Birthday Blues

10 pm November 30, 2014.

Nice. Only two hours until my 21st birthday. It’s a Sunday, so I can’t go out. I guess I’ll take this time to unwind.

You know what? I’m going to paint my nails and put on a face mask. Dammit, this is about to be MY DAY! And dammit, I will look damn good. I’m the goddamn Birthday Princess for crying out loud!

But what color? Hmm.. Something….trendy yet sophisticated. Something that says “I’m mature, but I’m still here to party.”

Settled on a nice nude color.

Chicka chicka yeah. Nude color to match my nude body tomorrow night….BECAUSE BIRTHDAY SEX, Y’ALL!

Now that I have the color sorted, I can focus on my face mask. I’ll put on the mask and start painting my nails. Ya know, to really give the mask time to work its magic while I focus on my nails. Damn, I’ve got this 21 thing all figured out.

Time to slap on the mask. I squirt some into my hand and start applying it to my face. It’s chocolate scented, so it looks like I just rubbed my business all over my face. Not to mention slightly racist.

Oooh. And it’s cooling! What a treat! Smells and feels like two chocolate Easter bunnies doin’ it in Heaven.

Time for the nails. First coat: completed. Eh, a bit streaky. Definitely needs a second coat. I put on the second coat. Eh. Maybe even a third coat? Sure. Done. Now, we wait. This shit has to dry! I’ll just relax. Let me lay down, I still have 5 minutes before I can take this mask off at 10:17pm anyway. So cooling. So relaxing. Let me close my eyes for a second.

FUCK.10:56pm November 30, 2014.


I run to the bathroom to wash it off. CHRIST, it’s in my eyes. Like two chocolate Easter bunnies are doing it in my eyes.

I proceed to splash water in my eyes for the next 4 minutes. Four minutes of my 20-year-old life I’ll never get back.

But I’m in good spirits! I still have an hour left!

11pm November 30, 2014.

An hour! One whole hour! A complete 60 minutes! What to do! The options are endless!

I look down at my nails. They’re ruined. They’re all dented and scuffed from the chocolate bunny incident of 10:56pm. Guess I’ll do them over. No big deal, I have a whole hour.

I take off the polish. Different color this time. I reach for a fast-drying formula. My classic shade: Rimmel’s “Mind The Gap, Victoria.” It has my name in the goddamn color’s name. Meant to be. My nails are done without a hitch. And I managed to kill some time. Perfect.

11:30pm November 30, 2014.

30 minutes. The home stretch. I can do this!

You know what? I’m going to take a shot! I’m 20 years young baby! I’ve basically spent the last five years of my life saying “fuck you” to the Man anyway! Might as well fuck legality one last time!

To the liquor cabinet!

Yikes, lookin’ sparse. There are only three dusty bottles in the corner. Strike that, two are empty. One bottle. The label is handwritten. I recognize that the handwriting is that of my neighbor, Jack, the italian immigrant who makes his own wine. Label says, “Grappa 120 Proof”

Jesus. I google it. Basically it’s fermented grape skins, stems, and other shit I don’t want in my mouth.

I pour a shot anyway. Do you even take shots of this? Fuck it, I do what I want.

It smells absolutely awful. Like someone bottled the contents of a port-o-potty and topped it off with some cheap wine. Nice. I can do this. FOR AMERICA!

I toss it back. HOLYFUCKINGCUNTJESUSSHITCHRISTGODDAMMIT. My face scrunches as soon as the Grappa touches my tongue. I set down the shot glass too hard and knock over the bottle with the back of my hand. Broken glass and grappa now cover the kitchen floor.

I grab some rags and clean up the mess I had just made, tiptoeing around the broken glass as I do so. It takes forever and it’s a sticky mess, but I get it done. And right before 12!

12am December 1, 2014. My birthday.

The last two hours were rough, but they’re behind me now. New year, new me. Just call me Vicky Martin because I’m livin’ la vida loca, baby! But I have tomorrow to live it up! Exhausted and defeated, I call it a night.

I brush my teeth and crawl into bed. I reach to turn off the light and see my bottle of nude nail polish from before. hmm…nude. It reminds me: BIRTHDAY SEX, Y’ALL! It’s not too late! I can really make this count!

But not with a real male, unfortunately. I dig through my underwear drawer and pull out a certain purple, phallic, vibrating, silicone dream I like to call Leo.

I crawl into bed. Excited, I pull down my panties. I turn on Leo.

Batteries are dead.



I’m so sorry,

Victoria, Blog On Fleek

This definitely isn’t where I parked my car

What am I doing here?

What am I looking for?

Well, here’s the long-winded story:

I am a young woman, first and foremost; doe-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to get eaten alive by this “real world” that everyone keeps warning me about. I was given a name at birth, sure, but like everyone else on this planet, I’m looking to make a name for myself. The real question here is How?


Okay, now what?

Well, let’s see…maybe….


I would love to be a beauty blogger or YouTuber, but there’s more to it than making a channel and calling it a day. Major road block: I’m broke! I go to college, I spend what little money I have on alcohol and club entry fees. And alcohol. I don’t have means to buy expensive BB Creams, fancy foundations, and $35 mascaras on a daily basis to keep up with blog posts and YouTube viewers who are losing interest every day. And don’t get me wrong here, I’m not hating on YouTubers or beauty bloggers at all. In fact, that is a lifestyle I envy. Ask anyone, I’ve been talking about making a YouTube channel since middle school. I guess it means I’m growing up because I’ve come to terms with my failed YouTube dreams and empty wallet.

Oh, I’ve got it!


No, no… that would never work. Mostly for the empty wallet previously mentioned, but also for the body image comments that come along with it. I’m no skinny mini. Clothes don’t hang on me like a hanger, but rather cling to me like a stuffed sausage link. I know what you’re thinking…”buy bigger clothes, stupid!” Hey, fuck off! I like the person I am.



No, that would never work either. Not that I don’t have confidence, because I do. It’s just, I don’t know…that takes a lot out of a person to be confident all the time 24/7, especially online. I enjoy staying home and basking in my own ugliness and self-pity some days, IS THAT A CRIME? Besides, I’m looking to adopt a healthier lifestyle these days…OH! THAT’S PERFECT!


YES, OF COURSE! A blog to rule all blogs! A journey! Come, join me. Come with me through the Fat Forrest as I make my way to The Land Of Skinny! No, no. Absolutely not. That is some heavy stuff (pun intended) to be writing about every week. That’s something I would rather keep to myself and do how I want to do, without people telling me what I should or shouldn’t put in my omelet in the morning.

Hmmm. I’m out of ideas. Well, I’m a woman, so what else is there?

See, right there! That’s the problem with this society. Women have such narrow roles, especially when it comes to making it on the internet. What ever happened to Wonder Woman, girl power, a woman’s right to choose, or Susan B. Anthony? It’s true what Lily Allen says, it’s hard out here for a bitch. This world needs more feminists.

uh oh.

Watch out, here I come.


Yes. I’ll wear lipstick, but kick ass. I’ll tell that man where to stick his sandwich. I’ll lecture men on gender equality while making out with 3 girls at once. No, I could never keep up with this. This is all wrong! Oh, no…that’s not what I meant…the kissing another girl part isn’t wrong, I mean, if that’s what you want, by all means kiss away! That was a close one. I pray I don’t get attacked by real feminists or a gaggle of gays for that one. Love is love!




Pause for laughter.

My love life consists of wine, Tinder, tears, and the complete series of Boy Meets World on DVD. So, there’s that…

So, turns out I’m still lost. Maybe one day I’ll find my way on the internet. Until then, please read the shitty things I post. I will most definitely make you feel bad for me, but maybe, just maybe, I’ll make you laugh too? Hey it’s worth a shot, right?

I’m so sorry,

Victoria, Blog On Fleek (it’s ironic, dammit)