This is a blog you can read.

So, as anyone who follows me on any of the social networks I’m on probably knows already: I’m moving. Now, this is a big deal for me, as it’s my first real place on my own. I commuted to my university for fiscal reasons, and had hoped to move out by the end of summer after graduation. Unfortunately, I didn’t manage to land a job until August, but I’ve been planning for ages to find my own place.

Looking back, this summer would have been a miserable time to move. I was working through a lot of things, as well as dealing with a fair amount of familial drama, and even if I’d had the cash to move, it would have felt like some sort of escapism.

Basically, without going into detail, it feels good to be moving to a new place for the right reasons.

I’ll post pictures as soon I’ve had time to use my mad (read: cheap) decorating skills.

I’ll just say it. I hate Operation Beautiful. I hated it when I was in college, and had to listen to a friend talk about what an awesome article it was going to be for her section in the school paper, and I haven’t warmed to it since.

For those who don’t know, Operation Beautiful is a movement which encourages women to leave post it notes in bathrooms to help other people’s self esteem.

I began Operation Beautiful by leaving positive messages on the mirrors of public restrooms — at work, at the gym, at the grocery store. I scribble down whatever comes to mind — “You are beautiful!” or “You are amazing just the way you are!” My personal goal is to leave as many Operation Beautiful notes as I can. Maybe some people read them and just smile, but I bet some people are truly touched by the effort of a random stranger.

(x)

First off, I don’t see why this is effective. I don’t doubt the sincerity of what is trying to be accomplished here, but some random stranger who probably has never seen me and with whom I will never interact leaving a note telling me I am beautiful is never going to do anything for me. Essentially, by this logic, I am beautiful because I am female and use the same restroom as you. Kind of the same way I totally expect my fortune cookie to always be an accurate predictor of my future.

I understand, yes, beauty is subjective, and yes, the majority of people will be beautiful to at least one or two people. But at the same time, I reject the idea that beauty is an ideal that people should consider the be-all and end-all to their self worth. In the same way that, as a fat person, I don’t want notes on bathroom mirrors telling me “You are skinny!” Sure, it may make a few people who are feeling slightly down about their weight feel better, but it just masks the problem. Beauty, when most people talk about it, has little to do what is inside. So what?

(Tangent: I hate that phrase, “beauty is on the inside.” It just feels like a cop-out for people who aren’t willing to call someone ugly or average. And what is wrong with being average? Most people are. And what’s wrong with being ugly? Absolutely nothing. Be who you are, and don’t let anyone tell you that you need makeup, or a diet, or a certain kind of clothing to be the perfect you.)

Why is being pretty such a big deal? It’s just another thing that people are. Personally, I am a lot of things, and I don’t count being pretty among them. And you know what? I find that to be quite excellent. When I tell someone they’re pretty, I am saying it because I mean it, not because I feel like I have to or they’re going to feel bad. I wouldn’t tell Stephenie Meyer I think she’s a good writer just because it would be the polite thing to do. I wouldn’t tell Gerard Way his voice has the same amazing tonality as Tom Waits’s. People are different. Beauty is just one of those things, like being able to pick up music easily, or to write well, or be able to do the moonwalk.

When I gave up feeling like I had to be beautiful, it freed me up to appreciate my face and body in a way I’d never been able to before. My face may not match up to anyone’s definition of beautiful, but it is interesting enough to appease me, and I’m not embarrassed to be in photos anymore. My body may not be society’s definition of attractive, but I like it well enough.

My point is: being beautiful is not the ideal. Rocking whatever skills you have available to you is.

So, if you end up going to a bathroom and see a note along the lines of: “You may be pretty, you may not be. Be who you are and own it”, you’ll know I was there.

Not unrelatedly: this.

So, the cold open of The Office this week (where Stanley drinks Jim’s orange juice and doesn’t notice) reminded me of my history. Back in the day, I hated coffee with a passion. Shocking, I know. Eventually I got over it, mostly because I found a place to get super cheap coffee that had more caffeine than soda. Being the thrifty college student I was, I overcame my aversion and forced myself to drink it. And now I can’t get enough of the stuff.

But that’s not the point of this blog post. The point of this post is that for years I pretended to like coffee. I’m not 100% sure why, but I think it’s because I’ve always been really picky about food, and it was really embarrassing to have yet another thing that I didn’t like. It might be dumb and dorky, but drinking coffee is almost a social norm. I mean, you don’t ask a date to go get a cola with you. (Well, theoretically. I actually might.) To combat this, I devised some methods of making it seem like I drank coffee without ever having to touch the stuff.

Get a coffee cup, preferably a reusable one with a lid. You can put whatever the heck you want in there. I used to come to work all the time with a mug filled with orange juice or some sort of tea. Just make sure you close the lid when you’re not drinking, and badaboom. Instant coffee cred.

Put soda/grape juice in a coffee mug. Actually any dark colored beverage will work. This one’s great after there’s been a party and there’s still three bottles of Coke in the fridge (did this happen at anyone else’s work?). No one, unless they’re some sort of psycho coffee-poser detective, is going to run around sniffing your drink to make sure it’s actually real coffee. And, once the foam goes away, cola does look an awful lot like coffee.

Order hot chocolate, just so you can come to work/class/wherever with a coffee cup from the local starbucks/gas station/laundromat that serves coffee.

Order a latte. This one’s more for people who are going out for coffee with someone. I know it involves coffee, but the taste is nowhere near as strong as straight coffee, and you can sip at it while you talk.

Never ever own up to disliking coffee. If you’re going out for coffee, order hot chocolate or tea and just say “I don’t really feel like coffee today.”

Granted, there’s really no reason other than minuscule (and occasional) social stigma to ever fake drinking coffee. But, that’s never stopped me from trying to be cool. (Yes. Coolness is relational to coffee consumption.)

I was poking around on the computer today at work, and stumbled across my predecessor’s predecessor’s old Livejournal account. She blogged a fair amount about working here at Preston Publications, and it was somewhat amusing to read someone talking about having very similar experiences to mine. Also, I now understand why there are 5 periodic tables on the wall. Also, I’m not going to (ever) write a post about how I am bored sitting at work and deciding to blog about it. Even if Julie did say she wouldn’t look at my blog again now that I work here, I still work here. I’ll wait to blog about it until I’m at home, thanks.

That’s not to say that I have tons of bad things I’m holding back. If I did, I probably wouldn’t mention work at all (and go rant in my own personal Livejournal). My job’s not particularly exciting, but it’s better suited to me than anything else I’ve ever done (except at the RP, which I don’t really think counts considering it was a college job and won’t really cover any bills). It might be slightly boring and monotonous, but let’s face it. So am I.

I’m an editorial assistant for two scientific journals. My job is mostly formatting and copy editing scientific papers in preparation for publication. I also do some receptionist-type work (answering phones, mailing out complimentary copies, etc.). The editing can be a bit mind numbing at times, but all in all, it’s more than I expected from a entry-level job.

The best thing about this job is not the minimal amount of drama I’ve been subjected too, the fact that it offers insurance, or even that I’ve got my own (windowless) office. The best thing is that once I know what I’m supposed to do, I’m allowed to go off and work on it until it’s done. The deadlines are generally spelled out far in advance (at least for major things), and if formatting seems more fun than editing at a given moment, I can do that. I also can listen to music and podcasts while I work. I remember thinking to myself a long time ago: “All I want from a post-graduation job is the ability to wear headphones.” I was totally right.

Speaking of music, I’ll leave you with the song that’s been stuck in my head all day:

(You can get it for free at blackcardsmusic.com. Oh oh oh yippee oh oh ay.)