One to Nothin'

I confess..

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-I’ve been using the PartyParty app by A Beautiful Mess constantly, but it’s always my face or the dude baby’s.

-My body produced more sweat yesterday on the way to my interview than it did that evening when I ran four miles.

-Getting myself to run those four miles was not an easy task. I probably should’ve consulted this post instead of guilt-tripping myself super hard.

-The guilt-trip was not difficult, however, because I have approximately two pairs of shorts that fit me comfortably right now — aka about five pairs that don’t.

-I’m too excited/nervous/exploding with emotions to write, think, take photos or blog properly this week.

-My parents are arriving from Florida tonight which means I actually did laundry last night, which means the world got to see my janky laundry basket again.

-This will be the first time I’ve ever had my parentals sleep over at a place of my own! It feels grownup and weird and awesome.

-I want to take them to Berkeley specifically for a meat shake. This probably won’t be a problem considering I inherited my affinity for Bloody Marys from my dad.

-My favorite meal to make lately is Ramen noodles with an egg. This is probably the only meal I’ll be able to home cook for them while they’re here. Aaaand the grownup status is gone.

-Every time I’ve worn heels anywhere in the past six months, I’ve brought sandals in my purse for later when I’ll inevitably be miserable. Why are heels so freakin’ cute? I almost wish they didn’t exist.

Go link up with Kathy!

Weekend things

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Aside from Friday night, where I managed to overserve myself and take only blurry photos with random bar patrons, my weekend was spent mostly hungover in bed. At one point I went to the grocery store to get not one but two Rachel McAdams movies from Redbox and proceeded to watch them from my laptop sniffling away as Ziggy trampled my face trying to figure out what was wrong with me. (She can’t remember their love, Ziggy! Why don’t you understand this tragedy??) Besides that I splurged on two different flavors of family-sized potato chip bags because I guess I simply wouldn’t feel guilty enough when I finished just one of the bags, got all fancy in the Gatorade aisle and I’m pretty sure there’s an Advil stuck in my throat still. I did not start packing or take anything to Goodwill despite my looming move out date and my car that desperately needs to be washed/gutted has still not received more than a look of disdain from me and all who see it. Basically what I’m trying to say here is I didn’t have a very productive or exciting weekend, but the next couple of weeks are going to be crazy. Mama and Papa G get here on Wednesday and Friday marks the start of my birthday week. Get excited. 

The Blogmopolitan Quiz

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It’s been quite a while since my last appearance on the cover of Blogmopolitan, but alas I’ve made my comeback thanks to the lovely lady behind Two Thirds Hazel. Sink your teeth into the dirty deets of the real girl behind this super glamorous blog (ha!). As soon as you’re done you can flip to the back to read your whore-oscope and link up your own quiz. 
Happy Friday, friends!

I hate asking for help.

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I hate asking for help. Unless it’s asking my dad to kill a spider for me. But that’s the only exception. When I walk into a grocery store, I would rather do 5.5 laps around the store looking for red curry paste rather than ask a sales associate where the Asian food section is. Generally what happens is I wander around looking sad/angry/cold until one of the sales associates is genuinely concerned about me and forces our interaction to happen. At that point I get really awkward and most likely speak 12 octaves higher than usual and end up fake laughing very loudly while saying something stupid like, “It’s always the last place you look!” (Um, hi, obviously. After you’ve found it why would you keep looking?) when he/she shows me that it’s been under my nose all along.

In case you need another anecdote to drive this point home, I will generously provide you with one. In second grade we were learning about reading time from an actual ticking clock (because we didn’t anticipate that cellphones would replace the need for all other modes of telling time in just a few short years–however digital clocks were already a thing so I knew this whole thing was really pointless anyway). One of the exercises included filling in an empty circle on a piece of paper with the appropriate numbers, marks and hands. I was a shy child who was fairly competent in most things thrown at me in the elementary schooling environment, and I hated getting things wrong but even more than that I hated asking for help.

It was during this absurd exercise that I realized I had no idea how many notches there were supposed to be between each number. The 12 numbers I had down, but I guess it didn’t click in my head how many seconds there were in a minute/minutes in an hour, so instead of asking, I drew a shit ton of dashes. There were probably 15-20 dashes between each number because if I didn’t know and I couldn’t ask, you can bet your bottom dollar I was going to be thorough in my failure. It quickly became evident to my peers around me that I had no clue what I was doing. There was laughter immediately followed by mortification and trauma added to the treasure trove that is childhood memories.

Fast forward to today and you’ve got an awkward Kensie spending an hour more than necessary at the grocery store, nodding her head instead of asking for clarification, avoiding the hand car washes which are the only ones open now due to this drought and stressing out while trying to network her way into an apartment/job/friend group and be a part of a society that in many ways depends on your ability to ask people for things.

Oh em gee, my life is so hard.

Okay, I’m done.

Full disclosure: I Googled “clock” while writing this post just to make sure I didn’t make fun of my second grade self for not knowing something I still do not in fact know.

What I Wore Confessions

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Top: Lauren Conrad / Pants: A&F / Shoes: Target

I don’t always wear pastels, but when I do it makes me crave Mentos like whoa. The pink ones specifically. This outfit also brought Tums to mind, but those are far less delicious so I decided to stick with Mentos.

There’s a suited gentleman photo-bombing one of those photos. Can you find him? Do you see the judgement radiating from his eyes and making my posture crinkle with shame?

I bought this shirt in a premature celebratory shopping spree at Kohl’s. I saved $377 but let’s be real, I just contributed to my credit card debt.

I may have forgotten how to write in full paragraphs considering this is the third post in a row consisting of unrelated sentences stacked on top of each other.

I chose not to use one of these photos because the ginormous mystery bruise on my arm was very visible. Also all of these photos are backlit because I still haven’t replaced my tripod so utility box it is!

I think my mystery foot cut is infected and not having my Rainbows I lost on the boat is making all shoe attempts very painful. This also makes not training for my half marathon in two weeks very easy to do.

I bought a pot today so I could cook my Ramen the classy way. Consequently I bought a plastic bowl so I could eat my Ramen the classy way.

I have listened to more Mariah Carey songs today than ever before.

I’m linking up here AND here. #linkpartywhore

Things that are better than apartment hunting

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I’m moving somewhere in two weeks, so I’ve been navigating the terrifying Craigslist waters and feeling my soul get crushed into a fine powder with every ad I respond to. Naturally this led me to making a list of things that are better than apartment hunting in the San Francisco Bay Area (I imagine it’s slightly less terrifying in other areas where it’s possible to exist without signing away your first born child and any chance of buying groceries each month) because clearly my time is better spent making lists than continuing the search. Oh, boy. Regardless, these are things that are better than finding a apartment:
Locking your keys in the car.
Walking up 20 flights of stairs when you have to pee really bad.
The fluoride treatment at the dentist.
Trying to fix spacing issues in Blogger.
Comcast. (lol, jk)
When the Chick-Fil-A employee forgets to throw your sauce in the bag.
Adult braces.
Drinking Pepto Bismol.
Eating licorice flavored Jelly Bellies.
Hitching a ride with a mustached man in a white van.
Completing the cinnamon challenge.
Sitting in the grass while wearing white shorts.
“Less than 20% battery” before getting on the train.
Math.
Finding something in your teeth that no one told you about all day.
Taking a shot of Jaegermeister.
Smelling someone else’s B.O.
Deleting drunk texts while drunk so you can’t read them in the morning.
Pandora commercials.
Finding spiders in your shower while you’re in it.
Those burps that could go either way.
Changing poopy diapers (the worst kind).
Interviews.
Messing up liquid eyeliner on the last stroke.
Realizing you sent an incriminating text to your mom, not your best friend.
Taking selfies in front of strangers.
Blogging about things that are better than apartment hunting in the Bay.
…Guess I should get back to it. 

Things I did on the houseboat

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This weekend I stayed on a houseboat. But actually it was a mansionboat. Here are the things I did on the mansionboat:

Took selfies in a keg hat at the marina.
Made friends with giant carp.
Drank Corona on the way to the mansionboat.
Took shots of very expensive tequila seconds after stepping onto it.
Wore a bikini all day every day.
Slept under the stars.
And consequently under the sun.
Lathered sunscreen on every five minutes.
Managed to not get sunburned.
Played Liars Dice.
Sucked at Liars Dice.
Snapchatted my sister (and probably her, her, her and her.. it’s a little fuzzy).
Chilled in a hot tub.
Massively bruised my butt, leg, arm while failing at getting into said hot tub.
Cut my foot somehow.
Jumped off the top deck into perfect lake water.
Played on the slide at the top deck.
Cut my finger somehow.
Got rid of hangovers with breakfast burritos and cold water.
Tubed with two other girls.
Somehow managed to stay on while both other girls flew off.
Often forgot to take photos.
Lost my shoe.
Found a video of the debauchery on my phone.
Heard myself singing “Beast of Burden” very loudly.
Laughed a lot. A whole lot.
Met a lot of amazing people.
Didn’t get murdered.
Had a damn good time.

What did you do this weekend?

Gone Houseboatin’

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Life has been crazy and exciting and overwhelming and wonderful lately. Every day this week has been a mini adventure full of highs and lows, butterflies and anxiety, laughter and tears. I can’t wait to process them and write them out in words that are more coherent than my current thoughts, but for now I’m off to spend the weekend on a boat. Enjoy your adventures, friends.

Confessions

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I feel off in a lot of ways lately, but I’ve almost found comfort in not knowing what the hell I’m doing.

This doesn’t make me want to stab people less when they ask me if I’ve heard back from any jobs or if I’ve found a place to live. If you knew me at all, you’d know that if any of those things had happened it would be very obvious. If not by my happy dances or ecstatic shrieking, then by my social media/blog from which I hide nothing (when it comes to exciting life changes anyway).

My roommate moved the majority of her stuff (which is everything because I contributed nothing–roommate of the year award goes to me!) out last weekend so I’ve been eating everything off of paper towels and mason jars.

She may have taken the plates, but she left me a wine opener so I guess she’s learned a thing or two about me in the past 12 months.

Speaking of, I can justify spending $5 on a piece of toast at a trendy cafe, but I just can’t bring myself to spend more than $6 on a bottle of wine. Or fork out the dough to buy one place setting for that matter.

Since I started PMSing a week early, this makes week two of telling myself it’s acceptable to eat Skittles for lunch.

I accidentally left dim sum in the back of my car Sunday and let it bake in 80 degree heat until yesterday when I realized the stench was not coming from the usual suspects.

Between scrambling to find a working printer, not being able to find parking before jumping on the train, discovering disgusting leftover dim sum and shamelessly changing into proper attire in my car, I arrived at my interview with about 5 minutes to spare and forgot to change into inconspicuous undergarments. If I don’t get the job, I’m fully blaming the awkward butt patterns showing through my dress.

After getting into a car accident by letting a stranger drive me approximately half a mile the other day, you’d think I would’ve learned my lesson about stranger danger but it seems as though I’m going camping with a bunch of them this weekend. Don’t worry, I’ll leave strands of hair and spit along the way so they can trace my DNA later.

What are your confessions? Go link up with Kathy.

Things that are always better

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Some things in this world are considered interchangeable when they’re absolutely not, and it’s simply unacceptable. One of them is always better. Always.

Coke Zero > Diet Coke

Okay, so I realize Diet Coke goes back to a time before Coke Zero was even a glint in Papa Cola’s eye, and I used to be a devout D.Coke fan, but that is a time long gone and happily forgotten. Coke Zero is all the things I love about Coke without the immediate self-hate and weird aftertaste that comes along with the real deal. Diet Coke is kind of like when you chew minty gum and then try to drink anything afterward (except OJ because brushing your teeth + OJ = THE WORST).

Just as an aside, I didn’t even include Pepsi in this particular comparison because it is assumed that everyone already knows Coke is always better than Pepsi. If you disagree, I probably don’t trust you because you’re a liar and a thief,

Red Candy Apples > Caramel Apples

When I ask for a candy apple, I’m not asking for an apple dipped in gooey crap and rolled around in nuts. No, I said ‘candy’ for a reason and that reason is that red candy apples are a delicious and traditional carnival treat and caramel apples are a different thing. Sure, caramel might be considered candy as well, but they have their own name and it’s “caramel apple,” so let the red ones have their own name and let that name be “candy apple.” Don’t assume I’m okay with a weird gooey substitute when I ask if your fried Oreo stand sells candy apples. I’m not.

Arizona Green Tea > All other canned teas

I’ve tried to fool myself into thinking other canned tea beverages will satisfy me because of the fancy 60s style graphics on the outside or empty promises of metabolism/energy boosting, and that’s what I get for judging a book by its cover. A subpar tea drinking experience. Arizona wins always.

And while we’re on the subject, why are only certain types of beverages canned? I tried canned water once and it was the worst decision I made before college. It didn’t feel right, in fact it felt all kinds of wrong. But tea? It’s not carbonated or soda-like in any way but I’m totally fine with drinking it out of aluminum. I don’t get it. 

Books > Movies

If you’re not a reader, you’re probably rolling your eyes and that’s fine, but as far as I’m concerned the book is always better than the movie. There is just so much back story you can’t and shouldn’t include in a film that I loving knowing while getting into a book. I definitely appreciate movies, but if it’s an adaptation there’s no way I’m going to like it better if I read the book first.

Friends > All other TV shows

I have a really hard time convincing myself to watch or read something again after I know what happens (with the exception of A Goofy Movie of course), so I often give up on shows easily or dismiss them forever once I’ve seen them, but Friends? Friends is a different story. I will watch any episode at any time no matter how many times I’ve seen it. Phoebe can serenade me with “Smelly Cat” 12 times in a row and I’ll still be happy.

Jelly Bellies > Jelly Beans

They’re not the same and if you try to say they are, I will fight you. Also, apparently the Jelly Belly factory is very close to where I live and the deformed beans called “flops” are super cheap. This excursion is definitely on my CA bucket list.

All other flavors > Licorice

Have you ever opened a bag of Jelly Bellies and had someone be like “OMG, give me the black ones! Licorice is my favorite!”? Because I’m pretty sure I would accidentally spit my chewed up watermelon/margarita/cotton candy beans right in the offenders face if I heard those words uttered in my presence. Licorice is the worst.

Hugs > Handshakes

When was the last time you heard someone judging/scrutinizing someone for their hug technique? Sure, if you’re a side hugger I might assume you’re a heartless wench, but aside from that it’s hard to give off anything but love and cuddliness when hugging. Handshakes, on the other hand, can feel like weird wiggly warm worms writhing in your hand (oh hey, alliteration!) and that’s no way to make a first impression. Just go for the hug. DO IT.

Dogs > Boyfriends

Okay, maybe this isn’t always true, but right now it feels like it. And dogs are definitely better than some boyfriends, at least mine is. Ziggy is the best cuddler around.

Whatever, this is getting weird. I’m going to stop now. As it turns out I’m only strongly opinionated when it comes to consuming delicious things and entertaining my brain with stories/dog cuddles.

What do you think is always better than the alternative?

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