I Moved to Wordpress!!!

Hey everyone! I decided to jump on the band wagon and move to Wordpress. I have also changed the name of my blog as well, so I would love for you to check it out at adventuresinaverageland.wordpress.com.

Boy Without a Name

When I was five years old, my parents decided to get a divorce, and it was probably the last thing they ever agreed on. This made it a little difficult when my curious child mind began asking questions about previous events in my life that I couldn't remember. On a multiple occasions I have received completely different responses to events that happened in my life that have absolutely no connection other than the story supposedly being about me.I don't think my parents were trying to set me up for therapy, but it definitely led to many confused, sleepless nights for a 7 year old. 

I think most kids wonder at some point what their name would have been if they were the opposite gender. This was the same for me and I couldn't wait to hear the answer. I figured it would be something really badass like Cliff. My imagination painted a picture of all the adventures Cliff would go on. He would have done Karate and stayed with it past yellow belt. Cliff would be able to throw a football and make it spin like the real players. Cliff would have been a cool guy, I knew it.

Finally, I asked my mom one morning what I would be called if I had been a boy, and she told me something like, Devin... (I think that's the right name, but don't take my word for it). It certainly was no Cliff, and I think that she probably would have regretted not naming me Cliff very shortly in my life, but Devin was an okay name, and I moved on from the subject. Months later, the conversation came up with my dad who told me a completely different name... let's say Alexander (I really think that one is wrong... I probably would have been a major douche if my name was Alexander). I tried correcting my dad on his error, but he said, "No, there is no error. It was Jewel or Alexander." With this new information I decided that obviously Mom was wrong and needed to be corrected. Turns out I was wrong again which just caused a miserable headache and a thousand more questions. I tend to think very logically, I have just learned to not always voice my logic, because outside of my head it really isn't always that logical. For example, I have battled with the thought of a parallel universe where I was born a boy without a name because my Parallel Parents couldn't decide if I was an Alexander or a Devin.

I seem to graze across memories like this a lot. My entire life I have had a small scar next to my right nostril. When I noticed it around age 8 or 9, I decided to ask my parents where it came from because I certainly didn't remember hitting my face on something and having it leave a scar. When I brought the subject up with my Dad, he informed me that I got the scar when I was about 11 months old and was learning how to walk. Before I could actually stand on my own, I would use the coffee table to hold myself up. Instead of my hope that our family friends brought their Lynx to our house and it picked a fight with me so I obviously beat the shit out of it, attaining one minor cut on my face and being named the family hero, I was told that I hit my face on the table. I again was disappointed, but satisfied with the story and accepted it to be the truth, until the scar came up with Mom. The second I said something about a coffee table and my face, she immediately corrected me by telling me a story of me learning how to walk (this is the one thing, other than my face making contact with something sharp, that both of my parents' stories have in common) while at daycare and falling on a Toss Across. Yet again, my small brain was trying to make sense of if Alexander hit his face on the coffee table or Devin fell on the Toss Across.

I have at some point in my life been mad at my parents, hated them, thought they were lame, thought they were cool, and missed them when I was at sleep away camp. It's now though, after going through a large speed bump in my life, that I really appreciate all that my parents do and have done for me in the past, even if their stories don't always match up and they don't know how to use "The Netflix". I am so completely grateful to have the parents I have and that wouldn't change if I was Alexander, Devin or even Cliff. 

Babe Walker Is The Only Person Who Understands Me

This morning was a nice Sunday morning for me and fairly normal. I woke up, grabbed my laptop and sat in bed catching up on some of my favorite blogs and YouTube channels. The one that inspired me most was a video by one of my favorite YouTube comedian/ vlogger Jenna Marbles. One of her recent videos was about White Girls in the Club:

(If harsh language offends you, don't watch)

This video made me laugh so hard and also got me thinking that I could totally make fun of white girls as well! Now I, being a white girl in Montana, have very different material to work with given the lack of clubs and really any form of nightlife within 500 miles.

I decided to do some research.

My go to blog for everything Caucasian is Stuff White People Like. This blog really focuses on the things that white people like in my world of North West USA. I quickly became discouraged with my ability to make fun of white girls because no matter how much I try to fight it, I am a white girl. A bit of a stereotypical one at that. I'm not going to lie.

I'm here, I'm white, I'm kind of a tool.

While I still had hope that I could make fun of white girls, I began jotting down ideas of things white girls use/ like. The page is very full of small drawings, bolded words and many, many asterisks. However, after about ten minutes of brainstorming, and researching the blogs about this phenomenon, I realized that 80% of the typical things associated with white people were in my bedroom. I have also done every single activity that white people like, many times.... a week.

Now that I am thoroughly upset with myself for becoming so white, I have decided to make fun of it. Usually, stereotypes are so wrong they really aren't funny at all; like that all Hispanics are illegal immigrants, or that all black people walking toward you on the street want to kill you. However, in the case of the white stereotypes I've come across, they've all been so fucking accurate I can't figure out if white people are just writing this shit down to talk about themselves, or other races really have noticed these things and think we're ridiculous.

Clothing and Apparel 
I think one of the defining characteristics of white people is their clothing. Men and women vary slightly in their clothing choices (depending on the white people you look at, some guys where girl's jeans....), but both have the same premises. The number one article of clothing someone can find in a white person's closet is a sweater. I should know... I have 27. About 10 of them are grey (do other white people like grey as much as I do?). I mean what is it about a sweater that is so appealing to a white person? I'll answer that right now, it's warm, they are more professional looking than sweatshirts and it's like you are wearing a blanket. Who doesn't like wearing a blanket?! The white person's choice in sweater wearing is just a statement of blanket wearing that no one else is ready to accept.

Sweaters are the new blankets... with the exception of real blankets.... those will probably always actually be blankets.

I can't mention clothing and white people without mentioning scarves. I also counted my scarves and side note to my best friend Ren: I probably don't need a scarf for christmas... that doesn't mean I still don't want one. Scarves are a huge part of my wardrobe. I wear a scarf almost every day of the week in fact. Even in the summer.

I don't care if my core body temperature reaches upwards of 102 degrees, my scarf is classy.

My pseudo-little brother and I last christmas... with scarves. So. Many. Scarves.

Bikram Yoga
I have done Bikram Yoga a few times and hated every moment of it. I tell people I enjoyed it, but it sucks! And secretly, everyone who does Bikram hates it a little bit, but they will never admit their hatred because Jennifer Anniston and Lady Gaga do Bikram.

White person syllogism: I do Bikram, Celebrities do Bikram, therefore I am a celebrity. (Side note: I really enjoy pulling words like syllogism out of my ass... when's the last time you used that word?)


Going to Yoga classes are also extremely expensive and for what? Stretching for an hour? Thanks, but I can do that for free in my house, or in my dance class. But traditionally, there is a large population of white people with disposable money and the ability to pay people to help them stretch, or massage them without touching them. While yoga class also shows off the monetary advantages of the middle class white person, it also seems very foreign and exotic. White people like to seem cultured without actually leaving the country. I mean, who wants to risk malaria when there's a perfectly good ethiopian restaurant down the street?

Going to Breakfast
One of my other best friends is one of the most guilty of this activity.... and she's sucked me in. This weekend in fact, we went to breakfast at her favorite breakfast restaurant, Food For Thought. It's right on campus so it is constantly filled with college students in their sweaters, scarves and thick rimmed glasses (I go to school in Montana and my campus is predominantly white). The only time we get breakfast is on Friday when she doesn't have class and I have a two hour lunch, or on the weekend. We usually end up just chatting and talking about the week, but this weekend, I did the crossword puzzle. The fact that I only got three words doesn't matter, I still did it. Doing the crossword while eating breakfast... I couldn't be any more white. Except when I went hiking an hour later.

Outdoor Activities
I have somewhat touched on this subject before in my post Climbing Shit, but that was focusing more on Montana, which happens to be populated with a massive number of white people. The truth is, anywhere you go (at least in the western USA) white people like to do outdoor activities like hiking or camping. There's something about being covered in dirt and not showering for a few days that really makes a white person feel like he or she is doing something with their life. When I hike, I feel more accomplished than when I run a few miles at the gym or do a full ballet class on Pointe shoes. I mean, I climbed a mountain... I think I'm within my rights to throw myself a party.

I think it's mandatory for white people to have a picture of their feet at the top of the mountain they just climbed.

Being Uncool
White people like to say that they were super uncool in high school and share embarrassing stories from high school with their friends. Either a) this is totally true and they really were a nerd in high school but now are in a great college and really peaking and want others to know it or b) they were actually super cool in high school, but being a nerd is now cool and they don't want to lose their status as cool guy/ gal. I truly believe I belong to the first group, but I'm a white girl, so I understand if you don't believe me and think I'm just trying to seem like I was uncool in high school when I really was cool. I would be disappointed if you didn't take what I say with a little suspicion after finding out how genuinely white I am.

White people like to throw gang signs in Montana because we won't get popped.

When White People Try to Be Anything But White
Everyone has seen that 80 pound white guy who wears jeans five sizes too large, XXXL t-shirt, and a sideways baseball cap topped off with a thin ass chain and a tattoo of either a cross or the Virgin Mary on his arm. This guy thinks he's going to be the next Eminem, except instead of living in Detroit and growing up in black culture, he lives in Glendale and watches 8 Mile for inspiration.

Tanning salons are constantly filled with white girls (and sometimes guys). Last semester I won a month of tanning at a local salon and was always fascinated by the girls I saw there. After a month a was quite a few shades darker than I had been, but still looked natural. However, there were some girls there that crossed the not-so-thin line between tan and orange. Looking like you just returned from vacation is one thing. Looking like you just spent a week only eating carrots is another.

Bestie and I bootie dancing in tutus at our dance concert.