So, it’s like this: I’m 28 years old and live in the spare bedroom of a house I share with a couple 24-year-old dudes who host a web show called Nerdlocker. I spend the majority of my free time reading about zombies, writing about zombies, surfing the internet for “ideas” (read: “puppy videos,” “makeup tutorials,” and “girl-on-girl porn”), getting stoned, and playing online video games with a bunch of preteens whose first names I’ll never know. I don’t really need anyone telling me what a loser I am because I wake up every single morning fully aware of who I am and what my super irrelevant life is all about. Still, the few friends I have made in this god awful town (read: “Las Vegas, NV” or the appropriately dubbed “City of Sin”) are always more than eager to remind me of what a loser I am on an almost-daily basis.

What I’m getting at here is that I give exactly zero fucks. Because for some reason that is light years beyond me (that’s a lot, right?), I have managed to score this dude who is so on top of his shit he makes Martha Stewart look like a total assclown. I guess Martha Stewart is kind of an assclown these days, but I’m way out of the loop and you guys totally know what I meant by that. Also, my brain’s only half-functional right now so that’s as good a metaphor as I can conjure up.

Anyway, seriously…my boyfriend is so on top of his shit that he wakes up early on Sundays (his only day off) to go grocery shopping for the week. He does all that meal prep bullshit, he fills a blender full of frozen fruit and protein powder at night so that in the mornings he just has to push a button and his breakfast ready to go, he goes to the gym FIVE TIMES A WEEK MIN, and budgets a certain amount of his weekly paychecks to be put into a savings account “just in case.”

In short, my boyfriend is a fucking saint.

And for some reason he’s in love with ME.

ME!

A girl who may or may not have had a $5 bottle of red wine just called “blend,” one string cheese and two packs of Star Wars fruit snacks for dinner. (I did.)

And that’s not even the crazy part. Because the crazy part is this: That saint of a fucking dude who’s for some reason in love with me just suggested I quit my day job and let him take care of me so I can write full time and attempt to make a career out of what I love. No bullshit. That happened.

He says that taking care of rent, utilities, groceries, etc. would be his pleasure if it meant seeing me write every day.

Naturally, all I can do is cry about it. And I figured I ought to blog about it, because I don’t ever want to forget how good it feels to be loved so much by someone you’re so head over heels in love with. It’s awesome. It’s indescribable. I don’t know what else to say because truly there are no words in the English language that could possibly express how much you love this one person. EVEN THOUGH YOU ARE REALLY FUCKING GOOD WITH WORDS. WORDS ARE LIKE, YOUR THING. YOU HAVE A GOSH DANG BACHELORS DEGREE IN WORDS, AND YOU STILL CAN’T DO IT!! YOU CAN’T EXPLAIN HOW YOUR HEART STOPS EVERY SINGLE TIME YOU SEE THIS PERSON WALK INTO A ROOM. OR HOW WHEN THIS PERSON KISSES YOU ON JUST THE RIGHT PART OF YOUR NECK, THE WHOLE WORLD PAUSES, IF ONLY JUST FOR A SECOND, TO RECOGNIZE WHAT A MONUMENTAL OCCURRENCE JUST OCCURRED WITHIN THAT KISS.

That there exists another human being who could want to do so much—who could love me so much—is really, really difficult for me to understand. But that’s okay. I don’t need to understand it. Because I can feel it, and man does it feel good.

Oh, and P.S., he looks like this:

Pinch me, right?

#finally

Well, I did it. I got a dog. And not just any dog; I got like, Earth’s CUTEST dog. His name is Yoshi. This is what he looks like:

He also looks like this, this and this:

I’m pretty sure he’s magic.

Regardless of my enthusiasm (or lack thereof) this election season, I will always be a proud and hopeful American, genuinely grateful for freedom and democracy. I hope you took the time to exercise your right to vote today.

Since I wasn’t planning on doing anything for Halloween, I offered to pick up my coworker’s shift so she could go out and have a good time. She seemed grateful, I ended up making decent money, and it gave me a reason to dress up.

Oddly enough, it put me in a really good mood and at some point during the shift, I even convinced my barback we should go to downtown Las Vegas/Fremont Street after work to catch the last of some Halloween shenanigans.

When our relief rolled in around midnight, that’s exactly what we did.

He went as Waldo (of Where’s Waldo?) and I went as one of my favorite movie characters, Marla Singer. Although we saw at least a dozen other Waldos downtown, Justin’s costume was a hit. We couldn’t pass a single group of people without someone yelling, “I found you!!” or “OMG, WALDO!”

I, on the other hand, was the ONLY Marla Singer. Still, exactly zero people screamed, “OMG, MARLA!” In fact, I had to explain my costume to just about everyone we encountered. But that’s okay. I ended up having my first great Halloween in Vegas.

Me as Marla:

The real deal:

Oh and hey, look how hard I fucking killed it with this Pippi costume in 1990-something:

I’ve never been real keen on babies. They barf and poop a lot, neither of which I’m really into. Also, it seems like whenever people have babies they’re just like, “Umm, I’m way too busy to get drunk and do drugs with you now sooo…sorry. Call you never.” And that’s really annoying.

So yeah, babies. Ew. It’s just like, I get it. You’re cute and all or whatever. Honestly, I never thought babies were all that cute, especially the newborn ones. But apparently everyone else on planet Earth thinks they are, so obvi there is something wrong with me. Fine. But at the same time, am I really the only human being who doesn’t think the cuteness outweighs the constant barfing and pooping? There’s a reason I use condoms, people, and it’s not because they feel great.

Anyway, even though I hate babies there’s actually one I really love. And we’re talking like really, really love. Even before I met this baby I was 100% in love with her. I didn’t even know her name and still I was in love with her! Seriously. Because my best friend Chelsea was just like, “Yeah, I think we are going to call her Charlie.” So for like nine months I thought her name was Charlie. But then she was born and Chels was all like, “Oh yeah, we decided to name her Payton.” And it didn’t even matter! I was already in love with that barfing little turdlet!!

Here is a picture of me and the Payton-meister, formerly known as Charlie:

Even in this picture you can tell I really love her, which is stupid since she’s only been alive for a few weeks and whatnot. Also, she farts more than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s so gross, but also kind of cute because I’m not sure she even knows she’s doing it. Not that farting unconsciously is cute or anything, but it kind of is when she does it. Seriously, you guys, she farts SO much.

Here’s the most beautiful picture in the world of Payton smiling. I took it with my iPhone and my momma, who is holding her, is blurry and kind of looks like that chick from The Ring. Also her boob is close to popping out of her shirt. Still, this is certainly the most beautiful picture in the world:

Payton is so happy and looks just like my best friend, which is cool. I guess that’s what happens when you share half of someone’s DNA and all; I’m not sure. Regardless of how it works, it’s cool. And she’s beautiful. She’s so, so beautiful.

And this is what she looks like when she’s sleeping:

You probably think I’m kidding you with these pictures, but I’m not. She really is that cute.

To me, Payton is not only a replica of my best friend, but also a symbol of my future. Like maybe….just MAYBE…I might be able to be a mom one day. Because even though babies scare the absolute crap out of me, they are also somewhat magical. Or at least this one is.

I recently rendezvoused in Los Angeles for a couple days with a boy I’d known 12 hours. He actually lives in New York, but was in LA on business. I met him here in Vegas a couple weeks ago, where he also sometimes travels for work. #sexy

Here I am about to leave the house roughly four hours later than I planned on leaving the house:

I know that smile is kind of cheesy but if you could see this boy, you would totally be like, “I get it.”

The drive was long and there was this one incident involving Listerine and the wind. I wrote about it here, if you want to check that out. Here’s what my drive would have looked like if I had taken a bunch of pictures of it, made a collage of those pictures and then instagrammed them, which I did:

Also, I am like WAY into Sleigh Bells right now. They are my favorite band atm. I always thought “atm” was short for “ass to mouth” but turns out it also means “at the moment.” I learned this when my very young cousin used the term atm and I was just like wtf.

Since the hunky dude I drove to LA for was busy being important at meetings and in conferences all day, I was left to entertain myself until 5:30ish each night. I didn’t really mind this, since traveling and adventuring are kind of like my things. The first day I walked around the streets of downtown Los Angeles, which was both exciting and scary as fuck. I learned that buses don’t brake for anyone–not anyone–and that people who drive for a living (like taxi cab drivers and the aforementioned bus drivers) are among the worst drivers in the whole entire world. I learned that there can never be too many cafes and jewelry shops on one street corner, and that the Jewish jeweler in South Park who calls himself King will definitely rip you off. But he will also hug you and give you a menorah coin as a free gift, which he says is a pretty sweet deal. Here are some buildings and stuff I also instagrammed because why not:

I found Library Bar while exploring the city and thought, omg this place was made for me! I made the hunky dude take me there when he got off work. I was disappointed to find out that Library Bar is not a library and a bar. It’s just a bar with some fake books on the shelves. Also they show Boardwalk Empire on Monday nights or whatever. Despite the whole not being a library thing, it was actually a really cool place. If you’re ever in that area, it’s worth stopping by. The bartender’s name was Sean, and he was the second hottest guy in the room. If I wasn’t with Hot Guy Numero Uno, I probably would have tried taking him home. Just kidding. Not really kidding.

The following day I entertained myself by masturbating in the giant, fluffy hotel bed and then driving myself to Venice Beach. I rode around for an hour trying to find the cheapest parking possible since I was broke after being ripped off by King. $2 per hour. Boom:

Venice Beach was artsy and beautiful and not at all how I envisioned it in my head. I figured it was some yuppy beach town like Newport or something. No offense if you live in Newport, that was just my impression after being there a couple days and meeting four different people wearing Rolex watches they leased. Anyway, Venice was awesome and it made me miss living in San Diego a lot. I did a bit of journaling down by the ocean and soaked my toes in her for old time’s sake. “I’ll miss you,” I said to her as I left, like some psycho whackjob freak who talks to water.

It was a really lovely, albeit really short, trip that I don’t ever want to forget. I’d write more about the boy, but I don’t want to jinx things with him. Also, I already did write about him in my sex column and I’m starting to get the feeling dudes don’t really dig that. If you read that post by the way, the one I linked you to earlier and will do so again right here, then you will probably find this picture kinda funny:

P.S. I do NOT wear Old Spice.

P.P.S. You should totally follow me on instagram (@jessicafarkas)!!