I have been on more first dates than there are stars in the sky. Sometimes they are fun and lead to more dates. Most of the time they are with weirdos who I never want to see again. The weirdos always ask pretty intimate, weird/awkward questions. Just recently I was asked, "What is your biggest fear?" I thought about replying, "Bad breath!" but I knew this prude of a guy wouldn't think it was funny at all. So I thought. And thought. And thought. I never gave him an answer, but I've been thinking ever since.
My biggest fear is of missing out. It is why I am so insistent that I don't get married young- getting married at 19 is a guaranteed way to miss out on loads of fun single experiences. It is why I want to study in Hawaii next year and why I want to travel the world- I don't want to miss out on a thing. My fear of missing out explains why I want to go on a mission so bad- so that I can have that experience and not miss out on so great of an opportunity.
Once I figured this out, some of my greatest problems suddenly seemed much less complex. I have often wondered why I can't hold a job for more than three months. I get bored. I want a change. I don't want to miss out on any other jobs. I have worked every type of job possible: laundry, teaching piano, retail, food service, tutoring, waiting tables, banquets, etc. I don't want to miss out on experiencing any of these dinky part time jobs. My fear of missing out explains why I have to be the last to leave the party, why I date so many different types of guys, and why I am making no significant progress toward graduating. I am too busy taking all sorts of classes so that I don't miss out, that I am not concentrating on my major enough.
My mom says I need to be more content with my life. I don't know how I can when I am so worried that the whole world is passing me by and that I am missing out on something very important. Someone somewhere is experiencing more and having more fun than me. It is this thought that I simply can not stand.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Monday, March 13, 2006
Law school decision
My dad wants me to go to law school. I want to teach English to bratty high school punks. A lawyer would make at least $100,000 a year. A teacher will be lucky to scrape by with $30,000. As much as I would like to think I don't care what they say, I am very much so influenced by my parents. So as my father pushes me to go to law school- I consider it. It has occupied a lot of my thought lately- if gonig to law school in two years is really what I want to do. I already knew I probably didn't want to go because I dated a guy in law school and his school life seemed like torture, but today my question was answered once and for all. I was going in the law building for an undergradute class. As I was passing a group of law students I noticed the attire of all of them. None were well dressed and none seemed at all aware of any kind of fashion laws. One was wearing a baggy T-shirt tugged into his jeans. The jeans came to about mid stomach. The jeans were also too big for this scrawny looking law student. He held them up with none other then a braided belt. He was wearing sneakers.
The group was standing outside a classroom, waiting for the other class to vacate so they could hold their class. It was almost 11:00 and the group was anxious to get in. Braided belt commented, "Well, we'll just have to use adverse possession and go on in there! Their time is up!" What makes the whole situation worse is that everybody laughed at this comment. Never in my life do I want to be a part of lame law jokes. The group, unaware that they had just convinced an innocent underclassmen into avoiding law forever, marched into the class, excited to learn about property laws. Call me vain if you want. Call me stupid for basing my decision to go to law school on this one experience. Call me whatever you want, but I am decided. I'll teach high school punks any day rather than hang out with the likes of the law school students.
The group was standing outside a classroom, waiting for the other class to vacate so they could hold their class. It was almost 11:00 and the group was anxious to get in. Braided belt commented, "Well, we'll just have to use adverse possession and go on in there! Their time is up!" What makes the whole situation worse is that everybody laughed at this comment. Never in my life do I want to be a part of lame law jokes. The group, unaware that they had just convinced an innocent underclassmen into avoiding law forever, marched into the class, excited to learn about property laws. Call me vain if you want. Call me stupid for basing my decision to go to law school on this one experience. Call me whatever you want, but I am decided. I'll teach high school punks any day rather than hang out with the likes of the law school students.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
The terror of bad breath
My first experience with bad breath was in fourth grade. I was on the bus sitting next to Nicole Willey- a freckled faced pug nosed girl with glasses. She was telling me excitedly about who knows what. I couldn't pay attention because she had terrible breath. I can still smell it today. She was breathing so heavily and sitting so close to me and all I could think of was "When can I get off this bus??? Nicole- your breath REEKS!!!" I'll probably remember that day for the rest of my life. It has triggered an intense fear that runs to my very bones. I hate bad breath.
I noticed my manager with bad breath the other day. This guy must have had just awful breath because I was in no way shape or form standing close to him. He was telling me how much silverware to roll and I could smell that breath so strong. Don't people realize when they have bad breath? Is it so hard to detect? I can taste when I have bad breath, why can't others? And most importantly- why can't they stop breathing all over me when their breath reeks of onions, sewage, poop, vomit and boogers?
I avoid people with bad breath like the plague. As soon as I notice someone with it, I stop talking to them. If ignoring them is not a possibility, I cover my nose and mouth discreetly and stand as far away as possible. I am terrified of getting stuck in a small enclosed space with a bad breather. Even worse is the thought of kissing someone with bad breath. Luckily it hasn't happened yet, but I am sure that when it does I will absolutely just puke in the other person's mouth.
I noticed my manager with bad breath the other day. This guy must have had just awful breath because I was in no way shape or form standing close to him. He was telling me how much silverware to roll and I could smell that breath so strong. Don't people realize when they have bad breath? Is it so hard to detect? I can taste when I have bad breath, why can't others? And most importantly- why can't they stop breathing all over me when their breath reeks of onions, sewage, poop, vomit and boogers?
I avoid people with bad breath like the plague. As soon as I notice someone with it, I stop talking to them. If ignoring them is not a possibility, I cover my nose and mouth discreetly and stand as far away as possible. I am terrified of getting stuck in a small enclosed space with a bad breather. Even worse is the thought of kissing someone with bad breath. Luckily it hasn't happened yet, but I am sure that when it does I will absolutely just puke in the other person's mouth.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
A necessary eight hours
I have lately made it a priority to get eight hours of sleep each night. Okay, I admit, it is a little more than a priority. It is an absolute freakish obsession! I love hanging out with my friends at night, but as soon as it gets close to midnight or 1:00 in the morning I stare nervously at the clock wondering when things will wrap up so I can bury myself up in my beloved down comforter. I realize that I could always exit the party early and just go to bed, but I love "hanging out" too much to bow out early for sleep. Oh, but I am starting to love sleep more and more. During the day I daydream about that soft hotel pillow from the Marriot in Las Vegas that is now on my bed. (they stole my pillow, I figure it is fair game that I take theirs!) I close my eyes and see the comfort of my pink flowered sheets. For over two weeks now I have been getting a consistent eight hours of sleep. I sleep through my first class if necessary, but I am obsessed with 480 minutes in my bed! Most days I don't even have class until 10:00 so that means I only have to get to bed by 1:30 in order to wake up in time. I plan and stress over how to arrange my school work, my social obligations, and my waiting tables to accommodate my sleeping schedule. Even now my eyes are starting to feel heavy. I am supposed to go see a movie with a cute boy tonight, but I have a sneaky suspicion that throughout the entire movie I will only be thinking about my down comforter and my amazing hotel pillow. Eight hours of sleep a night is so wonderful. Once you start, you can never go back.
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