Perfection

I can't do anything perfectly.

When I paint rooms I get paint on the ceiling and baseboards, when I clean I always forget something, when I cook, it's never quite right, when I garden it's in the wrong place, when I sing it's always slightly off-key, when I write it's never exactly what I want to say, when I speak it's always meaner than I mean.

I tend to be touchy when it comes to criticism. I already know there's something off with everything I do, therefore I feel no need to be reminded of it. I shut down pretty quickly when that happens.

Now, if you want to get all psychological you could say that my belief that everything I do is wrong could be related to low self-esteem or self-hate.

I say that's bullshit. There's nothing really wrong with how I do things, I only said there's something not quite right.

I think it's a pretty common feeling. Everyone thinks that their meatloaf, chicken noodle soup (insert homestyle recipe here) isn't as good as their mohters, that their co-workers are smarter, their father is braver, their sisters are prettier, their brothers are stronger, that marriage is healthier, that design is more creative.

It's human nature to see your flaws more easily than those of others. My challenge to myself is to turn the flaws that I see into reminders of the things that I've done.

That small lavendar smear of paint in the corner of my bedroom ceiling - proof that I'm not afraid of color and don't need stupid blue tape to paint a wall.

Those white paint drips in the back of my kitchen cabinets - proof that I can sand, strip, and repaint my kitchen cabinets by myself in 3 months.

That rickety bedside table - proof I can put something together when the instructions don't come with it.

That really great spaghetti sauce recipe - proof that I don't need to cook better than anyone, I only need to cook things differently.

That stain in the back bedroom carpet - proof that the owner before me thought that white carpet was a great idea and who is, therefore, a couple crayons short of a 12 pack.

I'll never do anything perfectly, but I'll do it anyway.

Europe in May

I've been having a bit of techno-hatred lately, so excuse the extended absence. I'll jump right in to the story.

My sister Meg did a study abroad program in Swansea, Wales starting in January. My youngest sister Myme and I decided to visit her in May. Our trip started on the 15th.

Myme drove from her small college town to my house and then I drove us to my parent's house in St. Louis, where we would be flying from. Myme and I got to the farm around 1 in the morning. We gave hugs and went to bed.

At 4 am we woke up and headed to the STL airport. We checked in, went through security, and waited for our first flight to Chicago. The plane left right on time at 7 and it was only a 45 minute hop to Chicago. The first bit of the trip was pretty uneventful, except for the Jesus freak who sat next to me.

He wouldn't shut up and kept spouting offensive things and calling people morons. I was trying to watch RuPaul's Drag Race on my iPhone but then he decided to make offensive comments about drag queens, lesbians, and Ellen Degeneres. I immediately told him about my love of drag queens and how fabulous they are. He then told me about his pregnant wife who left him over an unpaid insurance bill. She's now in Phoenix with her parents. Her parents think they need counciling but he thinks that only she needs it because she's the one with the problem, not him. I turned up the volume on my ear phones.

Myme felt a little air sick on the flight, which I am sure was only added to by the fact that them man in the seat across and up from her had an oozing open wound on his head about the size of a silver dollar.

We finally arrive in O'Hare and headed straight for the next gate for our flight over. It was a short 14 gates down. We had about 30 minutes before our flight so we went to get some food and then I assigned Myme with luggage watch while I went off in search of Dramamine and Mountain Dew. Dramamine for Myme and Mountain Dew for Meg, who apparently had no access to the delicious see-through beverage in the UK.

We got on the next plane and the flight there was good, but long. Myme pretty much conked out right away thanks to the dramamine. I was left with 6 - 7 hours of travel and no conversation. About 3 hours in I was stir-crazy. The food on the airplane wasn't as terrible as I had imagined. Myme wok up about 2 hours before we landed and as we were descending Myme's ears wouldn't pop, so her nose started to bleed. It was fabulous.

What, no, I've been here the whole time.

I've been slacking/vacationing. I'm sure everyone missed me very much while I was away from Blog land. Well, I'm back with a slew of stories, I'll start with some of my travel notes. Hopefully not too boring.

See you soon!

On Making Friends

So I've talked about my awkwardness with the younger generations. Lets talk about my awkward with people my age.

There's a reason that I have so many experiences with creeps, geeks, and the deranged. I'm a little bit of all of the above.

Since moving three years ago to a new town and a new job I've made exactly zero friends. The friends I tried to make (all two of them) were either grumpy and old or fired from work. There's a light at the end of this tunnel though. A couple of weeks ago I met a new girl at work. We started talking, she was funny, smart and had a lower lip piercing - my kind of chick, in a totally hetero way (oh who am I kidding, we're all a little bit gay, just like we're all a little bit racist).

Anyway, stepping away from the potentially offensive (told you I was awkward), this girl and I were talking, lets call her Aubry, and I was getting super excited at the prospect of a new friend. At one point I actually blurted out, "ohmigosh! We could totally be besties!"

Yeah, I then had to work on recovery. I went on to say that I'm not as creepy and weird as I seem and I get better with time.

Hopefully she'll take me up on my offer to hang out once she gets moved up here. Although on thinking about it, I probably said something like, "once you move up here let me know where you live so I can sit outside your house and watch you through binoculars" instead of "we should catch a movie sometime."

Oh well, I've still got CG. I've managed to somehow hypnotize him into staying with me. Sometimes I wonder why he's managed to stick around, then I remember he's a little bit creepy, geeky, and deranged too. We're meant for each other in a totally creepy way.

Black Holes and How I Cause Them

I'm getting old. I think I've discussed this here before, as it terrifies me beyond belief. How is it possible to BE OLD at 25? I've managed it somehow. This, however, will not be a post about my fear of oldness (don't judge, it's t0tz a word). This will be a post about how I, as an old person, interact with young people.

I think I'm pretty awesome, pretty much all of the time. I may have a "fat day" or a "lazy slob day" on occasion, but self-esteem is not really a problem. I'm the coolest and most adorable friggin' fatty you'll ever meet and I know it. I'm also pretty sure that my family knows it too. I've got some really amazing young family members. Two younger sisters who are the epitome of awesome and several cousins so fabulous they're beyond description. My sisters and two of my male cousins I have a great relationship with, because I see them all the time.

The problem comes when I'm introduced to any of their friends/ boyfriends/ girlfriends/archenemies. I'm awkward. I make inappropriate comments. That's who I am. For some reason teenagers don't seem to like that. So far I have managed to keep the embarrassment that I inflict upon my younger family members to a minimum. There will come a time though when the epic-ness (don't judge that's also totally a word) of my brand of awkward will cause an embarrassment so large that a black hole will form out of the spontaneous combustion of my family member. This black hole will then suck so hard that it will pull everything in it's range into tiny atoms and particles then condense them into it's center. Creating a ball so dense and heavy that it enhances the gravitational pull of the black hole, thereby expanding it exponentially. Thus ending the world as we know it.

I'm unsure how to frame the blame on this particular event when it happens.

My youngest sister Myme is bringing a friend over to my house for the second Friday in a row. I managed to keep cool through the first visit, but this is just asking for trouble. If I inadvertently cause the end of the world, please excuse me, and blame Myme.

Flames . . . flames . . . on the side of my face

As a child I was hot headed. Very, very hot headed. The kind of child who snapped quickly and violently. I can remember times when the smallest thing would set me off and my vision would blur and I would literally see red. A few minutes or hours later I'd remember what had happened.

I'm pretty non-confrontational now, probably as a result of the above and the terrifying thought that I could have really hurt someone.

There are still a few active hot buttons though. Things that make me so angry I'm barely rational.

1. Being hurt physically. Whether by accident or on purpose the one thing guaranteed to bring my crazy out is pain. So, if I stub my toe or you poke me just a little too hard take a few steps back and stay quiet for a couple of minutes. No sudden movements.

2. My fabulous sister Meg. I love the child like crazy; she's my best friend, my confidant, and I'd trust her with anything. However, she can push my button's harder and faster than anyone else on this planet. We're too much alike.

3. People whispering. If you don't want me to hear it get the fuck away from me. It's rude, unprofessional, and stupid. I don't care about your "secrets," I just care that you're a rude moron.

4. Backstabbers. Don't smile and compliment me if you're going to trash me as soon as I leave the room. I don't care if you don't like me, not everyone will. Just don't make me think you're a friend.

5. Dinging my car door on those stupid concrete thingies next to the gas pump. I'm pretty sure they're put there to make getting gas the most unpleasant thing on this planet. It's already smelly with sub-par facilities, why not make it a driving/parking hazard as well.

6. Bono. I don't know if it's his stupid glasses, his ridiculous hair or his smarmy-prick attitude. It's probably all three.

7. The fact that my adorable, but loud and excitable 9 year old cousin can catch fish after fish while screaming into the water, running like a loon, throwing rocks into the pond and not using bait. While I can sit out there quietly for hours with the best lures and not catch a damn thing.

8. People looking over my shoulder while I'm on the computer. Don't. Do. It.

9. That weird aftertaste that Coke leaves. It's like a stale leprechaun farted gently into my mouth.

10. Bad table manners. I am not the neatest person out there, I know this. Now, I'm not talking about elbows on the table or not putting your napkin in your lap. I'm talking chewing with your mouth full, making out with your utensil to get every last bit of food off of it, or mixing all your food into a big pile and eating it with a fork in one hand and a serving spoon in the other. Unacceptable.

Random Thoughts 1

Heavy Breathers are the bane of existence, especially on a work conference call. I can almost feel them drooling on me. I always feel violated afterward.

People who give themselves "cool" middle names on Facebook make me want to stab them in the eye with a fork. Just because you want to be known as Kevin "Big Dick" Dalton does not mean that we'll call you anything other than your nickname from high school - aka: Kevin "Peed his pants during a football match" Dalton. You fail at cool. You fail at life.

Surviving the World - Spitting

True Story. Actual Fact.