Love. What a powerful word that is. A coworker and I were having a convorsation about my new relationship, and he asked, "Have you thrown out the 'L' word yet?"
My answer? "Are you crazy?! Of course not!" His response was simple. Why?
In his eyes, he didn't know what came before. A relationship or Love, because what is the point of being in a relationship if you're not in love? The convorsation continued on to well, how can you know if you're in Love with the person if you're not in a relationship first? I think a lot of girls and women confuse Love with a deep admiration.
I had a boyfriend in high school who told me he loved me after a week of dating.
I laughed in his face.
It took my last serious boyfriend and I four months to say those words. Looking back, I'm not even sure that was Love, or just lust on steroids.
To the girls who throw the word around like it's nothing: be careful with it. It's okay if you do love someone, but on the other hand, how do you know? I know there isn't going to be a street sign that just plops down in front of you when it happens, and it's not going to hit you like a ton of bricks, but how can you be sure if you haven't even decided you'll commit to that one person? How can you be sure that you can even stand that person for extended periods of time if you don't make that commitment first?
It boggles my mind a bit.
Granted, what is Love, exactly? By defenition it's a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person. To me, it's doing anything and everything for that person, without them even asking. Taking a bullet for them because you care about them that much that you'd rather they live and you die.
Now, I haven't felt that way about anyone except my family. Even then, I know I'd definitely do it for my brothers. No questions asked. Instead of Love, how about Care? People throw love around way too much anyways.
What about:
I care for you
or
I care if you get fat
or
I care that you went to the concert without me.
or
I care that you had dinner with your ex girlfriend.
It's understood better than Love. I care about him, just like he cares about me. For now?
I'm in haclavon with that.
2/26/11
Cheers :)
Here's to that giddy feeling.
Here's to feeling special.
Here's to confidence.
Here's to February 25th.
Here's to feeling special.
Here's to confidence.
Here's to February 25th.
2/22/11
I'm just like you...only prettier
Either the day wasn't working with me, or I wasn't working with the day. I should have just stayed in bed. I felt like I was dancing backwards in high heels, and it wasn't even noon yet. I didn't understand why people didn't like me. There were only a certain few. A couple people said it was because I got male attention that they didn't, others said it's because I had the world in front of me, and, well, they didn't.
"Face it," Lissa said one day, "You're cute, skinny, and your personality is just magnetic. You were able to get out of your town and start life somewhere new. To them, you have it made. Not only that, you're going to get out of this crummy store. They're never going to be able to. You're educated. You shouldn't let this get to you."
Like I said, I didn't...for the most part. Yet it was intruiging to me. I know I'm not going to be liked by everyone, and that's not my goal in life. I just wasn't used to not being liked by everyone.
So what had happened to make the morning so bad? Well. For starters, who enjoys getting up at 6 in the morning? No one. Who enjoys sleeping so poorly they woke up every hour in anticipation of that 6:00 hour? No one. Not only did I experience all of those last night...I also shaved part of my eyebrow off this morning.
I'm not kidding.
My brothers and I always joked about how Jay's eyebrows dissappeared in the summer because they turned so blond, it looked as if he had none. He always had to use his fingers for emotions. That's what first sprung to my mind. I don't know how it happened, just that I was half asleep in the shower, dropped the razor from above my head, and caught it with my eyebrow. Seriously. It was a close shave, too. I mean literally, a whole spot, just gone. It's not so bad that I couldn't get to a salon & have them waxed even...so I set out trying to find a salon that was open at 8:00 in the morning.
Guess what?
There isn't one. So, I did the next best thing. I bought an eyebrow pencil and took it to work to try to fix it. Luckily Gem was there to help me out with it. I had never colored my eyebrow in before, I didn't know how to blend it and curve it and whatever the hell you do with it. Hence, where the people who do not like me come in. There was a chick who took a picture of her doing it, even though she didn't know what was going on, to send to her best friend who dislikes me.
I'm sorry, but what? What are you going to do? Make fun of me for having someone else do my makeup? I'm confused. Not only confused, but a little amused that you're taking pleasure in what I think is funny as well. Yes--I stressed about it for a little bit, but even as it happened I had to laugh! If appearances mean that much to you, and you're so concerned with how I look, you might want to gauge how I'm reacting to the situation before you go around making a big deal out of something. I've already proven that I'm not going to let you girls get to me. I graduated high school, and you're both grown women with children. You might want to get over it-- just a thought.
You might be mexican and grew up in the streets of Austin, but I grew up in Flint. I think that's worse. As Erynn would say: Hold my hoops!
Oh, bless their hearts...they actually think they're going to bother me one day.
"Face it," Lissa said one day, "You're cute, skinny, and your personality is just magnetic. You were able to get out of your town and start life somewhere new. To them, you have it made. Not only that, you're going to get out of this crummy store. They're never going to be able to. You're educated. You shouldn't let this get to you."
Like I said, I didn't...for the most part. Yet it was intruiging to me. I know I'm not going to be liked by everyone, and that's not my goal in life. I just wasn't used to not being liked by everyone.
So what had happened to make the morning so bad? Well. For starters, who enjoys getting up at 6 in the morning? No one. Who enjoys sleeping so poorly they woke up every hour in anticipation of that 6:00 hour? No one. Not only did I experience all of those last night...I also shaved part of my eyebrow off this morning.
I'm not kidding.
My brothers and I always joked about how Jay's eyebrows dissappeared in the summer because they turned so blond, it looked as if he had none. He always had to use his fingers for emotions. That's what first sprung to my mind. I don't know how it happened, just that I was half asleep in the shower, dropped the razor from above my head, and caught it with my eyebrow. Seriously. It was a close shave, too. I mean literally, a whole spot, just gone. It's not so bad that I couldn't get to a salon & have them waxed even...so I set out trying to find a salon that was open at 8:00 in the morning.
Guess what?
There isn't one. So, I did the next best thing. I bought an eyebrow pencil and took it to work to try to fix it. Luckily Gem was there to help me out with it. I had never colored my eyebrow in before, I didn't know how to blend it and curve it and whatever the hell you do with it. Hence, where the people who do not like me come in. There was a chick who took a picture of her doing it, even though she didn't know what was going on, to send to her best friend who dislikes me.
I'm sorry, but what? What are you going to do? Make fun of me for having someone else do my makeup? I'm confused. Not only confused, but a little amused that you're taking pleasure in what I think is funny as well. Yes--I stressed about it for a little bit, but even as it happened I had to laugh! If appearances mean that much to you, and you're so concerned with how I look, you might want to gauge how I'm reacting to the situation before you go around making a big deal out of something. I've already proven that I'm not going to let you girls get to me. I graduated high school, and you're both grown women with children. You might want to get over it-- just a thought.
You might be mexican and grew up in the streets of Austin, but I grew up in Flint. I think that's worse. As Erynn would say: Hold my hoops!
Oh, bless their hearts...they actually think they're going to bother me one day.
2/20/11
I love being the chick on the back of a bike....
but driving one? That's even better.
Wouldn't it be nice if...
they were fixing the bike today?
Oh, by the way? When I say 'bike', there's only one thing I mean. A motorcycle. Heaven on two wheels. Pure amazing freedom. I rode on my first bike when I was little. I can't even remember the age. My dad was driving his green yamaha, and I was in front. Just around the block, though, and not too fast.
Instead of his & her monogram towels, my paren'ts had his & her motorcycles. His was a dull-apple green, and hers was a bright gorgeous sparkly cerulean blue. I fell in love with two things that day. The Cerulean Blue and motorcycles.
The next time I even set foot on a bike I was 15, and it was a motocross bike. I couldn't grasp the concept of evening out the clutch and the gas to make it go, and it was the same with a manual car. Once I got it into 2nd gear on, it was easy. First though? That....was a horse of a different color.
Since I had grown up around bikes, when my friend Jason pulled into the driveway on his slick new Shadow, I didn't hesitate. I hopped on the back of that thing like a fat kid would eat cake. I had grown up around bikes, just like I had guns. Whereas most parent's would be apalled that their child was hopping on the back of a bike at 18, my dad's only requirement was that he needed to drive it first. Just once, around the block. This time, I was on the back. That's when the love affair really started.
There wasn't anywhere Jason & I went that summer that I wasn't on the back of his bike. Unless his girlfriend was, but her parent's wouldn't let her most of the time. That was my senior year of high school.
Now, I'm in Austin, Texas. Motorcycles are all over the place. One of my best girlfriends & her husband ride, my aunts boyfriend rides, Homeboy rides (but doesn't have a bike...anymore). It's practical to have a bike, and more than practical, it's almost a requirement.
So wouldn't it be nice, if they were fixing the broken bike in the garage, if all it needs is a new clutch, and oil change, and a little love.
And all this from an assumption, because someone nodded to the garage where the bike is, and when I asked what they were doing tomorrow, neither one answered, but switched the subject.
A girl can definitely dream, right?
Wouldn't it be nice if...
they were fixing the bike today?
Oh, by the way? When I say 'bike', there's only one thing I mean. A motorcycle. Heaven on two wheels. Pure amazing freedom. I rode on my first bike when I was little. I can't even remember the age. My dad was driving his green yamaha, and I was in front. Just around the block, though, and not too fast.
Instead of his & her monogram towels, my paren'ts had his & her motorcycles. His was a dull-apple green, and hers was a bright gorgeous sparkly cerulean blue. I fell in love with two things that day. The Cerulean Blue and motorcycles.
The next time I even set foot on a bike I was 15, and it was a motocross bike. I couldn't grasp the concept of evening out the clutch and the gas to make it go, and it was the same with a manual car. Once I got it into 2nd gear on, it was easy. First though? That....was a horse of a different color.
Since I had grown up around bikes, when my friend Jason pulled into the driveway on his slick new Shadow, I didn't hesitate. I hopped on the back of that thing like a fat kid would eat cake. I had grown up around bikes, just like I had guns. Whereas most parent's would be apalled that their child was hopping on the back of a bike at 18, my dad's only requirement was that he needed to drive it first. Just once, around the block. This time, I was on the back. That's when the love affair really started.
There wasn't anywhere Jason & I went that summer that I wasn't on the back of his bike. Unless his girlfriend was, but her parent's wouldn't let her most of the time. That was my senior year of high school.
Now, I'm in Austin, Texas. Motorcycles are all over the place. One of my best girlfriends & her husband ride, my aunts boyfriend rides, Homeboy rides (but doesn't have a bike...anymore). It's practical to have a bike, and more than practical, it's almost a requirement.
So wouldn't it be nice, if they were fixing the broken bike in the garage, if all it needs is a new clutch, and oil change, and a little love.
And all this from an assumption, because someone nodded to the garage where the bike is, and when I asked what they were doing tomorrow, neither one answered, but switched the subject.
A girl can definitely dream, right?
2/13/11
The dreaded
Valentines Day. It's tomorrow. The dreaded holiday that is all flowers and candy and lovey-mother effing-dovey.
I am on the brink of despising it.
It's not because I've always been single on V-day, or because they've all been horrible. Quite the contrary. I had a boyfriend for two Valentines day's, and they were so sweet and nice. All the rest, I've broken up with the poor guy before the day devoted to red and pink even came around. I just feel that there shouldn't be one day devoted to being sweet. Flowers for no reason are way better than flowers on Valentines Day. Then it seems like they're mandated.
Give me the martyrdome. That's what I want. Give me the history behind the day. I'm more interested in history that stands the test of time than flowers that're only garunteed for five days. Granted...every girl loves flowers... but give me the poem the Duke of Chaucer wrote. Give me history, or give me death.
Yea--I went there.
I understand that St. Valentine signed it 'you're Valentine' and I understand that he helped lovers get married under cover. I get that, but let's remember the secrecy, yea? Not mass produced cards candy and colorful flowers. Remember elopements, persecution and death.
How's that for a twist on your favorite day, America?!
This year I have a Valentine. Which is weird. It's not just let's watch a movie & go out to a nice dinner because we're in high school.
No--instead, he said it's up to me. Whatever I want to do for Valentines Day is up to me. No more being indecisive, 'Put your foot down and tell me what you want to do.'
Something fun. No fancy dinner.
I want to watch the sun set in Lake Michigan.
I want to go to the batting cages.
or a shooting range.
I'm that kind of girl.
Give me a helmet and a hunk of explosive metal, give me a rock to climb.
Not a candle lit dinner.
I think St. Valentine would greatly approve of that.
I am on the brink of despising it.
It's not because I've always been single on V-day, or because they've all been horrible. Quite the contrary. I had a boyfriend for two Valentines day's, and they were so sweet and nice. All the rest, I've broken up with the poor guy before the day devoted to red and pink even came around. I just feel that there shouldn't be one day devoted to being sweet. Flowers for no reason are way better than flowers on Valentines Day. Then it seems like they're mandated.
Give me the martyrdome. That's what I want. Give me the history behind the day. I'm more interested in history that stands the test of time than flowers that're only garunteed for five days. Granted...every girl loves flowers... but give me the poem the Duke of Chaucer wrote. Give me history, or give me death.
Yea--I went there.
I understand that St. Valentine signed it 'you're Valentine' and I understand that he helped lovers get married under cover. I get that, but let's remember the secrecy, yea? Not mass produced cards candy and colorful flowers. Remember elopements, persecution and death.
How's that for a twist on your favorite day, America?!
This year I have a Valentine. Which is weird. It's not just let's watch a movie & go out to a nice dinner because we're in high school.
No--instead, he said it's up to me. Whatever I want to do for Valentines Day is up to me. No more being indecisive, 'Put your foot down and tell me what you want to do.'
Something fun. No fancy dinner.
I want to watch the sun set in Lake Michigan.
I want to go to the batting cages.
or a shooting range.
I'm that kind of girl.
Give me a helmet and a hunk of explosive metal, give me a rock to climb.
Not a candle lit dinner.
I think St. Valentine would greatly approve of that.
2/9/11
What a Weird day
Please tell me there is a full moon tonight, because today has been the oddest day, and I need an explination for it. Another co-worker today told me that he liked my swagger. I quote "You're always immaculately groomed, your attitude is amazing. You carry yourself well. I like your swagger, kid."
Talk about an ego boost to start the day. Didn't last long, though. Soon shit started to hit the fan. Enter: The Pizza Incident.
Jealousy is a funny thing, and I'm not sure that's what Loretta (yea...that sounds like a good name for her) has, but a handful of people think so. Someone first suggested that to me after what happened today. I asked the Aussie about it, and he shot back with, "Well, you do seem to get quite a lot of male attention."
....Excuse me? I do? How come I wasn't aware of this? Male attention? I don't even know what that is.
I wasn't pretty up north. Maybe it was just because I didn't have self confidence, or I cared, and now I do have self confidenceand I don't care. It's hard to say. This is a whole new concept to me, and I'm surprised by it. Then it goes back to Homeboy, and how he makes me feel like I am all of those things. I'm very confident in myself and my abilities. Speaking of abilities, now let's fast forward.
Back at work, the district Sales mangers came in. I talked to them for a bit, not even trying to give them my A game, but apparently I did. They were very impressed that someone so young could be so professional, and I feel like I charmed the pants off of them. Well, how could I not? Anyone with my father would know it just comes naturally, just like typing over 200 wpm (that's words per minute, fools!). Crazy day, I tell you.
Not to mention after coming back from lunch, the Task force was outside of work by the fence, doing a raid. Joey and I were sitting in her car, and not once did we notice what was happening outside until it was over and they were all standing there escorting people into vans.
...really? How do you miss policeman all dressed up piling out of three unmarked Creeper vans? Apparently when you're Joey and I, it's easy. Especially when you're caught up in thinking you're going to be fired from a part time job that you desparately need.
I'm telling you guys--weird day. Very, very weird day.
Talk about an ego boost to start the day. Didn't last long, though. Soon shit started to hit the fan. Enter: The Pizza Incident.
Jealousy is a funny thing, and I'm not sure that's what Loretta (yea...that sounds like a good name for her) has, but a handful of people think so. Someone first suggested that to me after what happened today. I asked the Aussie about it, and he shot back with, "Well, you do seem to get quite a lot of male attention."
....Excuse me? I do? How come I wasn't aware of this? Male attention? I don't even know what that is.
I wasn't pretty up north. Maybe it was just because I didn't have self confidence, or I cared, and now I do have self confidenceand I don't care. It's hard to say. This is a whole new concept to me, and I'm surprised by it. Then it goes back to Homeboy, and how he makes me feel like I am all of those things. I'm very confident in myself and my abilities. Speaking of abilities, now let's fast forward.
Back at work, the district Sales mangers came in. I talked to them for a bit, not even trying to give them my A game, but apparently I did. They were very impressed that someone so young could be so professional, and I feel like I charmed the pants off of them. Well, how could I not? Anyone with my father would know it just comes naturally, just like typing over 200 wpm (that's words per minute, fools!). Crazy day, I tell you.
Not to mention after coming back from lunch, the Task force was outside of work by the fence, doing a raid. Joey and I were sitting in her car, and not once did we notice what was happening outside until it was over and they were all standing there escorting people into vans.
...really? How do you miss policeman all dressed up piling out of three unmarked Creeper vans? Apparently when you're Joey and I, it's easy. Especially when you're caught up in thinking you're going to be fired from a part time job that you desparately need.
I'm telling you guys--weird day. Very, very weird day.
Do you have the Ations?
It shouldn't matter. Whatever he is doing shouldn't matter to me. Go take a trip with your girlfriend who's parent's are paying for everything that you can only use for a vacation. Have at it. That seems fishy. Why wouldn't they give you the money for a more practical use? You know--seeing as how you lost your job and now have no way of paying rent. Tensions are only going to get higher from what they already are about money.
This is why you shouldn't move in with your significant other after only 3 months off-again-on-again dating.
No one is perfect, no relationship is perfect, and I know this. Yet the sheer rediculousness of half the problems that I hear about makes me question everything. I also admit that a bit of it is jealousy. I also believe that half the things I hear about are promises that are never to come true. You know, like the friend you had in high school who moves to the big city you're living in now and says, "Hey, we should get together for a drink sometime! It'd be really great to see you." and you agree, but it never happens. Empty promises fill the world.
Also, a note to the girl: I'm his best friend. A shitty one at times, yes, but I'm a part of his past, of course there are going to be pictures of us together on his laptop, in his room, etc. You can't get upset about that. Once again: showing immaturity. I become so aggravated, so insanely irritated whenever this happens.
Just when I think I've reached the peak of my irritation, and that everything is going to go downhill from here, my reality comes back to me. The random text message asking me "How do you determine what size mountain bike you need?" or the video of his dog just rolling around in a pond.
My reality.
My not-so-empty promises.
My up-for-anything yet loves-being-a-hermit-guy.
He makes me feel skinny. When we're just laying there and he finds my hip bone jutting out. He makes me feel sexy, when he strokes my hair away from my neck, "I like seeing the curve." before bending down and kissing all over it. He always makes me laugh, and feel like there's someone reliable there. Someone thinks aobut nice surprises to give me. Even though I talk about how he irritates me, I can't help but remember how lucky I am that when we're together, he's always constantly touching me.
That's my reality.
He has all of the 'Ations'. His own habitation, transportation,occupation and education. He has them all.
My reality doesn't have empty promises, they're all attainable.
That's what I have to remember.
This is why you shouldn't move in with your significant other after only 3 months off-again-on-again dating.
No one is perfect, no relationship is perfect, and I know this. Yet the sheer rediculousness of half the problems that I hear about makes me question everything. I also admit that a bit of it is jealousy. I also believe that half the things I hear about are promises that are never to come true. You know, like the friend you had in high school who moves to the big city you're living in now and says, "Hey, we should get together for a drink sometime! It'd be really great to see you." and you agree, but it never happens. Empty promises fill the world.
Also, a note to the girl: I'm his best friend. A shitty one at times, yes, but I'm a part of his past, of course there are going to be pictures of us together on his laptop, in his room, etc. You can't get upset about that. Once again: showing immaturity. I become so aggravated, so insanely irritated whenever this happens.
Just when I think I've reached the peak of my irritation, and that everything is going to go downhill from here, my reality comes back to me. The random text message asking me "How do you determine what size mountain bike you need?" or the video of his dog just rolling around in a pond.
My reality.
My not-so-empty promises.
My up-for-anything yet loves-being-a-hermit-guy.
He makes me feel skinny. When we're just laying there and he finds my hip bone jutting out. He makes me feel sexy, when he strokes my hair away from my neck, "I like seeing the curve." before bending down and kissing all over it. He always makes me laugh, and feel like there's someone reliable there. Someone thinks aobut nice surprises to give me. Even though I talk about how he irritates me, I can't help but remember how lucky I am that when we're together, he's always constantly touching me.
That's my reality.
He has all of the 'Ations'. His own habitation, transportation,occupation and education. He has them all.
My reality doesn't have empty promises, they're all attainable.
That's what I have to remember.
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