February 17, 2012
February 15, 2012
February 14, 2012
Shmalentine's Day
Here we are, yet another Valentine's Day alone...Cupid, you piece of shit. WAIT, I'm not going off in an anti-Valentine tangent or beginning a hate campaign against boiz, so just stay with me. Actually Cupid,* you are definitely not the one to blame for my singledom. This brings me to my main point: The more Valentines' Days that roll around the more responsibility I take for being unattached (PS: All of these synonymous terms for "alone" are making me want to throw up). In the past five years I've lived in four different places. FOUR. I'm like an army brat without any physical connection to the armed forces. So, I'm like, just a brat. As you may know, it takes a while to build relationships and make connections with complete strangers, so with my map jumping ways the odds of locking down a partner in crime are fairly against me.
First stop? Tucson. I'll sum up my two years here rather quickly. I was young and naive, and madeout with boys who could not give a shit about me but cared deeply about taking my top off! Surpreese! Oh please, like I let them. The combination of my sexual anxiety and my ever so awkwardly present 34 Hs had me running for the door if even one of the five clasps on my orthopedic bra snapped open. You could be sure that I was only going jean on jean during this time of my life. Obviously, because of my haunting insecurities, I was not going to be building any sort of healthy relationship here. However Tucson, if it hadn't have been for you I never would have made out on a porch swing with the manager of Jimmy Johns. I can't recall what deli meats he might have smelled of due to the fact that I was heavily shmammered, but I do remember throwing up in a Target bathroom the next day.
Next stop? NYC! I'll give it to you, almost three years in New York City is a lot of time, but I've subtracted the two years spent at a liberal arts school majoring in musical theatre. If you ARE a girl dating someone who, like you, is also getting a performance degree, he's gay...he's GAY, and I'll cry/laugh at you behind your back. To this date I only know of ONE exception to this situation. ONE. Now the odds are against YOU. Anyway, the few months post graduation were probably the worst of my whole life (Unfortunately, for all you soon to be graduates, I'm confirming the rumor). I won't go into it, but I broke a limb, got kicked out of my apartment, and got fired all within the period of one month. And hey, Meghan, remember when we tried to dye my hair super blond, and it turned orange? Y'all, I was TRIPPING for a few months. When the ongoing craziness somewhat subsided things started to turn around, and all those "relationships/connections" started to come together. I'm not even gonna lie, 2011 started out quite sweetly, followed by another surprising run-in, but that was, again, after almost three years! I'll reiterate, it takes a WHILE to build relationships in new places.
Next stop? My hometown of Henderson in trusty old Nevada: The Silver State! If you've read this, you'll know how much I enjoyed my six months spent there. And here's the thing, when you live somewhere with the people you grow up with, they know you and who you are, and it's so much easier to be set up with friends of friends or build upon friendships you already had. Naw mean? I had FUN here. More than a lot of things, I wish I could have stayed to continue the fun, but life was calling outside of my hometown, so I strapped on my gold hooker pumps with my mint green hard shell suitcase in tow and hopped on the Greyhound to Chicago...something like that.
Now we're in Chicago where I know a handful of people, a budding lovely handful, but per usual, I'm a lone stray in the department of other halves. Someone mentioned match.com to be a great place to meet people, but I feel like that is a gross tasting bullet of which I'm avidly avoiding having to bite. Also, the thought of meeting someone at a bar terrifies me. All I can think about when I talk to any guy in a bar is, "He wants to put it in me." Not to toot my own horn, but I'm probably right, and listen GUY, I don't know you, so you can stop thinking those things until you know my innermost secrets, OR the name of my first pet because consequently that's also the first part of my stripper name, and I'd like to imagine we had that silly conversation before actually doing it.
Despite these road blocks I'm still hopeful. Per the suggestion of Riley Mcilveen, who's been taking a lot of advice from his third eye at yoga class lately, I'm open to the universe and letting it unfold. A relationship is going to take time, and I've got some of that. Patience is key.
Hey, at least I'm not the girl singing Adele's version of "To Make You Feel My Love" OUT LOUD at Starbucks...God bless.
*I'm pitching this to Hollywood as a romantic comedy title. I've addressed Hollywood as the collective because I'm not sure who specifically to get in touch with about movie titles. I figure that if I send it out to all of Hollywood someone in the business of movie titling will catch wind.
First stop? Tucson. I'll sum up my two years here rather quickly. I was young and naive, and madeout with boys who could not give a shit about me but cared deeply about taking my top off! Surpreese! Oh please, like I let them. The combination of my sexual anxiety and my ever so awkwardly present 34 Hs had me running for the door if even one of the five clasps on my orthopedic bra snapped open. You could be sure that I was only going jean on jean during this time of my life. Obviously, because of my haunting insecurities, I was not going to be building any sort of healthy relationship here. However Tucson, if it hadn't have been for you I never would have made out on a porch swing with the manager of Jimmy Johns. I can't recall what deli meats he might have smelled of due to the fact that I was heavily shmammered, but I do remember throwing up in a Target bathroom the next day.
Next stop? NYC! I'll give it to you, almost three years in New York City is a lot of time, but I've subtracted the two years spent at a liberal arts school majoring in musical theatre. If you ARE a girl dating someone who, like you, is also getting a performance degree, he's gay...he's GAY, and I'll cry/laugh at you behind your back. To this date I only know of ONE exception to this situation. ONE. Now the odds are against YOU. Anyway, the few months post graduation were probably the worst of my whole life (Unfortunately, for all you soon to be graduates, I'm confirming the rumor). I won't go into it, but I broke a limb, got kicked out of my apartment, and got fired all within the period of one month. And hey, Meghan, remember when we tried to dye my hair super blond, and it turned orange? Y'all, I was TRIPPING for a few months. When the ongoing craziness somewhat subsided things started to turn around, and all those "relationships/connections" started to come together. I'm not even gonna lie, 2011 started out quite sweetly, followed by another surprising run-in, but that was, again, after almost three years! I'll reiterate, it takes a WHILE to build relationships in new places.
Next stop? My hometown of Henderson in trusty old Nevada: The Silver State! If you've read this, you'll know how much I enjoyed my six months spent there. And here's the thing, when you live somewhere with the people you grow up with, they know you and who you are, and it's so much easier to be set up with friends of friends or build upon friendships you already had. Naw mean? I had FUN here. More than a lot of things, I wish I could have stayed to continue the fun, but life was calling outside of my hometown, so I strapped on my gold hooker pumps with my mint green hard shell suitcase in tow and hopped on the Greyhound to Chicago...something like that.
Now we're in Chicago where I know a handful of people, a budding lovely handful, but per usual, I'm a lone stray in the department of other halves. Someone mentioned match.com to be a great place to meet people, but I feel like that is a gross tasting bullet of which I'm avidly avoiding having to bite. Also, the thought of meeting someone at a bar terrifies me. All I can think about when I talk to any guy in a bar is, "He wants to put it in me." Not to toot my own horn, but I'm probably right, and listen GUY, I don't know you, so you can stop thinking those things until you know my innermost secrets, OR the name of my first pet because consequently that's also the first part of my stripper name, and I'd like to imagine we had that silly conversation before actually doing it.
Despite these road blocks I'm still hopeful. Per the suggestion of Riley Mcilveen, who's been taking a lot of advice from his third eye at yoga class lately, I'm open to the universe and letting it unfold. A relationship is going to take time, and I've got some of that. Patience is key.
Hey, at least I'm not the girl singing Adele's version of "To Make You Feel My Love" OUT LOUD at Starbucks...God bless.
*I'm pitching this to Hollywood as a romantic comedy title. I've addressed Hollywood as the collective because I'm not sure who specifically to get in touch with about movie titles. I figure that if I send it out to all of Hollywood someone in the business of movie titling will catch wind.
February 5, 2012
BUNNY, HONEY
Look at this mirror from Maisonee! It's French, which means it's the fanciest of all goods, and I must attain it! I've always wanted to speak French. Truth be told, sometimes I pretend I can and apathetically throw out ballet terms in a high pitched tone. And now, onto a more important point:
I'm a fan of all things bunny. Bunny rhymes with funny which is simply fate because I, unlike everyone else in this world, happen to also be a fan of all things funny. My findings show no logical linkage between the two, so we'll stick with bunnies for this (cue Whitney Houston) "one moment in time". When I was little my mother used to populate my room with SCORES of bunnies. Mostly stuffed, these certain bunnies were like Laura Ashley, floral printed, country store type bunnies, super unlike the bad ass ones I covet these days. I remember counting them once, and I recall reaching a grand total of nine?
For a small space, that was nine too many bunnies cramping my childhood style. At one point I began to resent them and their beady eyes watching my every move. They also accumulated an enormous amount of dust. Surely that has nothing to do with their animal orientation, but when you're young you're allowed to think whatever the eff you want. KIDZ RULEZ, NUMBER ONE. I despised those fat rodents save for one that I received from a distant relative on my father's side of the family. This plush rabbit's name was Rascall and he was suited in a polka dot vest and bow tie! Later on in my life I would have a brief stint where this type of garb would be adorned by those who I considered "my type". Just a little bit later on in life I would realize that "my type" was gay. I'm going to stray from the psychological discussion on how Rascall influenced my affinity for the homosexual community, but I'd be willing to discuss it privately if you, in particular, are interested.
I don't view bunnies as some sort of homage to my childhood, like I'm trying to hold onto a part of my distant past. That's not it, at all. I'll compare my bunny love to riding a bike (standard comparison). I just kind of picked up again what was once familiar. I also think as one gets older you have to start thinking about what type of figurines you're going to populate your single old lady/man home with. Well, that's super depressing. At least I'll be able to transfer into this stage of my life seamlessly knowing that miniature porcelain bunnies is the way I'm going. Yikes. Okay, I'm officially ruling this stage out of my life in exchange for a hilarious bearded husband and an enormous island in the kitchen? YOU GOT IT.
February 2, 2012
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