Sister Mary Margaret

Lately I’ve been allowing a boy to hang out with me. Lord, let us pray.

That’s right, there’s a T.E.M.P. on the scene, or a “temporarily entertaining man-person”… emphasis on the temporary part because this dude is in no way my type.

At 24 yrs old with a wardrobe that consists of cargo shorts and DC shoes, our temp friend apparently views Rob Dyrdek as a style icon and saves his short-sleeved button downs for the big nights out. He listens to whatever’s on the radio and doesn’t have a single book in his apartment. If this kid were any further out of my alley he’d be in Uzbekistan. Thus solidifying his status as a T.E.M.P.

…Bars really need better lighting.

Anyways, it started off all vodka-tonics and slutty make outs but then things took a turn for the bizzarre. He asked me out on a date. a. real. live. date. I had heard of these mystical gatherings in the past, but lucky for me I knew better than to fall for that urban-love-legend at first mention and I did what any previously-burned, self-protective, urban 20 something would do. Laughed in his face. A choice I immediately regretted when he looked at me like I killed the puppy he got for Christmas while he watched. Woops. It seemed our temp had some “full time” ideas. ALRIGHT T.E.M.P. I’ll overlook this express breach of contract and go on this “date” with you.

Here’s where shit gets weird. After a couple of meals, many drinks, and a movie date I wasn’t sick of the temp yet. In fact he pulled a gazillion brownie points with 2 tickets to the midnight showing of Harry Potter for my birthday. After only 1 week in. I was dumbstruck.

Who was this guy? Who did he think he was, being nice to me? I was out of my element. Luckily, I was pretty confident that the amount tears I would spew from my pathetic eyes during HP7.2 would give me a look vaguely similar to that of a violent shellfish reaction, and the temp would be no more. Yet, once again, he came through in the clutch and took me straight home to take out my contacts and ice my disgusting face so I wouldn’t have a headache in the morning. At which point he wasn’t even deterred by my broken, taped up glasses circa the awkward years. MY ACE IN THE HOLE!!

…what. the. fuck.

I even tried introducing him to my friends who I thought would scare him off for sure, with their age appropriate clothing, jobs and interests. Nada. Zip. Zilch. He still wanted to hang out.

I am at a loss people. I know that I’m not genuinely interested in this guy, but he likes me a lot and what can I say? I like to be liked! Don’t you? Which brings me to my question…

If you know you have no potential with someone, is it really that evil to let them adore you? I mean people in arranged marriages don’t usually even like each other and they end up getting married! Isn’t that a lot more misleading?? Please, send all comments and criticisms (and personal ads) my way readers. I can take it.

God give me strength. Consider this one a series people, more to come.

In the ~~beginning~~ Spring of 2010, jeans and leggings begat jeggings. Now, jeggings and underpants have begotten these. This my children is undoubtedly, the Devil’s work. (And man, can that guy work an overlock machine)

In a time of blurred “pants-lines” and a general indifference towards the necessity of pants when leaving the house, these make me beyond nervous. At first we thought it was just a sorority thing, then we thought it was just a college thing, but now women everywhere are strutting around in leggings that are obviously see through in certain areas from the stress of covering their asses. It seems the “leggings as pants” agenda is spreading faster than body lice on a bus in India. Either these women are blind, idiots or brainwashed, all of which leave me highly skeptical that women will be able to distinguish “junderwear” from pants.

Below are a list of symptoms that will help determine if YOU could be susceptible to this, the latest “denim” plague:

1. You wear Ugg boots in conditions that do not require protective winter footwear.

2. There is nothing white in your bedroom/bathroom. AKA: your grubby self-tanned hands, fingers and unseasonably brown body skin have left anything that was once white, a dingy shade of hooker. Otherwise known as “slutty midas syndrome.” If you’ve ever been called “brown paw,” “stripper” or any character on the Jersey Shore, even in jest, this is definitely you.

3. You wear leggings with tops that do not extend below your ass. Don’t pretend like you thought the shirt was longer or didn’t expect it to be so windy. You know what you’re doing camel toe princess. The best thing you can do now is slap on a smile so people stop staring at your vertical one, because there’s no way you’re not rocking a nasty “feminine v” in those bad boys.

4. You wear clothing with words like “Juicy” or “Pink” across your ass. I’m curious, if Nordstrom started selling tracksuits that said “herpetic” across the crotch would you wear those too? The only thing I want written on the ass of my pants is the tiny label of a denim brand that you can’t afford. Maybe if you stopped spending your money like a poor person on “velour ensembles” in every color, you’re ass would have words on it that weren’t going to inevitably end up in your stage name at the gentleman’s club by the airport. Best of luck to you.

5. Rhinestones on clothing, the above rule probably applies to you anyways.

6. If your tease looks like a growth on your head. It’s supposed to add subtle volume, not a parking structure-sized rat’s nest where you can hide your real i.d. If it looks like you could be storing a backup implant up there, it’s defeating the purpose.

These are not an exhaustive list of symptoms, but a good indicator. And remember a good offense is the best defense, but verbal abuse works great too.

+ Have a blessed day +

Oh Jesus, not another god damn religious freak. Hold on, I think I need my afternoon ~~xanax~~ vitamin to get through this crazy fest. Alright, bible thumpers let’s go.

What is it about religious fanatics that is so down right terrifying? On the surface, they’re easy to figure out. Just combine equal parts religious and equal parts homely, bake in some fire and brimstone and let cool near a window that faces the light of christ, or something. They’re just like over grown apple pies from heaven. Though I wouldn’t recommend trying to eat one unless you want to get kicked in the shnuts, slapped with a purity ring and hauled off to youth group. Don’t worry guys, chastity doesn’t taste very good anyways. And if you’re a Catholic there’s always the altar boys. (Sorry but there is no way the blatant similarity between the word for where a priest lives and your asshole is a coincidence: rectory, rectum. True story.) Anyways back to the crazy virgin.

Don’t get me wrong, if I had those eyebrows and walked around sporting what’s undoubtedly a giant french braid hanging down her training bra clad back, I’d be pretty pissed too. So there’s something. And secondly, who could forget these three evil words: ~~overwhelming sexual frustration~~ waiting for marriage. Yet another surefire reason I’d be one scary individual. So what’s the difference between this chaste little chickadee and any other sub-par adolescent virgin with over-active oil glands and under-active lady parts? Let me explain.

I don’t care if you slapped me with a unibrow the size of the panama canal and closed every sex shop in the city, ugly and horny can only push a girl so far. How far you ask? Definitely not far enough to make me believe that a life altering earthquake in Japan was “god punishing atheists for not believing in him,” because that is just crazy.

DING there it is Bob, tell her what she’s won!

The correct answer here folks is, CRAZY. As in, off your rocker, coocoo bananas, bleach drinking, cat hoarding cray-zay.

So why is it that we’re so comfortable classifying this behavior as “normal” just because its related to religion?? Name one other extremism that we as people don’t generally consider a problem, even if it’s a perfectly normal behavior otherwise. For example, let’s talk sex. Safe, heck we’ll even make it marital, sex on a regular basis is considered normal. But when Tiger Woods went around dipping his chicken finger in every hostess at Applebee’s honey mustard, it wasn’t normal. In fact because he was freakin’ in the sheets to such an extreme, he was labeled a sex addict and went to rehab for his problem. So why is it that crazy for the pulpit isn’t viewed the same as crazy for the penis?

To be fair, for the majority of people to really start caring one or way or another about something it has to affect them pretty directly. For instance, while an alcoholic may be slowly ruining his or her own life and liver function, he or she doesn’t really become anyone elses problem until they get behind the wheel or pee somewhere they shouldn’t. But once that happens, people start getting pissed, no pun intended, and said drunk finds his or herself on intervention or on their way to rehab.

So why is it that the extreme need for sex or alcohol is something one has to be rehabilitated from but religious fanaticism isn’t? Oh! Probably because Religious Fanaticism has never endangered the lives of others… right?

Let’s be real. The same “wing” from which these freak shows hail may love their “family values, god-fearing, pro-life” opinions on ~~paper~~ ballots now, but throw this girl in a tanning bed for a couple of weeks and substitute Allah every time she says “God” and she’s just a hop, skip and a jihad away from a no-fly list. …I’m not saying, I’m just saying.

Look, do I think this girl is going to blow up her local planned parenthood anytime soon? God I hope not, they’ve dealt with enough this year. But here’s Sister Mary Margaret’s bottom line

+Whether it’s a dependence on Jesus or Jack Daniels, anything out of moderation is unhealthy. So let’s just start calling crazy as we see it.

+ And will someone please get miss “Charlie Sheen for Christ” up there a vibrator before her prayer-quakes get any closer to home? Thanks

+Have a blessed Wednesday everyone+

Yes Jenny. This is going to be a long day. Especially if all I have to occupy me are genius facebook statuses like yours. Is there nothing that you’ve found amusing enough to show your Facebook friends this morning? You couldn’t even pick something one of your friends already posted and simply ~~regurgitate~~ ”share” it with us? I’m not looking for anything groundbreaking here, Jenny. A YouTube video, a news article, even a photo of a baby cat with some grammatically incorrect caption about cheeseburgers would help. And I fucking hate cats, even more than I hate bad grammar. No, nothing? Good to know. I’m sure social networking really was invented to be your online diary, anyways.

But hey, thanks for including your name in your post, champ! That way if for some reason I forget who wrote it, or suddenly lose my ability to look left, I can rest assured that this little bite of brilliance was written by you, “Tilde Jenny Tilde.”

And furthermore, unless those tildes “~” are a shout-out to your latino heritage, which from this looks of it I’d assume not, can we lose the queer font decor? Congrats, your Facebook wall officially looks like a Lisa Frank folder. Which from my experience probably also makes you a cat person. Strike Three. How do I know you again? Let the mass unfriending begin.

+ Have a blessed Monday everyone +

First posts, much like first dates are supremely awkward by nature. So what if we skip all that and pretend that we already ~~slept together~~ got to first base after a lovely evening? Perfect.

So today while not working at work (obvi), I came across the photos from a former sorority sister’s bridal shower. After gagging audibly in my office, I set to surveying the goods -because let’s be real, there a few things I wouldn’t rather do than work- and I was instantly faced with a question I never thought I’d ask myself.

When is it appropriate to dress up in costume to match the theme of a bridal shower? Especially when you’re not the bride?

Let’s break this wedded miss down:

It would appear that the maid of honor threw the bride a lovely “Breakfast At Tiffany’s” themed bridal shower. STRIKE ONE. A themed bridal shower? I’m sorry shouldn’t the theme be “I’m getting fucking married?!” Why does there need to be a theme beyond that? This is a bridal shower not a 9th birthday party. Unless the theme involves copious amounts of liquor, a list of dares and a possible pole dancing class, I’m not interested. And that sounds more like a bachelorette party than a bridal shower anyway. Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t we only here because I managed to trick some guy into contractually binding himself to me for life? I’m the theme, bitch.

Secondly, if you are the maid of honor throwing said cheesy themed bridal shower, what in the fucking world made you think that dressing up in full Holly Golightly garb to match the theme was a good idea? This isn’t a marriage party with the Beta house girlfriend. Get that offensive bun off the top of your head and stop stealing the spotlight from the bride. I think your envy is showing.

Maybe I’m being too harsh. Maybe I’m letting my intense aversion to young marriages cloud my judgement. Afterall, The biggest commitment I’ve made recently was to get a preferred card at Jewel Osco so I could save money on cheap red wine and frozen edamame. I’m sure the shower was lovely and they celebrated love and loving people. But I’m sorry, no amount of love or vodka could convince me that getting married at 22 is a good idea. And I hate to break it to ya but if vodka can’t do it, tying some blue ribbons around plastic flatware and calling it a theme, all so you can dress up like Audrey Hepburn, has a whore’s chance in church of doing the trick.

Speaking of, does anyone else find it hilarious that a movie, based on a book about a commitment-phobic prostitute was the theme she picked for a bridal shower? Whatever, at least she got to carry a cigarette extender.

You taste like burger. I don’t like you anymore.

1 year ago Short URL

Sister Mary Margaret

Tales of the T.E.M.P.

Awkward Phase