Category: rants

The Lad From The Library

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The other day, while I was diligently slaving over an assignment in the school library, I couldn’t help but notice the young fellow sitting across the aisle, slumped in a swivel chair, and looking me up and down repeatedly. Y’know how sometimes you can just feel someone’s eyes on you? Yes. It was one of those instances.

Awkwardness was beginning to satiate the air as his eyes met mine and he realized he’d been caught red-handed. I’d resumed my business and continued typing my essay on the computer in front of me, but moments later, to my surprise, he was standing right next to my desk in an insecure stance.

He introduced himself and we chatted for a moment or two about school and other mindless conversational topics. Our gratuitous chatter began to die down, but before he returned to his seat, he told me that I was “too cute to be this nice.”

That is a direct quotation, ladies and gentlemen.

Hmmm. Let’s let that sink in for a moment, shall we? I was previously unaware that physical attractiveness correlated at all with how kind a person could be.

And what is “too cute?” I didn’t know one could possess excessive cuteness. This brings me to a whole new theme to rant about. I can’t be ugly, because then nobody will like me and my value as a human being will decline. But if i’m too much of a looker, people will think I’m an arrogant and antagonistic brat.

There’s no such thing as too much cute.

Furthermore, I was unaware that degree of cuteness an individual possesses were indicators of how nice said person could be. Last time I checked, looks have absolutely no influence on one’s personality or character traits. I know some dang alluring beings who happen to be the kindest, most friendly people around.

But, according to this bloke, I am TOO cute to be this nice.

Which means that NO ONE is excluded from negative stereotypes. Good-looking people, bad-looking people, doesn’t matter. Which also means that the lad from the library made a generalization that cute people are not nice.

That’s the thing about generalizations, folks. They are NEVER 100% accurate. They are stereotypes.

Who was he to assume that because my physical features were pleasing to his eyes, that I would be unfriendly, standoffish, or conceited?

I know that his intent was to adulate me. It was a good intention, sure. But instead of complimenting me on my appearance, why couldn’t he just tell me he thought I was friendly or easy to talk to and that he’d like to converse with me again sometime in the near future?

I’ll tell you why. It’s because society has turned its people into shallow beings. Had I not been a petite, blonde girl with a youthful face, the chances of this man even starting a conversation with me would be slim. I’m not going to say he wouldn’t have introduced himself if he didn’t think I was cute, because that would be an assumption. And you know what they say about ASSumptions.

So thank you, lad from the library, for verbalizing your admiration for my appearance. It was a confidence-booster, and made my cheeks flush red for a fraction of a second, until you added that second part of your “compliment.” The part about me being “too nice.”

Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to go figure out a way to adjust my niceness level so that it matches my degree of pretty-ness.

Yeah, right.

 

Wisdom

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I agree with my parents. I am growing up too fast. The time has come for me to endure wisdom tooth extraction surgery. I have never been more terrified in my entire life.

Why in the h*ll do we have wisdom teeth, anyway? I just really want to understand why the human body would be given bones that will cause the body harm and require surgical removal. The way I see it, the only good these stupid teeth do are give me a real good reason to live off of Jamba Juice for an entire week.

I had a “consultation” with my oral surgeon today. I put the word “consultation” in quotes because I don’t feel like I even consulted with the man at all. First, his little receptionist had me sit in this quaint little waiting room and fill out a pile of paperwork. The chairs in that office had to have been from the civil war era, I swear. Then they stuck my head in this futuristic-looking machine that revolved all the way around my noggin and took X-rays of my teeth.

After that, they showed me the X-rays and bluntly informed me that I have four wisdom teeth that require extraction and instructed me to take a seat in one of those high-tech dentist chairs that make you lay all the way down so the dentist guy can shine a giant light in your mouth and stick his fingers in there.

They made me sit through this 20-minute long video that informed me of all the things that could go wrong  with my procedure, including, but not limited to, death.  At this point, I was ready to vomit. Or pass out. Or both.

Naturally, I had my mother attend this “consultation” with me. Something about mouth doctors makes me transform from an 18-year-old young adult to a quivering, 4-year-old child. After the video ended, I looked at her from across the room, matching the panicked look on her face.

“Let’s leave.” I said to her, and began gathering my things to stand up and get the Q out of there, but to my dismay, the surgeon himself had entered the room.

What kind of sicko decides he wants to be an oral surgeon in the first place?

The man was literally in the room with us for 4 minutes. All he told me was no food or drink after midnight tonight and that my mom had to drive me to and from the surgery site. Oh, and that they would be using an IV to administer the anesthetic. My favorite.

That appointment did way more harm than good. I am now well informed of the many risks that can come to pass as consequence of getting this dang surgery, and I now know that I won’t be able to eat solid foods for a week.(Which is most definitely the worst news of all.)

Needless to say, I will be going on a late night pancake run at IHOP this evening.

I am one scared, little girl. May the force be with me tomorrow.

Wish me luck…

Measurement

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Who decided that we need to quantify everything? I realize that in some circumstances, measurement is absolutely essential. These circumstances can include building a house, baking, and all that mathematical crap they teach us in high school that we’re supposedly going to HAVE to know to function efficiently in today’s world. We have an obsession with sticking a number on literally EVERYTHING.

And I guess there’s nothing wrong with quantification. But then we apply that quantity to certain contexts and our interpretations of them are entirely skewed, and we shape our entire lives over these measurements. Allow me to further explain with examples:

1. TIME: Y’know, before the invention of the ever-constantly ticking clock, people got along just fine by using the sunrise and sunset as their method of time measurement. I’ll bet times were a lot less stressful, urgent, and structured back then. But now, we have the clock. The dictator that tells us how much time we have left. The circle on the wall or on our wrist which we constantly watch, making sure we don’t linger in one place too long, or counting down the seconds until we can move on to our day’s next appointment. Imagine what life would be like if we didn’t have such a definite measurement of time, or at least didn’t make it such a central, definite, and authoritative factor in our lives. I feel like I’m always wishing my time away so that I can move on to the next mundane activity I have penciled in to my stupid, little planner. I wish I knew how to enjoy where I am. The “right here, right now.”

 

2. THE BATHROOM SCALE: I hate that thing. Hate it with all of my guts. And yet, I am a daily user of that dreaded thief of happiness. By standing on that stupid glass square, I am giving it power to dictate how much I like myself that day. Those stupid LED numbers have the power to change my entire mood. Again, too much value is placed on numbers. I get that measuring one’s weight is important if her weight is causing her health issues, whether she be too light or too heavy. But for your average young adult with a healthy weight and healthy lifestyle habits like me, there is no need for a daily weigh-in. I know, I do it to myself. But I blame society and it’s emphasis on numbers and “ideal weight” for making me this way. So thanks , society, for screwing me up.

3. CALORIES AND SERVING SIZES: BOO. I hate calorie-counters. I have this theory that if we all just ate when we were hungry and stopped when we were satisfied, we’d all be happy, healthy-weighted individuals. Unfortunately, we don’t know how to listen to our own bodily signals. So then we become food addicts and eat an entire box of Oreo’s and wash them down with a big glass of self-loathing. Hence the need for serious attention to our dietary intake. I, too, participate in this nonsense. I use this dreaded app called MyFitnessPal, and it tells me I can only eat 1200 calories a day. That thing doesn’t know me. I always end up exceeding my “limit” by the time 4:00 PM rolls around, anyway.

4. DRESS SIZES: I’m talking small, medium, large, extra large, XXL, XXXXXXL, etc. Nothing says “you’re a human cow” like sticking a tag in the back with multiple “X’s” on it. What’s wrong with the numeral sizing method? I don’t even know what those numbers indicate, anyway. Centimeters? Inches? Doesn’t matter. All I know is that buying a size 4 feels much better than buying a size “Medium.” Medium is relative, anyway. This might be the single instance that I prefer the use of numbers for measurement.

I recognize the significance of measuring stuff. It’s a good idea, really, and a lot of our daily situations depend on our ability to measure stuff. All I’m saying is I wish measurement didn’t have such significance or rank so high on our priority lists and we just learned to let go and live a little.

Chivalry

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So I went on a date last night with a BABE of a young gentleman. We had a killer good time at my favorite sushi place and then catching a movie afterward. And this one even came to my house to pick me up! (My last “eligible” suitor did not have a car, which is totally fine, except for the fact that the reason he didn’t have a car was because he was living in a sobriety home and failed to mention that in our entire 3 weeks of seeing each other. That’s a story for another day.) Anyway, despite the rain outside, this young man got out of his car and ran all the way around to open the passenger door for me. What a gentleman, right? Right.

I appreciate the gesture, I really do. But really, it would have been faster and more efficient for me to simply jog to the car whilst covering my hair with my jacket (to avoid having a frizzy mane for the rest of the evening) and use one of my four limbs to open the door by myself. It feels awkward to wait for someone to open your door for you, and they always do that little jog before grabbing the handle. It would have been a thousand times faster and easier for everyone if I just did it myself.

I understand that boys are taught from a very young age to respect girls and hold doors open for them, etc. And I totally think that if it’s going to help someone out, or if you’re going through that door anyway, you should hold the door open for a fellow chap. NO MATTER THE GENDER.

It doesn’t have to be a guy’s obligation to hold the door open for a lady. Girls, we can do that, too. I know that this is a minuscule issue, but I find it quite bothersome. It’s a door for heaven’s sake. Pull it open, hold it for the people behind you, and then walk in yourself. That’s the most convenient, swift way to do it.

Y’know what else is annoying? Girls that wait in the car for the guy to walk all the way around and open their door for them just to get out. Really? You can get out of your own car just fine when you’re driving by yourself. The only difference here is that the door is on your opposite side. So help yourself out. You can do it, I promise.

Speaking of doors, don’t you hate it when you’re like ten yards away from a door and some sweetie pie decides to hold the door and wait for you to finally get to it? Now you’re the one doing the awkward, little jog. That’s a separate issue, though.

Anyway, that’s how I feel about that. I appreciate it, guys. Thanks for being courteous. But if it is really that inconvenient and out of your way, don’t worry about it. I can get the door myself. I have two perfectly functioning hands with opposable thumbs. I got it. It doesn’t make you any less respectful of a dude.

That’s all for now.

Happy Friday, darlings.(:

Conclusions

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Seven days ago, I began my anti-makeup experiment in which I gave up wearing makeup for an entire week in an attempt to observe how much appearance affects the way people treat me. To my disappointment, I did not notice any drastic negative reactions to my not getting as “dolled up” as usual. The most drastic reactions I noticed were the changes in my own brain-the way I thought about myself. This experiment has taught me a number of things in which I have neatly outlined in a numbered list:

1. Wearing Makeup Does Not Necessarily Mean That You Are A Conformer: although the media places immense pressure on women in today’s society to look a certain way, using cosmetics to highlight and play-up our features does not mean that we are submitting to societal views on how to be beautiful.

2. It’s All About How YOU Feel: Personally, I feel like crap if I don’t at least have a little mascara on. Something about that stuff makes me feel more awake, alert, and ready for my day. I noticed how much more sluggish and drowsy I felt without it. And trust me, as a full-time college student with a job, I am already a hopeless victim of energy deficit as it is. So I will resume my ritual of minimal eye makeup application.

3. Makeup Helps Reduce Negative Self-Talk: I’m not just saying this in regard to appearance. I am guilty of excessive insults toward myself, in virtually every aspect of my life. So if I can make myself look a way that is visually satisfying to ME, I will. It helps me be a little nicer to myself at least when I look in the mirror.

4. The Only Person You Need To Impress Is You: Seriously. Who cares if your sister thinks you’re wearing too much makeup? If YOU feel pretty, shut her up and keep doing what you’re doing. You are not here to impress the people around you. Screw ’em. You don’t need that kind of negativity in your life. Surround yourself with people who like you for your entire package-including how you present yourself.

The bottom line is, it’s all about what makes you feel your best. Makeup is not bad, and it’s not a sign of insecurity. But it is also important to remember that your appearance does not define you, and that you are more than just something to look at. So don’t let those commercials featuring the beautiful models with the eyelash extensions and airbrushed skin be the standard in which you compare yourself to. Those models spend hours in hair and makeup where professionals perfect every little flaw and blemish, and even that isn’t good enough, because photo editors still spend hours editing what can’t be fixed with cosmetics. Let’s be honest, we everyday women don’t have time for that! We’ve got lives to live. So live life, be happy with the way you are, and don’t give what anyone else thinks a second thought.

That was loads of fun, but I’m excited to wear mascara again.(:

Have a good day, lovelies, and thanks for reading!

Miss Maddie

A Change In Direction

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I started Down With The Norm to document my observations during my “Anti-Makeup” experiment, but I have decided to morph this blog into a discussion of the world in which we live, including, but not limited to, my feelings on feminism, patriarchal society, happiness, and the point of living in the first place. Responses and counterarguments are encouraged, as they will force me to reconsider and strengthen my positions, views, and values. Thanks so much to everyone who follows and supports me. Thanks to everyone who has ever had an opinion, as others’ opinions help mold my own.

Stay strong, Monday is almost over.(:

The Experiment

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Hey, i’m Maddie, and I have a problem with today’s society. A big one. Society says that a truly beautiful woman is one with no flaws. A beautiful woman is thin, with big boobs, big hair, giant eyes, and wrinkle- and blemish-free, youthful face. Something like this:JLO

Now, clearly we aren’t all blessed with J-Lo’s perfect completion, olive skin-tone, and hourglass figure. Fortunately for the average women, like myself, there are products out there that promise to alter our appearances so that we, too, may be beautiful.

Maybelline-ad-1952

We are literally bombarded with advertisements promising that through the use of their products, we can look like that hot movie star, actress, or model that we idolize in the media.

It’s almost as if the less natural we are, the more beautiful we become. In my Women’s Studies class at Weber State University, we discussed how these advertisements display women’s bodies as a series of flaws in need of fixing, and then offer us a “solution” to these flaws.

The problem I have with this is that it doesn’t have to be this way. The media tells us what is beautiful, and we blindly obey and then conform ourselves so that society will accept us as beautiful. But enough is enough. I am sick and tired of being told that I should hate my body the way it is and that the only way for me to be beautiful is through the alteration and modification of my natural features by the use of cosmetics.

This is why I’ve decided to conduct my Anti-Makeup experiment. I am throwing down my mascara wand for one week. That’s right, NO MAKEUP for seven days. During this week, I am going to pay close attention to any changes in the way people interact with me- this includes number of “check-outs” (yes, boys, it is that obvious), comments such as “are you not feeling well?”, and also my own self-talk. I will be posting my findings here, so stay with me as we find out just how much value society places on “beauty.”