Outrage

Sometimes, when viewing current fashion trends, I feel like an overly-strict mother. I'll internally spout various critiques...passionately exclaiming the asininity of certain pieces.

There's something immensely creepy about little girls wearing things that say "Flirt" or "Sexy" or "Boy Toy". Phrases like this give girls the impression that they should somehow strive to be those things just to get boys' attention. It fosters a huge detour from self-respect....and (for boys), one from respect for females. "Sexy" should not be part of any child's vocabulary, anyway. If you aren't old enough to have sex, then you don't need to know what sexy is. And, while maybe less creepy, it annoys the hell outta me when grown women wear this crap. The sight of a 35 year old woman wearing a tee that says "Spicy" or with the word "Juicy" on her ass makes me
want to: a. Trip her ,b. Recommend that she visit a physician ,or, c. Eat fajitas.

My girlfriends and I have discussed the troubling changes in little girls' clothing. When we were in elementary and middle school, we still dressed like....little girls.....which we were, technically. We didn't wear jeans that rode so low that our cracks showed, push up bras with low cut tanks, or ruffly skirts that were too short to sit down in. It wasn't because myself and all of my current friends weren't trendy at the time; it was because those things didn't exist as options for our wardrobes. Stores didn't encourage us to dress like women back then. We couldn't have purchased those things even if we wanted to. We all thought it was cool to wear oversized tees with Disney characters on them, palazzo pants, embroidered vests (oh.....the horror!!), and plaid polos. When did our society decide to exploit the innocence of young girls?

I think I'll take my favorite pair of sweat pants to an airbrush shop, and have "Cynical Bitch" sprayed on the ass. Wouldn't that be like SO totally sexy?

A close friend of mine has recently been struggling with a life-long syndrome of second-place-ed-ness (that feeling that someone else is always a little better than you...you're never the first choice or anyone's first priority). I feel you, babe. Whoever said that being first isn't important was a fucking moron. He apparently never had to deal with the kick in the stomach pain of being brushed aside or looked over. Well, Mr. Wise Quote...it fucking hurts. So fuck you.

Yeah, so, my neighbor and I had a charming conversation this morning in our underwear.

Just when I think maybe I AM kinda sorta of the smart type, I go and do something stupid. Needing to drop some items in the mailbox, I stepped out onto the porch in my jammies. My roomate's Down Syndrome-stricten kitty runs out whenever given the chance, so I pulled the door to the jamb as I exited to keep him inside. Unfortunately, I pulled too efficiently. The damn thing locks automatically, and I immediately realized what I had done. Ironically, we used to keep a spare key (for this very reason) on the porch. But two weeks ago, our house was robbed, and we rethought the idea.

When spouting explictatives didn't seem to be helping, I had to make a plan. The only one that seemed logical was to wake up my neighbor to use his phone. We all know that our pajamas aren't often presentable to the public. If they were, they wouldn't be pajamas at all. Today wasn't as bad as normal. My main concern was my see-through pajama pants. No, they aren't SUPOSSED to be see-through. They're just old and worn and SUPER comfy in their tissue-paper thinness. So, I rang the neighbor's bell....barefooted, hair unbrushed, and my cartoony panties in complete, unsheilded view. Having been awakened, the (very) cute neighbor was in similar shape with a pair of boxers. We both pretended not to feel awkward as we talked for the first time ever in his living room. I don't know whether to be thankful or regrettful that I hadn't worn my lace nightie to bed....maybe I could have gotten a free breakfast out of it.

if only throwing it over my shoulder would help

My parents have asked the same exact question at the beginning of EVERY meal my mother has EVER prepared...."Does it need salt?" As dishes are being served and plates are being helped, I await with annoyance to hear it. They both wait until I...or whoever else is present...have taken a first bite before belting out this inevitable inquiry.

This annoys me on several different levels. First of all, I RARELY add salt to anything after it's prepared. So, my answer to them is always indifferent. They've never accepted this as fact, for some reason. Secondly, it makes me want to punch them in the teeth that they can't just taste the damn food on their own and determine for themselves what seasoning is needed. Thirdly, no matter what anyone else's opinions are, they always add salt, anyway....and always before they've taken a single bite.

I know nobody cares, but I needed to vent. This is one of the many issues I'll bring up when I finally have my day on Oprah to blame everything on my upbringing.

I wonder if he thinks I'm cute

I'm currently experiencing something new. Actually, I've been experiencing lots of somethings new lately....new emotions, new fears, new doubts, new hurts, new challenges.....

But, this particular something new is more of a revelation, I suppose. I'm a little bit betwixted about it. Bewildered. Confused. Muddled. Perturbed, even. I can't seem to wrap my brain around this. Having just relocated, my social life has drastically changed; as has almost every other aspect of my life. In the (almost) three years I lived in Dallas, I made many, many friends. I also was lucky enough to recreate and strengthen friendships from my past. Close ones. True ones. Some of them belonging to a caliber of relationship that I was previously ignorant to. I've been more thankful of this than I can possibly express. These people have nurtured me, loved me, accepted me, held me accountable, made me laugh, pissed me off, partied with me, and struggled with me. I'm not saying that all all of my confidants are in Dallas...God was spread them out all over (my new location included). When you're in the midst of good relationships, surrounded by folks you enjoy and respect, it's easy to forget that not EVERYONE is like them. But, if everyone was, then what would be so special about them, anyway??

Socially....I think I'm pretty damn good. I've always made friends easily. Historically, I've adapted quickly and efficiently to lots of different types of people/groups. And, I LOVE meeting new people....expanding my relationship base. But recently I've felt like a 13 year old again (sing it loud, Alannis). Because I haven't met many new people on my own, I've been attempting to mesh myself with the friends of friends...just for the sake of being social. I do it, and I put on a face as best I can. But it just feels so awkward. Or, more honestly, I feel awkward. At first, I was kinda hard on myself about this. It initially felt like rejection. What I've decided is that it IS about rejection, but I'm the one who's doing the rejecting.

I've said this before, and I'll say it many more times: I'm too old for playmates. In my "adult" life, such as it is, I simply do not have the time or the desire to devote any portion of my schedule or being to anyone who is not going to enrich my life. And I'm not going to give you a second thought if you don't want the same from me. I no longer (thank GOD!!) feel the need to impress you or sell myself. I refuse to immesh myself in a continual, self-recyled scene of "How many guys can I get to like me?" I want to know you and to be known, and that process involves more than just discussing our dating lives. I want our conversations to begin with phrases other than "Guess who text-messaged me last night?" I would prefer NOT to regress to 11th grade behavior in every social situation.

Is all this too much to ask? If it is, then I suppose I'm destined to be lonely. The part that confuses me is that I'm a little suprised that so many people over the age of 21 seem so content residing in their high school mentalities. It amazes me. And why have some of the very people you were actually IN high school with still there while others have moved on? For those of you in my life who have, indeed, moved on and grown up (and you know who you are)....I applaud you. Let's grow old together.

Wet Sheets....But not how you think.

Have you ever seen any of Ellen DeGeneres' stand-up? I saw her do a bit once about "the worst thing". You know how people refer to certain things as "the worst thing".....be it a paper cut, or getting unmentionable hairs caught in zippers, or losing a finger in your blender while making smoothies....

To me, one of "the worst things" is not being able to sleep. I've had many nights recently where I'm exhausted, but can do nothing to propell myself into slumber. My mind will be racing through an indistinguishable number of unpleasant things, I can't get comfortable, I'm too hot, my cat won't stop licking her ass, the motion-detector light outside won't stay off, and when I finally manage to drift off, disturbing nightmares take their course like a Twilight Zone marathon. Yes. THAT'S "the worst thing".

I was having one of these last night, and I lay there trying to convince myself that it really could be worse. I tried recalling other nights from my past that had been awful and neverending. You know where I'm going with this, right? There's a story coming.....

Years ago, while spending a summer in Nepal, I spent a very long 2 days in Chitwan National Park. Chitwan offers year-round safari excursions. A small group of us got a really good deal on a weekend trip because it was smack in the middle of Monsoon season.....the slow season for the safari industry, apparently. Getting to Chitwan was an adventure in itself. We chartered a rickety bus that drove us at extremely fast speeds up and down cliff-lined roads. After what felt like an eternity, we reached a small village backdropped by a muddy river. We were instructed to haul our belongings to the riverbank to wait for our ride. Before long, two wide canoes rowed up. Our ride, indeed. In the canoes we traveresed through crocodile-infested waters to an overgrown little island, the Chitwan Resort Island.

Don't let the word "resort" mislead you. The entire peice of land was, as I said, completely overgrown with dense jungle. There was a dining hall which, suprisingly, served excellent food unlike any other I've tasted. There were various staff/administration buildings. And along the edge of rain washed stone paths, were the guest huts, wherein the origin of my story resides. I'll get back to these later.

We arrived at Chitwan on a Friday afternoon, and the resort manager was very eager to get our adventure started. He was a plump little Indian man with a pipe cleaner mustache who, unlike the rest of the staff, spoke very clear English. He enthusiastically informed us of the wildlife we would possibly see during our stay. Rhinos, sloth bears, and tigers were all there on the island but often hid during Monsoon season....which was the reason for our cheap accomodation prices. We were all excited the the prospect of seeing such creatures, but the rest of our conversation with the manager made me more than a little nervous. I jokingly asked how likely it was that I would be mauled and eaten by a tiger during my stay. He didn't catch on that I meant it to be a joke. Being a devout Buddhist, he insisted that only the VERY lucky would ever endure such a death. He himself dreamed of dying at the mercy of an animal so that he would return as royalty in his next life. Such a death "should be prayed for, not feared", he said. This wasn't really the reassuring answer I was hoping for.

Our first activity was a hike through the jungle. We were led single-file along a dirt trail. At the beginning and at the end of the line was a guide; a young man wearing nothing but shorts and armed with nothing but a not-so-big stick. As we walked, they would stop every now and then to point out fresh, gigantic claw marks in the mud. "See? See deees? Sloth bear joost mek", one would say as he bared his teeth and dug his pretend claws into the air. This made for the most nervewracking stroll I could ever imagine. I barely reached our destination without crapping my pants. The rest of my evening was spent on the back of an obstinate elephant.....another element to this adventure which I won't elaborate on at this point.

By the time the sun went down and we retreated to our little cabin/huts, we were exhausted and filthy. We hadn't spent but a few minutes in our rooms when we arrived, so we weren't completely knowledgable of what we were in for. Our room was about 12 feet across and 15 feet long. The outside walls were constructed of screened windows from the waist up, and two twin beds were pushed up against them. A small, doorless bathroom could be entered at one end. There was no electricity, and all we had to see by was one small oil lantern.

My roomate and I took turns rinsing off under the cold showerhead....in the dark...accompanied by various lizards, frogs, and other crawlies (I even saw a tarantula and several scorpians). Alarmingly, we found that within minutes of drying off, we were drenched again. The humid jungle air was unlike anything we had experienced before. The atmosphere was so thick with moisture that it was difficult to breathe. Our belongings were so damp, we could literally ring water out of them. The rough sheets on our beds were the same way.

We sat awake for hours....talking and listening to the many sounds of wildlife just outside the windows. To my horror, the screens didn't do a tremendous job of keeping the bugs out. It was too dark to actually see what was biting my neck and inching its way up my shorts, and the not seeing was most disturbing part. We pulled our beds away from the walls so that they were joined in the center of the floor space. We thought it would possibly give us some refuge from the bugs, but we thought wrong. My roomate eventually started snoring, and I suffered through the rest of night alone. I felt as if I was lying in a vat of warm pudding. The buzzing and hissing of insects that rung in my ears was interrupted every now and then by a faint growl or moan and the rustling of tree branches. I itched so badly I worried that I would scratch holes in my skin. I was disgusted, uncomfortable, and terrified. I don't know that I've felt that close to Hell many other times in my life.

Obviously, I lived through it all. I think I even managed to sleep for 5 or 10 mintues before the sun came up. And it's always helpful to have a memory to rely on when you ask yourself "Could it possibly be any worse than this?".......because it always can be.