Today, I did what few twenty-somethings admit to publicly when they are trying to present themselves as individuals who have become successful at adulting. I spent the entire in my Jammies.
I should begin by saying that I work on a shipping dock.
I handle shipments of boxes and pallets and mail, and sometimes I even drive a fork lift. It’s rough work that can be gruesome on a girl’s hands-—especially in winter.
Rarely do I paint my nails. It’s time consuming, messy (I never did master how to apply nail polish well), and pointless—-because, on the rare occasion that I can get it to look nice for more than thirty minutes, the polish lasts one, maybe two days max before it starts chipping and looking awful.
I ABSOLUTELY LOVE pedicures, but alas, they are too pricey for me to afford more than two or three times a year.
Jamberry produces non-toxic vinyl nail wraps that give nails a flawless finish, last without chipping or fading for a general minimum of two weeks, and come in all manner of designs and colors.
Being the girly girl at heart that I am, once I heard of Jamberry, I had to try them.
I decided to put Jamberry to the test by seeing how well the wraps survived my job on the shipping dock in comparison to OPI nail polish and a similar nail wrap product of questionable quality…
These are the results:
And We’re Back with Worst Case Wednesdays, your weekly dose of Worst Case scenarios from the online dating world.
This specimen comes from Craigslist, in which a hopeful landlord attempts to kill two birds with one stone by acquiring a renter AND a girlfriend with the same ad.
Spring came exceedingly late to Minnesota, but it finally came.
One moment, it was endless snow, then dull brown barren nothingness.
Suddenly, the bleakness was transformed into glorious green lush, leafy loveliness and verdant freshness!
For two perfectly golden days, I enjoyed the warmth, basking in the glow of sudden spring. I went on long walks, reveled in the wearing of short-sleeved shirts, and gleefully pulled my capris and sandals from their long winter hibernation deep within the bowels of my closet.
It was amazing enough that my heart began to soften towards Minnesota, and I almost forgave the arctic vortex that this past winter had been.
But on the third day of warm bliss, I arrived at the unfortunate realization that this land of ten thousand lakes was also the land of ten bajillion hungry mothers seeking food for their proliferate offspring.
Bella Swan had blood that the sparkly Edward Cullen found irresistible. Unfortunately, my blood is irresistible to blood suckers of another kind.
I don’t often post here about current events, but this blog post is worth sharing.
In the communal effort of bringing attention to the victimization of women, it seems that men who are making every effort to respect and elevate women are getting tweet-trashed by the very women they are trying not to wrong (simply for attempting to remind the outraged masses that there ARE a 65% of men who are APPALLED that 35% use nothing more than arousal to justify rape).
I really like that this blog post emphasizes the necessity of the WE rather than just the US or the THEM. It is not a matter of us vs. Them.
Rather than #yesallwomen or #notallmen, the focus should simply be #yesall.
#yesall have the responsibility to choose actions that respect the human dignity of those around them.
End of story.
Originally posted on Sass & Balderdash:
I believe every person, man or woman, is only entitled to something that belongs to another person if that person explicitly grants it to them—that includes a person’s body, mind, trust, affection, bank account, chapstick, you name it.
I believe it is a problem that the phrase “no means no” is necessary in any context.
I believe it is appalling that women, simply by virtue of their sex, have reason to be fearful when walking home alone in the dark.
All of those truths notwithstanding, I do not agree with the conversation that’s been taking place in the wake of Elliot Rodger’s killing spree–perhaps that’s not entirely accurate, let me clarify–I think it’s imperative that this senseless tragedy prompt a discussion about entitlement and the harassment of women, but I do not agree with the tone and the exclusion that’s appearing on countless comment threads and retweets.
If you’re looking…
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In both of my online dating profiles, I mention plans for world domination; so I couldn’t resist sharing this when I saw it in my reader ^_^
Once more we have jumped back into the world of online dating.
This time around, due to the pleas of my mother, in addition to the free dating site on which I’ve re-activated my profile, I decided to also try a paid service.
Thus far, I’ve been underwhelmed by my investment in Match.com.
It seems that there are three main types of men whom I have encountered so far through this site:
- Men every bit as equally unsavory as the unsavory sorts I encounter on the free sites. (Not all the men on the free sites are unsavory. I’m just clarifying that I seem to encounter an equal number of them on the paid site)
Men who believe that since they have paid money for a subscription to Match, they deserve a return for their investment without actual effort on their part.
Men who are (or think that they are) the entire package and thus, expect to find someone as equally excellent and beautiful and worthy of the excellence that would be bestowed upon them should the gentleman in question deign to grace her with a date.
But that is a post for another time.
Today’s post examines the self-righteous perspective of an online dater who went through the effort of sending a personalized message only to have it remain unacknowledged.
Here I am adulting again–or attempting to. The latest pursuit? Finding living arrangements I can afford on my meager hourly wages.
The prospects aren’t pretty, but I’m far more likely to find a better job if I’m closer to where the better jobs ARE (While still remaining close enough to my current job to have a reasonable commute HERE, because let’s face it, I need to plan according to the job I HAVE and not the one I HOPE to have).
The answer to every twenty-something’s accommodation-finding dilemma?
Craigslist, of course!
Well, here we are. 100 posts later, and I’m still single.
In other news, happy National Chocolate Chip Cookie Day! (Since the date has been cancelled, I think I’m going to go on a cookie quest this evening.)
Some back story:
T***** and I have been messaging since Monday, when I re-activated one of my online dating profiles.
Tuesday morning, he decided he wanted to meet me.
We settled on this evening in a town about twenty minutes away.
Between 8 and 10 this morning, he confirmed twice that we were still on for meeting up tonight.
At 3 PM, I received the following message:
How bad is it REALLY?
Yes, people have asked me this. They have scoffed when I have written of the messages I’ve received. They’ve speculated about how much of what I write is true and how much is exaggeration.
Rest assured, dear reader, that there is no way to overstate the awfulness of some of the encounters one has in the realm of online dating.
Some of it is so awful that it’s funny, and in the interest of this dark, twisted humor, I have decided to start a scheduled feature.
Though I will still post ex-file snippets as they occur (or as I have time accompanied by the ever-elusive motivation), I will also post a series called “Worst Case Wednesdays. Every Wednesday, I will summarize the most disastrous online dating encounter of the week.
To read/see the Worst Case of the week, you will have to follow the “Click to read more” link.
DO SO AT YOUR OWN RISK. There are some things you can never unsee.
(You can’t say I didn’t warn you.)
So you can have some pictures of what I’ve been up to today ^_^
It’s one of those days in which the world, through no fault of its own, happens to exist; and the very fact of its existence is incredibly irritating.
EVERYTHING is irritating, up to and including myself.
This, poor readers, is what happens when I don’t get enough sleep: I sporadically fluctuate between manic hyper happiness and hypersensitivity.
(Please don’t ask me how many times this emotional roller coaster has crashed during the past 8 hours. It hasn’t been one of my prouder days. [Emotional stability is TOTALLY overrated anyway.])