Monday, June 30, 2008

Super Unfair

It's awful when I run into someone I knew in high school as I'm on my way out of the gym and they're on their way in. They get to be clean and crisp in fresh work out gear, all smiles and matte foreheads, and I am literally bright red in the face, covered in a sheen of sweat, probably panting, and all around disgusting looking.

Running into three people from high school, all in this scenario, all in one night? There is no god.

Sunday, June 29, 2008

Sitting on babies, etc.

I babysat for most of this weekend, for the cutest little boys. One is almost 6 and the other is almost 2. The baby is literally the most adorable little guy in the world, and the 6 year old is hilarious.

So today I took them to the park and obviously I'm running after the younger one, because he's at the stage where he can climb on everything but then he doesn't actually realize that coming down can hurt if not done right, so if you look away for .5 seconds he's suddenly gone from dancing on a sofa to sobbing on the floor because he smashed his head. You know, for example. So anyway I'm running after him, but his brother is pretty high-maintenance, so he wanted a lot of my attention too, but then he finally spotted a dog so I was off the hook. So both little guys become obsessed with the dog, so we're chatting with the husband and wife who own it, and I'm mostly focused on the younger boy, and suddenly I tune back into the conversation taking place and I hear the dog owner say, "Your son tells us you guys are thinking about getting a dog."

I almost died of shock. I think I actually put my hand up to my chest, in that old-fashioned "Ohmigod I can't believe you just said that" kind of expression. I immediately corrected her, I was like "Oh, oh my god, these aren't my kids, ohhhh hahahahaha I'm 19 oh my gosh um no I babysit, yeah, I'm babysitting these boys, ho boy, no no no, yeah, um anyway their family, not mine, their fam isn't really thinking about a dog either...they have a bird..." I was so flustered. I mean I know teen pregnancy is all the rage these days, but do I really look old enough to be a mom?!

I told the boys' mom about this when she got home and she laughed and said I should take it as a compliment. She also said I could pass for 25, which I'm not sure I should take as a compliment. I mean I guess it was sweet that they thought I looked so involved I might have been a mother, but then halfway through that thought I start thinking, what the fuck they thought I was a mother?!

So yeah. Oh, and on the way home, the older boy chimed in: "So are you married yet?" I laughed and told him no, not yet. "Well you better get on it! Time's running out!" Before I could die of another anxiety attack, he piped up: "My brain is on backwards today..." and I had to remind myself that he is 5, and I don't have to listen to him. As if that calmed my suddenly panicked brain one little bit.

For now I'll stick with the beer and the prosthetic leg...not the veil.

Friday, June 27, 2008

This week's conclusion:

I have smart, depressing friends.

*To clarify: (1) I'm pink, duh and (2) when she says "class" she means "graduating class from high school", as in, "Class of '06" for example. Not the type of class that implies rich vs. poor, etc. Though they all might be a mess, too. 

Thursday, June 26, 2008


My desire to be in a place (both physically and mentally) that would inspire me to take a decent picture is so great right now.

If anyone (1) has a darkroom I can use this summer here in suburbia, (2) knows a loophole for this stupid NYU darkroom rule that only allows Art Majors access to the lab, or has another suggestion about where to print in the city for prices that are not outrageous, or (3) can tell me how to get my creativity back, I would appreciate that immensely.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008


Today I sat around thinking about the word "miss." Starting last night at midnight when I started realizing exactly who I miss these days, going into this morning when the UPS delivery guy called me "Miss," moving right along when I missed my stop on the T and ended up walking 20 minutes in a thunder storm. So obviously now, sitting by myself in my large queen bed that has a way of making me feel lonely, I will look up the word "miss" in the dictionary. And obviously by that I mean with my Apple Dictionary widget. There are a lot of definitions, so get ready.

verb, used with object
1. to fail to hit or strike
2. to fail to encounter, meet, catch, etc.
3. to fail to take advantage of
4. to fail to be present at or for
5. to notice the absence or loss of
6. to regret the absence or loss of
7. to escape or avoid
8. to fail to perceive or understand
verb, used without object
9. to fail to hit something
10. to fail of effect or success
11. a failure to hit something
12. a failure of any kind
13. an omission
14. a misfire

Interestingly, under "related forms" it says missable. Which is an adjective. Which my automatic spellcheck picks sup as an error. The word is currently underlined red on my screen. But I like that best. Missable. Capable of being missed, I suppose. The very definition of being missed. I would love to be missable. I wonder to whom I am missable. I wonder if that was the correct use of "whom."

There are a lot of ways to miss. I can miss a human being. I can miss a job opportunity. I can miss out on good times. I can miss the chance of a lifetime.

I am doing a lot of missing right now. I miss some places, like NYC and camp. I miss some people, but I think I might have missed the part where they don't miss me. Or glossed over it, at least. Maybe, genetically, I am less missable than others. Today at work I found out that the reason I hate cilantro is tied up in a genetic disposition. Seriously, my boss informed me that disliking cilantro is totally genetic. 
"Do you think it tastes like soap," he asked, completely seriously.
"HOW THE FUCK DID YOU KNOW?!" Clearly the only legit response.
But yeah, apparently most people who hate cilantro don't like it because they think it tastes like soap, and that has something to do with genetics. I love science on some days.

Uh, anyway, back to the word miss and away from revolting herbs...

I don't know. I guess I can't ask the people I miss intensely to miss me back with equal emotion. I can't even really ask them to miss me back at all. Maybe some people have a higher tolerance for missing. Or their hearts are just missing. Who knows. I think, though, that if the person you are missing most does not find you equally missable, then perhaps the whole relationship is kind of missing the point.

That's a place I really miss a lot right about now...because I guess it's socially inappropriate (in my opinion?) to post on the internt large black and white images of the people you miss just as much, especially when there is a distinct possibility that said people do not miss you back.

*Also: somehow, my timing in this blog is so off. It says I posted this at 9:21pm, but that is bullshit. Everyone knows that no one, not even me, is this self-pitying and depressed before 11pm. Anyway it is 12:53am, FYI. If anyone knows how to sync up my blog (or me, for that matter) with the REAL WORLD, let me know.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Monday, June 23, 2008

In less self-pitying pathetic news...

I wanted to liveblog Weeds because I've never liveblogged before and I always have great reactions during the show, but then I forget them afterwards, but Nina stayed over to watch and it seemed weird/antisocial to drag my laptop into the TV room when it wasn't just me.

Also, I took Sam's advice and watched Secret Diary of a Call Girl, even though I really didn't love last week, and he was right, it's getting good. I will continue following it. Even if it was super awkward when my dad walked in during this scene:

And on that note, goodnight.

The "Why Didn't I Just Go To Camp" Questioning Begins...

I wish I was the kind of girl who knew how to not care at all the right moments. Unfortunately I'm just the girl who keeps caring. Like, forever. Like the fucking Energizer Bunny. I just keep going and going and going and going...

I mean this is completely irrelevant, but if we're being truthful, I still secretly (not so secretly?) care immensely about the boy I fell in love with in 11th grade. The one who never fell in love back, the one who treats me like shit, the one who called me at night to say "I love you" while he was fucking another girl, the one who rips out my heart and stomps on it every time it seems like maybe he might change but oh wait he doesn't...incase anyone wasn't doing the math, that is FOUR YEARS people. And here I am, still caring. And there is he, still not changing. But the real question is, why do I even know that? Why do I even bother to know that he hasn't changed an ounce? Oh right. Because I care.

So this will be the pattern for the rest of my life: I will start caring and never be able to stop, and no man will ever even start.

Sunday, June 22, 2008

Dear Gregg Gillis, I love you for forever.

Download the new Girl Talk CD, Feed the Animals, immediately. You can pay whatever you want. It's online. DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT!

I still don't have the energy to write all that I need to say about the Pregnancy Pact (which now turns out to be maybe made up or at least exaggerated?), but for now, in hopes that it's not too soon to joke (when is it ever?), let me just say I would 100% let Gregg Gillis get me pregnant. Even if he was a "24 year old homeless guy."

Saturday, June 21, 2008

"My best advice would be to get a digital camera."

I just purchased my first item on eBay, or 10 items I should say. 10 boxes of Polaroid 600 film. Probably the last boxes of Polaroid film I'll ever purchase. Great. The end of Polaroid is depressing me so much, mostly because I feel like it's the first thing I care about that is being phased out. My dad jokes that newspapers will one day become extinct, and Dara was telling me she thinks one day we won't need books/libraries because all the words of the world will be in an iPod-like doesn't matter if we can do that. I don't want to. Anyway maybe Polaroid will make a comeback, like record players. Maybe when I'm 55 Polaroid film will miraculously appear on shelves again and my kid's can play with "mommy's old camera," the way I go through my mom's old records with delight.

Until then, the advice from the CVS photo lady as she watched me have a minor breakdown upon realizing CVS doesn't even stock Polaroid film anymore: "Honestly, I think you should just get a digital camera."

Because these pictures clearly look exactly the same.

Friday, June 20, 2008

It's like a bad Jodi Picoult novel (see: The Pact)

This totally throws me off my stride. And scares the shit out of me. And generally confuses me. And concerns me. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck. I can't even write coherently now, I'll have to elaborate tomorrow. For tonight, I'll just conclude with this

"In these situations, I am not pro-choice. I am pro-abortion." - JJ

Thursday, June 19, 2008

My dad threatened to burn this shirt when I wore it around the house.

To quote 10 Things I Hate About You:
like my Hillary shirt, but I love this awesome article.

I can't vote this year (woohoo! Canadian citizenship!) but I hope everyone who was rooting for Hil is taking on this view point by now...the alternative is
too scary to think about.

eBay and Craigslist and Anxiety, Oh My!

For reasons that don't need to be explained right now (and no, neither has anything to do with sexual encounters), I need to use eBay and Craiglist for the first time in my young life. I'm kind of nervous about it, mostly about eBay, because I've never used it before and I'm scared someone is going to be able to steal my identity via credit card. That happens sometimes, right? At least my mom says it does?

Help is truly welcome. Sam, my eBay-master friend...I'm looking at

I would like to "not get to know" Joel Walkowski better.

Apparently I need to keep a better tab on the NYT, because about a week ago they published an essay that I think attempts to answer my whole depressing essay/rant about love and being alone and if it matters and if we're capable of it and I don't know what else.

It's by a USC student for some contest the Times had, and he sounds pretty adorable, in that can't-say-how-I-really-feel-can't-have-a-real-relationship- couldn't-even-confess-to-the-girl-I-loved-that-I-loved-her- so-she-dumped-me-and-I-only-ate-Wendy's-for-a-week-I-was
-so-ruined kind of way. I'm not even trying to be a bitch here, he really does sound adorable. But what the fuck is up with that? Why is it weird to date in our generation? And why do those kind of boys who are unable to spill their true feelings still get to sound so damn adorable?

Maybe I just got excited about the fact that he works in a library and attended a Library Prom his bosses threw. Regardless, Joel, if you Googled your name and found this blog, feel free to contact me so we can not get to know each other. It's getting to be that dry here in Suburbia.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Hungover? Sick? Pregnant?

I saw a woman puking into a garbage at Arlington station this morning. I was already feeling kind of sick, but that helped my queasy stomach, obviously. She just kept quietly turning to her right, vomiting into the trash, and then dabbing her mouth extremely elegantly with the Metro. Yum.

Monday, June 16, 2008

Why You Don't Need A Man, Until You Do, Maybe.

Okay let me preface this by saying that I genuinely enjoyed reading Eat, Pray, Love. Great read, super easy to get through, pretty uplifting, made me want to travel the world eating obscene amounts of delicious pizza in Italy, meditating in an Ashram in India, and making friends with sweet natural healers in Indonesia. Wonderful.


The whole premise of the book, for those not inclined to awaken the aforementioned desires in their bodies and minds or perhaps just not enticed by Gilbert's somewhat self-indulging post-divorce-post-affair-after-divorce musings, is that Gilbert is going to get away from her life and learn what it's like to be on her own.

Without going into too much plot summary, the point is that Gilbert vows to be celibate for the year. She finally gives in and breaks this vow when she meets a fabulously kind and sexy Brazilian man in Indonesia, they become lovers, she gets a UTI from having so much mind-blowing sex with him, and as the book wraps up she has learned not only how to be self-sufficient and independent, but she also has herself a brand-spanking new grown up boyfriend/relationship. Yay Elizabeth!

Now, I'm not trying to begrudge the woman sex. Nor am I particularly judgmental over the fact that she "broke her vow of celibacy," because first of all I find it super ambitious for anyone traveling anywhere exotic all alone to make that vow, and second of all I kind of assume that when one makes a vow to oneself, it's a given that you can bend (or completely break) the rules as situations arise. That's the beauty of only promising yourself you'll lose weight, not forking over any cash to Weight Watchers and asking them to make you feel guilty when you quickly break said vow. Anyway, I digress.

I can't help it, but it really depressed me that Elizabeth Gilbert wrote this whole book about independence and finding herself, and then went and ended up finding a man to complete the picture. Sort of the same way I was bummed out that Carrie doesn't end up single in SATC. Or at least not married. One of the writers/creators of SATC was quoted in Marie Claire explaining Carrie's eventual marriage, and she said something to the extent of, Well we just thought if we couldn't write these girls happy endings, there was no hope for any of us. To be fair, Gilbert is just chronicling real life, so I suppose she couldn't help finding this stunning Brazilian man who conveniently made an excellent ending for her novel/autobiography...I don't know. Maybe my disappointment is unfounded, or unfair. Who am I to wish women of the world lifetimes of loneliness? Why aren't these heroines, in my mind, allowed to end up with the perfect guy?

I guess it just freaks me out that human beings are so dependent. I have some friends who claim not to need anyone (romantically, monogamously), who promise me that marriage is not something they will ever consider, who assure me that they are independent and happy on their own. Shouldn't they be uplifting? Am I not complaining about (somewhat) fictional characters depending on men for happiness? Wouldn't the idea that my very real near and dear friends are perfectly content on their own? But that depresses me too, or worse, I catch myself thinking that they are liars, not in tune with their own brains or hearts or both, deceiving themselves into thinking they don't want the one things all human beings want...

Which I guess is to say I assume all human beings want to connect with other human beings, maybe specifically one other human being who they can build "a life" with. I don't know if that's realistic. Fiction certainly seems to agree. Maybe I wanted Carrie to have a happy ending, but a single happy ending, to prove that those can exist. Or I wanted Elizabeth Gilbert to really stay celibate for a year, really be happy all by herself, really be capable of being whole and fulfilled with no man in the picture. Perhaps I wanted proof that this is possible, because I so strongly feel in my own life that it's not.

I guess I just want a person, either in real life or fiction, to promise me that the worst thing in the world is not dying alone.

But I don't know why I want that, because I wouldn't believe them.

How can you not love this lady?

I napped from 8 to 9.30 instead of going to the gym, because I'm awesome like that. Then I woke up in time to get excited for the season premiere of Weeds!

Brief opinions:

1. I forgot how good some of the season 3 finale one-liners were. "And presumably you were fucking her in this house, she of the magical house getting pussy?" Love the DEA guy.
2. I will miss MK and Conrad.
3. "MOMMY SET THE HOUSE ON FIRE! Okay, mystery solved." Ugh I love her so much. I was worried I would get turned off the show when she turned straight-up-gangsta-pot-dealer as opposed to pretty-mundane-yet-snarky-pot-mommy, but I still love her. 
4. This plot line with Gee...I won't even try to spell his name, but if you watch the show y'all know who I mean, it makes me nervous. But good nervous.
5. I'm nervous about Celia, like bad nervous. It's hilarious that they're all trying to frame her, but every time she exclaims, "NANCY BOTWIN!" I twitch. There's no way Celia's going down without a fight...although I guess I wouldn't want her to.
6. Andy is coming into his own awesomely. Giving Judah's character some more dimension is also a smart choice, and can help explain a lot about Andy. "I just saw my grandma's vagina." And the silver bowling hat? So fucking great.

Okay so basically I'm really excited to be home this summer to watch my girl MLP rock out. How can you not love a naked lady with a snake, right?

Bleeding gums.

Today at work I got so bored I ended up making my gums bleed. Gross, you may say. How, you might ask. Fair questions. I was going to provide a visual, but it was too gross an overshare. Basically I was just chewing on the end of my ballpoint pen while doing blog research (sounds like what I do at home, no?) but instead of just chewing today, the pen was fitting quite nicely in the groove about my one canine molar...whatever long story short it got to be the type of pain that hurts-so-good, you know? So I continued, then started using my nails to increase the "good", and when I checked out the whole situation in the bathroom mirror before leaving for the day I realized I should probably not open my mouth/smile at people until the redness goes away. Which could be...actually I have no idea. I've never done this before. Here's to hoping for a speedy recovery for my gums!

No more poetry.

So I decided I don't want to do haikus anymore. Obviously I just stopped writing in this blog. Then I thought: WHY NOT WRITE THINGS THAT AREN'T HAIKUS IN HERE.

I know, it's total genius.

So consider this my first official non-haiku blog entry.

The only real thing I have to say is that no matter how much I enjoy my internship, I would rather sleep late tomorrow, maybe go to the gym but probably not, lay out in the sun for a little while, work a little bit on my scrapbook, eat a delicious dinner, watch Weeds, and go to bed. Nothing in the world could make me want to go into the office MORE than doing any of that. So I wonder, when people talk about "having a job you love so much it doesn't feel like work," what exactly does that mean. Are you a rich socialite who actually can do exactly what I just described and just...exist, I guess because you are so wealthy (even though we all know the rich are getting
just as poor as us regular people these days, the poor dears)? Are you paid to do arts and crafts on your bedroom floor (plausible, I suppose)? Do you actually enjoy whatever high-power-high-stress-intense-job you have more than you enjoy a life of leisure (there are people out there...I used to be one of them)? I'm not sure, but it's got me thinking, as most things do lately, about what I'd actually like to do with my life. It is all well and good to say I will finish college and move to California/the suburbs/stay in NYC/rush off to Israel, depending on the mood I'm in that day, but that doesn't answer the fairly basic question of what I'd like to do next

I guess it's okay not to know. A favorite saying to tell a college undergrad is, "you don't have to know what you want to be!" I have asked when the deadline is, when it is no longer going to be okay to have no fucking clue what happens next, when people will stop telling me in sugar-coated tones that it's totally fine that I have NO IDEA WHAT COMES NEXT. I've gotten different answers, ranging from "Deadline is graduation!" to "Deadline is never!"

In other news, Himalayan rabbits' have all white fur with the exception of their feet, which stay black, because they are always in the snow and never get exposed to the sun. But if you stick one in a closet or some equally dark space for a few weeks, its whole body turns black!

Friday, June 13, 2008

In case you missed the memo:

I don't write haikus
anymore. I don't really
know why. Adios.