Beautiful

Beauty is really weird.  Have you ever thought about it?  It's super super weird.  Example A.  We wax our eyebrows.  We literally spread hot wax on our faces, stick paper to it, and then right before it cools enough to be stuck to our faces indefinitely, we rip it off.  And why?  Because that's what we have decided is beautiful.  And we draw on our faces.  We literally take "make-up" aka expensive art supplies, and draw on our faces with it like paint on a canvas.  And oh the things we wear!  Don't even get me started on the clothes we put on to "make ourselves look beautiful."  It is just weird.  Seriously.  And I do it too.  I'm not going to pretend like I'm above this weird beauty stuff.  I'm currently wearing an outfit I planned last night, pencil skirt and all, with the same makeup I put on everyday.  It is all about beauty and the way we have defined it.  But where did these definitions even come from?  A few weeks ago I had the pleasure of being a leader on a high school mission trip to Chicago.  Unfortunately during the week I was also, unbeknownst to me, running around with Asthmatic Bronchitis.  Needless to say, I felt really disgusting and not at all beautiful.  But one day at the bus stop a woman asked me about the group.  I told her about the work we had been doing and that I was a leader on the trip.  Her response was, "That is absolutely beautiful.  You are beautiful people."  Whaaaat?  Beautiful?  Me?  The one whose lungs feel like they are made of lead, who is sweating through her t-shirt at the bus stop while her eyes water from allergy overload?  As if that wasn't enough to stop me in my tracks, the woman then went on to talk about her work at a nursing home.  As an African American woman she said she faces discrimination daily from the elderly who lived in a time where racial discrimination was the norm.  But, and I quote, "No matter what, once I get to know the people, I always find that they truly are beautiful."  Here is a woman who faces blatant discrimination and yet can still find the beauty being masked by it.  Isn't that just amazing?  And it is so difficult to do.  To realize that literally everyone is beautiful.  Especially when we think of those we don't particularly like, of those who disagree with us, or even of criminals.  I'm not saying we should be ok with people discriminating or doing crimes.  That is not at all ok.  But I think sometimes it is hard to think of them as people too.  And to realize that there is probably something beautiful about them.  If we could really get to know people and see them for who they are and not what they wear, how they look, their race, religion, sexuality, ethnicity, financial class, wouldn't the world be a lot more... beautiful?

"Murica"

This is a little bit awkward... I missed blogging on July 4th.  And now it is the 11th.  So it has been long enough that people are starting to forget there was just a holiday and they are already marking their calendars to count the days until the next one.  But, I want to write a blog about America.  Well no.  Not America.  I want to write about this whole "Murica" phenomenon.  I know, I know, July 4th has come and gone.  But today lets just pretend like it is July 4th again so I can write this blog and not feel like a failure for writing it seven days late.  Thank you.  Ok so Murica.  Not to be confused with the United States of America which is "a federal republic consisting of fifty states and a federal district."  I'm talking about Murica, the overly disgusting image we create of America as cut off shirts, short shorts and american flag trucker hats.  Have you noticed this?  I find it most at tailgates and large sporting events.  Basically anywhere there is a lot of beer drinking going on.  People who you would normally see prancing around in khaki shorts and a pastel colored polo suddenly are breaking out the cowboy boots they probably bought for $300 at Urban Outfitters and wearing an American flag as a cape.  For lack of a better word, they try to make themselves look like rednecks.  (I like to refer to these people as Reds.  Because they aren't actually rednecks they just try to be.)   Why?  What is this phenomenon?  Why do people who normally don't walk around declaring their love for their country suddenly feel the need to chant "U. S. A., U. S. A." the moment they start drinking beer?  I honestly just don't understand.  Maybe I am missing out.  Maybe it is super fun and I just don't know it.  I guess for me, I just don't feel like parading around, playing into the stereotypes that people already have about Americans.  Don't get me wrong, I love living in the United States and I am proud of where I come from.  And I do like to be goofy and have fun.  But I think when the next tailgate comes around, I will just stick to my regular jean shorts and a t-shirt.  Maybe I will throw in one U.S.A. chant, just for kicks!   But probably not...

Lets Talk About the Weather

I know I have mentioned this in a prior post, but if you aren't a frequent visitor of the state of Indiana, there is something you should know about it.  The weather is about as unpredictable as an episode of Game of Thrones.  It is a lot less gorey and inappropriate for young audiences than the show but the plot twists are just as drastic.  Sometimes I go to work in the morning with the sun shining, 85 degrees and beautiful, only to find a torrential downpour by lunch and then dang near tornado activity by the time I go home for the day. (today)  You never know what you are going to get.  I could make a Forrest Gump reference here but I will refrain.  There is also the fun fact that along with elevators and heights, tornados are my biggest fear.  You may be thinking, "Chloe, how could tornados be your biggest fear if you have never experienced one and they rarely happen in your area? That is totally illogical!"  Well condescending blog reader, they just are.  Every time I hear the wind pick up outside I assume that it will be turning into a funnel cloud within moments.  I check the weather channel like a mad person and freak when I see green, yellow, and the always terrifying reds and purple splatter painted across the radar.  I'm that person who will go sleep in the basement in the middle of the night because I can't sleep when I hear the storms a-brewin' outside. (sorry for that random hillbilly moment.) It is kind of ridiculous.  I realize that I'm crazy.  But the first step is accepting you have a problem right? Right.  I think that the biggest reason why they scare me is because  I have absolutely no control over them.  I can't predict them, and even if I could, all I can do is cower in fear and hope a tornado doesn't swoop me up like the Wizard of Oz.  When I think of it like this, it doesn't seem quite so crazy.  Because I think deep down, everyone gets scared of the things they have no power over. Of the things they just cannot understand or control. And it causes so many issues and arguments for us.  It seems to be the root of a lot of those "controversial topics" we like to spend all of our time stressing and fighting over.  Whether it is about religion, science, abortion, war, mental illness, sexuality, race... anything.  I think that a lot of the time, it comes down to a fear of the unknown.  And it is understandable.  It is hard to accept what we don't understand.  It is hard to grasp something when it lies out of our reach.  But maybe, if we found a way to stop getting so hung up on the things we don't have control over, if we could just accept that no matter how much time we put into arguing and fighting with each other about these issues,  maybe we could learn to live our lives.  And watch these things that we can't control or that we don't understand play out how they will.  If we could stop cowering under blankets in the basement, watching the radar through our fingers while we cover our eyes, as if its a horror movie, we could ride out the storm and figure out our next step once the rain has ceased.  Because if you spend your life cowering in fear, or retaliating against things that are "different," things you don't understand, instead of embracing change and uncertainty, then you aren't really living.       (This all being said, if tornado sirens go off, you should seriously take cover!)

Poem?

So I wrote this and I guess it is a poem... I'm not really sure how I feel about it but I figured I would put it up anyway and let you, my imaginary followers, decide what you think.  Here it is:
Vulnerability.  One word, one feeling that sends shivers down my back.  A cold sweat.  Vulnerability.  An openness, a freedom to give yourself to others completely and fully.  But the fear creeps back up my spine and into my brain.  Clouding my judgement, creating storms in my head, raining down on the idea of total freedom.  The one thing we crave.  We reach for freedom.  We thirst for the for the chance to be exactly who we are.  Our hands tremble as we stretch, as far as we can, to grasp the total freedom of being vulnerable, of being open.  But as our fingers graze it, we retract.  As if finally touching it, burns us like a stove top.  Because although we crave this vulnerability.  Although we spend our lives fighting to reach it, although we spend our lives fighting to be exactly who we are, there is still that fear.  The fear of rejection.  An electric fence separating us from the freedom of being vulnerable.  Our teachers tell us that our dreams are not logical.  That our test scores are not good enough.  Our peers tell us that we are not cool enough.  The media tells us that we are not beautiful enough.  And worst of all, we tell ourselves that they are right.  In vulnerability, there is the opportunity for love, for peace, for life.  To be exactly who you are.  But in vulnerability there is also the opportunity to be hurt, to be mocked, to feel uncomfortable.  And so we are left balancing on a scale.  Is the risk worth the benefit?  Or do we hide again behind the masks that we wear, behind the walls that we build.  Never knowing what is beyond.  Never knowing what reaction we may receive if our masks were removed.  And never knowing the beauty that lies beneath the masks walking past us every day.

Finals Week

It is that time of year again.  Finals are next week.  Which means that professors are panicking and assigning everything they haven't gotten to yet.  People you have never even seen before are now crowding the library because they think just being in the library might help them to learn all the information they regretfully didn't pay attention to.  (Side note: This does not work.  Going to the library does not mean you automatically just know things.  I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news.)  But if you are anything like myself, all you want to do is give up, cocoon yourself in blankets on your bed while eating the most calorie filled, sugar coma inducing ice-cream, watching The Walking Dead and pretending like real life doesn't exist.  Also if you are anything like me, you will actually do this until one of your friends shows up at your dorm room and forces you to go to the library.  If anyone was wondering, taking a 27 page Research Methods test is physically and emotionally draining.  It is about the equivalent of watching Marley and Me and the Notebook on repeat while simultaneously running 13 miles.  Exhausting.  So, I'm sitting here thinking "wow this sucks.  I want to give up.  Who needs an education anyway?  I would be a fabulous trophy wife."  And then I remember that I don't actually want that.  And that there are so many people who don't even have the opportunity to go to college or to get an education.  There are women out there who don't even have the option of having a career.  There are people with no food to eat, no roof over their heads, who are struggling with diseases.  Talk about physically and emotionally draining.  So I guess what I am saying is, I can deal with two weeks of grueling tests and papers, running on no sleep and practically injecting caffeine into my veins.  Because the truth is, I am blessed to even be here getting this education and making a life for myself.  And that is motivation enough for me.

Cargo Pants

Let's all give a warm welcome to Rachel, Brooke and the other Chloe.  Tonight they told me they read my blog so that means they get a shout out.  Honestly, that is a pretty big deal.  Now the three other people who read my blog know who you are.  There should probably be confetti or a trophy or something.  That is how big of a deal this is...  So, I know I already wrote a blog about the dreaded V-day.  (Which for the record does not stand for Velcro Day, although that sounds a lot more entertaining... Can you imagine everyone wearing Velcro outfits all day?  If you think about it, Velcro suits could probably bring people closer together more efficiently than chocolates and diamond earrings.)  Did that just get weird?  Anyway, I know my last blog was about Valentine's Day.  But it literally IS Valentine's Day right now.  I mean we are only an hour and eighteen minutes in but still.  So this one right here, is going to be about love.  I have never actually been in love so you may be asking yourself, "Self, why should we listen to what she has to say about love if she's never 'been in it'?"  Well, that is a weird expression first of all.  And as my research methods professor would point out, that is about as dumb as Dr. Phil writing a diet book.  Which now that I write it down is super offensive...  But whatever.  Tonight I was at a Death by Chocolate party with my sorority sisters.  I told you we get chocolate crazy during DWIISAFYTBDPGQYSO! (That was a reference to my other blog.  If you didn't understand it, you clearly aren't a true fan...)  But at said party, we watched the movie Valentine's Day (fitting), and there is this scene with Ashton Kutcher in cargo pants.  My first thought, "He is currently dating my celebrity girl crush Mila Kunis." My second thought, "He is extremely attractive."  My third, and best thought, "I would marry that man even if he wears cargo pants.  Plus with all those pockets there is so much room to store all of our love!!"  And that is when I realized that despite the fact that cargo pants are super out of style, I need to find a man who wears them.  Because clearly, he is storing all his love in those pockets.  Ten billion pockets= ten billion loves for me.  Logic.  But seriously, as you celebrate Valentine's Day today(or actively fight against it) try to share love with everyone around you.  Not just your significant others, but everyone.  And share as much love as could fit in the multiple, efficient, probably-could-hold-a-human-child-sized pockets of a tacky pair of cargo pants.  Also, if for some reason you have a velcro suit, you should wear it.  I want Velcro Day to be real.  Let's make it happen.

Valentine's Day: A Conspiracy

First of all, I wanted to congratulate you on surviving the Apocalypse.  I know it was touch and go there for a while but we did it.  We survived a day that was literally just like every other day we have lived!  Anyway, now it is February.  Do you know what that means? Well it means being back to school.  It means that it is still cold here in Indiana.  And it means Valentine's Day.  Or as I like to refer to it, Day Where it is Socially Acceptable for you to be Disgustingly Publicly Gushy With Your Significant Other (DWIISAFYTBDPGQYSO for short).  I don't think that name will stick.  It's a little wordy...  February also means that all those New Year resolutions are starting to fade into the past as distant memories.  I like to refer to that as "the gym gets less crowded."  But back to Valentine's Day.  A day that you either totally love, or totally hate with the fire of one thousand suns.  If I am being honest with you all, which I always am, then I have to admit that Valentine's Day and I do not necessarily get along.  I have never had that "special" Valentine's Day that people talk about.  It normally consists of me getting a box of chocolates from my parents, going to the basement, and watching RomComs while simultaneously devouring every chocolate in the box.  Picture Scooby Doo shoving a stack of sandwiches in his mouth but replace him with me and sandwiches with chocolate.  I'm not proud of it.  Which reminds me of a question.  Why is it that we become so chocolate obsessed during Valentine's Day?  Here is the only logical explanation I could come up with.  First, Harry Potter is not fiction, it is real life.  Second, Valentine's Day must really be some kind of day where Dementors are allowed to roam around the Muggle world, so us Muggles just have a spell put on us to make us want chocolate so we don't have the side effects of encountering a Dementor!  (Because everyone knows chocolate is like Advil in that situation.)     If I lost you there, I am sorry.  I had to go on a quick nerd Harry Potter tangent.  But I am back now.  So I guess what I am failing to actually say is this:  For those of you with significant others, Congratulations.  Someone likes you.  I mean "like" likes you.  That is great.  Have fun holding hands, and giving each other eskimo kisses and eating dinner by candlelight while Joshua Bell plays sweet violin solos in your ears, gazing into each others eyes and into each others souls.  (Should I write romance novels?)  But for those of you without dates for Valentine's Day, which I will admit bitterly includes myself, do not fret.  Because presents and chocolates and fancy dinners are not what really define people's love for you.  What does define it?  Someone asking how your day has been.  A family member posting a funny video on your Facebook.  Friends fueling your "Sons of Anarchy" addiction by watching it with you marathon style.  Random people reading your blog.  Any number of things really!  Even continuing to hang out with someone despite the fact that they make up Harry Potter scenarios to explain real life situations, and loving them for it.  And if all else fails, know this: I, among so many other people, love you to pieces.  So all you out there, have a happy Valentine's Day. (in a few days of course.)