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Not drowning, facing down a fear & learning to live

30 Aug

I don’t know how to swim.  Put me in water over my head and there’s a pretty good chance I’ll drown.

Don’t ask my why because I don’t have an answer. The closest thing to a swimming lesson I ever had came at the age of 12 when my mother enrolled me in a beginner’s swimming class filled with 6 to 8 year olds. I was embarrassed and angry and frustrated that the pool officials wouldn’t put me in the teen swimming class even if I was a year too young and I was even more angry that my mother thought a swimming class with 6 to 8 year olds was what I meant when I said I wanted to learn how to swim. The class served only to solidify my hatred for putting my head under water and fueled my passion for writing angry teen poetry.

Prior to age 12, various stepfathers and a stepbrother spent time threatening to throw me into a body of water where I would surely figure it out. They were convinced my survival instincts would kick in and just like that I’d be a swimming machine. It’s a small miracle that I survived.

At 16 I got my first set of contact lenses.  I became convinced that, if I let water splash my face, I would lose a contact lens, get turned around while out in the ocean and mistake the horizon for the shore. The ocean would pull be out to sea and I’d either drown or get eaten by whales.

So here I am: 26, unable to swim and pretty much terrified of any water that’s more than 5 feet deep.  

Every time I go to the beach it’s the same thing. My friends go out in the ocean and show off their stupid swimming skills while I splash around on the shore acting like I’m totally content to take pictures and hunt for sea shells. They yell for me to get in the fucking ocean already and every time I squawk back about how I’m busy and fine and don’t want to get in the water because it’s cold and wet and oceany so leave me the fuck alone you swimming assholes.

This time I wanted it to be different. I was determined. With my laser-corrected eyes I knew I wasn’t going to end up losing a lens and swimming out to sea to be eaten by whales. I still couldn’t swim, but I desperately wanted to get in the water. And I did. Someone brought a boogie board and I took it out to sea with me. Instead of freaking out and yelling at everyone to leave me alone, I listened. I went.

The ocean floor dropped out from beneath me and I kept going. Andrew and the boys were there. My breath kept getting caught in my throat and I screamed every single time the board shifted and I felt like I would sink to the bottom, but I was okay. I didn’t drown.

The boys kept asking if I was joking with my pathetic feet kicking and terrified screams. I assured them that no, I wasn’t. At 26, I’d never been out that far before. I’d never not been able to touch the ocean floor. I’d never been that brave.

There’s some sort of hidden meaning here, I’m sure. Some sort of message from the Universe. Something to do with my need for control and firm footing and how sometimes it’s okay to let go and let the world hold you up. I’m taking it as what I know it to be: a fist in the face of fear.


Why you shouldn’t date musicians

9 Dec

There are a lot of reasons why I married Andrew.  I love him, of course. And we fit well together. He makes me laugh, we want the same things out of our future, blah, blah blah. But one of the less obvious reasons why I married him, is that he’s not a musician.

Before Andrew, I dated a lot of musicians. One could even say, I had a type. I dated musicians exclusively, for most of high school and college.

But what happens when you date three, or even four guitarists (or worse, aspiring guitarists) in a row? They all learn how to sing the  “I want to grow old with you” song by Adam Sandler from the The Wedding Singer. ALL OF THEM. WITHOUT FAIL.

First the Guitarist Boyfriend learns you like Drew Barrymore. And then learns that you like Adam Sandler. He asks if you like the movie, “The Wedding Singer,” which (at that point) you do. Life goes on. Then, Guitarist Boyfriend will sit you down and tell you he learned a special song, just for you (how sweet!). The first time around, you get excited.  You feel special. So you sit and wait for the song to begin. You wonder what it could possibly be and are thrilled, touched and moved the first time a boyfriend sings about letting you have the remote control and about growing old with you. It’s cute. Sweet.

The second time it happens,  it’s a little less touching. You are totally unsuspecting. You wait for the song to begin, smile your way through it and say thank you when it’s done and over with. Surely you can’t tell Guitarist Boyfriend #2 that his lack of originality is making you consider ending the relationship. So you say nothing, because hey – it’s the thought that counts, right?

By the time you’re on to Guitarist Boyfriend #3, and by the time he starts singing that damn song, you don’t even have the patience to even let him finish and you stop him, midway through his supposedly heartfelt rendition and tell him no thank you, you’ve already been played that song (TWICE) by other boys before and really, if he’s thinks he’s getting lucky, he’s dead wrong.

Finally, here’s five more reasons to never date a musician:

  1. They are not as clean as the rest of us. Sure, they might shower in the beginning of the relationship and you’ll be all you smell so nice Mr. Guitar/Drum/Bass man until, of course, that one day when they just stop showering.
  2. They will never (ever, ever, ever) love you as much as they love their guitar or their drums or their harmonica.
  3. If they have good hair, it has the ability to turn into bad hair in the blink of an eye.
  4. You might be thinking to yourself that they’re a musician, surely they have rhythm. As it turns out, this is (mostly) untrue.
  5. They are so loud.  With the tapping and playing of the music and you might think you like that one song the first time he plays it BUT JUST WAIT! It won’t be quite so cute when he plays it for the 467th time.

Because I ♥ Sociology

12 Nov

I saw this yesterday and decided I had to share it:

The Sociological Deconstruction of Disney Princessestumblr_kr8nybGVqn1qzmvbao1_5001{source}

In some ways, sociology ruined me. I can’t watch a lot of movies or advertisements without seeing all the flaws, all the bullshit, all the sexism and racism. But then there’s the other side – the side that knows the why behind so many of life’s little quirks. And that makes up for it.

I register for classes tomorrow and, if all goes as planned, I’ll finally be a in a real, live upper level Sociology class. I absolutely CANNOT wait. I’m BEYOND excited. The class I took this semester had been fun and all, but I want to be among others who have a passion for sociology and who give a damn about getting an education. Fingers crossed I find that next semester!

Also, it’s raining. And has been for days. And I’m really sick of it. And so is the dog.

Sit down and shut up and grow some brain cells

29 Sep

Going back to college has been, to say the least, quite an experience. I spend half my time in class enthralled with all the new things I’m learning about different religions and cultured, and shocked by the way my classmates act. I can’t decide if I dislike them all so much because I’m 25, married and grown the eff up, while they’re all 19 or 20 and not at all grown the eff up, or if it’s just that things have changed.

I never, ever, ever in a million years would have complained, at any point in my formal education, that a two point quiz question was too hard. Ever. I don’t care what level the course was. I don’t care who the professor was. I don’t care. I would never have been that person, who interrupts class, thirty minutes after a quiz has been taken, to raise my hand and bitch that a quiz question was too hard or worded in a way that I didn’t understand. I wouldn’t blame my teacher for challenging me too much. I would blame myself for not studying hard enough.

And yet, every single class, someone has to raise their hand and complain. “I don’t understand what you mean by “the woman” or, “I don’t like the way you worded that question,” or, “you need to give us more information on what’s going to be on these quizzes because telling us it’s going to be ‘on the readings’ just isn’t good enough for me because I’m a snobby assface.”

After the majority of the class miserably failed the first quiz, my teacher decided to help the class out and post some guidance as to what information from our readings she expects us to know and that we will be quizzed on. Keep in mind, the readings are only about 10 pages each week – nothing too strenuous. And yet still. These kids complain.  Over and over again. Despite the guidance. Despite the short reading assignments.

I just don’t get it.

And then, after our mid-class break last night, only about the half the class returned. Because apparently, they just don’t care.

Then, while my professor was explaining the 5 Pillars of Islam, these two assholes in the back of the class kept making snide comments and I was waiting, just waiting for them to say something obviously offensive. They made it well known they have zero respect for the Muslim faith, although they didn’t cross that line – that fine, fine line. I was hoping – praying even, that they’d say something offensive enough for me warrant smacking them both across the face and making them cry like the little boys they are.

But they didn’t.

Terra’s Tough-as-Nails (and super obvious) Rules to Being a Decent Human Being & a Good Student:

1. When given an assignment, complete it. You’ll be amazed at what it will do for your grades.

2. Don’t talk while your teacher or professor is in the middle of a lecture. It’s rude.

3. Especially don’t talk about how drunk you got last night and how your roommate “is, like, such an asshole.”

4. Remember that there are people all over the world who would kill to be getting the education your dumb, trashy, spoiled rotten ass is getting. Don’t make me give them your address.

5. Don’t laugh at your professor when she’s having problems getting a DVD to play. It’s not funny and laughing at her just makes you look like more of a Jon Gosselin-level douchebag.

6. Obey traffic signs. When the red hand is shown, DON’T WALK. Although, if you continue to walk out in the middle of the road, you might get run over. And that’s something we call natural selection. You might have heard about it.

7. Don’t complain about the attendance policy. Yes, you have to go to class to earn credit. If you can’t understand the concept, maybe you should just leave.

8. Don’t rub your ass on someone’s arm while walking down the aisle without apologizing. It makes me think you’re even more dirty than you look.

9. Stop thinking your snide comments are funny. They’re insensitive and, if you keep it up, they might just result in you getting your ass handed to you by a girl.

10. Don’t complain that a quiz, test, or assignment is too hard. The assignment isn’t hard – you’re just too weak to handle it.

The really important questions in life

26 Feb

There are many reasons I choose to marry Andrew.  He frequently fails at communication that is not ridiculous, but the ridiculous conversations we have are one of the best parts of our marriage. Proof: on the way home from work today we had a heated discussion about whether or not you, when possessed by some deceased person, would exhibit a similar speech pattern and/or accent as that deceased person. 

For example, say someone with a heavy Irish accent dies and then takes over your body, i.e. possesses you.  Would you then speak with an Irish accent?  I mean of course it would be your voice, not some old Irish dude’s voice, but would you speak like the dead Irish guy only with your voice?  Would you have your voice and his accent?  

I rule in favor of yes, you would inherit your possessors speech pattern, accent ,  and dialect, although it would still be your voice.  The husband, opting always to disagreewith me on such important matters as speech patterns of the possessed, says that no, you would sound the same as you always did.  But I think that’s illogical because on Medium when Allison got possessed by the murdered Hispanic woman she had a slight Hispanic accent and you know that everything on TV is real. 

And then, the other question is, would you also inherit (I’m sure there’s a better word for what happens when you get possessed by someone, but I can’t think of it right now) their body language/movements/mannerisms? 

What do you think?