I can't be credited for finding this but I had to share:

Things I don't find attractive

white sunglasses on men
being called Lauren (especially when its spelled out right in front of you! ancient pet peeve...argh)
any variation of a croc; this includes those biker shoes that look more like toe socks
too much manscaping of the eyebrows, chest hair, and yes dick-it looks like a corn dog if you mow the whole area!
improper grammar
swearing just to sound cool
grills-the mouth kind, because I do find bbq to be very attractive
lack of manners. please and thank you
a negative outlook
empty conversation
boundaries
quiet suffering
bowties unless youre james bond
guys who boast about connections. I dont care if you partied with Rihanna...can you party with Me?
anxiety
unflattering hairstyles
a top 40 music selection
a narrow mind

im indecisive as shit.

mom always tells me about how shy I was as a baby. I used to hide behind her legs. my little fists used to bunch up and tightly clutch the fabric of her pants. She tried to introduce me to good friends. Probably ladies who would smile very close to my face and say strings of sounds I didn't understand. Probably perfectly pleasant people who I didn't want to meet.
I had a big problem with eye contact as I grew older. I couldn't order a sandwich & look at the waiter. If you were looking at me I couldn't look at you. When I was 15 I couldn't look my first boyfriend in the eyes. at first it was kinda cute, then it got annoying. One day we were outside & I was extremely self conscious about how my makeup looked & if its flaws would be amplified by the sun (the insecure thoughts of a 15 year old girl) & I wouldn't look him in the eyes. He wrestled me down to the grass and said he would loosen his love lock if I just looked at him! But I wouldnt. I couldn't because I didn't feel confident. I didn't want the realization that someone else was looking at me. I couldn't even believe eyes would see me in a sexual way. Getting me to look at him was difficult. getting me to relax and let our first kiss happen was also an actual struggle- he had to pin me down on his couch (I wanted to so badly but kept getting scared). but I did eventually let these things happen because I wanted to fall in love. I knew if I let him go I would be missing a chance at really living. my first love. my first of the few cracks in my heart. my first of many love poems. my first im not a virgin anymore chat with my parents.
I knew my doubts wouldnt take me to prom. it was still difficult though. I wouldn't even let a boyfriend see me without makeup until a couple years ago. I used to wake up early in the morning and touch it up. Yes, I'm aware that sounds retarded.

I feel like my insecurities havent always stopped me from things but theyve definitely hindered progress & slowed certain areas of my life down. I had so many negative thoughts and fears about learning how to drive & getting hired for a better job that I just let the negativity act as an anchor and stayed weighed down without venturing forward. I took my sweet time. I avoided getting behind the wheel and practicing. I stayed at a job I knew was not paying well enough for all the work that I did. I was comfortable not changing. comfortable, but not proud. If it's something new & challenging, I still have the internal urge to grab my mom's pant legs. But Ive gotten so much better. People dont even know how much better. (maybe a little more of an idea now). I still have a ways to go.
I could stay afraid. stay insecure. stay doubtful. stay sheltered. stay too comfortable. stay, but where will I go?

It's hard not to compare yourself to other people. I mean, people are all around you. and even when youre not around people, they still tell you what theyre doing and the other people theyre with, where they have "checked in". Facebook just puts rumors in writing. There even used to be a "compare people" app on facebook. Tell the computer who will be more successful- random guy from high school or random guy from work- & then you can "unlock" what other people said about you & how you rank. it actually said rank! but even though that kinda shit makes me feel a little sticky inside, Im completely curious and I hate that. I hate that because everyone buys into it, including myself. I see people my age successful & living on their own and i can't help but feel behind. but then that optimistic asshole in my head says something like "yeah, well maybe theyve never loved as deeply as you either...or grew up with an amazing family...or lots of other things to be thankful for"
Still, I can't help but feel Im getting to the point where I need to be responsible. I probably should have gotten to that point awhile ago, but! last night at work while I stood at the front desk with nothing to do, my coworker let me borrow her self-help book & it told me that I'm at the right place & the right time because this is my life and I've made it mine.
I need some self-help at accepting self-help.
in some ways I think I create chaos in my head so I won't have to listen to my own naked thoughts. Naked in the sense that it's just myself I'm dealing with. My thoughts singing acoustically. kinda scary.
I thought about what goals I have and I started out by saying I want to have my own place in a year, I wanna have more $, etc. and yes those things would be nice, but I feel like its because of how I compare myself to other people that I ask for those things. It pisses me off when people make goals into tangible objects. but I do it. Yes I wanna buy my own car! Yes I want to be successful. but if i remove myself from materialness (it's hard to if I'm honest with myself) these are my real hopes:
I want to be something.
I want to spread my happiness to others.
I want love and laughter to always be present in my life.
I want to both give & receive support to/from others.
I want ambition. I want my fears to become quieter every day.
I want to be proud of myself.

Honestly, I didn't expect to love you so much.
you have this cold exterior to you when you meet people, as if talking to someone will somehow reveal a crack in your designs.
if I put that in less poetic terms, I thought you were a dick when I first met you.
I tried to talk to you about Daft Punk because it was playing at a party we were both invited to and I thought you were very attractive. Shame on me for being shallow I guess, but a few years before that my shyness would have prevented me from even introducing myself to you, so why not go up to the attractive looking guy dammit? So when you looked at me as if I were an interruption, as if I was a pop-up window annoying bullshit-advertisement in the way of your important task of ladling punch into your red plastic cup, I thought to myself: "well shit, i just wanted to talk about daft punk." I like a challenge sometimes though, so I pried a little further, and I say pry because I had to-even in this very PG conversation. I tried to ask you more questions. your monosyllable answers were tiring and I never want to have to beat a "yeah" response out of someone, so I left you at the punch bowl.
but now theres....now. after a series of moments leading up to now I realized why the shell was there and even came to respect the shell. At first I found myself really wanting to impress you sometimes, but after a certain point I make a mental "fuck it" note in my head if someone doesn't seem interested in what I have to say. So I noted the "fuck it" in my head and continued being myself as I pleased to be. For so long I thought if I was totally and comfortably myself around you you would never see me in a loving light. but I thought you were just jerk so I stopped trying to impress you. I cared less about my appearance, I belched, I told stories i wouldnt tell on a first date. and I noticed that your shell wasnt exactly cracking but it was shifting....you were actually talking to me and because it seemed to take so long, the thoughts you shared that I knew you wouldnt share with someone new seemed to hold more importance. as you told me about a memory you had as a boy, I knew that this was special. If I made you laugh, it was as if I had created symphony. I made him laugh! musical. magical. wonderful.
but im weary of digging for answers and opinions so I still in a sense brushed you off as I had felt you had done to me and things carried on this way for awhile because I didnt see you around that much. then I came back home for good and I saw you more and more and it was easier to make you laugh. and surprisingly I found myself to be enjoying your company. I felt relaxed. Before I felt anxious and on edge that I wouldnt be interesting enough for you to move your lips and actually talk with me. not just reply, but actually talk. my sister in law lovingly dubbed you the title of "an onion." when you let an intimate detail slip out, a corner of you would peel back and it was beautiful to watch. it took a very long time, but it was beautiful. and I know when people first meet you theyre feeling like me at the punch bowl, but I know youre deeper than that. alarmingly deep in fact. I never would have thought your feelings could be so strong. I never thought you would love me like you do. what a most wonderful way to be proven wrong though. first impressions are false. I dont care how genuine you are-when you meet someone at first.. its fake. you know nothing. a person could smile and look at you with listening eyes but be rotten inside. a person could be trying to talk to you about Daft Punk just because they initially found you attractive, not because they had sampled your sparkling personality. So I get the shell. The onion layers. I respect your walls I guess. they never really go away but just soften with certain people and with time. it can still be frustrating, but I find that things that are instantly gratifying lose appreciation fast.

One of the bussers at work always looks fucking miserable.
and I told a coworker who talks to him sometimes in spanish, "He always looks like he hates everything".
and she said "Oh. yeah. It's cuz he hates his wife."

Makes sense I guess.

morning expectations

You don't really know anything about a lover until you spend the morning with them.
Legs tangled around each other, morning breath, sleepy eyes, unprepared conversation. then there's breakfast- what do you like, what should we get, do you like coffee, how much sugar, how much cream, are you a carpenter and if so are you capable of carving morning wood?
what should we do today? my, your breasts look wonderful smushed to the side like that and your butt looks so spoonworthy right now. do you like to be touched:? will you bite my fucking head off if I stir you in your sleep? and then questions also have questions buried within each other- if you do like to be cuddled, what sort of touching does that normally entail for you? please dont tell me you like that light fingertip tracing of circles on my back bullshit because id rather you just throw your arm around me in a more direct manner or maybe just press up against me with your boner. i dont need to feel like something is lightly crawling on me to wake me up. and if youre waking me up before 9 am it better be for reasons that will make my lips curl up at the corners. once we are awake, I can only hope that our energy levels will be at a similar speed because I might punch you in the mouth if you proceed to rush me in any sort of way. I also might shun you and have an intimate breakfast with myself if you are acting like you havent seen the sun in years. i dont expect deep conversation but if you can shed some thoughts, thats enough to butter my toast. and if you have early am errands dont expect me to join you, but do expect a kiss goodbye. i do expect a hug and i love you and maybe some mild fondling. i do expect some crazy knotted sex hair from the previous evening. i need coffee too. there doesnt have to be bacon or eggs or bagels but there needs to be coffee. and when im not there, in the morning, will you tell me you wish I was there with you in the morning, wherever you are too? Will I agree that I should be there too?
Will I want to fall asleep on your chest at night and wake up with you again?
Will it be you who I reach for when the world is waking up?
things are so delicate in the morning. things are still settling in from last night, in the morning. things turn into things after being blurs in your sleep and scrambled thoughts uncoil and straighten out to proper functional non drowsy thoughts. maybe you stay drowsy all day and your whole day is delicate. maybe your morning is someone else's night. muscles are sleeping. stomachs not yet growling. eyes not yet opening toward the ceiling. the morning says a lot. it says with smudged eye makeup that its okay what has happened last night because you are okay now and at least rested. its okay who you called or didnt call because there is today and the day is full of promises. the morning is a prelude. prequel. intro. although the morning doesnt include the rest of the day, it can set the tone, so who you share it with is important. "someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning" could also be "someone woke up with the wrong person in bed this morning." we need something, or someone, to look forward to even before our thoughts can shape themselves into coherent, awake sentences...

Whatttttt ammmmmm I doingggggg? being young and dumb
and awake and alive
and careless
and spoiled and stubborn and young and dumb some more
and
do I really have to grow up?
yes but no
just find the right way to. the right balance. balance balance balance. ive never really been level-headed.

karma

I don't think I believe in karma. Bad things can happen to good people. Good things can happen to bad people. It's also all in your interpretation of what is bad and good. I think of my parents as an example. They are genuine, passionate, considerate people. They have loved each other for a long time- a love that has evolved and grown old and comfortable but not without its excitement. My father was my mother's biology professor in college in 1965. Although my mom was 19 at the time (16 years younger than my dad), she has always had an incredible understanding of the world and the kind of mature insight that draws others in. She has an instant warmth to her and a truly animated spirit (sometimes too much for me in the morning). Almost five decades ago my dad fell in love with this woman. and my mom fell in love with this man who has such a silly sense of humor, such a shining passion to learn and study life. my mind flashes to when my dad brought home a dead squid to dissect when I was 7 years old and my brother was 10. not just to say to us "here is what a dead squid looks like inside" but to show us all the amazing intricacies of life- "look at this! isn't this amazing? see what the world is possible of producing?" and now I think of a picture of my mom holding an octopus in her 19 year old hands, marveling at its slimy wonder at a beach in mexico, on a trip with other biology students, and my dad of course- professor of biology and professing of his love for my mom. but my dad was already married and father to two children. my parents had an affair together. they are not bad people but you can say that this was a bad thing. yet at the same time, its love-admittedly recklessly unleashed, but not bottled up or tortured by what if. it wasnt a plan to destroy (although I guess on the ex wife spectrum it could be seen as that), it just happened. it happened because something inside of them asked for each other. I don't suggest people get caught up in an affair- my parents are extremely lucky; I know that their story is a rare exception, and lucky in my case that their love survived throughout the changing years and they decided they wanted to see each other every morning of the rest of their days- so here is the problem I have with karma...Do my parents deserve some kind of bad karma because the way they met is scandalous and not considered right?
A couple weeks ago I walked to the nail salon downtown to see if I could squeeze in an appointment and while I waited and got sucked into reading trashy magazines I overheard the conversation of a couple of middle aged women who may as well have been trashy magazines themselves.
The first woman was adorned in a heavily cheesy christmas sweater (sparkly festive vomit), tired looking slacks, and an odd floppy brown hat over frazzled graying hair. Her face looked sucked of some joy but not without some spark I guess. Despite wide hips she didnt leave wide tips. Her tacky green nails with a coat of loud purple glitter were drying. Her friend, almost similar in description, except with some extra width and frazzled red hair, sat beside her and fanned out her equally tacky orange toenails, listening to her interpretation of karma:
"Did you hear what happened to my ex Robert? Serves him right for all that shit he did to me!"
-No, what happened?
"His liver is falling apart (laughs). That's called karma!"
I pretend to be absorbed in Kim Kardashian in US weekly but really I'm thinking "Karma? Do you, ex lover of a man with a crumbling liver, deserve some kind of bad karma for praising, laughing at even, the ill will of someone else?" although with someone like that, Im not sure if her thoughts would dive that deep