shampoo is better

You know what sucks?

When the stuff you bought at very different times runs out all at once.

The individual cost of make-up isn’t so bad, but in the aggregate… yikes.

I bought some nice shampoo from Lush for my boyfriend and I was afraid he wouldn’t like it but then he was like “Thank you so much! I was just thinking about how i wanted some better shampoo for my damaged hair!”

Good Girlfriend Points obtained.

2

Being friends with Harry would include:

-       Thumb wars

-       Plaiting each others hair

-       Stealing his expensive shirts to sleep in

-       Spontaneously singing his solos to piss him off

-       Him joining in

-       Finding him napping in your bed when you get home

-       Shopping for dresses

-       Pillow fights

-       Making stupid videos on your phone

-       Him coming over with cupcakes when its your time of the month

-       Him buying you a car so you don’t have to catch the bus anymore

-       Sending suggestive emojis

-       Him getting protective of you when you go out drinking

-       Getting him hooked on Gossip Girl

-       Cuddling when a boy upsets you

-       Him always telling you to wear ‘that black bra’ because it looks amazing

-       Him not letting you out of bed in the morning after a sleepover because he wants to stay warm

-       Him writing down weird things you say to use as song lyrics

-       Him using your shampoo because it smells better than his

-       And it smells like you


not my gif

Moving into your first apartment with Stiles would include
  •  Him dropping the box that had the plates and cups in it causing all of them to shatter
  • Arguing over what body wash to get
  • Him using all of your shampoo because it smells better than his
  • Sitting on the floor together watching tv in the living room because you don’t have a couch yet
  • Him cooking dinner
  • Him burning said dinner
  • Him stealing the covers
  • You hogging the bed
  • Bickering over who has to clean the bathroom
  • Showers together
  • Sex literally everywhere
  • Even in the kitchen
  • Decorating for the holidays
  • Him telling you it’s too early for Christmas lights (you pouting until he helps hand them up)
  • Trying to repaint the bedroom and end up in a major paint war
  •  cooking holiday dinners together
  • him dropping the turkey on the floor
  • slow dancing in the kitchen (badly)
  • “(Y/N”) where is my …”
The Hot Mess Parents

Just a quick warning of how much utter shit you are about to read here. You should honestly not read this fic unless you’re high, drunk, both or you really really love this ship to bypass the utter nonsense my high mind wrote while I was on vacation.

I warned you.

“We have to be there for 7, although I’m sure that time is negotiable for us because of our careers,” she said as she scrubbed her chocolate locks with her usual shampoo.

“Better to be there for 7,” Owen replied as he stood under the running water while she scrubbed. He didn’t exactly know where they were supposed to be for 7 tonight, but he wasn’t about to disclose that information after forgetting 3 times to get the groceries in the last three weeks and forgetting to pick up Ryan 7 times this month. He was almost sure she’d choke him in the shower if she found out he had no clue what she was talking about.

“Yeah, but the later we get there,” she said, switching places with him in the shower so that she was under the water now, “the less time I have to spend socialising with Patricia and all the other people I hate in that stupid preschool.”

“Her name isn’t Patricia,” he laughed, lustily watching as foam slowly slid down her water glossed body, “And it’s a great school. He only has two more years there anyway, so I’m sure you can put aside your hatred for the betterment of your son.” He was about to grip her waist and pull her in for a kiss when he was suddenly pulled back under the water as she switched their positions once again in the shower.

“I don’t care what her name is,” Amelia grumbled, squeezing a handful of liquid soap in her hand, her hair still foamy from the half-assed rinse she gave it. She turned around and rubbed the soap all over her body and he dutifully helped get the parts on her back that she couldn’t reach as easily, like he always did. As she complained about the other moms, she bent over to scrub her legs, causing her ass to press into his crotch. Owen looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes. Easy there, he thought to his member, ignore the ass in front of you, ignore it. Meanwhile, Amelia continued as if she had no idea what she was doing to him.

“And I feel like mothers of 3 year old children shouldn’t be so sour and evil,” she finished, standing up and turning around, “you know what I mean?” He watched as her hands made their way to her boobs and lathered them. It’s just boobs, he thought to his lower region, you’ve seen them before. Relax.

“Owen!” she whined, waving her hand in front of his face, “Are you even listening to me?”

His blue irises stared blankly at her and nodded, “Of course I am.” Amelia looked down at his crotch and rolled her eyes, moving him out of the way so she could rinse off again.

“You haven’t even washed your hair as yet,” she complained as she grabbed his shampoo and squirted some into her palm, “We don’t have time for sex right now.”

“Because you’re too busy trying to impress people you hate?” Owen finished, watching the way her breasts jiggled as she combed her fingers through his strawberry blonde locks.

“I’m not trying to impress them,” she said, moving him under the water to rinse his hair, “I’m just trying to avoid giving them reasons to make fun of me.” He took over rinsing his hair while she reached for his Irish spring body wash.

“No one is going to make fun of you,” Owen assured her.

“You saw how they were last time,” she reminded him as she guided him away from the water before squeezing a wad of liquid soap onto his chest.

“There’s no need to use so much soap,” he reminded her for the 500th time, “And all they do is look. Not one of them has the balls to actually do something harmful to you or me.”

She sighed dejectedly and spread the soap all over his chest, “Maybe you’re right.”

“I know I’m right,” he told her, washing his arms, “Nothing is gonna happen tonight, especially with me beside you, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Can we have sex now that we’ve gotten that issue out of the way?” he asked with his eyebrows raised. His angry demeanour was slowly crumbling as her smile got wider and it disappeared completely when he saw her dimples appear.

She nodded at him.

He scooped her up into his arms and carried her under the showerhead.

“Is my dress too short?” Amelia asked Owen as they ventured into the small auditorium, parents roaming all over. She was wearing a matte black dress that was backless. Owen wore a simple suit with a black tie.

“Too long,” he teased, sneaking a quick squeeze of her rear. She quickly slapped his hand away as a group of mothers approached them.

“Amelia,” the mother in the middle of the group greeted her. She held a plate of goodies in her hand.

“Patricia,” Amelia replied with a wide smile.

‘Patricia’ rolled her eyes and offered them the plate in her hand, “Brownies?”

“Depends on if you made them,” she retorted.

“We’d love to have some,” Owen quickly intercepted, grabbing two brownies off the plate, “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Oh, Dr. Hunt,” ‘Patricia flirted, patting Owen’s shoulder, “When are you going to stop calling me that and start calling me by my real name?” Amelia rolled her eyes. Trolls don’t deserve real names, she thought.

“As soon as my girlfr…wife stops calling you Patricia,” he replied, guiding Amelia away from them.

“I wonder how long we can continue to pretend to be married,” Amelia pondered, taking a brownie from Owen and stuffing the whole thing into her mouth.

“We can get married for real, if you want,” Owen half joked, putting the other brownie in his mouth.

“Very funny, Owen,” she said, breaking away from him to greet the principal.

Hour 1: 9:00PM

“Amelia,” Owen said in a terrified voice, grabbing her shoulder and turning her away from the snacks table and towards him. With hooded, bloodshot eyes, he looked at the half-eaten brownie in her hand, possibly the fifth one she was having for the night, and panicked. “Stop eating those!” he berated her, slapping the brownie out of her hand. She watched as the brownie hit the floor and discarded into a million pieces.

“Why the fuck did you do that for?” she almost yelled, grabbing the attention of some of the parents nearby.

“Come with me,” he said, taking her hand and leading them outside the auditorium. Once outside, he said, “You were right. You were absolutely right to not trust those mothers.”

“I’m always right,” she proudly replied, folding her arm across her chest, “But remind me again why I’m right?”

“Do you know how much trouble we can get in if the hospital has a random test tomorrow,” Owen continued as if he hadn’t heard her question, “Or next week. Or next month!”

“Test? What test?” she queried. It was only then that she noticed his droopy, red eyes. “Are you high?” Amelia exclaimed, moving closer to him to grab his face and get a better look, “Oh my god, you are high. You have got to be kidding me, Owen.”

“How are you not high?!” he asked in a high pitched voice, “I had four brownies and I’m twice your size.”

“The brownies? They have marijuana in them?”

“Maybe because you’re a drug addict, perhaps that’s why you’re not high as yet,” he mused, ignoring her question.

“The brownies have weed in them,” Amelia reiterated, breaking away from him to pace the corridor, “They’re pot brownies and I’m a drug addict. Holy crap.” She looked at him, muttering, “Owen, I broke my sobriety.”

“I don’t think it counts if you’re unknowingly drugged,” he pointed out, watching as she had a silent meltdown, “I mean, it’s too late now, so might as well enjoy it, right?”

“Wait, how are we going to get home?” she asked, pressing her hands to either sides of her face. Owen shrugged.

Hour 2: 10:00PM

“Ryan is a wonderful, brilliant and charming boy,” Ryan’s teacher commented to Owen and Amelia as the two parents stood by the punch bowl. A few minutes ago, the bowl had been filled to the brim but because of one of the lesser positive side effects of being high, cotton mouth, the bowl was now half full because of them.

“Hello?” the teacher called out to them, catching both of their attention now.

“Uh, right,” Amelia said, not recalling any of what the teacher said, “You’re welcome.”

“Okay then…” she replied, giving the two a weird look before walking away. The second she left, Owen and Amelia burst into uncontrollable laughter.

“Why are you laughing?” Owen asked in between breathy giggles.

“I don’t know,” she responded, gasping for breath, “Why are you laughing?”

“Dr. Shepherd, Dr. Hunt,” the principal greeted them with a warm smile and a chuckle, “What are we laughing about here?” The two put an abrupt stop to their laughter and straightened up as if they were about to be penalised for their actions.

“Nothing,” Owen said, wiping a stray tear from his eye.

“I wanted to talk to you about your son,” he said, quickly disregarding their funny behaviour, “I was thinking about skipping him to the final year of preschool. Well, thinking is the wrong word, because that’s what I want to do.”

“You want to skip him to the final year?” Amelia confirmed, to which the principal nodded. She looked at Owen, who smiled proudly back at her. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she murmured, “I only have to endure these bitches for one more year?”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it like that,” he sheepishly replied, “But-“

Amelia embraced him in a sudden hug, whispering, “Thank you.” The principal looked questioningly at Owen.

“She’s just very emotional,” Owen justified, patting Amelia’s shoulder and coaxing her to let go of the guy, “Come on, honey, let’s go.”

Hour 3: 11:00PM

“This is illegal and we are going to die. You’re on the wrong side of the road,” Amelia reminded him for the fifth time.

“Have you ever noticed how weird the road looks at night?” Owen mused, returning to the right side of the road as he drove at 30km/h, just to be safe, “Like, it’s so dark but the headlights illuminate the way.” They had no other choice but to drive home, too paranoid to leave Amelia’s car at the school and in the possession of the same mothers whom had drugged them three hours ago.

Amelia squinted at the road, “You’re absolutely right. Pull over there.”

“Why?” he asked, pulling up outside a house that they were unfamiliar with. There appeared to be some sort of college party happening. There were drunk students all over the front lawn, there was toilet paper hung all over the outside of the house and strobe lights flickered all over while loud music played.

“Because we’re going to party,” she said, opening the passenger door. Unable to stop her, Owen came out of the car also and followed her.

“Don’t you think we should go to the hospital or something?” Owen suggested, “Somewhere that won’t tempt you to drink?”

“You get so paranoid when you’re high,” she complained, taking his hand, “I’m not going to drink.”

“Can I drink?” Owen asked. Amelia looked at him and flashed one of her mischievous grins.

Hour 4: 12:00AM

“Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!” the crowd yelled as Owen downed his last cup of beer and won the competition. He raised his balled fist into the air like a gladiator and howled, making the crowd of college students go wild. Losing his clothes a half hour ago in a weird game, Owen had a stuffed hornet tied around his crotch area, keeping him somewhat clothed. There was a large drawing of a penis ejaculating on his chest, which he couldn’t recall how it got there, and his hair was in every direction. Amelia was in the kitchen, dancing on top of the island in a bikini that he was absolutely sure wasn’t hers.

“Where did you find that bikini?” Owen asked, looking up at her. He held his hand out for her, helping her off the table.

“I can’t remember,” she yelled in his ear, grasping his hand and leading him outside, “Where did you get that hornets stuffed toy from?” Owen shrugged his shoulders.

He couldn’t remember how they got there, but they were now in the pool. Red cups were floating by them but they were too deep in conversation about a case to notice. Amelia had her legs wrapped around his torso and his hornet had been traded in for a speedo that he also couldn’t remember how he got.

“Using all three methods allowed me to come at the tumour at all angles, and also monitor the other unaffected parts of the brain too,” she finished, “You know what I mean?”

“Nope,” Owen truthfully answered.

“I’ll start over then.”

“Please don’t. You think so fast that you make my eyes spin,” he said, “especially when you’re high. Starting over isn’t going to help. I’m a trauma surgeon. I don’t pay attention to detail.” He slipped his fingers into her bikini and, with a playful grin, murmured, “I get in…and I get out.”

“So this was your plan all along,” she laughed, feeling his fingers teasing her within the tiny fabric.

“Not exactly,” he replied, “But I hear that the sex is ten times better when you’re high.”

“Where did you hear that from?”

“A medical journal, actually.”

Hour 5: 1:00AM

She was on top of him and he was sitting up as they fucked in someone’s bedroom. They were absolutely sure that they hadn’t left the house, because they could still hear Rick Astley playing outside.

“Owen,” Amelia whispered in his ear.

“Owen,” he replied back, unsure of why he did so, although it weirdly turned him on.

“Say something dirty.”

“A pig in mud,” he breathlessly replied.

“A pig in mud?”

“Uh, I mean you feel so good,” Owen moaned as his hands squeezed her ass, “like mac and cheese.”

“Say something else,” she prodded, hoping he’d come better than that.

“HER2-positive breast cancer has an advantage within the typically resilient brain environment,” he quoted, thinking that something neurosurgical would definitely turn her on. It seemed like a good idea at the time, at least.

“Growl at me,” she demanded, ignoring his previous, weird comment, “Fuck me like you paid for it.”

Complying, he growled in her ear like a rabid dog and said, “I want to live in your vagina and pay rent and do the dishes. And I’m gonna pee inside of you.”

“Don’t do that,” she quickly told him.

“Okay,” he said. He remained silent for a few moments before moaning, “I want to get you pregnant.”

“Please don’t do that either,” she laughed, “You’re not very good at talking dirty.”

“Okay,” he nodded. He took one of her nipples into his mouth to shut himself up. The feeling of her fingers pulling at his hair was a hundred times more enhanced for him, making him feel like he could come undone just from her doing that.

“I just wanna tell you how I’m feeling,” Owen sang mindlessly, burying his face in her chest, his breathing becoming heavier as he neared his peak, “Gotta make you understand. Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you. Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye, never gonna tell a lie and hurt you.” His voice progressively got louder as he moved into the chorus and climaxed.

Hour 6: 2:00AM

“What kind of party ends at 2 in the morning?” Owen grumpily asked as they scoured the floor for their belongings.

“I don’t think it ended. I think mostly everyone just died,” Amelia responded, “There’re still people outside.” She pushed a stray student to the side, finding her car keys and cell phone beneath him. “Found it!” she celebrated, holding the car keys up in the air along with her phone.

“I found my shirt and stuff, but someone is wearing my pants,” he announced, pointing at the man passed out in the corner of the living room.

“Well hurry up and take it off of him,” she huffed, looking for her clothes now, “We have a shift starting in six hours.”

“I don’t think we’ll be sober in six hours,” Owen said, flipping the lifeless boy over and unzipping the pants, “We ate a whole plate of weed brownies. Not to mention the fact that we’re old people and our metabolisms are slower than when we were their age.”

“Stop making me depressed about being old,” she huffed, retiring her search efforts for her dress; she’d have to find something else to wear, “And I call dibs on driving.”

The next morning

Owen and Amelia sat down in silence at the kitchen table. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of their spoons scooping in their cereal bowls. Amelia was in a kangaroo onesie, and she wasn’t exactly sure how she got it, Owen was in a pants that definitely did not belong to him, although last night he thought it did, and Amelia’s car rear-ended Owen’s truck outside in her driveway. It was a mere miracle that they were both alive and well.

Striking up the courage to speak amidst the awkward silence, Owen asked, “Do you remember anything after we found my pants?”

“Nope,” she answered curtly, hurriedly stuffing her face with a spoonful of cheerios.

More silence. More clinking of spoons against glass bowls.

“Are we gonna talk about you wanting to pee inside-“

“That is never to be spoken of ever,” he quickly cut her off, “Neither is ‘a pig in mud’ or me wanting to get you pregnant or that thing I said about breast cancer and brain cancer. Nothing. I was high, forget about it.”

“Okaaay,” Amelia said, biting the inside of her cheek to fight off a smile.

Owen looked up at her, his cheeks red with embarrassment, “Don’t you have an NA meeting to go to or something?”

She got up and disposed of her bowl of milk before walking past Owen and whispering in his ear, “I just wanna tell you how I’m feeling. Gotta make you understand.”

His cheeks became redder than before, “You’re never gonna let this go, are you?”

“No I am not, Rick Astley,” she teased, planting a quick kiss on his forehead before heading to the bathroom, all the while singing the chorus of the song, just to add insult to injury.

  • Remus: Is it Lily's shampoo?
  • Sirius: No, it's not.
  • Remus: It is!
  • Sirius: Moony, you love me, right? You haven't seen this.
  • Remus: Why on Earth would you steal Lily's shampoo?
  • Sirius: Her hair looks better.
  • Remus: What?
  • Sirius: HER HAIR LOOKS BETTER THAN MINE!!! I'm pretty sure she charms it but she doesn't tell me how!
  • Remus: ...
This Year

I learned to listen more, that I don’t like eggplant unless it is fried, and that the world will never change if you stay silent. I learned that I needed better shampoo, I need more space to myself than ever before, and I learned about MAC Diva lipstick. I wrote most of my second book, I got rid of most of my clothes, I had a series of panic attacks, and I stopped reading some of the comments. I shaped my eyebrows, I was a little more honest with myself, I tried to eat as much healthy food that balances out indulgence, and I learned to use my legs and voice slightly more than before. I lost health insurance, I grew up a little bit more, I got health insurance again, I became so focused on work I needed to remember my friends, I watched so much Chopped, I started writing for myself again, I cried less than last year. I reached some goals and didn’t reach others.

As always, I learned, and as always, I forgot, and as always, I promised myself I would reach a little more potential in the year to come. Next year comes more of the push, the climb, and the resistance.

And tomorrow: I begin the work.

(Stay safe, be with friends, rock a beautiful face, and head to the Frenemy tomorrow, where I launch 2015: The Year of No More Sorry with some of the loveliest ladies on the Internet. And if you want to get in on this, be prepared to submit your selfies….)

See you on the flip side of champagne and recollection, baby dolls.