All too often, we go through life taking things for granted. Friendships. Family. Material things. Life in general.
I won’t lie. I’m just as guilty of this as anyone else.
I thought of this as I was talking to my grandparents on the phone tonight. I took an hour out of my evening of working from home to call and catch up with them. I’m lucky enough to have all five (one pair is divorced and remarried) still alive and kicking, but I don’t get a chance to see them as much as I’d like to. I know they’re always just a phone call away, but it seems like every time I think about calling them it’s 9 or 10pm. With the Central/East Coast time difference, they’re usually in bed so it falls by the wayside and gets put on the back burner. They’re around, they’re all relatively cool, and they’re always only a phone call away. Other people don’t have this luxury, but it’s something I take for granted.
I’m guilty of this with friendships too. They say you come to discover who your true friends are when you move away. Continue reading
To say that this post has been a long time coming (no pun intended) would be an understatement. As I’m sure you’re aware (if you’ve read any of my past posts about awkward dates), I have a knack for attracting the weirdos. There’s been a video circulating of some ladies reading messages that people had received on apps like Grindr and Scruff. This could not possibly be any more accurate.
When conversations with these nutjobs occur, I have a tendency to screenshot them. Some make their way to Twitter and Facebook. Others get circulated around via group text. Others stay in my phone for times when I need a good laugh.
DISCLAIMER: Not all conversations on Grindr and other such apps are trainwrecks like the ones you’re about to see. Don’t believe me? See also: Not All Grindr Dates Are Bad Dates.
So for your viewing pleasure, I present to you…some of the most random/awkward/funny/epic #GrindrFail messages (and a text someone sent to the wrong number) that I’ve received in a while. And no….this is probably NSFW (or Not Safe For Work for those of you who don’t understand common abbreviations – yes mom, that would be you since I’m sure you’re probably reading this). Continue reading
Sometimes (or a lot of times lately as it seems) I come home from work genuinely fed up, worn out, and downright annoyed. Shocking, right? I mean, how else would I have come to be known as the “Often Annoyed Designer”…
A little backstory.
To put it simply, I work for a micromanager-in-denial. It’s extremely annoying. A direct quote of theirs said to me in a one-on-one meeting about a month or two ago is:
“I’m not trying to micromanage you. I’m just asking that you copy me on every email and that you review everything with me before sending anything out.”
Last I checked, the definition of “micromanage” – or at least according to Dictionary.com – was the following:
mi•cro•man•age [mahy-kro-man-ij] verb. (used with object), mi•cro•man•aged, mi•cro•man•ag•ing. to manage or control with excessive attention to minor details.
Interesting that you should claim you’re not one when, according to this, you most certainly are. DENIAL. Continue reading
Let’s play a little game of “Never Have I Ever.”
“Never have I ever been surrounded by a couple hundred seemingly desperate straight women and douchey men who can’t dance at 7pm on a Thursday night.”
If you didn’t just put down a finger then you should have been at the launch party for this new dating app called Hinge this Thursday in Chicago. Seriously. I have never been surrounded by so many heterosexuals that early in the evening who were “looking.”
Probably about a week or two ago, I received an email from “The Social Mistress” – a ridiculously fun lady that The Sassy Nebraskan and I met a while back at a scotch tasting event that I’d RSVP’d us to before realizing she hated scotch so much (whoops) – that there was a new dating app throwing an open-bar launch party at one of the best night clubs downtown (there’s always celebrity sightings there on the weekends). With zero hesitation (you had me at “open bar”), I clicked the link, RSVP’d and was on the guest list. Continue reading
I constantly joke with The Mothership that she’s going to end up on an episode of either Hoarders or some HGTV show that goes in to help a deserving viewer (or the mother of a viewer in my case) who started a project years ago and has yet to finish. *cough cough* yes, mom, I’m calling you out on taking several years and counting to finish repainting the kitchen cupboards *cough cough*
Anyways, she has this habit of “saving” everything from new-in-the-plastic-packaging Tupperware from when she used to be a sales consultant (when I was in middle school), mismatched glasses (take a look in her cupboard, I dare you), and old school projects and homework. Now don’t get me wrong, her house isn’t a mess by any means – or perhaps she just always has advance notice of when I’m coming home and cleans so I don’t have a heart attack – she’s a meticulous filer/organizer/Rubbermaid Queen. Our basement is a prime example of this. Shelves and shelves of Rubbermaid totes labeled with a black Sharpie indicating what’s encased in each veritable time capsule. Perhaps this is where I get my organization know-how.
Well apparently this Sunday was cleaning day because because I got a phone call asking if I wanted to know what she’d found. Fearing a dead mouse, small child, or long-lost snake that I’d put in a Ziploc bag and hid in the freezer years ago, I prepared for the worst and asked what she found.
“I found an ‘Interest Inventory’ you did when you were in sixth grade! It’s hilarious! Do you want to hear what you wrote?”
Umm…whatever an interest inventory is sounds interesting. Hit me with it, mom.
Apparently it was some homework assignment I’d done back in the day about what I enjoyed doing at the time and what I thought I wanted to do when I grew up. For your entertainment pleasure…I present to you, My 6th Grade Self. Continue reading
There’s something therapeutic about going furniture shopping…or just shopping in general. Ladies and gays, I’m sure you can relate. Straight men, I’ve probably lost you already (if you were even reading this to begin with).
Shopping becomes a literal hell, however, when you’re an interior designer and you’re shopping for yourself. Especially when you’re on the hunt for a new sofa. I know it’s not just me either because I was talking to my friend Courtney, one of my bestest friends from college, this evening and she went through the exact same experience recently in her quest to find a new place to park herself after a long day at work.
You’d think it’d be easy to find a sofa when you live in the third largest city in the country. With a population of nearly 3 million, Chicago should be a mecca for furniture stores. Okay, maybe it is, but when you’re a picky designer and know exactly what you want and the price you want to spend…all hell breaks loose. Continue reading