Some Losers Have All The Luck

I got on Facebook this morning and noticed that a lot of the slackasses I’ve known over the years are living in awesome cities. So is this the rule?

Graduate college on time, get a job, pay bills, finance a car = you’re still stuck in Central Florida. Go to rehab, go to jail, take 7 years to get your bachelors degree (or not) = you’re updating your facebook with pictures of your good times in New York City.

Is it because they load up two duffel bags, hop on the Greyhound and hope for the best? Is that the way to get the hell out of the South? Should my husband and I sell all of our belongings and head to California? It would definitely weigh less.

Star-Crossed Scissoring

So, now that I’m married, I’m having a slight identity crisis. No big, but I feel like I’m playing dress up. That’s not my last name; it’s his. And when I look down on the new name on my drivers license, I feel like I’ve lost a part of myself and my identity. That’s all. Otherwise, being married is fantastic.

But now that we’re married and back from the honeymoon, we’re in limbo.

Limbo – n. (a) state of having piles of wedding gifts and vases in stacks around your tiny apartment in a city that you hate, and/or (b) state of being stuck in a job you hate making shit for money.

I spend most of my time job searching. I don’t necessarily want a new job – or a job at all – but I am in a desperate search for a ticket outta this dump. When we got back to Florida after the honeymoon out west, I felt like I was slapped in the face by a spatula of mayonnaise.

So now I’m thinking that everyone else moves. Why can’t we?

Yawn @White Satin

I know it’s natural for people to seek out ways to differentiate themselves from their peers. I’ve been doing it my whole life, and so have you. You have.

While people were smoking weed and loving Sublime, I was desperately trying to find an alternative to that lame-o lifestyle. I never jumped on the Dave Matthews fuckwagon, and not just because it was cooler not to.

Whether it was my desire to stand out from the rest or just a natural distaste for the mainstream, I seem to have developed tastes for the unattainable, the scarce, and the unpopular. And it’s really making life difficult.

What I have found out in the world that makes my soul sparkle seem to be short-lived. Guiding Light was cancelled. They took squeeze pops off the candy shelves. Pink Grapefruit candles were discontinued. Grocers stopped stocking Cheesy Hashbrowns.

Worst of all, it’s making the wedding planning process next to impossible. My heart is set on vintage pink skinny ties for the groomsmen. I really wanted letterpress invites on recycled paper, and not just because it’s greener to.

The invites were way too expensive. Matching vintage pink skinny ties are not easy to come by. Luckily, there are two sites that have made some of my dreams a reality: ebay.com and etsy.com. If it weren’t for those sites, I would have had to settle for bubbles, balloons and confetti.

Jimmy Dean: My Hero

260 calories, 8g fat, 29g carbs, 2g fiber, 18g protein

Another Gander At My Love Plans

Lines of My Time

1983 Early December. Conception.

1984 September 5. Birth. Flowood, Mississippi.

1985 Relocated to Albany, Georgia.

1989 Sneezed snot bubbles out of my nose in public.

1990 Kindergarten.

1991 Placement in gifted program.

1991 Made paper maché model of the solar system.

1993 Parents’ divorce.

1994 Relocated to Lakeland, Florida.

1995 First love. Johnny.

1995 First heard the term, “blow job.”

1996 Began middle school.

1996 Became a trendsetter.

1997 Visited NYC.

1998 Cheesy movie style gym confrontation.

1999 Virginity.

1999 Visited Seattle and Vancouver.

1999 Introduction to hard drugs.

2000 Rejection of said drugs.

2000 Sexuality confusion.

2000 First job.

2001 First car.

2001 Second car.

2001 Suspension of license.

2002 Parents moved to South Carolina.

2003 Graduation from high school.

2003 College!

2004 Regression.

2005 Visited Las Vegas.

2006 Lots of making out.

2007 Moved in with a boy.

2007 Graduation from college.

2008 Engaged.

2008 Learned what it is to hate working.

2009 Visited Chicago.

2009 Turned 25.

2009 To be married. To be continued.

Outlook

And I don’t mean the Microsoft program that crashes and drags your computer down to the ground!

Sometimes it’s cool to sit on the other side of the room. It gives you another perspective – shows you how another person views the world.

It’s also pretty rad to take time out do something nice for someone else. It makes my soul smile to give and receive pleasantries, favors, gifts, lessons and Taco Bell.

Speaking of gifts, I love receiving just as much as I love giving. This weekend, I’ll buy a wedding present and a birthday present. But I’ll receive birthday and bridal shower gifts. I’ll be as happy as a puppy with a belly full of ham.

Misery Business

Paramore? Yeah, what of it?

Downward spirals aren’t my strong suit, loves. I have spent most of my life happy by choice! Happy because I have great friends and a great family and a smokin’ hot body. Happy because I have good music to listen to and delicious food to eat. Happy because I looked at the bright side.

But, dude, let’s say you get a little fat and move away from your friends and family. You get a shitty job working for jerks who don’t care about you or their customers. You are constantly communicating with people through an inefficient project management system which is nothing more than an avenue for passive aggressive messages and reminders. You live in the ghetto.

The economy collapses and you look at the jerks at the top struggling to hang on to the money they’ve padded their pockets with. Redistribution of wealth? How about we call it the reemergence of the middle class?

You watch people whining about their right to carry a semi-automatic rifles to presidential events. You see people still voting against gay marriage – calling it a vote for families. You see people getting arrested for throwing slices of pizza. You see people walking into public places demanding a bathroom before they shit their pants. What’s wrong with people?

You receive your paycheck and realize that everything you’ve suffered through for the past two weeks barely pays for your bills, food, and cigarettes.

How am I supposed to continue to look on the bright side? I’m surrounded by rednecks! I’m broke because a few people were greedy – and because I’m employed by one of them. I’m tired of living in the cultural asshole of the world. I’m tired of being paid less than I’m worth. I’m tired of Paris Hilton telling me how to do graphic design.

I want a bright side again!

Objectify Your Face, Bro

I’ve been trying to get to the root of my disdain for hookers, strippers, attention whores, breast implantees, titty bar enthusiasts and the like, and I think I’ve finally figured it out. It should have been obvious, I’m sure. Here it is: sexual objectification.

“Sexual objectification is objectification of a person. It occurs when a person is seen as a sexual object when their sexual attributes and physical attractiveness are separated from the rest of their personality and existence as an individual, and reduced to instruments of pleasure for another person…Examples of phenomena seen by some feminists as objectifying women include depictions of women in advertising and media, images of women in pornography, as well as images in more mainstream media such as advertising and art, stripping and prostitution, men evaluating women sexually in public spaces, and cosmetic surgery, particularly breast enlargement.”

-Wikipedia

Yep, that grosses me out. It makes me want to puke that girls feel so bad about themselves that they’ll run out and risk surgery and skin cancer to make themselves more sexually appealing to the guys that made them feel that way in the first place. It’s disgusting watching sweaty old men shamelessly sizing up women a third of their age in bars geared to a man’s fantasy.

I’d rather be called beautiful than hot; I’d rather wear tasteful lingerie than leather and heels. I don’t want to be approached in a bar about how great my ass looks. I don’t buy into it. I don’t want a boob job; I’m tired of feeling like I need to be something I’m not to get someone’s dick hard. I’m not a fantasy; I’m a person.

A Peek At My Wedding Plans