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.

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

Hide and Seek

As a kid, I never much enjoyed playing Hide-'n-go-Seek. The way I saw it, it was terrifying and humiliating no matter what role I ended up playing.

There's the Seeker, who counts to ten and then looks for everyone. The Seeker has to walk around alone looking for other kids. I always had this nagging worry in the back of my mind that I wouldn't be able to find anyone, thereby ending up humiliated and alone. Or worse, that the other kids had all abandoned me, leaving me to look for people that simply weren't there while they all went off to play somewhere else.

And when you're not seeking, you're a Hider. Hiders are simply supposed to hide as best they can and wait to be found. Being a hider was, for me, just as bad as being the Seeker. Finding the right hiding place was a serious business. I never wanted to be found first because that meant my hiding spot was lame, but I also never wanted to be found last. Last meant sitting alone the longest, unable to do anything to change my situation. Last meant having a tiny, irrational moment of terror, contemplating the consequences of never being found and remaining hidden forever. Last meant people were impatient with finding you, prone to giving up.

No matter what I did, I was charged with isolation, told that I could either be seeking or sought but never both.

As I grew up, I began to realize how precarious the balance of the Seekers to the Sought really was. In middle school, I had trouble making friends, and was told that the less available I made myself, the more people would want to be with me. High school brought the same advice, but in relation to boys. This is what I heard: 

Be yourself, but if being yourself means being straightforward and assertive, expect to die alone, because people like to seek. They like the game. They like to feel like they're winning. And if you make it too easy for someone to find you, you're lame.  

But don't play too hard to get. No one likes a tease. Be complicated until the other person gets bored. Surprise! You were winning all along.

Honestly, I have no patience for games. I don't like the "pretend you're busy" nuances of new friendships or the "keep him guessing" culture of dating. When someone likes me, as a friend or otherwise, I appreciate them letting me know. You don't have to be clingy about it. Embrace the awkward.

I don't enjoy feeling like I have to hide in just the right place and wait to be found. And I don't like this mentality of hiding or seeking. It's hiding, because we're all a little hidden inherently, with our flaws and secrets, while seeking, because no one has to ever be alone.

It's realizing that Sardines is maybe the better game, because, after all, we're all playing the game of life as a team, learning that hiding and seeking should always end with everyone smiling because no one is ever alone.

Happy Saturday!

x,
   g

Flirting is Hard and I'm Bad at It

When A and I broke up, I thought the world was pretty much over. I was convinced that I was going to die alone with twenty cats in a tiny walk-up apartment in hel- I mean Scranton, Pa. Like, seriously. I was sure that no one else could love me ever again because I was weird and awkward and really really liked playing the Sims.

After a few months, I decided it was probably time for me to start looking at other guys. Not dating other guys, per se, but looking at other guys. Romantically. It was super weird at first. I'd spent the last two years looking at one person, thinking he was the be-all, end-all of my life and, suddenly, there were other people that I was allowed, nay, encouraged to "check out." What does that even mean?

I moved out west a few months later. I was determined to get over A. I made a concentrated effort to talk to boys, but it was hard and I usually gave up before I actually got around to the talking part. I would have really great imaginary conversations with all kinds of guys. I think my brain took it the wrong way, though, because when I finally got to the point where I was cool with talking to a cute boy, my brain was working on overdrive to sabotage me. 

It usually went like this:

Me: Oh, look, a male specimen that is suitably attractive. I wish to engage in flirting activities with him. Brain, ready my mental faculties for flirtation. 

Brain: On it boss. Let's just steer you right over there... And we're good. Commence operation.  

Me: Okay. I said hi and he didn't run away screaming. That's a good sign right? 

Brain: We're doing great. Oh, look. He's saying something funny! 

Me: Wow, he's pretty cool. Run the laughter program, please. 

Brain: Running.  

Me: [laughter] He's saying something funny again. Can we impress him with a witty reply? 

Brain: Naw, man. I've got a better idea. I'm gonna run the laughter program again.

Me: Wait...what- [laughter] 

Brain: Mmm... I can do better. Let's amp up the volume and the pitch. Good. Now try snorting as unattractively as possible. Ooo! Idea! Let's inhale some of our own spit and then hack it up like we have an infectious lung disease! Charming. Wheeze, Micaela, wheeze. 

Me: [dying] ... Wait, he's leaving... He's literally sprinting away.  

Brain: Oh, it's cool. Now it's just you and me. Forever and ever and ever and ever...

You get the idea. And it still happens a lot more than I care to admit. And it's way awkward. Texting is my friend. I have time to override my brain's automatic response with witty responses. And I can do it wearing my pajamas. Texting was invented for the sole purpose of giving people like me the chance to find love, I swear. 

Another problem I have with flirting is that I suck at it, especially when I really like someone. They'll say something cute and I'll laugh way too loud because on the inside, I'm screaming "I am a little bit in love with you. Please read my thoughts and love me also. Thank you."But then with people I don't like as much, I can be a flirting machine. It's a paradox.

That last bit wasn't as relevant as I thought it would be, but I felt like it needed to be said. 

Long story short, I'm not going to die alone unless I end up choking to death on my spit while I'm trying to seduce someone. 

This post kind of sucks. If you made it to this point, I'm really proud of you.

x,

   m

Dragon Pictures and "Banoo"s

I remember it like it was yesterday. 

8th grade band practice had just ended. I was struggling to get my metal folding chair onto the chair racks without dropping my baritone (which was about the same size as me, since I hadn't yet grown) when he approached me, scrawny body clinging to his tuba (which was much bigger than him), glasses falling down his face. 

(He needs a name. Let's call him Jeff.) 

Jeff had long been a thorn in my side. His behavior in 7th grade Spanish had nearly driven me to screaming several times. For, you see, Jeff had three of the most annoying habits anyone can ever have, ever: drawing detailed and sometimes sexually explicit pictures of dragons (think Napoleon Dynamite) and showing them to everyone, correcting everyone every time anyone bothered to open their mouth, and pronouncing "baño" (the spanish word for bathroom) as "banoo."  

Seriously. Banoo. 

Since I was a good student and kinda on the shy side, teachers tended to seat me next to their "problem" students. I think the assumption there was that I'd rub off on them, which everyone knows never happens. * Jeff was a problem student. Guess who sat next to him in Spanish, band, and (briefly) social studies? 

Yup. Me. 

And I was a nice kid. I didn't make fun of him like the other kids. I listened when he explained why his 34th dragon picture was different than all the others, tolerated his mispronounced Spanish in silence, and didn't punch him in the face when he said, "Actually, Ms. Rose, that's wrong" for the 5 millionth time. I didn't think much of it. We weren't friends, and as long as he never talked to me outside of class, there wasn't a problem. Sure, he was weird, but he didn't seem to be contagious. I had been raised to be nice to other people, even when they were a little bit creepy. And he was one person I was actually taller than, so he wasn't threatening.  

Anyways, as I wrestled my chair, I hear him say my name. "Mici!" I turned around to find him right behind me. "Um, hi, Jeff..." I said. I subtly glanced around the room to see if anyone had noticed us talking. Safe for now. 

He cleared his throat and looked me dead in the eyes. "If I asked you out, would you say yes?"

"Um, no." I felt my cheeks go hot. Sure that someone must have noticed us by now, I turned to go.

"Will you go out with me?"

I looked back at him. "No." And I walked (ran?) away, leaving him and his tuba standing by the chair rack. I never talked to him again, preferring to ignore him. 

I told my friends about it later and we all shared a good laugh. After all, Jeff had asked me on a date, and, even though I wasn't exactly a prime catch, I was too good for Jeff... 

Right?

Well, years went by, and I didn't have him in any of my classes until Senior year. He walked into my math class. Nothing had changed. He still had the same annoying hobbies. I was still assigned to sit by him. We all made fun of him. 

But then, one day, he disappeared from school and never came back. Different stories circulated-- his father beat him up really bad, he tried to hurt himself, his mom left his dad-- but all anyone could confirm was that he wasn't dead. Even his girlfriend, who I knew from Marching Band, didn't know much. One thing was sure, though-- his abrupt disappearance wasn't a positive thing. Something bad had happened.

I still don't know what happened to him, and I don't think I ever will. I don't have many regrets in life, but one of them is making fun of Jeff. I don't feel bad about not dating him, I feel bad about ignoring him, laughing when other people made cruel remarks, and letting sarcasm ooze into all my comments to him. I'm not delusional-- I know we never would have been friends-- but I regret the little things that I did that helped make his life harder. 

As someone who's suffered quietly, I know what it's like to have to put on a brave face and pretend nothing's wrong, and I know how much little acts of kindness help. I also know how even the smallest comment can take a horrible day and make it worse. 

Here's to noticing the Jeffs of the world, the underdogs, the lonely, the bizarre, and the broken. Here's to making the extra effort to smile at someone just because, to not rolling your eyes at a comment you think is stupid, and to tolerating other people's quirks. You never know what they're going through. 

Happy weekend, dear Snarkites!

x, 

   m

*Actual result- I was well-versed in lock-picking theory, cuss words, half the school's sex life, and the soccer team's drug habits by the time I graduated from high school. 

Peaches

I know I haven't written in a while. There's a very good reason I haven't. But you're not going to hear that reason because it is boring and sad. Instead, I'm going to get a little personal, if y'all don't mind. I share this not for pity. I share this because I honestly believe it could help someone.

Today, I want to talk about my personal battle with my self-esteem. Ever since I can remember, I've struggled to accept my body, my personality, and my mind as "pretty" or even "normal."The mirror has, I kid you not, reduced me to tears more often than I care to admit. This isn't just an "off-day"type thing-- it's something I live with and fight against every day. And no, it's not like I've never felt "cute" or whatever. I have periods of time that are better than others, months when the girl looking back at me from the mirror is satisfactory. 

A lot of this problem stems from the way I grew up, surrounded by conflict. I was often made to feel that I was the problem, even when I wasn't, but I didn't know any better. I learned that my mother didn't like herself very much, and I felt like she didn't like me much either. We later learned that her self-loathing was rooted in mental illness, and that her illness caused her to project her feelings about herself onto those around her. The first time I remember feeling ugly was when I was in 4th grade. 

I went through a phase in middle school wherein I was convinced I was some kind of genetic freak (though it can be argued that nearly everyone does). Kids told me I had a big nose. I felt stupid almost daily. I measured my self-worth by the number of people that said hi to me in the hallway. An adult once told me that I could be a model if they photoshopped my face out of the pictures. I grew up in this strange state of conflicted logic. Disliking myself was all I'd ever known, so I figured it was normal for me to feel ugly, dumb, and weird. On the other hand, I would compare myself to other girls and think, "If I looked like her, I would be happy," because I assumed that the pretty, smart, normal girls must be happy. As I grew older, I learned that getting attention from boys was where it was at. I measured my love for myself by my romantic prospects, as well as how many friends I had, what grades I got, and how severe my acne was on any given day. 

Then things changed pretty dramatically. My parents separated. My dad and I started talking a lot about my childhood, the way my dear mother's illness had effected both of us, and how we can heal from the damage that had been done. 

I resided in my convoluted logic for years and years. The script I ran in my head told me I was unattractive, stupid, inferior, unwanted, and unloveable. It wasn't until my senior year of high school that I realized the way I felt about myself wasn't healthy or good, and that maybe, just maybe, I didn't see myself clearly. The mental script that I read myself each time I saw myself was harsh, cruel, and perhaps untrue. 

I still struggle with loving myself, but I am making slow and steady progress, but I am a different person than I was a year ago. I see beauty in myself more frequently. I've learned to be gentle with myself, to allow error, and to accept that everyone's a little bit flawed. I've learned that God loves me, simply because I am me, and that He made me the way I needed to be to get the most out of this life. I have discovered unconditional love in places I didn't know I would. I have only just begun to realize my own potential for happiness and love. And I've only just begun to appreciate the girl in the mirror. 

There are two quotes that I adore that I'd like to share. These quotes have gotten me through my toughest days over and over again.

"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." -Eleanor Roosevelt

"You can be the ripest, juiciest peach in the world and there's still going to be somebody who hates peaches." -Dita Von Teese

Please remember to love yourself... It's worth it. And the more you find beauty in yourself, the more you'll see it in others.

Have a lovely weekend!

x,
   m

I Kissed the Backstreet Boys (And Why I Miss Being Five)

I can remember being five surprisingly clearly. I woke up at 7am, just because I wanted to. I went to bed at 8 just because Mom said that was bedtime. I was told what to wear, given food on demand, and never had to worry what I looked like in a bathing suit. School consisted of doing elaborate finger-paintings and learning the difference between the letter "r" and the letter "f" (I still struggle with that) and, in my case, being all five of the Backstreet Boys' girlfriend (more on that later).

Aside from my unusual boyfriend situation, life was simple. But, like most kids, I spent a good amount of time trying to act like a grown-up. I remember thinking that the best day of my life would be when I got my first pair of high heels to wear to church, but now that I have heels, I hate wearing them. Like most things we dream about doing as kids, they hurt more than expected. People see you and think, "Huh, she looks taller than usual," but never really notice why, because high heels are something everyone wears. You don't get a medal for not falling down, you don't get a certificate of maturity, you just get new shoes to hobble around in. They're awkward and uncomfortable and make you feel stupid for a while. Eventually, wearing heels is standard, and you never think anything about it.

I also spent a good deal of my time planning my wedding. When I was five, I was pretty convinced that I was going to marry one of the five boys who made up our schools "Backstreet Boys." I once asked if I, too, could be a Backstreet Boy, but I was turned down on account of being a girl. They instead offered me the position of "girlfriend." I realize now that I was more of a skanky groupie than anyone's girlfriend, but I enjoyed the position immensely. I'm pretty sure that I at least hugged all five of them, and I know for a fact that I kissed at least two of them.* I was so excited to grow up and have real boyfriends and get married.

Well, in Mormon tradition, you're supposed to wait until you're 16 before you start dating. While I may or may not have breached that rule, I was 16 when I got my first real boyfriend (let's call him A). The first month we were dating, I found a way to work "boyfriend" into almost every conversation. I'm pretty sure my friends were all ready to kill me.

It was everything I hoped it would be-- going to the movies, making cookies, getting ice cream- and we were together for two years. It was a fairytale, until it came time for us to decide on colleges. Our plan was to go to school together, continue dating, and maybe eventually get married. But fate had other plans. I woke up one morning with the distinct impression that I needed to go to Brigham Young University. We broke up that day. Much like the afore mentioned high heels, I had underestimated the amount of pain that a "grown-up" relationship could cause. It sucked. He was my best friend, and I was suddenly alone.

But what I failed to realize at the time (and what no one thinks about when they're five) is that life goes on. When you're five, it seems like everything's a straight shot. Growing up is complicated, painful, and dangerous. But it is also exciting, beautiful, and natural. It's a good thing. It is right. I made one of my best friends after breaking up with A. I moved across the country. I met new people. I changed more in the course of three months than I ever have in my life.

So yeah, sometimes I miss the simplicity of being five, but when it comes right down to it, I'm so blessed to have these chances to grow and learn about myself.

Also, my roommate and I regularly build pillow forts and give ourselves fake tattoos. So really, you can act like a kid at any age. Keep that in mind.

x,
   m


*In fact, I remember my "first" kiss in almost disgusting detail. I won't go into specifics, but I vividly remember thinking, "This is so gross. I'm never kissing anyone again." But then I kissed another boy the next week. I sure was a skank.

You're Doing It Wrong: Flirting

Okay, it's the moment you've all been waiting for... I'm going to talk about my love life. Let me preface this by saying two things: 1. I won't talk about anything that actually matters (so stop being so nosey) and 2. About 60% of the time, I'm still convinced I look like this:

So I'm always a little surprised when I get any male attention. (On a related note, the shoes in this picture are the famous shoes I wore when I fell down the hill durring that fateful first high school gym class.)

Anyways, flirting. I can think of about a million things I would love for a guy to do in an attempt to win my affections (flowers, chocolate, flowers, serenading me, dancing with me under the fading sunset... also flowers. Let it be noted that I like flowers.) but I think in my months here at college, I've run into several flirting methods that, to be frank, freaked me the heck out. And so, without further ado, I present to you Micaela's List of Things You Should Never Do to Get a Girl to Like You.

1. Ask her complex, Duct-tape-related questions at three-minute intervals. Okay, that sounds very specific, but seriously. If you start a conversation with someone, especially if you're on the bus and can't walk away, make sure you consistently... ya know... talk. If she has time to get out her iPod, listen to most of a Neon Trees song, and text her father an oddly detailed description of her lunch, you're doing it wrong. And when you do decide to grace her with the sound of your voice again, for the love of all that's holy, make sure it's something more engaging than a monologue about how many times you've broken your left bike pedal in the last six months. And if you have to talk about that, laugh when she makes a joke about only pedaling with one foot, because she knows it wasn't funny, but seriously, dude, you're being so awkward. And if you absolutely cannot do that, do not follow with a question about how she feels about BYU Duct-tape. She knows it exists, she just doesn't think it's worth talking about, but it's okay because you'll give her another three minutes to think of a totally unfunny tape joke so you can look at her like she's an idiot. 

2. Offer to build a shrine to her in your closet*. Yeah, that happened. It was followed by the sentence, "I'll make it out of chocolate bars, then light candles around it so I can watch it melt." Strangely enough, the ladies don't really go for that. I know, right?! Women...

3. Shove a package of raw hamburger in her face and tell her it's hers if she eats it all raw*. Chocolate bar might be a good substitute for hamburger, but that's just my opinion. Also, consider the fact that you're walking around with raw hamburger. Contemplate your life. Ask yourself, "Am I trying to die young?" and if the answer is yes, hit me up and I can get you a great shrink. 

4. Dress up in a silver MorphSuit and give her prolonged hugs. If you're not familiar with MorphSuits, they look like this:

But the guy was wearing an orange jersey over it. Regardless of the jersey, it made me think of this: 

(Yeah, I'm terrified of the Slender Man. If you don't know who that is, congratulations, you've never had your pants scared off. I'd tell you to go download and play Slender, but I can't wish that kind of terror on anyone...)

Hugging random strangers is weird enough when you can see their face, but when you add in the fact that this guy a. looked like Slender Man and b. was not actually wearing any pants, you can imagine how creepy things can get. 

If you're concerned she isn't adequately impressed, try hugging her for a really long time. Like, exceed the hug time limit by about 20 seconds. While smelling her hair. Nuzzling her face. Making her a little concerned that she's actually gone crazy. She'll totally want to date you after she recovers from the mental scaring you've caused her.

...Okay, it was hilarious. Seriously one of the best things I've seen at BYU. And the guy smelled awesome and hugged like a champ (Dude, if you're reading this, we should totally cuddle sometime. You don't even need to talk to me, just show up smelling good and willing to hug me.) and seemed to have the same twisted sense of humor I have (Okay, I'm calling it, we're soul mates.), but it was creepy nonetheless. (Seriously, call me sometime?)

Life is weird...

x, 

   m

*Yes, it was the same guy. In all honesty, it was hilarious, and I'm 34.5% sure he was totally kidding... But it was horribly awkward. Nice guy, though. Mad respect for being so gutsy, bro.