Who am I and where are my babies?

I have no idea how to begin. I also have no idea how to make any food product without microwave instructions, but who’s to stop me! I’ve reached that point in your life right before the quarter life crisis smacks you on your tiny little buttcheeks and you realize that the real world is just something invented so John Mayer can make fun of adults and no matter what you accomplish in life, you will rarely amount to more than a line in a history book…Or Cosmopolitan magazine. I feel like I’m aging fast and I still haven’t even decided if I want to be a Leslie Knope or a Beyonce Knowles. I also want to know if there is a greater woman alive than the two previously mentioned or if I will ever be able to write an essay without drinking something beforehand (One of the many things that college has done for me).  My college education has left me to meander through failed career possibilities.  Thank the good sweet Lord above that you can still make around $30 an hour bartending so now I can afford pay off my college loans. Is it too much to ask for a blog to gain fame so that I can get a book deal, which leads to a movie deal which is so sputteringly hilarious that a TV series is spurned out of the dusts of my imagination. And then, of course, I will jet off into the sunset with one of the Jonas Brothers or Trey Songz. I have had one to twenty-some failed relationships (the number pending on how to define a relationship these days; Is it a coffee date and a weekend full of heartfelt boning before he jets back to Germany? Or is it more along the lines of meet my parents and then we’ll sneak away to dry hump in their van?) I need to somehow get on the right track. I need some rules to get there. I need to document all the times I’ve fucked up in the past so that I can’t do it again. And you don’t do it either. And if no one learns from any of this, then we can at least laugh at poop jokes and my temporarily youthful hopes and aspirations.

I am fully convinced that I am destined to be eternally single. Since I will never have the beautiful children that I know would spawn from my loins, I henceforth renounce by maternal lectures and will instead poke fun at my trivial attempts at finding my life path. This blog is dedicated to my eggs who will never learn to read because I’ll never find their father.

On another note, I will never reveal my true identity on this blog because I can’t let my grandma know about by S-E-X life and I don’t want to be written out of the will. The only way that I will let the world know my true identity is in the rare scenario that this movie deal does materialize and I am asked to star in it.  By that point, I’ll have so much money I won’t need grandma’s! I also won’t need all of her old bridesmaids dresses. Until then, I will remain geographically, biologically and nominally anonymous. You can call me Vivian Spunk. But I am a real girl and these are my real stories. Thanks for reading, bungholes.


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