Wednesday, December 7, 2016

War Paint

I'd like to take some time to address an issue that is currently plaguing society and I'm not talking about vape pens. Although I was really tempted to write a blog post called "The Vape Debate" but then I realized that with vaping, like most issues, I choose to see only one side.

So I'm tackling another issue...the idea that women wear makeup to impress men.

*Pause for laughter

Guys, here are some lines that will annoy me every time:

"I like when girls don't wear makeup."
"I don't like your makeup like that."
"Guys don't notice eye liner."
"Why do girls wear so much makeup?"
"No guy likes black lipstick."
"Guys like girls with long hair."

My response to all of those would be "k."

I *clap* do *clap* not *clap* wear *clap* makeup *clap* for *clap* you. (I feel like that needs just one more *clap*.)

If you've ever seen me in the so-called real world then you know most days I don't even wear makeup for me. Let alone for some guy who has no idea what the difference between highlighting and strobing is. Even though I have never successfully pulled off either look, I speak the language. I know all the jargon just like I know that my 1.5 fluid ounces of Benefit primer costs more than all of your hair products for a year.

So I'm going to break down each of these idiotic statements one by one to explain once more why I do not care what you think of my makeup or lack thereof. You get a Y chromosome and I get to have a haughty attitude about overpriced and undersized beauty products. Deal with it dog.

"I like when girls don't wear makeup."
Trust me, no you don't. You don't like no makeup you like "the no makeup look" which actually requires a lot of makeup. Honestly, slap a set of false eyelashes on a girl who you guys think is wearing no makeup and you will find that she's gone full-Kardashian in the bat of one seriously heavy lash.

"I don't like your makeup like that."
I'm sorry? And do you think we like the soul patches or the neck beard you've been trying to grow since last No-Shave November? You don't have to like my makeup. You don't even have to look at it. Block me on snapchat. I don't care.

"Guys don't notice eye liner." 
Well duh. They also don't notice that by mid-December maybe it's time to stop wearing Nike shorts every day or that women even have eyes a lot of the time. If I spent 15 minutes in the morning to handcraft a winged liner look that is somewhat even, am I going to waste my time showing Steve from HR? No! I'm gonna show Jessica from Accounting who will actually appreciate it.

"Why do girls wear so much makeup?"
Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, underneath all this makeup, I'm ugly? I never did. And then snapchat filters came out and now I know. My skin is too uneven, my nose is too wide, my eyes are too small and I don't even have puppy dog ears. Thanks Evan Spiegel.

"No guy likes black lipstick." 
Okay. Tbh I don't even like black lipstick. It's a very labor-intensive look that ensures my night is full of mirror checks, touch-ups and avoiding food. But I wear it anyway. 'Cause I'm a rockstar.

"Guys like girls with long hair."
Guess what? Girls like girls with long hair! Do you think I want to be friends with a female who is secure enough in herself to be proud of her bone structure? No way! My friends better Rapunzel it up and hide those non-existent cheek bones or I'm out!

Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Journey to the Past

We all have a movie we're obsessed with during our formative childhood years. For my cousin Brittany it was 101 Dalmatians. She had dalmatian everything. The toys, the stuffed animals, the clothes. One Christmas we even got matching 101 Dalmatian Poo-Chis because we get matching gifts every year. Once it was purses, then it was those creepy electronic dogs that I'm sure I begged for because Brittany was my idol and if she wanted it I had to want it too. A few years ago we got matching tasers. This year, who knows? Maybe matching crossbows? (Josh, Uncle Donnie & Uncle Jeff, if you're reading...wait, that eliminates Uncle Jeff...the crossbows are a JOKE! I cannot stress enough that I DO NOT want a crossbow.)

Brittany had 101 Dalmatians but my movie was Anastasia. I had the Halloween costume, the books, the movie and a little Anastasia journal where I could store my most secret orphan/princess hopes and dreams. Of course I never actually recorded such hopes and dreams because then the journal would be full and I couldn't stare lovingly at the blank pages full of potential anymore. (I also never used stickers for the same reason...these are among the more normal things I did as a child.) The missing piece to my Romanov shrine was the toy version of the music box from the movie that played Once Upon A December.

Once I saw the commercial for this music box, all other life goals faded and owning this music box became my only interest in life. Colors seemed duller, food didn't taste as good, even my girl Amy Grant couldn't lift my spirits like she used to. Owning this music box was my destiny. Christmas was just around the corner. If I could hold out for a few weeks, the box would be mine and I would once again be a fulfilled human being.

I waited as patiently as humanly possible, being the perfect little angel that you all know and love. I knew my caring, perceptive parents would get me the music box because after watching the movie upwards of 100 times, reading me the book every night and I'm sure listening to me sing the soundtrack all over the house, they knew this was the one gift I desired more than anything else in the world. They're my parents. They pay attention to me...right? (SPOILER ALERT...WRONG! To this day my mother thinks I'm a vegetarian and my father calls me Julia more often than not. Bless their hearts.)

We head to my Granny's house for dinner Christmas Eve. I try to play it cool, playing with my cousins, making small talk, all that under the radar stuff. I'll get some cool presents here, head home, go to sleep and wake up to the Christmas of all Christmases. I feel a little bad for the other toys I'm sure to get and neglect but I didn't choose the Anastasia life, it chose me. After multiple helpings of sausage gravy, buttermilk biscuits and sausage balls (Missy still thinks I don't eat meat but a pig died just reading that sentence...PSA pigs can read) we get our presents. I open mine, say my thank yous and then something catches the very corner of my Anastasia music box, MY Anastasia music box, in the arms of none other than my cousin Sam!

All air left my tiny 5-year-old lungs, the light faded from my eyes, I might have lost consciousness for a minute, I can't be sure. I calmly walked over to Samantha and asked, through gritted baby teeth, "Who gave you that?" to which she replied the words that haunt me to this very day..."Aunt Missy."

BETRAYED! BY MY OWN MOTHER! Is this how Hamlet felt? To emancipate or not to emancipate? No longer a question because my mother just destroyed my will to live. I would be seeking legal counsel immediately after the holidays because Christmas was RUINED! RUINED!

I know what you're thinking. This isn't Sam's fault. She didn't understand the depth of my obsession. How could she? We were 5 short years into my life, she still thought I was normal. She didn't ask for the music box my mother all too happily bestowed upon her. And you're right. So was I happy for Sam, that she got such an incredible gift? No. Did I make sure that she wasn't on the receiving end of any misplaced anger? Also no.

I put on a happy face for December 25th as best I could so as not to spoil the holiday for anyone else but that year, for me, it was just another day.

Days turned into weeks and months. I watched the video less and less. I started dressing up as other characters. I stopped eating (that lasted about an hour). And eventually I stopped having my dad read me the story altogether. (I think this was mainly because my dad pronounced it Rah-spuh-tin not Ra-spew-tin and even at 5, that marred it for me.)

That music box stayed in my Granny's house for years, taunting me. Reminding me of the happy childhood I could have had with it by my side. As the years passed my mother went on to give away my Easy Bake Oven, donate my favorite shoes and she repeatedly denied my reasonable requests for an eyebrow piercing at age 11, while I never loved again. (To be fair, I did grow out of the shoes.)

Finally, this Thanksgiving, a little light broke through the barriers of broken dreams and heartbreak I had been putting up since Christmas of 1998. Back at Granny's that old music box was sitting on the dresser, collecting dust in the same spot for nearly a decade. The story of that music box got brought up (by me, 'cause I'm petty) and Sam told me I could have it, not believing any self-respecting 23-year-old would need a sphere of plastic to complete them. Well guess what Sam, I have no self-respect but I finally have my music box.

Wednesday, November 23, 2016


If you thought this post was about Kelly Clarkson's debut album, I completely understand and offer my sincere apologies. This Thanksgiving Eve, I am thankful for all of my readers, especially the handful of you who aren't directly related to me. Here is a list of some other things I am thankful for. I challenge you all to make your own lists and help your mothers cook and clean tomorrow. Or maybe read her this blog while she cooks, that would be a help.
  • I am thankful for my new Roku that has finally given me a way to watch every episode of the Little Women collection.
  • I am thankful for that one Snapchat filter that makes me feel pretty even when I know I look like Shrek.
  • I am thankful for my parents' DVR and that I have full visitation rights.
  • I am thankful for the podcast My Favorite Murder because it makes my hour-long commute enjoyable and it makes me a more cautious woman (I stay out of the woods and call my dad frequently).
  • I am thankful for Arby's coupons that make their upscale menu affordable to a lowly peasant such as myself.
  • I am thankful that you can no longer see who your crush's best friend is on Snapchat. That ruined more relationships than celebrity nannies.
  • I am thankful for the $12 leggings I'm wearing right now because they feel LIKE BUTTAH.
  • I am thankful for blue lipstick because the right shade can look good on anyone. Well, maybe not Smurfs.
  • I am thankful for the North Carolina weather that will be back in the 60s soon because I'm dreaming of a green Christmas.
  • I am thankful for drive-throughs because human interaction is overrated.
  • I am thankful for The Hamilton Mixtape because I think we all know I needed more fuel for my obsession with Lin-Manuel Miranda.
  • I am thankful for the feet heater in my car that allows me to wear open-toed shoes until the middle of December.
  • I am thankful for Buzzfeed quizzes because without them I might have to traverse this world NOT knowing which one of Taylor Swift cats I am. (Meredith, btw)
  • I am thankful for winter coming and killing all of the sadistic bugs that have been having a field day with me since mid-March.
Finally, I want to provide some alternatives to Black Friday shopping. Hopefully y'all will enjoy these Thursday night/Friday morning activities and do them instead of shopping so I will have a few less people to compete with while I'm scouring DVD racks. (If anybody sees Zootopia or Rosemary's Baby, holla at ya girl, I have a diverse film palate.)
  • Crafting! Repurpose those empty paper towel rolls from your cousin's sparkling juice spill and make some snowflake ornaments!
  • Sleeping! Thanksgiving is a long day, you deserve a break. Go to bed early and don't wake up until doorbusters are over.
  • Decorating! Get a head start on Christmas season from the comfort of your own home nowhere near a major shopping center that I might be visiting.
  • Cleaning! No time like the present to clean all of the giblets and gizzards. If you play your cards right, wrap up your leftovers and ignore expiration dates, you can probably coast till Christmas.
  • Social media stalking! Who had THE BEST Thanksgiving? There's only one way to find out and it's right at your thumbtips.

Wednesday, November 16, 2016

Bat Crap Crazy

After months of recovery, I feel it is finally time to share the legend of Gustavo with the world, or at least the parts of the world that have access to the internet and nothing better to read on a Wednesday night. Read on if you dare.

Our story begins in a small community tucked away in the mountains of western North Carolina. None of the key players in this story actually know the name of this town and believe me, that will come back to bite us (and potentially suck our blood) later.

I'll admit it...I hate the mountains. It's February and the trees are bare. The winding roads and chilly air combined with no internet connection are making me want to vomit. I was lured up here with promises of luxury chocolate factories and the duties of a lifelong friendship (turns out I would GLADLY do anything for Alexandra, even brave the mountains).

Our group includes about a dozen twenty somethings, but only two real adults. After hours of pizza, brownies, gossip and games we each claimed a bed and passed out. Some upstairs in rooms, some on couches and no one on the floor for the first time since elementary school when our moms made sure everyone had a suitable mattress separating them from the hardwood floors.

After a few hours of sleep and what I can only assume were dreams of the Spanish Inquisition based on the book I was reading at the time, I am awakened by a friend tapping me on the head with increasing urgency, whisper-shouting "RACHEL".

It took me a minute to adjust to the darkness and realize I was no longer on the Iberian Peninsula during the 15th century. My friend is still whisper-shouting that there is something in the room with us, she can hear it scratching and running around on the coffee table. I assume it's a mouse and trapped on said coffee table, not able to get to us because everyone knows mice are incapable of jumping (it was like 3:00 AM, not my best thinking).

Apparently this little critter has been scurrying around for awhile, enjoying our snacks, peeking into the gifts, smelling our belongings, judging our split ends. I hear the scratching too and I start to picture the little mouse paws, rifling through my book and taking selfies on my phone that's charging in the corner. Speaking of my phone, I need the flashlight but in order to get my phone, I would have to set foot on the floor that had previously been traversed by a rodent and that ain't happening.

So I wake up another friend and tell her to give me her phone, no longer whisper-shouting because what's the point, we're all about to be murdered by a mouse on a mission. Once we have the phone flashlight on, I point it over to the coffee table but find nothing out of the ordinary other than the fact that we left some brownies uneaten...that is definitely out of character. I swivel the phone, shining the light around the room and looking for the mousetrocity. The scratching continues, it sounds like something trying to claw its way out. I resign to death.

Then, somehow, compelled by a level of understanding I wasn't fully cognizant of at the time, I shift the light upwards, to the ceiling. We finally see it. On the wall. Clinging to the hinge of the French doors that open to the unfathomable mountainside.

A bat.

We of course ran into the nearest room and locked the door behind us. Still we couldn't be sure of our safety because those bats are very dexterous and you never know. Can't be too safe when rabies takes wing.

Once I was no longer in immediate danger, I decided the issue could wait till morning. So I took the pillow and blanket I so savvily grabbed in the previous panic and plopped down on the floor. Everyone else in the room was discussing what to do about the situation and noted that there was actually bat feces littering the floor. And I'm up!

Asking ourselves "what would our parents do?" we use what little cell reception we can scrape up to call animal control. Animal control needed an address. Guess who had no idea what the address was? That's right! This was shaping up to be quite the weekend.

Animal control basically left us there to die since our only stab at an address was "Ummm...we're in the mountains?" so we all went upstairs. At this point, we just gave up. We let the bat, who I aptly named Gustavo, have the entire ground floor, giving up some 1300 square feet. We would have all made terrible Revolutionary War generals. Had I been in charge of the troops, you would be reading this post...well in English but in weird English and it would be your favourite blog to read at tea time.

In the morning, when we were all operating marginally better, Lupay took one for the team. While the actual adults opened the window, Lupay swiftly scooped Gustavo into a towel...and threw the whole thing out the window so he could be free to chill with vampires and follow Rasputin around and whatever else it is bats do.

Gustavo, if you're reading did you learn to read?

Wednesday, November 9, 2016

Words With Friends*

First I want to say THANK YOU for helping me reach 30,000 page views! If this were The Oprah Winfrey Show, I would send each of you a car but here at White Girl Wednesday I get one cent per ad click so if you want cool prizes like (toy) cars you better get to clickin. 

Today's post is about my Words With Friends struggles. You're going to see a lot of combinations of letters. All of which I think are words, or at least should be words. If you agree, comment! If you disagree, keep it to yourself!

 An ethnic group. Totally counts.
I almost got 21 points for that y'all. 
(I bet y'all isn't a word either.)

 You know, as in "I haven't heard back from him since I sent twelve heys in a row".
We've all been there.

If there's one thing I learned from the Mates, Dates series it's British slang. 
And dosh means money, love.

Umm.....tell ADA Casey Novak that. I object!

 Everyone knows that alms are money, food or items donated to charity.
What if you can only donate one of those things? Like one grape.
That would be an alm. Duh.

 Qie I get, not upset about that one. But Rae is my name.
And it's become an adjective in my friend group.
"That's so Rae" means that something is really, really cool.
Unless one of my friends says it, then it means something is too loud.

 Everyone who went to UNC knows that RU is most definitely a word.

 Um...geography anyone?
The Azores are an archipelago, which every 4th grader knows is an island chain.
So just one of those islands...what would you call that?

 Can you pass me my Rubik's cube? Okie doke!

 GIF is most definitely a word.
Maybe it started as an acronym but it's a word now.
Accept it old people.

 URLs. You know, that long series of letters and punctuation that your dad types into the address bar because he doesn't understand how links work and he doesn't trust Google.

 Uni is what British people call college.
I think it's stupid too but we can't openly discriminate, they're still people.

An RA is a resident advisor.
They're who you call when you inevitably lock yourself out of your dorm freshmen year or if you're contemplating killing your roommate because they borrowed your jacket without asking again and spilled Diet Coke all over it.
And ew is obviously a word. If you knew my RA freshmen year you would understand why these words go together.

*People Who Became My Mortal Enemies Because I'm Competitive & Petty

Wednesday, November 2, 2016


Well friends, the roller coaster that is Election 2016 is coming to a close. And what a ride it's been. We've laughed, we've cried, we've cried some more, and some of us have moved.

I still remember starting this journey back in the good ole days before the year 2016 was whispered in hushed tones down dark alleys. There were approximately 3,498 Republican contenders and everyone was like "Bernie who?". Now there is only 1 'uge Republican candidate and everyone is like "Gary Johnson who?".

This week, I'm going to discuss some of the questions I've had during this election because I'm sure some of you have had the very same questions. Let's all wonder (and cry) together.

  • Who does Hillary Clinton's debate lipstick? And what brand is it? I'm a fan. 
  • Where did they find undecided voters for the town hall debate? Literally who has been undecided since July? 
  • Why does Donald Trump always look like he got foundation on his lips and didn't wipe it off?
  • Why are people so upset that Donald Trump says he won't accept the results of the election? It's not like he can rush the stage, grab the microphone and claim the presidency for himself. Did anyone really expect him to go quietly?
  • Is Kid President old enough to run?
  • If not, can we make an exception?
  • Why is no one taking advantage of the advertising opportunities here? 
                            Heelys 2016. Make America skate again.
                            Betty Crocker. #ImWithHer.
                            Kraft 2016. Make America grate again.
                            Aunt Jemima. #ImWithHer.
  • If Donald Trump is elected, will Alec Baldwin become a full-time cast member of Saturday Night Live
  • How do we know who to hate when it's not election season?
  • If Hillary is elected, what will we call Bill? 
  • Why has Hillary not campaigned under a platform of President Hillary = a lot more screen time for Kate McKinnon? There's your ace in the hole.
  • How can they expect us to make an informed choice when 0 out of 3 presidential debates included Harambe questions?

Make sure to GO VOTE! Early voting in North Carolina ends on Saturday, November 5th at 1:00 PM. You can find polling places and sample ballots here.

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

Oh Brothers

I think it’s important that as you read this you know that my lips are currently bleeding because of a peel-off lip stain debacle. I noticed my lips were bleeding when my roommate, who was also trying out a new lip color, commented that hers tasted like cake. I noted that mine tasted metallic…and was dripping down my chin. While amusing, this is still not as funny as the time I ripped all the skin off my bottom lip while wrapping Christmas gifts with packing tape.
Anyways…on to the main event. I’ve mentioned my brothers a few times on this blog because interesting things rarely happen to me and some weeks they’re all I have to write about. So I wanted to introduce them more formally. If my family were a famous sitcom family (which we totally should be but we are also open to reality television) we would be the Hecks from ABC’s The Middle. I’m Sue, the girl who tries so hard but almost always fails. Patrick would be Axl, the popular slacker. And Colby would be Brick and deny it. This post is about my brothers and some of their better (family-friendly) lines. Forgive them, they’re not as funny as I am so I also had to include some zingers of my own. You’re welcome.
Colby is my angel. I remain convinced that he is my child. Or possibly my clone. Jury’s still out after some witness tampering by my mother who for some reason insists that she is Colby’s real mother contrary to what I tell him every time she’s out of earshot. My favorite thing about Colby is that we have left this kid at church multiple times and he keeps coming back. He can’t take a hint but he can take a joke and he once took $100 from my dad’s wallet to buy Silly Bandz.
Me: “Guys, imagine how different our lives would be if Lin-Manuel Miranda hadn’t picked up Ron Chernow’s biography but had instead visited!”
Colby: “That would suck. Then we wouldn’t have Hamilton.”
Touche Colby.
Colby: “Jar Jar Binks is a Sith Lord.”
(That’s the whole joke.)
Colby: “What are feminists?”
Me: “Human beings.”
Colby: “Is that it?”
Me: “They believe that men and women are equal.”
Colby: “Are you a feminist?”
Me: “No.”
Colby: “Why not?”
Me: “Because women are far superior.”
Colby is my joy but Patrick gave me a Manu Ginobili jersey for my 22ndbirthday, thus winning the title of favorite brother. Sorry Colb, I know as a 12-year-old you don’t have a ton of earning potential to lavish fancy gifts on me but you gotta step your game up. My favorite thing about Patrick is cyberbullying him. 
Me: “So I’m thinking there’s 3 possible reasons for why I’m still single. Show of hands for A. Face, B. Body or C. Personality.”
*Patrick didn’t raise his hand at all
Me: “Awww that’s so sweet, you love me!”
Patrick: “I was waiting for D. All of the above.”
English Teacher: “Can anyone name a modern work that was inspired by Shakespeare?”
Patrick: “Gnomeo & Juliet!”
I include this because it’s probably my favorite thing that anyone has ever said.
At a fair while we were waiting in line for some archery game…
Patrick: “I’ve been binge-watching Arrow so I think I can win this.”
Me: “I’ve seen every episode of Grey’s Anatomy would you let me take your appendix out?”
Patrick: “I think I know why no one wants to date you. You dress like a cast member of American Horror Story.”
Bonus Story: For Christmas my family makes a master list with everyone’s name and we all write what we want and then make copies. One year, my darling brother wrote diet pills under my name and then my family had an intervention and told me I wasn’t even THAT fat.
*Names have NOT been changed. 
Sorry not sorry boys, from the womb to the tomb.