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twenty-nine and feeling fine when i drink wine

Cakes and Categories

One of the hottest women of my acquaintance delivered a cake to me, made for me, just for me this weekend and I feel like the universe is finally getting my voicemails.

Even if I have to watch this girl bring a cake to every one of my coworkers over the next week, this moment still stands in the Top 10 Things I Actually Want to Remember About This Fucking Year.

I asked for her number that same night that she brought the cake in, all in nerves and rambling but received minimal words and mostly smilies via text after and since then I’ve been pretty much all real smiles myself. There are also so many Marie Antoinette quips that I want to make but I don’t even know where to start with them, you all are welcome.

I wish I could stand a little sturdier in my certainty about her being 100% interested, but if you’re like me at all and you’ve placed people into romantic categories, you know that certain categories come with little chance of returned favor, and so when they show up with cakes you can react internally at yourself like this:

It’s a cake you dumb fuck not a date

Jumping to the don’t get your hopes up is such a reflex! As a serial non-dater who hates rejection passionately, I have created categories for self protection, specifically to not find myself reaching for people beyond my reach, if you know what I’m saying.  It’s like universal law, you can’t just go after ANYONE you like, there are rules! Categories! And these categories help me manage expectations.

The categories of crushes are informally ushered in as the following:

The Objects

Don’t think actual objects, think instead the phrase “object of my desire.” Folks in this category are tangible, meaning you touch them, brush shoulders with them, you are in their society. The Objects are people in my groups of friends, coworkers, classmates, neighbors and roommates. You are almost constantly with people in this category and often you show at least a handful of commonalities or shared interests, for example if you’re both around age 26, then drinking would be your main interest and also commonality.  What’s great about crushing on someone in this group? You get to get all tangled up in those feelings all the damn time because if you’re not around this person then you’re at least seeing their witty remarks in group texts. What is sucky? When you get to see them hitting on other people/are asked for help to help them hit on other people.

The Elites

This is basically your highest category, the most unattainable, giving you least reason to exercise any potential hope. These are folks who shouldn’t be seen with you and you wouldn’t expect them to! Call it being rich or just of a higher social class, these folks just feel out of reach and whom you have no intersecting groups or connections with. Those crushes in this group have far superior social graces so they will always be kind to you in passing but who feel more like local celebrities than friends. Elites in my world often times look like a bosses niece or nephew, a trainer contracted to come out to my work for a seminar, an out of town relative to the bride and groom at a wedding, a coworker of a  friend of a friend. In general these people don’t appear too much in my society so seeing them is temporary. What’s great is that those small glimpses leave a lot to the imagination of who they really are and they millions of ways they could fall in love with you, were you a completely different person. What’s sucky is that you might feel that you can’t measure up, that you wore your best skirt but it doesn’t even strike a cord to their level of fashion.

The Runners

This is  a middle ground between the two groups, where people fall a little bit closer to the standards of your particular society however they still are not completely available. Named The Runners because to you, they appear always on the move, always in the lieu of change, and you can’t keep up. Moments with them are fleeting, think of the phrase “sorry, you just missed him.” “sorry, she just stepped out.” That is what this group is like, you are trying to find your footing but the plates spin too fast. Folks in this group are my roommates brother who comes into town for holidays and has a lot of people to catch up with so you take him in in small doses when feasible. It’s your good friends old college friend in the city for the weekend and suddenly you are volunteering as to go to all the group wine tastings, brunches, and drunk mcdonalds trip there are, but then the weekend is over. A symptom of crushing on someone in this group is though it can feel like there is never enough time. You want to impress them, learn about them, but every time they slip back into your world you start over. What’s good about this type of crush is that it saves you from the monotony of your Object crush or Elite crush, and gives you someone to think of and then long for when they leave the next day. The sucky thing is that well they leave just as you’ve made some progress.

My new cake-bringer-gal, whose name is Pearla by the way, is firmly rooted in The Runners category. Though she is on my playing field and becoming more connected to my coworkers she still remains a passing ship for the most part. It’s like going to sit down as someone gets up to leave, that feeling of wishing you had been there two seconds earlier.

Pearla has been my unspoken crush for awhile until I blurted it out to coworkers two months ago and to which they began a silent mission to make me a  more bold version of myself. In truth it is them, my coworkers and their almost annoyingly constant encouragement that made it seem plausible that there could be something between me and someone so engaged in a million other things and seemingly oblivious to me. After much positive feedback from the coworkers, I gave her a drink on the house one time and she brought in pastries for me same day. I then approached her for more conversation that normal and she stayed awhile to stir her coffee a little longer, and  then about two weeks ago she began to ask my coworkers where I was on my nights off.

All that to say that for all the good my categories do at self protection, had I not been encouraged to take a step outside of them, I wouldn’t have this memory of a beautiful girl smiling at me over the top of a cake. I also wouldn’t have a memory of one of the strangest nervous laughs of my life but focusing back on the cake moment, the cake moment!

I do stand by my categories and their usefulness to me specifically but I am glad in this moment that I was pushed out of them. I really do not think that Pearla would have noticed me had I not done some things to get her attention, and I owe it all to my coworkers who see more possibilities than I do and who also love to stir the pot lets be honest, who doesn’t want to see other coworkers get into messy dating scenarios and have things to gossip about for months?

The hardest part might be coming up soon, how do I keep a Runners attention? Our texting has already slipped into some monotony and silence, not having taken a deeper course at all, I may have to step up and formally ask her out, continuing to put myself in her view before she runs off to the next adventure.

If nothing else I have a great memory or two, a little experience with putting myself in someones path, and I might make 2017 the Year of the Cakes! Instead of Year of the Fuckboy,s which was my prior working title, Calories over Asshats? I’ll let you guys know where I land on that, in the meantime, enjoy all the sweets because life is short and romance is all through text anyway!

 

 

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Admin Life, Am I Right?

I can count on my hands, the hands of others, an infants new toes, all of the millions of times I stated with vigor that I would never be sitting at a boring desk job, which is really to conclude that all words mean absolutely nothing.

Still at the temp job and now taking photos with the staff for holiday cards, creating a summary of myself for our website, and setting up my newly redone office. Cue panic.

To manage the sinking feeling in my chest that my life is becoming obsolete and I’m falling into a stapler and paper shredder abyss, I devised myself a small game. I call it my amusement tally and the premise is to collect the hysterically stereotypical elements of my administrative assistant life and then remember them all at once and laugh in the bathroom stall.

Example of Tally –

How many days does my boss talk about how the team across the hall wouldn’t share their wifi with us so we wont share our fridge with them?

Answer: Every day

How many times does my other boss sigh to himself because the other boss says if you do it in this order, it creates order”

Answer: Every hour

Last month I got a huge chuckle out of a situation that was not funny in the moment but is perfectly hilarious now. It was one of my bosses birthday and the other boss walks to my desk and plants a stickie note there that says my other bosses name and then writes “birthday lunch 12:30.” By the time I read it he has left and is on a call with a client.

I have so many questions.

Does the other boss know that this lunch is happening or is it a surprise? She has mentioned nothing about this and she mentions everything that ever enters her mind ever. Also why can’t you give me this information out loud? Does it feel more surprise-ish if we pass secret notes? Do I put a corresponding stickie note on your desk that says “Yes. I’m in.” ? Are you inviting me to go or is this mandatory? Am I getting paid still for an extended lunch? I have zero cash on me at the moment since you have passed me this mysterious neon note an hour before the possible surprise lunch begins. Are you driving? Do you all normally drink at lunch? Are we still going back to the office after? Also I’m straight broke, are you buying?

At 12:30 with the most anxiety I’ve felt in awhile, I simply followed my bosses out to their cars and got in one, decided to just answer yes to everything since everything is lost on me anyhow, did not pay for a penny of lunch, participated in office talk for two hours, came back to my desk to lay my head down on it and thank the universe for delivering me back here, to this desk, and to these letters I have to send out. I could have kissed those letters.

In two weeks we are having a similar work luncheon of which I plan on finding out every detail about beforehand so my social anxiety can take a breather, and I can sort everything out from transportation to outfits to planned topics such as the stock market and the new housing development being put in in the neighborhood. Maybe googling “things I don’t care about” would be faster.

Some of my amusement tally I’ve become used to, much to my dismay. Like I don’t even notice the hilarity of squabbles over the fridge and sharing the copy machines anymore because it’s white noise but luckily I am around when my bosses fight over where to put a fake plant and if we should start our filing tabs to the left now so there is some forced and designed joy left for me to have.

Occasionally I turn my head to the side facing our door, as if I am Pam Beesley looking at the camera when Michael Scott says or does something and it makes me feel better that the door frame and outer hall understand my struggles and can relate and are also saying “omg” or texting me “smh” in equal annoyance.

More stories to come after my next business luncheon, of which I’m sure I’ll find myself nodding about office hierarchy and salary comparisons, and then off to have a bottle of wine after as my reward for not making up a family emergency to leave! Can’t wait!

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You’re Welcome”

Was how the most cringe worthy text of life ended, from a boy I hooked up with the night before.

Hooked up being a loose term, performed a shitty hand job is probably closer to the truth.

I’m going to confess something to the internet as a whole that I know I have no ability to justify, no rational to provide,

I asked this boy out for beers and in the beginning of the date he tells me his parents are dead, 3 beers later he tells me actually his dad is not.

I. STILL. TEXTED. HIM. THE. NEXT. DAY.

Like I stated, I have no excuse. My only possible pardon is that I’ve had a crush on him for years and I was blinded by my vision, my conquest if you will.

I know, still.

Why though? For what purpose does this serve? Sympathy sex? I’m out having beer number four with you and it’s pushing 1am, aren’t the odds already in your favor?

Ugh anyways the OTHER main problem with this guy is that he comes in this shy-nerd-oblivious-awkward-nice guy packaging but is in truth a fuckboi and a pretty shameless one at that.

After blowing me off after our “hookup” a month ago after saying “You’re welcome” in response to my text thanking him for the beers and telling him I wanted to hang out again (stupidly), he now texts me “hey is this you?” I respond briefly and wearily and suddenly it dawns on me, HE HAS NEVER USED MY NAME.

Not once. Not one time. Oh my god.

So I poke a little bit, do you really know who this is? Who is it then?

He scooped around the poison I was laying out, “I figured it was you,” “of course I know who this is.”

Sadly it was THIS that caused me to officially never respond to him again. Like put it down on the books I am outright ashamed that I went anywhere near this guys dick.

My lack of response could not deter him though, the last thing he texted me was:

“Send pic”

Insert *I am screaming* here.

He is alluding to when I did in fact drunkenly send him some compromising pictures of myself and is obviously wanting me to send more now, but a month too late and without a name, no siree.

Also, when I actually did send him those photos many moons ago, it was actually one of the most degrading experiences of my adult life.

Has anyone ever sent someone nudes and the other person said basically in so little terms that you’re doing it wrong?

Before then, I had never sent someone a picture of that nature who wasn’t immediately grateful and or elated.

These are great please send more! – is the overall theme of responses.

Anyways the point of all this is not that I’ve lost all common sense but actually how I bought into the nerd shy guy narrative to such an extent that I was actually still pursuing this person.

Here are some examples of the Shy Nerd Guy elements experienced:

  • nervous side hug
  • tries to impress you with last time he went drinking, clear that he doesn’t drink a lot
  • doesn’t know how to ask you to go to the next bar
  • looks down a lot
  • very excited about school but doesn’t want to bore you
  • waits until almost end of night to touch your knee after a lot of beer
  • fumbles around trying to ask if you want to “hang out” after the bar. Is so unclear and mumbly you have to intervene and help spell it out for him.

Now here are some of the Fuckboi ones:

  • responds 6 hours later to your asking them to get beer with you with a “maybe i’ll stop by”
  • doesn’t ask a thing about you
  • talks about concerns about his new school
  • complains about the beer
  • keeps saying over and over that he doesn’t want to seem uppity or showoffy when people ask what school he goes to. (Good fucking god it’s just a UC get over yourself)
  • absolutely refuses the idea that he could be drunk
  • says they can’t have you hang out at their place, but is your car here?
  • replacing your hand that’s around their waist to their back instead
  • masturbates in front of you awhile because your hand job wasn’t up to par

Awkwardness and intellect don’t equate human decency or kindness to women essentially.

Can anyone else believe how many asshats I’ve gotten involved with in this past year alone? It’s a little startling. Luckily, kind of, I’ve had some health stuff come up this past month which has kind of taken me out of the running for dating and hookups for a bit. I’m actually grateful. Even reading this now I don’t know how I was chasing someone THAT awful, Christ.

Well I do hope for some of you out there that this is a helpful word of caution, and do watch out for your local nerds, that sweater vest could be borrowed from a roommate!

Bitter Town, Population: Me

My Spotify is overwhelmed with a recent binge of angry, “he’s a fucktard” music, with an occasional throw in of “I don’t need him” music, with sporadic clamors of “Im going to go out and get some because I’m way hot!” music. None of it changes much of anything but it’s good to have variety!

I thought at almost 29 years old, I’d be leaning towards a more mature set of men, of people in general!

But what if the immature one is me?

Eleven am on a Saturday morning I wake up and craft a plan to seduce a boy 7 hours after sleeping with another.

The “another” is The Dancer, and my date with him the night before was magical. If magic is intrigue with myself for why I stayed on the date and then had sex with him. Maybe I was put under a spell, or better yet a curse with fire and a stone and pieces of hair!

I named him The Dancer because we met while dancing at a club, our eyes lock across a crowded room (six feet away) and me leaving the guy I was dancing with to go to him (my friends had been trying to get him away from me anyway). Love and convenience was in the air!

A week from our first “eye lock” (and dance floor make out session) our now first date comes to a blurry end at 4 am as he made a last grab for my breasts before stumbling into a lyft outside my parents house. Modern romance.

Putting clothes back on and room to order, I pass out and wake up that Saturday morning thinking of Boy Next Door and the limited time I have to make something happen with him before he moves out.

I put on three different lotions but not perfume because I want to smell like a fucking garden exploded but not like I expect to see anyone.

My outfit that took me an hour to put together was the perfect blend  of “I don’t give a shit” and “Yes, I have always been this sexy.”

I take a seat in a comfy chair, kick my legs out relaxed onto the arm of the other sofa, and lie in wait, looking as casual as one can look when trying way too hard to sleep with someone.

Casual reminder, I have literally just slept with someone.

This all feels minor in comparison to what I did the previous morning.

Boy Next Door was mentioning wanting a party to happen, so I made one up.

Yes I am now the patheticness of Season One Ted Mosby (if you haven’t watched How I Met Your Mother by now, there’s no hope for you) throwing three parties in a row in hopes Robin would show.

I’ve always despised that episode interestingly enough. I always wondered how someone could put their friends through that just for the prospect of someone.

Everything has come full circle and I do understand it now and I did contemplate blackmailing my friends into ditching their other plans to come to this party that doesn’t exist, and yes my end goal for that party was me and Boy Next Doors drunk hook up.

So back to the “casual” allure of me and my three scented lotions, eleven am has turned into midnight ( I did not stay there on the couch waiting for him, I went out and did things OKAY) when finally he comes home.

As he comes towards me my whole body faces him, our eyes meet and we begin to speak as we slowly walk towards each other, and that’s when he says it:

“Where’s Keith?”

My brothers name.

As he walks on past me towards my brothers room and as I hear the two of them laugh about things unrelated to me, I stomp back into my own room to pout myself to sleep.

Since that anti-climactic Saturday, The Dancer has stopped all contact with and blown off our plans for our second date and Boy Next Door is going forward with all plans to move out and not hook up with me.

In an effort to find out why my life is this way, I decided to ask myself a series of questions as if I were on a game show, about to win a car or a really expensive set of plates, and here’s what I got

Game Show Host: Why did you go out with the Dancer?

Me: It seemed like we clicked, got along, thought the same things were funny

GSH: Did you want to date him?

M: Well uh maybe like if things were-

GSH: Why didn’t you want to date him? Is he not good enough for you?

M: No uh of course not I was just not sure-

GSH: So there is someone else!!!!??

M: Well no err like I mean I’m not dating anyone at all so

GSH: So you’re saying you’re dumping The Dancer for no one, no one at all

M: Uh well technically yes but

GSH: Well maybe if you had acted a little more interested I would have texted

M: Uh wait

GSH: No I mean HE, HE would have texted

M: Omg

GSH: no no

M: fucking seriously

GSH: listen-

This is about as far as I got. Maybe game shows aren’t the way to self actualize, so I looked at the “G” word,

Guilt.

I felt guilty in my lyft on my way to meet the Dancer for our date. My lyft driver had put on this instrumental music which started to fuck with me, and got me thinking, which is never a good idea before a first date.

I had texted Boy Next Door an hour before getting into this lyft, to let him know:

“everyone is busy so no party tomorrow night :/

Leaving out of course that there had been no party to begin with.

Sitting in this lyft that was now starting in on the rythyms of the flute, I got real sad that he wasn’t even going to text back to say “bummer” or “ok” and that’s when I started thinking about turning back.

I mean maybe this date isn’t such a good idea because I’m clearly too upset over the lack of reply about a party I lied about in the first place?

But I didn’t turn back, I knew Boy Next Door would be out of the house soon and I would be able to focus on the Dancer then. Why should I lose out on such a great guy?

During an Oreo binge last night, I realized something – as we all do because oreos are great carriers of wisdom – maybe the Dancer didn’t end up being a great guy, but maybe also I’m not such a great girl?

I’ve done a fair share of lying and manipulating this week and maybe that’s what I’m attracting….

I am 100% still bitter and jaded and listening to songs about the heart pangs of sleeping with fuck boys, but I do shed some light on my own behavior, my own responsibility, maybe I don’t always get to play the wronged and wounded victim?

Maybe I need to own that I’ve also got a manipulative bitch in me who wants what she wants and is pissed when she doesn’t get it.

Maybe I should also let her have more Oreos? I mean if I’m not going to let her jump people’s bones, I better give her something.

Till next time my friends, don’t fuck with fuck boys but when you do make sure you got your Spotify playlist ready!

I’m Awake

While you stay sleeping.

Is the start of my most recent sad/pathetic poem I wrote, because I am nothing if not a stereotype.
Some other recent pieces of work have titles such as:

“The Walls that Say Nothing”
“That Night”
To call it cringe worthy would be an understatement.
Funny that my poems mention nothing about almost peeing in my neighbors bushes, which is the true highlight of the whole thing.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I have fallen for The Boy Next Door.

No, but like literally his door is right next to mine and he sleeps feet away in the room next to mine.

I didn’t see it coming and had you told me that one day I’d wake up, devestated that he doesn’t want to discuss the foundation of our blossoming relationship, I would have LAUGHED and told you that you were the dumbest shit person alive.

Two weeks ago at a packed bar one night me and Boy Next Door have the most PG drunk hookup you’ve ever been bored enough to consider.

Like we’re talking long hugs and hand holding, which was  hotter than a drunk and  sweaty make out sesh, yes it’s baffling.
Then there’s me the next day, waking up with all the feels for a boy that I think I ignored the day before. Because i was eating?

We cross paths for the first time since “the night” and I watch myself  in slow motion putting my hand on his shoulder and saying “hey” as sultry as I know how.

Because it’s totally mutual right? I mean he hugged me,  held hands with me and was all about me, so…….

It’s like I’ve learned nothing from my own god damn blog.

In short, there was nothing returned and it was never spoke of again.  A Very Short Tale of Two People Who Never Had Sex. The End!

That night I couldn’t sleep a wink. Every peaceful YouTube video of harps and piano chords could not drown out the overwhelming anger I had at the person lying feet away.

I was also pretty angry with myself truthfully. To become such an idiot in such a short amount of time, I basically realized he was alive two days ago, how about we calm down.

The next night I decided to come at my inability to sleep with a new strategy. Sleeping pills and and cough syrup usually lend me down the road to obscure and terrifying nightmares, so I went with beer.

Arrived at a bar and requested  ever so daintily “whatever has the most alcohol”
and drank whatever she gave me pretty damn fast.

I am at a liquor store not even an hour and a half later picking up the biggest bottle of the highest percentage IPA there is in the store, it’s time to stop fucking around.

My new plan is to chug it in my car outside my house, because I can’t let Boy Next Door see me openly binge drinking, he’ll want to drink with me because we’re just two bros, having a cold one.
Hmm large beer, no bottle opener. I try and fail and now have two forever scars on my right index finger.

Buy a bottle opener because none of my friends are awake or helpful or as panicked about sleep as me, and get into my car and then drive it just down the block a little bit to comfortably sit in the dark next to a not too lit up neighbors house, thinking here we go I’ll just get to enjoy my beer and listen to some tunes.

What I didn’t know was how soon into this I’d have to pee.
Imagine being so determined that you have to pound a beer in order to sleep, but also  that your bladder is equally as determined not to drown. This is a battle of wills!

 

Now in reality I have peed in public probably five times. I’ve peed outside a bar at 3am, the front lawn of my college, a back alley and what my hazy memory tells me was the side of a hookah shop.

Needless to say I’m no stranger to it, but on a quiet residential? I’m technically not even drunk yet and never peed outside while stil in full reign of my mental faculties. I like to think that if I was trying to recall peeing somewhere in the open, that at least I could claim having very little memory of it. Oh the parking lot of jack in the box! That was the other one.

So anyways I circle some neighbors bushes for two minutes before realizing that I’ am way too sober for this, drive my car back down the street up to the house, chugged  the remaining 3/4 of the beer and ran.

When I was unlocking the front door, in the most pain of life, I remember being grateful that all the appeal that he had had for me was dead probably  the second he had walked back to his room that night, because me peeing my pants on our porch was only going to help solidify the fact that we’d never have sex in this lifetime.

Made it into the house, peed for an abnormally long period of time, tiptoed to my room and passed out probably from the exhilaration of being the biggest “badass” ever, if the term badass has changed over the years,  and now means “drinks alone in cars” then yes I am a poster child of that.

One positive that has come out of this, I was catalyzed to officially end things with One Night Stand Guy, who I’ve slept with a handful of times over the past few months while wishing on stars that I could develop feelings for him, but then failing  to remember to text him back for the sixth time that week.

Part of ending things with him last week was that  I didn’t want to be a shitty person and string him along anymore, since now I was feeling strung along and equally shitty.

The other reason is simply this: I could not  make feelings happen by sheer will of wanting them to.

In the span of one night I had now uncontrollable infatuation for Boy Next Door, yet I’ve been hoping crazy attraction for One Night Stand guy would one day just appear because he is cute and smart and super into me.

This for me was more of a you-can’t-control-who-you-are-attracted-to-even-though-it-would-be-way-fucking-easier-kind of lesson. And it’s annoying.

I will now return to the poem I was writing about soap and crying trees, wish me luck!

The Temp Job

Jim Halperts face of reluctant contentment spasms across my eyes and interrupts my daydreams and I hear him say, “This was supposed to be a temp job.”

I’m at a coffee shop enjoying a banana chocolate chip muffin and I see Jim Halperts face. 

I’m at a pub with a cold beer, biting into a bacon burger and I see Jim Halperts face. 

Basically my food experiences are being ruined. 

Behind the face – if you haven’t watched The Office than you’ll understand nothing about the imagery and real world comparisons I’m providing – of course is a heap of self loathing because Jim finds himself at his “temp” job for years upon years, never having  planned on his career being that of a paper salesman. 

Every day at this temp job I’m reminded of The Office. People really do gather at the water cooler! I wasn’t sure if you were aware, it’s a real phenomenon. 

The break room is like a cold dead silence where people with no affect congregate and mention terms I don’t understand and then when I ask I instantly regret doing so. 

Then I promptly return to creating alternate universes in my mind where I never knew those terms existed or they were found to be obsolete in my cat infultrated jungle where Jane Austen is alive and the cast of Friends roams about searching for coffee beans and Meryl Streep owns a bar on the outskirts of the beach called Fuck the Patriarchy and all is well, so well. 

My “temporary” job has suddenly shifted however, and I am now being expected to take over the next level position in a matter of months, planting me firmly into a full time employee with their company. 

Cue panic. 

Anyone who knows me has been forced to endure my griping about this job and nearly almost everyone has said back to me “it doesn’t seem that bad” and/or “it’s only temporary.”

They are right first of all, it really isn’t that bad! You look past the boredom and unfulfilled sense of purpose and you think about the coffee cart at the building across the way that has four different medium roasts at any given time, the many compliments about your new slacks, your boss brought in sandwiches for everyone just because! 

You meld into the flow of a temp job until you are in a conversation with a friend years later and hear yourself explaining investment opportunities, and then remember “this was supposed to be a temp job.” Cue Jim Halperts face. 
(Spoiler Alert) Jim Halpert eventually did get out to pursue his dreams, which I know I will also. In the moment though, you can feel trapped, like you were meant to do more but it seems too far away. 

I was sitting in this conference room with my bosses and one of their associates and that associates employees and it felt surreal. How did I get here? How have we been sitting here for two hours talking about THIS? Also did we go back in time where men talk and the women jot down notes? Coming from progressive work environments, rooted in activism and inclusivity, this all feels like a far cry from where I have been and many steps backwards.

Nevertheless I proceed in pressing my new pants and telling office coworkers that they were 40% off, sipping on my medium roast, talking to my stapler about who I want to be when I grow up, making Jim Halpert faces out the window since there is no camera for me to do it too and thinking about if all my female heroes still lived. 

Maybe next time Jim Halperts face crosses my mind I’ll remind myself FREE SANDWICHES! 

In this story, 2017 is totally the villain. 

Greetings all, it’s sure been awhile, possibly several years? 

Well the major highlights are me working 80 hours a week, falling asleep at my desk and then falling asleep later at the bar. Great you’re all caught up! 

2017 is doing this thing right now where it’s trying to “win.” I don’t know if I ruffled its feathers in 2016 when I may have said “2017 is going to fucking suck” a lot around November. I don’t know if it took my statements as a challenge and it’s doing its best to live up to its estimation?

I’m a little unsure what “winning” looks like to a year. Do years receive medals or promotions or polite nominations for how many people it convinced to jump off a bridge or leave civilization to dwell in a cave? I figure there has to be an attainable form of award or recognition, otherwise it’s just working very diligently to break me for its own personal reasons. 

This is a small breakdown of how 2017 has attempted to do a shut down (is that basketball?) over just a two month period: 

January

-Oh my god Trump is going to be the president.

– I quit my job.

– Romantic relatonship ended with female coworker that hadnt even started yet.

– Everyone in friend group coupled off, with each other. 

– Started drinking before any event that required talking to people. Became acquainted with same lyft drivers, lead to confidancy about all issues regarding the plights of parenthood. 

– Downloaded 4 dating apps. 

– Began ordering champagne at bars to feel celebratory, about something. 

February 

– Zero job hits or interviews.

– Trump is really the president now.

– Oh my god can he do that? 

– No that’s gotta be illegal. 

– Attempted to make out with guy I’ve had a long term crush on. 

– Actually made out with guy I detest. 

– Experienced worst hangover of life and crushing regret. 

– Recieved call from younger brother stating that I did in fact kiss long term crush guy but only because he was not able to run away fast enough. 

– Began to eat shredded cheese straight from the bag without even putting it in my hand first.

– Recieved notice that our house is being sold and we have 60 days to move out.

– Saw La La Land in theatre and cried during, and then in the bathroom.

– Job hunting continued on laptop.

– Laptop died.

– Applied for old job at coffee shop.

– Saw La La Land again in theatre, this time cried while singing with Emma Stone, “Here’s to the ones who drrreeaaammm” 

– Completed two interviews at two different law firms, began pros and cons list to decide which one to accept.

– Received rejections from both and began preparation to go back to work at coffee shop. 

– Attempted to do artsy things like drawing, gave up after trying to draw an elephant that looked like a tired possum.

– Received call about interview for job at a non-profit.

– Learned that non-profit has not been started yet, resumed preparation to go back to work at coffee shop.

– Had one night stand to convince self that I’m still desirable. 

– Began to have wine with lunch. 

While that list is daunting, 2017 will not break me because of all these factors: 

– Cheese is delicious.

– I bought the La La Land soundtrack so I can cry in my car and not in public. 

– I’ve moved on from naming my future cat “Roger” because I’ve discovered the name Marlen.

– Champagne is often times on sale at Target.

– I bought a coloring book so I can still be “artsy” underneath the direction of someone else’s actual creativity.

– The apartment complex might have a pool and I haven’t been outside in years! 

– A guy who follows me on Twitter retweeted me the other day, so yeah it’s getting pretty serious.

– Recently discovered how good crepes are.

Is 2017 making a dent? Sure. Has it won? Absolutely not! Am I drunk right now? Nah, just tipsy.