Let's just skip straight to the good stuff

Happy 6-MONTH SLACK-I-VERSARY to me! 

Going for the "cringing in shame" look, but instead accidentally made an ad for pleasantly-scented scarves

I told you I had to go to the ER, got two new grown-up jobs, had cool news, and then... I disappeared off the face of the planet.

Except for the random z***** Halloween picture that has greeted loyal blog checkers since October (sorry Mom).

So you know that typical children's novel plot where the main character's loyal dog starts acting funny, and then disappears, and you cry because it's totally dead and you didn't realize this was going to be one of those "shit-happens,-kid,-we've-all-gotta-grow-up-sometime" books? AND THEN THE DOG REAPPEARS A WEEK LATER WITH A LITTER OF PUPPIES??

No, I don't have any puppies.

(Sad, yes.)

But I DID get knocked up.

You guys are going to kill me. Killllll meeee... because...
we've only got 8 more weeks until Matthews-er #3 pops out.

For people who want to "grow" their blog, probably the stupidest thing you could do is skip seven out of nine months of blogging GOLD.

For other *certain* people who've just agreed to work 50 hours a week and then, surprise!, get a BIG FAT DOSE of exhausting hormones paired with completely overwhelming and exciting and thrilling and terrifying implications about the rest of their life...

Yeah, not a good recipe for le blarging.

(I also partially blame the realization that coffee had been providing 90% of my personality.)

Yes, Sneaky Baby was a beeeeg surprise for us. But now that I'm completely addicted to getting kickboxed from the inside out, and now that I've felt little baby hiccups echoing through my guts (who knew that could happen??!!),  I wouldn't have it any other way.

So thanks for sticking around (and HOLY CRAP a petition?? You guys are the greatest. Sorry for slinking away into my "having puppies den" and hiding from it). I literally have 10 different rough drafts waiting for you in the line-up; my goal is post once a week. I hope it will be worth your wait.

Until next week,
I adore you guys as much as I now love ♥♥♥pickled eggs and strawberry popsicles for breakfast♥♥♥,
that's A LOT,

April

I think we might be grown-ups now

Jason is officially Dr. Matthews! (Dr. Matthews-ERRRR. I never get sick of that joke.)

He RAWKED his PhD dissertation, and pretended to be embarrassed while his fan club held up signs and took too many pictures.

Not gonna lie, I'm pretty proud of that sign. Even Jason liked it... secretly.

Also, finally, I got a more career-related job!

Just kidding.
TWO career-related jobs. 

For the first, I improve lighting in University of Oregon's classrooms (I'm going to be in nerd heaven), and for the second, I get to do graphic design! I diyeee of excitement. 50 hours a week, here I come!

Oh, and also since I've talked to you last, I've survived:

• 30 days of eating strictly "paleo diet" with 60 other people from my gym,
• two (small) car accidents,
• a family member getting in a not-so-small car accident (she's recovering well, thank GOODNESS)
• a trip to the ER of my own,
• and finding out we're getting kicked out of "student housing." (For not being "students" anymore, or some nonsense like that. Pshh.) 
• And then, even MORE exciting stuff I can't even tell you about yet.  I need a muzzle.

Oh yes, it's storytime soon.
It's been a wild ride, this past month. Time to pat myself on the back and go take a nap.
Thanks for hanging in there, amigos.

Bachelorette Pad

Jason's been in Florida for a week-long Physics conference (he calls it The Big-Kid Science Fair). (I hope there are ribbons.)

Since he left, I've realized: that kid keeps me in LINE. Granted, I exhaust myself every day trying to wrangle little toddlers into something that resembles swimming lessons, but damn. I haven't washed a single dish since Saturday. I'm... building a monument to the Dish Gods?

My mom-in-law has a magnet that says, "I wish they made kitchens that flushed." Amen to THAT, SandiMama.

At least Sally the Soap seems excited about the situation!

...really, really excited.

The mysterious thing about all these dishes is that I haven't really cooked much, either. Normally I pretend like I'm some fancy pro chef and cook elaborate dinners every night, but this week?

BACON AND STRAWBERRIES, BABY.

& the only reason I put it on a plate was so that I could take a photo of it. Fine dining at its fine dining-est.

Fuel for the champion lifeguard/swim instructor. AH DO WHUT AH WAWNT.

I haven't put away a single article of clothing that I've worn. Actually, I haven't even put anything away that I took out just to consider wearing.

And who needs showers when I marinate in chlorinated water all day?

It's getting reeeeeally Klassy over here. And I have less than a day to try to clean it all up (including myself)... wish me luck.


[On Monday, I will tell the epic tale of why I'm literally afraid for my life to wash dishes in this apartment. Literally afraid for my life. There will be illustrations... you might want to get excited.]

I should abandon my blog more often

I was such a grown-up this week! I ingested craploads of caffeine, averaged 5 hours of sleep a night, and MADE $#!& HAPPEN.


Exhibit A:                                                                                                                                                  

I revamped my professional portfolio! Want to see what Mrs. Matthews-er does for a living?*
*(by "for a living," I mean "is desperately seeking employment.")

clickety-click-click!

I managed to reel in my squirrel-with-ADHD personality for the most part, but by the time I made the "Get in Touch" page, my squirrely side had started to leak out. Oh, well.


Exhibit B:                                                                                                                                                  

To hold me over in the meantime, I got a job as a lifeguard/swim instructor, and signed up to volunteer at an animal shelter! I am SO on my way to becoming a functioning member of society.

Fun fact: Apparently lifeguards get fired if we wear our uniform off-duty, in public. But the internet doesn't count as public... right?

***

On another note: I saw one of my old Architecture School professors the other day, and confessed that I didn't have a job yet, but couldn't search outside of town because the Hubster is still in school here. Her advice?  Move out of town and leave him here if I was serious about a career in architecture.

Sorry, Prof, I'm way too whipped for that. I guess I'll just continue to harrass the small handful of firms here in town.

And as for all of YOU, amigos, please instruct all your rich relatives to commission lots of new construction projects here in Eugene, Oregon. Much appreciated.

Housewifery HOO-rah

I am a terrible housewife. I was never made for this. NEVER. I need direction; I need pressure; I need someone to boss me around.

(I need for any potential employers to erase the previous sentence and the existence of this blog from their memory, and believe I'm a perfectly self-motivated individual with energizer-bunny drive and the focus of a bald eagle with binoculars... who never writes run-on sentences.)

It makes sense that if I don't have a job, and Jason is working his butt off at school, I should be doing an equal amount of work in job-seeking and housewifery, yes?

Job-seeking? Check!
Housewifery? ....

Let's just say, it's so bad that I get aprons as gag gifts. 

Click to zoom. If you dare.

Euphemisms of the past:

Dinner isn't late, it's... suspenseful.

Dinner isn't burnt/completely carcinogenic/could be used as charcoal sticks for caveman drawings, it's... smokey. Or "Cajun?"

And the biohazards in the fridge? Just think of them as biodiversity. Flourishing biodiversity. Perhaps you prefer the term "wildlife?"

As for as the algae growing under the dish drainer, it... 

I just can't euphemize that. I can't. That was the final straw.

Combined with that horrific discovery and the manic-episode-inducing-happy-sunny springtime outside, it's as if someone shot me full of some sort of Crack-Ritalin cocktail.

I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MYSELF RIGHT NOW.
I'm going through a "This is why I'll never be an adult" cycle, and right now I'm full-on:

This is so amazing that I feel guilty for using it, even when I give Allie credit for it. SOURCE: hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com
 

Seriously, my hands are chapped from bleach.

Currently working on:

• Planning this entire week's meals and writing a grocery list for all the ingredients, organized into three different grocery stores, and BY AISLE. I'm serious about the Crack-Ritalin suspicions.
• Sterilizing/organizing the entire apartment. 
• Redesigning zee old blog... it's gonna be COOL!
• Redesigning my professional portfolio-- I'll link you to it once the dust settles.
• Drawing, & painting, & learning a new architecture design program!
• Applying for volunteer jobs at animal shelters while I wait to hear back from architecture firms.
• Taking a shower every day!
• Planning PARTIES!!!

I'll tell you about them soon. It's exciting. As is FREAKING EVERYTHING right now.

...I hope I don't crash too hard.

P.S. I finally thought of a way to euphemize the algae under the dish drainer: "At least that's ONE houseplant I can keep alive!" Buh-dum-PSHHH.

Battle of the Fonts

Pros of graduating with a degree in a design-oriented field:

• Your resumes, cover letters, and other employment paraphernalia have a decent chance at being really pretty.

Cons:

• You've developed a nervous tic which manifests itself in perfectionistic over-design mania.

Or, in other words, a five-hour long tic deciding what font to set my resume/cover letter in.

After the first full hour of staring at little letters, I gave up and got on the fbook resourcefully consulted my peers:

And it goes on for 21 comments. I love it when the geeks come out to play.


The following represents an incredibly abbreviated account of my struggles, once I hunkered back down into the world of productivity:

(Look out, world, I discovered how to embed animated .GIF files into cover letters.)

Premature Maturity

I'm turning 24 in about a month, but lately you'd think it's four times that number.

The last things I do before I go to bed at night include:

• worry that I'm becoming senile. (i.e. the most recent debacle where I lost my apartment key, borrowed Jason's key to check in the storage closet, and promptly locked HIS in the storage closet. Those were our only two keys.) (I may have Alzheimers, but at least I don't have Alzheimers.)
• trail off on long tangents. Where was I? 
• Oh yesss, things I do before bed: take pills for my hip injury. (Not pain pills, chillax.) (Wait, Chillax sounds like some sort of anti-anxiety medication, doesn't it?)
• slather on the anti-wrinkle cream (I'm a vain little old lady.)
• consider seeing a doctor about my bladder issues. I wish I were kidding.
• (as you can imagine, at this point Jason's all, "Hubba hubba, baby.")
• and check on my beard.

Once you consider my genetics, it's not so surprising. Meet the Papa Bear.

Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a teeeeny little bit. It's only one (although very manly) hair under my jaw, but I like to call it my beard to make the lonely little straggler feel like it has a place in the world. (Me constantly yanking it out probably contradicts this, but no one's pointed that out to it yet.)

So the last time I went to remove it, I could feel it with my hand, but I couldn't see it in the mirror like usual. When I finally tweezed it out, I understood why. IT HAD TURNED GRAY. I could see the exact point at which it had given up on melanin, too-- the last 25% of it was dark, and the rest of it was a bright, shiny silver. I can now tell my wee grandbabies that the first gray hair I ever got was my entire beard, all at once.

I told Jason that I'm thinking of growing it out, just to see how long it gets. I assured him that since it's silver, people probably won't notice it. At least until someone asks me a philosophical question & I have to pause, raise an eyebrow in deep thought, and slowly stroke my 8-inch silver strand thoughtfully between my thumb and index finger. Oh, the wisdom this shall impart.

Welcome to the Real World, kiddo.

I am TERRIFIED of getting a job.

[...exhale. There. I said it.]

I've had a degree in Architecture since July, which is basically a nice way of saying I've been unemployed for eight months.

That first summer after graduation, I didn't look for a job because I wanted to decompress from sleeplessly shredding my way through a five-year program in four years. A niiice, leisurely, three-month pat on the back, if you will.

Then, I didn't get a job because I wanted to tag along to Europe with the mister. (Was blogging a job? Nnnno. There's this picky little technical requirement called "income.") (But I'm still glad I did it.)

Well, it's been two months since we got back from living in Sweden, and I still haven't sent out a single resume. This is so painful to confess. I attribute it to 25% laziness, and 75% paralyzing fear of failure. Obviously, neither of which are any kind of excuse.

For those of you who aren't in the field of architecture, it's even a little more complicated than just sending out a couple sheets of paper. If you're serious about the job, you need to send them a portfolio of your best work.

If you're a super-duper Matthews-er reader, (Hi. I love you.) then you might remember from a previous post how insanely perfectionistic architecture students are. So imagine:

       horrific fear of failure
    + OCD perfectionism
    + no real deadline assigned 
       nitpicking through my portfolio for MONTHS. Redrawing projects. Rearranging pages.

...Not to mention procrastinating from nitpicking.

I'm not just afraid of getting turned down at interviews. I'm afraid of getting hired, and then my employers thinking that I know nothing about architecture. Because I feel that way myself. Don't get me wrong, I did well in school and everything, it's just that THERE IS SO MUCH TO KNOW in this field-- you have to juggle geometry, physics, psychology, graphic design, art history, even ecology for crying out loud. Plus, you know, this silly little thing called building code.

I'm not even bragging. I'm panicking.

But then, I remind myself, this encyclopedic knowledge requirement is exactly why I chose it. I'm so in love with learning about our world that I purposely chose the career which requires you to harmonize the hugest number of subjects. (Booyah. No red squiggly line under the word "hugest.")

And then, I remind myself that there's no way I can be an expert in architecture, even after busting my ass through four years of school. This is why they require four years of hyper-documented internships after school before you can even apply to get your license. Then you have actually pass the licensing test. So I'm probably right where I should be and am expecting way, way, way too much of myself.

And also, I need to get out there and get a job because: can you imagine me as a housewife?? (Okay, yeah, maybe a totally batsh!t crazy one. The house would be in a constant state of remodel, and the kids would get their faces painted like zoo animals every day before school.)

THAT being said, I'm printing out my portfolio this morning. It will never be 'done,' but I'M DONE. Done with these weird confidence issues. Done feeling like I'm mooching off of Jason. Done feeling guilty about having any kind of fun, because I should be working on my job search. Ready to step out of this comfort zone I've been in my whole life, called "school," and put it all to use.

{photo credit}

P.S. Sweet and inspiring reply from the talented Kelley Maria! Thanks Kel! (2-11-2011)

Bring it on, 2011.

There's something about making goals public that gives them that extra oomph, wouldn't you say?

My resolutions are pretty simple this year:

Waste less food. Don't judge, you do it too. Although I really will miss the array of "science experiments" sprouting in our refrigerator. Maybe I'll keep just a few "cultures"... I'll put them out on the back patio. Inside squirrel-proof cages.

Quadruple my efforts to get EMPLOYED! Man, do I miss doing architecture. It just massages my brain where the other stuff can't quite reach. (I hope you're making "squish-squish" sound effects.)

Employment will also yield many happy side-effects, such as being able to afford a house. Which will lead to more desired results such as being allowed to paint the walls cobalt blue and orange and poppy red and dusty lavender and fresh grass-green and bright white (no more of this "barely beige" sh*t, c'mon people... commit to either white or beige.) Anyhoo, yes-- I'm getting me-self a job ASAP.

Resolution number three: Consciously analyze whether I'm following the Golden Rule every single day. (I can't decide if this is a simple resolution, or an incredibly complicated one that will leave me awake at night wondering how often I should give people high-fives.*) But seriously, at the root of this resolution I will hopefully end up being more complimentary, straightforward, and supportive.

What's your top resolution this year? Do you have any tips for helping make mine happen?

And happy, happy 2011!!!!

*Because I LOOOOVE getting high-fives. But perhaps not everyone likes getting them as often as I do. So do I follow the Golden Rule by giving other people as many high-fives as I would want? Or do I follow the Golden Rule by trying to give everyone as many high-fives as would satisfy their own unique hand-slapping needs?

**The pictures don't have anything to do with New Year's resolutions. What they do have to do with is that on New Year's Eve I discovered that my shirt and the Christmas tree got along very prettily, and that I spent five minutes standing in front of the tree taking blurry pictures of my sequin-scaled stomach.