Tag Archives: me being stupid

I don’t care, I love it.

-The happier you are with your own decisions, the less you need everyone else to be happy for you.-

I legitimately have like 5 posts that are nearly done but not quite there yet, and I am writing yet another. I don’t finish things. It’s what I don’t do.

However, this one should be quick. I have seen several different posts on Facebook and other sites I follow that all had the same message: dress for your body. And I’m here to tell everyone to shut. the fuck. up.

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I firmly believe that skinny jeans are titled as such for a reason, and belly shirts are for those who don’t have one. And I will judge you for not dressing for your body, as will the rest of the planet. But do you know what? That doesn’t matter. At all.

I’m not saying that I think everyone should walk around in bodycon dresses, but I’m saying that if you want to, go for it. Seriously do it. Lots of people might not like it, and if you care about what lots of people think, then you probably shouldn’t dress like that. But if you actually don’t care what everyone thinks, and you feel sexy and awesome in that really really tight skirt that leaves so, so little to the imagination, then wear the hell out of it and be awesome doing it.

I wore pleather pants. Pleather. Pants. And they did not look like pleather pants should look (but I mean really…they shouldn’t even be a thing). Once on my body, they resembled something that you see washed up on the shore and you’re like “Oh that poor seal was mauled by a motor boat. Sad.” But guess what? The second I put them on, I FELT SO COOL. I was wearing pleather! On my ass! Not because I thought anyone would look at dat ass and be like “Get me summa dat,” but because I just loved how I felt in them.

My point is that we all have to stop caring about everyone else’s opinion of what we should do. My mom hates that I’m always telling her how I think she should do things, but what I never understood is why she doesn’t just ignore me and do it her way if she thinks her way is better, or listen to me and do it my way if she agrees with me. Wars have been fought over this concept, and I’m not just talking about the ones in my kitchen. I am a pro at ignoring advice and instruction because I think I know better, but guess what? I also usually know when to listen and take good advice when I need it. For the sake of my argument here, let’s focus on the ignoring part.

If I think your makeup looks like you took a nose-dive into some watercolors and called it gorgeous, but you love it, you do you. If dem bitches are snickering because they think you look like a blob of cottage cheese contained into a hot pink triangle bikini but you feel awesome, then just do it. Most people won’t be happy with themselves when other people find them unattractive, and I get that. We all want to be considered attractive by literally everyone. But I also know what it feels like to be giving absolutely zero fucks about what everyone is thinking about you and to feel absolutely content with yourself, and everyone should own that feeling 100% of the time.

Relying on other people’s approval to determine your happiness with yourself just doesn’t even make sense as a sentence. It it literally illogical. To be truly happy with yourself because you love what you are is to have won. It is #winning. To love the human that you are constantly creating is #winning. Once you’re happy with yourself, all of a sudden other people’s opinions of your life, your body, and your goals start to matter less and less. If you can get to the point where you’re just like, “Bro I am going to wear this tube top and I’m going to love it,” then do that and love it and don’t listen to anyone else.

When I got the wrist tattoo, I heard lots of opinions. The only honest ones were my best friends who get it and love it, and all other negative opinions. Anyone else who said they liked it lied, because how could you seriously like that if you don’t completely understand it? When I started hearing all of the negative opinions, the comments didn’t even register with me. If I actually cared about what you thought of it, I would have asked you before I had it permanently inked onto my body forever. Every time I’m arguing or just messing around with Michael, he always gets to the point of, “Yeah well you have “through” tattooed on you so I win because you’re stupid.” Which is valid, but I love that he always says that because that means he knows that I don’t care about his opinion. If he thought telling me that something I had tattooed onto my body was a bad idea would send me into a tearful regret, he wouldn’t say it. But he literally ends every single argument with that, and it warms my heart. My brother calling me stupid warms my heart.

So that’s what I think about all of this. I’m not saying that anyone should listen to me or take this too seriously, but if you get anything at all from this, I’d like it to be that once you love who you are and who you are making yourself to be, the rest will all fall into place regardless of what anyone else tells you. Honestly though, I just wanted to stick up for the bitches that don’t give a damn. Cheers to that.

Spring Finals 2013

Right now, I am sitting in a “study room” in my dorm, trying to write a paper that is due in exactly 12 hours. However, in those 12 hours it’d also be nice if I could go to class, meet with my linguistics group to finish our final assignment, and shower. Minus the shower which has become a third-tier priority, that leaves me with 8 hours. This is the product of those moments when I tell myself I am “fine because I already wrote my paper in my head while I was in the shower.” Fuck those moments.
I refer to the “study room” with such suggestive quotations because I’m not sure what makes it a study room. I’m pretty sure it’s just a room void of sharp objects with which to stab yourself, places from which to hang yourself, and windows to jump out of when you realize your procrastination has gotten to a point that requires you to rent a study room at 2am because your roommates are asleep and you don’t know what else to do.
Earlier this evening, however, I had the grand pleasure of going to a premier of The Great Gatsby starring Leonardo DiCaprio, my spirit animal. The condition upon which I allowed myself to go to the movie was that I had to have completed my paper first. I didn’t do that, and then decided to make my future self pay for the error of my ways. Does anyone else do this? (Don’t answer, that was a rhetorical question. That was just me expressing my wonder.) I never actually think about dealing with the consequences of my actions because I separate my past, present, and future selves. As in, I think back and I’m like, “I’m proud of you, past self. You took graduate level classes and didn’t sink to the bottom of the shit heap that is over-ambitious undergrads. Well done.” And when faced with a decision, let’s say in terms of alcohol, I will think to myself, “No, no. I can’t drink that now. Or else my future self will kill me when I won’t be able to focus tomorrow. No thanks.” However, sometimes I feel a little bitchy toward myself and I do something like I did earlier today, and I decide to stick it to my future self. I was like, “Okay, I’ll go to the movie for my present self. But goddamn future self is going to HATE me for doing this.” And yes, past self. I do hate you for doing this.
However, I am happy I went – I just wish I would have started my paper, you know, a month ago when everyone else did. It was really a great movie, and whatever director had the balls to tackle that book really deserves a super thumbs up and a pat on the back for a job well done. Also, he somehow figured out how to include Beyonce into a movie set in the 1920s, which in and of itself is a feat of the greatest. It was also such a wonderful experience because I was with some cool, cool people. I can’t really put my finger on what it is about them, but those guys always impress me and I really admire them. What’s weird, though, is that the film release date was May 10, and it started at 10pm on May 9. Still don’t really understand that one.
But so yes. (That’s kind of become my unintentional catch phrase.) I’m going to miss Minnesota this summer. And although I have discovered that this place isn’t actually as magical as I thought it was when I first moved here, it’s really cool for a bunch of different reasons. I’ve met some shitty people, and I’ve done some shitty things, and I’ve cried a few times, but like my father told me – I really have come full circle. And regardless of how much more time I actually end up spending here, a part of me will always have some roots in Minnesota.
Oh that’s just so hot. In a really sad, tired, in need of sleep and a shower kind of way. (SLEEP AND SHOWER WITH YOU?!) (Haha no.) (Unless you’re LDC…in which case, we should talk.)
Alas, the film is over and I am sitting in the “study room,” equipped to get this shit done. I had a Saturday Evening Post mug full of coffee, which is already gone, sadly enough. I also have a Chobani with a knife, because I mistakenly grabbed that instead of a spoon while I was blindly fumbling around my room without a light on. I also have somersaults. Lots of somersaults. 
LET’S WRITE A PAPER ABOUT PHONOLOGY HELL YAHH.

Old Hipsters

Hipsters often adopt the “grandpa” look in an attempt to look hipster while trying to look like they’re not trying to look hipster. They’ll tell you how stoked they were to find that sweater for $.90 at the thrift store, when they actually bought it from Urban Outfitters for $75. This is all fine; I love me a dude in an expensive, stretched out cardigan. The problem, however, lies in what has become the OLD HIPSTER. WHAT?! I KNOW. CRAY.

Let’s rewind. We all know those 37+ guys who still shop at Abercrombie (or worse, American Eagle? Hollister? Ouch.) and maybe dye their hair and tan and can’t face the fact that they’re getting wrinkly now that they’re approaching 40 and will soon be considered “creepy old guys” when they go to a bar and try to hit on the freshly legal. A new species of this kind has evolved, and let me tell you folks, it’s not pretty.

It’s the old hipster.

I unfortunately spotted this specimen while I was at a concert the other night. It was literally the highest concentration of hipsters I have ever seen outside of an Urban Outfitters, American Apparel, or Hard Times. The problem was that the concert was not at some ironic coffee shop or a dive bar which is thriving because its patrons only drink shitty overpriced PBR, but it was at First Ave. (Which, for the non-Minnesotans, is a pretty awesome place.) Therefore, it attracted this obscure subset of near-midlife-crisis individuals who figured they should express whatever remnants of a youthful spark they have dwindling inside by dressing like all of the youngins that would be at the concert – the hipsters.


The reason this can absolutely never ever work for those poor late-30s and upward individuals is simple. They’re too close to the cusp of being considered “old” to dress like someone who is trying to dress like an old person to be ironic. When that 22-year-old guy with the James Franco face and perfect beard and the “I tried to look like I just rolled out of bed” hair and the neck tattoos and super tight skinny jeans that are too short but it’s okay because they show off his perfect ass that he spends hours at the rec perfecting wears an old man cardigan, glasses, and suspenders, it can totally work for him, because he’s still hot in a very youthful way. He’s still a “kid.” He can dress like an old guy and it is obviously all for the sake of the hipster image, because it looks like he’s playing dress up in his granddaddy’s clothes.

But when that older guy with the somewhat sagging features that blur his bone structure and the beard that is starting to grey by now and evidence of the too many PBRs he downs in an attempt to hang with the younger crowd wears grandpa sweaters, tucks in a button down which is buttoned a little too high, and wears old man glasses, he just makes himself look like an old dude. If you’re reading this, and you’re like, “shit, that is so me,” then I suggest you stop looking to RPats and JGL for fashion advice and consider more age-appropriate options. You can still be sexy, and instead of being that creepy old guy trying to hang with the young crowd, you can try to rock the hot, successful older guy thing (even if you’re not actually successful).

This is not finished but it’s been sitting around not getting finished for a week now, so I am just going to call it done.

Check out this website for the cool hipster charts.

18 Things of Februarch.

I failed at creating an 18 Things of February. (Mostly because February was painfully uneventful and a little sad.) Therefore, I have decided to create an 18 Things of February and March. So some of these things happened in February, some in March. Mostly in March.
1 I went to NY. Twice.
2 I was in seven different states.
3 I was tattooed in California. I have now been tattooed in three different states across the US: NY, MN, and CA.
4 I drove half way across the country twice, in a van, with eleven people, in one week. I also flew half way across the country four times.
5 I was introduced to this gem.
6 I ate flaming cheese.
7 I got a job.
8 I did sunrise yoga on the beach.
9 I went skinny dipping in the Pacific Ocean.
10 I spoke to an Italian person in Italian for the first time in a long time.
11 I spent three weekends in a row outside of the place I now call home.
12 I got a really bad haircut.
13 I went to a pants sale and bought everything except for pants.
14 I got sick on butterfly cookies.
15 I realized that I actually really like Harper.
16 I made this my new alarm.
17 I regretted moving to Minnesota for a little while. It’s just really cold sometimes. And the weather sucks too.
18 I was in a car accident.

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“It’s just where your paths are leading…his is going in one direction, and yours is going in another direction. They probably won’t end up in the same place, but that’s ok. That did not sound the way I intended. It was supposed to sound encouraging. Now it just sounds sad. Ok, that did not go where it was supposed to. Sorry.” So said Eva Thomas.

I can’t use my own words right now, so I will use someone else’s. This isn’t supposed to be super cryptic. It’s not like I am trying to reveal some hidden emotion or anything – I am not broken. I am not sad. I am not looking for anything. It’s just that everything seems to be up and I am a bit down, and these words work better than anything I can come up with right now.

There you were 
in your black dress
Moving slow
to the sadness

You’d hate the dark to prove the dawn
Need me no more and I’ll be gone


And our days pass like autumn wind
And the world spins around me again


So make your siren’s call
And sing all you want
I will not hear what you have to say

Because I need freedom now
And I need to know how
To live my life as it’s meant to be

And I’ll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I’ll know my name as it’s called again

Dream of ways to make you understand my pain.

Push it in and twist the knife again.
Watch my face as I pretend to feel no pain, pain, pain.

Once you want it to begin, 
no one really ever wins.

I saw sinners making music
I’ve dreamt of that sound, dreamt of that sound

I was walking far from home
But I carried your letters all the while
I saw lovers in a window
Whisper, “Want me like time, want me like time”

Saw a boatful of believers sail off
Talking too loud, talking too loud
I saw sunlight on the water
Saw a bird fall like a hammer from the sky

I saw flowers on the hillside
And a millionaire pissing on the lawn
Saw a prisoner take a pistol
And say, “Join me in song, join me in song”


Saw a car crash in the country
Where the prayers run like weeds along the road
I saw strangers stealing kisses

And a pair of hearts carved into a stone
I saw kindness and an angel
Crying, “Take me back home, take me back home”


Saw a highway, saw an ocean
I saw widows in the temple to the law
Naked dancers in the city
How they spoke for us all, spoke for us all

I was walking far from home
Where the names were not burned along the wall
Saw a wet road form a circle
And it came like a call, came like a call
From the Lord


You will hear
The shrillest highs and lowest lows with
The windows down when this is guiding you home

Look at us spinning out in the madness of a roller coaster
You know you went off like the devil in the church
In the middle of a crowded room
All we can do my love
Is hope we don’t take this ship down


The space between
What’s wrong and right
Is where you’ll find me hiding waiting for you



Three cheers for the humanities.

Shedabest.

The Nightingale.

The congratulatory Snapchat. (Sorry, Eva)

The sock bun. And my clean bed. And Santa.

Thank you, professor.

Wear your retainer and don’t drink, they said.

The best way out is always
always
always
through.