Monday. 6.4.12 10:45 pm
The three of us are sitting in a bedroom.
"Let's see who can go the longest without laughing," he suggested.
He and I kind of concentrated on one another, when all the sudden he looked up at our straight-faced companion. He looked so serious that we both burst into laughter immediately.
Then we tried looking just at each other, but we both thought of the straight face at the same time and started laughing again.
And these are the people with whom I spend 10+ hours per day.
I hug them, lean on them, lay around with them, and occasionally playfully punch someone, like I would with my closest friends. It's been a week since we started getting to know one another in-depth.
I'm not really sure what I've been doing lately. It's been filled with free food, training, and dates (including a recent and memorable night with two separate dates, PLAYAAAAAAAA (neither was so much as kissed)).
Oh, and a beautiful town. We all have one thing in common, and that's the love of this school and the surrounding city.
They meant it when they said it would be the best summer ever.
"What do you want?" I pressed, mentally. I was sitting beside my date at an outdoor concert, wondering why I couldn't just like him. I want to!
"A repressed maniac," I responded, shruggingly.
This is the most concise, accurate statement I've heard in quite some time, and if you look at the most passionate and lasting romances in my life, that will be the common thread.
I disgust me.
But at least I know that I have a type, and that the type sucks. Maybe this will cause me to pursue a different type of male in the future, since the past romances with this type have been destroyed by a stubbornness and lack of willingness to commit that, frankly, rivals my [typical] own (although I do set that down for the right person).
Or perhaps I'll continue to make the same mistakes, because I don't think easy relationships are the best. Things were only ever difficult because there was an abundance of passion. I would say that there's hardly a better reason for that ship to sink.
It creates good memories and makes me a different person for having gone through it. yourcupoftea mentioned that you don't have to let the bad parts change you for the worst--that you're entering a new situation, every time you have a new relationship, and that there's no reason to bring new bad behaviors in, just because someone didn't treat you well, in the past.
I don't know how true that is, because I think some things deep within ourselves are irreparable, but it's sort of like how hundreds of people can ask the same question, but none of them know anyone else asked; you can't be mad at the 101st person any more than you can be mad at the first. You can't punish the next person for the mistakes of the previous.
"Not yet," I said, making full eye contact to make sure that it was an "understood No." My first date of the night had come back around the corner in an attempt to kiss me, and I very smoothly smushed my left index finger over his lips before he could lean in.
"Froze" would be a good past-tense verb to use; he froze, eyes wide open, stunned by my quick reflexes and obvious dislike for his actions.
He took it well, considering, but I could tell he was shaken by my blatant rejection. He said he got it, he had to work for it, and left.
Had he been the right person, in the right situation, with the right attitude, he would have been made in the shade. No degree on wining and dining will make me want to kiss you if you aren't the guy for me. There is no way to work for it. If you're awesome, you're awesome, and if you're not, you don't get kissed.
Whenever a guy says he has to work for it, I don't give him that next date. Saying you have to work for a kiss is essentially saying that you have to win me. And you know what you win? Objects. Inanimate-freaking-objects. I am a human. I'm not looking for love, but I am single and actively mingling, so obviously I'm open to the idea of finding love and checking out my options as they become apparent. I am not looking to be taken out to dinner and such in exchange for physical affection. That is one middle man away from accepting money, and you know who does that? An escort. Go buy an escort dinner. Don't call me.
So that's where we are, and that's what I came here to say.
also cheetos taste good. ranty mcrant returns
Monday. 5.28.12 12:40 am
The first impact was a tree root, and it made an audible crunch. I felt pain shoot up my entire leg, and yelped a little.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah...that one actually hurt. My toe feels weird. ...It's okay."
He looked at me for a second longer, his eyebrows pushed together. I gave him an encouraging smile and we kept on the trail. We were on mile fifteen of our hike, and, up until that point, I'd been feeling pretty strong and able to finish the hike.
Now I was shaking a little.
The second impact came from a rather large rock, about a mile or a mile and a half later, and my eyes teared up. We were less than five hundred feet from the car, so I pushed forward and insisted everything was fine, that, "Worst case, it's broken."
...Worst case happened. I got the shoe off, in the shower room, and grabbed the toe to wiggle it, ignoring the pain for a second to inspect its stability.
It crunched uselessly.
(Author's Note: I can hear myself saying this in my head because it is exactly how I react to bodily harm.)
Standing on one foot, I checked myself for ticks (none, what the heck) and showered. Then I rinsed out my Camelbak's reservoir, hung it up to dry, and went to sleep because my whole body was confused by this sudden introduction of intense pain.
I woke up still crunchy.
Now it's all buddied up with its neighbor, happily difficult to move. I should be in more pain but I'm freaking Batman so WHERE'S RACHEL you stupid broken toe you don't hurt me NYAH.
NOW FOR A SHORT DISCUSSION ON FEAR, which is one of the topics that truly infuriates me.
Buying stuff will not make you interesting or lovable. Stop being afraid of being alone and not fitting in. Everyone feels alone, at some point, everyone is single, at some point, and you don't need to be afraid of people not thinking you're their type of person, because, frankly, people will hate you more if you pretend to love something than they will if you hate something upfront (plus everyone can tell when you aren't passionate about something and it's really annoying to watch someone lie).
You DO NOT need videogames to make friends with gamers, just like you don't need to have to drink just to get along with drinkers. People either respect your conviction to yourself and your interests, and will find common ground, or they won't like you, and you'll know one more person with whom you would never want to hang out, BECAUSE GUESS WHAT, THAT PERSON IS A JERK.
I'm so sick of seeing people trapped within that need to do everything and be everything in hopes to increase the possibility of finding a mate/more friends/more acceptance. It infuriates me that society has us thinking we have to consume, and hide, and fill ourselves up with things we don't care about, in order to get along in this world.
I freaking love the outdoors and I cannot stand going to amusement parks. Roller coasters could cease to exist tomorrow and I would not bat an eye. I also don't like golf or watching football. Or futbol. I like basketball. I don't usually play video games, nor do I like drinking. My favorite drink is NOT water, screw health, I LIKE CRANBERRY JUICE. AND PASTRIES. I freakin' love pastries.
So let's see, I guess everyone who loves roller coasters, most major sports, video games, drinking, and/or healthy eating is OUT OF MY LIFE.
...Welp it appears I made my point without meaning to, because I've dated someone in every category I just listed and we got on fine.
So in conclusion, crunchy toes, and society can suck it, because I am not afraid of ending up alone.
CRUNCHY TOES BECAUSE I AM NOT AFRAID OF BEING ALONE.
PS: Out of nowhere, I started watching Star Trek, and it's actually winning, in my books, over most modern television shows. It's especially awesome, after watching the one Star Trek movie (2009), because you can see how they filled in certain uncertainties like the double pilot, not to mention all the homage paid to the original series. That's something I've noticed about the "nerd community" as a whole; every movie based on a graphic novel, comic book, or sci-fi show that I've seen has slipped in a few tiny pieces of history from the origin.
PPS: I was surprised about the lack of ticks because the person with whom I was hiking racked up about fifteen. If you mind ticks, though, you won't like hiking. Fact of life.
PPPS: Can someone please bring me Crunchy Cheetos? Saying the word "crunchy" a bunch gave me a craving for those and Crunch Berries.
Why Tyra Banks Needs to Google Asperger's Syndrome
Thursday. 5.24.12 3:53 pm
Try not to judge me when I say that I AM DEFINITELY WATCHING AMERICA'S NEXT TOP MODEL RIGHT NOW OKAY.
I have a point to make!
There's one girl in...which season is this (I don't know self)...okay whatever there have been several girls like this throughout the seasons, anyway. There's a girl named Heather. She apparently has Asperger's Syndrome and a cocktail of mental disorders that, in part, come along for the ride. So Tyra Banks, during judging for a commercial shoot, mentions that they did read her the lines because of her Asperger's.
She proceeds to call it an advantage.
From my viewpoint, which is that of someone who has (very minimal, but still active) help from the school for a mental disorder, this girl is constantly living her life at a DISadvantage. It amazes me that, especially in the United States where we seem to be especially open about therapy and mental health (considering that the AMA writes the DSM manuals), some people still think that all extra help is putting someone at an advantage. I may need a separate testing area, but that's because it is impossible for me to concentrate on a test if someone is even chewing gum, and that alone can push me into a serious anxiety attack. If everyone had that problem, I am most certain that we would have a different testing environment altogether, because no educator in his right mind would make students test under those circumstances.
The point of disability programs are to even out the playing field. Of course there are students who take advantage of the program, just like there are students that take advantage of medications (Ritalin, hello?). The new DSM-5 is supposed to really restrict the number of diagnoses for any given disorder by increasing the minimum number of symptoms any given person must meet to receive affirmation and treatment, which will make a big difference, there. (By the way, this freaks me out because I'm very high functioning, but it will help with this ADHD madness.)
Disability programs identify what the student needs to even out the playing field with every other regular student, whether the disabled student ends up not studying too terribly well and makes a D, or the student works hard and makes straight As. The point isn't to turn them into dependent, lazy people. The point is to get them through school, so they can go into the workforce with a great resume, just like anyone else. Once you're in the workforce, it's up to you to figure out how to accommodate your own disorders...but it will be okay, because getting help in the peak years typically helps you figure out what you need, and what you need to avoid.
I'm in support of getting help when you need it. People who make others feel ashamed about it need to put some of that energy into educating themselves about 1) the mental disorder itself, and 2) the disability service.
So, essentially, Tyra Banks can take her false sense of understanding when it comes to mental health and "special treatment" and shove it.
Sunday. 5.20.12 1:24 pm
My perfectly healthy, nine-year-old dog died, while I was in Florida volunteering. I felt her go when I was standing beside the 19A soccer field, and wasn't surprised, later, when my dad texted, telling me to call my mum. I got home that night and she tried to let me get settled in and go to the bathroom first, like any mother should. I turned around and asked her what was wrong.
"Then where's Sophie, Mum."
And then she burst into tears and told me she was sorry, that she had to put her down. The suspected cause was rat poison. Her blood wouldn't coagulate enough to give her spleen surgery, and so they just gave her the injection. She would have died soon, anyway, but not soon enough, and in a lot of pain.
I've been crying since I found out, last night. I've been this upset only one other time in my life, and I had to surround myself with friends just to get myself to eat, for weeks after the fact.
Mum can have some, but I want most of her ashes. I know it's kind of weird. But she was my Adventure Dog. She always came with me.
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