http://www.purevolume.com/videos/astallaslions/pvsessions
Copy and paste this link to watch As Tall As Lions do a few acoustic songs. Unplugged, so to speak.
Now on to the subject at hand…
The Importance of Being [honest].
I’ve been hassled by Frank to write a new blog and since he is one of two people that have ever done that to me, I will comply. That, and I’ve kind of been wanting to anyway. Really, I would blog much more often if: a. my life was more interesting to people other than me, b. if the somewhat interesting parts of my life didn’t involve a tangled web of lies and deceit (more on that later), c. if I hadn’t had a total Harriet The Spy moment only a few weeks ago in relation to blogging (more on that later too).
FYI: I just added “blog” and “blogging” to my Word dictionary (finally). Take that Webster’s and Microsoft. Live in the now. Or maybe, if I actually downloaded all of those updates that my computer keeps prompting me to apply, it would’ve already been added automatically. But still.
My life is not interesting. I mean, it is, but usually only to me. Even then, the interesting parts that do not fit into clever little stories that I can act out usually get tossed out. More often than not (especially within the last year), it’s because the exposure of said untold stories would get me into all kinds of trouble. And really, why would I subject myself to that knowingly? I know I’m totally retarded sometimes, but c’mon now.
I do, however, acknowledge that there are certain things that require honesty. Whether or not I actually follow through is a different story all together.
“Well, I don’t feel I’ll be forgiven. If you don’t see it, you can never walk away. If you don’t feel it, it’s gonna get harder every day.”
Occasions when truth telling is “important” (expected):
1. When someone asks for your “honest” opinion.
For instance, if your roommate asks, “do I look ok?” or your mother asks if her hideous new flip-flops are anything but. If I am prompted to give my honest opinion, I am truthful. I think it’s important.
My mother likes to buy shoes like it’s her job. Most of the time, she picks out really cute stuff that she can wear for any number of occasions. But sometimes, she picks out things like this:
She has these in white. WTF?! These are some of the ugliest, most ridiculous flip-flops I have ever seen. And then she bought these:
but they are tie dyed AND brown. I was like, “for real, mom?”. She thinks they’re the greatest things ever. I think they’re stupid.
I just don’t understand the point in making your foot attire look like you let a four year old pick them out, unless you have a four year old kid that you let boss you around. In which case, I would carry a pair of normal flip-flops around in my bag.
But my mother doesn’t have a four year old child, not even a niece or a nephew to blame those stupid things on. She is a grown woman who sometimes has really bad taste in shoes. So, when she asks me for my opinion, I give it to her, because I feel like I need to shield her from the world when she does mid-life crisis things like that.
However, if she asks me if I think she’s fat or just claims she is, like, “I am so fat.”, I get really mad at her and tell her to stop it. Usually, I say “oh, shut up. I refuse to discuss this.” I mean, she’s not exactly a beanpole, but she’s not a gelatinous mass of a woman with a shelf for an ass either. She’s just a normal looking middle-aged woman. Well, she’s very beautiful, I think. But, maybe I’m biased.
2. When it will set you free.
For instance, coming out.
There’s really no way for me to explain what a relief it is to say it for the first time. It’s terrifying, but it also alleviates an enormous weight from your shoulders. If you’ve experienced this in any way, you know what I’m talking about.
It’s kind of like when you have to pee really bad, like you’re almost positive that you’re bladder might burst inside you if you can’t pee. Right. This. Second. And then you find a bathroom and you race in and you let it fly and you kind of, “ahhh.” Your body relaxes and for a few moments you are so blissfully happy that words fail you. A smile creeps across your face and you are free.
Kind of like that.
3. When it might kill you if you don’t.
Sometimes, you just can’t keep something to yourself. You fall for someone and you fall hard. But you can’t have them, or you had them and then screwed it up. There’s an aching to announce your feelings in some sort of grand gesture, or maybe even just bring yourself to say it in the first place. Most of the time, that’s hard enough as it is.
They do this in movies a lot. But not everyone can do it as cool as Lloyd did it via “You Eyes” in Say Anything. That was probably the best way possible. If someone stood outside my window blaring Peter Gabriel from a boom box they were holding above their head, I would probably jump their bones right there. I mean, unless it was some giant creeper. In which case, I would hide in the corner with a bat in one hand and the police on the phone with the other.
Elliott Smith did a phenomenal job with “Say Yes”. That’s probably my other favorite way. But then again, “I’m in love with a girl who’s still around the morning after” and such and such.
In August I spilled my guts out all over the place. It wasn’t a confession of love, but a confession of, “I can’t see you anymore because it hurts too much to see you when I can’t be with you instead” kind of thing. I felt like I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer, like it was eating me alive, squeezing my heart so tightly I felt I might expire. So, I said it. It changed everything, but for the better, I think.
She didn’t come running into my arms or anything, but our friendship has evolved into something more amazing than I ever thought possible.
4. When you have to. When it’s the right thing to do.
I’ve done this a few times and it sucks. Having to confess to something you did is awful especially if someone’s feelings get hurt. Sometimes you can recover from these things. If your girlfriend is way more understanding than you deserve, you might get a second chance. Even if she’s not, she deserves the truth. P.S. I’m totally talking about a friend and not me because I am a saint etc. etc.
5. When you owe it to the other person.
I have a very strong personal belief that when you do something to upset someone, you should at least know what it is so you can decide whether or not you feel bad/want to apologize/want to make excuses for it. There have been many times when a friend or acquaintance was super cold to me for what I perceived as completely out of the blue. And then they were all like, “um, you said you would call me and you didn’t”. And then I would go, “whatevs. Sorry. I got busy, forgot about it, etc. shit happens.”
I’ve been on the other end too, when was super pissed at someone and I was dumbfounded that they didn’t know why. This, I have found, happens a lot in heterosexual relationships. Girls get upset at the dumbest shit sometimes. It could be that they’re having a sad day, or the inflection in your voice was kind of mean. As another girl myself, I can sense when those kind of things are wrong, so I can fix them with little to no prompting.
Boys don’t have it that easy. They’re just on a different wavelength. Most of them don’t sit around obsessing over the subtext of every line in a conversation. They usually take things at face value and then get blind-sided when their girlfriend is pissed because they forgot to her that plans changed or something.
When I have been mad at boys and/or any male figure in my life, I straight up tell them why I’m pissed. I do this with girls too, but with boys, I think it’s super important to at least give them a chance to decide whether or not they want to deal with it (i.e. why did you lie about watching Girls Gone Wild? Really, I probs would’ve joined you.).
More on this subject later. Maybe not. j/k. Absolutely not. I’m bored. I think I’m gonna go grab some pad thai. Holla!
OH WAIT!
I completely forgot that I wanted to talk a little bit about my Harriet The Spy moment that I had a couple weeks ago.
Okay, so, I don’t want to go into a ton of detail. Suffice is to say that I was woken up from a dead sleep to my crying girlfriend telling me “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” Etc. More on that in a few…
I have always kept some form of a journal for as long I can remember, which I believe lands my first entry sometime during the fourth grade. That’s when my teacher told me she thought I was a good writer and that I should stick with it. I took her advice regardless of the fact that I completely disagree with her. But I was all, “Wow. Thanks. Good call.” Only not.
Anyway, I have always had some semblance of a journal. People always buy me cool little journals for Christmas and I’ll make maybe one entry and then go back to writing it on scraps of paper and/or word documents that can be stumbled upon by curious girlfriends (I bet you know where my story is going).
I don’t sit down and go “dear diary, How are you? I am fine. I had a pretty good day.” It goes a little more like this, “I don’t understand why people in this city [Detroit], insist on crossing the street like fucktards. Seriously. When I’m crossing the street and I know that a car is waiting for me, I do not take my sweet ass time. I haul ass like its my job and I get the fuck out of the way.”
But I also write about things that get me into trouble when the wrong eyes scan over them as I’m sleeping. Case in point:
I wrote a few entries detailing the dramatic events that transpired over the past couple months. My girlfriend found them on my lap top while I was napping. They included a paragraph questioning whether or not I could care for her as deeply as I have for this other girl in the past AND a paragraph listing off the things that she does that but the shit out of me. Not good.
I felt exactly like Harriet The Spy. Loved that movie, by the way. It will always hold a special place in my heart. I remember watching it when all of the kid were reading aloud from her journal in the park, discovering how Harriet really felt about them and their flaws. They were hurt and lashed out at her, leaving her without a friend in the world. And I know that feeling oh so well. This was not the first time that happened to me and I venture to guess that our dear Harriet totally had that happen to her at least twelve more times. Because, you know, that saying is so very untrue about sticks and stone. Words (truths) are powerful; they can cut so deep that you never really recover from them. You just carry around the scars from them and hopefully learn to be ok with yourself despite knowing that someone you care about thinks you can sometimes be really annoying or have one incredible flaw. Hopefully, you learn to love those flaws or at least embrace them.
Or better yet, you could do what I do and fire back with a parting shot.
This one night Jarvis and I and a few other people were at a diner. One of the kids who joined us was someone neither of us knew very well. One of Jarvis’ friends brought him along for company. This kid was a royal tool, or at least I thought so immediately. He had the look and the swagger or a total douche bag. And he had the outfit to match: white oversized t-shirt (to hide his man boobs, I assumed), white baggy jean shorts that hung down damn near his ankles, big shiny white K-Swiss sneakers, a white hat with a perfect bill cocked to the side, and a white sweat band on his wrist. He has clean-shaven, save for the coarse curly hairs he was harvesting under his chin and all over his neck. He looked like an idiot. But I didn’t say anything. I was polite and engaged in conversation with the entire group until the douchetard opened his ugly mouth to critique Jarvis, unprovoked.
DOUCHETARD: (To Jarvis) “Hey, you’d probably look a lot better if you would shave and maybe get a haircut.”
Silence.
Jarvis can be very sensitive about a great many things, especially his appearance, which is ridiculous anyway. But still, why offer criticism when you’re not asked? The whole table knew this, and therefore could not think of anything to say at all. They just all sort of looked at Jarvis, waiting for a response.
I reeled back and then leaned in, my elbows on the table, finger pointed right at his stupid face. I sharpened my words into daggers and I spat them at him, wishing him pain and suffering.
ME: “Who the fuck asked you, asshole? Why you feel the need to critique someone’s appearance when you are so clearly a fucking tool? I don’t know if you know it or not, but we were not heading to The White Party. And you might want to shave the pubes you have growing on your neck. They’re fucking sick and it makes you look like you have a crotch for a face. P.S. It’s December and fucking freezing out, why are you wearing big baggy stupid fucking shorts? Oh, and nice wristband.”
Thank you. That is all.
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