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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Dating, Girls, My Idea Of Being An Adult, Thoughts, You're Fine

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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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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Art, My Idea Of Being An Adult, Thoughts, You're Fine

My Quarter Life

There has a been a weird vibe in the air. I don’t know if any of you can feel it but I certainly can. It’s been here for a while. It could still be the aftermath of January and all that it has to offer me, which is usually nothing. It could be the fact that I’m still adjusting to my move. But something seems…off. Things seem strange with friends whom I haven’t talked to in a while, but I have been busy over the last month. Life in general feels like it’s tipping over. I no longer have a routine.

My days are now mushing together and I don’t like it. I find myself sinking into my bed, staring at the twinkle lights I hung up around my closet door for what feels like hours. I like to stay busy, but I have very little motivation lately. Every day, I find a new bruise on my arms, legs, or neck from putting together furniture since I arrived in Charleston. My body is sore. My mind is weak. I haven’t even had much inspiration to blog. If I go on WordPress, I glance through the feed for about two seconds before tossing my phone at the end of my bed and crawling under the covers for the rest of the morning.

But I was in my car this morning thinking about my quarter life crisis I had nearly a month ago. I was home in New Hampshire visiting my family before I moved down south. It was 2am, and I was sobbing into a pillow with my mom by my side. I’m not even sure what happened to make me so upset. It wasn’t the thought of moving away from my family. I’ve already done that what feels like a thousand times. I think I’ve said goodbye to them more than I’ve said hello. I was telling her about a potential job in an art gallery in Charleston that I’m both excited and terrified about it. I finally admitted to my mom that I’m scared I will fail. After all those years in college, studying, memorizing, practicing, and drooling over the art I was taught, I’m scared that in the end, I will find out I’m not actually good in the field at all. Then what? Perhaps that’s why I’ve had such trouble finding a job in my field since I graduated. I’ve secretly been sabotaging myself into believing I will fail and I wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Then my mom brushed the hair off my face and simply said, “I have never, not even once, been worried about you succeeding. When it comes to art, you know exactly what you’re doing and saying. I have no doubt you will be great.”

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So, I’ve been trying to remember what she said. I have to stop convincing myself that something will go wrong. I have to focus. But, if I wake up every morning like I did this morning, with Mumford’s paws wrapped around my leg and his head digging into my ankle, I will definitely spend an extra fifteen minutes in bed.

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Miscellaneous

Moving is such a horrible concept. I have moved a lot since 2009. I moved from dorm to dorm on campus, and then apartment to apartment in various states such as New Hampshire, Massachusetts, California, Connecticut, and now South Carolina. I have to say, moving to South Carolina has been the worst by far.

Moving is never a smooth transition. Something always goes wrong, but it’s usually fixable and not a giant headache in the end. If you lose a coffee mug or two, you just buy a new one. If your sheets rip during the drive, you just buy some new ones. However, my move to South Carolina has been absolutely terrible that I would rather the earth opened up, swallowed me hole, and spit me back up as a demon torturing myself in order to justify the reality of my situation(s).

At first, everything was hunky-dory. I drove down with Mumford in one piece. The movers arrived to the apartment before I did with my mattress, bed frame, and cabinet, which I was happy about. I unloaded everything from my car rather quickly with the help of Colleen. I was ready to somewhat relax and put my bed back together until I realized some of the pieces to my bed were missing. I texted the mover who apologized and checked his truck and did in fact find the rather small and annoying pieces that were preventing me from sleeping on a firm surface other than a floor. He said he was in Florida already and would be back in my area the following afternoon. But then the following afternoon came and went, and after reaching out, he told me first thing in the morning he would arrive. And then “first thing in the morning” came and went, and yet I was still here, sleeping on my mattress on the floor like a drug addict in an abandoned house in the woods. My room is pretty tiny, so not being able to put my bed together kind of stalls me from putting everything else together. Once the bed is together and placed in the right spot, I can then sort through all of my other things.

I finally texted the mover again, and after several hours, he told me he would be by with my pieces in “about nine days”.

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NINE DAYS.

I can’t put anything anywhere. I have more stuff arriving this week. I live in a pile of clothes on my mattress with a useless bed frame exploding my tiny bedroom. I. Am. Not. A. Happy. Lady. Right. Meow.

I informed him immediately like the princess that I was behaving as that that arrangement did not work for me at all. I need a bed. It’s only been three days and I’m already throwing crap around because I have no placement for them yet. I still have no idea what’s happening with the bed so I’m just going to shove issue #1 aside for now.

Now onto issue #2 – I bought a brand new bookcase that arrived today. We go to unload the heavy pieces from the box only to find that they did not include any of the nails to actually put said pieces together, leaving me once again with another piece of useless furniture I cannot assemble at this point in time.

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It’s official. South Carolina does not want me to put my furniture together. It has not welcomed me with open arms. I just want a bedroom that wouldn’t make Jesse Pinkman cry.

So I’m just going to go in my room now and huddle in the corner to look at what’s left of my belongings in hopes nothing else happens.

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Little Black Book – a ghost story

I realized I’ve never really discussed the idea of ghosts on my blog. What has prompted this inspiration is an article I asked Tierney to send to me because it was spooking her out so I thought, “Hey Jess, let’s not sleep tonight.” You can find the article here: Read at your own risk.

So now, I’m a Nervous Nelly and the only thing I can do to calm myself down is doing what I’m doing now: blogging and joking around. *insert nervous laugh*

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I love ghost stories. That doesn’t necessarily mean I believe in them, but I’m not entirely skeptical either. I know weird and unexplainable things happen. I’ve known plenty of people who have strange stories to tell, including myself. Like this one time, the stereo in the basement of my house turned on by itself in the middle of the night. The damn thing woke everyone up. We never used that stereo, so there was no set alarm either. And no, I was not the first person to walk into my dark, creepy basement to find the source of the noise. I’m smarter than that. Or that other time in college when I went to go wash my face and brush my teeth before bed and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a girl walk in and head for the stalls. After I was done brushing my teeth, I realized how silent the bathroom was, and when I went to check the stalls, nobody was in there except for me. I ran out and hid under my blankets.

But the first time I started to kind of sort of believe these things was after my dad passed away. Several strange and possibly coincidental things happened after his death, but that is for you to decide.

My dad died only a few months after my college graduation. As soon as I was in the “real world” he informed me that he wanted to send a hundred dollars every month. I told him it wasn’t necessary but he insisted. He said, “I don’t want you to ever be without.” He sent me $100 for July and August, and then he died in September. A day or two after he passed, I flew down to Texas to help my mom with some things around the house. We had an emotional morning after picking up his belongings at the hospital, and then the funeral home allowing me to view the body for a few seconds before cremating him later that week, so my mother and I decided to take a long nap. I don’t know how long we were both asleep for, but I eventually woke up and felt anxious. I slipped out of bed, tip toed over our German Shepherd, and sat in the kitchen for a few minutes in silence. My dad’s art studio was all the way down the hallway with the door closed and I felt compelled to go inside and look around. It wasn’t just out of curiosity. It was more of a, “I have to do it now!” kind of feeling.

I began going through his things. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was looking for but I kept digging through the drawers and closets, hoping to find something. He had a tiny book collection on his shelf and I noticed there was a little black book tucked away and it looked like a journal. I pulled it out and opened the first page. It was dated two weeks before he died and he wrote one sentence, “I don’t remember much of my life or where it went, so this is going to be tough to write.” That is all.

I fanned through the pages hoping to find more and then a hundred dollar bill fell onto my lap. After I showed my mom, we tore apart the rest of the house, wondering if he hid any other hundred dollar bills but we found nothing. Just the single bill inside his blank journal. Now, some of you might think that it was just a coincidence. However, what if I hadn’t gone through his things and found the little black book? There really wasn’t anything special about it. It was a small, blank book tucked in between about a dozen books by Stephen King and a few of my Sarah Dessen novels I enjoyed when I was younger. The little black book could have easily been thrown away along with some of his other belongings before my mom packed up the house and moved. Finding that hundred dollar bill was like finding a needle in a haystack —> not an original analogy but whatever.

Flash forward a few weeks and my mom was telling me about the weird and unexplainable things.

Grief messes with you. You start noticing things you never noticed before, and then you feel guilty for not noticing them when you should have. My mom walked by the refrigerator and found a note that said, “I love you!” and when she turned it over, it read, “Just because.” She walked outside one day and stumbled across the row of cement blocks. The day my dad passed away, he was moving them around the yard in the heat, which could be an easy explanation for his heart attack. One of the cement blocks had their initials written on it with a heart. These moments are not considered weird, but instead are happy reminders of the person they were before they are gone. I think this happens with every person once they have died. It’s like that song from The Band Perry when they say, “Funny when you’re dead and people start listening.” But one day, my mom woke up from a nap because it felt like someone pushed her. She felt the hand shove her awake and she looked up and found my dad standing there staring at her. She told me this story and a part of me thought, “She’s grieving. This is natural.” And then another part of me was jealous. Other than the mysterious hundred dollar bill, I hadn’t experienced anything except a number of sleepless nights.

My mom told me a few other stories like that one and I just nodded my head silently. For weeks, I wanted something to happen whether it was my grief talking or something real. I know it was just a desperate plea to see him one last time, and I couldn’t understand why my mom could see him and I couldn’t.

And then one fine evening I had a very strange dream. I was standing across the street from my old house in New Hampshire. Everything was set up exactly as I remembered. From across the street, I could see my dad pacing back and forth in the window of my house. I wasn’t trying to get his attention, but I was just watching him. He noticed me from the big window and waved vigorously with a huge smile on his face. And then I woke up.

Weird? Maybe. Coincidence? Possibly. But I’d rather just keep it as a way of him saying, “hello”.

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Anecdote, Awkward, Girls, Humor, You're Fine

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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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.

ddsd

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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My Idea Of Being An Adult, Out of the Ordinary, Thoughts, Travel, You're Fine

Welcome to Charleston

I can’t be the only one who has that one month out of the year when a series of unfortunate events takes place. For me, that month is January. It happens nearly every year when it seems my walls come crashing down. My walls are by no means sturdy.

However, I just spent nearly a week in Charleston, South Carolina. Yes, it was fun and relaxing, until I came home to a flat tire in the parking garage of the airport, and then a letter from the unemployment office in California, which I won’t go too far into, that would make anyone’s heart stop. By the time I put my bags down, I was ready to fall into tears and fly back to South Carolina to avoid life in general.

Luckily, I will be going back to South Carolina very, very soon. Colleen and I decided to move there. Since my lease is up at the end of February, it’s very important that we make this happen as soon as possible.

Colleen and I sat in the living room of her friend Zach’s apartment while him and his roommates were off at work. We grabbed a bottle of wine, blank sheets of paper, and jotted down the pros and cons to living in Charleston, Washington D.C., and New Hampshire/Maine.

Let me fast forward to when we were leaving Charleston and Colleen was chatting up the Uber driver. He was confused as to why we could just pick up and move without a care in the world.

“What about your jobs?” he asked.

“Well, we don’t really like our jobs,” Colleen answered. The Uber driver laughed hysterically.

“Nobody likes their job!” he said.

It was at this moment I wanted to jump out of the car. I’ve come to really despise that excuse.

Yes, I realize not everyone likes their job, and that’s unfortunate. But there are people out there who love their job. I don’t see what’s wrong with wanting a job I enjoy. One of Zach’s roommates named Jack went on and on about how much he loves his job, and he gets up much earlier than he needs to because he can’t wait to go to work. That right there is the kind of life I want.

I can’t understand why people just accept the reality that they don’t and probably will never like their job. Then why are you doing it? There are bills to pay, and rent, and the overall need to live. I’ve been living this life since I graduated college almost four years ago. But in my downtime, I’ve been searching for other opportunities. It may seem like I’m flaky and I jump from job to job, but that’s because I’m scared of getting too comfortable in a field I don’t actually have an interest in. Even though I haven’t been successful in finding something I love, I at least have been trying. I haven’t given up. I don’t have a reason to. I’m not married, or even in a relationship, and I have no kids. I have no excuses.

Back to when Colleen and I were sipping wine and going over the ideas of living in three entirely different places, we had to be realistic.

Washington D.C. is too stuffy and expensive. It’s also a place Colleen is used to and she needs a change of pace and environment.

New Hampshire/Maine was ideal in the sense that my family is there, and New England is where our heart is. We love the seasons, the beaches, and the people. But the job market is terrible. All I thought about was how I would end up a waitress again, scrubbing the chocolate pie out of my apron every night and smelling of french fries. New England is the type of place I’d like to end up once I feel a bit more established. I just don’t feel comfortable enough there.

Even though Charleston is far away from our families, we have more connections to the job market than we do anywhere else. We have a better chance of succeeding. It seemed like the obvious choice. Even if I do have to serve food for a little while, at least it’s not in my hometown where I feel like I have just given up. I’ll feel more motivated to make it all work.

So, even though January tends to give me a headache, at least I have something exciting to look forward to.

I’m certainly tired of moving. I’ve lived in three different states in the last three years. I’m exhausted. But until I find my place in the world, I won’t stop. I don’t know if Charleston is my forever home, and I’m okay with that. Maybe I’ll fail, or maybe I’ll thrive. But it’s worth a shot.

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Anecdote, Home, I Wasn't Worried, Thoughts, Travel, You're Fine

I’m Fine I’m Fine I’m Fine

The year 2016, for me, started on January 12th. It didn’t start when the ball dropped in New York City, or when everyone cheered with their champagne glasses. At that point in time, I believe I was in a bathroom of a New Year’s Eve party crying while my friend wiped the mascara off my face, telling me everything was going to be okay.

Many people have complained that 2016 was one of the worst years we have seen in a long time. It was definitely one of the more bizarre years considering the amount of celebrity deaths and America’s recent election. But I don’t review my year based on things like pop culture and politics. I think about the past year and wonder if I became a better version of myself, and if I actually have learned something from my accomplishments and failures.

On January 12th of last year, my car was packed, I said goodbye to my neighbors in California, and I set off back to New Hampshire by myself. As soon as I got out of Orange County and realized I was entering the dusty mountains of Arizona, where gas stations appear once every 45 miles, cell service is scarce, and it seemed as though I was the only person left on the planet driving through the desert, I started to worry. I kept repeating, “I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine.” A little tune similar to Sylvia Plath’s “I am I am I am.” I ignored my morbid thoughts and put on my brave face. For years, I was meant to believe that I couldn’t handle life in general. I was meant to believe that my sense of direction was terrible, mostly because I’m a girl. I was meant to believe that I couldn’t take care of myself, and I was made to feel stupid at times. I’d say it was natural of me to have those thoughts as I started driving thousands of miles alone to places unfamiliar to me. Every town I stopped in for gas, or grabbed food, or just simply needed to use the bathroom, I held tightly onto the mace in my pocket and kept a straight face.

A friend once asked me what my favorite part of the road trip was, and she expected something grand like the skyline of Chicago or New York City. But my favorite part was in the middle of nowhere in northern Texas seeping into Oklahoma. For what seemed like hundreds of miles are fields of giant white windmills. It doesn’t sound exciting but they are hypnotizing. It was in that moment, I felt safe. I felt in control, comfortable, and for the first time, relaxed. I wanted so badly to stop and sit on the hood of my car and watch them turn, but I decided I needed to keep moving.

2016 was one of my better years. I learned a lot about myself that I can either accept or change – I haven’t quite figured that out yet. I’m a naturally impulsive person. I don’t like receiving help unless specifically asked. I’m stubborn. I don’t always speak my mind. I overthink and read too much into almost everything. I rarely take my own advice. I’m independent, yet I rely too heavily on other people. I value my friendships more. I’m able to love unconditionally. I’m okay with rejection because that just means another door opens. I’m a little more optimistic.

I’m looking forward to 2017 not just because it’s a new year. Time is merely an illusion. I’m excited and open for whatever may come. There are still many places to see, people to meet, friends to grow closer with, along with many more accomplishments and failures. I’m a little bit happier with myself than I was a year ago. I will have fantastic days, decent days, and terrible days. But I keep reminding myself that it will be like this for the rest of my life. What really matters is how I look at it.

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Books, Humor, Writing, You're Fine

My 2016 Reading Challenge: Another Failed Attempt

Welp, I failed my reading challenge once again. Another year has come and gone. I did a bit better than  2015, which gives me confidence that I will be able to handle 40 books in 2017. But for the time being, it looks like I can’t update my About Me page just yet.

Just like last year’s post, I’ll give you a list of the books I’ve read with a slightly sarcastic but very brief review. I had a bit of a dry spell. There were many books I read last year that I didn’t particularly enjoy. With that said, feel free to suggest any books I should read. And I’m talking about books I should read before I suddenly drop dead because they are so life changing that it could alter how I view the world, everyone in it, and myself.

 

1. The Life Changing Magic of Not Giving a F*** by Sarah Knight

Image result for the life changing magic of not givingThis book is a game changer. I thank Sarah Knight for my departure from Facebook. And being okay with not liking quinoa.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2. Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel

Image result for station elevenIf you love apocalyptic books, you should read this one! It’s centered around the Toronto area years into the future after a nasty epidemic takes over the world. A band of merrily theater folks move from town to town to continue entertaining those who are still alive while trying to defeat an evil man acting like he’s Jesus.

 

 

 

 

 

 

3. Me Before You by Jojo Moyes

Image result for Me Before YouAnother predictable love story. You can’t help but love it because…Emilia Clarke.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

4. Home Is Burning by Dan Marshall

Image result for Home is burningThe prologue of this book is absolutely hilarious and worth the read. The rest? Not so much.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

5. Everything Is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran-Foer

Image result for everything is illuminatedI get a strong sense that if I were to ever meet Jonathan Safran-Foer, I probably wouldn’t like him. His writing is not my cup of tea. First and foremost, this novel is based around the main character named Jonathan Safran-Foer. Yeah…you read that right. Secondly, his writing comes off as jargon(y) and almost condescending. If I have to look up a new word with each sentence, it’s going to annoy me rather than make me feel smarter.

 

 

6. The Last Girlfriend on Earth by Simon Rich

Image result for the last girlfriend on earthA collection of short stories about love. It doesn’t sound all that interesting until you come across a short story that’s in the point of view of a condom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

7. Me and Earl and the Dying Girl by Jesse Andrews

Image result for me and earl and the dying girlI’ve heard the movie is better than the book, and I don’t doubt it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 8. Wedding Night by Sophie Kinsella

Image result for wedding night sophie kinsellaI know I keep telling you all how much I love Sophie Kinsella, but please avoid this book. It’s not her best. Girl wants to marry boy, boy does not want to get married, they break up, she meets up with ex-boyfriend, and elopes with him just a week later.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

9. The Art of Fielding by Chad Harbach

Image result for the art of fielding book coverIf you like baseball, you might like this book. I’m not really sure. A pet peeve of mine is when things just happen without an explanation as to how it happened, which this book is filled with these moments. I need things to be realistic in a world when it’s supposed to be realistic.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

10. Essays of E.B. White by E.B. White

Image result for essays of E.B. WhiteDeath of a Pig is amazing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

11. Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald by Therese Ann Fowler

Image result for z a novel of zelda fitzgeraldThis is one of the most interesting books I’ve read this year. I’m a big fan of The Great Gatsby but I knew nothing about Zelda Fitzgerald, the wife of one of the most famous writers in history. Even though this book is fiction, it makes you wonder just how grossly controlling F. Scott Fitzgerald may have been during his time with Zelda.

 

 

 

 

 

 

12. The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake by Aimee Bender

Image result for the particular sadness of lemon cakeOne of my favorite books I’ve read this year! At the age of nine, Rose discovers that she has a secret power to feel the emotions in food. Her mother bakes her a lemon cake for her birthday, and she can instantly feel her mother’s sadness and depression from the piece of cake. I got to the end completely horrified that I stood in my shower and stared at the wall.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

13. Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

Image result for wuthering heightsI personally enjoyed Charlotte Bronte more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

14. The Unfortunate Importance of Beauty by Amanda Filipacchi

Image result for the unfortunate importance of beautyI hated every second of this book that thirty pages in, I tossed it at the wall. It started out strong. The main character is supposedly drop dead gorgeous but she wants to meet the man of her dreams in an ugly costume because she wants to be accepted by her inner beauty instead. Love the concept, hate the execution. She’s also an Oscar winning costume designer for major motion pictures, and each of her friends are equally successful, one of them being a Nobel Piece Prize winner for a novel, the other being a famous cellist in a New York City orchestra. And none of them are older than 26. Yeah…okay.

 

 

 

 

 

15. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

Image result for the picture of dorian grayI absolutely loved this book. It’s creepy, vain, and a little sadistic. I don’t suggest watching the movie starring Colin Firth though. It’s full of orgies, and I don’t think that is entirely what Oscar Wilde had in mind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

16. To The Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf

Image result for to the lighthouseThis was my third attempt at reading To The Lighthouse, and each time I found myself on page 50, and not able to recap anything that had happened.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

17. One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Image result for one hundred years of solitudeA lot of superstition, some light incest, and a couple of executions, all in this teeny tiny town in Colombia.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

18. The Help by Kathryn Stockett

Image result for the helpI recommend this book to everyone. Eugenia Phelan is my hero.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

19. The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins

Image result for the girl on the trainI’m pretty sure this was my first murder mystery novel I’ve read and it was quite the page turner. And my personality matched the victim’s personality almost perfectly. I’m just not as promiscuous.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

20. Me, My Hair, and I by Elizabeth Benedict

Image result for me, my hair and iA book of essays strictly around hair.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

21.) All The Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr

Image result for all the light we cannot seeI’ve already discussed this book before, so I won’t go into great detail about it. The author’s imagery is stunning and memorable.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

22.) Landline by Rainbow Rowell

Image result for landline rainbow rowellI’ve heard great things about Rainbow Rowell so I was really excited to read this book. The main character Georgie is having marital problems, and her husband sounds like a douchenozzle who doesn’t support her success/career. She finds an old telephone in her bedroom and realizes she’s able to call her husband in the past, before they were married, which gives her the opportunity to fix everything. Once again, her husband is a douchenozzle.

 

 

 

 

 

 

23.) Harry Potter and the Cursed Child by J.K. Rowling

Image result for harry potter and the cursed childI have much to say about this book. Number one, it was not necessary. Number two, I hated that it was written out like a stage play, mostly because it actually was a play in London. Number three, it was disgustingly cheesy. I gave the book three stars but seriously, don’t waste your time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

24.) Smoke Gets In Your Eyes by Caitlin Doughty

dfdsfsIf you want to know the true horrors of how a body decomposes, this is your book.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

25.) Yes, Please! by Amy Poehler

fdAmy is probably one of the coolest celebrities to read about.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

26.) The Girl with the Lower Back Tattoo by Amy Schumer

rerPeople either love Amy Schumer, or they hate her. I’m one of the people who love her. I found her memoir to be surprising in many ways. For instance, she’s not this raunchy, one-night stand kind of girl as she is perceived through her stand-up and even in her movie, Trainwreck. She struggled quite a bit to be a comedian, which made me respect her even more. I personally think you get the real Amy Schumer when you read her book. But don’t get me wrong, she’s no literary genius.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

27.) Room by Emma Donoghue

srIt’s not everyday that you read an adult novel narrated by a five-year-old. But it’s certainly fascinating. The movie is just as wonderful as the book.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

28.) Against Joie de Vivre by Phillip Lopate

gdI don’t quite remember this book sooooooo…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

29.) Looking For Alaska by John Green

gfdI wanted to punch Alaska in the face. Not the state, the character. She was this trashy little teenager who flirted with EVERYONE, and I’m sorry, but did she wear clothes? Ever? Yet, every teenage boy had a crush on her. WHAT A SHOCKER.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

30.) The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follet

dfgfAn entire book happened in the first ten pages. It was too much for me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

31.) Swann’s Way by Marcel Proust

fsI only ever thought about Gilmore Girls when Max gave it to Lorelai to read and she pretended she finished.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

32.) Ghostland: An American History in Haunted Places by Colin Dickey

aHe covers everything from the Winchester Mystery House to the Salem Witch Trials. I really love ghost stories, and this guy ruined them for me. It was like watching Ghost Adventures if Zak Bagans were condescending.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

33.) Fates and Furies by Lauren Groff

dfIt’s about a marriage I didn’t particularly care about.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

34.) Big Fish by Daniel Wallace

dsSuch a bizarre book that I didn’t quite understand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

35.) The BFG by Roald Dahl

erewI can’t believe I haven’t read this book until now. I want a big, friendly giant to come to my window and blow dreams into my room with his trumpet. It sounds pleasant.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

36.) M Train by Patti Smith

drfShe drinks a shit ton of black coffee.

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Humor, I Wasn't Worried, I'm not a mommy blogger, My Idea Of Being An Adult, Thoughts, You're Fine

21 Things That Prove I Don’t Have It Together

I have a friend, let’s call her Heather, and she’s been going through a bit of a rough time over the last couple of months and has been confiding in me. I think it’s nice to be sought out when the goings get tough. I do my best to give her advice, but let’s face it, I’m no Dr. Phil. Her life seems to be up in the air at the moment, and she’s stressed about her recent breakup from her fiancé, but I try to stay positive and let her know things will work out in the end.

And then this happened:

She asked me what my plans are for the following year, and if I regret any of the decisions I made in previous years when it came to my love life and jobs.

My honest answer was this:

I have no plans. The only plan that seems to stick right now is that I will be moving in with Colleen around February/March. We haven’t picked a location just yet, but we’ve narrowed it down to two places. We will be taking a mini vacation together next month to Charleston, and then I plan to go to England in the spring to visit my newly married friend. But that’s about it.

I have no plans for a job. I could end up working in a coffee house or a flower shop for all I care. As long as I make enough money to pay rent, buy art supplies, and pay my student loans (I like to pretend this one doesn’t happen every month), I’d be happy. I don’t really care about the rest. I think the main things Colleen and I agree on with each other is that we both need adventure, and possibly a prohibition styled apartment (that was her idea).

And even though I have zero idea what my concrete plans are, I don’t regret any of the decisions I’ve made.

This was her response:

“I’m so jealous of your life! It sounds so exciting and care-free. You seem to really have it together.”

Me:

hgfhgf

What’s funny about this reaction from Heather is that I did not get this reaction at a recent Christmas party where I was the only single person and their response was a little more like, “Oh…alright then…”

I never felt so underachieved than I did in that moment.

However, this isn’t the first time I’ve gotten the “Your life seems so great!” comment. I’ve gotten it a bunch of times this year and I’ve been scratching my head trying to figure out why.

So here is a list of things to prove I don’t actually have my shit together.

1. I finally removed the month old stain on my carpet the other day.

2. I keep forgetting to give my asthmatic cat his steroids. I’m surprised he’s not dead yet.

3. There is literally nothing to eat in my apartment. I’m not just saying that. I think I have a stale box of Cheez-Its and some rice that I’m too lazy to actually cook.

4. ^ I forget what a grocery store looks like.

5. Some of my belongings are still packed in boxes. I moved into my apartment last March…

6. I STILL have not registered my car and I don’t intend to until I move again. Therefore, I’m illegally driving my car everyday.

7. I have split ends.

8. I come home from work every day and crawl into bed with my cat while watching either Gilmore Girls or Friends, but also contemplate going to the gym but then so much times passes that it’s not even worth it to go anymore.

9. I failed my Goodreads Reading Challenge, AGAIN. Unless I can somehow bust out four books in two days.

10. If you’re wondering why I haven’t been able to reach my reading goal, refer back to #8.

11. I still have canvases and frames sitting in my car from when I went home to NH in the beginning of November.

12. I haven’t managed to shave without cutting my legs at least twice.

13. I don’t moisturize enough.

14. The batteries in my electric toothbrush are out and I don’t feel like going to the store to buy more.

15. My Christmas tree will definitely stand tall for another two months.

16. I’m terrible at cleaning my paintbrushes.

17. I don’t have the confidence to wear red lipstick all the time like I want to.

18. I have a resting bitch face. I’m really trying to work on that.

19. I get a slight boost of anxiety every time I open my bank account.

20. It took me months to figure out that the sign at Planet Fitness that says “Leave egos here” doesn’t say “Leave eggos here”. It makes a lot more sense now.

21. I’ve been paying $65 a month for cable and internet, and I never was able to hook the cable up myself. So I’m still paying for cable even though I technically don’t have it. Why? you ask. Because then that means I have to sit on the phone with my cable company for 30 minutes, most likely talking to a machine and listening to customer service grunt about how I should have cable, and I’d honestly rather pay the extra $20 a month until I move.

So there you have it. I don’t have it together any more than the rest of you, I’m sure.

Please share some of your bad habits with me in the comments. I think we all need a good laugh.

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