Life, Rambles

UPKEEP

I literally have nothing to say right now. I think I’ll write up something about the new healthcare bill that was voted on and passed in the House today. It’ll go to the Senate next (and fun fact, it discriminates against people with pre-existing conditions like mental health, rape and post-partum depression), so I’ll educate myself on that.

But really right now I’m in the throes of graduation. I had my last class yesterday, and now all I have is a paper and several hours of graduation ceremonies before I’m unleashed upon the adult world. It’s…stressful to say the least.

I literally can’t think of anything else to say, but I wanted y’all to know that I didn’t forget. I might have quinoa tonight. That’ll be fun.

BYE.

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Source: Dailymotion // “I’m a college graduate and I expect the best!”

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Rambles

WALKING ON BROKEN GLASS

Written while on the Amtrak coming back into Boston

“I’m feeling faint from blood loss.”

I’m writing this on the train because when I get off the train, I’ll be trying to navigate through vast swathes of people back to my apartment. I’ll be walking right into the Boston Marathon—not into it, but like in it, ya know?—and once I get home, I’ll be getting cute so I can join in the festivities. That’ll probably end with me falling asleep at five p.m. and waking in a saliva-damp haze at 10 p.m., by which time the moment for blogging will have passed.

So now is best. I only have shitty Amtrak Wi-Fi right now, so I’ll have to upload this when I’m home, which brings us back to the original problem of the saliva-sleep. Whatever. C’est la vie.

Easter was this weekend, and if you don’t follow me on Twitter you didn’t see my hilarious retweets. I mean, I didn’t do anything except retweet something that someone else wrote that was hilarious, but still. Gary Janetti, a writer, had a series of tweets centered around “Jesus’ Gay Friend,” which is both the most hilarious angle to take and also skewers exactly how dramatic it is to gather all your friends for a last supper, fake your death and then resurrect a few days later. STUN.

Yesterday, after a large diner brunch, my mother, sisters and I were sitting outside, sweating in the heat at our patio table. We had fixed the umbrella that morning, making sure it was nestled in the brackets and flush with its cinder block base. The wind was blowing softly, and I was working on an article.

Suddenly, the umbrella flared as a gust of wind whipped underneath it. The pole, set so painstakingly in place by me and my mom, began to lift with the pressure. As the umbrella wrenched itself free, the glass table surrounding it broke into a thousand-thousand pieces and rained, tinkling, over my lap, legs and the deck. My laptop dropped to the floor, yanking my earbuds out of my ears with it.

Everything happened both so quickly and so slowly—silence deafened me as I stared dumbly at the glittering glassine chunks in my lap. Slowly, we moved away from the table. I lunged for my laptop and set it carefully on a nearby chair before picking up my iPhone off the ground. My LaCroix—Pamplemousse—could not be saved and was buried under essentially a sand dune.

“Are you cut?” my dad asked, brought outside by the deafening crash. “No, no,” I assured before I actually looked down past my shorts—dusted with glitter (glass)—and realized that my legs were scored with pinpricks of blood. I was the only one bleeding—blood dotting my slippers and beginning to run softly down my legs.

(At this point, the train pulled into the station and I was right—I didn’t finish it. It’s now 11:43 a.m. on Tuesday)

I stood, frozen in place, because every step led to slight pinpricks as the glass shards whispered, “I’m here!” It wasn’t the big chunks of glass in my slippers that scared me. It was those little shards that were tangled in my leg hair, or taking up residence in the folded-up cuffs of my shorts. My upper thighs were speckled with small lacerations and glittery little teeth—it was almost like the glass was saying, “Maybe if you weren’t wearing such short shorts we wouldn’t have cut you up here.” Being slut-shamed by pre-sand is never a good idea.

After I waddled away—having been combed over by the spout of a vacuum—and got changed, I then had to go out and help my family clean up the mess. In a blood-stained white t-shirt, gym shorts and big Timberland work boots, legs covered in dried blood, was the most masculine I ever looked, and will ever look. So I spent the rest of the afternoon of Jesus’ a-rising squatting, using a spackle to flick chunks of glass out from in-between slats of weather-beaten wood.

“I’m feeling faint from blood loss,” I joked from my deep squat, joking but hoping against hope that someone would be like, “Oh you should sit down!” No such luck.

So now I’m sitting in a glass-enclosed box of the law building, with a “I’m Healing Here!!” Band-Aid, a nail broken from where I stabbed myself with a fork while doing dishes, and numerous mental scars from being with family for any amount of time. So that’s fun.

I think the lesson here is 1) Never go home for a religious holiday weekend, 2) Don’t fuck with umbrellas, and 3) Never go outside. Bubble-boy it forever.

This was the worst blog post ever, but whatever, it’s done. HOPE YA LIKE IT.

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pop culture, Rambles, television

THE KARDASHIAN AQUARIUM

Written late. I’m going to blame this going up late on the time-change, which is not at all true but you’ll never prove that. I mean, I just admitted to it, but will that hold up in court? Unclear.

This morning (my morning, your mid-afternoon), while I bustled around getting ready (doing dishes in my towel because I’m using this weird in-shower tanning moisturizer because clearly I don’t know when to quit while I’m ahead re God’s choices for my body; making my bed; choosing what plain t-shirt to overwear today) I watched the season 13 premiere of Keeping Up With the Kardashians. It’s been, like, so long since it’s been on—and so much has happened since then, even though the premiere was probably filmed in late September—that I almost forgot what it was like to watch KUWTK.

For instance, I don’t even need to be paying attention. I was doing dishes while it played, because by now, I understand that what happens in the “Coming Up” segment is essentially all you need to know for the next portion of the episode until the following commercial break. Also, they speak so quietly that I had to put on subtitles, and when I wasn’t looking at it, I knew that they would be lying on their sides lithely, picking at their acrylics, wearing hoop earrings, that I wasn’t missing anything.

Watching the Kardashians is like going to the aquarium. The main reason you go to the aquarium is because the fish are pretty, and it’s a glimpse into a world that you would know nothing about otherwise. To live amongst the fishes, you must forgo oxygen. To live amongst the Kardashians, it’s kind of the same thing. I don’t have elaborate parties at Prime One Twelve in Miami for my personal assistant. I don’t occasionally drop into my New York brick-and-mortar shop.

By the by, the Kardashians should sell DASH to Nordstrom. To not to that would be so fucking dumb. Make like Topshop and put that shit in a department store. Pls.

I don’t arrange for four extra rooms in a luxury hotel for my NBA player boyfriend and his crew. I don’t have a crew.

For these reasons, amongst a thousand others, I watch the Kardashians. Kylie and Kendall weren’t in the episode at all (apparently Kylie is gunning for a Kyga reality show—because that worked so well with Khlomar) and Kris only popped up at the end to wear power blazers and talk about baking cinnamon rolls. My family is boring and not even we have conversations this boring.

But I watch, and in the moments where I’m not fluffing my duvet (not a euphemism) or picking a cologne (out of two options) I’m glued to the screen. There’s something so alluring about these people—like watching Galatea come to life and talk about beanies. They’re hyper-human; they’re hyper-beautiful; they’re hyper-rich. And the fact that they have the most mundane conversations is part of the appeal; that people with this much beauty, influence, wealth and power could actually be so boring. STUN.

I think what I’m most excited for (besides the Paris saga) is Blonde Kylie. I was a huge stan for Blylie, and every day I miss that blonde bombshell moment she went through. Best few months OF MY LIFE. Also, I just realized that months ago, I tweeted that if Kylie did not release a line of highlighters called “KyLighters” that everything she’d done would be for naught. And guess what!!! It’s not for naught because she released Kylighters!!!! I can’t believe I’m psychic.

Side bar—there was a point sophomore year that I was legitimately convinced that I was psychic and I truly believed I could predict the future. So maybe this is my second wind!

I like how all I thought to write about was the Kardashians and even with that, it’s taken me, like, an hour to get this far. Not all heroes wear capes though, because I’m managing to finish this 4 my fans. Actually, though, I totally would wear a cape—very chic. Although very fall.

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Source: Danny McCarthy// My current background

Is there anything left to say? I switched out my phone cases because “if I had to look at my clear phone case for another second, I would’ve flipped out” and that’s too extreme of a reaction to have about anything. My new one is silicone-y and says “Chill pills” which isn’t basic of me because, technically, I am on chill pills. It’s ironic and subversive. Fuck off.

I love my life. I love the Kardashians. I love cauliflower.

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Source: Twitter//Peep the time-stamp; who’s gonna tell my Twitter about Daylights Savings?

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Life, Rambles, Things Happening RN, Things I Like

THINGS I’M LOVING: SOMETHING TO PUT UP

I have nothing smart/funny to say, so let’s just talk about what I’ve been loving lately. Such a clever idea.

1). Who? Weekly

A podcast that I found from one of those “Best of 2016” (“best” being so, so relative, you guys). I’m so into podcasts, and I’m always on the hunt for new ones. Who? Weekly is dedicated to all the “who’s” in pop culture—celebrities without name recognition—where you have to go, “You know, they were in that (blank) with (more famous celebrity).” It’s surprisingly amazing, and I say surprisingly because I’m not a person who focused on the 99% of pop. I’m a 1%er. But the hosts are funny, and you’d be surprised as to who they see as Who’s.

2). Ryna (Rob + Chyna)

I never thought I would care so much about gingerbread houses. After all the drama between Rob and Chyna (supposedly to stir up interest in their baby’s E! special—how am I even saying these words??) I, and a friend/intrepid reporter, started looking into Kris Jenner’s gingerbread mansions. She has one in her house, and sends one to each of her clients/children. We were discussing the d.r.a.m.a. that Chyna wasn’t on the main house. I literally never thought I would be thinking this much about the least popular Kardashian. The amount of brain space I’m wasting on Robert. Shocking.

3). Beanies

I bought a bunch of beanies from Old Navy.

4). Jessica Jones

I was looking for something new to watch/binge, and I started watching Jessica Jones. The noir voiceovers turned me off at first, so I stopped after the first episode. But maybe it was Kilgrave controlling me, but I came back and devoured the next twelve episodes. Really good, semi-realistic portrayals of superhumans, and it had the faint tinge of “Have I seen this already?” and you probably have but it’s in the good way where you give it a chance. I’m not a ~nerd~ and even I liked it. I think I might even watch Daredevil because JJ isn’t coming back until 2018 (they’re doing a crossover miniseries in 2017)—omg who the fuck am I?

5). Bookz

I got a Barnes & Noble giftcard for Christmas, and I just requested a bunch of books from the library. Holla at governmental systems providing free content to its citizens!!!

I’m gonna start planning out blogs again. I think it’s the combination of mental fatigue, schoolwork and life, but I’m just drained. I think it’s just been a lot since the election; a lot of my fire has been dampened. But ya boi is gonna start writing about pop culture and politics and queer shit again, because THAT’S WHAT I DO.

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holidays, Humor, Life, Rambles, Things Happening RN

THINGS HAPPENING RN: I’M HOT

OH MY GOD.

I forgot that today was Thursday, so it’s 6:22, and I’m about to go to dinner (rich), so let’s see if I can bang this one out.

THINGS HAPPENING RN:

1). OLD NAVY

I just came back from Old Navy. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t really enjoy shopping as much as I used to. I used to go all the time when I was in high school and in my freshman year of college. It might be the restricted budget, or my “maturity,” but I’m starting to buy smarter (which means buying less, which is super-BLAH).

2). TELEVISION

I’ve been rewatching episodes of The Real Housewives of New York City. It’s arguably one of the best in the franchise, because those ladies are smart, but also crazy, so you’re getting laughs and drama. It’s also made me remember some of the better catchphrases/moments of the series. God, such laughs.

3). SKEWL

I left this semester with the harrowed breath of someone who just narrowly avoided being eaten by a velociraptor (ugh, Chris Pratt is so hot). As I was sitting on the Amtrak (rich, rich) coming home to Westchester (rich, rich, rich) I felt like I had just closed the chapter on such a shitty semester. It sucks because on some levels, it was amazing. I reconnected with some friends, I pushed myself out of my comfort zone, I LOST TEN (10) POUNDS!!!!!!!!!!!, and blah blah whatever nothing is more important than losing weight. But it was also SO hard school-wise, and as I’ve said before—I’m not used to having to work hard. When you look like I do (hot) and talk like I do (funny), you can really get away with a lot more than you might realize.

4). MUSACK

I’ve been listening to the Hamilton soundtrack. I’ve been listening to it so much that I referenced it in my essay for my Early American Literature Until 1860 class. I quoted that line from “Non-Stop” where Hamilton says that independence is messy. It was SUCH A FUCKING BOMB ESSAY, YOU GUYS.

5). DRINKZ

My sister and I made Moscow mules last night. I LOVE the idea of holiday (holigay) drinks, and so we went out and got supplies. It’s an amazing drink—the ginger beer is totally spicy and refreshing and masks the taste of vodka; the lime is delish; the mint is SO bourgeoisie.

6). BOOK

I had a great conversation with a girl/friend in my class (she’s both a girl and my friend BUT WE’RE NOT DATING) about fantasy books. I can’t think of a pseudonym for her RN, so I’ll just say friend. But I’ve been rereading Leigh Bardugo’s duology Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom. I’ve been sleeping horribly lately, fraught with rough dreams, so I’m trying to read and do low-eye-tiring activities before I sleep.

7). BOOK PT. 2

(really 6B) I requested a bunch of great books from the library. And by “great” I mean “trash” because during the semester, I read a bunch of nascent American literature, arts criticism and Shakespeare, so I’m decompressing with The Andy Cohen Diaries, some Kathy Griffin, and some teen fantasy-lit. GOD I’M SO NUANCED.

8). I’M HOT

I’m hot. I’ve been feeling SO SHITTY so I keep bullying people into complimenting me. That’s all.

IT’S 6:36 AND I FINISHED WRITING. WRITE IT DOWN; I DID IT!!!!!!

Bye.

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Mental Health, Rambles, Things Happening RN

STRESSED, UNSTRESSED

I’m stressed, and I need that to be okay.

I didn’t realize I was stressed until I was sitting in my psychiatrist’s office today. Emotion after emotion, thought after thought, rose up and spilled out of me like I was a cup in the sink overflowing from a tap that was left on accidentally. I was stressed, I was under stress, I was stress. My entire body was made up of the coiling gray wires that I envision stress to be.

I feel like it’s not okay to be stressed. We’re allowed to be “stressed” but not Stressed. We’re not allowed to be Stressed because we’re conditioned to believe it’s a symptom of not working hard enough. If you’re doing poorly in a class, it’s because you’re not applying yourself enough. If something fails in the romantic sense, it’s you. If you can’t find a job or an internship, it’s because you’re not striving towards it with enough vigor.

We’re allowed to be stressed but it must pass. It must be something that can be neatly dealt with. We’re not allowed to be weak with it, weak from it. And I’m weak from it. It’s breaking into my sleeping, my waking, my head.

I’m stressed about a lot of things. Some are personal and I’m not discussing. Some are classes that I just finished up, some are familial, some are the overarching overhangs of life after graduation. I’m stressed but I’m not allowed to be Stressed. Particularly about jobs. Millennials are classed as lazy. We’re not getting jobs because we expect things to be handed to us. We’re too addicted to our phones. We’re self-obsessed and expectant of praise.

We’re told that we need to be the best to get jobs, and even if we’re the best, that might not be enough. You need to get an internship. Already have one? You need one more. Then one more. It’s never ending. We’re also told that there are no jobs; that we’re fucked. So we’re fucked either way: if we work hard and don’t get anything, it’s because the job market can’t sustain us. If we work hard and don’t get anything, it’s because we’re too idealistic. We expect too much too soon.

So that’s making me stressed. I’m stressed that I just finished a class where I was told, over and over, that my career choices were not valid. That what I wanted to do was not realistic. That “real journalists” didn’t do what I did. What I do.

I’m stressed and Stressed and I’m hoping it’ll pass and I know that it will.

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Rambles, Things Happening RN

SUDDENLY I SEE

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Source: Twitter// Food for thot.

Yesterday I was trapped in a black hole of E! YouTube clips. It began with those two-minute house tours of various “celebrities”—B-list at highest—where the “tour” is just them opening the door, going, “Come on in” showing approximately two rooms in what is inevitably a 30-room house and some light panning that you have to pause the video for because the shots are so tightly sequenced together.

After watching that, I stumbled—“stumbled”—onto a video of four E! anchors discussing Chrissy Teigen’s alleged proposal to act as the surrogate for Kim Kardashian West. It’s kind of weird, given how cossested and incestuous the entertainment industry is, that they were discussing the reproduction habits of two people that they’ve probably met on several occasions. But that’s not the point of me bringing them up.

One of the anchors said that she could never be a surrogate for a close friend for the fearful responsibility. “What if you get into a car accident, and you’re carrying your friend’s child?” I never thought about it, but that paralyzing fear of carrying someone else’s most precious thing must be overwhelming.

But listen, I actually have a point about this.

Today, in Zen Meditation, we had our “final.” We had to push our shoes on and pair up. Once we were in our pairs, we learned what the final was. It would stretch 50 minutes. For 25 minutes, one person would act as the Communicator—eyes closed but allowed to talk. They would be led around by the Guide—eyes open but mute. After 25 minutes, they would switch. The catch is that, for the entirety of the 50 minutes, we had to remain in physical contact.

I was the Guide first, and had the task of leading someone around campus, where there’s trolleys rolling down the road and people and cars and cyclists—the banes of my existence. And for 25 minutes, I was Chrissy Teigen carrying the Kimye baby—which, if it ever happens, I still pray is named Ocean or Galaxy, because HOW BOMB would that be?? I was responsible for someone else, and I couldn’t even say anything. I had to led my partner in silence, guide her with subtle shifting in my arms and hands.

25 minutes suddenly becomes an eternity when you’re silently dragging a blind person around the streets of Boston. We sat on benches, touched branches, walked through leaves, grazed our fingers against plants.

It was actually harder for me to be the Guide than it was to be the Communicator. But not having sight and having no one to answer is a lot like therapy—ALL ABOUT ME. Here are a few things I said while I was blinded:

1). “Isn’t it crazy that butterflies have migration patterns ingrained in their DNA?”

2). “Are you going to push me in front of a car?”

3). “Are we walking up a hill? Wait. No.”

4). (intermittent shrieking as I think something is looming in front of me but it’s just the shadows from the branches above)

5). “Where are we going? Wait, you can’t answer.”

6). “If you could answer, what would your favorite drink be?”

7). “AhH! What was that?!” (a shrub)

8). “If we’re about to get hit by a car, feel free to yank me out of the way. I won’t get scared. I mean, I will get scared, but I’d rather shit my pants than get hit by a car.”

9). “Where are we?” (we haven’t moved)

10). (On stairs) “I could totally do it.”

11). (On you not expecting there to be no more steps and you overextend your footing) “Whoa!”

12). (On underestimating how many stairs are left on the way down) “Whoops!”

13). “I could see why people would be scared if a dog came up to them.”

14). “I wish I had a cane.”

15). “We walked past a fat guy sitting on the sidewalk smoking a cigar—I hope we don’t pass him again.” (Pause). “Omg are we walking past him right now?” (No answer, obviously). (Whispers) “Are we walking past him?” (Obviously, still no answer)

16). “This hill is really big. Or maybe I just think that because I can’t see.”

17). “What was that?!” (Upon hearing a car in the vicinity)

18). (On being able to track direction based on the sun’s movement) “We’re moving north. No. South. No, wait, north.”

19). (On the same train of thought) “Wait, does the sun rise in the east or the west? Fuck.”

20). (On thinking upon it for a little longer) “East.”

*****

In other nudes, I was trying to rip an ingrown hair from my beatific face, and now I have a thumbprint-sized bruise on my cheek, thus completely defeating the point of clearing my skin. It looks like I was hit in the face by a ping-pong ball.

Also, I had this Tweet last night, which got a shockingly large amount of play. Which goes to show you, I have no idea what is funny and what isn’t. Yen will it happen again? Get it?

Bye.

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