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[Jan. 6th, 2010|11:14 am] |
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Suddenly teaching adults is really, really hard. They keep looking at me. I have all this pressure to be entertaining. I have to make them learn and make them LOVE IT. But I'm totally out of new ideas. And I'm tired of talking. So tired of talking. |
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| Purchaseblog! |
[Jan. 5th, 2010|01:10 pm] |
It's hard to find music sincere but not corny, experimental but not grating, raw but not teenager-y, rock but not cliched--- but Califone does it for me every time! A gifted singer with the rasp of Rod Stuart and neither the pomp nor circumstance meanders down gorgeous paths-- sans excessive softness. There's a lot of twang and a lot of surprises. My next purchase:
Califone
All My Friends Are Funeral Singers
[Dead Oceans; 2009]
8.1
I'm buying the 2 LP set, sticking with the Old Creaky-needles.
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 5th, 2010|07:08 am] |
Relief-- I found the cat.
Weird-- why was stuff strewn about and the food out of the fridge??
Now I'm upset that I would jump to crazy, illogical conclusions. but that cat hid damned well!! My bed is a futon mattress on the floor-- and she WEDGED HERSELF UNDER IT. I lifted the mattress up and she was all pancaked-out on the floor.
Truth is, I need to 1. learn to not panic, 2. relax more, 3. not assume I'm going to ALWAYS FUCK UP any time I try to do anything, and 4. not freak out every 10 seconds.
I am doing the best I can to not be an illogical wierdo. At least I know where it came from. After spending Christmas with the family that goes bonkers calling eachother retarded and TOTALLY FLIPPING OUT over putting something in a bag, I realize that thinking everything's gone to shit immediately is the CASH FAMILY WAY.
I remember when I was 5 I hid particularly well during a hide-and-seek game and when I finally emerged after no one had found me, everyone was crying. The police had been called, and everyone had assumed I'd been kidnapped. This is totally the kitty equivalent. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 4th, 2010|12:22 pm] |
I went to sleep in a sealed-shut apartment. I woke up in a messy apartment with no cat.
This morning, sobbing and depressed, I assumed the worst-- that I'd been broken into. There are VERY FEW places a cat can hide in my tiny place, and I'm pretty sure I checked EVERYWHERE. And although I'm messy, this craziness was ridiculous.
But what if the cat had just strewn stuff about? Maybe she had found the greatest hiding spot ever?? I'm trying not to panic. I realize i'm having a terrible bad luck streak at the moment, but THIS... is RIDICULOUS. Illogically ridiculous.
I refuse to believe my apartment was broken into last night. I refuse to believe the cat was stolen or ran away. Refuse refuse refuse!! This intensely bad situation must resolve itself!!! |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 3rd, 2010|11:02 am] |
I finally got my cat! She is shy. She loves bathtubs and the color white. She hates Ringo Starr and open spaces.
Although "Scoots the For Real Unicorn" was a popular name, I decided that it doesn't fit this cat. Scoots would be great for a big fat Persian cat. This cat is kind of a skinny pretty supermodel cat. She deserved a name like Isis or Athena, but those are too... serious old-crazy-cat-lady cat names. How to come up with a name that dignified her pretty and stately manner but not too much? I decided on Little Lulu (we just call her Lulu) after the famous comic, which was one of the first with a female author, and featured a cute little girl whom was actually quite a hellion.
Not much detail is known about the author, Marjorie Henderson Buell, except that she was first published at 16, when I too was first published. Perhaps Lulu will be an omen of success?
Here's a picture of me with my Lulu, carefully hiding my horror-chin! (its actually getting better, thank heavens. I almost used a whole bottle of makeup in two days and I really can't afford that.)
In other fun news:
1. While hiding from the world I've become addicted to the massively old-school Italian card game Scopa. Here's an online game where a criminal in a mask teaches you how to play.
2. Take this quiz on The New Yorker's humor page. It counts as humor if you like crying and shaking your head in shame! (Who doesn't?) I only got 15 right, but I blame it on not having the internet all year. My friend James got 23, which is the all time high score I believe. Anyone care to try to put him to shame? |
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| parting gifts |
[Jan. 2nd, 2010|11:08 am] |
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On the way out, 2009 gave me a slight cold. But this isn't what's truly making me so antisocial. I also suddenly, out of NOWHERE, looked in the mirror and saw the craziest breakout imaginable on my chin. I'm not talking about a few zits. I look disfigured. Hideous, some might say. I've been looking up stuff on the internet and it doesn't give me hope. "It rarely lasts for more than a year." A year?? I've been dumping a bottle of makeup on every time I leave the house, I'm so ashamed. It's freaky. I've never ever had more than mild acne. This looks like a serious disaster, like all those extreme photos of worst-case scenarios on the internet. Ugh. I wish had a clue as to why this has happened. It doesn't seem to be thinking about going away. I went to bed a cute gal, I woke up a hideous gross monster. Never leaving the house again. |
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| on hotness |
[Dec. 28th, 2009|02:12 pm] |
My friend Kelsy posted about freckles in her blog and it's inspired me to throw in my two cents (if I even have any change on me) on beauty.
The most liberating thought I've ever had regarding my looks happened last year, at the age of 26, when I thought, "I'm never going to be everybody's flava." I said 'flava' because the voice of reason in my head often comes in the form of this slang-slinging black woman who used to be my dental hygenist. I still see her finger wagging at me when I do something stupid. If this seems racist to you, I apologize and accept the label, but this woman isn't going away.
The meaning of the above statement is simple: one woman cannot be every man's boner, and no woman should want this bullshit dream anyway.
In Uni, my friend Dustin said that hotness is "98% style." This seems to be the case. Style doesn't have anything to do with identity. In fact, fashion should be playin' around with the fact that consumer choices will never adequately describe our identities. But all my friends have distinct styles, which make them hot. They all have strong, tasty flavas. Not EVREYONE'S flava, but some flava nonetheless.
Beyond these cliched "be yourself"-ish statements, I think there are a few basic rules to hotness:
1. Don't try too hard. There are tons of physically attractive, perfect looking gals in LA but few are sexy. There's this overpolish, too much polysester, too much flat ironing, etc. They look like they'd be worried about how they looked while making out. They look like they wouldn't hold hands with someone they were dating lest someone famouser walked by, offering an opportunity to use sexuality to further their career. All my superhot friends have an effortlessness about them.
2. Don't ever try to hide "flaws" in your body with stupid girdles and padded bras. They're only flaws if you make them that way.
3. I hate fake smiles. I think a genuine smile is extremely memorable.
4. Specifically relating to straight girls dating guys: I think it's hot for guys to see a girl's face that seems to say , "I'm enjoying this twice as much as you are, dude." I used to put a lot of pressure on myself to look and be pleasing to others, which is supremely icky. It's how I was raised, like a lot of other women who go insane at some point. We learn to shape oursleves into something which we predict will be attractive, then serve it up. Lame. When I'm with a guy, being shamefully selfish and enjoying it, I usually get a positive response.
I was talking to my friend about this and she said, "You sound just like the author of Why Men Love Bitches!" Sounds okay, but who cares what men love? It's not about being bitchy or non bitchy. It's about swtching the focus from "What does he want?" to "What do I want?" This is the secret to hottness.
As far as straight men are concerned:
1. Hot men don't condescend. Women are so used to condescention that they'll take a lot of it, but truly sexy men are aware that most women don't get the recognition they deserve for their intelligence.
2. Hot men have something that suggests liberation, individuality, or recklessness. Whether it be a silly thing like shaggy hair, a useful thing like a good liquor collection, or a cliched thing like too much interest in music, many women think that if you can "let loose" in one part of life, you might be able to do so in other parts. If you know what I mean.
3. Hot men have nothing to prove. I kinda feel sorry for those guys one-upping other guys at parties. The guy NOT talking about his screenplay or his "crazy" ex girlfriends is the one I'm staring at all night.
4. It helps if he gets some form of exercise and doesn't eat trash all day.
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 24th, 2009|12:32 am] |
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Boredom, intelligence, paranoia and sigularity all seem to be inter-related. |
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