Inspiration in the form of a plush rhino

The Notorious K-A-M

You know, I am notorious for something.

Well, a few somethings.

One is that I am painfully un-female. I have a tangent to go off on for that thought, but I'll save it. Mental note: don't forget said tangent. OK. Moving on.

Another is that I am a horribly impatient driver. I scream at cars. I beat the steering wheel (but mind you, I do not beat the part with the airbag. Just the rim. Who wants to be my emergency contact when I break a hand one of these days?). I honk. My mother swears that I am going to be shot from doing all of this while living in Dallas. I think it's far more likely that anyone who actually sees me is so stunned at the sight of a small blonde girl screaming her lungs out while Vanessa Carlton plays in the background that they can't even find the glove compartment with their free hand.

And finally, perhaps my favorite piece of notoriety, I hate people.

No wait.

OK, part I of my last bit of notoriety is that I hate people.

Part II is that I enjoy nothing more than keeping up a running commentary about the people I see, and immediately hate.

My friend Kate's favorite thing to do when we went out to bars was stand next to me. You see, my running commentary is very exclusive. Most of the time I'm saying things while standing mere feet away from the subject of the disparagement, so it has to be very hush-hush. If you're not standing next to me, you'll have to rely on the person who does catch it to relay it to you--and we all know that secondhand snarkiness is SO not as good as the original form.

I need to get the snarkiness going again. I have been given the gift of keen observation and biting sarcasm--must combine them more often.

I feel as though I should include something I'm notorious for that's NICE. Because I am a nice person--I swear. I just seem short and bitter. My personality doesn't really match my outward appearance, does it? I'm all blonde and short and smiley and shit, and inside I'm this shrively, bitter, impossible to understand hag. Moving on.

My nice trait that I'm known for: I can listen. I can also give really, really kickass advice, but I don't do that unless it's asked for. I find that most of the time when someone says "I need advice about XYZ", they really mean "I need to talk this out with myself, but I need to do it out loud, and I need someone to listen to me so that I'm not that psycho talking to himself". If they talk it through, then ask for advice, they probably already know what they should do (and what I'm going to tell them), but they just don't want to do it.

Oh, and the tangent. What was it? *scrolls upward*

Oh, right. Me not being a girl.

See, just because I don't like flowers and I can't remember anniversaries and I'm not a fan of dressing up and stuff doesn't mean I don't appreciate special gestures.

Let's say that you're going to do something special for your girlfriend. If your girlfriend is any other female in the world that's not me, you'll probably buy her roses, maybe some chocolates, have her dress up for a fancy dinner, maybe take her dancing. There's probably a sunset involved, and you opening her door for her, and holding her hand across the table, blah blah blah. That's really, really cool of you. I support nice, romantic gestures. She'll appreciate it too, and you'll probably get laid. Several times, depending on how you play your cards.

Now, here's the thing. I don't like roses, I hate chocolate 98% of the time, and fancy dinners mean I can't wear my flip flops. Oh, and guys opening and closing car doors for me is creepy. Regular doors are cool. Car doors--eh.

However, that doesn't mean that I don't want you to do nice, romantic things for me. Instead, I like things like you surprising me at work with sandwiches and tickets to one of the Concerts in the Garden. Or a pair of seats to a Rangers game. Or maybe it's Friday afternoon, and you show up at my apartment with the car full of camping equipment and a weekend just for us. Or maybe you've picked up a six-pack of Corona Light (my favorite, for those keeping score at home. And no, the light is not because I'm counting calories--it's less filling. Or is that Miller Light?), and there's a big game on TV, and we're going to wear sweats and sprawl on the couch and snuggle.

*sidenote: I'm discovering that I like snuggling. SHUT UP.*

The whole point of this is that just because a girl isn't a conventional girl doesn't mean she still doesn't want to feel special and appreciated and flattered and all of that.

Yeah.

Signing off now.

Sometimes I lie awake, night after night
Coming apart at the seams
Eager to please, ready to fight
Why do I go to extremes?

posted by K @ 8:03 PM