Monday, August 6, 2012

Shit Happens. Including Bird Shit and Crushed Souls

Recently I have hit a bit of a low point in my badass journey. I have been feeling all angsty and obnoxious and it isn't even because of that time of the month or any of that other stuff I wrote about a few weeks ago. My brain keeps thinking of pseudo-meaningful one liners that would sound really awesome as a deep song lyric or poem. I know, I know. Really not badass. At all.

There are good poems and bad poems.
I am all for deep songs or dramatic poems, so long as they are good. I often enjoy them, in fact. They are quite nice things. My dramatic sappy love poems are not, as we have all seen, and I really don't want to end up writing more. That would not really benefit myself or the world in any way. My time is definitely better spent writing sarcastic blog entries to a solid audience of about 30-40, depending on what day and time I link it to my Facebook page. That gives me a whole lot more satisfaction and can also bring joy into the world. Hooray!

So what is going on? Well, a lot of things, as always, but I guess you can mostly attribute my newfound state of almost kind of deeper depression than usual to that fact that say I have maybe possibly kind of sort of potentially found myself in the middle of teensy tiny eeny weeny little miniscule microscopic attraction of some sort to someone in the universe. Ugh.

Remember that blog post I wrote awhile back, describing how not to have a boyfriend? Well, don't worry, I am no where close to having one so at least I am on the right track as far as that goes. But I am currently stuck somewhere in between step 5 and step 9. Which is basically the worst. Worse than Britta. Yea, I went there.

I don't really want to discuss the details. It's too embarrassing for me...And that, my friends, is when we know things are bad here on this blog. This is when we know things are going really wrong, if the desire to write poetry wasn't enough to tip you off. If I can't blog about it, it's serious business. And not in the cool top-secret the government has hired me to be their official badass spokes person where I get to wear a trench coat and dark glasses and be all loose cannon and edgy kind of way.

This is definitely exactly how I would look if that happened. Yep, exactly.

It has been tough, trying to deny myself of any emotion at all and losing said inner battle horribly. I don't usually run into this problem, because I try to set my standards ridiculously high in order to inflate my ego and have an excuse for being single all the time. But then someone always eventually shows up and throws off the whole system and basically leaves me in ruins and I have to scramble around trying to reset the standard. It is somewhat of a viscous cycle, really, the whole "crush," thing. (Ugh. I hate that word. It is an admission and permission to let your brain start going "oh fuck" every five seconds. I don't even want to call it that. Let's just call it an irrational spontaneous attraction.) Anyway, the cycle. I avoid liking anyone for as long as humanly possible because of how anxious and inadequate it makes me feel, and yet I believe it is because I go through this situation so infrequently that it makes those feelings so intensely painful.I don't really know how to get out of this cycle.

I used to really like crushes. Er, I mean irrational spontaneous attractions...Ok, fine, crushes. The pre-teen disney channel sitcoms I grew up with conditioned me, like many other girls, to believe that I must always like a guy that is seemingly above me on the social scale and I should feel shy and awkward around him no matter how pretty I truly am. So growing up, that is what I did. I always had a crush. I was like a game. From ages 6-13 I almost always managed to find someone decent enough to be deemed "my crush." Sometimes there were even two or three. Or seven. Whatever. It didn't matter if I knew nothing about them. If they looked vaguely like they belonged on television and maybe Lizzie McGuire would be into them, so was I. The "crushing" in question mostly just consisted of writing their name down in a notebook as a part of my "basic info" and then maybe giving them a codename so as to discuss how cute you thought they were in public with your friends. Seriously, me and my friends nick-named one guy in 6th grade "002cute," pronounced "double-oh-too-cute", like a spy alias. Yea, I was just that cool. There was never any real intention of being with that person--at least not for me, I always found the idea of 11 year olds making out to be a little pedophilic-- so there was never any real pressure.

Then one day I hit puberty and met a boy in science class I actually had a real reason to like. He had a cute, pimply face and his voice cracked in the most adorable way when he laughed. Before you judge my taste, I should also mention that he was totally super cool. Totally. I could see it as a conceivable event, me being with this boy. That is when the seriousness of crushes began to tip the other way for me. All that conditioning ingrained in my system of finding someone better than myself finally began to take it's toll. Ever since then, even the possibility of liking someone has made my palms sweat in the same way when I look up at a climbing wall or right before I dial a number to make a phone call. Because the dumbest part of liking someone is that no matter how highly you think of yourself, it gives you a reason to doubt yourself.

Well, ok, only if you don't end up with that person, which for me is about 90% of the time. That other slight minority of the time all your questions are answered and things turn out all peachy keen and you feel all happy, at least for a little while, and I guess that is why we bother with all this shit. But! The rest of the time! You sit there wondering why this person does not clearly want to be with you. You would totally date yourself in a heartbeat, right? (Not that you would give yourself much of a choice...wait, does that count as date rape?) So why doesn't everyone else? Particularly this one person, whom you are trying extra hard to be nice to? Are you not hot enough for them? Are you too weird? Maybe you smell weird. Maybe your voice really is as strange as it sounds whenever you record yourself. Perhaps they are not into freckles. Or bit butts. Maybe you are too up front about your weirdness. Is it because you are breaking out a little bit? Is it because you are kind of sweaty right now? I bet it is totally your invisible penis taking over. Or are you just not showing your interest clearly enough? Can they even tell you would very much like to do adult things with them multiple times like a real grown up in a real grown up relationship? How do you do that? Bake something? Fuck. The magazines say you should act confident and make lots of eye contact and smile a lot. Is this flirting? No idea. What if you mention sex, or is that too uncomfortable? Maybe they have someone else in their life? Oh crap, they probably do. Well what do they have that you don't? Can you Facebook creep that information? Or would that be weird? They would never know right? Does it even matter? Don't your friends constantly tell you that you are awesome and any worthwhile guy should be able to see that? If that were true, wouldn't you not be constantly alone? Why do they keep shoving that bullshit line in your face? How come--

Ok! Enough! I truly apologize for this melodramatic, self loathing, pathetic slop of a rant. Of course it is only hypothetical, but it is necessary to display the kind of trauma my head might potentially go through, if I were to be attracted to someone. Which I am clearly not. Ahem. A person so clearly as awesome as I am should never doubt themselves this much, which just demonstrates the severity of these sorts of situations. I highly doubt I am the only one to encounter such experiences. Proceed in all future crushes with caution, or this could happen to you too, friends.

This little birdy knows where it is at

Fortunately, to interrupt me from the mania that is my brain when it sees someone that is clearly in a completely different social plane that may or may not be too good for me depending on what view you take of people in general, the universe took a giant shit on me yesterday morning and woke me up from my idealist, sappy, desperate romantic coma. Well, for the most part. I still have my problems, but don't we all? No literally though, a bird pooped in my hand. I was talking, I made a gesture, and a fat load of bird crap landed directly in the middle of my hand. Then my kids told me there was some on my head too. Huh, wonder when they were planning on telling me that? Needless to say I was disgusted and pissed off until my coworker pointed out to me this was clearly the sign I was waiting for from the universe. It was telling me I was being a little shit and I should get over myself. Maybe. Or maybe it just wanted to crap on me. Honestly, I am kind of glad it was actual poop, and not the kind of messy defecation like a difficult group of kids or something worse going on in my life.

 I guess being attracted to someone isn't so bad. It happens to the best of us. Most people actual enjoy it, I think, those sick weirdos, but it tends to freak me out a bit. (Then again, so do bows and satiny fabrics, so that doesn't hold up for much in the end) If you couldn't already tell, I don't do people very well. That isn't my thing.  I'd rather just hang out with dogs all day, but unfortunately and very ironically most of my work experience is with kids and other people, so that is usually the line of work I end up in. The universe really likes to play with me, I suppose. Oh well. The thing to remember here is that there is having and not having. Doing and not doing. I can pick either one--any of us can pick either one-- but we can't sit in the middle and wile away wistfully hoping and writing poems in my head about cold fingers and fleeting birds carrying hope along with them. Because not only does that not do anything good for me, but it is stupid and lame and not at all badass. I would much rather pick myself up and carry on. I hope I can remember what that resolve feels like, and hopefully you will take something away from this too and not have to suffer the same dumb crap I put myself through. And maybe next time I will actually get lucky and find someone socially functional, responsible, humorous, and attractive that does not automatically send me to "bro-zone" because of my invisible penis. Cross your fingers.


Not that I would want a boyfriend or anything. That is a stupid thing to want. Boys are stupid and smell funny.

P.S. Don't you like my stolen unoriginal pretty pictures? I hope it makes my blog more exciting so maybe people will read it? Copyrights? WTF are those?

...I promise to start drawing my own pictures again when I get my computer back and have more motivation and unicorns come to take me away so I can shit out rainbows and fly into the sun which will oddly taste like cherry kool-aid. 

P.P.S. Also when that happens I will start writing about things actually relevant that matter to people and aren't just personal rants that help me get over my own BS. 

1 comment:

  1. You make me feel normal. I'm not sure what that says for either of us. ;-)