You know what's strange about being apart?  You feel like you miss the person the most when you're the farthest away from seeing them again, when you've got months and months and months to go and you feel like your heart and mind could not miss someone more than you miss them right then.  But you discover, I think, the closer you get to seeing them again, the more and more you miss them..

I haven't been around lately.  I haven't been much of anywhere.  Lots of things that are too personal and private for even me, who has no shame, to put here...it's been a cycle of school work school work sleep maybe school work sleep.

There's been lots of comfort food and hulu watching, and lots of expensive phone calls to China that keep proving to be worth every cent...

Other than that big roadblock, things have been good.

Tonight was an interesting night.  I had a class called Beyond Naturalism, and the best way to think about it is that it's a class in performance art.  Our latest assignment had the following guidelines:

 - Pick an obsession
- Your piece must be apocalyptic
- Your piece must include music not generated from a boombox or ipod
- You must generate sound from your body
- Your piece may not include any spoken text

yeah, it's that kind of class.

Anyway, me and my partner chose the obsession with water.  We hung a Brita pitcher form the ceiling and wandered around searching for water.  Our essential idea was that the world had ended, but not too long ago.  We were stumbling in nice clothes that were starting to fall apart and heels. 
Well, we thought it would be a good idea to ask some people in the front row to squirt us with water bottles.  We gave water bottles to three people, including our teacher, Kevin.

Bad idea.

Kevin took the top of his water bottle, and about halfway through the piece just started throwing tons of water on us.  We went from being slightly splashed as planned, to rolling around on the floor, soaked to the bone, literally swimming in water.  I also ended up in just a top and pantyhose.  The piece ended with me falling off a block because I was so covered in water, and dying from dehydration.

God being a theatre major is weird.

It was so good, so very very good to be able to totally let go.  To be able to just act in total desperation, to live on stage moment to moment to moment and react in the moment.  Our piece went nothing like we had planned for it to, but that made is that much more fantastic.

It was something I needed.  Because for the past few weeks I've just been going day-to-day, not really with any big motivation or anything big I'm looking forward to.  And it's not a huge thing.  it's not some big depression.  It's just circumstances that make life really hard for a little while.


Anyway, I don't really know where this was going.  I just know it feels good to be tired and sore and raw and real and not numb, but as beyond it as possible.

Because tonight, after I was stopped by some guys who wanted directions, and pointed them to the bar they were looking for, one of them yelled after me that he "liked my ass" and when I then flipped him off told me it was because "it's so big".  Then I got home and looked on the counter and saw a Cosmo headline reading "The Sexy Ass Workout: 2 Weeks to Tight Cheeks".

Does that about sum it up?

I have the flu. Yay, the flu. I went to the doctor after almost passing out in a pile of bras while I was closing up the store, and my manager arguging with me when I kept saying "No, it's fine, I can keep folding" and her having to argue with me and finally go "OH MY GOD JUST GO HOME! YOU ARE GETTING ALL YOUR GERMS ON THE BRAS! THE BRAS CATIE!".

So, after my weekly head-shrink appointment, where we talked about my fear of getting sick and dying and how everytime I'm sick I freak out (have I mentioned I love my psychologist? I love her. LOVE. HER.) I go to the doctor and he goes "Hmmm...flu symptoms. Have you been on a a plane recentlly?". I go "Um, yeah...last week." in a "Huh-why-does-that-matter-" type of voice and then my eyes get really big and he looks and me and goes, very calmly "Yeah, I think you have swine flu."

And that was the part where I died and hyperventilated on the stupid little bed and grabbed the paper sheet that covers the bed in my fists and started ripping it into pieces and was all "HAHHA BTW THAT PROZAC I TOLD YOU I TAKE WHEN YOU ASKED IF I TOOK ANY OTHER MEDICINES, THAT'S FOR AN ANXIETY DISORDER HAHAHAHAHA".

So, he tests me for swine flu. SWINE FLU. And comes back and tells me, hey guess what the test says you don't have it, but also, hey guess what the test is only about 70% effective and I totally still think you have it. So, he gave me tons of medicine and told me to lay up in bed and I might just kill everybody I come in contact with (okay, not really, he said if I DO have it, it's really just a bad flu and just wash your hands and have you rooomates wash their hands and don't make out with anyone and you'll be FINE CRAZY LADY).

I feel like I had it coming, because I've been out every damn night on the LES. The night before I got sick, I went out to watch Jemma take pictures for my friend Bree's mix-tape, which involved her posing with fried chicken in rollerskates around Chinatown...the bizarre-ness of which had me turning to various people and going in the most psychotic voice "oh my god you guys, this is so fucking scene right? so fucking scene. So. fucking. scene."

So, I'm in bed, feeling shitty, so here is a list of things that make me happy and/or are curretnly occupying my mind:

1) Inglorious Basterds

I mean, I talked about this movie for like, A YEAR, before it came out, and when it finally did, it meet all my expectations, and now I am a total nerd for it. Tres suprise.



2) True Blood

HOLY FUCK YA'LL. HOLY FUCK. ARE YOU WATCHING THIS SHIT?

Also, I am way way wayyyy to upset about the (hopefully temporary) demise of Jessica/Hoyt. Stop being stupid Hoyt. I would have bitten your mom too, and I'm not even a goddamn vampire.

3) The Season 3 Premiere of The Big Bang Theory

I love this show. And if real life nerds can't return from China, then TV-show nerds should at least return from the Antarartic. Or is the Artic? Not sure.

Mind you, I'm pants-shittingly-excited over the return of a ton of shows, but I just watch the new promo for TBBT and my god, it looks so fucking cute!

4) The Pierces.

I know they were featured on Gossip Girl a while back, but I just got into them when one of their songs was on the new CD we got at work. Our new "mixtapes" were done by different college radio stations, and the newest one has "Sticks and Stones" and oh my, it is awesome.  Go look them up.  Now.  Seriously, go.

Medium: Television
Fandom: True Blood
Character: Sarah Newlin
Title: And You Were Not The Same After That...
Warnings: Swearing and references to hot church sex

Something...interesting happened tonight.

I got in a cab. Simple enough. I was planning on paying with my debit card, as I had no more cash with me and had lost my debit card a few weeks ago and my new one hasn't come in yet. When my card was declined I told the driver. Well, to be clear, I asked the driver to turn down his very fucking loud music and told him that my card wasn't working, I had no money and since we were at my apartment, I would run up and get it. I pulled a book out of my bag, and set it down on the seat and told him I would leave it. Very strangely, he asked me what book. I told him it was A Wrinkle in Time, which I am currently re-reading. I also, again very strangely, mentioned that it was a good book.
He then started yelling. Not raising his voice, yelling, screaming at me from the front seat of the car. I believe the term used was "crazy bitch". He then started demanding I leave my whole bag in the car. When I told him the whole contents of my bag was worth way more than the fare and that I wasn't willing to do that, he started yelling more. He continued to threaten me, and scream and call me names. He told me he was going to call the police. I said okay, but I told him the police were only going to have me go get the money that was in my apartment. He turned, laughed and said "Oh, you just wait. I'm going to call the police on you. They are going to make you pay me my money". I told him I wanted to pay him his money, when at that moment, the car door on the front seat was wrenched open. A long arm reached in, grabbed the driver by the collar of his shirt, and threw a $10 bill in his face. Someone else then opened the car door next to me, and I scrambled out as quickly as possible. There was a man standing there, telling the cab driver in no uncertain words that he would kick his ass. The cab driver then leaned out of the car, past the man who was standing there, and informed me that the man had paid for me. He then proceeded to scream at me that I needed to pay the man back, that I better pay the man back, that I was mean and ungrateful, that I knew I had no money when I got in the car. So, I'm standing there, on the sidewalk crying, talking to the man who paid for me, telling him to follow me, that I would pay him back. He followed me up, volunteered to wait in the hall, and I grabbed a $20 bill. I gave it to him, telling him to take it all, he didn't argue much and I didn't mind. He told me to not let people pick on me, to not let another guy make me cry, and walked away.

The thing that's funny about this is: I feel bad. See, this has happened before. That time I also refused to leave my bag with the man, and that time, rather than calling the police or having another person intervene, the cab driver locked the doors and attempted to drive to the police station with me screaming in the back of the car. After realizing that showing up to a police station with a crying screaming girl in the back of his car wasn't a good idea, he pulled over and told me to get the hell out of his car, which I kindly did. That time, I spent the next few days and hours debating whether or not I had done the right thing and feeling bad about how that man didn't get his $7.50 I owed him in fare.

I'm determined not to do that this time. The meeting I had with my therapist on Friday, so ironic in retrospect, about how sometimes you have to be a bitch, have to stand up for yourself, have to take care of yourself first and foremost and no that doesn't make you a bad person, is still in my head.

I've been thinking a lot lately about doing what I want, regardless of anything or anyone else. I don't mean walking all over people. I mean not leaving my phone and iPod and wallet in the back of a car with a man I don't know, I mean eating the ice cream I want to eat along with my naturally size-0 friend, I mean telling a guy at a bar that no I do not want to dance with you, no I do not want to talk to you, and no you will not get my number or into my pants tonight. And I've been thinking about it in how it relates to me as a woman, and women in general. That I feel like it's more acceptable for men to stand up for themselves than women, that a man is strong while a woman is a bitch.

Perhaps I'm going to far making this about women in general. Maybe this is really about whether or not I should have left my bag with the cab driver. But I can't help thinking he wouldn't have yelled at me and attempted to intimidate me had I not been young and female. I certainly don't think he would have called me a "crazy bitch". And I do know for a fact that being female has led into me having a complex about standing up for myself and being perceived as "being a bitch".

For now, I'm not worrying about it, I'm sitting back, watching The Nanny and throwing back a beer.

Short this time, but...


http://www.wired.com/geekdad/2009/03/10-annoying-hab/

Read this and simply replace the word "spouse" with "boyfriend" and I'll lay out the welcome mat because you have just entered my life.

To start with the lame and get to the awesome:

This morning I fell. In the bathroom. I slipped on the wet floor and hurt my foot, brusing it on the tile as well as possibly straining it a little bit. While in my underwear. And my roommate, who's boyfriend is in town, had to come rescue me. While her boyfriend stood in the other room because I was screaming that I was naked. The best part was after she tended to my foot and helped me stand up, she ventured into my room and grabbed pajama pants and threw them at me. And I then came out of the bathroom moments later as she stood there with an ice-pack brandishing the soaked back of my underwear at her.

That's good roommates right there.

The best part of the story is I'm working an over-night floor set tonight, and I'm hoping that they just sit me down in the stock room and make me organize shit. So until then I'll sit there and watch The Golden Girls.


The other night I got bored and walked around the Lower East Side at night. As I passed by one bar, there was a group of guys standing outside. One stopped me.
"I know you're going on your way *hiccup* but I want to ask you a question. Should I (points to man on the sidewalk who is leaning on the wall that makes up the front of the bar) give him a noogie?"
(pause)
I reply, with loads of sarcasm.
"A Noogie? I think I remember those from elementary school?"
Rather than sensing my sarcasm, the guy got really really excited.
"YES! A NOOGIE! I should right, I should?"
I glanced over at the proposed victim who was holding hands with a woman, who very helpfully pointed across the sidewalk to the other other man standing by the fire hydrant and said
"It's his birthday"
I glanced at all three men, the one in front of the bar, the birthday boy by the fire hydrant, and the very excited young man in front of me.
"Well if it's his birthday you should give him a noogie"
The guy literally, literally, started jumping up and down. As he ran over to give a noogie to the birthday guy by the hydrant I walked away, but I heard him yell this after me

"That girl is awesome! You are AWESOME! She has like, opinions! Opinions man! Opinions!"

Opinions. Shocking.



FOOT UPDATE: I just got off an over-night shift at work. My foot is now very very swollen and many different colors. Crap.

Last night/this morning, was one of those nights where every time you are tired and about to go home, something happens. For example, you leave one person after walking around 5th Avenue all night, staring longingly into windows at things you can't possibly afford, and decide to go home because it's midnight and then as your walking to the subway stop your other friend calls you and ask you to go to Le Possion Rouge and you end up there and then you end up at the Skinny and the next thing you know it's 11:00 am and your in Brooklyn, asleep on a coach after watching the most fucked up horror movie you have ever seen in your entire life.

How do people who are cool do this every night? I mean, I need a break every once in a while to spend my whole night on the internet. But people who are infinitely cooler than me seem to not be able to sleep. Is this one of those skills I didn't learn in high school because I hung out in the theater most of the time? Or when you are born, do you just inherit this awesome coolness and when you do you are also given this gene that allows you not to sleep?

Maybe really cool people just do more drugs than me?


Well, goodnight finally. Or good morning. Afternoon. whatever.



PS: That fucked up movie was called "Inside" and it's a French horror film that will haunt your dreams (if you're interested). There's a pregnant lady, a crazy lady, a white tiled bathroom and scissors. Oh god scissors.


OH! OH! I also ate a pumpkin cupcake from Sugar Sweet Sunshine. Pumpkin! Cupcake! They are delicious, and you should go eat one!

Yo.


So, been a while. Again. I'm hoping to start livejournaling/blogging more this summer. I had a friend jokingly suggest that since the boyfriend left for China for 7 months, I should start a blog called "Things I Did While My Boyfriend Was in China"...and I'm actually considering it. Sad really.


Anyway, since the boy has left for China, I've been trying to explore the city and do more exciting shit this summer. Including getting a job, which is not going so fantastic. So besides applying for job after job, I've been watching a lot of Venture Brothers and Gossip Girl and trying to have fun in this city.

My dear friend Sibby (pabloxhoney) is in NYC, doing an internship for the summer, and she's made the long boring days without a job a lot more bearable. Mostly by helping me find True Blood online and obsessing over it with me.

I put up some more decoration and design around the apartment/my room. I finally found a use for those hooks I bought from Anthropologie that weren't big enough for my purses to hang on.



Ta-dah!

Since I live in a three-bedroom and two of my roommates just graduated, one moved out. But left us some of her art, which I have hung up outside my room.




They're smaller versions of large paintings she did for her senior show.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So, a few days ago was the Swedish Midsummer Festival. I arrived a bit late, as I had stayed up super late the night before, but even though I missed most of the bad-ass dancing around the giant ivy cross, it was a pretty fun time. Because really, when there is beer and Swedish meatballs, nothing can really be that bad.



Sweden!

When I was walking downtown to Wagner Park where it was held, there were all these people wearing reefs on their heads made of vines and flowers. I assumed that they were being sold somewhere, but no, no my friend, people were just sitting there, making them their selves. Just sitting on the ground in white dresses like something out of a Shakespearean comedy, weaving hair reefs out of ivy and flowers. I felt as if I had escaped into a fantasy world full of Swedish accents.

There was also this fucking adorable little girl.




Adorable!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I also found this awesome owl graffiti while walking around the East Village.




He's pretty cool, not as cool as the original bad-ass East Village graffiti, Random Dinosaur,




You know what's a good substitute for actual words in an entry? Pictures. First rule of blogging people.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So, to end with a picture, here is me after drinking some Stella at the Swedish Midsummer Festival:




The class never stops bitches.

I realized something tonight, after a weekend of really ridiculously high-highs and really painfully low-lows. I still have no idea who I am. This may not sounds disturbing, as everyone always seems to be trying to figure out who they are, but it’s mostly just that I thought I would know by now. I had thought, hoped, I would be done going back and forth on how I feel about myself, done with the emotional outburst I often have, or at least the need to apologize for them, done with the crippling lack of self-confidence that has plagued me since elementary school. But I’m not. I am still half-embarrassed of my whole being at least half the time, and I am still in many, many respects the same kid I was in high school.
I guess I’m mad at myself, because in college, I had this fresh start, but I wasn’t ready for it. I had been jerked from Texas to New York City and left, or so it felt like. I was walking an emotional tightrope, and every little thing was an ISSUE, because I was scared and terrified and had no idea what was happening to me. I wish I could say this was the first few months of college, but it was pretty much the whole first year. And, as I have now learned from meeting with a respected psychologist in Dallas, I was under-medicated. Or as he put it “Oh my god, you are only taking 40mg of Prozac and you’re 20? The average dosage is 80 at your age!”. Now, I don’t think that psychiatric medicine cured all my problems, it most obviously didn’t, but damn if it wasn’t a tool I need to start to get there.
It’s interesting to hear people talk about “freshman-year-me” to me. Because most of them don’t understand what I was going through. That I was shedding my skin to become something new and better. That I was going through the most painful and confusing metamorphosis of my life and that I was clinging onto whatever solid ground I had left. That I was traveling through the inferno to make it to paradise, or at least purgatory. The difficulty is in realizing the journey isn’t over yet when you desperately hoped it was.
The difficulties come in looking at the person you love and realizing that you sometimes feel that you have no idea who they are, and you worry that they have no idea who you are, and having to trust that deep in your heart you know. Difficulty comes in feeling awkward and left out among your best friends. It comes from spending one day planning events for your feminist organization and the next night letting some sleezy guy press up against you while you dance because you feel like you can’t say no, like it owe it to him for even speaking with him. The difficultly comes in hearing that someone you know is going to law school when that person was once an acting major, and half thinking they are crazy for doing that and half wondering if you are. The difficulty comes in being a wild, funny, sassy person one minute and letting someone almost literally push you over in a nightclub and then apologize for being in their way. The difficulties come, and they go, and you try to hold on to what you know about yourself, good and bad.
I am always going to be a little crazy, and I am probably always going to over-react to things, but I am going to try to do this more in my private time, locked alone in my room with Kleenexes. I am always going to be a contradiction who will lecture you about how fear of menstruation is a social construct and how we should not think women incapable just because of it, then yell at you that I want chocolate and I am on my period dammit I have the right to be irritable. I am trying to stand up for myself more, and back down less, and I am trying to figure out what it is I want and ask for it and not be embarrassed to ask. I am going to accept that the path I have chosen is not one that is typical or easy, but I am going to head out on it anyway. I will choose to remain sometimes painfully optimistic and sometimes dole out sarcasm and bitterness like candy. I will accept that my college experience has been absolutely nothing like what I thought it would be, and I will see how it has taught me even more because of that fact.
You must run before you walk. You must figure out what you want before you can ask for it. You must sometimes graduate college and go into the world before you figure yourself out. You sometimes love someone without understanding it, and you sometimes love someone even when they drive you absolutely up the damn wall. You must lock yourself in and ride the emotional rollercoaster of college and not expect to be able to walk in a straight line the moment your fit hit the ground. And sometimes you have to put on Liz Phair at 5:30 in the morning, jump around your room until your exhausted and fall dead asleep on your bed.

Excuse me.

Hello.


This is me:




This is where I live:



These are some of my friends:











This is my adorably awkward boyfriend:



That is all.

(for now)