A Seasonal Haiku

Roast beef, stews, and pies
Potatoes, bourbon, cider
Winter makes me fat

Split Personality

I took a personality test the other day.  The questions were of the usual personality test variety - lots of "I always" and "I never" and "I am" and "I feel".  There were, like, 500 questions or something, and many of them were repetitive.

4.  I am a happy person and always in a good mood.  TRUE
27.  I am a moody person and often irritable.  TRUE
209.  I am patient with others.  TRUE
355.  I feel frustrated at others lack of understanding of a situation.  TRUE
400.  I do not like confrontation.  TRUE
415.  I can be quick to get angry and will easily express it.  TRUE

What does this tell you about my personality?  Now you know who I am?

I am exactly who I say I am, and tomorrow I am someone else entirely.

I am woman - untraceable by tests, uncageable by categories.

Dirty

I like to mess up beauty.  I like to get clean things dirty.  I like to create chaos where there would otherwise be sameness.  I like to muddy the perfect. 

I want to casually knock over rows and rows of carefully placed dominos.  I want to kiss a perfectly made-up cheek with garish hot pink lipstik.  I want to fuck wildly on a well-made bed.  I want to smudge newsprinty fingers on important work documents.  I want to spill coffee on white linen pants.  I want to use the black crayon to color outside of the lines.  I want to fondle all of the sculputures and caress all of the paintings in the Louvre.  I want to chip my purple dishes as I wash them.    

I want imperfection.  I want faults and flaws.  I want snags and defects.  In imperfection, we find true beauty. 

Autumn Love Song

It smells like fall today.  Like Michigan fall.  Like Michigan. 

I love Seattle, but I miss Michigan.  I miss my family and my friends and the seasons and the friendly and the accents and the Lakes and the smells.  Each season has a distinct smell in Michigan.  You can step outside, breathe deep and know exactly what time of year it is.  Fall is the best, it's my favorite season, my favorite smell.  It's pumpkin pie and crisp leaves, tart apples and Halloween, thick tights and bittersweet endings, spicy bourbon and Friday night football games, family and fireplaces, chilly mornings and melancholy nights.  It's a little sad, a little disappointing.  It is without hope or promise.  And then, just as quickly, it becomes warm and delicious and bright.

This is every day during the autumn in Michigan.  It doesn't happen as often here.  It is a lucky day, an ever-so-slightly sad day, a day made for a glass of Cabernet, to smell fall here.  And then suddenly, there's that familiar tug, that pull towards the middle. 

No matter where I am, my compass always points towards Michigan.  Always my home, forever fall.

Some People Say It's Lucky

A funny thing happened on my way home from my Nutrition final today....

I was walking back from downtown to my car, and as I turned from Stewart on to Westlake, I heard birds chirping.  Then I heard more birds.  And then it was, like, a shitload of birds.  It was dark, mind you.  Evening.  And it sounded like I was in the middle of a rainforest.  I looked up, searching for the bird party.  Nope, nothing, can't see them.  Not shocking because, as I said, it was dark.  But seriously, they were so loud, and it sounded like there were millions of them. 

What was going on?  Surely there couldn't be that many real birds out and about at 730pm.  Could there be microphones in the trees magnifying their sounds?  You know, like some sort of art installation?  Or maybe they weren't any birds there at all.  Maybe it was actually some sort of Candid Camera trick, bird noises piped into downtown Seattle to make innocent tourists and passersby look around for dive-bombing winged warriors.  Or possibly someone was producing a remake of "The Birds"? 

And then, as bird shit plopped down on to the sleeve of my coat, I realized no.  It was just a lot of birds. 

Validation Street

I said to someone the other day that I "don't normally need validation" in my life. When I said it, I actually believed it. For some reason, though, this statement has been nagging at me. And so, as I often do when I'm obsessing learning about something, I looked up the defintion.

val·i·date   [val-i-deyt]

–verb (used with object), -dat·ed, -dat·ing.

1. to make valid; substantiate; confirm: Time validated our suspicions.
 
Now I realize what a ridiculous statement that actually was - not for everybody, but for me.  Of course, I need others to substaniate my work or my thoughts or my feelings.  Of course, I need confirmation that I am a marketing dynamo, that I look cute in my new top, that my blog is funny.  Of course, I do. 
 
Someday, I will be that sort of woman who is so strong and so confident and so self-assured that she doesn't need any validation from anyone, any place, any time. 
 
But for now, just tell me you like me.