Wednesday, May 25, 2005

Why bother organizing now? My blog is quickly becoming known for random fits of incoherent rambling. I dig that, though, and intend to keep earning a reputation for scattered, meandering prose as long as Salon will sell me a blog license. That being said, here are today's...well, what's a good word for it....musings? *Let me be the first (or 51st) to say it: Lindsay Lohan, Nicole Richie and Mary-Kate Olsen are not the first young women in Hollywood who have tried to model their bodies after the average knobby twig. They are just the most recent, most tanned, and most badly-dressed examples of the thinomenon. What people don't seem to get is this: if you mock a girl for being skinny, she very rarely responds by putting on weight. She responds by wearing large, mirrored sunglasses and shapeless shifts, and dating men who pinch at her hips and recall out loud their days of dating someone even more skinny. The rest of us would slug these men. But these girls? They just sip at another cosmo, and refuse to eat anything but mixed drinks until their ribs stand out like dunes on a beach. *Everyone has something that they're really good at that they don't realize they're good at. This is my theory, and I stand by it. This reality generally manifests itself in the following ways: very talented people who deny (without doing that 'fishing for compliments' thing) possessing the talents that they very obviously possess; and people who you just KNOW would rock at things, but refuse to try them. While I love these people in all their humility, sometimes I want to shake them and go, "Holy cow, do you even know how quality you are?" But most people don't like to be shaken, so I am left with going, "Pfft." You know who you are! *I  really like cooking. I like the chopping part, the olive oil in the pan part, the creating crazy dressings part, the marinating part....all of it. I think I actually like cooking more than I like eating. Not that I am in danger of becoming a skeletal starlet...oh, heck no. But I find that I'm bored of whatever I've made by the time it arrives on the plate, and I just want to make something else. Some would say this indicates that I should become a chef. But these people have never seen me set a saucepan on fire, or chop off a portion of my pinky finger along with a bit of scallion, or fling boiling water into my eyes. I may be a decent cook, but I am a dangerous one. I need to be contained. Which is why I shall continue to make endless dishes in my little kitchen, and force my roommates to eat my wares. And patch up my wounds. *I am a counter cleaner. I like a clean counter. I am also a compulsive clothes washer. I also like an uncluttered house, with a minimum of knicknackery, and nice pristine surfaces. So why....why....is my room a bastion of small, odd objects, piles of clothing, rumpled bedclothes, and a line of mugs alongside my laptop that once contained a) coffee; b) chamomile tea; c) apple cider and d) tonic water? Why is the lid never on my hairspray? Why do the sweaters tumble merrily from their cabinet? Why does the space closest to my heart and soul resemble a thrift store after a shootout? Many theories exist; perhaps my room reflects angst that I don't feel comfortable revealing to others. Perhaps my room is the antithesis of my personality in the same way that 'opposites attract'...maybe I need a space that challenges my notions of how things should be. Or...and I think this is really it...I'm a lazy-ass if my ministrations don't affect anyone else. As soon as I'm sharing a bedroom with someone else, this too shall pass. Then only my makeup bag will be left a disaster area of broken eyeshadows, dulling tweezers to tame my unruly creature-brows, and smushed tubes of last year's key gloss shade. *Speaking of ass, every word becomes a more affectionate but somehow less gagworthy adjective if you put 'ass' at the end. I know that sounds bizarre, but it really works. Try it with your loved ones:  sillyass, crazyass, funnyass, cleverass, wackyass, dippyass, nuttyass, wiseass, etc. We had variations on this same kind of construction throughout my childhood and teenage years, except that we'd use 'Smurf' after the word, or for a short time, 'Spice'. So, if you were grouchy, you became 'Grouchy Smurf' or 'Grouchy Spice' (tongue in cheek, I promise). For a while, I also used 'pants', as in 'Grouchypants'. But now, I would label said individual as 'grouchyass'. I like it. It's edgy, unsaccharine, and my loved ones enjoy it. I think. Well, that's all for now, except for the following quick observations: Enough of the sundried things! I should eat more fish! Christian and Republican are not synonymous! I'm out of good smelling lotion! I want more magazines! Dinosaurs make good shapes for gummy candy! Sage leaves smell lovely rubbed between warm fingers, in the sun! I still need to buy a goldfish! Not to eat! Men who play guitar really ARE sexy! Sometimes! Unless their names start with K and end with "Eith Richards"! I LOVE BABIES. Yes, still. I need to get me another dance-related injury! Kumquats, while ridiculously named, are the fun fruit for June! I have a lot of deadlines! Sunlight through branches is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen! So is Kelly Slater! Goodnight! 12:19:35 AM    build me up, buttercup... []

© Copyright 2005 Meg Fowler. Last update: 6/1/2005; 9:42:45 PM.