Future Plans

BLARGH I'm sorry it's been a week.  The past seven days have been extremely hectic, but I've been itching to just write again.  So now that I finally have the chance, let's get to it!

I went out to lunch with Zero and GoldenEye yesterday--we have a little tradition of grabbing some pizza between classes on Wednesdays.  The week before, I was unable to go with them so I had asked about what it was I'd missed.  Then, they exploded.

They explained their plan.  They have a plan that maps out the entire rest of their lives--they're to go into business together after they attend the same graduate school, formulating their mega-corporation the whole time while they are near and freshly educated.  Their corporation will do "everything.  Literally, everything."  It will have thousands of employees and hundreds of branches; it will be the biggest thing to hit America.  And every Wednesday, they would take all their interns out to lunch for pizza and discuss business, the future, politics, economics, etc.  They were formulating traditions for their futures, mapping out their lives, placing themselves years away with a crystal clear image.  It was wishful thinking and high hoping, but they knew exactly what they wanted and they were ready to go get it.

It hit me right then.  This is life, and it's coming at me way faster than I want to accept.  I don't have that clear picture, I don't have a direct path I intend to take.  I have no post-graduate plans.  The extent of my life is in school, and that's all I've got.  And I can't tell if I love that or hate that!  LIFE is so close... this is it.  This is the final stretch.  Everything is the final stretch... and there's never any stopping and going back.  Ever.  Life carries on.  It can end in an instant, it can last forever.  It can end up the exact opposite of how you always imagined, it can go exactly how you want it to.  It can take a million unpredicted turns, it can be mapped out any which way in the garden of forking paths.  But Life is facing me head on.  Whether I'm curled up in a ball or running at full-speed, Life is straight ahead.  Life is staring me down.

It's kind of terrifying.  It's kind of exhilarating, too.

This is a little spacey and a little out there--it doesn't really make logical sense.  It's just a stream of consciousness because I have a lot of difficulty channeling these thoughts and feelings.  So, I'm sorry about that.  But hey, it's what's on my mind!

"Contemplate" by TheSophiaPark (http://thesophiapark.deviantart.com/)

Rambling,
The A.S.S.

Dance it Out!

I'm in a bit of a phase.  Be it that I've had a good day, I don't have time to run to the gym, I'm too stressed and need an outlet, or I just need to stop studying and take a break to refresh my mind, I've been dancing a lot this week.  I'll blast Jet's "Are You Gonna Be My Girl?" or the Kanye's "Monster," maybe some Beyonce, the classic "You Make My Dreams" by Hall and Oates or Cee-Lo's "Fuck You" and just rock out.  Like, ROCK out.  And it's so liberating!  It's SUCH a good feeling and I highly, highly recommend doing so.  I know I'm not unique in this idea, I know millions of people do this, but I honestly can't explain how good it feels to just dance it out.  In the rare chance that you really want to do it right now, do it!  Maybe not at work, but as soon as you get home.  Let it out.  There's plentyyyyy of good music to rock out to--just pick your favorite and go at it.

"Rock out" by Citruspers (http://citruspers.deviantart.com/gallery/?offset=120#/d2jbkf4)

ROCK OUT,
The A.S.S.

Hot Chocolate Streets

My last post was about how lovely Thanksgiving is--what a nice, pleasant, gracious, inflective, personal holiday it is.  This post, unfortunately, will be about how terrible Christmas is.  SORRY IN ADVANCE, hate me all you want, but Christmas makes me feel down right despicable.

Thanksgiving 2010

It was a quiet Thanksgiving.  We slept in, had some bagels and coffee, flipped through the channels, and never changed out of our sweatpants.  No extended family came, we never left the house, we didn't cook laboriously for endless hours, we kept it much more low-key than usual this time around.  And I was okay with it.  An hour or so after dinner, we put on a movie and tossed in some popcorn--we were feeling adventurous.

I adore Thanksgiving.  I think it is a beautiful holiday, including of everyone (when looking past the genocide aspect and focusing solely on the notion of being thankful), and a time that truly calls for some inflection.

A Spectrum-Spanning Mental Concoction

I'm in the weirdest mood imaginable.  There literally is no word to describe it--it's the biggest, oddest amalgamation of emotions, a concoction that veritably spans the spectrum.  I don't know what I'm feeling and I don't know how to handle it.  How to react to it.  My mind is literally so jumbled that I can't think.  I really can't.

There's denial, despair, rage, ecstatic elation, love, romance, hope, promise, inspiration, excitement, anxiety, anticipation, frustration, confusion, unrest, envy, sorrow, mourning, comfort, safety, cliffhangers, relaxation, ACK!  All swirling and tumbling around my mind--what the hell am I supposed to call that?  What kind of state is this!

Well, it sucks pretty badly.  I won't lie.  I wish I could tell you all the events that transpired and instigated these emotions, but they're incredibly specific and I rely on this anonymity so much as I write.  So I'm telling you how I'm feeling, even though I can't.

So if you see a girl whose face is saying nothing at all--or perhaps everything at once--it might just be me.



...what am I?
The A.S.S.

MIDTERM (Election) MADNESS

REPUBLICANS TOOK SEATS IN THE MIDTERM BAHHHHH THIS COUNTRY IS SO STUPID AND IRRESPONSIBLE AND IMPATIENT BLAHHH WHY ARE CITIZENS TURNING BACK TO THE SAME PARTY THAT RUINED EVERYTHING EVERRRR GAHHHH THE CONSERVATIVES ARE GOING TO SHIT ALL OVER US ALL RAHHH THE UNITED STATES IS FALLING APARTTTTT AHHHHHHHH.

Holy hell, guys.  Calm the fuck down.

Just the Genetic Me

Several times within the past week, I have gone out with no makeup on.  I didn't have any blaring pimples, the runs were nothing of significance, and I was just too lazy to put on the few dabs of makeup I usually do.  And every one of those times this past week, I've either gotten compliments on the street I've never heard before--such as "DAMN girl, you sexy as FUCK"--or close friends like Volcano and Lavender asking "what's different today" or why I "looked so good."  And remember, the boys never compliment me.

Literally, all I wear on a normal day is mascara and cover-up where I have zits.  If I feel like jazzing it up a bit, I might put on some eye shadow or eyeliner as well.  No foundation, bronzer, blush, lipstick, etc.  Mascara.  Yet apparently, its absence makes me more attractive.  Who knew!

Moral of the story?  No matter how little you may do to impress the world, you're still doing something to impress.  You're not being entirely you.  Less is more and you may be more beautiful when you're simply the raw, bare you that your genetics coded for.  Now, that being said, I'm not going to never wear mascara again.  I like it, I like how it makes my eyes look.  And I certainly am still going to dab a little cover-up when I breakout, because I don't like people looking at my acne.  But if I don't feel like it one day or I'm not worried about impressing Drifter or someone, I probably won't wear anything anymore.  And I, my purely genetic self, just might be confident doing so.

Heidi Klum--SO beautiful!

Makeup-less and sweatpants-ed,
The A.S.S.

A Sign I Couldn't Let Slide

I'm a big believer in signs.  I feel that when something pops out at you and catches your eye because of something on your mind, that wasn't there coincidentally.  Especially when it happens time after time after time and again.  And there have been plenty of signs over the past few weeks that keep pointing me to Drifter, but this one was pretty blatant.

It was two nights ago and I was taking a walk down a street I'd never been on before.  I had just left my place and had contemplated writing that last post over and over.  I wanted to get it out, put it down somewhere, and of course, stay true to my mission statement.  But I didn't want to curse myself, jinx anything, or just generally be too pathetic in a public sphere.  So I took a walk to listen to some music, see some New York, and gather my thoughts.

As I strolled, my mind was just flooded with Drifter.  How everything seems to be pointing towards something more, but I could just be horrendously misinterpreting it all and forcing myself into an unnecessary emotional roller coaster.  How he and are I surprisingly perfect for each other and more compatible than anyone else I've ever had an interest in, but is that just my gut and heart trying to convince my mind?  What on earth are his intentions?  Does he understand what my intentions are?  Am I being too aggressive and pressuring too much? Oy, my mind was just reeling.

I came across a bit of construction and the thinly walled wooden border had been doused with graffiti.  I love graffiti, so I made sure to take note of as much as I could as I passed by.  Walking down, there was so much to see, so much overlapping and so many pieces competing for their space to be noticed.  But there was one spot where no one was competing--there was one sentence in an open space, completely unobstructed by anything else.  As if everyone else had decided to respect it.  As if it was a supreme word.  It simply read:

"Write about love."

And my Lord, I was struck down to my bones.  I had been thinking of Drifter all day, but I didn't want to call it love (I still don't), and I didn't want to jinx the magic I was (and am) feeling.  Yet here it was, staring me in the face.  "Write about love."  I couldn't help the feeling that the universe had brought me here to see that, that this wasn't a coincidence.  So I went home, thought some more, got a good night's sleep, and woke up with a crystallized story to tell.  And that's why you see yesterday's post--because I couldn't let that sign slide.

Taken from http://bvswimmer33.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d2v0cjm

Writing about love because

"I may already love you,"

The A.S.S.

He makes me want to burst. Seriously.

I don't want to be alone any more.

I've been fine for the past few months after my last big rejection, and I decided, "Fuck it. I'm single and I can't change that right now."  And somehow, that worked and I didn't care about being single.  It was just what I was and that's how my life was.  No big deal either way.  But now, now that there is a prospect and there has been even the slightest form of reciprocation, I'm getting butterflies all the time.

I think about Drifter more than I should--we still barely know each other.  But we've had a few dates now and every time, the hours just fly by as we talk and tell stories and just laugh with each other.  Believe me, I know how corny and ridiculous I sound when I say this, but I honestly and truly feel that he and I have a deeper connection I've never formed with someone so quickly.  It was there as soon as I met him.  Right from the start, we understood each other.  And it took a lot of finagling and walking on eggshells to get the ball rolling, but it is now and I can't believe how I'm feeling.

I don't think I felt this way even when my first boyfriend kissed me for the first time!  He makes me smile constantly and I'm so incredibly comfortable with him--I tell him stories I would never tell a stranger and he reciprocates.  We're moving slowly, but there are definite steps being taken and my heart is flying.

I was fine being alone.  I was content.  I walked down the streets, singing the music in my headphones, and smiling for no reason.  Things were working.  But now there's this wrench in the situation--I smile wider, I play my music louder, I sing more strongly, and I dance.  I was fine being alone, but not anymore.  I just want to be with him.  I want to hear another story from him, I want to order him another cup of coffee, I want to hold his hands and turn them over as I trace the lines in them, study the way he sits in his own skin, laugh at his ridiculous stories, show him that scar on my shoulder, lose myself in his eyes, and I want to melt into his smile.  Even as winter approaches and the sun disappears into the haze, there's this new part of me that's shining so brightly I want to burst.

Yeah, he literally makes me want to burst with joy.  I won't say I'm in love, but I think this just might be the precursor to it.

Taken from http://porcelainteacup.deviantart.com/#/d2xkc2b

Dancing on clouds,
The Amplified Shadowed Side.

Rainbows Over Manhattan?!

Class today was great--we really bit our teeth in and dug into class.  We had a very intense and in-depth discussion of the material, scrutinizing and thirsting and analyzing and craving.  It was really pretty awesome, I can't lie.  So I left with a skip in my step and a smile on my face.

It was raining, but I had a raincoat and umbrella ready.  It was a calm but heavy rain; powerful yet soothing.  So, again, I was happy.  Then I looked up and I saw blue skies with a vibrant rainbow.

I've never seen a rainbow in Manhattan before.  Ever.

And then my shuffle-all brought up Gene Kelly's classic "Singin' in the Rain."

By gum, I was ecstatic.  What a wonderful concoction of good!  It's so rare that a million little pieces conspire together in such beautiful harmony--I was smiling ear to ear at this point.  I'm sure every person I passed was confused beyond recognition, but I couldn't have cared less.  The world, in that moment, on that walk home, was perfect.

And waiting for me on my kitchen table was a hand-written letter from my best friend.

It's the small things in life that make the best days.  No diamonds, no fancy dinners out, no winning the lottery, no "A" on a paper.  Just a text from you or the right song on shuffle.  The chance to pet a cute dog.  Just a good cup of coffee in the morning.  Simple pleasures--that's all I need to make me smile.

(This is not the rainbow I saw today--I got this one off of Google.)

Yours,
The A.S.S.

A Little Stumble, A Little Ridicule

It was a long day, I was exhausted and I was power-walking my way home.  All I wanted to do was just get off of my feet, lie down, get into my bed and simply relax.  So I'm walking really fast in order to get to that bed.

And I'm walking.  I'm walking for ten minutes.  Twenty minutes.  When I'm twenty-five minutes in and only a block away from home, my shoe catches a crack in the pavement and I stumble a bit.  No flailing around, no falling, just a little bump and a quick pull of the foot forward to compensate and catch my momentum.  Really, not a big deal.  Slightly embarrassing, since I was power-walking and dodging in and out of people, but really not a big deal at all.

Which is what I thought.  But apparently, some girls walking behind me disagreed.

The See-Saw Effect

BLOODY HELL.

It's starting.  My life was going SO well for such a long run that I was thinking I was finally doing everything right.  But now, as per usual, the universe has turned and bad luck is following me everywhere.  I had a wonderful summer and the beginning of school was amazing.  Everything was great and grand and I felt just generally awesome about life.

But the shit started happening again.  It began with me losing my license on the subway when I brought it as a precaution to avoid problems.  Then, I poured expired milk on my bowl of cereal. Then, I go through a week of insomnia.  Then, something I've been waiting to buy myself is FINALLY restocked and as soon as I FINALLY get it, it breaks on the walk home.  Then, when out at a lovely dinner, I get this horrible headache that just will NOT go away and keeps getting worse and worse until my vision is blurring, I lose all appetite, become terribly lethargic and apathetic, and my entire body starts shaking.  Then, I lose my room key in class.  Then, I get violently ill for a few hours at home.  Then, I completely misread my midterm assignment and have to restart it all over again.  ACK!

It's what I can only think of calling the see-saw effect.  Life seems to go in these cycles for me--a bout of good and a bout of bad.  What's weird, however, is that the magnitude is generally always equal.  So, since I've been having such a good, decent time and lifestyle over the past few months, I suppose the universe decided that my time was over and I needed to be brought back down.  My good side of the see-saw had peaked and I needed to swing low, bringing the bad side up.  And quickly.

I just hope that the rapidity of the bad things--though each small but sharp pangs--will equate to the lengthiness of my decent months, and this down swing will lighten up soon.  I'm okay with an alright life.  I just hate this part right here where everything seems to suck ass.

Taken from http://jerzeykat.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d4dcp7

Waiting for my upswing,
The A.S.S.

Gratuitous Boy Talk

Time to talk about boys!  As much as I hate to dump this out on a blog, I promised to do just that.  And what blog of a college girl would be complete without boy talk?

So!  There are three I'd like to tell you all about.  One of them you already know!  You remember Peachy Keen?  Cool.

Let's begin, yes?  We'll start from what we know.

An Unparalleled Moment of Beauty

I am witnessing something incredible.  Something beautiful.  And I'm bawling like a baby.  This isn't a story from the streets of New York, but rather a story of the world and its onlookers.  The world and I are watching the rescue of the Chilean miners.  I watched the first three come out and I watch the last one surface now.  As I sit here, crying on my bed, I am flooded with this universal bond of inspired hope and moving admiration.  And I really don't know what to write about it other than the fact that I honestly cannot come up with the words to describe this feeling.  This moment.  This event in history.  It's...momentous?  Well, yes.  Historic?  Of course.  Inspiring?  Yes, but that's not quite strong enough and it seems slightly off.  Admirable?  At the moment, that's the best I can come up with.

And NOW It's Rejection.

The weekend is over, so NOW it's rejection.  Here's the story:

I met a guy at a party a few weeks ago.  I thought we had really hit it off, talking extensively, enthusiastically, and understandingly.  I felt this deeper connection from the get-go, which basically never happens to me.  I couldn't help it, but there was this great sense that he actually understood me.  And few people understand me--hell, I barely understand me.  So when we hit it off so well, I was intrigued.

I wanted to talk for hours, but he had to leave.  So I waited a few days and my friend who had introduced us encouraged me to keep in touch with the guy.  My friend insisted he was one of the greatest guys he knew and I should absolutely go for it.  So, with the guidance of my friend, I facebooked him and waited a few more days to send a message.  The message expressed my interest but left it an open-ended question--I gave him my number and told him to contact me anytime.  The ball was in his court.  And then came the waiting game.

I sent it exactly a week ago.  I figured maybe he would be quick to send a response with few details but a clearly illustrated interest--nothing.  My guy friends said to wait it out over the weekend, because that's when you would actually do something, if anything.  So I waited.  I waited and avoided using the term.  Well, it's Monday now.  And not a single word from him.  The weekend is over, so now it's rejection.

And cue the standard emotional struggle!  Do I pursue further, do I try to just be friends?  Is he a douchebag for not even saying a damn word to me, do I just push him from my mind and move on?  Oh, the politics of flirtation.  I really just don't know how to play the game at all.  Another plunge, another rejection.

Put it on my tab.

http://silvermercury.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d10iyru

Alone once again,
The A.S.S.

Some Money, a Boy, and a Man

Just a little story to warm your heart:

I was sitting in the park yesterday afternoon doing a bit of reading. It was a gorgeous, perfect fall day out--a light breeze, cool temperatures, and lots of sun. I had my music, I had my own bench, I had a good lunch, I was dog-watching, I was happy.

After only about ten minutes of being there, I saw this kid approach this man who had just walked past me. The kid had literally run up to him and tapped the man's shoulder to get his attention. The man seemed upset that he was being disrupted, but the kid just held out his hand and said "Hey mister, you dropped your money." It couldn't have been more than three bucks.

The man stared at the money returned to his hand and had this look of utter astonishment. When he finally looked back up, the boy had already started running back to wherever he came from. The man shouted after him "Thanks, kid!" And then he lowered his voice since the boy was gone and muttered, "I really appreciate it..." He slowly turned away and kept on walking.

And I was enamored. With a HUGE smile plastered on my face, I was so touched by such a beautiful display of innocence, selflessness, and sheer kindness. It was like a movie. What's more, however, was the unspoken communication shared between the observers. I turned my head after the incident and could see several people to my side who had all also seen the scene unfold--they were smiling too. We made eye contact and shared a new smile that said "I'm glad you appreciate this as much as I do." Something in me knew that a "pay it forward"-esque train had just picked up a lot of momentum.

Inspired,

The A.S.S.

"I think you're ignorant and dead wrong."

In New York, I feel it goes without saying that many people are liberal. Staunchly liberal. And I am not. I have some liberal tendencies, but I identify myself as an independent and actually lean right on many issues. Blasphemy! It's shocking, right? Well, that's just how I've always been even since I first started paying any attention to politics. I am not ashamed of my political beliefs, but I do tend to keep them quiet due to the persecution I know will come about as soon as I open my mouth and contradict anything extremely liberal in conversation. You see, that's just how it's always been for me.

Summer of New Love

Well, hello there! Fancy seeing you here! What has it been, half a year? Well, not quite. But, I'M BACK.

And I'm sorry that it took me so long to do so. The past few months have been a whirlwind or work, emotion, time, friends, family, everything. It all raced by and I'm still struggling to keep up with Father Time as he races onward. Who knew such an old dude could run so fast!

But, I know no one cares about this blog, so I won't dwell on apologies. I'll just pick it back up where I left off--sort of.

So where were we? Ah, yes, springtime in New York. Well, with lovely springtime comes not-so-lovely finals. So that was a black hole that I couldn't escape. And then came summer. And soon, I was completely enveloped with the fact that I ACTUALLY had FREE time to do nothing and NO responsibilities, and I was enamored. It had been so long! So I literally laid around ALL day, EVERY day, just enjoying the calmness of nothingness. But you can just call me a lazy shit. That works too.

And next? Well, what happened next changed my life irrevocably.

Like a Spring Phoenix

One day not too long ago, I stepped outside. I was shocked by what I saw.

Whistle Wonders

As I walk down the street, I'm frustrated and angry and upset and generally in a bad mood. Things are pretty shitty so I'm walking it out, storming down the street. My muscles are tensed up; if you'd said anything to me, I would've walked right by. I was NOT a happy camper.

Then I heard whistling. It wasn't a particularly nice day out, and Hall & Oates wasn't playing over loudspeakers somewhere, so I assumed that people wouldn't automatically be happy and smiling and whistling. But someone was. Who was happily whistling?! I needed to know who and why.

Study Lounge Mayhem

As I sit in a lounge area of the student center, I notice several types of students. The studious ones, the socialites, the lovebirds, the slackers, the obnoxious, and the "I'll take what I can get"s.

It's Clapton, BITCH

A little while ago, I had the fortunate pleasure of seeing Jeff Beck and Eric Clapton in concert. To say the least, it was an experience. Such pioneers in the music scene live and right there in my face was just incredible. The show did lack some iconic songs, such as "Layla," but was nonetheless a fabulous show and performance. I by no means left the Garden with a lack of musical satisfaction and elation.

But the musical euphoria was interrupted on my way out by a woman who I can only nickname as Clapton BITCH. This may seem harsh and callous, but she was a bitch. She was a perfectly stereotypical ditz. Fake blonde hair, fake boobs, obviously fake Coach purse, corn-chip nail tips (not really, but hideously fake), heels so high and uncomfortable she had that very noticeable I-have-to-lean-forward-to-attempt-to-walk-because-if-I-don't-I-know-I-won't-make-it-anywhere waddle, etc. And the man she was with was this big, rugged, tough looking guy who just kept a completely blank face the whole time she was bitching at him.

And she would NOT stop BITCHING at this poor man! He clearly dished out a LOT of money for probably the biggest show in all of Manhattan that night, and she was standing there, endlessly complaining about it! Talk about ungrateful. She kept insisting Clapton should have played more acoustic songs. He opened with about five or six consecutive ones. She bitched that he didn't play "Layla." Okay, well he has SO MANY hits, he's bound to not play ONE of them. She proceeded to say Clapton played "too much of that new shit." Well, lady, he is touring NOW and not THEN. "Jeff Beck shouldn't have stayed on as long as he did. And there was NO reason for him to come out again at the end and stay for so many songs!!" Ma'am, he was the opening act and played an appropriate number of songs as such. He came out at the end to play with Clapton because they got their starts with each other. Without each other, without the Yardbirds, neither of them would be where they are now. And the best part, she left off with this gem:
"Next time, we should go see 'WICKED!!'"
Complete with jazz hands and all.

I wanted to scream. Okay, yes, I have seen 'Wicked;' yes, it was a good show. But not crazy great, as many critics had led me to believe it would've been. I can appreciate Broadway very much--I have substantial experience in acting and I can absolutely cherish all the work and dedication every individual show takes. ...but does a popular Broadway show about teenage acceptance and fairy tales and love and cheesy shit really outrank Eric Clapton?? Seriously? Come on, lady.

Where have our values gone? We don't cherish the pioneers, the raw talent that created so many followers and grew so many branches of variations, the very men who shaped so much of music that today would not be the same had they not done what they did. Instead, we cherish make-up, fancy dresses, and splendor. So I guess this post is turning into a "oh, the superficiality of it all!" one. In all seriousness, this woman exemplified superficiality to me. From her appearance to her tastes, all of which she showed me in a matter of seconds, this woman was trash to me.

Call me a bitch for being so judgmental of her, but honestly. When someone conforms THAT much to societies pressures and stereotypes, something HAS to be wrong. Be it a lack of confidence, a personal image issue, a superiority complex, whatever, no one is naturally like this. No one naturally thinks those huge fake nails actually look good. No one thinks their platinum blonde hair looks real, especially when their roots are showing a deep brown. No one thinks that a Coach bag with only backward "C"'s looks authentic. No one can say and believe that an Eric Clapton concert was a waste of time and money. She is the epitome of conformation. She believes "all you need are looks and a whole lot of money." She thinks that bigger boobs are better, blonde is prettier, those shoes flatter her, the purse makes her look fancy, and loud-mouthing her bashing opinions of Clapton to all the people herding out of the arena will make her stand out and be intellectual and different and smart and superior. Wrong. SO WRONG! You look fake, handicapped, stupid, and just plain pathetic.

So, I suppose the motivational, activist message of this all is to just stop. Stop valuing lame shit that everyone else says you should value because it's popular right now, at this moment. Stop glorifying the sparkling, glittered, beautified stuff and glorify the ground-breakers, the innovators, the milestones. Stop conforming to societal pressures regarding your physical appearance and if you truly want to change yourself, do it in a way that YOU WANT and that will compliment you, not the way that you see on TV. Stop dissing men who may very well be past their prime but are still extremely capable and still ridiculously talented and still deserve nothing less than respect for their incredible accomplishments. Dig in, get down and dirty, and value the roots of today's foliage.

I apologize for this post being more emotionally driven and less artistic and well-written. A bit of a rant, yes. A bit of a commentary on modern society, yes. A denunciation of superficiality, yes. A judgment call, yes. A statement on musical legitimacy, yeah. But was it my honest opinions? Absolutely. This is my blatant, blunt truth. While "everybody's talkin' 'bout the new sound," "it's still rock n' roll to me."

Clapton, you had a brilliant show.
The A.S.S.


Disclaimer: As is the case with everyone, my judgments are not always accurate, and I am not claiming them to be. At that very same concert, a bassist came out to play with Jeff Beck. She was this gross looking lady with 80's hair, a leather sleeveless top, TIGHT pants, and KILLER heels. My first reaction (before I saw those BALLER heels) was "dyke," no joke. Yes, offensive, but I'm sure many people would've thought the same. Then she started playing. And she fucking ROCKED that whole arena. She was amazing! One of the best bassists I've ever seen! She absolutely blew me away. Her name is Rhonda Smith, for the record, and she's boss.

Good Wine, Great Friends, and a Kitchen Table

I've been gone for awhile, I'm sorry. A LOT of stuff came up out of nowhere, basically, and my life got flipped upside down for a few weeks there. I am now coming out of my spring break and hopefully, things will get back to normal. But t
hat's why I've been hiatus. Shit hit the fan; I didn't take it too well. Maybe I'll write about that stuff at some point in the future, but no guarantees.

Let's get back to business, shall we?

So, my mother decided to host a birthday party for her friend. Although her crowd's idea of a birthday party has included strippers in the past, the approach tonight was more subtle. Just a quiet night in with a few friends from the neighborhood, home cooked foods, a cake, and a lot of wine. No men, just the ladies. Since I'm home for break, my mother invited me to take part, apparently feeling guilty to not be spending time with me. Despite the caddy drama that ensued after the hanger-on decided to bring her 6-year-old child along with her, the evening was very lovely. Lots of laughter, good food, good conversation, stories and jokes were flying. Once the cake came out, the birthday girl raised her glass and made a toast so moving, it brought tears to my eyes.

Her back-story, she is finally conquering breast cancer. After fighting it for years, she is clear and about to have her port removed. She is turning 51 this year, but due to the cancer, she did not want to celebrate her 50th last year. So not only was this party a "Yay, you're 50 (belated)" party, but a "You beat cancer and we couldn't be happier" party.

Obviously, I don't remember the speech verbatim, but I'll do my best to put it back in her words.

"I just want to thank you all so much for this evening. After my whole ordeal, I've learned just how incredibly lucky I am. I've re-evaluated so much in my life and have realized that there is very little that is genuinely important to me. Besides my family, of course, the only other thing that truly matters is my friends. You girls. I can't say I would have made it without you all. I cannot stress enough how much you all mean to me and how much of a difference a few good friends can make in someone's life. So thank you all, thank you, thank you endlessly. For this party, for being there for me, for supporting me through this all, for just being my friends. I love you all, truly."

Everyone around the table nodded in agreement and I knew the sentiment was mutual.

Her speech was beautiful, impromptu, and so genuine that of course I felt it and believed it. And everyone has those few close friends they can go to for anything. But her speech got me thinking--who would these people be in my case? Do I even have these friends? Do I have anyone who truly cares about me the way this room cares for this woman? And honestly, I'm not entirely sure that I do.

When I thought about it, I can only think of two friends who would come if I called, but that's about it. Maybe three, but I'm not sure. I'm so used to being the third wheel in groups, being the one that doesn't really make a difference, that I guess I stopped trying and stopped caring. I've realized through the past few years that my groups of friends never really cared about me. If they made plans, I was never personally invited. I'd only be invited if I contacted the host myself or if one random person happened to remember me. Generally though, I had to ask to be included in anything. I was never missed. My absence was not an issue, my presence was not a pleasure--I was just a whatever. And this trend has continued into college. I thought for sure things would change once I moved away from home and was immersed in a new environment, but things are the exact same. While Malibu and Ritz go NUTS for each other and freak out when they're separated, they could care less whether I'm with them or away from them. My roommate never comes into our room to just sit and chill and talk, but always goes to Ritz's, where Malibu will always be too. They sit there for hours and I just wait to see if maybe they call for me or anything. And they just never do. There are a million examples I could share, but I don't want to dive into too much detail.

Have I not made an impact on the lives of my friends? Am I just not an interesting, fun enough person? What is it that I'm doing wrong that makes people completely apathetic towards me? I don't know. I don't know why my social life is the way it is and the way it has been for years. I don't know who would be sitting at the table with me forty years from now drinking wine and toasting my cancer survival. Perhaps I'm not meant to know yet and that'll all come with time and settling down somewhere.

It just makes me nervous to see the people around me all so deeply tied into relationships. I am the only single person left in my entire family. Many of my friends are dating and if not, they have that solid, core group of friends. I don't have either. Yes, I have my family, but I can't rely on them for everything. I need to break away and become my own person. It makes me incredibly nervous that I'm truly doing something horribly wrong. Don't get me wrong, I couldn't be happier for the ones in my life that have that security and those relationships. And I hope that my friends view me as one of those people, as someone they would sit at their tables and drink away with because I most certainly would go to the end of the earth and beyond for them if they ever called. I just hope that--when my time comes--I'll have a bottle of red, a bottle of white, and those amazing friends filling my kitchen table.

I'll come when you call,

The A.S.S.

I'm Singing in the Snow

Again, I've been slacking. My apologies once more, things have been pretty busy.


Music makes everything better. Truly. It's an odd phenomenon that happens when metered, rhyming words are paired with a melody. Something inside gets going, gears start churning, and an entire day can be turned around. A new mood can arise. A skip in your step can appear. A smile might sneak its way out. Music inherently possesses an incredible ability to make everything better.

The weather last week was frightful, but my music made it so delightful. Streets were sloshy and wind was howling and snow was pelting my face, coating my clothes and seeping through my jeans. NYC was being blasted by another round of February snow, as 2010 has seen all too much of. I didn't want to take out my mp3 player for fear of water damage, but decided I needed it anyway.

With it firmly tucked into my jacket pocket, my hand holding it securely as an extra safeguard, I stuck my headphones in both ears so as to keep the wind out. Usually, I only wear one bud so I can hear what's happening around me on the streets--because I'm safe like that--but today was different. I turned it on, set it to random shuffle play all, and pressed play. Immediately, as if my player knew, it put on the one song that can ALWAYS make me feel incredible.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2seAJsrtIbQ
Thank goodness I had both buds in. Instantly, I perk up. With the music completely enveloping me, I start dancing to myself, just like in that video (great movie, by the way. Definitely see it.). I'm singing along, twirling down the street, and things are great.

Next song to come up, "A Walk Through Hell" by Say Anything. Again, another song that can make me feel wonderful. And it was pretty applicable to the times, even if it was talking about fire rather than ice. I pushed repeat about three or four times on the way to my next class!

Once I finally let go of Say Anything, song after song of great rhythms, awesome bass beats, and catchy melodies were coming up. And yes, the two examples I gave are poppy, happy songs, but some sadder, sweeter songs came up too in addition to some harder, heavier rock songs. All of it just worked though. Instead of huddling and shielding myself, I was looking up and smiling at the snowflakes. Sometimes, the world is a lot prettier the more you get to look at it.

Once I finally got home and changed into not-wet clothes, I thought about what had just happened. I realized that I would have been completely miserable at that exact moment had it not been for my music. I literally danced the entire way home all because of some random songs. Out of thousands of songs, every one that came up put me in some new mood that made the outside world and outside weather just fade away. The songs seeped into me and I melted into them.

This odd blending of body and soul and mind and music is universal, I feel, when we let it happen. So many times, we seek refuge in our music. We seek solace or comfort. We seek inspiration or motivation. We seek confirmation or explanation. Music is more than just words or a tune. Music has a wonderful power to it that I fall so short of explaining. All I know is that music has helped me through many things in my life, as trivial as snow to as grave as deaths. I've gone to music for fun, for boredom, for love, for inspiration, for comfort, for help, for just about anything you can think of.

We run to it, we work to it, we dance to it. Music is all around us. Music is in us. Music can become us and we can become music. Music can create. Music can change. Music can embrace. Music can heal. Music is otherworldly. So next time you're having a bad day, just put on some Hall & Oates. I promise, you'll feel better.

Singing in the streets,
The A.S.S.

Insomniac Revelations

So lately, I've been having a LOT of trouble trying to fall asleep at night. I don't know why, but it's been pretty bad. I'd lie in bed for hours, struggling to fall asleep, watching movie after movie in an attempt to ease my mind. If I did sleep, I'd sleep for two hours, max, and then wake up for no reason. Then, I couldn't fall back asleep for at least three and a half hours, if at all. Simply terrible.

Why was this happening? I'm eating better, I'm being a much better student, getting all of my work done earlier so I'm not staying up later, doing little exercises while I have large amounts of reading, etc. I've been very pro-active and healthy and I've been very proud of myself. ...But I can't sleep. Lying there in bed for hours every night made me keep thinking, "What a waste of time. I could just get up and go write a paper or something, but I really just want to go to sleep." And it's SO FRUSTRATING.

So I got to thinking, there HAS to be a reason for this. It's not like I was drinking lots of caffeine right before I go to sleep, jacking myself up on sugar or anything. It wasn't anything physical that I was doing. I had finally gotten myself into a healthy routine, so why was it going wrong?

A routine. Maybe that was it. I sort of always lacked a routine--I like doing things in whatever way I so choose, rather than being bound to one strict method. Now that I had a routine, my mind was going crazy at night. I was using my time during the day to do all my work and just going straight to bed. Maybe this was a sign for my to stop the mundane. Stop the routine. Be spontaneous again. To not conform to the routine of the working world just yet. Be fun and do my work while still making time for me.

Do what needs to be done, but never forget about yourself. Yes, the rest of the world is out there and there are expectations for you, but don't dedicate yourself solely to them. You need your own time too. Don't abandon yourself at the price of your happiness and sanity. Even if it's just ten minutes, do it.

Yours,
The A.S.S.

Rain Pains

Yes, I know I slacked over the weekend, and it's only been one week, but in my defense, I did say that I couldn't guarantee a daily post, only that I'd try to. The weekend got a little busy, so I failed at the daily thing, but I don't think anyone really cares. So whatever.

Today, it rained. And it was that really obnoxious rain that makes it look like it's kind of misty and barely raining, but by the time you walk two blocks, you're already soaked. That kind of rain. And, as any city-goer knows, umbrellas are a futile effort, so you've just gotta tough it out.

I look outside the window after I wake up late and realize the state of the weather. I do NOT want to go to class. But, I get myself out of bed and sport a wool hat (they're good at keeping the water out), a hoodie with the hood pulled over my hat, and my pea coat. I look down at the perfect angle to shield my face from the rain but to also be aware of what is coming up ahead. I don't want to get poked in the face by someone's umbrella, seeing as everyone who does choose to sport one fails to realize it is an attachment to themselves and recklessly wave them at fellow pedestrian's eyes.

Even with all my protection and my perfect defense angle, the wind seemed to pick the rain up and whip it right at my face. Directly. Head on. From a downward angle. If I looked up to lessen the blow, the wind decided to blow the rain horizontally. I turned corners and walked down streets I knew to be less windy than others. Nope, no difference. Everywhere I went, the wind and the rain kept attacking me. All the while, I keep thinking I should've just stayed back home where it was dry and warm.

I finally get to class and our pre-class discussion consists of everyone sharing the same sentiment. We all sat, half-joking and half-infuriated with Mother Nature. The weather seemed to love messing around with us, if not just simply hate us. The professor walks in and class begins, and thankfully, it was a very interesting and heated class discussion.

As class ended, I put all my gear back on and prepared myself for the battle I was about to forge in my attempt to get back home. I angle my head down, adjust my hood and hat, brace myself for impact, and step outside of the building. But nothing happened. It was still raining, just as hard as it had been before, yet it wasn't attacking me. It was just gently dancing this time. It was less vicious, more inviting. And the wind never once picked up on my way back. The only gusts there were were on my back, helping me get home faster and easier.

Once I got back and changed into dry clothes, I thought about it. Nature put up such a fight, trying desperately to deny me the chance to go anywhere. But once I battled through it, it sent me on my way back home with no objections.

This can be seen as a "home will always welcome you back, don't be afraid to go back home" sort of thing, I suppose. But I see it more like "Fight through it, persevere" sort of thing. I thought so many times about not going or turning around, but I just went anyway. As it turned out, I had two very great classes today, despite the trouble it took to get there. You can sit at home and remain status quo, no harm done. But pushing through it, surviving the struggle, and working towards something will reward you. It may be small, it may not even be apparent at first, but some tiny reward will result from the fight. So always battle. Always fight. Keep going and push through it. I know walking through rain is the lamest universal metaphor for the struggles that life can bring about, but it's still applicable. Just keep pushing forward. If you can't, home will be there waiting and the walk back will be fine. But you'll never know what could've been unless you just dive into the forward motion.

Stay strong,
The A.S.S.

The Olympian Gods

Today marks the one-week anniversary of the 2010 Olympics! And what a week it's been. The Olympics are easily one of my favorite things ever. When I watch the opening/closing ceremonies and an American win a gold, I always get chills. And that music! The theme song, when they play "The Star Spangled Banner," ugh! Honestly, it's not uncommon for it all to make me teary-eyed as well. Something about the Olympics is so spectacular and so unimaginable that watching them puts me in this extremely surreal and spacey mood.

First, the opening ceremonies. The ceremony itself is always beautiful. It's so true and authentic and so evoking and it always fools me into feeling as if I am or desiring to be a citizen of that country. And when the Olympics officially start, the world seems to stop, just for a moment, and welcome everyone. Mankind is somehow magically unified when the Olympics begin. It's mind-blowing to me. So many hostilities are just pushed away and forgotten, even if only for two weeks. The Olympics have curing powers.

Second, simply being a competitor there must be completely mind-blowing! I mean, I know everyone who's there deserves it and has worked incredible amounts to be there. All the same, however, I canNOT imagine that dedication and perseverance. I've never been enough about anything that I was willing to dedicate the rest of my future life to it! It's just so incredibly admirable that these people have that quality. Additionally, this choice they have made is so unstable--one bad crash and your career could be out the window. One minor slip up, and you could be instantly out of the running, and maybe you don't get to come back next time. If it's really bad, as we saw with the tragic loss of the Georgian athlete, your life could be taken. Athletes, to me, are perhaps the bravest and biggest risk-takers out there.

Third, the event itself. The nerves these players must be undergoing! SO incomprehensible! I mean, sure, I've had my moments where I know people are watching me and there's pressure to be perfect, but there's no comparison. The Olympics? The gathering of the world's greatest athletes? All eyes on you, TV cameras, millions watching YOU from all across the world. I don't know if I'd ever be able to handle that sort of pressure. Again, only the deepest respect to these athletes.

Fourth, the results. It takes an incredibly strong person to come to a competition after consistently being one of the best, and then being told you're less than. Those who handle it with dignity and professionalism have all my respect in the world.
(SIde note: Plushenko, you got the silver because you couldn't execute your tricks well. Suck it up and admit defeat. And by defeat I mean second best IN THE WORLD. Calm down. We all know that that was what you were thinking, but professionalism needs to step in and overcome your gut reaction because you were given immense respect and you need to reciprocate it. Punk.)
Winners, on the other hand, are another story. Of course, I expect them to be courteous and respectful of the other competitors, but winning an Olympic gold (or getting any medal, for that matter) is truly an unparalleled life event. The moment they realize that they've won and it's caught on film, my heart melts. I can't even imagine that moment. Realizing that YOU are the best in the whole world. ...that's so insane! I once had the honor of being named best in my state, and that put me on top of the world! To be the absolute best, unrivaled by anything on this planet, is such an honor and such an incredible achievement that it is IMPOSSIBLE to undermine these people.

Fifth, the closing ceremonies. I can only imagine how an experience like the greatest sporting event in the world and becoming a piece of this ongoing history can change someone. Being in a place like that with people like that at a time like that must be absolutely unbelievable. It would truly be a milestone in someone's life, a moment that is impossible to forget, and closure for whatever events may have happened in that strange place and strange circumstances.

I love the Olympics. I love what they can do to a person, a country, the world. I love what they represent, I love the passion they display, I love everything about them. I think everyone can learn something from these people--be it sportsmanship, dedication, passion, perseverance, professionalism, composure, mind power, etc. These people are truly role models and authentically outstanding men and women worthy of all the praise we have to give; I can't say I've met many people who I feel the same way about. So, to you Olympians, I respect you all so deeply that I have difficulty finding the words to express myself. You're amazing and you represent so much to all of us back home, so thank you for being such incredible people. We love you and we back you 100%.

Sincerely yours,
The A.S.S.

(And I would assign 12 Olympians to the 12 Olympian Gods, but the Olympics aren't over yet so that simply wouldn't be fair! =) But super kudos to all the medalists and to all who have done so well!)

HOW 'BOUT I PUNCHISIZE YOUR FACE.

Remember that time on Jersey Shore when "Snooki" got punched in the face?! Who doesn't. After all the damn media that covered it and endless commercials advertising this new cRaAa4zZyY ep1s0d3, everyone knew about it and everyone had seen the clip countless times. It was an outrage and responses were everywhere. The was so much controversy over the event that MTV eventually decided to cut the scene from the airing. Even though they had aired it endlessly in the commercials advertising the episode.

Because a woman getting punched in the face is so terribly offensive.

Okay, I'm a woman. If I were a dude, I'd punch Snooki in the face ANY day. Plus, she seems to be asking for it. But why does the media and the population freak the fuck out over a girl getting punched!? The show aired ENDLESS scenes of man on man fighting, girl on girl catfighting, and chicks slapping dudes. BUT WAIT. As SOON as a guy comes at a girl, all hell breaks loose. He gets fired from his job and MTV won't even show their viewers such a horrendous atrocity!

...Am I the only one who doesn't think that makes sense? I mean, yeah, I'm all for men not hitting women, but why is it that when they do, they're suddenly the most evil person on the planet? And why is it that women can do it to men without any consequence? Yes, men are bigger than women, but whoop-de-frickin-doo! Equal rights? Equal punishments. Women don't get to be exempt from this rule, in my eyes.

Another example of this exact same thing is the viral YouTube video, "How can she slap!?" In this video, however, the woman makes the first physical attack. She slaps the man, no one does anything. He slaps her back as a reaction (there was very little wait time, leading me to believe it was involuntary), and suddenly all of production and everyone on the set starts to swarm him and takes him to the ground. Yes, the video is more funny because of the way he then continues to scream and eventually cry about getting hit, but that's not the point. Why did no one do anything when she attacked him? What gives her the right to physically abuse him? Why did it take his reaction to instigate any interference?

I don't know, maybe I'm some weird form of feminist. Or sexist. I never considered myself to be one, but I guess I am? I'm simply saying that women attacking men should not be dismissed. If men can get in so much trouble for it, why don't women? Just something to think about.

All for now,
The A.S.S.
(The Amplified Shadowed Side. It's all I've got for now. Plus, I am an ass.)

"Where do you get the confidence?"

(Introduction: Lavender. One of los chicos, but the least present one of them all. Chill, very laid back, calm, funny, genuine. Student, musician, smoker.
Introduction: Volcano. One of los chicos. Absolutely hilarious, absurd, goofy, outgoing, illogical. Student, filmmaker, foreigner.
Introduction: Leggings. Roommate. Bubbly, tall, friendly, laid back. Student, actress, sleep talker.
Introduction: Zero. One of los chicos. High class, city-savvy, short, sexist. Student, baller, gym rat.
Introduction: Eclipse. One of los chicos; doesn't live with them, but lives across the hall. Very relaxed, adorable, sweet, gentleman, intelligent, tall, respectful. Student, baller, close friend for many years.
Introduction: Ron Jeremy. One of los chicos. Laid back, hilarious, sexist, adorable. Student, musician, foreigner.)

Last night, while spending some time with los chicos for Lavender's birthday, Volcano said to Malibu, Leggings, and myself something he loves to say to me.

"Where do you get the confidence?"

Now, Volcano likes to say this to me when I hum along to music playing, when I dance around the room, anything really. It's completely a joke and he usually apologizes for saying it within thirty seconds, but los chicos love to toss it around.

So, Malibu, Leggings, and I were simply in los chicos' room just hanging around and talking with them. There were no open seats, so the three of us were standing and just being silly and goofing off. In the midst of our completely random behavior and slightly immature nature, Volcano busts out the line. Soon, Lavender, Zero, Eclipse, and Ron Jeremy decide to join in. All the guys are ripping on us, continually. We just laugh along and roll with the punches.

But suddenly, Volcano goes, "No, seriously. Why do you guys always do this? you come here and act so strange. You never do this around other people, do you. How can you just be so carefree?" He was genuinely confused. Lavender chimed in and supported Volcano's confusion.

This baffled me. They were confused as to why we were having a good time and just relaxing? Wait, what.

So I say, "How is that confusing? We're comfortable enough with you all to act whatever way we feel. I don't see the issue here."

And Lavender takes a few seconds to just stare at me. "Wow," he eventually says. "I guess I never thought about it that way. Is that true? Huh..."

Why do men get so confused at the concept of women being simply friends? I, personally, NEED to have my core group of guy friends who I can just go to and sit around with and not even particularly do anything with. I just need guys who are good company, accepting of me, and willing to bro-out, as Malibu calls it, when I need that down time. Luckily, I found los chicos and they have been that solid group for me at school. I honestly have no clue as to why all of them were so truly perplexed by our comfort with them and our openness to be who we want to be. If anyone has any explanation, please share.

I guess I'm more shaken by it than anyone else in that room because that's what I expect from my friends. I don't want friends around whom I have to be only one particular way. I need that freedom and comfort level to be me and all sides of me, whenever I want. I need to know and be sure that I'll be accepted for that and the comfort is mutual. Best friends can take me out for a fun night or just stay in and talk for a few hours. Best friends can discuss my papers with and with whom I can run through the streets and pull Trigger Happy TV stunts. I need versatility and the assurance that my friends know ME and accept ME. And, perhaps even moreso, I want to be that friend as well. I try so hard to be as good of a friend as I can, and I definitely feel that no one is a true friend who can only accept one tiny piece of someone.

So my final note is just to be as open to your friends as you can be. If you want them in your life, you have to open up to them. Give a little and offer to take a little. Let them in. Take the plunge. It's scary as all hell, but a true friend is perhaps the greatest thing this world has to offer.

We are Stardust

My professor today was singing Joni Mitchell as he was getting ready to start the class up. I'm not all too much of a fan, so I was unfamiliar with the lyrics, but one line stood out to me.

"We are stardust."

As cheesy as it is to focus on something so metaphysical, it truly caught my attention.

I love space and have always been fascinated by our universe. I find it so impossible to comprehend in every way--how we got here, what lies beyond the boundaries, where the boundaries are, the sheer magnitude of our universe, life beyond our tiny speck of existence, etc. Although I'm sure I've forgotten many of the things I was once told, several have stuck with me to this day. One thing I remember being taught is that every atom in existence, every part of our being, was one part of a star. The air we breathe, the food we eat, our skin and bones and heart and brain, all of it. Everything we know was once part of that celestial sphere we see as so intangible and so distant.

How can it be that the most incomprehensible, unrelatable, distant things are what created us? Stars, those massive burning superclouds are the same as us, and we are the same as them. It's just something odd to think about.

Additionally, the line is so simple. So definitive. There's no doubt, no logic that leads to it--just the statement. And I mean, it IS a fact that we are the particles of stars, but we never think of ourselves that way. And so many of us, when thinking about the universe, look at ourselves as these tiny, infinitesimal grains with no significance. But I feel that this lyric can inspire just the opposite.

We are stars. We are that which has mesmerized and stunned and fascinated billions of people for millions of years. We create solar systems and galaxies. We shine and when together, we can create something truly beautiful and truly magnificent. We are worlds within ourselves. We are our own worlds. We can learn every corner of ourselves, yet we are also bigger and more than we can ever comprehend.

I guess my message is this: screw the rest of the universe. Focus on your own world. The people you meet, the lives you become a part of, those form a universe. And our existence is more than we can imagine. We are not infinitesimal. We have the power to form worlds and change lives and shape futures and create true beauty. If I had never had just one of my siblings or one of my friends in my life, I know I would not be the same person. Every person is powerful, influential, consequential.

So when in doubt, think of one inside joke you have with your best friend. Think of one home video your parents filmed. Think of one present you gave someone. Remember the memories you've been a part of and know that you have contributed to a universe bigger than you know. We don't have to be world famous to be important or significant. We are stardust.

All That Hype

Another Valentine's Day come and gone. Yippee. Though I didn't see the movies pervading the theaters, I know that the holiday inherently comes with abundant images of lovey-dovey stuff, happy couples, heartbreaks that eventually find their soulmates, happy and fairytale endings, etc etc. Then, of course, there's the dichotomous side of February 14th--the single people's holiday. S.A.D., or Single's Awareness Day. This is the side that highlights the unfortunately single people loathing in their lonesome state, eating chocolate they bought for themselves and only the fattiest ice creams on the market, watching the sappiest love stories and romantic comedies that Blockbuster hadn't yet sold out of, and clearly, bawling their eyes out. Maybe there's a strong, independent lady tossed into the mix somewhere. But where's the in-between? In the true, cliche spirit of The Amplified Shadowed Side, I'll tell you about my boring-ass, average day.

I woke up from sleeping on an aerobed with Malibu.
(Introduction: Malibu. My roommate. Outgoing, unique, beautiful, individual, artistic, juxtaposing, creative, innovative, sugar-addicted. Photographer, student, gamer, model, SpongeBob enthusiast.)
We had made a delicious batch of mac n' cheese the night before and fallen asleep watching one of our favorite movies. We had planned to make this Sunday one of the best days ever, especially with no classes on Monday.

So we wake up, lay around for quite some time, get ourselves ready for a day out, and go to Chinatown for some dim sum. Amidst the beauty of the district, the excitement of the Chinese New Year, hundreds of short men whispering "handbag?" at me as I walk by, firecrackers popping under my feet as children throw them at me, hugging my bag tightly at my side and hoping no one pickpockets me, and searching desperately for an open dim sum restaurant, I can't stop talking about this guy, Peachy Keen.
(Introduction: Peachy Keen. Friend. Cute, hilarious, sweet, outgoing, southern, artistic, boy. Sister tried to set me up with him; I'm in. Student, economist, musician.)
He and I have been talking a lot, talking about random things and the next time we'd see each other. He said he'd text me and we'd do something since he had bailed on our plans the night before. All day I was talking about him; I was freaking out about what to wear when I saw him, thinking about topics for small-talk, waiting for my phone to beep with the sound of a text, checking it even when I hadn't heard anything and the light wasn't flashing. To say the least, I was a pretty bad date for my roommate.

Dim sum took quite the while to finish up, and Malibu and I had a good times, but we headed back as soon as we paid. We were exhausted, for no apparent reason. Perhaps it was the stress and anxiety of waiting for a text that would never come, or the effort put into the facade of dating my roommate. Whatever it was, Malibu and I passed out on that aerobed for another two hours or so.

When we awoke, we watched the Olympics for another few hours. We sat in silence, captivated by the sheer beauty that happens when you put two people together. They way they can glide and move as one and float and jump and twirl and tell a love story was simply mesmerizing. Soon, Ritz arrives back home.
(Introduction: Ritz. Another roommate. Silly, sleepy, hardworking but procrastinating, determined, sophisticated, Diet Coke addicted. Student, fashionista, Jason Mraz fan.)

Apparently, three is enough to break the curse of admiration and jealousy. Once she joined us, we were able to criticize the performers rather than admire them, even though we were fully aware of how absurdly talented they are and how we could never compare. Malibu and I decided to make a run for some groceries, and by that, I mean chips and queso and ice cream. On our way to go pick up these necessities, we decided to stop by our guy friend's room (I'll get around to introducing them later; just know that they're kind of one functioning unit and I'll be referring to the collective whole as los chicos). They welcomed us, as usual, and for no good reason, we had a wonderful time just sitting there. We felt bad keeping Ritz waiting so we dashed to get the foods, returned to our room to get ourselves ready, and headed back over (Ritz decided to stay back), fully-armed with our queso and chips. The night played out as just a bunch of kids, sitting in a room, inhaling chips and queso, and talking up a storm.

When Malibu and I returned to our room some hours later, we were devastated that our chips had been obliterated and there was still queso, begging to be eaten. With all that cheesy goodness tempting us so, and the late night delirium making all of our decisions for us, we decided there was only thing to do--make more mac n' cheese. We surfed the channels and settled on a SciFi (not SyFy) channel movie called Bitten, which seemed as promising as they come at 3:30 in the morning. So there we were. We had found ourselves, once again, with mac n' cheese in hand, snuggled in our blankets and cozied up on that same aerobed from less than 24 hours before.

And that was my Valentine's Day. Nothing unusual, nothing exciting, nothing movie-like. Nothing terrible, nothing heartbreaking, nothing like any of the stereotypes. Just another day and just another night.

Yes, I'm a little upset that I didn't have a real Valentine. Yes, I'm upset that it was another reminder that I'm single and that I've never had a Valentine. But I'm equally upset that I wasn't able to simply embrace the day as a proud, single woman by pushing men and Peachy Keen to the side. It was only 24 hours and I couldn't do it. I couldn't just enjoy myself--I fell victim to the commerciality of it all.

I understand the purpose of the holiday is to serve as a little reminder to display our true feelings and do a little something extra for the people we love. I understand that sometimes people need a little goading. But why does it get to us so badly? Why does it manage to incite such passion from some and inspire deep depression in others? When all is said and done, although it may have had some fine print in the box, February 14th was just another X on the calendar.

The Necessary Evil

Hello, anyone who might be reading this. I have to gain some sort of street-cred before I get this going, right? Or else, who would ever give a damn what I have to say. Well, in all honesty, I don't have any street-cred. Seriously. I literally am just another girl. I'm a college student privileged enough to be studying in New York City, and I realize every day more and more how blessed I am to be here. Besides living in such an amazing city, I don't see myself as being anything too above average.

So why would I start a blog, with the intention of having people read it. Well, in case anyone is interested in what life really is like for so many of us, I'll be writing about it here. It's not the movies. It's not the books or TV shows. It's what really happens every day on the streets, in the dining halls, in the dorms rooms, in cities, wherever. It's not explosions and car races and love scenes and picture-perfect moments; it's the people you meet, the things you see, the stories you hear and share and create, the revelations you come to, the places you make a life out of, time passing by, unrequited love, music and art, secrets and drama, desire and passion, pain and reality, and it's so much more. But, it's just life. So welcome to it.

So just a few explanations to go up before I get this thing rolling. I'm going to keep things anonymous on here so as to protect anyone from harm, revealing secrets, etc etc, all that jazz. I want to be completely free to say the whole truth, no limitations. I'll have code names and introductions and what not so it won't be "and then the first guy told the guy who came in the room twenty minutes after us that the chick in the pink halter top is totally into him, according to pink-halter-top-chick's best friend, that girl with the lipstick and red stilettos" blah blah. I'm going to attempt to write frequently, no matter how trivial, because that's what this is about. My goal is to write daily, if possible. Of course, studies come first, so if I don't get to it, I hope you forgive me. Not that I think this blog will really be all that important to anyone out there. But anywho, all I plan to do is report on everyday things, maybe add some commentary of my own, and just invite any followers into this world so many people share with me. I do hope to write an entry later in the night, but I have some work to finish up. So, here's to hopefully talking to whoever you are later.

Prost.
(I don't have any sort of cool blogger name yet. I'm working on it.)