10 Reasons You Never Considered Why Cats Are Awesome

With the looming promise of getting my very own cat (I'm waiting until I feel financially stable again. Kitty's gotta get fed, son.) I've been thinking about what attracts me to those frisky felines.

Now, as I stated here when discussing the idea of going to Greece in order to experience CATS EVERYWHERE, I'm pro-fuzzy things. I like cats AND dogs. And chimps and chipmunks. Not so much horses, because they are mildly terrifying...but that's another story for another day.

What I'm saying is, I am not trying to convince anyone that cats are BETTER than dogs. I'm just saying, y'all have to learn to appreciate.

We've all heard the they're cleaner and easier to take care of mumbo jumbo. You know that. You can see that by looking at them. But if you've never taken the time to really get to know a cat, you wouldn't see those little things. And those, my friends make all the difference.

1) Their Meows sound like questions. Questions you can answer.
"Meow?" "I don't know. What do YOU think Mel Gibson will say next?"
"Meow?" "We might. Check the refrigerator."
"Meow?" "HOW DARE YOU, SIR. You know I'm sensitive about that."

2) There is nothing funny about a person sitting in the middle of an empty room. There is EVERYTHING funny about a cat sitting in the middle of an empty room.



3) They are cuddle-factories.
I think some people are anti-cat because they've really only experienced the kind of cat that just sits in a corner and hisses. Those cats are lame. But I can tell you right now, Monica's cat, Charlie is renowned for breaking down those stereotypes. He is like Martin Luther Kitty. And when you find yourself in the middle of a snugglefest with the likes of him, you might find it a lot harder to fight against their power.



4) Pest Control.
A few years ago, Sara and I fostered two cats for a summer. We had a good amount of bugs just from living on the first floor. One day, there was a TERRIFYING spider in my bathroom. The foster cat took one look at it and *WHOMP!* One paw came down on that son of a b.

Conversely, my family's dog, Sugar, once befriended an entire army of ants.

5) You know the phrase, "You always want what you can't have"? Well, cats know it, too.
They know how to keep you wanting more by being aloof. And that's a good thing. I mean, have you ever thought that someone was really attractive and mysterious, and then when you actually talked to them, you found out that they weren't actually a cultured Italian man, but another stupid Chicagoan with a nasally accent and all that time you spend oggling him at the train station was totally wasted?

No? Just me then?

Okay well you know what I mean. Sometimes a little mystery and distance is a good thing. Sometimes your cat doesn't want to hang out with you. And you know what? Sometimes your best friend doesn't want to hang out with you, either. But at least your cat has the decency to be honest and hang out in the dining room.

6) The adorable noise they make when they drink their water.

lick lick...
lick lick lick lick....
lick lick lick lick lick lick lick.....

[Editor's note: #7 and 8 comes from Laura]
7) I will never accidentally send an email again.
As many of us know, cats enjoy computers. They especially enjoy computers/laptops when you are using them. I have come very close to sending some very weird emails to people with 900 Ws and 70 backslashes. So I started waiting to put the recipients name in until after I've typed and edited the email. I also do this at work even though I'm pretty sure my cat has never been there. Either way, I consider it a good thing. My cat was just protecting me from embarrassing myself.

8) They remind you to pick up after yourself.
I'll admit it. I don't enjoy cleaning. And I also have ADD. So often when I do clean or try to organize something I get about halfway through and then wander over to something else. Recent example: I recently realized that I'm an adult. And being an adult means you have important documents. So one afternoon I sat down to organize all those documents. When I was done, I straightened them into a nice pile, and left the pile in the middle of the living room floor because I decided that was the exact moment I needed to go take a nap. (Organizing is hard.) When I returned to the living room I was faced with the following scene. So now I know not to leave anything in the middle of the floor unless I want it messed with. She was just being helpful.




9) Being licked by their tongues is like receiving a free sand exfoliating mask.

Seriously, my arm hair has never been smoother.

10) They keep you on your toes by stalking you wherever you go.
And when you look back, they freeze as if by staying still you won't notice them. Like perhaps we have the brain and eye capacity of a Tyrannosaurus Rex. And it's never not hilarious to watch.



SECRET REASON #11! is this.


Special thanks to Laura, Adrienne, and Hannah for their contributions to the list.
Comments welcome! Any other reasons why cats shall not be overlooked?

Bally Total Fitness Can Suck My Ovaries

A) Ew.

But you know what? B) You deserve it, Bally's. You deserve that mental image. And I hope you all think of that image each and every time you hear mention of Bally Total Fitness Centers.

Here's the thing. Technically, Bally's is...FINE. They didn't murder my grandchildren. They didn't tell me they'd be at my home between the hours of 8 and 8 and then not show up (I'M LOOKING AT YOU, AT&T, YOU SON OF A BITCH.) They didn't eat all the Drumsticks out of the freezer without so much as leaving me the bottom of a cone where all the chocolate collects.

No. Bally's is.....fine. Their gym doesn't really feel top-notch, but hey. I'm not paying top-notch prices. But tonight they went too damn far.

Here's the thing. The Bally's I go to is in the basement of a building. A building that is right next to a river.

Let's let that sink right into the ol' noggin there.

Who puts anything--ANYTHING--into the basement of a building that is next to a river? A river in a city that is NOTORIOUS for its terrible weather patterns? Shouldn't all buildings be on some sort of STILT system?! I mean come on, Shelly. THESE people figured it out, for Christ's sake!


All this to say, yes. My Bally's has flooded. I don't know the extent of it, but I know there were firetrucks (plural) and at least one animal control truck (I'm sorry...did the ducks get out of hand? Were there otters floating around your free weights?)

At first I speculated that we might get some money back. No problem. You prorate us or some nonsense, and Joe and I will run around the block for a week instead.

Until we got the email.

"Your Bally's in closed. But lucky for you, we have 80 million OTHER Bally's locations that are all inconveniently located from where you live!" ....Yippee.

Guess what, kids? I finally got my butt over to the next closest Bally's. It is also in a basement. It sucked.

1) I got there at 8:30, since my Bally's closes at 10. Well THIS one is downtown Chicago where no one lives, so it closes at 9. Huzzah.

2) I jumped on the elliptical. In front of me was Larry King. Sans subtitles. It is the only television within eyesight. So I got to lip read Larry King talking to that gymnast girl about how she apparently had a stalker. Mostly I got to ponder the effects of blonde hair dye on a girl who looks a squirrel. Anyway, there is no one around to ask to change the channel. So I opt to watch myself in the mirror and imagine fake conversations (which is my most common day-to-day activity.)

3) At 8:40--TWENTY MINUTES before close--the guy comes down and turns off all the TVs AND all the fans.

4) So now I, who HAVE PAID for a membership, am sweating my ass off in the gym I never intended on patronizing, with no visual to focus on and no fan to circulate the basement air. I can feel my claustophobia setting in AND I can feel just how deeply I am not wanted at this gym. I get the hell out and decide that my calories are better spent walking home.

And OF COURSE I can't cancel my membership right away; I have to give a full month's notice. And by then, my flood-center gym will probably be back up and running.

Basically what I'm saying is, I unknowingly paid to be screwed over. And now I'm going to go get some cheese to go with my white whine. A-thank you.

My Monday: Flowy Skirt Edition

Later, at work...

Sad Is Bad And Happy Is Cool

So while waiting for my boss to return from a late meeting yesterday, I decided to search for Lamb Chop's Play-Along clips (naturally.)

A) I HIGHLY recommend you do this. In fact, here:


B) "If you like funny jokes, they put you away"? Shari Lewis, what kind of old lady phrases were you putting in our heads? I spent more years than I would like to admit singing/"rapping" along to that song and thinking I was dumb for now knowing what it meant. How dare you, madam. How dare you.

C) I didn't mean that, Shari Lewis. I didn't mean it. It came from a place of anger and confusion.

D) Was Hush Puppy an old black man as seen in movies? Am I racist for thinking that?

E) Why do I find myself increasingly wondering how racist I am?

F) Yes, I am intentionally not talking about The-Song-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

25 Things I’ve Learned Since Becoming A Creative

I've been a Creative in Advertising for about 3 years now. While this means I am in no way an expert, it does mean I've learned a lot. A. LOT.

I get the feeling that starting in Advertising is like being a newborn: No matter how much you've been prepared for the real world, you find yourself unable to speak the language, unable to take a step on your own, and for some reason there's a lot of drool going on. But you learn. You learn FAST.

Lately I've been trying to put into definite terms just what I've learned about Advertising while actually being IN it. And I think I've come up with a pretty good list. Some things are big picture, some things aren't. But all are important. So I share them with you.



25 Things I’ve Learned Since Becoming A Creative

1. Most importantly: Do NOT wear heels on your first day of work. That day will involve a lot of walking, and possibly a lot of stairs. Stairs you could fall down.

2. You will never get as much time to work on an ad as you did in school.

3. If you don’t know how to do something or know what an acronym means, ask. No one will think you’re dumb, they’ll just think you’re new. Which you are.

4. So. Many. Acronyms. (SMA?)

5. Always ask about timing. When should your Creative Director see rough ideas? When do you present to the client?

6. There is a lovely area between making an expected ad, and making an ad that scares the hell out of every client you meet. That area is where your spots will sell. It takes a while to figure out where that area is.

7. Ask your CD for examples of past work so you know what kind of format you’re working with, and what the standard is (so you can break it, of course.)

8. You’re excited about your idea. The client is excited about how that idea will make their brand look awesome. Always play your presentation to that.

9. Technically, your ad might not be a huge campaign and doesn’t need ‘legs.’ But you should always think and create like it does.

10. No one wants to be fired for trying something crazy and watching it fail. If you bring a super new idea to them, you’re going to need reasoning to back up why it’s fail-safe and/or why it’ll make their boss jump with excitement.

11. Your Creative Director is your friend.

12. Your Creative Director is your boss.

13. Don’t forget either of those.

14. Your idea will go through a billion people’s hands. Do not expect it to come out unscathed.

15. Sometimes you’ll work on international campaigns. Sometimes you’ll design coupons. Right now, your job is to suck it up and do the best you can. No matter how many times you’ve read Hey Whipple.

16. Record your hours. Record what client and project you are working on and for how long, every day. HR will tell you what to do from there. It’s how the agency knows how much to bill each client.

17. Just because everyone in the office wears jeans does not mean you can spend your day on Facebook.

18. Everyone in the office wears jeans.

19. Sometimes you can spend a little time on Facebook.

20. What you think is a short, concise ad is probably a two-minute long, over-complicated piece. Make it shorter and simpler.

21. Have confidence in your ad. If you don’t, no one else will either.

22. When you bring two spots you love and one you think is okay, they WILL choose the okay one.

23. You have to learn when to speak up, and when to smile and nod. No one can teach that, but watch for the Evil Eye from your CD.

24. Make yourself invaluable. Young people can be fired, too.

25. The best thing you can do to ensure your survival in the industry is to be passionate about it. If you don’t care about advertising, no one will be passionate about you.

Chicago People Watching

I was scrolling through my phone photos recently (as one tends to do when confronted with an awkward situation and needs to look busy) and I noticed how many secret pictures of people I have taken. And I've subsequently realized what a horrible, judgmental person I am. But what can I say? There are some WEIRD people in this city, and my friends need to know about them. And what better way to say I'm thinking of you than to send a picture with the words, "Hey, Erin. I thought of you today when I saw this insane-looking woman on the bus"?

Besides, seeing other imperfect people out in the world makes me happy. It makes me think that maybe my accidental navy/black/brown why-did-I-get-dressed-in-the-dark-today combo isn't really SO bad.

So I thought I would share some of my observations with all of you. I hope you enjoy these people as much as I did.


"Hey, guys. What's going on? This? Oh, yeah. That's just my parrot. Thought I'd bring him on over to the outdoor farmers market. Polly want some homemade mustard?"


Okay this boy here was possibly the cutest thing I have ever seen. Those men perform at that subway station every day and everyone tends to ignore them. But this little boy stood there and gaped at them the entire time they played, so they sang right to him.


Old Woman With Enormous Hair: "What's going on here?"
Emily: "It's a Snuggie Barcrawl. It's like--"
OWWEH: "I GOT IT."
Emily: "No, it's just a--"
OWWEH: "Listen, I may be old as dirt, but I GOT IT." *walks away*
Emily: ".............That was awesome."


NEW GAME! It's called "Find The Samuel L. Jackson Look-A-Like On The Bus." Some days are easier than others.


Come on now. I've got pants with fake wear marks and even a fake rip or two. But those wrinkles are just straight-up on the wrong side of your khakis.


Don't deny it. Man or woman, you want to be this awesome when you are old.


...Or maybe this awesome. Like, seriously. Where is this guy's monocle? (Okay, you've caught me. I just take pictures every time I see someone in a fur coat. It's funny EVERY TIME!)


It's kind of hard to tell from this picture, but this woman was a real-life Cruella DeVille, minus the awesome hair.


"Where do you guys want to have our baby playtime? Someone's house? Perhaps some other baby-appropriate place?"
"Nah, let's just go to the nearest coffee shop. I'm sure no one wants to work quietly there and would appreciate a circle of crying babies and moms singing The Wheels On The Bus."


From his gold necklace to his wind-blown blonde hair, I think this guy actually came straight from 90's California.


This isn't a person, per se. But it is definitely the creepiest thing I have ever seen in the daytime.


Really, does this caption need an explanation?


Left arm tattoo: "Momma's boy"
Right arm tattoo: "God's son"
T-shirt: "Long story short...I f*cked her!"
Belt Buckle: sparkly skull.
Sideburns: existent.
What a catch.


How much money do you want to bet this woman's favorite flavor ice cream is vanilla?


Latino Pauly D!


The real tragedy here is that this girl was adorable.


Cuz you GOTTA have blue hair.


The weird thing was not the umbrella, actually. It was that he was covered in silver paint from head to toe, and was yelling at some girls trying to take his picture.


YOWZA.


Is this my current phone wallpaper? It might be.


For someone so into fashion that you are willing to wear a tiny tie, I am questioning your choice of footwear, sir.


I can't think of a caption that doesn't make me sound insanely racist, but come on now.


Yeah? That's what you've come to work out in? Really?


The reason I took a photo of this girl is not because she is a total badass from the 50's. It is because her left arm is concealing the creepiest mannequin head I've ever seen. And I want to be her SO MUCH.


Tallest socks ever.


How cute is this old couple?? I wanted to grab them both in a big group bear hug...if only that wouldn't have cracked all their frail little ribs.


"Hey guys. Want to walk around Chicago?"
"Sure, but what outfit should we all wear?"


And those are all my pictures! I hope you all found them entertaining and maybe a little offensive. Comments welcome, as always!

Apparently I'm Bad At This

Guys. I had a dream that I overheard Laura talking to someone about how my blog has sucked this summer.

a) Rude.
b) It's true. Or at least it has DEFINITELY been true this week. I've been a busy busy bee. My downtime has included about two hours every day tops. One of those has been for working out and/or eating food, and the other one has been for watching season 3 of the Office on DVD.

PRIORITIES.

But I swear, I will write more things to you. Including that picture one I promised you, and some more about my double weekend camping extravaganzaaaaaaaa

So tune in next week, when I swear I will tell you things. Sewiously.

UPDATE: Wait wait wait. I just remembered I also had a dream that this guy I had a crush on in college emailed me and told me that he read my whole blog and fell in love with me because of it. MAN. I really need to post more often.

I Don't Fear Public Speaking. I Fear Myself While Speaking Publically.

Okay, I know I've been light on blog posts as of late. This is a big work week filled with intern meetings and regular meetings. And most of it culminates on Thursday.

But to whhhhet your whistle, I have two potentially awesome posts in which you get a little view into the wonderful world of my iphone photos. No pictures of cats this time though. Sorry SLASH you're welcome.

I'm a littler nervous about tomorrow, guys. We have an intern thing all morning about presentation skills.

Reasons why this makes me nervous:

1. I have actually never taken a presentation course. Somehow I got out of SPCOMM 101. It might have been that 3 I got on my English AP. Because yeah, I'm just. That. Smart.

2. My abilities to talk in front of large crowds is touch-and-go. I think generally I'm up there flowing along, making people laugh, exhuding awesomeness. But every once in a while my brain goes "Rut-roh! I forgot how to work. Guess I'll sit this one out." And I end up tugging at my clothes and touching my bangs and saying "um" 80 billion times and forgetting words like 'specialty' and replacing them with the word 'milieu.' Because, without fail, that is the word that comes to mind first. ALWAYS.

I wouldn't be surprised if tomorrow I get up there and I'm like "Well, um, I really reciprocate the tabernacle of the, um, jargon-lettered reciprocity. It's quite dominant in my milieu." And there will be staring until finally someone will just interrupt me and put me out of my misery.

3. It also makes me nervous because I have a paper-thin censor when I talk in front of crowds. And if I get people to laugh at one thing, I automatically assume that it's cool to just say whatever the hell I want. F-bombs are dropped, prides are wounded and I end up feeling like I somehow just scandalized a group of 22 year olds. As if that's possible.


So for this meeting, we have to be ready with a. A personal story, b. A business or personal success and c. A tough situation I faced.

Here's where I'm going right now. Let me know what you think.

a. Once in the 3rd grade, we were learning about clouds, and I peed my pants in someone else's chair because we'd switched classrooms for science and the teacher wouldn't call on me. No one knew.

b. Yesterday I had the choice between the tacos and the salad. I chose the salad. Personal success.

c. Last week I had some seriously overdone pork chops.

Eh? Ehhhhhhh?

Preparing You...Again

Well kids, sorry about the lack of posts this week, but I'm going camping this weekend.

Hubba WHAAAAA?

Oh yes. In fact, you DID read that right. I dug my own shallow, shallow grave with this one by planning two camping trips in a row. I'm hoping this one goes a little better because I have official camping experts on my side. And by "camping experts," I mean "people who know what they're doing and come prepared." More specifically, I'm off to Mammoth Cave with the Fam.

But we'll see! My guess is I'll slip a few times due to my lack of proper footwear and spend most of my time giggling at the word "spelunking."

Our Camping Disaster: Part 2

So yesterday I explained to you our introduction to the camp site (Whoah. At first I almost wrote introfuction. Which, frankly, is more accurate.) Today I explain to you...

THE SHOWERS.



Oh so remember those "newly renovated, state-of-the-art" bathrooms we'd been told about? Well, I'll give you this:
- The toilets flushed. (er...2/3 of them did)
- The sinks ran.
- The doors closed...Ish.

I wish I could be so kind about the showers.

They were in the back of the bathroom, where the fluorescent light did not reach. So yes, they were in the dark, even in the middle of the day. For the left shower, the head came straight down from the ceiling. All along that ceiling were bugs. Some flyers, some crawlers. It was rusty and menacing looking. I mean this with no disrespect or with any sense of irony; it reminded me of the Holocaust.

There was no way I was getting under that stream of water.

On the right was a "handicapped" stall (disabled stall? Physically challenged stall? Person with physical disabilities stall?) Three fourths of it was taken up by one of those seats some people need to sit on to shower. There was no way in hell I was sitting on it. I pulled it out of the stall. This shower head was different from the other one. It was the hand-held kind. But there was no place to hang it on the wall to turn it into a regular shower. It hung straight down from the ceiling, and sprayed water at your knees when it turned on.

The best part was, the actual shower head was covered in rust, as well as some sort of green substance. And when the water turned on, it also leaked out of the ceiling and onto your head. This was the shower I chose. And yes, because I know you are wondering, I alternated between muttering profanities and softly whimpering the entire time the shower was happening. Eventually I was "clean."

List Of Diseases I Probably Will Have As A Direct Result Of That Shower:
1. Consumption
2. The Clap, Syphilis AND Gonorrhea
3. Chronic Nosebleeds
4. The Plague
5. The Vapors
6. Black Lung
7. Meth Addiction
8. Scarlet Fever
9. Polio
10. Paranoia
11. Shingles
12. Gout
13. Lime Disease
14. Eczema
15. Hep A
16. Hep B
17. Hep C
18. Diabetes (1 and 2)
19. Rabies
20. Malaria
21. Narcolepsy
22. Insomnia
23. Leprosy
24. Lou Gehrig's
25. And of course, Lupis.

The next day I took a shower via Secret Prescription Strength and a jug of water while the other campers watched.

It was magnificent.

Our Camping Disaster: Part I

I really jinxed myself on that one. Really, I asked for it.

This weekend was, hands down, the largest camping disaster I have ever encountered.

Our story begins...

Joe and I had originally wanted to camp in Traverse City, Michigan for the long weekend and go to the cherry festival. Turns out, so did everyone else.

In the world.

We could not find a single campsite with an open space--they literally do not have grass area for a two-person tent and a s'more-sized fire. Finally we gave up and decided to change our plans and looked for camping in southwest Michigan, which is much closer to Chicago and much further from that g.d. cherry festival (good riddance.) OH BUT GUESS WHAT?! Nope. You, your brother, and your dog also decided to go camping in Michigan for the 4th of July. So thank you. Joe and I used our extreme Googling skills and finally--finally, we found a campsite that had one open space left. The man assured us that if we didn't take it in the next half hour, someone else would. So we jumped at it.

The place seemed lovely. Canoeing. Kayaking. Picnic tables. Hot showers. Electric hook ups.

We were sold.

Joe and I get to the site, voicing our trepidations that the place might not be all that great. We drive in, and our worst fears are realized. We actually drove past the park the first time because we couldn't believe that that was it. The campsite, as we could see it, was a large field filled with RVs, and a simple metal-sided grey building. "It must go back further," I muttered as we drove up. Joe and I walked to the door of the building so we could check in. A little girl, about 10 years old, opens the door. She is wearing the dirtiest pair of sweatpants I have ever seen not on a homeless person.

"Y'all need help with something?" (Don't ask my why rural Michigonians have southern accents...but they do.)
"Yeah, we're just looking to check in. Do we do that here?"
"See that man in the grey shirt?" We turn to our left and see a man a few yards away, hitching up his jeans more comfortably under his potbelly. "That's my daddy. He'll let you know what you need to do."

Immediately, Joe and I swooped onto this girl, kidnapped her, cleaned her, and got her a proper education. *sigh*

We turned and followed the man, who had walked away from us and to the area that we soon learned was the "office." It was also the location of a beagle and roughly 80 life jackets, all of which I assume used to be red but were now a nice salmon color.

"Hello, we'd like to check in."
"Okay," the man said. He pulled an 8.5x11 off the pile on his desk and began filling it out. "How many adults?"
We paused. We'd already given this information. "We have a reservation...?"
"Oh right, yeah. I forgot to ask that. So the two adults then?" He said.
".....Yes."
He continued to fill out the form as if we'd never even called in the first place. "And you want to camp in the Primitive area?"
"No, we'd like the electrical hook up." (We have cell phones, dude. We aren't animals.)
"Alrighty. I'll show you to your spot."

We jumped in the car and followed him as he drove his golf cart down the dirt road and around the corner. He stopped next to an R.V. where a woman with a scrunchie was blasting "Born in The USA". The man leaned out his golf cart. "How's this?"

Oh. You only get electricity if you have an RV. Got it. "Uh...where are the primitive spots?" we asked.
He pointed down the road, toward the trees where other tents are set up. "You just drive on down there, til you find a good spot."
"It isn't sectioned?"
"Nope, just find something dry."
"Okay, and what about bathrooms and showers?"
He gestured a few meters to the right. "Right over there. They've just been renovated. State-of-the-art facilities now. Hot showers."
Joe and I shot each other mirrored looks that said, we'll see. "Great. Oh, what about fire pits?"
"Don't have too many of those. Just set something up on the grass, that's fine. And there's only a few picnic tables, so if you find one, go ahead and scoop it on up."

And that, my friends, was our introduction to Paw Paw River Campgrounds.

(To be continued...)

Just Preparing You For Me Being Unprepared

Sorry guys, no post today. I'm too busy waiting around for Joe to get home (it's very taxing.) We're going camping for the weekend, and this is the first time I'm going camping with only one other person and have to rely on nothing but my wits, his fire-making skills, and coughmyiPhonecough.

So expect a blog next week that hopefully sounds something like "Camping is great! I'm really good at it! Nothing went wrong and we remembered to bring everything we needed!"

That or wait for some kind of story akin to the time I locked myself outside in February with no shoes and three dogs.

Good times.

Take My Organs, Please!

First of all, my life is ruined. By the British. Again.

Scientists discovered a giant, ancient carnivorous whale.

Seriously? SERIOUSLY.








Seriously.

I don’t even have more to say about it. The simple fact is, there used to be a gigantic, flesh-eating whale roaming the seas, lurking in the dark and fighting giant sharks. You guys know how I feel about whales.

SERIOUSLY.


Anyway. Now I want to talk to you all about something serious. More specifically, my organs.

Backstory: I just got my driver’s license renewed recently. Exciting stuff. Well they’ve changed the way they make Illinois licenses since I got my last one at 21. Now, instead of just asking you to sign the back of your license if you want to be an organ donor, they have a fancy little symbol by your face that says “donor.”

Well.

When I signed all the papers, they had me sign on a specific line if I want to be a donor. I did that. Then somewhere down the line, we realized I had to redo the papers for some reason. So I got back in line and when it came to signing for the organ donation, she didn’t have me sign. When I asked if I should again, she said no because they already had me in the system. I shrugged and went on my merry way.

Days later (because yes, it takes me that long to come to proper realizations pertaining to real life issues) I checked my license and realized that I DON’T have the nifty little donor symbol. I know you will all be shocked to realize that the woman who works full time behind a desk at the Drivers License Renewal Center could be wrong about something. So was I. But hell if I’m going to pay another $30 to get another new license.

But now I’m nervous that my organs won’t be properly distributed! I’ll get into some horrifying accident whereby my brain goes limp but the rest of me is alive and kickin’ and they'd be like, "well, little Timmy COULD have had a new heart today, but this girl doesn't have the appropriate markings on her Drivers License. Sorry, Timmy."

No! I refuse to let that happen. LITTLE TIMMY NEEDS A HEART, PEOPLE. And far be it from me to deny him.

The thing is, I GUESS organ donation is an optional thing. And I GUESS everyone is entitled to their opinions like they are about religion and its uncouth to discuss opinions on the matter.

But I’m sorry. I do not understand people who are against organ donation. YOU ARE DEAD. There is no more of you. Someone else has the possibility of life.

I haven’t smoked a cigarette in my life. (Seriously, mom. It’s true.) I’ve got great lungs. Awesome lungs. And if I’m not using them? Take them. Take them now. They’re all pink and sparkly and waiting for you.

So this is me, telling all of you. I am an organ donor. Print out this blog and show it to the doctor as proof.

To be honest, I’m hoping that I’ll never give any of my organs, because I want them to become just as weathered and shriveled as the rest of my old, aging body. But just in case, please take them. I will be in a better place—like haunting Cameron Diaz until she agrees to stop acting.