One Last Lesson

So a couple weeks ago?  That was intense.  A very overwhelming day.  It was fun, it was crazy, it was busy, it was the most massive family reunion I've ever been to and probably ever will.  There were cross country drives, last minute flights, and everyone who's still in Orlando offering couches and tickets and whatever was needed to get people here.  And the result was that for about an hour and a half a couple of weeks ago it was almost impossible for anyone to simply walk past BLT because there was a massive crowd in front of it making walking those fifty yards more difficult than navigating the crowds on black Friday.

It was everything I expected.  It was awesome . . . and it was awful (and let's take the obligatory moment to observe how odd it is that two words with the same prefix and essentially the same meaning can have such opposite definitions).  I've blogged before about how I am a majorly introverted person, and I have to admit that just knowing that about myself has always been a little confusing because I actually love being around people, especially people I know and love (which was a lot of the group in this case).  But by the end of the night I was drained.  So much so that it took me the bulk of the next day to recharge.

I haven't been in such a big group for such a long time . . . I'd forgotten just how intense it can be.  It really caught me by surprise, which is more than a little tragic because in the end I didn't talk to anyone nearly as much as I wanted to.  The whole situation just left me a little speechless, and in the end I could really only marvel at the size of the crowd and how many people had come from a gazillion states away - and how many people were still nearby, which was a lot more than I'd realized.  Sadly, that also meant I did not get all the pictures with people that I'd wanted, although I did get some good crowd shots (pictures coming soon for those waiting, I promise!) and a few of the kind I was planning on.  By the end of the night I was actually left more or less speechless - mostly because I was focused on continuing to . . . I don't know, function sounds a little melodramatic but I've been sitting here for literally twenty minutes trying to come up with the right word and it's just not coming to me.  But honestly my mind just kind of went blank.  Beyond, you know, instructions to keep breathing, or whatever.

Being social is hard.  It's definitely easier when you're with people who you know like you - but it's still exhausting.  And it turns out that five solid years of almost nothing but alone time doesn't work.  I mean . . . it's nice and all, and kept the batteries in a pretty constant state of charged at the time - but it doesn't build up the kind of reserve you need for such a massive amount of socialness.  I had worked out a pretty good balance before, but I completely forgot about it and before two weeks ago there hadn't been much of a need to rediscover how to manage.

I do hope I end up needing to re-figure it out though.  To continue one of the many mangled analogies, Monica and Chandler have long since moved and even Phoebe is married, but you know they're all still getting together - obviously not spending every day at the coffee shop, but still seeing each other when they can.  (side note: after you read this and feel really old, take a moment to notice that it was posted a year ago and even those ages are now off)  After all, you know what they say - blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb (fun fact! did you know that the full saying actually turns out to mean essentially the exact opposite of the way people mean it to mean?).  Not imply anything about the viscosity of anyone's womb water . . . but it turns out some ties bind a little more thoroughly and long term than you think when you first start twisting the strings around.

So . . . here's to keeping them a little more tightly knotted these days.  Assuming I can find the mental strength to do it.


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Speaking of Disney attractions that are tragically closed . . .

That Corner Booth

The Backlot Tour closes today.  That is, quite honestly, a good thing.  I'm told it was good when it first opened, but I never saw the glory days . . . and even the first time I rode, TEN FREAKING YEARS AGO this December(!), it was only a shadow of what it was meant to be.  It was constantly in a state of barely hidden disrepair, and the upper levels of management really didn't even pretend to care.  It was tired, outdated, corny, and couldn't hide it if it wanted too.  Rumors about it closing for good have been swirling for years - in fact, they were probably swirling that Christmas Day in 2004 when I rode it and whilst riding decided that yes, I was going to apply for the Disney College Program after I graduated because man, wouldn't it be fun to be the person up front giving the tour?  Frankly, it has needed to be closed down and replaced for a very long time.  No one knew that more than the people who worked there.  No one complained about how awful that ride was more than them either.  No one talked about the attraction's days being numbered and counted them down more that BLT cast members.

Including me.

I was one of them (although it's sometimes hard to believe now) and we all hated that place with a passion.

A passion so intense it became both hatred and love.

Because no one defended that place to outsiders like we did either.  No one complained about replacing live tour guiding with an autospiel more than we did.  No one got more frustrated on Catastrophe Canyon's behalf than we did when management made it clear that non-working effects weren't going to be fixed.  This was our home, for better or worse, and we were going to defend it, dangit!

At this point I hope it goes without saying that my heart is breaking today, just a little bit.  It doesn't matter that we've all seen this coming for years, I think a lot of us are feeling a bit like Inigo. For me in particular, those couple of years were a defining moment.  Obviously it's where Luke and I met, and so the thought of the whole place being torn down feels like a desecration from that view.  I mean, this is exactly the sort of thing that corny country songs are made of.

But there's so much more to it than that.  I've often told people that the first time I lived in Orlando it was like living a real life version of Friends.  Which is true, but at the same time doesn't go far enough.  Unless you've actually lived in a situation where you had no family nearby but still had a big group of people who had your back no matter what even though there were just as lost as you were and you all knew you were making it up as you went along and everyone was roommates with everyone and everyone spent all their free time together because no one knew anyone else and life was always some degree of crazy and everything was a new experience . . . well, it's one thing to watch the show, and it's completely another to live it.

I think about that moment in time often, especially now that we're back.  I have to say, at the risk of sounding overly hyperbolic, that they were easily the best and possibly the most important years of my life.  I've never felt so completely, one hundred per cent and then some, accepted for who I was in my entire life.  I have never met another group of people as non-judgmental.  I wouldn't even know where to start looking for another group of people as unquestionably welcoming. It was an absolutely new experience for me - possibly even the most foreign one I've ever had.  And because of that, I had no idea how to react when I made mistakes.  I expected rejection and judgment, so I distanced myself from people before they could do it instead.  It took a ridiculously long time, but I finally saw that that never would have happened.  This group was truly one of kind among any I've encountered . . . well, ever. (are you tired of all the adverbs yet, lol?)  so I have a few regrets, but for the most part I look back on those two and a half years with just happy nostalgia.  It was a simpler time in life, even though it felt so complicated in the moment.  And while the seeds of getting me there then were planted looooooooooooooooooooooong before I got there, those first blooms that sprouted in those years are the reason I am where I am today. (that may be the most garbled metaphor I've ever created)

Luke started a facebook event last Saturday after the closing announcement.  One last ride for former BLT cast members who were still around, the last tour ever given by the old shuttles.  We figured we could meet up with a dozen or so old friends.  Within, like, three hours fifty people had said they were coming and with everyone inviting everyone they were still in touch with the invite list has already broken three hundred and I swear there are more people every time I look.  A lot of them are coming, some of them flying in from around the country just for the weekend to see old friends and say goodbye to what was, for pretty much all of us, our first real job.  I don't even know most of these people at this point, but we're going to spend an hour together today, laughing and crying and saying goodbye to the bane of our existence . . . and one of the best things that ever happened to us at the same time.  It's slightly incredible.

The place is tired, run down, with nothing even remotely exciting or fun or new about it.  Tonight is going to be as much a celebration that it's finally gone as it is a gathering to wish it wasn't going.  It's the end of several eras, and I'm so glad we got back here in time to say goodbye.  It's taking a little piece of my heart with it, but the BLT left me a better person than it found me.  And after 25 years Catastrophe Canyon finally gets to move on to take three.  It has certainly earned it.  Go ye gently, Cat Canyon into that long goodnight, whilst we who remain rage against the dying of the light.

(yeah . . . that's really cheesy.  but some things just require a little cheese.  as I sure will be demonstrated in the several hundred pictures I plan on taking tonight.  apologies in advance for flooding people's instagram feeds.)

Sometimes you don't realize how much things have changed until it's made obvious that they'll never be the same.  I'd love to go back to those days - but I don't think I would if I could.  I got what I needed, and now it's time to make the best of that . . .

But first a couple hundred of us are going to take a day to say goodbye.

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Throwback Th-Saturday to back when I used to be a big youtube star. (and no, I am not going to admit how long I spent looking for these . . . however neither of them are the one I was looking for . . . )

Lesson Number the Last

First graders hug regularly and without any particular reason.

Fourth graders don't hug without reason . . . but when they have one, they come back for four more and try to tie you to a chair with a jump rope and swear up and down that you can't go because they said so.

Those kids were in kindergarten when I started working there . . . gonna be feeling that all the way to Orlando . . .


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My go-to for these sort of moments.

Ode to Thirty

Also known as my second twenty-ninth birthday.  Because

Yeah, that sounds about right.  Anyway.

Starin' out into the wild blue yonder
So many thoughts to sit and ponder
'Bout life and love and wonderment of
And this craziness in my heart

Too old to be wild and free still
Too young to be over the hill
Should I try to grow up
But who knows where to start

So I just sit right here and have myself another snowcone
Do my best to waste another day
Sit right here and have another homemade snowcone
Let the packed boxes melt any blues away

Sun comes up and sun sinks down
And I seen 'em both in this two-horse town
Up for days wishin' for a raise

 Or just a job that is full time

From the answers and the reasons why
I'm at these crossroads in my life
And I think I mostly know

 Which way to fly

So I just sit right here and take another trip to the library
Do my best to waste another day
Sit right here and stack the books two feet high
Let the crappy novels (these days) melt any blues away

Maybe I'll settle down, have babies
Or stay kid-less and stay free
Which road I travel
Is still (slightly) a mystery to me

So I just sit right here and cross another square off the calendar
Do my best not to waste another day
Sit right here and grasp at straws for one more line
Let the passage of time melt any blues away

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 Apparently Kenny Chesney employs time traveling songwriters that steal from blogs.  Because that's a much more interesting explanation than saying I heard the song a couple weeks ago for the first time in ages and totally identified with it.

 

I Do Not Need My Own Sad Commercial Where You Can Feed Me for Pennies a Day, Thank You!

Or: In Which Lacey is Fascinated by Other People's Fascination With Her Stomach (And by Stomach I Actually Mean the Organ with which One Digests Food, Let's Just Get Those Assumptions Out of the Way Right Now)

Everybody kept up with me?  Okay, great, the end.

But seriously though.  What is up with people?

This is my fourth (full) year at Ellis.  Every one of those years I have had a lunch break, mostly because there is a point in the school day where all the kids are at lunch so there's just not much of anything for an aide to do and what there has been to do has been assigned to others.  So I find myself with a half hour or so to kill and fill it with whatever I can find.  I have never actually eaten lunch on my lunch break because I have always gone home within an hour of that break and it's always made more sense to just wait and eat at home than to pack a lunch or to pay for one from the cafeteria.

Every year I get comments about the fact that I don't eat lunch.  Every year I (less and less patiently) explain yet again (because it always seems to be the same people) that I am perfectly capable of going without a meal for an additional 30-60 minutes and prefer to eat then.  And every year it's the same people who can't seem to remember/get over the idea of me going FOUR WHOLE HOURS without gorging myself at a buffet or something.  (and yes, Katie, it's those two.)

Now let's get one thing straight right now: I look like I could be pregnant.  My body seems to sit naturally at that look that asks "did she eat an extra taco at lunch or is she three months along?"  Well, to put it bluntly, I've been three months along since I was about 14.  I don't know if I just have an abnormally rotund uterus or what, but that's just how I look.  And most days I'm okay with that.  But it seems that with some people there is just something about me, and I can only assume it's the permanent-food-baby (because I have no idea what else it could be), that gives off this aura of "I can't go more than a few minutes without food."

Seriously, I am SO glad I don't see much of any of the other aides this year, especially at lunch.  Because if I had to spend another day (much less year) listening to

"Oh my goodness, I don't know how you last so long without eating!"

and

"Aren't you just starving?!"

and

"I'm so impressed!  I don't have your willpower!"

and the like, I don't know that I could vouch for the survival of either myself or the commenters.

I mean, don't get me wrong, if you're going around offering fresh pineapple and Belgian chocolate I am not going to turn up my nose at them.  Heck, let's be honest here - old, hard skittles and chocolate sprinkles will usually satisfy me just as much.  But is there really something about me that says "I am Augustina Gloop!"?

And don't even get me started on the part where MY SHIFT LASTS FOR THREE AND A HALF HOURS. And they know that because everyone is limited to three and a half hours.  (except I did get that extra hour starting last week, yay!  but my point stands.)  Like, sure, I'm ready to eat pretty soon after I get home.  But if you can't go three hours without eating a full meal . . . like, you need to get that diagnosed, you know?  And . . . like . . . stop projecting that on to random other people going four or five hours between meals.  Because if you're older than, like, four or something?  And you're just starving after three hours?  Dude, I don't know what to tell you.  Other than the problem you have with me not eating is probably actually a problem you have with you eating.  Or not eating.  I don't know.  I'm not a shrink.

Anyway . . . yeah.  I'm self conscious enough about food (aren't we all?).  But do any of you see a reason these people won't leave me alone?


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In case you needed proof that marching band/color guard > football.  Because that's just how it is.  (I'd say the whole video is proof, but the solid stuff is at the end.  The ones carrying metal didn't even blink, the ones wearing padding ran like little girls.)

Goodreads Just Needs to Add Half Stars Already

Good books are all alike, bad book are each bad in their own way.
              ~Anna Karenina (sort of)

So I just finished a series last week.  It was . . . not good.  Frankly, it started at "meh" and descended into "awful" by the time I finished.  It was not so bad that I regret reading it - I've read a few of those - but it was bad enough that I do kind of wish I'd known from the start not to pick it up.  I realize that probably doesn't make a lot of sense, but it makes perfect sense in my head so we're just gonna go with it.

I picked it up because it sounded like a fun read, and with multi-thousand reviews giving an average of almost four out of five stars it seemed like it must be at least tolerable, right?  And that's where things all fell apart.  Because I absolutely do not see what it is that the other 93% saw in it to give it a high rating. (perhaps I need to occupy goodreads?)

The hardest part is looking at the ratings my friends have left on the books, which also influenced my expectations of what I was reading - ten ratings, all fours and fives.  And it took some real internal debate for me to give even two stars.

So now we get an oft-visited topic around here - How Lacey Hates Being Noticeably Different from Everybody: Books Edition.  I'd say that easily 90% of my goodreads books haven't even been added by any of my goodreads friends.  But of the books that do have opinions to compare, it's usually pretty varied, and more or less middle of the road.  I don't feel bad about giving a book two stars when I see that people I know have already given it a one, a four, and three threes.  But giving something a one when it has seven fives and three fours . . . is actually a little distressing.  Which sounds totally ridiculous, and is a total non-issue, but at the same time I look at that little list of stars and I can't help but think - what did I miss?  Did we even read the same book?  (I'm about 75% we didn't at this point)

And then I get all self-conscious like I'm in the wrong class or wandered into a wedding reception at some hotel ballroom where I don't know anyone but got pulled into the conga line before I could duck back out and now everyone's asking me how I know the newlyweds and I'm just trying to figure out how to answer in a way that won't make me look like a party crasher.

I feel a little guilty about not liking this trilogy too, almost as if I am crashing a party considering how almost universally well-liked it is.  But the simple fact of the matter is, it's bad.  The first book is iffy, the second book wipes away any potential for redeeming the whole, and the third book is just bad metaphor after stupid cliche after plot hole after illogical and unexplained escape from painted corners.  Rinse, repeat.  I really don't get it . . . and, for a couple of weeks at least, I feel like I almost can't trust my own opinions.  I much prefer the books where I can say it's not my thing but I can see how others would like it.  But when there's more to like in Twilight . . . yeah.  This does not work for me.

That said, I have to admit there is something that is just so . . . satisfying about writing a review about a book I didn't like.  I guess it's a cathartic thing, the angrier I am when I finish the book, the better I feel when I finish the review.  I do my best to be nice while still being honest, although I assume it probably doesn't always come across that way.  (actually, if we're being honest I'm coming to realize it's probably safest to assume I'm coming across more or less the opposite way from what I intended in most situations)  I don't know what it is, but I always have an easier time expressing what I didn't like about a book (or movie or whatever) than I do about what I like about it.  Reading a good book is such an overall enjoyable experience . . . was it because the characters were fun?  Because the dialogue was snappy and clever?  The overall premise and plot were unique and well written?  they all blend together so seamlessly in a good book, one aspect making up for where another might be a little bit lacking that it just becomes hard for me to say what it was that took it from two stars to three, or three to four.  But a one star book, now - those I can almost always point to the moments where I was thinking something didn't make sense, or was too convenient, or not as funny as the book itself thought it was, or just plain didn't work.   Especially in a book I wanted to like (as these were) it's so easy to point to where and how that desire was disappointed.

The good news is the book I'm currently reading is sitting at a solid three, depending on the ending, and only one other person has even added it.  And the next one in my pile is the fifth in a series I've become quite the fan of.  So hopefully I can shake off this dissonance by the time they're both done.


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Have I already posted this one?  Oh well, don't care.  It's cute.  And we've been singing this song around here a lot lately . . . not sure why though . . .

But the Living Ain't Easy

In other words, Summertime: What It's Like Trying to Get a Job in Logan


And it's about like this.

Four years.  Four gazillion applications.  Four interviews.  Half a job.  Half a job I love . . . but only half a job.

I am really coming to hate this town.



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I didn't particularly care for this song back in high school when we played it in symphony.  But it's grown on me in the decade (!) since then.

Finding My Place

I used to be really good about writing in a journal.  All through high school I wrote consistently every week . . . well, I missed a few here and there, but not many.  That tapered off pretty quickly in college - and even though I much prefer actually physically writing, blogging has pretty much replaced it.  Which, obviously, has its pros and cons.

Anyway.  (Sort of) on that note I just want to take a moment to record for posterity how glad I am that the internet exists.  Because if I do have a place in this world, the internet seems to be it.

I've known this for a long time, but in some ways I'm rediscovering it: there is a niche for everyone on the internet.  You'd never guess it reading the comments on a random news article or youtube video, those seem to bring out the very dregs of humanity.  But dig a little deeper and you can find close-knit little communities dedicated to everything under the sun . . . and probably a few things over it too.

Sometimes I feel a little out of place on these sites.  I mean there are people who's lives appear to completely revolve around Stargate SG-1, or color guard, or Tamora Pierce books.  And mine . . . doesn't.  It almost makes me feel like I have ADD or something because I'm a casually-huge fan of sooooooooo many things, so I kind of hop from one "club" to another depending on my mood.  But even so, every time I've stuck my toe timidly into a new fandom pool I've been welcomed whole-heartedly.  And I've really appreciated it - especially considering how much free time I have to spend online.

It's just so nice to have a place(s) and group(s) where I'm completely and truly welcomed and accepted.  Heaven knows that has yet to happen to me in real life.  I'm a somewhat socially awkward person, and the larger the group the more awkward I get.  And that has led to groups where I was tolerated . . . or marginalized . . . or even made into a charity improvement project.  While I've always come away from a group with one or two friendship that have and will last a long time, I've never found success in group settings.  In fact, more often than not my time in them seems to end in some sort of over-dramatic explosion or implosion that's crushing, but deep down is also expected.  (I kind of can't believe I lasted as long as I did in my last attempt at a group, actually.)  And while I don't think my interests are all that out of the ordinary, it's always seemed like I'm the only one I know in real life who's into those things.  In one recent case one of my interests was so mocked that I've been hesitant to even mention it to anyone ever since - even online.

So yeah.  I'm glad the internet exists.  And that there are places on it where people are nice to each other.  I may know a lot of my friends only by screen name and avatar, but at least they don't get snarky when I mention a favorite tv show or movie.  I hope this post doesn't sound like I'm depressed, I'm really feeling more included and encouraged than I have in a while . . . possibly my entire adult life.  Like I'm moving on from some things, getting over others, closing chapters and all those other cliches.  I'm good.  As long as the power doesn't go out. :-)


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Another reason to love the internet.  How else could a bunch of bored Welshmen show off their absolute brilliance?

That Cursed Aging Thing Strikes Again

While we were in nursery last year there was one little girl (we'll go with calling her Estelle) who was especially clingy, and she got very attached to me.  So much so that she would attempt to climb up me like a kitten if I didn't pick her up as soon as she came in and generally speaking I'd spend the whole first hour holding her, and then she'd play after snack time.  As I understand it things didn't go well after I got moved to Primary. (and then there was the kid who wouldn't go because Luke wasn't there . . . I guess there actually is a group we're popular with!)

Anyway.  She's a Sunbeam now and still gets excited when she sees me.  To the point that this past Sunday about halfway through sacrament meeting she ran back a couple of pews to sit on my lap.  Which was fine with me and I imagine her mom appreciated the break - she's very . . . energetic, shall we say.  Pretty soon after (Estelle) sort of just materialized in my lap one of her classmates came running back too.  Things looked like they were going to get really interesting for a minute, but (Brooke) just gave her a hug and said "hi (Estelle)!  I love you!" and went back to her family after just a few moments.  At which point (Estelle) turned back to me and told me all about how that was her friend.

It was seriously the sweetest thing I've seen in a long time.  These two scarcely played together in nursery last year, and I don't think they see each other except for Sunday.  But they spend two hours a week in the same room and that's all it takes to be bosom friends like Anne and Diana.  (judging you if you had to click that link, lol)

I wish friendship in adulthood worked the same way as friendship between three-year-olds.  Where mere proximity means you're as good as family.  All it takes is the same favorite color to forge an unbreakable bond.  None of this peacocking around trying to impress people, or worrying about saying the right thing.  Maybe you forget the other person exists when you're not together, but there's no wondering if you're actually wanted there when you're together.  No gossip, no nastiness, no secrets, no Mean Girls-style manipulation behind the scenes.  Three-year-old friendship is friendship in its purest form.

I mean, I know it's an overly simplistic view of things, and that life gets complicated, and that some people "just don't click," whatever that means (because I swear it's something different to everyone who uses it).  But I still wish we could hold on to some of the simpler, less complicated ways of looking at things we all used to have.  It might not bring about world peace but there would definitely be a lot fewer lonely people sitting in corners wondering what went wrong.  I can't help but think that most people would be happier.

Anyway . . . that's what's been on my mind this week.  Good thing spring break is next week - bring on the thoughtlessness!


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We totally should have done this a few years ago.  Mostly because my dad would have reacted the exact same way.

So That's Over

I severed ties with someone recently.  Well . . . as much as unfriending someone on facebook counts as severing ties when you didn't really have any other ties to begin with.  It was something that needed to be done . . . something that should have been done a while ago, and I've known it all along . . . but when it came down to actually doing it . . . let's just say it took one of those pesky final straws to get me there.

I don't regret it, but it's left me thinking.  About everything from friendship vs. facebook friends to the part where I'm feeling a little lost this year without having some big goal like I have for the last couple of years - even if one was only to read 150 books in a year.  It was a little thing in the grand scheme of all the things, but it was a thing.  And so far this year I've just been all kind of "what shall I do?" and I just . . . don't . . . know.

Anyway.  It's so interesting to go through your list of friends every so often.  Luke recently went through his, finding dozens of people he wasn't even sure he knew.  Of course, he joined facebook when you had to have a .edu address to join so it was all new and exclusive(ish) and classmates were adding everyone in the massive Intro to Whatever 101 because they could.  Fast forward the better part of a decade and you have a bunch of meaningless names you've never actually spoken to in real life, much less interacted with on facebook.  The ones who wouldn't recognize your name or care if facebook did notify people when you unfriended them.  I never used my school email, so I couldn't join until it opened up to everyone - and one would think that that little delay would lead to more logical friending.  But no.  Going back to the original situation, I really did know from the start that this was a friend request that I should not have accepted.  And accepted anyway.  And wondered several times since what the heck I was thinking but just never hit that final button until a little while ago.

It's not quite a relief - we could have truly been friends in different circumstances.  At least, I like to think so.  But at the same time it's so nice to have that knowledge in the back of my mind that I don't have to hold my breath and hope they don't pop up on my feed or comment on something I post.  While I do wish it hadn't had to play out the way it did, I'm pretty sure I always knew it was inevitable.

So the thing I'm wondering now is - am I supposed to be feeling mature and accomplished for recognizing the reality of things and taking the best action for the situation?  Or wistful about crossed wires that could have made a great neon light display had they just connected correctly in the beginning?


tl;dr:
If pictures are worth 1000 words I'm pretty sure this entire post can be summed up thusly:

Just another reason this whole being-a-grown-up thing kinda sucks.



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Perhaps I shall do another grown-up thing and learn physics.  Does it still count if it's kitten physics?

And It Must Follow

Two years into my biggest attempt at a resolution I'm feeling like the world's biggest failure.  And frankly, writing this isn't helping.  Perhaps I'm too much of a stats junkie, but it's just depressing to watch the number of views and comments your blog gets slowly plummet, and to have the numbers right before you to verify it's not just in your head.  And considering the fact that my blog has been more popular in Russia and Sweden than in the US lately, I can only assume that very few people I actually know will ever read this . . . but perhaps strangers can offer me better advice.  Because heaven knows, when it appears that even one's grandparents have stopped reading one's blog, one must be doing something horribly wrong.

And I can only assume that the whole "be myself" thing was horribly wrong in my case.  Apparently when I do that what people see is not actually me (at least, what I would recognize as me) but an emo teenager.  Which doesn't make a lot of sense, since I wasn't exactly emo even when I was a teenager.  I don't understand it, and I can't find an explanation.  All I know is that for the better part of last year I was trying to balance being myself with being someone who doesn't accidentally alienate people without even knowing how I'd been alienating them in the first place.  It probably won't surprise anyone, but I couldn't do it.  It was bewildering . . . torturous.  Months of second-guessing everything I did, said, or thought, and in the end I was more lost than I had been to start with.

I thought this sort of confusion was supposed to . . . just . . . I don't know, evaporate as a person got older.  You know who you are, you get to know other people - so you relate to them.  You can interact and be friends.  Successfully.  Except not me, apparently.  When does the part where you start feeling like an adult start?  Because right now I feel like the ten-year-old trying to blend in at the grown-up table.  I know I'm doing it wrong, and I can see that it's so easy for everyone else at the table - but something is just not connecting.  And there's always that sense in the back of my mind that everyone else has the freedom to say and do whatever comes to mind, but I need to ask permission first.

I'm not sure where to go next.  I suppose I should start trying to find myself again - as cliche and "overdone bildungsroman memoir" as that sounds.  And I think it starts with accepting a few things.  I will never fit in . . . I just won't.  I'm not that kind of person.  I'm always going to be lonely, even in a group.  The good news is that's something I've had since high school to get used to.  It doesn't get easier, but at least it's familiar territory.  And when it gets to the point that I feel unwelcome at social outings . . . well, the library will always let me in.

Of course, it's rather depressing to have no reason to go anywhere else.

I don't know where I'll be in another two years.  But hopefully whatever track I've decided to take between now and then is more successful than the apparently disastrous effort I've dedicated the last two to.  I wish I knew how I went so wrong.  Is there some European thing that could fix me?


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Pretty sure this is what I'll look like going back to work Monday . . .

Not Quite a Whimper

Soooooooooo . . . we're down to just a few more days until Christmas and I am feeling decidedly un-Christmasy.  In fact, I don't think I've ever felt less in the Christmas spirit.

Honestly, I've just had an off month.  It got off to a rather inauspicious start, what with being only 5,000 words off from what I was shooting for.  I mean, if I wasn't going to pull it off I think I'd've rather been way off.  25 or 30 thousand is no where near 50, but at least it's a decent attempt.  On the other hand - 45,000?  That's just taunting.  But I came up against the worst case of writer's block known to man . . . or at least the worst case I've ever had.  The third week was rough, and the last week of November it was like I just slammed into a brick wall.   No idea what happened . . . but it wasn't pretty.

And then there was the part where my grandma died the day before Thanksgiving (because, yeah, that happened).  And the part where this Primary calling thing is making me feel utterly inept at doing anything more complicated than curling up in my corner and reading.  And the part where it's apparently a crap shoot as to whether or not my car will start in the mornings when it's single digits outside.  And the part where life decided that just holding up a neon sign that says "you will never fit in" wasn't enough and started beating me over the head with it a couple of weeks ago.

And while all of those are relatively minor things in the grand scheme of things, especially compared to everything else that's been going on in the world since the beginning of time - and I know they're all varying degrees of minor - they all feel like very big deals right now.

So in an attempt to feel a little more holiday-ish I thought I would bring a little laughter to everyone . . . except there has been a bit of a shortage of funny stories happening at school lately.  Instead, here's one that (to me, at least) feels a bit more like a riddle at the moment.

So a certain (Ezekiel) who's class I was in back in second grade is in my fourth grade class this year.  And the logic level seems to be about the same.  Also, he seems to be happily taking the place of a certain (Eric) who's in fifth grade this year so I never see him.  I'm sure he's moved on to new (and hopefully more age appropriate) crushes.  But last week (Ezekiel) comes up to me and says, "Miss Lacey, I'm you're little honey bunny, huh?"

To which my reply was something to the effect of "splutter . . . stammer . . . what- wait- ummmmm . . . hurry up and get in line, it's time for prep."

Because I speak with the eloquence of (I don't know, but when I went to google for suggestions it auto-completed with "the eloquence of a hedgehog," so I'mma go with that) when I'm caught off guard like that.

Dude.  Who are we kidding, I speak with the eloquence of a hedgehog on a daily basis.

Anyway.  A little while back (Ezekiel) and I had a conversation about him getting into trouble in which he said that Trouble was his middle name.  So now I will occasionally call him Trouble.  As, you know, one does.

And then the day after he referred to himself as my little honey bunny he referred to the two of us - him and me - as "Mr. and Mrs. Trouble."

I feel like I should be laughing by now . . . but I'm still a little speechless.  Constant hugs I can handle.  Lasting-just-a-little-bit-too-long hugs, whatever.  Mr. and Mrs. Trouble?  That, I'm a little weirded out by.


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Everybody always needs a little more joy.  The trippier the better.  So glad Luke hunted this down for me!!!

Regarding November

Pretty much everything can be summed up thusly.

And that is all we shall say about that.


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Let's start this month off right, shall we?  With muppets!

Shoppocrites

So who's been shopping in the last twelve hours?  Yeah, not me.

I've gone Black Friday shopping exactly once, and while it's not something I would do again, I did not have a terrible time.  I did find myself getting up at 5:00 in the morning when I didn't get home from work until after midnight . . . what can I say, people do crazy things when they're in crush.  (I myspace blogged all about it . . . I may have to post it sometime, it's one of the more amusing ones.)

Anyway.  My little excursion was back when Black Friday was just insane. not indecent.  Yeah, have you heard about that?  About the part where Black Friday starts Thursday morning now?  In a nutshell, I agree with everything everyone has been saying.  Greedy, thoughtless, inappropriate and really not fair to the minimum wage peons who have no choice but to skip Thanksgiving and show up in order to make sure there's still something to eat on Saturday.

But on the other hand . . . I don't really have a lot of patience for the people saying it's not right.  If the whole "biting my tongue" thing were literal I'm pretty sure I would have bitten it off by now because I've watched at least half a dozen conversations happen on facebook where friends posted a status about wanting to have a low key Thanksgiving and what should they do - and the answers poured in.  Go out to eat.  Go to a movie.  Go out and eat pizza or at Taco Bell or whatever and at the end, yay for you, no cooking and no big clean up job!

I'm sorry, where is the outrage for the people at the restaurant who don't get to spend Thanksgiving with their family because you're too lazy to cook?  What about the anger for the employees of the movie theater who have to leave their turkey early so you can go to your movie?  Why am I apprently the only one who thinks that's just as wrong?

It's just so amazing how good humanity is at dehumanizing people when we don't want to be considerate of others.  I mean, how's this for an actual thing to overhear - "I would never go out to eat on Thanksgiving.  Those poor people deserve to have the day off and be with their families too."

Said whilst the speaker was at Walt Disney World.  On Thanksgiving.  Where I was working.  On Thanksgiving.  Apparently her level of consideration went beyond retail workers to include waitresses and cooks . . . but I was still just a robot.  Because apparently any job that involves something you aren't doing on a holiday is a travesty, but if it involves the way you want to celebrate then forget your right to celebrate a holiday you minimum wage peon, get over here and get me my churro!

Not to mention it goes without saying that the fact that all these restaurants and theaters and stores are open is the whole reason why Luke has had to work almost every holiday for the last four years.  Where's the indignation about the fact that with all these places open the tech support places have to be open because heaven forbid something happens to those places internet or cable.

Obviously a line in the sand has been drawn, but I can't say that it's the right place in the sand, or even an effective place.  If people working at Walmart want to strike, all power to them.  But as long as there's a double standard where it's okay for some people not to get to spend Thanksgiving or Christmas or whatever at home the way they want to but not for others, I don't see anything changing.  Give it a few more years and stores will be open for normal hours all day on Thanksgiving.  And the only people who will have holidays off will be the people with the cushy corner office jobs, or the paper pushing cubicle drones who work at places that don't sell anything so it doesn't make a difference whether there open on any one particular day.

Because seriously, how hypocritical is that people will protest stores being open on Thanksgiving, but there's nothing wrong with people who work at hotels having to go to work?  Why is it okay that pilots and flight attendants spend the day taking others to be with their families, but not getting to be with their own?  I mean, obviously emergency personnel need to be on call just in case . . . but why do news anchors have to show up?  Either the holiday is for everyone or it's not.  And I'm thinking anymore they're just . . . not.



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So apparently this is what English sounds like to people who don't speak it.  It's nothing but gibberish, but your brain keeps trying to make sense of it - I keep hearing actual words . . . pizza, cold, ice, my eyes . . . it's kinda crazy awesome.

Not Ashamed

Nano update: so far so good, as of yesterday I was even a little ahead of where I needed to be.  But today there's a bit of writer's block going, and I'm pretty sure it's partially rant induced, so I'm getting it out.  (you know my motto - blogging is cheaper than therapy.  plus I'm not sure this quite qualifies as needing therapy.)  At the moment I haven't even decided if this post will ever even see the light of day . . .

Anyway.


I didn't vote yesterday.  I didn't vote early.  I didn't vote at all.

It's not because I don't care.  It's not that I didn't know who to vote for.  It's not even because I didn't want to.  (okay, it kind of is that last one.  a little.)

It's because there is absolutely nothing in the world more pointless than voting in Utah.

Nothing.

I know I'm far from the first person to rant about the electoral college and it's uselessness and the way it nullifies more than half the votes cast . . . but it really drives me nuts to think that such an archaic, deliberately biased system is still in place.

I mean, think about it.  In a rational world, a world where American politicians elected to offices higher than, oh, mayor-ish were capable of thinking of anything other than themselves it would work like this (metaphorically speaking): everyone would get a card.  Red or blue.  Or green or orange or pink because in this world those other cards would actually be relevant.  You pick the color you want and you send it to Washington DC and it's put in a stack with all the other cards of that color.  And in the end whoever has the tallest stack of cards wins.  152 red cards?  Awesome.  153 blue cards?  You lose, red.  Every vote counts, every single solitary card makes a difference because it contributes to the whole stack.

But instead we have this -

Every state gets a bucket of water.  Every person gets to put one drop of food coloring in the water, red or blue.  In the end, some buckets are deep crimson or sapphire.  Some buckets are decidedly fuchsia or plum shaded.  But there are only two trucks to load the buckets in, so a fuchsia bucket get put in the same truck as a crimson one, and a plum buckets goes with the sapphires.  49 blue drops and 51 red drops?  Is the exact equivalent as 100 red drops.

Seriously, how does anyone actually believe their individual vote matters?

I mean, sure, in some states you are going to have a very purple shade, and in that case your one drop might just make the difference between fuchsia and plum . . . but then there's Utah, and all the other states like it.  The states that get 99 red (or blue) drops.  And I'm supposed to believe that my one red drop will make the bucket any more crimson?  Or that my one blue drop will give it even the slightest hint of purple-ish-ness?  No.  It doesn't.  Even a toddler could see that.  So what's the point?

(this is the point where people with jump in with "but the local races!!!!!!!!" which in some places might strike me as a valid argument.  but here . . . I don't see my vote making any difference in those races either)

It's twenty-freaking-twelve.  How is this possible?  Four years ago I was blown away by all the presidential commercials I was seeing on tv.  I'd never seen one before.  I was twenty-four years old and I honestly hadn't even known they existed before that year.  I don't remember what I thought, you hear all the talk about having to give candidates equal airtime and regulations and whatever, and I guess I just figured commercials weren't allowed for presidential candidates because they got all the air time on the news and such.

And then this year.  Not in Florida anymore, something seemed off for the longest time and I couldn't place it until a couple of months ago.  The commercials were gone.  Not a single presidential commercial to be seen.  Anywhere.  Meanwhile, today is the first day in who knows how many months that people in Ohio have seen a commercial that wasn't political.  And I'm supposed to think this is okay?  I don't think so. 

And then there was watching the results come in last night.  Which I'd never done before, but Luke wanted to so we made pizza-and-a-movie night into pizza-and-the-news night.  Going in I did have a bit of a clue what was going on, in fact I'd heard on the radio yesterday morning that Ohio, Virginia, and Florida were the keys and if Romney didn't get at least one of them he didn't have a prayer.  So we're watching, and none of those three have come in and then all the sudden Ohio comes in and somehow it's all over and done with and I'm like "wait a second, he could still get one of the others" but no, apparently they didn't actually matter either.  I mean, they hadn't even finished counting . . . even in those states that just twelve hours ago had been so critical.  The votes in those states could literally not have been counted and it wouldn't have changed a thing - and they're supposed to be the ones who count the most!  (and let's just ignore the hypocrisy in the fact that a statement like that could even exist in a country that supposedly believes "all men are created equal.")

Of course, there's also the part where the polls weren't even closed in Alaska and Hawaii when the whole thing was declared officially over.  So, you know, go on home guys.  It's not like we need you or anything, you know?  We're not waiting until it's 5:00 in the morning in New York to find out who wins!

Someday, heaven willing, we want to live in a state where it's a matter of a fuchsia bucket versus a plum bucket, rather than crimson versus sapphire.  Then?  I will vote, and gladly.  Until then . . . I see no point.


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I decided to go ahead and hit that orange button . . . so here's a palate cleanser before you all tell me what a terrible person I am.  (fun fact: I have actually met a slightly disturbing number of people with these very names!)

Eliot Had the Wrong "A" Month

August is such a month of change.  Every year . . . even after the point where you'd think it wouldn't be such a significant month anymore.  But somehow it shows up again every 334 days and at the very least some tiny little corner of life is turned upside-down.

This week was/is the six year anniversary of me moving to Florida and starting at Disney.  For a week I didn't document in any way at all I remember it incredibly well - I checked in on the 21st, program orientation on the 22nd, Traditions on the 23rd, On With the Show on the 24th, Honey training on the 25th, assessment on the 26th, working on the 27th, and finally a couple of days of on the 29th and 30th . . . but only through an act of God.  And an awesome intervention by a manager because my training buddy and I originally weren't scheduled for a day off until Friday and Saturday, and while ten straight days became something that we did regularly later on, there is no way that we would have made it that week.  Of course, somehow the schedule changed in one program but not the other and when I came back to work on Thursday I discovered I had two no call/no shows on my record.  Which led to a minor panic attack from visions of being fired before I even got my first paycheck, but thankfully that one happened to be a simple and quick fix.

And that's where it began - the two and a half years that would completely change my life.  Of course, it could be argued ones life is completely changed every time two and half years passes, but some are more noticeable than others, and these were definitely the most dramatic of my life thus far.  You may have noticed that I've been on a bit of a nostalgia kick lately.  All year, really.  Turns out high school reunions will do that to you.  Well, that and some old Disney friends posting a bunch of old pictures and videos from the height of the old "glory days" when work meant a couple dozen 20-somethings showing up hungover (either from alcohol or from three hours of sleep for the entire week) and seeing just how much craziness we could get away with before the managers rolled their eyes and said "okay, that's enough."  We didn't generally push the boundaries beyond that - we needed the money to pay for the food we ate and souvenirs we bought spending all our free time at work (so to speak).

After spending this summer seeing things from that tiny stretch of time . . . being reminded of things I'd completely forgotten . . . it's been something else.  It's made me realize how much I miss those days.  I was so burned out by the end, but before that those were days never to be forgotten.  So much so that I actually logged back into my myspace account recently.  I was actually a little surprised that I still could, it's been at least four years since the last time I did.  But there were pictures on there that I lost when my hard drive got fried and two years worth of blogs chronicling the time from just before I graduated college to right around when Luke and I got engaged(slash about the time I stopped using myspace).  I hadn't thought about them in ages, but suddenly I had to have them again, so I spent something like three hours the other night copying the blogs into a word document.  And laughing in amazement and amusement over the detailed accounts of tiny little things, so I'd completely forgotten.  It's crazy to see such stark evidence of what a different person I am now than I was then.  It made a good contrast to the video from the reunion - I could identify with those little freshmen.  I could remember being one of them, and sometimes it feels so much like no time has passed . . . like I'm still 14 . . . like we all are.  But I read my blogs from just a few years ago, and while I remember everything now that I've read it, I see it in my head and it's almost like an out of body experience.  In some cases I even remember the entire outfit I was wearing but I watch it like - well, like Emily in Our Town Act III.  There's got to be some irony in that somewhere, right?

Anyway.  I read those blogs and I'm amazed, not just at how I've changed but at just who I was back then.  On the one hand, I was very aware of just who was reading then and why . . . and it's quite the long story that I shan't get into now.  I'm not ashamed of who I see in them, although some people probably would think I should be.  But if I hadn't been her then, I wouldn't be me now.  I don't know that I can say that I regret nothing, but any list of regrets would definitely be in just the single digits.  It's amazing - and I wasn't expecting it . . . but rediscovering who I was has left me more comfortable with who I am.  It hasn't put all the little issues and anxieties I have to rest, but it has reminded me what it is to feel comfortable in my own skin.

It's been an immensely cheering little trip down memory lane, but a little depressing too.  One of my old friends sums it up best here.  And while all of us who were part of that particular story couldn't read it without copious amounts of tears, the first part won't mean much of anything to anyone who wasn't there.  But I imagine the second half to be something anyone can understand.  Those few years . . . they were something else.  And there's no getting them back, but I'm not sure I even want to.  As we all know, you can't go home again.  :-)

I'm not sure what I might do with the blogs.  Part of me wants to post them all today and give everyone else a bit of a laugh too . . . another part wants them to never see the light of day again.  I probably will post a few here and there when the whim of nostalgia strikes.  If nothing else, the entertainment value is seriously through the roof, lol.  For now though, I think I'll just enjoy a renewed sense of security in myself.  Even if it is tinged with some sadness.


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Now here's a couple of slightly trippy moments I would have loved to see in person!  Hooray for Push! :-)

But They're Still So Nice to Have

So I got a phone call on Monday, and I have a job for this school year.  Yay!!  I don't k now my schedule yet, although it probably won't be any more hours than last year and I'm in fourth grade (so no fun Katie+Lacey shenanigans . . . boo!)  I'm still kind of surprised.  That I know already, I mean.  This is the earliest I've ever gotten the call - I didn't even have time to start worrying!

On the other hand, I have had time to think about/remember outside opinions of how I spend my summers.  And with a two-years-later perspective on things, I think it's safe to say that some things people say will always sting but it gets easier to brush away when they do come to mind for some reason.  Of course, while I still know everything I said last year is accurate . . . why is it the positive things are harder to remember on a regular basis?

I guess the part that really matters is that I don't have to spend the next two weeks wondering when the precise point is that I need to start panicking.  I'm not quite sure what I'll do with myself . . . beyond not dwelling on how nasty people can be to others.

Maybe I'll try out a pinterest cake to celebrate . . . :-)

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Because you didn't have enough reasons to love James Earl Jones Darth Vader.

Everything Good For You Sucks

I am a rather introverted person.  That doesn't come as a shock to anyone, does it?  I mean, in certain situations you'd never know it, and on the internet we're all loudmouthed jerks of varying degrees depending on the level of anonymity in whatever corner we're hiding in at any particular time.  But generally speaking - in real, physical, actually-interacting-with-actual-people life I am an introvert.  I've known it for a long time.  I've been ashamed of it, I've tried to hide/overcome/change it, I've felt like it was something I needed to fix about myself.  And in the last couple of years I've finally started to accept that this is just who I am, and that it's not a bad thing to be . . . even when it seems like I'm the only one in the world sometimes.

At this point I'm sure it doesn't sound like it, but this isn't something about myself that I think about a lot anymore.  But it was brought up to me a little while ago, so I've been paying more attention to what goes on when I'm out and about with people.  And I noticed something in the last couple of weeks that I already knew, but I guess I'd forgotten - I'm not very good at the whole "having conversations" thing.

I think I've mentioned once or twice that I prefer communicating in writing as opposed to verbally, because in writing I can change things as much as I want until I've got my words expressing what I actually meant to say.  When I talk a lot of the time I know what I meant, but that's not what the people I'm talking to hear.  Sometimes I know where things got lost and sometimes . . . not so much.  But when someone asks you a question in person, you have to answer more or less immediately.  A response in writing can take a lot longer without looking weird/rude. (side note/fun fact: this blog post is probably going to take me most of the afternoon)

I saw this gif recently, and it really describes me perfectly - especially the second box.  And that, I think, is what makes it so hard for me to have a conversation . . . because I've also noticed that it's a lot easier for me if it's one-on-one rather than a big group of people all talking.  I get lucky sometimes with the occasional witty one-liner or something, but generally speaking the more people there are involved the more likely it is that by the time I think of something to say the group will have moved on to four or five new topics and my comment is completely irrelevant now.  And of course since I'm trying to be a good listener and they say good listeners don't just think of what the next thing they're going to say is I'm getting my topics mixed up and feeling guilty for thinking too much of myself when I should be listening to the people I'm spending time with but if I didn't then I would never say anything and that would just look weird . . . and I just can't win.  L'esprit de l'escalier?  Story of my life.  All.  the.  time.  One on one is easier, but even then sometimes I find myself at a loss for words - even with Luke, and if you don't know how to talk to the person you're married to, how the crap are you supposed to talk to anyone else? 

I suppose it's something I should practice.  Actually, I had a roommate who would try to get me to practice . . . mostly, I think, as practice for her since she was a psych major, lol. (love you, Cindy!!)  And it worked great because we were roommates and she was one of my best friends and so we'd just sit in the living room and chat so it didn't take that much effort on my part.  Because we all know I'm not one to go out on a limb for social interaction.

Man, three years of blogging . . . the list of reasons that a shrink would have field day with me must be in the quadruple digits by now . . .

Anyway.  I'm a little at a loss.  Hiding in a hole forever isn't exactly a practical option (even if it is what I mostly do in the summer).  Practice doesn't seem to help - heaven knows I've had enough to make me a pro if that were the case.  Like I said, I've been paying more attention lately and I can see exactly where I'm . . . failing, I suppose.  But what does one say when one doesn't know what to say?  When the mind is blank or you feel like you have nothing to add to the conversation?  It's not that I don't feel welcome - but I do feel overwhelmed sometimes.

I suppose it's no surprise really that I have over 1200 books on my to-read list, is it?  Books let you talk when you're ready.


To end on a lighter note, a classic Luke-ism for you: we were playing Disney trivia.  I don't remember the question, but the answer was Crimson Tide, and as a hint Luke said we'd watched it at my parents house once.

Me: No we didn't.  I've never seen that movie.

Luke: Yes we did.  Wait . . . that was Hunt for Red October.  But they both have red in the title!

I cracked up . . . but maybe that's because I've won 17 games to his 6. :-)


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I . . . kind of want one.  Don't judge.

Still Thinking

Good questions, no?


So my ten year high school reunion is coming up this summer - insert "holy crap, when did that happen?!" sentiments here.  I'm going; I'm looking forward to it.  But I'm also kind of nervous.

I've mentioned once or twice before that my high school years were not exactly straight out of a teen sitcom, a la Saved by the Bell or something.  I think it;s safe to say that my first few years out were all about discovering how much of the subtext I hadn't seen while it was happening, and the last few years have been about realizing how much of it I chose not to see because it was unpleasant.  In spite of all that, my memories are still mostly fond ones, and I'm excited to see people and catch up with what's been going on.

On the other hand . . . chalk it up to one of the disadvantages of facebook, but I'm already aware of how much people have changed - and how much they haven't.  While I look forward to seeing the majority of people with no reservations, I have a hard time believing the feeling is mutual in some situations.  And so I can't help but wonder - will I come away having had a great time catching up with people I haven't seen in a decade?  Or feeling like the odd one out again, the one who doesn't quite fit in even though I always wanted to?  I was never a square peg trying to get into a round hole . . . more like a just-elliptical-enough peg that there was no getting into the round hole no matter what.  How much are we going to slip in to our old personae, and how much have we moved past that?

There's no way to know until we all get there.  One-on-one facebook interactions can't replicate the whole group together in person.

And it's just so weird to think that the fifth graders I said goodbye to today are closer to their high school graduation than I am to mine - seven years versus ten.   Oy!


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In a song mood today - one that totally fits anyone at graduation, and one that always seemed to pop up at important points in my life when I was in school.  It pretty much sums up my educational experience from sixth to twelfth grade.

Looking for Something to Say

Ever have that feeling that you want to talk to someone but you just can't think of anything to say?  That pretty much explains my blog absence for the last little while, which a few people have mentioned/questioned.  Sorry, it's just been one great big "I've have nothing to add to that" moment around here.  I still love the kids at school (except for the days when I can't stand them), there's nothing monumental going on in our lives (unless you count Luke's schedule changing so he gets off at 10 instead of midnight, which we see as kind of a big deal), and I haven't had any particularly philosophical moments to ramble on about (a side effect of end-of-the-year burnout, I'm thinking).

So I suppose this post is mostly just to assure everyone that we're still alive . . . and also (just a little) to celebrate the wonderful feeling you get when you discover that lots of people agree with you on something when you thought you were the only one who felt that way.  Shockingly, I'm not in the mood to rant (I must be really burned out!) but maybe I will be by the time comments start rolling in, lol.

Anyway.  I shall just make my two little points and leave you all to duke it out.  Or unfollow me, as the case may be. (although I hope that doesn't happen!)

I totally agree with this, it's kind of really horrible and probably is going to do more harm than good in the long run.  And some people really need to get this kind of grip on reality and stop judging people they don't even know.

And this?  Unnecessary, disrespectful to the artist, and more than a little hypocritical.

Well . . . it'll be nice to see who still talks to me this time next week, lol.


P. ost  S. cript
Title says it all.  The mind, she is boggled.