I have decided that it is time to move onto a new blog address and leave these entries behind, here, at Blogsome. It’s a new year in my life and I am ready to really make things happen this year.
Hope to see you there!
I am having one of those minimal wordcount days. They are rare, I’ll admit that, but they do pop up. Days where I feel fine and having nothing to complain about, but also, haven’t really much of anything to say to anyone. In college, near the end of the school year, things had gotten a bit strained in our 16"x14" dorm room and things easily set both my roommate Kristen and I off. In a fit of frustration at me one day, she asked if I had a particular daily word count I had to hit. A passive aggressive way to tell me I was talking to much, or something. Her point was taken.
Of course, days I don’t feel like talking much don’t work well with blogging every day.
I guest blogged over at Sarah’s blog today . . . you can read my entry here.
And you should know that my temp to perm position turned out to be very temporary. Rumor has it, the entire Vancouver office may be closing, so I suppose its better that I was able to get out when I did. I am not mad at anyone, but am frustrated at the situation. See, my entire point in going to cosmetology school is to learn a trade that will get me out of the "office" setting and put a little more control of my life and career into my own hands. So when a temp job that is seeming to be a perfect fit in every way goes away, well, it is frustrating to say the least.
But I am resilient as always. And I am already working on a way to get this done, perhaps even faster than originally planned. It is merely a pot hole in the road.
I totally just wrote this entire great blog, complete with a picture and links and other goodness and then Internet Explorer had an issue and froze and then closed and deleted the entire thing. For a second, I was like ‘its okay, I just copied the entire thing‘, but no. I copied a link after I’d copied the post and the link is all I have left.
Currently, I am too bummed to attempt to rewrite the post.
And I have a sore throat today. Awesome.
I’ve been having that sensation all week that the internet was letting me down. Not that I had been too see everything there was to see, but just that I’d seen or done everything that I could possibly ever be interested in. (I know, a little bit melodramatic, even for me).
I’d been having a similar sensation back in June and early July of 2005, until Kymberli finally talked me into joining Myspace. Prior to her approval, I’d though it was just another Swinger meeting space like AdultFriendFinder and Lavalife, because all my swinger friends were the only ones I knew who used it. Hehehe and then I met my husband on there.
Today, since we are still in training mode and were encouraged to "look busy, by any means possible" I was surfing Mamapop.com for snarky commentary on various hapless entertainers and misguided celebutants. And then I saw this:
Confession: I’ve been spending a lot of time on "Lost" fan sites lately. No, I’m not exactly proud of this fact or anything, but I’m owning it, people. I will no longer live in shame! I CRIED WHEN CHARLIE DIED, AND I’M NOT AFRAID TO ADMIT IT! There, I said it, and I’m not sorry.
Those of you who are similarly willing to don your pocket protectors and join me in some fairly massive "Lost" geekdom, please to meet me on the other side of this here jump…
And it led me to this lovely Blogspot blog of Lost enriched goodness. I think I may cry tears of joy now.
I am proud to say that I have been watching "Lost" since the beginning, since the first airing. And though I was able to quickly figure out the ‘mystery’ of "Desperate Housewives" by mid-season and then just as quickly lost interest in the show entirely, "Lost" has kept me hooked, loyal and always aching for more. More explainations, more flashbacks, flashforwards, more allusions and more intrigue. There is so much reading up to do there . . . so many theories and screen shots and spoilers and easter eggs . . .See that? Yeah, tears of joy.
Once again, I heart the internet. And I don’t "heart" much of anything.
I was reminded of this blogging task when I read Jenn’s post today on She Likes Purple. I posted the following on my old Blogger blog back on December 1, 2004. It’s quite amusing for me to read, because some of them I can still tell you exactly who I was ’speaking’ to and others, I have no idea.
The idea is to write fifteen sentences or paragraphs or whatever to fifteen people you really wanted to say something to. But you leave out their names . . . to add that air of mystery.
Okay . . . so fifteen people. I left out names because Lord only knows who would stumble onto this site. Something that I would never say, for whatever reason.
My anger towards you was not actually at you, but at your mother. And really, it was more resentment. But that’s passed and now I just pity you. And her. Mainly her, because really, she was a waste. Her greatest accomplishment was you. She peaked at 21.
It is so disappointing that someone as outgoing and sexual as you are is such a bad kisser. I built that moment up in my head for so long that it really was a let down.
I hope you see now where I was coming from and what my motivation was to leave. It’s your hell now. Understand, it’s not you he’s not happy with, but himself. And no matter how hard you try, you cannot change that.
I probably am too good for you. In the end, you would drag me down. Maybe not as others have, but I would resent you for everything that I could have had in my life but forfeited to keep you happy. Not everything is a compromise.
You may not remember, or perhaps ever know, but I actually was the one who first said that thing you are so remembered for. Not that I would want to claim that. I was just naive at the time and so desperate to defend you. I didn’t want the truth to be real, or true. And here, years later, we still bring it up.
You are just a little too neurotic at times
I often wonder if you really think that everything you say is loving, regardless of how harsh it is. Your words sometimes cut so close and haunt for so long that I wonder what it is that goes on in your head.
Though I love you, you are too shallow. You are not as fantastic as you think you are and not every man needs to be a fucking Abercrombie Model to be worthy of dating you.
It was my fault that we lost touch and I don’t even know why I would ever let someone else dictate who I could and could not talk to. Often, I do think about what might have been.
You seriously are so much like me, it scares me. I can see us being very best friends here before long.
I don’t know you, but you scare me a little. But I also know that if I knew you, you’d be an awesome, though sometimes scary, friend to have.
There were others, too.
Sometimes, I wish I had gotten your genes. True, I’d still hate my body, but the changes would be so much easier to make.
I love you. I would have your lovechild. Nothing in the past matters. But where the hell did you go???
WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?? Why didn’t you take me along at least to talk you through it all and help you out? Why did you become jealous of something that you started, you invited, you wanted? It’s just unfair . . .
The Friday before Christmas, a random group of friends and I gathered, like we often do around holidays, at some local, not-so-seedy bar in Vancouver. Seeing as how it is Vancouver, there are only about five to pick from that would fall into the "not so seedy" category. That generally means they are not located anywhere in Hazel Dell or along Mill Plain Blvd and often, they are closer to the waterfront.
So just like many other holidays, we drank and mingled and ran into people we never thought we’d see (or have to see) again. It was, as it always is, refreshing and fun and typically leaves me wondering "What is the point in a high school reunion?" There were the noticable absences (No Jessica this year.) but generally there were the same familiar faces and it was good to say hello and spread some cheer.
While mingling, I spoke with my friend Jake, who’s first question to me (refreshingly was not "How’s married life?") was "Do you blog every single day or something?". Jake is a writer too, though he is more thoughtful and conservative about his usage. When he blogs, you know it is something to read because it doesn’t happen all that often. So I am sure just randomly passing my page on a frequent basis, you would notice the blog titles changing. A lot.
I received an email last week from the group the generally made up NaBloPoMo, inviting me to join Blog 365. As in blogging for 365 days. In a row. And after thinking it over all weekend, I decided to do it. To sign up. Because I am childless and work completely different hours than my husband and somewhat masochistic, obviously.
The lovely perimeters of this challenge state that it doesn’t always have to be words and so there are time where it will be just a picture or a link or a list or whatever. And you can back post, as long as what you are posting was written or taken the day it was supposed to be posted. And February 29th is a free day.
There are a lot of things I am planning on tackling in 2008 and between posting every day and taking pictures every day, you’ll be able to come along with me. Aren’t you excited???
I wrote a back in August a very specific blog about my wedding and being the occasional vindictive writer, I carefully chose my words for the desired impact on a particular group of people who I knew would be reading it. My point in doing so was for them to realize a.) what they missed out on b.) what a wonderful time we had without them. Seeing as how I am no longer speaking with the people that was aimed at, I am not sure it had the desired affect, but I am going to go out on a limb and assume it did. Yeah, it makes me feel better.
But a week or so after writing it, I came to find out that a friend who had nothing to do with that particular group in my aim, was troubled by what I had written. Not specifically the same part of the blog, but she was bothered nonetheless. Her best friend had read the blog and sent it to her, asking if she thought I was jabbing at her. I wasn’t. It hadn’t even entered my realm of thinking these friends would read into that as they did. It still annoys me that I unintentionally hurt someone with something that I wrote, but I can’t take it back.
A similar situation arose more recently (this week) where I used one very small but very important word to appease certain friends and hurt other friends in the process. I am trying to process the feelings this has arisen in me, simply from my hurt friends pointing this out. It brings me to a place where I feel small and pointless and undeserving. I feel like a four year old, crawling until the kitchen table, sobbing as I announce "I don’t deserve my friends." because, really, I don’t. As graceful and thoughtful and conscientious as I try to be about the people in my life, I still manage to muck things up and feel as competent as a pregnant Spears sister.
I occasionally wonder if I shouldn’t blog as much, or about such relevant things. I could just fill my blog with quizzes and surveys and keep things kosher. But there is more to life than filling out the same questions asked 18 different ways. I did stop blogging for about nine months a few years ago, because the guy I was seeing at the time didn’t understand the point or need for it and what I was doing in and with my life at the time was not all that appropriate for public viewing. And to be honest, I really missed it. It is such a great way to chronical your life and where you were and how you were feeling at a certain point in time. My first fewer years of blogging were lost when Scribble.nu crashed and there were some really important moments there that I won’t get back.
I just hate that I can hurt my friends without knowing it or meaning it. I worry about boundries and appearances - if I comment too much, will she find me annoying? Should that be left as an email or a comment? Is it TMI for their page? Should I befriend this friend of her’s? Will she think I am just a friend whore? I know people out there who seem to be only on here to build their popularity.
I never realized that life needed so many disclaimers.
I’ll add to this when I have time. But for starters - snips of life as Betsy from ages 5 to 19.
Age 5: A small Indian boy sits across from me in Kindergarten and talks with an accent. He also has larger Crayola Crayons, with a flat edge on one side of each. I am mesmerized by these. I remember just wanting to hold the purple one, to see how it would feel pressed against my palm.
Age 6: I make image associations to numerous classmates and their names. Like Jenny Winters . . . it must always snow at her house. And Tanya Ording . . . I always imagined something orbiting, like a frisbee. Obviously, I never entirely forget these associations. Thank the Lord I didn’t see "Return to Oz" until years later. My first grade teacher’s name was Mrs. Wheeler.
Age 7: My favorite piece of jewelry is a necklace of red rope with painted wooden beads and a teddy bear necklace. I am pretty sure my mother picked it out. I wear it in my second grade photo, so it will forever be remembered.
Age 8: Too lazy to change out of my tights from the day before, I wear a cute pink sweat pants and sweat shirt outfit to school over them. Half an hour after running around during lunch and recess, I am twitching in the classroom from how itchy my legs have become. I have to be excused to the bathroom to remove the tights. I think that is the last time I ever wore actual tights. At least, willingly.
Age 9: In desperate need of braces and glasses, sporting a haircut that was cute at 3, but not now, I decide my next masterful move in the quest for complete geekdom is a perm. Tyler Thoune calls me "Nest" for the rest of the school year.
Age 10: I finally start my period just a month shy of my 11th birthday. I feel grown up and womanly for about 2 days before dread of leaks and spills set in. 35 years of this? What?
Age 11: In an attempt to distinguish studious, middle school me from childish, elementary me, I decide to stop going by my nickname Betsy and ask everyone to call me Beth. I mean, my full name is Elizabeth. It wasn’t a huge stretch. Still, I didn’t feel like a Beth and by the start of the following school year, I had returned to Betsy and did not attempt to change my name again until college.
Age 12: I beg and beg my parents to put their 7th grader into contact lenses. I think I manage to wear them to school about 1.5 days a week.
Age 13: My best friend Katie Hudson and I embrace everything that is Victorian and British and do everything in our power to transform our bedrooms into timewarps. I even had a working old fashioned telephone to answer all her calls on.
Age 14: My friends and I instigate dress up day to be each Wednesday, where we break our usual cycle of wearing overalls and pajama pants to school with sweatshirts and pair our knee length skirts with salt water sandals. I also copy my new best friend Kate and sleep with the bottom three inches of my hair in rollers, to make the ends extra bouncy and curly.
Age 15: I take the first of many attempts to wear my hair straight after puberty. I now have to consider what I come to call "The Poof factor", in which any hairstyle I ask the stylist to give me, my hair will poof out and look twice as large.
Age 16: After seeing Titanic far too many times, I copy Kate Winslets eye makeup for months and hope that my boyfriend will improve his drawing skills so he too can sketch me nude.
Age 17: I work diligently at my part-time afternoon job of delivering The Columbian newspaper to my neighborhood. My brother has the other half of the neighborhood, though his sport team practices keep him after school and I often have to deliver both routes. Thank goodness for my parents’ love of us and their dedication to driving us around the route, cutting the time to just under an hour for both routes.
Age 18: Just weeks until graduation, I decide to cut my hair. It’s sassy and occasionally cute and a nice change from my long hair all year. By August, I decide to take it even shorter. I have never fully recovered from this hair cut.
Age 19: I spend a summer barely watching television and instead, mostly writing N SYNC fan fiction. Not quite FictionLyn quality, but decent, if you ask me.
None of these are ranked in any particular order.
7 Things I Want To Do Before I Die:
1. Go blonde
2. Have a breast reduction
3. Give birth
4. Relearn sign language and become fluent
5. Travel to Europe. Especially see Ireland
6. Become a better photographer
7. Reach my goal weight and stay there for more than a week
7 Things I Cannot Do:
1. A cartwheel - never have
2. Roll my "r"s
3. Sleep in too late without getting a headache
4. See without glasses or contact lenses
5. Enjoy beer
6. Drive a stick shift car
7. Speak Russian
7 Things That Attract Me to the Opposite Sex:
1. The ability to let things go
2. Self-control
3. Eagerness to spend time with me
4. The right scent
5. Confidence
6. Ambition
7. Eye contact
7 Things I Say Most Often:
1. Hey now!
2. What?
3. I’m sleepy
4. Don’t let me nap past 4
5. Hiya
6. Shut up
7. Quit it!
7 Celebrity Crushes:
1. Cole Hauser
2. George Clooney
3. Ben Foster
4. Hugh Jackman
5. Orlando Bloom
6. Matthew McConaughey
7. James Marsters
7 People I Want To Do This:
1. Sarahbear
2. Vanessa
3. Samantha
4. Jill
5. JenePeny
6. Momma Megan
7. Amanda
I'm Betsy.
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