Guy at OKCupud asked me: “Do you like your height? Because I’ve noticed that some tall girls don’t and that’s a shame.”
Thanks Guy at OKC! I do like my height, though it took a while to get used to. It’s weird sometimes having my head be higher than my boss or my customers, most office furniture is not designed for people like me, most inseams aren’t either, and I’m pretty lucky that I fold up for travel, because airlines are not designed for height either. (Cars, funny enough, are. Go figure.)
It is also astounding the amount of nonverbal shit you get, mostly from men, just because you’re female and your head’s higher. I’m not saying it’s as prevalent as catcalling or racism, because it’s not, but it crops up now and then. One professor INSTANTLY decided I was challenging his authority because I’m a female and taller. I’ve worked customer service, and it’s a little easier for short clerks to work the angles and control the experience while still staying “in service,” because short people are nonthreatening. (Same reason why it’s usually easier for female bartenders to cut off male drunks and male bartenders to cut off women.) Google “hierarchical scaling” to find out why. Apparently its a human psychological thing, particularly a first-world-western-nation thing.
I tell you what, though, I LOVE being able to reach the top shelf, behind the couch, and underneath the bed. I like height and I’ve always liked my long limbs. I even wear heels. ;)
I’ve been listening to this audiobook, The Power of Habit, and it’s not anywhere near the first book that’s inspired me. I’m pretty easy to inspire. Inspiration, for me, is a lot like a random number generator. Or gas. Sometimes it just happens.
-side note, both my speaking and writing “accent” wanders. I’ve been listening to Jenny Lawson’s book too, so my sentence structure is probably going to mirror hers for a while. I do like having an accent that wanders. It’s a conversation piece, like having some totally cool doodad on your coffee table from a faraway land, and sounding just like (or at least a lot like) everyone else around me makes me feel less awkward. I seem to gravitate to “England, no particular area within” as a default setting. I blame the BBC.
-side note, I almost never watch the BBC because I almost never watch television, period, so what I am really blaming is reading massive quantities of BritFic inspired by shows on the BBC. See? Root cause.
So I’ve been listening to this audiobook, The Power of Habit, and it’s not anywhere near the first book to inspire me. It is, however, the first piece of self-improvement inspiration that did not prompt the Nike Response (“just do it”) and that’s notable, because “just do it” has never, ever, EVER worked for me. I can’t even go to the toilet on the first try. Not anything physical, I just get distracted and forget that I have to pee. I will probably procrastinate dying too, accidentally forgetting that I have no pulse. I’ve never forgotten a heartbeat, but I have forgotten to breathe.
I fell asleep at my high school graduation
I started to reply to this post, and then I started to teal deer, and so HERE WE ARE! Hi Internet! I love you!
I fell asleep in my high school graduation. (seriously. My last name starts with A, and so I remember they were in the Fs, and then I remember thinking I should look for one of my friends whose name started with K, and realizing they were in the Ms.) Later one of the family friends who’d come had laughed at me (kindly) and said I was holding reeeeeaally still for a while there…
I did not attend my graduation from community college. I was getting a transfer degree and going on to a four-year university. I didn’t even know when the ceremony was.
[warning: cut for possible triggers: depression, suicide attempts]
Migrating Waffles: Key Qualifications
[Originally posted November 7, 2011, during my grandmother’s final illness and the circus that surrounded it. For extra, unnecessary information, I currently want to date men. I’m starting to think my sexuality is better linked to my chore backlog than to anything else.]
SWF seeks patient, laid-back male who can be her rock: that is, not to move or otherwise do anything unless acted upon by outside forces.
Migrating Waffles: It’s Different When I Travel
You know how when you’re too tired to have enough sense to go to sleep? I get that a lot.
One day soon, my children, I shall entertain you with The Early History of Gum as Applied to Trav (or Trav as Applied to Gum, though, in all accuracy, it is very literally “Trav Applying Gum to Trav”). Instead I give you an unedited post on something else.
It’s Different When I Travel
Migrating Waffles: The day I learned that “adult” does not equal “infallible.”
I lost my belief in the automatic competency of grownups before I actually became one. This was pretty monumental for me, as I persisted in the naive belief that people mostly know what they’re doing and what they’re talking about well into my twenties.
When I was an older child, somewhere from ten to thirteen, I came downstairs for breakfast, and sat at the breakfast bar, and looked up at my parents. Odd, because Daddy was usually at work by the time I got up, or if not at least on his way out the door before I could wake up enough to remember how to talk.
And because my father’s hair was pink.
Migrating Waffles: “Don’t open the oven.”
It’s amazing that you can still sense something burning when you cannot smell. I was at work a few weeks ago when the heat came on for the season, and one after another we kept stopping work to perk up from cubeland like business-attired ground squirrels and look for the source of the odor until word spread around the building that the heat had come on. Not that it would have saved any of us from burning to death if the building HAD been on fire, since none of us were looking all that hard or consistently, and we certainly didn’t LEAVE. Danger, it seems, needs to come with a buzzer these days.