I posted recently about being more "real".
It's about to get really real and I'm not sure I actually wanna do this.
I finished a silly little free book on my kindle app yesterday called "Bridesmaid Lotto".
It was...cute. Not very well written and featuring a distinct lack of detail which is something that I, as an avid reader, feel should not be that hard to include. It's a short "novel" about a girl who gets thrown against her will into a celebrity wedding and I literally have no idea what ANY of the characters looked like. Not a clue. I know what they looked like in my head so I guess woohoo for handing over full creative license to the reader. I do however know exactly what each gown worn by the heroine and the celebrity bride looked like, down to the designer label.
I thought it was gonna be another "Icing on the Cake"...
which isn't even a far-cry from juvenile and silly, in fact that's about the gist of it, but the writing was cute and clever. I've read "Icing on the Cake" multiple times due to it's short and uplifting, bubbly nature and I doubt I'll ever go through "Bridesmaid Lotto" even one more time.
I enjoyed it well enough! But probably only because it was so short and I could finish it in two days having only a couple hours in the evening to read.
I did, however, come away with one goal in mind from "Bridesmaid Lotto". In the book, the protagonist (protagonista? is that word gender neutral?) has this "Disaster Diary" she uses to keep her ego at bay while she's in this whirlwind of hollywood and glamour by documenting memories of her embarrassing moments.
Annnnnd it seemed like a good idea.
Now I'm starting to think I'm crazy and will ditch this project a few weeks into it, or maybe it'll take off and be one of the "series" I actually continue working on. Heaven knows I have quite a few of those piled up in the "I'll get back to you someday" corner of my brain-space.
And without further ado, the first installment of the Really Real Chronicles;
It was my second or third year of efy (Especially For Youth) up at BYU in Provo, Utah and we had just finished the big, whaddya-call-it relay race game night activity thing? Loads of fun, no idea if our "team"/group won anything or if that's even a thing at efy. "We're all winners!" that sort of shindig. We were all seated on the grass field waiting to head back to the eating hall for dinner? Or maybe it was to the auditorium for closing activities and whatnot, I dunno. Not important.
Basically we're in a waiting period and all sitting around with nothing to do but talk. Let's say we're all 13 years old (as far as memories go, I'm not the greatest, can you tell?). My roommate/best friend was flaunting her impeccable social skills and chattering away with the other girls and <gasp!> even the hottie-tottie boys who were just fawning over all the attention and giggles. We stood up to get going and somehow the phrase "the meaning of life" came up and I will always associate that line with the scene in the Kim Possible movie (or maybe it's an episode, I dunno) where Rufus is chillin' with a bunch of other naked mole rats but they're all buff and steroid-y and one has this really deep voice and asks, "What is the meaning of life?" and Rufus squeals, "Cheeeeeese!!"
Soooo to be hip and funny and throw in a cultural reference I quoted those two lines, the first in as low a rumble I could muster and the second in a high, cartoony voice.
Judging by the concerned looks from all the hottie-totties I was not succeeding in being hip and/or funny and my cultural reference was more a societal suicide attempt and my roommate tried to save my dignity by laughing nervously and half-heartedly but alas, it was too late.
The shock turned to disgust and the stony cold backs of everyone in the group turned to face me as we walked across campus and I trudged behind wondering why I ever open my mouth.
That experience has never left my mind and for the longest time was my go-to memory to remind me why I should never speak without thinking for 5 minutes first and then by that time the subject has moved on and I will never say any embarrassing things ever again.
Sounds great, no?
I've since learned that it wasn't my fault. I wasn't dumb or worthless or unpopular because of my words. It was a mix of the fact that I wasn't with the right sort of people for that reference (I mean, anyone who can't appreciate a decent KP reference really isn't all that worth hanging around, amirite?) not to mention I'm a shy, silent type in a group of strangers so if you think about it, they're experience looked more like the quiet girl who never speaks randomly started babbling in awkwardly pitched tongues. I'd probably be scared too.
I now wish I hadn't let people's opinions of me squash down who I really was, what I was really like. I didn't actively try to find the people who could appreciate my personality so I lived in this suppressed state of misery because I never fit in.
But who does feel like they fit in, I mean honestly.
Quote the movies you want to quote.
Wear the clothes you want to wear.
Be the person you want to be.
Find the people who like your random, your crazy, your weird. You aren't the only one. I promise.