Saturday, December 29, 2012

800 page views

I figure that constitutes a good enough reason to blog a bit.

So...I'm currently wrestling with several emotions, and very few of them are positive.  I may have mentioned something about it earlier, but I don't remember what gets posted and what doesn't.

Regardless, business as usual in my neck of the woods.

I think I've scared my parents recently.  I tend to have a very self deprecating sense of humor.  This can sometimes come off as being really down on myself, because I forget to add in the awkward laughter that makes it all okay.  I'm worried that they're worried, which makes me more worried because they might catch on to my worry and worry more, which will just exacerbate my worry.  It's one big ol' worry-spiral that doesn't really end.

But I'm really okay.  Nothing's all that different.  I'm just not...This is going to be a little harsh, but know I don't...I'm not...

Ugh, DISCLAIMER: I'm not nice, I'm shallow, and I have a horrible sense of humor. Please bear this in mind when reading the rest of my blog, ever.

I have a type.  Unfortunately, it's a type that never really leads to anything but me sitting in my room alone, wondering if the kind of guy I'm attracted to will ever be attracted to me back.

It hasn't worked out so well so far.

Oddly enough, I've never gone out with the kind of guy I'm most attracted to.  Okay, I haven't gone out with the kind of guy I'm most attracted to with him knowing it was a date as well.  He thinks we were just hanging out as friends, and honestly, so do I, but to avoid further embarrassment in front of my family, I never deny that it was a date when they say it was.

And everyone else, well...I'll be honest again (Because I lie on here? that phrase doesn't make much sense), I'm just not attracted to them.  I try, I do.  I just can't make myself like someone physically who doesn't already spark a little "yoo-hoo" attraction button already.  That was the technical term, by the way.

I can learn to accept someone's personality, I can be moderately attracted to their mind, but to put it simply, if the physical side isn't there, it's not going anywhere.

And I feel bad about that, because I don't like being that way.  It makes me feel shallow and unappreciative, and like a heel, and a lot of other things that aren't exactly nice feelings.

But it's who I am, it's who I've always been.  I tried to like Beast.  But I'm not Belle.  I'm not Ariel, either.  I'm not Jasmine, I'm not Aurora, I'm not Snow White, I'm not Cinderella.  I end up falling overnight, and being broken two days later, by my own self-doubt and checking.

I'm human.  There has yet to be a fictional character written that is like I am.  I constantly am watching my thoughts, and if I find myself getting too day-dreamy, I cut it off and cauterize the wound with a "it's not going to happen, you know this.  Get over it, move on."

And I do.

And I'm still a romantic.  I still want that "can't-eat, can't-sleep, reach-for-the-stars, over-the-fence, World Series kind of stuff" feeling.  I still want to be taken in by a pair of fine eyes and sharp wit.  I want someone who can dance beneath the silver moon sparkling.  I want these things.

But I deny myself at every turn because there is no way, NO WAY, anyone who can give me those things will ever be attracted to me.

And I do wonder if I'm just so unattractive, that all I can get are guys with low standards on beauty because they themselves have low-self-esteem.  I've been told I'm not standardly pretty.  It was meant as a compliment, but you don't even mention that to a girl, because you know what it does to her?  It just shoots her straight down.

She'll never be enough.  She'll never be pretty enough, or smart enough, or funny enough or any of that, because you have just told her she doesn't measure up to the ruler she's been striving to measure up to her whole life.

Even if she knows better.  Lie.  Tell her she is more beautiful than that.  Don't tell her she's not society's definition of pretty.  Because she might look up to society's definition of pretty.

Don't tell her she's odd, quirky or awkward, no matter how much she tells you she is.  Because she doesn't want to know that (unless she's PROUD of it, beyond a shadow of a doubt, and even then, don't tell her she's not normal.  Say she's interesting).  It might be her way of covering up her self-consciousness of it.  DON'T YOU DARE TAKE THAT AWAY FROM HER.

It's her safety.  Her security blanket.  She keeps it wrapped tightly around her so no one can see how unhappy she is with herself.

The only way you can even begin to unwrap her from it is to reassure her that she is beautiful, but you have to tell her explicitly.  (oh good, now I can never show a potential boyfriend this blog, or I'll forever distrust his words...and that might happen anyway, crap).  You have to use your descriptors.  I know it's hard, it's something I myself struggle with.

BUT YOU HAVE TO.  Her self-confidence depends on it.

I've been knocked down a lot.  I was never enough.  I was never pretty enough, or old enough, or young enough, or funny enough, or smart enough, or clever enough, or handy enough, or strong enough for anyone.

My family keeps me around because they've been there and they're the only ones who know how pretty, old/young, funny, smart, clever, handy, and strong I really am.  But no one else does, and it seems like if I don't have the right wrapping, no one else ever will.

And that's what makes me sad.

I put on make up occasionally.  And I do feel quite pretty in it (on good days, but it has to be a good day).  I like wearing make up, I do.

What I dislike is the immediate change in my family's (and everyone else's) behavior towards me when I wear it.

Suddenly I'm being told I'm pretty three times as much as when I don't.  I'm being noticed by people twice as often as usual.  People who normally wouldn't even give me a first glance suddenly look twice.

Why does there have to be a change?  What's the deal?  I admit, I do look quite pretty in makeup, I said that already.  But just because I'm wearing make up does not mean that Mom and Dad have to tell me three times more than usual that I am.

That's not why I put it on.

I put it on so I could feel better about myself.  Being told more often that I'm pretty with it on just makes me feel worse when I don't wear it.

It emphasizes the thoughts in my head that go "you're not pretty enough, you've got weird spots everywhere, your eyes are too dark, you need more sleep, you're so shallow you need make up to feel better about yourself".  Those aren't the thoughts I really want to be listening to.

What about if I don't wear make up?  Can't I be told equally as often that I'm pretty then, too?  Or perhaps it would be easier to just cut back on the compliments when I am wearing make up.  Seriously. My sister wears make up very often, and when she doesn't no one notices, and when she puts it back on, no one suddenly starts over-praising her for it.

Why me?

Am I really that unattractive?

I don't think so, but maybe I am.

And it sucks worse because right now the only reason I even am thinking of considering a relationship at this point in time is for physical validation. Which I wouldn't get because I wouldn't want to trade in my v-card until after the wedding day, and honestly I doubt that's going to happen with a boyfriend who came from insecurity.

Which is why I still am single.  And I do enjoy it, don't worry about that.  I'm not currently able to keep track of myself, let alone a whole extra person.  I have a hard enough time scheduling in my family and the few friends I have.  Being in a relationship would just make that a whole lot more complicated.

Sneaky hate spiral, I believe I have found your romantic equivalent.  When I think up a name, I'll let you know.

Until Next Time, Dear Readers,

Friday, December 21, 2012

Good Girl Posts

And other things that will not be happening tonight.

I found a pick up line that just doesn't  It's not even necessarily a pickup line, unless the man in question has a blue box to back it up.

Maybe it's not a pickup line...but regardless, my mind went interesting places when I read it.

"It's bigger on the inside."




Do you see what I mean?

It just doesn't...sound right.  Unless there is a blue box to back it up.  You know what I'm saying.  Because honestly, you can't use that sentence in any other context.

You just can't.

In other news, I'm gorgeous for the next ten to fifteen minutes or so.  I have work tomorrow, have all my wrapping done except for the presents I needed to have actually made and all of my Christmas cards which still need to get done.  But I can maybe crank the cards and at least one of the things I needed to make out in the next couple of days, and hopefully the rest won't take too much longer...But I highly doubt my productivity is going to go up just because the world didn't end today.

Oh yeah, happy beginning of the rest of your life.  Since we have one and all.  Stupid world not ending.

I was extremely conflicted over the whole thing, in the end.  I felt like it was going to happen, wanted it to happen so I would be right, wanted it to happen so I wouldn't have to continue dealing with the rest of the world and all the crazies/idiots therein, and then I kind of...didn't.  I suppose self-preservation kicked in at the last minute and was like "HEY WAIT, we don't actually want to die.  We're quite happy being alive, thanks very much."

Fat load of good it does me.  Now I have to go to work tomorrow.  Ugh.

I still love my job, it's that whole "waking up in the morning" thing that I'm not exactly fond of.  Scratch that, I do enjoy waking up, I do not enjoy being awoken three hours before the sun comes up over the mountains.  That is decidedly Not Fun.

At least I have good music to start my day, and cash in my pocket book so I can grab an energy drink before work, so I can make it til lunch time, where I can get a soda so I can make it until I go and get coffee so I can make it until dinner, which will likely be Subway and a diet coke, because I'll be in that area anyway.  And that's my tomorrow.

What's yours look like?

Don't tell me, if I really wanted to know, I wouldn't ask in a blog post.

At least I don't have to work on Christmas this year.

Until Next Time, Dear Readers.

Thursday, December 20, 2012

If I were but a king, say I
I'd need no other thing.
Riches, and wealth, and friends I'd have
But maybe that'd make me a chav.

If I were but a lady, say I
I could be in regency time
At balls I would laugh and play and sing
And Mr. Darcy would woo me

But I'm not.

If I were but braver, say I
I could be a lion or explorer
But the lion, he was a coward
And the explorer he died

I don't really want that, do I?

If I were but myself, say I
I would speak my mind
Without fear of reprobation
Or chastising

If I were but myself, say I
I could rule the world.
I would have bravery aplenty
And I would be a lady

Perhaps even a king.

But I'm not.

And I hide, and I smile and I say everything is fine.
But in actuality I am scared
I am frightened
And I am not well


In other words, I'm afraid I'm crazy again, got chicken and didn't say something when I probably ought, my heart is pounding over something I was scared to do, and decided not to and it won't stop, I'm nervous, I feel like crying again (shit, why won't that just fucking stop already?  I'm sick of crying.  It feels like all I did yesterday), all because I'm nervous over something I've already decided not to do because it made me feel nervous.

WTF brain?!?!  I hate you.

Oh and the crazy thing is unrelated to all that other stuff.  I just generally feel like that.  Because I probably am.  If I'm not, the rest of the world is, and I'm not sure I can handle that many crazy people, so we're going to assume it's me until further notice.

It's bad when you actually can relate to the crazies.  Which I think I've started to do.  I'm legit concerned about my sanity.  Luckily, due to my general fear of most everything, I know I won't do shit about it.


Sometimes I wish someone else could hear my thoughts and tell me everything is okay, and that I'm not crazy.

Or maybe if I could read other people's and justify that I'm not crazy because I doubt I'd believe someone else telling me.  I'd probably just think they were trying to make me feel better.

Christ, I'm delusional.   This must be because of that proposal/engagement dream I had about one of my "ex"s last night.

No.  Not the guy I wrote the letter to.  The other one.  DM.  Douche-bag to the Max.  Him.  Yeah.

Fuckin' I don't even know what.

I'm not allowed to watch Labyrinth before bed anymore.

Gives me crazy dreams about gorgeous rings i will never have because i'll never actually wear them.

It was amazing.  I wish my brain could take video of my dreams so I could show you, because holy crap.  I'd almost actually have worn the thing IRL.

Freakin' dragon with a heart-shaped diamond.  It was even cooler than that description, and you'll never know how cool, because that's a pretty cool statement, right there, and you'll never see the ring, so, eh.

Sux to be you.

(Gosh, y'all are gettin' spoilt with this daily update shit I'm doin' here recently.  Best not get used to it.  I'm sure it's heralding a very long silence.)

Until Next Time, Dear Readers

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Anna and the King

Just finished watching the two-or three hour epic.  Cried like 7 times.  Y U MAKE ME SAD, ANNA AND KING?!

God, there were just tears everywhere.  Could not get away from it.  Seriously.

Totally shipped the prince and Louis together, though.  Meant to be, for always.

Going to watch the Labyrinth to make me less sad next.

Also, spent, like, three hours today dressed in my best version of period costume.  Which was essentially this button down I never wear but I love, the skirt to my medieval costume, and my hair tied back real tight, a la 1800something a.d.

Was freakin' beautiful for all three of those hours. Spent it eating chips and cookie dough and reading TheOtherJaneAusten tumblr.  Seriously, why did they lose the 'e'?  Makes my life hell when I want to write the damn word.

Still not done with it, either.  Started it yesterday around 3 or 4 in the afternoon (Told facebook 4 to make me seem less crazy.  It was totally closer to 3) and was up until quarter-two reading it.  Spent three+ hours on there today, STILL haven't reached the end, and I'll have to start over at the beginning when I do finally finish, because I know for a fact they've added more, without looking at the front page (because sometimes I'm rereading posts).

Ugh, okay.  Going to watch Labyrinth now.  David Bowie in tight trousers.  Mmf.  Yes.

Okay, ttyl guys.
(Sorry, this was too long for Facebook, but I wanted to SHARE with the world, so you guys get it. Bahahahahahahaha And later I will RULE THE UNIVERSE)
Until Next time, Dear Readers,

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Wow I'm being quite prolific

This is a letter.  It can be to whomever you want it to be to, but it's probably not to you.

In other words, I'm too chicken-shit to speak my mind, so it's going here.

My dear friend,

We've lost touch.  Years have gone by, and it seems like lifetimes since I've seen you last.

I missed you.  I missed you like a raincloud misses rain.  I gave you up and you just fell away.  But funny thing about rainclouds, is that they always form again.  It's like that song I learned in first grade, to the tune of some classical song attributed to a composer I've lost the name of over time.

Precipitation, Evaporation, Condensation, and the cycle begins again.  (okay, so it starts with Evaporation, but we'll ignore that particular.  This is about a metaphor.  Or a simile.  I'm not entirely sure anymore).

I'm not saying I want what we had before.  That's a horrible idea, why did you even suggest it? (I'm not mad, nor am I saying you really did suggest it).  It also is impossible.  We're too different from who we were to be that way again.

And perhaps it's not you who I miss (though it seemed that way this evening).  Perhaps it's who you were and I hate that thought.  Because I like to believe that our core doesn't change, we are shaped by our experiences, yes, but the very base of our being is what calls out to others.  And I'd like to think that ours call out to each other.

Not, perhaps, romantically.  It was always a thought in the back of my mind, and certainly there were times I thought it could be.  But we were great friends.  We shared a lot between ourselves.  We were two beings on the edge of the precipice of the end of the beginning of the rest of our lives.

And I let you go.  I let you go to save myself, because I was too fond of you, and you let me leave you behind, because of reasons I'll probably never know.

But tonight, oh! tonight.  I saw you across the room and knew it was you, even without being told (though I was informed, but mostly so I would look in the correct direction).  And I was frightened.  I was nervous.  My knees shook and I blamed it on my shoes, but really, it was you.

And you hugged me.

Can I tell you a secret?  One that isn't really a secret at all?  I'm not used to physical contact.  Oh, I like it, I crave it sometimes, even.  But it's not something I learned to ask for, and it was never frequently freely given.  It still shocks me when people touch me, just casually, on the shoulder, or arm.

And you hugged me.  Not once, but at least twice (I think I'm starting to count one as more than one, but, hey, it happens).  And even though today I was particularly popular as far as friendly-people who tap my shoulder or guide me with a hand on my upper back, or even my new friend at work who hugged me (three times!) go, it still surprised me.

And I think you should know that I missed the hell out of you.  I missed you so much.  I missed the casualness of our relationship.  Of our friendship.  Of our companionship.  You are two-thirds my t'hyla, and I know you probably won't get that reference, but you are my friend and my brother.

And I miss you.

The Georgiana to my Darcy was there, and witnessed the hug.  And she probably saw more than was actually there, just like I felt more than was probably there, but the way she described how you hugged me back, it was like you were just as eager to have me be right there as I am to be right there.

This isn't even trying to be subtle anymore.  Writing any more obviously and I'd have names, dates, places, and a check-in on facebook or foursquare logged in here.

Maybe I need to go to bed.  It's been a long, wonderful day.

And I'm glad I looked pretty, not just for you (though, I'll admit, it certainly helped me feel a little more confident), but because it did make me feel better, for once.  I didn't feel like I had makeup caked on, I felt like I was myself.

I felt pretty, and they say that's the first step.  And I'm glad you got to see it.  Because I have grown, just like you have.

And while I miss you, I'm still scared.  I'm still me, and I'm still probably not going to make the first move.

And I hope, I hope hope hope beyond hope, that we can be friends.  That we can be as close as we were, as the different (but still the same) people we are now.

And I hope you missed me too.



Aaaand, that's a lot of soul to expose.  Wow.  Okay, wasn't expecting all of that.  But hey!  Still in a good mood, don't feel like shit, and he'll probably never read this anyway!  Yay!  Good day all around, no?

Until next time, Dear Readers,

Thursday, December 13, 2012

Pride and Prejudice and Papers

Oh, dear readers, I am quite exhausted.

Indeed, I have just finished writing a paper on the book in title.  And turned it in a half hour before the day it was due.  Considering I lost about two-and-a-half hours this evening to a work Christmas party, and I started writing it directly after quitting said party and arriving at home, I find it quite rewarding, and I am very happy with it.

Admittedly I stopped caring about the content about half-way through.

I know I oughtn't, but I am severely displeased with how this class has been handled this semester.  I thought I could stick it out, thus missing the drop-with-refund and drop-without-failing dates.  I don't care, however, as even with a D I will still graduate in the spring, and if I fail the class this semester, I can take it again next semester and hopefully it will not need to be held online.  Which was a stupid decision in the first place.

But it did give me a chance to finally read the book that originated a story I knew practically by heart in the first place.  It's a really good book, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.  I actually like it much better than I thought I would, (though that seems mildly unsurprising now that I think on it, as the books are always much better than the movie adaptations, no matter how sexy the man they get to play Mr. Darcy happens to be.)

I did learn some things from reading the book as opposed to watching the movies or television adaptations.  As most girls who read the book or know the story, I fancied myself something of an Elizabeth Bennet, or at the very least, a Jane Bennet for years.  Years, I say.  However, upon reading the book, I find that my character, and indeed my mannerisms (excepting those that come only with fine breeding in the 1800s) to be more like those of a certain Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.  Which is his first name, if you didn't know.  Seriously, how awesome is that?  Fitzwilliam.  Fitzwilliam, Fitzwilliam, Fitzwilliam, it's not even a word.  It seriously only means that it's the son of William.  Which I'm assuming Mr. Darcy Sr.'s name was.  Son of William.  That's it.  Fitzwilliam.  But yes, it may not come as a surprise to some of you, especially if you are familiar with the minutiae of the book itself, but my personality is much more that of Mr. Darcy than of any of the other characters therein.

So one day I will meet a spirited young man, with fine eyes, who will challenge me and think me proud and aloof, and will hate me, and I will ask him to marry me, and he will think me ungentlemanly (womanly?  I suppose that would be more fitting), and send me on my way, and I shall impart to him in a letter of all that I have been accused of and how it actually went, and then he will gradually fall in love with me, but we won't see each other for a whole year, until I run into him on my grand and sprawling property while he's taking a tour thinking I'm not going to be back for another night, and it'll be super awkward, but I'll introduce him to my sister, and he'll think she's lovely, but he'll like me more, and then awkwardness will resume, but then his younger sister will run off with an Officer in the Militia, who I am well acquainted with, and I will go after them and force them to marry and settle all of their debts, and he will fall for me even more and I will still love him of course, and then in the end, my Aunt will have a major objection to his connections, but I'll still ask him again to marry me, and he'll accept this time, and we'll live happily ever after (well, okay,we'll probably get into verbal spars because we're clever and such, and he's spirited, and I liven up when I'm comfortable, and you can't not be comfortable when you're in love.  Pride and Prejudice taught me that) in my huge estate in Derbyshire.

Or I'll move to Seattle and work in a bar and have seven cats and write romance novels, etc.  That could work too.

I am so glad to be done with that paper.  Not because I don't want to write anymore (obviously that isn't the case, as I just recapped the whole of Pride and Prejudice but with me starring as Mr. Darcy), but because I just want to be done with this stupid class.

I won't be taking the final test until Monday, not just so I can study, but also because ain't no WAY I'm taking it tomorrow.  It's open all next week, and I'll probably get out of work early on Monday anyway (and even if I don't, who cares?)  and I'll come home and change and go back out and take the test and treat myself to probably Taco Bell because, damn, their volcano menu is delicious.  Seriously.  It's ridiculously good.  Horrible for your internal plumbing, I'm sure, and certainly not recommended if you're sensitive to spicy (it's spicy. And I'm one of those people who likes spicy.  It's SPICY), but soooooooo good.

Anyway, I need to stop writing now.

Until Next Time, Dear Readers,

Monday, December 10, 2012

Review: Home Made Pore Strips

Okay, so if you ever took a look at my youtube history, you'd know I have this crazy obsession with pore strips and pimple popping (yes, that part of youtube).

So when I found this particular how-to on Pintrest, I have to admit I was intrigued.  Pore strips have never quite worked out the way I wanted them to.  I'm not sure if it's just that I'm not seeing it in 100000000000000000000000000x magnification or if I just don't have that dirty of pores (I feel like I do though, so I thought they ought to work better), or if maybe, just maybe I've been doing it wrong.  However, as a poor college student who doesn't drink her milk (probably why I never quite reached the 5'4" mark...) buying milk for the use of approximately 2tbs was kind of pointless and also a waste of money.  And plus, what would I do with the leftover gelatin?

Well, I went grocery shopping today.  Guess what I broke down and bought?  Yeahhh, of my few impulse buys for the year, this was one of them.

So I tried it out.  I'm horribly messy and my aunt is coming by tomorrow to help me clean my room, but in the mean time, I dug out one of my used hamburger helper microwave bowl things (you know what I'm talking about) and washed it out to use as the disposable container, since I figured she used it for a reason, probably that gelatin is a bitch to clean out of things you want to use.  I also didn't have a plastic spoon, so I'm really hoping the cleaning I did on the one I used will do, otherwise I'll just be having gelatin on all of my food I eat with that particular spoon for the rest of forever.  Or I'll have to break down and use the dishwasher.

So I mix it up, and I added too much milk the first time.  NBD, just add more gelatin.  Too much gelatin.  Just a touch more milk. Perfect!  Then to the microwave for 10 seconds.

And she means ten.  Any longer and I might have had boiling milk-jello-mixture instead of luke-warm milk-jello-mixture.  And apply directly to your face.  Apply directly to your face.

Apply directly to your face.  I did it.  I used my fingers since I wasn't sure the spoon was actually going to spread it around.

I can't move my face right now, but it also hasn't been 15 minutes.  Okay, I can move it a little bit, but not much.  I'll wait a little while longer, until the urge to peel it off becomes too great for my OCD.

Until then you're going to get the live review.

It smells weird.  I guess it smells like milk and unflavored gelatin.  But it smells weird.  Not sure if I like it.  Feels gross going on, too.  Like you're spreading sandy boogers on your face.  Not terribly pleasant.

Feels like I've got a mask on (oh wait, haha, I do) I really want to move my face because I can't.  It's terribly inconvenient.

I think a smell should be one of the first things you say about a product, no matter what the product is.  It's terribly important and can change a person's life and/or perception of the product.  Like this stuff, smells like icky.  Not a particular icky, but just an icky.  Like sour milk, or the milk jug if you didn't rinse it out before you put it in the recycling.  So sour milk and plastic.  But maybe not so strong?  It's more like the occasional whiff of it.

It doesn't go on clear either.  It's not like, opaque, but it's certainly not transparent.  It dries clearer, though.  And feels really heavy.  I didn't even put that much on I didn't think.  Maybe I did...uh oh.  My whole face is going to come off...I didn't even think about that!

Well, if you see me next without a layer of skin, just call me two-face.  (NOTE: FOR YOUR SAFETY, DO NOT CALL ME TWO-FACE WHEN YOU SEE ME NEXT)

I may have also put some a little too close to my eye skin.  It feels weird under my eye when I blink.

Has it been 15 minutes yet?  Maybe that's why none of the pore-things work out for me.  I'm too impatient. All I really want is to see the results, but in order to get the results, you have to wait...

I could solve this.  I could watch pore-strip videos and wait until this is all dried...that could work.

Okay the 15 minutes HAS to be up by now...I can't move my face hardly at all...I'm gonna go peel this baby off.  See you in a bit.

So, half an hour later, most of my facial hair removed (including what I'm sure is about half an eyebrow betwixt the twain), and looking like a crazed burn unit patient, I realize I should probably remember next time I decide to put something sticky on my face that I'm actually part Italian Wookie, and that it's a bad idea if I haven't shaved first.

I've tried rewetting down what's still on my face, so I can attempt to get the rest off later.


I'm sure this works really well for normal girls who are not part Wookie and/or Mountain Man.  I have come to the conclusion that I don't actually have blackheads, I just have pores that get filled with dirt from time to time, but that doesn't actually come out.  As I should have learned with just about everything else I've tried.

Seriously, though, Don't do this if you have more than average hair on your face where you're applying this stuff.  I lost my muttonchops for this review.  You're welcome.

In any case, I always say don't take anyone else's word for it unless they're a doctor with certified medical degrees.  Or a nurse.  Always listen to the nurse, unless you've been a pain in the ass up until that point, in which case, listen to her anyway, but know that it's probably a punishment and not actually a treatment.

Oh my GOSH this hurts so bad.

Until Next Time, Dear Readers.

Saturday, December 8, 2012

A New Freckle

I found a freckle on my hand this morning at work.  It's new, I've never seen it before today, and considering it's in a very visible spot on my left hand, you'd think I'd have noticed it.   I'm also assuming it's a freckle.  I have no proof that it is, however I do know that it's not a bug -- it didn't move at all today -- and it's not a scab -- I tried picking it off, it's stayed.  It also hasn't faded, so it's probably not ink.

So I guess we really don't know the backs of our hands all that well.

I've been really angry and upset recently, over pretty much nothing.  I'm thinking it's those damn communists coming into the funhouse, but it might just be shark week.  Either way, I've not been terribly friendly, and I'd like to send out an apology to those who have been on the blunt end of it.

That being said, some of the things I've been upset about have had some firm basis in reality.  A lot of it has to do with some misinterpretation about my last post.

A lot of the time, when I update in a rage or in a seriously bad mood, it just means that I bottled it up a little too long.  Usually it doesn't get like that.  That's why a lot of the time you'll get three really angry posts several months apart.  Or something like that.

It's the end of the semester, and I'm stressed about a lot of things I can't change at this point in time.  Since I cannot change these things, I don't see the point in complaining about them, hence the bottling factor.  When the last nail hits the straw on the camel's coffin, you guys get a rage-post.  Once it's out, I'm done with it.  It's gone.  I don't like thinking about it anymore because I. Do. Not. Like. To. Be. Angry.

I doubt anyone likes being angry.  So why bring up the angry feelings in someone else?  I know misery loves company but when you're talking to me, my guilt complex will take care of that when you start telling me about your problems, because in comparison, mine = not that big of a deal.  So I'll feel bad that I feel bad about little things when you have bigger things to feel bad about but you really don't need to bring up the bad things I feel about myself.  I do that well enough on my own, thank you very much.

No help needed.

I know a lot of it is unintentional or at the very worst, well-intentioned.  I get that.  I'm a pretty smart girl, actually.  Assume I know what's going on before you assume I don't.  I know there's a stereotype against blondes, but really now, this is the internet.  Can't I pretend that I'm not blonde when you guys can't see me?

That's the whole reason I stay on the internet.  I can literally be anyone I want.  I can be myself so I can be the intelligent, literate, coherent, hilarious, mildly socially awkward-but-still-adorable person I pretend I am when I'm by myself.  I don't like being around people because I can't be that person when I'm with others.  There's something in my brain that just flick off, like a switch, and I lose all ability to hold an intelligent conversation.  Probably because in real life you don't get second takes or a delete button.

But I'm really okay.  I really am.  I don't bullshit on here.  I really don't.  I get angry and upset and I write what I feel in the moment, but on the whole, I'm okay.  I've come to terms with lots of things about myself that most people would try to disagree with, but you don't know me.  You don't know my life.  You don't know the shit I've been through (what little of it there is.  I'm trying to make a joke based off of a particular internet meme.  Am I succeeding?  No, probably not.  EPIC FAIL).  I know me.  The only person who knows me better than me is God.

I also get annoyed when people encroach on what I deem is my personal space, even if it is over the internet.  I've had bad experiences with people stealing my shit online (like, creative shit, poems and whatnot).  So if you've taken something I've done, style wise, and you know who you are (and I know who you are too) if you have, please stop.  Just...just stop.  I know it's edgy and cool looking or sounding or whatever, but it's fuckin' mine.  I haven't had much that's just mine in my life, please don't take things I came up with by myself. If you're unsure, ASK.  just fuckin' ASK.  Or AXE if you're from far enough south.  Whatever.  Don't kill me, though, bro.


I'm mostly convinced the world will end on the 21st (I'm assuming Mayan time, because, well, duh.  They wouldn't write a calendar for anywhere else, would they?  They don't know the stars anywhere else).  And it's gotten to the point that I'm more scared of the world not ending.

Now, this isn't to say I'm scared because of changes in my life or whatever coming up.  I've actually got more things under control than I ever have in my entire life.  It's been really empowering.

But I'm scared that the world won't end on the 21st (or the equivalent thereof.  A certain R.E.M. song comes to mind).  I'm scared that it will stay the same and we'll all just stay at this point of social, financial, and societal stagnation (yes, social and societal are different, in my world.  Social means our interactions, societal means where we're going with our society as a whole).

There are a few hopes for me in the inevitable non-end of the world (because if I believe something's going to happen, something will stop it from happening.  Probably The Doctor, but we'll never know).  One contains my plans for the future, which I will continue to keep a secret from those not directly involved.  So no, if you're reading this right now, you probably will not know until plans are finalized, so if the world ends, you don't even really need to care.

The second is the ASMR community on youtube.  They convince me that there are genuinely nice, caring, gentle people out in the world (small though their numbers might be).

(If you don't know what ASMR is, that's okay, because you probably don't have it anyway.  You can google it.  I'm not doing that for you.  You're already on some sort of electronic device.  Hell, you can Bing that shit.  You have the internet at your fingertips, don't make me do the work for you, lazy 1st world people)

I'm sure there's more, but those were the two I'm most focused on right now.

But seriously guys, if the world doesn't end on Dec. 21, 2012 I'm assuming CST, because I'm too lazy to check which time zone the Mayans might have been in.  I'm writing, I can afford to be a lazy 1st world person, I'll be shocked as hell.  And I do mean as we know it, just fyi.  But that could be a whole hell of a difference.

Until next time (unless the world ends and  I don't update before then)

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Antisocial with a dash of Awkward...

Do you know that feeling where you just need to cry?  It's not like you really have anything good to cry about, but you have that feeling in the back of your throat anyway, and you can feel it coming on, and you can stop it, but it's still there, waiting to strike?

Been feeling like that all day.

It's only gotten worse as the day has progressed.  So far no tears, but I don't imagine that will last much longer.

This may come as a shock to some of you (I don't know, if you've read everything I've ever written, probably not), but I'm not very good at the whole "people" thing.  I can fake it like nobody's business, for a while.  But after that...I just...can't anymore.

I don't know how to control it so that I can when I need to, either.

I don't make friends.  I make very close acquaintances.  If you've been led to believe I thought of us as closer than "yeah, we've hung out a bunch, and we seem to know each other really well, but there's still lots about her I don't know," I apologize.  It's just...not possible, I think.

There are very few people in the world who I am close enough to that I consider them my friends.  A good 3/4 of them are my immediate family.  That fourth one, I'm not even entirely sure about some days.

And most of it is on my part.  Ok, so other people consider me their friend, that's fine.  They probably are not working under the same criteria as I am (or they are, but they aren't as demanding...I'm a little high maintenance when it comes to interpersonal relationships, ranging anywhere from distant acquaintance "I met her at a party once I think" to family "She's my sister/daughter/granddaughter/niece/etc, of course I love her!")

I'm ridiculously insecure.  I'm not even entirely sure where it comes from.  It's something I've had as long as I can remember, since I was really young.  Not just about my physical appearance.  I never wanted to look like I wanted too much, or that I was really needy, or clingy, or anything like that.  I never asked for things I wanted.  I stopped cuddling with my family because I think someone somewhere along the line complained about me being heavy once, and I thought maybe it meant they didn't want to cuddle with me anymore.  So I just stopped.  If I ever had a crush on a guy, you couldn't tell because I made sure not to show it.  It was fleeting glances at him while he wasn't looking that never lasted longer than a couple of seconds, maybe.  I would go out of my way not to touch him or sit next to him -- which I later learned is the EXACT OPPOSITE of what most people do when they like someone.  I tried my best to not let them know.  Okay, so my walks to the water fountain to get a drink while he was in that general area increased, but it wasn't like I spoke to him or anything.

And I was somehow surprised that none of the guys I liked ever liked me back.

I haven't felt that way about anyone in a very long time.  I tried, trust me.  I tried really hard...but I just...I don't know.  I guess it disappeared

(Great, NOW I start crying...)

And I'm so fucking terrified of making people upset.  I can't even blame it on something happening in my past.  You know the worst thing that happened when I made my parents mad when I was little?  They got mad.  They yelled.  I was put into time out.  Probably they threatened to take away my toys.  Maybe they did.  Other than that, nothing happened.  There was very little consequence for making people unhappy when I was a child.


But I am.  I am.  And it's so frustrating, because whenever I stick my neck out for myself, I scrunch it back up with apologies and fear.  Because I don't want other people mad at me for having an opinion.

I don't want to disappoint them when my opinion is different than theirs.  Why does it even FUCKING matter?

I don't know!!!

And it would all be so much easier if I could just ignore the rest of the world and they could go back to ignoring me.  But I have to work.  I have to finish school so I can work some more so I can have money to be able to hide from the world, and there's less free time and more stress and I'm not handling it at all.

And I don't want to grow up, but I don't want to be a kid again.  And it's so fucking hard, and I don't have the balls to tell anyone what I want, because what if they think badly of me?  Maybe they'll think I'm greedy.  Maybe they'll think I'm avoiding them.  Maybe maybe maybe


I'm so sick of this.  I'm sick of everything.  I don't want to be like this.  I DON'T WANT TO CARE WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK OF ME.


It's this stupid vicious cycle that I can't escape from.  I care because I want people to like me, but the only way people like me is when I'm something I'm not, which I've learned how to be very well, but it's not fun to keep up with, so I end up not wanting to hang out with people and they still try and hang out with me, and then I get annoyed, which just pushes them farther away, and then I worry that they don't like me.

And I'm so tired of it.  I'm just so tired.

Of everything.

And whenever people do want to hang out with me, it's only ever because they want something, which has totally bashed my already insignificant self-esteem down to a pulp.  Everyone only wants something for themselves.  It's a fact of life.  I'm guilty of it, but it's not the only reason I hang out with people.  And I'm never going to believe that people want to hang out with me for me ever, because it's always to serve another purpose.  It'll get me to do something for them later (even though I probably would have done it anyway).  It'll make me like them more.  It'll do something to benefit them more than it benefits me.  And I'll just go along with it, la-dee-dah, because that's who I am.  I can't...I can't change that, no matter how much it ends up hurting me in the end... always has been, it always will be.  And when I've served my purpose, well, I guess that's that.  They just go about their merry little lives, thinking "gee, that was fun, I'll have to contact her again when I need/want/have-to-have something done again."  And I'll sit over here going "Well, that's one more task I've had to do for someone else.  Maybe if I keep it up, karma will eventually come back around to me and I'll get something nice in return for once."  Because "good company" is only a good reward for a very short amount of time.


Sorry...I'm a little upset today.  Obviously, or else the whole crying-feeling-intro wouldn't have been necessary.

I'm not apologizing for anything I've said.  It's all true from my point of view today.  It could be different tomorrow, or in a month, or this time next year.  You probably see it differently.

I'm just...done...I'm done.  I don't even...