Wistie
ramblings and what not

once upon a time i dyed my hair.
yes, usually not a big deal in today’s day and age.
i had been playing with the idea for years. i even bought some do it yourself dye from the store. i always chickened out.
then one sunny christmas break day i decided to just do it. so i went and dyed it a real brown (i had been calling myself a brunette for years when in reality i was stuck in the exact middle of blonde and brunette. a place very few have really visited but i lived in for years)
and i loved it.
it was weird. playing with my hair and looking at it and it was brown!

gasp.

basically, i looked real good.

and then… the consequences started coming. roots.
nobody noticed them as much as i did but there they were, quickly growing and looking oddly gray instead of the limbo blonde brunette thing i had going for me before. this simply wouldn’t do.

so i found myself back in a chair getting my hair dyed. expecting to be pleased as peaches again at how marvelous i would look in a matter of minutes.

i learned a few things:
1. i’ve always felt awkward in the hairdressing chair but that awkwardness is amplified a million times when your voice is completely gone and you really can’t find anything to talk about with this person transforming your look.
2. i’d pay to get my hair done every week solely for the shampoo job.
3. hair dressers don’t know what “a smidge darker” means. (and no, it wasn’t because i had no voice to explain what i wanted. ok, maybe it was)
4. i’m a pretty positive person and an effective liar

point is, i have basically black hair.
other point is, i look even paler now.

in other news: i dropped my phone in the toilet a few weeks ago. after what i thought was a miracle, it still worked after being babysat by a few thousand grains of rice for a few days. but one button doesn’t work now. it’s a tragic tale i know. here’s hoping that my brother is really a genius and i will have my phone back healthy and happy.

lesson(s) learned.

in other other news: i have come to the realization that i am cursed. my curse is that i bless others. let me explain. i tend to have a friend that i hang out with all the time. i’ve had to replace this position several times this year because that friend gets a boyfriend and therefore has other preoccupations. so… if you are wanting a boyfriend… all you really have to do is start hanging out with me and you’ll get one in a matter of weeks. i blame my awesome wingman skills. now for some reason… the curse doesn’t work when i just hang out with myself… i can’t help myself get a boyfriend. not that i really want one anyway… so if you’re reading this and you want to hang out… i’m holding auditions. i’m very precise and picky about who is qualified to fill this position. good luck.

I remember not too long ago in the recent past I was… alright, I was complaining that my life had nothing going on inside. I was watching all of the people around me and all of of the things that were happening in their lives.
I felt lonely.
I felt useless.
I felt frustrated.
I felt incomplete.

Caterpillar.

Something changed.

Cocoon.

The frustrating things in my life have not disappeared in the slightest.
I still hate my job.
I’m still frustrated by my ever increasing weight of my church responsibilities and the ever decreasing support I’m getting with them.
I still struggle with certain people in my life… they know who they are. Well… they probably don’t, actually, now that I think about it.
I still have a very, very long to do list.

Butterfly.

I stumbled into people and situations that have allowed myself to let me be happy again. In spite of and because of everything.

I feel like I’ve finally reached the reaping.
Sewing can be very exhausting.

New cycle.

Hurricane.

When I was a little girl, sometime between the age of 6 and 10 – let’s just average and say I was 8, I was playing queens or something with my best friend Jenna. She chose where she wanted to be queen of. I don’t remember where and it doesn’t matter.

What matters is where I decided to be queen. I decided Europe. Then I changed my mind and decided that I wanted to be queen of western Europe, because eastern Europe would be too much of a responsibility, and I would be a more affluent queen if my jurisdiction covered just western Europe.

I was an odd little girl.

i’ve kind of decided to sort of practice what i’ve been preaching to myself in my head lately (because, as i’ve mentioned before, the best conversations i have occur in my head and those that reside there.)

let me start by saying, “hi, my name is wistie and i’m addicted to facebook.”

“hi, wistie…”

i feel like there’s too much information about myself on facebook. i feel like there’s too much information about everyone on facebook.

the people i’m “friends” with on the social networking site are all people i legitimately know and i don’t mind them knowing the things that i’ve put up there however… i don’t feel the need to let everyone in on what is going on all the time in my life. the people that should know probably do. because i’ve told them in person – or at least via textual messaging. and if you want to know because you sincerely care, ask. i’ll probably tell you.

i get annoyed when people post minute by minute updates. or hour by hour updates. or day by day updates.

weekly updates are fine. i mean, weekend update is probably one of my favorite segments on snl… i can’t be a hypocrite…

i even sometimes get annoyed when i see someone’s relationship status change. obviously, i would like to know if the cute guy i am facebook stalking is single but…  i don’t really know why i find this annoying. maybe it’s because i find it extremely irritating when people beg for sympathetic attention. and maybe it’s mean of me that what goes through my head when i see jane is now listed as single is: wow, look at me everyone, please write condolences on my wall and offer to take me out on girls nights or come over for girls nights with variations of chocolates and frozen treats or set me up with your boyfriend’s roommates/cousins/neighbors/hometeachers/aunt’s sisters’ stepfather’s nephew/etc.

you will notice that i have no relationship status.

and i will continue to have no relationship status

unless for some odd reason some dude convinces me to get married.

i do get annoyed when others have no relationship status – i guess that attempt at not being hypocritical went out the window.

but i also feel happy for them as well, as if we share some sort of kinship.

point is… i’ve actually spent a considerably less amount of time on facebook. and on here. because i also feel that there is too much information about myself on here. but i get annoyed when others don’t update their blogs so… still working on that anti-hypocritical thing. and i’ve deleted a lot of the “about me” section. i added some stuff but that’s just stuff to brag about that people SHOULD know anyway… and inside jokes that make people jealous that they aren’t apart of and make them want to hang out with me more. frequent uploads of pictures also works for this purpose.

real point is… don’t publicly facebookly declare your passionate, undying, gushy, disgusting love on your facebook status. he or she is probably sitting on top of you on your couch while you update it so tell him or her in person. facebook should not be the rooftops you want to shout it from.

try an actual rooftop. they’re more fun. and memorable. take pictures of it. then post those on facebook because i’ll stalk you after you change your relationship status to engaged.

When I was a little girl, my family went to visit my Aunt Carrie and her family. My Uncle Dean, an accomplished artist, was kind enough to sit and entertain a little girl with a tray of watercolors. I sat and painted to my little heart’s content. While my many masterpieces started to cover the table we were working on, Uncle Dean was still working on his first picture. At first, his painting looked like a sun. I remember thinking that he must not be such a good artist if he’s just painting a simple yellow circle. I remember looking at the dozen paintings I completed, beaming at my accomplishments in the shadow if this supposed art genius. My pride was soon put in check when I looked to the living room where beautiful oils were peering down at my mediocre watercolors. I was confused at how the same man who made those beauties was drawing a silly sun. I looked back at Uncle Dean’s paper. It wasn’t a sun anymore, I wasn’t sure what it was. “Uncle Dean, what are you painting?”

After he sat back and looked at his paper he said, “you know what? I have no idea.”

“How can you start something if you don’t know what it’s going to turn out to be?”

“That’s a good question, Wis.” He answered, “Sometimes it’s hard to see what the end result of a painting will be, it changes while I’m working on it.”

“That’s silly. How are you supposed to know where to start if you have no idea where you’re going?”

Not sure why this memory came to me this week. But it was nice to reflect on.

That’s all.

“i’m going home.”

i’ve said that so many times this week.

i’ve been so homesick for weeks now.

i’ve lost the ability to stretch my patience at work.

patience at work is necessary.

it’s a miracle i didn’t snap days ago.

i lied a lot about the details of going home.

i’m apparently landing 13 hours after i actually will be. tee hee.

what can i say, i like surprising people. especially when they cry.

i hope they cry.

that was the goal.

my apologies to all those who were looking forward to the traditional bowman christmas eve torta dinner party. it’s mostly my fault it was moved to christmas night.

get over it.

i’m home. bring on the mid 60s! peace out low 30s!

be happy about that.

is this choppy enough?

didn’t think so.

you know you live in a ghetto apartment when…

you can’t remember which way is hot and cold on the faucet.

you unload the dishwasher and can’t tell if you ran it or not.

one person takes a shower and the water is cold for the rest of you.

you’ve gotten used to ice showers.

you’ve found that you’ll sacrifice a couple hours of sleep to wake up earlier than your roommates to shower first.

your microwave has been here since your mother lived here when she went to college.

you compare linoleum with other apartments. theirs is always nicer.

the flames that randomly burst from your electric burners don’t phase you anymore.

you’re slowly overcoming the fear of your bed caving in when you sit on it.

you’ve learned several reinforcement tricks.

you’re learning how to tell the temperature by feel instead of what the thermostat says. never trust the thermostat.

there are scratches in the toilet bowl. you don’t know why.

the management does extensive tree trimming for the residents’ safety.

… and i love it here.

many children, i understand, had a blankie. i had a blankie, like a normal child. but unlike a normal child, my blankie was a sleeping bag. an itty bitty, teeny weeny, teddy bear covered sleeping bag.

they should’ve known…

at first, apparently very usual but upon further examining, really rather odd and perplexing but still endearing and interesting.

my mother says i would’ve taken it to school if i could but… i had to leave it behind for better things.

i should’ve known…

i’m feeling a bit nostalgic, can you tell?

i know that i’m going to sound egotistical with the following sentence but it’s my thought and i can put it out there if i want (it’s my party and i can cry if i want to).

i have never felt the reciprocation of the high standard and quality of friendship i give to others.

that’s not to say that i haven’t had good friends. i have had amazing friends. top notch. but it’s a little exhausting and frustrating when others’ actions die in the shadows of words and my actions go unspoken.

i don’t want praise by any means, i don’t do things for the admiration. i do things because it’s what i feel should be done.

i’m a big fan of the “treat others how they’d like to be treated” philosophy. but i also think that you should pay attention and behave accordingly to those that are treating kindly. if they are, treat them how they treat others. they deserve it.

anyway… that’s been my struggle as of late.

and for those of you who care… it seems that insanity has prevailed one again.

there’s this woman, susan, who comes into the bank at least once a week.
she made my week this week.
she waited until i could help her. there were two other tellers and they were both available before i was. but she waited.
boosted my self esteem.
she came in a couple days later with her husband, javier.
they wanted to set me up with their 18 year old son.
the best part?
they started speaking in spanish, not knowing i could understand them… they were talking me up in spanish.
i felt awesome.