The moment I knew I hit rock bottom: I Pottied My Panties At A Miranda Lambert Concert

This is not the first time I have pottied my pants at a concert.

But last night, Brad and I went to the Miranda Lambert and Little Big Town concert. It was raining. It was hot. It was borderline miserable.

About halfway through Miranda’s set, Pistol Annies came out. Pistol Annies is Miranda’s all-girl country group. They sing “Hell on Heels” and “Takin’ Pills” and they are amazing. In college, my friend and I used to obsess over them. One time, we performed “Hell on Heels” at a party in front of guys. No one thought it was cool, but we loved them so much.

So before Pistol Annies came out on stage, I drank an entire big can of Dos Equis. After that I had to pee, but I didn’t want to leave just in case Miranda sang a song I liked. I honestly thought I could just hold it in the entire concert. But when Pistol Annies came out on stage, I jumped up and threw my hands in the air. And that’s when the pee came out.

It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough. But I kept singing because I wasn’t going to miss Pistol Annies because of a lil pee.

I stayed for another three songs and then went to the restroom.

In the line for the restroom, a couple was behind me. The man kept saying “Excuse me” until I finally turned around. He asked me to hold his beer. I looked at him for about four seconds because I honestly thought I was getting set up. He finally said, “Fine, I’ll ask my wife to hold it.” I was like good idea?????

Then the two women in front of me sarcastically said to me, “You didn’t want to hold that guy’s beer?” So after that one sentence, I was best friends with the two 40-somethings in front of me. Without even thinking, I told them that “I pottied my panties” when Pistol Annies came on stage. One of the women said, “Oh, you must have kids! That happens all the time after you give birth.”

Again, without thinking, I said, “No, I don’t have kids. I just potty my panties sometimes.”

She said, “Oh, you must have been excited then!”

I was.

This is day 17 of 100 days of blogging. I didn’t post anything yesterday. Oops. Read day 16 here.

The moment I knew I hit rock bottom: I now own three Taylor Swift CDs and have no CD player to play them

It’s the biggest day of the year. Nov. 10, 2017. The day I have been anticipating for the last three years. It’s the day Taylor Alison Swift is finally releasing her sixth album.

Taylor Swift is my queen. My everything. My beginning. My end. When she releases an album, it’s not that I simply download it and listen to it when I think about it. I buy a digital version. I buy a physical album. I buy all the merch. I listen. I analyze. I pour everything into it and it pours everything into me.

SO LET’S REVIEW WHY NOV. 10 WAS ACTUALLY THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE.

It’s 8:30 a.m. and I am awake. I worked a little and decided to go ahead and make the cold, wintery trek to Target to buy the reputation (lowercase r) CD and the Taylor-made magazines she was exclusively selling at Target.

I buy the CD and both magazines because I literally can’t decide and I would hate to miss out on some important pictures or information. I self-checkout because it’s all too embarrassing what a 27-year-old is doing at 8 a.m.

I get back in my car and unwrap the CD. I go to take out another CD in my 6-CD changer. (CDs in rotation: Speak Now, Red, 1989, Brett Eldredge Christmas, and another Brett Eldredge CD.)

But no CD is coming out.

Oh, that’s not good, I think.

I try again. Nothing.

This is a crisis because I must listen to reputation now.

I tell Siri to take me to the nearest Mazda dealership. I drive 15 minutes and the woman tells me they can’t see me until Wednesday. I make an appointment and head back home.

I am upset but trust that this is probably a common thing with Mazda 6s and I will probably have to pay like max $200 to fix it.

I head home and search other Mazda dealerships and finally the Mesquite one says they can see me in an hour.

I drive to Mesquite and the workerman asks me if anyone is picking me up. I say no, I’m gonna sit here until you fix my car. I then look him in the face and say, “This is an emergency. The new Taylor album is out and I need to listen to it.”

He giggles and says, “OK, I can have someone look at it right now.”

I go and sit in the lobby and about 15 minutes later, he walks toward me. I had a good feeling. I mean, it’s a CD player, I’m at the Mazda dealership, this is all fine.

He says to me (rough quote bc i blacked out halfway through what he was saying), “OK, I unplugged something to see if it would restart and it didn’t. The problem is probably the entire module and to replace that, it costs between two and twenty five hundred.”

My jaw dropped. My eyes teared up.

When “two” first came out of his mouth, I thought he was going to say “two to two hundred.” But nope $2500 to fix a CD player.

“So the CD player is done,” I ask, trying not to be a grown woman crying to a grown man over a CD player.

“I’m afraid so. We can run a diagnosis, which would cost $90, but we think that’s the problem.”

I left. I got in my car and thought I might as well drive my car off a cliff. It was worthless without a CD player.

I went home and just wanted to drown my sorrows in Cheetos. I looked everywhere for my bag of puffy Cheetos.

My roommate had eaten them.

I cried.

I began looking at the Taylor-made magazines I had spent $20 each on. Inside, to my amazement, was a CD.

Oh, this comes with a CD, I thought.

I’m sure it just has the single on it.

It doesn’t. It’s the entire damn album.

A CD came in both magazines.

I have three CDs and no CD player.

THEORIES ON WHY THIS IS HAPPENING TO ME: I did a bad thing and listened to the album when it was leaked. I rationalized it in my head because I knew I was going to buy a physical album and the digital album and was like have I not given enough of my time and money to this rich bitch, I think I can listen to a leaked version a few hours early. Just think of me as a Secret Sessioner. But now I think I am being punished by the Taylor gods.

Second theory: God is literally telling me to stop worshipping false idols. My CD player in my car was working fine, but the second I went to put in reputation, everything stopped. This theory is literally the only reason I haven’t cried over it. But if God wants me to start listening to worship music, he’s got another thing coming.

With all of this said, I now have two extra CDs and if you are a Taylor fan/still own a CD player, I’m giving them away. Please comment below (on the actual blog, not FB) your favorite Tay lyric of all time. I’ll announce the winners noon Wednesday.

The moment I knew I hit rock bottom: Brett Eldredge



This is a Just PMSing original series titled “The moment I knew I hit rock bottom” where I tell y’all about some of my lowest moments. Don’t feel sorry for me. Just laugh and buy me a drink. If you have a story you feel can top mine, then start your own blog.

If you’re my boyfriend, stop reading right now.

Thank you.

There is no way to word the title because the rock bottom part is just Brett Eldredge. It’s my newfound love for him. It’s the multiple tweets a day I send to him. It’s the Sunday I spent watching his music videos on repeat.

FETUS BRETT TWEET:

2014 me had no idea.


CURRENT 2016 LIFE/I AM OBSESSED WITH MR. BRETT ELDREDGE:

Great question, Cayla.

Answer: I have no idea. I know I bought his Christmas album and became scary obsessed with him because 1) he’s hot and 2) his voice.

After I bought his xmas album, I decided to tweet him like a good lil millennial girl. I didn’t expect much because like I’m not verified on Twitter or anything and I’m not bitter about that or anything, but I mean like I just didn’t expect him to respond.

AND SURPRISE!!!

He didn’t respond.

But he responded to every other female in the United States of America.

So for good measure, I was like, you know, I bet my tweet got overlooked, I’m just gonna tweet him the exact same thing again because yolo, you know, like what is life if you don’t take Twitter risks.

what’s the matter with me.

AND SURPRISE!!!!

He didn’t respond again.

So like any woman who is ignored by a male, I became crazy and began tweeting him every day, sometimes more than once a day, and my tone in each tweet got more mentally challenged as I went on.

i’m not mentally right.

He has yet to respond and honestly, that’s fine, Brad Paisley follows me on Twitter, but like whatever, Brett, I understand you’re busy, like whatever, it’s fine.

And then there are all the times I DM pictures of him to my friends on Instagram and they literally never respond and when they do, it’s not nice.

oh, ok, sassy_neal
MenΒ @sassy_neal is too good for:
Also, I’m watching his music videos on my actual TV right now because what is an obsession if you don’t take it to scary levels.

ALSO, BRETT. I totally wrote about you that time you came to Dallas. Look here:

Oh, did I not mention you??? Oops.

BUT I’VE LEARN TO LOVE YOU, OK.

Update: I just went through who he follows on Twitter. Help.

I will tweet this blog to him until he responds, I don’t even care if I end up in jail.

The moment I knew I hit rock bottom: Piss pants for Tay

This is a Just PMSing original series titled “The moment I knew I hit rock bottom” where I tell y’all about some of my lowest moments. Don’t feel sorry for me. Just laugh and buy me a drink. If you have a story you feel can top mine, then start your own blog.

Hi there, faithful readers, friends, people who stumble upon this blog. I have a story that has the potential to make you really uncomfortable so here we go. I will regret this blog by tomorrow and most likely remove it.

If you’re my mother, just stop reading now.

I had the worst porta potty experience at a Taylor Swift concert, she should send me a check. Yes, this past weekend, I went to a Taylor Swift concert on my birthday. Her only concert of 2016. On my birthday. In my state. I can’t even get into the how much of a God-thing that is because I have a piss story to tell.

Before the concert even began, I had to pee. I didn’t want to risk leaving at the beginning of the concert because what if she came out with a new hairdo, new outfit, naked, with Kanye West, I just didn’t want to risk it. So I took the advice of my friends “Just don’t think about it” and tried to dance to shake up the pee in my bladder.

But toward the end of the concert, I could not hold it any longer. Just as she was about to start Out Of The Woods, which I knew was going to be her second-to-last song, I darted for the porta potties. I weaved in and out of people and finally found the large stalls of piss. I waited in line and then jetted in there as soon as I saw a nice young lady exit.

It was pitch black in the porta potty. PITCH BLACK. I had to pee so bad, I didn’t have time to get out my phone to illuminate any light anywhere. IN FACT, I apparently didn’t have time to lock the door, but more on that in five minutes. lololololololihateme.

So I start peeing while squatting, not fully sitting on the disgusting potty because I’m actually not a monster, when all of a sudden, I feel pee on the back of my legs. And I’m like, oh that’s weird, CAN I NOT AIM???? But it’s so dark, like I can’t see anything, I have to pee so badly, I can hear Taylor singing, it’s my birthday, this is 26.

So I’m peeing and I still occasionally am feeling pee, but I continue to pee for oh, I DON’T KNOW LIKE 30 SECONDS, BEER PEE IS REAL, DON’T DRINK AND PORTA POTTY.

At some point, some young snot child peeps open the door because I forgot to lock it and I yelled at her, I’m pretty sure her Taylor Swift experience was ruined just based on my interaction with her, oh well, I’m not sorry.

I eventually stop peeing and start to lift up my pants that are like soaking at this point. I turn around to look at the toilet and I realize the lid was never lifted.

The lid was never lifted.

I peed on a toilet lid.

The toilet lid was black and I couldn’t see it.

The woman before me closed a toilet lid in a porta potty.

The woman before me is apparently Princess Kate.

I got pee in my pants.

I had piss pants at my hero’s concert.

This is 26.

Rock bottom.

The moment I knew I hit rock bottom: Tim Allen as my phone background


This is a Just PMSing original series titled “The moment I knew I hit rock bottom” where I tell y’all about some of my lowest moments. Don’t feel sorry for me. Just laugh and buy me a drink. If you have a story you feel can top mine, then start your own blog.

It was the middle of the afternoon at Gloria’s in Addison, Texas. I was with some friends and my boyfriend enjoying a margarita swirl and chips and bean dip. I had no idea what the swirl margarita consisted of, but I do know after four sips, I was drunk.

That’s when I started passionately talking about Gwen Stefani. “You have to give Gwen cwedit, though.”

Cwedit.

cwedit.

c-w-e-d-i-t.

Everyone put their heads in their hands and knew I was done for. My day was over. I was drunk. Four sips of Gloria’s had won and I had lost. But if you thought it couldn’t get any worse from pronouncing credit like a thick-tongued 3-year-old, just you fking wait.

Somehow mugshots got brought up. Somehow Tim Allen’s mugshot got brought up. Somehow I googled Tim Allen’s mugshot. Somehow I saved the picture on my phone. Somehow I made it my phone background. Somehow I’m alive today.
I remember my friend Cayla telling us that mugshot used to be her Myspace background. In my drunken state, I thought that was chic as hell for some reason. I don’t know why. I’m embarrassed. I don’t know what’s in Gloria’s margaritas, but thanks to them, Tim Allen’s 1978 mugshot with a mustache is now my phone background.
You can’t possibly hate me more than I hate myself.

The moment I knew I hit rock bottom: Sonic alone in my car


This is a Just PMSing original series titled “The moment I knew I hit rock bottom” where I tell y’all about some of my lowest moments. Don’t feel sorry for me. Just laugh and buy me a drink. If you have a story you feel can top mine, then start your own blog.

Did you think I had permanently escaped rock bottom??? Did you think, oh, something terrific must have happened to this blogger and now she doesn’t ever visit rock bottom anymore???

Why I think that’s mostly true (the past few months have been good compared to other previous months), I want everyone to know that I just spent my lunch break eating Sonic alone in my car because it’s Monday and the world hates Taylor Swift and what else are you supposed to do on a Monday when the world hates Taylor Swift.

And while there’s nothing crazy about that, I want you to know I didn’t actually eat lunch. I ate a Fudge Brownie Molten Cake Sundae because I thought it would taste similar to Chili’s molten cakes. But it didn’t.

It tasted like an old brownie was heated up in a microwave and they topped it with soft-serve ice cream from a machine. It was no Blue Bell, let me tell you that. It tasted like the realization that Taylor Swift lied and that she’s not a robot. It tasted like the feeling you get in your stomach when two of your favorite female celebrities are fighting. It tasted like the gross realization that Kanye West didn’t lie. It tasted like the end of the world.

The moment I knew I hit rock bottom: Cheesecake Factory for Mothers’ Day

This is a Just PMSing original series titled “The moment I knew I hit rock bottom” where I tell y’all about some of my lowest moments. Don’t feel sorry for me. Just laugh and buy me a drink. If you have a story you feel can top mine, then start your own blog.Β 

It was Mothers’ Day 2016 and I had spent the dayΒ spent a few hours with my mother and grandmother at lunch at Jake’s.

Then I went over to my sister’s and did laundry.

All of this can be filed under the Lord’s work. Spending time with family, cleaning my clothes, etc. So I was planning to continue the Lord’s work, but not really the Lord’s work, I was just going to go to church at the 5 p.m. service.

But laundry lasted longer than expected because drying towels with jeans is not an easy feat and I don’t recommend it for the weak. Am I rhyming.

So after realizing I wasn’t going to make it to the 5 p.m. service, I went to the Cheesecake Factory instead because I was craving an Oreo cheesecake and once I have it in my mind that I want something sweet, there is no getting in my way.

So off to the Cheesecake Factory I went on the busiest day in the restaurant industry instead of going to church. God is sad at me.

Parking was a nightmare. But I finally found a spot labeled for compact cars so my Mazda 6 and my hips were parking there.

Also the car next to the empty space was slightly over the line.

So with all this said, MY HIPS LITERALLY COULD NOT FIT IN BETWEEN THE CARS, I’M NOT MAKING THIS UP.

Little PMS backstory: My hips. I don’t know where they came from or if they are even big, but one day I decided I hated my hips and now I refuse to wear bodycon dresses and anything else that showcases them. Some men will say they like the hips, others will say it but you know they be lying, and then some make “hips don’t lie” jokes around me.

So when my hips could not fit between my car and the Jeep Wrangler beside me, it was a real trip. There I was in the Cheesecake Factory parking lot on Mothers’ Day, walking to get a cheesecake for myself on Mothers’ Day so I could eat it and watch Teen Mom 2.

happy mothers day

Rock bottom.

I had to walk sideways to fit.

But I got my cheesecake, god bless, thank you for praying.

Inside Cheesecake Factory was hell as you can imagine.

The moment I knew I hit rock bottom: Tuna salad debacle

This is a Just PMSing original series titled “The moment I knew I hit rock bottom” where I tell y’all about some of my lowest moments. Don’t feel sorry for me. Just laugh and buy me a drink. If you have a story you feel can top mine, then start your own blog.

It’s 11 a.m. CT Saturday morning at Social House in Uptown, Dallas, Texas, America.

My friends and I have gathered to partake in something pretentious millennials like to call “brunch.” It’s a time where you drink mimosas, eat breakfast food, and talk about last night’s happenings all while sitting outside on a pretentious porch somewhere.

This Saturday was no different.

Except if you’re PMS, then brunch is your hell because you hate the outdoors, you don’t love mimosas, you hate drinking during the day, and sometimes pancakes don’t satisfy.

So there I was at brunch. Drinking a Dr Pepper and looking over the menu.

I spy a tuna sandwich. I order.

“How would you like your tuna cooked,” the waiter asks me.

Offended and completely confused, I asked, “What?”

The waiter responds. “I would suggest medium.”

“I think we have a misunderstanding. I want a tuna sandwich. Like open the can. Or if you’re real fancy, the pouch.”

Then someone chimed in. PMS, you’re an idiot. This is like actual tuna.

Then the waiter says, “Oh, would you like tuna salad?”

YES, YES, YAS, YASSSSS, that’s what I would like. I tell him yes. Finally, we are on the same wavelength.

He jots something down on his notepad and away he goes. When everyone’s orders come out, it all looks so good. There’s bacon. There’s eggs. There’s waffles.

And then there’s my order.

A salad.

He pulled out my BOWL, places it in front of me and I word vomited and said, “This can’t be right.”

And he says, “Oh, yes it is.”

And then before my actual eyes, there was a salad so green with tuna steak slices so smelly, and dressing so gross, I actually died.

My eyes got wide.

“PMS got a salad? That’s the most un-PMS thing ever,” Augusta yells four people over, so all of Uptown, including the waiter, could hear her.

No, no, no. I meant tuna salad, not a salad with tuna, I thought to myself.

Everyone at the table looks at me. I’m too nice and considerate and angelic to tell the waiter there was a misunderstanding. Plus, I don’t want to appear anymore “stupid white girl” than I already have.

So the waiter leaves. I cry. I try taking a bite of the salad. I gag. Everyone begins throwing me their toast. Every time the waiter comes back, someone is talking about my tuna salad debacle. I talk loudly over them so the waiter doesn’t hear. I don’t know why, but the worst thing at this moment is hurting the waiter’s feelings. Or letting him know I hate salad. Or letting him know I hate him and the establishment he works at.

So I asked everyone at the table to take one bite from the salad to make it look like I ate it. No one did it because everyone was too drunk off their carafe of mimosas. So then I just moved it around a lot like the actual toddler I am. I hid the tuna slices under the greenery because I’m sneaky. I ate some toast. I went to the restroom when the waiter came and got our plates.

I know what you’re thinking. Why didn’t you just send it back? BECAUSE I’M NOT A BABY BOOMER. ONLY BABY BOOMERS SEND THEIR FOOD BACK. I’m serious. Go to dinner with a Baby Boomer and if their meal isn’t from Wolfgang Puck himself, they send it back. I just didn’t want to do that.

So I pouted instead because I hate attention and I hate everyone’s sympathy.

So after I returned from the bathroom, I sat back down and a nice waitress brought over cheese fries. She looks at me and says, “An order of cheese fries?”

“No, you have the wrong table,” I adorably said back to her.

And then my friends say, “SURPRISE!! WE ORDERED YOU CHEESE FRIES.”

In a moment, I went from sad from the tuna salad debacle to completely elated at the thought of cheese fries because CHEESE FRIES.

HAHA THIS MOVIE, THIS GIF, THIS MOMENT, HAHA R U LAUGHING

And then two seconds later, my two friends said, “JUST KIDDING.” And then the waitress was gone with the actual wind. (I’m a great writer.)

Sad, I continued to eat everyone’s leftover toast like the begging dog I am.

When the check came, I was so excited to get out of there.

I took one look at my check and my tuna salad that I did not touch because it smelled so bad only cost me $16.

SIXTEEN DOLLARS.

32 JACK IN THE BOX TACOS

ONE SHIRT FROM FOREVER 21

16 KIT KATS FROM A VENDING MACHINE

ded.

The moment I knew I hit rock bottom: Denton bro edition

this is photoshopped, but we rly spent our nite there and augusta neal just asked, “have i been to lucky lou’s?” so

This is a Just PMSing original series titled “The moment I knew I hit rock bottom” where I tell y’all about some of my lowest moments. Don’t feel sorry for me. Just laugh and buy me a drink. If you have a story you feel can top mine, then start your own blog.

I don’t know who the eff died and made Denton the new Austin, Texas, but someone did. And I experienced it first-hand Friday night.

When I told one of my editors that I was going to Denton on Friday night, he responded, “You go to Denton??” And I was like yes, why is this a big deal. I used to date a Denton boy. We used to go on dates in the square, I think, unless I’m confusing him with another Denton boy and now I don’t remember, but anyway, YES, I’VE BEEN TO DENTON, WHY IS THIS SO WEIRD. I’M COOL.

But apparently I’m not cool. Let’s meet the bros I met at Lucky Lou’s in Denton, Texas on March 25, 2016 A.D.

Bro #1
I was waiting patiently at the bar for a drink, I leaned over to a 5-foot-2 tiny man and said, “I feel like I’m not cool enough to be here.” He said, “Because you’re not,” and then I beat him up. Not really, but I walked away and told every girl in the bar not to talk to him, so same thing.

i said u don’t tell my thigh-high boots i’m not cool enough for this bar no sir.

Bro #2
Bro #2 and I literally bonded over hating Bro #1. I saw him snapchatting Bro #1 and said, “Yeah, Snapchat him to all your friends because I hate him.” He giggled and said, “Yeah, he’s a douche.” Then I sat down and made small talk with him and by made small talk, I mean I told him I worked in biology and my name was Maria. A few minutes later, my friends come by and tell him my real name, as in my first, middle and last name, and then he got really mad that I lied to him as if we were meant to be married. I said, sir, calm down.

Bro #3
I met Bro #3 while he was playing pool and I was trying to distract him. He called me abrasive, but said it was a good thing. He told me he was a handyman and then mentioned how frustrating it is to play pool with a bunch of 21-year-olds. I asked him how old he was and he said “about to be 24.”

Bro #4
Bro #4 had a mustache that I enjoyed and when I asked him his name he said, “Mustache.” πŸ™‚ πŸ™‚ πŸ™‚ πŸ™‚

Bro #5
Bro #5 is not a bro, but a bass player so what’s new. He was smoking and I took the cig and pretended to smoke it and said, “Do I look cool?” and he said, “No one looks cool smoking a cigarette.” πŸ™‚ πŸ™‚ πŸ™‚ πŸ™‚

I know Denton bros and me seem like any other typical Friday night, but it was especially rock bottom when a 5-foot-2 college bro told me to my face I wasn’t cool enough to be there. Pls think about me tonight during your nightly prayers. I need it.