Online Dating, or Applying to Jobs?

If you’re unmarried and over the age of 18 or have been online or have any friends who have ever been single, you probably know a thing or two about online dating and some of the ‘tactics’ you can take to give yourself the best opportunity possible of finding a potential match or new person to eventually grow to hate.

If you’ve ever wanted a job or had a job you didn’t want or liked to dream of being employed or been forced to find a job because for some reason no one wants to BUY YOUR CRAPPY HOMEMADE CRAFTS KAREN, you may also know a thing or two about applying to jobs online or trying to find a job online or the headache that is creating a resume/CV that is ultimately pointless because you have to manually re-enter all that information again because no one has made a single good system for this but I get it parsing is hard.

Very likely, you’ve experienced the trials and hardships of dealing with both of these systems, which are ultimately technologically-aided ways to connect to people you’ve never met in hopes of wooing them for personal gain. Whether you’re hoping to foster a personal relationship or a professional one, it’s undeniable that dating and obtaining a new job have a lot of similarities. So many, in fact, that I’ve come up with a game I like to call…Dating or Interviewing? So, am I talking about online dating, or online job-applying and interviewing? You tell me.

  1. This requires you to write a lengthy description of yourself and your accomplishments to make you seem better than you are for the sole purpose of MAYBE having an actual person interact with you.
  2. The more people you reach out to, the better your chances, so you reach out to as many as you can that meet your already-very-low expectations in hopes that you’ll eventually pique someone’s interest.
  3. At this point you now have so many accounts and usernames and passwords to various sites that you can’t even keep track of them all.
  4. Most people you’ve reached out to either completely ignore you or only reply with a resounding “NOPE” to your thoughtfully-written message. Most people don’t even have the courtesy to give you that.
  5. You’ll know your hard work and lies have paid off when one to a few desperate folks eventually respond.
  6. After a little back-and-forth, you may start talking on the phone and eventually even meet in person!
  7. When and if you DO finally meet in person, you’re sure to put your best foot forward: You take a shower, style your hair, put on your best clothes, do the breath test, come up with some talking points, try to hide your nervous sweats, and secretly hope this doesn’t take all day. If you’re lucky, you could be seeing this person again.
  8. This in-person meeting also requires a painful amount of small talk.
  9. After your meetup, you anxiously wait to hear from the person. Or should you contact them first? Why didn’t you make more official plans while you were in person? Did they not like you? How long until you should be the one to break the silence?
  10. You wait. And wait. And wait. Some of them never speak to you again. Some send a courteous ‘I don’t think we’re a match.’ You question whether going for the kiss was a bit premature. But still…you hold out hope that just ONE person will eventually say those three words to you: “Yeah, I guess.”

Prideful vs Proud

I recently went to Las Vegas for a sin-filled weekend of relaxation with the boif and a large group of friends for a lady-gal’s birthday. It was such a welcome reprieve from feeling terrible all of the time about everything forever. During our partaking of the Gluttonous sinful indulgence known as Las Vegas Buffet, the boif and I were joking that every Deadly Sin could be found and experienced in Vegas.

  • Lust: Um, obvious.
  • Gluttony: Mmmmmmmmmbuffet.
  • Greed: I CAN WIN MOAR
  • Sloth: Literally slept in and went to the pool to continue sleeping all day errday.
  • Wrath: The goddamn TSA agent that took our shooters…
  • Envy: ohgodwhyamiinsuchbadshape



There’s a difference between PRIDE, and being proud.

Pride, in the sinful understanding of the word, is a noun. Pride becomes a sin when you yourself have been consumed by it. Vanity is a form of pride.

(Kanye is the personification of pride.)

But the adjective of ‘pride’ is PROUD. You should be proud.

I had a hard time coming up with anything that would make me prideful, even in Vegas. Hell, I’m rarely if ever even proud of myself. It’s taken me much too long in life to realize that, at times, should be proud of myself the same as I am my family, friends, and loved ones. We all should. But, for what I feel are incredibly justified reasons, it’s a struggle for me to come up with reasons to be proud. It’s something I always will struggle with, and recently realized that I need to focus on, and need help to accomplish.

It’s so much easier for me to point out the flaws in me and negative things around me than it is to appreciate the things that are going well. And, naturally, since I’m my mother’s daughter, I blame myself for the negatives. Honestly, I’m genuinely afraid that all I’ve ever done is fuck up my own life. There are a lot of things in my life that I look at and truly make me ashamed and embarrassed for myself because I expect a lot more out of me. So I obsess over the negative, over the points in life where reality isn’t meeting my expectations–where I’M not meeting my expectations. I forget to celebrate the good, perhaps because the exceptional is what I expect. “Of course I got good grades, that’s what I expect of me.” or “Of course I continue to go to the gym and try to eat well, that’s what I expect of me.” I look at things that I’m doing ‘well’ and I simply gloss over them, because that’s the way they SHOULD be. But God knows if they were any other way, I’d be just as obsessive and embarrassed as I am about every other aspect of my life that isn’t meeting my expectations.

(But really things in life are bad rn haha)

I want to make a conscientious effort to try and find things about myself that I can be proud of. I’ve been so busy and so obsessed with trying to fix everything wrong in my life and about me that I’ve somehow forgotten to find the simple things in life that I should LOVE about myself.


1: I’ve gotten in better shape over the past couple of years than I probably ever have or will be again. My high school-college pants are too big for me now, so that’s cool/annoying.

2: I’ve learned a couple of thangs over the past year about photography and editing photos. Good job, me, I guess, but I’ve got a long way to go still.

3: I’m pmsing and have two boxes of thin mints that still have thin mints in them. Although that box of chocolates from Valentine’s Day has taken a serious hit…

Ok, that’s the best I can do. Slowly but surely.

Crawling before walking and all that.

Baby steps.

OLD POST: Dating Adventures, Round 1

Now that I’ve decided to get this shit in order and just start posting again, I’ve found a few drafts that I’d previously started and, at this exact moment in time, I said ‘why not’ to sharing it anyway. So, here’s another old post from back in my ‘I’m trying to date again and would rather stab a sharp object in my eye but also don’t want to be alone forever’ era.

[Spoiler: the date didn’t go well.]


Now I’m not saying that I’m bad at dealing with people. On the contrary, that’s my entire job–building relationships with human-y customer things (yeah, wtf is wrong with my company, right?). My squishy soft emotional innards are heavily guarded behind hardened layers of sarcasm, expertly mastered eye rolling techniques, and what some would say is ‘a shit-ton of unnecessary pessimism.’ Fortunate for me, I was blessed with the ability to read people and situations, so I’ve learned how to successfully slap on a smile (the key to looking sincere is ever-so-slightly squinting your eyes so those future crows’ feet crinkles appear), widening my eyes to look interested (don’t do this for an entire date, your eyebrows will hurt by the end), faking a laugh, hiding a yawn of boredom behind a fully closed mouth (I’m keeping this technique a secret, it took years of mastery), and asking questions to keep other people talking as needed so I: 1- don’t have to talk about myself, and 2- don’t have to endure the dreaded prolonged awkward silence that first dates tend to bring out in all combinations of human beings.  I’m actually a very pleasant person, but pretending to care about generic strangers is, frankly, exhausting. Like, I care about humanity at large and all that, but being forced to interact with a complete stranger for an extended period of time is torture. Now pile on trying to poop out some amount of romantic feelings for this stranger–this is why dating is an incomprehensible social construct to me.

I made this for you out of my feelings.

Sorry, that picture’s pretty gross. But so are feelings.

I am genuinely perplexed by what the strategy of dating is supposed to be. Is it a glass half full or half empty type thing? Do you just keep seeing someone until you decide you like them or hate them? That seems like a waste of time for everyone. Do other people have this innate ability to create feelings within themselves immediately for another person? Am I just broken?! WHAT IS DATING?!

Online Dating Adventures, Round 1:

For anyone following along at home, you’ll know that I’ve seen one guy twice, one guy once, and am seeing another tonight. I’m booked up like the whore of Babylon, which is exciting, I guess. The two guys I’ve seen have been nice and I probably had about as much fun as you could expect to have if you were trapped in a metaphorical game of Survivor together. The lucky guy who got a second date ended the date with saying “I hate people,” which is what won me over (“We both hate people! I wonder what else we both hate!”). But, I’ve since sent the awkward, “I had fun but not really enough to want to force myself out of my apartment again” texts. Which, probably unsurprisingly, I’ve never had to be the rejecter. So on some level I guess I feel bad, but in some ways it’s a small moment of triumph. But really, does anyone feel at all let down after one or two dates? Isn’t everyone on some level secretly relieved to have all their evenings back to themselves so they can resume their slovenly ways?

That’s probably why I’m excited to have this last date on the marathon sprint of dating over with. This poor guy gets to meet one exhausted, apathetic girl tonight, though. I still don’t know what I’m going to wear. Probably the same thing I’ve worn on the other dates. What, I’ve only got so many non-dude, non-work, non-pajama clothes. I’m begrudging the fact that I need to get home with enough time to take a shower, reapply all of my face paint, put BACK on actual clothes, and pretend to be a girl that takes lady-sized bites of food. On the slightly bright side, there’s really no worst-case scenario–either it goes terribly and I get to go back to being a lazy pile as much as I want, or it goes great and I decide I want to see him again (which I guess would be good for the adult relatives who’re starting to wonder about my sexual orientation, but bad for my anxiety over having to navigate social norms).




It’s me.

Not Adele, unfortunately. I wish. That girl’s got WAY more going for her than I do.

But I haven’t written in a long while. And a lot of that’s because I’ve been happier (and way busier because of a certain someone) in my personal life lately. More and more miserable in my professional one, but that’s another story for another time.

At one point, I explored Medium as an option to continue my personal writing.

But nah.

I like the total ownership of this seldom-looked-at blog. But, I did publish one thing on Medium to clear my mindspace, and I wanted to make sure I had it documented here.

To briefly catch you up, I think at one point I said ‘Never start dating your ex. Never start dating your ex. Never ever do it!’ and maybe I should’ve stuck by that–only the future will tell. BUT, I did start dating my ex again. You know, the one that kind of spurred on my need and decision to restart this little public journal of mine. And it’s been good. We’ve been re-dating, as I like to call it, for over a year now. (FULL DISCLOSURE, we got back together that fateful new years eve that I didn’t want to attend because my life is a dramedy and that was its season finale. He was part of the friend group going. He fell asleep on my couch when the party ended up back at my place with pizza and hot dogs after the main event ended, I woke him up, and we ended up talking until 8AM when the sun grew tired of us talking and came up to tell us to go to bed. We went to sleep briefly, woke up, and nursed our well deserved hangovers with brunch and mimosas, and have pretty much been inseparable since.) 

At many points, I’ve thought ‘maybe we had it right the first time, maybe this is all wrong. But for now he’s one of the best parts of my life. At one point, though…I’d nearly reached the end. I just didn’t think I could do it anymore, because I knew I was starting to have real feelings, and he continued to be his selfish self. And as much as I may truly deeply hate myself sometimes, I know ultimately I deserve more than that. So, with no editing, here’s……..


A letter to my soon-to-be ex

Dear future ex,

This is the hardest letter I’ve ever written and not given to you. I’m not going to say “it’s not you, it’s me,” because it’s definitely you. I’m not over you. I’m not going to be over you. I have extremely strong, misguided feelings for you. Dare I say, I could even love you if I felt secure in doing so.

I’d love nothing more than to be in disgustingly mushy mutual love with you. But you’re selfish. You’re extremely selfish. You say you want big things in life like a marriage and a family, but you don’t know how to share the pedestal you keep yourself on. You will always come first to yourself. Self-importance is a useful quality, but can become a bitter poison in relationships. I want to give you my heart and guard yours where I keep mine. But I can’t give you anything precious and fragile to hold onto for me when I can’t trust you to protect it.

Love is truly patient and kind, and I have been. But love is most importantly, selfless. Love is compromising for another because being with them is more important than any other personal desire. Love is putting another person’s needs and happiness above your own, or at least right next to it. Their priorities are your priorities. Their happiness is your happiness. Their trials and tribulations are empathetically yours. And, my dear, in all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen any indication that you’re capable of feeling to such a depth for someone outside of yourself.

So while it kills me inside to say that I could have loved you, would have loved you deeply if given the chance, I can’t be with you any longer. I can’t postpone our pain because I can’t waste my life waiting for an impossibility. And you, darling, are truly impossible.

With regrettably misplaced love,

The broken-hearted

New Year’s Resignations

This may surprise you [note: it should not actually surprise you], but I am not a huge fan of New Years. As a thing, as a point of celebration, as some sort of devine turning point for humans to reinvent themselves. “This will be MY year!” Um okay, but you had all LAST year to make it your year. Maybe you should start smaller with something like “This will be MY lunch break!” I wasn’t excited at all about celebrating tonight until I realized that meant I could be celebrating the END of 2014. Ask yourself which you’re more excited to celebrate tonight: the end of one year, or the beginning of a new one? Once I posed this question to myself, I realized how very pessimistic I am. I am DREADING a whole ‘nother year. But one being done and over is like…

Way to go, team! We did it! Another year down!



There are two people in the world: Those who make new year’s resolutions and give up on them by the 4th month, and those who know better than to make them at all. And then there’s that unicorn of a 3rd person who has no friends because they actually make a meaningful life change because of their resolution. This is why, in my opinion, it’s much more realistic to make New Year’s Resignations. For example, I resign that I will continue to work out off and on, mostly on during the months of March-July because that’s when I want to look good and will have reached the pinnacle of my physical fitness for the year, and then mostly off again once the hours change back in November and it’s dark at 3:30 PM.

Don’t get me wrong, for the people who make New Year’s Resolutions and that actually keeps them motivated, good for you. Bravo. Now get out because this post is not for you.

This is for the majority of people who make huge life-changing plans at the beginning of the year, and then sit on the couch and eat and don’t move for literally 365 days. Not a bad way to spend a life, if you ask me, but certainly not conducive to making huge life changes. In acknowledgement that I am a person who likes to make goals but TOTALLY know that it is easier to do nothing than to do something, here are some of *my* New Year’s Resignations:

  1. (As previously mentioned) I resign to continue to work out with some amount of frequency, look kinda decent-er in Summer than I do now, and then let myself go again in time for the holidays.
  2. I resign to cut back on the drinking but only, like, when I don’t want a drink. And am not out with friends. Or strangers. Or had a hard day. Or am forced into a crowd of people.
  3. I resign to cut back on the smoking and stuff..same rules as above applies.
  4. I resign to make more mistakes. (this one feels like cheating, because it’s gunna happen regardless)
  5. I resign to spend more time indoors BUT occasionally thinking about the outdoors and better things I could be doing with my life.
  6. I resign to spend more time alone, although I don’t actually know how that’s possible.
  7. I resign to continue not giving a shit what celebrities do with their lives and to continue rolling my eyes at those who do.
  8. I resign to throw out clothes and shit I don’t use anymore and then miss them a month later when I decide I want to wear that thing I just gave to the goodwill.
  9. I resign to think about actually cooking but continue to only eat a single hard-boiled egg for my daily protein because cooking meat is really gross and I JUST DON’T WANT TO DO IT OKAY
  10. I resign to think about calling my parents more but ultimately keep putting it off until it’s someone’s birthday or an important holiday.

See?! Aren’t New Year’s Resignations easy to make and keep?!

Life, in all aspects, is a continuous line; it’s a marathon. Don’t wait for New Years to try and convince yourself to make huge life changes. If you want to change something, do it now. There’s no point in waiting. You will succeed some days, and you will fail some days. But it’s okay. You’ve got ~85 years to get it right, so one day/week/month of not living up to your goals shouldn’t be the end of it. Tomorrow’s always a new day, and what is a day if not a fresh beginning on a smaller scale.

Have a happy, safe, last day of 2014, however you choose to celebrate. I will be going to a big fancy party I don’t really want to attend, so Robin and I will probably have a lot in common by the end of the night.

San Francisco is, like, sooooo San Franciscan

So, in order to avoid the whole birthday celebration thing, I quite literally ran away.

I knew I shouldn’t be alone, because really, I don’t need MORE reasons to feel sad, and justifying some travel as a self-present seemed reasonable enough, so I opted to visit my best friend in San Francisco. She recently moved there, and I’d never been, and of all the people in the world she is my favorite and she somehow seems to totally get me. It was an awesome trip. I ate so much, I have literally not felt hungry in over a week. We both went above and beyond the call of duty on our Friday out. I basically blacked out, sent a text to a mailing address (which obviously didn’t work, but why are we not working on that, USPS?), and tried to get a friend from Seattle to give us a lift home because I forgot we were in SF. I also initiated conversation with complete strangers, apparently? So I guess I finally found how to make myself outgoing! The only cost is permanent liver damage and feeling like death for the next 36 hours. NBD! (I don’t recommend this, but I also don’t not recommend this…). I also ate basically every kind of Asian food. I literally did not use a fork once while in San Francisco. AND I had the most amazing tacos that I have ever put in my mouth. Those tacos are my Paseo of San Francisco.

Anyway! Never having been to San Francisco, I was excited to see what stereotypes of the city held true, and what other things about the city that I found to be uniquely…San Franciscan. Plus, I got to fulfill two bucket list things! I biked across the Golden Gate Bridge, and got to see the house I so badly wanted to live in growing up, aka the Full House house. Spoiler: SF is every bit as hipster and start-uppy as you would imagine, completely with everyone owning a hoodie with their start-up’s name on it. Anyway, here are some of my mundane observations:

1: All old dudes with white hair are required, by law, to keep it long enough to be in a tiny, hip ponytail.

But really, the number of white-haired dudes sporting a ponytail was outrageous compared to anywhere else I’ve been in the world. I don’t know if it’s to make themselves feel younger, or hipper, or if they’re all “cool” professors of literature, but THEY’RE EVERYWHERE. Like, you get off the plane and onto the BART and there’s like a 500% increase from whatever city you left. Is there a tumblr dedicated to this phenomenon? There should really be a tumblr.

2: The only high rises you’ll see are either downtown or the style of pants (is that a style of pants? I’m so out of the fashion loop).

To be fair, the older style buildings are gorgeous. But at what expense?? There are so many people living there, and there are almost zero high rise apartment buildings! I understand wanting to keep the culture and keep the beautiful architecture, but if you’re not gunna change with the times, then I guess you’re not really justified in complaints of overcrowding. Still, though. That architectural style is gorgeous. WP_20141206_16_28_36_Pro

3: Tiny local shops. Tiny local shops everywhere.

I’m a fan of buying local as much as anyone, but sometimes I just need what I know, and that is giant box stores and giant department stores to buy literally everything. The only place I saw any of these familiar things was the downtown area, or the very overtly tourist centers. Like, how on earth do all of you SF-ans know which boutiques carry what you’re looking for? Where do you get all the shit you need to be a person? How do you execute the see-it-in-the-store-and-buy-it-online-for-cheaper shopping method?! Plus, all dat shit’s ‘spensive, yo.

4: Any meal out, which is basically every meal, is a 3 hour ordeal.

Along with those tiny little garage-size shops (because they’re probably literally in what used to be the garage of the really old house-converted-to-apartments sitting above it), is tiny little garage-sized restaurants. And they’re damn delicious. But OMG WAITING IN LINE IS THE WORST. Waiting around for things is a way of life in SF. Like, moreso than other large cities I’ve been to. Wait for the bus, wait for the BART, wait for the restaurant, wait for the bathroom. And always with the promise that it’s worth it. Which it usually is. But damn, I would probably starve from impatience if I lived there.

5: Everything organic, fair trade, GMO-free, and vegan only.

If you want to open anything food-related in SF, it’s important to hit as many of those buzz words as you possibly can. Also, they have kombucha shops, and lots of juicing shops. I think the point I’m trying to drive is perfectly described by a real story from my best friend’s boyfriend–essentially, he was trying to give one of the many homeless citizens of SF a salad, to which the homeless person said, “Is that vegan and organic? I only eat vegan and organic.” This is a perfect comedic moment that accurately describes SF

135 "30 Rock GIFs"...Just Because6: Weather. Layers. Damp. 

Don’t bother drying your clothes. Or drying off after a shower. Everything is damp. If you’ve used a bath towel, it will be wet for the rest of its existence. It’s as close as you’ll ever get to breathing underwater. On the plus side, your skin is incredibly well hydrated. I don’t know if it was a typical level of humid while I was there, but I do know that it was like 87%. Also it does get surprisingly cool in the evenings. “Layer up” was told to me several times, and it’s true. But then you’re wearing all these layers and walking all over the place and there’s sun and your body isn’t used to any sun because you’re a half-albino from Seattle so you’re sweating profusely and the sweat is mixing with the humidity and basically I needed to wash my clothes 3 times while I was there.


Food is basically the best part of vacation, although my non-vacation ass, hips, and thighs disagree.

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All in all, I’ll definitely revisit San Francisco.

Happy Obligation To You

So, it’s my birthday. Birthdays are a weird thing, in my opinion. They’re a time where all these people come out of the woodwork to say ‘Happy Birthday!’ on Facebook, and then I have zero interaction with them until my next birthday when they say ‘Happy Birthday!’ on Facebook again. I do very much appreciate even that simple gesture, because I generally don’t expect anyone to pay me any attention. But it is somehow an indication of a closer friend when they’ll go so far as to text you personally, or message you in a more real-time manner. It’s nice, it makes me feel like I have friends for once, it actually puts me in a good mood. But it still feels artificial–Birthdays are an obligation.

Happy Obligation, friend! My gift to you.


Let me explain, because no one else seems to feel the same way I do about birthdays. I do not go out of my way to let people know it’s my birthday at all; it’s hidden on Facebook, I don’t bring it up in conversation. And it’s not a ‘test’ of sorts of who’s really a friend. In my mind, my birthday is just a thing that happened to me. I did nothing exceptional, I didn’t choose to be born. Really, people should be congratulating my mom.

But, once people KNOW it’s your birthday, they for some reason want to know what you’re doing for this ‘special’ day. So the obligation feels two-fold: Because it’s my birthday, I feel like I’m supposed to do something special and celebrate with people and all that. But I’m not a super outgoing person, I feel like a burden to people more often than not, and the last thing I want is people to hang out with me on my birthday because they feel obligated to do so.

I’ll be honest, I would like to do something with friends for my birthday. No one wants to be alone on birthdays or holidays. But I can’t get over the ‘inflicting a sense of obligation’ part of inviting people to hang out. Plus I feel very flustered and stressed when I’m the one orchestrating some sort of social gathering. I just want everyone to enjoy themselves and be happy! THAT SEEMS LIKE SO MUCH RESPONSIBILITY WHEN I CAN’T EVEN MANAGE MY OWN HAPPINESS.

Let’s get real dark for a second here.

There were several moments I wasn’t sure I’d make it to be 24. Or 23. But not sad about it, just accepting it as a fact. Sometimes, almost even hopeful about it. I still feel that way. There are just days where it feels like the only victory I have over myself is waking up in the morning–even if I just wake up to roll over and go back to sleep because I can’t handle being conscious. I manage as best I can, but when it comes right down to it, I don’t see the value or the point in my own existence.

I’m not afraid of death, I’m afraid of never living.

So, I’m going to consider my birthday to be my own personal new year. I’m going to set goals for myself, because goals are sometimes the only things that keep me going. If I’m working towards something, I’m at least not remaining stagnant. So, by the time I turn 25, this is what I want to have accomplished:

  1. When I turned 22, I declared that I wanted to be stable enough in life and career and everything else to be able to own a dog. (I don’t have to OWN one by then, but I have to be capable of taking care of myself and a dog.)
  2. Applied for graduate school. (hopefully, being accepted)
  3. Found a new job.
  4. Made a new more-than-acqaintance-or-group-level friend.
  5. Joined some sort of official group outside of work that utilizes a passion. (choir, volunteering, anything!)
  6. Get a tattoo that I can grow to hate and regret.
  7. Sky dive

24 is the last year I have to make mistakes and later in life chalk it up to being ‘young’ and ‘not knowing better’, so I better get to work making poor decisions.

Fuck this, fuck that, fuck the thing over there: Annoyances

I haven’t written much lately, but I’ve got a lot of minor annoyances built up in me right now, so, without much further ado, here’s a bunch of stuff I think is bullshit and gets under my skin like those fuckin’ creepy-ass bug things in that one episode of The X-Files. (I’ve had a more put together insightful post rolling around in my brain that I’ll eventually get to.)

  1. People who use fancy-ass hard-to-read fonts and colors in Lync and business emails. I hate you, I immediately assume you’re an idiot, and also a middle-aged woman. I am usually correct in this assumption. You and your grammatical errors remind me of dealing with a dumb blonde in high school who wanted to make cheerleader but never did because she was so fucking annoying even cheerleaders didn’t want her around. ONLY I HAVE TO BE NICE TO YOU BECAUSE YOU HAVE TO DO WORK I NEED YOU TO DO GOD DAMMIT FUCK.
  2. People who go to the break room, grab a cup (one of the insulated coffee ones, or one of the bamboo-plastic ones, doesn’t matter), fill it with a sip of water, drink the water STANDING RIGHT FUCKING THERE, and then PROCEED TO THROW THE CUP IN THE TRASH. WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU. Let me analyze for you: the trash can is literally right next to the compost. Our company goes OUT OF ITS WAY to purchase special compost-friendly drinking devices. THE TRASH CAN. IS LITERALLY. RIGHT NEXT. TO THE COMPOST BIN. Additionally, what you’re doing is exactly what water fountains were invented for. THERE ARE TWO WATER FOUNTAINS LITERALLY 5 STEPS AWAY FROM THE BREAK ROOM. JFC.
  3. People who talk to you when you have headphones in. Like, they don’t even NEED anything crucial, they just want to talk. DUDE CAN’T YOU SEE THAT I AM DOING STUFF THAT DOES NOT INVOLVE COMMUNICATING TO YOU ABOUT TRIVIAL MATTERS THAT I DON’T CARE ABOUT? Particularly when you’re wearing over-the-ear headphones. Some people just don’t GET that that means I do not want to be interrupted. My next step is just putting a sign over my face that says I DO NOT WANT TO TALK TO YOU.
  4. People who IM you at work with a “Hi.” The conversations that bother me then go one of three ways:
    1. “How are you?” and other pleasantries have to be exchanged. My time on this blue marble is precious, dickhead, please just get to the point. What do you want. WHAT. DO. YOU. WANT. You obviously did not start talking to me to get to know me or my life, there’s obviously a reason you communicated with me, a complete stranger, within the company. You need something. Just tell me! TELL MEEEEEEE
    2. Or, they follow that with a ‘do you have a sec?’ So I’m like, okay, I’ll wrap this thing up so I have a sec for them. “Sure,” I say, because I don’t really know what else to say to that question. And then, they’re silent for the next 15 minutes. WHY DID YOU DO THAT TO ME. WHY DID YOU DERAIL ME AND INTERRUPT MY DAY. ARE YOU JUST TAKING A POLL?! HOW DO I OPT OUT OF YOUR FUTURE ‘DO YOU HAVE A SEC’ POLLS?!
    3. You respond. They then try to CALL you. Like, dude, wtf, why isn’t using your fingers easy enough for you? I fucking HATE talking on the phone, like, just blanket-statement, I will never talk on the phone if I can avoid it. So please, for the love of God, do not IM me “Hi” and then try to call me, or follow that up with “Can I call you?” DUDE GOD NO. If you IM me, I can continue to do other things with my life and not force my voice into ‘polite business’ voice. Please don’t make me do that, I don’t like it.
  5. People who drive with their lights off. When it is obviously overcast/rainy/night time. It’s Seattle, it is one of those things at least 90% of the time. TURN ON YOUR FUCKING LIGHTS!!! I don’t CARE if you can see the road, I’m old and the only thing that attracts my attention and lets me know there’s another thing on the road is THOSE TWO HEAD LIGHTS. And on that note…
  7. Oh, oh, okay. Last one. The social norm of having to make small talk. All small talk. All of it. Especially when trying to get to know someone. All small talk is lies. Why can’t we just be open and honest?! Don’t ask me how I am, you don’t really give a shit. And you asking forces ME to return the ‘favor’ of asking how YOU are. And sure as hell don’t give a shit. And talking about the weather? Fuck you, I hate the weather. All of it, every kind of it. Let’s get down to reality. The CORE OF YOUR BEING. What destroyed you in puberty? What’re you actually good at, what do you just THINK you’re good at? What kind of person are you when you drink? What’s your addiction? What are you most insecure about? These are things I care about. These are things that make up a person, not bullshit like sports facts you know.

Ok. For now I feel a little better. I will probably have more to add.

TL;DR: “Things that annoy me: People.”

Parental Visitation, aka house arrest

Do you remember being a college kid and visiting home and feeling like you were a kid walking into Disneyland except a boring version (that you secretly had come to prefer) where instead of rides there were pets and home cooked food and a mom that wanted to do your laundry for you? And you know how, even as an adult, getting to go home for holidays and have a home cooked meal that you swear must contain opiates because you could never get anything you throw in an oven to taste that good is something you look forward to? Seriously, how do moms know how to make food that actually tastes like something you’re eating for more than staying alive?

I still love going home for those reasons. I LOVE dogs but can’t justify getting one because of the whole small apartment thang, and cats are just dicks. But my parents’ home is where the animals are. It’s where the food that tastes like childhood is. However, now the reverse can happen: your parents can come visit you. And this visit is simply not the same. This visit is all about ascertaining what kind of adult you’re becoming, or if you’re even becoming a responsible adult at all. I mean, it’s also to see you because your parents [probably] love you and also need a vacation, but it all FEELS like a test. So, here are some things that always happen in preparation and for the duration of a parental visitation:

1: Hide the drugs, hide the booze.

Well, when you’re me, at least, hiding the booze is also necessary. And timing booze purchases around your parents’ trips also becomes necessary, which I failed to do this time. Good thing it’s Halloween weekend! For some reason, having a Halloween party is so much more reasonable than a ‘my parents are coming and I still have too much booze for myself’ party (but let’s be real, I’m not having a Halloween party. I’m going to get drunk watching Hocus Pocus in my pajamas while eating all the Halloween candy I bought for the children I knew wouldn’t come by because I live in a young-person apartment complex. If I can’t be honest with you, Internet, who CAN I be honest with.). Alternatively, hide the good stuff you’re keeping for yourself under your bed, just like when you were a kid and had something awesome to hide from your parents…I guess not much really changes. (Bonus: you can take a swig privately at night to take some of the edge off. Or in the morning if you’re Irish.)

I’m also dreading the morning my mom wakes up before me and tries to make coffee. “Nonononono, Mom! Not THAT coffee canister!!!! Why? Uhhh, no reason…it’s…uh…decaf!! Yeah. Decaf. Totally decaf. Definitely zero drugs of any kind in there.”

2- Food shopping is now about ingredients and not pre-made junk.

To pass secret parental test number 2, you have to make at least one homemade meal that doesn’t taste like dog shit and indicates some amount of awareness for health by including at least one vegetable. I mean, part of the dating world/staying alive is that you should know how to prepare at least one meal anyway, so this should be simple enough. But who keeps ingredients on hand? Who can afford actual meat unless it’s for a special occasion, like entertaining a guest of some sort? Or if you’re part of DINKs. Lucky bastards. LITTLE DO YOUR PARENTS KNOW (actually they probably totally know, parents seem to know everything they’re not supposed to), you looked up a lot of Food Network recipes and made a shopping list in preparation for their one home-cooked meal from you. And then forgot said shopping list on the countertop when you went to the grocery store and bought the few things you thought you remembered being in the recipe and went home and said FUCK IT because GOD DAMMIT YOU DID YOUR BEST.

3-The Inquisition

Once all the greeting and pleasantries are exchanged and the “I’m so glad you’re/I’m here!!”s have subsided, and you’ve fed your parent, foolishly refueling them back to their most powerful state, the questioning begins.
How are you? Good!

No, how ARE you? Fine.

Who’re your friends? I don’t know, people? I don’t really have any.

Where do you hang out? Uhhhh [mostly bars] mostly each others’ apartments.

Are you seeing anyone? LOL.

Tell me about all your dating lately. Well, I see my bartender across the street a lot…

Do you have a dentist yet? Weeeeeell….

When’s the last time you had a physical? Uhhhhhhhhh…. 

Are you eating properly? No, but I am eating a LOT.

Why do you have a lighter? DO YOU SMOKE?! Smoke what?

I already went through your medicine cabinet, since when are you taking anxiety meds? When did you get here?

4- Showing your parents a good time.

If you live a significant distance from your parents, you’ll want to show off this incredible place that you live, and make sure they have a good time. Of course, when you ask if there’s anything they’d like to do, the answer is always, “Oh, I’m just here to see you! You know I’m happy to do whatever,” which is of absolutely ZERO help. Thanks, Mom. Plus, let’s focus on the part where you are showing them ANYTHING. I normally do absolutely nothing all weekend, and that’s all I usually want to do on the weekend. But no. I feel obligated to DO something now. Like shower. And be up before noon. Don’t they know I’m only pretending to be an adult and I don’t actually function like one?! Plus, throw in the time change, and timezone differences…

Oh, and to triple the pressure, my mom will be here for her birthday. BUT YEAH TOTALLY DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO ANYTHING SPECIAL.

5- Showing your parents an appropriate time.

Well, we could go to this bar I really like–ohwait no we can’t…–this restaurant makes really good mojitos–shit…–well we went to this museum last time you were here…and that one…and we’ve already done Pike Place, but we can do that again…there’s always coffee shops? And bakeries? And shopping? Basically we’re just going to eat a lot and watch Gilmore Girls. Fortunately, we both really like doing those things.

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Plus, then there’s the to and from airport logistics you have to work out. And of course, scheduling a flight to land right at rush hour was the cheapest option. And scheduling a super early departure was obviously the cheapest…can’t I just send you off in an Uber?!

But really, it’ll be great to see my mom again. And I have a pretty impressive day planned for her birthday…massages, fancy dinner, luxurious spa…what can I say, I’m a kickass hostess daughter. But that doesn’t make having visitors any less stressful, especially after just moving in to a new apartment where nothing feels put together. As excited as I am to see her, I’ll be equally excited when the 5 days are over and I can go back to my strict no-pants, no-alarm-clocks-on-the-weekends policy.

I won’t be efficient, and you can’t make me!

I have an issue with Keurigs.

I’m probably one of those quintessential ‘coffee snobs’ compared to most of the population–I like to buy locally roasted, fair-trade beans and grind them myself. I abhor Starbucks for what I consider to be several legitimate reasons (their macchiato is NOT a macchiato, their beans for espresso are not freshly ground and tamped by the barista, etc.). I make my own espresso. I own a couple of different French presses, and actually know the temperatures associated with using them. I know darker roasts have less caffeine than light roasts, but I don’t give a shit because it tastes way better (either way I’m going to end up consuming more caffeine than is healthy for a normal adult). I inwardly judge people who add sugar and cream to their morning coffee. However, making quality coffee in the mornings is time-consuming. I’m fortunate that my company provides me with free coffee that grinds each cup fresh, and I’m able to lower my standards on beans for the word ‘free’. Previously, like most people, I’d gone the route of a Keurig. As a caffeine addict, my lifestyle and job almost necessitated the ease of it.

I work in the tech industry–in a sense, I’d argue we all work in the tech industry anymore. Technology enables us to do accomplish an incredible amount in a very short amount of time. Business booms. People across the globe can collaborate on the same document at the exact same time and avoid stepping on each other’s modifications to the work. Hell, I can do my entire job from my cellphone with a few apps. And, in the interest of furthering our ability to accomplish all of a day’s tasks in a short time period, automation has become our biggest friend. Sure, the alarm clock that also cooks you eggs and bacon is gimmicky and ridiculous, but is it really that much more ridiculous than getting your morning coffee from a single-cup brewing Keurig?

Initially, I thought I was anti-Keurig because of the quality. And then, my brother showed me this automated, high-quality coffee machine that could scientifically make a more perfect pour-over than I could even dream of: the Bruvelo.

I was torn. I love quality coffee, and felt like I couldn’t achieve this at the same easy and time that a Keurig allowed. With this expensive, fancy-pants kickstarter, I could have that. EVERY. DAY. But for some reason, I was still unconvinced. I still didn’t want one, and it wasn’t even the price that deterred me. And it hit me–even if this could make a superior product to my own cup of coffee, it wasn’t my coffee. It’s my own version of the IKEA effect.

I still prefer the process of making my own coffee. I like that it slows down my weekend mornings. I like the process of grinding my own beans and smelling the coffee and heating the water and watching the grounds soak and impart their deliciousness in my French press. It’s a part of my weekend mornings that’s deliberately slow. The process of making morning coffee is a tradition that’s been performed in my family for as long as I can remember. It’s my own personal tea ceremony.

It’s a simple reminder to take the time to slow down in life, enjoy the small things, and that, sometimes, efficiency is overrated.