You know the song, "If you're happy and you know it clap your hands..." Well, the 21st century version must go something like, "If you're happy and you know it, Facebook it." Or tweet it, whatever. I don't personally do the twitter bug, so I can only speak of the Facebook community - or as my computer illiterate mom calls it, "spacebook."
Maybe it's just the curmudgeon in me, or maybe I'm just having a particularly bad day, but it really pisses me off when people feel the need to write about how happy they are on their Facebook status: "Life is AH-MAZING!" Bleck. "Going to the pool - on a Wednesday! Life is good." Barf. "Got flowers at work today! I love my boyfriend!" Double barf.
Come on, people - if your life is that flipping amazing, why are you wasting your time telling us schmucks about it on Facebook? All your old high school friends you haven't talked to in a decade, ELEMENTARY school friends you haven't talked to in multiple decades, random dudes you've met at bars, etc...? A) what do they care? and B) what do YOU care? As in, why do you care to inform them of your delighted "status?" Or any status for that matter. And, I must say - what's even more disgusting than you writing about your supposed cheeriness is that I AM READING ABOUT IT. I disgust myself. I really do.
I just wonder though, are you really happy? I mean, REALLY. HAPPY. Or does the need to contaminate my status feed with your potentially artificial and bogus positivity stem from a desire to cover-up that which is less than perfect, or even that which is a complete mess?
When I have a wonderful day, the last thing I think about is getting on Facebook and sharing it with all my so-called "friends." I'm too busy having a wonderful day.
So, if you're happy and you know it, keep it to yourself. Or just clap your hands, like they did in the good ol' days.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
I'm Getting Very Anal About Waste
My boyfriend and I really couldn't be much different. Everything from the way we eat to the overall way we live - there aren't many similarities, aside from the things that I've successfully taught him [forced upon him.] I can't imagine that we'd ever find one another based on an "E Harmony" compatibility report. He lives off of a diet rich in Fruit Loops and Chick-Fil-A, while I constantly strive - and stress about - eating as many whole foods as I can get my hungry little hands on. I work out everyday while he smokes a pack a day (almost.) I read books while he thoughtlessly watches TV. The list goes on.
Lately I've discovered an all new and highly irritating difference that Nick possesses. He's turned into one of those wasteful, mindless Americans. The kind that throws aluminum cans into the trash - the trash! Meanwhile, the recycling bin sits right beside it, a gentle reminder to make the right decision. But no. He opts for the trash. He leaves the bedroom light on almost every time he leaves the house. He wants the A/C at 68 degrees. SIXTY EIGHT DEGREES! Are you kidding me? I'm forced to wear sweatpants in the dead heat of summer. He'll leave the car running outside for 5 minutes while he runs into Starbucks. Starbucks. Car running. Oh God, it's making my heart race just thinking about it.
So what happened? Was it all just a show, and now after some four years, the gig is up and he doesn't care to "impress" me with his environmental mindfulness? After a particularly irritating day filled with him using about every utensil and dish in the house (whatever happened to using the same cup twice? Three times, maybe even FOUR times?) I told him that I'm getting very anal about all his waste, and he just smirked and said, "What? I'm trying!"
Just how hard do you have to "try" to do things that, by now, should be second nature? And even if it isn't second nature, reusing, recycling, conserving, etc. are all things that you should care enough about to take the time to do, even if it's not the easiest option. He isn't one of those people who doesn't care about the environment, or doesn't believe in global warming. I think he represents a huge population in our country, of people who do care and do realize we have a problem, but they just don't understand how much their daily routines are contributing to that problem.
Seeing as how my own contributions to global warming constantly nag at me, and cause me an endless amount of anxiety that I'm still being so wasteful even after trying so hard - I harbor some resentment for those ignoramuses who simply don't realize what they're doing. My overflowing recycling bin stresses me out - all the packaging, all the containers. I know that recycling isn't a cure-all. But as least I'm cognizant of it all - right? I mean, to think that little ol' me is actually going to make a huge environmental difference is ridiculous. But if we all think like that then we're screwed.
It just ain't fair. It's not fair that, while some of us carry this gigantic environmental burden, others get to roam, ravage, and rape the earth as they please. And at the end of the day (or world), does any of it make a difference?
Lately I've discovered an all new and highly irritating difference that Nick possesses. He's turned into one of those wasteful, mindless Americans. The kind that throws aluminum cans into the trash - the trash! Meanwhile, the recycling bin sits right beside it, a gentle reminder to make the right decision. But no. He opts for the trash. He leaves the bedroom light on almost every time he leaves the house. He wants the A/C at 68 degrees. SIXTY EIGHT DEGREES! Are you kidding me? I'm forced to wear sweatpants in the dead heat of summer. He'll leave the car running outside for 5 minutes while he runs into Starbucks. Starbucks. Car running. Oh God, it's making my heart race just thinking about it.
So what happened? Was it all just a show, and now after some four years, the gig is up and he doesn't care to "impress" me with his environmental mindfulness? After a particularly irritating day filled with him using about every utensil and dish in the house (whatever happened to using the same cup twice? Three times, maybe even FOUR times?) I told him that I'm getting very anal about all his waste, and he just smirked and said, "What? I'm trying!"
Just how hard do you have to "try" to do things that, by now, should be second nature? And even if it isn't second nature, reusing, recycling, conserving, etc. are all things that you should care enough about to take the time to do, even if it's not the easiest option. He isn't one of those people who doesn't care about the environment, or doesn't believe in global warming. I think he represents a huge population in our country, of people who do care and do realize we have a problem, but they just don't understand how much their daily routines are contributing to that problem.
Seeing as how my own contributions to global warming constantly nag at me, and cause me an endless amount of anxiety that I'm still being so wasteful even after trying so hard - I harbor some resentment for those ignoramuses who simply don't realize what they're doing. My overflowing recycling bin stresses me out - all the packaging, all the containers. I know that recycling isn't a cure-all. But as least I'm cognizant of it all - right? I mean, to think that little ol' me is actually going to make a huge environmental difference is ridiculous. But if we all think like that then we're screwed.
It just ain't fair. It's not fair that, while some of us carry this gigantic environmental burden, others get to roam, ravage, and rape the earth as they please. And at the end of the day (or world), does any of it make a difference?
Friday, May 21, 2010
I'm the Protagonist in My Own Story
Have you ever wondered what it's like to be someone else? Not in a materialistic way - as in, what's it like to drive a BMW Z4 and live in the hills of Malibu? I mean, what's it like to be in someone else's head? What are they thinking? And not, "what are they thinking about me?" Just, "what are they thinking?" Have you ever been in an argument with someone where you simply could not see their point of view, how they could possibly be thinking/doing/saying what they are, and feel they're justified in doing so? What are they THINKING?
What they're thinking is this: "I'm the 'good guy' here. I'm right." You see, everyone is the protagonist in their own story. Think of how your own mind works - even when you know you're wrong, you still empathize or even sympathize with your actions. People almost always have an excuse, or at the very least, an explanation. Which means they somehow feel justified for the way they are, or for they way they view a particular situation.
The voice in my head, while not always necessarily nice to me, is typically on my side, egging me on, offering me an endless supply of justifications for my current moods, actions, words, etc. Call it ego, call it delusion - it's the human mind. So what's it like to experience someone else's delusion like it's "right." What is the "antagonist's" mind-voice saying to him/her, that perpetuates and justifies their delusion?
So what's the voice in your head saying to you?
Please, enlighten me.
Because personally, I think you're crazy...
What they're thinking is this: "I'm the 'good guy' here. I'm right." You see, everyone is the protagonist in their own story. Think of how your own mind works - even when you know you're wrong, you still empathize or even sympathize with your actions. People almost always have an excuse, or at the very least, an explanation. Which means they somehow feel justified for the way they are, or for they way they view a particular situation.
The voice in my head, while not always necessarily nice to me, is typically on my side, egging me on, offering me an endless supply of justifications for my current moods, actions, words, etc. Call it ego, call it delusion - it's the human mind. So what's it like to experience someone else's delusion like it's "right." What is the "antagonist's" mind-voice saying to him/her, that perpetuates and justifies their delusion?
So what's the voice in your head saying to you?
Please, enlighten me.
Because personally, I think you're crazy...
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Remarkably Unremarkable
Five months ago, after finally graduating from college - a journey that threatened to span a decade, but thankfully consumed just 6 years of my life - I decided to quit my long-time, lame-ass receptionist job, and passionately throw myself into... well, nothing. I had no career plans, no serious ambitions to fulfill or dreams to chase. My plan was to relax a little, dabble in new and exciting extracurriculars, and generally just take a breather. Living off of a dwindling line of credit, but an ever-supportive boyfriend, I'd have plenty of time to say, write a book. Or learn how to knit. Or start a garden. Or even, I don't know, find a career. Or BLOG, for crying out loud! But what have I done? Nothing.
My no-plan plan was that, after a few short months, I'd buckle down and get serious. But after some five, rather long months of listlessly occupying my days with unremarkable activities, this is the first time I've exercised that costly writing degree. Or my brain, for that matter.
I find myself lost. And full of contradiction. Sometimes I feel like the sky is the limit; other times I feel like the sky is falling. I alternate between contentment and panic that I having nothing to do. I thank my lucky stars that I'm able to sit back and enjoy life. Then I wonder who the hell I think I am, just sitting back and enjoying life. I'm a frickin' desperate housewife, albeit a very poor, not-so-glamorous one.
So now what? I want to be something in this world. I want to be better. Remarkable, even. And right now the only thing remarkable about me is how many pounds of food I can consume in one day. I'm remarkably unremarkable. And full of self-loathing.
I've been meaning to start a blog for quite some time. In fact, I started this blog over a year ago and have done nothing with it. I keep thinking that if I could just start writing again that I'd find myself in a better place, if only psychologically speaking. But confusion and self-doubt contaminate my thoughts - I struggle with what to write and how to write it, and the uncertainty is so uncomfortable that I've just put off thinking about it altogether. The "blank page" has always been my worst enemy, now more so than ever, since I've yet to write anything since completing school.
My solution: befriend the blank page. Seduce it. Coax it into submission.
And you know what? I already feel better.
My no-plan plan was that, after a few short months, I'd buckle down and get serious. But after some five, rather long months of listlessly occupying my days with unremarkable activities, this is the first time I've exercised that costly writing degree. Or my brain, for that matter.
I find myself lost. And full of contradiction. Sometimes I feel like the sky is the limit; other times I feel like the sky is falling. I alternate between contentment and panic that I having nothing to do. I thank my lucky stars that I'm able to sit back and enjoy life. Then I wonder who the hell I think I am, just sitting back and enjoying life. I'm a frickin' desperate housewife, albeit a very poor, not-so-glamorous one.
So now what? I want to be something in this world. I want to be better. Remarkable, even. And right now the only thing remarkable about me is how many pounds of food I can consume in one day. I'm remarkably unremarkable. And full of self-loathing.
I've been meaning to start a blog for quite some time. In fact, I started this blog over a year ago and have done nothing with it. I keep thinking that if I could just start writing again that I'd find myself in a better place, if only psychologically speaking. But confusion and self-doubt contaminate my thoughts - I struggle with what to write and how to write it, and the uncertainty is so uncomfortable that I've just put off thinking about it altogether. The "blank page" has always been my worst enemy, now more so than ever, since I've yet to write anything since completing school.
My solution: befriend the blank page. Seduce it. Coax it into submission.
And you know what? I already feel better.
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