The Beer Theory

I have a theory.

It involves beer.

It is this:

Could the way in which you drink a beer dictate how committed you are in relationships??

Let's discuss.

The other evening I went out with some friends to the Stone Brewery for some drinks and general merriment.  My friend and her boyfriend were next to me, and everyone else was just kind of milling around.

To be perfectly honest, I'm kind of a boring beer drinker, myself.  I'm not super into all the craft beers.  Fat Tire is probably my favorite, followed by Japanese beers when I'm in the mood for something lighter.

However, my friends are a different story.  These are the friends I go to Beerfest with. These are the friends that are interested in trying specific beers at Beerfest versus just drinking all of the beers to get smashed (me).

Anyway, my friend Susan asked the waiter, "do you have anything with a licorice flavor to it?"

Waiter:  Yeah...well, we have this #$#% (????) beer which is a light licorice flavor, or the #@%* (???) beer which is a much stronger licorice taste.

Susan:  I really like licorice, I'm gonna go with the heavier tasting one.

Waiter:  Are you sure?  It's really a commitment.

Susan:  Yep.

Ok, so, red flag:  A waiter describing a beer as "a commitment"?  Probably something I would avoid.  (what does that mean omg?!?!?)

So Susan gets the beer.  About half way through, she gives up.  A few minutes after that, she gives the second half of the beer she has rejected to her boyfriend.

WHICH, sparked this conversation.

Could her lack of commitment to her beer mirror her lack of commitment to her relationship?!?!

Ok sure, we were all drunk.  But just go with me here for a minute.

Maybe her lack of committing to the beer is going to rear its ugly head in her relationship!  Maybe the fact that she WANTED to commit to the beer, but just simply couldn't finish it.

And by passing off the excess to her BOYFRIEND?!  The possibilities!

Think about it.  Do you chug your beer without even really tasting it?  Do you slowly sip it?  Do you drink half your beer and then move on to another one because you're super bored with the original beer you chose and then after realizing the new beer is not even that great come crawling back to your original beer because you made the biggest mistake of your life???

If so, you might be saying a lot about yourself in a relationship!  You might also not be, but you also might be, mostly.  Also.

Me?  I'm committed to my beer.  I don't venture out to the crazy beers that I don't know if I'll like because hey, I paid money for them, I'd better frickin' drink them.  I never leave a beer unfinished.

So I guess I know what I like.  And I make my decisions wisely.

Now if I could JUST stop deciding on such douchey guys beers...

Top 5 Tips For Non-Douchey Online Dating

Well, now the floodgates have opened.

After a solid 3 months of not, I finally logged into my OKCupid profile this morning.

60 unread messages.

60.

Your profile shows your last login date to those looking, so these guys KNEW I probably wouldn't even read their messages.

Nevertheless, they proceeded to message me and attempt to do the impossible: find love online.

After reading every last message sent, I came to these conclusions:

1.  I'm kind of an asshole
2.  I'm probably going to be alone forever
3.  These guys are fucking retarded at talking to women

So welcome back.  In this entry I will attempt to give you boys a few pointers about online dating, from the perspective of a woman who is trying to get on board with this whole thing.

And as you all know, taking my advice is the only way you can truly, truly be happy.

1.  CHOOSE YOUR PHOTOS WISELY 

I mentioned this in my previous entry, but I feel like it deserves a more in depth look.

Photos:  Because let's be honest; we don't know you.

Since you don't have the luxury of winning us over with your brilliant personality as you might be able to do if we met in real life, we make a snap judgement.  You know, like the one you made about us that made you decide to follow through and message us.

THAT BEING SAID

When selecting a photo to represent yourself, maybe try avoiding that one that suggests any of the following captions:

• "I enjoy long walks on the beach and also, rape"
• "I only murder occasionally"
• "Where do you keep your duct tape?"
• "Do you happen to have any dental tools and/or suspended hooks?"
• "I only eat dinner in empty warehouses."

Just a suggestion.  As I scrolled through my 60 messages and looked at these guys' pictures, I could have easily found at least 3 photos that would fit in each of these categories.

THIS IS YOUR CHANCE!

Grab a friend and ask him/her to snap a photo that doesn't make you look like the Unabomber.

No cheating either.

Don't you dare put a photo up of you that doesn't actually look like you - WE'RE GONNA FIND OUT.


2.  NO SUNGLASSES


Take your fucking sunglasses off.

We get it.  You like outdoorsy stuff.  And you look super cool while doing it.

Here's the thing: SUNGLASSES HIDE UGLY.

You never know.  You could be thinking you're getting this:

And then those things come off and you could be getting this:

Trust us, we know.  We've all been there: super hungover, wearing last night's make up and looking like the walking dead.  Wanna know how we deal?  SUNGLASSES.  BECAUSE THEY HIDE SHIT.  The bigger the better, right girls?

So look.  I'm not here to make anyone feel bad about themselves, but I need to see if I'm attracted to you!  Because if I'm not?  Or if I can't even tell?  NEXT.  There are millions of guys on that website.

I'm not saying every picture needs to be cinematic genius here, I'm just saying you need at least ONE picture where your sunglasses are off, where you're not fucking scuba diving or rock climbing so we can tell if we're even interested!


3.  "LOL" IS NEVER OK.  NEVER.

Remember the days before "lol"?  I do.  It was a glorious time.  It was a time where you had to think of something to respond with.  A time where people laughed out loud instead of typed what they were doing into a computer.

....A time where it didn't make men look like total pussies.

Yeah.  I said it.

"Lol" is something that I am even embarrassed to use while quickly texting my friend because I'm driving and don't want her to think I'm blowing her off.

YOU DO NOT USE IT IN ONLINE DATING.

EVER.

Reading through my 60 messages today, a solid 40% of them used lol...sometimes multiple times.  One actually STARTED with lol.  Coincidentally, 100% of those didn't receive a message back from me!  Weird!!

Maybe this is a personal issue I have, but after speaking to a few of my girlfriends, I don't think it is.

It's not fucking funny.  And you're not fucking laughing out loud.

So cut that shit out.


4.  NO HECKLING

I'm sorry, YOU'RE trying to date ME...we're clear on that, right?

Making fun of something I said in my profile is a really great way to get me to hate you without ever wanting to meet you.

Example:

In my profile, it asks you to list the 6 things that are most important to you, in order.  I put "cheese" at number one, because it's fucking awesome.  I love my friends and family too, but come on.  Cheese always wins.

Anyway, Douchehole decides to message me something about how he can't believe I chose cheese over my friends and family.

Funny, cause I'm also gonna choose cheese over finishing your fucking message.


5.  NO BULLSHIT


Don't tell me that after reading the 3 sentences I wrote about myself that I've got a great personality.

I do, but you don't know that.

BECAUSE WE'VE NEVER FUCKING MET.

I know this probably makes me look like an asshole.  I'm really not.  I'm just tired of looking for Mr. Right and finding Mr. IWannaFuckYouSoBad and Mr. IHaveZeroPersonalityButCanFakeItOnline.

So, there you have it.

After 60 messages, there were about 4 people I responded to, and out of those 4, only 1 I was actually pretty interested in.

Ironically, because God wants me to be alone forever, within 10 minutes of my replying to his message, all of a sudden he disappeared from both my inbox and sent box.  His profile no longer exists, much like my faith in online dating.

And until then, I repeat:

How To Set Up An Internet Dating Profile (You're Welcome)

Internet dating.

The very words strike fear into millions of single people everywhere.

But why?

I'll tell you why.

CAUSE IT'S FUCKING HORRIBLE.

SO.

My first mistake was joining Plenty Of Fish, at my former boss' suggestion (although I later graduated to OKCupid because a friend of mine met a girl on there that he is still with today).

Her reasoning was sound: It's free, easy to use, and she had met a lot of cute guys so far.

I mean what more could a single girl ask for??

Turns out, EVERYTHING.

For those of you Internet dating virgins (lucky assholes) or  for those (total assholes) that are already happily married or in a stable relationship, let me explain a little about how the sign up process works.

First of all, after mourning any hope of meeting your future husband/wife naturally/in real life, and emotionally slaughtering any residual pride you may have left over, you need to decide on which site you're going to try.

I went with the free sites because I'm not quite ready for the Hail Mary, and thought this would be a good introductory step.

SO HERE IT IS.

My carefully thought out, from personal experience, step by step guide to Internet dating:

STEP 1:  Sign up.  Pick a site, and get started.  I'm guessing it really doesn't matter which you go for, but I recommend a free one at first so you can keep your sense of dignity for a little while longer and test the waters without having to PAY to Internet date, because that probably makes you feel like a little bit of a prostitute (I'M JUST SAYING).

STEP 2:  Fill out a brief profile about yourself.  Here, you will attempt to sell everyone on how awesomely fantastic you are, totally glossing over the fact that your awesome self has resorted to online dating.

Mine said:

"I'm a cool chick.  I love to laugh, have fun, and I'm pretty much down for anything.  I still haven't found the right guy, so I thought I'd give this thing a shot."

THAT'S IT.

That's all I said.  Which was hilarious, because due to the lack of information I gave about myself, the number of "wow, your profile really interests me" & "I love your profile" became an easy way to spot the people who really just meant "Sup.  You're hot."

STEP 3:  After crying a little bit, you upload a photo of yourself.

      *SIDE NOTE*

• If you're normal looking:  Upload whatever photo you think is a good photo of you.  It'll be fine.

• If you're fucking ugly:  Fuck with Photobooth or a fish eye lens until you upload some sort of Frankenstein's-monster-type photo that can pass for a photo of yourself, knowing FULL WELL THAT IT LOOKS NOTHING LIKE YOU AND THAT AS SOON AS YOUR DATE MEETS YOU THEY ARE ALREADY SO PISSED BECAUSE YOU ARE A DIRTY LIAR.

I chose this one (you be the judge):

It says, "Look at me!  I'm not totally ugly and I like to smile and wear black and am kind of an alcoholic!"

Perfect.

STEP 4:  More crying (I recommend Kleenex with lotion, it seems gentler on your skin).

STEP 5:  Once your profile of desperation is complete:

• If you're a guy:  Start trolling for hotties and send them all sorts of sweet messages like, "my virginity is yours for the taking" or "daaaamn woman you are fucking FINE, wanna fuck?! (*bonus points if you misspell some stuff, girls think that's super sexy).

• If you're a girl:  You just wait.  Because the guys are going to come to you.

STEP 6:  Start to talk with members of the opposite sex.  

STEP 7:  Cry a little bit more, maybe start thinking about one of your exes and how maybe you made the wrong decision and should give them another try.  Maybe get a cat (I have 2).

STEP 8:  Slap yourself out of that.

STEP 9:  Set up a date.  Don't worry, it's probably going to be awful, but you already know this, so just give it a try.

STEP 10:  Email me about your shitty dates, cause I'm about to tell you about one of mine.

EXHIBIT A

This guy and I had been exchanging emails, and eventually texts, for about a week.  He seemed funny, sweet, and seemed like he was looking for the same thing I was.  He eventually asked me to dinner.  

His suggestion was the Yardhouse, where he said he was going to make reservations for 7:30.

Cool.

So I show up, fashionably late at 7:35.

Now I'll be honest, being late is a pet peeve of mine, especially for a date, ESPECIALLY for a first date, but I totally get running a little behind.

Tardy Pants (yeah, I'm going with that) decided to show up about 30 minutes late.  Now you know, things happen.  Cars catch on fire, stray bullets hit your leg and prevent you from being on time, I get it.

What I DON'T get, is how this guy could show up late to our date and COMPLETELY act like he was on time.  No apologies.  No acknowledgement of his being late.  NOT OK.

NOT TO MENTION he gave me a side hug and didn't act happy to see me AT ALL upon our first encounter.

....Calm down Morgan, give this guy a chance....

So we walk inside.  He walked to the desk to deal with the reservations and I waited by the door.

After speaking to the desk, he comes back:

"The wait's about 45 minutes."

"...I'm sorry?  Didn't you say you made reservations?"

"No."

.......................

"Ok....well, it's Friday night and I'm fucking (I probably didn't say fucking) hungry NOW, soooo I guess let's go look for somewhere else?"

"Ok."

And he proceeds to walk 3 STEPS AHEAD OF ME THE ENTIRE WAY.

Really douchebag?!  

Really?!

It gets better.

Me:  "I'm so hungry!  I love P.F. Chang's (give this guy a chance, Morgan)."

Him:  "Oh....I'm not.  I already ate."

::RECORD SCRATCH::

I'm sorry....WHAT?!?!?!  YOU ALREADY ATE, AND WE ARE ON A DATE WHERE YOU ARE TAKING ME OUT TO DINNER???  WHAT KIND OF FUCKING MORON...

...breathe Morgan....

....breathe....

Me: "Seriously?"

Him:  "Yeah."

After I mentally put my stiletto through his face, we arrived at the restaurant.  Where BY CHANCE at a busy restaurant at a busy shopping center on a Friday night, we scored a seat by the bar.

After some chit chat and a desperation text to my girlfriend while he was in the bathroom, he finally seemed to be relaxing a little and a was little more open to conversation.

...A conversation where he tells me he never wants to get married or have kids.

WHAT.

THE.

FUCK.  

ASSHOLE.

You're gonna lead with that?!

That's funny, because I was about to tell YOU that I'm going to have sex with you never.

I'm not even going to get into the rest of the conversation because needless to say it was pointless.

OH and I forgot to mention that he was ZERO funny and clever in person.  Way to text though, buddy.

He paid for my dinner and we went back to the Yardhouse for another drink.

Why?  I don't know.  I like beer.

After he let me pay for our beers, (super lame on the first date by the way, boys), we left.

He did not offer to walk me to my car.

He did hug me.

And I did run to my car afterwards.

No sooner than I sat down I got this text:

"you looked pretty tonight."

Oh.....really?  BECAUSE THAT'S SOMETHING YOU FUCKING TELL A GIRL WHEN YOU SEE HER, DUMB ASS.

I said "thanks" and he proceeded to ask me for a second date because "he really likes me and didn't think he was himself tonight because he was super nervous."

....YeeeeeaaaaaaNOPE.

Sorry guy, but if you can't be yourself around me from day one and you're as fucking retarded as you were that night, you're not who I'm looking for.

NEXT.

Fucking Dating, RIGHT?!

I HATE DATING. 

Absolutely hate it.

In fact, here is a brief list of things I would rather be doing other than dating:

•  Eating a burrito
•  Looking at a burrito
•  Feeding my cats
• Paying ridiculous amounts for gasoline
• Making my own burrito
• Drinking lots of alcohol
• Being super hung over from said alcohol
• (Yeah, I'll take a hang over over the shittiness of dating)
• Thinking about burritos.
• Cleaning the litter box
• Nothing
• EVERYTHING

Dating is awkward, uncomfortable, and from my experience thus far, TOTALLY POINTLESS.

I've been in three major relationships in my life, with minor ones sprinkled in between.  

Here's a brief rundown of the majors: 

High School:  We all had one.  The high school sweetheart.  Honestly, that's reason enough why it ended.  Though we were together on and off for a long time, we were very young.  End of story.  Let's call him "Puppy Love."

College: College boyfriend and I were together the longest of the three, but essentially this ended because he was more interested in revisiting his pothead years (of which he is still) than maintaining a relationship.  Fair enough, I mean, we were still young (he younger than I).  We'll call him "Mary Jane."  Though there were definitely other factors in our demise, there's the Cliff Notes version. 

Recent:  Recent boyfriend I have affectionately named "Narcissus."  Why?  Because he is an emotionally unavailable narcissist.  It's pretty much impossible to have a meaningful relationship with someone who is incapable of getting over the fact that there are other people in this world, so ladies, I do NOT recommend trying.

Now let's see if we can find a pattern here...

PL: 5"11". Blonde. Thin.  Drummer.

MJ: 6'2". Blonde. Thin. Guitar player.

Narcissus:  6'2". Blonde. Thin. Drummer.

If you're wondering if the connection is football players, you're right!

JK.

It appears I am attracted to musicians.  Almost exclusively.  Not on purpose, because trust me, the days of my being a band girlfriend who sells merch and swoons at her fancy boyfriend on stage are SUPER over.  At least I'M over it.  I just happen to keep falling for these damn guys.

The blonde thing I think is just a coincidence.  Or maybe it's not.  I mean I do think Eric Northman on True Blood is SUPER sexy.  I'm also basically in love with Ryan Gosling.  OK OK SO MAYBE I LIKE BLONDES SUE ME (but mostly, don't..).  

THE POINT IS

This has gotten me nowhere.  Because here I am, 27 years old, living (the dream!) alone, with 2 cats.

And why?!  I'm fairly attractive.  Super fun.  Smart.  Pretty hilarious if you ask me...so how hard can it be right?!?!?

FUCKING HARD.  Is the answer.

I am a relationship girl.  A "serial monogamist" if you will.  Always have been, probably always will be.  I thrive in relationships.  I like commitment.  I like monogamy.  Sadly, this is harder and harder to find in today's world of poorly founded relationships and meaningless sexual encounters.  And to be fair, I'm pretty shitty at picking boyfriends, apparently.

So what Morgan??? This blog is really boring.

WHERE I'M GOING WITH THIS IS, that in between the seven billion times Narcissus and I tried to work things out, I partook in internet dating.  

And then I stopped internet dating.  And have been holed up in my apartment of cats for months now.  Ok, not as much "holed up" as "drinking at bars a lot," but whatever.

In my next entry, you will read of my adventures in said internet dating.

And despite my epic failures in both dating and internet dating, I am actually considering giving it another shot.  

So, God.

If you're out there:

HOW ABOUT THROWING ME A FUCKING BONE ALREADY WITH THIS SHIT?!?!

Thanks in advance,

Morgan

Beerfest (THE SEXY SEQUEL)

Yep.

We did it again.

Beerfest.

Our story begins on a Thursday, once again.  Laurel, Scott and I flew into Denver late at night, to meet up with Susan who had already picked up Chris and Peter earlier that day.  We had one addition to the crew this year, Susan's boyfriend, Luke.

We got in pretty late on Thursday and again, went to sleep pretty soon after that.

Friday morning we awoke to Susan explaining to us that we were going to go actually SEE Colorado because she didn't want us all to think Colorado was "only strippers and booze." (GAAAY RIGHT?)

Anyway.

We headed up to....some place with rocks and scenery.

Fortunately, I was super ready for any type of hiking because we had planned on this so I brought the proper attire.

Wrong.

Nope.

We did not plan on this.

I was dressed in black from head to toe and boots with heels, per usual.

So, I just climbed that shit in heels, cause I'm fucking awesome.

(Whooooa she's so cooooool I knooow right it's crazyyy)

So we were all climbing the rocks.  Susan had my camera and right after she took the picture above she yelled, "show me your tits!"

Being the weirdo I am, I obliged....sort of.

BUT CAN WE ALL PLEASE JUST TAKE A MINUTE TO LOOK AT THAT CREEPER IN THE BACKGROUND?!?!  I mean REALLY?!  You're not even gonna TRY to be sneaky about it dude?!!

If you can blow up that picture at all, do so.  His face is pretty priceless.

Oh yeah and Chris ate shit...all...the way....into....the stream.  Head under and everything.  

And after that we headed to our first brewery of the trip, Oskar Blues.  

Let's just say it took me about 20 minutes and 1.5 beers to get to this point:

It was around this time that we decided to start a band called "Sexual Pictures," so you can probably imagine the conversations and shenanigans that stemmed from this.

  

SOOOO

Saturday finally arrived and we all headed down to the convention center.  

This year we had some friends make and bring us some even cooler pretzel necklaces:

You can't really tell, but the 4 soft pretzels in the middle actually spell out "beer."

Although we all vowed to try and take it easy this year because we knew we had plenty of time to drink beer, we were again pretty smashed by the end of hour 2 (of 4).

Oh yeah that green headband is some of the sweet swag I got.

Right around this time I thought it would be a really GREAT idea to start getting temporary tattoos from EVERY booth that offered them.

Why we didn't learn from last year?  I have no idea.  

But it was my mission to get an entire sleeve of tattoos by the end of the night.

...Aaaaand I did.

Aaaaaand had one put on my boob too cause we ran out of room. 

Which reminds me:

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Morgan from 2012:

Hey, what's up.  It's yourself from 2011.  How's it going?  Oh yeah?  Sweet. Yeah, I know, The Office was wayyyy better with Michael Scott.  

I digress:

Look.  I know you think it's a great idea to get temporary tattoos put on all over your body.  BUT IT'S NOT.  I know I know I know, but it seems so right, and you're super drunk and not thinking...

PLEASE TRUST ME.  Going to breakfast on the verge of death tomorrow with tattoos that look like shit all over your body that you cannot get off, really, really sucks.

You're welcome,

Morgan from 2011

P.S. Say hi to the cats for me 

P.P.S. Also, are we married yet?  I mean come on, what are you like, 50 now?!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Beerfest eventually ended and we were all swimming in alcohol. 

What next?

After getting kicked out of a restaurant because we were all way too belligerent and I was perverting their statues,

That's right: rickshaws to the strip club.

I'm going to fast forward this a bit, if any of you know me in real life you know I did some pretty crazy things there that night (oops) and NO I DID NOT STRIP.

Eventually, everyone left but Peter and I, once again, and we were left to fend for ourselves for the rest of the night.

After the strip club, we decided to go back to the hotel and crash.

....Until we heard the music at least.

After some brief spelunking, we sniffed out the bar that the music was coming from, and apparently proceeded to crash a wedding reception.

Oh yes.

Drunk as shit, we danced and sang on the dance floor to "Living on a Prayer" and such for quite a while.

I'm sure the bride wasn't too happy, but in all honesty I don't even remember seeing other people there, and I DEFINITELY don't remember caring.

Similar to last year, this is where I stop remembering things.

I woke up still drunk, or at least somewhere between drunk and hungover.

Apparently here is what happened at the bar:

Peter: You wanna get a drink?

Me: LET'S DO A SHOT!

Peter: Of what?

ME: I DON'T CARE!

....which apparently meant whiskey.

"You're full of shit, we did not drink whiskey last night."

"Um...yeah, we did."

And then I found this on my camera:

FUCK.

It was true.

I shot whiskey after drinking copious amounts of alcohol for the previous 8 hours.

This was the final picture taken of the trip, that pretty much says it all:

I don't know why my thumb is up, it should be down my throat trying to throw up all the alcohol my body was about to attempt to digest.

So after this, I guess we stumbled back to the hotel and fell down every few feet.

Sooo...you're probably going to have some pretty gnarly bruises, I ran you into things and fell on you pretty hard a few times," Peter said.

Don't remember.

But yes, I do have some pretty ridiculous bruises.

If any of you read my Beerfest post from last year, you know I had a few issues finding my pants to sleep in.

THAT IS THE ONE THING I DID RIGHT THIS YEAR.

Before we went out, I laid out my pajamas on my pillow so I would have NO PROBLEM finding them and getting into them.

Well, the first part of that sentence was true.

I guess I pretty much face planted into the bed.  Peter decided to help me out by CARRYING ME INTO THE BATHROOM because I couldn't walk.

He brought my pajamas.  

"Are you ok??"  he asked.

"I'M FINE!" I promised as I attempted to change.

"Ok, I'm gonna be right outside if you need me."

::::rustling noises inside the bathroom:::::::

"You sure you're ok in there??" Peter asked from the other side of the door.

"Yeah.." I said.

:::::more noises:::::::::

"Are you sure you don't need help or anything?"

"NO I'M OK!" I yelled back.

:::::silence::::::

::::::THUMP::::::

"OK THAT'S IT I'M COMING IN!" 

Peter walked in to find me laughing on the ground, shirt successfully on, not so much on the pants though.

He helped me into my pants and then put me to bed.

THANK GOD for good friends, right?

Like I said, I woke up the next morning still silly and drunk, but that eventually faded into what I have been referring to as "The Great Hangover of 2011."

We planned a later flight this year, but I was still sick until the very MINUTE we got to the airport.

2 years in a row and no one puked.  

How, you ask?  No idea.

There's always next year.

Fuck Earthquakes and Aliens, Also.

Last night there was an earthquake.

Maybe that's not clear enough.  Let me rephrase:

Last night there was an earthquake and my life pretty much flashed before my eyes because that means we're all going to die and I'm the worst cat mom ever who couldn't protect her cats.

There are a few things in this world I'm afraid of that I live in secret constant fear of:  One of them is sharks.  Another, earthquakes.  Another, aliens.  Another, a giant tidal wave like that one in 2012 cause fuck that and also that means there's probably sharks.

Living in California, an earthquake is obviously the one that I deal with the most frequently.

Those damn scientists with their "no seriously guys, 'The Big One' is coming and we're all gonna die and you'll never get married and your cats are going to die too and you're still single we just want to make sure we're super clear on that point."

I was just sleeping.  Soundly.  Peacefully.  Thinking about losing my softball game earlier that night and coping with my 24 hour long hangover, when all of a sudden I was abruptly awoken by an invisible giant demon monster with 12 heads shaking my bed.  Ok maybe there was no giant demon, but the earth was shaking so whatever.

My cats looked up at me like, "WTF?" 

And I looked hopelessly back like, "I dunno guys?"

And then once the shock wore off and I realized what was happening I was all OH MY FUCKING GOD THIS IS IT THIS IS THE BIG ONE WE'RE DEAD COME TO ME CATS AND LET'S HUG IN THIS MOMENT OF DOOM.

And then it stopped.

And that's where my story should end, but as you probably know by now that would be way too boring for me to write about.

So my phone started blowing up with text messages from all my friends who were woken up by the quake too. 

Now before I go any further, this is by far this shittiest part of living alone. 

There was just an earthquake, I was forced to once again face my mortality and potential impending doom, and now I have to TRY to go back to sleep while cuddling my cats and telling myself I'm actually going to be alive in the morning.

Moving on. 

Whilst dealing with the terror of the quake and wondering if that was simply a precursor to "The Big One" that will surely kill us all and plunge California into the depths of the ocean and off the map, I get this text from a friend:

FRIEND: "Yeah I just went on Twitter and LA Times' Twitter was like 'green light spotted hitting earth was most likely a meteor.'  So either earthquake or aliens."
ME: I'm sorry WHAT
ME: THERE'S FUCKING ALIENS

And that's really all I needed in order to send me further into my downward spiral of terror. 

I was POSITIVE that at any moment I was going to see a green light and then get anally probed by slimy aliens who wanted to eat my brains.

So I did some research and found this article from the L.A. Times that "assured" us:

"NASA officials checked to ensure that the object was not a wayward spacecraft. 'We are fairly confident,' [some guy] said, 'that it was not a spacecraft or space junk.'"

WHAT.  THE.  FUCK.

You are FAIRLY certain it's not aliens?!?!?! 

You are FAIRLY certain I'm not getting anally probed tonight and then getting my brains sucked out???

FUCK YOU AND YOUR FAIRLY CERTAIN BULLSHIT.

How about get off your ass and go track that shit down and be ABSOLUTELY certain it's not aliens?? 

How about that, asshole???

Anywayz.

I spent the next 3 hours awake in a cold sweat waiting to be raped by aliens.

They never came which is kind of annoying because they ruined my night either way so at least maybe just come in and say "hey" or something, you know?

Here's a picture of what is obviously aliens coming to eat our brains.

My New Addiction

Ok guys, Twitter is currently the outlet through which I am satisfying my comedic surges of inspiration.  So follow me on Twitter because I know I'm lagging so hard at blogging right now...

(@MorganJ7)