This week for Tara Tuesday, I thought I would share some stories about myself with you. Just so that you can get a better sense of who I am, and what sort of crazy things you can expect to happen on this blog.
1.I love puns. Some people are annoyed by silly humor, or humor that supposedly doesn’t take a lot of effort, but I am not one of those people. Silly things just delight me. Once, I found a website that was just for puns, and I fell in love. Then I spent the whole morning texting them one at a time to my best friend Megan while she was in class.
Megan, I know you’re going to graduate school or something, but trust me, this is important: What happened when the cow tried to jump over a barbed wire fence? Udder destruction. 😀
So I love puns, but even I have my limits.Some puns are a little too over the top, even for me. Which brings me to my second point for today:
2.Valentine’s Day. I am always single for Valentine’s day, but I don’t hate it like a lot of single people say they do. I understand the arguments against it, “It’s all commercial, you should just do stuff like that anyways, not just once a year, it’s terrible for single people, etc etc.” But to me, a holiday is what you make of it. Valentine’s Day is a fact; you might as well try to enjoy it. That being said, even with my love of puns, I still said “uuuuuugggggggghhhhh” when I saw these displays at Target:
Nothing says undying love like that cheap, watery hollow chocolate.
I’m sorry, this is going too far. I feel like this line of novelty gifts came from a notion that women need something MANLY that they can give their boyfriends/husbands for Valentine’s Day. Rather than find their boyfriend something they will like, you have to appease their masculinity, and get them HORRIBLE ideas like this:
Does this sound good? In any way? Didn’t think so.
By the way, I actually have every right to hate Valentine’s Day. I got my first ever heartbreak on February 14th, 1999. It was 4th grade, and I was deeply, deeply in love with a boy named Dane. He was an neat kid, he was born in Finland.
When I told my Grandma this, she made up the nickname “Stinky from Helsinki”. She did not stop making this joke until she died 11 years later, well after I moved to another school, and didn’t even see this kid anymore. Jokes do not get old for the Niendorff’s.
Anyways though, my class had a Valentine’s Day party. Everyone tapped a brown paper bag to their desk to collect Valentines. The rule was that you had to make one for EVERYONE in the class, so that no one would be left out. I was SOOOOO looking forward to getting one from Dane, and then taping it inside of my diary to cherish forever. Then when the big day came, he didn’t give me one. Everyone else followed the rules, (including the mean girl in class who HATED me) except for Dane. He snubbed me. So that was my first heart break. But I still don’t hate Valentine’s Day! Someday when I have a boyfriend I’m going to make him get me a cheap, kid’s Valentine. I won’t say why, just…resolving old memories.
Because that’s what mature adults do right?
3.Speaking of old memories, I’ve been a nostalgic person basically since birth. For whatever reason, I’ve always been acutely aware that everything ends, and that I must savor every moment before it’s gone. Even when I was a little girl, I would see my cousins playing, and think, “Someday we’ll be grown up, and this won’t happen anymore.
Here’s a picture of my giggling. Because geez, this post is getting depressing. I had a happy childhood, I promise!
So it should come as no surprise that I am a lover of keepsakes. A few days ago I was going through my high school box and I found this:
9th grade can be a hard time. Especially when you have a crush on a boy who turns out to be gay. The words “sorrow”, “tears”, and “crimson” appear a number of times.
Would you like a sample? I thought you might. Ahem, here are snippets from a few of my poems.
God’s pure child becoming dirty.
White blood turns to black
Tears of crimson straight from his broken heart.
He comes close an strokes my hand.
You get the point, the poem continues in that same vein. And believe it or not, I used the phrase “He strokes my hand” in a different poem as well. Evidently hand stroking was pretty romantic to me back then.
I love you
I’ll never say it
But I’ll always feel it
I watch you sleep
And I long to be beside you
Wait what?! Ok, lets make one thing clear, there was no “watching anyone sleep” in 9th grade. I did not watch anyone sleep. Also I don’t know why I though, “creepy stalker” behavior was romantic and deep. Blame it on teenage angst.
Behind this cheerful face was the heart of a tortured poet. I guess.
That’s enough humiliation for me today. Come back in a day or two, where I’ll share with you my second gym class adventure. Spoiler alert, I continue to sweat a lot.