8 Reasons Lucille Bluth Is My Spirit Animal

T. Mull just called me out for not blogging on Sunday.
I deserve that.
I had it all planned, 
but then I went to a Stella & Dot party and pub trivia instead.
I don't regret it. 

I took that "Which Member of the Bluth Family?" Buzzfeed quiz

(even though I'm still mad at them)

and I got Lucille. 

No surprise there. 

(Then I took it again & got Buster. Que? 
Then I took it again and got Tobias. End of my life.)
 I am choosing, for my own sanity, to latch on to my first result.

I've long believed that Lucille is one of my spirit animals:

1. She wants alcohol for breakfast

It is a daily struggle deciding not to put Bailey's in my coffee.
My responsibility & fear of getting in trouble force my hand, 
but one of these days, man, one of these days...

(Super secret-but-published-on-my-blog confession in the spirit of Groundhog Week:
I was doing a bit of student teaching during G-hog Week of my junior year.
My roommates & I were out of creamer, 
but obvi had tons of Bailey's, 
so sleepy-Mary "accidentally" put Bailey's in her coffee
& went off to shape the minds of young ones. Whateva.)

2. She doesn't know the value of a dollar

Lucille & I are kind of opposites with this one. 
I am incredibly, embarrassingly cheap.
I scrimp & scrounge in daily life now, 
but it's not-so-secretly because I want to be able to 
buy crazy-luxurious things throughout my life & die surrounded by wealth.
I really want someone to find my abandoned apartment 100 years later
with weird-awesome-fancy things in it.

However, I don't really know the value of a dollar, either. 
I look at a lot of things and think, "I can make that for less." And I do.
But I over-value the things that I can't do, 
like install a stereo system or do a handstand.
I would pay someone waaaay too much money
to do something I cannot or will not. 

(Side note: The ability to do a handstand determined your value in elementary school.
I had to make up for it by playing soccer with the boys at recess
& having the coolest stickers on my binder.
This obviously affected me deeply.)
 
3. She chooses favorites

It instills a healthy sense of competition to play favorites with your children.
The family "favorite child" changed often;
as in, whenever one of us did something Mumsie Dearest liked.
Don't worry, we didn't take it too seriously.
We are naturally over-competitive, anyway.

4. She always wants a drink

Ain't nobody got time for sobriety.

5. She exaggerates everything

Me, to a T. 
Hyperbole is a way to vent.
Obviously, my job is not an actual hellhole, 
but imagining & describing it as such helps relieve the tension.
(But also it sometimes actually is, so shut up about your jobs.)

6. She has road rage

I get passive aggressive road rage. 
When I call a fellow driver "friend", it means the opposite: 
we are the bitterest of enemies
& I would like to ram the back of your Obama-voting, 
COEXIST-believing, idiot Prius.

7. She is anti-social 

I wish, very often, that I could be a hermit.
Don't get me wrong, I adore my friends & family. 
It's the rest of the world that inspires such negativity.
Fairly often, I just want to pull a St. Benedict & leave.

But alas, I have no skills or outdoors-iness. 
I would die. 
I will just have to be a lady-hermit in my eccentric Parisian apartment.
I guess that will do.

8. She has the best comebacks

I either respond with a cutting, snarky remark

or a  playground retort. 

Panic plays a large part in which I choose.

I have many spirit animals, but Lucille is my aging-gracefully

& preserved-by-alcohol spirit animal. 

BLESS.

As I mentioned, this week is Groundhog Week. 
I am tremendously excited & probably won't post again until Monday.

My So-Called Law School Application

Heeeeeeeey Law School!

I CANNOT stop laughing right now. RIP Arrested Development

So...applications are down again this year. I'm here to call your bluff. Are you really not going to admit me? I could probably leave the rest of this page blank and you would still admit me based on my LSAT + GPA. I'm not cocky, just realistic. 

In fact...















Your move, Law School. 


Love, 

Mary Angela

JK LULZ

I'm writing a real personal statement. 

Or I'm trying to, anyway.

My BFF x a million is a hoity-toity editor for

the likes of Dennis Prager and Thomas Sowell, 

so it is her unfortunate lot in life to be the person who

edits all of my law school crap. 
Apparently, the first draft of my personal statement was too...apologetic.
Sorry I have an issue with saying sorry too often.
Sorry I feel felt still feel like a failure because my teaching career ended
in a fiery ball of destruction.
Sorry I'm a child and have to start my life from scratch.
#sorryI'msupersorry

The actual application section of my apps is done, 
so now it's just my personal statement that needs to be accomplished.
I can pump out a fairly successful blog post in an hour, 
but this damn statement is getting the best of me.
In all of the examples I read, it seems pretty clear that 
I'm supposed to write about a specific experience that steered my life toward law.
What if I'm just doing it because I have nothing else to do?
I don't think law schools appreciate being anyone's backup plan
anymore than I do. 

Also, can we talk about my use of gifs lately?

I am on FIRE.

True Life: Buzzfeed is Stealing My Blogs

It used to be a goal of mine to write for Buzzfeed. 

I aspire to be as funny as those writers. 

But then I got really tired of having to wade through 

all of the LGBT & liberal propaganda on their website

to find the actually funny stuff. 

Please, Buzzfeed, tell me one more time how you're protesting the Sochi Olympics.

(P.S. If you're actually protesting something, you would write about it once

and then ignore the whole thing, not draw more attention to it

by posting hundreds of articles about it. Amateurs.)

Another reason I have given up on Buzzfeed is because they're stealing my material.

That sounds paranoid. 

Allow me to explain:

I wrote this post about my everlasting love for Brit Bitch on 11/24/2013. 

A week later, Buzzfeed shows up with this article. 

I cut them some slack for this one. 

Britney is famous & had been newsworthy recently. 

Still pissed, but whatevs.

Then, on 1/12/2014, I wrote this embarrassing post about how I cry at stupid things.

Three days later, Buzzfeed shows up with this. 

So I went further back. 

Mine from June 28, 2013:

Buzzfeed's from 5 days later:

There might be more. 

I got too lazy to check. 

What the hell, Buzzfeed.

Is this a thing we do now?

What happened to journalistic integrity?

I guess I should be asking Melissa "I'm Not a Racist Bitch" Harris-Perry. 

I'm not going to "protest" you, because what else would I do at work. 

But just know that, as I read and laugh, I am angry.

So so angry.

And as soon as I learn how to sue,

I will be doing so.

Prepare yourselves.

[Note: This is mostly a joke. Buzzfeed is hilarious & can obvi think

of hysterical things all by their lonesome.

But if I ever obtain proof of their theft, it's on.]

Also, I made this:

I think it would be hilaaaarious to sell, Terrible Towel-style, at UD. 

Get it?

Because we went away to study abroad. 

(I just crack myself up.)

Any takers?

8 Signs I'm the Most "Traditional" Person in My Office

I was going to entitle this something different, 
but both my editor (aka Tess who brainstorms with me) and my mother 
voiced some uncertainty. 
And because I was raised with those inconvenient traditional values, 
I still sometimes respect my mother, 
even when she's wrong. 
JKJK, Mamacita.

My standards of class in the workplace may not be yours.
Get over it.

1. I've never filed for bankruptcy with our bankruptcy firm

I harp on this a lot. 

But I find it ridiculous and kind of unbelievable 

that people came to file for bankruptcy

and left with a job AND having filed for bankruptcy.

WHAT.

2. I don't talk about sex

This blog administration is committed to complete transparency.
(Let's see if I can do better than Obama. The bar is loooooooow.)

As such, here's some embarrassment:

Remember that time I invented the fake boyfriend

to get that guy at work off my back?

Well, that lie has come back to bite me. 

Fairly often, someone asks about my sham beau 

and implies that they hope I'm doing "everything I can" to make him happy.

And when I say "implies", I mean

they directly ask me if I need to go to Victoria's Secret for my man.

EW.

I regret everything. Lesson learned, God. 

And everyone talks about hooking up and whatnot.
Sorry that I have an active imagination
and your comments leave me visualizing your 38-year old naked body.
If you ever see me grimace for no reason, 
that is why.

 

3. My workwear doesn't show any tattoos
I don't have any tattoos. 
But if I were to get one, 
it would be in a discreet location 
that would make no one the wiser. 
Wrist, calf/shin, back of the neck, bicep, forearm...
there is an endless list of all the stupid places these people have tattooed. 

4. I'm one of the few who doesn't have a baby daddy + out-of-wedlock child(ren)

Yes, I applaud them for having the baby.

And, personally, I am against birth control

so I don't use it and behave like a rational human being

(what up, Aristotle).
Obviously, I wish that everyone would agree with me on this, 
but, despite my belief in the Loch Ness Monster & a second season of Firefly, 
I'm a realist.
What's that old saying?
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, maybe I should get my tubes tied.
I know it's difficult, but mabes practice some self-control
or visit a clinic or something.
Figure it out.

Also, I know people who have gotten themselves into this sort of situation.
I don't fault them anything.
But they exhibited the proper "my bad" emotion
& changed their behavior
& most even married the guy.
These lovely ladies at work didn't learn their lesson
& still find themselves experiencing that "late" panic every few months.
And they talk about it with me.
Ugh. 

5. I have never said anything about "using it" in reference to going to the ladiez room
No explanation needed. 
I don't talk about this. 
Ever. 

6. I don't have 3-inch fake nails covered in glitter

Yikes. 

7. I don't walk around the office with an e-cigarette

Everyone in my office smokes. 
Having gone to a university in which people feel fancy
smoking while discussing Descartes, 
it didn't reeeeally bother me.
The e-cigs do. 
They're stupid as hell. 
Also, most of my co-workers use the e-cig to smoke in the office
and still go outside for real smoke breaks.
THAT'S DEFEATING THE PURPOSE.

8. I don't make everyone uncomfortable by talking about my personal affairs
I am extremely sympathetic to your plight, 
but talking about the miscarriage you are suffering RIGHT NOW
in a crowded office is absolutely not okay.
Especially when you have no significant other
and haven't for a few months now.
It makes me all judgmental.

The royal side-eye x 3. Did the person they were judging just crumple into dust?

Also, any mention of your abusive ex-husband is uncomfortable.
Even talking about your current "soul search" is weird for me.
You're 40+ years old. 
If you haven't found yourself by now, you never will.
And if you tell me one more time that you cried the whole way home
because of an "argument" we had, 
I will make you cry right here in the office.
Also, please don't confide in me that you think you're pregnant. 
You're not. 
That's called "the change" and I won't have any talk of it. 

Is it too much to ask for an office environment
where I know the bare minimum about my co-workers
(name, general age, job title maybe) 
and nothing else?

No Woman No Cry

I cry at stupid things. 

That might come as a surprise. 

I don't think I'm the sort of person who comes off 

like an emotional basket case. 

I'm more the sort who laughs at people's misfortunes

(in a very concerned, caring way obvi). 

Can we all acknowledge that I chose the edited version of this because little Mom reads my blog?

I am such a giver.

People share those Upworthy & Godvine videos on Facebook

with something like "OMG Get the tissues! I BAWLED!"

and it's like a challenge to me. 

I have to prove that I'm not a frail, over-sensitive little rosebud. 

I-am-woman-hear-me-roar, Miss Independent, and all that. 

It's really too bad that I prove myself to be 

a frail, over-sensitive little rosebud every single time. 

I can count on one hand the number of times I haven't teared up at those stupid videos. 

And they're (usually) so stupid!

I am morally outraged that such idiocy can make me cry,

and this outrage fuels the need to keep watching these terrible videos

because  at some point I will defeat my tear ducts and emotionalism. 

The cycle continues.  

This one's mostly nice, 

but still embarrassing to cry about. 

Maybe I was caught on a bad day or something. 

UGH.

This isn't even romantic or sweet or anywhere close to a nice proposal.

It is everyone's nightmare to be on stage and not know what's going on. 

They did that to her on purpose. 

Luckily, this didn't happen to me

because I am vindictive & immature

and I would probably have given him a "maybe"

just to see him nervous & sweaty on live tv.

I am completely mortified that I teared up a bit.  

 

I'm increeeedibly fond of the dog-soldier reunion videos. 

Naturally, I found a whole website devoted to them. 

There's also family-soldier reunion videos,

but the dog ones really do it for me.

I will not apologize for crying at these

because I have a heart and I'm not a psycho.  

I also watched one of Russians doing nice things

like helping old ladies across the street and getting dogs out of rivers

and I teared up. 

NICE THINGS ARE NICE SHUT UP.

It turns out I'm a girl. 

Let's not go crazy, though. 

I'm still not going to tolerate stupidity. 

My icy heart hasn't melted that much. 

Flipside:

I laugh at videos too:

This is the Youtube equivalent of the "I have no idea what I'm doing" meme. 

Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now

A mini-break from my usual hilaaaaaaaaarity:

I'm blogging at work today because I'm feeling rebellious. 

Most days, I just read the news in between spurts of work-related activity.
(Juuust kidding, if my boss is reading this!) 
But I don't dare blog because that seems too brazen.
Today, I make an exception. 

Today, Human Events featured this article

about this study performed by the Young America's Foundation.

According to the YAF study:

 At no point in recent history has life been harder for America’s young people. The Youth Misery Index adds together youth unemployment, average graduating student debt (in thousands), and national debt per capita (in thousands).  

Youth unemployment is at 16.3 percent—one of the highest levels since World War II. Average graduating student debt has reached a record-breaking $29,400. National debt per capita is $52,948—the highest ever. Add it up, and the Youth Misery Index comes out to 98.6 (16.3 + 29.4 + 52.9 = 98.6).

Apparently, we're the most miserable youth in "recent history".
Do we get a prize? Is this tax deductible?

(I don't know what "youth" means to them, but I'm including 

people my age because I still feel like a child.)

I guess this is true if you have narrow definitions of "recent" and "misery". 

From reading the article, I would take their meanings to be 

"post-WW2" and "financial hardship".

For them to use any other definition of misery would trivialize any
real suffering of young people in the past 60-ish years. 
Because here's some actually miserable youth from said "recent history": 
 

I'm not trying to make some statement about 
the rightness or wrongness of the Vietnam War.
I'm just saying that there were a lot of "youth" in "recent history" who
were pretty damn miserable in a way, God willing, I'll never know.  

I tend to be the Voice of Doom when it comes to the state of the Union, 

but this is one opinion I can't get behind. 
Sure, we inherited a lot of debt. 
A lot. 
And the unemployment rate sucks. 
A lot.
And the people in power are only making it worse. 
A lot worse.     

But things could be worse.

For a bunch of people who don't have to worry about 

being drafted and sent to die in a foreign country, 

we sure are miserable. 

As my lovely friend over at Human Events put it during our discussion of this article, 
we don't know what misery is.   

I'll be back on Sunday-ish with the scheduled frivolity. 
I just couldn't help myself with this one. 
You know how I love my rants. 

Jabberwocky

First:

I don't understand why we don't hijack all activities/businesses

and make it okay to drink wine in said activities/businesses. 

Why did it just occur to someone that we can drink while painting

and people will pay crazy money for it?

And why did they stop there?

Central Market has the right idea:

they let you drink wine while grocery shopping.

Let's start something, people. 

Pinot at the post office, Malbec at the mall, a Bordeaux at the bank.

We'll call ourselves the Red Revolution. 

FYI:

I am drinking wine while doing my nails. 

Not at all the same result as drinking wine while someone else does your nails.

This post was initially going to be about misheard lyrics. 

I have a serious issue with not understanding the words to songs

and then, when challenged, swearing vehemently that my version is right. 

(Spoiler: it rarely is.)

But then I realized that some of the lyrics I was hearing
were right and just weird as hell. 
So now this post is about the stupid lyrics I must be hearing wrong, but am not. 

"Spice Up Your Life" Spice Girls

This one came out when I was 7, 
so, when listening at 23, I thought I had been a weird little girl
with a crazy imagination. 
True, but not in this case. 

I think what really got me was:

{Yellow man in Timbuktu, 
Colour for both me and you 
Kung fu fighting, 
Dancing queen 
Tribal spaceman 
and all that's in between} 

But also:

{We moonwalk the foxtrot 
Then polka the salsa} 

No, you don't, girls. Because that's impossible. 
Seven-year old me tried it. 

"50 Ways to Say Goodbye" Train

Get it. A Train…wreck. HA!

{She'll think I'm Superman
Not super Minivan
How could you leave on Yom Kippur?}

I love Jews more than the average person. 
I can't really explain it, but I do. 
So, I thought I was forcing some Semitic love on these lyrics, 
but no. 
Train really does mention Yom Kippur. 

"One Week" Barenaked Ladies

Just the whole thing. 
In it's entirety. 
Not one thing makes sense. 
That can't be what he's saying…
Yes, it can. 

"Loser" Beck

{In the time of chimpanzees
I was a monkey}

Not a great start, Beck. 

{You get a parking violation
And a maggot on your sleeve
So shave your face
With some mace in the dark}

A reasonable reaction to a parking ticket & disgusting larva, I'm sure.
Is he really…? Yes. 

"Flightless Bird, American Mouth" Iron & Wine

The song is actually really beautiful, 
and maintains it's beauty even after you know the lyrics, 
which is quite a feat:

{Now I'm a fat house cat
Nursing my sore blunt tongue
Watching the warm poison rats
Curl through the wide fence cracks
Pissing on magazine photos
Those fishing lures thrown in the cold and clean
Blood of Christ mountain stream}

…que?

And here's these for good measure:

Happy Epiphany!