Tag Archives: co-ed

Hold tight kids!

A post is on it’s way… a RHYMING post summarizing mine and Lucky’s adventures while she was here.  But you know what, wordpress deleted (or maybe I forgot to save it?) all the hard work I did last night so it’s only halvsie ready.  But everyone get excited and let the anticipation build….

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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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Revirginization

So I had a hot date this weekend.  Don’t get too excited, it was with myself.  You know how people always say, “How can you expect someone to love you when you don’t love yourself?” I’ve become a master at loving myself and still no love from the fellas.  But, I’m fine with that.  Honestly, if I had my pick of going out to dinner and making meaningless conversation with a stranger with false hopes of him being “the one” or sitting on my ass watching chick flicks and ordering in wings, cheese fries, and beer – I’d pick the later.  

Is this what biter sounds like?  I think so.  I do believe I have good reason to be biter though.  I realized this past week that it has been almost 14 months since I’ve gotten laid.  That’s right, one-four.  There are people out there who have gotten pregnant twice since the last time I had sex.  To tell you the truth, I didn’t even notice and I certainly didn’t miss it, especially not the awkwardness afterward and the whole “do you have a condom” convo, and I DEFINITELY didn’t miss the guy not knowing what to do with my lady parts.  This might be more of me becoming a-sexual talk than biter.  I think I heard once a-sexual people are serial killers? That might be a lie, either way still scary.

I guess I could blame my “revirginization” (as we’ll call it) on being busy, starting a new job, and all that jazz.  But I think it’s mostly that I haven’t met a guy since Hottie that I’ve had a romantic connection with and that’s a little scary too, almost more scary than a-sexual serial killers.  Because if I’m 26 and can’t find a guy that I find interesting enough to hop in the sack with, how much worse is it going to get the older I get and the further their hairlines recede?  I’m dong my part here boys, I’ll keep my goodies looking perky if you buy Rogaine in bulk.  

Anyway, enough of me feeling sorry for myself because my vagina is literally contemplating retirement and on to some real news.  I start boot camp this morning.  That’s in oh… 6 hours.  It’s going to be rough I won’t lie.  I was just telling Lucky about my instructor, he’s an ex-marine with a soul patch.  Ex-marine – ok… soul patch – not ok.  I think the work out should be decent, but it will be hard to look at his face.  

This boot camp is 4 weeks long and 4 times a week.  My plan is to do some cardio on the days I’m not in class and then kill myself at the end of the 4 weeks.  Seriously though, I’m getting older, if I let my body go I have no chance at getting a hot husband who will inevitably cheat on me with his sexretary when my eye lids (and boobs) start to sag.  So when that happens I need to at least be able to look back at pictures of myself when I was looking my best, fingers crossed that will be after this class and not 10 years ago when I was in high school.

In other news, if anyone was following my great roommate debacle of last week I have decided to surrender my room to crack-head Tim so that I can buy a new car when mine decides to kick the bucket (which should be any day now), and then live out of it.  Really though, I don’t plan to be in this apartment much longer whether it’s in a room with doors or my dungeon.  I don’t fancy living with boys.  So that’s that.  I came to the conclusion this weekend while I was sitting in serenity with all the boys being gone for the weekend that no matter where I sleep in this apartment I will NEVER bring a guy I am half-way interested in here so I may as well get cheap rent out of the situation.  

I feel like after going on a really awesome date with a guy and him dropping me off and me being like, “Oh do you want to come in” just can not and will not ever happen as long as I am under this roof for the following reasons:

1. Introducing him to the roommates.  – Imagine having 3 older brothers and bringing your new boyfriend home to meet them, this is exactly how it would be for me, only my older brothers would be drunk and make jokes about my boobs.  Not attractive.

2. Disintegrating furniture – These guys have no class, our furniture is literally falling apart but I’m not shelling out the bucks to buy new so they can tear that up too, no way no how, and no way no how would I let a guy I like see that I live in such a hole.

3. The bathroom – No matter how much I clean, these guys get their hair everywhere, and there’s always toothpaste in the sink, ALWAYS.  Just gross, no respectable man that I date will be like this and he also shouldn’t have to be subjected to seeing disgusting men in their habitat.

4. The farts – With all 3 boys present in 1 room it smells like farts, whether they are farting or not they just as a whole stink like farts.  I can’t stand it, so no guy I date will be able to stand it either.

So there you have it, a few of the reasons why I can’t date until I move out of this crap hole.  As if I needed to convince any of you, I’m sure you’re all sitting there thinking Umm helloooo Miss Obvious, how about the fact that you live in a dungeon with no door for a reason???!!!  Touche friends, touche. 

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