The 90s & Regrets

I’d like to think that I don’t have many regrets in my life (thus far). I’m not one to wonder “What could have been…” – – Most of the time, this lifestyle leaves me with a bruised ego but hilarious stories. I’ll save those for another time…

Anyway, it seems like everyone is always talking about how amazing the 90s were. First of all, it doesn’t seem to me that the 90s were that long ago… Really, already? The 90s are a “decade to remember”? Geeesh. Secondly, I was thinking about the 90s earlier today and it made me a bit regretful of all the things I haven’t done or achieved yet…

Let me try to explain…

The Early Regrets

I never banded together with a group of babies (Rugrats)

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Tommy Pickles & Co.

It turns out my childhood was quite boring. I never tried to escape a Pack-n-Play with a screwdriver kept in my diaper. Truth is, I had about ¼ of the imagination these babies on this show had. I was always so jealous of Angelica’s motorized play car. I literally had dreams about this car as a child.

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Just look at that car.

I also never even idolized a gigantic green Tyrannosaurus Rex, named Reptar. (Well, I guess there was my connection to Barney…)

My school bus never took me anywhere cool (The Magic School Bus)

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The only place a school bus took me was from home and to school. On the off chance, we perhaps hit up a museum. All I wanted was for Ms. Frizzle to wrangle up my class and take us to, oh I don’t know, the solar system, or the past, or even inside the human body of one of my classmates.

It never happened.

I was never a member of “The Midnight Society” (Are You Afraid Of The Dark?)

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I think that every young girl and boy at some point in their life find themselves at a sleepover. At said sleepover, someone always suggests ghost stories… and they always suck. I think the main reason that these “ghost stories” are so terrible is because we grew up being scared shitless watching Are You Afraid Of The Dark.

I mean, c’mon. I’m pretty sure each episode was regarding a clown, or a creepy attic, or something that lived in a mirror, or some urban legend that would definitely not allow me to sleep for the next week.While I am not sad that I managed to escape ghosts, goblins, haunted houses, curses, vampires, and aliens, I will always regret that I never sat fireside and said the legendary lines, “Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this story…” Then at which point, I would toss a handful of “midnight dust” from a secret, leathery pouch into the campfire to enrage the flames.

Maybe someday.

I never solved any crimes. (Ghostwriter)

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I’ll always be regretful that I was never on a team of young detectives from Brooklyn who solved neighborhood crimes and mysteries – – With the help of an invisible ghost, of course. It took my six-year-old self about two seasons to realize that this show was designed to teach reading and writing skills… and then I was like SEE-YA.

The “Awkward-Years” Regrets

I was never a teenage witch. (Sabrina The Teenage Witch)

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This one is pretty self-explanatory. I never had magical powers.

Or a magical talking cat.

I never dated Zack Morris (Saved By The Bell)

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Oh Zack Morris.

Swoon.

I never let boys come into my window via a ladder (Clarissa Explains it All/ Dawson’s Creek)

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I really should have been more promiscuous at a younger age. I feel like I saved it all for my twenties and really wasted some solid years. I’m not sure how I would have gotten this whole “ladder that is to transport gentleman suitors to my bedroom” past my parents… But I really should have tried.

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At least Dawson’s Creek takes note of the ladder – – When Dawson and Joey become… “closer” the ladder is taken down. However, Clarissa never “explains it all” – – Her ladder is never discussed and what’s-his-face ventures up to her room numerous times.

How I never went to high school in Texas. (Varsity Blues)

Okay, the title of this one is a little misleading but I couldn’t find a better way to phrase the two regrets I have gathered from this film.

First, it’s really a shame that I never was a second string quarterback who had to jump into the starting line up and take over the for the star when they were terribly injured. I’ll never get to feel the pressure of an entire town to win a football game. Side note: This movie gave me one of my favorite lines, “I don’t want your life!” (Said with a slow, southern drawl).

The second regret from this is that I never sported a whip cream bikini for a guy.

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I guess there’s still time for this one.

How no one ever took it upon themselves to give me a makeover to become Prom Queen (She’s All That)

How can anyone who went to high school not hold She’s All That as their guilty pleasure? It holds all the cards: Hottie McHottie Freddie Prinze Jr in his prime, an ugly duckling/swan transformation, and a “not” choreographed dance by half the student body at the prom.

Also, I love this “makeover”. Because, clearly, Rachael Leigh Cook was so hideous to begin with. They literally cut her hair, pulled down her shirt, and gave her contacts – –  Boom! Prom Queen.

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The Later Years

How I never had a neighbor who would give me great life lessons over the fence (Home Improvement)

This one I really, really want. I hope that someday I’ll have an all-wise mentor, dolling out advice, and who will seemingly know what I should do in all situations. Also, many people are bothered that Wilson never showed his face during the series, but I appreciate it. There has to be some separation between neighbor and neighbor.

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Mind you, this is coming from a person who routinely would engage in year-long feuds with “neighbors” in her apartment buildings over laundry or parking issues.

How I was never a lifeguard (Baywatch)

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I remember watching this show with my mom, never really understanding what any of the episodes were about. All I could muster was that there were beautiful men and women running around on the beach and sometimes they saved people. They lived by the beach, hung out at the beach, worked at the beach – – Sign me up.

End of Regret…

After thinking about all the “regrets” and thoughts that I had about 90s TV/movies, I came upon a few shows that have actually depicted a pretty accurate version of my life.

Boy Meets World

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This show is everything. And yes, I’m pretty pumped about the revival, Girl Meets World coming soon. This show not only helped me through my youth, but serves as a walk down memory lane when I catch it on syndication here and there.

Boy Meets World also serves as a mirror in some ways to my life. As cliché as it sounds, the friends I grew up with are the friends I went to college with. We remained friends and I see our friendships lasting for a long, long time. We even have our “Cory and Topanga” who started dating when they were 15 and were just married this past October. Our group has the rebel, “Shawn”. The goofy, lovable one, “Eric”. Now, this makes me think… Who am I in this scenario?

Probably Minkus. Good grief.

Seinfeld & Friends

Aside from living in together in close quarters and their intertwining love lives, I think that these two shows also share a very important factor that is resonant in my life: Growing up.

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You may think that all these other sitcoms and series that I listed helped me in growing up, however, I don’t think so. Those shows were there for the beginning, but I think I’ve done the most “growing up” in the last few years than I have my entire life. I also think that the people you surround yourself with and the friends that you have in your twenties really help shape the person you are becoming – – The person you’re meant to be.

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It’s not me. It’s you.

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I’ve gone through a few break-ups lately that I’d like to share with you. No, this isn’t some sappy, “This is how you can get through this really tough time”. Here are four different types of breakups that I happen to think are sometimes worse than the ever-popular-star-spangled-five-alarm-real-relationship-breakup.

Breaking up with your old lifestyle

This has to be, by far, the hardest type of breakup. Because first of all, who wants to break up with themselves? You’re awesome! No one would ever want to breakup with you. However, there comes a time when we have to say goodbye to a few of aspects of our lifestyle.

Style: Alright. I’ll say it. I once wore overalls to junior high. I KNOW. How was I to supposed to know that the cutoff for “appropriate time to wear overalls” was the sixth grade?! As you can imagine, I quickly learned to stay ahead of the fashion game.

While it definitely hasn’t been easy learning when to say goodbye to certain items in my closet over the years, it is something that had to happen. You may be thinking the halter-top that you’ve held on to from 2004 will come in handy some summer, but I promise you – – It will not. Just let go.

Diet & Nutrition: I’m the absolute last person that should be doling out advice about what someone should and should not eat. However, I do know that I should be adhering to the following dietary break up rules …

  • Your digestive system can no longer handle 3am Taco Bell trips – – Just say no.
  • A box of Wheat Thins and a Diet Coke does NOT constitute as a meal.
  • Breakfast is not just something made up by fictional doctors – – EAT BREAKFAST.
  • A pack of fruit snacks does not apply to one of your allotted fruit groups for the day.
  • Water does the body good. Whiskey does not. (Hard to remember this one…)

Toxic Friends: These friends, the ones that you actually don’t really like, are usually left lingering around from an old lifestyle that you just can’t seem to kick. These friends have “gots to get got”.  These are the types of friends that:

  • You find yourself censoring your good news from them because they always somehow manage to make you feel undeserving of whatever great stuff comes your way.
  • These friends are never at fault for anything. They hurt you and pretend that they had absolutely no idea what they did was going to upset you. “If I had known it was a big deal, I wouldn’t have slept with you fiancé!” Ummm. Okay.
  • They tell everyone your secrets.
  • You always feel like you’re competing for their attention… and sadly, you’re always losing this game.
  • You’ve used the line, “But we’ve been friends forever…” to justify staying in the friendship.

It’s time. Breakup, already.

Breaking up with a television series

I’d be lying if I said I liked TV. I’m obsessed with TV. Okay, obsessed is probably taking it a bit far, but let’s just say my DVR is busier than most H&R Blocks around this time of the year.

My addiction to TV stems from my inability to stop myself from getting extremely attached to a show. As I sat catching up on The Office this weekend, I realized just how much Pam, Jim, Dwight, Michael and myself had been through. Remember when Pam broke Jim’s (and every other person in America’s) heart on Casino Night? Or when they saved my belief in marriage by tying the knot over Niagara Falls? Or when Dwight set the office on fire? Or when Michael, gracefully (and much to my chagrin), bowed out of the series?

It may not be The Office, but I’m willing to bet that most of you have a show that you’ve grown attached to, whose characters have accompanied you throughout life, and that you will never stop watching until the show ends, no matter how bad the show may get (i.e., My relationship with The Office right now…). Regardless, I intend to see the story through, if nothing else, just to make sure Jim and Pam don’t get divorced.

Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we get so attached to characters and their stories? I’d argue that there are a few things working together here…

First, suspension of reality. These shows, whether they be Friends, Game of Thrones, Friday Night Lights, The Bachelor, Entourage, Seinfeld, Breaking Bad, HIMYM, Greys Anatomy, Sex & The City, CSI (people still watch this right?), One Tree Hill, or Parks And Rec, these shows allow us to forget the real world, even if only for 24 minutes, and replace it with something much more appealing than what is actually going on in our lives.

On the other hand, we tend to see a lot of ourselves and our lives within the characters. Yes, I just completely contradicted what I just said. But while we like to escape through our shows, we also like to relate. I can’t watch an episode of Friends or Sex & The City, without picking out which character I’m more like. I’m completely a Monica (who wishes she was a Rachel) and definitely a Carrie (who wishes she was a Charlotte). That’s what TV gives us… The perfect mixture of difference and similarity. It’s really in our human nature; we fall in love with these moments.

So obviously, it’s pretty awful breaking up with a TV show. For this, I usually follow the five stages of grief.

  1. Denial: Deny, deny, deny. Once I hear that one of my shows is getting cancelled or I’m about four seasons into a series on Netflix and I realize that there are only two episodes remaining… I don’t believe it. As I attempt to accept the reality of the loss, I start to ask myself questions to begin the healing process.My thoughts during this time:Nooooooooooooooooooooooo.This can’t be happening?

    There’s been a mistake.

    But what will Patrick Dempsey do now??

    You’re a liar.

    I don’t believe you.

    This show is that network’s gold!? They can’t be cancelling it…

  2. Anger: This, my friends, is a necessary stage of the healing process. I’m willing to bet there are many other emotions that people get when their shows get cancelled, but anger seems to be the ticket we are most wired to manage. During this stage I usually spend my time furiously plotting a way to corner the network CEO and demand the show to remain on the air. (I’m half-kidding about all of that…)
  3. Bargaining: After the loss, I will next think about all the “What ifs…” and the “If onlys”. “What if I just watched more of it “live” instead of DVRing? I’m sure that has to play into it!” “If only less people watched that stupid Big Bang Theory, maybe this show wouldn’t get cancelled!” (I apologize if you fancy Big Bang, I’m clearly in a dark place during this stage)
  4. Depression: After the bargaining, my attention moves squarely to the present. I become sort-of depressed for a few reasons. First, I’m sad because this show that I’ve devoted so much of my time and energy to is just gone/done-zo. And secondly, I’m depressed because… I’m depressed that a TV show has ended. Snap out of it, Stacey!
  5. Acceptance: Once I’ve woken up from the fog of being an insane person who was overly attached to a fictional entity, I feel better. I’ve accepted the reality that the show is gone and yes, there may not be another show that leaves me on the edge of my seat just as much as LOST did, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other shows out there to tackle…. And I fully intend on tackling them all. I really do have a problem.

Breaking up with your hairstylist

I’ve always had issues finding a hairstylist that I would like for more than two visits. For starters, I’m not the type of girl who likes to constantly gab with her hairstylist. After I’ve been asked all the go-to small talk questions (What do you do? Where do you live? Are you married/seeing anyone? Don’t you have anything interesting to say? Yada yada?) I like to just sit back and relax. On it’s own, small talk is the worst. Add in someone whose hands are in complete control of your appearance and is trying to keep up a shitty conversation, while whisking a blow dryer around your head – – No thank you. The other reason I have a hard time holding down a regular hairstylist… I’m kind of a nightmare client. Let me explain.

I don’t ask for much when I go into the salon, I really just want a color update and a trim. While I’m spending upwards of a $100 each visit (aren’t women ridiculous?) I would like to get my money’s worth. The problem rises when the hairstylist doesn’t understand what I mean when I say the words “update” and “trim”. When I say “update” I literally mean I would like to freshen up my color that may have faded between my last visit and now. This is when the stylist usually says something like, “Oh don’t you want to spice things up for the summer, like high lights or something??” Um no, no I do not.

The next problem happens when our definitions of the word “trim” don’t exactly match up. I love my long hair and I have a very difficult time parting with it… Even centimeters or millimeters of it. So, when I have a stylist who is willing to just chop-chop-chop, I have a problem. Let’s be honest, when I walk into a salon, I like to walk out looking almost exactly the same, just freshened up. I’m boring — so boring. Obviously, I’m sure I’m not exactly the picture of a perfect client.

About a year or so ago, I changed salons and picked a brand new place. I didn’t have a specific stylist in mind when I called to make an appointment so they just set me up randomly with Vince. Now, I know this will go against everything that I stand for, but I completely followed the stereotype of presuming a male stylist would be gay. I know, I’m awful. To make a very long story short, Vince turned out to be straight. Very straight. Straight to the point of telling me super uncomfortable stories of his late night romps with various women and to asking me out on numerous occasions. (NOTE TO MEN: Don’t tell women about your “Playboy” moments and then ask them out)

Anyway, most women would have just said screw it and change stylists, right? Well like usual; I don’t fall into the “typical women” category. The problem… he was the first stylist that I was satisfied with. Alright, that sounded wrong. He was the first stylist that actually listened to what I wanted and I left happy. Okay, I really can’t make this not sound sexual. BASICALLY, he was doing such a great job on my hair, I couldn’t bear to leave… no matter how uncomfortable things got with his stories or his persistence in “asking me out to the bar”.

Well, like most of you ladies can probably agree, a girl can only take so much. After a year and a few months of Styles By Vince I made my exit. Well, kind of.

This past week, I had a scheduled appointment for Thursday evening. My hair needed a trim extremely bad and a color refresh. I realized that I had plans on Thursday that would interfere, so I rescheduled for the following Tuesday. Then I realized that I had plans that evening, as well. So, I call back again to reschedule and I was greeted on the phone by the sassiest receptionist of all time.

My conversation with someone who should be fired:

“———— salon, this is ———–, can I help you?” – Sassy McSass-a-frass

“Hi, yes I have an appointment scheduled for Tuesday with Vince, but I just realized that the timing won’t work so I’d like to reschedule.” – Me

“Um, ok.” – Sassy McSass-a-frass

“Okay… Do you have anything open on Saturday? Or Monday? I know it’s short notice but I really would like to get in ASAP.” – Me

“Nothing Saturday. We aren’t even open on Monday.” – Sassy McSass-a-frass

“Alright. Anything earlier on Tuesday? Or even Wednesday?” – Me

“Nope.” – Sassy McSass-a-frass

“Thursday, Friday, next Saturday?” – Me

“He’s booked. Look, there’s really no openings.” – Sassy McSass-a-frass

“Alright, well I’m going to have to go somewhere else then. I really can’t wait that long, thanks for your help.” – Me (Trying so hard not to kill her through the phone)

“Yep.” – Sassy McSass-a-frass

So yeah. I guess Sassy McSass-a-frass did the dirty deed of “breaking up” Vince and I. But isn’t that how it goes sometimes… Sometimes, someone else has to step in and break it off for you. It was very junior-high-esque, but I’m relieved. However, I am still waiting for a text from him wondering why I cancelled my appointment… Stay tuned for info on that, readers.

Breaking up with your car

Whether it is the first car you ever owned or the best car you ever owned, letting go of your vehicle is never easy.

The first breakup I ever had was with Peaches, my beloved first car. She was a beautiful 2000 Dodge Neon. Peaches and I met right around the time I turned 16. I remember she wasn’t in the greatest shape when my parents bought her for me, but I could tell she had potential. Once she was cleaned up a bit, we were ready to cruise.

I think it’s amazing that when I talk to people about their first car, they can vividly remember the first time they ever drove their car. I remember my first adventure out with Peaches. I had just gotten my license and my parents had finally allowed me to go somewhere by myself. In their defense, I have a winter birthday and the roads were always pretty terrible. Nevertheless, we were finally on our own – – Peaches and I.

After five years together, I ended up selling Peaches when I was a sophomore in college. I wasn’t sad about getting rid of her at first… mainly because I was getting a shmancy new car with power windows and locks. Yeah, you could say I was moving up in the world.

However, when the time drew near and my dad found a buyer for my beloved… I wasn’t ready to let go. I sat on my front porch one evening and saw Peaches sitting in the driveway. I got so sad. I wasn’t sad because this hunk of metal was no longer going to be my possession, I was sad because I was saying goodbye to something that held my youth. Getting rid of Peaches was like closing a chapter in the book of my life. It’s funny how many memories can be wrapped up within one object.

There sat the car that took me back and forth to high school, every day, for 3 years. There sat the car that took my friends and I on an unforgettable trip to Myrtle Beach when we were 18. There sat the car that I had my first real make out sesh in. There sat the car that I cried my eyes out in after my first boyfriend broke up with me. There sat the car that I packed up and drove to college in. There sat the car that I grew up in.

My friends and I actually had an “Ode to Peaches” evening right before she was sold.  We drove around, windows down, singing songs, and celebrating Peaches. The evening ended and we said our goodbyes. I drove home and parked in front of my house. Before I went inside, I hid a letter my friends and I had written to the future owner. The buyer that my dad had set up was purchasing the car for his daughter who was in high school. The letter detailed how much fun we had with Peaches and how we hoped she would find the same with her friends.

I really hope she did.

 

 

When did we get old?

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I’m in this really weird place right now; maybe you’ve been there (are there) too. This “place” is where I feel like I am getting so old (so quickly) but at the same time I still feel so young. One moment I’m all like, “YES, Lion King is on!” And in that same split second, “Oh dear, it looks like it’s going to get over at 9:30… Kinda late… Probably should just DVR it tonight.”

I’m a walking contradiction who is feeling very young/old… yold. I’m feeling very yold. I just made up a new word – – Is that a young thing or old thing? This is all so perplexing. (Yep, perplexing).

Here are things that have made me feel extremely old recently:

My body

My body is starting to reject me. I’m all, “Let’s pull an all-nighter and watch Seasons 1-3 of “Breaking Bad” tonight!” While my body is all, “Ha, you’re going to fall asleep. Sitting straight up. With your glasses on. In about 2.46 seconds.”

I now have heartburn? I phrased this as a question because I always just thought people were over exaggerating about heartburn. “It couldn’t possibly be that bad,” I would say. Oh, but it is. Pretty much feels like your organs are trying to kill you from the inside out. NBD. My knees feel creaky. I’ve plucked 4 grey hairs. I take vitamins. I’m dipping myself in a vat of moisturizer daily to avoid future wrinkle lines. WHO AM I?

Every so often, I attempt revenge on my body – – Simply to keep the hierarchy intact and to make sure my body still knows who the top dog is around here. So, I’ll go on a tequila bender. “What now, body! Suck it!” Meanwhile, my body is all, “Yeah? Have fun with the three-day hangover I’m about to give you.” Damnit.

My Weekends

I’m not always trying to conquer my body… I also feel extremely old when I don’t care about staying home on the weekends. I’ll cancel on my friends. And the hell of it is, they don’t care either. I’ll get a response like, “Yeah, I’m pretty tired too. Probably going to call it a night. Maybe grab some brunch tomorrow?”

Double red flags here – – First, we’re both more relieved we’re going to bed rather than “hitting the town”. Secondly, we now grab things like “brunch”.

Things I Say

I’ve found myself saying things that make me do a double take…”Wait, what did I just say?”

  • “What is with kids nowadays??”
  • “Why is the music SO LOUD IN HERE?”
  • “Damnit! I missed Jeopardy.”
  • “How is this hotdog so expensive? It’s a hotdog.”
  • “Oh, you need the forecast? I’m pretty well read on my weatherchannel.com action.”

I wish I was kidding about any of those.

My Calendar

Now, my calendar is no longer filled with swiggly lines & hearts, or birthday reminders for every single friend I’ve ever had, or “countdowns” to vacations. Now, my calendar is full of work meetings, doctor appointment reminders, and it’s definitely not hand-written anymore. This much “colder” calendar can be found within the iPhone attached to my aging hip.

My Worries

Long gone are the days of being “carefree”. I worry about… just about everything. I’ve apparently turned into a crazy worrier. Some of you who have known me for a while are probably saying, “Stace, you’ve always been a worrier. This isn’t new.”

I worry about the future. I guess everyone probably worries about that though. I worry that I’m not saving enough money for the future. I worry that the shoes I just bought that make me walk funny are going to cause some permanent damage but they are so cute. I can’t stop wearing them. I’m worried that the planet is running out of fresh water so I don’t run the water as much – – For example, when I’m doing dishes or brushing my teeth, I turn the water off in between (Alright, I’m seriously losing it. Right? I have to stop watching these crazy documentaries).

Here’s an example of how the media makes me worry. Today on MSN‘s homepage, this story caught my eye: 

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Awesome. Thanks, MSN.

I worry about my parents getting older. I worry about my friend’s parents getting older. I worry about my sister. I worry about my job. I worry about my friend’s jobs. I worry about whether or not Girls on HBO is going to be picked up for another season (Just kidding, there’s no way they aren’t getting picked up for another season). Obviously, I’m just a fucking mess. These things weren’t on my mind years ago, even just a few short years ago!

I miss the days when what I worried about the most was who would be in the same lunch hour as me in high school… Actually, screw that. That also sucked.

BUT WAIT!

If you’ve stuck it out thus far through this posting – – Thank you. Did you really think I was going to end this posting on such a dark and depressing note? You did, didn’t you? C’mon.

These mini freak-outs that I have (semi-regularly) about getting older usually lead me to want answers. Why do I feel like this? Does everyone feel like this? Am I literally crazy? Usually, I ask and answer these questions myself, and my thoughts are pretty unreasonable. All I know is that I have to stop freaking out every time I have one of these quarter-life crisis moments. And really, these moments are not necessarily a completely terrible thing.

So, here is my answer(s). I think the reason why most twentysomethings are so fixated on age is because we feel some sort of pressure to be a certain way at 21, or 25, or 28, or 30, etc. (Oh, God… don’t even get me started on 30). These ages all represent invisible deadlines that we have given ourselves regarding careers, love, family, etc. “I can’t get drunk and throw up anymore, I’m 25!” “I need to be in a serious relationship by 27.” “I need to have a baby by 30.”

We put all of this pressure on ourselves which results in a whole lotta’ guilt for essentially just acting our age. Movies, TV, magazines, friends, teachers, and parents have all made us obsessed with the idea of being domesticated and having our shit together. It makes me sad to think that we are always so caught up in this stuff that we miss out on the other stuff. Other stuff = Our actual youth. By being so focused on doing everything THE RIGHT WAY, we are skipping out on doing things in the wrong way. Which could end up being the best way of all.

George Bernard Shaw (and every other person in the world) probably said it best: Youth is wasted on the young.

But you know what? I’m not going to fall into this cliché – – And neither should you.

Hot & Not: March 2013

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Welcome to the first monthly edition of Hot & Not. I’ll start with the “Not’s” because I like to end things on a good note and I’m in a pretty good mood today.

The NOT List

Beyoncé

Alright everyone, I’ll be the first one to say it. I don’t like Beyoncé.

There. I feel better.

I know, I know. Many of you are already disagreeing with my very first Hot & Not list. Please let me explain before you move your cursor and close this tab on the browser.

  1. We can begin with how Microsoft Word autocorrected Beyoncé’s name when I began typing this. Really? Really, Bill Gates? This irritates me.
  2. She goes by one name. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter, known mononymously as Beyoncé. Why do people do this? Do celebrities get so famous that they wake up one day and they’re just like, “Ya know, I think I’m only going to go by one name from now on. Yeah, just one name. A first and last name? Nah. Not for me.” What if I just wanted to go by Stacey? How do I even go about dropping the last name? Is there paperwork to fill out? I’d probably have to go to the Secretary of State. Forget it, never mind.
  3. Can we talk about how she single handedly broke up Destiny’s Child? I’ll agree she was obviously the front-runner of the group… but now, I can only daydream about what catchy tunes could have followed up, “Say My Name”, “Independent Women”, and “Survivor”. Another album would have been “Bootylicious”. (Note: Microsoft Word does not recognize Bootylicious as a correctly spelled word… C’mon Beyoncé).
  4. Her “movie career”. I’ll give her Dreamgirls. Mainly, because I haven’t seen it and I’m sure it’s super inspiring or whatever. But I will not let anyone forget that she was in Austin Powers: Goldmember. Oh and The Pink Panther.
  5. She has an alter ego. (UGH). I’m sure many people have alter egos… okay? I don’t know. I don’t really follow how we, as a society, are handling alter egos. And sure, I have an alias I use when I check in at restaurants for reservations (Okay, yeah. That’s probably kind of weird) buttttttt, I’m still calling bullshit on “alter egos”.
  6. The Illuminati. Do I really need to explain? Google it. I’m actually probably risking my life against the Illuminati by writing ill of Beyoncé. Fuck.
  7. Her documentary on HBO. I’m not sure if many of you tuned in to Beyoncé’s documentary on HBO that has been airing recently but (because I have no life) I have watched it. I’ll sum it up for you. Life Is But A Dream (Not a totally terrible title) is pretty much an infomercial of B (I call her that now after watching the doc, it’s like we’re buds). The documentary is pretty much a ton of time spent with B just looking into her MacBook camera. This, I’m assuming, was intended to show how much B was “revealing” to the audience when in fact she didn’t reveal very much at all. There was one sweet scene where B and Jay-Z were just sitting around and singing a Coldplay song that could melt anyone’s heart. I guess I did enjoy the documentary a bit. What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good any documentary.

I feel that I was a bit harsh on my girl, B. She’s beautiful and talented. Yada, yada, yada. But really, she’s just not doing it for me right now. Maybe next month.

The Duggar’s

Okay. How are the Duggar’s still relevant at all? If you don’t know who the Duggar’s are, good for you. (Family from the TLC show “19 Kids and Counting”). For the rest of us losers, I was scrolling through Yahoo News the other day (because I was very busy, clearly) and this article title caught my eye:

NYC Burger Feast Costs A Fortune For 23 People.

I like burgers and I like news stories so I clicked on the link. Little did I know that this article was about how the Duggar’s were visiting Manhattan and stopped in at a burger joint for a meal. Of course, I kept reading. The meal cost the Duggar’s $614. Seems extreme, right?

Well after thinking about it, that price isn’t too crazy. My family and I were in NYC over the holidays this year and each time we ate (breakfast, lunch, or dinner) we were spending around $100 bucks a meal. So feeding 23 people for $614 is really not that terrible. It comes out to around $26 a person. In NYC, I’d say that’s pretty average.

After thinking about how this meal wasn’t really that crazy, I thought about how I actually did the math to figure out how much it would cost a Duggar to eat, and then I thought about how I actually read this entire news story about THE DUGGARS, and then I thought about how I actually clicked on a “news story” about a Burger Feast, and then I actually got super depressed.

The Duggars are just so… not what I should be reading about.

Stars diving into a pool.

So if anyone has been watching ABC broadcasting whatsoever, you’ve probably been bombarded by ads for this new show, “Splash”. I don’t have much to say about this other than… Really, ABC? This is the best you can come up with? Shame on you. I have roughly 285 ideas for different television series they could use. Hell, I’m also pretty sure the 4-year-old who sat behind me and coughed/spit up on my hair at Panera Bread yesterday, has better ideas than a show about stars diving into a pool.

Also, they are using the term “stars” very loosely. I recognize the names of the following participants: Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Drake Bell, Ndamukong Suh, Katherine Webb, and Kendra Wilkinson. The rest? Well. I’m not sure who Louie Anderson is. Or Rory Bushfield. Or Nicole Eggert. Or Keshia Pulliam. The only one I would root for if I was to watch it (And let’s be honest, I’ll probably tune in for at least one ep) is Chuy from “Chelsea Lately”. Obviously I’d watch that lil’ nugget try to dive.

Can this show just start already so ABC can not show the previews anymore?

Kim Kardashian’s baby bump

Let’s all just make a pact right here, right now. Let’s not care about Kim Kardashian anymore. Please. I’m begging you.

She’s just so… not.

The HOT List

Justin Timberlake

Dear lord. I mean, c’mon. In my junior high days, JT and the rest of *NSYNC empowered my thirteen-year-old self to jam out, party like a rock star, and they even serenaded me to sleep. I really didn’t think I could fall more in love with Justin Timberlake than I did back then… Boy was I wrong.

Is there anything hotter than Justin Timberlake right now? No, no there is not. His music career is back in full swing and he just hosted Saturday Night Live for the fifth time. If you haven’t watched this past weekend’s SNL, I urge you to run, not walk to your nearest television or computer and watch immediately. Is there anything sexier than a funny guy? Yes. A sexy, funny guy who can sing. Oh, and dance. Also, I’ve never witnessed someone wear a suit as flawlessly as he does. Geeeesh. Watching SNL this weekend awakened all of my inappropriate junior high thoughts. I still can’t bring myself to delete it off the DVR.

I’m really happy for Justin. He deserves it. By the way, he’s on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon every night this week. Yes, EVERY night.

Heeeeeeeeee’s baaaaaaaaaaack.

So hot.

March Madness

Alright. I wouldn’t say I’m obsessed with sports, but I like sports – – a lot. March brings one of my favorite times of the year… March Madness. I just got excited typing that. God, I’m a loser. March Madness is on my hot list for the following reasons:

  1. A Cinderella Story. First, if you’re thinking that I’m referring to the Hilary Duff/Chad Michael Murray flick, you should probably just scroll down to the next item on the hot list because the rest of this is not going to be of any interest to you. When I say “Cinderella Story” I’m talking about the lowest ranked team in the tournament getting a chance to knock off a top 5 team and make it to the Final Four. I’m all about watching the nice guys finish first in March Madness. I love a good “Cinderella Story”.
  2. The Brackets. If you’ve read anything on this blog, you’ve probably gotten some sense that I’m competitive. I used to think I wasn’t competitive at all…  Then a few months ago during an extremely intense battle of “Sequence: An Exciting Game of Strategy” I decided that okay; maybe I am a bit competitive. I love filling out a bracket – – Even though on day 1 of the tourney my bracket will be destroyed when the team that I had losing just because I hate their mascot decides to screw me over, royally.
  3. Hot guys. There are a ton of good-looking guys in the tournament. Lots-o-eye-candy. However, I then remind myself that most of these guys are freshmen in college and then I feel… ancient. Just kill me.

March Madness is fun. If you don’t watch, don’t like basketball, or whatever – I dare you to watch a few games… give it a chance! And besides, throw your boyfriend/fiancé/husband a bone and watch for a few hours – Who knows, it might pay off for you later… if you know what I mean…

Also, GO BLUE (HOT).

Cheesecake Factory

So there was an announcement made a week or so ago that a Cheesecake Factory was opening in Michigan. Hallelujah. I’ve pondered for years why there is not one Cheesecake Factory in Michigan – – Especially because the owner/CEO is from Michigan? Nevertheless, I couldn’t be any more delighted that he has relented and decided to build a chain of his business in this state.

I can’t explain the reaction of my fellow Michiganders but this will kind of surmise it for you:

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We ARE PUMPED.

The only person weary about the Cheesecake Factory: My waistline.

HOT

You’re Invited: It’s Shower Season!

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It was beautiful outside this past weekend. You know, those rare winter days when the sun is shining for the first time in weeks – like really shining. One of those days where you don’t feel the need to wear a jacket because it’s so deceivingly beautiful out. The best part of this type of day is that you can smell spring attempting to creep around the corner. I for one, am ready to bid adieu to winter. I’m tired of the boots, the 4 layers of shirts, and especially the slippery, icy walkways that I seem to fall on every other day. I’m ready for summer — Dresses, flip-flops, ice cream runs, and bonfire nights.

The major problem(s) with spring are the showers. And I’m not talking about the precipitation. I’m talking about bridal and baby shower season.

I remember a time when the worst thing I was receiving in the mail were bills – – Not anymore, sister. Now, around March, April, and May, my mailbox becomes a breeding ground for baby shower invites and wedding “Save-the-dates”. Before this posting really gets rolling, I need to first make a disclaimer.

DISCLAIMER: I, the author of the content of this blog, can assure you, the reader, that while the following may depict a side of myself that loathes the very thought of attending a bridal/baby shower, my feelings will still be extremely hurt if I am not invited as result of this posting. I may bring my snarky attitude but I also bring awesome gifts. The choice is yours.

Back to business.

Time. Food. Pressure.

These three elements blend together to form the trifecta of my perfect storm known as shower season.

My first bone to pick with shower season is time. Obviously you can’t expect someone to hold a shower on a weekday because who would come then? So yes, it makes sense that 99% of showers are held on the weekend.  However, this is basically telling me: “Hey, I know the weather is finally looking nice and you may want to use a free weekend to, oh I don’t know, get crazy and just walk around outside or stay at home and just relax – – But now, you have to spend your entire day at a shower!” Show me someone who says that a shower doesn’t last all day and I’ll show you a liar.

A shower could start at 11am, 1pm, or 3pm (all standard starting times for a shower) and I promise that your whole day is fucked. Also, I truly believe there is a special place in hell reserved for people who hold their showers on a Saturday. These events should be made to ruin my Sundays and only my Sundays.

Here’s a birds-eye-view example:

Sunday: Shower @ 1pm

8am: Roll out of bed. Shower. Pretend to eat breakfast but just end up having a Diet Coke. Get caught up in a Lifetime movie… You know the one, usually the flick where DJ from Full House plays a teenage girl who is dating the star football player and everything is daisies. Then we find out he’s an abusive boyfriend (GASP!) The remainder of the film is her trying to get out of the relationship but always “trusting him again” and she turns on all of her friends until she hits complete rock bottom. That one always sucks me in.

10am: I’ve finally removed myself from the couch (DJ got away from the loser boyfriend and he was arrested, phew). Time to get dressed and out the door.

11am: Finally leaving the house. Yes, it took me an hour to get dressed. It’s not easy to pick out an outfit when you’re staring at your closet with the following thoughts going through your head:

A: I can’t wear this because I wear this to the bar and my mom will undoubtedly make a comment. (Mom decoder: “Gee, that’s awfully short…” = “You should change your clothes.”)

B: I can’t wear this because I’m not 70 years old — Where did I even buy this?

C: What will give off the vibe: “I am no where near getting married and the thought of having a baby happens to scare the shit out of me but I’m doing great, THANKS.”

D: DON’T I OWN ANYTHING NICE!?

It is incredibly difficult to get a move on and out the door when you can’t dress yourself. As usual, after everything that was hanging in my closet is now in one huge heap on the floor, I will be leaving the house in a blouse and my classic black pencil skirt. I’m so typical.

11:30am: I’ve arrived at either A: Bed, Bath, and Beyond or B: Babies R’ Us. Yes, I waited until the absolute last minute to pick up a gift… doesn’t everyone? Anyway, I make my way over to the gift registry area, on my way I realize that I chose the wrong shoes to wear – – I’ve been on my feet for all of what, two minutes? I can already feel blisters trying to kill me from within. Ugh. I am greeted at the registry by some teeny-bopper who rolls her eyes while I attempt to remember how to spell the last name of the said person I am there for. After what seems like an eternity, that sweet angel of an employee hands me the printed registry list and the real horror sets in.

Great, every single decent thing on this registry has been bought. That’s what you get for waiting until AN HOUR before the event. Oooooh, I could buy the one set of hand towels that is left OR the $599.99 mixer (in Mint Julep). Decisions, decisions. This is about the time I decide to go rogue and this is also when I get in even bigger trouble.

12:15pm: YES, IT’S NOW 12:15. I’M STILL AT THE STORE.

12:30pm: I’ve made a decision. Usually some sort of china set/piece or a vase that is really nice and hopefully can actually be useful. I hope.

12:45pm: I’m screaming at my iPhone because I am now lost and cannot find the quaint clubhouse/hall/restaurant/house/WHATEVER. This is when I usually call one of my allies that will be at the said event and beg them to give me turn-by-turn directions. I’m also trying to sign the card at each red light I am stopped at.

1:10pm: I arrive. Only 10 minutes late (even in my hypothetical blog scenario, I’m late).

2:00pm: I’m still wondering why events haven’t happened. Why aren’t we at least eating?! THE FOOD IS RIGHT THERE. Literally, right there. I could grab it with my hand if I reached out my arm. But no, we have to wait. Wait and mingle. Mingling is the worst. Here is where the two final components of the shower season trifecta come into play.

Food: I have many problems with the food aspect of a shower. First, you never know what to expect. At some showers the “spread” simply includes chips and pop (cheapskates) and at other showers there are full meals served (trying a little hard?). There’s no consistency. How can a girl plan? Of course, it never fails that when I hedge my bets and eat before the shower, I’ll arrive and it will be a sit down meal. When I don’t eat beforehand, I’ll be rationing those fluffy pastel mints for the remainder of the shower. My other problem with the food aspect are the food choices. When did chicken salad croissants become the go-to shower food? I enjoy chicken salad but can’t we spice it up, people? Get creative. Another offender: Watermelon, hollowed out and filled up with a variety of different fruits. Ugh. I would be delighted to show up at a shower and they were like SURPRISE! We’re having mac n’ cheese and DOUBLE SURPRISE, you can take it to-go, because this shower is over! Am I in heaven?

During this awkward mingle time, the last part of the trifecta comes up.

Pressure: On a daily basis I don’t feel much pressure about being single. I have amazing friends, family, an incredible education, and a job that I actually like getting up and going to every morning. Things for me… are pretty good. Of course there are certain times or days when I think that having that “special someone” in my life would be nice, but most days, I’m pretty content. One situation that causes me to feel “the pressure” is shower season.

The first part of the pressure that comes is from myself. When my mailbox is full of “Save the dates” and I’m running out of magnets because my fridge is covered with ultrasound-baby-shower-invites, I can’t help but think I’m missing something. I usually equate it to this: It’s like watching all your friends move on to junior high, while you’re being held back in fifth grade, still trying to master times tables. It makes me feel behind the curve and wonder, “Well fuck. Why am I single?”

At showers, two things will happen if you’re single: “hypothetical talk” and “dodge ball”. When I say “hypothetical talk” I’m describing the comments like, “Well, someday for your shower….” or “I’ll have to remember this for you one day”. While I play along with this, I’m always thinking… “Will there be a shower for me??” I can’t even predict what the next week of my life will look like, let alone fathom the idea that I will forrrrr sure get married and have a baby (fingers crossed in that order).

The second part, “dodge ball”, also happens during mingling. This is when I swerve, avoid, duck, and obviously, dodge, questions about my single status. There is always a friend, or mother of a friend, etc., who for whatever reason needs to know why I am single and what I am doing to counteract this. “You’re so accomplished and beautiful… But your mother must really be hankering for some grandkids! You better start trying a little harder missy!” I would love to respond, “Um, that started as a compliment, right…? Did you just say ‘hankering’…? Are my reproductive choices any of your damn business…? By the way, I hate you.” But instead, I choose the much higher road – – Avoidance, or “dodge ball” as I’ve coined it.

Back to the schedule…

2:30pm: We are now an hour and a half in… and we are released to eat. Chicken salad – – surprise, surprise.

2:50pm: The games. Ugh, with a double side of ugh. Does anyone like the games? That was a trick question – – No one likes the games. No one wants to play the games, but it’s just what you do. It’s tradition. And plus, I’m super competitive and sure, I’d like to walk away with some free antibacterial soap from Bath & Body Works… Hopefully an apple scent.

3:30pm: The presents are still not opened. I repeat, the presents are still not opened. Everyone knows that it would be extremely rude to leave before presents are opened. And you can’t just duck out. I may be sarcastic and snarky, but I’m not rude. Once I’ve committed, I’m committed. In my dream world, when the bride/expectant mother opened my gift she would look to the crowd and see a very adorable, thin, cardboard cutout of myself giving them the thumbs-up sign. Meanwhile, I’d be at home, catching up on my DVR.

4:00pm: We are now in hour three. Presents are being opened. I’ve already used my allotted 37 “oooohs” and 42 “ahhhhhhs” and I even hit quota with 25 “Howwwww cuuuuuuuute”. It’s time to go.

4:45pm: I’m helping clean up. Because I love my friends. And obviously hate myself.

5:15pm: Saying my good-byes. Somehow, I get caught up in a conversation with some friends I don’t see nearly enough and before I know it, there’s a dinner plan in the making. For tonight.

5:30pm: I’m riding shotgun in my college roommate’s car and we’re off to “dollar taco” night with a bunch of my old sorority sisters.

Like I said, showers take up the ENTIRE day.

Happy Shower Season to you all.