The Night We Stalked a Bachelorette Reject

I’m going to begin this post by asking to not be judged.  Then I’m going to follow up that request with the realization that I’m a 34-year-old woman who is still obsessed with the Bachelor Franchise, and I deserve to be judged.

A few weeks ago, a notable Bachelorette/Bachelor In Paradise contestant, Chad Johnson,  posted something on his Instagram which indicated he would be in San Diego making an appearance at a popular downtown establishment for Rachel’s Bachelorette season premiere.  My friend Tay caught this immediately, and notified my sister and me.  We made a commitment that we would be at  The Tipsy Crow that evening and we would meet Chad.

Now, to me, Chad was a very unlikable dude.  He seemed disrespectful to women both on his season of The Bachelorette, and on Bachelor In Paradise.  He wasn’t anyone I wanted to support in the least bit.  But… being the huge nerd fan I am of the franchise in general, I obviously needed to be there.  I made a calendar invite so Tay and Riss would have consistent notifications and not forget about our planned girls night, and on this past Monday morning we reconvened and were set to go.

Until…

So… then I called The Tipsy Crow…

So… remember when I asked you to not judge me?  Judge me.  I was that crazy person.  I called the bar to make sure Chad would be there. Tay and I get to the bar super early and in true form, act as if we didn’t even know there was an event going on that night.  The security guards informed us the upstairs was reserved for the “Bachelorette” event and “The Bachelor” would be in attendance.  I *cluelessly* questioned that …. “Wait THE BACHELOR will be here??” (not even knowing who he might be referring to), as another male security guard stepped in and clarified “a guy from the Bachelorette will be here… his name is Chad.”  Ohhhhh we had noooo idea!  The nice men lead us to the only table available in the place and told us we could order food and drinks and then if we wanted, we could go upstairs, where the Bachelorette event was being held, and where Chad would be taking photos with all the guests… once the rope was opened at 7:30.

We did just that.  We sat at a table in the back, ordered a delicious tuna melt to share, and a a couple of drinks (for me)… we waited…until 7:30, then tried to walk to the front… where at this time it was a BUM RUSH of *actual* crazy girls, who had shown up holding roses and wearing matching Bachelor shirts.  I was literally embarrassed to be grouped with such people. Tay and I had met up with my sister, Riss, as well as a few other girlfriends, and stood in a very crowded line to get upstairs.  We stood in that line for the entirely too long amount of time that everyone else peaced out.  One thing I have in common with Tay is that we are both stubborn to a fault.  Did either one of us REALLY care about meeting this douchebag Chad Johnson?? NO. But were we going to wait in a never-moving line, and finally be first in the line to just leave and give up on the night??  Also, no.

I had made my sister my bartender for the night.  I’d wait in this ridiculous line, and she would just continue to go to the bar and buy us drinks and deliver them to said line.  At the point that Tay and I were number one on the line, they had announced that Chad wasn’t even upstairs anymore taking pictures with “fans,” but he had gone downstairs to where we had just been sitting eating our food as the first patrons of the fucking night because the upstairs lounge was “at capacity.”  I looked at Tay… “We literally couldn’t have played this worse if we tried.”  She agreed.

We decided we would wait.  Chad would eventually be back upstairs to the lounge to greet his “fans” and watch the premiere.  I literally didn’t care about Chad, as a person, but I cared about the cause.  We were here to meet him. We finally got upstairs… so did Riss.  We plotted… we spotted the back entry stairway that was also roped off to only staff and decided he’d be coming back up that staircase.  So we stood and waited…and waited… finally, right when the show started, I decided I was making a move.  If I left down the original staircase we came up, I was told I wouldn’t be allowed back up.  I informed Tay and Riss,

“I was taught by an old friend… if you want to go somewhere you are not allowed, you just need to act like you own the place, don’t look at anyone, and do it.  I’m going down the staff (forbidden) staircase and I’m going to see if I can find Chad.”

They warned me I may be kicked out, but at this point I didn’t care.  I descended the forbidden stairway, passing staff members sitting on it around the corner sharing dinner, didn’t look at them, and kept going.  I scrounged the bar looking for Chad and couldn’t find him.  I was about to go back up the forbidden stairway to let the girls know Chad was longgggg gone… when I decided I’d like to have a puff of a Black & Mild (yes, classy… I know)… so I exited out of the forbidden exit near the forbidden staircase, full-on determined I’d make it back in that forbidden door when I was done, as well as up the forbidden staircase when I got in.

What did I see outside on the sidewalk?  Oh… it was CHAD in all his glory, full lights, camera, action, doing an interview.  I quickly took a pic and sent it to Tay and Riss, an indication they should come down the forbidden stairway immediately, if they wanted to catch a glimpse of this hunk of meat on stilts (yes, he has the skinniest chicken legs on a man hunk you have ever seen in your entire life).

Chad was done with his interview and I overheard him saying, “Are you going to give me a good edit?? Everyone makes me look like an asshole.  I don’t want an asshole edit. I want to look like a good guy”

The producer tried to make him feel ok, by telling him they’d give him a good edit, and everything is a little “give and take.”  I thought… LOL they’re not gonna give him a good edit and he doesn’t like that.  So I set myself into action.

As soon as he walked away from the camera, I approached him.  And again, I deserve to be judged… because now I’m a straight up liar.

“Chad… Hi.  My name is Courtney and I was hired to write a blog about how you’re not actually an asshole, but you’re a really good guy.”

“Oh, really?  Cool!”

“Yeah, my sister and my friend are also writing the blog with me and they should be down here in a second.”

*Cue Riss and Taylor coming out of the forbidden doorway at the bottom of the forbidden staircase.

I walk quickly to them clarifying that they are also part of this very special blog highlighting how great Chad is, and they give me eyes, with agreement.

I take a selfie with Chad, *for the blog* and then I have Carissa take photos of Tay and me with Chad *for the blog.*  Chad happily takes all of these photos, and then tells Carissa that she is one of the girls he’s “given a rose” to tonight.  She says, “No, you didn’t give me one, but YOU SHOULD HAVE.”  She then, continues to tell him he has “really skinny legs” which I’m sure he was thrilled about, shakes his hand, and we all continue on our way.

Chad continued on his way to that upstairs lounge we waited all night to see…and we continued upon our way home.  It was a Monday night.  What were were all doing out at a downtown bar, anyway?  F-List celeb sighting… check.  Ridiculous photos with F-list celeb, check.  Here’s to stubbornness… and my friends.

xoxo

Gossip Girl

DFC is Chirpin’

I was sitting around, minding my own business last week (read: binge watching Netflix), when one of my brother’s old colleagues from NY who I haven’t seen or spoken to in years private messages me on Facebook with some interesting info.  She had read my previous post, “You Dated HIM??” about my brief stint with one of the Barstool Sports guys (Devin, or DFC as I refer to him), and she happens to be a fan of them… a “Stoolie,” if you will?

Now I read this message and was like nahhh, there’s no way he’s talking about me…that was soooo long ago…why would he be bringing it up now? Plus, I had thought he lied and said he was living in Hoboken, not the Bronx.  Admittedly, this was like 9 years ago, so I really don’t remember exactly where he lied about living.  It very well could have been the Bronx; I just remember it certainly wasn’t at home with his parents.  I gave the Podcast a listen, and for five full minutes I’m thinking, “holy shit he’s totally talking about me.”  Literally, word-for-word, how I would have told the story myself (maybe minus the part where he called me a dumb bitch…but he also called me pretty hot, so we’re totally cool).  He even dated it, guessing our approximate ages at the time.  So unless he had the same exact event happen twice in the same year, with two people the same ages as we were, quoting the girl saying the same things I said to him, he was damn well talking about me.

Here’s a small clip from his full podcast on KFC Radio in which he tells the story during a segment about lying to girls:

Now here poses the question, what are the f*cking chances that we both happen to remember, and publicly share, the same exact story from nine years ago, within the same 6-week time period?

“He must have seen your blog,” one friend suggests.  But how?  I go to great lengths to block anyone that would potentially see something I write about them (yeah, I’m a huge baby, I know)… and wouldn’t he have called me out on that?  Or is he just stealing my story because it was obviously so intriguing?  Or, could this, in fact, be just a very large, strange coincidence??  Could both of us really be re-telling the same story at the same time 9 years later?

Ginge hears the Podcast, thinks it’s hilarious, tells me he’s 100% talking about me, and says he’s sending DFC my blog.

“NO!  Do NOT!”  I don’t like it when people know I’m talking about them behind their backs.  Then I think about it and realize he talked about me behind my back too.  We’re even.  I decide to message him and tell him about my post myself, and that I heard the Podcast.  I guess he hadn’t received the message to wherever I sent it yet, but he received someone elses….  (WHO ARE YOU?  REVEAL YOURSELF!)

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So wait… so he did, in fact, randomly tell this story on his Podcast last week, having no idea I had just written the same exact one.  Annnddddd….my details were wrong. Touche. We’re even? We chatted a bit, laughed about it, and I invited myself onto his show and he said no.  Rude.  Super rude.

Then, this morning, one of his “Stoolies” messaged me, and tattled on him.  He released his weekly Podcast this morning, and updated our story, with a full-read of my previous blog post.  I listened, I laughed (how are you questioning the fact you’re a little bit of a ginger) and he called me out on my details being wrong (dude, it was 9 years ago).  Ginge also listened, laughed, and I’m pretty sure his week was made…. OMG Barstool DFC talking about him on his Podcast! Ginge is totally famous.

And so am I?  Maybe? A little?  I’d like to thank all 12 of my readers for keeping me in the loop.  I’m glad our people were able to help us connect the dots even though I disguised DFC’s identity so well…  Devin, it’s been funny talking about each other behind each other’s backs.  But stop lying. You’re really not good at it.

Here’s a link to this week’s Podcast with DFC’s version of our updated story.  If you don’t want to listen to them bitching about the Master’s (and if you’re reading this blog, chances are, you don’t), then skip to 17:15.

KFC Radio:  Little Saturdays Are For The Boys

‘Til next time…

xoxo Gossip Girl

 

Cult Recruitment?

I must just have the face of a sucker.  I swear people target me.  I don’t know how to explain the frequency of puzzling interactions I find myself in with strangers.

Last week, I took my little 85-pound Goldendoodle baby, Oliver to the dog park at Balboa.  We go there often; he runs around, sniffs some buttholes, I keep to myself, and then we leave.  This time, however, I got in a conversation with a woman, probably in her early 30’s, named Linsdey.  She was dressed head to toe in Adidas, with a navy tracksuit and sneakers.  I saw her meandering, being friendly with other dog owners, and then she fixated on me.

The conversation started out normally… discussing our dogs, etc.  She then quickly escalated to asking about my life, my job, my move out west, my relationship.  She seemed nice enough, so I continued to engage her.  She was there with her two Bichons and her German husband, who she pointed out across the park, also dressed in an Adidas tracksuit.  When I asked what she did… that’s when the conversation got a little weird.

“Oh, well when I moved out here I was a teacher for a couple of years, but then it’s kind of a weird story…” [ugh, here we go…she’s going to sell me something]… “My husband and I met this couple named Matt and Kelly.  They’re in their late 20’s and they don’t work anymore.  They’re financially set for life.  So we pursued them because we were both really interested in finding out how that’s possible.  We begged and begged, and finally convinced them to be our mentors.  So they took us on, and we’ve been studying under them.”

I didn’t know what to say.  “Oh, that’s cool.”

“Yeah, it’s really amazing.  We are so blessed to have them agree to be our mentors.  What about you and your boyfriend?  Do you ever think about that?  Being set for life so you don’t ever have to work again?  Do you have anything set up for yourself?  Would you  and Ginge be interested in doing something a little different to gain great rewards?”

“I mean, that would be nice, but no, I don’t have things set for life.  I’m not even sure what you’re referring to, honestly.  How are you financially set for life without working?”

Stupid, stupid me… I gave her an in.  She got me on her hook.

“Oh, it’s super complicated.  But is that something you and Ginge would consider?”

Is what something we would consider??  “It sounds like it could be interesting… I can tell you now, Ginge wouldn’t be into whatever you’re talking about.  He’s more of a traditional thinker who stays inside the box.  I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be open to it.” [I know him well enough to be able to visualize the face he would make at me when I proposed whatever this was…]

The conversation continued cordially for a minute or two more until it was time to leave.  I said it was nice meeting her and began to walk away to collect Ollie, when she called me back.

“Hey, so if anything I said interests you, I was thinking maybe I could talk to my mentors and see if they would be willing to mentor you as well.”

“I don’t even know what they’d be mentoring me on.”

“It’s all about relationships.  They may not even be willing to but its worth a try if you want.  If you’re not all-in and super excited, it won’t even work so don’t worry about it.  But give me your phone number and I can see.”

I freakin’ gave her my phone number.  Of course I did.

“Hopefully I’ll be calling you with good news in the next few days!”

I left the dog park with my head spinning.  Whatttttt was she talking about??  Why were they in matching track suits??  My girlfriends told me it was a cult recruitment or a swingers club and sent me photos of Adidas tracksuit options I should purchase when I join.

I came home and told Ginge.  “…And then I gave her my phone number.”

“You really can never say no.”

“I know.  I’m a salesman’s dream!”

She texts me that evening to follow up and say she’ll be in touch.  She then texts again on Sunday and asks if we could talk on the phone that evening.  Of course, I arranged to record the conversation.  If you have 6 minutes and 24 seconds, please, feel free to indulge in the full version of this super informative convo below:

 

Ginge had walked in right at the end, which is who I continued talking to, and I’m pissed I stopped the recording mid-statement, “She wants the cock.”  Where’s the eye rolling emoji on this thing?

So I get off that phone call being like WHAT…THE…FLYING…*%&($*%(#????  I’m so confused.  She still didn’t tell me anything and she seemed genuinely annoyed that I was asking questions.  What IS this?  What are you going to get out of this?  She claimed there was no financial obligation and that it was “relationship based.”  HUH?!  WHAT is??

My girlfriends did some further digging and decided this is 100% cult recruitment.  Brie discovered that when you google “Adidas Cult” this is what pops up:

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Heaven’s Gate is conveniently based in San Diego, CA and was responsible for a 39-person mass suicide in 1997.  Sweet.

Unsurprisingly, Ginge refused to go meet them for their requested coffee date.  Which leaves me at a dead end.  I need a Ginge to continue this.  This post is a double-sided plea.  One side is asking for answers or info.  Has anyone come across anything like this before?  Any insight as to what this could be?  The second side is casting for a part.  The part of Ginge.

—————————————————————

Casting Call

Role:  Boyfriend (Lead):  Male, Ages 29-39

Must be able to play the role of a personable, open minded, upbeat, loving boyfriend with a zest for life.

Ethnicity:  All ethnicities who can play off being from Michigan (no accents)

Required Media:  Headshot/photo

Pay:  A nice beer after a stellar coffee date performance

—————————————————————

I gotta get to the bottom of this, and I need your help.  Anyone…. Anyone…?

xoxo

Gossip Girl

 

“You Dated HIM??”

The year was 2008. Maybe. Something like that. I was living in an apartment in Hoboken, NJ with two of my girlfriends at the time.  I was single, ready to mingle, and living it up the in the young, fun NYC ‘burb.  I don’t remember exactly where I met him, some bar, but I remember we went out several times.  He was a little bit younger, and a little bit of a ginger (yes, I’m noticing this trend), and seemed super sweet.  I guess I liked him enough to see him a few times.  I didn’t really understand what his job was at the time, but I remember him inviting me out to a local bar for a function to support this website he was working on.  I didn’t really understand the website.  It was something about watching sports at bars.  I didn’t care about it, or give it much thought.  I didn’t go to the event.

One day we were hanging out at my apartment, having a conversation, and some of, (let’s call him Devin), Devin’s stories just weren’t adding up.  He had originally told me he was staying with a friend or something like that while he was in between apartments.  His new apartment “wasn’t ready yet?” Some sort of complicated situation I don’t remember completely, and had no desire to keep up with.  During this particular conversation, however, I caught him in some sort of confusing tale in which he finally had to reveal to me that he had been lying to me since we met, and he actually still lived with his parents in Northern Jersey.  He just visited Hoboken, and stayed on his friend’s couch while he was there.  

I was pissed.  I wasn’t necessarily pissed that he lived with his parents (ehhh), but I was pissed that I was going to have to stop talking to him.  He was pretty cute and nice and seemed somewhat normal, and I was having a good time with him.  But I don’t do lying. Hard no. If during the first several weeks of knowing each other, you’re basing multiple conversations around a fact that is not true (an alternative fact, if you will), what the hell else are you lying about?  I couldn’t.  I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore.  He was super apologetic and tried to explain his reasoning behind lying (obviously I get it; I know why you were lying, dumbass).  But it was over.  I’m pretty sure we didn’t speak again, besides maybe a couple of Facebook invites to attend events in which you watch sports at bars?  For this website he worked on?

Flash forward, the year is 2017.  I’m sitting on the couch with Ginge, he’s getting ready to play something he had DVR’ed on Comedy Central.  He’s been waiting for this.  The three main guys from his absolute favorite website are going to be on National TV.  He spends the majority of his free time on this website, while simultaneously listening to their podcasts.  The show comes on and the host introductions start.  I look up from playing Scattergories on my phone and am surprised.

“Hey, wait, I dated that guy.”

Ginge whips his head around and stares at me.  He then pauses the TV.  “You dated ‘DFC?'”

“Is that what we call him? Yeah, briefly.  Then I found out he was lying to me and he was living with his parents so I never talked to him again.”

“Well he’s rich now.”

“DAMMIT!”

That weird website he had been working on where you watch sports at a bar? Or something like that? Yeah, that was Barstool Sports.  And he’s one of the three main guys. How did I never come across this fact in the last nine years?  I really have no clue.  *#$(@&@#^($*&@#

I swear I’m Good Luck Chuck.  I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again. Date me, as brief as it may be, and you’ll eventually marry a model, become rich, or do both.  You’re welcome, Devin, you’re welcome. Yes, I’m giving myself some of the credit for your success. I’m glad that little project turned out well for you. Truly. Cheers to Barstool Sports.

barstool

xoxo

Gossip Girl

 

 

Hair Modeling and Date Night

I’ve been spending my time unemployed the same way I’d imagine most would be… I’ve made business cards for my dog, and watched 87 episodes of Gossip Girl (that’s not an exaggeration…I’m on season four, episode 22).  I’ve also created a profile for a website called Backstage, which casts for extras and background work.  I figure when I’m not busy going on real interviews and trying to make my dog instagram-famous, (follow him and tell all your friends), I can keep busy standing around in a crowd of wanna-be-actors and maybe make a few bucks here and there.

While I’ve so-far been too busy with Gossip Girl to actually do much with the Backstage website, I did get an email asking if I’d be interested in being hair model for Bumble and Bumble.  They wanted to style my hair and do some before/after pics.  I assume it’s because they looked at my non-brushed hair in my profile pic, and decided that so much could be done to improve that mane. I’d be handsomely rewarded with:  “A complimentary editorial style (SOLELY styling- no scissors or color used) + TWO full size Bumble and Bumble products to take home.”  OMG… TWO full size Bumble and Bumble products to TAKE HOME!  Sold.

Ginge and I have a thing.  Whenever I make an appointment to get my hair done, I let him know in advance that he’ll need to take me on a date that night, since you know, my hair will look so good.  So I confirmed my hair modeling gig, bragged about it for a week, and got a date night on the books.  I was gonna look gooooooooood!

I arrived to the salon on time and learned that people are rude to hair models.  I tried to make conversation, but no one wanted to talk to me.  Is this how all models are treated? Or just the hair type? They also didn’t tell me what they were going to do to me, and I didn’t ask.  I figured I’d just wait to be surprised at my fabulous new look.  Two hours later I took a gander in the mirror at the almost-finished product, and I kid-you-not, I looked like Elvis Presley.  The text went out to my friends group chat, who had to hear at-length about my hair modeling job for days, “I look like Elvis.” I wasn’t sure how to react.  The BB people took some pictures and told me how great it looked, I shoved my free TWO FULL SIZED PRODUCTS in my bag, and off I went… into public.

My first step out the door of the salon, I took a few selfies to capture my new ‘do.  Thank goodness, because by the time I made it to my car, it had fallen at least 3-inches.  I can’t even say photos do it proper justice…. My friends reacted:

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Because this is what I looked like:

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I can’t even fathom why they would think this is a good look for anyone in this decade?  My girlfriends told me my date night was ruined.  I couldn’t wait to show Ginge, but by the time I got home it was almost fully deflated (deflated?  is that what you’d call it?) I think that means they did a shitty job.  The Elvis look wasn’t sustainable once standing and walking occurred.  And the selfies continued:

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In the grand scheme of things… I have 7 pounds of product in my hair, but at least I got my date night.

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xoxo

Gossip Girl

 

Fork in the Road

Hello my old friend. I used to come to you to bitch about first dates gone wrong, and make fun of my mother. I feel like I’ve been neglecting you now that I haven’t had a first date in almost three years, and my mother now lives about 3,000 miles too far away to make fun of on a regular basis.

In any case, I’ve found myself in a situation in which I’m in-between striving for ordinary, and purchasing a one way plane ticket to somewhere… anywhere I’ve never been before, and figuring the rest out from there.  In short, the situation is called unemployment.  I’ve gotten laid off, yet again… a result of working for a start-up that got bought out shortly after I began my employment.  I didn’t cry when I found out.  I was somewhat expecting the call when I heard we were getting acquired.  (I’m lying.  I definitely cried… but only for like 3.5 minutes, which I think is basically considered not crying).

IS IT A SIGN???  IT’S A SIGN!  I’m destined for bigger things!  The past 3 years since I moved out to California have been tumultuous, career-wise.  Although, with every closed-door, a new one presented itself very quickly.  Sometimes it presented itself before I was even really ready to walk through it (that’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever typed).  For the first time in my career, I have found myself a full week without a job or even a lead.  WHAT.IS.GOING.ON?  HELLO?!  I’ve applied to every medical sales and sales management position on this side of the Mississippi (well, mostly ones in California), as well as signed up for websites that cast extras for TV and film… you know to pass the time while I look for a real job.

Expecting to be bombarded with emails and phone calls after day one of getting out my professional resume and my adorable self-taken head-shot (ok, it was a selfie),  I was sadly wrong, and baffled.  No one wants me.  I feel alone.  I feel lost.  Not in the sad, actual lonely, lost way.  Just in the confused, anxious, bored, what-do-I-do-now way (hey there…wine).

I’ve said countless times that next time I find myself unemployed, I will not jump straight to the next job again.  I’ve vowed to take an international trip, maybe back to somewhere in Africa, work my way around the world, and then come back and figure out my next move.  But when unemployment actually happens, I get this feeling… I don’t know what to call it… hmmm…panic?  Logically, I know I’ll find a new job eventually, but the thought of my severance running out in a month (tick, tick, tick… 3 weeks), and no direct deposits entering my bank account for the foreseeable future, just straight rubs me the wrong way. Seems wrong. Is taking off and gallivanting the world really the best move?

Also, I’m an introvert. “WHAT?!?  STFU COURTNEY YOU ARE NOT AN INTROVERT.”  Yes I freakin’ am.  I’m slightly terrified to travel alone for an extended period of time.  I’m not scared of the unknown, or finding my way around, or flying by myself.  I’m scared of having no one to talk to because I’m sometimes bad at entering into social situations I’m not familiar with by myself.  If I have someone with me that I know, it completely changes my dynamic and my attitude, which is why some of you may not believe that I’m actually, deep down, an introvert.  You’ve never seen me in an uncomfortable situation by myself.  It’s weird, it’s strange, and I don’t like it.  And I’m being very open with all you random people right now for some unknown reason.  Probably because I’m unemployed, bored, and have nothing else to do but open my emotions to the world-wide interwebs.

So here I am… at a fork in the road.  Can you call it a fork if there are more than two ways to go?  I think you can, because actual forks usually have three to four prongs.  I had to replace my three-pronged forks with four-pronged ones because I was getting complaints from guests.  In any case… If I take this fork to the left:  I find another well-paying job within my comfort zone of medical sales. Sell my soul. Pay my bills. The fork goes right:  I take off and travel the world, apply for a volunteer opportunity or two and come back by Christmas or my family will have my head on a platter.  The fork goes straight, dead ahead:  Someone from The Bachelor Franchise realizes I’m destined to work for them.  I become best friends with Chris Harrison, and live happily ever after.

help.

xoxo, Chickadees.

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Sorry, Charlie… [Video]

There’s apparently this new thing all the kids on fleek are doing (that means the cool kids, not the ones on drugs… although probably most of them are also on drugs).  It’s a game called “Charlie Charlie.”  I heard about it last week in an article that showed up on my Facebook feed.

If you’re not under 15 and on fleek (I’m sorry if I”m overusing this term, but I”m old, and it makes me feel nice about myself to use it correctly), you may not have heard about this yet, but it’s a game in which a demon named Charlie is summoned to answer questions; think of it as a simpler version of Ouiji in which no one is actually touching anything.  You draw two perpendicular lines on a piece of paper, intersecting them in the middle to make a cross, and then write the words “yes” and “no”  in each of the four spaces created.  You then put a pencil on each line of the cross, balancing one pencil on top of the other.

In this game, you’re supposed to ask: “Charlie, Charlie, can you play?” or “Charlie, Charlie, are you here?” and the top pencil will begin to spin and point to either yes or no.

This game has picked up so much social media attention in the past week, that a Vatican-approved exorcist has actually weighed in on the subject and warned youngsters of the dangers of summoning demons.

A story written in a British newspaper explained that the game is only a combination of gravity and the positioning of the pencils that make the pencils move.  I fully believe that, but needed to try it for myself to check it out.  I don’t actually think demons are coming to move the pencils, but I also didn’t want to play around with that weird stuff.   I just wanted to prove that the pencils will move with or without demon summoning.

The hardest part about this game was finding wooden pencils.  Who even owns pencils anymore?  Out of four people in my house, nobody had a pencil.  I texted V, who was coming over to watch The Bachelorette, and asked her to steal some from work, but she had already left, so she said to check the bins she left in my carport.  The girl is moving to Guatemala for two years, and getting rid of almost all of her stuff, yet she’s still good for a package of number-two pencils which she is storing until she returns.  What am I going to do without her?

I set out with a hypothesis.  I could balance the pencils, say whatever I wanted, or nothing at all, and the pencils would still move, just as they did in the countless vines and youtube videos out there.

I gathered my supplies and began my challenge.  On one attempt, the pencil actually did move a little bit, but I realized the ceiling fan directly above me was on high speed.  Not fair.  My roommate, Emily walked in from work during one of my attempts and was completely confused, “I don’t get it…” and Ginge was in the carport where I locked him, with instructions of not speaking while I was videoing.

Later on, a few more of the ladies came over for our Monday night viewing of the Bachelorette (yes, I’m 32, and yes, I still have Bachelorette viewing parties).  When I filled Lexi in on my evening activities, it was immediately, “Court, I really forgot how weird you are.”  Can I be weird?  Maybe a little… but five minutes later, who was the one begging me to try the Charlie game again?!  (Lexi)!

There we went again….  Here is a compilation of my attempts of debunking the Charlie demon:

What do I have to take from this?  I’m not sure.  All I know is that I couldn’t completely say this game is BS.  I really wish I could have.  Charlie, if you’re out there, I really hope you’re enjoying this media attention, and I also really hope you make peace with yourself and transition from “demon” to “loving, sweet boy of the afterlife.”  I mean if Bruce Jenner could transition from Olympic male gold medalist to beautiful older woman, “Caitlyn” in this crazy world, I have faith in you.   And THAT’s a story for another day.

Goodnight my muffins.

xoxo

Gossip Girl

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