Some Rip Van Winkle shit...

...not to be confused with Robert Van Winkle the psycho.

I don't even know how or why I am doing this. I think because my "counselor" told me that I should try journaling which I sort of refuse to acknowledge as a word. So this means that anyone who stumbles across this will be treated to my self-absorbed neuroticism. Enjoy all one of you who will find this and actually read it. But for serious, this blog like emailed me. And because I pretty much love to air my business to an invisible audience I thought what the hell, let's get this here party started.

I just reread my old posts. I am a Negative Nancy like whoa. Well I was. No, I guess I still am. I'm totally okay with that. I like to believe that I transform my pessimism into entertainment.

So I'm like a billion years old now and a lot has changed but a lot has stayed the same. I can't believe that I still work at the same place blindly falling in fake love with every cute girl from the local college. But I'm actually in school now too so that's all new and different. And I fell in for real love with a girl. We live together in an apartment that's cute with our two cats Timmy and Milton. I still obsess over garbage television. Rock of Love? Check. Flavor of Love? Check. Grey's Anatomy? Check check check check check. And I hope no one ever gives me shit about how the show is quality programming because oh my god it is not. Everyone is dysfunctional. If art imitates life then I hope I never need surgery because apparently surgeons run around the hospital sleeping with one another and making irrelevant parallels between their surgical cases and their personal lives. Sometimes they drop organs on the floor and employ the five-second rule. No, it is not quality. But it is fun to watch.

Um I'm in school. This post isn't even worthy of life but oh well. I just wanted to see what it would look like.

the days of our lives

Two days in a row, I got dragged to a lake. Two separate lakes, actually with two different groups of people, but whatever. First of all, anyone that knows me, knows that I don't really do water. I don't. I don't wear bathing suits, I don't like getting my hair wet if there is no shampoo and conditioner involved. I don't like getting out of the water and trying to figure out how to dry my feet and put shoes back on without getting my shoes all gross on the inside. I'm just too fussy of a person to ever be sober and think that traipsing out to a lake could be fun.

I don't know how I let myself get hijacked. Maybe because it was a billion degrees and walking the five minutes from my job to my home left me sweaty and confused. So I agreed to go with a girl that I work with and her shady girlfriend. Shady for so many reasons, but there is too much story and I don't have the energy to bitch about more than four things at once. We're driving out there and since it's taking us longer than we expected, Shady Bitchface* starts an argument about how long it's taking. What are you, eleven? You can't sit in a car for more than ten minutes? I mean, sure it was annoying but only because it was so hot. Anyway, I hate when couples fight when I'm around. So awkward. For all parties involved. So unnecessary. And for whatever reason, couples are always fighting around me. And it makes me uncomfortable. Especially in a car when you're not sure if the person driving is stable enough to not drive us all into a tree. I clearly watch too many Lifetime movies. Anyway, they fight, I listen, we all sweat because the air isn't working. We get to the lake a million years later and the sky opens up. Not just rain, because I could deal with rain on a super hot day. But I mean like, an outrageous storm. Like we're in the mid-fucking-west in this bitch. And some park officials are like, you can't get in the lake because you might get struck by lightning and by the way, you can't park there for free do you have five bucks? Five dollars to park and not swim? No thanks. So we turn around, come home, where it is so not raining and I realize that I wasted my entire day and I am still not feeling refeshed.

You'd think that I would learn my lesson. But no. The very next day, after having made plans with a friend to do exciting things like, pay my phone bill and drink IPA on the front porch, her old housemate invites us to go swimming. Friend, who I will just call K, gets excited because she's so into this sort of shit. Total fucking Mainer, okay. Besides, she hasn't seen Old Housemate in ages and didn't I think it would be fun? No, actually. I don't. See K, I don't think that it would be fun at all. I don't do water. We know this. I especially don't do water without a concrete bottom. But somehow, they make it sound like it could be okay and not disgusting and I'm like okay, let's roll.

On the way there, Old Housemate's friend is like, oh, I don't really know how to get there. Why don't you know where we're going when you convinced us all to get in the car and go to this totally private little place like you've been there before? So after driving in the wrong direction for twenty minutes, we call a friend who has actually seen this lake for directions and he gets us going the right way.

We get to a church and park because Friend Who Has Actually Been There told Friend Who Has Not that we can't drive all the way there. Like there's no actual rode or something. Just a dirt path. I am already hating this because like an asshole, I'm wearing my cute white skirt from Forever 21. So we get out and start walking. And walking. And we keep walking. The supposed five minutes down the road has somehow turned into fifteen and we're wondering if we're lost. Meanwhile, trucks filled to the the brim with Natural Ice swigging dudes keep passing us. What was that about not driving?

We get there finally and this private little spot has somehow morphed into the local spot for young girls and their considerably older, drunk boyfriends. On boats. With loud music. I am all of a sudden an extra in I Know What You Did Last Summer. Second scene. Don't act like you've never seen it. And of course I'm pissed. I'm like, the only black person that any of these people have ever seen and I'm in a bathing suit, which if we all recall correctly, I never wear. So I'm freaking out. And K the Mainer is even like, "Dude. This sucks." I mean, I'm just not into nature at all. This entire experience for me, is just gross. Bugs, sandy dirt, dirty water. It's all gross. And these fucking dudes that Old Housemate and Friend Who Has Never Been to the Lake are aquainted with are like nineteen levels of shady.

I venture into the water because hey, when in Rome, you know and am immediately repulsed because I'm like, "This isn't even a lake. This is the Connecticut River. My vagina is in the Connecticut River right now. I need to drown myself now." And Shady Dude 1 is like, "But it's the clean part." While Shady Dude 2 ashes his cigarette in the water and then throws the rest of his coffee into it as well. First of all, can we, as a nation, not go any fucking place without our coolattas and frappuccinos?

Then I got out of the water and tried to figure out how to get my feet back into my shoes without getting them all dirty on the inside. I am officially the biggest pain in the ass whiner on the planet.

The End.

i miss the cardigans

People with young children can be so boring.
I dread the day that my closest friends and I all turn into responsible adults. I just know that they'll start popping out the babies. And then I will find myself in homes, gazing down on little so and so and whispering about the cute things that they did earlier that day. How can people talk about this shit for hours? Honestly.

I can't possibly hate children that much, but maybe I do. I mean, I appreciate their cuteness. I am constantly amazed by how quickly they grow up. But I don't care about how he picked up a phrase and now he uses it all of the time. I don't care about how you had to pry his filthy Pooh blanket from his stubborn, grubby little hands so you can wash it. I don't think that there is anything particularly special about a toddler spelling his name. Maybe because my brother, sister and I were doing long division way before I was even in the second grade, thanks to my crazy father. Your kid will not floor me because he's just a little bit ahead of his reading level. Show me a five year old that can play a concerto and then I will grudgingly admit to his wonderfulness.

People, there are a lot of things that make your child special., sure. But I don't want to hear about all of those things. Not for hours. I don't want you to force your child to dance to the guy that sings about apples and bananas on demand like a prize show dog. I don't want you to make your kid kiss me goodbye when I didn't even ask because I can think of eleventy-six more pleasant things that could possibly be happening to me at that precise moment. But most importantly, stop trying to tell me that your kid is smarter than every other kid in the world. Stupid people come from somewhere, okay.
/rant

My closest friends have recently become obsessed with the idea of marriage. One of them in particular talks about it like us and all of our former female classmates are participating in some sort of race. While it would make for a lovely reality show, I prefer to not be a part of the madness. I don't even want to get married anytime soon. I reject domesticity; don't they know that? I, unlike most of them, have not had visions of the perfect dress. I don't care about the time of year that it should happen.

But everytime we get together, it's like, "Did you know that Monique was engaged? And Margaret? Marika's getting married in the summer. Hannah is pregnant and she's getting married next month. All I know is, if Warren proposes to Rosaline before John proposes to me, I'm going to be really mad." Whoa. Way to give a shit about Rosaline's happiness, there. Then hostile eyes turn to me, like I'm hiding a fiance under my skirt and the inevitable, "With my luck, you'll fall in love tomorrow and be married in two months," is spat at me with irrational contempt.

God help me find a world where a twenty-two year old is still just a twenty-two year old and I'm allowed to care only about my beer, the fate of my thighs and In Touch Weekly.

i like big butts and i can not lie

I am a terrible blog person. Maybe my ego won't let me post because I don't think that anyone is paying attention. Or maybe my life is too good. When I'm enjoying life, I tend to prefer living it to documenting it. But that is a gross lie. Because I'm not exactly loving life. There's something about supporting my mother and being preemptively dumped that is less than enjoyable. The short-lived almost romance between Hot Lawyer and I is over. Turns out that like every other man I meet, he is married. They were technically separated but he wants to give their marriage another try. There's something about his honesty that makes me want to sleep with him anyway. Just kidding. Well, not really. I'm just saying.

I have nightmares about losing my teeth. Not one by one, but all at once. Like, I dream that I'll wake up and all of my teeth will just be gone. Totally bizarre, I know. But to me that's worse than waking up bald. I mean, a girl can buy hair, you know? But teeth? I wouldn't leave my house if I had no teeth. And I don't have a billion dollars to replace them. So I would just stay home in tears. With no job because the whole, "Sorry, I can't come in because my teeth fell out," thing would get old pretty quickly, I imagine. Maybe its my dentist phobia? Its like every dentist is creepy, now. Or the fact that my health insurance doesn't cover dental? I don't know. I just can't ever lose my teeth. At least not before I hit 67.

If one more guy tells me that Lindsay Lohan looks hot now, I will vomit on him. No for real. Because, no. Gross. She hurts my eyes. Remember when she was actually cute? I miss her.

am i wrong for still loving the way you make me feel?

I had my first official date thing this past weekend. I totally get it now. The whole dating thing? I get it. I definitely see how it can get old when you feel like you have to do it to avoid any impending loneliness or whatever it is that makes people feel like they have to keep putting themselves out there over and over again. But for now, I'm like, "wow okay cool." Anyway, this guy was great and all of my anxieties ended up being over nothing because there was never a moment of silence that felt terribly awkward. That was my biggest fear. Not being able to relate to this handsome lawyer with nice ties. That, and not knowing which fork to use. Work from the outside in, right? So yeah, it was a lovely dinner. And he wore dress socks because evidently he understands the importance of not wearing tube socks with nice shoes. Love it. Not that it should matter. But it so does. I'm really not this shallow, but I enjoy observing. And sometimes those observations are about other people's clothing choices. I can't help that.

So my date got me thinking about how the smallest things made me look at him in a much more favorable light than I tend to look at men when I first meet them. And its all because he was polite and sweet. A total fucking gentleman. And I came home, called all of my friends freaking out because he pulled out my chair and opened doors for me. He wasn't rude to our waiter, which by the way, is a deal breaker for me. And it all just blew me away. It shouldn't, you know? Like, these things should be something that people do for one another. I'm not trying to imply that only men should do these things for women. I have held about a million doors open and men appreciate it just as much. Its really the simple things, like reaching over and unlocking the driver's door for them instead of making them stand out in the cold for three seconds longer while you sit idly in the passenger side checking your reflection. Common decency shouldn't be such a big deal at the end of the day is all that I'm saying.

In other news, someone stole my favorite hoodie and I hope they die in their sleep. It was actually, my oldest and favorite article of clothing, period. I slept in it. I wandered my apartment in it when the heat was off in the middle of December just to prove a point to my roommates who only respond to passive-aggression. I went to the bar, at some point went to the bathroom and someone swooped down on it either because they were cold or because they mistook it for something of value. Or okay fine, maybe they thought it was theirs because it was a non-descript, navy blue hoodie that could have been just about anyone's. I'm totally bummed. To make myself feel better, I went out and bought another which ultimately ended up making me feel worse because it is not the same. Unlike hamsters, broken in clothing can not be replaced.

I'm being judged for my undying love for old Michael Jackson. That's fucked up.

tales of my youth

I have a phobia of water. I realize that this is a pretty bold statement considering that one needs water to lead a generally healthy lifestyle (read: shower). Saying this out loud usually makes people uncomfortable which I'm okay with. Anyway, I had an abnormally difficult time showering until I was something like 15. I would sit in a bath which is gross because I don't get the idea of stewing comfortably in your own filth, but whatever to each his own. I also felt like I would somehow drown. Or I would run the water and use a bucket or a cup to rinse off like I was washing a dog or something. I asked my mother about it and she was all, "You were always like that. I'd try to give you a bath and you would scream and scream. I thought you were just nasty." Okay. A few weeks later, the truth comes out; it turns out, when I was a few months old, my mom was giving me a bath and I slipped out of her hands into a sinkful of water and I almost drowned. Mystery solved. Ever since then, I would freak when she tried to bathe me and now, years later, I don't know how to swim and I can't shower like a normal person.

One when my sister, brother and I were just kids, my father took us out for lunch at some completely random Chinese place in a pretty crappy neighborhood. After we ordered and got our food to go, my father turned to my sister and I and said, "Stay right there. Don't move." Okay, being pretty well-disciplined girls, we knew that if we got up for whatever reason, there was a pretty good chance for an ass-whoopin', so we stayed put. And watched as my father took my brother's hand and silently left the store. I don't know where they went. Around the block maybe? To another store? I don't know. But after a few minutes, my sister and I realized that my father had for real just left us there alone and we didn't know where he was or where we were. I think I was like 5. So we started crying, still not getting up because he had told us not to. Ten minutes later, they show up all laughs because he was just playing a trick on us! and oh my god, isn't that just hilarious? No dad, it isn't. He was so proud of us for listening and not getting up to follow him. I know that all the world isn't exactly the ghetto that people make it out to be, but we were pretty tiny and this was Brooklyn. Couldn't we have played this game in Vermont?

My parents are both insane. That's the moral of the story, I think.

I'm in an adult spelling bee for charity today. It's not as naughty as it initially sounds, but it is definitely as geeky as it eventually sounds.

hopeless romantics need not apply

When I meet someone, I get this urge to document it here because it seems so much more important somehow. And I guess because I want other people to know about it since my friends don't have much invested in the romantic satisfaction of others. I don't really blame them. My best friend has this way of attracting men who really aren't worth anything at all. I have two friends who decide that there is no relationship on the earth that is more beautiful than the ones that they share with their current boyfriends even if one is dating an unemployed alcoholic and the other is dating her employee in secrecy. The rest of my friends are bitter and way too vocal about it and my brother just went back to his ex-wife who once tried to have him thrown in jail for child support that he had been paying faithfully. My roommate is dating a girl who desperately wants to break her heart and my other roommate has this thing against relationships that last longer than it takes to throw the condom away. Basically, our love lives are all for shit even though some of us don't want to admit it.

I would so love to be the only realist in the group and I often pretend to be, but let's face it; we all know that I firmly believe that there is a minuscule percentage of people left in this world that are worth loving and my chances of finding one of them are slim. I probably don't fall anywhere near that percentage, by the way.
My point was supposed to be that no one cares when I meet a boy who gives me the butterfly tummy thing because it happens like, once a month or something like that and it always amounts to a whole lot of "what the hell is wrong with me" and then a whole lot more of nothing at all.

I think a part of my problem is that I don't actually want a relationship with anyone, really. I just want to get that feeling over and over again. I want to see someone and feel my heart pounding all the way down to my toes because there is so much potential for something big, something great and the newness is still there. There are still a million small elements of surprise and I get to come home dreaming about what the first kiss will be like and what his hands will feel like. And when his fingers press against my lower back or he leans close to whisper something into my ear, my nerves go into overdrive. I guess some people get lucky, and the new never wears off for them. Or more likely, they don't necessarily need the everlasting honeymoon period because they like that comfort zone that I say that I want, but really I don't because in reality, it's actually not all that comfortable for me.

So now I flit, and trust me, I've always wanted to use that word in a sentence. I discover a person, I decide that they are the best thing since warm, mozzarella-garlic bread and I let myself feel those things. Then I realize that the kisses don't enchant me and I realize that he is just a person after all and I give up on trying to be anything special for him because he is nothing special for me. Maybe he senses my disinterest before I do and then I get left behind for a shiny, new model. Or maybe I'm flattering myself and he just wakes up and is like, "Wow that was fun but okay I'm done here." And then I'm sitting here trying to figure out what the hell happened and I try to figure out why my heart hurts when I didn't even want to be in a relationship in the first place. My solution so far has been to only sleep with guys who have girlfriends because I mean, that's always exciting and I never have to worry about letting him sleep here or commitment or anything like that. But I guess this makes me a horrible, horrible person so I need a new solution and I am not actually open to suggestions, just so you know. I'm just trying to find a nook to hang out in between One Night Stand Land and Serious Relationship Island because I am not doing so hot over here in Casual Dating Hell.

This was too long. I just wanted to say that I met a guy. And he definitely gives me the butterfly tummy thing.