Like clockwork.

So looking at my last post, it started out with something along the lines of, “oh hey it’s been a few months- or 10” and what do you know, the same is true this time!  Seriously though I think that’s really crazy, but then again it doesn’t take much to surprise me these days.  Lot’s of inane things are exciting.  I’ve been through it these last 10 months; death, birth, the hum-drum of regular existence.

I miss writing.

I am my own worst critic, so more often than not I decide to not write.  I always end up regretting this, since it seems as though I always read something that I’ve already thought about writing but didn’t think anyone would be interested in.  Now that I’m a mom, it’s often suggested that I become a “mommy blogger” which I am so not interested in.  There are just so many already!  Also, call me crazy, but sometimes I want to write about other things since I’m mommin’ it up 24/7 already.  This doesn’t mean that I’ll never write about baby shit though; some of those stories are gems, GEMS I tell ya!

In this moment, I’m just happy to be inspired enough to type up this little blurb; #smallvictories.

More soon ❤

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Wanna match tomorrow?

The last three times I went to the mall, I’ve seen gaggles of girls in all get-ups matching each other.  I’m talkin’ down to each and every make-up color, eye liner wing, which side of the head their headband flare sits, brands—the whole nine.  I refuse to believe that in 7th grade when I planned outfits with my friends to have an impromptu twin day, that we appeared that lame.  Back then the extent of it would’ve been, “hey let’s wear black pants and white shirts tomorrow”—end (and just to school not in public).  Thank God social media wasn’t a thing back then, and we have zero evidence of that shit.

Now, I haven’t seen just doubles.  I’ve actually seen a group of five all dressed the same;  the selfie game was going hard.  They came to stand behind the hubs and I in line, and I thought my husband was going to lose his shit.  I believe his exact words were: “how bad would it be if I just accidentally threw this soda over my shoulder?”, to which I responded: “I feels ya, but we are at Park Meadows and they’d probably act like their Stepford-Wife mothers and stick us with a dry cleaning bill”.

We sucked it up and listened to them repeat each other and drone on about the boys who were outside the store, then left, but possibly came back, but actually left.  I prayed to God that our child would be a boy.

I thought maybe it was just something happening down south, but then I went to my local mall last week north of Denver.  I was about to cry walking into Victoria’s Secret (since I knew my prego ass wasn’t going to be able to buy anything, but then turned to happy tears when I realized I would save soo much money) when two girls walked in dressed head to toe the same in some bizarre-o 90’s/skater/we’re-wearing-bow-ties-and-gloves-just-because outfit.  It was a whole new level of weird not only because they were dressed the same, but they were seemingly glued to each other walking in time at the same pace, making the same gestures; they weren’t twins they were a mirror of each other.  They actually probably practiced that shit at home together.

I know, it could be worse; they could be the asshole teens stealing their parents liquor, or doing drugs drugs, but what in the actual fuck?!

saywha

Even James Franco can’t take it, and we all know how weird he can get sometimes.

Toodles<3

 

 

 

 

5 Things A Pregnant Woman Doesn’t Want To Hear

A recurring conversation I have with my friends is about how much I generally hate people; yes everyone. Call me Negative Nancy, but I feel like it’s totally legit. It’s only gotten worse since I’ve been pregnant. Zero to angry is real.

I’ve always been bothered by the incredibly annoying and semi-shitty waitress at my favorite sushi spot, or some rude ass kid at the store who’s parent lets them act a fool, but I’ve always just stayed quiet and polite until you really piss me off. Lately I have no patience, so I have a bit of a snap back attitude. Oops. I’m playing this pregnancy card UP!

Pregnancy is the one time in life when you can honestly blame everything that goes wrong on it. It’s not even a cop-out. It has sucked the life out of me mentally, and physically, so I refuse to feel bad about offending anyone while I wallow in self pity. It just is what it is.

Now that I am pregnant, the “you just don’t understand until you’ve been through it” adage has never rang truer.  I’ve never been naive enough to believe that I “know better” than someone who has actually been through a situation, but it definitely makes me appreciate my experience that much more.  So for all the moms to be out there, this one’s for you!

5 Things A Pregnant Woman Doesn’t Want to Hear:

1. Your opinion.  Mostly because we never asked for it in the first place!  We might have mentioned how we’ve been feeling, or talked about how we may have indulged in too much cake over the weekend, but that doesn’t mean we need your input.  We don’t need to hear how we should “just walk more”, or get sent fit pregnancy articles, videos, pins etc. Thank you, but no fucking thank you.  It’s not even remotely helpful.  It’s annoying, and with our raging hormone levels will probably be perceived as a personal attack.  Just no.

2. How much it’s going to hurt.  No shit?! I thought it was going to feel like a magical spa session, finding a pot of gold, or the best orgasm in the history of mankind.  Anyone who knows how a baby is born knows that a person coming out of your va-jayjay likely isn’t going to be the most pleasant experience.

3. How much they hate your name choice.  Well thankfully, it’s not your child so don’t worry about it.  If we get excited enough about a name to share it with you (because the daunting experience of being responsible for giving someone who has to live with that name for the rest of their lives isn’t stressful enough) don’t be a kill joy.  We don’t care if you hated that person in the 5th grade, if you think it’s a stripper name, or it just sounds like they’d be a dick, again it’s not your child.  Period.

4. “Wow you’re getting big!”  Well yeah that’s generally the idea.  Same goes for “you look like you’re about to pop”, “you sure you’re not having twins?” and all other funny haha bullshit observations are not welcome.  We know we’re huge AND moving on.

5. What not to do.  Basically being pregnant is a long list of things you can’t do.  We don’t know when you became a doctor, but thank you captain obvious.

Keep on keepin’ on mamas.

Toodles!

Guess who’s back..back again!

My brain feels like scrambled eggs.

Being pregnant is literally the worst, but more on that later.

Let’s rewind a couple of months; or 10. Writer’s block is a bitch. I could blame it all on that, but mostly it’s the overwhelming reality of well, reality. What the fuck do I want to write about? Is the question that has been seared into my brain. It stays right behind my eyes like an invisible blinking light, going off every time I think—nbd. Which avenue do I pursue? I’m not abroad anymore and to be frank, writing reviews about things around Denver is fun every now and then, but not continuously.

The OCD in me demands structure, but I’ve realized that as long as I don’t go off on ridiculous tangents I can pretty much write about whatever I want. It’s all relative (AND now I have Jack Johnson stuck in my head).

Fast forward to now. I’m going to make a conscious effort to write more. That’s it! It’s really that easy.

High five for taking it one day at a time!

“We regret to inform you…”

I’ve gotten two rejection letters this week for jobs—emails actually.  I had a not shitty, but not awesome interview last Friday as well.  The last real job I had was in 2009.  I say real because I suppose it’s the last job that I think qualifies as resume material.

It has now been exactly one year and one month since I graduated and got my degree.  I’m extremely lucky, because I didn’t have to work while I was in college.  Now I have an almost 7 year gap in employment history, and everyone wants at least a year worth of experience (to a position a recent grad technically wouldn’t have any lengthy experience for), stable job history, extra curricular’s (that won’t be judged too harshly) blah, blah.  I seriously saw a posting for an internship, which by nature requires no experience, that they wanted three years worth of experience for—unpaid.  FML.

I swear I don’t feel bad for myself.  I actually find it quite comical, especially after my latest rejection e-mail.  Usually there is a generically written rejection; automated of course, inoffensive.  I was surprised to open my e-mail yesterday to find the standard generic rejection, with a little bit of flare.

Here are my thoughts while reading attached to the e-mail, with even more generalization to protect the company and guy who wrote it.


Hi my full name.  (Hmm, hi instead of Dear—super cas. but totally automated I don’t even need to read on; it’s short though what the hell.)

Thanks for your interest in the position at place.  We have reviewed your application. (Sweet.) Unfortunately, (AND there it is.) you are not the right fit for the position at this time. (Pfft, but I can live with that.)

I am sorry for the disappointing news. (Jesus dude, I was fine with it until you rubbed it in.)  Best of luck in your job search.

Sincerely,

Douchey Guy from company.  


Secondary thoughts:

  • Why yes this is basically THE most disappointing news I’ve ever received—not.
  • I get it guy your job is boring AF and I understand the need to entertain yourself, but get more creative.
  • Okay, maybe you can’t get that creative because of the whole trying to be inoffensive, but god that was bad and I’m a little bit offended. Lightbulb* Well played sir. 

I will definitely be receiving more automated rejections, but I’ll be doing it in style; aka. watching Netflix in my underwear.  #livingthedream

IDGAF

Because this is my general attitude towards things, you would think that I really don’t.  However, it’s my biggest downfall; I care way too much about what other people think.

The other day I was hanging out (in the one day of sunshine we’ve had in Denver in weeks) talking about writing, and my best friend’s MIL said, “I used to care too much about what other people think and I even developed a complex.  Some people will like what you put out there and some people will hate it and that’s okay.  You can’t please everybody.”

I’ve heard a variation of this so many times, but for some reason her simple words just kind of clicked that day.  Maybe it was because she was so sincere.  When she spoke about developing a complex I knew that she understood exactly how I’ve felt.  She spoke about it so honestly and although it’s a painful topic, her demeanor portrayed her understanding and her ability to overcome it.  While she spoke, I could tell that she had made peace with it.

When most people speak about their past, the pain resurfaces—it’s so apparent, even in the moment that they look you in the eyes and tell you how it’s “all in the past”.  The best way I can describe it is the concept of “forgive, but not forget” vs. “forgive and forget”; her being the latter.  She forgot the pain, but not the valuable lesson it taught her.  It’s such a simple concept; to decide something and change your perception.  So why is it so hard?

Probably because I’m so damned cynical.

Surprisingly, I was feeling so refreshed after our conversation that I even tried to apply it to an even broader subject; happiness.  I’m skeptical as fuck about people who subscribe to the “if you decide to be happy, you’ll be happy” mentality.  This situation is totally the same though!  If I decide IDGAF what people think, chances are I’d be a lot happier—simple.

Life really can be that simple, but I’m fucking realistic.  However, I am grateful for these fleeting moments and especially the people who make them lasting.