Cats

According to http://www.aspca.org, there are approximately 74-96 million cats that are pets in the United States. About 42.9 million households own a cat (according to http://www.humanesociety.org). Of those 42.9 million households, 51% think of their cat(s) as family. There’s a whole industry out there that caters to cat lovers/owners. For example, the webcams that let you watch your cat in real time or even communicate with them.

I don’t have or need a webcam to see my cats (as I’m not gone long enough from the two of them that they and I should feel totally deprived of the other party’s company), but I do view them as my family. I remember the day I brought my mom into the barn where I took horseback riding lessons. I had wanted a kitten for a while. I picked up the orange one I was in love with, and a little black and grey one wobbled right up and arched against her leg. We took both (Colby, the orange one, and Jack) home. I remember our first couple of Christmases with them; Jack likes to climb Christmas trees. I remember making a scratching tower for them with my father. I remember. I remember. I remember. Which is why it will be so hard to say goodbye to them at the end of the summer. That’s why it’s hard for anyone to say goodbye to any pet, whether it be finding them a new home or because they have passed.

But it seems, lately, that I keep losing people. People and family that mean a lot to me. My sister and father both had mild allergies when we brought Colby and Jack to share our home with us. Now, my sister’s allergy is so acute that she can’t go downstairs for more than a couple of hours. She goes because she loves them. They go because she’s in pain.

They don’t know it yet, and I don’t know how to tell them. They just keep looking at me with these large, innocent eyes, and I can’t do it. I can’t say it. I like to go downstairs and see them all curled up, like furry, jelly-filled doughnuts, and see the slowly lift their heads and freak out because they think they can con extra food out of me.  Or maybe they’ll ignore me and stay asleep on ‘their’ chairs.

Either way, the time runs out, and I’ll have to tell them and hope they don’t think I’ve abandoned them. I just hope they know they are loved. I think, truly, that’s what we all want for our four-legged family members.

 

Evolution of a break-up (by The Dumped)

There was an angst-y phone call full of tears and excuses and words better left said. Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Therapy ice cream was consumed in quantities my waist-line is ashamed to admit, and I used more Kleenex then an over-stressed person during flu season.

A little over a week ago He dumped me. 

There are no good break up songs for women sung by women. All of them seem a little too angry, and I don’t feel angry. I just feel sad and quirky, and I want a song that reflects that without being sung by a man. I love One Republic, Train, The Fray, The Magnetic Fields, Snow Patrol, Matchbox Twenty, Gavin DeGraw, etc., but I kinda want a break up/mellow song sung by a female. It’d be easier to relate.

Don’t put everything in a box and burn it. Don’t think that will ‘save’ me. When you’ve been together long enough there are too many memories everywhere. Your home and belongings become tagged with trigger-warnings, and you stop looking but you keep seeking out photos where that girl next to him was happy.

You want It back, not necessarily Him, but you want It. You’ve been with Him so long that you aren’t You, singular, anymore. You’re stuck on the Us, the Them, the Team.

It’s not a trial separation. It’s final. You kept the stuff He gave you because you don’t want to see him or his family for a while (extra baggy sweatshirts are always a plus). Your friend tells you not to make it “Facebook Official” until you know you’re ready, but will you ever be ready? The scabs are continually ripped off so the scar tissue hasn’t formed yet. She tells you it will eventually be there, and it will fade. She knows; She’s been here, too.

So, for now, eat the ice cream, use the Kleenex, and cuddle with your friend’s puppy because it’ll help. You are You, and there doesn’t have to be an Us (even if you wish there still was).

Nice People Don’t Finish Last

**Expletives have been censored, but there is some offensive content in this post though it is not directed at the readers.**

‘Nice guys finish last’ is an over-rated, over-used, statement. Instead I would say nice guys are under appreciated.

Whether you believe in it or not there is this thing that exists called rape culture. It affects millions of people every day, and it affects men as well as women. Rape culture is the reason why nice guys will not finish last. Period.

Today, at a Kwik Trip, a woman had filled the tank of her vehicle with gas when a car pulled up to the pump along side the one she was using. She didn’t think anything of it while she was walking back to her van after paying inside the store. Two men got out of the car. One ran past her. As he ran past he yelled this: “Hey, cutie! I’m gonna shove my **** up your ***.” She stopped walking and stood there for a minute. She knew he only could have been talking to her since there was no one else in the parking lot but her and his friend, who stood with his back to her, wordless, pumping the gas. There were two options: 1) She could get in her van and leave, or 2) she could stick around and tell him his behavior wouldn’t be tolerated, that he was offensive and rude and his actions were disgusting.

She got in her van and left. She cried the entire way home.

Rape culture hit me in the face hard that night. I hope that other guy said something to his friend about what he shouted at me in the parking lot.  I hope that when things like this happen there is someone there to stop the harassment, threat of rape, actual rape, abuse, or violation that is occurring because it’s wrong. And harsh. And no one deserves to go through it.

Nice guys won’t finish last because no woman is going to put up with that type of behavior. No woman wants to be told that their body is simply a ‘thing’ with holes for him to stick his penis in whenever he pleases. And no nice woman will finish last because no man is going to tolerate a woman who does that to him or a woman who beats him down with words. People are not play things for amusement; they are not toys that a person can shelve when they’re no longer fun or thrown away when worn so thin they break.

Nice people won’t finish last because mutual respect is intrinsic; because they know that the other person is real with emotions, feelings, thoughts, and ideas and treats the other person accordingly.

Dumping On the Needy (a rant)

A word to the wise: there are about 7 billion people on the planet and none of them have the exact same personality or character. That’s pretty much why I don’t have a ‘type’ when it comes to dating. However, there are characteristics that I don’t like, and I don’t mean physical characteristics. But I hear one characteristic in particular from my friends and people in passing that people get dumped over all the time: neediness.

Excuse me, but did you just dump someone because they want to be with you? Because they want you to know everything about them? Because they want you to be with them too? And because they want to do thing with you?

Now, don’t take this the wrong way. If someone’s being threatening, stalker-esque, overly obsessive etc. (all of which are open to personal interpretation) by all means break up with the person, but don’t dump someone because they might be a little clingy. There are people who have pretty shady pasts. Maybe a lot of people have left them before. Maybe there were a lot of people with commitment issues. Maybe they’re insecure. Sometimes a person’s gotta be needy; sometimes a person needs a little extra attention to feel loved and desired. It doesn’t mean that they’ll be like that all the time. And if they are, then what are you doing to make them feel that acting clingy is the only way they can get attention.

You really shouldn’t necessarily dump someone for being needy. Perhaps you could first state that the amount of clinging is uncomfortable, but, personally, I don’t see a problem with some clinging. It at least shows a person that there’s one person who’s willing to be with you 24/7 if you let them. That there’s one person who wants to know all about your day and shower you with affection. The ones who love you tend to suffocate you a lot, but isn’t that when you go out with your friends or try a group activity instead? There are ways of alleviating the suffocation without trashing the person’s heart and feelings. There are ways of being nice about it.

But if you basically dumped someone just because he/she was ‘too needy’ and you ‘value your freedom,’ then are you really looking for a relationship or just a good time?

I would rather have a lifetime of needy then a moment of ‘just a good time.’

Validation

Whether they’re willing to admit it or not everyone wants validation. Physical validation, emotional validation, mental validation, aural validation, visual validation,etc.–most people like some sort of hint that their existence matters to somebody somewhere, that they are accepted and loved. One could link this to psychology and self-esteem or philosophize about the human need for connection (intimate or otherwise). One could also look at it biologically, but why not look at it in terms of happiness since that is the way most people make decisions (whether or not something will bring pleasure pain etc.).

My father told me that a good way for me to find tangible happiness was to join a local church near my college and work in the nursery; he said children give happiness because all they want/need is love and attention and care. In short, children need validation, and giving validation would involve me in another person’s life and bring me happiness in return.

One may validate another platonically, but how does that work in a romantic relationship? Because if a miniature adult actively seeks and requires validation doesn’t the adult as well?

Well, a relationship is a partnership, a basic agreement that the two will attempt to fulfill the needs (whether they be emotional, physical, mental, etc.) of the other to the best of one’s abilities. It’s a loose agreement and malleable to the relationship and circumstances the couple finds themselves in. As each relationship is based off a different couple dynamic there exists a variety of types of couple relationships, which means that there are a variety of ways that couples validate each other.

Validation is perhaps one of the most important parts of a relationship. It requires a person to trust the other person with a part of their character and affirm it, to express that it is acceptable and awesome and okay. It’s honesty and trust and truth; it’s love. You may validate someone with a hug, by cuddling, saying sweet words, joining him in an activity that he really likes but you normally wouldn’t do, or by taking extra time to do something special for her.  It really only requires one to be able to communicate effectively and its limits are the limits of one’s imagination. It’s a way of trying to make one’s partner happy, content.

Problems occur when messages aren’t received or are simply not being sent. When someone expresses that the other isn’t worth their time, effort, love, etc.–that their priorities are vastly different from your own–how are you supposed to adjust? It’s a heartbreak to be sure when one believes that he/she is not a priority, not important enough. “Could there be something I’ve done wrong? Maybe I’m being too needy? Maybe she needs space. Perhaps he’s just busy.”: the list of statements dictating emotional stress could be endless but they are all saying the same thing–I’m somehow not good enough, there’s something wrong with me.

If one is constantly giving and not receiving (or vice versa because sometimes there are people who have a hard time accepting  validation), perhaps it is time to take a step back, look at the situation, and see what is and isn’t going on. Perhaps it is time to have a conversation with one’s partner and see where one stands.

This isn’t stress you need in your life.The opposite of Love is not Hate but Indifference–to live in constant relation to the object of one’s affection yet fail to move or affect their life, their soul. To feel inadequate.

Total Organization isn’t Realistic

Every year I buy organizational supplies in the hopes that I will be able to keep my messy mind less cluttered as I progress through the semester. I have only achieved one thing: Becoming a Post-It product addict. Tabs, post-it notes, highlighters, notecards, etc. clutter my desk and leave no room what-so-ever for any actual progress. Sure, they sometimes help me find things easier, but it’s difficult to accomplish anything tangible. They might give me peace of mind, but they don’t allow me to feel as if any physical progress is made. I am told time and time again that organization and ‘neatness’ are mandatory for success in life, but is it really? I have a messy room, a messy desk, a messy backpack, an un-made bed, and look messy if not every day than most days on average. I seem to be cluttered and cramped for room, but I’m happy and comfortable. Sometimes it’s frustrating to find things, and once I do that frustration is gone, but I would contend that organization or being neat in all aspects of life are necessary. I know quite a few people who are successful in their endeavors that don’t have a completely organized life; I also know a bunch of people who are organized but seem completely dysfunctional. Organization doesn’t have to be the common denominator for happiness and success.

If you simply wish to organize your desk so that it’s easier to find stuff, then by all means go out and buy as much stuff as you need to accomplish this goal. However, keep in mind that organization is a life style because chaos is an addiction just as OCD is a mental disorder. When you slip once it will be harder and harder to stay focused on organization because you have to work at it. Whether you’re a college student, a hair dresser, an agent in a firm or office, a nanny, etc. organization–or lack thereof–plays a role in your life, but it is not definitive.

Also, remember that cliche “don’t judge a book by it’s cover”? I have a messy room and I may look messy, but my notebooks, binders, and textbooks are carefully highlighted and underlined, tabbed so I may better reference sections, and are alphabetized and color-coordinated so that I don’t confuse binders and notebooks. I may appear unstructured, but I prefer to prioritize the structure in my life. My academics are more important to me than my appearance and the over-all neatness of my room just as you might have a specially organized filing cabinet but a cluttered desk. All of my organization is done for a purpose, not just so that I look organized and ‘put together.’ Organization for the sake of organization is pointless; organization for the sake of a higher purpose is progress.

I don’t need people to look at me and see that I am functional because that’s a judgement I don’t particularly care about right now. When I get a job, my professional appearance will undoubtedly change. When I have children, the priority I place on neatness will probably change. For now, my priority is acquiring a Bachelor’s so that I may achieve a Masters and go on to pursue a PhD. I still know where all of my things are, and I know when and where I need to be at a give time. The extent of my organization only extends to how I wish to achieve academically at this moment in my life.

Call me scatter-brained, disorganized, and dysfunctional all you want because I’m happy. Go ahead and match your entire outfit head-to-toe, waste time making your bed perfectly, organize your dresser and fridge and freezer, but all my stuff is where it needs to be and so am I. So long as I accomplish that, I can sleep easy and so should you.

Phasing out or Rebel Child?

When I was nine years old, my family moved to Wisconsin two days after Christmas. I can remember movers coming in and helping us finish packing up boxes. The Christmas lights had been hurriedly boxed up, and the tree had been tossed outside like so much useless paper. All of the glitter and magic of Christmas was reduced to the last of the boxes strapped to the backs of shady characters moving my home to some far off place that I had only ever seen through the backseat window of my parent’s van. I did not want to go, but I cried all of the first five minutes or so of the ride to the “new home.”

I don’t know when my nine year-old self decided that it was going to be okay to leave. I’m sure we all have stories like that, the ones where one was kicking and screaming at first but then slowly adjusted to the idea of change. Change is a good thing. It can come through contemplation, finding a new job, entering/leaving a relationship, or even moving away from home. A part of being an adult is recognizing when change is appropriate.

So when is it okay for parents to finally relinquish control over their kids? Is it right at the age of eighteen? How about nineteen? Is twenty-seven too old or too soon?

When I decided to leave for college, I knew that I wasn’t gaining total freedom. I’m neither financially stable or level-headed enough to handle everything on my own. I talked it over with my parents and arranged the deal, which seemed simple enough on my part. The same rules that were in high school were pretty much still applicable but with more leeway since I’m technically an adult. So long as I don’t break the rules I can pretty much do whatever I want.

Relinquishing control is difficult, and it can come at a high price. I am still subject to my parents whims and rules. Others might be in the same situation, but the factors can change (i.e. employer and employee, teacher and student, sibling and sibling, etc.); wherever there is a power struggle there might be this issue. For example, my sister may have a problem with me and instead of telling me there’s an issue she might tell one of our parents. Said parent will then come to me and dole out an appropriate punishment for that particular action. Since I’m over eighteen, my parents have become fond of the phrase, “I would prefer it if . . . ,” which usually means “If you don’t do this then there will be consequences.” The underlying threat is what worries me. I know nothing really bad will happen, but I know enough that it will not be something I appreciate.

So, conversely, how are kids supposed to know when to tell their parents to let go?

I’m not a child anymore in that I know what I can and cannot do with my own person. I don’t need help in deciding those things, and I don’t appreciate having the actions of my body being ruled over by a sometimes condescending parent.Well, I’m sorry, but who do they think these behaviors are learned from? A learned action is not always picked up from some far off place, it is often times the child’s own home; human interaction between two people can most often be learned from watching the parents.

I want the magic of Christmas back, and it might sound childish, but I want to kick and scream on this car ride my parents are putting me on. I can decide what to do with myself, and I refuse to let them decide what the appropriate level of parenting is for me. In this case, I just might choose to phase them out a year or two early. Who knows?

Maybe we can’t all decide to do this depending on the situation, but we can definitely decide on how we like to be treated.

Picking Up A Major

It was cold and visibility was limited on all sides, yet I felt compelled to make it look like I was occupied by what was outside when my father decided to engage me in a philosophical debate about poverty the night my family picked me up for Thanksgiving Break. Snow seemed a better alternative to the challenge that would soon become the next grueling ten minutes of my life. Things wouldn’t get better if my mom joined in, which she undoubtedly did five minutes into the debate and then exited just as silently.

That is what happens when one “picks up” a second major. A while back, I wrote a blog about my first major, which is in English, and the disapproval and disparaging comments I received because of my devotion to the humanities. Well, that conversation is what some would call Karma. It’s difficult enough living as an English Major without also saying, “I’m a Philosophy Major as well.” People seem to automatically assume you know the answers to the questions of social problems like abortion, poverty, world hunger, etc. and they also seem to think that you can automatically tell them how to live a happy life.

No, I’m sorry, but I can’t. If I could, then I wouldn’t be in college getting a degree in Philosophy, and everyone in the world would already know how to live a happy life by now because there have been countless Philosophers throughout history.

But this is not the point. The point is that this is something I am genuinely interested in pursuing. Have you ever wondered if moral trends in teen fiction have a correlation with the moral/ethical decisions of young adults? Well, I do. Have you ever wondered if the symbolism of darkness ever played in to the racism of society? I have. It’s amazing that my majors actually seem to be what I’m interested in questioning, and the same goes for nursing, chem, bio, physics, music, education, history, psych, soc, communications, writing, art, etc. majors. The list of majors is endless because the list of types of people are endless. To condescend toward someone because of their choice of major is like condescending someone for the breed of dog they prefer, it’s just a difference of preference, of opinion. It’s not even something that can hold up in a debate. You cannot have an argument with someone because one of you likes broccoli and the other doesn’t because they’re opinions and you will never come to any conclusion except that one of you likes broccoli and the other doesn’t.

Picking up a second major, let alone a first one, is a difficult decision, and I don’t believe that my father, or anyone else, has the right to challenge me or anyone else because of that decision. I don’t deserve to be put on the spot simply because of something I like to do. Just like someone who has declared pre-med doesn’t deserved to be peppered with questions asking for medical advice when he is probably trying to figure that all out himself. College is complicated enough without factoring in the discrimination based upon major.

Whatever happens–whatever major you, your kid, or your kid’s kid picks–don’t discourage the major that is chosen. Eventually, it will be found out whether or not that person is well-suited for it. A heated argument or a debate meant to show a person how little she knows about that subject isn’t necessary. I think that, at this stage in a person’s life, the individual should be able to decide what makes him/her truly happy.

The Struggle is Real

Every year around the holidays my family buys a 1000, 1500, or 2000 piece puzzle to put together, pastes it so that it stays together, and frames it before putting it above the fire place. The scenes are always of beautiful snow on cottages with trees that don’t seem gloomy in their nudity, and there’s always one Cardinal or people (for a splash of contrast) somewhere in the picture. The one real theme that these pictures have in common is that they all look so well put together.

I can’t help but look at those puzzles and feel envious.

I thought the hardest part about college was going to be the course material, but I’m not even working in my major right now so it’s all either easy and boring or easy and entertaining. For me, the hard part is waiting, waiting for this huge life-changing experience that a lot of people come away from college raving about. I’m waiting for my “Great Perhaps,” as Pudge from John Green’s novel “Looking For Alaska” calls it. I wait for my breaks so that I may go home, and I wait on my breaks for the semester to continue so that I can continue to learn. I’m constantly in an in-between stage, and I couldn’t begin to say where I fit in anymore if I even fit in anywhere at all. I don’t feel put together.

I’m sure a lot of people must feel this way at some point. The feeling is kind of like puberty–everyone goes through that unattractive, gawky, and weird stage that’s eventually supposed to have some good come of it, right? Perhaps . . . My whole life I imagined that I would never make it to the age of 18, that I would never go to college, and that I would die before I could Do anything. Well, here I am, past 18 and in college, but I don’t feel like I’m Doing anything. Life just doesn’t feel as exciting to me as it’s supposedly supposed to feel. I feel like I could go out drinking and become some manic “partier” (partyer?) and never do any of my homework and always “live on the edge” and I would still feel the same way. I’m missing something, something big or small that must be right in front of me but impossible to grasp, like the fuzzy dandelion seeds that float on the air in summer.

As people, evolution of self should be expected, but there is no manual or field guide for getting through the experience. Change is a good thing, but how does one pick up the pieces of life and put them back together without cramming the wrong jigsaw in place? How does one put it together without pasting it and sticking it up on a wall so that it remains stagnant for all time?

11 Hilariously Dumb Fights All Healthy Couples Have

I had to re-blog this just because it is so true.