I woke up at 420 this morning. Upsetting, I know and, in my case, an extreme rarity. But for some odd reason it's midnight and I'm still awake... I haven't spent this many hours conscience since my last paper was due.
I hate being sleepless. I'm sure for others it is just as frustrating. Everyone hates when their desired goal eludes them but my is more hateful due to it inevitable progression. If I don't sleep I will just lay, for hours, listening to the clock tick and thinking about how terrible I am. I will relieve every dark moment, most of which healthy people would have forgotten by now and by the end of the first hour I will be completely sure I'm the worst person alive.
Tonight I find that my feelings are far darker than usual... but some of the worst thoughts I've had in a while (obviously they shall not be outlined here) have led me, oddly back to research. Weirdly phrased I know, I shall explain. I want to begin a study, which shall be difficult considering I have no current academic affiliation, investigating the suicidal thoughts of the 'normal' population. Mainly, because I understand everyone things about it but wonder if frequency over time and not just planning should be a warning sign. Also, I wonder how deeply investigated the common return of 'well, yeah, everybody thinks about it' has been. Furthermore, I love it when the 'diagnosed' get to be the control group, it should happen more often in psychological research. I miss school...
Sunday, 28 November 2010
Passionless Skins
I am a champion at trying on different skins. It’s because I have no soul purpose, which is my soul heartbreak. I hate fake people because deep inside I am fake. I’m not an artist and I never will be. I’m not a writer and again, I never will be. I’m not a lot of things but when I see someone or surround myself with people who have a ambitious focus on their dream, I try it on for size. To be honest its not that I am in love with their dream, although I am genuinely interested and it will hold my focus for more than a little while. It’s their surety. I dream about being that sure about something, anything. I really wouldn’t care if I discovered my life goal was competitive basket weaving, at least I would be sure. I would know that basket weaving was what I was meant to do. The perfect fit, my soul purpose. I have no idea of my passion and it makes me a great big faker. And as much as I hate myself, I shall continue to be a poser from each calling to the next, a pointless, directionless, and wholly unsure being. But I suppose there are worse things then being a passionless poser… at least I’m not a mass murdering fuckhead.
Tuesday, 9 November 2010
Airborne Ramblings
I find airplanes extremely upsetting. It's not the actual plane no do I have a fear of flying, I don't think the plane is going to fall out of the sky and it is actually, in my mind, quite stupid to worry, I have to fly and I'm already in the air... silly to worry about something that you've lost all control over just by boarding a hunk of flying metal.
As a side note I do find it quite humorous when people worry like that. It makes me want to ask them questions about wing safety and fuel levels. If you look that worried you're just asking for my ridicule. I feel sure this is evil and I know it makes me a bitch but since that isn't exactly a new discovery and you can't really do anything about it, move on. And grow some balls. Admit it. You would love to make fun of me for my worst fear. It's snakes by the way, don't want you to show up for this battle unprepared. I won't be and your quick defeat would be boring and an obvious waste of my time.
Back to how upsetting it is to be trapped in a airborne metal coffin for hours on end with stale air, bad food, smelly bathrooms and enough disease to kill a five year old... they have a steady diet of dirt by the way. That is why planes upset me, not the five year olds with a dirt diet, although children have no business being on a plane, unless heavily drugged. No, planes upset me because I'm trapped and surround by filth. Three dollar prostitutes are cleaner than the air on a plane. Think about that when you make that next sexual expenditure, 3 or 100 ($) take the deal, you most likely wouldn't give as much thought about your health before you shelled out 800 ($) for that trip to Maui.
Did I mention that cramped spaces have the tendency to make me angry and combative? 40 minutes left in this flying trash can o' joy.
The physical:
An Airborne Virgin, in name not innocence
The desired:
Escape
The feeling in the forefront:
Hostile Claustrophobia
The smothering sense:
Tactile- The oppressive heavy breath of my fellow caged
In absence of misplaced action:
Escape, I can only think of my exit from my current surroundings
If I were listening closely:
The deep rumble of the heavens passing by
As a side note I do find it quite humorous when people worry like that. It makes me want to ask them questions about wing safety and fuel levels. If you look that worried you're just asking for my ridicule. I feel sure this is evil and I know it makes me a bitch but since that isn't exactly a new discovery and you can't really do anything about it, move on. And grow some balls. Admit it. You would love to make fun of me for my worst fear. It's snakes by the way, don't want you to show up for this battle unprepared. I won't be and your quick defeat would be boring and an obvious waste of my time.
Back to how upsetting it is to be trapped in a airborne metal coffin for hours on end with stale air, bad food, smelly bathrooms and enough disease to kill a five year old... they have a steady diet of dirt by the way. That is why planes upset me, not the five year olds with a dirt diet, although children have no business being on a plane, unless heavily drugged. No, planes upset me because I'm trapped and surround by filth. Three dollar prostitutes are cleaner than the air on a plane. Think about that when you make that next sexual expenditure, 3 or 100 ($) take the deal, you most likely wouldn't give as much thought about your health before you shelled out 800 ($) for that trip to Maui.
Did I mention that cramped spaces have the tendency to make me angry and combative? 40 minutes left in this flying trash can o' joy.
The physical:
An Airborne Virgin, in name not innocence
The desired:
Escape
The feeling in the forefront:
Hostile Claustrophobia
The smothering sense:
Tactile- The oppressive heavy breath of my fellow caged
In absence of misplaced action:
Escape, I can only think of my exit from my current surroundings
If I were listening closely:
The deep rumble of the heavens passing by
Sunday, 15 August 2010
Some Things I've Learned...
Although I'm pretty sure I'm the last person anyone should come to for advice I have learned a few things here and there. And at the risk of sounding preachy and a little bit like that graduation song I think I should share a bit. So in no particular order...
Perfection is impossible and if ever achieved is most likely the sign of either the most boring person in the world or mental instability. Seriously, bail. The perpetrator of said perfection is most likely that, a perpetrator and three steps from wearing your meat suit as their "special" time apparel.
It really is alright to have absolutely no idea what you're doing. Again, most likely not the best example, but I'm still pretty clueless about what I'm doing (and will be for the foreseeable future) but I'm not alone and the rest of the people in our club are pretty awesome. But in all seriousness, although you may have the greenest of jealousy towards those who have it all figured out, take a second, odds are, as long as you're still searching, you're having a pretty good time, aren't ya?
Having mentioned the above, don't take more than a few seconds past first impression introspection. Too long spent in this state will lead to the deepest depression you will ever enter. I don't care if you have more self-esteem than anyone alive and are a better person than Gandhi you will find something terrible inside there somewhere and it will eat at you. Everyone has a dark corner and a string of embarrassing thoughtless moments. Take it from someone who spends way too much time at this particular activity (both the introspection and the thoughtless embarrassment). After about 10 minutes I'm completely sure I'm a totally worthless and terrible person and all I wanted to do was investigate the root of my blueberry dislike. (Still not sure why I abhor blueberries.)
Again, having mentioned embarrassing thoughtless moments... have 'em. I know they are terrible, I do nothing but have antagonizing ruminations about them forever afterward... seriously, my thoughtless moments bother me more than is healthy and I never seem to learn from them but I know deep down they are worth something. Whether they're just plain character building or character identifying with regards to the people you surround yourself with, I know they make me a person, a real person, which is extremely important to me. I could fill a tome with my mistakes but barely fill a page with my regrets.
Have as many issues as you like. I am mental. There are good and bad numbers, did you know that? Some just look mean. Like 9. Very unfriendly, just looks aggressive. If I'm in a room with a few things out of place I have to fix them all. Like if the picture on the wall is crooked, the rug is part rolled and a figurine is part turned I have to fix it. But my room is a mess you say... I know If the whole place is out of sync, then it's supposed to be. That becomes it's order. But that makes no sense you say? Of course it doesn't, I'm as mad as a hatter.
Travel as much as humanly and fiscally possible. Some of my best times have been spent outside both the country of my birth and of my residence. Travel is the best education I've ever had and I've attended some fairly quality educational institutions. And although you should never do anything that makes you feel unsafe, I highly recommend doing something that makes you feel uncomfortable. Some of my best nights started with forced attendance and anxiety.
Surround yourself with great people. This doesn't mean much description wise. Your type of great people won't be my type of great people. But "great people" are easily identified. They are the ones with whom you can spend hours without any additives and love every minute. Some of my funniest moments have been spent completely sober just sitting in a room with my friends. I've laughed my ass off for hours on a train of all places because I was with "great people". I consider my collection of "great people" to be one of my greatest life achievements.
Perfection is impossible and if ever achieved is most likely the sign of either the most boring person in the world or mental instability. Seriously, bail. The perpetrator of said perfection is most likely that, a perpetrator and three steps from wearing your meat suit as their "special" time apparel.
It really is alright to have absolutely no idea what you're doing. Again, most likely not the best example, but I'm still pretty clueless about what I'm doing (and will be for the foreseeable future) but I'm not alone and the rest of the people in our club are pretty awesome. But in all seriousness, although you may have the greenest of jealousy towards those who have it all figured out, take a second, odds are, as long as you're still searching, you're having a pretty good time, aren't ya?
Having mentioned the above, don't take more than a few seconds past first impression introspection. Too long spent in this state will lead to the deepest depression you will ever enter. I don't care if you have more self-esteem than anyone alive and are a better person than Gandhi you will find something terrible inside there somewhere and it will eat at you. Everyone has a dark corner and a string of embarrassing thoughtless moments. Take it from someone who spends way too much time at this particular activity (both the introspection and the thoughtless embarrassment). After about 10 minutes I'm completely sure I'm a totally worthless and terrible person and all I wanted to do was investigate the root of my blueberry dislike. (Still not sure why I abhor blueberries.)
Again, having mentioned embarrassing thoughtless moments... have 'em. I know they are terrible, I do nothing but have antagonizing ruminations about them forever afterward... seriously, my thoughtless moments bother me more than is healthy and I never seem to learn from them but I know deep down they are worth something. Whether they're just plain character building or character identifying with regards to the people you surround yourself with, I know they make me a person, a real person, which is extremely important to me. I could fill a tome with my mistakes but barely fill a page with my regrets.
Have as many issues as you like. I am mental. There are good and bad numbers, did you know that? Some just look mean. Like 9. Very unfriendly, just looks aggressive. If I'm in a room with a few things out of place I have to fix them all. Like if the picture on the wall is crooked, the rug is part rolled and a figurine is part turned I have to fix it. But my room is a mess you say... I know If the whole place is out of sync, then it's supposed to be. That becomes it's order. But that makes no sense you say? Of course it doesn't, I'm as mad as a hatter.
Travel as much as humanly and fiscally possible. Some of my best times have been spent outside both the country of my birth and of my residence. Travel is the best education I've ever had and I've attended some fairly quality educational institutions. And although you should never do anything that makes you feel unsafe, I highly recommend doing something that makes you feel uncomfortable. Some of my best nights started with forced attendance and anxiety.
Surround yourself with great people. This doesn't mean much description wise. Your type of great people won't be my type of great people. But "great people" are easily identified. They are the ones with whom you can spend hours without any additives and love every minute. Some of my funniest moments have been spent completely sober just sitting in a room with my friends. I've laughed my ass off for hours on a train of all places because I was with "great people". I consider my collection of "great people" to be one of my greatest life achievements.
Saturday, 22 May 2010
A Silly Decision...
I've decided to write a book. Obviously, I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm not even sure I know what I want to write about. On the other hand I am almost completely sure that sustained focus is not my strong point. In fact I am often distracted by the most mundane and common things, god forbid I trip upon something shiny... I'll never finish. Despite this I have decided to try. Writing a book and running a 5k. I will most likely accomplish neither...
My first problem (well, other than my uncontrollable focus) is that I have no idea what to write. My brain could never handle the pressures of a flowing fiction... my plot would wander like a son of a bitch. But the hard and fast of a dedicated non-fiction would also most likely trail towards my demise.
What to do? What to do? So far all I've come up with is a book of angry musings peppered with some (slightly) well written terse letters of discontent to greedy and evil bastards within the ranks of fortune 500... again, what to do, what to do? I guess smut isn't out of the question...
My first problem (well, other than my uncontrollable focus) is that I have no idea what to write. My brain could never handle the pressures of a flowing fiction... my plot would wander like a son of a bitch. But the hard and fast of a dedicated non-fiction would also most likely trail towards my demise.
What to do? What to do? So far all I've come up with is a book of angry musings peppered with some (slightly) well written terse letters of discontent to greedy and evil bastards within the ranks of fortune 500... again, what to do, what to do? I guess smut isn't out of the question...
Friday, 5 February 2010
Work: The Chains of Living
I'm not lazy. At least I am pretty sure I'm not lazy. I've had jobs. Many in fact. Some difficult in both the mental and physical sense and some easy again in both the mental and physical. I have also worked more than one job at a time. This is not a brag. There is nothing to brag about. I am just giving evidence to support my statement. I shall move on to my point. I will allow that often I do appear to be a lazy individual. I would however like to propose that I am not lazy so much as unambitious. And contrary to popular thought those are not mutually exclusive.
I have this creeping sensation that this stigma of laziness shall follow me where ever I go. I may lose promotions and I am fairly sure that my parents will soon discover the reason to disown me that they have been searching for so long. Here is the root of my problem. I do not believe that I was created to work, every day, tirelessly, from 9-5. I understand that to be a functional part of any society, a sentence that we all must endure, I must make money and support myself and my loved ones. And don't get me wrong I love 'things', I love 'things' a lot. And I understand that money doesn't just grow on trees. I should it has been screamed at me since puberty. I just don't think I approve of working until death. I do know I fully approve of living until death and that living isn't something you can do sat behind a desk, pushing keys all day. Can anyone ever be truly happy with that? I don't want to work to be life.
All this leaves me, as usual, dreading the future, when I won't get to freely do whatever enters my tiny little mind. When I shall have to ask permission to breathe and watch every careful step, as is fitting for a being of my social and professional standing. In essence that time when I shall punch my soul in the face hourly and try desperately to make sure my children are the most rebellious hell raisers modern society has every seen. Because they can be and I cannot. Well, at least not any longer.
The physical:
The domain of my adolescence
The desired:
Wealth, independent
The feeling in the forefront:
Hunger pains of freedom
The smothering sense:
Visual - Watching a fresh beginning with the fall of innocent snow
In absence of misplaced action:
Sleep, as always the comfort of slumber
If I were listening closely:
Quite Little Voices - We Were Promised Jetpacks
I swear my next blog shall have nothing to do with work nor my laziness. It has just been on my mind far too much lately. The effect of my surroundings I assume. Perhaps I shall have something nice and happy in my next entry. But, I'm not going to lie, most likely not. Those things frustrate my anger and hurt my cynical feelings. You should never hurt your internal cynic, that's how the world burns.
I have this creeping sensation that this stigma of laziness shall follow me where ever I go. I may lose promotions and I am fairly sure that my parents will soon discover the reason to disown me that they have been searching for so long. Here is the root of my problem. I do not believe that I was created to work, every day, tirelessly, from 9-5. I understand that to be a functional part of any society, a sentence that we all must endure, I must make money and support myself and my loved ones. And don't get me wrong I love 'things', I love 'things' a lot. And I understand that money doesn't just grow on trees. I should it has been screamed at me since puberty. I just don't think I approve of working until death. I do know I fully approve of living until death and that living isn't something you can do sat behind a desk, pushing keys all day. Can anyone ever be truly happy with that? I don't want to work to be life.
All this leaves me, as usual, dreading the future, when I won't get to freely do whatever enters my tiny little mind. When I shall have to ask permission to breathe and watch every careful step, as is fitting for a being of my social and professional standing. In essence that time when I shall punch my soul in the face hourly and try desperately to make sure my children are the most rebellious hell raisers modern society has every seen. Because they can be and I cannot. Well, at least not any longer.
The physical:
The domain of my adolescence
The desired:
Wealth, independent
The feeling in the forefront:
Hunger pains of freedom
The smothering sense:
Visual - Watching a fresh beginning with the fall of innocent snow
In absence of misplaced action:
Sleep, as always the comfort of slumber
If I were listening closely:
Quite Little Voices - We Were Promised Jetpacks
I swear my next blog shall have nothing to do with work nor my laziness. It has just been on my mind far too much lately. The effect of my surroundings I assume. Perhaps I shall have something nice and happy in my next entry. But, I'm not going to lie, most likely not. Those things frustrate my anger and hurt my cynical feelings. You should never hurt your internal cynic, that's how the world burns.
Sunday, 31 January 2010
Where are you going?
Those of you close to the House are well aware that currently the Countess and I are on a New World road trip, stumbling around America. It is mostly unplanned and we have only the will for adventure and vague ideas about activities or destinations. If you would enjoy a more in depth play by play of our journey my beloved and far more dedicated blogger the Countess is chronicling our pursuits in the blog From Scones to Biscuits. I suggest you read it, she has great skill with words.
The Countess and I are both currently unemployed. We are not attending school. We are not independently wealthy. We are not travel writers. We realize it is winter and there is snow in winter. We are well aware that we are in our mid-twenties. Also we are well aware money doesn't grow on trees/ the world is in a recession/ this won't look good on job applications/ and that we will run out of money. I think I covered everything... Oh, yes, we are single and don't tell anyone but... we are completely alright with staying that way. And, finally, yes, we think our current adventure is a great idea.
I realize that unless you are a 25 year old female on a three month unplanned road trip through the United States that last paragraph may seem weird to you so I will explain. You may not take notice to it but when meeting someone new or just carrying on a conversation people usually inquire about your current activities. The general American population upon hearing two 25 year old females reply 'we are on a road trip through America' tend to react with shocked faces alight with apprehension and confusion. More questions, due to the opinionated and open nature of the American people, are always quick to follow. I have listed a few of the answers that the Countess and I have had to supply ... repeatedly, to pretty much everyone we've met.
I guess we are rarities. I suppose that to some people it is odd that I only want to work to pay for the rest of my life. When I die I don't really want my profession to be the answer given to 'What did she do with her life?' In fact I would consider my life a failure if the answer were to be so. I would much prefer the answer to be the I lived it and if I must endure confused faces and questions used to thinly mask the 'this girl is a lazy idiot' that runs through every one's mind, so be it.
I am well aware that some time soon I shall have to settle down. I know my money will not last forever. I know the world is harsh and work is necessary. I know that my resume will have gaps. I am not crazy, stupid, or lazy. Although perhaps, economically and professionally, my life choices look all three of those things.
The Countess and I are both currently unemployed. We are not attending school. We are not independently wealthy. We are not travel writers. We realize it is winter and there is snow in winter. We are well aware that we are in our mid-twenties. Also we are well aware money doesn't grow on trees/ the world is in a recession/ this won't look good on job applications/ and that we will run out of money. I think I covered everything... Oh, yes, we are single and don't tell anyone but... we are completely alright with staying that way. And, finally, yes, we think our current adventure is a great idea.
I realize that unless you are a 25 year old female on a three month unplanned road trip through the United States that last paragraph may seem weird to you so I will explain. You may not take notice to it but when meeting someone new or just carrying on a conversation people usually inquire about your current activities. The general American population upon hearing two 25 year old females reply 'we are on a road trip through America' tend to react with shocked faces alight with apprehension and confusion. More questions, due to the opinionated and open nature of the American people, are always quick to follow. I have listed a few of the answers that the Countess and I have had to supply ... repeatedly, to pretty much everyone we've met.
I guess we are rarities. I suppose that to some people it is odd that I only want to work to pay for the rest of my life. When I die I don't really want my profession to be the answer given to 'What did she do with her life?' In fact I would consider my life a failure if the answer were to be so. I would much prefer the answer to be the I lived it and if I must endure confused faces and questions used to thinly mask the 'this girl is a lazy idiot' that runs through every one's mind, so be it.
I am well aware that some time soon I shall have to settle down. I know my money will not last forever. I know the world is harsh and work is necessary. I know that my resume will have gaps. I am not crazy, stupid, or lazy. Although perhaps, economically and professionally, my life choices look all three of those things.
Freakish Strength, Speeding Tickets, and Lesbian Tendencies...
Any of you who know follow the path of the House are well aware of my current adventures. Told though the eyes of the some what insane but obviously inspired Countess. I have been told that I too should be remarking upon our journeys as they progress. I however do not have the skill nor the dedication of my navigator, so here we are about a month in and this is my first blog entry. I shall not even attempt to give true justice to the journeys that have passed. Impart my thoughts on a few highlights but to respond adequately to what my counter part has written would be an obvious folly.
I am currently sitting in the home of my childhood, surrounded by far too many possessions. I do not exaggerate.. one does not walk in my room, the mode of travel one must use to traverse my room would be better described as strategic hopping. There is little to no open floor space. The area that isn't covered with possession prized by my inner pack rat is covered in clothing. I have more clothing than a starlet. Again, I do not exaggerate. I would say that, as a 25 year old from an upper middle class family, the amount of clutter would be excusable as acceptable life accumulation but alas I am shamed. I have also managed to fill the space of at least 2 other respectable sized rooms with my 'things'. I am obviously the terrible product of American consumer culture... the only arguments I can issue in my defense are that a lot is of second hand origins and a fair bit could be classified as stolen. Bite your tongue... I am not a thief. I only steal what is not for sale. You find me a place to purchase road signs and I will stop 'borrowing' them from the department of transportation. But I digress...
I would like to take the time to respond to some obvious trends in From Scones to Biscuits. Firstly, I am not freakishly strong. I am most assuredly of a normal strength. I refuse to give any support to the accusations from the Countess, the entirety of the NJ inhabiting Sweeney family, or that group of guys from that bar in Nashville. Most females of my size can wrestle two females of slighter statue and a small child without issue. I haven't seen it done before but that obviously due to my considerable lack of combatant spectating.
Secondly, I will allow that I may be known to occasionally speed. I just happen to believe in efficient driving time. If you're going to drive somewhere you should go on about getting there. None of this pussy footing around, as my mother would say. That could cause accidents... Again, I have no sufficient evidence to support this theory but a highway isn't something that should be approached passively. You may not know where you're headed but you should at least try to get there in good time, that's what I always say... Alright, so I've never said that but how annoying is it when people fuck around on the road? Honestly, makes me angry just thinking about it.
Lastly, I shall give you my thoughts on lesbian couples. Although I am not upset that we were mistaken as lesbians and I did appreciate the obvious open mindedness of our motel host, the stereotyping was slightly offensive. Mainly because, I will admit with some shame, I was obviously cast as the stereotypical 'man' in the lesbian relationship. Honestly, can't a girl wear flannel anymore without people thinking she harbors same sex tendencies. Perhaps I should amend this, can't a tall fat girl wear flannel out with her overtly sexual skirt wearing best friend anymore without being mistaken as a lesbian?? (hehe) Seriously though, wrong or not he was so adorable and open minded I didn't even consider being offended. I just gathered love muffin and left the office...
More reflections to come as I think of them...
I am currently sitting in the home of my childhood, surrounded by far too many possessions. I do not exaggerate.. one does not walk in my room, the mode of travel one must use to traverse my room would be better described as strategic hopping. There is little to no open floor space. The area that isn't covered with possession prized by my inner pack rat is covered in clothing. I have more clothing than a starlet. Again, I do not exaggerate. I would say that, as a 25 year old from an upper middle class family, the amount of clutter would be excusable as acceptable life accumulation but alas I am shamed. I have also managed to fill the space of at least 2 other respectable sized rooms with my 'things'. I am obviously the terrible product of American consumer culture... the only arguments I can issue in my defense are that a lot is of second hand origins and a fair bit could be classified as stolen. Bite your tongue... I am not a thief. I only steal what is not for sale. You find me a place to purchase road signs and I will stop 'borrowing' them from the department of transportation. But I digress...
I would like to take the time to respond to some obvious trends in From Scones to Biscuits. Firstly, I am not freakishly strong. I am most assuredly of a normal strength. I refuse to give any support to the accusations from the Countess, the entirety of the NJ inhabiting Sweeney family, or that group of guys from that bar in Nashville. Most females of my size can wrestle two females of slighter statue and a small child without issue. I haven't seen it done before but that obviously due to my considerable lack of combatant spectating.
Secondly, I will allow that I may be known to occasionally speed. I just happen to believe in efficient driving time. If you're going to drive somewhere you should go on about getting there. None of this pussy footing around, as my mother would say. That could cause accidents... Again, I have no sufficient evidence to support this theory but a highway isn't something that should be approached passively. You may not know where you're headed but you should at least try to get there in good time, that's what I always say... Alright, so I've never said that but how annoying is it when people fuck around on the road? Honestly, makes me angry just thinking about it.
Lastly, I shall give you my thoughts on lesbian couples. Although I am not upset that we were mistaken as lesbians and I did appreciate the obvious open mindedness of our motel host, the stereotyping was slightly offensive. Mainly because, I will admit with some shame, I was obviously cast as the stereotypical 'man' in the lesbian relationship. Honestly, can't a girl wear flannel anymore without people thinking she harbors same sex tendencies. Perhaps I should amend this, can't a tall fat girl wear flannel out with her overtly sexual skirt wearing best friend anymore without being mistaken as a lesbian?? (hehe) Seriously though, wrong or not he was so adorable and open minded I didn't even consider being offended. I just gathered love muffin and left the office...
More reflections to come as I think of them...
Wednesday, 6 January 2010
The Painful Yet Informative Color
Pink and frilly is fake and has no worth. Or perhaps, upon further reflection, it does after all. It allows me to see the stereotype in your eyes and the lies you see. I will quickly agree that is a lot of judgement to hang on just one color and a penchant for the fluffy but it is all about the representation and not the fact. Which makes us both guilty of the same sin but doesn't change your vapidness nor it's affect on my gag reflex. However, I suppose I must thank you, that brownie for breakfast wasn't a good plan on the way in either...
Pink a travesty of a color but a bold use of restraints, the ones that firmly stereotype our sex, not those that make it fun. Equality called, she said you look retarded.
Pink a travesty of a color but a bold use of restraints, the ones that firmly stereotype our sex, not those that make it fun. Equality called, she said you look retarded.
Missing Soaked in Sadness
I am overjoyed that my beloved Countess is currently sleeping peacefully above my head... at least I do hope it is the sleep of the peaceful, the creaking noises could be her or the house. It is quite old, by American standards of house age at least. Regardless of the architectural groans, the Baroness and Countess are joyously together in one abode for the time being and for that I give thanks.
But alas, life can never be completely perfect or at least not to my eternal greediness. I believe we can only ever be content, not perfect. The sadness creeps into my heart because we, warmly ensconced in the frozen north, are missing our beloved Duchess. She shall soon be traipsing across the ocean to bask in academia and hopefully, men outfitted in tweed. We have only just left her southernly abode and already I am missin' her somethin' dreadful.
But alas, life can never be completely perfect or at least not to my eternal greediness. I believe we can only ever be content, not perfect. The sadness creeps into my heart because we, warmly ensconced in the frozen north, are missing our beloved Duchess. She shall soon be traipsing across the ocean to bask in academia and hopefully, men outfitted in tweed. We have only just left her southernly abode and already I am missin' her somethin' dreadful.
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