Beer Flavoured Nipples Are My Only Chance At A Holiday Date: Ho, Ho, Ho & A Bottle of Rum

It’s the holiday season – AKA time for Hallmark to make every person that is NOT in a relationship frequent LCBO shoppers.

It’s the season of couples. It is single girl HELL. Get out your couple spray it’s infectious.

It’s actually couples season for like, the next 4 months. What ever could I be talking about?

We’re talking November – company Christmas parties. December – MORE Christmas parties. Then WHAM Christmas EVE, CHRISTMAS, NEW YEARS, the land of mistletoe and…

Suddenly, just when you think that you’re out of the woods..

The big ole Vday.

Eat your feelings and move on. The only reason I look forward to Valentine’s Day is for those hysterical cards you used to get from the boy you hoped secretly liked you, but really his mom made him buy cards for the whole class. So you read into the message on the card you assumed he specially picked out for you, decoding every syllable looking for hints of, “I’m secretly in love with you, you’re the prettiest in the class but don’t tell my steady girlfriend”.

Instead, you get to look forward to a card & chocolate from your brother’s girlfriend who is aware year after year, you could use a Snoopy themed card.

In summary:

So back to Christmas.

I, of course, do not have a date to bring to any holiday functions. Starting WITH, the work Christmas party.

Last year, I brought my brother’s girlfriend, which altogether confused everyone.

So this year, when friends/family suggest I bring her again, or I bring a guy friend…

I think that I can get my own date ladies and gentleman.

TO THE INTERNET.

My Tinder bio:

Swipin’ to not spend the next 4 months without a date.

Left for losers, right for Mr. Right. OR, in my case, right for:

You could possibly be good looking maybe, your bio made me laugh, I want you to introduce me to the hot friend in your pictures – oh he’s your brother?

Swipe swipe swipe.

Swipe s’more, gettin in the groove like:

Finally you take a chance on someone – and by take a chance you noticed the hint of a diamond earring on his left ear and thought .. nooooo…. maybe he’s not a creepy self-absorbed weirdo because he chose to .. do that… mhmm.. not an earring girl but trying to be open minded..

He messages you something like:

Mhmm.

I’ve heard tinder jokes SO BAD, I’ve actually come to question my own sexual orientation. Am I asexual? Possibly.

I hate when boys say let’s chill? What the fuck is chill?

Boy: Haha we should chill.

Man: I’d love to take you out for dinner sometime.

The fuck  …  is chill. Take me on a date. I like ice cream. I like live music. Let’s go on an adventure… not an adventure to your parent’s basement exploring your Netlfix selection.

Ewwwwwwwwww you want to watch Blue Mountain State for the next FOUR hours?

I don’t particularly want to get to know you much further, let alone waste the next four hours of my Wednesday night making small talk on these hideous sheets you stole from your mom’s linen closet.

Goodbye sir.

Here’s a snoopy card and some chocolates for your trouble.

I told you I was mean.

I know what you’re thinking…

Maybe the problem isn’t these losers you keep going on dates with, maybe they aren’t losers after all, maybe Christmas doesn’t come from a store, maybe Christmas, perhaps… means a little bit more! No seriously girl you sound like a stuck up whiny bitch and I’m going to stop reading your whiny ass blog.

You’re half right. I’m a cynical ass with remarkably high standards.

I’m upfront about that. I’m shopping for Mark Wahlberg in Planet of the Apes.. not Wahlberg in Ted, and especially not Marky Mark the underwear model (male models LIVE and BREATHE on Tinder).

I refuse to date someone prettier than me. Hotter than me, I can handle, prettier, no.

But Kailey, you sound like you’re not shopping at all, you sound like you’ve actually just given up on dating and get a bigger thrill about making fun of all of your prospects, which is actually really mean.

Yes, but I follow it up with an insult about myself so that makes it okay.

Besides, I’m just trying to figure out why the dating pool is actually a fish bowl in a whisky drunk frat boy’s dirty bathroom..

…why is that..

Me in the dating fish bowl:

GUYS HELP THIS IS A METAPHOR ABOUT BEING TRAPPED IN A TINY DATING FISH BOWL GOING IN CIRCLES WHILE A SAD JUDGY DOG WATCHES.

It’s not my fault that these are my prospects:

GYM GUY:

I DON’T SHOW MY NIPPLES AT THE GYM WHY ARE YOU ??????

YOU NEED TO STOP.

He walks around strutting like a peacock with his dick hanging low like:

I CAN’T EVEN STAND TO BE IN THE VICINITY OF YOUR GRUNTING POINTY NIPPLES HERE’S $100 CONSIDER IT AN INVESTMENT TO A GYM MEMBERSHIP IN YOUR GRANDMA’S BASEMENT GOODBYE SIR.

They walk around SHOUTING to each other, because all meatheads are friends, yes ma’am.

“YOOOO JACE I almost forgot my pre-workout so I had to turn around and now I’m feelin’ JACKED”.

“Hahah broooooo dece traps you’re making serious GAINS”.

Dear GOD no.

STOP THE PLANET, I WANT TO GET OFF!

Back to my prospects:

People that come on too strong and do not understand the meaning of personal space:

DO NOT TOUCH MY ARM WE ARE NOT ON THAT LEVEL UNLESS YOU ARE DREAMY AS HELL.

Followed by the guy friend who always gets a little too handsy, but you don’t mind because he’s completely sweet and makes you laugh:

You can’t make that work though. It’s too easy.

You like seeing him in clothes ON environments.

Your other prospects?

Nice guys who absolutely are THRILLED about every aspect of your day from the poppyseed stuck in your teeth, to your one hour bubble bath.

Everything you talk about is an enticing subject that he would like to weigh in on:

But your heart?

There’s a lineup of Tinder guys asking when you’re going to agree to go on a date with them…

Don’t take it as flattery though, they don’t actually like you. They don’t give a single fuck.

They saw a photo and feel the need to comment on your ass.

Which, you take great pride in and respond with, “Yeah I know so?”.

We know what they want, my response:

Then it’s worrisome when they do actually care and keep coming back..

I assure you no, no I do not.

Sometimes it’s nice, sometimes it’s creepy.

When that creepy guy messages you even though you’ve ignored his last six messages:

Then a lot of the time the prospect list is zero.

Phone not buzzing. Snapchat not chatting. Tinder not .. flaming?

That’s when you realize you took all of the mediocre ones for granted.

You’re the problem.

Your friends say something witty like:

I wasn’t, BUT NOW I AM.

Then you’re like really desperate.

NOPE don’t do that!

HELL NOPE.

Don’t get down on yourself, you’re smart, hot, funny, and don’t you forget it!

So, the only people who seem to notice that, who would have been worth your time, have girlfriends.

WHAT is THAT about.

Why do head turning guys with girlfriends have to go adding you on SNAPCHAT.

What are WE going to snap about?

Whatchu want from meeeeeeeeeeee???????

I’ll make you laugh and be your friend, but eventually someone as hot as you snapping ME is just CRUEL.

What am I gonna take a picture of? :

With every snap all I’m thinking is:

Hi, I love you?

I decided we should live on a street called Cedar Lane, with a wrap around porch, and I’ll take up Scentsy candle selling for extra income, and you’ll coach our son’s hockey team.

.. You’re not into that?

PLEEEEEEEASE PLEASE I don’t ask for much, just for this pretty boy to stop confusing me because I have already investigated his Facebook page and while it does not say, “In a relationship” there seems to be some photos lingering of him and his ex.

My detective stalker girl skills have led me to dismantle this fairy tale as I have deduced: YOU SIR are an ass with a girlfriend.

Back to stalking handsome Beard guy at the gym. GOOD DAY SIR.

I SAID GOOD DAY.

I liked dreamy, mysterious, beard guy better anyway than your sorry perfect Prince Eric features.

HE I have a chance with.

He loves me.

He however, will not come talk to me because I’m awkward as HELL.

For some reason, I carry this bitch face around.

When I see a hot guy, I scowl and look away.

Kinda scratch my head, like no, I didn’t notice I was in sexy smirk’s presence…

Even if he did talk to me, I would probably just tell him that I like the parts of his face.. that are covered in skin…

Whatever, when he DOES talk to me:

Tinderella out.

-Kails.

Am I Crying or Laughing or Singing Alanis Morissette: Daily Highs & Lows

I’ve been a ball of stress lately combined with the happiest I’ver ever been… what in the world am I talking about..?

This is how much my emotions change in the span of one day:

My alarm clock goes off and I am filled with immense stand in front of a bus sadness:

Which turns to immediate anger:

This is, of course, a metaphorical meme as I am saying, “Bitch, it is 5:30” to my alarm clock. Not the love of my life beside me. We cool? We cool.

Then I proceed to probably not shower as I pressed snooze for the last oooh, hour or so.

Pull myself together by putting on some makeup and admiring my transition from dragon to khaleesi.

Then I start to gain some self confidence and feel slightly better.

My two things to drag that smile out of my body in the morning: Food & Caffeine.

I make 2 teas and 2 slices of toast. If I didn’t make the world’s worst cup of coffee, that’d be cup numero three. Trez. Trez is three in spanish right? Uno, dois (dose?), trez?

I rush out to my car because I am later than I wanted to be yet again (why am I always rushing everywhere???).

Switch back and forth from FM to satellite radio to find the perfect karaoke opportunity.

So. Fucking. Happy.

Then some angry breakup song comes on and I become all passionate and shit even though I feel like an emotionless shell. I start singing and dancing at the top of my lungs:

Yes. I am still driving.

Pulling up to the car at the red light beside me lookin’ over like:

Damn I’m awesome.

Feelin’ fucking incredible like it’s me against the world and I am RUNNIN THIS SHIT.

Much better.

Roll up to the station.

Still a little sleepy. I think the No People Until Coffee rule is a safe one for all parties involved.

There’s always that one morning person in the office:

But we’re here, we’re smiling. I go sit at my desk from 8-6. Crank the music.

Then.. I lose that caffeine jump.

HI HOW ARE YOU TODAY HOW WAS YOUR WEEKEND HOW ARE YOUR KIDS I SAW THAT THING YOUR KID DID ON FACEBOOK OMG SO CUTE.

What’s that Carol? You need that today?

Oh your email is broken? I’m the youngest in the office let’s nominate me to remedy that situation for you:

In boardroom meetings, our bosses like us to go around the room and each say something great that’s going on in our lives that is non-work related.

Coming from someone without a boyfriend or my own family this can sometimes be challenging when the positive things in my life… compared to that of my coworkers lives…. ever so slight differences.

Carol’s all well I just got a new grandchild!!

Pam just got ENGAGED. Ooh pretty ring.

John just moved his son to college!

Fuck fuck fuck it’s coming to me. Ok ok recap, drank wine with friends (by myself) typical weekend… ummmm got faster on the treadmill…. ummmmm finally tracked down a friend of a friend who knows a GIRL GUIDE and got my hands on THREE boxes of the elusive MINT chocolate CHIP COOKIES!!! You don’t just know someone who knows a girl guide who can get you anything less than that, “ma’am we only have chocolate or vanilla” bullshit.

OK none of that is shareable with the group. SHIT it’s almost at me ummmmmm..

I uh, …. I had a great weekend watching netflix in my onesie ok? No don’t feel bad for me:

Moments like this one were a wakeup call.

I refuse to let myself be completely uninteresting.

There was a few weeks there where I gained some weight, from all of my stress snacking…

Looking good and feeling good ceased to be a thing. I decided I had to start whipping my ass into SHAPE. DO WORK.

I am all about that chicken and rice lifffffffffffe. oooooh GIRL ya I know about kale.

I kid you not, I ate salad for an entire week.

Bought a gym membership…. and USED said purchased gym membership, shit was craazy.

SO NOW when I’m having one of those low days, I hop in my car and drag my unwilling dead lifeless body to said GYM also known as the, “Meat Market”.

SO. Jump in my car. Music up.

dee dee dee so happy… and READY!

Parking lot is bursting, great.

Enter gym stage left.

Already feeling like I need a mask to breathe the smog of people’s sweat and cheap cologne.

Alright alright let’s go. Motivated Kailey’s like: Treadmill. Now. You got this.

Actual Kailey’s like:

Grab the furthest treadmill from human life. Headphones in. Eminem has me sprinting LINES.

Nailed that. Almost fall over and collect myself. Ok maybe I will go to some mats (aka catch my breath and check my phone for a sec) and also make up some exercises that I’m probably doing completely wrong.

It’s a thing ok.

I can only look useless for so long before I’m like, weight area… be brave and enter the meathead smog, hopefully your skin won’t turn inside out.

Casuuuuuually grab the 15 pounders.. I know boys I be packin’. Walk myself to the furthest corner from the grunting animals.

Annnnnnnnnnd go.

hahahahah guys I was just kidding, no I, haha that was a practice motion, just thought I’d try out that new move .. I saw….

Ok stick to what you know girl stick to what you know.

All of a sudden, the weight area starts getting incredibly crowded, you feel like any pause you make, vin diesel’s uglier lookalike is ready to pounce on your zone.

BACK UP BOYS BACK UP.

I really really want me a Mark Whalberg but these guys, no no no no no.

and that deeply frightens me.

Crap. Out of ideas. Man my phone is just lighting up these imaginary texts are just so interesting right now.

Casually look around for something to do:

Yep we’re done here.

Successful workout wow.

That’s my Mon-Friday grind in a nutshell.

Weekends are more like, no I can’t hangout

followed by:

and finally, who wants to be drunk out of their treeeeee?

Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

So, in a nutshell, when life tries to hand you lemons, ask for salt and tequila.


Cheers,

Kails

When You Speak My Brain Hurts & Other Twenty Something Dating Horrors

As most girls in their mid twenties probably know, dating can be quite the swing and a miss.

You go on a blind date – he’s balding or crazy.

In the interest of not being alone, you think, hmm maybe I could date a _____ (bald man) (french man) (ugly man) (fat man) (small man) (ginger man) (gingerbread man).

You don’t go on a blind date – you watch a sad, terrible, Katherine Heigl movie that makes you wonder why she meets doctors and Irish men every other film.

It’s not something you need, so you’re kind of whatever about the whole thing and are pretty okay with being alone and selfish.

Every once in a while, you’ll see a gorgeous guy… who can’t form a complete sentence. Friends encourage you to just go for it, he’s a nice guy:

So you spend a lot of time with girlfriends (or alone – my favourite).

It’s very important to invest in a handful of single girlfriends, because you know you’re going to lose a few soldiers to the other team.

For instance, I often find myself in conversations in which my girlfriends go on and on about their boyfriends and turn to me: Soooo.. anything going on in your love life? 🙂

Oh yeah met this great guy, he plays hockey, rugby, has a degree, has picked up a book at one time in his life..

Girlfriends: GREAT, DOUBLE DATES???

ME:

Fine. Maybe I should give someone a chance once in a while. However my only prospects seem to be coming from Tinder, and we all know how that goes..

When a guy you met on tinder asks you to meet them for a beer:

First off, let me start this off by saying if I’m going to risk 2 hours out of my day/weekday evening to go on a date with you, there better be food and/or a cold beer:

I will pay for the entire date, as long as I get me some nachos.

I’m not even there for you anymore, I’m there because all of my friends were busy and I hadn’t eaten dinner yet and cheesy nachos at a bar taste better than when I make them my damn self.

Eventually you cave and go on a date with some meat head bad boy you have zero interest in. Or, maybe he’s a nice guy, a really REALLY nice guy. He opens doors, he’s genetically perfect, however it’s the same problem:

So back to the ol’ Tinder grounds.

So… you’re trying to be interested in someone new, so that every time your phone buzzes and reads, “Mom” your entire self confidence isn’t destroyed time and time again. YAY someone thought of me. Nope fuck just that woman that birthed me wants to know if I’m hungry. “Yes, chicken fingers sound delightful”.

So you give a new conversation a chance.

He starts it off by telling you how well traveled and educated he is and you realize that he has so much more going for him than you do:

Bored. Back to the swiping game.

There’s this new thing called the super like, which I like to call the, “fuck I pressed it again” button. I spend my time accidentally super-liking every man with a No-Ragrets neck tattoo and panicking: UNMATCH UNMATCH “well hello beautiful”. FUCK. like:

SWIPE AGAIN TINDERELLA.

When a hot guy doesn’t message me back on tinder:

It’s fine. I was bored of you already.

So you lower your standards a bit just to have someone to pass the texting time with, and chat with that nice gym rat you previously cut ties with. Oh right, all they do is talk about their gym & diet routine:

NOBODY CARES THAT YOU’RE MEAL PREPPING OLD MCDONALD’S ENTIRE CHICKEN COOP.

Also, quinoia, what’s up with that?

When someone isn’t interested in conversation with me even though I have made zero effort:

Even me ignoring you is cute as HELL.

No I’m not f**king perfect, I just think someone should worship me anyways – to an extent, a non-annoying measurable love of me and all things me.

THE DREAM.

However anyone that was previously interested me and becomes re-interested in me all I can think is:

I’ve accepted my cat filled future, and yes I’d rather do that then send “Lol” to every attempt at being funny you make. This isn’t me being mean, you don’t like me either, lets not waste both of our time here.

Honestly probably Pacha. Thanks for lookin’ out.

I can’t help it that all I wanna do is eat my frosted mini wheats by my-damn-self.

Until someone is ready to accept me for my love of all snacks, rom coms, disney movies, AND knows more about Game of Thrones than I do, I’m just not ready to enter the dating arena.

Lets be honest, hanging out with my mom and my poodle every night with a glass of wine doesn’t exactly scream WIFE me, but who wants to be someone’s wife anyway? If your name is Leo DiCaprio or Will Smith then I actually do, immediately.

Some girls just happened to find their Will before I did, so yes that gives me a right to be a cynical asshole about the entire process- go back to your Pinterest account and mind ya business (YES I wish I could make mason jars look that damn cool but I can’t so I’m just going to make fun of you for it).

YES I also want his and her watches of COURSE I do, but until Dallas Smith starts replying to my insta-stalker comments on his account, the entire thing disgusts me. Just give me that for now, please.

YES I want a chalk board in all my instagram photos counting down the days to something, or celebrating some special occasion however nothing comes to mind except 9 days since I ate the entire pot of pasta.

I’m not desperate for any old relationship, I want that top of the line, unicorn shit.

Take a lesson from he’s just not that into you and move on with your life!

I kind of use this as a test.. if you won’t come rescue me at 3 AM when my car breaks down on the side of the road do I really want to invest any time with you? No. No I do not.

Eventually, you’ll finally start making moves forward with someone. Which, c’mon, is a tad overwhelming. I know I said I wanted you to like me but I didn’t say go all Ryan Gosling and write me 364 letters for every day I did not answer… yikes:

Never text me again.

Phew, dodged a bullet there.

I spent my entire Saturday night watching the 1D documentary and have moved on to bigger and better dreams:

Harry-fucking-Styles:

Yeah right. Any man I actually would set my sites on dating, I suddenly have nothing to offer.

Someone at work told me I was, “like, one of the cool kids” the other day and I nearly snorted chocolate milk all over my game of thrones themed computer background while my autographed picture of Tyler Shaw smirked down at me.

Please tell that to all your attractive man friends because all I’m attractin’ are 30-40 year olds at an irish pub after work.

You have that split second where you’re like COULD I date someone 35, then your brain kicks in like

Pump the brakes, get away from me.

and if you’re not into all of these things (I will spare you the awful yet applicable Marilyn Monroe quote),

You’re either wrong and I hate you, or I’m just trying to make myself feel better because I look like Spanky with a little girl’s wig on (with an attitude like him too):

Cheers,

Kailey May.

Life Lesson 36906868: Don’t Throw Paper Airplanes With Your Phone # On It At Bartenders

Saturday started off with a tour through my closet ending with a final conclusion:

I am not Alicia Silverstone. Reality: 

My good friend and I went out to a local bar in the city, appropriately called Local.

I cannot emphasize this enough: This is how my friends and I feel that we carry ourselves when we go out for drinks.

We sarcastically talk each other’s awesomeness up, while simultaneously insulting our own pathetic-ness. As we channel our inner Angelina, on the other side of the bar, they are seeing:
So.. we sit ourselves down at this magical paradise bar in which all 6 of the bartenders happen to be males around our age. They have magical accents and magical names like “Geoffrey” and “Kienan”. Pull up a stool to an alternate universe and let me tell you the magically embarrassing tale.

Two Cinderellas who closely resemble Alice falling down the rabbit hole in Cinderella’s blue dress.

We have CROSS FIT 4 LYFE bro-seph in our left peripherals. Next, the 5’7 local who charms a new girl every night on the stool beside us. Finally, the happy couple on our right who go to the bar to say that they are “social” and “do things”, but will be leaving momentarily when they realize that they are better than this place and would rather get in pj’s and gaze into each others eyes at home.

We ignore the creepy locals and the 40 year old Indian man in the stripes who keeps staring at us smiling and waving.

We keep to ourselves, two intoxicated Cinderellas sitting on cheap bar stools.

We have a ball cheersing her cider to my beer.. again.. and again..

We meet an Australian bartender, a West Coast Bartender, a ginger bartender, a bearded bartender… all smiling and trying to earn a tip by boosting our egos.

The bartenders introduce us to their friend Jose. Which has us feeling like:

At this point, lovely bearded bartender has been working the opposite side of the bar. My friend decides to inform me that while he looks like Bradley Cooper from afar, he’s more of a retired WWE wrestler who has let himself go, or a Seth Rogan in his “Knocked Up” years of fame.

So, while my friend chats up West Coast Bartender, ginger bartender comes over for another what I am sure is an incredibly embarrassing attempt at flirting on my end. Sober ginger bartender is only there because that’s where they clean the glasses.

So while I would love to see myself with Miranda Kerr flirting status:
Looking back now, I think my friend and I have gathered that we looked a little more like:

or

WE were the FEMALE VERSIONS of the creepy 40 year old man across the bar.

Besides the point, west coast bartender is proceeding to invite my friend to an “after party” HA! Sounds like a basement full of promising individuals that I would love to meet. As incredibly attractive as west coast bartender was, you immediately go to scrub status when you try to invite girls to an “after party”.

Meanwhile, ginger bartender returns with.. whaaaaaaaat.. a business card? For me? Not sure if… claim to being intelligent (owning own business).. more than a bartender.. OR… if you want drunk cinderella 1 to call the.. number on the card? Which number.. there are two different numbers on this card, and an email address, and various social media portals..

Confused Cinderella.

Meanwhile.. friend gets passed note from west coast bartender, written in permanent marker on a brown bar napkin.

“I told the creepy guy trying to hit on you that I was your boyfriend, I hope that’s okay”.

Cinderella 1 & Cinderella 2 laugh and cheer at success.

Only to determine.. the note was not written by west coast bartender at all, it was passed to him by.. yes that’s right striped shirt man who hours later was still smiling and nodding from afar:

.. So Cinderellas carriage was a rotten pumpkin.

Meanwhile.. ginger bartender is on to the Cinderellas and asks something you should never ask an intoxicated person that you just met..

“So.. What’s my name?”

I paused..

Earlier that night:

Well shit. Ginger bartender is looking at me like:

Too long of a pause. My face was reading like:

I didn’t have to.. he did.

Well maybe he is just.. I don’t know.. doing his JOB? Not running from me, but running because 3 seconds is too long to pause in bartender world? Nope. Cinderella always was the flakiest princess in the fairy tale. 

.. Then I remember, I have his card! So, I check my resources, and discover..

HA! KIENAN! I may be an asshole but.. kienan? Really you wanted me to pull KIENAN out of my ass..?

Ginger bartender (we will stick with this for the story’s sake) probably forgave me for that.

The night continued…

Then when I discovered the lovely couple beside me had ordered nachos, all bets were off.

“Excuuuuuse me Mr. Bartender Sir” in my best damsel in distress impression. “Do you serve.. NACHOOOOOS.. at this hour?” (Spoiler: I already knew the answer).
And they did.

My friend wanted none of it.

Plate of nachos for one.

It was a good look.

After the nachos, we decided we wanted to leave.. but oh not before sharing our numbers with our new bartender friends. I already had ginger bartender’s card, but it altogether confused me and I probably would not delve into figuring out which of the hundred ways I should go about contacting this bartender who doesn’t even live in the same area code as me.

So we ask for our handy napkins and permanent markers to leave a note. I hand the classy brown napkin with my number to ginger bartender, who puts it in a safe place.

My friend goes, “I want to give (west coast bartender) my number, but I don’t want to just hand it to him.. that’s lame”

WELL THEN.

Instead, she says, “I’m going to make an airplane.. and FLY it to him”

Oh snap.. we both thought that this was a VERY good idea. Can’t wait to see how this turns out.

She shapes a perfectly aerodynamic vessel, and with a smile sends it off..

Well, talk about Malaysian Airlines flight 370 because this baby went down hard into unknown territories.

The plane did a solid nose dive, crumpling into the feet of west coast bartender.

West coast bartender laughed. Walked away.. and left Amelia Earhart to die at sea.

So off we go. We leave the bar. To be honest finishing half a plate of nachos to myself was probably enough to scare ginger bartender away.

But that’s okay, because I would choose nachos.. every single time.

The next morning when neither of our phones buzzed, we mutually agreed:

We ate our Thai food.. talked each other up.. and down.. and moved forward. Hakuna Matata right?

-Cinderella out.

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. 

Sorry 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.

Sidetracked.

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 –

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?!)

Re-learn to use a printer. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME I’VE PRINTED THOUSANDS OF PAGES ON COMM THEORIES WHY ARE YOU MAKING IT SO HARD.

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:

Your 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.

I know what you’re thinking:

Or super depressing. Cheers!

Electric Blue Dress

“I will never be the woman with the perfect hair, who can wear white and not spill on it”- Carrie Bradshaw

The fictional Carrie Bradshaw (All hail SJP), is completely relatable to me. From her fashion choices, her dating advice, to her close relationships with her girlfriends.

Carrie has her moments of fierce confidence, yet she is also modestly insecure. Most women can find themselves possessing these polar opposite characteristics.

I myself have moments where I feel unstoppable, that contrast with my personal insecurities.

In order to maintain your warrior Beyonce Pad Thai (thank you Mindy), you must remember all the people that are rooting for you. A strong base of family members and solid friendships makes all the difference in the world.

 A close family friend of mine said something that will stick with me whenever I am feeling discouraged. I hope that you too can use this advice whenever you have something tough that you need to conquer. In order to understand the context of this quote, begin with checking out this photograph.

There will always be people who want you to be tame. A boss, a parent, or a friend. It’s funny because we let these people inside of our heads.

We all have those moments of weakness and luckily, you might have family or friends that give you strength. My parents inspire me to work hard to earn your living through their own gains with their personal businesses. My brother inspires me to move to the city and live. My second brother inspires me to attain a challenging career. My brother’s girlfriend, who recently has had the opportunity to be an extra on the new television series, “Reign”, inspires me to go after your dreams. My other brother’s girlfriend inspires me to be an excellent daughter, girlfriend, and an overall giving person. My boyfriend/best friend inspires me to love life and be silly. My best friends inspire me to live in the moment, have fun, and live an active lifestyle. These people are my rocks. I think of them when I doubt myself.

Because in reality, we are all insecure. Sometimes people’s insecurities will affect the way that they treat you.

My mother tells me to never compromise the person that you are. She often remarks, “You are a strong, wonderful, loveable person and if other people can’t see that, well, fuck ’em!” My mother and I have a very “Gilmore Girls” relationship.

My mother and I believe in putting other people first. We are giving, welcoming people. We have a more the merrier mentality, where she insists on inviting all of our friends to holiday dinners, and I insist on including every friend of mine in my plans. We overthink on gifts. I often overspend on birthdays and worry about buying a thoughtful gift for every person in my life. My mom always overdoes Christmas, making sure that when we were kids, I was given the new Barbie whose hair colour was changeable, and Kyle was given his NBA computer game. She has always put her kids happiness above her own, like most parents that I know. She wanted better for us than she had, and often runs herself dry trying to keep all of us happy.

We are far from perfect. Our house is like the Gilmore’s because takeout and junk food is often a better option than our unpredictable cooking. A movie night in together is better than leaving the house. Broken things stay broken until it is absolutely necessary they are replaced (we actually have not been able to use our front door in months because the lock is broken). Our gardens have weeds in them, and our grass is not the greenest on the block. Our house is built for comfort rather than for style (quirky items often win).

We have terrible memories, and are always running late. My mom spends too much money keeping the fridge full and the beer and wine stocked for us and our guests. We share everything. We, like you, are imperfect, but loveable people.

I think that our quirkiness is something that should shine rather than be crushed. I like living in the house where you can have your feet up on the furniture and eat food on the couches or upstairs! As a child, I had a friend where we had to put our drinks in sippy cups if we wanted to be in the living room, long past the age where we should have been drinking out of sippy cups. I understand where their family was coming from to an extent because I am the clumsiest person that I know (nail polish on mom’s carpet).

I will never forget the regret I felt when I accidentally knocked over this friend’s sea monkey’s into her mother’s carpet, and her mother yelling at me to grab a towel. As a seven year old this was a shocking reality check. I was different than other people, I made a ton of mistakes. But I always had good intentions, I felt as terrible for knocking the sea monkeys over as I did for accidentally tripping a woman in ball hockey last week. I have a kindhearted soul, as do many of the people that I surround myself with.

This confidence in myself as a genuine, unique person, gives me strength.

So back to the advice that my friend gave me. While you may want to stay in and hide, blend in with the crowd, or be the sheep that people want you to be, you can’t. When someone wants you to be black and white, you go to that damn event in your electric blue dress.

With love,

Kailey Klempner, BA

“I Won’t Date a Feminist”

During my time at Laurier, I was exposed to a wide variety of classes regarding Gender studies. Looking back, it is one of the topics that I feel the most experienced writing about. I have examined gender equality via the media (television, newspapers, magazines, films, music). The representation of women and men in the mainstream media can influence our representation of ourselves, and the way in which we view others. These portrayals can be extremely damaging to current efforts of equality amongst the sexes.

While I have always been interested in this topic, recent activity on social media has sparked my need to comment on feminism.

As many of you have shared on my news feeds, Emma Watson recently gave an inspiring speech to the UN on feminism. Watson commented on the uneasiness that men and women have with the word feminist. For me, Watson hit the nail on the head. I have had many people close to me say that they are not a feminist. It is something that people often feel is a dead movement that is widely exaggerated. Too often I have heard that gender inequality simply does not exist anymore.

This is incorrect.

I have also heard that feminists are too extreme and are man haters. This is a wide generalization. It too is incorrect.

If you have not watched Emma Watson’s speech I highly recommend you do so now.

Women hesitate to call themselves feminists because they do not want to be lumped into an agenda with a bad reputation. Men might feel that the word is not inclusive of their own gender concerns. Watson’s solution is the movement #HeforShe.

I fully support this movement because I feel that gender inequality affects everyone on a daily basis.

What drives me the most, is the negative opinions of the people who are maintaining cultural hegemony (the domination of the ruling class who manipulates the culture in society). This dominant ideology is used to justify sexist and racist behaviour as the norm.

Anyone who has said, “I’m not a feminist but…” might need some more clarity into what the word means. If you believe that everyone should have equal rights, you are a feminist.

So when someone such as, @MaximumTrent expresses disgust for feminists on Twitter, I feel driven to speak out.

My response?

@MaximumTrent puts “will only date Women Against Feminism” in his Twitter Bio. Maybe he should relocate to another community where he might fit in better such as “http://www.menarebetterthanwomen.com” It’s a thrilling read I assure you folks. Best of luck to you finding your anti-girl girl.

“But that’s none of my business though”.

We need the conversation on feminism and he for she to grow to prevent people such as @MaximumTrent from influencing and maintaining the status quo.

For those who do not think gender inequality does not hit close to home, look again.

Maybe you have heard the classic, “Go make me a sandwich” joke. It was pretty popular at Banting.

Or, other jokes such as, “women’s feet are made smaller so that they can stand closer to the stove” Charming.

swooning.

Or how about the fact that after Emma Watson’s inspiring speech, she was threatened that nude photographs would be published of her if she did not shut her mouth (nude photos that did not exist).

So now the word feminism does not only constitute an eye roll, but also is responded to with dangerous threats?

Something has to change.

It hits close to home when women I know are paid less than their male counterparts for the same work.

It also hits close to home when my professor tells us that a girl is asking to get raped when she dresses like a slut (whether provoking us or not).

I think more can be said on this issue at a later date.

But for now, as Emma Watson spoke, stay focused on the meaning of the word feminism. Feminists come in all shapes and forms.

Thank you Gloria Steinem, Judith Butler, bell hooks etc. for not leaving me in the dark.

Sincerely,

Kailey Klempner, BA

Twenty One Signs That You Are Easily Overwhelmed (and a little bit nuts)

1) You over plan and over pack for everything (I think I like this sweater right now, but what if I wake up and have separation anxiety for my favourite comfy sweater.. )

(She’ll probably have a hair straightener but we’ll bring mine in case.. and a hair brush and 3 different hair serums)

[Sunscreen, tylenol, 3 pairs of shoes, a comfy outfit and a feel good outfit (for both cold, in-between, and warm weather)]

Wait …

I know it’s only one night but I might need my deep conditioner if there’s some freak accident where a bird poops on my head and I need a shower.

2) Going somewhere without a planned ride home or place to stay is not an option and your friends hate you for it.

3) The littlest bit of stress leaves you utterly exhausted and incapable of completing anything, therefore you must take a nap (spooning with a miniature poodle on the couch today comes to mind).

4) If you forgot to pack a few bottles of water, you simply can’t go.

5) If you feel the slightest bit nauseous, you also will not be making an appearance.

6) You are a little bit OCD about everything and must show people the way you usually do something because watching them is making your eye twitch.

7) Driving anywhere on a highway stresses you out and you would much rather take a back road. You also do not like following friends on said highway. Back roads only. That way you can go at your own pace rather than be starring in fast and furious  hyperventilating.

8) Doing a few errands tires you out so you try not to overbook yourself immediately afterwards.

10) When you are stressed out, trying to make you laugh via tickling will result in a knee to the groin. Any joking can also result in the grumpy cat face so it’s better to not.

11) If you can’t find something you were looking for (your favourite shirt, your phone charger) the day is ruined and so is everyone else’s around you.

12) Going somewhere for the first time (new job, new friends house, arriving first somewhere), makes you incredibly nervous as over-planning/overthinking will not help you now.

13) When someone is teaching you something, you have too many questions that they become more overwhelmed than you were (the brave family members that tutored me in math).

14) You are always thinking of the what-ifs that people just want you to sit down, shut up, and have a drink so that you don’t over-plan.

15) This turtle reminds you of yourself.

16) Having to wake up for something results in you waking up every hour all night because you fear that your alarm will not go off.

17) Texting is simply not for you. You are easily overwhelmed by too many text messages, or long texts from your best friends. Not going to make the mistake of opening THAT again.

18) If a nap is not an option, you sometimes enjoy  over-eating also.

19) When people criticize you, you pretend it doesn’t bother you but definitely think about it in the shower or in bed later.

20) You have a nervous rash that appears on your chest and face that all of your friends know too well.

21) Yet, going for a drive six towns over, music, and cute babies or pets on the internet always seem to calm you down and keep you going.

Cheers,

Kailey Klempner, BA

Wide Eyed Twenty Somethings

“Twenty Something: (Term/Adjective): A person in the age range between 20 and 29.”

Recently, I have read a few headlines about Twenty Somethings such as, “Twenty Somethings Can’t Seem to Leave The Nest” and, “Things Twenty Somethings Need to Stop Worrying About Now”. It seems that not only are WE stressed out about our futures, but so is everybody else (Ok well some people genuinely care).

So why is this particular age range the topic of every conversation?

Could it be because more of us have Netflix accounts than LinkedIn.

Is it due to the fact that we feel more connected to our phones than the people in front of us.

Is it because we are overqualified, overeducated, and underpaid at our part-time reality.

Our Communications degree is irrelevant to future employers-It’s great to be a Laurier Goldenhawk Business student.

Wait all those late nights spent writing essays (next 8 tracks playlist please) were to be qualified to serve coffee?

Maybe it’s because we like Game of Thrones better than actual people.

Or with OSAP loan payback looming, we still allow ourselves to order that half-sweet pumpkin spice latte because we’re basic yay fall.

We secretly want Jax Teller‘s bike more than we want to pay our bills.

We take selfies to feel like Queen B bow down bitches beautiful.

We can recite more pop culture quotes you can’t sit with us  than those of distinguished academics.

On Social Media we are (well can be) optimistic, but “Magnum P.I. couldn’t solve the shit going on in our heads”

Why?

Because we are spending more than we have “Visa Please”.

And we have the new Steve Maddens nothing to show for it.

So who lied?

All the people who told you there was something remarkably special about you that gave you the attitude that employers will find you, while you sift through Buzzfeed articles.

Maybe your elementary school teachers. My particular school had a saying with a corresponding tacky inspiring wall mural. Tec South’s phrase was, “Reach for the Stars”. Well the same school who thought our mascot could be “Spirit”, set us up from day one with immeasurable standards because sorry T-South, the closest star is 4.24 light years away.

So we have impossible standards with no way to reach them leaving us with massive headaches.

We want to do well, but we sabotage ourselves.

If we spent as much time handing out resumes as we do crushing a season of True Blood (it’s really good btw) maybe our head would be clearer.

Then again, probably not.

You still have bills, unexpected expenses, family, friends, boyfriend/single girl probz.

Our bed is better to us than the cruel dark world.

A wide eyed twenty something quickly turns into a bitter, pessimistic PMSing twenty something.

Look familiar?

A wide- eyed twenty something goes into the world a little unprepared, with unrealistic expectations. Our hopes and dreams are to be Batman, Carrie Bradshaw, that blonde sports announcer that never seems to fit in with the panel of boys, successful, happy. I personally am going to try to remember that when I’m lying in bed trying to decide what job to apply for next or making the next twenty-something’s pumpkin spice latte.

Cheers,
Kailey Klempner, BA.