Adult birthdays are weird.
When you’re little they’re all about celebrating milestones, so exciting.
From ages 4-12 it’s about comparing ages with your friends, “Oh you’re nine? I’m nine and three months.” (insert smug look)
13-18–the best/worst. You’re in the full swings of your awkward stage but you’re also like fuck you I’m 14.
19 and 20–pretty lame.
21–meet me at the bar, bitch.
22-24–can drink, can’t rent car. Some people start being in love and getting married, or something.
25–can rent a car. Unfortunately, I have no money to do this. Meet me at home, bitch.
26-29–am I an adult yet? No, no, the bottle of rose I finished alone last night proves I’m not.
30+–I’m an adult? Still going to drink an entire bottle of wine alone sometimes.
Here I am, on the eve of my 27th birthday, stuck right in the middle of that fun 26-29 range. But, instead of downing a bottle of rose last night, I have been downing antibiotics and snorting flonase. Guess whose got a sinus infectionnnnnnnnnnnnnn?
This almost 27 year old does!
I not only get into pass into my 27th year realizing just how pointless this age is, I get to feel like a balloon stuck to a rock. Though, I must say these meds are working their magic.
Whoever discovered flonase and antibiotics was definitely either 13-18 or 30+
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As has become my fashion, I put off buying Pitchfork tickets til it was too late in the hopes that someone close to me would end up winning two three day passes and would take me with them, as it’s what happened last year.
You probably predicted correctly that this did not happen for two years in a row. Luckily, I live with people who are equally as big of procrastinators as myself, and figured out a way on how to acquire tickets to the otherwise sold out festival.
BOO-YAH, GIRL POWER!
Katie and I go on Friday and we both avoid having a full scale heat stroke and make it in time for Panda Bear, Chvrches and Wilco. On top of these two successes, we also discovered the beauty that are “FLOR”s. What the hell is that, you might wonder… FLOR is this wonderful little square you can carry around with you to sit on instead of putting your butt right on the grass.
What are these wonderful little squares made of?
Aren’t they just carpet squares then?
What makes them so special?
Nothing. I don’t really know what the end game of this “FLOR” company is. I didn’t read the fine print, but I bet if I did they’d be labeled as “artisanal”.
I skipped Saturday of Pitchfork in order to babysit at a wedding, at which I knew no one except the woman I was babysitting for who I had also just met. But that’s a whole different blog…
For Sunday, Katie has acquired two VIP tickets and I’m all “gimme one of those”. Going in all we knew was that we had to go in a different entrance and that it allowed us free alcohol. What we learned upon entering the VIP area, was that the VIP section of Pitchfork was where I’d been destined to end up my entire life.
You got a shiny bracelet and as promised, there was free alcohol everywhere. The Goose Island tent even had different beers than were offered to the commoners outside of the VIP section.
I enlisted Katie’s help on getting two extra beers so we’d have enough to share with Anika and Ryan who were waiting for us just outside the pearly gates. We walked with our arms full of alcohol, making us the biggest sore thumb of the VIP section, down a path we thought would lead us into the general public area. We ended up at a dead end that also happened to be an exclusive area very close to the stage Jamie xx was currently performing at.
We gave up on getting out of our dream world for a second, and just enjoyed Jamie xx, as well as the alcohol we had intended to share among four people. Needless to say, we enjoyed the Jamie xx set very very much.
Take two, we decided to ask a guard how we got out of VIP and into the general public at the fest. It of course was absolutely nowhere near where we were or where we were headed, so we did a second large alcohol trip and then made our way out to find our friends.
After our initial entrance, we would revisit the VIP area one more time. It was a sad goodbye.
I’ll let you know when I’ve readjusted to normal society.
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Lately I’m realizing that my life’s work is figuring how to get properly caffeinated. I am constantly trying to figure out how to be somewhere between falling sleep every time I sit down and so strung out I start an extremely intense to do list and then pass out half way through. Many times my hunt for caffeine is a religious journey, after each americano, diet coke, or coffee I pray that the caffeine in these drinks will use their skills correctly and get me off my couch and get me outside.
Occasionally my praying pays off and I’m able to sit and concentrate on something besides the tv or my phone for more than 5 minutes, I go outside and take my dog for a long walk, or I make myself food rather than going to Marianos and getting food from their hot bar. Somehow getting out of my house and getting Marianos is seen as more work than staying inside my own home.
A lot of the time my praying does not pay off because who’s going to listen to a girl who only prays when she needs enough energy to not sleep all day. When the power of prayer fails me I usually end up feeling more tired than when I injected the caffeine into my system and if possible, I go to sleep. This usually tempts the caffeine into working while I sleep so that I wake up feeling like I just got rescued from an avalanche where I’d been trapped for 10 days without food, shelter or sleep. It’s a wonderful system.
What’s an under-energized girl to do? Stop drinking so often? Nonsense. Drink more water? Maybe. Have an almond milk latte, diet coke, and americano all in one day? Tried that. Not eat enough mac and cheese for two people in the middle of the work day? Too delicious to not. Complain about sleepiness to anyone who’ll listen? Duh.
I’ve considered just stopping caffeine all together and seeing if flushing it from my system helps it to have any effects when I drink it in the future. But, I have tried quitting caffeine cold turkey before and it only ended in my losing the ability to form sentences that made sense outside of my head, and a general feeling of anger 24 hours a day. These side effects of being under caffeinated are mended 50% by the ingestion on a caffeinated beverage. Unless I just end up getting the shakes and feeling an urge to strangle people for two hours before being tucked into bed.
The struggle is real, y’all.
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This past weekend was Fourth of July, which seems totally insane, but how many blogs have I written about my inability to keep track of time, so let me just skip to the details from my favorite place on earth: Twin Lakes, WI. More specifically, Lafen, a glorious house with a boat, a deck, and a large number of my friends.
Now, because all these friends come up to Lafen for Fourth of July weekend, some people stay at motels close by, myself included. The first year we came up to Twin Lakes, we stayed at Pink House. Which was ideal because it’s also the bar everyone ends up at anyway. It’s also ideal because it’s the Ritz-Carlton compared to Donovans Reef, where we’ve stayed for the last three years. See, the deal with Pink House is that you have to call absurdly in advance to get a room because it fills up for the Fourth very quickly. So, rather than calling absurdly in advance we’ve been like “Oh, whatever, if it’s full when we call we can just stay at Donovans Reef.”
I think this year was the year we learned our lesson.
We arrive on Friday, check into our room and are met with the strange stench we’re used to from a Donovan’s Reef motel room. Other typical things like wondering if the sheets have ever been washed and whether or not the bathroom doubles as a chemical waste dump (no pun intended) also occur. Did I mention that the water has that nice eggy sulfur smell? This year we got a few added luxuries.
A bath mat that is about five different shades of a yellowish brownish pukey color. Not only that, but it’s hanging over the side of the shower stall so it is aligned exactly at our eye line. What would you do if you were providing guests with a hot bed of bacteria as a bath mat? Would you hang it in their eye line? Would you hide it under the sink? Or would you fucking throw it in the garbage? Better yet, that thing needed to be burned.
The second luxury being a mini fridge. Is the mini fridge stocked with little bottles of alcohol? Fresh baby cheeses? Pop? Nope, none of those. Just a pile of orange goo left behind from guests of yesteryear. Nostalgia.
Now don’t let me completely rip this place a new one, it has it’s actual charms. The staff are friendly, the residents of this motel remember us which is both kind and terrifying, and they make the best bloody mary ever for $4. This last point being the most important to me, even more important the bartender doesn’t even blink when I order one at midnight. When I finish that one, she again has no reaction to my ordering another one to take to my room with me.
Unfortunately, my eyes were bigger than my stomach and my to-go bloody mary didn’t get finished once I got back to the room. I put it in the fridge to save for later, only to realize in the morning that it was probably now a living quarters for the next virus that will kill millions of people. So, I left it in there.
Remember me, Room 6…..
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There are hints I get every so often that let me know I’m getting older. Leaving the bar before everyone else, anxiety about my dogs nutrition, a love for drinking wine while sitting on the couch….
I had one of these such “Ah ha!” moments this past weekend. My roommates and I were planning on attending the warehouse sale of an extremely beautiful, and usually very expensive, home goods brand Unison. I went to the sale knowing that I wanted new bedding, whispering to myself “I can’t wait to get new bedding, I can’t wait to get new bedding…” This was my first hint towards my being an older person. The second came once we got to the Unison warehouse and I not only found some beautiful bedding, but I came across a buy one get one free decorative pillow section. Before approaching this section, I never thought I’d be the person who had decorative pillows on their bed, but standing in that section I felt unsure how I’d slept on a bed without decorative pillows for so long…
I mean just look at how beautiful they are….
After the warehouse sale, we made a few more stops but I couldn’t focus on anything beyond making my bed as soon as I got home. Those decorative pillows needed to be on my bed and they needed to be on my bed NOW.
Upon finally making it home, I made my way downstairs and made my bed. Since becoming a dog owner, and then having that dog become my bed partner, I’d taken on an extremely lazy attitude towards making my bed. I had gotten very “oh fuck it”. Now, don’t get me wrong, my dog motherhood wasn’t the only factor in my messy bed syndrome. Laziness should also be factored in here.
As I gazed upon my new pillows, and on what seemed to be a turning point in my life, I reminisced on my bed decor of phases past. Until this Christmas, I had the same comforter that I got my sophomore year of college, which is disgusting in a lot of different ways. Upon getting my new comforter, I thought about burning this old one as a service to humanity. I probably should’ve.
Even more recently when I made my bed, I would put my two stuffed animals, which coincidentally were dogs, at the top of my bed by my pillows. This habit lingered from my grade school days, and my reflection on it opened so many doors as to why I am single.
The end of sleeping with stuffed animals came a few months ago, partially because I was like ok you’re going to school to become a teacher of small children let’s stop having similar bed layouts to a 10 year old, and partially because Belle, my living dog, chewed their eyes out as what I can only call an intimidation tactic.
What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.
Since getting my pillows on Sunday, I have successfully made my bed every morning since. It being Wednesday means that if I continue this habit for the next few days, I may actually become and adult who comes home to a cozy human bed rather than a pile of blankets on a large dog bed.
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Now that I’ve returned from California, gotten my grades, and am done with classes until September, I am considering myself on summer break. Yes, I’m still working full time, but it’s with the two cutest almost two year olds, so that’s alright.
Now that I have evenings and weekends pretty free, I’ve started back in with my hobbies.
I spent the day Saturday bopping around Home Depot and Target and then planting my herb garden that I’ll be referring to as “The Farm”. Sunday I made pesto from The Farm and put it on some chick peas. Monday I used Ryans birthday as an excuse to bake a cake and make dinner, but I honestly probably would’ve done that anyway. Last night I did one of my favorite hobbies–binge drinking and waking up with a horrible hangover.
Good morning Wednesday, I hate myself.
Tonight’s staycation activity is being horizontal on the couch, but what it should be is laundry. My room flooded wihile I was in California, so I got to come home to a hamper of soaking wet clean clothes that I’d already folded. Instead of doing the mountain of laundry in my room, I had to pull apart this sopping wet pile of clothes and put them into the wash maachine. I’m now punishing my room for flooding by turning it into a dirty clothes fort.
This might lead one to guess that my hobbys are doubling as procrastination devices, and that person would be right.
Instead of having clean clothes, I act like a retired person.
Maybe someday I’ll have clean underwear.
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I just spent the last five days in Los Angeles, and to say it was a fucking dream is an understatement. It was all sun, fun, dog walking, eating, and hanging and it was marvelous.
We did a lot of fun things, and then on my last full day we decided to do a hike in Malibu. I was excited to get some exercise after the food tour I had been on, but even more excited by the possibility of seeing Caitlyn Jenner.
Hannah had done a hike in Malibu a number of times and was excited to show me what the hike hype was all about. We got a little turned around, and ended up going to the top of the mountain rather than turning into the trail head much much closer to flat ground. The higher we climbed, the more Hannah was like “I am really not sure if this is the right way.” Luckily, we were so high up in the mountains that our GPS stopped worked so we were left to our own navigationally challenged devices. Once we got to the top, we ran into three men who were smiling happily so we decided asking them where we could hike would be a good idea.
“Keep going to the top, you will see a trail that will take you to beautiful views of the landscape.”
Alright, so we hadn’t climbed up to what turned out to be an elevation of 2,000 feet for nothing.
We eventually reached the trail head the nice man was very excited about. We learned we’d be traveling along a trail called “Backbone Trail” and it was a little under five miles. This seemed doable, so we set off with our water.
The beginning of the trail was primarily downhill, which made me both a happy hiker and a worried hiker imagining our uphill journey towards the end.
Going uphill was going to become the least of my worries, however.
I should mention now that it was hot as hell, and we were probably the closer to the sun than anyone else in the United States, and probably the World.
After awhile, we came to an opening in the trail and another sign that read “Backbone Trail 1.5 miles”. I took this to mean that we should follow that sign and we’d be back at our car in 1.5 short miles. We traveled along this trail for what had to be more than 1.5 miles, and we came upon a road. Not the road we parked near, but a road.
I began my descent into castaway mode, removing my shirt and putting it on my head so I was standing on the side of the road in a sports bra with a white head dress and a red face, looking very very much like Tom Hanks. In this version, Hannah is Wilson.
I had brought my phone on the hike, and Hannah asked if I had service. We thought it was worth a try, so I asked her who we call in this scenario. She didn’t know. Her not knowing turned out to not matter because I did not have any service.
As we stood by the side of the road, I began writing my will in my head because there was no way we were making it out of this alive. We were out of water and were without a doubt going to turn into raisins by nightfall.
Not two minutes after I’d accepted my certain death a car drove by. We were too delirious to wave or anything, but luckily they saw the desperation in our faces and reversed.
An incredible angel of a woman and her son asked us if we were lost. An unnecessary question because we clearly were, but we embarrassingly answered “Yeah…” anyway. She said they lived around there and just had to let her dog out but after that could drive us back to our car, which she also informed us was now 10 miles away. She also told us it was 3pm, and asked us what time we started the hike. We had started a little before 1pm.
Two hours of beautiful scenery and heat induced hallucinations.
As the woman drove us back to our car, she gave us a tour of all the celebrities that lived in the area, her son told us about all the celebrity children that went to his high school, and she continually asked us if we could feel the air conditioning while simultaneously mentioning how red my face was.
We could feel the glorious magic that was the air conditioning, and I reminded her that I was from Chicago and so walking on the sun wasn’t something I was used to. Need someone to show you how to dress for rain/heat/snow in one outfit? I’m your girl. Need someone to save you from dehydration while up in a mountain in Malibu? I’m not your girl.
It took the woman half an hour to drive us back to our car, and once we were being dropped off I was pretty much ready to kiss her on the mouth.
As traumatizing as the hike was, it was really beautiful. And since we made it out alive with only a sunburn, I have to say it was quite the awesome experience. Nothing like being sure you’re gonna die to get your heart pumping.
Unfortunately, even with as turned around as we got I never ran into Caitlyn Jenner. That’s the real tragedy.
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