What I Like About Starting a New Year

What I Like About Starting a New Year

Sunday, January 1, 2023

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The thing that I like about the new year isn’t that I expect to try to change in a handful of likely unattainable ways. It’s that I know I will change in dozens of unexpected ways both big and small — that no matter how hard I do or don’t try to become someone new in the year to come, I will become someone new, even if just a little. 

Because that’s just how time works. 

No, the first of the year isn’t some magical date upon which everything shifts and resolve steels and motivation appears. But it is a tangible, memorable, measurable date, a marker by which to examine where you were and where you are and where you hope to be. We could do it any time, sure, but most of us don’t; we’re not waking up on April 23rd or September 7th going “Now, what exactly has happened in the last 365 days?” 

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A (Birthday!) Week of Staycation Plans

A (Birthday!) Week of Staycation Plans

Sunday, August 2, 2020

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I took the week of my birthday off of work this year because... why not? It's not like we're going on any actual vacations this year, so I might as well take a week off for a staycation. I've had two weeks of furlough so far this summer, & each was incredibly relaxing, which inspired this plan - but it'll be much less stressful to have a paid week off.

That said, because there's not exactly much to do right now, I've been racking my brain to try to come up with some staycation plans & activities. Here's what I've come up with so far.

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Wait, I Don't Need a Husband for That

Wait, I Don't Need a Husband for That

Wednesday, June 26, 2019

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For much of my childhood, I grew up with a single mom, & although my mom won't want me to tell you this, she knows it's true: She has never been great at asking for help. She doesn't want to impose on others, & she's so independent that she wants to do everything herself. This is usually fine, because she's always been able to do just about everything by herself, anyway.

But this is, of course, both a strength & a weakness at the same time. It means that my mom does so much on her own - but it also means that, well, she does it all on her own, even when others would be more than happy to help out.

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2018: The Year I Got My Sh!t Together?

2018: The Year I Got My Sh!t Together?

Monday, December 24, 2018

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Photo by Tall Hair Creative

As 2019 approaches, I'm reflecting on how surprisingly successful I was in 2018. I didn't think of it like that throughout most of the year - but now that I'm looking back on it, I feel kind of proud of how well I adulted.

In 2018, I...

Changed my name

In January, I took a day off work, dragged my mom to a judge's office downtown, & made it official: I'm legally Kate Bigam Kaput, y'all! As longtime readers know, my legal first name was Sara - & now it's not. Sure I still haven't changed all the paperwork (like, um, with my banks), & this will probably cause some end-of-year issues, but I'm on my way

In 2019: Time to make it official with my banks! Why do they make it so hard? No one has a fax machine anymore, you guys.

Went to a lot of doctors

This year, I finally took it upon myself to schedule visits to a pulmonologist, an allergist, & a neurologist. I did a CAT scan, had allergic tests, & participated in a 24-hour sleep study, with follow-up appointments to come. I also scheduled an upcoming physical, where I'll get my vaccines updated & ask to have my thyroid checked.

In 2019: In January, I'll find out the results of my sleep study & determine, with my neurologist, a course of action moving forward. I also neeeeed to schedule a well-woman visit & a dentist appointment. Any Clevelanders love their gynecologist and/or dentist? Get at me.

Paid off a huge medical bill

OK, fine, I have $200 left to go, but that'll be paid off in the next couple of weeks, so I'm counting it as paid, for the purposes of this post. It was such a pain to work my way through all this paperwork, but it wasn't nearly as bad as I'd expected, & I'm proud of myself for facing it instead of avoiding it, as I am wont to do.

In 2019: I'm sure I'll have a new medical bill to sort out following my recent sleep study (dreading this), but it's worth it to finally see doctors, get answers, & feel better, overall.

Paid off my credit card

WOOOO, I am not a person who uses my credit card anymore (except, fine, for the Michelle Obama tickets I just bought!!!, which is OK because I just wanted the points - & then quickly paid it off). I'm really proud of myself on this one, though if I'm being honest, it continues to be difficult for me to curb my spending.

In 2019: I will open no new credit cards & only use my existing credit card thoughtfully & sparingly (like if I want the points on a large purchase). Now, time to start increasing my savings so that 2019 can be the year I really get my finances in order.

Started working out

I know, I know, I've written about this a lot. In April, I went to my first Harness Cycle class... & cried my face off & felt terrible about it. And then I went to, like, 75 more classes, & now I'm on my way to 100, & I haven't lost a single pound, but I do love the ride. For the first time in my life, I can say, "Yes, I work out three or four times a week."

In 2019: I want to step it up & try a other kinds of workouts. I told my mom I'd go to kickboxing classes with her, & a few Instagram friends convinced me that I should give Orange Theory a try. And I still want to try aerial yoga at Yoga Strong!

Did lots of freelance work

Last September, I started freelancing for Cleveland Magazine following a simple request that I write two book reviews for them. That turned into steady work, a project or two a month - just small sidebars, mostly, but I also told my mental health story in a long, personal essay. I've loved the opportunity to learn more about & make more connections in the CLE - while seeing my name in print.

In 2019: I'd love to keep doing this, if Cleveland Magazine will have me, & I'd like to find a couple other outlets I can submit personal essays to on occasion. It's been awhile!

Got rid of a ton of stuff

After reading Cait Flanders' The Year of Less in February, I undertook a process to, well, have a lot less, & I got rid of bags & bags & bags of stuff. Like, how could I even have that much stuff in an apartment so small? I'm now a lot more thoughtful about what I buy & when & why - which is also partially how I paid off that credit card bill.

In 2019: I plan to continue my attempts at thoughtful minimalism, as outlined in a post I wrote right after I read Flanders's book.

Tell me: What was your best adulting win of 2018? What have you finally gotten the hang of? 

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Why Am I So Hard on Myself?

Why Am I So Hard on Myself?

Monday, July 9, 2018

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I took a 9:30am Harness Cycle class last Friday, cutting a little bit into my work day - but because I had a light workload for the day & had worked late the night before, I didn't think too much about it. It was also the Friday of a holiday week; who can concentrate then?! 

While in class, though, I started to feel guilty for taking time off work without telling anyone - yes, despite the fact that most of my work was already done & that I was still working the right amount of hours for a regular workday, just slightly out of order. As I rode, I started to beat myself up: What if someone needed me? What if someone needed me & I wasn't around & they thought I was a terrible, constant slacker? What if someone needed me & couldn't find me & told my boss & I got in trouble?

Who, whoa, whoa, self. Calm it down.

The ride continued, & my mind kept going. I started to fall into one of those weird brain spirals, the kind that has you second-guessing everything you do or have ever done: Why can't I wake up earlier to go to a class before work? Why do I stay up so late?Why am I so shitty at being adult?

And it was there, finally, that I was able to stop myself: Hey, wait, I'm not a shitty adult!

But I sure do like to tell myself I am.

I've been feeling out of shape lately, & I've eaten one too many slices of pizza in celebration of summer. What a slug, I told myself. But I've been working out - hard - two to three times for the first time in my life. Give yourself some credit, I reminded myself.

I've been feeling a little bit unsettled at work lately, & I have a a pile of stuff to edit, plus a webinar I haven't yet written an outline for. What a slacker, I told myself. But I've been doing a ton of work on our action around family separation, trans rights, & gun violence prevention, among others. Give yourself some credit, I begged myself.

I've been feeling like a totally unsuccessful writer lately, & I've got a freelance piece due on the 16th that I haven't started yet. What a procrastinator, I told myself. But I just finished a 1,200-word personal essay on mental health, to very positive feedback (& minimal changes!) from my editors. Give yourself some credit, I implored myself.

I am so quick to chastise myself, to insist that I could be better. I could exercise more, I could eat healthier, I could be neater, I could clean the bathroom more often, I could wake up earlier, I could go to bed earlier, I could do more work, I could work more hours, I could save more money, I could, I could, I could, I could.

But what about all the things I'm already doing?

What about the cycling classes I've finished & the work I've completed & the freelancing I've done & the activism I'm engaged in? What about the three blog posts a week & the mostly-clean apartment & the loving marriage & the relationship with my mom & the money in my savings account? Why am I so quick to dismiss my successes - even the small, everyday ones?

Life is a challenge - all of it, for all of us - & those small successes deserve our recognition & appreciation as much as the large ones do. When you put them all together, they're one big success. They're a life.

For someone who has struggled with mental illness, especially, it's all too easy to insist that I could be so much better. In that moment, though, in the middle of that ride, I thought to myself: I am pretty damn good.

And now I just need to remember it - like, all the time.

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The Times When Money Can, Actually, Buy Happiness

The Times When Money Can, Actually, Buy Happiness

Thursday, August 3, 2017

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A new study finds that money can indeed buy happiness - if you use it to save time. And a new study in my own life shows that this is indeed true, especially if I'm spending money to save myself the time & hassle of cleaning my home, something I haaaaate doing & am notably not-great at.

In my birthday wishlist post, I mentioned that I bought myself the gift of hiring someone to come clean my apartment. Mike suggested it, actually, & I was all in. Sure, we only moved in two months ago, but hardwood floors get dusty very fast, & our cats shed a lot, & our bedroom has carpet, &, well, cleaning is just not our strongest suit. Our home wasn't dirty, by any means, but it definitely needed some work... which neither of us felt fully equipped to do.

"Let's book it as soon as possible," he said. So we did.

I made an appointment online with Cardinal Maids, which I'd called once in the past but never actually used. There's a longer story there, one I couldn't share on the blog at the time: Basically, my then-landlord screamed at me & made me cry in front of the cleaning lady, & the cleaning lady gave me a big hug & a coupon for a future service before leaving (without cleaning my place, which is part of the long story). In short, it was a really bad day, & her kindness went a a long, long way - so when it came time to book a housekeeping service, I knew I wanted to go back to that company.

It was really easy to book online, & they have straightforward pricing that made clear exactly how much I'd be paying & for what. I also found a $30-off Groupon, which brought down the cost a little - though I knew it would absolutely be worth the full price.

The morning of my appointment, two cleaning ladies arrived a little bit before their scheduled time of 10:30am. They even called me to tell me when they were on their way! I was afraid it might be awkward that I'd be there the whole time, working from home, but they told me they'd clean my office last so that I could work throughout their cleaning. I put on a headset to take my morning call, & I mostly couldn't hear the vacuuming at all.

The whole thing only took about an hour because we didn't have them clean our guest room (which is still filled with unpacked boxes), & they didn't have to do much in the office (which isn't really set up, aside from two desks). They dusted, swept & mopped the floor, scrubbed the sinks & shower & toilet, & even took out the trash.

When they were done, I stood in my living room & basically just twirled around like a princess in love with her castle. Everything was so freaking sparkly-clean. There were no tumbleweeds of cat fur blowing in the ceiling-fanned breeze, no jam-like residue tracked in from the mulberry tree in our front yard, no slivers of carrots & onions on the kitchen floor that sometimes escape Mike's cooking creations. It was like our home was a hotel.

Truly, I can't explain how happy I was to stand barefoot on a freshly vacuumed rug, sunlight streaming through the windows, & take in this spotless apartment. Sure, it was an added expense - but if we have to cut back on a night out or a few frivolous purchases here & there to work it into our budget, so be it. What's extra income for, if not to make your life easier every now & again?

This is an expense I'm happy to pony up for. Because that kind of happiness? Well, it turns out you can buy it, after all.

Have you ever hired someone to clean your home? What's your favorite time-saving "money can buy happiness" indulgence, when you can afford it?

Note: This is not a sponsored post, & I paid full price (aside from my Groupon) for my service with Cardinal Maids. I just liked them so much that I wanted to raise them up! 

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Spring Cleaning Inspired by the Perpetual Pursuit of Minimalism - & What's In My Way

Spring Cleaning Inspired by the Perpetual Pursuit of Minimalism - & What's In My Way

Monday, April 10, 2017

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I read Marie Kondo's cult-favorite Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up last January, & like so many people, I had mixed feelings about it (which I wrote about back then). I found the author's tone deeply annoying & stilted, which I chalked up to a bad Japanese-to-English translating job, & some of her advice felt truly absurd. I'm never, for example, going to fold a perfect underwear drawer - but I did find some elements of her "tidy" lifestyle to be really appealing.

I've moved so many times that I don't have a ton of extra stuff, really. When you move approximately once a year, you learn pretty quickly to pare down your possessions, keeping only what matters - & yet, there always seems to be too much. Still. 

I have too many clothes, things I liked at the time of purchase but that don't fit me quite right or don't flatter me as well as I'd like & rarely get worn.

I have too many shoes, too, pairs that, as much as I like them, only come out of the closet when I want to switch it up from my usual go-to style - which, admittedly, isn't often.

I have too much food in my pantry, cans of stuff I probably won't make & don't even really like, & bags of quinoa & walnuts that I've over-purchased because I forget I've already got plenty.

I have too many tchotchkes on my shelves, items that don't necessarily make me happy & sometimes even annoy me just to look at, but they maintain their spots because, well, they go there, right?

I have too many books, ones I picked up at Little Free Libraries or library fundraisers, ones I'd like to read but will likely never get around to because they're not at the top of my list.

I have too many beauty items, Sephora samples that are probably already expired & expensive full-size products I got in subscription boxes but never even opened.

I'm not bad at getting rid of stuff - but I'm all too good at bringing in more stuff, at wanting & buying & recreating the problem all over again. It's hard on my shelves & on my wallet.

I have too much of everything, yet somehow, I catch myself wanting more. Why is that?

I've been thinking about it, & I think the answer, at least for me, is simple: Instagram.

When it's just me, in my home, looking around at my space, I recognize that I've got all I need - & sometimes more. But when I'm scrolling through social media, looking at all the beautiful ways other people have styled their lives? Their homes, their clothing, & their food, & even their damn bookshelves? That's when I start to want more than what I have, when I feel the urge to buy, buy, buy.

When I'm scrolling through Instagram or watching Insta-stories, I want lives that aren't mine. I want an apartment with more sunlight so I can take better photos. I want to eat tastier-looking food, own prettier home decor, wear more stylish clothes, learn to do my makeup better, organize my bookshelves in rainbow order... Of all the social media platforms, Instagram is my favorite, but it also makes it too damn easy to compare my life to others'. When I do that, I start to want things that are out of character for me - things I don't need, a life I don't need or even really want. A life with more stuff. "Better" stuff. Even as I'm trying to own less stuff!

The Jewish holiday of Passover starts tonight, & one of the traditions of in the lead-up to the holiday is, basically, spring cleaning - purging our homes of chametz, which literally means "leaven" but figuratively translates into anything oppressive in our personal environment. This times up nicely with my desire to do some good old spring cleaning anyway, & it feels especially pressing in advance of the big move.

So I'm throwing stuff out - & vowing not to replace it with a bunch of new crap that I'll eventually want to throw out, too. I will pursue minimalism, even if I know I'm always likely to be a person who likes & desires stuff. Passover is all about freedom, & in the modern day, that can be interpreted in lots of ways. For me, this year, the holiday is a reminder not to be beholden to my desire for more stuff, which is, in part, directly tied to my tendency to compare my life to the lives of others, especially those I can only see via the Internet.

In going through my belongings & trying to scale back, I keep telling myself: Life wasn't made to look good on the Internet. If it happens to look pretty on there, well, so be it - & I will keep trying for that because I enjoy it, within the confines of my normal, existing life. But I am not going to live for the likes, & I'm certainly not going to add more baggage to my life - literally - just so I can arrange it into a square shot for display on the Internet.

P.S.: Still wouldn't hate it if you wanted to follow me on Instagram. You can find me at @heyescapist.

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The Tech-Friendly Way I'm Saving More Money

The Tech-Friendly Way I'm Saving More Money

Monday, February 6, 2017

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In the last few years, I've been trying to get a lot better about saving money. I'm 32 years old, & I don't want to live paycheck to paycheck my whole life. I am fortunate to make enough money to save a significant amount from each paycheck. The problem is that I often dip into my savings in a pinch, or to pay off some bill, or to pay my taxes, etc. I'm also still trying to pay off my student loans, my car loans, &, most pressingly, my credit card bill.

In addition to my regular direct-deposit savings, which are automatically taken from my paycheck & deposited into a separate savings account before they ever make it to my checking account, I've started using Digit.co.

You connect Digit to your primary bank account, where it analyzes your income & spending habits. Every few days, Digit transfers a small amount of money from your checking account to your Digit account; their no-overdraft guarantee ensures that they won't take too much. You can fiddle around with the aggressiveness with which you want Digit to save for you, & you can put withdrawals on hold at any time.

Based on my income & savings habits, Digit takes a few bucks from me every 2.48 days. The average withdrawal is $12, but that will vary depending on your income & spending habits. Digit is designed to work within your lifestyle, not to go against it - & the end result is that you save money without even realizing you're doing it. Since joining three months ago, I've saved $320+.

Digit texts you on a regular basis to let you know how much is in your savings account and how much it in your Digit account. Want to access the money you've saved through Digit? Again, just send them a text & they'll begin the transfer process. I confess that I "took" $200 from myself to pay off a medical bill. I felt guilty about it until I realized: Isn't that what savings are for?!

For the cautious among you (& we all should be, when it comes to money & the Internet), Digit uses state-of-the-art security measures & doesn't store your bank login information. Not convinced? It's been written up by & its safety confirmed in trusted publications like Wired, Forbes, Fast Company, & the New York Times.

If you're interested in giving Digit a try, you can sign up using my referral link. I get $5 for every person who uses my link, but I also just think this tool is worth sharing. This isn't a sponsored post - just me telling you about something I like.

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What the Internet Doesn't Get to See

What the Internet Doesn't Get to See

Wednesday, February 17, 2016

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They say comparison is the thief of joy, & never is that more apparent than when browsing the Internet. Last week's episode of my new favorite podcast, The Shepod, started with a conversation about people who portray perfect lives on social media. It's a topic that's been talked to death but continues to be relevant because it continues to make, like, 99% of us feel bad about our lives.

You know what I'm talking about: So-and-So with the seemingly perfect life, That Girl with the impossibly beautiful photos, Some Rando From College who seems to have all their shit together. The advent of social media has allowed savvy individual users to turn themselves into one-woman (yep, it's usually women) brands, portraying themselves online as the real-life equivalent of the kind of lives we used to only see in magazines & on TV. We knew those things were fake, altered, whitewashed - but OMG, look at these real people who have it all together. We used to believe such people were unicorns made up by the movies, but now they're on Instagram, showing us their real - & really perfect - lives. And making the rest of us feel bad about ourselves.

For the most part, none of us is sharing the bad moments on social media. You don't want to see a picture of my perpetually unmade bed, & I don't want to show it to you. I want to show you that delicious brunch I ate, that beautiful gift my boyfriend gave me for Valentine's Day, that cute face my adorable cat made, that day my hair looked really awesome. We're all entitled to share only the pieces of our lives that we deem fit for public display.

And all of that is OK. But.

Even if we're not sharing the less-than-perfect moments online, I think it's important to acknowledge that they exist. By acknowledging that we're imperfect people leading imperfect lives, we remind one another that we are all just human, no matter how pretty the pictures.

And so, in the spirit of imperfection, here are a few of the things you haven't seen from me on social media:

1. I keep both Kraft mac & cheese & packets of Ramen noodles in my kitchen. I eat them... uhhh, not infrequently. Also, there are Totino's pizza rolls in my freezer & not nearly enough vegetables in my crisper.
    
2. Probably related to the above, I recently freaked out so hard about my body/weight that I almost canceled Valentine's Day plans because I felt huge & horrible & ugly. Then I took an Ativan to calm down, which meant I couldn't even celebrate the holiday with a cocktail.
    
3. I typed in my bank account information incorrectly while making my car payment - which was already late. The combo resulted in a $35 late fee and a $25 bounced check fee, which led to my crying on the phone to my bank, who still wouldn't waive either of them.
    
4. This morning, I woke up so sore from the most basic yoga video that I almost literally couldn't move. I took two Aleve & went back to bed & started work an hour late & didn't even tell anyone. (The Aleve didn't help, by the way. Ow.)
    
5. My bank shut off my credit card without warning (because a $6 purchase at a store on my own block seemed "suspicious"), which resulted in my being declined at a coffee shop. Embarrassing. When I called the bank to sort it out, I got so mad that I started shouting. In public. And realized that people were watching with visible discomfort.
    
6. My living room rug is almost always full of cat fur because I haaaaate vacuuming, & it also boats a very large, very ugly red wine stain. And every time I do yoga, I can see underneath the couch, revealing a colony of crumbs & dust that I apparently don't get to when I clean.
    
7. I wear a plastic mouthguard & ridiculously patterned leggings to sleep, usually topped with a hole-riddled T-shirt that's borderline destroyed. Super sexy, I know. Apologies to my boyfriend.
    
8. Last week, I went four days without washing my hair. Unrelated but still gross, I gagged today when I finger-combed through my hair & pulled out a hairball so big that my friend referred to it as "a starter nest." Apologies to my boyfriend again.
    
9. A coworker recently sent me an email reaming me out for what he perceived as my lack of effort on a major project we're working on together. He CCed not only his boss, but my boss, my boss's boss, & our director of development. How's that for a bad day?
    
10. My car needs an oil change & has been sans windshield wiper fluid for more than two months, & I haven't been to a car wash in... awhile. (To be fair, I paid for one the other day but left when I saw that the line was nine cars deep.)
     
11. I left a seemingly innocuous comment on an Instagram post that somehow escalated into some Internet people telling me to "Go die" & yet got me blocked from the account. When Mike came into the kitchen as I was reading through the cruel comments, he asked what was wrong & I screamed, "Nothing is wrong, OK?!?!" like a totally rational person.
     
12. I can't figure out how to get my cat so stop spraying tiny kitty litter pebbles all over the guest room every time he jumps out of the box, so I have to sweep in there, like, every damn day.
     
13. My aunt left a jacket at my apartment in August, & I still haven't sent it back to her. Similarly, I just, finally, put my coworker's birthday card in the mail this week - despite the fact that her birthday was in January. 
     
14. Before last week's really awesome success with getting an essay placed in Woman's Day magazine, I submitted that very essay to six different outlets, all of which rejected it.
     
15. I have not yet done my taxes or even opened the envelopes that contain my tax documents.

There you have it: 15 things the Internet would otherwise never know, but that I'm sharing here because we are all just real people, damn it. And I know this probably doesn't mean a lot coming from me because I don't think my life even looks that great online - really, I'd like to see a fashion blogger do this, or something - but still. Internet honesty is important, & this blog is nothing if not honest.

Thanks for liking me anyway.

Got a real-life confession to share? I look forward to reading them in the comments! 

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I Got New Furniture from a Weird Magical Warehouse

I Got New Furniture from a Weird Magical Warehouse

Tuesday, October 27, 2015

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My apartment is pretty old. I don't know exactly how old, but, like... probably kiiind of old. It's basically the size of a large house, but it contains four apartments & one commercial unit, a small law firm just below me.

Because it's an old building, the door to to the units are pretty small - small enough that I was concerned about whether I'd be able to fit any substantially sized furniture into my place. Unfortunately, I like very over-sized, overstuffed, old-timey-looking couches - but it seemed clear that such a purchase was not in my future, given my 31" doorway.

Afraid of ending up with an IKEA futon at age 31, I awkwardly emailed my neighbors to ask if they could measure their couches for me so I knew what kind of sizing to work with. Instead of just sending me measurements, they kindly invited me in to see their couch & loveseat. They also told me where they bought them: some weird furniture rental & sales warehouse in Akron.

I'd never heard of Northeast Furniture Rental & Sales, & it sounded a little sketchy, but when I learned how much my neighbors paid for their set, I was intrigued. Furniture is expensive, you guys, & I work for a nonprofit, so trying to have find nice digs that don't break the bank is hard as hell.

If I'm being honest, Northeast Furniture Rental & Sales is not a place I would've set foot inside had I not gotten a referral from someone I trust. The building, located just around the corner from Akron's notoriously sketchy Chapel Hill Mall, looks... well, sketchy. It's a warehouse in every sense of the word, & upon opening the front door, I whispered to my mom, "I'm nervous." She whispered back, "Me, too." Not a great start.

But I quickly changed my tune inside, as I took in the massive space stacked ceiling-high with new & used furniture.

Northeast Furniture rents out home furnishings on short-term leases, mostly to companies furnishing corporate apartments to traveling businessmen; one of their top customers, for example, is Goodyear. When the furniture is returned to them, Northeast Furniture cleans each piece & puts it up for sale at minimal cost - think $250 for a sofa & loveseat set, or $600 for a bed frame, dresser, & vanity, all lightly used & in near-perfect condition.

All this is great. But the kicker? They also sell brand new furniture. It's slightly more expensive than the used versions, but it's considerably cheaper than what you'd find at a standard furniture store.

The staff was friendly & accommodating, willing to help but not pressuring us or pestering us. Clearly they're not on commission, like standard furniture salesmen, which is a relief for someone with anxiety like mine. They even let us borrow a measuring tape while we shopped so that I could idetermine whether the couches I liked most were feasible given the limitations of my weirdly small apartment doors.

Ultimately, I decided on a tan & black tweed-looking sofa & loveseat, & though I won't reveal how much they cost, I will say that they came as a package deal for far less than $1,000. Shipping to Cleveland was an additional $55, & the company was very communicative & easy to work with. They called me in the morning to give me a timing estimate, & they showed up just 15 minutes after that time (which is saying a lot, if you've ever wasted an afternoon waiting for, say, the cable company to show up when they claim they will). It took three guys all of 15 minutes to move everything in - & yes, it all fit!

I don't usually write such localized reviews like this, but I can't say enough good things about Northeast Furniture Rental & Sales. I'm thrilled with my new digs, & I can't thank them enough for helping me furnish my apartment like a real adult... without going broke in the process. (OK, these were a birthday gift from my mom. God, I wish I didn't have to tell you that. But anyway, she didn't go broke in the process, either.)

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go put on sweatpants & watch TV from the living room for the rest of the day. Comfortably. Because I can.

Um, after work. But still.

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Why I Got a Little Choked Up at a One Direction Concert, Despite the Fact That I'm Toooootally an Adult

Why I Got a Little Choked Up at a One Direction Concert, Despite the Fact That I'm Toooootally an Adult

Thursday, September 10, 2015

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The first concert I ever saw with friends was the Backstreet Boys, way back in sixth or seventh grade. Cleveland's outdoor music venue, Blossom, is in my hometown, & a friend's mom scored tickets for a group of us to sit in the pavilion area, which felt very cool & VIP; most people sit on the lawn at Blossom, but we had real seats. We painted a huge banner that read "JUST CALL US THE FRONTSTREET GIRLS," which is, now that I think of it, either very witty for 12-year-olds or totally nonsensical.

Way back in the fall of 2014 - I don't even think I lived back in Ohio yet - I made a Twitter deal with friends to attend a One Direction concert in Cleveland this summer. At the time, the concert date was so far away that it almost didn't feel real, & it just seemed like a funny thing to do. "Yeah, yeah, I'm totally gonna go see a boy band in the super-distant future when I'm 31, haha!"

And then the concert day arrived: totally going to see a boy band at age 31.

Sure, I was initially a little embarrassed - most attendees our age were escorting squealing, excitable tweens - but you know what? It was also damn fun. We got slightly drunk, sang at the top of our lungs, swooned for celebrity men far too young for us, used our iPhones as "lighters," & laughed at all the ridiculous but creative signage we spotted throughout the crowd. Here, a sampling of my favorites:

• "YEEZY TAUGHT ME"
• "Blow me a kiss"
• "Just turned 21!"
• "Bachelorette checklist: Take a shot with 1d"
• "Can I touch your buns, Harry?"
• "Please adopt me."
• "HARRY PAY MY COLLEGE TUITION"
• "Bless us, Father Harry"
• "It's cool, I'm 25!"

For me, what made the concert unexpectedly special was not (just) the fact that Liam Payne has a really lovely face. No, what made it special for me was looking at the crowd, full of thousands of those squealing, excitable tweens, & knowing that, for many of them, it was their very first concert. It was the concert they would remember - in the way you vaguely but nostalgically recall things that happened when you were 11 - for the rest of their lives. It was the concert they would name 20 years down the road when asked which musical act they first saw live & in the flesh.

It reminded me of being 12, in that Blossom pavilion on a hot summer night, wearing a shirt with Brian Littrell's face on it in a totally unironic way, & screaming at the top of my 12-year-old lungs with my very best friends. It reminded me of being unabashedly obsessed before that kind of obsession became slightly embarrassing & moderately creepy. It reminded me what it felt like to be free & happy & young & excited about life & certain that if I dropped a letter off at the Sheraton where they were staying, my favorite boy band would almost certainly reach out to invite me onto the stage with them.

It reminded me that I might be an adult now, but I wasn't always - & we are never too old to enjoy feeling like we aren't.

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Confession: At Age 30, I'm Scared to Move Out of My Mom's House

Confession: At Age 30, I'm Scared to Move Out of My Mom's House

Sunday, July 12, 2015

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Apartment-hunting is notably The Worst™. Everyone knows that. 

As an added deterrent, though, it can be extra  difficult to convince yourself to buck up & undertake the dreadful process of searching for a new place when you're currently residing with your mom, who you happen to like a lot, in a hometown where you feel comfortable & mostly happy.

By "you" & "yourself," in this case I obviously mean "me" & "myself," as this has been the exact story of my life for the past eight months. 

I have to admit: It's been so, so nice living at home since moving back to Ohio at the end of November. There were a rough few weeks there at the beginning, but once I settled in, well, it became a pretty sweet deal: friendly mom, cute dogs, big space, familiar town, &, oh, yeah, no rent. I wanted to find my own place, but I wasn't making active moves toward it. Maybe I should've felt a greater sense of urgency, but for most of the last eight months, I just haven't been in any big hurry to move out again.

But I'm going to turn 31 next month. I feel mostly fine about it; I certainly don't feel like I'm on the verge of some late-night emotional meltdown, as I did in the weeks before I turned 30. As my birthday started to loom nearer, though, I began to feel like I should be moving toward something - like maybe it was time to move out of my mom's house & into my own place in Cleveland, the thing I came home to do.

It's not that I'm embarrassed to be living with my mom. I'm mostly not. I'm not here because I'm down & out & falling apart; I have a full-time, well-paying job, & I made a fiscally smart decision to save money by living here for a bit. On top of that, being in such proximity to my mama, especially after so many years away, has been a dream ("59 out of every 60 minutes," as she likes to say). I told myself I'd stay here until I found something I liked, something that felt right, because it's pretty A-OK here, & I didn't want to rush this & end up in some crummy apartment that I wanted to move out of yet again in 12 months. 

For the last seven months, I felt comfortable with that decision, & I wasn't looking for apartments. Honestly, I wasn't even thinking about looking for apartments, despite the fact that I was still telling people I was "planning to move to Cleveland." Sometime during course of the last month, though, with 31 in the horizon, I started to realize why I wasn't making any forward motion, & it wasn't because I didn't want to. It was because of fear. 

I wasn't just being fiscally savvy or enjoying living with my mom. I was also inexplicably terrified to strike out on my own again, afraid of falling flat on my face. I was - am- afraid of paying rent again, of not being able to afford things I want, of having to act like a real adult, of the possible loneliness of living on my own, of living in a new city, of maybe not having any friends, of starting over yet again... One of my worst habits is that I am always so afraid of new beginnings, & despite what I thought were my best efforts, this time is no different.

When realized that I had begun to use my "I'm just being responsible!" explanation as an excuse, I also realized that it wasn't resonating with me anymore. During those months when I really meant it, I felt OK about it when I realized that I had begun to use it as a means of getting out of trying - & of possibly failing - I started to feel uneasy. I wanted to move. I was just too scared.

I've always been the kind of person who doesn't until I do. I don't feel compelled to take action until all of a sudden, it feels like time to take immediate action - & this process of finding an apartment was no different. All of a sudden, I decided it was time, & so the hunt began, quickly & with a vengeance.

If you follow me on Instagram or we're friends on Facebook, you probably already know part two of this story: I found an apartment in Cleveland! That is a story for another post, & it's one I plan to write soon. But for now, I'm trying not to panic as the countdown to moving day begins.

Oh, who am I kidding? I'm always panicking; that's sort of the point. But I'm also finally taking steps forward. I decided to do this - I came back to do this - & I'm finally about to do it. Fear or not, I will become a Clevelander - this month.

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Cleanliness Is Next to Godliness, or at Least the Opposite of Dirtiness

Cleanliness Is Next to Godliness, or at Least the Opposite of Dirtiness

Sunday, March 17, 2013

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Are you convinced? No? Me neither.

Nathan is cleaner than I am. I hate saying it this way because it sounds like I'm, you know, filthy, & I'm not actually that bad, but the reality is simply that my boyfriend is a cleaner, neater, more organized individual than I. Blame it on the military, if you will ("If you've got time to lean, you've got time to clean," he sometimes says, which he surely learned in the Coast Guard), but it's just not a level of cleanliness that I've got in me. He's forever asking me to unload the dishwasher or do the litterbox or unpack a suitcase from that trip I took two weeks ago, & I do my best to keep up because I'm not dirty, thankyouverymuch, but without him around, I'd just, um, move more slowly on these things. Anyway, I appreciate it & think it's great that one of us, at least, care about things like "dusting the horizontals."

This afternoon, we grabbed lunch at the Cinnamon Snail, my favorite (vegan!) food truck in all the land, & then decided to wander around downtown Red Bank & check out some of the places we rarely get to. After two hours of exploring, we made it home fired up &, surprisingly, ready to clean. Maybe it's the spring air or my new-found dedication to saving/making/finding money for a trip to Spain next year that's driving this, but lately, I'm all-hands-on-deck when it comes to getting organized & even minimalizing (which has previously been, shall we say, Not My Thing). I've been making piles of things to sell, things to donate, things to throw away forever, things to shred... so many things. I just want to get all the things in place, even & especially if that place is not in my home. Anyway, I came home from this long walk & felt inspired to do something moderately meaningful or at least, like, useful, & I decided that cleaning would be that thing.

I realized today that I have a few requirements for being a decent cleaner, most of them having to do with wardrobe:

1. On days I want to get a lot of housework done, I cannot take a shower. I mean, I can when I'm done, but usually, I'm a person who showers every morning (or, OK, on my lunch break), & ironically, if I want to be super-clean, I cannot clean, well, me. If I shower, get dressed, & put on makeup, I feel too prissy to get down & dirty. I don't want to waste a shower, yanno? Err... no? Just me?
2. Though I cannot shower on big cleaning days, I also cannot be a total hobo. If I stay in my pajamas & try to start cleaning, I'm always two steps away from taking a nap. When I sit down to sort through bills, I might just stay down... & start watching TV. Instead, I have to put on workout clothes -  usually leggings & a sports bras & a T-shirt - so that I feel like I ought to be moving.
3. Also, shoes. I have to wear shoes if I want to be serious about the cleaning. The logic here is that if I'm shoeless, I'm more inclined to take a nap. "That bed looks so nice now that I've made it! Perhaps I should give it a try?" But if I'm wearing sneakers, I always feel like I'm on the go, like I've got somewhere to be & simply cannot take the time to sit down on that newly lint-rolled couch with the recently fluffed pillows.

I got a lot done today. I'm still wearing my shoes as I type this, actually, because I wanted to feel compelled to finish it. Perhaps I've discovered the secret to my own all-around productivity...

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Relax (Take It Easy)

Relax (Take It Easy)

Monday, February 25, 2013

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When I finally take a moment to relax, take even just 60 seconds for myself, I'm able to immediately recognize those telltale signs of stress: My back is killing me because I've been hunched over my laptop for the last three hours. My eyes are dry because I'm too focused to blink, & I probably haven't taken a deep breath in, oh, days. My muscles are tense & my mind is racing, & even 60 seconds feel like too indulgent to be allowed. I have work to do!

My first instinct is to let myself fall victim to the anger that accompanies stress. I never have time for myself! How can I possibly do any more work? I need 20 extra hours in the day! I feel too pressed for time to check my Twitter feed or read a friend's blog post or answer that midday phone call from my mother because ain't nobody got time for that. Ain't nobody got time for anything, am I right?! It's like I can never catch up or do enough or do it all well enough. It's almost 6pm & I haven't even thought about leaving the "office" (which is, in this case, a Starbucks) to go to the gym or make dinner. Oh, is it already dark out? When did that happen?

And then I remember.

Then I remember that even at its very worst, I'm doing a job I love for an organization I believe in with people I like. I don't save lives; if I have an off day, no one will die or even be irreparably impacted. I remember that my outside-of-work life, lacking though I sometimes feel it is, is pretty great: the best boyfriend in the world, the best friends in the world, the best mom in the world, & all that genuine-but-cliched jazz. I remember that I am smart & funny & driven & that I hold myself to higher standards, sometimes, than anyone else holds me to, so it's OK to scale it back every once in awhile. I remember that my life is really, really, really good, & I have no business wigging the eff out like I so often do.

And I'm OK again.

I'm always OK again.

______

This month, I'm participating in a writing group that Kristen of Aw, Shucks invited me to. Each day, we receive a writing prompt to follow, or not. I'm not doing all of the daily prompts, but I'm doing the ones that appeal to me. This prompt was "Where or when have you felt the most relaxed and at peace?"

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Ten Years From Now, We'll Still Be On Top (Or Something)

Ten Years From Now, We'll Still Be On Top (Or Something)

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

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I put a lot of advance thought into my 10-year high school reunion. What should I wear? Who would I show up with? How long would I stay? What would we talk about? Would it be weird? Would I be weird? Is there anything realistic whatsoever about movies like "American Reunion"? I tried to convince friends to attend, some successfully & others to total failure.

And then it came! And then... it went. Turns out it was a fairly lackluster event, with no discernible climax or apex to speak of. My expectations were perhaps overblown by a comically dramatic discussion that took place a few weeks before the event in our class's Facebook group, spurred by one perpetual whiner's displeasure with every minute detail of the event. A friend of mine left the following comment in response to the whole thing, which should give you a feel for how it went down:

"You're telling me if we want to attend the reunion we're going to have to drive ALMOST SIX WHOLE MILES from the site of our graduation to an IMMEDIATELY ADJACENT CITY?! And when we get there, we're even going to have to PARK OUR OWN CARS? This is an outrage. If I were Donald Trump, you'd all be fired."

That makes it sound like there's a lot of potential for amazing dramz, right? So you can see why I was so excited. Alas, it was a drama-free night, virtually the opposite of how movies indicated it might be. To my knowledge, no one was inspired to film a porno upon leaving, &, I mean, no one even claimed to have invented Post-Its! And OK, I didn't actually expect it to be anything like a cheesy teen flick, but I'd imagined it to be slightly more action-packed or at least more conversationally stimulating/entertaining/something.

Unfortunately, despite the modern miracle of Facebook, only about 100 people showed up for the big event, of the nearly 400 in our graduating class. Even if more had attended, there wouldn't have been much space for them, as the room reserved for the event was tiny & sweltering, staffed by a bartender who was unequipped to deal with the fact that everyone in attendance needed to be drunk in order to deal with being in attendance. Eventually, seeking air, the party spilled out into the attached bar & people lost sight of one another, seriously limiting the potential for mingling.

Don't get me wrong: I saw people I hadn't seen in a long time. We talked. It was fun. And though I have gained weight (one of those prototypical high school reunion measurements of life failure), I have also gotten notably better looking, considerably less awkward, & infinitely more successful, so I wasn't particularly embarrassed to share my life details with long-lost peers. I had a total of three drinks, which kept me from being as outgoing as I would've liked but which also kept me from dancing to "She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy" with the bachelorette party that took over the bar's stage. I wouldn't say the night was a bust, by any means - but I will say that by midnight, I was sleepy, sober, & more than ready to crawl into bed.

Our class officers put considerable effort into making the night a success, & nothing I say here is intended to discredit or disrespect their work. But perhaps the modern miracle of Facebook also means that the magic of high school reunions has disappeared; we all know what we're all doing, so we don't feel the need to catch up in person. Ever the nostalgic goody two-shoes, I spent most of the night feeling like Melissa Joan Hart's character in "Can't Hardly Wait" sans pigtails, wondering where everyone's school spirit went. "What is wrong with everybody? These are memories frozen in time, people!" Don't you care about making memories, guys?!



Yeah, another movie reference. And OK, it's possible that I suffer from blockbuster-induced delusions of high school reunion grandeur. But coming off of a disappointingly disappointing 10-year event, maybe those are exactly the kind of delusions that will ensure that I buy a ticket to the next one. See you in 2022!

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The Importance of Befriending The Maintenance Guy

The Importance of Befriending The Maintenance Guy

Friday, August 3, 2012

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There's nothing scarier than getting out of your shower & hearing a man shouting at you in a rapid-fire Spanish accent... from your bedroom. Take it from me. I know this, of course, because it happened to me yesterday.

I was taking a long shower to start my day - the kind where you actually sit down to shave your legs, where you let the conditioner sit for four full minutes, where you get out feeling kinda prune-like. As I stepped out of shower & onto the bathroom rug, I heard a man's voice - a deep voice, with a thick Spanish accent. I couldn't understand him, or I wasn't listening, because all I could think was, "Someone broke in & is going to kill me & this is what I get for having 'Criminal Minds' on in the background while I work all day & oh my God, my neighbors really ARE criminals, karmaisanunfairbitch."

After much hyperventilating, I calmed down enough to learn that the man in my bedroom was Anthony, the building maintenance man (whom I'd never met), & he had come into the apartment because there was a leak in the one below ours. "What should I do?!" I shouted from the bathroom, still naked & trying to slow my rapidly beating heart. He promised to come back five minutes later; I've never gotten dressed more quickly.

Apparently, a leak from my faucet was filling the light fixture in my downstairs neighbor's master bedroom with water, which is obviously some sort of terrifying electrical hazard. In the 24 hours it took to fix it, Anthony & his son teenage Manny came & went at my apartment as they pleased once I told them they didn't need to knock & that I promised to be dressed. This morning, when Anthony & Manny left after fixing the problem - as well as fixing an issue with my sink & with my towel bar - I thanked them & told them to have a nice weekend, thinking that I wouldn't see them for awhile, given all the fixes they'd just made.

And then an hour later, my cat came into my office all wet, his little paws tracking prints back to the dishwasher, which I discovered to be overflowing. Immediately, I called the super. "What did you put in it?" she asked. "Was it dishwashing detergent?" Dude, obviously.

Or was it?

When Anthony & Manny reappeared, I sheepishly confessed that I just discovered I'd been using Tide pods in my dishwasher. Like, for a month. So, um, no wonder my dishes never seem clean &  occasionally have a lot of soap scum left over. Anthony reappeared with a fancy vacuum that sucked all the soapy water out of the dishwasher & even put a dishwashing soap pod in for me before he left.

"Don't worry," Manny assured me. "We won't tell the super."

They almost walked in on me in the nude & now they're keeping a dirty (literally) secret for me. I feel like we're friends now, don't you?

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Getting Serious About Suburban Living

Getting Serious About Suburban Living

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

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As promised, I got a car. Helloooooo, beautiful 2008 Honda Civic that is not at (as great of a) risk of breaking down mid-highway!


Also, I got a cat. Meet Stringer Bell, originally named George (we can't decide), age 10, adopted from our local SPCA. He likes cuddling, sleeping in bed with me & sneezing in my face; he does not like catnip, responding to our calls or, it seems, eating his food.

Following announcement of my two new acquisitions, my boss sent me a concerned email: "First a car and now a cat? This suburban thing is getting out of hand."

Ain't that the truth! He made me promise I wouldn't "lose [my] edge." I promised, of course, but this cat in my lap seems to have other plans for me.

I also promise not to become one of those simpering, obnoxious pet owners who constantly talks about & posts photos of my cat. Then again, I once promised not to be a douchey, Apple-worshiping iPhone owner who Googles things mid-conversation, either - and just look at me now.

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Grey Matter: Bill, Barack & Me

Grey Matter: Bill, Barack & Me

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

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I have a tragedy to announce: The other day I discovered not one, not two, but, like, seventy-billion grey hairs lurking within my uncolored roots. You may recall that I recently turned 26 years old, & in case you're not sure, yes, 26 is too young to go grey.

I blame the District of Columbia.

At least I'm in good company. In 1993, fewer than 100 days into his tenure as Commander-in-Chief, the LA Times described President Bill Clinton as "a premature and unabashed silver fox." Observe the change:

Dramatic, no? "But Kate!" you're countering. "That's just the regular aging process! Dudes go grey!" And I concede that point. After all, Old Bill was in office for eight (wonderful, blessed) years, giving him plenty of time to get his grey on.

But how about this the new guy? In 2008, Senator Barack Obama was a young whippersnapper on the verge of greatness - &, as it turns out, on the verge of greyness. At an Indiana campaign stop that spring, the pre-Pres told a group of old folks, "Seniors, listen up. I'm getting grey hair myself." And how!

So what gives, D.C.? President Clinton blamed his grey on nature. President Obama has blamed it on having teenage daughters. I, of course, am neither aged nor parental - & OK, OK, I'm not running a country, either (guess they call it the White House for a reason!). But I still blame the capital - with its early mornings & late nights & fast-paced jobs & all of the checking email in bed & taking conference calls on the go - for the loss of my locks' lustre.

Taking all of this into careful consideration, I wonder whether I should consider myself folically fortunate to be on my way out of the District. I've been here for three years now, & the grey is slowly creeping in, especially around my right temple. Who knows what I'd look like in another three years if I stuck around?

"Silver fox" my behind. I shudder to think.

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From the Windowwwws to the WALL (a.k.a.: Sometimes I'm an Adult)

From the Windowwwws to the WALL (a.k.a.: Sometimes I'm an Adult)

Monday, February 15, 2010

Yeah, you know the rest of the song. That, too.

In honor of President's Day (presidents keep the country organized, after all), I have spent today organizing my own life - namely, by cleaning my apartment.

My roommates & I divvied up the daunting list of tasks (together, they took the bathroom, God bless them both), & I woke up this morning ready to tackle the grit & grim that has invaded my section of assigned chores - the kitchen. Cue scary music.

Sure, I needed to Google phrases like "cleaning powder green can" & "best way to scrub a tile floor." And sure, there were a few mishaps along the way, including:

• A scalded right hand from reaching into a sink of hot water because I didn't have the patience to wait for it to cool down
  
• A full-scale "I'm gonna burn the place down somehow" freak-out when I discovered the DO NOT USE ON COUNTERTOPS label on the back of my bathroom & shower cleaner. After I'd already cleaned the countertops with it. Oops.

But in the end, cleanliness prevailed. I:

• Ran the dishwasher. Twice.
• Soaked the sorta-nasty drying rack
• Made myself pierogies
• Cleaned all the countertops
• Elbow-greased the oven & burners
• Swept, Swiffered, & scrubbed the kitchen floor

As a bonus, I:

• Organized & alphabetized all my movies
• Cataloged my entire bookshelf on Goodreads.com
• Ate some ice cream
  

Is there anything more legit adult than cleaning your home? (The answer is NO.)

Mom, if you're reading this, I swear you'll be shocked & awed & very impressed with how grown up I am today, even though I also slept til noon & am still in my pajamas & am now watching movie numero dos. I may not be a Barack Obama-style organizer (who excels at both the community & Presidential varieties), but I sure can hold my own with a can of Comet & a scrub brush.

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