Some people are born leaders, destined to sprinkle greatness upon the world their wise words, cunning sales tactics, and charismatic demeanor.
Then there is me. Staring into space. Not paying attention or listening to a word those people are saying.
I’m not saying I avoid listening. I just tend to walk to the beat of my own drum when it comes to following directions or taking orders.
It could be the fact that I am one of the most stubborn people on the entire planet, or it could just be the fact that I think I know what I’m doing, and repeatedly get proven wrong in the matter.
Sure, I follow the most essential rules of life, like showing up to work on time and waiting thirty minutes to swim, but I’m also pretty sure my name literally translates to, “disobeying direct orders” in Swahili. I actually do it a lot. It makes life interesting.
Seriously. Who wants to walk through life just following all the rules that are set in place? No one. Unless you’re a rule follower, which is cool, then you would answer, “Yes” to the previous question.
I like to live life on the edge, really just walk into the unknown and see what happens. It’s exhilarating. It’s also extremely exhausting. But I’m twenty-five, and I’ve lived this way for a quarter of a century, so why change now?
I’ve already mentioned that I lie a lot, so I’m realizing that airing out all my faults and flaws is not really doing a great deal for my likeableness; and I may be losing potential friends and/or life partners with each post. But I’m willing to commit to a life of solitude and desolation if it means helping other people not make the same mistakes I did.
PS – I am totally retracting that statement once I find someone I would like to hang out with for the rest of my life.
I frequently do not listen to the following things:
You’re telling me that in the three months that the sun is actually strong enough to turn my skin from transparent to any hue resembling looking alive that I have to put on a protective lotion to keep me safe? Absolutely not my friend. I will burn, and burn, and be in pain until it turns to tan. Especially with a full-time job, I can’t not capitalize on using the world as an oven and bake myself silly. Will I be wrinkly and gross looking by the time I’m 50? Yes. But hopefully at that point some boy will have mouthed the words, “For better, for worse, ’til death do us part,” and this will be the ‘for worse’ part of our lifelong matrimony that he has to endure.
Everyone knows that the only time you ever drive the speed limit is if you’re doing something wrong. Normal people go 5-8 MPH over it. No one drives 25MPH for the sake of a white, rectangular sign. You’re driving that slow because you have an army of stolen sloths from the New Mexico Zoo in your backseat, and you’re praying you don’t get pulled over by the local police because you wanted to drive at a speed that would get somewhere before an entire carton of ice cream melts.
I honestly think I print out recipes for the sole reason of me being able to say, “No, look! I even have the recipe!” I never follow the recipe. Tell me I need one tomato, and if I don’t have it, I’ll just throw in something from my refrigerator that is red and juicy, could be jello, could be cranberry juice. Only time will tell. The fact that I have had zero culinary training doesn’t scare me in the slightest, because food can’t fight back. Potatoes and Special K aren’t going to be at odds with each other, because they are not alive (I think?). I am in complete control, and most times, it does not turn out well.
Are we just going somewhere overnight? Cool. I’ll just grab my industrial sized suitcase and pack enough clothes for a month-long, European backpacking adventure. If it’s tropical, I’m bringing snow boots. What if there is a freak snowstorm in July? El Nino would totally want to pop up on my Brazilian beach vacation and say, “Hey Meg, bet you didn’t prepare for this!” Not so fast, you elusive snow storm, I have brought warm winter boots, scarves, and a puffy jacket just in case.
Don’t ever let me near a red button. I will push it so fast you’ll wish you were never friends with me. I can’t go to any store without touching all the objects in the display case, and have even been known to knock down a thing or two in department stores. ON ACCIDENT. OKAY. Case and point. My mother once told me not to touch the stove, so when she was boiling water, I moved the pot over and placed my hand on the coils to see if she was lying to me. She was not lying. This was the result.
I am so bad with remembering names it’s unfortunate. Honestly, you can have the most interesting name in the world and I will still call you by your hair type and fashion sense. Come on, parents. Step up your game, let’s start naming people by what they look like, not what you think is trendy, traditional, or totally different. In my mind, Johnny, is now curly-haired-striped-shirt in my name catalog. Not your fault, just a casualty of being over stimulated as a child. I couldn’t pay attention in class for the life of me – how am I supposed to remember a name as common as Mr. Smith’s in Pocahontas?
Anyone Telling Me About My General Health:
I should exercise more. I need to floss my teeth. I need to stop drinking bottles of wine on a Tuesday. Yup, got it. Wrote it down, crumpled it up, threw it out. I just bought a case of wine from Trader Joes for $36, there’s no way I’m letting that go to waste. And flossing is just extra work, I already brush my teeth. What happened to survival of the fittest? I am training my teeth to become stronger. My incisors are rock solid, there’s nothing I can’t bite through. And don’t talk to me about exercise, I dance a lot when I’m out on the weekends, that counts for something. It has to, or else I’m screwed.
I want to throw out an honorable mention to fashion sense, hairstyling, and eating in public, but those will have to be saved for a later time.
Thanks for listening to me.