Girl on the Contrary

This post is a letter, nay, a thank you letter to a guy a know. Well, it’s a guy I know but don’t really know know, you know? I call him Drunkie McGee and I have adored him since I met about 10,000 of him in college. But this letter isn’t to just any Drunkie McGee, it’s to a very special version of Drunkie McGee that I like to call “Drunkie McGee at the Gym”. (I’m not all that clever with nicknames….)

Dear Drunkie McGee at the Gym,

I love you. I don’t understand or respect you, but I love you. And by “love” I  mean “love to laugh at/make snide remarks in my head about”. I think you are hilarious. You make bars, restaurants, house-parties, superbowl Sunday, the gym, concerts, and Thursdays pretty fun.You’re the one everybody talks about the next day with affectionate dialogue such as “Did you see Drunkie McGee swallow 10 ping-pong balls last night?”, and “Can you believe Drunkie McGee hooked up with that stuffed badger last night?”, and “I’m worried Drunkie McGee has a drinking problem.”  But Saturdays are particularly special because you go to the gym and work-out while in that classic no-mans-land between drunk and hungover. Why you choose to work-out while somehow drunk is a mystery. A beautiful mystery like Stonehenge or how sugar becomes cotton candy. I don’t actually want to know why you choose to work out while still drunk because I have some wonderful theories on that very subject that are probably a lot more magical than the truth. My theories are as follows…

1. Because you are so drunk, you feel uninhibited and unashamed about the fact that you can only lift 15lbs.

2. Because you still have beer goggles on, you think every girl in the gym looks like a supermodel and it makes you happy to be surrounded by that much beauty.

3. You have beer googles for yourself, and think that you look smoking hot even though you have very dark circles under your eyes, vomit on your t-shirt, and smell like decaying animal stuffed with vomit covered in old spice.

4. You burn more calories when you’re drunk. If that’s true, expect to see me drunk at the gym a lot.

5. The elliptical machine burns alcohol off and you are working out in an effort to sober up.

I’m not a doctor, but it would seem that theories 4 and 5 aren’t true. Also, it would seem that working-out while drunk would be dangerous. I mean, what it is about lifting heavy objects while drunk that appeals to you? I can only imagine, if none of my other theories are correct, then you’re working-out drunk to entertain me while I climb up a staircase that never ends and sometimes maybe I cry a little bit. So, I guess I just want to say thanks. And also, call a cab to take you home.

Best wishes!

GotC

This kid knows what I'm talking about.

You know how when you need to go to the store late at night- like you have to go- but you have to put pants on? I resent that.

You know how when you are on a diet and then all your coworkers decide to eat something delicious but full of calories for lunch? I resent that.

You know how when you buy chapstick but it ends up making your lips more dry? I resent that.

You know how when you are on a great date and all night you’re anticipating the kiss, and then the guy doesn’t kiss you? I resent that.

You know how when you are about to go to bed, but then an awesome but scary movie is on, and then you watch it, and then you have nightmares all night? I resent that.

You know how you plan an awesome trip and then get really sick just days before? I resent that.

You know how you really want to post a blog but you can’t think of one funny or interesting thing to say? I resent that.

You know how when you tell a bad joke and then quickly cover it up by saying “wocka wocka” like Fozzie Bear but people don’t give you the same type of endearing devotion that Fozzie Bear gets? I resent that.

You know how you really want to keep watching the Band of Brothers marathon but it doesn’t end until late and you have an early meeting? I resent that.

Sorry to start the week off on such a grouchy note but I’m sick and well….I resent that. Anyway, feel free to join me in my resentment- people always say that light-hearted resentment enjoys company.

I like to give things code names. Why? Because I can, yo. Also, when you use code names people feel like you are really mysterious (or insane) and they are all like “Whoa. GotC has got a LOT of things going for her. She is a balla in the world of humor blogging, she totally dominates trivia games (so true), and now she’s got this whole woman of mystery thing working for her. I want to be just like her when I lose my mind.” Dare to dream kids. Dare to dream.

Because I think highly of everyone who reads this blog (except you, guy who doesn’t follow my hilarious Twitter posts….you know who you are), I’m going to let you in on some of my favorite code names. You’re welcome but really, the best way to thank me is to nominate me for something with a cash prize. Just sayin.

I need a prozac – Means I need to be out in the sun. I believe that the sun is nature’s prozac. Also, people who don’t get this one sometimes feel sorry for me and buy me ice-cream, even though I would totally have preferred a sno-cone but I don’t want to be ungrateful.

I have to use the little girls room- Means I’m totally bailing on whatever it is I’m doing. Best used on a bad date or in a bad meeting. They think you went to the restroom but really you ran like hell. Besides, I would never, ever, say “little girls room” for restroom – it makes me think of women who wear all pink and bows and have like 12 cats and also cross-stitch threatening messages on pillows they send to their ex-boyfriends. I don’t even know how to cross-stitch.

I’m grouchy because I’m hungry. This one can be confusing because occasionally I am grouchy due to hunger but I use it most frequently when I’m giving an excuse for being rude to someone who is annoying me. What it really means is “You’re annoying as hell but I can’t tell you that right now.”

Let me process that. Used frequently in business situations, it means I need time to think of a nice way to tell you your idea is terrible. Or it means that I’m mad about something but haven’t figured out how to express that without using curse words and pepper spray.

I can’t tell you anymore without swearing you into my secret society.  If you would like to be a member of my secret society simply email me for an application. We also have a handshake.

Remember me like this.

Before you panic and begin spiraling down into a deep and lasting depression- you should know I’m not dead. Probably. I mean, I’m writing this on a Wednesday and not publishing it until Friday so…who knows really? You better turn on CNN and read the ticker at the bottom of the screen to see if word of my death has spread. No? Keep watching it. If your eyes are getting tired then just focus on the  main screen, if I’m dead Anderson Cooper will probably be crying. If he isn’t crying, I’m not dead. Feel free to celebrate the fact I’m still alive by throwing a party in my honor, writing your congressperson requesting that a day be set aside in my honor, or by sending me cash. Any of these are honorable ways to celebrate my still being alive. If you see Anderson Cooper crying, that means I’m dead. Feel free to throw a party in my honor, weep unashamedly in front of your friends, quit your job and dedicate the rest of your life to writing my biography, or spend all the rest of your days praying that I made it into Heaven and was awarded my angel wings immediately. These are all honorable ways to mourn my death.

But, I’m probably still alive. In the off chance I’m not still alive, I would like to go ahead and apologize to my family for this post. It’s incredibly inappropriate, but I’m sure you’ve come to expect that of me by now. It’s kind of funny though, right? In a real hatcha-cha kind of way.

On to what you really want to know….who is getting all my awesome stuff???

Jokes on you! I don’t have any awesome stuff. In yo face! Man, even from Heaven I am totally hysterical. I mean my family pretty much gets everything but I will happily will away the stuff I don’t expect them to keep.

To All My Blogging Buddies: You get this blog. Which is pretty much the big prize in this will so count yourselves lucky. Unfortunately, you have to split it 1,591 different ways because as of today that is the number of subscribers I have. You each get to write .23 posts a year. Unless it’s a leap-year. In that case, I expect you to all get together and put together a compilation of mournful tunes and post them as a tribute to me. Actually, all your posts should be tributes to me. It would be really weird if you used this blog for anything else. Seriously, keep the pervy stuff for you own blogs.

To Mary: You get my annotated books and journals. Basically, it’s a treasure trove of wit and insight. Any money you make from my brilliant ideas should be used for charity. Or really cute clothes. I’ll let you be the judge.

To Captain Thoughtful: You get all the pictures of me, that way, the shrine you erect in my honor will look awesome. Also, you get me as a guardian angel. I promise to be a totally badass guardian angel and to pinch people who are mean to you so that they learn to associate meanness to you to pain and refrain from doing it forever. You’re welcome.

End of will. (Sort of, the rest is mostly curse words and inappropriate jokes)

Educlaytion gave me the idea for this post like a year ago. I just found it half-written in my drafts. Life is fun isn’t is? Anyway, read his blog, because he’s real clever and other nice things you say about people. Now, what are you guys leaving for me in your wills? I’ve got my fingers crossed for some chia pets!!!

I’m a born and bred Texan. I like my BBQ spicy and my summers hotter than hell on nickel day at the whorehouse. I tell you this so that you might understand just how much of a baby I am about cold weather. Anytime the thermometer drops below 60 fahrenheit (or 15 celsius – I’m a master of temperature conversion) I practically throw a tantrum. I pull out my heavy sweaters, of which I only own about 2 because I only need them about 2 days a year, gloves, extra blankets, and buy firewood for my fireplace. I recognize the fact that many people see that as an overreaction but it feels cold to me. Really cold. And if I feel cold then I have every right to add on the heavy layers and buy hot chocolate to warm my innards. Right? Apparently, some people disagree as I learned recently.

Me: Burr rabbit! It’s chilly. I need to make some hot tea and warm up. 

Cold-Hearted: Ummm….it’s not even a little cold. It’s like 55, it’s delicious outside. Stop being such a baby. 

Me: Yeah…no. If I feel cold, it’s because I’m cold. Regardless of what the thermostat says. 

Cold-Hearted: I grew up in the North, this is nothing. 

Me: Sure, comparatively speaking this is warmer than that, but again, I still feel cold……

Cold-Hearted: You’re being dramatic. It’s warm. You aren’t that cold. 

Me: I’m going to remind you of this conversation this summer when it’s 110 outside and you’re complaining about being hot. I’m going to tell you that you aren’t in fact that hot and that you’re being dramatic and I should know because I grew up where it gets really hot. 

Cold-Hearted: That’s totally different. 

Me: If by different, you mean exactly the same then…..ok. Lunatic. 

Listen, I know that most people don’t think it’s cold outside when it’s 55 degrees, but I also know that for me, that feels cold. Why should I shiver just because other people don’t think it’s cold out? Sheesh, just let me have my sweaters and hot chocolate. I mean, am I the only one who thinks it’s just a little bit nuts to tell someone that they don’t really feel how they feel?