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.


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.

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
  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. 

Do’s and Dont’s of traveling with me (most rules also apply when traveling with small children)

Today, a friend of mine suggested that I write the “do’s and dont’s of traveling with your boyfriend” because I just got back from Maine with my love, earlier this summer I went with him to AC, and I guess I need to write a blog post. But the problem with writing do’s and don’ts of traveling with your significant other is that my boyfriend is exceptionally easy to be around except when I’m hungry or tired, and then he’s impossible. Wait, maybe I’m the impossible to be around? Whatever. The point is, there’s not much I CAN’T do around him because he deals with me very well. I mean, after knowing me for one week he literally CARRIED me home because I was too drunk to walk. And he still continued to date me. So I decided that it would probably be a lot easier to write the Do’s and Dont’s of traveling with me (/being around me in general) because I require a lot more maintenance. So here we go:

1) DO pack a lot of snacks
As has been pointed out to me by at least half the people I know, I am very much like in infant in that I get incredibly cranky when I am hungry or tired. (I’m ALSO like an infant in that I like to have a bottle in my hand at all times and I often have trouble walking. My head is also disproportionate to my body which seems to be an issue a lot of babies have as well.)

2) DON’T double check details.
Triple check. Quadruple check. I like to think that I’m really spontaneous and go with the flow, but I like to have my vacations planned down to the minute. After a dozen breakdowns and 3 calls in 2 days to the Whale Watching company, I finally felt confident that our reservations were made. My boyfriend called me dramatic but I just don’t think anyone understands my love for any animal large enough to kill me by accident.

3) DO schedule time for naps
I don’t care I am meeting Beyonce and choreographing a dance with her, NOTHING is fun for me if I’m tired. NOTHING.

4) DON’T ask me to drive if I haven’t napped.
One time on my way home from the beach I slapped my self repeatedly in the face for the last 35 minutes to make sure I didn’t fall asleep at the wheel.

5) DO bring enough champagne for at least one glass per hour of the trip and 3 glasses for the last hour of the trip to help me cope with leaving.

6) DO bring Benadryl
I’m allergic to everything including grass, pollen, dust, and sometimes shellfish.

7) DON’T try to make me stop eating shellfish
Despite making me violently ill on many occasions, shellfish is my favorite food. I DON’T NEED YOU TO UNDERSTAND ME.

8) DO make sure the trip includes an animal sighting.
The most disappointing part of the trip to Maine was that I didn’t see any Moose. The highlight was seeing whales. As mentioned before, I love any animal that you might not want coming at you at full speed including very large dogs, horses, whales, sharks, elephants, etc.

9) DON’T try to make me go to a club with a dress code.
The only time I should have to dress up to get drunk is at a wedding.

10) DON’T believe that I’m hungover.
Hangover symptoms are basically just withdrawal symptoms. Don’t ever forget that.











**Credit to my boyfriend for helping me with this post even though he had to “reach and exaggerate” because everything I do makes me “sweet, funny, adorable, and amazing.” SEE WHAT I MEAN?!?!?!? He’s just too easy to be with.**

What even is the “real world”?

Allegedly now that I’m in the real world, I’m supposed to “have it all together.” And I think that I put on a good charade. But if we’re being honest, I don’t even know what “having it all together” entails, and I’m extremely disappointed that my “real world” includes about 89% less drinking than the MTV show with the same name. Like, where’s the Danny to my Melinda and why can’t I move out of MY house and then make a living completing arbitrary obstacle courses and having girl fights on tv?

The thing is, college prepared me for nothing except how to be a really good counselor. A few days before I graduated, I was having lunch with my favorite professor. Between her telling me what she really thought about some of my classmates and us discussing our future plans, I still found time to sob over our Indian food. “I’m equipped to do nothing” were my exact words.
And I still feel that way. I still don’t know how to balance a checkbook or my diet. I don’t know how much a house should cost per square foot and I can’t talk to the cable company on the phone without cursing/crying (can anyone?)
I don’t wanna make it sound like I learned nothing in college. I learned a lot of really valuable life lessons like wine makes most things better but wine hangovers make everything worse, or that the rule about alcohol freezing only applies to liquor. (I canNOT believe there was a time in my life when I didn’t know this but I found out the hard way that wine definitely freezes after an unfortunate Franzia situation in which the bag froze and it looked exactly like a placenta.)
I’ve also learned some things unrelated to wine, like the perfect lipstick will make weak men fear you but draw strong men to you and that Bronzer in the right places can change your whole life.
Obviously, college gave me a wealth of knowledge but is it practical? In one sense, no, because I still don’t know what a deductible is, but in a much more real sense….yes, because even though I don’t know how to set up a checking account, I do know to never trust a man with two first names. And, really, what’s going to get me further in the long run?

Drinking in Driscoll

Before you enter college, people tell you all sorts of things about what it’s going to be like. I expected my freshman year to include a 15 pound weight gain, a lot of drinking, a lot of boys, and a lot of hard work. I was 100% right, minus the hard work part.
Despite Counseling being a fabulous major choice for someone who eventually wants to go into Social Work, the 100 level courses mainly consist of talking about your feelings and writing “reflections” about how you felt the class went. I once wrote an entire paper on my BlackBerry on the way to New York. I got an A.
Because school work didn’t take up much of my time, I had a lot of free time to nap, drink, and try to avoid eye contact with the boys who lived in my dorm. It was exhausting. I lived in Driscoll Hall, the greatest place I’ve ever threatened to burn to the ground. With 3 floors of boys and 1 of girls, I was surrounded; it was awful. I blame most of the bad things that happened that year on the boys in that dorm. Once, two of them pulled me out of bed wearing footie pajamas (them, not me) and insisted I chug a mixture of vodka and beer. I was drunk by 3pm. Another time, I went downstairs to find one of them crying and spooning with a bottle of Captain Morgan. I was horrified at the scene and even more horrified that I had kissed this boy on more than six occasions (I hated literally everything about him but he lived right downstairs and it was nice to not have to go outside in the cold).
Driscoll Hall (also known at the “Dirty D” for reasons I learned but can’t repeat) was literally built to steal people’s dignity and ruin lives. Naturally, it’s one of my top three favorite places on Earth.
The first time I got cited was really not my fault. The second time wasn’t either. The third time was definitely my fault. The following is a recount only of what’s been told to me, considering I remember none of it.

Having put me to bed an hour earlier, my friends were all shocked to see me upright and trying to figure out why the water fountain wouldn’t flush. When they tried to put me back to bed, I became violent (this is when I decided to break up with vodka for a few months, as I have been known to overreact and sometimes become physical under the influence. Vodka and I have seen gotten back together and things remain cordial). I was screaming and insisting that one of my friends had “called me out.” This was the night that same friend had either eaten a cherry Chapstick/was throwing up blood (debate continues to this day about which it was). Needless to say, she had also been out for the count for quite some time and was in no shape to “call me out” on anything.
I then decided it would be a good idea to go downstairs and INSIST I sleep in one of the boys’ beds (whom I was by no means friends with) who was away for the weekend. His roommate was still there with his girlfriend. Apparently I caused quite a scene.

The next day I went to the caf in the same clothes I had worn and slept in the night before. I literally had no idea any of this happened until everyone filled me in.
When I met with the Area Coordinator to discuss what had happened, she filled out a slip referring me to a Counselor to discuss my “alcohol induced aggression” and not-so-gently suggested that I quit drinking all together and leave the University for the upcoming Parade Day. Sick joke.