Tuesday, September 21, 2010

When Robin Lives Alone

My mom went away for three days and two nights this past weekend. She left early on Sunday morning and got back a few hours ago, Tuesday afternoon.

Since 16 isn't old enough to be left alone (or, you know, fly to Trinidad all by yourself, BUT WHATEVER), some my friends moved in WITH me so that in case I burnt the house down, we would ALL die and not just me.

So here's what happened, in list form.

  1. Number of girls under one roof: 3 (4 counting non-humans)
  2. Number of alternatively crazy-ass hyped up OR depressed and downtrodden dogs: 1
  3. Number of worried mother phone calls: 5-6 per day
  4. Number of rooms cleaned before arrival of guests: 8
  5. Number of sets of sheets washed: 3
  6. Number of towels washed: 10-12
  7. Number of loads of laundry ruined by me: NONE
  8. Number of lamps broken: 1
  9. Number of "this is why I shouldn't try and be nice by cleaning the house because I break so much shit" moments: 3
  10. Hours spent with iTunes playing: at least 12
  11. Amount of homework done: the bare minimum
  12. Number of nail polish color changes: 4
  13. Number of doggie accidents: 4 separate occasions
  14. Number of Spanish words spoken: 15-20
  15. Number of Mad Men episodes watched: 3
  16. Number of hours spent talking about boys: 5
  17. Number of hours spent talking about ONE boy: 4.5
  18. Number of swear words said: 50
  19. Number of swear words said by me: 48
  20. Number of imaginary sexy young Latino men to stop by: 3

Saturday, September 18, 2010

The Thing About Compliments; A Jagged Gorgeous Winter; My Cup Size

Compliments, rather than making me proud, tend to make me squirm.

I'm chatting to Eoin and trying to explain why compliments rarely work. I think it's because people are so quick to say nice things ("I love your hair", "I want those shoes", "Your eye makeup looks really good") that they're not a rarity. And, like all nice things, the more common they are, the less valuable it makes them.

If Don Draper were to compliment me, I would die. It would make my life.

If Eoin, or a friend, or my mom, compliments me, I appreciate it just as much, and I love that they do it, but it's not a day-altering experience.

That's all I have to say about that.









I hope you enjoyed that picture. I'm going to talk about something else now.

Winter is coming.

I don't know how I feel about that. I didn't really notice it last year. We got in a bit of a rut in winter, and I just sort of went through it in a fog. 11th grade overall went ridiculously fast, but it was like I moved to Canada, then stuff happened, and then it was Spring Session already.

I'm thinking about myself a lot lately. Not really in a bad way. I'm thinking about how I look (also not in a bad way), and confidence. I'm thinking that I've always wanted to have a skinny stomach and smaller thighs but how proud I am of my hips and chest.

My women's studies class makes me think about these things, and why I wear makeup and style my hair the way I do. And even when I'm home alone, and wearing my black sweatpants, and a tight-fitting black v-neck, and my hair looks banging with a red scarf in it, I have this incredible confidence that lets me swing my hips around my room, singing along to the Ting Tings and organizing. I'm thinking about how even if I'm not going to see anyone, looking good makes me feel good, and feeling good feels GOOD.

I like makeup. And hair. And my C-cups. And while I could live without my stretch marks, and wouldn't mind slightly whiter teeth, I'm learning to cope with what, and who, I am right now.

What do I love most in the world? This.



This is Mad Men, and this is my show.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

For the Newbies

If you don't know already, please go look at the page called The Blog(s) for a full description of what exactly is going on here.

Monday, September 6, 2010

There's Just More White to Love!

I consider myself a confident person. That being said, my self-esteem goes up and down more than...something that goes up and down a lot.

Things that murder my self-confidence and leave me wanting to crawl under my covers with nothing but a pack of double-stuffed Oreos and three seasons of Smallville include trying on swimsuits, being around my cousin Shayleigh while being within ten feet of a mirror, sunbathing, and being sweaty.

Things that make me love myself and every curve I have are things like well-fitting jeans, bulky sweaters, having my makeup done by Mai, waking up acne-free, seeing this picture (http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/photo.php?pid=2502126&id=565781751&ref=fbx_album), straightening my hair to perfection, painting my fingernails black, and watching Chris Rock, who normally annoys me, do stand-up about how much black guys love chunky white girls.

Before a day of what I was sure was going to be soul-crushingly painful clothes shopping, I watched a good hour of this stand-up. (There were no Saturday morning cartoons on.)

But what all the Chris Rock the crappy Canadian Comedy channel had on at 8 in the morning couldn't prepare me for was a little store called Aeropostale.

A haven for those seeking American grunge-style clothes without adopting the Kurt Cobain personality (see: Ke$ha), Aeropostale is famous for it's eagle logo, plaid chambray shirts, and ridiculous pretention, all seeping through over-priced, mass-produced clothing and accessories. And we just can't get enough of it.

Silly me, I decided to go into an Aeropostale on the Saturday of American Labor Day weekend. It was completely packed, but the sign that screamed "$15 Hoodies!" was irresistible. Turns out they were actually sweatshirts in ugly colors (note: difference between hoodies and sweatshirts - a zipper up the front. Sweatshirts have to be pulled over your head. Duh) but I ended up finding REAL hoodies and cute shirts in my size, which, I was sad to discover during this shopping trip, is a Large, if I want any breathing room. After waiting in line for what felt like FOREVER for a changing room, I was enraged to find that the Large size was tight on me.

Now, I am NOT a fat-ass. I know I can't convince you of that, imaginary internet readers. But I am AVERAGE in sweet, kind, lovely stores like Penney's and Target. And so while I still drool over the gorgeous clothes sold in places like Aeropostale and American Apparel, I have to come to the realization that hipster joints have done the opposite of what Morgan Spurlock talked about. They've labeled the Medium sizes "Large", and the Larges "Supersized" in an effort to make us all feel bad about ourselves.

I think it's time I put aside my Chris Rock issues and load up on his wisdom before I go back for Shopping Trip, Volume 2.