I know I haven't posted in like forever, and I'm soooooo sorry! I've been uber busy, and yeah. Things like this fall to the wayside, especially when I'm spending my writing time on my novels.
This is just to promise that I'll be posting a REAL post SOON. As in Sunday, and if not Sunday, then DEFINITELY Monday.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Thursday, June 21, 2012
The Writing Velociraptor
Okay, I know I've been gone for a long while from the Internet. Sorry! All shall be explained in this post.
Well, my daddy and I don't often get along. He wants things done IMMEDIATELY, and I want things done when I'm not busy with something else. It often doesn't become an issue, because he's at work and I'm at home or at work and it's all fine. I try to make sure I do what he asks when he asks whenever he happens to be at home.
Well.
The other day (as in last week), I was writing. It was the first time in months that things were really flowing, and I was typing more than ever. Then my daddy came home early, and I mean like three and half hours early.
I hadn't done my chores yet, because I do them around 4 so that the house actually looks clean. As it was around 3:30, I had not done them. My daddy told me to get off the computer and come clean up where I made pizza.
Now, when you interrupt me when I'm in the ZONE, I become what I've come to call the Writing Velociraptor. This means that no matter how nicely you phrase things, no matter what you ask me, I become a nasty, evil, out-for-blood dinosaur demon. You could be saying, "Hattie, I'm going to get ice cream, would like a large or an extra large rainbow sherbet?" and I'd still turn to you and say, "I really don't care, just leave."
As I've been like this for years, you would think that my father would have picked up on this by now. My mother certainly has. She waits until I break for food to ask me anything, and then she asks in her sweetest voice. Why my daddy hasn't learned, I'll never know.
Anyway. So he told me to clean up where I made pizza, and without turning away from the computer and what I was typing, I responded with, "I didn't make any pizza."
Now, technically this was true. I hadn't made any pizza. It had already been cooked and everything, and I just pulled it out of the plastic bag and ate it. The plastic bag still sat on the counter top. My daddy pointed this out, and because I was the Writing Velociraptor, I said, "Well, yeah, but I still didn't make anything. Choose your words more wisely."
Whenever I insult his syntax or lack thereof, my daddy gets mad. Like, really, really mad. So within .05 seconds we were screaming at each other, me telling him he shouldn't have even come home and him telling me that it was his house and he'd come home when he damn well pleased.
Looking back on it, I know I shouldn't have reacted that way. I can always tell afterward. But at the time, all I can think is, "He's interrupted me, I was writing, I need to go back to writing, my poor characters, what if it all flies away, I'll never get back to it, now I'm doomed to fail." Which isn't true, but I can't help thinking it anyway.
I can remember once when I was maybe thirteen or fourteen, writing up a storm. It was like nine at night. I wrote and wrote and wrote until about midnight. Then my daddy woke up, came in, and told me I had to go to bed, because it was past my bedtime. This is the first time I can remember becoming the Writing Velociraptor, and I spiralled into a rage worthy of Veruca Salt (which is what my mother calls me whenever I want something, or have a tantrum).
Thankfully my mother woke up and diffused the situation. She told my father that it was a weekend, it probably wouldn't kill me to stay up later than usual. Of course, after being interrupted, I no longer felt the pull to write. After that, though, I learned to type really quietly.
The good news about my punishment is that I was able to write a lot more. I wrote maybe 2,000 words a day! I'm on page 53 of one novel, got a few core scenes down in another, and even edited a bit in my ABNA submission.
Well, my daddy and I don't often get along. He wants things done IMMEDIATELY, and I want things done when I'm not busy with something else. It often doesn't become an issue, because he's at work and I'm at home or at work and it's all fine. I try to make sure I do what he asks when he asks whenever he happens to be at home.
Well.
The other day (as in last week), I was writing. It was the first time in months that things were really flowing, and I was typing more than ever. Then my daddy came home early, and I mean like three and half hours early.
I hadn't done my chores yet, because I do them around 4 so that the house actually looks clean. As it was around 3:30, I had not done them. My daddy told me to get off the computer and come clean up where I made pizza.
Now, when you interrupt me when I'm in the ZONE, I become what I've come to call the Writing Velociraptor. This means that no matter how nicely you phrase things, no matter what you ask me, I become a nasty, evil, out-for-blood dinosaur demon. You could be saying, "Hattie, I'm going to get ice cream, would like a large or an extra large rainbow sherbet?" and I'd still turn to you and say, "I really don't care, just leave."
As I've been like this for years, you would think that my father would have picked up on this by now. My mother certainly has. She waits until I break for food to ask me anything, and then she asks in her sweetest voice. Why my daddy hasn't learned, I'll never know.
Anyway. So he told me to clean up where I made pizza, and without turning away from the computer and what I was typing, I responded with, "I didn't make any pizza."
Now, technically this was true. I hadn't made any pizza. It had already been cooked and everything, and I just pulled it out of the plastic bag and ate it. The plastic bag still sat on the counter top. My daddy pointed this out, and because I was the Writing Velociraptor, I said, "Well, yeah, but I still didn't make anything. Choose your words more wisely."
Whenever I insult his syntax or lack thereof, my daddy gets mad. Like, really, really mad. So within .05 seconds we were screaming at each other, me telling him he shouldn't have even come home and him telling me that it was his house and he'd come home when he damn well pleased.
Looking back on it, I know I shouldn't have reacted that way. I can always tell afterward. But at the time, all I can think is, "He's interrupted me, I was writing, I need to go back to writing, my poor characters, what if it all flies away, I'll never get back to it, now I'm doomed to fail." Which isn't true, but I can't help thinking it anyway.
I can remember once when I was maybe thirteen or fourteen, writing up a storm. It was like nine at night. I wrote and wrote and wrote until about midnight. Then my daddy woke up, came in, and told me I had to go to bed, because it was past my bedtime. This is the first time I can remember becoming the Writing Velociraptor, and I spiralled into a rage worthy of Veruca Salt (which is what my mother calls me whenever I want something, or have a tantrum).
Thankfully my mother woke up and diffused the situation. She told my father that it was a weekend, it probably wouldn't kill me to stay up later than usual. Of course, after being interrupted, I no longer felt the pull to write. After that, though, I learned to type really quietly.
The good news about my punishment is that I was able to write a lot more. I wrote maybe 2,000 words a day! I'm on page 53 of one novel, got a few core scenes down in another, and even edited a bit in my ABNA submission.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Obsession
Like any teenage girl (although I believe that all people have this problem; teenage girls just vocalize it more often), I have a problem with obsessing over things. Of becoming a "fan girl". I'll latch onto something or someone and just go completely rabid over it.
Now, I don't do this with, you know, real people. Well, I mean, like people I know. It only happens with strangers and fictional creations.
I'm sure knowing what exactly I obsess over is something you all want to know. I know I would. So here you go:
Fictional Male Characters. I'm one of the fan girls that I love to make fun of, and that's why I can be so damn accurate. My main literary loves: Fang from the Maximum Ride series (although only the first three; after that, the series just goes downhill and Fang isn't Fang anymore and it makes me sad). William Perry from the His Dark Materials series. Cadvan from the Books of Pellinor series. Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights (he's just so delightfully awful!). Lucas from the book so aptly titled Lucas. Peter Pan, and if you don't know where he's from, you're just stupid.
Taylor Lautner. Yeah, yeah, he was in Twilight and I hate Twilight. This does not change the fact that the man is gorgeous. I mean, hello, he's tall, tan, with dark hair, brown eyes, and abs I want to lick molten chocolate off of. There's no shame in that, I think.
Zachary Quinto, but only really when he's playing Spock. I always loved Spock, and then you throw in a gorgeous man like Quinto and I'm just dead. That new(ish) Star Trek movie may have been ridiculous and it may have changed the whole thing and it may not be as amazing as I like to think, but Quinto did an impeccable job as Spock and I'll be damned if anyone can convince me otherwise.
Lucas Bryant. He plays Nathan on the show Haven, which I've mentioned briefly. The man has the bone structure of a god and is just so delicious that I would steal him away from his wife and child if I thought I stood a chance (I don't. He's a family man, which makes him EVEN MORE DESIRABLE).
If you're not catching onto a theme here, you're incredibly dense.
Starkid. They're the creative minds of such beauty as A Very Potter Musical, A Very Potter Sequel, Me and My Dick, Holy Musical B@man, and Apocalyptour. Of this amazing, beautiful group, two stand out: Joe Walker and Lauren Lopez. Joe is attractive in a non-conventional way (he still has abs that I want to do naughty things to, but still), and I am mostly attracted to him because of his acting ability. He's been a penis, Voldemort, Umbridge, and Batman. As for Lauren Lopez, if I were a lesbian I would totally marry her and try to have her children. She's hilarious and a brilliant actress.
Parasites. I think they're the coolest thing since air conditioning. I prefer animal ones to viruses or bacteria, although I'm not gonna be picky if the thing is vicious enough. Many a time my parents have had to tell me that I'm not allowed to discuss them at the table, and they've banned me from watching Monsters Inside Me for obvious reasons (the decision came after I told my mother that I didn't give a damn about the people or what happened to them, I just wanted to know about the parasite). Of course, all this knowledge has made me a touch paranoid: I won't touch red meat unless it's been thoroughly cooked and there's no pink, and you couldn't get me to drink pond water if I were dying of thirst. After all, I think they're cool to KNOW about. Not to have inside me.
Jeremy Wade. He's a fisherman who is the star of the show River Monsters. He's British and sorta old and for an old man he is extraordinarily attractive. Or at least I think so. Most people (including my mother) disagree, but I find him very desirable. What with the accent, and the bright blue eyes, and the gorgeous white hair (yeah, his hair is white. I mean, he's not like 80 or anything, I think he's in his fifties. He used to have black hair). And his ability to speak Portuguese. And his love for fish (he tries to always let them go, unless he's specifically fishing for food). I just ahhhhh every time I watch the show.
And most recently: Terrance Zdunich. He played Graverobber in REPO! The Genetic Opera. I saw this yesterday, and thus began my obsession. Graverobber, from his first appearance, was my favourite character. He was hot (in the dark, gothic, creepy way), and had a voice made of pure sex. Like, my mouth went dry and salivated all at the same time. Just thinking about him/hearing him talk/sing makes it happen. Weird. I've bought Zydrate Anatomy, and putting it on repeat doesn't seem like enough. So I've been researching a little. He likes cockroaches, which I can totally respect considering my own love for nasty parasites. And he's very eloquent, and very talented at all five porpskillion things he does.
So yeah. That pretty much covers it all. If I think of anything else, I'll add it to the list. I'm sure you're all wondering what would happen if I met any of the REAL people I'm obsessed with.
I'd like to think that I'd be totally chill. Like, there wouldn't be any jumping or squealing or any of the annoying stuff like that. Knowing me, I'd be like, "Wait, aren't you (insert random obsession here)? Huh. Cool. I'm Hattie." Then we'd shake hands or whatever and I'd mention that I'm a fan and get an autograph. I'd be my usual charming self, and probably end up best friends with the person in question. Of course, inside I'd be screaming at the top of my lungs and dying. But it wouldn't show. This is why it pays to be a good actress.
Now, I don't do this with, you know, real people. Well, I mean, like people I know. It only happens with strangers and fictional creations.
I'm sure knowing what exactly I obsess over is something you all want to know. I know I would. So here you go:
Fictional Male Characters. I'm one of the fan girls that I love to make fun of, and that's why I can be so damn accurate. My main literary loves: Fang from the Maximum Ride series (although only the first three; after that, the series just goes downhill and Fang isn't Fang anymore and it makes me sad). William Perry from the His Dark Materials series. Cadvan from the Books of Pellinor series. Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights (he's just so delightfully awful!). Lucas from the book so aptly titled Lucas. Peter Pan, and if you don't know where he's from, you're just stupid.
Taylor Lautner. Yeah, yeah, he was in Twilight and I hate Twilight. This does not change the fact that the man is gorgeous. I mean, hello, he's tall, tan, with dark hair, brown eyes, and abs I want to lick molten chocolate off of. There's no shame in that, I think.
Zachary Quinto, but only really when he's playing Spock. I always loved Spock, and then you throw in a gorgeous man like Quinto and I'm just dead. That new(ish) Star Trek movie may have been ridiculous and it may have changed the whole thing and it may not be as amazing as I like to think, but Quinto did an impeccable job as Spock and I'll be damned if anyone can convince me otherwise.
Lucas Bryant. He plays Nathan on the show Haven, which I've mentioned briefly. The man has the bone structure of a god and is just so delicious that I would steal him away from his wife and child if I thought I stood a chance (I don't. He's a family man, which makes him EVEN MORE DESIRABLE).
If you're not catching onto a theme here, you're incredibly dense.
Starkid. They're the creative minds of such beauty as A Very Potter Musical, A Very Potter Sequel, Me and My Dick, Holy Musical B@man, and Apocalyptour. Of this amazing, beautiful group, two stand out: Joe Walker and Lauren Lopez. Joe is attractive in a non-conventional way (he still has abs that I want to do naughty things to, but still), and I am mostly attracted to him because of his acting ability. He's been a penis, Voldemort, Umbridge, and Batman. As for Lauren Lopez, if I were a lesbian I would totally marry her and try to have her children. She's hilarious and a brilliant actress.
Parasites. I think they're the coolest thing since air conditioning. I prefer animal ones to viruses or bacteria, although I'm not gonna be picky if the thing is vicious enough. Many a time my parents have had to tell me that I'm not allowed to discuss them at the table, and they've banned me from watching Monsters Inside Me for obvious reasons (the decision came after I told my mother that I didn't give a damn about the people or what happened to them, I just wanted to know about the parasite). Of course, all this knowledge has made me a touch paranoid: I won't touch red meat unless it's been thoroughly cooked and there's no pink, and you couldn't get me to drink pond water if I were dying of thirst. After all, I think they're cool to KNOW about. Not to have inside me.
Jeremy Wade. He's a fisherman who is the star of the show River Monsters. He's British and sorta old and for an old man he is extraordinarily attractive. Or at least I think so. Most people (including my mother) disagree, but I find him very desirable. What with the accent, and the bright blue eyes, and the gorgeous white hair (yeah, his hair is white. I mean, he's not like 80 or anything, I think he's in his fifties. He used to have black hair). And his ability to speak Portuguese. And his love for fish (he tries to always let them go, unless he's specifically fishing for food). I just ahhhhh every time I watch the show.
And most recently: Terrance Zdunich. He played Graverobber in REPO! The Genetic Opera. I saw this yesterday, and thus began my obsession. Graverobber, from his first appearance, was my favourite character. He was hot (in the dark, gothic, creepy way), and had a voice made of pure sex. Like, my mouth went dry and salivated all at the same time. Just thinking about him/hearing him talk/sing makes it happen. Weird. I've bought Zydrate Anatomy, and putting it on repeat doesn't seem like enough. So I've been researching a little. He likes cockroaches, which I can totally respect considering my own love for nasty parasites. And he's very eloquent, and very talented at all five porpskillion things he does.
So yeah. That pretty much covers it all. If I think of anything else, I'll add it to the list. I'm sure you're all wondering what would happen if I met any of the REAL people I'm obsessed with.
I'd like to think that I'd be totally chill. Like, there wouldn't be any jumping or squealing or any of the annoying stuff like that. Knowing me, I'd be like, "Wait, aren't you (insert random obsession here)? Huh. Cool. I'm Hattie." Then we'd shake hands or whatever and I'd mention that I'm a fan and get an autograph. I'd be my usual charming self, and probably end up best friends with the person in question. Of course, inside I'd be screaming at the top of my lungs and dying. But it wouldn't show. This is why it pays to be a good actress.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Manual Labor Isn't Fun, But Look What I Found!
Yesterday, I helped my daddy move everything around the attic and upstairs room. We carried things, and put things in boxes, and broke things apart. I found a few things that were very cool to find after all these years. Are you ready?
First: My weird purple dinosaur I named Sheldon.
Next, a little joey that came with a momma that I didn't find.
Then I found some computer games I played a lot as a kid, the best of which is "Freddi Fish and the Case of the Missing Kelp Seeds". I never actually solved the case from what I can remember, so... I have to play now!
Finally, I found a sheet of paper that had been sitting in the attic for who knows how long. From the handwriting, I was probably in first grade when I wrote this story, which would make me about 6 at the time. Just for you guys, because I love you so much, I will transcribe this story and throw in my own comments. Y'all can comment too, if you want! I'm including all errors in grammar and spelling.
Elizabeth prefferred to be called Lizzie. No one, not even her parents, (only when they were mad at her) called her Elizabeth. Her house was a big victorian house. She had 5 giant maples in her backyard. In all of them, she had a tree house. All of her friends came on Saturdays to the treehouses. The treehouses are connected by bridges. They had exscape routes in every treehouse. What doesn't she have? She doesn't have a pet. She used to have a fish pond, but a cat ate the fish. So she got a bird. The bird flew away. Then she got a mouse, a guinea pig, and a ferret. They ran away. She then got a cat. It was chased away by the neighbor's dog. So she wanted a dog. "No," said her mother. "They're to expensive, and they take up to much time." "But mom," whined Lizzie. "They're
And that's it. That's as far as I went. I can vaguely recall finishing this story (Lizzie gets a dog after earning the money herself, and they go to competitions and kick ass), but it's not on this sheet of paper.
I had no concept of paragraphs, but I was six, so that's not that surprising. My vocabulary was rather impressive, though. I ALMOST grasped the concept of the parentheses, which makes me proud of my six-year-old self. That I understood that and basic comma usage is kind of hilarious when in conjunction with not knowing the difference between "to" and "too". Also, that I have a conflict ALREADY is pretty good as well. My spelling of "escape" leaves much to be desired, as does my spelling of "preferred" and "tree house". I got it right the first time, so why did I join them after that? Sigh.
All in all, I'd say that's a very sophisticated bit of writing for a six-year-old. Feel free to disagree. I'd still say that you're wrong.
First: My weird purple dinosaur I named Sheldon.
Next, a little joey that came with a momma that I didn't find.
Then I found some computer games I played a lot as a kid, the best of which is "Freddi Fish and the Case of the Missing Kelp Seeds". I never actually solved the case from what I can remember, so... I have to play now!
Finally, I found a sheet of paper that had been sitting in the attic for who knows how long. From the handwriting, I was probably in first grade when I wrote this story, which would make me about 6 at the time. Just for you guys, because I love you so much, I will transcribe this story and throw in my own comments. Y'all can comment too, if you want! I'm including all errors in grammar and spelling.
Elizabeth prefferred to be called Lizzie. No one, not even her parents, (only when they were mad at her) called her Elizabeth. Her house was a big victorian house. She had 5 giant maples in her backyard. In all of them, she had a tree house. All of her friends came on Saturdays to the treehouses. The treehouses are connected by bridges. They had exscape routes in every treehouse. What doesn't she have? She doesn't have a pet. She used to have a fish pond, but a cat ate the fish. So she got a bird. The bird flew away. Then she got a mouse, a guinea pig, and a ferret. They ran away. She then got a cat. It was chased away by the neighbor's dog. So she wanted a dog. "No," said her mother. "They're to expensive, and they take up to much time." "But mom," whined Lizzie. "They're
And that's it. That's as far as I went. I can vaguely recall finishing this story (Lizzie gets a dog after earning the money herself, and they go to competitions and kick ass), but it's not on this sheet of paper.
I had no concept of paragraphs, but I was six, so that's not that surprising. My vocabulary was rather impressive, though. I ALMOST grasped the concept of the parentheses, which makes me proud of my six-year-old self. That I understood that and basic comma usage is kind of hilarious when in conjunction with not knowing the difference between "to" and "too". Also, that I have a conflict ALREADY is pretty good as well. My spelling of "escape" leaves much to be desired, as does my spelling of "preferred" and "tree house". I got it right the first time, so why did I join them after that? Sigh.
All in all, I'd say that's a very sophisticated bit of writing for a six-year-old. Feel free to disagree. I'd still say that you're wrong.
Monday, June 4, 2012
The Rules of Dating and Stuffs
I actually know nothing about the rules of dating and stuffs. Nothing. I've had one boyfriend. One. We dated for two months before I broke up with him. So I know pretty much nothing about anything.
So what I really want is advice from those of you who know things.
You see, I met this really attractive male while at work on Saturday. We flirted a little when he came in with his friend, then again a little later. After I got off work, a coworker found out that I found this guy attractive. So he called him over and told him I wanted his number. Embarrassing, right?
Except I don't get embarrassed, or if I do it's only for like .5 seconds. I got the guy's number. Let's call him by his last name, Winters. We then proceeded to hang out while he and his friend Andy played pool. My friend Chelsea came over and joined us, and we all ended up playing putt-putt. (Yes, we have all of these things at the bowling alley.)
Well, my phone had fallen out of my pocket by the billiards tables. I didn't realize until after we finished putt-putt. Winters helped me look for it, getting my number and calling Lovell (my phone). We found it, and that was that. It was 2AM, so it was closing time. As we went our separate ways in the parking lot, he told me to "call that guy back", meaning him.
Krystal said I should follow the "three day rule" which means you don't text or call for three days. I don't get it. Why? If I want to talk to someone, I'll talk to them. But apparently anything before those three days makes you look desperate.
Leroy and Bobb, my coworkers who intervened that night, say I should wait a week. Try to get Winters to call me, but if he doesn't THEN I can contact him.
I did neither of those things. Today, two days after, I texted him. I don't think he remembers my name, but he does remember ME, which is fine. My name isn't the easiest to remember when it's only been said once. Anyway. We talked a little, me feeling awkward as all getout because I don't really know this guy or anything so I'm not sure what to say.
So. Should I text him again later this week, or wait for him to text me first? This guy is SERIOUSLY attractive, guys. And nice. But I'm not desperate, although I wouldn't mind a date or two. I just don't want to come across as a needy 19yo girl.
This is why I wish I had more experience with the dating world. I would know what to do and all of that. I mean, I want him to want to talk to me, but I don't want to NOT talk to him simply because I'm waiting for him to send me something first. It's all so annoyingly... deceptive. We all know I'm not good at the whole demure thing. I'd rather just straight up be like, "Hey, I think you're pretty cool, we should hang out, maybe go on a date or something." But I know that many guys like it when they have to chase the girl, and while they like it when a girl chases them, it gets old fast.
Any advice for a bewildered Hattie?
So what I really want is advice from those of you who know things.
You see, I met this really attractive male while at work on Saturday. We flirted a little when he came in with his friend, then again a little later. After I got off work, a coworker found out that I found this guy attractive. So he called him over and told him I wanted his number. Embarrassing, right?
Except I don't get embarrassed, or if I do it's only for like .5 seconds. I got the guy's number. Let's call him by his last name, Winters. We then proceeded to hang out while he and his friend Andy played pool. My friend Chelsea came over and joined us, and we all ended up playing putt-putt. (Yes, we have all of these things at the bowling alley.)
Well, my phone had fallen out of my pocket by the billiards tables. I didn't realize until after we finished putt-putt. Winters helped me look for it, getting my number and calling Lovell (my phone). We found it, and that was that. It was 2AM, so it was closing time. As we went our separate ways in the parking lot, he told me to "call that guy back", meaning him.
Krystal said I should follow the "three day rule" which means you don't text or call for three days. I don't get it. Why? If I want to talk to someone, I'll talk to them. But apparently anything before those three days makes you look desperate.
Leroy and Bobb, my coworkers who intervened that night, say I should wait a week. Try to get Winters to call me, but if he doesn't THEN I can contact him.
I did neither of those things. Today, two days after, I texted him. I don't think he remembers my name, but he does remember ME, which is fine. My name isn't the easiest to remember when it's only been said once. Anyway. We talked a little, me feeling awkward as all getout because I don't really know this guy or anything so I'm not sure what to say.
So. Should I text him again later this week, or wait for him to text me first? This guy is SERIOUSLY attractive, guys. And nice. But I'm not desperate, although I wouldn't mind a date or two. I just don't want to come across as a needy 19yo girl.
This is why I wish I had more experience with the dating world. I would know what to do and all of that. I mean, I want him to want to talk to me, but I don't want to NOT talk to him simply because I'm waiting for him to send me something first. It's all so annoyingly... deceptive. We all know I'm not good at the whole demure thing. I'd rather just straight up be like, "Hey, I think you're pretty cool, we should hang out, maybe go on a date or something." But I know that many guys like it when they have to chase the girl, and while they like it when a girl chases them, it gets old fast.
Any advice for a bewildered Hattie?
Friday, June 1, 2012
Let's See How Conceited I Can Be in One Blog Post
I literally cannot wear pants or underwear right now. Today, I went to Ocean Breeze Water Park, and I got this weird sunburn/rash thing that screams in pain if I move, touch it, or try to soothe it. Yay. On the interesting side, I got hit on by a guy AND a girl, AT THE SAME TIME. It was very strange.
Also, how is it that I put on sunscreen diligently throughout the day, and end up sunburned at all? While my stupid brother puts it on once and doesn't even get pink, despite having the skin colour of a ghost. Stupid, that is.
Anyway, this post isn't about those things. This is about girls. And prettiness.
Why is it that when a girl knows she's pretty, it's considered a bad thing?
I know I'm pretty. Often I act like I'm the most beautiful thing ever, which I know I'm not, and everyone knows that I know that. Yet they still think that my acknowledging that I'm attractive is wrong.
Now, I know that the stereotypical girl who knows she's attractive is a bitch. She's the prom queen, clique-loving, slut from Hell. But I'm not like that. I just know that men (and women who aren't deluding themselves) find me attractive.
I've got gorgeous eyes, soft and pretty hair, a well-formed body, a pretty face, and teeth that make dentists and their assistants have orgasms. (Not really. But they do give sighs of appreciation and tell me that my teeth are the best they've ever seen, and can they take a picture to show such and such colleague? True story, that's happened a couple times.)
But apparently knowing all of that makes me evil or something.
I'm supposed to be putting myself down, according to society. Talking about how I don't have a flat stomach, or clear skin all the time, and have hairy arms because of my German genes. I'm supposed to be pointing out all of my flaws. That will make me a "better person" or some other bullshit like that.
Been there, done that. And you know what? All it did was make me feel terrible, even more suicidal than before, and *gasp!* ugly.
So I say that we women (and men) should embrace our good qualities instead. So what if you have a big nose? Your smile lights up the room. So what if you have cankles? You're so graceful dancers are jealous. I'm just making these up, but it's the theory I'm going for here.
True, I am prettier than the average person. Men flirt with me, women are jealous of me. And maybe when I say "I know" when someone tells me I'm pretty it isn't the most demure thing. But it's true. Girls who are pretty and say "Oh thanks, you really think so?" are doing one of two things. They're either fishing and want you to build them up even more, or their self-esteem is so low that you need to check their pockets for knives. Usually it's the former.
That song by that British band called One Direction gets on my nerves. The chorus says, "You don't know you're beautiful. That's what makes you beautiful." No. As a guy, I wouldn't want to date a girl who can't tell that she's attractive. I'd have to spend all my time convincing her that she is, and she'll never believe me anyway. That's not exactly sounding like a good time.
Of course, I have a hard time being humble about anything. I know that if I were in a Greek tragedy, my downfall would be because of my hubris. But honestly, I can't stand it when people pretend that something they did or the way they look isn't that great. Because they're PRETENDING. Only .01% of the population is actually humble, and that's probably being generous.
People just want validation. That's why they say, "Oh, no, really, it's nothing." Or, "Oh, no, I'm really not that pretty." They want to hear someone else say that it IS a huge deal, that they ARE gorgeous. I'm just weird because I don't NEED that validation. Sure, it's nice. If I'm feeling crappy I'll fish for compliments like any other girl. But on the average day, I'm fine. I know I'm smart, funny, and beautiful. What do I care if others notice it or not?
That may make me an awful person. Go ahead, tell me that I'm conceited and arrogant. Everyone does. But just because I can feel good about myself without anyone else's help doesn't mean I'm either of those things. It just means that I'm self-confident.
Momma didn't raise no fool, and it'd take a fool not to realize how great I've turned out.
Also, how is it that I put on sunscreen diligently throughout the day, and end up sunburned at all? While my stupid brother puts it on once and doesn't even get pink, despite having the skin colour of a ghost. Stupid, that is.
Anyway, this post isn't about those things. This is about girls. And prettiness.
Why is it that when a girl knows she's pretty, it's considered a bad thing?
I know I'm pretty. Often I act like I'm the most beautiful thing ever, which I know I'm not, and everyone knows that I know that. Yet they still think that my acknowledging that I'm attractive is wrong.
Now, I know that the stereotypical girl who knows she's attractive is a bitch. She's the prom queen, clique-loving, slut from Hell. But I'm not like that. I just know that men (and women who aren't deluding themselves) find me attractive.
I've got gorgeous eyes, soft and pretty hair, a well-formed body, a pretty face, and teeth that make dentists and their assistants have orgasms. (Not really. But they do give sighs of appreciation and tell me that my teeth are the best they've ever seen, and can they take a picture to show such and such colleague? True story, that's happened a couple times.)
But apparently knowing all of that makes me evil or something.
I'm supposed to be putting myself down, according to society. Talking about how I don't have a flat stomach, or clear skin all the time, and have hairy arms because of my German genes. I'm supposed to be pointing out all of my flaws. That will make me a "better person" or some other bullshit like that.
Been there, done that. And you know what? All it did was make me feel terrible, even more suicidal than before, and *gasp!* ugly.
So I say that we women (and men) should embrace our good qualities instead. So what if you have a big nose? Your smile lights up the room. So what if you have cankles? You're so graceful dancers are jealous. I'm just making these up, but it's the theory I'm going for here.
True, I am prettier than the average person. Men flirt with me, women are jealous of me. And maybe when I say "I know" when someone tells me I'm pretty it isn't the most demure thing. But it's true. Girls who are pretty and say "Oh thanks, you really think so?" are doing one of two things. They're either fishing and want you to build them up even more, or their self-esteem is so low that you need to check their pockets for knives. Usually it's the former.
That song by that British band called One Direction gets on my nerves. The chorus says, "You don't know you're beautiful. That's what makes you beautiful." No. As a guy, I wouldn't want to date a girl who can't tell that she's attractive. I'd have to spend all my time convincing her that she is, and she'll never believe me anyway. That's not exactly sounding like a good time.
Of course, I have a hard time being humble about anything. I know that if I were in a Greek tragedy, my downfall would be because of my hubris. But honestly, I can't stand it when people pretend that something they did or the way they look isn't that great. Because they're PRETENDING. Only .01% of the population is actually humble, and that's probably being generous.
People just want validation. That's why they say, "Oh, no, really, it's nothing." Or, "Oh, no, I'm really not that pretty." They want to hear someone else say that it IS a huge deal, that they ARE gorgeous. I'm just weird because I don't NEED that validation. Sure, it's nice. If I'm feeling crappy I'll fish for compliments like any other girl. But on the average day, I'm fine. I know I'm smart, funny, and beautiful. What do I care if others notice it or not?
That may make me an awful person. Go ahead, tell me that I'm conceited and arrogant. Everyone does. But just because I can feel good about myself without anyone else's help doesn't mean I'm either of those things. It just means that I'm self-confident.
Momma didn't raise no fool, and it'd take a fool not to realize how great I've turned out.
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