Denial - The Next Happiest Place on Earth.

"I've got a perfect body, though sometimes I forget. I've got a perfect body because my eyelashes catch the sweat."

 

Herumph. I feel like... I need to blog. Like, actually blog. Not because I necessarily have anything profound to say or because I just went through some spectacular experience that really needs to be recorded (although my birthday celebrations were pretty epic, and probably deserve a post)... I just feel... this craving for one. It's times like these that make me question if I'm not as big of a freak as the other 7th graders made me feel like, back in junior high. I swear to you, I'm not normal, probably ought to be medicated, and am just sort of... wandering... down this path of life. Anyways, I think I'm going to post in series of bullets, which, if I had to guess, are going to turn out to be some sort of maniacal version of free association. In other words, my posts are usually pretty obscure/off-the-wall... but this one is destined to put the others to shame. Just saying (warning).

• I've always thought red-heads were really pretty... but recently, there has been this strange obsession with them that I just don't understand. Like, if a girl with an average face is naturally a red-head, BAM! That girl is hotttttt. I'm not even kidding, it always plays out like that. Or, better yet, if she can be called generally pretty and has red hair? Oh my pants, that girl is... like... STUNNING. Not that I have a problem with this, I understand that I'm pretty average in every way, shape, and form (outside of my height, which still isn't that different) and am not calling for any undeserved attention for my oh so common brown hair. I would, however, like to pose a question: are red-heads so appreciated, recently, because of this whole 'indie' kick that the world has been addicted to, recently? Because we've begun embrassing the subversive, again? Or is it because diversity is so widely celebrated, now, that caucasians are starting to feel left out and are trying to find a reason to celebrate their own blandness, now? Either way, I kind of feel like red-heads are getting the short-end of the stick -- no one is looking to them for their personalities, just their super hot heads (no pun intended). Well, hot heads first, big personalities second?
• Also, why can't we celebrate having small, flat, colorless butts? Why is a bubble-butt so appealing? I'd like to think that the little miniature that I'm packing around behind me, all day long, can be loved as well, just like it is.
• As much as I love indie stuff, I'm really, really getting sick of indie kids. In all honesty, they've become the new brunt of all of my jokes... And I'm loving every second of it. :) I know, whatever, I'm a terrible person. Judge away. But next time you're around, and I make a "oh, I'm only doing this to be indie" joke, and you laugh, just think back to that one time when you read my blog and judged me for being a cynic... 
• I really dig the keyboards on Macs. I also really dig Macs, just in general. 
• I'm increasingly worried, each day, that I'm a product of my society and that's about it. But then, I start thinking about it, and I start worrying even more when I realize that I'm nothing like what the society I was raised in projected me to be. Well, not exactly nothing, I guess... but not at all like what my parents expected me to be like, that's for sure... and the rest of my family, as well, on that note. I spent this past week in NY, hanging out with the fam every day, and realized just how much of a peculiarity I really am. Maybe I'm giving myself too much credit, but when I stepped into that restaurant, the first night, in a light gray cardigan, oxford blue button-up, and skinny jeans, with zipper flats, it was fairly safe to say that I. Stuck. Out. Which is fine, it's pretty apparent that Upstate isn't exactly the most trend-friendly place on earth... but then, I come back to Utah, and I still don't fit in, entirely. Maybe I'm looking in all of the wrong places for acceptance, who knows. I've dealt with this problem from the first time I remember -- I couldn't have other little girls in the neighborhood play Barbies with me, they simply couldn't follow the sardonic plotlines I'd set up -- and I thought, for sure, after junior high, I'd find that group I belong to... okay, once I'm out of high school, I find it. Aaaaalright, maybe college will do the trick? Wow, umm, I'm fitting in more than ever, but still not as much as the ordinary college student? Perhaps this is my cross to bear, in life -- no one ever entirely understands me. I'll admit, some get awfully close, but never quite all the way. Which brings me to my next point.
• I'm an oddity, I recognize the fact, please don't act like I'm completely transparent. And just about as understandable as a third grade-reading-level novel. I'm not, I promise. Half the time, those that assume such things are way, way off the mark, I'm sorry to report. And yes, sometimes, you've got me pinned. I'll admit to that, my pride has room to adjust.
• I've fallen in love with someone just as twisted as myself... and I love him for it. It's incredible, we're such freaks, it makes life that much more sunny. (There's not a shred of sarcasm in that last statement, I'm being serious. The fact that we're both so weird really does warm my heart.) I am worried, however, about our children. I've posted, before, about the idea of raising them to stay within the bounds of social norms and whether or not it's healthy... but I just don't know. Subject them to the same awkward moments as I grew up with? Or rear them to be that douchebag baseball player that everyone secretly hates but outwardly adores because they're just so cooooool with their $300 jeans and ridiculous, logo-covered hats that they've left the stickers on? I'm so curious as to how my kids turn out, I won't lie. Maybe you should all start praying for them now. Just in-case. 
• Perhaps this is way off base... Maybe there's not a shred of truth to it at all, but men are jerks. No, just ignorant, which, coincidentally, makes them jerks. Really, really dense jerks. I'm tired of girls crying about what a guy did or didn't do... I'm tired of being ignored or pushed to the side... and above all, I'm tired of the world thinking that feminist and equality issues have been beaten to death and are merely things of the past, now - NOT TRUE! Again, ignorance.
• Call me crazy, but I hate overly-gentlemen-like men. They gag me. You gag me. Again, equality. I can step over a puddle without you lifting me over it, first. Thanks, but no thanks. Oh, and that door up ahead? I can open it, I've been working out, recently. I can max-out with ten pound weights, now. That's right, this girl is in the big leagues.
• If you've just celebrated your 45th birthday, maybe it's time to stop wearing your daugther's Volcom t-shirts? Just a suggestion, you don't have to take my word for it. 
• As much as I love adventure and all it entails, I have the most obscure phobias. 
• I spotted this guy, last year, on UVU's campus, as I was talking to my sister... He had beautiful strawberry blonde, curly hair and this really quirky style of dressing. If I had any sort of stuffing, I probably would have found a reason to talk to him, but I don't, so I didn't. But the image of him walking past really stuck with me, for a long time... There was this really poetic moment of him walking past the big windows in the library, the sunlight streaming in, highlighting the individual curls, almost as if they were begging me to play with them, wrap them around my finger (much like his heart) - in other words, Whitman would have been proud with the feelings it stirred up. Anyways, I didn't see him around for months, and yet, he stuck with me, I couldn't figure out why... I mean, you see hundreds of different people each day, you know? Most of which, you forget... Well, long story short, after months of not seeing him again, I did. And then I did again. And again. And again. And now he frigging pops up everywhere. As a matter of fact, as I turned my head, a moment ago, for another bullet point, he was sitting less than 50 feet away, talking to some plastic, yet indie (let's not forget that - that makes them artistic after all) girls that probably spent more time getting ready this morning than I have all week. Not that I think he's my EC (eternal companion) or that we're even meant to be friends, for whatever reason, he just makes me wonder if someone else, anyone else, has had a similar experience? Where there was this picturesque second where they saw a complete stranger in which the foreigner became the muse to a new, flowing poem that was never written down on anything but their heart? Have I ever inspired that sort of thing?? Dang, now I feel like I need to start getting ready in the mornings. It seems like that's my only means of hope to accomplishing said feat. Hahaha
• Update to my theory class: Deconstructionalist theory is probably my favorite, thus far. Yes, it's fairly... destructive... and yes, it can invalidate you as a reader... but my goodness, it's fascinating. And realistic. Yeah, it's pretty great. My major is pretty great, I won't lie. :)
• Everyone has been counting down and/or asking when Ben is getting home, so here you go: 
• He is home on April 14th.
• I have no idea when he flies in. Or when he's set apart.
• No, I'm not going to the airport -- I wouldn't be caught dead, there.
• Yes, I'm allowing him to come to me, here in Provo. I can be patient when it really counts. :)
• As of today, he is home in 21 days.
• Yes I'm terrified, no I'm not getting "so excited", and yes, this whole thing makes me want to throw up. There are way too many emotions attached to be healthy.
• Yes, you guessed it, I'll probably cry when I first see him, again.
• Yes, we still write, are on good terms, and still exchange the "L-word" ... And mean it. :)

Okay, I'm finally done. Congrats on making it through. I have a gold sticker, for you, whenever you want to come over and get it.