Tag: hangover

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aftercollegelife comedy hobbies lifestyle pacific northwest pdx self help Uncategorized

All the Small Things

blink 182There’s something about spending  82 days in a leg brace and 6 months in physical therapy that really puts things in perspective.

I think it’s ingrained in the human condition, something about always having to search for better resources as a Neanderthal or some shit, where we can’t just chill out and reflect on how far we’ve come. How often do any of us really sit down and think, “I can breathe, I can walk, I can even pay my electric bill when I put my mind to it. I’m a decent human being and everything is pretty o.k.”

For me, the answer is never. I’m constantly in a state of mind, where I’m beating the shit out of myself, like frigging Tyler Durden. The internal dialogue ranges from, “Holy shit what am I doing with my life, and why am I not famous already?!” to, “Man, I really should have done a load of laundry last night.” It’s as if the fact that I’m not on SNL and don’t have clean underwear are the the defining characteristics of who I am as a person, and that person is lame with a capital L.

Well I’m over it, and am going to sincerely do my best moving forward to not be so hard on myself, which is a hefty effing task if you know anything about me. I can’t even take naps because I feel like I’m wasting valuable time that I could be running laps or dusting something.

I think we should all be more supportive of encouraging people to focus on the positive. Like, have you ever noticed when you ask someone how they are doing, the answer is always “okay,” or ,”good.” How come no one is doing fucking phenomenal? I want someone to be like, “Oh me? I’m doing mighty fine today, because I cooked food for myself and made a credit card payment.” If someone said that to me, I would be like, “That’s fucking awesome Rhonda. You celebrate that girl. You fucking bump that credit score to the heavens and get some essential nutrients today, dawg.”  (*I have no idea how credit cards work.)

We shouldn’t be so worried about sharing our accomplishments in the fear of making others feel bad or less successful or whatever. I’m reading this self-help book right now (because extensive therapy, medication, and extremely supportive friends and family just ISN’T ENOUGH DAMMIT) and it says that when you try to do something positive, especially something that is radically different from your current state, the “universe” is going to try to push back. Like, let’s say that all of a sudden I decide to get off the sauce, quit smoking, and dedicate myself to yoga practice.  I’m going to get all sorts of wack feedback like, “So what, are you not drinking anymore?” “Is that just soda water?” I know this to be true because it’s already happened to me numerous times. Way to encourage my drinking problem guys.

And we are totally all guilty of it. I had a friend that started hitting the gym hard, and she would always post Facebook updates about going to work out and “crushing it” and then take photos of herself looking like a total fox. I remember one night scrolling through my news feed while straddling a plate of Mexican food, and saying, “Fuck that betch. Fuck her right in her six-pack abs.”

But imagine if instead of nay-saying, and shaming people into hiding their accomplishments, we took inspiration from the success of our peers, and used that to fuel our own journeys to fulfillment?

As Taylor Swift so eloquently put it, “The haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate.”

I think whether it’s your own demon brain thoughts, or someone else tripping on your newly adopted paleo diet, or career change, or WHATEVER,  you got to “shake it off.” and just keep doling out those positive vibes. Share what makes you happy, and celebrate other people for making dope life-decisions.

XOXO,

The Weekday Hangover

 

 

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B.F.F.s

friendship.gif

I have the most lovely community of men and women as friends. It’s actually insane how many bad ass people are in my life. Sometimes I think about it too much and I start crying my lil eyes out in awe of the sheer luck & fortune I have to know these people. Shit.

But it’s easy to be a hater, man, I get it. It’s so easy to take one look at Insta and be like “oh man, look at this bitch, she has a picture of a smoothie, and then her next three photos are of the beach, a workout selfie, and her pure-bred dog. Fuckkkkk her.” I don’t remember where I found this quote, but I said, “Comparison is the thief of joy.” What if instead of feeling miserable about someone’s health journey, because you’re five breadsticks and a bottle of wine down, you celebrate that someone out there is living the life they want. (If you want to hear more about my opinions on this, check out my previous blog “All the Small Things.”)

It’s a crazy concept, but think about it this way: I now have a few good friends that I was super envious of because they were wicked pretty, super motivated and seemed to be kicking the world right in the crotch. So I didn’t talk to them, I just stalked them on Facebook and followed their posts and was like, “They are so cool. I wish I could be cool….and fuck they just went to Italy. The closest I’ll get to Italy is this bowl of god damn frozen raviolis.”

But if you stop doing that comparison shit, and realize that everyone is a real person with struggles and goals, you can open yourself up to the same opportunities just by reaching out and saying, “Hey, I like Harry Potter, you like Harry Potter, let’s hang out and kill at bottle of merlot.” What’s the worst that can happen? I also literally made a friend with that tag line, so feel free to steal it.

How To Make Friends (Quarter-Life Crisis Edition):

1) Find Common Ground.

  • “You like trashy tv shows? Oh shit, did you see the last episode of Dance Moms?! So. Much. Drama.”
  • “Hey, do you hate this job, because I sure do! What parts about it do you hate the most? Would you like to discuss this over some alcohol?”
  • “Hey there, I see that you have a dog. I loveeeeeee dogs. What is your dogs name? How old is he? Where did you get him? Did you get him when he was a puppy? Does he get along well with other dogs? Can I pet him? Oh shit, I’m already petting him. I got too excited I forgot to ask permission. He seems very friendly.”

2) No One Hates Being Complimented.

  • Imagine this, your new coworker shows up wearing an outfit that looks like it is straight out of an Anthopologie window display. You say, “I love that jumper! Where did you get it?” She looks you right in the eye, flips you the bird, and walks back to her desk in silence.
  • If that actually happens you should try even harder to be friends with this person, because they just won the Hard-as-Fuck Award, and it’s always good to have a sassy lil’ raincloud in your wolf pack to mix things up a bit. Take April Ludgate for example.

3) Don’t be an Asshole.

  • Trust me on this one. This means don’t talk shit about other people just to get on someone’s good side. Take it from someone who worked in the salon industry for 5 years. That shit will always come back to bite you in the ass.
  • Besides being able to open your own juice box now, things haven’t changed much since elementary school. Someone who hates someone today, might end up having a change of heart and loving them tomorrow, and THEY WILL tell them all the shit you said about them.
  • Treat people with common courtesy. Try and give notice if you need to cancel plans. If you aren’t feeling up to a night on the town, explain why and try to set something up for another time. Communicating with people = good. Ignoring texts and blowing people off = Asshole with a capital H.

As my beautiful improv coach fairy once said, “You have to be vulnerable in order to allow yourself to have authentic relationships. It’s one of the scariest and easiest things to do, but it’s so important.”

So, my magestic sea lions, go out into the wide ocean of friendship and swim around. Don’t let comparison be the thief of your joy. Be open to new experiences. And above all, love yourself and DON’T BE AN ASSHOLE.

XOXO,

The Weekday Hangover

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aftercollegelife biking comedy lifestyle

Neighbors

Photo on 2015-04-20 at 22.36

This post will be available in video format as soon as I figure out how to work Imovie, since my Final Cut Pro finally figured out I illegally downloaded it and wants an “authentication” or some bull shit. Anyway, below you will find some words.

I woke up hungover, which for any of you who have ever been hungover, you know it’s not a very good way to wake up.

Work was fine, but slow and I didn’t really want to be there. It was sunny and I was powered by an energy drink and a can of french cut green beans (woo diet!) so I was having a hard time staying focused. Chair circles, and one, and two, and three.

The time comes to ride my bike home and I nearly die from choking on my own sweat while simultaneously dry heaving. I arrived home, ending the worst, thigh-chaffing 15 minutes of my life, parked Gatsby (yes, I named my bike Gatsby) into the rape basement, and come to find a colony of ants decided to move into the kitchen while I was at work. Naturally, I bleach the shit out of them. Fucking free loaders. I then realize the cat has knocked over our glass Ikea shelf where all of our plants hung out on. The plants are strewn all across the floor. Dirt. Is. Everywhere. I start collecting shards of glass using my hands, instead of a dust pan, because that was just the kind of mood I was in.

Low and behold I hear a violent knock on the front door.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

I run to the door covered in sweat, my $40 t-shirt bleach stained, and wielding a handful of glass.

Note that this was not the friendly knock of the pizza delivery man this time friends, oh no. It was Deborah. That old crabapple that was birthed from a demon’s womb back in 1924, who never died and then decided to stop living off sheep’s blood and start feeding on the happiness of her neighboring South East Portland residents.

FUCK.

I answer the door with my non-glass hand.

“What was that?! What fell?!” Her dumpy face exclaimed.

“Our cat was trying to hunt a fly, but he’s not very good at it, and he knocked our shelf down.”

“What kind of shelf was it?!” She’s spitting as she yells.

Wait what? What kind of question is that. I humor her, “It was an Ikea shelf, it was made of glass.” I giggled the pieces in my hand to make a point, hoping she would sympathize with the shotty craftsmanship of  Dutch wholesale furniture.

No dice.

“My light fixture broke! I’m calling the landlord!” She hisses with her snake mouth.

I appologize which for some reason makes her hulk out even more.

“You girls are always stomping around up there. It’s like a circus upstairs! And I know it’s not just you three up there. I see men come and go at all hours of the night. Sometimes it’s like a clown car coming out the front door in the morning.”

Deb must have a thing against carnies, with all these circus references. But hold up. Did Deb just call me a loose woman? Not cool Deb. Not cool.

Now I’m mad. No one is allowed to check out the men I’m trying to sneak out of my room at all hours of the night and call me out on it! Get your own Tinder account Deb! (I actually think she was referring to the guys in our writers room for my comedy show, but either way it’s none of her damn business.)

I run up the stairs and immediately call our landlord Dan. That’s right Deb, I’m telling on you. Take that! Dan reassures me that Deb is in fact a lunatic and might in fact be a demon. He advises me to salt my doors and apologizes for the trouble. I appologize for using him as my therapist and promised I won’t burn this entire complex to the ground to smite her.

Needless to say this was the worst 420 ever, and now I’m off to play “Bad Day” by Daniel Powter on full blast next to vent that leads to her bedroom for a couple hours.

XOXO,

Deborah’s whore-elephant circus loving neighbor