My Self-Summary

Before I had mastered the art of training my dog, he used to get out and go for these long runs about the neighborhood. I would, naturally, run after him, calling his name, taking it personally, waving off the angry looks of the neighbors around me that made up our small little town square in Dahlonega, GA where I was teaching theatre at the military college.

He always seemed to set off a pair of dogs who spent most of the daylight hours on the porch of their owner's home. They would bark furiously at us as we passed, Linus either on the leash or off, gleefully running in front of me. I often stuck my tongue out at them. I may have flipped them off once or twice.

I did so on one particular day when Linus had brushed past me and set off running as fast as he could away from the house. The dogs were barking in their little dog voices that sounded like screaming children, so I stuck my tongue out at them.

Once I had gotten Linus under control and headed back home, I heard the screen door screech open and slam closed as I passed the porch. Then, I heard a voice grunt, "I saw what you did."

Bewildered, I turned around. "You stuck your tongue out at my dogs."

I had no idea how to respond. I just apologized, ironically, and headed back towards my home. She tagged it with, "if you would keep that mangey mutt on a leash..."

At that point, the fire started burning a little hotter. I got home and watched Linus, his tail forever wagging, and his eyes forever loving. I thought, "nobody talks about MY dog like that and gets away with it."

So I went back to her house, and I stood in her yard. When she came out to meet me, I implored her to keep her dogs from yelling at me. Implore might be a bit too polite. In any case, she stuck her tongue out at me, and I began screaming nonsense at her to give her a taste of her dogs' medicine.

"You're a retard!" she gasped with a look of pure astonishment.

"Oh sure. that's right. I'M a RETARD. Nice one! That's real p.c."

"I don't care nothin bout no p.c., YOU'RE A RETARD!" She repeated.

And then I realized, this is one of those times you just walk away.  So...I walked away, laughing quietly under my breath, my heart racing with excitement.


**This is what I have written on a dating site, who's name I will not mention, as my actual self-summary. If this doesn't hook 'em, they may not be able to handle all this jelly.

The Hair is There for a Reason

You may not believe this, but I was kind of a late bloomer when it comes to "doing girl things." Try as she might, my mother could not spend enough money on makeup to make me actually wear it. I remember going to multiple "makeovers" at the Clinique counter and having ladies wearing grease-paint masks say to me, "oh yeah, I know exactly what you're saying," when I begged them to make me look "natural."

The truth is, I begged my mother to let me wear makeup, until she actually said yes. It wasn't until I started wearing makeup that I noticed how much time I spent putting it on in the morning and how haggard it made me look by the end of the day, when I was flirting with the boys outside the band hall. It was a waste of my time.

But this blog isn't about makeup. You read the title. Oh no. It's about EYEBROWS.

I recently saw a brilliant commercial for Rice-Crispies, one of the only cereal splurges I was allowed as a child (ONLY CHEERIOS), that made me want to eat all the Rice-Crispies:

I realize I just advertised for Rice-Crispies, and they aren't giving me a dime, but it's almost Christmas, and you guys are going to buy it by the boat-load anyway. So shut up.

This was how I felt about people that plucked their eyebrows. Why? WHY?????? Why spend time every day making yourself miserable when there aren't even enough hours in the day to do the actual things that you WANT to do?

I actually prided myself in my motto: If it grows there, it's supposed to be there!

I can't say why I changed my mind and started plucking, but I did. Maybe it had something to do with the pictures I was churning out:

Like this one from Junior High

Or this one from High School at the Dallas Zoo with my friends from Choir:

Or this one FROM MY SENIOR PROM:

Guys. I didn't even pluck my eyebrows for my own prom. 

And you know what: I had fun, AND I turned out okay. How? 

First, I started caring A LOT about what people thought of me. Then, I hated myself. After that, I thought I looked like a boy, and I TRIED to pluck my eyebrows, but it hurt and I hated it. Then, I asked my mom to wax them for me, and she got scared when it was time to pull the wax off, and kept grabbing at it all scared like and sucking in air through her teeth like she could feel my pain. I have never asked her to do it since. Then, I got them waxed at a salon for $5. Then, I started to have fun with makeup...don't know how that happened either...maybe it's when I started wanting boys to like me. I still thought I was ugly, though. BOO HOO. 

Now, I pluck when I need to, even though I know that no one REALLY notices, except for those girls that are self-conscious enough to find pleasure in pointing out what they don't like about other people. And for you ladies that feel you need to do that, I say, go for it. Use me. I don't care. Because, actually, I don't. I pluck my eyebrows for myself. I wear makeup for myself (and because there are no rules in makeup...but that is another blog that I PROMISE I will write). I don't think I'm ugly any more. I kind of think I'm smokin' hot. I could be wrong. It's okay. 

Do what you want, kiddos. It's your face. And don't let Hamlet tell you you're crazy for wearing makeup or plucking your eyebrows. That guy was CRAY, and everyone died at the end of that play. If you don't want to pluck, just say what I say, "the hair is there for a reason," and if someone argues with you, buy them a drink, give them a high five, and let it be. 

ABC...Gum

Oh man. I used to be such a victim. I used to spend all my time whining to myself about how much of a victim I was and how nobody understood. I mean, it was hard not to assume when, on a typical day, my driver's side power window on my Honda Civic broke with the window not completely up, it rained buckets, and everyone else but me was in a relationship all the time ever. I was totally justified. I know.

It changed though. It was mostly gradual, but I can definitely put my finger on a specific time and place when I began to stop crying to myself about how lame my life was. Outside of extensive therapy and a lot of googling of topics like "nobody understands","I don't have anything to wear","does my dog hate me", etc, there is one moment of exemplary protest that seems to be the greater of the catalysts shoving me in the direction of a more positive self image.

I was shopping for vegetable plants at Home Depot for a vegetable garden I was planning on growing at the house into which I had just moved in Atlanta (it's a prepositional phrase party!!). I had purchased some Black Cow, Mushroom compost, and the Bonnie baby plants that allowed me to skip the seedling process (it was too late for it at that point anyhow, but we can talk about gardening timelines in another blog), and I was attempting to load them into my car. Luckily, no one was parked next to me which made it easier to transfer the items from the cart to the car while leaving my car door open all the way. UNTIL, this...HUMAN...in some car that I can't remember drove up and, despite the fact that there were numerous parking places available, decided to park in the one next to me that was currently occupied by my cart and my car door...and ME. REALLY? REALLLLLY?

So she honked. YES. She freaking honked at me.

I pulled my cart out of the way, shut my car door (mid transfer of items) so I could press my body against my car to give her enough room to back into the space.

And there I was. Totally at the mercy of this woman and her car...and her stupid heels (to Home Depot)...and her gum...and her bling-ey phone....and her stupid bug-eye sun glasses.

LIFE IS HARD, PEOPLE!!!!!

As she walked by, I mumbled "you win," like the experienced victim I was, but she heard me, her head snapped in my direction, and she spat, "it's not a competition," in the smuggest way possible.

I finished my car loading, pushed the cart all the way back to the garden center because I am thoughtful and responsible and nice and AWESOME, and I shuffled back to my car where I had a piece of gum that had already been chewed resting on the lid of the diet coke I had been poisoning myself with all day because I refuse to throw it out the window. It NEVER GOES AWAY, PEOPLE.  Oh delicious ABC gum...stuck carefully on a plastic lid...left behind in a warm car...slightly melty enough to turn into a long string of gum when I pulled it off the lid.

And then I had an idea. I looked at the gum, looked at the car backed into the parking space next to mine, looked back at the gum, checked to make sure I had at least one more piece (I love chewing gum), thought back to moments ago and those heels and sunglasses, rolled down my passenger side window (which worked), took a deep breath, and flung the gum onto the mean lady's carefully parked car.

It's not a competition? It's not a COMPETITION?!?!

BOOOOOOOOM!!!!!

I win.

And that was when it all changed.

Well...it started to change a year or so before that during a yelling match I had with an old lady and her dogs...but that is another story for another time.

What I'm trying to say here is:

I ALWAYS HAVE GUM IN MY CAR....AND SOMETIMES IN THE BOTTOM OF MY PURSE...BECAUSE IT COMES OUT OF THE PACKAGE AND THE WRAPPING COMES OFF AND IT GETS SHUFFLED AROUND IN THERE AND STICKS TO THINGS LIKE MY KEYS AND MY PHONE.

So watch yourself. I play to win.

Thoughts on...Things

I've been sick for almost a week now, but luckily, I feel as if I'm coming out of it. Being sick really makes a person think...and usually in a more melancholy way...I'm also listening to some Patty Griffin...so I'm going to wax...sad....but also retrospective. (retrospective? is that the right word?)

A lot of people were concerned about Liam's visit to Memphis, and I won't lie, I was too...but I was adamant that I wanted him to come here. I described it as the wake for the funeral of our relationship. I figure, at the end of a relationship, everything...him and it...and you...has to kind of die...in order to be reincarnated into whatever it's all going to be in the future...or something. Anyway. He's been here for almost two weeks now, and he leaves on Friday evening. I've been sick for half of his visit...and that's been hard. Here's why: I feel like I should be savoring these moments with him...after I've had some distance...now that I see things more clearly...but I am unable to because of my illness...and when I start to regret that...I wonder to myself if it's really worth being sad about. I've learned some truths over the past two weeks. 1. Liam is over me, and...well...I'm actually kind of over him...meaning, I no longer want him back. and 2. Liam is immature and while he was a very attentive boyfriend, he never really loved me the way I loved him...and not that that's a bad thing...wait...well...I mean...there were things that I didn't like about the relationship, about him even, but I LOVED him, and that made it easy to overlook those things. But HE...he didn't overlook those things, I don't think. He decided he didn't really like me...and he doesn't really like me now...I mean, he does...just not all of me...and he lets that part affect his love for me...and well...I just don't think it's worth getting all sad about not being able to entertain someone that doesn't really like you. It's hard to be vulnerable. It's hard to show people who you are...in your darkest places...and when you get the courage to actually do that...it helps if they don't decide that the relationship isn't really worth it. I always felt like it was worth it, but I was the only one.

We always had these arguments in which I would point out things that I didn't like...things that he did that hurt me...always trying to acknowledge that the hurt was more than likely unintentional. And he would always get upset...and throw this brilliant argument back at me: "You make me feel like a terrible person, and I'm not a terrible person. I have a lot of friends and none of them think I'm a terrible person." Let's not completely dissect this...let's accept that we all realize that no one can make you feel anything...and let's focus on this "my friends don't think I'm terrible." We recently had an argument in which I just told him sometimes he was a real asshole...to which he argued, "none of my friends think I'm an asshole." Um...well done? I have loads of friends that think I can be a real bitch sometimes...but I'm pretty sure they still like me...and well, that's pretty much why they're my friends. That's the concept he doesn't get. That it is possible to be a jerk sometimes...to make big mistakes...to hurt people (accidentally)...and to still be loved. That's what love is...in a nutshell. Part of growing up for me was accepting that I can be a real bitch...wanting to change...and still loving myself in the process. And loving myself should always come first. So....what I'm saying is: I'm putting this regret nonsense behind my and I'm going to focus on that first part.

I'm also going to focus on loving my cats. They're freakin cute...and awesome. and also my family and friends...cause theys all I gots.

Muddled thoughts. I know...but I feel like I might be getting somewhere. Finally.