It's Going to be Okay

            The semester is drawing to a (chaotic) close, and I almost can’t believe I’ve come this far. This is only my third year at CMU, but it is my last. Next semester marks the dawn of a new era for me: job-searching and the facing of reality.

            After the spring semester is over, will I be forced to grow up fast? Phrasing it as “growing up” seems a little contradictory. I’m 20 years old, after all. A grown woman. But I still feel so young inside—I’m not even old enough to order a drink!

            I’m scared of the job hunt; I’m scared of rejection; I’m scared of stepping out of my warm, cozy apartment into the sometimes chilly real world. And even though my parents are saying, “No pressure, you can stay at home and work a mundane job for a year,” I know that’s not in my fate. I’ve worked my butt off to get to where I am, and my resume is chockfull of amazing editorial experience. Even still, I have this fear that I won’t be good enough for any job I apply to, that I simply won’t be able to do it and I’ll crawl home in a tear-soaked blazer.

            But, trust. Trust is key. Jesus advises not to worry about tomorrow, that today’s troubles are enough for today. And I have to keep this in mind as time flies by, as I get rapidly closer to change. And not just small, I’ll-order-something-different-from-BK kind of change. Serious life change.

            It’s going to be okay.

5 Reasons Why Small Boobs are Wonderful

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve surfed through Kate Upton’s Twitter account, stunned by a) her brows (what? Beautiful brows really structure the face!), b) her visage as a collective whole and c) her bust.

I mean, sheez, could those puppies be any fuller or more natural-looking? They’re not so insanely perky and round where you just know she made a resolute trip to the plastic surgery center sometime before her career launched. Nah, on the total Upside (see what I did there?), they look real and gorgeous. If she had surgery, she could’ve fooled me.

One fateful day, after gawking at her cleavage for an unjustifiable time span and wondering how on this precious earth someone could be so #blessed, I had a change of heart. Yes, you read right, a #ChangeOfHeart (over the hashtags now, don’t worry).

Indisputably, we live in a culture where having a bigger bosom is completely overemphasized and weighty (no pun intended) in a woman’s measure of appearance. And you know what? I think it’s high time we minimize this kind of misplaced significance. Because Kate’s double Ds are fabulous, no doubt, but so are my Bs. Here’s a few reminders of why we smaller-chested women have a few perks (pun definitely intended) of our own—and P.S. world, we look just as beautiful.

1. No back probz.

First and foremost, I’m grateful for my physical well-being—specifically, my back isn’t in a constant state of suffering from transporting heavy jugs every day of the week. Kate, you managed to make it look easy when your bikini-clad self jogged on the beach suggestively during The Other Woman. I applaud how well you fare with your heavy workload.

2.  Bras are (sometimes) optional.

Have long hair? B cups or under? Then you, my friend, are eligible for the no-bra option. Seriously, though, when I’m picking up a pizza or making a quick run to the drugstore, there’s really no need for a boob cage if I throw on a sweatshirt and leave my hair down. And no, this is definitely not a Rachel Green situation. I stress the sweatshirt component.

3. Guys aren’t dating me for my bosom.

True, it’s possible for potential suitors to *try* to use me in other ways. But at least this is one thing I can cross off the list. Mild cleavage means modest chest attention, which basically equates to zero concern of too much boob interest.

4. Exercise is a carefree experience.

I shouldn’t use the word “carefree,” exactly, because exercise kind of makes me feel like I want to die. But that’s beside the point. When I decide to go for a run in my neighborhood (which happens once every few years, average), knocker floppage isn’t a concern. Which is lovely in its own right. Small boobs are pretty easy to contain, in case you weren’t aware.

5. Boob sweat is minimal.

Steamy August Saturday? Yeah, small boobs sweat too. Fortunately, though, there’s not too much substance for moisture to collect beneath. The occasional layer of perspiration does indeed make an appearance, but odor is basically non-existent. Do they make boob deodorant, anyway? Mental note: Check Amazon.

Small boobs, medium boobs, big boobs and everything in-between. Every size is delightful, because in perfect honesty, variety is what makes this earth turn. So small-breasted ladies, the next time you’re thinking of buying that extra extra cushioned push-up bra … don’t. Instead, walk right past the bra section altogether, because hello. See number two.

Politcs, Schmolitics

The good Mr. Jim Wojcik is forcing me to write a post concerning politics on this fine, post midterm election day.

You know, I've always wished I was interested in government. I mean, sheezus, the government dictates my career, my rights, my salary, my life. Those are all very good reasons to care about who's in power.

But the truth is, I don't.

I can't bring myself to give a sh*t about the stupid, unabashedly phony back and forth bantering amongst the candidates and the holier-than-thou egos. "Republican Governor Rick Snyder has shown that he puts big corporations and the wealthy ahead of regular people," reads Democrat/former governor candidate Mark Schauer's campaign website. "At the same time, he has put the Michigan Dream at risk, dismantling our public education system, making college unaffordable for many, cutting money for vital services like police and fire departments that keep our communities safe, and removing key protections for our Great Lakes and our other natural assets."

Well, that sucks. But here's what Rick's website has to say: "Just as Rick had a plan for his professional career, he had a 10-point plan for reinventing Michigan: create more and better jobs; leverage our new tax system; reinvent our government; keep our youth -- our future -- in Michigan; restore our cities; enhance our national and international image; protect our environment; revitalize our educational system; reinvent our health care system; and win through Relentless Positive Action. The reinvention of Michigan is a growing success story that's still unfolding. It's already earned Michigan the title of 'Comeback State.'"

So who's right? Who's the good guy? Who's got the better intentions, the creative ideas, the bigger plans, the balls to carry them out?

I don't know, and I don't know who does know. Maybe somebody out there happens to be best buddies with both guys and holds the golden secret to Michigan politics. If you know this person, give me a call. Maybe then I'd be interested in a little chat about government.

But I don't know Mark, and I don't know Rick. Sure, I guess I could research what Rick's accomplished so far. However, there'll be an article saying he's done all the good in the world, and it'll cite all of his deeds in support of humanity. And then there'll be another source that says he's a complete dbag with a comprehensive listing of all the reasons why. It muddles my brainwaves.

I'm already anxious enough about college and my impending graduation/career. I simply don't have the room to stress over politics. I was not informed enough to vote yesterday. I am not informed enough to complain about who's running the country. And I will never be informed enough to engage in one of those wretched political debates people deem "intelligent."

And you know what? That's okay. As far as I'm concerned, my load is much lighter because of it.

Why We All Love Halloween

We crave terror.

I mean, think about it: Gore, ghosts, ghouls, blood, boogeymen ... we regularly revel in the most frightful of fantasies, the most petrifying visions. We visit the darkest corners of the imagination and we stay there for a while, eluding the real world in favor of the supernatural.

It's weird.

I'll be the first to admit that I'm a horror movie/TV buff. American Horror Story is one of my favorite shows on the small screen, and I'm not alone: The "Freak Show" season four premiere was the most-watched telecast in FX's history.

Not to mention, all of the bizarre fiction writing on the 'net, like Creepypasta or the Special Containment Procedures Foundation. Stephen King has sold more than 350 million copies of his books. Paranormal Activity, The Conjuring, The Ring and The Grudge have all exceeded $100 million in box office sales.

So why do we love being scared? Here are my top musings on the matter:

1. We're thrill-seekers.

A racing pulse, that nervous knot in the stomach, a woozy feeling in the head. It's a fast-track to heart disease, but we all (kind of) like to be stressed out sometimes. Not the "Oh crap, I just accidentally fired off an email full of expletives to my boss" kind of stress, but riding a roller coaster kind of stress. The genre of horror is along the same lines.

2. It gives us optimism.

Okay, hear me out -- scary things give us optimism. When I'm finished watching a flick where everybody died a horrible death at the (smelly) hands of zombies, I feel eternally grateful for my comfort in the natural world. Yeah, it's far-fetched, but it's a theory. Go with it.

3. It gives us something to worry about other than the normal stuff.

Instead of having anxiety over the exam you just failed or the parking ticket you just received, you're now freaking about ghosts invading your room and demons hiding in your closet. #Priorities.

4. We feel like we're on an adventure.

When the leading character is frantically trying to crawl away from the murderer with her broken leg hanging off to the side, I'm practically screaming my support. I have to remind myself that my name's Ashley and I'm sitting on the couch watching a fictional movie. I am not the leading character. Nor would I want to be.

Scary stuff is the best stuff. And maybe it makes us a little weird to love horror so much, but hey. At least we're all huddled under the covers together.

How to Be Cool Even When You're the Most Uncool Person on the Planet

Ironic. That’s what you’re thinking. Yes, a “how-to” piece on being cool published under a blog titled I Was Never Cool may be a bit of a paradox. As you ponder the complexity of this contradiction, you’re considering exiting out of the tab and returning to OneDirectionVEVO (which, by the way, is the 8th most popular YouTube channel—a deeply perturbing fact indeed). 

But seriously, guys, it makes total logical sense. Here’s why: While I never was cool, I currently am cool. Actually, that’s false. I’m still incredibly bizarre. But I can put on a fabulous act, an unquestionably perfect performance. I’ve been working on it since I was 9; ten years later, I’m officially awesome. And here’s the great part: these tips won’t just make you LOOK cool, they’ll make you FEEL cool, too.

P.S. Don’t question. Just do.

1. Eat Pizza Blast Goldfish wherever you go. Leave a trail.

2. Buy a really weird pet, like a boa constrictor, and take it to school. Unless you’re in pre-K.

3. Don’t download Flappy Bird.

4. Blast Chingy in Target.

5. Burn a chair in public. “It’s for the alpacas,” you’ll tell passersby.

6. Go all Dirty Dancing whenever you hear “Time of my Life.” Even if you’re in the middle of Family Dollar and don’t have a partner.

7. Buy hipster glasses and break them.

8. Become Seth Rogen.

9. Join the Mongo tribe of the Democratic Republic of Congo.

10. Wish for the revival of Tamagotchis at 11:11.

11. Wear your hoodies inside out.

12. Take Tylenol instead of Advil.

13. Use Internet Explorer.

14. Read about yourself having sex via YourNovel.com. 

15. Have a side of SpaghettiOs at every meal.

16. Travel to Cuba and make it back safely.

17. Feed ants (only viable during warm months).

18. Change the color of prisonwear to purple.

19. Use giant pandas as pillows.

20. Appoint Tom Hanks as your uncle. 

Advice for Me in 20 Years

“What would you say to yourself 8 years ago? You know, if you had to give yourself advice.”

Well, I’d begin by telling myself not to go around asking people to crack my knuckles. “It’s a particularly strange habit and you’ll garner a negative reputation,” I’d say.  And then I’d tell myself to get rid of the beaded string hanging around my glasses, which regrettably depicted me as a premature, chicken-legged librarian. “Burn it,” I’d advise. I’d then break a devastating fact to my naïve and utterly simple sixth grade self. “The teachers can see you in the back of the class acting like a psycho,” I’d say with grim sincerity.

You get the picture. The list goes on and on. I’d rather not revisit those days; in fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve already chucked all 3 of my middle school yearbooks into the Pacific. I have high hopes that they’ve journeyed through the digestive tract of an exceptionally vicious great white.

Instead, I’d like to give advice for 39-year-old me. There are lots of things I have to say to future Ashley.  I’ve devised an especially useful list that I’ll surely revisit in 2034—after all, I’m in the smartest stage of my life.

1. Don’t let the kids ruin you.

If you even have kids, that is. You? With kids? Really, really bizarre. We’re talking about the same person who accidentally allowed her rat to stick its face into a lit cinnamon candle (luckily, singed whiskers were the extent of the damage. You can stop dialing ASPCA).

But if you do happen to have kids (there’s no stopping you, I guess—or maybe there is. That part’s a little confusing), I advise you not to let them ruin your life. I.e., try to stick with the stuff you love. Reading. Writing. Acting like a sophisticated maniac. Point being, don’t be one of those moms who looks tired 24/7; keep the pep in your step. And if all else fails, pack up the kids and move to the Virgin Islands because at least you’ll have the sun to keep you kind of happy.

2. It’s okay to still eat SpaghettiOs.

Don’t feel bad about yourself if you still haven’t cooked anything beyond Ramen, or if you still don’t really understand the meaning of “sauté.”

Keep in mind that you can whip up a mean turkey and cheese sandwich. You know how to cut (certain) vegetables. You can slice a bagel in half with no issue at all. Most importantly, you understand how to work a can-opener. So don’t worry about the rest; it’s just fluff.

3. Getting a dog or a buffalo might not be a bad idea.

Human companions are awesome and stuff, but animals don’t talk, and that’s really what’s so great about them. Investing in a pet that you can walk around the block is a splendid idea.

You'll get the privilege of naming it, feeding it, and petting it. In return, you'll receive unconditional devotion. It’s a rather fair trade. Plus, if you feel aggravated at everybody for no apparent reason, you can walk Rufus around the block and by the time you return you’ll feel calm again. It’ll be wonderful, free therapy (the only real price is vet bills, which you can afford because by this time you’ll have your college degree. And if you can’t afford it then move back in with Mom and Dad. Or go feed yourself to piranhas).

4. You can still go places even though you’re old.

Venezuela. Australia. Hungary. Thailand. Hell, you can even go to Canada if you’re desperate enough.

Whatever you do, don’t start believing that you’re swamped down by too much sh*t to travel. It’s an epidemic that has run rampant in Generation X. “I don’t have time for it” is the single lamest excuse in the solar system. There’s plenty of time, but eventually there won’t be. So go to Bangladesh and demonstrate your awesomeness before you get arthritis.

The most important thing for you to remember is that you can be fabulous and 39 at the same time. It’s incredibly difficult, but it’s certainly achievable with hard work and dedication. Don’t let me down—I’m counting on you.

The Five-Hour Phone Challenge

“Wow, everybody’s on their phones,” my cousin said.

I looked up from my gadget to assess his statement—and yeah, he was right. All of the eyes of my kinfolk were fixed firmly on their small screens, absorbed in whatever colossal occurrence was taking place in cyberspace.

I immediately felt ashamed—not of them, but of me. Here I was, at my own family gathering and I was focusing all of my attention on something lifeless and unequivocally trivial. It’s sad, really. What I should have done beforehand was put my phone in a place where I wouldn’t be tempted to use it, like a drawer in my room or on top of the fridge. After all, “family” is a close second behind God on the list of The Most Important Things, and I was brazenly insulting its rank.

I can’t remember the details, but I’m sure I put my phone down for three to four minutes and then forgot all about the importance of family and picked it up again and resumed Twitter stalking. Pathetic? Indeed.

Which is why I decided to complete The Five-Hour Phone Challenge as of yesterday, January 7, 2014. And yes, the event deserves capital letters, because it was a big deal: five whole entire hours dedicated to life itself rather than my iPhone. The fact that it was a big deal is embarrassing; nonetheless, I think I’m improving.

At approximately 11:47 a.m. yesterday, I put my phone on the charger. Sitting on the ground next to it, I played roughly 10 rounds of Ice Cream Jump, weeping on the inside for my inevitable departure. At 11:59, I bid my last farewell, and set it down. I stood up, freshly rejuvenated, entirely ready to take this challenge by the cojones . . . and walked away. I glanced back once, and it was kind of like that heartrending romantic drama where the jerk guy walks away and the girl stands there with this sappy idiot look plastered on her face, like, wow, I just got played. I was the guy (minus the jerk part) and my phone was the girl left in the dust. It was played, big time.

I was extremely productive and industrious in this 5-hour span. Between 12 a.m. and 5 p.m. yesterday, January 7, 2014, I showered, ate food, leafed through a magazine, and watched six episodes of The Twilight Zone, give or take. I also observed Leonardo DiCaprio on Ellen.

So what did I learn from this experience? You probably expect me to say something cliché, such as “There’s more to life than smart phones.” But I already knew that. What I did learn was that showering and smelling good is far more rewarding than breaking my previous record on Ice Cream Jump. And that watching The Twilight Zone is a great deal more entertaining than Twitter. And that Leonardo DiCaprio is as sexy as ever.

I definitely recommend the Five-Hour Phone Challenge to all of you technology addicts out there. I can promise that you’ll grow as a person—I certainly did. In fact, I think I’m going to complete the 10-Hour Phone Challenge next. We’ll see what kind of awesome I can accomplish in twice the amount of time.