Blog Archives

I Am Alive and I Just Smell.

So through circumstances completely unrelated to matters of the heart, I am once again residing in the solitary. No need to get into the why and how. Just know I’ve spent the better part of this fall pretending to prepare for a Telenovela audition. Spoiler alert: I’m still white.

telenovela

For those of you unfamiliar with Single Lena, I am taking this blog post as opportunity to fill you in on the raw essence of lovely you will begin to come in contact with on the regular. When I lived with another, I went to bed at normal hours, always brushed my teeth, and occasionally took out the garbage. Now that I live alone, I have uninterrupted conversations with myself about the origins of the term “whoopsie daisy,” occasionally wear pajamas that resemble nudity, and learned to pee standing up. Only one of these things is a lie.

lies guys tell

While in some ways my existence is improving, having attempted to make homemade cheerios and once again taken up the hobby of photographing my own breasts (only both of these things are true)…

Honey Nut Yabbos

Honey Nut Yabbos

I am still struggling with the acceptance of my unromantic status, as proven by the 53 episodes of Everybody Loves Raymond I’ve watched in the last week. But nevertheless, life is going on as if Breaking Bad and my relationship had never ended.  I am back to my old unsettling ways and have already gone through a book of stamps, for all the letters I’ve been writing to prisoners. So I think I’m doing ok.

Love,

The girl whose probably under the influence of something special .

Organic pear and meth amphetamine…GRANOLA.

I’m Alive and I Smell Fantastic

So, I’m alive.

I know. Thank God, right? The world stopped turning for awhile there, didn’t it subscribers and whoever recently googled “thegirlwiththeblog.com Lena”? Sorry to put you through that. Also, sorry for a boring intro. The original opening line for my “comeback” post was significantly better.

“My hair smells like mayonnaise.”

Which was true at one point this summer, but has since faded from relevancy, much like Miley Cyrus’ virginity.

I guess I owe you an explanation, both for my extensive absence and my mayonnaise hair. I’ll start with my absence.

In March of this year, I quit my job and ditched my apartment and traveled around the United States volunteering on organic farms. I started a new blog, “www.thisisablogaboutfarming.wordpress.com.” I wrote a farewell post on here and basically called it a day. I’ve been back since late May but didn’t care enough to tell you. And I know it’s been eating you all up inside.

Now for my mayonnaise hair. Since farming I have developed an entirely new approach to my health and beauty. I now eat 80% (ish) local and vegetarian and have made a serious effort to reduce the amount of toxins in my life. I know I sound all new age. You can punch me in the face if you want.

So since early June I have not shampooed my hair, used toothpaste, deodorant, hair products, perfume, some cosmetics, household cleaning products, etc. But I am squeaky clean and smell delicious. Here is how:

Hair: I don’t use shampoo. Eff that. I use a mixture of baking soda and water to wash my hair and a mixture of apple cider vinegar and water to condition. I don’t use hair products. I use a homemade hair gel made from organic flax seed, scented with essential oils. I also deep condition on occasion with eggs, coconut oil, or in some cases mayonnaise.

Me after washing my hair with baking soda and conditioning with a free range egg

Me after washing my hair with baking soda and conditioning with a free range egg

 

Deodorant/perfume: I still use deodorant. I lied for the added drama. But it is homemade, made out of coconut oil, arrowroot powder, and baking soda. And I still smell amazing, using perfume made from water, witch hazel, and sweet orange and lavender essential oil. According to my brother, I am almost a Wiccan. I take that as a compliment.

Toothpaste: I still brush my teeth obsessively. That will never change. Except now I use a mixture of coconut oil and baking soda with peppermint essential oil.

Makeup: My blush/lip color is made from a mixture of beet powder, cocoa powder, arrowroot powder, and sweet almond oil. My eye shadow is made from cocoa and arrowroot powder. Basically my face smells like a chocolate covered beet at all times.

Household products: Dish detergent from water and castille soap, laundry detergent from water, baking soda, castille soap, and salt, bathroom/kitchen cleaner from an orange peel/white vinegar concentrate.

If you got through all of that without calling me a hippie communist, you’re better than me.

But now that I am back and prepared to start blogging again (maybe) I realize I need to get caught up in the reality of the world around me. Like how we are almost at war with Syria and the word “twerk” exists. I don’t know how or why either of these things are happening, but I don’t like them. And I intend to blog about it…

Next time.

Love,

The girl whose writing experience at Dunkin Donuts is much like the Breaking Bad episode about the fly, only far less symbolic and much more about an actual fly.

 

 

 

 

 

The Girl With The Blog Hiatus — Check Out My New Blog!

I’m either exceedingly arrogant or incredibly loyal, feeling the need to post a blog about my blog’s hiatus. But I’m doing this because I do feel a sense of obligation to this domain and to the reader friends I have made, so allow me to explain.

In the past month my life has endured mammoth change. I quit the job I have been having hemorrhoids over the decision to NOT write about, I moved out of my crack den apartment and temporarily back in with my mother as the able-bearded bodied man I recently began to live with and I planned a 3 month road trip around the United States.

We are leaving tomorrow.

I know I took a long time to tell you, but I’ve had good reason. This trip took a lot of planning, mostly due to the semi unconventional way we are going about it. We are WWOOFing. For those unfamiliar, WWOOF stands for World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms, which is an organization that connects travelers with farms seeking volunteers in exchange for free room,board, and meals. This took some coordination but we’ve mostly established a trip using this organization. In some places we will be sleeping on couches, in others we will be camping in someone’s yard. Can you handle the badassness?

So for this reason I am taking a hiatus from The Girl With The Blog. Not because I have stopped being a girl with a blog, but because I have become a girl with two blogs. Righteous right?

For those who have been loyal followers, fear not I will return. In the meantime, please check out my NEW blog where we hope to document the entire trip.

http://www.thisisablogaboutfarming.wordpress.com

For those of you too uninterested in my existence to check it out, no hard feelings (JK, you blow). I’ll see you in June! 🙂

Love,

The girl with a blog about farming

 

My Clumsy Transition Into Adulthood (In Pictures)

“All I get are dicks. Nobody needs this many dicks in their life.”

-This is something I just said out loud. A nice reminder that the world is better when not taken literally.

Anyway.

Today while at work I reviewed the contents of  two 5 year old flashdrives and one 4 year old external hard drive. Because I need something to do between people hanging up on me and hexing my first born. Along with a plethora of rhyme-heavy wrist-cutting poetry, pictures of Penelope Cruz (?), and tear-filled letters to my ex-husband I found three photographs that perfectly depict my clumsy transition into adulthood, ages 16-18.

1. (age 16, summer before senior year)

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

I was very into looking homeless, when I was in high school.

And hunchbacked.

Like a homeless hunchbacked hippy.

With a huge rack.

2. Age 17 (Senior week, Ocean City, MD)

015_15

I…I can’t even talk about this.

3. 18 (Alternative Spring Break – Assateague Island, Maryland)

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

This is how I spent my freshman spring break. While my peers were doing body shots off of each other’s herpes scabs, I was logrolling down a sand dune. That’s me in the green. Don’t worry. I’m not pregnant. I just look that way sometimes.

 

That’s it.

That’s all I have to offer you right now. I’m in a funk de misery (not real French) with zero energy or desire to do anything but sit and stew in my own lack of motivation. It could have something to do with the mammoth storm pummeling the east coast and the fact that I work at the only school in a 4,000 mile radius of the storm that isn’t closing (not real figures). Or maybe that for the first time in my life, I referred to someone younger than me as “dear” during a phone call.

Either way I’m getting old. So old. We all are. All of us 80’s babies. These pictures coupled with this pop culture conversation prove how irrelevent we all are:

Me: But you do know who the Spice Girls are, right?
Him: Yeah. Beyonce and those two other chicks.

Even our memories are going. It’s sad. So so sad.

Love,

The girl no one believes when she tells them about her rape whistle. But it’s real. Very, very real.

This Blog is About Nothing

After 3 hours of Intervention, half of The Big Lebowski, and 2 more hours of Intervention, I fell asleep last night at 10:30, face down in the free Red Cross t-shirt I got for attempting to donate blood they ultimately rejected, as my able-bearded bodied man (who desperately needs a nickname less than 7 syllables) sat alone in the other room, likely asking himself why he ever bothered to move in. I personally believe he did, so I could have early morning conversations like this:

Me: (waking up, panicked) What time is it?

Him: (startled, disoriented) It’s 4 hours for each plant.

Me: (checks phone) It’s 6:53

Him: Right

 

I definitely find this funnier than it actually is.

Kind of like how he feels about The Big Lebowski.

Love,

The girl with the Dragon Tales tattoo

dragon-tales-17

No Facebook February

February 2013 is “No Facebook February.” Or so I have declared it.

 
I have been using Facebook to replace real friendships since the spring of 2006, as a senior in high school.

 
It followed me to college where I be-”friended” the entire University baseball team and weird Renaissance Club kids I never had any actual interest in talking to but was too nice and desperate for a larger friend count, to deny.

facebook_users_with_500_friends
I graduated from college and recorded the downfall of my “too-young-and-too-stupid-to-tell-the-difference-between-first-love-and-husband-material” marriage for two years; posting wedding photos, deleting wedding photos, quoting Bob Dylan lyrics, and depression-weight loss pictures.

 
Following up on that stellar life decision, I moved to Tennessee and used Facebook to screen romantic prospects, which didn’t help much when I was sitting in my living room with a drug addict musician whose only criteria for passing my Facebook screening was “liking” The Allman Brothers, revealed his recent release from a mental institution.

 
Moving back to Pennsylvania, Facebook kept me company as I bummed it on my mother’s couch for two months before getting a part-time job. It also continued to remind me of the incredible failure I am to the social advancements of the human race, with my lack of interest in interacting with anyone outside of a 2×2, blue and white chatbox.

 
It kept me relevant in random bar friendships, cultivated from my singular bar outing in 2012, when I moved to a new apartment, in a new town, where I had no friends, and no life plan beyond online dating and drinking alone.

 
But it lost its relevance when I fell in love with my able-bearded bodied man whose presence helped remind me of the value that could be contrived from life when real relationships were a larger focus than 2-dimensional cyber stalking.

 
Still it’s taken 7 months for me to stronghold the desire to break my Facebook habit, for me to actually do it. And even now I can only commit to a No Facebook February and not a No Facebook Life. I can only explain it with haphazard math that probably means nothing, but has to mean something, if you really think about it.

 
I have been on Facebook almost every single day for 7 years. I visit Facebook, admittedly, more than I visit my father, mother, brother, sister, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, or toilet, combined, each day. If I’m keeping it real, maybe 15 times a day, adding up to approximately 3 hours each day, give or take a few. Now here’s the (estimated) math that gives me ulcers:

 
7 years x 365 = 2,555 days on Facebook
2,555 days x 15 visits to Facebook per day = 38,325 visits since I started

 

 

Which ultimately means:
2,555 days x 3 hours a day = 7,665 hours on Facebook

 
Which further means that over my last 7 years of life, I have spent 319 days on Facebook, which is easily the most depressing, stupidest decision, I have ever made in my life. And the worst part is?

 
I have NOTHING to show for it.

 

SO…

 

For the naysayers, the nonbelievers, the bored readers who tuned out when I started doing math. If you are a Facebook user, I encourage you to do the math on your own Facebook life.
I then invite you to take the No Facebook February Challenge with me.

Drink the Kool-Aid. Drink it down.

Drink the Kool-Aid. Drink it down.

I started 4 hours ago and it’s been interesting. I have already had to deny myself Facebook log-in three time. It’s been brutal.

So to entertain myself I’ve been coming up with band names for the indie/punk/emo/folk-rock group I’m starting as soon as I get fired and learn to play the ukulele. This is what I’ve got:

 

Stench of Saliva
Ted Bundy’s Mother
The Waffle House Whores
Asian Impregnation
Chest Day Motivational

Rock n’ Roll.

Love,

The girl who maintains that the world would be a better place if candles were edible

“Why I Hate Answering the Phone”: A Story About Work

Dear erratic possibly-possessed, asshole who called me today at work just to scream at me for 20 minutes (also known as Tom Johnston),

Thank you. I have been waiting for a reason to cry at work for months now, but I could never find one. I don’t know what I would have had to do if you hadn’t been transferred to my desk to interrupt my pleasant mood with your ill-conceived attempt at being a human being.  Thrown myself down a flight of stairs? Stapled my face? Nope. Didn’t have to. Your phone call made tears possible without self-mutilation, and I thank you for that.

I want you to know, that I appreciate all that you bring to the world. Your problems are my fault, really. I’m sorry I ever doubted the role I played in your 46 years of misery on this planet. Clearly if I could sacrifice my entire existence for one moment of your happiness, I would, but I am certain it would never be enough. So I’d like to apologize to you for your life.

I’m sorry. Truly I am. I am sorry that a GED has only earned you $150,000 working on Wall Street, (although a terrible fate for a high school drop-out, this could explain a lot about the downfall of the American economy). I am sorry that your son, the consumer of my company’s product, could not talk to you openly about his decision to purchase it. You are after all, such a warm and sensitive man. Any child would be poorly lacking without you in their life.36jq6y

But mostly, sir, I feel sorry for you. There, I said it. Because after I stopped crying and your intrusive phone call stopped replaying in my head, I went back to being me, and you are stuck being you, an overpaid, nasty, rapid baboon of a person, whose personal life is so out of reach your only solace is to interject 20 minutes of unprecedented rudeness into another person’s life, via telephone calls. I may make a quarter of what you make, with double the education, but I’m far better off than you’ll ever be.

Plus you’re a raging c***.

Love,

The girl too stubborn to hang up, too sensitive to brush it off

imagesCA0JQT1L

Dear Diary #2

Dear Diary,

I hate when I’m really hungry and my stomach keeps rumbling and I have to cough to cover it up so people don’t start making jokes about the irony of the hungry fat girl in her corner cubicle, but instead think I’m sick and quarantine me, ultimately making me feel even worse about myself because being fat isn’t the reason people don’t want to talk to me, it’s the fake SARs they think I have contracted which would actually make my whole life easier considering I’d get to stay home from work and wouldn’t have to worry about covering up my rumbling stomach with fake coughs in the first place, and I could just eat myself into a self-hating oblivion, before remembering how crappy it is to have SARs.

I never should have started snorting crack.

Love,

The girl who never really started snorting crack

Letter to My Future Self

Dear Lena of January 2014,

I hope when you are reading this your hair is clean because today it is not. Today you look like Courtney Love had sex with a mongoose and then got extensions.

courtney_love

 

mongooooose

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So sort of like Nick Nolte.

 

nick-nolte-mug-shot

If Nick Nolte had sex with Steve Buschemi…

steve

and then grew a vagina

So like Charlize Theron in Monster.

monster

Only manlier.

Like Michelle Bachman on the cover of Newsweek.

michele-bachmann-eyes-celebs-0

How many images can I use in one blog post? 

More than this many kittens.  

kittens

 

Anyway.

 I have a lot of plans for how I’m going to become you; a year older, clean-hair version of myself with a satisfying life plan and less shame bestowed upon my family.  Here are some:

 1. Reduce my butt watermark – I haven’t gone swimming in several years and although I don’t have  a specific understanding of why, it might be because every time I have gone swimming and walked from a pool to a picnic bench, or a rock, or a bed, and sat down, I produced a monstrous butt watermark – the imprint  of wet ass cheeks in cheap spandex left behind on a seat. As a child I would giggle at this. As an adult I feel inclined to pull out a tape measure and survey it for prospects of fitting into an airline seat. I don’t need this kind of math in my life. So I’m going to lose weight.

2. Reduce my dependence and use of technology – I admittedly do not have much work to do on this in comparison to my peers. I don’t have a smart phone and never will. I don’t have cable, an e-reader, a camera, an iPad, or a reliable source for hot water. But in comparison to the previous eras I admire and wish to emulate, I suck like Kristen Stewart.*

I spend a ridiculous amount of time on the Internet. Like. I’m embarrassed. I can’t help it when I’m at work, but there is no reason I should go home and continue the cycle. I realize that the Internet is very valuable and without websites like Google I might never know that the search “how do people start letters?” is related to “when do men start balding?” but there has got to be more to life than allowing automated search engines to connect the dots for me. So I’m going to transition out of Internet time-suck.

 *This is not a vampire joke. Or a slut joke. But it does work well in both scenarios.

**I hope the person who told me they want more Kristen Stewart jokes is reading this. If not, I don’t see the point to my existence.

kristen stewart

 3. Finish my novel – It has been just over two years since I started my novel and now as I reach 50,000 words in I am on the slow decline. I can’t even joke about this. I am proud of it. When I read it I am happy not only with the writing but with the obvious evolution of self I have experienced in the two years since I started. So I’m going to finish this bitch once and for all, angry ex-husband style.*

*That was wrong.

 4. Continue my education – This plan has always been there but has recently evolved into something I didn’t quite expect. Like starting this blog or falling in love again. More to come about this but let me say I’m really excited.

 

Now Lena, of January 2014, these aren’t so much resolutions, with the inevitable implication that they will be forgotten in two weeks, as they are intended life plans. Therefore, I intend to create you quite beautifully with my ability to follow-through. Lena of 2012 gave me a pretty good year, so I’m going to try to pay it forward.

So you better reflect these efforts. Like Jennifer Hudson in Weight Watchers ads only less digitally altered.

Love,

 The girl who wrote you this letter

My Photographic Journey Through 2012

 

Last year I posted a blog entry at the end of January to depict my photographic journey of 2011 , and while no one read it including myself, there was something gratifying about commemorating all of the non-moments in my life at once. So I’ve decided to do it again for New Year’s Eve.

I can only hope you have found a better way to spend New Year’s than reading amateur WordPress blogs. But on the off chance that your life is as uneventful as mine, enjoy! Or at least pretend to.

January 2012

 

jan

 

At some point in January I decided that cleaning my purse was easier than dealing with arthritis in my shoulder the rest of my life. I photographed my efforts and now have concrete evidence that at any given time I can be found carrying items ranging in unimportance from detached bra under wires to opened and unusable tampons.

Oh. And that’s my foot in the corner. Not typically found in my purse.

 

February 2012

 

feb

While this photograph mostly represents my narcissism, I am including it because it also represents the beginning of a long and disappointing journey known as “Lena’s 2012 employment history.” In 2012 I held 4 different jobs ranging from coffee shop waitress/concubine, receptionist in an administrative office at a college, front desk receptionist at a hotel, and admissions representative at a tech school. Who says college is a waste of time?

March 2012

march

During the last week of February and first week of March, I volunteered in the Dominican Republic. I can’t make this funny. It was one of the most profound, fulfilling experiences of my life and I feel extremely lucky to have had it. Plus I got hit on a lot there…score?

 

April 2012

april

After convincing everyone in my office to buy raffle tickets from a student organization trying to save a sick llama, the universe had my back and helped me win this wine basket.

This is without question the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me. Or at least that is what I told the student who brought it to our office.

June 2012

may

“This looks like a whore house.”

My mother, as I dried my clothes in her kitchen.

 

June 2012

july

This was my Bob Dylan vinyl collection back in June. I have since added five more. For Dylan geeks the total includes: Times They Are A-Changin, Another Side of Bob Dylan, Bringing it All Back Home, Highway 61 Revisited, Blonde on Blonde, John Wesley Harding, Greatest Hits Vol 1&2, Nashville Skyline, New Morning, Before the Flood, Blood on the Tracks, Desire, At Budokan, Street Legal, Empire Burlesque, Real Live, Modern Times, Bootleg Series Vol. 4 (Live in 1966), and a VERY rare bootleg recording from the mid 60’s.

Bad ass.

July 2012

july 2

In July I was Freshly Pressed and it brought me greater pride than any other accomplishment of my life, including birth and learning how to read.

September 2012

september

I’m not sure if you heard, but there was this thing called Hurricane Sandy. Because I’m unbalanced and deeply afraid of heavy wind, despite the relative mildness of the conditions in my area, I thought it necessary to relocate my mattress into the living room where there are no windows, but quite prevalent feelings of being locked in a dungeon. Don’t even tell me this was overkill!

October 2012

 

october 3

I am a high/existential bee. I also throw great parties and enjoy practicing calligraphy in my free time.

October 2012

october 2

She was drunk again, smiling and laughing in his orange face. He was contemplating a murder-suicide.

Pumpkin love between me and my boo.

Pun INTENDED. Hehehe.

Someone take away my blog.

October 2012

october

My boyfriend and I are in some ways the same person, hold the genitals, or however I can more discretely put that. Nevertheless we are into things like all natural soap-making and even more into talking about how it makes us better than everyone. This is an example of how.

November 2012

november

So we sort of like each other.

“Do you love me even when I’m crazy?”

“I love you especially when you’re crazy.”

I can dig that.

 

December 2012

dec 4

Both of our tongues are sticking out. Need I say more?

December 2012

dec 2

Being better than everyone we meet is exhausting, as evidenced in this handmade “basket” of handmade products given to our families for Christmas. Soap, lip balm, air fresheners, jam, and inconceivable arrogance.

December 2012

december 5

I…I don’t know what is wrong with me.

December 2012

december

You know you’re 1/4 Italian when after a lifetime of cooking a traditional Christmas Eve family recipe you still have no idea how to spell what you are making. You know your mother is 1/2 Italian when she tells you she will disown you if you share the recipe.

December 2012

dec 1

“I can’t see the TV, there are too many presents in the way!”

…First world problems?

December 2012

december 6

There is currently a gigantic ice sickle in my freezer. I think I will keep it and use it as a weapon when a heroin addict inevitably returns to my apartment in search of the former tenant.

 

So long, 2012! Howdy, East Orange.

 

Love,

The girl with no (public) resolutions, but many (private) disappointments