my sister has an old navy store bag on her bureau, with some stuff in it (no, I don't know what kind of stuff nor even specific items. stuff). I'm 99.99972162% positive it's from here ("here" being louisville), but the bag has "san francisco, california" blazoned beneath the logo. as if.
looking at the bag from across the room, I was laughing ironically to myself ("ironically" is describing the laugh, similar to dick swiveller's three syllables, only in that case it was "like a fiend" while here it's "ironically" and just a self-deprecating chuckle). (these parenthetical addenda keep getting in the way. I'll do my best to stop.)
SO, laughing ironically to myself, I thought: if you live in san francisco, you're cool. like, automatically cool.
I wish I lived in SF (for more than just the cool factor, but there you go). (sorry.)
and then I went, but, see: if I did live in SF, I wouldn't be cool. if I'm not it now -- honestly, moving somewhere that was wouldn't make me. it. cool. popular. artsy. whatevs.
I don't really know where I'm going with this. it's not a pity post, to me, because I didn't mean -- I don't mean -- for anyone to come comfort my little ego. I just realized this and wanted to share it; I guess partly because I also have a sense that there are other people out there (though about 0.000000% of them read my blog) (AAACK) who struggle to be a "cool kid" too. admittedly, I suck, but frequently try anyway. (all I can suggest to you is, if the parentheses bug you, don't read them.)
worse, I'm not even not-cool in a cool way. < this is NOT a "bnr jk lol" situation where I follow up by posting a selfie of a gorgeous me with [pick famous person or grumpy cat or something that would automatically make me cool]. I'm totally serious here: I AM NOT COOL EVEN IN MY NOT-COOL-NESS.
that felt really good to get out, if you can believe it.
moving forward, this isn't a situation I need to rectify. essentially, I've been trying to rectify "this situation" (read: me) for going on 20 years now, and I think it's time to stop. I like what I like and I am what I am and that needs to be okay. of course, I dread falling into the other chasm deep and wide that contains those people who ARE THEMSELVES IN ALL CAPS and who like to make sure you know that they're beyond okay with themselves, so there. which really is saying, please validate me. which is the exact same problem at the core.
I don't want to have a problem. I want to be so focused on others that I don't even think about myself. who cares if my shirt is too boxy? or too long? or too plain? who cares if I don't wear shorts, or if I bought my jeans two years ago, or if they still don't fit around my cotton-pickin' waist because I don't fit in normal-people jeans WHAT THE HECK? -- does anyone else have that problem?? where your jeans need a belt around the waist and do the weird butt-bubble thing when you cinch the belt 150,000 notches*?
*another thing that makes me not cool
it's time to get ready for school. I can't believe I found the time to do this, but man, it feels good to just say it: to just acknowledge that I will never be a paragon of fashion and design. c'est la vie, amirite.
and this, kids, is how to solve problems of the not-successful-enough kind: if you don't reach the standard, simply lower the standard! tune in next time for 'how to pat yourself on the back' with your host -- in the twilight zone.
oh wait.
