You don't want to hear about the mess I made of things with me and Que. He's still around but...that's a tale for another time. Maybe.
Not to keep harping on this but where is my man? Seriously, where is he? I have never had a boyfriend, never been on a date, never held somebody's hand as we walked down the street. What thee fuck. I mean I guess I haven't needed a man for the past 21 years but I sure as hell have wanted one. I'm used to not having one obviously but sometimes in the dark, quiet corners of the night I wonder where my love is. Every time I console myself into thinking I'll be fine on my own I get a glimmer of hope, a wisp of a man's attentions and he says all the right things and I think, holy shit, maybe I'm not doomed! But then he reveals his true colors and I sink back down again and the walls come back up.
I think I'm not attractive. Not ugly but literally not able to attract. Que says (in a judgy and kind of condescending tone of someone who's never had a problem meeting women) that it's my fault that I keep attracting guys who just want to have sex with me and I don't present the right package and I should flirt more because he always gets the girls that he wants by flirting with them. Is that in ANY way helpful to tell someone who's borderline socially retarded and introverted? That's about as useful as telling an anorexic "to just eat something already." But he succeeds in making me feel bad about myself because, well, he has a harem so it must be me, right? I just have to remember that he's attracted to a certain type of woman and I am certainly not her and dating advice is rarely general. I guess I just have to be patient--God hasn't seen fit to put a man in my life, apparently. Y'all know patience isn't my strong suit...and it especially kind of stings hearing Que say those things because it's him. He was supposed to be the one who wanted me back. He certainly acted like he did, in the beginning, anyway, even before the sex (and I use the term "sex" loosely, for the sake of brevity), but I guess it was all lip service or he's a really good actor. He's very good at avoiding the tough stuff. We will literally talk all the way to the point of:
Me: "I wouldn't mind being your girlfriend. All you have to do is ask." Him: "But would you cook sometimes?" Me: "I'll try." Him: *crickets*
And that will be that. What am I supposed to get from that conversation? And he'll be the one to bring it up! If I really didn't think that we would make an awesome team and have so much fun together then I'd leave it at that. But I think we would. And call me crazy but I think he knows it too.
Or maybe I am just delusional and like torture...
Showing posts with label This Can't Be Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label This Can't Be Life. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
The Mistake I Wasn't Supposed to Make
You lot were right about the whole friends-with-benefits thing. It isn't just happy naked times. Somewhere along the lines I developed feelings for this young man. This isn't what I bargained for! I don't know if I am just transferring the lust into a different part of my brain that feels actual emotion, but, yeah. I want him all to myself, or at least acknowledge that it's not just physical. Because we were friends at first. And now we're lovers (how cliche). And now I'm past kicking him out in the light of day but find myself wanting to hang on a little longer. He's weird. He says he wants one girl. We drop "what if we were together as a couple" hints all the time. I want to hide my feelings but somehow make him confess his. Needless to say, THIS SUCKS. Somebody hold me...
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Jacked
For ONCE, it's not my fault. I have, for ONCE, a good reason not to blog. If there was ever a time to use the "this can't be life" tag, this would be it.
I was robbed. Um, twice.
The first time, someone kicked open my door and stole just about everything a) valuable, 2) sentimental, 3) that makes my life convenient and manageable. These things include Blackberry Curve (the second one I've lost for those counting at home), my LAPTOP, car keys, purse (the 2nd best knockoff I ownded) wallet, backpack (I had to buy a new Spanish book) and downstairs stuff.
They left my TV and DVD player, though.
And get this, this past weekend, someone broke into Cali Girl's trunk while we were at a club and stole our purses. Including the purple bag my mom bought me from NYC (Chinatown--the best knockoff I owned) and my new debit card and spare car key that I'd just gotten--to replace THE ONES STOLEN THE FIRST FUCKING TIME AROUND.
This shit is for the birds. I'm okay, I guess, past being scared and onto irritated. Because who gets robbed twice? Oh, yeah, the first time, I was in the house, sleeping way late, while degenerate asshole burglars cleaned me out. Basically, a something (work with me here) told me to stay under the covers, perfectly still. Yes, I think it was my instinct/gut/God trying to save my arse from something worse than losing all my stuff.
Let's not talk about it. Although I have to say what pisses me off way more than I thought was that my makeup bag was in my bag. Not only do you want my money but you want me to look busted in the process? The nerve.
When I get a new comp I shall update yall more about the happier stuff, like my new internship with an NBA team, my cousin's wedding, and my current crush. Stay tuned for that last one. I need all forces at the ready 'cause he is, to put it mildly, A VISION. A spectacle of football player, big-noseosity, and LUST.
I was robbed. Um, twice.
The first time, someone kicked open my door and stole just about everything a) valuable, 2) sentimental, 3) that makes my life convenient and manageable. These things include Blackberry Curve (the second one I've lost for those counting at home), my LAPTOP, car keys, purse (the 2nd best knockoff I ownded) wallet, backpack (I had to buy a new Spanish book) and downstairs stuff.
They left my TV and DVD player, though.
And get this, this past weekend, someone broke into Cali Girl's trunk while we were at a club and stole our purses. Including the purple bag my mom bought me from NYC (Chinatown--the best knockoff I owned) and my new debit card and spare car key that I'd just gotten--to replace THE ONES STOLEN THE FIRST FUCKING TIME AROUND.
This shit is for the birds. I'm okay, I guess, past being scared and onto irritated. Because who gets robbed twice? Oh, yeah, the first time, I was in the house, sleeping way late, while degenerate asshole burglars cleaned me out. Basically, a something (work with me here) told me to stay under the covers, perfectly still. Yes, I think it was my instinct/gut/God trying to save my arse from something worse than losing all my stuff.
Let's not talk about it. Although I have to say what pisses me off way more than I thought was that my makeup bag was in my bag. Not only do you want my money but you want me to look busted in the process? The nerve.
When I get a new comp I shall update yall more about the happier stuff, like my new internship with an NBA team, my cousin's wedding, and my current crush. Stay tuned for that last one. I need all forces at the ready 'cause he is, to put it mildly, A VISION. A spectacle of football player, big-noseosity, and LUST.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Old Fling
Lord. Third day in Southern State, at a drunken 21st already. A friend of Top Chef (well mine too) is having his birthday. Currently en route to impromptu bowling jaunt with a bunch of half-drunk (some all-drunk) college students. Guess who is here. Science Guy, and the one, the only, The Runner. Double !!, a glass of WTF?, and a side order of a humorous are you kidding?. And yes he's been all over me. Asking me if I'm "still mad at him." From what, you ask? For walking out of his room and ceasing to talk to him. This occurred February of SOPHOMORE year, mind. Which later became the year of The Smoker. So suffice it to say, the Runner wasn't quite on my mind until I walked into tonight's shindig. And doubly suffice it to say, I had no answer. It would have only been more awkward had I not been tipsy. I really don't anticipate starting something with the Runner, it was just a weird blast from le past. But if I had to recycle an ex-fling, not quite sure it'd be the Runner. He'd be on the list I GUESS, but I really have no thoughts about him. Ah well. I'll hopefully have more to report after tonight's affair. If these drunken imbeciles ever get us to the bowling alley.
*2 seconds later*
Ok I came back. What if it was different this time? We did have a lot of fun together...
*4 Seconds later*
Stop! This is a mind-cycle that will become vicious if I ever put it into fruition. And we know I can put stuff into fruition, especially when I completely shouldn't.
*8 Seconds later*
OMG I'm reading soo much into this and it's only been a few hours. I need to chillax. Y'all pray for me.
*Like 30 min later*
I'm sitting shotgun in his car and he's writing down directions. He's left-handed. Aw.
*2 seconds later*
Ok I came back. What if it was different this time? We did have a lot of fun together...
*4 Seconds later*
Stop! This is a mind-cycle that will become vicious if I ever put it into fruition. And we know I can put stuff into fruition, especially when I completely shouldn't.
*8 Seconds later*
OMG I'm reading soo much into this and it's only been a few hours. I need to chillax. Y'all pray for me.
*Like 30 min later*
I'm sitting shotgun in his car and he's writing down directions. He's left-handed. Aw.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Bridezillas Explored
Did anybody see Bridezillas on Sunday? With Karee from Madison, WI? Who was by all accounts--eyewitness and Twitter-wise--an evil bitch with a bad weave? So many thoughts ran through my head.
-These women are lashing out at everyone because they're totally insecure about their upcoming nuptials/their relationships/their situation. Case in point: I guess Karee got her dress for a song and a dance and it showed because she sewed crystals on it for a "Vera Wang" look. When she realized that it still looked cheap, you could see the embarrassment on her face that she had to get married in that travesty. So what does she do? Yell at her poor friend. Same thing with the place cards. She picked them out and she knew they looked like shit so she complained about them. Bitch, accept your lot in life!
-Do these women ever realize that since they're the only ones making the decisions, when the finished product comes out looking stupid they really have only themselves to blame? Karee, you picked out the chocolates without tasting them and told your poor fiancee to get a bagful. Now you're the shmuck stuck with the ass-tasting truffles. Them's the breaks.
-Most to all of the weddings look tacky as hell. From the dresses to the venue, these affairs are usually an all-around fail, highlighted even more by...
-The tiny guess list! These weddings are attended by a sad, scant number of folks. Why? Because these bitches are mean. They have no friends. Just the scared few who are in the wedding (and even those folks are quick to drop out at the bride's shenanigans). Everyone else they've ever met has run away screaming.
-This can't be real.
-She is really mean. Why don't these men leave these horrid women? Obviously they have seen these women's inner and outer bitches and still want to marry them. But why? Is the P that good?
-Does Bridezillas have "Where Are They Now?" specials? I bet half these marriages fizzled. I wonder if any of these women feel badly for their behavior. Probably not.
-Is she really treating her future mother-in-law that way? Is this woman really taking it? Heidi is scared of Karee that's why. I hate unappreciative people. That box did look kinda busted though, on the real. Still, it's the thought that counts! I wouldn't have bought her ass nothing, let alone made something...
I tell ya. And this girl was 20. I'm 20. Thisbusted mean-ass girl found a man willing to marry her. What is this world coming to? Is a woman acting like a "Bridezilla" reason enough to call off the wedding? Methinks so, but that's 'cause I can't stand mean people--these women deserve to be alone unhappy. Thoughts?
-These women are lashing out at everyone because they're totally insecure about their upcoming nuptials/their relationships/their situation. Case in point: I guess Karee got her dress for a song and a dance and it showed because she sewed crystals on it for a "Vera Wang" look. When she realized that it still looked cheap, you could see the embarrassment on her face that she had to get married in that travesty. So what does she do? Yell at her poor friend. Same thing with the place cards. She picked them out and she knew they looked like shit so she complained about them. Bitch, accept your lot in life!
-Do these women ever realize that since they're the only ones making the decisions, when the finished product comes out looking stupid they really have only themselves to blame? Karee, you picked out the chocolates without tasting them and told your poor fiancee to get a bagful. Now you're the shmuck stuck with the ass-tasting truffles. Them's the breaks.
-Most to all of the weddings look tacky as hell. From the dresses to the venue, these affairs are usually an all-around fail, highlighted even more by...
-The tiny guess list! These weddings are attended by a sad, scant number of folks. Why? Because these bitches are mean. They have no friends. Just the scared few who are in the wedding (and even those folks are quick to drop out at the bride's shenanigans). Everyone else they've ever met has run away screaming.
-This can't be real.
-She is really mean. Why don't these men leave these horrid women? Obviously they have seen these women's inner and outer bitches and still want to marry them. But why? Is the P that good?
-Does Bridezillas have "Where Are They Now?" specials? I bet half these marriages fizzled. I wonder if any of these women feel badly for their behavior. Probably not.
-Is she really treating her future mother-in-law that way? Is this woman really taking it? Heidi is scared of Karee that's why. I hate unappreciative people. That box did look kinda busted though, on the real. Still, it's the thought that counts! I wouldn't have bought her ass nothing, let alone made something...
I tell ya. And this girl was 20. I'm 20. This
Lucky the Lumberer
Like Rosie the Riveter, except not.
Ladies,
What is it about fixing your own computer, internet or cable that feels so damn good?
Was about to throw computer out the window, situation thankfully diffused. Google is the best.
New query, though. For some reason, when I get emails from a listserv on my Blackberry, they start like five lines down. It's like a pebble in my shoe; not huge but oh-so-irritating. Also when I hit "stop" on my DVD player instead of stopping it goes back to the beginning instead of just stopping like I instructed. I watch Grey's Anatomy every morning while getting ready for work and a week passed before I realized I was watching George fall down the stairs and break his arm YET AGAIN.
It is vair vair annoying.
I hate when stuff doesn't work properly. Even if it's something small like the aforementioned scenario (I could just keep hitting fast forward), it's the principle of the matter (why should I have to keep hitting fast forward?!). Am I right or am I right?
Tell me I am not alone. What seemingly little things bother you (about technology or otherwise)?
Ladies,
What is it about fixing your own computer, internet or cable that feels so damn good?
Was about to throw computer out the window, situation thankfully diffused. Google is the best.
New query, though. For some reason, when I get emails from a listserv on my Blackberry, they start like five lines down. It's like a pebble in my shoe; not huge but oh-so-irritating. Also when I hit "stop" on my DVD player instead of stopping it goes back to the beginning instead of just stopping like I instructed. I watch Grey's Anatomy every morning while getting ready for work and a week passed before I realized I was watching George fall down the stairs and break his arm YET AGAIN.
It is vair vair annoying.
I hate when stuff doesn't work properly. Even if it's something small like the aforementioned scenario (I could just keep hitting fast forward), it's the principle of the matter (why should I have to keep hitting fast forward?!). Am I right or am I right?
Tell me I am not alone. What seemingly little things bother you (about technology or otherwise)?
Monday, July 6, 2009
Very Little To Show for Myself
I opened up this blog window with a purpose, wanting greatly to tell y'all something witty and heartwarming, but I have nothing except for honorable intentions, that is.
For realsies I don't know what to say! Nada, zilch, zippo, the inside of a donut!
So yes, so I don't have an actual post but the point is I tried, ok?
Regale me with tales of your Monday, for I spent mine on the couch. Yes for days off!
Update: my mother loves us enough to raid Sam's Club for us to she can later complain that we eat too much junk food. For breakfast I had half a banana nut muffin and Arnold Palmer. For lunch I had half a chocolate muffin, a mini-bag of Doritos, and Coke. For a snack I had more Arnold Palmer. Clearly I need help. It's summertime and when I get lazy I eats. If I'm not gonna exercise, I at least have to stop scarfing down everything but Precious' dog food. Help. I did try a dog biscuit once. In my youth. Well, a few years ago. Don't ask.
For realsies I don't know what to say! Nada, zilch, zippo, the inside of a donut!
So yes, so I don't have an actual post but the point is I tried, ok?
Regale me with tales of your Monday, for I spent mine on the couch. Yes for days off!
Update: my mother loves us enough to raid Sam's Club for us to she can later complain that we eat too much junk food. For breakfast I had half a banana nut muffin and Arnold Palmer. For lunch I had half a chocolate muffin, a mini-bag of Doritos, and Coke. For a snack I had more Arnold Palmer. Clearly I need help. It's summertime and when I get lazy I eats. If I'm not gonna exercise, I at least have to stop scarfing down everything but Precious' dog food. Help. I did try a dog biscuit once. In my youth. Well, a few years ago. Don't ask.
Friday, June 12, 2009
I Need a Financial Bailout
I often joke around when the words aren't flowing like I need them to, saying things like "Who hired me?" "Why did I choose to be a writer?" in jest, of course.
This WNBA internship affords me lots of opportunities to write stories, one thing I thought I was good at--well, people have told me I'm good at, some [ok many] days I think I suck and words just appear out of my ass and apparently people like them. Or did they?
Maybe it's a college-to-professional growing pains thing. I know the ins and outs of editing and journalism and critiquing but let me be a baby for a second: WAAAHHH MY "EDITOR" KEEPS CHANGING MY STORIES TOTALLY AROUND AND I'M STARTING TO THINK I SUCK FOR REAL FOR REALS. *pouts*
End rant. I'm going to be mature about this and ask that instead of me turning in a story and reading something completely different (I get that my writing needs work...or do I? See above) I could work more closely with him as he edits, time permitting of course. Is that a good idea? I hope it is. I might chicken out though--which I doubt because my "editor" is cool. I put "editor" in quotes because he's probably not even thirty yet and he reminds me of Seth Cohen. Totally not intimidating. Anyway, I'm going to learn from this internship if it kills me: this is just what I need, someone totally unbiased to edit, rearrange, prune, Botox, chop, screw, sautee, and iron out my wrinkly articles until they are silky smooth with perfection. But I want my stories to sound different from his, you know? He's a really good writer (I'm jealous/admiring) but he's not me, and if I've learned anything it's that you (I) need your own writing voice, which I'm working on, by the way.
Whew. I'm glad I got that off my chest. Oh and I'm scared I'll get kicked out of my place back in Southern State because we (my parents) never pay the rent on time. Without getting too deep into it, I've always been weird about asking for money from my parents, because a) I'm cheap 2) we haven't always had it and I couldn't stand the thought of being a burden. Even though it's important (so I won't be homeless duh), I can't fathom bitching about it to parents who have to put two more kids through college soon (Middle Sister class of 2013, go Bison! awww I'm so proud) amidst this little thing called The Greatest Recession Since the Greatest Depression which hit our city and our family hard. Like rock through a windshield hard.
So it's like yeah I know my family's situation but at the same time I understand my roommate needs the money so she's getting an attitude with ME because I'm around even though I'm like bish it's not coming out of my pocket no matter how many times you psuedo-lecture me about the rent being My Responsibility and It's How You Build Credit, You Know (true story). If you're Person A and Person C has your money, I wouldn't keep going through Person B. That's just how I look at it; maybe I'm bang out of order. I don't know what to do. If someone does, don't be stingy, share the knowledge so my hair doesn't fall out with stress and I end up weeping silently into my iced tea.
This WNBA internship affords me lots of opportunities to write stories, one thing I thought I was good at--well, people have told me I'm good at, some [ok many] days I think I suck and words just appear out of my ass and apparently people like them. Or did they?
Maybe it's a college-to-professional growing pains thing. I know the ins and outs of editing and journalism and critiquing but let me be a baby for a second: WAAAHHH MY "EDITOR" KEEPS CHANGING MY STORIES TOTALLY AROUND AND I'M STARTING TO THINK I SUCK FOR REAL FOR REALS. *pouts*
End rant. I'm going to be mature about this and ask that instead of me turning in a story and reading something completely different (I get that my writing needs work...or do I? See above) I could work more closely with him as he edits, time permitting of course. Is that a good idea? I hope it is. I might chicken out though--which I doubt because my "editor" is cool. I put "editor" in quotes because he's probably not even thirty yet and he reminds me of Seth Cohen. Totally not intimidating. Anyway, I'm going to learn from this internship if it kills me: this is just what I need, someone totally unbiased to edit, rearrange, prune, Botox, chop, screw, sautee, and iron out my wrinkly articles until they are silky smooth with perfection. But I want my stories to sound different from his, you know? He's a really good writer (I'm jealous/admiring) but he's not me, and if I've learned anything it's that you (I) need your own writing voice, which I'm working on, by the way.
Whew. I'm glad I got that off my chest. Oh and I'm scared I'll get kicked out of my place back in Southern State because we (my parents) never pay the rent on time. Without getting too deep into it, I've always been weird about asking for money from my parents, because a) I'm cheap 2) we haven't always had it and I couldn't stand the thought of being a burden. Even though it's important (so I won't be homeless duh), I can't fathom bitching about it to parents who have to put two more kids through college soon (Middle Sister class of 2013, go Bison! awww I'm so proud) amidst this little thing called The Greatest Recession Since the Greatest Depression which hit our city and our family hard. Like rock through a windshield hard.
So it's like yeah I know my family's situation but at the same time I understand my roommate needs the money so she's getting an attitude with ME because I'm around even though I'm like bish it's not coming out of my pocket no matter how many times you psuedo-lecture me about the rent being My Responsibility and It's How You Build Credit, You Know (true story). If you're Person A and Person C has your money, I wouldn't keep going through Person B. That's just how I look at it; maybe I'm bang out of order. I don't know what to do. If someone does, don't be stingy, share the knowledge so my hair doesn't fall out with stress and I end up weeping silently into my iced tea.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Family Drama and a Movie
We all have our childish sides. I, personally, like to indulge mind on a regular basis. Harry Potter, ice cream, Disney movies, anyone? Today I had the great idea to take Little Cousin, Little Sister and her friend to the movies. I wanted to see Night at the Museum 2 and Little Sister wanted to see, inexplicably, Dance Flick. Plus the local theater was $5 before 6pm and in this recession we have to take advantage of these things.
Chaos ensued the second my aunt and LC showed up, with their [demon] miniature pincher, I came downstairs to my irritated father toting a terrified and shaking Precious, muttering to me, "get him." Him, I discovered, wasn't my...mischievous cousin but instead, C, who apparently bit/scratched Precious. When we returned later my dad was still upset because Precious was hurt.
"It never fails," he er, yelled. "Every time that dog comes Precious gets hurt and everyone walks around like it's funny. No more. You tell [Aunt] or I will. That dog is not allowed in this house anymore." Scary. Little Sister and I are used to Dad's ranting when not directed to anyone, but it made an impressionable LC slightly upset. Which he took out on me on our car ride to drop him off. Oy vey. I felt bad for the kid. But it's not his fault.
C is one of those proverbial "small, yappy dogs" that no one likes. Except C has the additional bonus of being mean. Except my aunt thinks the dog is "just playing" and everyone's picking on her (C, and by extension, her) for no reason--cue long family drama backstory. Except C is actually annoying, and you can't outlaw a dog just for being overly annoying without seeming like a mean animal-hater. But like I said, C is annoying and slightly vicious; when she makes an appearance at family functions everyone's just kind of like "OH NO. [Aunt] brought C. Fucckkk!!!" Pets are like children; you can't discipline other people's children when the parent/owner's there because it implies that the parent/owner isn't doing their job correctly.
Anyway. I said all that not only to say that I was secretly glad that my dad put his foot down and banned C from our house, but that it's still weird to get in between/pass messages to fully grown family members when, in everyone's eyes, you're kind of still a kid. For example, when my dad said someone has to tell my aunt that C's not allowed, I was like, fuck, hopefully him or my mom** will do it. I hate having to contradict older family members or get involved in whatever issues they have amongst each other, you know? Because I usually side with whoever's right in the situation and in my family, that's usually my parents and my relatives tend to hold grudges/take things personally/blow things out of proportion so on the whole it's best that the "kids" (namely, me) not get involved. However, they tend to play the oh-so-mature "well, tell your mother I said this" or "call your aunt and tell her that" game.
**Mom had nothing to say because she's currently on a weekend trip to New York City with my aunts and cousin, probably on Canal Street buying all the knockoff bags and perfume she can carry. It's her first time to the city. I asked her if I could please please please come and she said no ma'am. Hmpf.
Le sigh. What was supposed to be a fun day at the movies was not quite as such. Let's just say Little Cousin is a dramatic handful. I enjoyed the movie, though. I really, really, want to visit the Smithsonian Museum. Every time a historical artifact came onscreen I was all "ooh Darth Vader! Look it's Bochelli's Venus! HAHAHA OMG that's the theme song from Titanic!" Such. A. Nerd. But whatevs I liked it. "Visit the Smithsonian" has been on my To-Do List of Life for like a year and now I want to go more than ever.
That list also includes seeing Kobe Bryant play live and writing a book. In case you were wondering.
Chaos ensued the second my aunt and LC showed up, with their [demon] miniature pincher, I came downstairs to my irritated father toting a terrified and shaking Precious, muttering to me, "get him." Him, I discovered, wasn't my...mischievous cousin but instead, C, who apparently bit/scratched Precious. When we returned later my dad was still upset because Precious was hurt.
"It never fails," he er, yelled. "Every time that dog comes Precious gets hurt and everyone walks around like it's funny. No more. You tell [Aunt] or I will. That dog is not allowed in this house anymore." Scary. Little Sister and I are used to Dad's ranting when not directed to anyone, but it made an impressionable LC slightly upset. Which he took out on me on our car ride to drop him off. Oy vey. I felt bad for the kid. But it's not his fault.
C is one of those proverbial "small, yappy dogs" that no one likes. Except C has the additional bonus of being mean. Except my aunt thinks the dog is "just playing" and everyone's picking on her (C, and by extension, her) for no reason--cue long family drama backstory. Except C is actually annoying, and you can't outlaw a dog just for being overly annoying without seeming like a mean animal-hater. But like I said, C is annoying and slightly vicious; when she makes an appearance at family functions everyone's just kind of like "OH NO. [Aunt] brought C. Fucckkk!!!" Pets are like children; you can't discipline other people's children when the parent/owner's there because it implies that the parent/owner isn't doing their job correctly.
Anyway. I said all that not only to say that I was secretly glad that my dad put his foot down and banned C from our house, but that it's still weird to get in between/pass messages to fully grown family members when, in everyone's eyes, you're kind of still a kid. For example, when my dad said someone has to tell my aunt that C's not allowed, I was like, fuck, hopefully him or my mom** will do it. I hate having to contradict older family members or get involved in whatever issues they have amongst each other, you know? Because I usually side with whoever's right in the situation and in my family, that's usually my parents and my relatives tend to hold grudges/take things personally/blow things out of proportion so on the whole it's best that the "kids" (namely, me) not get involved. However, they tend to play the oh-so-mature "well, tell your mother I said this" or "call your aunt and tell her that" game.
**Mom had nothing to say because she's currently on a weekend trip to New York City with my aunts and cousin, probably on Canal Street buying all the knockoff bags and perfume she can carry. It's her first time to the city. I asked her if I could please please please come and she said no ma'am. Hmpf.
Le sigh. What was supposed to be a fun day at the movies was not quite as such. Let's just say Little Cousin is a dramatic handful. I enjoyed the movie, though. I really, really, want to visit the Smithsonian Museum. Every time a historical artifact came onscreen I was all "ooh Darth Vader! Look it's Bochelli's Venus! HAHAHA OMG that's the theme song from Titanic!" Such. A. Nerd. But whatevs I liked it. "Visit the Smithsonian" has been on my To-Do List of Life for like a year and now I want to go more than ever.
That list also includes seeing Kobe Bryant play live and writing a book. In case you were wondering.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Dating Vernacular
To give (gave, giv⋅en, giv⋅ing; verb): To show one's ass, to employ tactics such as: rudeness, skewed logic, over-the-top shenanigans, or reverse psychology in a ploy to get a point across or get something accomplished, usually to zero avail. Can result in the giver looking extremely dumb and uncooperative.
Used in a sentence: "Film Screening Guy just texted me looking for sex and he absolutely GAVE."
Used in a sentence: "Film Screening Guy just texted me looking for sex and he absolutely GAVE."
Monday, May 4, 2009
Wardrobe Malfunctions
Let's be drama-free for an evening (yeah, right!).
Today I was inspired upon leaving school to go to Whole Foods Market. Flowers were blooming and there were huge oranges on sale, with cut-up slices for shoppers to taste. At first, I didn't want to try one (swine flu and all...what? That's what I honestly thought for a split second. Lame, I know), but I'm glad I did because they were quite succulent. I meant to sneak another one but I forgot.
Anyway, I went in for a mango. One mango. I came out with peach Tazo tea, potato chips, and this stuff called some Almond Glow Jasmine Skin Lotion, which is actually more like oil. I'm about to hop in the shower and try it, to see if I can jump on the "green" beauty train.
Omg, I forgot. I had business to take care of at school today which called for "business professional" which I am quite good at, so I pulled out this button-down I'd actually never worn before. 'Twas kinda tight but I figured it would loosen up before I left the house. Um, no ma'am. I leaned down to put my shoe on, and a button popped off! I blamed it on the cheapness of the shirt and kept it moving. Before long, all of my subsequent movements send a button flying through the air! It was actually humbling. And by humbling I mean vaguely mortifying, cartoonish shenanigans. Missing half the buttons on Shirt #1 yet determined to keep my original aesthetic, I dug in the closet and found the same shirt in a different color. I put it on and walked towards the mirror...and a button popped off. This time I didn't wait, and pulled out Shirt #3, a last, last, last manuever. Or so I thought. THIS stupid shirt must have been in my room all day, observing and chuckling, because it was missing a button BEFORE I put it on, which I found out seconds later. I was so, so over it.
A slinky leopard-print blouse saved my life and my sanity. Leopard is just that mighty.
Today I was inspired upon leaving school to go to Whole Foods Market. Flowers were blooming and there were huge oranges on sale, with cut-up slices for shoppers to taste. At first, I didn't want to try one (swine flu and all...what? That's what I honestly thought for a split second. Lame, I know), but I'm glad I did because they were quite succulent. I meant to sneak another one but I forgot.
Anyway, I went in for a mango. One mango. I came out with peach Tazo tea, potato chips, and this stuff called some Almond Glow Jasmine Skin Lotion, which is actually more like oil. I'm about to hop in the shower and try it, to see if I can jump on the "green" beauty train.
Omg, I forgot. I had business to take care of at school today which called for "business professional" which I am quite good at, so I pulled out this button-down I'd actually never worn before. 'Twas kinda tight but I figured it would loosen up before I left the house. Um, no ma'am. I leaned down to put my shoe on, and a button popped off! I blamed it on the cheapness of the shirt and kept it moving. Before long, all of my subsequent movements send a button flying through the air! It was actually humbling. And by humbling I mean vaguely mortifying, cartoonish shenanigans. Missing half the buttons on Shirt #1 yet determined to keep my original aesthetic, I dug in the closet and found the same shirt in a different color. I put it on and walked towards the mirror...and a button popped off. This time I didn't wait, and pulled out Shirt #3, a last, last, last manuever. Or so I thought. THIS stupid shirt must have been in my room all day, observing and chuckling, because it was missing a button BEFORE I put it on, which I found out seconds later. I was so, so over it.
A slinky leopard-print blouse saved my life and my sanity. Leopard is just that mighty.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
You Won't Get It
I learned my lesson about writing about specific guys too much on here, but I started a story about the guy from the film screening and I owe you a "what happened next" post.
On Monday, I did indeed go over to his place, where we talked for a few hours on his floor. Well, I did the brunt of the talking. There was lots of flirting on both ends, no real physical contact. We texted almost all day on Tuesday, and somehow the texting turned dirty. I forget who started it, but I think we all know I'm no stranger to sexual innuendo, so I played right along. Key word: played. Well, on my end.
We were supposed to hang out again on Tuesday, but I got stuck doing stuff for the Paper and we had to cancel. Earlier today, when I asked him what he was doing later, he responded, "U." This is when I started to panic: all our flirty/textual filth had me writing checks that my ass couldn't cash, literally. I am not/was not looking for sex, but it became clear that he was and thought I was as well. I vented this to various friends, fearing that once he found out these legs were closed, he would be, as the expression goes, so over me. The response from pals I got was I shouldn't want someone who would be over me just because we wouldn't be sleeping together anyway. Point taken.
Anyway, I sort of eased into the "no sex clause" (this is all through texting still) and the answer was not a happy one. He pretty much said he was looking for sex and thought I was, too. So I asked him if that was it, are we "over" if there's no sex? He said he "wouldn't say that" but went on to, well, say it. I expressed my position, apologizing for leading him on and saying that I'd like us to hang out still but sex wouldn't be part of the equation. When I got home a half-hour later, I called him up to maybe clarify, talk it out; no answer. That was at 10:30pm. It is now past midnight.
So yeah. My worries were pretty much confirmed: I told him "no sex" and he told me "well then peace out, bitch." I guess I'm sad about what "could have" been: he hadn't given me a chance to explain that making out/rounding a base or two were still perfectly viable options.
If you're wondering why I'm making such a big deal about this, well, it's time for me to come clean: I'm still a virgin. I talk a lot of filth, but I am still quite, ahem, untried. In every sense. Not for particular religious beliefs or anything, at this point it's just because I haven't found anybody worth fucking. Yes, including you, Film Screening Guy. I didn't tell him this, and waffled on whether or not I should, but somehow I doubt that would change things if he was just out for sex to begin with.
This instance does not bolster my faith in future dating prospects and boy-kind in general: how the hell does a 20-year-old female virgin navigate within a 2009 world of men who expect and are used to regular helpings of ass? We virgs are a rare breed, after all. I'm a little annoyed right now, actually. I cleaned my room for this yahoo. I try to look for the lesson in things, like "why did this happen," and so far I can't come up with anything except for to remind me that "yes, Lucky, you are still [and will probably forever be] a virgin. Still." Thanks for the update, world.
So yeah.
Some days, hell, most days, I wish I wasn't holding my V-Card. Especially in situations like this. Even though I wouldn't have sex with Film Screening Guy after knowing him for FIVE WHOLE FUCKING DAYS. Maybe I should buy a t-shirt that says "Virgin" to alleviate any misconceptions. Internets, a) don't laugh at me. I am fragile. 2) answer me this: what could I have done differently in this situation? Shut down the dirty texting ASAP? Inform him of my virginity the first time he brought up sex in conversation? Let the Smoker deflower me last year to get it over with already? Censor myself/stop talking about sex with such exuberance so as not to send the wrong idea? I never tell people I'm a virg, never say I'm not, let people draw their own conclusions, but tell the truth if asked directly. This involves lots of conversational sidestepping and vague answers, in case you were wondering.
It may not be easy when you're sleazy but it's just as hard when you're not.
On Monday, I did indeed go over to his place, where we talked for a few hours on his floor. Well, I did the brunt of the talking. There was lots of flirting on both ends, no real physical contact. We texted almost all day on Tuesday, and somehow the texting turned dirty. I forget who started it, but I think we all know I'm no stranger to sexual innuendo, so I played right along. Key word: played. Well, on my end.
We were supposed to hang out again on Tuesday, but I got stuck doing stuff for the Paper and we had to cancel. Earlier today, when I asked him what he was doing later, he responded, "U." This is when I started to panic: all our flirty/textual filth had me writing checks that my ass couldn't cash, literally. I am not/was not looking for sex, but it became clear that he was and thought I was as well. I vented this to various friends, fearing that once he found out these legs were closed, he would be, as the expression goes, so over me. The response from pals I got was I shouldn't want someone who would be over me just because we wouldn't be sleeping together anyway. Point taken.
Anyway, I sort of eased into the "no sex clause" (this is all through texting still) and the answer was not a happy one. He pretty much said he was looking for sex and thought I was, too. So I asked him if that was it, are we "over" if there's no sex? He said he "wouldn't say that" but went on to, well, say it. I expressed my position, apologizing for leading him on and saying that I'd like us to hang out still but sex wouldn't be part of the equation. When I got home a half-hour later, I called him up to maybe clarify, talk it out; no answer. That was at 10:30pm. It is now past midnight.
So yeah. My worries were pretty much confirmed: I told him "no sex" and he told me "well then peace out, bitch." I guess I'm sad about what "could have" been: he hadn't given me a chance to explain that making out/rounding a base or two were still perfectly viable options.
If you're wondering why I'm making such a big deal about this, well, it's time for me to come clean: I'm still a virgin. I talk a lot of filth, but I am still quite, ahem, untried. In every sense. Not for particular religious beliefs or anything, at this point it's just because I haven't found anybody worth fucking. Yes, including you, Film Screening Guy. I didn't tell him this, and waffled on whether or not I should, but somehow I doubt that would change things if he was just out for sex to begin with.
This instance does not bolster my faith in future dating prospects and boy-kind in general: how the hell does a 20-year-old female virgin navigate within a 2009 world of men who expect and are used to regular helpings of ass? We virgs are a rare breed, after all. I'm a little annoyed right now, actually. I cleaned my room for this yahoo. I try to look for the lesson in things, like "why did this happen," and so far I can't come up with anything except for to remind me that "yes, Lucky, you are still [and will probably forever be] a virgin. Still." Thanks for the update, world.
So yeah.
Some days, hell, most days, I wish I wasn't holding my V-Card. Especially in situations like this. Even though I wouldn't have sex with Film Screening Guy after knowing him for FIVE WHOLE FUCKING DAYS. Maybe I should buy a t-shirt that says "Virgin" to alleviate any misconceptions. Internets, a) don't laugh at me. I am fragile. 2) answer me this: what could I have done differently in this situation? Shut down the dirty texting ASAP? Inform him of my virginity the first time he brought up sex in conversation? Let the Smoker deflower me last year to get it over with already? Censor myself/stop talking about sex with such exuberance so as not to send the wrong idea? I never tell people I'm a virg, never say I'm not, let people draw their own conclusions, but tell the truth if asked directly. This involves lots of conversational sidestepping and vague answers, in case you were wondering.
It may not be easy when you're sleazy but it's just as hard when you're not.
Friday, April 17, 2009
More Flashbacks
Thursday was Top Chef's 21st birthday...he is now the Official Buyer of My Drinks until my 21st in November. He's having a party this Saturday and I'm super-excited 'cause, you know, it's him, and it's a party and he told me there'd be Fuzzy Navels just for me (I can't bring myself to imbibe like I used to after Spring Break Fiasco 09).
Also, the Science Guy will be in attendance.
I had a huge, girly crush on SG for about, oh, a few months of second semester of freshman year. Lack of palpable chemistry** relegated him to the friend-zone, and that was that. Soon after, I moved onto the Runner...who eventually got eliminated as well for...well, lack of palpable chemistry on my part and lack of balls on his. For serious.
**Ok, and maybe a little because he's short. OKAY and I think I outweigh him. I never said I wasn't shallow.
Anyway, SG and I are cordial whenever we see each other, he is often very gracious with candy as well. Lately, though, he's intimated something a leetle more than friendship. The last time I saw him, in person, he mentioned his upcoming birthday celebration and hinted that I should come. I figured he'd just been making small talk and promptly forgot about it. After all, our entire beginning had been built on fake invitations.
True story: he invited me to church once. CHURCH. I agreed at first but chickened out so my inner heathen wouldn't show. He also invited me to go running with him. RUNNING. I laughed in his face.
Back to the story. When I actually wished him a happy birthday via text, he texted back with something along the lines of "we should hang out sometime." I forgot what I said but it wasn't "yes we should."
So today, I'm hanging out with TC, flipping through some program and SG's name and middle initial, "C," is under the Honor Roll list (I know, he's smart. Reason #44395 why I don't want him...that's sad...). Feeling jokey and in girlish high-spirits, I texted SG, "is your middle name Charles?" I thought he at a track meet and didn't expect him to respond, but he did, with "blah blah yes it's Charles how did you know blah blah I'm going to the party tomorrow you should come with me :-)."
Pause, sir.
This is totally not his fault or anything but he is two whole years late. I'm completely not interested and this fool wants to come knocking on my doorstep. First the Smoker and now this. If the Runner Facebooks me tomorrow asking me to go mini-golfing or something I will honestly blow my brains out and call it a day. Timing, you are an elusive bitch and the truth ain't in you. And of course the one I really would welcome back with open arms, Tex, is nowhere to be found.
Oh my giddy-God what shall I do? I don't want to lead SG on, I tried to ignore his advances without outright saying "no" because he's such a nice guy--a puppy, really--but I hope against hope this won't get out of hand...ordinarily I wouldn't care and let my powers of avoidance run their course but TC's party is Saturday... and a college party is no good to try and behave yourself especially when there's liquor present that I surely will be drinking because this is too much, Lord.
I try to move forward but the past keeps a-tryin' to pull me back. Absolutely not!
Also, the Science Guy will be in attendance.
I had a huge, girly crush on SG for about, oh, a few months of second semester of freshman year. Lack of palpable chemistry** relegated him to the friend-zone, and that was that. Soon after, I moved onto the Runner...who eventually got eliminated as well for...well, lack of palpable chemistry on my part and lack of balls on his. For serious.
**Ok, and maybe a little because he's short. OKAY and I think I outweigh him. I never said I wasn't shallow.
Anyway, SG and I are cordial whenever we see each other, he is often very gracious with candy as well. Lately, though, he's intimated something a leetle more than friendship. The last time I saw him, in person, he mentioned his upcoming birthday celebration and hinted that I should come. I figured he'd just been making small talk and promptly forgot about it. After all, our entire beginning had been built on fake invitations.
True story: he invited me to church once. CHURCH. I agreed at first but chickened out so my inner heathen wouldn't show. He also invited me to go running with him. RUNNING. I laughed in his face.
Back to the story. When I actually wished him a happy birthday via text, he texted back with something along the lines of "we should hang out sometime." I forgot what I said but it wasn't "yes we should."
So today, I'm hanging out with TC, flipping through some program and SG's name and middle initial, "C," is under the Honor Roll list (I know, he's smart. Reason #44395 why I don't want him...that's sad...). Feeling jokey and in girlish high-spirits, I texted SG, "is your middle name Charles?" I thought he at a track meet and didn't expect him to respond, but he did, with "blah blah yes it's Charles how did you know blah blah I'm going to the party tomorrow you should come with me :-)."
Pause, sir.
This is totally not his fault or anything but he is two whole years late. I'm completely not interested and this fool wants to come knocking on my doorstep. First the Smoker and now this. If the Runner Facebooks me tomorrow asking me to go mini-golfing or something I will honestly blow my brains out and call it a day. Timing, you are an elusive bitch and the truth ain't in you. And of course the one I really would welcome back with open arms, Tex, is nowhere to be found.
Oh my giddy-God what shall I do? I don't want to lead SG on, I tried to ignore his advances without outright saying "no" because he's such a nice guy--a puppy, really--but I hope against hope this won't get out of hand...ordinarily I wouldn't care and let my powers of avoidance run their course but TC's party is Saturday... and a college party is no good to try and behave yourself especially when there's liquor present that I surely will be drinking because this is too much, Lord.
I try to move forward but the past keeps a-tryin' to pull me back. Absolutely not!
Friday, April 10, 2009
Going Nowhere
I am being held prisoner in the world's busiest airport.
This morning, I actually tried to catch a 7am flight (standby, bitches) but it was full when I finally got up to the counter out of breath and sweaty. I cannot tell you the obstacles I had to overcome to fnally stumble to that gate, all for naught. I think I actually lost consciousness for a second when the guy said 'we're full." I wanted to collapse, spread-eagle in front of gate D21 and catch my breath/contemplate life, but somehow I did not.
My original flight was at 9:30am so I just chilled with my blackberry. However. That was oh, three hours ago as my flight has been delayed, mangled, chopped, screwed, thrown around and drop-kicked through the mud. I have no clue what's going on, let alone whether or not I'll make my connecting flight (somehow, I doubt it but hey).
I've found ways to amuse myself, of course. I assess people's traveling habits: comfortable in sweatpants vs. Stomping through the terminal in high heels and tight tops (stupid). People who piss and moan about the delays vs. Those who play amusing games such as this one to pass the time. I've seen the same cute airport worker push a massive trash can back and forth like eight times. Also seen many seating changes--some folks really cannot sit still. I want to say "dude the plane's not here standing in like will not make her come faster." I was saving a seat for this girl but the woman who came to take it looks like she's fought folks way bigger than me so I kept my mouth shut.
From my seat, I look at people's shoes, traveling companions, food choices, and have listened to the bartender across the aisle keep customers happy (she has a weird voice though). Speaking of, I could use a drink. It's 5pm somewhere and I've been through a lot today. Damn not being 21 yet.
This gate agents are totally incoherent. I'm sure they mean well and Southern State's tornado watch has not made their job easier but they are the Three Stooges.
Trying not to fall asleep and save my nap for the plane-if we ever get on it-but I'm exhausto. Plus I don't want to miss any of the changes that are bound to occur the second I close my eyes.
And the worst part is having no one to yuk it up with...I've been sitting in damn near silence for like three hours! But blogosphere (and twitter) you are here. Here you are. Never leave me.
This morning, I actually tried to catch a 7am flight (standby, bitches) but it was full when I finally got up to the counter out of breath and sweaty. I cannot tell you the obstacles I had to overcome to fnally stumble to that gate, all for naught. I think I actually lost consciousness for a second when the guy said 'we're full." I wanted to collapse, spread-eagle in front of gate D21 and catch my breath/contemplate life, but somehow I did not.
My original flight was at 9:30am so I just chilled with my blackberry. However. That was oh, three hours ago as my flight has been delayed, mangled, chopped, screwed, thrown around and drop-kicked through the mud. I have no clue what's going on, let alone whether or not I'll make my connecting flight (somehow, I doubt it but hey).
I've found ways to amuse myself, of course. I assess people's traveling habits: comfortable in sweatpants vs. Stomping through the terminal in high heels and tight tops (stupid). People who piss and moan about the delays vs. Those who play amusing games such as this one to pass the time. I've seen the same cute airport worker push a massive trash can back and forth like eight times. Also seen many seating changes--some folks really cannot sit still. I want to say "dude the plane's not here standing in like will not make her come faster." I was saving a seat for this girl but the woman who came to take it looks like she's fought folks way bigger than me so I kept my mouth shut.
From my seat, I look at people's shoes, traveling companions, food choices, and have listened to the bartender across the aisle keep customers happy (she has a weird voice though). Speaking of, I could use a drink. It's 5pm somewhere and I've been through a lot today. Damn not being 21 yet.
This gate agents are totally incoherent. I'm sure they mean well and Southern State's tornado watch has not made their job easier but they are the Three Stooges.
Trying not to fall asleep and save my nap for the plane-if we ever get on it-but I'm exhausto. Plus I don't want to miss any of the changes that are bound to occur the second I close my eyes.
And the worst part is having no one to yuk it up with...I've been sitting in damn near silence for like three hours! But blogosphere (and twitter) you are here. Here you are. Never leave me.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Hoop Dreams Deferred
Working with men is exhausting. You have to stroke their egos, display the right amount of power and docility, easygoing-ness and firmness to get anything accomplished. Try as I might, I never get that formula right.
The Paper gets free tickets to NBA games through the Ad Guy. There are no rules or entitlement, if you want them, you ask for them. I was originally going to see the team take on the mighty (?) Pistons, but we left for spring break that day so I had to forfeit them. 'Twas sad. I decided to get the team vs. the San Antonio Spurs, so I texted Ad Guy, asking him to bring the tickets to our weekly meeting. I get no answer from him. I miss the game.
Next week he says that those tickets were unavailable anyway. Wondering why he couldn't have relayed this in a responding text, I say, "oh, okay, well, I'll take this weekend's tickets against the Orlando Magic." These tickets are also the last of the package. He agrees to bring them to me. I even told him that I had planned to take a date** to the game, which meant, thus and such, my love life depended on him bringing the tickets to me on Thursday (yesterday) because I don't come to campus on Fridays. He concedes, stoically (seriously, would it kill this guy to crack a smile?).
**Not technically a lie, since I was going with Ms. Politics. She has been my date on many a weekend.
Thursday comes, I text Ad Guy. No answer. I call him (well, I have Artist Friend call him from my phone--I think I annoy him with my generally upbeat nature). His phone goes straight to voicemail. He is not known to [show consideration/human emotion] return my texts or calls. It is early Friday morning. The game is on Saturday. The game to which I have no tickets. The game, it is probably safe to say, I will not be attending. No Al Horford sighting for me.
What fresh hell is with guys ruining my Saturday night plans?!
As far as Ad Guy knows, my hot date is now ruined. And on top of that, both of these times, I've taken off work to attend these basketball games. So not only is Ad Guy messing up my (ahem, still very fictional) love life, but he is costing me money!
And we can't have that. Not in this recession, baby.
Not to throw a pity party, but THIS IS TOTALLY UNFAIR. The other two sports editors got to go to games, why do I always get the short end of life's stick?
Next week, if I must say anything to Ad Guy, it will be in a "dignity at all times" sort of way. Maybe even in a "my date still put out SO THERE" sort of way. I honestly keep forgetting that I didn't have an actual date in the first place.
Semantics, really. It's the principle that counts.
The Paper gets free tickets to NBA games through the Ad Guy. There are no rules or entitlement, if you want them, you ask for them. I was originally going to see the team take on the mighty (?) Pistons, but we left for spring break that day so I had to forfeit them. 'Twas sad. I decided to get the team vs. the San Antonio Spurs, so I texted Ad Guy, asking him to bring the tickets to our weekly meeting. I get no answer from him. I miss the game.
Next week he says that those tickets were unavailable anyway. Wondering why he couldn't have relayed this in a responding text, I say, "oh, okay, well, I'll take this weekend's tickets against the Orlando Magic." These tickets are also the last of the package. He agrees to bring them to me. I even told him that I had planned to take a date** to the game, which meant, thus and such, my love life depended on him bringing the tickets to me on Thursday (yesterday) because I don't come to campus on Fridays. He concedes, stoically (seriously, would it kill this guy to crack a smile?).
**Not technically a lie, since I was going with Ms. Politics. She has been my date on many a weekend.
Thursday comes, I text Ad Guy. No answer. I call him (well, I have Artist Friend call him from my phone--I think I annoy him with my generally upbeat nature). His phone goes straight to voicemail. He is not known to [show consideration/human emotion] return my texts or calls. It is early Friday morning. The game is on Saturday. The game to which I have no tickets. The game, it is probably safe to say, I will not be attending. No Al Horford sighting for me.
What fresh hell is with guys ruining my Saturday night plans?!
As far as Ad Guy knows, my hot date is now ruined. And on top of that, both of these times, I've taken off work to attend these basketball games. So not only is Ad Guy messing up my (ahem, still very fictional) love life, but he is costing me money!
And we can't have that. Not in this recession, baby.
Not to throw a pity party, but THIS IS TOTALLY UNFAIR. The other two sports editors got to go to games, why do I always get the short end of life's stick?
Next week, if I must say anything to Ad Guy, it will be in a "dignity at all times" sort of way. Maybe even in a "my date still put out SO THERE" sort of way. I honestly keep forgetting that I didn't have an actual date in the first place.
Semantics, really. It's the principle that counts.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Restored via Phone
It's amazing what a girly phone chat with your best friend can do to lift the spirits. Just thought I'd say.
Oh yeah, guess what? Tex has a GIRLFRIEND.
I found (via that damned Facebook) while I was on the phone with BFF. I looked at a few photos of them together and subsequently started whining, mid-conversation, about "the bad decisions and failures that are my liiiiiiiifffeee." BFF, no stranger to my "woe is me, I am single" ranting, wisely ignored me until I was through. And for that I love her.
Le sigh. Table for one, please. But I am trying to get my life right so maybe it's best that I go this one alone...plus, let's be honest, I don't have time to get through a whole magazine in one sitting and I'm pretty sure that if I had a boy at this moment he would get lost somewhere between my full dishwasher and carful of shoes.
Oh yeah, guess what? Tex has a GIRLFRIEND.
I found (via that damned Facebook) while I was on the phone with BFF. I looked at a few photos of them together and subsequently started whining, mid-conversation, about "the bad decisions and failures that are my liiiiiiiifffeee." BFF, no stranger to my "woe is me, I am single" ranting, wisely ignored me until I was through. And for that I love her.
Le sigh. Table for one, please. But I am trying to get my life right so maybe it's best that I go this one alone...plus, let's be honest, I don't have time to get through a whole magazine in one sitting and I'm pretty sure that if I had a boy at this moment he would get lost somewhere between my full dishwasher and carful of shoes.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Mama Said it Would be Days Like This
While [on Facebook] trying to finish another midterm I saw that The Smoker was online. When I saw his name the first thing I thought was "I think I hate him..."
Then, That Boy got on. I Blackberry'd Mr. GQ and he was all for FB chatting him. Torn, I turned to the trusty radio game. I asked "Should I FB chat him?" R. Kelly's "Bump and Grind" came on.
This can't be life.
But I chatted him up. Um, he didn't respond.
For real, though, life cannot be this way.
I have got too many damn love/sex/slow jam songs on my Itunes. That must be it. Now I must go slink back over to Facebook and log off.
Update: oh, never mind. He responded and I didn't see. *oops my bad-type giggle*
Honestly. I talk shit about my friend Mr. GQ being melodramatic as all get out but truth be told I'm the one having Dramatic Cunt Fallouts at the first sign of disorder and then have to backtrack and call off the hounds later.
He's not saying much...I mean, he is but he ain't, if you know what I mean...like he's...dry...maybe he's just quiet. Oh hell I can't do quiet boys because I seem loud in comparison which I am sure is grating. Oh, no. He just wrote that he doesn't really drink. We have a man down affair.
I...don't think this is working. Maybe it's the medium but our conversation feels very forced. Or maybe someone has a slow computer connection. Facebook caking/caking in general used to be fun and now it's too much work like there's too much at stake, too much to read into.
Update: end conversation. I don't see anything becoming of this, especially if I have to keep initiating contact. At best he just doesn't like talking via Internets, at worst he's not a conversationalist/not into me at all/thinks I'm an alcoholic. He hardly asked any questions; it was like pulling teeth and I got a dual-degree in Pimpology and Hustlemonics, not Dentistry (gross. As if). Methinks I'm over it.
Can someone find me a mail-order husband?
Then, That Boy got on. I Blackberry'd Mr. GQ and he was all for FB chatting him. Torn, I turned to the trusty radio game. I asked "Should I FB chat him?" R. Kelly's "Bump and Grind" came on.
This can't be life.
But I chatted him up. Um, he didn't respond.
For real, though, life cannot be this way.
I have got too many damn love/sex/slow jam songs on my Itunes. That must be it. Now I must go slink back over to Facebook and log off.
Update: oh, never mind. He responded and I didn't see. *oops my bad-type giggle*
Honestly. I talk shit about my friend Mr. GQ being melodramatic as all get out but truth be told I'm the one having Dramatic Cunt Fallouts at the first sign of disorder and then have to backtrack and call off the hounds later.
He's not saying much...I mean, he is but he ain't, if you know what I mean...like he's...dry...maybe he's just quiet. Oh hell I can't do quiet boys because I seem loud in comparison which I am sure is grating. Oh, no. He just wrote that he doesn't really drink. We have a man down affair.
I...don't think this is working. Maybe it's the medium but our conversation feels very forced. Or maybe someone has a slow computer connection. Facebook caking/caking in general used to be fun and now it's too much work like there's too much at stake, too much to read into.
Update: end conversation. I don't see anything becoming of this, especially if I have to keep initiating contact. At best he just doesn't like talking via Internets, at worst he's not a conversationalist/not into me at all/thinks I'm an alcoholic. He hardly asked any questions; it was like pulling teeth and I got a dual-degree in Pimpology and Hustlemonics, not Dentistry (gross. As if). Methinks I'm over it.
Can someone find me a mail-order husband?
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Two Steps Back
True story: I was groggy from a nap and I turned on RuPaul's Drag Race...it gave me so much life that I am wide awake and ready to do homework.
Last Monday, I got a random Facebook message from The Smoker...followed by Facebook chat, text, and call--all within an hour. The gist of his argument was that he's changed ("maybe I wasn't as honest as I should have been") and it ended with him asking for the pleasure of my company for drinks on Saturday. I give him a hard time but finally concede.
"This isn't gonna be like last time," I say. "I'm not chasing you, if you want to do something, you set it up." He agrees, but I know he thinks I will text/call/initiate contact. Ah, but 'tis a fool who thinks that I didn't learn something from last time. And I stick to my word: no textual activity otherwise comes from me. None comes from him either.
I run into him on Thursday, slightly witty banter ensues, nothing more.
Saturday rolls around. I'm shopping with Cali Girl and Ms. Politics for our upcoming spring break trip in a mall way out in Tourist-ville. I give this boy until 7pm, then, shit, I need to know if we need to leave or if we can go out to dinner. So I cave in and text him, he responds quickly: "Who is this?"
Oh, honey, you tried to bullshit a bullshitter. Now I know you have your phone on your person and are fully capable of receiving and sending text messages.
I text back that it's me and I'm just trying to see if we're still on for tonight.
Here's the funny part, guys: NO ANSWER. It is now Tuesday evening and not a word. Did I scare him into reneging with our 3.5 minutes of chatting on Thursday? Erroneous either way. A leopard doesn't change his spots, I guess.
I knew to keep my guard up this time, so more instead of feeling hurt or betrayed or whatever, I'm slightly irritated that he entered my lifespace and dangled a free meal in front of me. But I am wondering, what was your purpose, then? You had to fuck with my head just as you were about to fade into mental obscurity, or something? Oh, and just for bonus points, let's do this right around the time when I'm already majorly stressing about midterms, spring break, and have my sights set on a boy who has ACTUALLY BEEN DECENT TO ME.**
**Speaking of which, me and That Boy passed each other on campus today and even though he was on the phone he said hi...the whole exchange dripped with niceness and recognition from him [and uncontrollable fire and desire from me]. God he is so cute.
My first thought was to call him and cuss him the hell out just for his presence on this Earth. But my good buddy Chicago Jay wisely talked me out of it. Barely.
Last Monday, I got a random Facebook message from The Smoker...followed by Facebook chat, text, and call--all within an hour. The gist of his argument was that he's changed ("maybe I wasn't as honest as I should have been") and it ended with him asking for the pleasure of my company for drinks on Saturday. I give him a hard time but finally concede.
"This isn't gonna be like last time," I say. "I'm not chasing you, if you want to do something, you set it up." He agrees, but I know he thinks I will text/call/initiate contact. Ah, but 'tis a fool who thinks that I didn't learn something from last time. And I stick to my word: no textual activity otherwise comes from me. None comes from him either.
I run into him on Thursday, slightly witty banter ensues, nothing more.
Saturday rolls around. I'm shopping with Cali Girl and Ms. Politics for our upcoming spring break trip in a mall way out in Tourist-ville. I give this boy until 7pm, then, shit, I need to know if we need to leave or if we can go out to dinner. So I cave in and text him, he responds quickly: "Who is this?"
Oh, honey, you tried to bullshit a bullshitter. Now I know you have your phone on your person and are fully capable of receiving and sending text messages.
I text back that it's me and I'm just trying to see if we're still on for tonight.
Here's the funny part, guys: NO ANSWER. It is now Tuesday evening and not a word. Did I scare him into reneging with our 3.5 minutes of chatting on Thursday? Erroneous either way. A leopard doesn't change his spots, I guess.
I knew to keep my guard up this time, so more instead of feeling hurt or betrayed or whatever, I'm slightly irritated that he entered my lifespace and dangled a free meal in front of me. But I am wondering, what was your purpose, then? You had to fuck with my head just as you were about to fade into mental obscurity, or something? Oh, and just for bonus points, let's do this right around the time when I'm already majorly stressing about midterms, spring break, and have my sights set on a boy who has ACTUALLY BEEN DECENT TO ME.**
**Speaking of which, me and That Boy passed each other on campus today and even though he was on the phone he said hi...the whole exchange dripped with niceness and recognition from him [and uncontrollable fire and desire from me]. God he is so cute.
My first thought was to call him and cuss him the hell out just for his presence on this Earth. But my good buddy Chicago Jay wisely talked me out of it. Barely.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Disgusted
Just know that I am seriously considering a Fuck Niggas Get Money tattoo.
It's been that kind of week.
It's been that kind of week.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Help Me! Help Me!
Today, I hauled my arse out of my warm, womb-like bed to make it to class on time. I used my gas and daily parking fundage in my quest to be and stay a good student. Lo and behold, by happy coincidence and Our Father Who Art in Heaven, all of my classes were canceled. Very goot, very goot. I had lunch with the Artist, Motown Lover, and Mr. GQ and 'twas fun, right?
Then my teacher just flipped the script on a bitch. I pulled up the online assignment and to mine eyes appeared this horrible abombination:
Bernard Bell** has assisted us in considering the ways that contemporary writers are employing and exploring theories of "being." Modernism is a word that has come to stand for a set of "humanist" beliefs: that we live in a world that is knowable to us through processes of reason; that language can reliably depict and reveal the Real World; that there is a Real World; that writers are in control of language, words and meaning. Modernist writers also predicted the rejection of traditions (that were tied to the "unreason" of religious beliefs vs. reason; the agrarian society vs. the industrial age; and the rituals of station and the stationary family vs. mass population movements due to war or economic privation, etc. Everett 's plot is built on the idea that the murder of his narrator's beloved daughter has upset his belief in reason and has also unmoored the meanings of words (look up structuralism for diachronic and synchronic meaning) and even his ability to establish his meanings. Your assignment is to explore the novelist's "proposition" (stated above) by analyzing the author's title, The Water Cure. Consider the title's relationship to the novel AND to the "real world." This work is for discussion in Wednesday's class, so be well prepared.
Okay. I read [half of] the book, and I've been awake the past two classes so I thought I at least sort of knew what my class is on about. Until I read this assignment description. And posed this question:
What the fucking fuck is my teacher asking for? Can one of y'all smarties break something down for me? I read the above paragraph three times and I'm still here. Confused, but by God, I am here.
**I'm taking Bernard Bell off of my Top Friends on Myspace (if I had one). He wrote the worst textbook known to mankind and I kind of hate him for it. We ain't friends.
Then my teacher just flipped the script on a bitch. I pulled up the online assignment and to mine eyes appeared this horrible abombination:
Bernard Bell** has assisted us in considering the ways that contemporary writers are employing and exploring theories of "being." Modernism is a word that has come to stand for a set of "humanist" beliefs: that we live in a world that is knowable to us through processes of reason; that language can reliably depict and reveal the Real World; that there is a Real World; that writers are in control of language, words and meaning. Modernist writers also predicted the rejection of traditions (that were tied to the "unreason" of religious beliefs vs. reason; the agrarian society vs. the industrial age; and the rituals of station and the stationary family vs. mass population movements due to war or economic privation, etc. Everett 's plot is built on the idea that the murder of his narrator's beloved daughter has upset his belief in reason and has also unmoored the meanings of words (look up structuralism for diachronic and synchronic meaning) and even his ability to establish his meanings. Your assignment is to explore the novelist's "proposition" (stated above) by analyzing the author's title, The Water Cure. Consider the title's relationship to the novel AND to the "real world." This work is for discussion in Wednesday's class, so be well prepared.
Okay. I read [half of] the book, and I've been awake the past two classes so I thought I at least sort of knew what my class is on about. Until I read this assignment description. And posed this question:
What the fucking fuck is my teacher asking for? Can one of y'all smarties break something down for me? I read the above paragraph three times and I'm still here. Confused, but by God, I am here.
**I'm taking Bernard Bell off of my Top Friends on Myspace (if I had one). He wrote the worst textbook known to mankind and I kind of hate him for it. We ain't friends.
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