A, B, C, Easy As 1, 2, 3.

"Life is like a blanket too short. You pull it up and your toes rebel, you yank it down and shivers meander about your shoulder; but cheerful folks manage to draw their knees up and pass a very comfortable night."

Oftentimes I can be found sitting silently, with something of a stare transfixed on assumed invisible imagery. I've been told in this mindset I look puzzled (but I'm inferring it's a flatteringly puzzled). I enjoy this "you-look-like-you're-hurting-yourself-you're-so-deep-in-thought" spout, especially when it keeps the people around me on their inquisitional toes. Majority of the time though, the things I'm dreaming of are private contemplations; An analysis subjected only to my mind, in fear that their admittance would be disturbing to the public peace. I'm not pessimistic during this stint, but merely, aware of reality.

For the past couple of weeks I haven't been able to shake the desire to study relationships, based both from external and internal viewpoints. And the conclusions I made are astonishing (actually, it's just common sense realized).

There are the relationships that thrive on the material pleasures - sporting designer handbags, $300 sunglasses, and flashing ex-boyfriend Tiffany rings at every chance they get. Based solely on my perceptions, I can't help but wonder how deep the connection actually goes. Rather than seek the companionship or juncture with their partner, the demand for the red KitchenAid mixer is too much of a priority to ignore.

Speaking of order of obligations, there are also the relationships that struggle with just that.

Then there are those relationships that only have each other, abusing the notion of "taking two to tango." Living lives side by side erases all enjoyability of bringing something new to the table; Identity is lost, and enmeshment clouds perceptions, feeling completely inadequate, dazed and confused without their partner holding their hand.

Lastly*, there are relationships that are nothing more than acquaintances, where both go with the flow, only exerting enough effort needed to maintain the Facebook status, yet retaining separate existences all the while - a step above friends-with-benefits.

I can't help but wonder why this happens. I can't help but speculate how these individuals can be happy together. I also can't help the fact that just after I typed that, I looked off for about 5 minutes, contemplating the subject. I can only come to one conclusion.

There's one word that captures the emotion every human being will try to avoid. One word that keeps the prideful cheeky and the humble subservient, the bottom from the top and the long from the short of it. One word that can perpetuate the construction of barricades and fortresses made of steel. As much as we enjoy engaging, playing, conversing, there's something that's always going to hold humanity back until we face it, rather than ignore it. I can boldly say, however, the grass is greener on the other side.

There's a taboo about vulnerability, and each relationship experiences it. The biggest culprit: love. You're completely and utterly opening yourself up to another individual, trusting them to stick by you when fallen, when exuberant, and even when exhausted. Giving them the chance to break you, beat you, torment you, damage you, kick you, bruise you, dismantle you, reject you.

But that's the best part.

Somehow vulnerability, through it's negative connotations, creates excitement - an adrenaline rush that captivates your mind, body, soul. This martyr-like act, as challenging as it may be, should be addressed. Once you're encompassed by the feeling, once you realize your partner**, the surgical down-the-middle procedure couldn't come any sooner. It's just up to you to take liability and embrace it.

I think that's why some get stuck where they are, focused on iPads or Marc Jacobs, higher priorities, or themselves. It's because they're afraid. Or maybe it's because they're stuck - opening up only to find that they're no more right for each other then Brad and Jennifer, but holding on due to their acquiescence.

I don't have all the answers, just observations with unqualified conclusions. But one thing remains true. Giving yourself to another person is tough, but nothing of worth in reality is ever easy.

Some relationships are good, others are bad. Some make you question yourself, where some solidify your identity. Some are for comfort, narcissism, connection, or even just for the day; whereas some previously made you happy, and some still do. Whatever it may be, the human mind would deteriorate without a connection to another, I suppose it's just a perilous ride for many to get there.

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* There are far more negative relational types then this, I apologize if I didn't address yours.
** Realize them for who they are, realize them for how they make you feel, realize them for how much you want them, and realize them for how much you need them.

She-Wolf Meets Gypsy.

"People change and forget to tell each other."

There's a lot of experiences I still have yet to face. Comparing to the majority of individuals around me, catching up is something I've become accustomed to. Whether it's realizing dish soap isn't for the dish washer, popcorn does in fact burn, or that yes, cell phone laws do apply to me, the naivety of life somehow continues to perpetuate this exasperating notion of virginity.

And I want more.

It's almost as if there's this whole new enchantment encompassing my dogma of life, a whole new desire to come face to face with uncertainty. This thought process couldn't have been spurred at a better time, especially when I'm overtly excited to experience said mentality.

However, there are a few items I would like to bring along for the journey: an open mind, an open heart, and an unlimited supply of egg mcmuffins.

Cheers to the future.

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Hands At The Ready.

"Are you on your period?"

This is undoubtedly one of the top questions to ask a female that will surely put her mood farther down the drain once asked. Welcome to no-mans land, ya'll.

I feel the need to redeem myself, rather, counterpoise my prior post by defending my womanhood.

Although I do have many masculine traits, I still can not help the genealogical complexity that resides among each chromosome, and tonight was a prime example; The beast was let out to play. I want to feel like I matter, even in a room barred with situational pretexts, and when I'm experiencing an emotion of unappreciativeness*, will undoubtedly analyze and wonder why I'm imagining myself on a comparable level with a sea cucumber (they exist, but no one cares**). Once I bring this negative sensation to the table, I of course have to do the apologizing. So I do, repeatedly. And this is where the line is drawn.

I don't understand the male brain sometimes, because after all, I am not - I'm a girl, sista, woman, matron, the double x. I feel that with that, I deserve the chance to be a little emotional, not want to talk, and for once in my life throw understanding to the wind. But then again, that get's us nowhere. So I'm thankfulhat it's drawn out of me, I just don't appreciate the feeling of stupidity that follows.

Moral of the story, I suppose, is that I still have to maintain my claim to femininity sometime or another. After all, if you didn't appreciate me for that quality, then you're better off surrounding yourself with testosterone.

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* Fake word.
** I'm sure someone cares, someone who's not hormonal and on their period, though.

No, Thank You, I Take It Black, Like My Men.*

I like guns. And I'm realizing more and more my lack of femininity.

True, I enjoy being pampered, my dream job encapsulates being a housewife, and romance is my middle name, but there are a few things that continue to overpower these gendered norms, and projectile-firing weapons is one of them.

My morning routine consists as such: roll out of bed (optional), shower (optional), brush hair (optional), make coffee (required), grab gypsy bag and head out into the day. These habitual activities can take anywhere from 10 - 30 minutes maximum, and I pride myself in the you-look-comfortable-and-not-all-that-put-together-but-it's-impressive-for-the-time-spent-on-it appearance. In fact, I wrote a post** a while back on this matter if you'd prefer a bit of a reflective analytical cogitation***. This, according to several individuals I interviewed on the concept****, is a trait normally found within the masculine realm, along with my preference for dealing with arguments.

I'm simple minded, and with that, the fluffy, encoded messages someone tries to send me when they're upset (or even for elusive suggestive remarks, for that matter) don't work. I'm not sure if I just block it out, or choose to take your colorful discourse for what it is - yes, you really are ok, and no, you're not just saying that yet hoping I grasp the notion that it's quite the contrary. Therefore, straightforwardness is my second middle name, as in, be up front, tell me what's wrong, and let's get over it. No tantalizing bush beating needed.

With that said, until my 21st birthday arrives in the next few months, I'll be keeping my fingers crossed for a nice Smith and Wesson .45ACP. As much as I enjoy baseball games, getting dirty, and staying up to date on the news, I still maintain satisfaction that I am a woman, and feel that a good balance of gendered mannerisms never hurt nobody.

I am woman, hear me roar.

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* From Airplane, the movie, to be politically correct about an apolitically correct statement.
** After I went back and read this, I realized how much my writing has changed since then. Probably due to the many complaints of my lack of readability, and my current inhibition to freely perpetuate my sarcasm.
*** Also note, however, I still managed to interject a subtle hint at firearm obsession*****.
**** This is a fictional attempt to support myself.
***** It's a healthy obsession, similar to popcorn.

Thursday Fight Night.

There's one concept throughout my collegiate career that has had a jaw-dropping effect. Now, it's actually a rather simple notion, so before you prepare yourself for some grandiose spiel, don't.

Written communication is different than verbal communication.

"Well, that's obvious," you might be thinking, but pre-Communication 309, this elementary sentiment was never brought up or thought upon. The more I swallow this idea, the more I realize why I prefer writing.

For example, anyone who knows me, is well aware that my foot (or gravity-defyingly* both) is usually positioned somewhere near my mouth. When you share discourse with someone words can't be taken back, nor are there opportunities for unlimited editing prior to submission.

All in all, I'm sure there's a lesson somewhere in this, such as the ruby rule "think before you speak." Or, better yet, maybe this can spur the invention of a filtration system that can be surgically installed near the connection between my brain and vocal cords. Whatever it is, I appreciate the individuals around me who continuously help to get myself out of the human pretzel position (as I am no gymnast), and being worth the dissection of prior assertions.

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*Apparently this suffix is incorrect, but I'm using it anyways.

Edit: I've really tried hard to steer clear of big words, really.