When Elana moved to Cold Lake from in grade six, she quickly labelled me her "serious friend." I clearly remember that day. It was at the bus stop after school one day, when she said those words.
At 11, I had a budding interest in political history, regularly wrote letters to the World Wildlife Fund, researched the scientific origins of the northern lights, was overly politically correct and already had words like facetious as part of my lexicon.
But I didn't think of myself as serious. I never had until that moment. I was smart, maybe, but I thought I was fun. Before that moment, I had always been known as the fun, hyper one at all the pre-adolescent birthday parties I went to.
That preception of myself was changed in one moment.
It wasn't until university that I felt like I shed it all. I shed that seriousness. There were Mobile Kissing Booths and trips to the Gopher Hole Museum, instead of studying. I've still done well for myself in school, but I couldn't handle being known as the serious one anymore. And besides, the dynamics had all changed. By the time I made it to Ryerson, I was thrown into a room with 150 of what were supposed to the best-of-the-best. Your future journalists. Your future agenda setters. Your future media. Your link to the outside world. I was no longer the serious one. I was no longer the smart one. It was time to carve something else out.
But now I'm starting to wonder if I went too far. I know I'm not completely a lost cause. I'm just talking strictly in the public arena here. Sometimes, especially at work or in new situations, I open my mouth and I don't know when to stop.I'm leaving myself with a legacy where I'm worried no one will take me seriously. I can be socially awkward and consistantly crack black humour-tainted jokes that are met with blank or condescending stares. I'm left with a writing portfolio full of fluff--a story about exclusively dating guys with beards, a review of different lubricants and a blog full of self-depricating commentary paired with narcisissitic pictures. I'm not even sure my own parents take me seriously.
Have I gone too far? Have I become known just as a party-girl with a penchant for words, absurd jokes, inane conversations and the occasional literary conversation?
All I know is this: I have no explanation for that picture (above) but I'm certain it belongs on the Internet. And I'm certain that I'm going to find that middle ground, that I'll shed some of the awkwardness that contributes to this facade that I can't let go of. And I'm certain that right now, I'm happy.
I think I just have to learn how to close my mouth once in a while.
Jess, you have no worries. No matter what you write, it's so packed with personality and wit that I'm always left wanting for more. It's not fluff. I loved the beard story. You've got your own tone and style, which overthrows the dry seriousness of a lot of writing out there.ReplyDelete
And again, you have to come party here before you go. Seriously. Let's get serious here.
just read enough of it to seeReplyDelete
"already had words like facetitious as part of my lexicon."
thats cool, oh did you mean "facetious"? because facetitious isnt a word. owned dumbass.
"Have I become known just as a party-girl with a penchant for words, absurd jokes, inane conversations and the occasional literary conversation?"ReplyDelete
sounds like YOU are prime globe and mail columnist material.
fear not, facetious one.
ps i don't actually think you're facetious -- i think your humanitarian/non-profit aspirations balance out the rest of you nicely.
Dammit! I wanted to be the one to make fun of you (not annonymously however) for facetitious!ReplyDelete
It made me think: face titties.
Then I giggled like a school girl all afternoon.
Face titties. That's ridiculoustious.
For clarification, whoever anon is who called me on my typo/spelling error, when I was in grade 6, I didn't know how to spell facetious. I just used the word regularly. I thought it was spelled fatitious when I was in grade 6, which accounts for my weird spelling of the word.ReplyDelete
Also, I don't get why anons who hate what bloggers have to write, or hate specific bloggers bother: a) reading in the first place and b) commenting.ReplyDelete
I believe a big mouth is better than a big nose. So I wouldn't worry.ReplyDelete
Anon also has terrible grammar and sentence structre. He's basically made himself look like just as much of an idiot. I think that basically negates his entire comment.ReplyDelete
True. I was thinking about that later today, in fury, and I was like, "'Owned bitch' makes absolutely no sense without the comma."ReplyDelete
Brilliant writer and beautiful gypsy. Dammit, some girls have all the luck.ReplyDelete
the only time you mention me you make me sound like a simpleton!
next time i'm mentioned, you'd better talk this lady up!