would ya look at that ... it seems i've got a blog

I live with a somewhat consistent fear that the people in my life are going to one day discover something about me they don't care for and decide, "eh, fuck it. See ya." It's always been there and in my good ol' younger days, I always chalked it up to insecurity. But as I've gotten older and thankfully, far more secure in who I am than ever before, I've often wondered why the hell it's still a lingering fear. It's not constant and I consider myself lucky that I'm drawn to people who challenge that fear, allowing it dissipate (and on the rare occasion, disappear) rather than people who perpetuate it. But still, it's there. Only when you get down to it, the 'why' doesn't really matter at all. No matter the reason for its existence, I can either let it stick around or *I* can be the one to say, "eh, fuck it. See ya."

I've always been someone most people would say tend toward the quiet. It was only sometime in adulthood that my parents finally told me they used to sometimes worry about me because growing up, I spent so much time in my room reading or listening to music or writing in one of my bazillion journals. It was definitely somewhat of a coping mechanism back then but it was (and still is) mainly due to the fact that if I don't have anything to say, I'm not going to say anything. I've always dug my alone time, I've always dug just being quiet, and I can't stand the forced filling of silence.

But my quietness has often been one of those things that makes some people think something is wrong and I've grown so accustomed to that that even when I'm around people who I'm fairly certain understand that isn't the case, I sometimes find myself, after all these years, still apologizing for being quiet.

It happened last night with a friend; one of the people I can be dead silent with and not feel it's an awkward silence. Whether we're talking or not talking, there's a level of comfort there that makes me feel like I don't need to apologize, whether I say a big, fat nothing or I say a big, fat something stupid. He sometimes apologizes for unnecessary things like falling asleep while we're watching television and I usually give him shit about it because it's important to me that he not feel like I expect anything from him other than kindness and respect. It's all I expect from anyone, really and provided those two things are there, I could give a flying fuck what else comes along with it.

But I realized last night just how goddamn second nature it can be to apologize for stupid shit. Hell, I even apologized for suggesting that hanging out at his place is comfier than mine. Which is ridiculous. Mine isn't uncomfortable at all; I love my apartment and I'm always comfortable there and I want whomever else may be in my apartment with me to be comfortable there too. If he isn't and if he hates being there, I'm pretty sure he'd say so and wouldn't have explicitly said otherwise. But much like my apologizing for the silence, my apologizing for that wasn't at all based on any kind of ... well, truth. It's based on absolutely nothing but a possibility. The possibility that I somehow won't live up to some stupid-ass, imaginary, self-imposed standard of 'good enough.'

I'm not uncomfortable with silence and I'm not uncomfortable in my apartment. But I was worried that *he* was uncomfortable with the silence and / or in my apartment, which somehow would have translated to some kind of ... personal fault of mine. Remember when I said a few sentences ago, "which is ridiculous"? Yeah, so is that translation. It's not at all what that translates to and I know that. I also know that the apologizing has become nothing but a habit. Like putting away my dishes so they're alternating colours (purple, orange, purple, orange). Like when I eat M&Ms or Skittles or something with different colours and I separate them into piles with equal amounts of colours in each pile and then I eat ones of the same colour from each pile until they're gone. They're silly little things I do only because I've done them for so long that they've become second-nature.

Those habits aren't bad and I don't give a tiny rat's ass about re-learning how to stack my dishes or how to eat candy like a normal person. But the other one? The other one is a bad habit and one I do not care for. It seems kind of shitty to expect and encourage others to be 100% who they are if I'm not willing to try and do the same, doesn't it?

So, I'm going to be the one to say to that bad habit, "eh, fuck it. See ya." And I'm going to break it. Well, not immediately, of course, because habits take time to break. But I'm going to work on breaking it. Which is, indeed, good enough.

Seems quite appropriate ...

(Ignore the part where the lyrics say, "even when I numb myself" because I'm fairly certain the actual lyrics are, "even when I am not myself.")

in lieu of a real post, i give you ... semi-porn but not really

It's been quite some time since I've said anything even remotely resembling significant, huh? I'm gonna roll with that for just a bit longer.

While looking for the video of a commercial my friend and I were talking about last night, I stumbled upon this gem of a banned Skittles commercial. Surely, it was never intended to make it on television because sweet holy god, I can't imagine in what world it would ... but I still find it hilariously ... well, hilarious.



As you were.

I'll admit it

I dislike Oprah. I dislike her a ton. If I wasn't trying to steer clear of truly hating anyone or anything, I would entertain the possibility of saying, "I hate Oprah." Yes, I realize all the good she's done in the world money she's thrown at the world, but I always have and always will stand by my belief that she's a horribly wretched interviewer, a narcissistic jerk of a woman, and I can't wait 'til she gets the hell out of my city.

So, I shall steal some internet hilarity and join in the mocking ...

That is all.

creative writing prompt

Write about a moment when you and another person (sibling, friend, parent, etc.) bonded.

My brother and I have never been terribly close. Once we got past the stage where we flung, "you're a jerk!" insults at each other every five minutes, we seemed to basically ... exist just fine together in the same house but we weren't particularly friends. I think we're both pretty different people than we were when we were younger (thankfully) and even though neither of us are chit-chatty phone call-y types and we don't talk all that often, we *are* closer than we ever were as kids. He sent me an email the other day that said, "Cool bookmark. Thought an avid reader might appreciate it" with the following picture attached, which reminded me why I believe so strongly in the, "actions speak louder than words" mentality. I don't need a phone call every other day or a constant reminder that someone cares about me. I just need an occasional one that tells me you really know the kind of person I am.

One who would just about give her tits to have this bookmark!

One of my favourite childhood memories definitely falls under the 'bonding between siblings' category. My parents have a ranch-style house so the three bedrooms are in the same hallway and the only thing separating what was my brother's room from what was my bedroom is the bathroom. When we went to bed at night and left our doors open, we could talk to each other until the parentals told us to shut the hell up and go to sleep (but in a loving, apropriately parent-y kind of way, of course). So, until that time came, we talked. And we played Scrabble. Scrabble is a fairly visual kind of game and when I try and think back to how we would have made that work with just talking, I have absolutely no idea how we did it. The only thing I really remember was saying things like, "I'll take a B, Chuck" (because when he wasn't making Love Connections, Chuck Woolery was hosting a bazillion other game shows, such as Scrabble).

I don't remember what words we ever played or how exactly we played or who ever won. But I do remember not hating having to go to bed at the end of the day because I had a brother two doors away who, for the most part, was the last person I talked to before falling asleep every night.

Ah, the old days.

if the apocalypse comes, beep me

So, Judgment Day is coming in a few days, huh? From what I've heard, we'll have about five months after that before the world ends fer realz. And after having just read this post over at Feministe, I got to thinking about the self-indulgent things I would really, really, really, I mean really want to do if I knew the world was going to come crashing down around me, making the consequences of those actions quite minimal. I think I'll have plenty of time to fit them in and cross them off as I skip my way down the Path to the Apocalypse.

1. Ecstasy and heroin. Yes, I know and yes, really. You know how the uber anti-drug types are all hung up on the belief that simply talking about doing drugs is a way of glamorizing them? To a certain extent, I kind of agree. I've heard in detail what those highs are like and they totally make me wanna try it but there ain't no way. Well, that's a lie. I would do X tomorrow if opportunity knocked on my rave cave and said, "hey, let's have a happy, dancey, touchy good time." But if any of my family members are reading, relax ... the heroin is, without doubt, safely stashed behind Indulge Only In Case Of Apocalypse glass.

2. Fuck eight ways to Sunday. Whomever I want, as often as I want, however I want, with an absolute disregard for anything but the pleasure (and enthusiastic consent, of course) of whatever parties may be involved.

3. Rob a bank. It's the only way I'll be able to ...

4. Go to France and frolic the fuck out of the entire country.

5. Smoke as many cigarettes as I want without even the slightest bit of guilt or regret.

6. Quit my job after making my way around the office, telling each and every pretentious prick just what pretentious pricks they are.

7. Bungee jump.

8. Steal a CTA bus and drive it as fast as I possibly can on Michigan Avenue.

9. Smoke a whole punch of pot, put this song on repeat, and have hours of stoned sex.

10. Karaoke. Scandal's "Goodbye To You." And I will rock that bitch Kate & Allie-style.

So, to sum up ... if the apocalypse comes, please do beep me. Just be sure to give me plenty of time to take care of these things before hopping on a plane back to New York to shuffle off this mortal coil with my family, mmmkay? Thanks!

this is me at work

Okay, so it's actually Buffy at work. But what Willow said still applies.

Bored now.

take two

* I posted this last week and then deleted it but have since decided that was just silly. So, I'm re-posting it. 'Cause I wanna.

I heart Jezebel. I do not, however, enjoy my heart being broken while reading about young girls who believe that in order to be loved and desired and respected by guys, they have to be the epitome of physical perfection.

How The "Good Guys Are Hard To Find" Narrative Hurts Women

For the most part, I didn't grow up in a world in which I felt constant pressure to be perfect; at least, it wasn't anywhere near the world in which most girls grow up these days. Of course, every girl feels pressure from everyone and everywhere to be the prettiest (but not too pretty because then you'll be a snob), smartest (but not too smart because then you'll be intimidating), sexiest (but not too sexy because then you'll be a total slut), Most Perfect Girl In The World™, but I've rarely felt ... as inadequate as some of the girls mentioned in the article seem to feel; which makes me both depressingly sad and amazingly thankful. I've never been thin and tall with flowing hair and gorgeous skin and an ass that just won't quit and to an extent, that's absolutely kept me from putting myself out there when it comes to relationships. But I'm lucky. I've always considered myself fairly capable of understanding and accepting that people are just plain different. People like different things and they look for different qualities in partners, whether they're looking for a sexual partner or long-term committed partner. What works for one may not work for another; I get that and I generally don't take it personally when someone doesn't dig me, for whatever reason(s). People have dug me, people will dig me, and if someone doesn't, he should absolutely move along to someone he does.

But as the always-awesome Dr. Elliot Reed once said, "How is it that no man understands that every woman, whether shes 16 or 60, still has that awkward, insecure, self-conscious teenage girl inside of her?"

Lately, and for the first time ever as an adult woman, I've caught myself comparing myself to ... god, I want to cower in the corner in shame and embarrassment even as I'm about to type it ... a teenager. It's utterly ridiculous for several reasons and the smart, 32-year-old, raised-and-loved-by-amazing-men-and-women part of me completely realizes that. I may not be able to immediately take myself out of that head space but when I do finally find myself thinking, "holy fuck, will you *please* think about something else?!" I remind myself that comparing like that is unnecessary and hurtful and serves not even one positive purpose.

When talking to a good friend about it, I mentioned the fact that maybe my self-esteem isn't what I thought it was; to which he responded with a bit of surprise because he's never really gotten the low self-esteem vibe from me (hello? I moved from Small Town, USA to City, USA with $62 in my pocket and no job ... fuck you, self-doubt!). I've thought about it quite a bit since that conversation and I've realized that I think I've confused the way I see myself with the way I see others because the following Jezzie comment is spot-fucking-on (emphasis mine):

It is really important to remember that who you are should not be a reflection of anyone else's opinion of your appearance. I am an older woman by Jez readership standards, not slim and not pretty, and for the most part treated like some obstacle to be gotten around by the men in the room trying to get to the Hot Chick, and have had a lifetime of this sort of treatment. This has led me to have low expectations of men in general, but it hasn't given me particularly low self esteem, although it has probably led to my holding others in low esteem. (Is there a term for the opposite of SELF-esteem?) It has led me to expect little from most men, and to appreciate the ones who behave differently and see me for the whole person. And to have healthy boundaries and not be a doormat. None of that's a bad thing.

If Jezebel didn't have that stupid 'audition to be given commenting privileges' policy, that's just about how mine would have read. I don't expect much from men but it's never been because I don't feel like I have a right to. Honesty and mutual respect are just about the only things I need when it comes to any kind of relationship with a man (anyone, really). I think everyone is entitled to make sure they get both of those things and if I feel like I'm not getting them, it's certainly not because I'm unworthy; it's simply because someone either isn't capable or isn't willing to give them. Sure, it took a few more less-than-awesome experiences than I would have liked to get to that point but the important thing is that I got there. Well, here.

So, when I do find myself comparing a 32-year-old woman to a 17-year-old girl, I get all Virgo List Maker on my own ass and think about the qualities each of us has and the reasons our mutual friend would be attracted to us. At the bottom of said mental list is a big, fat, written-with-a-permanent-black-Sharpie scribble that reads, These are *his* reasons and his alone. They may tell me a decent bit about him but they tell me absolutely nothing about either one of us.

Then I usually butt my cigarette and get back to the business of being perfectly content with my level of awesomeness. Which usually involves shaking my ass around my apartment while listening to this:

Share Gonna Be Your Boy by Leopold and his Fiction