Summer is almost here and I’m not ready

One of the downsides of my job as a fashion copywriter is that I’m forced to constantly look at magazines, blogs and do comparison shopping all in the name of research. I know. The horror. But it IS a problem, because then I see every new thing that comes out on the market and 100% of the time it is something that I must have, like yesterday. Did I also mention that I use shopping as therapy and I relate all too well to the cringe-worthy protagonist in Confessions of a Shopaholic?

All that to say that summer is one of my three favorite seasons and it’s coming up fast. And I am woefully low on:

A CUTE ONE-PIECE SWIM SUIT THAT FITS MY WEIRD GOURD-SHAPED BODY

When you’re shaped like a beloved Thanksgiving-themed decorative fruit, shopping is difficult enough without throwing in “Oh hey, one-pieces are back from the Baywatch-shaped hole they’ve been hiding in for the past 20 years.” How did this happen? Why are they back? And how can I get one immediately? IF I can find one that will fit my long skinny upper body and my bulbous lower body, that is.

636548512378365298 — NSFW: Behold, me in all my naked glory.

BODY JEWELRY THAT I CAN ROCK LILITH FAIR-STYLE

Shut up. Body jewelry is back and you’re just going to have to deal with it, society. I remember back in the day, I owned not one, but several belly bracelets. And just because that was twenty years ago when I was dreamily listening to Sarah McLaughlin while drinking Zima in my dorm room does not mean I can’t adorn my still-pretty-alright body with some sparkle. It’s not like I’m some 41-year old woman who still wears crop tops. Oh wait…

MATCHING CROP TOP AND SKIRT SET BECAUSE PINTEREST

Except I’m exactly the kind of 41-year old woman who wears crop tops! And why not? Do I force myself to go to the gym 4 days a week only to not wear crop tops, like some kind of not-crop-top-wearing idiot? Summer was made for crop tops and I love that they are still a thing. Especially since now they have matching crop top-and-skirt sets all over Pinterest that are freaking adorable and I need all of them. But only if I can wear it surrounded by flowers on a cobblestone street with messy yet perfectly done hair while drinking out of a pineapple. Obviously.

tumblr_okvwu2C3VY1qzh0vno1_1280 — Okay, I made up the pineapple but the rest is SPOT ON. (Photo credit: Pinterest, Chanel Bags & Cigarette Drags)

FANCY LUGGAGE SO I CAN FEEL BALLER FOR A FEW MINUTES BEFORE THEY SEAT ME IN COACH

I have always been obsessed with luxe luggage and by “always” I mean since I spotted a fabulous Gucci luggage set in a UK Vogue about six years ago. Gliding through the airport in my just-right traveling outfit, with my perfectly matched luggage is almost as good as the vacation itself.

Except my fantasies of airport chic come from the Mad Men era, before 9/11 turned us all into shoeless animals forced into X-ray machines, all while being groped by the airport equivalent of mall security. To add insult to injury, my neatly packed luggage ends up looking like someone searched it using a giant Kitchen Aid mixer. (Note: Just kidding, TSA. You guys are the best!)

But seriously, I need these ASAP. (Photo credit: Pinterest, Henri Bendel)

WHITE JEANS THAT DON’T LOOK LIKE I’M WEARING A KITCHEN TRASH BAG

Why don’t I already have a pair of white jeans? White jeans are quintessential summer. They look so fresh and breezy, yet when I squeeze myself into a pair, one or both of the following things happen:

As with most denim, they fit super-snug in the butt and thighs, yet gap in the waistband. (See above, re: gourd-shaped body.)
They are basically made of white tissue paper and show literally every bump, even ones I didn’t know were there. Oh, I got razor burn this morning? Good to know. Thanks, white devil.

GIRD YOUR LOINS, CREDIT CARD. IT’S ABOUT TO GET WEIRD.

Sadly, this is only a small part of my list but I didn’t want to overburden you all with too many fabulous things. Because then you’d know what it’s like to be in my head and I wouldn’t do that to you.

You know what else I need? SLIDES. They’re flip-flop’s fancy out-of-town cousin! *(Photo credit: Urban Outfitters Striped Bow Pool Slide, $24)*

P.S. Let me know in the comments what lovely things are on your summer must-have list! I promise I won’t steal your ideas.

P.P.S I will totally steal your ideas.

Needed: Functioning Adult for Tax Season

Ah, tax time. It’s the time of year that never fails to remind me I have the organizational skills of a 3-month old golden retriever. You know how most normal, functioning adults have some kind of filing system (I assume)? Probably something involving drawers and files and tabs and labels and other things I don’t own. You want to know what my system is? “Throw Everything In a Box and Promptly Forget About It.”

As you can see, I have extensive box experience.

This usually works for me… except once a year, when the dreaded envelope arrives in the mail, bold type ominously proclaiming, “Federal tax information enclosed.”

Noooooooo! Not my W-2’s! That means I have to drag out The Box and sift through a year’s worth of receipts, bills and other paper miscellanea. It might as well be called Box O’Ambien.

This is a different box. GET OUT OF MY STUFF.

Since my husband handles the tax appointment, a horrifying expedition that literally takes half a work day, the responsibility of getting all those nasty papers together falls to me. As awful as it is, it’s a way lesser evil than sitting in Tax Lady’s house for hours, listening to her conspiracy theories and slowly suffocating from cigarette fumes and dog fur. While doing taxes. That’s what hell is, you know that, right? Okay, maybe not the dog fur part. Because all dogs go to heaven, duh. Everyone knows that.

So I was filling out my 2014-2015 FASFA for grad school (my life is full of fun right now) and realized I needed my 2012 taxes as a reference. To The Box! No taxes. A pile of birthday cards? Check. Grocery receipt from an ice cream run? Check. Empty container with no clues to what it formerly contained (possibly ice cream)? Check plus! This is what I’m talking about, folks. How am I allowed to function in society if this is how I run my life? I’m like a kid who constantly spins around in circles, runs into a wall, then gets up and start spinning again. My entire financial history can be summed up in one word: Derp!

"Where should I file these super-important papers? Derp!" — Me doing taxes. Weeee!

And my husband is worse at this stuff than me, if that’s even possible. How we found each other and what cosmic joke brought our dysfunctional brains together in marriage is something humankind may never know. Instead of balancing each other out, we’re knocking each other down, like a never-ending game of chicken.

My new plan is to place an ad on LinkedIn for a self-loathing, down-on-their-luck and (preferably) desperate accountant-type person to transform our finances into a mecca of organization. I don’t know what that would look like. A really fancy box?

Make this happen, someone.

When Everyone is Weird, You Become Normal.

It’s so gratifying to finally work in a place where you’re not the only weird one. A place where weird is normal. Ergo, I’m finally normal.

"You can't argue with ergo" ~ this guy — “You can’t argue with ergo.” ~ this guy

Believe it or not, this was not always the case. To make a long, painfully boring story short—but no less painful—my creativeness was once caged up during the workday hours, much like an accident-prone puppy.

My creativity is the CUTEST! — Aww, my creativity is the CUTEST!

I worked okay jobs, it wasn’t like I was a coal miner or anything. Although I did work retail during Christmas season, which is essentially the same thing. But my poor, sad creativity! Whiling away the days staring mournfully out the window and peeing on itself. My creativity is gross sometimes.

I could only let my creativity roam free when I was off work. Which was really hard for me, as I’ve always been a writer, just like I’ve always been female and super-hot.

But girlfriend can’t live on her sweet Dorothy Hamill haircut forever, right? She gots to get paid. And the tiny percentage of my life allotted to writing just wasn’t doing it for me.

So I finally broke out of the cage, free to pee wherever I wanted. STOP WITH THE PUPPY METAPHOR, JESSIE.

"I'm freeeeee!" ~ my creativity. — “I’m free to peeeee!” ~ my creativity, apparently.

A fellow Ohio University graduate let me know about an open copywriter position, after which I wowed them with my sick writing skillz and sparkling personality. Soon after: boo-ya! I’m a professional writer. (Do people still say “boo-ya?”If I have to ask, then probably not. Moving on.)

I’ve been at my job for two-and-a-half years now (three years in May) and I’m still getting used to my weird ways being the normal way in my department.

It really hits me when we talk to normal people outside our department—people who are not scared of business-y things like percentages, columns and… some other business terminology. Profit margins are a thing, right?

Anyway, we were in this meeting recently where they passed out spreadsheets with the aforementioned business mumbo-jumbo and we all recoiled like they just handed us a basket of snakes.

"Nooooooooooo... anything but Excel!" — “Nooooooooooo… anything but Excel!”

And this was when I had a minor epiphany. I had found my people. For once, it wasn’t just me backing away in horror at the sight of those damn grids, waving my hands and shaking my head as if warding off an evil spirit (which Excel totally is). We did it as a team, gosh darn it. “We’re creatives, don’t show us numbers!”

The moral of this post, I guess, is that everyone should find their people. Whether you are a numbers person (and therefore in league with the Devil himself) or an artsy person—FIND YOUR PEOPLE. Your work life will improve about a thousand percent.

But don’t quote me on that percentage, because… you know. Numbers.

AHHHHH! It's like looking into hell! — AHHHHH! It’s like looking into hell!