Before Fall semester started I was working at the Barn one night, quietly passing the time before I could go home by reading a book. I saw out of the corner of my eye that a guest was leaving and I looked up to tell them good night. The guest, a gruffy man in his mid forties, took a toothpick from the small shot glass on the hostess stand and asked me what I was reading. I showed him the cover of the book and said; “I, Elizabeth by Rosalind Miles.” He looked at the cover, looking at me and said; “Oh lesbian poetry”. That encounter deserves a hearty WTF?!
Why is it that there is no middle ground for women? Time and time again I find that society views women as either virgins or whores with no in between. You just can’t win, because neither of the stereotypes are flattering and you can’t really claim that you’re a good girl that likes to have fun, because then you sound like a whore in denial. It’s really frustrating knowing that someone will only think of you as either a crucifix wearing prude or a slut that spends her weekends down on all fours.
I really hate to be sick. I’ve been sick all week and I’ve missed five classes, a Campus Comments meeting, a NaNoWriMo meeting, a chance to go roller skating, lasagna night at the Pub, and now I have so much work to catch up on that the only thing I can do is write a Myspace blog.
Back in the 1960s, when a music single was released it would take it weeks and sometimes even months to reach its peak on the singles charts. Nowadays, because of information at the press of a button and the click of a mouse, the first position that the single achieves after its release is most likely the highest that it will ever climb. This has been slightly skewed recently by the decision to count downloads of the single a week in advance of the physical release. But think of the metaphor behind this; the first week, the first meeting, the first anything is going to be the best it’s ever going to be and then it will slowly deteriorate from there. That’s really depressing.
The other day someone told me that I have great people skills.
Last night I started freaking out around two AM, which is a great time to freak out, by the way, because I thought that NaNoWriMo was almost over and I’m still about ten thousand words away from the minimum. I was overcome with worry that I wouldn’t be able to finish my novel and I would have to admit defeat. Then I got up this morning and realized that it’s only the 15th and I have half the month left, not to mention that I only have 10k left and I wrote over 10K on the first day of the contest.
The night I realized that I wanted/had to become a writer I cried myself to sleep. While watching the artistically bizarre antics of the writer Kay Eiffle in Stranger Than Fiction, I turned to Laura and chuckled; “that’s going to be me in ten years”, she laughed and responded; “I was thinking just what before you even said anything”.
Do you think that people back in the day had less issues (after all, ADD hadn’t been invented yet) or do you think that they were just quieter about it?
I don’t think I could ever become an alcoholic. It’s just too freaking expensive. I need to invest in some low cut tops, learn how to flirt and get creepy men at bars to buy me all the booze I want. Although getting a really good job so I can afford all of my lovely cosmopolitans would probably be a safer idea.
Sharon Wheatly was told that she was too fat to play love interest roles on Broadway. She lost forty pounds, slimed down to a size four and was then told that she was too ugly.
Does anyone else think that Amy, the character from Sonic: The Hedgehog, who is always perusing Sonic in silly, ineffective attempts to win his love and constantly being rejected, was named after Amy Dudley, the long suffering wife of Robert Dudley, who many think he had killed in an effort to make him a potential husband for Queen Elizabeth?
Sara Sidle is my favorite character on CSI. Her love for Grissom is so pathetically misplaced that it reminds me of my own attraction to men who are unattainable. In some ways it makes sense. Caring for someone that you could never be with is so romantically bittersweet and utterly safe. You can get all those warm fuzzy feelings, but you never have to actually do anything about them. In other ways, it just plain sucks, because you’re pining over someone who doesn’t care that you exist.
Introverts make up only 25% of the population. I am an introvert and damn proud of it. You can keep your parties and your loud music and I’ll sit here and read quietly.
I wish that MBC would teach a NaNoWriMo class. It would work really well during Fall semester. September and October would be spent getting characters, plot, and story line together, as well as learning some interesting tips for upping your word count and how to inject Dr Pepper directly into your veins. Then November would be a month of crazed writing, and the finished product would count as your exam. If you finish, you get an A. It would be so perfect.
My new tattoo rocks! It’s so cute and tiny and pink. As soon as it stops scabbing I’m going to get some pictures of it. This tattoo was total impulse, unlike all of my other tattoos where I had months, sometimes years, to mull over them. But I love it so very, very much. I’m still not used to having it, so sometimes I’ll look at my wrist, while trying to glance at my watch (which I used to wear on my left hand) and realize; oh yeah, there’s my little pink heart on my sleeve.
The other day, after a long session of NaNoWriMo-ing Sarah read a lime-scented (translation: sex scene) passage of my novel aloud to me Devon and Rin. It was so hilarious that I could not accurately describe to you exactly how hysterical it was, seriously, I was doubled over in laughter. One ironic part was that Sarah correctly guessed that the female lead was going to be strangled after her bout of passion. Ah, some people just know me too well. I’m working on composing another interesting part for Sarah to read.
I put a new background on my cell phone that says “Never make someone a priority when all you are to them in an option”.
My book count for this year is up to 63. I was going to try to read 100 books in 2006, but I don’t think I’m going to make it. Besides, if it was a serious goal, I would probably cheat and get bunch of children’s books out of the library instead of reading the hundreds of pages that make up the historical fiction novels that I’ve been plowing through.
My vision is twenty/twenty. I was so surprised to discover this, but on my last eye appointment, a post-surgery check up after my PRK surgery, the doctor told me that my eyesight is perfect. I’m even willing to grudgingly admit that weeks of pain and discomfort were worth being able to see twenty/twenty and never have to worry about glasses or contacts again. Although I’m still on 1-800 Contact’s mailing list.
Snood is such a great computer game. It’s so fun and so addictive. After a hard day it’s so nice to play Snood and just feel your brain drain of all thoughts except for whether to put this little yellow sun block and how many purple triangles you’re going to need to win.
Lily Allen is so awesome. Her songs are so funny and bitter and insightful and raw and real. I love her thick accent and her sharp lyrics and that she’s not afraid of sounding catty by penning a song about an ex-boyfriend who, er, came up a little short.
Why is it that our society glorifies and promotes ditzy blondes without anything to say while ignoring people who actually do things. There are doctors out there working on a cure for cancer, but who’s on the covers of magazines? Paris Hilton. A pointless “It girl” who has no talent to speak of and her entire claim to fame is a an inheritance and a homemade porno. Real, honest, struggling musicians are dying to get record deals to share their sound with the world, but who is getting signed? Katie Price. A glamour model who is best known for her oversized breasts, which were acquired after multiple surgeries. Talented, intelligent, insightful writers are struggling to get publishing houses to even look at their manuscripts, but who’s on the best sellers list? Pam Anderson, Nicole Ritchie, Paris Hilton, and Katie Price. They all barely literate, which didn’t stop them from collectively churning out paperback knockoffs of Jackie Collin’s writing style a few pointless autobiographies. Seriously, what real author has twelve pages of photos in the middle of their fiction novel? None.
What would happen if there was a sudden violent backlash again society’s obsession with being skinny? Instead of trying to make girls thinner and thinner, all of a sudden being overweight would be attractive. They would advertise for chocolate cakes and TV dinners, thin girls would be mercilessly teased in middle school. Deb, the Gap, Rue 21 and Rave would go out of business and Layne Bryant and Catherine’s would dominate the clothing market.