Surviving in the City

Don’t be fooled by this blog title; my survival instincts are terrible.

This might surprise you, as I am a notorious over-sharer and therefore you might expect I keep people updated on my whereabouts and goings-on at all times. You would be correct in this assumption. And yet.

Ninety minutes into a hike on a 99 degree day in the blazing sun and my blood sugar plummets quickly enough that I have to do that thing where you put your head between your knees. No cell service, no one else around, and no trail markers (a charming hallmark of West Coast hiking). Something that’s always been a bit of a joke, a loving insult about the likelihood of my independence (read: impetuousness) getting me into trouble became kind of a stark reality. People die like this.

Obviously, I didn’t, but that’s not really the point.

The fact of the matter is that there are literally so many things in this life that can kill you. I tend to give my phone number to strangers pretty freely. I regret this immediately about 90% of the time. A few weeks ago I was being idly pursued by this dude, let’s call him Shane (because that’s his name). If you think being idly pursued is a contradiction in terms, you obviously have never dated in the year of our lord 2015.

Anyway, I was being pursued by Shane who is a man of few words and also a fitness model. I live in LA and this is the kind of thing that people actually do for a living. Shane asked for my number before asking my name and because I am an actual terror this was intriguing to me and I gave it to him. Here is a brief snippet of the text message interaction that followed:

Shane: haha so like who do you live with?
Me: haha why? … are you planning to murder me?
Shane: [does not respond]
Me: lololol sorry was that too aggressive?
Shane: haha no not at all you’re way too cute to murder.

LIKE, THANKS FOR THE COMPLIMENT SHANE BUT HONESTLY. A friend of mine has pointed out to me that I am the one who brought murder up in this instance so I can’t really blame Shane too much. I agree that this is true. As this is a post about my terrible survival instincts, I think this just emphasizes my point. After this part of the conversation, my small interest in Shane waned considerably, so at least I have that going for me.

Another example, something my mom once wrote on a selfie I posted to Facebook after impulsively buying a plane ticket to Iceland. At this point, I consider my rampant selfie-positing an adaptive mechanism. If ever I go missing, you’ll have the most up-to-date views of my face to show the police.

Somehow, though, my success rate for survival is still 100%, so I don’t really see any reason to change.

Since I’ve Been Gone

Hello kittens. I know I said I wouldn’t disappear on you again, and yet here we are. Not for lack of trying–my drafts folder is an absolute mess–but obviously we strive for excellence here at grayseagirl dot wordpress dot com and I don’t want to disappoint.

In lieu of a pithy commentary on something inane, I thought you may be interested in something FAR MORE inane: a brief overview of the things I’ve been doing with myself instead of writing blog posts for your consumption.

• Adding essential pieces to my wardrobe such as: a twilight blue velvet crop top, high waisted ecru lace shorts.
• Coaxing my hair into a deeper side part and googling pictures of Lorde for hairspiration. Wondering if I can pull off Zoey Deschanel-style bangs. (Knowing I cannot.) Sort of fearing my next scheduled trip to the hair salon, because last time I asked for something new and the stylist was like “LOL NO” and cut my hair exactly the same way it’s been for the past forever. Womp.
• Making a pile of important tax-related documents in my kitchen which I refer to as The Adult Pile and which I look at guiltily from time to time but never act upon. If this year is anything like last year, and I imagine it will be even worse because I made the dumb decision to have jobs in multiple states, I will conveniently forget to file my taxes until April 14.
• Standing vaguely cluelessly in the wine/beer aisle of my local grocery store until some kindly septuagenarian approaches me with a joke about how long I have been standing there. Accepting input on what I should buy with a self deprecating laugh. Wondering if people understand that I am in fact an Adult Woman who was born in the eighties and am legally allowed to be in the spirits aisle. (This has happened TWICE now because apparently I am Too Approachable and SO FAR their choices have been spot on).
• Listening to the oft-spoken of podcast Serial, because apparently unlike a “hipster,” who only likes things before they become popular, I only like things AFTER they have entered, pervaded, and nearly left the zeitgeist.
• Going for hikes and spending the majority of my time Snapchatting my poor, snowbound friends on the East coast because I am literally The Worst. I’m sorry I keep doing this, y’all. It’s just that the place I live is SO unbelievably beautiful and I know you are suffering and I want to smooch your faces but the distance has made me callous.
• Arguing with myself about my Known Status as a Hufflepuff, after my sister said I was a Ravenclaw and I’ve always suspected maybe I’m a Slytherin. Crying when a customer tells me a sad story about his wife and realizing I will never escape the Hufflepuff of it all.
• Taking selfies.

But never fear, my little peach dumplings, because much like Tinkerbell I die if I don’t get enough attention and so I’ll never leave you for long.