Rectify
Comments(0)I’m removing an entire post from months ago. I rarely edit previous posts on my blog and I don’t think I’ve ever actually removed one before. However, I’m swiftly rectifying a wrong that I’m responsible for.
I’m not always an open book when it comes to emotions, family, relationships, etc. I always like to appear in control and unaffected.
I’ve used my family at times as part of my humor and examples in writings, and made the mistake of talking about them in such a negative way, specifically one instance. In the post I have removed, I posted an entire entry talking about parenthood and how much I question the parenting of others. I used my sister and her children as an example, a diagram to carry out my illustration of words. I just read it to myself for the first time and couldn’t be more ashamed. I love my family greatly, and would never ever have the right to cut them down for such things. My sister, quite frankly, is one of the biggest hard @$$es I’ve ever known. The only person I’ve ever known besides my mother to be able to hold in their own vomit. Not kidding. For those who don’t know, I have a phobia of vomit, and anything involving it. Whether it’s me, or someone else, I would 100% honestly rather break my arm. She actually was the only one of my 4 other siblings that I could stand being around when they were ill. Of course I was still uneasy, but I wasn’t in sheer panic mode when I was around her. She’s never been afraid of anyone, or at least never ever showed it. She’s the only person I’ve known to truly be this way. If I ever had a problem growing up, with anyone or anything, I’d run to her and all fears would be allayed. She pretty much taught me not to take crap from people.
Her kids–simply amazing. I know many people that would honestly agree, probably the cutest kids you’ll ever see. They don’t know how to be anything besides super smart, and ridiculously adorable. They’re just like her–sensitive to family and people that matter, but straight up iron fists to anyone that tries to mess with them. I have first hand accounts of this, and they’re incredible.
This needed to be cleared up. There’s no other person in this world that I question more than myself, and that keeps me busy enough.
In Your World
Comments(1)Congrats to Nectar, your not-so-ordinary start up company that has taken the next step in transforming personal branding, communication, and all things amazing. http://www.tastynectar.com
NON-VOTER ALERT
Comments(2)I haven’t voted yet. I don’t plan on voting. (Settle down, please.)
I’m sure I’ve lost friends and respect because of this. I’ve encountered several bouts of personal pressure to head to the booths, and yet I am not even registered.
I won’t blame it on the fact that I didn’t receive (or look for) my voter registration card, or that I’m just “too busy”. I will, however, blame it on the fact that through a lack of actionable steps on my part, I’ve indirectly made a decision to not vote this year. I voted in the last election, and honestly, I was stupid for it. I voted simply because I felt like it would help me be a mature, “opinionated” 19-year-old. I voted for the candidate that I hoped would prove my parents right. This year? If I stepped into the booth now to vote, I would leave the presidential area blank. I don’t know who I would vote for, and tossing a coin seems as irresponsible as not voting.
So why is this worth a boring blog post that nobody will read/finish? Because this post isn’t for you, it’s for me and my need to defend myself. Duty? Right? I agree that voting is important, and I’m not trying to minimize the significance of it. In fact, I sometimes admire the opinionated people that want to hang me for not voting. that Perhaps there will be a day when I share the same, “Vote or die” opinion as many of my peers, but not today. It’s a free country.
(I’ll bet you hear that last line a whole lot, and you already have an educational response for me along the lines of, “It’s a free country because people voted,” but spare me. If it makes you feel better, I’ll put a sign in my front yard, and be part of a mandatory list that ensures I don’t move into any neighborhoods with children.)
Hate me. Sue me. Make me dance.
Default To Writing
Began knitting, and didn’t get further than this miniature scarf. I’d rather write for now. I’m reconcepting all of my social networking or online access to my life, so bear through these awkward stages of blog puberty. My favorite gift recently, the wonderful poop book. Kerri has my heart.
my video blog
vimeo.com/thecoolside
vimeo.com/pursuant
Infusium on Vimeo
Paradigmatic Christian Awakening
yes, i had it. one of those days where you say, “oh wow. i’m so inspired and flipped inside out, that i’m DEFINITELY going to blog about this. oh, and i’m gonna include scripture.” Most of the time, it is to fulfill a selfish idea that admitting things, or that speaking “openly” about God and scripture somehow rights your wrongness.
See what I did there? Yup–i already tried to convey the fact that i know things. that i understand things, and that i’m intelligent and that i’m out of the ordinary for being such a person. i like to provide disclaimers about things, and it’s all to support being as fraudulent as possible. —-and you see what i just did there? I got a little bit honest. This post is dedicated to the beginning of what I hope, is a series of coming clean and uncovering my constant attempts to manage impressions.
I don’t like to be caught off guard. I claimt to love spontaneity, and i use unfamiliar words like “Paradigmatic” to title my posts so that maybe another person who sees it as a bit unfamiliar or impressive will trade places with me and i’ll somehow assert a small amount of control over their impression. sickening.
I’m always receptive to a heart-to-heart talk. Receptive meaning i loooove to have someone open up to me, and know that they’re comfortable and feel like i’m a wise enough person to confide in. My response, almost not matter what, will be, “Wow.. yeah i totally understand….” or “i can understand that. you know, i tend to feel like ….” and then offer my advice. i do relate to others, and i do feel like i empathize so easily, but i avoid being caught off guard. i don’t like to seem surprised by much of anything, and therefore i’ll appear to be in control of my emotions most of the time. probably the same reason i only typically cry in front of a boyfriend. and that’s only because i often find myself relying in human comfort rather than a Godly contentment.
I’m most certainly wrong much of the time, and I like to work my way around appearing wrong, or admitting wrong that lessens my intelligence.
i’m completely insecure and operate on the notion of approval, and i’m basically an attention freak. i love humor and have a hard time resisting a joke, and this has left me with an inappropriate tendency towards making dirty jokes–yes, even in mixed company!
i can be well spoken, well written, and appear put together, but its all just part of trying to void myself as an easy target for mistakes.
i am far from the woman I want to be, and far from truly being as insightful and honest as i sound.
So, with that said, I’ll refer to the Proverbs 31 woman that I have never been.
Proverbs 31
Sayings of King Lemuel
1 The sayings of King Lemuel—an oracle [a] his mother taught him: 2 ”O my son, O son of my womb,
O son of my vows, [b]
3 do not spend your strength on women,
your vigor on those who ruin kings.
4 ”It is not for kings, O Lemuel—
not for kings to drink wine,
not for rulers to crave beer,
5 lest they drink and forget what the law decrees,
and deprive all the oppressed of their rights.
6 Give beer to those who are perishing,
wine to those who are in anguish;
7 let them drink and forget their poverty
and remember their misery no more.
8 ”Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves,
for the rights of all who are destitute.
9 Speak up and judge fairly;
defend the rights of the poor and needy.”
Epilogue: The Wife of Noble Character
10 [c] A wife of noble character who can find?
She is worth far more than rubies.
11 Her husband has full confidence in her
and lacks nothing of value.
12 She brings him good, not harm,
all the days of her life.
13 She selects wool and flax
and works with eager hands.
14 She is like the merchant ships,
bringing her food from afar.
15 She gets up while it is still dark;
she provides food for her family
and portions for her servant girls.
16 She considers a field and buys it;
out of her earnings she plants a vineyard.
17 She sets about her work vigorously;
her arms are strong for her tasks.
18 She sees that her trading is profitable,
and her lamp does not go out at night.
19 In her hand she holds the distaff
and grasps the spindle with her fingers.
20 She opens her arms to the poor
and extends her hands to the needy.
21 When it snows, she has no fear for her household;
for all of them are clothed in scarlet.
22 She makes coverings for her bed;
she is clothed in fine linen and purple.
23 Her husband is respected at the city gate,
where he takes his seat among the elders of the land.
24 She makes linen garments and sells them,
and supplies the merchants with sashes.
25 She is clothed with strength and dignity;
she can laugh at the days to come.
26 She speaks with wisdom,
and faithful instruction is on her tongue.
27 She watches over the affairs of her household
and does not eat the bread of idleness.
28 Her children arise and call her blessed;
her husband also, and he praises her:
29 ”Many women do noble things,
but you surpass them all.”
30 Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.
31 Give her the reward she has earned,
and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.
Yes, i work hard and i work often–but not for the glory of the Lord. nope, i work to my own selfish ambition, because i try to be important, i try to have impact for my own glory which obviously fades.
i’m more selfish than anyone i know. i’m insecure and approval hungry whether i like it or not.
knowing these things about myself, i have done little to overcome them.
i’m hoping that in this exposure will cripple my ability to mask myself. knowing me, i’ll figure out a way to manage impressions regardless. i’m not there yet, and i have sooooo far to go.
i’m going to go as far as saying that i welcome anyone willing to call me out on not being real/honest/genuine. i’m accepting the fact that i’m probably surrounded by some people that will force me to be better. yes this is corny, yes i’m saying that as a disclaimer to seem cool about it.
Also, don’t comment with sweet words like, “i dig the honesty. i admire that.”
i don’t want to be built up in that way. i’d rather have honest comments such as, “yeah you should really listen rather than speak more…”
the more honest, the more harsh, the better. matters of the character and heart only please, i’m not going to shower any more often or clean my car on a regular basis–no matter what you say.
I think my grandma has that shirt. And she golfs in it. She has a matching purple visor.
I wouldn’t say that I’m a remarkably talented dancer. Others likely would, but I’m humble.
A few years before hitting the double digits in age, I attended my Uncle Steve’s wedding reception. For the purpose of context, it is important to know that the rehearsal dinner was held in the downstairs of a Pizza Hut outside Wichita, Kansas.
At the reception after the wedding, a small group of 15-20 people gathered on the dance floor, where I sat snacking to the side. I wasted little time in accepting the offer to dance. Early on I possessed the understanding that most “grown-ups” were merely patronizing me when encouraging me to do anything silly, but I never turned down the opportunity to entertain.
I found myself in the middle of the dance floor, in a growing circle of tipsies, recycling the only 4 dance moves I knew. The twist and shoulder shimmying were givens, but my two crowd pleasers were the ones I thought to be most racy. And, since everyone followed and repeated each of my moves, I simply couldn’t get in trouble for being the only one thrashing my head forward and back in traditional head banging. Giggles emerged as move #4 cycled back through each time, when I would place both hands on the sides of my head and thrust my 6 year old pelvis in every direction, leaving no air unassaulted.
I saw a photo recently of myself that reminded me of my independent mentality in a crowd of people. In May of 2007 I joined my college roomie in her hometown of Little Rock, for the Arkansas Riverfest. I’m a fan of turkey legs to say the least, and this was my first concern before traveling to the farthest of about 6 stages. Several of the food stands were turning away turkey hopefuls until they received more supplies and inventory. I’m not exaggerating when I say that they were out of turkey legs for LITERALLY hours. Not kidding.
We had a short list of performances we wanted to see, which included Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, Gym Class Heroes, George Clinton and the P-Funk Allstars, and Robert Randolph & the Family Band. Stubborn, hot, and grumpy, I refused to take my spot near the stage to watch the performances until I had a turkey leg in my hands. I stood in line alone, waiting (again, not exaggerating) LITERALLY 20-30 minutes for new t-leg availability. I missed nearly half of Red Jumpsuit Apparatus’ set, not because I was waiting in line, but because I was face down into a hot, juicy turkey leg. I became wasted space for the many teens singing and jumping around me careless as to the body odor emitting from their pubescent glands. Luckily, RJA was horrible and Gym Class Heroes stole my world.
That’s all I got.
The Walk of Shame : Another Confession
I’ve never been that girl. Caught up in the emotional side effects of feeling wanted and basking in envied attention, I had a short-lived judgment lapse in deciding how and where I would spend the rest of my already late night. The worst part is I haven’t learned anything from it, nor do I regret it.
Firstly, two bits of abstractly related anecdotal items to absorb:
I once had a friend that shared a nearly seamless existence with her dogs, which included (but was clearly not limited to) sharing lickable foods such as ice cream cones, as well as any beverage contained by an open drinking glass. A little too close for a healthy existence I think.
I’ve often scoffed at the overly emotional attachment behavior of women (I’m sometimes sexist, but mostly honest) who refer to their dogs/pets as their “babies” or “children”. The woman (beast mother) I picture has a butt flattened and elongated by neatly pressed slacks pleated at a high waist, topped with a frumpy blouse (a blouse, not a shirt) rendering little explanation as to how/why she ever made a conscious decision involving the wearing of said blouse. She always hides her ankles underneath matching socks that are rarely white, even while she’s storing the evening’s casserole in an emptied out plastic butter tub from when the smarter George Bush was president. Although she’s undeniably sweet and speaks with breath smelling of faint spearmint, I question her mental credibility and fail to relate to the consideration of any domesticated animal being held as beloved offspring.
I’m that girl.
Friday morning, after having realized what I had done, I quickly threw on my jeans and t-shirt and darted out of the door and into my car. “The last time I sat in this seat, I was a somewhat dignified woman. A better version of myself,” I thought as I fumbled with my keys. I checked to ensure that my pants were of denim nature, and fitting safely below my belly button. As I ramped onto the highway, my knee tightly gripped the bottom of my steering wheel while I stashed away the wrapper to a mini-fruit roll up in my crap-cup*. This offered confirmation that my breath most certainly did not emit a spearmint scent.
This, because it offered pieces of relief, wasn’t even the worst part of the morning. The pain lived in the moments in which I replayed the night before. I slept uncomfortably on the floor, flanked by cell phone, alarm clock and cup of stale water. Shifting and feeling less of a person with each moment that passed, I longed to be in my own bed, in my own room.
Excuses.
A weiner dog. This is somewhat a laughable thought. A castrated weiner dog is an idea that begs for slight confusion. I have a hard time keeping both sides of my face in an indifferent expression while exploring the comical possibilities of such a concept. Contrary to comical relief, it is a reality. Our family indoor dog, a miniature dacshun, was spayed just the day before. She was in a world of sleepy pain, and her lower belly boasted the bruising and stitching of a hasty removal of the uterus. Her first night as a frigid infertile-Mertle, she jumped off of the bed to go pee, and through painful cries was reminded of her operation.
I’m beating around the massive cluster of shrubbery, so I’ll just say it. I slept on the floor with my newly de-femmed weiner dog. She doesn’t have any preference as to where she sleeps, as long as it is next to a human. So in order to keep her from ripping open her belly stitches, I made a make-shift bed on the living room floor and woke up with a stiff back and shame a plenty. Not to mention the fact that she’s been outrageously clingy and needy ever since that night.
Just because I slept with my weiner dog on the floor, doesn’t mean that I wear blouses. I keep butter in butter tubs, not casserole. Wheww…. I feel better.
(*crap-cup: a cup I keep inside of car, typically housed in a traditional cup holder, used for anything not worthy of sitting out in my car, but also important enough [for one reason or another] to avoid throwing away. much like at home, a “junk drawer”.)
Haiku # 87462
Time on the table
Ping Pong is my salary
and why no new post.
