Dream big or go home to your crappy apartment

My sophomore year of high school we did Fiddler on the Roof for our musical. During the auditions we had the choice to sing a solo or do the audition with a group. All my friends chose to sing together, but I decided to try a solo. I thought it would help me stand out. I knew I wasn’t a very good singer, but I figured I could at least be guaranteed a chorus part, and get brownie points with the director.

Instead, I was the only one who didn’t get a part.

Eventually I found out that my teacher (the director) didn’t even remember me auditioning. Awesome. Because high school isn’t awkward enough, now I felt even more invisible. I would rather be told that I’m the most vile person on this planet, than not be remembered at all.

I basically fell apart for a few days after that. My poor mom didn’t know what to do. This was reason 385049 why she wanted me to be a doctor. The only rejection there would be from med schools, and that wouldn’t happen for another six years. Plenty of time to prepare.

After that episode, my dreams of being an actress kind of went away. When you handle rejection that badly, you know something is not for you. It’s just not healthy. My mom was pretty happy when I made that decision. Being a typical teenage girl, though, I made sure her happiness didn’t last long. My new dream was to work for Cosmopolitan magazine.

The poor woman just couldn’t win with me. I like to think it was easier for her to support that dream though. At least she didn’t have to hear me talk about who I would be thanking at the Oscars. Instead I talked endlessly about my NYC loft and how I would decorate it.

When I first read The Devil Wears Prada, I honestly thought it had been written about my future life. Creepy.

Eventually I realized journalism wasn’t for me. I love to write, but I like to do it on my terms. None of this “story assignment” business. I write what I want to write, okay?

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened had I followed that dream. Would I have landed an internship with a major magazine in college? Maybe even a job after graduation? Would I be writing about the best hairstyles for summer everyday? Would I be writing this from my little New York City apartment?

Who knows. My dream changed when I was in college, and I’m glad it did.

I will admit that sometimes I feel like I gave up. Like I should have kept going with that dream just to see if I could do it. But I know I wouldn’t be as happy as I thought I would be. I mean nobody can say I didn’t try. I was the freaking editor-in-chief of my university newspaper when I realized journalism wasn’t for me.

I think certain jobs require certain personality traits. And I slowly but surely realized I do not share personality traits with Anna Wintour.

I’m not classy and confident. I’m awkward and goofy.

I love fashion. I also really love wearing my polar bear bathrobe for hours on end.

I would love to have fun, dating stories to tell. I also love not having awful, dating stories to tell.

I always forget my sunglasses when I need them. Anna would never forget her sunglasses.

Plus we all know that if I ran a magazine, it would feature Justin Bieber on the cover, recipes for cupcakes, tips on how to get away with wearing jeggings everyday and weekend plans that involve more laundry nights than date nights.

So sue me.

I love my job. It’s literally exactly what I wanted in a first job, and exactly what I worked for. I worked hard to get internships my last year of school and I worked hard at those internships. Luckily for me I truly liked the work I did there. PR fits me, which is good because all those little outfits Anna Wintour wears probably wouldn’t.

Sometimes I feel guilty because I know so many people who are still looking for their perfect job or perfect life, and I feel like I shouldn’t be so happy with my life. I know my friends are happy for me, yet I still feel bad. I’m ridiculous like that.

But then I look up at the crack in my ceiling of the apartment, listen to the sound of the little mouse I’m convinced is living in my wall, and think about how I’m stuck here for another 12 months. Then I stop feeling guilty. I also start to think about how I should probably work on getting furniture, because having a dance studio instead of a living room isn’t really practical.

THEN I remember that all I have in my freezer is two bottles of vodka and frozen strawberries.

My life may not be perfect, but it fits me perfectly.

P.S. My mother got over me not being a doctor. She actually loves what I do now and is instead putting all her efforts into finding me a doctor husband. I can’t imagine this is a surprise to any of you.

It’s impossible to hate IKEA even if you try

I have never really needed anything from IKEA before. And until one was built 10 minutes from my house, I had never set foot in the store. Prior to this weekend, I had been a whole three times and had walked out with nothing more than tupperware or a coffee mug.

But all that has changed. Oh, how it has changed!

Friends, your little blogger is growing up. I got my first “this is why I went to college” job last week and I start next week!

The job requires a move from Austin to San Antonio. Which requires a new apartment. Which requires furniture, of which I have none.

Hello IKEA!

I really only needed a few things (famous last words?) because we don’t want to have to rent a u-haul. My bed frame fits in my mom’s car and I’m not buying a mattress until I get to SA. I can’t afford a couch and TV right now so those were going to have to wait anyway, BUT I figured I might as well get a coffee table, dresser, etc while I was still in Austin.

The beauty of IKEA is that all the furniture comes in boxes so it will fit in my little bitty car. Love that. Not sure how much I’ll love it when I have to put together all my new stuff, but for now I’m giving thanks to the IKEA Gods.

Ideally I would have liked to go during the week because IKEA is super stressful on the weekends. What with all the people, carts and screaming children. Alas, we went on a Sunday because my dad works all the time and we needed him to lift the heavy stuff.

We decided to leave at 11. So we left at 12:30. Typical.

We stopped at the liquor store right across the street first because my mom decided she wanted to start drinking martinis. Also typical.

Got to the door before realizing it was Sunday and the liquor store was closed. SO TYPICAL.

All of that had nothing to do with my IKEA experience, I just wanted to make sure you guys know how ridiculous my family is.

Back to the furniture. I’m sure all of you have been to IKEA at least once, but if not just picture a huge warehouse with a bunch of kitchens, beds, sofas, chairs, tables and whisks. Now imagine a million people walking around in those kitches, laying in those beds, sitting those sofas and chairs, looking under the tables and grabbing eight whisks because they’re only a dollar and “you can never have too many whisks”

That’s in quotation marks because I actually heard somebody say that as they dumped a bunch of whisks in their cart.

Oh and add about 500 screaming kids. That’s IKEA. On a Sunday.

We walked through the whole store because it seemed like the polite thing to do. Even though I don’t need a new kitchen (even though some of them look amazing) and an actual couch won’t fit in our car (or my budget). Going to IKEA and not looking at everything is like going to Disney World and not seeing Mickey Mouse. You just don’t leave Disney World without at least waving to the guy!

But it’s really the last few rooms that capture my heart. Candles for $1.99! Plates for $.59! 18-piece tupperware for $3.99! Apple slicers for $2.00!

Who cares if I never slice apples?! It’s $2.00!

This was when our cart got filled up. And this was when my dad kept trying to get my mom and I to go towards the check-out area and not back to the candles. Did I mention how cheap the candles were?

I’ve always been lucky in that my former roomies have always been smart enough to remember the little things an apartment needs. Like a utensil holder thingy. Or a paper towel holder. Or a rug. Whatever it was, they already had it before it every occurred to me that we would need it.

But now I’m on my own, and my paper towels aren’t going to hold themselves.

So thank you IKEA, for providing me with the things I didn’t even know I needed. Because of you I might start slicing my apples and whisking things that probably don’t need to be whisked.

Although I should probably work on putting together that coffee table. And the side table, two lamps and dresser I bought too.

This might not end well.

P.S. On our way back home we stopped at another liquor store because my dad was hoping to find the one place that would miraculously be open on a Sunday. I swear we don’t have a problem.