Nothing is permanent. Especially the good stuff. Sometimes, when the fog of anxiety clears, you think it’s all over. You think that it’s over, FINALLY. You come out of a funk, you clean your room and get all the shit off of the floor, and light one decrepit Bath and Body Works candle from 2009 and relax. In a perfect world that is where the credits would roll. BUT we do not live in a perfect world, and the anxiety will come back like some terrible Mean Girls 2 sequel. I sat in my office at work, feeling the walls cave in, on your average Tuesday morning, trying to catch my breath and sweating. If someone had asked me what was wrong the answer would be “nothing” or “I don’t know”, and it wouldn’t be a lie. Generalized anxiety is stupid and it happens any time for any and all reasons.
Then, while scrolling instagram searching for the perfect InStAgRaM story (follow me here), I saw something revolutionary. It was a quote that said:
So, I’ve been gone, living the post graduate life.
I got a job. In the field I have studied for. The field I spent five years studying. SO….why am I so sad and empty? Was Graduate school the honeymoon phase of my life? God that’s so sad. I considered just getting a PhD because apparently school was the best thing since sliced bread. Until I came across a post on facebook. The. Post. Graduate. Slump.
I wanted to share something with you guys. WordPress keeps telling me the readability “needs improvement” in large red letters. Well thats because ITS BORING. It is my masters independent research project. There are no pictures, or headings with the appropriate amount of words underneath (because there are thousands of words underneath bitches). Anyways, this took me four entire months, draft after draft, sweat, panic, citations, more panic about accidentally plagiarizing, eye strain, probably carpal tunnel from typing eight thousand words, and ignoring my friends. But I got through it, and turned it in, and realized I did all that work and research for a grade and my professor to read it. Back to the external hard drive to collect dust. Um, no thank you. Im going to leave it here so that you all can read ALL OF IT, my entire 27 page paper, because you LOVE ME. Also, who knows, maybe this could be a good resource for someone, scholarly or real life. Enjoy.
(I’ll add a couple pix, maybe it will bump up its “readability”)
I took my first Women and Gender Studies class on accident in 2012. A class had gotten cancelled and that was the only class that fit in that time slot. I remember sitting at the kitchen island, mentally preparing myself for the armpit hair and Birkenstocks I was about to see. Rehearsing my best “men are pigs” speech. And then…..I got there.
And it was NONE of those things. Everything society had fed me about feminism was wrong, because feminism was fucking great. Just about equality, both genders looking out for each other to make everything great. There weren’t man haters there, and there were only like 3 hairy armpits! It was amazing. I learned about gender equality, while also learning about everyone else who experiences inequality, getting to hear their stories and their fights for equality as well.
I just couldn’t believe the whole world wasn’t on board with this, I mean, it wasn’t hurting anyone else to help those others achieve equality. (most people think feminism was about rising above men, and wanting to be better, but it wasn’t that at all. We just want to get some more rights). So, whatever, aside from your radial uncle on facebook talking about women wanting to take over men, I thought everyone would love this shit.
I mean, I was like one class shy of a minor in Women and Gender Studies. I was about that life. It just made sense to me? Lets all work together and be some god damn bad asses!
That was until it just stopped making sense to me.
Ever since I was little I can remember loving the feeling of pressure on me. Not the inside pressure, where I had to decide if I was going to begin my forgery career, or just admit to my teacher my mom did NOT sign my agenda and I would be sitting inside for recess. (I’ll let you choose what one I decided on) What I mean is, like when a friend sits on you in, what I can only assume, an attempt to kill you. They’re screaming at you “DOES THIS HURT??!” and you’re laying there like……ummm…actually it doesn’t and this is great. Same thing as when my cat, on an extremely rare occasion (I’m talking rare like my cousin showers AND brushes his teeth in the same day rare) sits on my chest. Im like, oh my god live here on my chest forever please. It just felt so calming? What an odd thing. Or so I thought.
Turns out….It’s not actually that weird.
It is like an actual thing that helps people. Something about Deep Touch Pressure, and how it can reduce activity in the nervous system, or even go as far as like the pressure, like a hug, releases serotonin and endorphins and other science shit. Nobody ever told me this life changing information. I stumbled upon it when I discovered…*drum roll please*…..
I typed a whole post out on this but deleted it because I got DERAILED. I’m so easily distracted, one minute I’m trying to write some real shit and the next minute I’m typing paragraphs talking shit about some super blogger named Karen.
I DON’T WANT TO WORK 90 HOURS A WEEK SHARING MY OWN SHIT ALL OVER MY OWN SOCIAL MEDIA SO I CAN MAKE MONEY BLOGGING, I JUST WANT TO BLOG. I WILL DO IT MY OWN WAY AND THE MONEY WILL COME. SORRY YOU FEEL THE NEED TO ANNOY EVERYONE FOR A QUICK BUCK.
Okay, I got it out, and its out there.
But for real….
I’m me, thats never going to change. No matter how much I want it to. I want to be fit, and work out, and eat healthy and be trendy. So, I try to do those things and it just never works. THEN I hate myself because it doesn’t work.
It is no secret that when I want to….I can throw the best parties. I am very obsessive and I love going overboard, so I have all the makings of a great party thrower. Lets go memory lane and so I can show you my favorite party that I have ever thrown.
Does anything sound more fun than going to prom? Yes, like several things. Prom had a really strict dress code, and you weren’t old enough to drink yet, and there were chaperones squeezing between people. However, does anything sound more fun that an adult prom?
You might be thinking of some things that you THINK are more fun, but you’re wrong. Nothing is more fun. I rented a giant barn, I made a real dangerous alcoholic punch, and I left a digital camera out.
Not be confused with the looking glass self. Instead of the looking glass self, where you conform to what people perceive you to be, what if you could look inside other peoples glass? and see what they perceive themselves to be?
You know those people you follow who have it all together? You know the ones, the ones who did great in high school? The ones who went to college and somehow had a social and academic life? Got married? All while seemingly have not ever had a Itneybray Earspray 2007 meltdown? Yeah, me too, and I envied them forever. Every milestone I hit, I compared to when those perfect people accomplished it. “Only a few years behind” I would tell myself. I just could NOT believe how easily these people got things accomplished, like it was handed to them silver platter after silver platter.
I spent a lot of time envying them. The only things being handed to me were medical bills on a closeout TJMaxx chipped platter. All while I was having meltdown after meltdown. They looked like super models and were taking amazing trips. While I looked like a low budget zombie from Thriller and haven’t even left my bedroom in five consecutive days. I hated them.
Well, I hated them up until about 3 hours ago, until I had an epiphany.
If you know me you know that my hair is rarely one color for very long. Which prompts the question “How do you still have hair?” Honestly, I can’t answer that. I acknowledge that I am #blessed to have hair still, and I appreciate whatever higher power is allowing me to keep it. #BlessUp
So, I thought I would share with you some of my faaavorite looks over the years, and give you some insight on what I had to do to get there. Please, let it inspire you to go do something wild so I can live through youuuu with my boring blonde hair.
I am a licensed professional. Please, do not try to do these yourselves, it will not work out. How do I know that you ask? Because half of these did not turn out great right away and I actually have the base knowledge. Also as a further disclaimer, some of these were done in one step. HOWEVER, they totally shouldn’t have been (I’m just really impatient). If your stylist tells you the transformation is going to take multiple sessions…TRUST THEM.
Also. None of these alone damaged my hair, but the process I take should have made me bald. I go from red, to blonde, to brown, to pink, to blonde, to orange, etc…..I make terrible hair decisions.
Nice Is Just A Place In France is a really great book I read several years ago, that is rocking a solid 3 star review on amazon. You wanna know why? I’ll tell you…
…because its not nice…..
It is not a self-help book and everything in here is meant to be taken with a grain of salt. People pick this up and want a cushion-y book that will walk them along the path to get whatever they want. That is not what happens here, this is a book is more for people who know they are a bitch, but are scared of the bitch living within.