i just don't have the proper tools

There comes a time, in adulthood, when it becomes apparent that the activities of one’s Sundays and Mondays are in direct correlation to the activities of the previous two nights (or days, if that’s you’re thing, which I’m totally not criticizing, because it’s generally completely my thing). So when you find yourself at Walgreen’s, purchasing Clorox kitchen cleaner and degreaser, Pledge hard surfaces dusting spray, and something called “Tilex Mold and Mildew Remover,” it should become evident that you will soon be attempting to bleach out all evidence of your ex-boyfriend’s brief visit to your apartment with caustic chemicals. Instead, all you end up thinking about is how what should be evident is that you have kind of started to flirt with the Walgreen’s guy.

It is easy to giggle while dumping an amount of cleaning supplies that makes it clear that you don’t really do a lot of cleaning, into the open arms of the cute, slightly ageless cashier. It is still easy to giggle when he says, “Hopefully we’ll see you soon,” because you’ve just bought enough cleaning chemicals to pull off a mildly successful mass suicide, and really the only reason you would need to return “soon,” would be if you lived in a frat house, or if you had an immune system lined with aluminum, and for some reason this didn’t finish you off. You think about saying this, but instead you just smile and say, “Oh, probably!”

This is how you know you’ve started to full-on flirt with the Walgreen’s guy. Whenever you start to flirt with someone you’re embarrassed to find attractive, you always lose your funny. It is only later, as you are unlocking the security door to your apartment building that you begin to wonder what the logical progression of this relationship will look like. Now that he’s looking forward to seeing you again soon, will he ask you out? Will you go? Is that creepy? Is it weird? What will happen if you go on a date? Will you make out with him, just a little? Maybe he’s an aspiring pharmacist (not possible – he doesn’t work in the pharmacy). Is he certainly younger than thirty? Also important – what if you have to buy Maalox again soon?

This is how you are once again reminded that you are lonely.

One of my few joys at work is eating the leftover baked goods from meetings. Depending on meeting attendance, sometimes I can enjoy my baked good with leftover coffee or soda. Sometimes if the end of the meeting coincides with lunch time, I can do all this while checking facebook on my lunch break. Today I got the trifecta.  It's really the little things.

If you were wondering, yes, this does make up for the fact that our entire ceiling is leaking into buckets to such an extent that it sounds like it is raining inside, and three ceiling tiles have fallen down, because of the water pressure, already this morning. I am eating a bran muffin!

i think i was the last one remaining

In all seriousness, this is what I look like. This is an actual picture of me, taken with the photo booth camera on my MacBook Pro, and edited, so that you don't know who I am. Pretty cool, I can wear my hair in two different ways. I can also put it into an accidental variety of hairstyles. Neat, huh?

Yep, that’s me. I’ve never really had a boyfriend. I mean, I had one in high school, but does that really even count? We didn’t hug in the halls or anything, and he dumped me before prom anyway. It was cool, I didn’t really want to go anyway. Nope, not even a little bit. I had way better stuff to do like smoke pot out of apples and walk around my house in all my other dresses. He also broke up with me on AIM. He told me I didn’t have any original thoughts. Yeah, so, anyway, are we really going to consider high schoolers people?

Back to the matter at hand, which is that I’ve never gotten a date. I’ve never even had any interest expressed outside of several distinct venues and demographics. I work in the building next to the temporary holding cell. I seem to particularly blow up that spot, as one might say. Unfortunately, theirs is a moveable feast, as they are on their way to jail to be held until someone sells a savings bond or a child to get them out. It’s not really a very stable relationship plan. I also have lots of success in bars, among the drunken elderly gentlemen with real estate built up around the side bar stools by the bathrooms – hair optional. I’m also quite pleasing to those who are at least thirty pounds overweight. This isn’t a bad thing, other than the fact that I starve myself of most of my favorite foods (pizza, bacon, ranch dressing, French fries) and work out like it’s my second job in order to attract those who place similar concern on their fitness, and I just expect that same kind of attention to detail in some way. I’m not asking for Rambo here. But if we were looking for something to do, and decided to go on a jog, I wouldn’t want you to get it handed to you. I’ve got pretty short legs.

And that brings me to another point. I am athletic. I’ve been athletic for a long time – since I was about four. I’ll just get right to it. My thighs touch. There, I said it, I was a breaststroker in high school. But these days, I can do a mean adducter and there’s only so much a girl can do if she wants to walk out of there afterwards. Right? I’m not really even all that athletic anymore. I just like to go jogging. Is that a problem? Most people do it, I don’t know. I don’t think this is that big of a deal.

I like to go out. I know a lot about beer. I enjoy hip-hop music and dancing embarrassingly and I’m pretty good at flip cup. But in case you were looking for one of those more lightweight, twee girls who giggles when she messes up, I am also pretty bad at beer pong, so we could just always play that if you have a complex or something. Also, I don’t go out as much anymore, now that I am an adult. Now I get kind of sick if I have more than four beers, and actually, I don’t really have money for more than that, so I think that makes me pretty much like a normal girl.

Is it seriously because I don’t believe that a fetus has as many rights as the fifteen-year-old girl’s body that it unwillingly inhabits? Or because I believe that I should make as much money as a man doing the same job I’m doing? Is this a feminist thing? Haven’t we gotten to the point where men believe it is empowering to be with a feminist, or with a girl who wants to be treated like a real person? I shave my legs – I’m not nasty. I also enjoy being treated with respect, pretty much at all times, and I make it pretty clear. Once, some dumb five-foot guy who wore Crocs like they were normal shoes asked me if I wanted something explicit from him while I was walking from my dorm room to the campus bar. I slapped him, to the amazement of all in audience. He pretty much had it coming. If this is a boyfriend deterrent, then I guess I don’t want one. Okay, as long as we’re laying it all out on the table, I’ll admit, when I was in college, I was an art major, and I had a lot of friends who were dudes. People probably thought I was a little crazy. But, I don’t know, I think it’s crazy that we don’t have universal health care yet.

People tell me a lot of things about “turn-offs” lately. They try to give me a lot of first date advice. That’s all nice, if I could even get my foot in the door, I’d be sure to hide my professional personality, not mention too many of my own successes, be sure to appear kind and comforting, and hide my masculine, self-deprecating sense of humor. I would probably also straighten my hair, or at least use a large barrel curling iron. I’d do all that.

So, I get it. I’m not perfect. Neither are you. But you know what? I’m a lot of fun, especially at an open bar, a rap battle, or while sailing with your Uncle Ted. So throw me a bone, and ask me on a date. Don’t drunkenly scribble your number on my hand or text me and ask me to come over after midnight. I graduated from college, and I deserve all the privileges that come along with that honor.

it is so i could hit you if i didn't want you here

Last night, my ex-boyfriend came over and tried to convince me that hooking up with him was a mutually beneficial, good idea. There are a lot of funny stories I could relate about the FIVE HOURS he spent here. (While we’re at it, five hours? Does it take anyone that long to try to lose their virginity anymore? I kind of thought it was an in-and-out sort of arrangement.) This is the least damning of them. I keep a hammer on the windowsill next to my bed, you know, just in case. So in the middle of his little speech, he picks it up and asks me, “Why do you keep this here?” I thought for a little while, because I suppose this is part of what people mean when they say I have a threatening exterior, but then I realized. This is probably exactly why I keep it here. But instead I said, “You know, in case someone breaks in.” I’ve been defining “break-in” loosely these days. I’ve been told I’m unfriendly.

you & i both know it's a negative thing

Today I dressed kind of like a stripper for work. At least, on the bottom half, and when covered up by a pleather jacket on top, I'm really not doing myself any favors. It doesn't help that I often suspect that people wonder where I'm going as I'm short-cutting it through parking lots at eight in the morning - like they've got a sneaking suspicion that I'm walking from work rather than to work. Now that I'm at work, I'm feeling sort of weird about it, like maybe I should have just gone with opaque tights instead of these lacy ones, and maybe it would have been less of a faux-pas to wear a wool pencil skirt in April than it would have been to dress like a stripper.

This morning, in general, was a struggle, so I suppose I should give myself credit even in the least bit for rolling (when I say this, it's literal, I do roll - I don't think people understand that) out of bed, slapping some clothes on my used-and-abused body, and making it to work in the a.m. I also had to allot time for a spontaneous activity, because usually everything that I force myself to do in the morning is something that I absolutely have to do to make it out the door while fully clothed (sometimes this is flexible; I've thrown tops into my purse and walked to work wearing pajamas under my coat on two occasions). This morning I had to take out the trash. All the trashes in my apartment, to be exact.

This is why:
It would be painfully clear to anyone who masochistically decided to sift through my recent addition to the dumpster that I ate my feelings this weekend. Not only would they be able to determine that I'd done this, but they would also probably be able to determine the cause of the eating spree. They would pretty much be able to tell why I ate five pounds of feelings onto my body. And I deserve it. I deserve five pounds of extra suffering for my absolutely deplorable behavior.

your car can't make up for your awful personality.

I came as close as I ever have to getting hit by a car today.  In a situation like none I had ever seen, as I started to cross the street during the indicated “walking” period, a woman pulled up around the curb, came within inches of running over my feet, leaned over, held out her stupid white woman palm to indicate that no matter what the light said, her rules required that I stop. Had I not been looking over my shoulder, I would have been hit dead-on. The worst part was that I was so shocked by her blatant disregard for my safety, and her complete lack of concern about how to drive a car, that I didn't even yell at her, or gesture clearly enough to the fact that I had a walk sign on my side, or even better, to kick at her car. The woman clearly had no indication of stopping, and probably could not have been bothered to do so even if I had been in the middle of the road when I was legally allowed to do so. It wasn’t so much that this woman hadn’t wanted to stop. It was that she patronizingly held out her hand, with the expectation that I would see it, to indicate that I was no more than a trifling impediment with no respect or understanding for the importance of her time. It wasn’t that I was jaywalking, or attempting to cross when it was illegal, or even crossing just as the light had changed, or that I had darted out in front of her car. I was there first, and I was crossing during the walk symbol. It was simply that she couldn’t be bothered to step on the breaks of her Honda Accord in her hurry to drive straight ahead to the next stoplight, where she would inevitably be stuck for five minutes with only her shitty personality. People like this really make me hate myself. Just the fact that they can exist with so much self-importance and so little regard for the fact that their needs aren’t the most important things to ever happen makes me wonder what happens in their day-to-day lives that allows them to get away with always getting their way. Putting your arm out to stop me from walking across the street while you’re in your little Honda Accord? Really? So, like, not only do you know that what you’re doing sucks, but you’re actually going to blame me for it and act like I’m the asshole? Great, but you know, if you had hit me, you would have broken the law. Asshat. I don't care if you don't volunteer or give your money to charity or have friends, but pull it together long enough to go out in public.

I’m starting to think I could use a boyfriend because my expenses are getting too expensive. Burritos, movie tickets, gigantic sodas at the movies, not to mention the lies about who else is eating the pizzas, sitting next to me at the movies, and meeting me at the restaurant. It is just getting expensive. But for now, I like getting out of the movie and walking to the bus stop and seeing that your car is still parked. I like knowing that no one else’s blond hair is blowing in the breeze, and that at least if I have to be alone, you have to be alone too.

i'm right there with you, girl

...tell you how I miss you
Thought I would have a son for you
But now it’s official it’s over and I can’t let you go
But I gotta let you know all the shit I did make it feel like I’m dying real slow, 
cause no one understands me 
they don’t know what to do when I’m hurt when I’m angry
Cause of you all them chicks couldn't stand me
So why hurt you? That’s the question
It took this long for me to learn my lesson
Cause now all I want is peace and forget drama
I finally understand the true meaning of karma


Please baby forgive me, mommy was young, mommy was to busy tryna have fun 
Now I pat myself on the back for sending you back,
'cause God knows I was better than that, to conceive and then leave you 
the concept alone seems evil - I’m trapped in my conscience
I adhear to the nonsense, listened to people who told me I wasn’t ready for you
But how the fuck would they know what I was ready to do?

gettin' counted

I just filled out the census! By myself! It was really easy and actually took less than a minute to do! I feel so grown up, especially since filling out the census is apparently a very difficult thing that most people don’t do. But now I am pretty much eating Girl Scout cookies for dinner, so once again, we are at an impasse.

Seriously about the census, though, I was expecting it to be quite difficult, like more intellectually taxing than it was, because there is so much emphasis on how important it is to fill out the entire census on time and return your responses and make sure everyone is counted! I was expecting it was going to be a rather tedious process that would take hours. No. It took literally forty-five seconds. I understand I’m a household of one, but please. They only give you space for twelve people. The maximum time this could take is twelve minutes! Is it seriously possible to be unsure about the race of the people living in a house with you? I think not.

There are also many reminders on the census envelope that my responses are confidential, so I was assuming they’d ask some juicy questions, like what race of people I prefer to sleep with or if I’ve ever been pregnant or something. Nope. None of that. The only question that could possibly be seen as a little embarrassing is one about Person 1 predominantly staying somewhere else. If I was currently hooking up with an ugly dude, and I had to fill out a write-in section of this question, and the census counters and I all went to the same college, and we were sitting around counting the census together, I guess my response to this question could be embarrassing, and I’d want the census counter to keep it confidential. But seriously, please, the census? What’s the big deal? I don’t get it. You could probably make it up and still get it right. I should fill in imaginary information about my household so they stop closing schools and fire departments in this neighborhood, and maybe give me a new bus stop. But I won’t, because that is also emphasized as very illegal. 

Errbody knows it ain’t trickin if you got it

It’s just that every time I sit down to consciously start writing, I start thinking about how Julia Allison is probably sitting down to start liveblogging pictures of herself dressed as an upside down cupcake, and thousands of little girls with access to MacBook Photo Booths are concurrently contorting themselves into poses that only make you think of their fathers, and dashing off tumblr posts about Edward Cullen that not only misuse both forms of “you’re,” but also elucidate on the sexiness of physically controlling “romantic” behavior.  And then I remember that at the same time, Sarah Palin is tucking in to pen another incoherent page of her next memoir filled with gems about what being an American has to do with hunting, and Lauren Conrad is dictating the vapidity of Reality TV to a well-paid ghostwriter in order to put the bowels of the television world into writing, and Sue Grafton and Dan Brown are whipping out their mini laptops spewing forth the stuff of a new generation of Airport novels.

It’s like, there’s just too much.

The computer has done more to fuel the aspirations of people who would never have passed the writing section of the SAT than probably even the Tea Party Movement.

not even fake life is fair.

The times when I'm funny are times when I'm overcaffinated, slightly tipsy, at a tragic bar with my friends, or just about to fall asleep, usually after some mix of the first three. None of these times ever seem to beautifully coincide with times when I'm feeling bloggish.

if you're vaguely attracted to rooftops...

I hate doing laundry at my apartment. In college, there were a small enough percentage of us doing laundry in our dorm that we could generally guess at whose laundry we were callously shoveling out of the occupied drier of our choice, and either feel bad about it, possibly leave a sufficiently apologetic note, or chuckle as we sprinkled their neon sex thongs on the floor. Or we could alleviate the stress of literally airing our dirty laundry by doing laundry as a group, jamming up the available appliances while hoisting ourselves onto the driers and splitting six-packs. We also shared minimally similar ideas about what passed as acceptable underwear, and even if our underwear didn’t fit in, we accepted a strong enough social hierarchy to realize that this was some sort of failing on our part, and not on the part of others who owned things like clean undergarments, exercise clothes, and things in size small. In my new grown up apartment, it’s not like that. I feel uncomfortable putting my unmentionables in a place where they remain vulnerable to be seen by people whose general cleanliness habits remain a mystery to me. Not only do I want to keep these people as far away from any kind of situation in which they might feel prompted to touch my underwear, I’d also really like to prevent them from thinking about whether or not I wear it at all. I want the whole thing to just stay off their radar, much in the way that I have no need for my grandparents to understand what exactly a NuvaRing does.

was it love or fear of the cold?

Whenever I'm forced to live through excessive amounts of snow, I'm left wanting only comfort: comfort food (, comfortable clothes (sweater tights and flannel), comforting drinks (whiskey/tea or whiskey/coffee - it's actually good!), comfort music (Bon Iver), and comforting places. Comforting places, for me, this year, is becoming a little more difficult. As I've mentioned a multitude of times, I went to college at a small liberal arts college in northern (okay, it's what I consider northern - I suppose it's actually central/east) Wisconsin, where it would snow sometimes five days out of the week (this was probably related more to the outrageous weather pattern of the last three years), the sun set routinely at four o'clock, and there was no major body of water to cut the wind chill or add moisture to the snow and air. We were, however, blessed with a campus bar in the basement of our old student union that opened at four on Wednesdays and Fridays, and a cafeteria that had seemingly missed the memo about margerine and other healthy eating options. At first I resented the location - being from southern Wisconsin, the weather hardly seemed novel, like it did to friends from other parts of the country. Eventually, the kitschy, somewhat antiquated comforts of a northern midwestern community that my university could provide turned out to provide the backdrop for some of my most treasured memories from college.


Last winter, I took a class called "Zymurgy," which meant "Beer Tutorial," which meant we got to drink beer in the bar before it opened with professors, and then we got to talk about the beer. The beauty of the class revolved around drinking delicious, expensive, imported beer, talking about it with importance, and doing all this with professors. The class was held from three to five on Thursday, which meant we were sitting underground in front of sheets of glass windows as the sun was folding behind the river for the evening. We all seemed to dress like eskimos, so we sat bundled in our sweaters and scarves and corduroy pants, gradually peeling off layers as we filled our glasses with the contents of multiple pitchers and watched day turn to night. The time spent in this class is my ideal version of a "snow day," so much so that it is difficult to struggle through snowy afternoons at work without wondering how much more fun I would be having, were I sitting on an uncomfortable wooden bench, surrounded by fourteen peers, three professors, and as many pitchers of Belgian beer, grasping a mug imprinted with my initials, dutifully taking notes in our beer journals, drinking away the outdoor chill with every sip.

most of y'all can't even eat without per diem

Here are some things I just did at work:

Sent four individual calendar invites to my boss - two were the times of her flights, two were the times she had to leave for the airport. She did not tell me these times, but sent me the link to her flight reservation and asked me to send invites for the four events. Because she was dissatisfied with the times I'd picked for her to leave the airport, she resent the invites to me so I could fix them, send them back to her, and have her resend them to me and fix them again.

Read aloud all the settings listed under my printer settings so my boss could copy them into her computer and hook her computer up to my printer.

Crawled on the floor to find some sort of number for my computer so that some tech support person could hook up her computer to my computer (I think? I guess? I don't know why I had to do this). After finding the number, they doubted that I'd read them the right one, so they came over to look. I was right.

I'm not complaining, it just seems like in an economy like this, more people should have the opportunity to have positions like this, that are actually completely unnecessary in every way. Seriously? What?

snOMG

Things I wish I were doing during Snowpocalypse 2010:

• Wearing french terry sweatpants
• Watching back-to-back Bravo programming
• Multi-tasking: making coffee and putting liqueur in it while watching Bravo
• Googling jobs in LA and also resort wear
• Finding every way possible to avoid having to wear UGGs in public

Here are some things I don't really wish to be doing: 

• Walking from my office to the bus stop and then waiting (downwind) for it to be 10-15 minutes delayed.
• This is more theoretical, but still: I rarely see people I find attractive in Milwaukee at all, much less on the bus or in bars, which are like the only two places I ever spend any time. Recently, I've noticed that the only days that I have actually spotted reasonably attractive men my age on the bus are also the same days that I'm wearing UGG boots (and also, glaring because that's what I do when it snows). This seems generally unfair, especially because in Appleton, UGGs weren't even seen as a necessary evil. They were revered as a style item. The adjustment is brutal, especially in a blizzard.

 I also have a job application to finish up, so that hopefully next year I can help kids get into college instead of help my boss fill out her expense reports and serve water to her. I could be sitting at home in my previously mentioned terry cloth and flannel ensemble, crafting a tear-jerking masterpiece, but no, I'm sitting at my desk looking busy, because of course my boss didn't come in today (but sees fit to send numerous emails about how people are "overreacting" to the blizzard). No hate, just UGH. SNO- frustrating. (Sorry for that).

///

via the telegraph

 

It is more that I feel lost. Oh, I understand that nostalgia is a tired and anxious emotion that accomplishes little - but it is more than that. It is more a feeling of loss, for what we are losing that will not be replaced. It is a common feeling, now - that what is coming is not going to be better than what came before. That we will need to be great and innovative and thoughtful and empathetic and we are not up to the challenge. That we are unwilling or unable to experiment with greatness the way that those before us did. It is that we seem able to idolize but not to emulate. It is that we are willing to take a lot and give a little, and that we long for the glory without the effort, the angst without the output. It is hard to imagine the way our generation will remember its heroes, and even harder to imagine what will be diefied after we are gone. I dread to think that it will not take much - that we will be just as cluttered in death as we were in life.

so original

image via anthropologie

I've currently started to stalk this coat on ebay. This is one of those anthropologie items that I hate. Not only is it pink (salmon, even worse), but it looks like the kind of thing that people who are really obsessed with the idea of crocheting scarves and buy really unnecessarily large, precious coffee mugs with distressed drawings of animals on them would absolutely die for. It's one of those items that just looks like it's trying to hard to create a lifestyle. I really can't explain what it is about this coat that I like, especially since I put it in the same category as those oversized coat sweaters that anthropologie sells that look awful on everyone but are always sold out for some reason. It's the kind of item that you can buy for an outrageous price that gives you the illusion of being artsy and crafty and like indie it girls who are okay at singing. But for some reason, when I saw this coat on a real-life girl, it looked almost edgy and different in a way that worked for me, as opposed to in a way that I resent (haha! I make the rules!). It's also vaguely Scandanavian in a way that might make me look Scandanavian if I wear it (that's kind of annoying too, I know). So now I'm stalking this stupid PINK coat in three sizes on ebay because I just love that silhouette and those stupid buttons at the top, even though it's ridiculously overpriced and would only keep me warm for one month (May) in this godforsaken climate. Is it even possible to look cool while wearing salmon and overtly twee patterns? 

Next, I'll probably try purchasing a cat. 

hyannisport is a ghetto

I always thought that by this point in my life, I would have made at least one friend with a beach house.

Seriously, not one. Thanks for nothing, Midwestern liberal arts college.

Bravely, I decided to venture back into the same jumper that made me appear questionably with child. I'm wearing a scarf because I am always cold, and the outfit looks slightly boring without some focus in that area. When being made to choose between looking boring and looking silly, those who know me know I will always choose silly. I'm starting to get the feeling that I've dressed a little like a character from Big Love today, which I guess is fine, because it goes along with the common themes of "humor" and "is she or isn't she?"

swinging from a broken tree

Today, I arrived at work only to find that I had two full, leftover beer bottles in my purse. It is possible that I will pour one into my coffee cup and drink it if I have to fill out any more of these asinine new check request forms. Hopefully, by the time I need a new liver, they'll be farming synthetic ones in some third-world country, and I'll just be able to have one of those. But that's not the point. The point is, the farce is unraveling, and I don't know how to stop it.

Here are some other things I've learned and observed today:
-My boss is able to use the printer, which makes my job seemingly even more of a farce.
-The executive director of the nonprofit for which I work sounds exactly like a guy I kind of dated, to the point of distraction and a lack of ability for me to take him seriously.

forewarning

Tonight I got home and made some tortellini. I was kind of drunk and I haven't been drunk on Tuesday or had tortellini in a while, so I was really excited about it. I got the pasta sauce out of the fridge and got all set to put it on the tortellini, but it came out frozen. Like, my fridge froze it and didn't even ask me if that was okay. Pretty much a metaphor for my entire day.

my friends kill it on the fb

i used to wear moschino, but every bitch got it

Sometimes I just want to give it all up and shake it in a gold lame bodysuit for the cobrasnake like it’s 2007.

But it isn’t 2007 anymore, and I’m no longer drinking enough to make that behavior acceptable, nor did I move to California to make it perennially acceptable.

My mom saw my ex-boyfriend (from high school! Do those even count, or do they just count as disasters? In any case, he’s my only ex-boyfriend. Holler.) working at the apple store today. See, I was doing that before that was cool. He sold her an iPhone charger and then he embraced her on her way out. My mom would have thought he was being sarcastic, but “I was wearing my workout clothes, and he wanted to talk for a long time.” She told me she wished it had been the one we have a crush on because “he has better tattoos.” I don’t know about that. All I know is that it’s not 2005 anymore.

lemonade

Very few things are saving this day.

///

I will always be impressed with the ability of people who've known you at your worst to bolster and support you during unexpectedly emotional and unspeakably strange, difficult experiences. I continually admire people whom I've failed, people of whom, at times, I've expected too much or painted too vulnerable, unflattering of a portrait of myself, who, in spite of these moments, are able to behave so warmly toward me when I need it. I have had the gift of being continually forgiven and to have spent such wonderful years surrounded, even peripherally, by warm, thoughtful people. Even those who were not among my very closest of friends toward the end of my college years embrace me generously and without question. I had an incredibly emotionally draining weekend, but I was blessed to spend it with the best of friends. I'm not serious often, but when I am, I mean it. I am honored to have had the privilege of meeting such wonderful people over the last four years, and it is comforting to know that even though I can no longer be with them on a daily basis, we will continue to care for each other and take interest in each other's lives.

happy new year's, baby -

I hope it is filled with everything I've always wanted: MK & A as my BFFs.

On a more serious note, I hope to spend more time this year

• making a concerted effort to spend more time with the friends whose absence leaves a notable mark on my life and happiness, and makes me look like a friendless loser
• working on my fitness like it's my job, not to get skinnier, but to get happier and busier,
• working harder to meet people in every facet of my life, and refusing to resign myself to the solitary existence of working in an office by myself,
• learning how to cook meals that don't consist of pasta and sauce,
• and spending more time reading instead of watching smut on my computer (it's become so easy!), because I genuinely enjoy reading more, and it makes me feel more productive and less worthless
• spend waaaaaaay less time shopping online, because, I didn't go into this field to buy expensive clothes or waste my time clicking on things I can't have, and I should spend way more time going out and living the dream then sitting online and clicking on it.
  

None of that stuff is hard. Seriously.

sparkle motion

I'm not a kind of person who hates or dreads or begrudges going out on New Year's - I'm not the kind of person who begrudges going out EVER, really - and as a result, I tend to look forward to it, and dread listening to people complain about what a chore it is. I guess I don't care what night it is, I'm never going to turn down a night of getting dressed up and drinking champagne with my friends. Seriously, what's bad about that? I spend my life in a boring J. Crew pencil skirt, staring at a computer and flipping backwards in an office chair, so who the hell am I to quibble about how fun or not fun going out for one night is going to be? I never do anything monumental, anyway - I just go and sit in a bar with my friends in a sparkly outfit. Why must the world begin to shame my love for this activity, now, too? First, I learn that many people do not look forward to receiving Snoopy valentines from their grandparents every February the 14th, and now I learn that they also do not enjoy sitting in bars while wearing sparkly outfits. What a world.

As usual, because I can seemingly do nothing without consequence, as my dad drove me home, I stopped three times to throw up on the side of I-43 between Sheboygan and Milwaukee. It felt like high school without the novelty. My dad laughed. I deserved it. The adult world has gifted me with the ass of a preschool teacher and the stomach of a preschooler. I will maintain that the reason I spent the entire next day puking was because of the outrageous sugar overload caused by Bellinis and free champagne, and also my accelerated track toward becoming OLD.

Here's what I wore, pretty much to a tee, although we all ended up swapping our classier shoes for boots, because Appleton is a frozen tundra without appreciation for nice things, or the way heels make your ankles look. I went with a more subtle gold instead of the straight up sparkle I'm usually prone to, because I dread looking overdressed in Appleton bars. I'm still traumatized from attempting to wear a faux fur vest, neon pink leopard print leggings, and my favorite gold sequined dress (not at once), and receiving way less than positive feedback. Now I try to stay further in their comfort zone of Packer's jerseys and/or Wet Seal.

New Year's crown included. All night. And the next morning, as I woke up, apparently.

Items in this set:
Aglow Tank - Anthropologie.com, $38
ABS Allen Schwartz - 9 to Nine Pave Ball Drop Earrings..., $73
Leaps And Bounds Belt, $34
Happy New Year Tiara - Black (50 pk.) : Target, $30
He-Said-She-Said Skirt, $158