Lines and Whines

Last week I celebrated my 24th birthday.  It was a normal day packed with one hundred activities I was committed to, no time in which to do them, and sacrificing a real shower to make them all happen.  While in transit from NYC to New Jersey (because that's a normal thing) my brother called me to wish me a happy birthday and to kindly let me know that I'm running out of "good years."  This, of course, is in reference to my deep desire to be a trophy wife, and was sad but true reminder.

While half the population still mistakes me for a high school student, what they can't see behind the makeup and current fashion trends are the effects of six sleepless, agonizing years of architecture school.  The crow's feet at the corners and the bags below my eyes are clearly here to stay.  A ten hour night of sleep can't make those bad boys go away.  The stress wrinkles on my forehead are still pretty superficial and I'm hoping a jar of Rite Aid's finest face balm will prevent those from becoming any deeper for some time . While I'm, for the most part, accepting of this fate, I struggle with the other fact: I still have ACNE.  Who's sick idea of a joke is this?

"Give her the pimples of a 15 year old, but the creases of a 35er.  Yeah...that'll be hilarious."

I am doomed to spend the rest of my twenties in an ambiguous age window that will leave potential sugar daddies scratching their heads.  Moreover, this also seems harmful in a profession where, on one side of this spectrum, I have been treated disrespectfully because of my apparent age.  If the acne persists, it will probably, in conjunction with my downright delightful demeanor, overpower my skills and perpetuate the notion of the forever-intern.  Conversely, wrinkles won't help anything because WHO THE FUCK WANTS WRINKLES IN HER MID TWENTIES?

While I'm on the subject let me list the other ways in which architecture school has ruined my body, my relationships, and my general well-being.

- Vision: from spending so many hours looking at a computer screen or small print I now can't see anything outside of 8' of me clearly.  I just wave to everyone now.

- Rem sleep: when the hell is the last time I've had a full cycle?

- Skin: in addition to acne and wrinkles, I also have the beginnings of varicose veins from sitting with my legs crossed for so many hours. LUCKY ME

- Hygiene and Eating habits: hahahahaha I haven't had a routine schedule since 2008

- Social Skills: I do not know how to interact with anyone besides other architects/architecture students

- Everything Else: because i'm so freaking broke from paying for architecture school I can't resolve any of these other problems...so...great.

Fortunately, I'm in this with all the other knuckleheads who thought going to design school was a solid idea.

The good news is I probably won't end up with laugh lines.

She's back.

Friends, I've returned.  I know I have been absent for some time, but sadly I hardly have the time or energy to devote to bathing let alone to spell-check an angry rant about girls who pee on the seat.  Allow me to apologize for having other priorities.  Yet, here I am, ready to fill your summer with piss poor blogging that so many of you seem to enjoy.

Yes, Stephanie.  Insult your readers; that will keep them coming back.

Some topics to look forward to this season: traffic jams, Craigslist, catcalls, and probably some general drunkenness.

Stay Tuned.

PSA: Valentine's Day

This is a Public Service Announcement

Look around you.

It's not difficult to see the signs.

The pain, the discomfort...you can see it in their eyes, in their expression.

One in four individuals are suffering from  Valentine's Day hate.  

And you, the one posting photos of that beautiful bouquet your normally douchey boyfriend sent, and you, taking kissing selfies on your romantic walk to that overpriced dinner, oh and you, with the status about how you and your man ordered pizza and are drinking beers because you are just "that kind of couple," this is your fault.  The anguish and the disgust that your single friends are feeling is on your shoulders.  Valentine's day was a harmless holiday until you romantic jerks and your social media started inundating the servers with your mushy garbage.  The good new is you can help.  For zero cents a day you can stop being an attention whore and keep your romantic gestures between you and your significant other.  

Email your sister? Ok. Text your mom? Fine. Instagram? NO. Facebook? NO. Twitter, Tumblr, Snapchat? NO.  Keep your stupid shit to yourself. 

The problem with this holiday is not the romance, nor the gift-giving, nor even the prescriptive nature of the whole ordeal.  In fact, I like Valentines Day.  I participate in Valentines day.  Sure it's just a way for Hallmark to make money, but I think it's a lovely little nudge to do something nice for the people in your life whom you care about. The problem is the blatant and over the top flaunting that makes people want to stab a pen through their own temples.  Someone loves you and that's awesome, truly, that's great, but there is no need to brag about it and make your friends feel dejected and/or nauseous.  I don't know if you're insecure and feel that you somehow need to prove to your community how important you are to someone or that you're just insensitive.  Either way nobody is a fan of your garish facebook status.  

So everyone, when tomorrow rolls around please don't tell us how "lucky I am to be in love with my best friend," or how you're "with the most amazing person that brings out the best in me in every way," or how fucking #blessed you are to have found that special someone.  Please just don't.  

Special shout out to my Valentine

Hey, baby.

Nude Prude

Earlier this week a dear friend of mine called to catch up, and while the gesture was lovely, I couldn't help but notice she was distracted by something.  

snap*snap* "FOCUS."
"Sorry...I am pissed...and I have an idea for your blog."
"...go on." 
"Old. Nasty. Naked. Women. Locker rooms. GO."

I was immediately thrown to the moment during my sophomore year phys. ed. class when I suffered my first full frontal.  There she was, stripped of her one-piece, standing in the yellow glow of the poorly lit rape-dungeon that was the girls' locker room waiting for an open shower.  For a girl who had only ever watched Featured Films for Families, I was paralyzed to see the first naked body outside of my own.  No one around me flinched so neither did I (having learned social ques earlier that week I'm sure), but that image is frighteningly burned into my mind.  Know how I know I'm straight...?

"Oh I have this."

Now days later, I'm not quite sure I 'have this,' but allow me to illuminate why being naked in the locker room is disturbing on more than one level.  

1. The Oldies
Listen, Pops and Memaw.  We get it, you lived through [insert traumatic world event here] and no amount of criticism will cause you the same anguish as [above event], but that doesn't mean you need to make us suffer the hazing ritual of looking at your saggy genitals.  You may be comfortable with your body, but it's a reminder to the rest of us youthful Adonises that, we too, will some day be as wrinkled and disproportional as you.  The condition of our bodies is fleeting and we know that, and we don't want your flabby ass in our face to remind us.  

2. The Fatties
Look, I'm glad that you're 'proud of your curves,' but unless your curves are cast in marble and guarded by two men wearing earpieces at the Louvre, don't flash them my direction.  Your indulgences have made you the way you are and my sacrifices have made me the way I am.  I'm sorry I'm not accustomed to cascading layers of tissue occupying the space where my abs should be.  Agree to disagree.

3. The Super Fit
Ok. Congratulations.  We're all jealous.  You've earned this, but you should know that apart from the few of us that admire you, most people want to shove your chiseled body into oncoming traffic.  You represent the things we want and just can't achieve because, gosh dangit, we f*cking love bagels and pizza.

4. The Average Joe  
You're naked because you want us to know how few shits you give.  Well guess what, we still give the same amount of shits about you.  Put your effing robe back on.

Honestly, if I went to the gym more often maybe I could provide a more exhaustive taxonomy of naked individuals.  However, I'll leave the type-casting for the comment section.  

I am not ashamed of my body, in fact, between scoring highly in the genetic lottery, my commitment to fitness and, frankly, my desire to be better than everyone else at everything, I am a pretty big fan of my body.  Nonetheless, I am not going to go streaking down your street or skinny-dipping in your hot tub (subject to owner of said hot tub/company), let alone stripping down to my shower shoes in a public locker room, so neither should you.  

Keep your clothes on, people.  You're making the rest of us squirm.

Couldn't find a towel, huh?

Signs you're not an introvert

Signs you're not an introvert

2013 was a year of many things: NSA enlightenment, Manti Teo's fake dead girlfriend, progressive Pope Francis, and twerking.  But 2013 was also a year in which, for some reason, being an introvert became trendy.  Judging by the incessant posting of links declaring introversion across the Facebook switchboards, I have A LOT of introverted friends.  I have a theory for the self-diagnosed shy kids: I'm pretty sure you're not an introvert, you're just in your twenties and addicted to the internet.

"Now wait a minute, I hate going out and meeting people,and I really hate parties."

Well, that's because you're in you're not in college anymore.  Meeting people was never an issue when you lived in a proximity to thousands of other students with whom you could corroborate on common interests like classes and sports. Now as an adult, you and your peers don't remember how to make friends with ease, therefore trying to impress others, or simply perpetuate a sense of amiability toward others, is exhausting. Of course you would rather sit at home and binge on hot pockets and House of Cards than go to happy hour with coworkers or to an acquaintance's housewarming party.

"I'm serious though, I would much rather stay in than leave the house."

Yeah?  Me too; turns out the internet is more interesting than most of the people I know.  Additionally, leaving the house typically means spending money, money I certainly don't have and the rest of you are probably trying to save.  When 'experiencing' the world can be done from the comfort of one's own couch, the motivation to leave home is greatly diminished.  All things you used to have to leave your home to do--ordering food, maintaining friendships, walking around (I really hope I'm not the only one who explores places using Google street view)-- you can now do on your iPad.  Between online shopping and live streaming, who the heck doesn't want to stay in?

Stephanie, it's time to put a bra on...

"Well, I also really enjoy doing things by myself."

Sigh.  You're a pragmatist not an introvert.  Nobody with a job has time to turn errands into a social exercise. Shop by yourself?  You're an adult who no longer needs constant purchase approval from friends.  You know who you are, you know what you like; no validation necessary.  Even if you have the time, having company slows you down and you still have two more seasons of How I Met Your Mother to get through.

"I ignore my phone all the time."

Bullshit.  You ignore your friends all the time.  Your phone, however, is attached to your palm.  I know this because all you fucking idiots keep sending me invitations to play candy crush.  You're fooling no one.

"I hate people.  I do."

If you truly hated people you wouldn't use facebook, instagram, or any form of social media whose sole purpose is to give you a constant feed of what other people are doing.  You would rather play with your phone at parties than socialize because the internet is crack and, like I said, you don't remember how to be cool.  You wear headphones in public not because you can't talk to strangers, but because you were raised in a world of media and need to be constantly stimulated.  Also, you're probably afraid of being left alone with your own thoughts. 

"Ok, but I definitely hate groups."

You probably just have figured out by now what you want in life and who you want to surround yourself with.  Hanging out in groups runs the risk of engaging with someone who falls outside that inner circle and that is probably what doesn't appeal to you.  I'm sort of just guessing on this one.



Now I'm not calling anyone a liar here.  I just want to point out that enjoying alone time and being an introvert aren't necessarily the same thing. 

Reality: you're in your twenties, broke, overworked, and sick of making new friends.  I bet you still party hard every other week, but when you have free time prefer sit at home and be lazy.  Instead of admitting that to yourself though, you'd rather credit your laziness to a personality disorder. Mmmhmm. That's what I thought.

Fleeting thoughts on parenting

Fleeting thoughts on parenting

This weekend my lovely and charming friend (read her blog here http://faubulousinpittsburgh.blogspot.com/) took my to a Pittsburgh Penguins game.  You need not have attended a game ever to understand that the white stuff they players skate around on is ice, so using basic reasoning skills one should be able to deduce that hockey arenas are cold.  The mother sitting two seats away from me at the game managed to figure this mystery out since she was decked out in coat, hat, scarf, and gloves.  Her young son, however, was wearing an Under Armor shirt and nothing else.  Through his chattering teeth he told his mother he was cold. "Oh...your dad must have taken your jacket. Oh well." *watches game*.  Upon overhearing this and watching the poor little boy shivering in his seat I offered him my coat to wrap around himself.  He politely declined, the mother side-eyed me then continued to ignore my existence.  So my question is this: why didn't the mother offer her son ANY of the warm winter apparel she was wearing when he was so obviously enduring the first stages of hypothermia? Wouldn't that natural thing be to wrap him in her own jacket, especially after hearing a complete stranger offer to do just that? Some people are clearly not meant to be parents.  You all go about your lives, I'm just going to sit here and contemplate the downsides to mass sterilization.  

I shouldn't criticize this woman too badly since she did have her kid at a Penguins game, after all.  My parents never did that for me. Those jerks just sent me to college and put me in braces and taught me to be a good person and shit.  Yes, the good person thing is debatable.    

Selflessness just isn't a characteristic I'm ready to add to my pallet just yet (if ever).  Apart from my general distaste for children, my awareness of this fact is what drives me to birth control.  I certainly don't cherish the idea of an eight pound shit-machine squeezing its way out of my hoohah, but I know I would love my own children and take excellent care of them. Proof of this is in my relationship with my six, soon to be seven, cousins' kids. Sadly, I would be a great mother and am probably the kind of person society desperately needs to reproduce, but again, no thanks.  

Cousin Stephanie to the rescue. Just kidding I'm probably the reason he's crying.

Your kids should come first, people.  Even I know that.  Don't make me show compassion in public again.  Ok?

Stupid Cupid

Frustrated with my sister's boyfriend and puppy visiting our home, my father thanked me for being the 'sensible one'.  "No boys, no dogs."  "Yeah, Dad.  Just cats and my parents for the rest of my life."  Thus, in order to avoid my inevitable fate, the last year I've turned to online dating. Before you scrunch your face up in disgust at the thought of online dating, remember that I live in the most heavily populated city in the country and in New York it is a totally common practice.  For those who are socially awkward and have little free time, it is a wonderful  way to trick people into hanging out with us. At least that's what I thought before I underwent the whole process.  Now, after 7 months on and off OkCupid I've realized that there are reasons a lot of these guys are resorting to online dating.  Short answer: they fucking suck.  Let me quickly walk you through some of the douche-baggery I've encountered.

The Leprechaun

Now, I'm not typically one to go for redheads, but when they're handsome anesthesiologists at major Manhattan hospitals, I'm perfectly willing to give them a second look.  We had been talking for a couple weeks when Doc announced that he had just been named chief resident and wanted to celebrate.  This was the first online interest I had agreed to meet and I was shitting bricks.  Friends were given the appropriate information in case I wound up a missing person, and despite the load in my pants, I went downtown to meet this charmer.  As someone who struggles with punctuality, I arrived at the bar with five minutes to spare.  Unsure of where to wait I popped my head into the bar to check out the scene; it was definitely a cool bar so I had a good feeling.  That feeling slipped away with the passing minutes with no show and I began feverishly texting my friends asking if I had been stood up.  After about fifteen or twenty minutes I finally messaged Doc to see how far he was and told him I was waiting on the sidewalk.  To my surprise someone poked his head out the door and shouted my name.  I turned to address the caller and realized that the tiny orange head not only belonged to my doctor, but a was full SIX inches shorter than promised.  Disgust does not even begin to describe what I felt at that moment-- anger that this prick had the audacity to lie about his height like that and utter self-loathing that I had let myself be deceived.  There I was, shoulder to face with my date, smiling through hellos and being led to a booth that I'm pretty sure was equipped with a booster seat.  Yet even though I was furious, I remembered the redeeming qualities that had led me there in the first place and went through with the date.  After two hours of hearing about how much of a family man he was, how much charity work he does, and how important it is for me to read I was fed up.  I told him I needed to go, but he insisted on having a celebratory glass of bourbon.  I declined ordering the same and waited for the check.  In an attempt to not be a jerk I offered to split the bill with him, terms to which he too quickly agreed.  Would you like to venture a guess as to what a ten year old glass of Midleton comes to?  $80. EIGHTY FUCKING DOLLARS A GLASS.  I took one look at the bill, told him I wasn't going to pay for the drink he didn't even offer me a sip of, and turned down the prospect of a second date.  

He proceeded to text me every other weekend for three months.  

Thought you found a winner did you?

Kankles

As you would expect, after the midget incident I was scared away from online dating for a while.   I worked up courage once again when I met a nice engineer with an even nicer smile who asked me to dinner.  Dinner, I later learned among hundreds of other online dating tips from this man, was typically a bad choice since there's no escape route.  However, he felt something "special" about me and wanted to take a risk.  I joked that I hoped he wasn't looking for his wife, and he responded with "Well actually I am.  And I'm not going to lie to you, Stephanie.  I could see us spending our lives together."  Fortunately for me the check had already come and been paid for.  Jones out.

And if you're wondering, he did have kankles.  It was a strange phenomenon since his upper body and abdomen were exceptionally fit.  I'm still scratching my head over that one. 

Southern Comfort

Having had "the nice guy" situation blow up in my face, I decided to take things to the sleezy end of the spectrum.  An oil and gas man fit the bill, so I went out with the first one I could get my hands on.  He was southern and charming with a fat wallet and a penchant for being a complete creep.  He was living an hour outside of the city so what little interest I had was extinguished when I discovered that news. Things, of course, didn't work out so when I ran into him at a bar several weeks after the date I expected an awkward conversation.  With apparently all the tact he could muster, he told me that his company will pay for his hotel when he wanted to stay in town and asked me if I wanted him to get a room for the next night.  I refused his slimy offer. All night, again and again I refused until finally, in drunk-bitch fashion, I sarcastically told him to go ahead and book a room.  The derision must have gone over his head because the next night, as I was watching my godchildren, I got a message asking what time I would be over.  That evening I received no answer to my "fuck off" message, but the next morning opened my phone to a text demanding half the cost of the hotel room.  I never responded, but later got a sad-faced snapchat, so clearly we're soul mates.

The absolute worst most horrible douche on the planet

I tend to think of myself as a fairly interesting person.  Sure I ramble, but there's definitely some nuggets of comic gold in my endless rants.  Not to mention I'm great on paper...you know... when I can edit out the sociopathic and neurotic tendencies.  Yet, I found myself sitting across from the most boring person that has ever walked this planet. Stupidly, I made the mistake of thinking a midwest boy was a safe bet, but it turns out the only topic he could think to discuss was how shitty I would feel if Michigan beat Ohio State in football.  Spoiler alert: Ohio State won.  The rest of our conversation, if it can be called that, was me asking questions, getting a one word response, asking a followup question, and then being accused of interrogating him.  Now if you're wondering why I didn't just ditch him, it's because I'm not a horrible person.  Plus there was no back door and he would have seen me try to run.  So instead, I bundled up all the crazy, and I mean crazy that I could muster and just let it rip on him. I talked about my recently deceased cat, I talked about going to German strip clubs, I reached a point where I wasn't even telling the truth anymore, trying to be as batshit as possible so I could scare him off. I told him my grandparents couldn't afford tooth brushes so neither of my parents have real teeth, and since they want me to have everything they couldn't, they put special care into making my smile perfect. He told me I looked athletic so I told him that I had never played a sport in my life, but that I was on the chess team in high school. I also led him to believe I have a collection of colored shoe laces that takes up 50% of my closet.  The worst of the worst word vomit I spewed I'm not willing to share, but if you know me you can probably imagine the places this discussion went. 

Unfortunately, my plan didn't really work.  Multiple times I expressed to this dimwit that I had to get back to school and we needed to wrap things up, but instead of asking for the check he ordered more food and more sake.  I'm no stranger to intentions here, especially when he made abundantly clear by inviting me to his apartment for whiskey cider and The Walking Dead.  Finally, after what seemed like hours, he insisted on escorting me to my subway stop.  I should mention that this guy was about 6'6, 220lbs so when he pinned me against a railing and tried to rape me with his face me all I could really do short of screaming, was squeeze my mouth shut and squirm until he let me go.  Romantic right?

On my subway ride home I got a text telling me I was a bad kisser.  Thanks, dickhead.  

The most horrifying part of all of this is that he continued to message me every day for WEEKS.  He must have finally got the hint when he asked me if I was still interested in him.  "Definitely not." "Well life lesson here, sweetheart: don't kiss boys you don't like."  Oh is that what I was doing?  Ok.  

Hey let's hang out again!

Now, I realize I am not always an easy person to get along with; I'm caustic, often on the brink of an emotional meltdown, and blessed with my father's temper, making me a real treat for anyone that gets on my bad side, but I think I deserve a little better than these shits. Though, for as much as these guys blow, I guess I'm glad they're being themselves.  So kudos, weirdos.