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.

It's almost October and while Halloween is over a month away, creepy things are happening in Madison.

Heard singing outside my window on a Tuesday night.
Troubling: I thought I was having an "In your eyes" Lloyd/Diane moment.
Troubling#2: Feeling crestfallen when I realized it was just my drunken neighbors having a karaoke patio party.

Love is: an unforgettable boombox serenade. {via}

Still being completely grossed out by Silence of the Lambs.
Troubling: Finding this in an antique mall.

Midnight on a Friday. New neighbors are having a party. It's loud.
Rant: New freshman class of UW, if you're going to listen to 70s rock, know it don't blow it. AND it's not cute to loudly group sing Bad Romance, that retched Barbie song or anything by ABBA. And please. If you're going to keep me up when I work at 7am, I prefer if you didn't act like you were an extra on a Disney sitcom. I want to hear name calling, trashy fights, a colorful array of bad choices and the next morning, I want to see someone passed out near my car. I was not only tired the next day, but disappointed.

Having a bad day.
Troubling: That frown is turned upside down just by hearing Hall and Oates on the radio.

Before we get started, breathe in deeply my friends. Can you smell it? Can you smell the sweet and glorious scents of apple pie, caramel, and cinnamon? Can you feel the crisp breeze and hear the crunch of colorful dried leaves? OK OK, I've been drinking caramel lattes and found an apple cinnamon air filter in the back of my closet. But you can't deny it, fall is in the air.

Hello, handsome {via}

So I've gone from being college girl to working girl. In the past when I heard "working girl," I always thought Hilary suits paired with white socks and walking orthopedic sneakers or well... a lady of the night. But that's not me, I'm not a mall walker and I haven't completely given up on life yet.

It's not that I've never had a job in my life. I've had quite a few actually, and they've all had their interesting tid bits and quirks. Like when I worked in that crafting supply store and had to memorize the all the sale items for the week. My favorite part was all the religious pamphlets I received from customers in prairie dresses on how my soul was weeping or the dangers of living a life of disobedience. Strangely, I was the only employee to receive these. Must be the reddish hair.

Witches come in many shapes and sizes. Damn bigotry {via}

I never really thought about working. Which is probably not good considering I spent the last seven years trying to study my way into employment. Not such a bad way to spend seven years. I mean, I could have spent it chasing the dragon or filling my body with poorly drawn unicorn tattoos.

deserving of a religious pamphlet {via}

Back up plan? I always thought I'd just marry rich but everyone knows that's for the 24 and younger crowd. I seemed to have missed that youthful bus.

... Sorry, sister suffragette {via}

Is this my dream job? Am I fulfilling some life goal of being a customer service representative? No, and no one appreciates your sarcasm.

But for now it barely pays the bills. Really isn't that the 'Murican dream? I did get the urge to replace the rear window of my car with a patriotic decal, bald eagle soaring across a waving flag.

Holy future, Batman {via}

The best part about having a job, besides the ability to buy a toothpaste and no longer having to contemplate if a spit bath is a real thing, is the new found camaraderie I've found with other employed persons. You get to listen to stories about people's pets/kids/fishing trips, have hearty belly laughs about activities planned for days off, and best of all, listen to forced conversations about the weather.

Is this adulthood? I googled bunions yesterday.

Five thousand, twenty-five hundred, six hundred minutes... how long will it take you to get that song out of your head?

It's reflection time. Just fair warning, there is probably going to be a lot of over sharing in this one.

Reflections. Think Christina Aguilera, pre-dirty years {via}

This post makes me wish I kept one of those creepy diaries that documents every minute and every detail, of every day (I know you people are out there with your closets full of weird notebooks), but I don't like diaries. While I do love The Notebook (explanation: I'm a girl, Josh Gosling),

'nuff said {via}

I haven't had a love affair worth recording and frankly, I do a lot of things I hope to immediately forget.

But I digress, this is a reflection on the last year living in a 240 square foot apartment and the beginning of a new life in yet another city.

Let's begin with living in this apartment, the center of this blog. It hasn't been easy. I've never lived in such a tiny space for such a long duration of time. Have I kept my sanity? What little I started out with, probably (it's not like I think there is a little man living in my head with a pick axe, whistling dwarf tunes, slowly chipping away at my sanity). I've never had a problem with claustrophobia before, but some days it does feel like the walls are suffocating me and I just have to get out for awhile. I thought of a good simile for claustrophobia, but during editing found it a little heartless.

give it a rest

When I left Kansas I made an oath... well, to summarize: to stay single for a year. It might surprise you but since I was eighteen, I've either been in a relationship or dating someone, never staying single for more than a month or two. So, how did this year go? Unfortunately, it was incredibly easy to stay single (besides one little, tiny, three week long, snafu... but let's just ignore that one...).

Nevertheless, over the last year I think I've done some growing. Luckily because I've been exercising, it hasn't all been in my pant size but rather a growth in a more philosophical way. Or like smarts and stuff. I'm not too vain that I can't admit to some mistakes. But as I reflect on the last year, I didn't think there would be so many. Someday I'm sure I'll sit down, evaluate my poor but consistent choices, and listen to MJ's Man in the Mirror.

But for now, as a quick fix, here is a list of what I learned in the past year and my advice to anyone who might need it (...pretty much if you've read this far, that means you):

This applies to men as well.

Not even a fake bird could hold this plant to life.

Jem and the Holograms ruined my life {via}

Another week. This time, a little less nudity and a little more bizarre.

Walking to yoga class.
Troubling: Seeing a stuff tiger perched outside someones window (We'll come back to this...)

I wish it was still cheeky to say, "Hide your kids, hide your wife..." (but that's so 2010)

Finishing up an evening shift. An attractive man approaches.
Troubling: He asks where the Preparation H is located.

Going to the mall
Troubling: Going to the mall.
Troubling #2: Justin Bieber behind a perfume counter.
Troubling #3: People that walk around the mall with their bicycle helmets. Still attached (This isn't Garden State. And you're not a cute, Natalie Portman, pathological liar, pretending to have seizures. Remove the helmets).

Faces blurred because I'm not completely dead on the inside.

A 30-something couple cruising through town in a bright green, top down, Jeep wrangler.
Troubling: Spotting the 3-foot-tall stuffed Shrek sitting in the backseat. Wearing a seat belt.
Troubling #2: No children in the car.

Spotting several stuffed animals placed randomly throughout Madison. Like this one:

Spotting #3

Troubling: The 30 seconds I spent wondering if Madison had a Plushies fetish.

Hot town, it’s summer in the city.

It’s been hot. Like really hot.

When I moved into my apartment almost a year ago, I was told the building didn’t have central air. If you wanted air conditioning you needed a window unit, “Well, it doesn’t get that hot in Wisconsin, I’ll just save the money.” Seriously, nothing makes you feel more alive than an apartment without air conditioning. It’s like your own personal detox spa (without the colon cleansing). If I didn’t get out all the toxins this week, they're staying for the long haul.

Scientific drawling of a toxin {via}

Weather and I have always had a weird relationship (as you can imagine, that pretty much describes every relationship I’ve been apart of since I was eighteen). From attacking my umbrellas to sporadically burning my pastey skin some sunny days but not others, to hiding icy death traps, and my favorite, creating sudden tornado gusts on skirt days, Weather and I could write an article of warning signs for bad relationships. It's like the worst boyfriend you’ve ever had. Kind of like what I would expect dating Richard Simmons would be like.

Say what you will, but that guy's got the gams {via}

In front of people, he'll let you borrow his dolfin shorts and be all fun, dramatic and sweaty, but behind closed doors? He'll choke a bitch. Haven’t you seen the Richard Simmons outtake video? No? Oh alright...


During the end of the fall season this last year, I went out and bought a “northern coat.” It was full of downy feathers and was reviewed as a must have of surviving a Wisconsin winter. As I zipped the coat up and tied the sash, instantly sweating, I smugly thought, “OK winter, do your worst.” About a month later, as I was walking home from school, winter smacked the smugness right off my face with a blizzard.  To say it was horrible would be an understatement. At one point during what seemed like a lifetime journey through winter wonderland hell, I was certain I wasn’t going to make it. About three steps later, I was ready to give up on life.

Made it home with a chunk of ice frozen to my lashes.

Fast forward to about a week ago. I was on the phone with my dad telling him that I thought summer was over in Madison, “The weather keeps getting colder and colder. I guess it’s time for fall!’’ This is the forecast for this week:

Getting warmer...

suffocation

Oh sure, it looks beautiful outside. All sunny and green, until you walk out there. It's like regressing into a sticky four year old, you may not know why you're sticky but that's your new reality (seriously, why are little kids so sticky?).

But really I’m not so egocentric as to think the Mother of all nature is just waiting for my sass and taunts to strike with a storm or excessive heat backlash. The entire Midwest is being affected. It's not my fault.
(Actually that’s exactly what I’m saying. Mother Nature is clearly a firm believer in corporal punishment. From now on I’m going to keep my weather opinions to myself.)

OK, I’m going to put down my stick because that summer weather horse is a goner.

Customer service, so we meet again.

That’s right world. I am employed once again. What does seven years college education get you?
Oh you know, just a customer representative gig at a large corporate retailer (which shall remain nameless). Jealous?

"My name is Amber, and here's how I do. I got nonstop hotness, hardcore learning disabilities, constant horniness, and I'm rockin' one leg... All I want is some medicine for my ringworm, and a cool-ass face tattoo. What-what?!" {SNL}

I hate the saying, “First impressions mean everything,’’ mostly because I like to think of myself as open- minded and non- judgemental. But when it comes to employment, first impressions mean a-hell-of-alot and recently a few things caught my attention.

Let’s get some examples up in here.

During orientation, at the new employment, we watched an educational video on the evils of unionization. While I tend to think using social networking pages to express political views is pointless, and even a little tacky (this is coming from a girl who refuses to use Twitter because it encourages narcissism, but has a facebook page with thirty, carefully edited, photo albums... Might seem just little bit ironic? Oh just shut it, Alanis), let’s get out the puff paint unicorn shirt and get political.

Turn right if you please. {via}

My dad has been an active union man since I can remember. So the first impression of my employer was not so good. As I watched the 20- minute- plus- video on how unions use clever trickery to steal your money and take way workers rights, all I wanted to do was dramatically rip off my badge, kick over a few chairs, and spew some colorful sailor talk as I stormed out. But being an unemployed liberal hero isn’t going to make my bank account any fuller. So I did my best to tune out the propaganda video and turned my attention to the company handbook to find some saving grace.

And I did.

My employer may be owned by misinformed, big business, dingle bats, but they do have high standards: Lycra pants are a dress code violation. Disapproval of lycra? Now that’s a company I can get behind.

Unless you're Bon Jovi {via}

Moving on. My past managers, stemming all the way back to my banquet serving days, seem to be cut from the same piece of bread. The easiest way to explain it: they all look like they spend a great deal of time listening to Barry White and gazing into a bathroom mirror for their daily affirmation.


With customer service jobs, your coworks make a huge difference. I've always been really lucky to get incredibly nice people to work with. But speaking of first impressions, sometimes they stunt coworker friendships.

For example, if a coworker is wearing a black, velcro, digital watch, I always assume they spend their off hours playing Dungeons and Dragons or collecting Samurai swords. While perhaps an unfair character assessment, I feel completely unable to start up a casual conversation without the urge to ask them how many comic book conventions they've attended.
(Yes, this does make me feel like a horrible person. Reformation...tedious business). Not that this makes it any better but I'm not the only one to think this is nerdy Check it Here.

In conclusion, "first impression" is just short hand for, "I'm judging you unfairly... especially if you're wearing lycra pants."

Spring through pictures (and some explanation):

Springtime at the Capital

A sticker on my landlords door

Parking ticket

Terrifying

Arranging

Art on the sidewalk

Art Display: Hide and Go Seek by Christopher Murphy

It glows in the dark

Attacked by a drunk dancer in heels

Antique Store find...

gave me nightmares