These boots are made for walking

Is it just me, or do anyone else's feet consistently look like a congealed mass of flesh and awkward looking bone, melded together in a crazy shape that is somehow fit for walking?

Oh, right.
I forget, that's just me.

In all seriousness, my feet are ridiculously ugly.

It's not that I am insecure about it. Okay, yeah I am. Actually, I'm very insecure about it. In fact, I am so insecure about my feet that when I notice people looking at them, I immediately assume/imagine the horrific judgmental things they are silently uttering about the appearance of my feet, and my obvious lack of care/hygiene in regards to them. I start to blubber and spew words all over myself and the person staring to make justifications for having such horrendous foreign appendages dangling off of my legs; and as a result, just give them even more reasons to judge me.

It's a lose-lose situation.

I used to be in denial about my feet. I used to get pedicures and paint cute little white flowers with swirly leafy designs around it, and diamonds in the center on my big toe-nails. I used to go toe ring shopping, in hopes to find the perfect decoration to distract from my crazy, alien-like toes. I used to buy toe-socks, colorful anklets, and other things of the sort for mere, personal complacency on the topic.

Now, however, I realize how futile this effort is.

My feet are ugly. Period.

Pedicures have become an indulgence, like, perhaps a box of chocolates. Neither are going to make me prettier, but both will surely make me feel reaaaalll good. Cute shoes have become more of a necessity, specifically heels. I may be 5'10" while wearing my stilettos, but hey, I don't have to worry about what my feet look like, so I feel good. I love socks, too. When I am lounging around the house, I make it a point to put clean socks on. (Clean, mind you. Dirty socks are almost as bad as ugly feet--horrendous.) I have discovered that I find my size 8 1/2 feet actually look acceptable while wearing cute, ankle length socks.

The most ironic thing about my abhorrence for my feet, though, is the fact that my favorite shoes are flip-flops. And that, my friends, I refuse to change. I recognize the repulsiveness of my feet. (Clearly.) Yet, apparently, I have no concern for the betterment of society, because, 9 months out of the year, I make no effort to conceal them.

Well, society, this is my message to you regarding your snotty judgmental thoughts about me and my slightly-more-than-unattractive feet:



Put a sock in it-- then MAYBE I will.

Wishing.

You know that old saying, be careful what you wish for? I am currently thinking about that statement, and I wonder during what circumstance it came about. I wonder about the initial wish that caused the age-old line. Could it have been Pinocchio? Columbus? Audrey Hepburn? What was that person's consequence? What was their wish?

I have to know, because I'm wishing.
Today, my wish is not pretty. Literally.
Today, I wish I wasn't pretty.


(I hit return three times just to let my words sink in. I'm serious.)


My person is a very strong person. She is strong willed, and strongly opinionated, but not often strongly expressed. She hides in the back room of this place, a place I like to call ME, until an exterior individual can get close enough to draw her out. She isn't shy, really; just smart. And slightly scared.

I am constantly wondering how other people think. It is a topic that has always intrigued me. One specific thing I wonder about is how individuals perceive their personal appearance. I don't mean that I wonder what other people think of their image, per se, I just wonder how often they are AWARE of the portion of their person that might be the only thing everyone else sees. From what I know about myself, I am not that aware of my person. Okay, YES I get up in the morning and fuss over my hair, my outfit, and my makeup like any other girl; but, really, five minutes out the door and my carefully selected, perfectly matching shoes become shoes, my outfit becomes merely a way to conform to societal norms, and my hair gets forgotten about unless my bangs are in my face-- in which case I spend the day cursing being a girl and silently threaten to shave my head that very night. I don't often think about what my 'person' looks like to others.
On the same note, I have a similar attitude when talking with other people. First impressions include noticing one's outward appearance, yes; but for me, the moment I start talking to someone, I forget about what they look like. I forget the traits I initially noticed, and I start to get lost in this world that is their life. After I have passed that point, I don't go back. No, I am not blind; or crazy, for that matter. I just have a hard time getting lost in someones looks. To me, there are facets that are incredibly MORE INTERESTING than the shape of a person's nose, or the perfect curvature of their body. Consequently, I have never been in a circumstance where I make a fool of myself because a cute boy decides he wants to strike up a conversation with me, and I have most certainly never been lost in a boy's beautiful blue eyes that I had just had the pleasure of gaining acquaintance with.
No, this is not how I roll. Instead, I find myself lost in a person whose natural magnetism draws me to them. Their sense of that which is REAL is undeniable, and that just so happens to be what my little person LOVES. Their inner 'person' is dancing around outside of THEM, and my little person inside of ME simply HAS to come outside to see what all the commotion is about. Not because of their looks, not because of their charm, simply because of THEM.
This is how I view people. This is how I interact with people. Yes, I will notice your looks, your clothes, your style--everyone does, whether subconsciously or consciously. HOWEVER, that is ALL I will do--is notice. It won't affect the way I act around you, my opinion of you, etc.

I'll say it again. I wish I wasn't pretty.

Every day, I get comments about my looks. Someone is always noticing my face, my body, or something about this facade that somehow, to other people, makes up ME. I become so irked at times, wishing that people would just notice me for the person I am, rather than the qualities of my body. And yet, I can hardly justify myself because becoming irked at human nature is simply self-destructive.

And so, here I am, irked at something I am not admitted to be irked about.
It leaves me to one thing: Wishful thinking.


And today, I wish I wasn't pretty.


But hey, kids. I'll tell you one thing. I am super excited for this day:





Be careful what you wish for... :)

Package speakers.

I don't want to shower because it is thundering outside, and that feels like a good enough excuse. I don't want to write my paper because it's thundering outside, and that feels like a good enough excuse. It looks like it's seven o'clock in the morning still, because of the darkened clouds; therefore my pajamas belong nowhere but on my body. The week has been long, too long I might say. However, there were still some gems found in this week:

*Seeing the "Bee Money" "support your local artist" ad on that strange calender thing that was passed out to apartments on campus, calling the number on the paper, talking to Bee Money HIMSELF, looking him up on youtube, and realizing that he is dead serious. For those of you unaware of this local artist, you can check him out here.

*Switching my contacts finally after having my contact assault my left eye by digging into my pupil and committing other unmentionable acts that caused me to want to rip my eyeballs out for the past week and a half.

*Keeping a Red-Box DVD all week that I never ended up watching.

*Going to the DI and realizing that I am no longer grossed out by most second-hand things; consequently taking a trip to Plato's closet and realizing that that is my new favorite place to shop.

*Randomly going shopping, getting pedicures and ice cream from cold stone with Katie. (Even better, she bought my pedicure. That DOLL.)

*Using sparknotes to pass my British-Lit History class. It's the first time I have ever actually needed them, and as ashamed as I am to admit it, they helped me in a moment of need, and I am, indeed, grateful for them. I now take back (almost) every negative thing I have ever said about spark-notes.

*Spending Brooke-and-Kaylie time. This encompasses:
-Speed dating at Fallfest. We decided it would be a fun to do, a new experience, and we could check it off of our 'things to do before we die' list. The number of braces, glasses, the whiffs of rank breath, the 'dad' jeans, the zoobie, tie dyed t-shirts, and the awkward, impossible-to-carry-on conversations was so amusing that neither Brooke nor I regret the decision in the slightest.
-Going outside at Fallfest to the dance filled with UVU students-- We were dancing behind the speakers, so we could hardly hear the music, but there was a group of cute boys to our left, so we continued to dance there--OBVIOUSLY sending and invitation for an introduction, but, alas, we were rejected. We ended up seeing Leah and forgetting about them anyway.
-Being on the same page all night, especially when we walked through the fart on the dance floor, and both of us commented about it at the exact same time.
-Deciding to go home and have a movie/fatty night. Buying the frozen pizzas that contain probably a million calories, along with the most delicious ice cream on the planet: caramel praline. Trying to use my credit card to pay for the junk, pressing 'no' when the machine told me to please wait for the cashier, the cashier coming over and with and annoyed expression telling me I had to hit 'Pay for Items' on the main screen before I could use the credit card machine.
-The boy at the Redbox recognizing us because he was in the same Speed Dating room with us at Fall fest. He was so offended when we didn't recognize him, but still invited us to watch a movie at his apartment. We awkwardly declined.
-Watching the entirety of 27 dresses, even though our inevitable reaction of 'what the heck is this movie?' happened within the first five minutes. We suffered through it anyway, and entertained ourselves by predicting every approaching line, and making fun of every character EXCEPT supremely sexy James Marsden.

*Putting off writing my paper for another 45 mintues while I blogged about my week.

Love life.