Your stereotypical Millennial

This is accurate. Except I’m not a guy. Nor am I bald.

I live in short snippets of language, and not necessarily by choice. To save characters, I shorten “and” to its misunderstood fraternal twin brother, the ampersand: “&” (though their cousin, the pound key – “#” – is like the sexually confused misfit of the family). I take vwls t f wrds, realizing the words “out” & “of” are pretty impossible without them. Eff. The ampersand strikes again.

You following me? Liking me? Linking up with me? Pinning me? (I think you can actually do that at the bottom of this post.)

Because of this 140-characters-or-less lifestyle I live, I have a short attention span… when it comes to focusing on only one thing at a time. You should see how many tabs I have open on Chrome at once, how many things I’m reading, how quickly I change the long link to a short one via bit.ly and post onto Twitter or Facebook in one fell swoop.

Swipe three fingers up on my track pad.

Photo on 9-25-14 at 12.41 AM #3 copy
My face isn’t actually this blotchy.

Tap to find the page I need and tap the URL box.

Command A.

Command C.

Swipe three fingers up on my track pad.

Tap in box I need.

Command V.

Typing those five “sentences” took longer than it takes me to do what I highlighted in them. Because I do things without thinking now and always try to find the answers on my own before looking for a different source and oh my good golly gosh it feels good to not have to limit myself to 140 or 600 characters to write out a good, long and uncalled for run-on sentence.

I’m not a stupid Millennial; I’m a cog in the Net Generation’s clock, and I’m taking advantage of what I grew up learning. I’m earning money doing things I did for fun before. Stupid Millennial? Nah, just a woman on a mission to at least enjoy what she does for a living and find fulfillment in it.

…I’m not sure why I’m getting all defensive. I’ve only ever been swept into the Millennial stereotype by default; nobody’s ever actually called me out based on my generational status.

But I’ll sign off before my brain forces me to spend hours on this one blog post. I’ve only been writing in this box for 15 minutes. Tht’s gotta b a new rcrd 4 – just joshin’; I AVOID using numbers – for @SeeEmilyPlay.

Bye.

Life, man

Writing is hard.

Writing sucks. A lot (of dick, if we’re going beyond PG here).

Writing takes me forever. 

So that explains my absence. I can’t tell you  how many times I’ve conjured up the “Add New Post” screen, only to look at the clock and realize two hours of writing would cut my sleeping time down immensely.

Writing a post means spending time away from the book I’ve been reading or the people I could get to know. Writing means solitude, a word and thing I’ve been trying to avoid as of late. Writing means having to pay close attention to detail and trying so very hard not to make a mistake I’m sure my “enemies” would call me out on Twitter for.

Three years of college and I’ve made some enemies, apparently. Imagine that.

I’ve spent the last couple days at home, watching my grandparents’ belongings get sold to strangers and Walnut trees fall in all their green-and-brown glory.

Some things are ending, but others are beginning. Like my life. My life, man.

IMG_20140427_114504Seven credits of college classes separate me from what I’m told is actually – this time – the “real world.” They had lied to me before when I graduated from high school. College isn’t the real world. College is the excuse I use for the drunken weekends and the hangover I have on Friday mornings that is too severe to make it through that morning’s class. But the professor understands when I email him. It’s college, after all.

More than 30 credits separated me from life then. Now I’m down to seven. Seven credits. Seven.

I could graduate early. Get a job. Leave my friends. Get an apartment. Save money. Pay back my loans.

Writing is hard, yet I’m trying to make a career out of it.

A career that I can actually see now. A career where an email on Friday morning from a hungover Emily just won’t fly anymore. I’m more mature than most at my age, but I am having difficulty with accepting this.

Life, man.

All 5’2″ of me

The light is still on in the far-right room on the second floor of Townhouse 31 because Emily CANNOT sleep. And she just gave away WHERE she sleeps. Whoops. She’d make some potatoes to eat right now if she had any. Unfortunately, she threw her last bag of sprout-covered potatoes in the trash can last weekend during a spring-cleaning binge. New potatoes have yet to be purchased. Tsk tsk. I know.

Enough of this third-person shiite.

I was texting my friend who lives in Iowa, but he seems to have fallen asleep. So that’s fun.

I wrote in my journal already and couldn’t come up with any material for a poem, so there’s that.

Oh, and I updated a few things on this here portfolio blog in case you’d like to take a gander. I finally –– FINALLY! –– added a picture of myself. Seems that’s been on my to-do list for two years.

What else to do but to open my laptop and try to write something? I’ve done my fair share of Facebook and Twitter stalking tonight and have grown a tad bored. Not a lot is happening on Instagram either, though I guess I shouldn’t be surprised after seeing what hour I’ve reached in the early goddamn morning.

I guess this is what I get for loading myself with sleeping pills every night this week except tonight. I really thought I was tired enough to just roll over and conk out, but I stand, erm, lay, corrected.

I ran tonight. Yes, as in the past verb tense of “run.” Shocking, I know. I had some pent-up energy that needed to be released, and staring at Natty World notes for another second sure as hell wasn’t going to help things. I ran to the gym. I ran around the track a few times. I walked. I ran again. I skipped a song on my iPod. I managed to forego what could have been an awkward encounter and just flipped that group of people the bird instead. I never said I was nice. (They laughed at me, though…people don’t seem to expect shit like that to come from me in all my 5-foot-2-inch glory. Hmph.)

It felt great to experience physical pain instead of the emotional-bullshit kind. It felt great to breathe heavily –– though my lungs are seriously suffering now –– and work up a sweat. I also got what is to me a rare glimpse of gym culture. It’s fascinating, really. Men flooded the basketball courts for intramural games, hogged the weight-lifting equipment and women took up the cardio room. I just kept running. And walking. And skipping songs on my iPod. Oh, and rehydrating.

I’ve said this before, but I really mean it when I say it this time: I’m going to take some time to really focus on myself. 

My roommate doesn’t believe that I will, so I’m going to prove her wrong. I have text messages from friends who agree that it really would/will be beneficial for me:

“Just give it a few days and you’ll be back to feeling like the wonderful person you are all by yourself!” said one.

“You need to get back in touch with you and stop trying to please everyone and stop trying to fix people, hun,” said another.

“You definitely deserve time for yourself,” said a third.

So I’m going to keep running and exercising, in general. I came back home tonight high off endorphins and ready to go. Go do anything.

I got the summer internship I really wanted, have plans to get serious about road biking and, best of all, my parents, brothers and sister-in-law are all in good health.

I’m done stalking social networks and I’m especially done writing this post for the night. Good night/morning.

Seriously, show your “Joe”

I finally watched Miss Representation and I can’t stop thinking about it. It intrigued me, empowered me, pissed me off and confused me. But it also made a lot of sense. It made me realize a few things about myself, women in general and the world around me.

Sex sells. I remember learning this during Drug Abuse Resistance Education (D.A.R.E.) sessions with village police officers in fifth grade. You’re flipping through channels and––oh wait, what was that?––you turn back to the commercial of a voluptuous woman modeling Victoria’s Secret underwear. Those VS Angels are beautiful women. I know. (But shit, I can’t afford those bras.)

As an aspiring communicator, I found this commercial clever:

The shot slowly moves up her body. You’re going to stay on that channel just to see what’s being advertised, I don’t care if you’re a man or woman. It captivates you. Keeps you watching. Shows you what you should buy, what you should be interested in.

I’m flattered. Truly, I am. I have what she^ has, I have what the Angels have, though I may not be as tall, toned or tan. Men admire those women? They admire me. As Uma Thurman so tastefully drilled into my head, if you got it, flaunt it! So flaunt it.

But this is where the “confused” and “pissed” parts lie. I’m confused because I think it’s great that those women are –– apparently –– comfortable in their own skin, but I’m pissed because they’re so objectified, slaughtered with makeup, coated with darker skin tones and then Photoshop is still necessary to erase some blemishes, raise the cheekbones and elongate and flatten the torso. Boys grow up seeing these unrealistic images and subconsciously carry them into adulthood. I get more attention from men when I have my hair straightened. Go figure.

The men in underwear commercials are dreamy, and let’s not forget this “abomination” (which I found hilarious):

But I can’t see what those guys are packing underneath those boxers –– can you? Didn’t think so. But you can look at a woman and get a good idea of what you’re going to get once her clothes fall to the floor. Maybe Muslim women have it right…

Imagine my 12-year-old disappointment when my friend and I popped in an American Pie DVD and didn’t see a single naked penis among the seemingly mob-like number of completely naked women.

But what spurred this post for me tonight is that, honestly, sometimes the highlight of my days –– especially during this boring blur of a break –– is when I get a “like” on a Facebook or Instagram picture. Years of social networking has led me to base my value as a person on the number of thumbs-up and heart signs my photos can accrue.

But I’ve also noticed I’m not alone.

My “like” lists are female-heavy. We women tend to be heavier users of social media and tend to care more about the content posted, not to mention the likes and comments that follow. My mom often reads me Facebook posts her friends have made. Most of these posts are written by her female Facebook friends. My dad doesn’t give a shit about Facebook or technology in general. Neither does my cousin, though his wife and his sisters are avid users.

Women post more than men do, post more pictures than men do and appear to check social media platforms far more often than men do. I’d like to think my female friends are multi-tasking –– merely happening upon posts while doing other tasks online and liking them seconds after they’re posted –– but reflections on my own internet behaviors tell me otherwise.

Facebook has become another popularity contest, another beauty contest. I wasn’t raised to base my own life’s value on the mere opinions of others, so it sickens me that I do –– to an extent –– sometimes.

Women are just more susceptible, in nearly every sense of the word. Susceptible to objectification and underestimation. Susceptible to low self esteem.

There’s so much more to this –– boys are taught to be men from an early age, the woman-to-man ratio in politics, etc. –– and I couldn’t possibly go over every aspect, especially when I’m still formulating my own opinions.

I’m still caught between being flattered and being pissed, but maybe I’ll figure that out as I get older.

Call the confident, working women “bitches,” but at least they’re breaking free of the stereotype that women are here for their bodies to reproduce and to then care for what they produce.

I’m breaking free, too.

The cure

I read a fact on Twitter about a month ago. It concerned Facebook and was something along the lines of: “Women with Facebook profiles tend to have lower self-esteem.”

Needless to say, I deactivated my account later that week.

I’ve been off Facebook for almost a month. It has been a refreshing one. I’m finding that I now spend more time studying, reading and going outside as opposed to logging in to see what my friends are up to. I design more on my computer and blog more. I have more ideas now.

I don’t have low self-esteem, but I wasn’t about to start having it. I built my self-esteem up for years and don’t want anything to bring me down. Facebook brought me down.

The people on Facebook make me angry. One time I clicked on someone I was supposed to have known, via the “People You May Know” tool. Boy, was that an experience. I definitely did not know her, but several of my Facebook friends were friends with her. I decided to check her out. I couldn’t help but screenshot (bet she never thought of someone doing that) one of the statuses this girl posted:

Younger teens like this make me not want to be on Facebook at all. The Facebook profile pictures that popped up on my sidebar showed more tweens than I thought possible, and they’re not mature enough to even have a Facebook account. Kids like this girl on the left are why cyberbullying exists and why thousands of kids commit suicide every year after being harassed on the Internet.

Kids at this girl’s age cannot even spell words or use grammar correctly to get his/her useless point across.

Kids at this girl’s age – including this girl – don’t seem to realize that there are privacy settings on Facebook that he/she might want to look into. Anyone can go in and read what this girl plasters on her wall. If the supposed “dumb bitch” referenced in the status ended up going missing or found dead somewhere, based on Facebook evidence, this girl could be a suspect. The status, not to mention the horrible comments that followed, could be the proof that police need. Yeah, bet she didn’t think of that.

I am disgusted by what people post on a network that was built to help people reconnect. Now it’s just pissing people like me off.

We’re not in high school anymore, fellow members of the Class of 2011, so grow up. What really gets me is when I see photos posted from a party in my hometown in which several college kids are featured. Everyone from my hometown claims that they can’t wait to leave the place and go to college… so why the hell are you going back to party with the high schoolers? It is especially incredulous to me when even older kids still party with kids in high school. Stay at college. Party at a place where you don’t have to think about how you’re going to get home to your parents’ house safely. (Dear Danielle, who the hell are you? Sincerely, Emily.)

Another thing about Facebook: It’s a huge brag fest. Everyone’s trying to one-up everyone else. Parents get involved on Facebook and all they do is brag about their children.

In short, I’m sick of the ever-popular “new hair,” tongue-sticking-out, bathroom pic (oh hey, there’s your toilet!), sky shot (where we can clearly see your arms), “Edited” photos in everyone’s Facebook photo albums. I’m sick of the Iam Anidiot Photography pages, where a kid has instagram on his/her phone and then is suddenly a professional photographer and offers services for senior pictures. I’m sick of living with these people (not necessarily the lovely girls on my floor) and then seeing them in their slutty, “Going Out!” pictures when I log in on Facebook in my bedroom.

I deactivated my Facebook. I’m cured.

Who gives a rat’s ass?

Mr Griffith: “I don’t know what your generation’s fascination is with documenting your every thought… but I can assure you, they’re not all diamonds. ‘Roman is having an OK day, and bought a Coke Zero at the gas station. Raise the roof.’ Who gives a rat’s ass?” ~Easy A

I used to think so too, Mr. Griffith.

I created my Twitter account when I was 16. I used it to inform my parents of my location on the way to Disney World with a friend and her family. After that, I only texted the “Twitter” contact on my phone when I was shopping on my own. People bugged me. I tweeted.

After my brother told me my tweets were annoying and negative, I went through and deleted almost all of them. For almost two years, I tweeted here and there, but did not make tweeting or checking my Twitter a priority.

I started tweeting more as a sort of new year’s resolution. Thirty days ago, I had 200-something tweets. Thirty days and 300+ thoughts later, I have more than doubled my tweet count.

So, though I don’t necessarily agree with expressing every thought, I feel it’s okay to tweet and let almost all of my family see it at once. It’s easier to text Twitter once with my race time than to text 6 people and receive a plethora of responses.

Not all of my thoughts are gems, but those I follow make up for that at times. Some of what’s tweeted provides me with something interesting to read or ponder. It’s thanks to Twitter that I even knew about Joe Paterno’s mistaken death, and then the real one that followed.

I feel inclined to learn more about social media, hence my involvement with Twitter.

So, who gives a rat’s ass? Everyone who follows me on Twitter is following me for some reason. I’d like to think I have good thoughts here and there.

Reeaaaallllyyyy interesting (and thought-provoking)

Wow…34 views already in 2011. It might seem lame to some of you ferocious bloggers that write reeaaaallllyyyy interesting and thought-provoking things that catch the eyes of hundreds of people, but to me, 34 views is a lot for one day. In July of ’09 I received 98 views in one day. Haven’t seen that number (or anything even close to it) since.

Am I not interesting enough for you people anymore? Did I get even lame-er with old age (which is currently seventeen…weird…I was fourteen when I got this blog…ahhhh!)?

Fine. From now on, I’ll introduce wise-sounding and interesting posts as opposed to my current page that hosts endless rants. But hey, I think rants are funny.

Also from now on, I will be tagging my posts. I haven’t done this in about a year and a half, but yesterday I tagged my post, and look where it got me: 34 views later I have been made even more wise than I already am. Somehow tagging and views MUST correlate (that sounds like a math word…ew).

Okay, I’m not a funny person, so I’ll stop trying to be one.

After that on my list, I shall remove Twitter from my blog. My brothers follow me on Twitter and see EVERY SINGLE LINK TO MY BLOG AND THEN PROBABLY CLICK IT AND READ ON. The link is enticing to them, and it shouldn’t be. They should have a choice of whether or not to click as opposed to being beckoned by the world of Twitter. (They didn’t used to click; that was B.T.) And again, I’ll stop trying to be funny.

Also, coming soon, more interesting pictures! Everyone knows that pictures are more appealing than words. My blog is just too wordy.

Please note: I probably won’t include pictures; I’m too lazy, but I’ll leave that bit of false hope here just for you!

It’s about time that blackbyrd got a makeover…she needs to grow a pair (of wings) and try to make that difference she’s been itching to make.

Love/hate relationship with Facebook

At this point, it seems like nearly everybody has a Facebook. Is it a mandatory part of life now? Kids are popped out and their photos are then posted onto the parents’ Facebook page. They’re already getting an early start to their inevitable life of wasting time on Facebook.

Don’t get me wrong, I think Facebook is a good idea. It sure beats MySpace (who uses that anymore?), but the teenagers have invaded. When I joined Facebook during my sophomore year of high school (even though my mom was angry about it), barely any of my classmates were on the site yet. They were still fierce MySpacers updating their statuses and changing their pictures every five minutes, not to mention posting another bulletin quiz thing for all to see. Blech.

Anyway, it’s a good idea for older people. My mom has had the opportunity to reconnect with people she has not seen in years. But us teenagers? We’ve invaded it and made it into another MySpace. We’ve invaded with our inability to type without using ch4t$p3@k and have made it a sucky place full of drama (I’m one of the exceptions).

I mentioned arguments over Facebook between two people (dubbed Facebook Battles in my Facebook neighborhood) to my mom, and she laughed. For her, Facebook is a nice way to check out pictures of babies she’s never met and family photos of our long-lost family on her side. For us, it’s a big competition. The profile pictures have to be edited with the brightness and contrast levels changed. Along the bottom or the side or the top, there is some type of writing (usually the person’s name or something equally as stupid) and in the picture, the person’s tongue is sticking out (if you’re a girl) and their shirt is lifted up to show off their “six pack” (if you’re a guy). Stupid.

What is getting super annoying on my Facebook is the status update that states what the person is up to and then ends in something concerning a cell phone. Example (name is made up, obviously):

Candy Land shower. bed. fair tomorrow with alex then black eyed peas concert. text it up.”

Or “texts are nice”

or “texts are wonderful”

or “texts!”.

Quite frankly, I’m happier when my cell phone isn’t vibrating like crazy. I like having it so that I always have the ability to get a hold of somebody should I need to, but texting more than two people at once is too much for me to handle. Especially when I’m trying to do something.

Next, I DON’T CARE about what you and the wonderful or amazing or incredible @Candy Land thought of the Black Eyed Peas concert. Tagging people in a status update is cool, but not when people overuse it and insert annoying adjectives.

Also, the people that update their statuses with a song everyone knows is annoying because it’s like they expect no one to know it. And then the people that write “good song” beneath it just to let everyone know that they know the song. Yeah, congratufuckinglations. Want a cookie?

What’s with people requesting to be my friend when I barely know them?!?!?!? If I don’t talk to you in real life, I sure as hell am not going to wish you a “Happy Birthday!” on your Facebook wall. If I wouldn’t say it to you in person, I don’t say it on Facebook. It’s as simple as that. Also, the fact that little girls/boys in middle school and even younger have Facebooks is aggravating. Didn’t you read earlier when I wrote that my mom was angry when I got my Facebook during my sophomore year? I was fifteen years old! Some of these kids are ten and even younger. Little kids do not need a Facebook or Twitter account. That’s just ridiculous and I blame their parents.

What I really getting to this whole time I’ve been typing away is the whole chat option on Facebook. I am permanent “offline” after learning the hard way. It’s a pain when someone pops up to chat with you when you’re just taking a second to check your Facebook. Then, you end up staying online a lot longer than you planned. It’s annoying. Especially during the school year. I see you at school and now I’m home so I can be away from you. Leave me alone. Also, if people take too long to reply on the chat thing, I ‘x’ them out and log off. I don’t wait around for people. The other day, out of curiosity I switched it to “online” just to see who was on. Then, someone popped up right away saying “heyyyy.” Yeah, no. I’m done doing that. That’s just annoying.

The other day, I deleted over twenty people from my friends list because I realized they really do not need to have access to my page (if you’re not my friend, you can’t see anything – not even my profile picture). I also have blocked people that I don’t care to see status updates from. I can still see their pages, but I don’t have to read their annoying updates.

For me, my relationship with Facebook is a love/hate one. I like staying in touch with people I don’t see over the summer, but sometimes it’s nice to get away.