A Crafty Habit

PrintYesterday, while waiting in line at Michael’s craft store, I experienced an episode of déjà vu and then quickly realized why: I had spent the previous two weekends also waiting in line at Michael’s craft store. Yesterday, I was buying a dried flower arrangement for my bathroom, the previous Sunday I was buying a dried flower arrangement for my dresser, and the Sunday before that, I was purchasing canvas and crayons so I could make melted crayon art, something that, at the time, felt extremely necessary to my interior décor.

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: I need some new hobbies. And frankly, literally every other hobby would be more productive than spending my Sunday afternoons wandering around Michaels! My problem is that I love design blogs and I love crafting, but my interest doesn’t necessarily match my skill level. That doesn’t stop me from trying though!

If only my boyfriend’s name was Michael, so that when I said “I went to Michael’s this weekend,” everyone would think it was some sweet couple thing and not some weird, persistent field trip. ….And if only I had a boyfriend. New hobby???

…Also, I think I need to lay off the dried flower thing, before my apartment starts to resemble a tacky suburban hair salon.

What’s My Age: 78 and President of the Flower Arrangers Club at the Wednesday afternoon senior’s group.  

Hypochondriac

PrintAt the office, we have what’s known as an “open floor plan,” which is a nicer way of saying rows upon rows of cubicles. Since I’ve never experienced anything less than cube life, the space itself doesn’t bother me, but more and more I’m bothered by the endless noise and, well, open-ness. I think I may even have a touch of misophonia, which causes extreme rage when exposed to certain sounds. Start tuning into the sound of someone smacking their gum or slurping their coffee and you’ll experience it yourself.

Of course, I haven’t officially been diagnosed, but that doesn’t stop me from self-analyzing at an alarming rate. For example, I was really itchy the other day, so a spin through WebMD had me convinced that I had liver disease, despite the fact that I most definitely do not. And a marathon desk-cleaning session had me looking for tips on battling OCD (…which, if I really think about it, I may actually have.)

Maybe it’s just easier to assign some big, intense-sounding prognosis rather than recognize that I have many…how should we say this….quirks. I think a real doctor would recommend a healthy dose of self-reflection before psychotherapy 20 times a week.

What’s My Age: 87, the age of a cranky elderly person shuffling through the nursing home.

Tweeze

PrintIn my endless down time lately, I’ve been reading A LOT of stuff on the internet, and it is amazing the amount of “self-help” tips that suddenly seem completely necessary when you have nothing else to distract you. One particular article was something along the lines of “750 Ways to Make You Feel Good About Your Life and Your Choices,” and because I’m drawn to these articles like a moth to flame, I spent the better half of the morning perusing the list. While I’ve certainly had the time lately to tackle a few of them, I decided to start small with “Perfect your eyebrow shape.” Now before you start judging, shaped eyebrows seem like something that should be important to me at this particular moment in my life.

There is actually a lot involved with perfecting your eyebrow shape, the details of which I have been completely ignorant to. And because there’s no time like the present, I decided this morning, while running late for work, that this would be the time to perfect my brows. (Notice all attempts at self-improvement are always made at inopportune moments…)

Let me tell you–what a bitch! No wonder I’ve avoided this process for so long! And frankly, my eyebrows look exactly the same. (Mostly because I could only bear to pluck 1-2 hairs per brow…) Who has time for the “pencil arch” trick and “brow combing and penciling” anyway?? I’ll just throw this into the “Lady Skill FAIL” bin and move onto tips 600-625.

What’s my age: 13, when I should have mastered this art. 

Faltering Fashion

PrintYesterday while walking down the hall, someone passed me and said, “O, you look so cozy today, like you could be in a log cabin.” Hm. Not exactly the look I try for when out in public/in the workplace. And it wasn’t even casual Friday!

Now as a person who does actually spend a sizable amount of time at a cabin, I was alarmed because my “style” there (if you can even call it that…) is less “mountain-chic” and more…let’s see…fleece pullover meets men’s long underwear meets wool socks. It’s a collection I designed myself: The Do Not Care Collection—Winter 2014.

It should be noted that I am not in any way, shape, or form a fashion plate, but I usually attempt to pull myself together a little more than I have been of late. I didn’t think it would be such a notable change, but the cold weather, my total lack of motivation and my inability to leave myself more than fifteen minutes to get ready in the morning are all contributing to my fashion show of schlump.  But I better step up my game, before I’m mistaken for the office lumberjack!

What’s my age: 55. Might as well match my dad’s age if I’m going to dress like him.

Bored.

IMG_1171For any of you that followed my old blog, you know that my job had a tendency to be a little….erratic in its schedule. Some days, I’m working 14 hours a day with a steady stream of smoke coming out of my ears, and others, I’m watching the second-hand on my watch creep by, 37 tabs open on my computer screen, contemplating the meaning of life.

Unfortunately, I’ve been experiencing a spate of the latter lately, and it’s giving me serious agita. I am just not the kind of person that can handle such endless downtime without questioning every life decision I’ve ever made, including whether getting the gyro sandwich from the cafeteria was a good idea. (It wasn’t). You’d think with the amount of time I have on my hands, I would have been able to make a better, more informed decision about what I wanted to eat for lunch!

I’ve worked at this job for 3 years now, and have yet to use the time to learn how handle these low periods any better. Despite my desire to learn a new language or write the next great masterpiece, I’m so uninspired lately that the only thing I manage to get done each day is moan for a little bit and then take Buzzfeed quizzes. At least I know I’m supposed to be living in Portland, be sporting a Pixie cut, and that my spirit animal is a mongoose. Time well spent!

What’s my age: 3, when an individual needs to feel entertained 100% of the time. 

Invitation to Freak Out

4Last night I checked my mailbox and inside was a very glossy and well-designed piece of mail. I had heard tales about the sudden onslaught of such mail by other people my age, and sure enough, I received my very first wedding invitation. I opened it right there in the asbestos-tainted entryway of my apartment, the embossed paper looking far too elegant for my current surroundings. Everyone should be forced to open wedding invitations in the lobby of a Park Avenue apartment building and then immediately handed a glass of champagne, so at least you can feel like you have something going for you.

Now I’m not some crazed woman that has a time table for when she wants to get married (at least lot one I will share here…) but getting a wedding invitation puts your life in perspective real fast. How is it possible that a girl you went to high school with that you were almost 100% sure was a lesbian now has a super-hot fiancé and just signed a mortgage? You take stock of your studio apartment and total lack of any dating material and think, wow I am a little behind right now. How is it possible that something you can’t even picture having is something that you suddenly want?

Although if I’m being perfectly honest, I’d really just want someone I can refer to as “The Hubs” on Facebook.

What’s my age: 28, the prime age for referring to your spouse as “The Hubs”

A Baby at the Conference Table

PrintA few years ago, my mother was let go from a little summer job she had picked up between school years (she’s a teacher) in an incident we all agreed was fueled by “age discrimination.” Why she wanted to work at a place where the average age of her colleagues was 17 and the recreational activity of choice was more illicit than cooking or cross-stitching—her hobbies—was beyond me, but regardless, she was upset and then furious about it.

Well at a meeting the other day, I experienced a similar dose of age discrimination, and while I didn’t get fired, I was red in the face, which is worse (obviously…). We were sitting around discussing a project and someone brought up that one of the people was born in 1988. Literally everyone in the room went, “Oh my God, how old is that?!” Well, everyone but me, because I knew exactly how old that was—25—my age. So of course, instead of laughing jovially, I said, “That’s 25,” and immediately a pall settled over the room. “O God, you’re only 25?” someone groaned. Well…almost 25 and ¾ if we’re getting into specifics.

First of all…how old did these people think I was? I know I’ve been a little lax with my moisturizing routine lately, but I don’t think I look a day over 27! And you’d think my youth would be a positive–what I lack in experience, I most definitely make up for in youthful enthusiasm! But in this case, it seemed to separate me from the colleagues I’m constantly trying to fit in with! I felt like I was back in high school, longing to fit in with the seniors who seemed (and let’s be honest: were) infinitely cooler than me. But it doesn’t look like I’ll be invited into the fold anytime soon…

What’s my age: A blatantly obvious 25.

S.A.D.

PrintThis morning, I woke up to another drab, gray day, and groaned in such a melodramatic fashion, even I was embarrassed. My apartment windows face a white apartment building which has blended into the colorless sky for months now, and the only thing that breaks up the monotony of this scene are a bunch of dead tree branches. It doesn’t exactly set the tone for a happy, cheerful day!

God, doesn’t it feel like winter is just endless lately? In case you weren’t aware, IT IS MARCH. Which means there are supposed to be HINTS OF SPRING. And yet this week has felt and looked like last week, which felt like the week before, which felt like the month before that! It’s like I’m running around a hamster wheel, except that I’ve been so tired, the “running” is more of a slow trudge. And then my foot gets stuck in the wheel and I fall on my face, too depressed to right myself.

Making matters worse, I come from an esteemed lineage of S.A.D. sufferers, and we drive ourselves crazy trying to battle the monotony of winter. My dad is probably building a shed in our backyard right now, while my mom bakes 12 dozen mini-pumpkin-chocolate-chip muffins while blasting John Denver. Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree…

What’s My Age: 105, because life feels endless. 

A Vacation from Crazy-Town

5 (1)In the middle of January I took an amazing vacation to South Africa–hands down the best vacation I’ve ever been on. Like most people, I took tons of pictures, posted them all over social media, and talked about it to anyone who would listen. But unlike most people, I’m STILL talking about it. STILL posting “TBT #Africa” pictures. STILL bringing it up at every happy hour/brunch/coffee break/bathroom line I find myself in.

And if you think that’s over the top, let me share with you my Google search history, updated approximately…5 minutes ago.

  • “How to get paid to travel”
  • “How to save enough money to travel for a year”
  • “Journalism jobs in South Africa”
  • “Journalism jobs in Paris”
  • “Journalism jobs in Japan”
  •  “How to speak Japanese”
  • “Five steps to avoid a horrible haircut”

Well, that last one snuck in there somehow…but how I wish I was just a normal adult who takes a vacation, complains about the food, and then goes back to the monotony of everyday life. Instead, in typical fashion, I’m looking for a complete upheaval in my life, daydreaming, and practically crying with another perusal of my “Africa, 2014” photo album. Sigh.

What’s my age: 38, when a person gives up and starts going to Disney World every year with the kids. 

A New Blog….S.O.S.

1Time to start this again…it’s gotta stick at some point, right? Just to fill in all those people that aren’t related to me (my primary readership…), I used to write this blog, but work life became old hat and I was finding it less than stimulating to write (and read) about my hair problems all the time! But that doesn’t mean I suddenly got hair extensions and am living the life of the well-coiffed. My hair still looks shitty about 70% of the time.

The joy of my old blog was that it was a therapeutic release from the few months (which spanned into a few years) after college, a time of much self-imposed emotional trauma. All I wanted was for everything to “work out,” whatever that meant at the time. But what I’m finding as I inch into my mid-20s is that most days are a coin toss of what’s going to feel “worked out” and what’s going to feel like a hot mess, both in and outside of the office.

Fortunately for you, that scale tips mostly towards the latter. So come on board and help me figure out what age I actually am…and what that means now.

Added bonus: The wonderful illustrations by my sister! A family affair!