Happy Birthday to me! I’m presently eating candy for breakfast like the grown ass woman I am. And as I sit here, I’m reflecting on the last year of my life, remembering how tough it was on me. It was one of the most trying years I’ve ever had. It was filled with some of the darkest times – the most gut wrenching and hopeless – that I’ve ever gone through. I’ve made several difficult and life changing decisions. I’ve also made some of my biggest mistakes and some of my biggest fears were realized. But as I sit here now, I’m wondering to myself – do I give a shit about all that? Is any of that worth the energetic toll to keep carrying it around with me?
To say that how I’m feeling right now is shocking is an understatement. I’ve always been one of those people that carry their hurt around like a personality trait. “I’m not good enough because X person said this about me in 2004”, or “Karma is going to catch up to me for X mistake so it’s best that I don’t get my hopes up”. Not that I’m overly open about this, mind you. This, like all of our most positive and reaffirming thoughts, solely comes out in conversations only with myself. A self that I’ve been trying really hard lately to heal – and I think today is a breakthrough in that.
I don’t give a shit anymore about the experiences of hurt that I’ve had in the past 29 years. I don’t give a shit about the word for word, detail for detail, re-enactments of those moments that I’ve been playing out in my head for so long – sorry but those recordings are burnt out.
Here’s the thing – I have anxiety and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and more often than I like to admit, these two mix together and create a nice little cocktail called depression (starting today’s post off on a fun note here). Over the years, I’ve found myself looking up different approaches to dealing with these which has always led me to some variety of “self care”.
Now, for me, I’ve always taken self care tips with a grain of salt. Especially as “self care” has become more of a mainstream activity, and it seems as though people are using it almost as an excuse for any behaviours outside of their normal. Which to be fair could stem from me having used it to justify eating too many red velvet cupcakes, and also the six step skin care routine I dropped several hundred dollars on at Sephora last year. Did either of these things better my mental health? Definitely not. Could they for others – maybe.
Self care is incredibly important to me – despite what you are probably thinking after that last paragraph – when done in the true essence of self care. This being to set time aside to sit with yourself, process your emotions and thoughts, and spending time doing things that serve you. For me this means meditating twice a day and filling in my eyebrows, but for others it can mean a wide gamut of things – bubble baths, shaving your legs, watching a marathon on Netflix while drinking a bottle of rosé, what have you. Debatably, the most common form of self care out there (if we’re going off Pinterest tips here) is journaling. Which you’d think I’d be all over, considering the fact that I blog now, and it is practically the exact definition of what I said self care is at the top of this paragraph. But, no. I’ve always thought journaling was a crock of shit.
That was, of course, until I bought a journal a couple months ago.
We all know the saying “time heals all”. And this might be true with, say, a broken heart or a busted leg. But have you ever been so embarrassed that changed who you are as a person? That shit stays with you, man.
While I was at work earlier, the radio was playing – innocently enough – the 2002 Matchbox 20 classic “Unwell”. Let me tell you, that song was my jam. This is saying a lot as we all know that 2002-2004 had some of the best music of all time (okay, I may be the only one who thinks that). Unfortunately now, it makes me think back to one of the most ill advised decisions I’ve ever made – joining a singing competition.
If you caught my first couple posts, you know that I left a pretty serious job in the big city a couple months ago to move closer to my family. And if you don’t know, now you know (shoutout Biggie).
The move, really, has been great. However, finding a job proved difficult. Especially in the same field as I was working in before – which, to be completely transparent, on paper I was pretty much not qualified for in the first place. I also don’t know that my energy was in the right place to allow me to find work, because I really had no idea what I wanted to do with my career – the universe can’t help with unclear intentions. I’ll save that talk for a different day. Moral of the story, I decided to take a part time retail job in the meantime while I figure my shit out.
Little back story. I have never worked in retail before in my life. Weird, right? It seems like everyone has some sort of experience in that realm at some point – be it a store or fast food, something to do with customers. Not me. My first job in high school was at a martial arts studio, where I worked in the office and also taught classes (I’m tough, don’t worry about it). After university, I did some bookkeeping work, and other office-y things before eventually getting into my Project Management career (the one I left). Please note, not a single ounce of this had to do with the Political Science degree I have.
Hello, yes, I’m almost 30 and I’m writing about the Dolan Twins. I can’t help it. I’m a fan, first of all, and after watching their interview last night with Shane Dawson, I can’t stop thinking about them. Not in a creepy way. More in a “holy shit, I can’t believe they’ve held it together this long” sort of way. It also – to the point of this post – proves, to me, what is wrong with the “social media star” mindset. The fear of losing relevancy, and the need to stay consistent. The fear of your fans (stans? I don’t know, I’m old) lashing out against you for showing any sort of change or cracks, and the stifling of growth to fit into an ideal. Social media is a scary place – and it seems the bigger of a creator you are, the scarier it gets.
Welcome to October, everybody! Spooky season is here! The skeletons are out to play, and pumpkins have become more menacing. It’s the time where ghosts and creepy clowns have their moment in the spotlight. In honor of the scary season, I wanted to talk about, and learn more about, my biggest fear:
Yes – aliens. I know what you’re thinking – aliens are so September. Especially with the Area 51 raid. But, that’s exactly why I want to write about them today. Because I ignored the raid completely, and now I feel out of touch.
I’ve heard a lot about Area 51 over the years, as you can imagine, but I never paid any attention to it. This was for one pretty major reason – I AM TERRIFIED OF ALIENS. I’m not kidding when I say they are my biggest fear. Irrational, maybe. But I’m so afraid of them, that at one point when I was younger and I hadn’t slept for days after my friends made me watch the movie Signs, my dad (out of sheer frustration) had to say to me (and I quote): “JESS. Out of the billions of people in this world, you really think the aliens are going to come for you?”. Which, now is the most hilarious parenting moment I can think of. And he probably had a point, honestly. If I was an alien, I’m going straight for government officials and billionaires. Probably not 12 year olds in the middle of nowhere Canada. But, I can’t say it helped the fear much.
With that in mind, you can imagine the lengths I went to to avoid ANY talk about aliens over the years. This became practically impossible when earlier this year, the internet seemed to explode over the idea that everyone was going to storm Area 51 in September and find what the US government has been hiding from us. Now that the raid’s over and no aliens were found (thank God. I would have been pissed if they did, honestly. I can’t imagine how I’d live my life with concrete proof that they exist), I figured it was as good of a time as ever to sacrifice a night (or a couple) of sleep, and get myself in the know about what the big deal is with Area 51. Without further ado, let’s get this over with shall we?
My grandparents are currently on vacation overseas (hard life), and while they’re away, I was tasked with the very important job of buying tickets for the lottery. Of course I – being the caring and loving granddaughter that I am – agreed to this without hesitation… once my percentage of the winnings was agreed upon, that is.
Ah yes, the first day of fall. It’s the most wonderful time of the year… for Starbucks. The leaves on the trees are changing from green to orange, and our layers from crop tops to flannel. Patio drinks? Not today. It’s time to unleash our inner Marthas and prepare as many apple baked goods as our Pinterest boards will allow. And while they are baking, why don’t you turn on the TV. You’ll be scared shitless by the spooky movie commercials – but hey, at least they aren’t the sappy holiday ones that are just around the corner!
I love the fall. Mostly due to it’s proximity to winter (the BEST season – fight me), but I do love a good pumpkin patch moment. I’ve also become more interested in ghoulish things in my 28th year of life, so I’m starting to get the appeal of Halloween. More than anything else though, the first day of fall marks the end of something that is truly evil – summer.
Listen – I know that in a traditional ranking of seasons, summer ranks pretty high for most people. But with the combination of my insecurities and the fact that heat makes me a completely different (and significantly more angry) person… let’s just say I’d take a blizzard over it any day.
What’s up everybody! Welcome back to Cooking with Jess! Except not actually – if you knew how often I used Skip The Dishes in my Toronto past life you’d know I don’t cook nearly enough to sustain a cooking blog (or you know, a healthy and well nourished lifestyle). This is something I plan on working on though. Stay tuned for that in a future post.
Today is a special occasion however – I am baking banana bread. Which is not necessarily abnormal in the overall scheme of my 28.5 years of life. It’s my favourite recipe, and full disclosure, I have in the past bought bananas strictly to let them get brown to make bread with. I have no idea where this recipe came from beyond the fact that it’s in my grandma’s handwriting and for all I know it could be the most basic bitch banana bread recipe that’s ever existed (which is for sure what I’m calling this post). But, because it is the most delicious thing in the world I thought I’d share the recipe with you!
Well – that’s mostly true. I also seem to lose it constantly, and seems how I spent a solid 45 minutes looking through all my packed boxes and every notebook that I have ever written in to find it, I thought I’d put it in a place that I could never lose it again – the internet.
(I also had another post that I planned to write today, but with banana bread baking I can literally not concentrate on anything else)
Here I am! I made it! My job back in Toronto is officially behind me, and my belongings are all in a trailer in my grandparents driveway in a new province.
Let me tell you, it still feels weird, and – especially on the job front – like I’m just on vacation (a vacation I packed way too much for, apparently).
For the last six years, I lived, basically, for my job. I was on 24/7. I always had my work phone on me. Even on vacation. So it’s a strange feeling not having it – not having to be ready to solve problems at any second of the day. I’m sure in time this will be nice, but right now, it’s like part of me is missing.