Category Archives: Hot Mess Express

Tantrum. Tantrum. I am Throwing a Tantrum.

Hey Internet. How’s it going? I’m having a rough day.

No. I take that back. I’m having a rough hour.

It’s not even my day because my day was fine. My last hour sucked and I’m here throwing an internet tantrum because that is what good decisions are made of right?

Back story: While I was at work I got an email from Starbucks that basically said “guess what? WE HAVE RED CUPS!” and I was SO EXCITED because I love Christmas and it’s November 1st and RED CUPS AND CARAMEL BRULEE LATTES AND EVERYTHING IS WONDERFUL…Until it wasn’t.

I drove straight from work to Starbucks and ordered a caramel brulee latte and waited for it while I picked out the perfect Christmas song to listen to. But then they handed me my drink AND IT WAS NOT IN A RED CUP. Devastating. And I couldn’t listen to my first Christmas carol without a red cup so I switched back on T Swift and drove home.

And then I checked the mail.

And we didn’t get anything today (or yesterday) and my mom sent me a package on Monday and I haven’t gotten it and it has important things in it. Things like a cat toy that might keep Binx from waking me up at 4 am every morning because he is bored and lonely (his new cat friend is not warming up to him and he is getting more needy as a result).

And this normally wouldn’t be so horrible except I don’t trust our post man AT ALL because he already lost a package sent to my roommate from her mom (which was confirmed as delivered and it WASN’T) AND he has left other peoples mail boxes open before (at least twice) so anybody or their mother could steal stuff and the post master doesn’t seem to care and WHAT IF MY PACKAGE GOT LOST AND I WILL NEVER SLEEP AGAIN?!?

To top it all off, my body has taken it upon itself to remind me that I am a woman. I get it, body. I have lady parts. I don’t need a monthly reminder.

And everything is lies and awful!!!

And I know, Internet. I know that this is a ridiculous tantrum and none of these things are really big problems in the grand scheme of things.

I know I almost cried over the color of a paper cup.

But today my mom put up our Christmas trees and for the first time in my life I wasn’t there to be a part of it.

And that makes me sad.

But that’s still not the biggest of deals. It’s part of being in your twenties, I expect – Missing family traditions and creating your own. But I don’t have to like it.

Still, people I know are struggling with much bigger things. People are dealing with Real World Capital Letter problems and I’m whining about a cup that is lacking in color.

It makes m pray for perspective… And then makes me quickly realize I don’t actually want perspective. I don’t want that at all. Because, guys, I just lost it over a cup. A cup made of white paper. I don’t particularly want to learn how to handle real problems. But I asked for perspective, and that’s a prayer that is usually answered.

So I don’t know internet. I’m just dumping this all on you because I want to record it and I want to be real and present and this is the real me presently. Drinking my Christmas coffee in my non-festive coffee cup, wishing I was listening to Taylor Swift (I would be but the roommates are watching Lord of the Rings) and thinking about perspective.

What are you thinking about presently?

UPDATE: MY ROOMMATE READ THIS AND NOW MY CUP IS RED!!!!!

Red Cup Happiness

 

 


Just Call Me Holly Hobo

Hey Internet!!

Today I want to talk about creativity, namely how you manage it. Lest you think this is a “how to be creative” post, let me just squash that perception right now. This is not something I am good at. In fact I’m pretty pathetic at it. But it’s still something worth talking about.

I’ve always considered myself a fairly creative person. I like to make things. I spend a lot of time dreaming of all the fun DIY projects I could do, and it’s something I really like.

However, I’ve never fancied myself super talented or good at follow through. Some of you will take issue with that last statement, so let me explain the talent thing (I can’t think of anyone who would argue that I was good at follow through). I’m extremely good at some crafts. Mostly it’s the old lady stuff – cross stitching is my jam and I am fairly good at crocheting as long as I don’t have to do some fancy stitch. I can put together a mean scrapbook, as long as I have a printer handy. These are things I can do.

The things I can’t do are the more artsy things. I’m terrible at free hand wording or drawing. I am not at all comfortable with a paint brush in my hand. I cannot spray paint. Literally. Don’t tell me that anyone can spray paint because I will call you a liar and a communist. I can make a mean play dough elephant, but that is the extent of my sculpting abilities. I always use too much modpodge.

So I know my limitations. I don’t try to paint anything for my walls because I know I’ll end up frustrated. I stick to what I know won’t turn me into a crazy person.

But the crazy comes out anyway.

I’m always full of crafty ideas, but I always seem to be crunched for time. I slowly accumulate a list of things in my head to do, until one day I snap and I end up roaming the aisles of Walmart talking to myself (because chances are my nearest crafting store is closed by the time the snap happens – usually after 10 pm). I may or may not be in my Muppet pajamas when this happens. It all depends on how fast I’m taken over by the crazy lady who just wants to modpodge glitter onto EVERYTHING.

So I end walking around Walmart with glitter and modpodge and paint sponges and crochet needles and yarn and paint and canvas and microbeads thinking “What should I do? What should I get? How much is this going to cost? Why isn’t Michael’s open 24 hours?!”

This time around I’m making a hat.

But when I’m wandering Walmart looking like Holly Hobo, I can’t help but wonder if this could be avoided. What if I didn’t suppress my crafting urges until I got so desperate to make something that I have to hightail it to the store? Pride in my looks be damned! I don’t have time to put on a bra! I need to modpodge something right now, or my head will literally explode!!… I am not proud of this you guys, I want you to know that I KNOW these are the ramblings of a crazy person. I’m aware. Consider this my cry for help.

I need to learn how to manage my creativity. I need to have a more consistent way to express myself, because if I don’t figure this out soon I’m afraid to find out what my next crafting craze looks like.

How do you manage your creativity, Internet? I seriously need your help.


A Cat Shaped Neurosis

Hey Internet!

So I’ve been really riding the struggle bus mentally lately – not emotionally just – you know when you are so tired you can’t form coherent sentences? Yeah. That’s been me. It makes it hard to blog.

But I think we are on an up tick!… I think… Anyway, I have a cat story for you. (Let’s get real here: a more accurate name for this blog would be “Cats Cats and More Cats with Liz”).

So Monday night I had a cat-related meltdown. No joke. I think my roommate thought I was joking at first, but I assure you I was not.

We got a new (to the Titanic) cat this weekend. Dinah is my roommate Kayleigh’s cat, and when Kayleigh went home for a wedding this weekend she brought Dinah back.

Dinah is super chill and super tiny and I have never seen a cat adjust so quickly to new surroundings. Legit, within 5 minutes she was happily trotting around the apartment. In contrast, it took Binx over a month before he would leave my room for any length of time.

Naturally, with the introduction of a new cat, Binx is freaking out. He doesn’t understand why we brought this new cat into his apartment, and even though Dinah is less than a third his size, he is legit terrified of her.

As we’ve been trying to introduce the cats to each other, we noticed that Binx is totally like me and Dinah is totally like her mama. Binx is all anxious and neurotic and messy and… let’s say curvy…. And Dinah is all tiny and chill and a bit of a neat freak. Exactly like my roommate.

At first I was like “Oh yeah! That’s kind of funny!” And then I was like “WAIT! Did I do this to him?! Is this my fault?! What if he had a normal owner? Would he just be a happy go lucky cat? Did I ruin his life?!?!” (See what I mean about neurotic? If I ever want to find a man-friend to do life with, this blog may not be helping my case…)

At first my roommate was like “lol your crazy.” And then she was like “Wait, your serious? Are you about to cry?” (Yes. Yes I was). “I think it’s the wine”

Then I was like “It’s not the wine Kayleigh! I’ve only had one glass! It’s the crushing realization that I have saddled my cat with mental illness for the rest of his life! He’s a cat! He can’t find Jesus and get better! Binx do you need Prozac? I can’t afford it, but I will get you some Prozac somehow!…. Also it may be the exhaustion.”

(Please note: some of this conversation is dramatized to fully make my point, but the words “He’s a cat! He can’t find Jesus!” ACTUALLY did escape my mouth. It’s important that you know that).

This was the point when Kayleigh told me I needed to go to bed, and she was right. But I still can’t help but feel guilty. I love that darn cat, and I would feel so bad if I made him an anxious, neurotic mess.

So what do you think Internet? Do we make our pets become like us? Or are we naturally drawn to animals that are like us? Is this all my fault? I need to know, so please tell me in the comments your feelings on this particular nature vs nurture debate.


Billy Mays Lied to Me

This year I got cash money for my birthday, and I immediately took to the outlet mall.  40 minutes later I was out of birthday money, but I had a Vera Bradley tote and 2 cute shirts to show for it. The first shirt was a cute grey number with detailing around the collar and the second shirt was a cream tee with gold sparkly stripes.

I was in love.

Not even a month later I was wearing the gold stripped shirt and applying my make up when I squirted a huge glob of Urban Decay Naked Foundation all over the front of it.

But I didn’t panic! I immediately took the shirt off and treated it with spot treatment. I was sure the spot would come out, so I washed it.

The spot didn’t come out.

I left the spot remover on over night and washed it again.

The spot didn’t come out.

I knew what I needed: Oxyclean.

Billy Mays wouldn’t let me down. I bought some Oxyclean and washed the shirt a third time.

The flipping spot did not come out.

Now I was getting mad. I decided to do a full-on Oxyclean soak. I put my beloved shirt in a gallon and a half of Oxyclean water and set a timer for six hours. A hour later I returned to stir my shirt-y bouillabaisse, and was met with a horrible sight: my shirt had lost it’s sparkle. Instead of glittery gold strips, my shirt now had golden-orange strips. It was still cute, but ultimately disappointing. I left it to soak for the full six hours and then washed it as directed.

AND THE FLIPPIN SPOT STILL DID NOT COME OUT.

I immediately took to the internet to see if I could order another shirt, but fall had come and the outlets no longer offered it. I ordered a few shirts that were on sale in order to numb my pain, but it still hurt. A product – ad more importantly a man – I had trusted had let me down. Billy had screamed about the stain fighting power so excitedly that I believed him! I took him at his word – Oxyclean would solve my laundry woes. But he had lied to me, and I had to say goodbye to a shirt I loved because of him.

 Billy Mays Lied To Me

What about you, Internet? Have you ever been burned by Billy?


So You Want to Be a Hobo

Hey Internet! If there is anything I have learned over the past month of living in Orlando, it is that I make an excellent hobo. Since I was without a job and my school schedule isn’t too horribly busy, I have spent a great deal of time living as a semi-recluse. And I thought I would give you some pointers in case you were looking to join me in my Hobo-dom.

Step One: Don’t get out of bed until at least noon. You don’t gots nowhere fancy to be!

Step Two: When you get out of be, you may think you need a shower. Don’t. Wait. There is a time for cleanliness, but that time is not now.

Step Three: Coffee. You may be a hobo, but you are still human. Caffeine it up!

Step Four: Eat something that you don’t have to cook: granola bars, cookies, berries that you foraged, ect.

Step Five: Lay on couch and watch tv or read. Stay there for five hours.

Step Six: Begin to worry that you smell and resign yourself to showering.

Step Seven: Shower, but don’t wash your hair. You still want to appear at least slightly vagrant-y.

Step Eight: Put your pjs on. This is not a time for real pants.

Step Nine: Eat lunch at dinner time. Again, try not to cook anything. The microwave is your friend.

Step Ten: Back to the couch for the reading and the TV.

Step Eleven: Go to bed and repeat tomorrow.

Did I miss anything, Internet? What do you do when you have a hobo day?