It’s been a year.
This is early adulthood, my friends: it’s fucked up and
terrible and wonderful and you cry a lot, both out of pure happiness and not. I’m
excited to see what amazing things come next.
A lot has happened. Some great, some undesirable, and some just flat out odd. Such is life.
· I stopped using the weight loss app and the $17 wedges still hurt my feet. You’d think after all this time they’d be broken in, but fashion doesn’t work that way.
· A new family lives in my childhood home now. I was convinced people were hiding out in the basement crawlspace for the entire 18 years that we inhabited the place so I might as well bring the fantasy to life for the new kids in that house and set up shop down there ASAP.
· I totally miss my piece-of-shit, hole-in-the-wall, roach-infested, embarrassingly “furnished” apartment. I’d move back in in a heartbeat. Reggie and I were soul mates; a good soldier never leaves an invertebrate behind.
· Hilary is proving herself to be quite resilient. My Favorites will never be returned to their previous glory, but we’re getting there. I’m pretty sure the nerve damage from my thigh burns has almost completely reversed itself, too! Light at the end of the tunnel!
· I ordered Cabernet Franc at a bar tonight and totally knew what to expect. WHAT?! I also have a much greater patience with drunk people and have learned that curling your hair and wearing mascara will garner a day of about $30 in tips, while putting your hair in a messy bun and looking like a train wreck will get you maybe $3. Every day I’m hustlin’.
· My internship was the best thing that I’ve done in the past twelve months and totally solidified that whole “Everything happens for a reason” thing. I won’t have to buy shampoo til like October, I got to meet some local celebs, and I can proudly say that I was correct in my assumption that Sales Girl #1 was preggo long before she not-so-quietly whispered it her cube mate.
· My tattoo idea has progressed. “Open A Vein” is still on the table, but two other contenders have entered the octagon, which basically means I’ll never be getting a tattoo because I can barely choose what I want for breakfast in the morning. I am now also considering a pictorial representation of the first lines of Incubus’ “Warning,” with an eye, Saturn, a dove, and lips, OR an ampersand (&) which would represent the idea that the symbol is a broken infinity, because nothing truly lasts forever but there is always an “and.” I also am entertaining the idea of a spine tattoo. Shit’s getting real, you guys.
· I’ve watched The Notebook more than is socially acceptable. It doesn’t relate to my life nearly as much as it seemed to a few months back. I think I’ll delete that from the DVR tomorrow, actually.
· My mom just recently asked me how I seem to attract the weirdest of the weirdos and all I can say is that I’m too nice and I think awkward encounters make for good stories so I like to see those types of things through. Also, who doesn’t like it when an innocent old redneck calls you “hunneh” and tells you you’re pretty? If you say you don’t, you’re lying.
· My taste in music dropped acid sometime last March and the trip has only gotten more ridiculous since then. The day I added Pantera, Jamiroquai and Wale to the same running playlist I knew I had officially lost it.
So here we are. I survived, and when everything’s said and done I really don’t think I’m any worse for the wear. My hair is back to its normal color, my heart has demonstrated that it’s basically indestructible, and I voluntarily ate zucchini yesterday (?).
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