Existential Questing: Screw linear questlines.

Do you feel smothered audience? I feel kind of absurd writing three blogs in next to no time. Especially since I posted just last night, but Becca and I were talking this morning, so I thought I'd share some of this.

So I'm going to do something I don't usually do: talk about video games.

So Skyrim.

It ate my life and owns my soul.

Becca and I were talking about life, and how she's started viewing everything not necessarily as good or bad, but as an experience, because a lot of times, she thought things had to go from point A to point B, like in a basic, RPG type videogame.

Someone else has set out a path, and you're supposed to follow the linear storyline, do you necessary quests, fight your boss battles, pick up items, and reach your highest level and finish the game, but life isn't like that, boys and girls. Life is more like Skyrim (oh, how I wish...); you have a story arc, but it's entirely up to you how much you do. You can choose any perks you feel like and create basically any kind of class you want. It's like the best of every tabletop RPGs, where you have open class creation and pretty open world creation.

But life is like that. I've talked about it before. It's not necessarily about getting to the end point. There's no GO to pass, and if you do, it's kind of iffy whether or not anyone is going to hand you $200 for absolutely nothing, usually, as in the case of LIFE, you have to pay for everything.

To quote the good Shepard Book, "How you get there is the worthier part." It's a concept that I've talked about several times with Becca and Rosalinde. There's not actually a magical end point. Your life satisfaction gauge is never going to max out, not even when you're in your forties, happily married with beautiful children, a steady lucrative job, and a dog, blah blah blah. (That sounds intolerable, by the way.)

So it doesn't make any sense to live as if that's true.

And that's not just us consoling ourselves for not doing anything with our lives yet.

There's not an outside standard to follow. There's no progress bar. No one is going to show you your life is  30% complete, and if you have a quest marker other than on your GPS, I suggest you seek medical attention.

And I'm starting to stray from my point, because theoretically I actually have a thread to follow, so I should shut up probably.

But my point here is that we should live mindfully. Pick up a few side quests, and don't be afraid to ignore some as well. Life is as much of an adventure as you make it. If you follow the paved, well-tended, high traffic highway, you'll be able to get exactly where you aim for, but if you wander off on side paths and get completely lost, you're likely to find all kinds of fun stuff, and more than a few rare items.

Decoration only

This'll have to be a quick post, theoretical readers, but I figured I'd throw it out into the ether before I forget again. It was a though that I had this morning, and then after my adventures this afternoon and a five hour shift at work, I'd nearly forgotten about it until I went to read a few other blogs. Apparently October is the time for a blog spew for everyone.

Anyway, I was helping clean this house this morning
(My mother talked to me about this last night while I was dungeon crawling, and there were like four Restless Draugers and a boss battle going on, so I was helpless to refuse. I barely had the attention to spare to acknowledge her presence.)
and I realized something I've actually known for a very long time without naming.

Don't ask me how that works. It just does.

I hate decorative things.

But wait, you hypothetically say, aren't you a self-proclaimed artist, and don't you always bitch about all your random stuffs??

Yes, that's true. But I'm not talking about art. I don't make art because it's pretty to put up on my walls. I get art because it's awesome, but YOU get art to display. But that's another one-sided discussion.

When I was a wee little'un, I always felt really uncomfortable in certain people's houses, and that continues to this day, and at some point (probably when discussing it with one of my many siblings), I came to the conclusion that it was because those houses, or rooms, felt fake. They looked like a magazine picture, as though they were on display for someone. It's something I've come to hate. I like places that feel lived in, that are clearly used on a regular basis.

If your kitchen is pristine, I mistrust you and it immediately.

My issue here is that it's a lie. You're beautiful house is a lie! It's contrived and insincere, and I hate that in any aspect. You can't trust someone who isn't real, and you can't respect someone whose worth clearly depends so heavily on what other people think.

When I clean, it's largely for me. That isn't to say that I don't clean when I have people over, but they've pretty much all seen my house nearly at its worst at one time or another.

I think what it comes down to is comfort and ownership. There's a balance to be maintained, and when something is fake, you totally crush that.

Along with that, I was gonna talk about my hatred for fake plants. They serve no purpose, add nothing of worth, and serve only to create tripping hazards and collect dust. I hate pointless things more often than not. if it serves no active purpose and adds virtually nothing aesthetically, don't buy it.

So yes. Fake, decorative, display-only things should go away.

Anyways, that's my doughy, disjointed thought for today.

I feel almost guilty that you, unfortunate readers, get the dregs of my cleverness and my least polished writing.

Faceless (A disjointed ramble on being a food-service drone)

Before my actual post, let me briefly offer some vague, half-sincere apology about not writing in so long. I keep thinking I should post something, but then I lose motivation, or don't have time, or don't have anything to say worth posting, dubious though that distinction clearly is with me.

But on to this blog!

So today at this meeting I had for work, we got informed that there are some changes to the uniform; we now have to wear aprons, tuck our shirts in, wear a plain, solid colored belt, and if we wear black jeans, they have to be solid colored, with no fading or wearing anywhere. Our area rep commented to my manager during his last inspection that we were looking a little "sloppy" right after commending us on almost everything else. This was because we are allowed to wear black jeans and colorful, exciting belts if we so desire, and that day I wore capris and boots. When I got hired on, I was told I could no longer wear my nose ring (I can get away with the stud, but the ring is too extreme or something), my watch, my bracelets/wristband, any visible necklaces, and anything but studs in my ears. I also have to have a natural hair color, solid, dark shoes, constantly wear my work shirt and hat, and not paint my nails.

Yes, my fingernails cannot be painted pretty colors.

I realize that that isn't that bad as far as uniform requirements. It's actually not that much worse than my dresscode in high school, but the thing about the dresscode in school was that I was free to wear anything I wanted within the parameters. It's a genuine struggle for me to conform to the boring uniforms, and I have to try very hard not to look as individual as I typically do.

Let me give you guys some point of reference...

That's me in real life, more or less (my hair is actually black at the moment). I don't take issue with looking professional and making it clear where I work, especially since I'm often out of the store on deliveries and such. What I take issue with is the evil implications behind this stupid rule. Because the subtext of what my place of employment is doing is that I am not an individual. I am a food drone here to serve you.

The purpose of a uniform in food service is to make you, the customer, forget that I am a person, with my own life, my own problems and priorities, my own style, my own views, and they have nothing to do with you. It's more convenient and it's quicker is we forget that we are interacting with people and simply treat them as a function. I do the same thing. My customers are largely irrelevant to me, just as I am irrelevant to them. When I flash you a sunny smile and ask how your day is going, I couldn't actually care less, and if you don't tip me, my coworkers will hear all about what a fat trollop I thought you were. Your function, faceless customer, is to provide me with income, and my function is to provide you with food.

Actually, one time, I delivered to one of my coworker's houses right before she started working with me, and  the day I met her officially, she told me that I delivered to her before. I just stared blankly, having absolutely no memory of her until she reminded me that I got lost and her little sister walked around the corner to assist me.

I'd love to be able to give a fuzzy moral for this story, or to challenge you to remember that everyone is the hero of their own story, but that would likely just end with me telling you to tip, for the love of god, so I won't do that. Everyone is their own main character, but we are such egocentric creatures, we forget that not everyone is living our story.

Maybe someday I'll come back to this topic and write something clearer and better on it, because there's really so much more I wanted to say, but everything is coming out misshapen and cloudy, so I shall simply leave this monstrosity as it is and go about my day.

Quick, Anecdotal Social thoughts: Gender roles

I realized when I wanted to write this post how much the purpose of this blog has changed some in the last few months. Because, if you recall, I originally started this as kind of a snarky joke, to share my wellspring of BS with an easily amused audience, but it was in practically no time that this turned into whatever Rachel feels like today, which is sometimes me thinking I'm clever and funny, and sometimes it's not.

Anyways! The reason I thought about this was because something that happened this morning started turning into reflection and the desire to throw my personal views out into the void.

As I've mentioned several times, during the school year, I babysit on Tuesday mornings, and this year, we have a much wider age range and a larger group of kids. The oldest ones are around six years old, and the youngest aren't quite a year old. This morning, the older girls (there are three of them) were all hanging out in the corner of the room monopolizing most of the plastic food and baby dolls, presumably playing at that most horrifying childhood game "house."

I may need to take a moment here to interrupt myself and rail against the horror that inspires in me...There's part of a stand-up routine I watched that the guy is talking about the heinous unfairness to little boys and girls, because when a boy is small, what do we get him? Trucks and guns and Legos and such, but what do you get for a little girl? Another kid, of course! He says something like, "Hey, little baby, here's your baby!" and then adopts this horrified and disappointed face and responds, "But I just got here..." Maybe this a the benefit of hindsight, but why on earth would children want to play at the mundane? There is sadly few thrilling things about keeping a house, being poor, having children, or cooking dinner. I know I played some aspects of that as a wee child, but I'm pretty sure I was usually also building shelter on a desert island, or fleeing Bad Guys, or embarking on a quest...

And now that I've thoroughly derailed both of us, dear audience, I shall continue me story!

One of my unashamed favorite children in the nursery, a little boy named Daniel, a little two-year-old, chubby, ginger kid,  comes over and picks up a little plastic "milk" bottle and this hideous, plastic, Cabbage Patch-esque monstrosity, and promptly pretends to feed it, cuddle it a bit, and place it clumsily in the toy crib with a blanket. And these little girls look at him like he's utterly mad--but, of course, he's only a baby, so he can't be expected to understand that these are girls' toys. They keep giving me side-long glances, as if waiting for me to do my grown-up duty and gently pull Daniel away, informing him sternly that these are for girls, and little boys don't play with baby dolls.

I find that both amusing and infuriating. I came across the same thing in a family I used to babysit for. The youngest girl was ridiculing her little brother, because he wanted the three of us to play the Angelina Ballerina game, and she claimed that was a girl game, because it contained pastel colors, primarily pink, and was about ballet. I gently explained to her that ballet was also for boys, and they're hardcore, and that if she, a girl, could like "boy" things, like green and Legos and guns, it was ok for boys to like "girl" things too.

This might simply be because I know many happily metrosexual men, but I don't understand this double standard in rigid gender roles. You would think that in a country that has experienced not one, but three major feminist movements, we would understand that gender equality is not just about one sex. If women demand to be freed from centuries of social tradition, how can they refuse to extend the same right to their male counterparts? There's this absurd stereotype that men fulfilling traditionally female roles, like stay-at-home dads, or nurses, or stylists, or whatever receive ridicule and criticism for not fulfilling their "role as men." When a woman enters a field that is primarily populated by men, she is either congratulated as a pioneer, or laughed at for being crazy, but when men do the same thing, they pretty much just get their sexual preferences questioned.

...What?

How does that make any sense, boys and girls?

Anyway, I think that's about enough from me for tonight. It was just something on my mind that I thought I would share with the silent void.

The Rules of Engagement: Relationships according to me

Due to some recent nonsense on Facebook, I've decided to suspend my plans for writing a post on something fun, and I shall rant about relationships, because at least half the people in existence are total freaking morons about them. And I'm not just talking about women. (Yes, that just came out of my feminist mouth. Or hands. Feel free to snicker. I'm only half joking...)

I have decided to give you, my dear audience, the benefit of my vast and excessively snarky wisdom. Because apparently these things aren't obvious. So! Without further ado, my ten rules on relationships. There are probably more, but these came to mind first and most emphatically.

In almost no particular order...

1) Love at first sight is bollocks. Always.

Do you know who believes in love at first sight? Children and stupid people, so unless you're an eleven year old girl or a Disney character, I suggest you stop waiting for the light from heaven to shine down on your Destiny while he/she starts singing the first verse of your duet while grocery shopping or whatever.

Yes, I'm looking at you, Michael Buble!

Sorry to be the one to say there's no love Santa, guys (No, I'm not. That's a total lie), but if you rely on love at first sight, you're probably going to end up divorced. And I don't want to hear about your cousin's best friend's aunt, who met her husband and got engaged three days later, and now they've been happily married for twenty-five years, and I'll explain why in a few minutes. So keep reading until I've offended you enough that you huff away and watch The Notebook. (*Whispers loudly* That's mockery, for those of you smart enough not to have wasted your time on that film. Because it was stupid.)

2) Friendship is not Step 1

Sorry, guys. For those of you crying yourself to sleep because you've been Friendzoned AGAIN, this may be something you might want to learn. As a girl, I've experienced this several times, as have the few females I spend time with (By which I largely mean Becca and Taryn): You start talking to this guy, and he's pretty cool so maybe you hang out a few times, and seven out of ten times, it ends with him abruptly dropping the bomb that he wants to date you, which you then shoot down as gently as possible (don't be nice, chicks out there. They interpret treating them like humans as a signal. Obviously you're attracted to them, and if they're just patient enough...), so of course the friendship is usually ruined.

The thing you guys need to understand is that friendship is not a means to an end. It's an end in itself. You don't become friends with someone to work your way into a relationship. If that happens by accident (it's happened to me more than once), good luck with that, but it's not a bloody strategy game, guys. It's not about being patient, or being there for her, because most times, it's not going to end with her suddenly discovering that "it's been you all along <3" More likely, she already knows you're great, already loves you to death, but--sorry, sweetheart--You're a brotherly lamp.

3) "In a relationship" means off bloody limits

This has also happened to me, and it's usually in conjunction with the Being Friends First Ploy. I was under the impression that having a significant other meant that other people were aware you were not available to pursue another relationship. Apparently that's not so. So let me break it down for those of you scummy enough not to get it.

When one is in a relationship, theoretically there is a significant and committed bond to one's significant other. If someone else breezes in and makes themselves available, they're SOL. "Taken" means "not single." Therefore unavailable.

Maybe that's what they should say on Facebook. Not "single" and "in a relationship" (I'm ignoring all the married and engaged nonsense), but "single" and "NOT single, ie unavailable, no you can't date ____"

4) Friendship is not an in.

See 2.

I think this bears repeating, because it doesn't seem to penetrate most people's pathetic little brains. Relationships need friendship as a grounding point and foundation, yes, but it's not friendship-->relationship. Besides, why wouldn't you want to be friends with your significant other and have friends that are platonic friends? It's so much fun.

5) Time

This probably goes back to the "love at first sight" nonsense, but relationships require time. I've never really understood the people who go, "Hey, you're remotely attractive, and we've been talking for like an hour. Wanna date, so that we can get to know each other better?" How often does that actually result in a lasting relationship? Because every time I've seen it, they last about one to six months. And that's being generous.

Supposedly marriage counselors say it takes something like two years to know someone well enough to make a lasting commitment.

The other thing is that people have a totally skewed perspective on what constitutes a "long" relationship. I've known people who have never had a relationship longer than six months. They're doing it wrong. Relationships are ideally going to end in the M word. Which is supposed to be a life long commitment, though that's a rant for a different day, or possibly never. Feel like a relationship counts when it's multiple years and genuinely serious. Not until then, because those are essentially the same as that two week "relationship" you had in sixth grade.

6) You're not an amoeba

We've all seen that couple. They were annoying at best, and nauseating at worst. It's not--I repeat not-- necessary to be constantly in contact with your squeeze. No one wants to see you snuggling, or anything else. The idea of a relationship is not to be part of this creepy blob. It's two distinct, independent people. You don't need to be physically or emotionally intimate or whatever all the time. Don't lose yourself in that scary morass you call a relationship, because when you've become an appendage or you constantly have that  person's vibe all over you, it's just annoying, and no one wants to be around you. Which only furthers your blobbiness, and then when you break up, no one is gonna be there to tell you what a douche you were dating anyway.

7) The exception is not the rule.

Everybody knows a few stories about those couples that married super young, super quickly, had different *fill in socially heinous something or other*, or whatever, and they ended up perfectly happy for the rest of their lives. 

I have one thing to say about that: How many stories of that are there as compared to the number of stories of stupidly failed relationships? Those are the exception, and not the rule. How many stories have you heard of that one in a million chance that the seatbelt killed someone in a car accident? Do you now no longer put in a seatbelt when you drive somewhere? It's the same idea. You are, in all likelihood, the rule. You are not the exception, and the chances of whatever idiotic, absurd, romantic bullcrap you're believing happening to you is miniscule, so open your eyes and live in the world as it is. You don't need fuzzy fairytales of twu wuv to make the world an amazing place.

8) Other people can see you

Closely linked to number 6, people can see you and your honey. Please, for the love of all that is holy, keep your affection to yourselves. If you want to hold hands now and again or exchange the occasional peck, go for it with my blessing. But keep your lovey-dovey, squishy emotions between yourselves. The point of emotional intimacy is that it's intimate. As in not shared with anyone and everyone around you. I don't want to hear about your relationship either. I don't care how much you love your significant other.

This the correct response. And also clearly a good relationship.

9) Learn the meaning of "anniversary"

I'm not sure how many of you are aware of this, but theoretically, if you're literate, you know the root in "anniversary" means "year." Year, boys and girls. Not month, not week. Year. If I hear you say it's your three month anniversary, I'm going to stab you in the neck with whatever I can reach fastest, and if it's not a stabbing tool, I'm resourceful enough to use it to bludgeon you to death.

10) Know what you're getting into.

This also ties back into a few things I've said before. If you don't know the person you're getting into a relationship with, you're probably boarding a sinking ship, honeychild. Also, it may have escaped your notice, but relationships can be hard. They're definitely not for the faint at heart, because that's usually some strange baggage your picking up. Any time you get two people being close, you're probably going to get some flames somewhere or other, so if you're expecting all sunshine and rose petals (Oh, god! Don't follow the rose petals!), you should probably just give up now.

Also, some advice for the single: Your watchword is "amazing" usually with a smiley face. That's your cue to run. Run now.

The problem with stalling

Everyone calls it procrastinating, which doesn't seem like the right term somehow. Maybe this is just me, but I have it in my head that procrastinating is a result of doing other things rather than something else that needs done, whereas stalling is doing things to avoid doing something that needs done.


A fine distinction, maybe, but one I mentally make nonetheless.

As you may have guessed, I am currently avidly engaged in the latter.

My bedroom is in worse shambles than it usually is, and rather than clear away enough random crap that I can sleep on my couch (there's not enough floor space for the bed [my bed unrolls from the couch. Yes, it's awesome.]), I'm writing this blog post, which probably won't even get posted until I get up tomorrow morning. Yay for time limitations on my internet, because that's mysteriously necessary -.-

Anyway! I was thinking about how this heinous, overwhelming mess is completely my fault, and how I don't know what to do with it, and while trying to think of some legitimate way to not be cleaning it up, I got to think about stalling and accountability and such.

Also, I think there might be something wrong with making parenthetical statements within a parenthetical statement, but that's neither here nor there.

But have you noticed how often we dig our own graves? This doesn't really qualify as grave, I suppose, but it's at least a very deep hole that is inconveniently difficult to get out of. Because once mess begins, it's hard to fix.

I believe that's the underlying principle to "Kipple." In Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, they repeatedly talk about kipple taking over the world, which is essentially just random crap. It's a force akin to entropy, but more lethargic and pointless. At least as I remember it. It's been at least a year since I read that book.

But all this random crap that I'm trying to sort through and throw away has gotten me thinking about how much junk I hold on to for absolutely no reason. Maybe other people don't have this problem and I'm just a level 3 hoarder or something, but I can't help but think this is a concept that transcends me, and probably transcends stuff. I haven't actually thought about it enough to come to an actual conclusion, and now I don't even know where I was going with all of this, so I'm just going to end this here and post it despite its absolute uselessness. I don't want all that typing I've just done to purposeless, though, even though the content is little more than pointless ramblings on a half topic.

I think I'm going to call this to be continued, because there's ideas budding in here that I want to explore further.

Five Valid Reasons Not to be a Stripper

Maybe I'm the only one who keeps being told that being a stripper would be awesome. If so, feel free to skip this post and waste your time and entertain yourself in some other way.

In almost no particular order:

1) EXERCISE

Because no one ever wants to do that except crazy people. Apparently pole-dancing takes some serious muscle.  And, lets be honest, guys, no one wants to see someone's half-naked flab, especially when they're not at all invested emotionally. Most people don't even want to see clothed flab, barring some terrifying fetishes. Also, apparently being attractively toned and athletic is kind of important in a trade where you sell your body.

Did you know that they offer pole dancing classes at a lot of gyms now? They're largely populated by pathetic, suburban soccer-moms.

2) TAN

For some mysterious reason, those of us the color of a luminescent glass of milk are not the standard for beauty.

Whatever happened to the times when this was the height of health and attractiveness?

And that's the creation of Eve, so so obviously the real standard.

So unless you were aiming for some vampire-fetish or goth strip joint (Do they even have those? I don't think strip clubs follow the rule of internet porn subject matter--If you can conceive of it, it exists somewhere.), you'll have to either sit outside under the sun's fiery rays, get baked under artificial, carcinogenic lamps, or coat your skin in some horrifying shade of oily grossness.

3) OUTFITS

Of all the possible horrible outfits that professions can have, I think strippers got the short end of the stick, which shouldn't be possible given that their whole job is to take clothes off. But seriously, watch any movie, videogame, or tv show in existence and tell me you wouldn't feel like an idiot in that stuff.

Little do I know that they're intentionally awful so that people will gladly take them off when they're at work.

4) STAGE NAMES

Have you ever heard a stage name that you wouldn't wince at? I can understand not wanting to use your real name for several painfully obvious reasons, but why do half of them sound like sex-obsessed My Little Ponies? Is it so that there's no confusion? "Wait! That sounds like an actual name. Does that mean the clothes stay on??"

5)TIPS

Think about this for a minute: strippers get tipped by their adoring and horny audience stereotypically in singles. Not only is that not that much money for a very long time, it's going to add up. Think about the number of  dollars that they get on a regular night. Now imagine trying to wrestle all those ones into a wallet. Just think about that. Lots and lots of single bills.

Someone once told me that nearly every time she gets a dollar, she thinks to herself, "I wonder if this has been in a stripper's g-string."

This is the real reason for this whole post. I was carrying eighteen one dollar bills when I left work tonight, and getting them into my wallet was murder.

And that's really why you should finish high school and learn a real trade.

You know, aside from the part where you voluntarily make yourself a sex-object (and the rest of us by extension, men and women), and the creepers peering at your body.