Anxiety Time Capsule

From the archives:

Perhaps my mother is correct and Google is reading my mind. The next thing you know, Wi-Fi will be pronounced “wiffy” and I’ll be lint rolling the dog.

I receive more mail from J. Crew on a daily basis than I do from my mother. I haven’t shopped at J. Crew in over a year. You’d think they’d get the message or at least assume I’d moved to Minneapolis. Free shipping on an order of $150 or more will not lure me back, J. Crew. Make me dinner. Bring home some peonies. Write me a card. Send me a complimentary cardigan.

I own four cardigans from BP* in different colors. Brown, teal, navy and gray. No one seems to notice. If left to my own devices with no moderating force I may show up at work one day in torn leggings covered in lint, a see-through tank top with bleach stains and the “fancy” gold flip flops I often wear to the grocery store. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly expecting a different result. These cardigans, they are crazy. And no, that’s not a metaphor for anything else in my life. Stop looking at me like that. Help me with these buttons.

*Yes, I still shop at BP in spite of understanding how age groups and juniors sizing works. Although I’m not sure what the cut off will be, it’ll come in either age or pounds. Hopefully the former.

Originally here.

Much like how vikings sneakily named that icy patch Greenland, Smoothville was indeed a misnomer. Off in search of Jaggedtown.

In which adulthood occasionally means drawing eyeliner mustaches on the babies of your friends.

Hot Tip: Hostess Gifts

Be sure to always keep some decorative ribbon on hand. That way, you can tie bows around little things in your apartment you no longer desire and bequeath them as hostess gifts. You’re welcome.

The Locus Of Control

A wise man recently informed me that adulthood is “merely recognizing the minimum of practicality and pragmatism.” I used to think that once I hit a certain mark on the developmental timeline of life things would change. Insurance, bedtimes, liquor consumption.

But now I realize that for so long, the adults around me were all in on it. Going about their lives, failing and succeeding, all secretly terrified that they might be found out. I think this is especially true for women (see: the Impostor Syndrome), but as I’ve dated more functional men with seemingly authentic goals it seems apply to everyone to a degree. Universally, no one knows what the hell they are doing most of the day. The rest of our hours are spent making pledges to be better or rise above.

My mother has a shirt that says Live Your Best Life on it. Her friend bought it for her when she went to see the Oprah show live. I cry whenever I see Oprah interviewed about her success. This is also true of Gloria Steinem. And Mariah Carey.

I constantly remind myself to recognize the minimum. Then I aim to do more.

• I may never have an ideal organizational system for my plastic bags.
• I will never dress appropriately for the weather.
• Tacos. All the time. 
• I can do a maximum of five things in the morning before 6:30AM. Four of them are hygiene related. None of them are breakfast.
• Internet. Forever. 

Adulthood: it beats the hell out of puberty.

Strange, this is exactly how my body feels after consuming too much caffeine around 2:35 in the afternoon on a Tuesday.

A Few Related Points

A search for “Man About the Internet” yields 1,870,000 results. “Woman About the Internet” yields only 2. What does this mean other than I should adopt that slogan for myself but I don’t want to creep Tyler Coates out?

Pandora thinks I am based in Minneapolis. All of my targeted ads advise me to buy engagement rings at the “Twin Cities finest diamond dealer” (the Shane Company, in case you were curious) and sign up for “daily Minnesota deals.” I’m not sure how this mix up happened, unless Pandora has firmly cemented itself as a third party in my relationship and is aware of my boyfriend’s city of origin. Perhaps my mother is correct and Google is reading my mind. The next thing you know, Wi-Fi will be pronounced “wiffy” and I’ll be lint rolling the dog.

I receive more mail from J. Crew on a daily basis than I do from my mother. I haven’t shopped at J. Crew in over a year. You’d think they’d get the message or at least assume I’d moved to Minneapolis. Free shipping on an order of $150 or more will not lure me back, J. Crew. Make me dinner. Bring home some peonies. Write me a card. Send me a complimentary cardigan.

I own four cardigans from BP* in different colors. Brown, teal, navy and gray. No one seems to notice. If left to my own devices with no moderating force I may show up at work one day in torn leggings covered in lint, a see-through tank top with bleach stains and the “fancy” gold flip flops I often wear to the grocery store. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly expecting a different result. These cardigans, they are crazy. And no, that’s not a metaphor for anything else in my life. Stop looking at me like that. Help me with these buttons.

*Yes, I still shop at BP in spite of understanding how age groups and juniors sizing works. Although I’m not sure what the cut off will be, it’ll come in either age or pounds. Hopefully the former.

Spooning

Most days I eat my yogurt with a fork because there is someone in this office who hoards spoons. Perhaps they have many hands and need to hold something shiny at all times. Perhaps they are hammering them down and drilling holes in the handles and crafting a decorative wind chime. I was going to post my complaint on Twitter but was then reminded that no one really cares about my spoon issues. If the Game Show Network ever gets desperate and starts pitching mashups of Minute to Win It meets Supermarket Sweep meets one of those sad commercials where women replace desserts with non-fat yogurt I might really be able to let my talents shine.

Fingers crossed.

"Three years spent away from home, slightly studying but mainly making friends and mistakes, and working out new philosophies of life at 2am with the help of a wine box, is a time-honoured way of preparing young people for life."

David Mitchell, via Whit explaining our collective experiences to me over Gchat, as usual.

Man Food Thursday / Meltdown O'Clock