Getting a big girl job…

Yep.

Guys and gals I have crossed the threshold into adulthood, or at least dipped my calloused big toe into the water. It has been four roller coaster days of non-stop insanity punctuated by hurried trips to the ladies room and bad coffee.

Okay so maybe that is not an accurate depiction. Honestly, “Administrative Assistant” is a just a bad-ass name for someone who can always be found filing papers, playing with extra staples, or silently crying as she accidentally (and repeatedly) paper cuts her fingers.

While this may not sounds like fun to some, I have found that I thrive in an environment that as ordered at the filing cabinets that I spend every day laboring over. I get to be all fancy-secretary like and type things into the computer and everyone smiles and is nice to me because they need me to do the work that they don’t want to do.

There are other perks too. I GET MY OWN CUBICLE!!! What more could a girl want? Nothing. The answer is nothing. BUT WAIT, there is more. I was introduced to Doughnut Joe and I think I found my new best friend. He is a guy named Joe who works at the office. Every Thursday he walks around with a box of doughnuts and offers them to you. Delivers it right there to your cubicle. This is the dream man. Doughnuts delivered to your own personal cubicle.

Sadly, I am the only person in the office under twenty and not engaged nor married (and with no hope on the horizon). The age gap is glaring…as is the maturity gap because I am a twelve year old boy trapped in a nineteen year old girl’s body. As much as I try to enjoy my job, when I am sitting at the big table in the break room by myself, just sippin’ my juice box and munching on the turkey sandwich my mom made for me, watching the other employees laugh and interact, I can’t help but realize….

This is awkward.

Being one of the only girls in class…

Yep.

This is your wood shop, your advanced gym, your weightlifting, your whatever else is dominated by the manly men. For me it was a piano class. Weird, right? But if you understand how easy the class was it wouldn’t seem so strange.

I will be honest and say that 50% of the reason I took the class is because I heard lots of fellas were in it (the other 50% of the reason being that I wanted an easy class too). What I didn’t realize is the pressure I would feel being one of three XX chromosomes in the class. The whole time I was in that class, I showered everyday. And wore makeup. And did my hair. And brushed my teeth. Yes, it was an abnormal time in my life.

You have to put yourself in my shoes though. There were 21 pairs of male eyes watching me (or so I hoped) every time I stepped into the room. I needed to dress to impress and express…that I was seriously single and ready to mingle. It didn’t help that I have a knack for crumbling under the close scrutiny of the opposite sex and the sweatiest hands you will shake in your lifetime. It goes without saying that in a piano class you need to touch the keys once or twice, maybe. But apparently its not socially acceptable for you hands to drip sweat onto the keys, especially when its two people to a keyboard…

It also was unfortunate that, even in college, in guy world – a girl is equivalent to a cheat sheet. The guys who sat next to me were constantly leaning over to look at my answers or to see what page we were on. I was their personal pencil provider, as well. Needless to say I felt used…they could have at least have taken me out to dinner first or just bought me a candy bar. Seriously, anything would have been nice at that point, like learning my name or saying please. But sorry that’s a little demanding of me.

I guess the class was not the trip to boy paradise like I had hoped for. The only thing I was basking in was my own sweat. I finished that semester with slightly improved music knowledge, a few less pencils, a bruised ego, and the bitter taste of…

This is awkward.

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Valentine’s Day…

Yep.

It is rapidly approaching ladies and gents, and there is absolutely nothing we can do about it.

I don’t know how anyone else feels about this pepto bismol excuse of a holiday created to bring in revenue for card companies, florists, and the creepy people who make those talking teddy bears…But evidently – I think its more cheesy and off putting than moldy colby jack.

Now, I need to be upfront. This is not the bitter ranting of a heartbroken, angst filled, lonely, damsel in distress. Yes, while I may be single, no other adjectives apply here. In fact, I have been single all 18 years of my existence – and I am not complaining. Why, you may ask?

Because among other reasons, Valentine’s Day makes me feel like bugs are crawling under my skin. Instead I ask you ladies (and gents – take notes):

What are you going to do with that over sized, pink, fluffy, stuffed ‘love bug’? Sleep with it every night? Let it sit in the corner of your bedroom for all of eternity? Have fun explaining to everyone who visits your apartment that your love muffin thoughtfully got it for you and that ‘No, I’m not an eight year old plush toy collector’.

Do you want to get engaged or asked to ‘go steady’ on the same day that almost every other girl in America did? No, honey, I’m sorry you are not the only girl to get proposed to with a ring in your champagne glass.

As much as you feel that SOMEONE needs to validate you on this all important birthday of love, do you really want sketchy Craig from your Poly Sci class to give you a box of chocolates and invite you to have pizza with him in his mom’s basement?

This made up holiday is weird people! But feel free to disagree. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you when you’re watching The Notebook with Craig on a worn leather couch in his mom’s musty basement and he keeps trying stroke your hair…

Because at that point the only thing you will be thinking about besides escape routes is…

This is awkward.

Being in a public place waiting for your friend who is running late…

Yep.

You have been there before. Standing outside the restaurant, waiting outside the party, sitting on their couch with their roommate who doesn’t know how to hold a conversation. No matter where you are, you are more or less by yourself with an unpredictable amount of time to stand there and look busy and like you were totally planning to be being in that exact spot for 15 minutes.

All the while, that hot guy has passed you on his way in and out of the coffee shop and you are sure he thinks that you are stalking him just because you haven’t moved an inch. You are even more positive that everyone else is watching you and that they think you have no friends or that you are getting stood up for a date or that you ARE stalking that hot guy.

So what do you do about it? You appear to look casual or happy or some other way that makes you seem as if this is an everyday occurrence. You just like hanging out on this corner, you OWN that corner, and then you realize that may not be what you want either…

Then you pull out your phone and drown yourself in it because you can’t handle the outside world and its potentially prying eyes and judgmental thoughts. You open instagram, then twitter, then you scroll through your photos, you check Facebook, you refresh instagram again knowing it will be fruitless, you pretend to text message, you even write a draft to the friend who is running late and putting you in this position and then go back and forth trying to decide if you should send it before ultimately deleting it because you defiantly tell yourself that you are a confident, independent person who doesn’t need to sink to that desperate level.

At this point you try to act confident again. You put your phone in your pocket and face the world around you. That is, before you eventually cycle back to insecurity and repeat the process again.

Until finally, like rain after a drought, you see your friend approaching!

They smile and give you a big hug while proclaiming, “You got here early!”

And all you can think is…

This is awkward.

Having no idea what to put as your twitter bio…

Yep.

Not all of us are creatively blessed with the talent for crafting an impeccable twitter bio. One that expresses our personality perfectly, inspires everyone who reads it, humbly brags about where we go to college or what we do with our lives, or uses a rappers lyrics to show the world just how much we don’t care and are just here to YOLO or whatever.

I will be honest. I have dedicated my fair share of time to attempting to create the perfect bio. I tried the funny angle, the honest angle, the strictly business angle, the awkward angle, the ‘I am so trendy I don’t even have a twitter bio’ angle, the song lyric angle, the catchphrase angle…and the list goes on. You name it, I have probably tried it at some point even if it was only for two seconds before my common sense told me that ‘Imma be me’ does nothing to improve the impressiveness of my account or that ‘Minnesnowta’ is a horribly tacky pun that says nothing except that I am from Minnesota and that I am aware that it snows here. Pretty deep stuff.

I guess the ancient art of the twitter bio is far from being perfected by anyone. But that’s okay. Its fun sometimes to scroll through your followers, click on a profile, side swipe past a double-filtered selfie, and think to yourself…

This is awkward.

 

That feeling walking through the halls of your old high school…

Yep.

You know that feeling. Not the one they write in the movies or tell you about as you are preparing to graduate. Not that ‘sense of pride’ or ‘honor’ bullshit that people always SAY they feel…even you when your old teachers asks how it is to be back.

What you really feel is a compelling mix of ‘this is weird’, ‘why am I here again?’, and ‘thank heavens I don’t have to go to this prison everyday anymore’. Sometimes there is a sprinkle of ‘yeah, I hate still hate her’ or ‘why does everyone look 12 years old?’ thrown in for good measure.

Don’t get me wrong, I have fond memories of high school, you know, the ‘glory days’ or whatever makes it sound like those were the best years of your life. But high school is just a small slice of the pie. And its a great pie. But to me, high school is like the crusty edge of this pie. It is necessary, it holds the pie together, it looks great from a distance, it even tastes okay as long as you get a little whipped cream on it or something. But it is not what makes the pie, a pie.

High school does not define you. Maybe that’s why for a lot of us, going back feels so weird. We stopped being the person we were in those halls the moment we stepped out of them. No matter how long it has been since graduation, going back to those halls will never feel the same as it did when we owned them. High school is a bubble and the moment you wrap your sweaty fingers around that long awaited slip of paper, the bubble bursts. You will never again be the person you were in high school…and that’s a good thing…usually.

So over the years, whether you willingly walk back through those halls, casually visit to see a favorite teacher or catch a sporting event, or are dragged through by the ankles – it is okay. We can return, we can reminisce, and we can feel uncomfortable. Our high school isn’t the place we belong anymore. At least not the way we used to. So in this case I find it relieving when I’m venturing through those halls and I think…

This is awkward.