morph into Sage, even though I have huge pearls in right now and a bun and don't feel very Sage-y today. In fact, I'll admit, I'm effing sick of her after the countless hours spent developing her the past few weeks. Oy vey.

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Oprah Was Wrong, Holy Rollers, & My Writing Coma...

I watched the sun come up this morning and it was weird. Not because I don't enjoy beautiful shades of coral, I think sunsets and sunrises are the greatest, but I was so in the zone from writing last night that began around 6PM Central Standard time, the hours passed didn't even dawn on me. Ha, I love ridiculously cheesy puns so much that if that was the only thing my future husband had to offer, I would totally be okay with it. God, that last sentence was a grammatical hot mess, but I'm still waiting on my new AP stylebook to come in the mail (?) so that can be my excuse for now.

Also Phoebe has been pissed at me lately for lack of attention due to my current dedication towards my recently-formed Ewing team of which gives me pure bliss, securing various writing opportunities for the future, of which Phoebe does not need to be made aware of just yet, and my DCH writing class stuff. Which speaking of, God bless Amanda our teach for having to read all of my lengthy bullsh*t emails, especially the one sent this morning dripping of unnecessary pity party frustrations. I apologize. It's a wonder she has not responded with simply the name and number of a top Dallas therapist yet. Anyway, I tried explaining to Phoebe that her mommy needs to focus as I take my creative outlet and subsequent obligations very seriously. Trust me when I say that it's healthy for everyone involved to leave me alone when I am in the zone. However, it's Phoebe's world and we all just live in it. So teaching her concepts are useless, and I do not expect my entitled, high-maintenance Jack Russell Terrier to understand that learning to be your own friend is a
necessary component in achieving happiness. (right picture: phoebe, my adorable angel currently experiencing teen angst)

As for my monologue, oy vey. My brain is exhausted and for the past seven days I have seriously been unable to stop thinking about Sage's dialogue, how to portray her insane character in a page, two at the most. And in size 12 Courier font. My sleeping patterns are going to need rehab at this point. There are only so many revisions one can do before the initial idea/premise/whole freaking thing is COMPLETELY different than the final draft. And I don't know if I'm obsessing over this because I have an undiagnosed case of severe OCD or because it's really important for me to do my best on it. According to my likely inaccurate Blogger stats, I have consistent readers in France, Germany, Russia, Mexico, Canada, Lithuania, Spain, Ukraine, and the UAE. So, I truly wonder if they read my writing rants and raves, wondering what is wrong with American millennials, specifically me. I wonder if 24-year-olds in those countries have incredibly weird brains and tendencies and passions.  Or if they convince themselves of having undiagnosed brain disorders, or consume copious amounts of coffee when attempting to type words on a screen for a writing class at a comedy house that was signed up for voluntarily in which no grades are given and you don't even pass or fail. Who knows.

I will say, though, my recent weirdness, internal frustration in perfecting my words, constant brainstorming of ideas not even freaking related to reality, and lack of confidence in my creativity has apparently achieved something as I have had two extremely special people mention the positive change they have noticed in my demeanor within the past few weeks. And while I have been more balanced emotionally and focused and [insert any other annoying 'happy' synonym] and determined to appreciate my blessings despite my parents or anyone's opinions, I was not expecting this as we never recognize our own behavior or a change in it.  But I sincerely appreciated it because it's nice to hear a compliment, especially when I am trying to be a more responsible and productive 20-something. Don't get me wrong, I am not trying to sound noble here, but life is good, I am blessed, and for once I am at a point where I rarely think, "oh, everything will be better once I move to New York or LA," and this says a whole lot as I have never been this content in my twenty four years of residing on this fabulous planet.

And fortunately we all have little angels in disguise floating around, like a Pluckers waitress, Uber driver, or really successful and wise human you greatly respect, harshly forcing you to wake up and take care of yourself before it's too late. Of which happened to me. I guess it takes a certain person's words to spark change but I am grateful. Historically, I focused more on others and not myself (this sounds like a disgustingly melodramatic diary of a 16-year-old schoolgirl with braces, I know). And this is confusing because quotes from the Dalai Lama, Oprah, Mother Theresa, buddhists in orange robes, etc. are plastered everywhere preaching to do just that. False. Sort of. (left picture: a realistic ace in hole throwback tuesday photo from park city '14. also my attempt of lightening the mood)

There is only so much satisfaction one can receive from attending every single bar night flowing with Tito's and spent as if it were New Years Eve. I now understand this. And being an animal roaming all hours of the night was standard at SMU but nowadays, physically, I am 24 going on 80. It just ain't that easy anymore. And I'm not implying I am now a holy-roller, anti-dancing prude in bed by 9PM, anyone that knows me knows that will never be the case as I'm always down for some fun. But I have turned an exciting, new leaf as a 24-year-old work in progress, and I am proud of myself and basically eligible to be Oprah's apprentice. Just saying. (Totally kidding). I still take birthdays, major holidays (especially 4th of July), awards season, etc. seriously. Just in moderation because certain nights are off limits now with my recently-discovered passions teaching me valuable life lessons sans deceptive Dalai Lama quotes. Therefore the excessive (and expensive) nights of going balls to the wall, as most of my friends do, but result in me being too tired are just not worth it anymore. Being unable to function or give 100% at my improv/writing and/or ability to enjoy shows/actually learn from the troupes is something that I refuse to fall prey to.

So to the two ladies who came to me please know that I appreciate both of you and your sweet sentiments. *Four for both of you Glen Cocos). Your words are cherished and have assured me that maybe the insanity I thought I was experiencing from my character monologues, et al. is just productivity and goodness and discipline. No? Does that even make sense? Was this whole post basically a MySpace diary entry? Probably. God bless you all. And for the record, Phoebe, my once-supportive writing sidekick has been asleep for the past two hours. So that's just fine because I may go buy a fancy beta fish to sit on my desk and float around as my new writing support all day and night. And that won't yawn at my Kenny G station on the Pandora or chew up my underwear when I'm not paying attention. So booyah. (right picture: potential new writing companion's headshot)

Sunday, June 8, 2014

The Story Of My Life As Told By Jack Dawson...

Being sick in bed all day obviously leads to Titanic & googling Jack Dawson... 

When the cashier at the CVS off Mockingbird voluntarily hates on Chelsea Handler before scanning the magazine being purchased with Chelsea's face on it.

Opening the door after 20 doorbell dings to find Mormon Elders at 8AM on a Saturday 

When a friend snags one of the last cronuts from Glazed in Deep Ellum for you

When my iPhone was found by someone drunker than me at #DCHProm2014 

Any normal girl's initial reaction to their best friend succeeding at a diet

If I were to try to ever pose sexy or do the duck face

Regretting Black Friday every single year the moment that I walk into the store

When checking my depressing 24-year-old bank account

The moment of walking through the door after a night of Spanx

Me. Every night. To my dog. 

Being the only sober one when it's time for last call

When beating that angry driver to the last open gas pump

The face of female confidence for the 7 hours after leaving the salon; 5 tops if it's summer time in Texas.  

Finding 50 selfies of you & your Uber driver the next morning

Waiting for a cab & instantly feeling that the creepy bar guy is back, & your stealth attempt at an escape has failed

When your younger sister photoshops the cat over your face in family Christmas cards one year

Experiencing the bliss of being single & able to eat a whole cake at home alone

Arriving to an event early & having to wait on your fun friends

When the fun friends finally show up

When the Goodwill cashiers make up ten different prices for ten identical items

Basically my bangs in the 7th grade after a tragic attempt at wispies 

Hearing that the mean girl from jr. high recently birthed a 5th creature by a 5th baby daddy

Anytime I played with Nerf Water Blasters in the 90s

Being informed that the secret cupcakes are out at Sprinkles