day nineteen: top three worst traits

  1. I procrastinate - everything. Even fun things like getting my nails done or going shopping for vacation. Every post I've done in May was written in under 20 minutes the day I needed to post it. I've always been like this and I don't see it ever changing.
     
  2. I bottle stress, anxiety, frustration and anger to the point the extreme. My mood won't show on my face, but it will show on my body in the form of hives and eczema.
     
  3. I can't say no. And when I do, I feel horrible. So this leads to me over committing and not having enough time to do the things I need to do for myself.

I'M FUN.

Happy Friday!

day eighteen: things i've learned that school didn't teach me

Let's be real here: there's not much from school that I a) remember and b) found useful. I know we all joke about learning math but never having to use it, except that's not a joke and I almost graduated without a Regents diploma because of it.

ANYWAY, enough about my poor math skills.

  1. Under no circumstances should you ever put a bra in the dryer.
     
  2. You can do everything right and still come up empty.
     
  3. Your cover letter is more important that your resume.
     
  4. Thin Mints are better if they are kept in the freezer.
     
  5. Your period is only going to get worse with age - hooray!
     
  6. Don't let other people make you feel bad for not living your life the way they live theirs.
     
  7. Don't take shit about things you like - a particular band, a movie, a TV show, yellow Starburst. Unless you like The Big Bang Theory, in which case, do you know what real comedy is?
     
  8. You can (and should) say no to people. You know your limits better than anyone else.
     
  9. Listen to your friends and family, but rarely take anyone's advice.
     
  10. Happy tears are a thing. Sad tears are obviously a thing. Drunk tears are definitely a thing. But the I'm so fucking frustrated all I can do is cry tears are by far the most surprising thing I've learned about in the fourteen (14) years I've been out of school.

I told you mine, now tell me yours.

day seventeen: a rant

In my post from 2013, I ranted about weddings.

And ohhhh man, do I still have a lot to say about them. Like, I could do a 2,000 word think piece on why I believe they are a waste of money and why, even if I did want a wedding, I would never have a bridal party. I love my friends ...why would I put them through that?

But I'm going to keep my trap shut for now, and instead do a stream of consciousness rant.

 

Real adult humans know you're supposed to turn your directional on AND THEN hit the breaks, right?

 

A couple weeks ago I went to a concert in Philly where I stood behind what I can only assume was a newly ~together~ couple, and the guy would not stop pretending his fist was a microphone and was putting it in front of the girl's face for her to sing into for THE. ENTIRE. SHOW. All I could think was: she has to have sex with that guy.

They also talked a lot. Don't do that, don't hold a conversation during the middle of a concert.

 

My hair dresser told me last week that she wanted to get a new pair of glasses but her husband told her they made her look like an angry feminist, so she didn't buy them. I told her I own 7 pairs of glasses because no one tells me what I can or cannot buy with my own fucking money.

But she's better at talking than listening so my comment didn't even phase her.

 

White men, am I right?

 

So, when I was 18 and didn't know any better, I registered as a Republican. Clearly, I am not. But because it takes me approximately a decade to do anything, I finally got around to changing my party this past March.

I wanted to change it so I can vote in the Democratic primaries; mainly in the upcoming one for Governor of New York State because my kween Cynthia Nixon is running.

I got my official paperwork in the mail a couple weeks ago and plot twist: I'm not considered a Democrat until AFTER the mid-term elections in November, so I can't vote for Cynthia in the primaries in September.

Let's just say my dad thought this was HI-LARIOUS and my brother scoffed at my wanting to be a Democrat to begin with.


Petition to be emancipated from my family at the age of 31.

day sixteen: links to good reads

An ode to modern dating. Have you always considered yourself one of the guys and think you're better off because of it? Here's why female friendships are important. The blog post I've read so many times, I can almost recite it word for word. And the post I have framed in my house. It's not about finding our other half, it's about having a witness. This next one is political, so if that's not your jam, keep walking. Let's talk about white women, shall we? A great use of satire to explain what it's like for millennials who work with baby boomers. Stop feeling bad for me and Jennifer Aniston.

day fifteen: what i'm struggling with

Should I keep this blog or delete it?

Should I start a podcast? Or two?

Should I cut my hair?

What car should I buy?

How do I kindly tell someone in my life I need space from them?

Would moving to a different city/state/country change anything?

How do I make my mother understand that she does not need to pray for me to find a man, that I'm not destitute?

Will I ever be able to have a conversation with friends that doesn't involve discussing weddings?

 

Okay, I think that's enough for now.

day fourteen: a story from my childhood (sort of?)

My memory is actual human garbage. So there are pieces of this that are missing and probably pieces I made up over the years to fill the holes. But know that, much like my favorite movies, it’s based on a true story.

 

I had a sleepover in 7th grade. There were maybe five or six of us and if you were also a teenage girl (which I’m assuming you were) (I truly don’t think males read this and if so, they are only here to see if I vague blog them), you know what middle school sleepovers were like.

Did we talk about boys? Yes. Did we prank call said boys using a phone that was in the actual shape of a motorcycle? Also yes. Do I now wonder why we had that phone since no one in my family owned a motorcycle? You bet.

But what I remember most, other than taping sleeping girls the floor in my basement and yelling FIRE, is telling them about my creepy neighbor.

He kept to myself. Didn’t have a wife or kids or any family, or even friends. Funny enough he had a motorcycle, but that was really it. 

I was truly only going off of the weird vibe I felt about him when I told my friends he buried bodies in his backyard because he was, in fact, a serial killer.

 

If you know me, or have been following along for a while, you know the house I live in was my great-grandparents’ house. And my parents’ house is right next door. Who lives on the other side of my house, you might be asking yourself? None other than the maybe serial killer.

He goes by a different name now, which is aggressively suspicious, but he still lives alone and recently put a massive camera outside the front of his house that is MOTION SENSORED and ROTATES.

Who’s to stay what he’s really up to inside of that house, but this true crime murderino loves speculating.

day twelve: a list of firsts

I can't remember my first kiss.

I know there were two boys in seventh grade that kissed me, but I can't for the life of me remember which one happened first.

 

My first concert was Hanson. I left modified soccer practice early and bragged about having box tickets that my uncle got me through his work. I wore a band t-shirt I ordered off of the back of an Eggo Waffles box.

 

The first time I had my hair highlighted I was 15 and hungover. I threw up into the towel that was around my neck and threw it in the garbage.

I can't remember the first time I drove a car, but I do remember taking my driving test, not being able to parallel park, but passing anyway.

 

My first love was a boy with jet black hair, olive skin, and piercing green eyes.

My first heartbreak was the same.

 

I still have a lot of firsts ahead of me, but the one I'm looking to the most is the first time I board a plane to Europe.

Next year *fingers crossed*.

day eleven: ten things that make me really happy

Content: shows to watch, books to read, podcasts to listen to

Tacos/leftover tacos

Clean sheets on the bed

A day off with nothing planned

Spending time with genuinely good people

Laughing so hard, I can’t breathe

Quiet Sunday nights

Colorado

New music from bands I love/new music from bands I just discovered

Uninterrupted sleep

day ten: fake (or in my case, real) dating profile

I don't want to go out to dinner on our first date. There will be a lot of awkward eye contact and the waiter will surely know we are meeting each other for the first time.

So, let's go bowling instead. Or to play mini golf. We can get french fries or ice cream or both.

I like to go to concerts and comedy shows and to the movies for double features. I'll go hiking once a year, if you ask nicely. I'll always go on a road trip.

My family is important. My friends are important. My time for myself is important.

Romantic gestures will make my skin crawl, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't buy me flowers or surprise me with a bag of Sour Patch Kids. Exposure therapy, you know?

Be honest. Follow through. Show up.

And I'll do the same.