Tag Archives: 23 is hard
I may look like your every day basic pretentious Dallas millenial, ubering around the Uptown, snapchatting my every move, but that’s only because I am your every day basic pretentious Dallas millenial, ubering around the Uptown, snapchatting my every move.
Happy President’s Day, where is your face?
Today, many offices around the United States were shut down in honor of President’s Day. My workplace blessed us with a half-off day, meaning we all had the option to leave at lunch, assuming deadlines were met blahblahblah.
It is on short, client-meetingless days like these that Iike to do this rare, oft-forgotten ritual I like to call “not wear make up.”
I went to work without make up.
I walked into an office building in downtown Dallas without my face.
I entered the place where I spend 90% of my time, surrounded by people who see me the most, sans facial beauty products.
.028 of a second after walking into the office, like I had not even put my purse down, someone saw me and said, “Oh, Augusta. Are you okay?”
HOLY MOTHER OF GOD ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I AM WITHOUT MAKE UP, IT’S NOT LIKE I SHAVED MY HEAD???
Another time when I didn’t wear make up to work, a couple months back, someone asked me if I wasn’t wearing glasses that day.
I DON’T WEAR GLASSES Y’ALL. LOL. LIKE I’M LAUGHING OUT LOUD IN MY MIND REALLY LOUD.
and YOU KNOW WHAT. MY “MAKE UP-LESS” LOOK ACTUALLY INVOLVES MAKE UP. Like, I did not wake up like this. I STILL woke up and put effort into my face, but that’s not enough for the society we live in. And if you read that sentence and took it seriously when I dropped the “society” bomb, stop. This is not an ambitious post about feminism, everyone keep your bras on.
My no-make up make up
And because I can’t think of a worse time to blog about what make up I wear, here is where I include what make up I wear. does anyone care. is this a fashion blog now.
1. I wear fairest shade of Christian Dior foundation, also known as shade 010, because I’m literally the human reincarnation of a delicate flower. 2. I’m a die hard fan of Bobbi Brown’s medium #2 bronzer. It’s everything. 3. I recently threw out my Walgreen’s face powder, switched to big girl powder, and developed a big lesbian crush on Laura Mercier’s french ass powder, including the brush it came with, which by the way, was about the price of in-state college tuition, but it’s fine, I make an entry level salary and I’m a 30K millionaire, and I will have a fucking flawless face. Sorry mom.
4. I also use a light eye brow pencil, and it’s not the brand that’s listed above because I’m a liar. I don’t know what brand my pencil is. But it’s just a pencil, does the brand even matter. JUST DRAW ON YOUR FREAKING EYEBROWS, OKAY? EVERYONE NEEDS IT.
I also like to work as fast and furiously as I can on half days, so I can get everything done with in hopes of making it a quarter day. So about an hour later, I’m in deep-focus mode, headphones in hears, tunnel vision to computer, and a coworker stops me to ask if I’m okay. A second person.
HONEST TO GOD. #HTG
To give a little context, I can see why said genuinely nice person asked me if I was okay. My eyes are watery and I’m sniffely/sneezey from God knows what undiagnosed allergies I have. It actually looks like I’ve been sobbing today. That, PLUS sans make up, and I’m wearing an oversized sweater, oh, and my hair is in a man bun. Like I’m not a girl, not yet a woman, but I have absolute 23-year-old man bun hair.
Because it’s a holiday in America and God bless our troops and it’s my half day, I’ll freaking man-bun if I want to.
In addition, my voice is hoarse. So it’s not enough for me to just look like a man, I also sound like a man. I really commit myself to half-days. Thnk u 4 reading, I’m going to go enjoy my what’s left of my half day now.
This is a story of a real white girl who thought she had actual cancer because she had a sore throat and suspicious tongue/throat bumps for three straight weeks. It is not dramatic or ridiculous at all.
It all started the Tuesday after Halloween. My throat hurt. I thought nothing of this.
Two weeks later.
It’s 1:13 PM on a Saturday afternoon and I’m babysitting. Grand Master 2 and 1/2 year-old Wesley had just laid down in his bed chambers for his daily nap. Since my throat still hurt, I decided I would take a casual glance at it because why not.
The face of the devil himself was staring back at me in the form of bumps. Bumps I had never seen. All the bumps. FREAKING BUMPS Y’ALL
NOTHING LIKE FREE TIME AND WIFI. I proceeded to spend the next hour or so incessantly Internetting/self diagnosing/stressing/sweatIng and taking four thousand iPhone photos with flash. Literally do not go through my camera library right now.
My “omg i have cancer” thought process
ok so i have bumps on my throat, they’ve been there 2 weeks, I’ve had no other symptoms of being sick, i don’t have allergies, so basically i have pre-HIV, because problems with the tongue are usually just results of bigger diseases going on, so no big deal, i either have diabetes, cancer, or pre-HIV/pre-pre-AIDS, even though i’ve never even done illegal drugs, but i made out with a stranger last new years, and delayed symptoms are real, and i had the stomach bug a month ago and i lost 7 pounds in 3 days so it’s clear my immune system is crashing and oh my god what if it goes to my brain then i have to decide if i want to go the death with dignity or just the old fashioned way and oh god now i’ll NEVER finish the Not That Kind of Girl book
I literally hadn’t been this distraught since I found out Nelly had his own reality TV show, naturally titled Nellyville.
I texted friends. I told them I’m dying. I told them cancer is real and I have it. All of them told me to stop googling.
As weird fate would have it, I was due for the bi-annual teeth cleaning. I made the dentist stick a flashlight in my face and look at my throat. I was ready for him to tell me I’m fine and it’s nothing, but that’s not what he told me. I repeat that is not what he told me.
“Yeah, those are odd. Let’s get you back here next week to see what those bumps do. If they’re not gone, I’m going to take a biopsy.”
I realize biopsies aren’t necessarily a big deal, because there is such a thing as benign, and things aren’t what they seem, and things go away.
On the other hand, I’ve never broken a bone, I have 20/20 vision, and my worst injury to date was drunk-spraining my ankle in Deep Ellum Labor Day weekend 2014. SO THIS BIOPSY REVELATION THREW MY HEALTHY ASS FOR A LOOP.
Then I had to make a decision. do I tell my parents about this? do i really want to freak them out, make them worry, ruin their Thanksgiving, panic them??? will my mom send me to M.D. Anderson?? So of course I decide not to. I tell my sister I’m not telling the parents so everything is official.
48 minutes later.
My mom, who has been a hygienist longer than most of my blog readers have been alive, responded to my I MIGHT HAVE 23 YEAR OLD CANCER text with “cinnamon candy” accusations.
Not too much happened in the countdown week to the biopsy appointment. Just some mild precautions on my end. You know. Like scheduling 87 appointments with different doctors in Dallas.
One with my OBG (for literally no other reason than to be extreme, SRY IF IT’S TMI~*~*~*~), an appointment with a Baylor doctor specializing in otolaryngology, and one with a general ENT doctor who could get me in A.S.AP. on ZocDoc. SO, if you’re into math, including the dental appointments, that is five appointments in a two week span for a sore throat because I’m not extreme.
So now we’re all caught up to the day of biopsy, also known as, this morning.
My computer alarm rang out at 6:45 A.M. Yes, computer. My one iPhone charger broke last night and I had to use all my cunning survival skills to figure out how I would wake up in the morning without an iPhone.
I don’t want to talk about it but 1 car charger, 1 wall, and 3 cords later, I had literally spent $70 on chargers.
I was on time for the dentist appointment. My bumps were still there and I was still in pain, so I was certain I would be getting a biopsy. I had mentally prepared myself. I had sent out car selfie snapchats saying “biopsssyyy tyymmmmeee” and everything.
WELL I WAS WRONG. He examined the bumps and instead of going the biopsy route, he decided to prescribe me antibiotics (clindamycin???? i’m pretty sure i once took this as an acne medication??? i’m pretty). Then he scheduled me another appt for the following week. ok then.
EXCEPT I’M STILL CONVINCED I HAVE ALL THE DISEASES IN THE WORLD.
Which is fine because i had another appt that morning with the ENT guy from ZocDoc.com it’s fine hehe. This doctor knew everything there was ever to know about tongues and all things mouth and idk he might have been God himself.
He took one good look at my throat and told me it was all entirely normal. NOT EVEN SICK. LIKE JUST ACTUAL NORMAL. OKAY THEN. He pulled out a large text book filled with pictures of tongues. He pointed to one that looked like mine. The text under the photo said “Prescription: reassurance.”
so i guess inflammed lymph tissue and a possible case of acid reflux all mix together to create an anticlimactic diagnosis complete with an over the counter drug recommendation.
it’s fine. i’m actual fine.
I was recently requested to blog about budgeting. HAHA. ok.
I’m obviously a perfect candidate to blog about personal financing in the adultworld because I have ABSOLUTELY NEVER UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE done any of the following things:
- Lost my debit card, especially not Halloween 2014
- Accidentally signed up for a credit card at Marshalls
- Forget to sign up for a toll tag, then forget to Google how to pay, then forget to pay
- Over-drafted. Ever.
….idontwanttotalkaboutit. ihaveamarshallscreditcard. thestruggleisreal.
REALIZATIONS ABOUT MY FINANCIAL HABITS COMPARED TO THOSE AROUND ME:
1. Everyone and their dog has a 401K and or “roth” savings, and at least most people have dabbled in stocks and bonds.
Was there a personal financial class in college that I missed???? Was I supposed to register in the Barnes & Noble self-help budgeting aisle for my graduation party????? How did I miss the “know everything there is to know about money in the adult world” memo???? CAN YOU NOT HAVE AN IRA ROTH ACCT???? YOU’RE MAKING ME FEEL BAD????? I NEED A HUSBAND???????????????????
2. Some people are saving their receipts
There is no moment of self-doubt and reflection quite like when shopping/eating with a friend, and she asks for her receipt and saves it in her wallet. *wait should I have saved my receipt?? is there a chance to win $3,000 by taking a survey on the back?? what is she doing???*
Apparently people get tax money back if they save their receipt??? WHERE DO YOU PUT ALL YOUR RECEIPTS??? HOW DO YOU KEEP TRACK OF THEM ALL AN ENTIRE YEAR??? HOW MUCH MONEY DO YOU ACTUALLY SAVE?? WHO TAUGHT YOU THIS???? DO YOU SOMEHOW MAKE YOUR RECEIPTS DIGITAL OR IS THIS ALL LITERALLY TANGIBLE PAPER BECAUSE I’M SCARED.
3. Then there are those who make Google Excel Docs and manually enter their expenditures
I am so not one of these people that it actually hurts. I have a Mint account (more on that in three seconds) and that is a HUGE LEAP AND BOUND for me. I didn’t even really monitor it for about 8 months, I just had it so I could receive death-threat e-mails every week and feel suicidal looking at the “eating out/alcohol/shopping” trends.
My budget-saavy friends say Mint is basic and doesn’t even budget right. like WUT??? So instead, they do it all manually in Excel and keep track of every cent with just a calculator and their checking account like HAHALOLWUT??/ so much wut
4. Mint.com is not a fashion blog by the Olsen twins
I was once introduced to this magical witchcraft technology that keeps track of everything you spend and creates colorfully whimsical graphics and pie charts of your spending habits. This is called mint.com and it will not tell you what was on the ready-to-wear spring 2015 runways.
I use mint. The other day, I updated the budgets in it. In November, I’m doing this new thing where I ACTUALLY stick to budgets. So far it’s been easy because you can’t spend money when there are only $2 in your account #SAVINGSACCOUNTSAREREAL
About two weeks ago, I bought a $20 candle. For myself. It’s sitting next to me as I type. I just felt like I really needed a chic candle, and when you’re single, I subscribe to the theory of self-pamper. Sometimes you have to do weird things like buy yourself absurdly chic candles and flowers.
Click here if you want the candle. Or don’t. I don’t get commission if you buy it. bye.
Image/gif creds: http://giphy.com, http://www.thedreslyn.com, bookriot.com, pandawhale.com, gifrific.com
Any blogger will admit to feeling the following things. Or they will feel it, but not admit to it. Or I’m the only blogger in the world who feels these things and I’ll die alone.
- I’m embarrassed about 98% of my blogs.
- Self-deprecation (or self-sabotage?) is required.
- Hearing “I’m the biggest creep, I like all of your blogs” never gets old, and it’s not considered “creeping.”
- It’s awkward saying “Thank you” when someone says they love your blog. thanks i love my blog too, i’m rly obsessed with me.
- You don’t forget it when a guy tells you he “fell for you through your writing.” This is not often, because get real, but it happens.
- Asking certain friends (you know, the ones who get it) to read your blog and make sure it’s actually funny before posting it is a common, insecure, and encouraged practice.
- You automatically bond with other people who blog.
- A friend who likes your blog on Facebook is a true friend and many blessings will rain upon them.
- Blogging takes a really really really long time, and then once it’s published, I read it 10 more times.
- I read my old blogs when I can’t sleep. And I laugh. And I cringe. And I go to sleep.
- When a friend you haven’t talked to in months texts you asking for a link to an old blog, it’s like you talked yesterday.
- You don’t want everyone to read your blog (parents, grade-school teachers, mom’s friends, current/potential employers, ex-boyfriends, crushes, gyno, neighbor, cashier at Kroger), but you still somehow want to go viral.
- You’ve thought about contributing to BuzzFeed but it sounds exhausting and if you’re not famous after your numbered list of gifs after the first two attempts, there’s no hope. It’s all rigged. Blame public relations.
- You both put a lot of scrutiny on other bloggers, but also avidly support them, because you get it. youjustgetit.
- All of your friends commonly tell you, “DON’T BLOG OR TWEET THIS,” because you are that girl and you know it.
- You blog and tweet things you know you shouldn’t, whether for the sake of a career or sheer embarrassment but you do anyway, because the story is just that funny.
- You do questionable things solely because “it could be good blog material.”
- Everything inspires a blog post. And by everything, I do mean everything. Literally. Everything.
- You’ll be inspired to blog at inconvenient times. IT’S 11:33 PM BUT I JUST THOUGHT OF A BRILLIANT BLOG AND I CAN’T SLEEP UNTIL IT’S DRAFTED.
- You’ll wrestle with Google Analytics and try to bribe your 46 closest friends with a job in anything remotely-advertising related. (coding is hard help).
- There is no such thing as being satisfied with the design/template/color palette, but your blog ideas can’t wait on your poor design skills to be published.
- You semi live in fear of being sued for using a gif/photo from the internet without properly giving credit. You use the gif/photo anyway.
- A boyfriend isn’t a boyfriend unless he reads every single blog and worships it and you and you writing it.
23 seems like a fitting place to stop. Be on the lookout for a new blog bye.
Becoming a Texas resident is simple. Just follow these tried-and-true steps from someone with firsthand experience.
Step one: Vehicle registration and inspection.
Gather your relevant paperwork and Google maps your way to the nearest sketchy auto shop that will rip you off by doing something Texans call “inspecting your vehicle.” Your car will ALMOST be able to pass this test. But as it turns out, you won’t. You definitely won’t. Why? You’re a gangster. You ride dirty on the streets in your less than 25% window light transmission tint.
|Non-Texas residents rolling around Dallas without having their windows inspected.|
Step two: Pay four thousand million dollars de-tint and re-tint your windows.
You will have to take off work for this. Then spend a Saturday afternoon there. Because de-tinting means re-tinting and it takes too long to do it all in one trip. Also, this will be a hundred thousand dollars out of your weekly Mint spending allowance. Not that you follow it anyway.
Step three: Go back to get inspected and not have Texas insurance
OH YEAH LOL you didn’t know you were supposed to have Texas auto-insurance??? Lolz like duhh who DOESN’T know that???? WHO doesn’t KNOW that???????? Now you can call God knows who to get your New Mexico insured vehicle transferred to some Texas policy. This is exciting because it gives your parents another opportunity to ween your financial needs off of their payroll. ENJOY ADULTHOOD!! AUTO INSURANCE IS $65-100 PER MONTH!!!
Step four: Get auto insurance in Texas and print out a crap ton of papers to prove it to everyone throughout the following steps
Step five: go BACK to the FREAKING auto place
The staff of this establishment OFFICIALLY HATES YOU. But at least your inspection is complete and you finally have all the necessary paperwork needed to follow the next steps.
Step six: Lose the necessary paperwork needed to follow the next steps.
The kind woman on 500 Elm street breaks the news to you. You’re missing the “out of state” inspection paper. Okay. Ok. O. K. ok. k.
Step seven: Go. Back. To. The. Inspection. Shop.
They claim they gave it to you. YET WHY DON’T YOU HAVE IT. That’s okay because the auto shop inspection car place and vehicle registration office are both downtown. After retrieving the correct paper from the auto shop, you go back to the registration office.
Step eight: Check your glove box and find the paper you needed all along.
Step nine: WTF is a lienholder???????
I graduated a four year college and managed to scrape by without being properly taught the definition (or existence) of the word “LIENHOLDER.”
You will be asked this by the kind woman at the registration office.
You’re so close to getting your vehicle registered, you. can. almost. taste. it.
You call your mom. You call your dad. No answer. No answer. The lady is looking at you with sympathy. Oh, poor spoiled newly grad white girl. Lienholder, lienholder, if you know if you’re a lienholder, good for you, if you know if I’m one, THAT MAKES ONE OF US.
Step ten: The registration lady decides it’s not that big of a deal and tells you to get in line.
Pay another unexpectedly high amount for two Texas metal plates.
Step eleven: BASK IN THE GRATIFYING FEELING OF FINALLY OWNING THE COVETED TEXAS LICENSE PLATES.
Walk out of the office feeling elation. Tweet that you’re almost done with the New Mexican turns Texan process.
|You’re not a New Mexican, not yet a Texan.|
Step twelve: Put them in your car and never actually get to putting them ON your car
Step thirteen: Ask off work to go to the DMV
Now here comes the exciting stuff!!! Getting the ID!! It’s finally happening IT’S HAPPENING!!!
Step fourteen: Enter the wrong location in Google maps
How did that happen? No really. How. Did. That. Happen.
Step fifteen: Parallel park and use all your quarters to pay for an hour and a half of parking
Quarters lost a little of their luster after leaving the dorms freshmen year and not having to pay for laundry BUT STILL. $1.50 DOWN THE DRAIN.
Step sixteen: Realize it’s the wrong address.
Step seventeen: Put the right address into your Google maps.
Step eighteen: Sign in online to the DMV
I’m so on the ball! You tell yourself. Score!
Step nineteen: Get UNCANNILY lost driving to the right location.
Step twenty: Lose your spot in line at the DMV.
Step twenty-one: Find yourself in an exit only lane to Houston.
GAWD HELP US ALL.
Step twenty-two: Curse to Siri out loud alone in the car and finally arrive to said destination 48 minutes later
Whatever. You made it. You’re alive. You’re free. World peace.
Step twenty-three: Go through the ID process three times
Congratulations! A colonial woman has time-machined her way into 2013 and landed in your local Department of Motor Vehicle office. She will be assisting you with your final steps to becoming a Texas resident today. She has never used electricity, but she will DEFINITELY be entering your data into the computer program today.
Okay, I’m a patient person. I am. Or at least I hate confrontation, don’t have a backbone, can’t stand up for myself, especially to strangers, and often times that’s just as good as patience. My personality is so laid back and care free, I practically invite people like this to screw up, just because they know I won’t say anything.
But what KILLS ME is the picture that is my future ID. Now, I’m a girl, so I’m obligated to be a little vain when it comes to the face that will have to be inside my wallet every day for the rest of my young life.
The first time my picture was taken, it was as if the Texas resident angels looked down upon me and shed their goodness and light.
|What my first photo for my Texas ID looked like.|
I did the awkward machine signature, did the thumbprint thing, ya da ya da. The woman prints out the ID with my first name as my last name. It’s fine. Process round two.
The second time I took my photo, it wasn’t as great, but whatever.
|My second picture taken for my Texas ID. Not my best, kind of quirky, but whatever.|
Whatever. whatever. Signed the machine, thumbprints, colonial woman enters the data, lalala okay. okay.
NAMES. STILL. WRONG. Three-four seemingly colonial women are now crowded around the computer technologies in efforts to order the names right.
MUST. TAKE. PICTURE. AGAIN.
|The third picture taken for my Texas ID. This is only a fraction of an exaggeration.|
After the lady shows you your picture, you shudder, but you don’t have the heart to make her take your picture AGAIN. You deal with it internally.
Step twenty-four: Become a Texas Resident
|You’re finally a TX resident. Bask.|