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An Open Letter to My Future Mate

15 Mar

WHOA she’s so short

Some thoughts trampling through my head have become this note to my (potentially nonexistent) future mate:

I don’t like to share my feelings, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have them.

I don’t get angry, I get even. Passive aggression runs in my family.

If you’re going to ask me to do the dishes, ask verrryyy nicely. Otherwise I won’t clean out the mugs and you’ll get week-old oatmeal in your coffee.

I wasn’t kidding about the passive aggression.

I get defensive pretty easily. It’s something I’ve been working hard to get over.

Speaking of which, I am constantly trying to improve, so be honest with me.

I hate feeling like I’m the only one who doesn’t know something. Loop me in.

DSC00123If I think you’re an idiot, I’ll let you know.

I am organized, but I am not always neat.

I can’t cook. I’m not going to learn. You cook, or you don’t complain about the chicken nuggets and cereal.

It will take me an hour to get ready and you will deal.

I don’t like pants. Get used to it.

Don’t make fun of my music, and I won’t make fun of your Crocs (I feel like you’ll be one of those poor souls who think Crocs are the height of fashion.)

DSC00069Dress up once in a while.

Don’t touch my crap. It’s everywhere for a reason. I’ll put it away when I feel like it.

Don’t talk about politics. Ever. Avoid people who do like the plague.

Except Julianna. She’s a cool bean.

Don’t buy me flowers. Flowers are for weddings and funerals.

I will probably borrow your socks a lot. You, in turn, have full privileges to borrow mine.

Sometimes I will want to go out and walk around the mall until my feet fall off, and sometimes I will want to don my incredibly flattering oversized robe and watch Supernatural until 2 AM. Be prepared for both.

Don’t make me run with you. I bike. I kick things. I don’t run. The last time I ran, there was an ice cream truck involved.

DSC00120Kidding. It was a bus. I still missed it.

FYI: I don’t consciously try to sound like I swallowed a dictionary.

I’m not tall or thin or charming. But I’m sure you already knew that 🙂

I can be awkward, selfish, vindictive, and unkind, but never for long.

And lastly, I don’t pick up on subtle hints. If you want to tell me something, please just tell me directly 🙂

Consider yourself warned.

A post with NO MAKEUP?! What is this nonsense? It did give me a chance to post some of the more awkward photos I (or Elizabeth) have taken during the “artistic process,” and to get rid of excess brain junk.

What would you like to tell your future (or current, or past) mate/partner/significant other/cat?


P.S. Would you like to see more of these…eh, I hesitate to call them personal, but musings/rants posts, or should I just stick to makeup? Let me know!


Humbug’s Christmas

19 Dec

I am and will always be a Humbug about Christmas.

+20 points if you get my reference

I don’t like the holiday season. I don’t like the overly cheerful music. I don’t like making cookies. I don’t like poking myself in strange places trying to get the fake tree out from its festively hued body bag, where it lies mournfully in three pre-lit pieces. And I positively detest covering said tree with scented oils to mask the smell of reinforced plastic and tears.

Christmas feels like a holiday that everyone tries too hard to make special. There’s the Bible-thumpin’ “Happy Birthday, Jesus”-ers, the pudgy soccer moms elbowing their way through Black Friday sales, the “I know you’ve spent every penny on gifts but please give us money” bell ringers freezing their you-know-whats off outside Walmart…all contrasting sharply with the frozen teen in combat boots and a sour expression.

All I want for Christmas is for Christmas to end, so we can stop pretending that we enjoy the company of our estranged-for-a-reason relatives, stop spending our money on presents for people we don’t even speak to the other 364 days, and stop making Christmas cards as an excuse to brag about how well the progeny is getting along at community college.

My best Christmas memories are from eating peanuts from a huge brown barrel as we picked out our tree, our real live Christmas pine. Struggling to stand it up inside a pot of tepid water, our cats loudly retching as they discovered that cats cannot, however many they consume, digest pine needles. For me, there was nothing more magical than the thought of an obese bearded man breaking into my house and pawing through my socks.

I do enjoy the presents, however, so feel free to pile those on.

Did someone just yell “hypocrite” or is there something in my ear?

Cheers…or not 🙂


I Have a Schedule…AND I DON’T LIKE IT

17 Sep

For the first time in her life, Olivia Anne Last-Name-Omitted has a schedule. She is not free to loaf around the interwebs from the moment she gets home from school to the wee hours of the night. She is not free to spend an hour picking at her dinner. She is not free to sit on the couch and read without being told to get her lazy rear up and get ready for XY&Z.

And she doesn’t like it.

I’ve always been a one-extra-curricular girl. For 8 solid years, that was soccer. When I quit last fall, the activities just started piling on: 2 clubs (the goody-goody anti-bullying kind that look good on college apps and make me feel like a righteous person), 2 sports (skiing and tae kwon do), drama (I’m the program editor and the makeup artist), and coaching soccer, all while maintaining an A in 5 AP classes, studying for my SATs, mastering Chinese, and generally trying to keep my head above water.

I’m beginning to realize that I can’t have it all.

I can’t have what I enjoy and still do well in school.

(And by well I mean perfect.)

Some people can, but I need my elbow room. I need my 4+ hours of daily internet. I need my funny memes and my books with big words in them and my retail therapy and my free time.

I can’t cut out classes, so I’ll have to start with what I enjoy…

Bye-bye, sleep.

Being a responsible young adult isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.


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