Miss Independent

One of my friends, who is 24 years old like me, saw a financial adviser yesterday to go over all that boring crap like her 401 k and the status bank accounts. She emailed me this afterward

"My goal was to own a condo by the time I am 30. I was informed that it would be virtually impossible unless I experience a drastic increase in income.

She said that I could aggressively save 10-12 more years and hope its enough to put a down payment on a condo in that market. She said that she did not want to discourage my dreams, even though they are not feasible. She paused and then suggested, 'or you can get married in the next 5 years and you would definitely have enough!'"

(In case you were wondering...yes she really writes like that in casual emails to friends. Love it.)

If I were Carrie Bradshaw (just saw SATC2 by the way...meh), my commentary would go something like this:

"We're taught as little girls that we don't need a man, and we can achieve our goals all by ourselves. But what happens when we really do need a man to achieve those goals? Was woman's lib...just one big fib?"

Well Carrie Bradshaw I am not...so I say:

What a fucking bitch!!! If my financial adviser told me that I would spit on her. then I would tell her that I am a lesbian and this state doesn't ALLOW me to get married and make her feel really awful. I mean seriously, is suggesting that a 24 year old woman get married within 5 years in order to afford a condo really considered best practices in financial advising?

I would respect this woman more if she had told my friend to fly to Columbia, smuggle a package home, cut it with some baking powder and head to 16th and Valencia to sell that shit. Or whatever the fastest way to make 100K is these days.

So, to my girl, here's to you for not being a gold digger and I'm sure we can find you a better financial adviser on yelp or something.

xoxo

Jess

NEED

Have you ever wanted something so badly that you NEED it? You are going about your daily, mundane life, accepting all of the things that bother you but you know you can tolerate because you've been doing it for so long, and all of a sudden this THING presents itself to you, this THING that will change everything, that will make things possible that you haven't even dared to dream of because you are so jaded and beat down and resigned to the mediocre?

I understand why people stay in bad situations for so long. Even if the situation is bad, at least it's familiar. Nothing is scarier than putting it all on the line, admitting you aren't happy and you can do better for yourself. The second you try, you open yourself up for failure. The second you try, you openly admit that your everyday reality is not good enough. What are you supposed to do then, if this opportunity, whatever it may be, doesn't work out? Just go back to your subpar existence and pretend you don't know what else is out there?

When you want something to this degree, every single breath feels like it could be your last. Or your first. Your entire being is consumed by it. You CAN'T pretend that everything is normal, because it's not. Once you've seen what you are missing, what life could be like if only this one thing could just work out for you this one freaking time, the status quo just doesn't cut it.

Or maybe you are making too much of this. Maybe nothing can change your reality until you can change your way of thinking. Maybe all you really need is air and water. Maybe you are certifiably fucking insane and if this one thing doesn't work out for you you are going to be even crazier, and the world better watch out if it doesn't because there will be hell to pay.

This has got to be the most unbearable state of existence. At the same time though, it is the most alive I've felt in a while. I apologize profusely for this post. Also: I am slightly intoxicated. I'll follow up when I'm sober and sane again.

I ♥ SF

I think I've found the love of my life. It's a city...San Francisco, specifically. I realized this yesterday while lounging in the sun at Hippie Hill in Golden Gate Park. Hippie Hill is exactly what it sounds like...a hill full of hippies...but what makes it amazing is the drum circle. I've only been on sunny days, but each time I've been there is a communal drum circle at the bottom of the hill that anyone can join, and it never stops. Yesterday the drumming continued without pause for the entire 3 hours I was there. How amazing is that?

My romance with San Francisco began over ten years ago. I was growing up two hours north in the dreaded Ukiah, a small Northern California town where nothing ever happens...at least nothing good. My oldest sister lived in San Francisco, and since she was an adult already, I was allowed to visit her for entire weekends with no parental supervision. She lived in Bernal Heights, and I remember walking fascinated through the bustling Mission district, perusing the discount clothing stores and eating delicious Mexican food. I would beg her to play 94.9 on the radio, which at that time focused mainly on dance music (remember this?). When my dad picked me up and drove me back across the Golden Gate Bridge to hell, I would silently cry in the back seat (we've already established that I'm overly dramatic at times).

My senior year of high school, I got the idea that I needed to move to Southern California. It seemed so glamorous and idyllic, like a movie. I ended up at UC Santa Barbara. It was everything a party school promises to be, and I was satisfied. For a couple years. Then I started feeling claustrophobic, like I was surrounded by clones in Juicy Coutoure and Chanel sunglasses (which is strange, because that is an exact description of myself at that time...go figure).

I missed Northern California. Not Ukiah, but San Francisco. How is it possible that I missed a place I had never lived? I don't really know, but every time I drove home for a visit and passed through the city, something about the air here just comforted me. I decided to transfer to UC Berkeley. I didn't get in. I appealed the rejection, and prayed every night. I was finally accepted.

Six years later, here I am. Looking out the window on a foggy Sunday morning, pronouncing my love for this city. I think what I like most about San Francisco is that it is so open-minded and accepting. There is always someone weirder than you, and there is a place for everyone. It's a city that embraces music, food, art, progress, innovation. And it's freaking beautiful...I can walk to three different beaches from my house, all of which take my breath away every single time.

The one drawback about San Francisco is that it's small...avoiding someone, or even the memory of someone here is difficult. Walking down the street you will suddenly stumble across a place that reminds you of a time that reminds you of a person...but that is also a beautiful aspect of this city. I may never leave.

Island Living

Sooo...getting back into the daily grind is proving to be a little difficult. I was gchatting with a friend, and she calculated her hourly wage based on her salary, which turned out to be a pretty depressing figure. And I make less than her per year. This naturally caused us to question our career choices...why are we trying so hard (well...sorta hard) to climb the corporate ladder to afford our metropolitan lifestyles? Is living in the city THAT worth it? Obviously we needed to consider an alternative: community island living.

The scenario I have in my mind is a collective of about 50 really cool (preferably attractive) people ages 23-35 pooling together all of our savings or even just emptying our checking accounts and building a huge commune in, say, Bali. It would be helpful if some of these people had family money to help start us off, but it's not a prerequisite. Once we've established ourselves and done a Costco run (is there Costco in Bali?), then we will figure out how to become sustainable. Obviously we can fish and grow pineapples for sustinance, but we will need a means to pay the electricity bill and the cable bill (I still want to be able to watch Vampire Diaries, ok? It's my new favorite show).

So far my friend and I came up with cocaine and pies as a way to generate income. I think that part of the plan needs about ten more minutes of solid critical thinking. The point is, we will find a way to support ourselves without relying on corporate America. At this point, the real living can begin.

Our days will begin with group yoga, followed by a brisk run across the island and back (um how big is Bali again?). Then everyone will make breakfast (fish and pineapple) and head to the beach for a good 6 hours of sunbathing. We'll return to the commune for siesta, followed by book club. Then we'll prepare dinner (fish and pineapple) and get ready for the nightly party. Yes, there will be a party every night, and we'll play our own music and dance as we sip homemade rum. Finally, we'll drift off to sleep under the stars.

I get that I'm not the first person to have this vision, but really I'm wondering why more people don't go this route. We made a list of pros and cons and the only cons we could come up with for leaving society for good were:

• no happy hour
• no Sephora
• no restaurants

I can't believe it either, but these are the only things that motivate me to be a member of society. Obviously I won't need happy hour on the commune because I won't need to unwind since I won't work. Restaurants I'll miss, especially on a diet consisting solely of fish, pineapple and rum, but it's not a dealbreaker. No Sephora...this is a problem, I'm not going to lie. However, if I'm really tan, which I undoubtedly will be after sunbathing for 6 hours a day, I won't need much makeup.

The writing is on the wall...I'm actually surprised it took me this long to come up with this plan. It's probably because I was scarred by small town living for 18 years. That's totally different than island living though. I'll just have to be really careful when selecting the 50 members of my commune and make sure that everyone is really interesting and fun so that I don't get sick of them. Does it sound like I'm starting a cult?

Never mind...who's with me???

Eat, Walk, Party

Focus for a moment on the images above. Notice how one of these things is not like the others? The first picture is of Opium, a breathtaking nightclub on the water filled with beautiful people in Barcelona. That is where I was Friday night. The second picture is of Bay to Breakers, San Francisco's annual massive race/street party aka the greatest event of the year hands down. That is where I was Sunday, in my warrior costume. The third picture is a cubicle. In a climate-controlled sterile office. That's where I was today.

Is it just me, or does life have a way of leaping from one extreme to the next? A week ago I was in Paris eating creme brulee and now I'm glued to the couch going through a box of kleenex (it was basically inevitable that I would get sick considering the amount of germs I've been exposed to in the last two weeks. That doesn't sound right but it stays). Anyway, you may have guessed that I've been traveling in Europe--Germany, France, Italy and Spain to be exact, which explains my absence. It's really annoying because if I don't write for a while I start blogging my experiences in my head...as I'm experiencing them. It's incredibly cheesy.

I don't want to go into full detail about Europe because, let's be honest, hearing about other people's trips is kind of boring. I could tell you how amazing this:



or this:





were, but really its not the same unless you experience it first-hand.

And no, I didn't hook up with any European men. That seems to be what most of my friends really want to know. Ok, I may or may not have made out with a Parisian in a nightclub. But making out isn't the same as "hooking up"(it's 2010). Besides, only God can judge me, and I visited a LOT of churches on this trip so I'm golden.

There is one thing I absolutely have to discuss that was discovered on this trip, however. It is the French hot dog. I'm not even sure where or how I procured one of these, but it was around 6 am on Sunday morning after a long night out and it was mind blowing. Imagine a fresh baguette shelled out with not one, but TWO hot dogs inside, smothered in melted cheese. This description doesn't even do it justice. I would show a picture, but the picture REALLY doesn't do it justice; it just looks gross. You'll just have to take my word on this one...it definitely would give the bacon dog cart a run for its money.

So did I have a great trip? Yes I did. But I'm not going to sugarcoat it...there were some challenging moments. Traveling isn't all hot foreign men and amazing food. There is also lugging a 40 pound suitcase up and down the stairs of the metro station, and searching for the Catacombs for 30 minutes only to discover that they are closed. Oh, and not to mention Spanish boys at Opium who act like they want to dance with you but really just want to pickpocket you.

I think because being in a foreign country brings you so far out of your element, you have no choice but to adapt and in turn grow stronger. Still, my favorite memories from this trip were the moments when I felt at home even though I was so far from it. Stumbling through the streets arm in arm with my new friend Nevena to McDonald's after a night of drinking and dancing in Munich, or sitting on my old friend Nikole's couch in Italy listening to her strum the guitar and sing Michael Franti...these were the moments that made all those hours in planes, trains and buses worth it.

And as always, every time I leave I'm reminded of how much I love San Francisco upon my return. There could have been no better welcome than the always-epic Bay to Breakers with my "tribe". So, as much as my nose is running right now, I guess I really can't complain. That is precisely what makes life beautiful...the lows make the highs that much better!

xoxo Jess

Moderation

A friend recently showed me her "Weekly Debauchery Analysis" spreadsheet. It's an excel document that tracks things like alcohol and cigarette intake, along with money spent and how many workouts she did that week. At the end of the week after entering in all the totals, the spreadsheet has a "status" column that lets her know if she did a "GOOD JOB" or "FAIL" (did you know you can do that with a formula in excel? I didn't).

Obviously the fact that she tracks her vices in a spreadsheet is hilarious, but I completely understand the impetus for doing so. It seems like most of my friends are constantly involved in an ongoing personal struggle for moderation...another defining characteristic of being in your twenties I suppose. I too am constantly trying to find balance and a lot of the time failing miserably.

We want to be mature, responsible adults who eat well, exercise, and balance our checkbooks. And sometimes we are. The problem is...there is still this kid lurking inside of us who wants to eat pizza and spend frivolously and party like it's 2004. What makes it even worse is that this bratty kid lurking within knows that there is no one to reprimand him/her or cut him/her off. This fucking kid has access to our bank accounts. It knows our pin number.

Last week, I was convinced that I was turning into my dad. In one single day I ate oatmeal with raisins in it for breakfast (a meal that my dad used to force me to eat when I was little), went grocery shopping with my reusable, recycled grocery bags (my dad used those bags before it was "cool" to be green and it always kind of embarrassed me that everyone else got nice, new paper bags for their groceries and we had dingy canvas bags), and ended the night reading a book on climate change that, surprise surprise, my dad lent me (Now or Never by Tim Flannery and I would recommend it).

"I'm such a grown-up", I thought to myself. Until Saturday rolled around and I had two birthday parties to go to. And Saturday turned into Sunday. And I hadn't slept yet. And I spent more money than Jay Z does on an average night popping bottles with Beyonce and the crew. So no...I guess I'm not that much like my dad after all (he was probably asleep by 10 PM that night, having enjoyed a healthy homemade dinner and taken his dogs for a walk).

The point is, this is a constant cycle for me. I eat immaculately for three days and then gorge myself on more Panda Express then I would ever publicly admit. I save my money all week bringing my lunch to work and making dinner at home and then blow hundreds of dollars on clothes and shoes in an impulsive shopping spree (why is everything at Urban Outfitters so freaking CUTE right now?). I try to reprimand the kid inside me but she just tells me to fuck off and that she is young and fabulous and you that you only live once.

My hairdresser told me today that moderation becomes easier naturally as you get older, and I'm hoping that he's right. I'm getting sick of babysitting myself. But at the same time...that kid does know how to have a good time. And she never gets herself in too much trouble. And she has great taste in clothes. Today she bought the cutest black dress with gold buttons...

I guess she can hang around for a little bit longer.


xoxo

Jess

Regret

All the things that we accept will be the things that we regret

Remember that Ashanti song? Foolish? No, I'm not going to get into how much better R&B was when I was in high school again. I promise. I just like those lyrics...they so accurately describe what it's like to be in an unhealthy relationship or situation with someone.

As far as regret goes, well--you could say that I'm familiar with that emotion. I've done countless things that I later regretted, most of them between 1999 and 2007 (the beginning of high school to the end of college). More than one of them involved adopting a cat that turned out to be crazy and had to be given away. Yes, I've done some colossally stupid things, but miraculously I bounced back from all of them with minimal permanent damage. Still, out of all the ill-advised, immature decisions I've made in my 24 years, the only ones I would really take back if given the chance are those concerning boys.

We've all been there...the "bad boys". The settling. The second, third and fourth chances. Turning a blind eye to the other women involved. The mental instability. The DRAMA.

Are women still telling each other that we "had to go through all that" in order to be able to appreciate a good guy when we meet him? Because I'm not so sure I'm buying that. If I could just rewind to me at age 14, basically a blank slate, and date NO ONE until now, would I really be worse off? Maybe I wouldn't know how to identify specific brands of loser in under 5 minutes, but if I met a decent guy who wasn't out to ruin my life it wouldn't matter.

Obviously I'm not talking about every guy. Some of them were nice, and held doors open for me and didn't cheat on me and made me dinner and bought me jewelry. Obligatory disclaimer as I recently discovered that one of my exes reads this blog. I don't regret you (much)! Yay.

Now that that's out of the way, lets get back to the point...there are some men who I honestly can say that I wish I never met, and I actually say that not out of anger, but from a place of calm detachment (I've been meditating...I'll explain later). It's entirely possible that I'm bitter, but I don't think it detracts from my point. These men that I speak of served no purpose except to waste my time. So yeah...I regret them and I wish I never met them. I'm not going to pretend that they taught me some valuable lesson that I can treasure for the rest of my life. They were just assholes.

Maybe everything in life isn't a lesson that we have to learn the hard way. Maybe we should just be smarter, and look out for ourselves better than I did. Tell your daughters.

I heard something recently that I wish someone had told me back in the day, when I was 14. A recently single friend said she was told to consider herself a "winning lottery ticket". I think that is a great way to approach dating...yeah this guy is really cute and he smells good and he just said something SOOOO witty...but does he really deserve to win the lottery? NOT NECESSARILY. Plus, the more people that win the lottery, the lower the value of the prize (aka don't be a slore).

Honestly though, the older I get and the more I establish myself, the less I want to make concessions when it comes to relationships. Like Kelly from Real Housewives of New York City says, "I've created a fabulous life for myself, and I love living it". My friends and family are amazing and I don't want to bring someone around them who doesn't deserve to be there. I know, I know, I'm growing up. It's so special. So...lets just say that's why I'm still single (notbecauseonlyfreakswanttodateme).

Here's to no regrets!!!

xoxo

Jess