Friday, January 29, 2010


I still get peevish when I want to wear something of mine a past roommate has taken. Mostly hats, shoes, and a smattering of American Apparel goods.

If you're a declared "film major," you should probably know something about film. And not just the billion dollar movies that top the box office every weekend.

When a haircolor doesn't turn out the way you expected, the first rule, according to Milady's Cosmetology text book, is "Stay calm. Do not panic." I find this is also true when life situations don't turn out the way you expected. Sometimes I forget the first rule.

I find I'm a "quiet music listener." Something my parents probably would have disputed in my teenage years. But many car rides with various "loud music listeners" later, I am led to believe I really do prefer music to be played quieter than most.

I'm worried about my grandma.

Although I don't play video games all that often (Farmville excluded), I tend to become obsessive about ones I do play. I cannot stop playing or thinking about playing until I've beaten the game. It's a compulsion.

I'm starting to really like Anime (though I've only seen a little). Please don't judge me. (Or do, I guess. It doesn't really matter, does it?)

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Being a girl is wonderful and terrible.

Wonderful: having maternal instincts that make one more likely to care for and about people.
Terrible: having maternal instincts that make one more likely to feel obsessively protective of people one cares for and about.

Wonderful: the opportunity to create, bear and mother children.
Terrible: including but not limited to pissy, crying, blubbering, bloating mood swings; blood oozing out one's vagina; the tearing of one's genitals in order to produce the above mentioned children, making it not impossible to pee but impossible to clean oneself without the use of a spray bottle because toilet paper is not an option; uncontrollable vomiting from gestating said children; drooping, dripping boobs; and of course, menopause.

Wonderful: the innate love of things that are perfectly miniature, soft, smooth, delicate, and all around adorable.
Terrible: the not so innate, paralyzing necessity to be perfectly miniature, soft, smooth, delicate and all around adorable so other people will love us.

Wonderful: having boobs and hips and all around curves.
Terrible: the ease with which weight is gained and, post-childbearing, is practically inevitable.

These are just a few things.

Now to you boys who want to say "being male is just as hard!" I say:
Yeah, yeah, wet dreams. Spurting semen once every few weeks during your adolescence seems a lot less inconvenient than gushing blood for an entire week once a month from ages 10 to 60.
And unexpected boners? Annoying and embarrassing yes, but more embarrassing than standing up and walking around only to have a complete stranger point out you've got a telltale red stain on your bottom? I think not.
Bringing home the bacon? With the number of stay-at-home moms that are being replaced by stay-at-home dads, I'd say that's bunk.

During my non-crazy-emotional-pms moments, I do actually really enjoy being feminine. But sometimes I wish I was a boy. Sometimes I wish I could have played in the mud and climbed trees without fear, that I could walk around without a tampon shoved inside my purse for emergency moments, that I didn't have to worry about getting my clothes dirty or stained, that a skinned knee was a battle wound to be proud of, not something that made me tear up. It's not easy being a girl. All I can really say, I suppose, is that I'll take what I can get and try to be thankful for the rays of light that seep through the sometimes misery that is being a woman. There are things that make femininity livable, even if they don't exactly ever even out.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

I really should be sleeping

I have work early in the morning. But upon my last email check of the day, I discovered a comment on a rather... well... infamous blog post of mine... that my "articles" are getting much better than they used to be. I'm not sure that's true, but I went back to check anyway. And I realized I've had this little blog for two years now. That's much longer than I'd expected. It's been a great little place to air my feelings and share the things I like or love.

I'm still not sure that my posts are getting better, but I'll tell you the main difference I see: I'm actually a real person these days. I'm not trying to be anyone, I'm just me and I'm happy with that. For once. I've come to terms with many of my imperfections, and this past year especially has forced me to face a lot of my own insecurities and weaknesses. I've grown very much since Snappy Little Alligator started.

I had a thought while falling asleep last night. It was this: there aren't very many grown ups in the world, are there? There are a lot of adults who pretend their age matters and that gives them certain rights, but really, those adults are probably more childish* than most. And some think they're so grown up because they've got degrees or some kind of high paying job. But what a grown up really is... well... what I think a grown up really is... is a humble, kind, forgiving person, who has experienced the world in all of its glory and darkness, and can not only face their own follies, but tries with all their might to correct whatever foibles they may have. These grown ups do not make excuses, they do not expect others to do for them what they can do for themselves, they do not waste what precious time they have on things that simply do not matter.

More than anything, I'd like to become one of these people. Not necessarily because it's better, in fact it seems more wearying really. But because now that I've seen the difference between the grown ups and the children, I don't see how I could ever again be ok with acting like a child. The times when I slip back into child mode, I come out of it realizing what a mistake I've made. It's too glaring now for me to go back to the way it used to be.

* I want to note that when I say childish, I do not mean childlike, which in general is a positive term. In this case, child and childish are rather pejorative terms, sadly. I mean that those who are most childish act like spoiled brats who should get everything their way. Few are that bad, but from what I've noticed, most humans are on a sliding scale of childishness, with very very few achieving adulthood. The problem is mostly that no one is aware nor willing to consider their own childishness; they only want to point out some one else's imperfection.