What The Brainz Choose To Think About…

So here I am… A college student in the middle of her spring semester with a to-do list that’s about four feet long – no exaggerations. And what does my girl brain decide to think about? A boy. Not about her homework, not about her papers and projects, not about Relay For Life,  Lutheran Campus Ministries or Hospitality & Tourism Association. A boy. And not just a boy, but a boy whom I barely know or have spoken to. WHY?!?! I ask myself, “Is this common for all girl brainz to continuously think about ONE guy or is it just the Alyssa brain?” and “Why do I keep thinking about this guy who I barely know? I’m not in elementary school!” The mushy part of my brain says to me, “Well, if you keep thinking about him, it must be meant to be!” I tell that part to shut up. I’ve been rejected in the past and having mushy thoughts like that are just dangerous. I must protect myself from getting hurt again… So maybe I need a psychologist’s opinion. Why is it that I get out of a three and a half year relationship and immediately sign up for dating websites? And now I’m thinking about one guy in particular who I’m scared to even look at. I should be embracing my singleton-ness! I should be happy being free! But no… Honestly I am happier now than when I was in a relationship, but there is still that little void there. No matter how hard I try to think about something else – philosophy even! – my girl brainz slowly start to turn back toward that guy… *sigh* Sometimes it would be easier to have a guy brain, don’t you think?

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Girl Brainz Crave Douches Like A Frequent Tanning-Bed Princess Craves Melanoma

Let’s face it ladies, this is a problem that plagues 99.9% of the female population. These life-sucking, soul-crushing turners of confident, successful women into needy, over-analyzing lunatics have been allowed to run rampant in our local neighborhoods, stores, movie theaters, restaurants and yes, oh yes, even at our beloved bars and night clubs. Women swoon for these non-chalant parasites of society, oftentimes knowing full-well that their shows for attention will only be rejected or ignored. Yes, ladies, this centuries old epidemic is known as douche bag syndrome.

So, knowing all of this, why do we entertain and later give in to the modern-day “douche bag”? I was pondering this the other day as I received a text from a guy I met at the bar…I was at the moment, out and about doing, oh gosh, what do ya know…tanning. I remembered him from the night I met him…he was tall, mysterious and clearly marked by a clingy, freshman girl, who was under the impression that they were “exclusive.” I remember feeling bad for the girl and thinking to myself, I’ll never be as needy and desperate as her. Well, anyways, he was giving me all the right signals…and what girl can turn down free drinks of her choice at the bar?? The alcohol was flowing, the conversation turned into long pauses and lingering stares…make it or break it, this boy was coming home with me…or so I thought.

He walked me home like a gentleman, kissed me until I wanted way more than his PG-13 rated antics, and told me to text him the next day. So, I did…and then, waited and waited and waited…until finally, he texted back. We talked for most of the afternoon, on and off, until it fizzled out into two-word comments here or there. I thought that was the end of the road.

So, back to my original point…the text that I received. Well, it contained my name and the tagline “RA” next to it. Yes, it is common knowledge that I am a resident assistant, but why would he text me that??? I thought to myself. A follow-up text was sent moments later…Oh sorry…he said…I didn’t mean to text you that. I was saving you as a contact and I have a lot of girls’ names in my phone…I had to differentiate between them all, so I could remember who you are.

Are you freakin’ kidding me?!?!? My girl brainz were going crazy at this point. Nothing screams player like taglines under a guy’s contacts, so that he can remember which girl is which. To think, this guy had potential in my mind!…Then why in the world was I still thinking about him???

Admit it. We slightly like the challenge…we know we’re not fillet mignon in this boy’s house of steak, but we’re not chop liver either. It becomes a game…and lord knows, I hate games…but we all play them. We start to pick up on their nonchalant behavior and think to ourselves, if I play hard to get to, maybe they’ll pick me!

Righhhhtttttt…keep telling yourself that. Yes, douches love the game of “hard to get.” And they may entertain it for like half a second…until something better walks along. So, ladies, I am speaking from experience, tell your girl brainz no for once in your life. Don’t steep down to that girl, who’s flirting outrageously with anyone in sight because you are attempting to make the douche jealous. He’s one step ahead of you sweetheart…and chances are, he’s treating you like some clingy girl who, OH WAIT, is under the impression that you guys are “exclusive” or something. Now, doesn’t that sound familiar? 🙂

 

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Overloading Brainz

I get so frustrated sometimes by my inability to identify the reason why I’m feeling down.

I wish it was obvious, as easy as an animal instinct: food, sex, or sleep. But the problem with the Girl Brain is that feelings are never simple. They’re complex and rooted in possibly ten different emotions or needs at once.

So what am I thinking about?

As always, there’s the standard “So there’s this boy…” and all the if/why/where/how/when’s that come with that whole territory. There’s the fact that I’m graduating in less than two months, yet there’s so much left to do between now and then. There’s the fact that I’m dreading having to run tomorrow, but I’m eating a leftover Waffle House waffle from last night like a fat kid. I am still behind on filling out job applications. I am going to Utah in a few weeks to present research I haven’t finished yet. I need to do laundry because my leggings smell like ass and I spilled cake all over my shorts.  I’m worried my cat is going to put my eye out with her claws of terror. I have three weeks at the end of the semester to do all the sound work for a movie, and I’ll be in Vegas for a week of that working 12 hour days for Sony. I suck at conducting. I also suck at sleeping. I lost a sweater I really like at Walmart over break.

In all honesty, what I really want to do is go camping with some good friends. Just sit around the campfire, eat s’mores, have good conversations, skinny dip, and get lost in a place with no cell phones or people wanting things.

The closest I can get to that is a few stolen hours in a coffee shop. But even then, I never manage to get my work done. I just don’t care anymore. My mind wanders in class, and sometimes all I want to do is stare at the wall and let my mind run free.

I sometimes resolve that I’m going to start living a more spiritually fullfilling life. I’ll keep my room clean, do yoga every day, have Bible time, and take time to clear my head. This never happens – I’m too busy sleeping too much, eating junk food, throwing clothes on the floor, and being late to class because I had to run back inside to clean the litter box.

In essence, I wish my brain was more like my body. Hungry? Eat food. Tired? Sleep.

Thinking too much about five million things at once?

…?

 

 

 

 

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You can’t take the crazy out of the girl…

Sometimes I wonder if I’m too over the top.

It’s not that I’m insane. I make good grades, work hard, maintain a decent amount of level-headedness (even with my Girl Brain) and can function normally in most social situations.

But there’s a side of me that just doesn’t give two shits – (pardon the language.)  Just like a honey badger.

I went out to lunch with this really nerdy guy. He seemed nice enough. I tried to maintain a good sense of normalcy and friendliness, but when I started getting comfortable with the conversation, I let some of the crazy out.

Seriously though. Why should I feel self conscious about the fact that I enjoy going out on Thursday nights and seeing if I can chug a beer at the same rate as my guy friends? I’m not a ho. I’m not a drunken fool. I like having fun. Who cares if sometimes this results in me having to turn down swingers who think my fake British accent is hot?

What if this guy knew that after I got home from this “date,” I had a horrible craving for chocolate, resulting in me womp-womping around the house to some Skrillex while trying to find the perfect brownie recipe? I may have even yelled “Yo Ollie drop dat BASS!” at Olivia Wilde, my cat.

And I talk about my cat way too much. But she’s funny! She’s like a character in my life that I tell stories about. Who doesn’t like a good story?

Why should I give a shit what anyone else thinks?

Sometimes I wonder if this crazy should be released. My hyena-like laughter at bad puns. The fact that I wish it was socially acceptable for me to sit like a man. The way my hair looks when I don’t straighten it. The 10 different colors of nail polish I put on my fingernails. My socks with Mount Rushmore on them. The fact that I made my cat a facebook. The Twizzlers I sometimes eat in lieu of breakfast. The way I rank gas station Icees by if they have the dome lids and the right kind of straws. The terrible brownies I just made. The fact that I tore one of my contacts and had to use an old prescription, so now my vision is oddly lopsided and I feel seasick.

Or the things that aren’t crazy. The bad things.

The way I procrastinate on things that are important, like finding a job. The way I overthink every situation into oblivion. The way I have trouble prioritizing. My terrible budgeting skills. The fact that sometimes I’d rather buy beer (or Twizzlers) instead of food. The fact that I’m not entirely sure of what I want out of life. The fact that sometimes my Girl Brain gets the better of me.

And I’m always too busy laughing at my own terrible punny jokes to notice that the guy is inching away from me.

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When is it time to let go…

So, I had an incident happen recently with an ex-boyfriend of mine. We are not on speaking terms per say when we are sober, but for some reason, all is forgotten when one of us has had a few too many drinks. Whether I am the initiator of that first text or he happens to send me one because he’s four shots in and notices me walking by him at the club, I can’t help but think, when is it time to let go?

The drunken texts usually consist of “what are you up to?,” which I roll my eyes at every time and absently scout out my surroundings waiting to see his cocky self. Charm forgotten, manners out the window, the guy that I thought I once knew was nowhere to be found. One of us would typically approach the other and make the first move, requesting a quick meaningless dance between two people who used to know each other. I would always accept, knowing full well that for the protection of my still healing heart, I should probably have turned him down.

Even in the way we danced, even in the way he looked at me…I could tell it was different. Breakups are never easy…and they’re even more difficult when situations like this arise. I always thought that getting over him would be easier if I never talked to him, never bumped into him. And it was…until moments like this, when my true will power was put to the test. I would act like I had moved on, like his smirks and not so subtle touches on my arm and on my back didn’t bother me in the slightest. I was intentionally rude to him. I was callous. But every girl has her breaking point.

As we were dancing, I glanced at the mirror facing directly on the opposite wall and paused. I was reminded of what was, of what could have been…and then, was ushered back into reality when a friend of mine casually pushed through the crowd and raised an eyebrow at me as she glared at my ex dancing behind me. I know…I thought to myself. I had given into a weak moment. But can you blame a girl for wanting to be wanted by the guy who used to want her back?

One thing led to another and he ended up back at my dorm. We awkwardly sat in my lobby and occasionally gave each other sideways glances, knowing full well that the memories were flooding back for him just as much as they were for me. We talked about his family and his friends. He seemed unhappy; far from what I expected from this overly confident douche bag. But, a part of me couldn’t help but feel compassion for him despite everything. I could relate to him and let’s face it, I still cared.

He ended up staying over in my room, even though he had class in less than 6 hours. For the first time in what seemed like three months, we talked, laying on my bed like old times.         And that’s when reality set in. Even though we were thrown back into the same surroundings and same situations that our flawless romance began in, something seemed off. The words felt empty, the memories irrelevant and distant. I began to realize that time had changed us. Life had changed us. We were not the same people that we had been three months prior. He was speaking of transferring to a different school; of leaving behind the snow and the mountains for a beach and sunny weather 18 hours away. I laid there and felt myself die a little on the inside. This was it.

Even moments later, as the talking ceased and the awkwardness of his hand occasionally brushing my leg and my arm faded, I opened my eyes to stare at the wall directly in front of me. In the pitch black of the room, I flashed back to the time when things were good, when we were happy. But now, staring at this same wall as both our backs were turned to each other in my tiny, twin-sized bed, I realized that we could never go back to that place. Through everything, the spark was gone. Neither one of us would back down and actually utter what the other truly wanted to say. We were quiet, we were distant and we were only a couple inches away from each other.

So, I ask the question again…when do you let go? When do you say enough is enough? I will always want more even though I tried desperately to prove to him that night that I could manage being his friend. However,  I knew I was only uttering lies. I didn’t want to be his friend. I missed what was and I found myself repeating over and over again in my head, how did we get here?

I will never know what prompted him to drop me like a hot potato and take up singledom with open arms. But, I do know that things end up the way they were meant to, and I was lucky to get out when I did. I want someone who wants me for me minus the mind games. I want someone who talks to me both during the day and at night; someone who’s not afraid to share how they really feel and won’t run away when Sh**t (excuse my language) gets real. My ex was none of these things and even as he gathered his things to leave at 7:15 the following morning, I expressed just that to him. I turned over in bed, flashed him a smile and wished him well. No, mind games, no gimmics…and as he slipped through the doorway closing the door behind him, I thought to myself: Yes, one door may have closed, but another one…a better one…is just opening. 

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When the Brainz take over….

Who drank a Yuengling, three vodka shots, two Guinness’s, two PBR’s, and two mixed drinks on Thursday night?

This girl.

Did I mention the hot garlic wings with blue cheese and waffle house pie? Or the fact that I still made it to my 10:10 class, albeit at 10:23?

I feel like a badass.

However, there is something I really don’t understand about myself. Why do I get the urge to talk to guys when I’m drinking?  It’s not that I even really want to flirt or anything, I just want to talk. I want to feel like there’s someone out there who wants to talk to me…

And the thing is, there are plenty of people. My friends, my mom, my aunt, my sisters. Why is attention from guys so important anyway? Even stupid ones, like an ex boyfriend, some guy I used to hang out with who was really annoying, or some guy who can only be called, in Bridget Jones Diary lingo, an “emotional f***wit?”

Why is it so important that they respond when I text something as simple as “Hey, what’s up?”

Those are my weak moments. I spend so much time trying to make myself stronger – getting organized, going to the gym, making good grades, trying (and often failing) to eat better. I have great friends, an amazing family, and an awesome support system. But sometimes, all those things sort of drift to the back of your head, and all of a sudden you feel alone, even in a room full of people.

It’s the Girl Brain. It wants to be mushy, emotional, and undermine all the work you do to make your life fulfilling without having  some deadbeat man around to mess it up. This is where you girlfriends come in as a support system, preventing the Girl Brain from taking over your life.

Cue all the cheesy lines – “Girl, he ain’t worth it,” or “Stop talking to that loser, I will CUT him!”  They help put a smile on your face, and help you realize that there are more fun things to do in life than sit around and let your Girl Brain obsess about boys.

Eating Bojangles, talking about your hopes for something better, and yelling at people  from car windows: stupid things that make you laugh. But laughter is the key. If you spent five minutes laughing your ass off in the morning, you’ll probably still chuckle about it five hours later.

The idea of “I don’t give a s***” helps tremendously. I don’t care if he texts me back. I don’t care if some guy won’t dance with me at a bar. It’s nice to have the mentality that you have a pretty freaking cool life – no one can bring you down.

So girl… trust me, he ain’t worth it. If he keeps being a douche, I will CUT him. I will not let him break your heart. Your friends are worth a thousand times more than any jerk you might meet, and one of the best things you can do for yourself is to never forget that 🙂

 

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Appearance

Okay – I just have to start out by saying this: I am sitting in Starbucks right now and four people walked in: All girls. All of them immediately fixed their hair as they walked in…

Our society is so obsessed with appearance.

I know it has been for a long time, but perhaps, maybe (mayhaps) it is getting worse.

There are a few girls I know who I feel like only care about the way they look – and nothing else. To these girls, the absolute worst insult someone could possibly say about them would be: fat or ugly… Think about this for a second: Is ‘fat’ really the worse thing a human being could be? Is ‘fat’ worse than ‘vindictive’, ‘boring’, or ‘shallow’? Also, it seems like someone losing weight or improving their appearance somehow is more of an accomplishment than getting a job, writing a book, or something similar. Am I the only one who thinks this?

I know it’s always talked about, but celebrities and models on television and magazines really do influence society. I’ll admit, my girl brain has been brainwashed to think that being pretty is something I should aspire to be. But that should be the least of our aspirations. If I ever have daughters, I would be worried. I would be worried that this ‘appearance obsessed’ world would make them empty-headed and self-obsessed like some of the girls I know. I’d rather they were ‘independent’, ‘idealistic’, ‘curious’, ‘kind’, ‘opinionated’, ‘funny’ and a hundred more things, before ‘thin’ or ‘pretty.’

Going to be a Harry Potter nerd for a sec. I would rather them be a ‘Hermione.’ Hermione is strong, smart, and independent.

There’s something else that bothers me, though. Guys. I feel like guys usually don’t fall for the ‘Hermiones’. And it’s partly society’s fault. Becca and I went to wing night with a couple of guy friends and we were discussing a girl I know who is obsessed with bras. So obsessed that she doesn’t mind spending $50 on a cute bra. She also stares at herself in the mirror and talks about how she looks constantly. According to those guys, there is “nothing wrong with that.” I tend to disagree. It is not okay to be so obsessed with your appearance. And let’s be honest. Most girls are obsessed with their appearance because they want attention from guys. How sad is that? The only aspiration in life – to look good so that guys will like you. Dude. That would suck.

I’m not trying to be a feminazi or anything, I’m just trying to create awareness about this. It really is sad. Something needs to be done.

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