Many Happy Returns (to Target)

Let it be known that I hate baby showers.

I also hate gender reveal parties.

While we’re in this super negative head space, I also hate bridal showers. 

(That’s neither here nor there, though.)

There is something incredibly awkward about opening gifts in front of a bazillion people, especially when you’re huge pregnant and uncomfortable, feeling unlike yourself, worried about every photo being taken…

Oh god please don’t post that on the internet, I’m as big as a house. I’m also hot and sweaty, and also I’m drinking a mimosa, so lord knows I’ll get dragged through the mud for drinking while I’m pregnant. 

Side note: if you want to have a fucking mimosa at your baby shower, DO IT. Anyone who is potentially judging you for that, you literally shouldn’t even be friends with anymore. Uninvite them immediately.

When it was time to plan my baby shower, I had one request: no opening presents. I didn’t want to sit in front of 50+ women and unwrap 50+ gifts for 50+ hours. It’s weird and antiquated, and I’d just as soon play another silly game. More than one person gave me shit about that decision. The more I looked into it though, the more commonplace I found it was becoming with moms in 2018. And so, I demanded it. I asked that people not wrap their gifts; instead, add a card and bring it unwrapped to the shower, and add it to the table at the front of the house - this way everyone can see the cute baby stuff, without my having to awkwardly open any of it.

As a reminder, mom shame is everywhere. You can’t escape it, you guys. I didn’t do my baby shower right, if you can believe that (I didn’t even host my own shower, but I still managed to be wrong). In addition to not opening gifts, I had a mimosa and played Pictionary instead of Smell the Melted Chocolate in a Diaper. I also had a food truck, because my cousin hosted and her neighbor owns a food truck...HOW COULD ANYONE BITCH ABOUT A BABY SHOWER WITH A FOOD TRUCK?!?!!! 

As new parents do, I created a baby registry based on what my then-boyfriend and I wanted for our son. 

I also did that wrong, apparently. 

I wanted to wear my baby, so I registered for an expensive baby carrier. 

I also didn’t want to lug around a 20 pound infant car seat, so I registered for a convertible seat that was good for a baby weighing 5-65 pounds. It was expensive, but it was the only seat we’d need.

I took a lot of backlash for these two items. I literally had no idea you could be shamed over a fucking gift registry, but you sure can!

When I got home from my shower and started to unpack gifts and put things away, I found that one person in particular had given me a ton of gifts, but none from my registry. Only later did someone else tell me that this person had said my registry was “ridiculous,” so she bought what she believed I needed.

To be clear, all this did was create extra work for me, as I returned ALL. OF. IT. I took a cart full of stuff I didn’t ask for, back to Target the day after my shower, and exchanged it for the rest of the items I had registered for...since that’s what I actually wanted. I don’t feel bad about it; especially after learning she did it on purpose. Like, why?? 

Tearing apart a new mom’s baby registry means one of three things. One, you’re an insensitive ass hole. Two, you’re an absolute moron. Three, you think you just know better than she does, how to be a mom, how to raise a human, how to be prepared for a baby. Likely it’s a combination of at least two of these three things, but for sure it’s shamey and mean. A mom-to-be puts effort into a registry beyond just clicking ‘add item to list’ - she has done her new-mom research. Which car seat is safest? Which carrier is best for a postpartum back recovery? Which monitor can I travel with easily? Which crib sheets match the nursery I’m creating on Pinterest, and how do I plan to balance nursing, pumping, and bottle feeding? What is the best binky, which stroller will take us on the greatest adventures? A mom’s registry is well thought-out; it’s a packet of things she’s thought a lot about and read a lot of information on, and likely she’s had a lot of conversations with other mom friends to make her decisions. Your choosing to “know better” and making a purchase contradictory to her registry, is a clear message that you know better than her, and that her instincts are wrong.

Everyone has favorite baby items. And experienced moms are a great resource for new moms as to items that are amazing, items that are useless, items they love and hate. It’s all in the way experienced moms present information: just be nice! 

And when a new mom doesn’t immediately drop her own thoughts to follow your exact path, don’t decide she’s a fucking idiot - trust her to trust herself, and then buy her a present she actually asked for. You can always tell her “I told you so” in a year, when she still hasn’t even opened the baby spa tub she wanted because the baby likes the kitchen sink just fine.

My Cousin, My Friend, My Soulmate

Sometimes I think the zodiac is a completely made up hoax, with no evidence that it is even remotely true.

And then I remember that my cousin Karen and I were born on the same day, six years apart, and I am reminded that in fact, the zodiac is real. Because despite being born in different times and different places, being raised by very different people, and having very different life experiences, Karen and I are literally the exact same soul in two different bodies.

Post Two of Fifty: Who are you closest to in your family?

I went back and forth with this one for quite some time, because I am very close to most of my Stacey family. I would say Stacey is my best friend, and that Blake is my number one kid. I do believe my nephew Archer is my spirit animal, and I have a close relationship with all 13 of my cousins. My cousin's son Grant is my mini-me, I believe my cousin DeLaina will be the one we all grow old with because she's the caretaker, and my aunt Michelle is the one I like to text with when I'm curled up at the beach house.

That said, the question isn't who is my favorite, or who do I like best, nor is it who I spend the most quality time with. The question is, who am I closest to.

And I have to answer that one undoubtedly, my cousin Karen. Because Karen is my soulmate.

Karen and I are exactly the same.

The Leo woman in each of us is strong.
We handle love, heartache, disappointment, pride, and hurt the same.
We care passionately about the same things, and we're sensitive about the same things.
We are both unabashedly snarky and sarcastic, and neither of us is ever prepared for that to get us into trouble (even though it always does).
We have the same drive and determination, and the same self doubts and frustrations.
We both feel at home at the beach more than anywhere else, and we each keep a care bear with us to keep us happy all the time.

We also have the same toothy grin and the same Whitmore dark circles under our eyes.
We have the same narrow upper lip when we smile, and the same forehead and nose.
We have the same wild and unruly curly hair.
We make the same cheese face in every selfie.
We both have a favorite nephew who we love fiercely, more than anything.
We both love hard, we both hurt hard, and we both feel every emotion very loudly.

We're the same.
She is me, six years in the future.
I am her, six years later.

I was born on Karen's 6th birthday, in August of 1983. Whenever it's our birthday, she tells me that 34 years ago, she knew I was hers. "I felt like you were mine." She says it every year. And every year it makes my heart happy.

Karen is always the person I go to first, whether it be to laugh, cry, gush over a new boy, talk shit about other people, gossip, brag, or seek comfort. Whether she was living in Portland like me, freezing her face off living too far away in Minnesota, or now living in my paradise, Bend, she is - and always has been - a phone call away.

In fact, we call each other from the grocery store all the time, because that's the only time she can escape her children yelling for her attention just because she is on the phone, or her youngest chasing her through the kitchen with the "fuck it" button (which, while her husband finds appalling, she and I think is hilarious - yet another thing we have in common). She goes to Fred Meyer and wanders aimlessly up and down the aisles while we catch up, and then a week later I keep her on the phone in the parking lot at the gym while I wander around Target gushing to her about a boy.

Karen is always the first to tell me she's proud of me or happy for me, just like she's always the first one to empathize when I'm hurting. She's my soulmate, she feels my feelings with me. I always cry when she cries, and I get mad on her behalf - especially when I don't think she is mad enough. She always pushes and encourages me, gives me advice, and then doesn't judge me when I turn around and do the opposite.

I tell her she's too old when she wants to go to bed at 10:00 after we watch a scary movie, and she tells me I'm too young when I want to spend $30 on a mimosa breakfast we have to wait in line for while standing outside in the snow. But we both wholeheartedly agree on smoothies for breakfast sitting on the roof, and a weed-induced nap on the porch in a sunbeam. We also both agree with the scary movies and mimosa breakfasts, despite the lines and early bedtimes.

Because we're the same.

In the past couple years, there has definitely been a shift in Karen seeing me as her baby cousin, and I now get the street cred for being an adult she can discuss all adult topics with. My favorite is when she calls and vents about something for an hour and then as we're hanging up says, "oh and how are you?? Your life matters too!"

Because she's snarky.
Because we're the same.

I am close to all of my Stacey family. Karen is just about the only Whitmore I have (also, that's because we're the same...I'm pretty much the only Whitmore she has too). But she's the only one I need. She understands my feelings about our family better than anyone; she knows how much I love my grandma, and how long it took me to accept things as they are. She lets me vent, listens to me get mad and sad and raging mad and devastated - and then she tells me it'll be okay. Not because she doesn't want to listen, but because shes been there and because she knows me best. And she's always right - it always is okay. Because just like her grandma and grandpa loved her no matter what, my grandma loves me no matter what.

Because in spite of (and often because of) our sarcasm, our boldness, our chaos, our energy that other people don't understand, Karen and I are still incredibly lovable people. Just ask my mom; she loves us both.

When asked who in my family I am closest to, not much thought was required. I have a huge family, full of fun, loud, crazy, opinionated people who I love dearly. Full of cousins I call my best friends. Full of aunts who take care of me and uncle who pick on me. Full of toddlers I love to spoil rotten and laugh with. My family is amazing. And in the midst of all the amazing, I am lucky enough to have a twin, in all senses of the word.

She's my cousin.
My friend.
My confidant.
My soulmate.

And I bet you all a thousand dollars she started crying in paragraph two of this post. #twinning

A New Challenge for a New Year

I did not exactly succeed at the November blog challenge with Mary, but I also did not exactly fail. I did write. I wrote like 50% of the days I was supposed to. And I learned from my sorta success slash sorta failure, a few lessons for my next writing challenge.

I learned that I do enjoy writing in line with a blog challenge.
I learned that I like writing more, knowing that Mary is also writing and going to post something really funny.
I learned that I do not have time to write every single day.
I learned that I don't always feel like writing.
I learned that on the weekends, I'd rather cuddle than write a blog post.

With that, I have found a new writing challenge to take on: 50 Questions to Ask a Girl if You Really Want to Know Her.

50 Questions, 50 topics.
This time, though...no 50 day deadline to answer all 50. Because I know I don't like to write on the weekends and because I know I have days where I give no fucks, I'm setting my goal to answer these 50 questions over the next 100 days. That's much more manageable and realistic.

So, moving right along.

Day One: When you were younger, what did you think you were going to be when you grew up?

When I was really little, like five-year-old little, I thought I could be Clyde Drexler. I mean, sure, I was a tiny little white girl...what could possibly stop me from being a six-plus foot tall black man?? Dream big, as they say.

I wanted to be Clyde Drexler after meeting him at school. My kindergarden class won a reading contest that the Blazers were involved in, and because we won, he came to school. This was my first dose of stardom and part of me remembers it being a huge deal.

Get it, huge, because he is huge?

Anyway, my first moment of hero worship, and at five, that clearly became a dream to BE him.

After my mom shot me down on that dream, I decided I wanted to be an elementary school librarian. Why? Because I love books, especially children's books.

Looking back now, my overall disdain for small children was probably a hindrance here, but what did I know about all that way back then? Now, I cannot fathom the thought of being a teacher - my cousin is a teacher, and just standing next to her makes me tired. What a thankless and underpaid profession, where you are way too responsible for the well-being of a new generation of humans.

Too. Much. Pressure.

And so, like everyone else in property management, I got into property management on accident.

And the joke is on me, because it is literally the equivalent of being responsible for small children.
Except the children are adults.
Who instead of refusing to eat their lunch, are refusing to pay their rent.
And instead of being thankless and underpaid...oh wait, no, that's the same.

Is That a New Blog, Or Are You Just Happy to See Me??

Somehow I have managed to not write a blog in 10 months.
I blame Donald Trump, obviously.

In reality, 2017 has simply flown by, and I'm really not sure how it's even possible that we've already gotten to October. It's been a big year with a lot of change - some expected, some unexpected, but definitely all for the better.

It has also been one in which I've experienced a lot of stress. And anyone who has followed my blog in the past several years, is well aware of how much of a stress relief writing is for me. So following a conversation with my mom last week about stress, chaos, and craziness, it occurred to me I should probably get my shit together.

So here I am.
30 Day October Blog Challenge.
Technically a combination of three different writing challenges, because I can't decide or commit to just one. And some of the prompts - like, what did you eat today - are stupid.

Starting six days late, so there's that.

Day One: List Ten Things That Make You Really Happy. 

1. An organized refrigerator. Sometimes it's about the small things. I love when my fridge is clean and organized, when labels are faced front, and when all my veggies are chopped and portioned into matching tupperware containers. I realize that this is insane, but I don't care. Happiness is a clean, OCD-type fridge. With that lunch meat drawer stocked full of Tillamook black pepper cheese sticks, obviously.

2. Drinking wine on Rachel's front porch. I think this goes without saying that I love my friends, and I love wine. I also love porches. A big, wrap-around front porch with a lawn to mow is literally my only motivation in life to purchase a home, and Rachel's porch in Battle Ground is pretty close to perfection for me.

3. Starting a new book. Any book. Especially one that is so good I do literally nothing for 3 days but lay under a blanket reading obsessively.

4. Getting voice mails from Blake. This week, he called and left me a message that said, "Hi Auntie. I want to take my Corona fridge to school for show and tell, but my mom won't let me because she says it is inappropriate." I have listened to it ten times, and I wish I could make it my ring tone.

5. The beach. Duh. This one goes without saying, but the beach is my happy place. Whether I am there for a day, a week, just an overnight, it's never enough time but also always the perfect amount of time. Whether it's winter, spring, summer, or fall, stormy or windy, sunny or blistering hot, it's perfection every time. I wish I could live there. And not work, just read books in my jammies drinking wine in front of a fireplace with all the windows open. Nothing better.

6. Being the little spoon. I. Love. To. Snuggle. Snuggling is my absolute favorite, and it's even better when the person snuggling you also loves to snuggle. And when they don't snore. I like to feel someone's hot breath in my ear, and I like it when my neck just fits in the space between someone's neck and shoulders. I especially love to snuggle when it's cold in the morning, and when Juno is laying at the foot of the bed on my feet, or between us in the pit of my knees. And for some reason, it's best when it's Sunday morning.

7. Grown up time with my friends. I am definitely in the minority now with no kids of my own. And don't get me wrong, I like to hang out with my friends and their little ones. But I'm also not a bull shitter, and I like even more to hang out with my friends while their little ones stay home with their dads. I like to drink wine and use cuss words. I like to drink champagne and talk about sex, or watch scary movies, or just have a conversation without being interrupted by small children asking questions or needing to pee. And again, I love your kids. I just don't like them as much as you do. So leave them home every once in a while so I can get you drunk like you deserve. After all, parenting is hard (or so I hear).

8. My birthday. Birthdays are a reason to celebrate, regardless of age. Just because you're not a little kid, doesn't mean you no longer have reason to enjoy yourself and eat cake! Bad shit happens in life, and the simple fact that you are alive another 365 days, honestly, is means to have a party. I will never let my birthday pass by without doing something outside of my daily routine. And the same goes for other people - YOUR birthday is equally as important as mine is, and I'll surely celebrate it. Even if you don't want to.

9. Receiving unexpected flowers. Duh. I'm such a girl on this one. Being thought of makes me happy. Being unexpectedly thought of a little extra makes me a little extra happy. And something about flowers being dropped off, makes me feel even more thought of.

10. Loud music. In the car especially, or while cleaning my apartment. Most any genre of music will satisfy the bug, but loud is definitely necessary.

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.

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.

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.

#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.

#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.