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The World is Ending and I’m Turning 25.

So I just have to state how amazing my best friend/co-blogger really is. I’m so happy that I have her in my life to keep me sane and to keep our blog alive and well. Bravo, L.A.!!!

I apologize for my absence. Life gets going for me and I get writers block, making it hard to keep in touch.

This morning I received some snail mail from the Secretary of State. The state of Michigan politely reminded me that I’m turning 25 on December 23rd, and my driver’s license will expire. I do wonder if I have to renew since the world is ending on the 22nd. I will have to call customer service and ask. Maybe they have the answer on the ‘Frequently asked Questions’ section of their website.

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I have been alive for a quarter of a century. Such a monumental moment. I have reached my quarter life crisis. How should I deal with this dilemma? Buy a sport car? Date a younger man? Get hair plugs?

No, none of these excite me so I decided to list the 25 things I have learned by the age of 25. Drum roll, please….

  1. A smile can get you a long way.
  2. If a guy says others think he is an asshole, then he is an asshole.
  3. Never regret paying for an expensive pair of jeans. No one will ever complain that your butt looks too good when wearing them.
  4. Pay attention to how a guy treats his mom. He will treat you the same way.
  5. Love as hard as you can. And never regret it.
  6. Nothing is ever final in life.
  7. Always be overdressed.
  8. Enter every room like you’re in technicolor.
  9. Find your signature perfume.
  10. Write down your goals. You will complete them if you do.
  11. Quit the job you hate. You didn’t want to be there anyways.
  12. Find a reason to laugh at the bad moments in your life, then you will only have good memories in your mind.
  13. You can live without the guy you thought you couldn’t. And you will be happier that you did.
  14. Kill your competition with kindness.
  15. Don’t date him if doesn’t tell you that you look nice on the first date.
  16. Asking questions is the most intelligent thing you can do for yourself.
  17. Always step out of your comfort zone. The mystery is the best part.
  18. Don’t date him if he doesn’t make you laugh.
  19. Your best friends are your true soulmates.
  20. Time is an enemy and a friend. Accept it.
  21. Start a dance floor wherever you go.
  22. Laugh at yourself before others can.
  23. Having a good hair day is like winning the lottery.
  24. Always apply more mascara.
  25. Look at the world differently each day.

After writing this list, I think I have found inner peace if the world does supposedly end on the 22nd of the December.

I’m ready to celebrate my life at the age 25. Who wants to join my party? But, I refuse to scream YOLO…

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Hey! It’s Septober! Also! We’re old!

The following conversation happened last weekend:

GoldDust: We still need to learn to golf.

L.A.: We live in Michigan. Our chances are over. We have officially entered the “snow and complain about life” portion of the year.

GoldDust: We can go to indoor places.

L.A.: THEY HAVE THOSE? Indoor sand traps? Can we wear bikinis and pretend it’s the beach?!

GoldDust: It’s actually just like the range. We can just hit golf balls.

L.A.: I’m less thrilled.

GoldDust: But then next summer, we can go out and be pros.

L.A.: …can we still dress up?

Priorities, people.

It was on my list of things “to do” this summer, completely separate from my life goal list, to learn to golf. We talked about it, and talked about it, and talked about it*. And then we never did it. Apparently, the point of this blog is that what comes with my quarter life crisis is the year flying by.

It’s Septem October, kids. It’s time to think about Halloween and pumpkins and wearing leggings under my scrubs.

But all this golf talk reminded me of the following event from last summer:

Golfing: an excuse to get close on a first date (photo credit to fotalia.com)

I had a date today.

Don’t get too excited. Actually, scroll up to the top of the page and get excited over the new header. That’s about as gleeful as I’m letting you get.

Let me repeat myself: I had a date today.

I’m not talking like I had a date earlier and now it’s over and I’m blogging about it. It’s 9:58 am. When would this date have happened? 7 am breakfast? 5 am booty call? No.

I had a date. It just didn’t happen.

Let’s call this boy D. We don’t know, after all, if he’ll be sticking around. It was a blind date, so not meeting him makes it harder for him to get a blog name. I’m sure he’ll be disappointed.

We made plans last Sunday to hang out today. He is supposed to teach me how to golf. I’m not sure why I want to learn to golf, but it seems like one of those things that gets a conversation going. Do you golf? Oh yes, I play at random golf course. Oh, I’ve played out there, it’s a beautiful course.

On second thought, I just fell asleep thinking about that conversation. I just want to learn to say that I did. And buy cute plaid shorts. And a matching polo.

Well. Here we are. Last night I was thinking to myself…how the hell did we decide on golfing? And I was debating if I was going to pull a typical L.A. move and bail before he got the chance to not be what I was looking for, or to bail on me, etc.

THEN.

It rained.

Did you know you can’t play golf in the rain?

So, let me repeat myself: I had a date today.

I’m going to have to write this boy a sternly worded letter informing him of these indoor golf places.

How about you, readers? Did you realize that it’s October?!

*By “talked about it,” I definitely mean “discussed knee socks.”

Bob/Weave/Fail

Once upon a time, I was in 8th grade. I was 13, young, innocent, and dating a boy that lived a block away from me. We were hanging out in his parents basement with a bunch of our friends, watching a movie, declaring our couplehood to each other, and occasionally kissing. Because that’s what all 8th graders in relationships should do.

At one point, my boyfriend leaned in to me and told me that he didn’t just like me — he really really liked me. I, being the sophisticated teen that I was, swooned and decided that I had the best boyfriend ever.

And when I turned my head to tell him this, he leaned his to kiss me. That’s when it happened. I felt his tongue crash into my mouth and hit my teeth in that awkward young version of kissing where nobody knows what the fuck is going on.

So, this is french kissing…I think to myself…I wonder if I’m supposed to do anything.

He all of a sudden leans back and jumps up from the couch, holding his hand over his mouth.

“I cut myself!” He yells, his hand still over his mouth. “I cut my fucking tongue!”

Did I mention I had braces?

Oh, the humanity.

Have you ever seen the movie John Tucker Must Die?

There’s a part of the movie, where the guy is about to kiss the girl and he bobs and she weaves and it’s basically really…really…awkward.

Heads butt, boobs are awkwardly brushed and then you don’t know if you should apologize or yell at the person for not matching your hugging technique.

So, rewind to last year sometime. I’ve been talking to this guy. Good guy, good friend, and the way we’ve been talking, it could potentially turn into something more.

The downside of the situation is that he’s living a couple states away, and the most personal we’ve gotten with each other is by text message and one very drunk phone call.

How the hell do you act in person then?

Time passes and the guy ends up moving back to Michigan. We make plans. I’m excited to see him, but am so nervous. It’s like I don’t know how to deal with real life contact after all this time apart.

But he comes over, and real contact is made.   

He leans in to hug me. I lean to hug him. And all of a sudden…

He went one way and I went the other way and it ended with this awkward sort of bumping, bumbling hug that you give a relative or someone you don’t really care for. Where do you go from there? 

We kind of awkwardly smile at each other and attempt to ignore the fact that we probably both would give better hugs to my Aunt Lenore, and I don’t even have an Aunt Lenore. At that moment, I find myself thinking back to that 8th grade boyfriend and my awkward first french kiss…

This guy and I still hang out that day, though we never really make any contact with each other besides eye contact. And that’s a stretch. When he leaves, we try the hug again. Only this time we switch directions and it’s still a fail. He finally just wraps his arms around me, and I kind of just chill out. I’m still thinking of that 8th grade awkward moment…

…in case you couldn’t guess, the 8th grade boyfriend and I broke up two weeks after the braces incident. Another month later, I woke up and found my house TP’d.

Awkward kissing encounter with the neighborhood boy turned into full fledged battle of the sexes neighborhood war.

 

Toys in the Sandbox

I need to blog to catch up with L.A.’s blogging mania.

So hello, and let the blogging begin.

“Toys in the Sandbox” isn’t really about any specific incident. It’s more about a recurring theme that has been perplexing L.A. and I.

She and I have both experienced this in several aspects of life.

Is this your sandbox or your litter-box?

Is this your sandbox or your litter-box?

It stems from the idea where a child is in a sandbox with his or her toys. This child may neglect a toy out of boredom or not realizing the potential of the toy. The child only notices this toy when another child comes along to play with it. This leads the first child to want to claim the toy as theirs. They do not claim the toy because they want to appreciate and play with it, but because they don’t want anyone else to have the toy.

Yes, a very frustrating position for the toy. Well, imagine if the toy was human like L.A. or me.

Here’s a real life scenario if you haven’t gotten where this is going:

An example:

A girl is dating a guy. He has shown some interest in her, but makes her feel like it’s only on his time. The mature girl decides to cut her losses and puts space between her and the boy. She may begin to date other boys. The first boy may find out, and this makes him want to be with the girl. Not because he actually likes her, but because he doesn’t want anyone else to have her.

And boys wonder why girls are crazy…

L.A. and I have spent many nights speeding in her Equinox, and attempting to understand why this happens. The most frustrating part is knowing her and I have been the toy.

So, ladies and gentlemen, it’s quite simple.

If you want it then ask for it.

If you love it then show it.

And if you’re not sure then set it free to someone who will appreciate it for all it’s worth.

I digress.

In simplest terms, if you can’t figure it out.