The Waking Mind of the Walking Contradiction

It has become increasingly apparent to me, and to those that know me well enough to be aware, that I have become a curious sort of anomaly of many, seemingly contradictory truths. I think it is pretty commonly known that I have always been an unusual person, [haven't we all?] but it appears to me that within the last few years I seem to have tripled in eccentricities. The point of all of this is not to indicate that  I am merely an oddity, as I have already indicated that identification stands well enough on its own. No, the main concept I intend to emphasize here is the aforementioned seemingly contradictory nature of it all. This phenomenon is hard enough to explain as it is so perhaps I will simply direct your attention to a few natural examples and thereby let the evidence speak for itself.  So, let us begin with a list of examples as evidence.

1. I was the figure skater in the black Led Zeppelin T-shirt and purple leg warmers, with the       French manicure.
2. I own thirty some odd pairs of shoes, and yet I am well known for being ever barefoot.
3. My bedroom is rarely anything less than the messiest room on earth, and yet, my bed is always made to near perfection.
4. I love watches and clocks, and own several  of each, yet I am seemingly never on time for anything.
5. I am one of the most uncoordinated and clumsy people you will ever meet, and yet when placed in a pair of ice skates on half an inch blades, suddenly I  can become the near embodiment of balance.
6. I am both an anal perfectionist and an idle slacker with relatively equal force.
7. I tend to be a very trusting person, even too trusting sometimes, yet I have a complete inability to make eye contact.
8. I love games of all kinds, and yet by nature I am not a very competitive person.
9. I have very big dreams, but no real sense of ambition.
10. I am both very critical and very tolerant when it comes to people. It's a complex, I myself continually fail to understand.
    
    There are countless other examples of this curious nature of mine, but my sleep-deprived mind, and general inability to concentrate on virtually any task or concept for any extended amount of time, leaves me rather inclined to simply leave it at that, and let stew in the minds of my would-be readers how self evident this conclusion may already seem from what little I have left them to go on here. In basic fact, I contradict myself, on seemingly unhealthy and unnatural levels, and yet...how can they be unnatural when as I've just proved they all naturally occur right here, within my own twisted character! Dear reader, take what you will from all of this, you have the right. I mean really, you have significant right to do whatever you very well please with any and all of this information just given the fact you are among what few poor peasants of this dear planet actual read said contributions in the first place. I leave you again, as always, seemingly in the middle of some unvoiced thought, but alas, so it is.
    
    Farewellings to you!
    
    -The Walking Contradiction
    
    
    
    

...I Blame It On James Dean.

Recently, I was accused of having an irrational and irrepressible affinity with, what some might call, the "bad boy" appeal. Well, as they say...guilty until proven innocent, and I have absolutely no intention of proving any such thing. I feel no obligation to, indeed, I happily confess! I am completely attracted to the "rebel without a cause" sort of infamy vibe that denotes this class, and, personally, I blame it all on James Dean. Before I get ahead of myself, let me provide some background on our perpetrator here... not to mention some much needed visual representation, for some eye candy and cardiac stimulation, if nothing else.
So dear reader, try not to be too overcome as I introduce you to....
...Mr. James Dean






 I know you are probably wondering, so allow me to relieve your curiosity...he is MINE. He is dead, yes, I am fully aware, but I have already claimed him for the next life, so don't even bother yourself over him. This beautiful man took full hold on my soul a few years ago when I caught a glimpse of his perfection on television as I flipped through local channels. It was a scene from East of Eden, one of only three movies he starred in before his tragic death. I had heard of James Dean...heard he was attractive, rather scandalous, and of course infamous for his characteristic "bad boy" image and appeal. I saw that face and instantly knew, this was James Dean. (I hastened to look him up on Google afterward, merely to confirm my suspicion). And thus, true love---or rather true lust was born. For at that point, the foundation for my adoration was based purely on physical attraction, but true love was still come...and oh how it came! I was soon introduced to the movie Rebel Without A Cause, and I think I can safely say, it was after that movie that I swore my unwavering devotion. It was that movie, and, of course, the man himself, that invoked in me a new perception of the male sex. Firstly, it was decided that every man should be exquisitely attractive, if he possibly can, and more specifically he ought to be the kind of unbearably beautiful--in a masculine way--that would denote the modern perception of a Greek god. Secondly, a man should be manly, but there is a certain sensitivity desired also, but not so much that any actual masculinity is abandoned...it's a sort of "I ride a ridiculously fast and dangerous motorcycle, but I always carry an extra helmet" phenomenon--rather difficult to explain. Thirdly, if one could combine the sex appeal of both James Dean and Mr. Darcy, the planet would simply explode from over-exposure to sheer perfection. Fourthly...well, point in case, you just can't beat James Dean...James Franco, my friend, you come very very close, but you'll just have to settle for second place in the end. Back now to the point of this monologue. The truth is, this--dare I accept the term--obsession, has now fringed into my actual life, breaching the barriers of my secret alter ego's  alternate reality, and affecting aspects of my literal existence. This, I believe, is the only real cause for concern--and when I say concern I do not mean to claim it as my own, I am merely referring to the expressed notions of certain others. Recently it was suggested that perhaps my inclination towards this particular breed of man, is the cause of my lack of success with mankind in general, that perhaps I am deterring the potential for good, healthy offers by wistfully imaging the basic opposite, which is certainly madness! This may or may not actually be true...I offer no confession for this. All I do know is that, healthy or not, I am in love with "the infamy," and I blame it all on James Dean...in the best way possible.
Farewellings for now!
-Abbey Road Rutter

Abbey's Life: A Comedic Tragedy in Three Parts

I created this blog well over a year ago, when I was suddenly caught up in the concept of the thing as it became, in a word: "trendy." Hypocrite that I apparently am, I joined the trend--a habit I constantly profess a certain hostility towards--and "blogged." I feel I should point out (as if it is not already blatantly obvious) that I say blogged as a singular activity. I did not, per say, participate in the activity of blogging as I only ever posted once. Now, however, I return to the venture with renewed vigor! I cannot, and therefore will not, claim to have approached this second attempt entirely of my own volition, and well, as a matter of fact it's kind of a funny story...and given that it is my blog after all, I figure I can go ahead and tell it, whether you like it or not--so there reader! Anyway-- now that I've unofficially gotten carried away--let's get back to the point, or rather, the story. I was having a conversation with my friend Lu the other day (via text messaging as I am, of course, an American teenager after all) when she suggested I create a blog, since, supposedly, I am prone to expressive anecdotes, have an apparent tendency for ranting, and a natural inclination toward sarcasm, and dry and dark humor, all of which she believes makes me amusing.Flattered of course, but ever the business woman, I went on to tell her that as a matter of fact, I already had a blog, but hadn't really been very active on the "blogosphere" since creating it over a year ago. With this, of course, she insisted I make a second attempt of it, and, in response, I employed one of those wonderful qualities of mine she had so flattered in her persuasion, sarcasm. I described how I could almost picture it myself..."Abbey's Life: A Comedic Tragedy in Three Parts." Thus, the name of this entry was born in nostalgic commemoration of that charming discussion that started it all over again, and brought me back to that lost art of... BLOGGING!!!
...yes I was being sarcastic again, do try and keep up, dear reader, won't you?
Well, it could now reasonably be claimed you have officially experienced one of my charming little rants that in a way inspired my return..and will likely inspire your abrupt abandonment of my blog, but if for some reason you do decide to come back, you are hereby assured I will at least attempt to be more loyal to my own pursuit here, so hopefully there will eventually be other blog posts to follow this one. Until then, dearest reader, Farewellings!
-Abbey

While in Discussion with the Sky...

Every year around August eleventh there is a meteor shower, so for a couple of nights a person has seemingly unlimited opportunities to make a wish on a "shooting star." Being a wishful person myself I awaited the prospect this year with anxious anticipation. This year especially I had need, regardless of the effectiveness of this method, I knew it would be comfort enough just to indulge in the childlike hope of it. Such a week it has been that I had nearly forgotten about it until Thursday night as I stepped outside to enjoy the semi-new back deck. I moved to the front porch as that faced the direction the meteor shower was predicted to be. I sat for quite a time before seeing a single meteor, so long in fact I started to believe that perhaps the sky was simply too polluted for me to see it from my front yard. After the first meteor I ran into the house to tell my mother, no doubt missing several other meteors in the process. Having returned to the porch still filled with that odd indescribable rush this small wonder had given me, I found myself silently willing the sky to show me another. How odd to think looking back, but there I was actually bargaining with the sky--or perhaps God. Well, regardless, I suppose it worked, for mere moments after I asked I was granted another wish. With the joy of this new-found success, I became more persuasive. Though I had promised I would heed my mother's urging and retire, I could not help myself, after all, even genies give you three wishes why should I now be limited to just two? It could hardly be considered fair--at least for the sake of my argument. I was given four wishes that night--perhaps the surplus to make up for the prior seeming injustice. Last night I was given just one more while I attended the Jack Johnson concert... perhaps Friday the thirteenth is not so unkind after all.