Bargain Hunter.

"Behold I do not give lectures or a little charity; when I give I give myself."

My parents used to always tell me stories to construct a healthy mindset for the future - call it a conditioning process to equip myself with a proper morality and faith in existence. I latch on to these ideals, and in most cases, take them to all new extremes.

For example, one valuable yet simplistic sit-down encoded the importance of having someone care about you on the inside, rather than the outside. As the wheels in my mind start jostling this information around at a young age, I come to the conclusion and creation of the theory of comfortableness. Like any theory it must be tested, with trial after trial and scientific reviews of its veracity and significance in societal weight. For the past 8 years, this method of serene relaxation of ones guise has been practiced. This is where I make my conclusion.

I'm a messy looking person: oversized shirts, unflattering sweats, and not to mention the shaggy locks often times found with a mind of their own. Thanks to the parentals initial installation of the ideology, I now find myself wandering the streets with holes in my pants and oil streaked on my uggs. Throwing inhibition to the wind, this comfortable cockiness fills my soul with joy. I assume that others find it unappealing and even offensive, though, especially when the clothing is riddled with cat fur (now that I read that, it sounds horrific). However, I figure that, hey, if you can see past the less-than-frilly wardrobe and old velcro watch, then you're definitely worth keeping around. A true test of character, really. Although, my self esteem came crashing down when a classmate recently approached me.

"Courtney, why do you always dress up for me?" he uttered, riddled with sarcastic tonality. And another individual,

"So, mountain woman, you going camping after class?" Last but not least, the roommate whom needless to say I'm in love with exclaimed one afternoon,

"If you wear that sweatshirt for one more day, I'm going to burn it!"

Can these individuals not see past the rugged image and through to my seemingly personable personality? This theory of comfortableness has contorted my mind in such a way to think that dressing like the homeless person on the corner of the street is a-o-k. In fact, I'm convinced that it's more than ok, it's a lifestyle-esque statement that, one would hope, demands acceptance from the world on a more genuine level. Could you image what life would be like if everyone judged based on character rather than appearance? Nancy Pelosi would have a tough time maintaining her rank, and plenty of celebrities would slip out of their realm of egotism rather quickly.

I can say, however, that I'm content with who I am, be it in a pair of old jeans or a dress, and I do happen to appreciate my hair in all its fury. Maybe a revolution might occur, and soon we'll be walking through the once-paved streets outfitted by mother nature, reverting to the prehistoric ways of simplicity and altruism. I'd have to wait until I'm able to buy a gun, though, so I can feel the pride and accomplishment of wearing my own grizzly coat.

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Annual Topsy-Turvy Day.

It's rather effortless to point out that there are a lot of things I do not understand. Such things consist of arbitrary car parts and up to date stats of the latest sport achievements, possibly due to the frivolous purpose they serve in my life. True, I'm sure it would be more attractive to a masculine figure if a girl knew exactly how to fix a muffler, however, I'd rather promote their exercise of knowledge and be a supporting subject. Sorry fellas, but I could care less about the fandom surrounding the over-glorified Lakers.

On the flip side, though, I find that there are in fact a lot of things that I do understand. I'd like to think that I'm quite intellectually aware in a pretty broad sense, and can easily become riled up at the mere suggestion of a political altercation. Even with a lesser known concept, I thank my communicative major for its rhetorical support.

To get to the point, as I'm repeatedly told by a writing companion to do, I understand relationships. I understand how they work, how they function, the expectations, and in turn, the violations. I can figure out an individual in a matter of seconds, and properly note their degree of 'meshability' within the intertwining of my cardiac organ. I can also figure out whether or not I will fit within their social constructs in a rapid fashion. Unfortunately, for once, something that I know I have been utterly exposed and taught to death on, fully aware of all circumstantial possibilities, has completely left me out to dry. How do you go from knowing so much of something, to absolutely nothing in a mere instant?

I blame it on good looks. I blame it on personality. Furthermore, I can blame it on the singular appeal of uncovering a genuine personage. I find peace in the fact that its something that I need, rather than want. Its just one patient-driven struggle trying to get there.

Amusingly enough, Kobe just scored 28 points against the Hornets for a 5th league win. Come back to me understanding, please?

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In Your Sleeve, Not Your Hand.

It's that time of year again: fog, food, and a little swine on the side. The common flu, or as it just may be, the 'ol flying pig, has found a comfortable place to lie within my body. Call it luck, or my conditioned hospitable-like charm passed down from my mother, my new friend has decided on an extended stay.

I'm trying to figure out exactly why I can't breathe at the moment - either my mucus cells are aggregating, or the brother used a full can of Lysol in the living room. I'm unwanted, unapproachable, and un- to the max. Yet, the two that I can consistently count on to knead at my stomach and prove their worth as comforting companions are the felines. Penetrating my zone of infection in a bold fashion, I can't help but callously wonder why this unconditional love can only be found in a cat. However, I digress.

One thing that a faulty immune system does bring is a bit of insight, or rather - outsight, as I would like to call it. I realized that yes, I do have a life, and when I'm sick it drastically takes a turn to a hibernative state. Like a bear, I become a gormandizer and drag my heels to bed as the sun sets. As a matter of fact, I can feel the Tylenol PM starting to suggest such a slumber at this very moment. Even though I would like to be elsewhere, the comfort of my germ-infested blanket is subtly calling my name with a sense of desperation.

"I'm coming," I respond. Then I think to myself, "Did I really just address an afghan out loud?" Warning: if you have the flu, stay out of the public for this reason.

I love winter, especially all the perks that come but once a year. Hot cocoa, layers upon layers, and roaring fires you can cozy up to are things that can seemingly be overlooked, yet auspiciously enough this sickly individual is emotively aware. The occasional viral infection can get you down. The occasional viral infection will get you down. Just be sure to grab the purring pets and a good book to ride it out.

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