The Official 2016 Wrap Up and My Unofficial Resolutions

My mom sent me an email this evening (okay like 20 minutes ago) wishing me happy new year and that she said (and I quote)

Hi! Am home this evening. No plans, but I have always hated New Years. –  too many expectations and unfulfilled resolutions. Am going to clean out my file cabinet in the den, as I always do for NY, and run the wood stove.
Yup. That’s my mom. She spends every new years eve/day cleaning out one filing cabinet in her house. Meanwhile, I’m doing laundry and plan on shaving for the first time in 2 months while consuming some NOT $5 wine and rewriting the lyrics to Wake Me Up When September Ends by Green Day (obviously, to be titled Wake Me Up When 2016 Ends). This may end up in a Green Day listening marathon and trying to awfully cover some Green Day songs on my guitar. Check the Instagram feed on the right side of this blog if you wanna see what happens after I’m through a couple of glasses. Sorry, Mom. I love you. I hate New Years too.
As far as resolutions go? Well, I did look back at my resolutions from last year (thank you, Facebook) and they go as follows:
1. Get back into yoga and running (I did not)
2. Stop buying $4 bottles of wine (any of previous posts will prove that didn’t happen. Sorry, but I’m a broke, unemployed alcoholic)
3. Graduate and move to Colorado (THAT I TOTALLY DID DO, where is my diploma UMBC???)
So I set some more realistic expectations for this year.
1. Seriously stop buying $4 bottles of wine
2. Reinvent my guitar career (via my room and entertaining my stuffed animals and boyfriend)
3. Overcome social anxiety (not sure how realistic that is, but we’ll see)
4. Climb a 14r. Definitely doable out here.
5. Don’t associate with sociopaths and fuckboys (definitely doable)
6. Get off of my klonopin
7. Stop vaping so I stop looking like such a douchebag
8. Not chop off my hair into a pixie cut so I regret it for the entirety of growing it out
9. Visit potential cities to move to (maybe just “city,” I’ll start with Seattle or Portland, maybe somewhere in Cali)
10. Quit therapy
11. Get serious about my writing career (you guys are reading my blog, aren’t you?)
12. Taxidermy something
13. Go to a music festival and actually have fun
Less realistic expectations:
1. Join Americorps
2. Move away from Colorado (yeeeahhhh we’ll see)
3. Overcome social anxiety (I put this in both categories, because let’s be honest, I’m such a social flaky croissant wreck)
4. Get tattooed by Kat Von D
5. Take the GRE (HAHAHAHHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA)
6. Quit drinking…………………………
I should really rethink these but really, I would like to thank for anyone who read my blog this year. You guys are awesome and deserve to be furiously happy with a cupcake and cherry on top. Unless you’re already there. Good for you.
And for real, RIP to everyone who died this year, especially my two 4 legged friends, Zeke and Gonzo who died in the same month.
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They didn’t like each other. But they were still my babies nonetheless and died quite tragically (Gonzo of pneumonia, and Zeke of an ear tumor).
Happy New Year everyone, I’ll be here with Xander and Finn and a bottle of wine.
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A letter to my friends who think I’m a huge flake but I’m actually just a social flaky croissant shaped trainwreck

I guess that title said it all. I am the flakiest friend that if I was a pie, I would literally just crumble into a pile of dust. Pie dust. I guess you could sprinkle me on a more stable pie and then it’d be like, some serious pie on pie action. Or any kind of pastry. Except that I hate pastries. So there’s that. Where was I going with this?

Oh yeah. I’m the definition of a flake, and I don’t mean to be. I really do love my friends. They’re great people. But I have reached a point in my social anxiety where being around more than 1 person at a time (maybe 2, and that’s pushing it) is basically a nightmare for me. Get some alcohol in me and I’m fine. But otherwise I’m just a gross flaky croissant from Safeway or King Soopers (seriously Safeway, your “croissants” are just a curly lump of buttery, over salted dough with burned flakes that get f**king everywhere).

I’ll stop talking about pastries now. Because they’re gross. Especially eclairs which are basically a phallic cream filled ball of especially disgusting dough. Case in point.

I didn’t really realize how much of a flake I’ve been until D texted me and pointed out that I’ve been bailing on my friends a lot and asked me if I’m okay. Answer? Absolutely not.

It’s not that I don’t want to see my friends, I really do. Since D has been back home in Maryland the past couple weeks, I’ve been really lonely. I told myself that I was gonna use this time that he’s away as an excuse to see my friends, but instead, Netflix and my bed and a bottle of wine have been the only friends I want to see (side story: don’t drink a 1.5 liter bottle of wine in one sitting. Or attempt to. I don’t think I need to expand on that story actually. But please, for your own health and sanity, don’t do it).

I know that I should push myself to get out of the house more and socialize more, but I’m kind of just okay with not being okay right now. Yeah, social withdrawal is one of the biggest signs of depression, but by pushing myself out into the great unknown of socializing, that just makes everything worse. I’ve also reached a point where I’ve bailed on everything I was invited to this week to the point where my friends are threatening to kidnap me. I guess that’s what makes them good friends.

If you know someone with this kind of anxiety, don’t make them socialize if they’re literally hiding in bed crying about it and comparing themselves to flaky pie dough. Text them so they don’t have to talk on the phone. Bring them their favorite food and watch Netflix with them so they don’t have to leave the house. Social anxiety isn’t just being awkward around people. It’s a legitimate fear of engaging in social activities. It’s the fear of not having an escape route for when I need to climb back into my anxiety cave.

So, I’m sorry friends that I’ve bailed on every holiday thing that happened this week. This isn’t a good time for me. I love you all. Come kidnap me if you wish.

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being unhappy doesn’t make you miserable

So yesterday I wrote about all the things I want or try to do when I get catatonically depressed. One of these things was read The Oatmeal. It works. As I was stumbling through the Oatmeal last night, I found this comic. And I realized how okay it is not be okay. That it’s okay to be unhappy. Being unhappy doesn’t mean you’re depressed. It just means that you’re not HAPPY with fireworks coming out of your asshole and giant sparkles and stars for eyes, but you’re not a complete miserable blob either. You’re just middle ground. Just unhappy.

Read this and you’ll see what I mean.

It’s okay to not be happy.

Have a nice day everyone (and yes it’s already almost 1pm and so yes that’s the beginning of my day because I take no shame in waking up late everyday and not being a productive member of society, but I should probably keep job hunting.

things I do when I get catatonically depressed

  1. Look up pictures of fluffy dog butts on Pinterest. Corgis have the fluffiest butts, hands down.
  2. Watch my rats attack each other in their little t-rex way. The winner is the one who manages to stay up on his hind legs and push the other one over. The winner gets to groom the opponents belly.
  3. Pretend that I’m Adele and horribly belt out songs with my guitar. This isn’t so good for my self esteem. Note to self: do not record.
  4. Free association writing. Pick up some paper. Write down some random shit. Tear it up and throw it away (well actually please recycle it, unless you want to burn it, then that’s okay too).
  5. Eat something healthy because I know I really want to eat all of the cheese in my fridge and drink all of the beer I have. Strawberries and health tea make me feel superhuman for a second.
  6. Wear the comfiest socks I own.
  7. Put on non waterproof mascara and cry for the satisfaction of the emo look. It mostly just ends up being random streaks of black on my face.
  8. Clean my room. OCD tendencies are instantly satisfied.
  9. Pick up a damn book.
  10. Do not look at Facebook. I repeat. Do not. Look. At. Facebook.
  11. Read The Oatmeal
  12. Look at these cuties again. It was so cute I cried and sent the picture to my boyfriend.
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2016: The Unnecessarily Heated Debate

I really don’t like posting statuses on Facebook that are controversial. Mostly because I avoid arguments like the plague, and some people just get way too angry about it and then post unnecessary comments under it like “MY FAMILY WAS MURDERED BY HARAMBE.” Or, you know, something like that, because everyone has that one friend on Facebook with completely uncalled for and unfactual opinions that they post just to prove a point. I get it. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion.

But yesterday I finally got so fed up with everyone posting about 2016 and how they can’t wait for it to be over. And it got me thinking. I’m pretty sure everyone said the same thing about 2015 too. And 2014. So I posted this status:

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I mean, for real guys, if everyone in 1348 had Facebook, imagine those statuses at the end of the year. “Well, everyone, the black death has doth taken my entire family and most of my friends, leaving me alone in poverty. I resign myself from 1348 and will spend this New Years Eve in prayer that 1349 will bring us abundance and joy.” Or however they talked in 1348. I’m not really sure. But that year had to really suck. Continue reading “2016: The Unnecessarily Heated Debate”

Holiday Blues and a premature 2016 wrap up

Well, 2016. You’ve been quite a trip. Every year brings new surprises both good and bad, but at least I can say that I crossed off some of my 2016 goals. And then dealt with some unexpected things as well. Wanna hear them? Too bad. Here they are. Continue reading “Holiday Blues and a premature 2016 wrap up”

keeping cheap wine next to the shampoo in the shower

Thoughts on the elliptical today after too much adulting: 2016 has been a back and forth of me being adult as f**k and regressing to cuddling with my mom while she reads me picture books. And then (as anyone who has me added on Snapchat will know) me crying in the shower while drinking $5 wine from the bottle. So much that the 1.5 litre bottle comes with me to the shower. Do you know how hard it is to drink from that size of a bottle? Not easy. Semi-pro status. Semi/mostly alcoholic status. Continue reading “keeping cheap wine next to the shampoo in the shower”