“But You’re Thirty…”

Actually, I’m 31….but Claro que sí….I’m in my thirties. Getting judged for my likes and interests, but being told constantly to stop talking about how old I am. Being told to be myself, but having said interests, likes, and ideas labeled as stupid. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t, but I guess I didn’t get the manual on how to be in my thirties the right way. I’m doing me, I’m being me, and that’s “idiotic” now.

What? Cross the year mark before you decide who I am or what’s uncool about me. I won’t change it but by all means, try me. This is just like that time I was minding MY business, waiting for my cousin to come out of some teeny bopper party, and some shit ass dude said “you needa stop playin’ them games sweetheart!” when I told him I was 22 and playing Yoshi’s Island. Well fuck that. I don’t follow the so-called mold of being this or that. Been there, done that, would rather be myself any day.

So I got mad and defensive on today’s front. I’m allowed to do that. THAT ended up in “Imma let you go” territory, and that is what inspired today’s list.

I am 31 and:

  1. I still collect stuffed animals. Yoshi, Hello Kitty, Li’l Bub, Care Bears
  2. I love certain children’s songs.
  3. I like graphic tees.
  4. I quote cartoons and viral videos from time to time. Who doesn’t?
  5. I love Beyonce! THAT seems to be a problem. Why? Don’t know, don’t care.
  6. I like ridiculous YouTube videos. The silly ones, the viral ones, the eye-rolling ones. Love them.
  7. I like a lot of YouTubers who are actually younger than I am: MacDoesIt, Markiplier, Odd1sOut, and JacksFilms especially.
  8. Sometimes I color pictures. Colored pencils, on the floor, eyes wide open, with a smile.
  9. I still edit my Gaia Online avatar.
  10. Sometimes I like to visit Mediatakeout.
  11. YES, I AM INTERESTED IN THE REMY MA AND NICKI MINAJ BEEF. I’m not even a fan of either one. I have listened to a few songs and honestly it’s just petty drama. It’s life, it’s publicity–it’s interesting.
  12. I have over 20 Gift ‘Ems Girls because I think they’re cute.
  13. I have a ball collection from those 25-cent machines seen at stores.
  14. I FUCKING LOVE GLITTER.
  15. I like rainbows.
  16. I also like tinsel. Lots. Of. Tinsel.
  17. I love blowing bubbles.
  18. I eat cereal at odd hours of the day, but never actually at breakfast time.
  19. I collect FunkoPop dolls!
  20. I read manga and collect comics.
  21. I like Candy Crush, Neko Atsume, Klepto Cats, and almost all the popular puzzle games.
  22. I follow tons of parakeet and cat accounts on Instagram.
  23. I like candy. Judge me for that, too.

I like a lot of stuff. I am not wound up or stuck on “what an adult should like”. I chose not to live like that, because of my jovial nature. It makes me happy. Things make me cope. I don’t like to spend every waking moment in the unhappiness that plagues me. I want to live, to smile, and I function and cope differently. Why does it have to be stupid? Why does anyone feel like they need to repeat “but you’re 3o…” over and over, like that’s going to change my mind or make me feel bad? It pisses me off. YES, I AM 31. YES, I LIKE CERTAIN THINGS. GET OVER IT.

You’re not paying for it, so why does it matter? If you like me for who I am, it shouldn’t matter. Especially if you’re into some pretty childish or things some would call “stupid”. I have opinions, but I don’t go in on you. I leave it alone because you like what you like, and you’d be nine times as defensive. We BOTH know what it feels like to be judged, so why even go there, despite what you’re feeling. Blunt, blunt, blunt all the time until somebody pops off.

After all we’ve identified with, who are you to climb on the high horse and look down upon me, just because you’re sooooo over something? Don’t even know the whole story, but you have so much to say about it, despite not caring. It’s more of the fact that I have an interest in it. “You of all people. I can’t believe it.” Why, because it makes me like everyone else? Why, because it’s beneath you? Right, because you’re so above it all and I’m just a lowly peon. That beef thing has been online for almost 24+ hours. The memes are funny. Some of these posts are gold. GOD. I’m not allowed to have fun now? I gotta be all high tea prim and proper? All put together and perfectly mature, huh.

I will like what I like, until I choose not to like it anymore. If you don’t like it ’round here, find another, ‘nother love.

I will not apologize for being myself.

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Somebody To Love

Which is, in fact, one of my favorite songs in this entire world.

But we’re talking about my lovelife this early morning. I’ve been crying over it, reflecting over it, and just missing lots of people who’ve gone to the great beyond. How did it all start? Cleaning. I’m cleaning every drawer in my grandmother’s room, trying to figure out WHERE I put her crystal jewelry. It belonged to her mother, and I stored it away so it wouldn’t get lost. I stored it away SO well that it’s lost. Typical Roni.

So I go through EVERYTHING.

She has this box under her old sewing machine storage table that’s full of funerary effects, her mom’s death certificate, and the family bible. I go through the box, thinking the jewelry might be in there. It’s not, but I find all these funeral programs that I haven’t seen or missed out concerning info. In my free time, I update our family tree on ancestry.com. So I leapt at this chance to look at programs, read, and update.

I cry thinking about how I wish grandpa Fred were still here. Cry a bit for my mother, because it’s always a thing to want her here. Cry about my brother–he was stillborn. I guess I got upset about that, because I have always wanted a brother. My dad didn’t exactly tell me I had one until he had to explain what my maternal aunt was talking about. She let the cat out of the bag, and his face dropped having to explain to his nine year old kid. Years later, the ache is still there. Deeply for him, having lost his son first and THEN his wife–but also for me. Not remembering her, and never getting a chance to be around him. I have always wondered what it would have been like, knowing full well the horror of my dad’s years with his brother. Still, I wanted one.

So all that sadness and emotion washed over me as I sorted things out. Once I found some new papers and dates, I added them. When I started looking over all the marriages and births, I got emotional. Again.

I mean, yes it would be AWESOME to get that writing career going. To be able to pay off crap, get my credit in order, and blossom like the person I’m supposed to be. But I also want to be somebody’s wife, somebody’s mother, and SOMEbody’s reason. I don’t have to be the queen of the thing, but at least be able to take one last breath on this Earth, knowing that somebody loved me body, mind, and soul and felt like I was a good partner/spouse. I want that.

I want to matter to someone. Not to say “you complete me”, but rather “you compliment me” and “we compliment each other”. I want to inspire someone, make them feel loved and wanted. I want the same in return. Is that asking for too much? I don’t want it to be some sickening, perfect piece of white picket fence work. But, I want something real and authentic. Not just someone who sees me and uses me as a cure for their loneliness. I would never do that to someone. I know what it feels like to think you’re loved, only to realize you were someone’s piece of boredom killer, or someone’s cover for an inability to face their own lonely.

At the end of the day, I just want real love.

We don’t have to skip in fields of flowers, but it would be nice. We don’t have to hook arms and sip bubbly, but it would be nice. I would be just as happy chillin’ on the back porch, drinking Seagram’s and popping sunflower seeds. I just want the kind of comfort and happiness my aunt and uncle have–the simplicity of getting each other a snack before bed, the joy of doing for the other person, to hold them up.

And, of course, I want kids. I don’t have to have a huge van full of them. Give me three, four. I’ll take two, will have even one. Just let me have some kids. Some wacky, crazy carbon copies who’ll probably do all the nonsense things I did as a child, but have the intelligence I had to work hard to get. I don’t want perfect kids, ’cause goodness knows they’ll all probably be asthma machines like me….but I want my little family. Some rusty-butt boys, some sass pot lil girls….just more people to love and nurture.

I’m kinda feeling like in this town, that won’t happen. Everyone is either not interested, too old, too young, already taken, too nuts, or y’know “I just don’t date Black folk, but I’ll sleep witcha!”

Slim. Pickins.

But I’m here to work on myself, and get some actual money and finish college. But I’m also 30. Way past my family timeline starting at 24. We won’t dig into the past to discuss who was to be husband and father, but you can imagine my disappointment with myself when that ship not only sailed, but sank in the ocean of life ablaze with the tense BGM from Titanic in the background.

I guess reading all those eulogies with family members full of life and full of families got to me. Especially the big ones. My grandma would always say “there wasn’t much to do down there but have some babies.” Would that be so bad? Have some kids, keep the home up, garner some income? It’s hella hard work, but these same people were so deeply loved. These same people have these beautiful biographies written about them. They were missed. I want somebody to miss me.

I felt bad about that.

I know my family will miss me. If any of them are still alive by the time I’m ready to exit this plane, I know they will shed a tear or two. Why is it so important for somebody to love me, outside of blood? To have kids, to matter? There is a cliche explanation for it, but all I can say is that I have that desire deep inside of who I am. It’s not some kind of “thing” where it’s superficial–I just want to connect and feel like I am in somebody’s heart. As simple as that sounds, as optional as every part of it is–I WANT that option. I want to experience it. I have tasted faux love and purged it. I want authentic love.

I don’t need the moon, I don’t need the stars, and I don’t want rose petals at my feet. I don’t need to be worshiped, but a little adoration and excitement wouldn’t hurt. And above all else–give me sincerity….not crap.

I have seen true love in so many forms, and all I want is my turn in the Sun.

The Verdict

Going through one of those moments where everything seems wrong, is going wrong, or has cast you outside of life sucks. It sucks. You don’t feel like doing anything at all, but there’s school and job hunts and weight losses and getting better to think of. There’s faith to get you through things, and just…being human. How am I going to juggle all of this?

I felt no better today, feeling even more isolated in a world that…I dunno…a world that might see me one way, but will never have any interest in knowing me another way no matter how approachable I make myself. It’s almost painful to realize that if I weren’t who I am in appearance, this would not be. But people who are identical body-type wise do just fine. So, it always feels like a “it’s just me” thing.

I thought of joining a club or something, just to have somewhere to belong in school. Mulling over it, because our school has so few clubs. Still, it’s a way for me to meet people. As for the tumblr hiatus, I probably will just hold back on how often I’m there. I don’t have to live there, no matter how much I feel pathetically attached to the space. I can’t just completely give it up, unlike most people with….you know…a life. Until I get one of those, what else is left?

Har har.

I wear the cone of tragic shame quite well. Still, I’m aware that positive things will arrive…sometime. I dunno. Navigating life…jeez.