I have a beautiful video that relates the circular passage of life. Please watch this story of reincarnation told through stop motion face paint
I can feel it. It’s coming over me little by little. It’s the amount of space being occupied in my mind, slowly expanding evermore. What’s worse is that I can see it happening: once again a man has come into my life, and I have almost consciously made the decision to let him take over my thoughts, distract me from conversations and class lectures, and create fantastical outcomes of every scenario. You know it’s bad when I’ve decided that other men just aren’t as attractive, and I simply cannot help the fact that I”m immensely attracted to him; I want him. Just him.
But it’s always the same story: fall for him–fall hard–only to discover that he “doesn’t want a relationship right now/likes you as a friend,” lose self-esteem, make terrible mistakes, and continue in a downward spiral until another boy appears who will show interest and portray the kind of love you want to experience, only to begin the cycle again. Love is hard.
Unfortunately, I know that I’m mostly to blame. While I desire to be loved with an unmatched passion, it is immensely difficult for me to show that reciprocating love pent up within me. How to let him know your true feelings? For me, committing to someone is a big step. Once it’s done, the effort I put in is enormous. The problem is getting there.
At the moment, I can feel myself falling for another guy, and this time, I really want this to work. It’s bad enough that he’s constantly on my mind, or that his name on an unopened text message has the capacity to elate me for minutes without even having read it yet.
Having reread what I’ve written so far in this post, I’m almost embarrassed by the trueness of it all, and how much of an effect this man has on my life.
All in all, though, I’d rather live a life full of passionate emotions and experience love and loss as opposed to never loving at all.
So it’s officially that time of the term again where everyday I just want to ignore the world and crawl into my bed and watch sappy romance movies and drink hot chocolate. Each time someone asks “oh how are you doing?–you look really tired,” I have to suppress the urges to cry and punch them in the face. I want to pretend that this next week of school isn’t worth about 90-100% of each of my class’ final grades.
Almost every class I spend a solid 15 minutes deciding whether I want to go or stay home and sleep for more than the four hours that I managed to squeeze in the night before. My diet has turned to shit, and my social life is nearly non-existent; I find it the most rewarding and amazingly social thing to sit and have coffee with someone for 20 minutes. I just have to keep telling myself that winter break will be the most amazing break that I’ve yet experienced, and that I only have to get by the next two weeks with the torture of my final presentations and papers to reach that goal.
I’m only comforted by the thought that the pain I suffer now will soon be gone, I will be able to sleep as much as I desire, my friends who I’ve neglected all term due to business of schedule will see me again, those books that have been piling up on my bedside table begging to be read will be, and I can finally get into the holiday spirit with delicious foods and cheer.
BUT what am I doing here, typing this blog instead of my economics research paper on Quesnay’s theory of value as represented in the Tableau Economique? At least I have this grey and rainy day, Mozart’s requiem in D minor, and this cup of tea to relax and yet inspire me to continue with this overwhelmingly stressful workload for the next two weeks.
Here’s a blog post I wrote for my other blog, the PSU Chronicles!
If you’re like me, you aren’t old enough to experience the night life of Portland. It seems that everything after-hours requires an ID. So what’s there to do when you’re itching to get out, but you can’t get in to 21+ places? I prefer the following places which have excellent food and foster friendly and relaxing environments.
- Le Bistro Montage: (301 SE Morrison) located underneath the Morrison Bridge on the east side. Once you enter, it’s hard not to enjoy yourself in the dimly lit room with music blasting and shared community tables. And trust me, if you’re craving mac-n-cheese, this is the place to go. Everything they serve is delicious, and they always give away the most creative to-go packages.
- The Roxy: (1121 SW Stark) This 24hr joint has basically everything that you’d crave at 2 or 3am, minus alcohol and ice cream. It’s 15 minutes from campus, and…
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What if all women were bigger and stronger than you?
And thought they were smarter?
What if women were the ones who started wars?
What if too many of your friends had been raped by women wielding giant dildos and no K-Y Jelly?
What if the state trooper who pulled you over on the New Jersey Turnpike was a woman and carried a gun?
What if the ability to menstruate was the prerequisite for most high-paying jobs?
What if your attractiveness to women depended on the size of your penis?
What if every time women saw you they’d hoot and make jerking motions with their hands?
What if women were always making jokes about how ugly penises are and how bad sperm tastes?
What if you had to explain what’s wrong with your car to big sweaty women with greasy hands who stared at your crotch in a garage where you are surrounded by posters of naked men with hard-ons?
What if men’s magazines featured cover photos of 14-year-old boys with socks tucked into the front of their jeans and articles like: “How to tell if your wife is unfaithful” or “What your doctor won’t tell you about your prostate” or “The truth about impotence”?
What if the doctor who examined your prostate was a woman and called you “Honey”?
What if you had to inhale your boss’ stale cigar breath as she insisted that sleeping with her was part of the job?
What if you couldn’t get away because the company dress code required you wear shoes designed to keep you from running?
And what if after all that women still wanted you to love them?
— “For the Men Who Still Don’t Get It,” Carol Diehl
Before the madness of TangoFest hits, here’s a little somethin-somethin :)
Soooo… I’ll admit that I started strong with this blog, and then suddenly I kind-of fell off the radar and became consumed with my summer life.
Briefly, I had a couple of interviews, and I now work for a 50’s restaurant as a waitress, a blogger for one of my school’s webpages, and finally a news reporter for the PSU Vanguard. So I was able to find employment! The restaurant still hasn’t opened yet, and I don’t start the other two writing jobs until after school starts, so in the meantime I’m still stuck here not making any money…
Also, about a week and a half ago, one of my brothers left for college in North Dakota. I have to admit, it’s been lonely since my whole family left to help him move in a visit other relatives. I won’t be seeing him until December. It’s weird to think that he’s going to be gone for so long, when I’m so used to seeing him almost everyday. While they left for the midwest, I stayed here in Portland to watch my puppy who just had knee surgery and to finish my calculus class.
BUT! Now that I’ve been able to let that out…
I’ve been noticing a pattern recently: shorter-than-me, stranger-than-I-appreciate, and just not-my-type guys have been asking me out recently. All I can say is: if you have bigger boobs than me, and your height only reaches up to mine, then how am I supposed to find you attractive? Within the past month I’ve had to find my big-girl pants and just set it straight for them. There is something about men who are more then 2 inches shorter than me that creates an instant turn-off. Also, when they try to get me to get with them, they use lines like “hey why don’t you bake some cupcakes and come over and drink wine with me and give me a massage,” my interest starts dwindling REAL fast. Why on Earth would I want to caress your man boobs?! Eew. Again, instant turn off. The other best line I’ve heard was “oh, yeah I’m still kind of obsessed with this other girl, and it’s complicated, but maybe you want to grab dinner with me tomorrow?” Haha..no. Finally, if you are 27, and you can’t even hold a minimum wage-paying job for more than a month without getting fired, and your dream in life is to become a starving artist, please move on.
I think that I’m too nice. It’s hard for me to say no, because I like please people and to see them happy. But often times I say yes with the intention of saying no later, just so that I don’t have to hurt their manpride infront of someone, or so that I can come up with a more graceful and less demeaning way of saying “listen, I’m really NOT interested in you at all.”
How can I give off the vibe that I want a tall man, who is intelligent yet has an amusing (yet not too) juvenile sense of humor, and who is interested in going on adventures with me? If I have bigger hands than you, out weigh you by 50 pounds, and make you look like my son when I wear heels, then you are not my type. But yet, these seem to be the men that I attract…
A close friend of mine told me this last weekend that I need to “embrace my destiny” of being with a short man…but not if I can help it ;)
**not trying to sound snobby here. Of course everyone has personal tastes and preferences. And this is not to say that I immediately dismiss whomever approaches me who happens to be shorter, but it does kind of count as negative points towards them. It’s like this: if you’re short, I’ll still date you if you have a sparkling personality and make me laugh :)**
What a truly fantastic weekend! Every once in a while I’ll have an excellent weekend where I get to fulfill my need for social attention, creativity, adrenaline, and adventure. I began my weekend adventures by meeting a friend who had just returned from France for a year. We met at the Lucky Lab, which allows minors until a certain hour. There were quite a few other dancer friends there as well. The beer there was quite excellent, and I’m sure that with an ID I will return there again. Tragedy struck, however, once we were returning to our cars, and I realized that I had not only left the keys in the ignition, but I had also left the lights on and drained my battery down to about nothing. After a mild freaking-out moment, I came to see how awesome my friends are. Twenty five minutes later, those who are the slightest car savvy had somehow worked their magic to make my car work again, while the rest stood with me on the side lines for moral support.
With that behind me, two others joined me at the Hawthorne food carts, or “Cartopia.” Let me tell you, these food carts have been somewhat of a lifeline for those of us who are not quite old enough to partake of the true Portland night-life scene. They’re open to 3am, or something ridiculous like that, so most of my post-tango adventures usually involve stopping here. While I usually go for the Potato Champion cart, which has the best french fries (and poutine, chili fries, and the most delectable–and personal favorite–satay and raspberry jam combo), I was feeling the crepe cart, Perierra Creperie. I love the crepes, both savory and sweet, as well as their milkshakes. If you’re willing to spend on a food cart what you would at a real dinner, then I would more than recommend this fantastic cart. While I can’t quite ever seem to remember the name, it’s unmistakable with the techno blasting with possibly the most pretentious hipsters in all of Portland calling out names of the customers. I happened to order a crepe with peanut butter, honey, cinnamon, and banana, as well as a honey-lavender milkshake. Both were truly to die for. What I loved in particular about Friday night was the great company that accompanied me to the cart, and the late-night stroll through Ladd’s Addition that followed.
Saturday was filled with a picnic in the middle of beautiful Washington Park. The weather was 80 degrees and completely sunny, which was so pleasing. The perfect amount of people showed up, all bearing delicious home-made dishes that couldn’t taste any better on such a lovely day. We spent the time playing soccer and frisbee, gossiping, and indulging in the sweet concoctions prepared by everyone. Once realizing how sunburned we were, we left the soccer field and hiked up the hill to the Intl. Rose Garden. We meandered through the lovely roses, witnessed a wedding, and kept engaging conversation. I wished it wouldn’t end, but some people have other obligations to fulfill…
That night, an old high-school friend of mine was hosting a Peter-Pan themed costume 20th birthday party. The very closest thing I could muster up last minute was a blue ensemble to attempt to be Wendy, though it was obvious that I hadn’t seen the movie in such a long time. I appreciated the slightly juvenile aspect of dressing up in a childhood Disney character. I had also forgotten why this friend and I used to be so close, and a good time was had by all.
Finally, I woke up this morning slightly late for a coffee date with another RA friend that I just haven’t been able to hang out with recently. I loved that we both had so much to catch up on, and before I knew it, two hours had passed.
I just barely got back from watching Florence & The Machine perform at McMenamin’s Edgefield with my mom and sister. Florence is such a charismatic woman, with all of the usual charm of a British woman. I thoroughly enjoyed watching her perform live. I had never been out to Edgefield to watch a concert before, though overall I’d say it was a positive experience. I had forgotten to wear clothes that were warm, and spent the entire time under my sister’s blanket. It was worth it, though. The food was good, the music pleasing and entertaining, and the company good.
All I can say is: summer, you are wonderful.