As of the end of this month, I will be leaving SuicideGirls.com. No malicious reason for leaving, I just cannot afford it right now, and I don't spend enough time here (what with planning a wedding and all) to really make it worth my while.
I might be back once the wedding and honeymoon and whatever else is all over. If any of you would like to keep in contact, please don't hesitate to e-mail me before the 30th via SG.
Thank you.
I hope to talk to you sooner. rather than later.
Okay ... so I haven't posted in ages. I have an excuse, really. I've actually been doing stuff.
I have been doing things like: plan a wedding, work, practice yoga, go christmas shopping, uhh .. plan a wedding, game, watch television, and other soul sucking activities (besides yoga) that happen when one gets engaged, has to plan a wedding, and have to do the whole holiday thing.
Nothing interesting has happened, really. Life is actually quite boring. And the things that I have learned about myself in the past near-month have been the sort of things that I share with my love, my best friend, and my therapist. I think these things are beyond my mother.
Things that I have learned in the past neaar month which I can tell you:
- Wedding magazines suck
- Books for grooms suck even more than that
- Most wedding dresses are ridiculous and floofy
- Most people in this country (and the world) think that men are little shits and that women want to be princesses
- This makes me a part of a very small minority
- Rekindling one's love for Margaret Atwood makes one both anti-social and sleepy
- Sometimes you have to take big time outs
- Just because your best girl-friend is in Chicago does not make her an alien
- I will admit that I bought myself a book by Kate Spade today and now I wish I hadn't ... It was the most gratuitous piece of drivel ever
Hey!
Here are some things I have been meaning to tell people. I haven't told anyone yet (aside from my boyfriend who was playing EverQuest2 at the time and didn't seem very enthused by either thing) because no one really comments on my passworded journal, and I've been lazy complaining.
+) One evening (sometime in the past two weeks), I went out for a solo smoke. I was standing just at the bottom of the steps, looking up at the stars (as I am wont to do when out for a solo smoke), and having one of those melodramatic "We're all just tiny specs in the scale of the universe" moments. And then there was movement out of the corner of my eye in the direction of the alleyway. I turned my body to see a small brown cottontailed rodent bounding its way down the alleyway. Now, I find brown cottontailed rodents to be ultimately fascinating, and watched as it got to the street, looked both ways, and crossed.
+) On the night I wrote my last journal entry, I was feeling very melodramatic and thinking as I was listening to PJ Harvey's Uh Huh Her and knitting a failed hat for my sister (which will now go to my neice). I was sitting in one of the chairs on my porch, having another solo smoke, with my feet up on the table, and was having this overwhelming feeling of being back in Colorado. I think this was due to the coyotes calling from the direction of the woods.
Here are some things I have been meaning to tell people. I haven't told anyone yet (aside from my boyfriend who was playing EverQuest2 at the time and didn't seem very enthused by either thing) because no one really comments on my passworded journal, and I've been lazy complaining.
+) One evening (sometime in the past two weeks), I went out for a solo smoke. I was standing just at the bottom of the steps, looking up at the stars (as I am wont to do when out for a solo smoke), and having one of those melodramatic "We're all just tiny specs in the scale of the universe" moments. And then there was movement out of the corner of my eye in the direction of the alleyway. I turned my body to see a small brown cottontailed rodent bounding its way down the alleyway. Now, I find brown cottontailed rodents to be ultimately fascinating, and watched as it got to the street, looked both ways, and crossed.
+) On the night I wrote my last journal entry, I was feeling very melodramatic and thinking as I was listening to PJ Harvey's Uh Huh Her and knitting a failed hat for my sister (which will now go to my neice). I was sitting in one of the chairs on my porch, having another solo smoke, with my feet up on the table, and was having this overwhelming feeling of being back in Colorado. I think this was due to the coyotes calling from the direction of the woods.
There are things on this planet that I will never understand. There are people on this planet whom I would consider friends that I will never understand. Most importantly, there are things that I do and say that I will never understand.
What makes a young woman say the things that I do? Why, sometimes, do I find myself scrounging at the smallest task of decency and decorum and throwing it out the window. I pretend that I know so much about so many things, and really I know nothing. Or, in fact, do I know much more than I allow myself to let on?
My friend E said of me before I asked her to be my bridesmaid, "I would choose [you] as a bridesmaid, because while it is good for friends to make you insane, it is always good to have a friend around who makes you sane." This is, most likely, the highest compliment I have ever received. She had told me earlier, upon her move away from Cowtown to Chicago, that (in speaking with a mutual college friend of ours) I help make people's lives better.
And I sit here and wonder how that could possibly be true. And yet I hear it from people: "Undone is an intent listener;" "Undone gives wonderful advice; " "Undone knows more than you will ever understand;" "Undone understands you better than you understand yourself." When I hear these things pass through people's lips and head out there, into the air, I find myself looking around for an exit; terrified I'll be found out.
How can I make people sane when I can barely hold my own happiness in the palm of my hand? How can I understand people when I can barely understand myself? How can I give good advice when most of what I think about are clothes, shoes, and how much I weigh? I don't understand how I can be, as one person said, "a truly enlightened indvidual" when I am still searching for a calling.
Perhaps this is the fate of the 'Net Generation. Perhaps we carry around those qualities left to us by our Generation X peers: the confusion, wonder, and insecurity that come along with being a twenty-something ever. While my mother was married off at twenty-two and at my age, I was her child, I am spending my twenty-seventh year getting engaged and trying to figure my life out.
I have poured my life out of it's box, and I am searching through the puzzle pieces to figure out how the language major goes with the photographer goes with the radio professional goes with the knitter. How the yoga enthusiast goes with the pizza eating gamer goes with the shoe obsessed buyer goes with the liberal advocate. I am picking up these pieces that don't seem to fit together, and I find a consciousness in there somewhere. Some sort of direction that I am supposed to have. My life has taken so many twists and turns and curve balls.
This year for Undone and Boy have been incredibly difficult. What with my six-month battle with critical depression, to the car accident, to the unsureness about both of our employment situations, to the dibilitating credit card bills, fall-outs with parents, and finding ourselves. The shining moment of the entire year was the evening in the art museum of November fourth.
And perhaps that moment will be the one thing that the both of us remember about 2004: the shining moment will, eventually, out shine everything else that clouded our fifth year together, my seventh year in this life.
But, as for now, as I am alone on the first floor of our aparement, my hat for my sister being finally half-done, and my head still pouring over the crises of new-shoes vs food and holiday trips home vs time spent with my love. I will figure this out, and if it happens to be on the day of my last breath, it will be a sigh of "This" before I descend into black.
Ask, and ye shall receive.
____
- Why is chocolate so amazing?
- Why do I only really want chocolate about twice a year?
- Why do I eat chocolate twice a year when I know it will make me ill?
- Why does chocolate hate me?
- Does Nick Cave eat chocolate?
- If he does not, do you think he should?
- Are you Nick Cave?
- Do you think you're cooler than Gunhead?
- Really?
- I will now kill you.
____
- Why is chocolate so amazing?
- Why do I only really want chocolate about twice a year?
- Why do I eat chocolate twice a year when I know it will make me ill?
- Why does chocolate hate me?
- Does Nick Cave eat chocolate?
- If he does not, do you think he should?
- Are you Nick Cave?
- Do you think you're cooler than Gunhead?
- Really?
- I will now kill you.
I have come to the brash realization at the age of twenty seven that I am now an adult. How do I know? Phrases such as: "Well, when I was a kid ..."; "He's only a nineteen year old boy, what the hell does he know?"; "She is twenty five years old and should be acting her age."; "His hair is so 90's!"; are coming out of my mouth.
I never thought that I would become my parents, but I have. I have become the sort of person who is under the false impression that being twenty seven makes me automatically better than anyone born after 1980.
I was a stupid, young, jaded twenty year old as well. I thought that I knew how the world worked. I thought I was going to get married, be in a rock band, make millions of dollars, and live the rock star life because my music was just that good. Listening to it now, I realize we cared much more about being loud than we did about being, well, good.
It's come to the point where I sit back and watch my twenty year old brother with a grain of salt the size of Idaho. When he starts spouting off the things he's learned in his sophomore Philosophy course, my boyfriend and I exchange long glances and try to hide smiles. The sad thing is, this makes me a total bitch on wheels.
My boyfriend and I are going to be that old couple on the street that all the kids are afraid of because we walk dogs that could bite their heads off, and scream at the children to "Get the hell off my lawn!" I mean, babies are cute and all, and small children can be entertaining for a short while, but I'm at the point (at twenty seven) where I no longer want to talk to anyone under the age of twenty three.
I have conversations with my boyfriend and my friends about "their generation" VS "my generation." And while I claim that I identify much more with Generation X than the 'Net Generation, they put forth that I have a very small attention span, and I still think I know everything. (Well .... )
Someone has to stop me before I start spouting, "Well, they don't make [insert thing here] like they used to ..."
I never thought that I would become my parents, but I have. I have become the sort of person who is under the false impression that being twenty seven makes me automatically better than anyone born after 1980.
I was a stupid, young, jaded twenty year old as well. I thought that I knew how the world worked. I thought I was going to get married, be in a rock band, make millions of dollars, and live the rock star life because my music was just that good. Listening to it now, I realize we cared much more about being loud than we did about being, well, good.
It's come to the point where I sit back and watch my twenty year old brother with a grain of salt the size of Idaho. When he starts spouting off the things he's learned in his sophomore Philosophy course, my boyfriend and I exchange long glances and try to hide smiles. The sad thing is, this makes me a total bitch on wheels.
My boyfriend and I are going to be that old couple on the street that all the kids are afraid of because we walk dogs that could bite their heads off, and scream at the children to "Get the hell off my lawn!" I mean, babies are cute and all, and small children can be entertaining for a short while, but I'm at the point (at twenty seven) where I no longer want to talk to anyone under the age of twenty three.
I have conversations with my boyfriend and my friends about "their generation" VS "my generation." And while I claim that I identify much more with Generation X than the 'Net Generation, they put forth that I have a very small attention span, and I still think I know everything. (Well .... )
Someone has to stop me before I start spouting, "Well, they don't make [insert thing here] like they used to ..."
The following SG Journal Entry will be written in the Informal Undone Vernacular:
DUDE! Do you know what's cool? I took my measurements yesterday (which I really shouldn't have done, because I am still on the rag and all, and I tend to bloat up, like, eight million pounds when Aunt Flo comes to visit), and I am one hott motherfucker!
Dude, I don't know what I weigh (but I'm pretty sure it's a EQ:2 Barbarian-esque 193 Pounds, since I've weighed this EQ:2 Barbarian-esque 193 Pounds for the past three years, and the fact that I can out-wrestle my cuddlicious 6'5" boyfriend/finace makes me insanely happy), but I do know that my measurements are a highly impressive 41" / 32" / 41". And in case you didn't know, in number land, that translates to HOTT!!!
I can so fucking kick your ass right now.
My boyfriend and I took a walk in the extreme cold this evening and went to the coffee shop (because we always walk to the coffee shop, and it's got to the point where everyone who works there pretty much knows us, and they gave us free coffee on the day we got engaged and shit), and we looked over the wedding books I'd bought (The Anti-Bride Guide to Wedding Planning and Bridal Bargains). We also discussed having a Star Wars wedding, complete with Storm Troopers and a Jedi Knight to marry us.
We then threw out that idea because it's completely fucking stupid.
But we were considering it.
Don't you love us now?
Look! This is me not cleaning my house for my father who arrives on Wednesday morning and yes I could clean my house tomorrow if I weren't playing D&D but I am and that's too bad for me because I have to then clean the entire thing which includes the bathroom which is the bane of my existance. INHALE.
I didn't shower this morning because I thought I could get away with it, having showered the evening before. But oh, was I wrong! My hair, normally very well behaved and gorgeous, decided it would do me the disservice of sticking up off my head making it seem as if I were wearing a toupee of sorts. I spent many a minute in the work bathroom running my hands over my head in the manner of a neanderthal getting ready for a date.
Although it was nice and beautiful yesterday (I actually got a sunburn, in Ohio, in November), today it seemed as if November finally remembered to show up, and Undone wasn't dressed for it.
Things I should be doing:
- Cleaning my house
- Doing my laundry
- Eating something substantial for dinner other than coffee and hummous
- Doing laundry so that I can prevent my feet falling off due to lack of socks
- Showering
- Cursing blindly at the bathroom and its utter resistance to being cleaned ever
- Begging my boyfriend [fiance?] to make me coffee
- Explaning to my boyfriend [fiance?] that I actually do need the coffee
- Pleading with my boyfriend [fiance?] that I either get coffee made for me or he gets to clean the bathroom
I didn't shower this morning because I thought I could get away with it, having showered the evening before. But oh, was I wrong! My hair, normally very well behaved and gorgeous, decided it would do me the disservice of sticking up off my head making it seem as if I were wearing a toupee of sorts. I spent many a minute in the work bathroom running my hands over my head in the manner of a neanderthal getting ready for a date.
Although it was nice and beautiful yesterday (I actually got a sunburn, in Ohio, in November), today it seemed as if November finally remembered to show up, and Undone wasn't dressed for it.
Things I should be doing:
- Cleaning my house
- Doing my laundry
- Eating something substantial for dinner other than coffee and hummous
- Doing laundry so that I can prevent my feet falling off due to lack of socks
- Showering
- Cursing blindly at the bathroom and its utter resistance to being cleaned ever
- Begging my boyfriend [fiance?] to make me coffee
- Explaning to my boyfriend [fiance?] that I actually do need the coffee
- Pleading with my boyfriend [fiance?] that I either get coffee made for me or he gets to clean the bathroom
Okay.
I will not:
- Talk about getting married
- Talk about being engaged
- Talk about my mother talking about me getting married
- Talk about the books I bought on getting married
- Talk about what the hell I am going to do because I don't think I'll survive planning a wedding.
Instead I will talk about:
- I am going to Yoga, and you can't stop me.
- I had an awesome breakfast of eight million kinds of fruit, one kind of organic bacon, and the best Norwegian waffles on the planet.
- I think Alien:Resurrection is on every Sunday afternoon.
- I am in the midst of cleaning my house, I can see my bookshelves. It's awesome.
- My father is coming in three days.
- I am omitting the part about him being the first family member to see the ring as I said I would not talk about being engaged.
- Too late.
