Life Owns My Life

I spent the majority of my weekend reading, yet still managed to get drunk two nights in a row. That is how classy bitches do it. I have started this new obsession of hearing about a book and feeling the need to have it as soon as humanly possible. At this point, I could single-handedly keep afloat.  You’re welcome.
No word of a lie, I am currently reading 5 books and just ordered three more this weekend. The only thing stopping me from nominating myself for “My Strange Addiction” is the fact that I am not eating the book once I am done with it (give it time).

So my weekend started off kind of shitty. One of my favourite characters, on a show that no one over the age of 15 should probably watch, was killed off and it sent me into a hate rage of Britney-shaves-her-head Spears proportions. Where else am I going to get my 22 year old eye candy fix from? I can’t actually date a 22 year old because I am still pretending to have standards. So, like, fuck you CW. I blame you for the alcohol consumption and Amazon purchasing binge that ensued afterwards.

Last night I traveled to Guelph (I’m sorry, but why do people live there? Unless you are in the market to hit up a Chucky Cheese and Dollar Store simultaneously or getting some type of post-secondary education…I just….I can’t…ugh). Anyways, one of my best friends and her boyfriend bought a house out there and they had a nice little housewarming party. The majority of the people there were people she used to work with, which meant that I was essentially at a Peterborough house party. I hitched a ride with my friend Kelly, her b/f and another friend since we all live in Toronto and thought that was a smart idea. This way we could also roll into the party and be like “Bitches! Toronto is in the house. The real party starts right now”. Realistically, we got there a little before 10:00pm, completely sober and half asleep. Kelly didn’t drink. her b/f Alex and I decided that the best thing ever was my revelation that we could get more meatballs if we put not one, but two, on a toothpick (hold your applause). We were acting as if the meatballs were a hot commodity that needed to be devoured asap, when in reality, they had been sitting there for a probably unsafe amount of time and were completely cold. That is the kind of drunk I was – hungry drunk. Nicole has two stages of drunk (when it’s nearing the end of a night). I either turn into a 500 hundred pound woman who will literally do anything in her power to find and consume food or it’s “I am tired and going to sleep….right now. Without warning”. I was actually both of those Nicole’s last night. After I binged on sketchy meatballs and mozza sticks, I headed to the bathroom for my 20th pee of the night and decided that it was time for bed. I did not tell anyone or say good night. I just simply poured myself into what can only be described as a couch for midgets (sorry, vertically challenged individuals) and drifted off to the subtle hum of voices downstairs saying “What happened to Nicole”. Nicole got a spot to sleep, suckers.

Other observations from this weekend include:

Realizing that I have been ordering food from a certain restaurant far too much lately. When I open my door and the kind Asian delivery man says “Hello Nicole, my friend” you need to reevaluate your life in a big way. Like, is this guy really my friend? Should I invite him in for a drink? I should definitely add him to Facebook, right?

I discovered the group Passion Pit. Am I a hipster now? Am I finding them too late? Am I allowed to like them? Regardless, their song “Carried Away” is catchy as shit and has been on repeat for like 30 mins now.

“Listen, I don’t really know you
And I don’t think I want to
But I think I can fake it if you can
Let’s agree there’s no need, no more talk of money
Let’s just keep pretending to be friends”

My life in a Passion Pit song (wait, does that make me a hipster?).

Lastly, I need to note that “I am sorry” is the most commonly over-used phrase in the English language. I wish it didn’t exist. I wish people had no words to describe feeling bad about fucking up and had to physically show that emotion instead. Actions require more commitment. You actually have to be sorry in order to put the effort into an action. Right there, you weed out the people who feel shitty over screwing up because they have been forced to feel like a not so great human being for a couple hours versus the people who feel shitty because the thought of upsetting someone else coincides with not feeling like the greatest individual. Seriously people, I am on to something here. The next time someone says that they are sorry, kindly tell them that you have wiped that word clean from acceptable phrases that you will allow your ears to hear and encourage them to prove it to you instead. I am sure that some people will think you are psycho, but I rather be a psycho than a sucker.

This has been Life Lessons 101 with Nicole Rashotte.


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