Warning: Philosophical bull-roar ahead....
Before we go any further here I need the air too be good and breathable. Real clean like.
Writing blogs is not something I have believed in. I am from the old school. I shuddered at the thought of reading about people's cats, ferrets, or meanderings of lameness. I don't understand star power of "celebrity" just as I don't understand "reality T.V." (even though I have been a guilty partaker of both). I disagree with the glorification of really really stupid stupid people (strong use of adjectives there Olthuis). I don't comprehend why I want to inundate my already extremely full and, at times, hectic life with the issues of people whom are not near and dear to my heart.
So with that, I didn't understand WHY I would want to read about other people's lives, or more importantly, why ANYONE would want to read about mine. I must confess, I'm still trying to work through the latter. But as for the former: recently, my goddess friend Kristan turned me on to her cousin's blog. And during extremely slow bouts at work I have taken to reading about this woman's wonderfully normal, warm, and full life.
I fell in love.
Not in a sexual way (you filthy dog), but I fell in love with her life anecdotes, birth of her child, her incredible talent for knitting, and her general humour and outlook on life. It filled me with hope, warmth, and an overall sense of well-being. I began CRAVING it. It was my daily companion as I learned about her life over the past 5 years.
This discovery conincided with some other thoughts which have been floating in and around my brainizoid. Including the fact that our society at its very core comes from a small tribe of story-tellers. We have obviously evolved and grown away from it. But I believe that our need to connect to celebrities (earned status or otherwise) comes from our need to connect with eachother. I believe that in this fiercely technological envrionment we actually are all craving life stories and understanding. Like my discovery at 24 years old, that every mid 20s person in my life was suffering a quarter life crisis. It's easy to feel alone in our glories and struggles when we don't talk to eachother anymore.
SO I've actually taken on a personal mission of putting this out there. I want to share with everyone my eureka moments, my falling downs, and my average everyday world. I want to find my "happy" place. In that, I'm terrified that I'm being self-indulgent, I've decided to say FUCK IT. I have opinions, and I'm funny, if I wanted to read about someone I've never met, and I felt BETTER about my OWN life, then what's to say that couldn't happen again.
Alright. How we doing? I feel better. Do you? I hope so. So now that my insecurity hymen cracked across the interweb, I think we can charge on with the fun and excitement that is the human condition. WELCOME TO MY BRAIN!!! GAAAAA.
hUZZah!
Ya, that's right. I'm a ripper-offer. I'll rip it however I want. Suck it Trebeck.
I'm listening to the Dixie Chicks right now, and it's the first song on the album. I used to HATE country music with a burningmotherfucking passion. But a couple of years ago I saw the documentary Shut Up and Sing and all began to change for ever. The film rocked me. These Chicks rock me. From there I've been exposed to the ever constant world of down-home-boot-slappin-Godloving-good ol boys and their "country queens" and seriously... the men? HAWT. They're MEN if ya know what I mean. I didn't actually realize how damn good looking Blake Shelton was until I just watched the link for that. Yowza. Anyway, I recently hooked up my earphones to the computer at work, and leaving one ear open, I rock out to the country tunes on the interweb. Keeps the weekends right on tickin'. This city girl's a true convert, and I don't believe it myself.
I have a lot I'd like to talk about but for now I'd also like to impart an anecdote for you. I rode my bike downtown encore today, and on my way home I had the privilege of riding behind whom I will title "Safety Bob". Safety Bob is approximately 45 years old, wearing a large black helmet, and an orange construction vest. His steed was a sweet old lady-bike. He rode like the wind.
The first "safety" move I witnessed was at the intersection of a one-way street. He did the classic turn onto the adjacent street so that you can do a semi-circle and dodge the red light. Nice move Bob. Although I didn't really see the point of this. He could have just gone through the light. It was a one way street, and you can see the cars. Although I just waited for the light to change he wasn't actually that much farther ahead. The next move in the lesson book was to stop at a red light where he was making a right hand turn. I don't know why he didn't just turn right, but you don't ask questions when someone is clearly so SAFE. So I go around him, make my right turn, and merge into the middle lane to make the next left. As I'm turning left, OUT OF NOWHERE... BOB! The quick safety monster has made a sneaky (but safe) move of actually crossing the whole street and arriving on the opposite sidewalk, and nearly cutting me right off mid-turn. Again, I do not question his methods.
When I started thinking: how someone could rattle along so safe, and so strange? His final foray in crash prophylactic was to again pull one of his half circles on a one way street. Bob, Bob, Bob... why?? It was just a stop sign... but I reminded myself... you don't question Safety Bob. You just don't.
ALRIGHT. LET'S DO THIS!
First. I am a total. Utter. Dork. Not in the whale-penis sense... I'm like a nerd of epic preportions. Ok. Wait. Am I? Maybe I'm starting off on the wrong foot.
I'm not a geek. But I do have many nerdy qualities which I cover up with "quirky". I'm completely technologically retained, but with the support of my wonderful wonderful beautiful, incredible friend Kristan I'm hoping that I'll make leaps and bounds in the world of internets. THE INTERNETS!
I rode my bike to work today for the first time in months because I'm a sweaty, sweaty monster. So if I get to work draped in the ocean that is my own liquid bacteria I will feel like ass all day, and no one will want to talk to the stanky kid. This is my first office job, so I want to at least appear somewhat respectable. But as this fog of hell-humidity lifts I have attempted my scoot across town using m'own gambs. Felt FAB. AND didn't even sweat as much as my BigTallMan (more on this rockstar of a man later) said I would! BOOYA! Whatever, all the best athletes sweat. It's basically the sign of the most athletic person ever.
Ok. If I'm entirely honest, although I AM fairly athletic. I've heard this tale of sweating equalling good shape. But what about the fat business men who are red-faced, usually found eating rare steak bigger than me, and probably drinking a malt-scotch of outlandishly priced highs. What about them? They come built in with a sheen of fat that never ends. Soooo... any ideas? How can the very 'in-shape' and the very 'ridiculously not' sweat equal buckets. My ponderment for the jour. Enjoy that one.
So my thesis; my point d'ecrire is the NEED, nay the NECESSITY, to get me thoughts OUT! I gots thoughts yo! And I'm sometimes funny yo! So I feel like if I can do my rants in a place that could possibly be read, they stay out, and possibly give me insights or excitements, or generally create better mental health because I'm not wasting my good thoughts, and the bad thoughts are eating me for Linner.
I ALSO have begun an unofficial official "Perrie Happiness Project" which is interesting because I don't necessarily believe in being happy all the time, or necessarily the possibility of it... in fact I should probably do a separate entry explaining my curiosity on this Westernized idea... but I DO feel that for the past 4 years of my life I have been teetering on depression and misery with slight interjections of spastic giddyness. So one day I said ENOUGH!! ENOUGH, ENOUGH! and took grande steps to how I can change this in my life. So this will follow daily (hopefully) thoughts, or things, or goings-on of how that could happen. General contentment is all I ask.
EN COMMENCE!
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