whats the point of no return...

So, just out of curiosity, at what point are you supposed to open up to someone. At what point are they supposed to see past the face value bullshit and know the real you. Ok, so maybe some people allow the true them to show at all times, from day one. I'm not saying that I have an issue with this, but there are things about me people are unaware of. Its not because I am scared of admitting these things, but rather, I am unsure of when is the most appropriate time to bring up more personal subjects. And is there really an appropriate time, or do I just miss the segue in normal conversations with a significant other that can lead to more in depth topics.

For instance, I have 2 big fears in my life. They have absolutely nothing to do with monetary happiness or success in my job. I know I will do well in both of those arena's, mainly because I am a workaholic and will go through every possible facet in order to be the best and move up the quickest. And in terms of monetary happiness, when you are cheap, and you will always have dinero, at least that is my opinion, and plus, I have a strong relationship with Goodwill Industries.

So for me, my two fears are that, one, I will not find someone to accept me for the forever aspect. Maybe, this is because I don't put out the vibe that a I am ready and willing for commitment and maybe its because my fear that someone will not accept all the positives and negatives about me, and this inhibits me from disclosing all the personal information about myself that allows others to get in my inner circle. I do realize that I have to have a certain aura about me, but I'm fairly certain no matter how ready I am I will never have that aura. I have always said that I never had issues getting the guy, but never had the appeal to keep them around once the honeymoon/physical chemistry subsided. To be honest, maybe only twice in my life have I a been completely honest about who I really am. Once ended due to irreconcilable difference and there are no ill feelings.
Anyone is able to sabotage their own relationship, and I have come to the determination that I have a very high success rate at sabotaging relationships. At times, I believe others are unable to see past the face value.....hello, its their fault not mine. Classic single girl response. But really, why should I want anything to do with someone that can only see me for exactly what I present, shouldn't I want that person that see's more, that is able to look past the physical aspects or the image that I portray. I'm a balla... I know this, thus everyone else should know this.
Secondly, I'm petrified of being a good mother one day. Actually, I'm just petrified of being a mom in general. I don't get that warm, fuzzy feeling at the thought of being a mom. In hindsight, I'd rather take a butter knife and slowly disseminate my carodit artery while shoving a cold ice pic in my eye at the same time. Graphic...maybe. Really, you are trusting the life of another human being in my hands and expecting me to raise it to be a decent human being. It would be a well dressed object, but decent human...I think not. I'm fairly certain that I do not have that mother instinct....heck, I have a tendency of making babies and small animals cry. I am not only scared of raising something to be a just human being, but how do I do this and work at the same time. I can barely focus on fixing my own hair in the morning and you expect me to make sure something goes to school with matching shoes on it's feet. Teachers will hate me, I may even have the smelly kid one day whose name is Euripides because I decided that even if he was old and had the IQ of a 2 year old at least he would have a noble name. I'll give him a nickname, just so the kids won't call him a freak in attempt to protect his social development, but no doubt he will be scarred for life. To some extent, this could make me a good mom, I mean isn't part of growing up being completely scarred by something that happened in the forefront of you cognitive and social development. I was called Pippy, and told I was fat by some dumb boy on the school bus. At least now my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard now.

I'm fairly certain my quarterlife crisis is going to sabotage the rest of my life...

If I could write a parody of my life...

Why I will never be Britney Spears.

Yes, I am legit in saying this. In my mind, I was Britney Spears in a past life. Beyonce was my best friend. Miley Cyrus was my arch enemy. Do not try to discourage me in thinking this. Whenever my Ipod switches to "Womanizer" I feel as if this is the ultimate homage. But as many times as I have attempted to sing, I fail miserably. Inside there is this inner performer that wishes to break free, walk on stage scantily clad with a python wrapped around my neck while wearing 5 in heels. Like Britney Spears, I, too, am from small town USA where wearing cutoff Levi's, putting your kid on a leash is appropriate, and 17 year olds like Jamie Lynn have nothing better to do than get pregnant. While looking at Britney from this perspective, I should probably aspire to be more like Carrie Underwood, but she's sweet and wholesome and only sings of taking a Louisville Slugger to someone's car. Britney...is nuts. She broke out her entire career on the edge. She went from cute little Mickey Mouse Club and took the Catholic schoolgirl persona to a whole new level and parents questioned her, then busted out this red leather jump suit singing about the diamond from the Titanic. Miley tried to trump this buy posing naked in a magazine....well she did have a towel around her, but she still doesn't have it. She formally apologized for the image she portrayed. Britney and Christina have already been the once sweet, little Disney characters turned skanks of pop music, theres no place for you in this game of life Miley, so continue with your Hoedown Throwdown (which secretly I love). When Britney drove with her baby sitting in her lap, and bashed in K-Feds truck with a baseball bat, then shaved all her hair off, did she apologize..no! This is not One Republic, and there is no reason to apologize when everyone already knows your nuts. Can she actually sing, slightly, in the pop music world. She will never be able to sing with the likes of Aretha, singing with soul. Can she dance, slightly, in the I should have a stripper pole in my house and crawl across the floor with heavy black eyeliner/mascara duo swinging my wet wavy hair. As for me, I can only continue to dream.

Reasons this will never happen. I am tone death. Horribly tone death. As in, I make dogs cry. And I have no idea what pitchy means. I watch American Idol, and get confused when Randy always says pitchy, because I think the song sounded great. Is a falsetto a pitch, or a note in a song? I don't know the difference between a tenor and alto, except I know I am not a soprano. I learned this at Bible Camp, where half the girls could use this sweet little voice and hit soft high notes. I could not. I am not soft. Or Sweet. Nor can I dance. I am the epitome of white girl. The girl that in a club all the black girls talk about because she thinks she cool, and smooth on the dance floor, when in actuality all I'm doing is moving my hips in an obnoxious manner and rocking my head in a motion that makes me think I look sexy. What I do have, though, is stage presence. Granted, I have never been on a stage because some asshole would boo me off, or I would make a scene that is straight out of P.S I Love you and would fall off and break my nose. So I have deemed the inside of my 12 year old pick up truck as my stage, as well as, my bathroom with my bottle of hairspray as my microphone. I have fine tuned my facial expressions and know just when to put my arm in the air during the powerful part of the song and then bring it back to my chest with my fist and eyes closed. And, during an angry song how make my face mean and put the gusto behind the words. I have no ability to dress remotely close to Britney, except I do own cowboy boots. A. No body wants to see the extra baggage that is really going on. I don't wear tight form fiting clothing unless I have previously determined my baggage is well hidden. And yes, girls know how to hide their flaws. B. I have to strong of a friendship with JCrew and GAP and it is very difficult to skank up a cardigan. C. My mother would slap me.

So, when all is said and done, even though Britney is my homegirl, my lack of singing and skanky dancing ability enables Britney to retain the homecourt advantage. Plus, I'm not that physcotic....and not on mood stabilizer ... yet.

the bermuda triangle of vegetables

Why brussel sprouts changed my life.

Really, who decided one day, "Hey, I think I'm just going to pick this little cabbage looking shrub out of the ground and eat away". Brussel sprouts are not the only food I feel such disdain towards. Mushrooms hit fairly high on that list as well. Gah, the thought that some divine individual felt the need to eat this little dirty object that has no smell, essentially no taste raw, and has a slimy texture when cooked....I still refuse to eat them cooked. Oyster as well.

Obviously, I have a complex about food. I am not picky but the texture and visual appeal of a food completely outweighs the actual taste. I didn't eat a mushroom until I was 22, avacado and sushi until 23, smoked salmon less than 3 weeks ago, and have refused to eat oysters since my mother shoved this slimy, steamed, vinegar covered, mucous that just fell out of my snotty kid nose looking object down my throat. Oh! The damage that one oyster did to me.In my mind, I remember her holding my nose and telling me to just eat, but she would claim I was willing...she lies, all mother distort facts about the tramatic moments from you childhood. I think it's mother code.. they have to. Ok, back to the snot....the feeling still sends shivers down my spine at the thought of cracking open this shell that can grow a beautiful pearl and sucking out the mucous. It bothers me that this same shell can harvest something that looks like snot and I have to eat. I'd almost rather swallow my own snot when I'm sick...ok, maybe that was excessive, but you see the point.

So, brussel sprouts. They are small, green objects, that closely resemble cabbage. They have 45 calories and 8g protien in six. A good source of fiber and all this other nonsense. But they are still these scary green objects. Movies, commercials, and tv shows instill a fear of these in younglings by always showing images of children feeding them to the dog or spitting them out in their napkin. And for me, that moment occured while watching America's Funniest Home Video's...the old school Bob Saget one with the bad voiceovers...where this redheaded girl with thick bangs was throwing her brussel sprouts in the trash and lying to her parents about them. I didn't know this girl, but I immediately identified with her and decided I would hate them as well. I, too, had a thick mange of red hair, and, at times, lied to my parents about my brothers; her and I were destined to be bff's. So, ultimately, I refused to come near them, or even acknowledge thier vegetable existense in the food pyrmiad. In my mind, they only existed in the vegetable equivalent of the Bermuda Triangle, where things go but never come back.

And then (insert the dun dun dun) three days ago, as I am leaving the gym, I decide make my way to the local Kroger, more vegetable friendly than Food Lion, in search of Spinach salad, avacodo, raw mushrooms, and cucumbers to make a quaint little dinner. I aquire the ingredients and begin perusing the aisles for other delicacies. I stumble upon the frozen vegetables, I lock eyes with this bag of Brussel Sprouts, I give it the stank eye, and I walk away. Then, I stumble upon another bag and we lock eyes again. In this split second, I decided to slip on my big girl, unnamed, non victoria secret panties and dive into the unknown abyss. Next thing I know, as if Satan overcame me, the scary baby cabbage is in my basket, being scanned, and then ...being paid for....with my own money.

So, here I am standing in my kitchen, with this bag of grossness, that I have no idea how to cook. I take the easy way....microwave. Someone should be playing the Rocky theme song right now. 7 minute countdown begins and movie quotes are running rampant in my head :

Minute 7: "man down, man down, run for cover"

Minute 6: "This is no democracy. It's a dictatorship. I am the law"

Minute 5: "Boobie traps"

Minute 4: "Someone didn't love you enough when you were little did they?"

Minute 3: "I may have been bad. I may have kept you chained up in that room, But it was for your own good."

Minute 2: down to the wire.

Minute 1: "The key to change is to let go of fear"

Minute 0: Ding

The life changing defining moment has come. I take the bowl out, disperse of the water, grab the salt and pepper determined these two seasoning can over power any terrible flavor. Stare, eye to eye, woman to sprout, and stick my fork into its center, close my eyes, suck in fast, open my mouth, refuse to breathe, chew, let all the flavors arouse themselves, and swallow. And now I can say TOTAL DOMINATION!

Now, for the culminating moment....brussel sprouts are this shit! ( w/o the salt and pepper they could have been bad, but I will never know) And how this changed my life....for so long this was the last food I adamantly refused to try, and now.... on my own, I have overcome my fear of baby cabbage.

I will never eat snot though. Or fried snot. Or stewed snot. Oyster's = snot. Forever.