Not a Rebel, Not Yet a Leader

Last night I was feeling a bit bored and thought I could do with a scandalous movie of some sort. Age of Innocence: nothing says scandal like New York City in the Industrial Age. The back mentioned love triangle and I was sold. I watched the entire movie. No sex, no violence, no language. I was edified, uplifted, and I think my vocabulary improved. (Any movie that uses the word 'audacity' twice in one scene is sure to dig up some gems in the rest of the film.) Afterward I checked out the rating: PG! I go for scandal and I get Disney.

Story of my life you ask? Yes. It is: Chaste, not necessarily by choice. But why? Birth order. THAT'S why. I've been reading up on birth order lately and my middle child role. Apparently I get ignored but try disparately to be noticed... revert to peace-maker, blah blah blah, but I don't think I've ever been ignored or have tried to win over my parents' love. In fact, my parents' love is as easy as frequent flier miles: the more and farther away I travel, the more they love me. Which, by default, yes, does make me the current favorite. So, this whole time Alfred Adler had it wrong. It's not our PARENTS who are following the divine birth order roles. It's SCANDAL.

"Rehab? Nope, save that for the youngest--that charming rebel. Teen pregnancy? That's more of a older sister role. You? ummm you can have... Oh! we'll give successful and bossy to the oldest." See how all the things that make people interesting get skipped right over the middle children? Here I am jumping up and down and waving my arms and all Scandal tosses me is the Age of Innocence. It just makes me wonder what the rest of us are missing out on because of the birth order that so clearly determines our personalities for us.

Oh Grow Up

I'm all for a person being in touch with his/her "inner child"... whatever... but there are just a few things I think we should have conquered as adults by this point. This point being... let's say... over 15.

Throwing up: Aside from food poisoning and freak-isolated incidences (and pregnancy), I think vomiting is strictly a child's ailment. Probably from playing with too many diseased bird feathers.

Still believing that bird feathers are disease-ridden.

Stepping in dog poo: There is absolutely no excuse for this. We are adults. Use a sidewalk.*

Scabbed-over mosquito bites: Come on. Practice some self-control.

Using more pleasant euphemisms for the word 'fart.' It is what it is and your mom was lying when she said it was a swear word.

Enjoying the taste of Capri Sun: Also goes for Sunny Delight (SunnyD!)... they both make me feel like I just snacked on Chapstick.

Sprinting: Unless you are at a gym or in some kind of sophisticated race... sprinting anywhere is just a bit shameful... unless of course someone is "timing" you. *That was a test*

I like things like chicken strips just as much as the next self-respecting adult, but there comes a time and place when we just need to buckle down and order the lobster.

*Credit to Kristine for bringing this to my attention

The Truth Hurts

No one is fooling anyone with these top eight most common lies told in everyday life:  

1.  No, sorry, that was my last piece of gum.

2.  No, I did call you back.  It went straight to voicemail though.

3.  Anything followed by the comment... well that's weird! (Stuck in a tricky spot where the truth will make you callous, rude, unlikable or just plain in trouble?  Give a really crappy explanation and make up for the unbelievability by deeming it 'weird') 

4.  I'm so tired I don't even know what I'm saying.

5.  Sorry, I'm just really bad with names (I use this one ALL the time... I have an excellent memory... for memorable people... that's just me being honest.  Is that rude?  Sorry, I'm just like, really tired.)

7.  Anyone who coughs before they leave a room.  Particularly a classroom.  (An active, walking lie.)

8.  I don't mean to be rude (this is always preceded by something rude... usually intentional... double lie.)

So you keep lying, I'll keep nodding (or vice versa), and we'll both live in a consensual world of blissful deceit.  

I Just Want to Want to Have Ambition

I graduate soon, and with that apparently ensues the public's need to find out not only what I'm doing after graduation, but what I hope, (shudder) aspire, (grimace) and dream (wretch) to be and do with my new magical degree in English.  So, here's a list of the lies that form somewhere in my subconscious and somehow bubble out of my mouth.  Usually without my intentional consent.  Notice that each one starts somewhere with a degree in English, and then is tweaked and stretched by each unique person forcing imaginary dreams out of my mouth, despite my claims of really, truly, not knowing what I am going or want to do.    

**Caveat: As soon as the victim (played by me) says 'I don't know' in a conversation and the predator (most people at church and many members of my family) continues to push the questions further, this is defined as conversational rape, and I cannot be held responsible for any lie told after that.  These are all true, fake dreams that I was forced into creating in the last week or two of being at home.

1.  Writer for National Geographic's travel section.  (Aren't they all travel sections?  I don't even know.)

2.  Working at a gym in London and traveling (haha. ha.  haha.)

3.  A writer and editor for NPR. (Yeah, the entire station.  All of it.)

4.  Really... I just want to be a mom! (This one is the pepper spray to my rape allegory.  Stops any more questions immediately.  Only useful in Relief Society though.)

5.  Acquisitions editor for Random House (I've found that the multi-syllable "acquisitions" coupled with credible company "Random House" usually quiets a crowd)

6.  Grad school (followed by where and what program, followed by I don't know, followed by but if you could go anywhere and be in any program followed by Arizona State, literature.  Who knew I was even thinking about Arizona?)

And my personal favorite

7.   Working for the olympics in the 2012 games in London.

I think this conversation was over at 'what's your major.'

I Guess I'm Just That Smart

The other day my mom was talking to my five-year-old nephew about his new hermit crab, Colin.  He said some obscure fact about hermit crabs and my mom asked him where he learned so much about Colin the Crab.  He said, "I just knowed it."

No, I'm sure his dad told him, (credit stealer) but then I realized that adults do the same thing, but instead of the grammatically incorrect "I just knowed it,"  it graduates to, "I read it somewhere"  

Once you give a name to the source of all your brilliance, it's not as romantic, smart, or impressive.  If I for some reason know there are 192 nations in the United Nations and someone asks me how I know that... I'm not going to tell them it was on my cereal box that morning.  Even if I learned it in a class.  Then my genius suddenly becomes my teacher's or school's glory, and I'm just the messenger. Forget that.  I want it.  I miraculously just know that bit of information, ok?  I'm sure it was implanted in my brain after my mind was constructed by NASA.  

So no titles, no teachers,  no episodes of Grey's Anatomy.  This is how I want it:  all my friends and family thinking everything I know to have just spontaneously appeared in my brain because I read so much that I don't even remember where it was that I read it, I just know that I knowed it somehow.  

Greatest Hits

Resurrection is fun.  It's usually better the second time around because we recognized how much (dead item) was missed, and can fully appreciate it.  However high it reaches on the fun scale though, it never lasts as long.  Why?  Because after all is said and done it's old news.

I'm talking of course of Nintendo.  And anthrax.  And The Police (note the caps... I'm talking about the band)

This week I played Super Mario Brother's 3 for the first time in a while, anthrax is back in headlines, and The Police just wrapped up their reunion tour.  Yes I loved the nostalgia that came with dancing palm trees and Bowzer.  Yes I love a reincarnated bio-chemical terrorism story as much as the next girl, and no I can't get enough of teacher/student statutory rape, encapsulated in a song a beautiful song. But, I still had to blow inside the Nintendo to get it started, anthrax didn't actually kill anyone this time (boringgg), and The Police:  you guys are just old. 

So... for now I'll just stick with the new stuff, wait the appropriate amount of time for jokes about them to be funny again rolls around, and appreciate anthrax for the non-threat it ever was, and ever will be.  

When it Rains in Hell

I just wanted some toast.  My mom doesn't eat flour and my dad isn't much of a "convenience" food guy so every time I come home, I have to fish out our toaster from some hidden cabinet.  This time I had to climb to the top of the cupboard-abyss of the broom closet to get myself some delicious, crispy, I-can't-believe-it's-not-buttery toast.  This is

 what happened: 

 

Broom closet:  6'7 tall.  I measured

Maggie:  5'3 tall.  I measured!

Toaster:  Located on that top shelf.

And then THIS rained down on my head when struggling for the stow-away appliance:  Two boxes of garbbage bags, two steak knives and--worst of all--what could only be two million (kitchen floor colored) bread crumbs. This is because that godless trap door on the bottom of all toasters opened up and vomited its bile all over my head.  Needless to even think about, the youngest of all those crumbs were 4 months old:  The last time I was home.

Thanks... YOU guys.