Marilyn Monroe

I steal things. Not in the shoplifting or criminal way, but little things, like the round blue magnet on your fridge or the handpainted chopsticks at my favorite Chinese restaurant. I especially like your grey sweatshirt, unless you didn’t know I have that. But I will always tell you what I’ve taken, even if I don’t give it back.

I know what I want. I don’t mean that I’m goal oriented or ambitious or even selfish, because I’m not. I mean that if I want to watch Hercules instead of Fight Club, or go to Taco Bell and not Jimmy John’s, I will tell you so, even if I want something kind of weird, like to draw on your knee with highlighters.

I don’t care what people think of me. I don’t believe in social standards. I won’t fashion my behavior to simulate some invisible social model you believe in. So don’t ask me to.

I won’t behave well, and I will embarrass you in public, especially if you are easily embarrassed. I will reach across the table to play with your hair at classy restaurants, and stop to kiss you in the middle of the street, even if people are watching.

I like it when people are watching me. I will be loud and inappropriate and I will enjoy every minute of it. I don’t intend to make you uncomfortable, but don’t expect me to stop what I’m doing if you are.

I expect a reply to every message I send you, and I will text you when you’re asleep. And I will get upset if I don’t get a text back, even if there isn’t anything reasonable to say in reply.

My greatest insecurity is that you won’t accept me this way. I know that I’m crazy and a lot to take in, and I’m very, very afraid that one day it will become too much for you to handle. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to change. Hell no. Because if you can’t deal with me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.

How Much is Enough? - Great Story I Read At Jimmy Johns

The American businessman was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellow-fin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them. The Mexican replied only a little while. The American then asked why didn't he stay out longer and catch more fish? The Mexican said he had enough to support his family's immediate needs. The American then asked, but what do you do with the rest of your time?

The Mexican fisherman said, “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siesta with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos, I have a full and busy life, senor.”

The American scoffed, “I am a Harvard MBA and could help you. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds buy a bigger boat with the proceeds from the bigger boat you could buy several boats, eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman you would sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then LA and eventually NYC where you will run your expanding enterprise.” The Mexican fisherman asked, “But senor, how long will this all take?” To which the American replied, “15-20 years.”

“But what then, senor?”

The American laughed and said that’s the best part. When the time is right you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich, you would make millions.

“Millions, senor? Then what?”

The American said, “Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siesta with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos.”

I just passed an old teacher. If asked to describe her, the first word that comes to mind is dowdy; she has a deeply interesting sense of style. The weird part is, she doesn't fit the dowdy old lady stereotype. She's petite, and probably around 25 - there's so much she could do with her appearance. But she dresses in old lady sweaters and mom jeans, pairs sneakers with long flared skirts. I don't know why she does this. I don't see how she can think this looks good. Most of all, I don't see how she has the confidence to leave her apartment looking like a bag lady every morning.
I am aware that this is a mean, mean thing to say and I just want to make it clear that I love her and don't judge her for her choice of garb. I just don't understand it.
Then it occurs to me that maybe she's comfortable. God knows I strive to be comfortable in my clothes, and even though I put a lot of thought into how I dress, I rarely am. And maybe she's so comfortable dressing like that because it isn't about the clothes to her. Maybe its about her skin. Maybe shes one of the few people who knows how to be comfortable in it.