Twitter upsets me. I feel like I am trying to get into the popular clique by having to copy everyone else... hashtags, retweet, links... but I don't really know how to do it. And I try to show off my random, hilarious and poignant thoughts but always seem to fall short. My followers come and go.
In attempts to get "more popular" I am trying to incorporate trending topics. This morning I noticed one was #2011highs. Well that should be easy...
Writing more. Escaping steakhouse. The Cure show.
Seriously. That was all I could think of.
Sure, I escaped the terrible steakhouse I worked at for two years, now write for an online magazine and started this little blog, but I make less money and most of the time feel uselss. The Cure concert was awesome but why didn't I go to any other mind-blowing shows?
Wow. I can't say "2011 sucked" but where are the highs? Where are those crazy experiences that make my heart feel like it's going to burst and my head go into overload?
No spontaneous trips. More blackouts. Same lovers I should be rid of.
So 2012, I will cheers to you tonight, but please... show me something worthwhile this year... and maybe, have 100 followers find me so I can pretend to be loved.
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Saturday, December 31, 2011
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Happily Ever After or Bust
For the Fall 2011 television lineup I was looking forward to "Grimm"-- a show that features the horror and darkness in fairytales, brings out the violence of the wolf eating Little Red Riding's grandmother, and the twisted, carnivore-nature of the witch taking advantage of greedy, gluttonous children like Hansel and Gretal. Sounds perfect for my cynical, perverse mind.
Seeing previews for the show "Once Upon a Time," well that just looked silly and lovey-dovey.
Seeing previews for the show "Once Upon a Time," well that just looked silly and lovey-dovey.
Apparently, I am sometimes rotten at decoding shows through previews. (Yeah, I know, "Don't judge a book by its cover"...spare me). "Grimm" is boring, not very applicable to the stories, and reminds me of a "Law and Order" or "CSI" type show with nonsensical monsters as criminals. "Once Upon a Time" is kind of awesome.
If you haven't seen the show, it delves into a world where fairytale characters are stuck in the modern era -- our reality -- but don't know it or even who their real identity is because the Evil Queen casted a spell on them. They are lost souls wandering our time, all the while feeling like something is missing. Searching for something more. Disillusioned to the belief this is all there is.
If you haven't seen the show, it delves into a world where fairytale characters are stuck in the modern era -- our reality -- but don't know it or even who their real identity is because the Evil Queen casted a spell on them. They are lost souls wandering our time, all the while feeling like something is missing. Searching for something more. Disillusioned to the belief this is all there is.
I think I might be a misplaced fairytale character from "Once Upon a Time."
Okay, not really, but wouldn't it be great if there was such an excuse to feel like that? To feel how I do 90 percent of the time?
But who would I be? Perhaps, Belle. She's a bookworm.
I also discovered I'm a sucker for the Snow White and Prince Charming storyline. Maybe, I am biased for my love of Ginnifer Goodwin (Snow White). Maybe, every girl cannot help but want her Prince Charming.
When I was younger I had a far-fetched dream of becoming an actress, and I remember thinking how I never wanted to play a bride because I only wanted to wear a wedding dress once and if I acted in one, it wouldn't be as special as when I wore one for my real wedding.
I also remember thinking, I would never marry. It was just one of those things I could not foresee in my future. It's something I still think. Not that I am against the notion, but the idea always made me feel... empty, like I knew this was just another thing I would be left out of. A major life event I would not participate in.
Not sure if the show and marriage-talk correlate... but they've both circled my mind.
Currently, both my siblings are engaged. It's Christmas time. I guess it's inevitable to feel a little lonesome, even if I don't want to admit it. Even if I lie and smile and say I'm fine.
Not sure if the show and marriage-talk correlate... but they've both circled my mind.
Currently, both my siblings are engaged. It's Christmas time. I guess it's inevitable to feel a little lonesome, even if I don't want to admit it. Even if I lie and smile and say I'm fine.
Friday, December 2, 2011
The Saga of the Tool (continues)
After the incident and my twelve-hour relationship with The Tool, he started texting me three months later -- "Hey" or his infamous "Heyoooo" and later "I guess you're not going to talk to me anymore." -- I refused to answer. Seriously, who combines "Hey" and "Yo" and why did I once respond to that? One night, he called me 22 times. I ignored him.
When he pleaded that I see him, nerves flooded my system. Something told me a meeting was not a good idea, but something else told me I needed some kind of closure. This was my first friend in Hoboken -- and a boy I was sleeping with for over a year -- what happened?
I conceded to meeting at a bar. I was already half a martini in when he arrived. Looking at him was so familiar yet foreign. He cut off his Jonas Brothers' curls and looked so much older, as if more than 6 months had passed between us. He hardly looked me in the eyes and kept shifting uncomfortably, tearing up bar napkins. He said he was selfish. I said he was immature. He agreed. He said he never thought I'd like him seriously and when he found this other girl he just secured a relationship so he wouldn't be alone, but in truth, he liked me and didn't want to lose me.
Why do I feel so rejected? Why didn't he fight for me?
Something changed in me then. It was like I forgave him or forgot how much he hurt me. As long as he didn't like her better than me, as long as she didn't make him happy, I secretly thought. Or maybe, part of me wanted to save him. Because I desperately needed some saving. Somehow, admitting he was unhappy seemed so far from the him I remembered, his vulnerable honesty was more attractive.
I wanted to kiss him. I stared at his lips, while biting my own, knowing he was no good for me but feeling the chemistry between us. Even if he was never a serious boyfriend, there is such a comfort and sexual energy between us. My loneliness crept up and took my rationale (or maybe it was the third martini).
We ended up back at my place. There was drunken chatter-- when he paused, looked at me softly, then kissed me...but I was so far gone at this point I don't remember what it felt like. The next thing that came out of my mouth was, "Do you want to be inside me?"
I wish I could recall his expression or what he said, but all I know is his clothes started flying off while I calmly removed my skirt, hopped on my bed, and said, "You're penis is not going near me, but you are going to get me off."
My memory then acts like photograph flashes: I hear myself moaning and my screams that I shouldn't be doing this, that I hate him. And I hear him whispering he never stopped thinking about me, about wanting me and I see his face looking at me, on top of me ...And then I blacked out.
When I woke up he was gone. I felt a little dirty. A little upset with myself and how easily I slid back into a drunken-induced habit. Are we friends again? Lovers? What do I want from him? (Something he could never give me). But it's like that wall I built blocking people out has gotten so thick, and since he began to chisel at it so long ago, anything he says or touches makes me crumble. I want someone to know me and look at me like he does.
We're back to the dance of him calling and texting, sort of making plans, then canceling without reasons. I now lost my closure and am back to where I started. I am not cut out for games.
The sad thing is, I still want that kiss.
When he pleaded that I see him, nerves flooded my system. Something told me a meeting was not a good idea, but something else told me I needed some kind of closure. This was my first friend in Hoboken -- and a boy I was sleeping with for over a year -- what happened?
I conceded to meeting at a bar. I was already half a martini in when he arrived. Looking at him was so familiar yet foreign. He cut off his Jonas Brothers' curls and looked so much older, as if more than 6 months had passed between us. He hardly looked me in the eyes and kept shifting uncomfortably, tearing up bar napkins. He said he was selfish. I said he was immature. He agreed. He said he never thought I'd like him seriously and when he found this other girl he just secured a relationship so he wouldn't be alone, but in truth, he liked me and didn't want to lose me.
Why do I feel so rejected? Why didn't he fight for me?
I asked if he was happy. He said "no."
Something changed in me then. It was like I forgave him or forgot how much he hurt me. As long as he didn't like her better than me, as long as she didn't make him happy, I secretly thought. Or maybe, part of me wanted to save him. Because I desperately needed some saving. Somehow, admitting he was unhappy seemed so far from the him I remembered, his vulnerable honesty was more attractive.
I wanted to kiss him. I stared at his lips, while biting my own, knowing he was no good for me but feeling the chemistry between us. Even if he was never a serious boyfriend, there is such a comfort and sexual energy between us. My loneliness crept up and took my rationale (or maybe it was the third martini).
We ended up back at my place. There was drunken chatter-- when he paused, looked at me softly, then kissed me...but I was so far gone at this point I don't remember what it felt like. The next thing that came out of my mouth was, "Do you want to be inside me?"
I wish I could recall his expression or what he said, but all I know is his clothes started flying off while I calmly removed my skirt, hopped on my bed, and said, "You're penis is not going near me, but you are going to get me off."
My memory then acts like photograph flashes: I hear myself moaning and my screams that I shouldn't be doing this, that I hate him. And I hear him whispering he never stopped thinking about me, about wanting me and I see his face looking at me, on top of me ...And then I blacked out.
When I woke up he was gone. I felt a little dirty. A little upset with myself and how easily I slid back into a drunken-induced habit. Are we friends again? Lovers? What do I want from him? (Something he could never give me). But it's like that wall I built blocking people out has gotten so thick, and since he began to chisel at it so long ago, anything he says or touches makes me crumble. I want someone to know me and look at me like he does.
We're back to the dance of him calling and texting, sort of making plans, then canceling without reasons. I now lost my closure and am back to where I started. I am not cut out for games.
The sad thing is, I still want that kiss.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Like a body pillow.
Have you ever grabbed somebody so tight -- held them so close, grasped their back so hard -- wrapping your arms all the way around them and pushing your face into their shoulder screaming -- "hold me" -- "I love you" -- and all the while tightening your grip, feeling your knuckles turn white as if you were trying to fuse your bodies into one as you feel their love, you physically feel their heart filling, and you know they're smiling because they believe you love them and want them a part of you because you are soul-mates but really, your arms are extended around them like they are a stuffed animal -- an object -- and you are simply pressing into them so you can feel, smell, listen to the breath of a real, life human being next to you -- more than next to you -- so perhaps you feel the love they are feeling --
Friday, October 14, 2011
Three Years Later.
There is particular bar in Manhattan that has a "Name Night" -- each day they choose a name and if it happens to be yours, you drink for free -- awesome. On this particular Friday it happened to be my name so I was super excited.
As the Friday dragged on, it became apparent no one was going to actually go with me. I was cranky but in the area and couldn't pass up free drinks so I went by my lonesome. I kept staring at my phone for that damn green light to blink informing me I had a text. It never lit up. No one was on their way.
The bartender told me, despite my name, I could not get free drinks 'cause part of their gimmick was you needed to bring friends. Did she think I wanted it this way? She was pretty bitchy, too. I didn't argue, but because I felt like it, I lowered her tip. I took out Dorothy Parker's Complete Book of Poems and read and sipped my vodka as the night filled with more people and I heard twenty girls with my name squeal because they were receiving free drinks.
Hello, I've waited here for you... "Everlong" came on the jukebox. ...Come down and waste away with me... ..good song.. ..Slow how you wanted it to be. I'm over my head. Out of her head, she sang...
I am laying in my freshman dorm room staring at my ceiling, where I pressed bottle caps into the shape of a star. It's 2 a.m. and all my roommates were at a Yonkers bar. There is a boy on the twin bed with me. A blonde, blue-eyed boy. We've been dating for a month but I am not sure if I really like him 'like that' because he is kind of a punk, kind of a nerd and does not drink or party with the same crowd as me. I am bored with the star so turning slightly, I rest my head on the boy's shoulder and my arm flops across his chest; it raises with his breathing which is uneven -- like he's nervous -- and then I heard something beautiful.
...And I wonder, when I sing along with you... he began singing, softly but on key. It was not showy, more like a whisper. It was beautiful and honest. It was a boy singing to a girl he knew could not sleep. ...If anything could ever feel this real forever. If anything could ever be this good again...
Holy shit, I am crying-- at the bar! How long has this been going on for? Did anybody see me? I grab the ledge and clumsily push my chair out. I grab a napkin, cover my drink, and place my book on the seat. There are more people in the bar than before. I stumble to the hallway and realize I don't know where the bathroom is. I end up in another room, frantic someone will see the tears on my face despite how dark it is.
I run into a stall, slam the door and start sobbing. ...Breathe out so I can breath you in, Hold you in... Will anyone love me like he did? At that moment, in my freshman dorm, I knew this boy would be a major part of my life. It was before the sex, before things got complicated. We were only eighteen then.
We dated for three years before I broke up with him. I know I hurt him. It makes sense that my punishment is always wondering if anyone will love me like he did. If anyone will sing, "Everlong," after knowing me for a month and mean it.
I leave the stall with a blotchy face and Rudolph-looking nose. The bar was so dark and busy no one noticed.
The bartender told me, despite my name, I could not get free drinks 'cause part of their gimmick was you needed to bring friends. Did she think I wanted it this way? She was pretty bitchy, too. I didn't argue, but because I felt like it, I lowered her tip. I took out Dorothy Parker's Complete Book of Poems and read and sipped my vodka as the night filled with more people and I heard twenty girls with my name squeal because they were receiving free drinks.
Hello, I've waited here for you... "Everlong" came on the jukebox. ...Come down and waste away with me... ..good song.. ..Slow how you wanted it to be. I'm over my head. Out of her head, she sang...
I am laying in my freshman dorm room staring at my ceiling, where I pressed bottle caps into the shape of a star. It's 2 a.m. and all my roommates were at a Yonkers bar. There is a boy on the twin bed with me. A blonde, blue-eyed boy. We've been dating for a month but I am not sure if I really like him 'like that' because he is kind of a punk, kind of a nerd and does not drink or party with the same crowd as me. I am bored with the star so turning slightly, I rest my head on the boy's shoulder and my arm flops across his chest; it raises with his breathing which is uneven -- like he's nervous -- and then I heard something beautiful.
...And I wonder, when I sing along with you... he began singing, softly but on key. It was not showy, more like a whisper. It was beautiful and honest. It was a boy singing to a girl he knew could not sleep. ...If anything could ever feel this real forever. If anything could ever be this good again...
Holy shit, I am crying-- at the bar! How long has this been going on for? Did anybody see me? I grab the ledge and clumsily push my chair out. I grab a napkin, cover my drink, and place my book on the seat. There are more people in the bar than before. I stumble to the hallway and realize I don't know where the bathroom is. I end up in another room, frantic someone will see the tears on my face despite how dark it is.
I run into a stall, slam the door and start sobbing. ...Breathe out so I can breath you in, Hold you in... Will anyone love me like he did? At that moment, in my freshman dorm, I knew this boy would be a major part of my life. It was before the sex, before things got complicated. We were only eighteen then.
We dated for three years before I broke up with him. I know I hurt him. It makes sense that my punishment is always wondering if anyone will love me like he did. If anyone will sing, "Everlong," after knowing me for a month and mean it.
I leave the stall with a blotchy face and Rudolph-looking nose. The bar was so dark and busy no one noticed.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Bittersweet, Indeed.
My face was flushed. He asked me what I was thinking about. Isn't that the question people always say not to ask? I couldn't tell him (I could not make eye contact either). He remained seated as I paced. "C'mon, you can tell me anything." I could tell his eyes were searching me for answers. "Can I? Can I, really?" I knew I could.
"You're face is turning red." He was smiling. He was getting off on me struggling. "It's just sometimes... I think things... you know? ...I am not getting all 'Fatal Attraction' on you... it's just sometimes..." My voice was squeaking; each stutter came out higher than the one before. That smile was so damn cute. "What would it be like if your whole marriage thing wasn't in the way? I know this could never happen. But what if, you know? What if there were absolutely no inhibitions between us? What if we went out on a 'real' date doing stuff we always talk about doing but know we never could? ...What would people think of us, as a couple? What would we think of us?" My hands were shaking now, and I was short of breath from talking so fast. "I just wonder... what it would be like if our timing was different."
His expression was curiously gleeful, "You think that?" I sighed. I do. "I know that could never happen." Still smiling, he agreed. We couldn't. But my thoughts were out there. They were so bold and stagnate I felt like I could read them off the air. I held my breath.
"I'm hard." He gave me the other smile. The smile that meant we were alone and could mess around. I retorted, "WHAT!? Really!? Now!?" That was not what I was expecting. Casually, he answers, "Yeah, you're turning me on." Half of me wanted to keep screaming and wondered if he listened to what I stammered yet my other half felt special which -- considering the scenario -- was ridiculous. I gave a sly smirk. "I am?" Okay, so I was fishing for compliments but then, I cut him off. "I can't do this. I have to go."
I grabbed the doorknob to leave -- "Steph, I think of that, too, sometimes." -- Five seconds went by. My eyes were locked with his, but I did not move my hand from the doorknob. The desire made me ache. I could kiss him or simply wrap my arms around him and savor these moments between us. But I turned the knob, instead.
I walked out and leaned my back against the shut door. I drew a long breath, closed my eyes and bowed my head in shame, knowing something I did not say out loud. I could have fallen in love with you.
"You're face is turning red." He was smiling. He was getting off on me struggling. "It's just sometimes... I think things... you know? ...I am not getting all 'Fatal Attraction' on you... it's just sometimes..." My voice was squeaking; each stutter came out higher than the one before. That smile was so damn cute. "What would it be like if your whole marriage thing wasn't in the way? I know this could never happen. But what if, you know? What if there were absolutely no inhibitions between us? What if we went out on a 'real' date doing stuff we always talk about doing but know we never could? ...What would people think of us, as a couple? What would we think of us?" My hands were shaking now, and I was short of breath from talking so fast. "I just wonder... what it would be like if our timing was different."
His expression was curiously gleeful, "You think that?" I sighed. I do. "I know that could never happen." Still smiling, he agreed. We couldn't. But my thoughts were out there. They were so bold and stagnate I felt like I could read them off the air. I held my breath.
"I'm hard." He gave me the other smile. The smile that meant we were alone and could mess around. I retorted, "WHAT!? Really!? Now!?" That was not what I was expecting. Casually, he answers, "Yeah, you're turning me on." Half of me wanted to keep screaming and wondered if he listened to what I stammered yet my other half felt special which -- considering the scenario -- was ridiculous. I gave a sly smirk. "I am?" Okay, so I was fishing for compliments but then, I cut him off. "I can't do this. I have to go."
I grabbed the doorknob to leave -- "Steph, I think of that, too, sometimes." -- Five seconds went by. My eyes were locked with his, but I did not move my hand from the doorknob. The desire made me ache. I could kiss him or simply wrap my arms around him and savor these moments between us. But I turned the knob, instead.
I walked out and leaned my back against the shut door. I drew a long breath, closed my eyes and bowed my head in shame, knowing something I did not say out loud. I could have fallen in love with you.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
"I've always wanted to be a waitress."
One of the intern mutes said this to me a couple days ago. We were talking over a Hoegaarden at a going away one-beer-each lunch celebration for a guy we never met. She confided in me she felt guilty for accepting a beer 'cause she wasn't twenty-one yet. Oh. My. God. I felt old. The sad thing is I am probably older than most of the editors, too. But since when is twenty-five old? And how did they all get jobs before me? It is appearing that only restaurant managers like me.
When the intern exclaimed, "I've always wanted to be a waitress." My initial reaction was, "Really? But you can't be a mute and be a waitress!" (Okay, she is obviously a nice girl and now I know she and some others can talk but it is still fun to refer to them as "the mutes"). Then, I remembered! I always wanted to be a waitress, too! In college, I applied countless time to my favorite restaurants and desperately wanted to work there. I never did. But what if -- if I did, would I have gotten out of it sooner?
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