Compliments!!!

Everyone is worthy of compliments. I would even go as far to say that people should not only be profusely complimented but sincerely accept the compliments, unquestionably. They should embrace them. Hug them. Entwine their little humble self around them and ponder those words nightly. Let themselves be immersed in the intentional, thoughtful words of others and in return, spread that same joy by complimenting their fellow humbly deserving humans.

In honor of my love of compliments- both giving and receiving, and my devout belief that compliments should be shared and given freely, I will post about some of my all time favorite compliments. These compliments I have carried with me for years and they have comforted me in dire needs of solace. (I should forewarn, with my palpable belief that compliments should be accepted in all shapes and forms, I also believe one should interpret the words/facts/opinions of others in any way he or she wants. True or not true, sometimes you just got to have fun with things).

So here we go, my favorite compliments of all time.

One time, before my first class of the day, someone complimented me saying I look like morning.

Ah, morning. I imagined my hair emanating the refreshing smell of dew droplets on the grass. That my skin was radiantly glowing like the sun when it modestly peaks over the horizon. That my very essence evoked the sensation of being awake, of being alive. Yes, I relished, I was like the morning.

I replied with a genuine thank you.

I sat back in my chair and noticed my hair dripping onto my shirt- still wet from the shower and then realized the real meaning behind “morning.” Not only was my hair soaking my shirt, my shirt was backwards and it was stained by my coffee. It soon became painfully obvious that the word morning was synonymous with hot-mess. Aware of my morningness, I surreptitiously settled into my desk and sheepishly retrieved a packed cold oatmeal breakfast from my purse. (I was starving and the damage from embarrassment was already done, so oh well).

Ugh.

My for real, for sure all time favorite compliment is much more magical though. To this day it remains unparalleled. I was gifted with this compliment on an average day at my former job and it happened like this.

I was standing alone at a computer, mindlessly ringing in people’s food orders when out of the blue a coworker approached me and said I smelled like a corndog.

A corndog.

Wow.

The very food that had been ceaselessly satisfying my hunger for years. Corndogs are delicious, immaculate, heaven sent, and now I had the privilege to smell like one? This meant so much. This meant I resembled happiness. This meant I resembled summer. This meant I resembled every Minnesotan’s favorite family memories of the state fair. Heck, it meant I resembled the sole meaning of family itself.

This had to be my biggest life accomplishment thus far.

As a side note, it has been years since that compliment and I still fail to suppress my urge to gloat. I typically tell most people I know that one time someone complimented me by saying I smelled like a corndog. (If that isn’t the key to making friends folks, I don’t know what is).

In hindsight, I really have no idea what my coworker meant. Maybe it was that I smelled greasy. Maybe it was very literal in the sense that I gave off a stark scent of ketchup drizzled on the ground up remnants of a murdered pig. Maybe I heard her wrong. I really have no idea and it doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter because words, like most things in life, are all about how you handle them. And while I’ll admit this blog was a poor example of what compliments mean, whether innocuous or offensive, fact or fiction, they can be immensely impactful simply based on how the complimentee chooses to interpret them. Basically, these words can make or break you but it’s up to you to choose how they affect you.

So, I choose the fair. I choose the sun.

Compliments!!!

The ABCs of NGNYWS

It happened slowly. So slowly that it almost swept over me- gradually, unnoticeably. But when I did realize it, it was far too late. The damage had been done. My life had been changed irrevocably and I was left feeling violated, robbed. The memory still brings unbearable pain. But okay, fine, I’ll tell the story anyway.

It was an ordinary evening in late October. I was cozy in my bed, probs reading my inbox full of fan mail or scream-crying at all the Sallie Mae bill reminders. Either way, I had plenty on my plate, so I decided to relax and innocently watch some Netflix and that is when tragedy struck.

I had typed into my web browser the single letter “N” and instead of Netflix opening, the New York Times did………..

….

.Why is this so spooky you ask? Did it happen on Halloween?

No, it did not. And I shall explain.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with the New York Times. It’s a reliable source of news and I am rather fond of the array of topics and the writing style of the journalists. So, it’s not the NYT that has me so troubled, it’s the implications that follow the NYT. You see what happened is, I spent more time reading the New York Times than watching The Mindy Project or Grey’s Anatomy for the 12th time. Do you get what that means yet?!

That means my interests have expanded from things like giggling with Mer & Christina or drooling over McDreamy, to things like politics, immigration, and the objective effects of climate change. That means my cognitive development has reached maturation.

THAT MEANS I’M OLD.

I just find it difficult to fathom that I am already embarking on my adulthood journey because I swear I am still a kid. My childish ways are still prevalent and they often inconveniently emerge in the midst of me getting my adulthood swag on. I think the coexistence of the two is commonly referred to as the struggle bus.

I also think I have been regularly hopping on and off of it for a while now.

I also think Britney Spears is the original Queen B but that is beside the point.

Now it’s November, the best month of the year, and my 23rd birthday is rapidly approaching. When I was a small little wee child (let’s say eight), I thought 23 was far off into the future. I thought that I would have a steady career and a house filled with offspring that I reproduced myself. I just thought those things appeared, that that was how life worked. Thankfully, that’s not the case.

But still, all of a sudden 23 is here and instead of a white picket fence, it has taxes and fines, and a million types of insurance payments and some more school as the cherry on top it all. This conflict of trying to function in society when adulthood terrors collide with the former non-adulthood joys is apparently a problem for most people my age.

Therefore, I shall coin this phenomenon, Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman Syndrome (NGNYWS) and hope that my girl Britney doesn’t sue me. So I have bestowed the privilege upon myself to compile an alphabetical list of common signs and symptoms of NGNYWS and what they may entail for a person.

Here are the ABCs of Not a Girl Not Yet a Woman Syndrome.

A) Adult: You stand among them. You learn among them. You enjoy conversations among them. But sometimes you feel like you are child undercover because you still impulsively gasp and scream with delight when they stop a meeting for a lunch break.

B) Bills: they are everywhere! And not the ones with Franklin’s face on them. The ones that say “FINAL NOTICE, RESPOND IMMEDIATELY blahblahblah.”

C) Coffee: You live and breathe for it. It is your main source of fuel to get you through the days of terror and responsibilities. But you are not yet adult enough to drink it without spilling it all over your white, wrinkled blouse.

C also stands for credit card. All of a sudden you have a couple of those things and they are actually yours. Not the one your parents gave you in case of an extreme emergency. For the record Mom, Wendy’s Frostys are an extreme emergency! So are burritos and corn dogs.

C can be for commitment, too. You run away at any sign of commitment: purchases over $50, pets, boys or anything that breathes really. But that’s okay, because you are a victim of Not a Girl Not Yet a Woman Syndrome and so scientifically speaking, it’s really not your fault.

D) Dinner: Dinner usually involves a healthy three-course meal of whatever you can make/afford. Frozen pizza? Sure! Peanut butter sandwich? Yum! A can of baked beans and half of a pecan pie, why not!

E) E-mail: Your e-mail is flooded with a lovely mixture of your subscriptions to funny YouTube accounts and subject headings of “Financial Literacy Workshops.” It is also a main form of correspondence among colleagues but sometimes a little *~*~* from your middle school days accidentally gets slipped into the message somewhere.

F) France: You may all of a sudden have the urge to go to France. This symptom is less researched or understood, but from my Instagram feed it seems like many NGNYWers have experienced and acted upon that urge. It is also the first thing I could think of for f.

G) Gas: You stop running out of gas on a bridge in a snowstorm or on a highway in the middle of the night. You see your tank approaching empty and you say, “Hmm, I better get some gas.” This symptom is often called “learning from past mistakes.”

H) Hair: Your hair just so happens to be getting older as well. The blonde color (colour, for you Canadian readers) that was present in your younger years has now faded into a darker brown. Attempts to save the blonde hair range from spending copious amounts of money getting highlights to rubbing your roots with drugstore bleach until your hair turns orange. Don’t do the latter folks.

I) I don’t want to think of one for I.

J) Just about ready to wrap this blog up.

K) Kidding.

L) LOL

M) Mikki!!

N) Not kidding, this blog really needs to end.

O) Okay, so we didn’t make it through the alphabet but that’s fine cause there may be a part II of this blog. I will not guarantee or make promises though because that requires commitment.

I suppose I will admit it. I was being a tad dramatic, only for theatrical effect though. In reality, being a young adult is kind of fun and freeing and not as tormenting as one would think. Being a young adult is, dare I say it, kind of nice. The adults that have been adulting for longer are wise and welcoming and may even cheer you on as you learn the little dance of life. And often, you’ll realize they are just like you, mostly making shit up. Oh, and I do sometimes make better dinners than those listed under the D section. But yeah, moral of the story is this whole aging thing is happening ready or not. So you might as well *~*embrace it*~* taxes and all.

The ABCs of NGNYWS

O’ Canada

Hola from Canada!

I have safely arrived to the splendid land of maple syrup, purple money and Justin Bieber. Although, I must quickly contend that Ryan Reynolds should be Canada’s most prominant claim to fame. Anyway, the Canadian stereotypes do ring true for the most part (the incessant “sorry-s” and the cheese/gravy soaked French fries), however this place is far more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.

The mountains are immense; they stretch along the coast of the ocean and provide an awakening view from my deck. I’m in awe of the wonders I see when I hike. Thick green moss coats the rocks and tree stumps and the spruce and evergreen trees grow far taller than anything in the Midwest. Spending intimate time on the trials makes you feel trifle, humble, yet so wildly free. The few moments I have already spent in the mountains made me fall in love with mother nature- even though I do vehemently curse at her every time I almost fall to my death- sorry Mother N and Jesus C. When I hear the ocean waves crash into the beach and smell the salty, fresh air, I feel so alive. It’s indescribable really, cough cough, come visit to find out. And while the mountains and Vancouver are dreamy and wonderful and sometimes when I see the sun sink into the ocean I scream and pee my pants, being away from home is hard.

Physically moving here was easy. It was exciting. I shoved my belongings in my car and my best friend in the passenger seat, (shout out to Chlipala) then headed west. But after the honeymoon period fades, it’s the emotionally moving part that is not so easy.

So I am here to tell you all the nitty gritty about moving to a new place alone. While it all may seem like glitter and giggles, this is after all “Mikki and the Truth”. (Don’t know why I named my blog that, sorry didn’t think it would actually show up on the URL thingy). Oh, and apparently my blogs are a little random so here, I’ll put some numbers next to my thoughts!!!!

1). It’s foreign. Completely foreign. At least in the beginning. No face is familiar, no place is familiar, no conversation is familiar. When I first moved here the only way I got human contact was by talking to complete strangers while praying mercifully that they weren’t a deranged serial killer. It’s the little things too, of course it is, it always is. But when you move, you are in a land of no running-into-old friends and no “remember whens,” and no “hey, I saw so and so today.” It’s exhausting. And when you move your brain is constantly taking in all the new streets, and names, and rules, and trying to figure out where you are or who you are or why you decided to leave it all behind.

2). Seldom things make me feel like home. I go to all the grocery stores and none of my favorite brands or foods are there. Except for cucumbers, cucumbers are probably everywhere. I want to talk about the Twins game or ice fishing or Prince (haha kidding) and no one really knows what those are. Palm trees and mountains surround me but sometimes I see a tree that resembles the ones in Minnesota and I scream at the top of my lungs pretend like it ain’t no biggie. There is a house across the ally that has similar trimming and roofing like the old houses in Duluth. There are few reminders of home, but they all resonate with me for a while.

3). You do things on your own. I used to live in a big palace with 5 of my best friends and it was truly da time of mah life. We would shop together, cook together, and honestly, when we all shared a bathroom we would pee, shower and wash our faces together. When you move alone you just figure things out for yourself. Like if you really need a microwave and some guy says he’ll sell you the one in his basement if you just come down and check it out first. You have to decide if that’s really a good idea or not, which it wasn’t. The microwave takes like 5 whole minutes to heat up my tea.

4). You have to explain everything. Why you constantly forget what you were talking about or why you just asked if hermit crabs can go on an airplane. You have to explain your family and your interests and why you always wear a blue bracelet and where Minnesota is and yes, you explain it is kind of like the movie Fargo.

5). Your heart will ache. I have thought about my friends and my family and my job and my old town and my heart has physically hurt missing it all. Missing birthdays and celebrations and new jobs and babies growing up. They tell me that I am not missing much and that where I am is seemingly better, but I loved where I was and who I was with profoundly. Moving on hurts profoundly, too.

6). Most importantly you will meet amazing people that change your whole perspective on what life is like. They will challenge your thoughts; show you unwarranted compassion and kindness. People you briefly meet will check in about how the move has been going and offer a home to come to for Thanksgiving. Strangers at the bus stop will walk you to your class. People will have different hobbies and cultures and stories and it will make you crave a zest for newness that you never would have known if you stayed in your own bordered comfort zone.

I am so thankful for my experiences I have had so far, for the classmates I grown to know and adore, for the festivities that could not have happened anywhere but here. I guess with this post I just wanted to shed light on the challenges I, and many others that have moved away have faced but rarely talked about. It’s scary and it’s uncomfortable, but with humility and curiosity, it will open up your world. I MISS YOU ALL AND $50 GOES TO WHOEVER VISITS FIRST.

O’ Canada

Blog

I usually love to pack. Packing means an exciting vacation or a weekend getaway to the cabin. My suitcase is typically filled with carefully picked items like bikini tops, old soccer shorts and mysterious Dasani bottles of vodka water. But this time around I am packing to leave the country (LOL no worries, just heading up to Canada) for two years. And while I cannot wait to live near the mountains and by the ocean and say things like “WUD UP WEST COAST,” I cannot seem to muster up the energy to tear apart my room and my life and pack it all in my itty-bitty trunk. I am thrilled, I really am. But you know when something makes you feel sappy and sentimental and you would rather not feel those feelings so instead you just make up your own delusional reality and drink hot chocolate in the middle of August and watch The Big Bang Theory and butcher a blog? Yeah, it’s one of those times.

Before any of you get too excited, which I’m not sure why you would, but in case you are!!!! Just wait. This one is about complaining. In my young 22 years of living I have noticed that girls form bonds. But what is most interesting, and somewhat terrifying, is what they bond over. It’s mostly absolutely nothing except for things they don’t enjoy. A conversation with a girl or groups of girls can literally be a compilation of complaints, one on top of another. “I hate my hair, it’s so messy.” “Oh my gosh, same and I am so tired.” “Ugh, me too, I don’t want to study at all.” “Me either and I really just want to eat ice cream but I shouldn’t cause I like never work out.” Conversations pretty much go like that. And if you start to notice it, it’s hilarious. But before you readers jump into a conversation of complaining in order to bond, I thought I’d share with you some general complaints that people can relate to you with.

Behold, here’s my very own compilation of complaints. Maybe by posting this I’ll create some girl bonds as well.

Hate: When you are trying to be normal and hygienic, so you wash your comforter and bed sheets only to forget them in the washer until late at night. Then you’re forced sleep with other normal and hygienic things like your winter coat or a towel or two.

Dislike/it’s embarrassing: When you’re running late to work but you are so hungry so you do things like shove two peanut butter sandwiches in your mouth at once during the car ride there and then you finally look in the mirror after hours of working only to find dried up peanut butter around your lips!! COOL. Where were all the humane people at during that fatality? People must just assume it is a classic case of crusty lips or a growth or something. Ugh, either way, help each other out people.

Hate: After posting a blog about finding a sandwich in your pocket and spending weeks justifying to people that it was only one time and that it will never happen again and then you find one that’s been hiding in the depths of your purse for who even knows how long.

Oh, I really hate this: I hate being indecisive about what to say. When I speak I have a million other thoughts fighting for their way down my brain and out of my mouth. Sometimes I can’t stop them before they seek their way out. I was waitressing and there was this woman with luscious, blonde, blissful waves of hair. Questions invaded my mind like, “Is your hair real?” “Are you rich, or wait are you famous? Both?” “How hot is your husband?” “Is your head really hot under all that flow?” But instead, I was like maybe I’ll just compliment her. Mid compliment I realized this human probably doesn’t want to know that her waitress is drooling on her head so, “I love your hair,” inappropriately faded into “I love you…” She looked at me and I looked at her with eyeballs as big and open as Oprah’s heart. Quickly, I moped away to go grab her that glass of chardonnay. I hate verbal fumbles like that.

Haha but still hate: “Umbrella” by Rihanna is just such a modern day classic. It’s impossible not to belt out to. One time on my way to work I was trying to hit that high note, that really high note, you know the, “SO GO AND LET THE RAIN POUR. I’LL BE ALL YOU NEED AND MOOOOOOOOORE.” That one. I started choking singing the more part and had to pull over before I got into an accident. So, I guess I hate not being Rihanna?

So there you go folks, a perfectly ample list of complaints that will surely make you friends. Can’t wait to hear your love stories, but for now I am way too tired for this and need to text the group message about how much I dread packing. Farewell and happy complaining!

Blog

Graduation

This is a post dedicated to all of those who have recently graduated.

Graduating is mostly hard. For some, its amazing and every company you’ve applied for calls you back and offers a high starting salary packaged with cool coworkers that ask you to play golf with them on the weekends! And that is fantastic. It really is, you’ve worked your tail off in school and nailed some interviews and you are working in da real world, hurray! For others it’s harder. You’ve done the same thing- studied your tail off, applied, applied, applied and then nothing. They offer the position to someone else. But how you’re thinking?!?! They’ve never even heard your funniest joke or felt your firm and rehearsed handshake! It’s tough, rejection in all forms sucks. But just like flirting, we must never give up.

Freshman year at the U of MN, my ecology lab partner asked me what my major was. I said psychology. I envisioned my future-self studying neurotransmitters and finding break through discoveries in autism and other experiments involving a white lab coat. Not going to lie, I was hoping for an answer like “Oh you want to study the human brain, COOL!” Instead, unapologetically, he looked at me and said, “So you’re going to graduate to be a waitress then, huh?” I was appalled. 18 year-old self saw nothing short of changing the world after those 4 arduous and studious years. Who was he kidding? He probably didn’t even know my name but he had already decided he was going to try to stomp on my scholastic passions and future dreams. Little did he know in 4 years I was going to be partnered with the most respected psychologists and our clinical trials would be published and praised. I wanted to punch him in the face right then and there, but I believe I just stared at him with my eyes and mouth wide open. *Rudeness often astonishes me. Actually, I still want to punch him in the face even though I swear on someone else’s life I am completely over this long-forgotten interaction. Ugh, he was probably a Carlson kid, too.

Flash forward 4 years and I have received my bachelor’s in psychology, hurray! And I am a waitress at two different restaurants, hurray! I do not wear a white lab coat and I do not have a salary, hurray! I have not found a cure to Autism, let alone a cure to my smelly feet! I have recently gone out of my way to contact that man I met 4 years ago to tell him that his first submissive assumption of me was right! And he calmly said, “I knew it, what a peasant you are. I am currently working with a team of researchers and we just discovered the cure to cancer.” Except for that’s not true. He was in Texas selling handcrafted dream catchers. KIDDING, I NEVER CONTACTED HIM. But sometimes when I get a $20 dollar tip for merely refilling someone’s diet coke 5 times and asking if their food tastes alright, I do fist pump and fight the urge to call him and say “Ha!” and then hang up. But I don’t because I am ooooover it. Also, diet coke is still not good for you, Americanos!!!!

Sometimes I get down on myself, too. I studied so hard. I cried in professors’ offices and I shoveled my car out of feet of snow to make it to exams. I stayed up late at nights between work and school and then slept through classes drank so much coffee that I could be attentive in class. And then the big day came and I felt so grown-up and my family cheered and I got a piece of paper that said my diploma would come in the mail at the University’s convenience. And then!!!!! Nothing. I looked the same, I smelt the same, I still got acne. The only change was all my friends moved away and the school gym had forbidden me. I looked for entry-level psychology careers and with no luck I crawled back to the restaurant and officially became the stereotypical psychology graduate/waitress.

And you know what? There is nothing wrong with that. There is nothing wrong with being a waitress, just like there is nothing wrong with being a lawyer or a painter or a pianist or a chef or an accountant or a computer programmer or a receptionist or a dog walker or a doctor. There should be absolutely no shame in your game when you are working hard to support yourself. If you have found a profession that makes your heart sing, by all means pursue it relentlessly. But don’t get discouraged when it doesn’t happen over night. We’re all in this scary what-is-the-real-world-what-are-taxes-I-have-so-much-debt boat and we will all come out swimming and surviving if we keep working hard and staying positive. And if someone does approach you and attempts to humiliate you based on your job after college choice, you can tell this said person to piss right off that while they have a fair right to an opinion you’d like to never hear it again.

Okay?! So YOU will be just FINE even if you don’t find a 9-5 job immediately, 6 months, or a year after college. And by just fine I mean you won’t fall off the face of the earth and if you do I am so sorry. Graduating is a feat in itself and your worthiness is not based on your job title. Be kind, stay humble, work for what you want and most importantly- don’t let the haters break your spirit!! And for the record, I did remain lab partners with the meanie because he was strangely good at ecology. Sometimes you just need to play the game amiright? Thanks for reading and I hope everyone has a nice and happy life.

Graduation

Flirting

Flirting is a hard verb. It really is. It ranks up there with running or waiting for your pizza to cool off before scorching your mouth. And if you’re an angelic human with glowing skin and perfectly placed hair, you probably don’t even know what flirting is. But for those of us who trip over air and can’t curl our hair, we need some extra help to make dem boiz go loco.

On my quest to womanhood, I’ve attempted to properly flirt but have had little success in succeeding. One time a cute guy was looking at me and all I could manage to say was, “I’m so sweaty.” He ran away from me faster than, I don’t know, lightening? It was like I temporarily forgot that humans have evolved and we aren’t sexually attracted to body odor anymore, although science does argue subconsciously we are. What I am trying to say is, I’m definitely not entitled to tell you all how to flirt but maybe by sharing what not to do we can learn from my mistakes. Because some of us may be awkward, and clumsy and forget to brush our hair every so often or shave our legs for a year but that does not mean we give up. We. Must. Never. Give. Up.

So here’s my humble advice from my own mishaps.

If a person of interest asks you where you live, maybe offer a vague location like, “on the east side of town,” or, “by the city park.” There is absolutely no reason to tell him you once lived conveniently close to a Burger King until someone rudely demolished it. Actually, there is absolutely no reason to ever mention Burger King, even though it is glorious and their honey mustard makes you want to rub your face in it. Maybe just play it cool, mention how you enjoy Subway first and then see where that leads you.

Never triple text them. Yes, you may have just found corn dogs in your freezer from last semester and that is truly a gift from heaven, but don’t text them that three times!!! This problem could easily be adverted if Apple just invented a corn dog emoji but either way, just do not mention corn dogs.

If they ask you how your day was, try to come up with a brief answer. This is my biggest downfall in the rules of proper flirting. I answer by telling them every detail, one time I answered in 45 minutes. So if you are chatty try to be conscious of that. Maybe say, “it was pleasant, thank you.” Saying pleasant makes it sound like you did yoga or enjoyed a novel next to a rug made from bearskin.

Also, don’t buy a hermit crab and then demand they take responsibility as the father. Oh and also, and here is an important one- don’t tell them they remind you of a dog. Though your intentions were to only point out how cute they are and how you want to squeeze their face, apparently people don’t like to resemble an animal that often rolls in other dead animals.

In all sincerity, it’s important to be yourself. Flirting may be a developed skill but being you is something no one else can do. So thanks for reading and happy flirting!

Flirting

Things I Find in my Pocket

When a friend needs a ride home, usually the other friend casually says, “sure, no problem,” and then the two friends gracefully skip to the car and ride off to their desired destination. But somehow on my quest to womanhood, I didn’t gather the graceful, organized or responsible characteristics that I’m sure all fabulous people have. Oddly, I don’t possess any of those.

In my version of the story, when a new friend needed a ride home on an early Sunday morning, I (some may say obnoxiously, I say enthusiastically) offered to help. Then I belligerently rummaged through every pocket of mine in my disastrous closet to find my frequently missed placed keys. While this person was patiently observing the chaos of flying coats and jeans in the air, I was simultaneously trying to quickly find my keys and to stop  beads of my forehead sweat from ruining my naturally poise persona. Finally, underneath piles of towels and dirty socks, I find a jacket whose pockets I had not yet raided. Alas, my hand collided with a mysterious object and so I whipped it out and audibly exclaimed “WHAT’S THIS?!”

A sandwich. You guys, it was a freaking sandwich.

And not just a peanut butter and jelly *incredibly under-rated sandwich by the way.* It was delectable- a double decker of the healthy modern times. It included ingredients such as: homemade pita bread, cranberry hummus, turkey and sprouts. And while this sandwich was delicious and delightful and I’m kind of even drooling thinking about it, I’m afraid that unlike the double decker of sweet bliss I was firmly gripping in my hand, I did not look that appealing. At all.

So, I have come before you guys to share with you how NOT to redeem yourself in that inexplicable & unfortunate situation. I would share how to redeem yourself but frankly, that is quite possibly impossible.

Do you… cheerfully say, “Oh, yum!” and take a bite? NO.

Do you… cheerfully say, “Oh, yum!” and then offer them a bite? Absolutely not.

Do you… say, “it’s only been in there since Thursday,” and then count backwards on your fingers from Sunday? No, no, NO! Because that is four days TOO MANY.

In other words, I did all of preceding “do-nots,” and my image was not redeemed. After realizing all of those were terrible, impulsive notions, I stood there helplessly and blurted out the truth.

“Well, its only been in there since Thursday because I get free food volunteering at the hospital and I wasn’t hungry at the time so I put it in my coat to take home with me for later because I was already carrying my water and my car keys because I was leaving and I just thought I wouldn’t forget about it and this is so embarrassing it has never happened before I swear.”

Note how I mentioned I volunteered at a hospital, as if being a somewhat decent human of civilization would make up for the fact that I am an absolute slob.

Whatever. My self-esteem and social ranking may be forever destroyed, but the important thing is my friend made it home and I have yet to find another sandwich in my pocket. So here’s to a hopefully brighter and more sanitary future on my quest to womanhood.

Things I Find in my Pocket