I’m a Big Girl Now

Happy Friday, chickadees! Has it been one of those intermindable weeks for you as well? Where nothing terrible happens and there are no disasters (natural or otherwise) in your life, but Friday seems farther and farther with each passing second? It has been for me, but personally I’m chalking it up to something in my lizard brain reverting to wanting summer vacation.

As I may have mentioned, I moved back in with my (exceedingly generous) folks a few months ago to save up for a long-term home. While I love the fair city in which I lived – and still work – I’m literally saving thousands of dollars a month not dealing with rent, repairs and the siren call of Uber.

(Self control: I can haz none of it.)

And while I considered moving home to be a very adult decision, apart from the fact that it was made while I stood, crying hysterically on speakerphone while attempting to stem the literal wall of water raining into my apartment’s living room due to a 30-foot ice dam, as it turns out, I have a few things to learn.

Particularly about buying furniture.

Since I plan on moving within the next year or so, I figured the bed I bought to fit into my new room at the folks’ would be temporary. Something inexpensive, that could be recycled/donated/etc. when I’m no longer using it. So I secured for myself a pretty and attractively priced wooden frame, had it shipped home and congratulated myself on my $125 find.

Yeah. As it turns out, my low-slung platform bed? Was made for children.

Specifically, children under the age of 10 or under 70 pounds.

Which I maintain to this day was not noted on the website.

(It’s been fantastic for my self-esteem that the damned thing has lasted this long, considering it’s made of balsa wood and hope.)

And because I’m incredibly cheap when it comes to everything but clothes, it has taken me five months to come around to the fact that I should probably look into a new bed. The frame of my sad little guy is sagging, as every time I put my 10-pound tote bag on it, it replies with a generous creak.

The problem is, I’ve never really bought a piece of furniture. It’s expensive and it’s terrifying and people have always been getting rid of a couch or a chair the exact moment I needed one.

But, at the age of 26, it’s a bridge I have to cross. And so thanks to Wayfair (hello, best site ever), I will once more be sleeping in an adult bed on or by August 19.

Baby steps, chickadees. Baby steps.

Your Gal


We Get It, Snow.

Chickadees – long time no blog. Again, I hate that phrase with an all-consuming, Hulk-smashing passion, but once again, I must admit it’s the truth.

Another truth is that I’ve been dealing with home repairs for more than a month now; that, combined with the suddenly Arctic nature of the Northeast means that I’ve been relying fairly heavily on something other than publicly provided transport to make it anywhere in the city in less than two hours.

Am I a born-and-bred, dyed-in-the-wool Yankee? Yes, the genuine article, and so I promise you I DID attempt the two-hour commute song-and-dance (for reference, I can usually make it in 35 minutes); however, over the past few weeks I’ve been relying more and more heavily on cabs, Ubers, Lyfts and independent busing services to ensure I make it home before 10pm.

But because I am a perpetual optimist and because I am possessed of a fine and hearty Puritan constitution, I decided last Friday that because my grocery delivery was scheduled for 7:30pm and because much of my work was done, I would leave the office at 5:30 and brave the train.

Big mistake.

5:30pm: Leave office.

5:40pm: Arrive at appropriate train platform. Wait.

5:50pm: Wait.

6:00pm: Wait.

6:15pm: A train! Oh, wrong line. Decide to backtrack to station where trains begin. Genius!

6:22: Arrive at new station. Wait for correct train.

6:35pm: Waiting.

6:50pm: Waiting.

7:00pm: Hooray!

7:15pm: Train is stuck in station due to unknown issue (incompetence suspected. Issue is also possibly that “man with shovel” is ineffective snow removal system.) Go above ground and grab a cab.


7:55pm: Jump out of cab at new train station, having paid $70 to go one mile. Wait for  train.

8:15pm: No train. Decide to backtrack, get on any train, ride it halfway to the end of the line and then cab it home. Genius!

8:20pm: Wooohoooo, on a moving train! Phone battery at 40%.

8:32pm: Off the train! Walk 1/4 mile to main road. Phone battery at 39%.

8:33pm: Call an Uber. Phone dies. Huh?




8:41pm: Uber driver arrives and has a phone charger. Threaten to kiss her. She laughs, but it’s not a joke.

8:52pm: Arrive home.

9:01pm: Grocery driver arrives, apologizing for snow-related delays. Threaten to kiss him too.

9:10pm: Groceries unpacked. Hooray!

9:11pm: Pass out on sofa, bowl of grapes in hand.

11:33pm: Wake up, confused, angry and having spent $100 to go four miles.


The end.

Death of a Skirt

A day in the not-too-distant past, which should neatly outline why, in the back of my mind, I secretly believe I have one great sitcom script in me.

6:30am: Awaken for morning ablutions.

7:16am: Burn forehead with flat iron. Curse appropriately.

7:18am: Burn scalp with flat iron. Curse inappropriately.

7:22am: Run tights on pretty but spiky shoes. Find another pair. Curse again.

7:38am: Late for train! Get in car.

7:46am: Car incident of which we will not speak. Call an Uber.

7:48am: 3x surge???!!! Resign self. (Curse again.)

8:50am: Ride elevator many stories, cursing weather, bad drivers and Henry Ford himself along the way. Realize Uber was over $50. Curse again.

9:00am – 6:00pm: Great meetings. Faith in humanity/good mood restored! Decide to walk home (four miles away.)

6:45pm: Leave work. Is it slightly windy? Procure coffee. Commence Homer Simpson-esque drooling. Mmmmmmm, coffee.

6:49pm: Skirt flies over head.

6:52pm: Skirt flies over head. Gather pleats and hold against legs.

6:59pm: Skirt flies over head. Curse. Call an Uber.

7:00pm: 3x surge? NEVER AGAIN.

7:13pm: Skirt FLIES over head. Download Lyft.

7:14pm: 25% Prime Time? Worth it.

7:18pm: Lyft arrives. Slide into warm, cozy car and realize you are soaking a very nice gentleman’s car seats.

7:35pm: Jump out of car, apologize.

7:36pm: Fumble for keys. Skirt flies over head.

7:40pm: Skirt goes in trash. NEVER AGAIN.