About 70% of my friends are male. Before I went to college though it was closer to 98%, so I consider 70% to be a vast improvement. Not that I don't love having male friends, in fact I prefer it since there's a lot less drama, and at any moment they can stand in as my faux-boyfriend, kinda like having a gay boyfriend, minus the gay. The only real problem with this is that they date women. Women who hate me. Universally. None of their girlfriends have ever liked me. Some stand me which is a lot like hate, but without any of the effort involved in hating someone. This has been going on for enough time though that I'm pretty immune to the whole thing. I just assume that they don't like me and then move on with my life, because sadly I always outlast them so really at this stage of my life they're only temporary disturbances. Last night though I was reminded of how much of a disturbance it really is though to be universally hated. Even if it is temporary.
After a night of strawberry shots and fuzzy baby navels, we were all in the garage trying to determine which of us was fit to drive and who needed something to sober up and who should probably never be allowed to take shots again. All was good in the world. Until someone's ex-pulled up in her car. Maybe under the pretense of trying to figure out if we were going to go eat, but really to keep an eye on me and make sure I wasn't making out with her man. The entire night she'd been keeping an eye on me, but it was very low key spying as opposed to the full out let me get out of my car and stand right next to you to make sure y'all aren't about to make out while my angry friends stay in my car and stare you down. Now I have no idea what he said to her about me, like if he explained that he'd known me for a while or if he just said something equally genius like I have aids and this is my friend Jessica, but whatever he said it wasn't enough to get her to back down. This very nice woman, who I'm sure is normally a very sane human being was acting irrationally. And for no reason, because I had no interest in making out with her man. I had an interest in getting some pancakes in my belly and making sure he wasn't deported.
She wouldn't leave until she saw them get out of my car, into their own car, and watched me drive away. Alone. Without her man. We even bypassed the whole drunken hug goodbye process just so she wouldn't decide to get out of her car and knife me. Which is vaguely sweet, but mostly just crazy. This is why I've decided to create a form letter which I can just hand out to break it down for them, and let them know that I am not in fact trying to steal their man. I present to you my open letter to crazy ex and current girlfriends:
Dear __________:
Hi. We've never met, but my name is Jessica and I'm a good friend of ___________. We've known each other for _____ years and in that time spent the majority of our time together watching bad movies and skipping class. There may or may not have been a time when we made out, but it was _________________ and you know how it goes, we're much better as friends. Besides, right now I just came out of a long term relationship so I have no interest in your man, or any man for that matter. I'm not even interested in women, not even to experiment, but thanks for asking. So, you see you have absolutely no reason to believe that I would steal him away from you. That's just not my style.
Sincerely,
Jessica
abril 30, 2006
abril 27, 2006
como diablos
Lemon bars are so delicious. Tarty yet sweet. Pastry yet vaguely healthy since they're (in theory) made from lemons. AND since I'm not a big baker (I'm not into measuring things exactly and such) they're extra special since its not something I could make myself. When I probably could make them myself, but then there'd be stuff to clean and that's just no fun. Which is why lemon bars are something that I buy. Laziness. Its my reason for doing a lot of stuff. Especially at this point in my life. This point being year 2 of my twenties.
The twenties are a weird time. All of a sudden you're out of the prescribed go to school path and dumped into a choose your own adventure story, where any one of a billion possibilities could end up with you getting malaria and being audited by the IRS. I've noticed all of my friends deal with it differently, but that somethings seem like a pretty universal right of passage. And no I'm not talking about graduating and getting a job because umm some of us haven't quite done that yet. I'm talking about other more subtle things like getting a kitten or possibly a puppy. Some people skip the pet though and go for the baby, but I think the kitten/puppy route is the less committal route. Like the pseudo adulthood option. And even then the kitten option is much less of a commitment than the puppy, since the puppy you have to walk and stuff and the kitten, well you just have to feed it and it wont eat you in your sleep. Oh how I want a kitten. Its just the ten year or so commitment that I can't handle.
Which is pretty much my problem with everything lately. I don't want to commit to a job because I don't know how long I'm going to be in Houston. I don't want to commit to a place for the same reason. Every choice I make seems to narrow the path of options, which is good in a sense because I'm one of those people who stares at all 68 conditioner options at Target trying to figure out which one will make my hair the prettiest. Only to end up choosing the one that smells like coconuts. Because my hair makes me happier when it smells good. Or something. But then its bad because a month of so into it, I start to get sick of coconuts and wish that I'd gone with the mango option because then maybe my hair would behave.
Things never work out the way you think that they will. Which is why decision making is so complicated for me. I don't know if I'm going to get the awesome job that I just applied for in Boston (oh how I want this job). I have no control over it though. And even if I get it, it might not be all I want. I know it wont be because I have incompatible desires that always leave me wishing I was closer to someone, or at the beach, or out of the country, or learning to surf. Which is why I've stopped planning my life. I was never one of those people with 5 year plans. My plans have always been fuzzy and ill-conceived. "I'm going to apply to one college and if I don't get in then ummm I guess I'll backpack through Europe" Now though, its just a rough sketch. I'm going to get a job, wherever I get hired that makes me happy. And I'm going to write. And maybe just maybe if my life falls into some sort of order, I'll finally get a kitten.
And now you know some links:
* A very zen video of puppies chasing a kitten. The cuteness is almost overwhelming.
* A cardboard bed. That looks comfy.
* I feel like the proudest mama ever! Brent's in the newspaper! His band is awesome, if you get the chance you should watch them. Or you could go on sketchy myspace and umm listen to stuff, in between picking up 16 yr old girls.
* Vintage french pr photos. via kottle.
* When I first heard of a 19yr old Harvard student having her book published and getting a second book advance (unheard of for a first time writer) I was impossibly sick with jealousy and felt like a big old loser. But now, well lets just say I feel quite at peace with the whole thing. Because on the inside I'm a five. And like to eat erasers.
* A great website that helps men deal with abortion. I came across it here.
* Ok, I've been meaning to post this force a while, but it felt like too much of a downer to bring it up. Anyways Riley's argument is that women should exercise common sense to avoid being raped. On principle I agree with her argument. I never go out to bars/clubs by myself. I avoid dark back alleys. I make sure to look men in the face when I'm walking by myself(this deters would be rapists from thinking your an easy victim). At the same time though, its obnoxious to have to do these things to rarely, if ever, leave your guard down because as a woman, I have to be more vigilant. At the same time though life is unfair. I also rarely if ever have to buy my own drinks because there's always a guy to buy one for me. So there are pros and cons to being female. What bothers me most though is that this argument intrinsically blames the victims for not being "smart enough" to not get raped. Which is just bs. I don't care how slutty my outfit is, how short my skirt is, how blond and coconutty my hair is, rape is never okay. And the fault of that lies in the perpetrator, not the victim. If you want to read better counter arguments you can go here and here.
The twenties are a weird time. All of a sudden you're out of the prescribed go to school path and dumped into a choose your own adventure story, where any one of a billion possibilities could end up with you getting malaria and being audited by the IRS. I've noticed all of my friends deal with it differently, but that somethings seem like a pretty universal right of passage. And no I'm not talking about graduating and getting a job because umm some of us haven't quite done that yet. I'm talking about other more subtle things like getting a kitten or possibly a puppy. Some people skip the pet though and go for the baby, but I think the kitten/puppy route is the less committal route. Like the pseudo adulthood option. And even then the kitten option is much less of a commitment than the puppy, since the puppy you have to walk and stuff and the kitten, well you just have to feed it and it wont eat you in your sleep. Oh how I want a kitten. Its just the ten year or so commitment that I can't handle.
Which is pretty much my problem with everything lately. I don't want to commit to a job because I don't know how long I'm going to be in Houston. I don't want to commit to a place for the same reason. Every choice I make seems to narrow the path of options, which is good in a sense because I'm one of those people who stares at all 68 conditioner options at Target trying to figure out which one will make my hair the prettiest. Only to end up choosing the one that smells like coconuts. Because my hair makes me happier when it smells good. Or something. But then its bad because a month of so into it, I start to get sick of coconuts and wish that I'd gone with the mango option because then maybe my hair would behave.
Things never work out the way you think that they will. Which is why decision making is so complicated for me. I don't know if I'm going to get the awesome job that I just applied for in Boston (oh how I want this job). I have no control over it though. And even if I get it, it might not be all I want. I know it wont be because I have incompatible desires that always leave me wishing I was closer to someone, or at the beach, or out of the country, or learning to surf. Which is why I've stopped planning my life. I was never one of those people with 5 year plans. My plans have always been fuzzy and ill-conceived. "I'm going to apply to one college and if I don't get in then ummm I guess I'll backpack through Europe" Now though, its just a rough sketch. I'm going to get a job, wherever I get hired that makes me happy. And I'm going to write. And maybe just maybe if my life falls into some sort of order, I'll finally get a kitten.
And now you know some links:
* A very zen video of puppies chasing a kitten. The cuteness is almost overwhelming.
* A cardboard bed. That looks comfy.
* I feel like the proudest mama ever! Brent's in the newspaper! His band is awesome, if you get the chance you should watch them. Or you could go on sketchy myspace and umm listen to stuff, in between picking up 16 yr old girls.
* Vintage french pr photos. via kottle.
* When I first heard of a 19yr old Harvard student having her book published and getting a second book advance (unheard of for a first time writer) I was impossibly sick with jealousy and felt like a big old loser. But now, well lets just say I feel quite at peace with the whole thing. Because on the inside I'm a five. And like to eat erasers.
* A great website that helps men deal with abortion. I came across it here.
* Ok, I've been meaning to post this force a while, but it felt like too much of a downer to bring it up. Anyways Riley's argument is that women should exercise common sense to avoid being raped. On principle I agree with her argument. I never go out to bars/clubs by myself. I avoid dark back alleys. I make sure to look men in the face when I'm walking by myself(this deters would be rapists from thinking your an easy victim). At the same time though, its obnoxious to have to do these things to rarely, if ever, leave your guard down because as a woman, I have to be more vigilant. At the same time though life is unfair. I also rarely if ever have to buy my own drinks because there's always a guy to buy one for me. So there are pros and cons to being female. What bothers me most though is that this argument intrinsically blames the victims for not being "smart enough" to not get raped. Which is just bs. I don't care how slutty my outfit is, how short my skirt is, how blond and coconutty my hair is, rape is never okay. And the fault of that lies in the perpetrator, not the victim. If you want to read better counter arguments you can go here and here.
abril 25, 2006
Lady balls
Tucker Carlson is an idiot. Obviously. His name is Tucker. He wears a bow tie. He looks like his mommy is the only woman he's ever known. All those things though pale in comparison to the stupidity that comes out of his mouth in this clip. There's so much wrong with it. So much. Since I'm feeling lazy I'll just say this: don't judge people mr. bow tie, its not nice. I'm going to go out on a limb and say you never had to struggle financially to get an education, juggling raising children with going to classes all the while having to work a degrading job just to get by. No one want to grow up to be a stripper. That's not a childhood ambition. But just because its a less than desirable job doesn't mean that it makes someone less than a person for just doing what you have to do to get by. The end. Shortest rant ever. (if your so inclined broadsheet does a better job of ranting about this than I do).
Ok and now a bunch of links that I have carefully culled for you:
* Its seems like you can't be fired for reading my blog at work. congrats.
* Sheep as walking billboards. Adorable and good for the sheep. Its jes approved.
* Netflix envelopes. Through the years.
* Cool pictures of nyc in the past before they cleaned it up.
* How to move to a new apartment. Good logical stuff.
* "Do You Need A $500 Vibrator? Short answer: Of course you do. Longer answer: Wait, a what? Are you serious? Where?"
* The look book. I don't want to ruin it. Just click through look at the picture. You can thank me later.
* Gas prices, they suck. I knew they sucked previously, but now I have to drive to get everywhere again I feel it much more than umm previously. Anyways here are three little charts to point you towards the right direction in terms of who you should be mad at.
* A good post which breaks down why renting out wombs in India is a bad idea and should make those of us in the West just feel bad.
* The future of eroding abortion rights in the US. In handy chart form for those of you who think reading is so last year.
* I want to be Wes Anderson when I grow up. Minus the being male and white part. This commercial with him for american express demonstrates why.
* A list of sciency things people who graduated from high school should know, but that most people (ie me) don't.
* A cute collection of comics. You have to click on the things in the picture to get to the clips. A little work but its worth it if you like funny, sweet, dark things like I do.
* And finally do you remember "My Girl" it wasn't life altering for me, but other people loooove it. Anyways the cute girl in the film can write, and its funny and good and you should read it. The end.
** the links came from my internet wanderings. Places like kottle, feministing, and my random friends.
Ok and now a bunch of links that I have carefully culled for you:
* Its seems like you can't be fired for reading my blog at work. congrats.
* Sheep as walking billboards. Adorable and good for the sheep. Its jes approved.
* Netflix envelopes. Through the years.
* Cool pictures of nyc in the past before they cleaned it up.
* How to move to a new apartment. Good logical stuff.
* "Do You Need A $500 Vibrator? Short answer: Of course you do. Longer answer: Wait, a what? Are you serious? Where?"
* The look book. I don't want to ruin it. Just click through look at the picture. You can thank me later.
* Gas prices, they suck. I knew they sucked previously, but now I have to drive to get everywhere again I feel it much more than umm previously. Anyways here are three little charts to point you towards the right direction in terms of who you should be mad at.
* A good post which breaks down why renting out wombs in India is a bad idea and should make those of us in the West just feel bad.
* The future of eroding abortion rights in the US. In handy chart form for those of you who think reading is so last year.
* I want to be Wes Anderson when I grow up. Minus the being male and white part. This commercial with him for american express demonstrates why.
* A list of sciency things people who graduated from high school should know, but that most people (ie me) don't.
* A cute collection of comics. You have to click on the things in the picture to get to the clips. A little work but its worth it if you like funny, sweet, dark things like I do.
* And finally do you remember "My Girl" it wasn't life altering for me, but other people loooove it. Anyways the cute girl in the film can write, and its funny and good and you should read it. The end.
** the links came from my internet wanderings. Places like kottle, feministing, and my random friends.
abril 23, 2006
why soccer is the best sport ever
I'm not into sports. I have no teams that I follow religiously. When there's a game of any sort on tv I always get bored at some point and switch it to the food network to listen to Paula Deen deep fry something or another in a vat of butter. However when my daddy invited me to a soccer game I knew I had to go because one its my daddy and two its soccer. Soccer is the best sport ever, for about a million reasons. First I actually played the sport when I was teeny tiny and was pretty good at it (mostly because I was a bit ol'cheater, I'd trip people, elbow them, kick them and get away with it because I was the only girl on the team). Most importantly though soccer is a fast game, so I can't possibly get bored. Oh and when people score it actually means something. Its not like basketball or baseball where there are a ton of points. One goal and the entire game could be lost, and you never know when a goal is going to happen or not. There's a lot of delayed satisfaction going on, so that when a goal is scored its orgasmic.
So yea on its own, soccer is a highly entertaining sport. In a stadium filled with 16 thousand people its a billion times more entertaining. What's interesting about watching the game in Houston is that there are two very different demographics at the game. Upper middle class white folk going to the game with their obnoxious soccer loving children and drunk as hell Latino, British, and Indian men. So there's a little tension in the audience. Which makes for some great people watching. Sitting a couple of rows in front of me were three impossibly sauced gentlemen who were waving Mexican flags. Now these were two American soccer teams playing against each other, so I'm sure there were many in the audience who were wondering what exactly a Mexican flag had to do with the game. I'm pretty sure its just a cultural thing, just like its a cultural thing to affix those insipid support our troops magnets to your suv, but at least waving your Mexican flag doesn't end up with us invading some country in the middle east. But yea, these lovely men kept waving their flags and then someone (ie the white dad sitting a row behind them whose little girl kept being hit in the face by the flags) complained to the police. And then they kicked them out of the section. And the thing is they had great seats. They were right at the front almost directly in the middle of the field. So when they left they were pissed. And proceeded to curse loudly at the guy who had them kicked out, a beautiful string of words that involved the guys mother and his wife and hell. Since it all took place in Spanish though, the family just sat there bewildered wondering what was going on.
That was the first half. In the second half was when things got really interesting. The little toddler next to me was getting restless and I had to use all of my willpower not utter my own set of expletives at the poor child who kept using her head as a battering ram against my arm. Fortunately for me in the second half in the game two goals were scored and I spent most of my time on my feet yelling for them to score. That's the great thing about being in a large audience. All kinds of social transgressions suddenly become acceptable. Like being drunk at 5pm. Or cursing out complete strangers. Or chanting "culeros" with your closest equally intoxicated friends. This particular chant made me and my mom giggle in the most inappropriate way since the white folks around us had no idea what was going on, but chanted along anyways.
The absolute best part of the game though were the soccer players, who were perfect human specimens. Out of all athletes I would say soccer players have the very best bodies. They aren't freakishly tall and slender like swimmers. Or short and hugely built like wrestler. Soccer players are perfectly proportioned, not too tall, not too short. And they have stamina. Lots and lots of stamina, because this isn't American football where the game is stopped every 5 minutes. They have to sprint around for a full 30 or 40 minutes without stop. So yea stamina. Hot. Oh and their very bend-y, since they kick the ball from all sorts of weird positions. Besides that though you can play soccer well into your late 30s, unlike some other sports where you have to retire when you get to 20, which means that there are quite a few who have beautiful silvery hair, which I love.
So yea. Soccer is the very best sport ever. The end.
So yea on its own, soccer is a highly entertaining sport. In a stadium filled with 16 thousand people its a billion times more entertaining. What's interesting about watching the game in Houston is that there are two very different demographics at the game. Upper middle class white folk going to the game with their obnoxious soccer loving children and drunk as hell Latino, British, and Indian men. So there's a little tension in the audience. Which makes for some great people watching. Sitting a couple of rows in front of me were three impossibly sauced gentlemen who were waving Mexican flags. Now these were two American soccer teams playing against each other, so I'm sure there were many in the audience who were wondering what exactly a Mexican flag had to do with the game. I'm pretty sure its just a cultural thing, just like its a cultural thing to affix those insipid support our troops magnets to your suv, but at least waving your Mexican flag doesn't end up with us invading some country in the middle east. But yea, these lovely men kept waving their flags and then someone (ie the white dad sitting a row behind them whose little girl kept being hit in the face by the flags) complained to the police. And then they kicked them out of the section. And the thing is they had great seats. They were right at the front almost directly in the middle of the field. So when they left they were pissed. And proceeded to curse loudly at the guy who had them kicked out, a beautiful string of words that involved the guys mother and his wife and hell. Since it all took place in Spanish though, the family just sat there bewildered wondering what was going on.
That was the first half. In the second half was when things got really interesting. The little toddler next to me was getting restless and I had to use all of my willpower not utter my own set of expletives at the poor child who kept using her head as a battering ram against my arm. Fortunately for me in the second half in the game two goals were scored and I spent most of my time on my feet yelling for them to score. That's the great thing about being in a large audience. All kinds of social transgressions suddenly become acceptable. Like being drunk at 5pm. Or cursing out complete strangers. Or chanting "culeros" with your closest equally intoxicated friends. This particular chant made me and my mom giggle in the most inappropriate way since the white folks around us had no idea what was going on, but chanted along anyways.
The absolute best part of the game though were the soccer players, who were perfect human specimens. Out of all athletes I would say soccer players have the very best bodies. They aren't freakishly tall and slender like swimmers. Or short and hugely built like wrestler. Soccer players are perfectly proportioned, not too tall, not too short. And they have stamina. Lots and lots of stamina, because this isn't American football where the game is stopped every 5 minutes. They have to sprint around for a full 30 or 40 minutes without stop. So yea stamina. Hot. Oh and their very bend-y, since they kick the ball from all sorts of weird positions. Besides that though you can play soccer well into your late 30s, unlike some other sports where you have to retire when you get to 20, which means that there are quite a few who have beautiful silvery hair, which I love.
So yea. Soccer is the very best sport ever. The end.
abril 22, 2006
That last shot was what did him in
Last night began innocently enough. I was going downtown to meet friends at a bar, that looked nice and non-sketchy. It somehow ended up 4 hours later with me watching one of my dear friends being handcuffed and strip searched outside of Chachos, my very favorite quasi-mexican 24 hr restaurant. Now this was troubling for several reasons. One the image of my friend spread eagle with his pants around this legs as about five sheriffs hovered around him tarnishes some of my good feelings towards Chachos, which is awful because their tortillas are incredible (so doughy, so sweet, the perfect thickness, always fresh...yum). Two I thought he was going to be deported for being a general drunken fool. And three we went there to get him sobered up so he could drive home, so I felt bad for bringing him to the place where he would ultimately be arrested. Thankfully though they let him go (I'm still not sure why) and I drove him to another friends house so they could get his car and what not. The funniest part was when I called my mom around 4ish to let her know what was going on, and I made the mistake of starting by talking about how my friend had been arrested but then quickly realized that I was giving her a heart attack for no reason when I should have started by saying that I was perfectly fine, safe, sober, and was not being arrested.
Now this whole incident wasn't as shocking as it could have been if lets say I was the one who was being arrested, since this particular nameless friend always acts like an idiot when hes drunk. He's one of those merry drunks who gets really mad really quickly over really trivial things that just kind of balloon out of control. Like that time he almost got us killed when were at the beach when he decided he was going to talk some shit to some cholos just because they flashed their lights at us. Normally someone keeps him in check and the night goes on with minimal damage. This time however things happened so quickly that there was no one who could stop things from going the way they did. I went inside to get some water and wait for them, came back outside to call and find out where they were only to discover him in handcuffs.
But yea, it was a good night. A memorable night. Some impossibly intoxicated guy kept calling me mama. I realized pretty quickly that he called all women mama, which for some reason made it acceptable and not justification to get maced. And what else? Oh the women at the bar were really interesting. It was a very eastern European vibe which I liked, but once again I had one of those moments were I realized how much moho changed me, since when I watched them dancing on the stage with one another it was pretty transparent that they were only doing it to get attention from the men there, and for some reason that seemed so bizarre to me. Not like I've never gotten on a bar and danced, but it was always when I was out with a large pack of my female friends, and only then to make one another laugh and goof around. Not so a guy would want to come up and talk to me. But to each his own I guess.
Now this whole incident wasn't as shocking as it could have been if lets say I was the one who was being arrested, since this particular nameless friend always acts like an idiot when hes drunk. He's one of those merry drunks who gets really mad really quickly over really trivial things that just kind of balloon out of control. Like that time he almost got us killed when were at the beach when he decided he was going to talk some shit to some cholos just because they flashed their lights at us. Normally someone keeps him in check and the night goes on with minimal damage. This time however things happened so quickly that there was no one who could stop things from going the way they did. I went inside to get some water and wait for them, came back outside to call and find out where they were only to discover him in handcuffs.
But yea, it was a good night. A memorable night. Some impossibly intoxicated guy kept calling me mama. I realized pretty quickly that he called all women mama, which for some reason made it acceptable and not justification to get maced. And what else? Oh the women at the bar were really interesting. It was a very eastern European vibe which I liked, but once again I had one of those moments were I realized how much moho changed me, since when I watched them dancing on the stage with one another it was pretty transparent that they were only doing it to get attention from the men there, and for some reason that seemed so bizarre to me. Not like I've never gotten on a bar and danced, but it was always when I was out with a large pack of my female friends, and only then to make one another laugh and goof around. Not so a guy would want to come up and talk to me. But to each his own I guess.
abril 19, 2006
Just give me a block and I'll be ok
Texas is lovely. The traffic however is not. Since I take my mom to work I'm in the car for 2 hours everyday (30 minutes there and back). Which is actually not bad for Houston, which is what's sick about this. And is one of the many reasons I can't live in Houston. Well that and the fact that if I got a job here I would have to move to the other side of town to have some space between me and my lovely folks. Because I'm weird like that.
I'm just not telling them that I wont be living in Houston permanently, because this news would give them much sadness. Specifically my daddy who was pretty much like "oh ok that didn't work but now you can live here, or in San Antonio or Austin or anywhere in Texas really." I didn't have the heart to tell him that I haven't applied to anything in Texas. Its not that I don't ever want to live in Texas, I do. I just don't want to live in Texas now. My reasoning goes that once I move to Texas it'll be permanent, you know with kids and such. Like I'll probably die in Texas. Unless I die on some weird trip through the Amazon or something, in which case I'll die there. Basically I'm not ready for settling in for death so I don't want to live in Texas. Yea, my logic is a thing of beauty.
This whole experience is really funny though. In an amusing painful sort of way. The whole fresh breakup and looking for a job at the same time thing has forced me to really figure what it is that gives me worth. Which is stupid because I have the most over inflated ego as it is, but I've noticed that this breakup has changed the way people relate to me. My parents are treating me with kid gloves, like I'm on suicide watch or something, and it only serves to bum me out not make me feel better about life. Like having my mom call me 3 times a day while she's at work and ask me if I'm ok only serves to reinforce the fact that if I'm not okay that's perfectly acceptable and they'll understand and that they need to know to help me. Meanwhile I'm wondering if there's something wrong with me for not spending my days munching on some hagen daz.
Its no wonder that instead I'm spending my days randomly emailing alums and asking if they like Mexico City. Or trying to figure out how I can get a job in Colombia or Venezuela, just so I don't have to deal with this whole let's pity jes thing. Of course I'm not telling my parents any of these plans because its just bad form to tell your immigrant parents who rearranged their entire lives so you could live in this country that you'd like to leave now. I know they'd be cool with it (well my dad would be my mom would throw a fit) but its just easier to avoid the conversation until things are settled.
And yea that's that. Here are some links I deemed amusing enough to share with you on this fine day:
* This map is pretty cool. It shows where major religion in the US are located. I think I saw it first on boing boing.
* Nothing takes place in a vacuum, everything takes place inside a social context. Flashing your breast in public is apparently no exception.
* Apparently breast are hot right now, with this study saying that women with fake breasts are more prone to suicide.
* This video is so bizarre so weird that you must watch it right now. Its a little long but sooo worth it. Its in Russian and Japanese using both old and new cartoon animation and is so beautifully odd. I finished watching it and my brain could not comprehend what had just happened.
* Ten things every microsoft word user should know via lifehacker
* I love abstinence posters and bears and pens because its always a guaranteed laugh. This poster, does not disappoint. If you dont click through it says that "Men appreciate things more when they have to work hard for them...so dont be easy!" and shows a woman in a wedding dress. Yea. So much wrong with this argument. Implied in it are goofy things like "men are pigs keep them at bay by keeping your legs shut" and "the purpose of sex is to trap men into marriage." Blah. Like women don't like sex. Or women dont need to be trapped into marriage. Or that there's something wrong with being easy. Anyways if you want to buy me the laminated version its 17 bucks. via feministing
* Okay. First off I found this here. Secondly you dont want to open this at work, or around people unless you want people to see you browse through a listing of rock stars and their penis sizes. Its up to you. I'm not really that much into rock (I grew out of my punk stage pretty quickly) so I just glanced through it. Its umm a good read if umm you're into that kind of thing.
I'm just not telling them that I wont be living in Houston permanently, because this news would give them much sadness. Specifically my daddy who was pretty much like "oh ok that didn't work but now you can live here, or in San Antonio or Austin or anywhere in Texas really." I didn't have the heart to tell him that I haven't applied to anything in Texas. Its not that I don't ever want to live in Texas, I do. I just don't want to live in Texas now. My reasoning goes that once I move to Texas it'll be permanent, you know with kids and such. Like I'll probably die in Texas. Unless I die on some weird trip through the Amazon or something, in which case I'll die there. Basically I'm not ready for settling in for death so I don't want to live in Texas. Yea, my logic is a thing of beauty.
This whole experience is really funny though. In an amusing painful sort of way. The whole fresh breakup and looking for a job at the same time thing has forced me to really figure what it is that gives me worth. Which is stupid because I have the most over inflated ego as it is, but I've noticed that this breakup has changed the way people relate to me. My parents are treating me with kid gloves, like I'm on suicide watch or something, and it only serves to bum me out not make me feel better about life. Like having my mom call me 3 times a day while she's at work and ask me if I'm ok only serves to reinforce the fact that if I'm not okay that's perfectly acceptable and they'll understand and that they need to know to help me. Meanwhile I'm wondering if there's something wrong with me for not spending my days munching on some hagen daz.
Its no wonder that instead I'm spending my days randomly emailing alums and asking if they like Mexico City. Or trying to figure out how I can get a job in Colombia or Venezuela, just so I don't have to deal with this whole let's pity jes thing. Of course I'm not telling my parents any of these plans because its just bad form to tell your immigrant parents who rearranged their entire lives so you could live in this country that you'd like to leave now. I know they'd be cool with it (well my dad would be my mom would throw a fit) but its just easier to avoid the conversation until things are settled.
And yea that's that. Here are some links I deemed amusing enough to share with you on this fine day:
* This map is pretty cool. It shows where major religion in the US are located. I think I saw it first on boing boing.
* Nothing takes place in a vacuum, everything takes place inside a social context. Flashing your breast in public is apparently no exception.
* Apparently breast are hot right now, with this study saying that women with fake breasts are more prone to suicide.
* This video is so bizarre so weird that you must watch it right now. Its a little long but sooo worth it. Its in Russian and Japanese using both old and new cartoon animation and is so beautifully odd. I finished watching it and my brain could not comprehend what had just happened.
* Ten things every microsoft word user should know via lifehacker
* I love abstinence posters and bears and pens because its always a guaranteed laugh. This poster, does not disappoint. If you dont click through it says that "Men appreciate things more when they have to work hard for them...so dont be easy!" and shows a woman in a wedding dress. Yea. So much wrong with this argument. Implied in it are goofy things like "men are pigs keep them at bay by keeping your legs shut" and "the purpose of sex is to trap men into marriage." Blah. Like women don't like sex. Or women dont need to be trapped into marriage. Or that there's something wrong with being easy. Anyways if you want to buy me the laminated version its 17 bucks. via feministing
* Okay. First off I found this here. Secondly you dont want to open this at work, or around people unless you want people to see you browse through a listing of rock stars and their penis sizes. Its up to you. I'm not really that much into rock (I grew out of my punk stage pretty quickly) so I just glanced through it. Its umm a good read if umm you're into that kind of thing.
abril 17, 2006
luna, lunita, lunera*
I love traveling. Packing my bags. Tiny little bottles full of conditioner. Watching people at the airport. The whole thing. Of course its not all perfect. For some reason I seem to scream terrorist and I always end up in the stricter line where someone feels the need to feel me up. (This time they stuck me in some strange machine that blew air on me- it was bizarre to say the least). And my bags are always the last to show up, without fail. But overall, I love the whole thing. I like sitting on a plane, curled up with my fabulous travel pillow, and just staring out at all the fuzzy clouds. Its perfection.
My flight to Texas also ended up being non-stop and I got a window seat with no one sitting next to me in the middle. So all was looking good. Or so I thought. Just as we were getting ready to leave the gate, a couple rushes in and I hear the flight attendant say that there are only two seats left on the plane, one of them being next to me. So I looked them over and was just hoping that the larger gentleman would not be sitting next to me. His pretty girlfriend (or maybe wife?) came to sit next to me instead and I thought I lucked out and was ready to go back to pretend sleep. Now I feel the need to tell you that this woman was stunning. She was possibly Indian or maybe Pakistani, olive skin, beautiful light brown hair, perfectly shaped, dressed impeccably (like they always are), with the most incredible light turquoisey blue eyes. Perfection. Sitting next to me for the next 3 hrs. Not bad right? Except she smelled. Bad. Horribly bad. So bad that I turned the little air thing on (which I never do because I get impossibly cold, and I hate being cold) and turned away into the window and just hoped the smell would go away. But it didn't. It just got worse. It wasn't body odor, I think maybe the smell was emanating from her purse because every time she reached in to get something the smell would just get worse. I think eventually my nose went on strike because I could only faintly make out the awful funk. And by faintly I mean that I would slip into sleep only to awaken because I'd inadvertently slipped into a pocket of stinky air. So my non-stop flight felt endless.
The clouds were pretty though. And eventually I landed. In beautiful Texas. Where it was 79 degrees at 8pm. Just to remind you, there's no sun at 8, so this is just leftover heat. And its why I love Texas. My mom however greeted me at the airport wearing a little wrap, because she said it was chilly. Yea. I love Texas. Just being here makes me feel better. Plus my daddy's hair is the most perfect silver white and he looks extra adorable. I told him he looked like Anderson Cooper, and had a certain gravitas to him. And he laughed, because he knows what gravitas is and I remembered why I adore him so. Its nice to be back.
And now some links:
* The title is from Juanes' adorable "Luna" which you should lisen to right now
* A video on how to get perfect eyebrows in 7 minutes
* To balance out that last link there's this shirt, which perfectly balances humor, raunchiness, and fashion. You didnt think that was possible did you?
* According to this post Argentina is my promised land, pretty people, steaks for lunch and dinner, and dulce de leche. Read the whole thing, and then go eat some steak.
* Sex advice from gossip columnist. Its funny and vaguely educational.
* I love vespas, but now hybrid vespas? I wish I lived someplace where I could have a vespa, and not be crushed to death by suvs.
* For those of you who share my fetish for very pretty tall shoes there's this cute story from the ny times.
* A great interview with Carmen Callil, who founded Virago Press which published books by Adrienne Rich, Maya Angelou, Angela Carter and some other awesome female writers. The interview is funny, and witty, and you should read it. At the very least skim through it.
* I finally saw Duck Season and it was cute, and sweet, and funny. The next up is La mujer de mi hermano, which looks like its going to be good and is showing all over the place.
My flight to Texas also ended up being non-stop and I got a window seat with no one sitting next to me in the middle. So all was looking good. Or so I thought. Just as we were getting ready to leave the gate, a couple rushes in and I hear the flight attendant say that there are only two seats left on the plane, one of them being next to me. So I looked them over and was just hoping that the larger gentleman would not be sitting next to me. His pretty girlfriend (or maybe wife?) came to sit next to me instead and I thought I lucked out and was ready to go back to pretend sleep. Now I feel the need to tell you that this woman was stunning. She was possibly Indian or maybe Pakistani, olive skin, beautiful light brown hair, perfectly shaped, dressed impeccably (like they always are), with the most incredible light turquoisey blue eyes. Perfection. Sitting next to me for the next 3 hrs. Not bad right? Except she smelled. Bad. Horribly bad. So bad that I turned the little air thing on (which I never do because I get impossibly cold, and I hate being cold) and turned away into the window and just hoped the smell would go away. But it didn't. It just got worse. It wasn't body odor, I think maybe the smell was emanating from her purse because every time she reached in to get something the smell would just get worse. I think eventually my nose went on strike because I could only faintly make out the awful funk. And by faintly I mean that I would slip into sleep only to awaken because I'd inadvertently slipped into a pocket of stinky air. So my non-stop flight felt endless.
The clouds were pretty though. And eventually I landed. In beautiful Texas. Where it was 79 degrees at 8pm. Just to remind you, there's no sun at 8, so this is just leftover heat. And its why I love Texas. My mom however greeted me at the airport wearing a little wrap, because she said it was chilly. Yea. I love Texas. Just being here makes me feel better. Plus my daddy's hair is the most perfect silver white and he looks extra adorable. I told him he looked like Anderson Cooper, and had a certain gravitas to him. And he laughed, because he knows what gravitas is and I remembered why I adore him so. Its nice to be back.
And now some links:
* The title is from Juanes' adorable "Luna" which you should lisen to right now
* A video on how to get perfect eyebrows in 7 minutes
* To balance out that last link there's this shirt, which perfectly balances humor, raunchiness, and fashion. You didnt think that was possible did you?
* According to this post Argentina is my promised land, pretty people, steaks for lunch and dinner, and dulce de leche. Read the whole thing, and then go eat some steak.
* Sex advice from gossip columnist. Its funny and vaguely educational.
* I love vespas, but now hybrid vespas? I wish I lived someplace where I could have a vespa, and not be crushed to death by suvs.
* For those of you who share my fetish for very pretty tall shoes there's this cute story from the ny times.
* A great interview with Carmen Callil, who founded Virago Press which published books by Adrienne Rich, Maya Angelou, Angela Carter and some other awesome female writers. The interview is funny, and witty, and you should read it. At the very least skim through it.
* I finally saw Duck Season and it was cute, and sweet, and funny. The next up is La mujer de mi hermano, which looks like its going to be good and is showing all over the place.
abril 11, 2006
What's happened has happened/ What's coming is already on its way*
The last time I was single for any significant amount of time was 6th grade. Significant being a period of time lasting longer than 3 weeks. The very last day of 6th grade, as I was getting ready to board the bus and make my way home, I was asked out by Ernest, my first boyfriend, and that was the end of my single life. I was 11. I'm now 22. Take a moment to let that marinate in your brain because that's all I've been thinking about for a little over a day now. Yea. It's nutty. I thought maybe I was exaggerating things the way I'm sometimes prone to do, but nope every school year from then on was marked by some boy or another. I thought maybe 8th grade was the year I was single until I realized that nope it was just the only year I didn't have a serious boyfriend (serious meaning 6 months or more of dating) and instead had 3 (or maybe 4- my memory is a little fuzzy) different boyfriends.
Yea, right about now I'm wondering why I'm sharing this with you. I don't know really, I think I'm just trying to make sense of it all. Its not like I regret any of those boyfriends, even the bad ones were good for learning something vital about life. Like don't trust assholes or pretty boys are sometimes bad kissers. Plus the mere fact that I can remember who I was dating in 8th grade and not what I learned that year in school must mean something. It could just mean that I was a big ol' slut in 8th grade, but I doubt that's true. Mostly because I knew some slutty 8th graders and I wasn't one of them.
My point though is that I feel like I should feel bad or wrong that I'm 22 and I've been dating for 11 years. But I don't. Its the lack of feeling bad about it that makes me feel weird about the whole thing. Did you follow? If we were talking about anyone else I'd think that continuously dating for 11yrs would do bad things to your psyche. But we're talking about me, and I was me at 11 and I think all that dating was good for me. Dating was what made me human. Its what made me stop being so mean to people. What taught me to accept people just as they are. To stop kicking people. To just chill out and enjoy the process of living. To feel responsibility for making other people cry. All that dating didn't make me boy crazy, or make my identity revolve around men, it did just the opposite. That being said though, I'm looking forward to being single. To plunging into the great unknown all by myself. Its terrifying. But its time.
Some links:
* Ok. First off, I wouldn't open this link around people. Secondly you have to know that I found this link here, and I share it with you only because it confuses me greatly, and I like to share confusion. I'm not sure what's going on in this picture, or where it came from, or why grown men would willingly pose in penis outfits. I just know its funny and disconcerning all at the same time.
* If you ever wanted to track all the cabs in LA now you can.
* Read this. Read the entire thing, especially the end. And then read this.
* Researchers at Tufts found out something pretty amusing, white people act better when in diverse situations. via kottle
* I don't own an ipod, but you might so here are 50 fun things to do with your ipod.
* And if you're still bored there's always popurls
* Oh and the title comes from Fiona Apple's "Red, red, red", in case you were wondering.
Yea, right about now I'm wondering why I'm sharing this with you. I don't know really, I think I'm just trying to make sense of it all. Its not like I regret any of those boyfriends, even the bad ones were good for learning something vital about life. Like don't trust assholes or pretty boys are sometimes bad kissers. Plus the mere fact that I can remember who I was dating in 8th grade and not what I learned that year in school must mean something. It could just mean that I was a big ol' slut in 8th grade, but I doubt that's true. Mostly because I knew some slutty 8th graders and I wasn't one of them.
My point though is that I feel like I should feel bad or wrong that I'm 22 and I've been dating for 11 years. But I don't. Its the lack of feeling bad about it that makes me feel weird about the whole thing. Did you follow? If we were talking about anyone else I'd think that continuously dating for 11yrs would do bad things to your psyche. But we're talking about me, and I was me at 11 and I think all that dating was good for me. Dating was what made me human. Its what made me stop being so mean to people. What taught me to accept people just as they are. To stop kicking people. To just chill out and enjoy the process of living. To feel responsibility for making other people cry. All that dating didn't make me boy crazy, or make my identity revolve around men, it did just the opposite. That being said though, I'm looking forward to being single. To plunging into the great unknown all by myself. Its terrifying. But its time.
Some links:
* Ok. First off, I wouldn't open this link around people. Secondly you have to know that I found this link here, and I share it with you only because it confuses me greatly, and I like to share confusion. I'm not sure what's going on in this picture, or where it came from, or why grown men would willingly pose in penis outfits. I just know its funny and disconcerning all at the same time.
* If you ever wanted to track all the cabs in LA now you can.
* Read this. Read the entire thing, especially the end. And then read this.
* Researchers at Tufts found out something pretty amusing, white people act better when in diverse situations. via kottle
* I don't own an ipod, but you might so here are 50 fun things to do with your ipod.
* And if you're still bored there's always popurls
* Oh and the title comes from Fiona Apple's "Red, red, red", in case you were wondering.
abril 10, 2006
Breaking up is hard to do
In my relatively short life I been in 7 maybe 8 breakups. Andy makes 8 (or 9 depending on your count). Of those I would only classify 3 as being major. Major being defined as that horrible awful pain you feel in your gut when your heart gets stomped on as the result of the end of whatever hormone induced goodness makes you feel all fuzzy inside. This particular breakup however is already unlike any of the previous 8 that came before it. There's none of that familiar hate that normally fuels a breakup. The anger, the yelling, the ceremonial ripping of pictures none of it is there. Well I lie, it was there for about 3 days and then we talked and it dissipated and I slept better than I had slept in months. Andy, being the world class pessimist that he is takes this lack of anger and horrible soul crushing pain as evidence that I didn't love him as much as the rest. I however, as always, see it totally differently. Its evidence that a) I grew the fuck up in the last 4 years and b) that I love him so much more than I could have even imagined loving anyone before. There's just sadness here. That's all there is. I'm not breaking up with someone I hate I'm breaking up with someone I adore and that is a billion times worse. Its easy to end a relationship when there's nothing left and much harder to end one when things just aren't working and you wish it was different and wish you'd just done the whole thing right instead of taking it for granted and being a selfish bitch. Things just are what they are.
Maybe it just hasn't hit me, and a week from now when I'm in Texas a horrible tsunami of pain will incapacitate me. Its entirely possible. Somehow I doubt that though. There just isn't any hate here anywhere between us. Yes, he let me down. But I let him down too. In the end all that amounts to is regret and a wish that we'd done this better than we did and maybe just the faintest glimmer of hope that someday we wont be so stupid.
Maybe it just hasn't hit me, and a week from now when I'm in Texas a horrible tsunami of pain will incapacitate me. Its entirely possible. Somehow I doubt that though. There just isn't any hate here anywhere between us. Yes, he let me down. But I let him down too. In the end all that amounts to is regret and a wish that we'd done this better than we did and maybe just the faintest glimmer of hope that someday we wont be so stupid.
abril 06, 2006
[insert title here]
I used to think that the worst thing that could happen to me was having to move back in with my parents. Since I'm going to be living with my parents once again, I'm going to have to revise that and say that living with my parents is not the worst thing that could happen to me. My daddy dying is the worst thing that could happen to me. Or having to live in an igloo and wear smelly animal skins and have to kill my own meat. That sounds like it would definitely be the worst thing that could happen to me. This is just a layover on the way to something better happening. Or something worse, I haven't decided yet. For now I'm going with better. But if this ends up with my being mauled by a bear, then it was definitely not for the better. Unless that ends up in a tv movie of the week being made in my honor, which would be pretty cool. I wonder who would play me? I want to say Keri Russell during the beginning of Felicity before she went nutty and cut off her hair because her hair is curly and so is mine, and she's not working right now, so she's available for tv movies.
Yea, I just rambled into something weird. My point with all this is that my biggest fear is not spiders or heights or tiny dirty spaces, its failure. Specifically failing at life, and living with my parents always seemed to signal that to me. Mostly because I spent pretty much my entire life dreaming about the day when I wouldn't have to live with them (no joke one of my very first memories is of weighing the pros and cons of running away at around 3). But in a very round about way this is good. I'm facing my fear head on. I could stay here in Erie, until I got a job and a place to live since for all his faults and his current asshole-ness Andy is a good human being and would let me stay here since you know at one point he really did love me. But I don't want to stay here. And that's a conscious decision that I'm making. Some people live their entire lives and never face their fears. I've never met any of these people, but I'm sure they exist. Beyond that though this is good because I'm not running away from my fear of failure by going to grad school or law school as a way to postpone adulthood or having to decide what I want to do with my life, I'm choosing to really sit there in the shit of it and just figure it out. And so what if I'm going to be figuring it out with my daddy by my side, there are worse things in life than that. Even I know that.
More than that though I'm going to argue that its impossible to fail at life at 22. Unless you're a former child star, and you've already peaked, there's a whole lot more years left to figure things out and not fail. What's failing at life really? What standard am I using? I'm not failing because I'm not getting married, because that's never been my goal in life. Not having a job is a wee bit failure like but that's only temporary, not the entirety of my life. I did graduate from college, that was a pretty good accomplishment. So yea, I haven't had a chance to fail at life yet. I'm just a kid. And I'm just going home. And its 80 degrees there, and that sounds awful good right about now.
Ok, now while you make sense of all that here are some links:
* "Being twentysomething is always a good excuse for borderline alcoholism." --Maggie, 21
* This week bummed me out, so I don't want to get into the whole immigration thing. You can read a good little roundout of the whole thing here from slate and here from salon. Oh and a good catholic take here.
* What Bush Really Meant (not what he said), a very amusing concept for a blog. Don't believe me? This is the tagline for the blog: "Bush thinks God talks to him. I think Bush talks to me. We're both wacko." Ok, now go read it.
* I really interesting article on procrastination, which I started reading but didn't finish, but will totally finish, eventually, at some point. via lifehacker, my current blog obsession.
* "How to write a thank you note". also via lifehacker.
* "I hate tumors" an article about someone's friend who died at 28 from cervical cancer that hit me in the gut and that you should read too. Its short and good. On a vaguely related note, I used to loooove Jane and read it religiously during high school, since we shared the same odd sense of humor and obsession with fashion until I realized that for all their talk about real women's bodies they never put any real women in their high fashion shoots, which was the reason I stopped reading them. This article makes me want to give them another shot though.
* I've always been inexplicably drawn to LL Cool J. Maybe not so inexplicably, its probably those abs. Plus I like his music, its catchy and summer-y and good to dance to. Anyways, in a very fun read Slate attempts to figure out how he's managed to survive for so long.
* And finally McSweeney's brings you the very best resume ever. Go read it now.
Yea, I just rambled into something weird. My point with all this is that my biggest fear is not spiders or heights or tiny dirty spaces, its failure. Specifically failing at life, and living with my parents always seemed to signal that to me. Mostly because I spent pretty much my entire life dreaming about the day when I wouldn't have to live with them (no joke one of my very first memories is of weighing the pros and cons of running away at around 3). But in a very round about way this is good. I'm facing my fear head on. I could stay here in Erie, until I got a job and a place to live since for all his faults and his current asshole-ness Andy is a good human being and would let me stay here since you know at one point he really did love me. But I don't want to stay here. And that's a conscious decision that I'm making. Some people live their entire lives and never face their fears. I've never met any of these people, but I'm sure they exist. Beyond that though this is good because I'm not running away from my fear of failure by going to grad school or law school as a way to postpone adulthood or having to decide what I want to do with my life, I'm choosing to really sit there in the shit of it and just figure it out. And so what if I'm going to be figuring it out with my daddy by my side, there are worse things in life than that. Even I know that.
More than that though I'm going to argue that its impossible to fail at life at 22. Unless you're a former child star, and you've already peaked, there's a whole lot more years left to figure things out and not fail. What's failing at life really? What standard am I using? I'm not failing because I'm not getting married, because that's never been my goal in life. Not having a job is a wee bit failure like but that's only temporary, not the entirety of my life. I did graduate from college, that was a pretty good accomplishment. So yea, I haven't had a chance to fail at life yet. I'm just a kid. And I'm just going home. And its 80 degrees there, and that sounds awful good right about now.
Ok, now while you make sense of all that here are some links:
* "Being twentysomething is always a good excuse for borderline alcoholism." --Maggie, 21
* This week bummed me out, so I don't want to get into the whole immigration thing. You can read a good little roundout of the whole thing here from slate and here from salon. Oh and a good catholic take here.
* What Bush Really Meant (not what he said), a very amusing concept for a blog. Don't believe me? This is the tagline for the blog: "Bush thinks God talks to him. I think Bush talks to me. We're both wacko." Ok, now go read it.
* I really interesting article on procrastination, which I started reading but didn't finish, but will totally finish, eventually, at some point. via lifehacker, my current blog obsession.
* "How to write a thank you note". also via lifehacker.
* "I hate tumors" an article about someone's friend who died at 28 from cervical cancer that hit me in the gut and that you should read too. Its short and good. On a vaguely related note, I used to loooove Jane and read it religiously during high school, since we shared the same odd sense of humor and obsession with fashion until I realized that for all their talk about real women's bodies they never put any real women in their high fashion shoots, which was the reason I stopped reading them. This article makes me want to give them another shot though.
* I've always been inexplicably drawn to LL Cool J. Maybe not so inexplicably, its probably those abs. Plus I like his music, its catchy and summer-y and good to dance to. Anyways, in a very fun read Slate attempts to figure out how he's managed to survive for so long.
* And finally McSweeney's brings you the very best resume ever. Go read it now.
abril 04, 2006
. . .
I've spent the last 8+ months waiting. Waiting to hear back about some job. Waiting for Andy to get home. Waiting for it to stop snowing, for the water to boil, the rice to be ready. Waiting for Andy to propose. If I'm ever captured and held in a little cell somewhere all by myself I'll know that I'll be able to handle the solitude for about 3 days before I crack. I wouldn't be able to deal with the possibility that I would be there forever, in a little cell, just four walls and me. I haven't minded the waiting because I knew that at some point or another it would stop. Either I'd completely lose it, or I'd get a job and not be here anymore. The solitude is the worst part of it all. Especially for someone like me who thinks entirely too much to begin with, all that time by yourself isn't good. Its bad. It lets you contemplate entirely too many possibilities. Yesterday my brain stumbled upon one that caught me by entirely by surprise.
"He was never going to marry you"
And just like that something snapped. Because everything suddenly made sense. My entire life made sense. So I did what any sane-ish person would do. I packed as much as I could into as many boxes and threw away anything and everything that was weighing me down. It was the exact kick I needed to be productive. And then my brain felt like it was going to split open. So I slept. For like 18 hours. Thanks to the awesomeness of tylenol pm. I woke up today still tired. A little hazy from all the drug induced sleep, but so much more clearer than I've been in a while. I'm a fucking idiot for ever believing that he was going to propose. So yea. That's that. I just have to figure out what I'm going to do with it all.
Links:
* "Girls attempt real-life version of video game"
* The look book once again brings much needed absurdity into my life.
* An interesting interview with Rosie O'Donnell
* top 87 bad predictions about the future.
* "A meditation on the speed limit" - a cute video
* A very informative post on nyc etiquette
"He was never going to marry you"
And just like that something snapped. Because everything suddenly made sense. My entire life made sense. So I did what any sane-ish person would do. I packed as much as I could into as many boxes and threw away anything and everything that was weighing me down. It was the exact kick I needed to be productive. And then my brain felt like it was going to split open. So I slept. For like 18 hours. Thanks to the awesomeness of tylenol pm. I woke up today still tired. A little hazy from all the drug induced sleep, but so much more clearer than I've been in a while. I'm a fucking idiot for ever believing that he was going to propose. So yea. That's that. I just have to figure out what I'm going to do with it all.
Links:
* "Girls attempt real-life version of video game"
* The look book once again brings much needed absurdity into my life.
* An interesting interview with Rosie O'Donnell
* top 87 bad predictions about the future.
* "A meditation on the speed limit" - a cute video
* A very informative post on nyc etiquette
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