college, Humor, Life

THAT WAS ZEN, THIS IS NOW

Alternate titles: “THANK YOU, COME A-ZEN” or “CHEAPER BY THE DO-ZEN” or “GOOD AND ZEN-TY”.  

Written while doing laundry, while drinking discount white wine and eating “Lite” string cheese, because whoever said that millennials are lazy clearly hasn’t met me.  

I’ve had a very spiritual, holistic day, you guys. Seriously, you guys, I’m very Zenned out. Why? I’ll tell you why. I woke up at a spritely 8:30, stared blankly at my iPhone—which at 8:30 in the morning is just a slender brick of incommunicable noise—rolled over, and slept until 9:16. Then I sat up, with that same brick in my paw, and debated whether or not I should go to the gym. On one hand, I could stay in, watch the third part of Real Housewives of New York: Reunion, chillax and eat. On the other hand, if I went, I wouldn’t have to deal with the gut-wrenching and spiral-inducing shame that results from me skipping the gym. Both very reasonable, healthy options.

I opted for the latter and got myself up, walked around, laid back down in bed, got back up again, peed, preened in the mirror, decided—yet again—to not wash off my acne medication and let that werk its magic for an extra forty minutes while I schvitzed to “Clumsy” off Glory at the gym.

At the gym I did legs—aka buttz—and sped-walked home, ate a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios and knockoff Trader Joe’s Frosted Flakes each, showered/shaved (my face), got dressed and realized that I was going to be late for my Zen meditation class, which is not very Zen of me.

I’ve been sweating like a mammoth this entire school year thus far, but as the temperature’s dipped a little, I’ve been hoping for a reprieve. Today would have been such a reprieve, had I not had to run-waddle half-a-mile to my meditation class—

Side bar: I keep writing “medication” instead of “meditation” and that’s very telling.

—and so I showed up, actually dripping sweat. Not just schvitzing, but full-blown Niagara Falls-ing. Zen was good, weird, but good, and I actually was able to let go of my thots—and my thoughts—for a moment, which is very weird and very not me.

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Source: Giphy// Me @ Zen

After I was all Zenned, I went to a meeting with my psychiatrist. I’m not very good at being normal at a lot of things, so even I know that I shouldn’t talk about what we discussed, so I won’t. I will say that it touched upon lyfe, love, boyz, Boyz II Men (it didn’t, I lied, forgive me?), amongst other things. As usual, after all my psychiatry meetings, I left feeling buoyed, hungry, and a little depressed—I’m all these things already, all the time.

I really like getting back into the groove of seeing my psychiatrist because A) I’m a lot, B) I’m around me a lot of the time, so I need to decompress from myself, and C) it’s healthy and helps me to be emotionally healthy and mentally “stable.” Which is, let’s be honest, pretty sexy. I also like psychiatry because I can say anything and everything goes.

Very judgment-free. Very Zen.

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Source: Giphy// Me when ppl aren’t Zen like me

After my appointment, I got coffee/lunch (again, hungry) with my friend Lottie. That’s not her real name, but I don’t give out real names and I don’t know why I picked Lottie, but I panicked and we’re here. We got lattes, I got a BLT—healthhhhhh—and we literally talked for like OVER TWO HOURS. That’s a lot of time, but we glided through it because we’re both so witty. We also look a little alike, which makes me trust her instantly.

All in all, today was one of those “mental health days” without being a “Mental Health Day” because I hate when people say “mental health days” because it’s never the people who actually need/deserve/require a “mental health day.” It’s always someone who’s, like, stressed about something small and just needs, like, a #break. It’s the same person who thinks liking to organize their binder is the same as having OCD. It’s not, and you’re an asshole.

I’m not going to engage in this negativity—I’m so knee-deep in it, I’m practically married to it at this point (AYOOO)—and also it’s literally late so I’m just gonna chop things off here and post this muthafucka.

Side bar/PS: it’s getting a little colder and I love it, because I’m an autumn person (#Virgo) and even though my body is a 7/10, my egomania is a 12/10, my self-confidence is a 5/10 and my body issues are an 11/10, so I’m glad for the chance to cover up, chastely and modestly.  

Byeeee.

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college, Humor, Life

THE UNIVERSE IS TEXTING ME AND IT’S COSTING ME A FORTUNE

Written after wearing a NASA baseball cap in Starbucks and running into a guy wearing an (acid-washed, but we all make mistakes) NASA t-shirt and saying goodbye to him as my “NASA buddy”. In related news, I’m planning a spring wedding, space-themed.  

I’m sitting on a bench in front of my college, having just ordered a “grande cold brew, with an espresso shot. Light ice” in a high, irritating voice, because if my drink order is going to be complicated as fuck, then I might as well go the full mile. Also, I didn’t get it sweetened because I firmly believe that if your order requires three specifications or more, you’re outing yourself to the world as a potential serial killer. I also put “three” because I’m trying to conceal the fact that I’m a potential serial killer for as long as possible.

I had my first “Zen Meditation” class today, and besides the mortal fear of farting into the silence, I actually found it to be a really interesting experience. We sat like pretzels—srry for appropriating dough culture—we laid down and listened to music, and we talked about shit like “being okay with mental discomfort” and finding more value in the “question, rather than the answer.” Because once you have an answer, you put yourself into a tiny little box and you die.

As I was telling my friend Shelby—remember that salty old bitch?—I feel like a lot of things in my life are getting together and producing a cosmic neon sign about my life. That’s such a millennial thing to think, by the way, that all the forces of the universe are cooperating to send some dickhead blogger a message about his post-graduate aspirations (asspirations, amiright hahaihatemyself). But let me back up.

Here are the signs the universe has been sending me (at the low low cost of $0.99 per text).

DO YOU THINK THE UNIVERSE HAS AN ANDROID OR IPHONE: 

1). Zen Meditation: Our teacher (professor? Shaman? Medicine man? Witch?) told us a lot of mdeditation is not following every thought and letting ourselves immerse in the murkiness of the unknown. He didn’t say it as eloquently as that, but I’m embellishing. So much of life is unknown, but the more you worry about it, the more you suck away at the present and lose life. Rough. Rough stuff.

2). Chelsea: I’ve been watching a lot of Chelsea Handler, and she was interviewed by Ashly Perez of BuzzFeed (wow, Microsoft Word recognizes “Ashly” but not “BuzzFeed”), and basically just talked about pursuing what you’re passionate about. That’s an easy thing for a multimillionaire to say, but she brought up Sophia Amoruso, the founder of Nasty Gal. Amoruso started out dumpster-diving for vintage stuff and selling it on eBay. She followed her passion for vintage clothing and it led somewhere lucrative. Doing things purely for money leads you to glassy-eyed, dead-souled hell.

As a graduating senior, the idea of following your dreams is scary as hell, and often gets masked by the need for “job security” and a “healthy income” and a “401k” (idk I think there’s a period in there somewhere but who knows?). our parents want to see returns on the investment they made, and so we feel this pressure (external and internal) to prove that the last four years have resulted in something.

3). Blerg: I’m taking a beat reporting class, and we had to do “mock-interviews” with a partner, research that partner online and then turn that interview into a 100-word profile. Mine was fucking well-written, and my partner discovered my fat whale of a blog. When people discover my blog, I treat it like an entertaining, but stupid, child of mine. Like I’m proud that it’s made you laugh, but I don’t want you to delve too deeply into it and see what I’ve done wrong. In the profile done on me, my interviewer said that I was “hesitant to label myself a journalist” (true) but that I had a lot to say (very fucking true). Part of my weirdness about school is that I’m not a very “journalist-y” journalist. Unbiased reporting bores me. I like drama, I like weirdness, I like being funny. I have no interest in being impartial, or ferreting out the “story.” So to have someone see my blog, arguably the most raw/polished online representation of myself, and ask what I wanted to do for a career, felt a little bit like someone bursting into me taking a shower and asking me what I planned to do about my problem areas.

FUCK IF I KNOW.

***

The interview thing happened before the Zen thing, so I feel like the universe heard my question of “Da fuck am I supposed to do” and answered with “idk but chill out dude.” Technically the question is supposed to be more important than the answer, and I’m not supposed to be comfortable in answers, so maybe the universe actually didn’t answer me, or it was a wrong number. But I’m going to take it as my own.

I don’t have any direction. I don’t have any goal. But I know what I’m good at. And if the universe/Chelsea Handler has made one thing clear, it’s that that’s what I should focus on. Following what drives my passion, what I’m good at, and finding solace in that. And trusting in that.

Did this make any sense? Should it make any sense? Maybe I should pretend that the reason it’s all rambling is because it’s actually elevated thinking and it’s not supposed to make sense and then it seems like I’m smarter than you. Yeah, I’m gonna do that. Just ignore that train of thought and focus on the fact that I’m smarter than you. Much smarter.

In related news, what do you think the Universe thinks of the iPhone 7? Do you think it’s a matte-black or jet-black kind of bitch? What kind of bitch am I? Will I ever be confident enough to get a jet-black phone? Or will I forever float in the safety of silver?

Also I can’t wait for all the horrible monster-gays to decide what phone means what sexual preference you are. I don’t even know if they updated the chart (cuz there’s definitely a chart) for the inclusion of Rose Gold. If anyone says the gays are beasts, they’re totally fucking right.

Omg I just saw someone I have a crush on and I need to look hotter but I don’t. Fuck my life.

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