I have a passion for punctuation. I know all the words to Shoop (and I’m not afraid to sing them to a bar full of people). I cuss in front of children and old people. I have seen every episode of Star Trek TNG (three times). I read at least a book a week. I laugh with little kid abandon. I do not think your kid is cute (probably).
Contact Shine? Email shine [at] ishineoutloud [dot] com or Twitter @shineoutloud
An excerpt from a post I wrote about expectations. I think it sums me up pretty well.
I’m supposed to: Have a clean apartment at all times.
In reality: My apartment is forever strewn with clothes. If I know someone is coming over, it’s a mad rush to make things appear presentable.
I’m supposed to: Go to graduate school or medical school.
In reality: I want to be a writer. And I don’t want to go to medical school. Even if they pay me.
I’m supposed to: Want a husband and 2.5 children and a house with a picket fence.
In reality: A husband seems like a lot of trouble and rather expensive to get rid of once he pisses me off, children barely speak English and are usually more of a pain than they’re worth and the idea of having a child scares the bejesus out of my vagina, and I like living in an apartment and calling maintenance to fix my sink.
I’m supposed to: Make mature decisions regarding love and finances.
In reality: I’m still feeling my way through life and making the wrong choices. But my stories are damn interesting!
The girl I should be: One who walks through the grocery store with her healthy salad and bag of fruit for dinner. And a bottle of water. The big one.
The girl I am: One who has a cheeseburger, fries, and a beer. Possibly with cake.
The girl I should be: One who is put together impeccably, and floats around in heels like they were made for her feet.
The girl I am: One who’s usually wearing jeans or cargo pants (or a skirt and thigh high stripe-y socks, yes!), never irons anything, and usually wears heels for no more than 15 minutes before kicking them off in favor of her flip flops. My feet hurt, damn it.
The girl I should be: One who owns her own car and owns or is in the process of owning her own home.
The girl I am: One who is still driving a hand-me-down from her parents because she’d rather buy heels she’ll rarely wear or take vacations than have a car payment. See above for home-owner question.
The girl I should be: One who never gives anything away. One who never admits that she drank too much and threw up, or that she fell in the shower and busted her ass, or that she doesn’t have any food in her fridge that wouldn’t go on a hot dog (but no hot dogs). A lady.
The girl I am: Is a pretty open book. About her flaws and her indiscretions. Lady is not a word used to describe someone who ass-plodes all over the work bathroom after some McDonald’s and then tells the internet about it.
Truth? I love who I am. And I wouldn’t change it for anything. The girl I am is pretty awesome. She’s a good friend. She cares about other people. She will stand up for what she believes in, but she knows how to admit she’s wrong. She can tell you a damn good story. She will make you laugh through your tears. She works hard and plays hard. She doesn’t think she’s better than everyone else (even if she accidentally makes it sound like she does on occasion)…except Paris Hilton…she is definitely better than Paris Hilton. She can cook. She will always buy you a drink, and never expect one in return. She is generous and helpful, sometimes to a fault. She will punch you in the vagina before she’ll watch you hurt yourself. She always says the hard thing, the thing no one wants to hear. She’s willing to ask the question, whatever the question may be. She will listen to your opinion. She’s willing to make an ass of herself, pretty much any time. And she is a damn lot of fun.