At least the new semester will bring a new one if a clean one isn't possible. I admit, residues of lackluster semester final grades will still ease its way into the upcoming semester somehow, but I'm hoping for the best. At this point, there is no use in my justifying my academics or my time management skills because frankly, they were not at their best.
This Fall I learned that I couldn't do everything. I forgot how to pace myself. This time, it will be better. Let's hope.
Meanwhile, I'm in love and I can't stop it. Apparently I have been for a long, long time, and only when I was able to look at myself in the mirror this weekend did I realize how real this thing really was.
2010. Time to get serious. Clean slates for everyone, please.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
I believe that lovers should be tied together
Lately I've been wishing I had one desire,
Something that would make me never want another,
Something that would make it so that nothing matters,
All would be clearer then
But I guess I'll have to settle for a few brief moments,
And watch it all dissolve into a single second,
And try to write it down into a perfect sonnet,
Or one foolish line
'Cause that's all that you'll get,
So you'll have to accept,
You are here ,
Then you're gone
I believe that lovers should be tied together,
Thrown into the ocean in the worst of weather,
Left there to drown,
Left there to drown in their innocence
But as for me I'm coming to the final chapter,
I've read all of the pages and there's still no answer,
The only words before I know will soon come after,
It’s the only way it can be.
So I stand in the sun,
And I breathe with my lungs,
Trying to spare me the weight of the truth,
Seeing everything you've ever seen was just a mirror,
Spend your whole life sweating in an endless fever,
Laying in a bathtub full of freezing water,
Wishing you were a ghost
But once you knew a girl and you named her Lover,
And danced with her in kitchens through the greenest summers
But autumn came,
She disappeared,
You can't remember
Where she said she was going to
But you know that she's gone,
'Cause she left you a song,
That you don't wanna sing
Singing: I believe that lovers should be chained together,
Thrown into a fire with their songs and letters,
And left there to burn,
Left there to burn in their arrogance
But as for me I'm coming to my final failure,
I've killed myself with changes trying to make things better,
But still ended up becoming something other,
Than what I had planned to be
All right!
Now I believe that lovers should be draped in flowers,
And laid entwined together on a bed of clover,
And left there to sleep,
Left there to dream of their happiness.
Your balls are in a jar on top of my fridge
Long time no see. In other news: I did get new glasses. Bigger frames. Nothing hipster-obnoxious. But it is visibly bigger. I suppose that makes my corrected field of vision much bigger, no?
Zipping through the semester, there are a couple of things I haven't had a chance to sit down and address. The biggest of these is my persistent desire to see the best in every situation. I guess this is a good thing but not when it prevents me from realizing that somethings are just meant to be left untouched, unfixed, and maybe the mess in front of me isn't a project I can whip back into shape by means of the usual Kate Intervention.
I've spoken to my friends and I've concluded that there are some women who are definitely Type-A. No kidding. These Type-A women, however, hold every aspect of their lives to high standards.
High standards = High expectations.
The latter is not always as snobby as it's made out to be but come on, high expectations lets us become hard-working individuals who strive for nothing short of perfection. Great if you're in Organic Chemistry or Calculus III in college. Not so great if you're in a relationship... sometimes.
Having high expectations leads to two things that are sometimes not always so exclusive:
Basically, the high expectations have given rise to high disappointments. It's like clockwork. I meet a guy, I like said guy, I have expectations for said guy, and then... I start to dislike said guy and the cycle rebirths itself. It's exhausting, it's disposable, and it's downright mentally challenging. There are so many maneuvers and secret attack moves in dating these days that I'm almost missing the bravado all over again.
Where is that guy who will storm in front of me and another potential suitor and say, "No, baby, you're MY girl and I only want you." And then we would be "going steady" after that.
THAT DOESN'T HAPPEN ANYMORE. The damn feminist movement took away men's balls. And gave it to us. And we don't know what to do with all this testosterone except put it in our careers because, hey, guess what? It fucking fails when we use it in relationships.
Sorry, boys, but someone had to wear the pants.
This unsettling feeling I get when I notice that something is "wrong" with the guy is driving me insane. I hope it goes away but I'm scared of what I end up with when I start to ignore that voice in my head that tells me I can do better. I've stopped looking for perfection but I haven't stopped fighting for it. Maybe this whole turning 21 thing will make me see something I've been overlooking.
Maybe.
Zipping through the semester, there are a couple of things I haven't had a chance to sit down and address. The biggest of these is my persistent desire to see the best in every situation. I guess this is a good thing but not when it prevents me from realizing that somethings are just meant to be left untouched, unfixed, and maybe the mess in front of me isn't a project I can whip back into shape by means of the usual Kate Intervention.
I've spoken to my friends and I've concluded that there are some women who are definitely Type-A. No kidding. These Type-A women, however, hold every aspect of their lives to high standards.
High standards = High expectations.
The latter is not always as snobby as it's made out to be but come on, high expectations lets us become hard-working individuals who strive for nothing short of perfection. Great if you're in Organic Chemistry or Calculus III in college. Not so great if you're in a relationship... sometimes.
Having high expectations leads to two things that are sometimes not always so exclusive:
- You never settle for anything less than what you feel you deserve and you always end up with "the best."
- Your demanding air of "high expectations" drives others away because, let's face it, not every Type-A woman attracts a Type-A man who is completely okay subjecting himself to judgment and scrutiny of a woman's "Perfect Man" checklist.
Basically, the high expectations have given rise to high disappointments. It's like clockwork. I meet a guy, I like said guy, I have expectations for said guy, and then... I start to dislike said guy and the cycle rebirths itself. It's exhausting, it's disposable, and it's downright mentally challenging. There are so many maneuvers and secret attack moves in dating these days that I'm almost missing the bravado all over again.
Where is that guy who will storm in front of me and another potential suitor and say, "No, baby, you're MY girl and I only want you." And then we would be "going steady" after that.
THAT DOESN'T HAPPEN ANYMORE. The damn feminist movement took away men's balls. And gave it to us. And we don't know what to do with all this testosterone except put it in our careers because, hey, guess what? It fucking fails when we use it in relationships.
Sorry, boys, but someone had to wear the pants.
This unsettling feeling I get when I notice that something is "wrong" with the guy is driving me insane. I hope it goes away but I'm scared of what I end up with when I start to ignore that voice in my head that tells me I can do better. I've stopped looking for perfection but I haven't stopped fighting for it. Maybe this whole turning 21 thing will make me see something I've been overlooking.
Maybe.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
To get me back on track
I Never - Rilo Kiley
I'm only a woman
Of flesh and bone
And I wept much
We all do
I thought I might die alone
But I had never(x11) met you
So baby be good to me
I've got nothing to give you, you see
except everything, everything, everything, everything
All the good
And the bad
Cause I've been bad
I've lied, cheated, stolen, and been ungrateful for what I had
And I'm afraid habits rule my waking life
I'm scared
And I'm running in my sleep
For you
But all of the oceans and rivers and showers will wash it all away
And make me clean
For you
Cause I had never(x15) met you
So let's take a loan out
Put it down on a house
In a place we've never lived
in a place that exists
In the pages of scripts and
the songs that they sing
And all the beautiful things
That make you weep but
Don't have to make you weak
Cause I never(x27) loved somebody
The way I loved you.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Skirt chaser
I have wanted to look good in higher-waist skirts for as long as they came into "style." I do not have abs of steel, however, so I only look decent in those skirts at the most. When I finally did tone down (I promise there's a point to this) I was able to tuck shirts in and make a really cute outfit. I finally achieved what I waited 2 months for. Well, I didn't just wait; I had to run my ass off. I wasn't really sure why I wasn't as into that look as I thought I would be.
Fast forward.
Isn't it weird how much we really, really want something only to be amused momentarily? It's nothing less than exhilarating to work (hard?) for something important to you. The goal-acquisition process is nothing short of challenging but the whole endeavor is often a journey of its own. It's great to look back on, but once you've achieved it--what next?
Why are so many then-struggling now-famous actors and actresses boozing and coking away their lives only to end up bored and suicidal?
Are we really only attracted to the thrill of the chase and the possibility of not making it? Transitively, did that mean I was attracted to drama? It's a terrible thought because as animated as I am, I hate bringing the d-rama into everyday life, much less my closet.
[And fyi: my outfits are only filled with drama around the same time every year... factor in the days when I am pissed off or tired. I try to make it work but really, a pissy mood will ruin any outfit. I promise. You start wearing a frown and pout everywhere and nobody notices the new Via Spigas you're wearing.]
If the above were true and we are, for the most part, closet (or open) goal-oriented drama queens/kings, then how would be remotely possible to remain satisfied? If The Matrix was right and the question truly drives us, then what happens once the question has been answered? What comes after goal acquisition? Goal satisfaction? I mean, I admit, I did parade myself around in my high waist skirt outfit for a while because I really liked it. Then it got old and I no longer liked it.
I thought about two reasons: either the high waist skirt thing was just way overblown and I overexcited myself (meaning the end goal wasn't really all that and a side of fries) OR I have a seemingly chronic disatisfaction with life once I've gotten what I wanted.
Being the optimist, I chose the former. I thought about it and gave myself several other goals. I am currently happy that I was able to pair those odd giraffe-print pumps from Nine West with other human-like things from my closet. I am currently satisfied with my position as Editor in Chief. I am beyond excited about the grant I received and worked hard to get. But regarding things closer to me, I'm afraid my predicament worsens.
Why am I not happy with something that I thought would really put the icing on the cake? If I feel this weird about something I think I want, how would that translate to career aspirations and you know, that thing... the rest of my life? If I am so off the radar with what I think makes me happy (a small thing like a high waist skirt on my ever-so-small frame), how am I ever going to figure out the bigger things?
Take a womanizer: he is on edge when he is about to make a conquest, but once conquered, he feels unchallenged and unstimulated. He's bound for the next and only momentarily enjoys the last victory. How many challenges more until he's tired? Until he's satisfied? Until he develops erectile dysfunction? Is he going to go on chasing skirts? Do I go on chasing goals instead of enjoying them?
I spent a long time debating, ranting, lecturing, and arguing a perspective that I thought I would be able to maintain over time. I thought I would want something enough to ask another to work hard on it with me. But now that it's mine it suddenly feels a little tight, a little ill-fitting, and a little wrong. Sad to say but I feel like it's turned into yet another high waisted skirt.
Fast forward.
Isn't it weird how much we really, really want something only to be amused momentarily? It's nothing less than exhilarating to work (hard?) for something important to you. The goal-acquisition process is nothing short of challenging but the whole endeavor is often a journey of its own. It's great to look back on, but once you've achieved it--what next?
Why are so many then-struggling now-famous actors and actresses boozing and coking away their lives only to end up bored and suicidal?
Are we really only attracted to the thrill of the chase and the possibility of not making it? Transitively, did that mean I was attracted to drama? It's a terrible thought because as animated as I am, I hate bringing the d-rama into everyday life, much less my closet.
[And fyi: my outfits are only filled with drama around the same time every year... factor in the days when I am pissed off or tired. I try to make it work but really, a pissy mood will ruin any outfit. I promise. You start wearing a frown and pout everywhere and nobody notices the new Via Spigas you're wearing.]
If the above were true and we are, for the most part, closet (or open) goal-oriented drama queens/kings, then how would be remotely possible to remain satisfied? If The Matrix was right and the question truly drives us, then what happens once the question has been answered? What comes after goal acquisition? Goal satisfaction? I mean, I admit, I did parade myself around in my high waist skirt outfit for a while because I really liked it. Then it got old and I no longer liked it.
I thought about two reasons: either the high waist skirt thing was just way overblown and I overexcited myself (meaning the end goal wasn't really all that and a side of fries) OR I have a seemingly chronic disatisfaction with life once I've gotten what I wanted.
Being the optimist, I chose the former. I thought about it and gave myself several other goals. I am currently happy that I was able to pair those odd giraffe-print pumps from Nine West with other human-like things from my closet. I am currently satisfied with my position as Editor in Chief. I am beyond excited about the grant I received and worked hard to get. But regarding things closer to me, I'm afraid my predicament worsens.
Why am I not happy with something that I thought would really put the icing on the cake? If I feel this weird about something I think I want, how would that translate to career aspirations and you know, that thing... the rest of my life? If I am so off the radar with what I think makes me happy (a small thing like a high waist skirt on my ever-so-small frame), how am I ever going to figure out the bigger things?
Take a womanizer: he is on edge when he is about to make a conquest, but once conquered, he feels unchallenged and unstimulated. He's bound for the next and only momentarily enjoys the last victory. How many challenges more until he's tired? Until he's satisfied? Until he develops erectile dysfunction? Is he going to go on chasing skirts? Do I go on chasing goals instead of enjoying them?
I spent a long time debating, ranting, lecturing, and arguing a perspective that I thought I would be able to maintain over time. I thought I would want something enough to ask another to work hard on it with me. But now that it's mine it suddenly feels a little tight, a little ill-fitting, and a little wrong. Sad to say but I feel like it's turned into yet another high waisted skirt.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
The Marketplace
Carrie Bradshaw wrote about relationships and investments once. She said, "When it comes to finance and dating, I couldn't help but wonder: why invest?" I spoke with a financial adviser today who told me about their own company's strategies for retirement savings. I, being a 20-year-old fiscally irresponsible girl, needed to hear this.
I resisted every urge to laugh at every instance I heard "save" and "you can't take this money out." I am a better spender than I am a better saver. The guy told me about putting aside part of my paycheck to diversify my stock portfolio (shut up, I actually just found out what that meant today). He told me about all the different sorts of savings vehicles that existed, and which would be better for what.
Didn't that also apply to my strategies for approaching relationships? I, too, liked to diversify my portfolio; I date multiple guys at once, casually. In other words, I have tiny shares of different stocks. That way, if one goes bad, I didn't invest too much (or own too much) of it to fall down along with it.
The variety of savings vehicles (Money Markets, Certificates of Deposit, Roth IRAs, Cash Value Life Insurance, 401Ks) could be analogous to the different boyfriends/significant others.
Interesting, huh?
In the whirlwind of diversifying my portfolio and spending my hard-earned money on frivolous items (and "investments"), I have decided to take a step further and start planning for my retirement that looming in about 45 years. I'm putting aside $75 every month, until I can afford more, towards a 401K, cash value life insurance, and a money market whatchamacallit. This is a huge step. I have debt on my shoulders and I'm sure to incur more.
I have baggage from prior investments, prior attempts to save, and prior mistakes. Planning for the future is a specialty of mine and I'm sure I'm ready for this venture.
So the stock market can go up or down or sideways, but this 20-year-old fiscally irresponsible girl is putting her money where her mouth his and is off the market.
I resisted every urge to laugh at every instance I heard "save" and "you can't take this money out." I am a better spender than I am a better saver. The guy told me about putting aside part of my paycheck to diversify my stock portfolio (shut up, I actually just found out what that meant today). He told me about all the different sorts of savings vehicles that existed, and which would be better for what.
Didn't that also apply to my strategies for approaching relationships? I, too, liked to diversify my portfolio; I date multiple guys at once, casually. In other words, I have tiny shares of different stocks. That way, if one goes bad, I didn't invest too much (or own too much) of it to fall down along with it.
The variety of savings vehicles (Money Markets, Certificates of Deposit, Roth IRAs, Cash Value Life Insurance, 401Ks) could be analogous to the different boyfriends/significant others.
- You want something that you can invest a little bit in and take out whenever you're done with it? Get a money market. It's taxed when you get it, when it grows, and when you decide you want to take it out and spend it. In terms of investment, financially and emotionally, you never really get the entire amount--just a little bit more than what you started with.
- You want a summer fling? There's your certificate of deposit. It only grows stronger and stronger for a certain amount of time, but there's always a cut-off date.
- You want something better, bigger, more formidable for the long run, you start investing in your cash value life insurance. You put aside a hefty amount every month from your paycheck. I mean, really, you bust your ass for this one. But you gain equity on it. And should you decide to take some of that money out, you get what you put in. It pays you back and then some in the long run. In other terms, this is your classic relationship.
Interesting, huh?
In the whirlwind of diversifying my portfolio and spending my hard-earned money on frivolous items (and "investments"), I have decided to take a step further and start planning for my retirement that looming in about 45 years. I'm putting aside $75 every month, until I can afford more, towards a 401K, cash value life insurance, and a money market whatchamacallit. This is a huge step. I have debt on my shoulders and I'm sure to incur more.
I have baggage from prior investments, prior attempts to save, and prior mistakes. Planning for the future is a specialty of mine and I'm sure I'm ready for this venture.
So the stock market can go up or down or sideways, but this 20-year-old fiscally irresponsible girl is putting her money where her mouth his and is off the market.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Point of clarification
My summer officially started last Friday after my 3pm mojito and fish tacos but I feel like I'm still on schedule. Don't ask me why I put myself through this because I might a) cry and wonder where my youth is going and/or b) laugh and say "Can't help a ho." Either of the above (not to mention to unique combination of the above) is sure to elicit some raised eyebrows and cockeyed expressions.
ANYWAY!
Isn't it funny how, when you break it down to its core, rules are rarely considerate of moral compasses? I mean, you can run over a cat, squirrel, bunny rabbit, or [insert common rodent species here] and you don't get fined, ticketed, pulled over or arrested. You can run over a damn deer and apparently it's okay because they're so overpopulated that killing one is doing a favor for the foliage. But you run over a human being and you're pretty much in shit. Unless you're Brandy. Then you get away with it.
Rules are set for fairness, for some sense of equality, no? If rules are uniform throughout, nobody can slip through and get away with something. But events are rarely as uniform as the rules that supposedly govern them. Enter my never-ending allusion to relationships.
You can like someone (as in feel every emotion you want to feel for that person) and spend time with that someone and show them you care. But unless they like you back, you're only on the giving and not the receiving end of this relationship. And what if the two of you do decide to reciprocate? The boundaries of expectations are "blurry" or "muddled" unless there is some sort of established understanding, right? The understanding is usually:
ANYWAY!
Isn't it funny how, when you break it down to its core, rules are rarely considerate of moral compasses? I mean, you can run over a cat, squirrel, bunny rabbit, or [insert common rodent species here] and you don't get fined, ticketed, pulled over or arrested. You can run over a damn deer and apparently it's okay because they're so overpopulated that killing one is doing a favor for the foliage. But you run over a human being and you're pretty much in shit. Unless you're Brandy. Then you get away with it.
Rules are set for fairness, for some sense of equality, no? If rules are uniform throughout, nobody can slip through and get away with something. But events are rarely as uniform as the rules that supposedly govern them. Enter my never-ending allusion to relationships.
You can like someone (as in feel every emotion you want to feel for that person) and spend time with that someone and show them you care. But unless they like you back, you're only on the giving and not the receiving end of this relationship. And what if the two of you do decide to reciprocate? The boundaries of expectations are "blurry" or "muddled" unless there is some sort of established understanding, right? The understanding is usually:
- We are just booty calls. I'll call you when I'm not getting any and nothing's good on TV. I might also text you asking the same thing. Maybe even when you're with your girlfriends or a guy you're just "seeing."
- We are fuck buddies. We dine and ditch as soon as the dirty is done. Every Tuesday. Then maybe I'll go for a cigarette/sandwich afterward.
- We are friends with benefits. We will fool around and hang out and genuinely enjoy each other's company, but don't expect me to introduce you to my parents or my best friends. I didn't mean to introduce you to my friends--they just happened to be at the bowling alley when I decided to go there with you after we got to third base in my basement.
- We are talking. Apparently we've established a mutual interest but nothing has happened between us yet. I hope something will happen soon because I like you.
- We are seeing each other. Sure, I talk to other people on the side and hang out with others but I'm taking you more seriously than the rest. Oh, what's this? Your best friend? And your mother? Hi, very nice to meet you.
- We are dating. No official, exclusive label yet: just a lot of talking, affection, and the occasional PDA in front of a sunset. Oh yeah, sometimes we have sex and sometimes we "make love." I giggle when you say we're doing the latter.
- We are in a relationship. If you so much as check out another guy/girl I'm going to get really quiet and not talk to you for the rest of the evening until you get the hint and then make it up to me by giving me a foot massage and watching The Notebook with me. We'll have sex but I'll "get a headache" before you get off. Yeah. Suck it. But I love you.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
She is more than her thousand names
Iron & Wine "In My Lady's House"
It is good in my lady's house.
Every shape that her body makes,
love is a fragile word
in the air on the length we lay.
No hands are half as gentle
or firm as they like to be.
Thank God you see me the way you do;
strange as you are to me.
It is good in my lady's house.
Every shape that her body makes,
love is a fragile word
in the air on the length we lay.
No hands are half as gentle
or firm as they like to be.
Thank God you see me the way you do;
strange as you are to me.
Men: endangered species watch list
I wasn't aware that men all of a sudden became an endangered species. I also wasn't aware that I wasn't the only girl dealing with indecisive men who stashed their bravado (and testicles?) way, way in the back of their closet under the soccer gear they hadn't touched since junior high.
Coincidentally, junior high was probably around the same time they got rejected by a girl whom they legitimately pursued. Oh, how the first cut is the deepest.
Newsflash to you men (not that you would even find yourselves on this page): everybody's been burned at least once. Some have even crashed and burned. And the unfortunate many have even crashed, burned, got into an accident on the way to the hospital, and then ended up with a large medical bill to pay off. Sorry to rain on your already depressing parade, but you're not the only one breaking up inside.
As much as you'd like the girl to take care of the relationship for a change, she's had her share of rejections and heartbreak. If she's putting in more effort than you are, then it's ridiculous. Why?
Because I have two best friends, both girls, telling me about the men in their lives who don't know a good thing when it's right in front of them. If a girl gets dressed up in front of you, does her hair the way you liked, and stays in your apartment for the second movie of the evening, followed by a round of ordered pizza, then SHE FUCKING WANTS YOU. Stop being a pussy, retrieve your balls and make a damn move.
If a girl drives from the suburbs to downtown Chicago at 10pm at night because that's when you wake up from your afternoon siesta, and buys you food, AND THEN helps you do your tax returns, guess what? She wants you too.
I mean "want" in the literal form. She wants you. Just you. All of you. And if you can't gather that from the inconvenience of a great girl sitting at home waiting for your call in an uncomfortable dress, or driving 35 minutes in a blizzard to help you with Turbo Tax, then you need to check your nether regions, because I believe you are not fit to be called man.
Coincidentally, junior high was probably around the same time they got rejected by a girl whom they legitimately pursued. Oh, how the first cut is the deepest.
Newsflash to you men (not that you would even find yourselves on this page): everybody's been burned at least once. Some have even crashed and burned. And the unfortunate many have even crashed, burned, got into an accident on the way to the hospital, and then ended up with a large medical bill to pay off. Sorry to rain on your already depressing parade, but you're not the only one breaking up inside.
As much as you'd like the girl to take care of the relationship for a change, she's had her share of rejections and heartbreak. If she's putting in more effort than you are, then it's ridiculous. Why?
Because I have two best friends, both girls, telling me about the men in their lives who don't know a good thing when it's right in front of them. If a girl gets dressed up in front of you, does her hair the way you liked, and stays in your apartment for the second movie of the evening, followed by a round of ordered pizza, then SHE FUCKING WANTS YOU. Stop being a pussy, retrieve your balls and make a damn move.
If a girl drives from the suburbs to downtown Chicago at 10pm at night because that's when you wake up from your afternoon siesta, and buys you food, AND THEN helps you do your tax returns, guess what? She wants you too.
I mean "want" in the literal form. She wants you. Just you. All of you. And if you can't gather that from the inconvenience of a great girl sitting at home waiting for your call in an uncomfortable dress, or driving 35 minutes in a blizzard to help you with Turbo Tax, then you need to check your nether regions, because I believe you are not fit to be called man.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Show me how you do that trick...
Everything was fine. Until he came back.
And now all the things I pushed to the side just HAD to go back into plain view the minute he was back in town.
What is wrong with this picture?
How does he do that?!
I dealt with the unattainable by convincing myself that I didn't want it anymore. If it was always in my presence, I had to somehow point out all of the flaws and imperfections. I could not want it anymore just by showing myself all that I didn't like. I didn't deal with the issue, I covered it up with mistakes. Had my strategy of dealing with issues backfired on me?
Did I have to actually own up to how the unattainable made me feel? Ugh. I hate those things, those inconvenient things that fog up your otherwise sane logic. What were those things called? Feelings? Something like that. I had a lot of them before the series of assholes just removed them with each disappointing feat.
I face the music in two weeks. Until then... there's actual music to ease anxiety.
"Just Like Heaven" by Katie Melua (cover)
Why are you so far away?
he said
Why won't you ever know that I'm in love with you?
That I'm in love with you?
And now all the things I pushed to the side just HAD to go back into plain view the minute he was back in town.
What is wrong with this picture?
How does he do that?!
I dealt with the unattainable by convincing myself that I didn't want it anymore. If it was always in my presence, I had to somehow point out all of the flaws and imperfections. I could not want it anymore just by showing myself all that I didn't like. I didn't deal with the issue, I covered it up with mistakes. Had my strategy of dealing with issues backfired on me?
Did I have to actually own up to how the unattainable made me feel? Ugh. I hate those things, those inconvenient things that fog up your otherwise sane logic. What were those things called? Feelings? Something like that. I had a lot of them before the series of assholes just removed them with each disappointing feat.
I face the music in two weeks. Until then... there's actual music to ease anxiety.
"Just Like Heaven" by Katie Melua (cover)
Why are you so far away?
he said
Why won't you ever know that I'm in love with you?
That I'm in love with you?
Relationship shopper
Below is an analogy in progress...
Can I have my boyfriend six feet and an econ major?
I have been a serial dater for as long as I can remember. Comments like, "Yes, I'm single," or "No, we're just seeing each other" were frequently coming out of my mouth. I have started to see dating as something comparable to shoe shopping. Both goals require a hierarchy of sub-goals and the whole experience is filled with a series of planned actions and unexpected consequences. When we go out shopping for shoes, we usually have a pair in mind that we're looking for. For girls, there's that ultimate pair that makes us feel sexy.
The shoe exploration starts out first with the kind of shoe you want. Are you looking for crazy pumps for a night out with your girls or do you need a pair of comfortable flats that will last you for a while? The kind of shoe you're looking for takes you to specific shoe stores. You won't go looking for sexy kitten heels at The Walking Company, would you? (The answer is no.)
But what if you don't settle for the next-best option? What if you call every store in the greater Chicagoland area until you find the store that has your size? What if you even go to eBay in hopes that some seller has hoarded the pair that's just right for you? In that case, you're not making your toes bleed because you ended up purchasing the pair that's a half-size too small or too narrow. You didn't spend your hard-earned money on the suede slingbacks that didn't catch your eye the first time around. In this case, you got what you want.
From the Chicago Flame, April 27 2009
Can I have my boyfriend six feet and an econ major?
I have been a serial dater for as long as I can remember. Comments like, "Yes, I'm single," or "No, we're just seeing each other" were frequently coming out of my mouth. I have started to see dating as something comparable to shoe shopping. Both goals require a hierarchy of sub-goals and the whole experience is filled with a series of planned actions and unexpected consequences. When we go out shopping for shoes, we usually have a pair in mind that we're looking for. For girls, there's that ultimate pair that makes us feel sexy.
The shoe exploration starts out first with the kind of shoe you want. Are you looking for crazy pumps for a night out with your girls or do you need a pair of comfortable flats that will last you for a while? The kind of shoe you're looking for takes you to specific shoe stores. You won't go looking for sexy kitten heels at The Walking Company, would you? (The answer is no.)
Now, you get to the store and you're faced with a collection of shoes. You want something attractive but you want to be able to wear it more than once (or not). How adventurous are you when it comes to a pair? If you're only allotted a given sum of money, do you spend your waiting tips on a mini-collection of shoes, or do you splurge on a pair of designer heels? Likewise, if you had the chance, do you get with as many as you can, or do you go for one guy at a time?
Choosing a shoe is ultimately like choosing a partner. From a girl's perspective, we normally choose the shoe that fits. But if the shoe doesn't fit, we make it work - especially if it's 20 percent off. Needs and wants become muddled when many women are vying for the pair you just tried on during the end-of-season clearance. If it doesn't fit completely, it'll fit one day. The shoe can be a half-size too small or a little too big. But there are heel cushions and Band Aids.
Many women settle for the next-best option. Although we had planned to buy those red patent leather five-inch platform heels, we don't feel too bad walking out with the brown suede slingbacks. They're still hot and we know we'd wear them for a while. Bottom line? We're still happy with what we got.
But what if you don't settle for the next-best option? What if you call every store in the greater Chicagoland area until you find the store that has your size? What if you even go to eBay in hopes that some seller has hoarded the pair that's just right for you? In that case, you're not making your toes bleed because you ended up purchasing the pair that's a half-size too small or too narrow. You didn't spend your hard-earned money on the suede slingbacks that didn't catch your eye the first time around. In this case, you got what you want.
Well, there might be times that the suede slingbacks might come to the rescue when nothing else in your shoe rack seems to match that crazy outfit you put together. And maybe, at the end of the day, it might have turned out to be the pair you were looking for all along.
Dating and shoe-shopping, albeit two different activities, share similar characteristics. We all want to find "the one" eventually, but settling for "the one right now" or "the one just for tonight" is entirely dependent on the individual's needs, wants, and expectations.
From the Chicago Flame, April 27 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Sacrificial rites
I'm in no way talking about ancient rituals that require a virgin to be sacrificed to yield good corn. I'm more concentrated on the acts of sacrificing. We give certain things up because we have a particular goal in mind. In order to achieve this goal, certain things must be let go of so that we might obtain this goal as quickly/efficiently/good as possible.
Right?
Let's take losing weight as an example. I have been on this quest for as long as I can remember.
I have a goal, Z, and that is to look good in my skimpy little bikini.
The rule, X, is to lose weight. The action, Y, is to exercise and diet.
In terms of cognitive science, I am trying to obtain Goal[Z] by the application of the Action[Y] to the Rule[X]:
[Z] = [Y]X
Look good in a bikini = diet and exercise (lose weight)
To obtain my goal, however, there are certain sacrifices I must make. I have to lower my caloric intake by some ungodly proportion. I have to do more cardio (I increased my cardio to one hour five days a week). My meal frequencies also have to decrease.
Today, after I finished an hour on the cross ramp, I told myself I could go get something to eat. I allowed myself a banana, low-fat yogurt, and Tropicana's 50% less sugar pulp-free orange juice. Needless to say, I had room for some flavor.
I was walking by the convenience store, when, to my chagrin, there was a stand that had free hot cocoa and bagels... with cream cheese. Did I say free? And cream cheese? I wanted to die. But, to my surprise, my willpower was much stronger and I evaded the temptation.
I walked onward towards BSB and I remembered that UH had fantastic muffins in their cafe. I started to head in that direction. In my head I ran through all the different muffin flavors they offered. I thought, "Hmm... cranberry orange sounds good. And healthy. So does a banana walnut."
But... they were still carbs. And they were not allowed. Not yet, at least (I limited my carb intake to one serving a day... yeah, I'm desperate).
I changed directions and looked like an idiot. I decided to go to my office with OJ and yogurt in hand. I started to think: Do we all go through phases like that when we want to sacrifice something to get something better in the end? Do we all have bouts of self-doubt and flailing willpower when faced with temptation, temptation that will surely divert our attention from our ultimate goal?
With relationships, I ultimately want some big love. I was sick of Mr. Right Now and Mr. Right Here (and even worse, Mr. Right Here Will Do Then You Can Leave Thanks). And yes, they were all Mr. to me because their names were so insignificant--they might as well have been the same person in different circumstances.
If my ultimate Goal[Z] was to have a long-term relationship, then my Rule[X] would be to find a good boyfriend. My Action[Y] would entail sacrifices, among the other activities associated with dating. There are a series of Actions[Y sub-1, if you will, all the way to Y sub-n] for this Goal.
I sacrifice a nice guy who I like a little bit because I know that in the end, I'll tire of him if he doesn't spark my interest in some new way or another. I sacrifice the bad boy because, like that free bagel with cream cheese, he won't be good for me the morning after.
In the end, there are a series of computations our minds calculate before finally deciding which action would best lead us to the goal. Should we choose the action that leads us astray from our ultimate goal, it would have led us closer to another goal. If our lives are a series of rule-action-goal calculations, why is it so damn hard to stay logical?
Why can't I just avoid walking towards the free bagels and creatively flavored muffins and just fit into my swimsuit already?
Right?
Let's take losing weight as an example. I have been on this quest for as long as I can remember.
I have a goal, Z, and that is to look good in my skimpy little bikini.
The rule, X, is to lose weight. The action, Y, is to exercise and diet.
In terms of cognitive science, I am trying to obtain Goal[Z] by the application of the Action[Y] to the Rule[X]:
[Z] = [Y]X
Look good in a bikini = diet and exercise (lose weight)
To obtain my goal, however, there are certain sacrifices I must make. I have to lower my caloric intake by some ungodly proportion. I have to do more cardio (I increased my cardio to one hour five days a week). My meal frequencies also have to decrease.
Today, after I finished an hour on the cross ramp, I told myself I could go get something to eat. I allowed myself a banana, low-fat yogurt, and Tropicana's 50% less sugar pulp-free orange juice. Needless to say, I had room for some flavor.
I was walking by the convenience store, when, to my chagrin, there was a stand that had free hot cocoa and bagels... with cream cheese. Did I say free? And cream cheese? I wanted to die. But, to my surprise, my willpower was much stronger and I evaded the temptation.
I walked onward towards BSB and I remembered that UH had fantastic muffins in their cafe. I started to head in that direction. In my head I ran through all the different muffin flavors they offered. I thought, "Hmm... cranberry orange sounds good. And healthy. So does a banana walnut."
But... they were still carbs. And they were not allowed. Not yet, at least (I limited my carb intake to one serving a day... yeah, I'm desperate).
I changed directions and looked like an idiot. I decided to go to my office with OJ and yogurt in hand. I started to think: Do we all go through phases like that when we want to sacrifice something to get something better in the end? Do we all have bouts of self-doubt and flailing willpower when faced with temptation, temptation that will surely divert our attention from our ultimate goal?
With relationships, I ultimately want some big love. I was sick of Mr. Right Now and Mr. Right Here (and even worse, Mr. Right Here Will Do Then You Can Leave Thanks). And yes, they were all Mr. to me because their names were so insignificant--they might as well have been the same person in different circumstances.
If my ultimate Goal[Z] was to have a long-term relationship, then my Rule[X] would be to find a good boyfriend. My Action[Y] would entail sacrifices, among the other activities associated with dating. There are a series of Actions[Y sub-1, if you will, all the way to Y sub-n] for this Goal.
I sacrifice a nice guy who I like a little bit because I know that in the end, I'll tire of him if he doesn't spark my interest in some new way or another. I sacrifice the bad boy because, like that free bagel with cream cheese, he won't be good for me the morning after.
In the end, there are a series of computations our minds calculate before finally deciding which action would best lead us to the goal. Should we choose the action that leads us astray from our ultimate goal, it would have led us closer to another goal. If our lives are a series of rule-action-goal calculations, why is it so damn hard to stay logical?
Why can't I just avoid walking towards the free bagels and creatively flavored muffins and just fit into my swimsuit already?
Monday, March 30, 2009
Eye for an eye, let's see eye to eye.
We all love analogies. In Bio, it makes understanding the mitochondria a lot easier. In real life, it makes understanding our interpersonal relationships a lot easier. We can better place ourselves in unfamiliar territory when we think of our situation in more familiar terms.
Let's take analogy #1. If you're not looking for commitment, you can ascribe your relationship a car dealership analogy. You don't want long-term commitment, but you want more than a test-drive because you might enjoy that car for a while. So, you lease it. You don't commit and buy with 0% APR or down or whatever the fuck for about 3 months and then regret the piece of shit/ostentatious piece of shit vehicle that you are now paying over $800 a month for plus gas.
Let's extrapolate that scenario to relationships--plural. You can commit with one vehicle. You know, you do all the maintenance required--change oil, check brakes, change battery, replace lights, maybe even spruce it up with funky car accessories of which I know very little.
But! You also lease one on the side. A really fucking nice ride, with those crazy side-opening doors and it's a convertible, blah blah blah. Really cool car that you drive when you're out on the town. You only drive the committed car to more familiar, low-key places... like Jewel-Osco. I mean, you love that car, but you'd like something new once in a while.
And let's also say you drive a nice, reliable Honda Civic every month or so. It drives well, it's fuel-efficient, and it's always reliable and dependable. Kinda like a really available and always sure-to-please fuck buddy.
There you have it: relationships of my youth all condensed in car form.
Analogy #2 is mealtime. If my plate is full and I have a big appetite, should I still pile on food? Hell yes until I get full! But what if I'm already stuffed? But man... that ice cream sundae looks fucking delicious. So I get some of that too. Just some. Not all. My take on this? Don't stuff yourself with unnecessary excess calories.
Enjoy everything in small portions. And don't be a pig and doggy-bag everything. Have tiny morsels of the risky dishes (like duck salami or foie gras if you have not yet tried it) and take home the cheesy lasagna that you love.
Analogy #3 is no analogy at all. This is my take. If you like me, tell me. If I like you, I will tell you. If you want me, want me and fight for me. And I will do the same. No nonsense. No leasing, renting, or down payments necessary. No calories and you take home all you want.
Take what's left of this heart
And use, please use only what you really need.
You know I only have so little so please...
-Jack Johnson, "Cocoon"
Let's take analogy #1. If you're not looking for commitment, you can ascribe your relationship a car dealership analogy. You don't want long-term commitment, but you want more than a test-drive because you might enjoy that car for a while. So, you lease it. You don't commit and buy with 0% APR or down or whatever the fuck for about 3 months and then regret the piece of shit/ostentatious piece of shit vehicle that you are now paying over $800 a month for plus gas.
Let's extrapolate that scenario to relationships--plural. You can commit with one vehicle. You know, you do all the maintenance required--change oil, check brakes, change battery, replace lights, maybe even spruce it up with funky car accessories of which I know very little.
But! You also lease one on the side. A really fucking nice ride, with those crazy side-opening doors and it's a convertible, blah blah blah. Really cool car that you drive when you're out on the town. You only drive the committed car to more familiar, low-key places... like Jewel-Osco. I mean, you love that car, but you'd like something new once in a while.
And let's also say you drive a nice, reliable Honda Civic every month or so. It drives well, it's fuel-efficient, and it's always reliable and dependable. Kinda like a really available and always sure-to-please fuck buddy.
There you have it: relationships of my youth all condensed in car form.
Analogy #2 is mealtime. If my plate is full and I have a big appetite, should I still pile on food? Hell yes until I get full! But what if I'm already stuffed? But man... that ice cream sundae looks fucking delicious. So I get some of that too. Just some. Not all. My take on this? Don't stuff yourself with unnecessary excess calories.
Enjoy everything in small portions. And don't be a pig and doggy-bag everything. Have tiny morsels of the risky dishes (like duck salami or foie gras if you have not yet tried it) and take home the cheesy lasagna that you love.
Analogy #3 is no analogy at all. This is my take. If you like me, tell me. If I like you, I will tell you. If you want me, want me and fight for me. And I will do the same. No nonsense. No leasing, renting, or down payments necessary. No calories and you take home all you want.
Take what's left of this heart
And use, please use only what you really need.
You know I only have so little so please...
-Jack Johnson, "Cocoon"
Friday, March 27, 2009
Definitions
Who gets to define great things? Like love. Your shrink? Your best friend? Carrie Bradshaw? I mean, in Sex and the City: The Movie, Carrie was stuck. She was writing on her laptop and she wrote this:
"Love."
And then changed it to this:
"Love..."
And then back to this:
"Love."
What is that then? What does that mean? Is it a final thought or just the beginning of free association? Is it its own entity or an item in a slew of adjectives used to describe a certain feeling? Can it speak on its own or do you need to add more (hence Carrie's ellipses)?
When you come across something and you're not quite sure what it is, you don't know what games to play. You don't know what rules to follow. That is, you don't know what you're doing until you've almost certainly screwed it up.
When you realize that you can't pick up the pieces or glue them back together, it might have been you or the other person to walk away from it. So the pieces stay there.
You take a little time to gather yourself. You see what's out there for you. Maybe you figure something out. Maybe you know how to play the "game" better. Or maybe you've made your own rules. Better rules. Maybe you made a better you who doesn't need the game or the rules.
When you have the opportunity to get back what you screwed up, to take it and keep it and make it yours, do you finally understand it? Is it only when you understand it that you can even take it back? How is it possible to not understand something when it has so much power over you that your core is shaken, your beliefs could change, your mind is stimulated, and your heart opened? I guess when you have the opportunity to witness something like that, you don't screw it up in the first place.
The same way it is almost impossible to define love in terms of an infinity of ideas or the final thought or even as its own clause, it is impossible to define the one you love, the feeling you get, and the feeling you miss.
"Love."
And then changed it to this:
"Love..."
And then back to this:
"Love."
What is that then? What does that mean? Is it a final thought or just the beginning of free association? Is it its own entity or an item in a slew of adjectives used to describe a certain feeling? Can it speak on its own or do you need to add more (hence Carrie's ellipses)?
When you come across something and you're not quite sure what it is, you don't know what games to play. You don't know what rules to follow. That is, you don't know what you're doing until you've almost certainly screwed it up.
When you realize that you can't pick up the pieces or glue them back together, it might have been you or the other person to walk away from it. So the pieces stay there.
You take a little time to gather yourself. You see what's out there for you. Maybe you figure something out. Maybe you know how to play the "game" better. Or maybe you've made your own rules. Better rules. Maybe you made a better you who doesn't need the game or the rules.
When you have the opportunity to get back what you screwed up, to take it and keep it and make it yours, do you finally understand it? Is it only when you understand it that you can even take it back? How is it possible to not understand something when it has so much power over you that your core is shaken, your beliefs could change, your mind is stimulated, and your heart opened? I guess when you have the opportunity to witness something like that, you don't screw it up in the first place.
The same way it is almost impossible to define love in terms of an infinity of ideas or the final thought or even as its own clause, it is impossible to define the one you love, the feeling you get, and the feeling you miss.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Thoughts
I'm seriously exhausted. Initially, I was tired of the bullshit that accompanies "playing" around. As alluring as the notion seems, it really is a lot of work maintaining a constant band of available, dependable, and enjoyable fuck buddies or friends with benefits. I just got sick of the overall inconsistency and the cycle of waxing and waning infatuation.
So I thought, "Great, now is my chance to look for change, to learn how to take someone seriously and care about them, and have them do the same for me."
In my efforts to do so I was met with a few obstacles:
I escape from the games of casual dating to find myself in a deeper mess of mind games when feelings are on the line. Yes, I'm overthinking this. But if you can't handle the thought I put into this, then I suppose you're not worth more than even a passing thought.
So I thought, "Great, now is my chance to look for change, to learn how to take someone seriously and care about them, and have them do the same for me."
In my efforts to do so I was met with a few obstacles:
- The guys I looked for when dicking around (no pun intended) were not the same guys I should have been looking for if I so desired this "change."
- My band of potential candidates drastically decreased as I tried to eliminate all but those I could actually take seriously.
- The one I ended up liking is not near the commitment level I am seeking.
- I'm feeling something's off.
I escape from the games of casual dating to find myself in a deeper mess of mind games when feelings are on the line. Yes, I'm overthinking this. But if you can't handle the thought I put into this, then I suppose you're not worth more than even a passing thought.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Forward march
Yeah, it was a pun on the fact that it is the middle of March and I'm sure I must keep moving onward. I don't really like where I'm at, to be honest. I'm happy, I suppose, but I'm also sorely unstable. At this moment, I've heard Duffy's Rockferry play 3 times on end... I should be getting to bed soon but my fingers insist on typing this out.
After the past week of deluded infatuation I've slowly started realizing why I never liked getting too emotionally involved with people. Your feelings start to play tricks on your logic. What should sometimes be taken as matter-of-fact and face-value starts to be seen as "Oh, that's just something people say."
Yeah, something people say that they mean, right?
When badgered for an answer we do one of two things: scramble and lie, or say the thing closest to the truth. The latter might be sugar-coated or delivered bluntly, but it is said nonetheless.
I, on the other hand, sometimes refuse to talk at all. If I find a topic sensitive and uncomfortable, I blush and I am unable to make eye contact (and it's not because my eyes are small and I can't find you in my field of vision). I refuse to maintain conversation because I'm afraid of what I might say. Because when it comes down to it--who really fucking knows what they want in exact proportions at any given moment of time? I don't. Furthermore, how is what you want influenced by the timing of someone asking you such an important question? What if they NEEDED an answer right then and there and you had only seconds to say something?
I have a vague idea of what I want when it comes to relationships, when it comes to my career, but I'm also very vague about my desire for shoes or my desire for breast augmentation. Those are separate blog posts for different days (and different moods).
Scratch that... when it comes to my career, I know what I want, only the path is vague. Lo siento. Moving on.
I started to believe that maybe when he said "I don't commit," it might have been just something he says to put up a front. As the days go by and reality starts to set in I think I'm starting to realize that maybe he means it. What caught me off guard in moments of tooth-decaying sweetness I hadn't witnessed from anybody in a while had shaken bits of my loosely held logical thought processes. We say what we mean. Only in pre-divorce fits of rage and during PMS do we not really mean what we say. For the most part, our innermost and truthful thoughts pour out when we are asked to provide answers or any kind of input.
For someone to twist those answers into other interpretations is not only illogical but unwise. This is why it's also unwise to not wear rose-tinted glasses when approaching possible relationship candidates. You can't think straight and instead you decide to bask in the glow of someone caring about you instead of seeing things as they are. No, I chose to see things the way they should be.
"Serious" by Duffy
Yeah... story of my fucking life. It's either one walks out or I walk out on one because I think I'm walking into something better. No, all the doors are pretty much the same. Just a different frame.
We'll see if this one changes any of my theories or just emphasizes all of them. Left, right, left...
After the past week of deluded infatuation I've slowly started realizing why I never liked getting too emotionally involved with people. Your feelings start to play tricks on your logic. What should sometimes be taken as matter-of-fact and face-value starts to be seen as "Oh, that's just something people say."
Yeah, something people say that they mean, right?
When badgered for an answer we do one of two things: scramble and lie, or say the thing closest to the truth. The latter might be sugar-coated or delivered bluntly, but it is said nonetheless.
I, on the other hand, sometimes refuse to talk at all. If I find a topic sensitive and uncomfortable, I blush and I am unable to make eye contact (and it's not because my eyes are small and I can't find you in my field of vision). I refuse to maintain conversation because I'm afraid of what I might say. Because when it comes down to it--who really fucking knows what they want in exact proportions at any given moment of time? I don't. Furthermore, how is what you want influenced by the timing of someone asking you such an important question? What if they NEEDED an answer right then and there and you had only seconds to say something?
I have a vague idea of what I want when it comes to relationships, when it comes to my career, but I'm also very vague about my desire for shoes or my desire for breast augmentation. Those are separate blog posts for different days (and different moods).
Scratch that... when it comes to my career, I know what I want, only the path is vague. Lo siento. Moving on.
I started to believe that maybe when he said "I don't commit," it might have been just something he says to put up a front. As the days go by and reality starts to set in I think I'm starting to realize that maybe he means it. What caught me off guard in moments of tooth-decaying sweetness I hadn't witnessed from anybody in a while had shaken bits of my loosely held logical thought processes. We say what we mean. Only in pre-divorce fits of rage and during PMS do we not really mean what we say. For the most part, our innermost and truthful thoughts pour out when we are asked to provide answers or any kind of input.
For someone to twist those answers into other interpretations is not only illogical but unwise. This is why it's also unwise to not wear rose-tinted glasses when approaching possible relationship candidates. You can't think straight and instead you decide to bask in the glow of someone caring about you instead of seeing things as they are. No, I chose to see things the way they should be.
"Serious" by Duffy
Yeah... story of my fucking life. It's either one walks out or I walk out on one because I think I'm walking into something better. No, all the doors are pretty much the same. Just a different frame.
We'll see if this one changes any of my theories or just emphasizes all of them. Left, right, left...
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Stress test
I'm tired. Literally. I'm exhausted and even 9 hours of sleep didn't get me my catch-up rest for the week. Ever since the start of the academic year my weeks have been rushing by and the day runs out fast. In a way it's fascinating, but more often it's tiring.
What makes it even more tiring is the fact that all aspects of my life have become relatively fast-paced. This is what I signed up for, but I think that I'm missing out on a number of things.
For instance, I treat a lot of things as though they were tiny agendas on my daily planner--friends and appointments collectively. That was probably not very smart. It should have been a red flag when I realized I was penciling in time with my friends the way I would a waxing appointment or a lab meeting. But no, I was a little too excited to use my pink planner... which later evolved into two more planners (a big one in front of my computer and Google Calendar, not to mention the other miscellaneous appointments I log onto my cell phone).
The speed of things keeps me from settling down and taking a lot of things seriously. This would unfortunately include people. I convinced myself that I was too busy to take anybody seriously and I was too busy to "deal" with feelings. Keeping the boys like toys kept me out of trouble. For a little while, at least...
I was about 95% convinced that getting serious would just "ruin everything." The 5% came along the other day.
Though not a toy, this boy is definitely a lot of fun. It's not even fun like that, by the way. By closing off the seriousness and the emotions associated with my interpersonal relationships, I closed off a lot of opportunities for personal growth and maybe even finding someone who makes me happy. The rest of my life is fleeting and busy and almost chaotic--it would be nice to have something stable, something that's constant in my planner.
I don't have to settle for the nuisance or the asshole to get a fix or to get a dose of entertainment. I could take them seriously if I wanted to, just not if they displayed any of the aforementioned traits. Because really, an asshole or nuisance of a fuck buddy, even, would get old after a while. The guy loses his appeal and you lose your appetite.
This girl would like to get serious. She means business.
I don't need Prince Charming or Mr. Right. But I don't want Mr. Right Now or a Mr. Later Tonight. I'd like to call him by his name for a change.
What makes it even more tiring is the fact that all aspects of my life have become relatively fast-paced. This is what I signed up for, but I think that I'm missing out on a number of things.
For instance, I treat a lot of things as though they were tiny agendas on my daily planner--friends and appointments collectively. That was probably not very smart. It should have been a red flag when I realized I was penciling in time with my friends the way I would a waxing appointment or a lab meeting. But no, I was a little too excited to use my pink planner... which later evolved into two more planners (a big one in front of my computer and Google Calendar, not to mention the other miscellaneous appointments I log onto my cell phone).
The speed of things keeps me from settling down and taking a lot of things seriously. This would unfortunately include people. I convinced myself that I was too busy to take anybody seriously and I was too busy to "deal" with feelings. Keeping the boys like toys kept me out of trouble. For a little while, at least...
I was about 95% convinced that getting serious would just "ruin everything." The 5% came along the other day.
Though not a toy, this boy is definitely a lot of fun. It's not even fun like that, by the way. By closing off the seriousness and the emotions associated with my interpersonal relationships, I closed off a lot of opportunities for personal growth and maybe even finding someone who makes me happy. The rest of my life is fleeting and busy and almost chaotic--it would be nice to have something stable, something that's constant in my planner.
I don't have to settle for the nuisance or the asshole to get a fix or to get a dose of entertainment. I could take them seriously if I wanted to, just not if they displayed any of the aforementioned traits. Because really, an asshole or nuisance of a fuck buddy, even, would get old after a while. The guy loses his appeal and you lose your appetite.
This girl would like to get serious. She means business.
I don't need Prince Charming or Mr. Right. But I don't want Mr. Right Now or a Mr. Later Tonight. I'd like to call him by his name for a change.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
omgstfu
I just want to say something. If you think it's inappropriate for me to blab about the new "toy" I want to get or about my weekend exploits (characters nameless, of course)--then don't drag on and on with the minutia of your boring and stagnant cat and mouse game you call your romantic relationship. If you're allowed to make me uncomfortable with all your mushy talk and frivolous details (from the cologne he was wearing to how he said "Hello") then I'm allowed to make you uncomfortable by explaining to you exactly how the Sybian works.
I am sick of prudish girls who can't listen to vulgar talk but would rather talk my ear off about the same scenario again and again: "Do you think he'll call? I mean... he texted me last night and told me he was tired. Then he said he was really busy. But he called me, 'Babe,' so that means something right?"
NO.
First, he calls you "Babe" so he doesn't have to keep track of names. Trust me, it's embarrassing to yell out the wrong name at the right time. Referencing all the women in his life to a little pet name like "Babe" makes the job much easier. An added bonus is that you think he's being affectionate. In my world, affection comes in two forms: really good voluntary oral or post-coital cuddling (both very nice but more like crème brûlée: it's sweet but you could just as easily have coffee after your meal). Yeah... check that link I added in there. I cannot wait to eat that soon...
Second, his busy schedule is an excuse. If you like someone, you talk to them. About any old thing. Usually... I suppose I'm an exception to this rule (but maybe this is just me being very conceited). I don't like talking to people if I don't have anything to say. Ask any of my friends. I'm not one to call and ask "What's up?" Really. I find that shit annoying. Don't fucking waste my time to tell me you're just "chilling." If you have something to say, call. If you have something to ask, call. If you want to see me, call. If you just wanted to say "not much, at home chillin, wts up wt u?" Just don't dial.
Expanding on that, I don't really call people just because. If I have specific things to ask or say, then there will be a call to your phone. Otherwise I am not going to waste your time and minutes just to hear your voice. Fuck that. A sexy voice isn't going to get me off over the phone--the whole voice thing only works when he's behind me spooning.
BUT! To bring myself to my point: if he wanted to see you or talk to you (get to know you, in this case) he would call, or at the very least bombard your inbox with a million cute, Ipecac-mimicking text messages.
Furthermore: if he texted you saying he was tired, take the hint. He is not that tired (tired enough to text you and let you know before you could probe him with more mundane questions about his day? Really? Get fucking real). He does not want to talk to you.
So. Now that we've sorted out your hopeless situation, let me talk about the crap that you think about but are too concerned to verbalize because others might just judge you. It's sex, it's masturbation, it's all these awful taboo things of which we all are knowledgeable. I hate these game-playing tactics, especially when one has to pretend to be coy and secretive when it comes to knowing things about what feels good. If people were as prude about copulating as others are now, I don't know if the human race could have survived. Think of it this way: because I am sharing with you pertinent evolutionary information, you might be helping the human race survive. Do you think people kept the secrets of reproductive success to themselves? No, you motherfucking prude. People go out and fuck. And then eat. Not necessarily in that order. And if you're skilled, you do both simultaneously (not a dirty joke).
It's life: live with it and stop telling me I'm crazy. STFU and listen.
I am sick of prudish girls who can't listen to vulgar talk but would rather talk my ear off about the same scenario again and again: "Do you think he'll call? I mean... he texted me last night and told me he was tired. Then he said he was really busy. But he called me, 'Babe,' so that means something right?"
NO.
First, he calls you "Babe" so he doesn't have to keep track of names. Trust me, it's embarrassing to yell out the wrong name at the right time. Referencing all the women in his life to a little pet name like "Babe" makes the job much easier. An added bonus is that you think he's being affectionate. In my world, affection comes in two forms: really good voluntary oral or post-coital cuddling (both very nice but more like crème brûlée: it's sweet but you could just as easily have coffee after your meal). Yeah... check that link I added in there. I cannot wait to eat that soon...
Second, his busy schedule is an excuse. If you like someone, you talk to them. About any old thing. Usually... I suppose I'm an exception to this rule (but maybe this is just me being very conceited). I don't like talking to people if I don't have anything to say. Ask any of my friends. I'm not one to call and ask "What's up?" Really. I find that shit annoying. Don't fucking waste my time to tell me you're just "chilling." If you have something to say, call. If you have something to ask, call. If you want to see me, call. If you just wanted to say "not much, at home chillin, wts up wt u?" Just don't dial.
Expanding on that, I don't really call people just because. If I have specific things to ask or say, then there will be a call to your phone. Otherwise I am not going to waste your time and minutes just to hear your voice. Fuck that. A sexy voice isn't going to get me off over the phone--the whole voice thing only works when he's behind me spooning.
BUT! To bring myself to my point: if he wanted to see you or talk to you (get to know you, in this case) he would call, or at the very least bombard your inbox with a million cute, Ipecac-mimicking text messages.
Furthermore: if he texted you saying he was tired, take the hint. He is not that tired (tired enough to text you and let you know before you could probe him with more mundane questions about his day? Really? Get fucking real). He does not want to talk to you.
So. Now that we've sorted out your hopeless situation, let me talk about the crap that you think about but are too concerned to verbalize because others might just judge you. It's sex, it's masturbation, it's all these awful taboo things of which we all are knowledgeable. I hate these game-playing tactics, especially when one has to pretend to be coy and secretive when it comes to knowing things about what feels good. If people were as prude about copulating as others are now, I don't know if the human race could have survived. Think of it this way: because I am sharing with you pertinent evolutionary information, you might be helping the human race survive. Do you think people kept the secrets of reproductive success to themselves? No, you motherfucking prude. People go out and fuck. And then eat. Not necessarily in that order. And if you're skilled, you do both simultaneously (not a dirty joke).
It's life: live with it and stop telling me I'm crazy. STFU and listen.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
I miss you
-Excerpt from The Fifth Elegy, Rainer Maria RilkeAngel: if there were a place we know nothing of, and there,
on some unsayable carpet, lovers revealed
what here they could never master, their high daring
figures of heart’s flight,
their towers of desire, their ladders,
long since standing where there was no ground, leaning,
trembling, on each other – and mastered them,
in front of the circle of watchers, the countless, soundless dead:
Would these not fling their last, ever-saved,
ever-hidden, unknown to us, eternally
valid coins of happiness in front of the finally
truly smiling pair on the silent
carpet?
Sunday, February 1, 2009
If the shoe fits...
As amusing as this might look, I'm awake on a Sunday morning, dressed in my matching flannel pajamas and my never-worn Nine West Begin 
pumps. It's the animal print shoe with a gold buckle. You know, the kind that is oh, so irresistible in the store but would never be at all useful in real life. My real life, at least, does not involve an animal-printed 4-inch stiletto during my 1 hour commute downtown. Anyway, I have to do the ritual of breaking in a new pair of shoes; it's hard work getting your feet used to the 5.5 cradle.
Such a pretty, pretty cradle...
Told you so! And I got it on sale--clap, clap for me because I have not bought a full-priced shoe in a very, very long time. Maybe not since November.
The shoes are killing me actually. I think there's something about the shape of this pointed toe that makes the breaking in cycle a little more challenging. I've walked around the living room, in the kitchen, lifted a few things... and my feet are screaming.
I put myself through this rigorous pattern of squeezing myself to fit into something that I will probably tire of in a couple of months. Sounds familiar, no?
How are these boyfriends, playdates, fuck buddies, or friends with benefits that different from a pair of shoes that I scour at the mall? They're all so appealing in the fluorescent lighting (as weird as that might sound), I make excuses for why I would need them--when I really just want them, and then I convince myself that because they're not that hard to get (swipe of a credit card... it's on clearance with an extra 30% off the final sale price...) that it'd be just fine to take them home.
Start breaking in.
So I try them on with a bunch of outfits, I walk around the house in them on Sunday mornings when nobody else is up, and I check myself out in almost every reflective surface, convinced that I look good with them. They hurt like hell. I can only really wear them once in a while and honestly, who puts that much value to a shoe that was 30% off and was in a paper bag in 15 minutes?
Another one replaces it the next payday.
But what about the shoe I was spying on for a good few months--the kind you wait to go on sale, or even more, wait for during the Semi-Annual sale? What about that pair? Or how about the pair you've toyed around with for so long? Those patent leather pumps? They're all sorts of nice. And they're always in style. But there's always something better out there, no? And in some instances, the black patent leather is just completely inappropriate and unreliable.
I know it's going to take a while before I settle with a pair of Manolos or Louboutins so I wait. I wait and I try on and purchase the different varieties of shoes that seemingly go well with me. Goodness knows I am not dropping down to a pair of Birks for the sole comfort of not going through a breaking in pattern. No thanks, I'll stick to the painful and the beautiful--it's not like they take up that much time anyway.
pumps. It's the animal print shoe with a gold buckle. You know, the kind that is oh, so irresistible in the store but would never be at all useful in real life. My real life, at least, does not involve an animal-printed 4-inch stiletto during my 1 hour commute downtown. Anyway, I have to do the ritual of breaking in a new pair of shoes; it's hard work getting your feet used to the 5.5 cradle.Such a pretty, pretty cradle...
Told you so! And I got it on sale--clap, clap for me because I have not bought a full-priced shoe in a very, very long time. Maybe not since November.
The shoes are killing me actually. I think there's something about the shape of this pointed toe that makes the breaking in cycle a little more challenging. I've walked around the living room, in the kitchen, lifted a few things... and my feet are screaming.
I put myself through this rigorous pattern of squeezing myself to fit into something that I will probably tire of in a couple of months. Sounds familiar, no?
How are these boyfriends, playdates, fuck buddies, or friends with benefits that different from a pair of shoes that I scour at the mall? They're all so appealing in the fluorescent lighting (as weird as that might sound), I make excuses for why I would need them--when I really just want them, and then I convince myself that because they're not that hard to get (swipe of a credit card... it's on clearance with an extra 30% off the final sale price...) that it'd be just fine to take them home.
Start breaking in.
So I try them on with a bunch of outfits, I walk around the house in them on Sunday mornings when nobody else is up, and I check myself out in almost every reflective surface, convinced that I look good with them. They hurt like hell. I can only really wear them once in a while and honestly, who puts that much value to a shoe that was 30% off and was in a paper bag in 15 minutes?
Another one replaces it the next payday.
But what about the shoe I was spying on for a good few months--the kind you wait to go on sale, or even more, wait for during the Semi-Annual sale? What about that pair? Or how about the pair you've toyed around with for so long? Those patent leather pumps? They're all sorts of nice. And they're always in style. But there's always something better out there, no? And in some instances, the black patent leather is just completely inappropriate and unreliable.
I know it's going to take a while before I settle with a pair of Manolos or Louboutins so I wait. I wait and I try on and purchase the different varieties of shoes that seemingly go well with me. Goodness knows I am not dropping down to a pair of Birks for the sole comfort of not going through a breaking in pattern. No thanks, I'll stick to the painful and the beautiful--it's not like they take up that much time anyway.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Sayf Sechs
I just wanted to express my love for YouTube. This is probably the best thing I've seen all week. That is all.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Repair and maintenance
I don't know what I was missing. It's like when I tell myself, "Kate, no more ice cream bars." What happens? I see Dove Triple Chocolate in the freezer and I grab one. Not because I was hungry or because I had a sweet tooth. It wasn't because the ice cream bar itself was irresistible--come on, it's not a sexy man after all. I reached out for that sinful ice cream bar because it was comfortable and it never ceased to satisfy. That sentence was so sexual but bear with me.
I spend such a tremendous amount of effort keeping myself from things that I deem unnecessary or not good for me. I spend time keeping people out and pushing them away that I forget why I wanted them so close when it all started. It's a similar concept I keep consistent with forcibly denying myself those rich, high-cholesterol comfort foods.
In the concept of socialization, however, it takes a lot of solitude and rounds of British piano rock music to remind me of the little things I loved about the people I told myself I shouldn't talk to anymore. Somewhere along the line from when I met them to when we ceased to remain in contact, I decided it was unhealthy to be involved with them. Who knows what catalyzed that event, but that's not the point of this vent. One Coldplay track after another got me to think about how small the world is at the end of the day.
When loneliness bites, I always try to repair the bridges I burned.
I know something is broken and I try to fix it,
trying to repair it any way I can.
-X&Y, Coldplay
We go back to what's comfortable. At least I do.
I don't care for what I tell myself at one point or what strong, heartfelt reasons I gave myself to persuade me into thinking that someone was not good for me. After time apart I feel this giant need to crawl into their arms for a bear hug and pacification. And guess what? It feels like home. It feels like it's all back to normal. So I do everything I can to repair whatever I broke and maintain this state of homeliness. I love staying in that mentality forever but upon reconciliation I subconsciously know that the cycle will repeat itself and I'll revert to staying health conscious.
But because this world is oh, so small, nature finds a way of taking me back to what feels viscerally good. Just like Harlow's experiment with monkeys, in times of need we will always naturally flock to what feels comfortable, nurturing, even if it serves nothing for our health.
Here's to you, Triple Chocolate Dove Bar.
I wanna love you but I don't know if I can.
I spend such a tremendous amount of effort keeping myself from things that I deem unnecessary or not good for me. I spend time keeping people out and pushing them away that I forget why I wanted them so close when it all started. It's a similar concept I keep consistent with forcibly denying myself those rich, high-cholesterol comfort foods.
In the concept of socialization, however, it takes a lot of solitude and rounds of British piano rock music to remind me of the little things I loved about the people I told myself I shouldn't talk to anymore. Somewhere along the line from when I met them to when we ceased to remain in contact, I decided it was unhealthy to be involved with them. Who knows what catalyzed that event, but that's not the point of this vent. One Coldplay track after another got me to think about how small the world is at the end of the day.
When loneliness bites, I always try to repair the bridges I burned.
I know something is broken and I try to fix it,
trying to repair it any way I can.
-X&Y, Coldplay
We go back to what's comfortable. At least I do.
I don't care for what I tell myself at one point or what strong, heartfelt reasons I gave myself to persuade me into thinking that someone was not good for me. After time apart I feel this giant need to crawl into their arms for a bear hug and pacification. And guess what? It feels like home. It feels like it's all back to normal. So I do everything I can to repair whatever I broke and maintain this state of homeliness. I love staying in that mentality forever but upon reconciliation I subconsciously know that the cycle will repeat itself and I'll revert to staying health conscious.
But because this world is oh, so small, nature finds a way of taking me back to what feels viscerally good. Just like Harlow's experiment with monkeys, in times of need we will always naturally flock to what feels comfortable, nurturing, even if it serves nothing for our health.
Here's to you, Triple Chocolate Dove Bar.
I wanna love you but I don't know if I can.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
I'm keeping my NZ passport
I kinda miss this skyline. Before my neighbor decided to renovate his house and extend his deck, we were able to see the Sky Tower if my brother and I stood on the benches on our deck. Nostalgia over.In other news:
Online approval requirement for entry into US starts today
4:00AM Monday Jan 12, 2009
By Lincoln Tan
From today, New Zealanders travelling to, or through, the United States will have to apply online for approval before they can enter the country.
The Electronic System for Travel Authorisation (ESTA), which has been applicable since August last year, becomes compulsory for New Zealand, Australia and some European and Asian countries today.
New Zealanders are currently exempt from visa requirements to enter the US for short visits, including transit, under the Visa Waiver Programme.
However, instead of filling out paper waiver cards on the plane, travellers must apply online at https://esta.cbp.dhs.gov (the US Embassy website also provides a link to this address) for approval.
American authorities says travellers should apply at least 72 hours before departure. The details they will be asked to disclose will be the same as that asked on the US immigration declaration cards which are handed out on the plane, including passport number, country of residence, disclosure of communicable diseases and any involvement in terror activities.
Once a traveller is approved, the information will remain valid for two years and he or she will be allowed to make multiple trips during the period.
The application is free, but the US Government said it reserved the right to charge a fee in future. The US Department of Homeland Security said the new system was part of its security measures after the September 11, 2001, terror attacks.
But it has come under strong criticism in New Zealand since the rule was announced without warning last year.
Green Party human rights spokesman Keith Locke called it "anti-terrorist paranoia" and Travel Agents Association president Peter Barlow said it was "another compelling reason not to go via the States".
For realz?! Yet another problem I have with the US Immigration system. Still no reason why you would need to inform the States that you're coming over. But I guess it's like when I call my friend to tell her I'm going to come over to her place. I don't have to bring anything with me... I just gotta alert her?Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Fixed patterns
It gets a tad personal here, I guess. I want to go back home. I am homesick and irritable. I went through old photographs, old memories, and I so badly need to return. I had this hobby of bike riding every single day when I was younger.
I want to ride my bike down the old driveway and up the hill on the front yard and all around the left side of the house, past the trellis, past the backyard, and onto the driveway again. I want to do that again and again like I did when I was 8 years old. It was such a big feat then and I don't know why I grew out of it.
Britney Spears came along, I suppose. Wait, no. Spice Girls came first. Bikes were not nearly as cool after that musical revolution. I even had the Union Jack on my wall. It's still there, I believe.
I hope.
Make-believe doesn't do me much good. Unless I'm self-servicing or playing dress-up. Yes, I still play dress-up. I've got to figure out how to coordinate the new shoes I buy after all. What better way to do that than to concoct some hypothetical situation where I would need those shoes, eh?
It's 12:35am on Thursday, January 8, 2009. Eight days into the new year and I'm already regressing. It's a wonderful start. The more I reverse and remember all the little things (and I mean little things, like the colors of the pegs we'd use when we hung up the laundry on the deck or the fact that my dad finally succeeded at growing some really nice clematis flowers on the trellis), the more I want to move forward so I could go back. See, I know how to drive in circles mentally. Now, when I finally get my license, I could probably do that in the physical world quite literally.
But I do that anyway without a car.
I'm always going back and then moving on (or so I think) but only to go back to a different version of what I began with. That's a terrible way to end a sentence, so I apologize.
It's like my boyfriends. "Oy vey," I heard you say?
It's true! I don't know how to stop it. I'm serious.
Maybe it's genetic predisposition or environmental reinforcement that causes me to pick the same people over and over so that I'm inevitably stuck in the same pattern of emotion, or at the very least, action.
They're all different versions of the same guy: the ego-stroking, smooth-talking dreamer who's good between sheets. Sometimes he's smart, too. One time he played the guitar and another time he played Halo III. Other times he's not even a smooth talker. Shit.
It takes me about a month to realize I'm bored. I think for a moment. I don't understand why.
UMM: NOW I DO. They're the same fucking person.
It's like riding that damn bike around the house again and again. It's so exciting until you think you're too old for it, or you just tire of it because there's no challenge anymore. I mean, really, is there anything new I'm going to see on the other side of the house? Is there really anything new I haven't seen yet?
Sorry, but I'm bored. What's keeping me occupied is page 153 of the Handbook of Cognitive Neuroscience. This is not the first time bound worded pages has filled a void that some other "hobby" once took up. End rant: I am still homesick and I have done nil to break this pattern.
I want to ride my bike down the old driveway and up the hill on the front yard and all around the left side of the house, past the trellis, past the backyard, and onto the driveway again. I want to do that again and again like I did when I was 8 years old. It was such a big feat then and I don't know why I grew out of it.
Britney Spears came along, I suppose. Wait, no. Spice Girls came first. Bikes were not nearly as cool after that musical revolution. I even had the Union Jack on my wall. It's still there, I believe.
I hope.
Make-believe doesn't do me much good. Unless I'm self-servicing or playing dress-up. Yes, I still play dress-up. I've got to figure out how to coordinate the new shoes I buy after all. What better way to do that than to concoct some hypothetical situation where I would need those shoes, eh?
It's 12:35am on Thursday, January 8, 2009. Eight days into the new year and I'm already regressing. It's a wonderful start. The more I reverse and remember all the little things (and I mean little things, like the colors of the pegs we'd use when we hung up the laundry on the deck or the fact that my dad finally succeeded at growing some really nice clematis flowers on the trellis), the more I want to move forward so I could go back. See, I know how to drive in circles mentally. Now, when I finally get my license, I could probably do that in the physical world quite literally.
But I do that anyway without a car.
I'm always going back and then moving on (or so I think) but only to go back to a different version of what I began with. That's a terrible way to end a sentence, so I apologize.
It's like my boyfriends. "Oy vey," I heard you say?
It's true! I don't know how to stop it. I'm serious.
Maybe it's genetic predisposition or environmental reinforcement that causes me to pick the same people over and over so that I'm inevitably stuck in the same pattern of emotion, or at the very least, action.
They're all different versions of the same guy: the ego-stroking, smooth-talking dreamer who's good between sheets. Sometimes he's smart, too. One time he played the guitar and another time he played Halo III. Other times he's not even a smooth talker. Shit.
It takes me about a month to realize I'm bored. I think for a moment. I don't understand why.
UMM: NOW I DO. They're the same fucking person.
It's like riding that damn bike around the house again and again. It's so exciting until you think you're too old for it, or you just tire of it because there's no challenge anymore. I mean, really, is there anything new I'm going to see on the other side of the house? Is there really anything new I haven't seen yet?
Sorry, but I'm bored. What's keeping me occupied is page 153 of the Handbook of Cognitive Neuroscience. This is not the first time bound worded pages has filled a void that some other "hobby" once took up. End rant: I am still homesick and I have done nil to break this pattern.
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