Entry 46: Being Able to Go Streaking in Your Own House

We have had a house guest for a few days now, and while walking and streaking naked around my house was never something I really did prior to having a house-guest, there’s something about not being able to do it that makes it randomly cross your mind.

There probably is a psychological term for this: wanting something that you can’t have or can’t do. You hear a lot about this with people and relationships, where a girl has a crush on a guy who has no idea she exists, but when the guy eventually has a crush on said girl, the girl has moved on. Story of my early teens, but that’s another story for another day.

Don’t get me wrong, our house guest is really nice, she’s tries to buy us groceries, and we’ve had some pretty deep conversations. Like how ancient Egyptians built the pyramids. Could aliens have helped? If not, then how were they able to build it with such precision? It sounds like one of those conversations one might have if on the weed, but I swear to you and your mother that we were not.

I did however have a few drinks of Jack Daniels Tennessee Honey Whiskey during this conversation. If you have not tried it and like to classily ( or non classily) sip on whiskey, it goes down super smooth and is amazing, causing you to question if it’s even alcohol. I must, however, bear warning to the fact that therein lies it’s danger –  after a few drinks you may find yourself  in a blanket burrito on the floor while watching netflix, then in the REM stage of sleep shortly thereafter. Countless times have I woken up at 4 am wondering how I just knocked out of nowhere, and looking up to see the tv lingering on the netflix screen asking me if I wanted to continue watching my show that has already played 5 episodes more than I remembered.

But digress.

Having a house guest….

As is often the case when one has a guest in a house (staying or visiting) a certain level of propriety is expected. One cannot liberally walk around without a bra or pants, or leave the bathroom door open while taking a poop. Adjusting a wedgie that’s riding up your butt will cause you to be weirdly looked upon, or – if you’re a male – putting your hands down your pants to adjust your dick will inevitably result in a look of disgust.

If you’re completely comfortable doing all those things while having a house guest…. good for you. I for one, am not. And so for this past week, I have suppressed such normal tendencies that would be deemed even the slightest bit improper.

So when house-guest went to work last week, and husband was home sick for the day (and I was home because… well, because I’m a lulu…)  after a shower I thought…hmmm… streaking…why not?  I jumped out of the shower, towel dried myself so I wasn’t dripping wet, went into the living room, and ran a few circles around the couch… naked. Meanwhile, husband laid on the couch, a tissue box on the side table, face all tiredly congested and a look of what are you doing? Undoubtedly, the security cameras caught it all on tape. And you know what? It was great.

I’m not saying that every time I have guests over, there will be this constant thought of  walking around naked while we’re conversing about whatever. That would be rude. But… I wouldn’t rule out the fact that it may happen at some point when there’s no one home.

Anyways, I hope everyone has a great rest of your week. It’s starting to get cooler in the desert. This morning I woke up and took the trash out in 65 degree weather, and I was cold. It’s supposed to be 87 today. In a few months, you people who have inevitable bitter cold, grey weather will probably hate me.

Until next time…

 

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Entry 46: Being Able to Go Streaking in Your Own House

Entry 40: The Louis Vuitton Gym Bag

There’s this lady at the gym that I see all the time waiting for her yoga class. She’s probably in her late twenties or early thirties, a mom – and everyday I see her, she has strapped around her shoulder a Louis Vuitton gym bag.

This intrigues me. Having never owned a Louis Vuitton bag in my life, whenever I see her, I constantly find myself wondering what it must be like to prep for the gym and decide, Hey I’m going to use this expensive ass bag for all my gym stuff.

How do you even decide to get one in the first place? Deciding to get a Louis Vuitton is one thing,  it’s another thing to get one specifically for the gym. I imagine that at some point, said lady decided she needed a gym bag, decided she specifically needed a designer gym bag and while shopping must have been like no, I don’t want a Gucci gym bag.  I want a Louis Vuitton one. No, not that one. The bigger one.  

Or maybe she has 10 Louis Vuitton bags and the bag she was using was one she bought 5 years ago. Since it was so 5 years ago, of course she was going to use it as a gym bag.

But I kind of get it; material possessions often are looked as reflections of our social status. As our society emphasizes the need to succeed,  there exists this secret (or maybe not so secret)  competition to be at the top in the hierarchy of life, with the bigger, more expensive stuff acting as measures of our value and success.

So, if one’s going to be boss with a Louis Vuitton bag, why not be one with a Louis Vuitton gym bag? Just because… that’s even more boss than just having a regular bag.

My current gym bag is a Adidas sackpack from TJ Maxx that I got for $10. Its not boss at all. What it says about me is I bought this bag to carry my shit while I work out, and it was cheap. I don’t carry it with me all the time though; most times I have my wallet and my phone, and I stick it in my sports bra, right in the area between a boob and the armpit.

(I can see your head tilt and brows furrow as your trying to visualize sticking a phone/wallet in your bra if you’re a girl…or if you’re a dude, visualizing a girl sticking a phone/wallet in her bra. Thats kinda weird, you’re probably saying. And it kinda is, but thats how I roll.)

If I do happen to get designer stuff, someone please call me out if I become one of those stuck up chicks who’s like, is that from the Gap? Gross. Those females do exist. I know because one time I was talking to this co-worker, and was admiring her watch:

Me: Is that Michael Kors?

Coworker: Oh no… its Chanel sweetheart.

Well shit I thought. Excuuuuse me. 

She gave me a look that told me she wouldn’t be caught dead in a Michael Kors anything; she was better than a Michael Kors, and thus was cooler than me.

Yea, I don’t want to be that person, so call me out.

Anyways, that’s all for now. I hope everyone has a great week, and if you have one of them designer bags that cost a couple regular people paychecks, I hope you’ll still be friends with people like me who shop at TJ Max and Target.

(Note: I first wrote this whole post spelling Louis wrong and had to correct. God forbid someone reads this and is like…. Hey, you spelt “Louis” wrong.  I wasnt high cultured enough to know, but now I know. )

Until next time.. ..

Entry 40: The Louis Vuitton Gym Bag

Entry 37 : What’s Your Story?

Have you ever been asked the question What’s your story?

My immediate reaction is always like : What do you mean what’s my story? I don’t really …have one. Whats YOUR story. Then based on their answer, I answer the question.

To be quite honest, I don’t think my life is all that exciting so I’m never quite sure how to answer. When you think of stories / movies, they usually consist of a plot – sometimes with twists, turns, and an apex to the plot  – and my life has none of that. Its just, ordinary. To me its awesome, but ordinary. I mean, I cleaned my spare bathroom yesterday. This happens once a week. And then after that I folded laundry.  And then I grilled hot dogs for dinner.

If you want to go into the depth of my character, well – some might find my interests boring. I like to read, get lost in Michaels, word puzzles and regular puzzles, and binge watching The Great British Baking Show. I got into a Games of Thrones debate with the produce guy at the grocery store the other day. I hear any sort of Game of Thrones reference and my ears just perk up. He was talking to the other produce guy about the battle scene from last season and I just joined in like  I know right!?!  That was friggin crazy!

Some people think my personality weird. In high school, when I first started dating my high school boyfriend, this girl asked him Why are you dating her? She’s weird. At the time, it kind of hurt my feelings, but then I was like, wait a minute – she’s right. I am kind of weird; not in the bad socially-awkward way, just in the- I used to humm while i brushed my teeth -kind of way (true story. i dont do it anymore though, i swear…. ) and some people find that weird. I used to hope that girl who called me weird was losing in life, but I’ve gotten over it and have come to embrace the “weirdness” as part of why I’m awesome

Back to my story. This makes me realize how grateful I am not to be dating, just so I don’t have to answer that question. The very thought gives me anxiety. I would probably be rejected by waves if I was like I like puzzles, but it’s something I would say because it’s true.

I’m glad my husband didn’t think I was too weird on our first date. After we ate, I started making a sculpture with tortilla chips and poured water over it, saying its called art, you wouldn’t understand. I’d like to think he was just like Yea, shes a little weird, but super hot so I’ll let it pass. 😊

Anyways, until next time….

Entry 37 : What’s Your Story?

Entry 35 : Social Media De-Compress

I haven’t been on social media as of late, not providing consistent updates on the happenings on my life,  including the fact that I am going to bed because I am tired, or shared a picture of a most recent zit on my nose, or notified you all on my most recent cravings for fortune cookies. Because well, my life is all that interesting and when I fail to “check in” to the bathroom of my home to notify you that I’m going to take a shit, that is cause for concern.

What happened was…. well, Lent happened, and for Lent I decided to give up Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and Snapchat.

It was hard at first My constant impulse was to go on these social media forums and see what so-and-so was up to, and to let people know I had seen a squirrel, or share a picture of Europeans in speedos. So to prevent myself from going on successfully, I signed out of everything in order to create a roadblock for myself.

Well, everything except twitter, mainly because I never go on twitter and I forgot that I even had a twitter account when I was signing out of everything. I go on twitter an average of once or twice a year and have 1 follower (my husband).  A few days into lent, I received a notification on a witty Anna Kendrick tweet that she liked cake, or something to that effect and it made me laugh, because well… I too like cake.  So I ‘liked’ her tweet, and forgot all about it. A few hours later, my husband messaged me, asking me if I went had gone on social media that day.  I backtracked as best as I could, recounting the events of the day and replied with an adamant no.

Being my one twitter follower, he mentioned he had seen that I had ‘liked’ an Anna Kendrick tweet.

Me:  O_O Oh shit, yea I did. I forgot. But it was a funny tweet!

I got called out, but in truth, I never use twitter and had completely forgotten that I had been on it for that brief moment. I soon after signed out of my twitter account to prevent future logins by impulse.

Since then I have fasted from social media, going on only on Sundays, as Sundays don’t count in Lent. So if you’re like, What the Hell Winter! Didn’t you know that I was at Dairy Queen on Wednesday? I checked in on Facebook and tagged you because I know you like cookies and cream blasts! … or I told the world I was gay on Facebook last week, and you don’t know?!?  Sorry, I’ve been out of the loop. But to be honest, its been refreshing to not be so consumed by the need instantly let people know everything  I’m up to, which is usually something along the lines of going to Home Depot or grocery shopping, or helping to fix a toilet flush valve. Please, try not be envious.

Anyways… until next time.

 

 

 

Entry 35 : Social Media De-Compress

Entry 33: Putting Effort to look like a Lady

I swore when I became a full-time housewife that I would never let myself go: I would workout, do household chores, do my make-up and curl my hair, so that my husband would come home to a hot and sexy wife.

Now I’ve been a housewife for close to a year, my husband comes home and with one look is like did you even comb your hair? 

No, I did not.

I’ve become the woman I swore I would never become: wearing sweats all day, a loose fitted shirt, and hair tied up in a messy bun. While I do feel like I have gotten in better shape with so much time to workout, I’ve realized that it’s too much effort to “get done up” if you will, when after the gym I have to clean the house and do all these chores. Besides which , the question I always find myself asking when thinking about putting some makeup on is Who’s going to see me?  Am I really putting on make-up just to go to Target? 

The other week I went to jury duty, and as I walked up the steps to the courthouse, I saw a woman, dressed in a pencil skirt, fashionable 3 inch stilletoes, and a Luis Vuitton bag around her shoulder. Her make up was done to perfection, and you could tell she had taken the time to blowdry and straighten her hair out. She reminded me of my younger self (minus the Luis bag because I can’t afford that shit), back when I had a 9 to 5, and suddenly I became self-conscious of what I was wearing, how my hair was in a quick bun, and how minimal my make-up was. Had I forgotten what it was like to be a confident woman?

Since then, I’ve been putting a little more effort in my appearance, actually showering daily, not waiting for my hair to knot up before brushing it, and putting makeup on in an effort to not lose my sense of feminity. I’m not going all out with my apearance, because – like I said before – who’s going to see me when I’m sweeping, but I don’t want to be that person that wears sweats every day out of laziness.

That’s all for now. Until next time…

 

Entry 33: Putting Effort to look like a Lady

Entry 28: Did I Make the Right Choice?

This morning I got a phone call from a recruiter saying that I had gotten the job that he submitted my resume for and that my start date would be on Monday.

Congratulations!

The thing was, I didn’t feel too excited about it.  It was happening too fast, too soon, and I would hardly call accounting work as something I’m passionate about. I know what you’re thinking:  Why even agree with letting the recruiter submit my resume to begin with? The thing is, I’ve been trying to figure out what I want. I’m 30-something and still have this dilemma. Ever since I was younger, I wanted to write. Later, I found a love for taking pictures. If I’m being honest, those two things drive my soul and burn a fire within me, but the question has always been – could I make something out it?  Whether it’s because of my fear of failure or something else, I never could quite figure it out how.   So I took jobs that paid decently, but truly didn’t make me happy.

When I moved – it was like a fresh beginning for figuring out what I could do that would make me happy, but am conflicting with my want to be able to make money, buy things, and go places. After all, this is what our culture drives into our psyche of what success is. I have been internally conflicted with this.

So this morning, I accepted the job, and a few hours later – called the recruiter back saying that I couldn’t take the job due to personal reason. I have probably severed any chance of getting a job through this agency again and am left questioning whether I made the right choice.

I feel bad that I wasn’t more honest to begin with, but it is done. I can’t go back , but I’m left with no job, and am still at the place where I’m still trying to figure out what it is that I want to do with my life.

Is it weird that I’m reaching to the internet for advise and a cyber hug saying that it’ll be alright?

Anyways, until next time….

Entry 28: Did I Make the Right Choice?

Entry 22 : “We Ain’t Never Getting Older”

Every time I listen to that Chainsmokers song We Ain’t Never Getting Older , I cannot but help but think – These guys are going to be sorely disappointed, because they’re going to get old and have to Adult and figure out how to get their shit together.

I don’t even know if that’s what that song is about, but those are my thoughts.

You’re probably thinking, Uhm…I think you’re bitter because these artists are younger than you and have a one-hit wonder, and you’re only on entry 22 on a blog no one really reads and don’t really have a job right now so…

Touche.

 

Entry 22 : “We Ain’t Never Getting Older”