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readme.txt

Apparently blogs don’t have homepages. The blog is home. But I don’t like that.

Say you’re wandering around the internet and end up at my blog. (I’d optimistically assume you landed there on purpose, but that defeats the purpose of this anecdote, so of course, you have ended up there accidentally.) While this is GREAT, because it means one more rando is reading my writing, it’s not so great because more likely than not, you’re like “what the fuck is the place?” You might read skim my most recent post, which currently contains a lot about crying and the new president, which would more than likely make you scram ASAP.

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Hi, Remember Me?

It’s been a while.

Last week, one of my friends said I was like “a real adult.” I told her that I’m just good at pretending. Would a real adult get an email notification from her bank that her account balance fell below $25? Twice? In one day? If the answer is yes, then you could say that yes, I am very much a real adult.

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A Witch With A B

After many years, I’ve come to the undeniable conclusion that I’m a bit of a sassy gal.  Sarcastic, feisty, bitchy, rude, whatever, I’ve heard it all.  While I actually like this quality about myself quite a lot, I grew up learning that I should refrain from such comments.  I wasn’t witty or endearing; I had a bad attitude.  I suppose that was true to a certain extent; after all, I only said such things when I thought someone was being painfully stupid.  Or just a bit oblivious to an obvious situation.  It’s a judgmental habit I inherited from my parents, so you’d think they would have appreciated it more, but whatever.

So I spent a long time holding back.  Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, right?  It’s mean.  It’s poor form.  It’s also my main form of communication.  As a result, instead of voicing all of my bitchy comments, I held my tongue and spent a lot of my life keeping quiet.

Yeah, that really does not work for me.

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When I realized that one of my friends here, arguably the nicest person I’ve ever met, is even sassier than I, I was yet again faced with a harsh reality that I’ve been coming to terms with for years now.

Screw what everyone else thinks.

I mean really.  There’s a time and place, of course, but I can’t continue stifling an aspect of myself that is so vital to who I am.  Basically, if you can’t handle it or don’t get it, I don’t care.  I’ve put in a great deal of effort cultivating a useful filter for all the ridiculous things that come to mind.  Usually I’m able to realize I shouldn’t say something before I say it, but as demonstrated in the case with Quantum Physics, it doesn’t always work.

There are still plenty of things I shouldn’t and won’t say, but my feisty ‘tude shall not continue to be included.  I’ve spent so much time with my head up my ass trying to do and say things that will make other people happy.  I’ve been working hard to change that over the past couple of years, but it’s a long process.  I wouldn’t say it’s difficult, not exactly, because all I have to do is think about how unhappy I am when I ascribe to other people’s standards.

mindy kaling my own role model gif

It’s not instant though, and it’s an unreliable process.  I guess it would be easy to get discouraged and give up, but luckily I haven’t done that yet.  I’ve just stuck with some bad habits longer than I’d like.

I guess that right now, my big area of improvement focuses on dating and relationships.  Mainly romantic ones, but I’ve also been thinking a lot about how important friendship is.  A romantic relationship built between people who don’t have friends can become co-dependent.  Been there, done that, no thanks.  Friends are important.  Even just one or two.  But I’m talking about real friends.  Good ones.  People with whom you can be yourself and talk about important things.  They’re the people who will support you unconditionally (as long as you’re reciprocating that effort) so that you don’t feel like you need to be in a relationship.

And well, in order to have friends like that, you’ve gotta be comfortable being yourself.  And in order to do that, you have to know who you are.

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I actually have a pretty good idea of who I am at this point, so kudos to me.  Well, at the very least I know that I’m highly dramatic, a quality that in my case, only works when paired with irony.  I know that I’m dramatic and have a high opinion of myself.  I know that to many, this comes off as self-absorbed.  And I know those things are true.  I’m an arrogant know-it-all with a high opinion of myself.  What else can I do but use it to my advantage?

I say this is important in order to find true friends, but it’s also vital to a good romantic relationship, too.  I mean Bill Nye the Quantum Physics Guy didn’t seem to mind when the first thing I said to him was that he looked different that I expected.  He seemed to find it amusing, come to think of it.  He also laughed at every outrageous thing that I said.  I’ve only seen him once, canceling our second date in favor of Six Flags, but he sure does seem to like me.  I’m finally seeing him again tonight, actually.

He likes me because I’m being exactly who I am.  And who knows, maybe it won’t work out.  If it doesn’t, I’d rather know that I was honest.  I’d rather we both be exactly who we are and know it doesn’t work because of that.  I’d hate to pretend that I’m someone I’m not just because I think someone else will like it.  I’d hate to pretend and for it to not work – or even worse, actually work –  as a result.  I don’t want to be with someone who I have to pretend around.

Along those same lines, I know what I want.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.  I’m not going to compromise what I want in a relationship in favor of just having one.  There’s no shortage of decent available guys, as I’ve experienced firsthand.  They’re definitely not hard to come by if you compromise your standards.  But just because a guy seems to be nice, decently attractive, and interesting doesn’t mean I have to date him.  I’m not so obsessed with finding someone to call my boyfriend that I’ll settle for the first acceptable guy who comes along.

I’m not going to start off a relationship by making exceptions.   Those little things turn into big things.  If I have to lower my standards on the first date, I can only imagine what will happen as things progress.  I don’t want to date someone because I like the idea of who they could be or because they have potential.  I want to like them as they are, right in front of me.  If I’m already noticing qualities I want to change about someone that early on, it’s clearly not meant to be.

I would rather have impossibly high standards than be desperate.  I would rather be satisfied with my life as it is, on my own, than feel like I need someone to make me whole.  I’d rather kiss a thousand frogs than assume that the first creep I see is a prince.  I want to be so happy that it takes an incredibly special person for me to change my situation than so incredibly unhappy that I’ll take the first guy who will have me.

gretchen karen new queen bee gif

Do You Wanna Do Something Fun? Wanna Go To Taco Bell?

“It makes me look fat.”

Those are the words that I just heard an 8 year old utter.

I actually can’t process much more than that at the moment.  She was there with her 6 year old sister and her mom.  We’d just gone through the arduous task of trying to find her an outfit to buy (for no reason other than “because,” mind you).  There was a black lace skirt that she loved but she couldn’t agree with her mom on a top to match it.

I told her that one day, when she was the one paying, she could buy whatever she wanted.  I mean I really think that she should be able to wear whatever she wants, within reason.  So the black top wasn’t the same black as the skirt (they were totally the same though).  Like really?  She’s 8.

An 8 year old is already concerned about being fat.  I absolutely cannot with this city right now.  I can’t.

For the record, this child had absolutely no logical reason to feel this way and I promise you, her mother was just as horrified as I was when she said that.

I don’t remember much about my life at 8 years old except I liked horses and Harry Potter wasn’t a big deal yet.  What I can tell you though is that I definitely didn’t have any concept of fat or skinny and I definitely didn’t already have body issues.  I guess that’s one of the perks of growing up in the middle of nowhere?

It makes me think about where this girl got this sort of idea in her head, that fat is even a thing.  I mean she’s only 8!  It’s possible that she learned from her mother, but for some reason, I doubt it.  That leaves media, but again, she’s 8.  What could she possibly have access to that would give her the idea that she needs to be concerned with her weight?

The only somewhat logical conclusion that I can come up with is that she learned from her peers, who learned it from their own mothers.  Maybe their mothers are terrible, vain hags who genuinely believe appearance is the only thing that matters.  Maybe they’ve already started ingraining that into their daughters’ minds.

Or maybe they don’t have a clue.  Maybe they innocently enough perpetuate this false notion that your weight determines your value.  It’s completely possible.  I’m not even sure which is worse; doing it on purpose or being completely unaware.

Either way, it sucks, and it needs to stop.

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I Was Like Totally Buggin’

The other day I acted worse than Regina George, and now my laptop is punishing me for it.  The trackpad has stopped working for the second time in about two weeks.  It’s literally been forcing me to sit with my guilt, not allowing me an attempt to alleviate it.

I deserve that.

However, it looks like it’s working again, at least for the time being, allowing me to acknowledge what a terrible person I was in my post a few days ago.

Yeah, this is going to be kind of an apology, which is difficult because I have to be genuine.  That actually makes me want to vom, and not in a “cute aggression” sort of way.

So I’ll just get it over with.

When I say I was worse than Regina George in my last post, I mean I was like Regina post-dethroning, complete with Kalteen bar teeth.

regina george kalteen bar teeth

I really should not have called Josh’s girlfriend Browzilla.  It was mean spirited and completely unnecessary.  She’s never done a damn thing to me and I had no excuse to be such a bitter old hag.  She can and should do whatever she thinks looks good, haters be damned.  Girl on girl hate is a huge problem, one that I unfortunately still have issues with, apparently.

Being a bitch for the sake of being mean is not ok.  I don’t really like using that word as it’s rarely appropriate, but in this case, it is.  Generally women are referred to as bitches for being honest or standing up for what they believe in.  Both of those things are actually really awesome and warrant no name calling.

But when you’re a bitch just because you can’t handle your own feelings, that’s a problem.  Like no, I do not particularly like this girl, but I don’t know her.  I’ve never even met her.  How in the world can I justify writing ANYTHING about her, ESPECIALLY her appearance?

I can’t.  There is absolutely no excuse.

I know that I have a weird thing about eyebrows (seriously, they can make or break your entire look), but there was just no need for name calling.

And I feel horrible about it.

That’s it.  This apology was solely for a girl I’ve never met, who’s never done anything to me, and who had a total of maybe three sentences written about her.

What?  Did you think it would be for my exes?

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Lol no.