I am going to sound like a hater in a half shell.
I’m so sorry.
I just….. need to let it out.
It’s really going to sound bad.
I’m not perfect.
I honestly…… from the bottom of my heart….. do not…… understand…… the Jordan thing. I broke your heart. I’m sosososososorry. “He had some fresh J’s on”……. gleam in their eye. No. He had on some shoes. They’re shoes. To me, they are shoes. The go on your foul-smelling feet to protect them from the elements. That’s what shoes do. Now, don’t get me wrong. I like to look nice and wear things that I consider to be fashionable. But to me, Jordans don’t look any different from any other tennis shoe. Honestly. I’m being serious. They probably all came out of the same factory. I’m just saying. They look like tennis shoes. There is nothing remotely spectacular about them. I know people are very, very much into them. I understand that. It’s just….. I don’t understand what’s so special about them. At all. They don’t do anything amazing. The thought that people have been killed over these shoes makes me sick.
Coach bags, Louis bags……. they are purses. Purses that cost about as much as my first vehicle. And that is great if that’s what you like. If that’s what you are into, have at it.
But, to me, they all just seem like status symbols. Material things that are supposed to give people some sort of an impression of you….. but you aren’t your Jordans. You aren’t your Louis bag. You aren’t your car. That’s not you. That isn’t who you are and it really doesn’t give an accurate description of what sort of person you are, like some would like to believe. I’m sorry, I just can’t make an accurate assessment of your character based on your purse. Because, while you may be a well-educated, successful business woman…… wearing that Louis bag….. i’ve seen chicks from the projects wearing the same exact thing. Chicks that are not educated, collect wellfare and do hair on the side so they can go clubbing. Octomom was sporting brands and she is, in fact, a shitty mother….. from what i’ve gathered. Your pantry full of organic food does not give me the impression that you are an amazing mom. Your expensive stroller doesn’t make me feel like you care about your kids anymore than the young mom next door cares about hers. Your perfectly plucked brows and $30 lip gloss doesn’t lead me to believe you’ve got your life anymore together than I do.
And these things are fine. I’m not knocking. But sometimes, it seems…… that people believe these things make them who they are. And they do nothing to work on who they actually are…..underneath it all. Like, underneath all of the stuff…… there is a person…. one that I don’t really know….. one that you don’t really know. Who are you, actually? Even people who really work hard at staying up-to-date on current events….. and they’ll like annihilate you in a debate….. and this becomes their identity. They’re always on point. But really, who are you?
The reason it takes so long to get to know people is because people don’t even know who they are. It’s like there are multiple levels of reality and…… at the very bottom….. underneath all of the extras…. there’s the real world. The truth. Unfiltered. It may be messy, but it’s honest. I’m trying to get there. That’s where i’m heading. That’s where i’m going. I’m trying so hard to make my way through this jungle of shit that doesn’t fucking matter….. so I can see something real.
I wish there were a place where everything is real. People don’t hide behind their things and their achievements and their ready-made facts. They don’t hide in their homes with the blinds pulled down and the curtains closed. I want someone to shock me. Say something I wasn’t expecting. Even if it’s inappropriate and even raunchy, make a mess out of your words. Don’t close the bedroom door when I come over, I really don’t care about the shit you’ve thrown allover the place, I do it too. Chug the soda straight out of the two liter, you’re going to do it when I leave, anyway. Do it now. Don’t cook your best meal, I can handle leftovers. Say what you mean and mean what you say. Say it like you thought it. I LEFT A BANANA PEEL ON MY NIGHTSTAND FOR FIVE FUCKING DAYS. I didn’t notice it because it turned so brown that it blended in with the actual nightstand. WHAT. EVER. WHO. CARES. You have Jordans. Noted. When’s the last time you sulked like a spoiled 5 year old? Threw a tantrum because you couldn’t get your way? Pictured something inappropriate? Sometimes, I eat shredded cheddar cheese right out of the bag. It’s gross. But I love it. I taste my food and put the spoon back in the pot.
I’m normal. There’s nothing odd about me. I’m perfectly sane. I am a wife and mother of four. I clean, cook, teach the kids new songs, we snuggle up and watch movies together. My husband plays with my hair at night to help me fall asleep. We do normal things like taking the carseats out of my car to put in his when he’s taking them somewhere. He calls me from the store to see if I might want some snacks. We talk on the phone on his breaks and sometimes text each other stupid pictures. I bang on the wall when he turns the washer on when i’m in the shower because we live in an old house and the water pressure becomes non-existent and I get PISSED and he yells back “OKAY, OKAY, GOD!”….. I forgot to take the fish out to thaw yesterday so we had to get carryout….. again….. normal. Typical shit. We don’t have a fabulous life. We aren’t part of an elite social click, we don’t dine at the fanciest places in town. I absolutely will cook my kids box mac and cheese and I think they’ll survive. I’m pretty sure they will. I did.
And you’re normal and he’s normal and she’s normal and they’re normal….. so let’s just skip past the facade and get to who we really, actually are….. in reality…. let’s not talk about things that no one actually cares about for the sake of making conversation. When you’re talking, I promise I will try my very best to really listen to what your saying, rather than mentally preparing what I might say next. And i’m not going to judge you if we make it to our destination and you realize that you didn’t buckle your child in properly. Safety hazard, I know. But sometimes, shit happens. You don’t have to hide your booze. You don’t have to smile when you really feel like venting about something extremely stupid, instead…… there are seriously times when I have left the house with my shirt inside out and backwards and two flip flops that I thought matched….. but actually….. one was black and one was brown. I survived that. I love Journey. LOVE Journey. But I went to their concert and didn’t know all of the words to one of their more popular songs and I am a MUSIC FANATIC. I didn’t pretend to know them. Sometimes people talk about current events and I haven’t the slightest fucking idea what they are referring to and I don’t pretend to. Whatevs. I just want to be who I am and I want to see people for who they are. I’m not impressed by your watch. I can’t tell if it’s expensive or if you got it at Target. I just don’t know. And while you may have a super nice car, I know there has been a time or two when you sucked fumes to get home from work. It. Is. Whatever.
I’m losing my shit, here lol.
Sorry, I just wanted to rant. I sat down to blog and this is what came out. I am about to go do normal things, like laundry and dishes or whatever. Nothing amazing lol. We’re also not having anything spectacular for dinner. It’s probably going to be super unhealthy because I haven’t felt like cooking, lately. I haven’t brushed my hair today and i’m still in my pajamas. I took the kids to school in my pajamas. There is a strong possibility that I will pick them up in my pajamas. And i’m not putting shoes on the little ones, either. Or brushing their hair. We’re just gonna go. And I think we’re gonna make it. Like, I really think we will be okay. Okay. I’m done. Don’t judge me. Don’t you dare judge me.
I’m back to say that I really annoyed myself with this post and I feel really dramatic right now. And it’s kind of embarrassing. This is one of those moments where I regret ever creating a blog.