I feel guilty because it's been so long since I've posted and I'm getting worse and worse about posting as the months go by.
I think I know why.
You see I've been posting a lot on my tumblr lately (yes, I know, spare me your disgust and revulsion), and it's because- I have less respect for tumblr. I don't feel like it demands high quality, long, well-thought out posts, like blogspot does. It's just tumblr. I can be silly there, casual and candid and low-key. I reblog stupid sayings and sexy pictures and act every bit like the idiotic nineteen-year-old I am. I feel like I'm not being judged on tumblr, and I've got no one to impress. In fact, I've been getting more and more lax about what I put up there. I'm usually pretty uptight about what I post on the internet. Not big on a whole ton of personal details or pictures of myself or just- I don't know. I don't get into detail about the stuff in my life that is super personal. And with good reason. You never know who's reading what. Thinking about it now, I really just oughta go and delete a whole bunch of stuff from my tumblr right now. Not even because it's necessarily all that bad, it just might give people the wrong impression. Or the right impression that I don't want them to have...
But honestly, it feels good to be candid. I don't like hiding stuff. I like to be open. Not in-your-face, but not uptight. I'm a laid-back person in general, except for one tiny medical condition we won't get into here. I don't like having to get all crazy and intense about what I put up online. But I have good reason to be paranoid.
I don't even know why I'm posting this, like I'm trying to justify myself to you. I don't need to justify anything.
I'm bored. My new piercing hurts like a mother- this is the first time it's really hurt since I got it nearly two weeks ago- today it's just been really irritated for some unfathomable reason. My jaw is awful too and now I've just realized I almost forgot to take my meds, which would be all kinds of bad. I reek of cigarettes too, because I had a cigar on the back deck, because I was avoiding writing my paper, and that's about as BA as it gets over here in Pembroke.
Sometimes I get scared because I'm nineteen and life is too short not to live it the way you want to- I heard that in a movie once, and it hit hard, and I think it's so true but I'm way too much of a pansy to actually go out and do what I want.
I told my friends that- one night on the playground- told them how scared I was and what a coward I can be and my friend P told me I'm one of the bravest people he knows. It meant a lot, though I don't believe him. I don't think of myself as brave, at all. I think I'm learning things, constantly having new experiences and it is teaching me a bit of wisdom here and there. That's what I strive for, really, is wisdom through experience. I hate ignorance more than anything else and 75% of the things I do are so that I can avoid being ignorant.
But brave? Not on your life. So I let strangers stick needles into me, so I go out sometimes, so I stay out late or take a chance here and there. All of my chances don't really count because they're always physical. I risk my body, my health, my well-being.
But I never take emotional risks. I never tell people what I really think. I never put my personal, spiritual, inner well-being into any danger. I have never in my life really taken a chance on someone else or on myself.
I'm already way too emotionally screwed up without even putting myself in any risk, and honestly, my emotional fear is what I'd consider to be one of my greatest weaknesses. So, yeah, brave isn't exactly the word I'd choose to describe myself.
But what if I die before I ever work up the courage?
How's that for candid?
Listening: Shelter by Birdy
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Glad to be Home
I'm glad to be home. Don't get me wrong- London was amazing. So much more amazing than I ever could have imagined it would be. It wasn't even really the city so much, but more the people who were with me, that made it so amazing. But that's beside the point. London was incredible, yes. And Houghton was great too. I have enjoyed my months out and about in the world. But finally, ten long months later, I am glad to be home.
I am glad to be back at home, sharing my tiny bedroom in our tiny condominium with my nagging older sister. I'm glad to be home picking her hair snarls out of the drain in the shower. I'm glad to be home doing my laundry in a room that's only two yards from my bedroom, with my favorite laundry detergent, and getting to pick it up whenever I want. I'm glad to be home eating food with salt in it again, drinking Poland Spring Lime flavored seltzer water and Nantucket Nectar Lemonades and eating Greek Salads from the town pizza house with Cape Cod Potato Chips. I'm glad to be back eating dried pasta out of the bag. I'm glad to be able to give myself a pedicure: nail file, nail polish, remover, and Bath and Body Works walnut foot scrub included. I'm glad to be back home catching up on episodes of Glee and watching my roommate's Netflix and listening to Kimbra and Michael Jackson and Kaki King.
I'm glad to be home where we put cream in our coffee and I can go buy cosmetic products at Lush. I'm glad to be home spending nights in my friend's hot tub or around a campfire doing absolutely nothing. I'm glad to be home smelling the smell of wet dog- invading my bed, my blankets, my pillows. I'm glad to be home, following asleep with her curled up under my arm every night. I'm glad to be home doing book inventory for my old high school English teacher, squashing bugs, sleeping without air conditioning, trying to watch So You Think You Can Dance on a TV that doesn't get cable, listening to crap local radio. I'm glad to be home where there's internet access in my bedroom and the sun in Boston beats down on your shoulders and the people are obnoxious and the people are fast and the coffee is plentiful.
I'm glad to be home, where there are always peanut M&M's, but you can never find the hand held phone, and where I can tell you the name of someone who works in every building down the main street. I'm glad to be home where the smell of the salt sea fills the air when it rains and we never run out of coffee mugs and I can hug my best friend and spend all day with him and his freckles and still miss him when I get home. I'm glad to be home where the only thing you can do when you're eighteen is vote and everything closes by 9 and my parents try to impose curfews on me and I'm absolutely dead broke.
I'm just glad to be home.
I am glad to be back at home, sharing my tiny bedroom in our tiny condominium with my nagging older sister. I'm glad to be home picking her hair snarls out of the drain in the shower. I'm glad to be home doing my laundry in a room that's only two yards from my bedroom, with my favorite laundry detergent, and getting to pick it up whenever I want. I'm glad to be home eating food with salt in it again, drinking Poland Spring Lime flavored seltzer water and Nantucket Nectar Lemonades and eating Greek Salads from the town pizza house with Cape Cod Potato Chips. I'm glad to be back eating dried pasta out of the bag. I'm glad to be able to give myself a pedicure: nail file, nail polish, remover, and Bath and Body Works walnut foot scrub included. I'm glad to be back home catching up on episodes of Glee and watching my roommate's Netflix and listening to Kimbra and Michael Jackson and Kaki King.
I'm glad to be home where we put cream in our coffee and I can go buy cosmetic products at Lush. I'm glad to be home spending nights in my friend's hot tub or around a campfire doing absolutely nothing. I'm glad to be home smelling the smell of wet dog- invading my bed, my blankets, my pillows. I'm glad to be home, following asleep with her curled up under my arm every night. I'm glad to be home doing book inventory for my old high school English teacher, squashing bugs, sleeping without air conditioning, trying to watch So You Think You Can Dance on a TV that doesn't get cable, listening to crap local radio. I'm glad to be home where there's internet access in my bedroom and the sun in Boston beats down on your shoulders and the people are obnoxious and the people are fast and the coffee is plentiful.
I'm glad to be home, where there are always peanut M&M's, but you can never find the hand held phone, and where I can tell you the name of someone who works in every building down the main street. I'm glad to be home where the smell of the salt sea fills the air when it rains and we never run out of coffee mugs and I can hug my best friend and spend all day with him and his freckles and still miss him when I get home. I'm glad to be home where the only thing you can do when you're eighteen is vote and everything closes by 9 and my parents try to impose curfews on me and I'm absolutely dead broke.
I'm just glad to be home.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Reasons to Love London
This morning finds me nearing the end of a three-hour lecture in the most amazing city in the world, London. I know, my last post didn't find me all that excited about my trip to London, but believe me, have I ever changed my tune. If you've never been to London, you might not understand what's so great about it, so conveniently, I've made you a list of the reasons why it's so wonderful and why you should be jealous of me right now.
Reasons to Love London:
1. Fashion: The fashion here is remarkable. Well, to be honest, it's rather more toned-down that a lot of the wild stuff I've witnessed in Boston, but perhaps that's a good thing. Either way, it's very trendy. I've bought a lot of clothes. Too many clothes. But that's alright because it's London. Colors that are in right now are pastels and also striped patterns, like the sailor look, reds and navies and golds. It's absolutely fabulous. I can dress like I think my name is Blaine Anderson and nobody looks at me twice.
2. History: History is everywhere but it's not that entirely dull kind of history, it's very classic and interesting. There are incredible museums with some of the most famous art and artifacts in the world and there are ancient buildings and cathedrals that are simply glorious and even if you don't care who lived there or what they did, it's still very nice to look at and fun to take pictures of.
3. Pubs: Pubs are like bars but classier and with better food. The best food in London is at the pubs. Everyone in pubs speaks with a British accent and the waiters are friendly and say "cheers" when they leave the table and you don't have to tip. Best of all, you can go to pubs even though you're only eighteen. There is a whole new maturity in London that you don't get as a nineteen year old palling around Boston. It's great.
4. Weather: Most days it's rainy, which a lot of people might not like, but I love. Rain means it's always perfect writing weather and people get to wear cute raincoats and it's never overly-hot and there's always an excuse to drink hot coffee. (Or tea!) But it does get warm here too, and the sun actually doesn't set until ten at night, so the days are endless and it's lovely.
5. Getting hit on: British men can be quite randy and when you are walking the streets with friends, especially when it gets later and the people are out drinking, you get whistled and hit on constantly. If ever you needed a self-esteem boost, London is the place to be.
6. Transport Ease: There are so many places to go and it is so easy to go to those places. You don't need a car or a driver's license. All you need is a tube pass and you hold magic in your hands. The tube can take you anywhere and everywhere and in this way you can see just about everything you could possibly dream of seeing. It's fantastic.
7. Accents: British accents are sophisticated and sexy and sometimes, if you're very good at it, you can pretend to have one too and blend right in.
8. Classiness: Everything in London is very classy. Even the sluts seem classier here. The city is classier than American cities and safer too. There is a whole ton of night life that just floods the streets on the weekends. Everyone is just out having a good time and it's really lovely to see.
9. A certain "laissez-faire" approach to life: British people are more chill than Americans. That's not to say they're lazy or slow, quite the opposite, they're on top of things. But they're relaxed about things. The rules aren't so strict or uptight. You can drink on the street, you can drink at age 18, you can smoke almost anywhere, people don't bother you, and there is a lot more nudity on TV. Call me a filthy lib but there's something very appealing about all that. I blame it on the fact that I'm a writer. The British way of life is fascinating for me as a writer, there is a certain candidness and honesty that you don't get in America and I appreciate it.
10. Smart: The reason that people in London can be so candid and laid back is because they're smart enough not to be stupid. They have self-control. They know how to enjoy life but be successful at life at the same time. They aren't bums. They've figured it out.
11. Shopping: There's tons of stuff to buy. (Too much stuff to buy.)
12. Literature: All the best writers, like C.S. Lewis and Tolkien and Jane Austen lived here (or at least around here).
13. Celebrities: A lot of celebrities live here and come here and I saw Romy from the xx at an outdoor shopping festival and that is a beautiful thing.
14. Time: It feels like time has stopped in this little place, or maybe it's the other way around: time has stopped everywhere else and we're just moving in our circle of time here. Either way, it feels like we could live here forever and not get any older, and the rest of the world would fly by but we would stay here, happy, and the rest of the world doesn't even exist or matter.
Reasons to Love London:
1. Fashion: The fashion here is remarkable. Well, to be honest, it's rather more toned-down that a lot of the wild stuff I've witnessed in Boston, but perhaps that's a good thing. Either way, it's very trendy. I've bought a lot of clothes. Too many clothes. But that's alright because it's London. Colors that are in right now are pastels and also striped patterns, like the sailor look, reds and navies and golds. It's absolutely fabulous. I can dress like I think my name is Blaine Anderson and nobody looks at me twice.
2. History: History is everywhere but it's not that entirely dull kind of history, it's very classic and interesting. There are incredible museums with some of the most famous art and artifacts in the world and there are ancient buildings and cathedrals that are simply glorious and even if you don't care who lived there or what they did, it's still very nice to look at and fun to take pictures of.
3. Pubs: Pubs are like bars but classier and with better food. The best food in London is at the pubs. Everyone in pubs speaks with a British accent and the waiters are friendly and say "cheers" when they leave the table and you don't have to tip. Best of all, you can go to pubs even though you're only eighteen. There is a whole new maturity in London that you don't get as a nineteen year old palling around Boston. It's great.
4. Weather: Most days it's rainy, which a lot of people might not like, but I love. Rain means it's always perfect writing weather and people get to wear cute raincoats and it's never overly-hot and there's always an excuse to drink hot coffee. (Or tea!) But it does get warm here too, and the sun actually doesn't set until ten at night, so the days are endless and it's lovely.
5. Getting hit on: British men can be quite randy and when you are walking the streets with friends, especially when it gets later and the people are out drinking, you get whistled and hit on constantly. If ever you needed a self-esteem boost, London is the place to be.
6. Transport Ease: There are so many places to go and it is so easy to go to those places. You don't need a car or a driver's license. All you need is a tube pass and you hold magic in your hands. The tube can take you anywhere and everywhere and in this way you can see just about everything you could possibly dream of seeing. It's fantastic.
7. Accents: British accents are sophisticated and sexy and sometimes, if you're very good at it, you can pretend to have one too and blend right in.
8. Classiness: Everything in London is very classy. Even the sluts seem classier here. The city is classier than American cities and safer too. There is a whole ton of night life that just floods the streets on the weekends. Everyone is just out having a good time and it's really lovely to see.
9. A certain "laissez-faire" approach to life: British people are more chill than Americans. That's not to say they're lazy or slow, quite the opposite, they're on top of things. But they're relaxed about things. The rules aren't so strict or uptight. You can drink on the street, you can drink at age 18, you can smoke almost anywhere, people don't bother you, and there is a lot more nudity on TV. Call me a filthy lib but there's something very appealing about all that. I blame it on the fact that I'm a writer. The British way of life is fascinating for me as a writer, there is a certain candidness and honesty that you don't get in America and I appreciate it.
10. Smart: The reason that people in London can be so candid and laid back is because they're smart enough not to be stupid. They have self-control. They know how to enjoy life but be successful at life at the same time. They aren't bums. They've figured it out.
11. Shopping: There's tons of stuff to buy. (Too much stuff to buy.)
12. Literature: All the best writers, like C.S. Lewis and Tolkien and Jane Austen lived here (or at least around here).
13. Celebrities: A lot of celebrities live here and come here and I saw Romy from the xx at an outdoor shopping festival and that is a beautiful thing.
14. Time: It feels like time has stopped in this little place, or maybe it's the other way around: time has stopped everywhere else and we're just moving in our circle of time here. Either way, it feels like we could live here forever and not get any older, and the rest of the world would fly by but we would stay here, happy, and the rest of the world doesn't even exist or matter.
Monday, May 14, 2012
London, Sleeping, Edward Sharpe and Glee
Blah Blah Blah this post is going to contain absolutely nothing of substance, I just feel like I should write because it's May 14th and that means I'm going to London today but I'll be there tomorrow, which is still really confusing but whatever, I'm not gonna try and figure out exactly how many hours I'm losing or anything like that, I just really don't care.
I got home on Wednesday- now it's Monday, so I've had very little time to rest and recuperate from my first year of college, which was, purely, exhausting. Not even because the work was all that hard (it wasn't. Or maybe it was but I just didn't do any of it. That sounds about right.) I'm such a lazy drip and all I want to do is sleep all the time and usually my bed has no problem lulling me back into the oblivion of napping and even when I wake up, all I can think about is going back to sleep. It's a fantasy really, it's all I daydream about. Napping, napping, napping, sleeping, sleep. I understand now what Dooce was talking about in her blog, one of the earlier posts from back when she started it in 2001...holy mother at the time I was eight I think- yeah I was eight, and I had no idea how much what she was writing at the time would resonate with me someday, eleven years later:
http://dooce.com/archives/daily/10_04_2001.html
The first time I read that, I was like woah Dooce I feel ya, but I had no idea really at the time what she was talking about. The desire for sleep that I used to feel, back in high school, was just the normal sleepiness of a teenager. Teenagers like sleeping,we need a lot of it, we've got major hormone action and we've got a crap load of course work and man we are just under a whole lot of stress all of the time. Now college students, famously, we're not supposed to sleep, and I don't get as much as I would like- that certainly is true- but the problem is I can't function on that little sleep like other kids can. Because of the drugs. Drugs make the sleep deprivation I used to feel now seem like just a yawn, a mild, vague feeling of tiredness. The sleepiness I feel now can only be described by the post I linked to above. It is all-consuming, incapacitating, entirely demanding. I cannot help but give into its demands, no matter my location- be it the subway, church, or in the middle of class. The sleep monster must be satiated.
So that has me a little worried for London, just because me and the sleep monster are still really grappling, we aren't getting along too well, I don't know how to resist him, and that could pose a real problem in London, where I'm expected to do all this vigorous course work and crap. But I'm not gonna worry about it anymore cause where's the point in that?
Meanwhile I went to an Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros concert Saturday. It would've been rad except our seats were super far away, which made it hard to get into the full feel of things, and the guy next to us was high as a kite and smelled it. He asked me what I liked most about Edward Sharpe- I fumbled a bit for an answer but told him they didn't have a song I didn't like, I liked the energy I'd seen on their youtube videos and they were just fun. In return, he told me they changed the way he thought about things. I said like what. He said...movement...like movement through space. I wanted to suggest that perhaps it was the pot that was changing the way he thought about movement through space but then he got engaged in a conversation with his Asian girlfriend, who was also high. Krista and I spent the rest of the concert imitating their dance movies- high hipster, as seems a fitting name for him- was doing a very energetic, weird jerky thing, kind of like he was a marionette and the puppeteer was off his meds- and Asian girlfriend was doing a swaying, dreamy, eyes-closed sort of thing, like she was having a spiritual experience. All in all, they made for a very entertaining night, until high hipster got a mysterious text and had to go, failing to return for the rest of the show. After that the only entertainment (besides the band obviously) was a bunch of drunk friends, maybe in their late twenties or early thirties, all behaving in a thoroughly obnoxious manner not at all appropriate for their age which reminded me why drinking alcohol in public is a bad idea if you want to maintain any semblance of dignity of your person at all. There were several females in the party, none of them overly-attractive, all shouting at each other and hugging at regular intervals and talking through the majority of the performances. Krista aptly described them as a group that would have been much better suited to a Kenny Chesney concert- it was true. They were trying to be cool and indie but everything about them screamed the opposite. Major secondhand embarrassment. They watched a video of a cat chasing a fish on an iPad nine times. Nine. Times. People. I mean I guess it's kinda funny but oh wait IT'S NOT THAT FUNNY. I could give them the benefit of the doubt and say alcohol played a role but to be fair they had barely started drinking at that point, so I'm pretty sure they were just idiots even while sober. The Asian chick left after a while (she needed wider, more open space in which to sway in) but her and high hipster's backpack was still in the seat and one of the two guys in the drunk group, Douchebag McGee as I fondly refer to him, stole a joint from her backpack and smoked it. If Douchebag McGee was an obnoxious drunk, he was even worse while stoned. He proceeded to dance provocatively, (lots of pelvic thrusting), feel up his girlfriend, and shout. Just general shouting. He also stole a poster from me in a manner which I expect he thought was sly, but much to his chagrin, I stole it back when he wasn't looking. He was not happy.
Overall very fun night. It was topped off by a drunk girl, slender with a cheetah-patterned bra which was entirely visible through the gaps in her slashed and tattered t-shirt that was falling off her skinny shoulders (Fashion statement people) stumbling and clutching onto a hot boyfriend who yelled gleefully "my girlfriend's drunk!" The next I saw of them, the girl was lying down on the sidewalk outside of the Orpheum theater with her boyfriend on top of her, engaged in some passionate kissing/slobbering. I might've been disgusted, but the couple was attractive and the girl had lots of badass tattoos so I was alright with it. Also, I've never seen anyone literally lay down in the streets of Boston and get it on before, so that was kind of cool. A new high of debauchery/patheticness.
So yup. Good times in the city. Boston, you're my home!
Other than that, what have I been doing with myself in the brief time that I've been home? Television. Catching up on New Girl, and, I confess, Glee. I love Glee and I'm not ashamed people. Not only is it funny, sexy, lovably stupid, entertaining, and musical in a good way- but it has Darren Criss. And I really like Darren Criss. Really really really a lot. I am actually completely smitten with Darren Criss but that's another story.
I've been listening to a lot of Rihanna, Kaki King, Justin Timberlake, Glee covers, Santigold, The Beatles, Audioslave and Justin Bieber. Don't judge, his new CD is catchy.
I've also been catching up with friends, and home-brewed coffee, and sleep, and my dog, and ice cream from Dairy Twist, and stuff like that.
But all that pleasantness is over because I have to go to London and yes I say have to and yes I'm not exactly excited but hopefully it'll be kind of fun and not totally miserable...
I'll let you know.
Catch ya on the flipside my blogging friends.
I got home on Wednesday- now it's Monday, so I've had very little time to rest and recuperate from my first year of college, which was, purely, exhausting. Not even because the work was all that hard (it wasn't. Or maybe it was but I just didn't do any of it. That sounds about right.) I'm such a lazy drip and all I want to do is sleep all the time and usually my bed has no problem lulling me back into the oblivion of napping and even when I wake up, all I can think about is going back to sleep. It's a fantasy really, it's all I daydream about. Napping, napping, napping, sleeping, sleep. I understand now what Dooce was talking about in her blog, one of the earlier posts from back when she started it in 2001...holy mother at the time I was eight I think- yeah I was eight, and I had no idea how much what she was writing at the time would resonate with me someday, eleven years later:
http://dooce.com/archives/daily/10_04_2001.html
The first time I read that, I was like woah Dooce I feel ya, but I had no idea really at the time what she was talking about. The desire for sleep that I used to feel, back in high school, was just the normal sleepiness of a teenager. Teenagers like sleeping,we need a lot of it, we've got major hormone action and we've got a crap load of course work and man we are just under a whole lot of stress all of the time. Now college students, famously, we're not supposed to sleep, and I don't get as much as I would like- that certainly is true- but the problem is I can't function on that little sleep like other kids can. Because of the drugs. Drugs make the sleep deprivation I used to feel now seem like just a yawn, a mild, vague feeling of tiredness. The sleepiness I feel now can only be described by the post I linked to above. It is all-consuming, incapacitating, entirely demanding. I cannot help but give into its demands, no matter my location- be it the subway, church, or in the middle of class. The sleep monster must be satiated.
So that has me a little worried for London, just because me and the sleep monster are still really grappling, we aren't getting along too well, I don't know how to resist him, and that could pose a real problem in London, where I'm expected to do all this vigorous course work and crap. But I'm not gonna worry about it anymore cause where's the point in that?
Meanwhile I went to an Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros concert Saturday. It would've been rad except our seats were super far away, which made it hard to get into the full feel of things, and the guy next to us was high as a kite and smelled it. He asked me what I liked most about Edward Sharpe- I fumbled a bit for an answer but told him they didn't have a song I didn't like, I liked the energy I'd seen on their youtube videos and they were just fun. In return, he told me they changed the way he thought about things. I said like what. He said...movement...like movement through space. I wanted to suggest that perhaps it was the pot that was changing the way he thought about movement through space but then he got engaged in a conversation with his Asian girlfriend, who was also high. Krista and I spent the rest of the concert imitating their dance movies- high hipster, as seems a fitting name for him- was doing a very energetic, weird jerky thing, kind of like he was a marionette and the puppeteer was off his meds- and Asian girlfriend was doing a swaying, dreamy, eyes-closed sort of thing, like she was having a spiritual experience. All in all, they made for a very entertaining night, until high hipster got a mysterious text and had to go, failing to return for the rest of the show. After that the only entertainment (besides the band obviously) was a bunch of drunk friends, maybe in their late twenties or early thirties, all behaving in a thoroughly obnoxious manner not at all appropriate for their age which reminded me why drinking alcohol in public is a bad idea if you want to maintain any semblance of dignity of your person at all. There were several females in the party, none of them overly-attractive, all shouting at each other and hugging at regular intervals and talking through the majority of the performances. Krista aptly described them as a group that would have been much better suited to a Kenny Chesney concert- it was true. They were trying to be cool and indie but everything about them screamed the opposite. Major secondhand embarrassment. They watched a video of a cat chasing a fish on an iPad nine times. Nine. Times. People. I mean I guess it's kinda funny but oh wait IT'S NOT THAT FUNNY. I could give them the benefit of the doubt and say alcohol played a role but to be fair they had barely started drinking at that point, so I'm pretty sure they were just idiots even while sober. The Asian chick left after a while (she needed wider, more open space in which to sway in) but her and high hipster's backpack was still in the seat and one of the two guys in the drunk group, Douchebag McGee as I fondly refer to him, stole a joint from her backpack and smoked it. If Douchebag McGee was an obnoxious drunk, he was even worse while stoned. He proceeded to dance provocatively, (lots of pelvic thrusting), feel up his girlfriend, and shout. Just general shouting. He also stole a poster from me in a manner which I expect he thought was sly, but much to his chagrin, I stole it back when he wasn't looking. He was not happy.
Overall very fun night. It was topped off by a drunk girl, slender with a cheetah-patterned bra which was entirely visible through the gaps in her slashed and tattered t-shirt that was falling off her skinny shoulders (Fashion statement people) stumbling and clutching onto a hot boyfriend who yelled gleefully "my girlfriend's drunk!" The next I saw of them, the girl was lying down on the sidewalk outside of the Orpheum theater with her boyfriend on top of her, engaged in some passionate kissing/slobbering. I might've been disgusted, but the couple was attractive and the girl had lots of badass tattoos so I was alright with it. Also, I've never seen anyone literally lay down in the streets of Boston and get it on before, so that was kind of cool. A new high of debauchery/patheticness.
So yup. Good times in the city. Boston, you're my home!
Other than that, what have I been doing with myself in the brief time that I've been home? Television. Catching up on New Girl, and, I confess, Glee. I love Glee and I'm not ashamed people. Not only is it funny, sexy, lovably stupid, entertaining, and musical in a good way- but it has Darren Criss. And I really like Darren Criss. Really really really a lot. I am actually completely smitten with Darren Criss but that's another story.
I've been listening to a lot of Rihanna, Kaki King, Justin Timberlake, Glee covers, Santigold, The Beatles, Audioslave and Justin Bieber. Don't judge, his new CD is catchy.
I've also been catching up with friends, and home-brewed coffee, and sleep, and my dog, and ice cream from Dairy Twist, and stuff like that.
But all that pleasantness is over because I have to go to London and yes I say have to and yes I'm not exactly excited but hopefully it'll be kind of fun and not totally miserable...
I'll let you know.
Catch ya on the flipside my blogging friends.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Breaking Point (A Lesson In Fiction)
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Sunday, April 8, 2012
Two Minutes
Hello:
Taking two minutes here to say,
I miss you all terribly
And I know I am a dreadful slovenly individual who doesn't update her blog or make good on her promises. Look forward to some delightful high-quality posts to make up for it in the very near future, and hopefully some forgiveness-inspiring explanations.
Until then mes amis.
[AND Happy Easter. I hope yours was as pleasantly awkward and filled with uncomfortable moments as mine.]
Taking two minutes here to say,
I miss you all terribly
And I know I am a dreadful slovenly individual who doesn't update her blog or make good on her promises. Look forward to some delightful high-quality posts to make up for it in the very near future, and hopefully some forgiveness-inspiring explanations.
Until then mes amis.
[AND Happy Easter. I hope yours was as pleasantly awkward and filled with uncomfortable moments as mine.]
Friday, March 2, 2012
Fiction Friday Vol. II
Blogging from Wheaton College in Mass right now folks. That's right, I'm at Wheaton, partying it up college kid style, and I still had the love and consideration to write you a post. Actually I've had this particular Fiction Friday waiting around for a few days to post until Friday came around but shh don't tell anyone that. Right now I just look like a really awesome blogger. (To be fair, it was a struggle and a half to get the stupid internet here to work and finally I just resorted to posting from my best friend's computer.) So here it is! Enjoy! Sorry that not nearly a generous enough amount of editing was done.
Disillusionment and Sofia Vergara
He. His name is Jonas and he sits across from me in a cafeteria booth- the same cafeteria booth, but I don't tell him that. His eyes are ice blue shards that glint in the sunlight streaming across his crooked face. His face that is always half-shadowed, as if some mysterious, dark presence has settled and made its home there.
His long fingers tease at the burnt edges of a sesame-seed bagel: toasted, but dry, as he tells me how he lost his faith. He speaks of it as though it is a tangible thing, like a locket, something he held in his hand and felt the cool smooth weight of, until one day, he just lost it.
He was in high school at the time. He is not looking at me when he says this, rather looking out the window, and the unflinching sunlight bathing his figure feels garish at a time like this. This is serious. This is somber. The shadows on Jonas' face are darker than usual. And the stupid dumbass sun keeps shining in, intruding on this moment. Such a romantic moment, I think shallowly. Bon Iver ought to be playing in the background.
He took some classes at the local college. Most of the kids in his high school did; it was encouraged. This is when he lost the locket- his faith I mean.
It just didn't make sense anymore, he is saying to me, and his skinny fingers move to circling the rim of his half-empty orange juice glass. My faith- I realized that my faith was a sham. It was just ignorance.
And it was frightening. He has not said that part, not so explicitly, but I can see it on the shadows on his face, in the flickering of his eyes. It was frightening the first time he realized it might not all be true. I know this without him actually verbalizing it. I have been there before.
It was when I told my parents I was bisexual, and in doing that, renounced everything they had ever taught me, everything I had ever known. In their eyes, you couldn't be bisexual and still have a piece of their faith. It wasn't possible. I knew that being bisexual meant that I couldn't hold onto my faith anymore. I still believed in God. That was a knowledge that had been inescapably ingrained in my brain since infancy. But faith- faith was something I couldn't cling to anymore. I ran away. I had to run away.
Jonas is talking now, about how glad he is. I'm glad I know though. He makes sure that my eyes are hitched with his eyes while he says this. As sad as it is, to realize everything you believed was a lie, it's better to know. I'd rather know. And I still believe in God, you know. Maybe someday, I'll come back to it all. But for now, I'm glad I know.
He drains the cup of orange juice.
I agree with what he has said. It is sad. He feels that he has won something with his knowledge, but really, I think that he has lost. I think this for a brief moment, before I am distracted by the sesame seed that has found its way to his outer lip. I want to lean forward and lick it off, or perhaps remove it with my teeth, so carefully, barely grazing their hard shellacked edges with the softness of his skin.
He sees my gaze then and smiles, softly. Perhaps he knows, knows how much his disillusionment has enchanted me. I am a writer; I can't help but be drawn to his woundedness, his brokenness. His brooding, dark, mysteriously veiled face. I want to help him. But I can't because I don't have the answers myself.
--------------
Jonas told me once that he thought Sofia Vergara was beautiful. He said it in a mild way, offhandedly. He was not graphic, did not go into the details about what he would like to do to her, if he could get with her. He just said she was beautiful. He liked the way she looked.
It made my heart ache in that way it always does when someone I think is beautiful talks about how beautiful someone else is. In that moment, the only thing I wanted in the whole entire world was to be Sofia Vergara. And wasn't that a stupid thought. If I was Sofia Vergara, I would not be here. I would not even know Jonas. The type of men that I could have- well that's just it, they would be men, not disillusioned boys, not like Jonas. I would be far and away from this place. I would not be scared. I would have a grip on my life. I would not be so desperately enamored of this sad little boy with his deep voice and daring dispassion. And I would have that idiotic accent. That woman has some body, but man I hate her accent.
I told him that, when he said how much he liked Sofia. I told him her accent was dumb. He smiled at that, and my heart warmed, though I had ordered it not to. But I can't help it when it comes to Jonas. Little pieces of my heart warm at all the things he does. At the way his voice is so much deeper than you would expect it to be and at the way he seems all apathetic about everything in the world but he's still really smart and he works hard and gets good grades in school, and most especially- it warms at the way he smiles at something I've said, even if his smile is making fun of me, like it is now.
You're just jealous he says, and he's completely right and I hate him for that. You shouldn't worry about it. You look just fine. Tabitha.
----------------
My good friend Sarah, who is older and wiser than I am, once told me that I was a lovely girl. You're beautiful, Tabby. Beautiful Tabitha. He had told it to me too, when we were in the booth, touching each other quietly, brokenly. The same booth where Jonas and I had talked about the missing faith. I had touched another boy there, a lonely boy, and he had told me I was beautiful.
But beautiful is a subjective thing. I didn't tell that to him, not in the booth. It wasn't the time for arguments. But I told it to Sarah, because it was true and she knew it and she smiled at me and dropped into my hands a piece of her wisdom.
You are beautiful, and I don't think anyone could miss it. But it's a special kind of beauty. You're beautiful to those who are young. The young, the broken and the disillusioned. They can see the beauty in you, in your rebellion, in the way that you run.
I just wanted Jonas to see the beauty in me, and I told Sarah that.
He does, I think. Jonas knows you're beautiful. He sees that. But you're not- and don't take offense to this Tabitha- you're not the right kind of beautiful. You're the kind of beautiful that he wants to touch, that he wants to feel pressed up against him. You have the beauty whose hips he wants to encircle, whose legs he wants to graze, whose breasts he wants to bury his heartbroken face in. Your lips, your soft hair: this is the beauty that is a balm to his disillusioned soul. You could heal him right now. Your beauty could be what he needs, to find the beauty in everything else again, to find the beauty in the whole, not just the part, to find the beauty in the world. You are a beauty for now, and a beauty for here, and a beauty for this. But you aren't the type of beautiful that he's going to remain enchanted by forever. You aren't- you aren't the type of beautiful he's going to want to take home to mother.
That's fine. I don't want to meet Jonas' mother. Sarah's words don't hurt me, no, they make a lot of sense, really they do. I'm not the girl he brings home to mother. And by he I mean any he. Not just Jonas but all of them, all of the hes in the world he might be enchanted by my beauty. My beauty that exists in my uncertainty, in my rebellion, in my running away.
Jonas is running from God, and that is why my beauty enchants him. That is why my beauty is not something his mother would see, is not something he could share with her, or share for a lifetime. Once he finds God again, and I hope that he will, my beauty will fade into the background of a pure, golden-haired virgin. Home-schooled probably. Never said the f-word in her whole damn life.
But, but, but,
Can't they see this? Can't they see it here, on my face, in my eyes, in my voice that is no longer so afraid?
I am not running anymore.
Disillusionment and Sofia Vergara
He. His name is Jonas and he sits across from me in a cafeteria booth- the same cafeteria booth, but I don't tell him that. His eyes are ice blue shards that glint in the sunlight streaming across his crooked face. His face that is always half-shadowed, as if some mysterious, dark presence has settled and made its home there.
His long fingers tease at the burnt edges of a sesame-seed bagel: toasted, but dry, as he tells me how he lost his faith. He speaks of it as though it is a tangible thing, like a locket, something he held in his hand and felt the cool smooth weight of, until one day, he just lost it.
He was in high school at the time. He is not looking at me when he says this, rather looking out the window, and the unflinching sunlight bathing his figure feels garish at a time like this. This is serious. This is somber. The shadows on Jonas' face are darker than usual. And the stupid dumbass sun keeps shining in, intruding on this moment. Such a romantic moment, I think shallowly. Bon Iver ought to be playing in the background.
He took some classes at the local college. Most of the kids in his high school did; it was encouraged. This is when he lost the locket- his faith I mean.
It just didn't make sense anymore, he is saying to me, and his skinny fingers move to circling the rim of his half-empty orange juice glass. My faith- I realized that my faith was a sham. It was just ignorance.
And it was frightening. He has not said that part, not so explicitly, but I can see it on the shadows on his face, in the flickering of his eyes. It was frightening the first time he realized it might not all be true. I know this without him actually verbalizing it. I have been there before.
It was when I told my parents I was bisexual, and in doing that, renounced everything they had ever taught me, everything I had ever known. In their eyes, you couldn't be bisexual and still have a piece of their faith. It wasn't possible. I knew that being bisexual meant that I couldn't hold onto my faith anymore. I still believed in God. That was a knowledge that had been inescapably ingrained in my brain since infancy. But faith- faith was something I couldn't cling to anymore. I ran away. I had to run away.
Jonas is talking now, about how glad he is. I'm glad I know though. He makes sure that my eyes are hitched with his eyes while he says this. As sad as it is, to realize everything you believed was a lie, it's better to know. I'd rather know. And I still believe in God, you know. Maybe someday, I'll come back to it all. But for now, I'm glad I know.
He drains the cup of orange juice.
I agree with what he has said. It is sad. He feels that he has won something with his knowledge, but really, I think that he has lost. I think this for a brief moment, before I am distracted by the sesame seed that has found its way to his outer lip. I want to lean forward and lick it off, or perhaps remove it with my teeth, so carefully, barely grazing their hard shellacked edges with the softness of his skin.
He sees my gaze then and smiles, softly. Perhaps he knows, knows how much his disillusionment has enchanted me. I am a writer; I can't help but be drawn to his woundedness, his brokenness. His brooding, dark, mysteriously veiled face. I want to help him. But I can't because I don't have the answers myself.
--------------
Jonas told me once that he thought Sofia Vergara was beautiful. He said it in a mild way, offhandedly. He was not graphic, did not go into the details about what he would like to do to her, if he could get with her. He just said she was beautiful. He liked the way she looked.
It made my heart ache in that way it always does when someone I think is beautiful talks about how beautiful someone else is. In that moment, the only thing I wanted in the whole entire world was to be Sofia Vergara. And wasn't that a stupid thought. If I was Sofia Vergara, I would not be here. I would not even know Jonas. The type of men that I could have- well that's just it, they would be men, not disillusioned boys, not like Jonas. I would be far and away from this place. I would not be scared. I would have a grip on my life. I would not be so desperately enamored of this sad little boy with his deep voice and daring dispassion. And I would have that idiotic accent. That woman has some body, but man I hate her accent.
I told him that, when he said how much he liked Sofia. I told him her accent was dumb. He smiled at that, and my heart warmed, though I had ordered it not to. But I can't help it when it comes to Jonas. Little pieces of my heart warm at all the things he does. At the way his voice is so much deeper than you would expect it to be and at the way he seems all apathetic about everything in the world but he's still really smart and he works hard and gets good grades in school, and most especially- it warms at the way he smiles at something I've said, even if his smile is making fun of me, like it is now.
You're just jealous he says, and he's completely right and I hate him for that. You shouldn't worry about it. You look just fine. Tabitha.
----------------
My good friend Sarah, who is older and wiser than I am, once told me that I was a lovely girl. You're beautiful, Tabby. Beautiful Tabitha. He had told it to me too, when we were in the booth, touching each other quietly, brokenly. The same booth where Jonas and I had talked about the missing faith. I had touched another boy there, a lonely boy, and he had told me I was beautiful.
But beautiful is a subjective thing. I didn't tell that to him, not in the booth. It wasn't the time for arguments. But I told it to Sarah, because it was true and she knew it and she smiled at me and dropped into my hands a piece of her wisdom.
You are beautiful, and I don't think anyone could miss it. But it's a special kind of beauty. You're beautiful to those who are young. The young, the broken and the disillusioned. They can see the beauty in you, in your rebellion, in the way that you run.
I just wanted Jonas to see the beauty in me, and I told Sarah that.
He does, I think. Jonas knows you're beautiful. He sees that. But you're not- and don't take offense to this Tabitha- you're not the right kind of beautiful. You're the kind of beautiful that he wants to touch, that he wants to feel pressed up against him. You have the beauty whose hips he wants to encircle, whose legs he wants to graze, whose breasts he wants to bury his heartbroken face in. Your lips, your soft hair: this is the beauty that is a balm to his disillusioned soul. You could heal him right now. Your beauty could be what he needs, to find the beauty in everything else again, to find the beauty in the whole, not just the part, to find the beauty in the world. You are a beauty for now, and a beauty for here, and a beauty for this. But you aren't the type of beautiful that he's going to remain enchanted by forever. You aren't- you aren't the type of beautiful he's going to want to take home to mother.
That's fine. I don't want to meet Jonas' mother. Sarah's words don't hurt me, no, they make a lot of sense, really they do. I'm not the girl he brings home to mother. And by he I mean any he. Not just Jonas but all of them, all of the hes in the world he might be enchanted by my beauty. My beauty that exists in my uncertainty, in my rebellion, in my running away.
Jonas is running from God, and that is why my beauty enchants him. That is why my beauty is not something his mother would see, is not something he could share with her, or share for a lifetime. Once he finds God again, and I hope that he will, my beauty will fade into the background of a pure, golden-haired virgin. Home-schooled probably. Never said the f-word in her whole damn life.
But, but, but,
Can't they see this? Can't they see it here, on my face, in my eyes, in my voice that is no longer so afraid?
I am not running anymore.
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