Thanks a whole lot.

Victoria's Secret. What the hell. Is there a reason you pilfer more than 1/3 of my dispensable income right outta my hands every month? Those sly e-mails that tempt me to buy your over-priced lacy underwear are nothing less than a Communist plot, I tell you! And a damn good one at that. C'mon now...if things keeps going the way they are, I am going to have one extensive undergarment collection by the end of the year. I don't think it will be able to be contained in one drawer by next Christmas. It might take an entire closet one day when I'm 30. If I ever move, it might warrant a whole moving truck to itself. Thanks a lot.

You do realize you're taking over the world, right? When one sees a pair of hot, silky, lacy, or cheek-revealing underwear, they immediately ask (or think, if they're shy...)"Victoria's Secret?", to which the wearer/bearer more than 87% of the time affirms the query. Why don't we all just buy Hanes and Fruit of the Loom? Why does even my blessed grandmother buy her undies from you? Good lord. Your rule over women...and men...is unbridled. Can you please stop coming out with new styles, collections, and colors? I'd rather not be forced to make an embarrassing Christmas list that contains solely items from your over-sexed-girls-on-the-walls stores. Thanks a lot.


I used to think you were a hoax: stupidly expensive underwear for sluts or models or transvestites. But once I went there, broke my VS virginity, there ain't no going back.


Thanks a lot.

Self-Inflicted Pain

There are just some things in life that you should do. Even though they are going to hurt like hell. Do them.

You should probably get waxed.
And you should probably get a piercing other than your ears.

It sounds absurd: all that sick, grotesque, unnecessary pain. And for what? Just so you can flaunt a starfish shaped belly-button ring for 3 months out of the year? Just so you can wear a bikini without fear and not worry about contracting a uni-brow?
Oh how wrong you are, my friend.

Not gonna lie here---waxes are uncomfortable. Let's not beat around the bush (ha...). But quite honestly, facial waxing, firstly, is quite gratifying! To know that the sunlight/fluorescent light bulbs aren't reflecting off your fine little peach fuzz is quite reassuring and instills a "Damn, I look hot" attitude, even if no one notices (they probably won't unless you have people inspecting your face on a regular basis). And well, we all know that sometimes...in that bikini...you wonder. Do yourself a favor and just get a Brazilian once, too. Oh, you're just so experienced now! It may be more awkward than even a visit to the gyno, simply cause it takes longer, and doctors always act awkward and get 'er done quickly anyway; it's relatively uncomfortable to shoot the breeze with a woman you hardly know while half naked lying in a compromising position with hot wax oozing and linen strips ripping. Yea. This is a normal place to talk about the weather.

And as far as piercings go, you're going to have to get down 'n dirty for this one. You can't go to Claire's in the mall and ask for your tragus or Monroe pierced. Find the shadiest place possible (as long as they use clean needles, you're all good....I think). It helps if you have to park in an abandoned lot across the road and also if men whistle at you while crossing the street. You're going to sign a waver of absurd statements like "I realize this piercing may change my appearance" but it'll be fine. The death metal music reverberating in the back is is no way a sign that this is a place of the devil---no fear. And when that needle comes in contact with your virgin nose/belly button/cartilage, no fear. Just keep talking and be a boss. Don't bleed. If you can help it...which you can't.

This is a peculiar post for such an innocent looking blog...

ANTS!

Ants...in my Pants

Often, I get this feeling. I can’t describe it without sounding like a total kook, but I get this FEELING. It makes me want to jump out om my own body, my own mind, take a break for a while. Basically, it’s an intense subconscious analysis of my existence. Melancholy is too positive a description. Apathetic is too calm. If pressed for a real adjective for it…I have none. Deep and lonely and ethereal and bizarre and muted and excruciating and seismic and minuscule and I don’t know what to chalk it up to.
Lately…I’ve been feeling antsy. I anticipate MORE out of life than what I’m getting, however, I’m undeniably content (which is not something I’m used to…). But I am so irreversibly striving for MORE. I am also undeniably sick of living in the American bubble society, where everyone wants to be teachers and doctors and lawyers and make tons of money without anyone to spend it on but themselves and settle down and go camping and live in the suburbs.
I don’t want any of that. One day? sure. But now? No. There’s so much MORE to see! So many places to live, foods to eat, people to meet, things to experience, feelings to feel, good and bad; there’s this void that needs to be filled, damn it. I’m tired of speaking about things I ‘know’ about like I’m some authority on anything. My knowledge is limited to what I skim in textbooks and novels and newspapers and in the pictures I see; inside my head is worthless knowledge I’ll never use and never desire to use anywhere but on the exam next week—-which in and of itself is no way to learn.
Gotta get out, man. See the world. So many people say it, but I mean it. I want to know and see and do; and love and learn and lose and hurt; and EXPERIENCE things, instead of just living day to day, 9-5, dinner and freakin’ weekend and coffee at 9am from the Keuirg  and laundry on Sundays…routine sucks, plain and simple, and this comfortable thing I’ve gotten myself into is such a lie.
The only way I can currently even cope with the normality of my life is to make brash decisions and stupid mistakes and do things “…” would never do. Because I’m bored with myself and my life and this place, and nothing is going to convince me that the world revolves around the here and the now—-out there, then—-THOSE are the things I focus on and THOSE are what will make this funk go away…that isn’t to say my life isn’t perfect. Cause when I step back and analyze, it is. IS. Strangely content with this life I currently lead, more than I ever have been for sure, I simply know there’s MORE out there. And I want to find it and take a picture of it and do it and journal it and tell people about it. Because being stuck in my head is a dangerously unsettling place to be…it's gloomy and so selfish and reaps so much havoc on your psyche...you dwell on things that don't need to be dwelt upon, and unbury memories that shoulda stayed like 7 feet under in a swamp, and you just can't move on. Consequently, you can only be as happy as your current situation allows.
And my current situation is priceless—-but...so much about my existence could be better.

Tea is something American's often associate with being sick. Or being sad. Or trying to make yourself tired.
If we took a hint from Europe and the Boston Tea Party, we'd see that tea should really be more prevalent in our lives.
This semester, I plan on sipping the mild stuff (mild compared to coffee! which I equally loooove but hurts sore throats) at least 3 times a week.
Tea time should be a part of our culture. It should be instigated again. How cool would it be to sit down with a crumpet and drink some Earl Gray by the rose garden? How much cooler would it be to not have to travel to England to do it...?

Is it sad I have my top 5 wedding dresses picked out along with my colors and my ideal ring, but have no intention of trying to find a groom? I think not.

That Guy

You know him. He's that guy. He's the guy who's eternally got his teeth showing, lips streeeetched from ear to ear. You see him driving in his car...you see him on the street, in the grocery store, at a restaurant. He just doesn't quit. Whatever his secret it....I really don't even want it.

2-0 Eve

There's something funny about birthdays to me. I love em and all...I enjoy the rich, decadent, sinful, dark, dessert I make myself; I sure don't mind scrapping a bunch of wrapping paper into a pile to reveal my new possessions. I really don't mind phone calls and checks to put in the bank from grandparents who used to buy me socks and Christmas sweaters.
No, there isn't anything inherently WRONG with birthday celebrations of past years, the past two decades, though the first 5 I don't recall at all....maybe even the first 7. No, birthdays are quite special and should be celebrated, but these last few years have brought this...

sadness.

I really can't explain it in any other way than to say: another year has gone by, and not a whole lot has changed; I feel a hole, a gap, something missing, something strangely familiar and illusive and aggravatingly potent.

I feel like I'm missing out on something I should know and have and hold and that other people have and hold and know. The realization that I sound deranged is quite apparent, I know.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!