Simple Kind of Life

I think that's what I need right about now.

It's not that my life is so terribly complicated, but does anyone else ever feel like they just need a break from life in general? That they need a whole life detox?

I've been trying really hard to stay upbeat despite the cold weather and utter lack of sunshine. I've been making sure that I get enough sleep, that I get my workouts in (endorphins, people!) and eat right, that I write a little every day, that I talk with friends and stay social. I've been making sure that I stay away from the things that get me stressed and cause me to freak out and ultimately turn into a downward spiral of crappy moods. But this week, it just fell apart. In spite of my best efforts, I felt horrible all week and it wasn't something I could talk myself out of. I've been overly sensitive and on edge and really getting angry at the littlest things. Which is so. not. like. me. Everyone who knows me sees me as pretty easy-going albeit a bit type-A at times. But not this past week. Sigh.

Let me give you a few examples. First of all, the holidays are usually my favorite time of the year. I just can't help but smile. But not this year. "I'll Be Home For Christmas" has sounded really depressing and buying presents for my family (which I normally love) has seemed like an impossible task. Here's another one: the other day on the bus I was just overcome with this overwhelming urge to scream because there were SO MANY DAMN PEOPLE. Yes, I do realize that it's public transportation, meaning that other people will inevitably use it as well. Which is why I could tell something was wrong with me. Then yesterday, my roommate, another friend, and I had decided to make gingerbread houses (Ok, FINE, they were graham cracker and Duncan Hines frosting houses) because we were all in the holiday spirit (or trying to be on my part). So I jumped in the shower after my run and got out to find that they had already started and were pretty much done. For some reason I was really hurt since I was assuming this was going to be a group activity and then it wasn't. Then feeling hurt made me scoff at myself for getting upset at things that wouldn't bother a seven year old.

I just don't get why this week has thrown me off so much! I don't know if I can blame PMS since that doesn't usually affect me. Plus this really seems beyond the little mood swings I normally get right before Aunt Flo comes to town. Like I said, I think I just need a little life detox. I need to shake up my routine -- the way I do things, the people I talk to, the schedule I've been keeping, the food I eat, the thoughts I think. I'm just not sure how to get started because I can't pinpoint what the trouble is. Just this inexplicable feeling that I've slowly been going crazy lately. I've even been thinking about picking up some sort of self-help book (even though I think so many are totally hokey) or something because I am at the end of my rope! Plus I need something new to read because I am STILL working my way through The Feminine Mystique.

Anyway, does anyone else ever feel like this? Just a little nuts and jumbled? And what do you do about it? Do you shake things up? Shift things around? Got any book ideas? Or just any ideas period?

It's My Life

Yeah. I just quoted Bon Jovi.

Anyway, it is my life, and lately, it's been CRAZY. But in a completely awesome way. Like in a "OMG, I am so busy but so many things in my life are going so well and I'm just so freaking content with everything that I really can't complain" kind of way. Like I'll sit at Starbucks on the weekend (when I have five seconds to breathe) and just people watch while I think about how great it is that I live in Chicago and can see all types of people everyday. Or I'll sit at my desk or on the train and almost start to smile out of nowhere as I think about something funny or kind a friend has said. Yes, I am feeling good enough about life right now that I am allowing myself to be completely and utterly cheesy.

Let me start by telling you about this new job. I'm working on the catalog for a major industrial supply company, which isn't the most glamorous thing on the planet, but I really enjoy the work. And the company seems to really value its employees which is SO MUCH more than I can say for the old one. I'm not trashing my old company because I met some really great people there and learned some priceless skills (and because I still freelance for them so I suppose I still sort of work there), but I never felt like they actually paid any attention to what I did. In my new position, I actually get a lot more autonomy in how I work and plan my assignments, but that just makes me feel like they trust my intellect and my ability to get the job done. Plus, almost everyone there is really friendly and helpful (I've met so many people who just strike up conversations on the train or in the caf) and they all seem to like their jobs. I guess a nice salary, full benefits, 100% tuition reimbursement, and countless other perks don't hurt either. Oh, and the other girls in my department are so much fun --lunch is like comedy hour. Besides my commute out to the suburbs (only an hour there... 1.5 on the way back) and the early hours (I get up at 5:30 so that I can leave my house by 6:15), I like everything about this place. And I am now a huge believer that job satisfaction contributes to life satisfaction.

I've also still been freelancing so I have extra moolah to spend on things I've been wanting to do forever. Like personal training! Which is awesome because as I mentioned before, I'm getting my ass kicked and I'm getting to know all of the trainers at the gym. I've always been an avid gym goer, but it was always just me and my workout. Now, going to the gym has become a social event. I say hi to people as I walk in, I joke around with my trainer, and I've even gotten together with other members on weekends to go for long runs.

On top of working, freelancing, singing (one of the guys from my a cappella group actually was IN "The Breakup"...ha!), and working out, I've actually been having a really great social life, which I think is a huge contributor to my immense happiness as of late. Not that didn't have friends before, but now that I live with one of my best friends, things are a lot easier. First if all, we can be each others' kind of built-in support systems. And we meet each others' friends and are both constantly expanding our social circles. And the thing about real-life friends is that you don't have to be friends with people you don't actually like. I know that sounds terrible, but in college, sometimes you had to put up with people who weren't your favorites because you were in the same group or sorority or whatever. Now, the friends I have are the ones I've chosen to keep up with. And the friends I've made lately are so great and supportive and fun on top of everything else (sorry, I'm gushing, I don't DO that). I just am feeling so fulfilled and blessed in my life. I'm not dating anyone but I'm feeling more optimistic about everything and my confidence is almost back up to its old obnoxious level so I've been talking to a lot more guys.

For a while, as much as I tried to cover it with humor, things were not going well and I felt like I was in a very dark place. Not to get all serious on you, but I feel I need to give a little background as to why I'm so happy about, well, being happy. For quite some time, I was not myself and people who knew me had noticed. But recently, I came home for my aunt's surprise 60th, and so many of my relatives were telling my mom that I just seemed so happy and that it looked like I had it all pulled together (which I don't, but it's nice to hear!). Finally, I think I was showing that I was happy living in Chicago and that I had come back into my own. Things are just finally getting back on track and I am so thankful for everything in my life... I guess this is a fitting Thanksgiving post then, isn't it?

Anyway, I know this wasn't a good story and didn't flow exceptionally well and wasn't all that humorous, but I figured I'd let everyone (or anyone who still reads) know why I've been so crazy busy and MIA lately. I am going to try to get back into blogging regularly too, now that we have Internet (yes!). For now though, I'm going to read/watch the cable I don't have in Chicago/let this Turkey day food coma wear off. Hope everyone else has something to be thankful for as well!

U Got The Look

(OK, if someone can name that song and is as obsessed with the artist as I am, we're probably the same person and would be best friends in real life. Just so you know.)

So, you know how a lot of people say they have a type? Like the kind of person they always go for or are attracted to. Their "type." Well for the longest time, I refused to believe that I had a type. "No way," I'd say. "NONE of the guys I've gone for have anything in common... no type for me." Even my friends didn't see a pattern in the guys I was interested in. There was no rhyme or reason to my selection.

Until recently, that is. I started noticing a trend toward the end of my senior year, but I wasn't sure until now. My type? It's not preppy or jock or musician or even brooding thinker (although I do love the brainy ones). Nope, none of those. My type is tall, skinny jackass.

Perhaps I should explain. For some reason I like the tall, lanky guys, and cockiness is a major plus. However, I don't mean jackass in the fratty, I-am-male-therefore-I-am-the-shit way. There's a big difference between being a bit of a jackass and being a jerky asshole. (Wow, I am doing a LOT of swearing up in huurr....sorrrryyy). I like a guy who can match wits with me, who likes a little verbal sparring, and who doesn't come at me with sickeningly sweet lines. Actually, I'm suspicious of overly nice guys. I keep the ones with the too-kind, too-smooth words at arms length. What are you hiding? What's your angle? I can't help it -- that's just the way I think.

But that's not to say that I don't like nice guys at all. Have I confused you yet? Because I'm starting to get a little lost myself. Let me see if I can work this out. The jackasses I like will get in my face and tease me, but underneath, they are actually good guys. They like my fiestiness and are usually trying to actually get to know me, not just escort me home from the bar. I like a guy who can put up a good fight, and even enjoy it, because in my opinion, they can handle a chick who can be a little bitchy in a funny, fun way. (Note: this does NOT mean high-maintenance or demanding or naggy). Those are the guys that like smart girls, and you know what? I have major respect for that.

So what spurred this discussion of my type? Well, even in a new city, I'm finding myself drawn to the same. In college, I didn't seriously date a whole lot, but that's not to say that I didn't ever go out or spend time with members of the opposite sex. Because I did. And almost all of the guys who really made me sit up and pay attention had these qualities. Well, actually the one (as in I did not have another boyfriend in college) serious boyfriend I had was only tall and skinny. No jackass factor. Just emo. Which is a problem since I'm not the biggest fan of talking about my "feelings" and "the relationship." We broke up. Duh. But moving on... I like the tall ones (over 6 feet s'il vous plait) because I can wear my biggest heels and have no worries. I really have no idea why I like the skinny ones. Maybe it's from spending so much time around runner and swimmer boys when I was younger. And the jackass-iness? (so not a word) I think I've already explained that one.

When I go out now, I notice the lanky ones smirking instead of sauntering, the ones having conversations instead of just leaning back and surveying their victims (oops, I mean the girls at the bar). I even recently met a guy at a pub (doesn't that just sound so UK?) near me, and after about an hour of flirting/exchanging clever insults, he said, smiling, "I'm sorry, I'm kind of a jackass." To which I replied (because I have no verbal filter whatsoever), "Nah, it's fine. You're just my type."

Blinded by the Light

(OK, I KNOW that someone -- or everyone -- knows this song. I think I'm just going to have to start every post with a song title or lyric from now on. Then I can say, "QUICK! Name that song!" allll the time. And you can guess, and maybe even win! Sadly, though, I don't have any prizes because I'm poor, but I could...like... rewrite your resume (that's my job) or tell you you're neat or something. Or you could not get anything but the satisfaction of knowing that you are up on all the hits, past and present.)

For some reason, my motivation to work out has been nonexistent for the past three days. Which is very odd because if I go more than two days without some activity I get ANTSY. This might be because I'm not allowed to wear my contacts for a while (more on that in a sec), and the only thing I can really do is the elliptical or the recumbent bike while wearing my glasses. I just don't love these. Or really even like them much. I just want to ruuuuun, especially since our weather here has been perfect for it lately. But in glasses, it's not really easy. They slide down my nose or sweat drips on them or they bounce around and mess up my depth perception (my palms have met the sidewalk and many a building corner trying to run in glasses). And honestly, my eyes are so bad that not wearing glasses is NOT an option, kids.

OK, so this is the "more on that in a sec" part. I've been having problems with my eyes for a couple months. I figured it was just dirtier air from living in the city during the summer. Hmm, well, maybe I was wrong. I woke up early Saturday morning and realized that OMG I LEFT MY CONTACTS IN. Normally I wouldn't freak out so much that it required all caps, but with the eye issues, I was worried. Also, I haven't done this in forever. As in, if I did no other thing when stumbling in at 4 in the morning during college (OK, and a few times in the past few months. -- I'm really no good at lying), I took out my contacts. About 4 hours later on Saturday morning, my eyes were blood red, I had tears streaming down my face and I was having major photosensitivity issues. I HAD to get to an emergency clinic downtown because I literally could not see. The problem with that was... I could not see. Which makes wandering around the third largest city in the country really fun.

Or one of the scariest things I've ever done in my life.

I decided that I should probably not go it alone since two feet ahead (if that) was pretty much as far as I could see. So I tried calling T to see if she might be able to accompany her invalid friend downtown, but she was out on a long run. I left her one message saying, "Hey give me a call back... I kind of need a favor, but it's not a huge deal." Half an hour later, I left her another voicemail, this time featuring me crying and throwing around the word "emergency" because, well, I thought I was literally going to lose my sight. After I was on the train because I already decided that I just had to get downtown before the clinic closed, she called me back, fearing the worst. Oops, silly me, I forgot to tell her that the problem was just my eyes and that I needed her to hop on the train with me. She thought I was hurt and/or dead (can you be both? I mean... if you're dead, are you really hurt anymore? did i just ask that?) because I was an idiot and told her I could walk home alone from the bar the night before. So here she was wracked with guilt, thinking she had let her Chicago BFF (because I know that's what I am to you, right?!!?) die a less-than-noble, wine-fueled death. Sorry for the minor heart attack, T!

Anyway, in leaving my apartment, I realized I couldn't wear my glasses because I had to put sunglasses on due to the photosensitivity. But guess what, folks? My vision is at NEGATIVE EIGHT. I am that nearsighted. When they ask me to look at an eye chart without any form of vision correction, all I can (barely) make out is the gigantic E at the top. And really I think I've just memorized that -- all I really see is a big, black, fuzzy block. So for me, walking around Lincoln Park and downtown Chicago with no visual help is practically suicide. Just so we're clear, I know that actual blind people do this all the time and we don't hear about them meeting their maker on a daily basis. And I give them sooooo much more credit for that after this experience. But, you see, even though my vision IS terrible, I'm not used to not being able to see at all. On Saturday, not only was I without contacts or glasses, but I had to keep my eyes shut for most of the time I was walking around because the burning and light sensitivity were that bad. And unlike our severely visually impaired friends, I am not used to being in the dark. And I don't have the city memorized without the use of my eyes. And I didn't have a stick. I knew that when I got off at Wabash and Madison, Monroe would be to one side of me and Washington would be to the other. (Thank goodness Chicago is built on a grid!) But that was about it. I didn't have the number of steps memorized for each block, and of course, there is major construction on Wabash that is blocking the sidewalks, meaning I pretty much had to walk in the street. Great timing, Chicago.

After all that, I did make it to the doctor -- who, after looking at my bloodshot eyes, was amazed I made it without major injury and prescribed me with steroid eye drops to reduce the inflammation and clear up any possible conjunctivitis from such bad irritation (ew, yeah, I know). She also seemed a little frightened when she took a look at my eyes -- at least from what I could see. And she made me call T, who gladly obliged to pick me up on the Brown Line (and then cringed when she saw my eyes) so she didn't have to worry about me meeting an untimely death again. Then I popped in some eye drops and about 5 ibuprofen, and had to lie in bed for about 4 hours with my eyes shut with a bag of ice over them except when I was putting in drops every two hours. That KILLED ME. I wasn't tired so I couldn't really sleep. And I'm naturally kind of restless, which doesn't help when I've been told to just lie still alllll day. All I could do was listen to music and you know, be alone with my own thoughts, which is usually not the most stellar plan of action for a nut-job like moi. Like I said, people, that just about killed me.

But do you know what was worse than that about this whole day? (OK, besides the burning sensation and almost dying when I stumbled through a crosswalk that clearly said "DON'T WALK.") The worst part was having to explain to people what my deal was all day. I mean, I know I didn't have to, but everyone I encountered thought I was on drugs. I went into Starbucks in a Dominick's grocery and would not take off my sunglasses indoors. And I'm sure I was looking slightly to the left of the barista and he was thinking, "Yeah, like YOU need more coffee." Then when I had to enter my PIN for my debit card, I literally leaned my face down to within two inches of the keypad just so I could see the numbers. And on the train, I think everyone felt really uncomfortable sitting next to the potential junkie. Who was wiping her nose and twitching occasionally when she looked into the light just a little too directly. And the security guard at the doctor's building and the pharmacy girl at Walgreen's? They were none too patient with scary girl with bloodshot eyes and suspiciously dilated pupils. Until I finally kind of snapped and said, "I'm sorry, having a little trouble with my vision here, so it's just a tad difficult for me to sign whatever paper you are waving in my face." They were suddenly very nice to me.

Every other time I just got on the phone with my mom (let's call her Super Nurse Practitioner for diagnosing me via phone) to give her a loud update of my progress (yes I was THAT girl on the train) so that people could overhear and think, "Oh, poor girl, she's not calling her dealer for a fresh shipment of coke after all." You know what, maybe that was too much trouble to go through. If this ever happens again, I'm just going to show everyone my red eyes, get all Whitney on them, and yell, "Bobby! Crack is WHACK!" Then we'll see what happens.

Cool Stuff I Get to Do Because I Live in Chicago

I'm going to be completely honest with you here. I'm not always totally crazy about living in Chicago -- only because it's still the Midwest and well, I was trying reeeeaaallly hard to get out after graduation. And I really still want to live on the East Coast and maybe even down South before I finally settle down. And because all we're known for in the Midwest is auto factories and farms (odd, now that I think about it). And because no one considers it a mecca of culture or class. And because those on the coasts expect us to be fat and slightly ignorant, driving only tractors or made-in-the-USA cars. That's all.

OK, with all of that said, I truly think Chicago is awesome in its own right. Especially when I let myself forget that I'm living in a state named Illinois. Anyway...this city is so vibrant and full of culture and is really the best of the Midwest (besides Ann Arbor, of course. My heart will always belong to you, city of my alma mater!). Proving that point, this weekend I had the chance to partake in a little bit of big city life when I attended the Gay Pride Parade! I was a women's studies major at liberal Umich, but I never really got too involved in the LGBT stuff. I like to think I'm fairly open-minded and, at school, I did have LGBT friends/acquaintances but because the issues never directly affected me, I kind of took on a "meh" attitude. Kind of a "live and let live, but that's about it." Selfish. Naive. Whatever you want to call it. Anyway, not saying I'm going to go all activist on you, but I now have a greater appreciation for other people's lifestyles. And the HUGE turnout of the parade as well as the awesome amount of participation from all walks of life from Chicago really had an impact on me.

I actually had no one to go with but I went by myself because a) This was a once a year opportunity, b) It was a chance to be a part of something going on across the country, and c) It was LITERALLY outside my window. No, really. RIGHT OUTSIDE my second-floor, crappy, above-a-neon-sign-that-keeps-me-awake-at-night window. Much to my chagrin (most of the time), I live on the main drag (ha, sorry, no pun intended... you'll get it when you see some of the pictures...). But in this case, living on one of Chicago's busiest streets was awesome! I not only got to see the whole parade when I walked down the street, but I was able to see everyone getting their floats ready before the festivities from my living room table (the parade actually started a few blocks up from me).

So, without further ado -- pictures!

The news was there, of course!

One of the many crazy, awesome floats in the parade.

I wish I could upload the video from phone --these dancers were amazing!

Do you get my terrible pun from earlier now?








This made everyone standing around me cheer!

Everyone there had so much SPIRIT!

(What's that? You think I should stop with the jokes?)

Another group of awesome dancers from a community organization.

Buddhists....

United Methodists, Lutherans.....

Catholics...

Jews....

...every faith was showing its support!

There was just something so perfect about this.

Hot boys who couldn't be interested in me if they tried... Sigh.

I took quite a few pictures of this one when the parade was stopped for about half an hour. How can you not love it?

Loved it.

These nice ladies saw me documenting the parade in the rain and called me over to give me flowers from their float! I was smiling all day from the amazing vibes from everyone there.

HA. Nothing more to say.

I have SO many more pictures, but this one just says it all:

Growing up with a side of nostalgia

OK...so I'm trying to actually blog more than once in a great while but I'm feeling lazy today so I am simply posting something I wrote a while back. I also went to an alumni meet and greet tonight so I was recalling the ole alma mater pretty fondly. The letter in the body of this work was adapted from one I originally gave to my friends right before I graduated. It was sappy, which is something I don't normally do, but it was clear and I was proud of what I had written. My parents also stumbled upon it when I wasn't living at home, but I had carelessly left it in a box of old junk they thought I was planning on tossing. Anyway, my dad convinced me to turn it into an article to send to the alumni magazine or some other UMich publication (guess I just gave away where I went to school), but it's kind of been a work in progress for a while. Like I said, I really worry about sending my stuff out for fear of rejection (even though NOT sending it really isn't doing me any good either). Well finally, I at least sent it to a couple of friends who were (or at least pretended to be) impressed. Whether it actually gets published or not is to be determined still, but at least, in some way, I'm starting to get my writing out there. So almost a full year after graduation, here is a little advice to the class of 2008 --at any school-- and a new alum's point of view:

"I am now convinced that what they say is true, that we do not appreciate the things we have when we actually have them. Most significantly, our youth. Now, I am undeniably not what I would call old, or even a “grown up,” having graduated not even a full year ago. However, I do feel that I did mature slightly in my four years at the University of Michigan – and even more so after moving to Chicago on my own. And maybe –just maybe – that gives me the right to impart a bit of wisdom here. I, for one, know that I did not savor every moment I spent learning in Ann Arbor, both in and out of the classroom. So often, I simply bided my time waiting for the semester to be over. I stared at my watch during rehearsals and meetings. I calculated the hours until the next weekend or break. In my rush (I was never on time), I waved and hurried past even the closest of friends, assuming we could catch up later. I cannot begin to count the weeks through which I simply floated – or, rather, flew. My four years were a blur, and I now wish I hadn’t wished them all away.
However, after graduation, I realized something else. That rushing through our youth, in our impatience to grow up, is a part of growing up itself. If we lived in the moment for our entire lives, we would have no need to look back on a time when everything felt confusing yet anything seemed possible. We wouldn’t need that nostalgia that already washes over me when I hear “Yellow and Blue,” our alma mater. If we fully appreciated what we had – these four (or five, or six, or nine) years – when we had it, we might not miss it so much or recall it so fondly. If we did everything we wanted to and said everything we meant to say during this short period of time, we would not yearn – or wish with all our hearts – that we could go back.
Now that I have left the protection of the Umich bubble, I want to go back, to stop and talk on street corners, to soak up (almost) everything my professors had to say, and to people-watch for hours on the Diag, on those extraordinary eighty-degree March days, knowing that the next day I would be wearing a scarf and mittens again. But I know that I can’t, and that even if I tried, it wouldn’t be the same, because I am not the same, and, year to year, day to day, neither is anyone else. The once-frightened freshman are now the scary seniors, and the formerly intimidating seniors are the rookies in the real world or working in Ann Arbor, still digging around for a little bit of that maize and blue magic.
I am not writing this to encourage you to stop and take in every bit of Ann Arbor possible before it’s gone. Do leave a little something to wish upon, to miss, to regret. Like I said, it’s all a part of growing up and out of the protective shell to which we all grew so accustomed. Nevertheless, I encourage you to slow down and breathe if only for a moment, now, just before you graduate. Listen to your award-winning professors, stand in awe of history on the Union steps, stop in the Diag, and say hello to the friends to whom you will soon bid farewell. And most of all, let the people this great University placed into your life know that they’ve earned a page in your memoir. (We’re all destined to be great, are we not?)

If I had slowed down before graduation and expressed my appreciation for all the people in those four years of my life, I think I would have said something like this:

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the goodness in people. Totally, completely, and utterly overwhelmed. I have no other way to explain myself. Rarely do I find myself choked up and unable to speak – it’s truly a cold day in hell when I stop talking – but lately, I’ve been speechless quite a bit. Each time I’m forced to say goodbye to someone or something, to a face or a place, I have to stop and collect myself. My last paper, I’ll say, my last class at the University of Michigan, my last time on stage, my last walk down State Street, my last game in the Big House. What really kills me about all these lasts, though, is that there are such incredible people tied to each one. Amazing, inspiring professors, peers that always drove me nuts but that I secretly admired, and most importantly, the best friends that I know I will have a hard time living without. Even more intimidating is the prospect of all the firsts that I’m about to encounter. I have to find my first real job, my first place completely on my own, and my first friends who might only know the “adult” me. And I’m not entirely sure I like that idea. In fact, I hate that idea.
I am a firm believer that awkwardness and adversity build character and mold a better, stronger you. Learning how to handle everything thrown your way, you figure out that everything that embarrassed you, upset you, or even destroyed you at the time taught you a lesson. We’ve all heard the clichés – “What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger,” “It’s not a mistake if you learn from it.” I completely agree, but I think these adages leave out something vital. And that is that there are people who are with you every step of the way, who see you stumble and even fall, and are still there to yank you back to your feet even when, to you, standing seems impossible. There are those who have seen us at every high and low, have seen tears and giddy excitement. These are the ones who sometimes know us better than we wish they did, and who we honor by calling friends. In my four years in Ann Arbor, I have met so many of these people who completely overwhelm me because of their innate qualities, because of the people they simply cannot help but be. And those that make this kind of impact, whether they know it or not, are the ones that make me wish I could stay forever.


Before college, I was told that in those four short years I would make some of the best friends I would ever have. Now that my time at U of M has come to a close, I actually believe it. Don’t stop moving, but slow it down to a walk in the last months you have. And speak up, or next year you’ll be the one begging the graduating class to say all the things you forgot to."

It's still a work in progress, but then again, so am I.