unbelievable

a shift has recently taken place in my life. Things have changed since my latest vague but simultaneously intensely emotional post. That being said, I am still the kind of person who is generally guided by her emotions. I am still. I just experienced an unbelievable moment. The subsequent moment was thick with incredulity. The cause was created by turning on my television, channel unknown. Ordinarily when I turn on my tv I immediately look at what is playing, and figure out my options to maximize my television experience for the ultimate entertainment. This time, however, I did not do this. I quickly told myself to give whatever was playing a chance. Appreciate it for what it is without scathing my opinion by knowing any context. I couldn't figure out what was on given the first scene. But I began to formulate ideas. The first image I saw was a car driving off in an empty and desolate desert town. The next image involved an old traffic light in the middle of a desert. By combining these two images I thought the movie might be The Mexican, a movie I've seen only once about 5 years ago. The next image proved my reasoning and my conjecture. The moment closely followed.

a humble greeting and welcome

hello and welcome...once again...to my blog.

Every time I consider the option of writing here I find myself in some kind of existential predicament. Nothing else seems even remotely interesting. Problems are something that we can all relate to but at the same time must know more of because having them in common connects us all...WE ARE ALL CONNECTED. Before I weird you out too much I will embark on a literary journey to the mundane and ordinary: my day.

I took my last final exam today. It was in German 101. The difficulty during this exam became evident when I had to describe what my professor was wearing in three statements. She was wearing a black shirt with an orange scarf. I know that schwarze is black and that is all. I squirmed my way into describing a Tee-shirt and einen lila Pullover. I think. After it was over I proceeded to buy my friends 2 bottles of wine. I guess that's just the kind of girl I am. They, of course, didn't drink the entireties so they each took them to their respective destinations: Ohio and the Bronx. I drank Snapple peach iced tea infused with russian liquor. Bah. Nothing too exciting....then a stop at chat 'n' chew for some scrumptious teenie weenie mac and cheesie.

it is what it is

make it a time make it anytime
make sure that it's not the only kind
that others find
I've got a mind
I've got half a mind
To shut down the whole system at the spine
With fishing line
I'm really glad there's a grasp to grab
it's only a stab in a wet paper bag
is that so bad?
I wrote a song
it was slow and long
I wrote the words and the music wrong
but life goes on
and on and on and on and on and on and on

what they are capable of

It's amazing how much movies affect me. I'll watch a less than mediocre, sappy movie by myself and I will be triggered to analyze my entire story, my life. Myself. relationships. everything. I am affected. I think about what I see on the screen: the fictional memories, the fictional problems and stressors, the fictional people. I apply the fiction to my truth. I apply the fiction to my reality. Immediately I draw conclusions. And I begin to act on them. What should I do? Should I not? Torments and more. This is apparently wrong. So many wrong things. But morality can't dictate emotion. I'm sorry. What am I supposed to do?

what it is

I am jumbled by feelings, by hints of feelings...things that I'm unsure of. There are people I want to talk to...they are not receptive. Something is wrong. There is a strong disconnect in my relationships. I feel and I think and the people don't understand. These people in my life aren't there with me. I wish they were. There is always one thing I am hiding...from certain people. There is a potential hope I can't profess. I think and I feel...I wish they could see each of these. From my point of view. I don't want to hurt anybody. I hate blogs. I want to talk about it. To Oliver, to Jillian. I don't understand and I'm sorry. There is a strong disconnect and I try to be considerate. I still don't understand. Let's talk about it. I'm sorry. Let's talk. I want the combination of our voices to create a balance. How about being on the same wavelength?

Holiday In The Rain

So I haven't blogged in a long time....and most of it is due to my love/hate relationship with blogs...generally more hate than love...anyway today something particularly blog-worthy occurred: I met the Olsen twins.


Now before you judgeeee me like the cover of a book (this will be funnier later), I urge you to consider your own childhood and certain tv shows with certain annoying but super catchy theme songs....I was a pretty big fan...member of the fan club etc etc So anyway I was excited at the opportunity, lame as it was.

Basically what happened was that they were having a book signing at the Barnes & Noble in Union Square. I've actually known about this for a month or so...I even had it written down in my PLANNER mmhm so I went and then the jackasses at B&N tell me oh you have to BUY the book to even SEE them. I'm pised. (yeah, p-i-s-e-d). I think shit that really sucks I could've washed my hair....I called my dad to vent and at the end of that conversation I decide to buy the book, even though I had $9 in my account to last me until Saturday. Wow. Anyway I knew the book sucked but I did really want to see them and act like I don't give a shit. So I bought the book, went to the line and actually didn't wait that long.

I walked up to the desk, they looked at me and smiled....(a smile becomes a wince after a thousand or so crying idiots) and I said "hey, guys" (acting, acting), Ashley said "how are you?" and I said "I'm kinda full" (I was literally carrying my bag, umbrella, the book, the receipt, the instruction sheet, my jacket, etc) and walked away. It was over pretty fast, but as I was going down the escalator, they were leaving and walked right by me. I yelled "Bye, Marykateandashley!" They TURNED AROUND and WAVED goodbye as I waved with my fingers. Yep. It felt good.

Rewind

"Nobody's hoping for better days
No one knows what to do
You're ok in your secret place
No one bothering you."

This group of words is used in a song called "The Weather". This is a song that I am lucky enough to be listening to at this moment. The luck part is entirely relative, since I made the conscious choice to listen to it. Nevertheless it is a good song.

I am writing because I can't sleep. It is a problem of seemingly gargantuan proportions. Maybe. I keep thinking of quick solutions to get me to REM. Some pills maybe, or some alcohol.....I don't have either. So I have to resort to good old fashioned productivity. Maybe a glass of warm milk...I've heard that helps....I've had this problem before and I never thought it would happen again. It is extremely disconcerting...moving on to Silversun Pickups....so I tried calling a couple of people I know go to bed generally late to talk....take my mind off of my taunting pillows and disheveled comforter and sheets...But I shouldn't make my sleeping problem anyone else's... try as I might.

like it's a mystery

I loved today. I didn't really but what days are entirely loved anyway? Something bad, though slight, must pretty much always happen. I guess that statement takes me to my pessimism quota of the day.

Ok so I will inevitably talk about the oh so important events of my day. I started off early and had a bizarre experience involving my alarm clock and running to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Whew. I HATE it when that happens......when, in a dream-like and subconscious state, you realize that you actually can't ignore your loud and imprudent bladder, and just have to kick your entire mental state into high gear back to reality and to the bathroom. FAST. Luckily those don't happen to me often....and NO that doesn't mean that I wet the bed. Gross. Anyway I woke up and went to Deutsch class. And suddenly I don't feel like writing anymore.

let me just start off by saying....

I considered using these cyber mediums of desahogo for revealing extremely powerful information, information with the kind of power that can turn my social world on its lobe. Not that the size of my social world is in any way comparable to the size of a human, but still. I considered it, for less than a split second.

That would've been crazy.


I started this shit thanks to reading my peers' blogs...because I found them interesting. They gave me a chance to peer inside their lives without a filter, without an obstruction. It is information they willfully put out to the masses...no alterations made according to specific people who might come across it. It's a good view.

I constantly think whether or not I should just delete this whole mess. I feel like very few people privately write down their thoughts and opinions, even fewer who do it for virtually anyone to read. The rest of the world lives their lives only in their minds. No pen and paper necessary, no functioning keyboard....no internet to let it all out. What's better? Hmm. Does this honestly help? Does writing down that Billy never returned my call and I am therefore feeling bummed help pacify the situation even slightly? Probably not. If anything it just exacerbates everything because writing about a problem emphasizes it even more....maybe it wasn't even a problem until you wrote about it....until you took the time to think about it eloquently enough to impress your friends...and then typed it up. Ahhh luckily I don't make my problems anyone else's...not that I have any problems...everything is peachy keen! No, really.

so yeah,....it's been a while

Needless to say, it's been well over a while since I wrote a post that wasn't a pre-written short story. Something about not having anything to write about/ being lazy....hmmm well I guess to provide an update on my life, school started yesterday. At this point I have gone to all of my classes and am content with them. My one male prof teaches social psych and he is almost a cutie. A cutie and at least 70 years old. Yeah, that kind of cutie. haha. Anyway he made a couple of endearing jokes today which I wrote down....ok he made one: "I am the youngest in the faculty at Hunter College"...add a German accent, some white hair, and a smile, and a chuckle is sure to ensue. Fer sure.....a couple of my classes are acting like they want to kick my ass, what with the 10 page research papers, presentations, and 500 pages of reading a night, but I won't let 'em....

The Last of It

As soon as they did, Mr. Everett stood up abruptly. Cynthia looked terrified. Dylan not so much, but he felt unsure. What is he going to do? What is he going to say? Before anyone could see what was happening, Mr. Everett announced that it was lunchtime and that everyone should go outside. So people slowly grabbed their lunches and made their way to the door. Cynthia grabbed her Hello Kitty lunch tin; Dylan pulled on his sweatshirt. He forgot his lunch at home. This guy is totally crazy, he thought.


As he was walking over to Luke’s classroom to have lunch with him, he noticed Luke was standing outside. Maybe he was waiting for him.

“Hey, man, I left my lunch at home, can you share?”
“I guess so, yeah. So what’s up?”
“My teacher went crazy earlier; he was yelling and throwing stuff around. He was yelling at this girl Cynthia who is the best student and never talks. It was bizarre.”
“Oh man, really? That sucks.”
“Yeah, I tried standing up for her.”

They walked over to the grass and sat down. Luke had brought steak today. It was cut up into little cubes. They set it on a paper plate on the grass and ate. A few minutes later Cynthia walked over with Hello Kitty by her side. She sat in the middle, behind the plate.

“Hi.”
“Hey”
“Are you in seventh grade?”
“No, eighth.”
“Cool.”
“I heard what happened in your classroom earlier. That sucks.”
“Yeah, it was pretty scary, but I’m ok.”
Dylan then spoke, “you want some steak?”
“Ok.”

Cynthia was relieved. This was one lunch period she wouldn’t spend studying. She hoped it would turn into something slightly more permanent, maybe once a week she could enjoy her lunch in the company of a person, rather than her notebook.
The three of them sat together that afternoon, the afternoon after that, and pretty much for the rest of the year. When Luke left to go to high school in the fall, Cynthia and Dylan had lunch together. She usually had a turkey sandwich and he usually had chicken. They would eat and talk about life.

Steak, Chicken, and Turkey (...)

Class was over and Dylan was still sitting in his seat. Math and American history were done for the day and science and English were coming. In between he had seven minutes to walk around, maybe get a drink of water. He got up and walked outside. He saw Cynthia standing in line at the water fountain; he went and stood behind her. Right before she left and it was his turn to quench his thirst, he said something. “Why were you staring at me earlier?” She turned bright red. “I wasn’t staring at you,” Cynthia replied. Then she walked away. Dylan was mildly confused but took a sip from the water fountain immediately. Yes, you were, he thought. Time for science, time for snoozing. Dylan sat back in his seat and put his head down once again. He could hear Mr. Everett begin the lesson on the rainforest. Then he was gone. He woke up abruptly to very loud yelling and noises. They weren’t directed at him, though, at least not exclusively. He rubbed his eyes to wake himself up a little more. Mr. Everett was yelling and throwing things from his desk around the room.


Dylan was surprised to say the least. Steven, the kid that sat next to him, had eyes wide as plates and was generally terrified. “How could you not know where the rainforest is, Cynthia?!!!” “How is it possible that you have the highest grade in the class and yet you know absolutely nothing about the world?!!!” Mr. Everett was going ballistic. And clearly for no reason. Dylan felt awfully for Cynthia. Sure, she lied about staring at him but that is a mere nothing. She shouldn’t receive any negative consequences for that, especially not of the crazy teacher variety. Dylan spoke up, probably not the best idea. “Why are you yelling at Cynthia, she didn’t do anything wrong!” Mr. Everett took a deep breath, walked over to his desk, and sat down. He knew he could get in serious trouble, maybe even fired if he reacted the way his mind was telling him to. He was silent for the rest of Science and English. The whole class was silent as well. Not one person moved. Dylan was still processing what had occurred. He looked around and saw that pencils were all over the floor, erasers were scattered on desks, and small pieces of chalk were thrown so hard they left marks on the carpet. He did not feel safe so he got up and left the classroom. A few seconds later, Cynthia, of all people, came outside. Mr. Everett saw that two of his students had walked out but he decided to let it slide. If I let it bother me then who knows what will happen, he thought. Cynthia and Dylan stood next to each other staring outside, at the sky, the grass, the playground. She muttered a “thanks”. He muttered an “it’s ok; it wasn’t right”. After about five minutes they both walked back into the classroom.

Steak, Chicken, and Turkey (still continued...)

After waking up from his nap, Dylan thought a little about Luke. He then thought about his own life, compared to Luke’s. Luke was going to graduate soon and move on to high school, maybe forget about him. His preference for chicken might evolve into a preference for steak, or salmon. I probably need to make a friend in my own grade, he thought. A friend for the moment Luke realizes he is too cool for middle school. Dylan looked up to the chalkboard, at Mr. Everett. Mr. Everett looked tired, exhausted even. It was a different kind of exhaustion. It wasn’t evidence of intense exercise but more like evidence of a perpetual desire. Dylan needn’t struggle to see that Mr. Everett wasn’t happy at that moment. “…And this meeting during and after the American Revolution came to be known as the Continental Congress,” Mr. Everett blindly stated. Dylan looked around the classroom, attempting to catch a glimpse at his classmates’ personalities through their mannerisms. Most of them were staring at Mr. Everett, some were doodling in their notebooks, and others were actually taking notes. Dylan figured that the kids staring were content with a B- or a C on the test, the kids doodling were temporarily disinterested, and the kids taking notes had someone they desperately needed to impress, expectations they desperately needed to fulfill. Cynthia was in this group. Dylan then wondered why he noticed her in particular. Probably because she was staring at him disapprovingly earlier, but also and more importantly, she seemed to be the most desperate out of all of them. She needed that A+.

Steak, Chicken, and Turkey (continued)

Somewhere else, Dylan woke up, three minutes before he would officially be late, again. He was terrible at being punctual. He was terrible at turning in assignments, paying attention in class, keeping anything in order, anything that involved doing what other people expected him to do. Dylan thought that so many of these things just weren’t important enough to require any of his effort-or even his contemplation. He was interested in people, making an attempt at understanding why they do the things they do. He got dressed in clothes from the other day which he also wore yesterday. He yelled bye to his mom passed out on the couch, left the house, and made his way to school. Dylan’s mom was still a riddle. She worked as a waitress at a diner three counties away and she never seemed to be around. She was always either sleeping or working. What a life. Why would she choose such a life? This was the question that would plague Dylan until he found the answer, an event that never seemed likely. He lived exactly a block and a half away from school. In his pocket today he found a frosted strawberry pop tart. He popped it in his mouth. He walked into the classroom, fifteen minutes late, made a face at all of his staring classmates and sat down. Thirty seconds later he put his head down and went to sleep.



When Dylan woke up, an hour or so later, he noticed a girl, Cynthia, staring at him. It wasn’t in an endearing-you’re-cute kind of way though, it was a more what-is-wrong-with-you kind of way. They had been in the same class for six months yet they had never made eye contact, let alone talked. She thought he was the most revolting and disgusting being on the planet. He always smelled terribly, like a combination of cigarette smoke, perspiration, and moldy strawberries. Dylan knew more or less how he smelled. He showered every three days and changed clothes every week. Dylan also knew that most of his classmates didn’t think too highly of him. He truly didn’t care though. If my classmates don’t want to talk to me because I smell bad, then honestly I don’t want to talk to them either. The people I want to be friends with won’t care about stuff like that so, in a way, I’m glad I smell bad. I am a filter. He would sit with Luke everyday at lunch. Luke was his best friend and neighbor since kindergarten. Luke was in the eighth grade. They could eat chicken and talk about life. They could regard or disregard the world while they silently chewed.

Steak, Chicken, and Turkey

He woke up at 6:50 on the dot every morning. He’d shower, make his bed, drink some coffee, and walk out the door. He lived completely alone. His existence seemed like it was missing something, maybe a person or maybe a feeling of contentment. Roger Everett had so many things that he did every day, so many routines. But they didn’t make him happy; something was missing. The sad part was that he didn’t realize this. His life was so utterly engulfed by his routines that he never stopped to realize that he didn’t really have a life at all.

At age eleven, Cynthia hadn’t experienced much anguish. She woke up on this sunny Thursday, in her twin-sized bed drenched in shades of violet, happy- happy Thursday. She showered quickly, got dressed, and met her parents for breakfast outside by the pool. She was an only child and was given basically everything she ever asked for. She loved sunny days like this when her family would sit outside and enjoy her favorite meal. Today had an amazing spread: scrambled eggs, butter, toast, orange juice, jam, mango, kiwi, and pineapple. This breakfast had great day written all over it. After breakfast her dad gave her a ride to school on his way to work. This is how it always happened: every school day, after breakfast, Cynthia’s dad would give her a ride to school. During the fifteen minute ride he would ask her “so, how is school?” When she responded with a simple “fine”, he delved more deeply for details: “What was your last grade given? I really hope you are giving your best in your classes…and I know that you are capable of A- pluses.” Usually after this comment Cynthia sighed and turned to the window. She thought she could get as many perfect scores as she wanted; the problem was that she didn’t really want them. Oh well.

Aerial Inspiration

Ok So I wrote this while I was on the plane back to DC....


I want to take a minute, a moment.......just to think about today.....think about the possibilities made certainties and the possibilities that remained.....hmmm.........I left Miami today. I'm not really sad about it though. I thoroughly enjoyed my time there: I did something I'd never done before; swam in the ocean; I made a point of being fashion-forward haha maybe successfully? I also ate whenever and whatever I wanted Ahhh and the best part is I don't even remotely regret it!

Right now I'm on the plane (go redundancy) back home and the flight attendants are walking up and down the aisles making sure that the trays (or is it the seats?) are in their "upright and locked positions" and that "all electronic devices are turned off". Last time I was on a plane, my travel soundtrack was still playing at this point and I was non-verbally reprimanded....meaning the stewardess came up to me and slammed her finger down on my mp3 player. She then proceeded to shake it in my face. No, no, no!

Trapeezee fo sheezy

Today started off uneventful. I slept in maybe twenty minute increments last night and it felt like during those twenty minutes the "sun poured in like butterscotch and stuck to all my senses". Meaning I did not get a very good night's sleep. Yakking in the morning couldn't have suddenly made my morning a pleasant one, either. Besides Jess was freaking sprawled out on the bed in quite the horizontal manner. So we made a pimp breakfast....after youtubing shitty music videos from back in the day like s club 7....3lw....dream...tlc....others will remain unmentioned but one can safely assume they didn't involve profound meanings or even profound lyrics. After our pimp brekkies we did stereotypically girly things like eating fro-yo and getting our nails done. Gasp!

Way after that we went on the trapeze and flew, flew, FLEW with the greatest of ease. This was the highlight of my day considering I took the time to include a picture of it! Ok so I was kind of freaked out by the whole thing. Yeah, there's a net and it's practically impossible for anything really bad to happen, but still. You never know. Jess went first because I'm a wuss...I proudly videotaped her as she put the "race" in "graceful". Before I knew it it was my turn and some guy named Lock was tightening a rope around my stomach, giving my fat no option but to bulge out in all directions. Bleh. I climbed up the shaky ass ladder, said hi to Robin, the eyebrow pierced woman who would be in charge up there, and proceeded to mentally prepare. Without chalk, Robin advised me to grab the bar...despite the fact that I was positive I would fall if I did. Ehhh I didn't. A couple of seconds later I was mid-air having so muchh fun that I failed to realize I was actually being given instructions. Something about pulling my legs through the bar....and dangling upside down....but I had to do it at the right time....when the Irish guy said "go"? Eh I fucked up and he had to repeat himself...this would be a good example of a time when the expression "you snooze, you lose" DOES NOT apply. I genuinely preferred to be doing what I wanted on the trapeze and not listening to whats-his-face spew lame pointers. Eventually the badass in me caved and I did what Simon said.

this is why I'm HOT

So...I usually start sentences off with a vague and uninteresting, not to mention entirely cliche and unnecessary word. SO yeah....I definitely feel like most of the things I write do not remotely make sense. Maybe in a distant universe, i.e my brain, they do? Whatevs. Yes I just said whatevz. And? Ok ....So anyway Blogs are meant to be taken advantage of right? I mean you can write whatever you want and maybe someone will read it? Maybe someone is being unnecessarily self-deprecating? UH yeah. Sorry, I guess. Ok . So I could write about what I did today. As I'm guessing most of the blog universe does. And add my own personal spin to it. A spin that couldn't quite be found on any other .blogspot. I WENT TO THE BEACH TODAY. I went to the beach and nearly became a slimier version of myself. This refers to the extremely high temperature, not to the possibility of acquiring a tramp stamp and/or considering the possibility of dating someone who thinks said trampstamps are "attractive". But yeah it was hot as balllllllllllls. Hopefully I changed colors yet again this summer and became a slightly darker me? Gah. Bleh. Blah. We'll see?

Um yeah......the day evolved into a party setting.....that included musical chairs! yippee for me because I chose to sit out and yell inexplicable statements while everyone else was struggling for some cushiony acceptance...also known as CHAIRS.


Good Night.