Today, I was taught a lesson in unnecessary enthusiasm, and it was beautiful. It began when my uncle came to visit me at school. He lives in Vermont now, but today Scott Trade flew him in for a job interview (cool, right?) and since his flight home wasn't until evening, he had some time to come hang out with me on campus. We got lunch together in the student center, then explored a bit, and we ended up in the theater.
This was (Today) right after auditions and callbacks had commenced, and before cast lists got posted (which is tomorrow) so I was feeling a little insecure about my place/lack thereof in the department. Besides that, I know he has some friends in the arts community, and as a kid he had taken me on backstage tours of the Muny (it's a huge deal in St. Louis) so I was a little wary of what he might think of my school's high-school-cafeteria-turned-theater.
To my surprise, though, our facility absolutely delighted him. He was so happy, just to see me in that environment. Without even knowing whether or not I'll be able to preform on the stage we were touring, he lit up and talked about how proud of me he was!
This was such a different attitude from the one I'd been mired in all week - fretting and fussing and hopelessly struggling to measure up to expectations I wasn't fully clued-in to. What a reality check, to step back and just appreciate what an incredible thing it is to get be educated in this environment at all. To tell the truth, I'm a little embarrassed to think about how self-centered my attitude has been all throughout audition week. That gratitude is refreshing.
The reason I named this blog "Lessons in Unnecessary Enthusiasm" is because I have a tendency to get overly excited about what are considered "small things." If people are in a position where they have to say something they like about me, it's usually that I've got no reservations celebrating the little victories, or happy coincidences, or everyday beauties that people normally don't take time to appreciate (it's that, or "you're nice"... depends on the person).
The way I see it, though, the only way to live joyfully is to turn your cluttered backpack of a life upside down and shake it with everything you've got in you until every single lucky penny, and half-birthday, and secret smile sits on your floor- ready to be lifted up and made it's own confetti-covered float of that day's parade. I'm sure there are people who disagree (either with that thought, or with the convoluded analogy I used to express it) and that's okay. If they ever wanna join my life-party philosophy, though, I'd celebrate their entrance.
Today was a great reminder though, of how important it is to celebrate what we have already. No matter what sort of crap you might have going on, there is something wonderful to be grateful for. Thanks to my Uncle and a few other lovely people for reminding me of that today.
~Alicen
Sorry for having less giggles and more typos today. You may expect better of me when I'm less stressed... which is code for never. You still get a haiku though:
Got so much Homework
Why am I not doing it?
Cuz my dog insists.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Monday, January 13, 2014
The Uncomfortable Truth About Boobs
[Disclaimer: I have many beloved male friends and family members who seem to operate under the assumption that everything I do and say is about/targeted at them. This is untrue as a rule, and also, this particular post is not about any of you. It is not about anyone specific. Got it? (Actually, I do reference an ex-boyfriend pretty specifically, but I'm fairly certain he wouldn't read my blog if you paid him.) If you can't handle me talking about a generally less flattering aspect of male anatomy without assuming I am referring specifically to you, then you are only allowed to read the first three paragraphs... the three that follow this one, that is.... That being said, I do hope that my crude humor isn't enough make any of you beautiful people doubt how wonderful your bodies are, because I love them all. Disclaimer over.]
Today I read a super "edgy" blog. It was super in-your-face, and was all about "uncomfortable truths" (they were relatively convenient though, so back off, Al Gore) and being all in your face about all the grimy hidden corners of that person's life. Reading it, I thought "Hey! I could do that! Maybe if I talk about all the "uncomfortable truths" in my own life people will think I'M edgy!"
So here we go. Uncomfortable truth: I'm a Junior in college, and my boobs are smaller than yours were when you were in the 8th grade.
I still fit into most of my old training bras. Most of the bras I wear from day to day though are whatever the smallest adult size at Walmart/Kohl's was that day, which is typically a 34A, all of which hang off of me in much the same way that they would if someone had wrapped them around a cylindrical pillar, or a brick wall- and by that I mean the cups keep their shape, despite being totally (or at least mostly) empty.
It's typically hard for me to not blurt out everything I am thinking at any given time, which means that rather than try to hide the tiny-ness of my boobs in ruffly shirts or push-up bras, or feign ignorance of how tiny they are like a normal insecure person might, I have a tendency to talk about boobs all the time. All day every day, my poor friends have to tiptoe around trying not to ever bring up cleavage or bras or curves or workout clothing or anything at all that could lead me to the topic of boobs, because then I'll feel compelled to make some self-deprecating (but at the same time, hilarious) joke, and then they will feel compelled to stifle their laughter and say things like "Oh, you're exaggerating" or "Don't say that, I think they're cute" or some such joke-killing nonsense.
This insecurity was worst, though, during my Junior year of high school; for that was the year my boyfriend had bigger boobs than I did. For a while, I was understandably jealous of my boyfriend's abundant cleavage. Why should he get what I so desperately wanted, when he couldn't even appreciate it?!? Once I really got the chance to examine them, though, I came to appreciate not having his boobs (notice that I said "not having his boobs", not "not having boobs") because despite our respective boobs being alike in their weirdly flat nipples, mine, though BARELY existing, somehow managed to maintain a more feminine shape. And by that, all I really mean is that they lacked the sort of sideways droopy quality which is the man-boob signature look. His were still bigger, though. Darn.
Manboobs are becoming a real epidemic in this country though, and not just in the people you would suspect (when I picture man-boobs, I tend to imagine a man who could conceivably consume another, smaller, adult human over the course of a day). However, as someone who surrounds herself with a lot of unathletic types, I am able to do extensive anthropological research in the field of man-boobs, and what I've discovered is that though obviously they are made of fat, the man-boob has begun to creep across the entire male bodytype spectrum!
That's right, menfolk. Whether you are 3inches around, or 30 feet, no one is safe from the man-boob phenomena.
You may be asking yourselves; how could this be? Well never fear, cuz I looked it up! Turns out, the reason man-boobs develop isn't explicitly fat, but MALNUTRITION!! Shockingly, while our beloved scrawny male friends are hiding from the sunlight pirating Game of Thrones and/or playing Pathfinder, their diet is dominated by greasy processed meat full of hormones, cellophane-packed sugar/salt items, and to wash it down, a frothing two liters of poop-colored sugar chemicals. Yum.
...And when I look at it that way, I feel like we should be thanking our lucky stars that the what's come of it is just some harmless man-boobs and not, say, giant hairless tails, or people shooting carbonated fructose out of their armpits, or something.
But I mentioned how tiny my boobs are, right? Seriously, when I go to the gym I often get mistaken for an adolescent boy. By people I know. I wish I was kidding.
~Alicen
Skiing through the trees
Is like a big puzzle maze
Solve it quick, or die
Today I read a super "edgy" blog. It was super in-your-face, and was all about "uncomfortable truths" (they were relatively convenient though, so back off, Al Gore) and being all in your face about all the grimy hidden corners of that person's life. Reading it, I thought "Hey! I could do that! Maybe if I talk about all the "uncomfortable truths" in my own life people will think I'M edgy!"
So here we go. Uncomfortable truth: I'm a Junior in college, and my boobs are smaller than yours were when you were in the 8th grade.
I still fit into most of my old training bras. Most of the bras I wear from day to day though are whatever the smallest adult size at Walmart/Kohl's was that day, which is typically a 34A, all of which hang off of me in much the same way that they would if someone had wrapped them around a cylindrical pillar, or a brick wall- and by that I mean the cups keep their shape, despite being totally (or at least mostly) empty.
It's typically hard for me to not blurt out everything I am thinking at any given time, which means that rather than try to hide the tiny-ness of my boobs in ruffly shirts or push-up bras, or feign ignorance of how tiny they are like a normal insecure person might, I have a tendency to talk about boobs all the time. All day every day, my poor friends have to tiptoe around trying not to ever bring up cleavage or bras or curves or workout clothing or anything at all that could lead me to the topic of boobs, because then I'll feel compelled to make some self-deprecating (but at the same time, hilarious) joke, and then they will feel compelled to stifle their laughter and say things like "Oh, you're exaggerating" or "Don't say that, I think they're cute" or some such joke-killing nonsense.
This insecurity was worst, though, during my Junior year of high school; for that was the year my boyfriend had bigger boobs than I did. For a while, I was understandably jealous of my boyfriend's abundant cleavage. Why should he get what I so desperately wanted, when he couldn't even appreciate it?!? Once I really got the chance to examine them, though, I came to appreciate not having his boobs (notice that I said "not having his boobs", not "not having boobs") because despite our respective boobs being alike in their weirdly flat nipples, mine, though BARELY existing, somehow managed to maintain a more feminine shape. And by that, all I really mean is that they lacked the sort of sideways droopy quality which is the man-boob signature look. His were still bigger, though. Darn.
Manboobs are becoming a real epidemic in this country though, and not just in the people you would suspect (when I picture man-boobs, I tend to imagine a man who could conceivably consume another, smaller, adult human over the course of a day). However, as someone who surrounds herself with a lot of unathletic types, I am able to do extensive anthropological research in the field of man-boobs, and what I've discovered is that though obviously they are made of fat, the man-boob has begun to creep across the entire male bodytype spectrum!
That's right, menfolk. Whether you are 3inches around, or 30 feet, no one is safe from the man-boob phenomena.
You may be asking yourselves; how could this be? Well never fear, cuz I looked it up! Turns out, the reason man-boobs develop isn't explicitly fat, but MALNUTRITION!! Shockingly, while our beloved scrawny male friends are hiding from the sunlight pirating Game of Thrones and/or playing Pathfinder, their diet is dominated by greasy processed meat full of hormones, cellophane-packed sugar/salt items, and to wash it down, a frothing two liters of poop-colored sugar chemicals. Yum.
...And when I look at it that way, I feel like we should be thanking our lucky stars that the what's come of it is just some harmless man-boobs and not, say, giant hairless tails, or people shooting carbonated fructose out of their armpits, or something.
But I mentioned how tiny my boobs are, right? Seriously, when I go to the gym I often get mistaken for an adolescent boy. By people I know. I wish I was kidding.
~Alicen
Skiing through the trees
Is like a big puzzle maze
Solve it quick, or die
Thursday, January 2, 2014
I Know You'll Read This, Dad.
"You should put that in your blog"
"Are you going to write that in your blog now?"
"Am i going to see this in your blog tomorrow?"
Ever since that last post about the Christmas tree my father has ensured that this blog is all the family can talk about. Not any other post, just that one.
Just in case anyone else out there interpreted that post (which by the way, is the transcript of a REAL conversation that REALLY happened whether you remember it or not, dad!) as he did, allow me to make it clear that the conclusion was meant to portray that once I understood why we didn't buy a Christmas tree, I decided to be happy with our porcelain tree, and that, ironically, while my dad was coming around to my idea of needing a tree, I was coming around to his idea of the tree not being what's really important. Kind of an "Our Town"-y vibe, I thought. (which is probably why you didn't get it, dad.) Also, the Haiku at the end was not meant to portray the lack of Christmas atmosphere at my house, but rather how I was unable to focus on the happy Christmas season while I was focused on finals!! I was hardly even in my house that week, so regardless, the atmosphere shouldn't have affected me much.
Instead of read it that way though, my dad skims it, thinks I'm not only portraying him as a piece of white trash but as a Grinchy piece of white trash, freaks the heck out, runs out and finds a Kmart tree on sale for 50$, and carries it through the door over his head like a victorious hunter bringing home that day's kill, only to throw it down and immediately make it clear that he wanted no part of assembling or decorating it. (Incidentally, when he went to pick it up, he scratched off a lottery ticket at the front of the store that won him exactly 50$. I say that because I know he'll construe this information as me saying that the lottery ticket is the only reason we have a tree, and I hope that will annoy him)
I starting writing this in the hopes that it might quell some of the relentless quoting and misquoting of my own words that makes up 45% of interactions with my father... in writing that, though, I realize that surely, no matter what I write, If I mention him at all I'm only adding fuel to the fire... So while I'm at it, I might as well do this:
Guess which facts are true and which are false about my dad:
1. My father's wardrobe consists primarily of cut-off T-shirts and gym shorts from the 80s, (many of which are pink)
2. My dad habitually eats horseradish and BBQ sauce. Plain.
3. If you see my dad without a 40 in his lap, it's only because he's standing up
4. Every conversation my father has with his younger brother begins with him saying "Hey baby" (without the "H" sound in "Hey")
5. I've never heard my father use the word "have." It is only ever "got" or "ain't got."
6. My daddy's real real proud of the '88 camaro we got up on blocks in front of our double-wide. Makes 'im smile so big you'd think his las' toof'd fall right out.
(1. True ("primarily" could be a slight exaggeration) 2. True 3. False, he typically prefers regular sized bottles 4. True 5. Semi-false, he cleans up his syntax if we aren't alone. 6. I hope you liked that one, dad)
~Ali
So much crankiness
Nonstop time with family
Unleash "The Moser"
"Are you going to write that in your blog now?"
"Am i going to see this in your blog tomorrow?"
Ever since that last post about the Christmas tree my father has ensured that this blog is all the family can talk about. Not any other post, just that one.
Just in case anyone else out there interpreted that post (which by the way, is the transcript of a REAL conversation that REALLY happened whether you remember it or not, dad!) as he did, allow me to make it clear that the conclusion was meant to portray that once I understood why we didn't buy a Christmas tree, I decided to be happy with our porcelain tree, and that, ironically, while my dad was coming around to my idea of needing a tree, I was coming around to his idea of the tree not being what's really important. Kind of an "Our Town"-y vibe, I thought. (which is probably why you didn't get it, dad.) Also, the Haiku at the end was not meant to portray the lack of Christmas atmosphere at my house, but rather how I was unable to focus on the happy Christmas season while I was focused on finals!! I was hardly even in my house that week, so regardless, the atmosphere shouldn't have affected me much.
Instead of read it that way though, my dad skims it, thinks I'm not only portraying him as a piece of white trash but as a Grinchy piece of white trash, freaks the heck out, runs out and finds a Kmart tree on sale for 50$, and carries it through the door over his head like a victorious hunter bringing home that day's kill, only to throw it down and immediately make it clear that he wanted no part of assembling or decorating it. (Incidentally, when he went to pick it up, he scratched off a lottery ticket at the front of the store that won him exactly 50$. I say that because I know he'll construe this information as me saying that the lottery ticket is the only reason we have a tree, and I hope that will annoy him)
I starting writing this in the hopes that it might quell some of the relentless quoting and misquoting of my own words that makes up 45% of interactions with my father... in writing that, though, I realize that surely, no matter what I write, If I mention him at all I'm only adding fuel to the fire... So while I'm at it, I might as well do this:
Guess which facts are true and which are false about my dad:
1. My father's wardrobe consists primarily of cut-off T-shirts and gym shorts from the 80s, (many of which are pink)
2. My dad habitually eats horseradish and BBQ sauce. Plain.
3. If you see my dad without a 40 in his lap, it's only because he's standing up
4. Every conversation my father has with his younger brother begins with him saying "Hey baby" (without the "H" sound in "Hey")
5. I've never heard my father use the word "have." It is only ever "got" or "ain't got."
6. My daddy's real real proud of the '88 camaro we got up on blocks in front of our double-wide. Makes 'im smile so big you'd think his las' toof'd fall right out.
(1. True ("primarily" could be a slight exaggeration) 2. True 3. False, he typically prefers regular sized bottles 4. True 5. Semi-false, he cleans up his syntax if we aren't alone. 6. I hope you liked that one, dad)
~Ali
So much crankiness
Nonstop time with family
Unleash "The Moser"
Monday, December 16, 2013
Finals Week PSA: Encountering "Zombicen"
Unfortunately for everyone who is in school/has to interact with me, this week was finals week. Now I think we've all got those two weird friends who are super studious, and find themselves very relaxed and prepared during this time, but for the rest of us schlubs its a frenzied time of all-nighters, pre-exam cram sessions, and hastily prepared Christmas gifts shoved at neglected friends across a table full of empty ramen cups.
I know that it was particularly worse for anyone who had the misfortune of my presence forced upon them this week, for finals- like any other stressful, sleepless times- tends to create whats known as "AlicenZombie." This horrifying creature was forged in wasted printer ink and crumpled syllabi deep within the depths of my disastrous backpack is a terror to behold. Every semester during finals she emerges during an all nighter- patiently gnawing on my soul until finally I BECOME her for at least five days. Like I said, finals is nearly over for us, but "Zombicen" could appear at any time filled with much stress and little sleep. Just in case any of you come into contact with this creature, I've outlined some warning signs and how to respond to them:
Creature shows heightened interest in conversation, yet continues to make unintelligent/irrelevant responses
You have caught the beast in it's early stages. What dregs of humanity are left struggle to show you respect and hold interest in the conversation, but it is not enough to keep the mindless creature invested in anything the human Alicen would have taken interest in. Try not to take offense as the eyes wander and the creature responds to "What classes are you taking next semester?" with "Yeah, me too." It will take hours, maybe days for the zombified brain to catch up to even trivial conversations
Creature develops strange eating patterns
It is normal for Zombicen to become so wrapped up in work and finals and friends that she forgets to eat for hours on end. This lack of nourishment for extended periods of time leads the creature to feast on strange delicacies such as gas station cheese-burgers, blue shark gummies, spagetti-o's, and fried chicken all at once. Typically this feast occurs at about 9:30 in the evening. WARNING: should you encounter the beast just before this feast is consumed, it is likely you will find the creature to be excessively irritating if not downright aggressive in it's behavior.
Creature slips into doodle-trance
If you happen upon Zombicen after it has lost itself in a page of intricate free-form doodling, approach with caution. Doodle-trances can last anywhere from one minute to a full day, and it is likely that the creature will not know who or where it is upon awakening.
Creature has fallen asleep in public setting
This characteristic is found both in Alicen and in Zombicen. The most important factor in this situation is to determine whether or not you value the well-being of the creature over your own safety. If this is the case, attempt to wake the creature and ensure that it isn't unintentionally sleeping through an exam. However, experts suggest simply leaving the creature where it lie in order to not risk incurring its uninhibited, drowsy wrath.
For further information on the identification and handling of the AlicenZombie creature, feel free to contact the author of this blog.
~Ali
Finals are almost
Done but I am still trying
To learn all this junk'
I know that it was particularly worse for anyone who had the misfortune of my presence forced upon them this week, for finals- like any other stressful, sleepless times- tends to create whats known as "AlicenZombie." This horrifying creature was forged in wasted printer ink and crumpled syllabi deep within the depths of my disastrous backpack is a terror to behold. Every semester during finals she emerges during an all nighter- patiently gnawing on my soul until finally I BECOME her for at least five days. Like I said, finals is nearly over for us, but "Zombicen" could appear at any time filled with much stress and little sleep. Just in case any of you come into contact with this creature, I've outlined some warning signs and how to respond to them:
Creature shows heightened interest in conversation, yet continues to make unintelligent/irrelevant responses
You have caught the beast in it's early stages. What dregs of humanity are left struggle to show you respect and hold interest in the conversation, but it is not enough to keep the mindless creature invested in anything the human Alicen would have taken interest in. Try not to take offense as the eyes wander and the creature responds to "What classes are you taking next semester?" with "Yeah, me too." It will take hours, maybe days for the zombified brain to catch up to even trivial conversations
Creature develops strange eating patterns
It is normal for Zombicen to become so wrapped up in work and finals and friends that she forgets to eat for hours on end. This lack of nourishment for extended periods of time leads the creature to feast on strange delicacies such as gas station cheese-burgers, blue shark gummies, spagetti-o's, and fried chicken all at once. Typically this feast occurs at about 9:30 in the evening. WARNING: should you encounter the beast just before this feast is consumed, it is likely you will find the creature to be excessively irritating if not downright aggressive in it's behavior.
Creature slips into doodle-trance
If you happen upon Zombicen after it has lost itself in a page of intricate free-form doodling, approach with caution. Doodle-trances can last anywhere from one minute to a full day, and it is likely that the creature will not know who or where it is upon awakening.
Creature has fallen asleep in public setting
This characteristic is found both in Alicen and in Zombicen. The most important factor in this situation is to determine whether or not you value the well-being of the creature over your own safety. If this is the case, attempt to wake the creature and ensure that it isn't unintentionally sleeping through an exam. However, experts suggest simply leaving the creature where it lie in order to not risk incurring its uninhibited, drowsy wrath.
For further information on the identification and handling of the AlicenZombie creature, feel free to contact the author of this blog.
~Ali
Finals are almost
Done but I am still trying
To learn all this junk'
Monday, December 9, 2013
Scenes from Life: Act 1 Scenes 3&4: "Rich People Don't Know They're Rich"
[Father and Daugher are in a car together. Daughter drives and Father holds a 40 in his lap]
Father: Yeah, SURE they aint got money for it.
Daughter: I mean, I'm sure they have money troubles, too. Even rich people have money trouble.
Father: Mhmm, They aint got enough money to go on the trip with us, but oh, they have tons of money for all of these OTHER fancy expensive things.
Daughter: Rich people don't KNOW they're rich. To lotsa people, we're rich.
Father: Okay, but the difference is when I tell you 'we aint got no money' I mean 'we aint got NO money'
Daughter: I know [Cut to the living room. In front of the bay window, a small porcelain Christmas tree is chipped and a bit crooked, sitting on a folding table covered by a treeskirt.]
Daughter: What's this? Are we not putting up the tree this year?
Father: Is a tree really the spirit of Christmas? Daughtter: Why arent you putting up the tree? Father: What is CHRISTMAS, really?
Daughter: Stop BS-ing me, what did you do to the tree?
Father: It broke. Threw it out when the basement flooded.
Daughter: So shouldn't we get a new one?
Father: Not if you want your Christmas present. You can either have real pine tree that you and Mom are allergic to, or that one.
Daughter: Oh, Okay.
Father: [looks to the small porcelain decoration with a hint of sadness] We might find one on clearance or something if we go look on Christmas Eve... You should check Craigslist, too.
Daughter: Sure, I'll check. [moves to put hand on decoration. She runs her fingers over the aging paint and smiles] But it's not like Christmas is going to be ruined just because we don't hang ornaments this year. I think this tree's great.
~A
Christmas bells do ring
But all I hear are the keys
Of this computer
Father: Yeah, SURE they aint got money for it.
Daughter: I mean, I'm sure they have money troubles, too. Even rich people have money trouble.
Father: Mhmm, They aint got enough money to go on the trip with us, but oh, they have tons of money for all of these OTHER fancy expensive things.
Daughter: Rich people don't KNOW they're rich. To lotsa people, we're rich.
Father: Okay, but the difference is when I tell you 'we aint got no money' I mean 'we aint got NO money'
Daughter: I know [Cut to the living room. In front of the bay window, a small porcelain Christmas tree is chipped and a bit crooked, sitting on a folding table covered by a treeskirt.]
Daughter: What's this? Are we not putting up the tree this year?
Father: Is a tree really the spirit of Christmas? Daughtter: Why arent you putting up the tree? Father: What is CHRISTMAS, really?
Daughter: Stop BS-ing me, what did you do to the tree?
Father: It broke. Threw it out when the basement flooded.
Daughter: So shouldn't we get a new one?
Father: Not if you want your Christmas present. You can either have real pine tree that you and Mom are allergic to, or that one.
Daughter: Oh, Okay.
Father: [looks to the small porcelain decoration with a hint of sadness] We might find one on clearance or something if we go look on Christmas Eve... You should check Craigslist, too.
Daughter: Sure, I'll check. [moves to put hand on decoration. She runs her fingers over the aging paint and smiles] But it's not like Christmas is going to be ruined just because we don't hang ornaments this year. I think this tree's great.
~A
Christmas bells do ring
But all I hear are the keys
Of this computer
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
How to Escape The Impending Whatever-Season (And Another Meta-Haiku)
Man, has it really been this long since we've procrastinated together, interwebs? I missed you!
Well, in case you didn't notice, Thanksgiving was a couple days ago. I am happy to report that all my white middleclass friends survived Black Friday more or less unharmed.
Christmas is rapidly approaching though, which I report with mixed feelings. -Don't get me wrong, I'm not the kind of person who hates all things red-green-and-snowflakey. I love looking at Christmas lights, and decorating trees, and singing carols, and even picking out and wrapping presents! But with all the talk of gathering your loved ones and the like, December never fails to leave me feeling a little sad as well. Whether I'm stuck thinking about the beloved family and friends who simply couldn't be there to celebrate that year, or for those who never will be again, The Christmas Season starts to feel a little lonely. That, coupled with the wrapping up of the school semester, has left a relentless uneasy knot in the pit of my stomach.
What we find ourselves in now, though, is the throes of the "Holiday Season" which to me also means "Finals Season" and "All Your Friends Are About To Leave You And Go Abroad Season"... Obviously this IS an exciting time, but also horrifyingly stressful. So if you're anything like me, and you'd rather just pretend it's July and you have no looming responsibilities/obligations to others, here are some helpful hints on how to ignore the Whatever-Season:
Tell Everyone You Have A Dentist Appointment
Undoubtedly, far too many people are going to want to see you all at once. Your best shot at avoiding them all is to use the "Dentist Appointment" excuse. It's superior to "Doctor's Appt" excuse because none of your nosy friends will ask "Well what's the appointment for??" and if they DO you just say "TOOTHY STUFF" and then spit blood at them. Also, there is such a thing as a 24hour dentist. So, provided your friends 'believe in' the 24hour dentist (mine apparently don't. I swear they are real.) you're covered even at night!
Or, if you run out of dentist appointments...
Convert
Find a religion that forbids celebrating anything from pagan origin (Jehovah's Witness is a good example) and BAM! No more holidays for you! Also, if people ask you to hang out outside a party, just ask them if they've heard the good news, and they'll awkwardly try not to make eye contact with you ever again.
Subscribe To Netflix
If you're looking for a way to allow a few weeks of your life slip by in a bleary, Nutella and Bryan Cranston-fueled haze, get yourself a Netflix subscription, and simply allow yourself to succumb to the siren song of reams of mystery-dramas, recently cancelled sitcoms, and B-list 90's movies. Today, you'll turn on your computer, and then late January you'll step away, cross eyed and a little bewildered, having sustained yourself on nothing but various Star Treks, Orange Is The New Black, and a plethora of Adam Sandler movies. As you stumble back into reality, you'll probably liken the experience to the first time you dropped acid, but with more colors and less smiling.
Become A House Cat
House cats are so chill I have to wear sweaters around them. EVERY season passes through their mischievous gaze with little more than a slow, deliberate wink to acknowledge it's passing. I haven't quite worked out the details on HOW one would become a house cat but I've dedicated years of intensive kitten field study, as well as a significant amount of time just following my cat around and imitating her every move, in order to resolve the issue.
~Alicen
This is why I should
Not write my posts all at once
Or at 1 AM
Well, in case you didn't notice, Thanksgiving was a couple days ago. I am happy to report that all my white middleclass friends survived Black Friday more or less unharmed.
Christmas is rapidly approaching though, which I report with mixed feelings. -Don't get me wrong, I'm not the kind of person who hates all things red-green-and-snowflakey. I love looking at Christmas lights, and decorating trees, and singing carols, and even picking out and wrapping presents! But with all the talk of gathering your loved ones and the like, December never fails to leave me feeling a little sad as well. Whether I'm stuck thinking about the beloved family and friends who simply couldn't be there to celebrate that year, or for those who never will be again, The Christmas Season starts to feel a little lonely. That, coupled with the wrapping up of the school semester, has left a relentless uneasy knot in the pit of my stomach.
What we find ourselves in now, though, is the throes of the "Holiday Season" which to me also means "Finals Season" and "All Your Friends Are About To Leave You And Go Abroad Season"... Obviously this IS an exciting time, but also horrifyingly stressful. So if you're anything like me, and you'd rather just pretend it's July and you have no looming responsibilities/obligations to others, here are some helpful hints on how to ignore the Whatever-Season:
Tell Everyone You Have A Dentist Appointment
Undoubtedly, far too many people are going to want to see you all at once. Your best shot at avoiding them all is to use the "Dentist Appointment" excuse. It's superior to "Doctor's Appt" excuse because none of your nosy friends will ask "Well what's the appointment for??" and if they DO you just say "TOOTHY STUFF" and then spit blood at them. Also, there is such a thing as a 24hour dentist. So, provided your friends 'believe in' the 24hour dentist (mine apparently don't. I swear they are real.) you're covered even at night!
Or, if you run out of dentist appointments...
Convert
Find a religion that forbids celebrating anything from pagan origin (Jehovah's Witness is a good example) and BAM! No more holidays for you! Also, if people ask you to hang out outside a party, just ask them if they've heard the good news, and they'll awkwardly try not to make eye contact with you ever again.
Subscribe To Netflix
If you're looking for a way to allow a few weeks of your life slip by in a bleary, Nutella and Bryan Cranston-fueled haze, get yourself a Netflix subscription, and simply allow yourself to succumb to the siren song of reams of mystery-dramas, recently cancelled sitcoms, and B-list 90's movies. Today, you'll turn on your computer, and then late January you'll step away, cross eyed and a little bewildered, having sustained yourself on nothing but various Star Treks, Orange Is The New Black, and a plethora of Adam Sandler movies. As you stumble back into reality, you'll probably liken the experience to the first time you dropped acid, but with more colors and less smiling.
Become A House Cat
House cats are so chill I have to wear sweaters around them. EVERY season passes through their mischievous gaze with little more than a slow, deliberate wink to acknowledge it's passing. I haven't quite worked out the details on HOW one would become a house cat but I've dedicated years of intensive kitten field study, as well as a significant amount of time just following my cat around and imitating her every move, in order to resolve the issue.
~Alicen
This is why I should
Not write my posts all at once
Or at 1 AM
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
A Smattering of Philosophy, and The Dilemma Posed by Defense-Vomit
I've heard it said that you can't let your past decide your present. That no matter where you've come from, or how you got to where you are, you gotta live each moment for it's own sake, not as the logical conclusion to a series of events. That every second of your present is what it is because you make it that way, in that instant, and that you get to decide whether it is positive or negative.
I like this philosophy. Quite a lot. I try to live by it, actually... but I've found that there are instances in which the real-life applications of it aren't quite as helpful and poetic.
Because as with all things bright and beautiful on earth, humans have an incredible capacity for messing this up (myself included of course) For example: forgiveness is awesome. Sometimes when you're struggling to forgive somebody it's super cool to reflect on this philosophy, then look yourself in the mirror and decide whether you are going to cling to mistakes made in the past, and drag that pain into your present forever, or whether you are willing to bravely choose to behave lovingly, let go of that past reality, and in this new moment to begin to heal instead.
-Well, when it's laid out all neat and pretty like that, the preferable choice seems obvious, and that's just peachy. But exactly how much of the past should we leave in the past? What about that horribly annoying couple who are getting back together AGAIN, or the victim of violence who keeps returning to their abusive spouse, or the repeat offender who keeps getting out on parole? You could excuse all of them with "forgiveness" but is there a limit to how much we should forgive? Should we perhaps forgive but not forget? What does that entail? How much are we allowed to learn from past experiences before they begin to dictate our present?
Overall, I do my best to stick by that philosophy of taking every moment for what it's worth, and making what you will of your present. Realistically, though, I do realize that in between the little misunderstandings and the minor setbacks, there are moments in our life that shape who we are. These occurrences or situations or events (or even people) from our past and how we responded to them make up bits and pieces of the people we are now, whether or not our past and present selves are the same person.
For me, one such self-defining past occurrence was my first ever kiss. Well, not my first ever kiss; that was a quick, nervous ordeal preceded by a sitcom-y nose-bump and followed by terrified giggling which took place on the boy's couch in a dark basement- but I mean my first kiss kiss like with tongues and teeth and hormones. That one took place 2 years later, and with a different boy- but also on the couch in his dark basement, which seems necessary to point out.
Anyway, I can't help but aknowledge that first kiss kiss as a piece of the past that affects my present reality, and I say that, because I puked in his mouth.
Now, take a second to think about that. There was some hot, smelly, human vomit. It came from my nasty gurgling stomach, exited my mouth, and then entered the mouth (and possibly throat, stomach, nose, etc) of a DIFFERENT PERSON... This is the stuff of nightmares.
Now before you get all riled up and upset with me for forcing my vomit into another human being, allow me to explain how this was NOT AT ALL my fault: First of all, I'm pretty sure this kid (Let's call him "Adam" because it's ironic, even though I probably won't even need to say his name again) was offspring of Gene Simmons and a feral cat, and I say that because his tongue had to be AT LEAST as long as my forearm- just obscenely long, and not JUST long, but dry, and scratchy, and AGGRESSIVE! A solid case could be made in favor of my gastrointestinal system stating that the vomit was sent up as a defense mechanism to keep that monster tongue from strangling me,Strangling me from the inside-out, that is. Second of all, not only did this boy have a dry, aggressive tongue the length of New Hampshire, he also [somehow simultaneously] had some serious drooling issues. And I'm not talking about normal human saliva, but like gross, sloppy SPIT that got all over my mouth and tasted like the hot dogs with relish (I DESPISE hot dogs with relish) that I'd watched him eat earlier.
I think perhaps the heart of the issue here, was that I was drowning in his spit, so instinctively I tried to preserve my life by swallowing, which only only led to choking on his mutant giraffe tongue, which of course resulted in the defense-puke... which was entirely not my fault.
Now, as anyone who's puked inside another person will tell you, there's a certain moment that happens just before the vomit rises, when you become profoundly aware of what is about to happen. It's the kind of moment that changes a person. In these precious final seconds before the full eruption occurs, you are afforded the opportunity to remember your life as you once knew it, and to accept that the moment this other person has tasted your upchuck, you can never go back. Your mouth, your diet, your outlook on teenage dating, and most of all your dignity are forever altered.
Truly, the consequences of throwing up into the mouth of a romantic interest reach far beyond the initial horrified choking, ruined upholstery, and the car ride home awkward enough to cause physical pain... No, from the bottom of my heart, I believe that blowing chunks into that boy's esophagus has made me the woman I am today... and by that I mean the awkward, nervous, bread-eating, basement-couch avoiding romantic disaster that I am today. Ah well.
And just in case you wanted some KICKASS visuals for that story: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Izp7g5CJekY#t=110
(for those of you that aren't going to watch the video, the clip is from the movie "Kickass 2"...get it? "kickass visuals"...)
~Alicen
Two blog posts in a
Single day means double the
Haikus. Elephant.
I like this philosophy. Quite a lot. I try to live by it, actually... but I've found that there are instances in which the real-life applications of it aren't quite as helpful and poetic.
Because as with all things bright and beautiful on earth, humans have an incredible capacity for messing this up (myself included of course) For example: forgiveness is awesome. Sometimes when you're struggling to forgive somebody it's super cool to reflect on this philosophy, then look yourself in the mirror and decide whether you are going to cling to mistakes made in the past, and drag that pain into your present forever, or whether you are willing to bravely choose to behave lovingly, let go of that past reality, and in this new moment to begin to heal instead.
-Well, when it's laid out all neat and pretty like that, the preferable choice seems obvious, and that's just peachy. But exactly how much of the past should we leave in the past? What about that horribly annoying couple who are getting back together AGAIN, or the victim of violence who keeps returning to their abusive spouse, or the repeat offender who keeps getting out on parole? You could excuse all of them with "forgiveness" but is there a limit to how much we should forgive? Should we perhaps forgive but not forget? What does that entail? How much are we allowed to learn from past experiences before they begin to dictate our present?
Overall, I do my best to stick by that philosophy of taking every moment for what it's worth, and making what you will of your present. Realistically, though, I do realize that in between the little misunderstandings and the minor setbacks, there are moments in our life that shape who we are. These occurrences or situations or events (or even people) from our past and how we responded to them make up bits and pieces of the people we are now, whether or not our past and present selves are the same person.
For me, one such self-defining past occurrence was my first ever kiss. Well, not my first ever kiss; that was a quick, nervous ordeal preceded by a sitcom-y nose-bump and followed by terrified giggling which took place on the boy's couch in a dark basement- but I mean my first kiss kiss like with tongues and teeth and hormones. That one took place 2 years later, and with a different boy- but also on the couch in his dark basement, which seems necessary to point out.
Anyway, I can't help but aknowledge that first kiss kiss as a piece of the past that affects my present reality, and I say that, because I puked in his mouth.
Now, take a second to think about that. There was some hot, smelly, human vomit. It came from my nasty gurgling stomach, exited my mouth, and then entered the mouth (and possibly throat, stomach, nose, etc) of a DIFFERENT PERSON... This is the stuff of nightmares.
Now before you get all riled up and upset with me for forcing my vomit into another human being, allow me to explain how this was NOT AT ALL my fault: First of all, I'm pretty sure this kid (Let's call him "Adam" because it's ironic, even though I probably won't even need to say his name again) was offspring of Gene Simmons and a feral cat, and I say that because his tongue had to be AT LEAST as long as my forearm- just obscenely long, and not JUST long, but dry, and scratchy, and AGGRESSIVE! A solid case could be made in favor of my gastrointestinal system stating that the vomit was sent up as a defense mechanism to keep that monster tongue from strangling me,Strangling me from the inside-out, that is. Second of all, not only did this boy have a dry, aggressive tongue the length of New Hampshire, he also [somehow simultaneously] had some serious drooling issues. And I'm not talking about normal human saliva, but like gross, sloppy SPIT that got all over my mouth and tasted like the hot dogs with relish (I DESPISE hot dogs with relish) that I'd watched him eat earlier.
I think perhaps the heart of the issue here, was that I was drowning in his spit, so instinctively I tried to preserve my life by swallowing, which only only led to choking on his mutant giraffe tongue, which of course resulted in the defense-puke... which was entirely not my fault.
Now, as anyone who's puked inside another person will tell you, there's a certain moment that happens just before the vomit rises, when you become profoundly aware of what is about to happen. It's the kind of moment that changes a person. In these precious final seconds before the full eruption occurs, you are afforded the opportunity to remember your life as you once knew it, and to accept that the moment this other person has tasted your upchuck, you can never go back. Your mouth, your diet, your outlook on teenage dating, and most of all your dignity are forever altered.
Truly, the consequences of throwing up into the mouth of a romantic interest reach far beyond the initial horrified choking, ruined upholstery, and the car ride home awkward enough to cause physical pain... No, from the bottom of my heart, I believe that blowing chunks into that boy's esophagus has made me the woman I am today... and by that I mean the awkward, nervous, bread-eating, basement-couch avoiding romantic disaster that I am today. Ah well.
And just in case you wanted some KICKASS visuals for that story: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Izp7g5CJekY#t=110
(for those of you that aren't going to watch the video, the clip is from the movie "Kickass 2"...get it? "kickass visuals"...)
~Alicen
Two blog posts in a
Single day means double the
Haikus. Elephant.
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