New Crap, Good Mood, Pretty Shit.

So, this week I have prezzies for you. In the form of me kind of organizing my babbling.
Kind of.

New Features
Things I Like

Pretty Shit

Summer sundress shopping in winter. These are from Jennifer Lily Designs on Etsy. She's got some really cute stuff at surprisingly nice, even prices. When the snow falls, I shop summer.



Classic literature with pretty covers. Especially that work from women like the Bronte sisters (Emily, Charlotte and Anne Bronte) and of course Jane Austen. I have a favorite (Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte), but I love them all very much. They had very poignant voices for women in their age, and they were really brave people to look up to. Also, a lot of their book covers were re-done recently by new illustrators. Ruben Toledo is responsible for the amazingly dark and beautiful work on Wuthering Heights, Pride and Prejudice, and The Scarlet Letter, while Coralie Brickford Smith re-did a few of the Penguin Classics in a more subdued, antique-books-in-a-thrift shop style. Regardless, they're all amazing, and I'm ridiculously excited to possibly buy a full set for my birthday this year.
~
Actual Blog Part of my BloggyBloo

Sometimes I wish I were one of those flawless looking indie chicks.
Yeah, you read right. I wish I were one of those really confident, skinny little slips of a person who is either always wearing just the most perfect, rumpled-sexy but still appropriate for the rest of the world outfits or just looks so put together it isn't even fair, funny or fucked up. You always see them with perfect skin, perfect-but-not hair, perfect everything. I wish I were like that sometimes.

Other times I enjoy malted milk chocolate way more than looking like an emaciated garden-rake.

But seriously, you know what I mean, right? That awesome mix of hippy-chic and kind of downtown grunge that makes only really skinny girls and/or really naturally beautiful girls look super hot. Because I'm not either of those things, I must take what I can get.

Also, I was just facebook tagged in a bunch of photos that were unfortunate. No one told me you could see the cute blue and white polka dots on my bra through my stupid shirt. Love the untagging feature on facebook, really I do.

Back to stuff.

I'm obsessed with VBS.tv. They do some of the sickest, most beautiful underground journalism that I've ever seen in my life. Its poignant and terrifying and lovely and sad, and there's really no substitute for them. I wish I were that talented.

Also, I love coffee. Any kind of coffee. And tea.
But mostly coffee because tea doesn't instantly perk me up when I smell it. I smell my bag o' delicious smelling coffee before I even grind my beans up. That's how delicious it is. Restaurants cannot make as delicious of a cup as I can. And that is a fact. Starbucks doesn't even hold a candle to my amazing Hazelnut dark roast from Papa Nicholas. Really.
So, naturally, I was upset when I went all the way to Target today only to find that they didn't have Papa Nicholas. At all.

Dear Indiana Targets,

Fuck you. Be more like a civilized Target than a bumble-fuck type place.
Townies don't know shit. You need to get actual coffee BEANS, not the little ground up bits. Those aren't as good as staying fresh.
However, I am quite happy with the Butter Rum version I got (ground up, goddamn you) from Archer Farms.

Love (but not until you get actual BEANS that aren't burnt-dark roast)
Miss Guided.

There, that's all I had to say. I love Target, but today they disappointed me.

Bad notes:

• Convincing parents to pretend to love me is harder than expected. They have hearts of iron (ironically passed on to me, haha). Not even my begging and pleading emails can make them pretend.
• Um, hi. I'm talking about my life to a blog. What does that tell you about me?
• Actually, I have quite a few friends, so really this is just me wasting time I don't have.
• I'm a liar.
• Evil horrible awful yucky experiments are going to start descending on my life soon. I like learning about other experiments already done, I don't want to make my own though.
• I have no money. Ever.
  

Good notes:

• I got the camp job. I just need to convince my parents to pretend that they love me and let me go.
• Getting in touch with old friends. :)
• Not studying for Criminal Justice exams and still getting As
• Coffee
• New Estee Lauder makeup. I love fresh ones. I use Nutritious 1.0 Intensity (because I'm paler than a bleached sheet of paper. yeah. that pale.) and it's wonderful. Beyond fantastic.
• Life in general

That's it.

I love you.
Sort of. You haven't proven that you love me back and I am of the firm and practiced belief that love cannot be unrequited, because then it's not actually love. It's misery.

Not-Love-Because-You-Have-Eschewed-Me-With-A-Firm-Hand,
Miss Guided.

P.S. Bonus pointed to whoever figures out from where I copied my salutation from.

Passionate and Impusive; How I rationalize being both.

This is a passion flower. A really pretty creative one.
That is what my brain looks like right now; all over the place, but generally optimistic all around. I look at the bright side of most situations, unless I'm talking to Taylor, Beth or Adam in which case my life is just about to end if I get a hangnail. They love me though. I think.

I have been described--more than once, and by more than one person--as very passionate.
Passionate, as in every action and every attempt at anything is made in a very forceful, full-on, balls-out sort of way. I go after what I want--or don't want, but consequentially need--pretty hard, and I've gotta say, that particular trait of mine has some pros, but its definitely got a few cons.
Pro-wise, I've been conditioned to be an optimist. Everything that could go wrong will go wrong and I'll still be running around with a stupid smile plastered on my face with Bob the Builder's (and Obama's) slogan dripping out my mouth like word-vomit. I will not give up until all options have been exhausted, and even then I'll turn into a stupid-driven person who's all "we can learn from this absolutely horrible experience!"
Except I never learn the most important lesson; don't get so passionate so fast.

See, the issue here is that I'll get super attached to ideas on a pretty immediate basis. Someone will bring something up (an opportunity or something), I'll do maybe an hour of basic research on it and then all of a sudden I'm applying for positions that sign me away to programs or activities that are humongous commitments. I don't think things through, rather I'm impulsive and I just do.
It's pretty ass-backward since a lot of people consider me a realist at best and a cynic at worst, so this personality quirk is the last thing you'd expect to see coming out of me.

However, it has come in handy in several ways.

1. I love fast, and I love hard.
Not in the physical sense, you perv, but in the emotional and intellectual sense. Passion extends to pretty much everything on my radar; subjects in school, friends, family, activities, boys, etc. I throw my full heart into everything I do, despite the inevitable emotional fuck-all roller-coasters that I put myself though. I'm the type where I'm not going to jump out of the plane if I have to think about it and go through those scare-tactic classes, but if you say "hey, there's a plane/cliff/helicopter jumping class today and they're letting people jump by the end of it," you can bet that I'll be hurling myself off some obscene height without a thought. Even if I have a confirmed fear of heights. Long and short of it is that I've had experiences not many people can say they've had, mostly because I do what I love, in the moment at least, and I chase my dreams.
To quote the Joker, "I'm like a dog after his tail! I desperately want it, but I have no idea what I'd do with it if I actually got it."

2. People like seeing that I'm "goal oriented."
Which I am. I have a set of goals, but it changes daily. Like right now I want to be an FBI agent because I'm feeling sort of thrill-seeker-y. But two years ago I wanted to be a surgeon (probably more because of Grey's Anatomy than anything), and before that (and still sort of now as my grounded, big-kid job aspiration) I wanted to be a psychologist.
And to be honest, I think I can do it all. It's going to be hard, and I'm probably going to want to pitch myself off one of those obscene heights I talked about in Number 1(sans any sort of safety device), but I'll do it.
Besides, my "passion for action" as I've described it to potential employers, has gotten me jobs. They like seeing someone optimistic and happy and "I can do it!" Also I think they enjoy my sense of humor and want someone to bounce abuse off of. I'm basically positive that's why I worked at Plato's Bucket-O'-Misery for so long.
(p.s. I don't suggest bashing your employers online, but they're totally cool with the nicknames and complaining because all of the employees and management do it in person anyways)

3. People are attracted to others with can-do personalities!
This is just sort of an added bonus. People like happy people. That's just kind of how it is. Yes, I complain a little (a lot on the blog at least) but for the most part, I'm a builder-upper. You can do it, and all that stuff is part of my mantra.
Worrying is good, but doing nothing about your worries is not. Like I said in the Dear Asshat post, you have to make your own luck. Pity doesn't really exist in "Real Life," you gotta make things happen for you.

Anyways, I want these hiking boots.
They're cute in a sort of rugged-ass-kicking way, while also being functional and able to propel me through this horrible onslaught of white stuff that was recently dumped on my school.


They're kickass without being too fake-leather, rubber hiking-ish. Do you know what I mean? Durable and practical without the ugly, and charming without the pastel.

I think I just described myself. Maybe. I'm a little charming, right?
Sort of.
Anyways the point of the rant was that I'm trying to rationalize some pretty rash actions on my part. Also, go with your heart; if it's telling you to take the job on the other side of the world despite the risks, go buy the plane ticket. You're only going to live once and you're going to fuck up. At least make interesting mistakes, okay?

Going to stop babbling now.
Love you all,
Miss Guided.

How To Spot A Cling-On, and Other Little Turds of Advice

I checked out at one of the campus food-kiosks today, and was given a "good morning," salutation by one of the miserable people behind the counter making sandwiches for fat college kids.
Now, I think this phrase is interesting because it's kind of irrelevant. I'm the type of annoying person who, no matter what you tell me, will probably end up doing the opposite of what I'm told.
So, since that person told me to have a "good morning," I thought about it and lo and behold, I actually had done the exact opposite.

I just burned my tongue on very, very hot tea.
I definitely failed that Hebrew comprehension pop quiz. There's no way I did well.
I left my coffee on my desk in my room after making it.
I sneezed 8 times in a row right after I put my mascara on. Which means that it was still wet and since my eyes squinched shut, I smeared it all under my eyes and had to start over.
Which made me late for Hebrew.
And I slipped a million times trying to get there.

So no, I am not having a very good morning.

But I am feeling guilty for having written that letter from the last post. Yes, he's a whiny little twat, but seriously its not his fault.
Well, actually it is, but it's not his fault that I chose to kind of "be his friend" in the beginning because I couldn't see the signs for what they were.
So, I'm going to give you, dear dear reader(s), a guide of how to tell when you're dealing with an Asshat so you don't end up pouring your frustration out onto the unsuspecting Internet and polluting it with a bunch of (clever) insults about someone fairly specific.
Besides, a few of my friends were curious as to what my definition of an Asshat was. So here it is.

Step One
Identification; How can you tell who you're dealing with on first impressions alone?
Easily. You're going to notice little things about this person that might not fit with the rest of the (sort of, but not really) sane world.
He or she might incessantly check his or her appearance in any reflective surface available. If you're in a dorm room and they randomly walk in, you're probably dealing with an Asshat if they go straight for the mirror to check her bump-it or his new-age-alt Leonidas beard.
It's also an indication if they're really really super eager to tell you the little--and not so little--details about their lives. A simple, "hey, what's up," has the potential to turn into a half hour bitch fest about how her Great Aunt Fanny has this callous on her left foot and it's starting to turn green.
It's best to just smile and walk away quickly when it comes to these folks.
Another thing to watch out for is an initial clingyness. Asshats have this thing about going through friends fairly quickly (gee, I wonder why) so they're going to glom onto you like a large, untreatable fungus and become your BFF, LYKE OMG.
Yeah, I swear.

Step Two
If you've associated yourself unwittingly with a particularly clandestine Asshat; How do I distance myself?
Well, this was the mistake I made. After about 3 months of a weird acquaintanceship that was fast turning into him coming to my floor and knocking on my door and the doors of all my friends, I was beginning to understand what I had gotten myself into. It was a little clinginess that had turned into a strange sort of dependence on female approval. He had possibly always had this little personality quirk, but I think being away from his parents (mothers count as female, and they can approve of their sons' behaviors) and his circle of close friends definitely helped the helplessness devolve into full on desperation.
In order to try and distance yourself, I'd suggest not answering text messages at all, or if you're too nice, then try to let the conversations fizzle as quickly as possible. Be busy, but don't lie about it. You want to be the innocent one in this situation so try to be kind, but distant. Don't give too much insight into the inner workings of your life, and do not, under any circumstances, ask about theirs in detail. A simple, "what's up" can lead to a lot of things that you just really really don't want to know about, as mentioned above.
Be vague, try and get them to follow the same route.

Step Three
Jesus, what the hell have I gotten myself into? AKA, How to be a bitch.
Well, you've hopefully attempted to distance yourself, and they're still persisting. If you really, genuinely don't want anything to do with this person, then this next step is particularly crucial. You have to be firm, concise and make sure that this person understand that you're not joking or kidding here. If they have a tendency to overlook/not listen to the truth/things they don't want to hear, you're going to have to force them to listen.
What I did might not have been the best course of action (he called yesterday after I had found out some amazingly phenomenal news) but I'm pretty sure it got the job done. He had been texting me and facebooking me all week even after I had told him to stop and give me some space. I was on cloud nine when he called me, and I was literally full and flowing over with happiness over my news, so naturally seeing his name on the caller ID fueled some sort of uber-passionate reaction. I picked up the phone and said clearly, concisely and with a tinge of malice in my voice, "_____, you need to stop trying to contact me. Stop facebooking me, stop texting me, and don't call me again. If I want to be your friend, I'll get in touch with you, but that won't be for a while at this point. Your desperation is annoying and frankly I'm tired of having to deal with you. Back off, and do not contact me again, OK?" Click.
End of conversation. I didn't let him get a word in edgewise because I was running on such a rush of adrenaline, but you know what, he deserved every word of it. The stalker-ish tendencies were beginning to scare me, and I was not enjoying his constant "we should start over," "lets be friends," bullshit.
Here are the facts:
1. We were never that close in the first place, having known each other only for a few months.
2. He almost never asked me about my life. Ever. It was always about his life and his problems.
3. He had absolutely no respect for my familial issues and was hell-bent on proving that "his life was worse than mine."
4. I didn't enjoy being around him.

If any of those line up with your situation, definitely evaluate your "friendship" and see if you really want to continue it. Start with step one, then gradually try and distance yourself politely, if that doesn't work and the person escalates to being stalker-ish or unpleasantly clingy, then I would move on and explain firmly and clearly that you want space and would appreciate it if they'd respect that and back off.

Easy, right?
Not really, but entirely necessary.
Yes it was a little mean, but I'm attempting to turn over a new slate. I want to be friends with people I feel or have felt comfortable around before. I'm trying to start with a blank slate, a tabula rasa, and I really want to move on from the high school dramatics and social stigmas that came with them. I'm apologizing and reconnecting and moving on. And it feels good and light.

Also helps that I'm probably never going to be staying in my hometown again for longer than a month or so. Which is really really wonderful to look forward to. :)
Love my family, don't really love the town. Excited to start over, sort of.

Anyways, there it is. Be friends with who you want to be friends with. Love without regrets, live fully and live hard. Take risks and make sure that you can say that you tried as hard as you could. Say proudly that you have exhausted all other possible alternatives, and you will live with a happy, unburdened heart.
If you make a mistake, own up to it, learn from it, and try to correct it. If you can't, move on and keep the lesson you learned close to your heart.

That's all. My advice.
That was a long one, maybe someone (besides Beth) is actually reading this.
Let me know, please!

Love,
Miss Guided

Asshats and Miss Guided is a D-bag and so are You but thats ok; Letters to No One.

Dear Obnoxious Asshat,
I swear to G-d, my head is going to explode if you facebook messages/text messages/etc. me one more time. How many times have I ignored your text/facebook "hellos" and "heys" and all that, only to have you send me fifty bagillion more texts/messages saying "r u there?" "r u ignoring me?" etc.

Seriously, what the hell?
Yes, I am ignoring you. No, texting me a million more times will not help you in your quest. It might make me file a restraining order, but no, it won't help you. So stop.

Seriously, how many hints do you need? You are a jerk, and an overdramatic little person who acts more like a 12 year old girl than an 18 year old boy. Yes, shit happens, and you're supposed to complain to your friends about it. But there comes a time when your problems are not as important as mine.
Actually, in my world, your problems aren't even a blip on my radar. I couldn't care less if you stubbed your toe or failed ANOTHER exam or fucked another dumb bimbo, because hey, guess what, we're really not that close and it's usually your fault. You earned that GPA last semester all by yourself, kiddo, and while the rest of us were studying or prepping for finals, you were on facebook talking to that girl who EVERYONE told you was bad news. High school stays in high school, college in college. That's how it is and should be. You deserve the grades you got, and I have no pity for any problems that come from those shenanigans. (I just had to spell check that word. Bahahahah, oh Word.)
I met you maybe 5 months ago, and you were kind of cool then. A generally fun person to party with, and fairly amusing to watch interact with the rest of the world. Then my family issues came along and not once did you ask what was wrong with me, or why I was gone from school for 15 days or any of that. Not that I expected you to, because those honors lie with people who I've put my trust in and who have put their trust in me. Also, people who have known me for longer than a few weeks.
All was well, no matter how insensitive and oblivious you were to everything/one around you that wasn't asking directly about your well-being.
Then, oh-my-gosh the world ended.
Not really, actually your ex did what all high schoolers are supposed to do. And you flipped out and texted me and manipulated me into going to see you (when I was dealing with my mother on the phone who had just had very painful surgery) to ask you what was the matter.
Now, I am not a huggy person. Not touchy-feely or anything unless I know and trust you. And I will tell people when I trust them.
But you, no. I don't and probably never will trust you.
So it was obviously a surprise when you--in all your manly glory--flung the door open, enveloped me in a sweaty, nasty hug and started wailing about your life.
You infuriated me, to say the least, and I left to go rant to one of the most fabulous, wonderful human beings on the planet (no, not you Adam, though you are quite wonderful), Miss Beth. (Who will start guest-writing soon! Yayyyyy!!!!)
Miss Beth let me rant and rave while we did laundry, and then I realized that I have absolutely no obligation to deal with you. We are not that close--and to be honest, if you act like this with all your friends, I don't want to be very close to you--and we aren't suitable matches as friends.
So there.
And after you did that awful thing to someone who I consider a close friend? Then denied it and tried to blame it on her?!
Seriously?!
You are the definition of an asshat, and I don't care if you read this. In fact, I think you need to.
Newsflash, punk; you're a selfish, spoiled child who hasn't learned to grow up and deal with your own mistakes and problems. We all hit bad patches, but those who get out of it are the ones who push forward and make their own luck.
There's no such thing as pity in the real world, and you're not getting any from this very real girl.

Sincerely,
Miss Guided

p.s. Please stop trying to contact me or trying to stir up more trouble. No one wants any more of the high school drama other than you. Let. It. Go.
p.p.s. Mike, thank you for listening. You're half angel, half hilarious person and have a wholly awesome haircut, no matter what you think.



Dear You,

Yes, I was an idiot. I de-friended you on facebook after a stupid fight, and I had too much pride to add you back. So when you added me 3 months later, I freaked.
Lame, I know, but whatever; I freaked inwardly and to Miss Beth. She's like an extra brain that's just conveniently not attached to my head.
After another rant session with her, I decided to keep you around and see if you said anything like "sorry" or even just a pick-up like "hi, how's it going?"
No such luck.
So I de-friended you again after two weeks.
Then, in all my pathetic glory, re-friended you after a day.
Cue rant to Miss Taylor (the wonderful person who deals with me from another state), and she makes me feel like less of a twat.
Now, when I send you a "hey" on Skype or on facebook, I expect to see a concilatory "hey" right back. Why wouldn't you?
Okay, well I know why you wouldn't.
1. I'm a bitch.
2. I'm an overdramatic bitch.
3. I was immature.
4. I still am immature.
5. And always will be immature.
6. You're pissed at me because:

• of the de-friending
• of my 4 month long silence
• of my idiocy
• of that horrible message I sent you

So. Here's my official apology, even if you are still kind of a D-bag. If it makes you feel any better at all, I still think of you as my D-bag. So there.
I'm sorry I was a horrible awful evil ice bitch.
Respond next time. Or take the first step. One of the two.
Sincerely,
Me.

Never Knew I was So Pathetically Pathetic (also known as Why I hate/love 500 Days of Summer)

I just watched (500) Days of Summer, and I gotta say, I am truly depressed.
Deeply, utterly and perfectly depressed.
Here are the Top 5 Reasons why that (and all the other Indie-Lovey-Dovey-But-Still-Pathetically-Pathetic) film makes me want to curl up under my big green afghan and never leave the house again.


5. I will never look as adorable as Zooey Deschanel in that goofy 60s haircut and her off-trend-but-still-indescribably-cool clothing. She has this weird way that she carries herself (even in her not-acting life) that makes me want to be her best friend and her worst enemy all at once. Love-hate, but more like admire-from-afar/hate. The waist cinching, not-afraid-of-having-hips-and-lady-parts dresses she wore are so adorable, and lucky me actually has a few of those dresses. Obviously my waist is not that microscopic (as my mother so gently pointed out to me this weekend as we were shopping; she's a lovely lady), but the dresses she wore can be pulled off by pretty much anyone. Ditch the baby-bow that pissed me off the entire movie and add a shaggy blow-out and you're golden.

4. Greeting cards are entirely ruined for me. I refuse to buy another one. I'm going to make my own forever more.
So there.
I love Us.

3. College has nothing to do with anything. Seriously it's so hard to say that, but in the real world all this stuff about being a useful human being and getting involved in whatever it is we're supposed to be involved in has totally just gone up in smoke. He was a pretty good architect, but what the hell, he didn't finish school for it. Did he get the job? Did the Olivia Wilde look alike become his new "it's complicated" on Facebook? WHAT HAPPENED?

2. It had such a good message. BUT I'M NEVER GONNA GET IT UNTIL I WATCH THE MOVIE AGAIN. Which I have to. Since I bought it. But still, it was depressing and wonderful and I'm torn between popping it in again and just wanting to die for a little while longer. It's this really horribly fantastic roller coaster that I'm torn between being furious about and wanting to keep up with. But I can't.
I still don't know why she always wore blue. Or what the hell was up with the dance-sequence scene.

1. Now that they've made a film about it, it's never going to happen to me. I'm never going to be able to be all benevolent and beautiful and still very casual about telling some boy that, sorry, you just weren't the guy for me. And while you--an adorable but misguided (HA) and disillusioned young failure--are flailing around after I left you, I've somehow managed to get engaged and married and all that. But you're still happy for me.
Yeah, that's never going to happen now.


That's it for now. I'm done.
I'm home actually, so I don't have time for more, blah blah blah excuses no one's actually reading this anyways.

I'm not sure if I love you anymore since this movie ruined love for me.
Entirely.
Its not like anything/one else had ruined it before the movie.
Oh, no. Never. Not at all.
Fuckers.
Anyways, no I can't say if I love you, because I don't know if you exist.
(If there are readers out there, this is directed to you. Reassure my pathetically fragile ego. Comment. Tell me I'm ugly. Something.)

This font is the same color as my new nail polish and its making me smile.
Not-In-Love-With-Anyone,
Miss Guided