Sorry, I can't detach my emotions from my vagina.

 
Sometimes, no matter how old a man is, they still act like an 18 year old tool. These are actual e-mails between my friend and the biggest tool in the shed.

On Sun, Aug 21, 2011 at 11:03 AM, C wrote:
Hey G,

I've been thinking about the vague conversation we had about this woman who has come back into your life recently and I realized that as much as I wish I could detach my vagina from my emotions - I can't. And I don't feel very good about the situation we're in - amorphous as it is. I like you. But I know that this isn't going anywhere and you don't have feelings beyond a certain point for me. So, I propose we remain friends. I am just certain that things will become too confusing if we keep sleeping together. Please don't think twice about coming over and hanging out with L and K. I don't want there to be any tension. You're great and I think you should go after someone you love. Forgive me for saying all this in an email but somehow I think it would be all jumbled and incoherent by telephone. I hope to see you soon!

C

I'm a big kid now?

"When you turn 25, that's when you will really be grown up."

From the time I was young my mother has always used this age as a marker for everything. The age when it's appropriate to make any adult decisions. Now that my 25th birthday is glaring at me I am forced to look at those around me and see where they are in their lives.

My friends have all done well for themselves, pursuing what makes them happy. I cannot help but feel an overwhelming amount of discontent and sadness with what is going on in my life. Don't get me wrong, I am lucky to have a fantastic support system, a roof over my head, and a job. I always thought there would be more.

I think the hardest thing is that I thought I would have it all figured out by now, but I don't. My soul is pulling me into a thousand different directions and I cannot choose just one. I am a firm believer in taking charge of your life and making that change. I just don't know what to do.

Is everyone as lost as I am? Are they just better at hiding it?

Busta Rhymes lives up to his name

I always host one woman dance parties in my car. Oh yes, I am that person. Although many of the onlookers are probably staring in a jealous rage that they do not have sweet moves like I, there are a few that gawk at my music choice - rap. Being a white girl from the suburbs who likes loves rap puts into an elite group of people who appreciates inspired rhymes and a "sick beats".

So, I was cruising in my Jetta (wait is that another white girl stereotype I see?), bumpin' some sweet tunes and rocking out when the unmistakable verses of Busta Rhymes come onto the radio. Unfortunately, it was in a song by Chris Brown, the ultimate douchebag, but all I have to say, is after not hearing from Mr. Rhymes for many years, he's still got it. Check it out below (just skip to minute 1:28 to miss the tool).

Seriously, he is amazing.

Cinespia: the only time you can get excited about going to a cemetery

Recently I partook in a hipster's dream come true, Cinespia (it's really obscure, you've probably never heard of it). It's where you spend the evening with hundreds of your closest Angelenos watching a classic film at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery. Whip out the skinny jeans and get a 6-pack of PBR and you are good to go!

I blame the MAN

Sorry I have been MIA, I am now officially a slave to the man. I promise there will be an update on everything that has been going on soon! Until then, here are some cute puppies.

Where were you?

There are moments that define generations. For years people have asked, "Where were you when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor?" or "Where were you when Kennedy was assassinated?" It is impossible not to ask these questions for the events changed the path of modern American history.

My generation bears a huge load, one that many have argued could tear the nation apart. We will be asked, "Where were you on September 11, 2001?" The answer is simple. I was getting ready to go to an early morning English class in my sophomore year of high school when my Mom turned on the radio and told me that this was important. I was in class when the towers came crashing down. At the time I didn't realize what a BIG FUCKING DEAL it was.

Cake Balls - or how many inappropriate jokes can you make in a weekend?

As many of you know (or have experienced) I freaking LOVE cooking. I find it to be the most relaxing thing and I spend my days watching the Food Network searching for new ways to enjoy my favorite thing - food. Now, I always want to pull a Paula Deen (when in doubt, add more butter and deep fry that shit) but my inability to buy a new wardrobe for an ever expanding waistline keeps me in check.

 Recently, Starbucks rolled out these new cake pops and they're a little piece of heaven. Super moist cake covered in chocolate and in bite size form tempts me every time. For a friend's birthday I decided to attempt to make these because let's face it, cake is so two years ago. It wasn't too difficult to find a step-by-step guide to making them, but when I returned from the market I realized I forgot one of the most important parts of the cake pops. I did not procure the lollipop sticks. Since I did not have time to go back to the store, I made an executive decision and renamed these gems cake balls. Oh yes, let the inappropriate jokes begin.