Target or Not Target, That Is the Question

My boyfriend recently made fun of me, which was pretty weird because usually I’m the one making fun of him.  I was complaining to him about the delay on my package from Target.  When he asked what I was waiting for, I told him–foil, mascara, shampoo, drano, every little household item I was too busy* to go out and buy.  Now, I’m not one to go and throw around the “shaming” word, but the look he gave me and the ensuing, seemingly endless laughter will stick with me for quite some time.

Regardless, he got me to thinking.  Maybe it was silly of me, buying foil from the internet, especially when the day I bought it was the day I immediately needed it.  I was hosting Girl’s Night Handmaid’s Tale Bingeathon, and was forced to cook our Trader Joe’s flatbreads directly on the cookie sheets.  I LITERALLY had to put the flatbreads STRAIGHT on the pans, dirtying them, forcing me to have to wash them later rather than just throwing them back in the oven after a cursory wipe with a paper towel.  When will the inconveniences end?

Today I decided enough was enough and stopped at Target on my way home from the gym.  And that’s when I realized just why I was right all along, as always, SUCK IT, JOHN.  While I went in for a $3.99 item, I ended up leaving with $54.67 of merchandise.  I passed the clothes on my way to the kitchen supplies and remembered that I was running low on clean underwear and was too busy** to do the laundry.  I threw some in the cart.  I saw the clearance and while leafing through, I found a shirt for $2.40 (not complaining about this one, just wanted to show off my sweet deal).  I threw that in the cart.  From there, the Siren song of the wine aisle pulled me in, followed by the 2 for $5 ice cream, and before I knew it, I was upstairs, getting a scooper for my Caramel Cone Swirl, some adorable baby mason jars, and a gorgeous bronze and pink mug as a treat to myself for how hard I work.***

  

i deserrrrrrve itttttt
 So not to shame the shamer, but clearly I was right and will be sticking to online ordering for the forseeable future.

* lazy
** lazy
*** I really don’t.

Horse Play

This morning as we were getting ready, I was telling my boyfriend about one of my all time favorite murders where a girl posed as an FBI agent in order to trick her mom and boyfriend into killing a family for her. I couldn’t remember her name or other details so I started to google “girl acts like” and had to pause for a minute when I saw the third result: 

though, honestly, the second result is pretty troubling too.

 I laughed then immediately clicked on it. 
I mean, I don’t know what I expected. It was exactly as it sounds. 

  
There was even a pretty recent article about a girl in Encinitas who does such a thing.  Cool, I thought, remember to avoid Encinitas, and went back to researching more normal things, like a woman catfishing her mom on her home computer while she sat three feet away yelling at Wheel of Fortune.

I somehow managed to forget all about this until perusing Hulu this evening.  I was excited to see My Strange Addiction was available, and began looking through episodes. 

That’s when I saw this.

Is this the universe telling me to get into pony play?  I truly hope not.  But it’s good to know there’s a girl just up in Encinitas who can give me some tips if I do.

My Urinary Medical History, or An Argument for Planned Parenthood

Sunday night I began to get a funny feeling.  Not like a premonitory-That’s-So-Ravenesque funny feeling (the kind I’ve been wanting my whole life, TBH), but a discomfort that was a telltale sign of a UTI.  Fifteen minutes after laying down to sleep, I rose, peed, and went back to bed.  Then ten minutes later I rose, peed, and went back to bed.  Five minutes after that I rose, peed, and just stayed in the bathroom for the next four hours.  In between the waves of fever and chills and the hundreds of games of Word Streak I was consecutively losing (UTIs cause disorientation too, OKAY), I remembered I had something far more useful and less humiliating on my phone—the Planned Parenthood app, which allows you to request meds for UTIs by simply answering a questionnaire.  I filled it out, took the world’s worst toilet-selfie*, and as the clock struck 3 and the Azo began to kick in, sweetly numbing my urinary tract enough to allow me to rest, I submitted the request and passed out.  I awoke 5 hours later to an alert that my request was fulfilled, and Dr. Liu (to whom I will forever be grateful) had my antibiotics waiting for me at the CVS down the road.  I was able to hop in the car, run to the pharmacy, and make it back home without having to stop to pee once!  It is a bigger accomplishment than it sounds.

Yes, I have health insurance THANKFULLY.  But Azo can cloud the results and make further testing necessary, prolonging the process.  And I need Azo or I will curl up into a ball and cry and pee nonstop.  And if I cry and pee nonstop I will lose too many fluids and become dehydrated and die.  It’s that simple.  Also, to use said health insurance, I would have had to make a trip down to urgent care; while I usually love sitting in a waiting room for an hour while chugging unsweetened cranberry juice and getting up to use the restroom every five minutes, this process was EVEN MORE ENJOYABLE THAN THAT, and cost the same in the end.

It may sound insane to those who have never had the pleasure of experiencing one, but I’ve probably had about 20 UTIs in my life, one that lead to a kidney infection a few years back.  Just this past November I got a series of them with BV sprinkled in the mix, a sort of icing on my cake of misery (ew.  I’m sorry, that sounded so gross).  I was in between health insurance as I was trying to better myself (clearly a bad idea) and had just left a job and started at a new one that was great, but didn’t allow me on their plan until I had been at the company for three months.  I was in pain, in tears, and couldn’t afford a trip to urgent care.  I stopped in the CVS minute clinic thinking that could be an option, but the man there coldly told me he was required to run extra tests on the urine sample that would bring the cost up to a cool $300, simply because I had had a UTI a month before.  I walked out of that meeting feeling a sense of desperation I would only wish on Donald Trump.  And Mike Pence.  And all those bastards out there trying to take away the one option I was able to turn to in that horrible moment.  I called Planned Parenthood and though it was 4:50 and the nearby office closed at 5, the attendant on the phone called them especially for me and they stayed open to accommodate me.  They were so sweet, and so kind, and so understanding, and so human.  I’m poor enough to where I don’t have to pay for most basic services there (what’s uuuup, poverty paaaaaays), but I donated money because even though clearly I should be the one accepting donations, what they do matters and what they do is important and what they do, they should keep being able to do forever and ever.

And YEAH, they provide abortions to women who want or need them.  But guess what?  YOU LIVE IN A COUNTRY WHERE ABORTIONS ARE MOTHERFUCKING LEGAL.  Maybe you don’t want your taxpayer dollars going toward them the way I don’t want my taxpayer dollars going toward keeping Melania Trump cozy in her King Midas ass penthouse, but there you go. It is what it is.  And if you really want abortions to stop, the best way is by preventing pregnancy in the first place which OMG YOU GUESSED IT! Planned Parenthood helps with immensely by offering birth control at low or no cost.

So what you should take from all of this is that Planned Parenthood is a great place.  It’s helpful and efficient.  It’s a realistic healthcare option for women in a world full of bullshit.  And while we all very well may die within the next month in the Great Nuclear Holocaust Kim Jong-un and Trump are itching to start, we are alive now and should stand up for what matters until the end.  With that said, Vive la resistance and DON’T LET THE BASTARDS GRIND YOU DOWN.

*It’s a requirement, don’t judge.**

**The picture part is a requirement, not the “on-the-toilet” part.***

***But if you have UTIs like I have UTIs, the “on-the-toilet” part is a given.

Falling Into Place

Fall is the best time of year. It brings 

1) Pumpkins

2) The much underrated color, orange.

3) General coziness. 

4) Coziness meaning laziness.

5) Scary movies. 

6) Okay, only a certain level of scary movies. 

7) Like, my best friend loves Rob Zombie and his wife and would marry them both in a blood-soaked, human-sacrificial ceremony if the law permitted, but I can’t deal with him or his films because he pretty much recreates my nightmares on screen.

8) So when I say scary movies, I mean thrillers and the classics like Psycho or Halloween (which, let’s be real, is the best horror film of all time). 

9) Or I also love that real kitschy shit like Pet Semetary 2 and Tales From the Darkside.

10) Okay, goddamn Gina, focus.

11) What I started this post to say was I love Autumn because it’s amazing for a lot of reasons but this year is going to be especially wonderful because of the amount of gigantic books coming out. After 10ish years, Jonathan Safran Foer has a new novel. Zadie Smith is going to be back in the game.  Ian McEwan is gracing us with his presence.  Maria Semple is serving up something new. And to top it all off, Bryan Cranston and Anna Kendrick are giving us mere mortals a glimpse into their lives. 

12) So basically, I’m gonna John Milton-it and read myself blind. 

13) Which could in and of itself be a horror movie, if not a really, really boring one.

Consider the Flamingo

I love flamingos.  So, so much.  First there’s their gorgeous coloration.

  
I want coral skin.  It’s not fair.

Secondly, there’s their cat-like, spastic behavior.  So many times have I seen a flamingo just standing in the pool, casually looking around, acting cool and collected; then out of nowhere, he’ll turn to the flamingo beside him, and attack.  I’m talking honking, pecking, flapping, the works.  Just as quickly as he started, he’ll stop and slowly walk away, leaving his victim behind like, “Dude.  The fuck.”

  
Also, they sometimes do this thing where they spread their wings, start to make that obnoxious honking noise, stretch their heads toward the sky and walk slowly and ominously forward.  One will do this, then another, and another, until the whole flock is marching in this bizarre homage to Nazi Germany.

  
Unfortunately for this guy, no one was in the mood.

That is how I chose to depict my flamingo; to me it reads elegance, confidence, and a whole lot of pride and egomania.

  
  Just like me.

How Much Gold Can a Girl Have in her Apartment Before She Becomes Donald Trump?

I cannot buy anything more for my apartment this month.

I know that. I really do.

But I figured, well, it doesn’t hurt to look. And that was true, until I saw this piece on Loveseat and felt my heart expand and then break a little at the thought that this cannot be mine.  

  
 
Even if I had the money, it would be ridiculous to get a gold display case, especially since it would only be displaying books. 

  
It’s best not to picture it in my house. It’s best not to imagine myself opening it to select a book to read to my grandchildren one day, because it’s the kind of piece that I would keep and cherish forever, and pass down to my children, and they would pass down to their children once they too leave this earth.

I will tell myself it is gaudy and would be too much in my home.

Yep. That’s what I’ll do.

Though it wouldn’t hurt to look at coffee tables while I’m already on the app…

All Is Fair in Love and Furniture Shopping

A few days ago, I was furniture shopping and I learned something very important about myself. I am a master negotiator. 

The thing is, there’s really nothing to it. Like, literally nothing. I don’t say a word. I stand and look at the piece I want, then look back at the person selling the item, then look back at the piece. Sometimes I make a little throaty-humming noise, awkwardly press my hand to my cheek or neck, and look around. 

Ten times out of ten, the salesperson feels so uncomfortable, they offer to lower the price. This is a really important moment. They’ll expect you to talk, BUT YOU STILL DON’T. Maybe look at them with a scrunched up forehead. Repeat the Tina Belcheresque groan. Cock your head to the side and hunch your shoulders. Stare at them for a minute too long.

Then they fold. They always do.

Your awkwardness is hard to handle and they’ll be more than ready to bow out of the interaction as soon as possible. You can wait it out–you’ve been training for this your whole damn life.

That is how I ended up with these gorgeous pieces:

  
  
The media stand is technically an old record player holder. The front drawers are fake and do not open, so it’s maybe not the most functional piece BUT I DONT CARE I LOVE IT SO GODDAMN MUCH.

And you know how when you were a kid and would go to your grandparents’ house, there was always that one chair you weren’t allowed to sit in because it was your grandpa’s? Like exclusively his? And it was kind of a little too imposing and large and smack dab in the middle of the room? That is the relationship I plan on establishing with this beautiful, golden work of art. 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go. I have a lot of sitting to do.