Although I have never seen the movie Her, I feel like a sequel (Him) could be written about my life since my iPhone is quickly proving to be my life companion. Sure I use it to text with and talk to friends, but it’s main purpose in my life has been to get rid of any unnecessary human interactions.
Rather than texting my friends to let them know where I am or, more importantly, what I’m eating, I can just send them a SnapChat of the leftover dumplings and lo mein I just had for “breakfast”.
Instead of calling up someone and telling them about a great concert I just went to, or fill them in on an interesting book that I’m reading, I’ll just post an Instagram of it with a caption like, “holy shit this is awesome” with supplemental emoji’s to emphasize the point.
Walk up to a guy and talk to him in real life if I think he’s cute? Noway, that’s what Tinder and OkCupid are for. Swiping left or right is so much easier than stepping slightly out of my comfort zone.
Shop for clothes in a real store and have to deal with associates asking if I need any help, and then the check out people asking if I found everything alright. Yeah I found everything alright, why the fuck do you think I’m checking out? Thank you, Hautelook, for eliminating this inconvenience.
My most recent, and possibly my most significant, drift into becoming a complete hermit came with my acquisition of the app “Instacart”.
What is it, you ask?
Well it just so happens to be the most important thing in my life right now. It is an app that allows you to choose a grocery store, pick out groceries, and pay for them, all without having to be in public. The human interaction rank is a 4 out of 10 because you will have to speak to the person shopping for your groceries in case any replacements need to be made, and then again when they arrive at your front door with all the groceries you asked for. The level of interaction, though, is such that it doesn’t outweigh the convenience factor.
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If you’ve been following my blog closely, you’re already aware of my tug o war with becoming an adult.
Well, adulthood is about to take a very strong yank in it’s direction.
Hannah is moving out to live with her boy toy Brian. Her moving out then creates the situation of Anika and I downsizing to a two bedroom apartment. More importantly, this means moving out of the first place I’ve lived as an adult in Chicago, and the place I’ve made my home for the past 2 1/2 years. Though it might be nice to set up in a new house, and it definitely gives me a good reason to purge all the crap I’ve collected in the time I’ve lived here, but it also means moving. And I fucking hate moving. Also the location, size, and price of the blvd is going to be hard to beat.
In order to avoid moving out, we contemplated finding a random person on Craigslist to move into the third bedroom. We even found someone that seemed cool. Then we realized not many people would be down with our all times of the night hang out sessions with a group of loud people, or our affinity to walking around half clothed, or our daily emotional roller coasters. It was best to move in with friends, or each other, we realized.
While looking for a new place, I realized my extreme love to plan and my undying love of procrastination were going to work in my favor during the apartment search. It seems that regardless of how much searching I did on potential pads, no one would would discuss a lease more than a month out. Meaning we are going to have to wait until we’re almost homeless to lock down a new place to stay.
So, the results of this latest battle between myself and growing up are TBD.
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It really really really REALLY sucks.
I just fucking hate snow.
Since Chicago can’t make up it’s mind, it’s sunny today but two days ago it was a white pile of hell.
During my commute to work on Monday the snow had just begun to fall, and I was hopeful that after an hour or so it would taper off and stop. But as I sat from my helpless place indoors and watched it continually fall, I became more and more depressed at the thought of leaving work and having to dig the car out.
Six o’clock rolls around, white shit still leaking from the clouds, and I begin the attempt to uncover my vehicle. Well, technically it’s Hannah’s vehicle and she apparently does not believe in brushes for her car windows, only very very little scraper thingys, so I spend a good amount of time using my hands to remove what seems like seven feet of snow from the car.
Then comes the fun part of actually driving the car out the snow bank it’s been lodged in for the entire day.
Deciding to forgo the use of a shovel of any kind, I relentlessly alternate putting the car into drive, then reverse, then drive, and am slowly making progress (I think) when some man with a shovel takes pity on me and digs me out of my spot.
Actually getting the car on the road proves to be about a quarter of the battle, unfortunately, and I soon learn that Hannah’s little car isn’t much of a match to the snow and I get stuck in the street as I try to change lanes.
God forbid I take a right turn.
Luckily getting myself going again takes less effort than getting out of the parking space, though I did start spontaneously sliding into a Burger King parking lot. I will just assume that was the universes way of telling me to get a burger and fries, though.
Once I am nearly home I of course get stuck at the end of the alley and have yet another bout of reverse/drive/reverse/drive until I’m finally free and essentially slide down the alley into the parking spot.
The funny part of all this is that 15 years ago, this much snow would’ve made me the happiest kid in the world. It would’ve meant sledding, snow balls, and possibly even no school. And now as an adult just the mere sight of snow makes my blood boil.
Growing up is fun!
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*SSDM = Same Shit, Different Monday
Mondays are obviously the worst cause they’re the first day after the weekend. If you’re anything like me, you use the weekend to be a waste of a human being, so transitioning back into normal waking hours and full sentences is always a little bit tough.
Some are more miserable than others. Weird stuff happens to me pretty much every day, but it’s always the most obnoxious on Mondays. This past Monday was no exception.
It started off pretty standard, maybe even better than usual because Hannah left me her car while she works in California so I was able to drive to work and avoid the extreme depression that is the Blue Line.
Work was going fine, baby fell asleep at his normal time. Giving me a few hours in the morning to just relax.
I go to text Hannah something, and I realize all the previous texts with her had been erased.
I then go to send Anika some hilarious photo of a pizza valentine that I found, and realize hers too had been erased.
Then all of a sudden my phone just decides to be like BOOM, bye contacts.
There I am staring at a lot of phone numbers with no names attached. It’s 2014, no one memorizes phone numbers anymore, what am I gonna do!? How am I going to text my friends cute things the baby did!?
Don’t fret, my phone decided to stop being an asshole three hours later and bring all the contacts back.
In the mean time I stumbled upon a quiz on BuzzFeed that seemed fun: “What Kind of Sandwich Are You?”
The person who’d posted it on Facebook got Grilled Cheese and I was all, “Oh I am totally a grilled cheese,” so I took the quiz confident of my results. Low and behold, here are the results I actually got:
It was a real confidence booster.
And this Friday is Valentines Day?
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You guys, I love being a nanny.
Like, really really love it.
Sure I’ve worked in a lot of different childcare arenas. Daycares, camp, babysitting… What could be so different about being a nanny?
First, at all my other jobs I had to worry about co-workers looking at my wardrobe choices and initially being all like, “oh, she just probably just needs to do laundry” and then finally realizing that I had no intention of dressing up like a normal human being when coming to work babies and toddlers. Now with nannying, I show up in my traditional grungy garb and it is a total no judgment zone.
Any job where I can wake up and be dressed appropriately for the work in five minutes is one that I am going to hang on to.
Second, these babies are the best. Both babies I am taking care of only get loud when they’re hungry, tired, or need a diaper change.
After they eat, they fall asleep. When they wake up, they want to play, do tummy time, listen to music, gaze out the window, until it’s time to eat again.
Me and these babies, we’ve got a lot in common.
Last but not least, I get to talk in baby voice all day. To the babes, to the dog, to myself. It’s a freedom I’ve never experienced. I don’t have to worry about transitioning from baby voice to adult voice when dealing with co-workers. Cause, again, there are no co-workers! And mom is totally cool with staying in baby talk mode cause it’s a world she frequents as often as I do.
I did, however, have a slip up while out in the real world at an event last week. Some friends asked me to take a picture of them, and instead of realizing that these were adults I was dealing with, I waved my hand at them and yelled “hiii!” in an effort to get their attention to the camera. An unnecessary and embarrassing gesture.
Life is good.
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Many of you know a fellow Chicago native of mine, R. Kelly. He has a song where he describes himself as the “Worlds Greatest”. I would now like to label myself as the “Worlds Laziest”.
This blog about how lazy I’ve been almost didn’t get written, purely out of laziness. That is the level I am at.
I have also taken several breaks in the ten minutes I’ve been sitting down to write this. One of which I spent downloading an app that tells me the class schedule at the gym I haven’t attended in months. Super necessary. During a second break I was able to send a snapchat picture to my friends of the tea I’m drinking with the caption: “It’s tea time betches.”
In typical twenty something fashion, I will blame my circumstances, rather than myself for this inexcusable laziness. You see, I was let go from my other job three weeks before my new one started, giving me three weeks of financially stressful vacation.
*****Here’s where I give an insanely huge shout out to my parents for helping me out so that I wouldn’t have to move into a box outside of my apartment.*****
So you see, this laziness has been thrust upon me, and I decided to embrace it fully.
When given the freedom to sleep in abnormally late, I did it.
When given the chance to feel accomplished simply because I made myself breakfast, lunch or dinner, but never all three, I let myself feel it.
And when asked by Netflix if I wanted to watch the next episode of Parenthood, I would always answer yes.
Anarchist society would never ever work for me.
God Bless America.
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Last week, I was in Mexico.
I’ll let you take a pause of jealousy before I continue.
Of course, as soon as we arrived I was called “sir” at the airport, because no vacation of mine would be complete without someone mistaking my gender.
My days there were filled with food, drink, and a whole lot of sunscreen. You can imagine how much SPF a whitey like myself needed in the hot Mexican sun, especially coming from the negative degrees of Chicago. I brought along with me both a 50 and a 30, so you know, once my skin got accustomed to being outside of a large puffy coat, I would be able to only use 30 and get a nice tan.
The 50 I had came from the clearance section of Target, so for day one it looked like I had just smeared toothpaste all over myself. And I still got a slight burn. For some reason this led me to believe that the next day I could lower the SPF to 30 and would be alright. I also spent this day drinking, attending a steak dinner with lots of wine, and later attending a “casino night” the resort was putting on which was essentially a singles mixer for senior citizens.
Needless to say, I spent the entire next day in my hotel room under a fan thinking about my life choices.
The next day was Thursday, and by that time I had eventually figured out that I was never going to persuade my sister to leave the resort and actually go experience what Mexico was all about. Call me crazy, but I don’t think the Mexican experience should involve laying around in a large swarm of white people while being served endless drinks by Mexicans.
I could be wrong, though.
JK I’m totally not wrong.
Even with the proper grade of sunscreen, the rays had no mercy on me and I ended up getting hella burned on my chest. This lead to me having to drape a shirt over my chest as I sunbathed, making me the coolest 20-something in Puerto Vallarta. I then felt my eye lids getting burned, so I tried to carefully apply sunscreen to them. This worked, and then quickly stopped working when the sunscreen dripped into my eyes causing some pretty serious irritation, maybe more irritation than the sunburn would’ve caused. I then was the girl laying there with sunglasses on with a shirt draped over her chest, as people in their mid-40s waded in the pool behind me, drinks in hand.
Livin’ la vida loca.