Put those shoes away
And stay
A while
Get comfortable;
Keyword: ABLE
Chill.
Smile!
Drop those pictures
Of the prior fixture
1, denial.
Trade in the matches
For kisses
Splenda style
And have a seat
If you please.
Last word?
Worthwhile.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Monday, June 11, 2007
Let me see you out.
It's a beautiful spring morning; the temperature just right. She stands alone in a breeze that's almost stiff enough to cause a chill, but not quite.
Her tiny hand clutches a ribbon that leads up to a single red balloon. It moves in sync with her pigtails in the wind.
She grasps tightly to her coveted possession while struggling internally with the decision to hold on or let go. If she holds on, she can own it forever with no need to keep its memory alive, though it will never look the same. If she lets go, she can watch delightedly from the ground as the wind sweeps it away high above the tree-tops, into the sky, becoming smaller and smaller until it is just a distant red dot; then nothing.
The wind picks up. She tightens her grip and holds on until her tiny hand hurts. She struggles to keep a fist. The battle continues as her strength subsides. She rethinks her options as her tiny hand cramps.
She can't hold on any longer. The wind immediately takes hold of the single red balloon and whisks it away into the distance. She watches from the ground; half smiling, half crying. She holds her tiny hand up to shield her eyes from the sun. The single red balloon drifts further and further into the distance until it is merely a red dot; then nothing.
And then, life goes on.
Whatever did you come here for?
You've over-stayed your welcome.
Let me see you out.
Her tiny hand clutches a ribbon that leads up to a single red balloon. It moves in sync with her pigtails in the wind.
She grasps tightly to her coveted possession while struggling internally with the decision to hold on or let go. If she holds on, she can own it forever with no need to keep its memory alive, though it will never look the same. If she lets go, she can watch delightedly from the ground as the wind sweeps it away high above the tree-tops, into the sky, becoming smaller and smaller until it is just a distant red dot; then nothing.
The wind picks up. She tightens her grip and holds on until her tiny hand hurts. She struggles to keep a fist. The battle continues as her strength subsides. She rethinks her options as her tiny hand cramps.
She can't hold on any longer. The wind immediately takes hold of the single red balloon and whisks it away into the distance. She watches from the ground; half smiling, half crying. She holds her tiny hand up to shield her eyes from the sun. The single red balloon drifts further and further into the distance until it is merely a red dot; then nothing.
And then, life goes on.
Whatever did you come here for?
You've over-stayed your welcome.
Let me see you out.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Were Zach and A.C. friends?
Originally written 10/16/06
Anyone who knows me understands that my thought process contains no apparent logic. That is to say that I think and say the most random shit at any given time. Consequently, while brushing my teeth this morning I was wondering about the relationship obetween any 20-something female's two favorite childhood hunks: Zach Morris and A.C. (Albert Clifford) Slater.
While they rolled in the same gang, I couldn't help but wonder if they were actually friends or not. They went to high school together, they went on vacations together, they worked the same summer jobs, played on the same teams, schemed in the same scenarios and even attended the same college. However, there seemed to always be some sort of rivalry between them, especially when it came to their feverish vying for the affections of the lovely and talented head cheerleader, Kelly Kapowski.
Is it possible to really be close with someone who is in love with the same person as you? I mean, look around your own clique... would you say you have the same taste in opposite sex as your, say, best friend for example? I don't and I certainly can't think of a period when my type matched the type of the female closest to me at the time.
Coincidence? Perhaps, but looking at Zach and A.C., I find it difficult to believe that two people, especially 2 alpha males, can co-exist in such a close-knit environment sans serious animosity. Wouldn't it eventaully spur anger and jealously? If they weren't all the coolest kids in the school which required that they hang out with one another and if circumstances had been different, what would have become of their friendship?
Were they actually friends? Is it possible even in real life? These are the important questions we must be asking ourselves...
Anyone who knows me understands that my thought process contains no apparent logic. That is to say that I think and say the most random shit at any given time. Consequently, while brushing my teeth this morning I was wondering about the relationship obetween any 20-something female's two favorite childhood hunks: Zach Morris and A.C. (Albert Clifford) Slater.
While they rolled in the same gang, I couldn't help but wonder if they were actually friends or not. They went to high school together, they went on vacations together, they worked the same summer jobs, played on the same teams, schemed in the same scenarios and even attended the same college. However, there seemed to always be some sort of rivalry between them, especially when it came to their feverish vying for the affections of the lovely and talented head cheerleader, Kelly Kapowski.
Is it possible to really be close with someone who is in love with the same person as you? I mean, look around your own clique... would you say you have the same taste in opposite sex as your, say, best friend for example? I don't and I certainly can't think of a period when my type matched the type of the female closest to me at the time.
Coincidence? Perhaps, but looking at Zach and A.C., I find it difficult to believe that two people, especially 2 alpha males, can co-exist in such a close-knit environment sans serious animosity. Wouldn't it eventaully spur anger and jealously? If they weren't all the coolest kids in the school which required that they hang out with one another and if circumstances had been different, what would have become of their friendship?
Were they actually friends? Is it possible even in real life? These are the important questions we must be asking ourselves...
Licking eyeballs as a function of sexual purity.
Originally written 10/17/06
So, I’m a graduate student now :::GASP::: Yes, some idiot let me in. This makes me feel as though I should 1.) be more mature than the undergraduates and 2.) make more poignant statements than them. However, I see a problem with both thoughts: 1.) I’m not and 2.) I don’t.
Granted I’ve only got a year or 2 on these kids, but anyone who has graduated understands the world of difference between being 23 and out of school and 22 and a senior still. Those in Del Rossi’s gross anatomy class understand my (and others’…) maturity, or lack thereof. In our defense, the word “penis” is funny at any age.
At any rate, last week Del Rossi mentioned something about what happens when damage to a certain nerve occurs. I won’t bore you with the details, mainly because I have no idea what I’m talking about, but when cranial nerve V (correct me if I’m wrong) incurs trauma you lose the ability to blink. Immediately, I blurted out, “Yeah, then someone will be able to lick your eyeball.”
Allow me to take this opportunity to explain why this makes sense.
Don’t you guys remember those quizzes you used to take as an undergrad at your computer? Sparknotes.com? Okcupid.com? Well, I distinctly remember one of these was a purity test and one of the questions was, “Has anyone ever licked your eyeball?” The reason I remember this so clearly is because the kids at Penn were such incredible overachievers that they would try to look for ways to even boost their purity scores! Needless to say, I know a handful of people who have had their eyeballs licked.
While indeed I am random and usually make no sense at all (to other people), in this case I actually did. I’m upset that both my classmates and professor, understanding my lack of order, didn’t realize there was more to my statement.
Screw you all.
So, I’m a graduate student now :::GASP::: Yes, some idiot let me in. This makes me feel as though I should 1.) be more mature than the undergraduates and 2.) make more poignant statements than them. However, I see a problem with both thoughts: 1.) I’m not and 2.) I don’t.
Granted I’ve only got a year or 2 on these kids, but anyone who has graduated understands the world of difference between being 23 and out of school and 22 and a senior still. Those in Del Rossi’s gross anatomy class understand my (and others’…) maturity, or lack thereof. In our defense, the word “penis” is funny at any age.
At any rate, last week Del Rossi mentioned something about what happens when damage to a certain nerve occurs. I won’t bore you with the details, mainly because I have no idea what I’m talking about, but when cranial nerve V (correct me if I’m wrong) incurs trauma you lose the ability to blink. Immediately, I blurted out, “Yeah, then someone will be able to lick your eyeball.”
Allow me to take this opportunity to explain why this makes sense.
Don’t you guys remember those quizzes you used to take as an undergrad at your computer? Sparknotes.com? Okcupid.com? Well, I distinctly remember one of these was a purity test and one of the questions was, “Has anyone ever licked your eyeball?” The reason I remember this so clearly is because the kids at Penn were such incredible overachievers that they would try to look for ways to even boost their purity scores! Needless to say, I know a handful of people who have had their eyeballs licked.
While indeed I am random and usually make no sense at all (to other people), in this case I actually did. I’m upset that both my classmates and professor, understanding my lack of order, didn’t realize there was more to my statement.
Screw you all.
Icon or Iconoclast? Celebrity throughout our ages.
Originally written 10/20/06
Being in our early 20s, we're now at the age when we've been alive long enough to witness the progression of basically a generation of celebrities. We're from the era of children who were raised on TV and TV tag; that is an equal proportion of media and the outdoors. While children today are being raised exclusively with technology, I feel as though we have a better grasp of reality.
This leads me to my first question: What the fuck has happened to our favorite celebrities? I was never into tabloids before VH1 recently over-took, some would say destroyed, my life and now I'm completely entranced by the seemingly endless changes in celebrities who were once picture-perfect icons.
Today, I ask you, "Icon or iconoclast?"
Tom Cruise
Here's a guy who was once the poster-child for Hollywood. He can now be seen on morning talk shows psycho-babbling about things he knows nothing of and calling people "glib", on daytime TV jumping on couches while professing his love for someone half his age and on magazine covers with his co-stars in life, Katie and Suri. Tom, do you even know the origin of Scientology?!?!
Brad Pitt
Once dubbed "The Sexiest Man Alive," I feel as though Angelina Jolie has transformed our favorite stud into an egotistical recluse. Both the quantity and quality of Brad's recent films have plummeted and, aside from baby-making, the most we've heard of Brad include the following: 1.) He was quoted as saying that he would not marry Angelina Jolie until it was legal for homosexuals to marry and 2.) issues regarding Hurricane Katrina relief. While both are noble efforts :::cough:::, who the fuck do you think you are?! Oh Brad, I long for your Jackass days again...
Britney Spears
What took Tom and Brad 10-20 years to ruin, Britney accomplished in just 5 short years. When I was in high school, she was "IT"; guys wanted her and girls wanted to be her. Suddenly, the cracks began to show after her much publicized split from my personal fav, Mr. JT (what you got for me?). Rumors of heavy smoking, drinking, partying and late-night dance-offs in hot LA nightclubs swirled. She got married randomly in Vegas and then she got married randomly in real life, which was the beginning of the end because someone said, "Let there be 'Chaotic.'" And now, she has dark hair, a white trash lifestyle and 1,000,000,000.3874 babies.
I can totally understand why reality shows like "Breaking Bonaduce" are wildly popular. They completely exploit not the icon, but the iconoclast. We have these images in our heads from childhood that stick with us throughout our lives. When what we've known deviates from what we're seeing, it's like sensory input overload (i.e. pure devastation).
What I guess I'm saying is that we really need to promote the cultivation and development of some really great publish relations people so that our children won't feel the same devastation we feel when a childhood icon goes from just that to an adulthood iconoclast.
Being in our early 20s, we're now at the age when we've been alive long enough to witness the progression of basically a generation of celebrities. We're from the era of children who were raised on TV and TV tag; that is an equal proportion of media and the outdoors. While children today are being raised exclusively with technology, I feel as though we have a better grasp of reality.
This leads me to my first question: What the fuck has happened to our favorite celebrities? I was never into tabloids before VH1 recently over-took, some would say destroyed, my life and now I'm completely entranced by the seemingly endless changes in celebrities who were once picture-perfect icons.
Today, I ask you, "Icon or iconoclast?"
Tom Cruise
Here's a guy who was once the poster-child for Hollywood. He can now be seen on morning talk shows psycho-babbling about things he knows nothing of and calling people "glib", on daytime TV jumping on couches while professing his love for someone half his age and on magazine covers with his co-stars in life, Katie and Suri. Tom, do you even know the origin of Scientology?!?!
Brad Pitt
Once dubbed "The Sexiest Man Alive," I feel as though Angelina Jolie has transformed our favorite stud into an egotistical recluse. Both the quantity and quality of Brad's recent films have plummeted and, aside from baby-making, the most we've heard of Brad include the following: 1.) He was quoted as saying that he would not marry Angelina Jolie until it was legal for homosexuals to marry and 2.) issues regarding Hurricane Katrina relief. While both are noble efforts :::cough:::, who the fuck do you think you are?! Oh Brad, I long for your Jackass days again...
Britney Spears
What took Tom and Brad 10-20 years to ruin, Britney accomplished in just 5 short years. When I was in high school, she was "IT"; guys wanted her and girls wanted to be her. Suddenly, the cracks began to show after her much publicized split from my personal fav, Mr. JT (what you got for me?). Rumors of heavy smoking, drinking, partying and late-night dance-offs in hot LA nightclubs swirled. She got married randomly in Vegas and then she got married randomly in real life, which was the beginning of the end because someone said, "Let there be 'Chaotic.'" And now, she has dark hair, a white trash lifestyle and 1,000,000,000.3874 babies.
I can totally understand why reality shows like "Breaking Bonaduce" are wildly popular. They completely exploit not the icon, but the iconoclast. We have these images in our heads from childhood that stick with us throughout our lives. When what we've known deviates from what we're seeing, it's like sensory input overload (i.e. pure devastation).
What I guess I'm saying is that we really need to promote the cultivation and development of some really great publish relations people so that our children won't feel the same devastation we feel when a childhood icon goes from just that to an adulthood iconoclast.
"Judge with Budge": Love homeostasis
Originally written 10/27/06
In honor of my upcoming exam in neuromuscular prescription, I will be using positive and negative feedback mechanisms of the body to demonstrate my take on how singles judge whether or not they want to begin/pursue a relationship with another person. This is mainly because I'm an incredible loser and any attempts to flood my inbox to discourage the idea will be futile.
First off, I will begin by giving a brief overview of feedback mechanisms and their components which are tools in homeostatic environments. Positive feedback is when the final response perpetuates more of the same. Negative feedback is when the final response is in opposition to the initial stimulus. Servomechanisms provide information on the current status of a system and are fed back in to help regulate.
Secondly, all information in the preceding paragraph is probably incorrect.
Finally, I will take this opportunity to explain how this relates to love. I recently created a "Judge With Budge" theory to relationships and it goes as follows: The more you are willing to compromise what you want most for another person (your "budge") is directly proportional to your interest in him/her (your "judge").
To put this in the context of real life I will give an example. In college I got into the habit of not going out on week nights which carried into the real world with my full-time job. I had to get up early and was not willing to compromise a good night's sleep for a good night on the town. Then, I met someone who used to keep me out until 3 AM on week nights when I had to be up at 8 the next morning. My interest in him made me budge from what I really wanted.
The aforementioned example could be classified as positive feedback. The time spent with the mother fucker only caused me to hang out with him even more. The servomechanisms could be defined as attractive qualities. My interest in his personality, sense of humor and good-looks told me that I wanted to continue spending time with him.
For an example of negative feedback, I will give you... hmmmm, so many to choose from! Let's take this guy from work who asks me to marry him at least twice a week. The more he continues to hassle me for a relationship, the more I want him to stay the fuck away from me. The servomechanisms in this instance would be his sheer desperation and inability to hear what I'm saying ("NO!") amongst MANY others.
Now that I've released my "Judge With Budge" theory, I shall discuss application. My suggestion based on the theory would be to never budge too quickly because then you end up pretending to be someone you're not by compromising who you are. Also, make sure you clearly define your servomechanisms and be conscious that they're beneficial, not detrimental.
In closing, relationship building is nothing more than a homeostatic environment controlled by feedback mechanisms. Now that I've got the physiology all figured out, all I have to do is work on the chemistry...
In honor of my upcoming exam in neuromuscular prescription, I will be using positive and negative feedback mechanisms of the body to demonstrate my take on how singles judge whether or not they want to begin/pursue a relationship with another person. This is mainly because I'm an incredible loser and any attempts to flood my inbox to discourage the idea will be futile.
First off, I will begin by giving a brief overview of feedback mechanisms and their components which are tools in homeostatic environments. Positive feedback is when the final response perpetuates more of the same. Negative feedback is when the final response is in opposition to the initial stimulus. Servomechanisms provide information on the current status of a system and are fed back in to help regulate.
Secondly, all information in the preceding paragraph is probably incorrect.
Finally, I will take this opportunity to explain how this relates to love. I recently created a "Judge With Budge" theory to relationships and it goes as follows: The more you are willing to compromise what you want most for another person (your "budge") is directly proportional to your interest in him/her (your "judge").
To put this in the context of real life I will give an example. In college I got into the habit of not going out on week nights which carried into the real world with my full-time job. I had to get up early and was not willing to compromise a good night's sleep for a good night on the town. Then, I met someone who used to keep me out until 3 AM on week nights when I had to be up at 8 the next morning. My interest in him made me budge from what I really wanted.
The aforementioned example could be classified as positive feedback. The time spent with the mother fucker only caused me to hang out with him even more. The servomechanisms could be defined as attractive qualities. My interest in his personality, sense of humor and good-looks told me that I wanted to continue spending time with him.
For an example of negative feedback, I will give you... hmmmm, so many to choose from! Let's take this guy from work who asks me to marry him at least twice a week. The more he continues to hassle me for a relationship, the more I want him to stay the fuck away from me. The servomechanisms in this instance would be his sheer desperation and inability to hear what I'm saying ("NO!") amongst MANY others.
Now that I've released my "Judge With Budge" theory, I shall discuss application. My suggestion based on the theory would be to never budge too quickly because then you end up pretending to be someone you're not by compromising who you are. Also, make sure you clearly define your servomechanisms and be conscious that they're beneficial, not detrimental.
In closing, relationship building is nothing more than a homeostatic environment controlled by feedback mechanisms. Now that I've got the physiology all figured out, all I have to do is work on the chemistry...
Why -->this girl<-- ignored him
Originally written 11/15/06
So Lee, as I was telling you on the phone last night/this morning, I met this guy at the gym. I thought he was cute and when he asked for my number I saw no harm. We began getting to know each other through phone conversation which is when he first tricked me into believing he was normal.
We decided to meet up one night and he picked me up at my house. I got in the car, we greeted and it was all downhill from there. Immediately, he blasted the radio and started singing really bad R&B tunes at the top of his lungs. He was not good... In fact, he was terrible.
So much for the "get to know you" portion. It was about this time that I desperately looked for the cameras thinking that I was possibly on an ambush version of "Blind Date."
After what seemed like a 50 year car ride (it was only 5 minutes) we arrived at the restaurant and were seated. *Cue the awkward silence. I kind of just sat there and looked around while he said nothing. Finally, I just said, "So, want to like ask me questions or have a conversation?"
To that he responded, "Sure." *Cue awkward silence again, this time with intermittent "ummms" and "uhhs" because conversing is so absolutely difficult. After about 2-3 minutes of this he asks, "If you could change any 2 things about yourself, what would they be and why?" What?! What kind of first date question is that? Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if it didn't roll into incessant chit-chat about his ex-girlfriend, but I don't know these things.
I rushed through my food alone, seeing as to how he ordered nothing. I wrapped up the remains and we got back in his car. When both doors were closed he mentioned something about the smell of onions emanating from my doggie bag. He reached into his back seat and sprayed it with air freshener. Yeah, air freshener on my food.
At this point, I was completely checked-out of the date, and all this only in the time span of about 30-45 minutes! On the drive back home, I did as Alicia does and burped. Had I been into him it wouldn't have happened, but I really didn't care AT ALL. He handed me a bottle of Scope (the he had in his CAR) and goes, "Here, use this."
"What for," I asked, confused.
"Because I might want to kiss you later."
I threw the bottle at him and cursed him out a little bit. We got to my house and I couldn't get out of that damn car fast enough. I was just stepping into my room my cell rang... it was him.
"I just wanted to let you know that I had a really great time and I can't wait to see you again."
What the fuck date was this ass clown on?! And like I told you during our convo, he called me about 5 times after that, and I didn't respond to one. He left the token desperation message: "In case you haven't called me back because you lost/broke your phone, here's my phone number..."
So, naturally when he found me on MySpace 2 months later, you can see why I ignored him when he asked me if he wasn't my type. Am I still a bitch?
So Lee, as I was telling you on the phone last night/this morning, I met this guy at the gym. I thought he was cute and when he asked for my number I saw no harm. We began getting to know each other through phone conversation which is when he first tricked me into believing he was normal.
We decided to meet up one night and he picked me up at my house. I got in the car, we greeted and it was all downhill from there. Immediately, he blasted the radio and started singing really bad R&B tunes at the top of his lungs. He was not good... In fact, he was terrible.
So much for the "get to know you" portion. It was about this time that I desperately looked for the cameras thinking that I was possibly on an ambush version of "Blind Date."
After what seemed like a 50 year car ride (it was only 5 minutes) we arrived at the restaurant and were seated. *Cue the awkward silence. I kind of just sat there and looked around while he said nothing. Finally, I just said, "So, want to like ask me questions or have a conversation?"
To that he responded, "Sure." *Cue awkward silence again, this time with intermittent "ummms" and "uhhs" because conversing is so absolutely difficult. After about 2-3 minutes of this he asks, "If you could change any 2 things about yourself, what would they be and why?" What?! What kind of first date question is that? Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if it didn't roll into incessant chit-chat about his ex-girlfriend, but I don't know these things.
I rushed through my food alone, seeing as to how he ordered nothing. I wrapped up the remains and we got back in his car. When both doors were closed he mentioned something about the smell of onions emanating from my doggie bag. He reached into his back seat and sprayed it with air freshener. Yeah, air freshener on my food.
At this point, I was completely checked-out of the date, and all this only in the time span of about 30-45 minutes! On the drive back home, I did as Alicia does and burped. Had I been into him it wouldn't have happened, but I really didn't care AT ALL. He handed me a bottle of Scope (the he had in his CAR) and goes, "Here, use this."
"What for," I asked, confused.
"Because I might want to kiss you later."
I threw the bottle at him and cursed him out a little bit. We got to my house and I couldn't get out of that damn car fast enough. I was just stepping into my room my cell rang... it was him.
"I just wanted to let you know that I had a really great time and I can't wait to see you again."
What the fuck date was this ass clown on?! And like I told you during our convo, he called me about 5 times after that, and I didn't respond to one. He left the token desperation message: "In case you haven't called me back because you lost/broke your phone, here's my phone number..."
So, naturally when he found me on MySpace 2 months later, you can see why I ignored him when he asked me if he wasn't my type. Am I still a bitch?
The end of 23
Originally written 12/4/06
I'm nearing the end of my tenure as a 23 year-old and I'm not sure how I feel about it. Because of recent interviews I've had to revamp my resume and it seems lacking. Perhaps I believed that I'd have accomplished more by now.
As a teenager I was a chronic over-achiever. Looking at my resume when I was 19 or 21 seems much more impressive than it does now. I can't help but be somewhat disappointed for not having continued the trend, but I guess it's unreasonable to believe that my exponential growth wouldn't plateau eventually, as most things often do.
Nearing the eve of my 24th birthday, I can't help but wonder what the future has in store for me. There's nothing I can do other than continue pushing forward with the hope that my work ethic will make up for my apparently dissipating talents. I thought I was destined for greatness at a young age.
This getting older stuff is bullshit. It makes you all retrospective, introspective, aggrospective... 24 doesn't represent an age at this point; it represents frustration. While I have many things to be thankful for I guess I just wish I had more. By more I mean no debt, someone to share in debtlessness with, a place to call my own, a career; things that adults have.
I believe this all to be a function of my impatience... of my need to have everything done and done perfectly yesterday. I have so many ideas of who I want to be and what I want to do, but it's like I'm sitting in 6th grade science class and it's the last period of the day. There's only 2 minutes left until the bell rings for freedom and I'm staring at the second hand on the clock that's moving so slowly it actually feels like it might be going backwards.
Maybe I have reached my plateau... maybe not. Maybe I'm not the asymptotic type and this is just the slight dip in the middle of my sigmoidal life. Hopefully. Shit, only 2 minutes left...
I'm nearing the end of my tenure as a 23 year-old and I'm not sure how I feel about it. Because of recent interviews I've had to revamp my resume and it seems lacking. Perhaps I believed that I'd have accomplished more by now.
As a teenager I was a chronic over-achiever. Looking at my resume when I was 19 or 21 seems much more impressive than it does now. I can't help but be somewhat disappointed for not having continued the trend, but I guess it's unreasonable to believe that my exponential growth wouldn't plateau eventually, as most things often do.
Nearing the eve of my 24th birthday, I can't help but wonder what the future has in store for me. There's nothing I can do other than continue pushing forward with the hope that my work ethic will make up for my apparently dissipating talents. I thought I was destined for greatness at a young age.
This getting older stuff is bullshit. It makes you all retrospective, introspective, aggrospective... 24 doesn't represent an age at this point; it represents frustration. While I have many things to be thankful for I guess I just wish I had more. By more I mean no debt, someone to share in debtlessness with, a place to call my own, a career; things that adults have.
I believe this all to be a function of my impatience... of my need to have everything done and done perfectly yesterday. I have so many ideas of who I want to be and what I want to do, but it's like I'm sitting in 6th grade science class and it's the last period of the day. There's only 2 minutes left until the bell rings for freedom and I'm staring at the second hand on the clock that's moving so slowly it actually feels like it might be going backwards.
Maybe I have reached my plateau... maybe not. Maybe I'm not the asymptotic type and this is just the slight dip in the middle of my sigmoidal life. Hopefully. Shit, only 2 minutes left...
Destined for cats
Originally written 1/16/07
in•tim•i•date: –verb (used with object), -dat•ed, -dat•ing.
to overawe or cow, as through the force of personality or by superior display of wealth, talent, etc.
How many times have you heard it: Women talking about how men are intimidated by them? I’ve never personally said it in reference to myself, but have been told that I am by other people. I heard it again last night and I am through with that word. I’m ready to eliminate it from the English language.
Intimidation is reserved for bullies, detectives and overwhelmingly attractive women, not me. Sure, my personality may be a bit overpowering, but I do my best to make anyone I come in contact with feel at ease. It’s only after the initial phase that I begin creating the awkward moments.
I can’t accept intimidation as an excuse for why I’m single. I have come to the conclusion that there is indeed something horribly wrong with me. On paper, there are just too many things I have going for me to accept that someone would allow intimidation to be the factor that lets “a catch like me” slip away.
Let’s face it, I’m not exactly beautiful. I’m fit, but you can’t even tell most of the time because I don’t showcase it. I’m smart, but I act like a fucking retard. I’m funny, but my jokes are bad... really bad. I’m talented, but not at anything of value. As a matter of fact, I’m so not intimidating that Jessica actually had to call it an early night on South Beach last week because we were only attracting the caliber of man that she is dissatisfied with (i.e. incredible dorks).
Up until recently, I firmly believed that I am single because the men I’m surrounded by are absolutely unsuitable. My thoughts have changed and I believe now the only unsuitable one is me. I’m that apple that’s been sitting in the fruit basket for a while and it looks all right, but when you cut to the core it’s all brown a mushy.
Cary Bradshaw says we need to “refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies.” I live in Antarctica. There are no butterflies here. I told my last date, and I quote, “It ain’t easy being ice like me!” Yeah, I don’t think he’ll be calling.
Perhaps all that I can do is what I’ve been doing. I will continue to move forward with work, working out and working it (on the dance floor). Who knows? One day I might actually decide on a career and put those hard earned letters that will follow my name to use!
Some people were destined for greatness. Some people were destined for failure. Fuck this bullshit. I was destined for cats.
in•tim•i•date: –verb (used with object), -dat•ed, -dat•ing.
to overawe or cow, as through the force of personality or by superior display of wealth, talent, etc.
How many times have you heard it: Women talking about how men are intimidated by them? I’ve never personally said it in reference to myself, but have been told that I am by other people. I heard it again last night and I am through with that word. I’m ready to eliminate it from the English language.
Intimidation is reserved for bullies, detectives and overwhelmingly attractive women, not me. Sure, my personality may be a bit overpowering, but I do my best to make anyone I come in contact with feel at ease. It’s only after the initial phase that I begin creating the awkward moments.
I can’t accept intimidation as an excuse for why I’m single. I have come to the conclusion that there is indeed something horribly wrong with me. On paper, there are just too many things I have going for me to accept that someone would allow intimidation to be the factor that lets “a catch like me” slip away.
Let’s face it, I’m not exactly beautiful. I’m fit, but you can’t even tell most of the time because I don’t showcase it. I’m smart, but I act like a fucking retard. I’m funny, but my jokes are bad... really bad. I’m talented, but not at anything of value. As a matter of fact, I’m so not intimidating that Jessica actually had to call it an early night on South Beach last week because we were only attracting the caliber of man that she is dissatisfied with (i.e. incredible dorks).
Up until recently, I firmly believed that I am single because the men I’m surrounded by are absolutely unsuitable. My thoughts have changed and I believe now the only unsuitable one is me. I’m that apple that’s been sitting in the fruit basket for a while and it looks all right, but when you cut to the core it’s all brown a mushy.
Cary Bradshaw says we need to “refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies.” I live in Antarctica. There are no butterflies here. I told my last date, and I quote, “It ain’t easy being ice like me!” Yeah, I don’t think he’ll be calling.
Perhaps all that I can do is what I’ve been doing. I will continue to move forward with work, working out and working it (on the dance floor). Who knows? One day I might actually decide on a career and put those hard earned letters that will follow my name to use!
Some people were destined for greatness. Some people were destined for failure. Fuck this bullshit. I was destined for cats.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Steroids included
This is an article I had written for the Miami Hurricane. I was told it was to be displayed, but it never was... alas. Perhaps it was too blasphemous, but that's okay because I have no tact.
Dear Chief Executive Officer Shalala(lalalala):
First of all, congratulations on running the upstanding facility we know as the University of Miami. I have to give you props for what you’ve accomplished in your tenure thus far. Your ambition in raising millions of dollars for this institution is commendable. And while I appreciate the lovely campus and gorgeous weather, allow me to take this opportunity to suggest to you an alternate campus beautification plan: Steroids.
Before you jump to conclusions, let me explain my position. I like muscles. I like having them and I like looking at them. While the students at UM are certainly a good looking bunch, they’re not quite my type as in my eyes there is more aesthetic appeal to magazines like “Oxygen” and “Muscular Development,” as opposed to “Cosmo” or “Maxim.” For me to find a person attractive, male or female, one needs to at least mimic the appearance of hitting the weights a minimum of 4 days a week.
This is why I am suggesting to you an improvement in the student body (pun intended) by use of steroids. I mean, at the cost of over $1,200/credit at the graduate level the least you could do is include steroids in the tuition. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. Issues with legality don’t worry me much as everyone is required to have medical insurance. As far as I know, steroid use monitored by a physician appears to be lawful.
At this point in my life I’m sick of taking out thousands of dollars in loans to pay for my education only to find myself surrounded by people I don’t find attractive. For example, I’m currently paying off debt I incurred for my undergraduate degree from the University of Pennsylvania, a notoriously ugly school – a fact I was willing to let slide for the superior education.
However, when I took the plunge (no pun intended) to pursue my graduate career here at UM I thought things would be different. I understood the expense, but was willing to take out more loans in order to be surrounded by the beautiful model type as opposed to the intellectual brainiac type. Unfortunately, reality fell just short of my expectations and I’m looking at another hefty loan also complete with a lack of visual stimulation.
But you can change all that! You can give me my money’s worth by including steroids in the price of tuition. I’m willing to sacrifice the health of my peers in order to be surrounded by muscles at all times. Heck, I’ll even jump on the steroid bandwagon! Though I’m not about being altruistic, I suppose I can make an exception for what I believe to be a worthy cause.
Hopefully, you can take time off from raising billions of dollars for who-knows-what to help distract me from the fact that the cost of tuition will continue to increase, along with the cost of living and the decreased availability of higher paying jobs. As each day passes, the prospect of paying off my debt becomes evermore distant, along with my aspirations to one day own my own home. Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
Alicia Montalvo
Dear Chief Executive Officer Shalala(lalalala):
First of all, congratulations on running the upstanding facility we know as the University of Miami. I have to give you props for what you’ve accomplished in your tenure thus far. Your ambition in raising millions of dollars for this institution is commendable. And while I appreciate the lovely campus and gorgeous weather, allow me to take this opportunity to suggest to you an alternate campus beautification plan: Steroids.
Before you jump to conclusions, let me explain my position. I like muscles. I like having them and I like looking at them. While the students at UM are certainly a good looking bunch, they’re not quite my type as in my eyes there is more aesthetic appeal to magazines like “Oxygen” and “Muscular Development,” as opposed to “Cosmo” or “Maxim.” For me to find a person attractive, male or female, one needs to at least mimic the appearance of hitting the weights a minimum of 4 days a week.
This is why I am suggesting to you an improvement in the student body (pun intended) by use of steroids. I mean, at the cost of over $1,200/credit at the graduate level the least you could do is include steroids in the tuition. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. Issues with legality don’t worry me much as everyone is required to have medical insurance. As far as I know, steroid use monitored by a physician appears to be lawful.
At this point in my life I’m sick of taking out thousands of dollars in loans to pay for my education only to find myself surrounded by people I don’t find attractive. For example, I’m currently paying off debt I incurred for my undergraduate degree from the University of Pennsylvania, a notoriously ugly school – a fact I was willing to let slide for the superior education.
However, when I took the plunge (no pun intended) to pursue my graduate career here at UM I thought things would be different. I understood the expense, but was willing to take out more loans in order to be surrounded by the beautiful model type as opposed to the intellectual brainiac type. Unfortunately, reality fell just short of my expectations and I’m looking at another hefty loan also complete with a lack of visual stimulation.
But you can change all that! You can give me my money’s worth by including steroids in the price of tuition. I’m willing to sacrifice the health of my peers in order to be surrounded by muscles at all times. Heck, I’ll even jump on the steroid bandwagon! Though I’m not about being altruistic, I suppose I can make an exception for what I believe to be a worthy cause.
Hopefully, you can take time off from raising billions of dollars for who-knows-what to help distract me from the fact that the cost of tuition will continue to increase, along with the cost of living and the decreased availability of higher paying jobs. As each day passes, the prospect of paying off my debt becomes evermore distant, along with my aspirations to one day own my own home. Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
Alicia Montalvo
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
The handbag analogy
I'm really tired because I ran a couple miles on an empty stomach at 6:30 AM and this may not be coherent, but try to stay with me on this one.
The perfect handbag:an outfit::The perfect man:a woman
Does that make sense? I don't speak from experience as I don't wear "outfits" per se, but I would assume this is how it would work for other people.
Let me explain this. There's nothing like finding the perfect handbag to go with your outfit. The perfect handbag does many things; it complements without overpowering, it accentuates the positives, it helps one feel confident... But it's fuckin impossible to find!
You can approach the search for the perfect handbag with expectations that may not result in the most desireable match, thus leaving you with possibly a really nice bag, but not one that suits the outfit. Perhaps you find a great bag, but it's not on sale leaving you to ponder the implications of poor timing. Maybe countdown to the event is drawing too near and you have to scramble for any bag that will remotely work, and so you find youself settling. Along the line somewhere, maybe you realize your last 15 purchases were all the same style just different colors...
This is the same way relationships work. Sometimes we date people who don't suit us. Sometimes the timing is off. Sometimes we settle. Sometimes we repeat a pattern.
Sometimes, if you're patient enough, the right handbag ends up on clearance at some obscure store just when you were about to give up all hope of looking absolutely fabulous.
The perfect handbag:an outfit::The perfect man:a woman
Does that make sense? I don't speak from experience as I don't wear "outfits" per se, but I would assume this is how it would work for other people.
Let me explain this. There's nothing like finding the perfect handbag to go with your outfit. The perfect handbag does many things; it complements without overpowering, it accentuates the positives, it helps one feel confident... But it's fuckin impossible to find!
You can approach the search for the perfect handbag with expectations that may not result in the most desireable match, thus leaving you with possibly a really nice bag, but not one that suits the outfit. Perhaps you find a great bag, but it's not on sale leaving you to ponder the implications of poor timing. Maybe countdown to the event is drawing too near and you have to scramble for any bag that will remotely work, and so you find youself settling. Along the line somewhere, maybe you realize your last 15 purchases were all the same style just different colors...
This is the same way relationships work. Sometimes we date people who don't suit us. Sometimes the timing is off. Sometimes we settle. Sometimes we repeat a pattern.
Sometimes, if you're patient enough, the right handbag ends up on clearance at some obscure store just when you were about to give up all hope of looking absolutely fabulous.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
"Woman of the Modern Era" defined
Who is she, this "Woman of the Modern Era?" She is strong, intelligent, independent, ambitious, career-oriented, goal-driven... characteristically, this woman is "The Man." S/he is me.
I recently relocated from New Jersey to Miami to Fort Lauderdale. I finally have a place of my own and my parents were in town this weekend helping me pimp my apartment. My mother, who has been married to my father for nearly 35 years, and I were in a TJ Maxx Home Goods store shopping for hodge-podge when she said, "I feel like you're getting married." To which I replied, "Hopefully, one day! Maybe some guy will be able to put up with me eventually."
This led to the dreaded conversation; the conversation every single yet hopeful young woman never wants to have. The conversation that makes her eyes well with tears and her brain scream, "OH NO SHE DI'ENT!"
My mother said, "Alicia, it's okay if you don't get married. A lot of women don't get married these days. I mean, look at my friends in Puerto Rico..."
I was freaking out a little bit inside. "Umm, well, two of your unmarried friends are a lesbian couple and your other unmarried friend is the most miserable person on Earth."
"Yeah, that's true."
What the hell was going on?!?!?! What's a girl to think when even her own mother is preparing her for the worst. My mind began jumping to conclusions uncontrollably. Did my mother maybe think I was gay? Had the stigma of the bodybuilding lifestyle infiltrated her pea brain? Did that fact that I had only the day before mentioned to her how proud my father was to, "have such a strapping young man for a daughter" plant a seed?!
As if I'm not disheartened enough with my dating situation, I don't really need my mother to come sweeping in to "save the day" by letting me know it's okay that I may have lots of money and a very successful career, but will be lonely and miserable. Though I have been preparing myself subconsciously for a life of cats, I wasn't mentally prepared to be hearing that poop spew out of that woman's mouth.
Maybe her comments are the kick in the pants I'll need to truly be able to open up to a man. I'm afraid of being vulnerable and getting hurt, but I think I'm more afraid of ending up like my mother's miserable friend. And though I love cats, I don't want to be destined for them. I don't want to play this internal game of tug-of-war anymore. I am a Woman of the Modern Era and I think I might be ready to break down this emotional barrier between me and all the king's men.
I recently relocated from New Jersey to Miami to Fort Lauderdale. I finally have a place of my own and my parents were in town this weekend helping me pimp my apartment. My mother, who has been married to my father for nearly 35 years, and I were in a TJ Maxx Home Goods store shopping for hodge-podge when she said, "I feel like you're getting married." To which I replied, "Hopefully, one day! Maybe some guy will be able to put up with me eventually."
This led to the dreaded conversation; the conversation every single yet hopeful young woman never wants to have. The conversation that makes her eyes well with tears and her brain scream, "OH NO SHE DI'ENT!"
My mother said, "Alicia, it's okay if you don't get married. A lot of women don't get married these days. I mean, look at my friends in Puerto Rico..."
I was freaking out a little bit inside. "Umm, well, two of your unmarried friends are a lesbian couple and your other unmarried friend is the most miserable person on Earth."
"Yeah, that's true."
What the hell was going on?!?!?! What's a girl to think when even her own mother is preparing her for the worst. My mind began jumping to conclusions uncontrollably. Did my mother maybe think I was gay? Had the stigma of the bodybuilding lifestyle infiltrated her pea brain? Did that fact that I had only the day before mentioned to her how proud my father was to, "have such a strapping young man for a daughter" plant a seed?!
As if I'm not disheartened enough with my dating situation, I don't really need my mother to come sweeping in to "save the day" by letting me know it's okay that I may have lots of money and a very successful career, but will be lonely and miserable. Though I have been preparing myself subconsciously for a life of cats, I wasn't mentally prepared to be hearing that poop spew out of that woman's mouth.
Maybe her comments are the kick in the pants I'll need to truly be able to open up to a man. I'm afraid of being vulnerable and getting hurt, but I think I'm more afraid of ending up like my mother's miserable friend. And though I love cats, I don't want to be destined for them. I don't want to play this internal game of tug-of-war anymore. I am a Woman of the Modern Era and I think I might be ready to break down this emotional barrier between me and all the king's men.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Random = Welcome
I heart life. The thing I heart most about it is the unpredictability. They say that variety is the spice of life, but I disagree. It's definitely spontaneity that keeps my world going 'round. My longing to experience new things coupled with my inability to feel shame of nearly any sort are a perfect combination for the invitation of bizarre and random occurrences. In addition, my irrational need to live without regret also throws a wrench into the equation.
Recently, my best friend, Jessica, has been down about her dating situation. While I'm not too fond of mine either, I feel her situation takes precedence over mine. Not so much because it's more important because Lord knows I'm a selfish mother fucker, but because focusing on her problems creates a diversion from mine. I'm such a good friend.
At any rate, I pointed out that she appears to have fallen into a pattern. Her dating record is a predictable sequence... You know exactly how it starts, what's going to happen in the middle and then exactly how it falls to pieces in the end.
My advice? "Stop acting like a bitch."
We'll be out all drunked up in da club and I'm open to speaking with anyone and it shows on my face, in my demeanor; the whole nine. I have found that when you leave yourself open to new experiences you exponentially increase the probability of something totally random occurring. She, on the other hand, will stand around with a pouty look on her face appearing completely unapproachable. The look is only to be matched by the nastiness that comes pouring out of her mouth when someone undesirable tries to strike up a convo.
As a consequence, I sat her down last night and forced her to watch "The Sweetest Thing." I needed her to visualize what life could be like if you approach situations with a different attitude (i.e. a good one). I'm not one for chick flicks and I'm not one for life imitating art, but I had to make these 2 sacrificial exceptions in the name of friendship and support. I had to take a hit for the team. Thanks to my manipulative nature, my evil plan to make her not a bitch worked and we had the most fun, like, EVER! Wow, what crazy night.
I can't blame her for being so cynical... That's what 3 years of living on South Beach will do to you; the players, the parties, the tourists. We were both stuck in a rut of sorts. She was stuck being a cynical bitch and I was desperately seeking someone to drag into my crazy world, unwitting or otherwise.
Sometimes we need other people to push us out of our comfort zone. I find myself to be more than willing to shove anyone at anytime.
Recently, my best friend, Jessica, has been down about her dating situation. While I'm not too fond of mine either, I feel her situation takes precedence over mine. Not so much because it's more important because Lord knows I'm a selfish mother fucker, but because focusing on her problems creates a diversion from mine. I'm such a good friend.
At any rate, I pointed out that she appears to have fallen into a pattern. Her dating record is a predictable sequence... You know exactly how it starts, what's going to happen in the middle and then exactly how it falls to pieces in the end.
My advice? "Stop acting like a bitch."
We'll be out all drunked up in da club and I'm open to speaking with anyone and it shows on my face, in my demeanor; the whole nine. I have found that when you leave yourself open to new experiences you exponentially increase the probability of something totally random occurring. She, on the other hand, will stand around with a pouty look on her face appearing completely unapproachable. The look is only to be matched by the nastiness that comes pouring out of her mouth when someone undesirable tries to strike up a convo.
As a consequence, I sat her down last night and forced her to watch "The Sweetest Thing." I needed her to visualize what life could be like if you approach situations with a different attitude (i.e. a good one). I'm not one for chick flicks and I'm not one for life imitating art, but I had to make these 2 sacrificial exceptions in the name of friendship and support. I had to take a hit for the team. Thanks to my manipulative nature, my evil plan to make her not a bitch worked and we had the most fun, like, EVER! Wow, what crazy night.
I can't blame her for being so cynical... That's what 3 years of living on South Beach will do to you; the players, the parties, the tourists. We were both stuck in a rut of sorts. She was stuck being a cynical bitch and I was desperately seeking someone to drag into my crazy world, unwitting or otherwise.
Sometimes we need other people to push us out of our comfort zone. I find myself to be more than willing to shove anyone at anytime.
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