Tag: humor

Anti Book List

Bailey Gunn2 Comments

You know what random thought I had today? I’ll tell you. But you have to promise to remember that these are my opinions because it’s my blog. Got it? Good.

I thought about why does everyone talk about their favorite book? Oh you just have to read (blank)! It’s my favoriiiite. You’ll never guess the ending! Ok, ok I’ll tell you! It’s …

Which is great and fine. But have you ever met someone who hated the same person you did? How strong was your bond over the person you both hated? Like a bundle of sticks: unbreakable!

So, I’m going to tell you my 4 LEAST favorite books of all time, and you can thank me for it so that you can steer clear of them. You’re so welcome. It’s like anti good reads (which I’m not sure why no one has thought of that yet.)

4. The Last Days of Magic

– I was literally shaking my head over this book the entire time I was reading it. It was a complete information dump with absolutely no plot and a terrible ending. I was expecting the best because it was about Irish folklore (my sweet spot) but it read more like a dictionary than a novel. Do not recommend.

3. Catcher in the Rye

– Who is this whiny kid and why do so many English teachers stand by him? Listen, if I wanted to hear someone curse and act childish, I’d watch home videos of myself. Is there anything else that I’m supposed to feel other than frustrated with this kid? Do not recommend.

2. Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone

– Listen, before you judge or grab a wand, go back and read it. I promise that it wasn’t as good as you thought it was. I actually had to see the movie in order to pick the book back up again when I started it for the first time. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but if there was a way to understand the whole series without the first book then I’d recommend that. But since there isn’t and the books eventually are awesome, I have to mark this one as recommend with reservations.

1. Where the Red Fern Grows

– Oh. My. God. Who let this book be read to children?! I read it in the fourth grade, for crying out loud! The kid in the story saves all his money to buy two hunting dogs and then THEY DIE. HORRIFICALLY. What lesson is this supposed to teach me again? Don’t work hard, kids! Whatever you buy will just die after awhile! Ugh. Do not recommend.

So what about you? What books do you hate?

What My Mama (and sister) Gave Me

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I grew up with two fiercely independent, smart, and kind role models: my mother and my sister. And being the youngest, I was obviously impressionable. So I ate up every word of advice on life that my mother and sister could give. And for you tonight, I’ve collected my favorite memories of each of them. To celebrate just two of the women I hold most dear. (I’m laughing even as I write this.)

Sister, Juliet:

  1. The day we set out to hike and accidentally kept walking for 10 miles.
  2. That time you didn’t know how to open a champagne bottle, so you did the best with what you could.
  3. Every day you drove me to high school and let me listen to your fall out boy cd.
  4. When I kissed you on the head before you went into surgery, and you were thoroughly disgusted.
  5. When you would do my hair and make up before a big school dance but make me sit on the toilet, and you would exasperatingly say, “IM DOING YOUR MASCARA. LOOK UP.”

Mom, Ellen:

  1. When you helped me decide to go to Ireland by talking to me for 45 minutes about the pros and cons.
  2. Every time we go shopping and encourage each other to buy whatever we want.
  3. That time you came into my room with the vacuum cleaner to suck up a particularly nasty spider.
  4. When you tear up because something is so unbelievably happy.
  5. That time you changed your name to “Betty boop” on your phone and then called the pizza place, who then obviously referred to you as Ms. boop.

Thanks, mom and Jul, for being who you both are. And allowing me to be who I am. Love you both.

Sincerely,

Bailey

Hahaha

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Listen.

I know life is hard sometimes. Actually, most of the time. Ok, ok. 90% of the time.

But do you know what you need to do? No, not eat a spoonful of sugar, or sip water through a paper towel, or take a nap.

You need a good belly laugh. You need your sense of humor. You need a bright side.

If you’ve run out of options, then laugh. If you’ve taken a long look at yourself and you want to cry, try laughing. Try telling yourself a joke.

Like this one:

What do you call a wet baby owl?

A moist owlet.

Or this one:

What do you call fake spaghetti?

Impasta.

And so on. Until you’re laughing again. Until you’re smiling again. Until the world doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

Laughter. It’s more than the best medicine. It’s a way of life.

B****

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We all know one (or are one).

A b**** – A woman (a word mostly used for women by women) who is loud, obnoxious, arrogant, pushy, and bossy.

But have you ever noticed that women call each other b****** when they simply don’t like what they’re doing? It seems a woman can’t ever stand up for herself, a woman cannot speak her mind, a woman cannot call out the errors of others without looking like a you know what.

Well, you know what? I’m not a Starbucks barista. I’m not here to put whip cream in your latte and a smile on your heart. I don’t have to be nice all the time. I can be respectful while still getting what I want.

I don’t have to be afraid of the b word anymore. Actually, it sort of has a nice ring to it. (Maybe I should change the old blog name to b****dailey).

At the end of the day, don’t be afraid of what people think of you. Because at the end of the day, you don’t have to spend time with anyone but yourself. After all, there’s a little b**** in all of us.

OK, Universe!

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Ok, universe! You win!

The fact that BOTH of my shoes came untied as I was carrying an armload of things shows me that I can't control everything and that I need to stop trying to.

Alright! We get it!

I am powerless to unmake a mistake but I can make sure I don't repeat it. And I can take more time to correct myself before moving on.

Fine, universe! You were right all along!

My body is tired at night because I am fighting you all day long. I'll stop fighting and start going with the flow. I promise.

Ok, universe! It makes sense now!

I can only give when I have enough. I can't do more if I'm not taking care of myself.

Ok, universe. What's next?

A Little Patience

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So, last night I posted that I was satisfied and grateful. And I am. 

But I didn’t get there over night. I’ve been working toward that. Toward accepting what I don’t know and trying not to be upset when I can’t control it. 

And besides the seldom zen moments that I had last night, my life goes a little something like this:

Wake up. Brush your teeth. Ponder your existence on this earth. Wonder why anyone reads anything you write. Wonder why you haven’t written a novel yet but a sixteen-year-old has. Eat lunch. Cry into your avocado toast. Leave work. Come home. Crank out thoughts of self doubt until you go to bed. 

So, believe you me, yesterday was like one bright shiny penny in a change purse full of subway tokens. I promise that it doesn’t happen all that often that I’m happy with one part of my life. 

But it can happen for you too with one simple rule: be patient. 

If something hasn’t happened yet that you’re waiting on, it’s because it. Isn’t. Time. And you have to believe that. Because a watched pot never boils, and an impatient life is a rushed one. Have patience. Good things come to those who…

Wait. 

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?

Calm/Chaos

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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.

 

I Can’t Even

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Author’s Note: I’m sorry about the lapse, absence, and neglect that has occurred on this blog. It was truly not my intention. But alas, life happened. I hope that I will greet you with more regularity in the future. I say “hope” because that is all I can offer as of now. 

 

I think us ladies have come a long way from “damsels in distress,” right? I mean, we’ve overcome some serious oppression (which was basically meted out to us by the fashion industry that put us into those uncomfortable petticoats and weird shoes). Now, we can vote, wear pants, and think for ourselves (the horror!). We’ve burned a few bras and generally raised hell in the name of equality.

So, why is there still stuff we (women) “can’t” do? (I use the word “can’t” very liberally, mind you.) I mean it more in the way that why aren’t we taught to do all of the same stuff? Forget breaking glass ceilings, why can’t we rip down the curtain that separates the sexes?

Because whether we like it or not, there are commonly certain tasks that are simply relegated to the male or female sex and so are passed over when one individual is provided with an education, either formal or otherwise.

I’ve become painfully aware of this since moving out with my fiancee. I pride myself as a woman who isn’t afraid to do a job that is generally perceived as “man’s work,” or whatever that means in the 21st century (which is a statement that I know subjects me to the same sexist ideals I’m trying to fight.) But the thing is that I never really learned a lot of those tasks, or was really interested in learning them, for that matter.

I don’t know how to hammer nails, for instance. Not that it’s particularly hard, but for some reason, my father was always in charge of such things. Wiring wires and screwing screws. These were simply things that I had missed, gaps as sure as the holes in the walls that my father used to make. And if I needed to do these tasks, it was easy enough to ask him to help or to do it for me.

But that was then. Now, nothing on this Earth makes me more frustrated–feeling like I can’t do something because some type of biological obstacle is in my way, either real or perceived. (Men are stronger, women are more adept at conversation, blah blah blah). But what’s really bothering me is that I feel ignorant for not trying to learn. For accepting the fact that someone (some man, perhaps, although I’d never voice it that way) would come along and help me do whatever it was that I needed doing. That I can’t even because I had never wanted to.

And maybe that was the right use of wording before…”pride.” Maybe I’m just being prideful by not wanting anyone to help me. But I also think that it’s quieter than that. A small discovery of not my own physical weakness (I can swing an axe if I tried, I think?), but a weakness of the mind, thinking that I didn’t need to try and learn.

Because although I hate being ignorant, I hate being helpless so much more.

And so, it is high time to leave off the stays of oppression of my mind, in which I simply wait to be rescued. It’s time to let down the rope (or my hair, whichever is available) and worry not about ceilings, but climbing down off pedestals to have level ground to stand on.