Might as Well Face It, You’re Addicted to L…ooking at Your Phone

Hi My Little Sweetheart Darlings,

I’ve come to face the fact that I am a slave to my iPhone.

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Please say you’re at least 50% charged.

I meditate, I read books about spiritual consciousness and  ego, I take probiotics, I DO IT ALL. Yet still, when I see other people craned over their phones I think, Huha! Thank God that’s not me!   … and it is absolutely, 100% me.

Every night to wind down, I think about climbing onto my bed to meditate and then get under the covers to read for bit. In reality, I climb onto my bed, think about meditating for five minutes, decide to skip it and get under my covers to read, take out my phone  and look at it for two hours instead, decide I’m finished and pick up the book and fall asleep with the book on my face three sentences later.

I talk about how great meditation and stillness is while I’m still holding my phone a millimeter away from my eyeballs. I move from post to post from app to app and if the first thing doesn’t entertain me, then I know there are literally millions of videos, pictures, tweets, I could look through to preoccupy my thoughts from focusing on my very own mortality. I think it’s also the reason going to the movie theaters seems like an a laborious task. What if the movie is boring? YOU MEAN I HAVE TO SIT THERE AND WATCH IT INSTEAD OF FLIPPING THROUGH 500 THINGS THAT MAY POSSIBLY NUMB ME INTO THINKING I’M NOT BORED. Even while writing this post, I’ve looked at four different articles, opened Facebook three separate times, bought $144 worth of clothes off NastyGal, and made myself an ice cream.

Holy Christ.

There are so many things I want to do. I have a giant coloring pad the size of a mini-fridge with all the goals I want to meet with writing and comedy written on it. If I lived without my phone like I did in middle school, coming home, watching Garfield & Friends, then coloring or drawing or singing or dancing to Brandy alone in my room, I’d most likely be cranking out projects at a much higher rate or consistency.

I did join a few writing groups, mostly women, and every day at least 5-10 people share all the great essays or articles they have published all over the place. Despite having a few things published, seeing other people do it demystifies the process for me and dispels the fear that the writing biz is washed up. If you write it, they will publish. 

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The challenge now is to put into practice what I think about doing which shutting off my goddamn phone for five minutes and creating something that people may benefit from.

If you haven’t listened to the Pete Holmes podcast “You Made it Weird” with Garry Shandling as the guest, I suggest you find the time. Garry nails it by explaining that yeah, we say all these thousands of heartfelt mantras and quotes, but Jesus Christ, you have to LIVE by what they say instead of just reading them and being like, “Yeah! I get it!”

Now the sneaking feeling that I’m being unproductive it setting in. I’m going to go do overkill and try to work on ten different projects at once, burn out, and be mad at myself for not finishing anything and look at my phone for four hours. Hehe!

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Okay my dears, smoochsmoochsmooch bye143.

 

Sea Enema: Where Nemo Lives Maybe?

Tomorrow I have a Halloween costume dance  to go to with my mother.

I’ve only known about the dance for a few days but I’ve heard that the other attendees have been working on their costumes for months.

The theme is “Arrrt and Souls” or “under water” for the lay person. It’s at the community art center (GET IT?! ARRRT? Although pirates typically don’t live under water but who’s put limits on their existence.)

I really hope it just turns out to be an Enchantment Under the Sea dance and I save my family from disappearing.

In my race to get a relevant costume, I made the quick and misguided decision of being a sea anemone. It wasn’t until about 4 seconds ago that I realized I haven’t even been pronouncing it correctly. When I was talking to a coworker today, I mentioned I was going to the aquatic theme dance as a sea enema.I knew that I was saying enema instead of anemone but this little scrambled eggs brain has a hard time getting my mouth to say the things it wants to correctly.

AS for my costume, my choice was made because I didn’t want to spend a lot of money and I had access to A LOT of pink and orange ribbon. I also have a Finding Nemo stuffed animal so he’s going to come to the dance as my date. I also needed fast and effective relief so I could be regular again.

My costume is packed for after work. I hope the ribbons don’t rip to shreds while it”s in there or spontaneously combust.

Wish me lick and I hope I win the coveted “Most Likely to Not Be Able to Pronounce Costume Name.”

Hooray! Okay goodnight love you bye don’t forget to check your Halloween candy before donating all the KitKats to me BYE!

The Tale of Two Coffees

Hey kids!

Welcome to Stupid Sunday, where I detail something stupid I did today. ENJOY!

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I go to Starbucks every single day. If you think that’s an exaggeration, please feel free look at my credit card statement and/or my Starbucks card on my phone in horror.

Every single day I order a grande vanilla iced coffee.

Every single day.

I don’t even shower every day. That’s how up there this is with “breathing” on my list of things to do.

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The bottom of the cup actually filters into a tube that goes directly into my blood stream.

On my drive over to Starbucks, I was getting nervous because I was going to a location I normally don’t go to and I know it can be disgustingly busy there. To take the edge off, I started repeating the order “tall vanilla iced coffee” in my head. Mind you, the last time I ordered a “tall” anything at Starbucks, I was in 10th grade and at the time the talls were the size of what the current grandes are. Don’t worry, I feel like a giant asshole for even knowing this and talking about it publicly.

At one point during my mantra, I even caught myself. I don’t even order talls. It’s a grande. Grande. Grande. I want a venti. It’s Sunday, I’ll get a venti.  I want so much coffee I can feel the kidney stones getting ready to pass. Tall. Tall vanilla iced coffee. No it’s not a tall it’s a venti.

When I finally arrived to said Starbucks location, the line was wrapped around a beef jerky and Oprah tea display and wound out the door. All the people standing and waiting made me anxious, so I just let my eyes dart around and continued with my inner monologue turning into a vicious dialogue over coffee size.

Sure enough when  it was my time to order, “CAN I HAVE A TALL VANILLA ICED COFFEE PLEASE!”

Fuck.

The nice barista prepped my baby sized cup and asked if that would be all.

“YES. THANK YOU.”

No, I’m a dumb idiot. Why can’t you see this pain on my face?

When I made it over to the cashier, I knew I couldn’t leave there with just a teaspoon of coffee. My heart was set on jumbo and by god, jumbo is what I would get.

The nice cashier started, “One tall vanilla iced coffee? That will be–”

“UM WAIT, CAN I ACTUALLY GET ANOTHER TALL VANILLA ICED COFFEE?”

This is the kind of response kids would call “no chill.” A normal person would have asked for the size to be changed. Not me, I prefer to double fist two very small coffees because that is the adult thing to do.

“Uh, sure. You want two tall vanilla iced coffees?” nice cashier asked.

“YES, ONE IS FOR A FRIEND” said the psychotic person.

Lying always helps the situation, despite no one caring if you are ordering two coffees for yourself or not.

I paid, I waited, I brought my two Barbie accessory sized coffees over to the sugar/dairy counter and proceeded to make two identical coffees because me and my friend just so happen to like our coffees the exact same way, from the half & half and whole milk combo down to the dash of cinnamon on top.

This is me. This is the choice I made. I am a real person existing in the world doing these things.

***

Have you ever gone out of your way to make yourself less embarrassed about a situation that literally does not matter to the rest world? Any really weird things you did to cover your tracks to avoid anyone knowing you’re an idiot?

PLEASE TELL ME ABOUT IT IN THE COMMENTS!

K, I love you. Happy Sunday. Remember, Jesus is King and so is Simba.

My Eyeballs are Flaking Off

Hello Children of the Corn!

I’m an idiot. This may not come as a surprise to some of you (most of you [all of you]) but I’ve nearly burnt my eyes off my face. Some would say it’s a rash but I’d describe it more as a “severe, grotesque, chemical burn from Satan himself.”

It’s not really my eyeballs but my eyelids have grown reptilian. A cross between the X-Files “Office Monster” and a hot shedding snake. Every time I blink it feels like my eyelids are little window shades made of sunburns.

Being the medical GENIUS that I am, I decided to prescribe myself generous doses of GoldBond Anti-Itch Cream to be applied directly to my broken and dry eyelids. To really ease the pain of burning and irritated skin, add menthol and hydrocortisone directly to the infected area and put your head between your legs. You’ll be fine and great*.

(*No.)

A lovely lady at Nordstrom slapped some $300 La Mer cream on my face in order to heal my self-inflicted 3rd degree burns. Apparently it was made by a mad scientist who had a kelp fetish and liked to heat it up in his microwave and rub it on his burns. Now Jennifer Anniston rubs it on her face so she can no longer age because the cream has a time-halting curse on it. I’m really into facts about important things.

I ended up accepting a doctor’s appointment at 8:15AM which I always seem to do because I am afraid to tell the receptionist that I need 14 hours of sleep and can’t possibly be up any time before brunch. I always make time for brunch. I did not make take for brunch at 8:15AM when the doctor was telling me to avoid any heavy creams with menthol and hydrocortisone in them. Whoops. Now I’m smearing lactic acid on my eyes and in a shocking turn of events it’s supposed to burn the dry burnt skin away.

Well, it’s time to go put some acidic moo-juice on my eyes and rest peacefully in my slumber. Pray for me.

Killer Tofu

Tell us about your favorite childhood meal — the one that was always a treat, that meant “celebration,” or that comforted you and has deep roots in your memory.

DAY TEN. Writing 101 prompt. 

There were a few evolutions to my favorite childhood meal. It first started out as bread and butter where I would lick the pat of butter off and discard the bread. Then there was the Little Debbie Zebra cakes. Then there was the Little Debbie Honey Buns. But through it all my favorite meal is one that my mom still makes when I come home. Egg noodles, ground beef in brown gravy, with pea pods. She mixes in a little soy sauce that makes it extra savory. 

My mouth is watery, looks like I’ll have to drive the 2 hours home and see what happens. Hehe. 

Well The Way I See It

I’m on Day 8 of Writing 101.

Go to a local café, park, or public place and report on what you see. Get detailed: leave no nuance behind.

The thing is……. I didn’t go outside today. Yesterday I went to an hour-long “Brazilian Booty/Ripped Abs” workout class. I wish I could say the hardest part about it was spelling Brazilian correct on the first try but I was bed ridden for a good portion of the morning and sat on the couch all afternoon. The only time I got up was to nuke a Tyson chicken patty. Girl’s gotta keep up on her nutrition.

In other news, I’m sure this post would have actually answered the Writing 101 prompt had I gone to the Market Basket (read: cheap, semi-shitty food maybe? Still great though). I’m running out of food options but these toasted buns could not make it to the car or walk around a store for 20 minutes. Activia is on sale this week so I guess I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to make smoothies that really do hold up to their cleanse promise. I gained a lot of weight after my dad died about two years ago and I’ve finally realized you can’t stay the same size sitting at a desk 8 hours a day and then 5 hours on the couch and then 10 hours in bed. Who knew? I’m getting back on track by trying something called “moving.” Details to follow. Today doesn’t count.

My sleep schedule is completely ruined as I’ve been getting up around 10-11am and going to bed somewhere between 2-3am. This is horrible because I require 9 hours MINIMUM. Preferred 10-14 hours. As you can see this poses quite the problem. The bags under my eyes could hold loose change.

It’s 2am now, better go scour some websites and play Candy Crush for the next hour!

ciao smellybutts,

❤ Lo

P.S. Please follow on Twitter! I post all jokes and I swear they are great or good or maybe just okay sometimes. @LOLOVONK  ! You can even try before you buy! Look to the right of my page and you’ll see a couple of my recent tweets!

 

Contrast

Write a post based on the contrast between two things — whether people, objects, emotions, places, or something else.

Something that’s been an affliction as of recently is the fact that it’s gone from 50 degrees to 90 degrees in about a 2 week span.

Compare/Contrast: I was nice and cool but now I’m hot as fuck.

The twist to the Day 7 Writing 101 Challenge was to respond to this prompt with dialogue but I’m cranky because my calves are sweating.

In the early stages of getting to know someone, I usually ask questions like, Where are you from? What did you study in school and why? What’s your dream job? and Would you rather be hot or cold?

I like to think it tells me a lot about a person on how they answer that question. With no scientific merit whatsoever, I feel like I get an insight into your dark little soul AND if we’d get along in a car ride.

I’m a coldy. I rather be cold and pile on 3 million blankets. My irish skin flushes and starts to burn when I’m in a room set above 68 degrees. When driving in wintertime I’ll jack the heat up to get warm fast but then on with the AC. I can’t do the dry heat coming out of the vents. My lips instantly chap and my skin wrinkles.

In the cold the air is crisp and I don’t look like an unused matchstick (because the head is red, GET IT?!).

Thinking about sweating makes me itchy. Maybe I’m one of those people who are allergic to their own sweat. Or maybe it’s a fear of being an over-sweating in high school and never wanted to raise my arms so everyone could see my giant sweat stains.

So, which do you prefer?

Hot or cold?

***

ciao

❤ Lo

PS. Please follow on Twitter @LoloVonK for daily jokes you probably shouldn’t share with mom (my mom not yours).

Interesting People

Who’s the most interesting person (or people) you’ve met this year?

Day 6 of the Writing 101 challenge which I’ve so far neglected like my Tamagotchi cat, Whiskers. 

It’s halfway through 2014 and I’ve made a lot of big changes in my life. New apartment, new job, switched from diapers to Pull-Ups. 

To answer the question, the first person to pop up for me I technically met in 2013. SO now that that’s scrapped, the second person or people I think of are all of my neighbors in the apartment building complex I live in. There are about 10 townhouses with 8-10 individual apartments inside each. From walking around in the parking lot to existing in my room, I have a weird Polaroid-type concept of each person that shares the same general space as me.

There are the people who bang things around upstairs at 1:30 in the morning (why? they are elderly, what are they doing up there?), the people who let their smalls children run around the parking lot unsupervised (WATCH OUT FOR THAT CAR! and I don’t even like kids, yeesh), and the tenants that take everyone else’s mail (I really wanted those China Palace coupons). Everyone is either very friendly and willing to stop to chat or they will avoid eye-contact with you and slam their doors behind them. 

I love living here and I’ve made it a sick game of making up backstories for everyone I come in contact with. Some of my predictions have been true, making the game more addictive. 

I WONDER WHAT THEY THINK MY BACKSTORY IS?!

ciao,

❤ Lo

A Letter I Found

But not really.

Day 5 Blog Challenge is supposed to be a story about finding a letter that means a lot to you and you wish you could return it to the person to whom it’s addressed.

I love reading fiction but it’s something that I just never had the drive to pursue. I used to write stories when I was little but I’d always leave them unfinished because at an early age I was able to recognize my shortcomings. Hehe.

If I had found a letter, I know it would be addressed to Ms. Hamrietta McTrufflesnout. The contents of the letter would be the date and time for her hearing at the slaughterhouse. Real “Pink is the New Orange” type stuff. It wouldn’t state what exactly her crime was, but by the tone of the letter it would seem that if she didn’t show up to her hearing then she would be hunted down and brought in immediately. If she did show up at the correct date and time, then maybe she’d be able to please her case and move on to her normal oinky lifestyle.

I think that’s worth finding and getting to her, right?