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Neurotic As Hell

Choosing Figs Blog

I make projects for myself. I would say, "I always have so much to do." I would say, "I'm always too busy." But, in truth, I know that, on some level, there are very few things on my ever expanding to-do list that I actually have to do. I just make things up and decide that I need to do them and add them to my to-do list. One after another after another. And then I panic, constantly, that I have too much to do, that I am always so busy. Because my to-do list is long. Long. ...

"Who has a job lined up?" I don't remember, now, who it was who posed that question. A professor? A dean? A parent? A volunteer? It could have been anyone, really. I don't remember who specifically it was that asked, but I do remember that someone, whoever it was, posed that question to the lineup of graduating LAS students the morning of our graduation ceremony. "Who has a job lined up?" whoever it was asked. And no one at all could say that they did.   [caption id="attachment_75141" align="aligncenter" width="1400"] Undergrad college graduation in 2003. [/caption]   The job market in 2003 was particularly...

When I began my 'round the world trip in 2011, I shared everything. I blogged almost daily, documenting nearly every move I made. Every country. Every city. Every meal. Every day. Actually, that's how I blogged in general before I ever even started traveling. I'd post updates nearly daily. Sometimes I'd post a blog post, drunk, in the middle of the night, because I couldn't go to sleep without updating my non-existent audience about my day. Sometimes I'd post a blog post without photos, because I needed to wait for my film to be developed (because this was before digital...

My sister gave me a choice for what to gift me for my birthday: cash, a gift card, or a ticket to join her on a Chicago pizza tour with Chicago Pizza Tours. While my debt-ridden bank account always appreciates money and my Starbucks card can always use that reload, a pizza tour sounded like fun. Plus, with stops at four different restaurants across an afternoon, it was free lunch. And probably dinner too. My birthday was back in January, but we decided to hold off on going until the spring, when the weather would be nicer. Of course, spring in...

I avoided dating before I left home to travel the world. I was afraid that I'd meet someone and that he would interrupt my plans. Because I had a plan. And I knew what I wanted for the future. And I didn't want anything to get in the way. It's been seven years since I left. Three and a half since I returned. And I still avoid anything that could possibly be considered a "commitment." Anything that might get in the way of any of my future plans. Because I have plans. Or, at least, ideas. I still think, often, of traveling...

Last year, I went on date to see the movie Kedi at The Music Box here in Chicago. Kedi, in Turkish, simply means "cat," and the film documents the cats in Istanbul who rule the streets and seem, all at once, to belong to everyone and no one. (You can watch the movie here.) The documentary hit a sweet spot for me because, well, CATS, but also because I had spent a month of my travels in Istanbul and around Turkey and remembered fondly all of the cats I saw everywhere while there. There were cats in the streets, cats in...

Last year I dated a cat guy. This guy loved cats as much as I did, probably even more so because he actually had a cat while I just admired them from afar. He volunteered at a cat shelter and we'd exchange texts about reality TV kittens. He didn't even think I was a weirdo for suggesting a date to see Kedi, a documentary about the cats in Istanbul. And it really was the best date. But he never actually introduced me to his cat (we'd always end up at my place), and, eventually, we parted ways. It's all good, though....

Last week I turned thirty seven and thirty seven is almost forty and I don't know how I feel about that. OK so maybe thirty seven isn't almost forty. But it is almost almost forty. It's tipping the line from mid-thirties into late. It's getting there. And, maybe, I do know how I feel about turning thirty seven. I don't like it. I don't like it at all.   [caption id="attachment_56023" align="aligncenter" width="1400"] Age is just a number that makes you feel bad about yourself because fuck you're old.[/caption]   To say I haven't been taking this birthday well might just be an understatement. I've dreaded...

The first time I made pudding shots it was for my thirtieth birthday party (a party I dubbed "fit for an alcoholic six-year-old"). This was, mind you, in a time before Pinterest made pudding shots popular and all I had to go on was a hatred of jello, a crazy idea, and a prayer that mixing instant pudding with milk and alcohol would result in something somewhat edible. But they turned out more than edible, they were delicious, actually, and so I made them, from then on, every time I threw a birthday party. Last year I turned thirty-six and celebrated...

I knew I was fat when people stopped saying, "you're not fat," when I said I was fat. Maybe you know how it is. You know you've gained weight. Maybe you're ten pounds over what you wish you were. And you look in the mirror and think, "I'm so fat," even though, to everyone else, you look just the same as always. And so, when you say, "I'm fat," they all reply, "What are you talking about? You're not fat." But then you gain ten more pounds. And ten more. And ten more. And more. And then, somewhere along the way,...