Saturday, September 17, 2005



So, I'm hanging out with the boy I'm in love with tonight. I gave him multiple options, since all we ever do is go to the movies and then get drunk. And he systematically rejected my options one by one, so we're going to the movies.
Which leaves me with a new dilemma: my roommate gets mad at me whenever I see a movie she wants to without her. It makes things a bit difficult, as you might imagine. However, knowing that I was probably going to the movies tonight, she and I made a compromise that she would just pick ONE movie that I would have to hold for her. Not perfect, but fair enough. She picked Thumbsucker, which I really really want to see, but fine, I'm not an unreasonable person.
So, I get on the phone with the boy to figure out what we are going to see: Venom - he doesn't want to see it; Cry Wolf - got bad reviews; Everything is Illuminated - he wants to see it, but just not tonight; Hellbent - actually almost happened, but after reading many reviews, he decided he didn't want to see that either. He knows I'd rather have root canal than go see romantic comedies, so Just Like Heaven is not even an option. So, really, that pretty much just leaves Thumbsucker. And he is being a whiney baby about the fact that I can't see the one movie I KNEW he wanted to see most.
This is a conversation I'm having in the privacy of my own room, lying on my own bed. My roommate comes to the doorway from the other side of the apartment, from which she had apparently been listening, sneers "I don't care what you do. Do whatever you want", goes in her room, and shuts the door. Loudly.
I don't really like getting attitude from the very people I'm putting myself out for (and disappointing the boy) to keep happy. It kind of makes me mad. People pretty much suck.



So, sometimes stalking habits die hard. I find, every so often, I need to do a comprehensive stalking of like everyone I've ever dated, just to see what they are up to now how they've been and whatnot. Not in any scary kind of way, just because these were people who were in my life and now aren't, and I'm curious. That's not so strange, is it?
Well, I did one of these check-ups a couple of days ago, and found the blog of a boy I briefly dated. And this boy, he's no dreamboat. He's kind of large, and his face is not so very handsome. At this risk of sounding mean, this is a memory I have that might illustrate my point. When we broke up, I had, in anger, thrown a framed picture of him against the wall and it fall behind a bunch of stuff. Months and months later, when I was cleaning my room, I came upon the picture, having forgotten all about it, and it... startled me. Because I guess he's a little scary looking.
Anyway, my point is, I found his blog, and he mentioned his live-in girlfriend several times. And I was fine with that, glad he found someone. But then, in one of the most recent blogs, he talks about planning their wedding. Jesus.
Now, that makes every single boy I dated before I moved to California who is now married or engaged. Every boyfriend, they are all like committed for life. That messes my head up. Because, if you couldn't tell, my taste is often not so stellar, so these boys, they are mostly no prizes. And they all found people who want to be with them forever. And I pretty much don't even get asked on dates. Granted, I make some choices that make my life that way, and I know it. But still, it is totally depressing.



I went out for my friend Alex's birthday tonight, which was fun. We got Alex well and truly smashed, which was pretty awesome. In the three years I've known him, it was the first time I got to meet drunk Alex, and I have to say that he was a total delight. After many drinks at a couple bars in Alex's neighborhood, we went back to his place to eat some of the yummy cake I bought him.
It was there that it happened - he called me by the name of the boy i'm in love with. I didn't think it was all that big of a deal, just teased him about it a little and let it go. After all he was a bit on the tipsy and a little confused. But, on the way home, my roommate told me I should think about the fact that I talk about the boy I'm in love with SO MUCH that drunk Alex would call me by his name. She reminded me that Alex doesn't even like the boy I'm in love with, so that his associating me with that person can only be a bad thing. So, that bummed me out, kind of. I feel like most of, if not all of, my friends have things they can't help dwelling on whether I like it or not. I didn't like being picked on for my weakness. So, yuck.
Fortunately, it was not nearly enough bad to tarnish what was other was a lovely and booze-filled night (and one in which I barely mentioned the boy I'm in love with, I should note).

P.S. To Alex - who I think will probably read this blog sooner or later - where does the cake go again??
Oh yeah, that's right, in your mouth.
You're a pretty fun drunk.

Friday, September 16, 2005



Last night, I was depressed, so I decided to go for a walk until I tired myself into calming down, and ended up being out for two hours. I didn't even quit because I calmed down, but because my feet started to hurt. So, that wasn't an entirely successful venture.
It did lead to one interesting moment. As I was walking up a Fairfax, a homeless guy leaning against a building about 20 feet up ahead yelled, "Hey Clark Kent". A few seconds later, as I got a little closer, he amended it to "Clark Kent's Girlfriend."
For those few seconds, though, did he really think I was a boy? I don't think I look very boyish, though I mean, I wasn't wearing a dress on my walk, obviously, and my hair was up... I haven't been mistaken for a boy since I was 8 years old, when I insisted on having all my hair chopped off (so I wouldn't have to go through the torture of having all my tangly curls brushed through) and then being a skeleton for Halloween. Those old ladies with candy were making a reasonable mistake, though. The homeless guy does not have such a good excuse.
So, apparently, on top of all my other problems, I look like a boy.

Thursday, September 15, 2005



I think I want to start smoking again. I'm not craving nicotine at all. I just miss the cigarettes. They added structure to my life, and filled many minutes a day that are not just left unused.
Things I miss about cigarettes:
1. The way they helped me procrastinate - A phone call I didn't want to make, a paper I didn't want to write. Well, I'd start that right after I had just one more cigarette.
2. The way they helped me feel rebellious - Anyone who knows me knows I have a sickening inability to break the rules. Cigarettes are totally bad for you, and unhealthy, tsk tsk... and I smoked 'em anyway. Such a badass. Sometimes, even though smoking in the apartment isn't allowed, when my roommate wasn't home, I would anyway, just because I felt like it. I was like a total smoking vixen.
3. The way they helped me express my feelings - I suck at saying how I feel. I have the hardest time getting the words out. Like "I'm angry at you" or "You made me sad", it gives me waves of dizziness just trying to force the damned things out out out of my resistant little mouth. You know what means the same thing as either of those statements (and about a thousand other hard-to-say things)? "I need a cigarette." Delivered in the right tone of voice, it can express all the resentment, hurt, or resignedness you need it to. And it gives you an excuse to storm away, if you are currently in a non-smoking area.
4. The way they gave me alone time with the boy I'm in love with - but he doesn't smoke anymore either, so I guess this one doesn't count. I feel like we got along better when we did, though that may just be me being insane.
5. The way they defined my lunch break - I don't really like to eat during the day, so I'd just sit in my car and smoke for an hour (I've been quit for months and the damned thing still reeks like smoke). Now, I find myself with nothing to do during lunchtime and almost wanting to just go back to the office early and that is just NOT RIGHT. I shouldn't spend a single minute of my day in that place voluntarily (i.e. unpaid).
6. The way they kept me entertained when I was bored - Sometimes there's just nothing to do. In those times, there was always still cigarettes to be smoked. Now, when I get that bored, I usually just eat food. I don't even like eating food all that much. It's just not that same.

So yeah, that's it. My reasons why I want cigarettes back in my life. I don't know if they are good enough to further damage my lungs, waste my money, and re-smelly up my car, but there it is.



(This is an excerpt from an email i sent to my friend. She suggested i blog it so people know how insane i truly am)

i want the internet to be my boyfriend. it is funny and entertaining. it never ignores me. gives me as much time as i want, but not only does it not mind me having other friends - it facilitates it! it understands my stalking habit, and is willing to help out with it.

there's sex stuff on it, if you're into that (which i'm not, but it is at least an option).

it can go shopping with me, read with me, watch movies with me, gossip with me.

i love you, internet. you're the bestest boy ever.



Crackhead asked me if anyone had ever told me I was stubborn. Of course, I get told this all the freaking time. I said as much, and then, because I'm glutton for punishment and any attention is good attention, emailed the boy I'm in love with and asked him if he thought I was stubborn.
I was expecting "yup" or "you fucking now you are" or something of that ilk. Instead I got, "Stubborn? When it suits you." I didn't even know what that meant, but I did know I felt offended.
So, I decided to be stubborn and not email him for a long time, until HE had to come looking for ME. That'll show him how stubborn I can be. So there! Then he'll see! (What he'll see, I'm not so sure.)

I lasted all of 19 hours.

Maybe he's right, and I'm just stubborn when it suits me.

Wednesday, September 14, 2005


static. cling.

I've been out of school for over a year. I've known that I was done with school for almost two. You'd think I would be done with being bitter about it, wouldn't you?
But I'm so totally not. I'm sitting on my couch, watching TV with my roommate, and she says, "Oh, I need to remember to tape The O.C. tomorrow." Just being polite, I ask where she'll be instead of glued to the tube, entranced by Seth and Summer's latest misadventures. And she says, "First Comps Meeting." And my heart just drops.
When school things used to happen, I'd be there. Always. And now, they don't have anything to do with me. I don't even have to know they are happening. Except for the fact that like 99% of my friends in L.A. will be there, all together. All without me.
And so I feel like crud. And believe me, when you've been whining about the same thing for well over a year, your friends get sick of hearing about it. Sympathy runs out, and there are no free refills. So, I've got to keep it to myself. I'm not great at that. It usually comes out in some unpleasant way or other. Awesome.



I really like to read. It's right up there with movies and television as "hobbies" that don't so much require the actual doing of anything, so I'm a big fan. Since I've been out of school and not having to read big giant hard-to-understand theory texts, I've been reading tons of novels. Some I've loved and others have been a total chore to get through, but I always make myself finish them no matter what. There's always a chance that I'll get to a part, be it a page, paragraph or just a sentence, that I'll love so much or will hit me so hard I'll just read it over and over for like 10 or 15 minutes before I can move on. I just got to one of those parts in the book I'm reading now, The History of Love, so I thought I'd put it here. I recognize that is kinda pointless, but so is loving it and not showing it to anyone, right? And it's my blog, so I'll do what I want.

"When I'd finished the last page, I called Misha and let it ring twice before hanging up. This was a code we'd used when we wanted to speak to each other late at night. It had been more than a month since we'd last talked. I'd made a list in my notebook of all the things I missed about him. The way he wrinkles his nose when he's thinking was one. How he holds things was another. But now I needed to talk to him for real and no list would substitute. I stood by the phone while my stomach turned itself inside out. During the time I waited, a whole species of butterly may have become extinct, or a large, complex mammal with feelings like mine.
But he never called back. This probably meant he didn't want to talk to me."



I've been in a bit of a grumpy, "want to smash" kind of mood today, even moreso than usual, and I was trying to figure out why. I haven't had any particularly big fights (even with the boy I'm in love with); my job hasn't been any more of a nightmare than it normally is. There's not any particular reason for me to be in the mood to trample people and make them cry.
Maybe it is because, though they are totally nice about it, I feel ganged up on by all the people who want me to give up on the boy I'm in love with. I get that it is in my best interests. I get that they think it will ultimately make me happier. But, I don't know, I feel like they are trying to take something away from me. And I don't react well to that. It makes me want to take things away from other people, and then smash them, and make the people cry. That's probably bad. But... I don't really do it, though. At least not usually. I should get some good person points for that, right?

Tuesday, September 13, 2005


quote from the other night

Ross - "Don't you think you need to let this thing go?"
Me - "No! I love him"
Ross - "But do you, really?"
Me - "Yes!"
Ross - "Don't you think if you honestly loved him, you'd want him to be happy, with or without you."
Me - "I'm a selfish bitch and I love him."
Ross - "Fair enough."



So, he's still not called me, but he emailed me a link to a website full of pictures of cats in sinks. That would be sweet if a) I liked cats a whole lot b) I liked sinks a whole lot or c) I didn't already know that said link was on a website he checks compulsively several times a day. So, it's not like it was a "Here, I found these cats in sinks just for you", it was more like a "cats in sinks. that's stupid yet amusing. i'll send it to Heidi, so she feels like I am paying attention to her." When it gets to a few days without us speaking, I start to get real itchy. I guess I'm upset that I can't be nice to him so he'll love me or mean to him because he doesn't love me. I'm not sure which one I want more.



I called the boy I'm in love with a little while ago. And instead of calling me back, like a normal human being would, he EMAILED me to say he got my message and to respond to it. I do not like that turn of events very much. I suspect he just doesn't want to fight with me, but if the only way we can avoid fighting is to avoid talking, that's pretty depressing. I'd rather fight. That may just be me, though. I think, as much as I hate to fight, I'd always prefer it to silence or nothingness.

Monday, September 12, 2005



Tonight at dinner, as I was going on and on about the boy I'm in love with, as I so often do, my friend Ross stopped me and said, quite seriously, that I was a bit scary. And I exclaimed in agreement, "Yeah! I'm totally creepy!" And he said, "No really. I think if you were a man, you'd have a restraining order against you, but since you're a sweet-looking little girl, he thinks it is harmless and lets you continue to stalk him." I kind of wonder if that's true. I mean, I say I'm scary, but do I really think I am? I'm not sure. I guess it varies from moment to moment. And if I think that of myself, I can only imagine what other people who know me are thinking. Eek.
I don't want anyone to think I'm a bunny boiler, like Ross does. I'm just a little too devoted and a little too stubborn, really. And I can't bring myself to look at that as so very terrible as some of the people around me seem to.



Apparently, his friends call him Playboy. This not only doesn't do wonderful things for my already paranoid and nightmarishly jealous mind, but it also makes me hate his friends a little.
He says it's one of those ironic nicknames, like how you call fat guys "Slim" or "Tiny" or whatever. It still gets under my skin.

Sunday, September 11, 2005



So, I bought some new CDs tonight, and before I even listened to them, I felt the need to open them up and look at all the lyrics, so that I could decide which song reminds me most of the boy I'm in love with, since that will almost certainly become my favorite. Does everyone do stuff like that, or is it just me? Pending actually listening to the CDs (such a formality), here are the few selections from what I think will be the winner.

Wish Me Gone

Saw things I shouldn't have. I made a fool of myself
It didn't have to hurt me quite as much as it did
Knowing the things you said, knowing they're probably half-lies
Made to make a girl smile doesn't make it alright

What does she say to make you light up this way?
I'd say it too if only that was open to me

Trying to see if you wish me gone
You don't apologize for having told so many lies
You would have to be saying sorry for a whole day

Is that all you wanted?
Is that all you want?
Love me loathe me
Hold me hate me
Kiss me Kill me
But say that you don't ever want to lose me.



Friday night, the boy I'm in love with called me up to say that although he had earlier indicated an interest in hanging out, he had decided to sit at home, drink alone and go to bed early. As you might imagine, I took that extremely well: we fought and I told him I'd call him the next day. Then I got drunk and sent the text message I mentioned in my previous post. When I called him on Saturday, I was nervous, because I assumed it would lead to more fighting. Well, to my relief, he was totally nice and said he wasn't mad about the text at all. He said he definitely wanted to do something with me that night, and all was well. When I asked, "so you ended up doing nothing last night?" he answered that yeah, he had just gone to bed early. We went to dinner, and everything was still fine. Though, he mentioned that he hadn't shaved in a couple of days because he's been waking up too hungover to do so. Of course, I said, "But I thought you went to bed early last night?" and he said that he had, but he had one or two really strong drinks before he passed out. A little while later, drinking cheap booze and watching cable at the house of a friend who is out of town, he gets a call from his friend The Queen. Sitting about two feet away from me, I hear him say, "Last night, I..." and oddly enough, the next words out of his mouth didn't express that he went to bed early. Instead, they indicated that he went down to the O.C. and watched his friend Eyad spin at some club and didn't get home until late. So, I got pissed and we fought about it for the rest of the night. About why he lied, whether it's ever okay, whether what he said EXACTLY constituted a lie, and most upsettingly what it is about me personally that makes him feel like he needs to lie to me (because this was apparently not the first time, nor will it be the last). And we were both miserable for the rest of the night. Now, here's the thing, the part of the story that almost bums me out the most. I knew he was lying. Right from the start. Someone who goes to bed early doesn't check his Myspace at 3:30 in the morning, as I knew that he had. When I spoke to him in the morning and asked if he stayed out late, I was giving him a chance to come clean, and he didn't. And I still didn't blow up on him, because I was trying to make us get along for a single fucking day. So, I did my best to let it go. And to me, it kinda sucks, that it worked: so long as I was willing to believe his lies and be placated by them, he was happier and therefore nicer to me, and we didn't fight. It makes me sad that that's what was necessary to keep the peace. When he dumbly made his "hungover" comment, I gave him ANOTHER chance to either come clean or get smarter. I mean, I even tried to let him have his way and lie to me, as much as I wish he wouldn't. But when he's fucking stupid enough to say right in front of me what he was really doing... it's like, I hate it enough that he lied, but it's a downright insult that he didn't even care enough to lie well. He says it was "stalker-like" of me to listen to the phone conversation he was having two feet away from me with no one else in the room. And part of the cause of our problems is that I pay too much attention to him. So, I know he wants me to be dumber, to believe his lies, to be more easily placated. And that's just not something I can do, even though it actually does make us get along better. I hate that. A lot.

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