Monday, October 31, 2011

Don't knock it, unless you know it.

As a kid, I was furious with my parents when they wouldn't buy me the newest Barbie Doll during our weekly trip to the grocery store. I guess they were more concerned about saving money for more important things, like fixing our air conditioning and a little something called my college tuition fund. They didn't realize that the only thing on my mind was Barbies, Barbies, and more Barbies. I mean really, who needs secondary education when you can accessorize 10 new outfits and ride around in a hot pink Mustang GT all day long? Barbie doesn't.

As a pre-teen, I got upset when a popular girl received a note from a boy in my class. Said boy should have TOTALLY known I was crushing on him, but he didn't have a clue. I was livid because I knew the truth. He only liked her because she was cute and blonde. But he should have wrote me that dang note for goodness sake. I knew him like the back of my hand. I knew his favorite potato chip flavor, I knew that he loved Scottie Pippen, and I knew that his left eye twitched when he got called on by a teacher. I wish I could tell you that I grew out of my stalker Taylor Swift phase but as luck would have it, I didn't and I've recently Facebook creeped on the fellow. He now has 4 kids from 3 different baby mama's and posts/brags about being arrested for possessing obscene amounts of marijuana. I really have a knack for seeking out the prized-winners, I tell ya.

You would think that with age would come wisdom... but nope, not for this girl. I still find myself getting in a tizzy over insignificant things that in the grand scheme of life, don't and won't ever mean diddly squat. I have thought long and hard about this (mostly during my drive to work) and right when I think I'm getting somewhere close to a revelation, some jerk-off rides my bumper, I flip him the bird while rolling down the window and shouting nothing, but giving him my angry eyes, (because I'm god awful when it comes to face to face confrontation) and I completely lose my train of thought. I actually lose my train of thought during the formation of about 70% of all thoughts, which if you think about it, means I have the potential to become a genius surgeon, legendary inventor, monumental mathematician, and/ or a pulitzer-prize winning novelist, if I ever decide to apply all of my brain power at once. What I'm trying to say is, I could be a pretty big deal one of these days, if I ever get around to mastering concentration.

I had a point...

We all get a little emotional about things that we believe to be important, when others either disagree, are ill-informed, or simply don't care. When you love something beyond your own will and others just don't see why, it leaves you a bit frustrated to say the least. Think about what it means to be passionate. Being passionate about something/someone not only means you're madly in love with it/him/her, but it means you feel so strongly that you will become irrationally upset over it/he/she if anything/anyone threatens you and it/him/her. Make sense? Hmmm... let one of my favorite actresses, Kathy Bates, do a little demonstration for you.

"Cock-a-doody!" Haaaa, that gets me every time. 

Alright, maybe I'm not that crazy... but you should have seen me while I was reading the Twilight series and some butt-head had the audacity to poke fun at me for it. At that point in time, I guess you could say I got a little Annie Wilkes-ish on haters.

So, the next time some big nerd-burger starts going totally Luke Skywalker on you, have a little respect for his passion and don't belittle them for it. It's actually pretty amazing that someone can be so knowledgeable about anything that they could share every minor detail about it with another human being in a conversation without losing interest. Some of us like college football, some of us like Hello Kitty, others prefer slideshows of insect thorax cross-sections.

I say, whatever floats your boat... more power to ya, man.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

When it rains...

My dating life has cycles. There are times of drought and times of flash floods. Too many metaphors? Fear not, I came prepared. I'm providing you with a few diagrams.

I give you Exhibit A...

The majority of the time, this is my issue. And actually, this particular part of my little problem really doesn't surprise me. If you haven't noticed, I'm kind of a freak of nature. Most dudes don't exactly get turned on by girls who start belting out songs from Funny Girl after two glasses of Moscoto. So, the fact that there are times when I'd be lucky if the mail man knocked on my door to chit chat, doesn't really blow me out of the water.

Of course, I get lonely from time to time when no one seems to be interested in me. I do have a heart and a pulse, contrary to what my friends may have told you. But I've become quite good at entertaining myself and 80% of my days I spend cracking up at stupid things I do, so I don't really find myself getting bored very often. I have this theory that people only get lonely when they're bored. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Freudians.

However, my real problem is with Exhibit B...

You're probably asking yourself, "Self, is she seriously complaining about getting too much play from men?! Is this girl really that ungrateful?" My answer to your inquiry is yes. Yes, I'm freaking complaining about this. It's ridiculous! Do you know how difficult it is for me to keep track of my life being a crazy, single, chubby-little-meatball of a girl? Ok, now imagine me getting attention from 8 different guys at the same time. My brain goes into overload mode and I can't keep anything straight. My thoughts become more scattered than ever. I hyperventilate, perspire, breakout into hives, run a fever... it's god-awful, I tell ya! The worst of it is... I honestly don't get it. Weeks prior to this new found popularity, I could have streaked nude across America and not even a 90 year old pervert would give me the time of day if I asked him for it. Then, all of the sudden, every male within a 15 foot radius feels a compulsion to either ask for my number, shoot me an awful line that makes me want to sock him between the eyes, or start humping my leg. (Canines seem to be in on this conspiracy as well.)

All I want is one guy. Simple. Not too much to ask for. Just a genuinely nice, decent looking chap who thinks I'm funny and cute and can recite lines from old Adam Sandler movies with me and who will buy me mint chocolate chip ice cream after I've had a bad day. That's it. That's all I want... nothing more, nothing less.

God help me in my quest for romance. I don't want to become a nun and I don't want to become a Mormon... but both options are starting to seem very viable at this point.

Monday, October 10, 2011

My Popsicle

Fact: My father is physically the strongest person around town. The basement of my family's home is quaint and cozy, with it's decor consisting of power racks and leg presses. He is a conservative, catholic, down-home country boy. His blue-collared, hard working attitude has been ingrained into his biology since his youth. Anything my Dad ever wanted, he had to work hard for until he got it. For him, nothing came for free and nothing was ever handed to him. In his world, you only need the bare necessities; he sees no point in frilly, frivolous things, unless you can use them while stranded in the wilderness, to skin your dinner. He has a firm grip on reality and never finds himself distracted by preposterous daydreams or nonsensical fantasies.

So... you have to empathize with a man like that, who wound up with not only a daughter, (We all know that men don't go into fatherhood hoping for a girl), but a daughter like me. A man who found pleasure in throwing metal plates around with his buddies, started attending tea-parties and memorizing songs from Mary Poppins, when I came about. (Let's be real, I gave him no other choice.) 

Talk about stepping out of your comfort zone, no man who places 1st in a power-lifting competition should ever be forced to play with Barbies. As painful and awkward as it probably was for him, he was and always has been a great sport in my life of goofy theatrics and silliness, supporting me in whatever I've wanted to do, since day one.
One of the things that I love most about my dear ol' dad is that he admits that he isn't the Superman that as a little girl I once thought he was, but you better believe he's trying. It seems like nowadays, most people become complacent in their lives once they acquire everything they think they need. A car, a house, some kids, a spouse and it's a done deal for most folks. But my dad wants to be better than all that. Don't get me wrong, my father is grateful for everything he has and loves his family with all of his heart, but on a personal level, he is constantly trying to learn new things. Most importantly, he wants to make a positive impact on the world, he wants to help others, he wants to know he's made a difference. He genuinely tries to be not only a good, but a great person. I guarantee that the man he is today is better than the guy he was yesterday. And the man he'll become tomorrow will be the best version yet.

Like most children and parents, more times than not, we struggle to understand each other. However, each moment I spend with my father, I learn something new about myself. And for that, I owe him everything.

And he loves me for the Crazy McCrayCray that I am. 

The other day I had a really weird dream. I went to my dad and said that I had a dream in which he and I went to go get smoothies from a new smoothie shop. The smoothie shop was "supposedly" the best in the world. When we got there, I received notification their secret ingredient was dog urine and then disgustedly declined the drink. 
After I disclosed this BEYOND ODD dream to my dad, he first looked completely grossed out, as if he might hurl, but then gathered his composure and laughed with me. What a guy! He still loved me after he discovered I am a raging lunatic, even while I'm unconscious.

Thanks pops. You rock.

"Good, better, best. Never let it rest. Until your good is better and your better is best."
- St. Jerome
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