Communications Class: A Lesson in Messing with your Professor

I know, I know. I've been denying you of your upmost blog reading joy of joys lately by not writing. I am buried under a huge pile of schoolwork that is mostly higher level math and science, plus working two jobs (all of the sudden!), and dating, and just being a general baller, you know, adored by millions of fans and loved by all. Just how I do.

Ok but seriously, calculus is murdering me.

The good news is I have one class that isn't intense science and math fun times, and that class is called Interpersonal Communication. It consists of no quizzes, no "required" reading, three pages of notes to glance at each week, a discussion to bullshit it up in every week, and the occasional assignment. It's literally the biggest waste of my time and tuition money. Hooray! But at least it isn't stressful.

The textbook cites nothing but pop culture references such as How I Met Your Mother and Shrek.

In my typical fashion, I decided I wouldn't let this class completely waste my AMAZING talents, and have decided it will be an exercise in creativity and of course my favorite, snarky writing.

Here is the latest assignment I turned in. Enjoy. 

Meredith Burgess

Interpersonal Communication

20 June 2014

Unit 2 Assignment- Self Concepts

According to the attached worksheet, the top five self concept items that I associate myself with are strong like bull, WWBD? (What would Batman do?), enlightened, Follower of the Almighty Toast, and Queen of the Moosicorns, in that specific order of importance. These self concepts truly define me as an individual for many reasons. Strong like bull takes first place because I am, by far, the strongest person I've ever known. Or at least in my household. Most of my friends are actually stronger than me, physically speaking, but it is difficult to be the strongest in a band of ultra-ninjas. I still consider myself pretty strong as, at least and if not more, a bull, and I use that strength a lot doing super cool ninja activities, so therefore, it takes the number one spot.

Runner up to the coveted first place spot is WWBD? Which stands for “What would Batman do?” Batman is my guiding light in life. He is my idol, my hero, and whatever other synonym one can come up with for those words. I try to act as Batman would, or in other words, I try to be as badass as possible. Otherwise what is the point in living? The third most important self concept definition for me is enlightened. As one may realize while reading this paper, I clearly have discovered the key to life. Living as a part of a band of ultra ninjas doing badass Batman-like super legit fitness lady stuff, I walk around on a daily basis with a glowing aura of golden light. My feet barely even brush the ground as I glide through the universe, one with “The Awesome.”

The last two spots are reserved for my religious duties. I am a Follower of the Almighty Toast, a deity greater than any other. I ceremoniously engage in toast activities every morning at breakfast time and pay homage to the Almighty Toast in many other ways. Currently I am writing a novel to help people gain awareness of the importance of toast in their lives. In addition to this, I am also Queen of the Moosicorns and more or less their human ambassador. The Moosicorn, if one is not aware, is a majestic beast that lives in the forest, half moose and half unicorn. It is the most badass of any beasts and rules the animal kingdom with an iron hoof. It is a rare sight to see one, but if spotted, keep distance and enjoying observing their beautiful rampage from afar.

My Jung Typology score is INFJ. In specific, I scored as 78% Introvert, 75% intuitive, 38% feeling, 11% judging. I think this very much relates to my self concepts and makes complete and total sense. The introvert makes immediate sense since Batman is a bit of a lone wolf, which of course is the route I obviously also take. Batman and I like to look to our inner selves for guidance and energy, that is how we get by. Also stated in the Human Metrics definition about the INFJ it says, “Usually self-expression comes more easily to INFJs on paper, as they tend to have strong writing skills. Since in addition they often possess a strong personal charisma, INFJs are generally well-suited to the "inspirational" professions such as teaching (especially in higher education) and religious leadership” (Butt, 5). Religious leadership? Check. Self expression? Strong writing skills? Charisma? Well, this paper should be plenty of confirmation of that.

Works Cited

Butt, Joe, and Marina M. Heiss. "INFJ Description." INFJ Introverted INtuitive Feeling Judging. HumanMetrics, n.d. Web. 21 June 2014. <http://www.humanmetrics.com/personality/infj>.

Boy I hope I get an A!! 

Stopping in at Work on a Lucky Goodwill Day

I've been working double hours the past three weeks, as it was technically my summer vacation and what better to do with my free time than work extra hard?  

Hey, I'm trying to make aerial dreams come true here, which as it turns out are not cheap. So lots of work it is!

Slippers always asks me if I have had the dream of endless piles of clothes crushing me yet, which I have not and I always laugh at him about it. I usually only work 3 days out of the week, because I'm still in school full time and trying to be legit pro dancer lady, so that takes up a lot of time too. Not to mention this blog and other various projects I have going on.

Just a regular two or three days worth of work

I have no idea how I could dream about piles of clothes crushing me. Incidentally this is an entirely different pile of shoes than the one above. 

Anyway, after working 5-6 days in a row for three weeks, I am kind of starting to see how having one of those dreams is possible. The work, as ideal as it is for me, kind of drags after a bit. The other day, in order to distract my brain from the monotony, I wrote this little poem while I was listing my 50th pair of shoes on eBay.

This is the pile of shoes to still be listed. Believe it or not this is when things are under control.

Whose room this is I think I know

Their real home is outside of here though

They won't see me sigh in despair

As I watch this room fill up with endless clothes 

That Fucking Cat must think it unfair

To find me always sitting in her chair

Between the clothes and other vintage crap

That I can't believe people pay to wear

TFC refuses to sit in my lap

While on the keyboard I tap

The only other sound's the peep

of NPR and Ira Glass

The piles are endless, tall, and deep

For I have work to do for cheap

And Levi's to list before I sleep

And Levi's to list before I sleep

It's true. Me and That Fucking Cat have had a strained relationship ever since she made Natasha Wang think I was a bed wetter. And now she hates me for stealing her napping chair. And torturing her by petting her fluffiness all the time. How evil of me. 

Seriously though. It never ends. 

Disclaimer: I do not actually think I work for cheap. It was just good for the rhyme (of which is another thing I am obviously really good at doing). I probably get paid way too much the perfect amount for the work I do. I am extremely appreciative of the job I have as I could not find a more flexible schedule and antisocial work. It's basically perfect for me. Also sometimes Viv feeds me leftovers or even gives me mixed drinks in the middle of the day and is the perfect role model, which is always my favorite thing. 

Also I totally could have drawn things but school has started up again and holy crap do you see how chaotic this stuff is? I'm FAR too lazy to be that detailed. It literally would have just been scribbles and maybe me making a weird frowny face. 

…I mean. That's what I usually draw. But this would have been especially lazy. I promise.

Happierish

I've been going through a phase of particularly intense dreaming lately. I had an especially personal and eye opening dream a few nights ago that I'd like to share, as much as it makes me feel vulnerable, because I thought it was particularly insightful to my emotional state lately. Here it goes:

While Slippers* was away sailing in the Caribbean, Old Crow and I decided to give our relationship another try. For some reason? (This was a totally consensual agreement with Slippers in the dream, by the way, it was not a cheating type of thing.) For the first few days things were great. I was so happy to be with him again, it was just like it once was. Then, for some reason? I was completely naked in the middle of a grocery store. Old Crow was groping and coming on to me, trying to get me to have sex with him. I kept denying him, saying I really just wanted to get to my clothes and put them back on, since all the people in the store were staring at us. He got upset and for some reason? a random dude came over and decided to be our couples counselor. We sat down and started hashing things out. At first I was relieved to finally be communicating with Old Crow on a real and personal level. I told him that he did not make me feel special. He didn't even bother wrapping my Christmas present, after all. (He really didn't.) He admitted to me that he did not think I was special. I burst into tears and realized there was no way we could ever be together. We both had a moment of mourning and then that part of the dream was over and suddenly Harry Potter was there and things got all weird...

I won't go into the nonsense bit of it. As entertaining as it is, it's basically meaningless. Plus I heard a story on NPR once that no one cares about your dreams, apparently. Some radio host's mom said so. (Not joking. That was really their programming once.)

But that particular part of that dream was huge for me. It felt very real, including the pain, but so did the feeling of being just a little bit more free than I was before once I woke up.

You see, the best part about this blog is that I am young and the complete opposite of wise. So you, the reader, get to watch me blossom into this world and act like a stupid idiot and make a bunch of bad life choices and then learn things the hard way.

...What? You don't think that is the best part about my blog? ...Why wouldn't you enjoy watching other people be stupid? What's wrong with you, anyway? Geez. That's what America is practically founded on. Get with it, yo.

Do people still say "yo?" Is that still a cool thing? 

Ahem. The point I was trying to make, before you so rudely interrupted, is that I am learning things about love and relationships lately. Big surprise there. Given my blog's name, I clearly have NOTHING to learn.

I recently started seeing someone new who is super duper nice to me. Like, REALLY nice. I don't fully know how to deal with it, actually. I might have rolled my eyes and been annoyed with the behavior previously, but after my last "relationship," I find I am deeply appreciative of his respectful treatment.

It's the difference between…

Actually bribing him to come out to dinner with me and my friends because he's too cool to go to somewhere as mainstream as the Cheesecake Factory 

...to hearing the sentence "I'll do anything and go anywhere with you and will have a good time, just because you are there too." 

I guess I could say the same thing to cheesecake. They love me at those pseudo-high class restaurants, that they do. 

Splitting every bill

...to fighting for the check.

Money makes me anxious. This picture makes no sense. It's all good. 

Feeling inadequate to his dog

...to being super duper important to him. (And the dog's new bestie! Well, the dog likes me anyway)

This is my life with every dog ever right now. 

Him asking me "Where are you going?" every. single. morning. when I get up to put money on my parking meter in front of his building (or a mile away from his building sometimes) that starts ticking at 9 AM

...to actually getting him to bring me things while working or in bed. Sometimes without even asking. What the whaaaa!?

I'm getting spoiled. 

Not wanting me to be his "girlfriend."

...to wanting nothing more than for me to be his girlfriend 

But…THEY'RE THE SAME. I'll never understand people's anxieties over labels. 

Massaging him for an hour with no return offer and then sleeping on the uncomfortable bar in the middle of the world's shittiest bed just to be near him, because he won't come to my side

...to laying there as he just picks up my feet and starts rubbing them without me even asking.
 I say, "What are you doing?" 
And he says, "Rubbing your feet. Do you not want me to?" 

"NO go for it! But you don't have to." 

"But I like doing it for you." 

He keeps insisting this is true. 

(Also he has the most comfortable bed in the universe. Extra plus.)

I guess you could say I have happy feet

Feeling constantly judged and that I need to be careful what I say or do in case it isn't cool or intelligent enough 

...to feeling completely free to be myself in every weird and awkward way. 

Oh I'm sorry, is that not cool?

I'm not saying what happened with Old Crow was horrible or really bad. He could be nice too. There were so many moments that made me feel like I was in a goddamn movie they were so magical. He was more than I ever expected out of OkCupid and many of the things I ever thought I could ask for, you know, except for the part where he didn't love me. As it turns out, that is a huge deal breaker. At least it is for me. 

It's still painful to think about my relationship with Old Crow, especially knowing that he probably feels absolutely none of this same pain at all, but I dunno. I'm still insanely sad in the same way I am sad about all the men who didn't work out in my life. But…you just get to a certain point out and look back on things and think "Oh yea. I guess it did kind of suck." Discretely crying while you are laying in bed next to someone because you are so stressed about how they feel about you is never a good thing. You think that would be obvious at that time but! but! but! Magical feelingssssss! 

I'm so young and dumb that it hurts.

I think I can safely say I've pretty much moved on. Which is the point of this blog, if you couldn't tell. Who knows what will happen next. Maybe I will get sick of being treated really super well, or maybe Slippers' infatuation with me will die down and he'll get sick of rubbing my feet all the time, but for now I am just going to be a little unsexless and uncynical for awhile. I feel all special and good inside. It's kind of nice to not feel like I have to work really hard to be the most low maintenance girlfriend ever. Maybe I'm starting to grow out of my own title??





…Nah.



*Also known as Minion elsewhere on the internet. Also also known as my latest boy-toy boyfriend. 

Twerk Philosophy

Something has been weighing on my chest for quite some time now. I am having a very difficult internal struggle, and I am a little afraid of the judgement I might face from my community in talking about my true feelings. But this needs to be said. So here it goes.




I don't get twerking.

Dun dun DUNNN

I know. As someone who participates regularly in the field of super-sexy-time-dancing (which I DO, by the way, just usually not on stage. That is reserved for fake mustaches and anger), I should understand and appreciate at the very least the theory of twerking.

But I don't.

I just don't.

Let's go back.

I've known twerking has been around for some time. And no, Miley Cyrus did not invent it, in case you haven't been in on the world of super-sexy-time-dancing before that little incident. It's ok though. I never really took notice of it when I was still a part of the "real" world either. It was not until a couple months into taking pole classes did the world of twerking begin to become unveiled to me. It was one of those things people would just get really excited about every class or three, and we'd all get down on to the floor and give it a go as an instructor attempted to break down the mechanics of the twerk and how to progress into a "proper" twerk.

That's another thing I don't get, by the way. People who can see a clear, discernible difference between what is a correct or true "twerk" and what is just shaking your booty. I'm sorry. Are those not the same thing? This is how Google defines it, which seems pretty general if you ask me.

And yes. Google defined it. This is a real phenomenon, people. 

I think there are some people who define a twerk based on the flapping intensity occurs in the gluteus maximus and minimus muscles, AKA da' booty and it's respective POP. However, like I said, I wouldn't really know. I'm not in on this twerk elitism. Perhaps we should propose for there need to be a wider array of definitions, with specific classes of twerking, twerk styles, and so on. *

...This could be a whole industry really. I don't even know why I am in the blogging game right now. Clearly I need to start capitalizing on people's fascination with butt shaking. 

Myself though?

I never could quite get myself to twerk correctly. I'd try and try again and whenever I felt close, I'd try it in front of someone but would never get the "AAAAWWW YEAAAA GUUURRRRLLL" response that let's someone know they have achieved true twerker status.

How to know if you are twerking correctly 

Continue if you hear the following in response to your booty poppin': 

AW YEA GURL SHAKE IT!!!

 WOOO AAAHH EEEEH YEAAAA UUUHH AAAHDJKFFJNG (and other incoherent wooing).

The sound of someone smacking your ass.

Please for the love of god, stop if you hear any of this: 

Mmmm…yeaaaaaa….errr… yeeeeaaaa….

 Really really awkward silence.

The sound of souls being emptied and crushed for all their worth while people avert their gaze in the desperate attempt to unsee what they have just witnessed.  

Please note: Alcohol invariably affects people's ability to properly assess a twerk. For a truly accurate response, twerk in front of a crowd of 60+ sober women.

It never really bothered me though. I figured my twerk would come in time.  For awhile I would go to the sexy time dancing pole class where a song was always reserved specifically for twerking time. Everyone would get really excited about this part of the class and let their twerk run free all over the poles and the studio for an entire song. I would kind of just roll around in the corner and pretend to be into it, but secretly I always wondered when we could finally be done and I could stop feeling like an epileptic whale. Eventually I stopped going to that class. Specifically for that reason.

This is both offensive to people with epilepsy and whales. I win. 

It's been two years and I'm still where I was when I started out: splay legged on the floor wondering why people aren't as excited about my thighs jiggling? They're close enough, right?

So I decided to just let it go.

But yet!

It persists to haunt me. On at least a weekly basis I see someone flip out over someone else twerking. It's like the free space in bingo for getting a positive crowd reaction on stage. And I honestly don't know why. I don't think it's because I'm jealous of others who can twerk. I understand that it takes skill to do it well, and I respect that. But there are plenty of other difficult things, much more difficult things, that don't get as big a reaction. Is it because twerking is just that sexy? I of all people can appreciate a sexy butt! I like butts! I like sexy things!

It's true! I swear!

But think of all the sexy, badass things you can do with your body. Why can't we make those more widespread? Why does the twerk have to dominate so? Take a look at this music video for Hips Don't Lie by Shakira. I know it's a little early 2000s retro, which is scary to think is a retro era now, but seriously. Just skip ahead to 1:50. She does this crazy chest isolation with her boobs that blows my mind. IS SHE A ROBOT? I DON'T UNDERSTAND. But I can appreciate it. 'Nuff said.

Why is there not more freaky chest movement to go along with freaky butt movement?? 

In the end, it comes down to the fact that the jiggling just doesn't appeal to me that much. Maybe I am not as secretly lesbian as I previously thought. Maybe I am too close minded about what is sexy in a woman's body. For now this is just going to remain a mystery to me and I don't know if it will ever be solved. I might stand alone in the pole community forever because of it, ostracized, misunderstood, and with a heart of cold stone because I have not had a twerking revelation. Secretly I want twerking to turn out to be a passing fad so that I may no longer have to suffer the shame of ignorance, but I honestly think it might be around to stay if Google is defining it. And offering translation options (hint: they all translate to "twerk").

...Although it took my computer about twenty separate typings of the word before it stopped trying to correct it to "tweak." Perhaps I am not the only one behind on the times.

 So far away from the butts. All alone. Except for autocorrect. I still have you.

*Did you see that syntax there? I'm taking too many programming classes.

Where Have I Been?

I've been singing to people's pets a lot more which is a good sign of mental health, right? 

Wonderful news! After a few months of a break, I am ready to rejoin the land of blogging magic fun time. I can't tell you how much I missed the added stress of writing for an audience of virtually zero (I didn't), but I have missed feeling like a semi-legit, practicing writer. Because let's be honest, that is the only real benefit I get from this silly little hole in the internet. We have fun together right? Let's pretend it's an indie romance movie, where it's all quirky and cute and way better than it actually would be in reality, because you can't ever smell weird hipster beard sweat through a movie screen. (Smell-o-vision though? Who wants to bring back that million dollar idea?)

A lot has happened in the past few months and most of it is way too serious for me to really dive deep into without getting all existential and melodramatic and serious and possibly offensive to certain people. Instead I'm going to skim the surface. You know, like a real journalist would.

What Have I Been Doing for the Past Two Months? 

Traveling to California 

I went to Orange County/Los Angeles at the beginning of March. It was like going to a ghost town. There were all these buildings full of memories, but to me, they felt empty. I had lunch with my favorite professor, stayed with the only friend I'm still in relative frequent contact with, and avoided the crap out of my old school. I even took the bus up the road next to it and wore a hood and sunglasses in case anyone got on and might recognize me. I was that neurotic. The way I feel about my art career still very much feels like a huge break up and relationship fall out, and I'm still recovering. Also I hate explaining to people where my life is going. Because it's not. 

Competing in the Pacific Pole Championships

I competed and won my division, which was rewarding, but only in the smallest of ways because I only had one competitor, and let's be real, I totally kicked ass in comparison. People responded really well to my routine. It was great to feel like a winner for about 5 seconds, but it was a little overshadowed by the fact that no one actually watched. Here is a shortened but very real account of what happened the day of the competition. 

Me: Wakes up in the morning. Excited to perform with a bunch of friends watching this year, unlike the last year where I was all alone 

Friends #1 and #2: Oh! By the way, our flights leave before your performance and we're going to have to miss it. 

Me: That's ok, plenty of other people will be there! 

Later at the venue 

Friend #3: (Calls on the phone) I'm sorry, I'm not going to be able to make it, I can't afford a ticket (She was also my ride back to OC) 

Me: That's ok, I know lots of people here, I'm sure I'll get a ride with someone, don't worry about it. 

Friend #4: I can't wait to watch you perform! And sure. you can ride back with me. I have to be back in OC by 5. 

Me: Oh, I'm performing at 4:30. I guess you won't be able to make it. But don't worry, I'll find a ride with someone else. 

Friend #5: Oh I wanted to watch you, but our car has a flat and we need to leave now. Sorry! But #7 and #8 will be there and video it for me. 

Me: That's ok, I understand! 

Friend #6: Good luck in your performance, I have a flight to catch this afternoon. 

Me: Well it was good to see you!

Friend #7 and #8: Oh we want to watch you, we'll be there don't worry!  

Friend #9: I'm totally here today just to watch you. 

I go on and perform around 5 pm.

Friends #7, #8, and #9: Oh no! We all just missed it because we were out to eat and didn't make it back in time. 

I did get a ride back (which was very nice because I got to connect with someone I haven't seen in awhile) and I did have about 3 people who actually watched, but damn if it wasn't a disappointing and difficult day. Trying to maintain focus while periodically going to the bathroom to cry is never easy. 

Speaking of which...

Crying into pillows 

Lots of pillows. February and March were difficult months. 

As my coworker pointed out one day, pole was all I had to live for. It's been that way for awhile now. I seriously might be dead in multiple ways now if it weren't for it. 

Getting all existential and deep 

Ugh god. Did you see my last post on this blog? 

In a lot of therapy 

I somehow signed up for this with perfect timing, as my first appointment was the day after I broke up with Old Crow. As someone who spent a lot of my teenage years in and out of various counselor's and therapist's offices, it's been going surprisingly well. I guess the secret is to find someone with a sense of humor who will actually make fun of Boulderites and other people who are mean to you. She also makes me do stuff like clean my room. Kind of like a mom-for-hire. 

Drinking a lot of lattes

For awhile I decided to totally indulge myself and spend way too much money on sugary drinks that have no nutritional value for me. Seriously. I probably racked up at least $100 worth on lattes in the past few weeks. I need to get my own espresso machine. 

Things should calm down a little more now that I've realized caffeine is probably what's been causing me so much nausea

Performing in Denver for Elevated Art

Me being all bizarre and drag-gy. 

It was my first paid performance experience and probably the best time I've ever had on stage. I did a silly Charlie Chaplin routine that came out of my weird obsessive comedic animation background. As I was backstage putting on man clothes and drawing a mustache on my face, standing next to a bunch of girls in pretty underwear doing their hair all fancy, I couldn't help but think how bizarre I can be sometimes. I got weirdly anxious about this before I went on. I kept thinking "Why am I so weird?" It turned out a lot of people really loved my performance and I felt very warm and fuzzy inside. I love performing for a supportive audience!

Being a Pole Celebrity Handler 

O.M.G. Natasha Wang, one of the highest of high pole idols, was the celebrity performance for the Elevated Art show and somehow I was in the position to be her chauffeur/handler. I gave her rides and made sure she knew where to find coffee in the morning and recommended places to eat, of which I am terrible at and got a lot of anxiety about, but damn did I feel legit. It was way better than that time I carried David C. Owen's backpack for him. I also took a few of her workshops which were fabulous, and when I told her I was preparing for a competition in a week, she went out of her way to watch my routine and give me some feedback. I couldn't help but freak out a little on the inside having Natasha Wang sit down and personally watch me alone in the studio. I am someone who avoids private lessons and don't even like choreographing or training in front of people because I just prefer my space to experiment and make mistakes without being embarrassed. But it was a great opportunity and great practice, so I am very thankful. She was lovely to have in Colorado and I hope I didn't scare her away from us by being well, me. 

Being a cat handler

This was not as successful as being a pole celebrity handler, which is weird because I'm usually much better with animals than I am with people. That Fucking Cat, which is the unofficial name of my employers/friends adorably fluffy kitten, tormented me with her feces while I was house sitting. All I ever showed her was love and adoration, thinking she simply was not getting enough and what did she do in return? She pooped and peed on the bed I was sleeping in. Three days in a row. One time while I was in the room with her and had my back turned. Natasha even thought I might have peed the bed…for…some…reason? There is nothing like having your pole idol assume you wet the bed. She was dead to me after that... for about a week. But I can't resist her fluffiness. I'm still mad at her though, and my love is a little more abusive now. I feel really bad about Viv's mattress. I did more laundry that week than I do in a month. 

I am weak!

Going on a few very lame OKCupid dates

The site has altogether ceased to be entertaining to me, even in a bad way. It's just boring. I went on a date with a guy who spent 5 minutes explaining the rules of shuffleboard to me about half an hour into our first date. (Men, if a woman tells you she doesn't know anything about shuffleboard, it is not necessarily an invitation to explain it to her, unless you are 75 and that is your 'move'.) 

The best irony, however, is that a week later I went to the very bar with shuffleboard in Denver that was the whole reason he rambled on about it. It was across the street from a bar I went to on my second date with Old Crow, where we drunkenly did amateur swing dancing and made out and it was totally an indie romance movie and I felt super shitty about the whole thing and basically bolted out of there as fast as I could. Irony is so much fun. 

Oh yes, please keep going 

Performing in Oklahoma in a Legit National Pro Competition

I applied to Miss Pole Dance Oklahoma in January and did not make it in, but last minute I received an email saying someone had dropped out and I was the 11th place finalist. They offered me a spot and so of course I took it. I felt way in over my head, as I think I am just on the cusp of actually being pretty decent at pole, but I'm not quuuuite there yet. Like I said, Natasha Wang gave me a few pointers and even though I was swamped preparing for two other big performances that month, I dove in head first and put together a routine. At the actual competition many things went wrong. I did not land my big move and my shorts got caught in the last minute of the performance, becoming very distracting and keeping me from hitting a few extensions for fear of flashing the audience with my vagina. It was irony striking once again because a girl backstage had been passing out body tape telling everyone she learned the hard way a few months earlier when her labia slipped out to the audience and she had pointed deducted. I remember thinking I'd be fine, I'd never had a problem with the kind of shorts I was wearing. More irony in the fact that I had changed my shorts last minute at the advice of Natasha so they'd be a more "performance" appropriate cut, even though they were still one of my familiar brands. Bleh. 

Anyway, there were a couple of notable experiences here. Besides the performance learning experience I met some super nice pole people. At first it was very intimidating, as everything felt like a catty dance movie because we all sized each other up and watched during the practice time. As soon as the competition was over though, everyone just wanted to get drunk and have a good time together. I mean seriously, these people were super nice. Everyone was supportive and gave me positive feedback on my routine even though it was not my best. And Michelle Mynx, bless her, told me something I will not forget because I feel the same way. "I can't wait to see where you will be in a few years." Me neither, Michelle, because I am pretty at this rate I could be pretty damn good. 

I felt like I actually did a decent job being social, which is something I'm working very hard on with my therapy. Apparently my inability to make friends is the main source of my unhappiness. Who knew. 

In any case, I can officially say I've competed in a professional national competition, even though I kind of sucked, I still feel a little more legit than I did before.

Doing a lot of math and programming homework

I'm not getting as good grades as I did in high school, but I realize now it's not as important as I thought it once was and besides, I'm still getting pretty decent grades. It's difficult stuff for my brain and if I do code before I go to sleep I have the weirdest dreams (sometimes I try to program pole dancing or pulling up the blankets). However it feels really good knowing I am learning marketable skills and have serious potential to have steady jobs in the future. Plus! I know I am expanding my genius in new directions and I'm going to be that much better at life when people decide to pay me a bazillion dollars for being me. One day. 

I always feel really good when I get a program to do what I want, even if I can't see straight for a few hours afterwards.

Getting ready for my first legit aerial performance

It's not paid, but it's my first solo aerial performance on a real stage. I'm doing it for a friend from high school as a part of her undergrad thesis, so I am happy to help out another artist for free, even though I know it's about time to set some standards if I want to be taken seriously. Oh well. It's for a friend. Plus it finally forced me to buy my own equipment, which is super duper exciting. 

It's in 2 weeks at Naropa. If you're in town you should come see it! 

Training up a storm

My latest big goal is to make it to the Boulder Theater stage for the Colorado Pole Chapionships this September. This is scary to admit out loud because I am aware there is a very real possibility it could not happen, but I gotta try. It's all about mindset yo! (Tell that to the happy pills I'm taking) 

I'm also planning to apply for the professional training program at my aerial studio this summer, which is a year of circus fun time school I have no way of paying for. I have to be able to do 3 pull-ups and 5 leg lifts though and I have no idea if that'll actually happen. I can currently do 2.5 and 0. I'd be a shameful female Marine. 

Every few months it's like someone invents some new way to put my legs above my head that I can't freaking do. 

Having Serious Dog envy

I'm currently like a married 30 year old woman who is just ready to blow up with a baby. I can't stop seeing cute dogs everywhere and I waaaaant one. Even though I have no money or time or my own place. I don't care, they're so fucking cute! I am weak, I tell you, weak! 

Me and a giant fluffy malamute I'm pretty sure I have to kidnap

Editing my novel 

I am trying to make an actual career happen here, people. I've been working at this novel for over a year and determined to make it happen. I'm 1/4 the way through the first hand edit, then a pass through the computer where I make the actual changes, then get some people to edit it for me, change things, and then maybe I'll start looking for an agent. 

IT'S GOING TO HAPPEN I'M GOING TO BE A REAL WRITER DAMMIT I KNOW I CAN DO IT. 

Heck yea! 

Real writers make loud declarations of their dreams in all caps on blogger websites. 

Being Not So Sexless and Cynical

Ambiguous reference here! But I'm back on the horse and getting my feet rubbed without even having to ask and sleeping on the opposite of the world's shittiest bed and it feels pretty nice. 

Enjoying springtime 

God it feels so good. I know they're weeds, but fucking love them dandelions. They just make me happy. I'm like a little girl and will pick them and put them on my dashboard so I can drive around and feel satisfied. 

I love spring time. And it's not just a seasonal affective thing. Eternal spring in California was no good to me. I just love seeing things change and come alive. I feel like I come alive with the world. 

Strange Sea, Plus Bonus Cute Things

When I was younger, before my parents got divorced, I used to travel to South Carolina every summer and vacation at Edisto Beach for a week. We never took big, lavish international vacations like a lot of my rich white kid peers, which is weird because I am also totally a rich white kid, but I am extremely thankful for the memories I had at that humble little island anyway. It was a beautiful place.

I used to spend hours out on the beach. Sometimes I'd make fake pasta with seaweed and bits of pool toys in holes I dug in the sand with my cousins because grown up shit was somehow always really cool*. Little did I know that was the universe foreshadowing my future as a young adult shrouded in misery and darkness, making nothing but pasta all the time because I was not fortunate enough to be one of the few to which cooking brings joy. Damn you, universe. I thought making food was going to be fun and not a task which would cause me to become existential on a routine basis!




I digress.

When I wasn't playing in the sand I was out in the waves. I was bragging to this to a guy the other day who seemed super impressed, so I'll repeat it now: I was an amazing boogie boarder. In fact, I might have to add that to my dating profile. Because seriously guys, I was friggin' awesome at it. My 8 year old self got such an adrenaline high from catching those 3 foot Atlantic waves. That is what I'd look forward to most of all during summer vacation. Well, that and the giant plastic containers of cheese puffs my aunt and uncle would bring on the trip.

But when I wasn't catching mad redonk surf with my board, I'd sometimes turn around and launch myself off the wave as it rolled past. I'd pretend I was Pocahontas when she jumped off the waterfall into the canoe and then get to go meet hunky dunky John Smith with his sexy 90s boy band hair. Sometimes, I'd let the boogie board drift to the side while I let the waves lift me up and I'd twirl around and pretend I was a ballerina. I never would have admitted to fantasizing about being a ballerina, it was way too girly for me at the time, but it's true, I wanted to dance. I always have.

And then other times, I'd just sit there, cling to my boogie board, look at the ocean, and think about things. I'd often wonder what would happen if I got caught by the riptide and it took me out to sea. What it might be like to sit all alone in the ocean by yourself with nothing but a cheap styrofoam boogie board to hold on to. How it would be to not be able to see land at all. Would I get cold? Would I get tired? Hungry? Thirsty? Would I get eaten by sharks? Could I swim back to land? Would anyone come save me? Would they be able to find me? Would I be afraid?

How long would it before I would give up hope completely?

It's funny, the universe had once again foreshadowed to my future. These days I let my mind drift a lot. I can't focus on anything and I constantly feel like I'm floating in some massive strange sea. I legitimately get dizzy and images sort of get fuzzy if I don't concentrate hard enough frequently. I keep thinking about the things I want to do, what the next steps are, and it's like I am walking on jell-o, except it's way less cool and for some reason I'm not allowed to stuff my face with it. Meanwhile, I have to keep doing the things I am supposed to do, like taxes and laundry and math homework.

Then I get these bizarre moments of solidity. I feel like I can do whatever I want if I just believe in myself and work hard enough, that I am amazing and nothing is going to stop me, this is just the part of the movie where the going gets tough. You know, where I'm all like "I am woman, hear me roar," and all that jazz. The world gets all amazing and inspiring and I can feel dance inside of me to beats in the music I'm listening to and every emotion I have is teeming, yes teeming, out of my fingers and the color of the sky makes me want to weep. I'm so artsy and everything is so meaningful. It's deep, yo.

Of course, then something frustrating happens. Sometimes it is when my homework is hard, or if I think about any one of my failed relationships, or I have too many boogers in my nose. Suddenly my world comes crashing down again and I'm floating in my quarter-life crisis ocean once more.

It's been a very unforgiving cycle.

I haven't written in awhile because not only am I beyond stressed out by the pressure of performing thrice in one month has put on me, but also because I haven't been able to think many positive thoughts about my life or life in general, and it gets very difficult sometimes, because that isn't who I want to be, at least not to other people. So I am going to remain not writing anything, because I can only do so much, I only have so much energy (in other news I wonder if I am anemic?), and mustering the amount of energy it takes to be positive to an internet full of strangers is a hell of a lot for me right now. So when things get a little better, I promise, you will be the first to know.


I'm not going to draw anything because I have a bunch of homework to go do, so here is a collection of cute animal things I totally stole off tumblr.

I hope they improve your day as much as they improved mine.


*I used to play "jobs" with my friends all the time. We'd just sit there for hours and pretend type on fake laptops and be endlessly entertained. We never did play "taxes" or "student loan debt" though.

Everything Feels Shitty

Not to be a downer or anything but.

I'm going to be a downer.

For the one hundred millionth time. I know I seem like I have a mental breakdown every month, but the truth is, it is just an ongoing thing.

I have sad news.  My last post wasn't my 100th post. I apparently have made 100 posts + drafts, but only 84 of those have actually made it out to you.

Ok but really.

Yes. My shit is purple. 

This is the only picture I could bring myself to draw, and honestly, it's just so there is something attached to my Facebook link. I'm sorry. I just don't have the heart for anything more.

I don't have the heart for anything lately. If I could, I'd melt into my bed and become a sullen little Meri monster that exists in the abstract time and space between the rusting springs of the mattress I've owned since I was three years old. I'd only come out to mingle with dust bunnies and pretend to the boogeyman for small and vulnerable children.

Or maybe I could just be nothing.

I think I might prefer that, actually.



It all started with community college.

When I was in high school, I always thought of community college as the dumping ground for students who failed to live up to basic academic standards. Since I was always reassured I was smart by every grown-up who was relatively familiar with my writing and reading comprehension scores, I scoffed at the thought of ever going to such a place. I was in mother-fucking Gifted and Talented when I was 13, yo, community college had no place in my life. I would much rather expand my horizons by going to an out of state college where everything was so miserable that I would never leave my apartment. That was definitely a better life path.

I mean, being as insanely intelligent as I was, I knew community college really was more than just that. It is also an economically logical school for attending and useful for people who want a new or different start, not just a place where all those kids who smoked cigarettes by the road in front of my high school went once they finally realized the horrible life choices they'd made. But it still had that stigma in my mind when I stepped foot inside for the beginning of the spring 2014 semester one month ago.

I felt like a failure and it did not help that everyone around me in the hallways looked like kids I used to know in high school, AKA not weird looking art students. Oh and the fact that there were actually people in the hallways. Like a normal school. Haven't seen that in awhile. On my first day I passed two people talking seriously in the hallway and this is the actual conversation I overheard:

Boy: Well, what can you do?
Girl: Die.
Boy: ...Yea. True.

It was like they were speaking to me. It was a sign. Because I wanted to die right then very much.

I did not feel right about being in the whole place until a series of other shitty events made me dead in the eyes just enough to fit in with everyone else. Now I can walk with my head lowered in defeat like the rest of the student population. I even bombed my first math exam like a real high school failure.

The first math exam of the semester should be the easiest, since in theory it mostly covers review material, but it was not so easy for me. I spent the entire 2 hours and 15 minutes to work on it and bullshitted at least 8 out of the 42 questions because I ran out of time, writing down equations and random answers hoping I'd get some partial credit for "showing my work" (I did). By some miracle I managed an 80%, which is the very bottom rung of "acceptable" in my universe, but that did not mean I didn't want to burst into tears during the test because I could remember anything about the difference quotient. Which I first learned about when I was 15. Eight whole years ago.

I know I can be a good student. I've done it before. So why am I seriously fucking things up so much for the first time ever?

It's not that I didn't study. I studied for hours. I studied my little anxiety-ridden student heart out, the way a girl who always haughtily thought she was above community college would. In theory I should have nailed it. I am chalking it up to the fact that last week, a day before the exam, I was dumped for the first time ever.*

As it turns out studying through a literal veil of tears isn't quite so effective.

Well alright, that is not 100% accurate. I've been dumped before. But I've never been dumped by someone I didn't already want to break up with. Hey, I wasn't very mature about communication in high school, alright?

This time around it really stung however, and on top of watching another dream job fall into pieces in front of me during the same week, I haven't been doing so well ever since. I don't even know what I want to say in words-- my precious words that I usually have so many of-- because I feel so hurt. There simply aren't any words for it, just memories in my head that I run through over and over again wondering where I could have done better and stupid pointless hopes lingering in the back of my head like hungry stray dogs waiting outside of a restaurant that already know there aren't any scraps to spare. And the desire to melt into my bedsheets of course, of which my face is working very hard to achieve.

On the whole, I am unsure of how I am processing. This is what I do know:

1. My feelings towards the universe change every six seconds, with the default being my standard "I hate everything" and at best things are "Maybe one day somehow things will get sort of kind of ok. Maybe." 

2. I almost got through a whole day yesterday without crying (almost).

3. When I hit a mood of "I want to go out in my badass ponytail and yoga pants and fuck some shit up," I felt like I was making a breakthrough. 

4. I can't tell if I am overreacting or not. I probably am. I overreact to my whole life. In a very quiet, unassuming way. Somehow. 

5.Other than that I have thus far resisted the temptation to surprise my family with a new dog. I've been missing my ex-boyfriend's previous male friend with whom I spent most of my free time and went out on dates on a regular basis and was intimate with's** dog and I realize I can no longer stand to live vicariously though other people's pets. So it's probably only a matter of time. 

6. I went on a date on Sunday hoping it would help me deal with things or at least distract me. It was alright until the guy kissed me goodnight and I nearly lost my shit. He hasn't contacted me since. Yup. Definitely way too soon. 

7. My only consolation prizes are that I am saving a fuck-load on gas money not driving to Denver multiple times a week and I no longer have to sleep on the world's shittiest bed.

8. I made a tiramisu for a date night awhile back (think Superbowl time) and brought it back home with me after things ended thinking it might still be ok and maybe someone in my family would want it. It has sat untouched in my fridge for a week but I refuse to throw it out until I feel more emotionally capable of letting go… I am pretty certain it will rot in there. 


It was a lucky coincidence that the day after shit hitting the fan I started therapy, something I have long avoided. Everyone kept telling me to do it and feeling trapped in a corner, I foresaw a shitty future, so for once in my life I was on the ball about my emotional health.

And then I went and wrote this super personal post and we can all see I'm turning into a train wreck. So that undid all the good steps I've made so far.

Anyway. Take me setting foot in community college, losing a job I've been working to have for months, getting dumped by the first person that made me feel genuine happiness and gave me chronic nausea at the same time, having a severe reaction to that, therapy, and well... All of these events have made me begin to face the fact that I ended up in community college not because I am an academic failure but because I have mental health issues.

There. I said it.

A lot of things in my life are because I just don't know how to deal with people or with my own emotions. It is not because I am not smart or good at the things I do. There is just some bridge in my brain that got knocked out somewhere down the line…. y'know, the whole "social intelligence" bridge.

So here I am. Everything feels shitty. Nothing anyone has said to me in the past two weeks has made me feel even remotely better. When I turn off my lights and lay down at night I feel like I'm being strangled in the chest, if that makes any sense, which is why is almost 1 AM and I persist onwards in writing.


I dunno. "Everything feels shitty." That is just all there is right now. And that is probably all there will be for awhile. Maybe hopefully one day it kind of sort will be ok. If I'm lucky. I don't have any choice but to wait and see, do I?


I'm going to try to write a lighter take on this next week that will hopefully make the both of us laugh.



*Not to mention two days before valentines day and two weeks before my pole competition, of which the latter makes me more upset because now I have no focus and seriously decreased motivation to care. 
**Because apparently that doesn't make someone your boyfriend. Also sorry if I don't know how to properly use "whom" in a sentence. I can never remember the rule. And frankly, I don't give a fuck because you know what I meant. So actually no. I'm not sorry. 
***Hooray for passive aggressive footnotes!