Things, things, things

This morning, I was sitting in traffic, and the song Free Bird by Lynrd Skynyrd came on.

There's fewer instances more infuritating than listening to power rock ballad about staying true to yourself; one that compares yourself to a wild, majetic, beautifully independent bird, no thing and no one holding you back, free from consequence, just travelin' on, feeling feelings, flying free, beating its wings against the strains of dueling electric guitar and bass lines and some crucical drumming as you idle in traffic, waiting to get to your cubicle drone, mostly useless job, feeling your left leg go numb up to your ankle from holding down the clutch.

My prevailing thought, besides if I jump out of the car right now and run the opposite direction of work I might be able to escape before my creditors find me, was,

How much longer can May go on?

It's been one of those "woe is me" months where I'm just booked with things all the time--and we're only half way through the month. So many things happening all the time. Weddings, trips, dinners, meet ups, hang outs-- it makes me a big, gaping asshole to complain about having fun stuff to do all the time. Afterall, they're fun! But even an abundance of fun is exhausting. And add some unfortunate hormonal timing and a bunch of late nights at work and no energy to free write and I'm just ready to crawl in bed and sleep for the next 3 months.

Oh, that reminds me. I went from blogging almost every day for a week to not blogging for a week. But I've got a bunch of things to post. Fun things and gossipy things and picturey things.

But I need a nap first. And maybe some more Skynyrd.

And definitely an attitude adjustment.

It's Friday, I'm in love

Allie Brosch of Hyperbole and a Half (i.e. one of my top 5 favorite web comics) is posting again! In celebration of this, I'm dedicating this week's Friday I'm in Love to my top 5 favorite Hyperbole and a Half comics.

1. The Sneaky Hate Spiral

2. Adventures in Depression, and Depression Part 2

3. Wild Animal (The Simple Dog Goes for a Joy Ride)

4. A Better Pain Scale

5. Every time I Write Something New


Allie Brosch is a damn genius. Everything she writes is hilarious and relatable, and the drawings are abstract and amazing. READ HER. READ HER NOW.

Things I've Stopped Caring About

When I was younger, I had a lot of hard opinions on things that I felt were really important, but that actually had no consequence on the real world. I'd get all riled up telling people why caramel is the worst candy ever invented. Why motorcycles are for sex predators. How to make a perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Why the song "I want it that way" by the Backstreet Boys is the worst pop song ever written.

Teaching girls to fall in love with ambiguous, indecisive dick bags since 1998.

But I've grown tired as I've gotten older, and I'm just like, molting convictions. I like it better this way. I mean, sure, give me one too many cocktails and I'll argue any topic to the point of obnoxiousness, but really, I try not give too much of a shit anymore. And I find not caring about little stuff that bugs me frees up my time... to focus on the big stuff that I straight up hate. ha.

So, here's a list of things that I no longer give a shit about:

1. Drinking more water. I used to hate drinking water. The tasteless taste annoyed me and never left me satisfied. And the idea of drinking regular tap water almost made me vomit. If my only beverage choice was water, I'd go without. And I endured a lot of dehydration spells as a result. But now that I'm grown I'm basically drowning in water. How did I exist before?

2. Breast size. Meh. I used to agonize about my small breasts, and I'd dream about the day when I could afford augmentation. But now, for the most part, I could give a shit. Small boobs allow me to wear cute dresses and buy tops that cheaper because they're child sized. I wish I could tell younger Audrey to stop stressing it, and that wits and a sense of humor can get you just as far as a voluptuous rack.

3. Not knowing how to cook. I used to be adamant about not cooking. I grew up with a family full of great cooks, so I just naturally assumed I'd be an eater forever. But a few years ago, I learned that cooking is science. Cooking is magic. Cooking is just amazing. Coincidentally, I have gained approximately 800 lbs since my first batch of bolognese and my first round of old fashioned cupcakes.

4. Judging people by their music taste. I used to be hardcore about only being friends with people who were into rock music. Now, I don't give a shit. Sometimes I have Wilson Phillips and Led Zeppelin and Death Cab for Cutie and Justin Timberlake and Wu-Tang on the same mix. I'm all about music just being a fun time now. Except for Island music. and Country.There's not enough booze in the world to get me into those genres.

*side note: I still judge people by their movie taste. This will never change.

5. Clothing Brands.  When I was younger, you wouldn't catch me in a brand that wasn't Jnco. Or anything that was carried by Pacific Sunwear. I swore by it. If people in my close circle showed up to lunch in an Aeropostale shirt, I'd wonder how good friends we really were. Now, if it's $3 and at Goodwill and it's my taste, it's in my cart--whether or not it's Hollister or American Eagle or Wal-Mart or garbage. Style is style, and nowadays, I wear what I like. And sometimes, the trendy shit is spot on. Like these unicorn swim suit bottoms. (QUICK SOMEONE GIVE ME $35)

6. Going out to eat/Going to see movies by myself. I used to see people rollin' solo to movies and restaurants, and it'd break my heart. I couldn't imagine being so lonely. Now, taking myself out is one my favorite past times. And it's not lonely. Being happy, in public, in your own company, is pretty fulfilling.


Having all the perspective that comes with being an adult is pretty great.


But that Backstreet Boys song still sucks.

Solo! Hay lapa no ya, Solo! Solo! (or, what's going on with my waistband)

Last week at the gym, I said to my trainer, "I'd like to do another round of squat-walks!"

No, seriously, I said that. Yes, me, who gets winded if she sits up too fast.

Part of my "get the fuck out of here, feels" plan was to start exercising regularly. Not only have I started to out-grow my metabolism (and coincidentally, the only pair of jeans that I own), but downing bottles of wine and an endless supply of greasy, bacony carbs covered in Chik-fil-a sauce (seriously, what White Trash deity twinked that condiment with its little wand? That shit is magical.) was making me feel dumpy, out of control and a bit... amorphous.

I'm at the heaviest I've ever been, and buying a bigger pair of jeans isn't an option, because I didn't want to train myself to think I can keep buying bigger clothes. But, I'm getting the point of getting older where portion control or skipping a few meals every now and then no longer counts as "exercising." And I know me well enough to know I won't stick to any kind of fitness plan even if I'm held financially accountable. (Remember, I've been a member of a gym for the past year and there were months straight during that year where I paid and didn't set foot in it.) But, I decided enough was enough. So I signed up with a trainer. Someone who could whip my ass into shape.

The first few sessions were murderous, and I left the gym barely able to walk. But now, surprisingly, after 3 weeks, I'm starting to like it. I like the way my "muscles" radiate between pain and endorphins the next day. I like sweating it out. I like knowing that I'm making some kind of progress, no matter how slow it is. And I like that when I'm there, my brain kinda quiets down and I can enjoy doing something good for myself. 

Maybe in the next 10 years I'll look a little less Jabba and a little more Leia. And maybe I won't break a sweat walking up the stairs*.


Tune in next week when I complain about eating healthy. Because the only healthy things I know to eat are frozen Healthy Choice dinners (as my coworker describes them: "that tastes like hot, crunchy water.") or turkey wraps with no dressing (the saddest wrap in the entire world).

I'm gonna miss you, binge eating.

*yeah right.

Quotables

In other news, I have a Murakami boner.



mmHmm.

Hoopsters

Yesterday was Kristin's May the 4th be with You Bachelorette Bash. What culminated in a night of cocktails, super heroes, fashion shows, "marry, fuck, kill," so many cardboard penis and posters of Ian Malcolm and people taking turns holding my hair back as I had a vomit party of one (classy), started innocently enough, with a hula hoop lesson in the park.

Is there anyone out there who wasn't a hula hoop enthusiast as a kid? Or even as an adult with that horrible wii-fit game? I always thought I was pretty good at it, even if my 5'10" frame bends in  half and I look more like a drunk cavewoman trying to keep her balance than I do a lithe 1950's bobby soxer.

not me.

But then again, I'd never taken a lesson or learned how to hula hoop properly (yes, there is a right and wrong way). Our instructor, Lauren, is essentially a tiny little badass made out of equal parts fairy dust and hooping wizard. She rolled up in a tutu and made every trick look as effortless as walking. She even got into the math and phsyics of hooping, which kinda blew my mind (ooooo, centripidal force!). While most of us (ok, just me) were decidedly not as magical or graceful as Lauren, we did conquer the hoops. I even managed to nail down the "booty pop," which is basically benidng yourself in half, popping your booty as you spin the hoop, and pivoting at the same time. For someone like me, with no coordination, it took the better part of the afternoon to figure out how to spin with the hoop, and pivot on opposite feet. But all of us walked away with a butt ton of hooping knowledge, shredded cores, bruises, and for some of us, a little blood on our hands.

And, because we're classy adults, we followed up the hooping with a Prius Picnic of bruschetta, finger sandwiches and fried chicken. AW YES.

Now that I'm a bitter adult, I forget that playing outside in the sunshine can be the best thing, ever. Apart from the sunburn and the pollen that raped my allergies, it really was an awesome afternoon. Why didn't any of that ever bother me when I was a kid? But, I digress. 



Lauren layin' down the hoop law

the close up of the Bride/Bridesmaid t-shirts I made. Each one of us got a different power ranger, because Kristin is a power ranger. A power ranger t-rex. Who hoops for money. on RuPaul's Drag Race.

Tini, hoop champion, eating fried chicken, ain't give a damn,

Kristin, also a hooping champion

Kira, after getting a bloody nose from her hoop, but just before getting a massive neck bruise

Lauren, hoop wizard

Prius picnic


Good times were had by all. 

Happy Star Wars Day!

Enjoy Patton Oswalt being amazing.

May the 4th be with you.

It's Friday, I'm in love

5 Great Things on the Internet:


1. Jeff Goldblum, deal breaker:

The whole deal breaker tumblr is gold, but seriously, this one is the best. Can we just have a moment here for Jeff Goldblum? I've been in love with him for as long as I can remember.

2. Retro drawings of movies I love.

One day, I'll have a house where the walls are covered with this stuff.

3. explodingdog.com

This artist makes comics based off one word sentences that people submit. They're brilliant.

4. Old Peanuts comics

Charles Schultz was a funny bastard.

5. Vance Joy

I've been listening to this guy's EP at the start of every day for the last two weeks. It's probably time that I buy it. But who buys music anymore?

Have a great weekend!

 

 

Let's all make a list of First World Problems

yeah!

Here's a list of my current First World Catastrophies:

• Luke warm showers with inadequate water pressure. This is a day mangler. "Oh hey, let me start the day off right, by standing under the shower head while it kinda spits warm water at me."
• Cold calling. I take 6 months to return phone calls to people I know. Cold calling is excruitiating.
• When  you're waiting to fill your car with gas at a busy gas station, and the person at the pump goes inside to buy something without moving their car to the parking lot. way to clog up the pumps, jerk.
• How leaving the house 5 minutes later than usual results in sitting in 60 minutes of traffic. I don't get you, Northern Virginia.
• Allergies. I don't know what's worse, the fogginess and headaches from allergies, or the fogginess and stomach ache I get from anti-histamines.
• The theory of relativity. Why can't shitty time fly by faster than enjoyable time? I'd love for hours at work to zip by as fast hours not at work.
• Opening a packet of Chik-Fil-A sauce and dropping it, losing 90% it to the kitchen floor gods. WHY, CRUEL WORLD.
• Bills. I realized today that I have the same relationship with bills that most people do with their chilldren. They're my #1 priority. They're the reason I keep taking jobs I have no interest in but pay well. I plan my life and schedule around them. I blame them for all my problems. Some of them I got by "accident," even though I knew what I was getting myself into at the moment of their conception. 
• Acronyms that don't spell out a word, so you have to say each individual letter, and it's more cumbersome than saying the acronized phrase. "Do you have the report for the BCMS3 LPTFCB?" "que?" 

Ah. Actually, I feel better now. I'm going to go read about starving children in third world countries so I can get some perspective.

*Fun Fact, but did you know that the USA PATRIOT act is an acronym? Uniting and Strengthening America by Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism. uh huh.

Jenelle Evans, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Past Life Decisions pt. 2

This week on Teen Mom 2.

Jenelle's mother, Barbara, has custody of Jenelle's toddler son, Jace. In the season finale, Barbara shows up to Jenelle's house unannounced, and finds a little plastic bag, a syringe, and a doped up Jenelle passed out in bed.

Barbara has the following conversation with her boyfriend:

Barbara: "Here we are, Jace is only three. He can't be over there if there's gonna be syringes in the house."







Heroin, sure.

Syringes?

DANGEROUS.

ohhhhh, this show. You'll be the end of me.