Saturday, February 25, 2012
Let me tell you something about me. I’m a blog slut. I have had a lot of blogs through my lifetime. Most where cheap short affairs, just with two of them I’ve been able to maintain a decent healthy relationship, this being one of them. The other one started when I was around 14 and I’ve been rereading it since yesterday night.
As a writing exercise, a ‘neuron murdering’ project, and my very own present to the readers who have been annoyed by my latest teensie entries, I’ve decided to sort my current feelings in my old format:
Hello! hi! (: I used to start all of my entries like that, so I thought “why the hell not, right?” haha how you doing? (I’m not really looking for an answer here, it’s just a way to avoid my fear of introductions and seem nice at the same time). My friend Grey left for the weekend. Do you remember Grey? She’s great, we have the same kind of sense of humor and she has great taste in movies! Whatever, she left me to take care of her fishes, and I just think how awful must be to live in a fishbowl your whole life, but then I think “we all live in some sort of fishbowl too” you know? Haha! I didn’t mean to get all deep on you! I just think of weird stuff like that all the time.
So, lately I’ve been really sad. I don’t know why good things can’t last for me. I’ve been having problems with British Man, I really don’t feel comfortable giving details over the internet but it has to do with exgirlfriends and shit… And I don’t know, you know? It’s just really hard when you used to really trust somebody and then you feel like you can’t and stuff. You want to give things another try but you feel naïve for doing it, like in that Taking Back Sunday song: the truth is you could slit my throat and with my one last gasping breath I'd apologize for bleeding on your shirt. These guys just speak to my soul, and I think you should buy all of their cds (which I didn’t, I downloaded them… illegally!) I just don’t want to get hurt anymore because god knows what a tough life I have had already.
Oh! I just remembered what I wanted to tell you! I went to a costume party the other day, as Minnie Mouse, I mean, a lot of people told me how adorable I looked but I don’t know lol! Well no, I’m just being modest, I looked fucking amazing. I know it because a lot of guys talked to me that night, including this guy who was all like “hey, where are you from?” and I said “Mexico” and he was like “Are all Mexican girls as cute as you?” and I said “no” and he said “I really have a thing for Mexicans” and I was all like “of course you do” and I left. Lol. I’m normally not that mean but I was a bit drunk (don’t tell my parents, lol!) (seriously, don’t) and I’ve heard the same compliment like a 100 times, haha! (I hope that, as a teenager, I actually laughed every time I wrote I did, and not stare at the screen with the poker face I own today)
And well… I think that’s all I can think of right now. Bye!
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
My friend Muffin (you better remember her, she’s a sweetheart) has this little conviction based –mostly, but not entirely- on that excitement we developed by the time we become greedy bastards; the feeling you have the day before your birthday/Christmas/casual friday. She calls that anxiety of anticipation “the best part”; just like when you were about you unwrap your presents, when you had no idea what you were going to get, you just hoped for something awesome.
I mentioned that to British Man last night and, immediately, I was forced to spend 2 minutes and a half explaining myself (time we could have used discussing who was going to hang up first). I don’t agree with Muffin. The best part, for me, was playing with my new Barbie convertible. Howeeeeever, I do think there’s something really cool about anticipating… anything.
We wait impatiently for something we are getting in an hour, a day, a week… The amount of time doesn’t even matter, mainly because we just want to get it over with. There’s where I agree with Muffin (and with Schrödinger, I guess), we should appreciate the fuck out of that moment because, no matter what the gift turns out to be, the second before we were simply ecstatic.