Hindsight Is: 2016 edition

I'll be the first to say it: I'm on the 2016 hatin' train lately. With the passing of my beloved Carrie Fisher, I basically became the conductor of said hate train. BUT while there has been so much loss this year (from fabulous celebrities who I basically considered family to, well, you know... the election), there has also been a lot of good.

So, since I didn't want to close out 2016 sounding like a total scrooge, here's some wonderful highlights to shine a positive light on what was overall a scoundrel of a year:

• Resolutions: Had quite a few of them, and after re-reading my list, I did a pretty swell job of accomplishing a lot of the things I wanted to! Minus the knitting. The damn knitting still eludes me...
• Career Girl: I finally left a job that had made me miserable for years and started up a new job. It's been almost a full year now, and I'm glad to say that I still enjoy my "new job", see opportunity for advancement, work with good people, and am very content overall. Time to start creepin' my way back up that ladder!
• Positive: A big factor in switching to a new job was a fresh start. A chance to molt the thick, bitter skin I had built up and return to being a happy and optimistic person. So far, so good! 
• Movin' Out: HELLO, adult points! It's been almost eight months now that the beau and I have cohabitated. 2013 Gina would be having a shit fit hearing that stat. So far we've managed to not kill one another, and, you know, be happy as clams sharing a space. It's nuts to think that this time last year, we were just starting to think about looking for a place, and here we are. A year ago, I was probably pants-less on my couch, eating an entire pot of mac-and-cheese by myself. Today, I'm clothed, and I have to share the mac, but it's mac made by my man, and I'm happy to share (mostly - don't worry, I have an extra box, just in case). 
• Social Butterfly: Holy cow was this a busy year. Literally, I kept the bar and restaurant industry in MKE afloat with my constant stream of happy hours, brunches and other food/drank related social gatherings. We also hosted a ton of random gatherings: our first Passover Seder, a crawfish boil, house-coolings and housewarmings, Thanksgivinukkah, etc. Not a week went by in the past 52 where some sort of social engagement didn't occur, and it was wonderful (thanks, friiiiends!). 
• Wanderlust: This year was a good one to get out of dodge! With trips to Key West, Atlanta, Colorado, Iowa, California (HARRY POTTER WORLD - MY HEART!), Chicago, etc. Still didn't finish renewing that damn passport though, gah. 
• The Silver-screen: Lotta good show watching went down this year. Watched the entire series of Lost, finally saw Westworld, wrapped up Downton Abbey (my heart is still recovering), Game of Thrones kept me shrieking on a weekly basis, etc. Plus, we saw SO many movies (at the theater and at home) and had our second year of being MKE Film Club members. A lot of good media was had by all.
• Random Others: Witnessed oh so much love and was so fortunate to attend eight weddings of very dear friends. Ran a 5k. PAID OFF my student loans! Was on-and-off addicted to sushi. Got to host an old friend from France (and skipped my 10 year HS reunion in the process). Got my first real piece of Tiffany's. Celebrated my beau's big 30th birthday. Donated my hair to charity again (third time). Finally had a good excuse to dress like a 1920's flapper. Quit sugar for a bit. Learned how to cross-stitch and do zombie makeup (those two are mostly unrelated). Jet ski-ed for the first (and probably last) time. Managed to avoid getting pregnant, married, or engaged - not many gals pushing 30 can say that! Huzzah! :)

Overall, the political turmoil and global unrest made 2016 a bit of a hot mess. BUT, looking at just my isolated life: the year was pretty on point. Let's hope 2017 comes in and sweeps us off our feet (in a good way, not in like a Mortal Kombat kinda way) and that it doesn't end up being our last (looking at you, nuclear launch code buttons, quit looking so shiny). Cheers, dear friends! 

Feelin' funky about my 2016 reflections...
GET IT?? Because that's a mirror and there are stars??? :)

Thanks for the Wings

Do you hear what I hear?
Those sleigh bells? Just a jing, jing, jing-a-ling? A ring-ting-ting, ting-aling, too?

If you don't hear it, you're a damn scrooge. If you do hear it, then you're already dead... I mean, it's already too late, because I'm about to lose my g'damn mind with holiday cheer. Those jingle bells are my trigger. One second, I'm just a (fairly) normal gal. Then: the transformation. The eyes go wide, the smile high fives both ears as it ricochets about, and a gleeful madness lights up the entire face. Instant jump into excited, Rocky at the top of the stairs - esque pose. Shopping bags appear in hand. Garland strings are suddenly wrapped about her person. Bulbs shoot out of her palms, Spiderman style. And a high pitched squeal lets loose. THIS is Christmas, baby. Get on board or get the hell out of her way!

There are two traditions more than anything that kick off the "holiday" season for me. Both involve my running about like a mad woman, being alarmingly happy, and sweating glitter.

The first is, of course, deckin' out the halls for Christmas (and Hanukkah).

When living in my tiny apartment, my decorations may have "overwhelmed" the space. Now that I have double the square footage to deal with (thanks, beau! #livinginsin2016), this is a whole new game. I've now lived out "on my own" (adult!) for over five years (old!), and every December I've been determined to do something new with my embellishments. BUT, every year it's been a similar process:

1. Attack Plan and Staging. Early November involves me hulking around furniture and determining layouts. For a month, the living room looks lopsided due to the gaping hole where a tree will go, and my OCD quietly freaks out. The apartment gets cleaned / organized in anticipation. Color scheme by room is determined in tandem with Step 2.
2. Hoarding and Taking Inventory. In addition to the stockpile of trimmings I already have (several totes worth), the post-holiday sale period finds me buying up all the 80% off bulbs and tinsel I can get my hands on. That, in combination with an assault on the dollar store as soon as the Christmas aisles appear (now in September), requires some serious need for taking inventory. This step lets me mentally divvy up how much glitz I have available to cram into each room. And, ya know, helps me figure out if I need even more stuff.
3. Bedeckin' the Feckin' Halls!* Surrounded by my festive pile, ready to festoon, a force to be reckoned with. Hot cocoa made (schnapps/Bailey's sloshed in in liberal doses). Elvis Christmas album on the record player (complete with all the scratches 49 cents can buy). It's a Wonderful Life DVD on the tele.** That last bit is utterly essential. With a 2h15m run time, it's just long enough for a top speed decorating dash. Starting with the building/trimming of my two trees, from there I work down by the boxes, Russian nesting dolling them as I go and booting them back to the attic. Once the pile of goods is gone, the process is complete.
4. Aftermath. From that moment until the New Year, every moment I am home, those lights are on and that cocoa is bubbling (electric bill, be damned!). I bask. I'm a basker. I want every ounce of holiday joy that I can squeeze out. I want it oozing outta my pores. When I die, I want to be the Ghost of Christmas Forever. I'm like the little girl who hugs Frosty to death. (Good to the last drop? ...Too soon?) - You get it.

Looks like a cold front is movin' in on my Blue Christmas...

This year, things didn't go quite to schedule though...

1. I didn't have time to plan. We've pretty much been busy since we moved in (six months ago!). I had no strategy or time to formulate a system. I went into this (snow) blind.
2. I didn't have free reign. I had to awkwardly kick the beau out so I could lose my mind without him seeing and deciding to break up with me / getting in my way. No, I couldn't share it with him. I'm not ready for that shit yet. (He was sick anyway, so he complied.)
3. It took longer than normal. That lack of plan really bit me in the ass. I spent a long time sitting, surrounded by tinsel, bulbs and menorahs, panicking and wondering if I was putting everything in the right place or if I was going to end up disappointing everyone (read: myself). Before I knew it, George Bailey was shrieking around Bedford Falls, saying hello to buildings, like a total nutter, and I didn't even have the living room finished! AKA I basically just finished decorating... just now. WAY behind schedule. What a waste of holi-days! (insert old man chuckle here)

The second kick-off to the season is my BEST workout night of the year: the night of the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show.

Every year, I excitedly await the annual stomping of the runway by my army of angels. These glorious, powerhouse women work so hard to earn those wings, and they use their status to do beautiful work all over the world (fun fact: this year's VS fashion show raised over $3 million for charity). Anyone who wants to hop up on my feminist soap box and argue this one with me, have at it. To all those who call this event "smutty" - it's time we change the conversation from one that openly objectifies women, to one that focuses on elaborate costume design, stunning stage choreography and the collaborative efforts of so many talented people to bring together one magical night. Let's focus on the diverse group of vibrant women who radiate confidence and are having fun at a job that encourages both physical and mental strength. Some are mothers, some are fresh faces, all are warriors. It's g'damn inspiring. Like, I wanna grow up to be a VS Angel. 

The one hour a year in which the show is broadcasted, it's no-holds-barred. They spend all year working their booties off in order to shine as they don their angelic wings. Me? I spend that hour paying homage to their hard work. While they catwalk as a show of force for all their efforts, I exercise my face off. Non-stop push-ups, sit-ups, kick boxing, jumping jacking, planking, dancing, weight lifting, whatevering - all that matters is an hour straight of 119% effort in whatever form of exercise goes best with the jams being played on the runway. If it's a meh T-Swift performance, I ninja around all the "push her off the stage" moves that I wish the models would use on her in real life. If it's a stellar classic rock montage (which they've been wise to open with the past few years), I bust out all the Sweatin' to the Oldies moves I practiced in my youth.

Thanks for the wings, darlings!

No matter what: I keep moving. I break a sweat, without letting them see me sweat, just like the badass celestial beings acting as my fitspo. By the time the fantasy bra struts out, I have burned off enough calories to make up for the boat load of cookies I'll be consuming on Christmas eve. By the time the class photo happens and the credits roll, I'm half in tears from excitement and half in tears because I forgot to stretch (EVERY year! Gah!). It's a divine feeling all around.

SO, have yourselves a holly jolly holiday, friends. It really is the best time of the year.
(And if holiday cheer isn't a big enough selling point for you: December also means that 2016 will finally end and can quit torturing us - and that is really something to celebrate!)





* Note: this step occurs after Thanksgiving. This is one rule I refuse to budge on - the second I give in, there will be no stopping me from putting my tree up in August.
** Is that what you want (Mary)? You want (the moon)... a blog post about It's a Wonderful Life?  Well, by Zuzu's petals, I think I shall need to do an entirely separate post about this movie! There are not enough words in this world to describe my obsession over it, but I'll sure as hell try to summarize. This post is already far too long to discuss here.

Time to Get Some Work Done

As an "adult," one is expected to have a certain level of responsibility when it comes to health, appointment making, etc. Somehow, instead of accepting this duty to myself, I have avidly dodged and made a game of avoiding. (Shame. Start shaming here.) Despite being properly insured and able to pay for said appointments, I've failed to adult in this regard.

The eye doctor? How long can a one-year supply of contacts last? Welp, over five years, if you play your cards right. How long can a pair of glasses hang in there? Um, if you buy your own little glasses repair kit and have some tape, at least ten years.

The regular doctor? No. That one I don't avoid. Yearly checkups for my lady bits and overall health, those are important. Though blood draws I've shied away from at times.

Then there's the dentist. The damn dentist. Bane of my existence. After some awful experiences in my youth, I have avoided dental work like the plague. My teeth are 50% robot as is, with all the ancient fillings lurking about, so handing over more cha-ching to get more metal and torture wasn't a high priority on my list.

But then last week happened. I know I already recapped some of the emotions I went through on election day itself, but those were nothing compared to the vast swings of my mental state in the past seven days. As I laid awake, alone on the couch, staring into the early hours of Wednesday, November 9th, I was deep in the first stage of grief: denial. When they announced that the call had been made, and that the woman who should have been our first female president had conceded to the system, I morphed straight into the stage I shall reside in for the next four years: anger.

That little spark that said: don't grow complacent. This is not acceptable and you now have to take fate into your own hands. You need to work harder to improve yourself, to enhance your community, and to help others. Because things could get very scary in the years to come; but they don't have to, if we all do our part to shine a light on dark spaces, to build each other up, and do right by the planet. As youths, we were starry-eyed dreamers who wanted to save the world, but some of us got distracted along the way. Time to get back at it (even a little at a time).

So. Every day/week I'm making a list (don't worry, I won't share it all the time!) to make sure I've accomplished at least one thing in the following areas:

1. Something to improve myself (me)
2. Something to bring joy or show support to another (you)
3. Something to better my community or our union (we)

Here's some of the "you, me, we" items from week one:

• (we) Donated to Planned Parenthood
• (we) Researched and paired down the short list for charities in my community that I can volunteer for (based on timing and requirements for volunteers) - apps and phone calls to start up following my return to town after Thanksgiving
• (we) Started a positive-post-it girl-power mirror wall in the ladies room at the office

A positive spin, when real life gets shitty.

• (you) Discussed the election and positive ways to move forward with concerned friends and family
• (we) Yes, I wore my safety pin 
• (me) Saw a documentary on Maya Angelou - trying to watch more documentaries and read more works outside of my usual scope to get a broader look at the human experience - and OH this one was so fascinating
• (you) Went out to support a family member going through a rough time
• (you) Wrote a few letters / sent out care packages to a few friends - just because
• (me) Fell back into the movie watching and reading wormhole - taking time for the things I love (like seeing Fantastic Beasts and reading the next Outlander book)
• (we) Started following a organizations that post action items for citizens to influence government policies / help defend groups who could be at risk come January
• (we) Picked a child's name for our office holiday giving program
• (me) Re-listened to the speech Gwen Ifill gave at my commencement - which helped put some perspective on how much and how little has changed in the years since
• (we) Picked through my clothes to find some work outfits to donate to a local charity

You might be asking yourself: at what point did a post about dentistry morph into a little soap box speech about changing the world? The answer: It always was. Because, like taking care of one's teeth, taking care of yourself and your community is essential. Else, years later, you'll regret having not worked harder to keep things good in the first place, and will realize things have gotten rotten due to your neglect. And if you think a regular root canal is bad, imagine needing one on a much larger scale. That out-of-pocket expense is way too high to pay...

List writing to make a difference.

Soldiers in Petticoats

It's voting day, America. And I feel like I've taken a giant patriotism adrenaline needle straight to the chest, Pulp Fiction style.

This election has been so ridiculous, in so many ways. Whatever side of the aisle you live your life on, there's no denying that. It feels like we've been watching this unfold for years and years, all of it culminating tonight, when (hopefully) we'll know our nation's fate: one way or another. ((If you're going to pray for anything: let it be that there's a landslide, so we don't have a nation divided for the next four years, and let it be that we know the results tonight, so we don't have another "hanging chad" situation to drag this out further.))

No matter where you stand, the one thing you need to do: cast your vote. If you have an excuse as to why you won't be voting, please let me know and I'll happily take that excuse out back and let you return to performing your civic duty. Too many people over the centuries fought to keep this basic right, so don't waste it. And, if the presidential race is the one that has you in a tizzy - there are other important items up for vote. No. Excuses. Let your voice be heard through your ballot; without it, your post-election complaining will fall on deaf ears, because your voice will literally not have counted in the process.

Four years ago: My polling place at the time was an elementary school. After voting, upon leaving the building I saw two young girls, one holding up a music book and the other holding a violin and playing a very broken version of "America the Beautiful." It didn't matter how happy or angry the election was making people, it was clear: we're all Americans, we're all just folks. THAT is how election day makes me feel: proud and patriotic.

The past year: The media has swung in every direction, showing messages of hate (from both sides). The truth has been stretched, broken and jabbed. Awful things have been underplayed, as jokes and mere entertainment. Small things have been overplayed, as awful and unforgivable. Messages have been muddied. The world has been watching as a great nation has pandered to the jeering masses and let loose the circus. (A circus whose finale determines the fate of the world economies.) Sure, some of it's been entertaining, but mostly it's just been horrifying. THAT is how election day makes me feel: anxious.

Give peace a chance, friends.
The election charade is almost over, time to get
back to working together and getting things done.

This morning: I woke up in a fervor of excitement. Unable to vote before work due to an early meeting, there were others up at dawn in my apartment building. I smiled to one, saying, "Happy Election Day!" to which she responded, "Heading to get in line at the polls now to beat the rush!" We high-fived. Yes. Two strangers, at 6:15 am on a Tuesday randomly high-fived. Because this country is a beautiful place. I have no clue what political affiliation that woman is, all that mattered was a shared appreciation for the opportunity to be heard. THAT is how election day makes me feel: excited.

This afternoon: I'll be in line (I hope) to vote. The weightiness of the decision not lost on me, I cannot wait to say that in this unforgettable election, I picked which side of history I wanted to be on. No matter how it turns out, my ballot represented my voice. And the voices of all those before me who didn't live to see this day (who I think would be pretty damn proud to have a woman finally have a real chance at representing our nation on the world stage). You can bet there will be tears tonight. I hope they're tears of joy.

THAT is how election day makes me feel: like we're at a turning point.
This is it. Don't get scared now.

Yeah, I'll say it... I'm with Her.

Takin' a Chill Pill

Winter is coming. And my shivery soul is dreading the hell out of it.

Wisconsin winters create a sort of inescapable cold. The kind that chills you to the bone and settles in for five to nine months. A cold that makes the first 40 degree day of spring seem like shorts weather. Yeah, I've grown up with it. Yeah, I can deal with it. But no, that doesn't mean I'm on board with it.

Living all these years in the frozen tundra, I have a lot of memories about the cold. After a particularly chilly happy hour the other night (I still can't feel my feet and my bum knee is basically resigned to never bend again) and much discussion about how this winter may be the worst one in awhile (if the Farmer's Almanac says it's so, it is the frickin' law of the land), many of those have bubbled up to the surface...

• When I was in pre-K, there was a blizzard. I don't remember if I was only enrolled in half-days or if it was cancelled due to bad weather, I just remember being bundled up in my snowpants, boots, puffy coat, hat and mittens - a mini, mobile marshmallow. My grandma came to pick me up and half dragged me through the parking lot because of the drifting snow and wind. People kept getting stuck in the lot, but my grandma had a big old 1980's Bronco, so we were going to be fine. She popped this little puffer into the back and went around to get in herself. The back seat had a faux-fur (green/brown in color) thrown over it and my grandma told me I had to stay on the fur, and wrap myself in it. I'm not sure if this was because the heat in the Bronco wasn't fully working due to the cold, or if it was her attempt to keep me in one spot while she maneuvered the storm. Likely, the latter. She told me to save my stories for later (I was a chatty child) and just listen to the radio. The song was "Then You Can Tell Me Goodbye." My grandma sang every word in her smooth baritone (the result of years of lipstick stained cigarettes, likely), while I sat as a silent Eskimo, wrapped in fur. And that song reminds me of her to this day, the woman who always helped maneuver the storm.
• In college, I was friends with an Australian exchange student. We were sitting in class when the first snow of the year began to fall. She stared out the window, completely distracted for the next hour, waiting. As soon as the period ended, she excitedly ran out and we followed, to watch her experience snow for the very first time. Before we could stop her, she scooped up a big handful of fluffy pure white stuff and held it up to us in amazement, ignoring our protests. After a minute of excitedly talking about it, as I tried to force her to put it down, she suddenly looked at me in horror and said, "I can't feel my hands, what's happening??" At that point she finally dropped what was left of the flakes, appalled that it had betrayed her. We took her off to the bathroom to run her hands under room temperature water (never hot - we've all played that game!) and explain to her how mittens work and how not to get frostbite. She was alarmed, resentful, and yet fascinated. Sure, we could've tried to stop her, but it was a beautiful joy to witness (even with a dramatic bitter shift at the end). And really, some things you just have to experience on your own to fully understand. 
• In early 2014, the polar vortex struck. I was living in the upper of a poorly insulated, old house. Single at the time, I had no alternative place to stay. The cost to heat my one bedroom apartment - keeping it at a brisk 58 degrees - was almost $200 a month, and this poor gal refused to pay beyond that.  When the vortex came, I was basically a sitting duck. The windows were already covered in their seasonal caulking/plastic, but I also took the liberty of barricading furniture against walls to act as insulation. I hung "tapestries" (aka blankets) to block doors. I baked daily. Anything to keep warm. One particular day, with a windchill around -40 degrees, my car wouldn't start. I didn't have internet at the time, so I remember walking down the desolate street (not a soul was out - no one wanted to foolishly "brave" the frigid doom), three blocks down to the local coffee shop. The cold was so harsh, it cut through my layers like a knife. I worked remotely from the coffee shop until early afternoon, when they were literally closing due to the cold. Upon my return home, I gathered up every remaining blanket, pillow and stuffed animal, and created a fortress against the cold, in the middle of my living room (my two couches acting as the main walls). Wearing sweatpants over my tights, and a giant penguin Weasley sweater over my under armor, I popped on two layers of fuzzy socks and a stocking cap and burrowed into my nest. I'd lit every candle I could find, determined to warm myself by the fire. My heat was set to 70, but to little avail. I watched the frost grow and crawl up the windows and kept my electric tea kettle brewing within arms length, to feed my booze-laced cocoa. It was one of the longest nights I remember ever having... And yet, it was probably the closest I'll ever come to actually being a caterpillar in a cocoon - so that made it oddly cool. Though my metamorphosis was far less beautiful/graceful, I'm sure.

Should've gotten a hand blanket...

• A different year during college, there had been a blizzard that had covered the campus in several feet of drifted snow. The email went out: all cars must be moved so lots can be plowed. A deadline was imposed. Panic rippled throughout the townhouse village I lived in: no one had shovels. Not having a car at the time, I went out into the fray, fully bundled up in my winter gear, to help out where I could. The scene was both ridiculous and heartwarming. Hungover young adults, donning stocking caps and boots over their pajamas. Groups fully decked out in winter snowboarding gear, complete with goggles. Students in tennies and hoodies. All using whatever they could find to free the cars. With an assortment of pots, pans, bowls, and sheer willpower, we slowly uncovered and pushed out vehicle after vehicle. Teamwork and frostbite abounded that day. 

The cold is inevitable. Whilst living this far north of the Mason-Dixon, there's really no way to avoid it. All one can do is hope to make some warm memories to heat up the heart during those cold times... 

....Cheesy? Way too cheesy on that one? 

Yeah, most definitely. 

Really, I often get to the point where, despite my wonderful memories from various chilly moments in my life, I get totally fretful about the approach of winter. I figure one may as well pack on a few pounds and just use the walrus weight to ward against the chill. BUT then you have to work twice as hard in the spring to get fit again, so that's no good. Really, it's like...  just suck it up, buttercup, let's all pretend we're tough mid-westerners who relish the ice, grab our liquid blankets, and we'll all hold up together til the thaw comes. Let's hope there are some shenanigans to keep us occupied til then. 

Is this heaven? It's Iowa.

When we'd go visit my dad as kids, we had certain movies we'd watch over and over. Mostly in the vein of Star Wars and Monty Python movies (it sure explains a lot, doesn't it?), but once in a while we'd bust out other classics, like Field of Dreams. Keep in mind, my dad isn't a big sports guy by any stretch of the imagination. Maybe he liked the idea of baseball. Or maybe he just liked Kevin Costner (that would explain the Waterworld years...). Who knows. Whatever it was, that movie ended up in our regular rotation.

((Note: we also went to the field itself. I got a t-shirt there. It's white and shows a cornfield, and when you wear it out in the sun, baseball players appear in the cornfield. And when you love it and wear it and wash it for ten years, eventually the players stay out all the time - there's probably a life lesson there somewhere...))

Genuinely not sure what got me thinking about this particular film today. I was probably still post-funk musing over life. Trying to figure out if I'm "on track" for where I want to be and what I want to be doing, etc. Determining next steps and goals for general life doings.... Okay, really, it was thirty. Thirty is coming. While I still have plenty of months to go, when it hits and someone asks me if I accomplished everything I wanted to and if I'm where I want to be for thirty, well, I want to be able to tell them that I crushed it in the two decades prior, bring on the next. That looming birthday has my brain running in all sorts of directions.

Which brings me back to Field of Dreams. Having not seen it in ten years, l still recall my biggest take-aways from it. Some little life lessons that weren't spoken by a disembodied voice, but that a teenage girl somehow mustered out of what some call a "sports" movie.

• It's not about where you live, it's about what you make of it. Whether it's a corn field in the middle-of-nowhere Iowa or a city in Wisconsin. Wherever you are, the one thing you can control is your own actions and your own happiness. So make the most of where you are and bring your aspirations to life wherever you may be.
• Sometimes you have to take a big risk to get a reward. That reward may not be what you expected, and it may take awhile to get there, but if you're lucky, it'll be worth it. Dream big, take a leap of faith, give it a go. Better than looking back later and regretting that you didn't try. 
• Who cares if people think you're a nutter. There will always be haters, but the ones who love you will support you when you need supporting. And, more importantly, they'll be honest with you when you've gone off the rails, but will figure out a way to help you achieve your goals anyway.
• You can learn a lot about yourself through helping others. Even if they don't want your help.
• It really is the little things. Life has a lot of stressors, but don't be afraid to step back and look at the big picture. Relax, enjoy yourself, and realize how valuable time is. Have the dog and the beer. That little dose of clarity can help realign everything and put it right again.
• It's always better to forgive. Grudges can last a lifetime, and more often than not you'll regret having held onto them.

If you build it...

• Always appreciate family and value your time with them. Someday, they won't be around any longer, and all that will remain of them will be your memories. Make them and cherish them. And yes, go "have a catch" with your damn dad already.
• Nostalgia is king. People just want to be reminded of "all that once was good and could be again." They'll do anything to get a piece of that 'member-berry pie. Sometimes it's wholesome, and sometimes it's not. Indulge occasionally, but don't get so wrapped up in chasing the past that you neglect the present (like your bills). 
• Use your imagination. You're never too old to hope and envision a brighter world. Every so often, the voices in your head aren't totally crazy.
• Read works by passionate people. Don't like, go kidnap them at any point, but taking the time to read and learn about someone who was (or is) very passionate (especially if it was during an era of change/reform) can help give a unique perspective.
• Don't wait for tomorrow. Jump in now and look at each day like a new adventure. After all, to quote the doc, "At the time, you don't think much of it. You know, we just don't recognize the most significant moments of our lives while they're happening. Back then I thought, 'Well, there'll be other days.' I didn't realize that that was the only day." Seize it and treasure it, because you may not get another chance.

As I rush towards the thirty year mark, I reflect more and more on what I learned from my "youth" but somehow forgot along the way. Yeah, I often frame it in the context of some sort of pop culture reference, but as long as it's somehow inspirational in a good way, what's the harm in that? (#amirite) If at some point you see a blog post about how I've kidnapped a famous author and am conversing with ghosts (OR more alarmingly, have moved to Iowa and suddenly like baseball), well... definitely throw an intervention then. But in the meantime, I'll start making up a plan to see if I can't build a place where dreams come true.

Sunday Somethings

Today was a strange Sunday for me. As the day closes, I can clearly see several encapsulated moments - little vials to be dumped into a Pensieve, as it were. So, thought I'd share them, all nice and neat and wrapped in a bow for y'all.

• I woke up tired, at 8:00 am, after around five hours of sleep. Quietly, I began cleaning up the remains of a stellar apartment-warming party the night before. Bidding adieu to a departing houseguest as I emptied the dishwasher. Everything was quiet, and peaceful, and I had the world all to myself. It was very serene after the prior evening of excessive noise. 
• Noon. After cancelled plans, the beau and I went in search of brunch. Or, perhaps more aptly, lunch. In a city known for brunch, I was super disappointed when we sat down at a place that told us they did not have brunch at all, but only breakfast, until 2:00 pm. It was a rare moment where I actually walked out of a restaurant. Brunch means both. You can't have only eggs available at noon, friend. Not in this town. 
• 2:15 pm. The beau headed off for work, and since it was such a rare, beautiful October day, I hit the trail along the lake. For an hour and a half I just listened to music and walked along, admiring the world. Half the leaves are turned and departing from their branches, the other half desperately clinging to the green glow of summer. The travelling Oktoberfest beer garden bumped out polka music which echoed along the shoreline, bouncing off the buildings of the city. (The same music which has played from noon to night every day for the past week, and has graced our home with hourly renditions of "Roll Out the Barrel.") It was perfection. 
• At the empty beach, on my walk, there was a young family. They were introducing their small baby to sand for what seemed to be the first time. The dad, clutching the child by both hands, slowly lowered her down until her bare feet touched down. The kid's face lit up so bright, as if she were the first human setting foot on Mars or something. After seconds of confused joy, she began sprinting forward, longing for more new experiences. She was bliss. Her mother recorded the whole thing. I was in the background of that moment, and will be forevermore because of that recording.
• There is a nearby pier that was strangely unoccupied, so I walked all the way out into the lake, as far as it would take me, marveling back at the skyline. Sitting on the graffitied wall, I watched the waves lap up against the pier and the rocks. I took a million photos of the "artwork" on the pier. Most just silly tagging, but some just there for the beauty. It took me a time to realize why no one else was around, and that it had been growing darker. That the fog had begun to roll in, and that rain was eminent. So I headed home.

"Trying not to look so young and miserable..."

• 5:00 pm. At the mall, meeting with my sister for lunch, realizing how nice it is to live somewhere where friends and family are so easily accessible. Where, when wanting to have a few people over for a housewarming, a troupe of around 30 shows up. Where, when you call up your sister and say you want to go see a movie, she doesn't want to see the same one but meets up with you for a meal beforehand anyways. What a lucky lot in life.
• 6:45 pm. A date with myself to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (part 2) in IMAX. Perfect seat, popcorn in hand. Ready for all the feels. That's when it began. The woman right behind me (of course) who would NOT stop her running commentary of the film. Every character who came on screen, she had to announce who it was. Every moment of silence, she interjected some quip. A loud cackle. A misplaced reference. It wouldn't end. This woman was reprimanded by her family with her at the theater, and by several other people in the audience who implored her to just watch the film in silence. (There were even swear words exchanged at one point, and threats of violence.) To no avail. 
• Now, don't get me wrong, I still felt all the feels (and cried like eight different times) and enjoyed the movie immensely. But, I probably enjoyed it at about 80% of what I could have, had this woman not been there. Throughout the film, the brainstorming began, as I plotted out exactly what I was going to say to this woman at the end of the film. (There was nothing to be done during the run-time, clearly, as she had ignored everyone else.) I had several versions ready, as the movie drew to a close. Then it occurred to me: this lonely, odd woman, probably just didn't have anyone else to express her excitement to normally, and maybe genuinely thought this would be a good outlet. Or maybe she just liked HP so much and couldn't help herself. (I mean, I had done a few little fist pumps throughout, but they were a quiet affair.) The real question: What good would it do for me to be mean to this lady? So, I kept my venomous words to myself, and instead, at the end of the movie when I stood up, I turned around and faced her and threw her five full seconds worth of straight on shade, in silence. In that shade, I tried to convey that what she had done was in fact, awful, as she had disrupted a fellow Potterhead from fully immersing back into a world that we can normally now only enjoy at home. I don't hope she feels awful, I just hope she understands.
• 9:00 pm - the drive home. The fog had fully taken over, and the closer I got towards the lake, the denser it got. With Broken Bells pulsing out of my car speakers, it felt like I was literally in a dream state. The world was actually a blur. The drive was movement wrapped in mist. It was soothing and yet perfectly eerie.

"Girl take a seat, rest your weary bones..."

Whether today was a wonderful day, or just a strange one, is probably a moot point. For ups and downs, it just...was. It was a Sunday. Not sure what kind of mood it has put, or kept me in, but I'll take it for what it was: another day gone by. 

I'll Huff and I'll Puff

People spend a lot of time trying to "figure out" who they are. It takes years of self reflection, of growing and nurturing values, etc. and some people still feel like they don't quite understand their purpose or fully "know" themselves. Over the past few years, it's become pretty clear to me who I am. And honestly, I've come to terms with it. Maybe I knew all along. The straight fact, that I may indeed be... a Hufflepuff.

Sure, I initially fought it. Not just because yellow isn't my color, and people think of Hufflepuffs as total duffers, but mostly because I always felt Ravenclaw was a better place for me. Not saying I don't still have Claw tendencies, but upon reflection, the Puff is more clearly my bag.

Before I jump into some Huffle-gushing, let's lay out some quick canon, as spoken by the Sorting Hat, about the core qualities of each house (rhetoric compiled from various sortings), for those of you who may not recall (why are we friends again? #jokesnotjokes):

Gryffindor: bold from wild moor: brave at heart, daring, nerve, and chivalry; value the bravest; teach those with brave deeds to their name; want the bravest / boldest
Slytherin: shrewd from fen: cunning folks, use any means to achieve their ends; value great ambition (power-hungry); teach those whose ancestry's purest; want pure-blood wizards of great cunning
Ravenclaw: fair from glen: wise, ready minded, wit and learning; value the cleverest; teach those whose intelligence is surest; want those of sharpest mind
Hufflepuff: sweet from valley broad: just and loyal, patient, true, unafraid of toil; value hard workers; teach the lot and treat them just the same; want the rest 

Here's why I don't cut it for the others:

• So for Gryffindor, we've got the show-boaters. Not it. Also, the most daring thing I've done all week is drill a hole in the wall to mount a hook for my coat - in a rental! (Yeah, that's right, take THAT security deposit!) Basically, the only reason I could be a Gryf is because I look great in maroon.
• Slytherin is a bunch of assholes. Elitist (maybe racist is a better term?) jerks who would sell their own mother to get ahead. Sure, I've got my share of ambitions, but not at the expense of others. Cunning I can pull off, but only like, to get a student discount at the movie theater, so definitely not ruthless enough to be a Slyth. 
• In my youth, I was definitely a Ravenclaw. Studious little straight A student, witty AF (read: snark) and eager to soak up more knowledge. Then I got booted out of academia and into the real world (via graduation) and realized that maybe intelligence wasn't the only factor that could get one ahead, and in fact, being smart actually just pissed people off. Yes, I still love learning, and witty banter is my fave pastime, but you can't just be half-ass Claw. Plus, the other day I accidentally cleaned my stove with bug repellent because I couldn't be bothered to read the bottle, so... that may be an automatic DQ from this house.

Which brings me back to my Puffdom. Originally, I wrote up a bunch about this, but it sounded pretty cocky, so I deleted 90% of it. We Puffs are a modest bunch.

• Hard working and unafraid of toil: As children, my dad used to have us shovel rocks and dig trenches - we grew up working. My summer job to pay for college was hard manual labor (as a BAMF custodian). All those late nights in the library while at university - I worked my tail off (you can even look, it's not there anymore, I worked it all the way off). Long hours I can do, if there's a job needs doing.
• Loyal, patient, true: Need me? I'll be there. Basically, if there's anything I can do to make sure that someone else has an easier/better time of life, I'll try and do it. And I won't sit around expecting something in return. This gal, has your back, through thick and thin... always. *insert still-not-over-it-single-Snape-tear here*
• Just and treats everyone equally: Everyone deserves a chance; we Puffs don't discriminate. Fairness and free hugs for all. We'll patiently work together to achieve betterment for the team, not just ourselves. As headmaster Zefron once said, "We're all in this together."

Hufflepuff problems, amirite??

Also, just to disparage some of the Huffle-haters. Here's a couple little tidbits on why, it turns out, Hufflepuff is a pretty stellar house after all:

• The Battle of Hogwarts - Slytherins cleared out, so did most of the Ravenclaws. The reckless Gryffindors (of course) decided to stick around, but you know who else did, too? That's right, the Hufflepuffs. Why? Because Puffs are always ready to roll up their sleeves and get the job done. We're loyal to you and we're going to throw down when shit gets real. We're not just fair-weather fans. Like, have you ever SEEN a pissed off badger? It'll frickin' rip your face off.
• The common room - it's in the same hallway as the Hogwarts kitchens. 'Nuff said.
• Quidditch - remember that match where Hufflepuff beat Gryffindor, 150 to 50? Sure, it was because clumsy Gryf seeker Harry Potter fell off his broom (okay, it was because of a Dementor attack), but Puffs still won. And even though they won fair and square, they still graciously offered to play a rematch, just to make sure the Gryffs didn't feel they'd been mistreated. We're just that damn nice. (Three years later, when HP couldn't stay on his broom again, we just whooped their butts - we may not be the star athletes of Hogwarts, but we'll take a victory when we can!)
• Noteable Puffs - They include: Tonks, total badass kween; C. Diggory, total spare, but arguably easy on the eyes; Professor Sprout, everyone's fave frumpy prof whose garden could kill you; Newt Scamander, mister "I seem to have misplaced my magical creatures" himself; the Fat Friar, who didn't let death stop him from drinking and having a good time.
• Also, as you know, Hufflepuffs are particularly good FINDERS. (Find!)
• The Badger - our house spirit animal.* Often underestimated, because they're pretty chill and hang out in their burrows underground (probs why we're so good at Herbology, earthy and whatnot). It's well known that honey badger (in particular) don't give a shit. Honey badger does all the work and the others just pick up the scraps.** How typical.  But if you do something to piss it off, or threaten it's fellow badgers, it will take. you. down. (Go Youtube "Badger attack") A fierce friend, the badger, just like we Puffs.
• HP - maybe it doesn't stand for Harry Potter, but instead... HufflePuff? Yeah. Sit on that one for a minute. Let it marinate. 

Sure, in our lame muggle version of the "real world," there is no Sorting Hat to tell us it's okay to be a certain way. We don't get to act like a cutthroat asshole, push someone off their broom, just shrug and say, "Sorry, I'm a Slytherin, that's how we do," and everyone's just like, "OH, okay, makes total sense. Carry on." Instead, we have to make our own magic, and decide who we want to be all on our own. Figuring it out does feel pretty darn rewarding though... Ten (adult) points for Hufflepuff!




* Muggle-born guitarist Brian May of Queen (who we all know is actually a wizard) has even spent time defending the majestic badger. Clearly, we Hufflepuffs have the right kind of allies.
** Note how in that video there is both a a bird and a snake (Ravenclaw? Slytherin?) that try to take advantage of the badger; one gets scraps, the other gets scrapped. Bam, baby!
*** In case you wondered if there is an elaborately choreographed Lady Gaga parody regarding Hufflepuff, well, there is. Put your badger paws up; you won't be able to unsee it. 

Accidental Cardio

Something has been amiss this week. Maybe it's those post-wedding blues. Or the return of fall, which means that winter is just around the bend. Or maybe it's just fluxes in hormones and weather. (Or maybe I just got bit on the bum by a bitch bug.) Whatever it is, this girl needed to jostle something back into place.

Best place to start: tackling the walrus and getting back to some sort of physical activity (other than bustin' out sick dance moves at various wedding receptions).

So, gave it a go. Jumped back into my go-to TIU workout. Rearranged our second bedroom so all the mirrors were just perfect for me to openly judge myself so I'd work extra hard. Locked the beau out and went to town for a time. Decent workout, clearly out of shape, but did pretty swell for still dealing with my bum knee (#CuzIm90).

Post workout, bopped over to the bathroom to rinse off. Decided to bump some jams. I haven't gotten in good shower jams in far too long, so spent a few minutes deciding on music. Tried to reflect on the source of my funk (my weird week funk, not like, my groovin' dance funk) and decided on a throwback. Went way back and tried to think what my favorite inspirational tunes had been back in middle school, during a much simpler time. Came up with the quintessential song: Under Pressure by Queen and Bowie. Freddie and Bowie, my straight up favorites. That was just the ticket!

Putzed with my phone to get the song going. Set it on the sink and hopped in the shower. After the infamous opening beats, as the stellar vocals chimed in, I realized the volume was way too high. Moved the shower head aside, shook some water off. Quickly scrambled out of the tub and turned it down. All set. Back in shower. Hot water, cool shampoo, hitting all the right notes.

Hardly a minute in, the song stops. Hands in hair, mid shampoo, my eyes popped open, filled with rage. Shampoo in said eyes. A cranky sigh, a half-assed rinse, and I was out of the tub again, this time caring less about dripping, as my frustration built. Can't a lady just get her groove back and shower and Bowie in peace without all these interruptions??

Realized it was a WIFI issue, so spent several minutes awkwardly pacing naked, with my phone above my head as the water flung off my waving arms and I tried to regain signal. Finally, restored. Set phone down and turned back to shower, singing all the "de da day"s leading up to Bowie's epic line.

Opened curtain, got in.
"It's the terror of knowing what this world is about..." 
Realized I wasn't alone.
"...Watching some good friends screaming..."
There was also a GIANT centipede that was half crawled out of that little "overflow" thing above the drain and below the spout. It was halfway out and was already two inches long. Panic set in.
"...'LET ME OUT!'"

"These are the days it never rains, but it pours."

With zero regard for water spillage, completely ripped the shower curtain out of my way in order to find something to smash the creature with.
"Turned away from it all, like a blind man..."
Total flood, water everywhere. Thrashed about. Grabbed toilet paper, but it just like melted (as TP is wont to do when it gets wet), so that was no good.
"...Sat on a fence, but it don't work." 
Decided to sacrifice the pink polka dot hand towel from the dollar store. Turned back to the shower to destroy the pede.
"Keep coming up with love, but it's so slashed and torn. Why, oh why?"
Dramatically threw back curtain. Further flooding.
"Whyyyyyyyy?"

And it was no where. It had escaped / gone back to the fiery depths from whence it came. I set the towel on the tub ledge and got back in to just finish my shower, my heart racing. Closed the curtain... and that's where it was.
"Insanity laughs, under pressure we're breaking..." 
A silent, open-mouthed shriek of horror, and I began batting at the curtain. The pede scuttled frantically down to the tub, away from the flailing plastic. Water flying everywhere. More scuttling, more waving about. Total chaos.
"Can't we give ourselves one more chance?? Why can't we give love, that one more chance? Why can't we give love, give love, give love...."
STOMP. Instinct took over and I literally took my bare foot and smashed the pede against the tub.

Then I had a nervous breakdown. Filled with regret over my reflex, I attempted to scrub off all my skin with that damn pink polka dot towel which had failed me. At no point though did I regret the song choice. And that's what really maters.

Sorry, towel, I have to go light you on fire now.
(Note: blur is from my literal throwing in of said towel)

I Frickin' Love Your Wedding

As a child, I was never one to dream about weddings. There was no secret hope chest or promises of bridesmaidship to the gals at the lunch table. I wasn't opposed to marriage in general - my Barbie dolls had more relationships than Fleetwood Mac and got remarried every other day - just wasn't interested in it for myself. Fast forward many years, and there's still no fantasies brewing or elaborate Pinterest boards lurking, BUT, without even a slightest bit of sarcasm, I can honestly say:

I frickin' love your wedding.

To be clear: I'm not obsessed with weddings in general. Just yours. Nuptials for a stranger? Pfft, don't care much, just a party. But your wedding, my dear friend... oh, what a treat!

Seriously. It does bring us all together.

When it comes to your wedding, there are a few things I want you to know:

1. This ain't my first rodeo. Having attended 28 weddings in a span of seven years* (a four-time bridesmaid), I've seen many things. They've been at bars, in backyards, at country clubs, on a mountain, and everywhere in between. Each one holds a special place in my heart and is uniquely its own. No two are the same and each shows the flare specific to the couple. The only thing in common: a whole lot of love. Love is like oxygen, dude; I need it to live. May I be lucky enough to be in attendance for a million more "I do's." 
2. Reach out and I'll be there. Contributing in some way or making you less stressed, it's all I want. You've invited me to be a part of your special day, and I'm going to make it as amazing as possible. Give me a glue gun or a guest list, and let's get to work! If you want to get married on the damn moon, I'll build a rocket ship and get there (early, so I get a good seat). 
3. I want it all. Every detail. I want to know every little detail. Really, I do. From flowers to footwear. The whole process of picking the venue, the photographer, the DJ, the wedding party, the hashtag. The engagement story and the full aftermath. The look of your new signature (if you're changing your name at all that is - #bosslady). All the Pinterest projects you plan to undertake and every DIY that ends up going to hell or falling to the wayside as the big day approaches. Every scuffle related to the seating arrangement or guest list, every minor meltdown, every tiff between you and your mom. I live for the drama. I drink that shit right up and am genuinely interested when I'm asking about your nuptials. 
4. I'm gathering intel. Those details? I'm internalizing them to offer as guidance to future brides. And to judge others against (because yes, we all do that). Plus, someday, if I have to go through the madness myself, I'll have the benefit of all the chaotic wisdom from hordes of brides and grooms in my back pocket to remind myself what to avoid and what magic works best.
5. This gal is a sucker for traditions. Popping bows and popping babies at the bridal shower. Awkward dollar dances and post-ceremony receiving lines. Grand marches. Tinking glass. Old, new, borrowed blue. First dances. First looks. First cake-to-the-face. Your grandma's veil and your mama's pearls... oh my heart! Sure, a lot of traditions are total malarkey,** but that doesn't mean they aren't fun. And, yes, I will ask all about them in advance - before some extended family member who's hellbent on them harasses you first.
6. Backup photographer, right here. Because damn you're gorgeous, and I just can't help it. You'll see the photos by the time your five year anniversary hits... probably.



Your bridesmaids are wearing chucks and sandals?!
STOP! I LOVE it! Let me take 50 photos and insta-hashtag them!

7. Your family is my family. Mother of the bride? My BFF. Crazy auntie so-and-so? She and I just did shots. Cousin whoever? We're in the photobooth. Groom's dad? I wrote his toast and handed him a hanky while he read it. On this day, we're all family.
8. Your friends are my friends. Yeah, I'm totally cool sitting at your childhood friend table (this was my most valuable asset for years as a typically solo attendee - easy filler for table gaps). Hearing  tales of your misadventures from a time when I didn't know you is a fantastic window into how you became who you are. Not one of us have the exact same moments / stories with the happy couple, but we all got picked to be at their wedding. We all merited being a part of their lives. So I'll tell you mine, if you tell me yours. 
9. There will be tears. Odds are, I will cry. Like a baby. It's not going to be dainty; it will likely be loud. The sight of the groom when he sees his bride the first time, the hug and awkward handshake as the dad "hands over" his daughter, the cracking voices as the couple tries to keep it together during their vows - I weep. I am a major weeper. Niagara Falls, Frankie angel. (Which is why I have so many movie quote gifs about crying on hand - just in case.) And yes, I did bring tissues. Oodles of them.
10. I'll be at the bar. The bartender and I are bound to be friends. I'm sorry in advance if you've declared an open bar. You knew the crowd of hooligans you invited, so just grab a drink and I'll meet you on the dance floor (the Electric Slide is playing, and my dancing shoes are ready to go). Promise not to be as drunk as your mom. 
11. Your wedding day is frickin' MAGIC. When we're young, we get the spotlight all the time. The older we get, the fewer moments we have a light shine on just us. At your wedding, you get that light. Shine on, you happy couple. Shine brighter than that diamond on your hand! On your big day, I want you to feel special and unique like the little snowflake that you are. This moment is YOURS. Anyone who tries to make it anything less than magical, I will happily take out back for you. Ain't nobody got time for naysayers when you're checking off milestones! You go dance your face off and talk to whoever you want, throw obligation to the wind and you just enjoy. If you're doing it right, you only get one go at it! 

More than anything, I want you to know that my love for you doesn't stop after the vows are said. You may have a new person legally bound to love you, but I'll be waving around in the background, throwing glitter at your life for years to come. (You can't get rid of me just because you got married; sorry, friends! From this point on, I just have to fight harder for your attention is all.) The ceremony itself is just a representation of a commitment. A commitment for two people to care for one another, and a commitment of all witnessing to support the couple as they grow together. The ceremony is the fun part; the marriage is the hard work part.  And I'm in it to win it for both. So when you come back home from the honeymoon, and life kicks back in after the year of nonstop planning, and the magical wedding happiness bubble pops a bit... just give me a call. I'll be ready to hit up happy hour with you to figure out where to go next.



* My heart is breaking in advance for the time that this wedding train slows down. Baby showers just aren't as much fun. ALSO, for those whose weddings I could not attend (I think there were three of you), due to scheduling conflicts, travel restrictions, etc. - I'm sorry, I'm the worst. Please can we have a re-do? You can re-wear your finery (I know you have that dress in the box in a closest somewhere), and I'll get drunk and cry and tell you how happy I am for you and give you presents. It'll be fantastic!
** GAH! My world is shattered, I always thought it was "balarkey" not "malarkey" - been saying that one wrong for years!

Talking 'bout my Generation

Warning: I may or may not be cranky AF in this post. There is more than one way to skin a cat (thanks, Boomers, for that one), and my views on this topic can swing depending on context, but  for today it's all the rage.

Today at work came up yet another conversation about those damn "millennials." I'm in marketing, so this is a frequent topic, as millennials are a hot commodity for advertisers. If you can "hook em young," you get the coveted "brand loyalty" that will pay out for years to come.

BUT no one can agree on who exactly this group is, or what age range it includes. Some say those born between 1980 and 2000. Others break that into Gen Y and Gen Z. If the range is that wide, then anyone age 36 to 16 is getting clumped together. And we're allllll getting pigeon-holed into the same frickin' stereotypes (so quit being so snooty, Gen Y, we're all in this together).

So, when I commented that what we were really targeting for marketing purposes (young moms) was the "older millennials" - it was like I'd shot each Gen X and Boomer in the room straight in the face. OLD?! How dare I! Typical youth, being ridiculous! They got so hung up on the word "old" that they didn't get my point -- that the "millennial" generation isn't just one small group, and more importantly, it's not as simply defined as their countless conferences would have them believe.*

Here's where I get a bit ranty...

The one thing I think all millennials agree on - we hate fucking being called millennials. The word comes with a negative connotation (created by the media) of being lazy, entitled sheep, herding toward the latest social media craze. If the label is bad, the images are worse. As a friend of mine put it: they can call us whatever they want, as long as they stop pinning up Lena Dunham** as a stock photo for our generation.

Sure, every generation feels "misunderstood" at some point. And while stereotypes are often rooted in some form of truth, that truth is sometimes found via only a small sample size. Putting that aside, let me bitch about a few 'leading definitions' of my generation for a minute here:

1. Delayed rights of passage. They call us the Peter Pan generation. Not just because we all love the movie Hook, but because we "won't" grow up. As if we purposely refuse. Well guess what, it's hard to grow up when you graduate in a recession and can't get a job. We didn't break the market, we were just kids. Those who came before us shot the economy in the face and then blamed us for moving back home. We wanted so desperately not to that we all eventually accepted jobs with horrid pay so we could spend that pittance on overpriced apartments to prove we could make it. Which lead to...
2. Debt issues. Yep, the price of higher education and interest rates on student loans decided to skyrocket. So when we came out into that recession, we came carrying the weight of thousands of dollars in debt on our backs. Oh yeah, and those shitty jobs have set us up to make less money over our lifetimes. Because when you get a pay raise on dirt, you just get slightly more dirt. And unless you live in Waterworld, that really doesn't help you out. But of course, the real reason we're poor is because we're just....
3. Lazy bastards with side gigs who spend all their money on smart phones. AKA we have to work two or three jobs just to pay rent and minimum payments on our loans. And the only light of hope while we work 60 hour work weeks (salaried at $30k a year) is to have some escapism via the tiny technology we carry in our pockets that connects us to the world and which we rely on for our...
4. Social media obsession. Since our lives are frequently rubbish, we live vicariously through the "me-myself-and-my-fabulous-friends-and-adventures" stars of the Youtubes and blogosphere that we mindlessly scroll through (while sitting on the toilet, which is really our only downtime since we're busy with all those side gigs). We "consume video" because videos allow us to multitask so we can have both escapism and enough time to do the dishes. We also spend countless hours curating our own online presence to display the version of ourselves that will get us the most likes, because we constantly need...
5. Instant Gratification. Unlike generations before, almost everything now is more measurable. We can tell if people approve of our ideas based on the statistics on social media. We don't have to guess, we know. Technology feeds us all the data we need to be happy about our place in the world, or to feel like a total loser on a clear scale that's not just in our heads. And technology will always tell us because...
6. Technology and us grew up together. We were in the cradle with computers and cell phones. We started school when computers started showing up in homes. We went to high school with floppy disks in our pockets. I got my first cell phone when I went away to college, and my first laptop only when I went to study abroad. I still don't have a smartphone, but I spend half my workday discussing device rendering issues for our website - because I can.
   

   

   Whose bright idea was this??

   Because technology and us have been BFFs for years. We grew up awkwardly together: braces, bruises, buzzy dial-up and all.  We feel like access to information is a right, even if that sounds a bit....
7. Entitled. We grew up in a world with freedom of information, and we're not going backwards and accepting anything less.
   
   Do we feel entitled about getting a promotion at work? NO, but we feel like we should get one when we've earned it. Why? Because a bunch of Boomer parents put the doe-eyed notion in our heads that if we WORKED HARD and stayed positive, and showed off our talents, and all the things that made us bright little stars, that we WOULD be able to excel. Hard work, dedication. Be kind, rewind. Go to college and get a job. You filled us with a false idea that at graduation, we'd receive diplomas and jobs, just like that.
   
   And then we walked out into the world, with stars in our eyes and ambition in our souls, with a drive to make the world a better place... and most of us got knocked flat on our asses. So we picked ourselves up and worked hard, just like we were told. We switched jobs because our work wasn't appreciated (unlike our parents, we don't want to just put up with being shit on by "the man" - we want some g'damn positive affirmation). We got shut down for ideas because things have "always been done" a different way. We kept working hard. And you know where it got us? Mostly, it just got us bitter.
   
   As we watched older people with less talent run the companies we worked for into the ground, powerless to move up and help. We reached out for mentors to guide us, we networked, we scrambled. Some took any job they could to try and stop living paycheck to paycheck. To the point where the only thing most of us feel entitled to now is our free time outside of work. If putting in the extra time isn't rewarded, we're not going to keep being indentured servants - we're going to squeeze every ounce out of our free time and make it as shiny as possible, because we DO feel entitled to the same happiness we see from those internet personalities. It's why we cover our tiny cube walls with bright motivational quotes - to remind us that there's life out there.
   
   We give up on changing the world.
   Just let us grow up to be unicorns and let's be done with it.

As it is, was, and always will be, the young don't have the benefits of wisdom and the old don't have the weightless optimism of youth. Older generations always point out something to bitch about when it comes to "those damn kids," just like the generation before bitched about them. Basically, we all just bitch at the youths because we want them to know better. But they never will. So, let us make our mistakes and lay off the judgement, because we're over it (AF).***

The internet gave this to me, because we're friends.

* Here is one of many decent articles about millennials. Go read this, not the other rubbish.
**Sidebar on Lena Dunham re: Girls. Not a single millennial I know can relate to the characters on that show. We all hate them because they give a bad name to our generation. I went into that show hoping I'd get some fellow youths to commiserate and empathize with, but I only grew to dislike each character more and more as time went by. They're awful; we are not like that... Except for the gay dads, we might have some gay dads. 
*** General disclaimer: I'm not living paycheck. I've finally almost paid off my $27,000 of student loan debt. I'm not just surviving, but am thriving - but that was after a lot of years of shit and struggle. A lot of my friends have finally come through the other side (now that we're all pushing 30), but many have not yet. We're not all the same, this whole article was just another set of stereotypes *shakes fist at the irony of it all - and the possible misuse of the word irony*

Rainy Days and Wednesdays

A little throwback to last Wednesday...because we all know how much I love the rain.

It had been raining intermittently throughout the day. Sometimes light rain, sometimes a sudden downpour, never consistent. The mood swings of Mother Nature played out, framed by the window I can see over my cube wall.

When quitting time arrived, however, the rain hit hurricane status. Forest Gump style, we're talking up-down-and-sideways rain. As I stood up from my cube and gazed out into the ominous darkness, I knew: no one was coming out of this dry.

At the door leading to the parking lot, several coworkers stood staring. Waiting for it to pass, they said. Ready to sprint during a lull. Codswallop, said I. One pointed out the large pooling areas of water, which I noted while quietly rolling one cuff on each pant leg. And then threw open the door and stepped out into the storm.

Seeing my daring, the coworkers all took charge of their own destiny and followed, recklessly, into the abyss. What they didn't wait to see is that five seconds into my purposeful stride, I was knee-deep in rushing water. Pushing forward, I realized the sewer drains in the parking lot were creating a current vortex that was impossible to avoid. The howl of the wind and the cries of my coworkers intermingled as shouts of, "You led us astray!" and "Damnit, Gina!" flew between the raindrops. I let out a shrieking, "I'm filled with regret!!" so they would all know that I cared - but that it was every man for themselves and I didn't give two hoots about anyone but me during this mad dash.

Sopping wet, I made it to my safe haven: the car.

In the car, on the road. Rush hour: cluster. Rush hour during a storm: double cluster. Two lanes stopped at a stop light. The left lane: filled with people who want to go straight, but are stuck behind the front two cars who just put their blinkers on to turn left. The right lane: technnnnicallllly a bike lane, filled with the a-holes who saw the blinkers flip on and zipped over to the right to go around the left turners who will be waiting the entire light, only to not end up turning left. (But who would be biking in the rain anyway, amiright?!)

Danger Zone, full blast, white knuckling it.

So there I was, in the right lane. Second car back. A risky spot, being so close to the gutter during a flash flood situation.

Wipers on full blast, I still almost didn't see it happen, but I could definitely hear it. Just before the light turned green, a huge gushing POP noise, the sound of metal on metal, as the sewer cover SHOT up and logged itself (who knows how) between the wheel well of the van in front of me and the gutter. The vehicle couldn't move.

The left laners shot past, laughing at how karma came back to bite the right lane asshats. I just sat, watching the scene play out. Two men who had been hiding out under a tree near the intersection (trapped in the storm) had seen what happened and rushed in to aid. Soon they were standing in two feet of gushing water, trying to dislodge the sewer cover. Drenched, they succeeded and the woman in the van sped off. These hero men then managed to get the cover back onto the sewer and sloshed their way back from whence they came. We all proceeded.

After an obnoxiously long, hydroplaning commute, I arrived to my own parking lot. Already soaked through, I gave myself a hot second to regroup and then bounded back out into the rain. My slow, silent stride through the downpour turned into a shit grin and an uncontrollable laugh as I realized that every car driving by (while waiting to cross the road) was probably looking at me, a wet rat in a blazer, and chuckling. So I laughed with them, and smiled the rest of the walk to my apartment, finally collapsing through the front door, in stitches.

Standing there were several people. Waiting for the rain to pass. Ready to sprint during a lull. As I burst through the doors, chortling, the by-standers looked me over, exchanging semi-alarmed looks. One pointedly commented "Damn, that sucks." To which I just smiled and said, "Better to enjoy the storm than to wait forever."

Seize the day, bitches. Even the rainy ones.

Wet rats of a feather, flock together...
and then spread bubonic plague!

Sugar Mama: A Junkie's Tale

Every time I watch a documentary, I have a total crisis of faith.

Not religiously speaking, but more like a panic over my faith in myself or the world I call home. Whether it's a total meltdown about plastic bags, a sudden urge to free (or destroy) all killer whales (before they destroy us), or a desire to become a doomsday prepper (more to come on that), I leave with some extreme call to action. The worst though, is the food docus. In particular, the ones that make me feel bad about the food I consume (I'm a selfish creature - sad cows don't bug me, but attack me personally and I hit DEFCON 2).

Recently watched a docu called "Fed Up" - solely because the cover shows two M&Ms spelling out "F U" and I'm a sucker for witty marketing (yes, I judge EVERY book by its cover). Around all the hoopla about childhood obesity, one statistic (lord knows I love me some statistics - and apparently parentheses, too) really hit home. It was in regards to my first love and lifetime addiction. The sweet stuff: sugar.

Per the WHO (the one without Keith Moon), in regards to the daily recommended sugar intake:

"Less than 10% of total energy intake from free sugars - equivalent to 50 g (around 12 tsp) for a person of healthy body weight consuming approx 2000 calories per day, but ideally less than 5%."

So. That's 25 g to 50 g of sugar per day.

This figure has been quietly haunting me over the past several days. It was coupled with a bunch of lovely info on the addictive properties of sugar - something about lab mice and cocaine vs sugar water that made me hesitate as I mindlessly chugged my soda. Sugar has always been my default life fuel. Mountain Dew, the sweet nectar of the gods, my number one choice when running low on the energy front. Gummies have been consumed by the pound, as breakfast, lunch, dinner and anything in between. How could they demonize my sweet happiness??

As these stats brain ninja'ed their way around my mind, I started getting super self-conscious about every piece of candy I came within five feet of. Last night, I started to have a freak out about my teeth rotting away and the probability of my being pre-diabetic (something my previous needle-phobia self always dreaded) until I had a restless night of worry: something had to change.

Cue today, when I resolved to go grocery shopping to get low/no calorie options more readily available. Between meetings, my mind wandered as I planned out sugarless options. And that's when it kicked in. The craving.

It was like my body knew what I was up to. It knew that I was going to take away it's delicious candies, and its rebuttal was to make me see sense and not deprive it of my favorite things. The chocolately, sugary goodness...

Running to the water tapper, I filled cup after cup of crystal, clear liquid - guzzling it back in an attempt to drown out the craving. Hours later, it was no good. If I didn't get sugar, I was going to literally flip my shit. (Note: for work, it's my job to stare at food all day, so you know, that doesn't really help - especially when it's Christmas cookie prep season.)

Soon, I was scrambling through my bag, seeking cash. The vending machines only take cash, which has always been a blessing and a curse. Grabbing a dollar, I sprinted to the hallway where the decision was made: M&Ms. That would do it. I could just have a couple now, and a few later maybe. Just a few. Just enough to satisfy the need, but not go nuts.

In went the dollar, and the little spiral started to unwind. And of course... it stopped. Just as the bag teetered on the edge of falling, laughing at me. The fates had decided: no. My lack of willpower was not going to fly; the universe stepped in to stop me.

Then the mad dash back to my cube, and the retrieval of another dollar. Frantically, I rushed to the vending machine before someone else could swoop in and screw me out of my treat. Staring at the bag, hanging there, living on a prayer, I knew I should just walk away. Accept that this was a lucky turn of chance and go on my way.

But in went the second dollar. And I left with not one, but two bags (which made me feel vindicated for the initial screwing over from the machine who tried to fuck with my happiness - no, not still bitter at all). And this afternoon, two bags of M&Ms found their way straight into my mouth. I hulked out on them, with full abandon.

Celebrating 75 years - of crushing my soul...
It's snack-attack-o'clock, and mama's hangry!

There were 31 g of sugar in EACH of those tiny bags - so in one fell swoop, I launched well beyond the top end of my daily recommended allotment. If I'd tagged on one of my dear Mountain Dews (at 46 g in one can), I'd have been at triple or double the daily. Now, that didn't happen, because I gave up drinking soda at work when starting my new job, but the overall tally is mind blowing.

So this week, it's low sugar. And by "low," I mean, at least staying within that range. Once you start actually looking at how many things have added sugars (or natural sugars even), it's almost like... I may starve. Okay, that won't really happen, but still, it may feel like it. There will be a point in the morning at work, walking into a meeting, when I'm exhausted and need a boost, and sugar won't be there to pick me up. Because it lifted up those coke rats, and it didn't end well for them. So. Time for some awareness and time for some change. Here goes nothing!