Gratitude.

                      

Sometimes I fall into my own head, it's a scary place to be.

It's filled with a lot of questions.

Is it wrong to feel lousy about your inability to help another in the right way? Is it selfish to take another's genuine struggles and make it about yourself? 

Today a lady came to me with pleading eyes,

I need a job.

She blinked at me, as I waited for her to elaborate. She didn't have a resume, or experience or anything actually, apart from the story of what she once had, memories of a past life in Bangladesh, a dizzyingly long list of dead relatives and desperation. 

Just moments before she appeared, I had been chatting with a 19 year old novice to the world, enthusiastic about her potential. A fresh faced college girl, she was what I needed, I could help her. Yet, this older lady with a broken accent and a disconnect for the position I was trying to fill, nothing.

One needed the job to help support her social life, the other her life. period. 

What do you say?

Sorry mam, I know you are far more qualified in every aspect of being a human, you are probably smarter, kinder and possess more life experience than I ever will, yet, I have a steady paycheck,stability and the power to make or break or break your day. I'm just a kid, yet here we are. 

It made me feel really crappy....

But did I have any right?

I wasn't upset that this lady had hardships, I was upset because I couldn't help, I made her terrible situation about me. 

I thought about her all day, and then as I commuted home another encounter invaded my mind with even more thoughts. 

 It was a million degrees on that platform, I was hungry and pissed and getting increasing frustrated by a constant tapping. As I looked around ready to glare angrily at the tapper, I was met with the image of a blind man and his stick hitting against pillars and concrete. My first thought was fear; seeing this man so close to the train tracks and so surrounded by jerks who aren't afraid of a little bump and grind scared me, yet he didn't seem to have a care in the world so I turned back to the cellphone nestled in my hands,

Is there anything scarier than watching a blind man walk down a subway platform? I tapped out before adding a scared cat emoji and hitting send.

The answer is yes, I'm sure actually being that blind man is far worse. 

Everybody has struggles....some are minor, some are monsters....

My struggles are nothing.

My struggles are mice....

less than mice....

Mealworms.

I need to remember that more often.

A weekend of B's.

You know you are doing something wrong in life when three consecutive days that don't involve any form of work is a massive deal. Some time to simply live, after days and days of constant exhaustion.

As soon as this summer is over, I'm going to put all my effort into making my life a little less about work and a little more about the enjoyable smatterings that come in between.

Lucky for me, I'm going to be kicking off my new goal with some time in my favourite hemisphere (the Southern, because duh) with my favourite family (my own, because duh) in just under three short weeks.

Rambling now, back to the matter at hand, my weekend of B's.

Babies.

Birthdays.

Bitches (aka my best friends from school....you guys aren't bitches! You are beautiful woman, don't let anybody tell you otherwise...except me...because I needed a B word!)

B-argaritas (Ok I'm pushing it.)

A girl, a boy and a truck full of gifts for bump. 

Piggin' out. 

 Birthdays and babies....and really sweaty hair, gross...good one, Jordyn. 

The best shade of blue. 

A memory book filled with selfies.....also, a sign you should stop taking selfies. 

Open Container laws.

My favourite food group: Part I

Cold girls club.

Champagne and Catfish marathons. 

My favourite food group: Part II

But alas the weekend is over, and the work week has begun.

I'm one step further away from 12 years old, and I'm honestly not sure how I feel about that.

Hangover Cure.

I had a really amazing day.

Tuesday Dudesday: A saga

Mood: Hangry.

 I didn't see Stuart Little. Also, I was the only one amused by the fact that THE Stuart Little had been in this very spot. 

I think I'm broken....or I guess jinxed.

New York is a wonderland of food: Restaurants, bars, cafes, diners, halal stands, food carts, ice cream parlors, candy stores...this city is a metropolis of gluttony. So someone answer me this, in a city built on street meat fumes, why can I never find anywhere to eat?

The answer to this may have something to do with one fact, I'm a creature of habit. I have my go-to spots depending on my mood, and area of the city I am in. Heck, whenever my Mum comes to visit we go to the same two restaurants every....single....time (Dhaba- Indian on Lexington and 28th and Pongsri- Thai on 23rd and...7th? 8th? I'm not sure we just follow our noses). This habitual eating though puts me in quite a pickle when I'm in an area I don't spend a lot of time in (I used to work in the Upper East Side, but that is still the excuse I'm going with)

Whenever these moments of gluttonous ineptness happen, I always tend to be so hungry that the problem solving quadrant of my brain is all but useless and I am forced to spend the next half hour complaining, wandering around in a circle, repeatedly yelping and only managing to come up with one diner with $45 fries and table clothes (I still stand by my statement,  No place with a fluorescent exterior can use table clothes).

And then the inevitable happens.

Instead of taking advantage of the many amazing dining experiences that lay before me, I end up at McDonalds....or in this case Lenny's, but you get the idea.

Jinxed I tell you.

Also, today I learned that adults can get really freakin' hyped about bubbles.

Oh and don't leave the house with wet hair...and also don't get tan because then your lipstick will look redder and honestly, if your lipstick is red what else truely matters?

                           

Feminism.

Today I got into an argument with one of my close friends.

The topic was feminism.

The idea of a feminist has been greatly blurred by the media. When people envision a feminist they now picture a radical, man-hating voice who curses anything with a penis. I don't agree with slut shaming, and I love men....I guess at my core I'm a do-what-ever-the-fuck-makes-you-happy-ist. But I would never say that I am not a feminist.

Feminism isn't hating men. Feminism is wanting to be seen as equal to a man, not by bringing them down but by boosting women up.

Why any woman would say she doesn't support the idea that she is equal to a man, baffles me.