I am in love. The kind of love that makes your lungs burn, your eyes water, and your knees wobble. Okay, I know that sounds more like I just got pepper sprayed, but seriously, its love. It’s not my fault that being pepper sprayed and falling head over heels elicits the same physical reactions. I am in so over my head that I can’t see straight. Think of a love song, and I’ve probably already dedicated it to the object of my affection.
The only bad part about being in love this time is that I’m going to have to dump my old love. I’ll be spending my nights curled up in bed with the new love of my life, while the old love of my life lays alone, cold, and drained. My old love will probably even die without me, spending eternity with a big black hole where once, life bloomed.
What’s worse is that I’m leaving this love for his more attractive brother. Yes, I’ve said it. Kindle, I’m leaving you for Kindle Fire. I don’t think anyone can blame me. Have you seen those vibrant colors? Did you know that KF and I can not only read about sparkly vampires together, but probably also play a game about them, AND watch a movie with them in it? Did you? Kindle Fire is everything I’ve ever wanted and more. It can stimulate my intellect one minute, help me waste time the next, and always promises to watch whichever movie I want to watch that night.
So I’m moving on. This Thanksgiving, I’d like to say I’m thankful for all the black and white reading my first love, Kindle allowed me to do. I’d also like to say I’m thankful that I’ve finally found my real one true love, and that after this midnight shopping spree, nothing will ever be able to keep us apart again… until Amazon comes out with an even better version to take my breath away, that is.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Edward Cullen, you decide.
I want a tattoo. I’ve always wanted to get a tattoo. So, why don’t I have one already? Because I’m neurotic, afraid of commitment, and completely indecisive- all of which you should have already known! I never make any big decisions, or even small ones. If I do make a decision, it’s kind of spur of the moment, do or die. I’m serious. Nine times out of ten, when I go to a restaurant I agonize over three to five meal options I may or may not want to get. When the waiter comes to me, my adrenaline rushes through my brain, I ask the waiter several complicated questions about the taste, texture, and their preference of my options, and as soon as the waiter gives me their shining recommendation for a particular meal choice, I go completely batshit and choose an option that I was never debating over and the waiter undoubtedly asks the cook to add a special ingredient in my food.
Need another example? Fine! When I was 18, my best friend at the time wanted to go get a tattoo. Our other best friend found a cool place in the city to go, and I made a joke about how I’d always wanted to get my tongue pierced (which I had since I was ten and Scary Spice and her stud bearing tongue were my heroes). While my friend was getting her tattoo done, our other friend found the piercer and told her that I wanted my tongue pierced without my knowledge. The piercer came out and handed me a form and started showing me the types of starter bars I could get put in. At first I was all, no… no, I can’t really get my tongue pierced. What if it gets paralyzed, or I hate it, it swells up to the size of Montana, or it splits in half and I have to become a Carny? But then, the adrenaline started pumping, and the next thing I knew I had a metal bar through my tongue and I couldn’t pronounce my Ss or Ts for a week.
Luckily though, six years later, when I decided I was over my tongue ring I was able to take it out leaving only a little scar as a reminder. When my dinner arrives, if I decide I hate my choice, I either don’t have to eat it, or can take it home and feed it to someone else. These decisions, though anxiety provoking, have never been long lasting or far reaching. Good thing, because as I am completely indecisive, I eventually change my mind about every decision I ever make and have to undo… or rechoose. A tattoo, however, is a lifelong commitment. Life is way too long a time… I could change my mind about my tattoo a bajillion times before my life is over.
I mean, what if I get it in a place that when I’m old sags and then my tattoo looks like a bull dog’s butt hole? Or what if I decide I’m going to embrace my inner Jew, become a Rabbi, and need to be buried in a Jewish Cemetery? Or what if I commit a crime, and I’m identified by my ink and I have to spend the rest of my life behind bars? Let’s not even think about the very real fact that I could become a vampire and live forever and have to deal with that fact that I have a Britney Spears’ lyric tattooed on my wrist in the year 4017 and no one even knows who Britney Spears is except for historians and that gives away my age and they realize what I am and stake my ass!
Do you see how neurotic I am? Can you see why, while I really want a tattoo, I can’t get one because I’m crazy and will regret it a thousand years from now? Do you think my chances of falling in love with my own Edward Cullen and becoming the next Bella are pretty high? Because this tattoo thing really hinges on that outcome.
Need another example? Fine! When I was 18, my best friend at the time wanted to go get a tattoo. Our other best friend found a cool place in the city to go, and I made a joke about how I’d always wanted to get my tongue pierced (which I had since I was ten and Scary Spice and her stud bearing tongue were my heroes). While my friend was getting her tattoo done, our other friend found the piercer and told her that I wanted my tongue pierced without my knowledge. The piercer came out and handed me a form and started showing me the types of starter bars I could get put in. At first I was all, no… no, I can’t really get my tongue pierced. What if it gets paralyzed, or I hate it, it swells up to the size of Montana, or it splits in half and I have to become a Carny? But then, the adrenaline started pumping, and the next thing I knew I had a metal bar through my tongue and I couldn’t pronounce my Ss or Ts for a week.
Luckily though, six years later, when I decided I was over my tongue ring I was able to take it out leaving only a little scar as a reminder. When my dinner arrives, if I decide I hate my choice, I either don’t have to eat it, or can take it home and feed it to someone else. These decisions, though anxiety provoking, have never been long lasting or far reaching. Good thing, because as I am completely indecisive, I eventually change my mind about every decision I ever make and have to undo… or rechoose. A tattoo, however, is a lifelong commitment. Life is way too long a time… I could change my mind about my tattoo a bajillion times before my life is over.
I mean, what if I get it in a place that when I’m old sags and then my tattoo looks like a bull dog’s butt hole? Or what if I decide I’m going to embrace my inner Jew, become a Rabbi, and need to be buried in a Jewish Cemetery? Or what if I commit a crime, and I’m identified by my ink and I have to spend the rest of my life behind bars? Let’s not even think about the very real fact that I could become a vampire and live forever and have to deal with that fact that I have a Britney Spears’ lyric tattooed on my wrist in the year 4017 and no one even knows who Britney Spears is except for historians and that gives away my age and they realize what I am and stake my ass!
Do you see how neurotic I am? Can you see why, while I really want a tattoo, I can’t get one because I’m crazy and will regret it a thousand years from now? Do you think my chances of falling in love with my own Edward Cullen and becoming the next Bella are pretty high? Because this tattoo thing really hinges on that outcome.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Maybe this explains it...
Did I ever tell you about the time that I used lip gloss on my homework? I was a major procrastinator in high school. Not only was I a procrastinator, but I totally took school for granted. I took all honors and AP classes, but never went to them, and almost never did any of my homework. When I did do my homework, it was usually totally half assed, or invisible (yes, invisible. “Mrs. Adelson, I turned in that three page paper on Spain last week! I also turned in a whole semester’s work of journal entries… did you lose them?”)
Take for example my Senior AP English paper. My teacher (sorry if you’re reading this Mr. S!) gave our class this really inspiring prompt in an effort to broaden our horizons and open our minds one last time before we graduated, and being the total over-achievers most AP students are, move onto our Ivy Leagues, and overpriced private universities. The prompt was to research an “other”; a group of people who were so outside our own personal norm, that, other than this assignment we would never think much about them. Some of my classmates chose to write papers on obscure tribes in Africa or in the Polynesian Islands. Others wrote about Native American Spirit Searchers, and some even wrote about refugees who seek asylum in America.
I wrote about Porn Stars. Are you really that surprised? Didn’t think so. Right before our teacher had given us this heart felt prompt, I had finished reading Jenna Jameson’s How To Make Love Like a Porn Star, as well as How to Have an XXX Sex Life: The Ultimate Vivid Guide. (Super appropriate for a 16 year old AP student, right?) I wrote, the night before it was due, a very inspiring essay on the hardships of breaking into the adult entertainment industry, as well as the struggle to perform and stay on top. And I got an A, bitches.
Don’t think this was an act of a rebellious high school senior. No folks, this was just another one of the many ridiculous things I had done, and continue to do, in my life.
Back to that lip gloss project. Two years before the porn star essay, in my Honors Spanish 3 class, Senior Martin had asked us to pick a Spanish speaking country and put together a 3-5 minute presentation on the country, which included visuals (which… duh, means a poster!) Once again, the night before the project I’d had a month to work on was due, I was pulling pictures out of any magazine I could find to put together a project on Cuba. Once I’d amassed all of my pictures of Latin-esq super models, and cut outs of tacos, I realized I didn’t actually own any glue. I looked around my room, and remembered that I’d just bought a brand new tube of cherry lip gloss from the dollar store that I didn’t particularly like, and grabbed it from my purse. I then started squeezing it onto my cut outs, and sticking the cut outs, all slathered and cherry flavored, onto my poster board. That next day my presentation went great, I got an A, and that poster hung on the walls of my classroom for the remainder of the school year. I’m glad I never used that lip gloss. If it could cement paper to paper, think of what it would have done to my poor lips!
Maybe this explains why I'm so crappy at writing in this blog on a regular basis. I have a history of being a super flake. At least I'm able to admit my faults. So lets add this to the list of things I must fix... right under my Kardashian Obsession.
*While, all of these stories are true, and I was somewhat of an underachieving-overachiever, I do value all of the lessons I learned in high school. Where else would I have learned how hard it is to make love to your co-star with fifty people telling you where to put your tongue, or all the different uses for shiny lip stuff? The Girl Scouts, maybe… but who has time for that shit?
Take for example my Senior AP English paper. My teacher (sorry if you’re reading this Mr. S!) gave our class this really inspiring prompt in an effort to broaden our horizons and open our minds one last time before we graduated, and being the total over-achievers most AP students are, move onto our Ivy Leagues, and overpriced private universities. The prompt was to research an “other”; a group of people who were so outside our own personal norm, that, other than this assignment we would never think much about them. Some of my classmates chose to write papers on obscure tribes in Africa or in the Polynesian Islands. Others wrote about Native American Spirit Searchers, and some even wrote about refugees who seek asylum in America.
I wrote about Porn Stars. Are you really that surprised? Didn’t think so. Right before our teacher had given us this heart felt prompt, I had finished reading Jenna Jameson’s How To Make Love Like a Porn Star, as well as How to Have an XXX Sex Life: The Ultimate Vivid Guide. (Super appropriate for a 16 year old AP student, right?) I wrote, the night before it was due, a very inspiring essay on the hardships of breaking into the adult entertainment industry, as well as the struggle to perform and stay on top. And I got an A, bitches.
Don’t think this was an act of a rebellious high school senior. No folks, this was just another one of the many ridiculous things I had done, and continue to do, in my life.
Back to that lip gloss project. Two years before the porn star essay, in my Honors Spanish 3 class, Senior Martin had asked us to pick a Spanish speaking country and put together a 3-5 minute presentation on the country, which included visuals (which… duh, means a poster!) Once again, the night before the project I’d had a month to work on was due, I was pulling pictures out of any magazine I could find to put together a project on Cuba. Once I’d amassed all of my pictures of Latin-esq super models, and cut outs of tacos, I realized I didn’t actually own any glue. I looked around my room, and remembered that I’d just bought a brand new tube of cherry lip gloss from the dollar store that I didn’t particularly like, and grabbed it from my purse. I then started squeezing it onto my cut outs, and sticking the cut outs, all slathered and cherry flavored, onto my poster board. That next day my presentation went great, I got an A, and that poster hung on the walls of my classroom for the remainder of the school year. I’m glad I never used that lip gloss. If it could cement paper to paper, think of what it would have done to my poor lips!
Maybe this explains why I'm so crappy at writing in this blog on a regular basis. I have a history of being a super flake. At least I'm able to admit my faults. So lets add this to the list of things I must fix... right under my Kardashian Obsession.
*While, all of these stories are true, and I was somewhat of an underachieving-overachiever, I do value all of the lessons I learned in high school. Where else would I have learned how hard it is to make love to your co-star with fifty people telling you where to put your tongue, or all the different uses for shiny lip stuff? The Girl Scouts, maybe… but who has time for that shit?
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