you know how some girls talk in that "sweet" baby girl voice, with the high pitch and the extended last syllables?
this is going to sound mean, but having to listen to them always bothered me.
even the IDEA of sounding all sweetie-patootie tweetums is just horrific to me.
anyhow, something that happened last week made me call my phone, leave myself a message, and listen to how i sound like.
fuck it.
i've always known that, as a rule, i sound bad over the phone. it's either i'm too nervous so i get all squeaky and all (rosa, this is the voice you're familiar with), or too abrupt, or too excited that i get all vague and flustery. think paula abdul when she's struggling for words in american idol.
but i was calm and matter-of-fact when i called myself last friday. like how i am when calling people in school, at work, banks, interviews.
so...
why hasn't anybody told me i sound like a powerpuff girl on a high, why????
oh god, do i talk like that in person too?
shit, i sound like ms. tweetum's ditzier, drugged cousin.
unacceptable, just unacceptable.
...
since i've realized that not only am i an adult, i also can't actually be considered a YOUNG adult anymore, i've decided it's time to make a few changes in my life and start doing things which are more age-appropriate.
so (for now, at least) no more re-reading sweet valley twins (it's funny how i was able to give away/leave all my other books when i moved, but wasn't able to part myself with SVT #43: elizabeth's first kiss and SVT and friends super chiller edition #1: the magic christmas), no more my scene dolls, no more saturday morning cartoons (which i WILL stay up for even if i've been out all night and arrive home just minutes before they start), no more nutella-peanut butter-marshmallow fluff sandwiches, no more red emily shirts ("think strange") and pigtails when meeting my friend's parents.
to bring this whole thing up a notch, i also decided to do my income taxes by myself this year.
this is going to sound mean, but having to listen to them always bothered me.
even the IDEA of sounding all sweetie-patootie tweetums is just horrific to me.
anyhow, something that happened last week made me call my phone, leave myself a message, and listen to how i sound like.
fuck it.
i've always known that, as a rule, i sound bad over the phone. it's either i'm too nervous so i get all squeaky and all (rosa, this is the voice you're familiar with), or too abrupt, or too excited that i get all vague and flustery. think paula abdul when she's struggling for words in american idol.
but i was calm and matter-of-fact when i called myself last friday. like how i am when calling people in school, at work, banks, interviews.
so...
why hasn't anybody told me i sound like a powerpuff girl on a high, why????
oh god, do i talk like that in person too?
shit, i sound like ms. tweetum's ditzier, drugged cousin.
unacceptable, just unacceptable.
...
since i've realized that not only am i an adult, i also can't actually be considered a YOUNG adult anymore, i've decided it's time to make a few changes in my life and start doing things which are more age-appropriate.
so (for now, at least) no more re-reading sweet valley twins (it's funny how i was able to give away/leave all my other books when i moved, but wasn't able to part myself with SVT #43: elizabeth's first kiss and SVT and friends super chiller edition #1: the magic christmas), no more my scene dolls, no more saturday morning cartoons (which i WILL stay up for even if i've been out all night and arrive home just minutes before they start), no more nutella-peanut butter-marshmallow fluff sandwiches, no more red emily shirts ("think strange") and pigtails when meeting my friend's parents.
to bring this whole thing up a notch, i also decided to do my income taxes by myself this year.
i'm no donald trump with tons of assets and whathaveyou to manipulate, but numbers and i have shared a long-standing mutual hostility. and sure enough, they weren't too cooperative last saturday. it took a whole morning, and a long morning it was too, but i can proudly say i finished what's probably the most adult thing i've ever done so far. i won't be doing it again next year, but at least i could say i've done it at least once.
but alas, all that MDAS (ha! i remember something from gr. 2 math!!!!), a whole lot of erasing, hair-pulling and bitching about how i could've been watching foster's home... instead took its toll, and i've been home sick and feverish for three days now.
i'm not complaining though.
friends' blogs, oprah, soaps*, the food network, p.g. wodehouse, f. scott fitzgerald, breakfast at tiffany's, white tea, waffle pretzels, the mailman bringing me a postcard from florence (although, celeste, damn you for making me remember why i'm not gazing at michelangelo's david with you today. i hate that i don't have a spring break.), afternoon naps, and the realization that although i still have a very long way to go before i have the life i know i want, i'm way better off this year than the last - these have made the sore throat, pounding head, aching muscles, burning eyes, coughing and sneezing all worth it.
the best part? the sore throat and clogged airways make me sound like lauren bacall.
mucus may not be sexy, but the throaty voice it gives sure is.
*isn't it funny how you can stop watching these for years and still be able to get the storyline five minutes after you sit and tune in to them again? all you have to remember is that it's possible for people to come back again from the dead, babies could be your switched with other children - preferably with ex-husbands' babies, people get amnesia by getting hit on the head or falling down the stairs (accidental or assisted) all the time, and that people will recover from their amnesia just in time to stop a wedding. and in case you missed something, don't fret. after every commercial break, people in soap operas talk to and give themselves recaps of everything that has happened on the last two episodes at least.
