Awkward, Dating, Girls, Humor, Internet Things, My Idea Of Being An Adult, Thoughts, You're Fine

I Don’t Want to Be a Princess

We can go ahead and consider this a new Single Schmingle installment since I’ve discussed this very topic with Myka and Meghan. Bear with me here.

I always thought Mia Thermopolis was crazy. Who wouldn’t want to wake up one day and find out they’re a princess? The girl got a full blown makeover for free, a millions beautiful ball gowns, a tiara she got to wear occasionally, and full service at her disposal. Granted, if you’re introverted like Mia, all of that attention can make you feel like you have a thousand tiny ants crawling all over your body. You’re uncomfortable nearly all the time. You might even feel guilty. And I am exactly like that.

Something Colleen said to me last week struck a chord with me and I can’t shake it off. After I told her the complete switch in enthusiasm from Navy Man when I told him I wanted to be casual and friendly, she said, “You shouldn’t have said anything. You should have just let him treat you like the princess you are.”

“But I don’t want to be treated like a princess,” I said.

“Why the hell not?”

I thought about this for the past few days. I can’t be the only girl out there who feels uncomfortable using a guy to feel special, only to know that I’m not actually interested in him. I’m shocked that girls actually do this. They let these guys take them out to fancy restaurants, buy them presents, and then whisper to their girlfriends that they don’t really like him, they’re just waiting out the storm.

I feel weird if a guy even pays for me all the time. I just don’t think it’s necessary. I’m the type that if a man brings me to a fancy restaurant, I’ll order the cheapest item on the menu. I’m more of a hot-dog-cart-with-a-side-of-cheesy-fries kind of girl. But I know that’s just how my mom raised me. She always said, “Never depend on a man. Learn how to take care of yourself.” I think a mother with three daughters has to feed them that mindset nowadays. Especially a single mother.

Of course, it’s always nice to get pampered every once in a while. Some flowers or an ice cream run when I’m feeling down. But nothing major. I’ve been in relationships where I never got those things, mostly because we grew too comfortable with each other that we forgot how to appreciate one another. And even if those small gestures did happen, I was so surprised by the event that I was asking a million questions to figure out why it was happening.

I can’t help but wonder what would happen if the roles were reversed. What if was the one to ask a guy out on a date? What if was the one to court the guy around and pay for the date? This isn’t some feminist, all mighty woman power post. It’s just a thought. How would the date turn out in the end? Would it be the same? I feel like with every date, the guy is the one who is trying to impress, meanwhile, I think the girl should be equally impressive. We don’t give men enough credit. Some women out there might roll their eyes at that last statement but I’m serious. It takes a lot of guts to ask someone out. And then you have to take that person out and all of the pressure is on them to impress them, and make sure they’re having a good time. Here I am, nervous for nearly every single date, when it seems all I really have to do is stand there and look pretty, maybe laugh at his jokes, and share an anecdote or two. That’s my only job.

I’ve never laughed over a guy asking me out on a date. I’m always flattered, no matter who they are. But men get rejected all the time. For women, it’s once in a blue moon. And when it happens, it doesn’t feel good, does it? Let’s face it, ladies. When it comes to casually dating, we’re kind of spoiled. Even if you never make it to date number 2, you still got a free meal.

However, after discussing this with Myka and Meghan why we may perhaps feel weird about going on dates, no matter how long we’ve been doing it, it could be the slight chance that men have kind of given up. In 2017, a typical date is “Netflix and Chill”. We could have done that in the comfort of our own home. You invite us over to “watch a movie”. We know what that means, gentleman. We suddenly feel like they don’t want to actually get to know us, because who discusses life, hobbies, and family in the middle of a movie?

Of course, this post is all over the place. A lot of it may be contradicting. But that’s just because I’m another crazy woman who doesn’t know what she wants.

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Little Bird

A little bird gave me a wonderful piece of advice and wisdom recently that I’m trying to hold onto dearly.

But first, I’ll explain how my date went with Navy Man on Monday. He was a gentleman, for sure. He held the door open for me. He paid for me the entire evening. He made good conversation with rare moments of silence that didn’t really feel awkward. However, I did find out within the first 30 minutes that he turned 21 in March. Instantly I knew, this guy is too young for me. I was confused because he explained that he went to culinary school for 2 years, and then has been in the navy for the past 2 years, which is why I thought he was more in the age 24 range. Did this guy graduate from high school at 16?
I accepted his age in that moment and decided to just enjoy myself. After dinner, we went to another bar, tried a few weird cocktails called a Jimlet, which tasted exactly like a gimlet, and listened to a Beatles cover band.

On Wednesday, he texted me saying that he had an amazing time and hopes that this wasn’t a one time thing. He said he really enjoyed my company and wants to get to know me more. Now, I don’t like hurting people’s feelings. After a couple of days, I decided I really wasn’t interested in this guy anymore for various reasons, and not just the slight age difference. I politely said that I really appreciate what he has said and I had a great time and would like to hang out again sometime on more casual friendly terms. I told him I’m not looking for anything serious or long term, which in hindsight, is true. Suddenly, he pulled a 360 on me. His response was, “I could be on the other side of the planet in 6-7 months. I don’t know where my job is going to take me. I’m just looking to have a little fun while I’m still here…”

Oh, so now I’m an escort. Or a Geisha. I’ve been downgraded. Immediately, I was even more turned off by this guy than before. I know he responded that way because I kinda sorta rejected him. He said all of these nice things and now he’s considered me his party animal. Oh, okay.

To be fair, I did tell him I wanted things to be casual and light hearted. But he could have responded in a better way.

After that comment, I don’t have an intention of seeing him again. Which brings me back to what my little bird friend said to me a few weeks ago. To sum it up, they explained that dates are kind of pointless. People treat them more like a checklist, which is not the way to find your potential partner. You should find your future someone when you’re comfortable with them and nothing is forced. If you have to force conversation simply because you “matched” on Bumble, then it’s kind of doomed from the start. Everything should come naturally.

Which brings me to my question: if what I said to Navy Man is actually true, that I’m not looking for anything long term right now, then what the hell am I dating for? To pass the time? To seek out attention when I’m feeling the most vulnerable? Writing that out makes me feel like I’m wasting my time and I’m already annoyed with myself.

So, how can you just accept yourself for who you are, without the needs of someone else? I’m getting there, slowly but surely. Especially a few weeks ago when that guy made the cute comment and I shut it down immediately. I’m tired. I’m tired of the same conversation over and over again. I’m tired of the same compliments. I’m tired of trying to find a way to let people down gently. It’s all very exhausting.

I need to stop dating out of boredom. I need to learn how to take myself out on dates, and be content with myself. I’ve been told you can’t fully love someone unless you love yourself first. But that’s easier said than done.

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It’s Just a Date

You know it’s been a while when you log into your WordPress account and find 17 spam comments you need to delete.

How has everyone been? Good? Cool? Solid? Wonderful.

I would devote some time to reading blog posts by all of you glorious bloggers but I don’t simply have the time. I’ll try, though.

But I have finally plopped a seat in my kitchen with a hot cup of coffee watching the sun shine through my window on this day. It’s supposed to be 89 degrees today. The heat has already kicked in rather rapidly here in Charleston, and I’ve been melting. Only slightly.

I’m about to share with you some funny stories over the last few weeks, some updates, and maybe ask for a little advice too, if you’d like to give it.

The job in the gallery is going pretty well. Of course, there are some aspects to the job that aren’t wonderful, but the shoe always drops, doesn’t it? I’m not going to be a millionaire anytime soon but at least I’m gaining valuable experience.

I’ve been “dating” or rather, “seeing” one guy in particular. My Girl Gang group chat with Meghan and Myka like to call him Southern Man. He’s born and raised in Charleston. He’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s sweet. In a weird yet comforting way, he reminds me of my dad. He’s fun to be around and he brings me nachos late at night after he works. We’ve been seeing each other for over a month and I’m having serious doubts about the whole thing. I told him after our first date that I wanted this to be casual for now. I just wanted to keep spending time with him before committing to anything serious. However, after our first date, he made it very known how MUCH he likes me. I feel like I should have been happy with this but I wasn’t. It actually kind of freaked me out. But I wanted to give him a fair chance and still hang out with him in hopes that it would change. It did change slightly. I actually do really like him, but there’s one major con standing in the way. He absolutely despises kids.

He has no intention of having children at all. The first few times he mentioned it, I let it slide. But he’s brought it up on numerous occasions to the point where it concerns me and I’m realizing he’s not joking. I completely respect his decision to not want kids, but I made it known that I actually do want kids in the future. This doesn’t seem to phase him, though. So I keep thinking, where does it go from here? Here’s my answer: it doesn’t. I am fully aware that us hanging out, casually, is as far as it’s going to go. Unfortunately, I know he doesn’t see it that way.

Southern Man left for a cruise on Saturday and will be back on Thursday. I plan to have a chat with him when he’s back to clear the air and see what he’s thinking. I hate having those conversations, especially when it’s about something that is so far off in my future that the whole conversation sounds a little insane. But the way I see it is if I’m going to get serious with someone, we need to want the same things in life.

On a less serious note, I went out for a ladies night on Saturday. I have found a very colorful and crazy group of girlfriends whom I love. We sat in an Irish bar and listened to Irish folk music and danced. Here is the part where I may need some advice from you fellow bloggers but read the entire situation, and take into consideration what I had just previously shared with you.

I’m sitting at the bar, drinking my Michelob Ultra, and noticed a guy at the bar kept smiling at me. He interacted with me from across the bar a couple of times in a joking manner. After a little while, the bartender handed me a shot of whiskey. I asked her where it came from and she pointed to the man. I started laughing and he yelled, “You’re in an Irish bar and you’re drinking a Michelob. Have a whiskey!”

I hate whiskey. But I took the shot anyway and made sure to give him the most disgusted face after, in which he laughed. So then I followed along and asked the bartender to pour two rumplemintz shots. I had never heard of rumplemintz until I moved to Charleston. It tastes like toothpaste but at least you’re minty fresh after. I asked her to hand one over to the guy. As the bartender is pouring them, another guy comes up to me and asks to buy me a drink. I was like a lost doe in the woods. Here I was, buying a man a drink while another man is trying to buy ME a drink. It was a very confusing 10 seconds of my life. I looked down to read this new guy’s t-shirt and it read the name of the same restaurant Southern Man works at and I nearly had a heart attack. Charleston is small, y’all. So I instantly said, “No, I’m good. Thank you.” If I had said yes, I would have had to change my name.

The whiskey guy at the bar took his shot of rumplemintz and yelled, “Thanks for the Colgate!” After a little while, he got up to leave and slipped a piece of paper with his number on it.

Smooth.

What I liked about this guy was how classy and old school he was. He didn’t try to come over and talk to me because he could see I was with my friends. That’s already a good sign in my book. He didn’t ask if he could buy me a drink, he did it anyway. Another good sign. And the fact that he slipped me his number on a piece of paper like it was 1997 made me a happy camper.

I sent him a text, and we’ve been talking on and off since Saturday. Then he wrote to me, “This may seem a little forward, but would you like to have dinner sometime?” <— Another wonderful sign that he doesn’t want to push boundaries. He actually seems like a proper gentleman. And he’s in the Navy, which might explain his good manners. I said yes and now I have a date tonight at a pretty classy, expensive restaurant that apparently people try to get reservations at months ahead of time. This guy means business.

Of course, a part of me feels a little shitty because I’m still technically seeing Southern Man. I keep trying to justify it in my head by saying, “You told him casual, Jess!” or “You’re not doing anything wrong!” I’m monogamous at heart, so going on multiple dates tends to weird me out. I know deep down I’m not actually doing anything wrong or shameful but I can’t shake the feeling either. It’s just a date. It’s just a date. It’s just a date.

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How to Fend People Off

I had an attractive evening last night, I say with sarcasm. I met up with my new friend, Felicia, who I met on Bumble BFF (yes, that’s a real thing. Bumble isn’t just for dating). Since Felicia and her boyfriend, Larry, are also new to Charleston, they join these MeetUp groups in various locations to meet other new young people. It’s kind of a nice way of making new friends and breaking the ice since you’re both there for the same thing. So, I gathered with a MeetUp group last night and it was all kinds of shenanigans.

I turned into Miss Sassenfrass, probably from the tequila shot I took. THEY MADE ME DO IT. Peer pressure at its finest. So I’m going to give you four solid examples on how to shoo unwanted people away, Jess style.

1.) The Cute Comment

A guy I had just met with the MeetUp group decided to flirt with me by asking if anyone has ever said how cute I am.

I wasn’t even sure how to answer such a stupid question. Now, it’s not stupid because I think highly of myself. It’s stupid because I’m a girl, so when I go out with my friends and a man comes up to me, 9 times out of 10, it’s the first thing he says. I’m 5’1”. That’s usually a straight shot towards the cute comment.

So I stared at him and said, “Um…yes. All the fucking time.”

In which he said, “Oh, so you think you’re hot shit?”

WELL THAT TOOK A TURN.

In which I said, “No, not at all. But that comment isn’t exactly bizarre either.” Which I think was my way of hinting that I was not impressed by any means.

2. ) The Tough Guy

Larry was joking around with Felicia and he pushed her. They were both pushing each other in a playful way, so the whole thing really was innocent. All of a sudden, some guy jumped out and shoved Larry up against the wall yelling, “You think you can touch a female like that!?”

^^^ By the way, why did he have to say “female”?

Felicia and I were a bit surprised and we had to grab the guy off of Larry and explain that they were just joking around. However, the tough (and drunk) guy decided to follow us and heckle Larry down the street, accusing him of beating girls. After about 15 seconds of him following us, I whipped around and yelled, “Can you fuck off!?” (I think that was the tequila talking.)

My lady bark was big enough that the tough guy quickly walked away.

I may be small, but don’t underestimate my barking capabilities.

3.) The Guy Who Rubs the Seat Next to Him Like a Creep

In one of the bars we were in, there was a giant swing that can fit about four or five people. A few of our friends decided to sit on the swing and I pushed it out of friendliness. For some reason, the guy sitting on the end kept motioning me to sit next to him like we were in a Marvin Gaye music video. It was weird and uncomfortable. So, I pretended not to hear him, and continued pushing the swing.

Now, this is just a simple Ignore-Him-Until-He-Gives-Up-Because-He-Will-Eventually-Give-Up.

4.) When Everyone Wants Your Pizza

Felicia, Larry and I (Third Wheel for Lyfe) decided to get pizza. Naturally. I got my pizza (I will not tell you how much pizza I got because I’m still thinking about how disgusting of a human I am), and walked all the way home. However, the drunks on King Street tried to take my pizza. Every ten seconds I’d walk by someone yelling, “Can I have some?” So, I put on my good old New England gremlin face that says, “Don’t talk to me” and walked as fast as I could to get away from the leeches. Once I turned a corner onto a quiet street, I happily dug in.

I hope this post serves you well. If you have any suggestions on how to fend people off, please share them in the comments. I will be taking vigorous notes. As vigorous as the man rubbing the seat next to him.

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The Love Of My Life

I stole this title from Cheryl Strayed. If you want to read her personal essay, you can find it here: The Love of My Life. We may have the same title, but it’s not the same story.

I didn’t realize before how bland my life really was. It wasn’t always bland, but only for a brief time. I’ve been living with Colleen for two months now, and I feel warm inside. I’m convinced it’s the twintuition. It’s been wild, tame, stressful, and celebratory all at the same time. I’m going to punch myself in the face for saying this, but you know that Taylor Swift song “22”? It’s kind of like that. It’s horrible, yet fun. It’s confusing, yet care-free. Now that I’ve said that, please forget I ever said that.

Any person who steps foot in our apartment is freaked out not by me, and not by Colleen, but by both of us.

Together.

We make bird calls from the next room. I cook her dinner and she tells me she loves me. I try to teach her how to cook dinner and she yells, “WHY DO PEOPLE LIKE DOING THIS?!” We FaceTime even though she’s in the living room and I’m in my bedroom. She pulls a seat next to my bed and we talk for hours. I buy her Wasabi Peas when I think she’s running low and she buys me green apples. In the middle of the night, I hear her crashing around in her room and then she takes off. I don’t know where she’s going but I know she’s fine. I find her in her room with all of the lights on and the TV blasting, and she’s passed out with Ragnar on her chest. We go to yoga together and I admire her headstand. When I clean up, she rearranges everything. We can relate to Anne Perkins and Leslie Knope. We can relate to Idgie Threadgoode and Ruth Jamison. When we both got the jobs we wanted, we stood in the kitchen and screamed. Some nights, we crawl into bed together with our cats and watch Moulin Rouge and Big Fish. We tell each other about our casual dates. I paint something and she wants to buy it. She rants about her liberal views and I sit and listen because I know she just needs to vent.

We fight too. But it’s not average fights where we say mean things and don’t talk for two days. Our fights are more like heated discussions where she angrily tells me how wonderful I am and that I’m acting stupid, and I tell her she’s reading too much into it and I don’t agree with what she’s saying. Then we make jungle noises and throw the middle finger around and yell, “I HATE YOU BUT I LOVE YOU”, or “I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING BUT YOU’RE BEING WEIRD ABOUT IT.”

Or the heated discussion looks a little like this:

Colleen: GAHHHHHHHH You’re just so wonderful but you’re being dumb about this.

Me: I know I am but you’re being a bitch about it!

Colleen: I KNOW I AM!!!

If we get mad at each other, it’s never for selfish reasons. After a couple of hours, we laugh and grab a bite to eat.

We go to an Irish pub and listen to an Irish folk band. We dance, we sing, we clap, and we don’t care. We do each other’s laundry. We both avoid the dishes. We sometimes feed the cats four times a day without knowing it, those greedy bastards. She buys silly string, and there’s no telling when she’s going to use it. We like tequila. When she’s stressed out, she’ll rearrange her room for the 500th time. We FaceTime her friends back home, and one of them decided to impregnate me with a boy and name him Benjammin’. We talk about books and world history. She tells me she wants to marry a Russian. And then she gags over marriage. We run into Sephora and walk out broke. We wear matching kitty t-shirts in case we lose each other in a crowd. She eats my leftover pizza and takes selfies with it to let me know she’s done the crime. We eat crap, talk about how we need to lose weight, and then eat more crap because we are twenty-six and too young to abandon all good things. We invite everyone we ever knew to our apartment just because we like the company.

So, the point in this post is this. Whether I do meet someone new, get married, and eventually live a life expected, Colleen will always be my soulmate.

Who wants to come over?

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Single Schmingle: Conversations with Hey Meghan

I did kind of a sad thing yesterday. I googled “How to Casually Date”. Some of you may be on the same train. If so, welcome aboard the Casually Dating Express. There are no Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, or Cauldron Cakes on this express. Instead, there are the Traumatizing Truffles, Confusing Cookies, and Humiliating Hobbob’s (I don’t know what a Hobbob is. I made it up. Why am I not a famous novelist yet for such brilliant creativity?).

I found a wonderful article on Thought Catalog titled “24 Thoughts Every Chronic Over-Thinker Has While Attempting To ‘Casually Date’”. I found it hilarious and a little heart-warming considering the entire list was filled with my very thoughts. I related way too much to number 5.

I want to be on Tinder, it feels like Tinder is a place I should be, and yet there’s some part of me that is convinced someone I’ll know will be on there and they’ll know I’m actively seeking love and I won’t look cool I’ll look thirsty and they’ll go home and say to their friends, oh I saw them on Tinder guess they’re lonely. Oh my god I can’t do Tinder.

I’ve been single for three months and I’m not sad about it. In fact, as I’m writing this, I’m being a basic bitch and sitting in a coffee shop with my laptop Carrie Bradshawing it because I needed to get out of the apartment and explore my new town. And guess what? I can stay in this very seat for as long as I want. I have nowhere to be after this, and it feels nice. I’ve always been extremely monogamous. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but if you were to ask me what my type of man is, I’d have no answer for you. I have no idea because I’ve never dated around. I’ve also never been the type of person to cut someone out over something small. For instance, if I was to meet someone and they were like, “I hate travelling and I have no interest in it”, that would normally not be a deal breaker for me even though I absolutely love to travel. But maybe it should be. There’s a difference in being picky and being a brat. If I want to travel to a new country every year, I want to date someone who wants to do that too.

So, I found myself googling “How to casually date” because I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to “dating”. I think the fact that I gave my number to three different men in the last week proves that because I wasn’t entirely interested in them in the first place. But I sat in bed and realized that with all three men, I had the exact same conversation over and over again.

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“Where did you grow up? What do you do? How old are you?” Blah, blah, blah. Boring. It’s like a broken record. It’s to the point where I can’t even remember what their answers were because it’s all the same.

As soon as a man starts talking to me, I forget how to human. My intelligence is gone, I have nothing of importance to say, and I get tongue-tied. I’m fully aware that I’m acting like an idiot, but I don’t know how to turn it off.

Let’s turn to my blogger friend Meghan (go follow her blog if you haven’t already). I texted her explaining my awkwardness and since she is newly single (well, kind of), we decided to collaborate a series of blog posts consisting of our weird interactions with the opposite sex. Is this a dating blog? No, not really. If this blog turned into a dating blog, just go ahead and unfollow me now because I have nothing concrete to say and you’ll probably end up an old, battered person with not just cats, but parrots, geese, chickens, and maybe a llama.

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This is what Meghan has to say about her predicament:

Oh hi there is it my turn?! Well for those who know I just got “dumped” Aka the guy I had been casually seeing for the last year said he no longer saw a future with me. OUCHHHH. If you want to punch someone in the heart tell them that. Instant ouch. I was already “single” but now I’m SUPER SINGLE. I don’t really think I’m ready to mingle yet. At this point I’m just waiting for my secret fantasy to come true. What is that you ask?!?!
WELL:
I’m at a concert and some super hot rocker guy is on stage and see’s me in the crowd and instantly falls for me. He hunts me down after their set and the rest is history. He will write cute but slightly emo songs about how much he loves me and will have cute little kids with mohawks and converse.

YEAH…..okay I’m just embarrassing myself right now. That will never happen.

Being in your mid 20’s and dating is weird. I have friends getting married and having kids. I on the other hand can’t even keep a cactus alive and would eat dino nuggets every night for dinner if I had the choice. I guess we are all at different stages of life??

J: I’d eat Dino nuggets all day every day.

M: Dude I just bought more. They are great.

J: So you basically want to marry Tony Hawk?

M: More like Kellin Quinn. Tony Hawk is old. 

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J: My aunt told me to find someone 10-15 years older than me. I’m still trying to wrap my head around that.

M: Ewww. I have a five year limit. 

J: Is your dream to go back in time to 2003?

M: Maybe…

J: My dream is to find a man casually wearing a Doug t-shirt. Is that weird?

M: Bwahahahaha. Slightly but very you. 

J: It would match my Reptar t-shirt. I feel like I’m not asking for much.

M: I was just thinking that. I have a Legends of the Hidden Temple t-shirt. 

J: STOP IT. I forgot about that show. I should just start wearing my Reptar shirt when I go out. See how many suitors comment on it.

M: DO IT. DO IT NOW.


So it’s official. Next Single Schmingle post will reveal if Meghan has found her 2003 lover and switched over to different nuggets, and I will attempt to wear my Reptar shirt out to a bar to see if men either think I’m weird as hell or think it’s absolutely amazing. There’s only one way to find out, right?

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The Underwear Story

My story begins Saturday, February 11th. After a tearful goodbye to some of my pants, I ventured off to the mall with Tierney to hunt down some newbies. The first store we stumbled upon I was hesitant to enter. The overwhelming stench of perfume screamed, “You’re about to get a headache!” and the dungeon lighting left me uneasy. I hadn’t shopped in this store I will not name since I was a teenager, when I was much more brave and alive. But they were having a sale on jeans, so I took the risk and stepped in.

I dug through the layers and layers of folded jeans, unsure of my new size and feeling like an ass for not folding them back up properly. I pulled out a few pairs, and after some grunting, moaning, and sweating, I finally found the size that fits best. Out of breath and removing my upper lip sweat, I reassured Tierney I was in fact fine by yelling, “They zipped! They have zipped up! And I only had to fight them a little tiny bit.”

Accurate depiction of me trying to put on the jeans:

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Once I made my careful selections, we walked up to the cashier, a young man possibly in his late teens or early twenties. I was not at all prepared for what was about to happen next.

“Since you are purchasing over $50 worth of merchandise, you get a free pair of underwear,” he said.

That’s kind of weird, but okay.

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I was bit alarmed by this statement. The cashier and I stared at each other until I realized I actually had to respond.

“Oh…” was about all I could muster at that point.

“Do you know your *cough*…underwear…size?” He asked. I could feel the awkwardness intensify. I’ve never actually had a man, or any person, male or female, ask me for my underwear size. I don’t even let the pestering employees of Victoria’s Secret help me out. I’ve always been pretty confident in what I’m looking for when it comes to bras and underwear. And honestly, I don’t want them measuring my breasts in the middle of the store and then relaying the size to another employee through their headset like they’re on a mission to Mars.

Of course I know my size. But I made the situation even more awkward by painfully looking around, feeling my face turn fifteens shades of red, and hoping maybe the wall would answer for me.

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After making a few babbling noises and trying my hardest not to burst out laughing, I whispered, “Uhhhhhhhhhhh….small. I’m a small…I guess.” He grabbed a random pair from the buckets behind him and held them out for me to inspect, except he fumbled them around nervously with his fingers because I honestly believe he was thinking, this horrific place doesn’t pay me enough to do this. I wanted to vomit. He stood there waiting for me to approve of the underwear he had chosen and I felt upper lip sweat forming once again and the desire to pass out in the middle of the store.

I looked at Tierney, who very conveniently picked a spot on the counter to stare at while waiting for this situation to be over. I think I even nudged her as a way of asking, “What do you think of this pair?” But then I realized she is not the one expected to wear them. I am.

The cashier waited patiently for my response, so I started throwing my arms around as a way of indicating I approve.

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All I wanted in that moment was to pay for my stuff and run out of there. But of course, the card slider was taking an obnoxiously long time. I tapped my fingers and used my telekinesis abilities on the machine to approve my card at a more rapid pace than it was currently working in. Once the transaction was complete, I sprinted out of the store, removing my sweater since I’m sure my body sweat leaked through all of my clothes.

Tierney looked traumatized.

The underwear is still sitting in the bag, untouched. They will be forever untouched. Yes, I realize they were free and I should be thankful but I will not be able to slip into them without thinking of the guy who picked them out for me. I can’t do it.

I CAN’T.

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Anecdote, Awkward, Girls, Humor, My Idea Of Being An Adult, Thoughts

I Need to Learn How to Say No – UPDATE

I got a lot of wonderful feedback from you friends on my post from yesterday, and I want to thank all of you. Since I never responded to Maybe Cory’s text from the other night and he’s been silent since, I figured that was the end of that. I was thankful he didn’t turn out to be a psycho stalker who would eventually become scarier and scarier with each unanswered text.

But, I woke up this morning to a text from Maybe Cory saying, “Don’t want to chat?”

Oh boy. It’s official. I have to answer him. The text was slightly passive aggressive, filled with annoyance and perhaps regret. I immediately felt bad and tried to think of what to say without hurting his feelings. I kept thinking this morning about how aggravated I’ve been in the past when my messages had gone unanswered. I tend to overthink things way too much and I didn’t necessarily want to do that to him or anybody else. He seems perfectly nice.

I apologized for not getting back to him due to the stress of moving to South Carolina. <– I had to remind him of this very important fact.

He said he understood and then the light bulb went off. “You live in Connecticut?”

I said yes.

“Ohhhh. I missed that part. *insert sweaty smiley emoji*”

And that was the end of the conversation. I have a feeling I won’t be hearing from Maybe Cory again.

So I realized many things from this very small experience.

1.) Maybe Cory was probably too drunk to comprehend what I was saying to him that evening.

2.) Maybe Cory wasn’t actually listening to anything I was saying to him that evening.

3.) It’s more than likely a mix of both 1 and 2.

4.) I need to take a chill pill.

So even though I didn’t get a chance to actually turn him down, it makes me feel a little bit better that I sorta kinda tried. Until next time.

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Anecdote, Awkward, Girls, Humor, My Idea Of Being An Adult, Thoughts

I Need to Learn How to Say No

Why is it so hard to say no?

I read an advice column a few weeks ago and the reader asked, “How do you say no to people?” The advice columnist put it very simply – just say no. However, for people like myself, it’s a lot easier said than done. And I’m not talking about drastic situations like, your best friend wants your help committing a murder. If my best friend asked me to participate in murder, I would very easily say no and then run away/go to the police.

Here’s my example from this past weekend:

I was out with my mom, aunt, and two older sisters in a small downtown area in New Hampshire. Since it was my last weekend visiting them before I leave for South Carolina, it was kind of a big blow out. My oldest sister just had a baby back in October, so she was shaking her little mom self the whole evening. My second oldest sister was handing me Jello shots while my mom and my aunt took videos of me and my sisters reenacting the rap scene from Teen Witch. We are a close-knit family, as you can tell.

I ran off to the ladies room and on my way back, my arm was tugged ever so lightly by some guy with thick-rimmed glasses. I was wearing my glasses as well (long story short – I put my contact in my eye and it just disappeared without a trace. I looked like Jessica Day all weekend). He pulled me aside and said, “Hey, you seem interesting to talk to.”

Now here’s where I tend to ruin things. In an overly sarcastic tone I asked, “Is it because I’m wearing and you’reeeee wearing glasses?” But then he started laughing and asked for my name. Our conversation was going smooth and I knew it was going to be brief. After all, I was just being polite. And if I really thought about it, this guy had some balls to just pull me aside and strike up a conversation. Bonus points for him. He will go far in life. I told him that I was out with my family because I’m moving to South Carolina. He thought that was cool and congratulated me. And then I started looking at his face and realized he seemed pretty young. Perhaps even younger than myself.

So I did what any obnoxious older woman would normally do in this situation and I asked, “How old are you anyway?”

He was twenty-two.

And then the grandma side of me kicked in and I began reminiscing my college graduation.

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He was still a senior in college. I informed him that I will be twenty-six next month. He didn’t seem to give a shit. I got nervous because of the situation I was in and began spewing out advice like I’m his career counselor and he needed help on his resume. I then quickly ended the conversation and told him I needed to get back to my mother, which we both looked over and I’m fairly certain she was holding a Jello shot. But he still asked for my phone number.

Now, a few key points popped into my head at this point.

1.) I just informed him that I’m moving to South Carolina.

2.) I’m nearly four years older than him. That doesn’t seem like a lot but when I realized that he was a freshman in college while I was graduating and stressing about my student loans, it wigged me out a little.

3.) I don’t even currently live in New Hampshire, which he knew.

4.) Our conversation really wasn’t all that interesting to be honest. It felt like we were speed dating – what was your major? What do you do? Where do you live? Where did you grow up? —> How on earth can you tell if you like someone by asking these basic questions? I want someone to ask me what my favorite episode of Doug is, and if I thought Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears should have worked things out.

So I couldn’t help but wonder why on earth this guy wanted my phone number. For what purpose? I think it was pretty obvious we were never going to see each other again. I’m sure some of you are like, Oh Jess, you’re so naive. You’re right. You’re 100% right.

But I panicked and said, “Sure” and inserted my number into his phone. I had zero intention of speaking to him after our encounter. Some of you might think, Wow you’re an asshole. I wasn’t trying to be. I just don’t know how to say no. He was perfectly nice and polite.

My oldest sister yelled, “Why didn’t you give him a fake number? I did that all the time before I was married.”

“Because I’m not a jerk. How horrible would that be if you got the balls to ask a girl for her phone number only to find out that it’s not her phone number? If I were to do that, what’s the point of giving him a number at all?” I said.

“You could have said you have a boyfriend,” my mom suggested.

“I don’t think that quickly on my feet.”

Flash forward to the following night, and I received a text that my iPhone very cleverly labeled, “Maybe Cory?” It took me a second to realize it was senior-in-college-guy.

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I never answered the text.

It’s so easy saying no to people who are just not very friendly, or if it’s someone asking to do something for you. Whenever a guy asks to buy me a drink, I always say, “No, thank you” unless I know them. I don’t like feeling as though I owe them something in return, if you know what I mean. I know plenty of girls who go out and get free drinks from gentlemen all night, and they have no intention of actually conversing with them after. I’d feel like a dick by doing that. I’m a working woman and I can pay for myself. Also, there’s an unspoken fear among females that we don’t want to get roofied, so shout out to guys, if you’re wondering why some girls turn down your drink offer, just know the roofie thing is like, half the reason. But if someone asks for my phone number, it sounds kind of weird saying, “No, thank you”.

In the end, I guess it doesn’t really matter. Turning them down from the start is the exact same thing as ignoring their messages. Sure, it might hurt their feelings, which I don’t like doing, but if I have no intention of speaking to them anyway, then it’s a web I can’t break free of. Eventually, I just have to grow a pair and say “No” so that I can stop getting messages from people I don’t want to talk to.

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Awkward, Girls, Humor, Memories, Thoughts, You're Fine

A Letter to My Pants

Hey ladies,

I’m sure for the last year, my closet has felt like Buckingham Palace compared to my last one. You have so much space to just hang around while Mumford tortures you from time to time with his claws when he’s feeling feisty. You’re also completely separated from those asshole t-shirts and blouses in the next closet over. You no longer have to mingle with them, thank goodness.

I’m sure the feeling is mutual when I say that we are frenemies. Some of you are just so wonderful, shaping my body ever so nicely while the rest of you, I’m certain, are trying to kill me.

I’ll start off with you lovely sweatpants. There are just so many of you: the Catalina Island Sweatpants, the Old-Navy-Random-Purchase Sweatpants, the Forever-21-And-It-Only-Cost-2-Dollars Leggings, the Yoga-Pants-I-Bought-When-I-Was-A-Size-Zero-And-No-Longer-Fit-In. You are all my buds. We’ve had so many cuddle sessions together, and I wouldn’t trade them in for the world. I’m sorry to many of you for the accidental coffee spill from time to time when I was startled or got excited about something. We’ve watched the entire series of Mad Men together, and you’re definitely the type I would like to die in a plane crash with, if the situation were to occur. Sorry, jeans. At least I would die comfortable. You’re the first pants I reach to when I get home from work.

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You’re the perfect attire to eat in. You allow me to be a bottomless pit and I love you for it. Cashews? Screw cashews. Give me french fries.

Back to the jeans. You guys are terrible friends. The only thing I like about you is the fact that you make my legs seem long and lean, but it’s a complete lie. In reality, my legs are short and look like stubby fingers. Let’s just push that pro to the side and go over the cons:

  • The daily struggle every morning pulling you over my thighs. It’s like wrestling a bear.
  • Praying they are going to zip up without that awkward opening as if I went to the bathroom and forgot to zip my pants back up.
  • That uncomfortable and painful scar you leave across my stomach every day as if I fell asleep on a butcher knife for 6 hours.

^^^ This is why I prefer sweatpants.

But I have news for some of you. Since I have officially shed 12 pounds from my body, I’m gonna have to go Hunger Games on your asses and remove you from the premises. No, Olive Jeans. You can’t volunteer as tribute. You still fit perfectly fine.

Some of you, on the other hand, now fit me so awkwardly I feel like one of those tweens who’s old enough to shop in the juniors section but risk wearing khaki’s that bubble up at the thighs, but will only fit in the Little Miss section and risk wearing jeans with flower patches on the knees like they’re in third grade. I can’t be having that at the age of 25. Sahry.

I’m not going to name names, but some of you will have to say your goodbyes because you’re being stored in a box somewhere for later use. I’m realistic of the fact that I’m sure I’m going to need you again at some point.

We are also moving to a much warmer place, full of sunshine and horrible humidity. Even the ones who are dear enough to stick around, your services will not be needed nearly as much. I’m going to have to start buying more shorts and dresses. I know, I know. Shorts scare you. They are basically you, but with your limbs cut off. Do you want to be covered in my sweat?

I didn’t think so.

This isn’t to say I don’t love all of you. I know what I said before, jeans. But I didn’t mean it. You are there for me when the seasons change and I feel my inner girl freak out at the sight of a dead leaf. I throw you on when the temperature drops to 60. You cover my legs on the days I don’t feel like shaving. You keep me warm and cozy. You give me more confidence than any other piece of clothing.

I’ll be sure to give you the love and respect on the days you are needed. We will do something fun together. Like jump in a pile of leaves or bond with some boots if it gets really cold. I know you’ll miss the boots too.

So, this isn’t goodbye now, or forever. This is a “I’ll catch you on the flip side.” Until then, you do you. Never lose heart.

Yours truly,

Momsicle

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Awkward, Connecticut, Girls, Humor, I'm not a mommy blogger, You're Fine

I Don’t Like the Term Yolo, So I’m Gonna Go with Solo

I’ve been trying to wrap my brain over the last few days as to what I used to do before my relationship. And then I realized, I’ve never been alone. And I mean, alone alone. Even before Mr. Jess, I was focusing on getting out of California, and then I lived with my mom for a short period of time. Someone has always been there. And this past week, I’ve been feeling like this:

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I officially do not know anyone in the state of Connecticut other than co-workers, and they live in New York. So each night, I’ve come home from work and twiddled my thumbs, thinking about how to pass the time before bed.

Luckily, the group chat with Paul, Chris and Meghan has kept me sane. As soon as I receive a message from any of them, I instantly feel better and cheerful. I also tend to have nightly Snapchat dates with Meghan by playing with filters and sending videos telling each other what’s happening. We could just FaceTime, but what’s the fun in that? I have wonderful friends who entertain me through text and I’m doing my best to fill my weekends up with adventure so that I don’t end up in the corner of my apartment eating my hair by Sunday evening.

I got a good dose of how dangerous it is to be alone all of the time without a solid head on my shoulders. Yesterday I had an eye exam at the mall. The eye exam took a whole ten minutes to complete and then my lonesome self was released into the wilderness of the mall. Very bad idea.

I remembered that I ran out of body wash. So I decided to stop inside Bath & Body Works and found a holiday Sugar Plum wash that smells just delightful. Then I saw Victoria’s Secret across the way and remembered I needed to update some under garments.

Let’s just halt right there for a second because I can’t be the only one who does this:

You walk in to search for bras or whatever the hell it is you’re looking for. An attendant comes up and asks if you need any help. Only it happens at least 5 times while you’re in the store. So you keep nodding your head “No, thanks” with a slight annoyance because you are so confident that you can find your own damn bra yourself, only to find out months, maybe even years later, that you’ve been wearing the wrong size bra. Stubbornness at its finest.

Anyways, $50 later and I stumbled across a Sephora. I looked at the time and it was only 6:15.

sdsads

I strolled in and started playing with the samples of makeup. I found Bare Minerals, which I forgot how amazing the product is, a bronzer, some eye shadow and blush, and I was having a ball. I walked in looking like Charlize Theron in Monster, and came out looking like Natalie Portman. I contoured the shit out of my face.

$70 in Sephora later and I was home.

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Needless to say, this cannot turn into a habit of mine. I’m going to need to find other things to occupy my time. For instance, this evening, on a raging Friday night, I will be home doing laundry, cleaning, and probably watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s for the second time this week.

dfssdfsd

Who wants to chat with me?

 

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Cartoons, Food, Girls, Humor

First Date

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Girls, Humor, Manic Monday, Memories, Out of the Ordinary, Travel, You're Fine

What is Happening?: DC and other tales

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I don’t even know where to begin with this post. I have no words. This was definitely one of the best weekends I’ve ever had, but I already knew this before the weekend even started. Let me first start off with a brief, yet detailed, explanation of my dear friend and former roommate Colleen.

Colleen is a free spirit. Colleen does what she wants and when she wants. She never seems to have a plan. I always feel like I have some idea of a plan, but after spending just a few hours with her, I realize that my so-called plan is actually not all that important. It’s liberating. Her car is an absolute mess. She has at least 15 pairs of shoes and several outfits to choose from, all hidden within the cracks of her car. I realized she has her whole closet in her car because she never knows what she’s going to do next. She could decide to go to the Nationals game, and then all of a sudden get invited to a bar, so at least she has a cute top and heels in her car just in case. I always walk away thinking, “Someone should write a song about her, if they haven’t already.” Kind of like Hey There Delilah or Meet Virginia.

I luckily got to meet a fellow blogger from our little community, Meghan! Many people were weirded out (except for Colleen) that we were meeting for the first time because we’ve only spoken to each other on the Internet. I warned Meghan that spending the day with us meant it was going to be a pretty random day. We met up at the World War II memorial and the rest is a bit of a blur.

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^^^^The man behind us seems to have the same idea? I also look like a wet mutt due to the rain.

After some tequila shots and Korean tacos, Colleen somehow managed to get her foot stuck in a tree. She had an urge to climb the skinny street tree until things went awry and we had to call over random men to pull her out of the tree. She woke up the next morning wondering why her foot hurt. After hours of hanging and chatting, Meghan had to leave and we were saddened by it greatly.

After Meghan left, Colleen and I were walking on a quiet street singing Anna Kendrick’s “Cups” to meet with a few of her friends when the unthinkable happened. Colleen unleashed all of her worries and concerns onto me and I wasn’t prepared for it. She listed off all of her stresses and her confusion on life. In all of my time knowing Colleen, I have never seen her like that. She was always the care-free one, and the person to find beauty in everything the world has to offer. So I stopped walking and just stood on the cold street, listening to her. When she finally took a deep breath, I hugged her with all of my might and cried. We both cried (she will probably kill me if she knew I informed you all that she cried). We were silent on the street, hugging and crying, before she finally said, “I’m so glad you’re here.” And then she asked why we were crying. I told her, “Because my life isn’t perfect either.” And then she hugged me even tighter. I realized that we both needed this reunion badly. We had spent too much time apart and it was the perfect time to see each other again. It’s almost like we have a twintuition. I can’t explain the feeling I had two weeks ago as I was fiddling with my hair and thinking about Colleen. I just knew I had to buy a plane ticket and see her. It’s like we sense when something is wrong. SOULMATE.

We eventually found a bathroom to clean our snotty, red faces and continued our night with some dancing. I don’t think we got home until about 5am.

Some other memorable points I’d like to bring up:

  • Meghan is awesome in person and if any blogger has an opportunity to meet another blogger, I highly recommend it, no matter how nervous you may be.
  • Meghan and I determined we may have scared Paul and Chris with our bombarding Twitter messages and we apologize profusely.
  • American Airlines is awful. Don’t fly with them.
  • Colleen apparently describes me as the roommate who turns off The Notebook right before they die because my heart can’t handle it.

Here are some more photos to showcase this past weekend:

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Awkward, Girls, Humor

Shopping with Men: My Thoughts

I’m trying to tackle the psychological reasoning behind girls bringing their male significant others shopping. I feel like since the beginning of my time here on planet earth, I’ve been one of the few percent who hate shopping with boys. I truly despise the experience. If I walk into a store and I spot a boy tagging along with his girlfriend to the point that he should just wear a leash, I make a B line to the other end of the store to avoid him at all costs. Why, you ask? Because I can smell the fresh scent of an awkward death by hanger approaching. Or I’m just trying to convince the males of the universe that I naturally look this wonderful and I put zero effort into it at all. It’s probably a mix of both.

Remember that Good Charlotte band? Did they fall off the face of the earth or have I been out of the loop? Anyways, they wrote this song called “Boys & Girls” where they claim girls don’t like boys, girls like cars and money. Sure, if you’re a famous man with unlimited fortune. But for the average Joe, I’ve never seen this happen. You don’t see some Target sales manager in his thirties being dragged by his girlfriend to Gucci stores and drooling over his 1996 Hyundai. So I call bullshit on Good Charlotte and everything angsty that they represent.
From my observation, there are two types of girls who bring boys with them to go shopping. The first is the girl who has the unrealistic sense that her boyfriend is going to give her fashion advice. This is where those girls just keeping digging themselves into a hole. Her expectations are that her boyfriend is going to be like, “Oh Amanda, teal works perfectly with your skin tone.” Guys are smart because they know they cannot say anything negative about the floral blouse his girlfriend just picked out because that will result in a 24 hour fight where she calls him crying and yelling, “YOU THINK I’M FAT, DON’T YOU?”
Instead, it looks a little more like this:
“Heybabeheybabeheybabeheybabe…”
The boyfriend looks up from his phone.
“What do you think of this?”
“Um, yeah. Looks great,” he says. And then before you know it, you’re purchasing an outfit that closely resembles the customers of Walmart that Buzzfeed keeps posting as if it’s news. All because you dragged your boyfriend who most likely does not want to be there and will do and say just about anything to keep his sanity.

fgfdgThe second type of girl is the one who expects her boyfriend to pay for these items. This also makes no sense to me because majority of the dudes I see following their girlfriends around the racks are teenagers. And they don’t have any money. I don’t care if he makes $10.50 an hour at the water park working part-time. He has no money to spare. So hold onto that $5 Claire’s ring tightly because that’s all you’re getting for a long time.
But what bothers me about it is the never ending topic of feminism. It’s what we all wanted, isn’t it? So by pulling your boyfriend into a store, finding a pair of jeans and looking at him with puppy dog eyes isn’t setting us back fifty years, then I don’t know what. If you’re a working woman, buy the damn jeans yourself. If you’re not a working woman, better go ask your mom!
I recently went shopping with Mr. Jess and it was as awkward as you could imagine. Mostly on my part. We went to the Outlets in Connecticut and each store we passed, he asked me if I wanted to go in. I felt like a toddler being asked by her parents if she wanted to sit on Santa’s lap but he seemed a lot bigger in person than she’d imagined so she instead backed away slowly nearly knocking down the Christmas tree. I kept nodding my head shyly, secretly hoping he’d be like, “Hey, I need a tie. Let’s go in here.”

We walked up to a Brooks Brothers and we both made eye contact that we should maybe sorta kinda go in. Only we walked in, stared at each other in silence before Mr. Jess finally said, “I don’t actually have an interest in this store.” And I said, “I don’t either.” We stroked a shirt and ran out. We were in the store for a total of fifteen seconds.
When we found J. Crew (which, by the way, I’d like to be buried in, in case any of you bloggers are responsible for the placement of my dead body), I was finally in my happy place. That is, until Mr. Jess said he wanted to buy me something. I followed it with an “ICK” noise, and then a, “Why?” He seemed confused by my reaction. When a guy asks to buy me something, I immediately feel like this is a Hugh Hefner moment, and I’m just one of his playmates he’s trying to amuse. After I apologized for my response as if he had just told me he had Ebola, I politely declined the offer. Most girls probably would have slapped me. I guess it’s just how I’m wired.
Perhaps I’m the weird one. Feel free to express that to me.

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Anecdote, Girls, Home, Humor, Memories, News, Things I Should Have Solved A Year Ago

My College Soulmate

I had a strange feeling come over me yesterday as I was fiddling with my hair. I missed my college soulmate. I texted Miss Colleen and asked if she was interested in me barging in on her life in a couple of weeks because I missed her. Her response was, “FUCK YES.”

I just bought my round trip ticket to Washington D.C. and I’m freaking out. It was an impulsive decision, but worth every penny.

I call Colleen my college soulmate because we hit it off right away. We were randomly selected to room together in dorm room #360. I believe her immediate response was texting me the lyrics to the “Circle of Life”. Perfect! She was a nerd who cracked geometry jokes.

The first time I met Colleen, I carried my bags and my pet frog (yes, I had a pet frog and he lived for a freakishly long time), and banged on the door with my foot and she opened it with such enthusiasm and jazz hands. She hugged me so tightly that I almost dropped Finch the frog.

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Colleen brought the weird out in me. Some of you find this weird quality endearing, so please, clap for Colleen. Here are some Colleen stories I’d like to share with you:

  • I once walked into our room and found her bed in the middle of the room with her mumbling about watching the first snow fall while hugging a half empty bottle of tequila and an open bag of Doritos.
  • Her dad left me a sympathy card in my desk when I first arrived at school with an entire poem dedicated to Colleen.
  • She taught me how to properly tweeze my eyebrows.
  • When a couple of boys played a prank on their friend by leaving his phone number on our door saying, “I have a big penis”, Colleen decided to call him and asked him to elaborate.
  • She nearly convinced me to adopt several animals to hide in our room such as a dog, hedgehog, and a sloth type animal that I can’t remember the name of until we realized that they had this weird poisonous goo come out of its elbows and decided against it.
  • We both watched Kristen Wiig’s SNL skit “Surprise Party” and determined that was Colleen every single day.

sad

dfddsdf

After sophomore year, she transferred to a different school, and since then, I’ve seen her once which was in the spring of 2013. It’s been more than three years and I’m upset about it. But when I do see her, we just pick up right where we left off. I know in my last post I said I was kind of like Jessica Day, but she’s the real Jessica Day. And I get to hang with her and Mr. Abe Lincoln!

#somanyemotions

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