How Chelsea Handler (Almost) Ruined Halloween

One thing about hanging around alone most of the time is that you think a lot about yourself and your life. And then, at some point, you may end up thinking about what other people think about you and your life. And because you've been hanging around alone so much, you may actually forget what other people really think about you, and may start forming your own opinions. And if you're sort of depressed and lonely, you're opinions may not be very positive.

These are the kind of forces that were at play when I started reading My Horizontal Life, a book about Chelsea Handler's one night stands. I found this book laying around our house, discarded after my Chelsea-loving roommate finished it. I have complicated feelings about Chelsea, but I found parts of this book really funny, and for a week or so I would pick it up when I wanted some light reading.

The week I was reading this book was also the week surrounding Halloween. I had tentative plans to attend a couple of parties, so I decided to go ahead and make the best Halloween costume ever. I sewed umbrella halves to the sleeves of a turtle neck, making bat wings. I wish I could post a picture, but I've somehow lost every cable that would allow me to do this. Losing cables is my superpower. Seriously though, it was a great costume. Trust me

So, on Friday night, I planned to meet a friend at this party/event thing at a bar downtown. I discovered lateish in the evening that she was going to a house party before the bar thing. This party would be frequented by people I knew of from my hometown but did not know well--obviously the demographic that I would be least comfortable wearing a bat costume in front of. I decided to skip the first party and meet her at the bar.

So I got ready for the bar thing and waited. My bat wings were really limiting my range of motion, and I needed a sedentary activity that would kill some time. I decided to read My Horizontal Life.

In the chapter I read that night, Chelsea laments her naive and socially stunted roommate. I can't remember the plot of the one night stand story contained in that particular chapter. All that stands out to me is how truly idiotic Chelsea Handler finds her roommate, referred to by her as Dumb Dumb. Here are some things that Chelsea hates about Dumb Dumb:

• Dumb Dumb doesn't leave the apartment a lot.
• Dumb Dumb wears pajamas all the time.
• Dumb Dumb asks her dad for advice about things that others may find obvious/simple.
• Dumb Dumb gets really excited about questionably exciting things.
• Dumb Dumb doesn't drink that much.
• Dumb Dumb clings to Chelsea in social situations
• Dumb Dumb watches a lot of TV.

At that moment it was clear to me: I was the Dumb Dumb to my roommate's Chelsea. The later it got, the more convinced I was that my roommate despised me and all my earnest naiveté, that when she laughed with or agreed with me she was only humoring me, was actually participating in the largest inward eye roll of all time. Oh man. It is not pleasant to spiral into a vortex of self doubt while dressed like a forest animal. 

And just when I was feeling as stupid as possible, my friend finally texted me to tell me that she was at the bar. Since she was already at the bar, I would have to walk there by myself, in my bat costume. Oh yeah, and it was raining.

So I started walking, and as I walked I imagined entering this bar thing and trying to locate my friend amongst the crowd of people. That made me panic a little, so I called my friend. She offered to get out of line and meet me outside, but asking a friend to do this seemed like textbook Dumb Dumb behavior. Despite the protests of my friend, I scrapped the whole thing and headed home. And then I took off the costume that I had spent hours making. And then I went to bed.

But fortunately, the next morning, I felt a lot better. I actively sought out another costume party, and I actually attended even though I only knew like two people there. Unfortunately, before I ever made it to this party, I attended a pre-party. Where I drank a lot. So when I showed up at the main event I was already a little silly, and by the end I was totally absurd. I can't even...it's too embarrassing to even think about. But I still had fun! Sort of.

So the moral of the story is: don't drink too much. Or something.

Gossip Girl Makes You Stupid

I started watching Gossip Girl last week, and I immediately became concerned about how it was affecting my mental capacities. The only thing worse than the dialogue in this show is the acting. Seriously, I think I could do a better job than the girl who plays Jenny.

I kept watching it, though, because everything about it is so pretty. And we all know that that's the only thing that matters.

So after a week of living vicariously through that gorgeously idiotic nightmare of a television drama, I found myself stopped at a red light. I was sitting there for a while before I realized that the sun was shining directly behind the light and making it impossible for me tell what color it was. I peeked at the lady in the car behind me via my rearview mirror, and I thought she looked kind of pissed. I decided that this meant that the light had turned green and she was mad at me for continuing to sit there. Naturally, I was confident enough in my ability to interpret a stranger's facial expression that I risked my life and that of others' by driving through the intersection.  I soon learned, thanks to the blaring horns, that the light had not, in fact, turned green yet.

It was literally hours before I realized that all I had to do to determine when the light had changed was to wait for the car that was traveling in the other direction and stopped on the opposite side of the intersection to go.

Then, a few days later, I was cleaning up dirt that my cat had dug out of the pot that houses my aloe plant. I made multiple trips to the trash can to throw the dirt away before it occurred to me just put it back in the pot from whence it came.

That night I decided to read a book instead of watching Gossip Girl.

An Appeal for Advice

Attention Anyone Who Reads my Blog!!! (Anyone? No?)

I've been planning to make a career move and a move move for a while now. Ideally, the move move part of the move will involve me moving to Philadelphia (move!). I know that Philly sounds like an arbitrary choice, but I really want to try a big city, and I happen to already be vaguely familiar with that one since Morgan lives there. I think that this vague familiarity, plus knowing at least one person, would make the transition to a new place easier.

The career move part will involve a switch from the tech writery job that I (sort of) have now to either:

a.)    a Proposal writer/donor relations type job for a college/university/non-profit/museum/etc./etc./amen, OR

b.)    a job as a science writer, with a focus on environmental issues

Also, I’ve been thinking that (ideally) these two career interests could be combined if I could find a science and/or environmental organization in need of a communications/donor relations/proposal writing lady (or gentleman (But I'd probably be better in the lady role.)).

And, as luck would have it, one quick Google search revealed that positions like this do indeed exist in Philadelphia. BUT, tragically, it seems like they’re mostly unpaid internships.

In some ways, it would make sense for me to start my career as an unpaid intern. I mean, I sort of have an appropriate educational background for these positions (a BA with a major in English and a minor in biology), but a more specific degree in something like journalism or public relations might be more desirable to employers. Also, my work experience is relevant, but it’s not extremely relevant.

My less-than-perfect background might mean that potential employers aren’t all that eager to hire and pay me, but maybe they’d be willing to hire and not pay me? This way, I’d be able to get a foot in the door (Sorry for the cliché, eleventh grade English teacher Debbie Cashion!) and learn things until I am eventually payable.

The downside to starting an unpaid internship is obvious. And a big problem, also. It would mean that I’d have to get a second job working in a store or something. I’m kind of terrified of service industry jobs because I’m really shy and socially awkward, and I just feel like I’d be really bad at them. Also, I might end up working tons of hours, considering that I’d be working probably 20 hours a week at the internship, and then I’d have to work enough hours at the store (or whatever) to pay for what could potentially be a very expensive apartment* and other potentially expensive necessities.  But, maybe it’d be worth it. Thoughts?

*This problem could be minimized if dumb Morgan would just allow me to live with him. For some stupid reason, he thinks that it would be a “bad idea” to have three cats and two people living in his 20’ by 20’** apartment. If you, like me, are morally outraged by his blatant attempt to stunt his own sister’s career advancement, PM me for his address and write him a letter of complaint. Live protests/sit ins can also be arranged.

**Approximate dimensions

November 9, 2011

Yesterday was the final day of my 22^nd year on Earth. 22 was probably not my best year. Not even close, actually. I feel like an appropriate post for today would be a reflective recap of everything I did, and learned, and accomplished as a 22-year-old. The truth is, though, that I spent the morning cleaning up cat poop, so I’m really not in the mood. 

What I will say is that I spent a lot of time this past year trying to feel less like a girl, and more like an adult women. I mean, a twenty-two-year-old is old enough to get married and have children without being ridiculed by society, but I was still eating mostly frozen food for dinner and asking my parents to do my taxes for me. In my head, I felt around sixteen, probably. It’s weird to think that others, especially strangers, look at you and see an adult where you’re pretty sure an adolescent should be.

 I resolved this inner conflict by wearing darker lipsticks. It was a superficial solution, but not without symbolism. Wearing lipstick definitely makes me feel more like an adult. So does buying better clothes. I guess the idea is that I’m trying to take myself more seriously. Or something.

So this year, in addition to continuing the lipstick wearing, I also hope that I can be a little more intentional and present in my own life. Over the past couple of years, I’ve developed the horrible habit of turning to the Internet and television when I overwhelmed, or sad, or lonely. When I feel bad, I just want to watch something, to sit passively and be distracted from my own mind.

My one real hope for 23 is that I live this year with more intention, and that I find more active and creative ways to deal with negative emotions. I need to learn to waste less time. After all, I’m not getting any younger.

The Struggles of a Recovering Perfectionist

You may have noticed that I’m not doing much with my life right now. And you may even be concerned about this. Don’t be. It’s intentional. Sort of.

In my last post, I talked about how I developed a severe case of perfectionism to combat my perceived and actual overall suckery. I became a perfectionist some time in junior high, but my perfectionism lasted clear into college. At some point during the first semester of my senior year, though, I got all self-reflective. And I realized that staying up all night to work on essays so that I would receive an A+ instead of an A really wasn’t that beneficial to my life. I was even able to recognize that I could probably receive straight C’s and it wouldn’t adversely affect my life trajectory. After all, I wasn’t trying to go to grad school at Harvard or anything. 

So I had this revelation, but I couldn’t stop with the studying and the endless essay revisions and the nearly subconscious desire to be perfect in school. I just couldn’t. 

At that point, I decided that I needed to take a break from achievement. I decided that I better not continue my education right away, because I couldn’t be trusted to not be completely absorbed by the studying and the working too hard. For the past eight or ten years, the pursuit of academic perfection had totally consumed me, and I’d failed to learn other stuff, like, cooking, and ummm…crafts! And proper bar etiquette. 

Also, I didn’t really have any career goals. Just nothing really appealed to me. I stressed out for a lot of my college career about this and I changed my major a bunch of times and obsessed over identifying my "life calling." It got so exhausting that I was finally just like, “Whatever, I’m going to be a secretary.”

So this year that I’m living in Morgantown and working at this weird little temp “job” was slated to be my year of learning how to live like your average, non-psychotic, non-perfectionist. I wanted to learn how to do things, and not just how to read and write about things. I wanted to do all those things that always seemed appealing to me but that I felt I didn’t have time for because I had to study.

I don’t know. I guess I’ve had moderate success. I’ve become a decent seamstress. Competent but not great. My house and room are still a wreck. I was really hoping to become more organized but that’s proven super challenging to me. I have tried some new recipes. I’ve discovered that I don’t really like to cook, but I am learning a little bit. 

I am still a total failure in the social department, but that’s already been discussed on this blog. My main regret about my college years is that I didn’t try harder to make friends, because now I just feel like I’ve missed the boat. I think I may have to just move and start over. And yeah, bar etiquette is still baffling and horrifying to me. 

I still don’t feel ready to go back to school. I can’t be trusted. But I’ve been looking around for more career-y jobs. I hope that if I find one I will pursue it with the appropriate level of effort and not go overboard. Only time will tell.