When men only think with one head. Warning…particularly NSFW.

Do any men not think with their penis?  Like, legit, all men seem to be skeevy, horny, pervy penis thinking men.  I’m so tired of being around men with an agenda.  Why do men have such a hard time understanding that sometimes girls just want to have guy friends and NOT sleep with them?  Like, legit, do men just all think that if a woman is their friend, they should have the right to send penis pics and try to hit on them?  And not even the charming hit on them where the woman feels flattered.  No, instead, it’s the horn dog, dipshit type where a woman just feels dirty.  Picture Joey from Friends.  Now take his already over the top womanizing attitude (which because it’s a TV show, I find really funny), and just make it over the top skeevy and dirty.  Ugh, just so fed up with men.  Friends that I’ve had for years even have suddenly come out of the word work as penis thinking people.  Ugh.  What happened to just being LEGIT friends?  Or, if a guy was into a girl, what happened to trying to actually woo her in a polite and wholesome way?  Ya know, flowers and gifts and sweet texts and whatnot?  Is chivalry dead?  Meh, done.  Just had to vent.



Schrodinger’s Cat

Ok, so BFBD was the original title of this post…Big Fucking Black Dog.  And now it’s Schrodinger’s cat.  It’s been one of those weekends.  If I miss some of the edits that I should have put in this post, I apologize, but I’ve been working on this post since Friday.  It’s not even been an angry dog attack, it’s more of a low key shaking thing.  Like when you give a dog a toy, and they have fun just grabbing it and shaking it over and over.  He’s not mauling me, he’s just shaking the ever loving sheep shit out of me.

So, to anyone who has read the previous posts, you kind of know about the whole car situation.  Blew the engine out of my car the other weekend in Truckee at 11 at night.  28-degree temperatures.  Fun stuff.  Had it towed from Truckee to Reno, where I live(ish) as a college student.  Anyways, it required that I go home this weekend to have my parents help me secure a new car.  Cool, awesome, my parents’ legit rock and definitely helped me out massively.  We drove from Sac to Pleasanton to pick up a 2017 Nissan Versa, with less than 400 miles on it.  Out the door, it was $10,000 and some change.  Pretty nice car.  It’s definitely not my Civic.  Which makes me sad.  I liked my Civic a lot.  I was definitely spoiled by it though as my first car.

Anyways, I guess kind of down to the meat and potatoes of this post.  The nice thing about no one that I really know reading this is that I can be honest and not have to worry too much.  I have I think three friends who read this, and a few people in Canada, which I find awesome.  But I can actually write some stuff out and not worry about the wrong stuff getting to the wrong people.  So, anyways, I’m kind of low key twitching about the fact that my ex reached out to me.  This is the man that I loved with everything I had and thought I would spend forever with.  This was the man that I have known since the 8th grade.  I grew up with him, and when he ended things with us, I definitely broke for a while.

Anyways, one thing I learned from him was all about the nerd world of Magic the Gathering.  Yeah, I’m a college student, an Army vet, and current service member, and I’m a nerd.  I love playing Magic.  I’m god awful at it, but it’s fun.  So, to anyone who does not play Magic, which I’m assuming is many of you, it’s a card game that can be played at home or in a store.  Often times, nerds gather on Friday nights at game stores all across the country to play what is called FNM…Friday Night Magic.  It’s a Magic tournament, and it usually comes with a $5 entry.  It helps a lot of mom and pop, hole in the wall type stores to stay in business because there is actually a fairly large nerd population that goes to events like these.  Also, every few months, all across the world, there is a bigger gathering of the nerd community, for Magic related competitions known as Grand Prix.  I’ve never been to one of those, but I think it would be a lot of fun.  I know fully that I would get my butt handed to me, but I don’t care.

Anyways, it’s Sunday and I’m still working on this post.  Schrodinger’s cat logic.  To anyone who does not know what Schrodinger’s cat is, Wikipedia explains it well.

Schrödinger’s cat: a cat, a flask of poison, and a radioactive source are placed in a sealed box. If an internal monitor detects radioactivity (i.e. a single atom decaying), the flask is shattered, releasing the poison, which kills the cat. The Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics implies that after a while, the cat is simultaneously alive and dead. Yet, when one looks in the box, one sees the cat either alive or dead not both alive and dead. This poses the question of when exactly quantum superposition ends and reality collapses into one possibility or the other.

So yeah, Schrodinger’s cat.  I was sitting in church today, and my phone buzzed with a text.  Not a heathen, so I didn’t look until after church.  But as we were walking out and before I checked it, I was struck by the idea that I was scared.  I both wanted it to be my ex and yet hoped it wasn’t.  So Schrodinger’s cat.  For the hour or so I had the text and did nothing to look at who had sent me what, it was both my ex and not my ex, but the second I looked, it could only be one and not the other.  It ended up being my ex.  It was odd.  The whole thing is odd.  Keep in mind, odd is not bad, odd is just odd and unfamiliar.  It makes me a little twitchy, but just because I don’t know his motives.  I don’t know if he’s going for a friendship.  I don’t know if he regrets anything that happened between us.  Wow, I sound like the psycho girl.  Yay, every girl’s dream.

It’s definitely hard.  It’s Superbowl Sunday this year, and I can’t help but think of two years ago.  It was the only time everyone got together.  All of his family, all of my family.  We had done smaller amounts of family mixing, but that was everyone.  It was awesome.  I loved his family.  I think I can even say that they loved me.  I don’t know.  On one hand, I know I need to always be careful in how I interact with him.  On the other side of that though, I know I never will.  The man has had an undeniable role in my life, and I never stopped loving him.  I’ve been in love with him since the 8th grade.  Without sounding cheesy, I will love him until the day I die.  I think there are a few country songs about always loving one person, even if life takes you in another direction and you end up with someone else.  I don’t know what the future holds, but I know I will always love the man.  I just really hope I don’t get hurt.

Yeah, three-day psycho rant over now.  I hope everyone enjoys their Superbowl Sunday!



Kind of a follow-up post to F*** adulting, but not really, because that would require me to remember more of what I wrote the first time around.  Yeah, anyways, adulting is a very odd combination of scary and yet not.  I blew the engine out of my car on Sunday coming back from drill weekend in the Bay Area.  Not fun when it’s 11 at night and you’re in Truckee and it’s 28 degrees out.  Over the last few months, my 2004 Honda Civic (god rest your soul, Bertha) has been nothing but a money pit for myself, and by default, my parents, when they bail me out with expensive as hell car repairs.  I think it was November 2017 that my mom put the $1200 car repair on her credit card so my car could finally pass smog and get 2017 (yes, 2017, not 2018) car tags.  Then two weekends ago, I busted my tire going to see my parents.  I didn’t even realize this until I tried to leave, and just heard the thunk thunk thunk that comes with a flat tire.  My tire guy said it looked like I had run over big rig snow chains.  Damn, that big metal thing shoved into my tire was huge.  I thought I’d maybe hit a nail for a huge piece of wall or something.  There was construction in my parent’s court that weekend, so not too out of line for logic.  Anyways, I digress.

So yeah, this car has been a huge money pit for me, and it’s annoying because a year ago, I presented my parents the idea of us all cutting our losses, selling it, and then me taking that money as a down payment for a new car.  Seemed like a pretty solid plan at the time.  My mother, on the other hand, disagreed.  She thought it was an awful idea, and why would I want to pay money for a new car when I still had a functional one?  Fast forward a year, I owe a crap ton of money on my car to my parents, the state of California, and my tire guy, and now I have to take on a new car payment as well.  Well, kinda.  I think my parents feel bad for me and the fact that I wanted to sell the car a while ago, so I’m paying the deposit, they’re splitting the monthly car payments with me until I graduate and get a real job, and then I take over the car payments to then turn the car over to my brother in three years when he turns 18.  Yay for a bailout car, boo for a dead end investment.  Basically, I am leasing a car it seems.  Oh well.  I found a 2017 Nissan Versa with 1000 miles on it for just under $9000, so it could be worse.  I am excited about a new car, and it’s a manual transmission, so I am happy about that.

Anyways, that is rant #2 today.


Community health science makes me an ass, apparently

So, end goals of my life…I want to be a trauma nurse, but while crossing public health into it.  So basically, I want to respond to crises like what happened in Haiti a few years ago, when they got hit by hurricanes and ended up with a massive cholera outbreak.  In the meantime, I am still an undergraduate student, finishing out a degree in community health sciences.  It’s interesting for sure.  I am taking a class this semester on disease outbreaks and bioterrorism.  It’s an awesome class.  But then I also have to take liberal agenda classes, like health and wellness across the lifespan.  Again, an interesting class, more or less.  But dear god, my professor definitely has an agenda.  One that I am finding more and more common in a lot of my health classes.

The goal of community health is apparent in the name.  It is the health of the community that I am studying.  What community health looks like now, what it looks like in different places around the world, and what it should look like if we want everyone in the community to be healthy.  From a liberal perspective, this means spending hundreds of thousands on providing healthcare to everyone, everywhere.  This comes down to overcoming racism and stopping inequalities that have been present for a very long time.  Yay, awesome, sounds great, right?  I’m not even being a cynical ass.  I truly think it is a great thing to help people.  I want everyone everywhere to be healthy, have access to the healthcare they need, and to be able to eat healthy food.

What makes me an ass, apparently, is when I ask the questions no one wants to address.  Where is the money coming from?  It has to come from somewhere.  Do we take money from another program?  What if this makes it so we don’t have the money needed to make our roads smooth?  Do we raise taxes?  What about those people who make just over the limit and aren’t eligible for assistance?  Now they have to pay more taxes as well?  Don’t get me wrong, the money has to come from somewhere, and there are definitely over funded programs.  The money could be redistributed, and odds are, people would benefit greatly from it.  But it is questions like this that no one wants to address.  No one wants to think about where the money comes from, they just want everyone to be happy and healthy, and if you ask questions like that, you clearly have no heart.

On top of being the ass who asks questions like that and gets frustrated at the lack of a solid answer, I am also a middle class white girl.  When did being part of the majority make me part of the enemy?  People always tell you not to be racist.  Don’t judge someone based on appearances.  Don’t assume anything about anyone.  It makes sense, to a certain level.  Racism, sexism, any form of judgement about things beyond someone’s control are bad.  So when did it become ok to judge the majority?  When did it be ok to assume that the middle class and upper class white people are the evil ones?  How does the fact that I do not starve make me a bad person?

In my class today, we were all talking about our high school experiences.  Some people had great ones in a well off high school, and others went to a very low income one.  But when my professor asked me what I thought our high school experiences were probably like, I answered that I felt that overall, we probably had relatively decent experiences.  Not that there weren’t students who had a very hard time, but that as a class average, we were probably all average in our experiences.  Oh lordy, in her most professional way, you could clearly tell I was an ass.  Even worse was when I explained my high school experiences by leading off with the idea that I graduated from a private Christian high school.  Goodness, I must be a snooty bitch.  It’s not like I also went to the public high school down the street or the charter school far away.  I must have gone to school every day in the best clothes and driven the best car when I was 16.  Clearly.  No, instead no one thinks about the kids who have lower income families that decide that education is important enough for them to sacrifice other things for it.  My family, at least, my family before my three siblings were born, did not go on big, fancy vacations.  The ones we did go on were often financially helped by my grandparents.  So yeah, I went to a private Christian school.  Now I’m just going to sit here in my snooty rich clothes drinking my snooty rich people coffee.  Ugh.

Anyways, this snooty bitch has ranted long enough.  To anyone who reads this, please don’t be like my professor and just assume I am a heartless ass.  I really do believe it is important to take care of people, and I wish nothing but the best health for people.  I want to help others, and I think it is the responsibility of society to help those in need.  I just think that the way in which we do it needs to be carefully looked at, and finances need to be considered.  That’s all.


F*** Adulting

I don’t even really know what to write.  I have three partial posts that apparently auto saved when I shut my laptop.  I’m so goddamned tired of trying to function as an adult and just face planting.  IDK, it just seems like my big f****** dog has decided to randomly make me his chew toy.  The idiot dipshit nurse in the TV show I’m watching seems to have better luck.  Legit, the army vet doc looks at the spaztic nurse and asks if she’s ever considered serving, because she remains calm under pressure.  Bitch, please.  I want nothing more than to be an active duty trauma nurse.  Ugh.

I don’t know.  This will probably be a short post, because I’m ranting and rambling and really have no point to this, other than I’m just tired.  I’m tired of working on something and wanting something so bad.  I’m tired of seeing a need for something I can do, but being turned down when I volunteer.  If there’s a need for something, and someone can do it, but you won’t use them, then you have no right to talk about how hard things are in the face of your shortage.  I guess it’s a day where everyone can just bite me.

Yeah, that’s it for this one.  Sorry it’s not a better post.  Next one will be.  Theoretically.


Why I don’t believe in true love

First off, I have nothing against people who do believe in true love.  I see nothing wrong with the idea, in fact, I find the idea to be rather sweet.  I’m the first person to back cheesy, sappy, happy romance things.  Flowers, cards, tender touches, stolen kisses…the list goes on and on.  I love cute and sweet things, I really do.  But at the end of the day, I don’t believe in true love.

So, anyone who knows me knows that I watch Friends…way too much.  I’ve seen the whole series through several times now, especially since often times when I sleep, I like background noise, so I let it play.  Anyways, there’s one episode where Monica and Chandler are talking, and they get into the subject of true love.  Ultimately, Monica makes the comment that she doesn’t believe in true love.  When you first hear it, you’re shocked, because you’d think Chandler and Monica are the picture of true love.  But then she goes on to explain that she doesn’t believe in true love because it implies that there is only one perfect person out there for someone.  Instead, she thinks that a real relationship comes down to two people who choose to make it work.  Two people who decide to stick things out when they’re ugly, and who choose to celebrate the victories together.

I like that idea.  I thought I had true love once.  He was my best friend for years before that, but I’d always had feelings for him.  When he finally asked me out (when we were both adults, because I don’t count the high school time), I was over the moon.  My best friend, the man I’d known since we were in the 8th grade, wanted to go out with me.  On top of that, he asked me out after listening to me talking about how I had accepted my role in life (being in the military and in school and struggling to find a man, but generally being ok with it).  Anyways, fast forward two and a half years.  Two and a half amazing years, whereas we drew to the end, I expected a ring, not a breakup.

In the end, though, he chose not to stick things out with me when they got ugly.  I came to the peak of my school career, and things got really crazy for me.  I moved in with my current roommate, had issues with my student loans, and applied for my nursing program.  I’m not kidding when I say the peak of my school career.  That was the biggest semester for me, and in the insanity, he couldn’t handle my distractions anymore.  He said he felt we had grown apart, which I will never understand, because I had come to rely on him more than he could have ever known.  Not in a needy, whiny, obnoxious way, but just in a way where I was able to draw strength and stability from him.

The day he ended things with me was the day I stopped believing in true love.  I absolutely would have sworn before that he was the love of my life, and we were going to live happily ever after together.  Not exactly a traditional high school sweetheart story, but still a love story that went beyond your average relationship.  He loved my family, and I loved his.  I was placed on a picture mug by his brother that was given to his mom.  We spent the holidays with each other’s families.  And when he ended it, I began to realize that there is no such thing as true love, there are people who decide to make it work.

I won’t lie, when things ended between us, part of me broke.  In fact, it was a very large part of me.  God bless my roommate.  For as much as we don’t talk now, I would not have survived without her.  Copious drinking was done in the following months, and I began to see a counselor while I placed the pieces of my life back together.  Anyways, in usual me fashion, I digress.  I don’t think that we have soulmates.  I don’t think that somewhere in the world is the perfect person for me, because I don’t believe in perfection.  I believe in loving someone, someday, to the point where I know hands down that I will be there for them, no matter what.  I also believe that someday, someone might love me in the same way.  I believe that when I meet the man I want to spend the rest of my life with, it won’t be a magical moment of feeling like I found my soulmate.  Instead, it will be a comforting and strengthening moment of knowing I am with someone who will never leave me or forsake me.  I will be with someone who wants to be with me for me, even though they could be with other people.

So yeah, I guess as some read this, they could argue that I do believe in true love.  And if how I believe love goes is how you define true love, then awesome.  But I don’t believe in magic, true love, or perfect moments.  I believe in working for what I want, supporting my man in his dreams, and learning to lean on each other in the imperfections of life.  I think that more important than looking for the perfect moments are learning to love someone in the imperfect moments.

So yeah, there you go.  That’s my thoughts for the evening.  Since I am not dating any of you, I love you all 🙂

Goodnight lovely people.

P.S. My thankful happy thing for the post is the fact that I finished my winter semester class, and am one step closer to graduating 🙂

Beautiful people create beautiful moods

When I say beautiful people, I don’t mean the pretty face or rocking bod types.  I mean, I definitely have some of those people in my life, but there are more important things than looks.  No, what I mean are the beautiful people we all have in our lives.  The types of people who walk into a room and bring with them such a positive energy that even if you’ve had an awful day, you can’t help but feel at least a little better.  I don’t know what I did recently to shift things, but I’ve been so blessed as of lately and have come into a very nice group of people like this.

Anyone who knows me, pretty much on any level, knows that I struggle with some level of depression and anxiety.  I blame genetics, I blame the environment, I blame me…yadda yadda yadda, doesn’t matter.  Not the point of this post.  Or, at least not the main point.  What I was trying to communicate though was that for struggling with depression, I often find myself struggling to come out of my mind.  I don’t know if that makes sense, but there can be several days at a time that if no one interacts with me, I won’t speak to anyone.  It’s not like I hate people or really super like being by myself.  I just get wrapped up in my own head sometimes, and at times, that can be a dark and twisty place for me to spend too much time.

So, anyways, back to the lighter and fluffier point of this post.  I’ve been incredibly blessed as of recent to have some amazingly positive and beautiful people in my life.  I’ve got the pocket-sized, brainiac, super sweet Asian.  There’s the spunky, feisty, always real Asian.  There’s the fabulous Italian Jewish man (how he identifies himself, lol).  There’s my second mom, drinking partner, lose our shit together over school work friend.  There’s the quirky, Mexican/Asian/Native American, dog obsessed, give you the shirt off her back even if she can’t replace it, dog obsessed medic who has massively bailed my bumbling and stumbling ass out.  And there’s my kick ass, high speed, low drag, turbo battle buddy.

Yeah, I know that to many people who read this, there isn’t much that makes sense.  That’s ok though because this whole blog was originally just designed to basically be a diary I posted online.  I guess I’m just feeling really grateful right now to have these people in my life.  I started tonight’s post planning to vent and just unload a little about my current living situation because I basically live with a stranger and former best friend.  In true bumbling and stumbling fashion, I somehow managed to muck that up, and in the process lost not just a decent living arrangement with my roommate, but the girl that was basically my best friend and her boyfriend as well, a guy that I had gotten to know pretty well too, though in completely appropriate ways.  But then, something happened, and that wasn’t a thing anymore.  Now, I live with a stranger, we never speak, and I often feel alone in my own home.  Ok, jenky ass little apartment, but whatever.

Anyways, I digress again.  Back to the main point.  I started tonight’s post planning to vent and unload and be slightly more emo/depressed/vent/bitchy status.  Instead, when class got out tonight, my fabulous Italian Jewish friend took me with him to the Apple Store, just because he needed to run an errand and didn’t want to go alone.  Seems like NBD to most, but it’s the random adventures that I’ve had with this guy over the last few weeks that have served to brighten my days more than I realized I needed.  He’s spunky and quirky and passionate and generous, and him going out of his way to spend time with me is a nice affirmation to me that I’m normal and people actually like being in the same vicinity as me.  Then, as I was getting ready for bed, my pocket-sized, brainiac Asian friend asked me if I would proofread her blog post.  Again, seems small, but being one of the first to read a post about something so important to her was really cool.

Yeah, I know this post is rambling and choppy, but in my defense, it’s 3:30 in the morning, and I’m in the middle of winter finals.  Basically, I just thought it was nice to go to bed tonight happy.  Not an over the top, going to a crazy concert, super stoked about crazy events happy.  No, an at peace, calm, mellow, more sustainable and better mindset happy.  The type of happy where I can sleep well, have good dreams and just be calm.  So yeah, there’s that.

I’d sign off trying to do a positive ending, but I think the whole post is positive, so yeah.  Goodnight lovely people.  I hope you have beautiful people in your life, both personality wise and looks wise too.  Because let’s be real, personalities > looks, but looking at gorgeous people never hurts.  Especially when his name is Sami Zayn, real name Rami Sebei.  *whistles*  And on that note, now I sleep.


Age is just a number, until it isn’t.

I don’t honestly know why, but age is a big deal to me.  I think it is because of how I was raised perhaps, or maybe it’s the military, or school, or something.  But somewhere along the way, age became more than just a number to me.  Age became the thing that I measured success by.  Not even everyone’s success.  Just mine, annoyingly enough.  I graduated high school in 2010 with a class of 109 other people.  Doesn’t seem like much to some people, I know.  But I didn’t go to the normal high school, either.  I went to a tiny little Christian school.  Ok, tiny is a relative concept, but I digress.  Anyways, tiny Christian school, but the biggest class they had graduate up to that point.  Out of my graduating class, I am now one of approx. 15 people who are not married, has a child, a successful career, or is completely worthless to society.

Ok, after re-reading the first paragraph to deal with all of my red squiggle lines, I might be ever so slightly dramatic.  But honestly, outside of 2.5 people, I keep up on nothing with anyone from high school.  I keep tabs on my best friend because she couldn’t get rid of me if she tried, and I keep up on my twin sister from high school (we aren’t related, but when I’m not dying my hair, everyone thought we were).  Other than that, through mutual non-high school friends, I keep up on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, kinda.  Well, that and the fact that his dad and I still have lunch like every six months.  But again, I digress.  Seems to be another theme.  Anyways, I’m one of like 15 people who aren’t solidly adulting.  And who knows…by now, that number might be smaller.

When you go to high school outside of a faith-based school, you’re raised differently.  You learn it’s ok to do different things.  Be different.  Make your own mark.  Christian schools are different, whether they openly advertise themselves as that or not.  Christian schools raise people to think that being different is ok, as long as in the end, you’re cookie cutter normal.  Women are home, almost to the level of being barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, making their man a sandwich.  Men go out and work and bring home the money.  Different in a Christian school mindset is maybe mom works too.  But mom works normal jobs, bringing home what might even be bad ass amounts of money, but mom still does household things too.  Mom makes dinner, mom goes to school meetings, mom volunteers for PTA stuff, mom drives a minivan, mom peels oranges for soccer game snacks, ect.  Most of the Capital Christian moms I interacted with were completely stay at home moms.  They got married young, financially struggled ever so slightly with their husbands, maybe to the point of reaching middle levels of middle class, and then came into upper middle class to high-class levels of money.  This led them to then shift into the pumpkin spice latte drinking, yoga pants wearing, pretty (and often plastic) stay at home moms who eat bonbons and watch soap operas all day.  Wow, I sound like a judgemental asshole.

Ok, new, less judgy paragraph.  Anyways, Christian schools still raise people to fall into traditional roles.  Dear gosh, the few LGBTQQIA+, or when I was in school, it was just the LGB community (there may have been a T on it, but I doubt it), were treated like they were completely foreign.  Part of me can’t wait to go back to my high school reunion and see how everyone deals with then Kendall, now Connor.  Especially my ex, but again, I digress.  Then Kendall, now Connor, is the ex of my ex.  But back to the point.  99% of the time, being different makes no difference to me.  I don’t mind the path I have chosen.  I love the army, and I am ok with the idea of never being a PTA mom.  Any man I ever end up with will need to truly understand that I will miss birthdays and anniversaries.  I will miss soccer games, and you couldn’t pay me enough to drive a minivan.  But that other 1% of the time, being different sucks something awful.  It’s exhausting.  Not knowing what I am doing with my life, not knowing who I am, and not being the world’s youngest person (I’m almost 26), is terrifying.  When all of your friends are married, or have children (sometimes they don’t necessarily go hand in hand), or have adult careers, and you feel like you still spend the majority of your time bumping around blindly looking for food, it’s scary.

I feel like I should have a better grasp on my life and know better who I am.  At the age of 26, I should be an adult.  26-year-olds in my world are married.  26-year-olds are parents.  26-year-olds are college graduates, and often in a field that they have at least some passion for.  And then there is me.  And with where I am in my life, and for the fact that my 26th birthday is fast approaching, I feel like I can’t meet my own measures of age-based success.  I love reading stories of young and old people who meet their goals untraditionally.  I love going to school with super young brainiacs and older adults going back.  But being neither, and just an awkward 25/26-year-old, when there is nothing particularly special about you, that’s what is scary.  Measuring my own success against the age of my closest peers and those I grew up with is scary.  Yes, I can say I’ve been to Afghanistan.  I’ve been to Slovenia, Germany, Kuwait, Kyrgistan, and all across the US.  But as the army gets ready to give me a big FU, what has it gotten me, other than making me a 25/26-year-old female still in school?

Idk, I just wanted to share my thoughts.  To anyone who reads this, my depression does not take me to ultimately scary, yall need to worry about me levels.  I’m not there.  I suffer from both anxiety and depression, but I manage.  Insert some cheesy saying about how what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger and yadda yadda yadda.  So don’t worry about my physical health, I haven’t died yet.  I’m just writing as I get random musings, mainly as I bumble my way through transitioning into the adult world of business clothes and car payments.

To anyone who reads this, you guys are great!


Been a while…awhile? IDK…

So, I’m basically sitting here typing and retyping this, because IDK what I’m supposed to type this time.  All I know is that I thought I should try writing again.  One of the girls I work with decided to share her blog with me, and it’s a super cute blog 🙂  She’s a pocket-sized, cute little Asian girl.  I’ve known her for about a year, maybe a little longer now, and it’s been super fun to see her blossom into a young adult.  God, I sound like a cheesy ass old lady.  Blossom…who says that if they’re not 90?  Like, for real?  Anyways, she’s a pocket-sized brainiac, and she kind of roundaboutly encouraged me to try to write another blog post.

Anyways, things that are new…I have no idea what I am doing with my life.  People keep telling me that this is part of the adventure of life.  Because ya know, that’s something to be excited about.  Not knowing where I’m going.  No idea if I can get into nursing school, or if I want to try.  No idea if grad school is something I care to try.  No idea if the Army is something that will work out for me.  In fact, the Army has basically said screw you to me.

Ok, completely random change of tone here, because hey, I’m awkward as hell.  Hence the bumbling and stumbling part.  Anyways, I’m gonna try to do a list of 20 things that make me happy.  Sometimes, it’s really hard for me to keep a positive mindset.  Maybe if I try to focus more on the positive things, no matter how small they are, will serve to help push me into a happier place than I am right now.

20 things that make me happy, little and big.
1.   Opening a brand new container of peanut butter.  Fancy brand, generic brand, it doesn’t matter.  Just has to be creamy peanut butter.  None of that chunky crap.  It’s smooth, it’s fresh, and let’s be real, until your butter knife digs into it, it’s smooth and pretty and unblemished.  It’s been one of my favorite things since I was a child.
2.   Love Inspired books.  They’re cheesy, wholesome, clean Christian romance novels.  Basically, they’re the wholesome cheesy version of the bodice-busting books you see at the grocery store.  I’ve been reading them since I was 16 and one of my friends got me some for my birthday.
3.   Holidays.  Whether it’s Christmas or the 4th of July, I just love holiday decorations and being with friends and family.
4.   My family, all of them, but especially my dad, my baby sister, and my grandpa.  For years, it was just my dad and me, before he met and married my mom.  Then came brother #1, a now dweeb in high school.  Then brother #2, the dork that shares the same birthday with me, exactly 15 years apart.  And then came my only sister, Becca Boo Baby Butt Bear.  She hates it when I call her that.  It’s great.  I love the little booger to pieces.  There is something indescribable when someone so small is convinced you are the greatest thing ever.  No matter how bad things are, she always makes my day better.
5.   Reading.  I don’t get to read a lot, but when I do, and I happen to have an awesome book, it’s great.  There’s nothing better than having a book you just can’t put down.
6.   Animals.  Horses, cats, dogs, rabbits, guinea pigs…doesn’t matter.  I just stick to the general rule of thumb that it needs to have between 2 and 4 legs naturally.  Except for my beta fish.  Prometheus and Poseidon are pretty cool.
7.   WWE.  Yeah, I never thought I would ever have that on a list in my life.  Ever.  It’s a new fun thing I’ve gotten into, but I really have fun with it.  Especially watching my favorite guy fight, Sami Zayn.  *Whistles*  Man, that man is gorgeous.
8.   Gingers.  Not the blond red type, but a true Irish looking red-headed man.  Yup, shortest point on here, but definitely one of the truest 🙂
9.   Warm blankets.  Big blankets, soft blankets, fluffy blankets.  Doesn’t matter.  I love blankets, and even better is when they’re fresh out of the dryer.  They’re warm and smell good, and they’re amazing to curl up in.
10. Coffee.  Ok, this is the shortest one and should have been #1, lol.
11. Pasta, pizza, ice cream, sushi, cake, cheese, wine, whiskey, vodka, bread, doughnuts, pie, food in general.  My waistline generally shows it, but I love me some food.
12. Cuddling.  Pretty much self-explanatory, but I think everyone likes that.
13. Being able to watch my favorite TV shows.  Currently, it’s When Calls the Heart, Heartland, Nurse Jackie, Nakita, any cooking show, Ultimate Beast Master, any sort of home decorating show, ok, any show that is on TLC or any sort of home, garden or cooking channel, and then the classics, Charmed, Buffy, and Angel.
14. Going out with my friends up here in Reno.  Trying to coordinate schedules can be a massive P.I.T.A.  So when it works out, it’s fun, and definitely makes my list of favorite things.
15. My best friends.  I have some of the baddest ass friends a girl could ask for.  I’ve known Renee since the 8th grade, and although she’s the girliest girl I know, she’s a bad ass lawyer and a soon to be bride.  I’ve known Edward since about a year into my enlistment.  That chick could kick most people’s ass.  She’s one of the strongest women I know, mentally and physically, and she’s always there for me, even when I’m a big pile of girly snot, chaos, and running mascara.
16. Nail polish.  I helped my friend Renee move once, and as a thank you, she let me dig through a bunch of her old nail polish, and dang, I got a lot.
17. My uniform.  The army may be giving me the bird right now, but I love the feeling I get when I put on my uniform.  I never know who I am or what I am doing with my life more than when I have on my worn in, dingy uniform and thinning combat boots.  Hair pulled back into a bun, cap on, no nail polish, knife on my belt, pen in my pocket, pins, patches…the whole nine yards.
18. Rain.  The smell of it.  The sound of it.  Being a passenger in a car in the rain.  Rain in general.
19. A good bottle of alcohol.  Not to get drunk on, or be stupid with.  But a good bottle of red wine.  Or Rose.  Or whiskey, so long as it has a kick to it.  Tequila.  Vodka, if it’s with something, like orange juice.  Again, not to get obliterated on.  I can just appreciate a good sipping drink.  A social thing.  Those of you who are old enough…ya know how it goes, once you grow out of just getting snockered.  Snokered?  I use the word, but it just dawned on me that I don’t actually know how to spell it.  Huh.  Nifty.
20. Using old lady words.  Without even meaning to, I picked up words like jenky, snockered, caddy whompus, skivvies, ect.  I learned them from my grandma, and they kinda just stuck.

Anyways, maybe I’ll try to do that as a sign off thing from now on.  Maybe it will help my mindset, trying to focus on the positive things more.

Ok, finally off to sleep.  If you ever see this, thank you, Elizabeth.  Your tiny, spunky, positive energy is such a blessing to many people.  I love hearing about your adventures, and although we don’t work together anymore (a fact that I still choose to ignore), I hope to still see you and hear all about your crazy adventures.

Ok, goodnight!


Nice people scare me…

…because they’re the most unpredictable, I think.  I expect people to be out to take care of themselves.  That makes sense to me.  I even expect people to help others.  That’s fine.  What throws me off, to literally tears at times, is when people are nice to me.  A few weeks ago, one of my professors assigned the Meyers-Briggs personality test to the class.  After taking it, I was classified as an advocate.  The cool thing about this website was that it then elaborated on what this meant in the workplace, intimate relationships, family relationships, and just many things in general.  Basically, it was revealed to me that I am an advocate.  I will go to bat and help people with whatever they need, however they need, but I naturally do this at times to the detriment of my own needs.  I will take care of everyone but myself.  I don’t accept help well.  I was raised to feel like I am supposed to be an independent person who does not rely on others.  Which is good and bad, I am aware.

So the other day, I was rushing to work.  Actually, it was the same day I bought the journal that led to my last entry.  Anyways, I had a rough night the night before, and I decided to nap before work, which led to me waking up late.  I sent a text to my managers, just to let them know, and apologizing (of course).  I was fully prepared to get a lecture about being late and all that.  Getting in trouble makes sense to me.  Instead, I got there, and the newest manager, a 19 year old female, took me aside and said she was worried about me.  No lecture about needing to get my act together, no lecture about being late.  Just, she was worried about me.  She could tell I was emotional and basically just fried.  I damn near lost it and had to hide in the bathroom collecting myself for the first 10 minutes of my shift.  Then, my other manager, that I have worked with a bunch, told me she had gotten me a venti cold brew coffee (my Starbucks go to).  Then I did lose it, and had to hide again for a bit.  I’ve covered people’s shifts at work, brought coffee to people on bad days, given rides when people don’t have cars, and just generally tried to be there for people when they needed someone.  I love to take care of people, and I have this thing where when someone just acknowledges me somehow, like when they ask how I’m doing, it means a lot to me, and I am happy.  But when people do kind things for me like that, I wig.

Idk, I’m caffeinated, and have to go jump through a shower before my next class.  That’s just my thoughts on nice people.  I love them, and I know why they do what they do, it just catches me off guard.  I expect to be nice to people.  I don’t expect anyone else to do that for me.  Idk, I’m rambling now.

I’m off.