Debbie Downer.

Some days, I just can't get over how amazing I am.  I mean, it obviously started early, my overwhelming greatness.  Look at that picture! I am America!  Sometimes I look in the mirror and I say things like, "How did you get so cool?"  or maybe, "Dayum, girl, you got some fries to go with that shake?"  You know, a little padding for my obviously fragile ego.  Some days, I am just unstoppable.

Today, friends, is not one of those days.

Today is one of those days where I mess a lot of things up at work and get really behind for no apparent reason.  One of those days where my boss feels like it's necessary to make excuses for my stupidity, because she likes me and because I am by far the youngest person in my office, and maybe she's got some kind of maternal instinct thing going on? 

All day today, I've been thinking about the past year and how I have spent basically all of it ruining some relationship or another with my self destructive lame-assness.  And for no reason?  My subconscious just likes to ruin things?  I am destined to be a lonely old dog-lady (Can I just say, though, that "dog lady" is infinitely more appealing than "cat lady"?  Cats. Puh-lease!)?

On days like today, I look in the mirror and say things like, "Wow, you're seriously never going to graduate, are you?  You're going to be working this repetitive, meaningless job until they bury you, huh?"  Or possibly, "The reason he went back to Georgia is because you're a gross cow.  Duh," because sometimes the best insults are those made as though you are in the cast of Clueless.

Oh, also, I make (very lighthearted!) "your mom" jokes to almost strangers, and then find out that their mother died while giving birth to them.  Seriously? Give me a break, universe.

I don't know what causes these days, but I am not a fan.

I think the dog park is becoming my place of healing.  It's interesting what a profoundly wonderful affect this place has on me, since I'm human and all.  Something about being surrounded by happy, free-running dogs is just so therapeutic.  So many bellies to scratch!  Also, have you noticed that dog owners (real dog owners, not keep-it-in-the-yard-and-throw-it-table-scraps-because-I'm-a-heartless-asshole dog owners) are some of the happiest, friendliest people in the world?  I suppose it takes a certain personality to be a really good dog-parent.

...and that personality is, of course, "crazy awesome."

Tomorrow will be better.  And so will the weekend.  I am a bridesmaid in one of my very best friend's wedding, after all.  And you know what that means: open bar!  According to the itinerary, I will be drunk for a solid 72 hours. 

That said, I'll see you Monday, Blogpals. 

A Place for Everything.

I don't believe in fate.
Believing in fate, to me anyway, implies a belief in something bigger than you.  And I'm not sure I buy into that.  Well, I believe in something.  But the who/what/how many is still under debate.

I think that at any given time in your life, there are a million different ways you could be going.  Every decision you make pulls you in another direction... a unique reality.  It's not special, it's not "where you're supposed to be,"  it's just where you are. 

Wherever you go, there you are.
(I had a history teacher who said that and I dig it.  So there you are.)
(Now that I think about it, that's probably some super famous quote by someone that I should know.  Whatever.)

My question now is, how in the hell am I supposed to ever be content doing anything?  Maybe this is just my birth order coming to play.  Being the youngest means always trying to get in on everything everyone else is doing - always worrying about what we're missing out on.  How can I be content here, if there might be something better over there?  How can I make a relationship work with one person, if I'm constantly thinking of how I might be happier with someone else?  How am I supposed to eat mushroom pizza when that grilled cheese sandwhich might change my life?  These are the things that plague me.

Losing my sense of "purpose" was probably the hardest part of realizing how bogus organized religion is.  When you're raised in the Assemblies of God (or really any denomination, I just happened to have been brought up Diet Pentacostal), everything that happens to you is (cue Oz voice) The Will of the Lord.  That really makes things easy, you know?  It's basically a free ride through life - no responsibility for your actions necessary.  (I'm really not trying to knock Christians, it just always comes out that way now.  Too many parentheses.)

What do you do when lose that?  How do you know when something is right?  Are things right, or do they just work for the moment?

I've never been content with anything in my whole life.  I have an anxious personality.  I've always attributed my fidgeting to this town. "If I could just get out of this town, I could really start living."

Well,  my whining has finally turned into action, and in a few short months I'll be packing up with an old friend and heading to one of the busiest "towns" in the world.  But how do I know that this is the right move?  What if I'm more of a Seattle girl?  But I really like the idea of moving to the mountains?  School is so much cheaper here, shouldn't I wait until graduation (25 years from now)? 

And I mean, just what am I supposed to do if I meet the man of my dreams before January?  Hm?  Should I settle in Arkansas and have forty babies and maybe a double-wide of my very own?

...Of course I'm joking.  I've pretty much accepted the fact that I am incapable of maintaining a healthy relationship.  Fairytale Shmairytale.

I'm just tired of worrying.  This is a beautiful life, friends, and I'm going to stop waiting on it to start.


So, January.  New York City.
Sink or swim, right?




But don't worry, Arkansas, no matter where I end up, I'll always be callin' those Hogs.

Oliver is not amused.