Currently I am watching my 6th straight hour of Netflix, and that is just for today. Sadly, my life has begun to revolve around my boyfriend’s days off from work and the days that he does work I have learned to occupy my time inside the apartment.
I hate humidity. It sucks to say the least. Living in a state sans humidity would be perfect for roaming the streets of a busy downtown neighborhood, but in my condition I have found there is nothing fun about getting ready to go sweat. Have you every tried clothes shopping while sticky with humidity? It is NOT the business. I live in a prime spot for walking, I am very close to food, shopping, museums, the water, etc., and I enjoy walking around one to two times a week. When Chase and I first moved to Charleston, SC, we both couldn’t wait to enjoy our time unemployed getting to know the city and be together. Thankfully, Chase got a job quickly, a little more quickly than either of us expected, so our time together was cut slightly short. When he first started working I promised myself that I would find something to do outside of the apartment each day so that I would be active and not fall into a slump. Unfortunately this proved to be a rather expensive habit. I ended up going to grocery stores and buying tons of food. Not only was this bad for my wallet, it was bad for my waistline.
My few attempts at window shopping were unsuccessful, because I grew irritated at the places of my body (like my elbows) that began to sweat while walking. I started to notice that tourists (larger groups of people/families) were the only ones out in the afternoon, I knew my prime time for being out would be during the evening, as well. But I am not so comfortable with being out late in the streets alone. I went to watch a Niners game last weekend alone (San Francisco Bay Area native here) and that was successful and I made it home safely, but I also had a post bar hopping buzz going and I can’t just get drunk every time I go out alone. No matter how fun that would make each evening.
So. Why don’t you just get a job? is what you may find yourself asking and that is a great question, my friend. Two months ago when we moved in I was taking an online class and I dedicated myself to finishing it as quickly as possible and I had assumed that I would finish close to my trip home for a wedding and I promised that I would hit the job hunt hard as soon as I got back. Of course, I finished the class quickly and have had weeks between the completion and my trip. I couldn’t bring myself to apply for jobs that I would immediately need time off for, it seemed irresponsible (remember my last post about being lazy?). In exchange for no job hunt I promised myself I would work out and get healthy and blah, blah, blah. I have worked out quite regularly, too.
BUT, being alone has gotten unbearable. Before I moved away I spent a lot of time alone, but I had the option to call friends and hang out and I had family near me if need be. If I had a job with newly made friends here I would probably still sit at home most of the time, but knowing that I currently don’t even have the option is making me miserable.
I am worried that returning from my trip home is going to make it hard to come back. Homesickness sucks.
In conclusion: When in doubt, apply for jobs.
This evening I have come to harsh realization that I am lazy. And not in the funny “I just worked all day so I don’t feel like doing anything right now,” lazy. I’m just plain lazy. And while everything in my life that I have half-assed has always turned out all right, its been a rockier journey than it needed to be.
When it comes to having a job, I am by no means lazy. I enjoy working and I like personal interaction and bringing home a paycheck. I like to look good for my coworkers and I like it when my boss can count on me to do well for whichever company I am working at. My most recent job was Starbucks and I was great at being a coffee slave, I miss it quite a bit actually…
When it comes to personal relationships, I am semi lazy. I can fix things with my boyfriend well and I am very close with my sisters, parents, aunts, and cousins. These are relationships that are mostly easy to maintain. My ideal friendships are those that don’t require much work. My closest friends are the friends that I can call once a month to check in with and see maybe once every two months, but we are all okay with it. I don’t like needy friendships that require a lot of work, because I am not a needy person myself. If I have a friend that needs to be invited everywhere and updated on the latest t-shirt I bought its a friendship that doesn’t last for me. I’m slightly selfish I suppose.
When it comes to education…I AM SO LAZY! I don’t know where my motivational gene for education went, but I haven’t seen it since 7th grade. I like to do enough to get by. As long as I was passing I was content. I took my time at junior college, because working and staying out and not studying were more appealing than studying, of course. when the time came to apply to college, I applied to only 2 schools. I was told by a counselor at my JC that all State schools will have the same requirements and that I was on track to transfer. When my first acceptance letter to Sacramento State came, I waited to respond, because I was holding out for the school I preferred to go to. BUT that state school was a little more picky and did not accept me. By the time the rejection letter came it was too late to let Sacramento State know I would go there, so I had to wait another semester to transfer. And I knew to transfer because a friend who I transferred with told me that they were accepting spring applications and she found a place for us to move and everything. Anyways….it took me a while to graduate once I was in college, because I didn’t fully apply myself. I got a D in a class I needed for my major and I didn’t fight hard enough to get a class that I was on the wait list for, which also set me back another semester. It was so easy to blame the system for everything going wrong, because it was partially the systems fault, but mostly my lack of ambition. I never got an internship with my major, either. I needed to work. I didn’t have the money to cut back my hours to both work and intern. At the time this seemed like such a good idea.
Fast forward to a month after I graduated and walked and thought I had left college in the dust…I received a letter that told me I was 2 fucking units short and did not actually graduate. Apparently you can take everything that is required and still be short of unit requirements, which doesn’t make fucking sense. But I am sure that it is my fault that I missed that in the paperwork somewhere. So I signed up for a class online for the summer semester (because I was moving out of the state that week) and was wait listed. I called the school and learned that I could take an independent study course online for cheaper and transfer the units, which I opted to do. PERFECT. Problem solved.
Today I received a letter that I owed Sac State over one thousand dollars for my summer class that I never even knew I was officially registered in. I always assumed that when you don’t log in for the first day or pay your fees or get told that you got enrolled in a class that you weren’t in the fucking class. But there is that lazy thing again…it is my own fault for not checking back.
To top it off I can’t get a job with my degree so easily, because I don’t have any experience with anything due to lack of interning. Oh boy, I tell ya, if I could go back and re-do some things I WOULD! At what point in someones life do they realize “Hey, self, being lazy isn’t REALLY paying off!?” I am really frustrated and embarrassed with myself today over the choices that I have made leading me to this post. I hope that by publicly putting out my least flattering quality that it will help me to improve it. I can’t even begin to think about having to explain away and feel regret for lazy decisions I have made for the rest of my life, or to my future husband or kids or employers.
Maybe it’s about time to grow up and take control of things I have let slide. Anyone know of any motivational self-help books?
Today I feel lame.
As a girl, cuddling was something I always looked forward to. The movies make it look careless and comfortable. Besides unrealistic romantic gestures, Hollywood has set couples up all over for failure when it comes to cuddling. Both parties enjoy cuddling and activities like talking, watching a movie, relaxing, and sleeping are made to seem elevated with the addition of a partner to cuddle with whilst enjoying. For the most part, I enjoy the cuddle. Things like watching a movie and just relaxing ARE a lot more enjoyable while cuddling, but when it comes to sleeping I had quite an opposite feeling of enjoyment. Many movies show couples falling asleep in each others arms, spooning, facing each other, etc., and they always wake up still holding each other while looking impossibly content. Here is a cute chart I found online to provide you with a few examples of cuddling positions:
They made me laugh…
Sure, cuddling while sleeping is nice once in a while. When I lived on my own in college and Chase would drive up to visit me sleep cuddling was perfect, because it was new and exciting for us to have “grown-up” visits with each other. When we first moved in together and got our own bed, it was great to sleep cuddle…for like one night. Don’t right away think that I am a terrible bitch. I would never admit to lacking joy towards cuddling with my significant other if we didn’t come to the conclusion that it isn’t all it is cracked up to be, together.
The other night we were laying down and sharing our days with each other when we started talking about cuddling. He expressed how he would like to, but it is just so hard to stay comfortable. I would like to say it was offensive to think he didn’t want to cuddle, but I felt total relief. I had to laugh and tell him that it was horrible (side note: it is a terribly hot and humid climate where we live, which also adds a different element of discomfort). There was no way to comfortably lay together where we were both completely content to fall asleep. It was either he was comfortable or I was, we have had a hard time finding a compromise. We laughed together about how nice it was to hear that we both enjoyed OUR space in the same bed and since then sleeping has been a little easier.
I’m not sure if this is normal or not. It isn’t something that other friends I have have talked about nor has it been a question I have ever thought to ask. I have just spent my life assuming that when you sleep in the same bed you cuddle or you’re doomed. To fix the cuddle problem, I think we need to fund the most hilarious invention I have seen:
I’m not sure how clear the picture comes out (still new to this), but its a foam mattress with slats in it, GENIUS!
Anyways, I am happy to say that this is the biggest problem that living my wonderful significant other has presented. It’s not even a real problem, its just something that shattered my expectations of being a couple that lives together. I have found the “cliff-hanger” or the “zen” sleeping position works the best for us! Even though Chase sleeps wherever he wants and I mostly sleep in the cliffhanger position….. What’s best for you?
Am I the only one who feels this way? This post seemed brilliant before I finished it, oh well.
This is a true story about a girl and cockroach.
I just recently moved to the south. It is beautiful and so far I like it here, but that being said, I hate bugs. I have never been surrounded by such an abundance of insects before. I have never had an issue with normal bugs like flies or gnats (which my apartment is covered it…?!) or spiders even. When it comes to things like MOSQUITOES or COCKROACHES, I become irrational and freaked out.
In the past two months that I have lived here I have gotten more mosquito bites than I have had in my entire life anywhere else. Bites usually don’t bother me, they come, they itch, they leave. The mosquito bites from the south inflame my body and never leave. I spent two days drugged on Benadryl just to keep myself from scratching my legs off (gross, I know). My boyfriend, Chase, has been free of any and all bug bites since we have moved, which he loves to remind me of every time I get one. Whatever.
This brings me to my next least favorite bug, the cockroach. The quick-moving and hard-shelled enemy. Yesterday morning Chase found one in the top corner of the closet, he moved a chair into the closet and killed it. My hero, right? He left for work and I went about my day. We live in a very small studio apartment so I try my best to take care of it so it doesn’t start to stink or feel unlivable, so it shocked me to see another damn cockroach scurry across my carpet to seek refuge under a pair of pants folded on the floor next to a book shelf.
Panic consumes me.
I can kill a spider, fly, gnat, pincher bug, etc., but I simply cannot stomach hearing/feeling the crunch of the cockroaches hard exterior. I went into full blown killer mode and one of the longest battles of my life began. I grabbed all toxic cleaners I had stored in my cabinet, a broom, and a threw on a pair of Chase’s shoes (I can never kill a bug with my own shoes, no thanks). I began by slowly removing everything around the pants to give me a wide open space to work with, and then proceeded to smack the pants with the broom handle PRAYING that the roach would run out and surrender. But of course It wasn’t going to let me off that easily. I take a deep breath and push the pants aside, ready to attack, but to my dismay there was not sign of It. I begin to sweat. I am starting to hyperventilate at the thought of this thing having full reign of my apartment. It would not become the king of this castle, not today.
I had never taken my eyes off of the area It ran to, so I knew it was somewhere behind the bookshelf. I took all of the books off slowly, after hitting it forcefully with the broom a few times to see if that would scare It, and once I got to the last one there It was. We were at a stand still, It was staring straight at me as if It was laughing at me. I froze and couldn’t move my body close enough to It. It ducked behind the last book and I knew I was doomed. There was no way I could grab that book. I hit the book with the broom against the wall as hard as I could and then against the side of the bookshelf, it was my hope that I would smash It. Thankfully for my own ass that didn’t work out, because it would have been hard to explain to Chase why his expensive cookbook was ruined…
I successfully tipped the book over and slid it out only to find nothing was there. I felt defeat. I felt pathetic. I felt nauseated. And just as I had given up all hope, the little fucker ran out of nowhere. I charged. I sprayed it with Scrubbin’ Bubbles and realized that it wasn’t toxic enough to slow It down when It just ran faster towards my closet as a giant, foaming ball. I jumped on top of It with all of my force and waiting a couple seconds before I moved. It was dead. I had won.
After 45 minutes, I had finally conquered the pest and I was so proud of myself for my epic triumph. However, now that it is all said and done, I am not sure if I am the victorious one for killing It or if It is the victorious one for shaping an idiot out of me. Let’s be real, who the hell chases a bug around an apartment for 45 minutes. That’s just not normal.
Moral of the story: “If you can dream it, you an do it!”– Blade of Glory.
This is basically an irrelevant post. I am going to share a dream that I had last night that scared the shit out of me. I don’t want to rip this dream apart and over-analyze it, because the meaning is probably scarier than the dream itself.
In the beginning I was on a trip in Paris with many people from my past, mostly close friends that I don’t speak to anymore. I fell in the mud numerous times while waiting in line to ride a horse, but mud didn’t seem to be anywhere else. I was the only one that was stuck, and they all looked at me like I embarrassed them. They chose to take the horse rides without me and did not wait for me to finish mine before moving on to their site-seeing. I felt hurt and then my dream jumped to costume shopping in San Francisco with an old co-worker. We weren’t having any luck at the store and exited to the street where a man was being jumped by a couple of street robbers. I immediately start running, when I hear gun shots and see blood spatter in front of me, I drop to the floor and squint my eyes in the direction of the thieves. I pray that I won’t get hurt, but one of the men shoots me in the head. The only thing that I could think of was whether or not I would survive in order to go to a Halloween party. I touched my wound and it was warm and there was blood pouring onto the street ahead of me.
And then I woke up. I didn’t die in my dream, but holy shit I got shot. I woke up oddly content for a person who had just been shot, too. In my life I have had some weird/morbid dreams, but I don’t think that any of them can top this. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it all day. I am one step away from reading Freud’s The Interpretation of Dreams to feel less crazy. However, I did look up what being shot in the head could symbolize and the response seemed to be that it was “self-punishment.” What have done recently that deserves punishing?
Then again, I am covered in bug bites and did double up on Benadryl before bed.