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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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aftercollegelife comedy eating food hobbies lifestyle pacific northwest pdx Uncategorized

Dinner Date

Dinner Screenshot

This is how you get dates you guys. You really have to sell it. Also, make your icon an eagle for extra cool points.

*The date is with my heterosexual female roommate.

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When people ask what I like to do in my spare time

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advice aftercollegelife comedy dogs eating fitness friendship hobbies lifestyle pacific northwest pdx self help Uncategorized

B.F.F.s

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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 comedy lifestyle pacific northwest pdx

Boys and Booze 

new year photo

I once had a coworker, who I love dearly, who watched me in my many stages of figuring life out. I was his receptionist from age 17-23 so he saw a lot of tears, breakups, get-back-together’s, and although he never let me off without a scolding, he would always get me a cup of coffee when I looked “too puffy” on a Saturday morning.

After seeing me boy crazy, heartbroken, and hungover all those years he came to the solid conclusion that I am “allergic to boys and booze.”

At age 21 I was pretty sure he was right, but at age 25 I’m positive that man is secretly a gypsy warning me of some grave danger if I don’t change my ways.

In light of this I’m deciding to turn a new leaf, go off the sauce, take a hiatus, whatever you want to call it, from men and flavored vodka.

Don’t get me wrong, I love them both so much, but isn’t it the old saying if you love something let it go?

It’s going to be hard to knock the habits. I’ll have to start calling the end of the week Friday instead of Wine Friday and Sexy Sunday’s will be a thing of the past. (No, I won’t go into detail about Sexy Sunday’s, I’ll leave that one up to you). Let’s just say now I’ll have Sleep Alone Sundays.

Now my friends won’t be able to vicariously live through me as a single person out in the “big city” (The three blocks of Southeast Portland I spend my time in) and “dating” (having drunk, unprotected sex with strangers I met on the internet).

So why? Why put myself through all the torture of denying myself  the comfort of semi-attractive strangers and a bottle of wine-before-bed rituals?

Well, wouldn’t you like to know you nosy little shits.

Sorry, I’m at the irritable stage where I haven’t smelled men’s deodorant in my hair for over 24 hours. That’s not the only thing missing from my hair either.

Wink wink readers. Wink wink.

 

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aftercollegelife comedy eating lifestyle pacific northwest pdx

Summa Summa Time 

Summer is my favorite time of year. I will fight to the death against the shit attitudes of every pale North American who wish the frigid cold of winter upon us as soon as it gets over 70 degrees. I get it, it’s hot, but have they never felt next-day rug rash from a drunken slip and slide session? Have they never assaulted an ice-cream man for not stopping long enough on their street? These are some of the blissful memories that can only happen during the magical months of July and August. Here are the reasons why I love Summer:

1) Boys in Jorts.

jortspen bagely jortscute boy jorts

I’m infatuated with everyone right now. Something about the warm weather reminds me of dating boys and them being adorable, and going on beach trips and shit. My hormones are unstoppable this time of year. I had to tell my roommate to stop wearing her Old Spice deodorant because it makes me too aroused and I keep objectifying the cute guy down the street, who is affectionately known as “the guy with the broken leg and the dog.” He has nice jorts and I’m seriously considering asking him out as soon as he can walk again.

2) BBQ food.

mac salad

Summer is the one time of year you can eat a hotdog and a cheeseburger in the same day and not be judged for it. Also, every salad at a BBQ has mayonnaise in it, and I am 100% down to fuck with that. So here’s what you do: Get a “dollop” (or you know, however you want to portion, you’re an adult) of potato salad, macaroni salad, and egg salad. If you are one of those freaks who doesn’t like their food to touch each other you are not going to like what I’m about to say. I suggest cramming as much of literally everything (especially if you just showed up and not hosting, because free food tastes better) as you can on the plate. No room for utensils? Good! Utensils are for chumps. Use your Lay’s chips as mayo-salad shovels  because this is America, land of the free.

3) It’s My Birthday

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Birthdays are the one holiday where you can get gifts, and not have to give anyone else gifts. Yes, I am turning 25 and yes, I still expect presents. If you don’t know what to get me just check my Amazon wish list, because there is nothing more satisfying than looking at shit you could never afford or justify buying for yourself and then unashamedly putting the link on Facebook and emailing it out to all your relatives.

Birthdays, like BBQ’s are another excuse to eat like shit and drink forever. I’m not really one for sweets, but a dear friend of mine promised me a white bread Bologna sandwich with yellow mustard as an homage to a cake. I’ll probably have to get a cake anyway though because if people show up to a birthday party and there is no cake, American culture will shit its pants and Paula Dean will start sending me racist hate mail.

Birthdays are also an excuse to be kind of a dick. Example A) I ate your  fries and drank all your beer while you were in the bathroom because it’s my birthday. Example B) I made out with your brother because it’s my birthday.  Example C) I drank everything and made out with everyone, because I’m old now and I hate everything….and it’s my birthday. Do. Your. Worst.

birthday

4) Nature is happy.

oregon nature

Usually when it’s Spring, winter or fall,the Northwest looks like one big, gray, drizzly shit hole. We Portlanders put up with soggy bike rides and Vitamin D deficiency so that when June rolls around we can take our dogs out to roll around in the grass that is green as fuck and swim in lakes and do other social outdoor activities.

The moral of today’s blog is to not let the haters get you down, or better yet, hate on your haters harder

Again, people who don’t like Summer are most-likely processed-meat circle hating, anti spiked lemonade, non bare-thigh sporting freak shows. . So enjoy your A/C, and your GOT reruns losers, I’ll be getting basic-bitch wasted on sangria, harassing ice-cream men, and hiking off my mayo weight.

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comedy fitness lifestyle pacific northwest pdx

A Day at the Gym

Reasons why the gym is my personal 7th layer of hell:

1) Gym Short Boners.

tiny man shorts

I don’t really feel like this needs more in-depth reasoning, but I’ll give you an example. The 24 Hour Fitness on Hollywood has windows that look into the swim area. This is one of the reasons I choose not to utilize the swim area. Another reason is that this one guy insists on wearing flesh color shorts and then struts around in front of the window, like he’s proud of it. I know exactly what this guy’s junk looks like. EXACTLY. And, I haven’t even entered the building yet. Then naturally, you have your average, run-of-the-mill gym short boners and visible basketball-short dick outlines.
2) Aggressive man-roids

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I hate when guys at the gym make eye contract with you like, as they are doing push-ups or some shit. Like, hey girl do you think this is hot? and I’m like, well sort of in a really primal way, like I feel like you could carry me out of a burning building, but at the same time I’m a little turned off by your aggression.

3) Classes I don’t understand

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What is Grit? What the hell is Body attack? It sounds like someone is going to come in and hit me with giant palm tree leaves and then force me to do gravel pushups and then publicly ridicule me as my hands get more and more hamburger-y from the pushups. I want abs, but I also don’t want to sweat blood and dry heave all over the damn place. Plus I have shin splints so, I’m going to have to sit this one out.

4) Classes I do understand

Image result for zumba

I’m pretty convinced Zumba is just a bunch of moms (Not new moms, like I-have-three-kids-in high school and-don’t-know-why-I-get-out-of-bed-everyday moms) who wanted an upgrade from reading their People magazine on the treadmill at speed 3 for a half hour. Bopping around in neon clothes was dope during the In Living Color days, but now it just seems, well, dumpier and a little sad.

5) Packed yoga classes filled with old creaky men (yes I meant creaky not creepy. No typo here. I can literally hear their bones rubbing against their other bones.)

old people yoga
Sometimes I try this yoga class at the gym and then always end up walking out half way because I’m either frustrated that I don’t have enough black magic stored up to move my spine closer to my hips like I am instructed to do, or I peace out half way through because I’m BORED. I’m sick of doing cat, cow, cat, cow then downward dog. Unless someone’s penis can be inside me during said animal style poses, it’s really a waste of my time.

old people yoga 2

The only time I get through a whole hour of class is by staying in child’s pose, because you know yoga is all about calm music and dim lights and nothing being mandatory, so it’s the perfect place to take a nap. Everything in yoga is “up to your body”. Well my body wants to drink alcohol or sleep about 95% of the time, so I’m not quite sure what I’m doing here.

6) Community Stretch Mats

Gym-People have very little respect for others personal space. No I don’t want you to stretch my hamstring. Yes, I was planning on using this 2 ft of space to do, I don’t know, a crunch. Please stop staring at me.

I hope you enjoyed my reasons for why I skipped the gym to write this blog, eat an entire wheel of brie, and use my It Starts With Food, Discover the Whole 30 book as a mimosa coaster. See you assholes at CoreCx on Sunday.

XOXO,

The Weekday Hangover