Sunday, February 13, 2005
Valentines Request
I've been really quite concerned about this, so I thought I should go ahead and mention it. If anyone is planning on sending me a pet for Valentines Day, my preferences are a goldfish or a monkey. They're pretty much the same thing, I know, but there are a few things you should keep in mind. If you do choose the goldfish, please don't simply drop it in an envelope. Everytime someone tries that, it doesn't make it here alive. At least take the time to put it in a baggy or a thermos or one of those ziplock container thingys. Teach him the Tango BEFORE you send him; don't just include an instructional video. It's a nice thought, but I honestly don't have the time to teach a fish how to dance. If you choose the monkey, please send a cute one. Don't forget his toothbrush, favorite bedtime story, and his passport. And for goodness' sake, put a bow-tie on him.
Saturday, February 12, 2005
What is that Stench?
We are mysteriously fascinated by unpleasant smells. And, when I say "we", I mean people in general.
(I'm not referring to me and my 6 other personalities; all but two of them actually have no sense of smell at all, strangely enough. They've got great night vision, however.) It never ceases to amuse me how we're always so eager to smell the repugnant. Vile odors always require the attention of more than one person. The generous, benevolent sides of our natures come to the surface and someone...ANYone must be a part of it immediately. Or maybe it has nothing to do with generosity. Bad smells are simply too traumatic to experience alone.
Take a morning at work last week, for instance. I walked into our office kitchen and it was shockingly obvious that some food item had spoiled overnight. It was that sour fragrance that we all know so well. It reaches in through your nose, pulls your stomach up to the surface by way of the back of your throat, and then drops it quickly enough that it spirals all the way back down to your bellybutton. I stood there in the doorway for a full 5 seconds; taking big, long whiffs and allowing my stomach to play acrobat. I knew good and well, of course, that the culprit was probably in the fridge somewhere, but it wouldn't have been any fun to get rid of it without sharing the repulsiveness first. I called a co-worker in. "Come smell the kitchen! It's horrible! What in God's name is this?" Like anyone would, she dropped what she was doing and rushed in at a frantic speed. She would have knocked down toddlers and old people to get there expediently.
"Oh God, you're right! What is that?" she whined. Then we both stood there, blinking wide-eyed and stupid like, with our lips curled and our eyebrows furrowed.....repeating the previous phrases over several times each. We finally snapped out of and opened the refrigerator. The problem was located in a soggy plastic container, and then was extricated promptly. A big drama over something trite and commonplace....but inevitable at the same time.
Another co-worker returned to the office the next day and exclaimed that, "Gross!", his hand still smelled like the lunch he had eaten 4 hours previously. He shoved it towards my face, and I willingly breathed it in. "Yep. Smells like old hamburger grease." Did I need to smell his hand? Of course not. But I did it anyway because not smelling it would have just been too much to take. On a very recent road trip a friend (who's name I won't mention in order to preserve his reputation) pleaded with me to smell the leg of his jeans. They were covered with a myriad of colors....stains that were indistinguishable and frightening. It was a work of art, really. Like a newly discovered Picasso. I suppose that imagining the combined aroma of crayfish, strong liquor, dirt, and God only knows what else was an excitable moment for him. Admittedly, it was an intriguing offer, but I chose to turn it down. Guess we'll never know.
A favorite smelling story takes me back about a year ago. One of my 3rd grade students, J.J. (When he acted bratty, I liked to say it in Spanish....."Jota Jota" just because it pissed him off) was a strange kid. The only true joy in his little life was to frustrate me daily.....hourly, if possible. He was tangled up in a web of "self-issues", so I had to acknowledge that his quirks weren't all under his control. I had 10 little boys in my class, and I had learned early on to ignore most of their bizarre little boy behaviors. I wouldn't comment or intervene unless necessary. It was better for me that way. On one particular day on the playground, I spotted J.J. manuvering his nose back and forth between his armpits. I looked the other way several times, hoping he would stop eventually. He wasn't bothering anyone else, so what could it hurt? It didn't take long for him to begin soliciting the other kids to sniff under his arms, also. Everyone seemed to think this was great fun, but I just couldn't take it anymore.
"J.J.? What's the deal? This game looks pretty gross to me."
Defensively, "What? I'm just sniffin."
"Okay, well cut it out, please. It's disgusting."
"But, Miss Sellers.....(makes whiny noises).....It smells good. Smells like bacon." (Oh yeah, that's what he said.) My only response was my "or else" look that I had become so good at giving. No words were needed.
"Awww, man." J.J. walked away, sulking with his hands in his pockets. I think he didn't speak to me for the rest of the afternoon.
We all do it. Why is it always foul smells that interest us the most? Sure, we like good smells. Everybody likes good smells. But they just aren't as worthy of calling out. If you said "Hey...take a whiff of my hair. It smells like lavender and strawberries", we'd probably go along and enjoy it. But an enthusiastic, "Hey...does my hair smell like puked-up dog food?" would draw a bigger crowd, at least.
(I'm not referring to me and my 6 other personalities; all but two of them actually have no sense of smell at all, strangely enough. They've got great night vision, however.) It never ceases to amuse me how we're always so eager to smell the repugnant. Vile odors always require the attention of more than one person. The generous, benevolent sides of our natures come to the surface and someone...ANYone must be a part of it immediately. Or maybe it has nothing to do with generosity. Bad smells are simply too traumatic to experience alone.
Take a morning at work last week, for instance. I walked into our office kitchen and it was shockingly obvious that some food item had spoiled overnight. It was that sour fragrance that we all know so well. It reaches in through your nose, pulls your stomach up to the surface by way of the back of your throat, and then drops it quickly enough that it spirals all the way back down to your bellybutton. I stood there in the doorway for a full 5 seconds; taking big, long whiffs and allowing my stomach to play acrobat. I knew good and well, of course, that the culprit was probably in the fridge somewhere, but it wouldn't have been any fun to get rid of it without sharing the repulsiveness first. I called a co-worker in. "Come smell the kitchen! It's horrible! What in God's name is this?" Like anyone would, she dropped what she was doing and rushed in at a frantic speed. She would have knocked down toddlers and old people to get there expediently.
"Oh God, you're right! What is that?" she whined. Then we both stood there, blinking wide-eyed and stupid like, with our lips curled and our eyebrows furrowed.....repeating the previous phrases over several times each. We finally snapped out of and opened the refrigerator. The problem was located in a soggy plastic container, and then was extricated promptly. A big drama over something trite and commonplace....but inevitable at the same time.
Another co-worker returned to the office the next day and exclaimed that, "Gross!", his hand still smelled like the lunch he had eaten 4 hours previously. He shoved it towards my face, and I willingly breathed it in. "Yep. Smells like old hamburger grease." Did I need to smell his hand? Of course not. But I did it anyway because not smelling it would have just been too much to take. On a very recent road trip a friend (who's name I won't mention in order to preserve his reputation) pleaded with me to smell the leg of his jeans. They were covered with a myriad of colors....stains that were indistinguishable and frightening. It was a work of art, really. Like a newly discovered Picasso. I suppose that imagining the combined aroma of crayfish, strong liquor, dirt, and God only knows what else was an excitable moment for him. Admittedly, it was an intriguing offer, but I chose to turn it down. Guess we'll never know.
A favorite smelling story takes me back about a year ago. One of my 3rd grade students, J.J. (When he acted bratty, I liked to say it in Spanish....."Jota Jota" just because it pissed him off) was a strange kid. The only true joy in his little life was to frustrate me daily.....hourly, if possible. He was tangled up in a web of "self-issues", so I had to acknowledge that his quirks weren't all under his control. I had 10 little boys in my class, and I had learned early on to ignore most of their bizarre little boy behaviors. I wouldn't comment or intervene unless necessary. It was better for me that way. On one particular day on the playground, I spotted J.J. manuvering his nose back and forth between his armpits. I looked the other way several times, hoping he would stop eventually. He wasn't bothering anyone else, so what could it hurt? It didn't take long for him to begin soliciting the other kids to sniff under his arms, also. Everyone seemed to think this was great fun, but I just couldn't take it anymore.
"J.J.? What's the deal? This game looks pretty gross to me."
Defensively, "What? I'm just sniffin."
"Okay, well cut it out, please. It's disgusting."
"But, Miss Sellers.....(makes whiny noises).....It smells good. Smells like bacon." (Oh yeah, that's what he said.) My only response was my "or else" look that I had become so good at giving. No words were needed.
"Awww, man." J.J. walked away, sulking with his hands in his pockets. I think he didn't speak to me for the rest of the afternoon.
We all do it. Why is it always foul smells that interest us the most? Sure, we like good smells. Everybody likes good smells. But they just aren't as worthy of calling out. If you said "Hey...take a whiff of my hair. It smells like lavender and strawberries", we'd probably go along and enjoy it. But an enthusiastic, "Hey...does my hair smell like puked-up dog food?" would draw a bigger crowd, at least.
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Don't Be a Creepy Guy- Part One
Due to the events of a recent night out, I have decided to offer a service to my male readers. This service will benefit not only you, but any girl you may come in contact with from here on out. Hopefully, eventually, my aid will spread wide and eventually benefit me, also. I'm paying it forward, so to speak. It could literally impact the life of every person in the country. Or just everyone in the Southeast. Or maybe just all single people in Coppell, Texas. In any case, it will help someone.
There seems to be a disturbingly high number of creepy guys walking the streets. This isn't news to any girl. We all know it to be a sad, disappointing fact of life. The limits to where we encounter them is non-existent. They're kinda like roaches. Sure, we expect them in gross places like skanky bars and gas stations and under fallen trees in woodsy areas; but that's not the end of it. We've also learned to keep watch at the library, at our cousin's birthday parties, at the dentist's office, and even at church. Especially at church. It's a never ending battle for us.... developing the skills to spot them quickly and squash them before they crawl all over our sandwiches.
What has occurred to me many times is the possibility that some guys are truly oblivious to their creepiness. Poor social skills, low self-esteem, chemical imbalances.....there could be lots of contributing factors. But the reality is, fellas, that ignorance is no excuse. If you're creepy, not many girls are gonna stop and try to figure out why. She's gonna run like hell and take her friends with her. You aren't gonna be given the benefit of the doubt (unless the girl is creepy herself, and we just don't have time to cover all that).
Now boys, don't panic. I know that some of you are frantically wondering right now if YOU could possibly be a creepy guy.....one of the many who are blinded by their crooked delusions of self-smoothness. First off, if you're a friend of mine, you probably are not one. If you are, I just haven't seen you in action. But, for the rest of you, I'm going to cover some of the basics of male creepiness. This will be only the first installment of tips because there are way too many to cover in one day. I do have a job, after all. So, keep in mind that you can' t just run through today's list and think you're good to go if you haven't checked anything off. Don't get over confidant. This is just a re-telling of one creepy guy's creepiness-ish-ism. We're only hitting the tip of the ice berg. Oh, and if you need counseling or advice in this area, feel free to email me. I'd be happy to help. It's the least I can do.
You're probably a creepy guy if:
1. your initial pick-up line is one that tells a girl she looks "just like that girl from Friends".....
2. you consistently stare at a girl's chest even though she has given you no indication that she wants or enjoys you doing so.....
3. you offer to buy a girl a drink, she says "Nope, I'm good.", and then immediately accepts one from someone else.....
4. you think that bragging/elaborating/flat-out lying (whatever the case may be) that Britney Spears was your first kiss will impress ANY girl (even though it "REALLY, SERIOUSLY" makes sense because your grandmammy lives in Kentwood, LA) ......
5. you step on the heel of a girl's shoe while she's walking with her friends so that she'll have to stop and bend over to fix it; and her friends keep walking; and you grope her once she is out of their eyeshot; and you then proceed to tell her that's, indeed, why you stepped on her shoe in the first place.......
6. a girl has to ask her male friends to "guard" her so that you'll stay away.....
7. the second you initiate dancing with a girl, she eagerly allows herself to be pulled into a dance by another guy, and purposely doesn't look back to offer you an apologetic shrug of the shoulders....
8. you stalk a girl with unstable, crazy-dazed, fixated eyes on the dance floor while she doesn't dance with you.....
9. you attempt to handle "the situation" with the bouncer to impress the group you've tagged along with, but succeed only in displaying your ineffectiveness.....
10. you smell like cheese.....
If you do all of these things on the same night to the same girl, then you are exceedingly creepy. You are beyond help. Do NOT email me for advice.
There seems to be a disturbingly high number of creepy guys walking the streets. This isn't news to any girl. We all know it to be a sad, disappointing fact of life. The limits to where we encounter them is non-existent. They're kinda like roaches. Sure, we expect them in gross places like skanky bars and gas stations and under fallen trees in woodsy areas; but that's not the end of it. We've also learned to keep watch at the library, at our cousin's birthday parties, at the dentist's office, and even at church. Especially at church. It's a never ending battle for us.... developing the skills to spot them quickly and squash them before they crawl all over our sandwiches.
What has occurred to me many times is the possibility that some guys are truly oblivious to their creepiness. Poor social skills, low self-esteem, chemical imbalances.....there could be lots of contributing factors. But the reality is, fellas, that ignorance is no excuse. If you're creepy, not many girls are gonna stop and try to figure out why. She's gonna run like hell and take her friends with her. You aren't gonna be given the benefit of the doubt (unless the girl is creepy herself, and we just don't have time to cover all that).
Now boys, don't panic. I know that some of you are frantically wondering right now if YOU could possibly be a creepy guy.....one of the many who are blinded by their crooked delusions of self-smoothness. First off, if you're a friend of mine, you probably are not one. If you are, I just haven't seen you in action. But, for the rest of you, I'm going to cover some of the basics of male creepiness. This will be only the first installment of tips because there are way too many to cover in one day. I do have a job, after all. So, keep in mind that you can' t just run through today's list and think you're good to go if you haven't checked anything off. Don't get over confidant. This is just a re-telling of one creepy guy's creepiness-ish-ism. We're only hitting the tip of the ice berg. Oh, and if you need counseling or advice in this area, feel free to email me. I'd be happy to help. It's the least I can do.
You're probably a creepy guy if:
1. your initial pick-up line is one that tells a girl she looks "just like that girl from Friends".....
2. you consistently stare at a girl's chest even though she has given you no indication that she wants or enjoys you doing so.....
3. you offer to buy a girl a drink, she says "Nope, I'm good.", and then immediately accepts one from someone else.....
4. you think that bragging/elaborating/flat-out lying (whatever the case may be) that Britney Spears was your first kiss will impress ANY girl (even though it "REALLY, SERIOUSLY" makes sense because your grandmammy lives in Kentwood, LA) ......
5. you step on the heel of a girl's shoe while she's walking with her friends so that she'll have to stop and bend over to fix it; and her friends keep walking; and you grope her once she is out of their eyeshot; and you then proceed to tell her that's, indeed, why you stepped on her shoe in the first place.......
6. a girl has to ask her male friends to "guard" her so that you'll stay away.....
7. the second you initiate dancing with a girl, she eagerly allows herself to be pulled into a dance by another guy, and purposely doesn't look back to offer you an apologetic shrug of the shoulders....
8. you stalk a girl with unstable, crazy-dazed, fixated eyes on the dance floor while she doesn't dance with you.....
9. you attempt to handle "the situation" with the bouncer to impress the group you've tagged along with, but succeed only in displaying your ineffectiveness.....
10. you smell like cheese.....
If you do all of these things on the same night to the same girl, then you are exceedingly creepy. You are beyond help. Do NOT email me for advice.
Friday, February 04, 2005
Doubly Irritating
I have more than one set of twins in my life. Love them. Great people. But they're a strange breed...for many reasons. For example, ever notice how, whenever meeting a new group of people, they feel the need to tell the story of their birth(s) and childhood(s) as if anyone actually cares? Do they really need to point out all their likenesses and differences? If someone asks..."Hey...are you guys twins?", then there certainly would be no harm in answering. But, why elaborate? Can't they identify a question that is asked rhetorically simply in an effort to be friendly?
It would be like my brother and I entering a room together and making a big deal out of our siblinghood.
"Yes, we ARE brother and sister. Crazy, huh? Which one's older?.....He is. Yeah, by four years. Just barely, though. Our mom didn't even know I'd be coming along later. She was in labor for a full 36 hours.....combined.....with the both of us. I was 7 lbs, 9oz and he was 8lbs, 5oz. Nope, we didn't look a thing alike when we were born. We were so stinkin adorable, though. People would always comment on our outfits. No, we didn't wear matching clothes. My first word was vegetable, his was dog. Funniest thing...he hated me from the get-go. Yeah, it was hilarious. I'm the narcicist, he's the pathological liar. We're both alcoholics, though. He IS taller than me, yeah. Crazy stuff."
Point being....who would give a rat's ass? No one! Being a twin doesn't change that!
Speaking of twins, I read today that Jon Lovitz is a twin. How disturbing is it to know that there's more than one of him out there?
It would be like my brother and I entering a room together and making a big deal out of our siblinghood.
"Yes, we ARE brother and sister. Crazy, huh? Which one's older?.....He is. Yeah, by four years. Just barely, though. Our mom didn't even know I'd be coming along later. She was in labor for a full 36 hours.....combined.....with the both of us. I was 7 lbs, 9oz and he was 8lbs, 5oz. Nope, we didn't look a thing alike when we were born. We were so stinkin adorable, though. People would always comment on our outfits. No, we didn't wear matching clothes. My first word was vegetable, his was dog. Funniest thing...he hated me from the get-go. Yeah, it was hilarious. I'm the narcicist, he's the pathological liar. We're both alcoholics, though. He IS taller than me, yeah. Crazy stuff."
Point being....who would give a rat's ass? No one! Being a twin doesn't change that!
Speaking of twins, I read today that Jon Lovitz is a twin. How disturbing is it to know that there's more than one of him out there?
Thursday, February 03, 2005
An Eye for an Eye
I got home late on Monday night. I was very cold, very tired, and very much not in the mood to put up with the hijinks of my cat. Bridget (my cat) is a relentless pain in the backside most of the time. She normally listens for the "toot-toot" of my car lock when I get home, then waits by the door for the 45 seconds it takes me to walk up the stairs. I'll pat her on the head. Pick her up if my hands aren't full. Ask her how her day was; blah, blah, blah. As soon as I busy myself with something that doesn't directly involve her (which usually takes about 2 minutes), she begins her routine of tearing through the apartment in efforts to gain attention. This rampage can last anywhere from 30 minutes to 6 hours, depending on how much she slept that day.
She had been extra hyper since I walked in that night, and despite my various methods of kitty discipline, her obstinance was increasing. The last straw was when she used my leg as a ladder. As I lay wounded and bloody, I fantasized about mashing my lit cigarette on her forehead (lucky for her, I don't smoke.). Instead, I irascibly vowed to ignore her for the rest of the night. Elise was staying with me that night, and we were delaying sleep by talking....about boys and makeup, no doubt (that's all girls talk about, you know) . I was doing well with my promise not to notice Bridget....I ALWAYS keep my promises....when Elise heard a peculiar sound. I thought it was the muffled cooing of pigeons outside my window. It's one of those constant sounds you learn to tune out. But, no; it was Bridget snoring. She was curled up all upside-down and crooked-like on the end of my bed. I was totally elated by the cuteness of it all and I, too, curled up at the end of the bed so I could listen more intently. How dare she make a fool of me!! I will not have my authoritative anger mocked by adorable manipulation! I'll get my revenge.....you wait and see.
She had been extra hyper since I walked in that night, and despite my various methods of kitty discipline, her obstinance was increasing. The last straw was when she used my leg as a ladder. As I lay wounded and bloody, I fantasized about mashing my lit cigarette on her forehead (lucky for her, I don't smoke.). Instead, I irascibly vowed to ignore her for the rest of the night. Elise was staying with me that night, and we were delaying sleep by talking....about boys and makeup, no doubt (that's all girls talk about, you know) . I was doing well with my promise not to notice Bridget....I ALWAYS keep my promises....when Elise heard a peculiar sound. I thought it was the muffled cooing of pigeons outside my window. It's one of those constant sounds you learn to tune out. But, no; it was Bridget snoring. She was curled up all upside-down and crooked-like on the end of my bed. I was totally elated by the cuteness of it all and I, too, curled up at the end of the bed so I could listen more intently. How dare she make a fool of me!! I will not have my authoritative anger mocked by adorable manipulation! I'll get my revenge.....you wait and see.
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Mama was right....
After getting a new hair-do and looking into the mirror many, many, many times....I've accepted what my mother always used to tell me. I really AM the prettiest girl in the class.
And the smartest.
And the funniest.
And the smartest.
And the funniest.
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Twixter-Ish
January's edition of Time magazine features an article announcing a new label for 18 to 29 year olds. The "Twixter" generation is one that social scientists are saying is caught between adolescence and adulthood. Job-jumping, extended educational bouts, non-commital living patterns, and deferrment of marriage are all symptoms of this phenomenon. The idea is that young adults aren't actually entering into adulthood as quickly or efficiently as in past generations. We seem to be more analytical of ourselves and of our options in life; not willing to "settle down" just because we're supposed to; determined to find meaning and purpose.
Most of the experts involved with the topic agree that we aren't lazy; aren't slackers. Where the debate comes in is "Why, then?".
Sociologists say we're just "reaping the fruit of decades of affluence and social liberation". We are in a life stage where we can afford to be non-commital and irresponsible. We can try things out....jobs, cities, relationships, etc., and not be afraid of failure because we're young and the consequences (theororetically) will smooth themselves over in the future. According to the article, historians hypothesize this isnt a fad....the "cultural machinary" that has always prompted the transistion from adolescence to adulthood has crumbled, and our society no longer provides us with the means of becoming decisively and financially independent.
You'll have to read the article yourself for all the details. Many specific reasons for all of these changes are mentioned. Interesting....especially the part about how our generation is financially dependent on our parents more than ever. Statistically, on average, we all attain more than $2,ooo from our parents each year. Really? Must be nice, kids. I suppose about 1/3 of my friends would fall into this category, and I think only half of the third doesn't take it for granted. In the end, we're all still in debt and living humbly, though. So I guess it doesn't make that big of a difference.
Anway, after reading the headline page of this article, I said..."Well, heck-fire. I'm a twixter." (yep. those were my exact words. I thought it sounded cool.) I, like so many other people I know, I have had an assortment of jobs since walking across the stage and taking my degree. They have spanned a range from Great to " he's-a-really-bad-kisser-slip-in-dog-crap-Oh, damn!-I'm-out-of-tampons" awful. This has been the case for a variety of reasons. I've had a coupla unfortunate incidents that have fed the desire or necessity to leave (which has also led to some intermittent positions). I'm still not 100% sure that I know what my CAREER should be. I've wanted to live in different places....again, for a variety of reasons. And, quite honestly, I haven't been able to land my ideal job (not one that could pay the bills, anyway).
The fact that I'm still not headed down a specific career path is something that bothers me considerably. I'm not proud of it. I'm frustrated by it. But I don't think that it makes me flaky or irresponsible. I've always done what I've needed to do to provide for myself, and I've learned alot in the process. I know what I DON'T want to spend my life doing. Besides, I fervently believe that I'm put in every location, every situation for a reason. I'm not just floating aimlessly and landing where my balloon happens to pop.
The overall mindset I've had....regardless of what life aspect is the case in point......is that I don't want to settle for mediocrity. But I don't think I'm any different than the rest of you in that respect. I'm not special in my quest. We just all go about it in our own ways. Admittedly, I guess I have a slightly romanticized image of what's out there for me. I want to use my intrests and gifts to their fullest, to experience as much as life can possibly throw my way, and to do as much of it as possible with my soul mate (if I have one....if there is such a thing....that would be another blog entry completely). So, yes....I fit into the Twixter label. Make me a name tag.
Despite all of my desires for fulfilling my purpose, I realize there has to be a balance. There's always the danger of never finding contentedness. In fact, I think that's one of the most significant faults in our society. Wanting more and better ALL the time can rob us of a pleathora of life's joys. Things can and will never be perfect. No job, no habitat, and no human relationship will ever be faultless. We have to condition ourselves to be well adjusted and productive and happy in every stage. One of the biggest challenges in life, I think, is living in the present while, at the same time, still striving to acheive goals. If anyone has it all figured out, please post a comment and do us all a favor.
So, what does this all mean? Who knows? I'm not any clearer than I was before I wrote this. But it feels good to say it, doesn't it? DOESN'T IT ?? Hell, yeah!
Most of the experts involved with the topic agree that we aren't lazy; aren't slackers. Where the debate comes in is "Why, then?".
Sociologists say we're just "reaping the fruit of decades of affluence and social liberation". We are in a life stage where we can afford to be non-commital and irresponsible. We can try things out....jobs, cities, relationships, etc., and not be afraid of failure because we're young and the consequences (theororetically) will smooth themselves over in the future. According to the article, historians hypothesize this isnt a fad....the "cultural machinary" that has always prompted the transistion from adolescence to adulthood has crumbled, and our society no longer provides us with the means of becoming decisively and financially independent.
You'll have to read the article yourself for all the details. Many specific reasons for all of these changes are mentioned. Interesting....especially the part about how our generation is financially dependent on our parents more than ever. Statistically, on average, we all attain more than $2,ooo from our parents each year. Really? Must be nice, kids. I suppose about 1/3 of my friends would fall into this category, and I think only half of the third doesn't take it for granted. In the end, we're all still in debt and living humbly, though. So I guess it doesn't make that big of a difference.
Anway, after reading the headline page of this article, I said..."Well, heck-fire. I'm a twixter." (yep. those were my exact words. I thought it sounded cool.) I, like so many other people I know, I have had an assortment of jobs since walking across the stage and taking my degree. They have spanned a range from Great to " he's-a-really-bad-kisser-slip-in-dog-crap-Oh, damn!-I'm-out-of-tampons" awful. This has been the case for a variety of reasons. I've had a coupla unfortunate incidents that have fed the desire or necessity to leave (which has also led to some intermittent positions). I'm still not 100% sure that I know what my CAREER should be. I've wanted to live in different places....again, for a variety of reasons. And, quite honestly, I haven't been able to land my ideal job (not one that could pay the bills, anyway).
The fact that I'm still not headed down a specific career path is something that bothers me considerably. I'm not proud of it. I'm frustrated by it. But I don't think that it makes me flaky or irresponsible. I've always done what I've needed to do to provide for myself, and I've learned alot in the process. I know what I DON'T want to spend my life doing. Besides, I fervently believe that I'm put in every location, every situation for a reason. I'm not just floating aimlessly and landing where my balloon happens to pop.
The overall mindset I've had....regardless of what life aspect is the case in point......is that I don't want to settle for mediocrity. But I don't think I'm any different than the rest of you in that respect. I'm not special in my quest. We just all go about it in our own ways. Admittedly, I guess I have a slightly romanticized image of what's out there for me. I want to use my intrests and gifts to their fullest, to experience as much as life can possibly throw my way, and to do as much of it as possible with my soul mate (if I have one....if there is such a thing....that would be another blog entry completely). So, yes....I fit into the Twixter label. Make me a name tag.
Despite all of my desires for fulfilling my purpose, I realize there has to be a balance. There's always the danger of never finding contentedness. In fact, I think that's one of the most significant faults in our society. Wanting more and better ALL the time can rob us of a pleathora of life's joys. Things can and will never be perfect. No job, no habitat, and no human relationship will ever be faultless. We have to condition ourselves to be well adjusted and productive and happy in every stage. One of the biggest challenges in life, I think, is living in the present while, at the same time, still striving to acheive goals. If anyone has it all figured out, please post a comment and do us all a favor.
So, what does this all mean? Who knows? I'm not any clearer than I was before I wrote this. But it feels good to say it, doesn't it? DOESN'T IT ?? Hell, yeah!
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