The upper-middle class is an odd species to say the least. I currently work in a high-end luggage store and I feel like Jane Goodall. America's caste system has never been so apparent to me. I sit back and watch them as they run their fingers across the leathers, nylons, and lightweight canvasses. They frown and humph, upset that the bag is missing their exact, weirdly precise specifications. Why has no one built me a custom bag already?! When I have the audacity to suggest something different than what they chose (or, the European God forbid, something out of their price range but they don't want to tell me that) they scoff and get angry that I even deigned to assist them in their impossible search. I never have the gumption to tell them that if they don't find it here, they won't find it anywhere. This store (shop? Though, "shop" makes me sound like a skilled artisan with actual goods and talent to offer. Instead, I'm standing in a sea of self-healing zippers and unnatural fabrics, not knowing what to say or do at all. At least my "guests" are interesting.
These people generally have the world. They have multiple cars, multiple houses, and take more vacations per year than I will take in my life time. They come in and boast about their child at some ivy league or equivalent, puffing out their chest and beaming with undeserved pride. I mean, toot toot for your kid. But I'm sure growing up in a gorgeous, gated golf community and attending cotillion had a lot to do with their success. I'm not trying to diminish anyone's achievements. I just wish those who are so deeply ensconced in the upper earning percentiles they can't see us little people on the ground could wake up and realize that they sit on pedestals made of down pillows and expect all of us to plump them.
My favorite (and most recent) story is one of a lady and her husband came in. She had the air of "you're all below me," while he had a fairly amicable smile and was at least attempting to make normal human contact. The woman came to me and in the voice of Lucille Bluth herself says, "This is a Prada bag. I don't know if you're aware, buy this bag is very expensive and very special. I need a tag that won't distract from the bag so if someone finds it they'll be able to return it to me."
Oh. Honey.
You naive little nouveau-riche idiot.
It was everything I could do to withhold a laugh. Not to mention this woman's assumption that I needed Prada explained to me. I know luxury fashion brands better than Lagerfeld himself, thankyouverymuch. Just because I'm broke with student loans darkening my horizons doesn't mean I don't appreciate a well-constructed accessory. Geez.
Anyways. She was just really excited to brag. So I let her. As a rule, I don't encourage boasting. I refuse to sit there with feigned awe as you go all "rambler without a cause" on me. But, in the name of getting her out of the store quickly, I stared blankly, inserting a complacent. "oh okay," and a "wow" or two. She seemed placated.
*******************************************************************************
I recently got my first big sale. I will say, I have never been treated quite like this woman treated me. Every other sentence was something passive-aggressive and condescending. She would ask me a question and then interject my answer with a completely unrelated, oddly specific question that I never knew the answer to (and when I didn't, she would get this smug, I knew it look on her face). She treated me like I imagine she treats everyone- like I would be lucky if my IQ were to exceed 50. I let her. For some reason I viewed taking oodles of her money would somehow make me feel better.
It did.
She wanted me to help her walk the luggage out to her car. I explained that I was the only person in the store and couldn't just leave it for her. This was apparently the very wrongest thing I could have possibly said. She looked at a group of African American people shopping in the store and then looked back at me, lowered her voice and said, "I don't feel comfortable leaving with this stuff alone. You'll have to take me to my car."
Some people just think the world should stop for them. Too bad once you prove to be a racist piece of crap, I no longer give any more fucks about you.
When Security showed up, it was a tall, African American woman and gentleman (she was training him). The lady shouted, "ARE YOU SECURITY?!" and the security guard looked down at her (very obvious) security uniform and looked back as if to say, "Uh. Yeah." I didn't know whether to laugh or sink to the floor to resign myself to two more hours of berating. Because obviously everything was my fault.
Anyways,
Long story short, the lady got her expensive luggage. It wasn't all in the box, like she demanded 18 times, even though I explained EVERY TIME that it would take a YEAR to order a brand new bag. And even though she threatened multiple times to buy online, she purchased in-store. So I got abused and humiliated- to be honest, I could use the ego deflation. What matters is I got a big sale and feel overall okay about it.
My life is so exciting.
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Sail, Fly, Float, and Dissolve
Would anyone notice my absence? I mean, really? Outside of being spared my constant and unpredictable mood swings- each one worse than the last, my hyper-critical nature stemming from long-standing OCD which used to make me scrub my skin until it bled, and my childish abandonment issues there's really no other qualities of mine that stick out.
This isn't chemical.
Maybe it is.
But that doesn't mean it's not "real" and that these emotions don't have some solid, inherent basis.
Sometimes I find myself thinking about death, what it feels like. Maybe it's like warm, thick velvet, enveloping you until you can no longer breathe. It wraps you up like a soft, unventilated cocoon; then you're reborn in this new place where you feel beautiful and necessary.
Or maybe it's like an enormous bucket filling the room you're in with turpentine. The unavoidable sticky, sickly-smelling blackness swells upward and you're struggling to escape it. Until you just finally accept it.
They say that animals (and humans) are frantic until they've resigned themselves to death. When they realize they're going to die, they grow calm. They stop fighting. Maybe they get this faraway look in their eyes, showing that they've already made the choice to float away before the final, fatal blow has been delivered.
This isn't chemical.
Maybe it is.
But that doesn't mean it's not "real" and that these emotions don't have some solid, inherent basis.
Sometimes I find myself thinking about death, what it feels like. Maybe it's like warm, thick velvet, enveloping you until you can no longer breathe. It wraps you up like a soft, unventilated cocoon; then you're reborn in this new place where you feel beautiful and necessary.
Or maybe it's like an enormous bucket filling the room you're in with turpentine. The unavoidable sticky, sickly-smelling blackness swells upward and you're struggling to escape it. Until you just finally accept it.
They say that animals (and humans) are frantic until they've resigned themselves to death. When they realize they're going to die, they grow calm. They stop fighting. Maybe they get this faraway look in their eyes, showing that they've already made the choice to float away before the final, fatal blow has been delivered.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Well, well, well....what do we have here.
I put far more effort into avoiding work than I do actually working. It amazes me that I will expend so much planning and energy into calculating the least amount of effort I can put forth and get the most out of it. This is how I know I'm a true capitalist. I know that if an economist were to follow me around for a few days (or better yet, a semester; then he or she could really get a feel for the ebb and flow of my market gains and losses) they would learn enough to get our nation back in the black. I'm not sure who said it - Bill Gates, I think - and going with the theme of this post, I'm too lazy to Google it, but someone famous once said to give a hard job to a lazy person, he'll find an easy way to do it.
That. Is. So true.
I will expend enormous amounts of time and energy on calculations- "how many times can I hit 'snooze'? Do I really need to shower? How many pairs of underwear until I'm out and simply MUST do laundry? If I make my punctuation marks one size bigger, and adjust the spacing after a period, I can stretch this to a whole extra half a page!"...when I really think about it, it seems exhausting.
I always get to this point in the semester. I woefully look backwards and think- "If I would have started outlining and reading supplements in October, this week would be a breeze." But no, in October I was agonizing over what I would be for Halloween and whether they were going to add another season of Pretty Little Liars to Netflix.
Priorities. I have them.
This all eventually leads me down a rabbit hole of despair; I start thinking about all of the trips I haven't taken, the friends I haven't had coffee with, the deep cleaning that needs to be done, and how I stopped working out in September. It all starts to engulf me and I feel like I'm wearing a really heavy, wet wool sweater. An ugly one, at that.
I don't know why I do this. Maybe I'm a masochist. Maybe I get a rush by 'winging it' and hoping that yet again, I'll get pretty high marks and think to myself "Muahahaha. I didn't even WORK for these!" But still. If I DID work...if I WERE to put in the effort that I should be- not even the effort that I COULD be putting in- what would I be capable of?? The thought kind of scares me.
I could sit here and BS a resolution, "I'm never procrastinating again. Next semester, I'm designing a study plan and I'm going to study every day for 8 hours...." No. That's not going to happen. But I'm seriously at a crossroads with myself. I'm realizing that I'm my own worst enemy. I have kept myself from countless opportunities only because I didn't feel like working for them. I mean, what is that? Next semester, I am going to try harder. I'm going to create structure for myself. I'm not going to beat myself up for the stuff I haven't done, but I'm going to applaud myself for the stuff I have. I'm going to say 'no' more- no, I can't help you with your test, I have my own to study for. No, I'm not buying that wine tonight. I have 125 pages of reading. No, I will NOT watch 'just one more episode' of whatever on Netflix tonight. Mostly, my problem is telling myself no, but if someone I care about needs help or attention, I'm not going to turn them down.
Basically, I need to teach myself willpower. I need to be strict with myself and create an actual, structured study plan. I need to work out more and drink less wine. Basically, I need to grow up.
That was really hard to write. It's really hard to face yourself and admit that you're 25 and it's time. You look around at other young professionals owning houses, getting married, losing weight, learning new languages and you realize that they've started to do something that you just refuse to get on the bandwagon for- growing up. But it's time. It's time that I start accepting myself for who I am and loving myself for it. It's time I start planning for the future- physically, emotionally, and mentally. I need to start laying a professional groundwork for the future. I need a freaking savings account.
But I think I'm ready. I'm done creating hell for myself and then feeling sorry for myself when that hell sucks. I'm done beating myself up and hating myself for things that I could easily change. I'm done casting blame on myself and others. And finally, I'm done holding myself back. I won't change overnight, I can't. But I'm sure as hell ready to get started.
That. Is. So true.
I will expend enormous amounts of time and energy on calculations- "how many times can I hit 'snooze'? Do I really need to shower? How many pairs of underwear until I'm out and simply MUST do laundry? If I make my punctuation marks one size bigger, and adjust the spacing after a period, I can stretch this to a whole extra half a page!"...when I really think about it, it seems exhausting.
I always get to this point in the semester. I woefully look backwards and think- "If I would have started outlining and reading supplements in October, this week would be a breeze." But no, in October I was agonizing over what I would be for Halloween and whether they were going to add another season of Pretty Little Liars to Netflix.
Priorities. I have them.
This all eventually leads me down a rabbit hole of despair; I start thinking about all of the trips I haven't taken, the friends I haven't had coffee with, the deep cleaning that needs to be done, and how I stopped working out in September. It all starts to engulf me and I feel like I'm wearing a really heavy, wet wool sweater. An ugly one, at that.
I don't know why I do this. Maybe I'm a masochist. Maybe I get a rush by 'winging it' and hoping that yet again, I'll get pretty high marks and think to myself "Muahahaha. I didn't even WORK for these!" But still. If I DID work...if I WERE to put in the effort that I should be- not even the effort that I COULD be putting in- what would I be capable of?? The thought kind of scares me.
I could sit here and BS a resolution, "I'm never procrastinating again. Next semester, I'm designing a study plan and I'm going to study every day for 8 hours...." No. That's not going to happen. But I'm seriously at a crossroads with myself. I'm realizing that I'm my own worst enemy. I have kept myself from countless opportunities only because I didn't feel like working for them. I mean, what is that? Next semester, I am going to try harder. I'm going to create structure for myself. I'm not going to beat myself up for the stuff I haven't done, but I'm going to applaud myself for the stuff I have. I'm going to say 'no' more- no, I can't help you with your test, I have my own to study for. No, I'm not buying that wine tonight. I have 125 pages of reading. No, I will NOT watch 'just one more episode' of whatever on Netflix tonight. Mostly, my problem is telling myself no, but if someone I care about needs help or attention, I'm not going to turn them down.
Basically, I need to teach myself willpower. I need to be strict with myself and create an actual, structured study plan. I need to work out more and drink less wine. Basically, I need to grow up.
That was really hard to write. It's really hard to face yourself and admit that you're 25 and it's time. You look around at other young professionals owning houses, getting married, losing weight, learning new languages and you realize that they've started to do something that you just refuse to get on the bandwagon for- growing up. But it's time. It's time that I start accepting myself for who I am and loving myself for it. It's time I start planning for the future- physically, emotionally, and mentally. I need to start laying a professional groundwork for the future. I need a freaking savings account.
But I think I'm ready. I'm done creating hell for myself and then feeling sorry for myself when that hell sucks. I'm done beating myself up and hating myself for things that I could easily change. I'm done casting blame on myself and others. And finally, I'm done holding myself back. I won't change overnight, I can't. But I'm sure as hell ready to get started.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
I like knowing I have public anonymity
I wish I could run away and write.
I wish I could find a cute cottage next to a beach that I could put a big barnwood desk in, right by the front window, facing the ocean.
I would put frothy white curtains at the window, and I would light sandalwood incense at night.
I could focus on my thoughts; I would paint pictures with words and my sentences would be so poignant, their literary lattice work would curl around the smoke emanating from my incense sticks.
It's not about being on vacation or escaping having to work and be part of the real world. It's about wanting to be part of my own universe- apart from this twisted world we live in.
I wish I could find a cute cottage next to a beach that I could put a big barnwood desk in, right by the front window, facing the ocean.
I would put frothy white curtains at the window, and I would light sandalwood incense at night.
I could focus on my thoughts; I would paint pictures with words and my sentences would be so poignant, their literary lattice work would curl around the smoke emanating from my incense sticks.
It's not about being on vacation or escaping having to work and be part of the real world. It's about wanting to be part of my own universe- apart from this twisted world we live in.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Friday, April 27, 2012
Maybe It's Best You Leave Me Alone
Melancholy music. That's the type of mood I'm in. Melancholy music and 2:30 am don't mix well. This is where overdoses and random property damage are born.
This Monday a friend of mine from high school passed away. After wallowing in misery for a week, completely focused on how horrible of a week it was for ME, I'm starting to realize my own self-centeredness (is that a word?). The problem is, the little five-year-old egoist is clinging to my heart and brain, unyielding in its control. I WANT to learn a lesson from this, but I can't pull myself from the mire that is self-pity.
I need one of those slaps.
You know the ones. They're in movies and shows, one semi-major character is having a freak out about something arbitrary- a test, money problems, a pregnancy scare (okay, I haven't seen that one, yet, but it made for a good progression) and the other character, usually one of the main, beloved ones hauls off and SLAPS THE CRAP OUT OF THE OTHER.
And no one gets mad. The slapee holds their cheek, looks offended for a moment, and then realizes 'Hey, I NEEDED that!' and the other character comically over-shrugs and they calm down and get down to the business of figuring out how to move forward. I need that. I keep saying 'My life is falling apart. My life is falling APART. MY life is FALLING apart.' and all other variations of emphasis. I feel like I'm on a runaway train heading for a broken trestle (for those of you that don't know or didn't read Water For Elephants that's a bridge over a ravine of sorts).
Thus, I am forced to make a list.
I'm employed.
I have a car.
I have a home.
I have a phone.
I'm getting a degree in a matter of days.
I'm heading to law school in a matter of weeks.
I'm finally having a successful love life.
I have the best group of friends anyone could ever ask for.
I have a family. And while I'm the Black Sheep, they still care.
And best of all? I have a LOT of fun. A lot.
For the first time in my life, I'm pretty much happy or content with every aspect of it. So why is it when I think of the future I can't breathe and I get tunnel vision? Am I that terrified of the unknown? I mean, I've always hated surprises and lacking control, and don't get me started on how much I despise change. As I focus in on each little thing, I have countless blessings in my life. I'm grateful for these, but I'm still confused as to why when I look to the big picture everything gets all fuzzy and impossible. Blerrrrrrrrrrrrghhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Okay, I feel better.
See, I would attempt the 'Pull yourself together!' slap, but I'm hesitant for many reasons.
1) I don't the pain that goes with the slap, regardless of who gave it to me
2) The lack of surprise would greatly reduce the effectiveness of the slap, I daresay it would render it pointless
3) Crazy people hit themselves. I'm not crazy, I'm eccentric. There's a difference. I swear.
I digress.
I'm currently having a territory war with a gnat. I do believe this is where I cross over from eccentric to crazy. As we cross into 3 am, I'm debating just staying up all night, though I think that would prove to be disastrous.
Yeah...I think it's time to turn in. I just downloaded an entire Otis Redding anthology with some Monkees and Garth Brooks. I'm totes going for a country drive tomorrow. Warm, sunny, windows down, soda in hand with Otis Redding's raspy, magical voice floating out of my cute little jalopy's speakers. That sounds perfect.
Cheers.
This Monday a friend of mine from high school passed away. After wallowing in misery for a week, completely focused on how horrible of a week it was for ME, I'm starting to realize my own self-centeredness (is that a word?). The problem is, the little five-year-old egoist is clinging to my heart and brain, unyielding in its control. I WANT to learn a lesson from this, but I can't pull myself from the mire that is self-pity.
I need one of those slaps.
You know the ones. They're in movies and shows, one semi-major character is having a freak out about something arbitrary- a test, money problems, a pregnancy scare (okay, I haven't seen that one, yet, but it made for a good progression) and the other character, usually one of the main, beloved ones hauls off and SLAPS THE CRAP OUT OF THE OTHER.
And no one gets mad. The slapee holds their cheek, looks offended for a moment, and then realizes 'Hey, I NEEDED that!' and the other character comically over-shrugs and they calm down and get down to the business of figuring out how to move forward. I need that. I keep saying 'My life is falling apart. My life is falling APART. MY life is FALLING apart.' and all other variations of emphasis. I feel like I'm on a runaway train heading for a broken trestle (for those of you that don't know or didn't read Water For Elephants that's a bridge over a ravine of sorts).
Thus, I am forced to make a list.
I'm employed.
I have a car.
I have a home.
I have a phone.
I'm getting a degree in a matter of days.
I'm heading to law school in a matter of weeks.
I'm finally having a successful love life.
I have the best group of friends anyone could ever ask for.
I have a family. And while I'm the Black Sheep, they still care.
And best of all? I have a LOT of fun. A lot.
For the first time in my life, I'm pretty much happy or content with every aspect of it. So why is it when I think of the future I can't breathe and I get tunnel vision? Am I that terrified of the unknown? I mean, I've always hated surprises and lacking control, and don't get me started on how much I despise change. As I focus in on each little thing, I have countless blessings in my life. I'm grateful for these, but I'm still confused as to why when I look to the big picture everything gets all fuzzy and impossible. Blerrrrrrrrrrrrghhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Okay, I feel better.
See, I would attempt the 'Pull yourself together!' slap, but I'm hesitant for many reasons.
1) I don't the pain that goes with the slap, regardless of who gave it to me
2) The lack of surprise would greatly reduce the effectiveness of the slap, I daresay it would render it pointless
3) Crazy people hit themselves. I'm not crazy, I'm eccentric. There's a difference. I swear.
I digress.
I'm currently having a territory war with a gnat. I do believe this is where I cross over from eccentric to crazy. As we cross into 3 am, I'm debating just staying up all night, though I think that would prove to be disastrous.
Yeah...I think it's time to turn in. I just downloaded an entire Otis Redding anthology with some Monkees and Garth Brooks. I'm totes going for a country drive tomorrow. Warm, sunny, windows down, soda in hand with Otis Redding's raspy, magical voice floating out of my cute little jalopy's speakers. That sounds perfect.
Cheers.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
An Update of Sorts...
Well, as these things go, I am not graduating in December of this year as previously thought. I had a very wise professor explain to me that law schools do not begin until September; if I were to wait and not go to school within those few months I would be unable to defer my loans for that period of time.
Oh. Well then.
Somehow I doubt I could have afforded paying those back on minimum wage. Alas. It's ok, though. I'm taking it slowly and pacing my classes so I don't get too overwhelmed. Plus, as long as I'm a student I can work at the NPR station on campus, and I kinda like this gig.
Harumph. Yes, I said harumph. I feel like you don't have to be an octogenarian male to be able to pull it off. In other news, I'm in a cantankerous mood and it's boiling in this production room. I feel a little bit like a lab rat under heat lamps. It's a matter of time before they start rewarding me with cheese for pressing differently-colored buttons.
First Thought: ADD really helps with the whole 'blogging' thing. Keeps a nice, jumpy pace. Who likes flow? Not this girl!
Second Thought: Bronchitis sucks. I feel like it's not fair for a sickness to last two to three weeks (according to WebMD).
Third Thought: Standardized tests. Uber blah.(Dingdingding we have a topic for me to rant about!)
Next time :)
Oh. Well then.
Somehow I doubt I could have afforded paying those back on minimum wage. Alas. It's ok, though. I'm taking it slowly and pacing my classes so I don't get too overwhelmed. Plus, as long as I'm a student I can work at the NPR station on campus, and I kinda like this gig.
Harumph. Yes, I said harumph. I feel like you don't have to be an octogenarian male to be able to pull it off. In other news, I'm in a cantankerous mood and it's boiling in this production room. I feel a little bit like a lab rat under heat lamps. It's a matter of time before they start rewarding me with cheese for pressing differently-colored buttons.
First Thought: ADD really helps with the whole 'blogging' thing. Keeps a nice, jumpy pace. Who likes flow? Not this girl!
Second Thought: Bronchitis sucks. I feel like it's not fair for a sickness to last two to three weeks (according to WebMD).
Third Thought: Standardized tests. Uber blah.(Dingdingding we have a topic for me to rant about!)
Next time :)
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Not sure if this is any good....
I haven't written in forever, and I just started again a few months ago. I don't really share them with people. There's probably a reason for that.
This one is unfinished....
"Almost, But Not at All"
When you start looking
Pass me over
Your love would be wasted
And your wounds will remain unhealed
I'm the land mine
In your field of opportunities
Lying in wait
For your heart to fall into me
Others have been here
They've created this monster
Carved from the stones of insecurities
And breathed into life by fear
You may imagine
That you can change me
But no one can succeed
Though many have tried
I am the animal
Stalking my prey
Waiting for you to become weakened
So my kill will be that much easier
Understand my pleas
And see that it's what's best
I know what I'm capable of
This one is unfinished....
"Almost, But Not at All"
When you start looking
Pass me over
Your love would be wasted
And your wounds will remain unhealed
I'm the land mine
In your field of opportunities
Lying in wait
For your heart to fall into me
Others have been here
They've created this monster
Carved from the stones of insecurities
And breathed into life by fear
You may imagine
That you can change me
But no one can succeed
Though many have tried
I am the animal
Stalking my prey
Waiting for you to become weakened
So my kill will be that much easier
Understand my pleas
And see that it's what's best
I know what I'm capable of
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
I'm a Sucker For His Charm....
I've never, to this day, met anyone I can honestly say that about. I'm not sure if it's my own complete lack of allure or that in this century the possibility of meeting someone with any type of charm or charisma is almost null and void, but it would be so reminiscent of an older era to surround myself with that type of person. However, when one discusses charm, it's always in a 'HE has charm' type of sense. This is true in historical context as well. When you think of charming men in history you think of Cassonova, Romeo, Henry VIII (hey, he had to be charming to keep getting women even after he banished/killed the ones before them, charming or the women of the time were insanely stupid, which I highly doubt because they found ways to survive child birth in a world where eating rotten beef was a common place occurrence). But when one tries to think of women in a charming sense, you think of people such as Jezebel, Delilah, Ann Boleyn- women that beguiled and fooled men into falling into their traps. Women who were eventually punished for their indecencies and for fooling poor, unsuspecting men into doing their bidding and therefore tainting the pure of heart. Typical. Men are "charming" and women get labeled "Jezebels" "Flirts" or "Bimbos". To quote one of my favorite movies, "I'm really starting to understand this puritanical ostracism that Hawthorne was talking about...."
My friend Jennifer told me she found me 'charming'- I believe that's kind-speak for 'you're crazy, but entertaining'. And hey, that works. Labels don't concern me anymore. After spending years agonizing over what people would label me and trying to cultivate the right label for myself, I'm too tired to do so. I would look in the mirror on a daily basis and ask myself 'does this fit the label I've given myself?'.(Which, by the way, I feel as if as much as we as a society complain about the labels given to us by others, we spend a great deal of time putting Hi My Label Is ________ stickers on ourselves. Maybe next time we complain we should look inward instead of pointing our metaphorical accusations at the general populace). I know who I am. I don't need a glittery bow and a lip ring to show that I'm not like any other girl you've ever met. This took me quite some time to realize but once I did it was like a huge weight off of my shoulders. I've had this constant dichotomy inside me of who I really am and who I was portraying myself to be. (Not that I don't like glittery bows- who doesn't??? I just don't feel like I'll lose anyone in my life if I weren't to pin them in my hair).
This cursor on this page is quite friendly, encouraging even. As I'm attempting to write a paper it becomes more and more evil and insistent. It's like my mother waiting for me to get ready for church. I feel its theoretical eyes boring holes into my face, just daring me to attempt to type a paragraph that it will in turn force me to delete because of its sub-par use of information. It's like it knows that I'm ill-prepared for this debate and that I can barely focus on my tasks at hand given the litany of other things clouding my already foggy mind. I should probably confront it, maybe invite it to therapy to work on our struggling relationship. The cursor (whose gender is undecided at press time) will talk about how I don't push myself hard enough and that it's tired of waiting around for me, while I'll counter with that I need to do things at my own pace and it should respect my work and create a more work-friendly environment. It will in turn tell me it knows I'm cheating on it with the Facebook and blogger.com cursors, to which I'll say that I'm not cheating, I just enjoy spending time with them more than it).
(Which we all think is NOT cheating...right?? RIGHT?? Ok, maybe not all of us. Actually, only a few of us, and most of those are my ex boyfriends).
Well. Upon the therapist's suggestions, I need to go spend time with my cursor, it's feeling neglected.
You know you love me XD
My friend Jennifer told me she found me 'charming'- I believe that's kind-speak for 'you're crazy, but entertaining'. And hey, that works. Labels don't concern me anymore. After spending years agonizing over what people would label me and trying to cultivate the right label for myself, I'm too tired to do so. I would look in the mirror on a daily basis and ask myself 'does this fit the label I've given myself?'.(Which, by the way, I feel as if as much as we as a society complain about the labels given to us by others, we spend a great deal of time putting Hi My Label Is ________ stickers on ourselves. Maybe next time we complain we should look inward instead of pointing our metaphorical accusations at the general populace). I know who I am. I don't need a glittery bow and a lip ring to show that I'm not like any other girl you've ever met. This took me quite some time to realize but once I did it was like a huge weight off of my shoulders. I've had this constant dichotomy inside me of who I really am and who I was portraying myself to be. (Not that I don't like glittery bows- who doesn't??? I just don't feel like I'll lose anyone in my life if I weren't to pin them in my hair).
This cursor on this page is quite friendly, encouraging even. As I'm attempting to write a paper it becomes more and more evil and insistent. It's like my mother waiting for me to get ready for church. I feel its theoretical eyes boring holes into my face, just daring me to attempt to type a paragraph that it will in turn force me to delete because of its sub-par use of information. It's like it knows that I'm ill-prepared for this debate and that I can barely focus on my tasks at hand given the litany of other things clouding my already foggy mind. I should probably confront it, maybe invite it to therapy to work on our struggling relationship. The cursor (whose gender is undecided at press time) will talk about how I don't push myself hard enough and that it's tired of waiting around for me, while I'll counter with that I need to do things at my own pace and it should respect my work and create a more work-friendly environment. It will in turn tell me it knows I'm cheating on it with the Facebook and blogger.com cursors, to which I'll say that I'm not cheating, I just enjoy spending time with them more than it).
(Which we all think is NOT cheating...right?? RIGHT?? Ok, maybe not all of us. Actually, only a few of us, and most of those are my ex boyfriends).
Well. Upon the therapist's suggestions, I need to go spend time with my cursor, it's feeling neglected.
You know you love me XD
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Dating on a Budget- Maybe It's Something We Should Splurge On
Being the cliches that we are, my friend Kassy and I were discussing men and relationships one evening. We were discussing our egregiously terrible taste in men. At this current juncture we have collectively dated what could be considered the world's worst collection of bachelors. Our new motto is "There's always something"- meaning, that no matter how amazing a guy may seem, there's a catch. He could be cute, smart, funny...but he's unemployed. Or, you meet a tall, charming, motivated young man who sweeps you off your feet only to be thrown back down to earth when you find out about his inability to keeps his eyes and hands on only one girl. Or my favorite, Mr. Total Package- loves commitment, manly, tall, handsome, funny- EVERYthing on the wish list. And then he turns out to be a complete homophobe, or a misogynist, or he drinks too much, or he has anger issues.
It's not like we're LOOKING for these issues- but they just keep popping up. It's to the point where we're tempted to start taking bets when one of us meets someone new as to what the issue will be- mommy issues? Commitment problems? A crazy ex?
Not that we don't come with our own carts of baggage. Anyone that knows me and anything about how I was raised knows I come with my fair share of luggage, and my own exes come with some warning labels. I know that mine are in check and aren't keeping me from healthy relationships at this point. Therefore, I feel as if Kassy and I (and most women, for that matter) are entitled to men that don't come with a truckload of deal breakers.
I developed the concept of dollar store men. As women, let's say we're given a dollar a week with which to purchase a man from the ManStore. Thus far, I've been the type of girl that once my dollar comes in the mail, I run to the ManStore and buy someone on the clearance rack. He's the 'there's always something guy'. I run right past the luxury models with great smiles and a fantastic sense of humor, and the don't even look at the tall ones who love animals and would protect me if need be- no, I run right to the ones with mommy issues, lack motivation, no ability to save money, are too immature, don't believe in monogamy, or any other litany of deal breakers.
While I'm passing my time with these fine examples of the human race, I'm too preoccupied to find, meet, whatever one of those luxury models. I walk right past them because I'm too busy trying to make my clearance rack reject into something half way acceptable- someone I can introduce to my parents and not die of humiliation after ten minutes. Maybe a whole hour would pass....
So what Kassy and I can draw from these musings is that instead of walking right past the new top of the line men, we can learn to identify the clearance rack rejects and learn to leave them where they belong- on that cluttered and dusty rack where they've been put for a reason. Rather, we're going to start banking our dollar allowances and just wait. Someday, that front of the store cutie with the broad shoulders and ambition will walk up to US- we won't even have to shop around for him. It'll happen, I just have to start saving my money....these impulse buys are getting old quickly.
It's not like we're LOOKING for these issues- but they just keep popping up. It's to the point where we're tempted to start taking bets when one of us meets someone new as to what the issue will be- mommy issues? Commitment problems? A crazy ex?
Not that we don't come with our own carts of baggage. Anyone that knows me and anything about how I was raised knows I come with my fair share of luggage, and my own exes come with some warning labels. I know that mine are in check and aren't keeping me from healthy relationships at this point. Therefore, I feel as if Kassy and I (and most women, for that matter) are entitled to men that don't come with a truckload of deal breakers.
I developed the concept of dollar store men. As women, let's say we're given a dollar a week with which to purchase a man from the ManStore. Thus far, I've been the type of girl that once my dollar comes in the mail, I run to the ManStore and buy someone on the clearance rack. He's the 'there's always something guy'. I run right past the luxury models with great smiles and a fantastic sense of humor, and the don't even look at the tall ones who love animals and would protect me if need be- no, I run right to the ones with mommy issues, lack motivation, no ability to save money, are too immature, don't believe in monogamy, or any other litany of deal breakers.
While I'm passing my time with these fine examples of the human race, I'm too preoccupied to find, meet, whatever one of those luxury models. I walk right past them because I'm too busy trying to make my clearance rack reject into something half way acceptable- someone I can introduce to my parents and not die of humiliation after ten minutes. Maybe a whole hour would pass....
So what Kassy and I can draw from these musings is that instead of walking right past the new top of the line men, we can learn to identify the clearance rack rejects and learn to leave them where they belong- on that cluttered and dusty rack where they've been put for a reason. Rather, we're going to start banking our dollar allowances and just wait. Someday, that front of the store cutie with the broad shoulders and ambition will walk up to US- we won't even have to shop around for him. It'll happen, I just have to start saving my money....these impulse buys are getting old quickly.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Rum rum rum rum, Trey? I Was Like, 'Yo Trey'....
I really shouldn't let my mind wander. Minds wandering causes dangerous things to happen. I'm pretty certain the French Revolution began because a bunch of men were bored in an inn, letting their minds wander.
Or rampant poverty, starvation and a desperation to blame it on an unprepared monarchy.
Whichevs.
This time next year I will be a college graduate and moving out to the town where whatever law school is dumb enough to accept me is. I still can't believe I'm here. I never thought I'd make it this far. When I was little, I used to tell people I would die young. (Dark, huh?). I have no idea why, I just always felt like I would. And while I realize I'm still young, and those of you that are even darker-minded than I am are saying "There's still time", I still feel like I've gotten farther than I ever expected I would.
My resilience still impresses me to this day. No matter how much I go through and how bad it is, I pick myself up and move on. I spent an entire childhood picking myself up only to be knocked down again, harder than the last time. I look back at that child, the one who had to hide in her room with books to forget the anger and chaos outside her door and my heart breaks. She deserved to have a chance at something normal. But it made her who she is today. So that's one positive out of it.
I'm ready for what's to come. I've close all my doors, and the windows are all open. All of the necessary bridges are burned. I'm excited to see what happens. 2011 will be an amazing year- I'll finally see Spain, I'll get into a law school, and above all- I'll finally GRADUATE!
I'm ready to move to a completely new place and start fresh. I want to write my own story, I'm tired of others writing it for me. When I leave for school, I'll leave my baggage in Missouri ;)
Or rampant poverty, starvation and a desperation to blame it on an unprepared monarchy.
Whichevs.
This time next year I will be a college graduate and moving out to the town where whatever law school is dumb enough to accept me is. I still can't believe I'm here. I never thought I'd make it this far. When I was little, I used to tell people I would die young. (Dark, huh?). I have no idea why, I just always felt like I would. And while I realize I'm still young, and those of you that are even darker-minded than I am are saying "There's still time", I still feel like I've gotten farther than I ever expected I would.
My resilience still impresses me to this day. No matter how much I go through and how bad it is, I pick myself up and move on. I spent an entire childhood picking myself up only to be knocked down again, harder than the last time. I look back at that child, the one who had to hide in her room with books to forget the anger and chaos outside her door and my heart breaks. She deserved to have a chance at something normal. But it made her who she is today. So that's one positive out of it.
I'm ready for what's to come. I've close all my doors, and the windows are all open. All of the necessary bridges are burned. I'm excited to see what happens. 2011 will be an amazing year- I'll finally see Spain, I'll get into a law school, and above all- I'll finally GRADUATE!
I'm ready to move to a completely new place and start fresh. I want to write my own story, I'm tired of others writing it for me. When I leave for school, I'll leave my baggage in Missouri ;)
Monday, November 8, 2010
Goldfinger, Twist, and Split
As directed by my lovely friend Alexa, I am updating this blog in order to allow for easier stalking (as if my Facebook did not inundate the general populace with information of my every move) ;)
So.
This weekend was one of my dearest friend's birthday. (Was that worded correctly? Ah...oh well). Not just any birthday, mind you, no....his twenty-first birthday. Combine that with the fact that he has a twin sister who knows less about makeup than a three year old but more about World of Warcraft than most guys at ComiCon, it made for a really crazy weekend.
It all started Thursday when Sam and I took his sister (Liz) shopping for clothing. I'm of course flattered knowing that my friends hold me in the highest regard in all things fashion, hair, and makeup. (Homegirl may not be the prettiest or the best dressed, but I at least know how to get there). I believe it all stems from years of Disney movies, Barbies, older sisters, and thousands of glossy pages of magazines that I devoured as quickly as I could get my hands on them. I started looking through Seventeen and Vogue when I was about four, and around seven I discovered InStyle magazine along with Cosmo. (I would sneak them out of the trash my sisters tried to have -ME- sneak outside for them- we weren't allowed to read this type of material- the Devil's work and all). I loved opening the magazine and watching all of the subscription cards fall to the ground, the different perfume samples wafting upwards, smelling rich and decadent. The only other thing that gave this a run for its money was opening a library book...
I was bored by any article talking about 'sex' this and 'men' that (I had no idea what either was, really). All I knew was that I wanted a closet full of Chanel, Choo, Blahnik, Valentino, Versace...all of the best. The beautiful models with their long, shiny hair and feminine features taught me everything I needed to know in life. I wasn't exactly the coolest kid, I didn't have that many friends and my siblings didn't really talk to me. Much of the time I was left to my books and my imagination. The magazines took me to a mature and beautiful place; one where I was successful, pretty, and important. My dirty overalls, muddy hands, and scraped knees may have been what was on the outside, but inside I wanted to be a princess. Why couldn't I be both? Why couldn't I make mud pies and jump out of trees and ruin almost every pair of shoes I had ever been given, but have pretty dresses and wear eyeshadow too?? I was determined to play baseball and superheroes by day, and be like the models in those magazines by night.
I'm still trying to find that balance. I digress, I will spare you my rant about how if a woman were to act assertively and act any sort of power-hungry she is demonized and made into some whore or "wicked witch".
Alas, another day, another time.
Moving on, so we went to the mall. Sam's sister Liz has the body of the models in my magazines- she's tall, thin, and toned. She has a beautiful bone structure, perfect smile, and dark, understanding eyes. The only problem is- she doesn't know it. Not only did she already have problems with her appearance, she dated a guy that exacerbated the problem. I just want to shake women like that and be like "REALLY!?!?!?!?!". I'm the only one in my group of friends that has any right to hate their appearance.
Moving on.
So of course, we try a million different item in many different colors/cuts/fabrics/etc and she looks amazing in all of them. Though she was very patient and cooperative, I could tell shopping was NOT her favorite thing. So we quickly narrowed down choices and found two AMAZING dresses that looked FANTASTIC on her- she looked like she stepped forth from the pages of Vogue magazine from a 'winter in New York' type spread.
Shoot me now.
(Don't get me wrong- I love Liz. She's one of the funniest, nicest, and smartest people you will ever meet. But did God REALLY have to combine that with looks??!?? REALLY??? Oh, and that goes for Sam, too. Some people just come into this world in the good gene pools...the rest of us crawl forth from stagnant puddles....)
Anywho.
So the first night we go to one of the more stereotypical 'college bars' in this town. Think lots of Greek letters and peroxide blonde hair. However, a good time was had by most (save for some minor, drunken, belligerent drama amongst friends- but is that EVER avoidable???). I will give this bar this, no cover for girls (heck yes) and good drink specials (HECK YES). Though, I saw enough girls with blatant daddy issues (and working them out right there in the club for all to see)to last me a lifetime; and I'm still unsure as to whether the smell of hairspray and cheap cologne will ever leave my nose. Well, our own Ms. Liz get a PHONE NUMBER!!!! This guy was floored by her. Sam got very, very hammered (his birthday wasn't technically until midnight, but they gave him the 21+ band anyway). His heavily-lidded eyes and lopsided smile were endearing to say the least. So, we all had fun, went home, and recovered for the next days' activities.
So.
On Saturday I had to get Liz, our friend Katie, and myself ready this time. After making sure the other two were taken care of I started on myself (not before we had a hair train of me doing Liz's hair and someone blow drying mine). It ended up to where I was smoking a cigarette and straightening my hair at the same time in order to reduce stress. Go me. Someone poured me three shots in the kitchen to take on our way out the door (they were more like triple shots but yours truly tanked them regardless).
All was going smoothly!!
We start the night at a new club here called The Library. It was decorated with sumptuous leather couches and hundreds of books lining the wall- I finally felt at home. It reminded me of places in Chicago (a place I hope to make my hometown some day). We of course see Sam's ex's new boyfriend (the one he waited about a minute after he and Sam broke up to date) who proceeded to give Sam the Stinkeye (yes, it's capitalized) ALL NIGHT, and he was accompanied by none other than the most ridiculous girl I've ever met, whom I have the misfortune of having to work with. OF COURSE.
Go us.
All in all, the night ended on a normal note for most. Another day, another time for why my night went into the trash can before it even started. Regardless, I had a lot of fun. We are making winery plans for Christmas break, ooh and the Symphony.
Stay tuned for more mundane commentary from this girl :)
So.
This weekend was one of my dearest friend's birthday. (Was that worded correctly? Ah...oh well). Not just any birthday, mind you, no....his twenty-first birthday. Combine that with the fact that he has a twin sister who knows less about makeup than a three year old but more about World of Warcraft than most guys at ComiCon, it made for a really crazy weekend.
It all started Thursday when Sam and I took his sister (Liz) shopping for clothing. I'm of course flattered knowing that my friends hold me in the highest regard in all things fashion, hair, and makeup. (Homegirl may not be the prettiest or the best dressed, but I at least know how to get there). I believe it all stems from years of Disney movies, Barbies, older sisters, and thousands of glossy pages of magazines that I devoured as quickly as I could get my hands on them. I started looking through Seventeen and Vogue when I was about four, and around seven I discovered InStyle magazine along with Cosmo. (I would sneak them out of the trash my sisters tried to have -ME- sneak outside for them- we weren't allowed to read this type of material- the Devil's work and all). I loved opening the magazine and watching all of the subscription cards fall to the ground, the different perfume samples wafting upwards, smelling rich and decadent. The only other thing that gave this a run for its money was opening a library book...
I was bored by any article talking about 'sex' this and 'men' that (I had no idea what either was, really). All I knew was that I wanted a closet full of Chanel, Choo, Blahnik, Valentino, Versace...all of the best. The beautiful models with their long, shiny hair and feminine features taught me everything I needed to know in life. I wasn't exactly the coolest kid, I didn't have that many friends and my siblings didn't really talk to me. Much of the time I was left to my books and my imagination. The magazines took me to a mature and beautiful place; one where I was successful, pretty, and important. My dirty overalls, muddy hands, and scraped knees may have been what was on the outside, but inside I wanted to be a princess. Why couldn't I be both? Why couldn't I make mud pies and jump out of trees and ruin almost every pair of shoes I had ever been given, but have pretty dresses and wear eyeshadow too?? I was determined to play baseball and superheroes by day, and be like the models in those magazines by night.
I'm still trying to find that balance. I digress, I will spare you my rant about how if a woman were to act assertively and act any sort of power-hungry she is demonized and made into some whore or "wicked witch".
Alas, another day, another time.
Moving on, so we went to the mall. Sam's sister Liz has the body of the models in my magazines- she's tall, thin, and toned. She has a beautiful bone structure, perfect smile, and dark, understanding eyes. The only problem is- she doesn't know it. Not only did she already have problems with her appearance, she dated a guy that exacerbated the problem. I just want to shake women like that and be like "REALLY!?!?!?!?!". I'm the only one in my group of friends that has any right to hate their appearance.
Moving on.
So of course, we try a million different item in many different colors/cuts/fabrics/etc and she looks amazing in all of them. Though she was very patient and cooperative, I could tell shopping was NOT her favorite thing. So we quickly narrowed down choices and found two AMAZING dresses that looked FANTASTIC on her- she looked like she stepped forth from the pages of Vogue magazine from a 'winter in New York' type spread.
Shoot me now.
(Don't get me wrong- I love Liz. She's one of the funniest, nicest, and smartest people you will ever meet. But did God REALLY have to combine that with looks??!?? REALLY??? Oh, and that goes for Sam, too. Some people just come into this world in the good gene pools...the rest of us crawl forth from stagnant puddles....)
Anywho.
So the first night we go to one of the more stereotypical 'college bars' in this town. Think lots of Greek letters and peroxide blonde hair. However, a good time was had by most (save for some minor, drunken, belligerent drama amongst friends- but is that EVER avoidable???). I will give this bar this, no cover for girls (heck yes) and good drink specials (HECK YES). Though, I saw enough girls with blatant daddy issues (and working them out right there in the club for all to see)to last me a lifetime; and I'm still unsure as to whether the smell of hairspray and cheap cologne will ever leave my nose. Well, our own Ms. Liz get a PHONE NUMBER!!!! This guy was floored by her. Sam got very, very hammered (his birthday wasn't technically until midnight, but they gave him the 21+ band anyway). His heavily-lidded eyes and lopsided smile were endearing to say the least. So, we all had fun, went home, and recovered for the next days' activities.
So.
On Saturday I had to get Liz, our friend Katie, and myself ready this time. After making sure the other two were taken care of I started on myself (not before we had a hair train of me doing Liz's hair and someone blow drying mine). It ended up to where I was smoking a cigarette and straightening my hair at the same time in order to reduce stress. Go me. Someone poured me three shots in the kitchen to take on our way out the door (they were more like triple shots but yours truly tanked them regardless).
All was going smoothly!!
We start the night at a new club here called The Library. It was decorated with sumptuous leather couches and hundreds of books lining the wall- I finally felt at home. It reminded me of places in Chicago (a place I hope to make my hometown some day). We of course see Sam's ex's new boyfriend (the one he waited about a minute after he and Sam broke up to date) who proceeded to give Sam the Stinkeye (yes, it's capitalized) ALL NIGHT, and he was accompanied by none other than the most ridiculous girl I've ever met, whom I have the misfortune of having to work with. OF COURSE.
Go us.
All in all, the night ended on a normal note for most. Another day, another time for why my night went into the trash can before it even started. Regardless, I had a lot of fun. We are making winery plans for Christmas break, ooh and the Symphony.
Stay tuned for more mundane commentary from this girl :)
Monday, October 11, 2010
Angst...can I feel it when I'm not a teen?
Another oldie from the Myspace blog...
Angsty, huh. Yeah I put that. Not like...teen angst. I'm not over dosing on Xanex because mom won't let me go to the big game tonight. (but I HAVE to see CJ there.....he has his PERMIT mom, he's a dream!)
Anywho
No, angsty just sounded like what I'm feeling. I'd pick a fight with this keyboard if I could. But then, I'm so tired I wouldn't have my usual arsenal of witty reparte. So screw it.
I almost put blustery, but that just made me think of some big, fat drooly guy with swish pants and a cough.
No, no...I'll go with angsty.
And I'm on a mac in the library and it doesn't support the funky fresh color editor doo hickey so that stinks. Although, I'm running out of new color combos that I actually like so maybe I shouldn't have said anything and called this my new avante gard approach.
Dammit.
I always do this. Although, I could go back and delete, but then you all wouldn't understand just how neurotic I really am, and that yes, I CAN hold a conversation with myself....
You know what I was wondering? You know how in Microsoft Word they have a little genie who goes behind you and capitalizes 'I' and such while you type? (Yes...a genie. I know this...because I know this). I want her to do that everywhere I type. Facebook, Myspace, wherever. I want her there. But not the little demon with the red squiggly line fetish. I hate him. Yes, I KNOW Pletka isn't in your dictionary but why must you leave your graffiti all over my paper?????
Hate him.
One day he and the Capitilazation (sp?) Genie are gonna get into it and then he'll get it. She's just biding her time until one day she's gonna go all Vista on his ass.
Idk what that means, but I said it.
I can't tell if lack of sleep in conjunction with ADD is good for the creative psyche or bad for society. Maybe both.
You know what else irks me?? You old women who wear too much perfume to the theater. What's your issue, buddy? You know you're going to be crammed next to someone, so why would you bathe in your Chantilly Lace circa 1912 before? Because you're evil. You all are. When I come out of the theater smelling like YOUR perfume...we've got issues. It's cute when your shirt smells like your boyfriend after you spent all day together...it's NOT CUTE to smell like little Edna after seeing a play next to her. UGH.
Ok, ok I'll stop.
On a lighter note...SATC party soon?
You know you <3 me
Angsty, huh. Yeah I put that. Not like...teen angst. I'm not over dosing on Xanex because mom won't let me go to the big game tonight. (but I HAVE to see CJ there.....he has his PERMIT mom, he's a dream!)
Anywho
No, angsty just sounded like what I'm feeling. I'd pick a fight with this keyboard if I could. But then, I'm so tired I wouldn't have my usual arsenal of witty reparte. So screw it.
I almost put blustery, but that just made me think of some big, fat drooly guy with swish pants and a cough.
No, no...I'll go with angsty.
And I'm on a mac in the library and it doesn't support the funky fresh color editor doo hickey so that stinks. Although, I'm running out of new color combos that I actually like so maybe I shouldn't have said anything and called this my new avante gard approach.
Dammit.
I always do this. Although, I could go back and delete, but then you all wouldn't understand just how neurotic I really am, and that yes, I CAN hold a conversation with myself....
You know what I was wondering? You know how in Microsoft Word they have a little genie who goes behind you and capitalizes 'I' and such while you type? (Yes...a genie. I know this...because I know this). I want her to do that everywhere I type. Facebook, Myspace, wherever. I want her there. But not the little demon with the red squiggly line fetish. I hate him. Yes, I KNOW Pletka isn't in your dictionary but why must you leave your graffiti all over my paper?????
Hate him.
One day he and the Capitilazation (sp?) Genie are gonna get into it and then he'll get it. She's just biding her time until one day she's gonna go all Vista on his ass.
Idk what that means, but I said it.
I can't tell if lack of sleep in conjunction with ADD is good for the creative psyche or bad for society. Maybe both.
You know what else irks me?? You old women who wear too much perfume to the theater. What's your issue, buddy? You know you're going to be crammed next to someone, so why would you bathe in your Chantilly Lace circa 1912 before? Because you're evil. You all are. When I come out of the theater smelling like YOUR perfume...we've got issues. It's cute when your shirt smells like your boyfriend after you spent all day together...it's NOT CUTE to smell like little Edna after seeing a play next to her. UGH.
Ok, ok I'll stop.
On a lighter note...SATC party soon?
You know you <3 me
What's the Story, Wishbone?- Another Vintage Post
This is another oldie from about two years ago...
I don't know why the gods above frown on me, but it's as if they REALLY really RRRRRRRREAAALLY get a kick out of my pain. For example...I'm in the library. A quiet haven, right? WRONG. There is a delightfully loud young lady sitting at the computer adjacent to mine talking wildly into her cell phone.
At least speak clearly so I can EAVES drop you bitch.
But really.
So I'm doing online math....which I find a complete and utter waste of my time. First of all, we have no paper work in my class, so if you don't understand something, you're kind of SOL. Then, the computer basically walks you through the online homework. Come test day, there's no funky fresh guide on a computer screen telling me how to graph a piece-wise function.
WTF.
It's as if they WANT you to fail here in college. Which is entirely possible. Why else would each teacher treat their class as if it were your only class? What? A twelve-page paper a week, PLUS analyze the synaptic tendencies of the Madagascar cockroach? Why not, I say. I mean, I only have three other papers, ten books (aside from my textbook) to read, and sixteen journal entries, and my left ovary all due next Tuesday.
And they charge you a fresh $16,000 a year to do this. Loooove it. But hey, we're getting off cheap, here.
I digress. College is quite an experience. It's the only place where a walk of shame is something to be proud of, where you can write that weird thing you did last night with your roommate off as 'normal college-life experimentation' , and where it's perfectly acceptable, if not preferable to drink beer for breakfast.
**side note** I do NOT have beer for breakfast, lunch, OR dinner. Nor will I ever condone such an action. However...mimosas are ok ;-)
Did I tell anyone about my recent relationship fiasco? No? Well here it is:
So I was dating this guy, Brandon. We had known each other a couple days before he asked me to be his girlfriend. I really needed a rebound, so I thought 'Why not?' BAAAAAAAAAD idea on my part. He was a total skeeze always needed a ride somewhere or something blah blah blah. After two weeks of dating, he said 'I love you'.
UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
So I broke up with him. I didn't, nor would I ever love this kid. (I say kid, but he was 27). But we kept talking and hanging out because...well...I had nothing better to do.
So he has this best friend, Becky. She's really nice. She's staying with him while her and her boyfriend fight apparently. Well, ok whatever. So we all three hang out, we all hang out in a big group blah blah blah. (Keep in mind I don't do public displays of affection).
So I get bored and stop talking to him. He calls me up out of NOwhere crying so I go over there. There's a bunch of people I don't know milling around, and he won't tell me what's wrong.
So I go up to Becky and ask her.
Oh dear me.
She says: "I don't know what Brandon't told you, but he and I are together and have been for six years. I have no idea what your relationship is to him, but he told me you all were friends."
UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Jigga what??!?
Ha. Oh dear me.
Well, apparently she was pregnant with someone else's kid, hence his crying. Well, -I- start crying because I think 'OMG I just helped some jerk face cheat on his girlfriend'. Not to mention, she is so nice and cute I felt awful.
Well she was all like, 'It's not your fault don't feel bad, it's been going on for years etc etc.'
So I haul it out of there because
a) that's just a trashy situation that I really don't want any part of (b) had I stayed much longer I probably would have killed someone and (c) I had a party to get ready for :-P
So yeah. What irks me is that I'm not mad at him because I'm HURT (I had no feelings at this point) It's more because I was lied to and fell for it AGAIN.
I mean REALLY??!?! Shouldn't there be a quota to how many times a girl can be LIED TO?!?!?!
Ha. But really.
So that's my funny omg story of the month. Tune in next time where Lori may or may not die by killer mustache.
XOXO
You know you love me ;-)
I don't know why the gods above frown on me, but it's as if they REALLY really RRRRRRRREAAALLY get a kick out of my pain. For example...I'm in the library. A quiet haven, right? WRONG. There is a delightfully loud young lady sitting at the computer adjacent to mine talking wildly into her cell phone.
At least speak clearly so I can EAVES drop you bitch.
But really.
So I'm doing online math....which I find a complete and utter waste of my time. First of all, we have no paper work in my class, so if you don't understand something, you're kind of SOL. Then, the computer basically walks you through the online homework. Come test day, there's no funky fresh guide on a computer screen telling me how to graph a piece-wise function.
WTF.
It's as if they WANT you to fail here in college. Which is entirely possible. Why else would each teacher treat their class as if it were your only class? What? A twelve-page paper a week, PLUS analyze the synaptic tendencies of the Madagascar cockroach? Why not, I say. I mean, I only have three other papers, ten books (aside from my textbook) to read, and sixteen journal entries, and my left ovary all due next Tuesday.
And they charge you a fresh $16,000 a year to do this. Loooove it. But hey, we're getting off cheap, here.
I digress. College is quite an experience. It's the only place where a walk of shame is something to be proud of, where you can write that weird thing you did last night with your roommate off as 'normal college-life experimentation' , and where it's perfectly acceptable, if not preferable to drink beer for breakfast.
**side note** I do NOT have beer for breakfast, lunch, OR dinner. Nor will I ever condone such an action. However...mimosas are ok ;-)
Did I tell anyone about my recent relationship fiasco? No? Well here it is:
So I was dating this guy, Brandon. We had known each other a couple days before he asked me to be his girlfriend. I really needed a rebound, so I thought 'Why not?' BAAAAAAAAAD idea on my part. He was a total skeeze always needed a ride somewhere or something blah blah blah. After two weeks of dating, he said 'I love you'.
UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
So I broke up with him. I didn't, nor would I ever love this kid. (I say kid, but he was 27). But we kept talking and hanging out because...well...I had nothing better to do.
So he has this best friend, Becky. She's really nice. She's staying with him while her and her boyfriend fight apparently. Well, ok whatever. So we all three hang out, we all hang out in a big group blah blah blah. (Keep in mind I don't do public displays of affection).
So I get bored and stop talking to him. He calls me up out of NOwhere crying so I go over there. There's a bunch of people I don't know milling around, and he won't tell me what's wrong.
So I go up to Becky and ask her.
Oh dear me.
She says: "I don't know what Brandon't told you, but he and I are together and have been for six years. I have no idea what your relationship is to him, but he told me you all were friends."
UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Jigga what??!?
Ha. Oh dear me.
Well, apparently she was pregnant with someone else's kid, hence his crying. Well, -I- start crying because I think 'OMG I just helped some jerk face cheat on his girlfriend'. Not to mention, she is so nice and cute I felt awful.
Well she was all like, 'It's not your fault don't feel bad, it's been going on for years etc etc.'
So I haul it out of there because
a) that's just a trashy situation that I really don't want any part of (b) had I stayed much longer I probably would have killed someone and (c) I had a party to get ready for :-P
So yeah. What irks me is that I'm not mad at him because I'm HURT (I had no feelings at this point) It's more because I was lied to and fell for it AGAIN.
I mean REALLY??!?! Shouldn't there be a quota to how many times a girl can be LIED TO?!?!?!
Ha. But really.
So that's my funny omg story of the month. Tune in next time where Lori may or may not die by killer mustache.
XOXO
You know you love me ;-)
Don't Demagnitize Me
This is one from a private blog of mine from about two years ago...
Buy now pay later….are people starting to operate under this mantra in more than just shopping for cars? With everyone around me having children at 18 and getting married after six months, are people rushing into relationships thinking they can always just pay for the possible repercussions later? Is it fear of winding up alone? Or is everyone just living for the now?
.. ..
Are we so wrapped in what we’re feeling NOW and what’s happening NOW that we refuse or can’t look into the future at what could possibly happen? It seems as if the couples around me are settling. Just recently I was talking to one of my single mother friends and she said she wishes she would have thought twice about trying to have a baby with her ex-boyfriend, but she was so in love she didn’t forsee them falling out of love, or ending the relationship. Now she has the responsibility of a child and no one to help her. This is a girl who once dreamed of becoming a teacher at a university, or a writer. And now she aspires to become manager of the grocery store she works for. Not that being a manager of a place is bad, it just seems as if she’s paying for her decisions. But had she ‘thought twice’ like she said, she may not be going through this.
.. ..
I’m not saying that young mothers are idiots and are going to pay. Some really enjoy being mothers and are really good at it. Some feel as if that’s what they were supposed to do all along. But it’s those that don’t feel that way that I’m talking about.
.. ..
The number of divorces is higher than ever, and climbing. It’s as if people really are ‘buying now, paying later’. I’m not saying I’m above reproach. I myself almost got married on a line of credit. Had we gone through with it, I would have been repaying, with extremely high interest within a year. Why? Because I was afraid of being alone. I mistook young love for undying love. And I was willing to overlook certain things so that I could get married and live my dream. Those things I was willing to overlook would have caused disaster. It’s the same with many other people. We’re all willing to make allowances in order to get someone. Which is fine, if you’re overlooking that he always leaves the toilet seat up or that his best friend is kind of an idiot. It’s not fine if you’re overlooking infidelity, or a complete disregard for your feelings.
.. ..
I’m learning not to settle. Women (and men) need to really think about what they want in a relationship. Is it fidelity? Financial security? Flexibility? Adventure? Whatever it is you need to figure out what you’re looking for, and look for it. I’m not saying we should go on a marriage hunt, God no. But what is it you want right now? Or if you’re looking for the future, what about then? It’s your choice. But once you figure it out, you shouldn’t settle for anything less. If someone can’t give you what you’re looking for, or won’t, it’s time to move one and find someone who can.
.. ..
.. ..
It sounds cutthroat and possibly evil, but then again aren’t breakups in general? And if you settle it’s either going to end in your breaking up or you hating each other. Either way, everyone loses.
.. ..
To quote the great and eloquent Jackson 5, it’s easy as ABC. Just know that if you don’t want to end up alone, you won’t. Simple as that. There are almost 7 billion people on this earth. And if as many of them are looking for someone as I suspect, there’s someone there for you. So never think ‘oh I shouldn’t break up with him, I’ll never find someone’. Don’t let your own fears and insecurities force you into eternal unhappiness.
.. ..
Also, think of it this way. You settle, marry this person, you start to hate each other, divorce, and now you’re 45 years old, droopy, wrinkly, and divorced. Truly undesirable. Whereas you COULD just not settle, find someone a little later, like when you’re 28 and stay with them forever. Your choice. I’d rather go with the one where I’m NOT wrinkly, droopy, alone.
.. ..
It’s taken me a while to figure out what I want. I want someone who’s honest, and isn’t going to cheat on me. I want someone I can laugh with, and who won’t take everything too seriously. I want someone who’s fairly polite and won’t make me want to die when he meets my parents. I want someone who’s easy to talk to. Who can stay in and watch movies with me, but can also surprise me and take me out every now and then. I want someone who gets my friends, and gets along with them. I want someone who’s manly and strong, and will stand up for me when I need it.
.. ..
Idk call me an optimist. Or an idiot, whichever you prefer. I just would like to think that I can live my life without regrets, exactly as I’d like to live it. Yeah, it can’t be perfect, and yes you’re going to date idiots and jerks, but you don’t have to STAY with them. It took me forever to figure that out, but thank God I did.
Buy now pay later….are people starting to operate under this mantra in more than just shopping for cars? With everyone around me having children at 18 and getting married after six months, are people rushing into relationships thinking they can always just pay for the possible repercussions later? Is it fear of winding up alone? Or is everyone just living for the now?
.. ..
Are we so wrapped in what we’re feeling NOW and what’s happening NOW that we refuse or can’t look into the future at what could possibly happen? It seems as if the couples around me are settling. Just recently I was talking to one of my single mother friends and she said she wishes she would have thought twice about trying to have a baby with her ex-boyfriend, but she was so in love she didn’t forsee them falling out of love, or ending the relationship. Now she has the responsibility of a child and no one to help her. This is a girl who once dreamed of becoming a teacher at a university, or a writer. And now she aspires to become manager of the grocery store she works for. Not that being a manager of a place is bad, it just seems as if she’s paying for her decisions. But had she ‘thought twice’ like she said, she may not be going through this.
.. ..
I’m not saying that young mothers are idiots and are going to pay. Some really enjoy being mothers and are really good at it. Some feel as if that’s what they were supposed to do all along. But it’s those that don’t feel that way that I’m talking about.
.. ..
The number of divorces is higher than ever, and climbing. It’s as if people really are ‘buying now, paying later’. I’m not saying I’m above reproach. I myself almost got married on a line of credit. Had we gone through with it, I would have been repaying, with extremely high interest within a year. Why? Because I was afraid of being alone. I mistook young love for undying love. And I was willing to overlook certain things so that I could get married and live my dream. Those things I was willing to overlook would have caused disaster. It’s the same with many other people. We’re all willing to make allowances in order to get someone. Which is fine, if you’re overlooking that he always leaves the toilet seat up or that his best friend is kind of an idiot. It’s not fine if you’re overlooking infidelity, or a complete disregard for your feelings.
.. ..
I’m learning not to settle. Women (and men) need to really think about what they want in a relationship. Is it fidelity? Financial security? Flexibility? Adventure? Whatever it is you need to figure out what you’re looking for, and look for it. I’m not saying we should go on a marriage hunt, God no. But what is it you want right now? Or if you’re looking for the future, what about then? It’s your choice. But once you figure it out, you shouldn’t settle for anything less. If someone can’t give you what you’re looking for, or won’t, it’s time to move one and find someone who can.
.. ..
.. ..
It sounds cutthroat and possibly evil, but then again aren’t breakups in general? And if you settle it’s either going to end in your breaking up or you hating each other. Either way, everyone loses.
.. ..
To quote the great and eloquent Jackson 5, it’s easy as ABC. Just know that if you don’t want to end up alone, you won’t. Simple as that. There are almost 7 billion people on this earth. And if as many of them are looking for someone as I suspect, there’s someone there for you. So never think ‘oh I shouldn’t break up with him, I’ll never find someone’. Don’t let your own fears and insecurities force you into eternal unhappiness.
.. ..
Also, think of it this way. You settle, marry this person, you start to hate each other, divorce, and now you’re 45 years old, droopy, wrinkly, and divorced. Truly undesirable. Whereas you COULD just not settle, find someone a little later, like when you’re 28 and stay with them forever. Your choice. I’d rather go with the one where I’m NOT wrinkly, droopy, alone.
.. ..
It’s taken me a while to figure out what I want. I want someone who’s honest, and isn’t going to cheat on me. I want someone I can laugh with, and who won’t take everything too seriously. I want someone who’s fairly polite and won’t make me want to die when he meets my parents. I want someone who’s easy to talk to. Who can stay in and watch movies with me, but can also surprise me and take me out every now and then. I want someone who gets my friends, and gets along with them. I want someone who’s manly and strong, and will stand up for me when I need it.
.. ..
Idk call me an optimist. Or an idiot, whichever you prefer. I just would like to think that I can live my life without regrets, exactly as I’d like to live it. Yeah, it can’t be perfect, and yes you’re going to date idiots and jerks, but you don’t have to STAY with them. It took me forever to figure that out, but thank God I did.
You Think You're a Man, But You're Only a Boy, You Think You're a Man, But You're Only a Toy
Ah, you GOTTA love nuveau-homocentric techno music. Don't you agree? There's nothing better than heavy synthesizers and an all to prevalent driving beat. Lovely.
Moving on. *changes to Across the Universe album*
There we go. Writing music. Nay...too.....I don't know. Now where do I keep that shuffle button....
Anywho...I'm beginning to think I'm over-susceptible to advertising. While watching the Cottonelle commercial, I was fully convinced it was the only toilet paper for me. Why? Not because of it's promised strength or guaranteed comfort, or even attractive packaging. No, no...nothing that sensible. It was, in fact, the extremely endearing golden lab puppy getting spa treatments and telling me to 'be kind to my behind'.
Being twenty-two I thought I had escaped the naivete of my youth. The child-like fascination with bright colors and talking animals. Nope. I'm just as roped in by these as ever. If a puppy can convince me to buy enough Cottonelle to practice mummification, what other things in life have I fallen for too easily just because of the attractive sheen given to the pitch? I can think of a few toxic friends and exes that presented an all too superficially attractive 'product' only to be left disappointed, hurt, and wishing I had gotten the extended warranty. Or at least wishing I had found out before the thirty-day return policy had expired.
Which brought me to another thought...people, are products. When we meet a new person, even if we just want to be friends, there's almost a 'trial period' where we're getting to know each other. During this period the other person can decide whether or not they want to continue being your friend. A lot of people change their tune during this time. All of the sudden they become more agreeable, laugh more, and interested in what the other person has to say. It's like a live commercial.
This trial period in the mating game is called the first three dates. The first date being the most critical. All of the sudden the girly girl LOVES football, and the nerdy boy 'isn't much into online gaming'. We say what we think the other wants to hear- especially if we're deeply attracted to them. We make it seem as if stress, anger, and any negative emotion never even crossed But later, after the 90 day return policy has expired, the claws come out. All of the sudden, she feels as if he alienates her for video games, and he feels as if she spends more time on her appearance than with him. The fighting, arguing, and stress begins.
We're all guilty of it. I doubt anyone can say they successfully put it ALL out on the table on the first date and lived to see a second. I wish there were a CarFax for people.
"Well, hello. Can I take you to dinner sometime?"
*hmm, he's cute. Well dressed. Great smile. No ring."
"Sure, just show me the BaggageFax"
"Uhhhh...I'll take you some place REALLY nice."
"Great, just, show me the BaggageFax."
"I'm worth over a million dollars."
"Uhhh, k, but I just want to see the BaggageFax."
If only I could market a service such as that. Don't just go on dates willy-nilly (YES, willy-nillly, I went there), get the BaggageFax! Guaranteed to help you avoid the Douchebags!
So basically people who can actually rope someone into actually marrying them are masters in marketing...
I wish it weren't like that. I wish we could lay it out on the table and not run the risk of watching the other person haul ass...away from you. But maybe you're not meant to word vomit your past onto their lap on your first outing... I guess all I can ask is that people, whether on a first date, or meeting new friends, just try to be more honest, without being TOO intimate too soon. Maybe instead of admitting you've spent the past week playing Sims 3 during every waking hour you were not at work and saying 'I'm pretty into the Sims....' or instead of saying you take two and a half hours getting ready you could say 'I spend a considerable amount of time preparing to go out, but the end result sure is worth it'.
I don't know. I just operate under an honesty is the best policy. Don't say you like something you don't, don't say something doesn't bother you when it does, and DON'T pretend to know about or like something you don't. It will come back to bite you in the ass. I can almost guarantee it.
So next time you're on your next Marketing Outing just remember....not too much...not too little.
You know you <3 me
Read more: http://www.myspace.com/lorelai507/blog#ixzz124t1Z5H4
Moving on. *changes to Across the Universe album*
There we go. Writing music. Nay...too.....I don't know. Now where do I keep that shuffle button....
Anywho...I'm beginning to think I'm over-susceptible to advertising. While watching the Cottonelle commercial, I was fully convinced it was the only toilet paper for me. Why? Not because of it's promised strength or guaranteed comfort, or even attractive packaging. No, no...nothing that sensible. It was, in fact, the extremely endearing golden lab puppy getting spa treatments and telling me to 'be kind to my behind'.
Being twenty-two I thought I had escaped the naivete of my youth. The child-like fascination with bright colors and talking animals. Nope. I'm just as roped in by these as ever. If a puppy can convince me to buy enough Cottonelle to practice mummification, what other things in life have I fallen for too easily just because of the attractive sheen given to the pitch? I can think of a few toxic friends and exes that presented an all too superficially attractive 'product' only to be left disappointed, hurt, and wishing I had gotten the extended warranty. Or at least wishing I had found out before the thirty-day return policy had expired.
Which brought me to another thought...people, are products. When we meet a new person, even if we just want to be friends, there's almost a 'trial period' where we're getting to know each other. During this period the other person can decide whether or not they want to continue being your friend. A lot of people change their tune during this time. All of the sudden they become more agreeable, laugh more, and interested in what the other person has to say. It's like a live commercial.
This trial period in the mating game is called the first three dates. The first date being the most critical. All of the sudden the girly girl LOVES football, and the nerdy boy 'isn't much into online gaming'. We say what we think the other wants to hear- especially if we're deeply attracted to them. We make it seem as if stress, anger, and any negative emotion never even crossed But later, after the 90 day return policy has expired, the claws come out. All of the sudden, she feels as if he alienates her for video games, and he feels as if she spends more time on her appearance than with him. The fighting, arguing, and stress begins.
We're all guilty of it. I doubt anyone can say they successfully put it ALL out on the table on the first date and lived to see a second. I wish there were a CarFax for people.
"Well, hello. Can I take you to dinner sometime?"
*hmm, he's cute. Well dressed. Great smile. No ring."
"Sure, just show me the BaggageFax"
"Uhhhh...I'll take you some place REALLY nice."
"Great, just, show me the BaggageFax."
"I'm worth over a million dollars."
"Uhhh, k, but I just want to see the BaggageFax."
If only I could market a service such as that. Don't just go on dates willy-nilly (YES, willy-nillly, I went there), get the BaggageFax! Guaranteed to help you avoid the Douchebags!
So basically people who can actually rope someone into actually marrying them are masters in marketing...
I wish it weren't like that. I wish we could lay it out on the table and not run the risk of watching the other person haul ass...away from you. But maybe you're not meant to word vomit your past onto their lap on your first outing... I guess all I can ask is that people, whether on a first date, or meeting new friends, just try to be more honest, without being TOO intimate too soon. Maybe instead of admitting you've spent the past week playing Sims 3 during every waking hour you were not at work and saying 'I'm pretty into the Sims....' or instead of saying you take two and a half hours getting ready you could say 'I spend a considerable amount of time preparing to go out, but the end result sure is worth it'.
I don't know. I just operate under an honesty is the best policy. Don't say you like something you don't, don't say something doesn't bother you when it does, and DON'T pretend to know about or like something you don't. It will come back to bite you in the ass. I can almost guarantee it.
So next time you're on your next Marketing Outing just remember....not too much...not too little.
You know you <3 me
Read more: http://www.myspace.com/lorelai507/blog#ixzz124t1Z5H4
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Segway Into Irony
I believe many of you are aware of the two-wheeled stand-up scooter trend that has swept the nation, making way for Segway tours of every major city, Scooter races, and a litany of regular Joes wanting to look 'hip', 'green', and draw attention to themselves. I personally feel that one looks ridiculous riding on a Segway, and I really don't understand the difference between riding a Segway and simply walking (especially since walking would a far 'greener' option). However, that's for another day, another time.
Though it hit international news, many people have not heard about the most ironic thing to hit the newswire in a very long time: the owner of Segway recently died on one.
.......
Okay, don't get me wrong. The last thing I'm trying to do is poke fun at someone's death; however, this story really lends itself to some analyzation. His name was Jimi Heselden and he was a 62 year old millionaire (the article made sure to point out his recent charitable contributions, as well as the fact that he was rated 395th on the Sunday Times Rich List).
(I hope that when I die in a tragic accident the most important information that the paper wants to make sure everyone knows about me is NOT the fact that I had a lot of money).
He bought the Segway company less than a year ago; he was apparently off-roading in a new "rugged, country version" of the Segway, when he rode off a cliff into a river and died.
I want to start with this, how great was the demand for a "rugged, country version" of the Segway? It just seems like the last thing one would use in outdoorsy situations. Not once on any of my perpetually unsuccessful camping trips have I said, you know what would make this easier?? A segway. I'm hard-pressed to understand the reasoning behind such a product.
Though I always say, there must be a demand for it to be in development, right?
Secondly, why would this seemingly intelligent man (it takes a certain amount of smarts to be able to take yourself from a dirt-poor working class guy to a multi-millionaire) be riding so close to a cliff on such a machine? Was he attempting to cheat death on a Segway? Was he not paying attention? An even more intriguing concept would be- what if he were pushed?? Though the police ruled his death an accident, part of me was thirsty for the intrigue of a scandal. Maybe a spurned lover or ungrateful daughter- or even the butler (gasp!)took him on a little outdoor excursion with intent for revenge...
(These are the types of thoughts that keep me awake at night).
While it's terrible this man died, I commend him for going out not only with a bang, but an ironic one at that.
Though it hit international news, many people have not heard about the most ironic thing to hit the newswire in a very long time: the owner of Segway recently died on one.
.......
Okay, don't get me wrong. The last thing I'm trying to do is poke fun at someone's death; however, this story really lends itself to some analyzation. His name was Jimi Heselden and he was a 62 year old millionaire (the article made sure to point out his recent charitable contributions, as well as the fact that he was rated 395th on the Sunday Times Rich List).
(I hope that when I die in a tragic accident the most important information that the paper wants to make sure everyone knows about me is NOT the fact that I had a lot of money).
He bought the Segway company less than a year ago; he was apparently off-roading in a new "rugged, country version" of the Segway, when he rode off a cliff into a river and died.
I want to start with this, how great was the demand for a "rugged, country version" of the Segway? It just seems like the last thing one would use in outdoorsy situations. Not once on any of my perpetually unsuccessful camping trips have I said, you know what would make this easier?? A segway. I'm hard-pressed to understand the reasoning behind such a product.
Though I always say, there must be a demand for it to be in development, right?
Secondly, why would this seemingly intelligent man (it takes a certain amount of smarts to be able to take yourself from a dirt-poor working class guy to a multi-millionaire) be riding so close to a cliff on such a machine? Was he attempting to cheat death on a Segway? Was he not paying attention? An even more intriguing concept would be- what if he were pushed?? Though the police ruled his death an accident, part of me was thirsty for the intrigue of a scandal. Maybe a spurned lover or ungrateful daughter- or even the butler (gasp!)took him on a little outdoor excursion with intent for revenge...
(These are the types of thoughts that keep me awake at night).
While it's terrible this man died, I commend him for going out not only with a bang, but an ironic one at that.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
That Felix guy....the LUCKY one!
I was Facebook stalking one of my best friends, and his status was "really needs to stop being idealistic and needs to start being realistic". This saddened me.
This friend was one of the most optimistic people I knew. He was who I went to when I wanted unconditional love and to just be happy and have fun. Don't get me wrong, he was great at serious and in-depth conversations, as well. I just knew I could count on him for the brighter outlook on life.
What happens to us? One moment, we're looking around and everything has this Wonderland-sheen to it. Flowers are bright, honeysuckle is strong in the air, and the sun feels nice on our skin. The next minute, everything appears grungy and broken, flowers go unnoticed and untamed, all we smell is car fumes, and the sun gives us a first degree burn.
When does this happen? When does the world go from being this place with flaws we could not see? When did we wake up and become unblinded, disenchanted, and jaded? I used to believe in true love, that everyone had someone. The idea is a laughable concept at this point. I used to believe that all humans were good on the inside, and when given a choice, would always do the right thing. That, I know, is not fact.
I don't want this friend to become a realist. I admire his bright outlook and ability to see the best in others. Those are both qualities I will never possess, but I want him to. I want there to be at least someone on this earth that has a smile on their face instead of a taught, lifeless look. I guess this makes me the world's biggest hypocrite, but I guess that young, naive child that live so happily in Wonderland is still inside me, and maybe that's why I'm so drawn to this friend.
I don't know.
This friend was one of the most optimistic people I knew. He was who I went to when I wanted unconditional love and to just be happy and have fun. Don't get me wrong, he was great at serious and in-depth conversations, as well. I just knew I could count on him for the brighter outlook on life.
What happens to us? One moment, we're looking around and everything has this Wonderland-sheen to it. Flowers are bright, honeysuckle is strong in the air, and the sun feels nice on our skin. The next minute, everything appears grungy and broken, flowers go unnoticed and untamed, all we smell is car fumes, and the sun gives us a first degree burn.
When does this happen? When does the world go from being this place with flaws we could not see? When did we wake up and become unblinded, disenchanted, and jaded? I used to believe in true love, that everyone had someone. The idea is a laughable concept at this point. I used to believe that all humans were good on the inside, and when given a choice, would always do the right thing. That, I know, is not fact.
I don't want this friend to become a realist. I admire his bright outlook and ability to see the best in others. Those are both qualities I will never possess, but I want him to. I want there to be at least someone on this earth that has a smile on their face instead of a taught, lifeless look. I guess this makes me the world's biggest hypocrite, but I guess that young, naive child that live so happily in Wonderland is still inside me, and maybe that's why I'm so drawn to this friend.
I don't know.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
This Time, Baby, I'll Be Bulletproof
Do you ever get so carried away by music it feels like it's washing over you and you're in this crazy vortex of emotion? No? I'm the only crazy person out there?
Well, then. Fine. I like being a little crazy- makes every day an adventure.
That blinking cursor is so rude. It's reminding me that I don't have a lot to say anymore. It's so demanding, not only does it follow along while you write, but it sits there and dares to BLINK, just to show you how impatient it is. Rude.
It must be related to my mother. It feels the need to constantly remind you what time you were supposed to arrive at the wedding, and to further worsen the problem of your lateness, it's going to sit there and tap its foot, nagging about how your lateness is why you're single.
Don't get me wrong, I know I complain about her a lot, but I love my mom. In fact, as much as a I hate to admit it, but I'm a carbon copy of her. In the midst of a nag-fest at Randall for not lining his shoes up, I'll be thinking "Geez, Lor, shut UP"- but I can't stop my mouth! It's like nagging is a knee-jerk reaction- I can't stop! I'm a nag junkie! Oh, Lord. Watch me pop out of my casket at my funeral and start bitching at the funeral director because the flowers were not arranged according to color and height. You watch. It's going to happen.
.....................
Does anyone else ever make up music videos to the songs they're currently listening to? I used to want to be a music video producer. I can't dance to save my life, but I would come up with this complex dance numbers that would be absolutely insane, I would have to end up writing the description. I would come up with color themes and symbolism I could insert into the context. I loved it. I actually miss working on video making. TV productions was the only class I actually liked in high school, and certainly the only reason I showed up the few times I did senior year.....
I'm weird.
So...I've started a post about frats and sororities. Who wants to see it?
Well, then. Fine. I like being a little crazy- makes every day an adventure.
That blinking cursor is so rude. It's reminding me that I don't have a lot to say anymore. It's so demanding, not only does it follow along while you write, but it sits there and dares to BLINK, just to show you how impatient it is. Rude.
It must be related to my mother. It feels the need to constantly remind you what time you were supposed to arrive at the wedding, and to further worsen the problem of your lateness, it's going to sit there and tap its foot, nagging about how your lateness is why you're single.
Don't get me wrong, I know I complain about her a lot, but I love my mom. In fact, as much as a I hate to admit it, but I'm a carbon copy of her. In the midst of a nag-fest at Randall for not lining his shoes up, I'll be thinking "Geez, Lor, shut UP"- but I can't stop my mouth! It's like nagging is a knee-jerk reaction- I can't stop! I'm a nag junkie! Oh, Lord. Watch me pop out of my casket at my funeral and start bitching at the funeral director because the flowers were not arranged according to color and height. You watch. It's going to happen.
.....................
Does anyone else ever make up music videos to the songs they're currently listening to? I used to want to be a music video producer. I can't dance to save my life, but I would come up with this complex dance numbers that would be absolutely insane, I would have to end up writing the description. I would come up with color themes and symbolism I could insert into the context. I loved it. I actually miss working on video making. TV productions was the only class I actually liked in high school, and certainly the only reason I showed up the few times I did senior year.....
I'm weird.
So...I've started a post about frats and sororities. Who wants to see it?
Thursday, April 1, 2010
How Does Gaga Like Her Steak? Raw, raw, raw, raw, raw....
There are things on this earth that I feel truly blessed by their presence: Pandora, the Home Shopping Network, Lady Gaga...I could go on. I can't help but consider this: what if I had been born in a different time period, like the Industrial Revolution? All I can say is homegirl would not be applying at the Triangle Shirt Factory- that's for sure. Better yet, what if Lady Gaga had been born in the early 1900s? Would her fashion sense manifest itself in different ways- wearing men's bowler hats (gasp!) covered in rotten fruit found outside some rich banker's house? Wearing those bathing suits to work??? Or worse...showing ANKLE on a daily basis? Would she still have those cigarette glasses? All questions to ponder when going to sleep at night....
I read an article about Lady Gaga's new video today. It said that there are all of these groups protesting its very existence, saying that it will taint America's youth, it's vile, and a whole litany of other complaints. Curious, I watched the full 'explicit' version. Overall, it was no more sexual than a typical pop song video, and no more violent than a common rap video. There was one part where she had x's over her nipples and a vag shot, but it was all blurred out. We saw more at a particular Super Bowl....
I feel like people make her a target because of her being such an enigma. People relentlessly make fun of her choice in clothes, hair, makeup, music- everything. And yet, she continues to do what she wants, wear what she wants, sing what she wants- whatever. She's completely unphased by what they say. People hate that- especially tabloids. They feel as if people should bend to peer pressure and either be visibly bothered by what they say and/or do what they say they should. The fact that she doesn't is a bee under their bonnet.
I say, you go, Lady Gaga! True, half of the stuff you wear is outlandish- but it's fun and it's you. I wish I could channel a little Gaga everyday- to be able to go about my day not caring what other people thought and doing what made me happy no matter what....
I'll try- when things get bad I'm going to take a breath and channel the powers that be- Lady Gaga, of course. Oh...and God. Lady Gaga and God....yeah.....
I read an article about Lady Gaga's new video today. It said that there are all of these groups protesting its very existence, saying that it will taint America's youth, it's vile, and a whole litany of other complaints. Curious, I watched the full 'explicit' version. Overall, it was no more sexual than a typical pop song video, and no more violent than a common rap video. There was one part where she had x's over her nipples and a vag shot, but it was all blurred out. We saw more at a particular Super Bowl....
I feel like people make her a target because of her being such an enigma. People relentlessly make fun of her choice in clothes, hair, makeup, music- everything. And yet, she continues to do what she wants, wear what she wants, sing what she wants- whatever. She's completely unphased by what they say. People hate that- especially tabloids. They feel as if people should bend to peer pressure and either be visibly bothered by what they say and/or do what they say they should. The fact that she doesn't is a bee under their bonnet.
I say, you go, Lady Gaga! True, half of the stuff you wear is outlandish- but it's fun and it's you. I wish I could channel a little Gaga everyday- to be able to go about my day not caring what other people thought and doing what made me happy no matter what....
I'll try- when things get bad I'm going to take a breath and channel the powers that be- Lady Gaga, of course. Oh...and God. Lady Gaga and God....yeah.....
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