Tag Archives: children

11.Describe what you think your life will be like in 5,10 & 20 years.

LUCKY

GAH. This is so scary to me.

Part of me feels like so much happens in a year, so it’s so difficult to predict, but then again, I’ve had my same job for close to 6 years (wow, that was hard to type) and I’m still single after 12 years of dating, so…

In five years, I’d say it’s still possibly likely that I’ll be at this job because I have very little motivation. Perhaps I’ll live in a different place, have different friends, maybe I’ll meet a guy (ha. ha. ha.), but I don’t see any DRASTIC changes…

Ten years? Shit. I hope I’m not still single. I hope I’m not still living in the same spot…and DAMN I hope I’m not doing the exact same job.

In Twenty years…I don’t even know. I hope I’m a little more stable all around. I hope my finances are in order and I hope I’m happy with whatever my life brings. That’s my wish always; that I can be happy and satisfied in my own skin, doing whatever it is I’m doing.

GIZZY

This is going to be a giant list of how I HOPE my life is in 5, 10, and 20 years. With a small bit of actual reality mixed in.

In 5 years I will be 33, which isn’t THAT scary of an age. But I will say that I know I will have more money because all my student loans will be paid off, and my car will be paid off (unless I wreck it and have to buy a new one, knock on wood).  So I am actually kind of looking forward to 5 years from now because it’ll be nice to have more disposable income. I would like to think that I’ll have found a nice well rounded guy that is hot and doesn’t look at or think about other women (ie Zac Efron. P.s. Zac, call me! ;)). I’m starting to job hunt now in a city across the country that I love and have have always wanted to live in. So hopefully I’ll have made that happen by then.  But I would really like to think I won’t still be doing accounting/finance stuff, and I’ll have found my true passion and be working toward new goals in that.

In 10 years I will be 38, which is scary because that’s almost 40. If I’m going to have kids I should have had them by this point, so I think my life will be busied by work during the day and taking care of kids and (hopefully) a husband in the evenings.

In 20 years I’ll be 48. That is fucking scary to think about. That means my Mom will be 71 and my Dad 73, and I don’t like the thought of them getting into their 70s and 80s because that’s when most people die. So I’m not going to think about it, I’m just going to say that since I’m the bomb.com, I will be retired and vacationing all over the World.  With my husband Zac Efron.

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Gizzy’s Diary – Entry 1

Dear Diary,

This week has been mediocre, as is my life.  I accepted the role of ‘guinea pig’ for my team’s Halloween costume at work.  Meaning, I got to bring all the supplies home, make the costume, and then had to instruct everyone at work on how to make it.  They called me Miss Gizzy, and it felt good.  However, applying 2 layers of paper mache to a beach ball did not feel good.   In fact, it made me feel really fucking gross because the “paste” is made out of flour and water and when I went outside to walk the dog, my neighbor asked if I was aware that I had biscuit in my hair. I wanted to ask if he was aware that he should shut the fuck up, but be proud, Diary, I did not.

Last weekend I went to visit Gigi.  We threw ourselves a “I’m not getting married” Bachelorette party, which was fun because we got free drinks and negative attention, but ended in Gigi getting flowers from a guy that hit on me. I won’t even elaborate because I’m still pissed at that flower stealing whore face.

Earlier this week I threw 2 tantrums in public. Both over spaghetti squash, or rather the lack there of. I mean, I don’t live on fucking Antarctica. Can I not expect my local grocer to carry a common food item such as that? According to Walmart Manager Billy, I cannot.

Thanks for listening, Diary.

Love,

Your BFF, Gizzy<3

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I’m not mother material

Well I made it through the bubonic plague without murdering my loved ones and co-workers.  I really appreciate everyone’s concern last week.
 
Aside from leaving a snot trail everywhere I went, the weekend was still a big piece of dog shit – starting with Friday at work.
 
There are about 12 people that work in my “sub-department”, we’re all in a 500 square foot suite so whenever my boss has something important to tell us all, she yells “SHOUT OUT!” and we all come-a-runnin’. We had a shout out on Friday morning where my boss informs us all that this girl in our sub-department has put in her 2 weeks because she has taken a better job.  She has her masters in some kind of European studies thing and was able to snag a higher ranked job in that field, good for her, I’m all about not being underemployed. The thing of it is, when I was scouted out to come work for the branch of the company that I’m now in, they had originally wanted me for her position (which is a level up from my current position). At the last minute this girl showed an interest in it and they gave it to her, because although the higher ups admitted I was more qualified, she had been with the company longer, and that was more important to them than actually being able to do the job.  So for the past 3 months while they trained this chick on how to do the things that I learned in the big city, I did her work.  And now she quit.  So, you would think that I would get bumped up into this position because A. It was supposed to be mine in the first place and B. I’m already doing the work, right? Wrong. No one has said a damn word about it to me. Needless to say I’ve been fucking pissed about it all weekend. Like so pissed that I’ve been making empty threats to everyone I talked to over weekend that if they don’t give it to me I’m going to quit, I’m going to fucking quit goddamnit – Obama will take care of me, right? Tehehe.
 
Literally as I was finishing that last paragraph my boss came in my office and offered me the position. I’m keeping that last paragraph though, just so I can stick my big dumb foot in my mouth.
 
So anyway, I came home and rolled around in my bed coughing and sneezing all night Friday, and Saturday was the slumber partay. Betty, her daughter, my sister, and one of our other friends all came over for some good old fashioned girl time.  We made pizzas, prank called people, played board games, I got drunk on a giant bottle of wine, ate popcorn, and watched movies. It was a good time, until the next morning.  Betty decided to take a shower, so while she did that, I made everyone pancakes which is also known as the moment I realized I never want kids.
 
So I’m mixing and flipping and flopping the cakes all around being really proud of myself that not only could I keep myself alive it appeared as though I could keep other people alive too. Then the little trolls come up and started being massive brats. They’re telling on each other for the stupidest shit, and asking me to get them stuff literally every 20 seconds.  And by stuff, I mean they were asking me to get them wet wipes for the swiffer.  I know I shouldn’t be complaining because they were ultimately cleaning my floors, but it was too much. Like why are kids blind/retarded and can’t see that you’re obviously doing something else at the moment and CANNOT get them swiffer pads so they can play. Lets be logical, do you want to swiffer the damn floor or do you want chocolate chip pancakes? To me, the choice is clear. It was so bad that I almost started crying. Instead of crying, I talked to myself. I was telling whoever was listening that I get it, I get why being a parent sucks and is a full time job.  Because kids literally suck the life out of you. It was 10am and I was exhausted.  Later that day while I took a moment for myself, TO PEE, they were banging on the door saying they needed more to drink.  Um okay you little heathens, bring me your cup and I’ll get you a piping hot glass of piss.  Christ. Like really?!
 
So after everyone went home I cracked open a beer and hungout without pants for the rest of the night.  A small reward for making it through hell for a day.
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A year and a day.

Well here we are, a year out from our first blog.

Last May, I was freshly dumped (it felt just like it sounds) and I was drinking heavily (sounds about right).

While getting dumped sucked a big hairy one at first, doing all that hopeful, powerful women stuff is kind of nice. You know, “HIS loss. I’m better off anyway!! Other fish in the sea!!!”

And I had this magical feeling of freedom. I could stay up until 2 am, eating frozen yogurt standing in my kitchen wearing a Golden Girls t-shirt. I had no obligations to anyone—didn’t have to clean my apartment, didn’t have to stock the fridge with his favorite foods, didn’t have to check my phone…

I don’t know where that Lucky scampered off to.

Sometimes I have to stop myself and wonder what am I doing? I’m certain everyone has those moments, the John Mayer question of “Am I living it right?” or that moment of a quarter-life crisis? I think I’ve had about 7 of those.

Although I bitch about dating more often than anything else, I don’t think that’s what troubles me the most. Pretty sure it’s my job. When I was younger, I had no desire to go to college. My parents didn’t go, and I figured they were doing okay, so what was the point? But as I grew older, I knew I needed college. Once I got there, it was tough at first. I thought I would go into business, or politics, or finance.

Never did I think about being a writer, an editor.

Yet, my path directed me here—and now, all I do is write, sometimes without realizing it. Once I got into writing, I particularly found a love for print journalism. I dreamed of working at a glossy magazine office with other women in pencil skirts. I wanted to stay late and stress over that deadline.

And today, I am the editor of a website that gets more than two million hits a month and I’m in misery.

I have always believed that I am attracted to challenge. Since my job is a breeze, I figure I’m just bored. But when I think of attacking a challenge, like packing my shit and moving to Gizzy’s city, I shrink in fear. I can say, with confidence, that I’m feeling a little lost.

And that’s definitely not where I pictured I would be today, one year out. And of course it isn’t, in general, no one is going to think they’re doing the same old shit, going to the same job, the same happy hour, the same apartment… did I just not work hard enough to get to my dream?

More than some swank office and runway clothes, I cheesily just want to be content in my life. Whether that means scooping frozen custard for soccer moms or alphabetizing books on a shelf, I just don’t want to waste a day doing something I don’t love, being with someone who doesn’t make me happy, or putting up with bullshit.

As small as it may seem, I think this blog is a part of what makes me content. Let’s face it, I get to write whatever the hell I want, you guys actually read it, and then I get to see what you think about it. I haven’t met any of you, but believe me when I say you make this little project fucking awesome.

Well, Lucky has made it quite hard to follow her with her whimsical wise words of a twenty something woman.  One year ago I was still in school, living alone, also freshly dumped, lusting after my ex-boyfriend’s friend, and wondering where my life would take me post-school.  I often wondered how long I would live at home and early last fall began to mentally prepare for living in my hometown for the rest of my life.  

Since then I have dated the ex-boyfriend’s friend, saw the red flags and dumped the ex-boyfriend’s friend, graduated, job hunted, moved back into my parents house, started a job, quit a job, moved to one of the biggest cities in the country, started a career in something I knew nothing about, and left everything I’ve ever known for a fresh start somewhere new.   

And surprisingly I’m actually doing OK with it.

The first two weeks after I moved to the big city I cried myself to sleep every night, I missed my family, I missed my bed, I missed the quiet and the peace.  I missed my old life.  I didn’t know how I would ever make it, I’m not a social person and I have a hard time meeting people, the ultimate question on my mind was, “Would I fail? Would I be a lonely old cat lady?” I still don’t know the answers to those questions, but I can tell you I’m making it.  While I don’t live in my dream apartment or work at my dream job, I have started to become passionate about the industry I’m in.  Not the research accounting, but more of the research.  

I know I’m not qualified to be conducting any kind of life saving research, but my goal for the next year is to volunteer.  The thought actually occurred to me when I was walking back to my office from lunch the other day when I walked passed the Children’s Hospital and I thought, “Why am I not in there playing a game with a little kid on my lunch hour to help make their day more fun?” So there you have it, basically my goal is that while I’m still figuring out who I am, I’m going to help someone else.  

Is anyone still dry eyed out there?

I know this is not mine and Lucky’s typical demeanor, but it will help us to once a year look back on our lives and reflect on what we’ve done and what we want to do with ourselves.  But in the mean time we’ll be on here, cussing like sailors and man hating all the way.

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I heard Johnny was looking up Sally’s skirt by the monkey bars

Did everyone have a Hoppy Easter?  Mwhaha, I had to.  I went home to visit my family for the weekend, it was exciting as usual.  As soon as I walked in the door my mom started in with the latest Chunky Salsa stories.

Apparently Chunky Salsa has had her eye’s set on a new pair of flip flops and by God she was going to do everything in her power to get them, including steal them.  I did noticed at Ella’s birthday party a few weeks ago Chunky Salsa was wearing a pair of Ella’s flops, I just figured she didn’t bring any pool friendly shoes so it was NBD.  But my mom tells me after that day Chunky Salsa asked Ella to bring a pair of flops for her to wear while they were at school, so Ella did.  Then Chunky Salsa came over and they asked my mom if Chunky Salsa could have the flip flops, my mom said no and they carried on.  When Chunky Salsa’s parents pulled up she ran out the door, grabbed something out of the bushes, and went on her way.  When my mom asked Ella what Chunky grabbed out of the bushes Ella told her about how Chunky had this idea to hide the flip flops in the bush so she could have them even after Ella told her our mom said no.  I told you, Debil!!

THEN, this past Saturday afternoon Ella and I are getting ready to go to our aunt’s house and Chunky calls and asks Ella if she can come over.  Ella tells her we’re getting ready to leave and Chunky says, “But my dad is taking my brother to the doctor and I’m going to be at home alone.” So Ella says she’ll call our mom, of course mom says no, Chunky calls back and Ella tells her no, then Chunky says they are taking her brother to the hospital and she’ll be left at home alone for 2 days.  I looked at Ella and said, “She’s a liar, get off the phone.” Ella being the smart little 7 year old she is fights back and calls Chunky out asking why she lied and that she thinks Chunky just doesn’t want to go to the doctor with her family and that lying is bad and she has to go. 

I’m sorry but I am tired of this fat little fuck corrupting my little sister, it’s only a matter of time before Chunky Salsa convinces her that it’s cool to lie, cheat, and steal and they’ll be in kindercare juvie. I’m going to tell her not to expect me to come bail her and her trash ass friend out of kiddie juvie because it’s not going to happen, you want to hang with people like that you can suffer the consequences.

I did tell Ella that maybe she should consider inviting some of her other friends over to play instead of Chunky Salsa and she agreed and then proceeded to tell me she broke up with her long term boyfriend Chaz.  When I say long term I’m talking the whole school year, that’s like 10 years in the first grade world.  So we have the following Q&A sesh:

Me: Why did you break up with Chaz?

E: Because I didn’t like him anymore.  Now my boyfriend is Jeffrey.

Me: How did you break up with him?

E: I just walked up to him at recess and said I’m breaking up with you.

Me: Was he sad?

E: No, he just ran away.

Me: Who is nicer Chaz or Jeffrey?

E: Probably Chaz, Jeffrey doesn’t bring me flowers like Chaz did.

Me: You should probably get back together with Chaz.

E: But I don’t like him.

Me: Sometimes we all have to do things we don’t want to.  Does Jeffrey say mean things to you?

E: No, he just doesn’t bring me presents.

Me: Do your friends like Chaz or Jeffrey better?

E: All of the girls love Chaz.

Me: So why don’t you like Chaz?

E: Because Jeffrey has cooler clothes.

Me: What makes his clothes cooler than Chaz’s?

E: Well, like Jeffrey likes pink and rainbows and Chaz likes blue and sports.

Me: You should get back together with Chaz.

E: Do you have a boyfriend again?

Me: No

E: Are you going to get one?

Me: Maybe in a few years.

E: Are you going to have babies?

Me: Maybe in a few years.

E: You know you don’t have to be married to have babies.  You could buy one or have one without being married.

Me: Trust me, I’m getting closer to that every day.

I won’t lie, my conversations with my 7 year old sister are better then conversations I have with 99% of adults.  That remaining 1% is Lucky.

Family gatherings always lay on the pressure to get married and start a family.  I see my mom looking at all her brothers and sisters with their grandkids and just looking at me in disappointment.  I mean all I can really say is, “Sorry mom, I went to college instead of getting knocked up at 18.”   Everyone is always asking if I’m seeing someone and asking about the millions of guys I’m seeing in the big city.  I can’t break the news that millions = 0 so I just pull the classic Sex and the City line, “I’m dating, but no one special.”  

Shot please!

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