Going to space for spite

I have no excuse for why I haven’t written a while except that I’ve been busy which is actually a terrible excuse but that’s what it is. But, as my sister points out, I won’t ever become a famous blogger without blogging so…here I am.

Here’s what I’ve been up to:

I went to Costa Rica and I held a toucan and I stood in a waterfall and I did great in my first semester of graduate school and I decided to travel to space.

The toucan and waterfalls were great and I’m really happy about my first semester but I am not one to be satisfied when one goal or milestone is reached and so I’ve set a new long term goal which is: go to space. For pleasure, not business.

I have a ton of reasons why I want to go to space but my main reason is spite. Spite at who? Literally everyone. I can no longer bear to be in a conversation which begins with “I just got back from….(insert country here)” and ends two hours later with a random passerby showing me pictures of her trip of enlightenment to India.

Quite frankly, I’m not that interested and no one’s travel story is that interesting. I definitely want to know where you went and what your opinion was, but the details of your feelings and thoughts every day can be left to your journal. This includes myself. Literally everyone who has ever been out of the country is guilty of this. We get it, you went somewhere, you saw a different corner of the world and now you’re changed forever.

The above problem could easily be solved by going to space. The next time some begins to tell me about how they backpacked through Europe and didn’t shower for several weeks and their body was dirty AF but their spirit has been cleansed, I can nod very enthusiastically, turn on my bright eyes to look super interested and then say “that is so cool, I totally know how you feel because when I was in outer space….” And that will be the end of that and every travel-related conversation.

I also think space tourism would be the perfect way to spite the government, who does not think space travel is important and decided to cut our space exploration program. Going casually to space for no other reason than to be in space would probably drive them up a wall considering they don’t even think people should go to space to learn or explore. How PISSED would they be if they saw a selfie of me in space with a frozen margarita with the caption “this drink is out of this world”?

I know spite isn’t the best reason to do something but I also know that drinking too much makes me miserable and I should wait until my food cools before I try to eat it but I JUST DON’T CARE.

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A Cry for Help, Thinly Veiled as an Update on my Life

Listen, I cry a lot. It’s not really a secret and it’s not really weird. I cry at dove commercials (Hello? The little girls who think they are beautiful and then grow up and don’t anymore? I’m not a fucking robot) and at BudLight commercials (Dogs) and at songs which feature women overcoming bad relationships. I cry at Landslide and Rather Be and people who are nice for no reason. This is just a fact about me and I’ve come to accept it. My friends I’ve made in grad school think its endearing even though every time I tear up one of them laughs at me and then we inevitably get yelled at by our teacher.

I don’t think my crying at these things point to the fact that my life is a mess, but there ARE things I cry about (and other things in my life) that do point to this conclusion. For instance, when my teacher cancelled my 8:30 class, which means I get to “sleep in” (til 8am), I cried. Not normal. I also cried when I walked into Monmouth’s gym for the first time and saw how empty and beautiful the track was. Very not normal. Last week in class, we watched a video in which a young woman came out to her mother (I think…it was completely in Vietnamese) and I. Fucking. Cried.

These facts alone might make you think “ok, she’s definitely a sensitive gal, but maybe she’s just a softie” you might even think it’s kind of sweet. No. It’s not. Here are some other things you should know that truly show you that my life is just an all out disaster and I’m slowly spiraling out of control:

  1. I suspect my neighbor is stealing my garbage. Long story but basically my garbage went missing. Not my garbage CAN, my actual garbage. I never put the can out at the curb and it wasn’t even garbage day. SOS.
  2. Last Tuesday, I lost my flash drive with all my assignments for school on it. On friday, after three days of constant rain, I found it in the parking lot. It had clearly been run over and had some serious water damaged, but I decided to plug it into my computer anyway (I had to do some handy work to un-warp it so it would fit in the USB drive).
  3. My uncle just delivered me four boxes full of wine and champagne and so I have a lot of solo drinking in my future.
  4. I have a midterm due tomorrow that I haven’t started yet.
  5. I decided to give up cheese. Then cooked a casserole in which cheese was a main ingredient.
  6. I just received pepper spray in the mail from my friend’s grandma because I’m “all alone at the beach.”

I also ignored my co workers all day in favor of listening to the new Taylor Swift album and it was the most productive I’ve been in weeks.

Normally I would say if you want to help, send alcohol but at this point I have more wine and champagne than I know what to do with. My second request would probably be pepper spray but I have that covered too.

I guess my main request is a camera system so I can find out why my garbage keeps disappearing and also so I can more accurately gage the percentage of the day I spend giving myself pep talks out loud.

Having it all together

You might be a semi real grown up if one of your classmates tells you “everyone thinks you’re very together” and you don’t spit out your angry balls** in her face from laughing so hard. On the one hand, I’m flattered because I tried (semi) hard my whole college career to make it seem like I was a together, competent, almost-professional. From insisting that I had car sickness on a Tuesday when I made my supervisor pull over so I could throw up at a gas station, to occasionally sleeping in my clothes so I could wake up and make it to class in five minutes, I always put on a good facade. But no one ever fell for it. Maybe it was because most of my classmates saw me out at the bar Tuesday-Sunday, or maybe it was because my housemates and I once won a $50 bar tab by winning Quizzo for which the topic was “dirty minds,” or maybe it was because I called the bar “home” as much as I called it by name. 

On the other hand, I’m horrified. Have I really reached the point where I can be wearing a Tiki mask and holding a drink which is the combination of hard cider and CINNAMON FLAVORED WHISKEY and someone still tells me I really give off the appearance of having it all together? Is it wrong that I miss when people would see me Sunday mornings and shake their head in a way that kind of said “thank god for you because you set the baseline for being a mess and I’m below it”?

Mostly though, I’m confused. I guess it’s because I’m with myself all day so I frequently catch myself in moments of not very togetherness. Like, not two minutes ago when I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, “you look kind of heavy” and then grabbed myself a beer from the fridge. Or when I had to skip dinner because I was too full from eating so many cookies (which I ate because I wanted them gone so as not to tempt me in the future). Or when the guy at the liquor store stopped ID-ing me and started greeting me by name.

It’s kind of comforting to know that “having it all together” is a matter of perception. Next time you see a person who really seems to have it figured out, keep in mind that she probably goes home and strips in her living room because wearing professional clothes makes her want to cry. (Or maybe thats just me?)

**angry balls= angry orchard cider and fireball. Sicko.

Running out of wine (and how it’s kind of a metaphor for my life)

A time will come shortly after you graduate college when you’re too old to drink like you used to but you’re also too young to accept that fact. It will be during this time that you will find yourself having a glass of wine with dinner every. Damn. Night. And it’s kind of sad because you’re drinking wine because you genuinely like the taste AND it’s from a bottle not a box AND you (almost) never get a wine hangover because you’re only having a glass. It’s weird. And then the wine runs out and you find a bottle of vodka in your freezer literally LEFT OVER FROM SENIOR WEEK and you make yourself and mixie and you wonder how you got to where you are. And that’s when you write a blog.

Once when I was in London, my friends and I wanted to have beer olympics. One thing led to another and we ended up playing with Strongbow (a cider brand that should be put in jail for trying to kill me via hangover multiple times). After drinking 20 liters of Strongbow between ten people, I looked around and I weirdly had a Gyro in my hand that I didn’t remember ordering/leaving the apartment to get. One of my friends was drunkenly constructing a trophy out of Strongbow bottles while muttering “this was my life for two years,” and another friend was screaming “IT WON’T BE FUNNY WHEN I’M DEAD TOMORROW.” I was confused how any of these events had happened independently let alone how they were connected in any way. It was surreal and I couldn’t make sense of it. My point is that THAT is kind of how I feel every morning I wake up and I remember I’m not in college. Except in this scenario I don’t go home and drunkenly email my boyfriend to tell him that he has “the emotional capacity of a caterpillar” because I’m a fucking grown up and vodka just doesn’t inspire me to write scathing emails in the same way Strongbow always did.

If you’ve read this far, you’re probably currently compiling a list of AA meetings in my areas to gently send my way with the subject line “something to think about.” Well, that’s rude because passive aggressive (mostly aggressive) emails are clearly MY thing and also if you’re thinking that way you’re obviously still in college and you don’t understand how I feel. Talk to me when you graduate and you run out of wine and the wine is kind of a metaphor for your life.

…….And now I need a drink.

Grown Up Thoughts

Transitioning from the comfort of my alma mater to a new, much glitzier school (our library was a former president’s summer home) has been harder than expected. For one, I’m confused as to why there is no sign of Jesus anywhere. Having gone to a Jesuit school for undergrad, I’m used the the constant, judgmental undertones of Catholicism. However, they have made up for the lack of religious paraphernalia by kind of naming a building after beyonce (Bey hall). So I kind of still feel the judgement and disappointment similar to what I’m sure Jesus feels when he sees me. (Doing the rosary 100 times for comparing Bey to Jesus. Thou shalt have no other gods blah blah blah).

The lack of Jesus has left me feeling pretty alone and wondering if anyone even hears me when I pray for the Mets to get good or for calorie-less bread. I’m having a very “are you there God? It’s me, Margaret” moment.

Along with thoughts of having been forsaken, I’ve been having a lot of other intrusive thoughts that I can only attribute to growing up and becoming an adult. I’ve decided to make a list of very grown up thoughts I’ve been having because I’m sure people can relate. I’ve put them in the order that they typically pop up during the day:

  1. Why does my bed smell like an everything bagel
  2. Where’s the sun
  3. Shut up birds seriously shut up
  4. Is mixing white wine and orange juice kind of like a mimosa? (answer: no)
  5. Do I have to dress up for class now that I’m in grad school?
  6. I’ll just add a lot of bracelets I feel like social workers do that
  7. Is three cups of coffee before 7am too many?
  8. It doesn’t count if it’s ice coffee.
  9. Since when do I have so much Biggie on my iphone?
  10. Fuck traffic. Fuck construction. Fuck everyone on the road but me.
  11. Why am I sweating already?
  12. Wait now my car smells like an everything bagel
  13. I should have brought a wine-mimosa with me to class
  14. Seriously, when did I go on a drunk itunes binge and buy all these Biggie songs?
  15. $3.31 is NOT a good price for gas
  16. BIGGIE BIGGIE BIGGIE CAN’T YOU SEE SOMETIMES YOUR WORDS JUST HYPNOTIZE ME
  17. Shit I almost hit that kid. I hate commuting. Parking is a nightmare. Everything sucks
  18. Look at those undergrads. What a life. Look how carefree they look. Their whole life is ahead of them.
  19. You shouldn’t have yelled “trade lives with me” out your window.

Clearly, I’m spiraling. I may have asked my dog what it’s like to live a life free of responsibility during an especially hard moment in this existential crisis I’m having. I’ve also had three people tell me I look “really familiar” so I’m convinced there is someone out there using my pictures to Catfish others, or I just have a really average looking face.

PLEASE GOD, if you’re there, let it be the former. I’d rather have my identity stolen than be average. Amen. 

IT’S 2AM AND I’M MAD AS HELL

Once again, the human race has appalled me. The best and worst thing about people is, as always, the capacity they have to shock me even after I think I’ve seen it all. Below is a tweet I saw earlier and some responses to that tweet.

tweet

WTF1 WTF 2 WTF ?! LOL ITS A JOKE

Reading this had made me want to retire from the human race. I understand that this tweet was in reference to song lyrics that may or may have been (but definitely were) inspired by real events. My issue is not with the tweet, my issue is with the responses. How are we still at a place where people (men) feel comfortable to post things like this on the internet for everyone to see. 24 people every minute are the victim of sexual assault, domestic violence, or stalking. (http://www.thehotline.org/resources/statistics/) That means that when you make a joke about abuse/rape, the likelihood that a person who is a survivor of abuse hears that joke is devastatingly high. If they overhear you and break down in tears because they are reliving it, or they collapse to the floor because they are having a flashback, are you going to tell them, to “relax” because it’s just a joke? 

GIRLS: when boys make rape/abuse jokes, they’re not jokes. They’re stating their opinion. If they lived in a time before the feminist movement, they probably wouldn’t even bother to disguise it with “comedy.”

So, hey, snaps for progress???

The trolls that responded to this tweet are like people who probably only make up a small percentage of the population…but men (and women) who “don’t need feminism” are alarmingly common. 

To anybody who says, “I don’t need feminism,” please look at these photos and tell me this is not blatant, horrifying sexism and victim blaming. And if the answer to sexism isn’t feminism, WTF is the answer? You don’t get to say “I’m not sexist but….” No. No. No. Shut up. SHut your mouth. If you’re not a feminist you are indeed, sexist. Sorry! No middle ground people. You either have respect for women and think they are equal or you don’t. BYE.

I NEED FEMINISM BECAUSE I am so so so so tired of men saying “it’s a joke, relax!” I am tired of men thinking I am uptight and can’t take a joke because I speak up for myself, I am tired of them grabbing my ass and shouting at me from cars. I AM SO FUCKING TIRED of feeling like the space I take up is space I’m taking away from men. I am tired of hearing people say “boys will be boys” when they really mean “I respect women and girls AS LONG AS that respecting of women and girls doesn’t get my boys in trouble.” I’m tired of people telling girls that if a boy is mean to them “he probably likes you.”

A story: On my first day of work I was asked if I could do dishes. Before I could respond, a male coworker said, “of course she does, she’s a female.” I’m sick and tired of feeling ashamed that I laughed nervously because I was new and I didn’t want to make waves. I’m so fucking tired. DON’T FORGET GIRLS: EVERY TIME YOU REFUSE TO LAUGH AT SOMETHING THATS NOT. FUCKING. FUNNY, AN ANGEL GETS ITS WINGS.

How to be really good at senior year

Tomorrow marks the first day in four years that my college will be starting without me in attendance. If you’re wondering how I’m coping: I’m not. Yesterday, I told my mom I would rather be dead than not go back to school but I quickly took it back when I realized I was in fact NOT going back to school and yet here I was, alive.
Because I can’t be a college student for the rest of my life (not for lack of trying), I’ve compiled some tips for how to be really good at senior year:

Call the bouncer/owner at your favorite bar “mom.” Plan to only to it when speaking about her to others, but get drunk enough that you definitely, definitely call her mom to her face at least once a weekend. Get so drunk that you actually start treating her like your mom. Cry in her arms. Hug her a lot. Ask her to take selfies with you. Apologize when you are too drunk “in her home.” Thank her when she has one of her employees make sure you “get home safe.”
I have done all of the above and it definitely pays off on your birthday weekend when the bar is too crowded and she isn’t letting people in but then she sees your face and ushers you past everyone else. It also helps to point at your crown and tell her you’re going to “lose it if I’m not home for my birthday.”

Order champagne at the bar. Nothing says “smiling through tears” like drinking $12 champagne out of the bottle. You’ll also make a ton of friends, if you consider friends to be people who disappear once the bottle is empty, which I do.

Lose your fear of dancing. It helps to embrace one move and do it to every single song no matter what. When in doubt, just spin in circles.

Make a mends. Maybe a rude lax bro made fun of you once sophomore year and you hold a grudge. Maybe a rude lax bro spread rumors about you when you were a freshman, maybe a lax bro loved you on the weekends but then ignored you during the week. Wait, I’m seeing a pattern. Fuck lax bros. Don’t make a mends, ignore them completely (unless they have a bottle of champagne in their hands…then, make a mends.)

Wednesday is the new Thursday. Tuesday is the new Wednesday, and Sunday is the new saturday. Maybe take Monday off.

When your friend asks you to go out, say yes. Literally, always just do it. Even if your friend may be developing an alcohol dependency, go out with her and just hope the habit ends after graduation.

Crying at the bar is no longer a taboo and it will actually get you a ton of free drinks.

If you feel like shit about the way you look, just put on dark lipstick.

Pregame every outing. Even if you’re going to your bar for unlimited beer, definitely pregame. Show up with all your friends way drunker than everyone at the bar. Pregame so much that people are prompted to ask how early you started drinking.

Bring a flask out with you. Add vodka to your vodka. Add vodka to your beer if you wanna remember nothing and tweet weird things when you get home. Yell at your friend who thought it would be a good idea to put vodka in your beer, pray for death when you have a weird beer-ka hangover, bargain with God and tell him you’ll never drink again, curse everything and everyone, but then half seriously suggest you add vodka to your beer every weekend because OMG I think I had so much fun.

Stand near a garbage can at the bar so you can throw up without having to stop dancing.

Cry. Cry a lot. Hug people you have never even liked. Look around the bar and think “I’ll never see a lot of these people again in a few months.” Let that fact terrify you or let it comfort you. Don’t ever let the crying get in the way of the drinking.

During our senior week kickoff party, there was this dumbass sign with that Dr. Suess quote…”Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” Quite frankly, at the time, it infuriated me. How am I suppose to not cry? Seriously? But now, I get it. Every single moment I spent in my favorite bar was perfection. Maybe you won’t know what a deductible is, maybe you won’t understand how to negotiate a salary, maybe your college education left you feeling utterly unequipped for the real world, but at least you will know how to nurse a hangover from cheap alcohol, and at least you will have friends that you can FaceTime at 7am on Sunday mornings to talk about how drunk you still are before falling back to sleep.