Yes, May I Please Speak to Pizza? (And other twenty-something realizations)

Like most of my adult responsibilities, I put this blog on a shelf until it collected more dust than Woody & Wheezy in Toy Story 2. 

dusty_woody_wheezySorry little buddy.

I think being a twenty something brings some kind of passion out in us to succeed (even if it is just succeeding to leave your bedroom on a Sunday and order $30 worth of McDonalds- you’ll get there too. Set little goals first? No. Okay.)

We are trying to figure out desperately – what in the actual **** are we good at?!

So you start recounting your life experiences to draw parallels to anything you might be able to pass as reasonably okay. What sport are you good at? Hiking – the only sport you can lie about being good at without knowing the first thing about HIKING other than you’re probably going to wear running shoes that day and some lulu lemon tights (Iliza Schlesinger).

Ok Ok recounting- am I athletic, am I book-smart, am I a writer, am I a public speaker, am I an artist, am I creative? Am I not creative? Wait how the fuck am I going to get any job if I wasn’t given creativity as a soft skill when I went up to the people counter and asked for equal parts personality, brains and looks.


So as I recount- I realize coordinated is not something I want to sell myself as.


Mindy doing aerobics = Me in work out classes, dancing at the club, dance class as a 7 year old, playing baseball, inner tube water polo, karate, tennis, ball hockey, regular hockey.

Art class – also to be avoided.

Writing – Okay teachers sold me on that one at a young age. I went for the heart strings with my Grade Two story about how we gave our Christmas presents to the poor (I knew whatchu wanted to read Ms Parkins).

I jumped through the hoops, and stuck with writing growing up. That was my thing.

How do you make money as a writer? Hmmm.. well my elementary school secretary also told my mom once I had an amazing singing voice when I sang John Lennon-Imagine for the Remembrance Day assembly. Ok next career goal – hard left- Be   T a y l o r    S w i f t. 

You can’t go into a job interview saying you have this dream that you will write songs and perform them at the Molson Ampitheatre without having to put any effort into learning guitar or taking singing lessons.

Fuck back to writing.

So you go into a job interview like: 


& they’re all like, yeah that’s cute, do you have 3 years experience in sales or marketing? & you’re all like.. well this one time at Coffee Culture they told me to market the pumpkin muffins all day & I totally made like 3 more trays of muffins and upped their small sized coffees to large with a smile.

…I don’t have the job?

So you work your butt off trying to sell yourself as anything.

So you shift dreams – maybe a real world job next year. Maybe for now I’m meant to wear a low cut top and market beer to creepy old men & walk away with $300 in tips for 4 hours work (it happens). Then I can pay off my student loan while simultaneously feeling sorry for myself! Yeah.. well when you put it in writing.. no. That three years experience means I’m already 3 years behind before I even entered the working world.

Now you’ve done all this research and work and are deserving of a tall beer and some nachos. 
Fast forward through all of that & we landed a job!! Yay US!

We get there like –

dog_at_computer Of course you have no idea what you’re doing you’re a  pure bred golden retriever-  University grad fresh out of school with no work experience but you sure as hell know about Marxism (or Wikipedia’s take on it anyway): capitalism has ruptured into a war between two classes: the bourgeoisie (the capitalist class that owns the means of production) and the proletariat (the working class, which is at the mercy of the capitalists). God, keep up guys.

So you try really hard- you re-learn to use a phone (they are different in grocery stores, provincial parks, and the office- did ya know?!)



People ask you how you are and you answer in song:


People at work ask you what you do for fun and you’re like:



I’m interested in Game of Thrones and Harry Potter?


No seriously, you want to know about my hopes and dreams? Momma said it isn’t that much harder to love someone with money..


Just kidding. I can’t cook either.

Back to working world.

In my experience- I self-taught myself to be a graphic designer to my mother’s horror who had to put up all my shitty drawings of our stick figure family with the sun in the corner that looked more like a family of angry wolves.

But I took some HTML/CSS training, brushed up on PhotoShop (called my friend crying asking what even are layer masks anyway and who cares lets get some wine).

And that turned into me becoming a workaholic:

Because I actually do enjoy it.

Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy my bed more.. but I enjoy it.

So you wake up each day going:

I_love_my_jobYour attitude has seriously improved. You’ve turned from a total stressed out mess to having a little bit of direction?

You go Beyonce Pad Thai.

But there’s still that side with you that misses being in University and staying up until 3 am with your roomies watching Dance Moms and filling up the roommate’s room that went away for the weekend with hundreds of balloons with, “Keep Calm & Chive On” on them- leading to all of you getting on the Chive. Your first claim to fame before your zombie book.

Your life used to be- spend 14 hours in a library- hand in an essay- reward with wine- watch Disney movies all day with best friend.


Thanks Nick. Now that’s a distant memory.

You started easy with the phone, the photocopier, took a sharp right to designing billboards.. you seriously pulled a Reese and became a lawyer. Basically. Minus the money.


But it’s fine because you still have the little adult goals too like learning to write a check properly.


People tell you you need to start saving for RRSP’s (I just learned what that was in November and you’re telling me 70% of my wages is supposed to go to this mythical fairy tale fund you just made up now?).

You want me to do my taxes?

I have to make my own doctor appointments?


You’re getting there. You’re a wide eyed twenty something. You decided to wake up one day and say fuck that I’m Harry Potter.


Don’t even start on the fact that you’re single and can count your close friends on one hand.

my life is buffering_pizza

I know what you’re thinking:

mindy_crazy_inspirationalOr super depressing. Cheers!


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