An Exaggerated Life

I Digress to Regrets

noreply@blogger.com (Shayla) — Fri, 24 May 2013 15:29:00 +0000

Regrets are the WORST. I like to think I am not the person who gets hung up on them, but I totally have those few things that eat away at me when I think about them. People always say, “You’ll never regret the things you did, only the things you didn’t do.” That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard. No, I didn’t go on that one trip with my friends to Italy. No, I have never been skydiving. But those are not my true regrets. I regret, more than anything, the things I have done, and more importantly the words I have said.

There are so many things I wish I could take back. Unfortunately, my brain tends to run faster than my filter. I totally feel for Tom Hanks (ie Joe Fox) in You’ve Got Mail. Sure, Meg Ryan is made to look stupid by Joe’s “zingers,” but she never has to wish she can take back the words she said. Unfortunately, she has a “breakthrough” later on in the movie. She will come to regret that.

Luckily, my brain is slowing and my filter seems to be growing up, but back in college I could get myself into some real trouble. I blamed others for my mistakes, refused to recognize I was NOT invincible and eventually ended up destroying some friendships with people who once meant the world to me.

Okay, fine, that may be dramatic, but I definitely am not as close to some people as I used to be, and there are definitely others I flat out don’t speak to anymore. Was it totally my fault? No, but running my mouth could not have helped. So, I guess this is my apology I am sending out into the void. For all those phone calls I never should have made and the words I never should have said, I’m sorry.

Blaming Fifty Shades

noreply@blogger.com (Shayla) — Wed, 17 Apr 2013 18:50:00 +0000

Confession: I just Googled parental ratings on a book. No, I do not have children. No, I am not an overly conservative nut, but I am over this Fifty Shades of Gray book culture. Is it so much to ask that authors leave a little to the imagination? I used to blush reading Nicholas Sparks. Now it seems language that was once reserved for Fabio-clad, grocery store novels is mainstream. -- I hate it.

I want to be able to read a book on a plane without feeling like my mother would be ashamed. Anyone who has read this blog knows I grew up on Dawson's Creek, Sex and the City, Friends, Grey's Anatomy, etc, but something about seeing it in print is -- jarring. Am I the only one who feels this way? Sometimes I feel like a crazy person. I get it's hypocritical that I don't mind R-rated movies, but R-rated books make me squeamish. I see the flaws in the logic, but it is what it is. I want my Mr. Darcy, not Mr. Gray.

Sorry for the rant. Continue on with your day as normal.

First Date Fears

noreply@blogger.com (Shayla) — Tue, 16 Apr 2013 16:45:00 +0000

First dates are awesome and terrifying all at the same time. It doesn't matter what the situation is: blind, met at a bar (which let's be honest sometimes might as well be blind), friends taking the plunge, getting asked out in the shampoo aisle at Walgreens or even a setup from your parents. Say what you will, some times the best dates come from parents forcing their children into social interactions.

First dates are awesome because there is the possibility of butterflies, first kisses, long talks and eventually reliving every detail via Gchat with your best friends. They can also be terrifying. Even when you take the Lifetime movie kidnapping/serial killer scenario out of the equation, you could still end up on a date from hell. We all have the story. He gets too frisky in the car, takes you to a way too expensive restaurant then expects you to split the check, one of you ends up with food poisoning or you both realize three minutes into the evening you have nothing to talk about.

But girls I think we can all agree the scariest part of the date is the first date outfit. What if he is thinking a burger at his favorite dive and you are in a dress and heels? What if you go for the new, super high, incredibly uncomfortable pumps and he wants to walk around the park? More often than not, you have no idea where you are going. It's the first date, you definitely aren't close enough to ask. You just have to pray these guys offer up the plan for the night and even that isn't always enough information.

I don't remember the last time I went on a first date -- and sometimes even a second and third -- without having an obligatory fashion show of outfit options. Whether in front of the mirror or roommates, at least three outfits are worn before any date. If any girl disagrees, she is a freak of nature and I want to know her secrets.

We all have the go-to, I feel good about myself outfits. The question is: do we throw on the dress or the jeans? Sandals or heels? Boys, do us all a favor and let us know where we are going and not in a "let's grab dinner. I'll pick you up at 7." way. I want restaurant names and after dinner plans so I can Google to my little heart's desire.

A Walk Down (Embarrassing) Memory Lane...

noreply@blogger.com (Shayla) — Wed, 27 Mar 2013 15:20:00 +0000

Ever since joining the wonderful, working world, I have found... it's rough. No, I'm kidding. You have disposable income, your own apartment and you don't have to study for tests. It's quite nice, assuming, of course, you break up the week. One way to do this? Weekly wine night, or as our group has come to affectionately call it -- Boozeday Tuesday. (copyright: Kathie Lee and Hoda.)

Where can we get those glasses? (photo credit: nytimes.com)

One might assume if you put a group of girls in a room together it would get a little gossipy, but oddly our conversation normally is... well... strange. Last night we somehow ended up on the topics of kidnapping, unsolved murders and first kisses (odd combination, I know). But first kisses ended up with us finding the greatest game we ever played: The First Kiss Facebook Photo.

Now back in my day, we didn't have Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr or Vine so our actual first kisses are not on camera (thank goodness). We wouldn't want those anyway. Can you imagine? Shoot me. No the trick is you have to pull up the most recent Facebook profile picture of your first kiss and own up.

This may not sound as wonderful as it is, but in our group we had a fiery redhead, a blonde, a body builder, one who was legitimately cute and a Mexican-Canadian rapper. (I could not make this stuff up if I tried). It really is the testament to how much a kid can change in 10 years. A once 8th grade hottie is now 5'1 with a Napoleon complex, and the dorkiest kids in school are now 6'2 lawyers with an expense account.

Example: Neville Longbottom. Sixth-grade = chunky nerd. Ten years later = Yes, please. (photo credit: merryfarmer.com)

Kids, I cannot stress this enough -- DATE THE NERDS. They get growth spurts, it's worth the wait. Now go, look up your first kiss on Facebook and recoil in embarrassment. It's beyond worth it.

The Time Change Challenge

noreply@blogger.com (Shayla) — Wed, 13 Mar 2013 08:38:00 +0000

Well kids, it is nearly 4 a.m. and I am wide awake. I am choosing to blame the recent time change for this, and yes I realize the absurdity of that statement. Assuming this was a time change issue, I would still be awake at 5 a.m. But I am a big believer in when you're up, you're up for a reason.

So what's the reason? To watch the marathon of Friends that is currently happening? Maybe, but probably not. Most likely this has something to do with the deep-rooted career crisis I am panicking about at the ripe-old-age of 24 or maybe I just had too much coffee. Either way I am choosing to distract myself.

credit: White Christmas, Paramount Pictures

For all those Bing Crosby fans, there is a scene in White Christmas where Bob, played by Bing Crosby, tells Judy, played by the great Rosemary Clooney, that when he can't sleep he counts his blessings so that is just what I am going to do -- kind of.

The obvious choice for this post would be family, friends, livelihood, yadda, yadda, yadda, but -- LAME. I love those things. I am borderline obsessed with those things, but right now those aren't pushing me through the 4 a.m. sleep drought. No, no I have to hank my good friend, the internet. This thing is AWESOME.

I can connect with people I work with in Pakistan (the 10 hour difference means they are already working), watch constant video updates of puppies playing and research any topic all at 4 a.m. without being judged. At no other time in history was that nonsense possible.

What? You think I am being dramatic. Think about it. Just a mere 15 years ago if you were awake in the middle of the night you were forced to watch bad TV or wake up a friend. There was no Netflix, no Bloggr, just silence. Sure on one hand that means people were probably better at addressing their insomniatic issues, but on the other hand we have cat videos. Personally I'll take ole grumpy cat over sound psychological stability any day.

So thank you internet for making the late nights bearable. You're the best.

I'm Back

noreply@blogger.com (Shayla) — Mon, 10 Sep 2012 22:24:00 +0000

Oh hello, three followers. You have won the battle of “who will stick around the longest?” I commend you on your efforts and apologize for my absence. It feels strange apologizing seeing as though I don’t believe I garnered enough of a following to apologize, but I will none-the-less.

The past six months since starting this little blog have been a whirl-wind of (minor) change. I moved out of my parents, had a number of my best friends (including my roommate) from college move to my city and multiple friends get hitched. Also, I hit the wall. The “oh my gosh, what am I doing with my life” wall. I hate that wall. That wall caused me to lose all focus, motivation and will to write which made spending time after work writing this little guy rough.

But good news, I have found motivation. I am going with the “just force myself to do it” theory. So far, so good. We’re starting slow though. (I like saying “we” as if this is somehow a group activity. To clarify, I am aware it is not.) But what this long-winded post is trying to say is – I’m back.

Boys, Barbeque and Buda

noreply@blogger.com (Shayla) — Thu, 26 Apr 2012 03:28:00 +0000

This weekend I got to hang out in one of my favorite cities on Earth ie the great Austin, Texas. If you've never been, I promise you are missing out. The food, the scenery, the music, the nightlife it is all amazing. I BS-ed my way through a fifteen page "research" paper in college solely about music on Sixth St. if you are looking for an in-depth analysis. How I convinced my teacher going to see the Spazmatics at Cedar Street Bar was first-person research I will never know, but I lost my train of thought.

Along with all of this stuff, I also have amazing friends that still live there. One of which works for a website startup that I will shamelessly plug here. It's called Loku and it focuses on local events, food, shopping you get the idea. It is basically that friend that always has the hookup in the form of a website. But the great thing about having him work there, he has the super hookups. Thanks to that wealth of knowledge, we ended up at Old Settlers Music Festival in the Salt Lick Pavilion.

For those of you who don't know what Salt Lick is, I feel so sorry for you. It is hands down the best barbeque I have ever had and it's BYOB.... and family style.... and they have outdoor seating. If they built a nap room for after you ate, I'm pretty sure this would be heaven. The only catch, it is in Buda, Texas about twenty minutes outside of Austin so be sure to bring a DD. Basically when my Loku contact, Jeff (double-plug I know, I am shameless), offered to drive one of my best friends, Skarke, and I out there, we were in!

Three beers, massive amounts of barbeque and a wine tasting later, we somehow ended up having an oddly insightful conversation about relationships. We are all right in that place where the first wave of friends are getting engaged and college relationships seem to be in the sink or swim mode. For fear of any of our past, current or future relationships reading this, I am not divulging where we all are specifically in our dating lives, but let's just say marriage is not on the mind and we have all dated quite a few people.

So here was the question: A. Compatibility or B. Passion.

Oddly enough, Jeff immediately said compatibility. He said in fifty years that is what matters. Who can you laugh with? Watch movies with? Sit and talk for hours with? That is who he wants next to him walking down the aisle. Skarke, she said passion first, then said compatibility was key. Me, I said C. All of the above and was quickly chastised for cheating. Obviously, all of the above is the answer, but what do you look for first?

Ya, I don't know. I think I've tried both. I've dated some great guys and it just wasn't there. Then I have dated some absolute jerks, but the passion kept us together longer than any Oprah or Dr. Phil after school special would approve. However, both ended up in a breakup so how should I know. But what do y'all think? A or B?

This Little Blog of Mine, I'm Gonna Let it Shine

noreply@blogger.com (Shayla) — Tue, 24 Apr 2012 15:51:00 +0000

My blog-mommy sent me a lovely International text today with words of encouragement that I thought I would share with all (read: both) of you. Her ability to conjure the perfect words of motivation is remarkable and I am touched deeply by her ever-presence in my life. As the text message opened this afternoon, I was humbled by the words before me. “Blog tip of the day: actually blog :P.” Okay… so maybe touching was the wrong word, but hey she got her point across.

And what a perfect day to encourage me back to exaggeration because I am having one of those painful slow days at work. One of those where you have nine stories for which you are waiting on approvals. It is brutal. Any other writers know what I am talking about?

Well thank goodness I have multiple ways to ease my time:

1. This little blog of mine (FYI, I just started singing “This Little Light of Mine” in my head and changing all the words to apply to an Exaggerated Life. What, you want to hear the rendition? Too bad my work computer doesn’t have video.)

2. Gchat. It is the working girl’s best friend.

3. My RSS feed that is becoming grossly overpopulated because I have neglected all blog life for a solid week.

Good news, I spent the weekend in one of my favorite cities on Earth, Austin, TX and will have a full recap later today. For now though, your blogs await. Which ones do you love? I have already gotten hooked on some of your awesome blogs such as Simply Valorie and Sarahcastically. What other blogs should I be following?

A Fool-Proof Alarm Clock

noreply@blogger.com (Shayla) — Wed, 11 Apr 2012 12:46:00 +0000

I have previously discussed my hatred for waking up in the mornings. It is brutal and pathetic. Coma patients wake up with more spunk than I do; however, this morning I shot right out of bed. Because this morning, I woke up to people outside my window.

Scary? Yes, but I live on the 14th floor so noises don't come usually come from outside my window. This was terrifying and unsettling. Why were there people outside my window? To kidnap me and hold me for ransom, of course! ... Well that or they were window washers on one of those contraptions they escape with in First Wives Club*. See they don't know what it is called either.

But, that is not the point. The point is I am wide awake now and should probably be getting dressed, but instead I am YouTubing clips of First Wives Club. Whoops! Have a good day!

*I do love First Wives Club, but it can also go on my list of movies I can quote not only because it is a great movie, but also because I had a roommate/bestie who watches this movie NON-STOP. Good thing we got along as roommates or I can honestly say I would have taken a key to her DVD. Hit her where it hurt. Of course, she does have two copies just in case.

A Post to Explain How Popular I Am

noreply@blogger.com (Shayla) — Wed, 11 Apr 2012 02:54:00 +0000

Oh my gosh it is officially that time. I don't know how it happened. Last I checked it was Christmas and snow was falling! Obviously by snow I mean sleet because I live in Texas, but you get the point. But nope it is upon us. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping and that can only mean one thing... wedding season.

Oddly enough this coincides with crawfish season here in the South which brings me to my point. How did we all get so overbooked?! I swear I have at least one event every weekend for the rest of my life (assuming the Mayans were right, of course). So here is the question: when is it okay to send your regrets?

Growing up I lived by a strict you say yes when someone asks you to something or you don't do anything that day. There was no weighing your options. Slumber parties, Homecomings, even make your own dog food parties with the weirdie next door, we lived and died by this rule. We didn't have to do anything we didn't want to, but we were not going to tell one person we couldn't go exploring the creepy cemetery across the street then go with someone else to play laser tag. (I obviously grew up in the 90's.)

So how do I tastefully send my regrets when I don't exactly have something else going on, but I definitely can't do two wedding showers in one day? Or even more importantly, there is a killer crawfish boil and live band at my favorite restaurant! Don't get me wrong a gift is an obvious must send, but I hate saying no when I could possibly say yes. Thoughts? Opinions? Ways to tastefully say, "if I have to wear one more sundress and small talk I will scream?" Please, do share!

PS. This was obviously just my way to tell y'all how popular I am.

PPS. Okay fine most of the showers are for family members or friends I have known so long they feel obligated to invite me.

You May Call Me a Sell Out, Mr. Hemingway

noreply@blogger.com (Shayla) — Sun, 01 Apr 2012 16:33:00 +0000

People, I truly believe Ernest Hemingway is rolling over in his grave right now because I have officially become a sell out. Oh wait, no that's right. I am a corporate writer, I really sold out before I ever started. Sure I get to throw "writer" on my business card, but I'd hardly say I look in the mirror and see the next Sylvia Plath or Maya Angelou. Heck, I'd be happy just to see J.K. Rowling staring back -- a billion-dollar book series? I could live with that.

But I have sold out none-the-less. I swore up and down I would never have a blog, yet here we are. So why did I finally decide to throw my pompous principle wayside and embrace this technological ranting device? Money. No I'm kidding, well sort of. As a Communications Associate for a larger than life corporation, I work on hundreds of written pieces both online and in print. These should build up my portfolio, which they do to a certain degree, but they are all the same concepts. We run the same type of quarterly ad campaigns, written in the same voice. A few months ago, I started to lose myself in it. I forgot where their style began and mine stopped.

After talking to all my trusted mentors and advisors (read: I googled it), most people recommended a blog. It seemed the logical answer; an opportunity to build up my portfolio in my own voice. I do have to take a minute to offer up a slightly humbling apology. My dear friend and unfortunate choice in a blogging mentor Alex has been telling me for years I needed a blog. I refused, most likely in mocking tones. So Alex, it pains me greatly to say, you were right and thank you for helping me design this little portal to my soul (read: place for me to share meaningless nonsense).

Confession Time

noreply@blogger.com (Shayla) — Sat, 31 Mar 2012 16:05:00 +0000

I need to tell you something. It may come as a shock to some, but it feels like I have been living a lie. I need to just get it off my chest -- I live with my parents. I know, I know, take a minute if you need. I will be here when you come back...

Okay now that we got over that, let me explain. I graduated college in May and started working back in my hometown in August. Conveniently enough, my parents sold our house my senior year of college and moved into a high rise in an awesome part of town. I moved home assuming it would be a six-month thing. Well, after 8-months I have not even begun looking for a place to stay. I love it here. They cannot make me leave!

Really, I only confessed that to tell y'all this. There is nothing, and I mean nothing worse -- wait I just remembered that Kony thing and about genocide in general, natural disasters, disease, okay all that is worse. But for my overly manicured life, this is pretty dang bad. Let me go back. In my current situation there is nothing, I mean nothing worse than when people are over at my apartment on a Saturday or Sunday morning.

My parents are very social people (that will probably be reading this -- hi Mom and Dad!) and like I said we live in a great location. It is the perfect place to meet to go on a walk, have brunch, throw a party. You get what I am saying. It is a great place for their friends to congregate Saturday morning and talk...LOUDLY.

I like to sleep more than the average person. In college I would wake up and go to class then come home and nap, literally everyday. So Saturday and Sunday mornings I want to sleep, but I tend to get woken up by these little conversations. Normally I can go back to bed. My roommate sophomore and junior year of college used to turn on college football Game Day and raise the volume to decibels reserved for air shows and rock concerts. I can sleep through it. The major problem: I can't go get water.

I sleep in an embarrassing, yet deathly comfortable pair of Stewie boxers. Yes, Stewie from Family Guy. Those bad boys are not meant for adult eyes. My friends obviously love (read: hate) them, but I would be judged to no end if any of my parents' friends bore witness to these. So here I sit, in my bed, feeling like I have been wandering the desert for forty days just wishing for a little water. Like I said -- miserable.

So Very Un-Carrie

noreply@blogger.com (Shayla) — Fri, 30 Mar 2012 02:57:00 +0000

There is one very important fact you should know about me: Sex and the City is my go-to show. I love it. I can quote almost every episode. I have watched and re-watched every season with every good friend I have. I own the special collection pink book. And I can literally tell you my favorite episode by name, season, episode and disc (I Heart New York; Season 4; Episode 18; Disc 4:3). To say the least, I am not a casual watcher. Why is this important you ask? Because I don't want anyone to think I am an SATC hater. But -- Carrie Bradshaw is full of it.

That's right. Carrie is a little liar or maybe Candace Bushnell is to blame. I'm really not sure, but I digress. I graduated college with the romantic notion that I, little ol' me, a girl raised in backwoods Texas (or Dallas, but I'm making a point) was a fully employed writer. I had visions of book deals, weekly columns and, of course, Louboutins dancing in my head. Unfortunately the reality is not so much.

To clarify, my exact title is Communications Associate and I work for a large corporation in Texas, so I knew writing about men and shoes was probably not on the agenda. It is a great job, with a great company so I have no complaints, but I definitely expected more from my writing career. However, this job does offer a good salary, insurance and, of course, some serious weirdies to write about. If I ever get around to writing a book and should probably thank a number of my coworkers for inspiration.

We have an internal advertising agency filled with everyone from journalists trying to survive the fall of newspaper to art directors from major agencies, but we sell a pretty standard household object. For the sake of not giving too much away, let's say I work for a light bulb company. Everybody uses them, but no one really thinks about the multi-million dollar industry behind the scenes. We also have major sponsorships in seriously redneck....sports? We sponsor everything from NASCAR to motocross to fishing boats. Needless to say, it's an adventure and something strange happens daily. (Example: two days ago our 62-year old head of sponsorships was attempting to "doogie" as he called it because he saw a NASCAR racer do it. These things happen...daily.)

How did I end up there? Great question...that no one is asking...I all the sudden became overwhelmed with the notion that I am talking to myself. Oh well. Now where was I? Right, job. Basically I was brought in as the web writer. They needed a little youth in the department and there I was! I'd like to say I am in-demand, but with every Jane, Dick and Adam getting degrees in Communications or writing an Ebook, I am but a face in the corporate crowd. Which happens to bring us to the reason behind this blog. Sometimes a girl just needs to write in her own voice about her own life. Hopefully someday someone will stumble across this silly little thing and they'll laugh a little or cry or correct my grammar. Really whatever keeps you coming back. So all that being said, welcome to my exaggerated life.

My Exaggerated Life

noreply@blogger.com (Shayla) — Thu, 29 Mar 2012 03:32:00 +0000

I like to exaggerate every now and again. Okay, fine -- all the time. I genuinely struggle between telling a slightly boring, yet accurate story with a few chuckle inducing moments, or a slightly dramatic interpretation that leaves people laughing hysterically and retelling their friends. I tend to choose the good story over factual events every time. Sue me. I like a good story. In fact, I think more people should exaggerate because there is nothing better than a really funny anecdote.

To clarify, I am not supporting lying. Compulsive liars justifiably freak me out. However, I am all for someone's slightly greasy hair being recalled as more oily than the gulf of Mexico after the BP oil leak. Like I said, I have a flair for the dramatics.

In my defense, weird stuff does tend to happen to me. Don't ask me why, but apparently I give off a "yes, I would like you to introduce me to your pet rat" vibe when I am actually trying to give a "please keep that rodent and your stank away from me" aura.

That being said, I decided it was time to chronicle all the strange happenings around me. But I do give you fair warning, I live a slightly exaggerated life.