Am-bi-gyoo-i-tee

am·bi·gu·i·ty   
[am-bi-gyoo-i-tee]
–noun, plural -ties.
1.
doubtfulness or uncertainty of meaning or intention: to speak with ambiguity; an ambiguity of manner.
2.
an unclear, indefinite, or equivocal word, expression, meaning, etc.: a contract free of ambiguities; the ambiguities of modern poetry.


Ah, good old ambiguity.
When you're single, especially, life can be full of it.

With recurring feelings of "Meh, I don't know, I *guess* maybe I *kinda* like ______ (fill in name of person here)," we go about our ambiguous single lives systematically categorizing people in our lives as "potentials," if only in the name of keeping things interesting.

"I'm in my twenties, damn it! This is my one and only chance to.... go out to bars! And flirt! And stuff! Because you can't do that when you're older! Or something!"
We tell ourselves, trying to justify our reasons for choosing the intentionally unattached life.

Days when you aren't feeling incredibly ambiguous about just about every person you meet/hang out with/flirt with/go on a semi-date with/text/Facebook stalk are rarities for many of us.

Are you just friends with ________(fill in name of person here)? You ask yourself quietly. More than friends? FWB? Do they hate you a little? Feel lukewarm about you? Want to chuck you out a window one minute and kiss you the next? Shit if you know! And chances are good they probably aren't too sure, either. They're just playin' the field, man! Keeping their options open! Just like you. Sometimes there's a sort of a mutual, unspoken understanding that the ambiguity is there. That neither party has a shitting clue what is going on, and that's O.K.

It seems as though we've reached a point in time where "anything goes," but with that mentality, everything is also sort of incredibly up in the air. Perhaps too up in the air. So up in the air, you've lost sight of it and can't really identify it anymore. What is that thing? Oh...it looks a little like a Care Bears balloon from a kid's birthday party. Cute!

Maybe this is only the case for people with commitment issues, or those who are the children of parents who have divorced (or who otherwise have incredibly dysfunctional relationships,) or, really, people who just have a flat out different point of view when it comes to relationships-- but even so, that appears to cover quite a wide demographic these days, wouldn't ya say? (I don't really know, I'm so out of touch with reality that I probably haven't a clue. I'm probably the only ambiguous broad on the block. OK no I know that's not true. Well maybe *MY* block, but not other blocks.)

At the end of the day, maybe a life of ambiguity is more of a choice than anything. Maybe the randomness, the wondering, the not knowing what will happen next is a lifestyle choice for many individuals.

With the uncertainty of not knowing also comes a sort of freedom (unless you get preggers, an STD, or a broken heart in the process. That's when things get messy.)

It's essentially choosing to live your life as thought it were a comedy/drama/mystery/action flick rather than a rom-com. Which, I mean, it is what it is. Some days you feel like seeing a crazy film that has you on the edge of your seat, makes you laugh, possibly makes you fart (wait, why did it make you fart?), and is just all around interesting all at the same time-- others you long for the steady laughs (and heaps of cheesiness) that comes with a rom-com. Or in my case, you really aren't all that into movies in the first place, and only watch them when other people suggest them... *BUT* you get my point.

I read an article from a former journalist-turned-counselor named Dana Goldman, and I enjoyed the last bit of her article that talks about her transition into becoming comfortable with ambiguity as it relates to her career in counseling. (Not to mention I can completely relate, since I used to want to be a journalist and have, on a few occasions, contemplated going into the ambiguous world of counseling) :

"Where ambiguity lurks, my natural tendency is to pull out a machete and start clear-cutting my way to a landscape more, well, clear cut. That's how I ended up reporting news ... and why I ended up getting tired of reporting news. When you can understand all the angles and curves of something in an hour, how much is it really worth knowing?

It's easy to be drawn in by the feeling of mastery that accompanies us when we do small things well. But I'm starting to realize it's more valuable to be present with important ideas and ambiguous feelings than to fully comprehend those small things. So, here I am, in class, in the world, ready to try and let the ambiguity stand."

Sweet. Baby. Jeebus. Iss HoT!

(Image from some freak named "magentafreak". She's on Deviant Art. Go buy her evil sun!)

I don't really know how it's already 7 o'clock right now, but alas, it is. I thought I got home at like 5:30? Then showered? Which, showers only take me, at the most, (like, we're talking, I'd have to have some major pre-quarter life crisis that I'd be mulling over here,) at most a half hour...So that gets me to 6....wtf 7? W.T.F.

In other news, I have had an eye twitch all day that appears to have calmed the fuck down, so that's good (though I think it has started in the other eye, now?) Thanks, weird stress responses of the body. Where are the anti-eye twitch meds at the Rite Aid Pharmacy, for serious? I'd so take one right now. Here's to hoping a balanced meal of coffee and pizza will somehow make this issue go away.

I've also got a lovely headache coming on too, so that's fun.

Did I mention I work outside/ in a stuffy, non-A/C warehouse in this weather? Makes a girl want to cry a little.
Sweaty, salty tears that would leave streaks of white on my face as they rolled down my cheeks,
Where there was once a layer of (sexy) dirt, spray paint residue, and general filth.

I also get the feeling like I am going to hurl/pass out when I come home, which is, needless to say, also good news.

And perhaps the best/ sexiest news: Part of my summer uniform contains one of the hottest summer trends. I mean you have to get yourself some of these or else you would be doing yourself a major disservice.

What trend am I talking about?
Why, mom shorts, of course!
What are mom shorts, you ask?
Why, they are like mom jeans, naturally, only shorts!
What are mom jeans you ask?
WHAT?! You don't know what mom jeans are??
Here's a link to a song my friend Andy and I did in '08 about MJs that might help clear that up for you.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z_mLH_OMrMg&feature=related

Apparently I don't know how to make that link click-able.
Sad how limited my knowledge of the intranets is considering how much I'm on it.
And how I had an online journalism class.
And how there's a "link" button at the top of the page that I tried, but the link just turns invisible when I view my post.

*BRB I NEED MORE PIZZA*

Ok, back. This is some honest to goodness good tastin' pizza. Could've used another minute in the ov3n, maybe.
Also not crazy about Tombstone pepperoni. Pepperoni in general is kinda Eh. I mean, what good would the Peps be if pizza didn't exist? Not much, not much at all.

Although it's a different story for you over there, isn't it, Pepperoni Eater? You're one of those weirdos that eats them from packages, aren't you? Well it's wrong, wrong I tell you. (Upon further research there are apparently Pepperoni Cubes, too? Sick. You know what those would be called if you took away the "epperoni" and "c"? Pubes.)

Anywho, I will include a visual of the trendy (they are trendy, keep in mind,) MS's once I have the energy to do anything more than strike a couple keys (or in some cases weird, keyless areas of my laptop where keys once were, but a certain feline- AHEM,MARLOW, HOW RUDE!- decided they aren't needed for typing, and would instead make for some delightful play-thingys.)

Other things I am capable of doing: Sipping on some Maxwell House, and shoving down some Tombstone pizza. These are the only things I want to do right now. Not add a picture of my butt that looks like the butt of a 40-year-old woman (one who is not Demi Moore,) due to pocket placement, length, and an overall baggy fit.

Meanwhile, all this writin' has me feelin' better already! Sorta. Still slightly cranky though. Ex: I just yelled "MARLOW, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?" at my cat since I heard a big thud in the kitchen.
Which I am realizing may have just been him jumping off the counter.
Do you see why I'm afraid to have kids?

I'm nice though. I swear. Just don't have patience for thuds. Or my dad smoking. Or boys. Or heat. Or......I'm gonna go now, bye guys! XX

Ashley took the free ColorQuiz.com personality test! "Needs to feel identified with someone or something..." Click here to read the rest of the results.

Crazy quizzes trying to tell me my life and everything.

Location, Location

I know staying in the same town, doing the same things, and never straying from what is comfortable are obvious barriers to personal growth--but that leaves a lot of room for interpretation when it comes to figuring out the best way to a satisfying life, at least for me.

For example, what does it say about me that I am once again living in my hometown? Is it okay as long as I am finding new ways to spend my time? Of course, it can be difficult to stray from familiar patterns (especially when you're once again living under the same roof as you did when you used to have temper tantrums,) but there are ways to make it work, aren't there? Or am I forever doomed to be ill-adjusted to the world by (more often than not,) surrounding myself with what's familiar?

Is moving away/ constantly forcing yourself into new surroundings at any cost, the best answer? I've read that our personalities are basically fully formed by the age of 18. Maybe that's scary to me... that the way I am is (for the most part,) the way I'll be, and I am in some way holding off on having to deal with others' impressions of me when I could just as easily stay where everybody knows my name (Cheers, anyone?)

It seems to me, especially with the internet becoming so much a part of our lives, that maybe location isn't everything, after all. I mean, if we're spending all of this time online anyway, then what real reason is there to move elsewhere? Well, jobs I suppose, but that's a whole 'nother one of my never-ending philosophical dilemmas....

Everybody's (Well, I am,) Weeking for the Work-end

Today marked another lovely morning of waking up to the mellifluous sounds of my dad yelling (his version of talking) about money matters. It has really become more of a hobby than anything. Listening to him talking on the phone, you'd think he was attempting to communicate with a partially-deaf person who was standing ten feet from the phone and had earmuffs on.

I tried calling about a position at a Livonia McDonald's that I applied for a few weeks ago on their national Hiring Day (where I think I saw a video online of someone running someone over with their car? I suppose that's one way to lessen the competition...)and the guy was extremely confused as to why I was calling. "Yeah, what you're gonna want to do is wait until someone calls you," he informed me. Thanks, but I tried that route already. Whatever happened to calling and showing interest and that being a good thing? I suppose that maybe since the world may end tomorrow and all, they are hesitant to hire someone on too soon.

In a few hours I am going to be going to work for the Steinkopfs-- They are nice enough to give me some work to do since I am largely without it these days. It'll be nice to get outside and work with flowers and plants since I am essentially a vampire, even in summer months (right now it's a half hour 'til noon and my blinds are still closed and my light is off.)

Saturday is my first midnight shift at the event company. Working at night just makes sense to me. Waking up early is not only not something I do not like to do, but at this point it is something that is quite impossible for me to do. Save those jobs for the people who can't wipe the pearly white smiles off their face in the morning, I say. You know, the people that ask how your morning is and buy everyone bagels or doughnuts and talk about how great life is. They need the morning shift, it's practically in their DNA.




Loverboy- "Working for the Weekend"
Yeah, in the 80s everyone was workin' for the weekend!

A Texan Flies Home

Well, in just a few minutes-- Most likely while I am trying to write this post-- My sister from the same mister (or in my family, I suppose the important distinction to make would be "from the same mother," but we won't go there...) will be arriving from Texas.

(This was as much as I was able to write this morning before I was so rudely interrupted by my sister who I haven't seen since Christmas barging into this house like she lives here or something! Since then, we have been doing what our family does best: Eating. It started off somewhat healthy, with veggies and veggie dip, then it moved to pizza and breadsticks (it's not a family gathering without a surplus of carbs,) and we finished the evening with carrot cake and coffee. Naturally, I have been curled up in fetal position on the couch in a food coma the past few hours and now I must try to make up for my lack of blogging this morning and rely on these brief notes I jotted down earlier to make a blog post out of:)

"Jovical"-- mom using words that are not words.
A boss who shall go unnamed grabbed dad's butt?
"As long as he doesn't try nothin' with me, I don't have a problem with gays"-Dad

...On second thought, maybe it's best I don't.

I go Boozin', He goes Febreezin'

Well, for the last half hour or so my dad has been going on and on about how much my room reeks of alcohol as he goes around dramatically opening all of the windows in the house and spraying my room down with Febreeze. It all got to be too much when I heard him gagging in the other room. Moi? Smelly? C'est impossible. Okay, not impossible, because I thought it smelled a little bad too, but not THAT bad! You see, my dad has (for the million and tenth time in his life,) decided he has quit smoking. This lasts a few weeks, tops, and during these short but sweet weeks when our house doesn't smell like $h*t (although it apparently still does thanks to yours truly,) his sense of smell is heightened to levels that he just can't fathom when he's on the 3 pack/day regimen.

I did get a frighteningly large jar of booze last night in Ann Arbor. I couldn't help myself, I went to the bar to order something normal, and as I looked across the way I saw that this guy and girl were sharing (sharing is the key word here,) a drink out of the most ginormous jar of booze I have ever laid eyes on. I've seen people drink booze out of mason jars, nothing special there, but this was a pickle jar. I didn't give any thought to how much the drink fit for NBA players might cost me, or how toasted I would be upon its completion, I just needed that pickle jar, and by god I got one full of Long Island Iced Tea.

It was karaoke night, and I proceeded to sing "Bitch" by Meredith Brooks, after which the table of girls whose table was adjoined to ours (and who were also sharing (sharing) a drink out of a jar,) gave me slurred "good job"s and said they were singing along. I recall saying something about sounding like a man, but I think that assessment was only verbalized to my friends. As far as the drink-sharing girls were concerned, I was a confident young lady who may not share her pickle jar ( despite the fact that it came with two straws,) but was indeed the only female to stray from singing Disney songs with a BFF.