Unperfectness

 I have a recurring temporary job. The company that I am employed with has occasional work available that I can do out of my home, and this week I’ve been asked to be a part of another three week project. While I attended training and a meeting, I wished I had a translator. Someone who could translate from business-ese to Meisha-ese. It’s not that I didn’t understand the words coming out of these brilliant entrepreneur’s mouths, it’s just that I don’t have one business-y bone in my body. If my very life depended on it, I don’t know that I’d be able to sell someone a $1o bill for a quarter.

But, that’s OK. The perfectionistic part of me wants to be good at everything, but lately I’ve been trying to fight that part of me. Perfectionism is a belief that anything less than perfect is unacceptable, and ironically, perfectionism is a major personality flaw. Perfectionism has never helped me achieve perfection, just neuroticism.

So, one of my tactics against perfectionism is to celebrate “unperfectness”. Weaknesses and quirks are some of the things that make life interesting. For example, since I was talking about business, I thought I’d share pictures I took of two businesses in my community that crack me up whenever I see them:

I have yet to have the courage to actually go into “Bell Electronics and Krazy Daves Knives”. I imagine a guy like Herman from “The Simpsons” would be standing behind the counter (if there is a counter in there.)

If I ever do work up the courage to go in there, though, I’ll be sure to bring my camera (and maybe some mace) and you guys will be the first to hear about what’s inside.

The other one is located in downtown Provo. There used to be a furniture store there called “Provo Furniture”. It was in business there for many years, and not too long ago, there was a big sign on it announcing a sale in lieu of the owner’s retirement. The sale passed, the owner retired, and “Provo Furniture” was passed on to a new owner.

The next time I saw “Provo Furniture”, it was having it’s grand re-opening under it’s new clever name:

Yes, frugality can go too far. Yet, whenever I pass “Pro Furniture”, it warms my soul.

Martha?

I gave in to social pressure a week ago, and signed up for a facebook account. Friends and family members were quickly added to my list of “facebook friends”, and I had fun comparing movie tastes, political preferences, etc.

Then, a few days ago, I decided to check my email while I was working on a little project. I had gotten a notification from facebook that I had been nominated by a friend for a superlative. It said I had been nominated as “Most Likely to be the Next Martha Stewart.”

I thought to myself: “Martha Stewart?! I’m not crafty!” But then I looked down at the unfinished project I had in my lap at the moment. It was a wreath. I was making a homemade wreath, people! I really don’t know how much more “Martha-esque” you can get than wreath-making.

Wreath making aside, I’m really not a lot like Martha Stewart. For example, I have no idea what framboise ganache is. In fact, I am a nuisance and a danger to human, pet, & plant life in the kitchen. I set off the smoke alarm when I’m cooking on a regular basis. Once, I even burned ramen. (In my defense, I was in high school, and I was talking to a cute boy on the phone and kinda forgot I had put anything on the stove in the first place. That is, until I saw the plume of smoke.)

For another example, this is what I imagine Martha’s herb garden to look like:

This is what my herb garden looks like:

You get the idea.

Anyway, a day later, I talked to the friend who had nominated me for the superlative in the first place. He said that he had accidentally selected the wrong superlative. *phew* What he meant to nominate me for was: “Most likely to Get Tasered and End Up on CNN”. Ohhhh. Now that makes more sense.

Will I regret this?

I’ve resisted starting a blog for awhile now. I have enough trouble managing my time as it is and I know myself, I’m likely to spend way too much time fussing over weird details that no one else will even notice. However, in spite of my better judgment I’ve finally succumbed. It’s my best friend, Summer’s fault. She started a blog a few months ago, and I’ve admired her freedom to semi-anonymously type whatever is on her mind, envied the creative outlet she has, laughed as she shares goofy glimpses of her day, and even shed a tear here and there.

I should be doing a million other things right now, but here I am, starting my blog. I hope that I don’t regret this.