Silver Lining

Things that suck:

» I applied for a credit card about a month ago and was told that they were going to need "some time" to review my application. And I haven't heard back. I've been "it's not you, it's me"-ed by the credit card company. Except it's me. It's totally, absolutely me. 

 

» All the blogs I want to read are in Swedish or whatever. And sometimes they trick you by writing the title in English. 

 

They've also perfected the art of effortless beauty, which is seriously not fair. Whatever "Perfekt Hud" and "Dagens: Voksenpuberteten" are, I want. 

» All of the apartments in Houston are expensivo. Mumsifer & I go to Houston tomorrow to find me a homestead, but I anticipate this being in my price range:

» I follow a blogger who's a model in Paris. The comparison of our lives makes me so mad, I don't even want to talk about it.

» Someone in a bar poked my hair on Saturday night. He then offered his hand and asked my name. I responded "no, thank you" and he called me a bitch. 

Considering you're unattractive and that hair pulling moving hasn't been seen since grade school, I figured you'd be used to a little rejection. Next time, I'll go easier. (Just kidding.) If anyone's wondering why I prefer Netflixing & alcohol to social interaction, I rest my case. I am retiring the bun for the foreseeable future & I give up on males entirely. 

Despite all this, there are a few bright spots in my life.   

I ate chicken + waffles, celebrated a twenty-first, & rode the Buzz Bike this weekend.

(Sorry the food got mentioned before you, Juju.)

I don't hate it. 

Thugz Mansion

I'm moving again. On Saturday. It's just the worst. 

I feel like I have moved every single year for a while now. And I feel that way because that's exactly what I've done. Maybe some people don't count all the college moving, but when you're doing it in the sweltering Texas heat, it counts.

(For the love of setting the scene, please play this while you read.)

Freshman year: the crazy, hazy days of Jerome Hall. No pictures exist of this building, as it should be. This place was disgusting and I'm surprised they didn't require a tetanus shot before move-in. So much smoking in the rooms, so much alcohol spilled, so much throw up (I assume…duh). J-Rome should be razed and the ground salted.    

Sophomore year, first half: I don't even want to talk about it. They gave me this little slice of heaven outside of Rome for a few short months, then snatched it back with nary a word. I've spent my time since searching for a way back, all the way from au pair-ing to canon lawyer-ing. No dice. 

Sophomore year, second half - Junior year: Pseudo-fancy. They built me a brand new dorm and couldn't even be bothered to name it for years. (It now goes by "The West Hall", which is an offense to creativity.) We all thought they built this dorm really quickly--a little too quickly--and the amount it moved in high winds proved us correct. 

Senior year: The Littlest Townhouse in Texas. Instead of living in the pit that is Old Mill, I lucked out with a condo across the street. Truth: same conditions, prettier facade. We fancied that townhouse right up, and she became full of sparkle + joy + champagne. (Sidenote: does anyone know what happened to the giant inflatable champagne bottle? #necessary)

Postgrad 1: my Texas-chic urban apt! I loved this place. I paid way too much for it, but I lived in downtown Fort Worth and adored every second of it. We spent a lot of time together, as this is where I lived during unemployment sesh #1. Besties 4 lyfe. 

Postgrad 2: Fab little area, literally across the street from work, and 2 minutes from Em & Jake's place. But I like to make things difficult for myself, so I'm out after less than a year. 

I move home for the summer, and on to Houston in August. This will be the first time in about 6 years that I will (permanently) live outside of the DFW area, which is crazy to think about. I'll probably just listen to this song on repeat while crying. You can expect some pretty poignant side-mirror-as-we-drive-away Insta pics. 

Just like you like it. 

Urban Jungle Gym

My old apartment complex in Fort Worth had a gym, 

so now I'm confronting the problem of where/how to work out. 

Living in the city presents you with many different exercise options, 

but having a desk job is kind of a death sentence. 

Here are some of the options I've considered:

»Pedometer:

Tried, failed. 

It mostly made me sad that I could never hit that daily goal--

not for lack of trying, though. 

I took unnecessary trips to the restroom, went the long way to my office, 

asked a question in person rather than by phone...

but my boss might get a little suspicious when I'm spending

my time fervently staring at the ticking numbers on my phone

while marching in circles. 

Tyrant. 

I started work at Anthro this weekend, 

and I had the very fleeting thought that I could get my goal completed (and then some)

if I walked to NorthPark. 

And then I mapped it

and realized that no one wants to buy anything from someone looking like this:

Reporting for hipster chic duty.

Also, the pedometer app draaaained the life out of my phone. 

NIX.

»UGH Crossfit:

I apologize to those of you who do Crossfit; 

I hate everything about it. 

Mostly, I hate it for women. 

I'm a much bigger (no pun intended) fan

of the soft, Marilyn-esque body. 

A girl at work recently told me 

(and continues to express it at least once a week)

that she's jealous of my "booty". 

I really can't decide if such bootylicious-ness is a good thing, 

but on most days I prefer it to the kind of body that intense Crossfit produces. 

Which brings me to my next point--the CF intensity.

I'm blanket statement-ing here, but CF people are so damn intense about it. 

It's great that you've got something you love, 

but it would be ridiculous if everyone talked constantly about some random hobby.

Facebook would get so annoying--oh, wait...

Also, this can happen. 

»Katy Trail

Since moving back into Dallas, 

I'm only a little ways from the Katy Trail. 

It's awesome for getting outdoors and forcing the realization 

that you'll never afford the houses in Turtle Creek.

And I enjoy running, as much as anyone with 

a bad knee & penchant for sitting around binge-watching TV can. 

My issue is my schedule. 

It's totally possible for me to get up earlier in the morning to run on Katy Trail, 

I just don't want to. 

I'm much more of an evening person.

Except I don't get home from work until 8:30, 

so I don't get to Katy Trail until about 9. 

At 9 PM, Katy Trail is nearly empty,

and it's prime rape-and-kill hours. 

Granted, the fear makes me run faster. 

»Pure Barre

I'm not even going to waste blog time/space on this.

If I had an extra million dollars lying around, 

I wouldn't spend it on overpriced ballet-pilates. 

This sort of thing is for the birds & rich SMU girls. 

I'll probably end up getting a plain, old gym membership.

At least there's a hot tub?

(There better be a hot tub.)