Do you ever do this – I got out of the shower, and then walked around my house in my towels, lay in bed, played on my phone, finished a book, made dinner, burned a CD (I’m old school), and even cleaned the kitchen a little bit before I finally was like, “alright, fine, I’ll put on the clothes.” This took about 90 minutes. Keep in mind, the first floor of my house is entirely windows. But getting dressed takes a lot of willpower, even when “clothes” is pajama pants and an old sweatshirt I use as a napkin most of the time. To save the trees.

This was found on google, called "how to catch a white girl."
This was found on google, called “how to catch a white girl.”

I miss living with girls – no hesitation to wander around our home in sweatshirts and underwear. But living with a guy housemate is like “seriously? I have to wear a bra all the time?!”

I get dressed, and fall has arrived here to Durham, so I go to pull on my uggs (which is like, one of the most anticipated moments of the year for white girls, next to the release of pumpkin spice lattes), and there was something in there! I screamed and threw the boot across the room. Turned out it was my sock from the last time I wore the boot. But I realized that was probably the best time in my life to say this:

“There’s a SNAKE in my boots!”

So I said it to myself. Who was greatly amused.

i hate birds. but this made me sob.
i hate birds. but this made me sob.

Sometimes I wish really hard that animals could talk. I like fantasy-type stuff like Narnia, Hogwarts, LOTR, etc., and when I marathon those films (as I have been recently), I’m struck by how different my world would be if I could talk to animals. I would probably have a lot less human friends. I just wouldn’t need them as much. I saw this really cool post about how animals have souls : 14 Stories That Prove Animals HAve Souls. It made me cry because of so many feels.


But I wouldn’t want my roommate’s cat to tell him all the things I say to him. Like “SERIOUSLY?! I JUST LET YOU IN FIVE SECONDS AGO. YOU ARE THE WORST CAT EVER! GO OUT THEN!!” (five minutes later) “NO WAY! YOU ARE OUT OF YOUR MIND.” (ignores cat meowing and scratching holes into the window screen.) “STOP THAT! BAD CAT!” (gives cat evil eye. cat is unmoved. gives cat the thumbs down.) “I’m not doing it! Think about what you did! I’m not letting you in! NEVER.” (lets cat in. hates self.)

Bartender school is fun. It’s nice to have something to do, even if it’s a 40 minute commute. I love highlighting things and making flashcards. Some have asked why I am going to school for bartending. Well, the laws are super strict in the Carolinas. The fines for serving minors or overserving are HUUUUGE, so you have to have  a certificate from a bartending school to get hired.

Each day we have about an hour of lecture, and then we get behind the bar, one by one, and make drinks. I immediately feel stupid.

selfie! me at work! My parents are so proud!
selfie! me at work! My parents are so proud!

“Um…what does rum look like again?”

But there’s four-times-divorced hick Rickie Dudley (I am not kidding) has adopted me, and drawls at me to get behind the bar and make him drink after drink. “Alright, now you’s cooking with peanut oil. Do it again, now. Faster, missy.” By the end of the day, it gets easier. I enjoy the loud, inappropriate music playing in the interest of an “authentic experience.” Today we heard everything from Linkin Park to “I’m Not a Girl (Not Yet a Woman)” to “In Da Club.” It’s a time capsule.

The liquids are all combinations of food coloring and water, so I have no idea what they might taste like, but I hope I’m going to make as good, or even half as good, a bartender as I have been a bar-goer.

I certainly never thought I’d be almost 30, single, unemployed, paying money to learn how to do something I know intrinsically, and living across the country from all I’ve known with no idea of what I’m doing. I’m also fairly certain I have a cavity.

so great.
so great.

But I have my health. And it could be worse. Could be raining. (cue clip from “Young Frankenstein.”)

Alright. Time to stop procrastinating and get back to pretending to be a part of NaNoWriMo. My attempt to hold myself accountable by publicly admitting to doing it has gotten me nowhere. But I’ve promised myself another episode of “Battlestar Galactica” (just did episode one last night…the future is nuts, bro!) tonight if I write for three hours.

My entire life is based on a rewards system. But it’s working.