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.