Tuesday, December 30, 2014

I ran into my ex-boyfriend at Bed, Bath and Beyond

Is there a second comma in Bed, Bath and Beyond? Discuss in the comments, please. I LOVE TO READ YOUR IGNORANT-ASS COMMENTS.

God, so today was actually the worst.

I spent the better day crying over things I don't want to blog about, but I would gladly talk to you about them over a cold, cold, strong, strong margarita.

ANYWHO, and then I was all like, I'm going to take Winston out for a walk because happy pills and exercise are good for stress and sadness and other bad things.

us in happier times.

So I did that and nearly beat the shit out of him when he escaped his harness on Katy Trail. It's fine. He didn't get any Cheetos for the rest of the day.

But then in an attempt to make everything better, Kassidy and I headed to Bed, Bath and Beyond (seriously, is there a comma) to buy a vacuum cleaner.

~*white girls love vacuum cleaners*~

So we are heading to the front of the store to chew out a manager for not having the Hoover vacuum cleaner we wanted WHEN ALL OF A SUDDEN, I SEE SOMEONE.



If you haven't figured out from my dramatic sentences and the title of the freakin post, I saw my ex-boyfriend at Bed, Bath and Beyond and it's fine.

He was on the phone and Kassidy was far away looking at something. But I said to her, "Oh, there's _____ _________."

Before she could even respond, he had ended his phone call and was just staring at me.

LET'S GIVE YOU SOME CONTEXT: I haven't seen this male in I don't know how long. It's 8:30 p.m. New Years Eve Eve at Bed, Bath and Beyond. I'm looking to buy a vacuum cleaner. I am not wearing any makeup. I am wearing grey socks and cat flats.

This is all a better circumstance than the one time I ran into an old flame at Walmart when I was buying toilet paper and bean dip, but this is still less than great. I have no idea why that old flame has never called me again.

Kassidy knows pretty much everything about him. She's my roommate and best friend. It's what we do. We get wine drunk and talk about ex-boyfriends and plot their murder and then pass out from exhaustion.

So when we saw him at BB&B, I knew her mind must have been racing.

She offered up some of her insight because she's my roommate and I can make her do things like that.

Kassidy's thoughts:
If we don't get this stupid vacuum, the white girl in me is going to die. Wait. What. It's who. Oh god. Oh god. He looks just like his pictures. How did he end up on the ground? You're not going to hug her because you're sick? Okay. I've heard that before. This is so awkward I want to crawl up my own butt and die. Oh. That was funny. I'm going to press this salad spinner. Why are we still talking? He just talked me out of a purchase. Okay. I hate you. But I also love you. Wait. No. I hate you. I think. God. This is hard. He's so likable. I don't get it. I'm walking away.

He was sick, so no hugs were exchanged. No handshakes either. I think I threw up a peace sign. I also turned bright red when I saw him because WTF. WTAF. (What the actual eff, please keep up.) Who shops at BB&B on a Tuesday night besides us and if only you could have seen me. I don't even want to really talk about it because I was wearing grey socks and cat flats and I had spent the better half of the day crying into a pillow. My face was sans makeup and my heart was sans feelings and I don't know what that means, but I really needed to round out that sentence.

He did tell me I need to give him blog/emotional/monetary credit every time I say "literal joke from hell." That's not going to happen because he can't technically prove he coined that phrase, but I appreciate his persistence.

I don't know. Today was just kind of the weirdest, mainly because I used a crockpot successfully, but also because I saw my ex-boyfriend in a BB&B and I just feel emotionally scarred. And scared. And the whole thing was a little bit sacred and I think I'm done now.

Don't go vacuum shopping without makeup on. Don't be me.

*this post gets the my third boob label because really, why not.*

Monday, December 29, 2014

TV is hard


Have I written this post before or just thought about it a million times throughout the day?

I don't know. Stop me if you've read this already.

TV is, like, really, really hard.

Well no cable is.

Can we please discuss my viewing habits?

9 a.m. Michael and Kelly or Kelly and Michael and I just miss Regis
This is if I wake up in time and care to actually turn on the TV.

10 a.m. Wendy Williams
WENDY WILLIAMS IS QUEEN AND EVERYONE NEEDS TO BOW DOWN. I watch this every morning and no one makes me smile as much as Wendy Williams makes me smile. She is funny and sassy and everything I wish to be.

11 a.m. The Real
Oh, god. Oh, god. It's horrible. It's so bad. It's like The View but worse. Did you know The View could get worse?????????? It can and it's called The Real. Adrienne Bailon is a host, if that tells you anything. This is when I try to shower and do things with my life, but it's hard, y'all.

remember when she was almost a kardashian.

12 p.m. noon the news
Can people please stop saying that the news is only bad news because I am now a news expert since having no cable and literally all it is is good news.
"This cat owner adopted another cat!"
"This mailman got out of his truck and delivered the mail to an old woman who couldn't walk to her mailbox anymore!"
"This owner trained his dog to bark three times to turn on the lights in the house!"
I literally can't most of the time.

12:30 p.m. TMZ
TMZTMZTMZTMZ. Why don't I work for TMZ is the greater question of the day. This is easily the best half hour of the day because Harvey is so funny and he writes on that board with that marker and it's so funny and everyone chimes in and it's so funny and people make jokes about a celebrity and it's so funny and then one of the girls in the room gets offended by something and all of a sudden, it's not funny anymore.


Nothing else comes on. Judge Judy comes on at some point during the day, but she drives me actually insane.

And the news comes on some more and it's the same stories over and over again.

And then things come on in the primetime, but it's hard to know what is on without a guide.

So then I'm forced to watch Netflix and watching Netflix with Kassidy is, like, really, really hard.

Things Kassidy wants to watch:
Silence of the Lambs
Wish Upon A Star
Any Hitler documentary
Any Nazi documentary
Any German documentary
Any Jewish documentary

Things I want to watch:
The Carrie Diaries
Any ballerina documentary
New Girl
Anything from Silence of the Lambs

I just need everyone to send their thoughts my way, please. It's hard.

Wednesday, December 24, 2014

I hung out with high school friends last night

I went to a party last night hosted by old high school friends. #naughtyatthenorthpole

It's important to note that this was the fourth annual party of this kind and this was the first year I was invited.

I don't know, I wasn't like super cool in high school and I have no idea why.

And by invited, I mean I straight-up asked if I could come and you can't really say no to someone when they're as desperate as I am.

more on the blacked-out name soon.

But I am certain I will never be invited back and I have my reasons why.

I invited outsiders
So, I guess I just didn't realize parties were still exclusive things. I thought that was just something you did for your third grade pool party. So I loaded my car with my roommate and hot neighbor. Upon walking into the party, I told everyone Kassidy was my out-of-town friend and had nowhere to go but the party. No one believed me. I also told everyone my neighbor was THE neighbor I blogged about. Turns out absolutely nobody reads my blog and it's fine. I'm not upset. Seriously. It's fine.

hot neighbor with his face covered so it adds to the mystery of it all.

I called everyone boring
You know that episode of Sex and the City where Carrie and the Russian are at a party and that girl falls out the window and dies after saying, "I'm so bored I could die." That was me last night. I'm not proud and I'm sorry.

me last night.
I flirted with everyone
I know the above text message implies that I wanted to go to the party just to flirt with one male, but that is certainly not the case. But in an attempt to see what some old HiGh ScHoOL bOyZ were up to, I went outside and started chatting. Everyone was so uninterested. In fact one male, who shall not be named and I blacked out his face to protect the truly innocent, walked away at one point and I yelled, SORRY I'M NOT PRETTY ENOUGH.

Seriously, I flirted with everyone
Once some men were not giving me any attention, I set my sights on someone new. I told Stacey my game plan and she told me I wasn't allowed to flirt with him because he's someone else's guy. LE'TS POINT OUT THAT THAT SOMEONE ELSE WAS NOT AT THE PARTY AND SHE HAS A BOYFRIEND WHO IS NOT SAID GUY. So yeah, everyone. Mean Girls is a real thing and apparently I was dealing with Aaron Samuels. I've never felt more like Cady Heron in my life. So you know what that means. I vomited on him by the end of the night. HAHA kidding.

I didn't get in the group picture
Kassidy and I hid behind the dishwasher because we are PIMPS while everyone else took a group picture and I'm sure it's on Instagram if you search the hashtag #naughtyatthenorthpole


I did my model walks
Seriously, nothing says party like PMS busting out her infamous modeling walks and showing everyone who will even look in her direction. Model walks included: Victoria's Secret model, Miss America, and 15-year-old starving model. They were a hit. And by hit, I mean people considered murdering me.

It's all fine, though. Even if I never get invited back it was worth it because I saw Hannah and she's a BAMF, who works at CFA in ATL and I'm done with the acronyms. Sorry.

I also saw Tyler and we bonded over being freelancers. "Haha, I don't know where my next paycheck is coming from either!" we said to each other, giggling.

KK's caption: giggling.

And that's it. I'm sure I missed something but it's fine. The night ended when a bunch of minors showed up and started drinking the beer. Nothing ruins a party like that. But I enjoyed it and it's always nice when something is your first and your last. Goodnight and Merry Christmas.

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

My Advice for SMU Boys

I'm about to offer some very experienced advice.

I'm here to help you. I want to HELP you.

I'm going to write off this blog on my taxes for charity work and I honestly have no idea what that means, but the point is I'm here to serve you.

I'm like Ruth.

That is a complete lie. I'm Orpah is every sense. I would have said SEE YA to my mother-in-law in a second.

ok bye.

But I'm about to warn you the dangers of going out in Uptown/Trophy Room/Dallas.

Trophy Room is different than what I remember it as being. If you're unaware of which bar Trophy Room is, it has the mechanical bull outside.

not same bull but you get it.

Trophy Room used to be ghetto AF and now it is full of frat bOyz.


These aren't just frat boys, these are frat boys.

Let's set the scene.

It's Friday night. Kassidy, Katie, I, and others are out and about doing our thing, flirting, drinking, whatnot. We are Uptown girls, we think. Screw Christie Brinkley. Billy Joel wrote Uptown Girl about us.

I spy a male. He is little and wearing a beanie and a leather jacket.

I tell Kassidy I'll be right back.

I use my usual pick-up line. "You look exactly like Ryan Tedder."

OK, this is my ~usual~ pick-up line, but he looked so much like Ryan Tedder and we all know how I feel about Ryan Tedder.

i literally pulled up this photo to show him.

So I'm chatting with him, learning all about him, and he tells me he just graduated from SMU with a degree in finance.

Ok, ok, ok. This isn't a big deal. I mean I'm only a year out of college, so this isn't a big deal.

But it was so effing clear Ryan Tedder was not into me, which is like actually the title of my future memoir.

the font is called casual and i just feel like it displays the true seriousness of this blog.

So Ryan Tedder's friend swoops in and OMG SPEAKING OF SWOOPS.

His hair was a swoop. He reminded me of the typical Southern guy who plays football and drinks sweet tea.

He didn't play football for SMU, but that didn't stop me from announcing to everyone that he did.

But he was still going to school at SMU. His major was marketing and everything is fine.

This is where my key, key advice comes in.

Do not panic when a male tells you he is college. Remain calm. Take a sip of your drink. Smile. Relax.

Continue to ask about him. Most men won't notice that they know nothing about you until you are walking away and then they realize they are idiots.

IF for some reason he turns the question-and-answer portion around, then this is what you need to say.

Do you go to SMU? Yes.

What's your major? Micropalentology.

What year are you? Freshman.

How did you get in? Fake ID.

You need to pretend you go to SMU if you want to seem cool and hip and young and everything Kris Jenner wants to be. Your major is micropalentology because literally no one even understands that and no guy is going to ask what that is because they don't want to appear dumb. And they won't know if SMU has that degree program or not, so just go with it. You are a freshman because everyone was their most fun freshman year. This is a fact. I mean, look at me freshman year. FUN.

me freshman year twerking before twerking was cool.

I think I wrote this blog just so I could post a picture of Ryan Tedder. Good talk. Bye.

*Get the third boob label because why not.

Sunday, December 21, 2014

That one time I made a couple fight

PMS: Wrecking homes since 1990.

wrecking homes days and nights.

This story is scary. It's something all women should fear. This could have been anyone, but for some reason it was me.

I don't even know. I don't even know where to begin.

It all started when Kassidy and I decided to go to The Sir.

The Sir is a bar extremely close to our apartment that we always pass and our neighbor used to bartend there, so anything our neighbor approves, we automatically approve.

See also: every other blog post about my neighbor

*sorry if you were expecting to be able to click on that and for it to go somewhere. Just go back in the archives. You're a big girl/boy. I know you can do it.*

Kassidy and I sat down at the bar, learned it would soon be closing down for good good, and started chatting with the bartender.

We were the only ones in there and that's where Kassidy and I thrive. ATTENTION ALL FOR US????????????

Then a couple walks in.

They looked young but old, fun but boring. Kind of like Speidi.

They sat down and started chatting with the bartender and he gave them the low-down.

*We are almost out of everything because this bar is closing down for good good. yada yada yada.*

They began asking questions about the history of the bar and how a former Bachelor contestant used to own it.

That's when I chimed in like I do.


So the couple started asking me all sorts of questions and I was like, listen. I'm a reality show expert. There's nothing I can't answer. Bring it on.

The man's body language was odd. He was completely facing Kassidy and me and you know what they say. I don't know, I think they say something about a man wants what his feet are pointing to and let's just say, his feet were not facing his live-in girlfriend.

YES, LIVE-IN GIRLFRIEND. We got far enough into a conversation with the couple to learn that they live together and are not from Dallas.

They are from California.

"Ohhhhh????? What brings you to Dallas?" -me, one beer in and feeling very friendly.

"Well, that's complicated. But I got a job here and asked her to move down here with me." -guy

"OMG!!!! And you did that??? I would never move for a man I wasn't married to. You're very brave. How long had y'all been dating before you moved with him?" -me

"That's a personal question." -girl in couple

She repeated to me that that was a personal question.

A personal question????????????????????

How old are you is a personal question. How much do you weigh is a personal question. Do you dye your hair is a personal question. How many STDs do you have is a personal question. Who is your favorite One Direction member is a personal question.

How long had you been dating before you moved to Dallas with him is far from personal.

I don't know, I just think I've said way more inappropriate things in my day and no one got as pissed off as her.

Other inappropriate things I've said/asked:

  • "Do your two daughters have the same mother?"
  • "I'm a stewardess for Malaysian Airlines."
  • "I didn't see any cocaine," while making eyes with a waiter.
  • "My name is Pagina," (pronounced like vagina), I announced at church
  • "Mohammad is the most common name in the world. Does that make you mad?" I said to my Uber driver named Mohammad
  • "Are y'all not sitting us because we're white," I asked to the wait staff at Desperado's
  • "My roommate's dog is half-black and half-white. Like Obama."

So me asking how long they had been dating is not the worst thing I've said. It's actually very calm.

But you would have thought differently by the way the mood shifted.

All of a sudden, she was whispering in his ear. They were facing the other way. She was asking for their check and no one in the entire bar was speaking.

They left without saying a word to us or looking at us. It went from 100 to 0 real effing quick.

All I'm going to say is that she seems like a real effing pain to live with. If it's such a complicated story, then don't live with the guy. Or GET MAD AT HIM IN THE PRIVACY OF YOUR OWN HOME LIKE A NORMAL HUMAN BEING INSTEAD OF MAKING IT AWKWARD FOR EVERYONE IN THE BAR.

Don't be Cheryl.*

*I thought about not mentioning her name the entire blog post, but then at the last minute I was like, no. Her name was Cheryl and she hated me by the end of the night and I do and I don't hope they broke up because of me.


Wednesday, December 17, 2014

What happens when people you blog about figure out you blogged about them


I'm basically just nervous laughing the entire time I'm writing this post.

It's like, I view my blog viewings. I have Google Analytics, so I can see the tiniest detail of who is viewing my blog. I once did some thorough research to see if I could figure out if Brad Paisley has ever read my blog and then I was like, Paige, Brad Paisley does not care about what PMS has to say.

And pretty much unless you like the post on Facebook or walk up to me and tell me you enjoy reading this blog, I just don't think you read it because I'm a real-life human being, who doesn't assume things.

And even when you like it on Facebook, I'm still not certain you're actually reading it. Idk, blogging/self-awareness is hard.

And sometimes even when you say, Oh, I'm the biggest PMS reader and then I'm like, What's your favorite post????? And you're like, Oh, I like all of them??????

Ok. I literally have no idea what you people like to read, so usually it's just me throwing things up against a wall and seeing which ones stick.

But sometimes, SOMETIMES, people will reference the blog to me and I'm like:

Oh???? I thought for sure you didn't read this blog???? I thought you had like important things to do/read.

Last night, my neighbor was like, So, how was the Weezer concert??? You had an extra ticket??? Are you surprised I'm not wearing my orange pants right now???

I just giggled. I was like, I don't know what to say, what to do, what do I do with my hands, should I look him directly in the eye, oh, god, there have been so many times I've blogged about how hot he is, oh god, I can't breathe, sorry, am I allowed to say that (rip that guy), and ok, yeah, Paige, just own up to all of this.

So I was like yeah????? I said that????? I wrote all of that????? I'm confident in everything I wrote???????

who tf else would i be talking about.

And then Single Father of 2 referenced his own name on some photo on Facebook.

Oh, ok. Yes, yes, help.

idk even.

But sometimes people ASSUME that I'm writing about them and that's the closest I ever come to feeling like Taylor Swift.

"Why do people assume Dear John is about John Mayer???? I dated a lot of a-holes named John when I was 19????" -Taylor Swift, basically.

"Why do you assume you're the neighbor I'm talking about???????" -me

"Why do you assume you're the single father of two I'm referring to?????????" -me

stop reading this blog pls.

*this blog gets the 'my third boob' label because really, I don't need a third boob to make myself unattractive to men when I have this blog.*

Monday, December 15, 2014

Basic TV is basic and bad

I don't have cable. Have I mentioned that? It's kind of the end of the world for PMS.

Sometimes it's not a problem, like when I watch Kelly and Michael and Wendy Williams and TMZ.

But when it comes evening time, it is actually kind of worse than any torture a terrorist could ever go through.

I watched Undercover Boss last night and what. the. eff. Like, what the actual eff did I watch on TV. I don't even know. I'm still so distraught. I actually sometimes believe The Hills is real, but there is no way in hail any part of Undercover Boss was real. No way. I didn't want to watch it, but my other options were football or The Simpsons and LOL no.

But I did watch Barb Wa-Wa's 10 Most Fascinating People special and I actually kind of dislike Barbara Walters a lot. I don't really get it. I don't understand how she can be viewed as such a great broadcast journalist when I don't understand a damn things she's saying. I once read a book by her and I got two chapters in and it was stupid. One chapter was about how to talk to black people and it was basically something like, don't mention they're black. I feel like I could be making most of this up, but PTBWBS is real. post traumatic barbara walters book syndrome bye

ANYWAY, I watched that show I basically endured that show long enough to see Taylor Swift AND THEN RIGHT BEFORE SHE CAME ON, MY TV WENT OUT. THE TV WENT OUT. Every channel was working except channel 8. I moved around the cable box thing. I hit the TV. I cussed. I'm like a dude and sports when it comes to Taylor Swift. I was so mad. Kassidy hid in her room. I pushed Winston aside and stormed out of the living room. I. WAS. SO MAD.

*I watched a clip on YouTube this morning, and one of her voiceover sentences was, "Taylor Swift had a song you just couldn't shake off, Shake It Off." This woman is an award-winning journalist????????


Like, honest to God, Amal Clooney???? Amal Clooney???? I don't even know what to say, so I keep typing her name and adding question marks hoping the right words will come to me.

who r u.

Also: You're Barbara Walters. People respect you. You got Justin Timberlake to admit a lot of things in 2003. Do not sit there and ask Taylor Swift softball questions. Ask her the important things, like:

1. What do your parents think about your deeply personal lyrics?

2. Will you ever write a book one day?

3. Do you think self-absored guys only date you so you will write a song about them?

4. Does Harry Styles really drive without headlights?

5. Do you remember paginaskinner?



Barb Wa-Wa, I don't like you and I'm just mad.

Saturday, December 13, 2014

My week with the world's dumbest dog: Winston

Ok, he's not exactly the world's dumbest dog, but he's just kind of not all there.

Kassidy literally left me as soon as we moved in and went to Costa Rica for "work" and I was like ok, I remember my first "work trip."

So I've been left with her child, Winston (sometimes we call him Winnie), and this dog is on a new level of ignorant.

I literally think I gave him his first french fry
I guess Kassidy only feeds him dog food (that smells like feet), but if I'm in charge of anything for more than a day, then my habits will begin to rub off. I got McDonald's late on night and they didn't give me ketchup. I wasn't angry or anything. I had just paid $3 for some fries and they didn't give me the one basic necessity to eat the fries, but it's fine, McDonald's. I'm not mad. So I had all of these fries and I wasn't going to eat them, so I dropped one down to Winston. He just let it sit there. He sniffed it and put it in his mouth and then spit it back out. It took him maybe four minutes to eat the fry and I was like, ok, this isn't my child.

He ran into a glass door but he's fine
He was running away from a bunch of people he didn't know and ran right into a glass door and he's a great guard dog.

He only sits when you tell him the second time
He's like an actual male. I guess when I say sit the first time, it's just for fun. It literally makes me want to hurt the dog after I have to say it for the second time.

He's fat but he keeps me warm
I haven't turned on the heat in days because Winston loves to snuggle and he's furry and fat, so he keeps me warm.

"He just looks like a dog that needs to be ran." -Augusta Neal

I actually cut down on his breakfast, so maybe he'll lose some weight.

He doesn't really help the "picking up guys" thing
I took him out to go potty and I see Bacon the Piglet. Bacon is basically Instagram famous because he's a pig living in an apartment complex and it's my apartment complex and also his daddy is really, really attractive. He has a man bun and I also saw him sitting on his motorcycle earlier in the day. Well, I tried to flirt with him, you know, 'Oh, that's a pig,' you know, my usual pick-up lines. And Winston wasn't having it. Winston took one look at Bacon and ran. He drug me up the stairs and I haven't seen Bacon's daddy since and I just miss him.

bacon and his hot father.

*It's important to note he lives with his girlfriend, Bacon's mommy*

"Things end." -Emily Stines

He actually really hates personal space
These are actual real-life photos I took of him all up in my grill.

He only barks at annoying girls
Everything was going fine. I had a bunch of people over and we were all having a good time, making jokes, and whatnot. Then a girl walks in and Winston went nuts. I thought he was going to murder her. Well, turns out she didn't laugh at my Malaysian Airlines joke, so Winston has good instincts.

He thinks I'm his mother and I'm scared when his actual mother comes home
Like, I think at one point he wanted me to start breastfeeding him. He calls me mom. Everyone thinks I'm his mom. He hasn't mentioned his real mom in days. I asked if he missed her and he just stared at me blankly. Adoption is hard.

Monday, December 8, 2014

We went to an Aaron Carter concert: Happy Pearl Harbor Day

I don't even know. I don't even know.

Augusta (itsfineimfine.com) and I went to an Aaron Carter concert last night because what else do you do on Sundays besides go to church and then go to an AC concert. Paige actually forced her 4 closest Dallas besties and by 4, I mean I’m the only one that ended up going and it’s fine.

We had an extra ticket because one of our smarter friends decided not to go last minute. I made it a point to invite Paige’s ungodly hot neighbor. So we did what any normal humans would do and knocked on his door at 9 P.M. with wine, and said “HAPPY PEARL HARBOR DAY WE’RE CELEBRATING!!!”

It’s obvious he wouldn’t say yes to AC, so I took it upon myself to lie to him in front of God and everyone. “WE’RE GOING TO A WEEZER CONCERT AND YOU’RE COMING WITH!!!!!!” with bottle of wine in hand.

He said no. because he is a communist who doesn’t love Weezer.

Paige and I had just eaten a grand Italian meal in Plano/Canada, but that didn’t stop us from pre-gaming the concert with wine and Krispy Kremes. God bless Texas.

At the concert
We arrived at House of Blues at 9:45 p.m CST. because he was supposed to come on at 10. We also had 45 panic attacks when we arrived, afraid he had already gone on stage. We walked into the House of Blues without anybody checking our tickets. We walked in with glasses from our home. It’s still in my purse as we write this.

We met two girls at the bar. One of them had Aaron’s cellphone number because she had DMed him something on Twitter that is worthy of getting his attention. I don’t need to go into details. I think we all know what I’m talking about. Oh you know.

Ok, ok, ok, so that’s how this night is going to go. Ok then, we said.

There were about 60 people there to see Aaron that night. I would have said like 30 but ok. All of them were there as a joke. Every time he finished one of his new songs, someone would yell “I Want Candy!” That someone would sometimes be me.

And when he wasn’t playing his new stuff (a song called “What’s Up” and another called “Girlfriend”), he did play “Aaron’s Party” and “I Want Candy.” So that was nice.

There was no “How I Beat Shaq” but he warned us of that.

paige waiting for ac.

We really wanted people to read our blogs
At some point in the night, we got the bright idea to tell everyone about our blogs. So Augusta reached for in her purse, pulled out her prayer journal and began writing “justpmsing.com” and “itsfineimfine.com” on pieces of paper and handing them to people.
            It was the sabbath, so I obvi had my “notes during church” book with me. When Paige and I mentioned that to Don (Aaron’s drummer), he didn’t believe me, so I had to do the right thing and read him a passage out of the journal. John 3:30 to be exact. You’re welcome, everyone.

Who got one: Girl who had Aaron’s number/Don the Drummer/the tour bus’s windshield/a birthday present opening act Austin Porter was giving to Aaron. We slipped it in there, so hopefully Aaron is reading all of this right now.
            Hi, Aaron.

We failed several times while trying to get on the tour bus
While we were waiting outside, chatting with Don the Drummer, a gaggle of girls (love that phrase) came out of the venue and boarded onto the bus. They were in a line and they were all wearing VIP badges around their neck. Augusta and I wanted on the bus. So I got behind the last girl in line and was just going to follow her in. As I was about to climb the first step onto the bus, the girl in front of me closed the door on me. Ok then. I think there’s enough Aaron to go around.

We went to Hooters don’t ask questions
After the 3-minute long concert, Aaron had to pay attention to the idiots girls who paid absurd amounts of doll hairs to talk to him. While he had his “meet and greet,” Paige and I did the only natural thing there was to do.

Go take a shot at the nearby Hooters until he was done. And ask for applications.

We walked straight to the bar (filled with old men sitting alone #merica), and ordered two lemon drops. Boobs McGee said “Sorry but I already called last call” and within .0983 of a second, and Paige and I simultaneously said different versions of “Oh we have to go” and aggressivley power-ass-walked away.

Half way to the door, some random man, I assume the manager, told the waitress to serve us drinks. BOOM. CLAP. Paige and I tangoed arm-in-arm back to the bar. I wish I was lying.

Boobs handed us two lemon drop shots …… WITH FREAKING LIMES. WHO DOES THAT. I MEAN I REMEMBER MY FIRST LEMON DROP SHOT. its fine we’re fine, as stressful as that was, we took the shot, and survived. Paige disappeard in the unisex bathroom for a period of time while Augusta made a new black friend, Antonio from Atlanta.

We left Hooters with a mission to meet Aaron, but met other blog-worthy characters instead.

We met a homeless man named Rodney
I gave him loose change in my purse and he told us (and by us I mean me, Paige, high schoolers, and their parents) about the tallest building in Dallas and the Omni. ok.

We met a famous male teen
We met Austin Porter and he told us he was 10 times better than Austin Mahone (And I have no idea who either Austins are). We got a hug from Austin Porter and I held on tight and he became uncomfortable. Paige said, “this feels good. this feels right.”

This is where our new teen-friends left us. High school is hard. Does this make them our frenemies. or is that not a cool word anymore. idk how it works now. #CurfewsAreHard

We met Don the Drummer
Don the Drummer made up for what Aaron lacked. AKA giving us attention, being a cute black guy, telling us we’re funny, and being overly fascinated by how overly normal we were.

Augusta's first words to him were: "We actually like chocolate better than we like Aaron." Oh, ok then. That's how we're starting off this conversation. We talked with Don the Drummer a lot. About life, love, the pursuit of Aaron Carter. He made us pinky promise we wouldn't write some things. Censorship is real, y'all.

Don the Drummer asked us what we do for fun: we said go to the movies and blog.            going to movies alone, that is.

“Oh so y’all are like normal girls,” he asked, confused. What else would we be??? 

Paige was telling him all night that she was a Victoria’s Secret Angel, so it’s like what do you really think she is an angel, like what, yes we are normal what do you want from us. she’s not an angel. i’m sorry. like paige is from Garland, America. She is the MOST normal girl an L.A. drummer could possibly meet.

Later in the night, after we were being really funny, he asked if we were SNL writers, and at that we started dancing around him in circles like possessed indian rain dancers.

He asked if we were SNL writers. Like, it's fine. We’ll never talk about that ever again unless anyone ever mentions SNL, drummer, black guy, House of Blues, or anything remotely pertaining to the night, then we’ll mention how AC’s drummer thought we should be SNL writers. #IFWF

Paige knows nothing about hip-hop

While Augusta and Don the Drummer were talking about Kendrick Lamar and 2 Chainz and Drake and other black rappers I know nothing about, I chimed in and said, “But do you like Taylor Swift or Rod Stewart?” Me mentioning Taylor Swift is nothing new, but me asking about Rod Stewart is a little strange, considering the only song I know by him is titled “Maggie.” Don the Drummer thought I was an idiot. He promised me he would invite us to a KL concert if he does every become his drummer. SO HE BETTER. #SWIMMINGPOOLS <--- I literally don't understand that reference at all.

It was a night I will never forget and I have no ragrats. I would pay $19 for a ticket and eat a 9 P.M. Krispy Kreme all over again for #NoRagrats

also we spent like 87 years trying to format this blog to be the same font and size but we're stupid we're sorry