No Blaise: Spending Problem

Part of being in the real world, I’m assuming, is being to budget. But, it’s a skill I have yet to master.

Being a 20-something with no children, my priorities lay in food, clothes, and weekend activity.

Food isn’t such a money suck, if my roommates and I have gone grocery shopping. For the days, which occasionally turn into weeks, that we don’t have groceries, I take myself out to eat every day. For every meal.

Breakfast as Dunkin Donuts, lunch at Potbellys, dinner somewhere in Logan Square.

Though grocery shopping can serve as a money saver on the food front, when it comes to clothes and weekend activity, not much can curb my desire to have it all.

The weather getting warmer doesn’t help either.

Drinking outside in the sunshine is an activity that causes a increase in my alcohol consumption, and a rapid decrease in my  bank account.

Clothes are a demon all their own..

Transitioning my wardrobe into summer gear has proven fairly expensive, even though my drawers are bursting with everything I had to have last year.

For instance, I went to the Urban Outfitters Outlet last Friday, and stocked up on warm weather items. Then, Hannah had to return something, so we went back this Friday, and I picked up a bag full of more things…

I needed that crop top, ok!?

No Blaise: The Perfect Mate

Being recently single, I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want in a partner on my next go around. My day dreaming has led me to create somewhat of a pseudo-dating profile, like the ones you create on OKCupid.

Previous to this post, the profile has existed solely in my mind. Well I guess it’s more appropriate to say it existed in my dreams, as the possibility that a man fitting all, if any, of the following qualifications is not all that likely.

Here’s a list of what I’ve come up with so far:

-complete emotional ability, without being overly emotional

-group of friends, who get along perfectly with my friends

-above 6’2″

-well dressed

-ridiculously conscious of matters of social justice

-passionate about music, art, etc.. without being a total elitist

-again, above 6’2″

-able to deal with a wide spectrum of (occasionally extreme) emotions, calmly

-in shape

-hilarious without being obnoxious

-self confident, but not cocky

-have I stressed the importance of his being tall, yet?

-animal lover, well, minus birds, because they freak me out

-foodie, who hates bell peppers

-steady job

-enjoys children, and talking about how cute both they and baby animals are

-loves to read/talk about books

-fairly good dancer, enough to not be awkward while standing at a concert, at the very least

-speaking of  concerts, he’s gotta love concerts

-an appreciation for a good pair of sneakers

You know, just to name a few…

No Blaise: Office Space

My job has me doing about a million different things. Running around to different cities, managing the finances of the project, handling a ton of staff.

And now, inadvertently, I’ve become the receptionist for the third floor of our building.

Because my desk faces out to where literally everyone walks by, people think that I’ve got the answer to all of their questions. Lots of, “Where is…?”; “Can I borrow…?”; or “How do I find…?”

Though I answer all of their questions confidently, I almost never know what I’m talking about.

Also entertaining is that because, if I choose, I can make eye contact with anyone who walks into the office, people feel compelled to say hi to me. Or to say more than hi.

I can’t even tell you how many people have decided that I love to hear about the wacky thing that just happened in the bathroom, or the annoying person they just had to deal with at their lunch spot.

The location of my desk is a major self-esteem booster, as well. Because people ask me so many questions, or tell me their stories, or just say hi, I feel overly important. I let myself forget that only about 30% of these people know my name.

I recently got a hair cut and pretty much everyone who passed by my desk noticed (no biggie).

The recognition makes me feel like Don Draper..

Although they’re basically forced to notice me because my face greets them anytime they want in or out of the office, the flattery of being noticed registers all the same.

In fact, as I write this blog, a few people have asked to borrow my stapler.

“Well, yes, of course you can!”

No Blaise: Dear Mama

It being Mothers Day and all, I figure today is a good a day as any to let my mama know I love her.

Though I’ve made jokes about her shenanigans in a countless number of my blogs, I wouldn’t be the weirdo I am today if it weren’t for her teaching me to never take life too seriously. Also important are her occasional bouts that make me feel like life is extremely serious. The contrast taught me the importance of thinking for myself.

Sure, I don’t have any idea how to think about things conventionally, but as I get older I realize that’s a blessing and not a curse.

Maybe most importantly, the way my mother raised me led to my being an independent person who recognizes the importance of being able to pick yourself back up.

Which comes in handy when, you know, your boyfriend dumps you out of nowhere.

So, before I get either too sappy or too sarcastic, I just wanna say Happy Mothers Day to the woman who made me the emotional, sarcastic, creative wacko I am today. Wouldn’t trade you for anyone else mama.

Well, except maybe Beyonce..

No Blaise: Manicure Meltdown

Since I’m a 20-something supporting myself, I try not to live too luxurious of a life. And, for the most part I succeed.

Buying myself a bike for no reason and shopping sprees are Target do not count.

For this reason I couldn’t justify going out  and paying for a manicure on a regular basis. Though I have convinced myself into far more expensive things…

Three day passes to Pitchfork Music Festival, for example…

Anyway, a few weeks ago I convinced myself that’d be alright if I took myself to get a little pampering at the local nail salon.

I get there, they tell me to pick out a color, which of course is the best part of the entire manicure process.

Decisions, decisions…

I have dark blue on my nails, so I’m thinking that I should probably pick something different. But, after considering about 100 other colors, I choose another dark blue. This one, though, is a “matte” color which means it has a really cool finished look, and will appear nothing like the color I’m currently sporting.

Sit down, get the manicure, and it looks awesome. And, actually, really doesn’t look anything like the color I had before.

Score!

Then, the manicurist asks me if I want a clear top coat. Well, yeah.

Once she’s all done and I’m sitting there letting my nails dry, I realize that with the top coat this manicure looks more similar to the one I had before.

Uh oh.

It’s ok, it’s ok. I didn’t just spend $15 to get the same manicure my friend had given me for free. It’s ok, it’s ok. Once it’s dry, it’ll go back to looking nothing like the manicure I had before.

I walked home from the manicure place with an elevated heart rate.

It’s ok, it’s ok. It probably just isn’t fully dry yet. It’ll look totally different by tonight.

By that night, it looked even more like the manicure I’d had originally.

Fuck.

I ask my roommate Katie to try and do some designs, or something, on the nails so I feel some sort of redemption about this all too similar color. She tries out a bunch of stuff, but it really just ends up making my nails look sloppy and ridiculous.

Not really what I was going for.

So, I give in to defeat and just remove the polish all together.

I am extremely embarrassed to admit how close to tears this brought me.

Thankfully, I have good friends who are also good at nails, and Roxanne went ahead and gave me a manicure with a color nothing close to dark blue.

Goodness gracious, I am such a girl.

No Blaise: Insta-Addiction

I’ve written before about my addiction to Apple (the technology giant, not the fruit. Though I do also enjoy a good fuji)

I am still very dedicated to my phone, I’ve even written a blog on it before due to my apartments lack of Internet. Now, even worse than my addiction to my phone, is my addiction to the app Instagram.

For those of you that dont know, Instagram is basically a large picture sharing venue. Similar to Facebook in that you can comment and “like” the pictures people post. But way better than Facebook because it’s all pictures, which as it turns out, makes all the posts about 100,000 times more interesting.

That really cool skyline someone was describing on Facebook? They could post an actual photo of it on Instagram.

Your adorable niece? Post a photo of her on Instagram, the crowd will love it.

Get a pair of really awesome shoes? Post them on Instagram, make everyone jealous.

Wearing a really cute new outfit on a Saturday night around town, and you’re not sure you’re gonna run into everyone you want to while wearing it? Drunkenly post a mirror pic of yourself on Instagram.

Simple as that.

If you’re saying to yourself, “Why not just upload those photos to Facebook?” Well, it’s because there’s such a stigma attached to uploading on Facebook. People don’t want to go to your Facebook and hit with three photos uploaded daily.

If you upload a picture of your dog laying on it’s back and looking adorable on Facebook, people will be like “Ugh, nobody cares about what your dog looks like.” But on Instagram, everybody cares! The Instagram community will want that dog as their own so THEY can upload cute photos of it.

Side note–anyone who is disinterested in photos of cute dogs, on Facebook or otherwise, should be immediately defriended.

No Blaise: Party Pick-Up

Everybody loves a good party, and my friends and I are no different.

This past Saturday we threw a party  for Ana’s birthday, and Anika moving into the apartment. It turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself…

The downfall to all of this was our waking up the next morning to a shit hole.

Kitchen, trashed.

Living Room, annihilated.

Back Porch, filthy.

Sunday morning was one of those hungover instances where everyone wakes up really early, I think we were all up before 10am, and people are feeling good because they’re still not fully sober from the night before.

We’re all laying in my bed, chatting, occasionally yelling, feeling generally jolly. It’s sort of a terrifying feeling, because you know at any moment the hang over is going to hit and your ability to speak full sentences will plummet.

Rather than going back to sleep, we all decide to pile into a car and go eat Mexican food at a spot we all frequented in high school.

It’s not really anywhere near our apartment, but whatever, it’s Sunday!

As soon as we finish indulging in tacos and all the rice & beans we can handle..the food coma sets in.

After the food coma, comes the overwhelming exhaustion of the hangover we’d been avoiding until now.

Double whammy.

It takes all my energy to not crawl back to the car, so when we arrive at home to a waiting pile of beer cans and a floor covered in straight grime, I officially decide I need to nap first. We all go back and forth about whether or not we should clean before or after. Some are arguing to do it before we nap, so we can get it over with. Others are saying we have to do it after we nap, my main argument for that being that after my walk up the stairs to the apartment from the car, I may actually have a heart attack if I have to do anything but remain completely still.

The rest of the team agrees, and we all plop down in our respective sleeping spots.

Just for an hour, til 2:30. Then we’ll all be up and at ‘em to get this place clean.

I get into bed, set my alarm for 2:30.

It goes off at 2:30.

Uh, yeah, hell no.

Set it for 3:30.

It goes off at 3:30.

Not a fucking chance am I getting out of this bed. But, I decide rather than set a new alarm, I’ll just torture myself with the snooze button.

Forty five minute later, I rouse both myself and my roommates to get up and clean.

Once we get going it takes us about an hour and a half to see the counters and floor of our kitchen, as well as to get all the junk out of the living room. But, overall it wasn’t such  a bad clean-up. If I had attempted it pre-nap, though, I may have collapsed in the process.

Party on!