"Beautiful Mess" - Jason Mraz

You've got the best of both worlds 

You're the kind of girl who can take down a man, 

And lift him back up again 

You are strong but you're needy, 

Humble but you're greedy 

Based on your body language, 

your shouted cursive I've been reading 

You're style is quite selective, 

though your mind is rather reckless 

Well I guess it just suggests 

that this is just what happiness is 

Hey, what a beautiful mess this is 

It's like picking up trash in dresses 

Well it kind of hurts when the kind of words you write 

Kind of turn themselves into knives 

And don't mind my nerve you can call it fiction 

'Cause I like being submerged in your contradictions dear 

'Cause here we are, here we are 

Although you were biased I love your advice 

Your comebacks they're quick 

And probably have to do with your insecurities 

There's no shame in being crazy, 

Depending on how you take these 

Words that paraphrasing this relationship we're staging 

And it's a beautiful mess, yes it is 

It's like, we are picking up trash in dresses 

Well it kind of hurts when the kind of words you say 

Kind of turn themselves into blades 

And the kind and courteous is a life I've heard 

But it's nice to say that we played in the dirt 

Cause here, here we are, Here we are 

Here we are

Surviving the airport rat race.

Firstly, I need to tell you what a jackass I was in my last post.  I went over to J's and he had a beautiful/sweet candlelit bbq waiting for me outside.  Complete with a white tablecloth, a bottle of wine, and yellow daffodils.  It made my heart melt.  He's really an amazing man and made me put my foot in my mouth, I can't believe what a gremlin I was being.  I have this tendency to see things in one huge event versus looking at the whole picture...and the picture has a man in it that really, genuinely, loves me (including my crazy psycho moments like today).

So I'm at the airport, and per usual my flight is delayed.  I'm sitting here, level 10, with Valley Fever, wanting to claw my way out of the sardine case that is airport seating.  Someone is probably reading this as I type.  It's like when you are going through airport security...you start contemplating life.  It must be entertaining to sit back and watch the little people traverse the rat race style hoops, bend over with your ass out ("Look out, my pants drop when I undo the suspenders" as the old man in front of me aptly put it), lose your shoes and dignity, and rush like you're doing a walk of shame after they scan your belongings.  Fortunately, today I was not patted down like last time.   I feel like it is a timed race, everyone gets intense as hell going through security like "MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE!" --We should get a goddamn gold medal when we finish.  It's like the ultimate reality tv race.  Who can get through security the fastest.  I love the hop as you scuffle to put on your shoes and hold your jeans up at the same time.  

Today I was not the person who flipped the heck out--a man on the flight before mine got into a word war with the man behind the desk...something about gate checking his bag; he literally was yelling and cursing.  Poor guy, probably got searched in security and lost some precious liquid belonging.  Every man for himself!

In all honesty, flying does not bother me one bit.  I love, love, love people watching.  You have the people who love yelling their cell phone conversation because they think they are sooooo important/interesting, the overly affectionate older couple, the annoying "sorority" girls (nothing against sororities..but you know the wannabes are out there), the angry business man, the creep (yes...he is checking YOU out), the sick person...hacking up their guts (oh please god do not let me get h1n1!) and sometimes the hyperactive children that need to be banned from sugary goods.

Anyway, I am so excited to Jamie! Her birthday is on Saturday :) Denver is expecting a blizzard, so atleast we will be in good company.  We are planning to see Remember Me on Friday night....so excited, and then indulge in our secret habit of the twilight saga..I know Rob Pattinson is a weirdo in real life..but as Edward Cullen, my heart stops.

Next weekend is my AEPA exam (8 hours on Saturday) and Allison is flying in on Thursday for a much overdue wife reunion.  J's friends are also coming into town on Thursday, so it should be an eventful weekend.  Sunday we are going to see the Giants in Old Town.

8:57 am declaration.

I know that I am the only person who can change how I feel.  To say that up until this point I have always been a confident woman would be a lie; no matter how tempting that seems.  It might be appealing to crawl under a rock and cry, cry just because I can.   Cry because it might make me feel better to have a pity party.    It also might be easier to take any outside stress and make it my own, then at least I'll have a fighting chance of a sense of control.

It seems that my "control" issue crops up unexpectedly.  I cannot control how someone feels about me or perceives me.  The only thing I can control is myself--how much I let stress get under my skin, how ugly I make my reflection, or how much sleep I lose over life's battles.

I hate owning up to the fact that maybe life isn't always perfect--not perfect in the fairy tale way, but perfect in the sense that it will be a smooth, enjoyable ride.

Worrying is unfortunately a part of life I also need to come to terms with.  I am very worried about the unknown beyond graduation.  In December, I might very well be unemployed, getting ready to move abroad for 6-8 months.  Life was much easier when I had a 4-year plan that went..freshmen year, sophomore year, junior year, and senior year.

Now the only thing to do is enjoy the sunshine outside--you should know it's 80 degrees and the birds are chirping. Boo hoo, I know.  I am going to spinning (with a sore throat, because I am still bat crazy about fitness) and then off to work.

The goal of the next month is acceptance--acceptance of who I am, and who I am not.  I will never be picture perfect, totally put together, and running off on romantic rendezvous.  But, I will tell you sitting outside with a yankee candle in the dark, thinking up 'big adventure' schemes, and going to visit Piglet for her birthday are all pretty damn great.

I wish I lived in a fairy tale.

“Obsessed by a fairy tale, we spend our lives searching for a magic door and a lost kingdom of peace.”

When I was a little girl, I spent hours reading all about faraway lands and great romances.  I watched Disney movies--everything always worked out; life's troubles were tucked away neatly in a drawer.   I have always lived in an alternate reality.  I chose to whirl away any problems by wearing a pink tutu and red patent leather shoes.  I'd read the fairy-tales I loved to my tea parties, perched happily in my little red chair.  These fairy-tales were what I thought awaited me in real life.  What a disappointment. 

At 23, I'm starting to realize that maybe there is no great love story waiting beyond the horizon.  Maybe there is no Prince Charming on a white horse.  I write this in regret.  I have always wanted to believe that there would be someone out there who would fall madly in love with me, protect me from all the evils of the world, and treat me like a Princess.  I don't think I'll ever get a crown, except as a joke on my birthday.   I will be blowing out my 24th candle as a princess realist.  Sigh.

Now it seems as if I'm hoping there will be someone, not to fall madly in love with me, but merely to tolerate me.  Despite being far from perfect, I clung to the thought that someone would love everything about me.  This, does not seem attainable.  

If it's not what I'm doing wrong, it's what's wrong with me.  Lately, I am so uncomfortable in my own skin; how did I let that happen?  The most unattractive quality in a person is low self-esteem.   This is what I seem to be most comfortable wearing lately-- the label of insecure.  I keep wondering what I could change to be more desirable.  I haven't felt sexy in forever.  I never thought I would not feel sexy.   Being sexy is as natural to most women as drinking water; it's just something women are born with.  I hate that I'm writing this.  I could confess how I went and got my hair highlighted to be more appealing to my boyfriend, that I'm working out more to make sure my body looks appealing, that I no longer feel "attractive" without my hair done and make up on, but it would all be pointless.  I never thought that I would not be sexy to my boyfriend.  It's really been eating away at me.  If I close my eyes really tight, will I wake up with my fairy godmother waving a wand, making it all magically better? 

I wish I lived in a fairy tale. 

I don't know when I became the type of woman to let a man determine her worth.  That is not who I want to be.  I know I should look myself in the mirror and realize that I am beautiful.  That I am special.  Maybe if I own my sex appeal, I can break the spell of being "undesirable."  Women need romance.  Women need candlelit dinners, roses, and walks on the beach.

Scratch that, I need candlelit dinners, roses, and walks on the beach under the stars.  I have never had a man prepare a romantic dinner for two, with wine and flowers.   I have never had a rose petal covered bed.  I want those things.  I used to scoff at cliche gestures, now I think they are endearing.  They are what keep the flames going in a relationship.  Without flames... you just have ash.

I don't know what's going on in my relationship.  Although some things are dead on, other comments just seem off.  Sometimes I feel as if he is saying "Oh no...that could be too serious...let me draw a line in the sand." For instance, the other day he was talking about how I would rearrange our house furniture non-stop...and then today he was talking about how if we went to Chile together we could do a program where you live with a family.  Why, at age 24 going on 25, would I want to live with a host family for 8 months when I could be having a romantic adventure with my boyfriend?  It left a bitter taste in my mouth.  I thought it was an adventure we would go on as a couple, not as individuals.  It's many little things like that.  When, if ever, does "he" and "I" become an honest, happy we?  I feel like I am plagued by the temporary "we."  Sometimes we talk about the future with such certainty, and then other times I feel as if it is an "every man for himself" type of situation.

If you don't want there to be a "we," or if you don't plan on there being a "we," just let me know.

 It's funny to me, because you've pinned me down as a woman--typical of her age group--dying to get married.  I don't want to be married.  I don't even know if I really believe in marriage.   The reason I don't believe in marriage is because I've never had someone be sure about me.  Without someone believing in me, how can I believe in happily ever after?  It really is funny.  One of my best friends said tonight that I never seem to take relationships seriously.  Yet, sometimes I really believe that you think I'm desperate.  Writing this, it hit me, even now, I don't think that you believe in me..in us.  In December, if someone would have asked me if you were "the one," I would have glowed--covered head to toe in love.

 Let me know so that I can plan my trip to South America without you being a factor.  Let me know so that I can  do all the selfish things I want to on a day to day basis, but don't because spending time with you should be more important. Let me know so that I don't buy a ticket going to visit your family when you don't even understand that taking the trip together, flying over together, is a significant moment for me.  Let me know so that I don't spend my time at your place, totally out of my element.  I've never had to live out of a suitcase, and I hate it.  He probably doesn't even know how much I hate packing up all my stuff to go over there.  How sometimes I would much rather just stay at home, where I feel comfortable, and watch all the cheesy reality-tv shows he despises.  That I could sleep in my bed that I love.  That I could not be up crying while you are sound asleep.  Or that I like to sit on the couch with my dog (whom I happen to love) after going to the gym after work.  That I could spend my nights over at my friends who I never really get to see, sometimes because I feel like being with you has to take priority. There are so many little things I give up all the time..which never really bothered me until I started seeing that you don't really seem to give those things up.  There can never be a "we" without "you."  But will you ever be ready?  Maybe after everything that's happened, I am the one who has pulled away.  Maybe you haven't even noticed.  Shouldn't you notice that I don't feel comfortable around you like I did? Maybe instead of being desperate, I'm afraid of falling for someone who isn't really here.

I wish I lived in a fairy tale. 

Worry is like a rocking chair, it gives you something to do, but it

    doesn't get you anywhere.

I'm spinning.

So I've been losing myself in books lately.  All sorts of books, latest reads:

1. Don't Sweat The Small Stuff: And It's All Small Stuff by Richard Carlson
2. Dear John by Nicholas Sparks
3. Don't Sweat The Small Stuff at Work by Richard Carlson
4. Jemima J by Jane Green
5. Eat, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation  by Lynne Truss


This is basically because my life is a little boring.  Boring in the sense that I'm swamped by boring books for school---who wants to read hundreds of pages on Assessment? I am more intrigued by books on punctuation and grammar.  I know this is sad...or maybe not so sad considering my profession, but it bothered me when I couldn't offhand define a predicate nominative.  In case you too forgot, the predicate nominative is the noun following a linking verb that restates or stands for the subject.


  I should be doing my SED 577 assignment, but I'm procrastinating.  Procrastination will be the end of me.  I'm going to see Alice in Wonderland with my family at 4pm.  I was tempted to bail out and stay home pseudo working, but instead I have opted for throwing on a baseball cap, sweats and a hoodie so I can finish this assignment.  


  I am going to teach a lesson on "Hamlet" next week at Chaparral--I have these fears about teaching that everyone will be going wild and I'll have no control.  Mrs. Anderson said it is one of my repressed anxieties coming out in my dreams (she is very into psychoanalysis and literary theory).  


  This week I am working from 7:15 AM-2 PM everyday and then going to class from 4 PM- 10:30 PM.  I am taking advice from Richard Carlson and not complaining or thinking how busy/tired I am going to be.  Nobody wants to hear it.  I figure this will give me a glimpse into the summer when I work everyday from 7-3 and then go to class from 4-10:30 PM.  I wanted to write how exhausted I am going to be...but I will not give in, I will master Carlson's not stressing techniques!!!!