Nobody puts baillee in the corner

I have a real knack for placing people on pedestals (try saying that five times fast). I tend to see them as coveted, untouchable, and fragile things, only to be admired from afar (which is one of those words I can only hear echoed in Anna Faris’s psychotic pop star voice a la Just Friends.)  Internally, I always classify people as “too attractive” or “too cool” or the like, and it’s becoming a little too habitual for my taste. (Plus, my internal dialogue, which rotates between Cher Horowitz and Heather Mooney isn’t exactly meant for public consumption, and you already get enough of it here.) 
You see, sometimes it takes me awhile to get comfortable with people because I let my perceptions of them dictate the way I act. I immediately check my makeup if someone’s makeup is flawless. I occasionally get too scared to make jokes or references because I’m scared of no one getting them. I’ve even sometimes let myself fall victim to the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad cliche that you can’t date someone who isn’t your so-called appearance equal (by so-called, I mean by me right now, and by terrible, horrible, no good, very  bad cliche, I mean a really dumb and grossly inaccurate idea because there’s so much more to someone than their looks, such as their mind, sense of humor, and life insurance policy.) 

I’ve been noticing myself doing it a lot lately, but I realized a few days ago (while to trying to wrestle a sock from my puppy’s mouth after work, and I too wish I had been doing something far more prolithic) the thing about people is: they’re human. Everyone uses Proactiv and dry shampoo and toilet paper (if you don’t, that’s totally cool too). Everyone has laughed so hard they’ve cried and cried so hard they’ve laughed (and laughed so hard they peed a little. yeah, I said it.) Everyone has sent a text or Facebook message to someone they’ve liked and giddly checked their phone all day, waiting for a response. Everyone has sneezed and wiped it on their sleeve. Everyone has ached and yearned and loved. Most importantly, everyone has compared themselves to someone else. So here’s my advice: Text them. Wear the makeup. Tell them how you feel. Wear the crop top. Quit the job. Say the reference. Stop letting Facebook timelines define your own. Make the Cronenberg joke. (That one may give away this is about me. Whoops.) Do. The. Damn. Thing. In layman’s terms, stop looking around and start looking forward. (Especially if you’re uncoordinated like me).