One Thing I'll Never Understand...

Why the hell is it so easy to blog, and yet so difficult to do things I'm supposed to do? I told myself today that I was going to finish two essays before I went to bed. And what did I do instead?

I got hungry and went to find some food, only to realize that I don't know what I'm allowed to eat and what's off-limits until the feasting tomorrow. I settled on a bag of microwavable popcorn, which I didn't even want after I popped it.

I went on Facebook for a while, and started playing SimSocial. It's addicting, and such a guilty pleasure of mine. I'm almost embarrassed to admit I play it, but it's awesome, so whatever.

I went on Twitter and read all the tweets I've been missing for the past few hours. Not as fulfilling as one might think.

I went on YouTube and wasted some time there. See a pattern here?

I texted my boyfriend. Which isn't really that incredibly distracting by itself, but it's something that I also did instead of writing essays.

I watched tonight's episode of Modern Family, which I missed.

I played Auld Lang Syne, which is a Solitaire game. I played it a few times, bringing my stats up to 240 wins, 0 losses.

I calculated the time until I was on my way to Target for Black Friday shopping. In case you were wondering, I'll be spending money 26 hours from now.

I looked at my essays. And promptly decided to go to sleep.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!

If I Was Married To Technology...

We'd be getting a divorce. For the past twenty four hours, I've been fighting with the interweb and my computer.

My original goal:  to record and post videos of myself and two other dance captains from my show choir dancing, so the rest of the choir could practice along.

What it turned into:

Sunday afternoon:

4:30-we all get there and figure a way to prop my computer up so that the webcam can record videos.

4:50- we come to the realization that playing the music off the computer leads to horrible feedback and such. We search for a way to plug the computer into the tv.

5:10- after figuring out that it wasn't possible, we begin a search for a blank CD to burn the song onto, to play out of the tv.

5:15- CD burned, we start going over the dance.

5:30- we begin recording videos.

5:40- we discover that all the videos recorded so far cannot be audible since the surround sound on the tv was turned up so high.

5:45- we restart recording videos.

6:30- we finish recording videos. Net footage time? 13:50.

6:50- after dinner, they leave.

Later that night:

9:30- I begin uploading the videos to the facebook group I created earlier that day. Due to copyright infringement issues, we have to jump through all sorts of hoops to make these videos private.

9:50- I finish the upload.

9:52- I discover that, for some godforsaken reason, none of the videos play.

10:00- after rebooting several times, I wage WWIII on my computer

10:30- I call a ceasefire and work on a paper I have due the next day.

10:45- my internet goes out because my mom's on the home phone too close to the router.

10:50- restart the router and my computer, I'm good to go.

11:30- I finish my paper and hit print, to pick it up in the morning.

Monday morning:

6:45- I go downstairs to discover my paper has not printed.

6:55- after attempting to print three times, I e-mail the paper to myself and print it downstairs, after shutting down my computer.

Monday afternoon:

5:45- I get home from school and turn on my laptop.

5:55- I finish YouTube registration and the like.

6:10- I finish uploading the videos to YouTube as unlisted videos, and make a playlist of them.

6:15- I finish making the videos all safe and stuff.

6:18- going downstairs in pursuit of a piece of cheesecake, I find three copies of the paper I tried to print that morning strewn on the floor in front of the printer.

6:30- I try to upload an audio file for the dance to YouTube, only to be told I need Windows Movie Maker to convert the file.

Later that evening:

11:00- I decide to get Movie Maker and attempt this thing.

11:15- it stops downloading.

11:25- I figure out how to get a slideshow, set the music to a picture, and save it.

11:26- I'm informed by YouTube that instead of a .wlpb or something, it needs to be a .wmv or something.

11:33- I follow instructions, only to be told it'll take half an hour to save in the new format.

11:34- I shut down my computer for the evening.

I hate technology, and it hates me back. Clearly.

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Sex

So this is what happened to me today. Regarding my sex life.

I was at rehearsal for the show I'm currently in, and one of the cast members happens to be my best friend. Another one of the cast members is the biggest tool you will probably ever meet in your life. An attractive tool, I'll give him that, but a tool nonetheless. So the two of them were engaged in conversation, when I was not around, and somehow, the subject of my gay ex-boyfriend came up. By the way, this was in eighth grade, and everyone thinks this particular gay guy is awesome, and they're jealous of me for dating him.

So the tool asks my friend if I lost my virginity to him, to which she responded with a resounding "no."
He asks if I've lost it at all, and she refuses to answer. He asks again, and she admits, to him, that I'm a virgin.

Strange yet? Not even.

He then says to her "really? She acts like she has."

How does one act like they've lost their virginity? By the way, this guy isn't the first that's been surprised that I'm still holding onto my V-card, if you will. But what about me makes guys think that I've had sex? I don't  know.

Later into rehearsal, my friend decides to try and unhook my bra with her teeth. Don't even ask. On second thought, I'm starting to see why rumors of my promiscuity have been greatly exaggerated, to quote "Easy A."

Later on in rehearsal, she made a comment, sarcastically, that "SOMEONE has to take it!" again, referring to my virgin status.

What the hell?

She didn't understand that I took offense to that. As I believe I rightfully should have! This isn't the first time I've been made fun of, by her, for being a virgin. Oh, and which one of us was it that had a pregnancy scare? Right. Sure as hell wasn't me, was it? And who lost it to their boyfriend after saying that she'd marry him, only to break up two months later? Oops, fresh wound. Too far. Whatever, she isn't reading this.

Anyways, it's my business, more than anything. I shouldn't have to notify the world when I'm no longer a virgin. And what's more, the world shouldn't care. The fact that I'm a virgin isn't weird, it doesn't make me any less of a fun person. It just means that I have enough respect for myself and for those in my life that I know that it hasn't been the right choice for me yet. It's saved me from a lot of trouble, and honestly, it's my choice. My decision. Call me crazy, but I thought that what you do (or don't do) in bed with other people should stay between those two people. Lastly, it isn't something that I should have to validate.

Which is exactly what I just did.

I'm So Blessed...

I just got back from an eye-opening weekend, to say the least. It was great to reconnect with my church family and get closer to God. But one of the major realizations I had this weekend was the knowledge that I'm blessed with so much in my life.

I have an incredible base of friends. I know that they're there for me regardless of anything, and they're incredibly good people. We always have great times together, and I know that they always have my back. They're such an amazing influence in my life, and they've all impacted me in one way or another. Some have credited me with saving them from various mistakes. Others have saved me from making mistakes. In general, they've kept me out of a ton of trouble, and I couldn't ask for better people to be surrounded by.

I have an amazingly supportive family. They've always had my back with whatever endeavor I decide to engage myself with. They genuinely want me to succeed, and have every intention of helping me to do so. I couldn't thank them enough.

All of the adults in my life are incredibly supportive. I've gotten the chance to know many amazing people in my life, and many of these adults have claimed to be as impacted by me as I am of them. I truly love engaging in conversation with people that have different backgrounds than I, and I've never been turned down for an opportunity to do so because I was "too young." Additionally, there has been an incredible amount of support from adults that I trust, and they've helped me sort through my thoughts when I couldn't do so myself. I owe so much to them.

Last but not least, I have an incredible boyfriend. He always has the capacity to turn my day around, and he's taught me so much about the world and about myself. I hope he knows that.

On the flip side of all of that, I've had to deal with a lot of pain in my life recently. However, I know, as should you, that no one is ever truly alone. There are places to seek help, people to talk to, and resources to use. There's always some sort of hope, some outlet, something to do.

There must be some sort of balance between the two. I mean, I just emerged from a sanctuary of peace and support and came crashing down into a spiral of pain. Not my own pain, but that of those I love, which in essence is my pain too. I'm still trying and fighting to find out where the two worlds meet. But for now, I'll do what I have control over, and count some of my blessings.

What is it about today...

 Two of my best friends texted me within the half hour saying things have gone to hell with their (ex)boyfriends.

One was coaxed into meeting with her ex, was told that everything was going to be different, that they'd take it slower, then (from her story) was tricked/talked into giving him head. She's in shambles, furious as all hell, and lashing out.

The other friend's boyfriend is being all uncommitted and unsure of where his life is going. She's not asking for definite answers, she's just sick of being shut out of the present based on the unknown factors in the future. She called me in tears. I was able to get her back on her feet, so to speak.

This brings into light a revelation that I had today. Regardless of anything that past friends/boyfriends/what have you  have done to me in the past, or how much hurt they've caused in my life, I would much rather see them happy than upset. I'd much rather see their lives together than apart. Because once you care for someone in any capacity, friendship or more, you care about their well being. I'm glad to see you're happy. Genuinely. Now you know not only that there's grass on the other side, but it's green as well.

This girl M, however, I would very much like to strangle. More on that one (probably) later!

37, 29, 40.5

My face arrived today.

No, seriously. I had a brief stint as a model and my mom ordered a picture of myself and, for all intents and purposes, my two sisters to put on her wall. Don't get me wrong, it's a gorgeous picture. I look beautiful. So do they. That photography studio has never taken a bad picture of me. I like the picture plenty, I just hate what it says about me.

I have never put too much thought into what I put on in the morning. I don't wake up an hour early for school to do my hair, like my sister, it's a rare day when I wear makeup, and most of the time, I'm just fine with the way that I look. I'm not the prettiest, most put together girl at school and I know that. I've been told that I draw looks as I walk down hallways, but I never see them. What I do see, however, is all the guys (and girls) flocking to girls who spend at least an hour getting ready in the morning. People like to be surrounded by pretty people, and pretty takes a lot of time. As soon as you put on a coat of mascara, it's a competition. A contest to see who can look the best, have the prettiest face, be the most put together. And so I actively remove myself from this unspoken battle. By not wearing makeup, I'm not trying to be pretty. I'm not trying to compete to be the prettiest. I'm not setting myself up to lose.

But what if by so vehemently opposing standards, I am setting myself up to lose? Everyone likes to look put together, and it makes me more confident when I know I look good. It's just that every time I bring a stick of eyeliner to my lid, mascara to my lashes, or powder to my cheek, it suddenly becomes a game. A literal mask. I know why girls wear makeup, and I don't pretend to not need that sometimes. But I deny myself the cop-out, and I don't know why. If I look pretty with my face, I feel that I need to dress pretty and do my hair pretty. That's so much expectation to live up to. Competing in society's beauty race is so hard. I don't pretend to think I'm ugly. I know I'm not. So I tell myself that I don't need things like makeup to make me feel good about how I look.

What if that's a lie? I sometimes think by holding myself to that standard, I put even more pressure on myself. Because I don't allow myself to have a "cute day," it's always a struggle. I turn on the TV and the first thing I notice about the girls there? Their legs. One of my insecurities. A part of me that I constantly compare to everyone that I meet. It's awful, and I'm fully aware of that. I try to stop doing so, but it's more of a natural reaction than anything else. Also, I've noticed a trend in girls that have gotten over eating disorders: they're all skinny. I know why people are anorexics and bulimics- because it works. The last time I was able to fit into size 4 jeans was after I didn't eat very much for two weeks straight due to my wisdom teeth being removed and getting some strange sickness afterwards. It's scary, but it's hard to argue with fifteen pounds.

Am I saying I'm going to stop eating? No, I love food way to much. I just don't know why I don't care more about what I look like. One thing I do know, however, is why this post is coming out tonight. My mom made a comment about me consuming cheesecake. Granted, it was two pieces of cheesecake, but I had had a bad day. I wanted to cope with something. Food is not a good coping mechanism, but it's one that I use. Which is pretty counterproductive when I become a critic about the way that I look. The sad part was that if I had known she'd be home before I would be able to eat one of the two pieces, making it look like I only got one piece all along, I wouldn't have had the second piece. She's my biggest critic about what I put in my mouth, and that translates to me being my biggest critic about the way that I look.

As with all other insecurities, there are some good days and some bad days. Some days, what I look like doesn't matter to me because of what I'm doing or who I'm with, if I'm having fun and such. However, there are days where I wish I had put on some makeup before I left the house, or wish that I had done my hair all fancy instead of just throwing it on top of my head. Some days, I want to look pretty. For activities, for people, it doesn't matter: I just need to feel beautiful.

Hearing I weighed more than all my female friends was a killer. And no, girls don't just go around talking about that! It was relevant for belaying in rock climbing. But that led to thoughts about how I could never pull off said skirt my friend was wearing, or a dress this girl wore to homecoming. I never look good enough for me.

You can say, over and over again, like I do, that body image doesn't affect you and that society has no impact on the way you view yourself. You would then be, as I am, a liar.

Most of the time I'm able to get over it, and allow myself to have fun and to do things without my weight or how I look in my jeans being the first thing that pops into my head. Sometimes, though, it's not enough.

Back to the picture (I promise this has a point). I look at that photo, and ones like it, and I feel so beautiful. I hear that others think my pictures are pretty, and I become so, so happy. But do I look like that on the street everyday? Should I? Do people passing me think I'm as pretty as I am in my pictures? The problem comes with the fact that in order to validate the way that I look to myself, I need to paint my face. That I only feel truly beautiful with makeup to hide behind. What the hell? That's not right, at all. How could I let society have this mysterious, powerful control over me?

Whenever my mom sees pictures of myself and my friends on a normal day, her comments will range from "That looks fun" to "When was this?" When looking at pictures of us on homecoming, say, or when we're all dolled up for the camera? "She's SO pretty!"

Stop. Stop this. Stop telling people that they're only pretty on their prettiest days, and stop implying that they need to paint themselves in order to feel beautiful. Compliment your female friends, ladies, because we all know that your best friend saying you look pretty is a lot more unbiased than your boyfriend saying you look pretty. Make peace with yourself in terms of the way that you look. It's something that I'm going to try to do.

I Knew Those Viagra Commercials Were Trouble....

So picture this. I'm babysitting a fourth grader. He's eleven, if you didn't want to do the math. We're watching the packers game and in a commercial break, a Viagra commercial comes on, as they so often do. Why during football games? To attract the demographic that believes they should still be able to have sex like they're younger than fourty.

Anyways, this commercial comes on. The eleven year old, after hearing the legal disclaimer, turns to me and says "how can your heart not be healthy enough for sex?" Now, Girl Scout babysitting class did NOT prepare me for this question to be asked, let me tell you that much. Trying to dance around the question, I said that sex raises your heart rate, like exercise does. Apparently, that wasn't a good enough answer. He said that sex, "like making out and stuff" isn't like exercise. While trying to find the appropriate response to that comment, he dropped the atomic bomb of questions about this entire situation:

"Do you know how babies are made? Like, with the boy's...thing and the girl's.....?"

I said yes, and dreaded what came after that. Rightfully so. The next thing that came out of his mouth? "That's so gross. Does the boy actually have to put his penis in the vagina?" I was too far past avoiding the topic all together, so I had to answer honestly.

The payoff was oh so sweet. In between exclaiming "that's GROSS!" over and over, he managed to ask some more questions and add some more comments:

"Do you HAVE to to get a baby?"

"You only have to do it once, right? Not once per baby?"

"How far does it have to go in?"

"Why can't you just spit in the girls mouth while making out and then get a baby? Why do you have to use your privates?"

"How far does it have to go in?"

"And the semen has to....ugh...."

"Well the girl just has to lie there like this (he assumed the doggy-style position, for some reason) so its easier for her. But the boy has to, like, use his thing...."

"That's so GROSS! Are you ever going to let a boy do that to you?"

"Its good you only have to do it once to get a baby."

"I guess you might get used to the grossness after a few times..."

Honestly, that would be payment enough for three and a half hours of babysitting (but I'm not going to complain when I get paid!). Also, I can't wait for this kid to be exposed to junior high and high school. Or porn. Or puberty.

Welcome to real life, bitches.

On a related note, I explained to my mom what Plan B was today. Evidently I'm the expert on things related to and including sex.

Irony is oh-so-sweet.

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