I can tell you what pathetic looks like

Sitting on my bed, watching whatever DVDs I can gather, eating an oatmeal cream pie. That followed the three Coors Light cans I took down within the last few hours. Oh, and I made myself a pasta dinner with bratwurst.
My days are spent stabbing at internet job sites, and tossing my resume into the job pool. The most work I do is running. Submitting a resume to a job in New York is somewhat like throwing a penny in a fountain and expecting a wish to come true. At least, during THESE tough economic times.
I may have another Coors as well. The shit tastes like piss. HA! I am watching the British Office. My only saving grace. I was watching Spaced. Either way, they're both awesome and I win. I wish I could live vicariously through Jessica Stevenson. That would be pretty nice. Excuse me. Jessica HYNES. Apparently she's married now and has three kids. Good for her. And kudos to her for taking her husbands last name. I am going to slowly wallow into whatever I do now. TA TA.

Its Been a While:

Quite obviously, I have been in a lull... Well, I've actually just been busy and tired. I have started running. Mostly to lose weight. One of my friends from middle school that I still keep in touch with, is a marathon runner. When I knew her she and I generally WALKED, together during our lacrosse team runs. We were definitely slow. But I always played defense. She was offense. I just didn't have to move that much. I guess that's why I played more. No one wants to play defense. But I'm a "take what I can get" kind of person, so I settled. Regardless of all that nonsense, we were lazy. So now she runs marathons. I figure if she can do it, I can do it. Although, its not so good for the knee I dislocated last summer. I wear a brace. I would love to have a really bionic looking one. That would be sweet. Make a brace that makes me look part robot. Maybe I will be a robot for Halloween. My friend is going to be Judge Dread. He might think I am ripping him off. I'll have to see.
(I've changed my costume idea about five times this year by the way. I'm drifting between scary dentist, which I have mentioned, Kelly Kapowski from Saved by the Bell, and others. Now I'm considering Robot. But that would be pretty sweet. Not going to lie.)
I'm jumping all over the place here. I apologize.
I was busy for the past couple of weeks for many reasons. I was helping with wardrobe on some little indie film, and attending to things in Massachusetts that I don't care to bring up.
Everything's been kind of crazy, but hopefully by my 26th birthday I will have more shit figured out.

Sorry, I'm a bit of a liar.

I have no will. I think I've mentioned that before.

So yes... occasionally I make promises that I don't keep. I haven't written in a few days. I guess I have been sort of busy, which is a good thing. My life is all about the desire to be busy these days. I was face painting on Sunday, and today I was was... sort of working. I'm not getting paid. So its not like "work." But its something. Its production work. I'm touching the movie, so I'm happy.
I've also been JOGGING everyday. Me? YES ME. And it's rough, but I'm trying. I want to get healthy, and thin. That would be neat. Then maybe I could actually attract men that don't completely suck. Not saying I do all the time. But lately? Yes. The suck keeps rolling in, and I hate it. I would like to find a pleasant gentleman, who is cute and nice. My written preferences will continue to change as I get more desperate. Someday it will just be, "ME WANT MAN."
OR it will be the more likely opposite. My standards will get so specific, that I will retreat to a cave, and become a lonely spinster.
OR... some lovely man will come a long soon. Then I will just simply be distracted and not write as much here.
OOOOORRRRR. I will write all about it. And then read it in the future when we are broken up, and hate myself for having written it.

Its all about the positives kids.

What happened to good ol' entertainment?

Listen. I understand there are a lot of shitty shit movies that spring out of the pot every year. But it is the summer. This is blockbuster season. The reason they come out now, is because distribution knows that they aren't going to get Oscars. They also know that young teens are going to be out of school, and ready for enormity.
Surprise, surprise. Transformers Revenge of the Fallen isn't the best movie ever. It's also Michael Bay. So yeah... explosions, and some stereotypes. I'm sorry, but when did people start seeing Transformers for political commentary? I was very aware I was about to go watch some robots blow some shit up. That's why I referred to them as "explodebots" before the movie started. I wasn't expecting Shia Labeouf to give me an award winning performance, I wasn't expecting Megan Fox to depict chastity, and I wasn't expecting Bay to create some sort of meaningful homage to the embittered world we live in. I wanted a god damn summer blockbuster, and that's what I fucking got.

So, if I hear one more wah wah political rant about Michael Bay, I will fucking choke someone. I swear. And chances are, it will be the hipster to my left. I almost want to see it again to spite them. But I can't afford. it.

I give T-Formers an A, for being exactly what I wanted it to be. Kick Ass.

My brother is supposed to be up. He is SUPPOSED to be answering his phone, as we are taking a train uptown to see Transformers on IMAX, and I refuse to get shitty seats. There are loads of things on my mind right now, but I can't quite organize them and hash them out at the moment. Maybe later when I have more time. Right now, I would just like my brother to pick up his damn phone so I know he is coming. I paid too much money to let this go to waste. I would have to find a last minute replacement, and I really don't want to.

I am sure this is all VERY fascinating to you. I know it isn't. BUT, I will have more to say later.

I promise, I promise

I will write everyday if I can. And I didn't write yesterday. I know.

I (damnit my mom won't stop texting me! I do NOT have unlimited text!) You know, out of the brackets. Texting drives me fucking crazy. If you have like, more than two sentences to utter, call me. UUGGHHHH. She won't stop!! Its one of those mornings, I can feel it. The tiniest little kick will turn me to the dark side. It will take nothing to piss me off. On this occasion, it happens to be asking me questions about my day that I just don't care to answer. I also already said it all yesterday.

Parents, parents, parents. I have four parents. I am sure there are many kids in America who live in this same situation. And there are even more who probably have more parents who have remarried over and over again. Those poor souls probably don't even have a parent to relate to or attach to. My my.

However, as lovely as my parents are, I really start to hate it when I have to repeat the same thing over and over again. And if one doesn't hear something, because I told the other and forgot, I get that puppy like whimper of "No, you didn't tell me." I would LOVE to put my mom and dad on conference calls and just say, "Shut your mouths. This is what's going on. Please, no questions until after the meeting has adjourned. Rita MORE COFFEE!" I don't know who Rita is, but she is one of the best assistants that has ever graced this earth.

Man. I need to run or something. I can feel stress coming from no where. I hate that kind. It snowballs out of nothing.

This is a weaker post. Sorry. But hey... practice, practice, practice.
Maybe all you need is a little bit of this:

I'm not saying they look exactly alike. But maybe they could be related.

El Dia De Los Padres!

Happy fathers day America! I'm actually supposed to be writing a band review, but I am stalling. I think its mostly because I have never written an official band review. My fear is that I will have a hard time NOT sarcastically making fun of everything. I tend to make references a long the lines of "this band sounds like puking" or "I can add this to the list of things that create my hell." So, in an effort to sound professional, I will avoid said comparisons.
I am not completely attached to this post. In fact, I find it a bit of a nuisance. But I promised my self I would try to write more. I can't go on standing myself up. Maybe I'll add more later. For now, this will just have to do.

See post below... this post. It will make more sense.

Hungover and out of it: Beware of errorrrrs.

Bare with me. I am slightly tired... and spent. I was being a very classy lady last night, and chose to show this by gently puking onto the streets of Williamsburg. I am now trying to clean up the apartment a little, whilst listening to/watching "Across the Universe." The movie is pretty shit. I understand. BUT, I used to do the same thing with "Ever After" and that movie is horrible. There is something very comforting to me about watching shitty movies that are easy. Their is always something about it I like. In this case its Jim Sturgess. I don't know what I liked about "Ever After." I think it was Drew Barrymore's shitty British accent. (Inner thought: I just thought I spelled Barrymore wrong, but I realize I just pronounce it wrong. I spell it fine. But I say "Barringmore." Weird.) AAANNNNYWAY. Her accent is crap and I love it. And Angelica Huston is amazing. And LEONARDO DA VINCI is in it! The real one!
Maybe I like a few things about that movie. And "Across the Universe." One thing I KNOW I don't like is Rachel Evan Wood. She blows. And not because she gets to make out with the Sturg. She just bites one.
I was realizing as I am writing this, I'm using my film school "title quotes." I should include the date of the movie like a proper essay. "Ever After" (1998), "Across the Universe" (2007).

So yeah... I should get back to cleaning. My parents are coming, and my sisters cat spilled soil all over her room. Don't ask me how. Just know that it happened, and make up your own story. I'm trying to imagine a funny story, turning the cat into a mini walking talking cat... instead of the real way that was just a dumb cat move!) Alright.
NEXT TIME. WHEN I AM NOT SO - Mr. Hun Gover.

Also

I am missing the UK dearly today. I saw a box of Weetabix, and a tear fell. Not really, but my heart longed... even though I never ate Weetabix. I was just thinking of this.


They may have had Weetabix here too, for a long time. I just never noticed.

What comes down must go up!

Not... in the case of gravity, unless you're talking bouncy balls. BUT! in the case of me, today, its right on!
Today feels like a positive day, and I do hope that is true. I got up moderately early today (for me... its was 9am) and headed over to Bedford Ave to drop off a resume at an eatery called POPs. Its a simple take away place, but the hours I would be working are graveyard. As in, start in the evening and work till 4 am. I'm not too keen on that, but I told them I would consider it. Then I strolled down to the Metropolitan Pool, because I needed to renew my membership. And this crazy older hasidic lady told me "You have bee-yoo-tee-full nails and a bee-yoo-tee-full shirt. You look bee-yoo-tee-full today!" Though it was odd, it was lovely to hear! I moved onto UVA Wines to see if they had any shifts available. I have done this in the past, but I figured I would take another stab at it. They told me to send in a resume, and get in touch with the managers. Actually, Jesse did. He is a "he" not a "they." Regardless, it felt positive.
I grabbed a falafel sandwich before heading home. It was a great alternative to the vegan sandwich I had originally considered. I don't know why I fuckin' eat those things in the first place. They are pretty gross.
I dropped by my sister's on the way back to my castle, to say hello. When I finally returned home, I plopped down in front of the computer to begin perusing jobs. Generally when I get on CL, I initially search jobs in or around Williamsburg, because local is better. AND THERE IT WAS! My dream job. A local executive that needs a personal assistant! I submitted right away, but my jittery excitement caused me to let a grammatical error slip. I am still mentally kicking myself for that. I hope he/she won't care. Considering they added college degree as a plus, I'm not to worried. Lets just hope this comes to me, after such a seemingly positive day! Fingers crossed!

So maybe I'll call it a quarter life crisis:

Because that's what all the cool kids are saying? Right?
I seriously... well, I'm afraid I peaked at 25. I think I will never be as happy as I was for those magical four months. And NO, it has nothing to do with anyone other than myself. I was free to do, say, and be what I wanted to be. My sister brought that up to me the other day, and I hadn't really thought about it. But its true. I was being something else, because no one there who knew me could, well - judge me.
I just feel so blank. Not just creatively. As a person. You know when you hear stories about young people who die. Their family always tells the media that they had so much to live for. "She had so many plans! She didn't get a chance to live!"
Well, I have zero plans, and I think I have lived a fulfilling life, for the most part. I've learned a lot. I've been to the places I have wanted to go, and beyond. I have met fantastic people. So if I die, I hope my parents wouldn't say those things. That just wouldn't be true.
So what the fuck do I do now? I have a HUGE blank slate in front of me, and I don't care to be involved. Those in my life, who also exist on the slate, can dance around and LIVE life, as they say. I hate the idea of, "if you aren't doing something, then you aren't living" I think that's bullshit. I just prefer to live my life differently. Its my god damn life, I can do what I want with it. Someone may have given it to me, but that wasn't my fault. And I grew, and now I am some fucking person, and they expect me to mosey around like a paper doll, do this that and the other thing. "YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE!" Really? Because, I have been living day in and out for the past 25 years, and it feels a lot longer than "once."
So back to my point. I am in the midst of a quarter life crisis. I am at a cross roads, a standstill, a block. Or maybe a dead end. I was driving, I hit a dead end, and now I have to turn around and find a better route. I can word this as many ways as possible, but I will still feel useless. I will just sit in my rut and bathe in all its glory!

My horoscopes can blow me:

Gee, thanks Yahoo! SO very useful. Tell me to buy a lottery ticket or some shit. That would be nice!

Virgo (8/23-9/22)

Your bags are packed and you're ready for the adventure of a lifetime. Is it love?

Acheivement of the day:

Getting the tin foil ball in the trash after the third shot!

Thanks A LOT England

(First and foremost I would like to dedicate this to Mr. Davies. I just don’t want him to think I'm recycling his ideas.)
Within the first few days I was in England, my gums began to bleed profusely every time I brushed my teeth. Now, normally an occasional gum bleed doesn’t bother me, as I am prone to gingivitis. However, coupled with panic attacks, resilient gum bleeds freaked me out.
This past Monday, I went to the dentist for a routine cleaning. I hadn’t been in over a year, but I had missed appointments in the past, so I wasn’t too bothered. The woman who was going to be painfully scraping away at my teeth was Cindy. She is just as lovely and innocent as her name suggests. She has been my “cleaner” for most of my life. I have been seeing the same dentists, care of Dr. Wise and his harem, since my teeth needed dental attention. I honestly think at this point it would be quite traumatic to see anyone else. Cindy and I have a personal history dating back to the time she caused me such great pain with a sealant procedure, that I had to reschedule. Let's just say she knows my pain tolerance.
I sat down in the automatic reclining chair, as usual, and leaned back. Then I said, “Now, just to warn you, I was away in London for a few months. Nearly every time I brushed my teeth they would bleed. I was told it was the hard water.” Cindy looked at me with a squint of confusion, “I’ve never heard of anything like that before.” “Oh, well, my gums are a little sensitive, so… well you’ll see.” I responded, sharply.
She proceeded, adorned in a mask and dorky “dentist style ray bans,” targeting the blinding light on my teeth. She used that tiny mirror tool, along with the metal pick, and poked around. She pulled away. “Ok, so we’re going to have to change plans. Your gums are crowded by bacteria. They are incredibly inflamed. You have a history of Periodontal Disease in your family. I'm going to have to get all that bacteria out of there.”
So it began. Perhaps the most bloody and painful dental experience of my life. There she stood over my head, like a haunting silhouette, glistening pick in hand. At the time, a very frightening image. She toiled with the pick, then decided to move on to an ultra sonic water cleaner. What I thought would be more gentle, was FAR more painful. Frozen in my seat with pain, The Beatles “Something” (one of my favorites) played. I tried to ignore it in an effort to disassociate it with this experience. But I couldn’t. It was the only thing to distract me. Every so often she would tell me to rinse in spit. The amount of blood pouring from my mouth reminded me of Edward Norton’s lesson about swallowing a pint of blood in Fight Club. If I smiled, I would bare blood stained teeth. For a moment I caught my reflection in the glass covering the obnoxiously ugly painting to my left. She had given me a similar pair of glasses that she was wearing, in an effort to shield my eyes from the water. I looked like a special needs Terminator.
In the end, my mouth was sore, but my gums were better off for it. I feel fine today, but because of my wretched experience, I would like to thank England for fulfilling its most near and dear stereotype. I would also like to thank Cindy for giving me a Halloween costume idea. Murderous Dentist will be a hit!

Depression?

Maybe. Or just loneliness combined with confusion and cat hair. Lots of cat hair. The kind of hair I wake up to and feel as though I'm lost in a field of dander. I hate it. I feel like my entire biological system has been altered by this continental change.
As far as my mental stability goes, that may be something that develops and changes over time. At the moment I keep drifting into my own thoughts, and I feel detached from what is being said. People talk at me, and I mostly hear them echo in the background. I am still very much in some sort of numb state, and that in itself is depressing. It's not as though my life is bad, or I am losing at my day to day tasks and accomplishments. I am merely lost. I almost feel like a ghost, wandering around, seeing those around me, but I feel like they can't see me. And there is nothing quirky or comical about it as Ghost Dad may suggest. It's lonely, lonely, lonely.
I miss my friends. And in some ways that applies to here and there. I want to be with my friends in London, and I want to reform friendships that have been put on hold here.
I guess I'll just keep watching movies and pulling myself out of my surroundings.

New York.... New York

Back to NEW YORK CITY!!! I have been trying to come up with a perfect metaphor, or perhaps, analogy, of my feelings ALL day. And I think I finally got it. Being back is like this: It's as if I was in a two year relationship. Then all of a sudden some new alluring exotic thing comes walking along, and I have an affair with it, for four months. Then suddenly something happens, and the affair stops. But I don't tell the one I'm having the relationship with. I just pretend nothing has changed. But here I sit, minute by minute, thinking of the fun and fantastical times I had with my lover.
London is my lover, and New York is my boyfriend that I have to learn to love again. Why were we in love at first? And what will it take for me to find you alluring and sexy again? Will we ever feel the way we used to about each other?
Remember how it used to be? I used to go down to 8th and Kent and just stare at you as the sun set. Your subway used to comfort me when it got too late and cold. Your streets, though dark and dirty, were always inviting. I was never scared with you near by. You were a blanket of comfort.
But then came the new charming bloke with the accent. Showing me around. Letting me know how close knit a large community could feel. And such a lifetime full of culture and history! And those beautiful blue eyes... (OK perhaps that is personal)
BUT, I need to get back into it here. I need to fall in love again. And all I can think about is London, and myself. It has affected me so much. I don't know what to think. My friends feel foreign. I am lost in redundancy. Time stopped and I moved forward. I wanted to control time... I didn't, but now time is controlling me... yet again. Damn you time, and your wild ways.

Coors original. How I missed thee. Also... the American dollar, in general. So there's two things!

I'm quite proud of this picture:

Shoot Me in the Face Hole.

God. What am I doing with my fucking life? I am sitting here in a god damn Starbucks, blogging. And what am I about to write about? How conveniently and retardedly set I am. What makes me think that I am unique? I actually don't think I am unique. Maybe about as unique as a piece of shit with corn in it. Oh.. What did I eat? The only people who tell me I am special are my parents. My parents are too nice. I am the luckiest person I know. (I am not complaining about my parents. They are gems.) My dad takes care of me without question. I am 25, mind you. And my mom just likes to tell me how beautiful and creative I am. So, I mean, I guess I understand why I am such a useless pussy most of the time.
But Seriously. If you have ever read "Stuff White People Like," I am pretty much that book, or website, in a nut shell. Actually, when I picked up the book to browse it a few months ago, I almost felt sad. Am I this lame? This unoriginal that I can be so easily lumped into a category of white types that think they are special? I would like to think that it is somewhat impossible for most people my age to remain original these days. Facebook alone shoves mutual similarities down my throat everyday. And I can't help but get involved. But I know far to many people who are definitely diamonds. They are rare and interesting. I don't see myself as any of these things. I am average, average, average.
I don't really want to be shot in the face. But, I do think my life is at its peak. Its all down hill from here. When is it ever going to be this satisfying to live again? And the earth is going to shit anyways. Global warming, the threat of nuclear warfare, the economy, Miley Cyrus. Its all bad.
Earlier today I was bothered by the idea (a recurring idea quite recently) that I will not be able to find a job when I get back home. And I began to consider the idea of moving home to where my Dad lives, finding a job locally, and just shutting myself off from the world. It would be cheaper for my parents. I wouldn't feel so guilty about being useless. And my friends wouldn't be around to amplify my guilt. I could also focus on being healthier and more creative. But the idea of all of this actually coming to fruition also makes me feel shitty. Its like working toward something only to give up. I don't even know what I want to do with my life. All I know is I enjoy taking photos and writing. Perhaps I will start my own magazine. But! Oh wait, that would require some sort of cost. AND!!! There would be no pay!! AND! I am too lazy to actually do anything like that. Fuck I am lame. Slap me. Please.

I had dozens of thoughts earlier tonight, but no pen or keyboard to relieve myself of them.
The one I did retain involved memory. Thank you to memory, for reminding myself of it. I went to a shit movie. (I am not going to tell anyone the name of it so you can suffer the near two hours of pain I did.) After leaving, I decided to walk toward the bridge near Embankment. The view facing west is incredible. You have The London Eye to your left, and Westminster Abbey and Big Ben to your right. It was a photographic moment. The full moon poured light over the river, and the clouds were scattered ever so perfectly. I did not have a camera, so hopefully this illusion I am building is filling your mind with wonderment.
As I stood there staring into this ideal cityscape, I started to almost miss it. I was recognizing, suddenly, that I will have to leave it soon. And a thought came to me. Do I want this view to remind me of a special time in my life, or do I make a life here, and make nights like this just another average passing.
The thought. I don't think so. How depressing would it to be to not value this? To not be enchanted by this sight? New York's skyline still takes my breath away. I have yet to think of it as part of my life. A place where I just happen to live. When the Manhattan skyline catches the light right, it stops me in my tracks.
And maybe this city would too. Every place in the world can look beautiful, even for a split second. But London seems to be a dream that I live in at the moment. At some point I need to wake up, get going, move forward. Right now I am just wandering in a fantasy.
This moment then lead me to think about romance, and what it has meant to me in the past. I sat there, looking into the night, and I felt embraced by happiness and calm. I didn't need to have a person with me to feel complete, and.. well, make it "romantic." That's when it hit me. Romance doesn't have to involve someone else. It is a uniform belief in the world that romance involves long walks on the beach, and candle light dinners, and rainy kisses. These cliches are obviously works of fiction, but the idea remains. Romance has always involved two people. That's bullshit though. Completely. The following are four different definitions of romance:

-love affair: a relationship between two lovers
-love story: a story dealing with love
-an exciting and mysterious quality
-the group of languages derived from Latin

The fourth is unnecessary, but I felt it should be included nonetheless. Romance, from my perspective, is more of an idea. And a feeling. Its a moment, where you get lost in fantasy and beauty. You feel comforted by it, and it makes you feel sublimely happy. I felt romance during this moment on the bridge. I didn't need anything other than myself and the magic.

Though... in retrospect, it could have also been the whiskey.

Jealousy

I am having a mental argument with jealousy at the moment. I hate that I possess such a horrible and damaging feeling. Its always been the bane of my existence. I can't remember the first time I felt jealous. Or even the last time. I imagine the first time I was jealous, I must not have understood what it meant, or what I was feeling. It probably involved a toy, or something someone had that wasn't mine. That situation has transpired over the years, and regardless of what it is, I feel like possession is what musters my jealousy.
At the moment, it is the possession of attention. Why must you direct your attention toward that person, and not toward me? I'm standing in the pathway, letting myself be hit over and over again by it. I am jealous of an idea. A thought that I am creating myself.
Damn. At times I feel as though I can even be jealous of myself. But at the moment, it is strictly based on a feeling, that is making me sick to my stomach. It's making my heart weak. I have nothing to be jealous of. My life is quite perfect at the moment. So why is this feeling digging its way through me?

Gum for Thought

I have recently been having a repeated thought. If my life were like a gum commercial, the following would happen-

- That lovely man, who's over excited dog jumped on me whilst I was reading my book in the park, would have thrown a piece of gum in his mouth, I would do the same. And we would magically kiss. (That would also apply to the "If my life were a romantic comedy" scenario.)

- That intensely good looking guy, who I saw in the tube, would have locked eyes with me flirtatiously, chewed gum, as would I, and we would kiss.

- There would be a lovely man in the apartment parallel to mine. We would meet outside... and well. You get the idea.

That's why they are gum commercials I guess. I think they are all just a big tease.

I need to write. But what to write about? I don't know. I did have a thought recently about the anti creative creator. This person, is generally creative. But rarely do they like people to meddle with their creative ideas. I consider myself a creative person, and generally, I can contribute the occasional new perspective, or provide a unique approach. But recently I had a moment, where I was working in a "creative environment" and I didn't feel like I was allowed to be creative. It was a, "Or we could maybe do this?" and then getting a, "I'm going to do this" back sort of situation.
Maybe its actually my fault, upon further observation. I need to be more assertive. I should just be more up front. "We are going to do this! God damn it if I have to say one more thing I will slap that good for nothing "artistic" (make sure I am using hand quotes, and making a baby voice when saying artistic) smerk of your god damn stupid face!" Well, maybe not that assertive.
But my point is this. If you are working in a creative partnership, you should be working together, as a creative duo. Like the Batman and Robin of creativity. Bad example though, really. Batman was obviously in change during that butt jam.
It wasn't ever, "Hey Batman, maybe I should take the lead for a moment?" If Robin said that, Batman would have been like, "Hey Robin! Yeah that's a great idea!
(Robin looks a bit excited for a moment)
Maybe you SHOULD take the lead. And maybe I should grow a vagina and be your Bitch! Hows that sound? Huh?"
(Robin isn't smiling anymore. I think he is actually crying a little bit. What a pussy)
Maybe I would rather be like... well. Whats a good team? Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid? Butch obviously has a much better head on his shoulders. Maybe Cheech and Chong. They were both too high to ever think one was better or more important than the other.
Regardless of all THAT nonsense. I do have some input. But I need to put my man handle out there and be a bit more pushy. I got all kinds of thoughts up in my think tank. It would be a pity to see them go to waste.

Bardens Boudoir: And Other Thoughts…Maybe.

Last night I had the pleasure of heading out to Dalston… or is it Kingsland? It was the Dalston Kingsland stop on the overground, so I’m going to say it was both. I think technically it’s Hackney. It was my friend’s birthday celebration, and we doubled it up by attending a concert of another friend of ours.
The theme of most of the places that the band generally performs at, tend to be 1920’s burlesque, do-wop… whatever you want to call it. I do not possess the proper attire for these places, so generally I look out of place, regardless.
The place was pretty pact. And there was an interesting crowd. Though, I did have my favorites. The first person I noticed was this guy, who, I could have sworn! He was a real vampire. He had that kind of odd 17th century style jacket that looked very Tom Cruise “Interview with the Vampire.” By the way, for all the teens out there that love “Twighlight”, “Interview” and Anne Rice were the original gangsters of the vampire romance thriller. Get some knowledge. In the end, when I was closer, I realized this guy was wearing a mighty helping of makeup. That may have been why he looked so vampire-ish. Also, British guys are pale.
Going on: There was also an old man who looked exactly like Keith Richards! No joke. It may have even been Keith Richards. The ladies loved him. He didn’t exactly have to worry about the shortage of poon in his future, if you catch my drift. He could have also pulled off being the Mad Hatter. I think Keith Richards could maybe be the Mad Hatter… All these appearances are interchangeable.
The second doppelganger of the night was the dude from the Mummy. NOT Brendan Fraser. The dude that plays the mummy. It looked as though he had maybe decided to take a break from his attempts at world domination, throw on a checkered shirt, and dance out his aggression. The mummy was having a grand old time. All smiles. None of that, I’m going pull your heart out of your chest, shit. It was nice to see him relaxed and getting loose.
Now this next guy, didn’t look like anyone. In fact, he was so dull looking he may have been just been a piece of plain white paper. It’s totally possible. A friend of a friend had a good point. He said, “What kind of person intentionally wears a white button up shirt to go out?” And it’s true. He was incredibly bland. I mean, I wouldn’t have found him more attractive if he was wearing a better shirt. But, it didn’t help his cause – which was, by the way, hitting on any girl who made eye contact with him. It’s kind of sad. I was going to ask myself, “Why is it that the guy hitting on everyone isn’t ever attractive or interesting?” Why? Because attractive interesting guy waits for the ladies to come to him. And he has the right to. I would totally approach attractive interesting guy, if I had the balls.
Aside from all these off characters, the night was a lot of fun. I did some serious dancing. And I also had a weird sort of kiss with the drummer from my friend’s band. I wouldn’t even call it a kiss so much, as an odd face grab/head rub. Strangest male interaction I have ever had. I’m pretty sure I was laughing at it, and at one point I was asked, “I feel like you aren’t taking me seriously.” Well of course I am not! First of all, I don’t take kissing seriously, and secondly, it was just ALL very awkward.
So anyways… those were the highlights. I apologize if this sucks. I am not very motivated at the moment. And my back hurts. Wah wah wah…

Barcelona:

On March 12th, I had the pleasure of embarking on a trip to Barcelona, in the company of my lovely friend Emma. I had never been to Spain, so this was an unexpected treat. I was also lucky to be shown around by a local. My trip would not have been possible without.
The entire experience was incredible. The city was a feast for my eyes, and ultimately, my stomach as well. On the first day we walked all over the city. Like many European cities, God was very present. We visited a few churches, but nothing amused me more than the cathedral gift shop. There were hologram Jesus cards! They were about the size of a trading card, but they had a variety of religious depictions. I quite liked the Jesus crucifixion/resurrection. When you turned the card side to side, his eyes would open and close. There was also one with his face appearing in the shroud.
I also got a taste of blessed hot chocolate. That’s right! Its melted chocolate, mixed with blessed alcohol! It was very rich. But, in a way, I feel like adding alcohol is cheating. Who isn’t going to have a spiritual experience whilst intoxicated? It made me wonder if the word spirits, when referring to booze, comes from “spiritual.” I didn’t bother looking into this, because I would like to imagine it does!
I would go into a long story about all the details about my trip, but I would rather just elaborate on some random points here and there, because those are the moments I would like to remember.
On Friday, we attempted to board the air tram (almost more like a gondola chair lift) but it was too windy and they wouldn’t let us on. Apparently there was a fear that we may have plummeted to our death.
That night, Emma’s mother made us some delicious fish. But soon after, I had to take a nap, because I was exhausted. We had a whole night in front of us, and I wasn’t about to let a little thing like energy get in the way.
We went out around 10, in Spain. That is comparable to going out on the town at 6pm here. People generally don’t start to party till around 1 AM. Regardless, we arrived at a local club in her neighborhood at 12ish, after having a few rounds at a bar. I was a bit buzzed, but nowhere near drunk.
Emma had warned me that she had once tried to hook up with the DJ there, and she was curious to see if he would remember. She called him Mr. Dubois, because he resembled the character of that name on the show “Medium.” I have never seen it, so I took her word. It was also much more amusing to refer to him as DJ Dubois. Regardless if he remembered her or not, we were the first two people there. We sat, bobbing our heads to the music, acknowledging the fact that it was a bit lame we were so early. But, we got free shots out of it, so there was no reason to complain. As the night went on, so did the drinking, and the free shots. Many people eventually turned up. There was a plethora of wonderful music, and I was having a great night. However, it became a perfect night when I awarded myself a smooch from a very cute Spanish boy. He looked like how I had imagined some men in London would look. But I have yet to really find this variety. The Jim Sturgess big doe eyed type. He also had the shaggy hair to boot. I wasn’t speaking Spanish very well, and he was doing about the same in English. So I just asked Emma how to say, “I want to kiss you.” It worked. It makes me wonder if I can be so brave in English, or if I should just go on saying it in Spanish. I actually can’t remember how. All in all, it was a great night. I can’t remember feeling that happy and carefree since the time I went to the Bahamas for spring break when I was 17.
On Saturday, we made it to the Aquarium. I was looking forward to this. I am happy to report, that in addition to the usual Sand Tiger Sharks, there were also small Black Tips and White Tips. I don’t usually see them. I’m pretty sure they can fatally wound you in nature. Pretty Sweet! There was also some great Octopus to see. It was the first time I found myself staring at something that I had been eating the previous day. Well maybe that has happened before with cows or chickens. But I was never so very aware of it!

We went out again Saturday night, but I felt like I was just trying to re-do Friday. It didn’t work. Without Andres, it just wasn’t as lovely. Plus there had been a creepy Georgian guy the night before, and he was there again! - Attacking us regardless of how many times we told him to go away. I literally pushed him off me and slapped him away. It was useless. Shortly after I turned to see him sleazing on some other poor woman. Some people…. But I still had fun. I just love to dance. What can I say?
All in all, my trip was more of an experience than something I can put into words. Many of the memories I have will just be in my head. I won’t be able to verbalize. But I can say: Spanish people are lovely and warm, Barcelona is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been to, and Spanish boys are pretty. 

PS: If you ever happen to encounter a big fat moody bitch at UK immigration, avoid her. She will make your life hell.

I Don't Even Know How I Feel Right Now:

I'm having an off day. Maybe even an off week. I experienced this not too long ago. Its not so much a lack of motivation, as it is creativity. I hit a wall, and I have no intense urge to break through it.
I think I miss New York City today. I was sitting in Hyde Park. It was chilly, but very beautiful. And then I thought to myself, this view in no way compares to the view from the park on Kent in Williamsburg. Its really great during the summer. Its nice to relax there, and just look at the skyline. Maybe watch the occasional plane land on the East River.
I don't really know what I should be writing as of now. I was going to moan on in my own defense, but its boring. No one wants to read that shit. My cursor keeps jumping around on the screen. One moment I am writing in the present sentence, then the next it just bounces back to a few lines back. What the hell crazy computer? Why must you also toy with me? My emotions cannot handle such games.

Things I’ve Learned from Women Who’ve Dumped Me: Edited by Ben Karlin

Let me start by saying I wasn’t ever planning to review books. And I probably won’t in the future. But, considering this is the first book I have completed in the past couple of months, I figured I should say why. The book is composed of a series of essays written by some of today’s best minds… In my opinion, comedians. Male comedians, to be specific. Stephen Colbert, David Wain, and Bob Odenkirk are just a few examples in this array of enrichment.
Obviously, based on the titled, it is quite simple to get an idea of the general theme. And as a woman, I just had to know. What have they learned? Because, having been the dumped and the dumpee myself, I know exactly what I have learned. Relationships are a lot of work. And even if you find one that works, it isn’t going to be bliss.
But more importantly, my reasoning for diving into this book was to get into a man’s head. I have always wanted to know what men are REALLY thinking. Even my best male friends shelter me and hide their real feelings. I know it! If we are at a bar drinking, they say things about me or about themselves when I step in to a bathroom that they don’t want me to hear. Why would that happen? Because women do it too. But I just can’t stop myself from eagerly wondering what is going on inside the male love cavern, located somewhere within their brain, and perhaps… elsewhere… if you get my meaning.
This book definitely gave me that insight. Of all the dumb books I have heard about over my live, such as “Men are from Mars, and Women are from Venus” and all that shit, this was realistic. It was filled with stories of real heartbreak, bitterness, contempt, and sometimes, love. Some of these men not only held onto the memories of women they loved, but also simple junior high crushes, or brief encounters. Often those few moments meant more to them than entire relationships.
I should also say that this book made me feel somewhat guilty. During many of the chapters, I knew right away what side of the story I was on. The heartbreaker. But I also found myself on the other side as well! The one who got left with nothing. Maybe just a faded explanation of what wasn’t there. These stories made me feel better about the chances of being understood. And also, maybe recognizing that even if men don’t appear to be listening, or caring, they are. They seem to have remembered everything they did wrong, even if they weren’t aware of it at the time. They learned from the break ups, and carried that knowledge on to the next woman they loved.
Although men and women like to fall back on the idea that they are just different, I don’t think that is necessarily true. When it comes down to it, differences aside, we break the same way. We look back and dwell on the details and the intricacies of what didn’t happen, or maybe what should have.
Regardless of what side you are on, or what side you have been on in a break up, men and women alike, I think you should read this book. It puts things in perspective, in a witty, smart, and meaningful way.

Starting to Feel the Anxiety:

The date is March 4th 2009, and I am beginning to recognize that my time here is dwindling. Last night, I was asking my friends if it would be ok for me to leave my HUGE bag with them while I went traveling during the last few weeks of my stay here. That also meant that I would need a couch to crash on for my last week in London. This was my first actual “have to” think about leaving London thought. I got in touch with my landlord this morning (via text, because calling is just too real) to let him know I would probably be moving out by April 15.
My friends were fine with this idea, but both joked around saying something along the lines of “But you’re not REALLY leaving.”
That’s when it hit me hard. I AM really leaving. And then I need to go to NYC and get employed somehow. My sister, who is light years ahead of me in experience, is about four months into her search for a job. She is looking for very specific employment. But still, I am going to cry looking for a job.
But more importantly, I am just not that interested in leaving London. - Yet, I have no choice. There is absolutely no way for me to find a job here without having to go home for some period of time. (Side track - I was just looking through my back pack to see if I needed it for class. Then I spotted some American currency. Five dollar bills staring at me, looking foreign. Pence mixed with cents! Its making me sad) I shouldn’t freak out. I still have all of March, minus my few days in Barcelona, to soak up London. And I should be happy. Happy that I am here! That I have this opportunity in the first place! But I just get a little sad thinking about leaving. Though I also have moments when I miss New York. I am LOSING it!

Some days I am ready and willing to be back in New York. I look forward to seeing my friends and family. The food, the places… the dozens of things I miss. But earlier today I was imagining some sort of welcome back dinner, with everyone being happy to see me, and me just looking and feeling miserable. It was like I was outside of myself in some future scenario, watching it all happen. Just thinking about it makes me want to cry a little.
Being here makes me feel stronger. I feel better and fuller each day that passes. Obviously having a job would amplify that. Then it would seem that what I have here would be mine. Something that I earned. But I haven’t earned it. It has been handed to me. Maybe what is happening is this: I have been shown something that I want. Maybe I do want to be here. And now, I have to go home, and work for it. Make it happen on my own. I need to get back here on my own accord. That helps. It makes me feel a little better. I just gave myself a verbal nudge. I word filled “Hang in there kid. You’ll figure it out.”
Perhaps I will.

Kick Myself In the Face Why Don't Me?

A Series of Relationships With Fictional Characters:
I have started reading this book, Things I’ve Learned from Women Who’ve Dumped Me. It’s a collection of essays and stories written by various comedians and writers. A lot of them reflect on their past relationships, and how they have come to where they are now. I was just in the shower, and reflecting on what stops me from developing a healthy relationship that I can be thoroughly invested in. And there is one particular reoccurring chapter in my life that I have come to accept as part of who I am.
It started to when I was… probably about 11 years old. My friend Rachael and I decided to officially commit to our fantasy obsessions. She was in love with Ryder Strong from “Boy Meets World” and I had become involved with none other than Jonathan Taylor Thomas, ala “Home Improvement.” And so the pile of Tiger Beat and Teen Bop magazines grew. I even converted my friend Ayla (Who would become an important brace for my obsessions). My walls were adorned with photos of him, as if I was creating a sort of alter. At one point, I even wrote him a fan letter, and asked highly important questions, such as “What was it like doing the voice for Simba in the Lion King?” I eventually got a response (Obviously written by someone else or even printed?) and just in case you are on the edge of your seat, it was apparently “Fun.” The creepy guy at my local Video Store, Dave, who over bred his dog and pretty much only played the “Back to the Future” trilogy on loop, attempted to buy the letter (actually it was more like a postcard with a picture and autograph) off me. But I declined. To me, it was priceless.
By the time I was 12, I moved on to Daniel Johns of Silverchair. This was my edgy phase, and Rachael really beat me on the rock star vibe. Her dedication to the “edgy cause” lasted well through 15, until she became a diehard rap fan and remains so today. Regardless, I was edgy! I didn’t wash my hair, and I can positively confirm that I once rubbed the grease out of potato chips and thoroughly rubbed it into my scalp. My mom was not too keen on that move. We also tried smoking cigarettes in the most pathetic of ways. Moving on: Daniel Johns was an angel to me. I would stalk up on VHS tapes and record television performances, rewinding moments when he sang. I felt as though he sounded perfect. And rather than buying Tiger Beat, I went for Rolling Stone and a bevy of other music magazines. My lust for him was intense. I think I came to understand what sexy meant during our “relationship.”
At 13, Romeo and Juliet, and Leonardo DiCaprio came into my life. This may have been my first true love, in a way. Again, as with the other two, a new wall of praise went up. In my 14th year, I must have watched Titanic more times than I would like to remember. My best friend Catie thought I was crazy. Although we generally liked the same music, she wouldn’t dare watch R & J. She was really into horror movies. I was not. I think I saw most of them through the slits of my fingers. My infatuation carried on, until “Man in the Iron Mask” came out. I think that reason should be understood, without detail.
When I was 15, I fell in love with Ad Rock from the Beastie Boys. I am actually quite proud of this one, though it didn’t last long, as he was in his mid 30s. I had to accept the fact that we would never be. I made a super awesome Beastie Collage… It makes me wonder if it’s still buried under boxes at my mom’s house. Someday I will have to look for it. Oh, and on top of all this, my best friend Ayla joined me in all my obsessions. She was on board, no less than I. Though I took wall decoration to a higher level… I think. We also played Barbie’s for WAY too long.
Now comes the biggest MOST intense fantasy love I have ever experienced. Justin Timberlake. Why did my 16 year old self love JT so much? Well, for many reasons. His mad skillz whilst dancing. His super sweet ability to beat box. His corn rows! Actually, I wasn’t too big on the corn rows. He rocked a major white boy fro at the time though. His style was actually quite disastrous now that I look back and think about it. But I was intensely in love with him. He was cute, talented, and age appropriate! My parents were divorced, and I went back and forth from their houses. So of course, I needed a praise wall for each house. The one at my mom’s house (where I went to school) was a work of art. It was the Sistine Chapel of teenage girl obsession walls. I recorded and rewatched all sorts of TV appearances. I learned the dance moves from the N’SYNC videos. And, of course, went to see them in concert. My infatuation actually fell off a bit after the concert, once I realized what kind of crowd I was being lumped into as a fan. I guess I felt I was above them. As if I would have actually had a chance at dating him if given the opportunity to meet him face to face. I especially liked his sense of humor. I remember thinking he was very witty, on top of all his other winning qualities. So did Ayla. We would stand inches away from my tiny early 80’s dial TV, giggling and blushing. I think, IN FACT I know, that one night, in my desperate longing, I cried because I knew it would be impossible to ever be with him. If I do meet Justin Timberlake ever, in my life, I would for a moment get excited like my 16 year old self. But mostly, I would look him dead in the eyes, and say, “I lost a year of real boyfriends and actual physical contact with guys because of you.” He would probably laugh, uncomfortably, and say, “I don’t think that was my fault.” My fantasy version of him would be quite right!
At age 17, I had a real boyfriend. Though I remember thinking he had a Timberlake-esk smile. He was a decent guy. My first love I suppose. I don’t know what kind of love it was, but it was ok, until he apparently cheated on me, and then left for college. My senior year, I dated a guy who I was intensely in love with. But he too crushed my heart. Shattered it to pieces. We tried to date while 3000 miles apart in college, but that was just silly. During the fall of my freshman year I had a brief affair with John Mayer. Again, though quite subtly, pictures went up.
I was in a relationship for 3.5 years though out the remainder of college. However, on occasion, I would develop little fantasy crushes here and there. Brandon Flowers of The Killers would be a perfect example. Though I did not put pictures up on walls, I bought ever magazine with his picture on the front, and collected them. Even though I was in a comfortable relationship, it was like I still believed there was something bigger and better out there for me.
I cheated on my boyfriend after moving to New York City. It was a drunken lack of judgment, and the guy kissed me first. I did not sleep with him. Though some don’t believe me (including my ex-boyfriend… actually I can hear it so perfectly. “Why did you guys break up?” says someone. “Because she fucked some other dude.” says he.) As I was saying, I didn’t sleep with him - then. At this point, my emotions and years of fantasy crushes with the combination of social networking made me develop a fantasy crush on a REAL guy. I would go onto facebook and constantly pine over his pictures. His deep gray blue eyes haunted me. When I saw him, and when I was with him, my heart would melt. He felt so perfect for me, so much that it hurt. However, as did the others, my heart was broken. He cheated on me, even though we weren’t technically in a relationship. And, as it turned out, apparently he was cheating with me, on his, or at least what I thought, was his former girlfriend. Confusing maybe? Yes.
That was my last “relationship.” Though I had momentary crushes and dates on and off, I am VERY single. I did get into a few brief fantasy crushes too. Shia Labeouf, Jim Sturgess, and James McAvoy. Although I do try to refrain from hanging pictures, (I just put images on my computer desktop thank you very much!) LaBeouf and McAvoy did make appearances on my bedroom wall. I attempted to hide them, or at least keep them minimal.
So as I stood in the shower this morning, wondering why I am incapable of interacting with good looking, charming, intelligent men, I began to recognize a huge part of my problem. This of course coming in to mind, as I am now really crushing on Noel Fielding: Androgynous British Comedian. Me and every teenage girl across the UK apparently.
But I know what’s wrong. All these fantasies represent qualities in men that I truly do look for. Be handsome, have a good sense of humor, be creative… and it wouldn’t hurt if you have dark hair and blue eyes. So when I DO find these men, that fit the mold, I am terrified. Suddenly they aren’t a picture on my wall that is frozen and unresponsive. They talk, they interact. And I am expected to talk to them! How dare they! I can never bring myself to do it though! I get scared, and shy, and I burrow into a corner. It is not healthy, and continues to remain unchanged. It will be hard to break out of this version of myself that I have been carrying with me for 14 years. But I need to try to actually start. I need to break away, grow up, and meet real people. Not stale images.

Just Because It’s Free, Doesn’t Mean You Take It:

Yesterday, whist walking toward my class at St. Martins, I was approached by a student from Toni & Guy Hair Dressing School. She asked me if I would be a hair model for her class the following day. First thought that sprung to my mind? “FREE HAIRCUT!”
Now, I did get my hair cut very well by a professional about four weeks ago. But for some reason, the idea of getting a trim for free was very exciting. I had never been offered any styling for free before, so of course I said yes! Then I thought for a moment and said, “Well wait, how much are you going to cut off?” The hair cut I had was already fairly short, and I am at the point where I am not sure if I want to grow it out or not. Precious, precious time. She made the universal symbol for “a pinch.” So I agreed, and told her I would indeed meet her at the school the next morning at 11:00 AM.
I showed up mildly early, and a girl that had recognized me from the day before lead me in, and upstairs to the studio. When I got in, I sat down and began to watch Carol, (Her name has been changed to protect her identity) the girl who was my cutting my hair, work on another… patient. We will call her a patient, because in my superficial world, hair is THAT important to me. Right away I should have maybe ducked out and left. She was giving this girl an asymmetrical bob. It was a bit Jetsons. I became a little worried. So when she told me to come over and sit down, fear began to rise inside me. Her instructor came over and they were deciding on the cut. She would say, “I’ll cut it here.” And then I would go, “Well - no, more like… at my jaw line.” And she would go, “Yeah, Yeah… of course. Right here.” She was very obviously NOT pointing to my jaw line. This went back and forth for a few moments, before I had to decide to trust her.
Few things seem creepier to me, than getting my hair cut by a flakey student. You know the saying, “Those who can’t teach, teach gym?” Well, apparently those who can’t teach gym, become hairdressers. She would just snip away, as if I were a manikin head, not really paying attention to the obvious concern in my face. Her instructor would jump in and say, “No, you can’t do it like that – hold the hair to a 45 degree angle, because if you cut it at 90, it will square off. See? See what I mean.” She would go, “Oh, yeah, I get it.” And continue to snip away. By the way… this was her sixth week out of sixth!
It was finally nearing the end. And just to warn you, when someone gives you the pinch signal, they might just be counting the width of their fingers as well. She cut off more than I had wanted, and almost left me with a sort of mullet, had her instructor not stepped in. Ultimately, it isn’t the worst haircut ever. But what I had in the first place was better. I probably should have left it. My sister cuts my hair better when she is high than that chick did. But I took it because it was free.
So lesson learned. Generally when someone offers you free stuff, it never comes from the best intentions. Free food is generally expired or left over. Free merchandise is usually faulty and defective. Free music can sometimes be crap. Free service is mostly likely followed with a gimmick. And free slaves… well that just lead to racism now didn’t it… too much?
Just because something is being handed out to you, don’t feel the need and guilt to take it. Pay an extra 20 for something decent if it is going to make the difference you are looking for. It might just be worth it.

I'm Just Not That Into This Movie

My Ongoing Angst Toward Romantic Comedies:
In Review: He Just Not That Into You (2009)
Let me start off by saying that I am a bit ashamed to have seen this film today. However, I do have crushes on Justin Long and Scarlett Johansson, so for those reasons alone it was almost worthwhile.
The film sets itself up to be an “anti-romance” romantic comedy. Channeled through the narrative of Jennifer Goodwin’s character is the voice of the doting girl, who suddenly realizes that all the rules she has made about guys throughout her life are off (pushed by Long’s character, the practical voice). Initially I liked the idea of the “exception girl” verses the “rule girl.” The exception is fairly self explanatory. If you hear a story about a girl who met a man and he swept her off her feet, and they lived happily ever after, that girl is the exception. The rule is the girl who lives a more realistic life. She, by example of Jennifer Anniston’s character, may date a man for seven years, but they never marry. These situations were setting up to give a somewhat honest example of the reality of romance in life. We don’t get our happy endings.
Yet they ended with a disappointment! In the end, Goodwin and Anniston, who you are set up to identify with, ARE THE EXCEPTION! Jennifer Connelly’s character, who is presented as an anal bitch, is the rule. And Scarlett Johansson, who seems to be more of a sex kitten than someone you respect, is also the rule. And the exception’s male counterparts are the witty doting type! So when you leave this movie, you are right back where you started, but almost more desperate. “Oh, I shouldn’t believe that Mr. Right will come into my life in a magical way. But really… Maybe he will!” I might need to put my finger down my throat so I can vomit that story out of my body.

23-02-2009
I came to the decision yesterday that I am trying to give up two things in my life… well not GIVE UP. But I am attempting to push them toward the back burner.
First and foremost, I need to drink less. I realized this yesterday, while sitting in my room with a sore knee. Had I not been SO drunk Saturday, I would not have encountered this problem. It wasn’t as if I was wasted. I was just clumsy. Clumsy in everything I did. Interacting, moving, BEING. Aside from all that, it’s also just plain unhealthy. I think if I drink less, I will lose weight, which I always continue to try to do. Not that I am desperate. I just don’t mind shedding a few pounds here and there.
Also, I have re-decided that are men are generally scum. I just don’t like trying to “pull” guys. In the past, most guys I have dated, I met through friends. Mutual acquaintances (though sometimes they also suck). I have never met a guy in a bar and actually had anything move on past that time, when we met in a bar. I am done with all that. If a man decides to chat me up, that’s fine. My ears are open! But I am sick and tired of awkward attempts at forced interactions.

“Hi there. You trying to get to the bar?”
“Oh no, I’m hanging back.”
“Can I get you something from the bar?”
“No, thanks.”
“Alright, well I need to go give this to my friend, but I’ll be back”

Exit Me
All in all its just not worth it.

Plus: I'm in love with Noel Fielding this week.

...And We're Back!

So, let me just start by saying I haven't written anything here in months. I will continue to tell myself that I will, but I probably won't. We'll see.
Also, what I am going to publish today is filled with grammar errors. I over use my "either ways" and "howevers." I always have. I need to educate myself and learn more conjunctions!

22-02-2009
Last night was, in more ways than one, a mental and emotional adventure. I decided, at some point yesterday afternoon, that I was going to go to Proud Galleries in Camden to check out the bands. I wanted to get there early so I would only have to pay five at the door. This put me inside at around 9:00. I grabbed a beer and started circling the place and observing the crowd. This is when the flow of thoughts started, and why I came to decide on writing this. I started taking notes on old receipts I had in my purse.
My first thought was about my own personal form of age discrimination. I have a strict bracket with age and dating, which tends to affect how the delivery of the question comes about. How old are you? Stressing the “how” indicates that the person is mostly likely younger than me. There is sadness in it. Me telling the person they are too young, and the immediate thought that I am maybe scouting out a young man. Then there is the alternative. How old are you? This time stressing the “old” I am almost accusing the person of their age. As if they should feel some guilt for nature pushing them through the years. Either way, neither of the tones can be taken as a compliment.
I moved on from this thought, and the bands began to play. The first band, Hexa, was from New York. I had actually decided to go to Proud based on the fact that a hometown band was going to be there. Regardless, they were fun. Their songs were short bursts of energy. I heard a man behind me complain that they were ending their songs just as people started to get into them. I understood his point, but I thought they just had good sense of humor. They were obviously having fun and not taking themselves too seriously. The English don’t seem to like that.
The second band was forgettable… Loads of dreary heavy sounds that bored me quickly. I think they were called Apache Beat if you are looking to avoid them in the future. I left the room and started to circle again. It was a wasteful endless circle.
The third band was called The Kabeedies. They were a lot of fun. The members were all very young, and that showed in their performance. The lead singer rocked. She was a feisty little red head, and she danced the shit out of that stage. One of the girls in Hexa did too. It made me happy to see so many girls rocking it out on stage. I remember having an epiphany at that moment. I decided that I wanted to go back to Brooklyn and start a band on the basis of simply being sexy and getting laid. Generally my dreams to become an aspiring rock star happen while I am intoxicated.
After the bands performed everything started to go downhill. It wasn’t a series of immediate mishaps. It was a building block system of failure. However, I will first go through my drunken notes and comment on them as I feel they should not be left out.
1) Two guys in Plaid: The funny thing is, there was this pair of guys in plaid, dressed the same. I remember looking at them and thinking “Ha. That’s weird… those two guys are dressed the same.” Then I laughed more so remembering that my friend in LA has a problem where he gets dressed to go out, and then his roommate wears the same thing. I sympathize for you dear friend, now realizing the circumstances that can arise. Fadouchery.
I also realized last night… and probably many nights before, that my attraction to a man doubles if he is wearing a plaid shirt. However, my attraction to that man is then divided if he turns out to resemble someone I used to date. Particularly if that certain someone had broken my heart.
One of the boys also looked like a young Mick Jagger, or a 12 year old Rosalyn Chesky. But that is a personal reference. Either way, I now realize that 12 year old Rosalyn looked a lot like a young Mick Jagger.
2) Douchey White Sunglasses Inside: This is self explanatory. I don’t need to elaborate.
3) Using Change in a Bar: Now, I have said this before, but I will say it again. There is too much change in this country. I mean currency, not “change.” There is too much “change” in America. But in England there is too much literal, jingle jangle in my pocket, yes of course I have some change to spare, change! So last night, I brought a change purse with me, because I have been accumulating stacks in my room, and I was looking to get rid of it. My beer cost 3.50. Not exactly cheap! But, I had 5 ten P in my purse (that sounds I little confusing maybe). And I held it out to the bar tender along with twenty quid. She just took the twenty and made a face that suggested she was bothered by my change. But I persisted! When she turned back with her 50 P, I shoved the ten P in her hand; she took the 50 P back, and gave me a pound! Success! I know now that I should just not use change in the first place, apparently, as bartenders who don’t like to, or know how to count, just don’t prefer it.
4) Monet Face: There are only so many opportunities in my life when I can seriously drop a “Clueless” reference, so I am excited to have done so last night. Actually, I could probably use “Clueless” references whenever I want. I just never think I them when I need them. But I did last night! There was this guy who looked rather gorgeous from far away. And when I checked him out, he actually looked back! As it turns out, close up, he was a mess. His face was pocked and scarred. I shouldn’t have let it bother me so much, and still shouldn’t, as I have a constant fear of karma. Anyhow, he was like a Monet. He looks great from far away, but when you get close it’s a disaster. That quote is paraphrased.
So those were my notes. VERY profound. I will wrap up the night as it was…
I continued to drink, and slowly wallow in my sadness. I was alone, obviously, which some people find pathetic. I see their point. I kept eye stalking this really awkward dude, and never said anything to him, because I feared being turned down by his intensely awkward awkwardness. Yeah, I DID just say awkward three times in one sentence. I quickly chatted up this one guy, but the disinterest seemed mutual. As I finally gave up, after a few drunken ventures to the dance floor and back outside… back and forth, back and forth… I decided I should probably leave. BUT!!! As I was leaving I found the most intensely beautiful toy sword I had ever set eyes on! I was so happy, because I few weeks earlier at Shunt I had acquired a nice toy sword. However this one was FAR superior because it lit up and made awesome sounds! I quickly ran outside with it. I went to the bus stop with a smile on my face thinking, “Well, even though the night went south, in the end it brought me to this lovely sword!” BUT NO. I was showing it to these two guys in my drunken, “look at this win” state, and this other dude turns to me and says, “Actually, that’s my friend Sam’s sword. It was his 30th tonight, and these girls searched on eBay to find it. I need to have it back. I can show you pictures to prove it.” He showed me pictures, and it was fact. The sword was in Sam’s hands in many of the photos. I had him take a picture of me with the sword. Why? I don’t know. We ended up riding the bus to Trafalgar Square together. I realized it was an original He-Man sword, and by the power of Grayscull, I was sad to let it go. I wrote Sam a short note explaining how I had grown quite attached to the sword, and that I was sad to see us go our separate ways.
I begrudgingly got off the bus without my sword. And to top it all off, I ended the night by taking a home run style slide across the pavement in Trafalgar Square. NOT intentionally, I was running for the bus and tripped. It was on my bad knee too. Darn. On a light note though, the guy who was running for the bus next to me looked back after my fall, tried to help, and took a similar fall immediately after… We both laughed it off and continued running. He looked to me and said, “Well that hurt.” Indeed, it did.