Sanity Bakery

Terribly.

Zebra stripe.

Whew, boy. I’m sitting here breathing. Relaxing. Letting my heart rate come down.

There was no emergency, but for a second I though there was. I was chatting with my darling future roommate, who I completely adore, when she said something that just about stopped my heart. “Oh no, more drama in The Hills! She’s crying.” I have another future roommate named Hillary, as well as one named Sloane, and I adore them both. Thinking Abby meant Hillary, I immediately snapped into Ethnic Mother Tiger* mode and tried to find out what was going on, where Hillary was, and what I could do to help.

Ten seconds later I realized she meant the MTV show, The Hills. No roommate troubles at all. Now, I wouldn’t bother writing about this except that I noticed the way I reacted: It’s the same quick-heartbeat, instant-decision, move-move-MOVE feeling I get in an emergency. “Let’s act, NOW!” So for me, a friend’s troubles count as an emergency, and I have to act to help them.

Is that a good thing? I don’t want to interfere, and I don’t want to smother. But I just kind of love people automatically, and I want to help them. I need to be independent, I need to let them be unhappy without it making me unhappy, but can I do that without distancing myself from them? I didn’t freak out when I thought Hillary was upset, but I did snap into emergency mode pretty much instantly. I wanted to hug her, and technically I haven’t even met her yet!

Oh well. This is me, for better or worse, and I guess–since I’m the only me I’ve got–I’ll have to learn to live with myself. You can’t divorce your own personality, and truth be told I kind of like myself this way.

Well, if you ever need someone to talk to, or a hug, or a cup of tea, let me know. I’d be happy to oblige, no questions asked.

*Ethnic Mother because food is love, and I try to feed people as much as possible. Mother Tiger because I’m rather fierce about looking out for my friends and will always try and comfort them, protect them, and remind them they’re loved. So, Ethnic Mother Tiger mode = me being maternal, acting overprotective, and cooking.

A friend and I were talking today, and she said she was envious of me having a relationship. Oddly, when we met Scott and I were both actually trying to avoid relationships. But he mattered instantly, and became one of my best friends within the week. We both tried to avoid falling for each other, but Love pretty much bashed us upside the head and told us to stop being stupid.

Scott’s out of town right now, and I’m feeling the same sort of lonely my friend is. It’s a physical loneliness, something quickly identifiable and painful. She doesn’t have anyone right now, and she’s feeling old at 22. It’s funny, today I was thinking about how I feel like I’m missing something whenever Scott’s not around. And I am, but…as if a piece of me isn’t quite right, like my heart has the flu or something. And then I realized I felt that way before him sometimes, but I didn’t have a name to put with the “missing” feeling. Like there’s a tiny piece of your heart that belongs to somebody else, and whoever they are, they’ve got that piece far enough away that it hurts.

She said I’m lucky to know who has my missing piece. But in a puzzle, lots of times a piece will fit nicely with another piece, but that isn’t where it needs to end up. His heart fits wonderfully with mine, but time will show if our puzzle-piece hearts are meant to stay connected. There’s a lot against us, but the puzzle pieces clicking together matters a whole heck of a lot too.

I think there are plenty of people around the planet who you can click with. But I think dedication makes the difference. Love does not conquer all. But dedication conquers most.

Inspired by FailBlog and the YouTube version of “What is this feeling?” starring Belle and Cinderella, I have decided to finally record my own opinion on the matter so I never buy impressionable young girls any Disney movies. Well, except Beauty and the Beast.

Let’s start with Cinderella. Seriously, Cindy, I gotta love how you’re in-tune to nature and humble enough to clean and don’t have a nasty bone in your body (or an ounce of fat, for that matter), but that’s not reason enough to excuse your terribly hasty marriage to Prince Charming. Yes, I know his name is Charming, and he’s a very good dancer, but his name isn’t necessarily Prince Makes-a-Good-Husband, now is it? And besides, names aren’t everything. My boyfriend has a 2-liter of something called “OxyKill”, but despite the commercial he put on YouTube it’s really just water and food coloring. Unless you’re a spider drowning in it, it’s totally harmless. 
Besides, wasn’t it a bit unfair to make the guy chase after you with nothing but your shoe? Jeez, girl, at least ask the Fairy Godmother for some calling cards! What if he’d found another size thirty-six narrow first, eh? What then? Fail.

Now, Princess Aurora, don’t go hiding in that corner. You had to know I’d see you there. After all, you still have a musty, sweaty smell from sleeping for a hundred years (or just through all the action, depending on which story you hear). Part of your problem stems from having idiotic parents who forgot to invite pissy head fairy Maleficient to your christening. I mean, really, that’s just rude. But it wasn’t your fault. And while I am glad that the random dude you fell in love with ’cause he was pretty and on a horse just happened to be your betrothed, for the love of Pete wake UP, Sleeping Beauty. Ain’t no such thing as instant love, although nobody can blame you for confusing love with lust. After all, you’d spent sixteen years living in a forest with three kooky old women. Can’t really blame you for jumping at the first man you saw.
I’d gripe at you more, but those woodenheaded parents of yours had promised you to the guy anyhow, and since none of your fairy gifts had anything to do with independence or common sense you probably would have ended up with him no matter what. Sorry, precious. Fail.

Now, Miss Snow White over there, it’s your turn. I’m glad you’re nonjudgmental and all, agreeing to live with seven short–not to mention male–roommates and even clean up after them, but doesn’t that pretty much make you either their mother or their maid? And seven guys? Seriously, that’s got to raise some eyebrows. Oh, and since when is it okay to invade someone’s home while they’re away, accuse them of being slobs, clean and reorganize the entire place, and then make them change their entire lifestyle because you’re a germophobe? You know, the original Goldilocks got eaten, and she wasn’t even cleaning.
And about that whole nonjudgmental thing? When someone’s TRYING TO KILL YOU, that’s not a good plan. If I were being nice, I’d call it naive. But I’m not, so I’ll be blunt enough to say stupid. Never accept candy apples from strangers. Did you fail second grade, or what?
Also, kisses don’t end comas. Sorry. Not to mention that “love’s first kiss” typically comes after, y’know, “love’s first date.” (And a whole lot of other things; love takes time, Your Royal Brainlessness.) Plus, you had no feeding tube. Why aren’t you dead? Oh yeah, and the random, unnamed prince should know better than to be kissing strange (not to mention undead) women anyway. Oral herpes: The gift that gives on giving. Fail.

Ariel. Ohoho, Ariel. You are an idiot. First off, isn’t 16 a bit young for such a skimpy bikini? Also, why were you disobeying your father when you went up to that rock? Weren’t you supposed to stay away from the humans? Although I have to give you props for saving Eric’s life. That was quite nice of you. But then you had to go and decide you loved him. Oh, boy. If you’d watched more Disney movies, you’d know that “love” at first sight always leads to trouble.
So instead of asking your uber-powerful father with his insanely-awesome triton for help, you go to Ursula? Dude. So pre-teen. You have to trust the parents; yeah, he’d have yelled at you, but he wouldn’t have literally tried to kill you. Plus, you made a lousy bargain. “Okay, sure, I’ll give you–my father’s worst enemy–the one thing that identifies me to the guy I’m infatuated with, if you give me legs for a long weekend, after which (assuming I don’t kiss him first) I have to be your permanent slave!” Yeah, sounds like a great plan. Not to mention the fact that it nearly killed everyone you love. Fail.

I’m not even going into much on Jasmine, Fa Mulan, Pocahontas or Rapunzel. I don’t have the time. Jasmine, you’re awesomely independent and have a pet tiger, but you dress like a hooker. Fa Mulan, you’re one hasty chick, but I have to admire any girl who can fight like that. Rapunzel, well, at least I can say your overwhelming ignorance is excused by the fact that you lived in a freaking tower from puberty onwards. And Pocahontas, despite the rather extreme historical inaccuracy of your movie, I have to love your songs. And your raccoon.

But Belle. Beauty, ma belle, you are an incredible young woman. You’re intelligent and well-read in an age when that was strongly discouraged. You’re brave enough to go look for your missing father all on your own, although bringing a friend might have been wise. You’re self-sacrificing enough to live with a bad-tempered Beast so your father could go free. You’re mature and kind enough to make the best of your new situation, and you were wise and loving enough to search for the Man beneath the beast’s hide. And you learned to love him. That’s incredible. You are the only one of the Disney princesses who seems to know the meaning of true love. Congratulations, Belle. You’re my favorite.