Clementine the cat and the things I will do for nailpolish freedom


Friends, foes, and fellow readers:

It’s been a while.  I wish I could say I’ve been busy, but I don’t lie in my blogs.  Between Netflix, having only 1 Community College Finals (note, I specifically put in the type of final.. because it’ll be THAT easy), and this beautiful weather, I’ve been gliding through life.  It’s amazing how happy and positive you can feel just because of a little sunshine.  That sunshine brings out little flowers and lots on animals.  Instead of picking flowers though, I brought home an animal…

I am the proud momma of Clementine Deutschman.  Clementine is a beautiful orange fluffball that like kitten chow and small bowls of milk.  When he isn’t sleeping or being harassed by my siblings, Clementine can be found hissing at my other cat Tangerine (get the names now? Yeah, I’m creative!) or visiting the vet due to his many ailments.

$150 dollars later, I have found out that like many mothers I underestimated the cost of my child.  Talk about a money sucking black hole.

A very cute money sucking black hole though.

Image

And once you find out that additional costs are accruing, it would only be practical to quit your job.. right?

Welp.  That’s what I did!  I’ve enjoyed my time at Coach, but would like a little freedom for the summer.. and I would like to get away from handbags (unless I’m buying them myself).  I’m not living off of mommy and daddy though, I have to be able to eventually afford Manhattan after all: I got a new job!

*round of applause, fire works, those obnoxious whistles you hear at sporting events*

I will be waitressing on weekends at the Youngstown Yacht Club.

The hours are less, but the pay is better and it’s uncharted territory.  I’m excited to take a risk and get belittled by people over food instead of handbags.

LOL.

But seriously, I know what I’m in for.  I just want a change of scenery and Coach wouldn’t cooperate with working at both the Yacht Club and there.  I hope it’s everything I want it to be..  Khakis and a polo are the proper attire, it’s certainly preppy enough.

And I’ll be meeting A LOT of people over filet mignon, just maybe not the way I expected to.

I also applied for weekday jobs and a few ice cream places, but that’s just because I know I’m going to be bored eventually.

And also for my sanity once the kids come home for the summer.

I could just get a hobby, find a blogging club.. buy a cute little pink bike to ride around the neighborhood.  Something.

But how fantastic is it that I will finally have time to breath, stop constantly working (both with school and a job), and paint my finger nails whatever color I want?

I knew I wouldn’t last long with Coach’s nail polish communism.

Their loss.

Allison

Photo on 5-5-13 at 2.55 PM #2

I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.


I’m laying in bed, on my fifth or sixth episode of Sex and The City, I’ve lost count.  Whenever I type, Carrie Bradshaw’s voice is ringing in my words.  Now that Gossip Girl is over (may she rest in peace) I’ve gone back a decade at least and I am obsessing over Manhattan’s other It girls.  Think back to the days when Blair Waldorf and Serena Van der Woodson would have been walking the halls of some middle school.  Streets away Samantha Jones was doing what she does best -men.  Charlotte York was gracefully floating down Park Ave to her gallery.  Miranda Hobbes was being successful and awkward.  Carrie was writing the perfect thing on that 1999 Mac, confusing women more than ever before.  I conquered The Hills, a more recent throw back, during my January Break as well as Lipstick Jungle, a forgotten short lived urban fashion flick.  I get attached to whatever I can find on Netflix or through the iTunes store and live through it.  These powerful sexy elite women had fun and ambition.  They grabbed life by the balls (-thats for you Samantha) and lived it, meanwhile I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.

I sent my mom a text this morning with goals.  It consisted of “losing twenty pounds, find some decent new friends (since all of my old ones must have gotten hit by busses, the only explanation for why they haven’t been in touch), getting a pug, moving out, buying a Coach multi-purpose tote (Random pregnant Bitch bought the last one to use as a diaper bag on Sunday -the nerve), and become Carrie Bradshaw.” She told me some of those would be difficult, and that one was impossible.  

Obviously, I replied saying I knew 20 pounds was pushing it.

I can’t have these women’s lives, but I can covet the delusional perfection that Hollywood planted on my computer screen.  I can drool over Manolo Blahniks and cry over one night stands on their behalf.. because God knows I’m getting neither.  I can avoid reality for the next 75 days with my BVFF (best virtual friends forever).  I saw my first pair of Christian Louboutons on the feet of an adjunct professor at Community College today during my Bowling class today.  The 500 dollar shoes (minimum) looked out of place in the same mile radius as my ugly rubber color blocked bowling shoes.  I wondered if they’d look out of place near or on me regardless though.

I told myself in high school that my first salaried pay check would be dedicated to black glossy red soled pumps.  I still think I’d live on Raman Noodles for a month before letting those babies sit on a shelf, once I had a real career.  I’m not concerned that it won’t happen.

I’m concerned that I can’t even picture what I’ll be doing to expand my shoe collection.

Allison 

We knew this day would come, we knew it all along.


I survived my first week on house arrest- I mean at home. It’s gotten better though, in all seriousness.  I am working like crazy, and classes start tomorrow so the chaos is guaranteed to continue.  Good thing I thrive off of it, or at least don’t have time to cry about it when I am busy.  I had yesterday and today off from designer territory, but I work every day for the rest of the week.  I went and spent my days with my Canish-loves and I needed it.  When I wasn’t a blubbering idiot, I did absolutely nothing.  It was glorious.  We watched the sports games (which I still don’t understand, but I don’t care) and I wore medium wash jeans instead of indigo -because %!*$ you Coach uniform.

I ate crappy food, and slept in an uncomfortable dorm bed.  I gossiped until 3 am with my math major roommate and I never would have left the tunnel system if the Chapel for Sunday night mass wasn’t outside of the tunnel system.  I lived on Sweet Tea with extra sugar and wore a Ralph Lauren baseball hat because I only dry shampooed my hair today.  I was back at college and I absolutely loved it.  I missed it so much, I can’t explain it.  None of those uncomfortable or disgusting things about college in particular, just the combination with friends to die for is worth it.  It’s only been a week, I’ve already broken down more times than I can count, and I doubt each time I visit it will become any easier.  I have this feeling of vulnerability and displeasure.  I have no choice though, I have roughly 107 more days until I am certified in Fashion Merchandising and my friends have approximately 15 weekends (I’m not counting spring break and Easter) to deal with me on.  Thankfully, my friends sympathise and have not wished me away yet.  My parents have given up on comforting me, but they let me take the fashion forward 2007 Grand Caravan to go to the mall pretty much whenever.  I plan on coming back again this coming weekend to Canisius for a Philip Phillips concert, as long as Coach decides not to ruin my life and call me in to work.  As I tweeted earlier, there are shopping carts accruing online, so I can’t wait for Wednesday night’s pay check to vanish into thin air.

Other festivities taking place in the Deutschman house?  The remodeling of Jenna and my bedroom.  It was a compromise renovation that I am starting to become pleased with, we’ll just see how many years after I am moved out of the house it takes to complete it.  The black chandelier hangs from the ceiling above my bed reminding me I am not at Canisius any more, but I would rather cry surrounded by sparkle and lavender any how.  We live in an 1890s Victorian house.  The architecture and crown molding give it character, but there is a lack of closet space in my particular bedroom so we have a few things to work around during this process.  I am hoping to find a cute little vanity, desk, and armoir for the room.  Like some dorm rooms, we will have bunk beds.. but it beats sharing a Queen with my sister that breaths like Darth Vadar and kicks like the Karate Kid.  I’ll have a full mattress to share with my stuffed bunny, just the way I like it.  The rolling rack is present again, holding a surplus of winter cardigans and dresses.  If you squint past the One Direction and Puppy posters, I clearly live in that room, but it’s not personalized like the cork board walls holding photos and memorabilia in a spotlight of the dim LED lighting of 117 Bosch.  Staying at Canisius in my old bed and room without anything on the walls felt cold and depressing.  I can only imagine how Rachel feels staring at something so starchy and sparkle-less.  She talked about hiding a cat in the room, because nobody would notice.. And quite frankly? My half of the room with dinged up walls and faded oak furniture looks like the perfect atmosphere for a cat’s litter box.

The title of this blog post comes from Daylight by Maroon 5.  I am addicted to the song for relatable reasons, obviously.  No, there is not a prince charming I am missing at school that “I will have to slip away” from.. Lets not be delusional little preps.

It just was stuck in my head all last night, knowing “when the daylight comes, I’ll have to go”