Me:
Justin:
I usually find things like this entertaining.
I'm going to confess, I don't get it.
Me:
It's a trap, Justin.
A huge trap.
Every time you get an achievement, they show another one you can get.
Justin:
Have you fallen for it?
Me:
I believe it is an experiment they wanted to try, honestly.
I got up to 500 cookies, then an achievement for 10,000 popped up.
I would have maybe gone back to try for 3,000 later, just to see if I could do it, but I decided I would not commit myself to more. Because I know it wouldn't be just one more.
Justin:
Aren't you kind of wondering what you get at 10k?
Me:
Of course I'm curious. But I already know what it will be.
It went from 10 to 100 to 500 to 3,000 to 10,000.
The next logic step would be 50,000.
And every time, they'd be all, "Well, I got this far, why wouldn't I finish?"
Because I don't need to.
#wise
Justin:
Maybe the game changes then.
Maybe you should just commit and get there.
Can you hit return instead of click? You could get to 10k easy.
Me:
You are such a little devil, Justin.
Justin:
I'm curious.
And it surprises me a bit.
Me:
You are the bubble in Usagi's head.
Justin:
Yes, yes I am.
I just didn't picture you as a quitter.
Me:
I'm not.
I just know when to quit.
I have a good balance.
Justin:
"know when to quit" = quitter
What if at 10K you get something other than another achievement?
Me:
Why don't you find out? :)
Justin:
I just got an auto-clicker.
You need to spend some money.
Do it, Mallory.
Just get the auto-clicker and let it run.
Then click every now and again.
You'll have it by the end of the day.
Me:
Bahahahahahahahaha!
Isn't that fake winning?
Justin:
Have a total of five minutes invested.
Me:
Why don't YOU do it?!
Justin:
I am doing it.
I now have five clickers clicking every second.
And I am going to leave it all day.
Me:
OMFG
Justin:
I honestly think for a 20 minute investment in time, you could get it to be over 10k by the end of the day.
#addicted
Me:
*laughs*
I can't believe this.
I wish I were there to video record this going down.
Justin:
You're going to get me terminated.
Me:
I genuinely feel as if we have swapped places in our friendship roles.
Showing posts with label Random. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Random. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Friday, May 23, 2014
Dragons, Duh.
Justin:
Dragons are overrated.
Me:
How would you like to die? Choking or a simple gun shot?
Justin:
Gun shot.
For sure.
Me:
I'll have that arranged for your next terrible opinion.
Justin:
I didn't say I didn't like dragons.
Just that they were overrated.
Me:
Okay, you're not right next to me, so this killing thing may take a while.
I suppose an assassin would do.
Just have to be specific with what I need to happen.
Justin:
You're going to tell me that a dragon is cooler than a pterodactyl?
Not even close.
Me:
Are you KIDDING me.
Right now.
You must be joking.
Dragons breathe motherfucking fire.
Would obviously win in a fight against a pterodactyl.
Justin:
Really.
Really.
'Dactyls actually have had to fight for their food.
Mallory:
How can that be your argument?
Justin:
Dragons are just creepy mythical figures who are blown out of proportion.
Me:
YOU TAKE THAT BACK.
They are NOT crappy, they are NOT blown out of proportion.
They COULD be mythical.
I will give you that.
Justin:
Mallory.
If dragons did exist.
I would for sure be the person who treated them like chickens.
Me:
Chickens.
Are you kidding me.
You think a dragon would even allow you to treat them as such?
They're 20 bajillion times smarter than anything on our planet.
Justin:
I'm sure they taste like chickens.
Me:
Good luck trying to prove that.
Justin:
The meat could feed a village for a week.
And since they are pretty much like rats, that's how we would treat them.
Me:
Rats.
Did you just compare dragons to rats?
Rats don't have scaled armor.
Justin:
Did you just switch to "busy" to argue this?
Me:
No. I have auto times set up so people don't bug me just before, during, and just after lunch.
Stop skirting the issue!
Justin:
Rats.
With uglier skin.
Me:
Their skin is scales!
Justin:
Me:
Did you seriously just link to this? The rat and dragon are completely different years!
KNOW YOUR CHINESE ZODIAC.
Although, cow-dragon looks awesome.
Justin:
Compared to this.
Me:
OMFG
I love that you're trying to Google School me.
Justin:
You mean you love that I won.
Me:
Justin:
Really.
Of course it would need a sword to attack a wussy old school ship.
Oooo, you're so tough.
Taking down a wind driven product.
Me:
That's to make people feel secure.
Before he burns their faces off.
Dragons are intelligent.
They can talk.
Justin:
*drops the mic*
Me:
Exhibit A: http://d24w6bsrhbeh9d.cloudfront.net/photo/3011942_700b.jpg
He doesn't say Pterodactyl Kick
It's Dragon Kick
SAME GUY
BOOM
Justin:
Not even ballpark.
Always a pleasure, Mallory.
I'm going to go grab some lunch.
--hour later--
Justin:
Question.
Me:
Yes?
Justin:
You think My Little Pony is awesome, too, don't you?
Me:
No.
Justin:
Well, you like wimpy animals.
Me:
Wow
Just
Wow
Justin:
Just making an observation.
Dragons, ponies, tiny little lizards...
All similar animals.
Me:
I'll bet I can find a Japanese film of Pterodactyls vs. Dragons.
And dragons would totally win out.
Justin:
Would a pony beat a T-Rex?
Because that is pretty much what you're saying.
Me:
How tiny do you think dragons are??
Justin:
Crapping rainbows only get you so far.
Me:
That's UNICORNS.
Unicorns do not equal dragons.
Justin:
Me (lying my ass off because both sides have this):
At least there aren't romance novels about making love to dragons.
Justin:
What the h.
Me:
Look like your dino has a bit of a soft side.
Or should I say "hard"?
BOOM.
Dragons are overrated.
Me:
How would you like to die? Choking or a simple gun shot?
Justin:
Gun shot.
For sure.
Me:
I'll have that arranged for your next terrible opinion.
Justin:
I didn't say I didn't like dragons.
Just that they were overrated.
Me:
Okay, you're not right next to me, so this killing thing may take a while.
I suppose an assassin would do.
Just have to be specific with what I need to happen.
Justin:
You're going to tell me that a dragon is cooler than a pterodactyl?
Not even close.
Me:
Are you KIDDING me.
Right now.
You must be joking.
Dragons breathe motherfucking fire.
Would obviously win in a fight against a pterodactyl.
Justin:
Really.
Really.
'Dactyls actually have had to fight for their food.
Mallory:
How can that be your argument?
Justin:
Dragons are just creepy mythical figures who are blown out of proportion.
Me:
YOU TAKE THAT BACK.
They are NOT crappy, they are NOT blown out of proportion.
They COULD be mythical.
I will give you that.
Justin:
Mallory.
If dragons did exist.
I would for sure be the person who treated them like chickens.
Me:
Chickens.
Are you kidding me.
You think a dragon would even allow you to treat them as such?
They're 20 bajillion times smarter than anything on our planet.
Justin:
I'm sure they taste like chickens.
Me:
Good luck trying to prove that.
Justin:
The meat could feed a village for a week.
And since they are pretty much like rats, that's how we would treat them.
Me:
Rats.
Did you just compare dragons to rats?
Rats don't have scaled armor.
Justin:
Did you just switch to "busy" to argue this?
Me:
No. I have auto times set up so people don't bug me just before, during, and just after lunch.
Stop skirting the issue!
Justin:
Rats.
With uglier skin.
Me:
Their skin is scales!
Justin:
Me:
Did you seriously just link to this? The rat and dragon are completely different years!
KNOW YOUR CHINESE ZODIAC.
Although, cow-dragon looks awesome.
Justin:
Compared to this.
Me:
OMFG
I love that you're trying to Google School me.
Justin:
You mean you love that I won.
Me:
Justin:
Really.
Of course it would need a sword to attack a wussy old school ship.
Oooo, you're so tough.
Taking down a wind driven product.
Me:
That's to make people feel secure.
Before he burns their faces off.
Dragons are intelligent.
They can talk.
Justin:
*drops the mic*
Me:
Exhibit A: http://d24w6bsrhbeh9d.cloudfront.net/photo/3011942_700b.jpg
He doesn't say Pterodactyl Kick
It's Dragon Kick
SAME GUY
BOOM
Justin:
Not even ballpark.
Always a pleasure, Mallory.
I'm going to go grab some lunch.
--hour later--
Justin:
Question.
Me:
Yes?
Justin:
You think My Little Pony is awesome, too, don't you?
Me:
No.
Justin:
Well, you like wimpy animals.
Me:
Wow
Just
Wow
Justin:
Just making an observation.
Dragons, ponies, tiny little lizards...
All similar animals.
Me:
I'll bet I can find a Japanese film of Pterodactyls vs. Dragons.
And dragons would totally win out.
Justin:
Would a pony beat a T-Rex?
Because that is pretty much what you're saying.
Me:
How tiny do you think dragons are??
Justin:
Crapping rainbows only get you so far.
Me:
That's UNICORNS.
Unicorns do not equal dragons.
Justin:
Me (lying my ass off because both sides have this):
At least there aren't romance novels about making love to dragons.
Justin:
What the h.
Me:
Look like your dino has a bit of a soft side.
Or should I say "hard"?
BOOM.
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
Strong Points
Justin:
MALLORY
I just found a butter candy in the bottom of my bag.
How old is it? No clue.
Did I eat it immediately? Yes.
Me:
As long as it isn't in the street next to garbage cans.
Justin:
#wouldstilleatit
Me:
Do you realize how easy it would be to kidnap you?
How did this not happen to you as a child?
A white van, a Werther's, and you're gone.
Justin:
Totally.
And I'd like it.
I would have gotten out of it.
Those creepy old man clown persons couldn't keep me contained.
Me:
Unless they had a bowl of Werther's at your beck and call.
Justin:
It's not kidnapping if you go willingly.
Me:
And now I'm wondering about the legitimacy of your child.
Justin:
As you should.
I wish I had a tatt of an eagle across my entire back.
Me:
I can get a Kickstarter going for you, if you wish.
Make this dream come true.
Justin:
How much do you think it would cost?
Me:
If you want it the length of your back? $800-$1,000 if you want full color and really good detail. Maybe more, depending on who you got it from.
Justin:
Really?
Tatts are spendy, apparently.
Me:
Yeah, it was $120 for the one I got...four years ago? And it is black and white, maybe a little over six inches in length, two inches in width.
(a quill)
Justin:
I was going to ask what it was.
That's kind of fun!
Where is it?
Me:
You think it was a penis?
It's on my ankle, going down onto my foot.
One day, I will get words written, maybe.
Justin:
Ooo! Ooo!
Will you please have it read:
"Dysentery sucks. OT 1989 4 life."
Me:
I feel like that should be in a heart on your arm.
Justin:
Next to "mom"
Me:
Next to two tear drops.
You know, for the homies that didn't make it.
Justin:
I think we should draw tatts for people.
We're really good at this.
Me:
I'm sorry, but I am laughing really hard right now because I am imagining the picture you drew me with you forging across the ocean to India.
And thinking of the poor soul who would get that as a tattoo.
Although, I will admit, best image of a dead ox ever.
Justin:
#nailedit
I should quit while I've made you laugh.
Me:
Quitting while you're ahead is no one's strong point.
MALLORY
I just found a butter candy in the bottom of my bag.
How old is it? No clue.
Did I eat it immediately? Yes.
Me:
As long as it isn't in the street next to garbage cans.
Justin:
#wouldstilleatit
Me:
Do you realize how easy it would be to kidnap you?
How did this not happen to you as a child?
A white van, a Werther's, and you're gone.
Justin:
Totally.
And I'd like it.
I would have gotten out of it.
Those creepy old man clown persons couldn't keep me contained.
Me:
Unless they had a bowl of Werther's at your beck and call.
Justin:
It's not kidnapping if you go willingly.
Me:
And now I'm wondering about the legitimacy of your child.
Justin:
As you should.
I wish I had a tatt of an eagle across my entire back.
Me:
I can get a Kickstarter going for you, if you wish.
Make this dream come true.
Justin:
How much do you think it would cost?
Me:
If you want it the length of your back? $800-$1,000 if you want full color and really good detail. Maybe more, depending on who you got it from.
Justin:
Really?
Tatts are spendy, apparently.
Me:
Yeah, it was $120 for the one I got...four years ago? And it is black and white, maybe a little over six inches in length, two inches in width.
(a quill)
Justin:
I was going to ask what it was.
That's kind of fun!
Where is it?
Me:
You think it was a penis?
It's on my ankle, going down onto my foot.
One day, I will get words written, maybe.
Justin:
Ooo! Ooo!
Will you please have it read:
"Dysentery sucks. OT 1989 4 life."
Me:
I feel like that should be in a heart on your arm.
Justin:
Next to "mom"
Me:
Next to two tear drops.
You know, for the homies that didn't make it.
Justin:
I think we should draw tatts for people.
We're really good at this.
Me:
I'm sorry, but I am laughing really hard right now because I am imagining the picture you drew me with you forging across the ocean to India.
And thinking of the poor soul who would get that as a tattoo.
Although, I will admit, best image of a dead ox ever.
Justin:
#nailedit
I should quit while I've made you laugh.
Me:
Quitting while you're ahead is no one's strong point.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
Forge the Friendship River
Justin: If I were a professional musician, I would learn how to back flip off stage items while playing guitar. I feel like it would keep the crowd engaged, and could spark social media publicity.
Me: There is a local band with a keyboardist who does handstands on his keyboard.
I also like the fact that this is what keeps them engaged.
Not the music, which is what they are originally there for.
Justin: Live music is all about showmanship.
I mean, I'm there for the music, too, but man do you need some fun.
Me: I think I would do mine in a fish tank.
Not even lip sync.
Justin: That's aggressive.
As soon as the showmanship goes above the music, it's too much.
eg. Tommy Lee and the rotating drum kit.
Me: Disagreed.
I think it proves how committed I am to the sound.
To the fans.
Justin: Mallory, I am correct on this.
As a self proclaimed music expert, and former professional marketer.
Me: Were you really a marketer for a musician?
Or a label?
Justin: No.
Not even a little bit.
Me: LIAR.
Justin:
But I worked in PR, then marketing for a consumer electronics company and worked a lot with musicians.
Does that count?
I met Bon Jovi once. I think the bassist was drunk.
Me: It is difficult for me to get over these feelings of betrayal to decide.
Justin: What did I lie about?
I said I was a marketer.
Me: Okay, you embellished.
Justin: That's factual.
I didn't even embellish a little bit.
Me: I feel like you're forging across a river of our friendship right now.
What else would you like to lose on this forge?
Justin: What can I say?
I'm a risk taker.
Would you rather our friendship stall at the edge of this great river?
Or venture through to the next level?
I didn't quit Super Mario at the first castle.
I hammered through until I saved the princess.
Me: The Princess didn't lie and say she was in another castle.
Justin: Never did I lie, Mallory.
Me: Semantics.
Justin: Nor will I.
Do, from time to time, omit?
Yes. Yes I do.
Mallory: I'll have you know, I was also just going to ping you, because I realized that you usually always ping me. And I was all, "I should rectify that." And then you pinged me.
Justin: So, you were standing at the river bank of our friendship and chose not to forge, nor caulk your wheels and float it across, and definitely not charter a raft.
Mallory: ...
Justin: All for a two foot deep, eight foot wide friendship river.
Mallory: Our friendship river reflects our relationship so well--shallow.
Justin: I was trying to signal that forging the river, i.e. sending an IM, is a low cost of entry, and easy to do.
Mallory: I think this Oregon Trail/Friendship metaphor is getting out of hand. All I can think about is dying of dysentery while waiting for a response from you.
Justin: Look.
Sometimes I have to go hunting.
Hunting takes time.
And bullets.
Mallory: Meanwhile, Johnny is engraving Jimmy's last words of "peprony and chease" in stone.
Justin: WELL DONE.
Mallory: *bows*
Me: There is a local band with a keyboardist who does handstands on his keyboard.
I also like the fact that this is what keeps them engaged.
Not the music, which is what they are originally there for.
Justin: Live music is all about showmanship.
I mean, I'm there for the music, too, but man do you need some fun.
Me: I think I would do mine in a fish tank.
Not even lip sync.
Justin: That's aggressive.
As soon as the showmanship goes above the music, it's too much.
eg. Tommy Lee and the rotating drum kit.
Me: Disagreed.
I think it proves how committed I am to the sound.
To the fans.
Justin: Mallory, I am correct on this.
As a self proclaimed music expert, and former professional marketer.
Me: Were you really a marketer for a musician?
Or a label?
Justin: No.
Not even a little bit.
Me: LIAR.
Justin:
But I worked in PR, then marketing for a consumer electronics company and worked a lot with musicians.
Does that count?
I met Bon Jovi once. I think the bassist was drunk.
Me: It is difficult for me to get over these feelings of betrayal to decide.
Justin: What did I lie about?
I said I was a marketer.
Me: Okay, you embellished.
Justin: That's factual.
I didn't even embellish a little bit.
Me: I feel like you're forging across a river of our friendship right now.
What else would you like to lose on this forge?
Justin: What can I say?
I'm a risk taker.
Would you rather our friendship stall at the edge of this great river?
Or venture through to the next level?
I didn't quit Super Mario at the first castle.
I hammered through until I saved the princess.
Me: The Princess didn't lie and say she was in another castle.
Justin: Never did I lie, Mallory.
Me: Semantics.
Justin: Nor will I.
Do, from time to time, omit?
Yes. Yes I do.
Mallory: I'll have you know, I was also just going to ping you, because I realized that you usually always ping me. And I was all, "I should rectify that." And then you pinged me.
Justin: So, you were standing at the river bank of our friendship and chose not to forge, nor caulk your wheels and float it across, and definitely not charter a raft.
Mallory: ...
Justin: All for a two foot deep, eight foot wide friendship river.
Mallory: Our friendship river reflects our relationship so well--shallow.
Justin: I was trying to signal that forging the river, i.e. sending an IM, is a low cost of entry, and easy to do.
Mallory: I think this Oregon Trail/Friendship metaphor is getting out of hand. All I can think about is dying of dysentery while waiting for a response from you.
Justin: Look.
Sometimes I have to go hunting.
Hunting takes time.
And bullets.
Mallory: Meanwhile, Johnny is engraving Jimmy's last words of "peprony and chease" in stone.
Justin: WELL DONE.
Mallory: *bows*
Thursday, February 20, 2014
And Now, The Weather
Me: So, how long is this supposed to last? The snow looks like fun to me right now, it can't be that bad.
Tamu: Fun?
Me: Yeah, like, the snowflakes are all big and cute and I just want to go out there and make some snowpeople.
Tamu: Well, it looks like--
Me: OH MY GODS, A SNOW TORNADO.
Tamu: Wait, wh--
Me: I AM SO EXCITED WHERE CAN I WATCH THIS HAPPEN.
Tamu: Girl, whatchu talking about? I don't see any--
Me: I'm on the Weather.com site, and it says we are on a tornado watch. Currently, we are in a blizzard. THIS MEANS WE GET A SNOW TORNADO.
Tamu: Why are you so excited about this?! This isn't a good thing! Who wants to see this?!
Me: Me! Are you trying to tell me that you aren't looking out the window right now? I HAVE NEVER SEEN ONE OF THESE I HAVE TO SEE IT.
Tamu: You're crazy. No one would want to see that.
Me: I'd bet you'd want to see it if it were a Shark-snownado.
Tamu: Not even a ghost one.
Me: Ghost-sharknowado.
Tamu: No. Not even if it came out of the snow to bite me.
Me: Oh my gods, the biggest disappointment.
Tamu: What?
Me: The warning looks to be for everywhere but Minnesota. Louisiana is so gods damn lucky right now.
Tamu: Seriously?
Me: You're right. It's not a snow tornado. I don't care anymore.
Tamu: You're sick.
Me: I'm sick of this boring non-snow-tornado weather, yes.
Tamu: Well, it looks like we're getting the snow until at least twelve-noon tomorrow. "Beware of snow drifts on the road," it says. Two to three feet tall. So, you'll have a snow-tsunami instead.
Me: It's not the same. Just let it go.
Tamu: I think you need to let it go.
Me: *sigh* Nothing is the same when you think a snow tornado into existence.
Tamu: I'm not sorry your imagination doesn't make things real.
Me: How big did you say those snow drifts will be?
Tamu: Two to three feet tall.
Me: Wow. That's, like, half my body.
Tamu: Oh, well, now you're impressed?
Me: I'm getting used to the idea.
Tamu: Only you.
UPDATE:
Me: What do you have against Snownado?
Tamu: I can't handle that. I can handle a Snornado.
Me: Snornado? A storm of sleep?
Tamu: Yeah, a Snornado. I sometimes get attacked by one when I'm at my desk.
Me: Touche.
Tamu: Fun?
Me: Yeah, like, the snowflakes are all big and cute and I just want to go out there and make some snowpeople.
Tamu: Well, it looks like--
Me: OH MY GODS, A SNOW TORNADO.
Tamu: Wait, wh--
Me: I AM SO EXCITED WHERE CAN I WATCH THIS HAPPEN.
Tamu: Girl, whatchu talking about? I don't see any--
Me: I'm on the Weather.com site, and it says we are on a tornado watch. Currently, we are in a blizzard. THIS MEANS WE GET A SNOW TORNADO.
Tamu: Why are you so excited about this?! This isn't a good thing! Who wants to see this?!
Me: Me! Are you trying to tell me that you aren't looking out the window right now? I HAVE NEVER SEEN ONE OF THESE I HAVE TO SEE IT.
Tamu: You're crazy. No one would want to see that.
Me: I'd bet you'd want to see it if it were a Shark-snownado.
Tamu: Not even a ghost one.
Me: Ghost-sharknowado.
Tamu: No. Not even if it came out of the snow to bite me.
Me: Oh my gods, the biggest disappointment.
Tamu: What?
Me: The warning looks to be for everywhere but Minnesota. Louisiana is so gods damn lucky right now.
Tamu: Seriously?
Me: You're right. It's not a snow tornado. I don't care anymore.
Tamu: You're sick.
Me: I'm sick of this boring non-snow-tornado weather, yes.
Tamu: Well, it looks like we're getting the snow until at least twelve-noon tomorrow. "Beware of snow drifts on the road," it says. Two to three feet tall. So, you'll have a snow-tsunami instead.
Me: It's not the same. Just let it go.
Tamu: I think you need to let it go.
Me: *sigh* Nothing is the same when you think a snow tornado into existence.
Tamu: I'm not sorry your imagination doesn't make things real.
Me: How big did you say those snow drifts will be?
Tamu: Two to three feet tall.
Me: Wow. That's, like, half my body.
Tamu: Oh, well, now you're impressed?
Me: I'm getting used to the idea.
Tamu: Only you.
UPDATE:
Me: What do you have against Snownado?
Tamu: I can't handle that. I can handle a Snornado.
Me: Snornado? A storm of sleep?
Tamu: Yeah, a Snornado. I sometimes get attacked by one when I'm at my desk.
Me: Touche.
Checking Up On Friends
Me: So, you're alive, right?
Friend: Affirmative.
Me: Because identifying your body right now does not sound appealing.
Unless you're dressed as a clown.
Then I would have to smother a smile.
Friend: That can be arranged.
Me: Can we do that another night? I'm busy.
Friend: Although I can only think of sexual connotations for being dressed as a clown.
So beware.
Me: Hrm... I suppose I knew what I was getting into, being your friend in general.
Bring it on.
Friend: Prepare to be scarred for life.
No.
Prepare to be scarred beyond life.
Me: What's life without something that'll last?
Friend: Living a facade of an existence.
Me: Exactly. That is why I don't fear AIDs, or becoming paraplegic.
Friend: What about paraplegaids?
Haha, made you think about that one.
Me: Yes. That's because I have never seen that word in my life.
Friend: That's because I'm a motherfucking wordsmith.
Friend: Affirmative.
Me: Because identifying your body right now does not sound appealing.
Unless you're dressed as a clown.
Then I would have to smother a smile.
Friend: That can be arranged.
Me: Can we do that another night? I'm busy.
Friend: Although I can only think of sexual connotations for being dressed as a clown.
So beware.
Me: Hrm... I suppose I knew what I was getting into, being your friend in general.
Bring it on.
Friend: Prepare to be scarred for life.
No.
Prepare to be scarred beyond life.
Me: What's life without something that'll last?
Friend: Living a facade of an existence.
Me: Exactly. That is why I don't fear AIDs, or becoming paraplegic.
Friend: What about paraplegaids?
Haha, made you think about that one.
Me: Yes. That's because I have never seen that word in my life.
Friend: That's because I'm a motherfucking wordsmith.
Monday, February 3, 2014
The Passing Of That Feeling
This weekend, I got to be a part of a wonderful thing: a friend having a good interview for a thing she wants to do in life: editing magazines.
In fact, she's actually already doing it. Really well. But she isn't able to climb up to her other goals in that position, so she's going for it again.
Before she left, after hugging twice, saying goodbye three times, then talking for another twenty minutes (the usual Minnesotan goodbye), she paused and said, "You know, I'm really banking on them not having many other applicants."
"Why? Traci, you do realize that even if they had another applicant, or twelve, you'd be their competition, right?"I replied. "You'd be giving them a run for their money."
"Oh, you," she said with a wide smile. We hugged again, spoke for a quick two more minutes, then said the last goodbye and waved as she made her way out into the cold weather, making her promise to text me when she got home.
As I closed the door and took a peek out of my eye hole to make sure she made it down my steps okay, I thought about what she'd said: she hoped that no one else had applied so her chances at getting the position were better. And it wasn't because she was lazy. After her interview was finished, we'd had lunch a couple of hours later, and she'd described how she was already working on two welcome letters (when they only requested one), and was also perfecting another piece they'd requested. She was honestly worried that someone else was better at the work than her, and that she wasn't worth hiring, despite editing and creating layouts for two magazines, creating her own strictly monthly digital magazine, and working on a constant flow of freelance work.
What is it about us that doesn't allow us to be happy with what we do? Despite our accomplishments, we somehow don't allow ourselves to believe that we are worth the time, efforts, or praise. We're deemed replaceable within our own minds so easily, this looming doom that what we have will be taken away like a child who is acting spoilt.
In addition to this conversation, there was another during my Chinese New Year celebration, something I started thanks to Fruits Basket. My friends don't seem to indulge in my fun, but embrace it. And, although tradition at this point, it is always different every year. And, although different, it has always been a blast.
This year held a friend I've only met a few times, but each time we've met, our conversations were fantastic, in depth, and honest. We'd discuss. And everything was important because opinions were weighed, well thought out, and respected.
I read his fortune, most of it dealing with work. It spoke about him needing to keep his mouth shut on something he overhears, and knowing that he shouldn't talk about it as it will ruin his chances at success. He listened with skeptical eyes roaming around the cards, more interested in how I was presenting the information, tying in each card, making sure he understood what I was saying.
Afterward, he said, "I'm going to give you some advice for the future, too, if you don't mind." This wasn't him acting better than me, but offering an equal experience way to give me something to think about as I did him (after all, even if you don't believe in magic, you take away something to ponder when you get your fortune told).
What started as a quick fifteen minutes before returning to my party turned into an hour and a half. He asked about my job, which I am currently stressed over as I slowly begin to understand how Big Company Culture works. I am slowly recovering, but I have been upset for the past two weeks at the intense changes. I've been questioning not whether I am strong enough to endure the changes, but whether I want to be strong enough to endure.
"You are a leader," he told me quite seriously when I explained this. "You aren't meant to follow. I can tell this."
"So I've been told." My tone is dry. I don't fully understand it, but I fight against my nature as a leader quite often. Growing up, I was told I was bossy for pushing my ideas, that I am too intimidating for men when I am as direct as I tend to be, and I just plain aren't "all I think I am". Random people within my life would tell me this, and I would believe them over the close people in my life. Almost as if a stranger is more willing to tell the truth over people who judge me an move on within moments.
When I was getting into acting, my director came to me and asked that I become an assistant director to his plays. I directed small scenes for his larger plays. I wrote small scripts for some scenes. He even would bounce ideas off of me in some moments, and he'd use what I'd come up with. At one point, he nominated me as an assistant director for a full play for a female director who was new to the playhouse. I was to gather the props needed by reading through the script; set up and execute tricks that happened within the play; gather actors/actresses for each show, keeping everyone accountable. I was fourteen years old.
I look back at this time and see that I wasn't living up to my full potential even then. I held myself back in many areas, arguing at points that I wasn't right for the part, that they shouldn't place such faith in my skills. I didn't understand why they were using me. And my father supported me 100%, driving me down to the place and volunteering as needed in case someone needed a break from the lighting station.
Looking back, I get it. They had an eager young artist who was clamoring to prove something. But when the opportunity came for me, I thought that I was a last resort. Whomever was better just wasn't available, and that left me. But I was fourteen years old. I don't think there are many teenagers out there who were scripting or directing scenes for paid local plays, ones that would generally sell out as they were well known. What I don't get, looking back, is my reaction to them wanting to build my potential. Where did I get this inclination that I wasn't good enough for what they wanted when they clearly could have gotten someone else if they wanted to.
Much of my growing life has been me being obnoxious, too much to handle, and just different. My best friend was a boy named Josh during my pre-elementary school days, me dragging him into the mischief of mud and hiding. I hated napping in pre-school because they led me away from creating things--crayons, paper, and building blocks had to be pried from my hands or else they'd be brought with me beneath the covers whilst the other children closed their eyes to dream of whatever four-year-olds dreamt about. When my pre-school teacher saw my father several years later, he took out a picture. Bernie cooed at how I'd grown, then gave my father a look, saying, "I would love to hear how things are going when she becomes a teenager." Because, see, I was considered rambunctious. The kindergarten teacher told my mother how wonderful and creative a student I was, but that I never listened when it was time to clean up. I was too busy finishing my latest masterpiece with paints on a "real" easel in my mind--I couldn't clean up when I wasn't done. While everyone was content with going back to the normal daily schedule, I couldn't understand why we'd ever stop in the middle of a project when we'd just gotten in a groove. And the need for me to finish overtook the teacher's need to sing about the days of the week.
My thought process: Why should I clean up now when I know I can in under two minutes, waiting then ten more minutes for the rest of the students to finish? I can be the last to clean up, as I need to get this yellow right there, with the blue.
School wasn't sure how to handle such a good student who didn't want to pay attention. I'd finish tests within minutes, then open a book to read for the next twenty as I waited for my peers to finish. I'd read while the teacher taught subtraction. I'd read ahead while the teacher read aloud and explained things to the other students. I'd read at recess until a friend would mention the swings were available. And I'd write. All the time. I'd create my own stationary for writing out of the computer printer paper; I have a vivid memory of this in the 6th grade, designing on the paper edges, and the popular girls demanding I made some for them (which I didn't...bitches). And my teachers during conferences praised my grades and ability with an additional, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but...your daughter reads too much."
Years and years of be being what we consider "independent and creative" now, yet labeled as something else as it was inconvenient for others while I was growing up.
Fast-forward to now, my discussion over my blue tablecloth, cleansing my fortune deck before placing it back into its container.
"Your friends really like you," Rick said looking over my shoulder into the living room. They are watching Fievel Goes West under the hand-painted dragon and goldfish kites, drinking plum wine and eating rice balls, as is my custom with the non-Chinese traditional food of moshi and pocky.
"I have a really great group," I replied, knowing all of my teeth are showing in my grin. "I am blessed to have every single one of them."
"Perhaps," he said, "but your friends really enjoy you. You are quite something to them, I can tell. They are all here because of you, and they can tell you bring such wonderful things to the table."
I shifted a bit, but the typical uncomfortable feeling I have is a bit dulled with the few glasses of wine I've had. The normal words flow through my lips, however, in a practiced behavior: "I wouldn't be this great without them. Surrounded by amazing people, this is what happens!"
"Yes, but you are the reason why they are here," he insisted. His eyes are directly on me, making sure that I am listening. "You are a muse, Mallory. Creative, particularly unique. You bring about the best in people. You urge others to look at things in a new light. Your interactions with people, you make them at ease. I see it. You bring about the happiness and laughter." He can tell I'm embarrassed at this point as I shrug and glance off. "You should accept this about yourself. And accept that you are a leader." He raised a brow. "You aren't meant to follow," he repeated. My eyes roamed over his face, mulling over his words as if tasting wine before deciding I should have a glass.
After a few moments, he tapped the table and said, "I'm going to take my leave. I am fairly tired, and my old self can't handle this anymore." It is about three in the morning. I stood up with him, still contemplating his words. "I will be interested to see you when you are in love," he tossed at me, and my attention snapped to him. His eyes were filled with mischief when he said, "I think you already are in love."
"With life?" I asked, confused beyond belief.
He shrugged. "Sure." He steps into the living room to say his goodbyes, announcing, "I give your Mallory back to you! I have exhausted her enough with my chatter." When he went to the door, I gave him a hug. I opened my mouth to ask him what he meant, but I hesitated and told him to drive safe instead. He had already given me a lot to think about. I wasn't sure if I wanted to know my involvement with his love remark. I knew he wasn't referring to himself, in a happy marriage with grown children.
These moments have been on my mind. What Rick has told me shouldn't be news. I have heard many others tell me that I am a good friend. But perhaps I brush this off because they say it with such awe, and I know that I am not the only good friend to be had, not with my group. And I have been told that I bring out the best in people before, or that I am a good leader. That I am creative, unique. I just haven't been able to accept this about myself, as Rick pronounced.
And I still don't know why. Some people would blame society, saying that it is typical for a female to feel as if they aren't allowed to step up. Some people would say that it is understandable as many people have had negative influences growing up. But I've realized that it is still my decision on how to handle my situation. I can keep holding myself back, allowing others to hold me back, from what I want to do in life. Or. I can start believing that I am just as much the positive things people have said about me as the negative. I can see how things ended up the way they did now, me working in a position where I get bored easily, wishing I were writing from dawn until dusk instead, but I can't understand why I allowed myself to get there, not really. I didn't allow it when I was five, pretending I was placing a cap on my purple paint until the teacher turned her back so I could open it back up and finish my damn masterpiece.
I am slightly jealous that my good friend has managed to keep on her path of what she wants to do in life. But, yet again, I am blessed with having her in my life because she's become an inspiration. Despite her fear, she does it anyway. And, before she left, she asked me to go over her welcome letters because she couldn't seem to tie any ends together. She wanted my opinion as a writer, and the ideas I gave her, shifting a paragraph here and adding some extra sense there, she said, "That is exactly what I needed. Ugh, I knew you'd know what to do."
Learning to trust myself as others do, as I did back before I was grouped into a box and told "This is how you're supposed to be". What an old concept that feels new and awkward every time. I could blame as many people as I want for not allowing myself to be happy or going for my dreams. But I still have a choice. And I choose to be strong in being the best me. And that includes my dreams.
Writing: here I come.
In fact, she's actually already doing it. Really well. But she isn't able to climb up to her other goals in that position, so she's going for it again.
Before she left, after hugging twice, saying goodbye three times, then talking for another twenty minutes (the usual Minnesotan goodbye), she paused and said, "You know, I'm really banking on them not having many other applicants."
"Why? Traci, you do realize that even if they had another applicant, or twelve, you'd be their competition, right?"I replied. "You'd be giving them a run for their money."
"Oh, you," she said with a wide smile. We hugged again, spoke for a quick two more minutes, then said the last goodbye and waved as she made her way out into the cold weather, making her promise to text me when she got home.
As I closed the door and took a peek out of my eye hole to make sure she made it down my steps okay, I thought about what she'd said: she hoped that no one else had applied so her chances at getting the position were better. And it wasn't because she was lazy. After her interview was finished, we'd had lunch a couple of hours later, and she'd described how she was already working on two welcome letters (when they only requested one), and was also perfecting another piece they'd requested. She was honestly worried that someone else was better at the work than her, and that she wasn't worth hiring, despite editing and creating layouts for two magazines, creating her own strictly monthly digital magazine, and working on a constant flow of freelance work.
What is it about us that doesn't allow us to be happy with what we do? Despite our accomplishments, we somehow don't allow ourselves to believe that we are worth the time, efforts, or praise. We're deemed replaceable within our own minds so easily, this looming doom that what we have will be taken away like a child who is acting spoilt.
In addition to this conversation, there was another during my Chinese New Year celebration, something I started thanks to Fruits Basket. My friends don't seem to indulge in my fun, but embrace it. And, although tradition at this point, it is always different every year. And, although different, it has always been a blast.
This year held a friend I've only met a few times, but each time we've met, our conversations were fantastic, in depth, and honest. We'd discuss. And everything was important because opinions were weighed, well thought out, and respected.
I read his fortune, most of it dealing with work. It spoke about him needing to keep his mouth shut on something he overhears, and knowing that he shouldn't talk about it as it will ruin his chances at success. He listened with skeptical eyes roaming around the cards, more interested in how I was presenting the information, tying in each card, making sure he understood what I was saying.
Afterward, he said, "I'm going to give you some advice for the future, too, if you don't mind." This wasn't him acting better than me, but offering an equal experience way to give me something to think about as I did him (after all, even if you don't believe in magic, you take away something to ponder when you get your fortune told).
What started as a quick fifteen minutes before returning to my party turned into an hour and a half. He asked about my job, which I am currently stressed over as I slowly begin to understand how Big Company Culture works. I am slowly recovering, but I have been upset for the past two weeks at the intense changes. I've been questioning not whether I am strong enough to endure the changes, but whether I want to be strong enough to endure.
"You are a leader," he told me quite seriously when I explained this. "You aren't meant to follow. I can tell this."
"So I've been told." My tone is dry. I don't fully understand it, but I fight against my nature as a leader quite often. Growing up, I was told I was bossy for pushing my ideas, that I am too intimidating for men when I am as direct as I tend to be, and I just plain aren't "all I think I am". Random people within my life would tell me this, and I would believe them over the close people in my life. Almost as if a stranger is more willing to tell the truth over people who judge me an move on within moments.
When I was getting into acting, my director came to me and asked that I become an assistant director to his plays. I directed small scenes for his larger plays. I wrote small scripts for some scenes. He even would bounce ideas off of me in some moments, and he'd use what I'd come up with. At one point, he nominated me as an assistant director for a full play for a female director who was new to the playhouse. I was to gather the props needed by reading through the script; set up and execute tricks that happened within the play; gather actors/actresses for each show, keeping everyone accountable. I was fourteen years old.
I look back at this time and see that I wasn't living up to my full potential even then. I held myself back in many areas, arguing at points that I wasn't right for the part, that they shouldn't place such faith in my skills. I didn't understand why they were using me. And my father supported me 100%, driving me down to the place and volunteering as needed in case someone needed a break from the lighting station.
Looking back, I get it. They had an eager young artist who was clamoring to prove something. But when the opportunity came for me, I thought that I was a last resort. Whomever was better just wasn't available, and that left me. But I was fourteen years old. I don't think there are many teenagers out there who were scripting or directing scenes for paid local plays, ones that would generally sell out as they were well known. What I don't get, looking back, is my reaction to them wanting to build my potential. Where did I get this inclination that I wasn't good enough for what they wanted when they clearly could have gotten someone else if they wanted to.
Much of my growing life has been me being obnoxious, too much to handle, and just different. My best friend was a boy named Josh during my pre-elementary school days, me dragging him into the mischief of mud and hiding. I hated napping in pre-school because they led me away from creating things--crayons, paper, and building blocks had to be pried from my hands or else they'd be brought with me beneath the covers whilst the other children closed their eyes to dream of whatever four-year-olds dreamt about. When my pre-school teacher saw my father several years later, he took out a picture. Bernie cooed at how I'd grown, then gave my father a look, saying, "I would love to hear how things are going when she becomes a teenager." Because, see, I was considered rambunctious. The kindergarten teacher told my mother how wonderful and creative a student I was, but that I never listened when it was time to clean up. I was too busy finishing my latest masterpiece with paints on a "real" easel in my mind--I couldn't clean up when I wasn't done. While everyone was content with going back to the normal daily schedule, I couldn't understand why we'd ever stop in the middle of a project when we'd just gotten in a groove. And the need for me to finish overtook the teacher's need to sing about the days of the week.
My thought process: Why should I clean up now when I know I can in under two minutes, waiting then ten more minutes for the rest of the students to finish? I can be the last to clean up, as I need to get this yellow right there, with the blue.
School wasn't sure how to handle such a good student who didn't want to pay attention. I'd finish tests within minutes, then open a book to read for the next twenty as I waited for my peers to finish. I'd read while the teacher taught subtraction. I'd read ahead while the teacher read aloud and explained things to the other students. I'd read at recess until a friend would mention the swings were available. And I'd write. All the time. I'd create my own stationary for writing out of the computer printer paper; I have a vivid memory of this in the 6th grade, designing on the paper edges, and the popular girls demanding I made some for them (which I didn't...bitches). And my teachers during conferences praised my grades and ability with an additional, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but...your daughter reads too much."
Years and years of be being what we consider "independent and creative" now, yet labeled as something else as it was inconvenient for others while I was growing up.
Fast-forward to now, my discussion over my blue tablecloth, cleansing my fortune deck before placing it back into its container.
"Your friends really like you," Rick said looking over my shoulder into the living room. They are watching Fievel Goes West under the hand-painted dragon and goldfish kites, drinking plum wine and eating rice balls, as is my custom with the non-Chinese traditional food of moshi and pocky.
"I have a really great group," I replied, knowing all of my teeth are showing in my grin. "I am blessed to have every single one of them."
"Perhaps," he said, "but your friends really enjoy you. You are quite something to them, I can tell. They are all here because of you, and they can tell you bring such wonderful things to the table."
I shifted a bit, but the typical uncomfortable feeling I have is a bit dulled with the few glasses of wine I've had. The normal words flow through my lips, however, in a practiced behavior: "I wouldn't be this great without them. Surrounded by amazing people, this is what happens!"
"Yes, but you are the reason why they are here," he insisted. His eyes are directly on me, making sure that I am listening. "You are a muse, Mallory. Creative, particularly unique. You bring about the best in people. You urge others to look at things in a new light. Your interactions with people, you make them at ease. I see it. You bring about the happiness and laughter." He can tell I'm embarrassed at this point as I shrug and glance off. "You should accept this about yourself. And accept that you are a leader." He raised a brow. "You aren't meant to follow," he repeated. My eyes roamed over his face, mulling over his words as if tasting wine before deciding I should have a glass.
After a few moments, he tapped the table and said, "I'm going to take my leave. I am fairly tired, and my old self can't handle this anymore." It is about three in the morning. I stood up with him, still contemplating his words. "I will be interested to see you when you are in love," he tossed at me, and my attention snapped to him. His eyes were filled with mischief when he said, "I think you already are in love."
"With life?" I asked, confused beyond belief.
He shrugged. "Sure." He steps into the living room to say his goodbyes, announcing, "I give your Mallory back to you! I have exhausted her enough with my chatter." When he went to the door, I gave him a hug. I opened my mouth to ask him what he meant, but I hesitated and told him to drive safe instead. He had already given me a lot to think about. I wasn't sure if I wanted to know my involvement with his love remark. I knew he wasn't referring to himself, in a happy marriage with grown children.
These moments have been on my mind. What Rick has told me shouldn't be news. I have heard many others tell me that I am a good friend. But perhaps I brush this off because they say it with such awe, and I know that I am not the only good friend to be had, not with my group. And I have been told that I bring out the best in people before, or that I am a good leader. That I am creative, unique. I just haven't been able to accept this about myself, as Rick pronounced.
And I still don't know why. Some people would blame society, saying that it is typical for a female to feel as if they aren't allowed to step up. Some people would say that it is understandable as many people have had negative influences growing up. But I've realized that it is still my decision on how to handle my situation. I can keep holding myself back, allowing others to hold me back, from what I want to do in life. Or. I can start believing that I am just as much the positive things people have said about me as the negative. I can see how things ended up the way they did now, me working in a position where I get bored easily, wishing I were writing from dawn until dusk instead, but I can't understand why I allowed myself to get there, not really. I didn't allow it when I was five, pretending I was placing a cap on my purple paint until the teacher turned her back so I could open it back up and finish my damn masterpiece.
I am slightly jealous that my good friend has managed to keep on her path of what she wants to do in life. But, yet again, I am blessed with having her in my life because she's become an inspiration. Despite her fear, she does it anyway. And, before she left, she asked me to go over her welcome letters because she couldn't seem to tie any ends together. She wanted my opinion as a writer, and the ideas I gave her, shifting a paragraph here and adding some extra sense there, she said, "That is exactly what I needed. Ugh, I knew you'd know what to do."
Learning to trust myself as others do, as I did back before I was grouped into a box and told "This is how you're supposed to be". What an old concept that feels new and awkward every time. I could blame as many people as I want for not allowing myself to be happy or going for my dreams. But I still have a choice. And I choose to be strong in being the best me. And that includes my dreams.
Writing: here I come.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
This Shitty Week Needed A Conversation Like This
Justin:
I bet unicorns were invented because the poster industry was struggling to capture the six year old demographic.
I bet unicorns were invented because the poster industry was struggling to capture the six year old demographic.
Me:
You don't think it was based solely off of the fact that there could have been a unicorn genocide? That, perhaps, they were slaughtered after falling into a false sense of security due to the rareness and magical properties of their horns?
Justin:
Not even a little bit.
Justin:
Not even a little bit.
Because what would an animal do with one horn on their head.
Now, if they were like an elk, and had a huge unicorn rack, then I would believe it.
Me:
STAB PEOPLE WITH IT.
STAB PEOPLE WITH IT.
Think about it.
Isn't that what YOU would do with one horn?
It's like a sword.
It's like a sword.
Super dangerous.
Justin:
Justin:
A sword you wear on your head.
Now, if that was on your elbow...
Yes, it would be a sweet weapon.
Me:
...an elbow.
...an elbow.
That is where you would want a random horn.
Justin:
Yes, I would want a random horn on my elbow.
Yes, I would want a random horn on my elbow.
It's out of the way, but still weapony enough.
Me:
You'd be fighting like a T-Rex.
Unless your horns are long, in which case, extremely annoying.
Choose another part of your body.
Like your forehead.
Justin:
I sleep on my stomach too much for that.
Me:
I didn't realize we'd be taking about sleeping patterns.
I didn't realize we'd be taking about sleeping patterns.
I suppose if you were born with a horn on your head, you'd adapt.
Justin:
You have to think about everything, Mallory.
Me:
It's not like you'd kill the unicorn to steal the horn and have it sewn into place on your head.
It's not like you'd kill the unicorn to steal the horn and have it sewn into place on your head.
....right?
Justin:
No comment.
Justin:
No comment.
Me:
I am unsure what this says about your character.
Or mine, for that matter.
Justin:
It says we're realistic.
A good moral for any story, really.
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
IM Conversations With My Cooky Co-Worker
Me:
I wish I could learn things like The Matrix.
I want to know how to play every single instrument on the planet.
Universe, really.
Justin:
Even the xylophone?
Me:
Why would that be the instrument to leave out?
Do you have something against xylophones?
Justin:
Yes. They are such a dirty instrument.
Me:
Excuse me?
Justin:
They sound gross.
Muddled.
Me:
Um
Justin:
Dirty.
Me:
Huh.
Were you playing with a box that had rubber bands around it as a child?
Justin:
Negative. Though it would probably sound better.
Me:
So, you would rather me learn how to play a washboard for music than a xylophone?
Justin:
Truly, what songs are written for the xylo?
Me:
Hot Cross Buns.
Justin:
True.
I think the Kookaburra song was as well.
Him mocking in his old gum tree.
Eating all the gumdrops.
Me:
I think the xylophone is Candy Land's choice of instrument. Like a state bird.
Justin:
Of course it is.
I bet you didn't see this conversation progressing quite this way.
Me:
I can't foresee how any of our conversations will pan out.
Ever.
I look forward to them.
I wish I could learn things like The Matrix.
I want to know how to play every single instrument on the planet.
Universe, really.
Justin:
Even the xylophone?
Me:
Why would that be the instrument to leave out?
Do you have something against xylophones?
Justin:
Yes. They are such a dirty instrument.
Me:
Excuse me?
Justin:
They sound gross.
Muddled.
Me:
Um
Justin:
Dirty.
Me:
Huh.
Were you playing with a box that had rubber bands around it as a child?
Justin:
Negative. Though it would probably sound better.
Me:
So, you would rather me learn how to play a washboard for music than a xylophone?
Justin:
Truly, what songs are written for the xylo?
Me:
Hot Cross Buns.
Justin:
True.
I think the Kookaburra song was as well.
Him mocking in his old gum tree.
Eating all the gumdrops.
Me:
I think the xylophone is Candy Land's choice of instrument. Like a state bird.
Justin:
Of course it is.
I bet you didn't see this conversation progressing quite this way.
Me:
I can't foresee how any of our conversations will pan out.
Ever.
I look forward to them.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Conversations With A Co-Worker
Here is a segment of my daily talks with Justin, one of my "I promise, you're sane" comrades at work:
Justin:
Did I find a Werther's in a random skyway -- yes.
Did I debate on eating it -- absolutely.
Did I stop walking to think about it -- probably.
Me:
Justin.
You have a problem.
And I think we need to have an intervention about it.
Justin:
Do you.
Do you think that.
At least it's not dangerous.
Me:
Not dangerous?!?!!?!?!
Justin:
Like jumping out of aeroplanes and such.
Me:
You're contemplating street candy!
Justin:
It was wrapped!
Not like it was just a piece of dirty candy laying on top of a trash can or something.
Me;
It was a TRAP.
Justin:
You don't waste butter candy.
Ever.
Me:
Probably needles in that thing.
Justin:
No one does.
Me:
I suppose what I should be remembering is that you made the right decision and left it there.
But I can just see it!
The one day you decide it's worth a try.
And it'll be attached to some fishing rod.
And you'll follow it jumping across streets and byways.
And you're going to be kidnapped.
And die.
All for a Werther's.
Justin:
The opportunity rarely arises for such wonderful, unsuspected joy, Mallory.
This was a few times in a lifetime opportunity.
It's like finding a twenty dollar bill on the ground.
Or someone offering you 200 bucks for your tie because they "just have to have it".
Or beating all 9 bazillion levels of candy crush without spending a dollar.
Mallory:
I can't believe this is what you're comparing Werther's to.
Or your kidnapped murder.
And you say me jumping out of a plane is crazy.
Justin:
Maybe it's someone like me, just trying to give the world a bit of joy.
Or maybe it was someone who stashed it for after lunch and when they went to grab their phone and it flew out of their pocket.
Justin:
Or maybe it was a kidnapping murderer.
Mallory:
Theeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere we go.
Between these daily conversations and the snail mailed ghetto flash cards my other co-worker sends me, it's rare I can have a completely horrible day at work.
Justin:
Did I find a Werther's in a random skyway -- yes.
Did I debate on eating it -- absolutely.
Did I stop walking to think about it -- probably.
Me:
Justin.
You have a problem.
And I think we need to have an intervention about it.
Justin:
Do you.
Do you think that.
At least it's not dangerous.
Me:
Not dangerous?!?!!?!?!
Justin:
Like jumping out of aeroplanes and such.
Me:
You're contemplating street candy!
Justin:
It was wrapped!
Not like it was just a piece of dirty candy laying on top of a trash can or something.
Me;
It was a TRAP.
Justin:
You don't waste butter candy.
Ever.
Me:
Probably needles in that thing.
Justin:
No one does.
Me:
I suppose what I should be remembering is that you made the right decision and left it there.
But I can just see it!
The one day you decide it's worth a try.
And it'll be attached to some fishing rod.
And you'll follow it jumping across streets and byways.
And you're going to be kidnapped.
And die.
All for a Werther's.
Justin:
The opportunity rarely arises for such wonderful, unsuspected joy, Mallory.
This was a few times in a lifetime opportunity.
It's like finding a twenty dollar bill on the ground.
Or someone offering you 200 bucks for your tie because they "just have to have it".
Or beating all 9 bazillion levels of candy crush without spending a dollar.
Mallory:
I can't believe this is what you're comparing Werther's to.
Or your kidnapped murder.
And you say me jumping out of a plane is crazy.
Justin:
Maybe it's someone like me, just trying to give the world a bit of joy.
Or maybe it was someone who stashed it for after lunch and when they went to grab their phone and it flew out of their pocket.
Justin:
Or maybe it was a kidnapping murderer.
Mallory:
Theeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere we go.
Between these daily conversations and the snail mailed ghetto flash cards my other co-worker sends me, it's rare I can have a completely horrible day at work.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Cold Feet
For the past two months, I've been in what I like to call 'financial ruin'. The less fortunate would say I was well off. The people who don't even know I exist in another country getting five cents an hour to make the shoes I walk in would say I'm rich. However, I have been in what I consider 'financial ruin' because I'm selfish.
The situation was that I couldn't afford the place I was at because I was too poor, but I also couldn't afford to move because that was too expensive for me to afford as well. On top of this, I was lucky to have food stocked up, and it was slowly weening. I needed a roommate, but no one wants to live in the suburbs with a single, white female who likes to sing while she cooks.
From some dues ex machina, I found a roommate and he found me. We were both tired of interviews with weirdos, we both just wanted a place to stay without worry of murder, and we ultimately wanted internet. The best thing about my new roommate, besides being on opposite schedules so we don't actually ever see each other, is that he works at a company that gets us free internet and cable. The fact that I've been over a month without internet to download my free monthly game from Xbox has been killing me.
Although I am now not paying over my paycheck for rent now that I have a roommate, I am still playing it safe on all angles. I'm ever conscious of what I purchase, unlike before (I want a video game? Just buy it because WHO CARES I HAVE MONEY?!). Despite being considered extremely frugal by everyone in college, as I am apparently the only person who was afraid to be excruciatingly poor when I'm on my own, I've had a very expensive summer. Nothing I regret, but definitely something I will be remembering for future endeavors.
I suppose there is a lesson to be learned. About savings and not paying attention to the bank means 'financial ruin'. I'm definitely still wary, but I can tell I'm a bit more lax as the weeks continue. I'm feeling safer, less like I will be out on the streets, huddling with my consoles in fear of having to give them up in order to survive with tears and snot running down my face because I am not a pretty person when I happen to be wallowing in misery.
Money has always been a subject of woe for me. It's something I work hard toward. My family was 'well off', but now they have their troubles we never foresaw. No one can foresee their dreams one day rising to a cost of giving that dream up.
These are the things that happen in life that can make you rethink your future, and what you think to be important in life.
For instance, while I may struggle not to buy a $60 video game I don't need, someone else is probably debating whether they can afford both bread and peanut butter--jelly is right out, as it's a luxury. Which doesn't matter anyway because jelly is gross. Bleh.
While I debate my feelings on whether or not I like a boy as more than a friend, and if I should actually do something about it because of the most dramatic reasons in all the land that would make a romantic comedy run for it's money, someone else is probably wishing they had my lucky drama because they are currently in human trafficking, wondering if they'll live to tell the tale of their forced drug habits.
Ah, the dilemma. People have it worse off than me, so who am I to complain?
How does one even get the right? Is there a passage into this sort of thing? Or are you born into it, just like race and status? What does a status even matter if you're unhappy? Can I please eat that piece of cheese with that blackcurrant jelly? Thank you.
I guess what I'm saying is, every time I think I've got it figured out, I'm shown how far off the grid I really am. You think you're beginning to like someone and they start dating someone else. You think you've got a nice nest egg for future plans of travel and they're taken away, stripped. Just when you think your face looks it's best, there is a zit, right on your cheek, looking smug as if it's slapped itself there just to see your frown.
I don't even know. I thought I was sitting well with my job, too, but I started getting bored. I sit and stare at my computer all day to make sure people have meetings to discuss business about whether or not they are making enough money to satisfy The Man. Don't get me wrong, we also do really fantastic things in the process. But it just isn't something I thought I'd be doing. Where is this life changing moment I wanted so bad? Do I make a blood sacrifice sort of event? If so, I'm just not into that.
I get this itch, sometimes, to just do something crazy. To pick up my bag, fill it with two sets of clothes, then wander off into Canada. From there, I'd hitchhike my way across to Quebec. I'd somehow make it to Iceland. Then off into Scandinavia. Work my way through the country on foot, seeing sites, writing... Maybe I'd even meet someone while I'm not looking for anything in particular.
When I see this daydream in my head, and I look down at what I think I'd do written on paper, it never feels right. It feels like I'm running away. And I wouldn't be happy doing that either.
I'd be happier if I could be more honest with myself in the time that presents itself. People find me so extroverted, that I know what I want and rarely think otherwise. This is because my brain isn't attached to my body during these times. I'm just being someone I can't not be when I'm around people where I feel home. When I'm alone, that's when my brain brings about the insecurities of being an adult, what that means, and that I'm not quite ever going to be there. That my idea of being an adult doesn't form with the people who I looked up to most hurts, like I've been doing something wrong for the past 26 years. And I forget what I so firmly believed in so quickly, it makes me think if I ever actually do believe.
Today, when I run, I'm going to pretend that I'm running away from every single problem that has ever entered my life. Then, I'm going to stop, take off my headphones, and face the world. But, for that half hour, it will be bliss to pass the reigns of what I consider to be 'ruin'. I can start building on the ruin after that run.
The situation was that I couldn't afford the place I was at because I was too poor, but I also couldn't afford to move because that was too expensive for me to afford as well. On top of this, I was lucky to have food stocked up, and it was slowly weening. I needed a roommate, but no one wants to live in the suburbs with a single, white female who likes to sing while she cooks.
From some dues ex machina, I found a roommate and he found me. We were both tired of interviews with weirdos, we both just wanted a place to stay without worry of murder, and we ultimately wanted internet. The best thing about my new roommate, besides being on opposite schedules so we don't actually ever see each other, is that he works at a company that gets us free internet and cable. The fact that I've been over a month without internet to download my free monthly game from Xbox has been killing me.
Although I am now not paying over my paycheck for rent now that I have a roommate, I am still playing it safe on all angles. I'm ever conscious of what I purchase, unlike before (I want a video game? Just buy it because WHO CARES I HAVE MONEY?!). Despite being considered extremely frugal by everyone in college, as I am apparently the only person who was afraid to be excruciatingly poor when I'm on my own, I've had a very expensive summer. Nothing I regret, but definitely something I will be remembering for future endeavors.
I suppose there is a lesson to be learned. About savings and not paying attention to the bank means 'financial ruin'. I'm definitely still wary, but I can tell I'm a bit more lax as the weeks continue. I'm feeling safer, less like I will be out on the streets, huddling with my consoles in fear of having to give them up in order to survive with tears and snot running down my face because I am not a pretty person when I happen to be wallowing in misery.
Money has always been a subject of woe for me. It's something I work hard toward. My family was 'well off', but now they have their troubles we never foresaw. No one can foresee their dreams one day rising to a cost of giving that dream up.
These are the things that happen in life that can make you rethink your future, and what you think to be important in life.
For instance, while I may struggle not to buy a $60 video game I don't need, someone else is probably debating whether they can afford both bread and peanut butter--jelly is right out, as it's a luxury. Which doesn't matter anyway because jelly is gross. Bleh.
While I debate my feelings on whether or not I like a boy as more than a friend, and if I should actually do something about it because of the most dramatic reasons in all the land that would make a romantic comedy run for it's money, someone else is probably wishing they had my lucky drama because they are currently in human trafficking, wondering if they'll live to tell the tale of their forced drug habits.
Ah, the dilemma. People have it worse off than me, so who am I to complain?
How does one even get the right? Is there a passage into this sort of thing? Or are you born into it, just like race and status? What does a status even matter if you're unhappy? Can I please eat that piece of cheese with that blackcurrant jelly? Thank you.
I guess what I'm saying is, every time I think I've got it figured out, I'm shown how far off the grid I really am. You think you're beginning to like someone and they start dating someone else. You think you've got a nice nest egg for future plans of travel and they're taken away, stripped. Just when you think your face looks it's best, there is a zit, right on your cheek, looking smug as if it's slapped itself there just to see your frown.
I don't even know. I thought I was sitting well with my job, too, but I started getting bored. I sit and stare at my computer all day to make sure people have meetings to discuss business about whether or not they are making enough money to satisfy The Man. Don't get me wrong, we also do really fantastic things in the process. But it just isn't something I thought I'd be doing. Where is this life changing moment I wanted so bad? Do I make a blood sacrifice sort of event? If so, I'm just not into that.
I get this itch, sometimes, to just do something crazy. To pick up my bag, fill it with two sets of clothes, then wander off into Canada. From there, I'd hitchhike my way across to Quebec. I'd somehow make it to Iceland. Then off into Scandinavia. Work my way through the country on foot, seeing sites, writing... Maybe I'd even meet someone while I'm not looking for anything in particular.
When I see this daydream in my head, and I look down at what I think I'd do written on paper, it never feels right. It feels like I'm running away. And I wouldn't be happy doing that either.
I'd be happier if I could be more honest with myself in the time that presents itself. People find me so extroverted, that I know what I want and rarely think otherwise. This is because my brain isn't attached to my body during these times. I'm just being someone I can't not be when I'm around people where I feel home. When I'm alone, that's when my brain brings about the insecurities of being an adult, what that means, and that I'm not quite ever going to be there. That my idea of being an adult doesn't form with the people who I looked up to most hurts, like I've been doing something wrong for the past 26 years. And I forget what I so firmly believed in so quickly, it makes me think if I ever actually do believe.
Today, when I run, I'm going to pretend that I'm running away from every single problem that has ever entered my life. Then, I'm going to stop, take off my headphones, and face the world. But, for that half hour, it will be bliss to pass the reigns of what I consider to be 'ruin'. I can start building on the ruin after that run.
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Today On 'Yep, That Happened'.
I need to preface this story. If you know me, or have read this blog (HA!), you may already have an idea of who I am. However, for those who have no clue besides the fact that I exaggerate my life to make me seem more amusing/ridiculous/smart, I will give you a quick synopsis of who I am.
I am not a girly-girl. I own very few dresses, having only just purchased a few this past month in attempts to be more feminine (which I can barely spell without double checking because the word isn't even in my vocabulary). I don't enjoy guns, but will mercilessly use them while playing video games. I will drink tequila over pretty much anything. I don't enjoy dirt, but it is necessary when gardening or getting wood for a fire. I like playing with animals. And I tolerate pain to a degree of getting three tattoos, still wanting more.
So, as you read this story, know it is not typical of my style.
My friend Traci and I were coming back to my house after a day of walking around the Minnesota Institute of Art and catching up on life at a cafe nearby. To condense this part of the story, we had to go out of our way to pick up my car from another location before getting to my house by twenty minutes, and we were already debating how we would drive/park for that night in St.Paul for Northern Spark. While we wanted to do our best to stay as long as we could, our other friends weren't as keen on staying past the 11pm mark (married folk, amiright?!).
After one of my friends gave me some good advice on the parking situation, I decided that maybe it'd be best if we left early and ate dinner down there. We'd avoid the traffic, the parking issues, and we could relax easier knowing everything was set. At this point, it was around 5:30pm, and we'd have to move fast because we still didn't know what traffic would be like.
I was also really hungry because I'd only eaten a bowl of cereal and a blueberry muffin that day.
In that, we also wanted to be prepared for whatever weather would be tossed at us while spending 6:30pm to 5:30am in St. Paul. Not only was appropriate clothing needed, but blankets, jackets, an umbrella that I found in the back of the entry hall closet that could cover Target Field... I made a quick checklist to help cease any possible misery we could encounter due to weather so we could go on enjoying the events for all they were worth.
I promised my friend I'd be quick to change, then raced upstairs to take care of amenities. While washing my hands, a buzzing noise, proceeded by a thunk of something landing on my window screen, was what I heard before my sight caught what was in my bathroom: a wasp.
Several things flew through my head at that moment, but the first was, "What the fuck is a wasp doing in my bathroom? How the fuck could a wasp get in here when there are no holes in my window screens and I barely have my room wide open anyway? Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
Then, a bit of panic set in.
When it comes to bugs, I really only ever fear spiders (which was induced by my father believing that Arachnophobia is a hilarious film to show children under the ages of 11). It's a ridiculous fear that I've been coping with, and isn't particularly serious. Except for the fact that I am willing to burn down my own house if I ever found one on my person, and would burst into tears if anyone ever tried to play a joke on me with a tarantula, never trusting that person again.
However, bees and wasps are probably second on that list due to the fact that they don't seem to have an issue with personal space. Spiders at least back away or move from your vicinity if you make some movement (unless you're watching a movie about these large poisonous spiders that are actually quite smart and instead take over your barn as a base to make their way into your house and kill you. Then, they're quite unafraid of anything except fire). Bees and wasps? They follow you down. They're like some child who didn't receive the gene that bless most of us with tact, instead placing it with being completely clueless to human dynamics. Whatever DNA is in a spider, or many other bugs, that say, "Hey, if something huge is stomping toward you and making a scene with their arms, get the fuck out and make sure to defend yourself as necessary," these pollinators were jacked. Reckless behavior mixed with anger issues were replaced in those spots.
My fear of them isn't so much as a fear of the bug themselves, but the sting involved. I haven't been stung from a bee since I was about three years old.
It was dark, I heard a buzz, I hid underneath the blankets, and the bee wouldn't leave me alone. It kept landing on my head over everything in the room (I think B&Ws receive signals as an opposite of what they actually are), and my yells were muffled from the layers of blankets. Deciding to take care of the issue myself, I flung the covers out and ran to the light switch. Now that I could see, I carefully looked around my bed to find...nothing. No bees, no wasps, not even a mosquito. I lifted the blankets, shifting them around, but it didn't reveal a thing. So, I shut off the light and made my way back to my covers in pitch darkness. When I reached my bed, I shuffled my hand around to find my pillow and move the blankets back. I placed my hand down firmly on the bed to help me get up into it and then there was pain shooting through my palm, and angry buzzes that were probably curse words in their language. My parents, hearing my wails, had to pluck out the stinger that looked like a heart on a thorn, then dressed the wound with baking soda because it itched but was swollen and had soaked up the creature's anger.
It's amazing that such a vivid memory stands out from something that has never been repeated as it has with others. But I noticed that my father, the few times he's been stung, is pretty allergic. And, since I'm at the point where I feel about due for one, I'm concerned that me being stung means I'll need to drive to the hospital.
Seeing this wasp slowly climb the screen inside my bathroom like a ladder had what I would put close to a Nam flashback and flash-forward.
Without much hesitation, I looked around for something to trap the wasp, wanting to risks of an even more pissed off demon to stay as slim as possible. I wasn't dumb, Trying to take the time to smash a wasp, or any bug, against a giving screen would only allow a greater percentage of it landing on my hand.
The first thing within my reach (I didn't want to leave on the chance of me coming back and having to search for it) was the cap to my hairspray. As soon as I capped it's ass, the buzzing of an unhappy guest echoed in the room. My elevated mood at being so quick dropped when I realized that I didn't have anything for the next step: take a piece of paper and shove it between the screen and cap so I could carry it outside.
At this moment, I would like to mention I was listening to music on my iPhone while getting ready. I find it important for it to be noted that Terminal March from the game Bastion was playing during this event. Carry on.
Feeling a fool, I called for Traci. I yelled again, louder this time. On the verge of beginning to feel stupid for putting myself in this situation, I looked around my bathroom again to see what I could use to seal this cap off. It was pissed. If I thought it wouldn't seek me out in it's anger if I took the cap away, then I'd really be stupid.
I saw my calendar on the wall next to me. At first, I rejected the idea on the chance of bug juice ruining my artsy pictures of birds. This quickly dissipated in a matter of seconds as the incessant buzzing continued, and I kept thinking, 'We have to get going, or else we'll have to deal with traffic and no parking spot!' With terrible sense of direction, I wanted as few problems as possible in an area I don't know too much about.
The first attempt at shoving the paper of my calendar between the screen and the cap failed, causing a yip from me as the bee tried to shove it's head into freedom. The second attempt, with extra months as reinforcement, the papers slide and stayed in place.
Moving the wasp was easier than I thought. I tried to remember that it couldn't sting through sheets of paper and thick plastic, and thought of the good karma I'd receive for letting the wasp go to block my fear. When Traci saw me coming down the stairs, I resisted the urge to say, "Did you not hear my pleas for help?!" Instead, I said calmly, "I'm currently holding a wasp hostage in my hands. Would you mind opening the sliding door?"
When we got to the door, she said, "How are we going to go about this?"
"Um?" I said, trying to ignore the threats from what was trapped. "I figure, you open the door, I toss it outside, then you close the glass as fast as you can."
"Okay! I'm ready!"
We both took a stance of war.
Now, I should mention a bit more about Traci.
As far as I know, Traci isn't scared of spiders or bugs. She is nervous about being stung, sure--but she's the type to smack a mosquito and not say anything than to never go outdoors for fear of ticks and blood suckers. She doesn't mind getting dirty, either. She's basically one step-up from me in any fear department.
She pulled the door open. I tossed with all my might, thinking the energy of my arm thrusting forward would cause the wasp to fling out from the cap, and it would tumble in disarray for a few moments. It would then take out it's anger on a wall or something, then forget what it was doing and do whatever wasps do when they're not trapped in a woman's master bathroom.
Bringing the cap back in, I had a moment of fear that it had attached itself with sticky feet (I don't know, my brain is weird) inside the cap, and it was still in my hand. I yanked my hands inside to inspect. Nothing lay in there, so Traci closed the door.
"I thought..." Traci trailed off, but then shrugged.
"Thanks," I said sheepishly. "I thought it came back in, but--"
Ladies and gentlemen, this then legit-ly happened. Except with a bee.Thunk and all. Except we were on the same side as the bee.
Ladies and gentlemen? Traci and I then screamed at the same time, hands in the air, acting like the stereotypical girls we never are.
"Fucking shit!" I exclaimed, then slammed the cap back over the wasp.
"Oh my god, I thought I heard it come back in!" Traci said, her voice going miles a second. "But then I thought, 'No, Traci, you're crazy, how could it get back in so fast?' and so I dismissed it!"
"Sweet Jesus," I muttered, glancing around at the nearby table. "Could you grab that piece of mail? It's junk."
She handed me a 'special invite' card from Comcast. I was apparently invited to have a good deal on some television channels I never knew existed. I slide it under the cap again. The wasp had nothing nice to say about it.
"What do we do now?" Traci asked. She was obviously doubting our original plan, and I couldn't blame her.
"Um, you open up the door and I set this on the railing and we shut the door again." She opened it up, and I set everything on the rail, then stepped back in.
"You don't want to hit the cap off with a stick or something?" she asked.
"Fuck that," I said, shutting the sliding door myself. "It can sit and die in that thing for all I care at this point. Maybe the wind will take pity."
Later today, as I recalled this hilarious situation to my friends that Traci and I had immediately began laughing over, one asked, "Did you tell your roommate about why that is on your railing? Isn't that where he goes to smoke?"
We began laughing even harder because I hadn't.
I am not a girly-girl. I own very few dresses, having only just purchased a few this past month in attempts to be more feminine (which I can barely spell without double checking because the word isn't even in my vocabulary). I don't enjoy guns, but will mercilessly use them while playing video games. I will drink tequila over pretty much anything. I don't enjoy dirt, but it is necessary when gardening or getting wood for a fire. I like playing with animals. And I tolerate pain to a degree of getting three tattoos, still wanting more.
So, as you read this story, know it is not typical of my style.
My friend Traci and I were coming back to my house after a day of walking around the Minnesota Institute of Art and catching up on life at a cafe nearby. To condense this part of the story, we had to go out of our way to pick up my car from another location before getting to my house by twenty minutes, and we were already debating how we would drive/park for that night in St.Paul for Northern Spark. While we wanted to do our best to stay as long as we could, our other friends weren't as keen on staying past the 11pm mark (married folk, amiright?!).
After one of my friends gave me some good advice on the parking situation, I decided that maybe it'd be best if we left early and ate dinner down there. We'd avoid the traffic, the parking issues, and we could relax easier knowing everything was set. At this point, it was around 5:30pm, and we'd have to move fast because we still didn't know what traffic would be like.
I was also really hungry because I'd only eaten a bowl of cereal and a blueberry muffin that day.
In that, we also wanted to be prepared for whatever weather would be tossed at us while spending 6:30pm to 5:30am in St. Paul. Not only was appropriate clothing needed, but blankets, jackets, an umbrella that I found in the back of the entry hall closet that could cover Target Field... I made a quick checklist to help cease any possible misery we could encounter due to weather so we could go on enjoying the events for all they were worth.
I promised my friend I'd be quick to change, then raced upstairs to take care of amenities. While washing my hands, a buzzing noise, proceeded by a thunk of something landing on my window screen, was what I heard before my sight caught what was in my bathroom: a wasp.
Several things flew through my head at that moment, but the first was, "What the fuck is a wasp doing in my bathroom? How the fuck could a wasp get in here when there are no holes in my window screens and I barely have my room wide open anyway? Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
Then, a bit of panic set in.
When it comes to bugs, I really only ever fear spiders (which was induced by my father believing that Arachnophobia is a hilarious film to show children under the ages of 11). It's a ridiculous fear that I've been coping with, and isn't particularly serious. Except for the fact that I am willing to burn down my own house if I ever found one on my person, and would burst into tears if anyone ever tried to play a joke on me with a tarantula, never trusting that person again.
However, bees and wasps are probably second on that list due to the fact that they don't seem to have an issue with personal space. Spiders at least back away or move from your vicinity if you make some movement (unless you're watching a movie about these large poisonous spiders that are actually quite smart and instead take over your barn as a base to make their way into your house and kill you. Then, they're quite unafraid of anything except fire). Bees and wasps? They follow you down. They're like some child who didn't receive the gene that bless most of us with tact, instead placing it with being completely clueless to human dynamics. Whatever DNA is in a spider, or many other bugs, that say, "Hey, if something huge is stomping toward you and making a scene with their arms, get the fuck out and make sure to defend yourself as necessary," these pollinators were jacked. Reckless behavior mixed with anger issues were replaced in those spots.
My fear of them isn't so much as a fear of the bug themselves, but the sting involved. I haven't been stung from a bee since I was about three years old.
It was dark, I heard a buzz, I hid underneath the blankets, and the bee wouldn't leave me alone. It kept landing on my head over everything in the room (I think B&Ws receive signals as an opposite of what they actually are), and my yells were muffled from the layers of blankets. Deciding to take care of the issue myself, I flung the covers out and ran to the light switch. Now that I could see, I carefully looked around my bed to find...nothing. No bees, no wasps, not even a mosquito. I lifted the blankets, shifting them around, but it didn't reveal a thing. So, I shut off the light and made my way back to my covers in pitch darkness. When I reached my bed, I shuffled my hand around to find my pillow and move the blankets back. I placed my hand down firmly on the bed to help me get up into it and then there was pain shooting through my palm, and angry buzzes that were probably curse words in their language. My parents, hearing my wails, had to pluck out the stinger that looked like a heart on a thorn, then dressed the wound with baking soda because it itched but was swollen and had soaked up the creature's anger.
It's amazing that such a vivid memory stands out from something that has never been repeated as it has with others. But I noticed that my father, the few times he's been stung, is pretty allergic. And, since I'm at the point where I feel about due for one, I'm concerned that me being stung means I'll need to drive to the hospital.
Seeing this wasp slowly climb the screen inside my bathroom like a ladder had what I would put close to a Nam flashback and flash-forward.
Without much hesitation, I looked around for something to trap the wasp, wanting to risks of an even more pissed off demon to stay as slim as possible. I wasn't dumb, Trying to take the time to smash a wasp, or any bug, against a giving screen would only allow a greater percentage of it landing on my hand.
The first thing within my reach (I didn't want to leave on the chance of me coming back and having to search for it) was the cap to my hairspray. As soon as I capped it's ass, the buzzing of an unhappy guest echoed in the room. My elevated mood at being so quick dropped when I realized that I didn't have anything for the next step: take a piece of paper and shove it between the screen and cap so I could carry it outside.
At this moment, I would like to mention I was listening to music on my iPhone while getting ready. I find it important for it to be noted that Terminal March from the game Bastion was playing during this event. Carry on.
Feeling a fool, I called for Traci. I yelled again, louder this time. On the verge of beginning to feel stupid for putting myself in this situation, I looked around my bathroom again to see what I could use to seal this cap off. It was pissed. If I thought it wouldn't seek me out in it's anger if I took the cap away, then I'd really be stupid.
I saw my calendar on the wall next to me. At first, I rejected the idea on the chance of bug juice ruining my artsy pictures of birds. This quickly dissipated in a matter of seconds as the incessant buzzing continued, and I kept thinking, 'We have to get going, or else we'll have to deal with traffic and no parking spot!' With terrible sense of direction, I wanted as few problems as possible in an area I don't know too much about.
The first attempt at shoving the paper of my calendar between the screen and the cap failed, causing a yip from me as the bee tried to shove it's head into freedom. The second attempt, with extra months as reinforcement, the papers slide and stayed in place.
Moving the wasp was easier than I thought. I tried to remember that it couldn't sting through sheets of paper and thick plastic, and thought of the good karma I'd receive for letting the wasp go to block my fear. When Traci saw me coming down the stairs, I resisted the urge to say, "Did you not hear my pleas for help?!" Instead, I said calmly, "I'm currently holding a wasp hostage in my hands. Would you mind opening the sliding door?"
When we got to the door, she said, "How are we going to go about this?"
"Um?" I said, trying to ignore the threats from what was trapped. "I figure, you open the door, I toss it outside, then you close the glass as fast as you can."
"Okay! I'm ready!"
We both took a stance of war.
Now, I should mention a bit more about Traci.
As far as I know, Traci isn't scared of spiders or bugs. She is nervous about being stung, sure--but she's the type to smack a mosquito and not say anything than to never go outdoors for fear of ticks and blood suckers. She doesn't mind getting dirty, either. She's basically one step-up from me in any fear department.
She pulled the door open. I tossed with all my might, thinking the energy of my arm thrusting forward would cause the wasp to fling out from the cap, and it would tumble in disarray for a few moments. It would then take out it's anger on a wall or something, then forget what it was doing and do whatever wasps do when they're not trapped in a woman's master bathroom.
Bringing the cap back in, I had a moment of fear that it had attached itself with sticky feet (I don't know, my brain is weird) inside the cap, and it was still in my hand. I yanked my hands inside to inspect. Nothing lay in there, so Traci closed the door.
"I thought..." Traci trailed off, but then shrugged.
"Thanks," I said sheepishly. "I thought it came back in, but--"
Ladies and gentlemen, this then legit-ly happened. Except with a bee.Thunk and all. Except we were on the same side as the bee.
Ladies and gentlemen? Traci and I then screamed at the same time, hands in the air, acting like the stereotypical girls we never are.
"Fucking shit!" I exclaimed, then slammed the cap back over the wasp.
"Oh my god, I thought I heard it come back in!" Traci said, her voice going miles a second. "But then I thought, 'No, Traci, you're crazy, how could it get back in so fast?' and so I dismissed it!"
"Sweet Jesus," I muttered, glancing around at the nearby table. "Could you grab that piece of mail? It's junk."
She handed me a 'special invite' card from Comcast. I was apparently invited to have a good deal on some television channels I never knew existed. I slide it under the cap again. The wasp had nothing nice to say about it.
"What do we do now?" Traci asked. She was obviously doubting our original plan, and I couldn't blame her.
"Um, you open up the door and I set this on the railing and we shut the door again." She opened it up, and I set everything on the rail, then stepped back in.
"You don't want to hit the cap off with a stick or something?" she asked.
"Fuck that," I said, shutting the sliding door myself. "It can sit and die in that thing for all I care at this point. Maybe the wind will take pity."
Later today, as I recalled this hilarious situation to my friends that Traci and I had immediately began laughing over, one asked, "Did you tell your roommate about why that is on your railing? Isn't that where he goes to smoke?"
We began laughing even harder because I hadn't.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
You Better Think
Some days, one has to wonder whether what goes through their head is at all sane.
Reviewing my week thus far, I know I questioned mine. Sanity, I mean.
Things I Legit-ly Thought About This Week Alone:
- I wonder if that brown plastic chair on the side of the road was once used for tea parties?
- How is it that Hall & Oates can make me so happy?
- How did that bruise on my apple get there? It wasn't there this morning... Maybe it's poisoned. Like Snow White. Is that a thing? I'm hungry. Poison is worth this hunger.
- Do I really own an entire series about a world involving vampires? I do. Huh.
- Do I really own, not one, but two 'The Sims' games? I do. Huh.
- The brown plastic chair must have been for a camping trip, not tea parties. Why would I think tea parties?
- I could be judging too quick--OH GOD I NEVER WANT TO SEE THAT FACE AGAIN!
- I wonder, if Leonardo died, would Donatello be the one to step up and be the next leader? Or would Ralph be a dick about it and take over? Mikey would eat some pizza and watch some television while that was debated out.
- Why can't I ever keep my mouth shut? The opinions: shove them down your throat and let the acids of your stomach smother their need to be heard.
- Ugh, I can't not say something.
- Do I really deserve this much attention? I'm hearing myself, and I'm thinking not.
- Why doesn't anyone listen to me?!
- How is there even one person in our nation who doesn't know Peanut Butter Jelly Time...
- Eye makeup, tell me all of your secrets.
- My coworker is somehow my friend soul mate. I just know it.
- I think I may have a certain sense of humor.
- Although, tea parties are super fun. Maybe if you decorated the chairs?
- Yep. Going to hell. For humor.
- I'm sorry, but if you can't even have proper punctuation, I'm not paying attention to you.
- I can't stop eating this Chex Mix. There has to be MSG in it! I can't stop! What's in these? No MSG? HOW DO I EXPLAIN TO PEOPLE WHY I ATE HALF A BAG OF YOU?!
- A rapping Jew is in my music playlist. Maybe this is why I'm single.
- My brother won't like this, but I'm making a pact that if I see one more spider in this bathroom, I'm burning it all down.
- People must think I'm so popular! Too bad it's just Joss Whedon tweeting like a maniac because of Much Ado About Nothing. #notgoingtosayotherwise
- THAT is considered a 100% match? THAT is what I have been missing out on all this time? I'm suddenly thinking me being single forever should be a concern I need to accept.
- Why does everyone have the need to reproduce? This has to be a virus I'm immune to.
- Would I be prettier if I lost some weight? Probably. I'm eating this dark chocolate anyway.
- If I don't have the words to Frozen Sleep completely memorized to the point singing without listening to it at the same time by the end of today, I've accomplished nothing.
- You could probably trade your Magic card for some dignity. Good sweet Jesus, I'm a total bitch. I'm texting this to Robin. She'd appreciate this.
- I wish Just Dance were a legit thing in clubs. I'd be the fucking belle of the ball.
- If Spider-Man were real, I'm guessing I'd have at least a 17% chance of my arachnophobia coming into play. Probably closer to 78%.
- Why don't people think I'm ever insecure? Don't they see me being more myself to cover up the fact that I'm myself? It's a terrible idea!
- How did I get convinced that global warming is more likely an empty threat? I should probably spend at least two more hours on TedTalks to figure this out.
- Is it legal to like Jeff Goldblum as much as I do? Maybe I should stop saying it out loud so much...
- I simply have the best of friends in all the land. I am disgustingly, pukingly happy right now. And I could gush about it all day.
For those wondering how I remembered all of those, it would be because I was only going back a couple of days. I also only chose the more interesting ones. Probably 98% of my thoughts are, "My life rules so much. I hope life stays this great forever. I think I'm going to make popcorn tonight, and have a side of ice cream."
Friday, May 31, 2013
It Was Moscato.
I've recently found out that my brother's house has the occasional large, black ant.
By occasional, I mean I see one to two a day.
For someone afraid of spiders, I tend to go overkill when I see a black moving thing out of the corner of my eye. By the time I've panicked and used the nearest hard object to Hulk Smash, I then realize it was unnecessary to have my heart rate raised to that of a marathon runner because it was an ant. Not a spider.
It's become a serious problem.
The ants come no matter how much I clean. Most of it happens because I am not around enough to also clean after my roommate, who is keen on leaving any and all of his dishes right next to the dishwasher rather than placing them inside. They sit out all day, I get home late to not even glance in the kitchen practically every day of the week...
I'll get to my point. Today is Friday. I am a single twenty-six year old with nothing holding me back. Let me tell you about my day.
I was done with work at 2pm today, so a coworker and I decided to have a late lunch with wine and a good meal since we had just purchased Justin Timberlake tickets (mother fucking damn straight, ya'll). Giggling like school girls, we dined in style, then cheered to a good weekend.
I then proceeded with the adult life I now apparently lead:
1) I went to pay rent at the nearby grocery store, as that's where my brother banks, then bought shampoo, popcorn, and a set of blank cards that I found adorable and already own fifty of (I have more than an ant smashing problem, but correspondence doesn't seem to be one of them).
2) I drove home like a priest going to church as a state trooper was behind me the whole way home.
3) Found another damn ant that caused a last straw snap for the week.
4) Went from clearing the dishes to wiping down the counters to getting onto my hands and knees to bleach wash the kitchen and dining and entryway floor after a good vacuuming.
5) That led into the living room to dust (my least favorite anything ever) and make better since the week seemed to be tough on it.
6) Went a step further and planted a slew of pansies I got for free from work on our porch--and since I didn't have a proper planting shovel, used the pumpkin carving scoop located in our silverware drawer (the priorities in this household are NOT skewed).
7) Went even further to do my weekly scrub down of the shower, bath counters, and toilets (my second least favorite chore)--and cut my pointer finger on the drain guard when trying to clean that. Used Candyland band-aids my coworker got me for Christmas.
8) After completely finished and tired from scrubbing and making the house, yet again, more my home, I lay on my bed to think and heard the shouts, laughter, and sounds of children playing in the streets. I realized that I was the exact opposite of those children at that moment, and began determining whether or not I was an old twenty-six, and how to rectify that.
9) I proceeded to give myself a Russian tarot reading because I was too lazy to determine anything except what type of wine to have tonight. My playlist decided melancholy would be appropriate.
10) Realized that what I wanted to do was go out tonight, but all of my close friends are all married and too busy being adults to hang out. So, I began watching 30 Rock instead.
11) 30 Rock caused me to think of myself like Liz Lemon. Again, started re-evaluating life decisions.
12) Had second glass of wine.
13) Thought it'd be a good idea to write about all of this. Am currently re-evaluating that.
Through the midst of this, in the cleanest of houses, I found another ant. I give up on life and proclaim the gods have the best sense of humor.
By occasional, I mean I see one to two a day.
For someone afraid of spiders, I tend to go overkill when I see a black moving thing out of the corner of my eye. By the time I've panicked and used the nearest hard object to Hulk Smash, I then realize it was unnecessary to have my heart rate raised to that of a marathon runner because it was an ant. Not a spider.
It's become a serious problem.
The ants come no matter how much I clean. Most of it happens because I am not around enough to also clean after my roommate, who is keen on leaving any and all of his dishes right next to the dishwasher rather than placing them inside. They sit out all day, I get home late to not even glance in the kitchen practically every day of the week...
I'll get to my point. Today is Friday. I am a single twenty-six year old with nothing holding me back. Let me tell you about my day.
I was done with work at 2pm today, so a coworker and I decided to have a late lunch with wine and a good meal since we had just purchased Justin Timberlake tickets (mother fucking damn straight, ya'll). Giggling like school girls, we dined in style, then cheered to a good weekend.
I then proceeded with the adult life I now apparently lead:
1) I went to pay rent at the nearby grocery store, as that's where my brother banks, then bought shampoo, popcorn, and a set of blank cards that I found adorable and already own fifty of (I have more than an ant smashing problem, but correspondence doesn't seem to be one of them).
2) I drove home like a priest going to church as a state trooper was behind me the whole way home.
3) Found another damn ant that caused a last straw snap for the week.
4) Went from clearing the dishes to wiping down the counters to getting onto my hands and knees to bleach wash the kitchen and dining and entryway floor after a good vacuuming.
5) That led into the living room to dust (my least favorite anything ever) and make better since the week seemed to be tough on it.
6) Went a step further and planted a slew of pansies I got for free from work on our porch--and since I didn't have a proper planting shovel, used the pumpkin carving scoop located in our silverware drawer (the priorities in this household are NOT skewed).
7) Went even further to do my weekly scrub down of the shower, bath counters, and toilets (my second least favorite chore)--and cut my pointer finger on the drain guard when trying to clean that. Used Candyland band-aids my coworker got me for Christmas.
8) After completely finished and tired from scrubbing and making the house, yet again, more my home, I lay on my bed to think and heard the shouts, laughter, and sounds of children playing in the streets. I realized that I was the exact opposite of those children at that moment, and began determining whether or not I was an old twenty-six, and how to rectify that.
9) I proceeded to give myself a Russian tarot reading because I was too lazy to determine anything except what type of wine to have tonight. My playlist decided melancholy would be appropriate.
10) Realized that what I wanted to do was go out tonight, but all of my close friends are all married and too busy being adults to hang out. So, I began watching 30 Rock instead.
11) 30 Rock caused me to think of myself like Liz Lemon. Again, started re-evaluating life decisions.
12) Had second glass of wine.
13) Thought it'd be a good idea to write about all of this. Am currently re-evaluating that.
Through the midst of this, in the cleanest of houses, I found another ant. I give up on life and proclaim the gods have the best sense of humor.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
I'm An Adult...?
I once read this book in college for a writing course. I don't remember the title because I'm twenty-six now, not nineteen, but it was about the changing of a perspective as one grows up. It was old.
In the beginning of the book, the young woman is going to be going to college. She is on a farm, and dislikes it immensely. She sees her parents' marriage as a sham, that they don't love each other, and they're stuck together. The two are basically at each other's throats, it seems, and they only ever see the other for the few hours before bed. Her misery is supposed to go away with college, so she leaves with high hopes.
The young woman falls in love, and she pretends to be someone she isn't. Prim and proper, not from the farms in the least bit. The man asks for her hand, and she says yes. However, he has to meet the family.
Needless to say, it turns into him slowly going away because he was ultimately embarrassed. She is more miserable than when she left, and the book goes into how she slowly gets out of her misery, and finds someone who accepts her, and matches her well.
All that love story was boring to me. Blather. Which is probably what it was, because the focus we spoke about was what interested me most: her change of view. When she was miserable, and full of hatred, she confronted her parents about them disliking one another, and they stared at their daughter as if she were crazy. Of course they didn't hate one another! But it wasn't until she began to find love again that she saw the truth of what she thought was truth. Her parents were in love... and it showed all the time. When she tried to help on the farm, both parents were always telling her to stop helping them and go to the other, as their task was surely more daunting. And they didn't see each other that often because they didn't have any other helping hands--just them running the show. And they stayed in the same bed every night.
What changed the main character's mind wasn't necessarily paying attention. Any one person can pay attention to the details, but how they observe and come to a conclusion is all based on our surroundings.
I think of this book whenever I come across a pessimist. I tend to be more of the happy sort, smiling and ready for life. I try to see the best side in anything. There's always a reason to be content. And when I'm with someone who doesn't have that mind set, I think about their situation, and what has caused them to see things as they do. I've seen homeless people dancing away with their saxophones, and the grumpiest people dressed in a thousand dollar suits, thinking every person is out to get them. Most would think the homeless person would be the saddest, as wouldn't they be trying to keep every scrap of anything, thinking the person next to them would be stealing it? And, yet, it's the man with everything that thinks this.
It was startling to me today, celebrating my birthday with some family, as we reminisced about the past. My little cousins (hellions, really), were constantly fighting and poking at each other, and my aunt brought up how often my brother and I would fight. We laughed over how my aunt saw me amongst spilt Cheerios when I was brought home from the hospital.
And then my aunt and uncle brought up my personality. My older cousin was definitely on his sugar high, laughing and licking his fork clean of ice cream, making jokes that didn't even make sense, but seemed funny to him (ah, to be 10 again). Aunt and uncle were arguing over having given him too much, but I said, "I'm pretty sure this is hereditary--I was so annoying as a child, I'm embarrassed to even see the video footage taken of me."
"No," both of them said at once.
"You were pretty quiet and shy," my uncle said, nodding, and I stared at him. Me? Quiet and shy? "You were always just kind of... Mallory. You know? Just... you."
"Maybe shy since she didn't know you very well, but you were very outgoing. You definitely knew how to throw a tantrum," my aunt said with a snort. "But, no. You were really easy. Like, super easy. Easy to please, always with a smile on your face. I don't think there was ever a moment you weren't happy." And then she looked at me, tilting her head. "Except for when you decided to have one of your tantrums, because you did those very well."
It's amazing to see this in my eyes. I always saw myself as an annoying child, jumping around as if I were on coffee. I thought I was well liked, but with a slight cringe. I've carried this for so much of my life. I thought of the book immediately, and of how my situation was. I had an older brother who loved to taunt me, with parents who were fantastic, but also were managing how to deal with our constant fights and completely different ways on how to handle situations.
Now I can see that I am still a lot like how I was when I was smaller, still to this day. I thought I'd changed--a lot--but I think I see it more as I've grown into knowing when is right for what. And that's a concept I'm unsure of how I feel, after having an idea in my head for so long of how I was.
I was the student who would read in class because she was bored with the lecture she already knew. I was the kid who cried when another was bullied, and stood up for them because no one else would. If I thought something was correct, I stood loyally and firmly by that belief, to the point of being stubborn beyond belief. And I still get loud with excitement.
I guess I haven't changed as much as I thought. But the situation around me has changed, where this is acceptable. I thought I'd changed, but it seems it was more of the atmosphere.
The idea of that method is extremely intriguing.
In the beginning of the book, the young woman is going to be going to college. She is on a farm, and dislikes it immensely. She sees her parents' marriage as a sham, that they don't love each other, and they're stuck together. The two are basically at each other's throats, it seems, and they only ever see the other for the few hours before bed. Her misery is supposed to go away with college, so she leaves with high hopes.
The young woman falls in love, and she pretends to be someone she isn't. Prim and proper, not from the farms in the least bit. The man asks for her hand, and she says yes. However, he has to meet the family.
Needless to say, it turns into him slowly going away because he was ultimately embarrassed. She is more miserable than when she left, and the book goes into how she slowly gets out of her misery, and finds someone who accepts her, and matches her well.
All that love story was boring to me. Blather. Which is probably what it was, because the focus we spoke about was what interested me most: her change of view. When she was miserable, and full of hatred, she confronted her parents about them disliking one another, and they stared at their daughter as if she were crazy. Of course they didn't hate one another! But it wasn't until she began to find love again that she saw the truth of what she thought was truth. Her parents were in love... and it showed all the time. When she tried to help on the farm, both parents were always telling her to stop helping them and go to the other, as their task was surely more daunting. And they didn't see each other that often because they didn't have any other helping hands--just them running the show. And they stayed in the same bed every night.
What changed the main character's mind wasn't necessarily paying attention. Any one person can pay attention to the details, but how they observe and come to a conclusion is all based on our surroundings.
I think of this book whenever I come across a pessimist. I tend to be more of the happy sort, smiling and ready for life. I try to see the best side in anything. There's always a reason to be content. And when I'm with someone who doesn't have that mind set, I think about their situation, and what has caused them to see things as they do. I've seen homeless people dancing away with their saxophones, and the grumpiest people dressed in a thousand dollar suits, thinking every person is out to get them. Most would think the homeless person would be the saddest, as wouldn't they be trying to keep every scrap of anything, thinking the person next to them would be stealing it? And, yet, it's the man with everything that thinks this.
It was startling to me today, celebrating my birthday with some family, as we reminisced about the past. My little cousins (hellions, really), were constantly fighting and poking at each other, and my aunt brought up how often my brother and I would fight. We laughed over how my aunt saw me amongst spilt Cheerios when I was brought home from the hospital.
And then my aunt and uncle brought up my personality. My older cousin was definitely on his sugar high, laughing and licking his fork clean of ice cream, making jokes that didn't even make sense, but seemed funny to him (ah, to be 10 again). Aunt and uncle were arguing over having given him too much, but I said, "I'm pretty sure this is hereditary--I was so annoying as a child, I'm embarrassed to even see the video footage taken of me."
"No," both of them said at once.
"You were pretty quiet and shy," my uncle said, nodding, and I stared at him. Me? Quiet and shy? "You were always just kind of... Mallory. You know? Just... you."
"Maybe shy since she didn't know you very well, but you were very outgoing. You definitely knew how to throw a tantrum," my aunt said with a snort. "But, no. You were really easy. Like, super easy. Easy to please, always with a smile on your face. I don't think there was ever a moment you weren't happy." And then she looked at me, tilting her head. "Except for when you decided to have one of your tantrums, because you did those very well."
It's amazing to see this in my eyes. I always saw myself as an annoying child, jumping around as if I were on coffee. I thought I was well liked, but with a slight cringe. I've carried this for so much of my life. I thought of the book immediately, and of how my situation was. I had an older brother who loved to taunt me, with parents who were fantastic, but also were managing how to deal with our constant fights and completely different ways on how to handle situations.
Now I can see that I am still a lot like how I was when I was smaller, still to this day. I thought I'd changed--a lot--but I think I see it more as I've grown into knowing when is right for what. And that's a concept I'm unsure of how I feel, after having an idea in my head for so long of how I was.
I was the student who would read in class because she was bored with the lecture she already knew. I was the kid who cried when another was bullied, and stood up for them because no one else would. If I thought something was correct, I stood loyally and firmly by that belief, to the point of being stubborn beyond belief. And I still get loud with excitement.
I guess I haven't changed as much as I thought. But the situation around me has changed, where this is acceptable. I thought I'd changed, but it seems it was more of the atmosphere.
The idea of that method is extremely intriguing.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
A Year Over A Quarter Of A Century Old
Today, I turned twenty-six.
Last year, I was twenty-five. I had a list of things I wanted to accomplish, a few only having been truly checked off.
My first was to run a 5K. This was so incredibly important to me, and my best friend Mandikat made this happen. She started her own journey, and instead of being selfish, she prodded me to join in with her on her body experiment. I began to run, every day. I listened to zombies gnash at my heels, every day. I was able to focus on myself, for once, and I found out how much control I could really have over my life, body, and, most importantly, my happiness. And I did two 5Ks. I thank her for that every single day (at least, in my head I do. Sorry for not always being as verbal, Mandikat <3 p="">
My second was getting another job that got me over what was considered average for my age mark money-wise. I amazingly found this during the fall, when I could have been considered at my worst. It took me some time to make a decision about if I could actually make the jump, and then it was actually doing it, all the while inner emotions/turmoil dispersed around me like fireflies. The lights would blink, showing me all the things I could have--but then it would go dark, and I'd be lost for those few moments, floating around in limbo as I shook, debating on what was right and wrong, and if I was strong to do what I wanted to do. I not only took a deep breath and took the plunge, but I also found it was one of the best decisions of my life thus far. I gained my social life back. I found new friends. I learned that working at a company can mean being more than a minion. I learned the value of fifteen minutes--and how much gas that would be. I also learned more about family, and how to live with my brother again. I'm pleased with this.
My third was to find more about myself in love. Seeing how my previous years I was too scared to really dive in, I promised myself that a quarter-century was long enough. I realized that, after running and realizing how life was without a social life, I was ready for love. Not just some crush as I've had in the past, but a good steady position. It wasn't that I wasn't afraid of getting hurt--it was that I saw that I could handle that hurt, and knew I'd be able to get through it if I was rejected. This was the most difficult for me. I've always struggled with this, but I was determined to not let anything deter me.
I found out that not every guy is honest. I got that because there was a guy in which I made a connection, and for two months, we spoke non-stop every day through messages, sharing stories and experiences. It was simply amazing, how much we had in common, and I'd finally found someone at work who got my nerdy behavior. After those two months, I mentioned him to a coworker, who promptly told me he was engaged to someone else--and he'd never spoken a word of her to me. It was the first time that I saw why a girl would try to steal someone away from another. I "got" it. And it wasn't me.
I also realized that not every guy is who they say they are. A single guy for a week wooed me, and I found out that he was not only a swindler of hearts, but he lived with his ex-girlfriend, with whom he had a child, and also had another child, the same age, with another. All working at the same place.
I picked up a stalker for a couple of months.
I especially saw that guys were not the assertive behaviorists they claimed to be. The amount of guys who accumulated crushes were embarrassing--but even more so that I was told about them when I was leaving my old job. None of the guys I would have seriously considered, but the fact that they were all very outgoing guys, it was very disappointing to find out that no one had the balls to say anything (especially since I was none the wiser).
The closest I would say that I would have come to "love" was dashed away so fast, and so complicated, I don't think I've really ever gotten time to really discern it being over. It's the first time I lied to friends about being okay. The first I was dishonest to myself about being okay. And the hardest thing I've tried convincing myself out of.
Friends have told me that being friends with someone you had any romantic things with is basically impossible. I took this as a challenge. I thought I'd proved them wrong. But, as it turns out, disassociation is the only thing that takes away the confusion and allows you to move on enough to be friends. If you disagree with me, then the other person is going through what I'm dealing with, which is: trying to not take things personally; assume that every single action/spoken word means absolutely nothing unless clearly stated in a factual way while staring at your face and is willing to sign a testament that it is indeed truth; comparing every single other opposite sex to the commonalities that seemed to work so well; wishing they'd never see you again; wishing they'd somehow see you again; wishing they'd see you again but with them over you and having you see what you missed out on, even though they want your happiness at the same time; wishing they could somehow meet NPH (this doesn't really have to do with relationships, but I assume that every single person in the world wants to do this, which is why it was added to the list).
This last thing I've somehow learned the most about, and yet absolutely nothing. Every time I seem to have learned a new truth, it's completely negated in another form. Love-hurt has basically become a virus in my eyes--it slowly becomes immune to behaviors, and you just have to keep coming up with more to block what is inevitable, and you just keep coming back to the traditional friend support system that is considered your herbal supplements. They work, but they just don't prevent it from happening again.
This love taught me that you sometimes need to accept things and walk away. You can never fully understand why some relationships don't work, despite it having every sign pointing to "YES". Neon signs. With their own arrows pointing to those arrows, and people taking pictures of those to place on the internet for others to make memes about because they're ultimately jealous of what was found. This love taught me that connections can be denied and pushed away. That it really is up to each individual what they decide to do with what is laid upon a table. And that I will sometimes just never understand why someone would say 'No' to what is seen as a great opportunity.
It taught me the importance of placing blame on no one, and the patience of healing. I found it so dramatic, and still do, and it wasn't love (way too fast for that), but I was definitely infatuated with the happiness and feeling, and, being myself, I know I can take growth from this per usual and, eventually, I won't look back at the moments and miss them. Eventually, I won't have a hope that is there simply because I don't want to feel sad at the potential anymore. And I eventually will have all of the gears working on the same machine rather than some keeping a door open "just in case" because I don't like burning ideas to spread ashes in the wind for others to use in their gardens unless proven for the best.
So, love wasn't checked off the list. But learning about myself in love was. So was making new friends, facing my fears head on when they arise in a situation, trying new things I'd typically say no to because I judged it too quickly, embracing life every day because it's too short, singing every day, allowing myself to be vulnerable around others so they can see I am a person, too... and not allowing a mishap with a shot at love determine that I won't attempt again.
Twenty-five was an amazing year for firsts and rediscovering. And the bonus about being this young is that I can repeat that for so many years to come. I find that I'm blessed several times over, and I'm always surprised at this. And, the fact is, I think I always will be surprised. But I'll never be not thankful. How can I be when, after so much struggle, I have so much more outweighing on the scale that shows epicness?
This next year will be even better. Challenge accepted.
Last year, I was twenty-five. I had a list of things I wanted to accomplish, a few only having been truly checked off.
My first was to run a 5K. This was so incredibly important to me, and my best friend Mandikat made this happen. She started her own journey, and instead of being selfish, she prodded me to join in with her on her body experiment. I began to run, every day. I listened to zombies gnash at my heels, every day. I was able to focus on myself, for once, and I found out how much control I could really have over my life, body, and, most importantly, my happiness. And I did two 5Ks. I thank her for that every single day (at least, in my head I do. Sorry for not always being as verbal, Mandikat <3 p="">
My second was getting another job that got me over what was considered average for my age mark money-wise. I amazingly found this during the fall, when I could have been considered at my worst. It took me some time to make a decision about if I could actually make the jump, and then it was actually doing it, all the while inner emotions/turmoil dispersed around me like fireflies. The lights would blink, showing me all the things I could have--but then it would go dark, and I'd be lost for those few moments, floating around in limbo as I shook, debating on what was right and wrong, and if I was strong to do what I wanted to do. I not only took a deep breath and took the plunge, but I also found it was one of the best decisions of my life thus far. I gained my social life back. I found new friends. I learned that working at a company can mean being more than a minion. I learned the value of fifteen minutes--and how much gas that would be. I also learned more about family, and how to live with my brother again. I'm pleased with this.
My third was to find more about myself in love. Seeing how my previous years I was too scared to really dive in, I promised myself that a quarter-century was long enough. I realized that, after running and realizing how life was without a social life, I was ready for love. Not just some crush as I've had in the past, but a good steady position. It wasn't that I wasn't afraid of getting hurt--it was that I saw that I could handle that hurt, and knew I'd be able to get through it if I was rejected. This was the most difficult for me. I've always struggled with this, but I was determined to not let anything deter me.
I found out that not every guy is honest. I got that because there was a guy in which I made a connection, and for two months, we spoke non-stop every day through messages, sharing stories and experiences. It was simply amazing, how much we had in common, and I'd finally found someone at work who got my nerdy behavior. After those two months, I mentioned him to a coworker, who promptly told me he was engaged to someone else--and he'd never spoken a word of her to me. It was the first time that I saw why a girl would try to steal someone away from another. I "got" it. And it wasn't me.
I also realized that not every guy is who they say they are. A single guy for a week wooed me, and I found out that he was not only a swindler of hearts, but he lived with his ex-girlfriend, with whom he had a child, and also had another child, the same age, with another. All working at the same place.
I picked up a stalker for a couple of months.
I especially saw that guys were not the assertive behaviorists they claimed to be. The amount of guys who accumulated crushes were embarrassing--but even more so that I was told about them when I was leaving my old job. None of the guys I would have seriously considered, but the fact that they were all very outgoing guys, it was very disappointing to find out that no one had the balls to say anything (especially since I was none the wiser).
The closest I would say that I would have come to "love" was dashed away so fast, and so complicated, I don't think I've really ever gotten time to really discern it being over. It's the first time I lied to friends about being okay. The first I was dishonest to myself about being okay. And the hardest thing I've tried convincing myself out of.
Friends have told me that being friends with someone you had any romantic things with is basically impossible. I took this as a challenge. I thought I'd proved them wrong. But, as it turns out, disassociation is the only thing that takes away the confusion and allows you to move on enough to be friends. If you disagree with me, then the other person is going through what I'm dealing with, which is: trying to not take things personally; assume that every single action/spoken word means absolutely nothing unless clearly stated in a factual way while staring at your face and is willing to sign a testament that it is indeed truth; comparing every single other opposite sex to the commonalities that seemed to work so well; wishing they'd never see you again; wishing they'd somehow see you again; wishing they'd see you again but with them over you and having you see what you missed out on, even though they want your happiness at the same time; wishing they could somehow meet NPH (this doesn't really have to do with relationships, but I assume that every single person in the world wants to do this, which is why it was added to the list).
This last thing I've somehow learned the most about, and yet absolutely nothing. Every time I seem to have learned a new truth, it's completely negated in another form. Love-hurt has basically become a virus in my eyes--it slowly becomes immune to behaviors, and you just have to keep coming up with more to block what is inevitable, and you just keep coming back to the traditional friend support system that is considered your herbal supplements. They work, but they just don't prevent it from happening again.
This love taught me that you sometimes need to accept things and walk away. You can never fully understand why some relationships don't work, despite it having every sign pointing to "YES". Neon signs. With their own arrows pointing to those arrows, and people taking pictures of those to place on the internet for others to make memes about because they're ultimately jealous of what was found. This love taught me that connections can be denied and pushed away. That it really is up to each individual what they decide to do with what is laid upon a table. And that I will sometimes just never understand why someone would say 'No' to what is seen as a great opportunity.
It taught me the importance of placing blame on no one, and the patience of healing. I found it so dramatic, and still do, and it wasn't love (way too fast for that), but I was definitely infatuated with the happiness and feeling, and, being myself, I know I can take growth from this per usual and, eventually, I won't look back at the moments and miss them. Eventually, I won't have a hope that is there simply because I don't want to feel sad at the potential anymore. And I eventually will have all of the gears working on the same machine rather than some keeping a door open "just in case" because I don't like burning ideas to spread ashes in the wind for others to use in their gardens unless proven for the best.
So, love wasn't checked off the list. But learning about myself in love was. So was making new friends, facing my fears head on when they arise in a situation, trying new things I'd typically say no to because I judged it too quickly, embracing life every day because it's too short, singing every day, allowing myself to be vulnerable around others so they can see I am a person, too... and not allowing a mishap with a shot at love determine that I won't attempt again.
Twenty-five was an amazing year for firsts and rediscovering. And the bonus about being this young is that I can repeat that for so many years to come. I find that I'm blessed several times over, and I'm always surprised at this. And, the fact is, I think I always will be surprised. But I'll never be not thankful. How can I be when, after so much struggle, I have so much more outweighing on the scale that shows epicness?
This next year will be even better. Challenge accepted.
Monday, March 11, 2013
Evil Fairy...Let's Name Her Renne
Can it really be considered a "New Beginning" if there was really never anything there to start with?
I supposed that question is moot, because obviously there was something at least from my side. I know my part in things better than anyone else. And I know that it was there on my side. It took some extra time for me to figure that out.
Isn't that amazing? That one can be in a state of something for months, and because it has become such a norm, you don't even realize what you've become.
I had become dishonest with myself. I didn't like that. It's one thing to be dishonest with someone else, but quite another to be dishonest with yourself. If you're lying to yourself, you have no idea how others are perceiving you. It's not just that you have no idea what you're doing, but that others are getting a feeling from you that is almost like a wild card. One that you didn't play. A third party came in a laid down a Wild Draw 4, and you're left with nothing but the need to sort through your cards with a new sense of urgency in hopes that you're not thrown completely off guard, that you have some color to place into discard. Because, let's be honest--no one wants to be going through who knows how many turns picking from the pile until they're finally back in the game.
I can be seen as a hasty decision maker. This is mostly due to the fact that I'm not fantastic with memory. If I don't do what I think up now, I'll forget later, and then it's the dusty ornament your grandparents got you when they went on that Europe trip when you were six, and you just didn't have the heart to throw it away, despite it not going with any of your surroundings.
It haunts my soul. It plays with my mind curtains like a cat, pawing and scooting the cloth around because I've forgotten something I want to do in life, and it waits patiently like a dog in hopes that I will eventually get back to it with the zest I had when it was once thought up.
Doing something when you first think it up can be much more fascinating than waiting. Waiting, like procrastination, can sometimes further the sensations of wonder. It turns into an anticipation, a giddiness that even turns into passion. Sometimes, yes... waiting is a pleasure.
But I can't wait.
I can't wait around when I have things to do. I can't tap my fingers while it seems there are better things going on. My attention span, while loyal, has a tendency to forget. It's not fickle. But when I get caught up in the moment, and the anticipation has brought it up, and the giddiness is turning into passion, and all other thoughts have been placed in a time capsule because only now is existing, I can't wait.
This is a large hypocrisy, I understand. Because my kind of living in the moment is more about decision making and wallowing in it with a full heart. Drowning in it. Focusing. From the simplest of eating an ice cream cone to painting a portrait. It's not that I'm terrible at multitasking, it's that I feel I can only do one thing at a time because then I know it is getting done well. Half-ass won't do.
And I like to enjoy a moment. Laugh and soak in the love. Cry and realize what I'm learning. Play a video game and not miss anything that will have me stuck later on because I was distracted by something else (true story--when I'm playing a video game, I will certainly be paying more attention to that than you. My bad.).
As you can probably tell, this trait in myself does not mix well with being dishonest. It makes things confusing, particularly relationships due to the communication effect. One cannot communicate properly if even they don't know what they mean.
So, I made a hasty decision. And failed. Miserably. And I tried again. And failed. And a third time, with even more failure. I realized I'd been more dishonest with myself than originally thought.
Two things I've learned: I've found something that makes it difficult to be myself, and being dishonest with yourself is a sneaky evil fairy named Renne whispering what you think you know in your ear. FACT.
Morale? Be yourself, but know who you are so that you can look at yourself every few months and realize that you're not being yourself so you can be utterly confused and conflicted in your position in life so you can think you're making a decision that you will later change your mind to suit your whims at that particular time.
Glad we had this talk.
I supposed that question is moot, because obviously there was something at least from my side. I know my part in things better than anyone else. And I know that it was there on my side. It took some extra time for me to figure that out.
Isn't that amazing? That one can be in a state of something for months, and because it has become such a norm, you don't even realize what you've become.
I had become dishonest with myself. I didn't like that. It's one thing to be dishonest with someone else, but quite another to be dishonest with yourself. If you're lying to yourself, you have no idea how others are perceiving you. It's not just that you have no idea what you're doing, but that others are getting a feeling from you that is almost like a wild card. One that you didn't play. A third party came in a laid down a Wild Draw 4, and you're left with nothing but the need to sort through your cards with a new sense of urgency in hopes that you're not thrown completely off guard, that you have some color to place into discard. Because, let's be honest--no one wants to be going through who knows how many turns picking from the pile until they're finally back in the game.
I can be seen as a hasty decision maker. This is mostly due to the fact that I'm not fantastic with memory. If I don't do what I think up now, I'll forget later, and then it's the dusty ornament your grandparents got you when they went on that Europe trip when you were six, and you just didn't have the heart to throw it away, despite it not going with any of your surroundings.
It haunts my soul. It plays with my mind curtains like a cat, pawing and scooting the cloth around because I've forgotten something I want to do in life, and it waits patiently like a dog in hopes that I will eventually get back to it with the zest I had when it was once thought up.
Doing something when you first think it up can be much more fascinating than waiting. Waiting, like procrastination, can sometimes further the sensations of wonder. It turns into an anticipation, a giddiness that even turns into passion. Sometimes, yes... waiting is a pleasure.
But I can't wait.
I can't wait around when I have things to do. I can't tap my fingers while it seems there are better things going on. My attention span, while loyal, has a tendency to forget. It's not fickle. But when I get caught up in the moment, and the anticipation has brought it up, and the giddiness is turning into passion, and all other thoughts have been placed in a time capsule because only now is existing, I can't wait.
This is a large hypocrisy, I understand. Because my kind of living in the moment is more about decision making and wallowing in it with a full heart. Drowning in it. Focusing. From the simplest of eating an ice cream cone to painting a portrait. It's not that I'm terrible at multitasking, it's that I feel I can only do one thing at a time because then I know it is getting done well. Half-ass won't do.
And I like to enjoy a moment. Laugh and soak in the love. Cry and realize what I'm learning. Play a video game and not miss anything that will have me stuck later on because I was distracted by something else (true story--when I'm playing a video game, I will certainly be paying more attention to that than you. My bad.).
As you can probably tell, this trait in myself does not mix well with being dishonest. It makes things confusing, particularly relationships due to the communication effect. One cannot communicate properly if even they don't know what they mean.
So, I made a hasty decision. And failed. Miserably. And I tried again. And failed. And a third time, with even more failure. I realized I'd been more dishonest with myself than originally thought.
Two things I've learned: I've found something that makes it difficult to be myself, and being dishonest with yourself is a sneaky evil fairy named Renne whispering what you think you know in your ear. FACT.
Morale? Be yourself, but know who you are so that you can look at yourself every few months and realize that you're not being yourself so you can be utterly confused and conflicted in your position in life so you can think you're making a decision that you will later change your mind to suit your whims at that particular time.
Glad we had this talk.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Because, You Know, I Haven't Updated in Forever. So, Here's a Novel For You.
Something I've slowly learned about
myself over the years is how I've gone from being an open idealistic
lover to a more closet romantic woman.
Most people find the small changes in
themselves. “I used to like the color pink—now I can't stand the
thought of it.” or “The taste of shrimp disgusted me, when I was
a kid. I eat them at least once a week!” and, the ever popular, “I
never believed in ghosts, until one haunted my bathroom after I moved
into that creepy cabin.”
I'm kidding. No one ever stops liking
the color pink.
I'm happy to report I'm not quite the
cynic I once became after my college experiences. I was quite the
innocent, growing up with parents who taught my brother and I well.
Not that he and I weren't little shits (and that we still aren't),
but we took our parents' word as truth.
Don't do drugs, they can screw up your
life. Good friends will have you smiling at the end of the day. A
clean room instigates a clean person (we both didn't follow this last
rule until closer to the more 'now' time; it's mostly true).
But one of the most we held true to our
hearts was the importance to be with the ones we love, and never
settle for less.
I can freely say that this was what
changed with me most, was how I went about their advice.
At first, I lived in a Disney-esque
state. I lived in a small town, and dealt with small matters. But I
dreamt big, and, in the face of what I thought was considered
animosity, I stood for justice. We didn't have much to go against in
our tiny town, at least, not in my eyes. And I had the hardest time
understanding what seemed to be the simplest of matters, such as why
someone would take the time to be a bully.
I remember a distinct moment in which
we were all standing in line for lunch, and a small group of the said
“popular” crowd started picking on one of the boys for wearing a
Spice Girls shirt. During lunch time, there were only two lines, and
our lunch periods collided for 5th graders all to 9th
graders; we were in 8th grade. This meant that there were
well over 100 spectators, watching either in silence or snickers,
while three kids who were meant to be looked up to mercilessly
insulted their classmate for wearing a shirt with a girl-band on it.
I was with two of my friends, who ignored the scene and talked with
each other. I muttered darkly as the boy tried to ignore them,
failing miserably, his cheeks getting redder and hotter as the bunch
continued with their banter. He opened his mouth a couple of times to
say something, but then stuck his hands in his pockets and faced
forward instead. The anger in my heart couldn't take it any longer.
“What, is that bugging you?” I
asked, my voice barely louder than their rambles. They glanced over
at me, then shrugged it off and went back to it. “So, what, is it
because of his shirt?”
“It has five girls on it,” one of
the boys, Jeff, said.
“So? I like the Spice Girls.”
“You're a girl. If he likes them,
it's gay,” he sneered. This was during the time when we didn't
really know what gay meant, but the term was thrown about like we
did. All we truly knew was that it was considered derogatory, and it
was looked down upon.
“So, him wearing that. It's affecting
you in some way? To a point that you need to tease him, make fun of
him?” I jerked my thumb at their victim. My voice had gotten
louder, and some people had stopped talking to see what was
happening. “As far as I can tell, you're only making yourselves
look dumb.”
“Like anyone will listen to you.” It was true, I was considered an outcast at this point.
“Like anyone will listen to you.” It was true, I was considered an outcast at this point.
“At least I'm not the one everyone
wants to shut up. And that's what you should do.”
The boys tried to laugh it off, but the
crowd had turned slightly against them with my words. My friends
growled at how they were jerks, but I was still angry. I was angry at
how the three popular kids had such power that they could tear down a
boy, and cause a crowd to ignore their incessant idiocies. I was
angry that no one else in the crowd had been willing to say
something. And I was angry knowing that my words hadn't changed a
thing in their demeanor.
When I got to the counter to hand over
my lunch ticket, the adult manning the counter said, “I saw what
you said and did there. Good job.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, but, in that moment, I was angry at her, too. She was an adult, and she didn't do anything to stop it either. I had been the only one who took the cards that were dealt, whereas everyone else passed.
These are the things I learned at
school in my small town. As I explained the situations that didn't
make sense to me while growing up to my parents, they'd press their
lips together. These are the things that don't change, unfortunately,
they'd tell me, and maybe a bit to themselves.
I was lucky, and relieved, to leave
after my sophomore year of high school to my arts school. Most kids
would be devastated to move during this time, to have to leave their
friends and life. I, instead, was content with the knowledge of not
dealing with the people in that school again. And that's where I
learned more about the grey areas of life.
My most favorite people in the world
(still to this day) did drugs. The teachers and adults treated us as
equals, rather than children to scold and send on their merry way so
they wouldn't have to continue to be dealt with. And I found that not
all things depicted in movies weren't exaggerating about our world.
And it was where I had my first dashes
at the idea of love.
You see, at my other school, the
thought of being at all romantic with any of those, for the lack of
the better word, jerks, made me want to hurt
someone. But my new school? It was filled to the brim with people who
were different than anyone I've ever met. Artists, in every single
person, and they weren't afraid to show it. The school encouraged
everyone to be themselves. And it was amazing.
I won't divulge into any details, as
I'm sure my stories aren't as exciting as the next, but I had my few
dashes with boys that got me realizing that love wasn't as easy as
I'd anticipated. I'm unsure whether it was because of my small town,
but I didn't have too many crazy families to deal with. I didn't know
too many divorced parents, and the ones who happened to be were very
civil. And I didn't know any parents who fought, either. Not any
fights that weren't unhealthy, anyway.
I have a theory about these things.
People who I know who have had horrible things happen to them, they
have a choice in life—to either make it worse, or better. I have
been innumerably lucky to know the people who have chosen to make
their lives better. The ones who were too poor to have enough food to
go around, the ones who came from houses with parents who didn't care
if they were home or not, the ones who were abused
emotionally...physically. Tragic back stories that these unbroken
people decided to change to brilliant futures.
But I got lost in these stories. The
chipper girl who was ready for adventure and life, she faltered at
how possible it was for her to take on the world when it turned out
to be just as big as she'd hoped.
The chances I had at love, I wasn't
ready for. I knew because I learned from other people's mistakes. I
watched while people got insipidly drunk, would make out with a
random person, then later lament to me about the woes of how it was
all going wrong. I was told the stories by my guy friends who would
purposefully lead a girl on, use them, then toss them aside, laughing
the whole time. Some girls weren't much better. For college, it was
considered a time to experiment without any ramifications—no one
thought the consequences could touch them, the immortality of a young
adult.
Perhaps I took too much of a protective
stance for myself. All I knew was that I didn't want to be placed in
that same category, looking pathetic and weak all because I wanted to
feel as if I'd had some connection with someone. Because that's what
I saw in those girls after they finally sobered up, realized what
they did last night, and tried desperately to justify their actions
and make it all okay.
Their actions didn't mean anything to
me, but I knew what I wanted. I didn't want the one night stand
people would giggle over having. I didn't want to have the bragging
rights people smugly spoke of having due to the amount of people they
hooked up with the night previous. I didn't want to deal with the
drama my friends consistently had on whether a kiss was just a
kiss—or if it meant something more.
Because, somehow, deep inside, I knew
that it shouldn't be that difficult.
As the years went on, I became more
cynical of how love was, and less impressed with my generation's
attempt at finding it. I became who I wasn't. I mean, I became not
who I intended to be. I was hidden behind a mask because it seemed
too difficult for me to grab the world and see how I could change it
for the better anymore. I couldn't seem to fit in.
This past year, I had a more official
coming back to roots. I was lost in three separate phases, growing
up, but it took me until now to finally pin down what it means to be
myself, and what it means for me to love. Always a work in progress,
being me (I am so far from perfect, if it were a scarf, it'd be
labeled infinity long...if that makes any sense at all), but I feel
at home where I used to feel chaos earlier. I can love as I wish.
I'm not as open as I once was about it.
Before leaving my lovely (/sarcasm) school, I used to gush about the
type of love that transcended time. About connection, and how there
is one person for everyone.
But now I'm wiser. I still believe love
transcends time, for friendship and otherwise. And I believe that
everything is connected, that people connect and should listen to
their soul more on where they should be, who they should be with, in
life. But I also believe, now, that there are certain people for
certain times in your life. The opportunities we are given,
especially in love, are to guide us in life, to teach us how to
become even better than we are now. I've had connections with people
who have been my friend for years now, and I've made quite a few more
connections this past summer that are only going on a couple of
months. There has even been a connection with someone that only
lasted a week, and I would never give those moments back, as I was
able to place a piece of my puzzle together on how I can better love
someone. Love is easy, really. When in doubt, love. You don't need a
definition, you don't need to perfect the rubik's cube that is love
before attempting it, you just...do it.
So, maybe I'm not as open about it. I
still find myself shying away from situations, or balking from
sharing. Particular moments from this past year has gotten me more
comfortable with myself, that balance between my roots and how I want
my future. There were no mistakes in my eyes, just life. The romantic
core I have has survived, and I intend to feed it.
But not before I feed my other love,
adventure. Because that was another thing I once gave up.
Never again.
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