Not an adult, not quite a Millennial.

I’m not a millennial. But, I’m not NOT a millennial. Like, I’m too old (I think) to qualify, but then again, my perception of self worth is largely dependent on social media attention and whether or not people think my eyebrows look okay. (Like I don’t need them to be on fleek, because no one has yet defined this for me, but I ABSOLUTELY dread being around people who contour and perfectly fill in their brows and lips with pretty pastes that cost more than my car insurance, because that shit is bananas-serious and I know they are judging me. AND ALL I WANT IS TO FIT IN BECAUSE MAYBE WE COULD BE FRIENDS AND MY EYEBROWS DON’T DEFINE ME.)

See my dilemma? It’s a total circa 2005 Britney I’m not a girl, not yet a woman scenario.

I know what you’re thinking: what do my insecurities about my eyebrows being on or off of this “fleek” have to do with anything?

The short answer is, my eyebrows have literally nothing to do with anything.

The long answer starts back in the late 90s. See, I was among the first generation where parents and teachers wanted us to know we were special little superstars who could do anything we put our mind to. No rulers bruised our knuckles. No text books were thrown at our heads. And Unlike Biggie Smalls, we were never told, “[You’d] never amount to nothin’.” Instead, we were told to follow our dreams and to embrace our talents. We were told to go to University and pursue anything we longed to know more about. If we danced, we were encouraged to dance. If we wrote, we were encouraged to write. If we had no obvious talents, were encouraged to take Open Studies and “just experience University” as if it’s some kind of 4-year-long club for young adults who don’t understand what a T4 slip does. And, finally, we were told jobs would be plentiful because the baby boomers were soon retiring, and before they do they’d be grateful to train us to replace them.

Spoiler alert: this hasn’t really happened. 2-funny-job-interview-meme

In return, for those of us who took the bait and believed in ourselves enough to follow our dreams (and not labor market trends), our praise quickly turned to disappointment. No longer are there cheering noises and shiny participation ribbons being thrown at us. No longer are gold stars handed out for putting on pants and leaving the house. Instead, we are bombarded with questions like this:

“Do you have a real job yet?”
“Ok, but how much have you put away in RRSP’s?”
“Do you have a real job yet?”
“What do you mean you don’t know what an RRSP is?”
“Do you have a real job yet?”

LIKE, I JUST WANT TO LIVE. STOP STRESSING ME OUT.

The point is: I am that sucker. I have spent nearly a decade in and out of school trying to find a way to be creative for a living. So, finally, after years of dedication, I’m happy to announce: I am now blogging for a living. And by “now” I mean “still”. And by “for a living”, I mean “for exactly zero dollars.” 

For those of you who have followed along with this strange little hobby of mine over the years, you know how many times Bringitonbeach.com has changed, disapeared, not made any sense, or became an outlet for my passive aggressive revenge towards ex-boyfriends (okay, that was like one time, and I’m sorry but I’m not sorry). Moving forward, I’m going to write about the adventures I take, the restaurants I indulge in, and other memorable experiences I probably shouldn’t share. All in sassy, awkward Kala fashion.

So, stay tuned, share, and let me know what you think. But please don’t comment on my eyebrows, because honestly I am already dealing with this RRSP thing and I DON’T HAVE TIME TO HAVE COMPLETELY IRRATIONAL PANIC ATTACKS ABOUT ANYTHING ELSE.

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