Winning.

OH MY GOSH YOU GUYS.

Here. Look at these numbers:

Stats as of 12:25 pm on Feb. 14th-- at time of posting, views for Feb. 14th exceeded 300.

What is going on? I don't even know how to comprehend these numbers. See, every time I post something (and subsequently share it on Facebook), I have this semi-rational fear that people will essentially react like this:

But so far, no one has, and I am grateful for that. People have even told me that they like my blog and that they read my blog. On the outside, I'm usually all like

Play it cool,  play it cool.

but on the inside, I'm like

I win the internet. 

The point here is thanks for not thinking that I suck. It's really sweet. I'll do my best to continue not sucking.

I also wanted to take a little time and talk about why I blog, because I know some of you stay up late pondering that question. Rest ye your weary minds.

I like to write. Before I started blogging (and after, sometimes), I spent a lot of time scribbling in a notebook, writing things that I thought were hilarious/witty/insightful/woefully self-indulgent. I kept them to myself, because I am secretly very shy.

Over time, I accumulated 50-ish of these passages. Some were short (less than one college-ruled page) and some (mainly the woefully self-indulgent ones) were more than 5 pages long. They were poems, song lyrics, stories, anecdotes, rants, rambles, complaints... some were even peppered with stick figures and took a comic format. Sometimes I go back and read them and I'm mildly horrified at what I thought was so amazing three years ago.

Anyway, I had pretty much decided that I liked to write, but that I never planned on writing in any public setting... until I found myself in a Creative Writing class durring my senior year of high school. My senior year was... hard to say the least. I found myself looking forward to CW everyday because I had a chance to just let go for 40 minutes and write whatever I wanted. It was pure therapy. My teacher was amazing, too, and managed to coax me into sharing some of my writing with the class.

I gradually got more comfortable with the idea that I have things to say and people will read them. I shared with the class, then with then-boyfriend, A, then with my dad, a few friends... and finally, I started blogging.

It was terrifying at first. After my first post went "live," I spent the evening constantly refreshing my stats page. Every single pageview was mind-wrackingly intimidating. I think I got 43 pageviews that whole week, which averages about 10 views for each of the four posts that went live that week.

Anyway, time went on, and less than a year later, new posts on The Epitome of Snark average 40-60 pageviews within the first 24 hours of posting. There are undoubtedly those among you that are not impressed by that statistic, but it kind of blows my mind.

For the curious of heart, here is a list of the Top Five TEoS Posts to Date:

1. Because Life Can Suck- September 20th, 2012: This was actually the first post that went up.
2. My Friendship/Dating Application- December 31st, 2012: Apparently, a lot of people wanted to know the qualifications for dating/being friends with me. 
3. Enjoy the Ride- October 22nd, 2012: A post about my dear grandmother who passed away on the day Enjoy the Ride posted.
4. You're Doing It Wrong: Flirting- September 23rd, 2012: Comical observation about the boys I'd met at college up to that point.
5. Facebook Questions!- December 4th, 2013: Your questions, my responses. Boom.

That's all I've got for today. I hope you all survived Valentine's Day with only minor cuts and scrapes to your body/ego/world-view. Keep on keepin' on, my lovelies.

x,

   g

Glum-Be-Gone Part 2: Valentine's Day

Brag-y update on my life/blog/self-esteem in general: In the past 5 days, TEoS has gotten 300 pageviews. What?! Okay, that's probably not a ton, but my two-sizes-too-small heart grew one size today... All I can say is this.

Also, please check out the poll in the sidebar. It's the little icon with the graph? Yeah, that. I'll put polls up sometimes, when I feel like it. Boom. We get new features everyday. 

Well, kids, it's that time of year again! The time when lovers desperately dash from store to store seeking the perfect heart-shaped box of candy and single people become more terrified than usual that they will die alone.

Yeah, this year, I fall with the singles. For the first time since I've been of legitimate Mormon dating-age (16), I find myself without a boo.

"What?" you ask. "How could anyone as adorable and witty as you be alone for the greatest loveFest ever created?"

Or more accurately, "Is this going to be a long, bitter post about how a cranky single chick hates other people's happiness?"

Psh. No. *deletes everything previously written*

I haven't really liked Valentine's Day since I finished elementary school, where Valentine's Day was a celebration of friendship and sugar-highs, akin to Halloween. Even when I was not-so-single, it never struck me as being a great idea. Part of this is its propensity for overshadowing my birthday. That's not cool.

But mostly, I don't like how crazy everyone gets. If your entire relationship is dependent on having the perfect Valentine's date, is that really a relationship you want to be in? And if you're so "alone" in the world, why are you on the phone, complaining to your best friend about it? Doesn't having a best friend to talk to make you, by definition, not alone?

Anywho, that's just my two cents.

Now for the fun part. I've compiled some of my favorite love-related memes, written you a Valentine's Carol, and done some other cute stuff that will, I'm hoping, put a smile on your face, no matter your level of singleness this V-Day. Enjoy.

For Single People:

First of all, Valentine's Day can be amazing for single people. When else can you buy huge quantities of chocolate without getting a sympathetic look from the cashier? 

Replace "girls" with "guys" and you have my life story.
 

Amen to that.

Particularly funny to me because the number of times I've been told to "go out of my comfort zone" to "meet someone" in the last year is a triple-diget number.

This one made me legitimately sad.

For "Attached" People:

To the tune of Deck The Halls:
Deck the halls with creepy Cupids
(No no no no noooo no no no noo)
'Tis the season to act stupid
(Ha ha ha ha haaa ha ha ha haa)
Raise we now our expectations
(Want a ring? Take a ring! OBTAIN THE RING.)
Can you feel the desperation
(You will die alone, alone, a-loooooone)

 Disregard women, obtain yams. 

In Conclusion:

I made you a Valentine.*

Hope your V-Day is filled with candy, love, and unrealistically high expectations! 

See you on February 15th, when my characteristic wit and cynicism will no longer be regarded as a hatred for other people's happiness. 

Love you guys. 

Love,

     Grace

*Okay, yes, that is a One Direction poster in the background. No, it is not serious. Note the mustaches. It is also covered in lyrics from this song. Chill.

The Weight of Your Opinion

In January I decided to start going by my middle name, Grace, rather than my first name, Micaela. And, yes, a lot of people had a lot of opinions about my decision because people have opinions.

I was expecting some confusion when I decided to use my middle name in my everyday dealings. When I posted on Facebook about choosing to go by my middle name, the first comment was, "I like Micaela better."

I've dealt with this kind of thing before, mostly in the context of my love for changing my hair up dramatically and often. There were several occasions in high school where people I hardly knew took it upon themselves to inform me that they liked my hair better red, or it looked dumb short, or (after a particularly bad hair decision) that I looked like a boy.

When strangers or people I didn't know very well would inform me of my shortcomings, I took it to heart. A good friend noticed this and imparted some life-altering wisdom: These people didn't know me. They didn't know I was funny under pressure, or that I cried twice the first time I saw Tangled, or that I make a mean spaghetti sauce, or that I was an extremely loyal friend. They didn't know who I was as a person. Why was I letting the opinion of people who only knew me by my appearance have weight in my life?

There are people in this world whose opinions I care about and ask for frequently. I take what they say very seriously. Even when I don't ask, they are willing to take time out of their day to inform me that I'm being stupid, or that I need to change X aspect of my life. Their feedbacks is a valuable compass in my life, and I love them for caring about me so much.

So, back to my name change. When I first realized that not everyone was going to be on board with my decision, I was a little hurt. It never occurred to me that people would feel strongly enough about it to publicly share their opinion. I guess I figured it was a personal decision I got to make. I wasn't trying to change anyone else's name, after all. Just mine.

After stewing on my situation for a few minutes, I realized that I didn't need to let one person's opinion make me feel bad about a choice I'd made for myself. Heck, this person probably didn't even realize that their comment would hurt my feelings.

My point here is twofold:
1. Wield your opinion of people appropriately. If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all. Unless they ask you directly, in which case you can either white-lie or be tactfully honest.
2. Don't let other people's opinions dictate what you do in life. Know whose advice you value. Give yourself permission to disregard comments from people who don't have the authority to inform you of your issues.

Sorry if this is a bit disjointed. I'm tired. Better end now before it gets worse.

x,
   g

I Am Not a Pterodactyl

Okay, this is another pre-pubescent me story. You're welcome.

I went to private school until half-way through second grade. That was when my parents decided to main-stream me. The adorable little charter school I was attending was in serious financial trouble, so I guess they figured it was high time to move me from one failing system to another (we'll talk about my views on the educational system some other time.).

I learned pretty quickly that public school was serious business. We sat at assigned seats, which were grouped into "pods" with other students. We ate lunch at the same time every day. We had to ask to use the bathroom. But the weirdest thing for me was that we had units. Like, for a set number of weeks we would all learn about a certain topic. It would permeate every aspect of our day. When we learned about pioneers, we wrote pioneer journals and did word problems about how many oxen Jeb would have if he gave four to Sally because all of Sally's oxen were brutally murdered. Stuff like that. We also moved seats every unit. Boy, was that exciting.

One fateful day, it was announced that our next unit would be dinosaurs. The boys in the class rejoiced. All the girls pretended to scoff. It wasn't cool to like dinosaurs if you were a girl. Everyone knew that. My teacher, Ms. Foley (who was as close to Ms. Frizzle as any teacher could get), told us to all stand up so we could get our new seats. I was put at a pod with two other girls (I forget who-- they were irrelevant) and two boys. I was new to boys.*

One of the boys had been at my old pod. His name was James. James, even durring other units, loved to talk about dinosaurs. He knew everything about velociraptors. Seven-year-old-me found that wildly sexy. I recently ran across an old journal I wrote in around that time. The first page says (I'm not even kidding), "I love James. He is cut. He nows abut velosoraptors." And then there are a million deformed hearts.**

The other boy was different. His name was Bert. Bert had a reputation for being the class know-it-all, and also for being kind of a jerk. Now, I was new to the public school system, so I often found myself competing with Bert for the position of teacher's pet and class brain. He had the advantage of having two anthropology professors as parents. It was so not fair.***

One day, durring recess, Bert approached me. I immediately sensed that something was afoot. He'd breeched the Cootie Line. 

"Hey, guess what?"

I looked at him suspiciously. "What?"

He pushed his glasses up his nose. "My dad told me that all humans are turning into dinosaurs."

"No they're not." Wait, are they? What?! This was not discussed in Unit Time.

"Yeah they are. My dad said. And guess what else?" His pale, smug face glowed with the light of knowledge I did not posses. I considered driving him away with a nice round of Kissy Face, but I thought better of it. 

"What?"

He leaned in close. I could smell the peanut butter on his breath. "I'm turning into a pterodactyl and so are you. We're going to be the only pterodactyls on Earth." Bert paused, presumably for dramatic effect. "We're going to have to mate."

Mate. Mate. Mate. It echoed in my head. I didn't exactly know what "mate" was, only that it meant that I would have to be Bert's wife. My life was over. I would never marry James. 

Ms. Foley blew the whistle, signaling the end of recess. The rest of the day was torture, sitting across from James, just knowing that I'd never have him. Every time Bert spoke, I cringed more than usual.

By the end of the day, I was so fed up that the first thing I said to my mom when she picked me up was, "I have to mate with Bert." And then I burst into tears. Through sobs and gasps I recounted what Bert had told me. My mother called Ms. Foley that night. 

The next day, Ms. Foley sat us down in a circle and explained that people do not turn into dinosaurs.

Nope, we don't. But these days, I find that more and more unfortunate. 

x,

   g

* My first and second grade classes at my little Montessori school were comprised of me and five other girls. This was probably due to the fact that I made out with every boy in my kindergarden class.

** My taste in men has changed surprisingly little since second grade. I mean, I like people my own age, but the sexiness of velociraptor knowledge has yet to fade. 

*** Looking back, I think this whole thing was just a plan to sabotage me so that he could steal the title right from under my nose. It was probably also driven by his inability to properly express his affection for me. Which I totally get. I'd be lying if I said I'd never thought about trying this.

I Thought of You

I thought about you yesterday, for the first time in weeks.

I woke up like I usually do, head clouded with nightmares. It took me a minute to gather my strength and sit up, but I did, and when I looked out my window, I could have sworn I heard someone say your name.

It surprised me, to say the least, to have you suddenly brought to my mind so soon after waking. The pain's been fading, after all. What started as the sharp, stinging missing of you has slowly sunk deeper and deeper into my consciousness. After the stinging was the dull ache of a missing piece, followed by a lighter (yet always present) yearning for what I couldn't have.

And then you became like a bruise at the back of my mind, painful when bumped. Sometimes, I'd take a finger and poke it, just to see if it still hurt, because there was something so comfortable about missing you. Missing you filled the space previously occupied by loving you, and God knows I'm terrible at having holes.

But yesterday, when I thought of you, it didn't hurt. I tried to make it hurt, banged at the spot where my bruise had been, tried to force tears, but all I felt was a whisper of nostalgia.

It scared me that I could be so fond of having a sore spot.

And then I got up and showered and blew my hair dry (it's longer now, you know) and put on a pair of jeans that you wouldn't have liked. I watched an episode of that TV show you were always trying to get me to watch and decided, almost without realizing, that you had good taste in TV after all.

But then I realized that I was thinking of you again, and tried to recoil, but there was no reason to because you weren't really there anymore, making me hurt and wonder what if.

Then I found myself in front of the mirror, thinking about thinking of you, and realizing how much I've changed since February. If we met now, you wouldn't know me. You wouldn't love me. And that no longer scares me.

If you should ever see this, I'd want you to know how grateful I am to you for being the beautiful boy with the green eyes who took a broken thing and taught her to trust herself.

But now, I lay this ache to rest, and welcome you, my sweet nostalgic memory, into the realm of my distant thoughts. I have learned how to live.

I haven't the time for ghosts, you know.

x,
   g