Going to a Desperate Housewives party tonight. Yep, that’s a cardigan around my neck. Hope I meet some saucy pool boys/gardeners or just anyone of the opposite sex tonight.
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Author: knwolf
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Spooky
Things I find terrifying:
Lamprey eels
Loss
Elevators
Aging bodies
The Far Right
My downstairs laundry room
Love
Rejection
My neighbor Deborah
I touched on my feelings with food briefly during my post on getting older and dying, but I feel like I have a little more to say in regards to eating, food, and my love/hate relationship with it.
Let’s call this what it really is. A cry for help:
Why the food pyramid isn’t working for me:
1. I have the palette of a 90’s pre-teen. My favorite foods include: Bologna (BAH-LOH-KNEE) sandwiches with yellow mustard, Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, and ham and cheese Hot Pockets. I basically had to put myself through a 12 step program just to quit Pizza Lunchables, which I am proud to admit I am one year clean from.
2. I think beets taste like dirt and kale tastes like butt. I’m not saying this to be be mean, I really feel this way, and am sometimes scared to admit it. Everyone in Portland lovvvveeees beets and kale. I’m hoping something slightly more appealing like iceberg lettuce with ranch or a modest potato will become the new “superfood” but with my luck it will probably be turnips or some other avant-garde horse shit.
3. I actually follow the rule of no carbs after 7 p.m., but that is because most weeknights I have wine for dinner.
4. The entire staff at Bowery bagels knows me by first name and they know that I always get a salt bagel with bacon cream cheese. I can’t go two work days in a row without one. It’s Wednesday and I already miss them so much.
5. The Dominos guy can tell when my roommate has gotten a haircut….That’s how often we see him.
5. I don’t understand what Paleo is.
6. I’m not a vegetarian, I’m just too scared to cook meat. Well, any meat that isn’t an easy meat.
Easy Meat. DEF: Chicken is a hard meat to cook. Chicken sausage however, is an easy meat because you just cut it into circles and the rest is up to god (or the deity of your choice.)
I also can’t really cook non-meats. I can never tell when Soyrizo is done, because it’s already cooked but it specifies you have to cook it to a certain degree to eat it. Asking me to take the temperature of a food before putting it in my mouth is like asking me to floss my teeth before going to the dentist. I don’t see the point and I’m never going to do it.
7. If It only cost $1.99, in my mind it’s completely safe and you should totally eat it. I survived an entire summer eating nothing but bowtie noodles with frozen peas and cans of french-cut green beans. If you can feed yourself for two days on less than $5, you may be getting progressively fatter and slower, but you’re winning at something.
I need some serious guidance or hypnosis to get me away from processed cheese singles and toaster pastries, but if loving cheesy stuffed breadsticks, mayonnaise and tiny microwavable pizzas is wrong, do I really want to be right?
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Go Blazers
My neighbors having sex is very equivalent to a blazers game. There is a half time and a lot of bouncing and I can never tell who won.
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Quarters
I just got off work about a glass and a half of wine ago and realized I have no underwear and I spent all my laundry quarters on a Star Trek pinball machine last Saturday. I guess the good news is I won’t have my usual VPL (visible panty line.) The bad news is, well I have no clean undergarments and I didn’t even get to enter my high score in the damn machine. Because I didn’t have a high score. I actually suck pretty hard at pinball.
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When it Rains it Pours
Today I am recovering from the flu, and was feeling pretty good this morning, mostly due the high I get when I take cold medicine. So I’m riding the Dayquil train and decided to do some spring cleaning and a couple loads of laundry.
Our laundry room is located in the depths of what I like to call the Rape Basement. In order to get to the laundry room you have to unlock two doors, go down some flights of stairs and turn on a light which may or may not work for one of the lightbulbs that hangs from the ceiling. In the Rape Basement only one or none of the lights work, so you have to use a flashlight (it’s scarier this way. The shadows play tricks on you, and all the wall stains look like blood.) or navigate through the darkness, bumping into the blood walls and feeling the sickening tails of the pull-dangle ceiling lightbulb strings trail across your face.
I made my way through the murder labyrinth and was switching my laundry out when I realized I had managed to wash 2 pairs of headphones and an entire pack of cigarettes with my clean-ish clothes. “I guess that’s one way to quit,” I mumbled to myself while picking soggy cigarette butts out of my underwear.
I shake off the disappointment of wasting/washing an entire pack of Camel Crushes and walk up the stairs only to find that the door has been locked from the inside. I, having no keys or cell phone, pound at the door and scream at the top of my lungs for as long as my poor half-dead lungs could muster. No dice.
I decide to try my luck outside, and try the front door. That would have just been too easy. The front door is locked. Both my roommates’ cars are gone from the driveway. One of my roommates mentions getting home at around 2:30, so I sit on the front porch and wait.
Remember, before I got locked out I had been doing laundry, so I’m sitting on the front porch in christmas fuzzy socks, a purple sweater that has three wolves howling at the moon on it, no bra, and a pair of bright green Sheldon High School booty shorts I kept from that one year I got into cheer camp.
I’m sitting outside for about 45 minutes, and all I can think about is how much I wish I had a beer to help kill the time, and how pale my thighs are, when suddenly my neighbor comes home and lets me go through her house to our shared patio. At this point I’m so angry and full of adrenaline that all I want to do is plow through 2 or 3 cigarettes. Oh wait, I WASHED THEM. I push the back door to the balcony, thinking there is no way in hell this is left unlocked. I always lock this door, and SWEET SWEET JESUS IT OPENS. It opens. I’m in. The day is saved, just in time for more Dayquil and a nap.
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Motivational Quotes
…….Still hit snooze.
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Transitions
Since I am about to turn 25 soon, and have almost nothing to show for it besides some unpaid credit card balances and mad top-ramen cooking skills, I started thinking about the transition to adulthood and how different things are from our parent’s age. You don’t just graduate and immediately land a career, family and the free time to vacation at Disneyland. Seriously, how do young parents afford Disneyland, it’s like $5 to buy a Coke. I don’t even want to think how much cigarettes would be there. What they don’t sell cigarettes at Disneyland anymore?! This country’s gone to hell.
I bolded the most important words, so if this is a little TLDR for you, feel free to ignore everything in normal text, and you should still get the full story for the most part.
Most of us 23-30 somethings are stuck in some sort of adulthood purgatory. Here are some examples of why it’s really hard to be young, still attractive and independent from your parents:
We have our own money, and can do whatever we want with it, but never have enough money to do what we want with it.
We can eat whatever we want, but when we do we feel bad about it because our metabolism has gone to shit. Have you ever thought about the last time you ate something you didn’t like. I don’t like oranges. I haven’t eaten an orange in at least 10 years. Why? Because they have the texture of human flesh and I make my own damn lunch. Fuck oranges. I finally accepted in the last two years that eating a turkey sandwich with an unspeakable amount of mayo and cheddar cheese isn’t a “healthy” option. I can’t even eat a slice of bread at 24 years old without immediately shitting my pants and simultaneously gaining five pounds.
At this point in the weird 1/4 of your life, you’ve have weeded out the drama and pointless friends that you just hung out with because their parents had a hot tub or their brother let you smoke his weed or whatever, and you have a handful of really good people in your life. The only problem is you have all moved, or have your own lives and have to actually use a day planner to see each other. I almost miss high school, just for the bat-shit advice I would never get from people that actually like me. I couldn’t fit into my denim shorts today, and was wondering if my ass was just bigger from biking to work and my occasional gym class, or if I was actually getting fat and no one was letting me know. In high school people had no problem telling you when you looked fat or stupid. If they didn’t tell you to your face you found out later in a origami heart-shaped note from a “concerned” frenemy that says, “People say your fishnets don’t make you look punk, you just look slutty.” Thanks Krysta.
Your body is dying. Nothing in your body is going to get any better. I’m wearing a bra I bought when I was 16 right now. Why? Because I can’t afford nice things, and my body is never going to develop anymore than it already has. The excitement of getting taller and getting boobs is over/just never happened. Now I have to actually consider flossing and care about my general health so I don’t suffer from arthritis or other old people ailments. That’s right kids, if you don’t floss you will get arthritis.
There are some good things about getting older. When you are 25 it’s totally acceptable to drink a bunch of wine because “you appreciate the taste.” Always go to wine tastings. It’s the best way to get drunk without people judging you. When you are 25, you also get to meet a bunch of new people because you live with them and depend on them to help pay your rent. You also never have to clean your room, because no one ever, ever sees it. So, you know, I guess there are some perks.
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Bachelors Degree
I’ve been thinking about going back to college. Yesterday I completely forgot the word “oval.” I seriously considered googling it, but the only thing that came to my head to google was “circle.” I was just going to bank that one would get me to the other, you know, because they are friends.
Then I remember how Google worked and that if I googled anything I would probably just wind up with a bunch of photos of cats, Beyoncé and some random guy named Edward Circle.
Thank god I was in my room alone when this happened and not trying to succeed in a public conversation.
So I gave up. I threw in the towel and three days later as I’m laying in bed, sincerely reconsidering my choice to drink a bottle of wine last night, it came to me. Oval! Hip hip hurray it’s a fucking oval!
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Galentine’s Day
Am I the only single female that loves Valentines Day? I love every holiday. I had 2 donuts this morning. Why? Because Valentines Day is tomorrow. Any excuse to over eat, dress up and drink champagne is okay in my book.
My coworker brought champagne to work but I didn’t get to participate because it was a half-day and they didn’t want to crack it open until at least 4. When did drinking before noon at your place of work become so taboo? Apparently I didn’t get the memo.
I bought my roommate a butterfly knife and she got me an over-sized T-shirt with both of our faces on it, so I’m feeling pretty good about the gift-giving side of things today.
I’m also feeling pretty good about being single. I had a realization yesterday evening while eating Domino’s cheesy stuffed breadsticks that I may never find a man that gives me the instant gratification and never-disappointing satisfaction that a delivery pizza service does. If I ever get as excited for a man as a do for ordering pizza after a bottle of wine, then I need to hold on to that guy for dear life. (poor sap.)
So here’s to being single. Here’s to pizza. Here’s to extra ranch on the side. Here’s to drinking champagne before 4 p.m. and loving your friends (although their gifts may come across creepy and be the ultimate man repellent) and three cheers for Valentine’s Day.
milky feelings 