Post-grad life, adulting and seeing how long I can go without showering

I just graduated college a couple weeks ago and moved back in with my mom so I’m in this weird kind of purgatory where I don’t have any real responsibilities. I’ve had jobs since I was 16, and as you can imagine, it’s weird to have nothing to do except eat chocolate and have mini existential crises’ every few hours. I’m headed to Europe in a few weeks for about a month and a half to go expand my horizons and eat my weight in crepes, but here is a good synopsis of what I’ve been up to during the interim:

  • Wake up at 5 p.m. to start my day
  • Submit job applications and become impatient when I don’t receive a response the second I hit ‘apply’
  • Got a weird sunburn because my mom told me to ‘stop putting on so much sunscreen and you won’t be so translucent’
  • Watch Handmaid’s Tale and become convinced it’s the best show ever
  • Found out Reese’s peanut butter cups taste even better when lathered in nutella
  • Read about cooking and how to do it, but never actually attempt to cook anything (except for the Nutella/Reese’s invention)
  • Make new Spotify playlists and listen to the same songs over and over again until I hate them
  • Venture into the outside world if absolutely necessary (always in sweatpants)
  • Test the boundaries of how long I can go without a shower
  • Make grand wine-induced plans
  • Walk my dog and tell her about my grand plans
  • Almost shaved off an eyebrow (I like this sentence better without context)
  • Read a book called “Adulting: How to become a grown-up in 468 easy(ish) steps” and obsess about being a perfect adult without actually implementing any of the tips into my life
  • Make lists of things I should be doing
  • Listen to Spanish audio tapes to try to cram an entire language in my head in less than 3 weeks (Yes, I’m arrogant enough to believe I can do this)
  • Annoy my mom
  • Shout “DIET STARTS TOMORROW” every night after doing lines of Oreos

Marriage advice from someone who is unqualified to give marriage advice

I’m not a therapist (shocker), and I don’t have very much real world experience at 22 unless you count all the times I’ve been able to find people on social media with only a first name. I don’t feel strongly compelled to marry anyone. Like ever. I’ve never even lived with a boy (SOUNDS AWFUL) and my parents aren’t married, so I didn’t grow up seeing it firsthand. The only marriage I’d ever want to be involved in is Jim and Pam’s from The Office. Nevertheless, I obsessively read about marriage and relationships. Countless relationship-y cosmo articles, short documentaries, and podcasts have accumulated in my nosey, neurotic brain over the years, and I think I’m starting to understand the fundamentals here. 

Marriage isn’t exactly an end goal for me. But I’ve made about 8 ‘if we’re not married by [insert age]’ promises, so it’ll probably happen one way or another. None of this is in chronological order, and I’m probably leaving out a lot, but here is my unsolicited advice.

Accept the other person even if they turn out to be a murderer

If you find out your wife is the female version of Dexter, pick up a shovel and start digging. You don’t get to choose which parts of another person you accept and which parts you’d rather not deal with. So, channel your inner Patrick Bateman, buy some bleach and save your judgments for their taste in reality television.

‘These percentages are way off’

Before I started writing this, I consulted my mom who was married for a few years and my grandpa who has been married for 2000 years. Both her and my grandpa stressed that marriages are not 50/50. They’re 90/10. Similar to every group project you’ve ever been a part of. At certain times, one of you will only be able to give 10% effort, while the other has to give 90%. Easier said than done, but you signed up for this shit.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T find out what it means to me

I read this article about marriage in the Atlantic that was as long as Trump’s presidency is gonna feel. The author sent out a survey to a bunch of people at different stages of marriage. Some had been married for 3000 years, and others had been married for 2. Some had been married multiple times. And so on and so forth. The most consistent and number one ingredient for a healthy marriage was having respect for your partner. This makes perfect sense to me. You want a partner, not an intern. 

Don’t bang other people

Should be common sense, but alas, it is not. So I’ve phrased it as a command for you: do not sleep with other people. Unless you have one of those arrangements. (Dear future hub: I do not want one of these arrangements).

Do fun shit together

Netflix makes it too easy to “stay in, order some Chinese food and watch Bloodline” together. And man, oh man, as sexy as that is it invites a certain level of complacency. Take some yoga classes, take a road trip or get drunk and paint things. 

…but also have your own side projects

So, along with doing things together, you should also be able to have your own hobbies. Annoyance is subjective (I guess), but not being able to enjoy things on your own individual terms is ‘sad!’ as Presdient Trump would tweet. It’s cool to have stuff you guys do together but find a hobby you can enjoy on your own too. As long as it’s not taxidermy – that shit is creepy and it should not have been invented.

The time my dog shit herself in a Carl’s Jr.

A lot of us either have our own shit-your-pants story or know someone who was brave enough to share their shitty experience with us. Losing control of your bowels and living to tell people about it is a rite of passage into a different kind of adulthood. The kind that transcends any other form of embarrassment you’ve ever experienced, and inevitably leads you to look at life a little bit differently.

My shit-your-pants story features my dog as its leading lady. How does a dog shit their pants without wearing pants you ask? Let me tell you.

My sister, Sabrina, and our friend Islean were driving from Palm Springs to Los Angeles. It’s about a two-hour drive, but we were fortunate enough to catch rush-hour traffic, turning this exciting journey into a 3-hour long chapter straight out of Dante’s Inferno.

We pulled into a Carl’s Jr. drive-thru because Islean can’t stop clogging his arteries for sport. My sister drove up to the window, and as she started to order, Lacey sat up, and for lack of a better explanation, she looked like she was about to puke. She was making that “hey I’m about to throw up in the back of your brand new Jetta” face.

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My sister screamed at me to take her out of the car. Call me crazy but I didn’t think throwing my dog out of the car mid-puking session onto a fast food drive-thru was a good idea.

Lacey threw up on a good portion of the back seat of the car. We pulled up to the drive-thru window and collected all the napkins they owned. 

I took Lacey out of the car to a small patch of grass to go to the bathroom. When she was done, we walked back over to the car and Lacey hopped into the backseat while my sister was cleaning the rest of the vomit. I sat next to her, and immediately got a whiff of the unmistakable scent of shit. I jumped out and threw Lacey back out of the car. She shot me a brief “fuck you” glance followed by a hint of, “but I understand why this is happening” look.

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Sabrina ran around to the side Lacey was on. “I think she shit herself,” I said with zero explanation.

My sister checked under the hood of my dog’s fluffy bottom by lifting up her stub of a tail. In case you need more detail, Lacey doesn’t have junk in the trunk, but she makes up for it with all of the fur back there. And it was covered in poop.

“Do you have any diapers left?” I asked. My sister’s dog Penny had been having her period a few weeks prior. Our dogs have a lot of issues.

She didn’t. We both stared at Lacey and looked around as if the Carl’s Jr. parking lot would have a solution. “Maybe we should just leave her here,” I said. 

“We have to clean it,” Bri ignored my suggestion. We ran Lacey to the front of the fast food chain, and I quickly pulled her into the women’s restroom. We did what we could with the napkins, but it was no use. Her ass was getting as clean as Lindsay Lohan got in rehab. 

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Then, Bri had her million dollar idea that we, no doubt, could’ve won Shark Tank with. She instructed me to get some plastic bags. When I came back with a few, she turned them into a diaper. Lacey was sporting a Carl’s Jr. diaper and honestly, she was cute enough to pull it off.

If there was a way, to sum up 2016 as a whole, this was it. My dog was covered in shit. There weren’t many options. So we created a temporary solution to cover up the problem, and then Donald Trump became president.

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The finished product

Diets are hard because oreos are easy to prepare

As I write this, there is a shitty nutri-system commercial playing in the background with people bragging about how much weight they’ve lost by eating cardboard. Like most people, I’m trying to suck all the fun out of my life by eating more vegetables and exercising. But it’s hard when there is so much pizza to be had. Self control isn’t something I thrive at especially when it comes to the tastiness of high fructose corn syrup. I’m not overweight or anything, but I would love to be strong enough to put up a little bit of a fight if a murderer attacked me.

Me being healthy!

Me being healthy!

My mom’s best friend is a super buff gym rat who literally gets paid to work people out. Let’s call him Chad. To help me stop eating junk food, I asked Chad to follow me around and prevent me from eating bad food. I view this as a small, but helpful step to the self control I hope to attain by letting someone else do the hard work for me.

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I had a banana at around 9AM while I was watching some terrible show about real estate agents in New York. At around 9:30, I felt it was appropriate to start eating my oreos. Chad watched me walk over to the cabinet and started to approach me when he saw that I had two oreos in my hand. I took a bite of the first one and he stopped in front of me and said, “I’m not supposed to let you have those.” He reached out to take the oreos, but my ninja like reflexes were too quick. This is probably the only time I would ever be too quick for anyone – when oreos are at stake.

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I popped the other half of the first oreo in my mouth and flipped my hair in a “haha fuck you” kind of way. That’s when it all went down hill. I started to move away from Chad, but he started to speed up. I began jogging around the kitchen counter, trying to chew the first oreo quickly so I could have the second one before he caught me. Chad began running faster, so I had no choice but to speed up. This is probably the fastest I have ever run, but Chad grabbed me by the arm.

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Luckily that arm wasn’t holding the oreo, so I shoved the second oreo in my mouth. I couldn’t let him win; I bit into it so that he would only be able to take about 25% of it out of my mouth. Chad shook his head as he walked away with my quarter of an oreo, but probably in a “wow you’re so determined” kind of way. Obviously I shouldn’t have had oreos for breakfast, but I feel like running away from Chad burned a few calories, so it evens out right?

Targeted Advertising Strikes Again

I’m sure most of you, if not all of you have a Facebook and have seen the advertisements that pop up in your feed and on the sides of the page. Even if you only use Google, advertisements will follow you like that stalker-ish ex you had in college. Normally, if I ever click on advertisements it’s by accident because they’re IN MY WAY, but there have been a few select times where I have fallen victim to targeted advertising. Clearly my impulsivity has nothing to do with it; it is the advertisers’ fault. These are the most recent instances of me succumbing to targeted advertising.

The Cardboard Cut Out of My Mother

The first time it happened was on my mom’s birthday last year, so I was especially vulnerable to any ideas about what to get her. I saw an advertisement about cardboard cut outs and knew that this had to be the solution. I clicked on partystandups.com and was sold by the idea of getting my mom a cardboard cut out of herself that was 4 feet tall. And she loved it because she loves looking at pictures of herself.

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The Wine

So when I’m supposed to be doing work, I like to take Buzzfeed quizzes to see which possible Illuminati member I am. One day, I was on Facebook and a sponsored ad popped up that read something along the lines of “take this quiz to see what kind of wine you would like.” Obviously I needed to take this quiz since I am an avid wine drinker. I knew I liked white wine, BUT WHAT KIND OF WHITE WINE SUITS ME?! There was no avoiding this ad, so I took the quiz and I don’t even remember which wine I got because there was a 60 minute countdown in the righthand corner. If I ordered 3 bottles of wine within the next hour, I could get $20 off my first purchase. I hope I don’t know anyone who would turn down this deal because I got 3 bottles of wine for $26. I chose the wine based on how pretty the labels were.

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The Potato

About a week before mother’s day, I saw one of the most unique ads pop up on my Facebook feed. Here it is with me complaining about it:

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But then curiosity got the best of me and I started to peruse their surprisingly well designed website. Honestly, they market their potatoes very well with examples like these:

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Photo by Potato Parcel

Not sure how I was supposed to resist getting my mom a potato for $9.99 plus shipping and handling that had a custom  message on it. Needless to say, she loved it and probably loves me even more now. This was her reaction to my potato present:

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What I Would Do with the Powerball Money

I’m sorry I haven’t blogged in a while, but let’s talk about being rich enough to buy Facebook (I’m not sure if that’s true, I’m just guessing)

Realistically, I’m certain that 99.9% of all humans would love to be rich. The .1% is reserved for the people who claim they would give most of it away to charity. Humble little shits. Ok I was kidding, calm down. Anyway, who doesn’t want to go to the mall and not have to say no to those $500 pair of jeans? And what about all the extra condiments that you can order with your food? Everyone wants extra condiments. After careful consideration, I have compiled a list of things I would do if I had won the Powerball (even though I didn’t buy a ticket due to lack of funding). Warning: almost none of it is considered charitable. It’s definitely charitable toward me though.

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1) Pay Amy Schumer to be my best friend

The reasoning behind this doesn’t take too much explaining, but the approach does. At first I would offer her a hefty sum to be my friend, and then slowly pay her less and less until she realizes she loves my personality and wants to be my best friend for free.

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2) Buy my own television show 

I would need to purchase the whole network so I could say whatever I want on my show, like Oprah. But let’s be honest, it’s just so I would be able to say the word ‘shit’ regularly.

3) Purchase a Trader Joe’s

Not only is Trader Joe’s my favorite grocery store, it also is located 5 minutes from my house. And I’m not sure if any of you have ever tried cookie butter, but it’s probably better than that time Channing Tatum put on a wig and danced to Beyonce’s “Run the World.”

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4) Start my own wine company with cool ass labels

Labels include “Hope your wedding night is as hot as George and Amal Clooney” and “Black out or back out.”

5) Hire a chef

…And naturally, I will hire a personal trainer shortly after.

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6) A THRONE

Once wealthiest beyond my wildest dreams, I would need something to remind everyone that walks into my bajillion dollar mansion. Hopefully the thrown comes with a crown as well.

7) Buy Victoria’s Secret 

…to find out what the goddamn secret is.

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Bad Cereal & Other Disappointments

I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. I’ve literally been as busy as Obama since school started. Except, Obama doesn’t have a personal blog, so I’m technically busier.

Update: I’m currently eating a bowl of rice krispie cereal with about 10 spoonfuls of brown sugar, almond milk (to add in a healthy kick), and a glass of wine. I don’t know why anyone eats this cereal. It tastes like a wet couch cushion. There is literally no flavor and nothing to look forward to. At least with lucky charms, you can eat all the fake cheerios and then save the marshmallows for the climax of your meal. The brown sugar helps, but I must add in that I considered having a second bowl of just brown sugar and almond milk to satisfy my drunk belly.

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Update 2: (I’m not complaining, but I’m about to complain). I have a decently full schedule this semester. I have to take five classes, work two jobs, be the head of marketing for some magazine, and teach a class. I’m not sure who let me be in charge of anything, but I’m in charge of a lot of things. Be that as it may, I am taking a creative non-fiction class to satiate the urge to talk and write about myself all day long. I will be posting some of those stories as blog posts until further notice. Definitely give me feedback if you can! I prefer comments like “omg best writer ever!” and “Ernest Hemingway reincarnated as a woman.” If you HAVE to be constructive, please let my ego down easily.

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I was going to run in 2020 as a surprise candidate, but Kanye beat me to it. I wish I could buy you all pumpkin spice lattes and Ugg boots. To be continued…