Tag: funny

How We Met

Bailey GunnLeave a comment

I’ve written the story of how my fiance and I met, so I thought I would share it with you.

Enjoy!

Once upon a time, a shining knight heard a fair maiden’s call from across the glen, from her ivory tower. He rode as fast as his white horse could take him so that they could meet. (It took him awhile because he had to stop and get beer, and they were out of what he wanted so he had to go to a few markets before finally buying an entire keg.)

When he finally found her, he saw that she was practicing archery by shooting arrows at hay bales shaped like the patriarchy. He was in love , and so was she. She turned around from her targets, her eyes sparkling in the sunlight, and his first words to her were “Are we really doing this? This is completely made up.” And she put her fingers to his lips and shushed him because this is how everyone meets their future husband, duh.

He took her by the hand and carefully set her bow down for her in case he said something kind of dumb that would anger her, and told her to go wait by the horse. Unfortunately, she loved horses, and after a completely unnecessary joyride through the magic forest, she came back and was ready to ride off into the sunset. But she couldn’t find him. She looked through the entire tower and found him in the library. The knight had become so enthralled by the walls of books that she had accumulated that he refused to leave until he read one last chapter. She shrugged and plunked down on the love seat to finish her own book and the keg. And they lived happily ever after.

(Just kidding. We met in high school, and we’ve never left each other’s side.)

 

❤

Get Grateful

Bailey Gunn1 Comment

You know how the local news frequently interviews little old ladies that are like 100 and they’re all like what’s your secret and the little old lady is like “I drink scotch and play poker.” Or they’re like, “I never had a husband.” Or they’re like, “peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.” And to everything’s you’re like huh, makes sense. And you take down the scotch and peanut butter for later, because who doesn’t want to live forever and be interviewed by the local news?

While I don’t doubt the wisdom of old ladies on the news, I have to say that I would think that there’s an easier way for a long life: Enjoy what you have. 

The number one way to stress yourself out is to want or wish for something that isn’t yours. It is to focus on the future, which isn’t here yet. Rich people, poor people, sick people, healthy people, young, old, you name it. They’re stressed. But why? Because they’re not looking around at what they have and being happy they have it. They’re just looking at it and saying more. 

It’s really as simple and uncomplicated as that. Be grateful about more stuff in your life. You will be a much happier person for recognizing your life as an abundant success than a laughing stock. 

I mean, by all means, drink the scotch. Life is short, after all. But be grateful for the scotch and your life too. Your health and yourself, as the little old ladies will tell you, do not last forever.  

Car Horns

Bailey Gunn2 Comments

When do you use your car horn most? When you’re trying to get someone’s attention? When you’re trying to signal to a squirrel to tell him that he should get out of the road? When you’re trying to tell someone that they’re driving wonderfully? 

No. You use it when someone is being an $#!hole. When someone cuts you off, blows through a stop sign, or if you’re a New Yorker, just because you feel like it. 

And if you’re anything like me, I’m so embarrassed when someone uses their horn on me that I mouth “sorry” as many times as I can and gesture to the driver that I didn’t mean it. It’s the one thing that always makes me feel like an idiot. 

But I’m not always being the idiot. Because people use their car horns all the time. And not always for the right reason. 

And that’s a lot like life, isn’t it? Someone can tell you that you’re doing something wrong, and you very well might be. But there are going to be times that you’re not, and that person is going to continue to make you feel like an idiot. And it can be really hard to ignore that.  Sometimes, you really value that person’s opinion.

But just because that person has an opinion, just like car horns, it doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re using it at the right time or that they even have the right to exert their influence over you. 

You should always remember that others are going to try to get you to stay in line. They’re going to make fun of you, and they’re going to exclude you, and yeah, they’re going to honk at you. But that doesn’t make them the authority in your life.

The way I see it, if you’re not hurting anyone, just keep on doing what you’re doing. Honk if you agree. 

Still Processing 

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How do you get from point A to point B?

Well, you plot a course, and after a right or left turn, you’re there. 

How do I do it? 

I stress and tear my hair out at the fact that I’m not at point B, and gee, point A is so far away, and what’s wrong with me that I haven’t gotten to point B yet?

Because I don’t process things. Or I don’t realize that there is a process to things. That I can’t show up and know everything in the universe. And for some reason that actually frustrates me. 

And call it what you will. Call me a millennial, and point out my obsession with instant gratification. (Ever since we invented solar powered calculators, it’s like we just expect the answers to be given to us.) But I’m still completely confounded by the journey. I don’t know that practice makes perfect because I stuck with everything that came to me naturally (reading, writing, dancing).

It’s just that I don’t remember the time when things were hard and I didn’t know how to do something until I learned. I just remember having learned it. 

So, I’m still processing things. And I’m trying not to beat myself up for not knowing things until I know them. Every journey starts with the first step, but I do wish I walked quicker. 

Normal

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Before you get your panties in a bunch about the title of this blog, let’s get this out of the way. There is no normal life. No two and a half kids and a white picket fence. There’s no fitting in with the crowd. No this style, that trend. And there’s absolutely nothing to the entire teen makeover genre where they try to make a nerd into something recognizable. But just in case you didn’t get it the first time, there is no normal person. Period.

But, you have to admit, that when it comes to you especially, there sort of is a kind of “normal,” a status quo. I mean, if you grow a third arm that’s green and has suckers, well, I’m gonna take a wild guess that this is totally not normal for you. So, while you may not be normal, you do have a “normal” that you’re used to.

And when that changes, it can shake up your whole world. For me, having hypothyroidism is constantly revising what I mean when I say normal. Recently,  I was told that my blood levels were “normal,” even though I felt like a really irritable and tired version of myself. But since my thyroid is absolutely fine, then so am I. (Right?)

At the end of the day, I have to call myself normal when I can’t eat most things and I need a pill to remain conscious. To you, that’s not normal, but to me…it’s just a Wednesday.

The point is that the person you are today isn’t necessarily who you will always be. But the key is to be accepting of who you are now and who you are tomorrow. Really, just don’t get too attached to what’s normal for you because that’s completely relative.

But isn’t it exciting to get to know yourself all over again?

Sympathy for the Devil

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Phantom of the Opera is my favorite play. It’s also my favorite opera (because there’s not many options there.)

I don’t know why, but there’s something about the swelling music and the dark and light imagery…and I guess the psychopathic tendencies of the main character sort of make it interesting, too. (Spoiler alert: he’s a murderer in a mask and a cape. What’s not to like?)

And that’s totally weird, because at no point (except the point of no return, at the end) that we’re like, yes, let the heroine go with the kind, caring prince charming and sing a beautiful duet. No, we’d actually like the masked weirdo to win just. this. once. so that he can serenade her in the sewers or whatever he’s been planning to do for years.

Why? Because no villain thinks that he or she is a villain. And so we’re convinced that the villain, even for a moment, is right. We all have a little, or in many cases, a lot, of sympathy for the devil. Don’t believe me? Let’s review the exhibits.

Exhibit A: Gollum from Lord of the Rings. He was actually a Hobbit once, and loved and ate and slept and ate and played and ate as all hobbits do. And then, he murdered in the name of the one ring, and then he turned into a bad guy. But we still feel bad for that decrepit little creature with the huge eyes who lost his ability to speak in complete sentences but can riddle Bilbo Baggins until his face turns blue.

Exhibit B: He Who Must Not Be Named. Do you think that he wanted to be reborn with no nose and be beaten into submission by a baby? No! He wanted to be immortal (which he sort of is as a result of a highly popular children’s book.) And then, he wanted to be the best. And he was for a second, but then again, that baby who became a really angsty teenager with a grudge. (But really, no good can come to people who kill unicorns.)

Exhibit C: Well, that’s you. Because like it or not, sometimes you are the villain. And you don’t even realize it. To you, you’re just having a bad day. But to everyone else? You have a scepter and a poison apple in your bag. And you don’t even know it because it’s not like you mean to be evil. It’s just happening. And besides, you had a really bad day. Why can’t anyone see that? That’s just every villain’s thought process ever. (I mean, have we learned nothing from the drawn out monologues?) “I have to kill you because this, that, and the other thing.” “You were my friend until you betrayed me to blah blah blah, etc.”

So, congratulations. You’re the villain. And contrary to popular belief, it doesn’t feel any different than being the hero. It just doesn’t pay off.

Calm/Chaos

Bailey GunnLeave a comment

You know how people say it’s not the situation, it’s the way that you react to it that matters? Well, put simply, I’ve been like a human cat for most of my life. I run away from loud noises or bite people when forced into social interactions. “Conflict resolution” isn’t really in my vocabulary, and if it is, it’s me talking about how I’m not good at it.

But lately, I’ve been reacting to situations that are more tense than a bomb squad like the Dalai Lama.

The other day I had a lot on my mind and I was swelled up with stress like an angry bullfrog. And instead of blaming the situation itself like I normally do, instead of blaming anyone else (including but not limited to, the Starbucks barista or the guy who is walking way too slow in front of me) I said to myself, I need to do something about all the stress I’ve been experiencing because I can’t get this frustrated when something happens every day.

What?! I mean, really, where do I cash in my tickets for my adult points? I looked at my life and took responsibility for my own actions. I realized that my reactions needed to change, not the situation. (A trick that only took a quarter of a century to learn!) It felt uncomfortable and good to do this, all at the same time, like wearing your favorite sweater that’s way warm but so itchy.

And this made me really think about how we communicate with our world. As much as I wouldn’t prefer to be numb, we really do need a thicker skin to get through life. Because when we let in the chaos from the outside world, we can’t distinguish between the two. And if we form a core of calm, we can float above it all, like when you hold your breath in a swimming pool and let your body rise to the top.

In the end, chaos is only chaos when you give yourself over to it, when you don’t pay attention to how you’re reacting to a situation. And being calm is only calm when it starts inside yourself and radiates out. And everything in between? That’s life. And you’ve got to keep it balanced.

 

Comparable

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How did you read the title of this blog post?

Did you read it as “compare-able”? As in, oranges and apples are not “compare-able” because they are obviously two different fruits, you knucklehead?

Or did you read it as “comprable”? As in, these M. Night Shyamalan movies are “comprable” because they both have terribly obvious “twist” endings.

I know, I know. The second pronunciation is correct, but for whatever reason, I say these words in different ways depending on my meaning. To me, “comprable” is something lesser. If something is “comprable,” you are compromising by choosing it. It’s like saying,
“I’ll have both if it makes you happy, but I’d really like the first one.” Whereas “compare-able” means something like, “Those two things are the same, and it doesn’t matter to me which one you pick.”

And quite literally, this is semantics…that I’ve made up in my head. There is some perceived distinction in wordplay within this word for me that isn’t there at all.

And yet, this word has completely ruled my life in an imaginary way. Until today.

Okay, here it is, plain and simple: I am a human, and so I compare myself to other humans. Not in a “why is she so rich and perfect and I’m not,” way. More like, “why am I so awkward, I just said “I’m good” when she didn’t say “how are you?” way. And so, I’m constantly wondering if people find me “compare-able,” as in someone similar to a person they have met before, but generally a dime a dozen, or if I am “comprable,” meaning that they could be hanging out with someone much cooler, but they’ve lost interest in their own life and they might as well compromise their best interests before they come to their senses.

But I realized something today: when you are truly yourself, when you are really who you are inside and out, you can’t be comparable or comparable. Because there is no one that will ever be exactly like you and you’re not compromising anything when you can be yourself.

And suddenly, the pressure was off. I didn’t have to think about being too this or too that. I could just be me, and there were no words to describe me, whether they had multiple pronunciations or not.

Because when you defy the boxes and labels that people try to put you in or on you, some members of the outside world become frightened or confused. But most people? They’re just dazzled that you have the confidence to be yourself. And they haven’t got any notion of what you were once or what you should be. You’re just you. And they’re speechless.

Happily (Unhappily) Ever After

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One of my greatest fears is that I will die before finishing the book I’m currently reading. I mean, how tragic, right? Not knowing what happens in the sequel, let alone if there is a sequel? It’s like reverse George R.R. Martin syndrome: We think he’ll die before the last books are written; I think I’ll die before I finish reading them.

(Come to think of it, that will probably be my first question when I arrive up at those pearly gates:

God/Higher Being/Morgan Freeman: Ask me anything, Soul #389482923.

Me: Yeah, I know it was supposed to be a shocking ending, but what happened in Gone Girl? I had like 20 pages left. Should I just skip to the movie?

Morgan Freeman: Rosamund Pike is a babe.

Me: Tell me something I don’t know.)

And that’s not because I walk around with an intense premonition that I will die any day now. It’s just that I ensure that I always finish the book I’m reading. I may put it down for months at a time, but I very, very, very, very, very rarely stop reading it altogether. Which means that I’ve read some really awful stories. I mean, like, terrible.

What were some of the worst?

Three Cups of Tea

Crime & Punishment

Izzy, Willy Nilly

 

And the best?

Stargirl

The Book Thief

The Knife of Never Letting Go

 

And as you couldn’t see but could probably guess, my favorites sprang to mind and were typed out much quicker than the bad titles. The good ones certainly stick with me while the bad ones fade to black.

But I can tap them out all the same because I’ve read every word of them. I’ve analyzed their metaphors, I’ve caught their drifts, I’ve found their extensive typos. And so I am able to make an informed opinion about their excellence or mediocrity.

Of course, I know what you’re thinking, what’s the point of reading a book that isn’t very good? That you hate, even?

The short answer? Because it has something to teach you. The long answer? It teaches you empathy. When you read a small bit of a book, you’re only getting one side of the coin, a spoonful of the truth. When you read the entire thing, you suddenly know what the weaknesses and strengths of any character in it are. And you can defend or condemn them as easily as you want. (A skill you can translate to reality, too.)

But really, reading an entire book is having the ability to say I know the shape of another human being’s soul. And I have not played God/Higher Being/Morgan Freeman by passing judgment on it until the very end. Which is the only thing that any of us can really hope for when we truly bare ourselves to an audience.

Liar, Liar

Bailey Gunn1 Comment

I am an awful, terrible, no-good, bad liar.

(Now, I understand that you think that I could be testing you by saying this–by saying that I am a terrible liar when I’m really not. But I’d like to assure you that I am a bad liar, and you’re just going to have to take my word for it, which I understand, is suspicious.)

The problem is that I have a glass face. Everyone can see everything bloom on my face like a dark cloud in a bright sky. And I realize that. So, I can feel my lies disintegrating when people look into my face. Heck, I’m even easy to spot on social media. (Nothing is worse than an insincere emoji.)

So, how do I get around lying? Mostly, I tell the truth. Which has its advantages and disadvantages, depending on the situation. But mostly, it’s good. I don’t have to remember what I’ve told someone, and I don’t have to believe my own lies. (No, really, Bailey, you totally won’t eat another cookie. That was definitely your last one.)

Where it becomes a really bad problem is in writing–especially fiction. The people who write the best fiction are exceptionally good “liars,” in a sense, because they are capable of incorporating tons and tons and tons of imaginary detail into a life they’ve already made up. Lies built on lies. And they believe themselves and so they know their characters. And, as you already know, lies make terribly good stories.

Now, this frustrated me. Because how am I supposed to become a great writer if I can’t lie? Even about made up things? Even when it won’t hurt anyone’s feelings?

I’ve thankfully found a solution. I’ve found that when I write, I’m still lying, but I’m actually getting closer to the truth. Think about it. Writers may be making things more beautiful, more real, more relatable, but we’re only distilling the truth and showing the world what it really is through lovely descriptions. We’re not really inventing anything–every story has been told at least twice. We’re just reimagining what we encounter and see everyday, giving it new dimensions. True lies can become tangled, but truth is the web itself, a perfectly organized system that will only betray you if you betray it.

In the end, I don’t really need to lie. I simply need to lie closer to the truth.