An Electoral Note…

Because it’s my blog, and who doesn’t like stirring up a little somethin’ somethin’ on this fine Election Day Tuesday

I am thankful for my right to vote. I am thankful to be the only woman in a workplace of men. I am thankful to get respect from co-workers, my boss, and my government. I am thankful that the only person I am responsible to make sandwiches for is myself, and that I have the freedom to make my own decisions for my body. I am thankful that I live in a state that believes my friends and I are free to love and marry whomever we choose. And I am hopeful that when Americans cast their vote today, they realize the importance of all of this and that none of it can be taken for granted.

 

That’s all. Make sure all of you Americans are exercising your right to vote today!

We’re Adults. When Did that Happen?

…And just to finish the last part of that Grey’s Anatomy quote from 2005, “And how do we make it stop?” Although my feelings at the moment are less in the interest of making it stop and quite a bit more curious on just when and where it began?

Due to a slight emotional breakdown (not adulty behavior, I know) my parents recently made an impromptu trip into the city for a long weekend; bless their hearts. I called my mom on a Monday afternoon, and she and my dad were in the city early Thursday evening. The last time they visited, it was literally a nightmare. It rained the ENTIRE time they visited, I was running around midtown like a psychotic tourist fool and all they wanted to do was relax with their daughter. Needless to say, that weekend didn’t end on the best of terms, and this time around not only did I not have time to plan ANYTHING, but also they were staying IN MY LIVING ROOM. A recipe for disaster, I thought.

BUT GUESS WHAT? It was fantastic! Hands down not only the greatest weekend I could have imagined with my parents, but also one of the best weekends I’ve had in a long, long time. It was so refreshing to just mosey about the city, not have to constantly be on some rampant schedule that I’ve meticulously worked out, and just fully enjoy my parents’ company. To say I had a wonderful weekend is putting it lightly.

Even though I knew I would be seeing them in a short two months, saying goodbye was still hard. It was after that tearfest that I got to thinking, “Hmm, only a matured grown ass woman cries when leaving her parents for an undermined amount of time.” And even though that’s actually more like what babies and small children do, the point was that I actually enjoyed their visit. Hanging out with them felt exactly like hanging out with them, and not like trying to entertain them and shield them from the big-city things I wouldn’t want my care-takers to see. After dissecting the situation a bit more, I came to the realization that this is one of the first times (aside of paying bills and watching my metabolism dissolve before my eyes) I truly felt like an adult. Here are some other signs you’re growing up I’ve since come up with:

1. When politics suddenly get really exciting. True that 2012 being an election year and me being a huge SNL fan also feeds into this, but outside of exciting, you start to realize politics are also very relevant.
2. The aforementioned getting along with your parents.
3. A 401k. You have one now.
4. The endgame of any time you consume a drink does not consist of blacking out and making terrible life decisions. *It does on occasion, but just not every time.
5. Reading the newspaper everyday. And not just the horoscope section.
6. Putting money in the tip jar. I don’t know, maybe this consists of being a good human, but I’ve started to do this a lot lately and it does feel good. Plus karma and stuff.
7. Starting to seriously considering adopting a dog, because even though you will always be a cat person, your maternal instinct is kicking in and you don’t have the money for a baby.
8. Sending out more mail than you receive. (Bills, bills, bills)
9. Reading the washing instructions before you buy clothing.
10. You know how to fax shit. And you fax shit like a mofo.
11. Buying beers in bottles.
12. Voluntarily volunteering.
13. When you realize the TV shows you watch have shifted from Jersey Shore and Gossip Girl to Up All Night and Parenthood.
14. Choosing to buy tampons over candy as your drugstore purchase two weeks before your lady time because you need to get cash back and the ATM is 4 blocks farther away.

Anything I missed? When was the first time you actually felt like a grown-ass adult?

A Trashy Encounter

Something incredibly embarrassing happened to me and naturally I couldn’t wait to publicize it all over the inter webs for complete strangers to mock and ostracize. I’m hoping that this is a common thread among all comedy writers, and I just don’t have a screw loose or something. I guess regardless, taking the alarmingly mortifying events that happen to me almost daily and viewing them from an outside perspective does typically lighten my mood. In fact, I almost view my life as if I were Jess’ long-lost cousin in The New Girl. I think Liz Meriwether and I would get along really well. Okay, now I’m just getting off topic.

A little back ground info to tease you with: I got a new job–like 2 months ago–and am now working in leasing at a residential luxury building in Manhattan. Can’t give too much away but my very first lease happened to be with a particularly well-known person in the world of fashion. In this post, we’ll call them Chandler. There may or may not be a few other “note-worthy” people who live/have lived in the building too, but as Chandler is in an industry I identify with (and by that I mean I used to work discount retail, holler), well, needless to say I think he or she is pretty cool. (20 points if you read that in Vanessa Bayer’s Miley Cyrus accent!) (Seriously help me, I’m addicted to tv.)

Fast forward to this afternoon. I just finished scarfing down a cobb salad both the size and weight of my head. And I’m not exaggerating either, I even kept aside half of the chicken pieces that came in it to save for later (thrifty, right?). Even though I’ve been working at this building for almost two months, I literally have the memory (and sometimes common sense) of a piece of cheese and don’t remember how to maneuver the “backstage” building areas. For examples, I don’t know where the trash room is; I just last week I found out about another public bathroom on our community floor; I know we have two stair cases but didn’t know where they lead or how to find them; etc. So as I was unsuccessfully trying to stuff my salad container into one of the small trash cans in our communal room, I knew I had to come up with a plan B. Since I wasn’t about to begin exploring the underworld of the building with 6 minutes left on my break, I decided to do, what seemed at the time the most logical thing and take the elevator up a few floors to dispose of my messy salad remains in the floor garbage room.

Upon my arrival, I thought to myself this was the aforementioned resident Chandler’s floor, but I hadn’t run into them since he/she had moved in, and didn’t think too much of it. Immediately upon entering the trash and recycling room, I realized that instead of an actual garbage can, there was only a garbage shoot and a recycling bin (I don’t live there, I don’t spend too much time in the trash room, how was I to know?) I questioned the thought of just throwing the salad container down the trash shoot, but knew it would break open and wasn’t too sure of where it would land. Maybe other (normal?) people would have just thrown the half-closed salad down the shoot and been done with it, but I think it’s been established on here that I’m far too neurotic to execute that type of nonsensical behavior.

So there I was, alone in the trash room, a plastic water cup gripped between my teeth, foil-wrapped chicken leftovers in my armpit and staring at the falling apart salad container the size of a basketball, panicking about how to dispose of it when naturally, who comes to find me there? Not only was this the weirdest of coincidences, but as Chandler entered the trash room, the first though that immediately enters my brain is, “OHMYGAWDCHANDLERTHINKSIEATMYLUNCHINTHETRASHROOM”! Because seriously, I’m essentially the help at this building, and why else would I be lurking on residential floors with salads the size of the once-planet Pluto? I starting panicking more. “Ummm heyy HAHAHA soo I’m trying to get rid of the salad and I, like, totally don’t know what to do? Do you have a bag or something HAHAHA??” I mumble, in a sad tone that came from a place in my brain that thought it was SOCIALLY ACCEPTABLE to ask fashion royalty to DIG THROUGH THEIR TRASH for the poor, sad building staff. Fortunately this particular person is super nice and was willing to help. “Here, use this,” Chandler stated as they handed me a Coach shoe box with a thank you note inside that I couldn’t read quick enough, but I clearly know it was from some high-up fashion mogul that gifted them shoes from Paris fashion week. *le sigh*

After my salad was successfully disposed, and Chandler’s garbage was safely stowed in the trash room, we then shared an epically awkward elevator ride with minimal talking before bidding each other adieu. Overall, I don’t think I was necessarily my best self in this encounter, but I’m willing to take one for the team when at least an interesting story comes of it. And hey, next time you’re down on your luck or having a shitty day, you can think to yourself, “At least no one of societal importance thinks I eat my lunch alone in a trash room.” Right?

Fallin’ for Fall

It’s that time of the year again, folks. ‘Tis the season of pumpkin spice lattes, tights, scarves and turned on apartment heat (per New York State regulation). For all of those reasons and many more, fall is my favorite season of the year. It always seems to bring about change and a feeling of renewal at the end of a long, hot summer. Although this summer already brought about many amazing changes for me, it ended on a bittersweet note that left me geared up for new clothes, new friends and new experiences. Even though we’re only a few days in, the season has been kind to me so far.

Things I’m falling for lately:

• The cool, autumn air. Breaking out my leather jacket and skinny jeans for a weekend on the town reminds me of layering for football games, hayrides and bonfires back in high school. I may not be the bright-eyed Midwestern teenager that I once was, but the memories of homecomings and late movie nights with friends still bring a smile to my face.
• My roommate and I writing hilarious SNL sketches every time we go out together. And then forgetting them before we have time to write them down. I swear, Lorne Michaels if you’re reading this (and why wouldn’t you be), you should lock Allison and I in a room with a few bottles of wine and see what we can come up with. If it’s anything short of comedic gold, you don’t even have to pay us. But seriously, Lorne, have your people call my people.
• The freaking Fall TV Line-up! The Mindy Project, Saturday Night Live, How I Met Your Mother, New Girl, Parks and Recreation, Up All Night, Glee, Modern Family, Don’t Trust the B– in Apartment 23… oh I only watch comedies? You noticed that too? Weird.
• The Killers new album ‘Battle Born’. I’m not a huge music person [Read: I listen almost exclusively to '80s soft rock and am basically an embarrassment to "music people" everywhere]. But alas, I do enjoy some 2000-era rock bands–namely The Killers. I bought this album the day it came out, and haven’t stopped listening to “Runaways,” “The Way it Was,” or “Miss Atomic Bomb” ever since. It didn’t get the best reviews, but I think it deserves a fair chance if you’re into the rock thing.
• Pumpkin everything. I know haters gon’ be haters, but I am human and have a soul, thus cute kittens and pumpkins are my weaknesses. Sorryboutcha
• Downtown, specifically the LES/East Village. I’m falling dangerously, dangerously fast for that area of town. A new move is on the horizon and working and socializing there everyday is putting ideas into my head…

Anyways, sorry this is a random “this is what I’m thinking about at the moment” non-witty-nor-funny type of post, but I just love this season and am happy with where things are falling lately. And that’s what blogs are made for anyways, right? Who else wants to join the feelings circle?!!? JUST KITTENS.

The Tyler Perry Movie Cycle

Phase one: The hangover. Obviously. You and your roommate are lounging around the apartment on some Sunday morning  late afternoon after a wild night on the town. You are having a great time ordering delivery from Seamless, deleting text messages from the night before and alternating turns running to the bathroom when you grab the remote. You hit the power button and as the picture comes into focus it hits you like a freight train.

Phase two: The hook: The prostitute taking night classes at Harvard, the two six-year-old children being charged for breaking and entering, the night club singer whose sugar daddy pays all of her bills (??). That sh*t that brings you in. Each implausible storyline is ridiculous, melodramatic and with juuust the smallest possible hint of realism that stops you from changing the channel. Well, that too but mostly because YOUR. BODY. HURTS. and you accidentally kicked the remote off the couch.

Phase three: The bad acting. But I mean, really? What would you expect? Not that I could do any better… but watching girls obviously too pretty to be junkies belt their face off while going through withdrawal–it doesn’t really get any better.

Phase four: Madea. She’s always there in every movie–interacting with the main characters enough to warrant her existence, but never really serving any purpose. I suppose she’s ultimately there to serve as a sort of comic relief to the surprisingly jarring “hard knock life” themes that these “comedic movies” seem to center around.

Phase five: Jesus. The good Lord, Jesus Christ and the church have no doubt been introduced into the main characters’ lives around the mid-point of the movie, and simultaneously into yours, as somehow, by the grace of God you are still awake, alive, and watching this Tyler Perry production.

Phase six: Abrupt ending. The acting may will be dicey, the plot twists and turns will be predictable, and the short but sweet resolve will leave you wanting more, but if you aren’t rooting for the coke-addicted, child-abandoning pimp in the last five minutes of the film (but not a minute before), you have no heart.

Phase seven: The realization of the larger picture. “Holy balls, THIS IS A MARATHON” you shout. The whole length of the film you were hoping the end of this horribly written roller-coaster ride of emotions would await you with something a little less light-hearted: perhaps a chick flick from the early 2000′s or the news. But now you know. The Tyler Perry movie cycle is truly the gift that keeps on giving.

Phase eight: Repeat phases one through seven until the cycle is completely exhausted (Read: this only happens when you have fallen asleep, the 4am infomercials begin, or death–whichever comes first).

Upon waking up the next morning, you will most likely realize the previous day was one of the biggest wasted mass of hours in your life’s entirety, but also maybe one of the greatest. Phase nine includes writing an angsty blog post with Tyler Perry as your subject and phase ten entails flipping on the TV when you’ve finished writing and secretly hoping another Tyler Perry Studios marathon awaits you.

August/All I Want for My Birthday is Laser Armpit Hair Removal

Welcome, August. The eighth month of the year houses many celebrations: National Back-to-School month for the US, Black Business Month, World Breastfeeding Week, and most importantly my birthday! On a more serious note than I usually like to get on here, August typically brings about many endings (to summer, tan lines, days at the pool) as well as what accompanies them, beginnings (homework, boots and fall weather). Last year, August was probably the most important month of my year: I officially turned down a job in Los Angeles, lost my brother, said goodbye to my life in Ohio and bought a one-way plane ticket to New York with no clue what was going to come of it. This August, I will be celebrating my one year anniversary with NYC by beginning a new job, living in my second apartment in the city and holding a new appreciation for life and the many lessons I’ve learned through truly living on my own. Even though I’m no longer in school, the end of summer/beginning of fall is a bittersweet time (especially as a fairly recent graduate), and it feels refreshing and exciting to be starting new things with the change of the season.

Less seriously (but still very serious!), I’ve recently received some inquires as to what a city-dwelling young professional might be interested in receiving for her rapidly approaching birthday. I usually just politely tell my fans family, “Ohhh, I don’t need anything– just your kind thoughts on my special day are enough to get me through the year!” Well, not this time. I’ve been surviving on a retail budget, have student loan payments out the butthole and need I remind you I live in the most expensive city in the country? I have a list. And it’s a damn good one at that. Get excited.

Things that I Wouldn’t Return if/when Opened on my Birthday:

• Laser armpit hair removal
• Wine of the month club
• Beer of the month club
• Whiskey of the month club
• Wine
• Beer
• Whiskey
• Brita water filters
• Tickets to the closing ceremony of the Olympics
• For someone to get the Spice Girls to go on tour again
• Tickets to ^that^
• Fruit of the Loom white v-neck t-shirts, size small
• Cockroach poison, non-flammable
• One of those blow up couches from the ’90s, lime green
• Peter Cetera’s Greatest Hits vinyl
• “If I Did It” by OJ Simpson
• Lucky Charms
• A lion
• A really nice knife set
• Seth Meyers
• AA Batteries

I’ll frequently check my Target registry, so when you guys get all of this stuff covered, I can add more as needed. But really though, I’m pretty excited to never have to shave my pits EVER AGAIN! Yay, birthday month! Anything else you guys think would be a good addition to my birthday wish list?

The Olympics and Why I Don’t Care

Call me un-American. Call me a critic of World Peace. Or most accurately yet, just call me an apathetic follower of competitive sports. Any way you put it, I do not fancy watching the Olympics.

I know it’s a concept foreign to basically all humankind, but the idea of staring at the TV and watching hours of something that doesn’t make me laugh is borderline cruel and unusual punishment. I’m all for watching the Opening Ceremonies, mainly because it’s an excuse to party socialize with others, but also because of the musical entertainment, stunning visual aesthetics, and the small chance that fiery flames could envelop everyone there due to the smallest of technical glitches. [Editor's note: That was referring to the copious amount of fireworks, not foreshadowing a terrorist attack! Ahem, sorry for that confusion, government employed blog fans!] Furthermore, I am a supporter of chanting “USA” repeatedly–mostly because I think I should be, and also because, why not? I realize neither of those reasons are compelling enough to win a court hearing, but I am not a lawyer.

Truth be told, I actually went to the Olympics’ website to look up some cool facts in efforts to get me to care more, but I got bored after 5 minutes and ended up on Perez Hilton. I have, however decided that whole torch tradition is pretty dope. Additionally, if I had to partake in a summer Olympic sport it would be boxing. Because one time in 2006 I watched the movie Cinderella Man and it made me cry. And now I’m IMDBing Cinderella Man–blog post FAIL.

It is safe to say that from this post you could derive one of  three things about me:

1. I would never win a beauty pageant (solely because of my views on world peace).
2. I have had a long day and am distracted easil–WHY KSTEW, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHY!?
3. Russell. Crow. So. Good.

I’m okay with whatever, I just really f*cking hate the Olympics.

The F*cket List

I’ve been avoiding this “Oh hey, I’m back from that weirdly long vacation I never told any of you I was taking from the blog” post for quite some time–a month and 21 days to be precise. I knew it had to be an epic return, so it took me a hot second to find something inspiring enough to blog about. A few days ago my good friend BreexyK this random person whose blog I happen to follow wrote about her “F*cket List.” Which as she so beautifully explains:

Instead of stressing out and feeling bad about ourselves, why not just make a list of  all the things that society tries to force upon us that piss us off, and vow to simply not give a f*ck about them?

If I lived in Canada, I SWEAR I would “accidentally” bump into her at so many places we would be besties. Anyways, onto my very own the F*cket List!

These are the f*cks I no longer vow to give:

• That red meat is bad for you. WHATEVER I hardly eat meat as it is. When I indulge, I go by the “go big or go home” philosophy. Do you really think a cutlet of grilled chicken satisfies ANYONE’S meat cravings EVER? C’mon–fork over the filet/ribs/cheeseburger.
• How big your GD uterus looks at 4, 5, 6 (…etc.) months pregnant. I mean, seriously. SERIOUSLY. Stop with the Facebook pictures. Why does anyone care how fat pregnant you are? It is gross, no one cares but you, and whatever happened to PRIVACY?! 95% of people I am “friends” with on Facebook I haven’t talked to in over a year–so why would they care about how many centimeters I’m dilated? AND WHY WOULD I WANT THEM TO KNOW? Consider yourself “defriended” if any more of that ish happens on my newsfeed.
• Saving money. Stupid. Just like sleep, I’ll open that Roth IRA when I’m dead, thanks.
• Your Instagram username. I like Instagraming photos of myself duck-facing in the mirror and my steak caesar salad I ate for lunch as much as the next guy, but unlike most, I know that no one else needs/cares/wants to see it. Privacy settings exist for a reason, “friends.”
• Taking vitamins. Meh.
• Light beer. Because I am no longer a college student. And I mean, it tastes like piss, no?
• Reading “50 Shades of Grey.” Sorry, but I can’t get onboard with reading a phenomenon that was started by a Twilight fanfic. I’d rather spend the money on handcuffs and stilettos. Like, #amIright?
• Running a marathon before you die. A) I f*cking hate running with a malicious passion. B) Running a marathon is actually HORRIBLE for your joints (and I am an old wench battered-ex dancer at heart), and C) That does just not sound like fun in any degree for someone who does not regularly enjoy running. More power to you, if you think so (some of the bloggers I religiously follow have run multiple marathons–but it’s just something I don’t think the light-hearted not-exercise-obsessed would want to do).

But really, who is with me? What is on your “F*cket List”??

“Laffy Taffy” Lyrics & the Other Things You Love to Hate

I remember the first time I watched the movie Elf: I was at my friend Laura’s house and complained throughout the entire length of the movie about how stupid it was and how much I hated my friend for making me watch it (she made me do a lot of things, actually–we no longer speak). Later that night, immediately upon arriving home I logged onto my MySpace account and sneakily added the word “Elf” into the middle of my “Favorite Movies” section. I didn’t do it to be a sly little brat (I was and am a sly little brat, though), but it was one of those things in life that I just hated to admit that I loved. This day and age, I proudly flaunt Elf as one of my favorite movies, but there are plenty of other things I am still quite embarrassed about liking.

I hate myself for loving you, …

Glee. Raised as a daughter of the community theatre, I know bad acting. When I watch Glee and think that I could do a better job convincing an audience how deeply distressed I am that my baby daddy just left me for our high school teacher/the adopted mother of our child, we have a serious problem. Some of the dialogue is witty, but the show’s story lines are confusing, incomplete and usually just end up being tossed aside. But every time that damn “Loser like Me” song comes on at work, I can’t help but sing along. Damn you, Ryan Murphy.

Believable? You tell me.

Will Ferrell’s comedy. His dead-on,  admittedly-hilarious impersonations aside, Will has made a name for himself in recent years by doing stupid comedy (Think: Austin Powers, Talladega Nights, Bewitched). I missed the part where running around acting like a jackass constitutes as comedy, or even acting, but Will has made a lot of money doing it. However, when I watch him in these shenanigans, I can’t not be entertained. Hearing that they are creating a sequel to Anchorman has probably been the highlight of my year so far. Embarrassed that I enjoy Will, maybe. But ashamed to say the I love Anchorman as much as the next guy, never.

If you ain’t first, you’re last.

The fact that I know every word to D4L’s song “Laffy Taffy.” Everyone has that one completely random and nonsensical rap song that they know each and every word to for no apparent reason, right? For many people, it’s The Prince of Bel-Air theme song. To other’s it’s a 1990′s classic such as “U Can’t Touch This” or “Ice Ice Baby.” For me, it just so happens to that chart-topping D4L’ song from early 2006? Whatshappeninwhatsupwhatsupletsgoletsgoletsgoletsgooo

The lesser embarrassing Laffy Taffy.

Watching people eat. This is a weird one, I know, but for some reason I get uneasy if I’m eating with someone and there is something obstructing my view of their food. Be it a drink special menu, a large bag, an animal–I just like having a clear view of what my friends and family are eating! Is that really so strange?! (It is, I know. I’m sorry.)

I googled “watching people eat” and this is what came up.

The smell of Axe body spray. I could easily be one of those girls in the commercials. I’m well aware that normal humans smell the familiar, potent scent of Axe body spray and immediately run the other way, as Axe body-spray-wearing boys are tools who think they are too macho to invest in some real cologne and/or deodorant. But any and every time I smell that sexual, manly fragrance–I tell you it’s like a moth to a flame. A child to an ice-cream truck. A college student to a St. Patty’s day bar crawl. All I know is I soon hope to outgrow this fixation with the scent, as well as the fratty, douchelord personalities that accompany it.

If only computers were equipped with smell-o-vision :-/

I hope I’m not the only one that has these random, quirky fallacies. Anyone else care to own up to anything you hate to say you love?

Things [I Hope] All Drunk People Do

So I have this friend, Candy. She’s really awesome in most aspects of life but has some awkward social tendencies (outside of the norm drunkard behavior), so when she gets wasted, shit usually gets weird fast. The last few weekends, Candy has done some pretty radical things whilst moderately-intoxicated, which inspired me to write the list:

Seven Things I really hope All People Do When They’re Out-of-their-Minds Belligerent

1. Screaming because they want to be heard. Not because they are overcompensating for the bar noise. Not because they think they are talking at a normal volume, but aren’t. I mean screaming because they have something really fascinating and novel to say about taxidermic animals and everyone at this bar needs to LISTEN, dammit!
2. Compulsive lying for no good reason. Not like the typical, “of course I’m 21…” or “duh, I use birth control” irrelevant fibs, but more like, “Heyyyy, my name’s Lisa and I’m a 27-year-old, Orthodox Jewish pharmaceutical drug rep., what’s up!?”
3. Thinking the dude they’re hitting on needs a background check…via cell phone pics. Because, in case you’re wondering, showing your wayyy-older-than-you, out-of-your league bar friend 20+ pictures of your cats IS the way into his pants. Thank you and you’re welcome.
4. Stealing. Stealing when you’re sober is unlawful, sinful and just plain wrong. Stealing when you’re wasted is funny and stealth. Whether it is someone’s coat at a club, a cab ride on the way home, or your roommate’s pesto out of the jar when you think she is sleeping, drunk stealing is funny as shit [at the time] [and also afterword] [unless you have a really moral conscience].
5. Anal beads. Wait, whaaat? Nevermind.
6. Rapping. First of all, Candy cannot only NOT sing, but refuses (no matter what level of inebriation she has reached) to participate in karaoke. But that doesn’t seem to matter when a Nicki Minaj, Beyoncé + Jay-Z or Eazy-E song comes on ’cause girlfriend knows alllll of those words and is damn proud of it!
7. Repeating random one-liners from “The O.C.” and then saying, “oh, don’t worry about it” when people don’t understand you. Because we all know the target market of the “The O.C.” was elitist intellectuals scoring 32+ on their A.C.T.’s?

Author’s note: As a pleasant reminder, I am (/Candy is) in no way encouraging any of the above-noted behavior! Candy happily endorses responsible drinking to of-age adults and definitely does not condone under-age drinking, drinking while driving, or getting out of control when engaging in alcoholic activities. Candy especially warns against eating your roommate’s pesto out of the jar, because it is an embarrassing and stomach-hurting action in which your roommate will not let you live down anytime soon. When in doubt, do as Smokey the Bear would say, “Only you can prevent wildfires!”