Super Epic Awesomeness

Have you ever ripped the still beating heart out of a baby seal and eaten it?

Do you have the urge to kill all of the fish in Antactrica just so you can laugh at starving baby seals?

Are you a professional baby seal clubber who injects the wounded with baby seal cancer JUST FOR FUN AND NOT EVEN AS PART OF YOUR JOB?

If you answered yes to any of theses questions, you are probably THIS MAN:

*not Alec Baldwin.

Awareness is the first step in ending the war on cuteness.

Please RT.

Dear Wil Wheaton,

We should be best friends.

We don’t know each other, but I follow you on twitter and saw you on television, so I know a bit about you. Not much, but enough to know that we would have fun times at amusement parks or my house or brunch or other places best friends go.

I knew you were best friend material when I saw you being mean to people on Big Bang Theory and Guild. It was apparent that A) you were good at making people feel bad without questioning the consequences of your meanness, a useful quality in any friendship, and B) you probably didn’t already have a best friend.

I made a list of all the things we have in common.

1. We have both been on TV. You were on several shows because you were an attractive teenage boy/ geeky man with facial hair and I was on TV because I’m smart and know trivia things.
2. You wore a kilt on a show this one time. I wore a kilt in real life this one time. You were an adult and I was five, but it totally counts.
3. You have facial hair and I have a fondness for facial hair.
4. We’re both on Twitter.
5. You have a cat. I’m okay with cats.
6. You’re famous for a role you played as a teenage boy. I’m friends with lots of teenage boys.

Please get back to me about our future best friendship as soon as possible.

Brunch is on the line.

I was in New York City on Tuesday and Wednesday.

IT WAS FUCKING AWESOME AND I LOVE EVERYTHING.

I bought some stuff and ate a some stuff and was told by a street vendor in Little Italy that I should buy some cologne for my husband.

WHICH MEANS I LOOK LIKE THE TYPE OF GIRL WHO COULD LAND A HUSBAND CONCERNED ENOUGH ABOUT HYGIENE TO APPRECIATE THE GIFT OF COLOGNE.

[cologne is spelled really weirdly. someone should look into that]

If you would like to know more about the epic epicosity I experienced in New York, check out the tweets. (haha tits)

PS: while in NYC, I saw a man walking around with a cat on his head. Whatever you are picturing in your head right now, this was better.

So last night, I had a part in a jazz ensemble for a hometown talent performance thing at the local theater. Whatever.

But before I went there, my mom took me out to eat at this Italian restaurant that was right across the street called Two - Tomato.

It was then that I became insanely obsessed with our waiter.

At first, I just twirled my hair a little and smiled a lot and said everything tasted amazing. In addition, I texted the whole time so he would know I was socially active and not someone who only ever hangs out with their mom.

Because I was with my mother, I did not, as I was tempted to do, write my name and number on the paper table cover.

I should have.

I couldn’t stop thinking about him the rest of the night. Honestly, I don’t even remember what he said his name was, or what he looked like. I only remember the feeling of suddenly falling madly in love. Almost immediately upon leaving the restaurant, I began regretting not leaving some way to get in touch with him.

So I went across the street, played some bass, went home, masturbated violently, and fell asleep.

When morning came, I searched facebook for “Waiter at Ninos Two - Tomato”, but yielded no results. So I because The Super Creep and stalked the friends of my one friend who works at Two - Tomato. Nothing.

This is the end of the story. I left out the extensive fantasy where Josh (I think he looked like a Josh. Maybe a Mark… or Matt) calls me, having found some form of identifying material somehow and, in a somewhat awkward yet undeniably adorable manner, asks me out. Then we have really awesome sex (after number of dates. More than slutty and less cold fish) and then he asks me to marry him (for some reason on New Year’s Eve?) and we live happily ever after.

So if we ever meet and you look at me in a way that could be interpreted by a deranged mind to be interested, this is probably what is going to happen unless we talk and I find out you’re a huge jerk/gay.

Now I have to go see if Two - Tomato is hiring.

Pudding.
And my face is sore.
MOAR DRUGS.

Liquidate me a concoction of ale and ginger.

I am House. Where are the drugs?

Bring me my cane. I’ll get my own drugs.

We have to see Sherlock Holmes 2. Very, very soon. Stephen Fry is naked in it.

I hate not talking, but drugs are nice in a sleep sort of way.

Thank you. You’re pretty nice for an ex-future husband snatcher.

If I were a famous doctor, you’d have given me all of the drugs already.

Stay in kicking range.

Drugs make you’re singing sound like talking.

Let’s watch all of the Muppet movies. Sounds like the greatest party ever.

(In response to “Are you high?”) Just on love. And other drugs.

Also, they love you because you smell like their moms.

Can you grab me some headphones and ice water? And I think it be drug time.

Dear Anna,
I flipped Rachel off when I woke up in honor of you.

Your life could be worse. You, at this very moment, could be making me a sandwich. The sandwich would be unsatisfactory, as everything you do is, and I would throw said sandwich in your face, yelling how incompetent you are. I would then go, leaving you feeling hopelessly depressed and craving my approval even more.

This would continue for many years, you slowly realizing how terrible I am, but unable to break it off because you need me, you need me to tell you that you are good enough. Everyday, you try to win my love, and everyday, I withhold it.

Don’t kid yourself. I never loved you. But I liked that you needed me, that you couldn’t live without me, so I kept you around. And even though I’m telling you this, telling you that you disgust me, you won’t leave. You can’t leave. Because now you need me even more, because you can’t leave now, now when you know I won’t care. You need me to care.

So you stay.

Happy Tuesday, co-dependents.

Truth is what you believe in.

Inaction is a choice.

If time is something we created, everything has already happened. So what’s the point in not enjoying yourself?

Nothing is holding you back except the belief that something is holding you back.

Fear is healthy. Cowardice is not. 

Freedom only exists when there is something opposing it.

There are no shades of gray. Gray is black we try to convince ourselves is white.

Don’t limit yourself to five senses.

You don’t deserve the best, but they don’t know that.

Accept that you will disappoint people. But never let them pity you.

No one is perfect, so anyone can be.

Everyone has a price. Know your’s.

Live life as though you’ll never see these people again.

You make decisions. You don’t have them.

If you’re braver, you don’t have to be better.

Don’t settle for making a mark on the world; write all over it.

Words are nothing until you give them meaning. Never forget it was you.

Creating is understanding. Doesn’t matter if you’re first or last; all that matters is that you got there.

Doubt is the only thing that can kill you. Hope is the only thing that will save you. Love is a funny combination of the two.

A piano cover of Animal Collective’s Bluish. For them hipsters.

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