Octopus.

I want one.

I mean, yes, I want a lot of animals, but I feel like an octopus would be especially fun to have despite the fact that I couldn't take it out of the water for fear it would go the way of the tiny water frogs of my youth (aka it would be dead and I would cry). But I could keep it in an awesomely cool tank and watch it wander in and out of glass bottles and hide underneath tons o' coral.

......and maybe poke at it occasionally.

Enough is enough.

I have just about had it with people and their ridiculous misconceptions about me, and, as such, I think it's high time we got some things straightened out. Is this going to be a tell-all expose about my life? Eh, no, probably not, I really don't have all day, but there really are some points that need to be touched on.

First of all, it's true, I've made more than my share of mistakes in the past few months and that's left me feeling a but vulnerable. I messed around with the wrong men, put off all of my work, and I'm pretty sure my liver is about to jump ship, but that doesn't mean I'm broken and/or otherwise incapable of carrying on. People make bad decisions all the time and then get on fine with the rest of their lives without the unsolicited advice of everyone they know. It's tough to be 20, especially when you make rash emotionally-driven decisions like I do, but I'll make it, I'll survive, and I'll use whatever coping mechanisms I can until I'm really feeling right again, regardless of whether or not they're popular. The overall message of this paragraph: It would be super if you could all back off. Okay? Thanks.

Secondly, I do some ridiculous things, yes, but that doesn't make me crazy. Passionate? Maybe. Fool-hardy? Possibly. Determined? Definitely. But not crazy. When I want something, I go after it, vigorously, and if I don't end up with it in the end... well, let's just say it's more than a little bit devastating. I was always taught that hard work and determination will get you what you want in this world - I've never had to cope with that not ringing true. I'm confused right now, and, I'll admit it, sad. However, I'll get over this too, I'm a big girl... it may just take me a bit longer. The overall message of this paragraph: I'm hurt right now, and even more confused about life than I normally am, but that doesn't mean I want your advice or your sympathy. You can all back off when it comes to this too. Okay? Thanks.

Lastly, I drink. I drink when I'm rendering, I drink when I'm watching football, I drink on holidays, and I drink with my friends. Do I have a drinking "problem?" No. Do I give a shit if you think I do? No. Also, when I drink, I have a tendency to post things on Facebook and text people. Are those practices wreckless and immature? Probably. Again, do I give a shit if you think I'm wreckless or immature? No. I make my own decisions, right or wrong, and then I live with them. The overall message of this paragraph: If you want to judge what I do, that's okay, but don't think I care about your opinion on any of my actions. Again, backing off is probably the best plan. Okay? Thanks.

So, what have we all learned here today? Well, I think the moral of this tyrade is you all really don't know me or my life and therefore your advice is both completely baseless and unhelpful. It would be amazing if you could stop proffering it like I'm some scared kid who needs their hand held and their life straightened out. While I do generally like holding hands, it seems inappropriate in these particular circumstances. Seriously, it does.

Movie Endings.

"So... what happened next?"
"What do you mean? Nothing happened. That's the end of the story."
"What?! It can't be! Something had to have happened! You opened up, you practically wrote a book for Christ's sake! You can't tell me 'that's the end of the story' because I don't believe you."
"I'm sorry. I may lie about a lot of things, but that really was the end."
"Oh. I'm... well, I'm sorry."

Looking back on this conversation as I'm sitting on my couch eating donuts and watching Bridget Jones' Diary, I can understand why she was so disappointed. At the time, I wanted to punch her in the face- how dare she exacerbate my embarrassment by not instantly comprehending the fact that my expression of feelings meant nothing! Now, though, I totally get it. She was looking for John Cusack outside my window with a boom box or Colin Firth at my front door holding a new diary and completely in love with me despite the fact that I'm a total loon. She made the fatal mistake, as I often seem to, of mistaking real life for the movies. In movies, John Bender turns out to have a heart of gold and Bridget Jones gets a man. In real life, Bender is just a pot-smoking tool and Ms. Jones is doomed to a lonely life filled with binge drinking and daytime television because despite her clever, charming personality, no man wants to date an uncoordinated nut (trust me). In real life, our heroes and heroines end up lonely. Reality renders the the people we root for as just people, not being helped along by the gentle nudge of a writer but completely on their own, dangling in a sea of emotional confusion and making the best decisions they can without having someone who already knows the ending of their story pen their every word.

Thus, it's hard to live in real life. Here there are no movie studios pressuring the director for a happy ending, no "chance meetings" on street corners that allow the characters to work out their differences, no quirky, meddling friends who are determined to get our hero and heroine to realize they've been meant for each other all along. In real life, we're alone and constantly stumbling through one situation and then straight into another; there are no pauses or montages where we get to reflect, no clear-as-day flashbacks to help us remember how we felt about something, we don't get a musical number to help us understand our seemingly incomprehensible feelings, and when something is particularly tough, no one is going to cue the apperance of some random old person who just happens to have an anecdote that completely relates to our problems.

Real life is all about figuring out incredibly difficult things on your own, which means, logically, you're going to fuck a lot of things up.. and, unfortunately, no one is going to step in to guarantee you get a second chance.

The rest of the conversation went as follows, in case you're curious:
"Do you think you'll ever hear from him again?"
"Probably not. I'm clearly insane and I'm a huge pain in the ass, no one would subject themselves to that."
"But there's still hope."
"I guess, I don't know."
"C'mon, hunny, there's always hope."

Clearly someone has seen too many John Hughes movies.



Also..

So true.

Honesty.

Yeah, I know what you're thinking.. "Honesty really isn't your thing, hunny. You should probably stick to what you know, like lying and cheating and sarcastic comments. Oh, and while you're at it, go buy some more rediculous hats and break some more hearts because you're good at those things too."

Shockingly enough, though, I'm much better at honestly than I think anyone would give me credit for. Seriously - it's almost at much fun as lying. I spent last night going through my contacts and texting all of the people I loved and missed and all of the ones I've been wanting to punch in the face but haven't for fear of getting too carried away and/or getting arrested. My shining achievement though, if I do say so myself, was my midnight note which was chock full of both honesty and my token rambling. Today, I feel pretty damn amazing. Honesty really might be the best policy... although strawberry cake with oodles of frosting certainly helps.

I really don't know where to go from here, hell, I don't even know why I typed that, because frankly, I'm not sure I have to "go" anywhere. Imma just sit right here and reap the benefits of being honest. Yup. That sounds like a plan. Oooo.. and I'm also going to work on some Christmas presents. And eat more cake. And continue to wear this hat despite the fact that I'm inside.

This is going to be a good weekend... and life is definitely looking up.

When all the desserts in the case turn out to be rotten...

...you soldier on.



No, really, you do. You realize that someday you're going to meet someone who is going to run toward you, not away from you. You also come to terms with the fact that you've spent the last few days feeling like a crazy person because you care too much about people to just let things stand and not pursue something you're passionate about.



Oh well.



A rotten dessert is a rotten dessert - there's nothing you can do about it. Everything can't be saved.



Also.... if I was a dessert.....
Evidently this is just a bit too sweet and overwhelming (emphasis on "overwhelming") for most.

Definitions and Facts.

bravado: [bruh-vah-doh]
–noun
1. a. A blustering swaggering conduct.
b. A pretense of bravery.
2. The quality or state of being foolhardy.

arrogance: [ar-uh-guhns]
–noun
1. an attitude of superiority manifested in an overbearing manner or in presumptuous claims or assumptions.


If anyone asked me what two things I hate the most in a man, it would be bravado and arrogance..... for the sheer fact that I bring enough of it to the table for the both of us. Everything I say and do is coated in layers upon layers of pretentious nonsense, and it's nearly impossible to get an answer out of me that has some real emotional depth connected to it.... most especially when I've made a conscious decision to be as evasive as possible.

Basically, I'm an impossible woman.

It's impossible to tell what I want, what I'm thinking, or how I'm feeling. Even asking me a direct question doesn't work because I'll still find some way to turn my answer into a sarcastic quip.

Given all this though - And I know this is going to come as a shock. Brace yourselves - I do, in fact, have feelings. As much as I love to tell people that my heart is a frozen block of ice, in truth, it's rather squishy and quite vulnerable. It stands to reason that someone with a puffy, delicate heart would use whatever defense they have to keep from being hurt. It also stands to reason that those defenses are not ones that are easily breached.

It's because of all of this that men generally find me kind of frosty and unattractive. And when I say "kind of," I mean "completely"... If the White Witch and Frosty the Snowman had a love child, that would be me. When given the choice between me and someone easier (i.e. anyone else ever), I'm not going to be anyone's first choice. I'm much too much work, I'm way too mean, and it's going to take some time for there to be any payoff. The only things I love are ridiculous - like unicorns and plushies and cute baby animals and cupcake-scented candles and anything with glitter - and the only things I like to do went out of fashion 30 years ago. To sum it up, you'd have to be insane to want to be with me... insane and extremely persistent because it takes a hell of a lot to get me to actually be honest and not coat everything I say in dripping sarcasm.

And I can assure you, no man is that persistent. Not for me at least.
Which is why, I suppose, I was gifted with such amazing friends.. someone has to love all this crazy... and I'm okay with that.





Because this post has been particularly self-serving, I'm leaving you with this adorable, gratuitious picture of Roly Poly Snowman soft toy by FantasticToys. Eveything in this shop is super cute.. and this snowman is sort of how I imagine I would look if I was a frozen ball of ice... oh wait...

Rambling Man.

"So give me to the Rambling Man, let it always be known that I was who I am.."


We have no heat.
Here I am camped out on my living room floor with a cup of hot tea sewing buttons on a shirt-jacket I made last year (I realized only this morning that I forgot to sew on a button.. or two... yes, I do want people to pay me to do this. Wondeful, isn't it?). I can't really feel my fingers, but it's marvelous. This is how I always envision fall... bitter cold but still full of possibilities.

Speaking of possibilities, I just purchased these glasses off of Etsy..

Aren't they just fantastic? VerboseNYC had them and I simply couldn't resist. As an added bonus, they have my reading perscription already in them which means they're ready to wear. Hopefully I'll actually remember to wear them..... I'm absolutely terrible when it comes to wearing my glasses. I should actually be wearing them right now but that would require me to get up..... which obviously isn't happening.

Honestly, my mind is so scattered right now. I just finished sewing on my buttons, I have my motivational Perry the Platypus plushie next to me (which sadly, does not motivate me to do my drafting homework, but, hey, nothing's perfect), but my brain can't seem to focus on anything for more than a few seconds. Maybe it's the excessive amounts of Mountain Dew I drank today or the fact that I'm going to the Doctors tonight so they can finally tell me what the hell is wrong with my body/uterus. It might even be that I finally decided that Pie really was the best choice all along or that some people can't seem to understand that I'm never going to pull my punches, no matter how many "meaningful" talks they try to have with me. Who knows. I'm going to go eat some french fries and try not to be too nervous or think about Pie too much or purchase any more awesome/rediculous things off of the internet.

Well, I did only say I'd try..... I'm not making any promises here.

Yeah. Sure.

"Wow, Nicole, you've really improved..."

I'm about to let you in on a little secret...
I haven't actually improved.

According to Websters Dictionary, the definition of improvement is as follows: To enhance in value or quality : make better. Basically, you become better in comparison to where you were before.
Unfortunately, if you were actually at what people are referring to as your "improved state" the entire time.....
Well, let me give you a (purely hypothetical) example:
Say you go to art school. You come back from summer vacation only to realize that the quality of the work you had produced the year before meant nothing and everyone was still treating you like a complete imbecile (despite the fact that you got the only "A" in a class about design, full of designers, of which you are not one). So there you are, feeling more than slightly put off when suddenly someone with zero talent gets rewarded with a huge project for no other reason than they happen to kiss a lot of ass.
And you thought you were mad before.
At this point, why try? You're not sure you even want to be there and someone with the drawing skills of a house plant is being treated like they're the second coming of Edith Head. What the hell is the point of trying, really?
So you don't. You slack off, all your projects look like a 1st grader did them with a crayon (although they're still better than some people's projects..), and no one treats you any differently because, apparently, they expected this from you all along. Then, one day, you wake up and realize that you're getting calls to do outside jobs based on -GASP- the quality of your work and you're also kind of a genius. So what do you do now? Well, you just start doing projects at your normal level of excellence and everyone thinks you're "learning so much" in your classes that you couldn't help but improve! Now you look like the Comeback Kid, everyone is going on about how great it is that you can finally draw a human form that doesn't look like a gingerbread man, and telling you that you're really going to go far. Ha. Ha ha. If only they knew....

It's good to be me.

[As a side note, the best part about this whole thing is that I'm still "improving".... and some people clearly never will.]