Saturday, July 4, 2015

Hindsight is 20/20

I always say I wish I could win the 400 million dollar lotto, but I never ever have bought a ticket.

I always say I want to rock a shredded P!nk bod, but I buy the 100 dollars worth of Beachbody stuff and stop week 2 and eat a box of donuts.

I always want to grow my hair back out long, but then cave and cut it all back off (although this time i am a lot more determined out of sheer poverty and I can't afford any hair maintenance)

Every damn day I want to quick my fucking job and actually do something white collar that I went to school for, but rebuilding a resume is daunting, writing a generic cover letter is like a paper cut, and cold applying to galleries and small museums is downright sad feeling when you know they can barely afford themselves let alone some strange chick who emailed their general inquiries box.

I want to travel to the west coast, but doing that alone is definitely depressing (and costly)

I want to write a funny and insightful book, or keep a vlog/blog that people notice or want, but I have zero drive or determination to do anything like that. Especially since this blog is proof enough how boring and random I really am. I'm not a fitness guru, a makeup and hair tutorial, or a comedian. I don't even have interesting enough pets or life experiences to say "This is how I...."

I own a guitar and a ukulele but I never have bothered to pay for lessons.

The reality of 27 is a chick constantly in financial trouble who eats junk and works 8 hours a day at a job she hates and isn't good at, and coming home alone to sit on a lumpy couch to think about her life choices. I don't go out to bars or movies or have bonfires that apparently everyone on Instagram is doing. And people who do actively do that I think are fucking weirdos - my life is way more realistic than theirs. Especially since I live in a town where 17 year olds drive mustang convertibles and there are no fast food joints or thrift stores.

At least I'm only 27 for another 3 weeks...

Saturday, March 28, 2015

Dirty Chai Latte

I don’t ask what makes it dirty – the line is long and I don’t want to seem so obviously out of my element with the lurking hipsters and indie goths. The menu is not very diverse, but it’s not as simple as say a Starbucks. Everyone around me seems to be in their element – they order what seems like a complicated beverage, customized to their palette and honed after months perhaps of research and trial and error. They can rattle off a “decaf soy latte with an extra shot and cream no foam” and by the time it’s my turn I haven’t even looked at the menu; I’m still wondering what the hell the extra shot is of and what makes foam so hated. I never liked chai lattes because they tasted a little too Christmas-y to me so I have no idea what in God’s name possessed me to order one, and dirty at that. Is it like a dirty martini where they put the cloudy olive juice in the vodka? I find a seat I can be far enough away from the hub bub to not trigger a social anxiety attack, but not so far that I look standoffish. Whatever happened to the days where you ordered a black coffee and said hi to Mrs. Thompson coming in as you left the gas station? No idea since I never lived in those times, but I hear good things…

The drink is actually good. Still have no idea what I ordered, but I like it and wonder if I can always order this or if this was a special for the day. Although some drink orders to me sound so obnoxious that they should be made only for special days when the barista is feeling particularly plucky and adventurous. I also got a croissant and damned if I know how to eat that properly…do I put something on it? Do I nom on it like a burger? How do I break it off in pieces without getting crummies everywhere?? I am so out of place and its only 3:45pm. There are a few baby boomers reading the Post Standard with what I assume is a black coffee that reminds them of Mrs. Thompson. There are a couple “writers” here as well – maybe it’s the next great novel or article? Or maybe like me they don’t know the Wi-Fi password and are trying to look busy. Like I said – I am not good with asking questions that seem obvious to everyone else. So here I am…writing for a blog I seldom update, drinking my mystery latte, and brushing bread off my lap. Ah to be alive in this era!
Everyone looks so put together in this coffee hub – like they dressed purposely this morning. One cannot simply go to an indie free trade coffee shop looking casual you see. Even I attempted to portray an indie urban intellectual Goth look – cool indifference but a simmering snark that could cut you down. All the girls have skinny jeans and thick plastic glasses – and long, long wavy hair. All the men have knitted hats on and hiking boots. No one has a tie or a skirt suit, then again this isn’t in a business district. I’m the only one who does not have a Mac. I am the only one with short hair and no glasses. Yup. I somehow missed my calling as an urbanite coffee worshipper. I like this place because they give you real plates and coffee mugs, damned if I know where to dispose of them though….I’ll just wait until I see someone place theirs. Ah the tricks of the introvert trade! Or maybe they are waiting for me to show them? Nah I am not that familiar looking.

I’ve been on many first dates to coffee shops and I always wonder if the barista rolls her eyes at the outdated and overdone scene before her. They talk about useless crap and fake laugh and end up closing the shop because neither wants to be the one to admit they are bored and want to go home and pee. You just don’t pee on a first date.

I think my croissant is stale. Nothing is this hard to eat.

The woman across from me is photo shopping what looks like a complex bar graph on her Mac – even is using her stylus. She impresses me. She is the most casually dressed of us in leggings and a Pink brand zip up. Figures…the most impressive of us probably cares the least of protocol. Is there even protocol? Maybe I am making this all up in my head. But it is a plausible theory for the existence of Portland, Brooklyn, and Seattle.

I’ve been here an hour and my back kills – this place needs more couches. But I must persevere! My drink is still warm and my curiosity with people watching is at an all-time high.
Isn’t it funny how music in coffee shops is seriously wicked but outside of them you would never listen to it. I never listen to Jack Johnson while I shower.

My nose ring fits in here. At least part of me does.

I feel like I should have a Tolstoy novel next to me with a red flower in it. Make the other patrons wonder if I am meeting my Tom Hanks. A woman here keeps looking at the door – I wonder if she is meeting someone or just as lonely as I am. I hope she is meeting someone and he is tall dark and handsome with an uncanny wit and owns pocket squares, but never wears them. She looks like she would love someone like that. I’ve named her Eloise. She has a pretty hat and furry gloves. She ordered what looks like a hot cocoa – why on earth did I not think of that?! Damn social pressure! Eloise is maybe 40 and has a magazine, but it is one of those intelligent ones with real articles and pressing political inquiries. I hope she writes poetry and paints. She looks like she is creative. Is she wondering about me as much as I am about her?

I know this song on the stereo. It’s the kind of song the girl slowly swings to in a movie in a dark and smoky club that has no real lyrics, but a sensual beat. Usually she is drunk or high when this happens.
I am a girl who blogs at coffee shops. Ugh.

My tattoo parlor is down the road…maybe I should wake myself up from this world with a jolt of needles on flesh?

I am poor.

I have finished my dirty chai latte and it was wonderful and familiar. I still do not know what makes it dirty. The drink is me at this moment in time – a familiar beverage with a twist that makes it stand out of the crowd. It has short brown hair in a sea of long blondes. It has a worn out thrift store sweater on in a room of DKNY. It is a Windows in a world of Mac. It wonders about people who never look twice at it.

Someone asked the barista. It is made with espresso and a different spice. Mystery solved.

Friday, October 10, 2014


"You have a 10% chance of ever conceiving a child..."

Most of my friends and family know that I am not married, not in a relationship, and not actively trying to have a child. But this was the sentence that my gynecologist said to me a week ago that sent me into a tailspin. 

Ever since I was 13 I have had extremely irregular periods, painful menstruation, and mood altering PMS. I couldn't wear tampons because they physically *hurt* and I was prone to severe yeast or bacterial infections twice a month. I never was told it was anything out of the ordinary, so I just dealt with it.

I began seeing a gynecologist at 25 because I was sexually active and wanted to remain in good health, but I also was experiencing extremely painful intercourse. Every doctor I saw told me it was psychological because of my anxiety and I was triggering muscular contractions. So I went on stronger medication to no avail. I had read that all of my symptoms up until this moment were similar to that of low estrogen or women entering menopause, but I was dismissed immediately (with no testing I might add). Then I went on the birth control shot Depo Provera and after 3 months of daily bleeding and only 2 shots my periods stopped permanently (since November 2013). Again, I was told "this is normal" and that's when I decided it wasn't normal.

"You have a 10% chance of ever conceiving a child..."

My currently doctor is a wonderful woman - she is very knowledgable and actually listens to her patients. When I told her of my history she recommended a full panel - STD, Pap, Fertility, HPV, the works...

I've never really had any maternal instincts beyond thinking my friends have cute kids and having the desire to take care of a child while he's in my charge at a school. I always figured I'd have a kid just to have a kid. It was eventually inevitable. I've never been baby crazy. But when my doctor told me that sentence I can honestly admit I sobbed like a woman who had been trying for 6 years to have a baby. I am not sure why....maybe deep down I wanted to know I had a 100% chance? Maybe I thought this was karma for all my ugly baby jokes? Maybe I just don't like being told I can't do something perfectly.

After a week of thinking about it, I began to see it how I see marriage for myself. Ever since I was in 2nd grade I never could pick one crush - how can one pick between Ricky or Paul? Seriously.

I wanted a boyfriend because all my friends had one. I wanted a relationship because that's how people show affection. I wanted a WEDDING for the sake of a kick ASS party. But I don't think I have ever wanted commitment or marriage. I have dated since I was 13 and I have never been with someone longer than 6 months - I get bored, I get selfish, I play games. I love the chase and the notion, but I don't like the reality. I think that's how I see children - I like the idea, but I know deep down I am too selfish and flaky to be a good parent. 

This does not make me a bad person. 

I think having a baby for the wrong reasons would make me a bad person. And I hope my friends and family would agree.

"You have a 10% chance of ever conceiving a child..."

Everyone has a fear of being alone. Growing old with no one and forgetting who you were. A lot of people (at least me) think that can be remedied by a spouse, children, grand children....but who can prove that for certain? I think that if I put all my dried up eggs into that basket I will miss out on some great experiences. I am learning now that you don't need marriage and kids to be happy - you don't NEED to WANT that. If it happens it happens, but it's ok if it doesn't. You can find companionship and love in so many things. But it's the fear of not feeling that emotional freedom that is crippling. 

The truth is, if you keep focusing on the "what if's" you might miss out on the chance for a reality. So that's what this has made me turn my focus to. I need to stop planning for something I see as an empty obligation and find something that I want. 

I have a 90% chance.

Saturday, September 20, 2014

Your Twenties Are For...

Lessons in my late 20s

People older than 29 will just nod their head in quiet acceptance and solidarity. People younger than 22 will just call me out on my cynicism “but these are your best years!”

Never said they aren’t…but isn’t high school, if John Hughes has any say in it, your best and most formative years? 

Then you start hearing “College is the best years!!!” then you really get hit with “your life doesn’t start until you’re a parent.”

I can say that college was the best 6 years of my life as far as discovering who I was in a non experimenting with drugs and women type of thing. 

But after 22 the big lessons came and I am pretty confident in naming some.

If you get a bad hair cut - it’s ok. Like. Really. I am just as shocked as you are. My hair was once buzzed off with a faux hawk on top and dyed platinum blonde. And I laughed, bought a Coldplay hat, and moved on. Maybe it was denial or a mental breakdown, but I like to think it was me not sweating the small stuff

Don’t knock thrift stores - some of the clothes I spent all my money on I can find at them in practically new condition. I also can sell old clothes for a good profit. Also if you think “ewww a person WORE those jeans” imagine how it must be in dressing rooms black Friday when 500 women tried on that bra, that swim suit, and those jeans.

Stop playing romantic games. You’re not 14. If you like a man tell him. It’s that simple. Don’t play coy, or stupid - real men don’t like that. Be confident and straight up. If he pisses you off or hurts your feelings then say goodbye and make your best friend delete his number from your phone (because you won’t. We know you are a liar)

You know how when we were 13 and made fun of people in their 20s and 30s shopping in the misses section, looking at glittery tops? Don’t. Be. That. Person. I was that person in Maurices and I felt like a granny as I thought to myself “this can’t be a dress!!! It’s too short!!!” Yes. It was a dress. And it did not look good on my slowing metabolism.

Get a pet. Pets are amazing monsters that give you reasons to go outside and meet other people. Also when you’re feeling scared or sick they can cuddle you. They also think you look amazing in that dress.

For God’s sake you look fine in that outfit! You will love clothing no more than in that dressing room in its unflattering light. The shopping high is upon you.  If you don’t love it to death in there all smudged make up, sunglasses caught in hair, and socks on with a dress; you won’t love it when you get it home.

Your 22-25 age will suck because friends will start moving away, marrying, becoming parents. You will feel like a loser especially if you’re living at home, single, and a virgin like I was. A weird thing happens at 25. You wake up and all of a sudden, it doesn’t matter. You’re still you. You won’t believe this til it happens to you because I did not either. But it happens. 

You will drift away from your best friends in high school and it will devastate and break your heart. You will see them maybe once a year for a quick holiday meet up, but that’s it. And somehow you will know that this is just life. And it’s okay.

Make work friends. Even if you only see them at work - they will make 8 hours less tedious.

If you hate you job QUIT IT. Life is too short to be miserable and you’re a grown up so you know what is best - not mom and dad.

Spend your early twenties finding the perfect shampoo and make up to become your staples. You’ll save so much money later on. Also find a good hair color and shape. Its cute when you’re 22 and have pink hair one day and then buzzed off white hair the next, but at 27 people think you must take LSD. Also you hair will never look like it does in a commercial.

Buy cute flats. You’re gonna walk a lot in life up the hills and down the hills. And heels are not comfortable. You can finally admit that at 27.

ALL women have stretch marks on their butt and thighs and ALL women have those weird hairs we have to tweeze on our chest. Oh and that bikini line? Yup. Goes up your butt crack. Now that we know we all have these issues can we stop complaining about wanting to be so and so who doesn’t? If she does she is either 11 or she spends 1000 dollars a month on laser treatments.

Start going to real doctors in your twenties to make sure everything is ok regularly. Start taking that multi vitamin. Put on that damn jacket when its cold. Start voting so you can be one of the cool kids on social media that can legit complain about politics - ignorance is obvious. 

Watch more foreign films and listen to classic rock.

Have a wild dance party by yourself to 90s music that brings back wonderful memories of first kisses and horrible fights.

Biotin will never work. Stop wasting your money right now.

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Day 3 - Hip Hop Abs - Ab Sculpt 1

I am a lump.

Such a lump.

I'm not that big of a lump, I just have higher expectations than my potato body does...

Ab Sculpt 1 mixes cardio with pilates...which sounds somewhat easy (a comfy yoga mat is involved in the last half). It lies.

I was going strong til the 3rd straight minute of leg lifts when Shaun T went into double time with 8 lifts on each leg! I am realistic so I can admit to you that I did not do it all...I took breaks so I would be able to move for the rest of the DVD. Leg lifts have always sucked major ass for me.

But I did make it, albeit wobbly and modified with breaks...but for day 3 I made it!

Drinking my Shakeology now (I cost 130 dollars for a bag!) and then my ritual of body brushing and actually showering as I is naaaaasty....


Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Day 2 Hip Hop Abs - Fat Burning Cardio 1

This sucks.

Once again I am trying to get back on my exercise/health kick after a dismal failure when I discovered I can't see results after 1 week. Luckily Shaun T did not judge me - he was just as funny and encouraging as ever. I am wobbly with the moves, but getting better. Doing the modified moves for now.

This time I made myself more accountable...I took measurements and my weight and basically pace in my room til I turn on my blu-ray player.

I've also decided that my 24 plus ounces of sweet tea is not helping my belly fat nor is my sweet tooth (I've been known to eat a tablespoon of confectioner's sugar out of the bag just for the hell of it -- put your judging eyes away).

I'm drinking green tea in the morning instead of coffee with ID Pumpkin Spice (maybe on my rest day I will cheat) and I'm trying to substitute my sugar drinks for fake sugar crystal lite and propel powdered drinks.

I also am drinking my 10 ounces of lactose free milk with chocolate Shakeology after my workout for a protein/vitamin boost on my metabolism.

If it counts since yesterday I lost 0.6lbs! lol

Now the real test of my devotion...posting my "totally relaxed" before photo as of 11/25/13!

Saturday, February 16, 2013

7 Days of Memories: Day 1

"A laugh can be a very powerful thing. Why, sometimes in   

life, it's the only weapon we have."   -Roger Rabbit

When I was little - less than 10 - I was at my grandma's house and I was rummaging through the linen/medicine closet as one does and I came across an old doll. It was pretty beat up and all of the limbs were out of the body so I asked what the deal was and either my mom or grandma said to me "Oh it's an old doll - it needs to be repaired" and I replied "How can we fix it?" and my mom said "You send it to the Doll Hospital (a real thing - its doll conservation) and they rebuild it" to which I replied not even realizing it "So she's so old she needs plastic surgery?"

That was the first time I remember consciously making someone laugh - my mom and grandma both laughed and my grandma said to me "We've got a Shecky"

I've always said to people that I want to leave this earth making someone laugh or have my last words be something funny or inherently "me." Most people that know me know that I will do almost anything and say almost anything to get people to laugh and I am not afraid to make "that" joke or make garish faces to make someone laugh who is having a bad day. That day at my grandma's house I realized how it felt to make someone smile and I unknowingly began trying to do that as often as I could.