Lemme tell ya something. I've decided to be on "Blogger" because I hate the concept of blogging. Absolutely hate it.
But I'm told that having a blog kinda makes you write.
Gotta say - that really describes slash defines the patheticness that is the United States. We're all conformist. For crying out loud, I'm a conformist and have fought against it my entire life. I hate doing things the same way as everyone else. But check this out: I graduated high school, went to college and got a "sellable" degree, and now have a "real" job. All made possible (translation: forced upon me) by my parents.
These lyrics are to the theme song of one of my favorite sitcoms - "Weeds." Long story super short - it's about a pot dealing mom. So she hugely broke the mold by living in an upscale suburb and starting a grow-house and large pot-buying customer base (including Snoop Dogg).
I've blogged about this before. I hate the fact that I have nothing to show for myself (though people are always saying I have plenty to show for myself). This lifestyle was forced upon me, but I think I need to speak out more like Malvina. If I'm ever cursed with children, they won't just follow the footsteps laid out for them. I'm not even gonna lay out footsteps for 'em.
So - my point is this - I need to figure out how to be what I've always wanted to be in order to fully be satisfied with my life. I need to get out of my little ticky-tacky box.
High? NO! Low? NO! That's too lazy. Nowhere!? HELL, yes!
Seriously. I don't aim for anything. I get to work eventually and leave when I get some stuff done. I know that eventually it'll all get done. And it'll get done well. I never aspired to be good at piano. I did practice, but it's 'cause I liked it. When people wanted to really train me - I quit. Because I didn't wanna try. I wanted to stop where it was natural. No aiming.
The strange thing about all this - I love a challenge. LOVE IT! So maybe I'm just crazy. But I do love my lifeless, goaless, incredibly simple life of just walkin' around, bein' a friend, taking care o' stuff that needs to be taken care of, and helpin' people out. That list makes it seem like my listlessness is alright.
I hate them. Why do we all have to have the same patterns in life? Why should I have to have a conversation with someone (male or female for whatever reason) regarding our friendship or relationship at certain junctures.
Scene: Robbie's house. When: Almost two years ago. Goings on: Lots and lots of drinking.
Robbie leans in to kiss Jonathan. I said, "Dude, you can do way better than that."
He says, "OK," grabs my head and sticks his tongue down my throat.
Apparently this went on for a while. And more than once. I say apparently because I don't really recall some of it.
After we were no longer making out, I walked home. Not safe. But whatever. Next day's text messages sucked. For a bit.
Robbie: How ya feelin? Me: Not bad. Walked off the booze and am not even hung over. Robbie: Yeah, I puked all over myself when you left. Me: Cute. Too bad I missed that. You have fun, though? Robbie: Yeah, for sure. Did you? Me: Yeah!
This is when it got awkward because I thought for sure he was asking about the whole making out thing. Which is bad. My BFF told me about an hour before we made out that Robbie definitely liked me.
Robbie: Good. Why'd you have fun. Me: Yeah, so about last night... (I'm great at non-sequitors) ... um.... what are your thoughts on what happened? Like, do you like me? Robbie: Yeah, I kinda do. Me: Um... Well... Um... I'm not really sure what to say... But I think you kinda know where I'm going with this. Robbie: Well, yeah. And that's fine. Me: K, sorry dude. I do love you as a friend a LOT. Robbie: I know, I love you, too, Kek.
Yeah.... Good times. I love the fact that those conversations are necessary because of stupidity found in societal and cultural norms. Did you hear my voice right there... Dripping in sarcasm?
Point is - I have no idea why people are expected to communicate certain things at certain times. It's like the whole thing about making your Facebook relationship status change as SOON as stuff is "official" between two people. It's dumb. Period. Why can't we all just live and see where shit goes?
I find it helps to organize chores into categories: Things I won’t do now; Things I won’t do later; Things I’ll never do.
~Cartoon Character “Maxine”
And basically all of my chores call into "things I'll never do." I hate chores. I hate cleaning my own house. If you need your house cleaned, I'll do it. But I hate cleaning my own place. However, I will do it because I do like it to be clean. My whole house is spotless right now (pretty much).
Most of my laundry is even done. WOOHOO! This is what my clean clothes all look like:
This is truly my clean laundry. I have a finely honed organizational system for my clothing. When you look at the closet, the clothes on the left are clean, the ones on the right are dirty. If the piece of clothing is likely to get extraordinarily wrinkly if it remains in the pile of clean clothes, it is likely that I'll throw it over the foot of my bed in hopes that it only get a tad diddly bit wrinkly.
As you can tell, that pile signifies part of my clean home. Now, the problem is that if I showed you a pile of my dirty clothes, you might cry. Because laundry really does fall into the category of chores now known as "Things I'll never do" because I tend to take care of laundry once every sixish weeks.
BONUS: I have an easy way of knowing where my clean clothes are and where my dirty clothes are. And since the piles seldom move, it's not like I have to find a way to lift the clothes in order to vacuum. So, that's half of one of my rooms that I don't even have to waste time vacuuming.
Anyways, I just thought I'd enlighten you on the best way to keep track of your clothes. I've heard my organization pattern is spreading some.
A fine head of hair adds beauty to a good face, and terror to an ugly one.
~Lycurgus
Thus I have short hair. Ok. Well, not really. Well, really. “A fine head of hair…” I have a fine head of super short hair. When my hair is long, it’s stringy, gross and kind of frightening. (Figure A)
How can I control my life when I can't control my hair?
~Author Unknown
Long hair requires care. You have to wash, condition, towel dry, and comb it just to look semi decent. But to look stunning, you have to wash, condition, towel dry, comb and curl it. (Figure B) But then it gets stuck in your lip gloss when you get hit by wind. My point is clear, long hair in uncontrollable. So I’m more in control with short hair. (Sidebar: Author Unknown always seems so brilliant. Author Unknown knows about a lot of stuff.)
I'm a big woman. I need big hair.
~Aretha Franklin
I’m a small woman. I need small hair. Aretha would probably back me up. Seriously, think about it. Small person, big hair? Gross. I have small hair ‘cause I’m small. By small, I just mean short. I need to lose some weight. Oh, and have big boobs. But overall, I’m kind of small.
Beauty is about perception, not about make-up. I think the beginning of all beauty is knowing and liking oneself. You can’t put on make-up, or dress yourself, or do you hair with any sort of fun or joy if you’re doing it from a position of correction.
~Kevyn Aucoin
“Beauty is about perception…” I gotta admit it’s also in the eye of the beer-holder. This quote was saved for last because I don’t always have the highest level of self-esteem. However, I’m more confident than just about anyone I know. I would not go so far as to say that I have an unhealthy level of narcissism. I’m just ok with who I am (not what I look like). I know what I’m doing with my life. I seldom get concerned about my future. I’m stable on my own.
I do love to put makeup on; it’s like an artform. Most of any of the beauty that I possess is not in my face, it’s not in my body, and it’s not in my hair. It’s who I am. I’m not a great looking person, but I was recently told this: “Your face is always smiling, even when you aren’t smiling.” It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that concept. I’ve been told that my happy demeanor is part of what makes me attractive – which is great being that I don’t have light blond hair and I’m not leggy; I’ve got stubby little legs and dirty blondish hair. So it’s good that perception is what creates beauty. ‘Cause I sure as heck am not an textbook attractive person.
At this point in time, I feel as though a disclaimer may be wise.
The overall point in this blog is to explain why I’m comfortable with having short hair. I often hear that short hair is masculine. The point is that I don’t care. And I’m just writing some humorous randomness that explains that I like my hair cut and am not worried about looking mannish. I have boulder boobs anyhow.
You look so much like Mia Farrow. It's insane. You should seriously enter a celebrity look alike contest...
~Jessica James Knipprath
I’m not sure I agree with this statement. But let me demonstrate through the use of pictures. Me and Mia look “alike” based on these two pictures:
However, check us out with long, ugly hair:
My point has been made. Short hair just looks better on some chicks. I'm one of those chicks. And as far as I can tell, I don't look mannish. And neither does Mia.
I'm the luckiest girl in the world. I have the best grampa in the world. He's 85 years old, goin' on 86. As far as I know, he is not looking forward to his next birthday. Naturally, I tease him about it. Grampa is one of the most straightforward, opinionated people anyone could ever meet or even imagine. He knows what is best for everyone. And for the most part, what's best for one person is best for everyone else. It's not like he doesn't believe in individuality or think that each person's life is different, he just knows what he's seen work for other people and assumes that it'll work for others in similar situations.
That said, everyone should have a degree. A bachelor's degree. It should be in something "sellable" or something that "looks good on a resume." You sure as heck better be saving your money, and remember that "you can have a car, you can have money, but you can not have both." Girls should live at home until they get married. Dating is a waste of time unless it's the right person.
But probably the thing he has most definitely hammered into the skulls of his grandkids is to just overall do your best and be a good, kind, caring person. He cares more deeply for people than almost anyone I know. If he loves you - you'll know it. And he loves me. A lot. He's proud of me even though I only have a BA in Communication. I suppose I care about some people sometimes. Grampa has only told me three times that he's proud of me. Each time, it was accompanied with a hug and a kiss. One time stands out tremendously.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was Easter of 2008. Obviously it was a Sunday. It was about three days after my dad's birthday, so we made it an Easter/Birthday Day. On my dad's birthday, I dumped my boyfriend of three years.
Chris Schlavin was one of the worst things that has ever happened to me. Sure, we had some good times (sometimes) and I learned a lot - so in some ways he was a good thing for me. But, long story short, he treated me pretty badly but I stuck with it because it looked better. He was emotionally and verbally abusive. Well, I didn't really think it was abuse, but many people around me felt it was that bad.
From before I even started dating him, people had told me I could do better. He wasn't as "good a person" as me was the typical reasoning. He didn't like to help people, didn't care about people, was rude for no reason, had no good social skills, and was a slacker. I'm the complete opposite and his behaviors would "hold me back."
As it turned out, he was insanely jealous. If I so much as talked to another guy, he might freak out. He yelled at me for about two hours once because I walked to class with a professor who I ran into on the way to class. What was I supposed to do? Walk ahead of the professor so that we could get to the same destination staggered!? He even got upset when I talked to one of his friends alone in a lighted hallway. And by alone, I mean, we were the only two involved in the conversation and there were probably 20 or 30 people around us. It was ridiculous. He even got upset because I was going to graduate college quite a while before he would and would be in the "real world" and would be able to talk to "other guys" when he wasn't around.
While we were dating, we got "serious" and we decided we were going to get married (I would have been divorced by now). Because of this, he was going to save his money. The plan was this: he would save his money and I would pay for immediate stuff. Because he had to "feel like the man," I would slip him cash when we went out to eat so it looked like he paid for me. I paid his cell phone bill and bought his clothes a lot of the time.
Well, then we broke up. He had a ton of money. I had ziltch. It was pretty awesome.
The Saturday before Easter, I went over to Gramma and Grampa's house to say hello and tell them about what happened with Chris and I. Grampa is way protective. You don't hurt someone Grampa loves. It hurts him. And if you hurt my Grampa, I hurt you. Just saying.
When I was done telling the story - without shedding one tear - Grampa said, "Well, you can obviously do better than that."
The next day was Easter. I went to family dinner, but it was my first one without a boyfriend in three years and my little brother had just gotten engaged and I was feeling strange being alone with my family (which is just ridiculous). After I ate, I decided it was time to leave. Told everyone I loved them and went over to say bye to Grampa.
Before I got to the chair, he said, "Hang on a second." We walked into the other room where no one could hear us. He said, "I want you to know that I'm proud of you." He leaned over and hugged me. And then he kissed me.
I had to make a quick exit. As soon as I got to my car, I started crying.
