I have decided to call the following a "blurg"—that's short for blurb-blog, a.k.a. this is going to be shorter than a pygmy leprechaun. Here goes...
Has someone you don't know well ever figured prominently in one of your dreams? This doesn't usually happen to me; my dreams are pretty normal (for the most part) and usually involve the people I spend the most time with, which typically means that I know them pretty well before I dream about them.
Well, this week it did happen and I had the most bizarre sensation after I woke up: I felt closer to this person. And not in a way that went away after a few hours. I still feel close to this person, I still feel like I understand them better, I still feel like they're someone I can depend on. It's the weirdest thing, because I don't remember anything about the dream at all, just the fact that they were in it. I'm only slightly worried that this will make me act weird around this person... who wants to be the person that gets known for acting-like-they-know-you-better-than-they-do? (I've only experienced this kind of person a few times, and I think they're weird. I don't want to be one.) But at the same time, it's almost like pretending that you don't know someone that you actually do know, you know? Anyways, this was supposed to be short. I quit.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Monday, April 23, 2012
Lousy Compliments and a Defense of Singledom
I really hope that what I'm about to say isn't offensive, especially to my married amigos, whose marital situation makes them the most likely party to be offended by what I'm about to say. But none of you are particularly thin-skinned, and I don't think what I'm going to say is going to be offensive at all ... I'm just throwing this out there: if you get offended, it's not my fault—I'm only speaking truth.
Today at church I was talking with one of the ladies in my parents' ward and she said to me, "Wow! You look so grown up!"
It felt like getting slapped in the face with a wet fish, having your cheeks pinched, and then getting handed a bubble wand and asked if you're lost from mommy and daddy.
I mean, I know she meant well. I'm completely aware of this, and honestly I really like her. But every bit of me wanted to just say, "Excuse me? I am older than your married daughter and your daughters-in-law. So I'm sorry that my singleness has me stuck at the kiddie table in your eyes, but that whole growing up thing? Yeah. Did that. I'm there. So, yes, I do indeed look 'grown up,' because I am, and you shouldn't think that saying that to me is a compliment, because it's not."
Am I making a mountain out of a molehill? No. I would be if I had actually said these things to her and made a scene, but I didn't, so I consider myself in the clear here. I'm just really irritated. I suppose I should take a step back and thank my lucky stars that I didn't get the same treatment as another young man my mom heard about. He was twenty-eight at the time of this particular event and he got called as the youth speaker in his ward while the twenty-three-ish married couple got the Real Speaker slots. I would have thrown a fit. Not because I want to give the twenty-minute talk, but because being single does not make me any less mature or less qualified to do anything I want to do than people who are married.
In fact, I'd like to note the fact that I'm significantly more mature than a lot of the married people I know. Especially some of the teen/freshman brides, good grief. Getting married at a young age is not a sign of maturity, particularly (I'm speaking generally here, so don't get your bristles up) in females. It just isn't. I don't know why people think that a relationship is an indicator of maturity. Older adults seem to understand this when we're in middle and high school—that leaping into relationships bears no indication of maturity at all, and is, in fact, more likely to indicate immaturity—but by the time you're half-past twenty-one, they seem to forget what was once more obvious than an inch-wide mole looming just south of someone's right eye.
The implication that I only look grown up is beyond irritating. Like, if I just look so grown up, but I'm obviously not actually grown up, why don't you hand me that tupperware of Fruit Loops, eh? Give me that blankie, and then let's head to the bathroom and you can change my diaper. Really, folks? That's nauseating. The more I write about it, the more irritated I get. Makes me want to punch something, like maybe a real baby. Then when I have to defend myself and they tell me I'm too old for such behavior, I can be like, "What? I thought I only looked grown up. My bad. From inside, I can't tell the difference between me and that baby. We're like the same."
Maybe I am being a baby and immature for writing this all. But I'm really annoyed. And many of you won't understand because you are married, and therefore don't get treated like an infant because of your marital status. Or maybe you do... I have no idea on how older adults infantilize young married adults, if they do so at all, because (as every #%*& person in my life is quick to point out) I'm Single as a Pringle, a Dollar Bill, a slice of American cheese, and so on and so forth. I'm not freaking married and I'm not really in a hurry to change that. I'm enjoying my life the way it is, and frankly, I've dated quite the number of people this year, and you know what? Didn't really fancy a one of them for long, if at all. If not liking them is my fault, well then tie me to the radiator and grape me right in the mouth for decades and decades (click HERE for a link to the video I'm referencing if you haven't seen it, so you don't think I'm a pervert) because I'm completely unrepentant in that department.
But seriously, I love my life. In a week and two days, I'm moving to London where I'll be living for three months. That would be significantly harder to do if I were married, and I'm excited to have this amazing experience and opportunity. I'm happy with who I am. I enjoy the freedom of being the only one I have to watch out for. And frankly, while I don't hate the idea of marriage, I still hate the label of being someone's "girlfriend" and how everyone and their dog gets emotionally invested in your relationship so that you feel pressure not just to make this one person happy, but their parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts and uncles, former roommates, AND that guy from their freshman year calculus class. I'm sorry, but that kind of pressure kills me. I know, because I've tried. Not tried and given up: tried repeatedly, and found that I don't want relationships (whether they've started or not) with any of the people who have tried to date me thus far.
Don't anyone dare call that immaturity—it's just a different brand of maturity. It's the kind that says, "I'm not ready for this, and so I'm not going to thrust myself into a relationship or make myself unhappy just to fold to societal pressures. I'm brave enough to say no to the things I don't want." I mean, they teach us how to say no to drugs because they aren't good for us. So, my apologies for recognizing that some things aren't good for me, that other things are better for me, and for having the gumption to stand my ground and do myself (and all parties involved) a solid by remaining unwed. My apologies for not being a big enough jerk that I bring someone else down by getting myself into something I'm not ready for. I'd twenty times rather be where I am, living the life I am living, than be where some people I know have landed themselves, even some of those who purport to be happy. My apologies for saying, "No."
That's not to say that it'll always be no. I hope to high heavens that it's not always no. Someday, it'll be yes. But it'll be on my (/the Lord's) timetable. It'll be when I'm ready. It'll be when Mr. Right (on Time) saunters into my life. And so far, none of those things have happened.
So you'll excuse me for taking offense at the claim that I "look so grown up." I'm a lot more grown up than you think, and remaining unmarried is just one evidence of that.
Today at church I was talking with one of the ladies in my parents' ward and she said to me, "Wow! You look so grown up!"
It felt like getting slapped in the face with a wet fish, having your cheeks pinched, and then getting handed a bubble wand and asked if you're lost from mommy and daddy.
I mean, I know she meant well. I'm completely aware of this, and honestly I really like her. But every bit of me wanted to just say, "Excuse me? I am older than your married daughter and your daughters-in-law. So I'm sorry that my singleness has me stuck at the kiddie table in your eyes, but that whole growing up thing? Yeah. Did that. I'm there. So, yes, I do indeed look 'grown up,' because I am, and you shouldn't think that saying that to me is a compliment, because it's not."
Am I making a mountain out of a molehill? No. I would be if I had actually said these things to her and made a scene, but I didn't, so I consider myself in the clear here. I'm just really irritated. I suppose I should take a step back and thank my lucky stars that I didn't get the same treatment as another young man my mom heard about. He was twenty-eight at the time of this particular event and he got called as the youth speaker in his ward while the twenty-three-ish married couple got the Real Speaker slots. I would have thrown a fit. Not because I want to give the twenty-minute talk, but because being single does not make me any less mature or less qualified to do anything I want to do than people who are married.
In fact, I'd like to note the fact that I'm significantly more mature than a lot of the married people I know. Especially some of the teen/freshman brides, good grief. Getting married at a young age is not a sign of maturity, particularly (I'm speaking generally here, so don't get your bristles up) in females. It just isn't. I don't know why people think that a relationship is an indicator of maturity. Older adults seem to understand this when we're in middle and high school—that leaping into relationships bears no indication of maturity at all, and is, in fact, more likely to indicate immaturity—but by the time you're half-past twenty-one, they seem to forget what was once more obvious than an inch-wide mole looming just south of someone's right eye.
The implication that I only look grown up is beyond irritating. Like, if I just look so grown up, but I'm obviously not actually grown up, why don't you hand me that tupperware of Fruit Loops, eh? Give me that blankie, and then let's head to the bathroom and you can change my diaper. Really, folks? That's nauseating. The more I write about it, the more irritated I get. Makes me want to punch something, like maybe a real baby. Then when I have to defend myself and they tell me I'm too old for such behavior, I can be like, "What? I thought I only looked grown up. My bad. From inside, I can't tell the difference between me and that baby. We're like the same."
Maybe I am being a baby and immature for writing this all. But I'm really annoyed. And many of you won't understand because you are married, and therefore don't get treated like an infant because of your marital status. Or maybe you do... I have no idea on how older adults infantilize young married adults, if they do so at all, because (as every #%*& person in my life is quick to point out) I'm Single as a Pringle, a Dollar Bill, a slice of American cheese, and so on and so forth. I'm not freaking married and I'm not really in a hurry to change that. I'm enjoying my life the way it is, and frankly, I've dated quite the number of people this year, and you know what? Didn't really fancy a one of them for long, if at all. If not liking them is my fault, well then tie me to the radiator and grape me right in the mouth for decades and decades (click HERE for a link to the video I'm referencing if you haven't seen it, so you don't think I'm a pervert) because I'm completely unrepentant in that department.
But seriously, I love my life. In a week and two days, I'm moving to London where I'll be living for three months. That would be significantly harder to do if I were married, and I'm excited to have this amazing experience and opportunity. I'm happy with who I am. I enjoy the freedom of being the only one I have to watch out for. And frankly, while I don't hate the idea of marriage, I still hate the label of being someone's "girlfriend" and how everyone and their dog gets emotionally invested in your relationship so that you feel pressure not just to make this one person happy, but their parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts and uncles, former roommates, AND that guy from their freshman year calculus class. I'm sorry, but that kind of pressure kills me. I know, because I've tried. Not tried and given up: tried repeatedly, and found that I don't want relationships (whether they've started or not) with any of the people who have tried to date me thus far.
Don't anyone dare call that immaturity—it's just a different brand of maturity. It's the kind that says, "I'm not ready for this, and so I'm not going to thrust myself into a relationship or make myself unhappy just to fold to societal pressures. I'm brave enough to say no to the things I don't want." I mean, they teach us how to say no to drugs because they aren't good for us. So, my apologies for recognizing that some things aren't good for me, that other things are better for me, and for having the gumption to stand my ground and do myself (and all parties involved) a solid by remaining unwed. My apologies for not being a big enough jerk that I bring someone else down by getting myself into something I'm not ready for. I'd twenty times rather be where I am, living the life I am living, than be where some people I know have landed themselves, even some of those who purport to be happy. My apologies for saying, "No."
That's not to say that it'll always be no. I hope to high heavens that it's not always no. Someday, it'll be yes. But it'll be on my (/the Lord's) timetable. It'll be when I'm ready. It'll be when Mr. Right (on Time) saunters into my life. And so far, none of those things have happened.
So you'll excuse me for taking offense at the claim that I "look so grown up." I'm a lot more grown up than you think, and remaining unmarried is just one evidence of that.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Making Life Hard
Oh, the things we do to make our own lives difficult.
You know what I'm talking about: eating food that's not good for you, procrastinating studying and paper writing, staying up late for no reason at all, getting hopes up over things that can't happen ... You know, taking your head and wedging it between a rock and a hard place, then buttering your face so it slides down even further into the crack and stays there.
Why do we do these things to ourselves? We glut ourselves on these things that give such fleeting satisfaction, and typically do more damage to us and our lives than they improve them. I mean, I'm sitting here with grandma's ugliest Alaskan sweaters on my teeth, I think I've burned the tastebuds off my tongue from sheer acidity, and my jaw is cramping from chewing. But will that stop me from putting more handfuls of Skittles in my mouth? As yet, the answer is a resounding NO. I'm not even enjoying them; in fact, they're contributing significantly to my non-enjoyment of this particular moment.
Maybe the punishment isn't strong enough, you say. Perhaps the stakes are not sufficiently high to produce the resilience necessary to combat the tempting flavors happening in my mouth. But I can tell you that, all too often, the stakes are high enough and the punishment is horrifying enough that it should produce proactive and preventative behaviors. I should be able to say, "No. Get away from my mouth. You're messing me up right now."
But not so much.
For your sake, I hope you are not like me. I hope that you have the kind of fortitude that keeps you from procrastinating all your studying, paper writing, and packing so that you can enjoy the last three days and nights of this period of your life. I hope that you can force yourself to go to bed when staying up late takes so much and gives so little to you. I hope that, when you're alone with a tempting bag of Skittles Blenders, you can reach down inside of you and access that well of strength that will make you put them out of your reach. And for heaven's sake, I hope that when fantasy knocks on your door in rather shoddy disguise and asks to stay for two and a half weeks, you have the gumption to demand an inspection of intentions.
I hope that you have the power to resist the things that make life so beautifully difficult. I hope you can look past the appeal on the surface——the having fun, the tasty sugar, the writing silly and metaphorical and cryptic and self-centered and patronizing blog posts in the wee hours of the morning, the illusion of happiness——and keep your life in control.
I hope you can tell the difference between what is just going to make life difficult... and what is worth it.
Because I sure as heck can't.
You know what I'm talking about: eating food that's not good for you, procrastinating studying and paper writing, staying up late for no reason at all, getting hopes up over things that can't happen ... You know, taking your head and wedging it between a rock and a hard place, then buttering your face so it slides down even further into the crack and stays there.
Why do we do these things to ourselves? We glut ourselves on these things that give such fleeting satisfaction, and typically do more damage to us and our lives than they improve them. I mean, I'm sitting here with grandma's ugliest Alaskan sweaters on my teeth, I think I've burned the tastebuds off my tongue from sheer acidity, and my jaw is cramping from chewing. But will that stop me from putting more handfuls of Skittles in my mouth? As yet, the answer is a resounding NO. I'm not even enjoying them; in fact, they're contributing significantly to my non-enjoyment of this particular moment.
Maybe the punishment isn't strong enough, you say. Perhaps the stakes are not sufficiently high to produce the resilience necessary to combat the tempting flavors happening in my mouth. But I can tell you that, all too often, the stakes are high enough and the punishment is horrifying enough that it should produce proactive and preventative behaviors. I should be able to say, "No. Get away from my mouth. You're messing me up right now."
But not so much.
For your sake, I hope you are not like me. I hope that you have the kind of fortitude that keeps you from procrastinating all your studying, paper writing, and packing so that you can enjoy the last three days and nights of this period of your life. I hope that you can force yourself to go to bed when staying up late takes so much and gives so little to you. I hope that, when you're alone with a tempting bag of Skittles Blenders, you can reach down inside of you and access that well of strength that will make you put them out of your reach. And for heaven's sake, I hope that when fantasy knocks on your door in rather shoddy disguise and asks to stay for two and a half weeks, you have the gumption to demand an inspection of intentions.
I hope that you have the power to resist the things that make life so beautifully difficult. I hope you can look past the appeal on the surface——the having fun, the tasty sugar, the writing silly and metaphorical and cryptic and self-centered and patronizing blog posts in the wee hours of the morning, the illusion of happiness——and keep your life in control.
I hope you can tell the difference between what is just going to make life difficult... and what is worth it.
Because I sure as heck can't.
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