Any Way You Want It.

Aristotle was a stately man when dealing with rhetoric and poetics, combating the puristic Sophist beliefs of virtuous (and might I say distasteful) discourse. Little did he know, though, that since the 4th century BC, the 21st-ers have taken it to an all new extreme.

What classifies an honest man?

Society today has learned to manipulate any, if not all, modes of communication in an attempt to save face, in an attempt to get face, and in an attempt to hide the it's-two-in-the-morning-and-I'd-like-to-go-to-sleep-even-though-we're-in-Vegas face.

After a quick trip six hours down the I-15, the grammatically correct trio made it to the City of Sin, and might I say it continues to uphold its reputation, if the "Girls, Girls, Girls!" men on the corner didn't already scream the notion enough. You wonder how many people, especially here, are telling the truth, even with the most elementary of interrogations.

"What's your name? How old are you, really? How many kids*?"

But in turn, how many people can actually be trusted? Even sharing your first initial causes worriment to some, afraid of a reenactment of Scream-meets-The-Hangover. But then again, there's the mass social networking tool of Facebook, where I'm more than positive that it's the largest stalking agency to date. So on a comparative level, Vegas is just a flashy, nude version of the website, and I'd like to think that both contain strategic false impressions.

I'm not ragging on the town, however, should that be the ideological assumption made, because a lot of good came out of a place characterized by a lot of bad. A friend had stated prior to the trip that company triumphs even the most mediocre of places, and he was right. Meatloaf is more than just a loaf of meat, kissing a smoker isn't always like licking an ashtray**, and gambling two dollars was as disheartening as predicted are all things I've recently learned, along with taking a step closer in understanding just what it is that I want.

While away on our vacation, I was going back and forth on a job offer in Alaska. During the interview, the woman asked me several expected questions, your typical figuring-out-if-you're-not-a-creeper inquisitions, and then stopped me at one.

"Where do you see yourself in five years?"

At first I let out a laugh. I didn't know how to respond, and on top of that, didn't know how I would frame the statement in such a way to entice her attention.

I stuttered a bit, and finally blurted something out along the lines of, "Is this a trick question?" I have always been asked what I wanted to do with my life, and it seems as though the response consistently changes. How could any one person give a surefire answer? I decided to give it a shot.

"At the end of the day, I want to be enjoying what I'm doing, and doing it well."

I'm not sure if that's what she wanted to hear, but I hoped she'd appreciate my strong taste for honesty. Aristotle was surely shaking in his grave at my discontinuance of rhetoric, yet as more and more time passes, I'm figuring out that being me is all I have to give, and with that comes a little bit of sarcasm, a little bit of laughs, and a lot of realness.

I'm real, and it's comforting in knowing that, even in the 21st century.

Although flashing lights and glitzy (abhorrent) glamor draws you in, Vegas spits you out with a bit of insight, believe it or not. I suppose this means that what happens there, doesn't necessarily stay there.

Viva!

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*And how old - very important question.
**Not from personal experience.

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.

Sunny Delight Earns D Grade.

"I was born with an enormous need for affection, and a terrible need to give it."

I haven't written in awhile, but let me tell you why.

There's nothing like a good glass of orange juice. The taste, the aroma, and joyously throwing the peels down the garbage disposal - it can't be beat. However, when something is lost out of that substance, like the pulp (which is undoubtedly the best part) (that's not up for discussion), the glass almost instantaneously appears half empty, and certainly lacking in a proper serving of vitamin c. Without this pulp, one could infer that the simple reminder of mother nature has been removed from the processed, frozen, popped out of a can fruit concentrate. In the same way, I've lost my words, or at least the essence behind them.

And you know who I have to blame for this malnutrition? My mother.

Driving home from class tonight I began thinking why certain things happen. I also double checked my image in the mirror to see if there were giant letters spelling out "screw me, please" on my forehead. Then it hit me - I know exactly where it comes from. My ma has the biggest heart of anyone I have ever graced these past 20 years; she consistently gives and gives and gives, never expecting a token in return. She hardly complains, and when she does it's framed in such a way to sympathize with others (whether she realizes it or not). She forgives, she's thoughtful, and continually strives to cure all wounds - especially those that can't be seen. I feel for other maternal figures that know her, because surely there's some envy at her mothering skills. Yes, I'm biased, but don't let that fool you. This, then, is where the applied analysis comes into effect.

However much I don't want to care, however much I don't want to give simply doesn't matter. Period. It's like someone decides to take a machete to my insides, tearing me up because I want to, I have to - this emotional mindset has been ingrained within myself from the very beginning, and I'm afraid a reverse-conditioning process would be of no use. This further goes to supplant the notion of unconditionality. Whether you beat me down, like to take me for a ride, or pull the silent treatment card, I let you. And you know why I let you? The same reason my mom puts up with my pent up aggression. The same reason she continues to accept me for who I am. The same reason she routinely shows her love for me whether I deserve it or not.

Maybe it's because we like to see the good in individuals. Or maybe, its the simple the fact that we like to see people content, even at the cost of our own egos.

And it absolutely kills me.

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