How To Lose A Girl’s Interest In 4 Seconds

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I recently quit my job of two years at the local trampoline park, which has given me an abundance of this thing called “free time,” which I have been using to expand and strengthen my social circles. 

I began hanging out with some of my old guy friends from high school again. These fellas are a year younger than me, which makes them seniors in high school. (May I just say, the difference in maturity level between a high school student and a fresh graduate is unreal.) These friends have been their own exclusive group for who knows how long, but I have only known them for about four years. 

All was well, and we started hanging out all the time again just like the “good old days.” I had dated the majority of them throughout the course of my high school career. Never seriously, but my prom dates were always members of this clan. What I’m saying is I’ve had history with one or two of these gentlemen. 

With me graduating a year before these boys, we had become more and more distant, and I had assumed that I’d left all this “history” behind me when I obtained my diploma. But apparently, I was wrong. 

One night, we were all hanging out at this one boy’s house. Let’s call him Tom. We spent maybe an hour listening to a couple of us mess around on the piano and guitar. Once we all grew bored of that, we migrated downstairs to the basement to watch a select handful of them play video games. Yes. Video games. 

I was reminded rather quickly why I had allowed myself to “grow apart” from these kids. They play video games. A lot. And when that stupid controller is in their hands, they develop the personality of  a brick wall, and about the same ability to converse. 

So there I was, bored out of my mind and laying hopelessly on the couch, listening to the sound of fake gunshot from the TV, when Tom decided he’d come and “cuddle me.” 

I moved over and gave him a little space to lay next to me. Once he was situated, I laid my head on his chest and continued to stare blankly at that blasted television screen. I didn’t think much of it, and decided that Tom made a great human pillow. Him and I began to chat a little and before I knew it, his face was right up in my grill. And he was doing that thing where a boy stares at your lips while you talk and then you just KNOW you’re about to get kissed. 

Over my dead body. 

I pulled away fast and whipped out my phone and pretended to be deeply engaged in an SMS conversation to avoid his gaze at my mouth. That went on for a while, and eventually, the rest of the group decided they were as bored as I was with those video games, so we decided to drive to Krispie Kreme for a late-night pastry. 

After consuming our donuts, we slowly made our way to our cars. As I was approaching my own, one of the boys drove his car right up to me. Tom was sitting in the passenger seat with the window down.

“Give me a kiss.” He said bluntly.

The kid driving the car smiled and said, “Yeah, you owe him.” 

Um. WHAT. What does he mean I OWE him? And how dare he TELL me to kiss him in front of his bone-headed friend? 

I realize these kids are stupid high school boys with a significantly lower IQ and maturity level than a sophisticated lady like myself, but at moments like these, all I can think is “What the hell?”

He pulled my arm down toward him and put his face really close to mine again and attempted to kiss me, to which I politely refused.

Haven’t talked to the chap since, and we’ve been friends for four years. 

What makes him think that’s okay? If I wanted to kiss him, i’d have done it already.  I was livid. So angry. All I wanted to do was punch him square in the mandible. 

Boys, have some class, and use your brains. Nothing makes a girl lose interest faster than ASKING HER TO KISS YOU IN FRONT OF YOUR STUPID FRIENDS. Furthermore, he had already presented me with the opportunity to mack out earlier that evening, and I had declined. 

I know your ego’s a little damaged now, but rejection happens, psycho. 

Grr. 

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…

Wander

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One of my biggest dreams is to go somewhere, totally unheard of, totally spontaneous, and without a plan. I want to literally lose track of time. Lose the phone. Lose everything but the shoes on my feet, the clothes on my back, and a couple bucks to get by.

This year, I refuse to endure yet another one of Utah’s merciless, endless summers with nothing to do and nowhere to go. I’ve been begging my parents to let me fly across the world to embark on an adventure in a new country somewhere, by myself. I’ve got the funding and even found a program especially for wanderers like me.

How fantastic would that be? To jump on a plane to a foreign destination all alone to spend 20 days exploring, seeing, and experiencing a whole new culture?

Here’s my parents’ argument as to why it wouldn’t be the best idea:

1. I’m a 5’2 blonde girl.

2. There is no number two. That’s it.

Now, my naive, teenagery mind says “so what? What’s the worst that could possibly happen?” To which my parents respond “neither of us are Liam Neeson. We lack the resources and smarts to come rescue you if you get taken.”

Anyway, the whole summer travel thing is a work-in-progress. Wish me luck with that.

Today, I was feeling particularly adventurous, so I drove my little self to the city to do some aimless roaming.(I am a self-admitted loner. I love doing things by myself. I’ve become an expert at keeping myself company.) I started at the mall, thinking I’d just mindlessly browse the clothing shops and try on articles way out of my price range as I usually would on a day when I have a few hours to kill. But then, I started browsing through Barnes and Noble. Let me tell you, I could spend an entire day in a book store, just reading the backs of novels.

Also located on the back of the book is Barnes and Nobles’ price sticker. Those suckers are the most discouraging, heart-breaking numbers to a girl after she’s immersed herself in the excerpt from a book. And I’m sorry, but $17.99 for a paperback novel is just plain ridiculous.

Stay with me, this story relates to the topic of this post. I’m getting there, I swear.

After getting my heart broken by too many overpriced books at Barnes and Noble, I decided to go searching for a used book store. So I set out on the streets of Salt Lake City in pursuit of a reasonably priced read.

I walked maybe two miles before finding one. And I crossed some very interesting, somewhat frightening people on my way. But it was well worth it once I found that bookstore. It was a labyrinth of shelves and shelves of used books. The selection was slightly overwhelming. I spent a solid two and a half hours raiding those shelves.

The Best Book Ever Written
The Best Book Ever Written

There were two young sports browsing the shelves of the store rather close to me. After a few minutes of awkwardly browsing the same shelves simultaneously, one of them finally broke the ice and introduced himself. We shook hands and immediately after telling him my name, he asked me if i’d ever seen the basement. I hadn’t.

He explained to me that the bookstore used to be a dance club, and that the basement still had contents from the building’s night club days. I asked him to show me, so the three of us-me, him, and his friend- went down into the basement and he gave me a tour of the entire bottom floor.We talked for a while before I decided it was time to wander myself back to my car.

In summary, today was a blissful, unscheduled, and spontaneous day. I made two friends of whom I may never see again, discovered a location at which I can purchase discounted novels, and lost myself in time and place.

That’s the kind of “vacation” I want. I want to go somewhere previously unknown to me and just wander. Go where the wind blows me. And one of these days, I’m going to do just that.

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

MissM5 Comments

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

I AM MENSTRUATING.

MissM2 Comments

You read that right. I am bleeding out my uterus. It happens every 28 days. It is an unavoidable part of female living, for the average female. Your mom does it. Your sister does it. Your best friend does it. Your aunt does it. So why the Q are we so secretive about it?!

I am fed up with having to hide tampons in my purse and pray that no one sees them while i’m innocently searching through it for my emergency chocolate stash. I am sick of not being able to explain to a male classmate that his mere existence is pissing me off because my emotions are out of wack because my uterus is doing its routine shedding of its own lining. I am sick of having to text my friend in the same class as me to ask her if she has any Midol.

Furthermore, I am sick of being on the brink of tears and having people be extra sensitive to me because I look like I’m gonna lose it any second. All I want is the ability to devour seven donuts without anyone questioning why I suddenly have the appetite of a cave man.

Like, I didn’t choose the menses life. The menses life chose me.

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 Confidence Killer

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Y’know, I’ve noticed that I don’t really spend much time thinking about my own appearance throughout the day. That is, until the mirror comes in to play.

You see, to me, the mirror is a microscope that zooms in on all of my flaws, and dissolves the features in me that I like. I use the mirror to spot imperfections and then try to cover them up. And once they’ve entered my awareness, they infect my confidence in even my favorite features, and I walk away liking myself less and less.

Now, I can’t be held fully accountable for the way I feel when I look in the mirror. I have been conditioned to define beauty the same way that the media portrays it, which is tall, thin, tan, big-boobed, with long blonde hair and a symmetrical, feminine face. And I will never measure up without the help of some serious cosmetic help. However, I am fully capable of changing the standard of beauty that I compare myself to.

There is beauty in confidence. Confidence is something you either have or your don’t, and once you have it, it shows. It shows in the way you carry yourself; your posture. It shows in your face and sparkling eyes. It shows in your genuine smile.

Confidence=Happiness=Beauty.

The day I learn to stop defining my self-worth on how closely I can conform my appearance to the beauty standards of society, I will finally be free of comparison and self-loathing.

After all, you get one body in this life, so why not love it for all the things it CAN do?

Attitude is everything.

Happy Saturday, lovelies, and go learn to love yourselves.

Day 1

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Judge nothing by the appearance. The more beautiful the serpent, the more fatal its sting.

– William Scott Downey, Proverbs

I’ve survived a complete 24 hours makeup-free. At this point, i’m seeing more pro’s than con’s to ditching the cosmetics. Probably the most beautiful part of it all is that I get to rub my eyes as much as I want to. And also, it takes me about 25 less minutes to get ready in the morning when I don’t have to spend time darkening my ridiculously blonde eyelashes. 25 minutes saved in the morning means 25 extra minutes of sleep, which i’m going to need if I can’t cover the bags under my eyes with foundation.(:

My mom questioned why I hadn’t applied my regular mascara and eyeshadow that morning, so I told her about my little project to which she responded, in the typical, motherly way, “you look like you’re twelve. But you’re still beautiful!”

I noticed that yesterday I spent a lot less time looking in the mirror. I didn’t have to check for smudges from accidental face-touches. After all, there was nothing to smudge!

Although I spent a lot less time in front of the mirror, I feel like I spent twice as much time as usual comparing myself to other girls I associated with throughout the day. I’d often think to myself, “man, her skin is so clear.” or, “her eyes are gigantic!” or, “I wish my eyelashes could reach my eyebrows like hers do.” I’m not going to lie, I almost felt a little bit inferior to other girls. I felt as though I wasn’t as “pulled together” as girls who had taken time to put on mascara that morning.

I didn’t notice any drastic changes in behavior of my classmates at school, to my disappointment. I went about my own business as usual, and the cutie at the front desk at the library even gave me the “nod.”

Things were different at work, though. Before I tell you about that, you’re gonna need some background information. I am currently employed at a trampoline park in my neighborhood, and we just barely got new management. One of the new employees that came with the new management has been making passes at me ever since he started working with me. But the instant I walked in to work, he walked right up to me and said, rather quickly and monotonously, “You look beautiful.” I was feeling the sting of sarcasm already and my shift hadn’t even begun. I made some snarky comment back and then went about my workday as usual.

Halfway through my shift, another coworker came in to start his. Again, one of the first comments he made to me that day was how “pretty” I looked. Now, this is a coworker who normally wouldn’t speak with me at all unless it was regarding something about work, and granted, he was only kissing up because I am his supervisor. But why do people feel the need to comment on my appearance, especially in the workplace? I didn’t recall asking anyone what they thought of my appearance, and I have to believe that both guys commented on it because they noticed that I’d made a change in the way I was presenting myself.

Isn’t that funny how the only people who even commented on my appearance were boys? Not a single girl I spoke with, besides my mom, even asked me why I wasn’t wearing makeup or whether I was feeling well that day.

I’ve gotten some awesome feedback from pals, so thanks for that guys! And also, if you’re feeling brave, join me in abstaining from makeup.

Comparison-Look at my tiny eyes!
Comparison-Look at my tiny eyes!

Trust me, sweethearts, it is NOT a necessity.