I'm going to resist the temptation to start this blog: It's been several months since my last confession...

But it has been awhile. It's not that strange events haven't been happening or odd people haven't said offhanded things to me. I've had things to say and stories to tell. It's not like my upstairs neighbor didn't get burglarized twice in the first two weeks living in my new apartment. Or that I only used my 150 sq ft bedroom for the first two months living in my 480 sq ft apartment because I didn't have any furniture. Or that my co worker revealed that she loves Trans- Siberian Orchestra...

Don't say that {via)

Or even that my skirt crept up so I flashed the entire men's church choir my backside.

All those things DID happen. 

I've been busy. You know that thing where you don't have time to paint your nails or pluck those Brooke Shield brows let alone type a blog post? (I picture you all nodding your heads with mutual respect and understanding).

Worst of all, how did the holiday season sneak up on me? Of all people. And yet, it did.

 I spent the Thanksgiving holiday without my family having to work for the state Wisconsin on the following Friday. And even though I was without the ones nearest and dearest to me I was filled with hope and happiness. You might be asking: Why? Do you have a dysfunctional family that makes you flee from family dinners? Perhaps. But that's not the reason. I'm currently on the upside of SAD (Seasonal affective disorder). A terrible disorder that affects multiple first world citizens.

#1stworldproblems {via}

I get really happy during the winter months and terribly sad during the summer. Right now is the perfect time to ask me for a favor or talk about the future. Even if you were a total stranger asking for a different job while volunteering at a free Thanksgiving dinner so you don't have to stand next to me and that wouldn't even get me down!

While I'm riding this wave of positive bliss I plan to make the most of it. Get things done. Like my Christmas shopping. In the meantime I'm making my list and hoping for one of these:

because I want to be single forever

Or this:

better ask for some new running shoes too...

There is something going on and it has nothing to do with Frida leaving ABBA.

I'm moving. My days living a cozy life in 240 square feet are quickly coming to an end. I will be saying goodbye to a studio apartment and hello to a luxurious 480 square foot, one bedroom apartment. Yes, that's right I'm doubling my square footage (240 times 2 equals 480! I know basic math almost as well as a five year old Korean). What am I going to do with all the space? Fill it with emotional baggage and develop a new phobia?

I hope so... {agoraphobia, so it's nice to meet you!}

Seriously though, last Friday I walked past a guy yelling at a bush. He was in the branches of a garden hedge, yelling at it to stop talking back. Then I realized it was one of my neighbors.

But another part of me is sad and a little bit scared to leave this small space I called home for two years. We had some good times (I can't really think of any at the moment but I'm sure we did). Happy and sad all at once, damn estrogen. All this inner turmoil and angst is like living inside a Stephenie Meyer novel. Admitting I read Twilight... just feeling shame now.

Team Edward {via}

 Goodbyes are always hard but packing is worse. I HATE moving. Part of the reason I stayed in this crap shoot was just so I wouldn't have to move again. This will be the sixth apartment in eight years. You'd think I would be good at moving by now, but I'm not. At all.

Oh you know, I just work for the state now. I've entered a whole new world of cubicles and paper shuffling, 401k's and health insurance. With a full time job you learn so many different things. Things I never new existed, like dismemberment insurance is very real and the most graphic of all the insurances. Oh yeah, and I wear slacks now.

I've been a little out of the loop for awhile. So here are all the important thoughts, realizations and events that have happened in the last few weeks:

Working in an office is awkward. Not funny- awkward like The Office or Office Space, just awkward.

When is it a good time to get everyone offensive coffee mugs? {via}

"I'm going to get in the best shape of my life!" then realizing you said that last summer. And it's on your blog for everyone to see.

I maybe a year older and leaping my way toward thirty, but my skin is holding on to my prepubescent years one horrible blemish at a time.

The hardest thing I've ever done: trying to stop eating so poorly. They should really have a twelve step program for cupcake and vanilla latte addicts.

Sometimes rock bottom is a face full of cream puff in a secluded parking lot. {via}

At what age do you become an Old Maid? And the term "Ape leader" is offensive.

The future? Could be worse... {via}

Paid holidays off are a real thing.

Driving slowly past a store to check out a party dress in the window. Realizing too late that the short, middle-aged, grinning man on the sidewalk thinks you slowed down to check him out.

 I got a brand-new, full-time, fancy-schmancy, grown up job. And since my lease is coming due in the near future, I've decided it's time to get a bigger place. As quaint as the last year and a half has been, 240 sq ft is not the most practical to have friends over or to do my Sweatin' to the 80s video. I've been searching the web and driving around looking for a new place to live. While I'm making more money than I ever have, my close friends Sally Mae and Señior Private Loan are keeping me in a choke hold.   

Always have a safe word. {via}

 So it'll probably be another studio apartment but a little more spacious this time. Maybe 400 sq ft. In the meantime here are some weird things that have been happening:

Springtime. Birds are chirping. Flowers are blooming. Finding a bug in my apartment. A big one.
Troubling: Approaching the bug and thinking, "You're going to need a bigger shoe."

"Nevermind, the apartment's all yours." {via}

Looking for a bigger apartment.
Troubling: 1. Hoping that cute looking apartment I just drove by is crappy enough on the inside that I can afford it.
2. Hoping that crappy apartment that I can afford is nice enough on the inside that I don't get some kind of fungal foot disease.

Two of my favorite things: lip gloss and strong coffee.
Troubling: Picking out a spring shade of gloss with a nice sales lady and realizing I have a big ol' coffee ground stuck in my front teeth.

Teeth, they prefer tea. Makes sense. (Want to know more about teeth? Click here.)

Spending the last few weeks searching for a new apartment. Coming home to my "cozy" studio one evening and my key doesn't work.
Troubling: Realizing my apartment is never going to let me leave.
Troubling#2: And it's not going to let me have my stuff back.

Or it's just being haunted by Alec Baldwin and Geena Davis. {via}

Not having any idea of where I'm going to live next year, but knowing it won't be here.
Troubling: Feeling a little bit sad about it.

I have an announcement. And it's kind of a big deal, so prepare yourself.

In the next month, I will no longer be living below the poverty line. That's right, I will be introduced to the luxuries of the lower middle class.

Can I borrow that top? {via}

Now instead of crunching the numbers before every purchase, I can put the saying, "Keepin' up with the Joneses" to a very minimal use. Generic brand? HA! Actually, I'll still need to buy the generic brand. It's not like I found a money tree. But now when it says buy three and save, I can buy three and save. (You know, instead of just buying one because that's all I could afford even though it would make more sense and save you more money in the long run to buy all three (breath)... You know.)

I might have to start listening to the Boss so I don't lose touch.

An article, from a reputable source (wikipedia), stated most Americans between the ages of 25-75 spend at least one year living below the poverty line.

The Poverty Line. It has a face. Eerily similar to Angela Lansbury {via}

I spent ten months below the poverty line, but I'm getting out early. Precocious? No. It means I have AT LEAST another two months in the next fifty years to get real poor again.

Looking forward to it.

But to my current and soon to be past place of employment, it's been real. We've had some good times.
Don't wear your hair that way.

Just a hat? I like your style.

Did you smell that? That's the pungent smell of desperation as guys of all ages try to create an evening of sweet and thoughtful gestures for their "Pooky Bear."

Love it or hate it, it's almost Valentine's Day. I tend to feel pretty indifferent about it. Unless I get some chocolate, then my vote starts swinging towards loving it.

Valentine’s Day is one of the worst (/best) days out of the year for things to go terribly wrong. And, let’s be honest, they usually do. I have to admit, there's something funny about hearing others’ uncomfortable and failed romantic dates (I know it's wrong. Stop judging me).

In my experience most guys aren’t romantic, unless you’re dating a Harlequin Romance writer (In which case an awkward Valentine’s Day isn’t your biggest problem.)

I find this incredibly romantic

FAILED ROMANCE: An old acquaintance once told me about his gift to his then-girlfriend. It was the typical Valentine’s Day. He saved for weeks to buy her flowers, candy and a pricey bracelet. Sounds great, but it was more like the conditions for a perfect storm. She wasn't on the same page, unfortunately, and gave him one of those cookie cakes from the mall.

Happy Tenth Birthday!

The girl had asked the cookie stand to put, in french of course, “I love you” with frosting. When he opened it his disappointed expression lead to a very dramatic fight. To make matters worse she also bought him a pair of silk boxers with hearts on them.

Boxers ≠ True Love {via}

We’ve all heard these stories. There’s so many ways for it to go wrong: miscommunication, hurt feelings, dramatic fights and maybe best of all, the exchange of really terrible gifts.
“Do you even know me?” should probably never be uttered on Valentine’s Day. So I did a little research and came up with a list of things to avoid giving your "Cuddle Cakes" on the fourteenth.

Don't get a cutesy stuffed animal.

"I don't know you. At all." {via}

Or a Venereal animal.

"Surprise! I've been meaning to tell you..." {via}

Undies/lingerie. As good as your intentions, just don't.

No {via}

Made in the USA? NO {via}

"I got you these creepy footsie pajamas" {via}

Don't get your girl a globe. Because she'll never forget that you got her a globe. On Valentine's Day. She will NEVER forget.

Red flag {via}

Pizza Party!/unforgettable night

If you're struggling for the perfect gift for your "Huggalump," just keep it simple. Put on some slow jam and give a thoughtful card. Like this:

Always {via}

I guess it's become a Christmas tradition for my dad to drive 16 hours a few days before Christmas to drive me from Wisconsin to Missouri. Some people have tree trimming and Christmas carols, we have sleep deprivation and 450 miles in a Prius.

Why don't I just drive myself? Because I drive this:

That's a lie {via}

This year's road trip was a little different than last year's. I had just finished a month of Holiday retail madness at work and my dad was wasting his only day off to work Driving Miss Daisy style to my pampered self. This year was less awkward conversation and more:


Just like last year we did pass the roadside Christmas light display. Somehow I managed to convince my dad that it was must of this road trip. He paid the eight dollars at the front gate and the lady handed us a handful of candy canes.

Sam: (talking around a candy cane) This is going to be great!
Dad: (Dryly) The candy canes alone were worth it. 

We crept along the road lit up in Christmas light splendor. Within the first couple of seconds I was surprised to feel disappointment. My dad, not surprised. Making the best out of an embarrassing choice, we both got out our phones and starting filming the whole pathetic ride.

Sam: This is embarrassing. Why did I think this was a good idea?!
Dad: (Gleefully, dripping with sarcasm)Your Mother's not going to want to miss this.

My mother did miss it. We both forgot to hit record on our phones.

While driving out of the Christmas light display:
Sam: I can't believe we just wasted eight dollars on that.
Dad: We could have seen a better light display in any trailer park in Mid Missouri.

Nothing really interesting happened on this road trip. Not surprising since we were driving through Iowa. But I did learn a very valuable lesson on this trip. Don’t do your Christmas shopping early. Next year I’m just going to use this trip home as the time to find that perfect gift for everyone on my list. Just look at these little gems I found in a gas station:

Precious

By the way this was the new horrible ornament I bought this year. It's about 8 inches long and looked great on the front of my parent's tree.

Happy New Year!!