Shaken, Not Stirred

Was that an earthquake or did you just rock my world?

Everyone knows that California is earthquake country. I was 6 months old when that big one shook San Francisco back in ’89 and grew up along the San Andreas fault line, so you could say I’m fairly used to the west coast tremors. Despite the potential destruction they bring, I must admit I’ve always found them somewhat exciting – I guess it’s the way they shake things up. Pun intended.

Allow the earth to be your vibrator…

Even now, when I fear Los Angeles may break off into the Pacific, I still get a wonderful adrenaline rush whenever they occur. I’ve grown accustomed to the average 3.2’s and 4.4’s… It’s casual. Sure, there’s always a split second of terror when I wonder if it could be The Big One, but for the other few seconds, why not just enjoy the ride?

Recently, Southern California has been like that girl who cries at parties to get attention semi scaring the shit out of everyone. In the past week, Bev Hills has been hit with 2 mediocre quakes, and while I was sleeping last night Fresno was hit with 2 more. Can we just, like, chill for a sec Mother Nature? Let’s examine this a little further: the Mayans have freaked out everyone and their mothers with this 2012 nonsense, bath salts are turning people into zombies, Snooki has given birth to what I can only suspected to be the anti-Christ an actual human, and now SoCal thinks it’s a live dubstep performance. Is this the end? Have we reached the mighty Apocalypse? 

Although the past month’s frequent tremors have been slightly concerning, I emotionally feel unpopular when I don’t physically feel the earth move. Naturally, the entire world is going to post about every earthquake ever online, so I have to look at these statuses like they were pictures from a party I wasn’t invited to. Like, hi earthquake, where was my invite? Rude. However, the only times I’m ever really positive I’ve felt a quake are when they wake me from my beauty sleep. Following the other occurrences I am already conscious for, I need that social media validation to make sure I’m not a complete psychopath. Was that an earthquake or just me falling off the couch laughing at Tosh.0? Just me prancing around my apartment like Aly Raisman? Just me doing a full blown solo performance to A Goofy Movie’s “Eye to Eye” in the mirror? Just my neighbors’ aggressive lovemaking? Have I gotten that fat?

What will it mean for us if the tectonic plates don’t stop their excessive dry humping soon? If Judgement Day is upon us, allow me to be the first to say that I’m probably fucked. See you in Hell, my darlings… But for now, LGFU.

Someone said something about a 5.9, but baby, you’re a 10.


2 thoughts on “Shaken, Not Stirred

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