The Danger in Expectations

This past month I decided to try something out, a little experiment if you will. I realized that being let down had become a very consistent emotion in my everyday. When something negative becomes consistent in anyone's life, their common sense and the ability to think usually leeds to them deconstructing and dissecting their life's current changes or reasoning for feeling this way so often. One of my thoughts on why I was creating and feeling let down was the danger in having expectations. When we create expectations for the people around us, we are giving them the power to prove us right or more often than not prove us terribly wrong. Expectations are very dangerous. My mom said it perfectly when she said, "Don't let expectations become fantasies". True and powerful statement mom's. Agreed.

 Let me give you an example to help you understand my current realization. Dating. Yes, the dreaded social structure we created over time to find that person that fits you perfectly and will share the rest of your life with you. Otherwise known as THE MATE. I don't know what would be more painful, the caveman approach, which is getting hit over the head and dragged into a cave or having dinner with a liar who uses all their words of deceit and gloat? Then once you buy into their lies you find out that they are a total tool and mass texting all the same lines to every other girl that would buy into it the same act. How generic do you feel once you find out that it's working on everybody? Sucks, huh. Ugh...I think I would rather take a couple good hits from the caveman, they can't even text or communicate with words. Perfect. 

Now, having loved and lost, and being the shoulder to cry on for my friends who have also loved and lost. I know how we cope as women. We tell ourselves we can do better and then point out all our recent ex's negative flaws we just barely started noticing at our heartbreaks convenience because it helps us detach from our attachment to them. Attachment, what a bitch, you know her well I'm sure, it's their smell, their laugh, their comfort, their smile... you know all the visual and emotional bull shit that had you hooked to them because you've wasted all your free time making those things more important than reality. Now they go from being everything you ever wanted to being everything you least expected. Fact is, they didn't change. Your EXPECTATIONS did. Before you created expectations and fantasies about who they are or are going to be FOR YOU. Now that they are gone you look them in the eyes, during one of your ever so dramatic break-up fights, and say, "I see your potential, why can't you see it?" Umm, because you made it up in your head. New rule. Date people who have already obtained a potential that will satisfy your needs. NO more fixer uppers. Stop having expectations that are fictitious. Majority of people suck, stop making them out to not. Be prepared.

Now back to my experiment. I tried living my life without expectations. Tricky, right? It's nearly impossible. It's like losing hope completely, not just in others but even yourself. I changed completely during this period of time. Did things I wouldn't normally do because I didn't have expectations for myself. Expectations for ones self are goals, standards, morals, integrity and character. Just because I can't expect others to have these qualities; I can and will expect them from myself. I came to the conclusion that expectations in others can be premeditated disappointment we create in our head. We create these expectations/fantasies to give hope in the people we interact with in our life. I'm back to the realization that the only person I have control over is myself. I can only expect what I can control. Myself. Even if it means letting go and trimming off some social fat or coming off as a complete emotionless bitch when someone does something that shocks everyone because of their EXPECTATIONS! Wow, I feel better. Thanks.

Movement

movement... 

my mind paralyzing attraction;

they’re perfect in every reaction.

applying pressure to my every exertion,

my desires want solutions.

movement...

body language-

two souls perfect communication.

beats and pulse heightened-

holding my breath to create distraction. 

movement...

why can’t I describe you;

only feeling mesmerized by you.

you’re not even aware of your natural mastery-

I’m clinging to your every faculty.

movement...

in sync without speaking;

my curiosity overcomes thinking.

logic and reason become an illusion

captivation creates conversion. 

movement...

rare in a companion-

my most fatal attraction.

OVERRATED & UNCOMFORTABLE.

The rain has overstayed its welcome the last couple days. It is June, not April. Eff' April showers, you missed your window this year you harlot. Back off already, I need to lay out. Not only has the rain ruined my tanning schedule and given me afternoon insomnia, it has also become my hairs arch nemesis. Every time I leave any warm comfortable shelter and enter out into the cold, humid, moist downfall, my hair lies lazily to the side of my head. VOLUME is everything when you are a round faced Italian with short blonde hair. The rain is destroying my swagger and forcing me to hermit away. It needs to exit my life story, now. 

Interestingly enough, the rain has brought to my attention a mutual understanding with one of my close friends Drewbie. At lunch today, after running through a squall from my car Harriet into one of our beloved Cafe Rio locations, Drew and I landed upon the conversation of kissing in the rain. Now, I can enjoy a storm just as much as the next gal, but viewing it from the inside of it is not my idea of sexy or arousing. A nice covered porch, house or car window is very much appreciated for my comfort and viewing pleasure. This dry comfortable preference was only reiterated while I was eating my pork burrito completely soaking wet from my fifteen yard jaunt in the rain from my car to shelter. My current damp condition killed my appetite, so I can't imagine what it would do to my sex drive. 

Getting to the point...Why does our media and society make kissing in the rain out to be some exotic and sexy experience?!? It is extremely overrated. I'm here to tell you why. Much needs to be thought out before you fall into, and believe in this exotic cliche and imagery that is kissing in the rain. For one, rain is filthy, disgustingly polluted and dirty. It falls through our toxic atmosphere and lands upon your head and your partners head only to drip from the hairs, scalp oils and hair product of each one of your heads and down your faces. Gross. 

Not knowing your partners hygienic rituals only brings more fear to the current chemistry that is falling down your faces, onto your lips and into your mouths. You are eating their Herbal Essence or Suave... literally, and not in a good way. (cheap shampoo=cheap kiss) Now, the kiss finally takes place, it might be nice, it might not, but at this point it is not the quality of the kiss you are going for but the story of you kissing in the rain. Why do you do this? You do this because the imagery of this wet kiss has been made out to be an ideal aphrodisiac by our pop culture. Fool'd again, you fall into our media's tempting lures. We are all puppets, dammit.

The kiss is over, you are most likely left unsatisfied, freezing, wet, uncomfortable, awkward looking and haggard. Was it worth it? Unless this kiss ends with a trail of wet clothes and a pregnancy test, you are probably just making the awkward drive home looking like a wet dog and chaffing from the seam of your wet designer jeans. 

Drew and I both decided that kissing in the rain is just not doing it for us, especially after you factor in the cons to this widely viewed pro, that is, kissing in the rain.

Trash Talking, Threes and Blisters.

I've been reunited with my competitive demon. It's the part of me I never wanted to see again, but she's back. It's been months, well considering I hated college basketball, it's been years since I've enjoyed or cared to play basketball. I've had my little glimpses here and there of joy, but nothing too reassuring that I might actually love the game. It all happened on Memorial Day when my dear friend Kayla was spending the holiday with my family. Kayla is still a prisoner of college basketball, so her horrible hobby tends to follow our friendship around and stress both of us out. Hearing her stories sends me into my instinctive combat mode. The negativity streams through my veins and creates some of my best verbal attacks. It's sick, really. So entertaining and therapeutic.

Now it is known that my family used to have quite the competitive side. Over the years we have all calmed down immensely with our rage and competitiveness. Which is a giant blessing for someone who has failures. LOL. Well it is Memorial Day and Karen decides to get out the bocci ball set. Italian bowling, really? This was the beginning of my competitive down fall. After Kayla and I destroyed and trash talked my nine year old niece Quinn and my sister-in-law Kaydee, it still wasn't enough! All of the sudden Kayla and I weren't satisfied with our team win, we wanted to kill each other too. Before I knew it, I was lacing up my J's and raising the basketball hoop on the driveway to the legal 10 ft. regulation height. Kayla was fueling my demonic athletic side with her verbal and physical trash talking. Little shit. We can thank her for my downfall.

We play a couple games of horse and 21. It was intense, and to my disappointment my nephew Christian kept screaming that I was losing. So much for family support, bud. I was fine at first, but could feel my competitiveness starting to boil... after a couple games Kayla and I were screaming at each other because of a misunderstanding in rules and the fact that she can't count worth a shit. It has been so long since I've cared about winning or losing a game of basketball. With my family in my backyard and the next door neighbors who go to my parents church and all their family in their yard, I was screaming the most unkind and irreverent words at the top of my lungs. I apologize for the loss of face to my family, I'm sure they'll get some unkind glares at church for their "failure" in raising a well mannered and lady like daughter... To my surprise Kayla held her ground and in the middle of our verbal battle she kindly reminded both of us how much we enjoy acting like completely insane animals by saying, "I love us". This was my breaking point, my demons have been released and you can all thank Kayla for that. I then went on to join two recreational basketball teams, and started playing pick-up with the college girls that are home for the summer. I'm addicted! My feet are falling apart and my back feels like an antique. Someone please help me. Burn my Jordan's and break my wrists... I can't stop. I'm shooting unreal percentages!

Kayla Burningham, "The Instigator"