Overnight bag

It’s a thing I’ve always associated with pretty girls who have boyfriends that want to go away somewhere with them for a night/weekend. Or really particular girls in college who packed a bag to stay at their boo’s frat, instead of just walk-of-shaming it or going over there late at night like the rest of us. Or, I guess, girls who are in some kind of relationship where they actually stay overnight. Or just this one particular friend who always has an overnight bag in her car, just in case. Whichever definition, the point is that those people are not me.

Well, for the first time in 30 years, I had to pack an overnight bag and I was so fucking not exactly ready for it. I don’t even like to talk about this shit and I was emailing the gang back home like, fuck fuck fuck. It was an odd realization that there is not really anyone here, or there, that I can go to for dating advice. Instead, the emails were more of high-pitched-sorority-giggle fuelled communication than anything, but it was nostalgic fun.

Yeah, Uncomfortably Handsome Colleague got his shit together eventually. We actually refer to him as Man Candy now. MC in-text. It’s a goddamn delight.

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3 hours in America

So, I had to go back to the States this AM due to some pressing monetary concerns. Can we talk about how easy/awesome that was? A bit annoying at the border at 7:50 with only one open lane for the lame-os like me, but the rest was fucking fantastic. I forget how much I love open road driving.

The bank business was handled in 10 minutes flat, I got an hour in Target, handled some other pressing money issues with free Starbucks wifi, picked up a super fresh Jimmy Johns Slim 6 and was back on the road–with only a five-minute wait at the border. Easy, breezy. So glad I had to do this and can feel comfortable to do it again next time I need a ‘Merica fix.

 

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Can I Get Your Number Baby

Hit me with the seven digits. – No Authority

Going downtown is an eye candy daydream–it’s full of (quite attractive) fairly douchey bros and men in suits. Not the case in my area of the lower mainland, so I -extra- appreciate the long walk between bus stops when I’m in the swanky business area of the waterfront. And I’d just love the idea of a good, fantasy meetcute with some rich man in a suit, preferably with an accent, who asks for my number. Now of course that’s never happened.

But it sort of happened, today. Twice. Uncomfortably Handsome Colleague asked for my number to get a beer after work obligations (he didn’t follow through), and a random man ran across the street then doubled back to tell me I’m beautiful and ask for my number (after ascertaining whether or not I worked at the doughnut shop I was standing in front of).

What a strange night. I haven’t been approached by anyone since, IDK, a long fucking time.But now I can’t stop singing. I’ve been east, I’ve been west…

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Tiny tubs and twitters

Screen Shot 2017-04-19 at 10.52.35 AMFour years ago today, in NOLA, I really started to put myself out there for my job. When no one else on staff was, I started embracing social media in the design world. It was the coolest thing. I showed up to events and people knew me, and I knew them. I knew some of the things growing under the industry’s surface before they broke. This tiny tub represents a turning point in my career (and the industry, in many ways). A few months later, I was in Spain, consuming sangria and learning a new level of professionalism and personality.
A lot of that was a mix of fortuitous timing and having been in the biz for quite a while. But honestly, I really worked for it, too. I was, and still am, so proud of the relationships I made doing my job. It couldn’t save the magazine, but it made, and continues to make, my life a hell of a lot more enjoyable.
Now, four years later, I’m attending my first library conference (arguably the trade show of my new profession), gratis, in exchange for doing social media for the event. This was partially the result of getting asked to join the library association’s editorial board. So at this conference, I’ll also be interviewing people for a story in our next publication.
Full circle? I don’t know, but it feels good. 

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Handclaps & Guitars

English girls, English girls, shorty said she came in part
To the fact I’m good with words, yeah I got them language arts.

Chiddy Bang, nailing Prince Charming since 2012

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Apparently, I’m Vintage

I am listening to a podcast (homework, guys, I don’t have time for fun) and the taxonomist at Etsy just said they classify something as vintage if it’s at least 30 years old.

 

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Seeing as I made a Bitmoji for the first time yesterday (OK so I have some time for fun, set aside after 10:30 pm), and I really contemplated my wrinkles, I shouldn’t be as offended as I am by this news.

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I was 10 years old

When I stopped listening to just my parents’ “oldies” music and got into the pop that all my friends liked. That was 1997. That was :

Backstreet Boys ;  Third Eye Blind ; Spice Girls ; Janet Jackson ; Sugar Ray ; Usher ; Notorious B.I.G ; Mark Morrison ; R. Kelly ; Monica ; LeAnn Rimes ; Savage Garden ; Elton John ; Robyn ; Aqua ; Paula Cole ; Celine Dion ; Sheryl Crow ; Chumbawamba ; Seal

I’m sure I’m vaguely knew contemporary music before, but this was the year that I committed to it. The year that I cared. This was the year that produced most of songs from NOW (That’s what I call music) Volume 1.

That was TWENTY years ago. Damn. I’m old. But I don’t even care. The late 90s are producing nothing but auditory ecstasy and endorphins.

 

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