So, I finally decided to try my hand at cooking during one of those "I'm an adult now" phases. I was feeling all MasterChef until I realized I had no idea how to chop an onion without crying like my ex just walked back into the room. Fast forward to a smoke alarm going off because I thought “charred” would give my chicken a gourmet twist. Spoiler alert: It didn’t. My roommate still hasn’t forgiven...
Is it just me, or does anyone else feel like every time I try to be "healthy" and go for a run, my body immediately decides to remind me what a terrible idea that was? Like, walking to the fridge feels like a marathon, but suddenly I’m out here pretending I’m training for the Olympics. And don’t get me started on the whole “runner’s high” thing—more like runner’s lie. Can we agree that the only th...
I’ve been thinking a lot about how every time I make a big life decision, I consult my friends like they’re my personal board of advisors. Yet, when I’m stuck in the grocery store debating between two brands of olive oil, suddenly I’m a solo entrepreneur making decisions like I’m running a Fortune 500. Like, how did I turn such a mundane task into the Olympics of indecision? I swear, if I spent half as much time contemplating my life choices as I do picking out snacks, I’d be a millionaire by now. Do others struggle with this, or is my brain just a circus?
I’ve been thinking a lot about how every time I make a big life decision, I consult my friends like they’re my personal board of advisors. Yet, when I’m stuck in the grocery store debating between two brands of olive oil, suddenly I’m a solo entrepreneur making decisions like I’m running a Fortune 500. Like, how did I turn such a mundane task into the Olympics of indecision? I swear, if I spent half as much time contemplating my life choices as I do picking out snacks, I’d be a millionaire by now. Do others struggle with this, or is my brain just a circus?
I have a confession: I seriously appreciate the random people who work in service jobs. Like, shoutout to the barista who remembers my complicated coffee order, because I barely remember my own name half the time. And what about those delivery drivers who still manage to smile through my confusing apartment complex? Honestly, without them, I’d probably be living on instant noodles and regret. Majo...