America and Throwing Up the Rock ‘n Roll Sign

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Ahhhhmerica – land of the free sample and home of the fat kid. The fourth of July always serves as the best reminder of the values this country was founded on: Bud Light, grilling, croakies, and blowing shit up. I love America; the country that allows Kim Kardashian to legally name her daughter North West and plays full day marathons of Rock of Love on VH1. It’s just the best place on earth. Where else can you get a cronut and an all you can eat pancake breakfast? A Baconator? Henry the Dominos delivery guy? Beer drinking helmets? This guy:

This country lets you openly express yourself in any which way, and I’ve chosen to do so by throwing up the rock ‘n roll sign any chance I get. It’s such a great symbol to throw out. Peace signs and middle fingers are so out. And sticking your tongue out is way less cliche than the duck face.

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I feel like it must go hand in hand with my new found glory of wearing t shirts and painting my nails blue. Also, I’ve been really into crop tops lately, which I suppose are a class of t shirt so I’m still considering myself heavily into my glam rockstar stage, just now featuring my belly button.

The Shame of Being on the Domino’s Email List

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Ladies and Gentlemen, readers of my beloved rose, I am ashamed to admit what this title has already revealed: I am on the Dominos email list.

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I know, I know. It’s sad but it has been something I’ve needed to face for some time now. I’ve unsubscribed before and I wish I could say there was a glitch in the matrix that somehow caused 2 of my emails to now be subscribers, but really, I just made more online orders.

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Louis C.K. feels my pain, only his vice is the dreaded Cinnabon. Everyone has one Louis…

…And by the way, Dominos Cinna Sticks come with the same hot syrup… I think…

“You’re a man if you’re eating a Cinnabon. In that moment you’re a man… What you think I have integrity? I’m buying a Cinnabon right now. I’m buying a Cinnabon at the airport I arrived at… I’m 20 minutes from my house where I’ve got bananas and apples and shit. And I’m sitting on my luggage just fuckin’ eating a Cinnabon… With a fork and knife.”

The worst thing about Dominos is that the next day when it’s cold and hard and still on my floor because I’m too disgusting to get up after and properly dispose of it at a nuclear waste facility – I finish eating it. All of it.

And like how bad are your eating habits when your delivery guy has a third means of contacting you? Henry and I are practically dating based on all the intimate details he knows about me. He knows my cell, my address, what time I usually need my midnight snack, and just how I like it hot and fresh out the kitchen. All he needs is my social and we’re as good as wed.

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One night a few weeks ago we saw him delivering to an apartment near the bars.  He gave us a ride home and Susan Freedman’s large cheese and a 2 liter of Fanta. He didn’t even need directions to my mom’s house he’d been there so many times before. When I got out I felt like I should thank him for dinner and kiss him goodnight.

Plus Mrs. Freedman is probably pretty ticked off that she never got her tasty late night treats so it’s the least I could have done given that I’ll probably never see him again once she writes her angry letter and he gets fired. And then I’ll have to forge a relationship with the new delivery guy, who you know won’t be nearly as good of a listener as Henry, and will probably be seeing other late night pizza eaters on the side.

Damnit Henry, Why!?

…Well… You have my information