Author: knwolf

Categories
advice aftercollegelife comedy lifestyle self help

Open for Business

Screen Shot 2020-01-29 at 10.51.38 PM

Hello dear readers,

It is me, your thought-to-be-extinct friend writing to you from beyond the grave. Meaning not that I am an ethereal being, but that I haven’t been blogging in a while.

Warning: it might be a long one and I’m a little rusty. (That’s what she said?)

Today marks one month of being unemployed and honestly, it’s been, like, really tight.

I’ve been far too busy sleeping all of the time and playing a video game where you earn gold for farming turnips to come up with anything creative to say. But now that the wound isn’t so fresh, I am back to feeling like I want to talk about my personal life on the internet.

So in short, I got fired. I didn’t do anything illegal like embezzle money from the company or take the free tampons in the 3rd-floor bathroom…although I do think it would be mysterious and attractive to be some sort of white-collar female criminal. Like Ocean’s 11 or Martha Stewart.

I played it SO COOL when I got fired. I would like to frame it as a power move, but in reality, I think I was trying so hard to not let them see me cry that I cut off the oxygen to my vital bits and blacked out.

My cohorts said that I could have the room if I wanted and they would bring me some tissues to cry into. I politely explained that I just needed some air. I then ran outside to rip a fat vape off my JUUL, sob to my boyfriend while he was trying to drive to his work appointment, and get my cardigan stuck in the elevator.

Getting fired is a lot like a break-up. You cry, then you think you’re fine, then you drive past your office building, or have a work-related calendar reminder you forgot to delete pop up, and then out of nowhere a Bon Iver song starts playing in the background and the rain slowly drips down the windows of your Prius and there go the waterworks.

Once feeling sorry for yourself starts to get boring, you pick yourself up and you say, “GODDAMNIT there is plenty of other fish in the sea and they would be happy to have me!” You give your resume a makeover (which is the professional equivalent of deciding to get bangs) and you go to Indeed.com and find yourself in a purgatory of being both under and over-qualified for everything.

You then think about what your life would be like if maybe you didn’t take everything so seriously, and stopped being such a consumer, took work as part-time “Entry Level Sales Representative”, controlled your online shopping habit and actually used the Fred Meyer coupons they send you instead of feeling like you are “above it.”

You realize that this all sounds incredibly depressing and also make a mental note to really remember those coupons next time because now you don’t have access to free tampons.

The next step in the healing process is to put on Lizzo’s “Juice”, take an edible, read 3 pages of a self-help book and say, “You know what, I went to school for this shit. I actually spent 5 years in school to get a degree for this, and I like doing it and I should get paid to.” You get your groove back baby.

Why don’t more people talk about getting fired? They say that they got laid off, or it just wasn’t the right fit, but no one (including myself when talking to my parents) honestly says “yeah, I got fired. No, they weren’t making budget cuts, they just didn’t want me….specifically me, to work there. And it sucks but it’s going to get better.”

It’s like so weird that that’s not something someone would want to scream from the rooftops, you know?

All joking aside, getting fired sucks and I cried a lot and felt a ton of shame and self-doubt and I had a few days of laying on the couch watching Love Island and wiping my tears off on the cat, but I’m so thankful for the people that have reached out to me and told me about similar experiences they’ve had, and helped me network and find other opportunities. I know my 9-5 prince charming is out there.

Until then, expect to hear a lot more for me,

XOXO

Milky

*all of my images are entirely ripped off of Google Image Search and are not my own.

 

Categories
Uncategorized

I feel seen

Screen Shot 2020-01-20 at 9.32.41 PM

“I’m just a normal person who wants to look at wedding dresses on Pinterest.”

Categories
Uncategorized

Confrontation

50s-teens

Because I live in a liberal bubble where everyone is respectful of one another, I rarely ever run into people who are blatantly rude af. I mean, occasionally, I let someone enter traffic with a hand gesture and they don’t wave back “thank you”, but that’s about the worst of it.

However, I live next to a retirement community (pictured below) and occasionally I get a sexist comment about my ability to parallel park and sometimes I see a few people standing outside who look generally miserable or lost.

But today, dear readers, I had the audacity to park in a designated parking area and this lady (also pictured below) who was walking her dog and forcing it to wear an embarrassingly out-of-season holiday sweater on a 60-degree day decided to totally. bug. out. on. me.

I saw her when I parked and was going to say that her dog was cute, not because it was, but because that’s the nice thing to do, and she got the first word in. She exclaimed, “You’re really going to park right there?”

I froze because as I mentioned, these situations are foreign to me. Thankfully, I was with a person equally as reasonable as myself who had my back on this one. Most of the dialogue was probably spoken by her cool-headed self as I stood watching it unfold in the through-fare. I was unable to comprehend what demon speak was frothing from this undesirable person.

“It’s a totally normal parking spot. We’re allowed to park here.”

“Oh, so you think it’s just okay to block the sidewalk”

“Well the entrance to the sidewalk is right there, and there’s plenty of space for people to walk by.”

“You think it’s legal to block the sidewalk?”

“I really don’t see the problem here but if it bothers you so much I can move my car.”

And then I walked towards my car to appease this spiteful war-god of a woman and then I realized, that I will not let shame win. NOT TODAY DEAR READERS. I shut my car door, didn’t move the car, and walked into my home where I took an angry, hot shower and then proceeded to talk shit about her on the internet.

In case any of you know my driving record, and are doubting the validity of my statement, I acquired this court sketch of the incident:

I hope that today if you are having a trying time, work customer service, or encounter a vengeful gypsy with a bone to pick, that you take a stand, not be afraid to speak up, and do not appease your oppressors. You park that car baby, and you walk away.

Screen Shot 2019-03-31 at 5.43.21 PM

 

Categories
Uncategorized

Honest Responses

5af9f7a13797e92a008b499b-1920-960

“You’re skin looks really nice.” 

“Thank you, I rub it with samples of very expensive oils and creams.”

“You look like you’ve lost weight.”

“Thank you, I appreciate the compliment because I have been working really hard, but also feel it contributes to my beliefs on beauty standards in society that trigger my body dysmorphia and negative self-esteem. “

“It seems like you really like your new job.”

“Yeah, I have a parking spot.”

“Do you want to try some of my snacks?” 

“No, thank you.”

“I like your blog” 

“I like writing it, but my grandparents always find access to it and then I feel deep shame.”

Categories
Uncategorized

Hello From the Other Side

Hi dear readers,

It’s me, your new booze-free confidant writing to you from my new zen palace of wellness and enlightenment after 74 days of sobriety.

In actuality, I’m sitting in a crowded coffee shop, just ate a cinnamon roll the size of a brick and have already cried today. So you know, not much has changed.

I really thought it was going to be different. I thought I would grow my third-eye around day 10 and I would move forward as a champion of addiction-free living. I was hoping to “get woke.”

I even embraced the lifestyle of the sober followers I admire on social media. I went to glorified napping yoga classes where I sat in comfy poses and listened to mantras on manifesting change. I made SEVERAL smoothies. I crushed podcasts on sobriety from women I admire. And while all of those things felt good, I still had depression, anxiety, sadness, and felt generally overwhelmed. It was almost like things got WORSE.

(My skin does look, like, really good though.)

So what the hell, right?

The thing is, it was so easy in the past to blame my shit-attitude or my low self-esteem on my hangover, or the fact that my drinking kept me from my goals. I didn’t work out because I stayed up too late the night before, I can’t lose weight because drunk me always wants cheese fries etc. etc.  But when I took the “problem” away I realized there are actually deeper things going on that I was using alcohol to not think about. While alcohol was a real problem, It was also a tool to hide from the real shit that happens as a direct result of being alive. (stress, anxiety, feelings of not being good enough, wondering if this is it or if you are doing the right things and the list goes on.)

That’s why things got “worse.” I ripped the band-aid off, but now I have to deal with what’s underneath. And dear readers, it is scabby and it is gross, but I’m grateful I’m at the point where I get to start picking at it. So I leave you today with that poor graphic analogy and I look forward to updating you on my future coping techniques.

XOXO,

Milky

Categories
advice comedy health lifestyle self help Uncategorized women

Self-Care

slider2

I went to one free meditation class offered through my work and now all I want is to get seriously jacked on self-care.

I want to be rubbed in essential oils, go on a silent retreat, and be healed by crystals.

I am officially 100% drinking the kool-aid on this one. I was driving home from my families this weekend and thought, “You know what I should do? I should go to Peru and take Ayahuasca.” So yes, you could say that I’m pretty into this.

This will be an interesting journey to follow so if you haven’t already subscribed to my blog, well hot dog, now would be the time. Part of the reason I stepped away from blogging and comedy for a while is that while I have an easy time admitting my neurotic tendencies and general fuck-uperry, actually trying to do something about my negative behaviors or “Sadness kinks” is going to be a whole different ball game.

So after I made the decision to get, like, super fucking healthy, I did what I always do when I get excited about something. I go all in babyyyyy.

So far it’s been a wild ride. On top of my therapy and a daily dose of Lexapro I decided to quit drinking, which is swell. So swell, that when I got sober and had nothing to blame my negative feelings on, I got a tidal wave of anxiety and had to call the mental health line, get on a waiting list to see a physiatrist and eventually a drug and addiction counselor.

Dear readers, there is nothing that makes you feel worse about yourself than taking the steps you need to take to feel better about yourself.

First, you have to hear the phone recording say, “If you think you are having a psychiatric emergency, please call 911.” Like, okay, listen up ma’am, I can’t tell you how many times I have thought I was having a psychiatric emergency. If I called the cops every time I cried at a commercial or slept for 13 hours they would be like “Kaylee, we told you the last time, please stop calling here. This is not an emergency.”

Once I finally got an appointment, I had to pee in a cup LIKE A GOD DAMN CRIMINAL (or someone with a self-diagnosed bladder infection trying to figure out if it is really a bladder infection.) I had to admit that I have an unhealthy relationship with alcohol. I had to answer a questionnaire that basically asked: “On a scale of 1/10 how likely are you to….you know…. *nurse practitioner whispers* kill yourself?”

I had to speak to my negative body image and when asked about how I feel about my body responded honestly with “Oh gosh, I mean I hate the thing. I really do sir, it’s awful.” More strangers have seen me cry in this past month than when I went to a  friend’s sisters wedding and was just “so *sniff* proud of her. *sniff*.”

Going through all of that sucked. It blew metaphorical chunks all over the life I wanted people to think I had handled. I had to admit to my partner I was struggling with addiction. I had to go through with my work holiday party knowing that there would be free booze and that I couldn’t have any, even though other people could because I had a problemmmmm ugh!

But here I am, 21 days without alcohol, snuggling my animals, being honest with myself and my intentions, and working out a plan. Because it’s important.

I think the absolute tightest part about self-care is the discussions that make you realize you aren’t alone, and that the crazy thoughts you have are in fact, not that original.  This will be the goal of my posts moving forward. To provide insight and a light-hearted look into mental illness, addiction, and self-doubt. Hopefully, it helps even one person feel less alone in their struggles while being (fingers-crossed) mildly entertaining.

More to come!

Milky

 

 

Categories
Uncategorized

Age Appropriate 

 

1950s-mens-style-704x454

Dear Readers,

Getting older sucks ass. It does. It’s scary. You know when you see pictures of older people when they were young, and then you look at them now as just skin sacks of their former selves? Yeah, that is TERRIFYING TO ME.

I have logged a lot of hours trying to figure out how to not be a skin sack.

Shit, I’ve been wearing under-eye cream since I was 19.

Sometimes it’s nice to have the perspective that although one day my decollate might feel like a knock-off Coach bag, that at least I’m not dying my hair burgundy and spending my free time trying to learn the intro to Green Day’s Basket Case.

The best part about getting older is getting to be a better version of yourself because over time (if you really put the effort it) you can slowly, but surely learn to be less of an asshole. And boy, dear readers, was I an asshole. Sometimes to other people, definitely to my parents, but also a lot to myself. I’m still guilty of it sometimes, but I like to think that each year I get a little better at cracking the code.

Here’s a list of reasons why aging can be kinda cool:

  1. Friendships

When you’re in your late 20’s you sort of weed out the bullshit people in your life. I once had a friend in elementary school that made me drink an ENTIRE GLASS OF HALF AND HALF.

2. Handling your shit (sort-of)

I go the gym. I cook and eat chicken that is shaped like chicken, not like a dinosaur. I throw my tights away when they rip. I am a woman.

3. Eating vegetables

Broccoli? Why not. Brussel Sprouts? Sure. I’ll throw spinach in my smoothie and not give A FUCK.

4. Being broke isn’t forever

Because you get paid again. Usually twice a week or once a month. You don’t have to hang on to your $20 that you got teaching your elderly neighbor how to check her email like it’s the last $20 you will ever have.

5. Doing what you want

I used to not be allowed to eat breakfast cereal after 10 a.m. I had to be home not at a specific time, but before the street lights turned on which accordingly to Google was at “dusk.” Whatever that means. Don’t get me wrong, I still have to pay bills, do a good job at work, be a respectful roommate and send my rent out on time. BUT if I want to stay up until 2 a.m. watching Youtube videos of soldiers reuniting with their dogs and cry myself to sleep then you bet your ass I’m going to do it. Because I can. And it’s adorable.

In conclusion, although I miss being a size 0 without even trying and bleaching my hair until it fell out in clumps, and I’m scared that one day I’ll wake up a gray slumpy skinned old lady and wonder where my life went, I’m thankful for the little freedoms and the ability to keep working to be the best version of myself.

XOXO,

Milky

 

 

Categories
Uncategorized

The Artful Balance of Doing Things

6037176627_0b894a9ee0_b

I’m sitting in the living room with the oven on so that I can cook 2 chicken breasts and feel like I’ve done something with my life.

I’ve been sick. And before I was sick I was sad, and cold. My hibernating skills are on lock. I managed to accrue a new record of La Croix cans in my attic bedroom. 14.

I’m also sick of getting shit for liking the coconut flavor. If you think it tastes like suntan lotion there is clearly something wrong with your pallet.

I quit my former after work hobby so I could focus on what really makes me happy. The problem is,  I’m not quite sure what that is yet. I found that I enjoy both making a relaxing home and feeding myself and also being outside and having new experiences. As of late, I’ve had 0 motivation to do either. Hence the collection of water cans and why baking a single protein is the accomplishment of the week.

Is anyone else in a rut? When I daydream I picture myself the host of lavish dinner parties, wearing lipstick and playing thrifted records on my cheap generic Crosley while drinking fancy whiskey cocktails. Maybe with orange zest. That sounds right.

I imagine myself walking down popular well-lit areas of town, popping into shops and browsing as I please. Participating in the classes I pay for at the gym, sitting lake-side and reading a good book while proving to everyone I am capable of a tan.

I picture my life being full of experiences and memories. And right now. Well, it just feels empty. And it’s got me thinking that I must be doing this thing wrong.

So how does one get out of a rut and surround themselves with laughter and love instead of a mound of recycling and dirty/clean/maybe dirty clothes?

I’d like the blame a harsh Oregon winter for the majority of my problems. Perhaps my vitamin D is a little off. A tad more B-12 will do the trick. Maybe I spend too much money on flavored water and not enough on going to go see that new movie I’ve been wanting to go to. Maybe even though I just biked home from work in the pouring rain I should just man up and get my yoga pants on and go to that damn Pilates class already.

What is the artful balance of doing things? Enough to where you feel full but not so much that you are constantly too overwhelmed to do the dishes? Where you’re taking care of yourself but not to the point where you slam through a season of Top Chef in one night?

My funnest times used to be getting all my girlfriends to pile up on a patio, chain smoking flavored cigarettes and talking shit over a bottle of $5 Andre’s ultra-dry.

Now we’re all trying to be sober and healthy and vegan. (or some version of the three) but does that mean I have to sit here in flannel pants all night waiting for my oven to finally reach 425 degrees so I can have a chef salad for lunch tomorrow?

I say-eth no. And it is my new mission to figure out how to have fun while maintaining the integrity of my lungs and liver (or what’s left of them).

Stay tuned.

XOXO,

Milky

Categories
advice aftercollegelife friendship health lifestyle self help Uncategorized

Over-achiever

Screen Shot 2017-10-10 at 1.27.35 PM

What is that crazy strain that us sentient beings have that makes us constantly unsatisfied with our current situation?

Here’s an example of what I mean:

I don’t have any friends in Portland and I want friends > I get friends > I focus on my job not being satisfying > I want a new job > I get a new job  > I focus on how much better my life would be with a pet >>>

Once we “level up” it’s an immediate switch to think about the next level. Maybe my experience growing up with a Sega Genesis has subconsciously affected my adult life.

Or maybe, there’s a terrible aversion that I have to settling.

I know there’s a whole world out there full of experiences and life and I’m woke to it. Woke to it as fuck.

Even if I eventually have the great job, the amazing husband, the 5 dogs, and the six-pack abs I’ve always wanted, there will always be this innate desire to have experiences outside of myself. Experiences where I feel alive, and well, different.

It’s that what those t-shirts and coffee mugs that say “Wanderlust” are all about?

As much as I enjoy listening to a podcast and cooking a meal, or sweating it out at the gym and feeling stronger, or watching 17 episodes of a cooking show in my underwear, those are not the things that get me up in the morning. Those are just tricks I’ve been slowly developing to keep me out of the Johnson Unit.

I want to feel the way I felt when I walked through the Oxford street market, or when I climbed 300 steps to get the best view of the Paris streets, surrounded by a bunch of strangers, that for those 3 days, were my best friends. I want to camp in the woods with my friends and have a séance in the woods where we tell our deepest, darkest secrets.

I want to fucking live outside my desk, and more importantly, my head.

Of course, I need the security of a steady income and a roof over my head, so I don’t think I’ll be “Eat, Pray, Loving-it” anytime soon. Plus, maybe it was how hard I worked to get to the amazing places I’ve been that makes me appreciate it the way I do. If I flew to Paris every weekend, maybe I wouldn’t have wept at the beautiful site of the Sacre Coeur, and I probably wouldn’t have dared to give 3 strangers my phone number so we could meet at the Eiffel Tower at midnight.

I don’t want to always live for moments in the future, but having those out-of-yourself experiences is so important to me. I hope I can feasibly always have something scheduled to put myself in a situation that is new and exciting to me.

I want to have memories and experiences that are outside of my day to day work > grocery store > gym > home routine. I want to feel connected and alive and shit.

So how does that work, dear readers? How does one enjoy the present moment while also craving something more than being an Assistant and a dog-mom? I definitely don’t have all the answers. Maybe realizing that other people feel this way too and I’m not alone is a comfort in it’s own regard. Maybe being a little more conservative with my paychecks so that I can afford trips to new places is put as a higher priority. Maybe booking time for myself to go explore my own city or try a new restaurant is a reasonable step.

I would love to hear your responses and advice to this quarrel of the ordinary. Please feel free to DM me, dog. Or comment below.

XOXO,

Milky 

Categories
comedy dogs friendship lifestyle

Nice guy

 

7libra

I feel like sometimes people think that I have it easy because I’m a kind, sensitive butterfly who wants to improve humanity and pet puppies and free Tibet. But being nice to others, although it is quite easy for me to do, can be fucking exhausting.

Here’s why:

The opposite of resting bitch face can get you in just as much trouble.

Smiling at people is supposed to be a simple gesture to make the world a better place or whatever, but I’ve found smiling at people can also lead to a 30 minute long conversation with a homeless man who wants to play you a song he wrote, and get advice on how he should color his hair. I’ve legitimately been late to work because I can’t get away from conversations with people quick enough. Especially the people at Trader Joe’s. If you’ve ever been to a Trader Joe’s you must know what I’m taking about. The overly cheery cashier that wants to know way too much about you, for someone ringing up your toiletries. She asks you what you are planning on doing with your four bottles of $3 wine and your block of cheese. “Well….I just got done at the gym, so I figured I would drink back the calories I sweated out, watch some Netflix. Maybe have a good cry. I haven’t cried in awhile you know? Sometimes it just feels good to get it all out.” Do you remember the movie Liar Liar with Jim Carrey? All of my human interactions are like that. I get asked a question, and have the terrible compulsion to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, plus every single one of my feelings. 

Creeping people out with compliments 

I’M SORRY that I like the texture of your skin, but I thought it would be nice if you knew. You have good face and neck skin. How is that my fault? No…don’t run. Don’t run away. Everyone’s looking now. God dammit.

Not getting the same courtesy back 

When I stop for you at a crosswalk – which I always will. I need you to lift your frigging hand up and give me a “Thank You.” I’m not obligated to stop for you. If I had a mean bone in my body or enough horsepower in my mom’s borrowed suburban I could mow you down if I wanted. I also get honked at a lot because I let people merge all the time. I’ll be like, “oh you have a dog in the car, you can go.” “Oh you have a nice bumper sticker about equality, you can go.” BUT YOU FUCKING WAVE TO ME GOD DAMMIT. APPRECIATE ME!”

Saying Sorry 

I’m always sorry. If I don’t text you back right away, if I am in the way of the silverware drawer if I accidentally bump into you. But here’s the thing. You say sorry back! If I step on your foot and it’s my fault, You say sorry, I say sorry, WE BOTH SAY SORRY! We should both be equally sorry for being in each other’s personal space which should be very precious to both of us. If I forget to pay rent, you say sorry. If I hit you with my car, YOU SAY SORRY!

Over-committing

Sure, I can help you move out of your house. Oh what, it’s my only day off in 15 days? Don’t be silly! I’d be happy to! You need to borrow my car? Sure! Take it for a week. I don’t need to drive anywhere. It has a full tank of gas, and I’ll tell you what pal, give it back to me on empty okay?

Getting dumped 

I’ve definitely been broken up with because of being too nice. I remember one time an ex got mad at me for “not standing up for myself.” I wasn’t standing up for myself because he was yelling at me and I didn’t want to yell back. Screaming hurts my throat, and sitting is more comfortable. Give me a fucking break dude. I think being too nice can also be a turnoff. I get that. But why? Why is it that when you care, you automatically turn into the Velma instead of the Daphne. (Yeah, that’s right, that’s a Scooby Doo reference.) Like,  I’M SORRY I BROUGHT YOU BROWNIES TO WORK, MY FUCKING BAD! Oh, I complimented your mom on her new dress. EXCUSSSSSEEEEE ME! I helped an old lady across the street, so what? Is that not HOT to you? I just think men should automatically get a hard-on when I say please and thank you. Is that too much to ask?

So as you can see, being the nice guy isn’t always a good thing, but I can’t change who I am, so instead, I’m going to keep complimenting people on their face shape/skin, breaking for people walking dogs, and doing color consultations with heroin addicts.

XOXO,

Milky