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.