Cozy in 240 Sq Ft

SAD

2012-11-25T19:40:00.000-06:00

I'm going to resist the temptation to start this blog: It's been several months since my last confession...

But it has been awhile. It's not that strange events haven't been happening or odd people haven't said offhanded things to me. I've had things to say and stories to tell. It's not like my upstairs neighbor didn't get burglarized twice in the first two weeks living in my new apartment. Or that I only used my 150 sq ft bedroom for the first two months living in my 480 sq ft apartment because I didn't have any furniture. Or that my co worker revealed that she loves Trans- Siberian Orchestra...

Don't say that {via)

Or even that my skirt crept up so I flashed the entire men's church choir my backside.

All those things DID happen.

I've been busy. You know that thing where you don't have time to paint your nails or pluck those Brooke Shield brows let alone type a blog post? (I picture you all nodding your heads with mutual respect and understanding).

Worst of all, how did the holiday season sneak up on me? Of all people. And yet, it did.

I spent the Thanksgiving holiday without my family having to work for the state Wisconsin on the following Friday. And even though I was without the ones nearest and dearest to me I was filled with hope and happiness. You might be asking: Why? Do you have a dysfunctional family that makes you flee from family dinners? Perhaps. But that's not the reason. I'm currently on the upside of SAD (Seasonal affective disorder). A terrible disorder that affects multiple first world citizens.

#1stworldproblems {via}

I get really happy during the winter months and terribly sad during the summer. Right now is the perfect time to ask me for a favor or talk about the future. Even if you were a total stranger asking for a different job while volunteering at a free Thanksgiving dinner so you don't have to stand next to me and that wouldn't even get me down!

While I'm riding this wave of positive bliss I plan to make the most of it. Get things done. Like my Christmas shopping. In the meantime I'm making my list and hoping for one of these:

because I want to be single forever

Or this:

better ask for some new running shoes too...

There's Something Going On

2012-08-01T22:20:00.011-05:00

There is something going on and it has nothing to do with Frida leaving ABBA.

I'm moving. My days living a cozy life in 240 square feet are quickly coming to an end. I will be saying goodbye to a studio apartment and hello to a luxurious 480 square foot, one bedroom apartment. Yes, that's right I'm doubling my square footage (240 times 2 equals 480! I know basic math almost as well as a five year old Korean). What am I going to do with all the space? Fill it with emotional baggage and develop a new phobia?

I hope so... {agoraphobia, so it's nice to meet you!}

Moving feels so bittersweet. A part of me is excited for more space and fresh start. It's only a bonus that I won't be sharing the same building with every crack head stumbling around State Street.

Seriously though, last Friday I walked past a guy yelling at a bush. He was in the branches of a garden hedge, yelling at it to stop talking back. Then I realized it was one of my neighbors.

But another part of me is sad and a little bit scared to leave this small space I called home for two years. We had some good times (I can't really think of any at the moment but I'm sure we did). Happy and sad all at once, damn estrogen. All this inner turmoil and angst is like living inside a Stephenie Meyer novel. Admitting I read Twilight... just feeling shame now.

Team Edward {via}

Goodbyes are always hard but packing is worse. I HATE moving. Part of the reason I stayed in this crap shoot was just so I wouldn't have to move again. This will be the sixth apartment in eight years. You'd think I would be good at moving by now, but I'm not. At all.

The worst part of moving is finding weird crap in your apartment. Like when I was moving from Kansas, I swore I found a giant spider's nest behind my dresser. It was huge, gross and I totally did the "OMG that's sicksicksick" spider-dance. Well, it turned out to be a cotton ball that fell behind the dresser and stuck to the wall.

No matter how organized I am about moving, I still come out feeling like the Beverly Hillbillies.

I wish I had a dog {via}

For now, I can't wait for this whole thing to be finished. By the way, can I borrow your truck?

These Days

2012-05-28T12:46:00.000-05:00

Oh you know, I just work for the state now. I've entered a whole new world of cubicles and paper shuffling, 401k's and health insurance. With a full time job you learn so many different things. Things I never new existed, like dismemberment insurance is very real and the most graphic of all the insurances. Oh yeah, and I wear slacks now.

I've been a little out of the loop for awhile. So here are all the important thoughts, realizations and events that have happened in the last few weeks:

Working in an office is awkward. Not funny- awkward like The Office or Office Space, just awkward.

When is it a good time to get everyone offensive coffee mugs? {via}

"I'm going to get in the best shape of my life!" then realizing you said that last summer. And it's on your blog for everyone to see.

I maybe a year older and leaping my way toward thirty, but my skin is holding on to my prepubescent years one horrible blemish at a time.

The hardest thing I've ever done: trying to stop eating so poorly. They should really have a twelve step program for cupcake and vanilla latte addicts.

Sometimes rock bottom is a face full of cream puff in a secluded parking lot. {via}

At what age do you become an Old Maid? And the term "Ape leader" is offensive.

The future? Could be worse... {via}

Paid holidays off are a real thing.

Driving slowly past a store to check out a party dress in the window. Realizing too late that the short, middle-aged, grinning man on the sidewalk thinks you slowed down to check him out.

New Troubles

2012-04-08T10:33:00.003-05:00

I got a brand-new, full-time, fancy-schmancy, grown up job. And since my lease is coming due in the near future, I've decided it's time to get a bigger place. As quaint as the last year and a half has been, 240 sq ft is not the most practical to have friends over or to do my Sweatin' to the 80s video. I've been searching the web and driving around looking for a new place to live. While I'm making more money than I ever have, my close friends Sally Mae and Señior Private Loan are keeping me in a choke hold.

Always have a safe word. {via}

So it'll probably be another studio apartment but a little more spacious this time. Maybe 400 sq ft. In the meantime here are some weird things that have been happening:

Springtime. Birds are chirping. Flowers are blooming. Finding a bug in my apartment. A big one.
Troubling: Approaching the bug and thinking, "You're going to need a bigger shoe."

"Nevermind, the apartment's all yours." {via}

Looking for a bigger apartment.
Troubling: 1. Hoping that cute looking apartment I just drove by is crappy enough on the inside that I can afford it.
2. Hoping that crappy apartment that I can afford is nice enough on the inside that I don't get some kind of fungal foot disease.

Two of my favorite things: lip gloss and strong coffee.
Troubling: Picking out a spring shade of gloss with a nice sales lady and realizing I have a big ol' coffee ground stuck in my front teeth.

Teeth, they prefer tea. Makes sense. (Want to know more about teeth? Click here.)

Spending the last few weeks searching for a new apartment. Coming home to my "cozy" studio one evening and my key doesn't work.
Troubling: Realizing my apartment is never going to let me leave.
Troubling#2: And it's not going to let me have my stuff back.


Or it's just being haunted by Alec Baldwin and Geena Davis. {via}

Not having any idea of where I'm going to live next year, but knowing it won't be here.
Troubling: Feeling a little bit sad about it.

Working Class Hero

2012-03-08T18:41:00.001-06:00

I have an announcement. And it's kind of a big deal, so prepare yourself.

In the next month, I will no longer be living below the poverty line. That's right, I will be introduced to the luxuries of the lower middle class.

Can I borrow that top? {via}

Now instead of crunching the numbers before every purchase, I can put the saying, "Keepin' up with the Joneses" to a very minimal use. Generic brand? HA! Actually, I'll still need to buy the generic brand. It's not like I found a money tree. But now when it says buy three and save, I can buy three and save. (You know, instead of just buying one because that's all I could afford even though it would make more sense and save you more money in the long run to buy all three (breath)... You know.)

I might have to start listening to the Boss so I don't lose touch.

An article, from a reputable source (wikipedia), stated most Americans between the ages of 25-75 spend at least one year living below the poverty line.

The Poverty Line. It has a face. Eerily similar to Angela Lansbury {via}

I spent ten months below the poverty line, but I'm getting out early. Precocious? No. It means I have AT LEAST another two months in the next fifty years to get real poor again.

Looking forward to it.

But to my current and soon to be past place of employment, it's been real. We've had some good times.
Don't wear your hair that way.

V is very very extraordinary

2012-02-13T22:41:00.004-06:00


Just a hat? I like your style.

Did you smell that? That's the pungent smell of desperation as guys of all ages try to create an evening of sweet and thoughtful gestures for their "Pooky Bear."

Love it or hate it, it's almost Valentine's Day. I tend to feel pretty indifferent about it. Unless I get some chocolate, then my vote starts swinging towards loving it.

Valentine’s Day is one of the worst (/best) days out of the year for things to go terribly wrong. And, let’s be honest, they usually do. I have to admit, there's something funny about hearing others’ uncomfortable and failed romantic dates (I know it's wrong. Stop judging me).

In my experience most guys aren’t romantic, unless you’re dating a Harlequin Romance writer (In which case an awkward Valentine’s Day isn’t your biggest problem.)

I find this incredibly romantic

FAILED ROMANCE: An old acquaintance once told me about his gift to his then-girlfriend. It was the typical Valentine’s Day. He saved for weeks to buy her flowers, candy and a pricey bracelet. Sounds great, but it was more like the conditions for a perfect storm. She wasn't on the same page, unfortunately, and gave him one of those cookie cakes from the mall.

Happy Tenth Birthday!

The girl had asked the cookie stand to put, in french of course, “I love you” with frosting. When he opened it his disappointed expression lead to a very dramatic fight. To make matters worse she also bought him a pair of silk boxers with hearts on them.

Boxers ≠ True Love {via}

We’ve all heard these stories. There’s so many ways for it to go wrong: miscommunication, hurt feelings, dramatic fights and maybe best of all, the exchange of really terrible gifts.

“Do you even know me?” should probably never be uttered on Valentine’s Day. So I did a little research and came up with a list of things to avoid giving your "Cuddle Cakes" on the fourteenth.

Don't get a cutesy stuffed animal.

"I don't know you. At all." {via}

Or a Venereal animal.

"Surprise! I've been meaning to tell you..." {via}

Undies/lingerie. As good as your intentions, just don't.

No {via}


Made in the USA? NO {via}

On a related note, Pajamagrams. Every girl knows that this store ships overnight. Just sayin.

"I got you these creepy footsie pajamas" {via}

Don't get your girl a globe. Because she'll never forget that you got her a globe. On Valentine's Day. She will NEVER forget.


Red flag {via}

Candlelit dinners at Pizza Hut, White Castle or Chick-fil-A.

Pizza Party!/unforgettable night

If you're struggling for the perfect gift for your "Huggalump," just keep it simple. Put on some slow jam and give a thoughtful card. Like this:

Always {via}

Happy Valentine's Day

Holiday, Road, Disappointing lights

2012-01-05T22:23:00.000-06:00

I guess it's become a Christmas tradition for my dad to drive 16 hours a few days before Christmas to drive me from Wisconsin to Missouri. Some people have tree trimming and Christmas carols, we have sleep deprivation and 450 miles in a Prius.

Why don't I just drive myself? Because I drive this:

That's a lie {via}

This year's road trip was a little different than last year's. I had just finished a month of Holiday retail madness at work and my dad was wasting his only day off to work Driving Miss Daisy style to my pampered self. This year was less awkward conversation and more:

Just like last year we did pass the roadside Christmas light display. Somehow I managed to convince my dad that it was must of this road trip. He paid the eight dollars at the front gate and the lady handed us a handful of candy canes.

Sam: (talking around a candy cane) This is going to be great!
Dad: (Dryly) The candy canes alone were worth it.

We crept along the road lit up in Christmas light splendor. Within the first couple of seconds I was surprised to feel disappointment. My dad, not surprised. Making the best out of an embarrassing choice, we both got out our phones and starting filming the whole pathetic ride.

Sam: This is embarrassing. Why did I think this was a good idea?!
Dad: (Gleefully, dripping with sarcasm)Your Mother's not going to want to miss this.

My mother did miss it. We both forgot to hit record on our phones.

While driving out of the Christmas light display:
Sam: I can't believe we just wasted eight dollars on that.
Dad: We could have seen a better light display in any trailer park in Mid Missouri.

Nothing really interesting happened on this road trip. Not surprising since we were driving through Iowa. But I did learn a very valuable lesson on this trip. Don’t do your Christmas shopping early. Next year I’m just going to use this trip home as the time to find that perfect gift for everyone on my list. Just look at these little gems I found in a gas station:


Precious

By the way this was the new horrible ornament I bought this year. It's about 8 inches long and looked great on the front of my parent's tree.

Happy New Year!!

Scrooge

2011-12-11T18:52:00.001-06:00

Thanksgiving has come and passed, and the horrid memory of Black Friday is becoming less vivid, officially marking the Christmas Season. I've got the puny tinsel tree out of the closet, Christmas music blaring from the radio, cards and gift buying on my to do list, and a long list of holiday recipes ready to fill my tiny apartment with Christmas joy. It truly is the best time of the year.

But every year there's one thing that tries it's hardest to dampen my Christmas spirit. My car. It's the Scrooge to my Tiny Tim.

...nope {via}

The Christmas season is it's favorite time of year to break down. And right on cue, it broke down last week.

For about a week it took it's pretty little time starting up. It would groan and shake for about five minutes but finally start so I could drive to work. On a Friday, it decided 20 degrees was just too cold, sputtered then died, refusing to restart. Leaving me with public transit to get to work.

It's been awhile since I've rode the bus and I'd forgotten all the characters you meet. As I waited at the bus stop, I remembered an episode of the Late Show in which David Letterman was giving relationship advice. To paraphrase, he said if you can't find a date you should just ride the bus around and you're bound to find someone.

After paying the fare, I made my way to the middle of the bus. After deciding not to sit by the twitching guy, I found a seat by young man. He was drooling. Letterman has clearly never ridden the bus.

Don't follow relationship advice from this man {via}

After a weekend of public transit, I took my car to the repair man on Monday morning. He has long hair pulled back into a ponytail, listens to screaming 80s heavy metal, and doesn't have all of his teeth. There's an assortment of half naked girls on the walls and a pirate flag hanging from the ceiling of his shop.

Doppelganger {via}

He's also the best repair guy I've ever had and at the top of my Christmas card list.

So I've got my wheels back and it's back to listening to the 24 hour Christmas music station, God Bless us, everyone.

Oh, and what says Christmas more than Bing Crosby and young Bowie dueting? You're welcome.

I'm not 21

2011-11-07T20:50:00.000-06:00

Here are 10 reasons why (or Reasons I'm not aging gracefully):

1. After four hours of sleep I no longer have the stamina to jump out of bed, pound a couple espressos and then run around like I'm hyped up on meth. Instead, I do a very good impression of a zombie.

She's not 21 anymore either... {via}

2. Instead of dreaming about Ryan Gosling, I now dream about a dish washer.
3. Common Saturday night at 21: Going out. Common Saturday night at 25: Sitting in a chair, feet in a lavender foot soak, falling asleep at 7:30.

{via}

4. Credit cards no longer seem like a magical, wish granting, VIP card.
5. At 21 I wanted a boyfriend. At 25 I would be just as happy with a masseur, a personal grocery shopper, and a chef (I got 99 problems but a ...).
6. I no longer get food poisoning from my own cooking (on average). Expiration dates, unlike speed limits, are not suggestions.
7. Eating three pieces of cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory (Year 2007) is no longer an epic account of youthful metabolism, but a cautionary tale of "Minute on the lips, forever on the hips."

{via}

8. Some shoes have such a thing as arch support. I now know about it.
9. The allure of apartment living loses it's luster when you can hear bathroom sounds from the upstairs neighbors. Ew.
10. I used to wear one carefully planned outfit all day. Now when I get home it's elastic waist sweats. Next step: Uggs. Aging truly is scary.

Please, no. {via}

Scary and Not

2011-10-14T18:54:00.001-05:00

Remember in Scream when Drew Barrymore is blond and she's on the phone with Ghostface and he asks, "Do you like scary movies?" And then there's the crazy chase scene through the house, fire, blood and finally ending with (spoiler alert!) a hanging?!

I don't watch scary movies because I can't handle them. And by scary, I am including movies shown on the Lifetime channel and anything with Christopher Walken (he creeps me out). But once a year, I make an exception. In the weeks leading up to Halloween I really get into the spirit. Not in a gothy, hang out in morgues, seance kind of way but in a much more normal way like decorating your house and watching people do weird things, like this:

Pig tails were a good choice {via}

or...

geez {via}

I admit, I haven't watched any scary movies lately (besides Muriel's Wedding which was scary in a very different way) but I have been appreciating all the spooky and bizarre decorations popping up around town. It seems decorations can go two ways: scary or disappointing. One example: a couple streets from my parent's home there is a family that puts out a cemetery every year. I know what you're thinking. Cemetery? That sounds creepy. But no, this fake cemetery is not creepy. Why? It's tiny. Not Steven King Pet Sematary...

Cujo: The Conclusion? {via}

but smurf graveyard.

picture true to size

From what I learned last year, Madison loves it's Halloween. They really do it up right. I've tried to take some pictures of some good ones.
Time to share: (this could be as bad as any slide show vacation pictures...)

Stage Left... Packers?

Stage Right

Scary

The last one is my favorite because it reminds me of a scene from my favorite movie growing up, The Last Unicorn. Yeah, it's got unicorns, wizards, Mia Farrow. If you've never seen it, drop what you're doing right now, call your parents and demand to know why they ruined your childhood. Then watch this:

Hope everyone is enjoying their fall. I have to include one more picture. This one isn't a Halloween decoration it's just a painting I found in an antique mall. I think that makes it scarier.

Creepy and Old

2011-09-21T15:26:00.000-05:00

It's almost October and while Halloween is over a month away, creepy things are happening in Madison.

Heard singing outside my window on a Tuesday night.
Troubling: I thought I was having an "In your eyes" Lloyd/Diane moment.
Troubling#2: Feeling crestfallen when I realized it was just my drunken neighbors having a karaoke patio party.

Love is: an unforgettable boombox serenade. {via}

Still being completely grossed out by Silence of the Lambs.
Troubling: Finding this in an antique mall.

Midnight on a Friday. New neighbors are having a party. It's loud.
Rant: New freshman class of UW, if you're going to listen to 70s rock, know it don't blow it. AND it's not cute to loudly group sing Bad Romance, that retched Barbie song or anything by ABBA. And please. If you're going to keep me up when I work at 7am, I prefer if you didn't act like you were an extra on a Disney sitcom. I want to hear name calling, trashy fights, a colorful array of bad choices and the next morning, I want to see someone passed out near my car. I was not only tired the next day, but disappointed.

Having a bad day.
Troubling: That frown is turned upside down just by hearing Hall and Oates on the radio.

Now that's good stuff.

While jogging at night, realizing a lot of people leave their blinds open and you can see straight into their house.
Troubling: Making eye contact with someone realizing they should start closing their blinds.

Having a day job.
Troubling: Becoming one of those crotchety old people that grumble about rowdy parties and the future of America's youth.

There'll be days like this

2011-09-04T14:14:00.000-05:00

I can cause accidents, too {via}

Ever get the feeling you're at the wrong place at the wrong time? I do, every time I drive into the Wal-mart parking lot (just look at Peopleofwalmart.com).

But seriously, I have been in the wrong place at the wrong time many, many times. Like the time I was robbed of a foot modeling career. Robbed, you say? Yes, my friends, pull up a chair and brace yourself for a tragic story of broken dreams, damaged limbs and the most horrifying of all, cheap pumps.

But not with a spider man t-shirt {via}

It was early summer, before the mosquitoes arrived in swarms and the humidity thankfully hadn't had it's protein shake. The college student career had sputtered to a humdrum end and a very similar career had seeped in, unemployment.

The next weeks were filled with hand cramps from filling out job applications and tired, blood shot eyes from scouring career websites. That is until one day a craigslist ad jumps out of the computer screen and with it fancy daydreams of grocery shopping and change for laundry.

Female Foot model wanted.

Pay is cash, same day. Mail me for more info or to apply.

Compensation: $5000

Now I wouldn't say I have attractive feet but they're not disgusting either. I have ten toes, none of which are pointing in weird directions. But more importantly, how hard could it be to be a foot model? I 've considered a lot worst jobs. Like the lengthy time I considered being part of a three night clinical trial for untested medical supplements or the much shorter time I spent considering being an egg donor. So I don't have to swallow unpatented drugs with the possibility of lifelong side effects or have to worry about an "Are you my mommy?" moment? Sign me up.

{via}

That night I put aside my unemployment woes and went out with some friends. As I step through the doors and onto the dance floor of a local club, fate snatched the dream of summer leisure right out of my grasp.

It's dark. There are strobe lights. Grinding, gyrating and pose striking are happening. Madonna, Lady Gaga and Ke$ha are crooning. Welcome to Plan B. After getting a drink, the group makes our way to the dance floor. Within minutes a drunk slip of a girl lashes out. As she stumbles around to whatever her drunken mind is hearing, she stomps, in a pair of cheap, patent leather (plastic), platform stilettos onto my right foot. Cheap Heels never realized that her 115 lbs had safely snuffed out my modeling career. Wrong place: Me on a dance floor. Wrong time: Any time after Cheap Heels consumed her second, third or fourth drink.

The next morning I awoke with a swollen green, blue and grayish limb that was once a well proportioned foot.

It swelled up to resemble something Detective Briscoe and hunky Chris Noth would have found in the Hudson River.

Detective Mr. Big and Briscoe {via}

Did I go to the doctor? No, because hospitals smell, I don't like needles, and relaying this stupid story seemed embarrassing and kind of pathetic (Obviously I've lowered my standards since then).

That's right, I could be lounging on a beach, slipping a classy cocktail (like a sidecar) and avoiding the calls of Gisele and Heidi because let's face it, my career has a much stronger life line. My manservant would inject the money makers with botox, followed by a rejuvenating honey and crush pearl rub down (clearly I have no idea how models spend their time... but I can't be that far off...). But no. I don't have a manservant and not even the models in a Sears catalog would be jealous of my life.

Instead I'm working at one of the stores in the mall. I guess I should be thankful, usually models end up with some horrible cocaine addiction or married to Charlie Sheen. And being a foot model? That's like being the Assistant to the Manager instead of being the Assistant Manager. Just the thought of being like the lady in this video is horrifying enough to make me reconsider the medical supplement testing. All's well that ends well.

Working Girl

2011-08-17T11:59:00.004-05:00

Before we get started, breathe in deeply my friends. Can you smell it? Can you smell the sweet and glorious scents of apple pie, caramel, and cinnamon? Can you feel the crisp breeze and hear the crunch of colorful dried leaves? OK OK, I've been drinking caramel lattes and found an apple cinnamon air filter in the back of my closet. But you can't deny it, fall is in the air.

Hello, handsome {via}

So I've gone from being college girl to working girl. In the past when I heard "working girl," I always thought Hilary suits paired with white socks and walking orthopedic sneakers or well... a lady of the night. But that's not me, I'm not a mall walker and I haven't completely given up on life yet.

It's not that I've never had a job in my life. I've had quite a few actually, and they've all had their interesting tid bits and quirks. Like when I worked in that crafting supply store and had to memorize the all the sale items for the week. My favorite part was all the religious pamphlets I received from customers in prairie dresses on how my soul was weeping or the dangers of living a life of disobedience. Strangely, I was the only employee to receive these. Must be the reddish hair.


Witches come in many shapes and sizes. Damn bigotry {via}

I never really thought about working. Which is probably not good considering I spent the last seven years trying to study my way into employment. Not such a bad way to spend seven years. I mean, I could have spent it chasing the dragon or filling my body with poorly drawn unicorn tattoos.

deserving of a religious pamphlet {via}

Back up plan? I always thought I'd just marry rich but everyone knows that's for the 24 and younger crowd. I seemed to have missed that youthful bus.

... Sorry, sister suffragette {via}

Is this my dream job? Am I fulfilling some life goal of being a customer service representative? No, and no one appreciates your sarcasm.

But for now it ~~barely~~ pays the bills. Really isn't that the 'Murican dream? I did get the urge to replace the rear window of my car with a patriotic decal, bald eagle soaring across a waving flag.

Holy future, Batman {via}

The best part about having a job, besides the ability to buy a toothpaste and no longer having to contemplate if a spit bath is a real thing, is the new found camaraderie I've found with other employed persons. You get to listen to stories about people's pets/kids/fishing trips, have hearty belly laughs about activities planned for days off, and best of all, listen to forced conversations about the weather.

Is this adulthood? I googled bunions yesterday.

Measuring a Year

2011-08-04T13:48:00.001-05:00

Five thousand, twenty-five hundred, six hundred minutes... how long will it take you to get that song out of your head?

It's reflection time. Just fair warning, there is probably going to be a lot of over sharing in this one.

Reflections. Think Christina Aguilera, pre-dirty years {via}

This post makes me wish I kept one of those creepy diaries that documents every minute and every detail, of every day (I know you people are out there with your closets full of weird notebooks), but I don't like diaries. While I do love The Notebook (explanation: I'm a girl, Josh Gosling),

'nuff said {via}

I haven't had a love affair worth recording and frankly, I do a lot of things I hope to immediately forget.

But I digress, this is a reflection on the last year living in a 240 square foot apartment and the beginning of a new life in yet another city.

Let's begin with living in this apartment, the center of this blog. It hasn't been easy. I've never lived in such a tiny space for such a long duration of time. Have I kept my sanity? What little I started out with, probably (it's not like I think there is a little man living in my head with a pick axe, whistling dwarf tunes, slowly chipping away at my sanity). I've never had a problem with claustrophobia before, but some days it does feel like the walls are suffocating me and I just have to get out for awhile. I thought of a good simile for claustrophobia, but during editing found it a little heartless.

give it a rest

When I left Kansas I made an oath... well, to summarize: to stay single for a year. It might surprise you but since I was eighteen, I've either been in a relationship or dating someone, never staying single for more than a month or two. So, how did this year go? Unfortunately, it was incredibly easy to stay single (besides one little, tiny, three week long, snafu... but let's just ignore that one...).

Fun Fact! Parking tickets: over 20. Preposterous? Not exactly.

No, this doesn't make me (or my parents) proud.

Something that does make me proud? My new emerging sense of direction. I haven't been lost since that time I went to the art fair and had to circle the capital three times before I found the street I live on (OK OK, this happened a few weeks ago, I was on foot, and yes, I only live three blocks from the capitol. But that doesn't mean it isn't completely confusing, disorienting, and could happen to anyone).

labyrinth

Nevertheless, over the last year I think I've done some growing. Luckily because I've been exercising, it hasn't all been in my pant size but rather a growth in a more philosophical way. Or like smarts and stuff. I'm not too vain that I can't admit to some mistakes. But as I reflect on the last year, I didn't think there would be so many. Someday I'm sure I'll sit down, evaluate my poor but consistent choices, and listen to MJ's Man in the Mirror.

But for now, as a quick fix, here is a list of what I learned in the past year and my advice to anyone who might need it (...pretty much if you've read this far, that means you):

• Don't sign up for a free online dating website (Hint: it starts with OK and ends with Cupid.) No matter how much fun your friends say it's going to be, you'll find yourself shocked by graphic and crude propositions and left finding a new favorite coffee shop because one of them came from a much older barista with a memory for faces.

• Eating chili on a hot summer day, bad idea. Eating chili on a hot summer day then going out for a run, worse idea.

• Just because it's adorable and has big brown eyes doesn't mean it should live in your apartment.

This applies to men as well.

• Uggs and leggings substituted as pants makes a vein in my forehead twitch.

• Mixing cleaning chemicals while scrubbing a small bathroom without ventilation is a bad idea.

• If someone says something mean to you but in a nice friendly way, it's still mean. Even if they wink.
• Average life of a house plant, one month.

Not even a fake bird could hold this plant to life.

• Loving 80s music is probably a little odd for a 20 something year old. Still wanting to grow up to be in an all girl, glam rock band? Depressing.

Jem and the Holograms ruined my life {via}

• Some people love peanut butter on bread. Others love peanut butter so much that they'll scoop it out of a jar, in a store, with their grimy, heathen fingers.

• Haters love to hate.

Throughout the past year, I've had some trying times, made new friends, witnessed bizarre behavior, started new hobbies, and made my fair share of mistakes with a few minor triumphs sprinkled in to make getting out of bed everyday feasible. I haven't decided yet if moving to Madison was a good decision for me, but it's definitely given me a new prospective on life and a few good stories to make my life seem interesting.

So here's to you: the city of Madison for not completely crushing my spirit, my "cozy" apartment for giving me shelter and not snipping those last strands of sanity, and to the all readers I've accumulated over the last year with this blog. It's been a quite a year. Let's dig deep and make it through another.

Fuzzy and Ichy in Madison

2011-07-27T01:24:00.000-05:00

Another week. This time, a little less nudity and a little more bizarre.

Walking to yoga class.
Troubling: Seeing a stuff tiger perched outside someones window (We'll come back to this...)

I wish it was still cheeky to say, "Hide your kids, hide your wife..." (but that's so 2010)

Finishing up an evening shift. An attractive man approaches.
Troubling: He asks where the Preparation H is located.

Going to the mall
Troubling: Going to the mall.
Troubling #2: Justin Bieber behind a perfume counter.

Troubling #3: People that walk around the mall with their bicycle helmets. Still attached (This isn't Garden State. And you're not a cute, Natalie Portman, pathological liar, pretending to have seizures. Remove the helmets).

Faces blurred because I'm not completely dead on the inside.

A 30-something couple cruising through town in a bright green, top down, Jeep wrangler.
Troubling: Spotting the 3-foot-tall stuffed Shrek sitting in the backseat. Wearing a seat belt.
Troubling #2: No children in the car.

Spotting several stuffed animals placed randomly throughout Madison. Like this one:

Spotting #3

Troubling: The 30 seconds I spent wondering if Madison had a Plushies fetish.

Summer Heat

2011-07-21T14:32:00.005-05:00

Hot town, it’s summer in the city.

It’s been hot. Like really hot.

When I moved into my apartment almost a year ago, I was told the building didn’t have central air. If you wanted air conditioning you needed a window unit, “Well, it doesn’t get that hot in Wisconsin, I’ll just save the money.” Seriously, nothing makes you feel more alive than an apartment without air conditioning. It’s like your own personal detox spa (without the colon cleansing). If I didn’t get out all the toxins this week, they're staying for the long haul.

Scientific drawling of a toxin {via}

Weather and I have always had a weird relationship (as you can imagine, that pretty much describes every relationship I’ve been apart of since I was eighteen). From attacking my umbrellas to sporadically burning my pastey skin some sunny days but not others, to hiding icy death traps, and my favorite, creating sudden tornado gusts on skirt days, Weather and I could write an article of warning signs for bad relationships. It's like the worst boyfriend you’ve ever had. Kind of like what I would expect dating Richard Simmons would be like.

Say what you will, but that guy's got the gams {via}

In front of people, he'll let you borrow his dolfin shorts and be all fun, dramatic and sweaty, but behind closed doors? He'll choke a bitch. Haven’t you seen the Richard Simmons outtake video? No? Oh alright...

During the end of the fall season this last year, I went out and bought a “northern coat.” It was full of downy feathers and was reviewed as a must have of surviving a Wisconsin winter. As I zipped the coat up and tied the sash, instantly sweating, I smugly thought, “OK winter, do your worst.” About a month later, as I was walking home from school, winter smacked the smugness right off my face with a blizzard. To say it was horrible would be an understatement. At one point during what seemed like a lifetime journey through winter wonderland hell, I was certain I wasn’t going to make it. About three steps later, I was ready to give up on life.

Made it home with a chunk of ice frozen to my lashes.

Fast forward to about a week ago. I was on the phone with my dad telling him that I thought summer was over in Madison, “The weather keeps getting colder and colder. I guess it’s time for fall!’’ This is the forecast for this week:

Getting warmer...

suffocation

Oh sure, it looks beautiful outside. All sunny and green, until you walk out there. It's like regressing into a sticky four year old, you may not know why you're sticky but that's your new reality (seriously, why are little kids so sticky?).

But really I’m not so egocentric as to think the Mother of all nature is just waiting for my sass and taunts to strike with a storm or excessive heat backlash. The entire Midwest is being affected. It's not my fault.
(Actually that’s exactly what I’m saying. Mother Nature is clearly a firm believer in corporal punishment. From now on I’m going to keep my weather opinions to myself.)

OK, I’m going to put down my stick because that summer weather horse is a goner.

No, I Can't Help You

2011-07-13T05:04:00.002-05:00

Customer service, so we meet again.

That’s right world. I am employed once again. What does seven years college education get you?
Oh you know, just a customer representative gig at a large corporate retailer (which shall remain nameless). Jealous?

"My name is Amber, and here's how I do. I got nonstop hotness, hardcore learning disabilities, constant horniness, and I'm rockin' one leg... All I want is some medicine for my ringworm, and a cool-ass face tattoo. What-what?!" {SNL}

I hate the saying, “First impressions mean everything,’’ mostly because I like to think of myself as open- minded and non- judgemental. But when it comes to employment, first impressions mean a-hell-of-alot and recently a few things caught my attention.

Let’s get some examples up in here.

During orientation, at the new employment, we watched an educational video on the evils of unionization. While I tend to think using social networking pages to express political views is pointless, and even a little tacky (this is coming from a girl who refuses to use Twitter because it encourages narcissism, but has a facebook page with thirty, carefully edited, photo albums... Might seem just little bit ironic? Oh just shut it, Alanis), let’s get out the puff paint unicorn shirt and get political.

Turn right if you please. {via}

My dad has been an active union man since I can remember. So the first impression of my employer was not so good. As I watched the 20- minute- plus- video on how unions use clever trickery to steal your money and take way workers rights, all I wanted to do was dramatically rip off my badge, kick over a few chairs, and spew some colorful sailor talk as I stormed out. But being an unemployed liberal hero isn’t going to make my bank account any fuller. So I did my best to tune out the ~~propaganda~~ video and turned my attention to the company handbook to find some saving grace.

And I did.

My employer may be owned by misinformed, big business, dingle bats, but they do have high standards: Lycra pants are a dress code violation. Disapproval of lycra? Now that’s a company I can get behind.

Unless you're Bon Jovi {via}

Moving on. My past managers, stemming all the way back to my banquet serving days, seem to be cut from the same piece of bread. The easiest way to explain it: they all look like they spend a great deal of time listening to Barry White and gazing into a bathroom mirror for their daily affirmation.

With customer service jobs, your coworks make a huge difference. I've always been really lucky to get incredibly nice people to work with. But speaking of first impressions, sometimes they stunt coworker friendships.

For example, if a coworker is wearing a black, velcro, digital watch, I always assume they spend their off hours playing Dungeons and Dragons or collecting Samurai swords. While perhaps an unfair character assessment, I feel completely unable to start up a casual conversation without the urge to ask them how many comic book conventions they've attended.
(Yes, this does make me feel like a horrible person. Reformation...tedious business). Not that this makes it any better but I'm not the only one to think this is nerdy Check it Here.

In conclusion, "first impression" is just short hand for, "I'm judging you unfairly... especially if you're wearing lycra pants."

Troubling Sights

2011-06-27T13:20:00.004-05:00

Some things just can't be unseen.

Middle-aged man walking down the sidewalk wearing a wife beater, white shorts and flip flops.
Troubling: He was proudly displaying a black ankle bracelet, of the house arrest variety.
Much like:

Picture found on Hotghettomess.com. A website I wish I didn't know about.

WebMD describes how older people sleep less than their younger counterparts.
Troubling #1: In the last week, I've had two sleepless nights. Not a wink. I've been 25- years- old for less than a month.
Troubling #2: Telling people about this in a blog.

Buying a plant at the farmer's market.
Troubling: The horrified look on the farmer's face after telling him I kill every plant I own.

Going on job interviews.
Troubling: Realizing all the managers bear a striking resemblance to Michael Scott.

hm... {via}

While on a coffee run, seeing a woman in her bathrobe sitting on her front porch.
Troubling: She was sitting spread eagle, and unfortunately, not wearing a stitch.

All of these incidents happened in one week.
Troubling: Realizing it's the same every week of my life.

Let's Get Physical

2011-06-17T18:27:00.005-05:00

This summer I’m going to get in the best shape of my life.

Every summer’s the same. Each year around this time I decide I’m going to get into shape and vigorously start working out. It usually lasts until about September and then the school year starts and I get bogged down with coursework and my workout regime goes right out the window.

It’s never been a problem in the past because I’ve never been really overweight and my unhealthy ability to deal with stress has kept me pretty thin (Hooray for stress!). Most months in the year my idea of exercise is driving to Bed Bath and Beyond to sit in their massage chairs.

"The Gym"

Don’t get me wrong I've had my chunkier stages growing up but never really noticeably overweight. But let’s face it, I'm 25 and my metabolism has no where to go but down and I’d prefer my ass to not sag down to my knees by the time I hit thirty.

Now is the time to get serious about working out and stop letting my fervent sweet tooth dictate snack time.

I love you

For the past four weeks I've been trying to run 3-4 times a week. And just recently I started going to a yoga studio. I've always been a little hesitant about trying yoga. In my horribly naive, uninformed mind I thought I would change into "Nature Girl," start a potato farm and stop shaving my armpits.

That's not really the case. It's actually been really good strength training and is kind of calming.

However, in my first class I was positioned by a women whose armpits looked like they had dish scrubbers glued to them. Think:

But besides a bit of armpit hair, the yoga class have been (not to get too weird) enlightening. I'm keeping my fingers crossed on sticking with it.
Check out this lady. She's now in her 90s (the video is a few years old), a yoga instructor and looking awesome!

The Time has Come

2011-05-24T13:00:00.006-05:00

At the end of this month I will be officially be in my mid twenties and entering the 25-35 age bracket. From now on I will be able to rent a car and make it rain with all the money I’ll save from the lower car insurance. What an exciting time in my life.

The thing is, I’m having a little bit of trouble dealing with the fact I’m turning 25. It’s not that 25 is old or anything but it seems like this is the age when you should know how to navigate through life. Maybe not easily but at least in a “I didn’t get lost driving home from the grocery store” kind of way.

I’ve been spending the last few days searching the internet for some kind of encouraging news or success stories about turning 25. You know, like “The year I turned 25 was the best year of my life! I got an awesome job, a beautiful spouse, an incredible home and David Byrne seems to be writing a song about my life.”

How did you get a beautiful home and a beautiful wife with that suit jacket?

But all I can find are these articles explaining how more and more 25 year olds are having a quarter life crisis, while others are just trying to keep a grasp on their kegger days. These findings were a little less encouraging and a little more pitiful than what I was expecting.

Actually I wish I wouldn’t have started snooping around on the internet because it didn’t make me feel any better. It just helped make my mental dialogue more colorful: “You're a quarter of a century old!” or “You’re half way to fifty!” The internet always seems to have this negative effect on me. Like all those times I tried to self diagnose with WebMD and thought I had scurvy or tyrotoxism (poisoning by cheese).


probably cancer

Getting older has never bothered me in the past. Well, last years birthday was a little strange. I seemed to have forgotten that I was 23 turning 24 and instead thought I was 22 turning 23. It was all very confusing and I still feel as though someone stole a year of my life. Similar to how I felt during the credits of 2 Fast and 2 Furious.

I've just sucked one year of your life away

But normally I don’t even think about my age and I have several interesting and inspiring older role models that make getting older seem graceful and exciting (The only one that comes to mind at the moment is Auntie Mame. Probably not a good sign). So why is it 25 seems to be bothering me so much? Who knows? I’m sure I’ll deal with on a couch someday but for now I've been self medicating with Queen.

Silent Spring

2011-05-19T19:51:00.003-05:00

Spring through pictures (and some explanation):

Springtime at the Capital

A sticker on my landlords door

Parking ticket

Terrifying

Arranging

Art on the sidewalk

Art Display: Hide and Go Seek by Christopher Murphy

It glows in the dark


Attacked by a drunk dancer in heels


Antique Store find...


gave me nightmares

Rain and Sugar Gliders

2011-05-10T11:46:00.004-05:00

Sleep aid?

Spring, the season of renewal and the transition from the snowy, frigid temperatures of winter to the sunny skies of Summer. All winter long people look forward to Spring and it’s promise of warmer temperatures and blue skies. Everything is blooming including budding spring romances. What is there to not like about Spring?

I hate Spring.
Hate is probably too strong of a word but Spring is definitely not my favorite season. I think Negative Nancy has arrived:

It’s May and April showers have come and are apparently overstaying their welcome into the flower month.

Getting greener

While everyone is hustling through the days of dreary weather in their rain boots and sturdy umbrellas, seemingly unscathed, I’m fighting my own personal weather hell.

Rain. What's good about it? Oh sure all you lovers of Spring claim the rain and thunderstorms are romantic or poetic...

But let's get real. Not only does it mess up your hair, unless you’re one of those people that always looks good with tousled, rain drenched hair (in which case, don’t let my ranting disturb you from finding a fan, a spray on tan and a spread in the next Vogue magazine), but it also gives you soggy socks. No one likes soggy socks.
End of Spring Rant.

The arrival of Spring has also renewed my urge to get a pet and it doesn't help that the people of Madison love their dogs. I've wanted a dog for months if not years. I would be such a great dog owner! However, with my current living situation (you know... cozy?) and for that matter, my current employment status, getting a dog would be irresponsible if not bridging on animal cruelty.

So I started researching what kind of animals would fit into a 240 sq ft apartment. At first the results seemed pretty slim with suggestions of fish, hamsters, ferrets, and potbelly pig, all of which sounded pretty smelly and well... kind of gross. Until I came across the Sugar Glider.

The Sugar glider is an exotic pet that might seem ideal for small apartments. It's fuzzy, cute, odorless and it can fly. I was so excited! Finally after years of waiting I was finally going to get a cute, fuzzy, little animal! I eagerly started researching my new precious pet.

My excitement soon turned to dismay and ended with repulsion as I stumbled across a website that listed all the drawbacks to being a Sugar Glider owner. "How could this adorable animal possibly have any drawbacks?" I naively thought to myself as I skimmed the extensive list. Soon, I was sitting in shocked disbelief. I looked the animal up on youtube trying to find anything to discredit these horrible findings.

Stop looking so innocent

Unfortunately, video after video listed all the same poor character traits. Let me try to briefly summarize. Sugar Gliders are noisy animals that love to bark, hiss and will often use their cages to make as much racket as possible. Oh yeah, they're also nocturnal animals and they plan on you being one also. Moving on to their biting habits. Since Sugar Gliders are exotic wild animals, in their natural habitat they peel the bark off trees which makes your fingers child's play to their razor sharp teeth. They are known biters and often a cause for stitches. Appalled and disappointed? I'm not finished yet.

Sugar Gliders cannot be litter or cage trained. Since they also love to climb and mark their territory, you should cover everything near it's cage because it will most likely urinate on it. It is common for the animal to relieve itself while it's eating, outside the cage or even while you're holding it. Also, much like a monkey, when it's bored or angry it is known for throwing it's food or it's own waste outside of the cage.

oh not in the drinking cup...

Needless to say, I will not be getting a Sugar Glider. I guess I'll just stick with plants for now.


Brown? damn

You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here

2011-05-05T00:23:00.007-05:00

It’s Springtime in Wisconsin. April showers, May flowers, and the end of another school year has summer lovin' calling my name. It’s a bittersweet time of year. It always leaves me feeling relieved that I once again didn’t fail out of school and sad that I will have to say goodbye to new friends that are moving on to bigger and better things. But really, who likes saying goodbye?

Today was my last day of classes, maybe forever. Let’s get dramatic for a few minutes. I’ve been at a University for seven years in three different states. It’s the end of an era for me. I’ve made great friends, a few enemies, met lasting mentors and hopefully retained some things I won’t forget the next time I fall down a hill in a pair of hooker heels.

I’ve never liked endings. It doesn’t matter what it is: books, movies, school years, road trips. I’m always sad to see anything come to an end even if I hate, resented, or complained about it the entire time. Even the humiliating semester in middle school when I was in choir and forced to sing hits like “Yellow Polka dot Bikini” and “Purple People Eater.” Yet, it still ended with doleful goodbyes and left me with a surprising feeling of sadness.


Exception: End of Hammer Pants. Not sad.

So, what's next? For perhaps the first time in my life, I'm not completely sure. And honestly, I'm OK with that. I have some ideas for the next year but really it could go one of two ways: success or total failure. Any sane person living my life at this moment would be scared but I think it's all about how you measure success. As long as I don't plummet into life of prostitution, drugs or crime, I'm going to label it as a success.

Mistakers

2011-03-17T23:42:00.004-05:00

Current number of parking tickets: 6

Mistakes. We all make them. Sometimes they're unavoidable. Mistakes can seem like a good idea but then turn bad. Other times you make mistakes just to make life more interesting (that's not just me, right?). But on those rare occasions a mistake can be a positive thing in your life. Before I get too melodramatic let me give you some examples.

John Lennon and Yoko Ono. Everyone thought this was a bad idea. Hell, people still blame her for The Beatles split and even I've been known to use her name in vain during a fit of road rage (... moving on). But no matter what you think, John Lennon and Paul McCartney both wrote some great songs after their bromance came to a sad and heartless end.

In many ways this is a huge mistake. But really, Will Smith made it through. We should all think of this during our rough patches. If Will Smith can overcome The Fresh Prince of Bel Air you damn well better be able to pass your comps.

OK ladies, we really have to forgive ourselves for this one. I mean, we were a product of the 90s, we were young, they matched our outfits. Let's just forgive and forget.

The Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder duet. Sounds like the best idea ever... until you actually listen to Ebony and Ivory. What the hell happened? We all thought it would be good but the only good thing to come out of this was the SNL spoof.

The thing is I've made a lot of mistakes in my life. For starters, I have an internet blog. And let's not even talk about my dating life. Most of the time I don't know what I'm doing or where I'm going which seems to be more of a problem now as I see my 24th year quickly coming to a close.

How do we ever know we're making the right choices with our lives? I feel like I need to make a change in my life. I'm not saying my life is bad or I've made one giant mistake after another. I've never had a perm, worn stone wash jeans or been married to Charlie Sheen so on many levels I think my life is going pretty well and could be a lot worse. I'm lucky, but when is that luck going to run out? To quote David Bowie, "Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes/ Turn and face the strain." I think it's time for a change and I'm going to accept whatever the consequences (like an adult or whatever).

Well, how bad can it be?

yikes....

I wish I knew how to quit you

2011-01-24T00:32:00.005-06:00

I have a knack for picking out really bad movies. Particularly really bad romantic comedies. I know they’re going to be bad when I pick them out. I always think to myself, “This looks really bad, but I’m going to give it a chance because I don’t judge a book by it’s cover.” Well, who ever made up that saying never saw When in Rome.

Don't make me be mean to you

Within the first fifteen minutes of a movie you can usually tell if it’s going to be completely stupid. Not that it matters. I watch it anyway. I watch them all the way through. You can’t just get off the train because you don’t like the destination (... um). I commit and watch every horrible second of them. I'm not a quitter.

If Peter Gabriel tells to you Don't Give Up, you don't give up.

My love for really bad movies is probably the same as my love for really bad Christmas music. I seemed to have missed the refined-taste-bus because it never picked me up. It just seems too time consuming to have good taste and really, isn’t that what makes people interesting? Their quirky flaws? I don’t know and I’m too busy listening to glam rock and waiting for Kelly and Justin to make a sequel to spend any more time considering it.

You could cut that sexual tension with a knife

Maybe it’s because Valentine’s Day is quickly approaching or because my body is deficient at basic human instincts (like sleeping) but I’ve watched quite a few really bad romantic comedies lately.

The Price of Milk, for example. Have you seen it? I’m guessing probably not.

Here’s the plot:
A New Zealand milk farmer Rob proposes to his girlfriend, Lucinda. Soon after, Lucinda worries their relationship has lost it’s spark so she picks fights with Rob just to make him angry (am I loosing you yet? Wake up, wake up... we’re getting to the good part). Meanwhile, a string of quilt-nappings has been occurring in town. After Lucinda runs over an old lady with her truck, her quilt is stolen. She trades Rob’s dairy cows, worth $400,000 to get the quilt back. Rob is so angry he loses his voice and leaves Lucinda to plan their wedding alone.

This was a really awful movie that I wouldn’t recommend to anyone. It’s like one of those movies that you see on Comedy Central repeated every two hours on a Sunday. The only interesting part of this movie is the music played by the Moscow symphony. Harry Sinclair, the writer-director, was inspired by a Russian symphony by Anatol Liadov that he heard on the radio and wrote this story about it. I don’t know how he came up with story line about a New Zealand dairy farmer bothered by a supernatural, quilt-napper but he did.

And then there was The Truth About Love set in the United Kingdom with Jennifer Love Hewitt.

Don't give up, Hewitt

Hewitt’s character sends an anonymous Valentine’s card to her husband to test his fidelity. Basically she finds out her husband is cheating on her and she ends up with his best friend. Yeah, it was bad. OK, I probably could have just stopped at “with Jennifer Love Hewitt”and you knew it was going to be bad.

The thing is, I really like Jennifer Love Hewitt. She seems like such a likable person and I think she could be a good actress. I always want her movies to be really good, but they aren’t. One of these days, Hewitt. One of these days you’re going to make an awesome movie and I’m going to be proud of you.