YDR - file; Buttons at Yesteryear Antique Center.
So here are five places where I spend a lot of time.
In my senior year of college, I did a service-based spring break trip to the Redwoods in California. It easily blew all other spring-break trips out of the water.
This past weekend, I made the four-hour trek home for my brother’s 10th birthday. After family time during the day Saturday, I headed out to a local bar with a few friends from high school, who spent part of the night reminiscing about a college trip to Acapulco.
It was mostly tales of drinking (a lot), waking up claiming they’d never drink again, and then having a margarita in the afternoon to start all over again.
I’ve had a few of the “I’m never drinking again” nights. And it’s true — the declaration is usually short-lived. But as my family talked about summer vacation plans this weekend, an all-inclusive trip to a beach-front resort was the furthest thing from my mind.
I’m dreaming of the mountains.
Photo courtesy of Pinterest
When I was younger, my parents’ accountant did my taxes.
I gathered my hodge podge of forms once a year, handed them off to Mike the Tax Man, signed whatever my mom and dad brought back to me and a few months later had some extra cash burning a hole in my pocket.
The first year I filed on my own, I had no less than six jobs (not all at once, I promise) and I had lived in three different places, so I gathered my manilla folder of forms and went to one of those big chain places.
I forked over my $100 bucks and answered the preparer’s million questions as I sat in a strip mall between a nail salon and a Subway.
For the next three years, I only worked at one job and I kept the moving to a minimum — or at least within the realm of Cumberland County’s Cap Tax district.
I filed everything myself — usually in one expletive-filled afternoon.
That was until 2011.
At work, I sit for eight hours a day in front of a computer screen. At home, my laptop is my yellow pages, encyclopedia, television, travel agent, radio, address book, newspaper and most everything else via the Internet. In my pocket I carry a smartphone. At night before bed I read from my Kindle.
I live in front of a screen.
I don’t remember making the digital flip. It happened gradually. My dad was a computer programmer and when I was in second or third grade he used to encourage me to sit in front of the monitor and play games. He knew computers were the future and wanted me to like them. I usually got bored after 30 minutes or so and would run outside to play with my friends.
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York Daily Record file; The York highway department team fills in a pot hole on East Philadelphia Streets in 2010.
Erin: When I pull around the alley to park behind my York apartment, I always hit some major pot holes. I’ve had enough car problems in the alley. I don’t need another flat tire or for my alignment to get out of whack. I try my best to avoid the concrete canyons, but when another car is on the street, it’s almost impossible. There are a lot of things I like about living downtown, but there are things — potholes included — that could be improved. Twenty-somethings pay taxes, too! What would you fix about your community? Better lighting? More green space? An accident-preventing stoplight? Share ideas on the new Fix York County blog.
Check out these related posts:
I live in a trashy neighborhood
Compared to Baltimore, York’s parking not so bad
This photo was taken at a Weird Al concert before the release of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2." That's me on the left, dressed in a Slytherin uniform and holding Boba Fett's gun. Needless to say, it was a pretty incredible night.
I am 23 years old. I graduated from a world-renowned university. I am in charge of my own finances, I am responsible for paying my college debts and my bills, and I consider myself a mature adult.
I also sing at my desk while working and occasionally use my keyboard as a drum set. I own a wand I bought at the midnight release of the final Harry Potter movie (which I attended in costume), and I own not one, but TWO sonic screwdrivers from the British sci-fi series “Doctor Who.” And I’m pretty sure I’ve set the Pennsylvania record for most obscure references uttered to people who have no idea what I’m talking about.
The two people who catch the brunt of this absurd level of nerdiness are fellow Twenty & Changers Bethany Fehlinger and Caryn Rupert, who should consider themselves blessed enough to own the desks nearest mine (if only for the entertainment value). They give me plenty of odd looks throughout the night, often when I’m busy muttering threats to my computer for operating too slowly or when I’m head-banging to The Darkness while proofreading a page.
I’m glad they’re understanding of my moderate insanity, because no matter how much older I get, I hope to never relinquish my need to spew “Lord of the Rings” and “Silent Hill” quotes in casual conversation. Why? Because I am a geek, and proud of it. Continue reading
Follow Maritza on Twitter at @PolaRoid_Rage
Maritza Lugo from HelloGiggles knows me so well. Her illustrated Tweets make me laugh but also cry, as my battle with the kitchen is a never-ending quest.
I’ve tried a variety of tricks: Cooking all my food for the week, storing the food in perfectly portioned containers, hiding the bad-for-me goodies in a high enough place, and just outright not even buying certain foods, whether it’s the chips or the salsa that triggers my chip-eating habit.
Please don't judge my lame hipster graphic. Thank you.
Because a 75-year-old can’t be hipster? I dunno, Urban Dictionary.
2. Your sense of style challenges the runways. This includes “edgy” hair, or at least a shag cut or side-swept bangs. (I’ll consider my thick, layered hair shaggy. I also consider my fashion sense a little whack. Check.)
Urban Dictionary notes that distressed jeans used to be the look of hipsters. Now, it’s trendy and in stores such as Gap, American Eagle, Hollister. Fail.
3. You listen to indie music. (Can Dr. Dog still be considered indie? If so, check.)
That’s the problem with indie music. Something is good, then it becomes mainstream. Then you can’t like it anymore if you’re a hipster. Or, something is good, then it becomes mainstream, then it turns sour. See our post on Lana Del Ray.
4. You delight in eating at little-known restaurants, taking a picture of your meal before digging in and posting it to Instagram (because you were through with Facebook long before “The Social Network” hit theaters). (Check.)
I might’ve come up with this one myself.
5. You shop at flea markets, yard sales and antique stores. You’re really proud every time you find a second-hand ware that was cheap, practical and/or environmentally friendly. (Check, check annnnd check.)
I’ve probably heard the word “vintage” five times this week among my friends. At least. It’s becoming almost as mainstream as … being a hipster? Wait, are people trying to become hipsters? Does that make it trendy? Does that … defeat the purpose?
Can someone please tell me what it really means to be a hipster? And if true “hipster-ness” can even be attained? Because even the most original ideas are sparked by someone else’s ingenuity, no? Am I overthinking it? Discuss.
Image courtesy of flickr user galleryquantum
I don’t have a mentor.
There are a few “older people” – they range in age from 28 to 88 — who I look up to and ask for advice, but no one I can officially call my mentor.
But I would like to.
(It’s kind of like when you are “talking” to someone you would like to have a relationship with. You are spending time with him, he’s probably interested in you, too, but there isn’t yet a label on what you are. He’s not your boyfriend, just your boy friend. Note: My mom calls them non-boyfriends.)
And I’m sure I’m not alone in the whole wanting a mentor thing.
According to a recent study by LinkedIn, slightly more than 50 percent of Gen-Y women have mentors, which means almost 50 percent don’t.
So, how do I get one? Who should I ask? What do I ask them? What if they say “no”?
Like any tech savvy 20-something, I Googled “how to find a mentor” — and got more than 2 million results!
Feb. 14 comes but once a year, which makes most guys (single or attached) get sweaty and nervous and awkward, while their girlfriends (or girl friends) try to downplay the importance of chocolate and flowers and romance.
This week has, so far, included conversations
like this:
Dad: I was going to send you flowers at work, but Mom stopped me and said I probably would embarrass you.
Me: Oh. Ah… yes. But thanks for the offer?
And, of course:
Co-worker who shall not be named: I saw something on “How to Survive Valentine’s Day If You’re Single,” and I was going to forward it to you. But I didn’t.
Me: Thanks?
