Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Having a point is overrated

Back with the usual assortment of randomness for your Wednesday...

Over the holiday break, when visiting my extended family, I was playing with my cousins' children and at one point in the evening, one of them looked at me earnestly and asked: "Wait, are you one of the mommies or are you one of the children?"

My first reaction was a blank stare.  Of course, that is my normal response in social situations to being asked just about anything other than "how are you" and even that sometimes is a crap shoot. My second reaction was to scoff (internally, of course): those are my choices?!  My third reaction was a little more appropriate, which was to laugh and fudge my way through an answer.

It's a fair question.  I was playing red light, green light with the kids instead of chatting it up with the adults in the other room. But what can I say? I love me a good game of red light, green light.  Especially after some wine.  So sue me.  But don't really.

Anyways, you've read all about this sort of thing before because, duh, you've read all my posts, so I will spare you the philosophizing of what that query means to this not a child, not yet a mommy.  Now I hope you too will have Britney Spears stuck in your head for the remainder of the evening.

So as you know it is Blahuary and nowhere is this more evident than in my feelings towards my hair.  It is meh-central up in huur (here).  My hair is no longer short but nor is it long.  I've come to the dreaded crossroads with my bangs where I either have to cut them again or suffer through the awkward: I'm just growing out my bangs stage.  I've never died my hair before and I sure don't intend to start now.  I also can't/won't/nope, mostly won't spend more than five minutes on anything styling related.  So if you know of a three minute cure all to the hair blues that doesn't involve drinking Oatmeal Stout (which is what I am currently doing to lift my spirits) feel free to pass that information my way...

I recently painted my nails this pinkish-lilac color:


Not actually my nails but whatever.

I have instant color regret when it comes to nail polish.  Always.  But I'll usually overcome my noncommital feelings and fall deeply in love with my color of choice once the paint has dried and I've accepted that it's too late to go back.   But this time, it's days later and I'm still not so sure about it.  I'm a dark nail color kind of gal and this makes me feel almost too feminine. You know, because getting your nails painted every month isn't feminine at all...

So ignoring the previous paragraph, I have made tremendous strides in recent years in dealing with the anxiety that comes with being a chronic over-thinker.  What I can't seem to conquer?  A pervasive feeling of annoyance in anything and everything that I do.  I would say that I spend approximately 70% of my day feeling annoyed about something.  Email from a student: annoyed.  Reading the news: annoyed.  Looking at my budget: annoyed.  Having to choose something for lunch: annoyed.  Driving anywhere in Los Angeles: so, so annoyed.  I desperately wish I could be one of those: oh, whatever people. And while my general air of politeness may trick some into believing that I am, I'm not.  I am not a let it roll off your back kind of person; I'm a cake yourself and wallow in it kind of person.  I wish I wasn't but I am and I'm working on it.

Speaking of driving in Los Angeles.  I would say that at least three times a day I think of this image:


and it makes me smile because it's just so perfect.

I took a Which Star Wars Character Are You? quiz recently on Zimbio and got Luke Skywalker.  I took a Which Harry Potter Character Are You? quiz recently on the same site and got Harry Potter.  Just slowly proving to my brother Scott that all of his favorite characters are really just variations of me.

One day, I will come home from work, exercise, make dinner, and clean up all before 9PM.  That day is not today.  Dear People with Actual Responsibilities: how do you do this? Sincerely, Not Yet a Mommy.

Don't judge me.

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