I’m a Hot Money Mess

So, it turns out that I’m not only completely inept in the Eating Healthy and Working Out arena, I’m also a hot mess in the Saving (Having) Money department.

I’d like to reassure any and all who think I’m somewhat of a productive, responsible member of society by saying I always pay my bills on time, and despite having more debt than I’d like, I have excellent credit.

This is where the positives end and the what-are-you-some-kind-of-moron-or-something begins.

Without fail, the week leading up to my monthly payday, I am firmly living under the poverty line.

So, that’s why right now I’m on the struggle bus careening straight toward Mental Breakdown Town.

I’d really like to blame my monthly financial crises on my lowly teacher pay, but, no, it’s 100% me.

(That’s not to say I don’t think teachers all across the world deserve pay that accurately depicts the jobs they perform, because they do.)

True talk, my monthly salary is totally enough to pay my bills, buy groceries, spend on occasional fun, and put aside some (meager) savings. Now, I can’t go all crazy and buy a house or go on a trip or anything…

So, why am I washing our paper plates and rinsing and drying out paper towels, you ask?

(Speaking of fucking paper towels, Target recently halved what they give you on their 99¢ rolls and thought we wouldn’t notice. Assholes.)

Well, let me just plainly list the reasons why I’m forever transferring money from my savings and overdraft to my checking account:

1. I am paying for too many monthly subscriptions (Ipsy, Snack Crate, Weight Watchers, Netflix, Hulu, and numerous educational related apps and services).

2. I have an addiction to Starbucks. My “Once a Week” deal has turned into, “Manic Monday”, “Friyay”, and far too many trips over the weekend. If it has a cute, made up name for the excuse and it’s easier than pushing the Keurig button, I’m game.

3. I go to Target every weekend. I am firmly anti-Walmart, so our non-grocery essentials are bought by moi at the Happiest Place on Earth. It’s just that I’m-going-for-toothpaste, turns into shit-fuck-how-did-I-spend-$100?

I got $99 problems

I got $99 problems

4. I need, like, I’m not joking that it feels like needing-to-breathe-need bullshit things like these:

Amazon

RoseGoldRebel

FabFitFun

If I don’t buy/have a rose gold Starbucks travel cup, I don’t know how I can go on living.

Our Earth is really just a spinning globe of garbage, but I feel an intense need for endless crap that I’ll forget I own in 6 months.

It’s pathetic, really.

5. I will have a fridge full of food, but cooking sounds like hard labor, so I’ll pick up food whenever I’m feeling lazy. And that’s all.the.time.

Source

Me, when I have to cook literally anything.

6. I can’t start walking, hiking, doing yoga, or journaling without buying the latest and greatest accoutrements. When someone told me about the “envelope method” for spending money, my first thought was, “Well, I’ll have to get a really cute envelope. I wonder if they have fake leather ones in a gorgeous mint color?” WHAT THE FUCK EVEN IS A “CUTE LEATHER MONEY ENVELOPE”? (Google didn’t know either.)

Really, I could go on, but I’ll just quit while I’m not even close to being ahead.

So, I know. I need therapy, Dave Ramsey, and Shoppers Anonymous in a major way.

Because I don’t spend my money on things that will actually prove useful in time (*Ahem* addiction therapy), I’m going to list the ways I’m planning to attempt to straighten up my money act.

1. I’m finally quitting Ipsy (along with Snack Crate). I know it’s only $10 a month, but, holy shit, did you know that 10 times 12 is $120? Also, I already have 82 black eyeliners and 45 mini tubes of mud mask. How many black eyeliner pencils does one need in a lifetime? Because I think I have that many. Not to mention, this month’s ugly bag was just…I can’t.

This is not my favorite.

2. I’m going to get serious about Acorns. Haven’t heard of it yet? Y’ALL. It’s awesome. Basically, what they do is round up to the next dollar all of your debit purchases and that amount is “invested” into your Acorns account. You can also arrange to have a monthly payment invested into your account. I legit saved over $80 the last month (you better believe Homegirl wears out that debit card).

The beauty of this is that you hardly notice 23 cents being taken out at a time.

The downside? You can withdraw your funds at.anytime.

So, what I meant by “get serious” is I need to start actually leaving my savings the eff alone. Had I just not touched it from the moment I downloaded the app, I’d have so much money saved.

Ugh. I can’t even think about it.

P.S. If you like the sound of Acorns and you want to set up an account, follow this link so I can get credit for referring you. If 10 friends start using Acorns, I get a $500 bonus. (I’m not being compensated in any way by Acorns, it’s just legit one of my favorite apps).

P.P.S Thank you to Angela at Hot Mess Memoir for introducing me to Acorns.

3. I’m going to slowly back away from Starbucks. Not only is their coffee grossly overpriced, unless you do the sugar-free thing, the sugar in their drinks is through the roof. I hate how convenient they are, though. I have one so close to home and on the way to work. I can slip in and out of the drive thru and be on the freeway to work, before I realize I did it again.

My new deal is one Starbucks visit a month. It gives me heart palpitations just typing that. Also, I’m on the market for a shock collar that’ll give me a good wringing the second I start heading to the ‘Bux.

SEE I CAN’T SAVE MONEY WITHOUT SPENDING IT.

4. I’m going to give myself a weekly spending allowance of $80. This will include spending for dinner out or other entertainment on the weekend. On Sunday, I’ll withdraw the cash and only allow myself to use that cash for any and all purchases.

$80 sounds like a lot, but it’s mind blowing how much I spend when left unsupervised.

Maybe at some point I’ll be able to live off even less per week?

I mean, stranger things have happened.

So, what are your budgeting strategies? How do you save money? What’s something you struggle with not spending money on? Let me know in the comments!

Zombie Apocalypse Fail

In preparation for the new season coming up, I am crack-addict binging on The Walking Dead, and all I’ve been thinking about is how I’d be dead on the very first day of a zombie apocalypse. 

When the boyfriend and I got to the episode where the group makes it to Alexandria, I said, “OMG. How has Darryl not taken a shower yet? That’d be the first thing I’d do. And brush my teeth!” 
(Now the running joke during every episode is: “Has Darryl taken a shower yet?”) 

My super sweet boyfriend responded with, “Babe, you would have been dead months ago.” 

Indignantly, I protested, but when it came time to detail the myriad reasons he was wrong, I had nothing. Nada. 

Holy shit. If there was ever a zombie apocalypse, I’d last precisely an hour, if that. I’d be that inept idiot in the first episode no one even remembers.

Since my asshole boyfriend was right (don’t tell him I said that, he’ll take it and run with it), I thought I’d share the reasons why I’d never last in a zombie apocalypse:

1. My asthma 

I get out of breath walking around my classroom and talking at the same time. Really, I could just stop here. Asthma is reason enough for why I’d be one of the first people to be eaten alive by zombies. 

It took me two months to get to the point where I could jog (and by jog, I mean move at a slightly quicker pace than walking) nonstop for two blocks. So, if the time ever came for me to run like my life depended on it for more than a minute, I’d be done just like that. 

2. My sciatica 

I first had a flare up with my sciatica when I was in middle school. The pain from my big ass all the way down my leg was like nothing I’d ever felt before. I recall barely making it out of the fast-paced school halls alive. Once home, I milked it for all it was worth-Advil around the clock, Mom’s special Home Sick Sherbet and Ginger Ale, and hand delivered meals. 

It was simultaneously one of the best and worst times of my life. 

Occasionally, my sciatica flares up and quick movements just ain’t happening.  I tried to show off my sweet Tae Bo skills to my boyfriend the other night and I pulled a muscle and pissed off my sciatic nerve. And, just like that, I was infirm. 

So, if my sciatica were ever to act up during the apocalypse, I wouldn’t be able to run or karate chop a zombie in the head. Anyone I’d be with would quickly realize what a dud I was and they’d leave me for dead as soon as they had a proper excuse. I mean, I wouldn’t blame them.  

3. My acid reflux and digestion issues

I’m an absolute mess in the guts. If I ever run out of Tums, probiotics, Imodium, or acid reflux medicine, you might as well just leave me for dead. 

Not only am I not exactly fit for zombie battle when my stomach acid coming up my esophagus feels like hellfire, my bowel movements when stressed could potentially attract a horde of zombies from miles away. 

4. My germaphobe rituals

When you’re running for your life from zombies and terrible, evil people, warm running water and soap aren’t exactly a priority. Hand sanitizer would never be on the grocery list between water and food. 

As such, I’d probably never make it to my first meal of road kill surprise. Not only would I have the hardest time not gagging while eating hastily cooked raccoon, I simply would not be able to eat with zombie brains under my finger nails.

Nope. Just leave me for dead. I couldn’t.

5. My beauty essentials/routine 

And, let’s not forget the benefit to being appealing-looking and how that might aid in the continuation of one’s life. I would not be a looker after just a week without my electric razor, dry shampoo, and foundation.
I know that beauty is not exactly essential for survival, but when the broad with a beard and noxious gas needs your help again, you just might be tempted to leave her in the woods.

Honestly, I’m really disappointed in myself and quite terrified that I’ll never be a Carol or a Maggie, but an Idiot Girl-Episode 1. 

So, do y’all have any tips for me to beef up my zombie survival skills? Or, am I a lost cause, so I should just keep doing what I do best-avoiding any and all physical exertion and marathon eating Skinny Cow desserts?

 That’s what I thought, too…

*unwraps a Skinny Cow Simply Amazing Salted Caramel Pretzel bar*

WTF, Google?! 

Last week, my boyfriend and I went on a quickie road trip up through Portland and on to Mount Saint Helens (I almost typed “Mount Rushmore”, and that’s where I said we went when the gas station attendant asked us where we were off to the morning we left. It’s a wonder I can even function). 

Mount Saint Helens is an active stratovolcano located in Washington state, about 50 miles northeast of Portland (thanks, Wikipedia). It last erupted in 2008, but it’s most famous eruption was on May 18, 1980. Growing up, I heard stories of how the ash from the 1980 eruption found its way nearly 400 miles to the deck at my grandparent’s cabin on Coeur d’ Alene Lake in Idaho. My mother said the ash blocked out the sun and it looked like the end of days. 

Since I always heard the stories of the eruption growing up, and I teach my students every year about the cause and effect of volcanos, it was decided that it would be our summer destination. 

We left Reno around 7:30 AM, stopped in Klamath Falls for some Taco Time lunch and a Dutch Bros. coffee, and arrived in the Portland area around 5:30 PM. It was a long day of straight driving, but it was the start of our vacation, so there was no bloodshed yet. 

We stayed with my aunt, who was gracious enough to host us. She had her pool ready and raring to go, so we definitely took advantage of that luxury. Our TBs (tired butts) were very grateful. 


The next morning, we were up early and excited to see Mount Rush..Mount Saint Helens (See? There’s something wrong with my head). 

We stopped at Tom’s Pancake House to fill up, as we planned on doing some hiking (to be honest, I was really hoping there’d be less hiking and more sitting in a scenic spot, eating the “hiking” snacks we packed). When I saw that Tom’s had an option to top your waffle with Oregon marionberries, it was an easy choice! I’m not really sure what a marionberry is, but since we don’t usually see them in Nevada, I had to try them. 

Mmmm…this was so good! I can’t really describe the flavor of the marionberry. The flavor is just “berry”.

When we got back into the car, we used Google to get the directions to the mountain. 

Before we had left Reno, we did a small amount of research and knew that there was an observatory and plenty of hiking trails to choose from on and around the mountain (I liked the sound of the 1.5 mile one and the one that had no incline). 

So, back to Google. Via maps, we were given the directions to Cougar, WA. So, we merrily made our way to where we’d hoped to find a spunky grandma who’d take a picture by the town sign.

After we wound our way through a quaint rural community, the road became very twisty and turny (yes, that’s a word) underneath a thick blanket of trees. We were climbing a mountain, just not the mountain we had come to see. 

The landscape was not at all what I had expected. We also saw not one sign indicating we were headed toward the mountain, an information center, or the observatory. In fact, there were some signs, but they were stangely covered up. 

There was so much green- nothing like the pictures we saw online!

Eventually, we made our way to the first hiking spot. We were hoping there would be further information at the trail head that would help us glean where the heck we were. But, no such luck. 

Also, the hike was an eight-miler, so that was a no-go.

‘Thumbs up’ to not hiking eight miles!

We got back into the car and continued up the mountain. Not long after, we got sight of Mt. Saint Helens and it was glorious, but, worryingly, still pretty far away. 

While we were admiring the volcano with our 10x magnifying binoculars, a friendly German couple came up to talk to us. 

They remarked on the beauty of it all, and we asked them if they were headed to the observatory. The woman said the road to the observatory was closed due to a late winter. 

(The jury is still out on that).

We felt pretty defeated and downright lost, as we had zero service on our phones and no paper maps to help guide our way. 

We decided to get back into the car and continue further. Almost at the very end of the road was another spot to hike. We decided it would have to work.

I’m sure by now you’re realizing that we were lost or just completely mixed up. Well, right you are! 

It wasn’t until we headed back down the mountain and to Ape Cave did we come across an information kiosk/gift shop where people with factual information could be found. 

When I asked how we could get to the observatory, the young man working the gift shop said it was some three hours away, but we could still make it, as they didn’t close until six. 

Three hours away. 

We were on the complete opposite side of the mountain. 

We had spent our entire day, dedicated to seeing Mount Saint Helens, like total dopes on the wrong side of the mountain.

So, how did two college-educated individuals mess up so royally? 

It’s all Google’s fault. Yes, just like a tattletale seven-year-old, I’m blaming it on someone/something else.

When you Google, “Johnston Ridge Observatory”, Google has you go to Cougar, WA. 

Notice how, in the first website under the egregious misinformation, it says, “Toutle, WA”? Yeah, that’s (closer to) where the observatory is. 

Our trip wasn’t all in vain, however. The hike we took was through utterly stunning terrain (honestly, I think it was way prettier on the wrong side of the mountain). We also went in Ape Cave, and I crossed a suspension bride just like the one in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. It was just like that one (don’t listen to my boyfriend. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about). 

Paul Bunyan strength

This raging river, cutting through volcanic rock, had pools with beautiful Caribbean-blue water.
Huge volcanic rock formations
This was truly one of the scariest things I’ve ever done!
My boyfriend took this while he was crossing the bridge. I kept yelling for him to not drop my phone. I was totally concerned for his safety, too.

We didn’t have enough layers on to do the whole cave. It was FRIGID!

We decided against driving another three hours (one way) to see the observatory, so we drove back into downtown Portland for some sightseeing.

We hit up the world-renowned Voodoo Donut and the Deschutes Brewery. 

Donuts and beer totally made up for not getting to the observatory. 

It was 93 degrees out. The sun beat down on us as we stood next to a glittery brick wall that was radiating heat. It took 20 minutes to get to the front. TOTALLY WORTH IT.
Utterly, insanely gluttonous
My favorite was The Neapolitan.
I’d like to spend some more time in Portland when it’s not melt-your-face-off hot. I DID NOT get the true Portland experience.

So, kids, learn from Aunt Fatty. Do not rely on Google, it’s not all-knowing. Go to the actual website for the location/landmark/attraction you are going to visit. Do some damn research before you go, and don’t rely on your phone for everything-you might not have service where you’re going! 

Know before you go:

Johnston Ridge Observatory, last stop on HWY 504, 52 miles from Castle Rock. NOT in Cougar, WA. 


Source
References: 

Wikipedia

WTF Monday?

Yup, you read that right. Because I couldn’t think of anything wittier, WTF Monday it is. 

I already have my WTF Wednesdays post planned for this coming week, but I absolutely couldn’t wait for the following week to share a review with ya’ll. So, you get two WTF posts this week. Do you feel special? 

My boyfriend went out of town for the weekend, so I pulled out all the stops. I slept in the middle of the bed. I ordered in from all of the places he isn’t too keen on. I left my bra, gossip magazines, and girl products positively everywhere.

I also did a face mask. 

I don’t know why I felt the need to do this when he was gone (I mean, it could be that every time I do one, he acts like I’m a ghost and I’ve frightened him clean out of his shorts), but it just felt like a girl-on-her-own-for-the-weekend thing to do. 

So, I’m sure you’ve seen the videos and testimonials for the Shills black mask that’s supposed to be so magical that many don’t even recognize themselves after. 

No? 

You know. The one that’s supposed to pull off a layer of skin to reveal the real you underneath. 

Still no? 

The one that pulls out black heads, showing a close up view of the pretties, and it’s oddly satisfying to watch. It’s disgusting, but you instantly have to do it. 

Yup. That one. 

So, I’m totally not the type to jump on the bandwagon and buy every product that’s featured in videos that Facebook, so helpfully, pops into my feed. 

But, my direct deposit had just dropped and I was feeling like a baller. 


Source

This video:

Is the real reason I spent $15 whole dollars on a face mask. I want to know this woman. I want to be her best friend. Mostly, I wanted a mask that would remove my mustache!

Full disclosure: When I first saw this video, I was sitting on the toilet. I was full-on ugly-cry-laughing. My boyfriend knocked on the door to see if I was OK, as I’m sure I sounded like a dying seal. When I shared the video on Facebook, I mentioned this and my next door neighbor responded, “So, that’s what that noise was!” 

Dead. 

Gosh, I sure know how to do a preamble, don’t I? Let’s get to the actual review now. 

It took more than a week to get the mask (after ordering it on Amazon Prime), but lucky for me, I got it just in time for Girl Weekend. 

To prep, I washed my face with really warm water to open up my, already Grand Canyon-sized, pores. 

I used one of my makeup brushes, just like the pros, and applied the mask pretty thinly. Perhaps, this was because the tube is pretty dang small, and I could have easily used the whole thing on my giant face. That’d be a pretty expensive one-time-use mask, if you ask me. Also, there are zero instructions on how to apply it. 


Once it had dried completely, I was pretty giddy in anticipation of seeing all of my nasty black heads and bad choices being ripped out of my face. 

I started from the bottom, just like I’d seen countless times. It didn’t hurt at all. I was hoping all of my chin hairs would be pulled out, much like the rooting up of trees during deforestation. Nope. Those assholes stayed firmly rooted in place. 

As I started to pull my way up my cheek, it felt like it was pulling pretty good, but when I looked, there were maybe three black heads. Three.

I don’t even want to get started on my upper lip. I was so hopeful, yet it was so anticlimactic. While utterly disappointed, I was enlightened to what it surely feels like being that dude who can never seem to score, no matter how close he gets. Just disappointing. 

Also, IT DID NOT PULL OUT MY MUSTACHE. WTF. 

I guess you have to have one of those non-mustaches that are just baby hairs to qualify for hair removal.  

When I got to my nose, I got excited. Surely, there’s enough nastiness to be had there that I’ll have a major success. No such luck. It barely pulled up anything.  

At this point, I’m pretty damn mad. What a freaking waste of $15 that could have gotten me three days worth of Starbucks.

As I neared my eyes, they watered and snot promptly started rolling down my face – I finally felt the pain everyone goes on about. 

It was terrible. 

Excruciating.

I realized it was pulling out hairs-the baby ones that don’t count around my eyes. 

What.in.the.actual.eff.

So, now it decides to actually work. 

Watch me be the only one to grow full-on, thick, black hairs around my eyes now that I’ve messed with the baby hair that once peacefully, invisibly existed there. We all know what happens when you mess with those baby hairs

Also, it didn’t all come off in one nice, clean mask. I spent ages picking tiny pieces off until I just gave up. 

When I stepped back to take a look at the mess I had made of my face, it was pretty clear that I had failed at the black mask fad. 

I’m calling my face mask ‘stache the 360 Degree John Waters. 

Just wait and see, I will grow facial hair on my entire face*. I will either have to spend a fortune on hair removal or I’ll have to resort to joining the circus as the female version of Lionel the Lion-Faced Man. 

It maybe would have been worth it had more than three blackheads been removed. 

Next. 

*I edited and filtered the shit out of my face. You’re welcome. 

Sit Sleeping at the Movies and Other Ridiculous Things  

Nope. I just have to lay down for 5 minutes to read, and I’m out.

Source
I come from a long line of sit sleepers. What exactly are “sit sleepers”, you ask? Well, imma tell you. When you’re a sit sleeper, there’s a 98% chance that you will fall asleep within ten minutes of sitting down. The likelihood increases when you’re in a comfy armchair, it’s warm and cozy, and you’ve had any alcohol whatsoever. If you’re laying down, forget it-you’ve missed the entire episode of Orange is the New Black. 

I noticed I came from a family of sit sleepers early on with my grandmother. When I was kid, we got to spend the entire summer at the cabin on Coeur d’ Alene Lake in Northern Idaho. The best part of this wasn’t the long summer days filled with swimming, boating, and lounging in the sun. No, the best part was that I got to sleep in my grandma’s bed. It was the best sleep spot in the cabin. The other room was the “boys’ dorm”, filled with bunk beds and farts. It was gross. 

Without fail, the moment my grandma got settled in, covers just right, and with her current book, she was snoring. Except, it wasn’t just snoring. It was something entirely different. See, my beautiful grandmother took her teeth out at night. I still remember those weird, waxy looking chompers floating in a glass on her nightstand. Because her teeth weren’t in when she fell asleep, book opened on her face, it sounded like the subtle flapping of a flag in the wind. 

It was always really entertaining to bet on how many minutes, seconds it’d be until I’d hear the flapping. 

The entire time we had the light on to read, I’d slightly nudge her and she’d sputter awake and continue reading right where she left off. I remember really being concerned that she’d never get through her book. Somehow she did. The marvels of this world are endless. 

The best part of this whole nighttime ritual was that sometimes I’d tell her she was sleeping. Every time, she’d swear up and down that she hadn’t been sleeping. 

I’d say, “Grandma, your book was on your face!”

She’d say, “That’s how I read best.” 

Oh, how I miss the nights I’d nudge my grandmother to say, “Grandma! Your lips are flapping again!” 

Of course, my mother was gifted with sit sleeping. One of my fondest memories is of our nighttime reading. No matter how late, how tired, how stressed, my mom read to us from infacy. As we got older, my brother and I read to her. Each stage had a different level of narcolepsy-like sleeping spells.

Some nights, my mom would be in the middle of a sentence and suddenly, the book and her head would fall, and she would be quietly snoring. 

“Mom!” 

“I’m awake!”

Then, she’d pick up right where she left off. 

When we grew into voracious readers ourselves, we started to read to Mom. That was hilarious, because with no book to hold, and nothing to do other than lay and listen, she was usually snoring before we could even get through a page. 

If we ever have my mom watch Harry Potter, she’d likely say, “Why is this vaguely familiar to me?” 

We’d answer with, “Well, mom, we only read the entire series!” 

A fun little aside about my mom and falling asleep in inopportune situations:

Not only has my mom fallen asleep during reading and during every.single.movie. she’s ever watched, she’s also been known to fall asleep while eating. Yup. You read that right. I wasn’t going to mention that it was likely due to some medication she was taking for her back, but either way, she fell asleep while eating a burrito. Except that’s only what she thought she was eating. She said she was eating her lunch and the damn tortilla would just not cut. She said she hacked and hacked away with her plastic fork, but no luck. Eventually, she decided to just gnaw at it with her teeth. At this point, she woke up/came to and realized she was eating her paper plate. I ask her to tell this story at least a couple times a year, because it’s just too good. 

I always thought falling asleep the second one sits was an old person thing. Well, at 33 years old, I can tell you it’s not!

Guys, I have become a sit sleeper something fierce! 

I’ve seen two movies over break, and during both of them I’ve fallen asleep. 

Like, fell asleep and woke myself up snoring. 

Yesterday, we went to see Rogue One at the luxury theater. I am fully convinced that those damn reclining seats have led to my demise. 

I was all settled in-candy opened and ready to be demolished, napkins draped across my chest like an adult baby, and my contraband drink nestled safely between my ass and the seat. 

I felt I had enough food to keep me awake. If I’m eating, I can’t be sleeping. It’s usually a foolproof plan.

Except, it wasn’t. 

I finished my theater food too soon. 

All of a sudden, I hear the crinkling of wrappers. It sounds like it is coming from inside my head. 

It stops. 

I go back to drooling all over my napkins as I try to keep at least one eye on the screen. 

Suddenly, the sound again. 

What the actual eff? 

I suddenly realize it’s the girl next to me. She’s been crumpling her candy wrappers like inside my ear. 

I’m aghast. I’m shocked. 

How could someone be so rude? 

Then. I realize.

She was crumpling her wrappers next to my head, because I was snoring. 

My head was leaned to her side, my mouth was gaping, and I was snoring in her face.

Who is this person I’ve become?

At this rate, I’ll be ten times as bad as both my grandmother and mother combined. 

HELP!!

This is too good!! 😂😂

Source

These Hiking Boots Were Made For Quittin’

Recently, I decided I haven’t seen enough of the rugged Nevada countryside, nor have I been on enough hikes (the last time I went on a hike I almost died from Burst Lung Due to Lack of Use. It’s a real diagnosis. Look it up. Just kidding, but really, I almost hyperventilated at least 20 times. So…that’s probably why I haven’t been on a hike since).

So, today, I got up in enough time to make some nutritious oatmeal (don’t tell anyone it was loaded with brown sugar), filled up my dusty Nalgene, and found my running shoes that were in the deep recesses of my closet.

I dragged a friend and myself up to the Galena Creek Trail off the Mount Rose Highway.

Continue reading “These Hiking Boots Were Made For Quittin’”

Lipstick

He had one job. One. Before we entered the event, I made him promise that if my bright red lipstick went askew at any point, he had to tell me immediately. I’m not one to wear lipstick. Like ever. Any time I was insane enough to attempt lipstick, I always had a hard time not looking like I applied it in the dark, with my left hand, on drugs. I loved coloring as a child. I was an expert at staying in the lines. I don’t know what happened between childhood and adulthood, because applying lipstick is basically adult coloring, yet, I have a learning disability in this area of (woman) adulting. So, I use the shit out of nude lipgloss, instead.

Since becoming a loyal member of the Best-Day-of-the-Month-Makeup and Beauty product company, Ipsy, I have a pretty substantial collection of delicious lipsticks. They all terrify me with their bright, staining hues. I want to have a relationship with them, but I am too scared of getting hurt. I recently decided that enough was enough and it was time to become a real woman. I committed to adding lipstick to my Steampunk makeup look for an event at our local art museum.

I made the terrible mistake to go with a lipstick gloss. This one to be exact.


She’s a real beauty, but I will never, ever trust her again.


This was before the incident. 

Let me try to paint the picture, lay the scene. We are working the crowd, strutting our stuff, showing off our hard work. Everyone is looking at us as we pass, it’s like I’m the Steampunk queen. I nod, every so often, humoring my lowly subjects. As I glide up the stairs, looking out over the entire room, I’m smiling my biggest smile at all of the gawking faces (that in hindsight, weren’t in awe of my costume, but my awesome makeup job).

Then…I go to the ladies room.

Fuck. 

I want to throttle him. He had one fucking job. 

I stand there, numb, astounded. How long have I looked this this? How long? 

I don’t even know what to do. How do you remove blood-red lip stain? How do you go back in time so you can smack the lipstick out of your hand?  How come the floor never opens up and swallows me whole?

Why the fuck me? Why me, every damn time? 

My bright-red, look-at-me lipstick is now dying a slow painful death as it creeps down from the corners of my mouth, down the sides of my chin. I looked like a sad, demented clown. On meth.

How many people had I smiled at?! Like every damn person in the building is how fucking many. 

This is the kind of shit that happens when I try to be sexy. Note to self: just give up. Oh, and NEVER trust a man to tell you when you look crazy. They don’t see food in teeth, boogers, or melting lipstick, but one stray hair on your chin and they’re human microscopes. I can’t even.

Here’s a video of the can-can dancers from that night, because I hope their frilly bottoms are all people remember, not the demented fool with IDGAF lipstick.