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107 Roommates You’ll Have In Your Twenties – Part 1

7 Jun

Created with the lovely Hilary Miller

Parts 2, 3, and 4

Roommates List 1.4

Roommates List 1.4

25 Habits To Break By 25

6 Dec

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Recently HelloGiggles made a list:

25 habits to break by 25

I read it eagerly, wondering how I was doing.  Was I as good as a 25 year old?  How far behind am I?

Would I even pass 17 habits to break by 17?

Before I knew it, I was evaluating myself, my life, and my well being by this very list.

Then before I knew it again, I was publishing this post about it!

What is happening?

 

25 Habits to break by 25 (and how I’m doing on them)

YES = habit broken      NO = still trucking

25. Eating in bed

Nope.  I never plan on giving this one up and I have pretty strong feelings on the matter. I will never let go, Jack!  I will eat on the tray in my bed every single day and I will love the crumbs and so will you!

I’m getting too passionate about this.  We have 24 to go.

24. Too much takeout or Seamless

Hmm…if we include fast food in this then no I have not broken this habit.  I have finely honed my ordering skillz though.  In-N-Out fries animal style with chilis and a side of mustard and trust me.

23. Chasing after unworthy dating prospects

Yes!  I got one!

22. Overusing your debit/credit card

In progress.  Oh, ever in progress. I do go to Starbucks and get hot water sometimes now so that’s something.  I tell myself that’s something.

21. Staying up late to watch TV/Netflix

I am an old woman and I do not stay up late anymore this is my truth.

20.  Leaving your tab open at the bar

Never an issue.

19.  Feeling bad every time a new FB friend gets engaged/married or has a baby

Luckily I’ve never felt bad about this or my life would be a terrible nightmare at this point.  Hi!  From Utah!  BUT, I do still struggle seeing people’s careers I want.  That is a near-constant battle.

18. Failing to floss

Let’s say 50% of the time and call it a day.

It’s probably more like 14% of the time.

14% is very  specific.

I don’t know what’s going on.

17. 24-hour hangovers

Never an issue.

16. Drinking too much at work

Umm…didn’t know this was a thing, honestly.

15. Too many conversations via text

Feels subjective as though because I text a lot I’m a terrible friend.  I have loads of text conversations, almost anyone who has ever become my friend announces at some point “I have never texted as much as I have with you!”  I like to text.  I think I’m pretty good as far as texting goes.  I also like to see people in real life. I don’t know, I’m an introvert who wants to be alone in my room texting the people I love a lot of the time, is that so wrong?

14. Sleeping until noon on weekends

I don’t go to bed late, I don’t sleep in.  I do read a lot in the mornings.  Who knows.

13. Gossiping at work

Hmm I have a weird work situation.  Almost impossible to say.

 12. Getting too comfortable at work

Ditto.

11. Letting the trash bin pile up

Fun story!  Once at college my roommates and I kept our trash bags by the door so any time someone visited we could creep around a corner and say, “Hi so will you take that trash on your way out?”

I’ve come a long way.

 10.  Revealing too much online, in any capacity

Well dear.  I do have a blog.  I am careful on my blog.  Or at least somewhat careful. Oh I don’t know.

9. Leaving passive aggssive notes for roommates

Hahaha I once had a roommate who left a Post-it note on my phone asking me only to set my alarm for when I really wanted to wake up.

I’ve never done this in my life.

8. Stealing or borrowing without permission other people’s stuff

I feel like I did this recently and I can’t remember what it was.  Maybe a roll of toilet paper from my roommate?  Though we share the rolls of the toilets papers.  I don’t know is this TMI?  Am I breaking rule 10?

7. Chasing after trains for your morning commute

I have no morning commute SUCKAS.

 6. Being worked by strangers on the street

I rarely leave my car/room.  I rarely leave my bed, see rule 25.

5. Facebook stalking old flames

Oh this still happens occasionally. Particularly when telling an important story where only visuals will do.  This question actually inspired me to read a blog of an old flame and I don’t feel any guilt.  Did I read it to torture myself? No.  Did I sob quietly after? No.  Did I feel anything? Nah.  I don’t even know why I did it.  Wait, I do know why.

This list is ruining my life!!

4. Grocery shopping while hungry

Oh dear.  Let’s just say if 1 is never having grocery shopped in your life and 100 is Ina Garten, I’m at a 2.  Really.  Every time I go to the store they ask if I’m throwing a party and I carry two carts home.  The “once a quarter” grocery shopping thing is terrible and yes.  I’m a 2.

3. Being too nervous to ask for help

Never really an issue.  I’m very loud about my problems and about what help I need and I ask for a whole bunch of things. Like you!  Tell me something nice about my blog! Now!  And if it’s rude I’ll cry so be careful!

2. Leaving your umbrella at home before work

Los Angeles Los Angeles Los Angles

1. Forgetting to say thank you

Habit broken!!  Call me 25!!

In Which I Attend The Live Premiere Of The Bachelor

12 Jan

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Shall we start with how I made The Bachelor Ellen-ripoff selfie?

There I am in the back looking…angry?  Odd?  Annoyed?

I should have posed.  No one informed me of the picture, shockingly.

I should have posed.

All right, all right, what’s next?  Maybe a creepy screenshot?

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I’ll be honest, I imagined if I was ever on The Bachelor, the world would stop, Twitter would break, memes would be made of my face.  “That girl in the audience,” people would say in incredulous tones, “Did you see that fabulous girl in the audience expressing with her face what we have all felt but never before been able to convey?”

I have the gift of facial expressions, it’s handed down from my mother.  I wear my heart on my face, my emotions in my eyes,  my annoyances on my chin, and while none of this makes sense, you get it.

And yet I was on The Bachelor and there aren’t any memes.

Wait!

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It’s a terrible, lazy meme!

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Two terrible, lazy memes!

Three french hens!

All right, I’m getting off course.

I learned a lot from my 9 hours with reality TV for the live premiere of The Bachelor.

I learned that in order to look good on screen you need to wear an inordinate amount of makeup, and that if you aren’t you will look shiny and odd.

I learned that wearing an inordinate amount of makeup makes you look rather alarming in person.  The Bachelor people?  A bit alarming.

But great on screen.

I learned you should bring an extra phone charger, lest your iPhone die in the middle of your (brilliant) live tweets.

I also learned about jewel tones.

You have to wear jewel tones on camera, you know.  Well, if you’re not part of the “talent” you do.  It’s probably another conspiracy to keep the audience looking gross so the talent looks better in comparison.  That and making us stand on a red carpet in boiling heat without hydration, faux enthusiastically cheering for everyone.

Would you belive I did not own a jewel toned outfit before this event?  That I had to go to H&M and find their “weirdos” rack and buy a fuzzy pink sweater because it was the only jewel tone thing in the store that I felt I might reuse?  You probably would believe it.

OK, OK.  What next.

Here’s me and Cait taking a selfie in the bright, bright sun.

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Maybe this selfie?

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Probably not.

But!  That’s Dolly Parton’s favorite lipstick and Michelle Money did tell me she liked it.  We also talked about Utah high schools, because that’s what you do with Michelle Money.

With Courtney you talk about Ben.  (Only a little.)

The whole experience of standing on a red carpet cheering for these people was so odd.

I think even “the stars” know it’s odd.  These are regular people.  The only thing they’ve done of note is appear on a reality TV show.  Some of them are also notably beautiful, but not all of them.  And we’re supposed to pretend they are some celebrity?  I’m supposed to cry as though I’m meeting a role model who has really changed my life?

Eh.

I didn’t get starstruck except for when I met Neil Lane and boomed, “I LOVE WHAT YOU DID WITH MILEY’S RING.”  He seemed a bit…overwhelmed…I knew his work so well.  “Oh really?” he said while I giggled uncontrollably.

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Will you look at that happiness?  My face cannot contain my happiness.  Cait’s either, for that matter.

I should meme that one.

WHEN YOU MEET THE MAN OF THE DIAMONDS.

So.

I got tickets to the First Ever Most Romantic And Dramatic Season Yet live premiere of The Bachelor because of Twitter.  That’s how the world works now, you follow Elan Gale and then somehow you end up sitting behind Courtney and Graham at the premiere.

My prime location had to do with Caitlin’s loudness/love of attention and the two farmer wives we fell in with early in the day.  Farmer wives make for a good storyline in the season of Prince Farming and so we were placed at the front to answer Chris Harrison’s questions.  “Idaho wives, with me!” the producer said, and Cait and I scampered along with our newfound John Deere friends.

Unfortunately we were not asked any onscreen questions.

I was ready for them, though.

Chris Harrison: Why do people love Farmer Chris so much?

Me: Farmers are the new doctors

When I told Cait my secret plan, the pithy sentence I would just throw out at Chris instead of the typical “He’s sweet/genuine/hot” she laughed and laughed.

“You weirdo,” she said.  “I’ll respond with ‘corn is the new black.'”

And so we sat, armed with great answers and not enough makeup.

We didn’t ever get to use our lines.

We did, however, get free Subway sandwiches, so the whole, crazy  9-hour experience was probably worth it in the end.

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These Days

21 Nov

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There’s this group of men who eat breakfast at Lily’s every morning.  They’re older, definitely retired, with white hair and grandpa pants and shoes to accommodate their slower pace.  They sit in the table at the back, the one by the window.  And they laugh.

When I come in around 8:30 one of them stands up and opens the door for me.  The others continue their loud conversation.

There’s probably 10 of them, these best friends.  I like to imagine they were all firefighters back in the day.  Or perhaps they served in the army together.  Maybe they were barbers?  One of them was a barber and he cut everyone else’s hair?

So many exciting possibilities.

So many relationship goals.

I dreamt I was Meg in the Paper Towns movie.

Meg is not a character in Paper Towns.

I’ve been following John Green and Cara Delevingne’s Instagrams perhaps a little too closely, it would seem.

Also, when I was in elementary school someone told me my gymnastics outfit made me “look like a Megan.”

I think it all comes back to this.

Also also, I think Cara as Margo is bloody effing brilliant.

I dreamt my roommate was taken captive by Brian David Mitchell.

I read Elizabeth Smart’s book recently.  I was her same age and living in Salt Lake when she was taken from her home at knifepoint in 2002.

I slept in my parents’ room for a week after her disappearance and had bars installed in my basement windows.

Ever since then I’ve had an irrational fear of being taken.

My brother says so do all girls my age from Utah.  He calls us the Elizabeth Smart Generation.

This week I woke up from my Brian David Mitchell dream shaking.

Over a decade later and I’m still shaking.

Finally, The Sexiest Man Alive Official Deputy Central Committee Of Delight got it right.

Chris Hemsworth.

Finally.

I’m still a little miffed they haven’t given Ryan Gosling his time in the sun.  The man has a feminist book named after him for the love of everything holy and right.

But Chris.

Finally.

Remember the dreadful year they put Liam but not Chris on the list?  Love me some Liam, but LET’S BE RATIONAL, PEOPLE.  We don’t have to choose Hemsworths.  Both Hemsworths exist.

(I feel like Anne Lamott would say here: God knows what She’s doing.)

Yesterday I went to find Jude Law’s SMA cover to tweet along with a classy #neverforget and realized that Jude became Sexiest Man Alive the year I turned 17.

It’s all coming together.

I am perpetually 17.  My sexiest man was officially sexiest when I was 17.

I’m a parody of a parody.

HAVE YOU WATCHED THIS?

I showed this to my one hour drama class last year.  Jude’s son Rafferty was my ideal male lead in the teen soap I wrote.

Rafferty Law.

What a name.

Brooklyn Beckham was also cast in my teen soap, if you must know.

David Beckham, another of my true loves, has never been Sexiest Man Alive, and I fear it’s too late for him.

He probably peaked when I was 17, too.

Luke is perpetually 21.

One of my friend’s bachelorette parties is at a dance studio in Hollywood where a professional will teach us Beyonce moves and we will make a music video.

I am, without argument, the worst dancer in the world.

I recently went to Zumba and am trying to option my 40 minute experience into a Lifetime horror movie.

But.

Isn’t this the coolest bachelorette party of all the bachelorette parties?

I always said I didn’t want a bachelorette party.

But now.

I saw Owen Wilson on Monday!

Luke was inside Lily’s getting us napkins, and it was all so quick it almost seems like a happy dream plopped in the middle of a very stressful week.

Owne’s hair was wet.

Clearly, he had been surfing.

He was wearing a baseball cap.

Clearly, he didn’t want to be recognized.

But his nose.

Owen’s nose.

He is recognizable.

Clearly.

My sophomore year of college I spilled a bag of carrots in my car and  decided I didn’t have the energy to pick them up.  A few days later I was left with moldy, distorted lumps of toxic waste littering my floor.

I sent my friends a rather dramatic email on the subject:

I realized I am a carrot.  Something went really wrong in my life and I spilled all over the car.  I couldn’t get myself to pick it up because I was having a string of bad days.  And now I’m moldy and gross, and, in fact, unrecognizable from my former self.  

(I’ve always been extremely profound.)

This week I had my second life carrot experience.

I washed my sheets on Thursday but didn’t get around to putting them back on my bed for a full seven days.  I went a whole week sleeping on a decaying mattress pad, telling myself I would “get to it.” “It’s OK.”  When I finally put the linens on my bed I had hair ties and makeup and empty Snapple bottles at my feet. I had a sports bra under my face and 12 books beside me.

Somehow in a week’s time I became moldy carrot girl again, and I can’t help but wonder why.

Why I couldn’t just put on the sheets?

Shouldn’t I be able to put on the sheets?

Why do some people just put on the sheets?

Bailey from Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants teaches my pilates class.

I want to say something to her, but then I don’t.

I obviously don’t.

“Bailey, give me the goods on Blake Lively.  Were you at the wedding?  How uncomfortable/comfortable does Preserve make you?”

“And about Alexis.  Do you think she lives without a toilet now that Pete is in her life?”

Lice!

This week someone in my life discovered she has lice.  Lice!

Mandee (rather distressingly) told me that she knew a girl with lice who had to cut off her hair, Julie Andrews-style.

I DO NOT HAVE JULIE ANDREWS’ FACE.

Hilary suggested, if this were to happen, if my hair were lost to the lice monsters, I should chronicle my journey as a poor woman’s Julie Andrews in a new blog:

Your One True Beauty.

Lice!

Louisa May!

In case you would like a picture of my hair pre poor-woman’s-Julie-Andrews cut, you can see it in my first article for Self Magazine:

This Milkmaid Braid Will Solve Weekday Hairdo Woes

!!!!!!

!!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!!!!

(That was my postmodern way of conveying my excitement at seeing my article on Self!)

!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Get it?

Got it?

Good.

I do not have lice.

I am the queen of ordering bulk food products online and I need help.

This week it was 36 whatchamacallits.

I told myself not to be irrational.  To truly check every place in Malibu for these mediocre candy bars I happened to be craving one afternoon.

I checked.

They weren’t there.

I ordered.

My roommate found them at the gas station the next day.

It’s a sitcom episode trying to figure out what to do with the whatchamacallits.

(Because, of course, after the bulk order came in I discovered whatchamacallits aren’t as good as I once remembered.)

Should I donate them?

Use them in my next church lesson?

Eat them slowly over the next 36 years?

“He’s the most beautiful man who ever walked the earth – an absolutely perfect oil painting” — Naomi Watts on Jude Law.

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#neverforget

Selfies: The Agony And The Ecstasy

17 Oct

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I have a couple of items of important business for you on this fine Friday afternoon.

1. I only have one smelly armpit.  Lena Dunham mentioned this same condition in her book, and it made me feel a bit more normal, but it also made me wonder, do we all only have one smelly armpit?  Is this just something we never talk about because we are trying to be polite and appropriate? (Please check your pits and report back in the comments, thank you.)

2. Other things people don’t talk about: female facial hair.

3. Other things I want to talk about: Scandal.  Why am I only so-so about this show?  I enjoy it.  But I don’t ENJOY IT WANT TO SCREAM IT FROM THE ROOFTOPS ENJOY IT and it’s weird for me because what does enjoy it with a lowercase e even mean?  I’m not that person.

OK then.

Last thing.

Most important thing.

Self Magazine.

I’m working with Self Magazine this year!  Do you see that button to your right? The pink and black little banner thing that says Self Made Collective when you scrolllllll up? That banner proclaims to the world that I’m working with Self Magazine this year.

This means you’ll be seeing my articles on their website and various other fun things.  It also means you get this blog post with my selfie outtakes! And this Instagram with me talking about why I’m #SelfMade.  Let’s pull it up, shall we?

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Hey! My first ever Instagram selfie and it’s all thanks to the new @selfmagazine. I am #SELFMade because I have crazy big dreams and I (rather dramatically) pursue them. Also because I made Rice Krispie Treats by myself today.

Whew.  Seeing that again brings up a lot of anxiety.  I don’t know how you do it, people who just take casual selfies, but the morning I took this selfie I had a panic attack, paced around my roommate’s bed, and questioned all of which I know in this world.  Why do people take selfies? Should I go with duck face?  Do I need professional acne help?

WHAT’S WITH THE LIGHTING IN THIS ROOM?

Is my discomfort taking selfies a feminist issue?

Why can other people just take easy, breezy, beautiful selfies?

It was agony, I tell you.

And then it was ecstasy.

Because after I posted the selfie people were kind.  And supportive.  And that was nice.

It was a very confusing time for me.

Almost as confusing as my armpit situation.

Armpit sitch.

So!  Bringing it back, bringing it back, SCREAMING IT FROM THE ROOFTOPS THAT I’M BRINGING IT BACK, here’s the deal. There’s an Instagram contest going on right now with Self.  Share how you’re #SELFMade on Instagram and you could win a trip to Hawaii from Self Magazine.  (More details here.)

(I’ve never been to Hawaii and this suddenly seems dreadfully unfair.)

(Do we think I will win the contest?)

(Unrelated but crucial, when is the appropriate time for me to reenact Olivia Pope’s monologue, “THAT IS WHAT I DO AND THERE IS NO ONE BETTER IN THE ENTIRE WORLD AT IT THAN I AM”?)

Questions, questions.

Thoughts, thoughts.

I’m signing off now and getting some pasta salad. I suggest you do the same.

May your weekend be bright and full of selfies (or not) and Scandal (or not).  Either way, I’m here for you.

PS: Girlfriend selfies, aka the only selfies I know how to take.

Leopard Print Cardigans! Waistbands! Mimi!

10 Sep

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I survived my first sample sale today, which is to say I bought two sequined dresses, one leather mini skirt and a hooded Yeti sweater vest for less than you spent on lunch and goodness does it feel good.

I’m already thinking about those sequins.  The striped shift dress of course, and the blue number, the one people said, “Oh that would be a great dress for New Year’s.” I’m thinking how I’ve never in my life had a New Year’s Eve plan that required a sequined dress, and maybe never will.

I’m thinking that if I pair the blue masterpiece with the right flannel and ankle boots I can probably make that it an everyday sort of outfit.

The thing about my place of employment is everyone is chic.  I suppose that comes with the territory of working for a fashion company (as do sample sales and clothing discounts), but I’m always a little taken aback.

Like, oh.  We wear jumpsuits and lace-up heels and mini skirts and chunky platforms to work…and then sit in a desk all day.

No one sees us, but we’re wearing 54 bangles and we’re looking fabulous.

An “off day” is a day with a neutral lipstick.

It’s quite a thing.  I almost feel like I’m back in London, where the streets are paved with black-tighted girls looking European and fabulous and I’m the American bumpkin straight from the hills of Utah a little too tired to care enough to change anything.

Also.

There was this cardigan at the sample sale.  This beautiful, long, leopard print cardigan that hit me in all the right places, and I had to decide, you see.  I got to buy one thing at 1:00 with my team, and then at 4:00 it was doors open, free-for-all. At 1:05, in a moment of panic, I went with the striped shift dress and hid the cardigan at the bottom of a pile of pleather leggings.  It was an impulse, and a risky one, but I felt confident in it, and to solidify my decision I sent a silent prayer to the fashion goddesses to protect my love.

Apparently the goddesses didn’t hear my cry. The perfect cardigan was gone when I returned.

So were the pleather leggings.

I was considering allowing pants to make a comeback in my closet because of those things and who knows when I’ll be feeling that generous again.  I can only assume the missing leggings were a sign that I never need a waistband.

Ever again.

I’m also going to go ahead and assume the missing cardigan was a punishment for something in my youth or childhood and its existence and subsequent loss will become a story I tell my grandkids.

“Listen up, people.  I almost had the perfect cardigan once,” I’ll say, pain in every syllable.  “It was glamorous and casual all in one, and won’t you believe it was as soft as the day is long.”

No Mimi!” they’ll moan. “Not this story again!”

“YES,” I’ll boom, carrying on bravely through the hurt.

“Yes this story again. Yes this story every day.  Yes, yes, yes leopard print cardigans!” I’ll roar.

Ugh I sort of can’t wait.

Dramatic Poems, Flibbertigibbets And Mindy Kaling’s Birthday

24 Jun

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Tonight Hilary sent me the following poem:

Just missing you

Only all the time

But it’s cool

 

Lying here

In my living room

Silent

Tears

 

Jk.

 

I wasn’t going to write a blog post today, but after that, it’s kind of like I have to, you know?

So.

Let’s start this baby off with my grandmother, who told me that she wants to jump out of an airplane for her 80th birthday, “And not just because George Bush Senior did on his 85th.”

I don’t have commentary on this, I just want you to think about it for a minute.

Or two.

Or three.

Or however long you need.

Next up in this manic thriller of a post–

Nick Hornby is writing about the World Cup for ESPN!  And I’m reading it!  I’m reading it all.  I’m also reading This is Where I Leave You which is the second book I’ve checked out in two months where the cover has compared the author to Nick Hornby and it’s like, oh please.

There’s only one man on earth who can make me read World Cup recaps  aloud over dinner, chuckling noisily, and that man is Nicholas Hornelby.

PS: Have you seen the cast for This is Where I Leave You?  It’s loaded and Feyed and I love a loaded, Feyed cast.

All right.  A few more items of business before you can return to watching the cancelled episodes of I Wanna Marry Harry on Hulu.

1. A friend just got me a LIBRARY due date card phone case.  It’s spectacular.

2. I tried chocolate chicken today and it is most definitely not spectacular.

Other not spectacular things in my life right now:

– My pasta salad scented lunch bag which ruins all edible items within three miles

– The fact that I won’t throw away my pasta salad scented lunch bag because I like the logo

– Adult acne

Other spectacular things in my life right now:

– My $5 knockoff Karen Walker sunglasses

– Gourmet pickles

– The Sound of Music Sing-A-Long at the Hollywood Bowl!!!!

I’m thinking of starting a countdown to the Sing-A-Long on the side of the blog to really prep myself for the experience.

(As if I haven’t been prepping for this moment my whole life.)

Maybe the countdown will have little fun phrases like “Just 42 more days, you crazy will-‘o-the-wisp!” or “Climb every mountain because you’re finding your dream in 12 days!” or “I have confidence that spring will come again in 21 days!” or something.

Or maybe it won’t.

Or maybe this is the best idea I’ve ever had.

And finally, before I log off and fall into the deep sleep of a full-time employee, today is Mindy Kaling’s birthday.

Last year for her birthday, Wendy’s sent Mindy’s staff free food. Mindy Instagrammed her spoils and said, “Your move McDonald’s” and then MCDONALD’S SENT HER FREE FOOD TOO.

This is so many levels of dreams for me.

Then today Mindy’s staff took her on a surprise helicopter ride to the Grand Canyon where they all had a lovely breakfast at the bottom of one of the wonders of the world.

Like nbd.

Mindy Kaling.  You’re a freaking birthday goddess.

Silent 

Tears

NO JK

PS: 87 days 18 hours and 49 minutes, you flibbertigibbets!!!

Better Jill

8 May

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Let’s start this thing out with a terrible San Francisco Starbucks selfie and…go!

Last week I met the better version of myself.

We will call her Better Jill and we will try not to let her existence ruin our lives.

(I don’t now where the plural thing is coming from.  Apologies from us.)

I always knew there might be a better version of myself out there, laughing loudly, quoting Dawson’s with a fury, but I preferred to think of her as a myth.

A Yeti.

Not real.

And then, last week, on a sunny day in non-sunny San Francisco, Better Jill and I came face to face.

Or curl to curl, rather.

I first saw Better Jill about a mile from my job interview location.  I immediately noticed her striped almost-mini in the sea of pantsuits and sturdy pumps.  It was the sort of almost-miniskirt that looks appropriate in professional settings, but only just.

I’m all about skirts that are appropriate but only just. Right on that border, laughing at it.

Appropriate, but only just.

That could describe a lot of things in my life.

Better Jill had wild, brown curls, but somehow a color that might be called “mousy” on me was a vibrant shade of honey-kissed peanut butter on her.  She looked a bit out of place, glancing at her phone for directions.

The light turned and she started across the street.  That’s when I saw the clincher–Better Jill was wearing killer black ankle boots!

Of course she was!

I was staring at me, but just me 2.0!  Her curls were tighter, her ankle boots fiercer, her skirt less appropriate!

Better Jill was headed the same direction as I was, and things only got weirder when we turned down the same side street.

And stopped at the same building.

And looked at our phones at the same time.

That’s when I realized something horrifying–BETTER JILL WAS MY COMPETITION FOR THE JOB.

There was no other explanation for how two girls as similar as we were–young, 20-somethings in semi-professional get-ups and ankle boots–would stand outside the same building at the same time, twirling our hair and checking our gold iPhones.

She was literally me down to my job hopes.

Only better.

I was really nervy at this point, all jumbles and giggles, and I decided I needed to calm down.

I headed into the nearest Starbucks and took a few cleansing breaths.  I was tired and carrying around a vat of lotion because when you come into the city seven hours before your interview you need a vat of lotion just in case.  You also need a curling iron.  And eyebrow gel.  And a bag that can support every irrational thing you think you should bring seven hours in advance just in case your plan of “sit very still and not ruin anything” doesn’t work out and you have to redo your look before your interview.

I settled into a corner table and pulled out my MacBook.  I texted a few friends about meeting the better version of myself and they laughed it off and I laughed too.

Things were calm.

Er.

Calmer.

Whew that was a manic time!

AND THEN BETTER JILL WALKED INTO MY STARBUCKS.

I lost it at that point, obviously.  “GUYS, BETTER JILL JUST WALKED INTO STARBUCKS THIS IS UNREAL.  She pulled out a MacBook.  I’m making this more than it is, right? Or AM I?”

I stared at Better Jill’s curls jealously from behind my computer screen, wondering exactly how much of my reaction was “crazy due to job interview stress” and how much of this was “crazy due to crazy.”

Katie responded to my crazy-due-to-crazy texts, “Never mind other Jill.  I’m sure she’s 50% the writer you are and 400% the drama and no one could love her like we love you.”

I took a few more cleansing breaths and turned on Frasier.

I don’t know exactly when Better Jill left Starbucks on that fateful San Francisco day.  I didn’t even notice, actually.  She slipped out of my life as quietly and quickly as she had slipped in, leaving her mark on my very soul.

**Insert musical note emojis**

I’ve heard it said

That people come into our lives

For a reason,

Bringing something we must learn.

And we are led

To those who help us most to grow

If we let them.

And we help them in return.

I catch myself thinking of Better Jill from time to time.  What is she doing at this very minute?  Is she also wearing a black floral mumu and topknot?  Are her nails a buttery shade of Easter purple today, just like mine?

Is she at a coffee shop with her two best friends blogging about her experience with Lesser Jill?

Is she thinking of me too?

I’ll probably never know.

All that can be said for certain is I know I’m who I am today because I found Better Jill.

Because I met her, I have been changed.

For good.

Girlfriend Selfies

5 Feb

There’s a particular breed of selfie out there that I’ve dubbed The Girlfriend Selfie.

Girlfriend Selfies are taken with the express intent to send to your girlfriends.  They are not meant to be seen by the public.  They are not meant for the boys you like.  They are meant, and exist only in the world of girl.

I most often use my Girlfriend Selfies to:

  1. Show off a great outfit
  2. Show off a bad outfit
  3. Show off a great hair day
  4. Show off a bad hair day
  5. Garner opinions on a new muumuu

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Boom shakalaka panda muumuu shakalaka I BOUGHT THAT THING.

The line to crazy town may have been crossed.

Girlfriend selfies are the greatest of all selfies because there is no thought put into them.  No lips are puckered.  No filter is applied.  No mirror is wiped down.  It’s just pure you and the moment you need to have someone validate.

For the record, I only ever send Girlfriend Selfies because other selfies seem like a lot of work.  Also, I try my best not to pucker my lips.

Here’s a Girlfriend Selfie I got from Cait and whoa would you look at her bomb eyelashes???

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(Example of the Girlfriend Selfie validation).

I sent Cait a particularly crappy sunglasses selfie earlier this week (after I sent the pic to Ash, who had sent me the sunglasses, to celebrate Valentine’s Day, I don’t know why she swallowed the fly) and Cait said, “Love juuu.  Take many pictures today. And off to McD.”

10 minutes later I got the following text: “Just did a riveting performance of Javert’s suicide.”

And thus ended our communication for the day.

We didn’t need more.  Our Girlfriend Selfies had done all the talking.

Let’s Talk About Jared Leto’s Ombre Hair

22 Jan

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Let’s play a little game.  Jared Leto or Jill Denning.  Ready, go!

Jared or Jill?

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Jared or Jill?

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Jared or meeee?

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Ladies and ladies (do gentlemen read this blog?) it is with happy/heavy heart that I approach you with my happy/heavy feelings about my new celebrity doppleganger, Jared Leto.

Jared was an unknown doppelgänger until, of course, his new ombre hairstyle, and then he was an IN YOUR FACE doppelgänger.  I venture to say I’ve never seen a human being, in person or in picture to have such similar hair to my own.

My mother even confirms this.

I have a lot of feelings about this new development.

On the one hand, Jared is an attractive man.  Yay for being compared to attractive people!

On the other hand, Jared is also Jordan Catalano.  No for being compared to boys you are in love with!

I don’t know how far I should go here, but what does it mean if I’m in love with/attracted to Jordan/Jared/myself?

You’re right.  I shouldn’t have gone there.

We’ll end with one more.

Jared Leto or Jillian Denning?

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It’s all very confusing.