A field guide to growing up without growing apart
OUR QUARTER LIFE CRISIS IS HERE! In the spirit of me and Cindy turning 25 in a few days, I’ve asked the girls to discuss their Quarter Life Crisis for November’s Condition of The Month. Maybe it has to do with Thanksgiving gratefulness, or maybe […]
Hey there Princesses, I’m alive! And hello there to all you readers of our little blog that helps us 20-somethings stay in touch! It feels like our audience has doubled in the last few weeks I’ve been off the grid and though we get little […]
Hey, so we’re a little bit late this month with the condition of the month. The Little Merksank will take all the blame for that as she has been neglecting her duties. However, that special time of the month has finally come. Indeed, it is an extra special month because it is our blog-aversary. It’s been one whole year since the naughty princesses started blogging together. Can you believe it? We hardly can…
In honor of that occasion, we decided to all revisit an old blog post that we wrote a year ago and comment on how that year has changed us.
Where was I one year ago? Well, pretty much exactly where I am now. In some ways nothing has changed, in other ways a lot has changed.
A year ago, I was really really a newlywed. I had just come back from my honeymoon. I was posting about what it was like to live with a boy, and the awkward transition of combining two lives into one. Now I no longer feel awkward at all—in fact I’m pretty sure I would be miserable if I had to live alone again. However, that doesn’t mean our struggles are over. I do think my marriage has gotton stronger over the last year. There is a lot that we have overcome. However, there is still a lot more to struggle through together. I feel more connected to my husband than I did a year ago, because we have been learning a lot about each other this year. But there is still a lot to learn, and if I know anything about us, I know this—we always seem to learn the hard way. We’re too stubborn for our own good.
For this Condition of the Month I revisited a post from almost a year ago, in which I discussed my conflicted feelings about the crazy conservative politics of my current host country, namely their cultural mandate that women should cover themselves from head to toe in black shapeless gowns whenever they leave their homes. I’ve now been wearing my abaya for going on a year and a half now (at least whenever I leave the safe confines of our compound), so I have conformed to this culture as much as I am willing to. In my previous post I talked about how women who went so far as to cover their entire faces with a veil or cover their hands with black gloves weirded me out. Well, that is still true. Recently I’ve been doing some classroom observations in the local high school, and I’ve met several girls who wear a full abaya, headscarf, and veil to school every single day. This shocked me, because at the school I taught at last year things were decidedly more Western, and almost none of the girls even wore their abayas on school grounds.
So what’s my point? Well, comparing how I feel about some of these cultural norms now to what I wrote about last October, I’d say I’m getting less tolerant, not more. Often when I’m out and about I find myself feeling a burning twinge of annoyance at the way all females in this country have to conform, regardless of their own personal beliefs. I’ve heard stories of 11-year-old girls being berated in the mall for not being covered, and I’ve seen first-hand that covering doesn’t even always protect a woman from the unwanted stares and lewd attention of men. Most of all, I wish it didn’t have to be black! There’s undeniable symbolism there, if you ask me. It’s not okay for women to be modestly dressed in hot pink abayas, or tie dye, or lace, or beautifully patterned abayas. No, they have to be black, colorless, devoid of identity. This is a place that fears female empowerment, and that is something I just know I won’t be able to abide forever.
Well, in a lot of ways my life is still much the same as it was this time last year. I am still a graduate student, lacking a ‘real’ job, and living off of black beans. But I still love what I study and am excited about getting to do what I do everyday. Looking back over the past year, one of the biggest changes, at least so far as my blog posts are concerned is that I am no longer writing about a certain guy. Do you all remember Herman? He was the one who was sort of a jerk to Mareena in my fictionalized romance-novel style account of my love life. But for some reason I really had a hard time getting over him. I remember writing a post about being Stuck on Rewind, and how our relationship felt like this circular presence in my life: I wanted to escape from it but I didn’t know how to move on. And really, things were like that for about a year. It felt like a really long time, but now it’s about nine months after I wrote that post and I am glad to say, I hardly ever think of Herman. I haven’t seen him all summer (and Oxford summers are really long) but I am pleased to say that I am neither excited nor worried about seeing him again. Basically: I am no longer stuck on rewind, and it feels really good. Besides, he was a jerk anyway
What?! No post from the Booty? Well, I guess we can forgive this once because she is off having amazing adventures in the Grand Canyon. She better post all about it when she gets back though… otherwise we might kick her off the blog. Just kidding of course! We love you Booty and can’t wait to have your presence back among us!
UPDATE: Booty’s BACK! And if you think I’d miss out on answering this question you’re otta yo mind. This time last year I was unemployed, dealing with a loss of a grandparent and moving back in with my parents after years of living out of state. Now my life is the complete opposite since I’m gainfully employed at a company almost four times as long as I ever have been, watching my 99 year old grandpa’s health steadily improve and making plans to move out of my parent’s house in a few months. Instead of making the drive from Seattle to Utah like i did last year I’m hopping on a plan to get back to that emerald city for the first time since. It’s absurd how much can change in a year and while I really don’t feel all that different I also know I’ve learned so much about who I am and how I want to live my life. This time last year I had no plan, no idea what the next week or next moment of my life would bring and I HATED IT. Now I know some about what the next months of my life will be, but instead of dreading those unknowns, I’m excited for them. Anything can happen.
Fall is here! According to my facebook newsfeed, that means it’s time for everyone to freak the hell out because pumpkin spice lattes are back in Starbucks. But for me, it just means a hopeful season of change. At least I hope so. I’ve been […]
Well hello there blog world! I don’t have much time this week since I’m packing for a rafting trip this weekend (heading down to Cataract Canyon in Moab for four days of river bliss) but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about you! The last few […]
I will never have another best friend.
When I was little I used to manipulate other people into doing things I wanted by promising to be their best friend. You’d be surprised how often it worked, most people needing little more than an “I’ll be your best friend!”to convince them to part with the best items in their lunches. I never said it maliciously, but I did say it flippantly, promising something I knew I’d never really have to give. Even as a 1st grader I knew you couldn’t measure intimacy.
As I got older I stood by as my friends abused the power of friendship, laughing along as we ditched a girl who wanted to sit with us at lunch or watching safely from second place as my friend rotated best friends every few weeks. There were plenty of times I was more afraid of my friends’ judgments than of my enemy’s, powerless as we carelessly threw about best friends in order to figure out who we were. Teenagers want so much to be loved, it was easy to seduce each other with promises of friendship, even easier to hurt each other with them.
Somewhere along the way I realized that nothing good ever came from those two little words. Best friends always grew apart, always let each other down, always hurt the people around them. I still can’t think of one instance when publically calling someone a best friend has been used for good. Sure whispering to a significant other that he’s your best friend or even mentioning it to a good friend when they’re feeling low can be a good thing, but naming a best friend to the world does little more than hurt the runners up, forcing all of us to evaluate and compare our relationships in ways they were never meant to be. Friendship isn’t a game or a competition; I’m not the Bachelorette, I didn’t sign up to find the one friend who is right for me. It doesn’t make any sense to rank relationships I never have to part with; my heart is big enough to love a ton of people in a ton of ways.
A few weeks ago a good friend of mine got engaged and named me her Maid of Honor. I’m thrilled that she loves me and I have no problem helping her out in whatever way she needs, but it still freaks me out to think of our relationship in comparison to others. It is sad to think of all the other people in her life who love her and didn’t make the cut, it makes me even sadder to think about all the time I haven’t spent with her that I like to think she is spending with other people who love her even more. Suddenly I feel like our relationship is less organic, like this title of Number One Friend somehow brings with it a new set of expectations that I owe it to her to try to meet. Suddenly I feel like I’m in a relationship with someone who said I love you too soon and I’m supposed to either lie to them or break up.
That is ridiculous, and it sucks that a phrase that is supposed to be good brings with it so much bad. Obviously I’m not going to break up with her, but still, am I supposed to lie and say you’re the one friend I can’t live without?
Not to be narcissistic, but I have a lot of close friends, a ton of people who I love dearly and dearly love me. In the last few months I can name 4 people who have called me their best friend and that isn’t including any of the naughty princesses or two of my closest roommates from Seattle. Am I supposed to tell them all that they’re my one and only? How can I measure love? What purpose can it serve to name one the best? What does best even mean?
Maybe it’s true that I don’t let any of them all the way in, that I’m missing out on one great friendship (and I know significant others are a whole different story), but I hope that isn’t true. I hope that it means that I make an effort to stay in touch with people I love, that I refuse to let go of people who I no longer see every day. I like to think it means that our relationships aren’t tied to anything other than the two of us, that no matter what else in our lives changes, our connection will always exist.
The thing is, as hard as I’ve worked to keep that phrase out of my life, this weekend I realized that I did have a best friend. And that I officially have to let her go.
She and I met in 3rd grade and were mostly inseparable throughout the next 7 years. Sure we had other friends but we lived in the same neighborhood and liked the same things, so every night always distilled down to the two of us. In middle school we had sleepovers at least 2 nights a week and she’d call me to remind me to do my homework and I’d tell her which boys were looking at her during classes. In high school we captained our basketball team together, both of us making varsity when we were sophomores. We took the same classes, liked the same music and even worked the same summer jobs. We spent less time together after she got a boyfriend sophomore year and I branched into new interests, but she was always the person I’d see across the room and smile, the person who’s back I always had, the person I knew always had mine.
We rarely called each other our best friend then, but only because it didn’t matter. We were close and saying that phrase out loud only hurt the people around us. We were friends and that was all that mattered.
When we went to college things changed. She’d always had trouble being genuine with people, putting on a front when she was feeling insecure, so when we met up for Christmas and it took me a few extra hours to get her to open up, I understood. It is hard for plenty of people to spend time away and jump right back where we left off, I get it. But when I hopped on a plane to visit her for Spring Break that year and was met with a person I didn’t recognize I realized things were going to be different. I won’t go into how she treated me or the ways she held me at bay, but it hurt to be the focus of things I used to be able redirect. In high school I’d known her well enough and she’d trusted me enough to keep those things from me, now here I was only a few months later demoted to what felt like a surface level friend(though instead of using my name all week she called me Best Friend). With her the line is so clear between real and putting on a brave face, it felt like she was throwing knives at me every time she spoke, especially when she called me by a name that was supposed to convey intimacy. I couldn’t believe everything we’d had could be gone so fast and how hollow and cold the words best friend had become.
Over the next few years things didn’t get much better. I’d see glimpses of our old friendship and a few times I’d even get a few hours with the real her, but it was always a struggle, a real effort I’d have to make to remind her who we were, how we could be.
I went to visit her in California a few months ago and she wasn’t there at all. We spent a few days exploring her town and we did little more than politely complement each other and promise to call more. Sometimes it felt like we were nothing more than acquaintances, though on more than one occasion she introduced me as her best friend. This weekend she came home to visit me and her family and I cleared my schedule to try and break through. We were busy the whole time, if we had taken pictures our Facebook feeds would have made it seem like our friendship was at its best. But instead of the genuine reunion I crave from her, I spent three days with a person who’d given up on getting to know me, getting to know herself, and getting to know us. Any time I tried to talk about something real she’d pull away, remarking on the weather or our next activity. In moments of silence she’d make surface level conversation, repeating things we’d already discussed. When we had a real chance to go through some of our old stuff and reminisce or even reconnect she turned on a movie both of us had already seen.
When she dropped me off on Sunday night and my parents asked how our weekend had been I cried, trying to explain how terrible it is to sit across the table from someone you love and not be able to talk to her. How helpless I feel when I try to help her remember how wonderful and brilliant she can be, but am only met with resignation. Talking to them I realized I’ve said all of this a hundred times before, that she and I hadn’t been best friends for a long time. I realized that I hold her to a higher standard than I do the rest, that I’ve fought harder for her than I have for anyone else, that as badly as I want to help her find that spark she used to have, there is nothing else I can do.
So this weekend I said goodbye to my best friend. I’m not losing a friend, I know I’ll always be friends with her and I know I’ll always love her, but as of today I’m not going to look at her and hope to see someone she used to be. She isn’t my best friend anymore. Maybe if I’m able to let go of who she was I’ll be able to find ways to appreciate who she’s become.
Come January I’m getting on a plane and crossing the Atlantic. I have no idea where I’ll end up, how long I’ll stay or really why I’m going. I know I have/need/want to go but I’m having trouble explaining WHY to myself and others. In […]
This weekend I was asked THE DREADED QUESTION (What are you doing with your life) and didn’t really come out alive. By now you’d think I’d be good at deflecting this one, making up some sort of flowery answer that is somehow both satisfactory and […]
If you’ve read my previous blogs, you know I moved to the Middle East last year with my husband, shortly after we got married. I’ve been somewhat vague about the exact country, but here’s a big hint: It rhymes with “Naughty Labia.”
Anyway, after a year of living on the east coast of “Naughty Labia” my husband’s job has moved across this giant sand-pit to the west coast, and we’ve packed our bags and relocated. For me, this meant quitting my teaching job at the end of the school year, hoping to find new opportunities in our new home. The only problem is that our new home is more isolated…we’re essentially living on a small university campus about an hour away from the nearest major city.
In some ways, I’m completely loving the new place. It’s nice to be somewhere a little quieter, and the housing they provide is WAY nicer than what we had before. They have a really nice beach and a movie theater and a grocery store and a couple of restaurants, and what more do you need, really? Free gym membership and riding around on a sweet purple moped that literally costs 25 cents to fill with gas…yeah, in some ways life is looking up!
But, at the same time, it’s a change, and I am not a person who typically digs change. The biggest upheaval I’ve ever experienced was leaving the US in the first place, but I was so lucky to find the job of my dreams, which kept my mind off of the other annoyances of living in a foreign land. Now, though, I’m back to square one. The friends we made in our first year? Gone. Teaching those amazing students? Just a memory.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m enjoying my newfound freedom from work, and I’ve been kept busy packing and unpacking all our worldly possessions. But there’s also a twinge of loneliness that comes from not knowing anyone and boredom from not having a job or even that many hobbies. The hard part is that I know this transition period isn’t going away anytime soon. Like all college towns, this place has cleared out for the summer, so it’s not just quiet—it’s dead. I haven’t seen a single other person on our street, and the school I might work or volunteer at and the students I might tutor are all on vacation.
So for now, I’m waiting. Waiting to see what will come and who I will meet and what I will do. I just hope things work out as well as they did last time. Otherwise, you might start seeing a lot more desperate housewife-y blogs from me…I’ll have nothing better to do! Got any ideas about how I should spend my free time?
My name is Sleeping Booty and I’m a hoarder. Well, sort of. I like to think of myself more as a memory preserver than a junk collector, more like an information database than a maggot infested trash dump. I’m a keeper of records and saver […]
So I’ve faced mortality this week. A whole boatload of it. And to be honest I’m not sure what I’ve learned. Or how I feel. Hopefully we’ll figure something out together. It began with putting our family dog down on Saturday. Rhoda is (was) our […]
Naughty Princesses Assemble! We’ve been at this whole blogging thing for a few months now (so far so good??) and I figured it was time you folks learned a bit more about the four of us and why we go by the pseudonyms we do! And while our royal appointments that fateful November night really had much more to do with hair color than anything, now 5 years later these naughty identities have become a greater part of us than we ever could have predicted.
So for our March Condition of the Month I’ve asked my fellow princesses to give you fine folk some insight into our characters and what being a naughty princess means. But before we dive in I want to clarify one quick thing.
If you ever watch commercials anymore (I know they’re SO out) you’ve seen the new I am a Princess ad that is working its booty off to rehabilitate the Disney Princess image. We all know that in recent years the term princess has taken on some… negative connotations… and they’re not unjustified. People say they teach an impossible ideal of beauty, a sexist view of waiting to be saved by a man and a one-dimensional aspect of personality. But, like the ad says, these classics teach much more than finding a one true love and as you will see below, it’s about what you take from the character, not what the character takes from you. And while I’m sure Disney’s motive is more financial than inspirational, I still can’t help but be glad to see princesses coming back in favor, long may we reign.
Cinderslut:
Top 5 reasons I identify with my princess
Aside from the obvious similarities between Cinderslut and Cinderella, namely that we’re blonde and blue is definitely our color, I also find her to be something of a kindred spirit. Both of us were never part of the popular crowd and were ostracized somewhat by our peers (evil stepsisters). But, we got through it by going with the flow and doing our best at whatever we could, even if it was just mopping the floors. But the thing I like best about Cinderella is that she always could recognize and appreciate internal beauty. She knew she wasn’t as high up and privileged as her stepsisters, but she didn’t want to be them, not truly. She saw them for what they were: ugly on the inside. Instead of dwelling on what she couldn’t have, she surrounded herself with friends who were good-hearted and cared about her, and that’s what I have always tried to do. Even if some of the perks of the step-sisters’ lifestyle would have made me jealous, I’d prefer my true friends any day.
But my namesake and I are not identical. The biggest difference I see is that Cinderella is just flat-out good. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body, whereas I have at least half a ribcage full. She never struck back at her oppressors, and she was consistently self-sacrificing. But I, on the other hand, would have ripped Drizella’s ugly face off if she tried to keep me from that ball. So, you know, different strokes for different folks. I mean, that’s why I’m Cinderslut, not Cinderella. I have a bit of a dark side.
What about my man, how does he stack up to Cinderella’s fairytale prince? Well, at first I couldn’t really think of any similarities. But then I found one: both are persistent, and it is that persistence that resulted in a happily-ever-after. Cinderella’s prince got a glimpse of his dream girl, and he wouldn’t stop until he had her back. The same thing happened with my husband and me after I broke his heart. He still loved me and wouldn’t give up, and although it took a little more than sliding a slipper onto my foot to bring me back, eventually I did let him put a ring on my finger. At some points before we got back together I considered him a stalker, rather like Cinderella’s prince who literally goes door-to-door until he finds her. But I guess that just proves that there’s a fine line between a stalker situation and a fairy-tale romance. And I’d say Cinderella and I both lucked out on that one and ended up with the prince, not the predator.
Sleeping BootyTop Five Reasons I identify with my princess
As for what I don’t like about Aurora, I obviously don’t love that she waited around so often, waiting to turn 16, waiting to meet her prince, waiting to be saved from the dragon witch. But I can’t really blame her, waiting around is a hard habit to break, and I definitely don’t have it all together all the time. I often feel like I’m waiting for my life to begin.
And as for the future, I’m going to have my fun with Eric. As far as I can remember the other princes are always so fashionable and put together, even the beast is always dressed to the nines. I want to climb cliffs and jump into the ocean and run through the meadow until we’re covered in mud. I love that he takes action to save his friends from danger and is always talking out loud trying to puzzle things out. Eric and I would sail the world with our big slobbery dog, visiting friends and setting off fireworks.
How do I identify with my princess? Well I feel like I sort of already wrote a post on this. But aside from the basic things, like my red hair and the fact that I love mermaids, I would say that I also identify with Ariel’s enthusiasm for life. She has so much energy and zeal! It is inspiring. Although I have down days, like everyone does, I like to think I am a pretty positive person. I love my life—I feel so blessed every day that I get to spend my time doing what I love and what excites me.
How am I not like Ariel? Well, I am definitely not as impulsive as her. Ariel’s impulsiveness gets her into trouble, so I am not sure it is really a quality I need to emulate but sometimes I worry I go too far the opposite direction. I can be too rational, too staid—dare I say it?—perhaps even boring. Sometimes you just need to go for something, and not think twice. Another way I like to hope I am not like Ariel (maybe I am only dreaming here) is that her entire focus seems to be on men. I mean, the minute Eric walked on stage it was like her friends, her family, her life—it was all out the window. I think I am still waiting for my Eric to make this entrance, but I like to think that even now I have things and people in my life that are important, and that I won’t jettison the second some guy wins my heart.
The best prince? Definitely, the beast. I mean he has his flaws- he can’t control his temper after all- but he seems the most human (ha!) of all the princes. I feel like we never really get to know Prince Charming, or the Cinderella’s prince (what was his name?) or Eric. They just feel like place-holders. The beast on the other hand not only has a personality, but he changes and grows over time. Plus, that scene where he has Belle close her eyes and leads her into the library: talk about best Disney scene ever! Not only is the library totally gorgeous, but it shows that he knows her—he has taken the time to see who she is and what makes her happy. None of the other princes in Disney movies ever do that. So yes, the beast is the best. And my happy ending, well, that big, beautiful library sounds pretty tempting… just me, the beast, and pile full of books! Sounds like a happily ever after to me!
Snow Whore
Ok, so I’m going to be honest. I don’t really feel like I identify with Snow White at all. I am happy with my princess name, but it is not because I love Snow White, it’s just because the name is clever. Snow White has always been my least favorite Disney movie, mostly because whoever did the voice of Snow White has one of the most annoying voices in the history of mankind. So when I think of Snow White, all I think of is her high pitched squeaking, and the enormous amount of vibrato she has when singing. Am I watching a Disney movie, or am I at the opera? Come on people! But I generally forgive Disney because that was their first full length movie and they were still figuring things out. Also, even apart from the annoying voice, Snow White is the weakest princess, and I definitely do not want to identify with that. All she does is run away, and then clean house. Instead, I tend to run straight into people, and leave my house with some very healthy clutter.
Now as for my favorite Disney prince, it’s Prince Phillip from Sleeping Beauty all the way. He rides a horse, waltzes in the forest, and kills a dragon. Enough Said. I’ve definitely had many a fantasy of being surprised by my own prince in the forest, swept into his arms, and serenaded as we dance the afternoon away. I even tried to convince my husband to learn to waltz so we could recreate that scene. It would have worked if only he had any rhythm.
Since this is my condition of the month I get to have the final word. Princesses Rule.