More than lackluster, less than exhilirating

To the Homeless Man Around the Corner

2009-08-12T23:00:00.005-04:00

We're not so different, you and I.

That maybe insensitive of me to say but we are both struggling to come out of this with some finesse, some morsel of evidence that our efforts weren't for naught.

Everyday at 7 PM I observe you, and you are always huddled in that same little spot in front of the Dunkin Donuts. The 13th street, Dunkin Donuts. The 13th and Juniper, Dunkin Donuts. The gay, loud, and proud, Dunkin Donuts. You always exude just the right amount of vulnerability, enough that I can feel something tug at my heart and for a moment, I want to run to you, give you whatever you ask for. But then the devil/economist on my shoulder reminds me that you'd probably ask for drugs or something totally unconstructive, like crayons and paper clips. As I walk by you, you shiver, rubbing your hands against each other for warmth on this 80 degree humid summer night. And right then I knew that your frigidity had zero correlation to the weather. Your physical condition is an emanation of the human condition, or the lack thereof. Your presence is certainly hard to miss by the clumps of pedestrians, yet at best it incites fleeting sympathy and at worst, disgust. I wonder if each of them are having the same thought process as mine, down to the uncannily similar tiny economist sitting on the right shoulder, whispering a verbatim rationale.

But like good instruments of logic, we heeded our shoulder economists. Reaching out would cost too much. More than we could give. Plus you would want more, or you would put it to ill use. An excuse, a lie, a hop, and a skip away lay our typical Wednesday night routines. Waiting with promises of interminable comforts and immortality. As if life would fall into line and succumb under our whips of fabricated order and structure. Before returning to my overly scheduled Wed arrangements, I try to pause and take this in. The thought of ceasing to exist gives me sick-chills. Realizing this, I yearned for a loved one, and fuck did I crave wings.

The shoulder economist gives one of my strings a tug, and I feel my feet start to hit the pavement again. "You're late," a voice slices clean through my thoughts. But it didn't wipe the blade, because out of the two of us, the clearly deranged homeless man and I, I wondered who had got it right. And as far as my cold bones could tell there was nothing wrong with asking for crayons and paper clips.

Spill

2009-08-04T18:34:00.002-04:00

I miss you.

a lot.

I had to tell somebody.

But you know.

Dreams don't come true because we don't dream

2008-12-14T23:13:00.002-05:00

Every once in a while I am pleasantly reminded of how childlike I still am.

I've been watching James Bond movies and I can't stop thinking about what it might be like to be James Bond or find a best friend like James Bond.

When I am in different settings now, I make sure to scope my environment for escape routes and high elevation climbing potential. You know, in case I have to chase a bomb maker or an international terrorist.

Even when I am running or in gym class, and I start to feel that burning sensation in my muscles which tells me to give up, I think about how much more I still have to train to be like James Bond. It's insane but I feel reborn. Like I have a new reason to do everything that I do now. Nevermind the practicality of this all.

What I really wonder is why, if we have the potential to make movies and write books about awesome characters, aren't there any real awesome people out there. Where are all the buddhist hitmen hiding???

Free-doom

2008-12-03T22:49:00.003-05:00

The glass is either half empty or half full.

You either have freedom or you're incredibly lonely and bored.

In the past 2 days, I have experienced painful and bedazzling moments of both. I guess I'll just do a quick categorize:

- INCREDIBLY LONELY AND BORED (AND INEXPLICABLY TIRED): A day that consists of sleeping till noon, staring at the monitor until the words blur into vomit inducing chunks, "napping" some more, then more agonizingly pointless blank stares, until it's finally time for bed

- TOTAL AND UTTER FREEDOM: Getting into that shape you always wanted, in my case it's a straight 1 pt line. Running and hitting the gym has left me sore, but definitely grateful I have the time for it now.

- INCREDIBLY LONELY AND BORED: Being on gmail for more than 6 hours a day. Granted the biggest reason is to check for employer emails but honestly, I don't even like human contact that much.

- INCREDIBLY LONELY AND BORED (AND DESPERATE): Stalking employers and anxiously awaiting phone calls like you that girl who just went on a first date with an awesome guy--- but you also slept with him so you're a little nervous.

- TOTAL AND UTTER FREEDOM: Wow I never thought these would fit in this category but getting errands together. Budgeting, attempting to set up the internet then realizing it would be more cost effective to steal internet, finding a place to trade all your inane trivia and joke books. Etc Etc.

- Unsure if these would be products of freedom or insanity:

- Cleaning the bathroom and inadvertently getting overly worked up that we have to pay for toilet paper. Seriously. Think about it. When did businesses convince us that we had to wipe our asses with toilet paper, AND that we had to pay for it. I could wipe my ass with newspaper if I so wished. Toilet paper, it doesn't make any sense.

- Attending a "Ranger Workout" class at the gym where you had to run in place for 2 minutes and perform cadence calls. The class is designed to mimic a drill camp, the instructor at one point even got in my face and shouted: "What number are we on, I CANT HEAR YOU. I bet you wanna hit me right now doncha." It took everything I had to fight the urge to go: "NO SIR NO." And what are PT Tests?

- Sketching, doodling, blogging, and going insane.

So I guess if anyone ever asked me whether the glass was half full or half empty. I'd say something along the lines of: It's half full when I'm not thirsty at all and half empty when I'm parched.

In the end, I'll be happily insane doing whatever because I believe my biggest job is keeping myself entertained, and that's a job that's not getting outsourced, ever. (It's not about distrust of labor quality as much as I just don't think anyone would want it:)

Patterns

2008-07-02T00:21:00.003-04:00

It was still dark when my eyes opened. Blinking a few, what shifted into focus was your back. It seemed so far away. Forcing my eyes shut, I tried to temper the nausea that was rising up, threatening to pin me down in some eternal twilight zone where you were drifting, farther and further away. It was some crappy old futon, hardly a galaxy far far away. I think I hate large gaps because of you. Nevermind gaps, chasms. To think that one point could be so unbearably far from another. What madness in such space. Shutting my eyes only made me peek more. Sure enough, you were floating, and you didn't even budge. A red glare in the corner sufficed as a distraction of mere seconds, 3:34 Am. I think it's safe to say, I have never woken up at 3:34 Am, consider it a fucking new activity. If I had just tried to tap you, it would have been a reality check. No, didn't want to wake you. My arms were lead, my whole body, cement. Trapped inside a host body where it hurt to inhale. Trapped on an unfamiliar bed next to someone you no longer own the rights to. Trapped in frustration because you wish they could sense how much pain you were in or at least the eyes fixed on their back. Trapped wishing they fucking gave a shit. Trapped because you don't know how to make sense of how someone couldn't don even a morsel of concern after so long. Trapped to finally understand that this is existence. Something shut down after that. But I finally REALized you hadn't moved a hair, it was me. Down down down I sank. All went to sleep except my mind, fixated on this unjustifiable outcome.

A person can always recall that abject misery. Memories, particularly ones of dicomfort, are an ideal shield. Then we sell, push, peddle, wonderful and infallible theories about how laughable the idea of love and marriage are, our biggest clients being ourselves of course. Until you wake up one day, and find yourself staring at a back again. Only this time you don't grieve, you don't feel anything, besides utter disappointment for seeing your pattern. That's the thing about patterns, they keep repeating until you do something different.

The American Fear

2008-06-24T21:35:00.002-04:00

To be correct, the Pursuit of Happiness ...and the Pursuit of the American Dream are not the same thing. That is the one gripe I have about the Chris Gardner biography. The premise is based on that quotable quote from the Declaration of Independence: "Life Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness." Interestingly enough, Thomas Jefferson had originally written: "Life, liberty, and property" which was later edited by Ben Franklin into the ever so catchy phrase we like to spit out every chance we get.

Maybe since I wasn't born and raised an American, I have trouble grasping the way the illusive "American Dream" resonates within society. Just like how I sometimes question whether I fully understand the catchphrase "working for the man." Or like how I know for sure an 80s song doesn't play the same to me as it does to someone who grew up singing along to it in the car with their parents on road trips. Ahh, dreaded family vacations, that's one concept I fully understand too well. So to me, technically, happiness is an emotion triggered by a combination of different neurological functions, involving dopamine and a shitload of MDMA. Ha. While it CAN be triggered by achieving one's goals and economic prosperity, it is altogether possible that someone can experience happiness without being fulfilled in those ways at all. Arguably, a successful career and excellent finances can lead to a fairly empty existence. We really need all that money to buy all that stuff which sets our feet in stone and our minds on cruise control? It's like we're all in a fucking treasure cave as it's about to collapse and we're so ladened by the gold chalets and whatever valuables we could stuff in our garments and limbs that we forget the most important thing is having an escape route. The trappings of the rich they say. Fear of challenging the status quo I say. But hey, we're all gonna die someday.

Here's the part that has me scared shitless. It is entirely possible for me to live in PA for the rest of my life, spend my days shopping and feeding my fashion addiction, dine in fine global cuisines, return to my lifeless job day after redundant day which will have inevitably earned me a condo somewhere in rittenhouse, all the while lamenting my biggest concern: how my skin will look as age slowly sneaks up on me, or maybe not so slowly--who knows. Or I can have minimal possessions, live in the remote suburbs where the air isn't slowly polluting my lungs, spend my days reading, writing, working, loving, who knows what. Or I could go broke, trying to make it from one day to the next, desperately wanting all that stuff I had to begin with. One of many different permutations and combinations, but all possible, with no real judge of right or wrong. I used to think I would feel it if something wasn't right--but things got complicated when I realized there are drugs for that sort of thing. So I can't trust my feelings? What now?

The only thing that keeps coming to mind is that only when you have nothing (amend to very little), then will you understand everything (amend to a lot more).

Artificial Stimulation

2008-06-12T09:05:00.003-04:00

Another summer, another apartment, another roommate.

God Jamie has been such a necessary addition to my life --A friendship formed in that great way one neither initially expects nor realizes, but resulted in a marvelous bond nonetheless. And in the same way we were so arbitrarily fused together, chance would have us separate a year later, spanning the distance between two different time zones. (Although a 1 hour difference might paint a rather dramatic picture, we're still talking different time zones here) My new found ability to hold such relationships makes me feel more mature, or some fun version of that. And try as I may, I have yet to think of a more meaningful feat than two completely different individuals forging such a strong connection. What's that saying--scarce as hen's teeth?

It's funny how you can plan life as much as you want to, but it's the unexpected turns that deliver the biggest punches. Maybe it's the element of surprise, maybe it's getting something for having expended almost no effort, or maybe it restores your faith in the unknown a little, but life does unfold on its own. With no perceivable or intelligible algorithm. With no warning. And certainly with no airbags. Great outcomes can make you and horrible outcomes can break you, either way these are the moments that truly take your breath away, especially when it feels like a sucker punch to the stomach. And like the intelligent beings that we are, we take great lengths to develop intricate strategies so that we can maximize the upside and minimize the downside. We fabricate models and feed it our risk tolerances, our minimally accepted level of return, our past experiences based on historical data. All attempts to recreate what life does so naturally. Yet when we are successful, we are hungry still because we've grown desensitized to such stimuli. The current motto of 21st century humans might as well be: "we make life happen." But at what cost?

Crapplebee

2008-04-29T21:12:00.003-04:00

I just got back from dinner with mom. We went to a family favorite: Applebee, which will hereby be a new adjective for all that is morbidly repulsive. I can feel my arteries being clogged by an army of fat bulging turds (don't know the scientific name for that one). It's making a noise very similar to sludge slowly coursing/piling through a duct that is about as ready to rip as a man who has just engulfed 100 cans of refried beans in 10 minutes. Why someone would engage in such a masochistic activity, I do not know, but here I am, feeling swollen from head to toe. Turning multishades of constipated poop. ARE YOU GROSSED OUT RIGHT NOW? Because even if you are a fraction closer to smelling the vomit that is slowly trudging up my throat, then you'll have an inkling of what I am talking about.

Abblepee, packed with a whole lot of "family fun", can drive me to bulimia. That's right, I'm going to vomit until I see my duodenum. If you never see me again, this entry shall be exhibit A in my lawsuit against chain restaurants that attempt to pass year old stinky rotten toes dipped in vats of liquidated, maybe congealed, foot fungus as "SIGNATURE RIBLET PLATTER."

I hold my stomach and GRUNT at you CRAPPLE BEE!

Smells Like: a yeast infection covered in bbq sauce
Memory Tag: Acitivities that should never be given a second chance, no matter how much you think the palates of obese families might have evolved.

Idiocy Ad Nauseum

2008-01-28T23:25:00.000-05:00

Remember those "Dear Master of the Universe" posts I used to write? Well that is SO over. I decided that I don't like writing to non-existent beings after all. It's like sending mail to yourself--completely futile.

Instead I'm going to start a stream entitled Idiocy Ad Nauseum, subject subject to change...

For my first entry: The in-geniousness of crayola crayon colors.
I'm not sure how and why but I ended up on the Crayola website today. More specifically it was their crayola crayon chronology, or as I like to call it: cholornology.

Asides from the overt humor, which is that certain historical colors had to be renamed due to their politically incorrect nature (i.e. Prussian Blue, Flesh -->promptly adjusted post Civil Rights Movement, and Indian Red), I realized something else. Something completely nonsensical.
Allow me to demonstrate in a few flow of logic statements:

- Humans created language in part to effectively describe their surroundings
- The word orange represents a color, as well as the fruit. However carrots are orange but to avoid confusion, we have aptly dubbed it "carrot."
- Now kindly refer back to the crayola page. Take note of certain "colors" after 1989, particuarly 1990-1992.
- E.g.s you should be looking for: Neon Carrot, Wild Watermelon, Maize, and Razzle Dazzle Rose.

First of all, what color is watermelon? Are they really creating a circular reference in language by using the very objects we couldn't assign a color equivalent name to label a color?

On the one hand it is arguably an excellent educational tool for children (Unless you're Ralph Wiggum). But from a logical perspective, this is just silly.

The Numbers Game

2008-01-25T16:23:00.000-05:00

During a recent stabbing this afternoon, 3 died while a number were injured...

Laugh at my drawing skills and I'll cut you.

RESOLVE

2008-01-24T23:12:00.000-05:00

- To post something, ANYTHING, because I am terribly sick of reading that last entry. It feels like finding 3 week old left overs. (And if you tell me anything to the contrary, you'll be like the roommate that goes "HEY, it's still good")

- To treat this like a work in progress, not like a work of divine significance, not like a work of art either. Not that I had done so in the first place but just IN the event that should happen.

- To be honest. I had high hopes for my blog (portmanteau: best-log). But I'm satisfied, for the time being, with just logging.

Well I'm going to log...off now...to sleep like a log.

Wake Up Dead

2007-09-30T23:07:00.000-04:00

Some mornings I am over-welcomed by an odd sensation. That I've been wiped from existence. By odd, I mean uncomfortable and possibly hostile. It kind of feels like you can't seem to recall your purpose for being alive in the first place. If I could control the weather, days like that should be accompanied by heavy downpours with 100% chance of thunder, lightening, and severe winds. Of course when I look out the window, this is never the case. High 70s, delightfully-sunny, and a cool gentle breeze. All evidence points to the insignificance of my presence in this grand scheme of life, of nature.

Such discord between my mood and that of life's threatens my very being. Life unfolds with or without me. My disappearance would mark a single event, a moment. And then any evidence of my presence, even anecdotal, would eventually be cleaned up by time. Think about it, the only one that this would have a lasting effect on is...me.

The Tyranny of Choice

2007-07-25T22:27:00.000-04:00

Wow... I am the worst writer/blogger wannabe ever. I can't tell if my thought hiatus was a healthy break or a slow progression into mental shutdown.

Healthy break<-------------------I------>Mental Malfunction

So I've been trying out this new morning jog routine, and it's been doing wonders for my exercise regimen. Given that I now actually have one. This morning's run was all but fabulous because my headset broke. And no music makes solitary running dull. But surprisingly, what was more tedious, was the search for new headphones.

Since when did CNET start giving reviews on anything and everything? And why are there at least 10 different designs for something as basic as earphones? Allow me to list several: Behind the neck, clip on, ear bud, ear cup, behind the ear, semi open, under chin, half in half out, sharp tip, dull round head... Btw I made several of those up, but could you really tell? Then of course you have to consider features like connectivity, cables length, sound quality, bass boost, digital noise reduction, "NoiseGard Active Noise Compensation", "S-Logic Natural Surround Sound", and of course...DUH, "Aura-nomic design". Oh and for sure, I'm gonna need some ambient sound switch functions. Because fuck, I want to get the most out of my fifteen dollars.

It was after having thoroughly researched the hell out of the "necklace integrated" option that I realized I hadn't eaten my now really cold bagel and that lunch break was over. Switching gears, (and god how you come to hate that phrase during the course of your job) I went back to working on our annual report. And here I am, screwed for tomorrow's run because I realize I never actually got down to ordering damn headphones. But I sure can go on about sweat resistance capabilities like a motherfucker.

It's incidences like ordering headphones or breakfast that make you realize the catchphrase "freedom of choice" is actually an oxymoron. How much of life is actually bettered by the proliferation of alternatives? It seems that being pushed and pulled by every opportunity all my life has only rendered me more immobile... to watch in quiet desperation as the days speed by. Then to make it all worse, everyday, new paths appear. With time running out and imperfect information always, I'm supposed to just suck it up and believe that I'm making sound decisions? Talk about frozen in stress. Speaking of oxy morons, here's another: less is more.

And in closing:
Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed- interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing sprit- crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that?

On the Tight Rope

2007-05-11T11:11:00.000-04:00

"It's like, OH, that's where my heart is." Jamie's eyes widened as she tried to give me that knowing look. I nodded, not in agreement, but more so that I had registered her statement.

"Ya know?"

Did I? The meaning came across perfectly. She had rediscovered feeling. Yet while I met her on that comprehension level, the sense of those words rang hollow. So hollow that I found myself mulling them over during four sessions of teethbrushing. Here's some supplementary information, teethbrushing time should be well spent on thinking of comebacks that you could have used during the day, or saving them for future disposal. So understand me when I say that these thoughts were intrusive.

Besides years of psycho-babble and media brainwashing, is there really a benefit to trusting your emotions? More commonly known in the phrase form of "follow your heart." This is a squeamish concept for me because emotions are subjective and lack solid justifications. In other words, I am wary of a society where people are encouraged to be lead astray by intangible forces. Still there are some benefits to trusting your own emotions I'm sure...*Look left* *Look right* *crickets chirping* *blank stare*

I guess for the time being, I'll just continue to walk the tight rope? Teetering and rebalancing. That's what everyone does right? Why did I waste valuable time thinking about where my heart was, when I could have been making up puns?

That question was answered on my morning drive to work. Since I take 95, not a day goes by when I don't see some banged up cars on the side of the highway. Today was particularly bad. The roads were jammed, teeming with police officers running (or whatever you call the skipping that they do), and even an ambulance was present. I was fuming about not getting to work early like I had planned...until I saw what else was fuming. As my car took it's sweet time crawling up to the scene of the accident, I had a clear view of what had happened. It was a mess. Giant truck with its head and one wheel dislodged. A badly smashed up SUV. And a little further down, a four door sedan completely flipped over, still emitting smoke. I didn't need a second to realize why the paramedics and police were all frantically running towards the sedan. Someone was trapped in that little car, still alive? Fearing that it was going to explode any minute, I sped up and drove off. The cars behind me shared my sentiments and they followed suit.

After I had passed the scene completely, I turned my CD player back on. As I listened to my emotive mix, I realized what was completely odd: A song could evoke more emotion out of me than witnessing the looming death of a fellow human being. Jamie's words popped up again and the discernment was startling. It wasn't just that my heart was lost, it was that I completely didn't know what my heart was for.

I don't know what's worse: Realizing that modern technology and civilization might be responsible for crippling mankind, or realizing that I might have to wean myself off the Fray.

The Countdown

2007-04-28T02:09:00.000-04:00

Confession time. I don't buy groceries because I would rather spend my money on outfits. Honestly? I feel that clothes are more deserving of my money than food. A therapist would say I have issues with body image. I would have to counter that with what I believe to be, an excellent fashion sense. Ha.

Although, I don't think I'm much of a shoe gal. In fact, many of my most magnificent power trip moments are ruined by shoes. I can never strut high and mighty for more than ten minutes without stumbling. Flats. Heels. Barefoot. Je deteste les pieds.

I HATE falling in public...more so than most. I have a strong aversion towards anything remotely awkward and embarrassing. I hate weakness and I especially don't like to display it. Where I come from, emotive gestures and facial expressions would count as displays of weakness. Case in point, I get uncomfortable when I have to hold someone's gaze for more than a minute. My personal eighth circle of hell would be to keep eye contact, in a hug, as I squirm uncomfortably. For all eternity.

Along those same lines, I scorn co-dependence and long term commitments. Suffice it to say, I have yet to be proven wrong. Of all my crazy (but correct) theories, this is one I have become personally invested in.

Plus, I am a great example of why people should be suspicious of any long term commitments. It's called the Great Initiator Syndrome, and it's a pretty widespread epidemic so I'm sure most of you are at least familiar, if not already diagnosed with it. Symptoms generally include falling prey to great ideas and then running out of steam during their implementation and execution. In extreme cases, one simply stops after envisioning a great idea. If it weren't for this medical setback, I'd be a Nobel Prize winner already. We'd all be winners already.

Apparently, it seems like I'm archiving my faults. Add to the list that I am hopelessly and perpetually indecisive. Forever a benchwarmer because there are different sides to every situation, and I feel the need to assess every one before I actually play the game. Usually by then, the game is over and I've managed to talk myself out of it.

Also see:
- compulsive nail biting
- plastic bags hoarder
- excessive abuse of the 3 second rule
- cannot light a match for my life
- gross abuse of mascara (but being that I have no lashes, it's even more pointless)
- chain penny tipper (in all participating dunkin donut and wawa stores)
- notoriously bad driver
- almost always a failure under pressure
- will most definitely forget your birthday, and that includes family members
- hunching
- This one surpasses even me. Whenever I see left over food, on someone else's plate or on an empty table, I have a strong urge to go and eat it. But I don't due to social restrictions, otherwise...

Dieluded

2007-04-16T23:47:00.000-04:00

Most people drink to feel loose. These days she drinks to blend in. No, literally. To blend into the rest of the crowd. To achieve a degree of anonymity that her sober self would never tolerate. Some would call her an abberation in the bar scene because she takes on the role of a wallflower.

It's odd because public expression was never a skill she struggled with. Often times, it was a skill she questioned worth having. But in the back of her mind, the girl always knew that somewhere in the throngs of people she preferred to be surrounded with, there were at least one or two who loathed her self usurped limelight. And if you feign interest, you would never catch it. But being the narrator, I remarked a tiny streak dash across those magnificent round browns, sparkling with her latest anecdote. I duly noted it as a quick glimpse of nerves.

In the most ironic sense, she lacked that same skill for self expression. For the girl with an endless supply of garrulous energy and simultaenous emotional restraint, life was a troublesome affair. Left to her own devices, she would cry when she felt pain, she would protest when she felt snubbed, she would take offense to unpleasantries, she would do whatever the hell she pleased. Yet in public she never could exercise these liberties to the same degree, she was far too classy for such outbursts. But it distressed her all the same. And she spent her waking moments always dreaming, dreaming of being someone other than herself.

Now she was leaning against the bar, wobbly holding an empty glass up to her face, and ignoring the misogynistic lyrics of a song she once got up to dance for. Dancing for the crowd was something she did better pre Vodka and Tonics anyway. Unsuccessfully, I could only make out a little of her distorted appearance, muddled through the empty glass. Seemingly unphased by her own wierd behavior, she turned to watch her friends do shots, still holding the empty glass up to her eye. It was a strange sight, to see everyone grow bolder and louder while she receded to sitting reserved at the bar. Timidly, the girl set down her empty glass and reached out to order another drink. The last thing I remember is stupidly thinking how calm and clear she looked.

Word To Your Mother

2007-04-11T00:49:00.000-04:00

'What will your obituary say?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Not the beginning of a trend, by any means.

Because Reality is Whiny

2007-04-05T23:49:00.000-04:00

My mother is either really persistent or just incredibly dense. I have a feeling it's a little of both. I sometimes find myself unexpectedly amused, touched even, by the woman's blind dedication to serve and protect. Tonight however, was not one of those times. She was nagging me about chatting up some boy from my childhood, now a trader in California. I don't know what's more irritating or insulting: The fact that she thought my single self was a desperate cry for her matchmaking skills, not to mention desperate enough to go across the country. The fact that this is the 20.5th time she's not so casually brought up my childhood best friend when I've made it very clear what I think about dating anyone she recommends. The fact that she repeats this with the same insistence and tone as if she were asking me to eat some more of her cooking, or to put a jacket on because it "might" be cold outside. Or the fact that this became the instigation for an unnecessary argument, yet another, between my dad and I. Oh did I fail to mention that my dad is home briefly from China?

My harsh responses to my mother's dim-witted proposal must have given me away, and dug me a hole I could not quickly enough climb out of, because they were both firing relationship questions at me. And I must admit I came off bitter and angry. My dad started to shake his head, frown, clear indications of what was coming: a life lesson. Beginning with my shortcomings. He was rattling off the list, I am simple, I'm only hurting myself in my hatred for others, forgive and move on, I'm wrong, principles, principles, principles. All wise sayings, no real advice to back any of it up. Most of it was right, but coming from him it was shit. Where were they when I was going through it? I briefly remembered an incident back in September. I had tried to tell them how I really felt, that heart break and pits of despair weren't just expressions used by those who are "weak" in character. They didn't react. In fact my mother said she was disappointed in me. Can you believe that, disappointed, like her daughter's sad mental state was the equivalent of getting bad grades or failing an exam. I haven't outreached since then, and I wasn't about to start now.

I started to lose it. It was all just so fucking ridiculous. Most of the time, I'm not even angry or bitter, I'm just trying to live. But with my dad it was never about "most of the time", he had gotten a whiff of weakness and was on my trail now. My parents, strange how they're never there to support, but always ominously present to criticize. Like that time in sixth grade, when I was wrongfully accused of cheating on a math test. My dad, my own frickin blood, sat in the teacher's office, in disbelief, asking me over and over again to tell the truth. He was worse than a stranger in that meeting, and I never forgot it. To present day, I realize not much has changed. That made me livid. I am the way I am today because I got myself through the rough patches, who were they to jump in at the last minute with their god fearing words of wisdom? I'm well aware that we are not emotional people, or particularly concerned with "soul searching." And when I'm older, I'm sure I will come to appreciate the odd ways in which my parents express terms of endearment. But now, I can't be bothered with all that. Because for now, I can only count on me.

PS. My ipod broke. Or rather froze. Everything I touch breaks.

PPS. I'm going back to fiction.

Stretch to the Point of Breaking

2007-04-03T00:22:00.000-04:00

"Hey babe, I'm so sorry...I just forgot..."

His apologetic drone trailed off as I began to scrutinize some piece of dirty felt stuck on the bottom of my new Rocket Dogs. With one hand propped on his left shoulder for balance, I leaned in and popped out my right heel. The romantic nature of such a stance reminded me of this generic childhood daydream. The one where you're kissin your fella and one heel, preferably the right, just automatically pops out. I always thought that was too cliche, an ideal kiss made for lame TV audiences who consumed their lives with bothersome fantasies that would never materialize into reality. Never once considering that it was I, who would be the fool. That was the trap laid by most cliches.

Right then, instead of reaching for the garnish on my heel with my free hand, I decided to seize the moment. I looked into his eyes, and touched my lips to his. It was horrible. The deep ache I had been hoping would subside only drilled more holes into my stomach. His eyes, the ones I normally spent hours being lost in, gave me a creepy falling sensation. Like I had tripped and fell headfirst into a bottomless well. Both the kiss and the embrace were picture perfect, we were two people who knew just how to lock lips in public. We were a goddamn black and white, candid, Doisneau work of art. But that was just it, we were two strangers going through the motions, faking the emotions.

As short-lived as our pose was, I lost track of who pulled back first. All I knew was that my right shoe needed attending to. He fell back into silence, or rather, the awkward limbo between avoidance and admittance. With utmost concentration, I peeled off what appeared to be a missing piece of someone's --well I really didn't know what it was. It was a soft pastel blue, the color and texture both made me think of babies' garments. How on earth could a child's clothing have ripped? The possibilities, which were endless, dutifully preoccupied my mind.

"Babe?"

Maybe a baby was kidnapped and his shirt ripped. Slim to none odds.

"I'm really sorry I forgot, It's just that work was so stressful, and they want me to do all this crap. It's not an excuse I know, but I want you to know I feel terrible about it."

It's probably just some shithead babysitter or nanny that got the child's shirt jammed in the stroller or something. Maybe the dog snagged a piece. Maybe it's from the shirt a dog was wearing...how was I even so sure it came from a baby?

"Babe, I'm saying I'm sorry, will you at least hear me out?"

He was sorry a lot lately. But still, there was a lot to be stressed about. I saw myself give him a smile, playfully bump into him, and drop that fascinating piece of discovery in order to hold his impatiently shaking, extended hand. The fabric once again came in contact with the concrete, ready to entertain someone else who would be feeling neglected.

I thought we could pretend another day, or maybe until the end of the summer, indefinitely.

Memoirs of an Empty Heiress

2007-03-26T22:44:00.000-04:00

She looked into his gaping eyes with hers, searching in that last moment for a piece of familiarity. Even in the darkness, she could see the glaze painted over those baby blues, entranced with pleasure, such pleasure.

She sat back up, to see the whole thrashing picture. One hand clutched the bedsheet for dear life, twitching ever so slightly. The other went above his head, tightly wound around the black headboard grills. Closing her eyes, tilting her head back gently, she thrust her hip just right. Graciously, he gave an animal like groan, moving parallelly underneath. Like a pavlovian reward association she learned from way back when, the corners of her lip curled up into a tiny, lustful smirk. With the assurance of a master artisan, her hip gave a couple more well timed thrusts. They moved in unison, his grunts escalating with the force of her movements. Her roving gaze wandered from his brawny tricep, lingered on his elbow for more than a brief moment, and finally settled on his firm chest. With her fingertips, she pronouncedly traced the territories which her eyes had conquered.

He reached up to grab her in a most tasteless manner, as if to direct her focus back onto his face. His expression made her want to laugh and cry in ecstasy at the same time. It was so subservient, so helpless. His mouth opened for a slew of rancid pleadings. She toyed with time, with him. When the last drop of power had surged through her veins, she glanced at the clock and decided she was weary. The game ended quickly, predictably.

They laid down in silence. Him out of breath, her dying for a cigarette. She was interrupted mid-contemplation, somewhere between addiction and exhaustion, as he tried to spoon her. That made the decision much easier. She got up and walked to the window, where a lighter, Turkish Jades, and a stool awaited her. The girl was all too adept at opening jammed windows, second only to the skill she had just previously demonstrated in bed. As she inhaled the delirious taste of nicotine, a severe cold draft reminded her what season it actually was. In the midst of all this feeding frenzy, she had forgotten she was not alone. A low hum, like a smothered snore, indicated his absent presence.

"Hey where are you going...Do you smoke a lot or just now...well I'm going to sleep, g'night." She realized he had spoken, made a weak stab at conversation. Why did they all feel this excessive need? She was fine with silence, preferred it actually.

She was on her lost-count cigarette, when the blue sky, tinted with an orange hue, called her back. She was powerless against it. Looking scathingly over at the bed, a familiar scene with an unfamiliar occupant, the girl decided it was time for a scalding shower. Everything was out of habit with that one.

Afterword: Don't shit your pants, this was FICTIONAL. I was inspired by reading about Cleopatra, the great Egyptian seductress.

State of Being

2007-03-23T14:00:00.001-04:00

So I feel like just shooting the shit, the way a father and son would throw ball, casual, distracted, hurried, and usually before dinner. Only it’s 3 AM, I’m in my pjs, absolutely starving for not food, but attention.

To be honest I don’t know where I’m going with this, with any of it. I normally have a blueprint for my entries --Geez, I feel like I’ve just admitted something awful. That not only do I constantly think about blogging, but that I’ve just divulged a secret into the method of my madness. Still, I know it probably didn’t come as a shock to anyone. So no blueprint today. Writer’s block, after all, is just a state of mind and I’d like to see what I’m really made of –Geez I just called myself a writer. Misapprehension.

[Fingers drumming] Although I don’t smoke, I feel like this would be that perfect moment. Train of thought? More like train WRECK. The many merits of planning ahead are coming to mind, but none of which I care to discuss. [Take a puff of my hypothetical cigarette; put it back on the ashtray] It’s 3 AM and I’ve woken up with the sudden inspiration to write anything and everything. My only source of light is the monitor screen, strangely like a calling. I have so much courage right now, but no outlet.

All day I’ve tried to put my finger on this sensation, some form of malaise floating around but never coming in to land. I can feel it settling now. Anxiety is torture, I spend all my waking moments pondering about the future, about the grand scheme, almost lamenting that the days can’t speed up. But right now, I see a different light. I see that this is my life, and it’s going, each second wasted by my pining for what’s to come.

This was directionless, but at this instant, I’m ok with that.

Everything is Open, Nothing is Set in Stone.

2007-03-16T01:26:00.000-04:00

When I was younger:

I held no dreams.

I didn't fantasize about my perfect wedding, perfect job, perfect husband, and how they would all fit together to make my perfect life.

Instead I studied, was forced to study, and came to hate studying.

My parents used to say that if I watched 1 hour less of TV, played 1 hour less with barbies, hung out 1 hour less with my friends, I would grow up and have the life I'd always wanted. Perfect, except there are just two things wrong with that. ONE: I didn't have the slightest inkling as to what I wanted my life to be like. TWO: Apparently, years later, I am finding out that their idea of a great life and mine don't quite match. But why would a 9 year old question semantics? So I believed them. I took their dream life and made it mine.

Well what a rude awakening freedom of choice is. Today at the ripe age of 23, 22, (shit how old am I) I am paying for it all. I have no sense of direction in life, and I am fickle. God am I fickle. It's a deadly combination. I envy people with passions, pursuits, even if they are pursuits I may never agree with. At least they're not fumbling around in the dark, wasting time by trying on pieces of clothing that happen to be in reach, making them fit even if they don't.

When I tried to declare International Relations as a major, my advisor incredulously laughed at my transcript. "You've got, what is all this, greek and roman mythology, food, writing, scandalous arts???" I responded by declaring Econ as my major. Econ, with its steady hand in numbers, its lucrative opportunities, most importantly it's least amount of credits left to graduate. This, was, my pattern, my protocol for life. Blindly try everything and when I finally realize time is running out, settle on the default. Blindly try everyone and realize too late that some people are just not a good fit. Some would call it an open mind, I call it a directionless mind.

People who are stuck in jobs they don't like, with people they can't seem to justify, are people who have no idea what they really want out of life. We are the waking, walking, wandering, lost.

La Douleur Exquise

2007-03-13T00:32:00.000-04:00

A cafe cashier read me on Saturday.

As I reached out to grab my 2nd cup of whip cream, with latte on the side, the cashier confronted me about my nails. I have decided to omit a picture and let you have the liberating luxury of imagination, how magnanimous of me. It used to be my right thumb, which now observing it carefully, will probably remain concave forever. I've been working on this one since high school (or was it middle), it is not likely to heal. What surprised me, and her too obviously, was the left thumb. I was so good for a while, devoting all my energy to the right. But if I learned anything from a solid education, it's the importance of consistency. Yea that's probably not funny. My left thumb is more bumpy than concave, but it looks worse.

"Your nails are missing, did you do that yourself."
"Oh, yea, I did--I do."
"Are you some kind of a masochist. Do you get pleasure from ripping the nail off your bare flesh like that."
"Pleasure? I--It's more like I'm trying to fix and smooth out the uneveness. Even when I had nails, they were so close to perfection but not, it really bothered me."
"And now?"
"Well I guess I'm still trying to smooth them out...I dunno."
"I don't buy it, I still think you enjoy the pain. Maybe you like the sensory shocks."

Afterwards.

I stared at my thumbs. There was almost no nail on either one to smooth out. I had chewed it all off in vain, in a quest for perfection? Maybe I WAS addicted to the pain. I racked my brain for examples. A string of them, in which I derived some kind of pleasure from inflicted pain. A piercing, a high stress job, exercise, self indulgence. So isn't almost every activity at risk for some kind of pain? As long as I continue to put myself out there, to make conversation, I am subjecting myself to one of the worst kinds of pain, rejection. Yet social interactions are indispensable. Pain is here to remind me that I am very much alive.

So how do you tell. Are there such things as good pain and bad pain? Then surely, chewing my nails would be filed under bad pain, but apparently I secretly enjoy it. On a even larger note, what about the infliction of mental anguish through other means. Say attempting to attain the unattainable. There are those of us, who walk the earth, silently wishing for someone or something. Aggravated and exhausted, knowing deep down that they'll never succeed. Maybe I started out really believing that I could fix the blemishes on my nails. But down the road, when it became clear that I was doing more harm than good, I still didn't stop. Somewhere along the way, I must've gotten addicted to the exquisite pain of failure. For lack of a better word.

Runaway Notions

2007-02-28T09:07:00.000-05:00

I have many "talents". And the list is growing everyday.

I recently discovered that I have the ability to induce calm panic attacks while performing normal everyday tasks. Completely unprovoked-- well unless you count self provocation.

I can't quite put my finger on how it starts. But I have a hunch that it might be related to my new hobby (and yet another talent!): to replay conversations or interactions I've had with people over and over in my head. I start thinking about details and before you know it, each sentence, nay, each word in my memory branches out, taking on a life of its own, spawning more and more possibilities. My memory isn't great, and it's probably selective at best, which only makes me second guess everything. It's wierd because I still look calm and normal, but I feel like my brain and heart are exploding, only someone must've hit the mute button on me.

I start scrutinizing every word, every action. I almost always jump to the conclusion that mistakes were made, most likely my fault. My eyes dart to my phone, I want to check my email. Nobody has called. Nobody has written. Therefore it is only reasonable that they are probably all sitting in a room somewhere having a grand time, conspiring, trading notes about how much I suck. And I've probably given them enough ammo to, it is a cruel joke that I ever thought I might be likeable. I constantly think my coworkers are talking about me, because their voices are low. They are displeased with my performance, I MUST be slacking off, or stupid, or both. Then usually around this time, paranoia seeps in and begins to kick any remianing shred of logic's ass.

All the while, I'm still sitting there, on the couch, smiling robotically at the TV. Maybe even fake chuckling. Right at that moment, there are two completely different events taking place, sharing the same time frame. On the one hand, there's cheesy music and colloquial dialogue. On the other, rapid and chaotic brain activity, terror, suffocation, and stress induced chest pains. It becomes hard to tell which one is background noise.

I digress. The only way to snap out of it is by reminding myself of the worst case scenario: to spend life in complete solitude. Which isn't so bad. In fact assume rejection unless otherwise noted. Breathing returns to normal. My eyes start to focus again. TV swims back into view, Scrubs is on. Everything is a little darker, but I care less.

I never used to get carried away like this. This can only mean that my brain is evolving, into that of a mental patient's. Shhhhhhhhhhhh.

Not All Here

2007-02-23T22:39:00.000-05:00

Everyday at exactly 4:57 PM, my brain packs up and flies to outer space.

Leaving my "I'm stuck in a field that I don't really care for but might as well make something out of while I'm here" energy severely compromised.

Abandon me as I am stuck—in excel. Reconciling data is complicated 10 billion times when there are a gazillion formulas involved. #DIV/0--#VALUE--#N/A, #NAME? I worship this program's creativity in coming up with so many different ways to say "Fuck you, try again."

I'm thinking of making up a song that strings together all these arguments, maybe throw some other commands in there. A must have lyric: "I Vlooked up your mom last night." Hell, that could even be a facebook group. Oh the possibilities. Or, check this, yo momma's so fat that the circular reference error in excel, is actually referring to her. <--*Trademark yo momma joke courtesy of Michelle's outerspace brain.*

Outside, I'm staring extra hard at the monitor screen. Clicking away, mechanically calculating returns. Inside, I'm on vacation. Like today, I was eating Fun Dip when it happened.

Fun Dip, what a presumptuous and false claim. Clearly the candy isn't living up to its name at all. Firstly the stick that you use to dip into the powder tastes like sugary sweet death. It also looks like a piece of chalk. Then there's the cherry flavored powder, which tastes like ground up chalk, and I can talk because I once ate chalk on a dare. So it's literally like dipping a piece of chalk into more ground up chalk. Again, what is so fun about Fun Dip? If anything they should call it Lame Dip. But, it's not altogether hopeless. Instead of cherry flavored chalk powder, they should use pop rocks. So that everytime you take a dip, it's a PARTY in your mouth. Now that's FUN. <--*Trademark product idea courtesy of my outerspace brain.*

I'm off to test this product. I wonder if eating enough will numb my mouth.

Now is the Time for Guts and Guile

2007-02-21T01:08:00.000-05:00

Drive.
Work.
Drive.
Eat.
Sleep.

Drive. Work. Drive. Eat. Sleep.

Drive. Work. Work. Work.Work. Work. Drive. Sle--Drive.
Work.
Work. Work.
Work. Work. Work. Work. Study. Sle--Drive. Workworkworkworkworkworkworkstudystudystudystudy.
Stuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuudy. Sle?

No no no.

Drive. Sing. Coffee. Work. Chat. Work. Drive. Dance!Social (everybody drinks).
Justin Timberlake's new video. Screw you studying (for now). Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

And that's why this entry is so shitty.

Get a Grip

2007-02-18T17:10:00.000-05:00

Tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-tick. I'm convinced that this is the official sound for blinkers in all Enterprise Rentals. I would know. Dodge, Chevy, Ford. They all make this same sharp and precise ticking. Same rhythm, beat, tone. I drummed my fingers along, silently counting. I despise the smell of rentals. This one smells like plastic, devoid of personality, of belonging. After a minute, 40 ticks or so, I decided that I like the sound these blinkers make. Soothing. If nothing else, they had a consistency that I found comforting.

I need a signal. Left: Things are going to get better from now on, life is going to stop flinging shit in her direction. Right: "Finish her." I don't care which one. I just cannot return to normal, drab, dreary. Life at this point is snowballing, rolling down the hill growing ever so large, collecting more and more speed. I find it irrational that I am sitting at the bottom of the hill, quietly listening, waiting, watching. I should be screaming my head off, running to meet it, running the fuck away. I flip on the left turn signal, wait exactly a minute, then flip on the right. I do this as I wait for Ann to come downstairs. The minute she opens the door, that's how I'll make up my own fate.

No this game makes no sense, but it's fun. I can't seem to rationalize anything anymore. I pose questions all the time, and I'm the only one responding. That game also makes no sense, and it's no fun. Flick left, flick right. I'm dumbing life down to a coin toss. Here comes Ann.

Comic Despair

2007-02-13T20:45:00.000-05:00

I had the worst dream last night. I was riding one of those spinning teacup rides, except they were shoes. I was inside a shoe that spun around, chaotically fast. I thought I was going to vomit, choke on my vomit, and die. I will place heavy negative emphasis on that last detail by adding that the worst way to die, in my opinion, is to choke on your own vomit from some stress induced situation. Not only is it uncomfortable and painful, but it's pathetic and embarrassing. I want to look like a hero when I die. Even if I'm not, even if I'm the village rapist, a murderer of children, or some fascist dictator, I want to look like a hero just for when I die. They can find out the terrible truth after, what do I care I'm dead.

There's more.

My friends were standing by the ride chatting as I spun round and round, into my death. I was shouting for them to throw me the shoe laces. Predictably, no one responded, no one even looked in my direction. Round and round. My skin, shaken loose from my bones. I felt the chunks coming. I wanted to wave both arms wildly, so that I could catch someone's attenton. But instead I hugged the tongue tighter and screamed for laces. Everything was a white blur, fading to black. The proper words should have been: "somebody, help me."

Reality. I sat up. I could still feel chunks welling up in my throat. I thought it humorous that even in imminent death, I would creatively try to save my own life by demanding something so ridiculous as shoelaces. It really made sense at the time.

Icing on the Poison

2007-02-11T23:52:00.000-05:00

Something I recently heard -- from someone else who once heard:

Everyone that we meet in our lives is a mirror to our own selves.

Supposedly every encounter is a learning experience. You learn something different about yourself everytime you meet someone else. Even if some encounters seem to be a huge fucking waste of time...they're not. Although I will always rue those times, I can now rest assured that at least I have this bit of cheesy truth to jam down my throat.

Imagine

2007-02-08T00:19:00.000-05:00

If you worked in what used to be an abandoned mill far out in the middle of nowhere, miles from any consumer hot spots. Instead the mill is right next to a gentle quiet flowing stream. And an art museum. Let's throw a museum in there. Pretty groovy huh.

So let's say the way the water supply works is that you have to transport it in from the nearby city through a pipe running under the bridge. Oh and there has to be a bridge also. And to ensure a constant supply the pipe is insulated with a thin layer of wires which generate heat. Engineers, feel free to insert a more technical description.

So one day you go to work and it's really cold. The kind of cold where you take heaving gasps to catch your breath. The kind of cut your face, make you cry, render your body immobile cold. And you are informed that due to such inclement weather conditions, the pipe has frozen. Its heating system, broken. How ridiculous would it be if you had no running water at work. That translates into no bathroom and no coffee. Wait so to make this story even MORE bizarre, you find out that it's going to be days, months even before the pipe can be fixed. Or maybe warmer weather. MEANWHILE, get this, you get a company wide portapotty. ONE portafrigginpotty for however long it takes. And instead of putting it smack outside, it's in the basement where the workmen are there 24/7 to work on the pipe. I mean can you even imagine that, how bizarre would that situation be, not to mention going to the bathroom with two workmen conversing nearby?

Oh wait, it's not made up, it's actually happening...to yours truly. And add to that: internet is also down and I am mid-reporting cycle which means staying until 10 every night. Flying portapotty solo. Mano e porta potty.

It's Come Down to This

2007-02-06T10:22:00.000-05:00

I don't know about you but I need a reason to get up in the mornings, or more importantly, to go to work. Well...besides the obvious.

And two amazingly wierd incentives come to mind:

~~~~ I think about all the food that is stowed in my bottom right drawer. My boss complains that he is running out of filing space all the time and I find that hilarious. Because I'm storing enough food to hibernate for the winter. In case anyone was curious, there are assortments of almost any food that can be considered as "junk" and/or "snack." Candy, chips, chocolate, rice cakes, granola bars, cereal, and of course, PITUH chips.

~~~~Mad for Music. Commuting to work takes anywhere from 30 to 50 minutes, so about 2 hours back and forth. I decided to make the best of this otherwise boring and tedious journey by exploring different albums, artists, soundtracks. I've even dived into my old music collection, some are shockingly good, some are still ghastly, and not surprisingly so. Don't YOU wish you had a two hour drive everyday. Plus when I get to work, there's launchcast. In the next room my boss has Bloomberg TV or Bloomberg radio on, and he laments the fact that we can't get CNBC on a TV. Something about cable wiring. I just chuckle to myself because I'm blasting Indie Pop. Aaaaassss the stock market crashes. J/K. But it could happen.

So yea. Two cheers for the musically inclined fatty.

Antidote

2007-02-05T00:38:00.000-05:00

Sigh.

I am prepared for amazing things to happen. I can handle it.

Ever since that movie, when I feel like life doesn't deliver. I repeat this while pinching myself really hard on the arm.

Cause maybe, just maybe...

But even if nothing happens, I still feel like Dorothy when she chants there's no place like home. Except...with a few details changed.

Note On the Kitchen Fridge:

2007-02-01T15:44:00.000-05:00

[I will preface this entry by completely doubting my ability to be coherent at this point]

The Mysterious Disappearance of Michelle Chen’s lunch. If anyone has any information as to the whereabouts of one sad and hungry girl’s lunch, please contact her. You know where her office is, and if you don’t you should commit it to memory immediately. Any information, ANY information at all would be sincerely appreciated. Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,
Michelle “I am SO hungry that even if this ends up being a misunderstanding, I won’t see it that way” Chen

PS. If you don’t have any clue as to what I am talking about, but nevertheless would like to give me some food anyway, that would be ok too.”

This note is SO going on the fridge in the kitchen.

The day started out fairly meh. I would venture to guess that the blasé mood had something to do with the sheer amount of excel troubleshooting awaiting me at work. After attempting to reconcile a horribly formatted banking statement in excel, I decided that I would check on my self portrait attempt #2. Only to realize that once again I was pwned by my monitor screen. This time the picture is horribly discolored--to be what I can only surmise is a horrific shade of salmon. Sigh. Maybe glamour shots are not my forte. Giving up, I go back to “playing” with excel. Sit in on a conference call that my boss was not even invited to, and was feeling pretty good about myself until I get to the kitchen. Documented time: 1:35 PM, someone has eaten my entire stash of Lean Cuisines in the freezer. Either that or someone is disgusted by the idea of Lean Cuisines (I kind of am too, but they were on sale) and has thrown them all out. The secretary, a potential witness to this heinous crime, was there at the time so I says to her:

Me: OMG someone ate all my Lean cuisines. Noooo, not my luncchhh.
Sec: Well maybe you should label them as yours next time.
Me: I don’t know how I feel about parading the fact that I eat Lean Cuisines. I seriously didn’t anticipate Lean Cuisine theft. I mean they’re definitely no Lunchables.
Sec: Well if they had NO lunch, they might want Lean Cuisines.

She had me there. So here I am, contemplating death by starvation. Running out of optimism, running out of energy, running out of brain power. I’m surprised I can still spell, let alone ramble on like this. But outrage, that’s the true motivation behind this entry. It’s hard enough trying to put a positive spin on each day as it is. The last thing I need is some inconsiderate baboon eating 4 Lean Cuisines and never even contemplating that they may be consequently ruining someone else’s life. Allow me to demonstrate: If I somehow make it out of this alive, I could potentially suffer brain damagemess up reconciliations for big time accountslose a billion dollars with ONE wrong excel formulalose my jobhumiliate myself at dance class tonightbecome homeless or insane. So the next time you think about taking a coworker’s food, you might want to think it through first. Actions without consequences, that’s what’s wrong with this world.
PWN PWN PWN!!!

You Suck and That's Sad

2007-01-29T09:02:00.000-05:00

There's nothing like going to bed elated because you've just spent your time learning a photoshop technique. It's like discovering a secret handshake when you were a kid, and you couldn't wait to do it in front of other people who didn't know the handshake. You display your "work of art" (and I DO use this term so loosely) on the worldwide web and sleep tight with the satisfaction that you're one step closer to your dream goal.

In the morning, you wake up, like a person who has just discovered they possess super powers, and think this is it, today is the day when life takes a turn for the exciting. When you're stupidly optimistic like that, nothing can get you down. Not road rage, traffic jams, not even going to work at 8 in the morning with the knowledge that you have the MOST stressful week ahead. You're a goddamn superhero, as you cruise down the highway thinking: I own 95 South. OK I probably went overboard with that last part. But you're feeling great.

To supercharge yourself for the day, you decide to have one more look at a hard night's work. Only to discover that it wasn't as big of a masterpiece as you thought. There is nothing worse than finding out that not only does your laptop's resolution blow, and that the screen may be seriously demented, but that you have publicly posted a blotchy photo and left it there overnight as "art". Nevermind the fact that your monitor screen has beer goggles and you can NEVER trust it again, but what's more disappointing is that you managed to convince yourself that you could have potential overnight.

Just like the time when I was sure my blog entries could be converted into a book one day, and that it would surely be a best seller. Laugh now but realize that you ARE reading my blog.

And as if on cue, you spill coffee on yourself. Realizing once and for all that you do not have super powers and that life was just fucking with you as per usual.

Exaggeration? Perhaps. But having your work on display is like being naked on stage. One minute you realize you could be somethin special and the next, well you'll be lucky if you only left it displaying for a night. And you ask yourself: why do you let it happen. Why get so built up only to have a greater let down. There's no answer, there never is, but you keep doing it anyway.

The Aftermath

2007-01-26T01:17:00.000-05:00

My faith system has been crashed by chaos. Disorder prevails, but that's no reason why one should stop blogging.

Random has dealt me a couple of good cards:
- The Romeo and Juliet soundtrack. Where have you f*#@#@kin been all my life!!! Runners up: The I know what you did last summer soundtrack (surprisingly) and in a very close race for first: Cibo Matto Stereotype A. That's right baby, I'm going old school. Every car ride is like a frickin time travel trip.

- Kwons. Don't matter which one (well although I'd limit it to the ones I spent all of my CA trip with), any Kwon will do just fine. Special props to the bearer of my name Kwon for her lovely comments on my blog, I ALMOST burst into tears at work. Hah, good try.

- My mother logging onto gmail while I'm at work. She has no idea there's gmail chat, so everytime I send her a message, she freaks out and signs off. Then when I go home, she tells me how she thinks the computer is breaking because "things" were popping up at her as she attempted to check her e-mail. I asked her why she thought the computer would call her "MOM" but then didn't press the issue. It happens almost everyday now. I have started sending her satanic messages such as: "This machine will now self destruct in 10...9...8..." She signs off but then surprisingly signs back on, what a brave trooper. It's hard to stifle the laughter while eating my Lame Lean Cuisines.

- Comedy. Namely, my sense of humor. Eh, it's no Dane Cook, but it'll have to do until I kidnap him.

- Dance.

- Learning how to take pictures like the pros. Really I mean just not wasting my really nice digital camera. Pebbles is a star! Her and potted plants.

Ok. That's enough for now.

Got it

2007-01-20T14:07:00.000-05:00

Dearest Master of the Universe,

I got your message. Loud and clear.

The world is a hellhole and you either don't care or don't exist. So preoccupying myself with ideas of how life will sort itself out is a waste of time. Actions pretty much don't matter since they result in random. Oh and nobody cares, absolutely nobody about anybody else.

Signed,
Me.

PS. I won't be bothering you anymore.

Don't

2007-01-19T10:50:00.000-05:00

On my way to work two days ago, I passed by a cemetary, and guess what I saw. Kids running around, playing what I can only assume to be a lame game of freeze tag. Or even lamer, they were just running around.

What the hell is the preoccupation with cemetaries? This must be the third group of people I've seen just fucking hanging out at a cemetary like they're at the fucking museum or something.

Personally I think it's rude to the deceased. Maybe I'm a little ritualistic in this sense, I think the only ppl that should be visiting cemetaries are the ones that have lost a loved one who happens to be buried there. I don't even really like to make exceptions for visiting famous dead people, unless you're really paying homage.

The inappropriateness of this concept, to just VISIT a cemetary, really ticks me off. What is it? A fascination with death? Hey you're obsessed with death/dying/thedead, I can tolerate. But making your rounds at the local cemeteries, really crossing the line there. I accidentally drove into one with a friend once and we both got the distinct sense that we weren't supposed to be there. I felt very unwelcome, like I was disrupting someone, someoneS.

Cemetaries can be beautiful, and peaceful, but they're that way for a reason. I doubt they'd be that way if everyone decided all of a sudden that they're the place to be. It's out of respect really and my biggest pet peeve is people who lack respect, in ANY sense.

PS. If you've had sex in a cemetary, I think you're a horrible human being.

And Now We Laugh

2007-01-18T01:24:00.000-05:00

I want a pixie cut, but short hair styles haven't exactly worked on me in the past...

And now you'll notice that with this cut, I look exactly like...

...my dad.

OH and a little background on that 2nd picture (the 1st I'm sure is worth 1000 words), my parent's wedding pic. They got married when they were in the army, so no gowns or tuxes, yada yada yada. COOL.

The Big Winding Down

2007-01-15T03:11:00.000-05:00

Sometimes the minute my eyelids pry open, I know it's going to be a shitty day. Everything seems heavier. My thoughts, my limbs, my head, even the air, it's crushing me. I become immobolized. I lay in bed not because I want to, but because I think of all the things i could be doing (laundry, reading, coffee, photography, attempting to paint the view from my deck, dance class, movie, TV, or even doing work...and the list goes on). I feel as if I'm being pulled in all different directions and all this incessant tugging only traps me more into a zombie position. Instead my gaze is fixated on my bare white ceiling. It suddenly occurs to me that i don't know how to paint. Black. White ceiling. I should really take some prints to the ritz or something and get it framed, then maybe my walls wouldn't be so bare. Black. White ceiling. Black. White ceiling. The minutes fly by, and I still haven't made a decision yet. What would dad say right now, right now, if he were here. People who accomplish great things never laid in bed indecisively. Black. White ceiling. Black. White ceiling. It'll pass. Black. White ceiling. Black. White. Black. White.

When all the screaming inside my head dies down. I miss it. I use to have a clear definition for it. The details, the specifics, all so precise. I knew what I missed, I knew what I spent the better half of my day lamenting. Now. It's hazy. Time has winded down the specifics, worn away the memories. Time has taught me to demand more from myself, to understand the intricate way in which life unfolds. I am eternally grateful to time. But there's still it. That nagging missing which will not disappear easily. At this point, I don't even know what it is. Isn't that absurd. No clearcut reason, no real instigation, and yet I can't seem to get out of bed. And even amidst all this truth, human fallacy sticks out like a sore thumb. All this potential but only one real choice, to wait for it to pass. Black. white. Black.

Insert Evil Laughter

2007-01-12T06:24:00.000-05:00

* Click on the strip to see text

**On a completely unrelated note, dad left today. FOREVER.

Ashley Angel Parker???

2007-01-05T00:51:00.000-05:00

This is how it works
You're young until you're not
You love until you don't
You try until you can't
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath

psssttt...I experimented with airbrushing photos! Either that or Les's complexion is ALWAYS this good. See it in large.

Dare You To be Real

2007-01-04T01:26:00.000-05:00

So I'm starting a flickr page (link on the right, or www.flickr.com/photos/elixirvitae). Mostly just a venue for CA pictures. Facebook just isn't cutting it anymore.

Clutch

2007-01-03T00:45:00.000-05:00

I remember when I was about 9, my parents asked me what I thought of the idea of a baby sister or brother. Since we had just moved to the US, the single child policy wasn't in existence, I suppose that's when they were thinking about a second child. I remember responding: "if I had one, I'd flush him down the toilet."

I don't know what my parents were thinking, listening to a 9 year old's empty threats. But growing up, I never realized, I regretted my answer all along.

I talk a lot. I think I'm afraid of what would happen if i didn't talk. It's so nice to have people who see you even when you're not talking. The trip to CA was in short, something of a miraculous necessity.

Purple Haze

2006-12-20T01:32:00.000-05:00

Don't know if I'm comin up or down.

Definitely Negative

2006-12-18T21:09:00.000-05:00

After many hours of of dedication towards this topic. I've made some decisions.

Love is a disease when people do not act responsibly, do not contribute to society, and become the biggest wastes of space to ever roam the earth.

Normally, when people commit injustices toward each other, they have to aknowledge it in some way and maybe even apologize for it. At least society would view an apology as favorable.

But when people commit crimes in the name of love, like adultery, abandonment, irresponsibility, neglect, the list goes on, because they're just SOOOOO IN LOVE, nobody blames them to the same degree. They somehow get off the hook for cheating on their spouse, leaving their kids, shirking their duties, ignoring their friends. Well I'm sorry but a wrongdoing is wrong and irreversible, love is a disease.

I'm with you Shakespeare, and I'm very sorry you may have contracted syphilis, or some other known venereal disease.

Mix and Match

2006-12-14T00:37:00.000-05:00

The most common phrase being uttered at me while growing up was: "Use your head."

From failing math problem sets to squirting and consequently breaking the TV with a water filled rubber glove that to my dismay had a hole in it, I was repeatedly told to "use my head."

Now that I'm older, using my head is something that goes without saying. But like I always believe, there is a danger to excessively doing something that is even seemingly positive. What if I'm guilty of using my head too much?

In my spare time, also dubbed time I should spend doing work at work, I have taken to reading materials on buddhism and taoism. And by materials, I am mostly referring to wikipedia. Gimme a break, I can't get into complicated religious texts if I have to do work, it's more like mini breaks to prevent my brain from excel overload. Anyway, the idea of wu wei in taoism is confusing, almost like a self defeating concept. If wu wei literally means non-action, then why doesn't everyone just drop what they're doing and wait for life to happen. Like everything else, I decided this needs a closer inspection. While I haven't had the time to get the real answer from deep philosophical books, confounded by the sad reality that I may have forgotten how to read, I came to a realization of my very own. It may be something as simple as silencing the mind, a deceivingly easy task. In order to understand the Way, find inner peace, achieve nirvana, whatever mumbo jumbo, we have to find a way to make life stop, step out, and observe. Most of the time, we're too caught up, in ourselves, in someone else, in our jobs, in our worries. It's like being that objective bystander, but even in situations involving yourself. I wonder if that would feel literally like an out of body experience. I'll let you know if I ever get there.

Wu wei has very little to do with the kind of action we would normally associate action with. It's active in that there is definite effort involved, but again effort here doesn't mean the kind of effort we normally apply. In fact if you haven't underst00d what I've been saying, it's probably not even explainable in human terms. All I know is that words and common truths are man made, man made strays farther from nature every minute. There is a direction in life, but it's not lucid because we're using the wrong map. Does that make sense? Did I just ask if my blog entry makes sense?

It is important to slow down life, because life as we know it is actually chaos.

PS. I hold strong resentment towards people who claim to be buddhist, taoist, or any religion for that matter because they've done their reading. In order to declare yourself religious, you'd have to be actively practicing. Otherwise you're just another reason for why people are so cynical about religion. Debating theology in my opinion is almost always the biggest waste of time, because it's always open to misinterpretation, humans arguing human made terms. I'm not actively practicing any religion in particular, but I like to mix and match.

The Ladder Theory

2006-12-12T13:37:00.000-05:00

So as it turns out, the author of the ladder theory has thoughts on religion, marriage, and feminism as well.

http://www.laddertheory.com/

actually spawns from

http://www.intellectualwhores.com/

Don't Fall For your Brain...or your heart.

2006-12-06T00:49:00.000-05:00

No one is reliable, not even, especially not your own anatomy.

"Just because you can't say something doesn't mean you don't want to, you can want to very much. You can be with a person and be happy with them and not love them. And you can love somebody and not want to be with them. You don't need to love someone to want them. Now that's frustrating, when what your brain tells you you want and what you actually want don't match up. It’s exhausting. And, well, it’s complicated. But that's life. And life... sucks."

I disagree, life doesn't suck, it just has an odd sense of humor. And let's face it, these days, any humor is better than no humor. Like how you are probably getting a kick out of my incessantly quoting Grey's Anatomy. My brain tells me the show is probably headed for suckage, but it's so suckingly good.

PS. I have come to the conclusion that nobody has any grasp over the meaning of the word love, so people should stop throwing it around like it has any significance. I hope in this lifetime (and the next) I will not find myself pathetically slobbering that word on a poor defenseless human being. It is perhaps the most meaningless word in the english language. And NO, this isn't the rantings of an embittered single person (that's for Valentine's day), I am telling it like it is. From now on, I will tune out that word, like it was never invented.

AND NO, I'm not bitter. AND YES, you will agree with me.

Things that Make you Think Until you Go Crazy

2006-11-29T15:20:00.000-05:00

- Why is it in our nature to crave happiness but then at the same time think it's unattainable?

- Why the hell are we so susceptible to momentaneous sensations, when really they're exactly that: sensations of the moment. By susceptible I mean we attach a longer time frame to these sensations than we should or realize. Why can't we just be happy (and I don't mean content) living from one moment to the next, letting ourselves experience these sensations but afterwards realize them for what they are, fleeting and temporary. If we could just be happy, then we'd realize that we have the opportunity to experience everything. Even as I say this, as I realize this, I feel like it's a happiness that has to be learned. To me, happiness that has to be learned is just all wrong. Happiness should be simple, and so natural. Anyway, nothing lasts forever, it's such a simple truth, but for some reason we have to train ourselves to get used to that idea. I blame the media, and society in general, for feeding me all kinds of anti-truths. As soon as I grow up, I am so out of this world.

- And speaking of growing up, when are we gonna grow up, I mean REALLY grow up. Not just look like grown ups, talk intelligently, and do whatever we want. Do people EVER grow up? Or are we just a bunch of incomplete human beings masquerading as a race that can actually back up all the shit that we do. I believe in karma, and I believe it's a bitch.

For the Month of November

2006-11-22T11:49:00.000-05:00

Old camera broke, New digital camera: $700
Broken mp3 player, new ipod: $200
Lost phone, recovered broken phone, new cell phone: $40
Setting up the new room: $800
3 car accidents, all my fault: I can only imagine a bajillion $$

I think that draws up the list of financial losses and expenses. We'll add up the mental suffrage and ego crushing later.

But I can look at it all like this: Life still remembers me at least, to be going through all this effort. It would be horrible if my life stayed stagnant, no good news, no bad news. Or worse if I died. What it must feel like, to be truly forgotten by the world. I'm alive, and as long as you're alive, you can rebuild.

Happy? Holidays

2006-11-19T14:39:00.000-05:00

Apparently depression and anxiety rates peak during the Holidays.

Yippeeeee.

So do injuries and a bunch of other medical conditions that result from all the stress of "celebration." People falling from stringing lights up. Ice skating accidents. So really, the holidays are just dangerous.

Not to mention a hassle. I should go spend it where they don't allow christmas trees especially.

Because Life is TOO

2006-11-17T01:02:00.000-05:00

Hard? Complicated? Fun?

John Donne once said "No man is an island entire unto himself." I think I have come to the conclusion that for the past few months, I have been in a relationship. With life. I have no idea how I got into this relationship, or how to get out for that matter. But if there's ever one dysfunctional relationship, it's probably the one I have with life. I hate it, I love it, but mostly I think I love to hate it. And either this is making sense, or not at all. In other words this relationship has driven me insane. There are too many unanswered questions, and not enough lovin. What's being downplayed though, is the fact that I have never felt more alive.

Am I being realistic, or really really idealistic. Because I can never tell with the mundane and the extraordinary bits of my experiences. Which are dreams, which are reality.

I'm sleeping and waking. Sleeping and waking. But I never exist without passion.

PS. Grey's Anatomy has infiltrated my brain, making me once more susceptible to cliches, lame lines, and melodrama. They're all just such whores. But nobody told me that there would be great monologues. Here's one:

Meredith Grey: "Okay, here it is, your choice... it's simple, her or me, and I'm sure she is really great. But Derek, I love you, in a really, really big pretend to like your taste in music, let you eat the last piece of cheesecake, hold a radio over my head outside your window, unfortunate way that makes me hate you, love you. So pick me, choose me, love me."

I so want life to pick me, choose me, love me. [I am prepared for amazing things to happen. I can handle it.]

My poison

2006-11-16T01:33:00.000-05:00

Sadly life does not give you options. In fact it crams you with insufficient facts, to always have you craving for more.

"There's something to be said about a glass half full. About knowing when to say when. I think it's a floating line. A barometer of need and desire. It's entirely up to the individual. And depends on what's being poured. Sometimes all we want is a taste. Other times there's no such thing as enough, the glass is bottomless. And all we want, is more.

Add: "As human beings, sometimes it's better to stay in the dark, because in the dark there may be fear, but there's also hope."

[Shonda Rhimes]

The Horrible "20s"

2006-11-08T21:39:00.000-05:00

When you were in your teens, life was all hunky dory. And you never used the phrase hunky dory, because god knows you wanted to make friends.

When you're in your 30s, life is (should be/has become) tolerable, if not great. Whether it'd be the aging process, the grown up mentality, or kids if you should choose that alternative, you are settled. The responsibility noose is still wound around your neck but by then you will have learned to adjust it so that it comfortably sits. In fact you're so used to having it there that you may forget its presence, or may not even be able to let it go. Who knows.

After all, I am only in my 20s. My neck is all red and painful from ropeburn. I live like a 30 year old and think like a 15 year old. The gap is stifling empty. It's like when you're going through puberty and your clothes don't fit you so right anymore...except 01492834912342139842104 times worse.

I often find myself wondering, how long do your "20s" really last. "Adults" (and I use this term loosely) seem so collected, like they were never 20. Maybe they don't remember it, maybe they didn't have it like I do, maybe somewhere between their 20s and their 30s, they finally shut the hell up and came to their senses.

All I know is, we're grown up. When did that happen?

I am Entitled to Explanations

2006-11-07T22:20:00.000-05:00

Why the hell are we conditioned into the smooth strawberry-and-cream Mother-Goose-world, Alice-in-Wonderland fable, only to be broken on the wheel as we grow older and become aware of ourselves as individuals with a dull responsibility in life?

If I rest, if I think inward, I go mad

~ Sylvia Plath

Don't Forget Me

2006-11-05T14:51:00.000-05:00

Show me a world
and then take it away

Throw me into reality
like I don't know any better

Leave me to recreate it
or be haunted hereafter.

If I am your pawn, then make use of me. Better yet, make me KING.

Arguing with the Wind

2006-11-02T23:45:00.000-05:00

Is just completely, and utterly useless...even if you come in teams. Have you tried it? The wind always wins.

Whoever came up with that phrase "free like the wind," I just want to pass along the message that wind is not happy. Apparently nobody ever asked [him] if [he] is in fact happy, or free. As it turns out, even wind does not like being free.

Freedom is an illusion, a pastime distraction, a fucking excuse. Pardon my French.
It's what you say to yourself to make sitting at home on a lonely night seem less than pathetic.
Me? I'm no better than pathetic. It's just that I prefer, no I embrace being pathetic. Some of the best discoveries spring from being pathetic. Everyone has their own way of dealing with the pain, but just don't deny.

In twos
people are pairing off
years wearing sof't
In twos
good days come and go
pictures striking a blow
In twos
eyes are registering it all
salty droplets fall
In twos
words are tumbling out
memories rolling about

Tomorrow is nowhere to be found
and it never seems like today is around

r.i.p. m.i.x

Slimcea Girl (Mono)

2006-11-01T19:34:00.000-05:00

As she walked down the street
The rain began to fall
He called out
But she passed on by
Like she never noticed him at all

Then the words of the song
Remind her of those days
Sees herself in the face of a stranger
Sat in a station road cafe

She remembers the day
When things were going her way
Only memories remain of

The way she used to be
Way she used to be

She stays home every night
And exagerates her past
Now he knows
That slimcea girl
And she lives alone in prozac park

All the old photographs
Were never thrown away
She looks through them
For what made her cry
And then she decides live for today

She remembers the day
When things were going her way
Only memories remain of

The way she used to be
Way she used to be

Sample :
Why dont you come to me?
Ill come with you

The way she used to be
Way she used to be

Shell never go back again
The way she used to be
Way she used to be
Shell never go back again

A Brief Shining Moment...

2006-10-30T20:12:00.000-05:00

And blackness enshrouds again.

This is how you kill hope. And believe me, there is nothing more necessary at this moment in time.

The Many Colors of Fall

2006-10-30T00:15:00.000-05:00

Tree Tops

when i was a young girl
trying to find her way above the tree tops, the tree tops, the tree tops
when i was a young girl
trying to find her way above the tree tops, the tree tops, the tree tops
i did not care, i did not care
what they called me, what they called me

i'll float above the ocean
the sun above is burning my head
i will grow wings and fly everywhere

when i was a young girl
trying to find her way above the tree tops, the tree tops, the tree tops
i did not care, i did not care
what they called me, what they called me
no, i did not care, i should not care
what they called me, what they called me

i'll float above the ocean
the sun above is burning my head
i will grow wings and fly everywhere

butter warm clouds are dripping into my mouth
tasting of golden

i'll float above the ocean
the sun above is burning my head
i will grow wings and fly everywhere

i'll float above the ocean
the sun above is burning my head
i will grow wings and fly everywhere

Eisley

The Origin of Love

2006-10-27T12:12:00.001-04:00

When the earth was still flat, and the clouds made of fire
And mountains stretched up to the sky, sometimes higher
Folks roamed the earth like big rolling kegs
They had two sets of arms, two sets of legs
They had two faces peering out of one giant head
And they could watch all around them
And they talked while they read
And they never knew nothing of love
It was before the origin of love
Origin of love

And there were three sexes then
One that looked like two men glued back to back
Called the children of the sun
And similar in shape and girth were the children of the earth
They looked like two girls rolled up in one
And the children of the moon were like a fork shoved on a spoon
They were part sun, part earth, part daughter, part son
Origin of love

Now the gods grew quite scared of our strength and defiance
And Thor said:
"I'm gonna kill them all with my hammer
Like I killed the giants."
And Zeus said:
"No, you better let me use my lightning, like scissors
Like I cut the legs off whales
And dinosaurs into lizards."
Then he grabbed up some bolts
And he let out a laugh, said:
"I'll split them right down to the middle
Gonna rip them right in half."
And then storm clouds gathered above
Into great balls of fire

And the fire shot down
From the sky in bolts
Like shining blades of a knife
And it ripped right through the flesh
Of the children of the sun
And the moon, and the earth
And some Indian god
Sewed the wound up into a hole
Pulled it 'round to our belly
To remind us of the price we pay
And Osiris and the gods of the Nile
Gathered up a big storm
To blow a hurricane
To scatter us away
In a flood of wind and rain
And a sea of tidal waves
To wash us all away
And if we dont behave
They'll cut us down again
And well be hopping round on one foot
Looking through one eye

Last time I saw you
We had just split in two
You were looking at me, and I was looking at you
You had a way so familiar
But I could not recognize
'Cause you had blood on your face
And I had blood in my eyes
But I could swear by your expression
That the pain down in your soul
Was the same as the pain down in mine
That's the pain
Cuts a straight line down through the heart
We call it love
So we wrapped our arms around each other
Trying to shove ourselves back together
We were making love
It was a cold dark evening such a long time ago
When by the mighty hand of Jove
It was the sad story
How we became lonely two-legged creatures
It's the story of
The origin of love
That's the origin of love, origin of love, origin of love

Tenuous

2006-10-24T00:23:00.000-04:00

A single moment, before the call that drew you to the sea
A single fragment of a loss that's buried deep in memory

In stillness, no comfort
In silence, awash in fervent dreams
In stillness, I see you
Returning back to me

A shrouded echo. Resounding waves that fall upon the shore
I feel you moving to a place where I will see you nevermore

Sleep Thief

Quick Recap at 23

2006-10-20T00:47:00.000-04:00

Definitely a year wiser. It's an ok stage in life. Stable income, good friends, loving family, cats galore, healthy, relatively attractive. Not a total train wreck. Life could be better, but then life could be worse.

It's all very bearable.

Did really think I could pass for Jem...
Or was I trying to be another slutty anime character...

Then there were moments that were like a dream. Somewhere between half sleeping and half waking. Maybe I'll arrive there again one day. Or maybe I'll make a new dream, one where I travel to distant lands and meet lots of intriguing people. I already kinda did that the other day when Sara introduced me to her Peruvian friends in White Plains. Ok so it wasn't the same, but it's a start.

Think: Plush

2006-10-19T02:03:00.000-04:00

Sensitive to the skin, and pleasant to the eye.

Or just go awwwwwww.

City of Angels

2006-10-17T01:54:00.000-04:00

NY, a little rude, a little magical.

It all depends on your perspective really. (Click on each to get a larger view)

I Pledge Allegiance...

2006-10-11T01:07:00.000-04:00

At the oath ceremony to become a citizen, I waited for something to come over me. A feeling that says: I am so happy and grateful to be apart of ...

Then I got distracted.

They met there. Made an instant connection. Playing as if no judge were speaking of great truths, no names where being debaucherously mispronounced as people traded in their greencards for certificates, no notions of grandeur and transformations were being impressed upon them. Never paying heed to the "big day."

To tell you the truth, I'm still waiting. The whole process felt kinda numb. Instead I watched the these kids. Sometimes when you don't feel a thing, it could be because you're feeling too much.

Thought overload...must sit down...PLOP...sigh.

Link, this is just so Typical...

2006-10-10T00:52:00.000-04:00

And thus a photo blog was born.

Hush Hush

2006-10-09T23:40:00.000-04:00

I was going through and deleting my music because really why do I need a list of anally alphabetized folders containing music that I probably outgrow everyday. It takes up space over things that are more space worthy...like pictures I take of myself. HA. Right. Pictures yes, of myself, probably not...a lot.

Then I saw it. I mean I have some pretty old bad music in there...but there was a folder called: Bryan Adams. That's right...I was/am a fan of Bryan Adams. And even as I noticed, I could not bring myself to delete the entire contents of that folder.

The song that remained: Sigh...Bryan Adams and Barbara Streisand: I Finally Found Someone.

In my defense, that was my dad's favorite song and he used to listen to it all the time. Of course now that I mention it to him, he acts like I'm the only one in this family that likes Bryan Adams...Good cover, pop.

Awaiting Transcendence

2006-10-06T00:15:00.000-04:00

It's taking a long time.

Because I don't want to go through life with this huge chip on my shoulder. If this metaphorical chip were labeled, it would say bitterness and resentment. While that is often the road taken by many, and what a swift way it can be, I'd rather walk burden free.

Peace I want real peace.

"Happiness is not something ready made. It comes from your own actions."

“I believe that the very purpose of life is to be happy. From the very core of our being, we desire contentment. In my own limited experience I have found that the more we care for the happiness of others, the greater is our own sense of well-being. Cultivating a close, warmhearted feeling for others automatically puts the mind at ease. It helps remove whatever fears or insecurities we may have and gives us the strength to cope with any obstacles we encounter. It is the principal source of success in life. Since we are not solely material creatures, it is a mistake to place all our hopes for happiness on external development alone. The key is to develop inner peace.”

~ Dalai Lama

He knows his shit.

Clark Gable

2006-10-05T02:43:00.000-04:00

I was waiting for a cross-town train in the london underground
When it struck me that i've been waiting since birth to find
A love that would look and sound like a movie so i changed
My plans and rented a camera and a van and then i called you
"i need you to pretend that we are in love again" and you agreed to

I want so badly to believe that "there is truth, that love is real"
And i want life in every word to the extent that it's absurd
I greased the lens and framed the shot using a friend as my stand-in
The script it called for rain but it was clear that day so we faked it
The marker snapped and i yelled "quiet on the set"
And then called "action!"
And i kissed you in  a stye that clark gable would have admired
(i thought it classic)

I want so badly to believe that "there is truth, that love is real"
And i want life in every word to the extent that it's absurd
I know you're wise beyond your years, but do you ever get the fear
That your perfect verse is just a lie you tell yourself to help you get by?

Go Getters

2006-10-03T01:30:00.000-04:00

The commute to work: About 45 minutes each way. So 2 hours roundtrip.

I get a lot of time to think. I've burned about 10 CDs, each with the same basic core group of songs...just adding a couple of new discoveries along the way. I can't believe I don't get sick of some of these songs...it's like watching life in repeat.

The other day it was raining hard. I like to take the backroads to work because I get to avoid the nasty 202 traffic and the scenery is pleasant. Pastures, cattle, horses, no joke. I see these things on my way to and back from work everyday. Then there are the other not as pleasant views, like roadkill. Squirrels, raccoons, cat (!!!), mostly squirrels. So like I said it was raining hard and I was coming home from work. I approached a bend in the road that's almost as sharp as a turn. I always forget that this bend is there. Or if I remember it, I forget it's as sharp as it actually is. But the roads were slippery that day. The car spun out of control as I tried to make the usual messy last minute curve, and the wheel in my hands became useless. I might as well have been holding a toy steering wheel. Luckily I was able to right myself before almost hitting a tree. And just like that I was back on the road again. Same song still playing.

For a brief moment, I thought about how easy it might have been...a very brief moment. Then I realized that if it were up to me, this would definitely not be the way I want to go down: giving up on life on a rainy day. I haven't even won the Nobel Prize yet...I need more time! But I'll tell you one thing, working life pales in comparison to college. Only because I despise sleeping early.

Dear Marriage Proponent

2006-10-02T01:47:00.000-04:00

To the Anonymous blog commentor who was too shy to reveal your actual identity:

My blog entries are never intended to speak for everyone...they are my ideas, my opinions, because it is...afterall, a blog. So I didn't mean to over generalize, it's just that I didn't even realize I was factualizing...

With that said and out of the way, I'd like to clear up what I meant by: "the institution of marriage in this day and age is a sham." I realize that ppl may love each other enough to get married, to want that kind of a formal declaration of their love for each other. However, in this day and age, with the divorce rate sky rocketing, and bachelor parties getting out of control, I think that marriage can be seen by many as an imprisonment. I simply wanted to present another way to look at these socially upheld ideas of marriage and love. If marriage is so great, then why do bachelor's parties have to involve strippers and why do ppl go around bemoaning the fact that they'll only get to sleep with one person for the rest of their lives...People jokingly pat each other on the backs at weddings and make jokes about how unfortunate it is that one will be tied down...well am I lacking a sense of humor or do I just not find these jabs funny. Some say it's the rant of a jealous single person...well who really knows.

I think that most of us like the idea of spending the rest of our lives with someone we cherish. It's just that marriage is a lot of outspoken pressure, if two people already feel that way about each other then why does it even matter? For some reason marriage instills a lot of dread in people, and I'm just trying to say maybe all that pressure is unnecessary if we're all programmed to behave that way already. Sure no one is FORCED into marriage, but don't rule out societal pressure. I mean no teenagers are ever FORCED to do drugs...but if everyone else is doing it...

Falling From Grace

2006-09-26T09:39:00.000-04:00

You make me satisfied
You only want to ride
But that's alright by me
We happen to be free
For what tomorrow brings
No peace and broken wings
It may have been so good
But now it's understood
'Twas just a night

If I could tear my heart
And keep it miles apart
From love of beast or man
And never give a damn
If I could learn to lie
And never show my pride
I'd be just like the rest
Be someone I detest

I'm always looking for the sun
I'm always looking for the sun to shine

Love...
Destroys the best of us
Then leaves the rest of us
Thinking perhaps we'll die
Yet still we stay alive
Lost in a hollow frame
With lonely tears remain
Not knowing our life's worth
Dragging around the earth
How false the light

You make me satisfied
You only want to ride
But that's alright by me
We happen to be free
And if we fall from grace
At least we had a taste
Of something more than this
Unresolved black abyss

I'm always looking for the sun
I'm always looking for the sun
I'm always looking for the sun
I'm only looking for the sun to shine

What It Means To Be EMO

2006-09-20T22:37:00.000-04:00

Man, the credit goes to Urban Dictionary (when does it ever not, well maybe Wiki sometimes) and Jon for finding this.

All the parts that make me laugh so hard that my stomach is convulsing are italicized.

Definition 1:
1. Over-emotional, shaven-head, adult child, frequently seen with decorative lunchbox, backpack and/or skateboard. Wants the whole world to understand his pain.

Definition 2:
Punk music on estrogen

Definition 3:
An entire subculture of people (usually angsty teens) with a fake personality. The concept of Emo is actually a vicious cycle that never ends, to the utter failing of humanity, and it goes something like this:

1. Girls say they like "sensitive guys" (lie)
2. Guy finds out, so he listens to faggy emo music and dresses like a dork so chicks will see that he is sensitive and not afraid to express himself (lie). He dyes his hair black, wraps himself in a stupid looking scarf, develops an eating disorder, and rants about how "nobody understands".
3. Now an emo guy, he meets Emo chick and they start dating, talking about how their well-off suburban lifestyles are terrible and depressing (lie)

Definition 4:
Emo guy is just too much of a pussy. His penis is too small, he's too depressed to bathe, and has more mood swings than emo chick, and he doesn't even have a menstrual cycle. Emo chick dumps him, saying "It's not you, it's me." (lie) as she drives off with Wayne, the school jock and captain of the football team.
5. Emo guy goes home and cries, proceeds to write a weak song and strum a single string on his acoustic guitar. Another emo chick sees how he is so in touch with his feelings, and the cycle continues.

Hypothetical Emo Conversation:
XxSlavetoAnguishxX: omg my gf just left me
acidburnedsoul: that sux man
XxSlavetoAnguishxX: i blame myself only i'm such an ass *cries*
acidburnedsoul: dude come over to my house and we can cut ourselves together
XxSlavetoAnguishxX: okay *cries*
acidburnedsoul: omg dashboard confessional has a new cd, i preordered it already
XxSlavetoAnguishxX: dude they're my favorite band to self-mutilate to
acidburnedsoul: i prefer to cut myself while watching Napoleon Dynamite on my bigscreen
XxSlavetoAnguishxX: dude that movie is so deep. i cry every time i see it
acidburnedsoul: me too. i hate myself
XxSlavetoAnguishxX: yeah we're such tortured souls, nobody understands how hard life is for us
acidburnedsoul: yeah we got it tough dude. pass the tissues

Theory of Relativity between Emo and Goth:
If scenes were soda, Emo could be Diet Goth.

Emo: I'm so sad. I'm going to cut myself.
Goth: I'm nothing. I'm going to cut everyone.

How to Identify an Emo: See Above

And Finally...Here's a Video if you're still confused about being "Emo"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AC1DA9A27ms

Warning: The above information was not intended to offend, single out, or belittle the existence of any particular group of people.

I'm sorry if this offends you. For what it's worth, I like the Emo culture and I think we all have a little emo inside us. But the best thing about this is that we all learn to laugh at ourselves. If anyone finds a collection of information about Asian girls who try to be white...then feel free to post it and let me know.

I'll Get Mine

2006-09-15T00:42:00.000-04:00

Dearest Master of the Universe,

I think that perhaps when you were going through your daily/weekly/monthly tasks, you might've missed or lost my file. Cause the way I always thought you coordinated this business called life, is by looking through everyone's files and every period your assistants file them in the different to do folders. They're probably labeled: "shit happens," "good things," "stagnant," "learning a lesson," "karmic retribution," etc etc. Now I'm sure you have your own allocations and labeling system so I'll spare you the possibilities that I'm dreaming up of. My point is that you might have either missed my file altoghether, or one of your assistants forgot to move me from "learning a lesson" to "good things," or maybe even accidentally shifted my file from "learning a lesson" to "shit happens." Anyway, please have your tech crew address this small glitch and I would really appreciate it. OH and if the "good things" pile is too full this month, feel free to put me in "karmic retribution" or "stagnant" temporarily, but eventually I would like to land in "good things." Much thanks and do take care...of me...

Faithfully yours,
Mix

Honestly...What the Hell...

2006-09-14T13:15:00.000-04:00

Rage over MySpace photo leads to arrest

A 22-year-old woman was arrested after authorities say she tried to hire someone to kill another woman whose photo appeared on her boyfriend's MySpace.com Web page.

Heather Michelle Kane was booked Tuesday for investigation of conspiracy to commit murder, Mesa Detective Jerry Gissel said.

She was arrested after she met an undercover Mesa police detective at a grocery store, gave the officer $400 and offered to pay an additional $100 once the woman had been killed, according to court records.

The records say Kane gave the undercover officer photographs taken from her boyfriend's social networking Web page of the woman she wanted killed. She also requested a photo of the woman's dead body.

It wasn't clear if the boyfriend and the targeted woman were romantically involved, Gissel said.

You'd think after reading this that it's an article out of the onion...but sadly no. It's true and the source is Yahoo News. What a terrifying world we do live in. And by terrifying, I mean stupid and meaningless.

How to Dissuade Yourself from Becoming a Blogger

2006-09-13T09:21:00.000-04:00

You gotta love these daily "how tos" from google.

What a buzz all the bloggers are making these days! It seems like just about everybody is pouring their musings into a text box. Are you feeling tempted to start a blog of your own? Here are some ways to bypass the trend.

Steps

Find five completely random blogs, and read them daily for a month. After thirty days, you will absolutely dread your self-imposed requirement to read all that dreck. Any blog you create will most likely be on par with what you've been reading. Don't put anyone through that.
Consider that your voice, even if it is truly a good one, is a tiny peep against the massive wave of tripe out there. The odds of anyone you don't already know finding your blog are low.
Write on a regular basis in Wordpad instead. If that doesn't satisfy your urge, and you feel that you must post your blog online, then you might just be craving attention and validation--which you'll never truly find in a blog. If you give up on your Wordpad journal after about three days, you'll do the same with a blog that just takes up server space.
Ask yourself if you really have the time to commit to a blog. What about that treehouse you wanted to build? Or the book you wanted to write? Or the car you wanted to fix up? Or the restaurant you wanted to take your wife to? Or the new career you wanted to pursue? Instead of writing about pretty much nothing, or whining about all the things you wish you were doing instead, start doing something that'd actually be worth writing about. And if it's really worth writing about, you'll be having too much fun doing it to tear yourself away from it.

Tips

If attention and validation is what you're looking for, know that you will get neither from blogging. As above, very few people will ever know that your blog (or you, by proxy) exists. Of those who do find it, a large percentage will be flamers and trolls, who will only post comments to you about how you suck. The remainder of comments posted to your blog will be sappy treacle, which you won't trust as being sincere anyway.
Consider writing on a wiki instead. Unlike most blogs, wikis like Wikipedia and wikiHow are read by millions of people each month. Several wikiHow authors receive "fan mail" messages every day from appreciative readers. In addition, many authors discover that they enjoy the wiki collaborative writing process more than writing in solitude.

Warnings

The information you post on the Internet is likely to linger for years and years to come, as web pages are archived by "snapshot" services like the Wayback Machine. Once it's out there, you can't take it back. An employer running a Google search on your name years down the line might be turned off by your now documented obsession with your cat.

Mean is the New Nice

2006-09-12T00:39:00.000-04:00

Have been feeling very evil lately. That can only mean one thing...I am PMSing. Please avoid contact with me for one week unless you would like to suffer the wrath. And no I refuse to purchase midol, I don't want to abuse Western medicine. I mean what if I REALLY have cramps or a headache one day and I've been popping Midols or Advils whenever my head just "slightly" hurts...I don't want my body to get used to drugs. That came out wrong...or did it...*trying to conjure up my best "up to no good" look* However for those of you who know me, I probably look like I have a weird twitch, whatever, I'll settle for different.

My parents brought one of their church friends, a financial planner from MetLife, over to talk to me a little about "planning ahead" tonight. And I gotta say, even despite my horrible mood swings, I was impressed. I thought when he first started talking that he was going to tell me all about how to get the most out off my 401K and Life insurance by putting a gazillion dollars in now and watching it grow while being poor...then when I'm 65 I'll REALLY be able to spend it. Spend it on what...a new hip? However, he advocated more of a balanced approach. Really saving up for the future is just a trade off between watching your life go to waste now because you're too busy looking ahead or living it up now and really not living in the future. To me this translates to "live with your parents now or live with them sometime in the future." But there's always a balance, and I'm gonna freaking find it. I'm gonna be the MOST "well prepared for the future yet still partying in the now" individual ever. Never let the scale tip.

Anyway everything was good until he got to talking about marriage and how the most important component of any holy matriomony should be a guy who has life insurance. WHAT EVERY GIRL WANTS. I mean if you rationally think about it, yes it's important, you could really get screwed if your man decided to die on you (or worse be in a vegetative state where you still have to pay millions of dollars for him to just stare off into space, do vegetables stare?) and leave you with four kids. OH HOW DID HE KNOW WHAT MY DREAM LIFE WOULD BE, I've always wanted to be tied down by a family both financially and emotionally. Boy those Metlife people sure are good at picking out my wildest fantasies. All in all, I give him an 8 for his advice. The marriage thing might have been a little conventional, provided that I decide to take the conventional route...But I really can't see myself depending on anyone for that kind of financial aid, or revolving my finances around my family. They can take care of themselves right? I mean look at Pebbles, all I gotta do is buy her litter and she knows just where to go...except when it thunderstorms. Then she just has a shitfest everywhere...but only reserved for those rainy days when the lights go out.

So then I got to thinking about family because apparently if I'm gonna start putting lots of money in my 401k and life insurance, most likely the people who are going to be able to actually spend and enjoy my later accumulated wealth will be my parents (if they outlive me), my potential family, or charity. God I would hate to have to give up monthly allowances NOW in order to save it all up later for some ungrateful brats who will most likely want to be rid of me. Because that's what I am now, an ungrateful brat who wants my freedom. And my parents probably won't get a penny of my money, because it's not likely that the timing would work out unless somehow I died prematurely...which I doubt will be such a gain on their part. It's almost as if I have no family gene in me. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to have a child, to see what the whole "mother thing" is all about. Or to be married and see what it's like to have a devoted husband who would hopefully adore me. But there's just seems to be a whole element missing there. The institution of marriage in this day and age is a sham anyway, yet people waste so much time in banning gay marriage...if anything the gay couples that I know have had some of the most functional relationships I have seen yet.

GETTING back to the point, I will probably start putting aside some of my money away because the way that guy explained it, you'd almost have to be an idiot to not. I can always change the beneficiary/trust/charity facts later...and who knows I may even update it on a whim by whim basis. So now when I say "you're off my list," that brings on a whole new meaning my friends.

That's enough rambling for now.

On a completely irrelevant note, I will be purchasing an mp3 player and digital camera soon...because all my technology decided to fail me all at once. Any suggestions might get you brownie points. Bwahahaha...really not so funny.

Eloisa to Abelard

2006-09-07T02:03:00.000-04:00

Excerpt:

" How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;
Labour and rest, that equal periods keep;
"Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;"
Desires compos'd, affections ever ev'n,
Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heav'n.
Grace shines around her with serenest beams,
And whisp'ring angels prompt her golden dreams.
For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms,
And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes,
For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring,
For her white virgins hymeneals sing,
To sounds of heav'nly harps she dies away,
And melts in visions of eternal day."

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, You chase the promise of her glow.

What a swell idea. Visit http://www.lacunainc.com/testimonials.html for more information.

Dichotomy

2006-09-06T01:53:00.000-04:00

Pride can stand a thousand trials,
the strong will never fall
But watching stars without you,
my soul cried ~ Des'ree

My motto in life is moderation, it's about finding the right balance. But sometimes it feels like I'm just constantly torturing myself, never strongly embracing anything. What that must feel like, to lose your head. I suppose I'll go ask Knarles Barkley.

" If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I'm neurotic as hell. I'll be flying back and forth between one mutually exclusive thing and another for the rest of my days. " ~ Bell Jar

24

2006-09-04T12:27:00.000-04:00

Cleaning break #2...things cleaned: 0 breaks: 10000004323423042358945234098230948234

Been given 24 hours
to tie up loose ends
to make amends
His eyes said it all
I started to fall
and the silence deafened
Head spinning round
no time to sit down
just wanted to
run and run and run
Be careful they say
don't wish life away,
now I've one day
I can't believe
How I've been wasting my time

In 24 hours they'll be
laying flowers
on my life, it's over tonight
I'm not messing no I
need your blessing
and your promise to live free
please do it for me

Is there a heaven a hell
and will I come back
who can tell
Now I can see
what matters to me
it's as clear as crystal
The places I've been
the people I've seen
plans that I made
start to fade
The sun's setting gold
thought I would grow old,
it wasn't to be

I can't believe
How I've been wasting my time

In 18 hours they'll be
laying flowers
on my life, it's over tonight
I'm not messing no I
need your blessing
and your promise to live free
please do it for me

13 hours they'll be
laying flowers
on my life, it's over tonight
I'm not messing no I
need your blessing
and your promise to live free
Please do it for me

I'm not alone, I sense it, I sense it
All that I said, I meant it, I meant it

I can't believe
How much I've wasted my time

In just 8 hours they'll be
laying flowers
on my life, it's over tonight
I'm not messing no I
need your blessing
and your promise to live free
please do it for me

In just 1 hour they'll be
laying flowers
on my life, it's over tonight
I'm not messing no I
need your blessing
and your promise to live free
please do it for me

Laughing City

2006-09-04T02:56:00.000-04:00

Cleaning break!

Follow me down to the laughing city
when people changing all their minds
it's crazy
i want this ma'am, that ma'am, no sir
yes ma'am, that sir
well i'll tell you one thing, if you're keeping something

then hold on, hold on to the ones you love
hold on, hold on to the ones you love

let's not fight, that is not nice (that is where you'll find me)
let's not be sore, that is not right (that is where you'll find me)

come home late, i know you're sick of working
you're feeling down because your head is hurting
so we don't talk
oh no oh no

you didn't hold on, hold on to the ones you love
hold on, hold on to the ones you love

let's not fight, that is not nice (that is where you'll find me)
let's not be sore, that is not right (that is where you'll find me)

Ok back to the grind. Poooooooooo

So Much For Not Being Fazed

2006-08-31T20:52:00.000-04:00

It is amazing how a combination of three words can have such effects.
For example:
"I love you"
"I hate you"
"I am sorry"
"You are nothing" or...

"In a relationship"

It is even more amazing how much it matters when that last one is posted on myspace.

This is what I get for aimlessly surfing the web.
Gotta stop that.

Dear Greater Power

2006-08-23T01:51:00.000-04:00

There are many times in life when I stress out over situations which I have no control. So unnecessary...

This is one of those times. However, instead of freaking out, I'm going to really leave it up to you. I'm trusting you to guide me and hopefully my reward will be serenity, sleep, and comfort. I want to ask for success, perfection, but I feel like those are so relative. So I'll just say...please make this a smooth one.

I'm young, I have no roots, and I could technically do anything and go anywhere. But you know best so I'll stay patient.

So many options, or is that just an illusion?

Anyway, I'm going to get some rest and write an awesome and convincing letter. That is pretty much all I can do. The rest...is up to you.

Signed,
"anxious" but "faithful"

Michelle

Fire and Ice

2006-08-17T10:52:00.000-04:00

Some say the world will end in fire;
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

~ R. Frost

Goodbye is Not in My Vocabulary

2006-08-17T00:50:00.000-04:00

Especially...when it comes to my trusted sanctuary: the gym.

There are so many things I like about the Pottruck Gym. Besides the obvious. I mean it's easy for an exercise fanatic to fall in love with a 5 tiered building dedicated to quenching their passion for calorie expenditure and tone perfection. Even on the most crowded days during the semester, one can trust to get a machine without enduring a horrendous 20 minute wait.

I first discovered the wonders of Pottruck second semester of my freshman year. I had been going on and off with my roomate first semester, but the loyalty never came until later. For whatever reason, I decided that I wanted to start a strict exercise regime. My determination started with 30 minutes a day on the treadmill, five days a week. Although I saw other machines, quite frankly they confused and intimidated me. I didn't know how to use a lot of them, and the ellipticals seemed downright dangerous. Still, gradually, I began to familiarize myself with the other instruments of weight loss gratification. Like any good trader or financial advisor, I knew the importance of diversifying my portfolio. I would switch it up, going from treadmill to elliptical and sometimes if I felt daring enough, even the rowing machine. Nowadays I am no stranger to weights, balance balls (or whatever they're called), and any other machines that might have been strange and exotic in my novice days.

As for the atmosphere of pottruck, well let's just say that there isn't much to be coveted when it comes to the surroundings of a gym. The combination of smelling sweat and listening to grunts from men who clearly are giving themselves a hernia from lifting too heavy was not a pleasant accompaniment. Still to me, Pottruck was home. It was something I never failed. I sucked at studying, I sucked at maintaining relationships with people, attending class, punctuality, etc etc but I never sucked at Pottruck. Even when I was dating someone, I never neglected my hourly trips to the gym. Mock my entry, my ode to Pottruck gym if you will, but for one moment consider my sincerity. College was a never ending series of experiences for me, some pleasant, some just downright nasty. There wasn't one semester where I wasn't changing my major, my ideals, my friends, my roomates, my habits, or most importantly myself. Whether these changes were for the better, that's not important right now. But there comes a point in everyone's (and I mean EVERYONE) life when we crave for some degree of stability. I'm not sure if stability is actually the most appropriate in this sense but maybe consistency? Even for those personalities that crave change...but unknowest to everyone, there is consistency in CONSTANTLY craving change. Anyway, my point was that life is about growth, new experiences, and new lessons. These have a way of sneaking up on us in the most unexpected and sometimes even most unpleasant manner. People counterbalance this effect by searching for sanctuary, some kind of a security blanket they know they can trust and rely on to always be there. For me, pottruck was my sanity against a tulmultuous and capricious college life. It was where I sought shelter when the growing pains kicked in. And like a true friend that's being paid for its services, it never failed me.

For some reason, and call me mad, but my college diploma has been sitting on my desk for weeks and it just hit me on Tuesday, August 15th, when they informed me that my penn ID would no longer swipe for the gym, that I realized my days as a carefree and obnoxious undergraduate are over.

To Be Free...Like the Wind

2006-08-14T02:51:00.000-04:00

" - You and I are just pawns on a chessboard.

  Nobody cares if we live or die.

  Let's go away together and roam the world, as free as the wind.

  We'll wander around alone.

  Come and go without a trace,

 - Like a playful wind?

  - No, a carefree wind.

  Just you and me."


A rare beauty in the North. 

She's the finest lady on earth. 

A glance from her,
the whole city goes down. 

A second glance leaves
the nation in ruins. 

There exists no city or nation
that has been more cherished
than a beauty like this.

See Saw

2006-08-07T23:22:00.000-04:00

It is a common fact that when one area of your life starts looking up, surely another will come tumbling down. I feel like I am being forced to regulate one of those see-saws at the playground, against my will. Unlike the simplicity of the seesaw however, there are more than two ends, there are like 2540239423098230823034982304. On each of those ends sits an important area of my life, love life, career, family, finances...to name a few of the heavy weights.

And just when you think you have begun to regulate some of these heavy weights...out of nowhere "personal finances" starts to plummet. And to illustrate my point, here is something bitterly amusing that probably won't stay up for long because anyone could be reading this right now (curse you modern technology):

"You are welcome Michelle - glad that it was an easy flow for you!
Regarding the receipts you mention below... I'm sorry but we will not reimburse you for your trip expenses - it's not a part of our procedure.

Thanks,
Diana "

This letter from a big evil corporation that will remain anonymous until I get angry enough to disclose them (ahem you probably hold one of their cards in your wallet, it's NOT accepted everywhere like visa but it IS pretty), was enough to destroy the cheeriness that I had been building up for myself all weekend. Clearly you get the gist from my entries that it's been a rough summer. I decided that at least I would not let the summer end this way, I don't want to remember the summer after my college graduation as the summer that blew. So I decided to plan a trip, I like planning (the mere thought of planning something like this gets me excited) and I like trips (even if it has to be by myself, fine, it's time for a solo trip anyway). So, I don't know what I would do but it involves driving and seeing new sights. As you can see, there is a lot of planning that needs to be done. But now, thanks to EVIL and Diana, I can put the pen down, I can stare at an empty piece of white paper and I can watch my trip plans escape down the drain. I worked a double today, 12 hours, I can't even feel my legs anymore. I probably made at best 60 dollars...not enough to pay for my interview trip. Money is hard to come by, but not for BIG EVIL CORPORATION. If they had told me that was their policy before the interview...then I would have booked the Chinatown bus, not Amtrak. I would have perhaps not even bothered going. Not to mention the opportunity cost of missing work that day for this interview...another 60 dollars. Now I'm down 120 dollars, and just down period.

There will be no trip. In fact right at this moment, I can think of maybe one person I can call up and get consolation from but it's too late at night. I am short in money, I am short in company, I am short in optimism. What else could possibly go wrong, because I fucking would like it to happen now...all at once...get it over with. So that I can start having a change of luck. My summer is really going to end with me realizing that I am better off living with cats and clinging onto my parents because nobody else seems to really give a shit. The worst thing of all is that I'm gonna wake up tomorrow, and somehow cheer myself up. And when I become stupidly optimistic again, this anger and depression will be completely forgotten, because that's the way I am. To everyone that knows me, I am happy, in fact I have been known to be able to cheer others up. That's why everyone's going to abandon me for someone "REALLY DEPRESSED," someone that REALLY deserves the attention. My greatest gift has also become my greatest curse.

So to recap, aka READ HERE FOR THE CLIFFSNOTES VERSION of my whine and ramble:
I am angry because 1) Big evil corporations like this one can clearly afford to reimburse me for my travel expenses 2) I could have looked at cheapertravel alternatives had I known of such a heinous possibility 3) for the first time this summer, I was really looking forward to something (a future event that involves me flying solo), that something being this nonexistent trip. 4) I cannot picure anyone I can call right now, that anyone being someone who would listen to my pathetic sobfest and still feel sympathy, and lend me a shoulder or at least a concerned sigh.

At least when I recover and become ignorantly blissful again, I will have this entry to remind me that I need to start looking into some talkng cats or something.

Nothing

2006-08-04T16:20:00.000-04:00

I'm done with this.

Edit: I wasn't referring to you blogger.

The Edge of Reason

2006-07-31T23:48:00.000-04:00

When I am forced to communicate with the urge to burst into tears and possibly my fists, that's how angry I can get sometimes. I haven't felt that way in a long time...until tonight. More than anyone, my parents are capable of making me feel that way. Thus we find an explanation for why I never ever, under any circumstances, live with them for more than two days. Not if I can help it, I am out of there after 12 hours of interaction. And 12 hours is pushing it my friends.

This entry is being written about two minutes after the event which has left me crazy and filled with hate. So excuse my harsh and unbelieveable language. I have an interview tomorrow in DE. Out of state, not really, but yes not in PA. The last time I had an interview out of state, in CT to be exact, my mom drove me. Yes...I being a 22 year old, old enough to live on my own, get a job, support myself, but still not old enough to make it to a job interview in CT. Go figure...where did my parents go wrong...why do they not posess an ounce of logic, reason, psychology, god knows what but they are lacking something. So I'm about to get online and go over the directions when my dad comes in. Every single fucking time I have to travel somewhere, he grabs the computer and starts looking up the driving directions for me. EVERY SINGLE FUCKING TIME. I do not pretend to notice sometimes that I lack the survival skills most 22 years olds like me have by now. Like owning a credit card (s), paying their own bills, expenses. Whereas all I have is one savings account, which is still under my mom's name conveniently. So every month I get a call from her telling me that I've withdrawn too much money. Every month I reply in the same manner: "Stop fucking checking my bank statements and remove yourself from my account." That is all true except I may have omitted the curse word. I have no credit cards, I pay no bills. They even paid off my college loans. Can't complain right? When my bank account is running low, my mom puts money in it. Even though I ask her not to. Why...most kids love hand outs from their parents. BECAUSE I WANT TO KNOW WHAT ITS LIKE TO BE MY OWN PERSON. I am goddamn 22 years old and they treat me like I am 12. I use to think when I was 21...that maybe they accidentally reversed the number "21" and got "12," in their decrepid states. But no, now that I'm 22, it's pretty clear that they have a severe problem with letting go. This is why I avoid them, why I cannot appreciate them, and ultimately why I blame them, partly for raising me in such an unrealistic fashion and partly for then setting me out into the real world. The gap is so large, sometimes I have to sit down and take a breath. Then I think...what kind of a parent will I be...what will I tell my kids. You want them to believe that life is happy but then you want them to see life for what it is. My parents somehow completely ran out of time or just decided not to let me see life for what it is. And now that they've found "God," well I'm afraid they've lost touch completely with the real world as well.

So I'm trying to get on the computers and understand where I'm going tomorrow and really for the first time, find my own directions, when my dad jumps in the seat first and starts his usual rant. For some reason I just got angrier and angrier...I watched the clock tick by...thirty minutes and he is still going. Telling me about roads that have nothing to do with where I'm going. Yelling at me for not planning ahead. Yelling at me for my slow computer. Finally he notices that I am pissy, when really I am at the verge of yelling at him or punching him, or running away. He walks off in a huff. Then my mom comes in and starts to tell me that maybe leaving from West Chester is closer...at which point I respond: well I really wouldn't FUCKING KNOW because I HAVENT GOTTEN A CHANCE TO LOOK AT THE FUCKING MAP. Of course I really didn't say this like I had turrets. She notices I am angry, nags for 15 minutes until I turn my back blatantly on her, and walks off in a huff. 5 minutes later my dad comes out and starts repeating the directions. I am at the verge of tears, my hands are shaking, I want to punch somebody. Truthfully, I want to blink and have them disappear. POOF.

I am ungrateful. I know it. But for a moment try to identify with me. Have you ever wished your parents just didn't exist? No? I know it's a horrific thought, one that will leave me forever guilty and forever wretched. But even as a child, I would repeat it sometimes when I did not know what else to say to them, how else to make them understand that if they didn't let me fall a little, I will never truthfully learn to walk. There have been countless moments when I have wished for their eternal absence, and for that I don't deserve to live. But sometimes...when you're at the edge of reason...

Rascal Flatts, I'm Moving On

2006-07-26T13:09:00.000-04:00

Apologize ahead of time about the fact that my blog has slowly become a collection of song lyrics.

I've dealt with my ghosts and I've faced all my demons
Finally content with a past I regret
I've found you find strength in your moments of weakness
For once I'm at peace with myself
I've been burdened with blame, trapped in the past for too long
I'm movin' on

I've lived in this place and I know all the faces
Each one is different but they're always the same
They mean me no harm but it's time that I face it
They'll never allow me to change
But I never dreamed home would end up where I don't belong
I'm movin' on

I'm movin' on
At last I can see life has been patiently waiting for me
And I know there's no guarantees, but I'm not alone
There comes a time in everyone's life
When all you can see are the years passing by
And I have made up my mind that those days are gone

I sold what I could and packed what I couldn't
Stopped to fill up on my way out of town
I've loved like I should but lived like I shouldn't
I had to lose everything to find out
Maybe forgiveness will find me somewhere down this road
I'm movin' on

I'm movin' on
I'm movin' on

Jack, Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

2006-07-26T01:23:00.000-04:00

Now I was sitting waiting wishing
That you believed in superstitions
Then maybe you'd see the signs
But Lord knows that this world is cruel
And I ain't the Lord, no I'm just a fool
Learning loving somebody don't make them love you

Must I always be waiting waiting on you?
Must I always be playing playing your fool?

...
And maybe you been through this before
But its my first time
So please ignore
The next few lines cause they're directed at you

I cant always be waiting waiting on you
I cant always be playing playing your fool
I keep playing your part
But its not my scene
Wont this plot not twist?
I've had enough mystery.
Keep building me up, then shooting me down
Well im already down
Just wait a minute
Just sitting waiting
Just wait a minute
Just sitting waiting

Well if I was in your position
Id put down all my ammunition
I'd wondered why'd it taken me so long
But Lord knows that I'm not you
And If I was I wouldn't be so cruel
Cause waiting on love ain't so easy to do

Must I always be waiting waiting on you?
Must I always be playing playing your fool?
No I cant always be waiting waiting on you
I cant always be playing playing your fool, foool

Utada, Colors

2006-07-25T02:58:00.000-04:00

The mirror reflects the illusion of a spirit.
Unnoticed, it picks up speed.
It is said that it's okay to go anywhere.
A broken wish makes everything all grey.

Tonight, a flame flickers and you draw your dream.
Isn't the tip of your brush thirsty?

If there's no blue sky unfold your blue umbrella.
Isn't that good? The canvas is all yours.
That time I that I gave up, I only held a white flag over my head.
Now it's a deep red, like it's inviting the matador

A fluorescent light in which all colors are faded.
On top of a black and white chessboard, I met you.
In such a short time we grew close.
Do you remember one month from then?

It was good to just watch the setting sun and the orange sky with you.
Even though, an opening is the origin of disaster.
The times that we pray for the dead, we wear black clothes.
A rouge footprint purposely leaves behined a deep red color.

If you say to yourself...
"You can draw only the pictures that don't have dreams."
Keep drawing on that canvas.
That time that I gave up, I only held a white flag over my head.
Now, you don't know my true colors.

This is the End of the Road

2006-07-24T01:18:00.000-04:00

This weekend was nature's way of communicating to me that people come in pairs. Everywhere I go, people travel in twos. Holding hands, exchanging looks, making plans. I feel like a goddamn window shopper.

Normally I would say something encouraging, like who knows if they're really happy. I believe Dane Cook explains it best:
"When you don't have love, it's like there's a party going on, and everybody was invited, except for you. And you just happened to be walking by that house in the rain... (sigh) But then, once you're IN love, that's like being inside that party, going "Where's my jacket? I wanna get outta here. where's my jacket? I been to this party six years and I wanna see other parties! where's my jacket. someone shit on the coats. i think someone shit on the coats.'

But today. Today I am tired, exhausted. Not because I want a relationship, but because it is so difficult working out logistics with friends who are in relationships. I want to meet people. Like me. So we can make plans, NOT hold hands, but still be dependable in a singles kinda way. What happened to girls night out? When did parties mean for two people? And why are weekends for staying in (or is this more age related)? When did being in a couple become the opposite of being fun? Having been on both sides of the spectrum, I suddenly don't know which is worse.

Ghosts of Time...

2006-07-21T01:31:00.000-04:00

EDIT

Anyway I was just googling for fun and I came across this. I'm sure there have been plenty of books/philosophy written on this topic...but Dr. Phil tops them all. (Please know that I am kidding)

ahhheeeeeehemmm: Self Matters

Are you living a life that is more in tune with your "authentic" self (who you were created to be) or your "fictional" self (who the world has told you to be)?

Authentic Self

When you're asked, "Who are you?" what is your answer? "I'm a mom." "I'm a doctor." "I live in Ohio." Often the answer is not who you are, but what you do, what your social station is, or how you see your function in life. You can't answer who you are, because you don't know.

There is another level of existence that is the real, true, genuine substance of who you are. It's what Dr. Phil defines as the authentic self.

The authentic self is the you that can be found at your absolute core. It is the part of you not defined by your job, function or role. It is the composite of all your skills, talents and wisdom. It is all of the things that are uniquely yours and need expression, rather than what you believe you are supposed to be and do.

Fictional Self

When you're not living faithfully to your authentic self, you find yourself feeling incomplete, as if there is a hole in your soul. You may have found that it's easier to fill the roles your family and friends expect of you, rather than becoming who you really want to be. Living this way drains you of the critical life energy you need to pursue the things you truly value.

When you live a life that has you ignoring your true gifts and talents while performing assigned or inherited roles instead, you are living as your fictional self.

The fictional self sends you false information about who you are and what you should be doing with your life. It blocks the information you need in order to maintain the connection with your authentic identity. Relying on information from the fictional self means you're putting your trust in a broken compass.
------------- ------------------- ----------------

What if my "authentic self" is an unemployed vagrant who considers "having fun" a full time job? Dr. Phil---or shall I say Dr. Pill, thinks he can get away with vague terms like "core self." Apparently this guy's book Don't Love Dumb, Love Smart is #1 on the New York Times Bestsellers, under what category? How to point out the obvious??? I'm in my early 20s and I can feel my midlife crisis coming on already. Most of the other 20 some year olds I know consider themselves to be "lost." It's only gonna get worse because as we get older, we get more complacent and exhausted. My compass is like Jack's in Pirates 2, it just keeps spinning without ever making a full stop. In a world where money makes the world go round, you do the best you can. AND logically speaking, you have to be lost in order to be found...Ain't that a beautiful fact?

If there is a God, he must hate me...

2006-07-17T16:34:00.000-04:00

Have you ever noticed that when one part of your life doesn't run smoothly, it seems like everything else is falling apart too?

Well I refuse to do it. I refuse to pile it up and feel sorry for myself. I refuse to convince myself that there is some kind of a supernatural conspiracy theory out there against my happiness. Bad days, bad luck, disasters, call it what you will, but they are simply a series of unfortunate events...that may seem connected but in reality, are random at best. Who knows...maybe I see the importance of separating every occurrence as its own individual event...or maybe I just feel that if there were larger-than-life forces out there, they would have more important things to do than plot evil against someone as inconspicuous as me.

In life, when shit is being thrown at us...especially in an obnoxious and continuous way...I have to think that the laws of physics apply somehow. You know that popular saying: "what doesn't kill you will only make you stronger?" Well au contraire...whoever said that, I think it's ultimately true but completely difficult to relate to. Instead...I think of people as bouncing balls. When we hit the surface...that's like shit hitting the fan. But then we always bounce back up, that's recovery, good luck, happy times, whatever. Unless---we hit a really sharp object...which deflates us completely and we lose our function as a bouncy ball altogether...that's death. But it's sad and unpredictable so I'm not going to discuss it. Back to the bouncing ball, sure everytime we hit the ground we naturally bounce back up...but gravity has made it so that we will never quite reach the same height as we had before. So each time we bounce, we lose a little more air. Just like when we are continuously disappointed in life, it becomes harder and harder to be happy. As we become less and less bounceable, it becomes apparent that what we need is to be pumped up with air again. Like when a basketball is refilled with air, or even simpler when a plastic ball is blown up again. This refilling of air is analogous to when we are feeling so low that we need a pep talk, whether that'd be from a friend or from ourselves. We seek consolation, advice, R&R, a hug, whatever the devices, but the purpose is to get pumped up again. So now, full of air, we begin the bouncy journey again. Never quite bouncing up to the same height that we did when we were first created, but nevertheless still a good bounce or two left. Until we wear out completely, as every ball--person will. That is life to me, simplified by a toy and physics. The analogy works.

It gets a little more complicated though when we think about how we like to be filled with air. Taking comfort in friends, technology, food, other things, is always good but I like to be able to cheer myself up, pump my own air. The other complication is how well we are able to take all that air we get pumped with and really channel it into a respectable bounce. Some people seek out consolation but never really take it. Ultimately, you have to believe that you WANT, more than anything in this world, to be able to bounce back. Even if you know you can't bounce as high as you did before, you're still gonna aim for that height because who knows? It would be a terrible waste, even for a ball, to believe that you are born with only one good bounce, that is a lame ball.

Of course there is really no such thing as good balls or bad balls, which is why my analogy will never be perfect. But it's pretty damn close.

Mary Wanna Rant

2006-07-16T23:53:00.000-04:00

No no...no poems. In fact I've got something better...and I'm gonna say IF fact. Something I use to do all the way up until sophomore year when a friend informed me it was actually "in fact." Well it's my blog, so it's IF fact.
Oh yes, something better. Than poems? Lists...lists kick poems' asses.

A penny for my thoughts? What's the price for a list of rants? Or a string of babble? Or a ladle of ramble? Or a bowl of obscenities? Pschhhh this is crazy talk. What about a cart of crazy talk?

Anyway, here are just some random words, phrases, sayings, whatever I feel like. And they're in no particular order.

- The trouble with threesomes is the change of heart. Three is a horrendously icky number. It should either be two or four.
- I either have a date with destiny or a date with pain. Unless it's pain dressed as destiny, in which case it could be tricky.
- I have a dying wish to hot glue gun my keys to my stomach. But then how would I ever use them?
- Let's see, would I prefer fudgesicles or butterscotch pudding? Neither of which items I have...
- This one is so crazy...typing trails off...
- "Get over it." No, "move on"
- The inadequacies that I often criticize my friends for may spring from the fact that I am simply unable to make myself happy. In which case then I'm gonna need to get some more friends.
- I think I'll start with molly. ;)
- The best part of waking up IS folgers in your cup. (actually it's Nestle...and all over your MOUTH, but that would ruin the jingle)
- Tomorrow never comes until it's too late
- What REALLY grinds my gears? Sometimes I can't tell if my tolerance is amazingly high or amazingly low.

And folks that's the random ramble of the day. Please tune in later for more Mary, Wanna Rant.

Yoga Makes Me Want To Cry

2006-07-12T00:28:00.000-04:00

Yes that's right. You have found ONE person that dislikes yoga. GASP, how can anyone dislike yoga? Well I do. It's too hot, and too boring. But I have to keep going because I am a firm believer that doing icky healthy things will eventually help me become a better person. I'm icky like that.

When exercising, I like more impact, like dance and running. However I am strangely suspicious that I just like any kind of action accompanied by great music. Anyway, I don't know about this yoga business. I keep going back because I have this 10 class card and because everyone keeps talking about how great it is. I suppose I can see its obvious popularity...for people who like to be boring--I mean to meditate, focus, and get in touch with their inner self. It's about physical and mental health and who wouldn't want that?? Maybe this is why it's so difficult because it's exercising two things at once. WOH. Aw man, I just realized that just pretty much means icky times 2.

Anyway, the yoga instructors always like to read a little passage from some self help book at the end of each session. Today's was interesting because the book in discussion was "A Purpose Driven Life." Ahh, that brings back memories. When I was a junior in high school, my parents in collaboration with two other Chinese families, purchased this book in both the English and Chinese versions so we could meet every Friday night to discuss it. Every Friday it was like freakin clockwork. Three sets of Asian parents plus three Asian teenage girls, and about 10 copies of "The Purpose Driven Life" in TWO LANGUAGES. If I remember correctly, and I'm surprised I can because I thought I would've repressed something so traumatic as Friday night bible studies by now, I hated how long the book was. I don't suppose this made my yoga experience any better. However, the instructor did choose an interesting passage, and I have to admit that it's a shame I hated that book because it really wasn't the book's fault, it was more the parentals' weak ass attempts to reconnect with their children. Apparently family dinners just don't do it anymore. Anyway, without further ado, the passage he chose:

"It was pointed out that Henry David Thoreau spoke of the “quiet desperation” with which we live our lives but the more accurate rendering of that today might be aimless distraction. Aimless: because we don’t have a purpose, distraction: because it’s too uncomfortable to face that fact...you can’t focus very long on your ultimate destiny when you don’t have any answers for the big questions—questions like: “Where did we come from? Where are we going? What are we here for?” And the most natural thing to do, if you don’t want to face into these questions, is to avoid them by turning up the volume on what distracts you. One thing you can surely say about this culture: We have an overabundance of stuff with which to distract ourselves from the more important questions of life. Movies, entertainment, non-stop music, computer games, videos, television, and an endless stream of eye-candy keeps our current generation thoroughly engaged with anything but wondering about what we are here for."

The reference to Thoreau here is from Walden: "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation."

This is very true. I'm sure at one point or another we all feel like we're just going in circles, like damn lab rats. We don't know why and we can't seem to understand the grand design, we just do. But then it's scary (or maybe even impossible) to not do. So in the end, we just end up complaining but never doing anything about it. What can we do about it? Yoga? Arguably, isn't that just another form of distraction. I know when I'm doing those annoying downward dogs, crows, or damn bridges (for the 5th time), it's really hard to contemplate the meaning of life. I sure wish I knew my purpose in life---

I can't think with Conan on dammit!

Unchartered Territory

2006-07-09T01:49:00.000-04:00

The one thing that's great about being on your own is the fact that you get to do whatever you want whenever you want. You never feel guilty about neglecting those that you truly care about, especially yourself. Then there's the excitement of not knowing where your life is gonna take you, who you're going to meet, what you're gonna do. Oh how I live most for the nights that are filled with crazy and wacky adventures. Late night conversations, crazy dancing, people watching, and maybe even starting a bar fight one day. I was kidding on that last one, but I really wasn't :)

The one thing that's scary and dreadful about being on your own is the knowledge that you have just entered into unchartered territory. Relationship lines are easily blurrable (not a word) and you have to constantly be alert. Setting boundaries can be an exhausting affair. Then there's just the awkwardness of meeting new people, trying new things.

Sometimes we need to have the blanket pulled out from under us, to have our lives violently rattled in such a way that leaves us with no choice but to figure it out. Only then do people learn and grow.

Then sometimes I wonder how long I can stay optimistic. Hopefully forevvverrrrr.

The Problem

2006-07-07T02:04:00.000-04:00

with Negative Reinforcement is that overtime, it can be exhausting.

It is not only annoyingly repetitive because once people pick out your weak spots, it just grows bigger and bigger. Like the ghastly pimple you get on your forehead or your nose a day before some important event where you will be seen by hundreds, maybe even thousands. (And being Asian, trust me I would know, your nose is sizeable enough that if you get a ghastly pimple, that's ALL people might see) Speaking of Asian, Chinese parents are the worst with negative reinforcement. You may think that I'm just a stereotyping maniac, but growing up I have noticed the many different traits that come with being raised in a traditional Chinese versus a non Chinese household. I have noticed that many Chinese parents believe in bathing, sometimes drowning, their kids in a pool of negative reinforcement. I have mixed theories about this kind of discipline, there are definite upsides, but since I am one of these poor bastards, I also feel that there are definite downsides. Allow me to demonstrate with snippets from yet another lovely conversation between my dad and I:

EG. 1
Chinese Dad: What do you think you're gonna end up doing in life? Do you think you could end up doing something great? SIGH. I really don't know what you're capable of...
Hypothetical Non Chinese Dad (HNCD): Have you ever thought about what you want to do in life. Well sport whatever it is, make sure you like it and I'm sure you'll be good at it. *Maybe even a pat on the head or a ruffle of the hair*

EG. 2
Chinese Dad: You know what I noticed your problem is (as I roll my eyes into the back of my head further each time he starts a monologue this way, we could be here for days.) The problem with you is that you develop slower than most in life. You tend to catch on slowly, eventually you catch up, but you are definitely a bit slower than most people.
HNCD: You know sometimes you may not realize things as fast as others, but that's only because you lack experience. It's ok though, because eventually everyone gets there.
Me: (desperately trying to joke my way out of this one) Well maybe I'll get to live longer than most people because I tend to take longer to realize things.
Chinese Dad: Yes, you probably will. See there is one upside. Another one of your problems is that you have no interests in anything. I always noticed this about you, even when you were young. Like that time when we took you to the Baltimore Aquarium, do you remember that time?
Me: How could I not when that is your favorite memory of me.
Chinese Dad: apparently not really looking for a wise answer and ignores me while plowing right on ---Yes you ran right through the aquarium, you weren't even interested in seeing anything. You ran to the end and sat there waiting for us. I yelled at you but you know, I don't really think you got the point. Or like when you told me that story the other day (And he goes on to give me many examples. These examples are just pastime stories that I tell him everyday to ensure continuous conversation between father and daughter. Apparently he takes these daily anecdotes and uses them as support paragraphs for his thesis: why I suck at life. I feel betrayed, by the man who uses my own daily anecdotes against me. It should be illegal, I try to amuse him with tidbits from my life and this is the thanks I get. To have them thrown right back in my face. GRRRRR if you understand the frustration of what I am talking about, then we should form some sort of a support group.) Meanwhile he is still talking blahblahblah...you should take an interest in something. You should ask why...always ask questions.
Me: You have been giving me this lecture since I was 12...or however old I was when we went to that damn aquarium. Can I ask you something...if you know my faults so well, surely you must also notice what I'm good at. Do you know any of my advantages?
Chinese Dad: Shakes his head in disappointment. No I don't know. Sigh. But I'm trying to help you, and if you don't want to listen to my advice then I guess...blahblahblah
HNCD: ??? I don't think you could put a positive spin on that one.

So I think to myself: No wonder I obsess over why I suck. No wonder I am not confident in any actions that I take. How could I if my own dad doesn't even have the slightest inkling as to what I might be good at? I'm not using this as an excuse for my failures mind you. My dad did not FAIL ME, he was a wonderful teacher in every other aspect. More than a kid could hope for. But I sure wish, just once, that I could get some positive reinforcement from him. Even if it is a lie...sometimes you gotta lie a little...