Well, it's about time. It took me quite a while to decide what I wanted to write about in my first ever blog post (ohh emmm geee), which really is no surprise, considering that choosing a nail polish color can make me anxious (I have to arrive 15-20 minutes prior to my appointment to debate between OPI's Bubble Bath and Essie's Fiji).
I thought, should I do a typical, yet possibly helpful, introduction? Should I write something 'sassy'? Do I start off with a product review or hair tutorial? I didn't know where to begin...obviously. But then, I started thinking about why I wanted a blog in the first place: I love to talk, which often translates into a passion for writing. In fact, I wanted to be an English major in college, but my Dad nixed that idea (mostly just because he could...or because he thought I would be an engineer, even though all breeds of math nauseate me), along with my beauty school idea, and eventually I became a psychology major after a rocky relationship with chemistry and a strong, steady relationship with Burnett's...sorry, Dad.
Anyway, blogging seems like a fabulous outlet to put my (never-ending) thoughts on (electronic) paper simply so that one day I might look back and know where I was and what was on my mind at this point in my life. That future girl will probably laugh at this current girl, kind of like my day girl rolls her eyes A LOT at my Saturday night girl (thinking, girlfriend you are too old to leave your phone in an Uber), but I'm okay with that. As for readers, maybe I won't have any or maybe I will have a few religious followers; either way, that isn't the point of this blog, at least not right now. But, if by chance you are reading this, I'm glad you're here. :-)
If you're still with me, future self included, let me give you a little update. After school, I moved into my parents' basement (literally), started working, and have been on cruise control since; I loved that. Changes of any sort rattle me, and I adore routine/knowing what to expect...boring, I know (ask my coworkers, I eat the same thing for lunch daily). However, a big change is taking place in my life; I call it shouting (to nobody in particular), "I'M AN ADULT HOME OWNER", and my Dad calls it "renting a small apartment, getting a (that's singular) bill in my name, and spending less money on manicures (same amount on Burnett's 'doe')".
After signing a lease this past Saturday, I posted a cute little Instagram announcing my big day, and went out that night to celebrate. Then, Sunday came along with reality, followed by Monday and some worries, and finally Tuesday brought full-on stressed, panic mode (interesting how nobody posts this part on Insta...cue Kim Kardashian cry face, except I don't think she posted that herself). This is a big change, and there are some actual responsibilities coming my way, but also a lot of fun up ahead (note: do not dance on IKEA tables...ugh, cheap ish). Somewhere in the midst of the chaos, I realized: I'm ready. And the person I contribute most of my preparedness to, is none other than my Dad. I certainly want to credit my Mom, and as the Grinch would say, MYSHELF, too, but my Dad has without a doubt taught me many of the most important things I know. (Maybe my mom will have a post dedicated to her later on, and then again maybe not, because life's not fair and I'm the type of person who doesn't want their future child playing on the soccer team where everyone gets a trophy.) Without further ado, here's what I have to thank my dad for:
1. Budgeting. I hate that word. Well, I used to; now I just dislike it. As much fun as it would be to haphazardly spend money and avoid my financial realities, life is smoother if I don't. (Small anecdote: my friend P and I used to lay in bed in college after a night out and play a fun game she called, "Let's Check My Bank Account". Needless to say, the outcome of the game always led to more drinking or turning on Enya to induce a deep sleep.) But, since this is not college, I'm not at a sleepover, and I can't get rid of ALL my problems with booze, it's a good idea to "spend wisely", to quote my Dad. (Anecdote #2: In high school, or maybe I was a senior in college...moot point, I once told him I needed a new, Lululemon workout top, to which he replied, "Okay, Mar, just try to spend wisely." ONE DOES NOT SIMPLY SPEND WISELY IN LULULEMON.) End of story.
2. Standards (as in, "on the inside", since my Dad has never said much/anything at all about what makes a guy cute...LOL). If you know me well, or perhaps even if you've just seen me in the Walrus, you might know that I can be a small handful (read: a bonafide psychopath...kidding), whether I'm sober, tipsy, or even just hungry (read: hangry). That's not to say that 98% of the time I'm not a good person (okay, 86%), but I do have my moments. And through personal experience and living in a sorority house with a ton of other girls, I have seen "having moments" make guys run for the hills. But who has always stuck around when I'm having a moment? My good old Dad. He sort of has to, since I'm technically his own kin, but it sets a good example of what kind of guy you should end up with (or at least the kind I hope to find): the patient kind, the kind who takes you home and tucks you in next to a glass of water when you've had too much to drink rather than getting upset with you, the kind who calls you out and let's you know what's not okay with him, but likes you just the same, the kind who might not talk to you during the football game, but is willing to communicate with you in an adult manner at a different time. (Anecdote again: Right before I turned 21, we had a Date Dash at a pretty fun bar called Absinthe, but all the underage kids had to stay downstairs while the cool, of-age kids got to party upstairs. WTF. I had done a little pre-gaming, which I suspect is the reason I found myself in a bathroom stall whimpering on the phone to my Dad about everything being his fault for "making me born too late in time". Anyway, my Dad calmly explained that I needed to get over it. Kind of like the time my high school boyfriend dumped me and he said, "Well, did you maybe see this coming a little bit?") Point is: honesty is also good, with gentle delivery. So, for now my BAE is actually a girl named Kim Crawford Sauvignon Blanc, but the Emmett to my Elle is on his way, so long as I stick to what my Dad has taught me. And kick rocks, Werners of the world.
(Now that I think of it, my mom has taught me some pretty different things about standards, so maybe she'll get her own post after all. My mom, Pam, is the type of woman who nearly jumped out of the car but made a safer escape once the car was at a complete stop, and actually did walk home on Mother's Day, because my Dad irritated her. She is bullshit-free zone...and I would never act like that ;-). )
I only made it through two of the things I intended to share, but with it now being 10:09 p.m., this post will have to be continued; it's past my bedtime. On second thought, the other things he has taught me are boring...we're talking the difference between windshield wiper fluid and antifreeze. But, if the (somewhat) sarcastic Burnett's references weren't too much for you, I will see y'all next time. (Yes, now that I'm a blogger, I can say "y'all". But I still don't want to talk about Pinterest, because I have yet to fully grasp how it works. And the one time I tried something off of Pinterest--putting coconut oil in my hair to make it "strong and shiny", I looked like a greasy transient for a week and ruined my pillow cases.)
I thought, should I do a typical, yet possibly helpful, introduction? Should I write something 'sassy'? Do I start off with a product review or hair tutorial? I didn't know where to begin...obviously. But then, I started thinking about why I wanted a blog in the first place: I love to talk, which often translates into a passion for writing. In fact, I wanted to be an English major in college, but my Dad nixed that idea (mostly just because he could...or because he thought I would be an engineer, even though all breeds of math nauseate me), along with my beauty school idea, and eventually I became a psychology major after a rocky relationship with chemistry and a strong, steady relationship with Burnett's...sorry, Dad.
Anyway, blogging seems like a fabulous outlet to put my (never-ending) thoughts on (electronic) paper simply so that one day I might look back and know where I was and what was on my mind at this point in my life. That future girl will probably laugh at this current girl, kind of like my day girl rolls her eyes A LOT at my Saturday night girl (thinking, girlfriend you are too old to leave your phone in an Uber), but I'm okay with that. As for readers, maybe I won't have any or maybe I will have a few religious followers; either way, that isn't the point of this blog, at least not right now. But, if by chance you are reading this, I'm glad you're here. :-)
If you're still with me, future self included, let me give you a little update. After school, I moved into my parents' basement (literally), started working, and have been on cruise control since; I loved that. Changes of any sort rattle me, and I adore routine/knowing what to expect...boring, I know (ask my coworkers, I eat the same thing for lunch daily). However, a big change is taking place in my life; I call it shouting (to nobody in particular), "I'M AN ADULT HOME OWNER", and my Dad calls it "renting a small apartment, getting a (that's singular) bill in my name, and spending less money on manicures (same amount on Burnett's 'doe')".
After signing a lease this past Saturday, I posted a cute little Instagram announcing my big day, and went out that night to celebrate. Then, Sunday came along with reality, followed by Monday and some worries, and finally Tuesday brought full-on stressed, panic mode (interesting how nobody posts this part on Insta...cue Kim Kardashian cry face, except I don't think she posted that herself). This is a big change, and there are some actual responsibilities coming my way, but also a lot of fun up ahead (note: do not dance on IKEA tables...ugh, cheap ish). Somewhere in the midst of the chaos, I realized: I'm ready. And the person I contribute most of my preparedness to, is none other than my Dad. I certainly want to credit my Mom, and as the Grinch would say, MYSHELF, too, but my Dad has without a doubt taught me many of the most important things I know. (Maybe my mom will have a post dedicated to her later on, and then again maybe not, because life's not fair and I'm the type of person who doesn't want their future child playing on the soccer team where everyone gets a trophy.) Without further ado, here's what I have to thank my dad for:
1. Budgeting. I hate that word. Well, I used to; now I just dislike it. As much fun as it would be to haphazardly spend money and avoid my financial realities, life is smoother if I don't. (Small anecdote: my friend P and I used to lay in bed in college after a night out and play a fun game she called, "Let's Check My Bank Account". Needless to say, the outcome of the game always led to more drinking or turning on Enya to induce a deep sleep.) But, since this is not college, I'm not at a sleepover, and I can't get rid of ALL my problems with booze, it's a good idea to "spend wisely", to quote my Dad. (Anecdote #2: In high school, or maybe I was a senior in college...moot point, I once told him I needed a new, Lululemon workout top, to which he replied, "Okay, Mar, just try to spend wisely." ONE DOES NOT SIMPLY SPEND WISELY IN LULULEMON.) End of story.
2. Standards (as in, "on the inside", since my Dad has never said much/anything at all about what makes a guy cute...LOL). If you know me well, or perhaps even if you've just seen me in the Walrus, you might know that I can be a small handful (read: a bonafide psychopath...kidding), whether I'm sober, tipsy, or even just hungry (read: hangry). That's not to say that 98% of the time I'm not a good person (okay, 86%), but I do have my moments. And through personal experience and living in a sorority house with a ton of other girls, I have seen "having moments" make guys run for the hills. But who has always stuck around when I'm having a moment? My good old Dad. He sort of has to, since I'm technically his own kin, but it sets a good example of what kind of guy you should end up with (or at least the kind I hope to find): the patient kind, the kind who takes you home and tucks you in next to a glass of water when you've had too much to drink rather than getting upset with you, the kind who calls you out and let's you know what's not okay with him, but likes you just the same, the kind who might not talk to you during the football game, but is willing to communicate with you in an adult manner at a different time. (Anecdote again: Right before I turned 21, we had a Date Dash at a pretty fun bar called Absinthe, but all the underage kids had to stay downstairs while the cool, of-age kids got to party upstairs. WTF. I had done a little pre-gaming, which I suspect is the reason I found myself in a bathroom stall whimpering on the phone to my Dad about everything being his fault for "making me born too late in time". Anyway, my Dad calmly explained that I needed to get over it. Kind of like the time my high school boyfriend dumped me and he said, "Well, did you maybe see this coming a little bit?") Point is: honesty is also good, with gentle delivery. So, for now my BAE is actually a girl named Kim Crawford Sauvignon Blanc, but the Emmett to my Elle is on his way, so long as I stick to what my Dad has taught me. And kick rocks, Werners of the world.
(Now that I think of it, my mom has taught me some pretty different things about standards, so maybe she'll get her own post after all. My mom, Pam, is the type of woman who nearly jumped out of the car but made a safer escape once the car was at a complete stop, and actually did walk home on Mother's Day, because my Dad irritated her. She is bullshit-free zone...and I would never act like that ;-). )
I only made it through two of the things I intended to share, but with it now being 10:09 p.m., this post will have to be continued; it's past my bedtime. On second thought, the other things he has taught me are boring...we're talking the difference between windshield wiper fluid and antifreeze. But, if the (somewhat) sarcastic Burnett's references weren't too much for you, I will see y'all next time. (Yes, now that I'm a blogger, I can say "y'all". But I still don't want to talk about Pinterest, because I have yet to fully grasp how it works. And the one time I tried something off of Pinterest--putting coconut oil in my hair to make it "strong and shiny", I looked like a greasy transient for a week and ruined my pillow cases.)
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