Blog 62: Death by Indifference

This deluge of thought all came from one simple decision: sitting down to watch a movie on Netflix. It wasn't just any movie that I chose; no, it was Braveheart, the [slightly historically inaccurate] story of one of my most revered heroes: William Wallace. Now, he definitely is romanticized a bit. He was a large man, but he was probably not 7 feet tall as the legends say. He was not merciful. He was brutal, ruthless, and sometimes even barbaric in the pursuit of his goal. He was a flawed man. But he was also the quintessential warrior-poet. He was ardently passionate, strong, full of conviction, courageous, and thoroughly educated. He was well-versed in astronomy and mathematics as well as being fluent in four languages. He loved a few people deeply and loved his country enough to be tortured for it. I not only want a man like William Wallace to stand beside me, but I want to be like him--in some ways. Don't worry, I'm not going to go around displaying heads of Englishmen on pikes outside of my house. But I don't think warrior-poet status is just for men. Never have thought that, never will. And if the men I know won't step up, then I sure as hell am not going to sit around and wait for their change of heart. I'm going to believe and fight passionately for truth and justice TODAY. That's one reason I have "Veritas" and "Aequitas" tattooed on my back. They are reminders to myself of the kind of person I was born to be.

I love Braveheart. But watching movies like that makes me sad. The race of warrior poets is all but dying out. Apathy in place of passion, convenience in place of courage. When I think of all the people I know, I see very few who would put a noble (but maybe 'hopeless') cause before their desires for money and pleasure. What a careless and inelegant society we have become, despite our so-called advances. During the movie, Tom kept asking me if I was all right. I looked so upset, he said. "I'm fine," I replied...but I realized that I wasn't. My heart was aching and my thoughts were racing. 

Maybe it's just because I'm in my twenties (everyone says your twenties are the pits), but I feel like a lot of my peers are--pardon the language--just a bunch of douchebags. They don't care about anything. They don't DO anything. They party and they have sex with anyone who comes along and they cry out for validation of SELF, rather than for recognition of any important or righteous thing. They stumble around, carelessly laughing, and think themselves to be living full lives. They say, "One day, I'll clean up. One day, I'll be responsible. One day, I'll be more conscientious of my actions." But it is a cop-out. What right do we have to put off the heartbreak of GIVING A SHIT when for centuries, better (and worse) people have grown up with their minds set on freedom and the refusal to surrender? You haven't earned any right to blow off the truth until you're mature enough to handle it, you selfish assholes. You haven't earned anything, and you're not automatically entitled to it, no matter how special your mothers say you are. So get that out of your head now.

I think the part that stirred me the most was at the battle of Falkirk, when all the nobles betrayed their people and simply turned away from the fight--or slaughter, actually. In the movie, Robert the Bruce is discovered to be fighting on the side of Edward Longshanks. Wallace falls to the ground and the look of hopelessness on his face is so raw and practically unbearable. It struck such a chord with me because passion for my beliefs and for what is right has always been a part of my life. And yet I can completely imagine believing in someone to do the right thing and watching them not only betray you, but betray faith and the truth. I've watched it happen time and again to people who spoke goodness with their mouths and did evil with their hands. I've felt that hopelessness, too. You feel like you're the only one who stands for something and it tears you apart.

I will never stop standing for absolutes. And I will never stop trying to encourage people I love to step out of apathy. But I really can't end this post on a cheery note. My heart is heavy. And carelessness is the order of the day.

Blog 61: Experience Lacking

I feel like a lot of older people I know, particularly women, write memoirs. It isn't simply self-indulgent, either. Their stories are rich, interesting, and at times dramatic and dark. Their lives have a cinematic quality that makes me wonder if I'm boring or just young. Maybe the world was just more interesting then, both in good and terrible ways. We've been robbed of a lot of romanticism in these modern times. It's not "He wrote me the most beautiful love letters," it's "OMG, he put something adorbs on my Facebook wall and then texted me 'good morning!'" It's not "he walked me home from school every day" or "he threw pebbles at my window," it's "Last Saturday, I ran into him at the club and then we hooked up."  Maybe it's that inelegant scene that takes away rather than gives excitement. Do we have intricate, compelling stories to tell? No. Where is that semi-magical quality? I don't even remember so much of my adolescence because it was wasted on pointless activities like Myspace. Where are my close scrapes and adventures? It's probably about time to start making those memories. I don't want to wake up twenty years from now and realize that there's nothing worth writing about in my life.

Of late, I've had a few things worth mentioning--love and false friends, hard lessons learned, and all that jazz. It's a start. But I don't want your typical picket-fence American dream. Neither do I want the partying lifestyle chosen by so many of my peers. I want a depth of experience as well as adventure. Worsening this thought, ridiculous as it is, is the fact that I saw The Hobbit the other day. There's a scene where Gandalf says something to the effect of 'When did your mother's dishes and a few doilies become more important than adventure?' Bilbo just sits around smoking his pipe at first, like all of the other respectable hobbits his age. But then, he snaps out of it and plays a part in a world-changing journey. Now that's what I want--to get out of my hobbit hole. I don't want to be showered with troll snot or find any evil jewelry, persay, but I do want something epic to come along.

I really have been thinking on this for several days, and today, after reading 6 Harsh Truths That Will Make You a Better Person (from one of my favorite humor sites) I decided I should stop planning things I'll never write. Not that I'm resolving to blog more often, as I often have. Life happens. But creativity should happen, too. Anywho, in particular pertaining to my writing, I have found that my lack of experience is completely upsetting. I want to write the kind of thing that sweeps you up and takes you to another world. But they say write about what you know. In the grand scheme of things, I don't know much. I've seen next to nothing. Some of that is owing to being a poor kid. But you know, a lot of it is my own fault.

So many of us are unsatisfied with our lives. Well, we spend our hours in front of the TV or in shady places and wonder why nothing beautiful happens to us. You want to be a hero? Get off your ass, then. You want miraculous love? Offer much more of yourself than the bare minimum. You want to be remembered? Get your face out of the clouds of smoke and bottles of liquor and show kindness to a few people.

Always with the inspirational speeches, us writers. Maybe we'll take our own advice one day.

Blog 60: Under Their Thumb

The older I get (how's that for a cliched beginning?), the more I realize how rare it is for people to practice independent decision-making--to blaze a trail, if you will. I can count on one hand the people I know who not only think for themselves but also make choices with any semblance of wisdom. To clarify, you may go against everyone's advice and date a gangsta with a tattoo of Gumby killing Pokey on his face--which is undoubtedly your independent choice--but as it is an idiotic path, you lose rather than gain points in the game of life. That was a rabbit trail. I just felt the need to qualify my admiration of personal thought with the fact that it isn't all good.

What I cannot understand is how people can continually place themselves under the thumb of other humans--if not actively and lazily, then fearfully and passively. Passive giver-uppers tend to ask: "What should I do?" remarkably often. These are the people who refuse the effort of analyzing any issue and instead opt to follow some authority figure (real or imagined) to an unhealthy extent. They often embrace controlling relationships and may even tell convince themselves not to try, using the reasoning that they are incapable of doing anything else but conceding to the will of others, grass bending to whatever wind is strongest. I suppose they're content in a vague way--like sheep or cattle--but it is unlikely they will ever be fulfilled or reach their full, world-shaking, passionate potential as their ideal destiny might have been. Active giver-uppers (such eloquent terms I use)--well, they may be even worse by my estimation. They often go against their own thoughts in pursuit of someone else's ideal, usually due to fear or pressure. They know what they want or more importantly, what is right, but they follow another course of action instead. Their lack of independent decision-making arises not from ignorance or laziness, but from fear or pride. Whether the perceived judgment comes from parents, friends, significant others, political partisans, or church families, they are prone to the avoidance of expressing their true ideas for worry over what others will think or do in light of those choices. Imagine a closet abolitionist in the pre-Civil War era. There were plenty, to be sure. Did they really accomplish much? On the whole, no. Beliefs don't change the world. Living out those beliefs despite all dissenting views does.

Don't misunderstand me. The Bible says a lot about a "multitude of counselors" being a good thing. If everything you do is the opposite of all the advice you get, you're quite likely a moron. Sorry to break it to you. However, if you have weighed an issue against the Word, a moral system, the counsel of worthy people, and your OWN opinions and convictions, you may very well be qualified to make an informed choice. Other people--well, they can be wrong. Gasp! I know, right? Sometimes even the people who want to help us tend to weigh things according to THEIR own needs rather than ours and can lead us astray. So why would you place yourself in their control? Why would you give them such debilitating influence over every move you make? Stop the bureaucracy in your day-to-day life, for goodness sake! We are all human, capable of the same understanding and wisdom if we seek it.

I fully believe that part of growing up is learning to stand by your beliefs (of course having ample reasoning behind your claims), no matter who may dispute them. I know people who won't even be friends with people who need them just because their parents disapprove. Of course, I'm talking about grown adults, which is why it's so ridiculous to me. Teenagers, you're dumb. Listen to your parents. Grownups, be grownups. Period.

I'm blessed. My parents and I have many differing opinions. Some squabbling occasionally occurs, but ultimately they trust me. They know I weigh and analyze. They know I love God and am passionate about doing right and noble things. They may disagree with me sometimes, but they don't push and shove their opinions on me. They don't condemn me. They offer counsel that I usually heed (at least eventually) and place high value on, but once in a while I divvy from what they consider the best course. When that happens, they express concern without berating my choices or threatening to disown me. Sometimes, I prove them wrong. Sometimes, I show myself in error and have to eat that oh-so-delicious humble pie. Either way, I get the satisfaction of knowing I did what I thought was best and that I learned from the ramifications. Just because you don't follow someone else's plan for your life doesn't mean you have to tell them to "Eff off!" It doesn't mean you have to sneak around passive-aggressively or dive into a life darkened by elusiveness and lies. Too many people won't stand behind their decisions. But love and courage each require honesty. And it is that frankness and independence, tempered with humility, that will cause you to grow closer to people and show yourself worthy to be admired. Just be a big kid, damnit! And get out from under those thumbs.

Blog 59: The Big Scary

*Written Thursday September 20, 2012*

It's Thursday night and I'm home alone. The roommate is away at her parents' house for the evening, the boyfriend works a night shift, and I've got an early morning ahead--so I'm doing the only reasonable thing. That is to say, I'm walking around naked, drinking orange juice straight out of the jug, and watching PS I Love You while contemplating life, love, and sadness; and how I wish I had a cool accent. Or a motorcylce. Or a castle in Ireland. Alas, instead, I lay "blogging" in this spiral notebook because we have no internet in our tiny duplex.

Lately I've been thinking about how nerve-racking and terrifying it can be to love and invest in people. As the Bible says, "perfect love casts out fear." But we aren't capable of perfect love, are we? I always tell people that it's worth the risk. Even if it goes down in flames, it's worth the awesome things you feel and learn when you lay yourself bare. I always talk a big game. And it's true that I outwardly bounce back pretty quickly. I've got the "Sassy Single Lady" mentality down. I give good love life advice. More couple-focused friends of mine stand in awe of my skills. However, doing these things--throwing my whole heart into friendships and relationships--it may look like a set of fearless endeavors to an outsider...but anyone who really knows me can testify to the fact that I am as big of a mushy scaredy-cat nutcase as anyone else. I don't let it keep me from what I want, but I spazz nonetheless.

On one of the most mortifying nights of my life, for example, I had been hit with a double whammy. Firstly, my friend-soulmate, the illustrious Whitteny Stinnett, had abruptly moved away. Then, after two years of being single and subconsciously surrounding myself with douchebags who were only interested in dragging me through their bipolar whims, I had developed legitimate feelings for someone. To top it off, that someone I still was trying to pretend to feel casually about actually wanted to be with me as well. Typical Haylee can be dramatic, admittedly. That night, though--well, I was like the most insanely exaggerated caricature of myself. I went dancing, as was my weekend custom at that time, and overindulged on girly mixed drinks (embarrassing enough in and of itself). After a lot of pinballing around, getting sick, and dropping my phone on sidewalks, I called Whitteny. "Why did you leave? No one else gets me. Blah blah, sob sob, incoherent thought." (obviously verbatim) Sharon, who I had only just begun to become close friends with, saw firsthand what a pitiful weirdie I can be. Hey, just because you can take a lot doesn't mean it doesn't do its damage. Nerd example: Boromir took like 12 arrows whilst fighting the Uruk-Hai to protect the little hobbitses. He was seemingly going strong--until, you know, all the bleeding and pierced organs killed him. Just saying.

Anywho, back to me being a nutcase. Aren't most people nutcases when love is a factor? What if our friends abandon us? What if our significant others find us wanting and pick someone else? What if any of them die or let us down or decide to hate us? Not that I ever freak out about such things. Nope, not me. And never do I worry enough to make a fool out of myself or get disproportionately upset about silly things. No sir. the thing is, you can't control what people do; you CAN control what YOU do. If someone breaks my heart, I have to decide that I will remain confident and strive to be my best. It's knowing that you were passionate and that you loved despite your fear that gets you through. I'm rambling now, like I do. The point is, well, even though I work hard and take care of the people I love and refuse to quit, I am still just a squishy puddle of sentiment who can be crushed with the simple act of someone forgetting my birthday or by never being surprised by a kind word or gesture. That's not the point of this, actually, even though I said "the point is."

I don't know what I'm saying really except that though love brings perhaps the greatest happinesses, it also brings the big scary. Tiny things suddenly seem significant. You're self-assured and self-doubting all at once. To sum it up, I'm a stupid girl and writing all this nonsense is my way of puzzling out my own ridiculous nature. I need a hug. And maybe some hot fudge cake. And to pretend for a few minutes that being self-reliant and able to be alone for a night without being sad and fussy isn't important. But I will have none of those things. Just a big dose of reality and the memory of the spider that I didn't kill on my ceiling earlier today and oh God--I'm going to die of its poisonous venom...maybe I should put clothes on for when the paramedics come...

Blog 58: Courage and Kickass Cookery

Today I decided that nothing sounded better to me than some potato soup. I went in search of recipes here, there, and everywhere. And by that, I mean I looked on Pinterest and then Googled it. Looking for healthier options, I chose the Baked Potato Soup from Skinnytaste. It is definitely a great recipe if you're looking to be all healthy and shee-it. But it is difficult for me to follow any recipe to the letter. It makes me feel...claustrophobic. That' s sort of how I live my life. I once told someone that I am not a perfectionist--I'm an approximitist. I'm sooo copywriting that word. If something is mostly right, I'm happy. I think flaws or weirdness add character--to me as a person, to my delectable quasi-gourmet dishes, or what-have-you. Once I had livened up the recipe (effectively transforming it into something much less healthy, mind you), I fed it to two of my favorite guinea pigs: my boyfriend Tom and his brother, who I call Mr. Benjamin. I think they kind of loved it. (My recipe is posted at the bottom of this blog, by the way) After telling them a couple of the odd things I added toward the end of putting the soup together, Tom, seemingly impressed (and probably legitimately so), said: "I really never would have thought of adding those things to anything." Mr. Benjamin, with somewhat of an indifferent air, added: "I'm not that brave." And it was in this moment that words tumbled out of my mouth, as they often do, that later made me stop and ponder. Without pausing to think, I replied: "Bravery is what makes a good cook." I stand by that. Then I began to consider the thought that courage and a willingness to take risks are necessary for true success in all areas of life.

When I was younger, I was all too concerned with never screwing up. It was kind of a burden, actually.  People had me on a pedestal and I made myself sore teetering and tottering to stay up there. I was so easily embarrassed by the weirdest things. I wanted to be flawless. I wanted to be cool. I remember this one occasion--I think I was somewhere between 10 and 12. My dad took my younger sister Emily and I to the Museum of Appalachia. There was a combination comedy act/bluegrass band playing and they were picking members of the audience at random for a generational "hillbilly-hip hop dance contest" or something silly like that. They picked me and I was so mortified. I don't remember who else was in it besides this goofy middle-aged lady. She had long, bleach blonde hair and was wearing a fanny pack. I recall everyone else participating. The goofy lady won some sort of gift certificate. What did I do? Well, I was too cool for that weird stuff. I stood off to the side and crossed my arms, shaking my head and turning red when my turn came around. I remember my dad cheering me on, encouraging me to just have fun. But I cared too much what other people thought or if I'd look like a dork. It sounds silly, maybe, but even with all the stupid or horrible mistakes I've made, not dancing that day is one of my biggest regrets. I regretted being a snotty brat, I regretted disappointing my dad and not making him laugh, and I regretted not winning us gift certificates. We weren't exactly rolling in money. When I got a little older and thought back on that day, it made me ache a little. I suppose that sounds dramatic. It wasn't so much the incident in itself as much as the precedent it set for my teenage years of being petulant and pathetic. I missed out on so many awesome opportunities simply because I wasn't brave enough to take advantage of them.

I can't say I'm the most courageous person right now. There are times when I'm quiet when I should speak and there are times when I shy away from the spotlight when I could truly shine. However, I can gladly say that I love a good risk. Whether it's fearlessly concocting a delicious dinner or just following my heart and dating or befriending the people I want despite popular opinion or even telling some guy off for leering at someone on girl's night out, I like to blaze trails. I want to really harness that bravery and expand it. Blah blah, I sound so after school special. I'm just saying--I'm tired of people being big fat chickens! Guys silently pine after the girls they want, no moves made, and then complain or cry when those ladies end up in some other guy's arms. Girls let guys treat them like worthless sluts because they're too afraid of not being liked to stand up for themselves. People make bland food because they don't have the cajones to throw in an ingredient that might completely ruin things. The list goes on, ya know? Just...everyone stop being so scared. It certainly doesn't enrich your life at all. And it's not something you want to infect the people around you with. That's how mindless mobs happen. That's how pointless wars happen. That's probably how things like UGG boots and the popularity of Twilight originated. And do you want that kind of evil in your life? I don't. I just don't. Cowboy up, people. Cowboy up.

Haylee's Kickass Potato Soup

• 2 russet potatoes, washed and dried
• 4 red potatoes (best if previously sliced and broiled with olive oil and Montreal Steak Seasoning)
• 1 small head of cauliflower, stem removed cut into florets
• 1 8-ounce can fat free chicken broth
• 2 cups 1% reduced-fat milk
• salt and freshly cracked black pepper, paprika
• 1 8-ounce container reduced fat sour cream
• 1 large block extra sharp cheddar cheese, grated
• 6 tbsp chopped chives, divided
• 2 T Hidden Valley Ranch Dressing
• 1 T Dijon Mustard
• 10 slices bacon, cooked and crumbled

Pierce potatoes with a fork; microwave on high for 5 minutes turn over and microwave another 3 - 5 minutes, until tender. 

Meanwhile, boil cauliflower with water in a large covered pot until tender. Drain and place in a large bowl. Add chicken broth, milk, and sour cream. Puree in blender. (You'll probably have to do it in two halves so as not to overfill the blender. That's why I recommend putting it in a bowl first). Return pot, with the pureed mixture, to the stove. Adding the cheese and potatoes, bring to a boil. Stir in half of the chives. At this point, add the seasonings, Dijon Mustard, and Ranch. I only used the salt, black pepper, and paprika, but remember--take risks. Use different herbs/spices if you like. I bet cayenne pepper would be nice. I let it simmer, stirring occasionally, for about 10 more minutes to really let the flavors meld together.

It should kind of look like this:

Remove from heat. Ladle soup into each bowl. Top each serving with remaining chives and bacon.

Yeah...it's pretty glorious. Enjoy and ignore the fact that it's now only a more nutritious fat kid soup.

Blog 57: The Importance of Being Earnest

earnest: characterized by or proceeding from an intense and serious state of mind; grave, important.

Long time no blog. I've moved into girl world and it's populated with couple activities, painted fingernails, and a lot more thought about sophisticated couture. I disgust myself a little...yet also love it. So there's my necessary excuse for being absent. Now, to the meat of the blog...

The older I get, the more I realize how important it is to possess the ability to be serious and introspective. I feel like my late teenage years up until just a few months ago were populated with constant ups and downs of trying to ignore my problems. I think a lot of us do that--us meaning people in our twenties. We pull a Scarlett O' Hara and say "I'll think about that tomorrow." When does tomorrow come, though? Yes, we're young. Yes, we've got plenty of time to get our shit together. But how long do you want to wait? I'd like my life to have substance now.

I'm all for having a good time. Anybody who knows me could tell you that much. What I don't want, however, is for my whole life to be an endless pursuit of noise and hype. I can't imagine spending another few months waking up every morning thinking of how empty and pointless my activities have been. If your whole life is a party, what are you accomplishing? Sometimes, you just have to get serious. You have to freaking think about things, even if it isn't fun. Like,  hmm...if I make out with this guy he might think I like him. If I don't like him, I probably shouldn't lead him on. Or hmm...if I'm a whiny jerkface at work, it might be a little difficult for me to move up. Or hey, if I'm sleeping around, I could not only get knocked up or diseased, but I could end up with some serious emotional issues and a horrible reputation. I know all the "cool" kids can weasel their way out of considering those things with a simple exclamation of "YOLO!" but that's because they're shallow dumbasses. So there's that. On that subject, you do only live once. So your idea of living life to the fullest probably shouldn't be slobbering all over strangers and getting so drunk all the time that you barely remember what you did the day before. 

Furthermore, if I hear one more guy say "nice guys finish last," I'm going to start cracking some skulls. Every time I've heard that phrase lately it's been some guy thinking with the wrong part of his anatomy. Just some advice I've been doling out: if you meet a girl in a club or some other late-night hangout who is constantly surrounded by other guys and is known by all the bartenders/bouncers...she is not going to be the love of your life. She may be pretty, she may be fun, and you can probably get in her pants--but don't go all soap opera dramatic or be surprised when she belatedly tells you she "isn't looking for anything serious." Don't get attached. She's not necessarily a bad person, but she's clearly working out her issues on the dance floor. And it could take years before she's healed up enough to think unselfishly and really know how to love anyone. When she gets there, you likely won't see her partying 24/7. Moral of the story? Don't think you're going to get a happy and full relationship out of a shady and empty environment. I like dancing and drinking on occasion, but clubs certainly aren't a breeding ground for personal fulfillment or achievement. So stop being a dumbass and whining about all the bad relationships you've had lately. You're inviting that dysfunction into your life, broseph. In many cases you're going out and trying to romance the emotional equivalent of a browbeaten prostitute. Not pretty. Not pretty at all.

Basically the point is, you can let the good times roll--but you should also know how to get serious and get work done. Maybe I would rather be living a life of leisure, but you know, right now what I have is a job at Starbucks. And I find at the end of the day I can feel fulfilled if I work hard and try and do things for other people more than I do them for myself. That said, I've been doing so much for other people lately that I'm 99% I won't have the money to do anything for my birthday. And I don't really have high hopes about pleasant surprises. haha. So you have to find a balance. Some things for you, some things for others. Some things for work, some things for play. Some things for idleness, some things for productivity. Being excellent requires balance. I'm not there yet. Maybe someday.

Blog 56: Prissy Skankmuffins

The truth is, I really wanted to call this blog "The Decline of Heroines in Modern Literature," but I really didn't think anyone would read it. haha. In retrospect, I probably went too far in the other direction. Oh well. Admittedly, I've read some pretty stupid books in the last  few years. Stupid, but entertaining. In all this thoughtless and cheap reading, I'm noticing a pattern that I find completely disturbing. More and more often, it seems that the "heroines" in books these days are all the same, especially if there's a romantic storyline involved. They're pale brunettes who are shy, awkward, and have serious self esteem issues. They're quiet, afraid, and fragile. They build their worlds around their love interests to the point that they completely fall apart and become useless when the romance is on the rocks. They feel unworthy. But somehow, all this despair and insecurity pierces the heart of the Adonis and they get their fairytale.

When I was younger, I completely bought into all that shit. I really thought that if I walked around being broody and pathetic, someone would want to come and save me. But you know, no one digs being around a downer all the time. It's annoying. Also, I didn't have the constitution for that sort of meekness. haha. Seriously, though. What IS that? Of course, there's nothing wrong with being a pale brunette. I tend to be fairly pale and have even dyed my hair brown. The problem is encouraging a generation of girls to be spineless and emo. It's as if they believe that the only way to demonstrate gentility and kindness is to be pitiful. This mindset is a poisonous one.

I fully believe that douchebags keep on being douchebags because of girls who are "too nice" to set them straight. Well, it's gross. If some disgusting man is perving out on you, why would you just "laugh it off?" You don't have to take disrespect. You don't have to be a bitch to stand up for yourself, either. Too many people think that being nice means being a doormat. It doesn't make you cute to let people walk all over you and it doesn't make you a good person to let some creep say whatever he wants. Not to go all girl power here, but women need to learn to save themselves from time to time. Keep dreaming some prince charming will come knock that creep out. Maybe he will. But until then, you've got to learn to take care of yourself.

I said all that to say that literature is really in the crapper these days. haha. Where are the Elizabeth Bennetts and the Scarlett O'Haras? Sure, they had their flaws. But they were strong and lively and different from their meek or vapid counterparts. Maybe that's the problem. There are a lot of bitchy, macho women out there these days. Maybe the authors are just overcompensating in presenting an opposite option. Who knows. Either way, it makes me sad.

I really did set out to make this entry funny...unfortunately, today some nasty weirdo called someone I love with an indecent proposal at her job. She just hung up. It isn't her fault that she was shocked. But had it been me, I would've had some choice words for that asshole. I know. I've been letting my sailor tongue slip a lot in this piece. Can I just say that this whole pansy woman phenomenon is something I find completely infuriating? I really have turned over a new leaf in trying to show kindness to people I come in contact with. People around me have noted a difference. I've tried to be more giving, compassionate, and considerate. I finally feel like I'm getting somewhere in these efforts. However, that does NOT mean that I should sit back and allow injustices to fly all the time. And neither should you. I think one of my missions in life is to get people around me to have the balls to be honest and stern. Backbones, people. Backbones!

Blog 55: The Airport Test

I'm just going to dive right into this one. I think an all-encompassing challenge in adult life is finding a healthy balance of give and take. If you err too much on one side, you'll suffer. I've see-sawed between both ends of the spectrum. My family could tell you I can be quite selfish. Lately, I find myself more on the giving side. And you know, it becomes exhausting. It becomes discouraging. There will always be people in our lives who need that giving part of us. They're takers and they may always be. They still need to be shown through sacrifice what love really means, however. The problem is, just as you have to find an equilibrium in your selfish and selfless habits, you have to balance out the number of givers and takers in your life. If you surround yourself only with people who need you and not friends who replenish you, there will be nothing left to give at some point.

You also have to learn that some people will change when you treat them right. They'll "see the light," as it were. I find myself awed by how so few people know what it's like to be really loved and cared for. We're living in a world full of self-centered bastards, to put it bluntly. So many people I know are amazed at the smallest gestures of kindness. I mean, trust me, I'm no Mother Teresa. But I like to do things for people when I can--especially the people I hold dear. I can't tell you how many of my friends have been "in love" with someone who wouldn't even do them the simplest favors if begged. Why does this happen? Some people have been hurt, surely. But if you harden yourself to the point that another human being's needs don't even matter to you, you've become just as bad as the person who hurt you. You're just making excuses and lending to a sick cycle. You're weak. It's easy to fight and cuss and put people in their place. It's much harder to give of yourself even when you're getting nothing back. That quality is what makes you strong. Okay, rambling.

Anywho, how can you tell which people are worth working with and which are only going to vampirically suck you dry of all love and generosity? Well, this one is tried and true, but also hard to do unless you're a jetsetter. I've only flown twice in my life. I've known three different people who found out that their significant others were not "the one" this way. It's the airport test. If your boyfriend/girlfriend/regular friend will not take you to or pick you up from the airport; or if they leave you high and dry when they're supposed to be doing so, they're not worth your time. Each one of those people who was minorly betrayed in an airport found the relationships crumbling within three months.

In regular life, I say give people time. If, after a few months of you striving to be the best friend you can be, they remain the same, they're takers. And you shouldn't just shun anyone, but you should realize that they're not the sort of people who deserve all of your time and energy and you should create some distance. Love changes people for the better. If someone doesn't change for the better, they may not be the right subject.

I'm in the process of finding out if some people in my life will prove to be takers. I hope not. I'd do anything for them. In the end, maybe I'll have to schedule a flight to find out for sure. haha.I mean, what the hell. I could use a vacation.

Blog 54: 8 Seemingly Innocuous Things That Are Arguably Quite Evil

There are so many injustices in this world. There are so many terrible things happening day by day. Some go by unnoticed. And what travesties, what brutalities are we missing day by day? Schmucks are walking around just committing atrocities. Here are a few that really burn my bacon, to use one of my favorite idiomatic phrases...

8: Cooking bacon in the microwave. Ironically, this terrible act does not, in fact, burn your bacon. It doesn't even cook it very well. Microwave cooking is overrated, you know? People have begun to take way too many shortcuts in life. It's all about speed and quantity rather than quality. Personally, I'm a fan of taking my time and making things delicious. Or beautiful. Or just generally perfect. But for the love of all that is holy, where do we draw the line?? You're telling me it's "just as good" as cooking it in a grease-filled pan? No way. I like my grease extra greasy, thank you. And my fat extra fatty, for that matter. So get your perverted excuse for breakfast food out of my face!

Whew, got a little upset there.

7: Smart phones. Now, here's my thing about them. Everyone I know who has one becomes addicted to the most pointless and ridiculously mind-numbing games. I don't care if you can throw a pig at a bird or whatever the hell that stupid game is about. Your face has been in your phone for several hours. You've completely lost all sense of productivity. And no, I do not find it exciting that you leveled up in Words with Friends. Can you level up? Probably not. I don't understand technology. Except for the fact that it's kind of evil and is slowly eating up all of your time and brain space. You'll be a drooling non-person soon if you aren't already. And all that extra money spent on a data plan? Ridiculous. Bunch of chumps.

6: Kettle brand chips. Not kettle-cooked chips, although that's what they are. It's the specific brand. They're a healthier choice as far as potato chips go. The problem is, they've got a very sinister plot behind them. They're addictive and delicious, like most chips are. But you get them every time thinking "I won't eat the whole bag this time. And look how healthy I'm being." But you're not! You're not being healthy, because you will eat the whole bag, and then you'll just be a fat, sad loser covered in flavored dust. Scrumptious, cheddar-flavored dust. Or sweet onion-flavored. Or buffalo-flavored...Yeah, I've been down that road. Don't go there, friend. I was in a dark place. Dark. And delectable.

5: Vampires. Hear me out. You may say silly things like "vampires aren't real" or "even if they were, people would know they were evil." I would reply that you are fatally incorrect. On both notions. I'm convinced vampires are real. I'm pretty sure Whitteny is a vampire, in fact. (For those of you just tuning in, she is my best friend and former roommate). Also, I don't think people would have a healthy trepidation. They'd probably just all die. Why? Because Stephanie Meyer turned vampires into sparkly, pansy-ass, lovesick artists. And everyone would want to fall in love with a vampire. Why not? They will never die and leave you, they're strong, and they've been around long enough to make their fortunes and get super smart. What's not to like? I'm telling you, don't be fooled. They're evil suckas. Literally. You won't get pregnant (unless Stephanie Meyer was right all around), but you WILL die.

4: The game/app called "Plague, Inc." For those of you who don't know, the object of this game is to eradicate all human life on earth by infecting everyone with a sickness. You can make it bacterial, viral, or even biological warfare in the higher levels. You use earned DNA points to purchase ways to make the sickness more transmittable, deadly, and resistant to the cure. All the while, all the countries in the world are trying to find a cure and you're popping bubbles that halt their research. It's pretty sadistic. The smartest way to play is to keep the sickness absent of symptoms until everyone is infected and virtually unafraid of consequences (and therefore not searching hard for the cure), then use your points to set off the deadliest blood disorders and make it more resistant. Twisted to the max. And I'm convinced that some evil genius somewhere is recording all of your ideas. Once a certain arbitrary amount of people beat the game, he will set his plan into motion to kill us all. So, congratulations. You're an accomplice in ushering in the apocalypse.

3: Dubstep. Yeah, I just added this one because it is only good for making shitty remixes of perfectly good music and ruining awesome songs. It also has been known to make eardrums bleed. If you like it, I hate you. Well. Not really. But I do question your judgment.

2: Good looks. As someone who is just obviously super hot, I can tell you it's a blessing and a curse. Just kidding. Really good-looking people really can be at a disadvantage in life. Their attractiveness is...dare I say...slightly evil. Of course, you can turn it around with a little bit of determination and elbow-grease, but if you don't work at it, you're ruined. Why, you ask? Well. If you're hot, you better have a good lie-detecting ability. A lot of people will be nicer to you than they would be to say, someone of average attractiveness. Someone like me. But they're probably not nice. They probably just want some booty. Listen to your ugly friends. They know. Next, it can keep people from really developing substance. If you can get by on your looks, why work on becoming more knowledgeable/intelligent? Why worry about being funny or interesting or kind? Not all people take on this apathy about self-improvement. But trust me, I've seen it happen. If that's you...you're gross. But you're probably a very good flirt who gets a lot of free shit. Yay for you.

1: Science. You atheist bastards. hahaha, just kidding. That was purely for reaction's sake. Isn't that how all Christians are supposed to think? That brings me to the real point: Prejudice. This one is more serious, yes. Prejudice about people with different ideas is dangerous and stupid. I know what I believe. I know what's true. But that doesn't mean I can't learn anything from people with other beliefs. For example, not everyone who cooks bacon in the microwave is a bad person. They were probably just misguided and confused at an early age, probably due to their upbringing. Or they just don't have tastebuds. Bless their hearts. Don't hate them because they're unfortunate. Everyone has something to offer, even if it's just ideas on what NOT to do. Prejudice prevents you from discovery. So does pride. Pride and prejudice. If Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett could overcome it, so can you.

Blog 53: Eat the Cookie, Buy the Shoes

Every time I start a blog entry lately, it seems necessary to include an apology. There are huge gaps between entries. In my defense, my laptop was stolen a while ago. It is unfortunate, indeed. Yes, I find myself constantly reminded of how I'm a poor kid these days. But I've always been one. Consequently, I am a cheapskate about most things. I've had a broken dryer and no air conditioning in my car for a long time. Until recently, I literally only owned one bath towel (I splurged and bought two--haha). I scavenge my kitchen cabinets to the barest point before grocery shopping (which makes for some "creative" cooking, let me tell you). I don't bother with even basic cable TV. There are precious few things I care to spend money on, few luxuries I deem necessary to daily life. That said, every once in awhile, I let myself splurge. In my case, splurging usually just means buying clothes or household items at bargain shopping centers--things that I sort of need in the first place. After a bit of an icky day, I had one such mini shopping spree.

I don't watch a lot of famous preachers, pastors, or ministers. My parents always have, but I am not usually intrigued by their words. One person that I do respect and enjoy listening to, however, is Joyce Meyer. She's a very sassy lady. She's firm, funny, and frank--just the qualities I wish Christian women would emulate. Unfortunately, that is rarely the case. But I digress. Anywho, the point is, she preached a series of messages for women that really changed my way of thinking. It discussed the importance of rest and self-care. A lot of women tend to be very other-people-focused to a fault. They devote all their time and energy to taking care of people and things, and reserve very little effort for self-care. The title of one of Joyce's messages was "Eat the Cookie, Buy the Shoes."

Sometimes you need to slow down and let yourself enjoy something: a pricey cup of coffee, a caloric treat, a pair of not-so-sensible shoes. This philosophy, of course, demands moderation. If you pamper yourself constantly, you're a spoiled, epicurean princess. And you're gross! haha. But every once in a while--maybe biweekly or once a month, you have to make a little room for yourself, make allowances. Thursday was that sort of day for me. I headed to the Dollar Tree first. What's not to love about a store where literally everything costs one dollar?

The key, for me at least, is to buy things for utility as well as amusement--things that bring you residual joy. I like to buy things that will not only please me, but please the people around me. Fake plants, a cheese grater, hair clips, and plastic organizing bins were my items of choice. With these few inconsequential things, I spruced up my kitchen, organized our cleaning/pet supplies, and worked on a new hairstyle. Oh, I also indulged in one of my guilty pleasures: a bottle of Diet Coke, to cure the muggy afternoon doldrums. After that, I moved on to Ross--one of my favorite stores for content and price. It's a cheapskate's paradise. A glove for removing pet hair from furniture, sunny yellow oven mitts, bathroom decorations (cushy bath mat, soap dish&dispenser, colored glass lantern, a candle).

I had felt stuck, lost in endless brainstorming on how to grow up, get a better job, stop being broke, and make a difference in people's lives with my work. The weird thing is, just buying those few very cheap things (I spent less than $40 that day) really helped those feelings of frustration. I came home and set up the kitchen so it's more aesthetically pleasing and we can actually use our table--both bonuses for when company comes. I finally decorated our bathroom, which had been bare for months and was reminiscent of the depressing, college guy apathy decorating style. haha. I cleaned and organized and got to think creatively. I solved small problems such as how to arrange the furniture in a way that functioned. It was like I was taking tiny steps toward becoming the sophisticated adult I hope to be one day. It was fun and productive.

A funny thing happened while I was on my way home from buying these things. I briefly lamented the state of my finances. In the middle of these thoughts, a song began to play. It was poignantly funny. You see, my boyfriend is a music encyclopedia. And most of the rock n' roll greats are his heroes. I've always listened to every type of music and enjoyed classic rock. But I find myself listening to it more and more. The song that came on when I switched on the radio volume was "You Can't Always Get What You Want" by the Stones. I hadn't really paid attention to the lyrics before. "You can't always get what you want, you can't always get what you want, you can't always get what you want--but if you try sometimes, you just might find YOU GET WHAT YOU NEED." I laughed so hard. I am a firm believer that God can speak through any medium--even that sinner's music (for you old conservative farts out there). At that moment, He was saying: "You have all the things you truly need. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and enjoy your blessings." And I did.

Blog 53: Don't Think Twice, It's All Right

So, this entry was inspired by my favorite Bob Dylan song, for those of you who didn't recognize the title. I'll start by giving you the lyrics:

"It ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe
It don't matter, anyhow
And it ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe
If you don't know by now
When your rooster crows at the breaks of dawn
Look out your window and I'll be gone
You're the reason I'm traveling on
Don't think twice, it's all right.

It ain't no use in turning on your light, babe
That light I never knowed
And it ain't no use in turning on your light, babe
I'm on the dark side of the road
But I wish there was somethin' you would do or say
To try and make me change my mind and stay
We never did too much talking anyway
So don't think twice, it's all right.

It ain't no use in calling out my name, gal
Like you never done before
It ain't no use in calling out my name, gal
I can't hear you any more
I'm a-thinking and a-wond'rin' walking down the road
I once loved a woman, a child I'm told
I give her my heart but she wanted my soul
Don't think twice, it's all right.

So long honey, babe
Where I'm bound, I can't tell
Goodbye's too good a word, babe
So I'll just say fare thee well
I ain't saying you treated me unkind
You could have done better but I don't mind
You just kinda wasted my precious time
But don't think twice, it's all right."

Here's what I've really been thinking about: how is it that some people feel no remorse? They really don't think twice. It used to make me angry that people could be that way. I guess it still does. More than anything, though, I feel sorry for them. Something about our society gives us this false sense of entitlement. We expect everyone to pull all the stops, give their all for us. But what are we giving to merit it? I know some people who just think everyone should fall at their feet and do whatever they ask. In turn, the most they'll give is a half-hearted compliment or two. "Give me all your love and attention. Maybe I'll give you a cheap thrill for your trouble." The thing is, these people, however infuriating, are sort of tragic. They will only be endured for so long and they won't be able to keep true love or friendship, even if they're lucky enough to find it.

I know I can get preachy. Sometimes it's because I see shadows of these icky things in myself. I just--I don't know. There are a couple of people that I am inexplicably fond of, who demand everything and offer nothing, and I'm afraid to see where their lives will lead. Maybe they're afraid to give of themselves. I suppose it's a bit scary to let someone really see you. I've always thought that any good thing is worth the pain it might bring (as even good things often do, owing to the fact that people are the WORST). In the end, I would much rather have lived and loved and been a passionate friend than to have been the sort of person who has to hide behind innuendo and jokes at all times. I would rather really know the people in my acquaintance than just know the shallow things.

I'm rambling now. Holidays of any sort tend to make me pensive and sentimental. Anywho, just sending this off into the void to get it out of my own head.

Blog 52: An Excerpt

I'm about to do something very scary--provide an excerpt for a story I've been working on for a couple of years now. I'm worried it sounds sort of young, because of the immaturity of my writing (and person, overall) at the time I began. And yet I want some critical review. I want to know if it can catch the interest of the public. I've been working on a lot of other projects, but I feel like I should return to this one, like it has potential. It's the story I based my screenplay on when I took Screenwriting as a class--although it, like the story, remains unfinished. Just give me your thoughts, if you have the time. Here goes:

They were a clever tag team—and concealed it very well.

James was the one who reeled you in with the promise of excitement and adventure inherent in his every gesture—a renegade preacher’s kid. He didn’t have that movie star quality, but he knew how to look at a girl like she was first prize; though he didn’t reject second, third, or even on down to last when he could get it. But he mocked those girls incessantly and when you rallied up the temerity to sarcastically wonder aloud if you were thus discussed on one of those days when his attentions became less consistent, he treated the assumption as absurd. You were what he really wanted, feared losing. They were only his safety net because the so-called “good girls” like yourself always broke his poor heart. He’d share the stories to prove it and you’d believe him because you wanted to be the Beauty who could tame the Beast when others fell short.

He would talk to you in ways that no one else had dared, praising every subtlety of form first and your sense of self, sparingly, second. He’d throw you down and kiss you like the lovers always do in the movies.  It would be as if he couldn’t control himself around beauty like yours, as if it didn’t matter that you were new to it all, as if it was enough to have the privilege of your lips and limbs under his spell for a little while. After a few weeks of these new sensations, a girl would just about lose her mind until she’d walk right to the edge of the cliffs of innocence and stare longingly down the dark gap. Thankfully, sense would kick in at precisely the right moment to bring her a few steps back, however warily.

Then one day, hungrily anticipating his pleasing brand of game, you would find him subdued and quiet. Your heart would suddenly find itself extended as he chronicled his troubles and sorrows. He would even cry in front of you, something he never did if he could help it. He had a reputation, you know. This man was more than a lot of loud words. He was music, too. And you would believe despite the hot and cold times that he was fighting himself to stay away from loving you because he was scared. You would expose your aspirations and he would carefully explain that he couldn’t handle exclusivity at that point. He was too broken from the past and had to get his life together. And when you altruistically pledged your friendship, he would take you up on that and more. Sometimes he wanted to coax you into betraying your carefully guarded secrets. Sometimes he only wanted another taste of what he called “10,” after a series of easy “7s.” And sometimes the phenomena would have weeks in-between.

Finally, you’d get that flirtatious call you pretended not to want and he’d all but beg you to come by the ‘little get-together’ he was throwing that night. You’d arrive and he’d ignore you with such sharp precision that the only thing strong enough to dull your pain would be the cheap whiskey in the cupboard above the stove. Sooner or later, some vulture would catch on and continue to pour your drinks until he could usher you, unceremoniously, into the back room. Everyone would fill in the blanks, in the usual way. But you’d only lie in the unmade bed and cry while the stranger tried to convince you that someone with such beautiful blue eyes should be happy—and he could do that for you.

Strangely enough, the next day you’d be the one feeling responsible. James broke your faith and you broke his pride. And while the sight of him drove you to drinking, you didn’t want to be cast away for good—and probably wouldn’t, since he didn’t burn bridges he considered worth crossing, however momentarily. Eventually, the in-between state would reach indefinite status and you’d move on with your life.  You’d better yourself, perhaps, and do all the things you dreamed before you walked that thin line between sin and self-justification.

Then the day would come when he’d pull you back somehow with all the glimmering hope of the appearance of his conscience. As James was a man of perpetual phases, the sick cycle would only begin again. This time, however, you would realize that his affections hadn’t faded, but never were in existence; and subsequently shrug him off like a dirty blanket in the summer time. Sure, he was still around—but he didn’t have you in any sense of the word. You would become coolly indifferent, even sarcastic when provoked. Still, you’d always be on the gathering guest list because you could slickly entertain like some sort of modern geisha.

Then came the slap of hands. You didn’t know it, but the new trouble was being tagged in. He was James’s roommate and his name was Mercedes, a title usually reserved for females or vehicles. His nominal misfortune can be chalked up to wealthy parents who believed more in brand names than familial affection. Thankfully he was their only child, so there were no poor souls walking around answering to “Audi” or “Lexus.”

He was the cool, detached counterpoint to James’ s antics. He would appreciate your revival of caustic sarcasm, offer ever-so-sagely advice to the predicament you had been trying to extricate yourself from, and call you “Gorgeous” like some 1920s heartthrob.

 “You’re definitely my favorite out of the girls James has been with,” he’d say, “but you might as well be a guy. Since we’re such good friends, I wouldn’t ruin it.”

He was five years older than James and seemingly remorseful about his similarly checkered past. He would look at you with sad eyes and tell you how he worried about his best friend’s shenanigans but knew he would grow out of it one day. After all, they were so much alike and Mercedes himself claimed to have moved out of that juvenile Casanova stage.

He would encourage you to move on and live your life, offering the hand of friendship in his own restrained manner. He’d put his arm around you, casually joking around at parties. You’d spend half of the night outside with him while he chain-smoked cigarettes and drank aged Scotch from the bottle—because even when money was tight from exceeding his generous allowance, his drink of choice wasn’t something with which to be frugal.

Despite the absence of physical affection so sorely felt, you would feel guiltless and appreciated for your mind. Of course, one night, Mercedes would invite you to the apartment. You’d come, having had a bad day and needing escape.  You’d expect the gang to all be there, but he’d be the only one. As the two of you sat down to watch a movie, he’d put his arm around you. You’d lean into the warmth and he’d tenderly touch your back, plant a kiss on your forehead—until he had awakened within you that former drive that had lain dormant for some time now.

His intensity would be at a different level than you had known before. His passion was not that unbridled and reckless kind, but carefully controlled, alternating between feverish and mild with such speed that you could scarcely keep up. With James, you always knew where it was going and the simple extent of his wishes—but this was different; it was creative, confusing, and spontaneous.

You’d maintain your most virtuous assets but give yourself away in those small pieces, as before, until it was 5 in the morning and time to retreat home for a solid two hours’ sleep before work the next day. Mercedes would beg you to stay, to let him hold you while he slept; but you’d know better than to slide so easily into such a compromising posture while still bruised.

A few hours later, you would be taking your tips from the table of a quiet man clearly having a Bloody Mary morning and laughing to yourself while remembering the phone conversation on your way home.

“I’m sorry for taking things so far,” he will have said, gallantly.

“Well, it takes two to tango, I hear.”

“Now I’m picturing you with a rose in your teeth—I’ve got to say that makes me wish you’d just come back and spend the rest of the night. I’ve got the day off tomorrow.”

“I don’t! What are you going to do with your day off, anyway? Fingerpaint?” you will have asked, jocular and innocent.

“The only thing I want to fingerpaint is your body.”

You had laughed, and he had continued: “What? You have a nice body. I enjoyed having my hands on it.”

Suddenly, in the midst of the amusing reverie, you would realize that he had planned for things to happen the way they did. Was it any coincidence that he had that confident air or knew exactly how to draw you in? The situation was rife with storybook parallels. You had been seduced and deceived, like an avant-garde Little Red Riding Hood or some other waif. The hardest things in life to admit to yourself at that point would be firstly that yes, you were in fact, that naïve and secondly, that one of your closest friends just so happened to be the Big Bad Wolf. You would feel a lot more helpless than you ever had, having played into his hands quite literally.

If they could spin it well enough, the cycle would begin again with James’s indignant monologues against the action until he could make you believe that he gave a damn about what happened to you. You’d fall for it if you were a fool, but it was best to fold at this point and avoid losing any more of your precious poker chips.

This was their game. And their favorite pawns were those whose trust had never been tested. But this story isn’t about you or me, or even the countless young women who had gambled more. It’s about those two men who knew exactly how to mold the world to fit their desires—at least, they thought they did.

Blog 51: What We Have Here is a Failure to Communicate

Heeeeeere's HAYLEE! Not sure the half-assed Shining reference will translate to some of you right-off-the-bat, but whatevs. Aside from a rumbly in my tumbly, I am currently riding Cloud Nine, as they say. I posted a little over a month ago that I was taking on my first big-time editing project, an entire nonfiction book to be published later this Spring. I did what amounted to a minor ghostwriting job on it and it was my first project of that magnitude (that I was actually hired for--BOOYAH). Well, I finally finished it--around 300 pages of hardcore editing work in a short time period--and I am insanely proud. That said, I am also beyond relieved to be finished. Big projects like that tend to be very time-consuming. I can't tell you how many times I blew off other activities (such as, you know, writing this blog) to work on it. Now I can have my glorious return! And glorious I believe it will be. I've felt so inspired lately. Maybe having to do so much typing and what-not made me realize how often I can and probably should commit my moments to sitting down and churning out pure gold. It really isn't fair to deprive the masses of my delightfully entertaining anecdotes. haha. All right, enough false bravado. On to the topic at hand...

The other day, I was talking to someone about one of my most glaring character flaws: impatience. This person may, in fact, be insane. I say this because my defect was classified as "endearing." haha. I'm annoyed by my own impatience. You might even say that I am impatient with my own impatience. Meta. Observing me at work on any given day, you may see me sneak an eye roll or some gesture that means something to the effect of "Seriously?!"

Oh hi, you dumb skank. I too think it's hilarious that you order a frappuccino every day and still don't know what it's called.

I know that it's absolutely terrible to get so irked by something as simple as a person saying: "caramel coffee" instead of "Caramel Latte." And yes, sometimes when a person says "Cappuccino" and I know they actually mean "one of them french vanilla thangs, like at the Weigel's" (namely, a sugary sweet latte, light on the foam), I make an extra dry cappuccino just to teach a lesson. I had an epiphany of sorts, though. I know it doesn't justify my behavior in the slightest, but most of my irritation comes from the fact that communication, especially verbal, is something so very important to me. When some jackass can't even look at a menu and order a beverage properly (even after being helped or corrected multiple times), I feel like communication is completely being trampled and I think there's a crazy part of me that takes it as a personal insult.

Whether we're willing to admit it or not, part of our self-worth comes from knowing that people care about what we have to say. For me, I also feel somewhat dismissed if a person doesn't even give enough of a crap to make a legitimate attempt to speak to me in a way I can comprehend without jumping through the hoops of prompting, prying, and leading to the point I presume he or she is trying to make. I feel like it's an outward sign of deep-seated apathy. Laid-back, I enjoy. Apathetic? Makes me want to punch you. And it is apathy. It doesn't take a lot of time to think before you speak. It doesn't take too much effort to speak properly. Get it together, people.

It sounds like some sort of self-help seminar when I say this, but a communication breakdown can really destroy the things you build. Spouses cheat on one another because neither one is willing to sit down and discuss the things that have been "making them unhappy for years." Teachers assume their pupils don't care when it might just be that those students are too scared to admit they have trouble with the material. Baristas hate you because you refuse to listen to the answers of the questions you ask and then have to ask the next time you come in...and the next...and the next...and the next...and the next...and SERIOUSLY, I SWEAR I'M SPITTING IN YOUR DRINK THIS TIME, YOU SPACE-CADET-SOCCER-MOM. (Admittedly, I have never spat in a drink before...but DAMNIT have I thought about it).

I refuse to believe that we just aren't thinking, period. So why is it that we can't say what we think? Honesty doesn't have to be the kiss of death. Anything can be couched with kindness. It just takes a bit of effort. On the other hand, if you have something nice to say, why hold those things back? If you dig someone, for goodness sake make it known with your words (unless that person is married or your teacher or like, your best friend's mom...then maybe just keep it to yourself). You like a stranger's haircut? Say something. You could make that person's day. It never fails that on the days I feel most like an ugly duckling, some random person sweetly tells me that I'm gorgeous, have great eyes, etc. It's probably just God being like "Hey, quit being such a little idiot. I freaking made you." (<--He might use different words, though) Anyway, you never know how you can change things. I know countless couples who have broken up really just because one or both people couldn't or wouldn't compliment the other about anything.

Can we all just learn to speak up? Whether it's pride, shame, cowardice, or just simple apathy--STOP IT! You'll gain a lot more than you lose and not have to be controlled by the aforementioned negative qualities.

On a final and somewhat off-topic note, I am also impatient because I highly value efficiency. Why should I have to spend twenty minutes of my day listening to a person say "um" or ramble about something irrelevant? I shouldn't! haha.

Blog 50: National Blogger's Day?

So, my aunt called me yesterday to tell me a couple of things, one of those things being that today is National Blogger's Day, apparently. It happens every February 29th, which obviously means that it only happens every four years, which is weird and somewhat interesting and mostly pointless. Anywho, I still felt like I should churn out the magic. No, that is not a really weird euphemism, even though that's the first thought I had...back on topic, though, I like that my 50th blog is on National Blogger's Day! It makes it feel...commemorative. The only problem is, I don't really know what to write about--things have been hectic and not at the same time. I just keep working, editing, going out. It's an endless cycle.

For lack of anything better to say, I think I'll just make a few confessions:

1) I just sat down and watched The Matrix all the way through for the first time this week. I had only seen bits and pieces. I know. I like to stay behind on the trends.

2) I listen to terrible music from time to time, typically for nostalgic reasons...or for a dance party.

3) I think UGG boots are UGGLY.

4) I'm not terribly opposed to eating things off of the ground.

5) I think the Beatles are COMPLETELY overrated and sort of boring (Give me the Rolling Stones any day).

I know I wasn't terribly exciting this time, but the thing is, I'm trying to watch The Matrix: Reloaded now, since I've just bought into the franchise. haha.

Blog 49: 6 Things I Haven't Yet Been Brave Enough to Accomplish

6: Skydiving...I actually quite possibly could've gone, because of one particularly extravagant friend who just always wants to get into as much trouble as he possibly can. I really do think I used to be somewhat fearless. I remember being 15 in Honduras, jumping off of a high waterfall into shallow water and thinking nothing of it. I even shredded my shin all to hell and didn't care. I think I jumped again, in fact. And yet, just a couple of short years later, I found myself standing on a rock face above a lake with my sisters and some family friends. They all took the leap. I froze for several minutes and eventually had to climb back down. It formed one of those little, silly regrets in my life...skydiving seems like a good way to make up for it.

5: Giving up makeup for Lent. I gave up listening to hip hop/rap last year, and as I began to think about things that I could give up without sacrificing art or social contact (Facebook, blogging, music, movies), I tried to think of things I put too much stock in, personally. The thing is, I'm not terribly materialistic. I don't have any high technology besides this laptop, I don't buy expensive clothes, I don't have a fancy house...I don't even spend a lot of money on hair stuff or cosmetics...and yet, I really don't think I could go a full week without wearing any makeup. A couple of days, sure. But could I go to work, out to Barley's, out on a date without any on time and again? Okay, I could. But I'd not be happy about it. Once I can relax and not think about it, I'm all right. But God forbid I pass a reflective surface or hear someone say: "You okay? You look sick."<--Happens every time I go bare-faced. haha. I want to be so un-superficial that I could actually go the full 40 days without it and not blink one bland, unmascara'd eye about it.

4: Punching Whitteny in the face. Although that doesn't take as much bravery as just lack of concern about whether I destroy her life. Admittedly, I just put that one in there because she said I would never get to be on SNL except as her musical guest. That bitch!

3: Swimming in the ocean at night. I know it probably isn't safe...but the beach at night is pretty magical. But am I the only one who's freaked out by swimming at night, in the dark? Yes? Oh...well...at least I can admit it. One day, I'm going to do it.

2: Saying exactly what I want to say to someone, when I want to say it. No matter whether they think I'm a jerk, a weirdo, or a big, sappy loser...Of course, I can do such a thing. I have. But I mean that I want to have the courage to do it consistently, so I don't just sit and silently geek out about things all the time.  Some people need to be told off, because some honesty would do them good; perhaps it would even get their heads out of their asses so they can live a real life instead of not knowing themselves and what they could realistically accomplish AT ALL. On the other hand, some people need to know that they're so fantastic that they make me nervous. Still others should definitely hear why I act like such a freak around them. haha. I just need to cowboy up and say these things, but for the most part, I probably won't. Or... I'll wait til I've gained enough credibility and then drop the bomb. Yeah, that could be a real way to go.

1: Actually advertising myself. I write a lot, I play some music (and I know, without doubt, that I am talented in those areas)--but I think there's a part of me that just assumes I'm not lucky enough or comparatively talented enough to actually get somewhere. That feeling combined with laziness has always been one of the main obstacles I'll need to press past in my life. The people who make it in any area are the ones who consistently put themselves out there.

I should've been working on a lot of other things...but I thought perhaps taking stock of things could be a motivating tool. All right...I promise to try and be funnier next time. haha.

Blog 48: The Ghostwriter

So, I haven't written a blog in a little minute. Part of it is laziness/not wanting to do anything productive after running from job to job all day, most days. Another part of it is that I've been spending most of my free time going out with friends. Weekly fun times, Starbucks get-togethers, sister time, family dinners--it doesn't leave much time for blogging. My last excuse would be that I have just embarked upon a pretty exciting project. As all of you know, I love writing. Editing, however, is also a passion of mine. I love to improve upon another person's work, and I love getting people excited about their own pieces. If I could work in publishing one day, it would be fairly fantastic. Anywho, I had been catching up with an old classmate from college, telling him about my writing/editing aspirations, when everything fell into place just perfectly. It turned out that his dad had just finished a book and was looking for an editor. My name was mentioned, we met to discuss it, and just last week I began editing/ghostwriting the full-length text. Needless to say, it's sort of a big deal for me.

For those of you who don't know what ghostwriting is, it doesn't, in fact, involve dead people with antique typewriters and it has very little to do with an apparition/superhero who saves the world with a giant pencil and then disappears, mysteriously. Ghostwriters are hired all the time by people who want anything from someone to turn their vocal story into a book to people who just need advanced editing on their work. In my case, it's editing, rewording, restructuring, and providing transition between ideas; the man who the book will be credited to is a pastor whose expertise is in writing pointed sermons rather than large bodies of work. So, this project, while hectic (I only have a month to complete the whole thing), could be a great way for me to get more experience that is actually in my field. Who knows? Maybe I'll be editing more books in the near future. It gets my name out there. The author is hoping to have it published by May and is planning a book tour. Good stuff, right?

I know you're just so thrilled about all of this, but I figure every once in awhile I should actually mention what the heck is going on in my life. I think it provides credibility.

In other news, I've been seeing so many people lately making life so much more dramatic than it needs to be. Why is it that everyone feels the need to be angry at their peers for ridiculous things? Someone made fun of you. Who cares? That person was very likely joking, and if not, perhaps you've done something to elicit such behavior. You can't force the desired reaction out of people, but you can actually pay attention to the way that you treat them and prevent their dislike, almost always. Admittedly, I haven't always observed this principle. When I was younger, I didn't quite have a handle on things. If you've ever seen 500 Days of Summer, I definitely had that sort of thing going on. Up front, I'd tell a guy that I wanted nothing to do with a relationship with him. I'd continue to say it, but we would hang out far too much and my flirtatious nature would flare up to its worst levels. Of course, I'd always be shocked and appalled when suddenly the guy would start acting like a dick, but in retrospect--I sort of incited that reaction from him. It happened a few times. I was more concerned with having fun than protecting their emotions, however melodramatic they were sometimes. Worse than that, I went through a period of inconsistency. I'd set these rules and standards aloud and then go against them all. I lost some friends that way and do regret my stupidity, but what can ya do? I think everyone has to go through a process of figuring out just who he/she is.

I've seen a similar situation amongst friends, recently, and find it extremely annoying. Of course, as I went to criticize the girl for not seeing what she had done to bring about the rift, I had to take a look at my own past. Mmm. Humble pie. haha. I used to take sides so quickly and violently, but these days I find myself sympathizing with both sides of an argument more often that not. I think the easiest way to cleanse your life of anger is to see things from the other person's point of view. So Jenny called you fat. That bitch! But think, does Jenny look particularly plump today? Well, there you go. Insecurity, perhaps jealousy are the things to blame for her nastiness. haha. You should never excuse bad attitudes, but you should always try and find the reason behind them. It will make it so much easier to be compassionate rather than wrathful.

Some people, however, refuse to let you make amends for the things that offended them and garnered their disrespect. I had a really close guy friend from Panera who knew me just before my idiot era. He was so offended by the absolutely hypocritical things I did after I stopped working there that sadly, I believe the very sight of me upsets this fellow these days. I was young, stupid, and reckless. And I can actually understand why he wouldn't want to remain friends. It is truly regrettable. I wish the grudge would end, but like I said earlier--you can't demand the preferred reaction. You should never do anything if you aren't prepared to pay the consequences. And you should never expect people to do things exactly the way you would. I forgive quickly and easily. I've had people wrong me that some friends and family still carry resentment for on my behalf, while I just feel better about letting it go. I like to remember the good things about people I've known.

The main thing to remember if someone "turns on you" is that you should examine your own actions. You're probably both in the wrong, so just calm the hell down and quit feeling like everyone is out to get you, despite your "innocence." I think too often we just act based on our own needs/emotions, treating other people as collateral damage without even giving it a thought. Let me tell you, life is a lot more enjoyable when you're not playing the victim all the time or filling yourself with the venom of retaliation. Just learn to treat people right, and usually they will respond in kind.

Blog 47: In Defense of My Fondness for "Moulin Rouge"

I know it is such a stupid girl thing to like the movie Moulin Rouge. Hear me out, though. It's for that very reason that it took me ten years to finally watch it. I didn't want to be like all the rest. I can't help but assume that popular things are stupid. Every once in awhile, however, I am proven so very wrong. Whitteny (my roomie/best friend, for those of you just tuning in) has a huge collection of movies and one day I got bored enough to give it a chance...I did not regret it. How? Why? Your questions will be answered. But first! a Whitteny quote: "It's like drinking maple syrup...which is amazing." - Whitteny on Jack Daniels Honey. (Should maybe have been followed with, "We elves stick to the four main food groups...")

Beauty, freedom, truth, and love, the Bohemian sentiments that Ewan McGregor's character dreamily sighs after in the beginning of the movie, are some of my own ideals. I will admit I am quite the hippie in a lot of ways (though I like to put my ideals into every-day action rather than pointless protests or weed-fueled rants). I want to believe in epic love stories, and so it is difficult for me to resist one; especially when it is so creatively written. When Christian (McGregor) starts out, he doesn't know anything about real life. He seeks experience and an artist's satisfaction in the gritty town that houses the whorehouse/entertainment hall called the Moulin Rouge. Amidst the glitz and the glamour, he remains pure of heart, even when he immediately falls in love with the most infamous courtesan, Satine. He teaches her that playing pretend is never as satisfying as real love. It's your classic "prove that love exists" sort of story, but with so much more to offer. Such as...

1- Excellent musical mash-ups with satirical themes and excellent original scoring as well. I always wish that more movies were musicals in the way of the classics--like Singing in the Rain, White Christmas, and (to a lesser extent) Some Like it Hot. Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit" is at one point sung by a group of tuxedo'd men who visit the brothel (perfect parallel). There's even a new-agey, Indian-sounding version of "Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend." Countless good songs are put together in such a creative and whimsical way--my favorite being "Your Song" by Elton John--a beautiful (albeit, perhaps a bit sappy) tune that I might not have ever heard otherwise, accompanying the scene where the ill-fated lovers first meet. An intense and storied tango is danced to a gravelly cover of "Roxanne" by The Police, featuring an actor with a drinking problem and a bitter prostitute. Then there's this lovely medley:

2- It is a movie that makes fun of itself, while embracing itself. The characters who embrace the Bohemian ideals are naive, impractical, and often somewhat ridiculous. One even describes himself as "only a drunken, vice-ridden gnome whose friends are pimps and girls from brothels," but then goes on to say: "but I know about art and love if only because I long for it with every fiber of my being." They're hipsters in some ways, fools in another, and yet--like all of us, they have something to offer. Part of the way it makes fun of itself is in the overdone nature of everything: too-bright colors, dramatic numbers, silly situations (such as when Satine, believing she is seducing a duke, is embarrassingly overt at her temptation techniques). 

3- The actors are magnificent. I was actually never a fan of Nicole Kidman until this film, but she was perfect in the role. Delicate and pitiable, embittered and remorseful--she did it well. The real star, however, is Ewan McGregor, in my opinion. His voice is warm, innocent, and steady, and his look was perfect for the role.

4- "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is to love and be loved in return." Damnit. I'm such a sap. "Come what may..."

5- The bad guy gets a big ol' punch to the face. Come on, now. Even John McClane would dig that enough to love this film.

In conclusion...

SIR ELTON JOHN, FOLKS. SIR. ELTON. MOTHERFREAKIN'. JOHN.

Blog 46: The Jerk Whisperer

I had been trying for weeks to put into words this irksome sense of something in my head, when last night, it finally came. I have my older sister Elise to thank for it. Captioning it with "You haven't really tried to do this for awhile, but it still made me think of you," she sent me this picture in a text message:

Now, I think that whoever made up the word "hater" should be shot. And yet, it made me think. In my case, it's not so much trying to win over the 'haters,' but trying to fix people who are just (for lack of a better term) assholes. I'm pretty sure that's what Elise was saying...mostly in direct commentary on my love life (although I've had some pretty douchey 'friends' as well). There's something in me that just can't stand to watch people wallow in self-pity, depression, anger, bitterness, and so on. There's something in me that has to show those people that happiness is not only possible, but absolutely probable if they would stop for one moment and think of all the things in their lives that are worthy of being thankful for--they aren't starving, they aren't uneducated, they aren't being drafted into guerilla warfare or forced into the sex trade. People all around the world are suffering and dying, and we whine about something as stupid as a bad latte...just all the time. It's sort of a grodie behavior. Yes, I just sad grodie. No, it isn't 1996.

I don't know what this says about my character, but I'm sort of a magnet for hardened hearts. The insecure, selfish, angry, decidedly apathetic, self-segregated...they all want to latch onto this lady. And I usually let them, I'm sorry to say. It's like trying to be a life preserver for someone who has willingly attached hundred-pound weights to his ankles. Weaker vessels would be completely drained by this vampiric species we call jerks, but thankfully I always bounce back really quickly. It's a gift.

In some ways, I really am the Jerk Whisperer. When these people hang out with me, they're sometimes on their very best behavior. They're cheered up, they go light on the trashiness, they at least acknowledge that happiness exists. Hell, a few even try reading. Crazy, right? But the fix is only ever temporary because it's in pursuit of my approval, and I am stingy with praise when I don't believe a change is genuine. Most jerks prefer the lazy, coward's way out, so they give up after several "No, I will not marry you" statements. Moderating attitude, putting others before yourself, working hard--what nonsense. We should all just sit on our asses, drink beer, and play video games, all the while complaining about what a terrible place this world is and how unfair it is that we can't find anyone to love us.

I'm really big on Facebook. It makes me feel like I'm communicating all the time and I just love it. The other night, I posted a status about needing to get out of my head, and received a text from someone asking what was bothering me. I feel like my response would seem lackluster to most people, but I explained that it all came from observing hopeless, lost-in-the-dark friends. I spend a lot of time compounding world problems in my mind just because of coming in contact with unhappy people. How can I fix it? Should I punch all of them in their faces? Should I just try and shrug it off? No on the last. Never give up on your picture of a beautiful world. Do I genuinely hurt for these friends? Yes. I often feel broken-hearted that they choose not to see how great things could be, how much of a difference they could make if they'd just get off of their asses and try. But I also spend a lot of time just wanting to shake it out of them. Or karate chop it out of them, Jackie Chan style. Or roundhouse kick it out of them, Chuck Norris style. Violence is the answer? What? No. No, probably not. Damnit.

My best friend, my sisters, and other people in my life are constantly asking me things like: "Why are you friends with her?" or "Why do you hang out with him?" followed by: "He's an asshole" or "She's a liar." It's not that I don't see the horrible qualities of these jerks--I am neither blind nor stupid. It's that I cannot shake a sense of responsibility to make an effort on their behalf. It's that I can't just walk away from people who are drowning in their own bullshit. They have to see even an inkling of compassion. I do believe that one day it could completely change them. So, I will probably continue to give of myself with perhaps no tangible results, as insane as it can make me. I will not, however, be getting into romances with d-bags anymore.

In short, it seems I will remain the Jerk Whisperer, but the Beauty and the Beast complex has to end at some point. After awhile, it becomes a lack of self-respect to 'fall in like' with guys who berate you for being "too fat," "too smart," or (in one case) too unwilling to disavow your own family for not being spotlessly perfect. Let's avoid that rant, however. The point is, my heart unfortunately goes out to all of you egocentric bastards out there. And my realist-idealist, far-too-tenderhearted nature will make me hold out my hand to you for the rest of my days.

PS- NO I WILL NOT MARRY YOU.