Tagged: love

Love yourself.

Love yourself. It’s a common quote. Type it into Pinterest and it’ll appear in a million flowery fonts with several thousand variations on the theme:

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Yeah, that’s nice, you’re thinking. It’s a cutesy dose of daily inspiration, and it may make you feel warm and fuzzy for a few minutes or so.

However, cutesy quotes fail to get to the root of the problem.

It is an ongoing struggle to stay in love with yourself.

There, I said it. The Pinterest police are probably on their way to arrest me.

But it’s a good thing to mention anyways.

Any type of relationship requires upkeep. We all have friends that have faded to the wayside because somewhere down the line, we consciously or unconsciously let the lines of communication go dark. It’s part of life. Sometimes you get into fights with even your best friends, or your partners or your family. Sometimes those arguments and irritations heal quickly, sometimes they take a long time to smooth out. It’s never effortless, however, because love isn’t effortless. Sometimes it’s a delicate flame, sometimes it’s a raging fire, but you always have to fed it.

You have the exact same relationship going on with yourself.

No, you are not going to spontaneously decide one morning that you’re perfect, and leap out of bed completely happy with every aspect of yourself, because life isn’t a romantic comedy, and love doesn’t work like that. You have to work at it, bit by bit. And no, I don’t mean you have to go to the gym and wear makeup and look sexy all the time.

I mean you have to make a conscious effort to appreciate yourself, and to not look down on yourself, and love yourself exactly like you want someone else to love you. And then you have to keep doing it, day after day, and know that some days it’ll be hard, and some days it’ll be easy, and everyday it’ll be worth it.

To sum, there’s a beautiful quote from one of my favorite shows (okay, it’s Doctor Who) that perfectly describes what I’m trying to get at:

You know when sometimes you meet someone so beautiful — and then you actually talk to them and five minutes later they’re as dull as a brick; but then there’s other people. And you meet them and you think, “Not bad, they’re okay,” and when you get to know them … their face just, sort of, becomes them, like their personality’s written all over it, and they just — they turn into something so beautiful.

Turn into something beautiful, internet.

Love you.

It’s going to be okay.

Some of you reading this are going to say I’m a sheltered pansy for this blog post, but I don’t really care. Take your high-flaluting options elsewhere.

I have a car. It is a pretty nice car. It’s a 2010 Ford Escape that I got with the gracious assistance of my parents and my grandfather last fall. My parents are helping me pay off the car because they are awesome and supportive.

Before that I had another car, which my grandparents paid for entirely, and every time it needed a tune up or a fix-up, somebody else in my family paid for it.

I’m explaining this so that you get a handle on how I felt today when I had to hand over my credit card to pay for a car fix to the tune of $463.03.

Woof.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – I am very lucky. I grew up in a loving, financially stable household where I wanted for nothing. I was (and still kind of am) spoiled rotten, especially because I’m an only child. I got a decent scholarship in college and my parents paid for the rest. I didn’t really have to work to pay for anything, really, until this year, and I half-scored, half-stumbled into a fantastic full time job doing what I love, while still being able to teach yoga on the side. I am probably that kid you hated in high school and (maybe still hate a little bit now) because of my blinding, disgusting, perhaps a little unfair run with luck.

Some of you reading this have probably been working your asses off paying for rent and college and bills and food since you were very young. You might be feeling equal parts annoyance and jealousy at my softness and wellbeing. Some of you might be shaking your head at my naïveté, having learned to balance a checkbook and pay for taxes in high school or college.

I admire you for your strength and perseverance and sheer grit, but this blog post really isn’t for you today.

This blog post it for the very few who might be reading who, like me, are just now leaving the nest and facing rent and bills and expenses and hard, long hours of work for the first time, and whom might be very, very scared.

Because you need to know that along with the fear of signing away that $463.03, and mentally checking my expenses for the rest of the month and wondering what the electric bill was was going to look like and yeah, a little bit of wanting to ask my family to help out, there was pride. Pride because damn straight that was my hard earned money, paying for my car, which I’m going to drive back to my apartment to eat lunch that I bought with my damn money and made by myself.

And it’s not play pretend this time, it’s not just for now. It’s life. It’s started. And now I know that the next time I back into a ditch into the middle of the night and bend my muffler around my rear tire (yeah, yeah, I know) I can handle it.

Hey, maybe my account is a little lower than I’d like, but I’m going to be okay. Maybe it’s a little sad that I’m having this realization at 23, but I’m having it. And if you’re leaving home for the first time, if you’re 16 or 30, if you are careful and smart and work very hard, you’re going to be okay, too. 

I love you guys.

 

DRIFT countdown – Conclusion?

Hey internet.

If you haven’t been following along, ten days ago I decided that I was going to write a short story from scratch and submit it to a national contest.

I didn’t make it, folks.

Sigh.

However, there’s a lot to be said for what I have accomplished over the past ten days.

Firstly, although I haven’t fully completed my short story to satisfaction, I did write a 6000 word piece in ten days, which frankly, I think is decently impressive. The point of the challenge was to get me writing, and though I didn’t finish on time, I certainly achieved that goal.

Secondly, the past ten days of creative writing has given me a much needed break from my usual daily slog. I have a ton of new ideas for things to write about, and I’m actually really excited to go back to my personal sloppy brand of satire. I’m seriously considering doing a week long short story break once every other month or so as a reset button.

Thirdly, I’m amazed and humbled at the show of support and love I’ve gotten from the WordPress community during this little project. I averaged 4-5 likes a day during it, which is pretty insane for me, and although the view count was fairly low, I really felt that the people reading my posts were actually reading and enjoying the material.

I’m going to step away from the story for a little while to get some fresh eyes on it, but I promise I’ll post the shiny, edited, in order version by the end of July.

Meanwhile, get ready for some awesome new material in yo faces.

I love you guys.

❤ Cassandra.

3 Craigslist ads I would reply to if I was a psychopath.

Guess what internet. It’s the long anticipated sequel to Psychopath Saturday. The first Psychopath Saturday was actually on a Sunday, but this is my blog and I do what I want.

These are actual, live, unedited Craigslist posts. They are all from places far away from me. Partially because I was too scared to look at the personal ads for my own area, but mostly because if any of these people read this, I don’t want them to be able to hunt me down.

hnw cassandra sherlock

***

hello – 20

Hey what’s up with it just looking for a good friemd to talk to and hamg out with so if that u and ur.young like me and want to make a new.hang out friend then get at me amd we can go from there anyways you should live close to *** and.be around my age and looking for a new friend to talk to and want to hang out with so if u want to get to know me then text me or email me and we can go from there *** six eight eight seven three 11 thanks hope o hear from u*** Note – I did take out the area code and location here, but if you are curious, click through to the original post.

Yes. YES. Starting off with a strong contender here. The creative spelling, the fact that they used the word “friend” three times, the inclusive of a phone number (!!!). This person is clearly a bold, entrepreneurial genius. He’s a rebel. He learned spelling and grammar (maybe?) and thought to himself No. I shall make my own way in life. The inclusive of a phone number speaks to a dangerous streak. This guy doesn’t play by the rules. He makes the rules.

So, yes, I may be selfish and self-centered, BUT… – 30 
...well, that’s pretty much it. Scratch the but.I’m visiting Craigslist as a convenient venue for meeting cool new people. In my normal social circles it’s the same people with different names, but on Craigslist, you never know what you’ll find.Before you start writing me – and I know you’re already having trouble resisting- understand that probably won’t write you back, partly because I don’t have time to sift through the torrent Craigslist produces and partly because I’ll have stopped caring by the time I get around to reading my mail.That said, you *should* write me because I’d like the option of hanging out if you happen to be cool or exceptionally attractive.Knowing that, you really should focus on writing something I won’t fall asleep reading.You should be open to meeting in person in the near future; if you’re too timid to exchange numbers, this isn’t the ad for you.Email me. Include an embarassing story I can use later.

This guy knows what he’s looking for. Cool people with embarrassing stories. Is that you? Probably not. But maybe. Try emailing him. He’ll write back. Or he won’t. He cares. Ish.

You know what women go crazy for? A man who plays hard to get. Someone who reminds them of their super cool high school boyfriend who, like, was so above caring, y’know? This person is cool and he knows it. He doesn’t even have to convince you. He already hooked you by the promise that he might write back. Or not. Whatever.

Baby Maker Still Wanted- 63

I am looking for a fertile woman to start a family. I’m 63, well educated, in good physical condition, and I think good looking (that would be for you to decide).You should be loving and family oriented.

I believe children should be raised by both parents, so if you think the father should

not be around, please do not respond. I am in this for the long run.

If interested, put “Family Time” in the subject line to avoid spam, or you will be deleted.

Thanks, and may God bless you.

This guy ain’t afraid to go for the jugular. He wants kids, and what he needs is a working womb. No personality required. Baby maker? That’s the endearment I want to be referred to by my man. He doesn’t even mention marriage. It’s the 21st century.

Marriage is so passé.

What do you think, internet? If you had to pick from one of these fine gentlemen which one would you go for?

The true story of the worst kiss of my life.

So I’ve been watching my stats recently, internet. Don’t you think I haven’t been.

These are the top ten posts of all time out of the last 82 posts (this is post 83, can you believe it?) along with their page views:

The WORSER worst date I’ve ever been on. 115
The true story of the first night I ever went out drinking, part 1. 103
Women’s Strength Training Anatomy – a review. 93
The worst meal I’ve ever had. 80
Friend dating. 72
Justin Bieber is not a douchebag. 68
Here goes nothing. 67
The true story of the worst date I’ve ever been on. 66
Grad school in memes. 65
My cat’s on Prozac. 64

Look at this list, internet. A lot of worsts. Dating. Drinking. Debauchery. And of course, memes and cats.

Predictable.

I figured today, given your preferences, I’d do a crowd-pleasing post about The Worst Kiss I’ve Ever Experienced. It’s a short but bittersweet tale.

Our story today takes place in a little pseudo-town called Govy (Government Camp). On Wikipedia Govy is referred to as an unincorporated community, whatever that means. It’s essentially a slap-dash ski town that has three or four different ski camps, 6 or 7 different demo shops, a pizza place, an ice cream shop, and a diner. That’s essentially it. If they have police or a fire department, you’d never know it (unless you were involved in a firecracker war with the dishwashers who worked at the Huckleberry in diner, but that’s a different story for a different time).

I went to a ski camp there in the summer of ’05 called MHSSC. It was a ski/ snowboard training program run off of the nearly mountain Mt. Hood (Fun fact- the hotel that The Shining was filmed in, the Timberline Lodge, is located at the base of this mountain. Awesome). It was a two week program where you got to train during the mornings on the glacier until the snow started to melt around noon, and then in the afternoons we got into plenty of debauchery and craziness and shenanigans like surfing and hiking and white water rafting and whatnot.

This is an actual picture of me from that summer, courtesy of Hubs. I figure if I put all of my least attractive pictures online myself, my family will have less blackmail fodder later down the road.

This is an actual picture of me from that summer, courtesy of Hubs. I figure if I put all of my least attractive pictures online myself, my family will have less blackmail fodder later down the road.

I was 15. I had, in fact, kissed some people. I had even french-kissed someone. I had bypassed the cootie contamination issue, but I was by no means experienced in the ways of love. Coming off of my first year in high school, I’d already fancied myself old and wise and had had my heart broken by my boyfriend of 37 seconds (it was meant to be, but alas, someone else’s boobs came in before mine did).

I was, however, not ready for the whirlwind of hormones that awaited me at Govy.

I met Murphy MacManus the first day of camp. He was tall and Irish and had blue braces and sunburnt skin. His voice crackled like feedback on a microphone. He even had a few ginger hairs growing on his scrawny torso. I was in love (probably).

Our whirlwind romance lasted an entire 3 days, which in summer camp time, is practically a year. He even let me share his headphones when we listened to music on his Discman on the bus. What we had was real. 

Sadly, it was not to be. We went on a date after white-water rafting one night to the Huckleberry Inn Diner. I bought us a huckleberry milkshake to share and a piece of huckleberry pie. To this day that pie ranks on my top five pies of all time (piemakers 1-3, you know who you are).

The huckleberry shake was so good we ended up ordering a second.

That’s where it all went downhill.

Full and satisfied, we walked down the street homewards when Murphy MacManus grabbed me and locked me in a passionate embrace, and what should have been the highlight of my teenette life took a rapid turn as his kiss deepened. First of all, he was about a foot taller than me, so he had to bend down at an awkward and frankly unreasonable angle. Secondly, oh my goodness, he used his tongue like someone trying to get the last little bit of peanut out of a jar. I mean, I don’t want to get too graphic here, but his tongue was in it to win it. Thirdly, I cut my lip on his braces. Fourthly, I was full of milkshake.

I pulled away from him but it was too late. His passionate kiss had triggered my gag reflexes. I spewed huckleberry milkshake all over my American Eagle flip flops.

It remains the 3rd most embarrassing moment of my life.

Poor Murphy MacManus gallantly helped me back to my dorm room, but the moment was ruined forever.

Ah, young love.

 

Puppies!

I’ve talked about my least favorite animal in the house already, Marmaduke, but I haven’t told you you about the stars of the show yet. I have three pets total- Marmaduke, who I’ve talked about in great length, Patty Mayonnaise, and Dr. Pepper. Dr. Pepper’s name is technically Peppermint so together the two dogs are Peppermint Patty, but I categorically refuse to refer to them in that way. Honestly, I generally refer to them as “D’awwwwww” and “Who’s a good boy you areeeee”. 

From top to bottom- Marm, Patty, Pepper.

From top to bottom- Marm, Patty, Pepper.

Patty is slightly older then Pepper- we got her about a year before we got him. She’s now almost three. They are technically half siblings from the same breed / family as our old dog Mackintosh.

With their great grand uncle Mack

With their great grand uncle Mack

They are Alaskan Goldens, which means they are bred as sled dogs and they are about mini horse sized. This does not make them as smart as mini horses. I think between the two of them, they could maybe figure out “sit”. On a good day.

Fun facts- Patty is terrified of heights. Peppermint is pretty convinced that the cat is a chew toy. They’re both pretty awesome pillows.