"The whistle makes me their god." Dean Winchester may deserve my love, but the Supernatural writers do not

            I saw a post about this television show I watch called Supernatural on The Internet today that made me angry and annoyed, which turned into me looking up other things on The Internet about this show that annoy me and start a vent session in my head and then suddenly I remembered something.

            I don’t just have to vent in my head, I have a blog. That I rarely ever utilize. Let me utilize it for a vent session about this show that I both hate and adore.

            So this is my love hate blog on a CW show called Supernatural.

            I think most people have at least heard of this show (Lord knows if you know me, you’ve heard plenty about it) but if not, allow me to provide a brief description.

            Supernatural, boiled down, is a show about two brothers, Sam and Dean, who travel around the continental U.S. hunting down general evil things such as monsters and demons and the like who are pestering or killing humankind. In the first season, John, the father of the brothers, goes missing while searching for a demon that killed the boys’ mother, and Dean and Sam team up after several years apart to find him, and along the way, help people who have encountered evil in various forms.

            That is the show I fell in love with.

            I fell in love with Dean Winchester, the older brother, who is protective of his brother Sam to a fault, willing to do literally anything to keep his brother from harm.

            I fell in love with Sam Winchester, who was raised by his older brother Dean, and looks up to him and loves him even when he can’t stand him.

            I fell in love with the relationship between the two brothers, how they bicker just like normal siblings, how they tease and make fun of each other, how they depend and rely on each other for everything because they are pretty much all the other has.

            These two characters Sam and Dean have become my best friends in a way that only fictional characters can. I have obsessed over their lives, writing too many fanfictions to count about them, read too many fanfictions to count about them, imagined on a regular basis what it would be like to travel around with them and hunt monsters with them, and just in general fallen in love with these two brothers.

            I applaud the writers of this show for taking the time in the earlier seasons to develop these two characters, revealing little by little who they are and what they have been through. And I applaud the writers for the small, subtle things they do in the later seasons that give us character development.

            But therein lies the problem.

            Fictional characters should be constantly evolving, just like real life human beings. They should change and learn from their mistakes just like real life human beings. This is how we relate to the characters, how they become real for us.

            And yet the writers of the show insist on having Sam and Dean make the same mistakes in season 9 as they made in season 1. Or we see character development and get so excited only for the development to seemingly be forgotten in the very next episode.

            Someone on The Internet made the best and worst comment summing up the development of Supernatural the other day: “This episode again mentioned the great water pressure of Sam and Dean’s new bunker. Meaning the water pressure in Supernatural is the most consistent thing in the entire series.”

            In no better way is this proved than in Dean Winchester’s sex life.

            From season one, the viewers are aware of Dean’s promiscuity, of his jumping from bed to bed, of his hitting on quite literally any girl that comes his way. This is who Dean is. Or so we think.

            About halfway through season one, the viewers learn that Dean in fact was in a committed relationship for a time when Sam went off to college. He was so infatuated with this girl that he even told her the “family secret” about hunting monsters, a thing that it is inferred he has never, ever done before. And we also learn that this girl broke his heart and dumped him. Meaning that yes, Dean Winchester can in fact have a serious relationship.

            After this episode, I, being drawn in to an obsession with this show, began to think about why Dean hops into bed with numerous women. And it occurred to me that he never was told not to.

            Dean and Sam’s father, John, was incredibly absent from their lives as kids, dumping them at hotels alone for days on end to hunt for a demon that killed their mom, leaving a very young Dean to take care and raise Sam. Through different flashbacks in different episodes, we learn that John was never there for Dean, missing birthdays and Christmases because he was too busy hunting, leaving Dean to raise not only Sam, but also himself. Dean never got a parent growing up; he had to learn to be his own parent. The closest thing he had to a parent was Bobby, a family friend who would occasionally watch the boys for John.

            So did anybody ever tell Dean how to behave like a gentleman? He certainly never saw any examples of healthy couples: His mom died when he was four, and Bobby’s wife died before Dean met her.

            I’m not excusing Dean’s multiple sex partner lifestyle – we all have a moral compass that tells us right from wrong. I’m just pointing out that there are so many reasons why Dean might have chosen this kind of promiscuity in his life.

            But over the seasons, I feel like we find out all these things about Dean’s love life, and we realize there is so much more to him that just an a-hole who sleeps around a lot. In one season, we even see him attempt to settle down with an old girlfriend Lisa and become a father to her son. Lots of dramatic things happen with that, and he ends up having all of their memories of him erased so they can live a normal life. And we see how devastated he is that he has to do this because he loves this family he’s formed.

            And slowly, season by season, we see Dean sleeping with less and less girls. We still see him flirt, but we don’t see him jumping into bed quite as often. We see him making more lasting relationships, like with Lisa, and even see him become actual friends with girls (Charlie and Jodie).

            What I took from this is maybe sleeping around for Dean was a way of coping with things in his life. He knew his dad would make him move around so much, so just having casual sex was a way to avoid getting hurt by having to tell girlfriends goodbye. Or maybe he was trying to prove to himself that he didn’t need people since everyone, even his family, left him, so he didn’t need relationships, he was fine with just sleeping around. But then, the less we see him sleeping around, the more he becomes depended on real relationships with others. I don’t think it’s going too far to say that Dean was learning to respect women more.

            This, my friends, is character development.

            And then. Randomly, in a recent episode, we see Dean have sex with a random girl, basically out of nowhere. And the reason he has sex with this girl? Bad writing. The writers wrote themselves into a corner, honestly, and needed Dean to have random sex with this girl in order to continue the plot.

            Not only did Dean just have random sex with this girl, it was a girl who had taken a pledge of celibacy for several years. And with a cheesy pickup line and a wink from Dean, she forgets her vows and hops into bed with him. Dean knew she had taken this vow, but he didn’t care. He wanted to have sex, so he did, without thinking of anything but his groin. And after they had sex, the girl was never mentioned again. Ever. Dean felt no remorse for what happened, and it was never talked about again.

            So after nine seasons of character development, the writers destroyed everything.

            The Dean I had come to love and respect, the Dean I had seen change so much in his love life, was gone in a heartbeat because the writers needed an out.

            How is this at all respectful to the character? How is this consistent? How is this fair to Dean, let alone to me as a viewer?

            I don’t know of anything that disappoints me more as a writer than when writers are not respectful of their own characters.

            There is a difference between having a character make a mistake and learning something from it and bad, lazy writing.

            And lately, bad, lazy writing sums up Supernatural pretty well.

            Don’t know what to do with this one character? Let’s just kill him and say it’s to advance the plot. (I will never, ever get over Kevin Freaking Solo’s death. IT WAS THE MOST UNNECESSARY CHARACTER DEATH IN THE HISTORY OF CHARACTER DEATHS.)

            Don’t know how to show the brothers have issues? Let’s just repeat THE SAME STORYLINE WE’VE ALREADY COVERED FOUR TIMES of having Dean so utterly dependent on Sam he does whatever it takes, regardless of Sam’s desires, to save him. (Hey, writers, remember in season two when an overarching theme of the whole season was when Dean told Sam that what was dead should stay dead?)

            Don’t know how to show Cas is trying to figure out being human? Let’s just have him jump into bed with a girl for honestly no reason whatsoever.

            Don’t know how to bring in more viewers? Let’s just give the show a weird religious agenda, amp up the violence, and hope for the best.

            Allow me a moment to state that my favourite episodes have always been the funny ones, ones where Sam and Dean encounter a monster who is turning a town into a literal Looney Toons cartoon town, complete with falling anvils and dorky sound effects. The ones where Dean dies 108 times because they accidently end up in a Mystery Spot town, and Sam gets stuck in a loop where Dean dies every day in a Groundhog Day esque style episode, and Dean dies in the most hilarious, outrageous ways possible. The ones where Dean gets transported to 1940 and discovers his inner fan girl for ganster policemen and nice suits. The ones where the only witness to a murder is a dog, so Dean takes a potion that turns him into a dog for 24 hours and hilarity ensues.

            These episodes prove the writers know how to write comedy. But lately they just seem to refuse to do so, rather writing about things like nuns becoming demons or angels turning evil and murdering priests.

            If I wanted to watch scary religious things, I’d just watch The Exorcist.

            And let’s not forget Dean’s drinking problem.

            Remember how I spent the majority of this blog talking about Dean’s love life? There’s also the issue of his drinking problem too.

            I think Sam said it best in like season five: “No premarital sex and no alcohol? Dean, this town’s just cut out like 80 percent of your character traits.”

            Over the seasons, we saw Dean’s drinking get worse and worse. The writers made an effort to point it out to us, proving time and time again that Dean dealt with problems by drinking and having sex. It was hammered into our heads that Dean was an alcoholic.

            And then Sam and Dean found themselves an established home in season eight. They found out they were Men Of Letters and found the abandoned Men Of Letters Bunker and moved in.

            They had a home, something Dean hadn’t truly had since he was four years old.

            The writers made a point to show us how important this was to Dean, having him unpack and move into his own room, setting up pictures of his family, getting on Sam for not making his room feel homey.

            In the first season, we saw Dean sleeping in his boxers and T-shirt, but as the show progressed, we would see Dean sleep fully clothed, even with his shoes on, a gun under his pillow. But when they moved into the Bunker, the writers made a point to show us a sleeping Dean in his boxers and T-shirt again, even have a scene with him making coffee in the morning in a robe.

            They made a point to show us Dean drinking coffee, not alcohol. We saw him cook dinner for Sam, even going so far as to have Dean say in one episode that he was “nesting” and liking it. We see him having a beer with his homemade burger, as if to say he drinks a beer with dinner, not twenty beers to drink away his sorrows.

            And then.

            As if because the writers weren’t sure what else to do, they wrote in Dean getting the Mark Of Cain, a special weapon that would allow him to kill one of the main baddies of the season. The Mark began to take over him. And how did we see it begin to take over him?

            We began to see him drinking again.

            After all this time, after all the things the writers intentionally showed us to prove he was better, Dean begins drinking again.

            And not just drinking.

            It’s like all of the sudden, his alcoholism is back in full swing. We see him drink an entire bottle of vodka (or some kind of alcohol) in basically one sitting.

            To some extend, I understand what the writers were doing. They were trying to show how the Mark was changing Dean, that it was corrupting Dean. They were showing how Dean was letting it because he was willing to go through any kind of self mutilation in order to rid the world of a bad baddie.

            But writers, I want to scream, we established that back in season 4! And again in season 6! And again in season 8! And remember that one season where Dean went to Purgatory and was basically okay with it?

Why must we keep rehashing the same story lines over and over and over again?!?

Don’t even get me started on the sexism on the show, how the writers think good writing is killing off or getting rid of literally every single love interest for both Sam and Dean. Before Lisa, Dean had a sort of thing for this one awesome girl hunter named Jo Harvelle. But heaven forbid we allow Meagan’s ultimate OTP live – we must kill Jo now!

And don’t get me started on side characters, which the writers also seem to think is synonymous with dying, even if their deaths are THE STUPIDEST, MOST OBVIOUS EXAMPLE OF LAZY WRITING IN EXSISTENCE, cough Kevin cough. Let’s just list a few side characters that I have been in love with over the seasons who the writers have killed off: Benny, Samandriel, Death (yes, Death was a character and he was awesome), Anna, Jo, the entire Harvelle family, Bobby, Kevin, John, Bela, Adam, Chuck, Gadreel, Balthazar.

Just to name a few.

Yes, there are more I could name.

So here’s what all this ranting and raving has ultimately been about: I love Supernatural because the writers have an uncanny ability to create characters that are wonderful and complex.

Seriously, do you know how hard it is to write a character that is a human turned vampire pirate who loves killing baddies in Purgatory but when he comes back to earth he is sweet and kind and steals blood from blood drives because he wants to find a way to be “human” because he saw what being true to his vampire ways did to his once girlfriend? Do you know how hard it is to write this kind of character without it being as cheesy as it sounds when I write the description? Do you know how hard it is to write any “vegetarian vampire” character without it sounding like Edward Cullen? Benny was only in six episodes, but my love for that character is so strong it’s up there on the list with Sherlock Holmes.

So I watch this show because of these characters, because they have come alive and become my friends, and I don’t know how to abandon my friends.

But the way Supernatural has been going, especially this past season, I might have to see my friends in fanfiction form only.

When writers of fanfiction handle character development and respect for the characters better than the actual writers of the show, you know something has gone terribly, terribly wrong.

Whew.

That was a mouthful.

Sorry not sorry.

           

            

The Wisdom Of John Green

Let me be a nerd who's on a movie high for two minutes.

Okay, maybe five.

You know what I loved most about The Fault In Our Stars the first time I read it?

I mean, besides the fact that John Green seems to just get roller coaster emotions more than any other author I've ever read.

I love this one part where Hazel tells Gus that he is enough for her, that her life is better for loving him, and that she longs for him to say this back to her, that she was enough for him.

I can't do it justice. I'll just quote it.

" 'I don't care if the New York Times writes an obituary for me. I just want you to write one,' I told him. 'You say you're not special because the world doesn't know about you, but that's an insult to me. I know about you.' ...
I was so frustrated with him. 'I just want to be enough for you, but I never can be. This can never be enough for you. But this is all you get. You get me, and your family, and this world. This is your life. I'm sorry if it sucks. But you're not going to be the first man on Mars, and you're not going to be an NBA star, and you're not going to hunt Nazis.' "

This is probably my favourite section of any John Green book.

And here's why.

I'm so sick of being wrapped up in doing something noteworthy of my life.

I'd rather just do something useful.

And you know what's useful?

Loving people who deserve your love.

Dishing out food to homeless men and smiling at them because it may be the only smile they see that day.

Writing a fan letter to an author you love to tell him that his book inspired you to be a better person or stop you from killing yourself because it gave you hope or whatever.

Buying the person in the drive through line behind you's coffee because they will think about it all day or week and maybe do something nice for someone else because you did something nice for them.

Inviting the outcast at school or work or wherever to eat lunch with you because they might just need a little friendship or love or human interaction because it's been a little while since they had any.

To me, these things constitute a full life.

There's this really weird, wonderful man I know about named Misha Collins who started an organization called Random Acts that's a pretty balling organization. One thing that Misha promotes through his organization is Random Acts Of Kindness. Which means basically you do something nice for someone. You decide what that means for your life.

I wonder if Misha Collins ever thought he would be compared to John Green.

Anyways, this is what I took away from The Fault In Our Stars.

Augustus Waters was an incredible human being. Not because he cured cancer or solved all of life's mysteries. Because he loved these people named Isaac and Hazel with all of his cancer-stricken heart.

That's it.

That's the point.

It constantly makes me chuckle and then feel very sad that people try to make life so complicated and confusing and "what is the meaning of life" and "42" (sorry, my nerd comes out before I can control it sometimes) and all of that nonsense.

When in reality to me, it's so simple.

Just love, man.

That's it.

That's the answer.

Just love.

Augustus Waters could have used his remaining breaths to try to become an astronaut to walk on the moon or solve some wonderfully complicated physics problem or whatever, but then he wouldn't have had the time to love Hazel and make her little life better. And the same goes for Hazel.

No one is going to remember us for eternity, as Hazel points out near the beginning of the book. Really.

But Hazel remembered Gus while she was alive. Isaac remembered Gus. Gus' parents remembered him. Because he focused on loving them instead of trying to chase after some dream that would never come true, no matter how much he tried.

Man.

John Green, man. The things he makes you start thinking about blow my mind.

Also, total side note, but there was a girl sitting a few seats down from me in the theater while I marveled at Green's beloved words come to life on the screen who I was seriously worried would faint from her fits of hysteria. I think she mourned and grieved more for the characters than the other characters did.

Dear child, it'll be okay. Promise.

Anyways.

Those are my thoughts from The Fault In Our Stars. And, incase anyone is wondering, it was one of the better book-to-movie transitions I've ever seen.

But nothing quite compares to words written on a page.

"New" blog post

I don't really get why we like newness so much.

I say we, but maybe I should just say I.

I annoyingly think I'm obsessed with new.

I find a new band on YouTube and go obsessive, looking up every song I can find of theirs and buying a ton of their music on iTunes and posting them on every social media site I have because they are just that wonderful for those few days or weeks before I again find another band on YouTube and forget all about that first band.

For example.

Right now I have been listening to Jason Mraz's "Love Someone" on repeat one for the past half hour. It's a terrific song, and if you need proof, here you go.

So yeah, it's a fantastically brilliant song. And I love it because I love the musical talents of Jason and I'm so excited about his new album coming out because I think it just might be his best one yet if this song is any indication. But I think the real reason I have this song on repeat one is because it's new.

I watch a new movie and can't stop thinking about it for days and manage to find ways to bring it into any and every conversation I have and I immediately go on iTunes and buy the soundtrack and look up every other movie the main actors are in and then watch one of these other movies that the actors were in and forget all about how this first movie made me feel invisible and inspired because holy cow this new movie is even better and more inspiring.

For example.

I watched this brilliant, modern-day Hitchcockian thriller called Grand Piano and couldn't stop thinking about it because it made my mind reel a little bit. And yes, I went onto iTunes and bought the main song from the movie that Elijah Wood plays at the end.

And then as I'm writing this, I'm trying to remember what the last great new movie I watched was, but I can't because all I can think of is this new one.

I find a new book or am given a new book and fall in love with the words and characters, feeling as if I've just made new friends and my entire world is theirs and please don't interrupt me because can't you see I've fallen into another world and don't ever want to come out of it.

For example.

A dear friend gave me One Day as a present and I inhaled it. I fell in love with these two characters and it was all I wanted to talk about for weeks after I read it and I recommended it to literally everyone I know. It was a fantastic and truly brilliant book and it sits lovingly on top of some other books right now, smiling at me. But I think one reason why I got book high from it was because it was a new world I've never been in before.

Perhaps the worst one of all:

I watch a movie or television show or read a book or see someone at the gym or grocery store and "fall in love" with someone new. I can't even begin to tell you how many boys and men in countless books and movies and television shows and (shudder) boys and men in real life I have "fallen in love" with, only to move on to someone new a few weeks later.

I like to joke (mostly to myself, because I love joking to myself because I am hilarious of course...) that Sherlock Holmes has been my longest relationship, friendship or romantic, and embarrassingly enough it's true. I've been in love with my man Sherlock since I was 13, and we're still going steady. I haven't had friendships with real people for that long.

But.

But but but.

There have been countless men (mostly fictitious or unattainable) who have threatened this relationship, but let's be real - their appeal was that they were new. And once their newness wore off, I went straight back to darling, ever waiting Sherlock. Dean Winchester is Sherlock's only real competition these days, real or otherwise, but that's probably another conversation for never.

I have gotten so side tracked. Sherlock does that to me.

Newness. Right.

Why is newness so appealing? Why do none of my old clothes seem nice when I come home with a few new shirts? Why do I so easily get sick of my "old" hair and want a new change? Why are changes so exhilarating?

I don't have any kind of thing resembling an answer. To quote an old movie that is most certainly not new to my viewing eyes, "I just wanted to send this cosmic question out into the void. So. Goodnight, dear void."

If you don't know what the quote's from, I feel sorry for your life. PS, it's from You've Got Mail. Go watch it and let it be your new favourite movie.

The Open Letter to the Celebrity Actor

Dear Celebrity Actor,

            It’s all right.

            It’s all right with me that you smoke when you are stressed or you curse when you are nervous or you don’t regret that one night or you wake up grumpy sometimes.

            I think we forget that truly you’re just human and I’m sorry I forget it sometimes, too.

            I’d like to meet you, for sure. Just like I’d like to meet anyone who appears kind and friendly and smiles.

            I’d like to meet you to tell you thank you for playing that character because the way you spoke those words inspired me in various parts of my own life. I’d like to thank you for entertaining me and making me laugh or cry or smile or whatever things I felt.

            Your job sounds glamorous and difficult and stressful and rewarding. I wonder what it’s like to do your job, but I don’t exactly envy you.

            You’ll have to excuse me if I ever meet you and smile a lot without speaking or blush fervently or just stare incessantly. You’ve embodied characters I’ve fallen in love with and befriended, and at first I’m going to see them instead of you. I’ll try hard to remember that you’re you now, but give me just a moment.

            Maybe we’ll be friends and maybe we won’t. Maybe I’ll annoy you or you’ll have a completely different sense of humour than me or you love skydiving and I love being on the ground.

            As I said, it’s fine. You are allowed to be your own person, just like me.

            But really, I just want to tell you that I’ve enjoyed your work and I’m wishing the very best for your future.

            So have fun. And sorry again when we get ridiculous.

            You just keep on truckin’, son.

           From a fan.

The Bathroom Mirror Conversations

            I think I’m learning annoying lessons about myself.

            Not that the lessons are annoying. They need to be learned and appreciated and practiced upon.

            But the learning part is annoying.

            I like to think of myself as imperfectly perfect.

            Meaning I like to tell myself weird little things like “You are perfect because you’re weird,” or “Perfect is boring, so you are the most interesting person on the planet,” or “It’s because you are so creative that your brain thinks so differently than everyone else’s.”

            You know, the things you tell yourself in the bathroom mirror after you’ve cried your eyes out in the shower.

            I tell myself these things and I pretend I feel infinitely better.

            But what I should be telling myself is, “How were you wrong in that instance? How were you selfish? How were you ungrateful or rude or obnoxious and didn’t even realize it?”

            Let me pause for a moment and say something that needs to be said, even if the only person reading this is my mommy and some random person who accidentally clicked on this link on The Facebook.

            I don’t talk about these things.

            Most people who know me will tell you that once you get to know me, I talk so much you start wishing I’d shut up.

            I love conversing. It’s one of my favourite past times.

            I love conversing about my favourite books and my current tv show obsession and what movies completely changed my life and how this certain journalist made me see things in a whole new light or how much I adore my cat The Cat Gracie Poo because if I were a cat I would probably be exactly like her and we share a special bond because we are both grumpy old women who like affection.

            I love sharing these kinds of things with people because I think it can make me sound intelligent and sophisticated and odd, but in that good kind of way where you like talking to me because it’s a guessing game with what’s about to come out of my mouth.

            In summation, I love feeling clever.

            What I don’t like feeling is vulnerable.

            I love it when someone is vulnerable with me. I love it more than anything when someone opens up to me and shares things going on in their life because it makes me feel loved and trusted. It makes me feel like they need me.

            But I’m not very good about it being the other way around.

            I want you to think of me as that imperfect perfect. I don’t want you to think of me as just imperfect.

            So I internalize and grow on my own. I don’t like sharing that with people. This is maybe my biggest fault as a human, and I am only just now seeing how this has affected my life, how I have had broken friendships because I refused to be vulnerable with them, how I have let myself be pushed around and used because I wasn’t honest about what I needed, I let it always be about them.

            This is where I come back to the part where I said I need to be telling myself different things in the bathroom mirror.

            I am not perfect, and that is okay.

            What is not okay is when I refuse to do anything about not being perfect, when I stop striving to be perfect.

            I don’t mean perfect in the way society sees perfection.

            I don’t mean I need to strive to be as gorgeous as I can, or as smart as possible, or as alluring as possible, or as rich or happy as human standards can take me.

            I mean I should be striving to be perfect like Jesus was perfect.

            When a friend opens up and tells me that I came across as cold or rude, I shouldn’t look in the mirror and say, “She doesn’t understand that that’s just how I am. I am precise and professional in conflict and she needs to deal with that.”

            I should look in the mirror and say, “Where is she coming from? What can I take from her point of view? How can I work on my delivery and how can I work on expressing my needs and desires in a kind, Godly manner?”

            When a coworker gives me unwanted attention or won’t leave me alone, I shouldn’t look in the mirror and say, “It’s okay for me to be a witch with a capital b to them because their actions are unwanted and unwelcomed and I have every right to be a jerk.”

            I should look in the mirror and say, “Are there behaviours and actions I need to change around them because I am misleading them? How can I forcefully but still gracefully tell them to back off? How can I approach them and politely ask them to leave me alone instead of just ignoring them and hope that works?”

            When a conversation goes differently than I anticipated, or an interaction with someone goes not as I perfectly planned it in my head, I shouldn’t look in the mirror and say, “They just don’t get me. I wish they would adhere to the dialogue I wrote out in my head.”

            I should look in the mirror and say, “What can I learn about them through that interaction? How can I grow in their friendship through how that conversation went? How can I better prepare to let conversations flow as they will and not micromanage all the time?”

           These lessons and the things I should be telling myself afterwards leave me vulnerable. If I am going to act on the lessons I should be learning through the interactions I’m having these days, then it should leave me feeling naked in a way.

            I have been going to a lot of job interviews lately. Which means I have come to master that unavoidable yet torturous question, “So tell me about yourself.”

            One thing that I say in my rehearsed speech when asked this question is that I’ve discovered one of my top strengths is connectivity. I say this answer because the university I attended made us take one of those StrengthsQuest test and then proceeded to hammer it into our skulls that knowing our results would make us fuller, better people.

            Connectivity was one of my strengths on the test, so I say it in interviews.

            How I relate this to jobs is by saying I want to connect the community to a brand or company, et cetera et cetera.

            My point in bringing this up is to say that that is not the extend of connectivity.

            Connectivity implies that I like CONNECTING with people. Which I one hundred percent do.

            But connection requires two willing participants.

            If I truly want to connect with someone, I must be willing to allow THEM to connect with ME, not just the other way around.

            I think I’m learning that it’s okay to be scared crapless of this process. It’s okay to be nervous when sharing intimate details about yourself with someone. People are mean and selfish and rude sometimes and can bite.

            But when I truly connect with someone, when I timidly and nervously share a secret or desire or need with someone and they respond in a mighty way by accepting me and helping me grow as a person because of that sharing, man, that is a beautiful thing.

            

Twenty-four

Twenty-four is a weird year. 

I had something I was actually going to write about, a topic that would make me sound smart and hipster and cool and stuff. But I forgot it because the resounding thing I thought when I sat down, determined to write, was man. Twenty four is a weird year. 

I spend a lot of time at Starbucks these days, and I'm noticing that twenty-four, or whatever age it is for the regulars I see at Starbucks, is a weird year for them too. 

Here's something else I realized as I watched the at least twenty four year old attractive barrista make drinks for people with such a sweet smile it made everyone smile back at him. 

If I met me at a Starbucks or concert or bookstore, I probably wouldn't befriend me. 

I'd probably annoy myself and be just polite enough to get away as quickly as possible. I would smile that smile I use only when I am annoyed and I would answer yes or no to questions. I wouldn't make eye contact or laugh at my stupid jokes, not say 'let's get lunch sometime'. Or if I did, it would be to get myself to stop talking so I could leave. 

And yet I would love myself. 

I would dote upon myself, insisting on luxury and class. Because that's what I do to myself now. 

I am annoyed constantly by my own mouth, by the words that slip out, unthought and uncared. 

I am painfully aware that I am a walking contradiction, which maybe is what annoys me most of all. 

I carefully pick out my clothes, taking far too much time and energy to be sure I am comfortable. And yet I rarely am. I judge myself based on how those are dressed around me. I want to take her dress, her shoes, his sweater, her hat. I will style myself in my mind based on selections from those I see. 

I am careful with my hair, using expensive shampoo, buying countless products to make it shine and divine, as the bottles promise. And yet I constantly look in the reflective glass of passing cars or the sunglasses of those walking by to make sure every strand is in its proper place, yelling at the strands with severe words if they are not. I envy the girls around me with long, beautiful locks that curl just right, or the girls who can pull off the short cuts with ease as if they had a team of hair stylists with them just two seconds ago to make it the perfect amount of crazy and stylish. 

I read in some magazine one time that the writer interviewed like five different guys and they all said confidence was the sexiest thing on a girl. Maybe that's why I rarely feel sexy. 

How do the other girls do it? More importantly, how do girls gain enough confidence and security to become women? I'm still waiting for the day I no longer feel like a small child girl and can wear heels with ease and lipstick like a real woman. 

Maybe when I get there, I would meet myself in a Starbucks or concert or bookstore and think, "If only she were my best friend. She is what I'd like to be." 

I bet everyone feels this way at 24, right? 

When did 24 become the new 17? 

There is a couple on a date in this Starbucks with me and the woman looks as if she is full of confidence. She is doing that thing where when he makes a joke, she laughs adorably, then puts a strand of hair behind her head, which makes him beam, even though the joke was really corny. 

Someday I'd like to be as a confident twenty-four year old as she is. 

Man, twenty-four is a weird year. 

X

I wanted to write a blog entry today.

And then I opened up a new post and literally could think of nothing to say.

It feels that way a lot lately.

I want to have things to say. I think of things to say at awkward times, or I know I have strong and reasonable opinions about things that I should let out at the proper times. I know discussion (or even blog posts) of important things or big picture things or deep things or silly things or entertainment things is, well, important. Discussing things out loud or on paper can make life seem worthwhile.

But most of the time lately I don't feel like I should say very much, that I should keep waiting in silence.

I should wait until I have my life together more before getting into deep discussion with people I meet, I think. I should wait until I have a little more experience under my belt.

I should wait to actively have a blog until I've done more life.

What does that even mean, I ask myself as I sit in a Starbucks for the umpeenth time job hunting and trying to figure out what to do when I grow up (which is apparently now).

I don't know what that means.

I don't know what most things mean, to be honest.

I don't know what it means to be an adult. I know things that make up adulthood - bills, learning how to do your taxes, getting the store brand of crackers and coffee because you're balancing your money, not drinking all night long because you have work at eight a.m. But I have no idea what it means to be an adult. Maybe that's because it means so many things to everyone, and I'm still learning what it means to me.

I don't know what it means to be a Christian. I know things that make up Christianity - a desire to serve God, having consistent conversation with Him, thinking of God first, people second, and yourself third, committing to the fact that Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life. But I have no idea what it means to be a Christian. Maybe that's because it means so many things to everyone, and it's a life-long journey and I firmly believe God doesn't expect us to have "Christianity" figured out the moment we give our life to Him, we just have to give our life to Him.

I don't know what it means to be a writer. I know things that make up being a writer - drinking copious amounts of black coffee (I'm becoming a coffee drinker the longer I write), having constant internal conversations with the characters and scenes going on in your head, feeling like you're going to explode if you don't get that thing out right that second, even if it's complete and utter crap, because revision sucks but it's how we make that crappy thing a full idea. But I have no idea what it means to be a writer. Maybe that's because it means so many things to everyone, and each writer will tell you their own crazy and well, just plain crazy methods they have of writing and revising and getting inspiration, whether that be staring at people in Starbucks until an idea strikes them, staying the shower until you come up with a new character, or watching entire seasons of tv shows in the hopes of latching on to some idea you can make your own.

Huh. I said I had nothing to say. But sometimes when I have nothing to say and I don't want to say anything is exactly when things come out the best.

Desperation can be ugly, but apparently it can also get me to write when all I want to do is curl up on my bed and watch Dean kill demons and ghosts until I forget we're not best friends in real life.