Friday, December 30, 2016

Car Dance Your Ass Off

Day Four: A song that reminds you of your best friend.

One one of our many adventures back from Bend, Kattie and I sat in traffic.

Not a little traffic.

HOURS of traffic.

So much traffic, I almost peed my pants at some point. There was snow in the mountain, and people apparently just lost their mind, and maybe there was a wreck or two or three, but we literally took like six hours to get home from Bend.

And on the drive, Jason Derulo saved us from certain insanity with his sexy voice and even sexier album cover (side note, where are the fellas with a face like his) - and I think we listened to this song 15 times, easy.


We've taken several trips to Bend, and it is always a very different adventure. We've gone there to party at dive bars and eat insane piles of nachos. We've gone there for wine tastings and shopping. We've gone there to read, relax, shop, hike, drink, and adventure. And it's always the very best.

Clearly the best part is the relationship she and I have with Jason Derulo, who we cannot help but sing along to while car dancing in the snow, attempting to forget about how bad traffic is or how badly we have to pee.

When Words Fail, Music Speaks

Day Three: A song that calms you down

There are many, many versions of this song - and I love every single one of them. My assistant manager just said the other day "oh my god this is always on your Pandora!"

Guilty.


This song calms me down. Calms my frantic mind, relaxes my brain, and levels my soul. Whether it;s Leonard Cohen, Billy Currington, Pentatonix, Kate Voegle, or even Shrek, this song always speaks to me. Always makes me close my eyes and breathe deep, just makes me take a moment and chill.

And I think we all know how hard it is for me to ever take moments and chill.

Tuesday, December 27, 2016

A Lid For Every Perverted Pot

So, because I was feeling too confident and secure in my life, I'm now online dating.

And by online dating, I do in fact mean I am online, being solicited for sex and blow jobs, turning down dates with creeps who I then have to block from contacting me.

It's so romantic!


After complaining one too many times about not ever meeting anyone I am "allowed" to date (because in the course of my day, I spend time with my employees, my residents, and my vendors, all of whom are on the naughty list), I was encouraged to give the online thing a try (because God forbid any of my friends know any handsome, independent, normal guys to set a girl up with).

Okay fine. I mean I do not want to at all, but I'll give it a go. So I spent yesterday afternoon creating an account and a profile, and resolved to give it a real opportunity to surprise me.

No surprise at all.

It is, of course, going basically like the shit show you'd expect from thousands of single, horny dudes without a filter to control them.


In my first 12 hours, I received no fewer than 100 emails. Approximately 80% of them contained at least one of the following:
"Hi." And then nothing else. I equate this to approaching someone, saying hi, and then just awkwardly staring at them, blinking.
"You're pretty/hot/gorgeous/bangin'/sexy" (okay I admit I liked the one who called me bangin').
"Wanna get a drink this week?" (can I get your name please, like, you could really be an axe murderer)
"Do you like to give head?" (not to you, bro!)
"Wanna chat?" (isn't that why I'm on this bull shit website?)

I also got two messages from chicks, who apparently are dumb as rocks, since I very clearly stated woman...looking for a man. Nice rack though, I'll give you that. And honestly, after the guy who said he wanted to bang my head against the headboard while he spanked me, I might actually go for it...and these girls probably knew I was feeling that way. So actually, a genius move!


Online dating truly blows me away. Like, would you ever approach a woman in a bar and whip your dick out?

No?

Then don't email a dick pic!

Would you walk up to a woman at the gym and ask for a blow job?

No?

Then don't lead your message with, "girl, you look like you like to suck dick."

HAS ANY OF THIS EVER WORKED FOR YOU!???

A guy messages me last night, and says hi...he's cute, so I say hi back.
And that's where I went wrong, obviously.
He then says, "I'm a dominant guy and I like to take charge."
Umm okay...my dumb ass asks what he means by that.
"It means I'd like to spank you hard and bang your head against my headboard while you suck my dick."
Oh. Well of course that was what you meant.

Block.

But seriously...what?!

Has this ever worked for you in real life? NO. That's why you're on this website, trolling women, getting blocked left and right. And what's sad is I bet you sit at the bar with your buddies, bitching and whining about how these dumb bitches online just won't give you a chance. I mean, we might...if you'd put it back in your pants and chill for a fucking second. I really thought this guy was attractive...that is, until he started typing words! Like, you're cute, but please don't speak.


I have now figured out (in only a few hours) how online dating works for nice-ish guys:

Women are bombarded with perverted, dirty, creepy fuckers asking us how sloppy we like our blow jobs, how big our tits are, and whether we're down with three-ways...so then when we get a message from an even halfway normal guy who we may not be attracted to, or who may misspell all his words, or who may be super boring, we're like YES I HAVE FOUND THE ONE!! It's not even about love or connection; it's just about pure relief, and the thought that we may be able to disable our profile for the love of God before someone else emails us.

Smell the desperation working for the boring guys who are only slightly intelligent but at least smart enough to not start a conversation with "here's my dick."

Like, I'm just happy you didn't ask me if I like it in the ass, so yes, I'll marry you. What was your name again though?

And that is really how I think it works. I spent a painful hour and a half emailing a guy who I was bored by, and also judging for misusing your/you're, thinking - oh my God just let this guy be nice and I'll seriously be his girlfriend if only to log out of this fucking shit! Nice, boring, kinda dumb...for the win.


I was forwarding screen shots of these insane messages to my mom and cousin last night, telling them how amused I was...because really, how can you not just laugh when a stranger asks you how often you masturbate...and my mom was like, this would just piss me off so bad. But like, why? It's hilariously pathetic, and the block feature is awesome. I have literally been on this site for 18 hours and have blocked somewhere in the 40-50 range of seriously demented douche bags who apparently think online is the place to get a rim job from a stranger.

I mean, that does happen online, but I don't think this is the site for you, man...try Tumblr.

While I was chatting with someone else last night, I received three emails between 12:00 and 12:15am, all three asking for sex, pretty explicitly. I told the guy I was talking to that midnight felt very much like last call, where guys are stumbling around drunk, just grabbing onto any chick who walks by, willing to literally fuck anything and anyone. I said I needed to log out before I started being virtually groped, and he replied with a pretty smart remark about how much it must suck to be a chick.


For fucking real, bro.

I bet no one has asked him how big his dick is today.





Never Ever, Ever

Day Two: A song that reminds you of one/both of your parents.

My mom is a music fool, and she likes all music. Literally all of it. My mom's playlist makes my brain numb, because it jumps from classical to country to hip hop to symphony and back. She'll give any song a listen, and will almost certainly love it. She likes her music turned up loud, and much like me, if she's having a bad day she'll escape it by taking a long drive with her music blasting - I think the only difference is that I prefer the windows down.

I could probably think of 50 songs that remind me of my mom. I could probably name several songs that she's danced around the kitchen to with me, or turned up loud in the car to annoy me, or played on her clarinet, or annoyed my dad and brother with in the kitchen.



But the number one song that makes me think of my mom? Easy peasy - that's the one and only Taylor Swift! My mom sent me this video when it came out as a "we-hate-the-ex" reminder, and we laughed and laughed about how much he sucks at life. So now whenever I hear it (and I love me some Taylor Swift), I always think about how funny my mom thinks she is.

Well, that and how much he does in fact, suck at life.






Monday, December 26, 2016

Just Like Dolly Parton!!

I have this week off work, and it seemed like a great opportunity to really recharge for the upcoming new year - I have spent the past few days organizing my new apartment, getting settled, purging unnecessary drama from Facebook & Instagram, and doing a lot of thinking. 2016 was a difficult year in, like, literally every way possible, but here we are with just a few days left. I am looking forward to 2017 for many reasons - some big, some small, some I'll share here, and some I'll keep to myself. But in any case, I always appreciate a good blog challenge, and this one struck my fancy as a fun way to ring in the new year! 


Day One: A song from your childhood

When I was little, I was obsessed with Dolly Parton.
Literally fascinated. 

And my mom bought me these amazing glittery, bedazzled, fring-ey cowboy boots that I don't think I probably took off until my feet wouldn't fit in them anymore. When I opened the box, I gasped and said, "oh my gosh, they're just like Dolly Parton's!!!" 

Like I said. Obsessed. 



Yesterday was Christmas, and this year was probably the quietest my holiday has ever been. I got up in the morning and took Grandma to church, which was as pleasant as always. Everyone who came through the door was so happy to see her, complimenting her holiday broach, wishing her a Merry Christmas, and giving her hugs & kisses. As much disdain as I have for the Catholic church, I do actually enjoy taking her - I even sometimes pay attention instead of scanning the room for cute boys. 

After church, Grandma and I went to my parents' house for breakfast and presents. I did't get any new Dolly Parton boots (dammit), but I was just about that excited about the Costco shopping trips gifted to me by Santa...being an adult is so lame. 

My mom and I drank mimosas, and I headed home mid-afternoon, where I spent the evening drinking more mimosas, watching Netflix, and organizing closets in my new apartment. It was quiet and mellow, and a bit of a reminder as to why Christmas isn't my favorite day of the year anymore. It felt mostly just like any other Sunday, which isn't a bad thing by any means - just didn't feel like much of an extra celebration.

I think next year I'll ask Santa for some Dolly Parton boots! 





Friday, December 16, 2016

You're a Weak-Ass Bully

The definition of BULLY: a blustering, quarrelsome, overbearing person who habitually badgers and intimidates smaller or weaker people.

Let me just preface this blog with a reminder that, this is my mother-fucking blog, and I will say what I want, how I want, when I want. I am very aware of the consequence of voicing my opinion out loud (or writing it out loud, in this case). I don't need anyone to tell me to relax or let anything go, nor do I need to be told to be nice or to keep things to myself.

FUCK. YOU.


Fuck your bully-ass, manipulative bull shit. Fuck you for the way you speak to people, for the way you speak to your family. Fuck you for the way you use people, for the way you make yourself a victim by manipulating the people around you. Just seriously, fuck you.

I am so beyond done with the bull shit, it's insane. I cannot continue to sit idly by and watch people mistreat other people. If you are a bully, I will call you a bully. If you are manipulative, I will call you manipulative. If you are abusive or domineering or aggressive, or just quite plain FULL OF FUCKING HORSE SHIT, you're going to be put in your place for being a fucking ass hole.

FUCK. YOU.


Fuck you for ruining holidays, for tearing things apart just to be the winner of some bull shit stupid fight. Fuck you for crying and whining and being a big fucking bratty-ass baby, Like, for real, fuck you, you stupid ass holes.

Here's the reality. People are destroyed here. This isn't a moment where you have been hurt and we all need to bow down to you with apologies, begging you to forgive us. Ummm. Fuck you. You and your manipulation have legitimately destroyed other people. And you don't give a fuck. And you don't give a fuck because you're too fucking selfish to even see that you caused all of this damage. You are the one behind it all, and maybe it took us 10 years to figure it out, but we know now, and you're not going to continue to play the puppet master.

You can seriously, just fuck right off. Girl, bye.

And seriously, just like that I feel a little better about this insane lunacy.


Sometimes a girl has just got to vent, ya know? And today was one of those days, where I just need to type the word fuck like 35 times so I don't drive somewhere to pop someone in the jaw.

On a serious note though, it's awful to sit back and watch as one person tears apart ten other people. To sit and watch it all play out; to watch the lies, the bullying, the manipulation. It's sad to bring it up and be completely ignored (because God forbid someone take ownership in their part of anything). Sometimes, being the bigger person is really fucking hard. It's hard because usually, it requires letting go of relationships. When you stand up to someone who abuses you, you have to be prepared to say goodbye to that relationship. When you stand up for yourself, when you choose yourself over anyone else, it can really, really fucking hurt.

That is, until it doesn't hurt anymore.

Until it occurs to you that you're better now, that you win because you're no longer cowering to another person. It stops hurting when you learn how much better your life has become since you made a decision to just choose to take care of YOU. It takes a long time to get there. It takes a few steps forward, and then a few more back. Deciding you are more important than anything else, feels like trying to claw your way out of a wet paper bag. But trust me when I say, it's worth it.


If you're a bully, you can actually just fuck off right now.

And if you're the victim of a bully, stop letting that shit slide immediately, and just put yourself at the top of the list. You matter so much more than any bull-shit dumb-fuck weak-ass bully, who literally is only picking on you because they hate their own life.

How sad is that??

Just. Go. Love. Yourself.

And fuck off to the people who would rather just crush you than let you love yourself. #boom.

Thursday, December 15, 2016

Dear Upstairs Neighbor

Dear Upstairs Neighbor,

You don't know me, but I feel like I know you. How is that possible, you ask, since we've never met?

Well, dear upstairs neighbor, it's because you are so mother fucking loud, I feel like we actually sort of live together!! So hear me when I ask you to please, seriously, for the love, SHUT THE FUCK UP.


I, of course, realize that I live in an apartment. I have neighbors on all sides. I chose to live on the ground floor, because it was cheaper, and because Juno likes to chase the squirrels back and forth across the patio door in the spring, and let's be honest - that is her only cardio all year long. Also because I have neighbors on all sides, I follow the rules set forth in my lease. For example, I don't run my dishwasher late at night. I don't do laundry early in the morning. I don't blast my music or run the vacuum late, nor do I listen to the TV too loud or throw raging parties. I also pull my headboard a respectful 4 inches from the wall so that the neighbor next door doesn't have to hear me bang.

I know I live in an apartment.

Which leads to me to wonder, how in the fuck you do not realize you live in one too!?!?

You. Are. So. Loud,

Literally so mother fucking loud, I think we may actually share an apartment, and I just haven't realized yet that you live with me.


Things you should know before choosing to live in a top floor apartment:

1. People live below you. That's right, underneath you. And despite the fact that they choose to have neighbors in the ceiling, they would appreciate if you did not choose to get up and play fetch from one end of your apartment to the other with your giant-ass dog in the middle of the night.

It's a fucking dog. And a fucking ball. Take that shit outside.

2. Your heels are not the part of your foot that should be hitting the floor first when you take a step. Please consult with a podiatrist to confirm there is no actual lead in your foot. I'm worried about you.

3. Also please don't chase your fucking dog around the apartment while it jumps, barks, chases, wags, and threatens to fall through the ceiling onto my couch. And stop bouncing it's fucking ball on the kitchen floor before I walk my ass up there and make you eat it.

Let's just be real, upstairs neighbor: living in apartments sucks, in general. And living in one with a dog has got to suck even more. It's probably the same as how living in an apartment with an infant who screams all the time, or a toddler learning to walk, probably sucks. Or a door-slamming teenager, I suppose. And so of course, dear neighbor, I do not have high expectations. I have a high threshold for noise. I expect to hear laundry and music and cleaning and lead-foot walking.

That said, shut your god damn dog up, dude.


Because sadly, your dog is not the ass hole. Your dog is just a dog. Dogs are dumb; they can't help it. They don't know they live in an apartment. They just see your stupid happy ass bouncing a ball on the floor or throwing a frisbee down the hallway like a dumb ass instead of putting a coat on and going to the dog park. Your dog is not at fault for your idiocy. That's on you.

And so, dear upstairs neighbor, as I sit here, typing this blog and listening to you stupidly play a long, loud, annoying game of fetch, I ask that you consider being a little bit less of a fuck stick in the future.

After all, it is after 10:00. And I know your lease like the back of my hand.

Goodnight.

Friday, December 9, 2016

Thank You, Times Ten

Day 3: Ten Things I am Thankful For in 2016

2016 has been a bit of a shit storm.
Read: Donald Trump was elected President of the United States, and everyone in the world with a vagina, realized how worried this should make us.

Anyway, when you have a year that is a total zero, it can be really challenging to remember all the things you have in your life to be grateful for. When this blog asked me for ten things I am thankful for in 2016, I was like...ten?!? What the fuck man...haven't you heard the news that Mike Pence is our new Vice President?! How can I possibly find ten things?!


It took less time to think of ten, however, than I initially thought it was going to. Because the reality is, that despite the terrible impending presidential inauguration, and despite all of the chaos, the shootings, the celebrity deaths that have happened in 2016, there is still no shortage of things I should be (and am) incredibly, deeply grateful for.

1. I am grateful that I had the opportunity to live with my best friend, and that we had such an awesome six months of best-friend-roomie time before she moved out (and I moved in another roommate who was awesome). Kattie and I finally bit the bullet and rented a two bedroom apartment together, despite fears that her cats would torment Juno. We spent six months eating Thai take out or Chinese delivery while working on property financials, watched Teen Mom in our jammies, pulled hilarious pranks on one another involving a large, wiggly purple dildo that suction cupped to literally any surface, and used the money we were saving by living together, to take several fun long weekend trips together.

For the record, Juno was the one doing 99% of the tormenting. Because she's a dick.

2. I am grateful for my Thanksgiving weekend trip to Pacific City, both the days I was there alone, and the days I was joined by Stacey & Blake. It was so great to have the alone time, great to have the peace and quiet to read and sleep in and lounge around in my jammies. But it was just as great to have the five-year-old tornado show up, to share my holiday movies with him, take him on a stormy beach walk, and drink wine with his mama. It was a perfect reminder that I can make or break my own holiday traditions.

3. I am grateful for Top Ramen. Because we all need to have comfort food sometimes.

4. I am grateful for my girlfriends, who have - for another year - reminded me what friendship looks like. It's hard to be a girl. It's hard to find girls to befriend who have no hidden agendas, or who aren't total bitches. Men don't really understand that - like, it is really hard to be friends with girls. So the fact that I have a tight-knit group of women who support, love, and encourage me...is something I am truly grateful for.

This year, last year, and surely next year.


5. I am grateful for my family - yes, all of them. The good, the bad, and the ugly of my family dynamic has shaped me. From a side of my family I don't have a strong relationship with currently, I still have plenty of wonderful childhood memories. From the side of my family I do have a relationship with, I have ongoing wonderful memories. I have enjoyed quality time with my grandma this year that I haven't had in the past, and I am grateful for all of it. I am fortunate to have parents who I can have fun with, talk to, and ask for help - not everyone has that, and the more people I talk to, the more rare it seems to have the mom and dad I have, who are really there to pick me up whenever I fall.

6. I am grateful for my strong voice. The voice that was finally able to express my concerns to my family, though they were not well received (unless a total freeze out means something is well received). The voice that has been able to stand up for right and wrong through a horribly exhausting presidential debate, and a voice that has had no fear of standing up for people who are being horribly mistreated. I am grateful that I can speak up.

7. I am grateful for Juno. She's my favorite. And yes, I am aware that she's a cat...that doesn't mean I like anyone else better than her. I don't. I like her better than any of you.

8. I am grateful for my job. Even though there are days I really hate it, I am glad to work in an industry where I am respected (usually). I appreciate that I am not one of the many people out there who wake up every day and dread going to work. I like my property, I love my team, and I enjoy the 40+ hours I spend each week with them.

9. I am grateful for silver tequila.

Obviously.


10. I am grateful for 2016, in general. Despite it being awful in many instances (MIKE. FUCKING. PENCE.), it has still been a year with many positives. I survived a property sale in one piece, got a promotion, earned two raises, stood up for myself in many, many situations, went on vacations, paid off all my bills, and enjoyed a lot of wine with a lot of good company. I had a roof over my head, I spent time with my family, and didn't spend thousands of dollars at the vet. I am happy and healthy, and so is my family. And most importantly, so is the cat.

Because again, I do like her better than any of you.


Thursday, December 1, 2016

When I Grow Up and Get Married, I'm Living Alone!

I am already loving this writing challenge...Rachel, you know me so well!! #feelingfestive 

Day Two: Favorite Holiday Traditions


No matter what craziness has ensued with my family in the past 33 years, no matter where I've lived, who I've lived with, who I've been dating, or where I have celebrated the holiday, one tradition is an absolute must: after Thanksgiving dinner, I pour myself a glass of wine, make popcorn, and watch Home Alone.

It's. My. Favorite.

I love coming home from the family madness, where everyone is loud and the festivities are crazy, to my own quiet corner of the world, curling up and starting the movie. If I am setting up a tree, I tend to do it while watching the movie...but I also don't often get a tree.


This year, I boycotted Thanksgiving (for reasons not worth mentioning). Instead, I took 6 days off work, and I went to the beach, where I watched all of my favorite Christmas movies, ate Grandma Stacey's famous teriyaki chicken wings & asparagus for dinner, and drank at least a bottle of wine each day while reading books in front of the fireplace. It was perfect.

Stacey and Blake joined me on Friday afternoon, and after we spent the day adventuring around, "Black Friday" shopping in Cloverdale's antique mall, and eating a spaghetti dinner, we introduced Blake to the awesomeness that is Kevin McAllister in Home Alone.

This kid.

We made popcorn (and Stacey spilled it).
We made margaritas (and virgin ones for Blake, the salted rim addict).
We turned on the fire (mostly for the cat).
We turned off the lights and snuggled up in our jammies.

And we watched Home Alone.

Blake thought the bad guys were a riot, and watching him watch their antics was pretty entertaining. And while it was not the quiet, peaceful viewing of my favorite movie that I traditionally take in, it was probably my favorite ever.


This year, I had initially been feeling pretty gloomy about spending the Thanksgiving holiday alone. I mean, better alone than with the company I would have had, but still...who wants to be all alone on Thanksgiving?? I didn't have any traditional food - like I said, I had chicken and veggies - nor did I talk to anyone in my family, get dressed up for dinner (didn't even get out of my jammies, in fact), and didn't do any real Black Friday shopping. It potentially could have been a real downer, right?

In the end, though, I loved every minute of it, and could definitely make a solo beach weekend a new Thanksgiving tradition - so long as Stacey and Blake join me for part of it!

What it boils down to, after several years of discussing this in therapy, is that I don't have to go along with every holiday tradition my family has, nor do I have to feel bad about missing them. I need to create my own traditions in order to feel festive and to enjoy the holidays, and they don't have to be big huge events either. I can be (and am) happy just snuggling up with my favorite wine and favorite movies, drinking mimosas and eating bacon & eggs with my mom and dad, and wearing Santa socks & a goofy Christmas tee shirt. It's simply about what makes me happy during the holiday madness.


And what made me happy this year, was sharing my Thanksgiving tradition with my cousin and my favorite little guy.


Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Dear Santa, Is It Really December?

I need to blog.
Like, it's a literal need.
Remind me on New Years Eve that I made a resolution to write two blogs a week for the whole year.

I need to write.

And I can't thrive if the only things I write are resident violation notices and emails to my boss. #notenoughofanoutlet

Thus...December.

December brings a new blog challenge, hopelessly devoted to the magic of Christmas!!


Day One: Letter to Santa

Dear Santa,
This year has truly flown by; how is it possibly already December?? How are we already thinking about Christmas??

Truth is, I haven't been thinking much about Christmas. I've been distracted by a new job keeping me insanely busy, an upcoming move, and (as always) family drama that just won't seem to die. I've also been wallowing in the gloom and disbelief of a Donald Trump presidential win (I wonder if I'll have my citizenship revoked for that). It's been a tough year, and I am - in all aspects of life - looking forward to the start of 2017.

This year for Christmas, I am simply asking for a little bit more fun in my life.

Okay well technically I am asking for weather-tech floor mats for my car and more Costco shopping trips with my mama, but that's from Mom-Santa.

From you, Santa, I just want the commitment to have more fun. To try more new things. To go on more adventures. To stress less about things that don't really matter in the long run. And to simplify things where I can, to make sure I am having more fun.

Starting this month. I have a full December, with holiday traditions, church dates with my grandma, the orchestra with my mom, a new apartment without any roommates (and therefore, not any pants), and a full 11 days off work between Christmas and New Years...which I intend to make plenty of fun.

Speaking of New Years...Santa, please let me have some fun this New Year's Eve. Not house party fun, but sparkly-dress-and-bright-lipstick, out-all-night, champagne-toast, need-an-uber-driver fun. I have never done a fancy New Year's Eve, and that's what I want to do. Sparkles, champagne, and dancing all night. These are the things I am after, Santa.


This year, in between the routine monotony I seem to have let slink in, I did get to try several new things - all of which were fantastic. I stayed in my first AirBNB, did my first wine tasting, joined my first wine club, traveled to Anchorage where I went on my first fishing excursion and saw my first moose. I attended my first paint night, threw my first surprise party - for my dad, who accidentally helped set it all up, unknowingly - , arranged to attend my first women's march, and signed up for my first regular monthly scheduled donation to Planned Parenthood (because, FUCK YOU, Mike Pence). So it's not like the year was an awful mashup up negativity by any means, but it certainly came crashing downhill with the election last month...I think I lot of women - myself included - are still reeling from it, and feeling a little gloomy.

Side note...Santa, where were you on election day, bro?? Can I ask for a new, less fucking bull shit president for Christmas?

Anyway, so while I had a lot of fun in 2016, I'd like your help, Santa, to ensure it's a better balance in 2017. Less stress, more fun.

Say it with me - less stress, more fun.


Oh and also, please bring me a million dollars, an open-ended plane ticket, a portfolio for my company in Bend so I can move there, a new tattoo (or several), and another season of Gilmore Girls revival.

Merry Christmas Santa!


 


Friday, September 2, 2016

For Your Next Craptastic Day

Everybody has shitty days. They're unavoidable. Maybe everything went wrong; maybe you overslept and then didn't get to shave your legs or wash your hair, so you had to wear wrinkly pants instead of the skirt you'd planned. Then maybe you were late to work because you got in the car and your gas light was on, and then you forgot your keys to the office.

Or maybe you were just in a foul mood and all the shit in your day that is normally fine, just wasn't.

We all have shitty days.

And one time, when I was 20, I had the literal shittiest day.


In my late teens, early twenties, I had the most irresponsible, maniacal, insane, fun, awesome group of guy friends, ever. We were still a bit too young and naive to buy into the whole men and women can't be friends thing (they cannot, by the way, as proven by the number of those boys I made out with as a college freshman), and all we ever wanted to do was drink beer and go camping.

This particular stay started out as any other; the summer was our oyster, and we were going camping.

Now, this is a good time for me to mention, teenagers are fucking stupid. It's just a fact. In fact, anyone under, like, 27 is an idiot; we make stupid choices. It's like we can't help it.

Why do I say that?

Because, this large group of kids - none of us 21 - put all of the beer into the open bed of the one truck driving with a busted brake light.

It's like asking to be pulled over!

Instead of sending beer in someone's trunk, we literally stacked it into the bed of a truck without brake lights. And then we all piled into vehicles and headed towards Estacada, where our intention was to have a big fire, drink all of the beer, and sleep make out in tents.

Cue the sirens (obviously).

Shitty start to this camping trip, detail number one: Minor in Possession tickets.

FUCKER!


Now (and again, this is because I was 20 and therefore a fucking idiot), I was in the pickup truck with two of my male friends, sitting in the middle of the bench seat. I did not have my purse. Or my wallet. Or any identification of any kind. So of course, the police is questioning if and how I even know these two boys, and if I am in the car by my own free will. After convincing him that yes, these are actually my friends on purpose, and no I am not being smuggled into the sex trade, he then proceeds to find the beer (duh, because it was right there, in the open). He makes us get out of the truck and pour all 30 bottles out, one by one, on the side of the road.

For the record, 30 bottles of Bud Light, when you're not of legal age to buy, is like solid gold. This was a very emotionally scarring moment - hence my remembering 12 years later that it was 30 bottles of Bud Light.

Anyway, so then after draining our beers, and after confirming I am intentionally with Devlin and AJ, the officer proceeds to write each of us an MIP.

SHIT!

I mean, really, an MIP is a little like being grounded. You go to the courthouse with your $200 ticket, and they reduce is to $80 and send you on your way. Whatever. But I feel like usually you get to actually drink the beers that earn you the ticket.

In any case, we're having a shitty weekend so far: we've been pulled over, we've gotten tickets, we've been accused of kidnapping. We've basically ruined all possibilities of a fun camping adventure for everyone, since we were the ones with all of the beer. Super. Shitty.


And it only gets shittier!

Everyone decides to meet up at a gas station a bit up the way, to try and decide what we want to do from there. Still camp? But with no beer? Go home? Go home and try to get more beer and then leave again? So many decisions to be made!

By the time we get to the gas station, though, I am about to pee my pants (girls, seriously, we always have to pee). So while 15 boys stand in the parking lot trying to make life decisions, I race into the gas station and ask to use the bathroom. I'm directed to a port-a-potty out back (ew) and head out that way.

And this is where my weekend takes a literal shitty turn.

I go into the port-a-potty, and it's pitch dark; there is no light inside, nor is there any light outside. This is an actual rape and murder scene just waiting to happen. But I am doing a real intense potty dance, so I have no other choice; I yank down my yoga pants and hover as best I can in the pitch dark to pee.

And then there is shit.

Everywhere.

Not my shit. Strangers' shit.


This port-a-potty is FULL - no, more than full, I guess. I can't see what's happening, but I can feel it. There is poop on the back of my leg. And then on my other leg. But then somehow also on my back and kind on my shoulder. I literally do not know how this was happening, because it was pitch dark (which, looking back, is probably for the best), but there was shit everywhere.

And like, one total square of toilet paper with which to solve this problem.

At this point in the story, I am basically blacked out from horror, but I somehow make my way out of the port-a-potty, where one of my male friends is waiting - to pee, by the way, not to see me covered in dookie.

Lucky him, he now has to help me.

And by help me, I do mean he literally peeled all of my clothes off while I cried (how many times in one weekend can this poor dude be set up for a kidnapping/rape/murder situation) and dry heaved, then left me standing naked in the dark while he rummaged through his truck for a tarp to wrap me up in.

So. We're going home now, right?

After scrubbing what I could from my hands and up my arms (yes I said there was SHIT EVERYWHERE) in the back office of this horrid gas station - while naked and burrito wrapped in a tarp, mind you, I get in the truck and demand that the boys take me home. Obviously. Where the fuck else am I gonna go??



Once back in Milwaukie, I stood in a scalding hot shower until my skin burned off, and practically filled the shower stall with bubbles as I worked through an entire loofah and emptied the contents of like 4 bottles of body wash. I had just been literally covered in shit, and had managed to get a $250 ticket in the process. I was never getting out of this shower. I'd burn to death in here. I can't get the thought of poop out of my head, so I will just stay right here and die.

But then when Devlin's dad poked his head into the bedroom as I was drifting off to sleep and said "I heard you had a pretty shitty night," I laughed. Hysterically. Forever. Because it was true; I had the literal shittiest night.

So the next time you think you're having a bad weekend, just be glad you aren't naked in a tarp, after basically having poo flung at you in a dark room, while you try to figure out who's it is and where it came from.

And, side note, it doesn't really matter who's it is or where it came from, if IT ISN'T YOUR OWN!!


This story is hard for me. So feel grateful I finally shared it. I now have port-a-potty post traumatic stress, and yes my fear is real. And valid. I am actually more likely to squat next to an outhouse than go in one.

And never, absolutely ever, will I ever use one in the dark. #lifelessons

Thursday, September 1, 2016

#500wordsaday: The Only Love I Chase, is the Love of the Cat

1) A time you lied
2) A time you were hurt
3) The last time you were happy for a week straight
4) Family
5) How you wish you started your day (and then why you aren’t doing that already)
6) Your most authentic moment
7) When you really loved yourself
8) When you were scared
9) Why you long for love
10) Something about you that you’re hoping people don’t notice   / Something about you that you’re hoping people do notice

500 Words a Day: Why you long for love.

Why do I long for love? 

Um. Doesn't everyone? Isn't love a basic human need? 

Am I doing that thing where I look at things in too simple of a light? Like, I probably need to just dig a bit deeper into the prompt...which has been the case every day for the past 8 days? 

You win, blog challenge; you win. 



I long for love from my family, because it's out of reach.

I long for love from my friends, because they feel more like my family.

I long for love from Juno the Cat, because she only gives love when she's in the mood - and I want her to be a snuggly love bug all the time, dammit! 

I long for love romantically, for a lot of reasons, on a lot of different levels.

I feel like the word longing, implies that I am chasing something I can't have - but I don't feel like that's the world I live in. I'm not chasing love from people in my family who don't have love in their hearts for me. And I am not chasing my friends down to love me - they just do. And while I'm not in a romantic relationship, I do also find love from boys - granted, not always the best choices, but still. 

I'll admit I chase the cat.



I had brunch mimosas with a friend from high school recently, who told me the story of a terrible date he'd been on with a girl who had said she wasn't registered to vote (I realize this may not ruin a date for everyone, but for those of us who are in our mid-thirties and single, I think we grow pickier by the minute). As I listened to him talk about how he'd gone total dad-lecture status on her for not being registered to vote against Trump in the upcoming election, it occurred to me that this is the crap people our age deal with in attempt to find the love we're apparently longing for.

Which then made his point make total sense; why bother continuing to date in hopes of finding someone, when all of these people tend to disappoint?

Which then made me feel completely cynical.

Which then led me to wonder...am I actually cynical?

Upon review, let the record show that despite temporary cynicism that comes in waves after every shitty date or every douche bag dude who has a secret girlfriend hidden somewhere...I am not a cynic. Quite the opposite, in fact. When no one is listening or paying attention, I am actually quite the romantic. 

Don't tell anybody; I don't want it to get around.

I'm definitely a girl who loves stories about people who went to junior high or high school together, who then met at random for booze 15 years later, and wound up together (I am actually talking about a girlfriend of mine, I'm not dating the aforementioned bachelor). I love that my best friend and her husband took 20 years to end up married to each other after keeping in touch from when they were neighbors as kids, after each marrying someone else first. I love hearing those gushy stories about people who went through horse shit and came out the other side with the love of their life. Those stories warm my otherwise chilly little heart. 



I can relate, however, to the bachelor noted above, and all of the reasons he's jaded enough to have basically sworn off love forever. I hate the phrase, as we get older, but I also can't think of a better one, so, bear with me here. As we get older, we deal with more and more bull shit. We deal with more and more experiences with people who jade us. People hurt us more often, and for far more ridiculous reasons. It's almost like, the more we get fucked over by people, the more we use that as an excuse to fuck over other people. Like how people who get cheated on, end up cheating on someone else later on. It doesn't really make much sense. When you really think about it, it seems like baggage, or the hurt other people have caused you...should teach you how to treat people better. 

Am I wrong?

I mean, the more boys who dump their epic bull shit on me - their drama, their fear of commitment, their ability to not engage with their emotions, their baggage - the more I should be shutting down. The more it seems I should be swearing off men forever, refusing to date, accepting my fate as a forever bachelorette. 

But I'm not like that. I have this uncanny ability to shake off the shitty treatment I get from the boys I date. Can't be open with me? That's your loss. Can't be faithful to me when I'm ready? Hash tag bye now. Don't want to talk about your feelings? Not my problem. I don't own someone else's baggage. I'm the girl who is patient and understanding and completely open - but not when you can't give me the same vulnerability in return. 



When someone comes at me over mimosas with, I'm never going to date again, my initial response is never to run, but rather to question. I ask, literally millions of questions. Some people aren't into my investigative nature, but those who are, always find a way to be a little more transparent with me than they may be with other people. And maybe that pays off for me in the future. Maybe I date that person because they finally let their guard down and realized that not all women are evil. Maybe that person just has someone else in their corner, or a bit of reassurance for the future.

I don't find myself pining away for the love of my life, upset that Prince Charming hasn't rolled up on my doorstep yet, so I feel like longing for love is completely the wrong phrase. I have immense love in my life, and am in no way, longing

Besides, I'm too busy chasing the cat around the house, trying to make her love me. I certainly don't have time for that when it involves humans.






Wednesday, August 31, 2016

#500wordsaday: Take Me Somewhere & Leave Me There

1) A time you lied
2) A time you were hurt
3) The last time you were happy for a week straight
4) Family
5) How you wish you started your day (and then why you aren’t doing that already)
6) Your most authentic moment
7) When you really loved yourself
8) When you were scared
9) Why you long for love
10) Something about you that you’re hoping people don’t notice   / Something about you that you’re hoping people do notice

500 Words a Day: The last time you were happy for a week straight



Anyone who knows me at all, knows I am happiest while vacationing. The times I spend away from work, away from home, are always the best - whether it's a big extended vacation, a long weekend, or even a local overnight trip, I am always happiest when it's jet-setting. 

The last time I felt truly happy, for a duration of time, was the birthday trip I planned to Bend for my best friend earlier this summer. It wasn't a week, but if you count the time I put into planning it, I think it counts. Everything about the trip was fantastic - the drive, the weather, the place we stayed, and everything we did for the long weekend. 

The trip to Bend was a culmination of a travel-themed birthday week, throughout which my gifts to my bestie had all centered around a theme: had she stopped to think about it much, the obvious theme was BEND (Dechutes beer, a tasting at Naked Winery, an overnight bag) - I was banking on the fact that she'd been so busy at work, she wouldn't notice. 

And I was right. 



I think what was so great about this trip, was that it was timed perfectly for the fact that we'd been living together for six months, and she was about to be moving out. We had spent so much girl time in the prior few months, and we both knew that while it was an exciting step for her to be moving in with her boyfriend, that also always changes things between friends. We had spent six months watching Teen Mom in bed together on Monday nights, eating popcorn for dinner, popping bottles of wine with our Chinese takeout while writing our financial reports for work each month; these are things that you tend to stop doing once you don't live under the same roof. So it was really excellent timing to take a girls-only, just-us, nobody-with-a-penis allowed road trip. 

And this is why people tend to think we're lesbians.

Anyway, much like any other trip we've taken together, this one was full of fabulousness - however I'd prearranged most of it in honor of her birthday. We took a brewery tour and did a wine tasting (and by "tasting," I do mean we stayed at the tasting room for like 4 hours and then went shopping while white girl wasted, and I bought a cat headband), went shopping, and wandered through the streets of Bend, one of our absolute favorite places. We stayed in an adorable bed and breakfast type place we found on AirBnB, had our favorite eggs bennedict at our favorite restaurant in Bend, and had so much girl talk - it was fantastic.



Small trips like this one - whether it be to Bend or the coast, or even to Phoenix or Vegas - are such a great reminder for me to step back and relax; life truly isn't all about work, and I shouldn't be so stressed about finances and responsibility all the time. I think it's easy for us to get caught up in our day to day, and taking some time away from a routine, helps find balance. 

As we expected, things have been different since she moved out of the snuggle pad (again, it is clear why people think we're lesbians) and in with her boyfriend. Not bad, but definitely not the same. She lives across town, with him and his son and a puppy, and I live here, with a new roommate who I definitely have to wear pants in front of, and who doesn't come with me to the grocery store only to eat popcorn for dinner three nights a week. I watch crappy reality tv by myself now, and we have to make actual plans to hang out instead of just each flopping onto the couch in our jammies at the end of a long day. But she is by no means, any less my best friend. 

Taking a break from the day in and day out patterns to plan a long weekend or a trip away, always provides those reminders that the only real important things in life, are the people in it. As we're excitedly counting down to our next girlfriends trip out of town, I'm certain it will be equally as fun, and will certainly serve as a reminder to be happy. 



I may not feel over the top happiness every day of my life, but even just writing this blog serves as a reminder that my life is happy, and that's reason to celebrate. 

And so I will.

With another vacation. 



Monday, August 29, 2016

#500wordsaday: My Favorite 'Plus One'

1) A time you lied
2) A time you were hurt
3) The last time you were happy for a week straight
4) Family
5) How you wish you started your day (and then why you aren’t doing that already)
6) Your most authentic moment
7) When you really loved yourself
8) When you were scared
9) Why you long for love
10) Something about you that you’re hoping people don’t notice   / Something about you that you’re hoping people do notice

500 Words a Day: Your most authentic moment.

Authenticity is a huge thing for me. I didn't start using the hash tag #speakyourtruth for nothing; honesty matters to me, and matters a lot. Vulnerability is hard, and it only seems to get harder as I get older, but without it, I'd really be lost. 


So, this. One of my most authentic moments, comes in the form of a blog I've already written, one I've read a hundred times myself, one I've shared every year, at least once. My most authentic moment, came on the day I finally processed exactly how I felt. The moment I was able to say, Zach wasn't the best boyfriend - he was flawed, he had faults. But he was also the first guy I ever fell in love with. I loved him hard, and he loved me hard right back. We had fun; we went on the best dates, and we had the best movie nights. We shared the most amazing, side-splitting laughs, and he did the most hilarious things whenever I was mad. We had passionaste emotions - both good and bad. When I loved him, I loved him hard, with everything I had. And when I was mad, I was MAD. And when he died, I was devastated. Sometimes I think I am still a little devastated.

I am a girl who wears my emotions on my sleeve; I am wildly passionate. I love hard, and sometimes that bites me in the ass. But I never look back negatively on any moment with Zach. He brought out the passionate little firecracker in me, and I was never anything but authentic in my relationship with him. 

I wrote this blog on July 2nd, 2012, after learning that my ex-boyfriend had been killed in a car accident. Zach died two years ago, and these words ring true just as much today as they did the day I wrote them...


When I first read the article about Zach's car wreck and that he'd died in the collision, I was shocked. Numb even. I stared at my computer for several minutes, read the short blurb over and over, and then went on with my day. I spent the next few days reading and re-reading the articles and still, just shocked. 

The accident was the Monday before last, and his memorial service was this past Friday. Up until the night before his service, I had yet to show any real emotion or feel anything other than complete surprise. I had a couple short conversations with Stacey, Juliana and Nick, and I had to email the story to a handful of our old coworkers, but nothing was really getting through. The night before the service, though, I laid in bed for hours crying, remembering awesome moments we'd shared, thinking of his family, just sobbing. 

Raphael, one of my coworkers from BWW, picked me up for the service (I didn't want to go alone), and we met Christine and Eric there (also from BWW). Zach and Eric had been pretty close, as had Christine and I, so it was great to see them all, despite the sad occasion. We sat together, cried together, and it was comforting to have the arms of old friends on my shoulders as we listened to eulogies, memories, stories, and watched several slide shows. It was very, very hard, and I left the service feeling like reality was sinking in. 

The 4 of us headed to McMenamins from the service to have a drink and some lunch before we all had to go to work. Before any of us knew the extent of Zach's problems with alcohol, we all had great times at Rialto, a dive downtown where Zach would always drink Rumplemintz (YUCK). Eric, in an attempt to pay tribute to his friend in a more "manly" way, ordered a round of Rumplemintz, and toasted Zach with that, several kind words, and more tears. We were then able to share lots of great moments of working with Zach at BWW - I loved hearing my friends tell me all the ways they knew Zach and I were sneaking around together at the beginning, and I was so happy that they all had so many fun stories to share with me. Zach had such a bad experience at BWW, and I felt really comforted that during that shitty time, he'd made a few real friends who are truly suffering his loss right along with me.

I went to work for an hour or so and was just unable to get myself together, so I left and went up to Kelso to visit LaDonna and see the baby, knowing that baby snuggles are healing. I cried the entire way there...and by cried, I mean, I could barely see the road I was bawling so hard. It was the entire 10 days worth of emotion and feeling coming out, and I just cried. I visited my family for a long time, and I really did feel so much better holding Landon, eating waffles with my family, and just feeling loved. 

I took off around 9:00pm for home, and when I got to the freeway, traffic stopped completely. They were paving the highway, so it was narrowing to one lane. There I was, after an exhausting day of saying goodbye, sitting on I-5 in one lane construction...I looked up, and right in front of me was a semi truck. I completely lost it. I cried and cried and cried, the whole 30 minutes I sat parked behind this semi, until I was physically so tired I could not wait to get into bed. I was sitting in Zach's scenario, sitting there thinking, all he'd had to do was brake harder. How many times in a week am I behind a semi truck on the freeway? About a hundred. 

My final conversations with Zach were not as pleasant as I would have liked to remembered our relationship by, and I am so thankful that I can look back on a million other, more positive, truly happy moments instead of having to focus on those last couple of jealous, insecure, sad ones. I sat on Saturday night and wrote his mom a Facebook message that was probably 3 pages of text, telling her stories, asking about him, just wanting her to know how incredibly touched my life was by her son. I then sat for hours typing a message into his Facebook page...something I hope no one has the password to and will never be seen, but it was so cathartic to say the things I should have said when I had the chance. 


On my own Facebook, the night before the memorial service, I posted my favorite photo of Zach and me, along with exactly what I was thinking: "For encouraging & supporting me. For always making me laugh my hardest & for never making me cry. For escorting me to weddings, entertaining my friends & meeting my grandparents. For taking me hiking & camping, and for lazy nights at home. For being my friend first, my boyfriend next, and never for a moment being my enemy. For your generous heart, your strong will, your carefree spirit and your kind soul. For these reasons and a hundred more, I will miss you, think of you, and appreciate the man you were. Thank you for touching my life, my heart, and my entire world..."

Zach was not a perfect man. He was not a perfect boyfriend. But he was amazing. He was fun and full of life and always laughing. He was comforting and happy and he was doting. What I wanted to do, so did he. When he took me somewhere, he acted proud to have me at his side. He bragged about me, he told his friends about me, he took me places and told me I was beautiful. He never hurt me, called me names or picked fights with me. He was a friend - a wonderful friend. He held me close, he was kind, and he had the best smile. He truly did touch my life. He taught me to have fun and take life less seriously. He calmed me down when I was mad...except when it was him I was mad at. He was the first man I ever loved, and I am so thankful to have told him so when I had the chance. 


I am sad. My heart hurts and my soul is broken. I miss him, and I want to tell him a million things. If that means I continue to write about him or to his Facebook page, maybe that's what it takes. I hope with all I have that he knew what he meant to so many people, and that he knew how immensely proud we all were of what he was doing with his life. I am grateful for the months he was mine, and I will always remember only the good things he did for my life.