I’ve spent a majority of the day today trying desperately to reorganize my room. I just simply have way too much stuff. And unlike previous summers, where I was planning on only living at home for a couple months, I need to find room for it all on a more permanent basis. But alas, this entire house is a mess and filled to the brim with junk. I need a desk, I need workspace, I need room for storage. As to how I’m going to find that here at home, I don’t know. And considering my current lack of employment and poor financial state, the option “move out” isn’t quite available yet.
There’s a problem…I have way too many books
Last Friday I finally managed to be social and went out with friends. Derrick Rose was due to make an appearance at a nightclub in Chicago, so we scrounged up the money and went. It was crowded and packed, and I only saw very few glimpses of the boy and other NBA players (mostly through my camera) but nevertheless it was a fun time. I will say, though, that it had been a long time since I’d felt so…young. You see, by the end of my senior year in college, I had taken over my college town. I regularly cut lines at the bars, knew the bouncers, befriended managers, got cheap drinks, knew people already out partying. Things were comfortable, and my ego was at an all-time high. Even in Costa Rica, I had managed to paint the country red multiple times and befriended numerous people. But at the club on Friday, I felt like a little girl playing dress up. The DJ was doing shout-outs, saying things like, “Where all the single ladies at? Where all the college educated ladies at? Where all the ladies with no babies?” I cheered excitedly, of course, but then my friends and I just had to grin sheepishly when he started saying things like, “Raise your hands if you employed! Raise your hands if you just got paid! Raise your hands if you’re over 24! Raise your hands if you got more than $100 in your pocket!” I don’t do designers, I don’t roll around with $100 bills in my pocket. Guess we’re just not there yet.
Derrick freaking Rose
Friday night also marked my first time in the city as a college graduate (lame milestone, I know). One man actually swooped in and put his arms around my waist by the end of the night. I was so confused at first, it took me a while to realize that he was shamelessly hitting on me. I was so taken aback when he kept asking “What do I need to do to take you out to lunch or something?” I mean, in college, guys are all, “What’s yo’ number? Let’s hang.” This dude had two phones on him (“One for work”) and was begging to have dinner with me. And when he found out I was only 21, he looked slightly apprehensive but pressed on nevertheless. I never responded to his text yesterday though.
Then Sunday I went to the Gay Pride Parade in Chicago. It was a day full of merriment, dancing and drinking. At one point we were chilling in a Jewel Osco parking lot with our booze when a female employee approached me. At first I thought she was about to tell us off but instead she hands me a piece of paper. Since I was at Pride, I instinctively thought it’d be her number or something (definitely would not have been the first time a lesbian’s given me digits). Then I opened the piece of paper and it was a message from some guy: “You’re stunning. Contact me? Steve.” Apparently though, Steve was a creepo in glasses, who didn’t even leave me a phone number but an AOL email address instead.
There surely has to be better prospects somewhere in this state!