There is nothing more powerful than being single.
Okay, okay, okay, before you throw the fact that I love love in my face, just hear me out. Yes, I would enjoy nothing more than to be crazy in love with the man of my dreams right now, but as a twenty-year-old sassy young wordsmith, there are worse things to be than flyin' solo.
For one thing, I have become a master architect of Kelsey-friendly evenings. Sure, it's nice to have a healthy supply of friends to turn to when I get sick of the quiet life. But mostly I enjoy the beauty of an evening spent in dork city with my mamacita and/or bearded dog.
Being single has completely revolutionized the way I experience Kelseyness. This, of course, is a statement made after passing through many of the different levels of singlehood- none of which were quite as glamorous as this one.
Disgust. Desperation. Dramatics.
All 'D' words that are not nearly as fun to type as my last name. But I've waded in those goopy swamps and come out alive. I've come out swingin'.
(Dallas does...kickboxing to come at a later date.)
I guess I had to sit around singing "One is the Loneliest Number" before I could triumph majestically in my round-the-clock rendition of Beyonce's "Single Ladies (Put a Ring on it)." (*Note: No actual eardrums were harmed in the composition of this post.)
And so here I sit smiling to myself about my new found patience. I'm not saying I live in a world free of Y chromosomes, but, if I do say so myself, I do a pretty good job of seeing boys as boys and not just potential soulmates (...an ugly habit I picked up during those nasty junior high days).
I think I just got to the point where I couldn't stand the thought of following the same path of so many other young ladies like myself. That path where wanting attention suddenly becomes desperate cries of "pick me, choose me, love me!"
Because one day I woke up and realized I was bursting with love for myself. And, more importantly, respect for myself. Since when did longing to be in love mean having to feel like there was something wrong with me for being single?
Instead, I adopted the attitude that there was an intimidating amount of things right with me. Clearly fear of my amazingness is just worrying the boys away.
Hey, a girl can dream, right?
So my love life got a complete makeover. It became less about dating potential than about eventual happiness. Can I see myself really talking to this guy? Can I see us being friends no matter what develops on the romance-o-meter?
And, lo and behold, I am one happy little camper.
I have stronger friendships with long-term guy friends, bonds with fun boys my friends and I have recently met, and even a brand-new reason for butterflies whirling around my tummy.
As I grow-up, I feel like I'm growing into exactly the type of romance novel heroine that my seventh grade self would be tickled pink to read about: one who doesn't let her streak of independence fade away.
So what do I do now that I exist happily in the land of the lone wolves? Well I do believe it's time for me to be swept off my feet again. :)
A thought of the day from Alex Greven, a nine-year-old who wrote the epic tale "How to Talk to Girls":
"A crush is like a love disease. It can drive you mad."
Peace, love and cheeks pinked with blushing,
Kels.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Friday, July 16, 2010
Dallas does....the ever-elusive platonic friendship.
It's been a few days, but here I am roaring back into your life with an important issue to explore: the complicated world of guy-girl friendships.
There are billions of people in this world and that means plenty of opportunities to make new friends...and plenty of people leftover to fill your romantic needs. Right?
But what if the same people in the first column slide on into column two. Not supposed to happen. A bit too complicated to be desired.
And to think our mothers are always saying that the best love begins with friendship!
In a world much less divided into male and female regimes than it was a century ago, guys and gals find themselves matin' and relatin' all over the place.
A guy walks into a bar, sees a girl, and thinks "Well my oh my, what a wonderful friend she'd make."
Hah.
Okay so our motivations are not always that sincere. But however a girl and guy come together, it makes sense that they could choose the friendship route over the path to the bedroom.
And no, I'm not talking about those relationship cop-outs like "I'm not ready for a relationship right now" or "We're better as friends" said moments before one of the pair walks out of the realm of emotional involvement entirely. I'm talking about two people, a man and a woman, who truly click in the friend zone and tell each other everything (well...almost everything...) and just 'get' each other.
Is it possible to stay there? To stay in that place where he's not noticing how good she looks in those shorts and she's not asking him to give her the attention that Mr. Smirnoff wouldn't give her at the bar?
Here's the issue. Guys and girls are obviously meant to end up in friendships. We complement each other in ways that can't be matched between people of the same sex. If a girl needs some space away from the nail polish fumes, she deserves to be able to spend some time with her male compatriots without questions being asked.
And if I guy just needs one girl in his life free of mind games and high-maintenance whines, he should be able to text her whenever he feels like without the nagging thought that she wants something more.
But no matter how many conversations are shared in the comfort of the friend zone, talking about all the crazy friends turned lovers who are bopping in and out of our lives, there always seems to come that moment where a tightrope appears that gets harder and harder to walk.
Maybe her options are drying up and she doesn't understand why not every guy can be as sweet and perfect and wonderful as Mr. Friend. Why they can't compliment her without being sleazy, or know exactly how she deals with her parents?
And maybe for him it's just a need to finally be settled. To find one girl he knows won't drive him up a wall for the next fifty years.
And then it hits you: love.
Well that would be just peachy keen, wouldn't it? So natural to cross that border. All the details have been worked out. He knows exactly the type of ice cream you need when you're feeling down, and you know all about how nervous he gets when he thinks about his future.
But then it doesn't work out. It's weird not being able to tell him when the guy you love is bugging you, because HE'S the guy that's bugging you.
And it all falls apart.
And there's no returning from that little trip. Border patrol won't let you by.
Was it worth it?
Obviously I'm being a bit pessimistic.
Surprisingly, I'm actually a huge believer in having guy friends. But I'm also a huge believer in taking 5 minutes at the end of the day to remind myself of all the reasons love needs to stay out of the equation.
And even that doesn't always work.
It's not like you can force yourself not to become interested in a person who knows all your secrets and is actually worthy of them. But you can remind yourself of how much it means to be able to talk to them about anything, without those nasty stomach butterflies getting in the way.
It's going to be a give and take. He can't expect you to love up on him when he's feeling lonely, and vice versa.
Because, let's face it. Nobody wants to live in a world where the only friends you're allowed share your same pair of sex chromosomes.
But if it's going to work you have to work to make it work.
And that's a lot of work.
Thoughts of the day about this same issue:
"The difference between friendship and love is how much you can hurt each other."
-Ashleigh Brilliant
"Between men and women there is no friendship possible. There is passion, enmity, worship, love, but no friendship."
-Oscar Wilde
Peace, love and only temporary pessimism.
Kels.
There are billions of people in this world and that means plenty of opportunities to make new friends...and plenty of people leftover to fill your romantic needs. Right?
But what if the same people in the first column slide on into column two. Not supposed to happen. A bit too complicated to be desired.
And to think our mothers are always saying that the best love begins with friendship!
In a world much less divided into male and female regimes than it was a century ago, guys and gals find themselves matin' and relatin' all over the place.
A guy walks into a bar, sees a girl, and thinks "Well my oh my, what a wonderful friend she'd make."
Hah.
Okay so our motivations are not always that sincere. But however a girl and guy come together, it makes sense that they could choose the friendship route over the path to the bedroom.
And no, I'm not talking about those relationship cop-outs like "I'm not ready for a relationship right now" or "We're better as friends" said moments before one of the pair walks out of the realm of emotional involvement entirely. I'm talking about two people, a man and a woman, who truly click in the friend zone and tell each other everything (well...almost everything...) and just 'get' each other.
Is it possible to stay there? To stay in that place where he's not noticing how good she looks in those shorts and she's not asking him to give her the attention that Mr. Smirnoff wouldn't give her at the bar?
Here's the issue. Guys and girls are obviously meant to end up in friendships. We complement each other in ways that can't be matched between people of the same sex. If a girl needs some space away from the nail polish fumes, she deserves to be able to spend some time with her male compatriots without questions being asked.
And if I guy just needs one girl in his life free of mind games and high-maintenance whines, he should be able to text her whenever he feels like without the nagging thought that she wants something more.
But no matter how many conversations are shared in the comfort of the friend zone, talking about all the crazy friends turned lovers who are bopping in and out of our lives, there always seems to come that moment where a tightrope appears that gets harder and harder to walk.
Maybe her options are drying up and she doesn't understand why not every guy can be as sweet and perfect and wonderful as Mr. Friend. Why they can't compliment her without being sleazy, or know exactly how she deals with her parents?
And maybe for him it's just a need to finally be settled. To find one girl he knows won't drive him up a wall for the next fifty years.
And then it hits you: love.
Well that would be just peachy keen, wouldn't it? So natural to cross that border. All the details have been worked out. He knows exactly the type of ice cream you need when you're feeling down, and you know all about how nervous he gets when he thinks about his future.
But then it doesn't work out. It's weird not being able to tell him when the guy you love is bugging you, because HE'S the guy that's bugging you.
And it all falls apart.
And there's no returning from that little trip. Border patrol won't let you by.
Was it worth it?
Obviously I'm being a bit pessimistic.
Surprisingly, I'm actually a huge believer in having guy friends. But I'm also a huge believer in taking 5 minutes at the end of the day to remind myself of all the reasons love needs to stay out of the equation.
And even that doesn't always work.
It's not like you can force yourself not to become interested in a person who knows all your secrets and is actually worthy of them. But you can remind yourself of how much it means to be able to talk to them about anything, without those nasty stomach butterflies getting in the way.
It's going to be a give and take. He can't expect you to love up on him when he's feeling lonely, and vice versa.
Because, let's face it. Nobody wants to live in a world where the only friends you're allowed share your same pair of sex chromosomes.
But if it's going to work you have to work to make it work.
And that's a lot of work.
Thoughts of the day about this same issue:
"The difference between friendship and love is how much you can hurt each other."
-Ashleigh Brilliant
"Between men and women there is no friendship possible. There is passion, enmity, worship, love, but no friendship."
-Oscar Wilde
Peace, love and only temporary pessimism.
Kels.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Dallas does...an epic Monday.
Reasons that Monday, July 12 was surprisingly awesome:
1. I woke up late, but because of my freakish hair style efforts last night, I didn't have to shower. Additionally, said freakish hair style was accepted by my coworkers because I am young and allowed to look ridiculous.
2. My day started out as hilariously as it ended last night with my mother making incomprehensible squealing noises while dad and I looked on.
3. I got to use my brand-new vibrating toothbrush, which is the coolest things since sliced bread.
4. My mom said I looked definitively thinner in my work outfit, and dad did not disagree, though he did say "Don't ask me questions like that!" uncomfortably.
5. I designed a newsletter at work from scratch and became even more convinced that the Public Relations world is a fun place to be.
6. I changed out the elevator bulletin boards with no dizzy spells, though a random member of the public did accost me about why I was loitering in the elevator. Little did he know I was getting paid to do so.
7. I continued to read newspapers from 1941 and loved every minute of it.
8. I ate my favorite selection of finger foods for lunch including carrots, lettuce leaves, blueberries, grapes, wheat thins and cheese.
9. After lunch was a department birthday party with (surprise!) my favorite dessert of pudding + chocolate icing + graham crackers.
10. I managed to finish up the latest employee of the month article in time for it to appear in this week's newsletter. And my boss sent me more story ideas for next week.
11. I found a picture of my boss from his college days in an old article. Needless to say, that sweater and those glasses are going to be a highlight of the week.
12. Ridiculous noises continued emanating from the normally deserted hallway from the early morning until late in the day. Of note, random women chatting about uncontrollable coughing and a whistler with the lung capacity comparable to a camel's water storage chests.
13. Quittin' time snuck up on me!
14. Right when I was prepared to chalk my mother up to lost forever roaming the streets of Lincoln, she called alerting me to her whereabouts.
15. My grandma's outfit selection showed that she had been in good spirits and good health today, though she still only wanted cottage cheese for dinner. Vom.
16. It was Don Panchito's for mamacita y Kelsey. Next stop...delicioustown!
17. One diner across the restaurant had sideburns that pointed out instead of down. Also, he was wearing a shirt and tie. Also, he caught me studying him. Awkward.
18. On the drive home, after serenading me with a song about a couple holding hands at a car wash, mother decided to exclaim her surprise at two people making out in the yard of a bar near our house. Windows down, the couple heard her and assumed it was me and shot the stink eye. My cackling laughter may not have helped my cause.
19. Once home, I fell asleep on the couch and drooled on my shirt. Obviously not the best part of the day- but it was impressive that mom appeared not to notice. I am a drooling ninja.
20. Dad came home with a side salad for my lunch tomorrow! And mom said I could bring her Mexican leftovers! Va va voom!
21. Mom returned from walking Buddy pretending to be an eagle. She then ran into a chair and proclaimed that her feather shaft was broken.
22. I fell off the couch from laughing so hard.
23. The Campus Activities Programming magazine editor wrote me back letting me know that they're publishing me! Now to find an appropriate head shot...
24. I ran around the house carrying my dog and dad yelled at me to put him down so he could pant properly.
25. I stumbled upon Fantasy Factory on Mtv, thus being reunited with Rob Dyrdek, one of my TV heroes.
26. King of the Hill.
27. I jokingly posted Cody Simpson's (a 13-year-old Aussie) video to my Facebook wall and now I keep listening to it. Every time I click play I am convinced that my musically minded friend Tim will pop out from the shadows and yell at me to 'shut that crap off!' Needless to say, this fear enhances the listening process.
28. There's still Bear Mountain ice cream in the fridge about to be in my tummy.
29. I get to do all of this again tomorrow!
30. :) :) :)
Your thought of the day from my pastor's sermon yesterday:
"Worship doesn't change anything if it doesn't change us. Worship doesn't mean anything if it doesn't mean anything to us."
Peace, love and far too much pep.
Kels.
1. I woke up late, but because of my freakish hair style efforts last night, I didn't have to shower. Additionally, said freakish hair style was accepted by my coworkers because I am young and allowed to look ridiculous.
2. My day started out as hilariously as it ended last night with my mother making incomprehensible squealing noises while dad and I looked on.
3. I got to use my brand-new vibrating toothbrush, which is the coolest things since sliced bread.
4. My mom said I looked definitively thinner in my work outfit, and dad did not disagree, though he did say "Don't ask me questions like that!" uncomfortably.
5. I designed a newsletter at work from scratch and became even more convinced that the Public Relations world is a fun place to be.
6. I changed out the elevator bulletin boards with no dizzy spells, though a random member of the public did accost me about why I was loitering in the elevator. Little did he know I was getting paid to do so.
7. I continued to read newspapers from 1941 and loved every minute of it.
8. I ate my favorite selection of finger foods for lunch including carrots, lettuce leaves, blueberries, grapes, wheat thins and cheese.
9. After lunch was a department birthday party with (surprise!) my favorite dessert of pudding + chocolate icing + graham crackers.
10. I managed to finish up the latest employee of the month article in time for it to appear in this week's newsletter. And my boss sent me more story ideas for next week.
11. I found a picture of my boss from his college days in an old article. Needless to say, that sweater and those glasses are going to be a highlight of the week.
12. Ridiculous noises continued emanating from the normally deserted hallway from the early morning until late in the day. Of note, random women chatting about uncontrollable coughing and a whistler with the lung capacity comparable to a camel's water storage chests.
13. Quittin' time snuck up on me!
14. Right when I was prepared to chalk my mother up to lost forever roaming the streets of Lincoln, she called alerting me to her whereabouts.
15. My grandma's outfit selection showed that she had been in good spirits and good health today, though she still only wanted cottage cheese for dinner. Vom.
16. It was Don Panchito's for mamacita y Kelsey. Next stop...delicioustown!
17. One diner across the restaurant had sideburns that pointed out instead of down. Also, he was wearing a shirt and tie. Also, he caught me studying him. Awkward.
18. On the drive home, after serenading me with a song about a couple holding hands at a car wash, mother decided to exclaim her surprise at two people making out in the yard of a bar near our house. Windows down, the couple heard her and assumed it was me and shot the stink eye. My cackling laughter may not have helped my cause.
19. Once home, I fell asleep on the couch and drooled on my shirt. Obviously not the best part of the day- but it was impressive that mom appeared not to notice. I am a drooling ninja.
20. Dad came home with a side salad for my lunch tomorrow! And mom said I could bring her Mexican leftovers! Va va voom!
21. Mom returned from walking Buddy pretending to be an eagle. She then ran into a chair and proclaimed that her feather shaft was broken.
22. I fell off the couch from laughing so hard.
23. The Campus Activities Programming magazine editor wrote me back letting me know that they're publishing me! Now to find an appropriate head shot...
24. I ran around the house carrying my dog and dad yelled at me to put him down so he could pant properly.
25. I stumbled upon Fantasy Factory on Mtv, thus being reunited with Rob Dyrdek, one of my TV heroes.
26. King of the Hill.
27. I jokingly posted Cody Simpson's (a 13-year-old Aussie) video to my Facebook wall and now I keep listening to it. Every time I click play I am convinced that my musically minded friend Tim will pop out from the shadows and yell at me to 'shut that crap off!' Needless to say, this fear enhances the listening process.
28. There's still Bear Mountain ice cream in the fridge about to be in my tummy.
29. I get to do all of this again tomorrow!
30. :) :) :)
Your thought of the day from my pastor's sermon yesterday:
"Worship doesn't change anything if it doesn't change us. Worship doesn't mean anything if it doesn't mean anything to us."
Peace, love and far too much pep.
Kels.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Dallas does...1492.
After hopping off the Last Chance Workout train, I am thrilled to report that I've now run two days in a row and proven to myself that my fitness is not a sinking ship.
Today the S.S. Kelsey set sail from the home port in the roasting sunshine and took her shrinking booty all the way to a park downtown and back.
Serena Williams said this week that accepting her big boobs and huge butt has been a part of her life journey. Age twenty has definitely led me to a better place in the realm of self-confidence, not only because I've been doing a lot better working it out, but also because I realized that the only opinion that matters is my own.
Regardless of how many milkshakes I turn down, I'm pretty sure my butt will always be a prominent part of my profile. Just think of it as more of me to love.
Personal image is obviously a large part of the brain waves of any college lady, but it's struck me recently how hilarious the entire realm of fashion and glamor is in our modern world.
For example, in a recent issue of Cosmo magazine, 66% of guys voted that side bangs covering a part of one of a girls eyes are a heinous fashion don't.
Well shucks.
But, never fear, I'm pretty sure that the guys I interact with on a daily basis could care less what I do with my bangin' side bangs, as they have their own cowlick and hat head issues to occupy their time.
I guess what I'm realizing is that confidence wins out every time over the perfect look. Okay, well maybe at first it doesn't in dance clubs or on runways, but for the rest of us out here in middle America, all it takes is a friendly smile to earn a new acquaintance.
And so my new goal is to embrace what makes me unique. Not that I could ever be totally unique with a mom who essentially photo-copied herself instead of giving birth. But to realize that I'm only as beautiful as I believe myself to be, and that an awkward smile when I'm having a bad hair day or a particularly noticeable breakout does little to allow people to see the happy, sunshiny me.
And so today when my parents accompanied me to the tour of the Nina and the Pinta docking in Peoria, I decided to relax into my tank-top and short shorts.
So forgive me random crewmates for my less-than-toned upper arms and somewhat substantial thighs.
Because I love me. And that's all that matters.
Today's thought from my favorite daddio:
"I just can't imagine sailing away, taking off for the unknown in a boat that size. But I guess that's all they knew."
Peace, love and the Pinta's sails.
Kels.
Today the S.S. Kelsey set sail from the home port in the roasting sunshine and took her shrinking booty all the way to a park downtown and back.
Serena Williams said this week that accepting her big boobs and huge butt has been a part of her life journey. Age twenty has definitely led me to a better place in the realm of self-confidence, not only because I've been doing a lot better working it out, but also because I realized that the only opinion that matters is my own.
Regardless of how many milkshakes I turn down, I'm pretty sure my butt will always be a prominent part of my profile. Just think of it as more of me to love.
Personal image is obviously a large part of the brain waves of any college lady, but it's struck me recently how hilarious the entire realm of fashion and glamor is in our modern world.
For example, in a recent issue of Cosmo magazine, 66% of guys voted that side bangs covering a part of one of a girls eyes are a heinous fashion don't.
Well shucks.
But, never fear, I'm pretty sure that the guys I interact with on a daily basis could care less what I do with my bangin' side bangs, as they have their own cowlick and hat head issues to occupy their time.
I guess what I'm realizing is that confidence wins out every time over the perfect look. Okay, well maybe at first it doesn't in dance clubs or on runways, but for the rest of us out here in middle America, all it takes is a friendly smile to earn a new acquaintance.
And so my new goal is to embrace what makes me unique. Not that I could ever be totally unique with a mom who essentially photo-copied herself instead of giving birth. But to realize that I'm only as beautiful as I believe myself to be, and that an awkward smile when I'm having a bad hair day or a particularly noticeable breakout does little to allow people to see the happy, sunshiny me.
And so today when my parents accompanied me to the tour of the Nina and the Pinta docking in Peoria, I decided to relax into my tank-top and short shorts.
So forgive me random crewmates for my less-than-toned upper arms and somewhat substantial thighs.
Because I love me. And that's all that matters.
Today's thought from my favorite daddio:
"I just can't imagine sailing away, taking off for the unknown in a boat that size. But I guess that's all they knew."
Peace, love and the Pinta's sails.
Kels.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Dallas does...friendship.
Greetings all from a very smiley working girl.
My day at the office was filled with newspapers from 1941, mysterious time capsule discoveries, and photos of babies sleeping in linen drawers. I charged into the afternoon with a quiet lunch at grandma's house and had some cute conversations with co-workers before the clock struck weekend o'clock.
I spent a lot of time this week thinking about how people in my life experience Kelsey Dallas.
Though it'd be easy to blame this contemplation on the fact that a good friend suggested that I was from an alien planet, I truly have always been a girl intrigued by the idea that every single person views my actions from a different perspective.
You see, last night one of my friends told me that I was one of the strongest women he knew. Pretty big compliment, right? Well instead of humbly thanking him and moving back into the rhythm of conversation, I started panicking about just how strong he could possibly think I am. And just how I was supposed to continue this facade of strength that I had haphazardly stumbled on to.
Within the last three years I've done a lot better in tackling the difficult task of being myself. Now whether or not that means I've taking up residency on the aforementioned alien planet you'd have to judge for yourself.
But the fact remains that I pride myself on loving who I am, and not being afraid to show it in the oddest of circumstances. I try to surround myself with people who can handle the big picture instead of only wanting me at my peak of social acceptability.
And yet for some reason I'm scared to death of the conclusions people draw after seeing the real me day after day.
It might be partially because I'm a fluid person and hate being pigeonholed, but it's more because drawing a picture of someone up in your mind is an invitation to be disappointed.
And I hate disappointing the people I love.
So if I'm supposed to be an example of a strong woman, how are you supposed to feel when I mention the time I burst into tears just calling the hospital to wish my grandma a happy birthday. Or my current fear of visiting my grandpa in his stupor of dementia.
I want to be loved but I don't want to be idealized. I want to be trusted but I want to be expected to make some mistakes. I want to be the perfect friend to you but I'll always have flaws.
And mostly I just want to know that I have earned a place in your life, but not why you've decided to keep me around.
Because the minute I know I start wondering if I can possibly continue being the Kelsey you need me to be.
I emphasize again that I'm not out in the world jumping between personalities to fit my different niches. I am naturally evolving into what I feel are better and better versions of myself.
But there's always going to be a piece of me that worries about about how your friendship dictionary defines me.
So please do be my friend. But remember that for every hour I've spent working toward my admirable report card, I've spent about 3 hours watching trashy TV shows. For every meaningful conversation I've taken the time to participate in, I've spent an entire night wasting time on Facebook chat. And for every time you've thought to yourself that I'm strong, there's been a moment when I cried entirely selfish tears.
And here's a thought from one of my bosses:
"What are you listening to in there? Justin Bieber?"
Peace, love and personal philosophies.
Kels.
My day at the office was filled with newspapers from 1941, mysterious time capsule discoveries, and photos of babies sleeping in linen drawers. I charged into the afternoon with a quiet lunch at grandma's house and had some cute conversations with co-workers before the clock struck weekend o'clock.
I spent a lot of time this week thinking about how people in my life experience Kelsey Dallas.
Though it'd be easy to blame this contemplation on the fact that a good friend suggested that I was from an alien planet, I truly have always been a girl intrigued by the idea that every single person views my actions from a different perspective.
You see, last night one of my friends told me that I was one of the strongest women he knew. Pretty big compliment, right? Well instead of humbly thanking him and moving back into the rhythm of conversation, I started panicking about just how strong he could possibly think I am. And just how I was supposed to continue this facade of strength that I had haphazardly stumbled on to.
Within the last three years I've done a lot better in tackling the difficult task of being myself. Now whether or not that means I've taking up residency on the aforementioned alien planet you'd have to judge for yourself.
But the fact remains that I pride myself on loving who I am, and not being afraid to show it in the oddest of circumstances. I try to surround myself with people who can handle the big picture instead of only wanting me at my peak of social acceptability.
And yet for some reason I'm scared to death of the conclusions people draw after seeing the real me day after day.
It might be partially because I'm a fluid person and hate being pigeonholed, but it's more because drawing a picture of someone up in your mind is an invitation to be disappointed.
And I hate disappointing the people I love.
So if I'm supposed to be an example of a strong woman, how are you supposed to feel when I mention the time I burst into tears just calling the hospital to wish my grandma a happy birthday. Or my current fear of visiting my grandpa in his stupor of dementia.
I want to be loved but I don't want to be idealized. I want to be trusted but I want to be expected to make some mistakes. I want to be the perfect friend to you but I'll always have flaws.
And mostly I just want to know that I have earned a place in your life, but not why you've decided to keep me around.
Because the minute I know I start wondering if I can possibly continue being the Kelsey you need me to be.
I emphasize again that I'm not out in the world jumping between personalities to fit my different niches. I am naturally evolving into what I feel are better and better versions of myself.
But there's always going to be a piece of me that worries about about how your friendship dictionary defines me.
So please do be my friend. But remember that for every hour I've spent working toward my admirable report card, I've spent about 3 hours watching trashy TV shows. For every meaningful conversation I've taken the time to participate in, I've spent an entire night wasting time on Facebook chat. And for every time you've thought to yourself that I'm strong, there's been a moment when I cried entirely selfish tears.
And here's a thought from one of my bosses:
"What are you listening to in there? Justin Bieber?"
Peace, love and personal philosophies.
Kels.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Dallas does...the Love Doctor.
As we were pulling away from the station Monday night, my friend noticed a girl breaking away from the embrace of her boyfriend to catch the train. She rushed over to the door, turning to look back at her prince charming, only to see him calmly walking away. But wait! He was now also looking back over his shoulder, only to find her focused on entering the train, seemingly unconcerned about his departure. Each looked back only to find the other looking away.
And while this example may not be perfect- since the two had been making out like crazy just minutes before- it got me thinking: how does love survive when we have no idea what the other person's thinking?
We've all seen it before. Or, to rephrase, we've all heard it before from the mouths of our closest friends.
"But what if he doesn't like me?!"
"She hasn't texted, but I can text her right?!"
"He says he dialed my number on accident. But who does that, right? He's totally into me and is too shy to admit it!"
Yuck. You're probably thinking back to conversations like this and laughing as you remember how the situation turned out. But at least for me, that laughter quickly becomes a frown as I think back on how many times I let word vomit like that fly out of my fingers into texts.
Love is exactly what many of us are out in the world chasing, and yet, it may be the hardest of prizes to catch.
Girls want to know what a guy's thinking but they can't stand it if there's no mystery.
Guys love the thrill of the chase, but hate it when a girl plays games to keep him on his toes.
We all want to gauge our feelings to how our love interest views us, but there's no room to tell the truth when you're scared of getting hurt.
Think back to the last time you marched up to someone and told them exactly how you felt. (You people already happily in love don't count!)
Probably pretty long ago, right? Now I'm not trying to dive into a world of "But guys have to do the asking!" or "I'd only end up breaking her heart." In fact, I'm just trying to personally remember the last time I had any romantic interaction with a guy that wasn't posted on a wall-to-wall newsfeed or stored in my text message sent folder.
I'm not sure if I've EVER been completely honest about my feelings with a guy face-to-face outside of the comfortable sphere of a relationship. Even back in junior high it was about notes folded into paper footballs and secrets whispered to your friend after band practice.
And now it's even worse. When I'm not twisting my life into the plot of a Meg Cabot novel, I'm sending texts to 20 different friends asking them to analyze what my latest crush has to say. Through my slavery to the pop culture world of 'reality' TV, Cosmopolitan magazine and Facebook, I've stripped myself of the ability to stay real.
My version of telling a guy I like him has become adding a winky face to the end of my posts.
And to think I call myself a romantic.
Now let's be honest, I may not be able to break myself of all my bad love habits. I'm stubborn and I'm sneaky and, most importantly, I'm scared.
But I will try to remind myself the next time I'm about to press send on that innuendo-ridden text message that faint heart never won fair lady (or should I say fair lad).
If I'm really as much as a believer in love as I claim to be, then shouldn't I be out chasing it instead of pussyfooting around in shynessville?
Because let me just say once and for all that the only way love is ever going to grow in your life is if you're willing to be open about it. If you're willing to look another person in their eyes and let them see, even if just for a moment, exactly what's going on in your head.
Nobody wants to look back over their shoulder and find nobody looking back at them.
But you should always have the courage to look.
Your thought of the day comes to you from one of my favorite quote websites, thinkexist.com:
"True love is like a pair of socks: you gotta have two and they've gotta match."
Peace, love and prince charming,
Kels.
And while this example may not be perfect- since the two had been making out like crazy just minutes before- it got me thinking: how does love survive when we have no idea what the other person's thinking?
We've all seen it before. Or, to rephrase, we've all heard it before from the mouths of our closest friends.
"But what if he doesn't like me?!"
"She hasn't texted, but I can text her right?!"
"He says he dialed my number on accident. But who does that, right? He's totally into me and is too shy to admit it!"
Yuck. You're probably thinking back to conversations like this and laughing as you remember how the situation turned out. But at least for me, that laughter quickly becomes a frown as I think back on how many times I let word vomit like that fly out of my fingers into texts.
Love is exactly what many of us are out in the world chasing, and yet, it may be the hardest of prizes to catch.
Girls want to know what a guy's thinking but they can't stand it if there's no mystery.
Guys love the thrill of the chase, but hate it when a girl plays games to keep him on his toes.
We all want to gauge our feelings to how our love interest views us, but there's no room to tell the truth when you're scared of getting hurt.
Think back to the last time you marched up to someone and told them exactly how you felt. (You people already happily in love don't count!)
Probably pretty long ago, right? Now I'm not trying to dive into a world of "But guys have to do the asking!" or "I'd only end up breaking her heart." In fact, I'm just trying to personally remember the last time I had any romantic interaction with a guy that wasn't posted on a wall-to-wall newsfeed or stored in my text message sent folder.
I'm not sure if I've EVER been completely honest about my feelings with a guy face-to-face outside of the comfortable sphere of a relationship. Even back in junior high it was about notes folded into paper footballs and secrets whispered to your friend after band practice.
And now it's even worse. When I'm not twisting my life into the plot of a Meg Cabot novel, I'm sending texts to 20 different friends asking them to analyze what my latest crush has to say. Through my slavery to the pop culture world of 'reality' TV, Cosmopolitan magazine and Facebook, I've stripped myself of the ability to stay real.
My version of telling a guy I like him has become adding a winky face to the end of my posts.
And to think I call myself a romantic.
Now let's be honest, I may not be able to break myself of all my bad love habits. I'm stubborn and I'm sneaky and, most importantly, I'm scared.
But I will try to remind myself the next time I'm about to press send on that innuendo-ridden text message that faint heart never won fair lady (or should I say fair lad).
If I'm really as much as a believer in love as I claim to be, then shouldn't I be out chasing it instead of pussyfooting around in shynessville?
Because let me just say once and for all that the only way love is ever going to grow in your life is if you're willing to be open about it. If you're willing to look another person in their eyes and let them see, even if just for a moment, exactly what's going on in your head.
Nobody wants to look back over their shoulder and find nobody looking back at them.
But you should always have the courage to look.
Your thought of the day comes to you from one of my favorite quote websites, thinkexist.com:
"True love is like a pair of socks: you gotta have two and they've gotta match."
Peace, love and prince charming,
Kels.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Dallas does...the Windy City.
The one thing I never want to lose is my ability to find pure joy in simple things.
Few activities are worth getting up at 6 a.m. for in the summer, especially those that aren't required of me by a work contract or family obligation. But wake up at 6 a.m. I did to take the Amtrak to Chicago with three of my best friends.
We were pleased as peaches with ourselves to be so filled to the brim with maturiosity that we could ride the rails all by our lonesome, and combat the big city with our Midwestern smiles. The train ride went wonderfully thanks to conductor Robert and his dedication to stopping by and talking to us about our day. I have to hand it to Mr. Robert for being more fretful than me, the self-proclaimed queen of worrying, because he told us our free time in the windy city would essentially consist of about 14 minutes once travel time was factored in.
God save the pessimists.
Fresh out into the world from Union Station, we managed to get lost and then found all over again within our first ten minutes in the city. We wandered to a CVS Pharmacy to buy ultra-hip one-day transit passes and then contacted our various sources to figure out which bus would take us to the Lincoln Park Zoo.
When we found our bus stop, I was struck by how true the principle of wait time is that I was taught in Transportation Economics. In cities across the world, transit stations have added clocks that count down the wait time to the next train. Pedestrian reaction has been extremely positive, as all a human being really wants to know is how long they have to extend their patience. Patience is quite bothersome, is it not?
So there we were standing at this glorified street sign and I was dying. I was itching to know when bus 156 would arrive and I couldn't take the wait.
In our fit of dissatisfaction, we wandered into the savior of my generation- Starbucks. And there we were lucky enough to find a jackpot of something most cities are said to be devoid of: kindness.
First, there was the worker who talked through the buses with me. Then, the other barista who made the quickest and most delicious frappacino I could ever dare ask for. And finally, the wonderful Jill.
Jill noticed my friend almost kill her $600 camera when it fell off the table in our attempt to self-time, and then wondered about what we were up to all day. She saw the stress written all over me when I brought up our bus worries, and after thinking over the route said, "You know what? I'm headed that direction. Why don't you girls just ride with me?"
Okay, I know what you're thinking. Midwestern trust? More like Midwestern hankering to get ourselves killed.
But Jill was awesome. And thus, we rode with her. Besides, how is an adult woman supposed to simultaneously attack four 20-year-olds? (Don't answer that...)
A happy ten minutes later we were at the entrance of the Lincoln Park Zoo and beyond. On to the otters and the giraffes and then a sunny outdoor cafe for lunch with a view of the Chicago skyline.
From the zoo, we ran like maniacs to catch the bus back into downtown, and widdled away the rest of the afternoon shopping, laying out at the beach, and eating at the ever-delicious cheesecake factory.
It was a perfect day.
And when I stood in the train hallway watching my hometown rush by the half-open door, feeling the night air blow across my face, I knew that sometimes you have to stop asking yourself when life is going to get better, and ask yourself how life ever got to be so good.
Today's thought of the day from my admirable friend, Tim:
"Every day I try to improve, I think I grow closer to a solution with each one that passes, and that's just what I do."
Peace, love, and perfect days.
Kels.
Few activities are worth getting up at 6 a.m. for in the summer, especially those that aren't required of me by a work contract or family obligation. But wake up at 6 a.m. I did to take the Amtrak to Chicago with three of my best friends.
We were pleased as peaches with ourselves to be so filled to the brim with maturiosity that we could ride the rails all by our lonesome, and combat the big city with our Midwestern smiles. The train ride went wonderfully thanks to conductor Robert and his dedication to stopping by and talking to us about our day. I have to hand it to Mr. Robert for being more fretful than me, the self-proclaimed queen of worrying, because he told us our free time in the windy city would essentially consist of about 14 minutes once travel time was factored in.
God save the pessimists.
Fresh out into the world from Union Station, we managed to get lost and then found all over again within our first ten minutes in the city. We wandered to a CVS Pharmacy to buy ultra-hip one-day transit passes and then contacted our various sources to figure out which bus would take us to the Lincoln Park Zoo.
When we found our bus stop, I was struck by how true the principle of wait time is that I was taught in Transportation Economics. In cities across the world, transit stations have added clocks that count down the wait time to the next train. Pedestrian reaction has been extremely positive, as all a human being really wants to know is how long they have to extend their patience. Patience is quite bothersome, is it not?
So there we were standing at this glorified street sign and I was dying. I was itching to know when bus 156 would arrive and I couldn't take the wait.
In our fit of dissatisfaction, we wandered into the savior of my generation- Starbucks. And there we were lucky enough to find a jackpot of something most cities are said to be devoid of: kindness.
First, there was the worker who talked through the buses with me. Then, the other barista who made the quickest and most delicious frappacino I could ever dare ask for. And finally, the wonderful Jill.
Jill noticed my friend almost kill her $600 camera when it fell off the table in our attempt to self-time, and then wondered about what we were up to all day. She saw the stress written all over me when I brought up our bus worries, and after thinking over the route said, "You know what? I'm headed that direction. Why don't you girls just ride with me?"
Okay, I know what you're thinking. Midwestern trust? More like Midwestern hankering to get ourselves killed.
But Jill was awesome. And thus, we rode with her. Besides, how is an adult woman supposed to simultaneously attack four 20-year-olds? (Don't answer that...)
A happy ten minutes later we were at the entrance of the Lincoln Park Zoo and beyond. On to the otters and the giraffes and then a sunny outdoor cafe for lunch with a view of the Chicago skyline.
From the zoo, we ran like maniacs to catch the bus back into downtown, and widdled away the rest of the afternoon shopping, laying out at the beach, and eating at the ever-delicious cheesecake factory.
It was a perfect day.
And when I stood in the train hallway watching my hometown rush by the half-open door, feeling the night air blow across my face, I knew that sometimes you have to stop asking yourself when life is going to get better, and ask yourself how life ever got to be so good.
Today's thought of the day from my admirable friend, Tim:
"Every day I try to improve, I think I grow closer to a solution with each one that passes, and that's just what I do."
Peace, love, and perfect days.
Kels.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Dallas does...Wimbledon.
Another early morning, this time more Rafael Nadal related than a continuation of my care for Mr. Luke. Woke up within 15 minutes of the start time, pretending as usual that my earlier alarm must have failed to go off.
My stroll downstairs was rudely met with a "you better get your butt over to Luke before tennis starts" kinda hello from my cruel momma and then an agreement between both parental units that No, I could not wear my pajamas through our neighborhood.
I, for one, would love to see how Mayfair reacted to a pseudo-Walk of Shame.
Decided to sprint over there (I had deemed myself far too sleepy to drive), and made it back home in time for the opening serve.
As most will know from various media sources, Rafa took it in three sets. Berdych was tricked into thinking each set was going well with both men trading service games, until suddenly Nadal would step it up to the next level and seemingly effortlessly create a break of serve to win the set. It was stunning, and somewhat out of place in a grand slam final.
Not that I minded.
And as I happily watched Nadal hoist that Wimby cup for the second time (his eighth major win), I continued to wonder to myself just what marks the change from 'fan' to 'fanatic.'
While, yes, my Facebook friends may get fed up with the various cartoonish hearts after his name in my statuses, I can always argue the fact that I have a general respect for the entire sport. I may sink into day-long slumps when he bombs out of a tourney, but I wouldn't call myself unable to finish out the rest of the viewing schedule with other favorites in mind.
I might admit, though, that my obsession could use a redux if the nasty habit of random Lincolnites calling the man from Mallorca my 'boyfriend' continues.
But I stand by the idea that I respect his game first and body second, that I can see him with his real life girlfriend without a pang of jealousy, and that I value his need to heal his knee problems over his continued successes in tournament after tournament.
Not that I won't cry if I ever see him in person (a very large possibility now that my fantastical parents bought my Cincinnati tournament tickets).
So some, noting my personal attachment to his every victory and supersticious routines on days that he plays, may call my fanatic weaknesses out of control.
I just call it love.
Today's thought comes from the beautiful Rafa himself:
"I look forward to the US Open. For me, it's always a goal to win there, no? I must perform well in Toronto and CINCINNATI while preparing."
Looks like I better pack my Kleenex.
Peace, Love, and Raging Rafael Nadal love.
Kels.
My stroll downstairs was rudely met with a "you better get your butt over to Luke before tennis starts" kinda hello from my cruel momma and then an agreement between both parental units that No, I could not wear my pajamas through our neighborhood.
I, for one, would love to see how Mayfair reacted to a pseudo-Walk of Shame.
Decided to sprint over there (I had deemed myself far too sleepy to drive), and made it back home in time for the opening serve.
As most will know from various media sources, Rafa took it in three sets. Berdych was tricked into thinking each set was going well with both men trading service games, until suddenly Nadal would step it up to the next level and seemingly effortlessly create a break of serve to win the set. It was stunning, and somewhat out of place in a grand slam final.
Not that I minded.
And as I happily watched Nadal hoist that Wimby cup for the second time (his eighth major win), I continued to wonder to myself just what marks the change from 'fan' to 'fanatic.'
While, yes, my Facebook friends may get fed up with the various cartoonish hearts after his name in my statuses, I can always argue the fact that I have a general respect for the entire sport. I may sink into day-long slumps when he bombs out of a tourney, but I wouldn't call myself unable to finish out the rest of the viewing schedule with other favorites in mind.
I might admit, though, that my obsession could use a redux if the nasty habit of random Lincolnites calling the man from Mallorca my 'boyfriend' continues.
But I stand by the idea that I respect his game first and body second, that I can see him with his real life girlfriend without a pang of jealousy, and that I value his need to heal his knee problems over his continued successes in tournament after tournament.
Not that I won't cry if I ever see him in person (a very large possibility now that my fantastical parents bought my Cincinnati tournament tickets).
So some, noting my personal attachment to his every victory and supersticious routines on days that he plays, may call my fanatic weaknesses out of control.
I just call it love.
Today's thought comes from the beautiful Rafa himself:
"I look forward to the US Open. For me, it's always a goal to win there, no? I must perform well in Toronto and CINCINNATI while preparing."
Looks like I better pack my Kleenex.
Peace, Love, and Raging Rafael Nadal love.
Kels.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Dallas does...feline diabetes.
I'm not sure anyone ever wakes up with the intention of falling asleep again 4 hours later, but sure enough, morning cat naps were the order of the day for the Dallas family.
Woke up early for a Saturday, inspired by a friend's cat who needed 7 units of human insulin to have enough energy to make its daily jump to the couch. Rode my bike to the house, epic twenty-year-old that I am. Questioned my ability once again to give 7 units of insulin to said cat- a notion I pushed aside quickly when I remembered that as a high school valedictorian, I should feel qualified to perform any medical procedure within the tri-county area. Having 'shot the cat', as I so lovingly call my temporary chore, I set off for home, and with a quick wave to my neighbor on the way into the cul-de-sac, flew up the driveway and into the Midwest paradise that is the Dallas household.
Mother dearest was awaiting her ride for a morning trip out of town, while dad and buddy, our resident beard hound, relaxed in the front room.
My parents, 50-somethings of small town beginnings, are kind enough to humor my ramblings, and on this particular morning they pretended not to notice as I hid the poptart I had swiped from my house-sitting locale. Mom was off in a flash and I made dad an omelet to celebrate the beautiful morning while watching Serena Williams hoist her fourth Wimby trophy.
Ate breakfast myself watching a replay of Nadal's Friday match and reading the latest trashy novel my friend gave me to enjoy. I also flipped to BET for a marathon of one of the world's strangest sitcoms, and, per my usual milky whiteness, felt like I should change the channel for not being hip enough.
After reading sex scenes to the point of being dizzy with scandal, I wandered back into the front room to visit dad and Buddydog, only to find both asleep. Dad soon perked up for his 1:00 tee time just as I was slipping off into the unconscious I had left behind 4 hours before.
Alive with the fervor of a second chance at sleep, my afternoon slipped away in the glory of terrorizing Buddy dog at the pool and attempting to get tan without a repeat of the sun poisoning incident of June.
Dinner for the Dallas family meant Steak 'n' Shake of course, and tonight offered an extraordinary amount of proprietors for miss momma and I to people watch. Dad, unfortunate enough to be facing the wall, spent his whole meal questioning how he ended up eating with two women who'd rather wonder about the horror of the lives of the three young children with a mean-faced dad then discuss his par on hole 3 or the latest weather report.
After dinner meant a super businesslike phone call while I made holiday appropriate fruit pizza cookies, as my parents went off to a party. Yes, you read that right. The 20-year-old was at home giving shots to a cat, walking a dog, and baking, while her parents were out meetin' and greetin'. Lincoln, Illinois does funny things to a girl's social life.
So now the night is winding up with me starting a blog and contemplating how guilty I'll feel about those hand fulls of marshmallows I scarfed if I skip my Jillian Michael butt-kicking for the night. And to think the junk in my trunk was actually starting to get unpacked...
Your thought of the day comes to you from my wonderful brotherman:
"Okay, not drunk or on drugs or whatever, have you ever thought to yourself how awesome music is? Like when you hear that special song at just the right moment?"
Peace, love, and puppy dogs.
Kels.
Woke up early for a Saturday, inspired by a friend's cat who needed 7 units of human insulin to have enough energy to make its daily jump to the couch. Rode my bike to the house, epic twenty-year-old that I am. Questioned my ability once again to give 7 units of insulin to said cat- a notion I pushed aside quickly when I remembered that as a high school valedictorian, I should feel qualified to perform any medical procedure within the tri-county area. Having 'shot the cat', as I so lovingly call my temporary chore, I set off for home, and with a quick wave to my neighbor on the way into the cul-de-sac, flew up the driveway and into the Midwest paradise that is the Dallas household.
Mother dearest was awaiting her ride for a morning trip out of town, while dad and buddy, our resident beard hound, relaxed in the front room.
My parents, 50-somethings of small town beginnings, are kind enough to humor my ramblings, and on this particular morning they pretended not to notice as I hid the poptart I had swiped from my house-sitting locale. Mom was off in a flash and I made dad an omelet to celebrate the beautiful morning while watching Serena Williams hoist her fourth Wimby trophy.
Ate breakfast myself watching a replay of Nadal's Friday match and reading the latest trashy novel my friend gave me to enjoy. I also flipped to BET for a marathon of one of the world's strangest sitcoms, and, per my usual milky whiteness, felt like I should change the channel for not being hip enough.
After reading sex scenes to the point of being dizzy with scandal, I wandered back into the front room to visit dad and Buddydog, only to find both asleep. Dad soon perked up for his 1:00 tee time just as I was slipping off into the unconscious I had left behind 4 hours before.
Alive with the fervor of a second chance at sleep, my afternoon slipped away in the glory of terrorizing Buddy dog at the pool and attempting to get tan without a repeat of the sun poisoning incident of June.
Dinner for the Dallas family meant Steak 'n' Shake of course, and tonight offered an extraordinary amount of proprietors for miss momma and I to people watch. Dad, unfortunate enough to be facing the wall, spent his whole meal questioning how he ended up eating with two women who'd rather wonder about the horror of the lives of the three young children with a mean-faced dad then discuss his par on hole 3 or the latest weather report.
After dinner meant a super businesslike phone call while I made holiday appropriate fruit pizza cookies, as my parents went off to a party. Yes, you read that right. The 20-year-old was at home giving shots to a cat, walking a dog, and baking, while her parents were out meetin' and greetin'. Lincoln, Illinois does funny things to a girl's social life.
So now the night is winding up with me starting a blog and contemplating how guilty I'll feel about those hand fulls of marshmallows I scarfed if I skip my Jillian Michael butt-kicking for the night. And to think the junk in my trunk was actually starting to get unpacked...
Your thought of the day comes to you from my wonderful brotherman:
"Okay, not drunk or on drugs or whatever, have you ever thought to yourself how awesome music is? Like when you hear that special song at just the right moment?"
Peace, love, and puppy dogs.
Kels.
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