This one’s for the dorks

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . November 4, 2009 . 10:26AM

I’m a dork.

Full-fledged geek extraordinaire.

I’m ok with it and I’m not sure why others aren’t, especially when I’ve embraced this aspect of myself. Is it no longer cool to go with the self-acceptance? Dork has such a negative connotation, but there is something to be said for people that are eccentric, quirky or don’t go with the flow. We tend to stand out. Some may say that it’s not in a positive way, but I don’t think that the way I am presents itself in a bad manner.

Last week, I was in class and one of my friends was talking to another cohort about the highlights she’s had all semester. She has spent a lot of time on her outer beauty this semester and I’ve really noticed. She’s beautiful. I don’t swing that way, but if I did, I’d give her a second glance. She’s a precious, sweet, amazing, funny woman and I think that she is special. She’d commented that it took almost the entire semester for this other person in the cohort to notice that she’d had her hair done. I made the comment that I’d noticed and that I’d “been digging on her all semester.”

Not only did she smile, but she came over to me, hugged me tightly and then she and another girl made me an “Oreo sandwich.” Apparently, this is where two amazingly precious African American sweethearts hug a confused Caucasian girl and make her the cream filling. Needless to say, there were some interesting comments about what I said, but I shrug them off. I’m an equal opportunity flirt and this girl deserved what I said. Yes, it took cajones to say it, but it’s part of being quirky: You say things that others might not and it changes the outlook of the group, one way or another. She needed to hear that she is adored and accepted. I met the need and was rewarded by her, kindly.

It’s part of being a friend.

I sing in the car. Loudly. With hand gestures. Cars around me either laugh and point or join along.

I wear my heart on my sleeve and it gets me into trouble more often than not. I get hurt a lot. It’s who I am.

I will eat chicken pot pie 4 days in a row and then convince my twitter friends, they should, too. Don’t lie. You know you ate the pot pie.

I laugh at fart jokes. I tell them in public.

I’m the girl who doesn’t wear the camisole under her shirt and doesn’t realize she’s flashed people until after the fact. It wasn’t that I was trying, I just didn’t realize the shirt went down that far. It didn’t occur to me. I’m glad you enjoyed the show. They ARE beautiful.

I rarely spend more than 5 minutes on my makeup and if my hair takes more than 10, I leave it where it’s at.

I wear sneakers most every day. Screw dress up shoes.

I’m a jeans and t-shirt girl.

My perfume smells like lemons. Not a girlie smell, a CLEAN smell.

I hate to cook and clean.

I literally just played rock, paper, scissors with a presenter while the professor took over her presentation and we got bored.

I make inappropriate jokes. All the time. At the wrong times. In company where it’s wholly inappropriate.

I named my car “Betty” because anything I spend that much time with deserves to have a name.

I make fun of my education. I have to. 22 years of education makes me a nerd, along with being a geek and a dork. Yes, it also makes me smart. I’m proud of it, but not so proud that I have to make you feel stupid. I may be stupid for sitting my butt in desks made for a 7th grader for so long. We can all be happy about our education.

I wear braids, pigtails and buns. I go out in public like this. I think I look cute.

I wear the friendship bracelets my 13-year old sister made me with pride. I’ll wear them until they wear out. If you don’t like them, don’t look at them.

I want people to be my friend. Including my professors and people that may not necessarily want to be friends with someone as free with their words as I am. I have no problem joking and cajoling until people give in and become my friend. I can be charming when I want to be. Not in the typical manner. I will run up to people and invade their personal space by hugging them before they know me. Sorry about that.

I’ve done the time warp.

I’ve made, worn and given out warm fuzzies.

Butterfly and eskimo kisses are my favorite to give and receive.

I spend way too much time on my computer, but I do it because I miss the people I’ve met on here when I don’t.

I text more often than I should.

When I have my sunroof open, I feel invincible.

How are you a proud dork?

Was that Halloween or a Slut Storm? Or, My Excuse To Talk About Having Babies With Taylor Swift

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . November 3, 2009 . 10:45AM

Note: This is not a post from me, but from my guest blogger, Brandon Kiser! Please make him feel very welcome
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Halloween has come and passed and chances are you’ve seen your fair share of police officers, nurses and witches for the year. Meanwhile, young (and some not so young) women across the country need to put on the most provocative Halloween costume they can find or muster to celebrate. I’m sure you’ve noticed if you went to any parties, live anywhere near a University or even have teens yourself. Halloween has become an excuse for women to dress up like promiscuous objects and an opportunity for men to oogle.

It’s hard to say exactly when the “slut ’stume” craze started or when it will end. Perhaps it started when the whole horror movie thing began, and it makes sense. The most prominent scenes in horror films usually consist of a scantily-clad women being chased by a killer who miraculously catches up by walking at a slow even pace. And why do they include these scenes in horror movies? Because Dudes like it. Women likely picked up on it and ran with it by becoming short skirted nurses, cleavage showing police officers and strangely attractive witches.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m a dude and I like the “entertainment” just as much as anybody else – but seriously, the whole idea make no sense. Women are women, they are going to look good in anything. Plus, ladies shouldn’t do anything at 20 that they’ll be afraid to show their kids pictures of when they’re 30. Just sayin’.

Listening to the radio the other night I heard that Taylor Swift, the ideal woman (yes, I’m being slightly facetious here) and her friend decided in Junior High that instead of doing what all the other girls in her school did on Halloween they would take the alternative Halloween route. Instead of using Halloween as an excuse to act like a porn actress, they would dress completely opposite – as Chewbacca. Because the first thing every guy wants to see Taylor Swift in is a hairy alien Star Wars suit. Oh yeah.

But maybe it’s just another turn society is taking that is the result of peer pressure and lackluster parenting. Either way, if (when!) I have kids with Taylor Swift, they’re going to dress as Chewbacca and LIKE it.

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Brandon Kiser is a teenage web and politics junkie lining in KY. He blogs at The American Kiser (americankiser.blogspot.com) and, at launch, will write for the conservative news site 73wire.com. Like every other cool cat nowadays he tweets using the shocking pseudonym @BrandonKiser .

Practicum = apprenticeship

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . September 30, 2009 . 1:05PM

Part of me longs for the “good ole days.” The other part of me, the part that loves her migraine meds and air conditioning wants to smack that longing part in the face. However, there is something about the way things used to work that appealed to me. Old school courtship rituals, propriety (of which I have an utter lack) and learning skills by apprenticeship are all things that intrigue me.

Often, usually when I’m most fed up with my education and the book-learnin’ aspect of getting a doctorate, I feel the longing inside me for a simpler time. I’ve discussed this repeatedly with my supervisor at my office. I often wish that I could just observe her and soak up her knowledge like a sponge. The woman is a genius.

I feel the same about my practicum supervisor. I see how she works with children and how she draws them to her. She has them complete tasks, like a wizard of achievement testing, and I’m in awe. These people are in their element and they are good at what they do. I know why I need to be in school, but I’d much rather watch these people, full-time, and learn from them.

My education is important to me. When I’m not learning something, I grow moody (no comments from the peanut gallery) and I will start grabbing anything I can get my hands on to learn. If I’m out of school for too long, I start feeling worthless. I have things to work on in regards to how I relate my education to my feelings of self.

But I’d rather just watch and learn hands on. I think I’m just being pulled in too many directions this semester, and several of my classmates have expressed the same. Fall break can’t come soon enough.

Maybe I should have been a shoe cobbler?

Confessional Friday: I look forward to being 30

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . August 21, 2009 . 11:49AM

Now pull your jaw off the floor.

I’m serious.

30 is coming soon. So, for those of you that have been wondering, that makes me the grand age of 29. In the South, women don’t tell their age. Luckily, I’m a transplanted Northerner who is attempting to be Southern, but who talks to much to make that happen. I’m also not afraid of aging, which I think is anti-cultural for this area.

Recently, in this blog, my friend, QT, made the comment that I was “What? All of 23 years old?” I grinned and laughed it off. I took it as a compliment, and who wouldn’t, but at the same time, I realize that growing older doesn’t have to scare me.

Part of this comes from the realization that my 20’s never felt typical to me. I’ve already discussed that and I still feel the way I felt then.

30 feels like a gift. The opportunity to be the woman I want to be in a manner that is comfortable, rather than struggling. Instead of finding myself, I’ll be defining myself. I found a white hair on my head the other day and celebrated that I will be having white hair (which will be gorgeous with my fair skin) instead of dishwater gray.

30 is the new 20 is the new…who cares?

I am deciding who I am in the next decade.

I am so excited.

And you get to come with me. The party happens soon! Who wants cake?

Accepting my Amazonian womanhood

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . July 16, 2009 . 1:10PM

Leon wrote a great article about our time at Zanies watching Ralphie May the other night. Thanks for guest blogging, honey. Come back again, soon.

One thing that Leon’s article was missing was something that I realized he probably didn’t value the way I did. Rather than asking him to write about it, I decided to write about it myself, thus adding value back to it and giving myself more bang for my blogging buck. What? I’m honest.

Here’s the deal, though. Leon didn’t get this the way I didn’t understand why he almost peed his pants over the Chick-fil-a jokes: I didn’t connect to it on the same level he did. Leon has an unnatural love of Chick-fil-a sandwiches, so the jokes were tear producing for him. Ralphie took some time to talk about serious topics as well as comedy, and one of them was self-image.

His main comment on this was that our culture sucks in that we put all of this emphasis on looks. Women essentially wear makeup for other women and that as long as men are getting laid, they rarely care if you wear it. If they do care, there are bigger issues, etc. You can fill in the jokes there. He made fun of everyone, including himself. But, for 5 minutes of that show, he told every woman in that audience how beautiful they were and you know what? I think we needed to hear it. I know I did.

It doesn’t matter who is telling it, we need to hear it. Yes, I know “you should be able to feel beautiful on your own without someone telling you.” Well, I’m telling you that the idea of that is an idealistic one in this society. Shoulda woulda coulda.

The bottom line is that some people feel amazing about themselves and I think that’s awesome. They have managed to have an ideal sense of self that we all strive for and I truly think that they are amazing for getting there. That sense of self was helped to development by many people who made that person feel secure during development. Not everyone had that security and not everyone has been able to or chose to nurture that sense of self in that way. Most of still keep plugging along trying to hit the caboose of the self-esteem train just for a couple of minutes a year.

Where am I going with this? Hang on, I’m getting there.

So, after my Sunday night Ralphie boost, bless his little heart, I was feeling a little better and it was on to Tuesday night Gender Roles. We did an interesting exercise. It’s something that can be used to help people find their archetypes (symbolic images in folklore and those present in our current subconscious such as heroes, warriors, etc.). For me, while we did the exercise, I was able to embrace part of myself and find a warrior subtype that I connect with: I am an Amazon.

Yep. I’m a tall, big-boned, blobby-bodied, goddess who is stronger than she looks both physically and emotionally. I’m able to be rough and tumble and do what I have to do to protect what’s mine and, at the same time, be emotionally in touch with those around me and be sensitive to their needs. During our active imagination, I realized that I am more independent than I realized and that I’m more ok with what I look like and who I am than I thought I was.

Screw you, Jenny Craig. Screw you, Weight Watchers. I’m an Amazon.*

* And of course, due to cultural norms, I feel the need to defend my newfound Amazonian nature with an “I promise I’m not crazy or screwed up” comment. I’m just empowered. It’s a good feeling. And if you don’t like my Amazonian status, good. Find your own archetype and we can be archetypal enemies. It’ll be like Heroes Quest! Man, I used to love that game. Or Dungeons and Dragons (that one, not so much). Anyway, I’m an Amazon! But not the crazy kind.