The Perils of the Perpetually Pasty

As another summer weekend is quickly approaching full of bikini’s, shorts, and summer dresses, I sink into my usual depression. My iridescent, glow in the dark, you-can-see-my-pores-they’re-so-white, legs come to mind and how I can mask their blinding aura.

I feel like this all comes from 14 years of playing soccer and wearing shin guards and socks up to my knees and all skin cells capable of receiving a tan were killed along with my dreams of Olympic greatness…

I’ve tried tanning beds which give me a nice bronzen glow from the mid-thigh up.

Hungry Tanning Bed

Maybe I need to make more sacrifices to this guy

I’ve tried spray tans and gel tans and cream tans and use-them-over-time-and-eventually-you’ll-get-tan lotion tans and I get streaks, orange, or continued pastiness.

The only thing that has ever seemed to work was a bottle of Sally Hansen “Airbrush Legs, Leg Makeup” that a friend of mine had bought to give her the fake, dramatic look for a Jersey Shore party. It took putting on makeup for legs to finally achieve any sense of tan on my lower extremities. But of course, after a drunken night in a sweaty club and an impromptu trip down to the beach in San Diego, the tan washed away like the lingering respect Italians have for Americans will after the Jersey Shore films their newest season there.

Look at that natural glow I've got going on!

I know I shouldn’t care. I know that there is a certain level of elegance in rocking the fair complexion, Snow White thing, but I do that September-May. Why can’t I have a kick ass head to toe tan just for a few months. I don’t even want to look ethnic, I just don’t want to look sick. Is that too much to ask?!?! Apparently, because come 5:00, I’m stripping off these jeans and throwing on a miniskirt, so you better be clad with dark sunglasses, in case my blinding legs come your way.

Dear World….

Dear World,

I don’t want to sound like a slut, but feel free to use me whenever you want.

Hugs and kisses,

Grammar

Sexy Grammar

What a saucy mynx

The Time I Got Unintentionally Outfunnied.

You all know how hilarious I am. Especially when I share my really funny jokes with y’all.

There was this one time though, that I was trying to tell a joke to a friend via text and I wasn’t the funnier one in the conversation. Now, this is one special friend, let’s call him “J.” And with his specialness he managed to unintentionally outfunny me.

Here’s how the conversation went:

Gracie- “How many kids with ADD does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”

J- “?”

J- “I love you”

Gracie- “Let’s go ride bikes!”

J- “Where to..?”

Gracie- “That’s the joke! And I love you too!”

J- “I will literally ride bikes right now.”

Gracie- “No. That’s the punchline of the joke dummy.”

J- “That does not matter. Let’s get on some wheels.”

I couldn’t decide if he was brilliant or just ADD himself…

ADD Bikes

Funny AND artistic? How do you mere mortals stand to live among me?

Brother for sale, only 50 cents

I love my brother I do. But sometimes I wish other people didn’t like him so much. He might as well be the town hero and it certainly seems like he’s the best friend to everyone. And not only do people like him, they respect him.  With that respect comes a little bit of fear I think. He’s just that cool. Girls want to date him, boys want to be him. By golly he’s the greatest thing since Zach Morris.

Therefore, being his sister and younger one at that, I’ve never had a bigger cockblock in my entire life. So I’m selling him. Only 50 cents. Anyone interested?

I understand times are tough in this economy, therefore I'll entertain all reasonable offers.

Sure, I have had girlfriends straight up tell guys to get lost, complain about wanting to go home, swoop and steal, etcetera etcetera. Those are things I can deal with on occasion, often times even pawn ’em off and keep the attention of the hunky (ok, let’s be real… more like overly skinny) guy I’m talking to.

But as soon as I start talking to a guy that has even heard of my well-rounded and admired brother, it’s over.

The most common one I get is, “look, you’re really hot, I like you. But I couldn’t do that to your brother.” Excuse me, do what exactly to my brother? You weren’t planning on taking me out to dinner then killing me were you? Converting me to a Boston sports fan? Filling my brain full of extreme left wing propaganda? All of which would likely anger and offend my brother. No? Then I’m not catching your drift here buddy boy…

Freshman year of high school, I came into the big bad school naive, boy crazy, 5’9, huge tatas, and weighed all of about a buck-10 and couldn’t understand why NONE of the cute older boys would talk to me. Until a few months in I realized that my nickname was “The Untouchable.” Great. Thanks bro.

Oh and in a freshman year of college story, I had started talking to one of his friends on the football team, who ended up coming over to hang out at my dorm. We didn’t hook up, we didn’t date, nothing. But the kid pretty much made me swear on my future devil kitteh’s soul that I wouldn’t tell anybody that we mutually knew that we hung out for fear of it getting back to the brother.

For the few that crossed the line, I’m guessing they regret it. And they basically all suck up to King Brother in order to remain in good graces and not lose their head. And/or see how long it can remain a secret. HA! I tell him everything, suckers!

Funny thing about my brother though and why I forgive him for being so well liked, he loves me no matter what, doesn’t judge me for my decisions. It’s a pretty rad deal.

Soooo, this is kind of awkward. But he’s not really for sale. I should probably go delete my craigslist ad now.

Aaaand he was a professional model when he was 6. I'll clearly always be the dark horse of the family...

Gracie’s Guide to Being Single: How to be NOT single

I know, this is the post that you all have been waiting for. Biting your nails in anticipation. Losing sleep at night, just praying that tomorrow, TOMORROW will finally be the day that I post the secret. THE secret to companionship, built in plans for Sunday evenings, and a lifetime of we-dom, “Oh yes, WE just love Glee.” and “Oh sorry, WE are busy on Saturday night.”

Devil Kitteh is dying with anticipation....

Well folks, here it is:

Learn to shut your mouth and exponentially lower your standards and expectations.

Yep, it’s as simple as that. You’re welcome.

I heard Leroy is single

A Couple of Jokes

I feel funny today.

-Knock Knock.
-Who’s there?
-To.
-To who?
-To whom.

-How do you kill a blonde?
-Well, there are many ways. But all of which are illegal. Murder is a serious crime.

-Yo mama is so fat! SO fat that she should probably be concerned about the consequences of an unhealthy lifestyle, like diabetes and heart disease.

Hipster Kitty

I did, it's true.

Gracie’s Guide to Being Single: Picking a Wingman

wingman  (ˈwɪŋmæn)

I have played the part of The Wingman many, many a times. Most often for my guy friends. It usually goes something like this:

I approach a lady that my friend dictates he finds attractive….

Me: “Oh em gee! That is such a cute top/purse/headband/necklace/etc. Where did you get it?”

Girl 1: “I know, right?! It’s from Forever 21. Don’t you love that place?!”

Girl 2: “Uh. Thanks? It’s vintage, you probably have never heard of the thrift shop.”

Girl 3: “Haaahahfdsf *hiccup* haha Thanks ssso much, you’re like SO pretttty *hiccup*”

Girl 4: “Um, yeah, it’s Chanel.”

Me Responding to Girl 1: *Unimportant girl chatter about things like bras, how much working sucks and Zac Efron.*

Me Responding to Girl 2: *Something mean about being a hipster and I probably had heard of all her favorite bands before they even had names* “so take that.”  *Walk away*

Me Responding to Girl 3: “Hey, you should meet my friend John. He’s awesome” *Walk away*

Me Responding to Girl 4: “I heard a major symptom of chlamydia is bitchiness. You might want to get tested.” *Walk away*

There are usually these four different types of girls. The normal one, the hipster, the drunk one, and the bitchy one. The hipsters and bitches aren’t worth the attention of my dude friends, so I move on from them. The drunk one doesn’t need warming up, the tequila already did that, so the introduction to the guy comes almost immediately.

She looks easy...

The normal ones are the ones who actually need to be primed a bit. We chitchat, become, “oh my god, let’s be best friends!” And bam! She trusts me. Then I introduce the dude friend. I say, “This is John, he’s one of my best friends. It’s like he’s my brother!” Bringing up the “it’s like he’s my brother” proves that a) he’s not a romantic interest and b) I trust him. After the introduction all of a sudden I have an immediate need to pee or take a shot at the bar. I keep an eye on ‘em just to make sure none of her lame friends try to cock-block but usually with the introduction like that, the stupid friends aren’t as wary. I’m telling you, it’s pure gold. I should become a professional wingman and start making some dough.

Now, as awesome as I am as a wingman, I can’t say my friends are equally as awesome. Here are signs that your friends may not be good wingpeople either:

-On a night your female friend is wingmanning for you, she decides to wear the most revealing top in her closet that makes her the mayor of Boob City.

I realize I have a nice rack, but COME ON! How am I supposed to compete with these?!?

-Your wingman says, “Ok, stay right here, I’m going to go find some guys for you.” And when you turn around you see him talking to your two openly gay friends.

-Your wingman says they don’t like your pickup lines.

-Your wingman is your brother.

-Your wingman begs you to leave the bar as soon as you start talking to a potential interest.

-Your wingman starts making fun of your sunburn.

-Your wingman swoops and dives on the person you’re speaking to when you turn around to order a new drink.

Friends, help your friends. Let’s make this world a better place with less cock-blocking, more wingmanning. HOLLA, CITY OF SQUALA!