Author Archives: Kayla

About Kayla

I'm a young 'professional' and mommy to a rescued mutt named Lana and a former street cat named Mugen, as well as various fosters in need of loving forever homes! Eventually I hope to work from home as a writer and run my own rescue.

Strike while the iron is hot

It had been so long since I had logged on here to blog, I actually could not remember my way around. Talk about embarrassing! That certainly did not make me feel good about following through with things. That’s always been a struggle of mine, and one I’m especially not proud of because 20 something years later and the problem has only gotten worse.

I recently had two months that flew by in about 6 days. I was working more than usual and I reveled in the excuse that I had no time to [insert pretty much anything here]. Now that I’ve caught up, I am feeling really motivated to improve myself. I’ve started studying Japanese again, picked back up on my volunteering, and hopefully will get back to writing more often.


I WILL get back to writing more often.

I read an article that said if you’re dieting, don’t say “I can’t eat that”, but rather “I don’t eat that”. A/N: Have I mentioned how amazing psychology and language are? Sociolinguistics for the win! Our attitudes have such a profound effect on what we perceive is happening to us and how we react. Any time you want to make a major life change it starts in your mind, in your heart. Whether it’s losing weight, learning a new skill, or creating good habits, you need to believe in yourself or you will fail.

So I will relearn Japanese and exceed my former knowledge now that it cannot affect my GPA. And I will keep up my writing, on blogs, fiction, etc. And I will totally get a little bit more fit, preferably before Halloween so I can pull off a super cute costume.

After all, nothing says successful adult like coordinated Halloween costumes.

Can’t Answer The Phone – I’m Off The Clock

Every day I close at work, I make sure to finish my e-mails and my in-depth memos to the next days’ employees and clock out. Usually, a few minutes late, because there’s always something I forget to do until I’m standing by the time clock. Sorry bosses, I’m not trying to squeeze in extra work time!

After I clock out, I lock the door, turn out the lights, and close the blinds. Then I make a beeline for the restroom. I only walk a block back to my apartment, it’s not like I can’t hold it. It’s just… I have this weird thing where I always have to wash my hands twice. Soap is expensive, and anytime I can save a little, I do. No clue why. It doesn’t fit my personality. I’m impulsive, irresponsible, and immature. But I know how to save money.

Anyway, somehow there is always somebody who knows when I’ve grabbed my clearance Target purse and started walking towards the door. Someone always freakin’ calls right then. And I have a choice to make. Do I answer the phone and work for free? Do I look really sketchy by adding to my time sheet by hand? Or do I walk out the door and pretend I never stopped to go to the loo and therefore never heard the phone ring?

This week, I went with the last option. We have an answering machine for that crap. Surely I’m not the only one who struggles with this dilemma at work.

Meh, It’s Monday

Had my first day of work in a couple of months today.

Was told to dress extra nice because representatives from the bank would be in for a meeting.

Ended up working late. An hour and a half late.

Finished my delayed lunch an hour before the planned dinner time.

Didn’t have time for laundry, or various other things I should be doing.


But, then again, it is the Monday after daylight savings time. I doubt I’m the only person dragging myself to the bed for a quick nap after work.

Happy Monday? (We survived!)

Profession Stalking

I’ve been out of work for about a month now. Fine. Two months. I’m living rent free with my parents, though a quiet voice pops into my mind every once in a while and reminds me that I will still eventually run out of money. That, and it’ll look awful on my resume to have such a long ‘pause point’ as I’ve started to call it.

So in preparation for work, I bought more than a hundred dollars worth of Target clothes that seemed to fit the ‘business casual’ mold while still looking trendy and young enough for a 22 year old to rock. Because I thought I had a job all but secured. Which, as most people know, is a bad thing to count on. “All but” is a dangerous phrase.


Like when my dog had ‘all but’ completely healed, and then promptly ripped her stitches open again.

So, scrambling, I’ve begun to apply for jobs in multiple cities, ranging from retail to nonprofit to government jobs. There’s even one that honestly seems as perfect as I believe I can find. At least, until I get more experience. Which I need experience to get. I’ve all but given up on being the career woman I planned to be.  (There’s that ‘all but’ again…)

I don’t expect to get the perfect job. Or even my second choice, which would still be awesome. Aside from the commute. I got one interview. It’s for a retail job (that’d be a first for me), and aside from the managers I’d probably be the only person there with a college degree. And I’m quite sure my new work outfits would not fit in, if they’re even permitted. And unlike my other degree-free option, this one is not in a field or company in which I’d like to climb the corporate ladder.

I told the manager who called to schedule an interview that I’d call him back. My options are interview tomorrow (Hell no!) or next Wednesday. Did I mention this is in another city? And that the job would pay so very little. And that it may not even be full time. And that he just called yesterday and I like to meticulously plan in advance. Even if I know I’m just going to blow off my plans, I like having them. Makes me feel like an adult.

Like an adult who goes to a midnight premiere on a work night and downs an extra large Monster, knowing full well the regular size is at least 2 servings.

Yet, until I hear back from my first and second choices, this is all I have. (The applications for those don’t even close until tomorrow, and they’re both government jobs, so I’m not expecting a quick response.) I can’t screw up my only sure shot (I keep forgetting it’s just an interview) to hold out on jobs that will likely go to older people with experience, connections, and resumes their mothers didn’t help them write.


Yes, “mother” helped me. Totally didn’t get any help from the kiddo.

Let’s think about the possible scenarios. Best case scenario I say no to this interview and get one of my first choice jobs. But that’s doubtful, and I can’t push my luck right now. More likely I’d say no and never hear from the other guys and continue to be unemployed. Another option is I interview and get this job. No word from the others? At least I have a job. It is possible I could interview and get this job, but then get an interview for the other jobs. If I could get off work and make it to the interview, and then by some miracle receive an offer, then I can either say no or walk out on my new job. And look like a flake. And feel like one. It’d look bad on my resume, but Hell, I’d have a much better job anyway.

So I guess I’ll just have to phone mister manager and schedule to meet him. My first ever interview with a guy, too. And since I’m incredibly awkward (I like to call it quirky) I’m not sure if a guy would accept me as well. Or if it would matter at all. Better slather on the make up anyway. (Actually, that would be wise no matter who my interviewer was, so long as they still had their vision. The little things you learn while getting your psychology degree.)

Act My Age? Sounds Boring.

Do I always have to act my age?

I think I’d like to act like a 7 year old until about 11am, so I can sleep in, roll out of bed and eat cinnamon toast with a nice side of Monster energy drink. (Okay, I guess I’d like to act like an unsupervised 7 year old.)

Then I think I’d like to act like a 19ish year old for a few hours. I might not be judged as harshly for throwing my dog a birthday party and pinning good looking celebrities on Pinterest. Don’t mind me drooling over Benedict Cumberbatch and literally every celeb who has ever rescued a pet.

Act My Age? Sounds Boring.

Yes, this happened. And it was glorious.

I may even act like a 30-something year old and pin some organizational tips, recipes for freezer meals (knowing darn well I rarely cook anything edible), and blueprints for the house I’ll never be able to afford. Unless I marry a rich guy who lets me put garish lazy river pools in our backyard.

I can act my age long enough to finish my job application, and even try to contain my mixture of excitement and disappointment that I hear back from one of my applications, and it’s the one where I’d be working with a bunch of high school kiddos. WORK THAT USELESS DEGREE, GIRL! GOOD FOR YOU GOING TO COLLEGE. #NoHardFeelings

Then I’ll revert back to college aged to play video games. You know, as long as you let me pretend I had time to play video games while working and going to school. Actually, screw it, I’m just going to play Pokemon or Spyro the Dragon anyway. I’ll just chill at age 7 even longer.

Act My Age? Sounds Boring.

I WILL beat the Elite 4 with a Charizard, Growlithe, Rapidash, Jolteon, Vulpix, and a Psyduck. I WILL BURN THEM.

And finally, I think I’ll wind up my evening with coffee and my computer, desperately trying to write a novel my brain knows nothing about. (That sounds like mid-life crisis, right? So age 50ish?) I’ll give up and fall asleep to either American Dad or Family Guy, depending on how tired I am from waking up at the crack of 8:30 in an attempt to be productive today.

I think that’s one of the nice things about being in my 20s. I do what I want. (As long as I can tune out my mother complaining that doing what I want means doing nothing.)

On that note, Happy Adoption Anniversary to the cute but frustrating dog I adopted three years ago despite everyone and their mom saying it was a bad idea. (I DO WHAT I WANT!) And… yay for a possible job interview? No? Meh.

Act My Age? Sounds Boring.

*Shoves pictures of my kid dog in everyone’s face*

D*mn Right I’m Going To Pick Out The Lettuce

After learning that one of our favorite chain restaurants was permanently closed, the bf and I headed to a smaller, possibly local (?) Mexican joint. We walked in the door and immediately asked about some beautiful drinks a waiter was carrying.

We got chips and salsa and ordered 16 ounces of awesome called a Crazy Horse. (16 ounces each, thank you very much.) Mango, peach, guava, and strawberry margaritas mixed in the second biggest glass I’d ever seen. For the life of me I still can’t figure out what the blue part of the drink was, but it was good, so I won’t complain.

About that.


16 ounces is the perfect size to drink with dinner, apparently.

I perused the menu and found a burrito that sounded awesome. Chicken, rice, beans, pepper, and onion. And when the burrito arrived at the table? There was an extra ingredient. Sneaky, disgusting, slimy. Lettuce.

This restaurant in particular did not have abnormally gross lettuce. To me, it’s all gross. If it’s not listed on the menu, how the heck do I know to request its absence? I don’t.

Seriously, almost every restaurant ever – why do you want me to eat lettuce so badly?! It’s mostly water, it’s not like it’s some life changing food. If you want to ruin smother all your meals with crunchy, green water, at least give me a warning!


Fact: I don’t even eat lettuce in salads. Spinach all the way! Also fact: I didn’t plan to post this image anywhere so it’s not very good. Oops…

I mean, what if I was allergic to lettuce? I’d be DEAD! Twenty two years of picking out little green specs has given me a keen eye, but sometimes I miss a piece. (And trust me, I CAN taste it, no matter what my mother insists.) If people can be allergic to sunlight it doesn’t seem impossible I could be allergic to lettuce.

In fact, I do feel a bit ill every time I crunch into a sliver. I have the chills just thinking about it.


Truth, this isn’t me after lettuce. This is me after half a bottle of rum. But I wasn’t about to eat lettuce just to take a picture.

Please, restaurant owners and future restaurant owners – you can taste lettuce. And to some of us, it tastes NASTY. It’s not a garnishment if it’s hidden inside of my food. It’s just an obstacle to enjoying my meal. Please stop acting like it’s no big deal to sneak in cheap ingredients. I’d rather have a small burrito than one filled with little green land mines.

At least slap a warning label on that sucker: Contains the single food item you’ve spent more than two decades picking out of your food (please ask if you want omitted so you can actually enjoy your food while it’s warm).

No, that piece is NOT too small to taste and I will not eat until I’m confident there is no lettuce left on my plate


I’m a bit proud of how productive I’ve been today. Maybe not productive compared to an actual, successful human being, but for me it’s not bad. I didn’t binge out of boredom (thank you Sims, for the distraction), I worked out (almost made it 2/3 of the way through an awesome pop Pilates session), wore a retainer, wanted to rip the teeth from my head because said retainer HURT LIKE HECK, and fixed a job application I MAY have messed up yesterday. Okay, did mess up. But it’s fixed, and that’s what matters!

So why today? Because I vowed to try to be a better person for 100 days. Not spiritually or morally better, mind you. But more successful. 100 days of working out, 100 days of not pigging out, 100 days of trying to make myself pretty (see retainer), and 100 days of working towards some sort of career (blogging counts). I mean, that should be plenty of time to create a bona fide habit, right?


A wonderful habit like waking up early to prepare a delicious, nutritious breakfast and Irish coffee every morning.

I was pretty much inspired by this chick. She participated in something called giveit100, only I think she’s trying to take it a step further and continue her project for a full 365 days. What’s cool is the variety of things people will dedicate 100 days to achieve. (Seriously, browsing this website is a pretty cool waste use of my time.) So, I’m planning to do something similar. Only, never one to aim for a realistic goal, I’m trying to do a bunch of things for 100 days. And I don’t think I want 100+ videos of myself doing menial tasks floating around on the internet, so I’m not going to go through the website, which asks users to upload a video daily, as cool as I think it is.

My 2014 resolutions all had a similar theme. Apparently, I want to be a trophy wife. I want to be fit, I want to be organized, I want to learn to cook, etc. Hopefully, my 100 days will help me get closer to that illusive, probably fictitious version of trophy wife (complete with a dream job) I’m hoping to become.

100 days of:
-Working out
-Eating better (or just less)
-Cleaning/organizing (even just cleaning up after myself will be an improvement)
-Taking care of my body (wearing a retainer, flossing, little stuff like that)
-Spending quality time with the fur kid
-Finding and documenting (finally a use for Instagram!) something small that makes me happy


Something like watching my fur kid have the time of her life trying to catch water from a fountain

Excuse Me With All My Needs

I’ve been called mean names in my lifetime. That’s part of being opinionated and dealing with other human beings. Normally, it doesn’t bother me. Normally, in my mind at least, someone calling me a name speaks about their insecurities. My boyfriend’s ex insults me? Gee, I wonder what could have upset her. Random guy on the internet calls me a bitch for politely (seriously!) informing him why he should consider not breeding his dogs? I wear a scarlet B like a fucking badge of honor.

But every once in a while, someone comes out of nowhere and I can’t see what is lacking in them that makes them hurt me, so I honestly believe it’s something wrong with me. Maybe I am needy.

I couldn’t tell you why, but needy is one of the worst things I’ve been called. I guess because all at once, it says I’m not independent, I’m weak, and I’m not really an individual. While I have moments of weakness, I certainly don’t think that’s a normal trait for me. Obviously I’m an individual, as I’ve yet to find the woman off of whom I was cloned. And as for independent? I live alone, make my own money, and if need be I could probably handle going to the movies alone, too. So what makes me needy?

Thank goodness for Jezebel writer, Tracy Moore. She wrote an article -which I found thanks to– on what it means to be “that girl” (in this case ‘that girl’ being the needy girl). I highly recommend reading it. She really put things in perspective for me. I AM needy. Because I have needs. And because dammit, I want those needs to be met. (Otherwise, they wouldn’t be needs, would they?)

She points out that while sometimes neediness may stem from insecurities (true enough for me), often times it stems from the actions (or lack of) of the “less needy” person in a relationship. Like, maybe every action has a reaction. I know it’s a foreign concept, but it’s science!

Tracy says “I’ve never met someone who isn’t needy on some level. Not even once. Not even kinda. Yes, it’s certainly our job if we want to be more self-actualized people to try to work that shit out and be happy with ourselves, but the idea that we have to act like we don’t need anyone when the whole reason you are getting with a person is cause you do, well, that is pure fucking farce.”  Yes ma’am it is!

So basically, I’m not a horrible person, and neither are you. Someone calls you needy, don’t you dare think you are broken. You aren’t. Moore quotes psychologist Dr. Rebecca Kennedy who explains, “Maybe That Girl isn’t so crazy after all. When it comes to guys, she texts because she knows what she wants. She asks to be exclusive because she knows what she deserves. She also knows what she needs — and if that is what defines neediness then, yes, she is needy.”

Dear Amatuer Extreme Couponer In Line In Front Of Me:

Good God woman, what possessed you to find 20+ coupons for fucking vitamins? You and I both know you’re not going to take all, or probably any, of those pills. To be honest, I’m a little concerned about your health.

And what’s worse? You can apparently read the fine print of a coupon, but you can’t read the sign that says 10 items or less? It’s only four words! But, despite seeing that you had far more than 10 items (and 30 bottles of 2 kinds of pills counts as 30 items, not 2, just so you know), I thought you were almost done. I was wrong.

I have learned that the only thing worse than the stereotypical old person who counts every single penny to get the perfect change, is the damn couponing bitch who is literally still cutting the coupons while standing in line. Put the scissors away, your time is up.

So I’m waiting in line behind you while the poor teenaged cashier glances at me every few minutes with looks of sympathy and hints of annoyance. I, too, feel annoyed. And I feel sorry for myself. And for her. And I really have to pee. She tells me she can save my order while I go to the bathroom, but surprise surprise you’re still arguing about coupons when I get back. Finally, freaking finally, they open a third check out lane for us. I stomp out of the store with my 6 fucking groceries and you’re still arguing with the poor staff. Bless their souls. You’re not going to make it on TLC’s Extreme Couponers. Please just stop annoying everyone and wasting my favorite grocery store’s money. There is a better way to pay for your obvious multivitamin addiction: getting a damn job with the hours you waste cutting coupons and pestering corporate about little known policies.

Grocery shopping took me two freaking hours this afternoon, and a disgusting proportion of that was thanks to you.

Dear Driver In Front Of Me:

Dear driver in front of me,

We just drove past a speed limit sign that says 45, yet as we did, you slowed to 35. What are you doing? That sign really means go 50. At least, for the love of all things wonderful, go 45, because I am not able to pass your slow self on this long stretch of road.

Yes, I am close to your bumper. Have you looked at your speed? Have you looked at the time? It’s 11:30. It is close to midnight. How do you not have somewhere to be? I don’t mean some rockin’ party. I mean bed. The place I’m trying to go.

What the hell was that random turn signal? You just gave me false hope I wouldn’t be stuck behind you anymore. But, here we are. You moseying along and me releasing a steady stream of curses. It’s now 11:40, and I am not feeling good.

Do you know why, driver in front of me? Because when I lose 25 minutes of my cruddy minimum wage shift in an attempt to get home early, my one true goal isn’t asking all that much. I just want to get home from work the same day I left for work. LITERALLY. I’m not exaggerating. I worked on Wednesday. I’m going to be pissy if I get home on Thursday. Even if it’s just 12:01. Otherwise, I would have kept that $2.50 my bosses offered me to stay my whole shift. That might have paid for a coffee to keep my awake on the drive home Thursday friggin’ morning.

I know I’m all about trying to “master the art of optimism” as I called it, but come on. One slow person after another? Are you people out because you hate your homes? Mine’s a pig sty, but I’d still rather be in my comfy bed with my floppy stuffed hound dog than driving behind you. You, Mr. let’s take a drive because it’s nice out. You, Mr. insomniac. You, Mr. I obviously don’t have plans in the morning.

I do. I have people to e-mail, NaNoWriMo challenges to complete, and yet another gruesome pm shift to prepare for.

So, driver in front of me, please do me one favor, since by now it’s Thursday and I am home: do not be the driver in front of me on the drive home tonight. Because when I’m driving home from a pm shift, I have somewhere to be. And preferably, I’d like to get there the same day I left.


Miss I just want to crawl into bed after working all night (normal human being)