Idiot Parade

Over the last few weeks, I’ve come to the conclusion that having a boyfriend is not entirely unlike raising a teenager. I realize how ridiculous that statement may sound, and I’m sure that someday, when I happen to be the mother of a surly thirteen-year-old, I will look back at this post and want to slap the past me for being so naive. For the time being, though, just try to follow me on this one.

I’ve mentioned this to a few people, but for those who are unaware, my boyfriend is going to be joining the United States Air Force. Currently, he’s playing phone-tag with the recruiter, but there’s at least a 90% chance of this actually happen within the next two or three months.

Jason is too tall to be a fighter pilot. Airmen are rarely sent to the Middle East, unless they are part of a security force, and even then, tours only last about six months. He would actually have to try to get hurt for anything to happen to him. As my dear ex-Navy friend Tim said: “It’s not like he’s joining the goddamn Marines.”

Logically, I know everything will be fine. Except, there’s this thing where I’m a worrier. I was born into a family of worriers. Worrying is our art, our craft, and we take it very seriously. So while there is every possibility that Jason will be at a desk somewhere in Arizona, way the hell out of harms way, my mind is absolutely certain that he is going to be shipped to Afghanistan and shot. Or blown up. Probably both.

As if that weren’t enough, now the boy wants to sell his car and buy a motorcycle. Now, financially, this is a good idea. Hell, I’ve always wanted a motorcycle. And I’m allowed to have one. He, however, is not, because every time I think about it, I suddenly turn into my mother and begin spouting off accident statistics. Because, obviously, anyone who ever owned a motorcycle EVER has died in a horrific accident of twisted metal and hellfire, just bloody and gory enough to be featured in one of those god-awful Red Pavement videos that we had to watch in Drivers Ed.

Moments like those, it’s a toss up between whether or not I want to kiss the boy or strangle him with my own two hands, because I really don’t know if my love for him outweighs the frustration he causes me. How dare he try and make a life for himself when I’m busy trying to KEEP HIM ALIVE.

But then there are moments when he does the simplest things, like insisting that I lock the door when he leaves and I’m by myself, because he needs to know that I’m safe…or how whatever house we’re in (usually his) is referred to as ‘home’, just because we’re both there. In those moments, I have never felt more like a woman or more loved by a man. Those are the moments that make every *headdesk* and *facepalm* and “Really?! Really???” completely worth it.

Alright, I’ve suffered in silence….quasi-silence….long enough. I can’t take this anymore. The seemingly endless amount of poor grammar hurts my soul.

Before we begin, I’d like to note that I am not going to slam people who speak in LolCats. That is meant as a joke, and is generally used sparingly. If someone starts abusing their “I can haz?” privileges, have no fear, they will be drawn and quartered, and then I will sell all of their belongings on Ebay and use the money to buy the 80th anniversary edition of the Oxford English Dictionary.

First lesson: there, their, and they’re.

“There” refers to a location. Where is the book? Over there. For a more abstract use: There are only a couple ways to use the form “there”, so stop screwing it up.

“Their” is a possessive. You should know what that means, but just in case you were too busy passing notes in your middle school English classes to pay attention, that means “their” is used when the noun in the sentence belongs to someone. That delicious, mouthwatering, nearly-orgasmic sushi is (unfortunately) theirs.

“They’re” is a contraction. That little tick mark between y and r? That isn’t decorative, amazingly enough. It really does have a purpose. It’s called an apostrophe, and it takes the place of an extracted letter, in this case the a in are. So, if we replace the apostrophe with the a, “they’re” becomes “they are”, and we all know how to use that phrase, yes? Please? For the love of all things holy?

Edit here: Holy crap, I fail at life. I could have sworn I typed ‘contraction’ when I first posted this. Thank you, Angela! You are wonderful

Second lesson: loose versus lose.

I can’t even begin to understand how these two words are confused; they mean completely different things. However, I’ve been seeing this mistake for a few years now, and it’s not getting any better.

“Lose” means to misplace/get rid of something, or it is the opposite of ‘to win’. As in, I hate when I lose my pens because then I have to buy more, or My dad’s volume reaches ungodly levels when the Red Sox lose.

“Loose” is the opposite of tight. My pants are loose; I must have lost some weight! Also can be used as a slang term when talking about those who are sexually promiscuous, i.e. “loose woman”.

My hand to God, I will brutally maim the next person who switches those two words around. Public school education is NO EXCUSE.

I have a few other more generalized gripes. Run-on sentences, comma splices, apostrophe errors (it’s versus its), lack of capitalization at the beginning of sentences….look, people, these are things that can be fixed easily and will help you be perceived at least as intelligent as fifth-grade GATE students. Please, go forth and try not to suck at this. It makes the rest of us cry like starving Ethiopian children.

One last thing: if you use ’2′ for to (or too) or you spell “what” with a u, just give up now. There is no hope for you; you have lost your soul and you will probably spend eternity in the circle of hell that also houses those who don’t take advantage of deodorant and those who write Snape/Hermione (or Sirius/Lupin) slash.

that Cal Arts does not have the monopoly on weird shit.

I try to be on campus as little as possible. I don’t belong to any clubs, I live far away, and traffic always blows. There are times, however, when I am SO HAPPY to be there at a precise moment.

The music building has three floors. I generally like walking past it, because I always hear a cello or an aria or something. This morning, however, I heard a loud yell from a third-floor window. As I stopped and looked up towards the noise, two heads popped out, one male and one female.

Let the shanghai theatre begin!

From what I gathered, I was supposed to be their marriage counselor, and lord did they need one. It was a very funny scene, probably one that they wrote, just a couple bickering about each other’s crap. Very good rhythm…they had definitely practiced. The most amazing part was that no other passersby seemed to take notice of what was happening…just kept walking on by. Kind of sad, actually. After about five minutes, the couple finished and popped their heads back through the window. I applauded, waited for an encore, and went on my way to class when none came.

Later that day, during my third class, I was preparing to recite my twenty lines of Middle English. This has been hell for me.I worked my ass off…bless Jason for being so patient; I was a complete basket-case for about a week now, stressing about this assignment. About fifteen minutes before my turn, my classmates and I noticed a smell…odd….kind of like…hm. Smoke.

A generator had caught on fire, and the buildings were being evacuated. So at 5:30 pm, I found myself outside, in the cold, under a dripping tree, during random bursts of pouring rain….speaking in Middle English, a skill that will never help me in life.

I’d also like to point out that this class has gone from 27 members at the beginning of the quarter to 15 now, and at least three of those are grad students. This has no bearing on the story, but I felt like bragging about being awesome. We are the few…the proud…the 460.

So yes. Odd day. Good day. Hopefully I’m in for an equally good, though less eventful night. Though with my luck, there’ll be a zombie apocalypse or something just because I wrote that last sentence.

When the powers of my exhaustion and hunger combine, my impatience outweighs my cooking skills.

In related news, this morning’s pancakes left something to be desired. I really suck at flipping.

I know a lot of talented people who excel in many areas….but it’s time for some humility and shame. What’s something that you’re terrible at?

I’m sure most of you have heard by now about the California Supreme Court decision to uphold Prop 8. For some, this may have been very happy news, and I will try my best to not begrudge you your victory.

I am hurting. I am very upset, and disappointed, and a little appalled. My heart weeps for the couples who were hoping to get married, who are now being told that the declaration and commitment to their love will not be supported by California, their home. I thought we had come farther than that. I had hoped we would get to a point where our religious and moral indignations could be dealt with rationally and seperated from those things which have nothing to do with us…like another person’s relationship. I understand why people disagree with the concept of gay marraige. I understand why it makes some people uncomfortable. For them, a marraige is a religious institution and should only be granted to those who are right with God. The Bible says that homosexuality is wrong. However…it also says ‘judge not, lest ye be judged.’ And you can’t tell me that you aren’t judging someone, condemning perfect strangers, because of an idea that you have about what God does or does not approve of.

This shouldn’t be an issue. Not state, not federal. If one church has a problem performing a wedding for a gay couple, fine. The couple can go to another church. Let it be decided by individuals. Sadly, I don’t see that happening. So I’m going to continue to fight for what I believe is just, even though I know it will hurt some people I love very much.

Someday, this will be made right.

One. Rum makes the soda foam expand more than it normally would. Choose your drinkware wisely.

Two. Drunk dialing/prank calling at one in the morning, especially when impersonating Arnold Schwarzenegger and asking me who’s my Daddy, is never funny. It’s creepy and disconcerting during the event, and simply annoying the morning after.

No, I didn’t dream that. I have the record of the call in my phone. Damn you Restricted numbers!

EDIT: Are you freaking kidding me?! There’s a website dedicated to making Arnold crank calls?? DEAR GOD WHY. I’ve never hated Kindergarten Cop so much in my life.

Anyway. Now that faire is over and I’m actually home on Sunday mornings, I can get back to my weekly iLike segment. In honor of my dear cousin Emily’s recent engagement, I wanted to have a little two-part wedding post. Yay!

First up, rings:

This white gold and sapphire beauty is my very favorite custom design from Brilliant Earth. All the designs are gorgeous, but what I love most about this company is their ethical business practices. All the diamonds are Canadian or Nambain and guaranteed CONFLICT-FREE (I say that in all caps because supporting human rights is AWESOME), and 5% of the profits is donated to Africa in order to support medical aid and land restoration.

Bottom line: beautiful jewelry coming from a place with a good heart and uncompromising standards. They are a bit on the pricey side, but it would be well worth it to me, knowing that my ring didn’t support slavery.

Alright, on to the cake! Nomnomnomnomnom….

I am HUGELY torn between Pink Cake Box, a bakery in New Jersey, and Cake Nouveau in Michagan. I won’t be able to use either bakery when I get married…but they’re so preeeeeeetyy……

PCB has too many beautiful wedding cakes. Honestly. Picking an image for this post was beyond difficult, because I desperately want to post them all. Now if only they were gluten-free and in California…

This Alice in Wonderland creation from Cake Nouveau probably wouldn’t be ideal for a wedding…unless of course you’re having a Wonderland theme, which would actually be quite cool….the point is, this baker is amazing. You have to look through all the desgins to truly appreciate what an artist Courtney Clark is. Purse cakes, one to look like sushi, one like Lego Blocks, which I totally want to get for Jason’s birthday next year…stunning. Really.

Obviously, these are all for people who don’t have to stick to a budget…but hey, a girl can dream, right?

Happy Sunday!

Things I think about while waiting for class:

Where do midgets shop for clothing? Kids clothes wouldn’t work; the proportions are different.

Has anyone ever seen a giraffe vomit? Does it take longer than it would for a human?

How do the Jelly-Belly people make the beans taste exactly like what they’re supposed to?

Will Jason kill me if I chop my hair off?

See that sidebar over to your right? I have a list of 43 things that I’m wanting/trying to accomplish.

2. Kiss on a ferris wheel.

I did. And it was awesome. Also kissed on this godawful ride called The Zipper, where there was entirely too much flipping upside down, causing my phone to fly up and hit me in the ear, but then I caught it in mid-air like the ninja that I am.

I love county fairs.

There are a bunch of things about being in a relationship that no one told me. Good things. Terrifying…but good.

I’ve had boyfriends before. I’ve been in love a few times. Even been loved back once, maybe twice, before now. But there has never been something so…overwhelming. I was devoted to Scooter for years, but I never felt this level of tenderness or responsibility.

Up to now, I have been the most important person in my life. I lived for myself. My parents were of the utmost importance, and I would always go to bat for my family and close friends; ultimately, however, everything I did followed my personal agenda, furthering my future. But now, there’s this…other person…and it’s killing me in the best way. Suddenly, I have an outside reason to keep myself safe. My education and my job aren’t there to make my life easier; now it’s so that there’s a possibility for our lives. Plural. I now have someone to support, to care for, to protect. To be strong for.

I’m writing all of this at the risk of sounding like one of those women who “can’t live without” their significant other. I can live without him. If we broke up tomorrow, the world would not implode. I would not cease to be. Live would go on because it would have to, but now that I know what this other place is like, this place where I stand at the window and count the minutes until he comes home from work; this place where the smell of him on my clothes reminds me of all the good in my world; this place where I almost believe in some benevolent force, because there had to be some kind of planning in making both of us the people we are now, so that when the time came for us to meet, we’d fit together the way we do….I don’t ever want to go back to my old self.

I know that one of the worst things as a single person is to listen to someone rave about their boyfriend or girlfriend. I have been there many times. It blows, no way around it. But I have to let you know, those of you still wondering and waiting…it’s worth it. I would take every night I cried myself to sleep, every time I got stood up, every time I was lied to, cheated on, flaked on, and betrayed, and I’d do it again ten-fold. Because all of that, rolled into a little ball of sadness and low self-esteem, is a tiny payment for all the joy and love and laughter I have now.

Girls are being criminally prosecuted now? Are you KIDDING ME.

Apparently, some people have decided to set a precedent by classifying sexting as a sexual offense.

So…if an underage girl snaps a naked photo of herself to send to her boyfriend, or doesn’t intend it to be sent at all, but kids will be kids (and sometimes kids will be assholes who will steal a person’s phone and send out pictures en masse)….the girl can be charged with producing and distributing kiddie porn?

The girls in the article? They produced naked pictures of themselves, in their bedroom, just for kicks. That’s not a crime. The dicks who sent the pictures out, they distributed…however, it’s hard to determine whether or not the intent was for others to become sexually aroused, or just to humiliate the girls. Douchebaggery isn’t a crime either. And if it turns out ther girls showed the whole school their chonies just because, well. They probably need therapy, not jail time.

Dear Legal System: Please pull your head out of your ass and catch up. Laws need to start paying more attention to changing society and technology.

Dear Parents: Talk to your daughters and figure out why they’re doing this. Honestly, things could be a lot worse. Just in case, please give them sex ed. Or if your child is one of those who take other people’s pictures and distribute them without any kind of consent, hit them upside the head and make them understand that what they’re doing is unacceptable and flat-out RUDE.