Fuck It Friday #1

New blog series in which I drink and rant about life things! Yay!

1. Progress with gym bae (alternative title: I’m a cowardly little bitch)

So, remember ~gym bae~ from my last post? Aka, the beautiful boy at my gym who I am in love with despite never speaking to him? Well, last night at La Tasca my drunk self was THIRSTY AS HELL and I was all like ‘TOMORROW IS THE DAY I TALK TO THE LOVE OF MY LIFE, DAMN IT!!!!’ I had my move planned (“accidentally” reach for a piece of equipment at the same time he did, brush his hand, let sparks fly, say sorry and blame it on Tequila Thursday, then spark up interesting and romantic conversation). I even sent my self a series of pep talk text messages to power me through:


a) yes I was wastey-face before 8:30 PM, I had 3 glasses of sangria (1 free!) and 2 tequila shots (free!) at happy hour courtesy of our new fave bartender, Marcelo (but we call him Cello b/c we’re in the inner circle BETCH); b) yes my name in my phone is ‘Bootylicious’ because alcohol and because my Siri is an Australian man and when he calls me that I get happy

SO ANYWAY, this morning I got to the gym and he was there and so beautiful as always and I TOTALLY chickened out. I didn’t lunge at any equipment, I just kinda smiled and tried to look friendly and inviting while I lifted delts. Also I dropped into the splits 4 times but made it look natural I think. I don’t think he noticed. FUCK ME.

I’m literally pathetic, see: this conversation I had at Starbucks immediately after:

gym bae 1gym bae 2
gym bae 3

Help me, world.

2. Drake on Cake

Have y’all seen this? Please tell me y’all have seen this. THIS being a novelty instagram account by Joy The BAEker (jk just Baker but she’s amazing) that is literally just Drake. Lyrics. On. Cake. This speaks to me on an entirely new spiritual level. So, I’ve obviously participated twice:


3. I got 99 problems and they’re all in my lower back

So I fell down the stairs of the bar we were at on New Year’s Eve and kinda hurt my lower back, and then I was squatting at the gym and I REALLY hurt my lower back, and so I spent all of Wednesday at my parents’ house, sobbing about how I would never walk again. Well I can walk (and lift, thank God, how else would I see gym bae?!) but I’m a very cautious person aka terrified of literally everything. SO I scheduled an emergency appointment at the chiropractor.

I’d never been to a chiropractor before, so I didn’t know that it was fucking MAGICAL! He legit just like, touched me and made me bend and twist for approx 75 seconds then was like ‘ah yes, this was a strain caused when you hyperextended during the eccentric portion of a loaded movement like WHAT WHO ARE YOU HOW DO YOU KNOW MY INSIDES.

Then he hooked me up to this machine that felt like there were a million little angels wearing slippers made of warm sunshine tap dancing on my back. But it was really just electricity coursing through my muscles. I like the angels imagery better so go with it.

Then he gave me a massage and touched my butt a little (I liked it), cracked my back, did some other mumbo jumbo, took my $120, and sent me on my way feeling MUCH better. Can I do this every week? Will someone volunteer to sponsor me? I really just want the massage tbh. Will bake for massages. Inquire within.

4. I’m gonna be famous

I was at Mad Hatter three weeks ago, dancing away like the awkward white girl I am, when ‘Bitch Better Have My Money’ by Rihanna came on. I started to get down, and the guy next to me was like “gurl I produced this shit.” All of a sudden I was sober as hell, like “WHAT DID YOU SAY” and he was like “Yeah I’m Rihanna’s co-producer! Why? Do you sing?” I was like “YES” and he was all “gurl gimme your numba I’ll put chu up in da studio” and then I gave it to him and waited.

And waited.

And cried.

Then on Wednesday I was on a date (hay hay) and told him all about my sad story where I wasn’t famous yet. The NEXT DAY I get this (perf excuse to text my date and keep our love connection going):



Idk how to respond because he’s probably an axe murderer. I probs won’t respond. But still, I could be famous if I wanted to.




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