hey all!
Yesterday concluded the two week training for the staff of the Lake Okoboji United Methodist camp. This is my home for the summer.
I came to this camp for three summers as a kid and always looked up to the counselors. They were so hip! So sophisticated! They had facial hair! I always wanted to be like them. It's weird to think that now I am that counselor. I don't feel very hip or sophisticated. If anything, the only perceivable thing I have in common with my old counselors is the facial hair.
I started this experience knowing no one. It was the first time I walked into something completely blind. My first minutes arriving on site, I walked into the guest house to a living room full of strangers laughing and talking. Seventeen heads turned at the same time. I said hello and was shown to my room, then left the seventeen new faces and walked to grab my suitcases from my car. What my new housemates didn't know was that I was muttering to myself the entire time:
"Holy shit. Holy shit. Be brave. Be brave. Play it cool. Whew. Yep. Okay. Dammit."
Thus began my summer. I couldn't have guessed at that moment how quickly I would feel comfortable here and how soon I would look at the seventeen faces and recognize them as if I had known them my whole life. (Yuck, I'm sounding so Hallmark card-y, aren't I? /working on a screenplay for my Lifetime movie as we speak)
Since that first day, it's been a non-stop flurry of reading and singing and cleaning and learning. I've kissed blue babies* and Mulan'd my way up a pole.** But the biggest discovery for me so far is how little it takes to become a family. Human beings seem to have much more in common then we tend to acknowledge. On the basest of levels, we are incredibly similar. And like, yeah, sure, we've all heard that before, but as someone who tends to feel isolated (by no one's fault but my own) I had never truly believed it. Maybe I just got lucky this time. Maybe I am in the right place at the right moment. At least that's what it feels like.
Anyway, this post was pretty much emotional psycho-babble, but I wanted to check in with you guys and preface my experience this summer before the campers arrive on Monday. We've only just started. There will be a lot more stories to tell.
I pray that we will all be equipped to the best of our abilities for the kids that will come here this summer. And that we will grow along with them. And that if I have to touch fecal matter, I will not vomit on myself. Amen.
Love Always,
Bailey Rose
*For CPR training. No actual blue babies were violated.
**Without the inspirational musical number and complaining the whole way up.
Saturday, June 21, 2014
Thursday, May 15, 2014
luckily it was just a mom smoking weed
hello humans!
I haven't posted anything in a long time, but I saw something that inspired me to address a pretty personal topic.
Earlier today I posted a link on Facebook entitled "29 Phrases People with Anxiety Are Tired of Hearing." (I'll put a link to it at the bottom of this post). It depicted twenty-nine people with anxiety holding signs in front of their faces with the worst comments made about their anxiety written on it, including:
"You're pathetic," "Don't be so dramatic," and "You've got a weak mind."
This really struck me. I've always known a lot of people suffer from anxiety, but I don't think I realized that subconsciously I felt isolated by the way anxiety affects me. Let me explain:
I had my first panic attack one year ago.
Now before I go any further, I want to be clear that a panic attack is not just "feeling sweaty" or "nervous," and anxiety is not just being "on edge." Panic attacks are a body's irrational response to an trigger. Everyone is born embedded with the "fight or flight" instinct; for people with anxiety, the flight instinct is much stronger and exaggerated. There are many theories as to what causes anxiety/depression/panic attacks, one theory being that it has to do with a chemical imbalance of the neurotransmitters in the brain that regulate serotonin levels. I don't know if that's what causes my anxiety. All I know is that it is irrational, unpleasant, hard to control, and it interferes with my life.
My first panic attack was last summer, about a month and a half before I was to start college. I didn't know what was going on. It began with creeping feelings of sadness, nervousness, and fear. I thought I was just being emotional about starting a new chapter of my life, but soon I was sobbing uncontrollably, hyperventilating, and shaking. I wanted to stop, but I couldn't, and I didn't know why.
I went to the doctor, and he said that an occasional panic attack was normal, especially with the stresses of starting college. Phew. Normal. I was relieved.
But throughout my freshman year, my anxiety worsened and my panic attacks became much more frequent-- and dangerous. One of the worst instances was when a stranger who lived close to campus led me inside her house after she heard me screaming on the sidewalk. Luckily, she was a nice middle-aged mom who was smoking weed on her porch and not an axe murderer, but the situation could've been much worse.
I just want to point out that the doctor was right. An occasional panic attack, especially during stressful time periods, is totally normal. I'm sure most people have experienced that. But what I was experiencing was not normal-- it was uncontrolled, irrational fear and a tumultuous bodily reaction to that fear.
I never wanted to leave my dorm room. It got to the point where even being in the crowded cafeteria made me paranoid and unfocused. Whenever I was in class, at work, or even just around friends, I couldn't wait until it was socially acceptable for me to go back to my room and be alone again. I was terrified of my panic attacks, and therefore I was terrified of anything that could possibly trigger one. Everyone has different triggers, and through working with a counselor and on my own to understand my anxiety, I have found that my triggers always involve feeling a lack of control. My worst panic attacks happened in situations where I felt powerless, ignored, or like everything I was doing wasn't good enough. These are my big triggers, but they can come in tiny packages, and that's whats frightening. One little thing can trip me up and, when met with the same reaction that the people in the aforementioned post received, I spiral out of control.
Because if I had to write something on a sign of my own, I'd have a hard time choosing the "worst comment." Some of the things I've heard during a panic attack include:
- "Get yourself together."
- "This is unnecessary."
- "You're just lazy and you want everyone to do everything for you."
- "I'm not going to stand here while you're crying at me."
- "You need to go talk to someone else, I can't handle this."
- "Take responsibility for your life."
- "Suck it up."
- "Stop being a baby."
I want to make it clear that a person with anxiety does NOT want to be that way. And when someone is having a panic attack, they are likely experiencing emotions of guilt and self-loathing, along with the fear and sadness that comes with the panic attack. I know I do. So that is why it is SO incredibly damaging to someone with anxiety who reaches out to a loved one to be met with disgust or a total lack of empathy. I cannot describe how emotionally painful that is.
Now I don't want it to seem like I'm throwing a pity party here. The problem is not a lack of kindness from loved ones, but a lack of understanding. Many people just don't understand what anxiety and panic attacks truly are, and therefore can't understand why it is affecting their loved ones.
So that's why I decided to write this. Because I realized that it's not just me. Other people are experiencing the same isolation and lack of understanding. And I want to raise awareness about anxiety disorders so that there can be less hurt produced from them.
I have since been to the doctor and diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. I've started a medication that is supposed to regulate the chemical levels in my brain so that my triggers do not effect me as dramatically. I have had panic attacks since being on the medication, so I'm not sure if it's something that can be completely controlled, but the point is: it happens. It's a thing. Most people who are affected develop anxiety or depression between the ages of 18 and 24. And if you or someone you know is struggling with something like this, you are not alone.
So in order to raise awareness, here are some symptoms of a panic attack (at least ones that I experience):
- sobbing (usually lasting around 30 minutes or more)
- hyperventilating
- excessive sweating
- lightheadedness
- paranoia
- shaking
- trouble getting air/ clutching at chest
If anyone ever comes to you suffering from a panic attack, PLEASE be understanding. Realize that they are not choosing this, and they would probably do anything to stop it. Normally it is quite easy to calm someone from a panic attack once you understand what they need. Things that help me are:
-holding/ hugs
- reassurances like, "It's okay," "You're doing great," etc.
- soothing tones
- patience
Let me just say that people with anxiety disorders are not fragile. I am not fragile. I do not need people to walk on tiptoes around me, fearing I'll combust at any second. That's not what anxiety is about. I am a strong, stubborn, annoying, lovely female human person that does not need to be babied or pitied. The only thing people with anxiety disorders need is understanding and, during a panic attack, comfort. And that is all.
Okay. Whew. I think that's all for now. I know this one was long, but I think it was important. Thank you for reading and bearing with me (if you made it this far).
If anyone has any questions about anxiety disorders/panic attacks, feel free to ask. And remember, it's not a weakness. It's just a thing.
Until next time :)
Always,
Bailey Rose
29 Phrases People With Anxiety Are Tired of Hearing --> http://www.buzzfeed.com/robynwilder/phrases-that-people-with-anxiety-are-tired-of-hearing
I haven't posted anything in a long time, but I saw something that inspired me to address a pretty personal topic.
Earlier today I posted a link on Facebook entitled "29 Phrases People with Anxiety Are Tired of Hearing." (I'll put a link to it at the bottom of this post). It depicted twenty-nine people with anxiety holding signs in front of their faces with the worst comments made about their anxiety written on it, including:
"You're pathetic," "Don't be so dramatic," and "You've got a weak mind."
This really struck me. I've always known a lot of people suffer from anxiety, but I don't think I realized that subconsciously I felt isolated by the way anxiety affects me. Let me explain:
I had my first panic attack one year ago.
Now before I go any further, I want to be clear that a panic attack is not just "feeling sweaty" or "nervous," and anxiety is not just being "on edge." Panic attacks are a body's irrational response to an trigger. Everyone is born embedded with the "fight or flight" instinct; for people with anxiety, the flight instinct is much stronger and exaggerated. There are many theories as to what causes anxiety/depression/panic attacks, one theory being that it has to do with a chemical imbalance of the neurotransmitters in the brain that regulate serotonin levels. I don't know if that's what causes my anxiety. All I know is that it is irrational, unpleasant, hard to control, and it interferes with my life.
My first panic attack was last summer, about a month and a half before I was to start college. I didn't know what was going on. It began with creeping feelings of sadness, nervousness, and fear. I thought I was just being emotional about starting a new chapter of my life, but soon I was sobbing uncontrollably, hyperventilating, and shaking. I wanted to stop, but I couldn't, and I didn't know why.
I went to the doctor, and he said that an occasional panic attack was normal, especially with the stresses of starting college. Phew. Normal. I was relieved.
But throughout my freshman year, my anxiety worsened and my panic attacks became much more frequent-- and dangerous. One of the worst instances was when a stranger who lived close to campus led me inside her house after she heard me screaming on the sidewalk. Luckily, she was a nice middle-aged mom who was smoking weed on her porch and not an axe murderer, but the situation could've been much worse.
I just want to point out that the doctor was right. An occasional panic attack, especially during stressful time periods, is totally normal. I'm sure most people have experienced that. But what I was experiencing was not normal-- it was uncontrolled, irrational fear and a tumultuous bodily reaction to that fear.
I never wanted to leave my dorm room. It got to the point where even being in the crowded cafeteria made me paranoid and unfocused. Whenever I was in class, at work, or even just around friends, I couldn't wait until it was socially acceptable for me to go back to my room and be alone again. I was terrified of my panic attacks, and therefore I was terrified of anything that could possibly trigger one. Everyone has different triggers, and through working with a counselor and on my own to understand my anxiety, I have found that my triggers always involve feeling a lack of control. My worst panic attacks happened in situations where I felt powerless, ignored, or like everything I was doing wasn't good enough. These are my big triggers, but they can come in tiny packages, and that's whats frightening. One little thing can trip me up and, when met with the same reaction that the people in the aforementioned post received, I spiral out of control.
Because if I had to write something on a sign of my own, I'd have a hard time choosing the "worst comment." Some of the things I've heard during a panic attack include:
- "Get yourself together."
- "This is unnecessary."
- "You're just lazy and you want everyone to do everything for you."
- "I'm not going to stand here while you're crying at me."
- "You need to go talk to someone else, I can't handle this."
- "Take responsibility for your life."
- "Suck it up."
- "Stop being a baby."
I want to make it clear that a person with anxiety does NOT want to be that way. And when someone is having a panic attack, they are likely experiencing emotions of guilt and self-loathing, along with the fear and sadness that comes with the panic attack. I know I do. So that is why it is SO incredibly damaging to someone with anxiety who reaches out to a loved one to be met with disgust or a total lack of empathy. I cannot describe how emotionally painful that is.
Now I don't want it to seem like I'm throwing a pity party here. The problem is not a lack of kindness from loved ones, but a lack of understanding. Many people just don't understand what anxiety and panic attacks truly are, and therefore can't understand why it is affecting their loved ones.
So that's why I decided to write this. Because I realized that it's not just me. Other people are experiencing the same isolation and lack of understanding. And I want to raise awareness about anxiety disorders so that there can be less hurt produced from them.
I have since been to the doctor and diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. I've started a medication that is supposed to regulate the chemical levels in my brain so that my triggers do not effect me as dramatically. I have had panic attacks since being on the medication, so I'm not sure if it's something that can be completely controlled, but the point is: it happens. It's a thing. Most people who are affected develop anxiety or depression between the ages of 18 and 24. And if you or someone you know is struggling with something like this, you are not alone.
So in order to raise awareness, here are some symptoms of a panic attack (at least ones that I experience):
- sobbing (usually lasting around 30 minutes or more)
- hyperventilating
- excessive sweating
- lightheadedness
- paranoia
- shaking
- trouble getting air/ clutching at chest
If anyone ever comes to you suffering from a panic attack, PLEASE be understanding. Realize that they are not choosing this, and they would probably do anything to stop it. Normally it is quite easy to calm someone from a panic attack once you understand what they need. Things that help me are:
-holding/ hugs
- reassurances like, "It's okay," "You're doing great," etc.
- soothing tones
- patience
Let me just say that people with anxiety disorders are not fragile. I am not fragile. I do not need people to walk on tiptoes around me, fearing I'll combust at any second. That's not what anxiety is about. I am a strong, stubborn, annoying, lovely female human person that does not need to be babied or pitied. The only thing people with anxiety disorders need is understanding and, during a panic attack, comfort. And that is all.
Okay. Whew. I think that's all for now. I know this one was long, but I think it was important. Thank you for reading and bearing with me (if you made it this far).
If anyone has any questions about anxiety disorders/panic attacks, feel free to ask. And remember, it's not a weakness. It's just a thing.
Until next time :)
Always,
Bailey Rose
29 Phrases People With Anxiety Are Tired of Hearing --> http://www.buzzfeed.com/robynwilder/phrases-that-people-with-anxiety-are-tired-of-hearing
Sunday, December 1, 2013
closing the floodgates
hello earth people!
So I just got back from a week of Thanksgiving break in my hometown. It was really nice to be back in familiar territory for awhile- let me tell ya, I needed the break. I've never been good at hiding my feelings, and so I think it was pretty obvious when my relatives asked me how my first semester of college was going and I answered with: "oooohh.... *sigh*.... it's, ya know... *cough*... good."
Driving back here, I was thinking about everything that's happened. In all honesty, this semester has been hell. And it's not that I don't like college, it's just that a lot of bad things have happened one right after the other.
And actually, when I look back on it, these past two and a half years have been particularly challenging. And within the past two weeks, I have faced my toughest challenge yet. It has included tremendous hurt, loss, and guilt.
But through this challenge, I have realized something that I think has been a long time coming. For as long as I can remember, I have operated (either consciously or subconsciously) under the notion that if I can execute everything in my life exactly right, then nothing will ever go wrong. I put it upon myself to be perfect and make the perfect decisions at all times. Something inside me told me that if I did that, then there would be no reason for anyone to leave my life or anything to not go according to plan.
This philosophy, of course, is absolute bullshit.
And the problem was, things still did go wrong. All the time. But instead of accepting it, I would blame myself for somehow messing everything up. This is not a healthy way to live.
And recently, I was just so tired of feeling weak and like everything was out of my control. I was tired of my feelings and my perceptions of myself being rendered in the hands of someone else. The way I was living, it was like I had no say in my own happiness.
So, even though my head and my heart were flooded with feelings of guilt and pain and shame and sadness, I decided to just stop.
I closed the floodgates. I decided that I was not going to let any person or circumstance control how I felt about myself and my life. I was not going to let anything control my happiness.
Instead, I am going to accept my circumstances and build my life to be the way I want it to be.
Now, I know this kind of inspirational crap is stuff you see and hear all the time. At least, I know I do, and most of the time, it really doesn't stick. Most of the time, I forget about whatever sappy quote or song I had just encountered and go back to sobbing into my Ben and Jerry's. So I understand if that's what this is to you.
But I think it took something horrible for me to really feel my own power in my heart. It took being pushed to my breaking point to decide that I could take control and that I am worthy of so much more than what I was allowing myself. So, in a way, it was a blessing.
I just want to be clear that I'm not saying to push away or ignore your feelings, because that is equally damaging and unhealthy. For me, it was like I was at the mercy of my feelings; I could not stop feeling them and I could not control them, so anything that happened to me had the power to bring me to my knees. I think it's all about balance. Allow yourself to feel and experience pain and joy and everything in between, but do not allow it to take away your power over your life.
That balance is what I am working toward. And with that balance, I am finding peace.
And now I feel so much excitement. I am so excited for the plans that God and the universe have for me. I can see now that although bad things have happened in my life, I am in store for 10 times more joy. And for that, I am very thankful. (BOOM. Thankful, Thanksgiving? Bringing it full circle, baby.)
So there ya go. I know this post probably wasn't very entertaining, but it is something real that I felt could be useful to share.
On a side note: HOLY CRAP HOW IS IT DECEMBER ALREADY I STILL HAVE A ROTTING PUMPKIN IN MY DORM ROOM
Well... that's all. :) thank you to everyone who has continued to read this blog and encourage me. Also, shout out to my cousin Andrew (who I know reads this) for creating probably the cutest human baby I have ever seen. I didn't hold her not because I didn't want to, but because I am not confident in my abilities to not harm a newborn child... :)
happy eating week-old stuffing!
Always,
Bailey Rose
So I just got back from a week of Thanksgiving break in my hometown. It was really nice to be back in familiar territory for awhile- let me tell ya, I needed the break. I've never been good at hiding my feelings, and so I think it was pretty obvious when my relatives asked me how my first semester of college was going and I answered with: "oooohh.... *sigh*.... it's, ya know... *cough*... good."
Driving back here, I was thinking about everything that's happened. In all honesty, this semester has been hell. And it's not that I don't like college, it's just that a lot of bad things have happened one right after the other.
And actually, when I look back on it, these past two and a half years have been particularly challenging. And within the past two weeks, I have faced my toughest challenge yet. It has included tremendous hurt, loss, and guilt.
But through this challenge, I have realized something that I think has been a long time coming. For as long as I can remember, I have operated (either consciously or subconsciously) under the notion that if I can execute everything in my life exactly right, then nothing will ever go wrong. I put it upon myself to be perfect and make the perfect decisions at all times. Something inside me told me that if I did that, then there would be no reason for anyone to leave my life or anything to not go according to plan.
This philosophy, of course, is absolute bullshit.
And the problem was, things still did go wrong. All the time. But instead of accepting it, I would blame myself for somehow messing everything up. This is not a healthy way to live.
And recently, I was just so tired of feeling weak and like everything was out of my control. I was tired of my feelings and my perceptions of myself being rendered in the hands of someone else. The way I was living, it was like I had no say in my own happiness.
So, even though my head and my heart were flooded with feelings of guilt and pain and shame and sadness, I decided to just stop.
I closed the floodgates. I decided that I was not going to let any person or circumstance control how I felt about myself and my life. I was not going to let anything control my happiness.
Instead, I am going to accept my circumstances and build my life to be the way I want it to be.
Now, I know this kind of inspirational crap is stuff you see and hear all the time. At least, I know I do, and most of the time, it really doesn't stick. Most of the time, I forget about whatever sappy quote or song I had just encountered and go back to sobbing into my Ben and Jerry's. So I understand if that's what this is to you.
But I think it took something horrible for me to really feel my own power in my heart. It took being pushed to my breaking point to decide that I could take control and that I am worthy of so much more than what I was allowing myself. So, in a way, it was a blessing.
I just want to be clear that I'm not saying to push away or ignore your feelings, because that is equally damaging and unhealthy. For me, it was like I was at the mercy of my feelings; I could not stop feeling them and I could not control them, so anything that happened to me had the power to bring me to my knees. I think it's all about balance. Allow yourself to feel and experience pain and joy and everything in between, but do not allow it to take away your power over your life.
That balance is what I am working toward. And with that balance, I am finding peace.
And now I feel so much excitement. I am so excited for the plans that God and the universe have for me. I can see now that although bad things have happened in my life, I am in store for 10 times more joy. And for that, I am very thankful. (BOOM. Thankful, Thanksgiving? Bringing it full circle, baby.)
So there ya go. I know this post probably wasn't very entertaining, but it is something real that I felt could be useful to share.
On a side note: HOLY CRAP HOW IS IT DECEMBER ALREADY I STILL HAVE A ROTTING PUMPKIN IN MY DORM ROOM
Well... that's all. :) thank you to everyone who has continued to read this blog and encourage me. Also, shout out to my cousin Andrew (who I know reads this) for creating probably the cutest human baby I have ever seen. I didn't hold her not because I didn't want to, but because I am not confident in my abilities to not harm a newborn child... :)
happy eating week-old stuffing!
Always,
Bailey Rose
Thursday, October 10, 2013
my left ass cheek
hello humanoids!
If there's one degree I've been earning since my college career has started, it's the Degree of Getting Hopelessly Lost. I've almost got my Master's. I'm shooting for tenure at the "University of Where The Hell Am I?" next fall.
I've recently started working as a receptionist at a salon in order to rake in the dough. I want to work as a tutor in the Writing Center here on campus, but unfortunately I can't apply until second semester. So, because I knew I would drain my savings (especially with a Target in my reach) by the end of the semester without an income, I got this job.
Unfortunately, getting anywhere in the city for me is on par with getting a PhD in neuroscience (if one can even get a PhD in neuroscience. I dunno. The point is, it's really freakin' difficult). I have spent a total of four hours on three separate occasions driving around the city with zero idea where I'm going. At one point, after driving for an hour and a half around what I can only assume was the maze from the Triwizard Tournament, the GPS on my phone reported that I had reached my destination as I sat parked at the end of a dead-end road. A dead-end road that happened to be extra-dead-end due to construction. I think that's when the hyperventilating started.
Anyway, I've been slowly making progress with my aptitude for getting lost.
So today, I painstakingly made my way to the salon for an appointment. The appointment was much needed, as I was starting to look like Mad-Eye after Barty Crouch Jr. finally let him out of that enchanted trunk. (Oy, with the Harry Potter references!) Plus, I figured I should have the "customer experience" seeing as I was going to be working there.
It was the most ridiculous experience of my life. First of all, let me just say that my boss looks like Edna Mode from The Incredibles. I just feel like that is a very important detail. Secondly, I was there for approximately 500 years. (500 years in Bailey time = 3 hours in real time) My stylist offered me a hand massage, which I politely declined, seeing as I could feel myself calcify in the chair already. To this she responded, "Oh, well you're getting one anyway." She then proceeded to prod my fingers uncomfortably. "Mmm, doesn't that smell good?" she asked, shoving a bottle of lotion in my face.
"Oh, yes," I replied. Lies. It smelled like formaldehyde. You know, my stylist was really impressive though. She had this uncanny superpower where she had the ability to move in slow motion at ALL TIMES. Really, it was astounding. She also had the ability of making my head feel like I just got back from the Nickelodeon Kid's Choice Awards (...you know, cuz of the slime? Get it? Does anyone even know what I'm talking about in these blog posts?) At the end of the appointment, I was told that I would not be receiving the employee discount (for reasons unknown), so I had to sell my left ass cheek to pay for it. Guess I'll be walking lopsided from here on out.
I guess I can chock it all up to experience. This time in my life is about learning, right? And what I learned is that I am a Super Cuts girl.
And at least one good thing comes out of bad experiences. I get to blog about them. :)
Well, thank you for listening to my ranting, guys. Thanks for reading, and go out there and have awesome lives and stuff! Oh, and hold on to your ass cheeks.
Always,
Bailey Rose
If there's one degree I've been earning since my college career has started, it's the Degree of Getting Hopelessly Lost. I've almost got my Master's. I'm shooting for tenure at the "University of Where The Hell Am I?" next fall.
I've recently started working as a receptionist at a salon in order to rake in the dough. I want to work as a tutor in the Writing Center here on campus, but unfortunately I can't apply until second semester. So, because I knew I would drain my savings (especially with a Target in my reach) by the end of the semester without an income, I got this job.
Unfortunately, getting anywhere in the city for me is on par with getting a PhD in neuroscience (if one can even get a PhD in neuroscience. I dunno. The point is, it's really freakin' difficult). I have spent a total of four hours on three separate occasions driving around the city with zero idea where I'm going. At one point, after driving for an hour and a half around what I can only assume was the maze from the Triwizard Tournament, the GPS on my phone reported that I had reached my destination as I sat parked at the end of a dead-end road. A dead-end road that happened to be extra-dead-end due to construction. I think that's when the hyperventilating started.
Anyway, I've been slowly making progress with my aptitude for getting lost.
So today, I painstakingly made my way to the salon for an appointment. The appointment was much needed, as I was starting to look like Mad-Eye after Barty Crouch Jr. finally let him out of that enchanted trunk. (Oy, with the Harry Potter references!) Plus, I figured I should have the "customer experience" seeing as I was going to be working there.
It was the most ridiculous experience of my life. First of all, let me just say that my boss looks like Edna Mode from The Incredibles. I just feel like that is a very important detail. Secondly, I was there for approximately 500 years. (500 years in Bailey time = 3 hours in real time) My stylist offered me a hand massage, which I politely declined, seeing as I could feel myself calcify in the chair already. To this she responded, "Oh, well you're getting one anyway." She then proceeded to prod my fingers uncomfortably. "Mmm, doesn't that smell good?" she asked, shoving a bottle of lotion in my face.
"Oh, yes," I replied. Lies. It smelled like formaldehyde. You know, my stylist was really impressive though. She had this uncanny superpower where she had the ability to move in slow motion at ALL TIMES. Really, it was astounding. She also had the ability of making my head feel like I just got back from the Nickelodeon Kid's Choice Awards (...you know, cuz of the slime? Get it? Does anyone even know what I'm talking about in these blog posts?) At the end of the appointment, I was told that I would not be receiving the employee discount (for reasons unknown), so I had to sell my left ass cheek to pay for it. Guess I'll be walking lopsided from here on out.
I guess I can chock it all up to experience. This time in my life is about learning, right? And what I learned is that I am a Super Cuts girl.
And at least one good thing comes out of bad experiences. I get to blog about them. :)
Well, thank you for listening to my ranting, guys. Thanks for reading, and go out there and have awesome lives and stuff! Oh, and hold on to your ass cheeks.
Always,
Bailey Rose
Sunday, September 15, 2013
bitchy resting face
hello earth people!
Yes, I'm eating alone in the cafe again. The screenplay for the teen drama based on my life is in the works.
I always bring my laptop when I'm eating alone in order to look collegiate and unapproachable. There's a real skill in making sure no one tries to be your friend. According to my mother, I'm great at it.
There's a syndrome I've been suffering from my entire life, but I only just learned the term for it the other day. You see, ever since I was a tween, I have had a horrible case of.... Bitchy Resting Face.
For those of you unaware of the plight of Bitchy Resting Face, it's an ailment of the face where the afflicted basically looks like she's smelling a dead fish wrapped in garbage any time she's not smiling. I may just be thinking or staring off into space or stuffing a snickers into my mouth, but apparently I look like I want to kill you while doing that.
My mother preparing me for college: "You need to smile more. Make sure to smile. You look very friendly when you smile. You don't want to intimidate people."
Most of the time, I'm not even aware that I'm doing it. It's just how my face settles.
To be truthfully honest, I think it may be a side effect of my early-middle school days. 4th and 5th grade was the most awkward stage of my life. This warrants a list:
Eventually, I ditched the choker and my Tamagotchi's battery died and I slowly went from outcast to shy girl to just girl.
And now I'm on my way becoming more than just girl.
So maybe, if you see anyone with Bitchy Resting Face, it's because they had a painful childhood and you should just go up and give them a hug.
Except not me.
I hate hugs.
And in the meantime... I'll just sit here, contemplating if Anne Hathaway can handle the weight of my teenage angst and wondering if I still have my Manga art books. :)
Until next time!
Always,
Bailey Rose
P.S. I am now the only person left in the cafe.
P.P.S. I had to write another poem for class. It's about the circus. Safe territory? :)
P.P.P.S. I don't know if anyone reads this except my cousin and my grandma, but if you do and you want to get my posts emailed to you, there's a box for that on my homepage! Just enter your email and voila!
P.P.P.P.S. Also feel free to leave a comment!
P.P.P.P.P.S. Also... um... thank you for reading :)
P.P.P.P.P.P.S. goodbye.
Yes, I'm eating alone in the cafe again. The screenplay for the teen drama based on my life is in the works.
I always bring my laptop when I'm eating alone in order to look collegiate and unapproachable. There's a real skill in making sure no one tries to be your friend. According to my mother, I'm great at it.
There's a syndrome I've been suffering from my entire life, but I only just learned the term for it the other day. You see, ever since I was a tween, I have had a horrible case of.... Bitchy Resting Face.
For those of you unaware of the plight of Bitchy Resting Face, it's an ailment of the face where the afflicted basically looks like she's smelling a dead fish wrapped in garbage any time she's not smiling. I may just be thinking or staring off into space or stuffing a snickers into my mouth, but apparently I look like I want to kill you while doing that.
My mother preparing me for college: "You need to smile more. Make sure to smile. You look very friendly when you smile. You don't want to intimidate people."
Most of the time, I'm not even aware that I'm doing it. It's just how my face settles.
To be truthfully honest, I think it may be a side effect of my early-middle school days. 4th and 5th grade was the most awkward stage of my life. This warrants a list:
Reasons Why Bailey Was Painfully Awkward At The Age of 10
- I wore glasses, braces, straight-across bangs, and a black choker. Oh, the black choker. I can never escape it.
- I hated wearing jeans, and the only pair I liked were ultra-flare with cheetah print accents. Quite the fashion staple. I wore them almost every day. They made me feel like a Cheetah Girl.
- I was huge into drawing Manga, which if you don't know (and you probably don't, because you probably had friends as a child), it's a Japanese form of art. Think Pokemon. Lord knows I did.
- Avril Lavigne was my goddess.
- My best friends were Tamagotchis. Does anyone remember Tamagotchis? If you don't, just use your imagination. I can't even explain.
Eventually, I ditched the choker and my Tamagotchi's battery died and I slowly went from outcast to shy girl to just girl.
And now I'm on my way becoming more than just girl.
So maybe, if you see anyone with Bitchy Resting Face, it's because they had a painful childhood and you should just go up and give them a hug.
Except not me.
I hate hugs.
And in the meantime... I'll just sit here, contemplating if Anne Hathaway can handle the weight of my teenage angst and wondering if I still have my Manga art books. :)
Until next time!
Always,
Bailey Rose
P.S. I am now the only person left in the cafe.
P.P.S. I had to write another poem for class. It's about the circus. Safe territory? :)
P.P.P.S. I don't know if anyone reads this except my cousin and my grandma, but if you do and you want to get my posts emailed to you, there's a box for that on my homepage! Just enter your email and voila!
P.P.P.P.S. Also feel free to leave a comment!
P.P.P.P.P.S. Also... um... thank you for reading :)
P.P.P.P.P.P.S. goodbye.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
7 series: cake of injustice
hello humanoids!
So currently, I am sitting alone in a cafe full of people. Those are the Perks of Being a Loser. Stephen Chbotsky should write a novel about me and then Anne Hathaway could play me in the film adaptation.
Just kidding.
(But not about the Anne Hathaway thing)
Don't worry, I actually like eating alone. The fact is, I'm a total pig. Maybe not when it comes to food choice, but definitely when it comes to food consumption. I'm not the type of person who eats their food like they're taking a walk; take a bite, chew contemplatively, put fork down, sit. I don't understand those people. If I have food in front of me, I will eat continuously until it is gone. Mama don't take no breaks. The point is, my eating habits are not something I like to subject to innocent bystanders.
My meal today includes a turkey wrap on wheat with American cheese and spinach, and a cup of some sort of soup. I'm not sure what's in it, but it's totally kosher. I'm following the rules. :)
Today is a "sweets" day, but I'm not sure if I deserve it. I've been cheating a lot (who knew ham was red meat? Probably all of you). It's the sugar thing that's killing me. But whatever. I'm gonna get me some dessert.
...
Okay, I'm back. I got cake. :) Yummy.
...
...
...
(eating)
...
...
...
Aw, shit. There's some sort of fruit in this! What the hell!
There's like freakin' peaches in this cake!!!
No. No. No.
That is not fair.
I've been duped.
I just made eye contact with some girl watching me irritatedly examining my Cake of Injustice.
Let's switch topics.
So this food challenge has been going well (despite a few setbacks) and it's kind of inspiring me to do a whole new challenge of my own. I saw on the internet a list of 15 Things to Give Up If You Want to Be Happy. Here's the list:
I was thinking that maybe I could give up each of these things for a set period of time and take specific actions in doing so. I would have to create rules for each of the fifteen things and also actions that I can take to ensure I am truly "giving up" these specific traits. I would also have to set a time limit in which I focus on each individual thing. And then I'd blog about it along the way. It's a lot to think about, but I think I can do it. What do you think? If you have any ideas or suggestions about what I can do with these, please feel free to comment and let me know!
Well, that's all for now!
Thanks for reading :)
Always,
Bailey Rose
So currently, I am sitting alone in a cafe full of people. Those are the Perks of Being a Loser. Stephen Chbotsky should write a novel about me and then Anne Hathaway could play me in the film adaptation.
Just kidding.
(But not about the Anne Hathaway thing)
Don't worry, I actually like eating alone. The fact is, I'm a total pig. Maybe not when it comes to food choice, but definitely when it comes to food consumption. I'm not the type of person who eats their food like they're taking a walk; take a bite, chew contemplatively, put fork down, sit. I don't understand those people. If I have food in front of me, I will eat continuously until it is gone. Mama don't take no breaks. The point is, my eating habits are not something I like to subject to innocent bystanders.
My meal today includes a turkey wrap on wheat with American cheese and spinach, and a cup of some sort of soup. I'm not sure what's in it, but it's totally kosher. I'm following the rules. :)
Today is a "sweets" day, but I'm not sure if I deserve it. I've been cheating a lot (who knew ham was red meat? Probably all of you). It's the sugar thing that's killing me. But whatever. I'm gonna get me some dessert.
...
Okay, I'm back. I got cake. :) Yummy.
...
...
...
(eating)
...
...
...
Aw, shit. There's some sort of fruit in this! What the hell!
There's like freakin' peaches in this cake!!!
No. No. No.
That is not fair.
I've been duped.
I just made eye contact with some girl watching me irritatedly examining my Cake of Injustice.
Let's switch topics.
So this food challenge has been going well (despite a few setbacks) and it's kind of inspiring me to do a whole new challenge of my own. I saw on the internet a list of 15 Things to Give Up If You Want to Be Happy. Here's the list:
I was thinking that maybe I could give up each of these things for a set period of time and take specific actions in doing so. I would have to create rules for each of the fifteen things and also actions that I can take to ensure I am truly "giving up" these specific traits. I would also have to set a time limit in which I focus on each individual thing. And then I'd blog about it along the way. It's a lot to think about, but I think I can do it. What do you think? If you have any ideas or suggestions about what I can do with these, please feel free to comment and let me know!
Well, that's all for now!
Thanks for reading :)
Always,
Bailey Rose
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
ghosts and lesbians
hello homosapiens!
It was another no shower day for me today! I'm becoming a regular pioneer. Soon I'll be churning butter and expecting a tin can in my stocking for Christmas. I read a lot of Laura Ingalls Wilder as a kid.
But no worries! I went on a run and showered, so I'm no longer a vagabond. Speaking of showering, though, I have a little anecdote for you:
I was in the shower at 5:30 am getting ready for 7:00 am breakfast last week. So there I was, mindin' my own business, wondering how to completely get all those scratchy little hairs off of my right armpit, when I heard a loud bang. I figured it was just a clumsy girl from my hall making a racket or something. But it didn't stop, it just went bang bang crash bang thud crash bang jangle jangle bang jangle thud. My college (if you're wondering, I haven't said the name of my college yet for the purpose of anonymity. Although it's kind of a moot point, because I suspect everyone who reads this blog is family/friends, so they already know where I am. Oh well, wishful thinking) has a lot of ghost stories surrounding it, so I was starting to get the heebie jeebies a little. You see, I went to The Conjuring this summer. By myself. My boyfriend had to stay up with me on the phone that night talking about Jesus until I fell asleep. But anyway, the mysterious noises continued, and I got out of the shower to find that it was an older woman, maybe in her forties or fifties, who, judging by the keys on her belt and the garbage bag in her hand, worked for the janitorial staff (woah, talk about a run-on sentence, amirite?) She didn't look at me, just made the loudest possible hullabaloo while doing her work at 5:30 in the morning. I wanted to say hello, but she was silent and pretended that I wasn't there. She really looked like she hated her job. I've called her "the ghost" in my head ever since. I still see her in the mornings, and she still hasn't said a word. She's still as noisy as ever too. It's only a matter of time before I wake up to find her replacing paper towels at the foot of my bed.
So there you go. My real-life Ghost Adventures experience.
SEAMLESS TRANSITION:
In my writing class, we were assigned to write a "ten-line poem rich with imagery." So I wrote a poem about snippets of how I see my future; now, I did put effort into the poem, but let's just say I didn't break my back trying to analyze the many nuances and implications of my word choices. And I'm not saying it was brilliant or anything. Here's the poem, for the purpose of the story:
A classmate read my piece out loud anonymously, and then my professor asked the group what they liked about it.
Silence.
Someone said, "That rain part sounded cool."
More silence.
Then my professor asked for critiques, and like a balloon bursting and releasing it's air, there was a barrage of, "WHAT IS THIS?!??!" I'm not even joking, it was like they were all holding their breath for that one moment. I heard:
- "how many people ARE THERE in this poem?"
-"what's with the t-shirts?"
-"why is there more than one t-shirt?"
-"is staticky even a word?"
I listened dishearteningly while they all tried to figure out what the author could possibly mean by this vague riddle of a poem. Then my professor asked if the writer wanted to speak. Normally I would sit silently and try to be as inconspicuous as possible, but this time I spoke up. I explained how the poem wasn't supposed to be specific, but instead represent the blurry images I see when I think about my future and having a family. I ended with something like, "So the white t-shirts could be on little kids running around, or, you know, a woman." By "woman," I meant the wife in the scenario (which in my mind, would be me, but I really didn't want to put the image of me wearing only a t-shirt for pajamas in the heads of my entire class) but my professor responded with:
"Ah yes, it could easily be a significant other. We never know who we might end up with, do we?" And then I swear he winked. People shuffled in their chairs, and we moved on to another peer's poem. It wasn't until a couple minutes later I realized:
My entire class thinks I'm a lesbian.
Which, I mean, there is totally nothing wrong with that. Except for the fact that I've been dating a human male for the past year. And I'm sure this made them all re-evaluate my short Daisy Buchanan haircut. Dammit.
So there you have it. The uncomfortable moments of my newborn college career. Stay tuned, I'm sure there will be more to come. :)
May your week be filled with ghosts and lesbians!
Always,
Bailey Rose
It was another no shower day for me today! I'm becoming a regular pioneer. Soon I'll be churning butter and expecting a tin can in my stocking for Christmas. I read a lot of Laura Ingalls Wilder as a kid.
But no worries! I went on a run and showered, so I'm no longer a vagabond. Speaking of showering, though, I have a little anecdote for you:
I was in the shower at 5:30 am getting ready for 7:00 am breakfast last week. So there I was, mindin' my own business, wondering how to completely get all those scratchy little hairs off of my right armpit, when I heard a loud bang. I figured it was just a clumsy girl from my hall making a racket or something. But it didn't stop, it just went bang bang crash bang thud crash bang jangle jangle bang jangle thud. My college (if you're wondering, I haven't said the name of my college yet for the purpose of anonymity. Although it's kind of a moot point, because I suspect everyone who reads this blog is family/friends, so they already know where I am. Oh well, wishful thinking) has a lot of ghost stories surrounding it, so I was starting to get the heebie jeebies a little. You see, I went to The Conjuring this summer. By myself. My boyfriend had to stay up with me on the phone that night talking about Jesus until I fell asleep. But anyway, the mysterious noises continued, and I got out of the shower to find that it was an older woman, maybe in her forties or fifties, who, judging by the keys on her belt and the garbage bag in her hand, worked for the janitorial staff (woah, talk about a run-on sentence, amirite?) She didn't look at me, just made the loudest possible hullabaloo while doing her work at 5:30 in the morning. I wanted to say hello, but she was silent and pretended that I wasn't there. She really looked like she hated her job. I've called her "the ghost" in my head ever since. I still see her in the mornings, and she still hasn't said a word. She's still as noisy as ever too. It's only a matter of time before I wake up to find her replacing paper towels at the foot of my bed.
So there you go. My real-life Ghost Adventures experience.
SEAMLESS TRANSITION:
In my writing class, we were assigned to write a "ten-line poem rich with imagery." So I wrote a poem about snippets of how I see my future; now, I did put effort into the poem, but let's just say I didn't break my back trying to analyze the many nuances and implications of my word choices. And I'm not saying it was brilliant or anything. Here's the poem, for the purpose of the story:
I see bare feet on wooden floors
large ones, little ones, elegant and rough
I see curly ringlets, blonde and fraying and
running past me
I see falling asleep on our leather sofa
as lightning reveals the night rain and
a staticky blanket keeps me warm
I see long white t-shirts
skimming the tops of bare legs
as the golden morning light catches it’s rays
in your messy hairA classmate read my piece out loud anonymously, and then my professor asked the group what they liked about it.
Silence.
Someone said, "That rain part sounded cool."
More silence.
Then my professor asked for critiques, and like a balloon bursting and releasing it's air, there was a barrage of, "WHAT IS THIS?!??!" I'm not even joking, it was like they were all holding their breath for that one moment. I heard:
- "how many people ARE THERE in this poem?"
-"what's with the t-shirts?"
-"why is there more than one t-shirt?"
-"is staticky even a word?"
I listened dishearteningly while they all tried to figure out what the author could possibly mean by this vague riddle of a poem. Then my professor asked if the writer wanted to speak. Normally I would sit silently and try to be as inconspicuous as possible, but this time I spoke up. I explained how the poem wasn't supposed to be specific, but instead represent the blurry images I see when I think about my future and having a family. I ended with something like, "So the white t-shirts could be on little kids running around, or, you know, a woman." By "woman," I meant the wife in the scenario (which in my mind, would be me, but I really didn't want to put the image of me wearing only a t-shirt for pajamas in the heads of my entire class) but my professor responded with:
"Ah yes, it could easily be a significant other. We never know who we might end up with, do we?" And then I swear he winked. People shuffled in their chairs, and we moved on to another peer's poem. It wasn't until a couple minutes later I realized:
My entire class thinks I'm a lesbian.
Which, I mean, there is totally nothing wrong with that. Except for the fact that I've been dating a human male for the past year. And I'm sure this made them all re-evaluate my short Daisy Buchanan haircut. Dammit.
So there you have it. The uncomfortable moments of my newborn college career. Stay tuned, I'm sure there will be more to come. :)
May your week be filled with ghosts and lesbians!
Always,
Bailey Rose
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