Today I went for the industrial strength nail polish remover. 20% stronger. Me and my cuticles are in a fight. Particularly because I subjected them to Hannah-Montana-pre-teen-sparkly-throw-up color aka Electric Blue with two coats of Sparkles 'N Things from Claire's.
Claire's = Hannah-Montana-pre-teen-sparkly-throw-up.
And I forgot to use a base coat so now even though I took it off, my nails still have a slight bluish tint which is just noticeable enough to make it look like I'm a vampire or zombie or just straight up dead.
And. To top it all off, my right bicep got a cramp from applying cotton ball to finger too vigorously.
If you're thinking to yourself: "Gee your life sucks...is there anything I can do?"
The answer is yes.
Feel bad for me.
Oh wait. If that's not enough to convince you that there's enough tweenage drama taking over my life that I think I'm Lizzie McGuire, I have acne and there's a school dance in t-minus 19 days.
Refer above to find out what I want you to do for me.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Fuck Bitches. Get Money.
We are taught you must blame your father, your sisters, your brothers, the school, the teachers - but never blame yourself. It's never your fault. But it's always your fault, because if you wanted to change you're the one who has got to change.
Katharine Hepburn
Thursday, January 13, 2011
My mom, the hipster.
This is what I did instead of studying for exams.
CLICK ON IT. YA KNOW YOU WANT TO.
Jan, Mar, and Aug of 1989.
Monday, January 10, 2011
A Face Study
THE BACK STORY:
This quote was torn from page 103 of the recent January issue of Vogue.
Spoken by Jeanine Lobell, founder of Stila Cosmetics, in an article showcasing actress Natalie Portman; the quote is less about her acting and more about her character.
I drew the man on the left late one night really sporadically. Apparently that's what I think about when I can't sleep on weekdays--apathetic Frenchmen...perhaps I'll name him Mersault. I don't know what I was going for with the extremely creepy mask of a woman on the right. Conject at will.
THOUGHTS:
It certainly made me think...is she right? Her argument is that as people get older and they're not good on the inside, it starts to show on the outside. I think I agree with her but I also think it's comforting that she's the founder of a high-end make-up line, meaning that where ever I should fall, I can change my fate and just apply a little powder. There. Good as beautiful.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Today I Took A Risk.
When I was in kindergarten, my parents wanted me to skip a grade.
When they told me, I cried.
When I was in first grade, my parents wanted me to skip a grade.
When they told me, I cried harder.
This happened every year until the third grade when I cried until I couldn't breathe and I allegedly turned purple. I cried until my parents turned mean and expectations fell unto anger.
I don't remember any of this, naturally. This is all told through the eyes of my parents.
What I do remember are my parents. I remember feeling very small. I remember my eyes growing very large. I remember their voices being very loud, a tag-team effort of attack. The word that comes to mind is 'looming.' Especially since I remember this conversation occuring in my dimly lit living room, where shadows seemed more real than people.
Long story short, I've never been apt to take risks. I've always been scared of jumping too high and falling into a rocky death. I've always been afraid of that critical moment when expectations turned into disppointments.
Today. I took a risk. And I fell.
But it seems I have risen(..if you read my last post, it's because I'm God, right? KIDDING). It seems I used this tragedy as a barometer for personal growth. And it seems I am really proud of myself for taking a risk and putting myself out there.
It must be true what they say. Cliches are cliches for a reason, aren't they? What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
It seems every great fall leads to another great discovery and it seems as I become older the less afraid I am to take a risk, to put myself out there. And I am proud.
This time one year ago, I would've never had the balls to do what I did today. It's one thing to be nice and it's an entirely other thing to be a pussy. 6.5 times out of 10, I was a pussy. Today I was a bitch. I fell and it hurt...like a bitch, go figure. But it's ten hours later and I feel really good about myself. Besides, it was a much deserved fall; I was getting very spiteful and mean. And now that I'm content if not stoked about its outcome I'm starting to think maybe it wasn't because I jumped too high but not high enough (and if you're reading carefully, this translates into 'maybe I wasn't bitchy enough'...but we won't indulge in that.)
It seems I am beginning to gain confidence--that the coveted characteristic called composure is closer to being in my possession. And since I cannot think of any real triumphs, I will attribute this success to my greatest failures, in which my successes came from overcoming failure. Life is a sine curve: what goes up must come down, but more importantly, what goes down, must come up. Isn't that refreshing?
Soooo.... when do you think America's debt is going to reach it's relative minimum and start peddling up again?
When they told me, I cried.
When I was in first grade, my parents wanted me to skip a grade.
When they told me, I cried harder.
This happened every year until the third grade when I cried until I couldn't breathe and I allegedly turned purple. I cried until my parents turned mean and expectations fell unto anger.
I don't remember any of this, naturally. This is all told through the eyes of my parents.
What I do remember are my parents. I remember feeling very small. I remember my eyes growing very large. I remember their voices being very loud, a tag-team effort of attack. The word that comes to mind is 'looming.' Especially since I remember this conversation occuring in my dimly lit living room, where shadows seemed more real than people.
Long story short, I've never been apt to take risks. I've always been scared of jumping too high and falling into a rocky death. I've always been afraid of that critical moment when expectations turned into disppointments.
Today. I took a risk. And I fell.
But it seems I have risen(..if you read my last post, it's because I'm God, right? KIDDING). It seems I used this tragedy as a barometer for personal growth. And it seems I am really proud of myself for taking a risk and putting myself out there.
It must be true what they say. Cliches are cliches for a reason, aren't they? What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
It seems every great fall leads to another great discovery and it seems as I become older the less afraid I am to take a risk, to put myself out there. And I am proud.
This time one year ago, I would've never had the balls to do what I did today. It's one thing to be nice and it's an entirely other thing to be a pussy. 6.5 times out of 10, I was a pussy. Today I was a bitch. I fell and it hurt...like a bitch, go figure. But it's ten hours later and I feel really good about myself. Besides, it was a much deserved fall; I was getting very spiteful and mean. And now that I'm content if not stoked about its outcome I'm starting to think maybe it wasn't because I jumped too high but not high enough (and if you're reading carefully, this translates into 'maybe I wasn't bitchy enough'...but we won't indulge in that.)
It seems I am beginning to gain confidence--that the coveted characteristic called composure is closer to being in my possession. And since I cannot think of any real triumphs, I will attribute this success to my greatest failures, in which my successes came from overcoming failure. Life is a sine curve: what goes up must come down, but more importantly, what goes down, must come up. Isn't that refreshing?
Soooo.... when do you think America's debt is going to reach it's relative minimum and start peddling up again?
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
I am God, if you did not realize.
Lately, everything seems just a little more pointless, a little more tedious, and a little more flat. Unfulfillment is swallowing me whole but my life feels empty.
And it is moments like these that remind me that people do in fact need God.
God, to give purpose, and meaning, and more importantly weight to one's life. The unbearable lightness of being. The unbearable lightness of being. The unbearable lightness of being.
For what reason am I supposed to do good things? For whom? To what end? Who is out there watching me when I choose to dissent from God?
When I am alone, what is stopping me from doing the reprehensible?
Nothing.
What is motivating me to do the laudable?
Nothing.
It seems self-fulfillment is not enough these days. I need to live for other people but today, I am alone. Yesterday, I was alone. Tomorrow I will probably be alone. I say probably because one must not lose hope. Even the hopeless must dream. But that too--dreams, that is--are not enough. I need to be loved. I need to be reminded that I am a perfectly acceptable human being.
And again at this point, the image of God pops back nto my head.
When all is lost, when you are subject to primordial solitude, you still have God. People need God. For purpose, meaning, weight, assuredness, and now love.
But what if people could find the will to live from within, void of outside influences? What if God is not an extrinsic being? What if He is an internal source of fulfillment? And when you have embodied Him, you have all of those things that are desired by people like me--people who are floating, drifting, flying--people who are permanently suspended in lime-flavored jello.
I guess what I'm trying to philosophize is that God may not be anything more than an extension of ourselves, from ourselves. God is our self-worth, our purpose, our value. God comes from within. When you have lost yourself, you simultaneously lose God...
So the next logical question is do I believe in God? And the only logical response is of course. Of course, I believe in God.
BUT. I do not embody him. I have not found or built what I want to live for...yet. Right now, I still depend on everything else for significance and justifiable substance
I believe there is a god but I am not sure what is my own. And this is confusing. This is hard to articulate. "What" is my god? Don't don't don't get confused. God does not have to be a "what." God is something entirely tangible. Yes, He is real but he does not exist. What is the dust of dreams? Or the shape of love, lust, sorrow, anger? What is God? These thing are all real. But they do not exist.
So did I reach a conclusion? What kind of ideology does this fall into? Give me a category and a place to belong.
Perhaps I've been reading too much Salinger. Perhaps I've been doing more than reading Salinger.
And it is moments like these that remind me that people do in fact need God.
God, to give purpose, and meaning, and more importantly weight to one's life. The unbearable lightness of being. The unbearable lightness of being. The unbearable lightness of being.
For what reason am I supposed to do good things? For whom? To what end? Who is out there watching me when I choose to dissent from God?
When I am alone, what is stopping me from doing the reprehensible?
Nothing.
What is motivating me to do the laudable?
Nothing.
It seems self-fulfillment is not enough these days. I need to live for other people but today, I am alone. Yesterday, I was alone. Tomorrow I will probably be alone. I say probably because one must not lose hope. Even the hopeless must dream. But that too--dreams, that is--are not enough. I need to be loved. I need to be reminded that I am a perfectly acceptable human being.
And again at this point, the image of God pops back nto my head.
When all is lost, when you are subject to primordial solitude, you still have God. People need God. For purpose, meaning, weight, assuredness, and now love.
But what if people could find the will to live from within, void of outside influences? What if God is not an extrinsic being? What if He is an internal source of fulfillment? And when you have embodied Him, you have all of those things that are desired by people like me--people who are floating, drifting, flying--people who are permanently suspended in lime-flavored jello.
I guess what I'm trying to philosophize is that God may not be anything more than an extension of ourselves, from ourselves. God is our self-worth, our purpose, our value. God comes from within. When you have lost yourself, you simultaneously lose God...
So the next logical question is do I believe in God? And the only logical response is of course. Of course, I believe in God.
BUT. I do not embody him. I have not found or built what I want to live for...yet. Right now, I still depend on everything else for significance and justifiable substance
I believe there is a god but I am not sure what is my own. And this is confusing. This is hard to articulate. "What" is my god? Don't don't don't get confused. God does not have to be a "what." God is something entirely tangible. Yes, He is real but he does not exist. What is the dust of dreams? Or the shape of love, lust, sorrow, anger? What is God? These thing are all real. But they do not exist.
So did I reach a conclusion? What kind of ideology does this fall into? Give me a category and a place to belong.
Perhaps I've been reading too much Salinger. Perhaps I've been doing more than reading Salinger.
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