Humans had become very distrustful, it seemed.
A centuries-old genie was presenting three humans with, what he thought, was an amazing opportunity. During an amateur fossil hunt, they had stumbled upon his lamp and while cleaning their find, evoked the jinn.
"Purely on accident," they insisted "so sorry to have woken you."
The genie was used to humans being demanding and ungrateful so he found the courtesy shown to be a pleasant surprise. He assured them it was no problem at all, he'd been eager to stretch his legs for some time now,and happily offered his services to what appeared to be a group of very nice people.
"As you may already know from lore, I am able to grant three wishes. Unfortunately, I may only grant three at a time so you will have to split the wishes amongst yourselves. One wish per individual is still not so bad, though!" He cheerily exclaimed, not without hope that this group would be the ones to finally use one of their wishes to free him from his servitude.
Instead, they had responded with suspicion.
"Where are the loopholes?" One middle-aged man wearing too-large spectacles and freshly-pressed khakis asked.
"Loopholes?"
"Yes, you know, loopholes. For example, if I wish for immortality will I be condemning myself?"
"What? Condemning yourself? I don't think I underst-"
"If I choose immortality, I will have to watch the ones I love wither away, yes? Suppose I am able to wish for my own immortality as well as that of another! Would this be possible?"
"Ah! But who would you choose?" The other man interjected before the genie could respond. He was a stout man of about the same age, perhaps a few years older, with a thick, gray mustache. "Even if you chose someone you think you truly love now, whose to say you won't tire of them in time? My goodness, Elizabeth and I have only been together for 20 years and she already drives me crazy!" He nearly yelled with mirth.
The genie opened his mouth to speak when the other human, a woman in her mid-to-late thirties with wild, dirty blonde hair spoke.
"While all that may be true, you would have a million lifetimes of new love to compensate for it! What a romantic possibility!"
"Indeed it is! But there are other factors involved here. Tell me, genie, if I am to become immortal and there is a horrible disaster that leads to the end of Earth as we know it, what happens to me then?"
"I cannot grant immortality" The magical being said, relieved to finally having gotten a word in. "I technically could, but I would not on sheer principle. Anyone wishing for immortality would be forced to take my place inside the lamp. If I were the selfish sort I may want someone to do so that I may be released from my prison, but my hopes are that one day someone, out of the kindness of their own heart, will wish to-"
"Ah, that is quite the loophole! Well, what are our other options then? I suppose we may wish for wealth or beauty but even then..."
It was at this point the jinn stopped listening. They obviously had no interest in what he had to say and all kindness they had shown seemed to have been stemmed from a false sense of etiquette. The three discussed their ideas in excited tones, pointing out the specifics that could go horribly wrong in each scenario. As they did so, the genie amused himself by drawing figures in the dirt with a stick he had found. About an hour passed and he had completed a fairly detailed portrait of his late wife when they called for him.
"Oh, Genie! Yoohoo! We've made our decision."
Although he had realized his chances were slim, his ears perked up at the prospect of being freed.
"Yes! What may I do for you, my masters?"
"We would each like to order a nice lunch, please. I would like a chipotle chicken club on wheat, light mayo and easy on the tomato. Oh, and just a sparkling water with lemon to drink."
The genie stared expressionlessly at the bespectacled man. He had been forced to do many thing during his stay in the lamp, but play waiter was not one of them.
The frizzy-haired woman must have taken his silence for patience and began her own order.
"I would just love a veggie wrap with avocado ranch and a diet soda...oh, you know what? I've been good, I think I'll splurge a little! Give me a regular soda." She smiled with self-satisfaction at her choice and made a hand motion towards her portly companion.
"Well, let's see here...I'm not really all that hungry at the moment," He trailed off while stroking his facial hair, "so I suppose I'll just have bruschetta and a sweet tea."
After another period of silence the genie finally spoke.
"You want...lunch?"
"Yes, I thought we made that clear. Would you like us to repeat our orders?"
"No, I just-"
"Oh! And nothing of this meal must be harmful to anyone at all! This means nothing we are allergic to and nothing poisonous."
"What? Of course! I would never-"
"A table to eat on would be lovely, as well. If it's not too much to ask, of course."
"And chairs! Don't forget chairs!"
"Ah yes! Chairs! Also, if you could make my sandwich with free-range chicken, that would be great."
The genie, too much in shock to do anything else, summoned their meals on a decent-enough looking dining table and took his leave back into his lamp. The meal was indeed, very good. Not the best they had ever had, but they all agreed it was much better than the little Italian place they sometimes spent their lunch breaks at. They all felt very pleased with the fact that they had managed to avoid an unfortunate fate based on a technicality and toasted their drinks to their own wit. Their delight, however, was ended abruptly when they remembered they had been horribly lost in the desert for about 3 hours and no one had thought to wish for a map.
Note: I rarely write fiction, so go easy on me.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Friday, July 1, 2011
7 types of Facebook friends
The title of this one is pretty self-explanatory. I'm pretty confident in the accuracy of this list, only stopping to point out that some people don't fit into just one of these categories. I would also like to preface this by saying I am, by no means, an expert on social networking, people, or pretty much anything. There's bound to be a few people who are offended, but whatever. I did it for the lulz.
The under-educated and over-opinionated
I begin with this one because I perhaps make the cruelest judgement of these people and why not start off with a bang, right? You all know these people, chances are you've been one at some point in your life. Like, when you're very drunk or very 14-years-old. Other than that, there are no excuses. When I speak of these plebians, I am specifically referring to self-righteous proclamations with little to no logic behind them. These are usually, but not always racist, homophobic, sexist, religiously intolerant, classist, ageist or etc. I don't expect people to hold the same beliefs as I do (you know, that everyone is equal or some shit. Crazy, right?) but I DO expect people to do at least a little reading before they make absurd claims. I don't even bother responding to these people because it never gets you anywhere. They just use the same flawed logic until they feel they have "won" or they propose you "agree to disagree". No, I won't do that. Because you're wrong.
Not only that, but the under-educated and over-opinionated have the tendency to be hypocrites. This means one day they may be ridiculing the type of clothing they see someone wearing or how someone's accent sounds, then the next they are posting a status that is something along the lines of this: "ACCEPT ME FOR WHO I AM!!! GOD MADE ME THIS WAY, IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT I LOOK LIKE OR WHAT I WEAR! I'M ME!!" Immediately after seeing a misguided status like this, I audibly express frustration every single time. The only other thing that involves Facebook that makes me yell (so angrily that people have been known to come to my aid mistaking it for a cry of pain) is Robot Unicorn Attack. If you have managed to make me so mad that it outweighs the fury of crashing into a wall during a particularly high score, you are a major fuckwit.
I would like to point out that there are a good number of people who do this sort of thing that do, in fact, hold the same views has I. Idiots come in all shapes and sizes.
Parents
We all wish our parents never heard about Facebook. Even if you love them and legitimately think they're cool people, you don't want them to "friend" you. I will use my own mother as a direct example, as her behavior is not uncommon as far as parental use of Facebook goes. Here is some recent activity:
Ma, no one cares that you cleaned your kitchen. Like, no one. Also, do not say "goodnight" to Facebook. It is a website, not a baby. Lastly, you have no idea how to use ellipses. I know if I don't specify what I am talking about tomorrow you will say "I read your thing. What are ellipses and why are you so mean?!" so here is a link for your use: http://grammar.quickanddirtytips.com/ellipsis.aspx
That kind of status isn't actually that bad, it doesn't annoy me past eyeroll level. What does, however, is when she contacts my friends when she can't get in touch with me. When I was living in Philadelphia and she was living in Florida, I would miss her calls a lot and maybe not call back right away. I was always losing my phone charger or the phone itself and I've always slept really crazy hours (sometimes I will not sleep for days and others I will sleep for 14 hours straight). Needless to say, it usually took me a day or two to get back to her. Regardless of the fact that she kind of expected it at this point, she would freak out every time she didn't hear back from me within about 4 hours. Freaking out means posting on my friends' walls or sending them messages. I can't even tell you how many times I've had friends walk into my apartment saying "Call your mom" as their greeting.
The worst, though, is the tagged photos. Dear lord, the tagged photos! I worked so hard to transform myself from the ugly duckling I was ages 5-16 to the mildly attractive goose I am today, I don't need my mom/extended family tagging me in photos like this:
I didn't even like soccer that much.
Clever assholes begging for attention through humor
For the record, I'd like to state that I love these people and probably fall into this category the most, myself. I have a ton of awesome comedian/writer/generally intelligent sarcastic friends to provide me with the lulz but being similar to them in my thinking style, they are completely transparent to me. I have never encountered such insecurity as I have with smart, funny people. These are your friends who post interesting photos with hilarious captions, witty statuses, and biting responses. They are brilliant and they know it. The problem with being brilliant, however, is that you're more likely to recognize your own flaws therefore becoming more likely to seek validation from others. In a nutshell, here is this person's general line of thinking: "Yes, I am an asshole. But look how funny I am! Don't you want to like my status? Does that mean you like me now? ARE YOU PROUD OF ME NOW, DAD?"
Over 9000 statuses a day users
I don't have much to say on this subject other than: Holy crap, do we really need a constant update on your life? Oh, you just went food shopping? That's nice. I don't give a shit, that's what Twitter is for.
Morons who talk about their significant others way too much
I think we've all been guilty of spending a little too much time describing how good our partner is at Rock Band or how amazing their Chicken Marsala recipe is, that's normal when you feel a certain amount of affection for another. The difference is how publicly we discuss this kind of thing and at what frequency. When I see people repeatedly posting statuses about their boyfriend/girlfriend/etc, I automatically think "Their relationship must suck and they are trying to compensate for it with PDA." I realize this is probably extremely presumptuous and a little heartless, but I myself, am extremely presumptuous and a little heartless.
I actually really enjoy the occasional "So-and-so is so amazing, he/she did this today and I love him/her!". It gives me hope in the idea that romance is not dead and I don't feel the overwhelming urge to drink myself to sleep as much that night because life is not so bleak and unforgiving as initially thought! However, when it is done to the extent where it appears forced, it does the exact opposite. In fact, when I come across something like this, I am much more likely to go rummaging in the cabinets for liquor.
Young mothers/fathers who use their babies as accessories
There is a bit of a running gag that people should be subjected to an IQ test before they are allowed to have children. This is flawed, unfortunately, as I know plenty of "stupid" people who make damn good parents. Intelligence and common sense are two entirely different things. I propose, instead, we administer a simple, one question test consisting of only the following: Do you think your infant is a purse?
Taking pictures of your offspring is by no means wrong or strange. Seeing the growth of a child through time can be rewarding for many. Be that as it may, taking bathroom mirror pics while holding your baby and making a "sexy" face strikes me as a little odd. Ladies and gentleman (and those in between), please don't use your children as a cry for attention. It's kind of pathetic. It's not uncommon for these parents to also be the type of people who regularly update their statuses with details on how drunk they got the previous night. There is nothing wrong with letting loose once in awhile but once you're knocked up, it's time to let go of your party girl/boy image. Especially if your little one is old enough to check out your tagged photos. No one wants to see Mommy taking body shots.
Those who use Facebook as a soapbox
I saved this one for last as I knew it'd be the hardest for me to write. Why is that, you ask? Because these are the people I am most connected with and the most afraid to offend. Those who use Facebook as a means to "get the truth out" are inspiring to me. They truly do not give a fuck if people think they are crazy/disagree with what they believe in. But holy crap do they make me feel guilty. Whenever I click "not attending" to an invite for a community outreach workshop or I ignore a petition to save the whales, I feel as though I am a terrible parasite to society. I've made calls for Greenpeace, donated time and money to various causes I support, I get daily emails from the ACLU and text messages from the Human Rights Campaign. SEE, I'M A GOOD PERSON, I CARE ABOUT STUFF OR WHATEVER! I do feel like I have an obligation to take action and there's always more I can be doing but sometimes I just really don't feel like reading my friend's 4-page manifesto or watch their 20-minute long video on the benefits of eating gluten-free. I care about this stuff, I really do! But man, sometimes a girl just wants to watch a video of a llama getting tickled...and if that's wrong, I don't want to be right.
I've been trying to update this, no really, I have. I've been so exhausted and stressed that every attempt just turned into some melodramatic prose, but I gots me a nap and now I'm rarin' to go, yeeeehaaaaaaw!
The under-educated and over-opinionated
I begin with this one because I perhaps make the cruelest judgement of these people and why not start off with a bang, right? You all know these people, chances are you've been one at some point in your life. Like, when you're very drunk or very 14-years-old. Other than that, there are no excuses. When I speak of these plebians, I am specifically referring to self-righteous proclamations with little to no logic behind them. These are usually, but not always racist, homophobic, sexist, religiously intolerant, classist, ageist or etc. I don't expect people to hold the same beliefs as I do (you know, that everyone is equal or some shit. Crazy, right?) but I DO expect people to do at least a little reading before they make absurd claims. I don't even bother responding to these people because it never gets you anywhere. They just use the same flawed logic until they feel they have "won" or they propose you "agree to disagree". No, I won't do that. Because you're wrong.
Not only that, but the under-educated and over-opinionated have the tendency to be hypocrites. This means one day they may be ridiculing the type of clothing they see someone wearing or how someone's accent sounds, then the next they are posting a status that is something along the lines of this: "ACCEPT ME FOR WHO I AM!!! GOD MADE ME THIS WAY, IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT I LOOK LIKE OR WHAT I WEAR! I'M ME!!" Immediately after seeing a misguided status like this, I audibly express frustration every single time. The only other thing that involves Facebook that makes me yell (so angrily that people have been known to come to my aid mistaking it for a cry of pain) is Robot Unicorn Attack. If you have managed to make me so mad that it outweighs the fury of crashing into a wall during a particularly high score, you are a major fuckwit.
I would like to point out that there are a good number of people who do this sort of thing that do, in fact, hold the same views has I. Idiots come in all shapes and sizes.
Parents
We all wish our parents never heard about Facebook. Even if you love them and legitimately think they're cool people, you don't want them to "friend" you. I will use my own mother as a direct example, as her behavior is not uncommon as far as parental use of Facebook goes. Here is some recent activity:
Ma, no one cares that you cleaned your kitchen. Like, no one. Also, do not say "goodnight" to Facebook. It is a website, not a baby. Lastly, you have no idea how to use ellipses. I know if I don't specify what I am talking about tomorrow you will say "I read your thing. What are ellipses and why are you so mean?!" so here is a link for your use: http://grammar.quickanddirtytips.com/ellipsis.aspx
That kind of status isn't actually that bad, it doesn't annoy me past eyeroll level. What does, however, is when she contacts my friends when she can't get in touch with me. When I was living in Philadelphia and she was living in Florida, I would miss her calls a lot and maybe not call back right away. I was always losing my phone charger or the phone itself and I've always slept really crazy hours (sometimes I will not sleep for days and others I will sleep for 14 hours straight). Needless to say, it usually took me a day or two to get back to her. Regardless of the fact that she kind of expected it at this point, she would freak out every time she didn't hear back from me within about 4 hours. Freaking out means posting on my friends' walls or sending them messages. I can't even tell you how many times I've had friends walk into my apartment saying "Call your mom" as their greeting.
The worst, though, is the tagged photos. Dear lord, the tagged photos! I worked so hard to transform myself from the ugly duckling I was ages 5-16 to the mildly attractive goose I am today, I don't need my mom/extended family tagging me in photos like this:
I didn't even like soccer that much.
Clever assholes begging for attention through humor
For the record, I'd like to state that I love these people and probably fall into this category the most, myself. I have a ton of awesome comedian/writer/generally intelligent sarcastic friends to provide me with the lulz but being similar to them in my thinking style, they are completely transparent to me. I have never encountered such insecurity as I have with smart, funny people. These are your friends who post interesting photos with hilarious captions, witty statuses, and biting responses. They are brilliant and they know it. The problem with being brilliant, however, is that you're more likely to recognize your own flaws therefore becoming more likely to seek validation from others. In a nutshell, here is this person's general line of thinking: "Yes, I am an asshole. But look how funny I am! Don't you want to like my status? Does that mean you like me now? ARE YOU PROUD OF ME NOW, DAD?"
Over 9000 statuses a day users
I don't have much to say on this subject other than: Holy crap, do we really need a constant update on your life? Oh, you just went food shopping? That's nice. I don't give a shit, that's what Twitter is for.
Morons who talk about their significant others way too much
I think we've all been guilty of spending a little too much time describing how good our partner is at Rock Band or how amazing their Chicken Marsala recipe is, that's normal when you feel a certain amount of affection for another. The difference is how publicly we discuss this kind of thing and at what frequency. When I see people repeatedly posting statuses about their boyfriend/girlfriend/etc, I automatically think "Their relationship must suck and they are trying to compensate for it with PDA." I realize this is probably extremely presumptuous and a little heartless, but I myself, am extremely presumptuous and a little heartless.
I actually really enjoy the occasional "So-and-so is so amazing, he/she did this today and I love him/her!". It gives me hope in the idea that romance is not dead and I don't feel the overwhelming urge to drink myself to sleep as much that night because life is not so bleak and unforgiving as initially thought! However, when it is done to the extent where it appears forced, it does the exact opposite. In fact, when I come across something like this, I am much more likely to go rummaging in the cabinets for liquor.
Young mothers/fathers who use their babies as accessories
There is a bit of a running gag that people should be subjected to an IQ test before they are allowed to have children. This is flawed, unfortunately, as I know plenty of "stupid" people who make damn good parents. Intelligence and common sense are two entirely different things. I propose, instead, we administer a simple, one question test consisting of only the following: Do you think your infant is a purse?
Taking pictures of your offspring is by no means wrong or strange. Seeing the growth of a child through time can be rewarding for many. Be that as it may, taking bathroom mirror pics while holding your baby and making a "sexy" face strikes me as a little odd. Ladies and gentleman (and those in between), please don't use your children as a cry for attention. It's kind of pathetic. It's not uncommon for these parents to also be the type of people who regularly update their statuses with details on how drunk they got the previous night. There is nothing wrong with letting loose once in awhile but once you're knocked up, it's time to let go of your party girl/boy image. Especially if your little one is old enough to check out your tagged photos. No one wants to see Mommy taking body shots.
Those who use Facebook as a soapbox
I saved this one for last as I knew it'd be the hardest for me to write. Why is that, you ask? Because these are the people I am most connected with and the most afraid to offend. Those who use Facebook as a means to "get the truth out" are inspiring to me. They truly do not give a fuck if people think they are crazy/disagree with what they believe in. But holy crap do they make me feel guilty. Whenever I click "not attending" to an invite for a community outreach workshop or I ignore a petition to save the whales, I feel as though I am a terrible parasite to society. I've made calls for Greenpeace, donated time and money to various causes I support, I get daily emails from the ACLU and text messages from the Human Rights Campaign. SEE, I'M A GOOD PERSON, I CARE ABOUT STUFF OR WHATEVER! I do feel like I have an obligation to take action and there's always more I can be doing but sometimes I just really don't feel like reading my friend's 4-page manifesto or watch their 20-minute long video on the benefits of eating gluten-free. I care about this stuff, I really do! But man, sometimes a girl just wants to watch a video of a llama getting tickled...and if that's wrong, I don't want to be right.
I've been trying to update this, no really, I have. I've been so exhausted and stressed that every attempt just turned into some melodramatic prose, but I gots me a nap and now I'm rarin' to go, yeeeehaaaaaaw!
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Florida in a nutshell
As of yesterday, I have been in Florida for 3 months. It's been quite an interesting period for me. The first month was spent half in a haze of depression/loneliness and half in a state of excitement. Tiny lizards? Awesome! Sunshine? Awesome! Booze sold everywhere? Double awesome! Since then I've kind of settled into "Florida life", although the novelty as not fully worn off yet.
But I digress, what I really wanted to talk about are the types of people I have observed while living here. I've come to the conclusion that there are three categories the residents of my area can be grouped into:
1. Mid-life crisis transplants
Mid-life crisis transplants probably hold the biggest market of the population. No matter where you live, chances are you've encountered them. These are the 40-50 somethings who commonly move to Florida to "start over" after a recent divorce, retirement, drug addiction, or run-in with the law. If you ask them why they chose to do so, however, you will probably get the ever-popular response of "To get away from the cold" as the majority are from the North. With their children all grown, these men and women are usually experiencing their second childhood in the most stereotypical of ways. You can typically find them at bars playing pool, trying to get laid, and laughing way too hard at dirty jokes. But they also waste their days away on beaches, attending rock concerts, buying knick-knacks at flea markets, and driving around in convertibles. They're likely to be afraid of commitment (an after-effect of their failed marriages) yet they're also just as likely to wed a stranger during a trip to Vegas.
Almost every single person I've met that fits into this category adores the state of Florida and couldn't imagine moving. My own mother is a prime example of this.
My mom (Mommadukington the 3rd, if we're going to be formal about it) moved down here about 2 years ago and had been begging me to do so since day one. Everyday in the winter she would call me and ask how the weather was. If I responded with anything other than "It's warm and beautiful! There are children playing and birds chirping! A butterfly is emerging from it's cocoon!" she'd quip "Well, if you came to Florida you'd never have to deal with the snow again!" It became so annoying that I started telling her it was nice out during blizzards. When introducing me to her friends, she'll say something like "This is my daughter, she just moved here from Philly. It only took me two years to get her down here!" Cue laugh-track.
In the time that she lived here and I did not, she would occasionally send me gifts. She sent me magnets with my name on them below dolphins, t-shirts (and one belly shirt) with pictures of kittens and "FLORIDA" in big print on them, a glass bowl with a bag of green sand and the handwritten instructions "POUR SAND IN BOWL. STICK INSECTS IN." She meant incense, of course, but Mommadukes' spelling has never been her strong point. My favorite gift, however, was a music box with figurine penguins playing amongst a seashell background. There was a light you could switch on and it would change colors as the music played. I remember staring at it and thinking "This is very pretty, but why are the penguins in a seashell? Don't they know they are arctic creatures?"
2. Young adults and teenagers who hate Florida
This group is constructed of both natives to the state and transplants alike. With the natives you get the usual "I wanna get outta this town and see the world!" attitude that you'll really get anywhere while the transplants are wistful for their lives before they were towed along here by their parents. The reasons for the dislike are pretty varied; it's too hot, the governor sucks, there's too many bugs/snakes/alligators, the humidity messes with your hair, there's nothing to do.
The last reason "there's nothing to do" is one I would like to focus on. I live in an area where the older crowd and young children heavily outweigh my age group. There are plenty of bars and such, good ones, too, but there aren't many where the general customer base isn't over 40, maybe 35 if I'm being generous. I'm sure this is different in other areas like Miami, for example, but where I live seeing someone in their 20's outside of the fast food joint they work at is pretty rare. The first official day I spent in Florida as a resident, I went to buy a pack of cigarettes at a nearby gas station. When I presented my ID, the attendant looked at me with some suspicion (Yeah, yeah. I look like a 13 year old boy, I get it already!) and asked what part of PA I was from. After explaining I had just moved from Philadelphia to go to school she replied "Oh, you're going to hate it here. There's no young people. No, really. You're going to hate it." Welcome to Florida! The worst part of this story is I was actually in St. Petersburg at the time, which is a significantly "younger" city than where I'm living now.
Admittedly, I don't mind the age difference too much. I like the older crowd. They're fun and always willing to pay for your drinks. I do sometimes long for the dance clubs and binge drinking that comes with having companions my age, though.
While seeing young people is somewhat uncommon, the bulk of them fit into this category. Most of the natives have either never left the state or were forced back to it by necessity and are very resentful for it. Both the natives and transplants are generally more liberal than the majority of residents in the area (an older population usually translates into a more conservative population) and they're pretty resentful about that, too.
Besides what I've actually witnessed, I've come up with my own theory to why transplant teens and 20 somethings may hate Florida: They're tired of watching their mid-life crisis parents grind on anything with a heartbeat. It's gross to watch your mom get low.
3. Proud natives
Proud natives are simultaneously my favorite and least favorite people in Florida. They are some of the nicest and most polite people you will ever meet. And they will always make sure to draw attention to this fact. These are the people who always hold doors, start friendly conversations with strangers, say "please" and "thank you", and are more than willing to do a favor for just about anybody. They also have the tendency to harp on how rude Northerners are which, to do so unwarranted to someone who is from the North, I think is pretty rude in itself. They feel an overwhelming amount of pride from being born in a state that people from other parts of the US flock to and will gladly tell you any bit of Florida's history you'd like to know. Or wouldn't really like to know. Whichever. The information they provide is usually very interesting but goddamn it, if I have to listen to another condescending asshole tell me how inexperienced I am with Florida weather, I am going to explode. Yes, I know, it gets really hot and there are hurricanes. These are new things for me and I will understand soon, can we move on?
One of the most common questions a native will ask me is if I've tried alligator yet. I'm told it tastes like chicken, only chewier. No matter how many times I explain I've heard plenty about the subject and I have no interest in eating it myself, I get a full run-down of how it is prepared and what is to be expected. This conversation isn't nearly as bad as the one described above, as these are people who genuinely want you to understand their culture, but it gets old.
The majority of "proud natives" I've met have been surprisingly smart. It's not as though I was expecting them to be stupid, it's just that there have been particularly intelligent and insightful people I have had the fortune to encounter. Don't get me wrong, there's still tons of idiots. It's going to be like that no matter what part of the world you live. Here, there are pick-up trucks with "Git-R-Done" bumper stickers and douchebags in cargo shorts and sandals. In Philly there are SUVs with spinning rims and douchebags in Jersey Shore-like garb. Small differences.
There is one thing I often wonder about, however. There are many Florida natives that speak with a southern drawl. Everything sounds cooler with a southern accent, I admit. The thing is, I've met natives who have no traces of such. I'm sure that it probably has to do with what part of Florida you grew up in...but there is a small fragment of my mind that questions whether there are people who exaggerate their accents for the benefit of the impressed Northerners.
Overall, I like Florida. I don't love it, but I like it. I can wear tank tops everyday and no one notices how much I sweat because EVERYONE is sweating. There's more nature than I'm used to, the produce is cheaper and tastes better. I got to fall in love here. But just because I like something doesn't mean I'm not going to make fun of it. A lot.
But I digress, what I really wanted to talk about are the types of people I have observed while living here. I've come to the conclusion that there are three categories the residents of my area can be grouped into:
1. Mid-life crisis transplants
Mid-life crisis transplants probably hold the biggest market of the population. No matter where you live, chances are you've encountered them. These are the 40-50 somethings who commonly move to Florida to "start over" after a recent divorce, retirement, drug addiction, or run-in with the law. If you ask them why they chose to do so, however, you will probably get the ever-popular response of "To get away from the cold" as the majority are from the North. With their children all grown, these men and women are usually experiencing their second childhood in the most stereotypical of ways. You can typically find them at bars playing pool, trying to get laid, and laughing way too hard at dirty jokes. But they also waste their days away on beaches, attending rock concerts, buying knick-knacks at flea markets, and driving around in convertibles. They're likely to be afraid of commitment (an after-effect of their failed marriages) yet they're also just as likely to wed a stranger during a trip to Vegas.
Almost every single person I've met that fits into this category adores the state of Florida and couldn't imagine moving. My own mother is a prime example of this.
My mom (Mommadukington the 3rd, if we're going to be formal about it) moved down here about 2 years ago and had been begging me to do so since day one. Everyday in the winter she would call me and ask how the weather was. If I responded with anything other than "It's warm and beautiful! There are children playing and birds chirping! A butterfly is emerging from it's cocoon!" she'd quip "Well, if you came to Florida you'd never have to deal with the snow again!" It became so annoying that I started telling her it was nice out during blizzards. When introducing me to her friends, she'll say something like "This is my daughter, she just moved here from Philly. It only took me two years to get her down here!" Cue laugh-track.
In the time that she lived here and I did not, she would occasionally send me gifts. She sent me magnets with my name on them below dolphins, t-shirts (and one belly shirt) with pictures of kittens and "FLORIDA" in big print on them, a glass bowl with a bag of green sand and the handwritten instructions "POUR SAND IN BOWL. STICK INSECTS IN." She meant incense, of course, but Mommadukes' spelling has never been her strong point. My favorite gift, however, was a music box with figurine penguins playing amongst a seashell background. There was a light you could switch on and it would change colors as the music played. I remember staring at it and thinking "This is very pretty, but why are the penguins in a seashell? Don't they know they are arctic creatures?"
2. Young adults and teenagers who hate Florida
This group is constructed of both natives to the state and transplants alike. With the natives you get the usual "I wanna get outta this town and see the world!" attitude that you'll really get anywhere while the transplants are wistful for their lives before they were towed along here by their parents. The reasons for the dislike are pretty varied; it's too hot, the governor sucks, there's too many bugs/snakes/alligators, the humidity messes with your hair, there's nothing to do.
The last reason "there's nothing to do" is one I would like to focus on. I live in an area where the older crowd and young children heavily outweigh my age group. There are plenty of bars and such, good ones, too, but there aren't many where the general customer base isn't over 40, maybe 35 if I'm being generous. I'm sure this is different in other areas like Miami, for example, but where I live seeing someone in their 20's outside of the fast food joint they work at is pretty rare. The first official day I spent in Florida as a resident, I went to buy a pack of cigarettes at a nearby gas station. When I presented my ID, the attendant looked at me with some suspicion (Yeah, yeah. I look like a 13 year old boy, I get it already!) and asked what part of PA I was from. After explaining I had just moved from Philadelphia to go to school she replied "Oh, you're going to hate it here. There's no young people. No, really. You're going to hate it." Welcome to Florida! The worst part of this story is I was actually in St. Petersburg at the time, which is a significantly "younger" city than where I'm living now.
Admittedly, I don't mind the age difference too much. I like the older crowd. They're fun and always willing to pay for your drinks. I do sometimes long for the dance clubs and binge drinking that comes with having companions my age, though.
While seeing young people is somewhat uncommon, the bulk of them fit into this category. Most of the natives have either never left the state or were forced back to it by necessity and are very resentful for it. Both the natives and transplants are generally more liberal than the majority of residents in the area (an older population usually translates into a more conservative population) and they're pretty resentful about that, too.
Besides what I've actually witnessed, I've come up with my own theory to why transplant teens and 20 somethings may hate Florida: They're tired of watching their mid-life crisis parents grind on anything with a heartbeat. It's gross to watch your mom get low.
3. Proud natives
Proud natives are simultaneously my favorite and least favorite people in Florida. They are some of the nicest and most polite people you will ever meet. And they will always make sure to draw attention to this fact. These are the people who always hold doors, start friendly conversations with strangers, say "please" and "thank you", and are more than willing to do a favor for just about anybody. They also have the tendency to harp on how rude Northerners are which, to do so unwarranted to someone who is from the North, I think is pretty rude in itself. They feel an overwhelming amount of pride from being born in a state that people from other parts of the US flock to and will gladly tell you any bit of Florida's history you'd like to know. Or wouldn't really like to know. Whichever. The information they provide is usually very interesting but goddamn it, if I have to listen to another condescending asshole tell me how inexperienced I am with Florida weather, I am going to explode. Yes, I know, it gets really hot and there are hurricanes. These are new things for me and I will understand soon, can we move on?
One of the most common questions a native will ask me is if I've tried alligator yet. I'm told it tastes like chicken, only chewier. No matter how many times I explain I've heard plenty about the subject and I have no interest in eating it myself, I get a full run-down of how it is prepared and what is to be expected. This conversation isn't nearly as bad as the one described above, as these are people who genuinely want you to understand their culture, but it gets old.
The majority of "proud natives" I've met have been surprisingly smart. It's not as though I was expecting them to be stupid, it's just that there have been particularly intelligent and insightful people I have had the fortune to encounter. Don't get me wrong, there's still tons of idiots. It's going to be like that no matter what part of the world you live. Here, there are pick-up trucks with "Git-R-Done" bumper stickers and douchebags in cargo shorts and sandals. In Philly there are SUVs with spinning rims and douchebags in Jersey Shore-like garb. Small differences.
There is one thing I often wonder about, however. There are many Florida natives that speak with a southern drawl. Everything sounds cooler with a southern accent, I admit. The thing is, I've met natives who have no traces of such. I'm sure that it probably has to do with what part of Florida you grew up in...but there is a small fragment of my mind that questions whether there are people who exaggerate their accents for the benefit of the impressed Northerners.
Overall, I like Florida. I don't love it, but I like it. I can wear tank tops everyday and no one notices how much I sweat because EVERYONE is sweating. There's more nature than I'm used to, the produce is cheaper and tastes better. I got to fall in love here. But just because I like something doesn't mean I'm not going to make fun of it. A lot.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Handsome "average Joe" is down on his luck and needs money for his mother's operation. He kidnaps a wealthy heiress for the ransom. Holed up in his dank, one bedroom apartment they learn they're not so different...and a little about love.
There, I wrote a script for a Lifetime movie. Now where can I pick up my check?
There, I wrote a script for a Lifetime movie. Now where can I pick up my check?
Sunday, May 29, 2011
I will never, ever be cool.
If you watch the news, you know that what’s hot right now is a drug that simultaneously kills brain cells, rots your teeth, gives you wrinkles, makes you crazy, and gets you pregnant. And all your of 12 year old children are huffing it behind the jungle gym.
If you read fashion magazines, you know that what’s hot right now is eating nothing but kale until you are skinny enough to fit into that itchy, wool shawl that makes you look 30 pounds heavier anyway.
If you have ever talked to me for more than 5 minutes, you know that I have no idea what is cool.
The whole “liking something because other people don’t” fixation makes little to no sense to me. Does this mean I shouldn’t be caught dead eating Twizzlers anymore? Or that if I’m seen wearing pants I’ll become a social pariah? I’m not sure if anyone has noticed, but Twizzlers and wearing pants are pretty popular.
I have never been able to keep up with trends. It’s not that I’m some elitist that refuses to take part, it’s just I never really “get it” until it’s too late. I started listening to bands that would be considered emo years after all the scene kids abandoned their black hair dye and jelly bracelets. I only realized how much I liked PBR once the hipsters decided it was too mainstream. All of my friends are posting Facebook statuses in the vein of “Ugh, I’m so tired of dubstep” while I’m left exclaiming “Hey, this Vaski guy is pretty neat!”
It seems like you can only like something if everyone else hates it. This is something I have trouble with, as I have the tendency to like things. Horrible, I know.
If I had to guess what is in right now or what may become the new “it” thing in the future, this is what I would guess:
Oil paintings depicting hardcore bestiality
Poison-laced harmonicas
Dildos made of repurposed vinyl records
Polka
Those sneakers that light up when you walk
Diets consisting only of foods that have been genetically modified
Body hair (this one is actually wishful thinking, I hate shaving)
Dudes in dresses (also wishful thinking, I dig thighs)
I’m kind of just taking a stab in the dark with this list. Maybe stabbing people in the dark is cool, too. You never know. I really hope that at least one of these things become hip. Then, when an old gentleman asks me what’s all the rage with the whippersnappers these days I can respond with confidence and the hope he has delicious caramel candies in his pocket that he will reward me with for being such a nice young lady. Little does he know what a terrible, uncool person I am…haha, gotcha, gramps!
I know I’ll never be chic or contemporary. This is something I was forced to come to terms with in my angsty teenage years. When I was 14, I tried really hard to be a metalhead. I refused to listen to anything that didn’t have a “kick-ass breakdown”. I wore heavy black eyeliner that would streak down my face when I sweat and pants with an unreasonable amount of zippers and chains. I started saying things like “Fuckin’ A” and “Man, you just don’t get it.” At family barbeques, I’d sit inside so that I could keep my complexion a nice pasty white. I put this incredible amount of pressure on myself to fit into this mold and when I finally felt like I had fully embodied this subculture, everyone in my high school was listening to Taking Back Sunday and “skunking” their hair. Now that I am older and (slightly) wiser I have to admit: I never really liked death metal all that much. There are a few bands I love to this day and I’m a big fan of those who are on the border between hard rock and straight metal…but for the most part, death metal kind of just gives me a headache.
After realizing I liked wearing clothes that weren’t strictly black, I drifted into this odd 80s obsessed phase. I began wearing brightly colored plastic hair accessories and a single dangling earring. I can’t even begin to describe how much animal print was incorporated into my wardrobe. At the peak of this atrocity, I chopped all my hair off and dyed it red in an effort to look like Molly Ringwald. After that, I slowly morphed into a sort of modern day hippie, going as far as scribbling peace signs and Fleetwood Mac lyrics on my jeans with permanent markers. I even started going barefoot everywhere, school included. That one stopped abruptly when I saw someone spitting on the hallway floor (besides, I was tired of getting my toes stepped on). When the allure of being a wannabe hippie faded, I thought I was punk for awhile. I replaced pants with plaid skirts and ripped stockings, I knew all the words to my Ramones greatest hits album, I had a ridiculously short, hot pink mohawk, and I briefly dated a shaggy-haired skateboarder who was in this like, super awesome band that you should totally check out on myspace! I thought I was really, really cool. I was a trend-setter! But I just looked like kind of an idiot.
Not only was keeping up with these self-imposed stereotypes tiring, but it eventually dawned on me that none of these things were ever fashionable with my age group and most people just thought I was strange and probably a little creepy. These days my interests reflect what I actually like, not just an urge to rebel against the mainstream or alternatively to fit in with such. On occasion I attempt to look like a normal member of society (to make shoplifting easier, of course). I do the majority of my shopping at thrift stores so I’m always getting “last season’s” clothes. I didn’t grasp what the cool thing (or uncool thing, if you’re a hipster) to do was when I was younger and I certainly don’t now. Trying to do so just seems futile with my low attention span. I still love John Hughes movies, The Ramones, walking around barefoot and I think that I will always have an affinity for both animal prints and knee-high combat boots. Both my mother and my boyfriend think said boots are ridiculous but whatever, they just don’t get it, man!
Point is; I like way too much weird shit to ever commit to a style or fad. Hopefully being a self-loathing, sarcastic bitch will become the new hot thing but until then I guess I’ll just keep being myself and not worry about it.
Point is; I like way too much weird shit to ever commit to a style or fad. Hopefully being a self-loathing, sarcastic bitch will become the new hot thing but until then I guess I’ll just keep being myself and not worry about it.
Friday, May 20, 2011
The Unattainable Pursuit of Beauty: Weight
I apologize to anyone who actually reads this. My lack of updates mostly stems from the belief that my time is better spent reading or doing push-ups these days.
After a pretty eye-opening conversation with my boyfriend, I've been thinking about body image even more than I usually do.
Perhaps a week or two ago, Mike and I decided to spend our day carousing through Barnes and Noble (side note, it's sad times when the closest known bookstore is a large chain the next city over). We ended up in the cafe section of the place, he with a stack of books so large I was impressed by his ability to balance them all and me with the second issue of Sin City and a book of essays called Feed Me!: Writers Dish About Food, Eating, Weight, and Body Image. As far as representation of women goes, these two things are obviously quite different as, if you've never read it, Sin City's depiction of female beauty is pretty stereotypical. Not that I'm necessarily complaining, I'm a huge fan of anything Frank Miller.
So here we were, sitting across one another, reading with no intention of making a purchase. Mike would occasionally read aloud an interesting fact or opinion while I stayed relatively silent, immersed in my graphic novel. When my eyes tired of the monochromatic art, I switched over to Feed Me! and read the first essay entitled "He Called Me Fat; It Set Me Free". A thought rose in my brain, a thought that does so pretty often but I never voice in fear of sounding insensitive or politically incorrect. I considered stifling it for a moment but that would go against my ever increasing practice of radical honesty. So I set my book down and spoke.
"I'm always somewhat torn on how issues of body image are represented. On the one hand, I'm in full support of accepting what a person looks like no matter what and think society's standards are ridiculous. On the other, I feel as though recent portrayal of 'fat' being beautiful in media gives people an excuse to behave gluttonously."
At this point, Mike closed his own book and looked at me quite sternly.
"I don't think you really understand unless you've been big yourself."
I was taken aback by this admission. Unless we are discussing something that directly relates to our relationship or relationships in general, Mike is one of those people who uses cold logic to make his points (which is something I very much like and respect) as opposed to his own emotional experiences. So for him to say something like this, I was totally thrown of balance and forced to see things from a different perspective.
I have not, in fact, ever been "big". The most I've ever weighed is 135lbs and, while this was due to poor diet and inactivity, I have never had a BMI that would be considered overweight for my height. Even so, my weight has fluctuated enough that a number of people have commented upon my recent weight loss. At first, I was thrilled that I suddenly seemed to be more attractive in the general public's eyes. That got old quick. Those making said comments are good people, often people I am close friends with. They mean in it as a compliment but it only serves to slightly devalue my lifestyle change as a superficial matter rather than one based upon health and practicality (for anyone who is unfamiliar, I've been working out and eating better to get in shape for roller derby and parkour). I now have little to no interest in being skinny, I only want to be strong and I don't give a crap how that is reflected in the shape of my body. The point I'm making with this is that it bothered me to know that others apparently noticed a relatively subtle weight change and I can't even imagine what it's like to be judged that way for those who are truly considered to be "big". So no, I really don't understand.
Often times when I think of someone being big and beautiful, I think of my best friend Sabrina. Sabrina and I have been friends since the 8th grade and throughout the years she has gone through too many diets for me to really recall. When you have a body type that is considered to be large, you pretty much have two options for how you portray yourself in our society: You can either be fat with a self-deprecating sense of humor or fat and desperately trying to become skinny. For the first few years I knew her, Sabrina didn't seem to know which one she wanted to be and ended up in some unhealthy middle for a long time. She has always been "loud and obnoxious" and generally considered to be hilarious. She comes off very confident so it was very odd to witness her "eat nothing but Eggo waffles or toast with fake butter spray" phase. During her stint with the South Beach Diet, I was encouraging and even decided to give it ago myself when I thought I could "stand to lose 5 pounds". I'm pretty ashamed of my attitude in the past but alas, that's what being a teenager is all about.
Then, like magic, she didn't care. She didn't care if she was fat. She didn't care if she gained weight or lost it. She still referred to her size in her humor but now it consisted of "I'm fat and I'm hot as shit" jokes. It made me realize that I never really thought of her weight as a flaw, I never considered her to be anything less than beautiful. My concern and encouragement towards her diets came purely from the fear of how she may be perceived by others. Furthermore, if that's where my line of thinking stemmed from, whose to say that's not really how we ALL feel (or at least a strong percentage of us as human beings)? Maybe no one truly finds "fat" unattractive, we just think everyone else does. Her not giving a fuck made me want to not give a fuck. It made me want to accept myself and work towards it everyday. Sabrina unintentionally lead me down the road of healthy body image and as I was teetering over the line of "I still want people to think I'm pretty" and "Who gives a fuck?", Mike gave me that last push.
I am still very much of the opinion that people should treat their bodies well for health issues, but who am I to say what that entails? Perhaps the increase in the our society's average weight is merely human evolution, maybe climate change will soon cause an ice age that will kill off all us skinny bitches leaving the big and beautiful to roam free with no fear of judgement. It doesn't matter how ridiculous that sounds because the point is, it's not my place to decide how a person should live. If I was really as accepting and progressive as I like to think I am, I would never notice what a person was eating or how much exercise they were getting because when it comes down to it, it doesn't affect me in the least (with the exception for someone I cared for that had serious health concerns that were lifestyle related).
These days it makes me genuinely sad to hear my friends discussing dieting or wearing "slimming" clothes. After my conversation with Mike, I notice these things constantly. Men, women, those in between, we are all so image obsessed. Can you imagine what we could get done if we weren't all so busy reading about the benefits pomegranate juice has for your metabolism or cutting carbs? I really wish I could.
If you really want to be healthy, instead of dieting, I suggest you follow this simple guideline from Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food: Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.
To sum this exceedingly long post up I'd like to share Feed Me!'s I-Love-My-Body Pledge.
"I pledge to speak kindly about my body.
I promise not to talk about the size of my thighs or stomach or butt, or how I have to lose 5 or 15 or 50 pounds. I promise not to call myself a fat pig, gross, or any other self-loathing, trash-talking phrase.
I vow to be kind to myself and my body. I will learn to be thankful for its strength and attractiveness, and be compassionate towards its failings.
I will remind myself that bodies come in all shapes and sizes, and that no matter what shape and size my body is, its worth kindness, compassion, and love."
After a pretty eye-opening conversation with my boyfriend, I've been thinking about body image even more than I usually do.
Perhaps a week or two ago, Mike and I decided to spend our day carousing through Barnes and Noble (side note, it's sad times when the closest known bookstore is a large chain the next city over). We ended up in the cafe section of the place, he with a stack of books so large I was impressed by his ability to balance them all and me with the second issue of Sin City and a book of essays called Feed Me!: Writers Dish About Food, Eating, Weight, and Body Image. As far as representation of women goes, these two things are obviously quite different as, if you've never read it, Sin City's depiction of female beauty is pretty stereotypical. Not that I'm necessarily complaining, I'm a huge fan of anything Frank Miller.
So here we were, sitting across one another, reading with no intention of making a purchase. Mike would occasionally read aloud an interesting fact or opinion while I stayed relatively silent, immersed in my graphic novel. When my eyes tired of the monochromatic art, I switched over to Feed Me! and read the first essay entitled "He Called Me Fat; It Set Me Free". A thought rose in my brain, a thought that does so pretty often but I never voice in fear of sounding insensitive or politically incorrect. I considered stifling it for a moment but that would go against my ever increasing practice of radical honesty. So I set my book down and spoke.
"I'm always somewhat torn on how issues of body image are represented. On the one hand, I'm in full support of accepting what a person looks like no matter what and think society's standards are ridiculous. On the other, I feel as though recent portrayal of 'fat' being beautiful in media gives people an excuse to behave gluttonously."
At this point, Mike closed his own book and looked at me quite sternly.
"I don't think you really understand unless you've been big yourself."
I was taken aback by this admission. Unless we are discussing something that directly relates to our relationship or relationships in general, Mike is one of those people who uses cold logic to make his points (which is something I very much like and respect) as opposed to his own emotional experiences. So for him to say something like this, I was totally thrown of balance and forced to see things from a different perspective.
I have not, in fact, ever been "big". The most I've ever weighed is 135lbs and, while this was due to poor diet and inactivity, I have never had a BMI that would be considered overweight for my height. Even so, my weight has fluctuated enough that a number of people have commented upon my recent weight loss. At first, I was thrilled that I suddenly seemed to be more attractive in the general public's eyes. That got old quick. Those making said comments are good people, often people I am close friends with. They mean in it as a compliment but it only serves to slightly devalue my lifestyle change as a superficial matter rather than one based upon health and practicality (for anyone who is unfamiliar, I've been working out and eating better to get in shape for roller derby and parkour). I now have little to no interest in being skinny, I only want to be strong and I don't give a crap how that is reflected in the shape of my body. The point I'm making with this is that it bothered me to know that others apparently noticed a relatively subtle weight change and I can't even imagine what it's like to be judged that way for those who are truly considered to be "big". So no, I really don't understand.
Often times when I think of someone being big and beautiful, I think of my best friend Sabrina. Sabrina and I have been friends since the 8th grade and throughout the years she has gone through too many diets for me to really recall. When you have a body type that is considered to be large, you pretty much have two options for how you portray yourself in our society: You can either be fat with a self-deprecating sense of humor or fat and desperately trying to become skinny. For the first few years I knew her, Sabrina didn't seem to know which one she wanted to be and ended up in some unhealthy middle for a long time. She has always been "loud and obnoxious" and generally considered to be hilarious. She comes off very confident so it was very odd to witness her "eat nothing but Eggo waffles or toast with fake butter spray" phase. During her stint with the South Beach Diet, I was encouraging and even decided to give it ago myself when I thought I could "stand to lose 5 pounds". I'm pretty ashamed of my attitude in the past but alas, that's what being a teenager is all about.
Then, like magic, she didn't care. She didn't care if she was fat. She didn't care if she gained weight or lost it. She still referred to her size in her humor but now it consisted of "I'm fat and I'm hot as shit" jokes. It made me realize that I never really thought of her weight as a flaw, I never considered her to be anything less than beautiful. My concern and encouragement towards her diets came purely from the fear of how she may be perceived by others. Furthermore, if that's where my line of thinking stemmed from, whose to say that's not really how we ALL feel (or at least a strong percentage of us as human beings)? Maybe no one truly finds "fat" unattractive, we just think everyone else does. Her not giving a fuck made me want to not give a fuck. It made me want to accept myself and work towards it everyday. Sabrina unintentionally lead me down the road of healthy body image and as I was teetering over the line of "I still want people to think I'm pretty" and "Who gives a fuck?", Mike gave me that last push.
I am still very much of the opinion that people should treat their bodies well for health issues, but who am I to say what that entails? Perhaps the increase in the our society's average weight is merely human evolution, maybe climate change will soon cause an ice age that will kill off all us skinny bitches leaving the big and beautiful to roam free with no fear of judgement. It doesn't matter how ridiculous that sounds because the point is, it's not my place to decide how a person should live. If I was really as accepting and progressive as I like to think I am, I would never notice what a person was eating or how much exercise they were getting because when it comes down to it, it doesn't affect me in the least (with the exception for someone I cared for that had serious health concerns that were lifestyle related).
These days it makes me genuinely sad to hear my friends discussing dieting or wearing "slimming" clothes. After my conversation with Mike, I notice these things constantly. Men, women, those in between, we are all so image obsessed. Can you imagine what we could get done if we weren't all so busy reading about the benefits pomegranate juice has for your metabolism or cutting carbs? I really wish I could.
If you really want to be healthy, instead of dieting, I suggest you follow this simple guideline from Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food: Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.
To sum this exceedingly long post up I'd like to share Feed Me!'s I-Love-My-Body Pledge.
"I pledge to speak kindly about my body.
I promise not to talk about the size of my thighs or stomach or butt, or how I have to lose 5 or 15 or 50 pounds. I promise not to call myself a fat pig, gross, or any other self-loathing, trash-talking phrase.
I vow to be kind to myself and my body. I will learn to be thankful for its strength and attractiveness, and be compassionate towards its failings.
I will remind myself that bodies come in all shapes and sizes, and that no matter what shape and size my body is, its worth kindness, compassion, and love."
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
I don't have much to update on. I've been writing quite often so all of my creativity as been spent elsewhere. I would like to share an awesome article though: http://jezebel.com/5800899/sluts-like-me
"If someone calls you a slut, there's nothing you can say to refute the claim because it never had any cognitive content anyway."
That is all.
"If someone calls you a slut, there's nothing you can say to refute the claim because it never had any cognitive content anyway."
That is all.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
I'M FEELING SUPER MANIC AND THEREFORE FEEL THE NEED TO WRITE IN CAPS LOCK. IT'S NOT THAT OBNOXIOUS, RIGHT?
I'm beginning to think it's impossible for me to write creatively when I've actually slept. Mike sent me a link to the National Novel Writing Month site and I'm feeling crazy inspired. By crazy inspired I mean very inspired. And also crazy. It takes place in November but I've got free time now so Ima just roll wit' it.
AWAKE FOREVER.
P.S. Happy birthday, Sabrina. You are incredible and I love you dearly!
I'm beginning to think it's impossible for me to write creatively when I've actually slept. Mike sent me a link to the National Novel Writing Month site and I'm feeling crazy inspired. By crazy inspired I mean very inspired. And also crazy. It takes place in November but I've got free time now so Ima just roll wit' it.
AWAKE FOREVER.
P.S. Happy birthday, Sabrina. You are incredible and I love you dearly!
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
It's 6AM as I begin to write and I, as usual, have not slept yet. I've had too much coffee to do so and not nearly enough rest to write well. You have been warned.
My weekend was lovely, as always. Bars, rolling around, cute guy with a cute dog, finally getting my Nook to work, sudoku, skating, spending time with Nicole, cooking, flooding my kitchen. Today (or yesterday, in non-gamer days) was spent productively. I wrote, worked out, read, registered for this summer's social justice institute in Denver, and ordered a copy of my birth certificate.
There are things in my life right now that are overwhelming and complicated. Nothing is quite as simple or as easy as it seems these days. But it's kind of amazing. I feel more like myself than I have in years while still being the person I really want to be. It's always been one or the other for me. I am, of course, not thrilled with how things turned out with Dan but I am pleased that he has been so honest and mature during our rare instances of recent communication. We're both slightly bitter, which is healthy at this point, but we've done well not to lash out at each other. Him even more so now that he is aware I am serious with someone. That being said, I am looking forward to when we can move on to a real friendship rather than the inevitable limbo of forced, polite conversation.
I'm also very grateful to be with someone who understands how tricky the situation is. I certainly don't believe it to be anything that should be a cause for concern but I do, however, realize most people aren't too happy to know their significant other is speaking with their ex. Especially during the beginning of a relationship when insecurity is at it's peak.
I'm rambling so I'm now going to abruptly finish this post. Goodnight (in gamer nights).
My weekend was lovely, as always. Bars, rolling around, cute guy with a cute dog, finally getting my Nook to work, sudoku, skating, spending time with Nicole, cooking, flooding my kitchen. Today (or yesterday, in non-gamer days) was spent productively. I wrote, worked out, read, registered for this summer's social justice institute in Denver, and ordered a copy of my birth certificate.
There are things in my life right now that are overwhelming and complicated. Nothing is quite as simple or as easy as it seems these days. But it's kind of amazing. I feel more like myself than I have in years while still being the person I really want to be. It's always been one or the other for me. I am, of course, not thrilled with how things turned out with Dan but I am pleased that he has been so honest and mature during our rare instances of recent communication. We're both slightly bitter, which is healthy at this point, but we've done well not to lash out at each other. Him even more so now that he is aware I am serious with someone. That being said, I am looking forward to when we can move on to a real friendship rather than the inevitable limbo of forced, polite conversation.
I'm also very grateful to be with someone who understands how tricky the situation is. I certainly don't believe it to be anything that should be a cause for concern but I do, however, realize most people aren't too happy to know their significant other is speaking with their ex. Especially during the beginning of a relationship when insecurity is at it's peak.
I'm rambling so I'm now going to abruptly finish this post. Goodnight (in gamer nights).
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
My brand of crazy.
In my first entry of this piece of crap, I went into detail about how my disorder came to surface. However, I never explicitly said what disorder I have.
When I was around 15, I was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder. When I tell people this, they often jump to the conclusion that I am schizophrenic...and in a way they are correct in that assumption. Most people have never even heard of this disorder, I know I didn't until I had been diagnosed.
When I was around 15, I was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder. When I tell people this, they often jump to the conclusion that I am schizophrenic...and in a way they are correct in that assumption. Most people have never even heard of this disorder, I know I didn't until I had been diagnosed.
I tend to believe in things like fate and burning sage to heal ailments. One of my most commonly used phrases is "I lost my train of thought." I'm nowhere near introverted, so I kind of dodged a bullet there, but I do have the tendency to become extremely paranoid about others' intentions (something that is very much associated with my disorder). I think that everyone whose ever met me can agree I fit into the last one.
Most of my symptoms aren't bad at all. I've found a nice balance between batshit crazy and having a social life. The general public still thinks I'm weird but these days more and more people seem to think I'm "quirky" or "eccentric"...and that's pretty cool. Having schizotypal disorder sometimes means the concept of matching clothes is lost on me, but dressing vaguely punk or hipsterish means people don't really notice or alternatively comment on how "fun" I always look.
I've embraced a lot of the facets of my disorder in the past couple years. Doing so reminds me that people don't necessarily think the way I do and I need to look at things from different angles if I want to truly understand and connect with them. I actually, for the most part, love having this disorder. It's kind of become my excuse to "not give a fuck" and I'm over 9000 times happier.
The only part I really, absolutely cannot stand is having an "episode". Maybe someone says something a little off-kilter, maybe someone does something strange, maybe I simply have a random thought...whatever the case, there are a few things that can trigger said episodes. What typically happens is I withdraw from the normal world because I am convinced it's not real and neither am I. I'll run on auto-pilot if I'm in a situation where I really can't escape but most of the time I'll just spend a lot of time alone trying to snap myself back to reality.
It is the worst thing I have ever felt. You're not angry, sad, hungry, happy, anything like that. You're just scared. Scared and numb. On some occasions I'll become convinced I'm really a ghost haunting my own memories. The last big episode I had lasted about a week, I was literally afraid it was going to last forever. It was one of the only times I've seriously contemplated killing myself.
It should be noted that I rarely have significant episodes like that. I've never needed medication and if I force myself to talk about it when I feel a trigger it gives me perspective and I can easily calm down. It's really only bad during times of stress/depression and as I left my home, loved ones, and general "safety net" behind only 2 months ago, one could imagine how that may have held a large impact on my emotional stability. But hey, I pushed through it with the mindset that things would get better. And they did. I may have embraced some of these "quirks" but my disorder does not define me. I don't let anyone or anything hinder my potential as a human being, this is no different.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Missed Connections: Booty Like a Rainbow (rough draft)
The February night air was frigid and my thin, hooded sweatshirt was hardly providing the warmth I sought. As a lonely young man of 28, I was merely a face in the crowd in the bustling streets of Philadelphia. Walking by myself, I turned onto a street that seemed oddly desolate for this part of the city. The empty chill my surroundings supplied only served to lessen my resolve to continue on my journey and when it began to rain I became desperate. When my glasses began to fog and slip down the bridge of my nose from the moisture, I ducked in to the nearest store, seeking shelter from the storm for a moment.
The bright lighting of my new environment made me suddenly aware I had entered a Dairy Queen. It seemed like an odd place for anyone to be while the gray slush-like remains of snow still littered the roads but I suppose I was really in no position to make such a judgement, as I was currently standing in said establishment. I noticed my Che Guevara messenger bag was completely soaked and swiftly went into action in finding a table and checking for damages to my belongings. My Moleskine journal was only slightly damp but I set it on the surface of the chipped, ugly table to air out the pages just in case. Rustling around in my bag, I came upon a bus token for my ride home, a pamphlet an exuberant religious nut had shoved my way at the Frankford Terminal, and a few crumpled dollar bills soaked from the horrid weather.
I placed my things, save for my money, back down on the table and lifted my head to really take in my surroundings for the first time since I walked in. It dawned on me that if I wanted to continue the enjoyment of my temporary haven, I'd probably have to make a purchase. My idea was to scan the menu for something mildly appetizing I could nurse as I waited for the rain to slow, but what I saw distracted me from any previous intentions.
She was a vision. Clad in skin-tight booty shorts with the word "Juicy" written across her bottom, a boast I wouldn't dare to disagree with, and legs that seemed to go on for days. Her long, yellow hair flowed behind her, playing across the back of her shimmering gold tube top. I could only assume from her outfit that her blood was so thick and warm that the freezing temperatures outside did not effect her. Her skin, a hue of orange I had never seen before, shone against the fluorescent lighting of the ice cream freezer beside her and made her hot pink lips look even more tantalizing amongst the contrast. Another asked for her name and when she said "Sarah" it sounded more like a musical note than anything that could be formed with the English language. Her acrylic nails tapped against the counter as she loudly berated the young cashier for skimping on the chocolate fudge upon her sundae and I was instantly taken. Here was a woman so obviously well versed in the irony of American culture that she lived it in every moment! Dreams of our future and what our children might look like danced in my head. My usually pessimistic mind was overloaded with a hope that I thought only the sight of a rainbow could induce. She truly had a behind that could only be described as such. A booty like a rainbow.
As I regained my composure, I was made conscious of the fact that she was heading out the door. I painfully stammered to myself, not knowing what to say. She seemed to look behind her shoulder for an instant, the smile in her eyes connecting with mine. That brief glance said more than words ever could. We were soul mates. She loved me. She wanted me. She needed me. She'd rather die than be without me. Alas, the charge of emotions must have confused and frightened her because as quickly as she appeared, she was gone. I felt myself falling into a hopeless void of despair with the thought of her shrill, grating voice the only thing keeping me from being pulled under.
Sarah, my angel with a bottom of refracted light, where could you be? I ache for contact with you again, my colleague lives in the area and I frequently visit. I am already discussing renting a bedroom in his house to be closer to you. My heart is yours, as is my time. We could make this something beautiful.
Original post:
booty like a rainbow – m4w – 28 (philadelphia)
Date: 2011-02-10, 12:03AM EST
Reply To This Post
Date: 2011-02-10, 12:03AM EST
Reply To This Post
i saw you at the diary queen you girl got it goin on. i heard you say your name is sarah you were wareing that silky smoothe booty shorts with the name “juicy” . you got me thinkin about wanting to make babies sometimes soon. hit me up i know a dude there i hang out a lot
* Location: philadelphia
* it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
* it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
PostingID: 2206584259
Keep in mind that this is only the rough draft. Sabrina will be editing it for me (and has already provided a ton of super useful suggestions) and I'll be tweaking a few parts.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Okay, so I screwed up on the whole "update every day" thing already but...okay, no I don't really have a way to justify it. Oh well.
It's raining now. Hard, too. There isn't quite enough thunder or lightening to make me fearful so it's actually really comforting. It seems appropriate for my current mood. Being lucky enough to have someone you want around all the time but not being able to is bittersweet, much like how the rain makes me feel.
It's been a fantastic weekend emotionally and mentally but not so much physically. Ate too much, smoked too much, drank too much, and didn't work out nearly enough. Like an idiot, I tried to go for a run midday yesterday. It had to have been at least 80 degrees outside. Experiencing the horror of jogging in the heat makes me wonder if perhaps Florida has a lower crime rate than colder states. Who the hell wants to run from the cops in this kind of humidity?
Katrina and James may be visiting in a couple weeks and I am beyond excited. Katrina and I were nothing short of attached to the hip by the last few months I spent in Philly so I miss her probably more than anyone else.
Oh, so the price of a 4 year college here is still cheaper than a 2 year one in Philly. Jus' sayin'.
It's raining now. Hard, too. There isn't quite enough thunder or lightening to make me fearful so it's actually really comforting. It seems appropriate for my current mood. Being lucky enough to have someone you want around all the time but not being able to is bittersweet, much like how the rain makes me feel.
It's been a fantastic weekend emotionally and mentally but not so much physically. Ate too much, smoked too much, drank too much, and didn't work out nearly enough. Like an idiot, I tried to go for a run midday yesterday. It had to have been at least 80 degrees outside. Experiencing the horror of jogging in the heat makes me wonder if perhaps Florida has a lower crime rate than colder states. Who the hell wants to run from the cops in this kind of humidity?
Katrina and James may be visiting in a couple weeks and I am beyond excited. Katrina and I were nothing short of attached to the hip by the last few months I spent in Philly so I miss her probably more than anyone else.
Oh, so the price of a 4 year college here is still cheaper than a 2 year one in Philly. Jus' sayin'.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
I'm going to try to make it a point to write every single day, even if it's short and horrible. I read this little piece of advice Chuck Palahnuik gave for aspiring writers not too long ago...he said that you should dedicate 20 minutes a day to writing. It can be total bullshit and if you're really not into it that day, you can stop at 20 minutes and just be done with it...but often times you find yourself really getting into it at that point and want to continue after your time is up. So that's what I plan on doing.
It's almost 8AM and I haven't slept yet so my thoughts are bound to be a bit erratic. In fact, I'm not even going to attempt to keep them organized right now.
I spent the last year or so learning how to be truly content in any environment. Now I feel like I'm learning how to be truly fulfilled, too. I thought for a long time you would have to choose between the two and I don't believe that very much at all these days. It's fucking incredible.
I lost body fat and gained quite a bit of muscle since I've been in Florida. The waistline to my pants are loose, the pant legs are tight, my shirts are overall bigger on me but the sleeves are tighter. It's sickening... in the good way. I plan on eventually posting some before and after photos but I've been lazy with actually taking any. I feel confident that I could keep up with the roller girls now but I don't want to just keep up, I want to be good. I'm either going to continue to lose body fat so I can take the route of speed or start really bulking to be an all around badass. I'll probably end up bulking just because I eat so freaking much and have no plans to stop doing so.
I'm tired and sore as all hell now so this update is going to be abruptly cut short.
End transmission.
It's almost 8AM and I haven't slept yet so my thoughts are bound to be a bit erratic. In fact, I'm not even going to attempt to keep them organized right now.
I spent the last year or so learning how to be truly content in any environment. Now I feel like I'm learning how to be truly fulfilled, too. I thought for a long time you would have to choose between the two and I don't believe that very much at all these days. It's fucking incredible.
I lost body fat and gained quite a bit of muscle since I've been in Florida. The waistline to my pants are loose, the pant legs are tight, my shirts are overall bigger on me but the sleeves are tighter. It's sickening... in the good way. I plan on eventually posting some before and after photos but I've been lazy with actually taking any. I feel confident that I could keep up with the roller girls now but I don't want to just keep up, I want to be good. I'm either going to continue to lose body fat so I can take the route of speed or start really bulking to be an all around badass. I'll probably end up bulking just because I eat so freaking much and have no plans to stop doing so.
I'm tired and sore as all hell now so this update is going to be abruptly cut short.
End transmission.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Isn't it always the case that once you become unconcerned with dating you end up finding someone wonderful? My thoughts on being with someone were essentially "whatevs, mang" and suddenly there was an insomniac knocking on my door with a cute face and a trunk full of booze. Just another way my ability to not give a fuck has improved my life exponentially.
On a somewhat unrelated note, I'd like to tell the tale of my 21st birthday.
Our story begins around midnight on the 16th, marking the official start of my birthday. Mike (the object of my affections) and I went to a dive bar to celebrate. I got a Miller Lite and he got a Cape Codder (cough, masculine term for Cosmopolitan, cough) because I'm a bro and he's a delicate flower. A lovely stranger bought me a shot and told me how on her own 21st, a girl she didn't know bought her a shot and told her to "pay it forward". I promised I would do the same in the future. I had the pleasure of receiving a phone call from my beloved Katrina and talked to my brother for the first time outside of the internet. Afterwards, we came back to my place only to drink more in my kitchen/act utterly ridiculous.
The next day (in gamer days) was kicked off with copious amounts of sushi. Mike and Nicole ate their food like normal human beings while I went into Kirby mode and sucked down everything in front of me as quickly as possible. Including some of Nicole's fried rice because I'm a champ. When we finally arrived at the bar, my mom was already trashed. Like, grinding on her male companion trashed. Not that I'm complaining, as he was buying us drinks all evening and my mom bought me the ones he didn't. Once I was sufficiently inebriated, I proceeded to tell Nicole how much I freaking love her and Mike that he looked like a combination of Johnny Depp, Justin Timberlake, and a stereotypical intellectual. If I was truly capable of feeling shame/embarrassment, I might be doing so right now. But I'm not.
Once the crowd thinned and Nicole had to leave for an overnight shift at work, we headed over to another bar called Brandy's. Brandy's is infinitely more white trash and therefore more fun. Tequila, vodka, and whiskey quickly brought me from drunk to mangled. The older "gentleman" next to us kept insisting Mike should take me up to dance no matter how many times I made it clear my only interest was in taking shots and getting shitfaced. To sum up our adventures at Brandy's in one sentence: We played one of the most horrible games of pool in history, fell like dominoes on the floor, and knocked over a stool in excitement.
My mom and her...guy friend left to do things I'd rather not have knowledge of so we stumbled to 7-11 so Mike could get cigarettes. The only part of that walk I remember vividly is being carried across a sidewalk river caused by sprinklers. Once Mike was sober enough to drive and I was drunk enough to want fast food we left for Checkers/home. I drunkenly confessed my adoration, ate way too much, worked out in an awkward/wobbly fashion, took more shots, and passed out.
My hangover the next day consisted of soup, Tina Fey, and general boyfriend awesomeness. Overall, it was the best birthday ever. The end.
On a somewhat unrelated note, I'd like to tell the tale of my 21st birthday.
Our story begins around midnight on the 16th, marking the official start of my birthday. Mike (the object of my affections) and I went to a dive bar to celebrate. I got a Miller Lite and he got a Cape Codder (cough, masculine term for Cosmopolitan, cough) because I'm a bro and he's a delicate flower. A lovely stranger bought me a shot and told me how on her own 21st, a girl she didn't know bought her a shot and told her to "pay it forward". I promised I would do the same in the future. I had the pleasure of receiving a phone call from my beloved Katrina and talked to my brother for the first time outside of the internet. Afterwards, we came back to my place only to drink more in my kitchen/act utterly ridiculous.
The next day (in gamer days) was kicked off with copious amounts of sushi. Mike and Nicole ate their food like normal human beings while I went into Kirby mode and sucked down everything in front of me as quickly as possible. Including some of Nicole's fried rice because I'm a champ. When we finally arrived at the bar, my mom was already trashed. Like, grinding on her male companion trashed. Not that I'm complaining, as he was buying us drinks all evening and my mom bought me the ones he didn't. Once I was sufficiently inebriated, I proceeded to tell Nicole how much I freaking love her and Mike that he looked like a combination of Johnny Depp, Justin Timberlake, and a stereotypical intellectual. If I was truly capable of feeling shame/embarrassment, I might be doing so right now. But I'm not.
Once the crowd thinned and Nicole had to leave for an overnight shift at work, we headed over to another bar called Brandy's. Brandy's is infinitely more white trash and therefore more fun. Tequila, vodka, and whiskey quickly brought me from drunk to mangled. The older "gentleman" next to us kept insisting Mike should take me up to dance no matter how many times I made it clear my only interest was in taking shots and getting shitfaced. To sum up our adventures at Brandy's in one sentence: We played one of the most horrible games of pool in history, fell like dominoes on the floor, and knocked over a stool in excitement.
My mom and her...guy friend left to do things I'd rather not have knowledge of so we stumbled to 7-11 so Mike could get cigarettes. The only part of that walk I remember vividly is being carried across a sidewalk river caused by sprinklers. Once Mike was sober enough to drive and I was drunk enough to want fast food we left for Checkers/home. I drunkenly confessed my adoration, ate way too much, worked out in an awkward/wobbly fashion, took more shots, and passed out.
My hangover the next day consisted of soup, Tina Fey, and general boyfriend awesomeness. Overall, it was the best birthday ever. The end.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
An apology to my bike
My dearest bike
I'm sorry I left you out there in the cold
You deserve better than that
With your tires perfect for city streets
And your seat more comfortable than any other
I thought,
"What a catch!"
With your thrift store price of 30 dollars
How could anyone have left you behind?
I wondered
But then you got a flat
And I never bothered to fix you
I left you in the snow to rust
I'm sorry I neglected you
I hope you find someone who will be kinder
And ride you everyday
But now I'm looking at a new set of wheels
One that can take me on a journey where the road is not paved
Rest assure, however, I will always love you
My beautiful city bike
I'm sorry I left you out there in the cold
You deserve better than that
With your tires perfect for city streets
And your seat more comfortable than any other
I thought,
"What a catch!"
With your thrift store price of 30 dollars
How could anyone have left you behind?
I wondered
But then you got a flat
And I never bothered to fix you
I left you in the snow to rust
I'm sorry I neglected you
I hope you find someone who will be kinder
And ride you everyday
But now I'm looking at a new set of wheels
One that can take me on a journey where the road is not paved
Rest assure, however, I will always love you
My beautiful city bike
Thursday, February 3, 2011
So, for those who aren't personally close to me/just haven't heard... I am moving to Florida at the end of this month. The combination of my personality disorder and the irresponsible decisions I've made has made it incredibly difficult to go to college. My mother will be supporting me while I go to school so I don't have to work to survive.
This was one of the hardest decisions I've ever had to make. I have such amazing friends and I love the city I live in...but I can't go floating along for the rest of my life. Once I move, I plan on updating this blog at least once a week to keep all my Philly people updated. I'll explain in further detail once I am not so inebriated. As I've stated to so many of you since this plan was made official, I love you all and thank youse for being in my life...regardless if it has been permanent or temporary.
This was one of the hardest decisions I've ever had to make. I have such amazing friends and I love the city I live in...but I can't go floating along for the rest of my life. Once I move, I plan on updating this blog at least once a week to keep all my Philly people updated. I'll explain in further detail once I am not so inebriated. As I've stated to so many of you since this plan was made official, I love you all and thank youse for being in my life...regardless if it has been permanent or temporary.
Friday, January 7, 2011
There have been moments throughout my entire life where I have felt like I was walking through a mist. Sometimes these moments pass within an instant, sometimes they stretch for hours. I think everyone has trouble keeping their grip on reality at some point or another, but it is my belief that my hand is particularly greasy.
I have always had an active imagination. Even the teachers who thought very little of me expressed how creative when I was young. It is not considered strange for a child to pretend they are of another world, often times this sort of game is actually encouraged. The problem with me was that I not only truly believed I was not native to this world, but I still have trouble grasping the concept of this reality from time to time.
When I was about 9 or 10, the auditory hallucinations started. I will never forget the first time it happened. I was in the shower when suddenly I heard a deep, demonic laugh. Panic immediately struck me and I ran, shrieking, out of the bathroom completely nude save for a towel. Looking back, it's more humorous than it is scary or sad. In addition to the fact that I have never been graceful, I was tall for my age and very skinny so I imagine I looked more like something created by Jim Henson than a girl in need of counseling.
Before that incident I had only heard things in my mind. It was easy to distinguish the faint whispers as being in my own head, but this event had opened Pandora's box. This laugh was heard in my ears, not my mind. I had no idea what this meant and begged my mother to send me to a psychiatrist. She was alarmed at the time, of course, but quickly brushed it off as something I would grow out of. I feel no resentment towards her for this, she was scared and did not know how to handle the situation. My mother is an amazing woman who did the best she could, this was just not something she was prepared for.
So I was told to ignore it, that it would go away on it's own. It was rare for me to have actual hallucination, usually I would just be skittish and on edge. The paranoia was nothing new, I honestly can't remember a time I wasn't horribly afraid of everything. At that age, however, my fears were so intense I developed slightly obsessive behaviors. Every night before I slept, I would build an elaborate barrier of stuffed animals to protect me. This took about 20 minutes if rushed and about an hour if I took my time (not to mention time spent adjusting them if I saw a "weak" spot in the barrier). I was convinced that if I did not do this every single evening, something terrible would happen. As incredibly embarrassing as it is for me to admit, this continued until I was about 13.
From wikipedia's definition of magical thinking: "In clinical psychology, magical thinking is a condition that causes the patient to experience irrational fear of performing certain acts or having certain thoughts because they assume a correlation with their acts and threatening calamities."
Magical thinking is something I have been doing all my life and to this day continue to do. My friends always comment on how uncharacteristically quiet I am as a passenger during car/bus rides. That is because I am focusing on the vehicle not getting into a horrible collision. Obviously, I am sick because I did not dispel the negativity in my body and not because I have a poor immune system. Everyone practices magical thinking to some extent, perhaps even as much as I do. I do this sort of thing significantly less now than when I was young and I can usually disillusion myself through reasoning .
Paranoia, obsessive magical thinking, questioning my own existence...these things will keep you up at night. So it's really no surprise I hardly slept. Not sleeping nearly enough, being considered "weird" by most people my age, being scared of everything, all mixed in with fluctuating hormones was pretty much the breaking point in my early teens. I became extremely depressed (not that uncommon for a 15 year old, I realize) and in turn started experiencing hallucinations I could not ignore. They were increasingly frequent and much clearer than they ever had been, this time around my mother knew it wasn't just a phase.
It was autumn, there were crisp, orange leaves on the ground. We drove in relative silence, I was so nervous my body began to shake and didn't stop doing so for hours. When we arrived at the therapist's office the shaking was so bad I had to at least marginally calm myself to prevent from vomiting. My therapist was a tiny, pixie looking woman named Natalie (changed for her privacy). She possessed large, brown eyes that you could not help but be soothed by and delicate features you could not help but admire. The sound of her voice would often leave me in a trance like state, feeling totally at ease. I've heard plenty of horrors stories about tactless, uncaring therapists and I will forever be thankful I ended up Natalie as my own.
I quickly became comfortable with the idea of going to therapy and made immediate progress. She taught me how to control my fears and block out the hallucinations. I'll go more into detail about that and my diagnosis another entry, as this is getting long winded, but I would like to say that I have not had a hallucination in years thanks to therapy.
The reason I decided to write all this is because I want to prove that people truly can be happy. I've struggled through my own bouts of depression, I've hurt myself and wished for death. Despite my past, I now hardly ever really feel depressed. I may feel empathy for others and occasionally get downtrodden but about 75% of the time, I am legitimately happy. 75% of the time I smile and laugh and feel joy, the other 25% of the time I am learning how to better myself. Money is of little interest to me, looking attractive and impressing others is just another worthless thing to obsess over, and success is relative. I live for joy and love. I am content with myself and those I care for. If I am not content with those in my life, I don't blame them for my dissatisfaction and play victim, I simply stop associating with them in the most polite manner possible.
The past few days have been unusually tough for me, I've been sleeping to the point of hibernation out of boredom and loneliness. But today I looked outside to see snow falling to the tune of my bathroom faucet's slow drip and I remembered joy.
I have always had an active imagination. Even the teachers who thought very little of me expressed how creative when I was young. It is not considered strange for a child to pretend they are of another world, often times this sort of game is actually encouraged. The problem with me was that I not only truly believed I was not native to this world, but I still have trouble grasping the concept of this reality from time to time.
When I was about 9 or 10, the auditory hallucinations started. I will never forget the first time it happened. I was in the shower when suddenly I heard a deep, demonic laugh. Panic immediately struck me and I ran, shrieking, out of the bathroom completely nude save for a towel. Looking back, it's more humorous than it is scary or sad. In addition to the fact that I have never been graceful, I was tall for my age and very skinny so I imagine I looked more like something created by Jim Henson than a girl in need of counseling.
Before that incident I had only heard things in my mind. It was easy to distinguish the faint whispers as being in my own head, but this event had opened Pandora's box. This laugh was heard in my ears, not my mind. I had no idea what this meant and begged my mother to send me to a psychiatrist. She was alarmed at the time, of course, but quickly brushed it off as something I would grow out of. I feel no resentment towards her for this, she was scared and did not know how to handle the situation. My mother is an amazing woman who did the best she could, this was just not something she was prepared for.
So I was told to ignore it, that it would go away on it's own. It was rare for me to have actual hallucination, usually I would just be skittish and on edge. The paranoia was nothing new, I honestly can't remember a time I wasn't horribly afraid of everything. At that age, however, my fears were so intense I developed slightly obsessive behaviors. Every night before I slept, I would build an elaborate barrier of stuffed animals to protect me. This took about 20 minutes if rushed and about an hour if I took my time (not to mention time spent adjusting them if I saw a "weak" spot in the barrier). I was convinced that if I did not do this every single evening, something terrible would happen. As incredibly embarrassing as it is for me to admit, this continued until I was about 13.
From wikipedia's definition of magical thinking: "In clinical psychology, magical thinking is a condition that causes the patient to experience irrational fear of performing certain acts or having certain thoughts because they assume a correlation with their acts and threatening calamities."
Magical thinking is something I have been doing all my life and to this day continue to do. My friends always comment on how uncharacteristically quiet I am as a passenger during car/bus rides. That is because I am focusing on the vehicle not getting into a horrible collision. Obviously, I am sick because I did not dispel the negativity in my body and not because I have a poor immune system. Everyone practices magical thinking to some extent, perhaps even as much as I do. I do this sort of thing significantly less now than when I was young and I can usually disillusion myself through reasoning .
Paranoia, obsessive magical thinking, questioning my own existence...these things will keep you up at night. So it's really no surprise I hardly slept. Not sleeping nearly enough, being considered "weird" by most people my age, being scared of everything, all mixed in with fluctuating hormones was pretty much the breaking point in my early teens. I became extremely depressed (not that uncommon for a 15 year old, I realize) and in turn started experiencing hallucinations I could not ignore. They were increasingly frequent and much clearer than they ever had been, this time around my mother knew it wasn't just a phase.
It was autumn, there were crisp, orange leaves on the ground. We drove in relative silence, I was so nervous my body began to shake and didn't stop doing so for hours. When we arrived at the therapist's office the shaking was so bad I had to at least marginally calm myself to prevent from vomiting. My therapist was a tiny, pixie looking woman named Natalie (changed for her privacy). She possessed large, brown eyes that you could not help but be soothed by and delicate features you could not help but admire. The sound of her voice would often leave me in a trance like state, feeling totally at ease. I've heard plenty of horrors stories about tactless, uncaring therapists and I will forever be thankful I ended up Natalie as my own.
I quickly became comfortable with the idea of going to therapy and made immediate progress. She taught me how to control my fears and block out the hallucinations. I'll go more into detail about that and my diagnosis another entry, as this is getting long winded, but I would like to say that I have not had a hallucination in years thanks to therapy.
The reason I decided to write all this is because I want to prove that people truly can be happy. I've struggled through my own bouts of depression, I've hurt myself and wished for death. Despite my past, I now hardly ever really feel depressed. I may feel empathy for others and occasionally get downtrodden but about 75% of the time, I am legitimately happy. 75% of the time I smile and laugh and feel joy, the other 25% of the time I am learning how to better myself. Money is of little interest to me, looking attractive and impressing others is just another worthless thing to obsess over, and success is relative. I live for joy and love. I am content with myself and those I care for. If I am not content with those in my life, I don't blame them for my dissatisfaction and play victim, I simply stop associating with them in the most polite manner possible.
The past few days have been unusually tough for me, I've been sleeping to the point of hibernation out of boredom and loneliness. But today I looked outside to see snow falling to the tune of my bathroom faucet's slow drip and I remembered joy.
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