tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687429793812675602024-03-13T11:28:33.781-04:00...tales of a twentysomething.scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.comBlogger86125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-44894897413284152852013-03-05T00:13:00.002-05:002013-03-05T11:56:32.467-05:00Remember the TimeI didn't want to keep writing about him since he made it clear he didn't want me thinking about him anymore but Timehop reminded me that on this day, three years ago, Emmett came back into my life.<br />
<br />
....<br />
<br />
I hadn't heard from him in six months and a friend had invited me to stay with her Tokyo for a few weeks. Airfare was cheap and I hopped at the chance. I posted on Facebook that I was planning on being in Japan for 3 weeks; making plans with friends of mine teaching English there across the country. At this point, Emmett had left six months prior and I hadn't yet heard from him - and didn't know if I would.<br />
<br />
And then suddenly, he was active on Facebook - which he hadn't been for the six months he'd been gone. He hadn't contacted me yet so I was upset. I updated my status to "Well, I guess that's settled." - a slight at him, seeing as he was still alive and living his life and obviously couldn't care about me. He commented on my status that "Things tend to settle during flight." I ignored it. He was always kind of snarky and cheeky.<br />
<br />
Then he sent me a message. A mutual friend had told him I was coming to Japan and, if I wasn't too busy, he was hoping I would come and stay with him; he'd love to see me again and show me where he lived. I was angry and apprehensive about it. How could you just turn up out of the blue and expect me to be ok? Expect <i>this</i> to be ok? I said, well, I supposed I did have some time unaccounted for that I could stay a few days. I reserved my final week in Japan to stay with him in a tiny mountain town called Yokote, four hours north of Tokyo.<br />
<br />
......<br />
<br />
I had spent the weekend drinking and laughing with friends in Osaka and Hiroshima. And on a dreary Sunday afternoon, I boarded a Shinkansen back to Osaka, then to Tokyo, and further on to a place I'd never heard of called Omagari, in Akita Prefecture, where Emmett said he would pick me up. It took 9 hours start to finish. Three trains and three climate changes and I was there. It was late and I'd taken my contact lens out on the train and put on my velour sweatpants, hair in a pony tail. I hadn't showered since we'd spent all night in a karaoke bar and I passed out on a friend's couch. But I was nervous and my keitai had died and now here I was with the train doors opening into this frigid climate.<br />
<br />
Omagari.<br />
<br />
My backpack on and giant rolling suitcase in one hand, I stepped out onto the platform. I looked up and I could see his silhouette looking down on me from the observation deck. I nervously got on one escalator and then another, heart beating out of my chest, fumbling with my rail pass for the gate agent as I saw him waiting patiently on the other side for me. He looked different, older; his face acne scarred by the climate change. Once I cleared the gate, we half hugged and he awkwardly sought out an elevator. We looked at each other stone faced, trying to hide our nervousness, and loaded my things into his Saab; an interesting choice of car for someone teaching English in Japan. Most of my friends drove tiny kei cars; cheap little aluminum boxes - but somehow, this suited him, suited his personality. He would have driven something like this in the States if he made enough, I suppose. Then again, he drove a Honda Civic when he was living in Ohio when I'd known him then. Maybe this was an upgrade.<br />
<br />
He fumbled with the GPS on his phone, trying to figure out how to get back. He almost ran a red light and I yelled at him. We stopped at a diner for pancakes and coffee. (Well, I got pancakes. He just got soup.) And then, a short while later, we'd arrived at his apartment complex which was named Moulin Rouge - although far from the French landmark. I began to unpack my things: presents I'd brought for him like Burt's Bees lotion and Kraft Mac & Cheese powder. I told him I was going to take a shower. I washed all my parts and shaved from head to toe. I'd been waiting for this moment for months. I wanted everything to be perfect. To feel his kiss, his touch, his embrace again. I'd been waiting. And I emerged in my pajamas and we sat on his couch - on opposite sides of his couch - and talked about my journey.<br />
<br />
And then, like two high schoolers, we were suddenly in a ferocious lip lock. Our glasses clinked together comically and we stopped and threw them off and continued to kiss, to ravage each other. I straddled him and let my wet hair envelope his pockmarked face. I kissed his soft lips as his mustache tickled underneath my nose and then he took me and threw me down onto the futon on the floor. He kissed my neck and took off my shirt and began to kiss my breasts, down my stomach, pulling down my pants which slid off my hips that were thin from being worn out waiting for him. I was naked and exposed and I just wanted what I'd been waiting so long for. He kissed my inner thighs.<br />
<br />
I flipped him and mounted him and removed his shirt, undid his belt, unzipped his pants. I just couldn't wait and I took him into my mouth and he teased, moving his cock away from my lips. I flicked my tongue and he'd jerk himself back just out of reach, then I'd take him deep again until he just couldn't take it anymore. He cut to the chase, pulling me by my arms up to face him, kissing me passionately before he flipped me on to my back, and then entered me. And we fucked and fucked and made up for those past six months with every thrust and scratch and scrape and pulse and grip. We came together, just like we always had. And we fell asleep in each other's arms.<br />
<br />
I woke up the next morning to his alarm going off for work and the first thing he did was spoon me from behind and kiss my shoulder. Then he got up and showered and I watched him get dressed for work, wishing that day could be my every day. He kissed me goodbye, told me there was soda in the fridge and a key for the locker for the bicycle if I wanted to go out, but he'd be back at noon. I woke up and made some eggs and uploaded pictures and watching some TV and then took a nap.<br />
<br />
He woke me up by whispering in my ear that I probably shouldn't leave the door unlocked. I gasped.<br />
<br />
.....<br />
<br />
By the end of the week, I'd gotten so used to him that I wished I hadn't had to leave. But Emmett got dressed for work and we drove back to the train in minimal silence and I got my ticket and he hugged and kissed me swiftly even though I could hear him starting to choke up and I boarded my train back to Tokyo in tears behind my sunglasses.<br />
<br />
And I cried all the way to the airport and in the airport and on the plane until I fell asleep because I knew that this was the man that I was supposed to love and spend the rest of my life with and I knew deep down somewhere that something was going to prevent it from happening.<br />
<br />
.....<br />
<br />
And it turns out that something was me..scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-11501141896486779752013-02-12T09:29:00.001-05:002013-02-12T09:29:49.079-05:00The Final CountdownSoon I won't be a "twenty-something" anymore; I am on the verge of 30. And then what happens?<br />
<br />
My life is going to be perfect. Everything is going to magically fall into place and fix itself and I'll be happy and I won't need this blog anymore. Because that's what happens when you're in your thirties, right?<br />
<br />
People are getting engaged and married and having babies and here I still am, still trying to sort out the mess of the last decade and can't seem to see the light at the end of that tunnel. I was told that it does get better once you turn thirty, but I feel like it's in such an ambiguous way, like when they do those "It Gets Better" videos for the bullied kids. I'm still living alone, waking up hungover, eating junk for dinner, pretending to give a shit, letting others believe this charade I'm putting on.<br />
<br />
<i>"Oh, I don't even know if I ever want to get married. I can't even fathom what love really is because every time I thought I had it, it was all just bullshit. Maybe love doesn't even really exist - not in my universe, anyway. I just can't see myself living with someone and settling down and doing boring stuff and merging our things and our personalities and our lives and our groceries."</i><br />
<br />
That's all my bullshit. My wall. My defense mechanisms.<br />
<br />
I watched this week's episode of GIRLS and I realized more and more how much I can relate to Hannah, when she says, "<i>Please don't tell anyone this, but I want to be happy. I realized I'm not different. I want what everyone wants. I want what they want. I want all the things. I just want to be happy", </i>because these are the same things that I say to myself; these are the same things that I feel.<br />
<br />
I self-deprecate and I engage in behaviors that aren't good for me. I keep people at distances even when I want to draw them so close and so near to me. I try not to let people in and let them get under my skin and then when they do, when I feel things, when I hurt like normal people are supposed to, I'm afraid and offended and scared and brush them off, shut back down, shut them out. Because I want to feel things and I want to let people in and I'm not sure I remember how. I've had people playfully call me a cold-hearted bitch before, and maybe they've been right all along. Maybe everyone else can see it but me. <br />
<br />
........<br />
<br />
My friend and I had a conversation about how we let the wrong people fill certain voids in our lives because we hope the right people will come along and take their place. Sometimes I feel like I'm just cramming all these people into this void to stop an open, gaping wound; staunch the hemorrhaging of all my emotions. I spring a leak and then just use someone else to plug the hole. It becomes a never-ending cycle and I'm never happy.<br />
<br />
Emmett told me that I was never going to love anyone until I learned to love myself. He said even if I got my dream job and found the perfect guy and moved back to NY, I'd still be miserable and he's probably right. Everyone makes it sound so easy, "loving yourself". I don't even know if I know what it means to love. When was the last time I felt it? I thought it was with Emmett, but he told me that he didn't love me, was never going to love me. And I look back and try to think who else might have loved me once before? Did I know? Did I remember how that felt? How I could try and close my eyes and go deep inside myself to search for that feeling's warmth and bring it to the surface, smell it, drink it in, use it to satiate this hunger. Use it to help me remember and revive the love that is supposed to be inside me, inside all of us.<br />
<br />
..........<br />
<br />
So here's to the home stretch, the final year before I turn 30. The quest for me to see if all the rumors are true. That life can get better. That I can learn to love myself and others again. That I can be that emotion that has evaded me for so long: Here's to the pursuit of Happiness. .scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-24167951949754347512012-12-26T23:28:00.000-05:002012-12-26T23:29:36.866-05:00(Not) Thinking of You<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
You told me we’re not doing this anymore and so, I’m not
thinking about you.<br />
<br />
I’m not thinking about the first time we met in Grand
Central Station and how your eyes lit up like a little kid on Christmas. I’m
not thinking about the way you pressed me up against a window in a Manhattan
hotel room and kissed me for the first time. How the sparks between us were so
intense they could have kept Times Square lit for a year. I’m certainly not
thinking about how intensely in sync we are in bed together or how we came
together almost every single time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another thing I’m not thinking about is how I met you in
Cincinnati for your 30<sup>th</sup> birthday. How we stuck our heads in those
silly cutouts at that festival or how I laid my head on your shoulder while we
watched them feed otters at the aquarium. I’m not thinking about how you held
me close and told me you never wanted me to leave Ohio. Or how that café we had
dinner at was playing The Smiths. I’m not thinking about how you held me in the
pool as I wrapped my legs around your waist and my arms around your neck and
how you kissed me and I felt like this was the first time in a long time that I
knew I loved someone again. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not thinking about seeing your silhouette looking down at
me from the waiting room of a Japanese train station as I got off a 9 hour
train ride to see you. Or how our glasses banged together like two teenagers
when we finally got up the nerve to just thrust our mouths at one another after
months of being apart, and how we tossed them off comedically and continued
making out. I’m absolutely not thinking about how you woke up the next morning
and the first thing you did was put your arms around me from behind and kiss my
shoulder before you went to work. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m also definitely not thinking about how, when I was lying
in my underwear on a bed in a hotel in Houston, you emerged from the bathroom,
calmly walked past me, ran your fingers up my torso, went to the door to<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=468742979381267560" name="_GoBack"></a> put on the “Do Not Disturb” sign and proceeded to ravage me
sweetly. Or how you adjusted the flower in my hair with the utmost care so that
you could see it head on. How at midnight on New Year’s you said, “Well, I
guess we’re supposed to kiss now”, pulled me to your waist, parted your lips
and placed them softly against mine. I’m not thinking about how when I said I’d
miss you, you replied “I never miss you; I have good aim.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not thinking about the hours we spent talking on the
phone or the IMs or the webcam chats or the sexting or the emails we’d send each
other at work. About all the smiles and laughs and hugs and forehead kisses and
handholds. Or the hours I spent crying over you and missing you from 9000 miles
away. Or about the phone call you made from the airport in Minnesota where you
told me you were no good for me, that I was too smart, that I should find
someone better. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not thinking about any of those things at all. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because we’re not doing this anymore.</div>
.scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-25722147640389695552012-12-11T14:12:00.000-05:002012-12-26T23:24:15.136-05:00The One<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everyone around you is coupled up and you feel like you’re
the only one left standing. They are cohabitating and getting engaged and
getting married and you’re buying frozen dinners for one at the grocery store.
You contemplate if you’ll ever find “the one”, that person who makes everything
in the world make sense. Who gets your obscure jokes and likes that worn out
grey band t-shirt you wear to bed sometimes. Who doesn’t mind sitting in the
aisle seat all the time and who lets you eat the last donut. You wonder if
maybe that person has been in your life all along and you’ve just accidentally
passed them over, so you run through your mental catalog of all the people from
your past who could possibly be “the one”. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The boy who you had a torrid and short-lived love affair
with; who came to visit at your dorm while surviving a 9 hour trip on the
Chinatown bus during a snowstorm. Who stayed on the phone with you late at
night while you read poetry to him and he told you how much your prose turned
him on. How you took his virginity late one night in his room at his mother’s
house on Staten Island. How he held you in the living room after watching
Menace to Society, and said I love you in the lights of the Christmas tree. And
then how he broke your heart and said it was all a lie; that you didn’t really
love him, that he was a tortured soul. And yet, you still held this connection,
this bond, on and off again for so many years, finally reuniting recently
during Thanksgiving. Older, wiser, a little worn for haul – but he had sent you
a text reminding you that you’d promised to marry him when you turned 30. You
lol’d and wrote back saying, hold on, I’m not quite there yet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A boy you met through an Internet dating site that you went
on a few mediocre dates with and when he kissed you, it felt like kissing your
brother. It was underwhelming and there was never any chemistry, but you still
hung out and you still slept in his bed, but you never let him see you naked.
And both of you would text each other to hang out every few months; you’d
wonder if things would change next time you saw him, but it was always a well-worn
friendship and never anything more. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then there’s the one that you thought was “the one”. Who
was quick witted with even more obscure jokes and who never let you wear that
grey band t-shirt to bed because you were too busy making love and falling
asleep naked spooning each other. Who showed you the best and worst of yourself
back to you like a mirror and kept urging you to grow into the person you are
one day going to be. Who started making everything make sense in your life
until the day you realized that you were never doing the same things in return
for him. The one who told you that he couldn’t love you because love needs to
be nourished and fed, even though he was the one nourishing and feeding your
love of him for three years. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
None of these guys are “the one”. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe you’ve met “the one” already and maybe you haven’t.
Maybe “the one” doesn’t exist at all. And so what? Who cares? For now, just be
the only one you need.</div>
.scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-72383695760623890572012-09-11T22:38:00.002-04:002012-09-11T22:40:56.692-04:00Crossroads<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I don't even know what I'm doing with my life. I don't know what I want to do. I'm afraid that I'm doing it all wrong. That everything I do is terrible and I'm going to wind up miserable and shitty and pissed off because I'm not good at anything. I got this internship to write for a food blog-paper thing, and I thought I was a good writer but apparently I'm bad at this or just don't know what to do with vague criticism and no direction (this is why I was not a journalism major).</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">And I hate being here & hate my job, but I have the potential to move to NY and do a higher level of my job and possibly either hate it more or hate it slightly less since I'd be living in a city that I love and making more money to dull the pain.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">But I've also possibly got the opportunity to take a similar job for less then I make now (possibly a lot less) in Singapore. Which would be a great and fun experience and when would I ever get to do that again - provided I get this job and pull enough money out of my ass to move to and live in Singapore?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Singapore would be fun & I could travel and have all kinds of experiences and see the world and do things I never imagined and then maybe write about it - or at the very least start a blog about it. And it could open up the door to so many different opportunities & possibilities in the future.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">While NY is my eventual "end game" plan, and it's sitting within reach now, do I want to subject myself to the same bullshit, different geography? Or do I take major risk and move halfway around the world with barely any money into something that I might even like or be able to afford to do?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">At least the trying to live in Japan thing offered some sense of security, some sense of camaraderie with other people on similar positions; but I don't know anyone in Singapore.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I just don't want to sit around and look back on this whole scenario and wonder if I made a mistake like I already do when I think about moving to Philadelphia. And I don't want to think I missed a chance to do something amazing because I was held back by </span><span class="il" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">fear</span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> or money. I also don't want money & location to be my motivating factor behind my decision.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">...so what do I do? What should I do?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Maybe I should just turn them both down and keep waiting for something better to come along. Maybe just because this is here doesn't mean it's right.</span>
.scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-19837530935466028172012-09-03T19:38:00.001-04:002012-09-03T19:39:47.138-04:00Passing thoughts<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Staring at a blank screen, cursor flashing, and my mind is
just as blank. I’m not where I want to be. Emotionally, physically,
career-wise; I just feel lost and disappointed in myself. Like, you could be
better than this, you know? You could be doing so much more than this, be more,
write more, and feel more. Everything always just starts to feel forced: the
smiles, the writing, the laughter. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I want to like him and then I second guess myself. Am I
doing that thing that I do again? The over-analyzing the other person because
I’m holding them up to that standard, comparing them to him up there on the
pedestal? You can’t do that – I tell myself – they’re not the same; they’ll
never be the same. So what if he doesn’t make you laugh? So what if you don’t
have butterflies in your stomach when you’re kissing? So what? You’re still
having a good time, so – what?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everyone here makes me feel insecure. Everyone is a better
writer than me, established better in their careers, has more connections, more
notches on their resume, bylines to show for it. I’m a fucking great writer,
aren’t I? Why can’t I do that shit? Why can’t anyone seem to see how great I
am? Everyone here is more athletic than me, going to the gym every day, running
marathons, being active. Why am I just so lazy about it all? Where is the fire
I can light under my ass to get me to really want to get out there and bust my
ass for it? I feel like everyone my age it doing more than I am and I can’t
just seem to get it together.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I keep telling myself I’ll try more, harder, to be better.
But then I just get to a screen and everything goes blank. I don’t want to do
anything about it. I am stagnant. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know I can, I know I can, I know I can. But I can’t.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m preoccupied at the thought of the future, of not wanting
to be here, of him. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Emmett. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of wanting to be with him; like he is the key to make the
rest of these pieces fall into place. If he were with me, I would be happy. And
then we could go somewhere and live together and be happy together. He would
inspire me and motivate me and encourage me. Because he gets me – he gets what
I’m about and what I do and what I want to do, where I want to be – because
we’re so much the same.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I read through his blog the other day and cried. The way he
writes makes me so envious, it’s so beautiful and poetic. His entries are
sporadic just like mine. Sometimes they are epic novels and sometimes they are
short stories. Sometimes they make a difference and sometimes they are just
random thoughts. I want to write my story with him, write the story of our
future together. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hate everything else I have to say. It all seems so
trivial. The world is so much bigger than we all are and why make a mountain
out of our anthills of problems? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hate my novel because I hate that it feels phony; I can’t
convey all these thoughts of loss of a loved one since I’ve never really lost
someone I loved. I based the idea on my loss of him but he never really went
away, and he was never really mine to begin with. That’s why it’s so terrible.
That’s why I have an ending that was just a cheater’s way out since I couldn’t
figure out how to end it since things were never ended. It doesn’t even make
any sense and it’s just cheap filler. It’s like when you eat something that
makes you feel terrible and bloated right after but then you’re starving again
a few hours later. Or if you ate something expensive or something that you
hoped would taste great but was bland and flavorless, and you felt guilty about
it, about how you were so excited for it and then hated it but you still had to
pretend to like it anyway.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To be honest - I’m worried that’s how our relationship would
be. Bland and flavorless, even though we hoped it would be mind-blowing.</div>
.scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-68122254485953514172012-07-08T12:23:00.003-04:002012-07-08T12:24:36.774-04:00I'm Not SorryYou know what? I take it all back. I'm not sorry.<br />
<br />
I have no remorse. I'm a big girl now and I'll do whatever the fuck I want.<br />
<br />
All my life I have been mousy, meek, passive, pushed around, used, taken advantage of. I let people use their leverage against me to guilt <i>me</i>, make me pity them, make <i>me</i> feel sorry for the bullshit they have done to <i>me,</i> make me feel like I don't have the right to just walk away, like I have to give a shit about you when you couldn't give two shits about me. I let those thoughts consume me, eat away at me, hold me down with their emotional baggage while I tried to find a way to apologize and make things right, to life these weights off my chest when I was never the one who put them there; I was trying to apologize for things that weren't my fault.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">I no longer want to feel jailed by my actions or guilted by the thought of the feelings of the others that I have hurt. </span><span style="background-color: white;">I'm getting too old for that. </span><br />
<br />
<b><u>I am not that girl anymore.</u></b><br />
<br />
And if you don't like it, get the fuck over it.<br />
<br />
/I'm done..scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-7709588405279153602012-06-19T21:08:00.000-04:002012-06-19T21:08:06.717-04:00Doing it Wrong<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I sit around and look at all the people around me, I can't help but feel like I'm doing this whole life thing wrong. Everyone is in relationships (happy or unhappy relationships - regardless, they have someone special in the life), moving in together, getting married, having babies. People are in their careers, advancing to better jobs, giving up the old bullshit for the new awesomeness. And where am I? I'm stuck here - living alone, being alone, being miserable in my thankless job. It's not for lack of trying. I've put out more resumes than I can recall, and while last year there were a slew of promising interviews, this year remains nothing but silence. </span><div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So what am I doing wrong?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've been trying to like Philadelphia, really I have. And I've been trying to date and give people the benefit of the doubt. But the more nothing goes the way I see it going for others, I really have to wonder if maybe it's really just me. I'm what's wrong in this equation. I have dreams and principles and goals set for myself and my future that I'm not willing to compromise - is that really so wrong? There are things that I feel in my heart and my gut that I know are right - things that I know that I can do, tasks that I can legitimately accomplish - but nothing is propelling my life into motion; the pieces to the puzzle just always seem to be missing.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am rapidly approaching 30 and with it brings along this wide-eyed sense of panic and anxiety. I don't know where I wanna go or who I wanna be or what I wanna do. Every day I'm on to a new thought or idea or city or state or country; I could move to X and do Y. I don't have a problem picking up and starting over - it's the part that happens after I get there that's going to be difficult. All I really want is to just be happy. To wake up in the morning and not hate where I am or where I'm going, what I have to do or who I have to see. Do people really have that? Do people really, genuinely, truly wake up in the morning loving every single little aspect of their lives? To not have regrets that they wish they had gone here, done this, tried that. To not have all this fear of moving forward to the exciting and new because they are too scare to let go of the past, the safe, the familiar.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Friends in long term relationships are moving in together, trying to find the perfect living spaces in which to combine all their things, posting the totally cool, quirky wall art of that thing they both like. Or the pictures of their fridge covered in pictures of that trip they once took. Well, <a href="http://scandeelous.blogspot.com/2010/09/co-habitation.html">I tried that whole "living together" thing once</a> and it didn't go so well, and the thought of putting that much of myself on the line, the merging of things, even if I know in my heart that this other person would never do me wrong, still feels unnerving and makes me break out into a cold sweat of sharing an apartment with anything bigger then a ladybug.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As friends marry and have babies and post pictures of said babies on social media sites, I feel these little twinges of the hetero-normative pulling and prodding. "Find a husband, have a baby - happy wife, happy life." Being married, pregnant, raising children? These are not the ideals I see for myself, and ultimately it becomes my cross to bear as I see others finding happiness in these simple milestones and wonder if maybe, I just compromised my own beliefs, that I could find that happiness too. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I know I won't. I would never be happy just trying to fit the mold. I know I'm going to be amazing one day. I'm bound for glory. But can it just hurry up and get here already? Because I'm really starting to get worried that I'm fucking it up.</span></div>.scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-29718639826531945452012-05-15T22:45:00.001-04:002012-05-15T22:45:33.104-04:00ButterfliesI really ought to apologize to him. I lied when I said "<i>It's not you, it's me" </i>because it <i>was</i> him.<br />
<br />
After kissing so many frogs, I finally found a prince. After all those duds, he made me see sparks.<br />
<br />
He was the first boy that I'd kissed in a <b><i>long</i></b> time that made me feel <i>butterflies.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<b>And it scared the shit out of me.</b><br />
<br />
He was so nice and sweet and kind. He made me nervous and I was afraid I wouldn't be able to control myself with him. Like I would just let the emotions take over; like I really could have fallen in love.<br />
<br />
I tried to play it off and make excuses, talk myself out of it, date someone else. But the whole time I was with #2, I couldn't stop thinking about #1. Running into him in hallways, dreaming about passionately making out with him on their shared couch, fantasizing about sneaking into his bed in the middle of the night.<br />
<br />
.......<br />
<br />
"<i>Shhh</i>!" I'd put my finger to his lips as I slipped between his sheets, then kiss him softly right in the area between his ear and his cheek, running my hand strongly across his firm chest. I pictured his arms embracing me gently but kissing me firmly, holding me close and making me feel safe; like I was the only girl in the world.<br />
<br />
.........<br />
<br />
Maybe all my excuses were right. Maybe it's better that we were never together.<br />
<br />
<b>He would have treated me like a Princess and I turned around and treated him like a Frog. </b>
<br />
<br />
And I never deserved him, anyway..scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-47071190634684892532012-05-15T22:26:00.001-04:002012-05-15T22:26:48.416-04:00Tongue TiedI'm terrible at talking about things. Words just tend to bunch up somewhere in the back of my throat, stumble around on my tongue and never make it past my lips. Whenever they do manage to come out of my mouth, they are discombobulated, adjectives running into nouns, trampling each other and never making sense. So that's why I write - because I'm horrible at getting out the things that I want to say in an eloquent enough way for them to makes sense to human ears. I try to explain myself to people, apologize for things, separate myself from situations in a mature, adult manner and I can't. It's not that I don't know <i>how</i> - I can formulate all the monologues in my head - but it's that I don't know how to get them out of there. So I don't. I cease communication. I cut people off. I cower into a corner, speechless. Because it's easier to be silent than try to stutter and ramble or be guilted or have to fight or defend myself. Easier than having words thrown back in my face - words that hurt or sting or pull at my heart strings. Words that make me feel things that I want to avoid.<br />
<br />
Usually I'm better at writing than I am at speaking. But I haven't even been able to write lately. The words get stuck in the area between my brain and my fingers on computer keys. I've been worried about it. Thoughts that used to flow so easily now seem difficult to get down on a page; forcing my creativity to show itself ends in vain. Even this post right now is a challenge: I'm distracted. I'm distant, unfocused. Everything is crowded. All the great ideas, the stories, the jokes, the anecdotes - they're trapped, aching to find release. I know what I want to say, so why can't I just get it out?<br />
<br />
........<br />
<br />
They say if you never ask then you'll never know. But really, don't we already know? Isn't that why we're afraid to ask in the first place? We're not strong enough to face the rejection of our dreams - no matter how strong of an argument for them we may have, no matter how passionate we are for the cause - we're afraid of the possibility of "No". I was told "No" so often growing up every time I asked for something that I just decided to stop asking altogether, because I was tired of hearing no. I'm afraid to ask anything now, even if I know the answer will be a resounding yes; all because of the small fraction of the potential for "No."<br />
<br />
<br />
I wish I could just tell him how I'm feeling. How when I got that email, how much I wanted to say the words that I'd been waiting so long to say because he'd finally said something that I'd been waiting so long to hear. "<i>I'm lost too</i>." I should have told him. "<i>Come back and we can be lost together. We'll help each other find whatever it is we're looking for. I can be your Next." </i>But I chickened out and just typed a sarcastic, off handed remark and the door to that topic was closed. And now the words are piling up because all I can think about is "What if?" What if I said what I'd wanted? Would it have had a warm reception? Or would he have just brushed it off as a passing, drunken comment in a moment of weakness that had no real weight on the reality of his situation? Maybe that's why I didn't say what I should have: because I was afraid that I wouldn't get the response that I was hoping for in my head. Maybe that's why I never say what I want to.<br />
<br />
Because I'm afraid of the truth. Because I'm afraid of the "No".<br />
<br />
If I don't ask, then he never has to let me down, he never has to reject me. I can keep the fantasy going in my head; the hoping, the wishing, the wanting, the waiting. In my head, I always get the answer I want.<br />
<br />
But then the words start piling up. There's no where to put them all - all the things that I want to tell him, all the things I want answers to, the things I've put off discussing. They start clogging my brain. Then, there's no easy way for them to come out. The exits are blocked, the doors are bulging as they try to hold back the overflow. One day, I'm just going to explode and everything will just spill out like lava, destroying everything in its path.<br />
<br />
...And then, I'll just get tongue tied again..scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-67077668860546702762012-02-29T22:21:00.001-05:002012-03-05T21:26:01.859-05:00Out of Order<i>"Out of Order"</i><br />
<br />
Whenever we see or hear that phrase, it can mean a lot of things. It could refer to something that is broken and not currently functioning. It could mean that things are in disarray; out of order from the neat and proper way that they are supposed to be kept, out of place. Or, perhaps one of the most infamous ways this phrase has ever been uttered, from the movie "A Few Good Men": "<i>You're out of order"</i>! - inappropriate, stepping over the lines of decency. I've definitely applied all of those definitions to different aspects of my life within the past few weeks and they are really starting to take their toll on me. My whole universe is currently "out of order".<br />
<br />
........<br />
<br />
It all started with a boy, as most things in my life tend to start with. I met a boy who was nice and kind and sweet. I really liked him, I really did. But, I am so broken and out of order. There's just too much baggage in my life, skeletons banging to get out of my closets, that I could never expect someone like him to be able to handle that. He would never be able to carry all my baggage. And so, I let things go to the wayside.<br />
<br />
And then, I met another boy. The only problem was: Boy #2 was Boy #1's roommate.<br />
<br />
Because I'm not enough of a martyr. Because I apparently can't handle enough chaos in my life that I just need to keep piling it on and getting myself into situations that are unhealthy and probably going to end in (ok, always destined to end in) disaster, I moved things forward with Boy #2. (Apparently, they conferred about this situation - aka Me - first and Boy #1 gave reluctant approval for Boy #2 to ask me out.)<br />
<br />
And I really liked Boy #2. He was basically like, the boy version of me. (Except, clearly, I'm way cooler and more attractive. /sarcasm) We became "partners in awesomeness". He thought I was clever and funny and beautiful (all true things, obviously) and I thought he was handsome and smart and brilliant. I admired and adored him. I loved joking and laughing and smiling and plotting with him.<br />
<br />
Yet, despite all those awesome feelings and fun times, I kept defaulting to my stupid thing that I do with boys where I keep them at arms length and pretend I don't have feelings because I don't want to get hurt and try to keep everything as casual as possible and pretend like I don't care.<br />
<br />
Only problem is: I started to care. <u>And it scared the shit out of me.</u><br />
<br />
"<i>Hmm, I think I might kind of like you..."</i>, I once told him, half joking, half serious. <br />
<br />
I kept trying to tell myself things to psych myself out of it, like "<i>Well, I'm never going to love him like I love Emmett. He's never going to be as good as Emmett.</i>" or "<i>Oh, I'm not trying to put down roots in Philadelphia. I'm leaving soon. I can't get into anything serious.</i>" My friend and I even resorted to making Pro & Con lists about him. (I know we all remember that episode of FRIENDS where Ross makes the Julie & Rachel pro/con list - and we saw how well that turned out at the time. "<i>She's not Ratchum!</i>??!")<br />
<br />
But I started feeling like maybe this <b><i>could</i></b> be something serious, like maybe I could really fall for this person, like maybe Philadelphia wasn't so bad after all as long as I had someone to share it with. I got butterflies when I was with him and I got sad when we were apart. I always wanted to be around him; sharing kisses and creativity and scotch and calamari. That, my friends, sent me into the panic of the century. I started having anxiety attacks, worrying that I was going to get trapped here in Philadelphia - in a job I hate, in a sub-par relationship with someone who was not the soul mate I envisioned for myself. So of course, I went into self-sabotage mode.<br />
<br />
Anything good in my life will always turn to shit. <b>And its 99.9% always my fault.</b><br />
<br />
The whole version of events as to how we met was something that we joked about a lot. It was unavoidable - literally. I mean, I was dating someone who had a roommate who I also went on a date with once. And there were playful jokes about well, maybe I should just go on over to Boy #1's room sometime and try and seduce him - or whatever. Totally and completely not serious, but wheels kept turning in my head. I kept having these "What if?" moments.<br />
<br />
What if I had just dated Boy #1 instead? It wasn't that I didn't like him; we had a lot of common interests. What if I could date Boy #1 Mondays, Wednesdays & Fridays and Boy #2 Sundays, Tuesdays & Thursdays and then they could alternate Saturdays? What if I could really get these guys into a polyamorous relationship and have them be totally cool with it? I mean, in the <i>Millenium</i> trilogy, Berger is able to have her husband for one part of her life to fulfill certain needs, and Blomkvist as her lover and for everything else. Why could I have that too?<br />
<br />
So, <b>I got fucking greedy is what fucking happened. </b><br />
<br />
I had already started being aloof with Boy #2 and downplaying things and acting like I didn't care. Rubbing it in his face that I'd applied to 2 jobs back home one week and how my boss had asked if he would come with me and I'd recoiled in disgust like, "<i>GOD NO! I mean, it's not THAT serious</i>!" How I couldn't wait to get the fuck out of Philadelphia and leave this shit stink of a town behind - and presumably him as well.<br />
<br />
And then, one night, I did the unthinkable: I, while under the influence of several beers and shots of Patron, messaged Boy #1 and asked him to come over.<br />
<br />
I mean, I wasn't even really being serious. I wasn't home at the time. I wasn't expecting him to actually come over. I knew he was out drunk too so I don't even know how he'd even get to my house (that I wasn't at). And even if he <b><i>had</i></b> shown up, I probably would have slammed the door in his face and laughed.<br />
<br />
And then Boy #1 told Boy #2 and he was pissed.<br />
<br />
I don't know why I expected him not to be. I don't know why I thought "<i>I was really drunk</i>" was going to be an excuse and he was going to forgive me for it. (Maybe because I once blatantly tried to shove my hands down the pants of a friend of a guy that I was dating - and not really into - right in front of him while shitfaced?) That's an excuse you use when you're 18, not when you're 28. And so I don't really know why I was shocked when he broke up with me. <br />
<br />
At first, I was pissed and angry. Like, HOW DARE HE! Like I didn't cause this; that this was somehow his fault. And so I sat around being really pissy and angry for a week and hating Boy #1 and Boy #2 for getting me into this situation. Like somehow this all could have been prevented from Day 1 if we just had some kind of weird threesome and then let everything work itself out. To have eased the tension of avoiding Boy #1 every time I came to their apartment. To have stopped thinking about how I was flaunting this relationship with his roommate in his face. <br />
<br />
Point is: I hurt people's feelings. <b><i>And that's what's really fucking out of order.</i></b><br />
<br />
My behavior was out of order and what I did isn't really forgivable. Shit, I wouldn't forgive me. But that's because I don't forgive anyone easily. (Must run in my family because my Mom is really good at holding grudges for decades.) But I wish I could be forgiven. I wish this albatross wasn't hanging from my neck day in and day out. I wish I could just go back and erase everything that happened - but I can't. I have felt guilt about what I've done, this pit in my stomach that won't go away. I hate myself. I deserve this shitty feeling of feeling like a shitty person because I am one. <br />
<br />
<u>And I want to apologize. </u><br />
<br />
I've really started to like it in Philadelphia, and it was because of you. And now, I feel like I can't even go certain places because they remind me of you or things that we could be doing together. I sit there and I think, "<i>Oh, he would really love this or that</i>." Or, I'll see something that would be perfect for you or have an idea or a joke. And I can't even tell you about it because you hate me.<br />
<br />
You inspired me to be something better than I was. The girl just biding my time til I got the hell up out of dodge; you made me want to do more, be more, dream bigger. The cupcake business, marketing ideas, freelancing - you awakened these dreams inside me to help me make my time here so much more enjoyable - and now, I just feel empty again and uninspired. I admired the way you dreamed big - the things that you wanted to create and I wish that I could be by your side supporting you and seeing you through it, seeing your genius reach the light. I wish I could be your partner again. I adored listening to how passionate you were about everything - and I won't lie, that's what I found sexiest about you - your creativity and intelligence. I was like a moth to a flame just wanting to feed off your energy and have that kind of dream for myself too. <br />
<br />
I know you hate me right now. And you have every right to. I betrayed you. It was wrong and stupid and I want you to know how truly sorry I am. I am begging you please, if you could just listen with your heart when I tell you that, I know you can't forgive me right now - but I'm going to do everything in my power to make it up to you. No matter what happens. No matter what you decide to do. I hope we can at least be friends again one day.<br />
<br />
I'm Sorry, Ricky..scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-5494948400954689312012-02-21T13:48:00.000-05:002012-03-05T21:26:14.011-05:00Win Some, Lose Some<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are words inside my head, struggling to get out. I’ve
been trying, but they just don’t seem to want to come. I have demons inside me too
that are battling each other. They seem to have no problem slipping past from
time to time. But the darker ones, the deeper rooted ones; those are the ones
that are the worst. They fight and control me. They are the ones keeping the
words inside because they don’t want the truth to come out.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
........ </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’re all battling something, hiding something, running from
something. Most of the times, it’s from our own selves, from our past, our
present, our future. We run from the things that scare us and from the things
that bring us joy. We hide the person we used to be from the person we want
everyone to think that we’ve become. We battle the guilt we feel over doing
things, or not doing things, or not doing things the way we wish we had done
them, or over the way we did something that did not lead to lifting this guilt.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m an Asshole. I’m selfish, egotistical, a sociopath; self-obsessed
and un-remorseful. I’m opportunistic. I
do things without thinking of the consequences. I hurt other people without
thinking of their feelings. And then I feel guilty about the pain I’ve caused,
about the ways I’ve fucked up, about the people I’ve forced out of my life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve left a wake of boys and men in my path for 10 years and
I have nothing to show for it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But why?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t have daddy issues, but I am an only child. I was
never given everything and anything I wanted though. My parents made me work
for everything I’ve ever had. I could blame the one person who ruined my entire
life for me, but it didn’t just start there. I was doing this long before that –
this erratic behavior - sometimes manipulation of their feelings, sometimes
manipulation of my own. Shutting myself off and acting like I don’t give a fuck
one second, then crying and pleading because I realized that I’m ruining, have
ruined, a good thing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At first, maybe it was just boredom. The first boy I ever
dated had an obsession with video games and became more interested in them than
with me. So what did I do? I went out and found someone to be obsessed with me
instead, while still dating the video game lover; an entire summer spent
sneaking around behind his back. And then, when my new paramour ‘cheated’ on me
with another girl, I was appalled and cut off contact with him; even though he
was doing precisely the same thing I was doing to someone else. Then, he told
me he loved me and I threw it back in his face. “You don’t love me. You don’t
even know what love is.” And went back to vie for the video game lover’s
attention.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I used them both to make myself feel better about myself,
and in the end, I was just alone and felt miserable. Several years later, I
even found myself with my paramour again, repeating the same cycle. I was
obsessed over another boy who wouldn’t give me the time of day – and once
again, he was there. So I led him on and baited him, and then dropped him like
a bad habit once I had the attention of object of my desires. What a vicious
cycle.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I want things my way, on my terms. Seems like a simple
request, no? But I guess it borders on selfishness, wanting someone only when
you want them, and the way you want them. Pushing them away when they’re too
close, then struggling to draw them to you to get the attention you crave when
it’s lacking. Pointing out all their flaws, the things that disgust you,
finding reasons to leave or to not get close – then grasping at straws for the
things you liked and loved, all the good points and great moments you shared
while you’re watching them walk away. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I thought maybe my destructive, abusive relationship may
have been the root of this – and ok, maybe it can take the credit for some of
it. He had played the game right back to me and he was better at it and he won.
He could be blamed for the trust issues, for the not wanting to let anyone get
close, to see the real you, for fear that they’ll realize you’re a
disappointment and leave. That they’ll see those demons peeking out of your
closet, find out who the real you really is, and despise it. Because everyone
you let get close to you once at one point in time all turned on you and left
you cold. Men who you’ve dragged through the mud, who would have gone to the
ends of the Earth and back for you, but you never even bothered to give them
the chance that they didn’t even know they never had. You played with their
heart strings while playing apathetic. <br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then finally, he came along. A person who you didn’t
have to play games with, someone who finally understood you as you are and
called you out on all your bullshit when you tried to play the game with him
once and he wasn’t having it. And you didn’t have to fake it this time, the
feeling was real. But he left – but not because of you – but he was still gone.
And you reunited a few times and got closer, feelings grew deeper, and you
thought to yourself – this is it, the thing people talk about all the time: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Real Love. Soul mates. A partner for life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And you told him you loved him so because you swear you’d
see it sparkling in his eyes whenever he looked at you, whenever he smiled that
smile he only smiled for you. He did the things that no one else ever did,
paying attention to all the tiniest details, and listening, really and truly
listening to you. Caring for you, taking everything into consideration that
made it worth it and you wanted to reciprocate all those things in the greatest
way you knew how. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so you said those Three Little Words – words that you
had uttered as a teenager without knowing the meaning, as a love sick college
girl in the heat of the moment, on a dark winter night with someone you had
once thought could have been the one, over the window of a car door while
coerced by someone who had played the game back and won, and that one other
time where you didn’t even mean it at all - and this time, you really, really meant
those words this time. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But he didn’t say them back. And then, the walls caved in
all around you. You’d been waiting so long. It felt so right – how could this
not be right!? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was time to play the game again. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You hoped maybe if you played the game long enough, you’d
find another him one day. Maybe you’ll find another one of him one day. I mean,
you will right? You have to, right? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So it was back to a string of dates with boys who didn’t
make your heart skip a beat the same way, who didn’t send a charge through your
body with a single kiss, whose eyes showed you something deeper when you looked
into them. Try one on, see if it fits. Don’t like it, but buy it anyway. Regret
it later but you’ve already cut off the tags so you can’t take it back now. You
wanted to try and like them, to give them a chance instead of always holding
them up to him for comparison. You really were trying. You were.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then you found two pairs that you thought both looked
great. One fit one way, and the other fit the other way. You would never be
able to wear them to the same things; they both served different purposes and
would have been great for different occasions. The first pair was newer, fit
tighter, were the kind you wouldn’t want to take out of the closet unless it was
important. So you left the first pair in the closet and bought the second pair.
The second was more comfortable, an everyday kind of wear; reliable but you
over wore them and took them for granted. You kept trying to find problems with
the second pair that would give you a reason to wear the first pair, secretly lusting
over the first pair, wondering what it would be like to wear those all the time
instead. So, you wanted to see if you could try the first pair on for size and
the second pair caught you. And then, you were left with none. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You tried to go double or nothing and came up empty handed. You
were greedy and selfish and now, you were alone again. And now you feel guilty.
The second pair was great and was really starting to be your favorite. You had
fun together. They complimented you and made you feel confident, alive,
amazing, like you could have done anything. You could have taken on the world
with the second pair by your side. They almost made your forget all about him.
As much as you tried to fool yourself into thinking that you would never love
them as much as you loved him, you were warming up to the idea. It wasn’t quite
the same but it was a different kind of comfort, a different kind of fit. Like
switching from a boot cut to a straight leg: They both looked great on you and
hugged your curves in all the right places; they just gave you two totally
different looks. They could have been your favorite. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know I can’t make amends for the hurt that I’ve caused in
the past, but if I could apologize knowing that my voice would be heard, and
that they would accept my apologies, I would. I don’t want it to feel forced or
feel like it’s falling on deaf ears. I want it to be genuine and real and
honest. I want the other person to accept that I am trying to change here and
give me that chance. But I think I’m past the point of repair. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You can’t make someone love you, but you sure as hell can
make someone stop. And you can’t make someone stop hating you, but you sure
know how to make them start.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t know how to change the past but I think I know how
to change my future. I don’t want to play the game anymore. I want to actively
change my behavior to avoid this kind of destruction. I want to live without
fear of being hurt because I can’t get past my past. I want to give you a
chance and I want you to give me one too. Because we all deserve second chances
in life – and I think it’s time I got mine.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>.scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-36593027135479830792012-02-14T13:53:00.000-05:002012-02-14T13:54:39.743-05:00V-Day MixtapeOh Valentine's Day - the day we live for, or the day we live to forget. No matter what your feelings are on this holiday that was completely contrived by the greeting card companies, and no matter what your relationship status, I have compiled a few playlists to help ease or elevate
your mood (depending on your situation) this February 14th.<br />
<br />
<b>The Unrequited Mix</b> - <i>For those of us who are soulfully pining over someone who probably doesn't even know that we're alive</i><br />
<br />
Aaliyah - 4 Page Letter<br />
Head Automatica - Beating Hearts Baby<br />
Fergie - Clumsy<br />
Ashlee Simpson - Fall in Love with Me<br />
Michael Cera & Ellen Page - Anyone Else But You<br />
Incubus - Stellar<br />
Letters to Cleo - I Want You to Want Me<br />
LL Cool J - Hey Lover ft. Boyz 2 Men<br />
Mariah Carey - Fantasy<br />
Leona Lewis - Bleeding Love<br />
Dashboard Confessional - Stolen<br />
Natasha Beddingfield - I Wanna Have Your Babies<br />
Karina Pasian - Just Can't Find The Words<br />
David Archuleta - Crush<br />
Amerie - One Thing<br />
Ryan Adams - Wonderwall<br />
Janet Jackson - If I Was Your Girl<br />
The Cardigans - Lovefool<br />
<br />
<b>The Over It Mix</b>- <i>When you've had it with your loved one, or former loved one</i><br />
<br />
Mariah Carey - Shake it Off<br />
Maroon 5 ft Rihanna - If I Never See Your Face Again<br />
Keyshia Cole - I Just Want it to be Over<br />
Blu Cantrell - Hit Em Up Style<br />
Keyshia Cole - Let it Go<br />
Aly & AJ - Potential Break Up Song<br />
Ashanti - Unfoolish Remix<br />
Justin Timberlake - Cry Me A River<br />
Maroon 5 - Makes me Wonder<br />
Keyshia Cole - I Should've Cheated<br />
Ashlee Simpson - No Time for Tears<br />
Danity Kane - Damaged<br />
Christina Aguilera - Fighter<br />
Ciara - Like a Boy<br />
Beyonce - If I Were a Boy<br />
Gilette - Mr Personality<br />
Good Charlotte - I Don't Wanna be in Love<br />
Jaheim - Put that Woman First<br />
Kelly Clarkson - Behind These Hazel Eyes<br />
Kelly Clarkson - Since You've Been Gone<br />
Missy Elliot - Toyz<br />
Mya - Case of the Ex<br />
Mya - Movin On<br />
Timbaland ft One Republic - Apologize<br />
Rihanna - Breakin Dishes<br />
Ashlee Simpson - Surrender<br />
Black Eyed Peas - Don't Phunk With My Heart<br />
Brandy - What About Us?<br />
Cassie - Official Girl<br />
Britney Spears - Womanizer<br />
Britney Spears - Why Should I Be Sad?<br />
Jennifer Hudson - Spotlight<br />
Jennifer Lopez - I'm Gonna be Alright<br />
Taylor Swift - You're Not Sorry<br />
Carrie Underwood - Before He Cheats<br />
<br />
<b>The Back Seat Mix </b> - <i>For a foggy windowed good time (or inside if it's too cold)</i><br />
<br />
Bobby Valentino - Tell Me (remix)<br />
Marques Houston - Naked (remix)<br />
Justin Timberlake - My Love<br />
Ludacris - What's Your Fantasy<br />
Ginuwine - My Pony<br />
No Doubt - Making Out<br />
Day 26 - All I Want is You<br />
Mariah Carey - Touch My Body<br />
Rihanna - Push Up On Me<br />
Britney Spears - Breathe On Me<br />
Britney Spears - And Then We Kiss (Junkie XL remix)<br />
Snoop Dogg - Sexual Eruption<br />
LL Cool J - Doin It<br />
Cassie - Me & You<br />
Duran Duran - Come Undone<br />
Britney Spears - Phonography<br />
Jay - Z ft Pharrell - Fuck All Nite<br />
Boyz II Men - I'll Make Love To You<br />
Missy Elliot - One Minute Man<br />
Panic! At The Disco - Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off<br />
Lil Kim ft 50 Cent - Magic Stick<br />
50 Cent - Amusement Park<br />
Lil Wayne - Lollipop<br />
Dru Hill - Got to Get It<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>The Happy Together Mix</b> -<i> Everything's perfect and happy and roses and sunshine! You're in LURVVVVVVVVE (lol)</i><br />
<br />
50 Cent & Olivia - Best Friend<br />
LL Cool J ft Amerie - Paradise<br />
Natasha Beddingfield - Put Your Arms Around Me<br />
Marie Digby - Say it Again<br />
Common - Come Close<br />
Jason Mraz - I'm Yours<br />
Incubus - Echo<br />
Jack Johnson - Banana Pancakes<br />
Boyz II Men - On Bended Knee<br />
Dashboard Confessional - As Lovers Go<br />
Finley Quaye - Dice<br />
Tanto Metro & Devonte - Everyone Falls in Love Sometimes<br />
Mariah Carey - Ill be Loving you Long Time<br />
Plain White Ts - 1, 2, 3, 4<br />
Ashlee Simpson - L.O.V.E.<br />
Ashlee Simpson - Never Dream Alone<br />
Bow Wow ft Ciara - Like You<br />
<br />
<b>Single and Lovin it Mix</b> - <i>You're all you need!</i><br />
<br />
Kelis - Bossy<br />
Ne-Yo - Miss Independent<br />
Katy Perry - I Kissed a Girl<br />
Britney Spears - Touch of My Hand<br />
Ashlee Simpson - Boys<br />
Beyonce - Single Ladies<br />
Britney Spears - My Prerogative<br />
Black Eyed Peas - My Humps<br />
City High - Caramel (remix)<br />
Eve - Who's That Girl<br />
Adina Howard - Freak Like Me<br />
Nelly Furtado - Maneater<br />
Pink - So What<br />
Britney Spears - If You Seek Amy<br />
Fall Out Boy - I Don't Care<br />
Beyonce - Me, Myself, and I<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Hate That I Love You Mix</b> - <i>You used to Love them, Now you Hate them (you think), either way, you can't' stop thinking about them</i><br />
<br />
Miley Cyrus - 7 Things<br />
Rihanna ft Chris Brown - Hate That I Love You<br />
Chairlift - Bruises<br />
Duffy - Stepping Stone<br />
Amy Winehouse - Tears Dry On Their Own<br />
Mariah Carey - Heartbreaker<br />
Tegan & Sara - Back In Your Head<br />
Bright Eyes - Lover I Don't Have to Love<br />
Bush - The Chemicals Between Us<br />
Alicia Keys - Like You'll Never see me Again<br />
No Doubt - Running<br />
Janet Jackson - Again<br />
Kanye West - Heartless<br />
Kanye West - Bittersweet Poetry<br />
Lady GaGa - Brown Eyes<br />
Little Boots - Stuck on Repeat<br />
Mariah Carey - We Belong Together<br />
Monica - So Gone<br />
Ne-Yo - So Sick<br />
SWV - Weak<br />
No Doubt - Happy Now?<br />
N'Sync - Gone<br />
Paramore - I Caught Myself<br />
Duffy - Mercy<br />
Katy Perry - Hot n Cold<br />
Timbaland ft Patrick Stump (FOB) - One and Only<br />
Prince - When Doves Cry<br />
Taylor Swift - The Way I Loved You<br />
Bow Wow - Outta My System.scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-24628847784886292682012-01-08T20:29:00.000-05:002012-01-08T20:29:04.913-05:00The AfterglowHave you ever known someone and then not talked to or seen them for a while and then, when you do see them again, they just seem... broken? (I'm talking several months or years, not just days or weeks.) And it just seems like something has changed this person - a serious life event or maybe just the passing of time - to the point where they're just not the same as you remember once knowing them? You're hoping they're going to be the cheerful, hopeful, fun person that you remember and instead, there's just an awkward shell.<br />
<br />
I went to Boston a few weeks ago and I saw <a href="http://scandeelous.blogspot.com/2011/01/dear-jon.html">Jon</a> for the first time in at least 6 years. The last time we saw each other was about a year after we had broken up and we told each other how well the other looked, how great it was to see them and how they were doing. But then... everything changed.<br />
<br />
He came inside Erin's apartment and could barely meet my gaze. When we got in the car and we were catching up he just seemed cold, pre-occupied, distant - not because of me, but something deeper. The conversation just didn't seem natural. Something just wasn't right, like a light had been turned off inside him; the flame of the young, bouncy, fun loving boy I knew when I was 19 years old had vanished. Sure people grow up and age and mature but that wasn't it. That wasn't how I knew him. He had never been awkward. He had always been outgoing and able to make friends in seconds and talk on an array of topics with passion and intensity. We had shared two years together filled with adventures and intelligent moments and philosophical pondering, intimacy, giggling, expanding our minds with drugs and research chemicals and loud electronic music. Maybe we weren't friends in the technical sense anymore but we still knew each other... didn't we?<br />
<br />
Inside the club we got some drinks and caught up some more, saw old friends and bopped our heads to the music and he didn't dance. It was the first time I'd ever seen him just not immerse himself in the beats, feel the rhythm, see the way it let his body flow and ebb like a river. That had always been my favorite thing to do: watch him dance. He always looked so alive; each bass line controlling him like a marionette. At some point a girl had come up to him and talked to him and when she walked away he told me, "<i>That was my ex.... She ruined my life</i>." I laughed because I could relate.<br />
<br />
He told me whenever I was ready to go, he was too, so I said I was ready and we left. We drove around in the late, dark night of Cambridge, looping through supermarket parking lots and idling at red lights. He asked me to come back to his place and cuddle and I obliged (even after he had told me earlier he was dating a really great girl - but they were in an open relationship which apparently he didn't abuse the privilege of). Once inside, he told me the story of his ex and I could see the pain, the emptiness so much clearer now. Could see how broken this girl had made him. He was always the nicest, most non-confrontational person. Everyone loved him and he loved all. He made friends with anyone and everyone. And yet, this girl turned his life upside down in such a malicious manner. I couldn't wrap my head around how anyone could ever do that to someone like him. We climbed up into his loft bed and he put on a wave light. I laid down 6 inches from him on his mattress and then, without warning, he pulled me close into him, sending me back in time.<br />
<br />
It's so weird to think that someone who you used to kiss and hug and hold and love and make love with still exists when they're not in your life anymore. Even stranger still, when you reunite with this person and they touch you, it just feels like second nature. You can recall the way this person has stroked you in the past, the softness of their lips, every curve of their body, every scar and birthmark. And yet, he still allows you a bit of modesty to change your pants in his room while he waits outside even though he could probably close his eyes and still remember you naked. We laid in bed together, skin on skin, his arms around me spooning me from behind and suddenly, there it was - he was back. He slipped into this voice that I always remembered him using with me: soft, sweet, childlike. "<i>I'm so glad you stayed"</i>, he whispered in my ear as he kissed my shoulders. I playfully bit him on the arm like I used to and he held me tighter, snuggling into my back. That bed became a time machine for the night.<br />
<br />
In the morning, we woke up and were back to square one. He let me change in peace and drove me back to Erin's place. We gave a quick hug and waved goodbye and said how nice a time we had had and how it had been so good to see each other once again. I wish I hadn't had to lie. I wish I hadn't had to see him that way - vacant eyes and lost inside. It really pained me to see him so different and broken. But at least for that one moment at night, we were able to relive the past and put our present aside..scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-45364350839325580012011-10-24T17:29:00.002-04:002011-10-24T17:33:13.501-04:00Like CrazyA few weeks ago I had gone to see "50/50" and a trailer played for this movie during the previews:<br />
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It's called "Like Crazy" and it's about a couple who meet and have a long-distance relationship. Having dealt with my own trials and tribulations in that area, I knew immediately that I had to see this movie. So yesterday as part of the Philadelphia Film Festival, I went and watched this film that was the darling of "Sundance" this year.<br />
<br />
Anna is an exchange student from England who meets Jacob in college a few months before graduation. We start out seeing how their relationship begins and then how it's ultimately torn apart by her Visa issues banning her return to the US; both struggling to hold onto their love at so many thousand miles away. It's at this point that the movie begins to emit a feeling that perhaps only those of us who have been in a long-distance relationship can really relate to.<br />
<br />
In one of the reviews I read for the film online, the viewer said that they felt a certain disconnect between the characters; that they were annoyed that the relationship is just given to them in bits and pieces, scenes of fun times the couple spend together laughing and playing, and that there's never any strength in the development. Well, that's kind of the point. There's never any progression of their relationship because there never can be while they're on two opposite sides of the globe.<br />
<br />
While visiting Anna for the first time in England, Jacob complains "<i>I don't feel like I'm a part of your life. I feel like I'm on vacation</i>" and Anna laments how hard it is for them to keep always starting and stopping. That's how long distance relationships wind up working out unfortunately. You're always stopping and starting, having to pick up where you last left off; not just physically, but emotionally as well. You really do just feel like you are always on vacation, that you're not a permanent fixture in that other person's life. You don't get to experience their daily routines, hang out with their friends and family, to really nurture and grow that bond between you because you are always leaving. Perhaps I related to this movie most of all because, while Anna and Jacob are separated, they are basically going on with their own lives - moving forward in their careers, seeing other people while still having a deep emotional connection with each other inside - and that's basically how my relationship with Emmett played out.<br />
<br />
Other films I've watched about LDRs have the characters frequently Skyping and texting or emailing, but sometimes when you're both in areas with such extreme differences in time zones, it's better to just stop trying to make it work after awhile. This is essentially what happens with Anna and Jacob. In the beginning they are trying to get their times synced; One night while out at a bar, Jacob calls Anna, who herself has just come home and is already in bed and he wakes up her. In another scene, Anna is leaving Jacob a voicemail and struggles to figure out what time 5 PM her time would be in his time so that they can talk in real time. While Jacob is able to come visit on a few occasions, the relationship is stunted because Anna can't reciprocate as she cannot enter the US due to her previous Visa ban. Anna's father jokes at dinner that maybe they should just get married and solve the issue altogether, but they brush it off as they are both still young and growing. <br />
<br />
The most gripping part of the film for me was when Anna calls Jacob crying while he's out with his new girlfriend. She tells him that she loves him and can't live without him; he's the only one who understands her, understands how she thinks and feels, and no one else gets it. I started bawling because that's exactly how I feel with Emmett. No one gets me like he can, no one else can ever possibly understand like he can. Then, she says that they should just do it. They should get married so she can get the Visa and come back to America. Jacob agrees and heads off to England where they get married. According to Anna's lawyer, they will only have to wait six months after the wedding and they will be able to get her the spousal Visa needed to come to America. Unfortunately, because the issue with Anna's Visa came from the Student office, the judge cannot grant the marriage visa until they lift the ban. And so, the couple must part ways and live apart once more. They both return to the partners they were seeing in the meantime and going on with their lives, their marriage on the back burner.<br />
<br />
Eventually, the day finally comes where the ban is lifted and Anna is able to travel to America. But at this point, so much time has passed, it's as though Jacob and Anna have become strangers. In the final scene, Anna arrives at Jacob's loft and everything seems so awkward, as they're unsure how to interact with each other now that Anna is here for good. Anna decides to take a shower at Jacob's apartment and he joins her. While they try to embrace and kiss, to rekindle their romance and enjoy this monumental moment that they had been waiting so long for, both are at quite a distance with each other emotionally. It's a complete contradiction to the affectionate wedding night scene between the two that we witness earlier. Suddenly, Anna walks out of the shower, leaving Jacob under the running water and the film ends.<br />
<br />
The audience started laughing, perhaps out of discomfort, with a sense of '<i>That's it?? That's the end</i>??", but I don't really think that anyone fully understood the meaning of that scene. Jacob and Anna had built this relationship up so much, they had worked so hard to fight with the Visas, to eventually be together, that - at the point when they finally got to be together for real - they just weren't sure that was what they wanted anymore. I completely understood because that's been my biggest fear. That if there were ever a moment where Emmett and I got to finally be together in the same place, at the same time, would I still want it? Would the feeling still be the same?<br />
<br />
Or was it better to just always be on "vacation"?.scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-64558393577256805852011-09-11T20:18:00.000-04:002011-09-11T20:18:50.329-04:00The Lost DecadeEvery year since 9/11 occurred, the same routine has been played out at the WTC site: families gather and read all the names of the victims, political figures loom and read poems, someone plays or sings some sentimental music in an effort to help people grieve and remember the tragedy of that day. I've watched the memorial on TV most years and until this year it never really hit me that maybe it's time to just let things be. Yes, the 10th anniversary is a big deal and should have been treated as such. The 9/11 memorial officially opened today and the families were treated to the first look at this glorious tribute to their loved ones. But instead of going above and beyond, the same routine was replayed over and over again on TV for 4 hours. I understand the need for people to mourn, but have these yearly memorials really been helpful? Have they helped to ease the pain or have they belittled a tragic event in our nation's history? Families of those lost on 9/11 live with the grief every day. They remember every day. And for the past 9 years we've grieved along with them on this day. But maybe, it's time to leave well enough alone. To let them deal with it on their own, to mourn and remember in their own ways.<br />
<br />
Do we really need to continue these lethargic monologues and canned speeches being read by former Presidents and Governors and Mayors year after year? Who are we really doing it for at this point? For the people in the Midwest who have never even been to NY, never known anyone who died on 9/11, so they can have some kind of holiday to cling on to and celebrate with their God Bless Americas and their American flags and eagles on the back of their pickup trucks and their ignorance about Muslims? Several news outlets this week asked people to share their 9/11 stories, their "where were you" stories. I'm sorry if it makes me a bitch or an elitist or insensitive, but I don't need to hear the 9/11 story of someone who was 2000 miles away - to hear that on that day they were in their pig farm or in church or in their college dorm. I want to hear stories of real people, New Yorkers, who were there, who lived it, who knew people living it, who were terrified, who knew that in that moment their lives were changing forever.<br />
<br />
......<br />
<br />
September 11,2001: 9/11 meant a lot of different things to a lot of different people. But most of all, it meant something major for America. It mean that American would never be the same again. It seemed for every step forward America had made in its history, it was taking so many steps backward. In the days after, people began to turn on each other. There were hundreds of hate crimes against Muslims and widespread racial profiling. The Patriot Act was passed in the month following 9/11 to help "fight terrorism" along with a military campaign in the Middle East touted as the "War on Terror". The TSA was created in November 2001 to try and secure our airports as the hijackers were able to waltz past our seemingly lax airport security on 9/11. Ironically, Richard Reid - aka the Shoe Bomber - was able to board a flight just a few days before Christmas with a bomb in his shoe which he was attempting to light and blow up a plane. (Yeah, you can thank that guy for the whole annoying process of having to take your shoes off at the airport and holding up the security line. Way to go, bro.)<br />
<br />
The Department of Homeland Security was created in 2002 and merged with INS to try and control immigration and our borders and released that oh-so-easy to remember color coded advisory chart.<br />
<br />
What began in 2001 as an invasion in Afghanistan to capture Osama Bin Laden and his Al-Qaeda operatives strangely spread to Iraq in 2003, where we captured Saddam Hussein on December 13, 2003. (Hmm, that's funny. I don't remember Saddam Hussein having anything to do with the 9/11 attacks?)<br />
<br />
2004: Michael Moore released his controversial documentary "Fahrenheit 9/11" in what was already a very controversial election year. Hoping to sway the vote toward the Democratic party by revealing the lies and deception of the Republican party, he opened the film with the results of the 2000 election in which Al Gore won the popular vote, yet surprisingly lost the election to George W. Bush. He continues to undermine the Bush administration, drudging up Bush's lack of reaction time during the morning of 9/11 as he stuck around to finish reading "My Pet Goat" to a group of elementary school students, as well Bush's service record in the National Guard. He also focuses on the fact that Government officials were aware of threats made by Osama Bin Laden and Al-Qaeda, yet failed to act accordingly and concludes that the military movement from Afghanistan to Iraq was driven by the thirst for Middle Eastern oil reserves and G Dubya's quest to get back at the guys who tried to kill his Daddy. Moore also highlights how the war's "Patriotism" marketing campaign has cost the lives of hundreds of thousands of young men and women, especially those in low income areas who were promised thousands of dollars in sign up bonuses to fight for their countries; bonuses that will never get used as these soldiers are never making it home from this war - and leaves many wondering what the real purpose of the war is for.<br />
<br />
November 2, 2004: George W Bush, running on a ticket of religious ignorance, abortion banning and the promise to write an amendment against Gay marriage (aka the Defense of Marriage Act), is re-elected for a 2nd term on November 2, 2004, despite the best efforts of the Democratic party.<br />
<br />
July 7, 2005: Bombings occur in London's transit system during rush hour. Islamic terrorists take credit.<br />
<br />
August 9, 2006: A terrorist plot to use liquid explosives to blow up airplanes is uncovered. Thanks assholes. Because I really only need 3oz of shampoo on a week long vacation.<br />
<br />
November 5, 2006: Saddam Hussein is found guilty of crimes against humanity.<br />
<br />
December 30, 2006: Saddam Hussein is hanged to death. A grainy cell-phone video of the execution makes waves across the internet.<br />
<br />
September 2007: Oil passes the $80/barrel mark.<br />
<br />
October 2007: Oil passes the $90 mark.<br />
<br />
January 2, 2008: Oil passes the $100 mark for the first time ever.<br />
<br />
January 21, 2008: Stock markets plummet on the possibility of a US recession, fueled by the subprime mortgage crisis.<br />
<br />
August 28, 2008: Barack Obama becomes the first African American nominee for President. His campaign promises hope and change. Many questions are raised about his background and heritage as he was born of a white mother and an African father in Hawaii and attended school overseas in Indonesia. Some questioned if he was really born in the US at all and therefore that would make him ineligible to run for president. Some claimed that he was a Muslim because of his middle name of Hussein and was in cahoots with the terrorists and couldn't be trusted. Others still simply were racist against him for being African American. However, Obama was overwhelmingly popular with the youth vote, with the minority vote and a star with celebrities - being backed by many of the biggest names in Hollywood.<br />
<br />
November 5, 2008: Barack Obama is elected the first "Black President" in the history of the United States. He promises Universal healthcare for all the to bring all of our troops home by 2011.<br />
<br />
January 20, 2009: Barack Obama is official inaugurated as the 44th president of the United States.<br />
<br />
May 2, 2011: Osama Bin Laden has been captured in Pakistan and killed in a compound by Navy SEAL team 6. This is later confirmed in a public address by President Obama on live television. He proclaims that this was never a war on Islam - Bin Laden was murderer, not a leader, killing many people including his own.<br />
<br />
Today:<br />
The American economy is in shambles as a result of the War on Terror. Billions of dollars that were dumped into defense were siphoned from areas of our country that could have used it the most. Banks go under and President Obama attempts to try and bail them out. 14 million American are without jobs and the unemployment rate hovers at 10%. Our Government almost defaulted on its debts and America's credit rating dropped. Republicans and Democrats are at odds fighting over their own political bullshit as millions of Americans feel lost, buried in the rubble - hopeless, jobless, homeless.<br />
<br />
Peace? Freedom? Equality? What do those things even mean anymore? They're nothing but lost symbols of what America used to be. In a year before what could possibly be an even more important election then our last, where is all that Hope and Change now? We as Americans want to believe in it, to believe it exists, that it can happen and help. That things can change so that we have hope. We hope that our Government will put our interests above their own and create change. We don't need any more buzzwords in this upcoming election - We need action. We need results. We know that it's tough but it can be done.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow, President Obama will present his American Jobs Act to Congress which he hopes will jump start the economy. We need this, not just as a people but as a nation. America needs this to move forward, to reclaim this lost decade of progress and to make America the great nation we remember it being 10 years ago.Sure, we still have a lot of ground to recover but perhaps 10 years from now we will be having a different kind of memorial: a memorial of the day when America got a brand new start..scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-30045739850092228092011-09-11T11:50:00.003-04:002011-09-11T12:19:36.978-04:00Side EffectsToday is the 10th anniversary of September 11th.<br />
<br />
I'm not here to recap the "where was I" on that day; I've <a href="http://scandeelous.blogspot.com/2010/09/always-remember-never-forget.html">already done that in the past.</a> And in fact, I've probably retold my 9/11 story dozens of times over the past 10 years. In the days following, my story was retold among friends and acquaintances. In the months following, every person at college heard the story after asking me if I had known anyone who died in the Twin Towers when I said that I was from New York. Every year since as people stop to remember that day on message boards and social networking sites, I retold my story.<br />
<br />
But what about the story of what happened after 9/11? How has life been affected over these past 10 years?<br />
<br />
That is the story I'm here to share today.<br />
<br />
September 14, 2001: It was the day that I left for college. My father and I packed up a rental car and drove all the way to Boston. I just remember the eerie feeling of their being no planes in the sky, a site rarely seen in the northeast where so many major airports are in close proximity. In fact, it wasn't until the next day when they lifted the ban on aircrafts and, while crossing a Boston street, I looked up and saw a commercial jet and felt a little lump rise in my throat. Two of the planes that crashed had taken off from Logan Airport. What if it happened again? My first semester, I had a class that met in the mornings on the top floor of a building from which I could look out the window and see the top of the Prudential Building from my seat. Every day I sat in that class looking out at that building thinking, what if a plane crashed into that building right now? What would I even do? It would be a slow trickle back to normalcy.<br />
<br />
October 26, 2001: I came home for the weekend to go to a Halloween rave party in the city with friends. We took the subway downtown and got off at the Chambers street station, just blocks from Ground Zero. The thing I will remember the most was the smell; of burning debris, steel, plastic, asbestos and most of all, the undeniable smell of burning bodies. We rounded a corner and there it was: surrounded by wooden fences, smoke still rising from the ruins. Even in the middle of the night, work lights were on and workers were in the rubble working diligently in their rescue efforts.The fences were adorned with posters: some were looking for missing persons, some were memorials. There were flowers and rosaries and prayers. There was a cop car on the corner across the street. We stopped to ask them for directions and I remember just wanting to reach into the car and hug one of the police officers, to thank them for anything they might have done on 9/11.<br />
<br />
September 11, 2003: I moved back home and was attending school in NYC. I had a break in between classes and decided to go down to Ground Zero to pay my respects. I had printed the lyrics to the song <a href="http://youtu.be/Sq0wkNt7r5g">"<i>Believe</i>" by Yellowcard,</a> which is a tribute to the firefighters who lost their lives on 9/11. I put the sheet of paper in a plastic holder and I had found a rose on the sidewalk. I walked around the viewing area where the flower arrangements were and next to a metal memorial vigil of the twin towers, surrounded by flowers, candles and poems, I lay down my lyrics and placed my rosebud on top.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica; font-size: 11px;"><i>Think about the love inside the strength of heart</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica; font-size: 11px;"><i>Think about the heroes saving life in the dark<br />
Climbing higher through the fire, time was running out<br />
Never knowing you weren't going to be coming down alive<br />
But you still came back for me</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica; font-size: 11px;"><i>You were strong and you believed</i></span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><i>.....</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica; font-size: 11px;"><i>Think about the chance I never had to say<br />
Thank you for giving up your life that day<br />
Never fearing, only hearing voices calling out<br />
Let it all go, the life that you know, just to bring it down alive<br />
And you still came back for me</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica; font-size: 11px;"><i>You were strong and you believed</i></span></div><br />
September 11, 2011: Ground Zero is no more. Long gone is the rubble, the ruins in the depths of which the yearly memorial was held in its early stages. What remains is a beautiful, glorious memorial in the footprints of the Twin Towers. The beginnings of the Freedom tower and several small towers that will surround the old WTC site. I watched the families of those lost on 9/11 find the names of their loved ones on the walls surrounding giant waterfalls that pour into the footprints, leaving roses and creating rubbings of the engraved names. A memorial not just for those who were lost that day but for those who gave their lives. A memorial for those in decades to come to look at and remember what bravery occurred on that fateful day.<br />
<br />
<i>"We still here! And we're building four more new towers!"</i><br />
.......<br />
<br />
I recently read an article about people who developed post-traumatic stress from the events of 9/11, even if they weren't directly in any of the buildings or in the area of the WTC; PTS developed simply from knowing, from watching the news non-stop, from worrying. All these years I thought I was being dramatic in my thinking that maybe I had developed some kind of PTSD after 9/11, but after reading their stories, maybe I was right? I can't even think about this day without bursting into tears, remembering my city in ruins, watching the people running, people jumping from buildings, people burned and covered in dust, firefighters and police officers and medical personnel simply overwhelmed. I've developed several anxiety disorders and gone through periods of social isolation, constant worrying, constant fear of the "what if" - things that have been a severe impediment on my personal growth in a time when it was needed most.<br />
<br />
The 10 year anniversary of 9/11 has really amplified these past ten years of my life. In a year where I also graduated from high school and was going to be starting college, 2001 suddenly became this enormous cornerstone of my life because of the events of September 11th. That post-graduation decade, in which many young adults begin to find themselves and grow and come into their own with careers and families, was drastically altered by what happened that day and all the events that have happened since. I know at least 6 people who became firefighters (either through volunteer services, local departments or FDNY) because they were so touched by the acts of the firefighters that died on 9/11 that they wanted to give back. I have known another handful of young men who joined the Military to try and fight back and "get the bastards who attacked us"; one of which was my former roommate who was deployed in Iraq at the time when a fellow unit captured Saddam Hussein - to which he disclosed that they had actually captured him a month before it was announced here in the United States due to the fact that that they had to be sure it was really him because he had so many doppelgangers.<br />
<br />
The invasion of the Middle East, the killings of Saddam Hussein and Osama Bin Laden. The recession/depression/collapse of the American Economy. These are not the typical events that most high school graduates have to deal with but all of us who have become adults in these past 10 years have had to struggle with it. With deciding what to do with our lives and our futures while struggling to find jobs and stability. As children, we were promised safety and security, a solid education, a thriving jobs and housing market, a warm and welcome place to start families and raise children, freedom and equality, with liberty and justice for all. And instead, over the past 10 years, we have watched the America that we grew up with, the America that we were proud to call home, become a shell of its former self. Would things have turned out much differently if 9/11 never happened? The world will never know..scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-747835241763549882011-08-29T23:41:00.000-04:002011-08-29T23:41:46.488-04:00Video Killed the Video Star<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">This year, MTV celebrated their 30<sup>th</sup> birthday. You’d never know it though, as they scraped the glitz and glamour of such a milestone celebration to push more promos for <i>Jersey Shore</i> and <i>Teen Mom</i> down viewers’ throats. Perhaps they were avoiding dating themselves; I mean, based on demographical information, wouldn’t it seem that 30-something MTV should now be watching VH1? And perhaps as a way to keep themselves seeming fresh, young and hip, this year’s VMAs went unhosted and resulted in the type of disorganized chaos you would expect in a teenager’s bedroom. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The opening of the show was heavily promoted as being Lady Gaga’s “most historic performance in history.” As the audience remained captivated from the pre-show up until the seconds when the stage went dark, a Twitter topic trending worldwide touted “#WhatWillGagaWear”? Recalling her over the top ‘birth’ from an egg on stage at this year’s Grammys, as well as last year’s VMA Meat Dress, many wondered how the eccentric starlet would outdo herself this time. As a single spotlight lit the stage, Lady Gaga in her male drag alter-ego Jo Calderone, first envisioned in a photo shoot for <i>VOGUE Hommes Japan</i> and recently resurrected for her latest video ,‘You and I’, appeared on stage – part greaser, part Ralph Macchio. “Jo” then began a monologue lamenting his tumultuous relationship with “Gaga” and her artistic vision whilst puffing on a cigarette. Then, as the house lights came up, Jo theatrically rushed over to a piano to begin playing the newly in Top 40 rotation hit, followed it up with a West Side Story meets Cotton Eyed Joe dance routine, and concluded with a guitar solo from Queen’s Brian May.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Instead of making several costume changes throughout the show, Lady Gaga remained in drag throughout the entire broadcast, even creating an especially awkward moment when presenting the Video Vanguard award to Britney Spears by declaring that he used to have a poster of Britney in his bedroom to which he used to touch himself, leaving us to wonder if that was really Jo talking. However, as Gaga tried to stay in character, the back and forth during conversation and awards speeches led to several slip ups in pronoun usage, suggesting that maybe Gaga should have taken a few more improv classes during her short lived time at NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But where were the memorable moments that get talked about years later, moments that get recapped in Top VMA moment specials? Where was 2011’s equivalent to Kurt Cobain singing “<i>Rape Me</i>”, defying MTV producers’ warnings or Madonna’s iconic “Like a Virgin” performance where she was writhing around on stage in lace underwear and pearls? Where was this year’s answer to Lil Kim’s pasty, Howard Stern’s Fartman or Rage Against the Machine bassist Tim Commerford’s protest of Limp Bizkit being recognized as a real band (That is what he was protesting, right)?<span> </span>Or hell, even despite it happening so recently, where was this year’s <i>IMMA LET YOU FINISH</i> moment? Perhaps the closest this year’s show could come to an iconic moment would be Beyonce’s high intensity performance of “Love on Top”, at the end of which – if you hadn’t already caught her revealing her secret on the black carpet – she opened her sequined blazer, cradled her belly, and revealed that after years of rumors and speculation, there was finally a bun in Bey’s oven. This sentiment was met with great applause and a standing ovation from the entire crowd, and an especially excited bro-hug from Kanye West to baby daddy, Jay-Z. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The rest of the show was a three hour long whirlwind of top 40 artists with heavy rotation singles and not a lot of other substance. Amidst the cacophony of bleeped curses and awful transitional spots with comedian Kevin Hart and rapper Rick Ross, several awards were presumably handed out to artists with the type of staying power that appeals to the need it now, fad crazy, Facebook generation. Justin Bieber won Best Male Artist, ironic considering he’s barely old enough to be considered a man. And even more ironically, Lady Gaga dressed in drag accepted the award for Best Female Artist. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">MTV took a bold move deciding not to have an official host this year and, while the equation seemed to work well in the past (the VMAs have gone unhosted several times in its history), floundered miserably in a year that MTV could have really used it the most. In spite of pretending like this year was their “29<sup>th</sup> birthday part two” like most newly 30 year olds aching to hold on to their 20s, MTV could have certainly made 2011 their most memorable VMAs yet. But maybe that’s the point – MTV doesn’t play videos any more so why celebrate their crowning achievement, the spectacular mark they’ve left on society, music and cable television? From a channel that changed the world by bringing visions to the music we all know and love, to a channel driven solely by shows about underage pregnancy and drunken, overly tanned imbeciles, MTV has become Emp-tee-vee. Is it any wonder that mainstream radio is populated by at least 6 Top 40 stations per market when there isn’t an outlet for up and coming bands to be seen and heard like <i>120 minutes</i> or <i>Yo! MTV Raps</i>, or hell, even <i>Total Request Live</i> (who ,at the end of their lifecycle, barely played full video clips on their Top 10 countdown anyway). </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Every time I bother turning MTV on, every interview, news report and intro is narrated by Sway, who I guess is supposed to be this generation’s answer to Kurt Loder. On the black carpet for the VMA preshow, there were a bunch of skinny, hipster, nobody supposed VJs that all looked the same and weren’t even memorable enough for me to try to look them up for the purposes of this article. And there wasn’t even one single female VJ presence on screen for interviews; instead, Sway was flanked by pop singer Selena Gomez, someone who most people over the age of 22 probably couldn’t even identify. Where are the Serena Altschuls, the Tabitha Sorens, the Kennedys, the Martha Quinns, the Downtown Julie Browns? Whatever happened to the Wannabe a VJ contest where the second coming of Matt Pinfield, Dave Holmes (who now hosts DVD on TV on FX), lost to stoner kid and crowd favorite, Jesse Camp? Upon a recent Wikipedia search for MTV VJs, it listed that none are currently active at this time. And since MTV doesn’t play actual videos anymore, who needs to be there for transitions and intros? No talking heads are needed to discuss Snooki’s poof or the winner of the latest Real World challenge; all the thinking and conversation about these important topics can done by viewers via social media interaction. Maybe this absence of human identifiers also makes it easier for teens to zone out during <i>Sixteen and Pregnant</i> marathons. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So just what does MTV stand for these days, anyway? A sullen reminder of a time long gone, or the frightening reality of our dwindling attention spans and the fact that we can’t even be bothered to watch an entire 4 minute long music video anymore? What does this revelation mean for next year’s Video Music Awards and the future of music as a whole? Only time will tell. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="" name="_GoBack"></a>The only thing I know for sure is, next year Beyonce’s baby will definitely be in attendance. </div>.scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-19345877122158225122011-08-11T19:58:00.000-04:002011-08-11T19:58:39.597-04:00HELP!When I was little, I never wanted to ask for help. "I know!" and "I can do it!" were my two favorite phrases. Asking for help was showing weakness - you weren't smart enough if you asked for help on your homework; you weren't strong enough if you asked for help with something stuck or heavy. "Can't" wasn't in my vocabulary. I figured out how to be independent early on, do everything for myself, my way. I did things on my own, I never asked for help. I was too ashamed. Even when I should have been asking for help. I thought I knew it all.<br />
<br />
When I was in 8th grade, I was in the pre-algebra class. I felt so smart - being there with all the other smart kids and my crush. I wanted to impress him, to do well. But class was hard and him being there distracted me. I would zone out in class. I wouldn't go to extra help.. I didn't like my teacher and was afraid of being made fun of for needing help. My parents weren't good at math so I couldn't ask them. And then, eventually, I go tmoved to a lower math class because I got a "D" in the first marking period; my first "D" ever. All because I wouldn't ask for help.That probably should have made me feel more ashamed. But at least I wasn't struggling anymore. I didn't need anyone's help. I am an only child. I don't have many friends. And I can do it myself. I can do it all... or so I thought.<br />
<br />
When I was 21, I was even more naive then when I was in 8th grade. Again, I let a guy I liked distract me and I wouldn't get help until it was too late. I let this guy take advantage of me, abuse me, manipulate me. And I was afraid to ask for help because I wouldn't seem as strong and independent as I tried to be. And then finally, one day, I couldn't hold it back any longer: I had to ask for help. To humble myself, to prove that I needed someone else, and I couldn't do it on my own anymore. And I learned a valuable lesson; sometimes, it's ok to ask for help. We are human, not superheroes. We think we are invincible and can do everything on our own. But we can't always. Sometimes, we need to ask for help.<br />
<br />
And when I did, no one laughed. No one doubted me. But they were ashamed that I had waited so long to ask for help when they had just wanted to give it all along. They were always there to help - even though I had never asked before. So now I know that I don't have to be embarrassed or afraid, because someone will always be there to help me. All I have to do is just be brave enough to ask..scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-15085058270777009282011-08-06T23:29:00.000-04:002011-08-06T23:29:21.848-04:00God Bless AA-mericaIt's no secret that America's economy has been in the toilet for the past decade. The aftermath of 9/11 increased security across our country's airports and borders and threw us into a war overseas, draining our economy from billions of dollars with each passing year. Our banks crumbled, housing markets collapsed, our credibility as a rich world empire vanquished. As our country sank more and more money into fighting terrorism, companies here struggled and unemployment rates skyrocketed to nearly 10%. With each business that closed, more jobs were eliminated which meant less money being put into our economy, which meant less money to help our failing corporations, to create new jobs, to stimulate growth - it fast became a vicious cycle.<br />
<br />
Our politicians and President want to keep things sugar coated. They downplay terms like Great Depression and Recession. <i>Oh no, we're nowhere near a depression and barely a recession - we created 1,000 whole jobs last month.</i>.. in a country of 307 million people where 10% of them remain out of work and without benefits to support them from losing their houses, cars and ways of life. And you know something? They're right. We're not anywhere close to the Great Depression - because when the Great Depression happened, there was no enormous discrepancy between the haves & the have nots, there were not 11 million undocumented illegal immigrants here, there was still a middle class. The playing field for the most part was level: the majority of US citizens at that time were working class people and immigrants trying to make a fair living and finding themselves being completely devastated by the stock market crash.<br />
<br />
The difference today is that there are millions of millionaires in this country; the greed of the 80s stock market growth and housing market has left a majority of Americans with seven figure plus bank accounts. This increase in quick wealth led to the outpouring of over-indulgence and consumerism; Luxury vehicles, $800 dog bowls, designer clothes, private jets. And do you know where else the money of these millionaires goes? Into the pockets of our politicians, greasing the palms of those in Congress and the Senate to make choices like ensuring that the rich don't have to pay taxes and making sure that multi-billion dollar corporations in this country don't have to pay taxes, either. So, is it fair that a family of five who can barely afford their mortgage and to put food on their table have to pay a 15% tax every year, while a family that dines on caviar and champagne every night can jet away to their private villa in Hawaii in their tax-sheltered G5 jet? What happened to America's Horatio Alger-esque roots?<br />
<br />
America doesn't seem like it's in a depression because there are so many people with so much money and big houses and riches that they are overshadowing those living in their cars, on the streets, moving back in with family, taking on second, third, fourth jobs just to make ends meet; overshadowing those who work minimum wage jobs and yet have no health insurance since their companies won't give them a full 40 hour a week shift because they're too cheap to pay the premiums. And yet, our politicians had the nerve to sit fighting until the 11th hour over a deal which would ensure that the United States doesn't default on its loans, struggling and cursing each other over which programs to cut and keep when the solution was simple, right in front of their faces: Tax the rich and stop turning your back on Real, hard working Americans.<br />
<br />
This is the problem. America started out as a country by the people, for the people. Now, we have become nothing but talking heads and assemblymen, special interest groups, democrats and republicans who are only looking out for their wallets' best interests, completely forgetting that they're supposed to be in charge of a country full of people who are in need, desperate for their voices to be heard, desperate for jobs, for hope, for someone to stand up and remember the little people for a change. We (allegedly) elect these people and for what? We hope they'll do what's right and good for America as a whole - not just for those who can afford their $20,000 a plate political dinners. Whatever happened to Democracy?<br />
<br />
And so, with that all being said, the United States had its credit rating downgraded this week from AAA to AA. Our reputation is shot, both economically and politically (I could get into the other reasons why other countries hate us, but there's enough fodder for its own separate post). And all I can think is, is America ever going to be great again? To be that land of the free, home of the brave, stars & stripes nation that attracts millions from around the globe to its shores because we are rich and powerful and strong once again? Can we ever have that same pride and trust in our country's leaders, in our economy and in our political system as in years past? To get back to our roots of an American community, with leaders who believe in the little people, who are willing to hear us and fight for us, to fight for America as a whole and not just those with a great stake in its financial interests. Hopefully this week's activities will be a wake up call; and hopefully it won't take the US losing another point on their credit rating for them to see where real change is needed..scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-7090496232388103292011-07-28T21:49:00.000-04:002011-07-28T21:49:01.549-04:00Of Bums and BabiesGrowing up in NYC, I've seen homeless people my entire life. Eventually, I got to the point where I became completely desensitized to them: the signs asking for help, the cups shaking with spare change, the dishevelment, the stench of someone sleeping on the train in the dead of winter because it's too cold to be outside... I could go on and on. You find yourself at a crossroads at times - wondering if this person really needs your help. Are they really hungry or are they going to blow that $1 on booze or drugs? Or, unfortunately these days, is it just someone who is looking for quick cash or experimenting for a sociology thesis? (My friends in Catholic school told the same tales of Nuns who berated them for helping the homeless because they once gave some poor, desperate soul their spare change and moments later, saw them get into a Lexus. All with the hopes of making you save your pocket money and donate it to the Church, I'm sure.)<br />
<br />
But I wanted to help the homeless. I dreamed of winning the lottery and walking the streets of Manhattan, placing $100 bills into those empty, blue coffee cups. Taking those who were less fortunate out for lunches and getting them cleaned up; a new set of clothes and job opportunities to get them on the right track. I remember drafting a whole plan to turn Governor's Island into a shelter for homeless people - giving them free housing so that they could have an address to put on a resume, a place to build a new life for themselves. I shared my plan with my parents and was met with laughter. They asked me why I was even bothering; homeless people put themselves into these positions - there was no Horatio Alger story to be had from these harsh, cold streets. No one was going to magically pull themselves up by their boot straps and get off crack and join the ranks of the middle class. And more then certainly not, there was no way the Government of New York City would ever provide such lush accommodations and go out of their way to help the less fortunate on such a prime piece of real estate.<br />
<br />
Over the years, I'd traveled to many other cities and witnessed many other types of homeless people. Those outside of New York seemed to be more angry, more aggressive, more in your face. I wasn't used to be hassled in the mall by someone looking for a dollar, or being threatened and racially discriminated against simply because I wouldn't give up a quarter. For some reason, New York seemed to be a haven for the homeless. Maybe it was the millions of generous immigrants and tourists keeping them well fed (with food, booze or drugs) and satiated. Maybe it was the 24 hour transit system providing temporary homes, keeping them safe and calm, instead of those who attempted to weather the storms or fight - literally - for a space in homeless shelter once a subway closed at 1 am. Maybe in NYC, as much as people like to stereotype us for being rude and distance, the people there just cared more.<br />
<br />
........<br />
<br />
We've been in the middle of one of the hottest summers on record. And if you don't have a home to go to at the end of the day, the weather can be unbearable. With heat indexes of up to 115 degrees, all kind of health crises can occur: heat exhaustion, heat stroke, hyperthermia, dehydration, even death. And so, on a 91 degree day, I walked to the bus stop one afternoon and saw a dishelved, homeless man, lying down on the sidewalk. The scene was nothing new to me, I'd seen it a million times before. And so, I just stood back and waited for my bus. Everyone else passed by and went about their business as well: reading books, talking to friends, checking their watches and cell phones. No one else even gave this man a second glance. As I waited, I happened to look over at the homeless man behind my big sunglasses, wondering if it was crack or booze that had him slumped on this sweltering sidewalk. I also noticed a hospital bracelet on his wrist; he had probably been brought in for being drunk and hooked up to a banana bag to dry himself out for the night, then quickly released since he couldn't afford to pay. Just your same typical homeless sob story.<br />
<br />
But then, something happened. A man who I frequently ride the bus with knelt down next to the homeless man. He was asking him if he was ok. And I saw the homeless man weakly reach a hand out to touch the man's knee, and he shook his head "no". The man from the bus noticed the hospital bracelet and asked when he had been released. Then, he took his cell phone from his pocket and called 911. It was only at this point that other people began to take notice. Everyone at the bus stop turned their heads to watch the scene: this generous and kind and selfless man, not caring about who this homeless man was or what he had done wrong in his life to get him to this point - only worrying that it was hot and here a man was suffering on a scalding sidewalk. A man who was just like us: a human being.<br />
<br />
You could sense now that everyone else at the bus stop had become unnerved, their self-consciousness beginning to show. (I was not immune to this feeling.) You could see the wheels spinning in their heads that maybe they could have stopped to help, should have stopped to help, could have called 911. A young girl with curly hair looked especially nervous. Another older woman made a face of shock and slightly disgusted worry while taking another look at the man lying on the ground. And as the man tried to explain on the phone where he was and what was going on, the young girl asked the homeless man if he needed water - to which he weakly nodded his head yes. Before she could produce a bottle from her bag, another young man pulled out a Gatorade bottle of water and placed it down on the ground next to him.<br />
<br />
As my bus pulled up and I began to board, everything else in the world just seemed trivial to me. Normally, I would have complained about the bus being crowded and having to stand, but now, I realize that there are so many worse things that could happen to me. Worse positions that I could be in in my life. Standing on a bus right at that moment was almost a luxury. I felt like the biggest piece of shit on the face of the Earth for just letting a man lie there on the verge of death. And as we pulled away from the curb, the man who rides my bus had sat himself down on the ground next to the homeless man, who also had righted himself & was drinking from the gatorade bottle. He was waiting with him for the ambulance to come. He had made a sacrifice for someone else, done something that we all could do on a daily basis, if only we took the time to stop.<br />
<br />
I hope to see him on the bus this week - and while I may not verbally thank him for what he did, I will always give a knowing nod.<br />
<br />
Black, White, Red, Green, Yellow, Man, Woman, Gay, Straight, Transgendered - We are all human. It just takes instances like that to realize it sometimes.<br />
.......<br />
<br />
Speaking of human life, I have reached that age where it seems that everything has become baby-centric. Oh, don't worry, I'm not planning on getting pregnant anytime soon. (<a href="http://scandeelous.blogspot.com/2010/07/childfree.html">Or ever</a>.) But recently, a friend of mine and I were at a party at which there was a newborn baby. Not being a very big fan of children, I spent the night giving this baby the side eye. Finally at one point in the night, my friend took over baby holding duty. I came slightly closer to inspect the infant with it's fuzzy head and tiny baby acne. I screwed my nose up at this tiny being, bracing myself for its inevitable wailing cries. It was being swaddled in a blanket and then, its tiny little foot poked free. Out of curiosity, I extended my index finger to poke at the bottom of its foot and then...<br />
<br />
I caught baby fever.<br />
<br />
The bottom of that foot was so silky smooth and soft. Like nothing I had ever felt before! I make it a point to avoid touching or holding or being around babies, so I had absolutely no idea what this baby foot was going to feel like. And then, like some kind of weird tic, I couldn't stop touching it. I was stroking the foot and holding it and then playing with both feet! What was wrong with me!? Did I know what I was doing? This was a BABY! You don't like babies, I told myself. But... but... so soft! I couldn't resist!<br />
<br />
After I left, my baby fever wore off and I returned to normal. But I couldn't help but think about my friend holding the baby. I had never really thought of her as the mommy type; a tough girl from the Bronx with a biting tongue and a swagger like no other. Sure, we had worked at camp together with little kids when we were in college, but did I picture her with her own brood one day? I guess I had never really thought of it back then. She's been married for just over 2 years now; her husband coming from a very large family - and almost all of his siblings have already continued the blood line.<br />
<br />
She had some problems conceiving last year, possibly the cause of bad genetics; her mother had had 3 miscarriages before my friend was born - and she was the first of 3 children. Her oldest younger brother was born with a disability. So I worried for her. Her and her husband want a big family: Would she have the same problems as her mom? Obviously, having a child with a disability wouldn't be a problem; she would be readily prepared for that and thoroughly accepting. That was one of my biggest fears about having a child. Would I be able to handle everything that goes into this process? Would I be able to handle the waiting for ovulation? Could I handle a miscarriage or a still birth? Could I handle it if my child was born handicapped? I just don't think I could be strong enough to deal with that. But my friend - well, she's the strongest person I know.<br />
<br />
And now, she's finally pregnant. Due in February.<br />
<br />
And I can't wait to reach my finger out to touch her baby's tiny little smooth foot for the first time and catch baby fever all over again..scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-80324752168845908742011-07-12T20:36:00.004-04:002011-07-13T11:23:18.418-04:00Time Flies...A lot can happen in two years. It doesn't seem like a very long time when you think about it, does it? It's only 730 days, 104 weeks, 24 months. But in that span of time, things can change drastically.<br />
<br />
Two years ago, I was interviewing for my current job; now, I just interviewed for 2 other positions back home.<br />
<br />
Two years ago, my hair was shorter and lighter and I was (at least) 20 lbs heavier. Now my hair is long and sleek and I am svelte and hungry.<br />
<br />
Two years ago, Emmett and I met for the first time. We were sharing smiles and laughs and kisses and pizza. Now, we're not even speaking and I'll probably never see him again.<br />
<br />
Two years ago, I was a lot happier. As miserable as it was living at home and working a dead end job, life wasn't going quite so bad for me at all this time two years ago. And from that point until now, I have had nothing but a rollercoaster of high highs and low lows.<br />
<br />
......<br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">New York is not just a tan that you'll never lose... The tan of New York never goes away." - Lady Gaga</span></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></span></i><br />
I watched this interview with Lady Gaga recently and she is just so passionate about her love for New York in exactly the same way that I am; it was so refreshing. I was home this weekend and there was just something so fitting, so easy about walking the streets and driving the roads. I stood on a corner outside of Grand Central station and watched at least two dozen tourists take pictures of the Chrysler Building. I stood in line for street meat and had a guy tell me he just moved from Oklahoma and was about to eat his first New York hot dog - and I had another person ask me what a knish is. New York, that's what makes me happy.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>There is just something magical about that city that draws people there from all over the world: tourists, wanderers, vagrants, people looking to start over, to be someone new. As big and scary as New York looms to be to those who are freshly here, it soon takes you in with open arms and wraps you up inside itself. Even those who proclaim to hate New York, deep down secretly suppress their love for that great city. </div><div><br />
</div><div>So why did I think that I could do that in Philadelphia? This is just not the kind of place you move to start over and be someone new. It doesn't have that vibe, that sparkle, that same welcoming appeal. I have been cursed at and called names by homeless people, had racial and sexist slurs slung in my direction, battled countless bugs, awful weather patterns (extreme snow and relentless heat), atrocious drivers, ear-wrenching accents, horrendous traffic, ridiculous liquor laws, overly confident sports fans and of course, had<i> lovely </i>interactions with<a href="http://youlivetooclosetome.blogspot.com/"> my oh-so-considerate neighbors</a>. </div><div><br />
</div><div>........</div><div><br />
</div><div>I'm trying to move back home, trying to get a new job and hopefully trying to regain the happiness that I lost when I moved to Philadelphia. I am trying to separate myself from Emmett, separate these feelings for him that have been consuming me for the past two years. They have weighed heavy on me, weighed me down, held me back at times. Our whole relationship (or whatever it was) was the worst roller coaster of all, and has taken an extreme toll on me emotionally. I hate that I have grown to resent him and obsess over him because we have grown so distant in the past six months. I feel like these feelings have made us turn on each other. For as loving as we once were, I feel like we are back to back with our guns at the ready, ready to just expel the other from our lives once and for all. And in spite of everything that made us great together, maybe he's been my Philadelphia. Maybe I thought he could be the person to help me start over and it turns out that after all this time, he's not....</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>But I'm really hoping that in the end, he turns out to be my New York. </div>.scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-83324820286910170012011-06-25T00:03:00.005-04:002011-06-25T12:27:16.416-04:00I do.I have always been proud to be a New Yorker, but I have never been prouder to declare it then today.<br />
<br />
I have always been Bisexual, but I have never been prouder to declare it then today.<br />
<br />
Today is a historic day. New York State passed a bill 33-29 <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/06/24/gay-marriage-legalized-new-york_n_884434.html?ncid=edlinkusaolp00000008">that legalized gay marriage.</a><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizNl8eOU9rFTrknh2gTVK28fgBCFeQpIrEqSPE-HRSAycAeWb5frjJjEqYDR8ACvIH0xdOzxm0C505InrP_3Ep5oUBzLoGUucsBfaEH3nXE547o1KP_GfJCWtA79Xi150ORDPbqluqcq0/s1600/i-heart-ny-marriage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizNl8eOU9rFTrknh2gTVK28fgBCFeQpIrEqSPE-HRSAycAeWb5frjJjEqYDR8ACvIH0xdOzxm0C505InrP_3Ep5oUBzLoGUucsBfaEH3nXE547o1KP_GfJCWtA79Xi150ORDPbqluqcq0/s200/i-heart-ny-marriage.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Upon hearing that the vote was pending last week, I spent this entire week on edge; constantly checking news media for updates on whether or not the Senate had yet reached a decision. And of course, tonight, while I am napping, I wake up to find that the amazing news I have been waiting for has finally arrived. I literally jumped out of bed, started crying, began jumping up and down in my room shouting HOORAY! and clapping. Shaking. Overwhelmed with emotion. Grateful that this day had finally come for members of the Gay and Lesbian community who fought so long and hard for this right.<br />
<br />
This is not just a step towards equality for all, this is a GIANT. FUCKING. LEAP.<br />
<br />
To all the Homophobes and the haters and the Religious zealots and the doubters:<br />
<br />
FUCK YOU - We're here, we're Queer, get fucking used to it already! We're not going away. We are not going to stop our fights. This achievement is only going to make us fight harder, push stronger and make it known that we will not let anything stand in our way. We will not stop trying to make sure that Gays & Lesbians everywhere get the rights that they deserve. To ensure that the Gay youth have a future that they can look forward to without hiding in the closet, without having to hide who they are, without worrying about being bullied or denied a job based on who they choose to love or being denied basic domestic benefits because they just happen to be in a same sex relationship. We are all human; we should all be treated the same.<br />
<br />
Hopefully one day soon, we can all emerge from our naps and jump up and down with excitement as we celebrate the victory for the legalization of Gay Marriage in other states, the entire United States of America, and all over the world.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://solariasun.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/gay-marriage-ban.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://solariasun.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/gay-marriage-ban.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Love is Love. Equality for All. I can't wait to see the pictures from Pride this weekend in NYC. It won't just be a celebration, it will be a god damned victory march!.scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-68422959802593452482011-05-24T12:01:00.000-04:002011-05-24T12:01:33.941-04:00Ten years, Teen years.In exactly one month from now, I will have graduated from High School exactly ten years ago. A milestone like that can certainly make someone feel old. As I ride the bus to work in the mornings and see local teenagers getting off to go to school, it makes me feel even older. All the weird clothes and cell phones and strange music, vibrant hair colors - things that were blatantly taboo while I was growing up have all become common place. Kids used to defy their parents by getting a random piercing on their face; Today, parents are willingly taking or allowing their kids to get these metallic deformations. (like those 'snake-bite' double lip piercings. Really? You're letting your 14 year old walk around looking like they just got snagged by a fishing hook?) I remember my mom freaking out because I put red streaks in my hair. A teenage girl I ride the bus with has bright purple layering underneath her jet black dyed locks. As her and her friends hop off the bus, they're quickly lighting up cigarettes and texting their friends before walking to homeroom. Oh, sure, there was smoking and other debauchery that went on amongst my peers back then, usually under wraps and out of the unseen eyes of adults - but today, it seems to have become so commonplace.The times, they are a changin'!<br />
<br />
When I was 14, I started my freshman year of high school. I had short, pixie/boy cut hair. I wore vintage t-shirts and pants with legs so wide you could practically fit another human being in them. I had a backpack covered in ska & punk band patches. I wore a ball chain necklace and rubber bracelets and a chain attached to my wallet. Sometimes, I was even known to wear a studded choker or a white leather cat collar with a bow, encrusted with blue rhinestones. I would wear a vinyl skirt with a button down shirt, tie and wingtips - occasionally I added a tiara to the mix. I spiked my hair with pomade and carried an old metal lunchbox as a purse. I wore a dark blue hoodie every day with holes cut out in the arm bands for my thumbs. I put red streaks in my hair. I wore oversized "metal" band (Korn, System of a Down, Kittie, Stain'd, etc of the day) t-shirts. I wore out several pair of red & gray contrasting Vans skateboard sneakers - even though I'd never skateboarded a day in my life. I was a band geek - I played the flute in the marching and symphonic bands. My best friend & I started and were the only 2 members on the marching flag squad - for all of one parade. I was part of the TV station. I played JV lacrosse for their start-up season. I went to prom my junior and senior year and wore candy colored dresses to both of them. <br />
<br />
By senior year I had toned down my look, grown out my hair, started wearing more sensible clothes and was preparing to head off to college in Boston. I wore a pink flowered dress with white sandals to my graduation under my white graduation gown. I got my diploma and tossed my hat in the air - no more teachers, no more books! I worked at a camp with my friends all summer and partied on the weekends at clubs and raves and had <a href="http://scandeelous.blogspot.com/2010/09/twice-broken-once-shy.html">a relationship with a boy while cheating on my shut-in RPG playing boyfriend</a>. Little did I know that in three months, my life would be changing forever. And not just because I was going to college, but because that year, ten years ago, September 11th happened - exactly 5 days before I was due to move into my college dorm for Freshman orientation. (My college was on the trimester system, so we had a late start.) <br />
<br />
Now, 10 years later - here I am. Living on my own in Philadelphia with my Master's degree. My hair is all one color, my jeans are normal and I wear plain t-shirts. The road has been rocky, but I'm still standing. And as I speak, construction crews are working on rebuilding the Twin Towers so that they too can stand strong again one day.<br />
<br />
10 years may seem like a long time, but we're just getting started..scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-468742979381267560.post-23871912410153814242011-05-20T15:07:00.002-04:002011-05-20T20:27:58.910-04:00Living Like a Pop StarHave you ever wanted to make highly ridiculous demands of other people just because you can? Well, if you're a famous pop star like Katy Perry, you can do just that! <a href="http://www.thesmokinggun.com/file/katy-perry-rider?page=0">(The Smoking</a><a href="http://www.thesmokinggun.com/file/katy-perry-rider?page=0"> Gun</a> just posted excerpts from a <u>FOURTY FIVE PAGE</u> tour ride for her summer tour.) Honestly, I don't think she's really a big enough or legitimate enough diva to be asking for all this nonsense since people will be turning their heads and going "Katy who?" three years from now. But in the meantime, it got me thinking: If I were a famous pop star touring the country all summer, what kind of crazy shit would I ask people to jump through hoops and bend over backwards (no lube) to get me to satisfy my diva-rage? <br />
<br />
Below you will find my totally fictitious, over the top, life rider in which I ask for shit to be available "above and beyond my expectations" simply because I make more money than you and in this world, that means you have to kiss the ground I walk on and do as I say. <br />
<br />
<u><b>Dressing Room: </b></u><i> </i><br />
For Artist and Artist alone, unless otherwise invited inside. SERIOUSLY, don't even try to come inside the dressing room without knocking first and being given formal notice that you're allowed to set foot inside.<br />
<ul><li><i>Room must have a private bathroom with full bath, preferably a tub with those little clawed feet, and separate shower room with marbled walls and dual shower heads. </i></li>
<li><i>Room should also have a separate toilet room as the Artist does not want to take a shit and then smell it while bathing! (Bathroom is for <b>Artist's use ONLY.</b> If you are invited inside and need to use the lavatory, please excuse yourself to find one inside the venue or use bathroom at the gas station down the street.) Toilet should be a Toto (Japanese brand) with warming seat, bidet features (front and back), as well as musical "hide my fart noise" function. </i></li>
<li><i>Room must have a vanity area with those round bulb lights (with dimmer dial setting) all the way around the mirror, dual hand sinks with faucet heads (brushed chrome) that rise up from the counter top with single-handled hot/cold function on both. A 10X magnifier mirror must also be available (wall-mounted). </i></li>
<li><i>Six (6) plush hand towels and Eight (8) plush bath towels that do not leave fibers on your hands after you dry them, that are all pre-washed in lavender scented detergent and warm when Artist has arrived. </i></li>
<li><i>Three (3) bottles of scented anti-bacterial hand soap with lotion from Bath & Body Works. (Sweet Pea, Japanese Cherry Blossom and Coconut-Lime Verbena preferred. If unavailable, please choose a fresh or floral scent. No Sun Ripened Raspberry or Mango.)</i></li>
<li><i> Room must have wireless internet, 42" LCD (not plasma; SONY preferred) screen TV (mounted mid-way up the wall) with 1080pi capabilities. There should be a complete sound system and DVR in room, pre-recorded with latest episodes of all network and high-end cable TV episodes, as well as a Nintendo Wii system (already hooked up to the internet) with selection of 8-10 multi-player games and four (4) Wii-motes with joystick attachments and four (4) regular style controllers. A Wii-fit device should also be available in room. </i></li>
<li><i>Room must have plush gray (not shag or berber) carpeting, with walls draped in shades of pink. (This means magenta, fuschia, salmon, pink, carnation, shell pink, baby pink, and other toned variations.)</i></li>
<li><i>Two (2) comfortable soft leather (no pleather!) chairs in light grey matching the carpets. These chairs must have a recliner option with the push button, not the handle. </i></li>
<li><i>One (1) matching soft leather couch, with attached chaise lounger.</i></li>
<li><i>One (1) coffee table placed exactly 30" from the end of the couch. The Artist carries her own yard stick and will make sure this is an exact measurement. Coffee table must have a glass top and wooden legs, not metal. A stack of six (6) coasters should also be available for use on the coffee table.</i></li>
<li><i>Room should have one dozen (12) fluffy throw pillows (synthetic stuffing, no feathers) in shades of pink and grey.</i></li>
<li><i>Room should have one dozen (12) fluffy kittens. (Tabbies and Ragdolls preferred. declawed)</i></li>
<li><i> Two (2) tall floor lamps in the shape of flamingos. (where in that the head of the flamingo is what is holding the light bulb.) If these lamps cannot be found, please contact a local electrician and welder who can possibly construct these pieces for you. These lamps should not have pull chains, but three way dimmer switches (installed in a panel under each wing) and should be on at mid-dim when Artist arrives in room. </i></li>
<li><i>One (1) wall length mirror, a la dance studio style. Aka - one wall of the dressing room should be entirely mirrored. </i></li>
<li><i>One (1) six (6) foot (ft or ') banquet table, which should obviously not be set against the same wall that is the mirrored wall. </i></li>
<li><i> One (1) large trash bin with foot pedal operated lid for main dressing room and one (1) small wastebasket for vanity room. </i></li>
<li><i>One (1) refrigerator (brushed chrome) with dual doors that open outward and have freezer pull out shelf on the bottom. Freezer should contain a series of fun shaped ice trays (tiny bottles, teeth, animals, letters, etc), pre-filled with<b> bottled water only</b></i><i> and available for Artist's use on arrival.</i></li>
<li><i> One (1) Edible Arrangement featuring Pineapple and chocolate dipped (milk-chocolate only) Strawberries. Absolutely no melon or honeydew!</i></li>
<li><i>Twelve (12) average sized, ripened organic bananas without bruising; still bunched.</i></li>
<li><i>One (1) pound of McIntosh apples only, pre-washed with peeler and corer available. Four of these apples must be pre sliced on a plate with one (1) jar of Skippy brand reduced fat peanut butter available for dipping.</i></li>
<li><i>One (1) loaf of soft whole wheat, whole grain bread </i></li>
<li><i>Plate of fresh vegetables: both cherry and grape tomatoes, baby carrots, baby broccoli, cucumber slices with minimal peel on edges and a bowl of ranch dip.</i></li>
<li><i>One (1) tray of assorted fresh sushi: Tuna, Salmon, Yellowtail, as well as assorted sushi rolls containing Avocado. This should arrive chilled and have been prepared by a trained Japanese Sushi Chef. Small container of soy sauce for dipping, as well as fresh wasabi and ginger should also be provided.</i></li>
<li><i>One (1) water dispenser cooler with 5 gallon water tank filled with spring water. (Poland Spring preferred.) Absolutely NO PURIFIED WATER! (Everyone knows they just run that shit through a Brita, bottle it, and sell it with 150% markup.) </i></li>
<li><i>Two (2) bags of Trader Joe's brand Baked Blue Corn Tortilla chips and two (2) containers of Trader Joe's brand roasted corn and black bean salsa, pre-opened and poured into matching clear bowls. (If a Trader Joe's is not located in your region, try your best to substitute - and by substitute I mean, call a Trader Joe's in a neighboring state and have it Fed-Ex'd overnight.)</i></li>
<li><i>Two (2) bottles of Woodbridge Pinot Grigio, chilled and uncorked immediately before Artist arrives. (Artist has trouble operating corkscrews.) There should also be four (4) stemless white wine glasses available, cooled. </i></li>
<li><i>One (1) six-pack of Coke Zero, cans, chilled and one (1) bottle of Coke Zero, warm. Artist likes to pour the warm, bottled soda over a heaping glass of ice for extra refreshment. </i></li>
<li><i>Cooler with cubed, not crushed, ice and clean scoop. </i></li>
<li><i>One (1) DeLonghi Espresso machine (industrial quality) and three (3) bags of Starbucks Espresso roast (ground). </i></li>
<li><i>One (1) gallon of organic, free range non-fat milk. (should be in fridge upon arrival)</i></li>
<li><i>One (1) Starbucks Barista (female and attractive, preferably an adorable and funny lesbian) should be on hand at all times to freshly prepare any hand crafted coffee beverages the Artist may desire at all times. </i></li>
<ul><li><b><u>Other: </u></b><i> </i></li>
<ul><li><i>Chinaware (black; both entree and snack size) and silverware (brushed chrome), Two (2) dozen wooden chopsticks, One (1) pair of plastic chopsticks, ceramic mugs (also black) and drinking glasses (clear, preferably with a pink/grey design on the outside), plastic drinking straws, Chinet napkins.</i></li>
<li><i>Box of Kleenex tissues with Aloe (2 ply)</i></li>
<li><i>Sandwich cutters in the shapes of dinosaurs and hearts so Artist may cut off her crusts and eat sandwiches in a delightfully adorable fashion.</i></li>
</ul></ul></ul>Got all that??<br />
<br />
Great! Now I'm ready to lip-synch my way around the world in completely unnecessary comfort!.scanDEElous.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615836059691448508noreply@blogger.com0