Dear Blogger,
It has come the time to tell you that which it would be so painful for me to express. I pray that you will not find me too harsh, nor that you will think I am in any way un-grateful to you, but it has finally become necessary for me to leave you. Please believe me, it is nothing to do with you, or your actions towards me. You have always treated me with the greatest respect, and have yourself acted the perfect gentleman in every way. But you see, there is someone else. It pains me to tell you this, but it is true, I have found another. His name is WordPress, and I am in love with him. It's not that he's especially better than you, or even that he is so much more attractive a partner than you are. But, you see, he... does things for me. It shames me to admit it, but it's true, I have fallen victim to his voice, his fluid manner, the carress of his lips, the way he touches me when ------
Oh Christ, forget it! I'm moving to WordPress. Happy? You better be, because it took A LOT of work. (Considerably more work than it should have, since I'm so crap at computers, as I am being constantly reminded of these days.)
You can find me here.
Happy blogging bitches!
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
The Big Blog Crush*
(*Damnit, does this mean I have to start referring to him as the BBC?)
There has recently been a rather shocking development in the land of The Weirdo (i.e. me)... one with so much inexplicable importance that it simply MUST be documented. This phenomenon, as it is now like to be called, is nothing other than a very big BLOG-CRUSH. That's right, you heard it here first... blog-crush mania is sweeping the nation (as well as all the other nations, I assume) and I have been unable to escape its steely grasp! Finally succumbing to the inevitable lure of a love that dare not speak its name (no, not that love, the other one... no, not that one either... Ah, forget it!) I have found myself imprisoned in the chaotic mess of my own head.... again.
But wait a minute, didn't you just have a fake relationship?! Like a second ago? Didn't it end badly?! Yes, yes I did... and it did. Basically yes to all three. But wait! This is different! And here's why:
1. I do not know the BBC in real life (Ack, terrible! Sorry, British Broadcasting Corp!) This means that,
a) I cannot make a total fool of myself by making inappropriate advances in inappropriate places (not that I ever did that, I swear)... I can however make inappropriate advances on Twitter... which I do, like, all the time. (No valley-girl jokes, please!)
and
b) There was never any real need to decide whether or not I should tell him... So, I "told him" right away. I mean really, what's going to happen? Worst case scenario - he's totally creeped-out and I simply stop Twittering. (Did that make anyone else think of the word "twitterpated"? No? No one has seen "Bambi"? Okay...)
2. The fact that all the flirting will lead to nothing is already well-established, because... well... he lives really far away! Also, the flirting has been relatively tame. Which means that,
a) We don't have any fake children... yet. (Fake children are disastrous for many reasons... but mainly I'm just glad not to have to carry around that fake diaper-bag anymore. God, that thing was monstrous!)
and
b) I feel absolutely no need to decipher between flirtatious texts (i.e. "Does this mean the usual makeup sex?", etc.) and the probability that he actually wants to go in the back room and make out. Wonderful.
I know what you're thinking,
Right, having a blog-crush is fine. But you're clearly insane. Do you realize there are other live humans right outside who you could actually... I don't know... have a conversation with?!
And yes, I do realize that...
I realize that I am cultivating an attraction which can only go to waste;
I realize that if, in reality, we ever did meet, the chances of us both being attracted to eachother are very slim (because really, human chemistry is so un-predicatble);
And I realize that yes, I am incredibly lazy and should probably attempt to meet more people who are more easily accessible... ones that say, live within the same state, or hey, even the same city!
I realize all these things, and yet, I can't help but like someone I barely even know, someone I've never actually met.
So what is my problem? Am I just so fed up with being rejected that even thinking about getting to know someone else is exhausting? I don't really think so...
But maybe, just like so many other girls with their romance-novels, or sappy movies, or... umm, Twilight anything... I simply wanted to experience something fictional for a while. To believe I was falling for someone who could be (nearly) perfect, if only for the reason that he did not exist in my real life. Maybe it is easier to fall in love with someone when you don't have all the facts... when you don't have to deal with/adore all their little idiosyncricies... when you don't have to learn to communicate with them in a way you can both understand... when they can't see you, and all your finer flaws. Maybe, just maybe, fake love is a viable way to exercise real passion... a passion that I quite honestly have no other outlet for.
But then, wouldn't it be nice to be able to kiss someone I could actually feel?
There has recently been a rather shocking development in the land of The Weirdo (i.e. me)... one with so much inexplicable importance that it simply MUST be documented. This phenomenon, as it is now like to be called, is nothing other than a very big BLOG-CRUSH. That's right, you heard it here first... blog-crush mania is sweeping the nation (as well as all the other nations, I assume) and I have been unable to escape its steely grasp! Finally succumbing to the inevitable lure of a love that dare not speak its name (no, not that love, the other one... no, not that one either... Ah, forget it!) I have found myself imprisoned in the chaotic mess of my own head.... again.
But wait a minute, didn't you just have a fake relationship?! Like a second ago? Didn't it end badly?! Yes, yes I did... and it did. Basically yes to all three. But wait! This is different! And here's why:
1. I do not know the BBC in real life (Ack, terrible! Sorry, British Broadcasting Corp!) This means that,
a) I cannot make a total fool of myself by making inappropriate advances in inappropriate places (not that I ever did that, I swear)... I can however make inappropriate advances on Twitter... which I do, like, all the time. (No valley-girl jokes, please!)
and
b) There was never any real need to decide whether or not I should tell him... So, I "told him" right away. I mean really, what's going to happen? Worst case scenario - he's totally creeped-out and I simply stop Twittering. (Did that make anyone else think of the word "twitterpated"? No? No one has seen "Bambi"? Okay...)
2. The fact that all the flirting will lead to nothing is already well-established, because... well... he lives really far away! Also, the flirting has been relatively tame. Which means that,
a) We don't have any fake children... yet. (Fake children are disastrous for many reasons... but mainly I'm just glad not to have to carry around that fake diaper-bag anymore. God, that thing was monstrous!)
and
b) I feel absolutely no need to decipher between flirtatious texts (i.e. "Does this mean the usual makeup sex?", etc.) and the probability that he actually wants to go in the back room and make out. Wonderful.
I know what you're thinking,
Right, having a blog-crush is fine. But you're clearly insane. Do you realize there are other live humans right outside who you could actually... I don't know... have a conversation with?!
And yes, I do realize that...
I realize that I am cultivating an attraction which can only go to waste;
I realize that if, in reality, we ever did meet, the chances of us both being attracted to eachother are very slim (because really, human chemistry is so un-predicatble);
And I realize that yes, I am incredibly lazy and should probably attempt to meet more people who are more easily accessible... ones that say, live within the same state, or hey, even the same city!
I realize all these things, and yet, I can't help but like someone I barely even know, someone I've never actually met.
So what is my problem? Am I just so fed up with being rejected that even thinking about getting to know someone else is exhausting? I don't really think so...
But maybe, just like so many other girls with their romance-novels, or sappy movies, or... umm, Twilight anything... I simply wanted to experience something fictional for a while. To believe I was falling for someone who could be (nearly) perfect, if only for the reason that he did not exist in my real life. Maybe it is easier to fall in love with someone when you don't have all the facts... when you don't have to deal with/adore all their little idiosyncricies... when you don't have to learn to communicate with them in a way you can both understand... when they can't see you, and all your finer flaws. Maybe, just maybe, fake love is a viable way to exercise real passion... a passion that I quite honestly have no other outlet for.
But then, wouldn't it be nice to be able to kiss someone I could actually feel?
Kiss Me, I'm (Kind Of) Irish!
St. Patrick's day is a wonderful day, if only for the reason that it is one of those many holidays in which hoards of people get together to celebrate something with a meaning they don't quite understand. Even in this sleepy little town (read: small city in Northern CA), people will be seen wearing head-to-toe green and ungodly amounts of garish $3 beads, will drink unheard of amounts of green beer, and be altogether loud and obnoxious. Why? Because this is a holy day, and one must behave accordingly!
I can still remember the relative madness inspired by St. Patrick's day whilst in middle school (7th and 8th grades), even though (hopefully) the excitement really had nothing to do with drinking until near-death. In this case, it was just nice to have ANYTHING to celebrate... and of course, there were plenty of middle-schoolers who thrilled at the idea of making everything green... including their hair (looking back, the green-madness might've actually been kind of fun!) But the one thing that really bugged me about this particular holiday wasn't the obsessive re-wardrobing or the frenzy it inspired in my fellow class-mates (can I say fellow classmates if I'm not a fellow? Or if all my classmates weren't fellows?)... it was the fact that on this particular day it was suddenly "cool" to be Irish.
Now before I come off sounding like a hate all Irish people, you should know that this is very much not the case, my only real problem with the sudden fascination was that people who weren't Irish the day before suddenly became Irish on this one day. My most vivid memory of this insanity was when my then-best friend, being inspired by a sudden flurry of enthusiasm, proudly declared to all our friends (and, I'm assuming, anyone else who would listen) that she was "1% Irish." I mean really, 1%? That would be like if you went into a job interview and told the hiring manager you were 1% qualified for the job... it's just not going to happen! I feel bad though, because clearly, she just wanted to be kissed...
I can still remember the relative madness inspired by St. Patrick's day whilst in middle school (7th and 8th grades), even though (hopefully) the excitement really had nothing to do with drinking until near-death. In this case, it was just nice to have ANYTHING to celebrate... and of course, there were plenty of middle-schoolers who thrilled at the idea of making everything green... including their hair (looking back, the green-madness might've actually been kind of fun!) But the one thing that really bugged me about this particular holiday wasn't the obsessive re-wardrobing or the frenzy it inspired in my fellow class-mates (can I say fellow classmates if I'm not a fellow? Or if all my classmates weren't fellows?)... it was the fact that on this particular day it was suddenly "cool" to be Irish.
Now before I come off sounding like a hate all Irish people, you should know that this is very much not the case, my only real problem with the sudden fascination was that people who weren't Irish the day before suddenly became Irish on this one day. My most vivid memory of this insanity was when my then-best friend, being inspired by a sudden flurry of enthusiasm, proudly declared to all our friends (and, I'm assuming, anyone else who would listen) that she was "1% Irish." I mean really, 1%? That would be like if you went into a job interview and told the hiring manager you were 1% qualified for the job... it's just not going to happen! I feel bad though, because clearly, she just wanted to be kissed...
Sunday, March 15, 2009
I Heart Sundays
Sitting here with my cup of coffee (in a mug with a picture of mounties on it, how cool is that?), I am filled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude towards my manager, who did not schedule me for work today!
For those of you "in the know", I did have work with The Coworker yesterday... and thankfully, I did not make a complete and utter fool of myself. (I'd already taken care of that little feat last Saturday!)
Everything was, in fact, pretty normal. He was charming, and smiling, and slightly antagonistic, as always. I was smart, and laughing (not constantly, obviously, as that would've been cause for concern... and immediate psychiatric attention), and as friendly as I reasonably could be without reminding either of us of the events which caused the other events (i.e. my un-requited confession, caused by excessive text-message flirting.) Things got a little awkward once or twice, when I mistakenly let things go quiet, and was sure we were both remembering that which we would've been ever-so-fortunate to forget.
Oh, and I was dying. I'd literally (not figuratively) had zero hours of sleep that night, and at one point I felt I was in serious danger of falling down and smashing my head against the hard-wood floor. Luckily I did not fall, and in fact was allowed to leave EARLY since there were an unnecessary number of employees in the store.
In the morning, the zero hours sleep had translated into giddy hyper-hysterics enhanced to the enth degree by Stevie Wonder and LOTS of coffee. In the afternoon, however, my giddiness disintegrated and was replaced by a sleepy, grey colored mood... which in turn inspired this poem which I wrote on the bus. And then I got REALLY serious, thought about my life in terms of what was missing (which I absolutely do not recommend, by the way,) and after getting home from listening to some very good/very sad music, wrote this "song" (is it a song if there's no music?)
And so today, a day in which I am responsible for nothing, I am doing nothing. Yay, nothing! Yay, laziness! Yay, life!
In other news, SNL is officially good again! So say I, so says everyone (I don't know.)
Stay tuned for my future (read: better) blog post, in which I blog about: my blog crush (!), Mr. Tilney (Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen), and the similarities between the two. (Preview: "they're both charming and
they're both fictional!")
That's right, you are now fictitious, consider it a compliment.
For those of you "in the know", I did have work with The Coworker yesterday... and thankfully, I did not make a complete and utter fool of myself. (I'd already taken care of that little feat last Saturday!)
Everything was, in fact, pretty normal. He was charming, and smiling, and slightly antagonistic, as always. I was smart, and laughing (not constantly, obviously, as that would've been cause for concern... and immediate psychiatric attention), and as friendly as I reasonably could be without reminding either of us of the events which caused the other events (i.e. my un-requited confession, caused by excessive text-message flirting.) Things got a little awkward once or twice, when I mistakenly let things go quiet, and was sure we were both remembering that which we would've been ever-so-fortunate to forget.
Oh, and I was dying. I'd literally (not figuratively) had zero hours of sleep that night, and at one point I felt I was in serious danger of falling down and smashing my head against the hard-wood floor. Luckily I did not fall, and in fact was allowed to leave EARLY since there were an unnecessary number of employees in the store.
In the morning, the zero hours sleep had translated into giddy hyper-hysterics enhanced to the enth degree by Stevie Wonder and LOTS of coffee. In the afternoon, however, my giddiness disintegrated and was replaced by a sleepy, grey colored mood... which in turn inspired this poem which I wrote on the bus. And then I got REALLY serious, thought about my life in terms of what was missing (which I absolutely do not recommend, by the way,) and after getting home from listening to some very good/very sad music, wrote this "song" (is it a song if there's no music?)
And so today, a day in which I am responsible for nothing, I am doing nothing. Yay, nothing! Yay, laziness! Yay, life!
In other news, SNL is officially good again! So say I, so says everyone (I don't know.)
Stay tuned for my future (read: better) blog post, in which I blog about: my blog crush (!), Mr. Tilney (Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen), and the similarities between the two. (Preview: "they're both charming and
they're both fictional!")
That's right, you are now fictitious, consider it a compliment.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Because
Wretched and sleepless
Alone in illusions
Of every dream I've ever crafted
In my tiny little bed
Wondering if I do these things on purpose
So I can stay alone
Romance is best in fiction
So I'm told
So I will fictionalize everyone
And live in lands which swallow me
And leave me in illusions
Warm in my own dreams
Because no one wants to be loved anymore
Just worshipped and adored
Because love requires a kind of suicide
A self-sacrifice of sorts
Because I'm better off just on my own, on my own
Or so I'm told
Give me your hand,
I want to hold on
To someone who says they're real
To someone with a heart
That still beats
Still beats
And wishes for better things
And we could be happy
Pretending, forever, never-ending
Just pretending
Because no one wants to be loved anymore
Just worshipped and adored
Because love requires a kind of suicide
A self-sacrifice of sorts
Because I am better on my own, on my own
Or so I'm told
Alone in illusions
Of every dream I've ever crafted
In my tiny little bed
Wondering if I do these things on purpose
So I can stay alone
Romance is best in fiction
So I'm told
So I will fictionalize everyone
And live in lands which swallow me
And leave me in illusions
Warm in my own dreams
Because no one wants to be loved anymore
Just worshipped and adored
Because love requires a kind of suicide
A self-sacrifice of sorts
Because I'm better off just on my own, on my own
Or so I'm told
Give me your hand,
I want to hold on
To someone who says they're real
To someone with a heart
That still beats
Still beats
And wishes for better things
And we could be happy
Pretending, forever, never-ending
Just pretending
Because no one wants to be loved anymore
Just worshipped and adored
Because love requires a kind of suicide
A self-sacrifice of sorts
Because I am better on my own, on my own
Or so I'm told
My Sunglasses Make the World Seem Grey
There is a sign in my town that's been there for a while; it reads, "Now Open: Lunch Buffet." It's blowing in the wind and a corner has fallen down.
There are two men walking side-by-side, dressed almost the same. The colors they wear are different, but the articles are twins.
He looked at me today, his eyes were wandering down. I didn't mind the compliment, but I resented it just the same.
The bus driver's talking politics. I wish that he would stop. he's pretending to understand socialism, I want to pop him one.
I've had many erotic fantasies whilst riding on the bus. Is it a metaphor for my life, or just an effect of the vibrations I felt?
I liked someone at a gaming store, I thought he liked me back. He said he wanted to "get in my panties" (gross), I messaged him something angry back.
I don't need someone who fulfills a list, just someone I like a lot. Maybe when I find this person, they will really want me back.
Or maybe I will just be riding this bus, forever moving between two points, losing sleep over someone I've never even met.
There are two men walking side-by-side, dressed almost the same. The colors they wear are different, but the articles are twins.
He looked at me today, his eyes were wandering down. I didn't mind the compliment, but I resented it just the same.
The bus driver's talking politics. I wish that he would stop. he's pretending to understand socialism, I want to pop him one.
I've had many erotic fantasies whilst riding on the bus. Is it a metaphor for my life, or just an effect of the vibrations I felt?
I liked someone at a gaming store, I thought he liked me back. He said he wanted to "get in my panties" (gross), I messaged him something angry back.
I don't need someone who fulfills a list, just someone I like a lot. Maybe when I find this person, they will really want me back.
Or maybe I will just be riding this bus, forever moving between two points, losing sleep over someone I've never even met.
The Un-Awkward Silence
I know a few people who feel the need to keep conversation flowing at all times, and for whom silence is significantly unbearable.
I am not one of those people.
For me, being silent around someone only means that the need for speech has ceased. And that's a good thing, because (a lot of times) that means that you are comfortable enough around that person to let things go quiet.
However, sometimes silence can be unnerving... even for me. One of those times might very well be coming to me with undeniable force this weekend... or rather, tomorrow... which is really today. (Crap, 1:44am and my brain is still fully awake!)
Tomorrow I get to work with The Coworker for the first time since last weekend. Which is when I told him that I liked him. Bad idea. Now I am going to have to find some way to dance around the subject for three strait hours whilst feeling horribly awkward and more than a little embarrassed. That's a lot of dancing.
In reality, I'm really not as nervous about it as I was a few days ago. (Something about using an online flirtation to work through rejection issues.) But I am still a little worried.
For one thing, how much do I hate giant pink elephants that you're not allowed to talk about even though they are every second threatening to sit on your head? A lot. When an elephant is in the room, I like to be able to point it out, give it a name, and discuss the likelihood of it's making a stinking mess in the course of an hour. I do not like pretending it isn't there when we both know it is. However, as bringing it up might just make things even more awkward for the both of us, silence might be the only reasonable alternative.
And this kind of silence does not imply comfort.
I am not one of those people.
For me, being silent around someone only means that the need for speech has ceased. And that's a good thing, because (a lot of times) that means that you are comfortable enough around that person to let things go quiet.
However, sometimes silence can be unnerving... even for me. One of those times might very well be coming to me with undeniable force this weekend... or rather, tomorrow... which is really today. (Crap, 1:44am and my brain is still fully awake!)
Tomorrow I get to work with The Coworker for the first time since last weekend. Which is when I told him that I liked him. Bad idea. Now I am going to have to find some way to dance around the subject for three strait hours whilst feeling horribly awkward and more than a little embarrassed. That's a lot of dancing.
In reality, I'm really not as nervous about it as I was a few days ago. (Something about using an online flirtation to work through rejection issues.) But I am still a little worried.
For one thing, how much do I hate giant pink elephants that you're not allowed to talk about even though they are every second threatening to sit on your head? A lot. When an elephant is in the room, I like to be able to point it out, give it a name, and discuss the likelihood of it's making a stinking mess in the course of an hour. I do not like pretending it isn't there when we both know it is. However, as bringing it up might just make things even more awkward for the both of us, silence might be the only reasonable alternative.
And this kind of silence does not imply comfort.
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