on thinking too much.

There are times when we can't help but play the what if game because really, that's what life ends up to be. What if I never met him, what if you never hung out with her, what if you never started smoking those damn cigarettes. And we can't help but think a little abstractly in these settings. It is here where we define anxiety and here where I feel myself the most nervous because you remind me it's not all black and white. We go on pretending that it's always black and white, trying to deny that our every reality isn't gray. And you make me so sad. Your beautiful thoughts and me on the cusp of tears, feeling tense in that situation where you just know that you and the other person are just about to kiss. I laugh so hard at this, the contradiction we are with our chapstick and gum. We stare out at what we're calling the fifth dimension, the linear time line, the near cataclysmic disturbance that can happen at any moment because we know that there is no system, the universe is indifferent and beyond the facade we're both so brilliant at upholding the truth is, it's not based on philosophy or our theories or the paths we didn't take in life; we're both just fucking scared of getting old.

po po shut us down.

some days are just shit. and you care too much despite wholly knowing that you will only be disappointed in the end. the music you listen to is generally sad and even more so when you realize every lyric to every song relates to your current state of being completely pathetic. and maybe you feel like you wasted two and half years of your life, like not only feel but realize you really really wasted them and to what avail? TO FEEL LIKE SHIT.

but then, and to quote the always truthful jenny lewis, you find your silver-lining.

thank you, ivy wisner. you are my silver-lining today and saved me from crying in public and left me laughing til my sides ached.

love you butch.

best friends, juxtaposed.

"I'll be at your house in five minutes" means "I won't even leave mine for ten (at the minimum)."

Adventuring means ending up at the same park we've gone to for four years.

"Remember that text I sent you when we were both drunk?" means "Clarify what text and which time."

A fresh box of cigarettes that will presumably be chain smoked means one of us better have a lighter.

"Pre-(insert boyfriend/girlfriend's name) or post-(insert boyfriend/girlfriend's name)" means we've been friends longer than the length of all our respective relationships combined.

Coffee outings mean that the baristas already know our names and drinks.

"Let me catch you up on my life" means "Let me tell you about my most recent failed love venture."

Summer means that we'll see each other tomorrow and every day after.

aubrey logic

I always seem to come up with some elaborate scheme when asking my parents permission/advice/financial support on something. When I was twelve I told my dad this was my "quirky charm," now it's probably just manipulation or as it's recently been referred to as, a form of Aubrey Logic.

Last summer when I wanted to take a Woodstock-like adventure with a group of stoner boys the conversation went as so: "So we (one of three stoner boys was present to lessen the chance of mom saying no) have an offer you can't refuse."

This time around I'm thinking: "So I'm twenty and though I sometimes live in your house, how much control do you really have over me?"

Wish me luck.

that one time i wrote a brilliant philosophy essay based on an episode of rugrats and only three minutes of studying.

So I'll be the first to admit that I absolutely hate philosophy or "Phil" as I refer to him as. I mean, really, philosophy wouldn't be around if it weren't for a bunch of idiotic white men with nothing better to do with their time than to come up with lame theories on how I'm not a human being or am secretly attracted to my father (hence the appropriate pronoun). But anyway, I guess my hatred for Phil stems from both the fact that I don't really understand the subject but also, I don't even want to understand the subject.
So there I am every Tuesday at 8 freaking a.m. in discussion with my TA whom absolutely hates me and a bunch of eggheads whom are more than likely taking this class in their spare time. And you know how teachers will give a student a pseudo-pensive "hm...okay" if a student doesn't answer a question correctly or if they are not satisfied with said student's response? Well TA does that to me after EVERYTHING I say. And participation for this class is twenty percent of our overall grade so I have no choice but to make up some bullshit solely to not fail this course. (But realistically, the probability of at least one of my answers being correct can't be zero, which is why I'm completely certain TA hates me.) Meanwhile, Trevor* will follow up my lackluster answer with something insightful, leaving TA and the rest of the class believing that every word that falls from Trevor's mouth is gold, and maybe it is--Trevor's nothing short of brilliant but he's also one of the most attractive men I've ever come into contact with which must count for something. So there's TA at the front of the classroom applauding Trevor, writing what he said on the board and basically telling Trevor to bend over right there so TA can kiss his ass.
Though admittedly I should probably not be so apathetic and make more wise choices but when S is home and there's coffee to drink and havoc to be wrought, of course I'm going to chose that rather than study for the next day's midterm. S and I both agreed that Phil is DUMB and I should just write DUMB for every answer on the midterm. But you see, I may do what I want when I want but that doesn't mean I don't feel guilty for doing so (and I really do care a lot about doing well in school). So I got home around midnight and logged into Youtube, typed Kant in the search box and stumbled upon the most brilliant and lifesaving three-minute video ever. It was like everything Trevor ever regurgitated so eloquently was compiled into a short, Microsoft Paint-made video with some weird voice explaining what I taught myself to hate. And so this was all the studying I needed.
I went into midterm feeling pretty confident having remembered everything that video taught me. I breezed through the key terms and short answers section and finally got to the essay portion where we were to pick one of three essay choices. I chose the second because it related to all the examples of the three-minute video but also...to an episode of Rugrats?

For some reason I will never forget this episode where Chuckie commits some moral wrong and is guilty and keeps repeating "If a promise you can't keep, it will haunt you in your sleep and as you lie beneath your quilt, you will feel a conscience full of guilt." I was probably about seven when I saw that episode but that silly rhyme has stuck with me ever since. Combined with my Catholic guilt and this is what I think has prevented me from lying throughout my life (well, at least reducing the amount I lie...or at least feeling guilty about the amount I lie). And so I was super stoked to finally be able to use Rugrats in a practical situation and I wrote this awesome essay about Chuckie and how he embodies Kantian philosophy and I'm 99.9% certain I aced this midterm.
So in conclusion, you know how people can "like" really stupid situations on Fbook these days? Well, if I could I would like "that one time I wrote a brilliant philosophy essay based on an episode of Rugrats and three minutes of studying."
Anyway, now I'm gonna go subjectify my body and sell my soul for the sake of science and a hundred bucks!

*Name has been changed to protect the innocent and maintain my secret crush.

save some face, you've only got one.

Favorite lines from last night:

"When we get home we''ll Facebook stalk him so you can realize how unattractive he is."

"He's doing nothing with his life and on the path to destruction. Of course he's an Aubrey boy."

also,

"Urban dictionary the palabra chubs!"

and having a preconceived notion of what it means, at three in the morning i did just that. and i was horrified.

[p.s. there would be a picture included to illustrate the above boy in indication but when i went to sneak a pic, the flash went off super bright so i aborted mission and hid my phone as quickly as possible.]

breaking hearts and taking names.

Or as Ives suggested, "I met my match and I wish you the best of luck."

And now back to the previously scheduled program of Friday evening super workouts, phone conversations with baby cousin, procrastinated news articles, 12-2 am naps and my personal favorite, eating dark chocolate alone in my bed.

and let's face it, no self-respecting man reads Twilight.

if life is really as short as they say, then why are the nights so long?

1. Childlike notes under my bed, I unravel and read all old promises;

most are broken and rusted and gone, what is forever, anyway?

Maybe we have already lived a forever and a half,

you and I, made of old hearts and young minds.

‘Love’ was never so overused; it was kept safe and protected,

Like a tiny bird in a golden cage; our hearts stayed within our ribs;

our fragile chests with no lock or key.

I did not know that I loved, but I did, oh and how so;

the color yellow, the middle swing, the sound of cars on lonely days-

Their effects on me are ghostly now; provoking only a faint blush of my heart.

but more important than all of these things?

The knowledge that we were happy and will be again, soon enough.

2. Memories do not scare me anymore, you see--

I’ve learned to remember without the fear of bittersweet nostalgia overwhelming my all.

They are not to be forgotten, and they are not to hurt;

they are placid and peaceful now.

The shadows are not so dangerous nor the nights so troublesome.

Insomnia is no longer scary for these secrets no longer consume me;

I wrap them up in sheets of opaque paper,

I tie bows of silk ribbons upon these ghosts.

The monsters under my bed are not harmless, you see,

but they rip me to shreds no longer.

My loneliness these nights may still be long-lived

but tell me, whose isn’t?

And it’s a strange thing to be able to organize folders I’ve been meaning to for months, to unfold pieces of paper that were once so cherished and 4’6” still shots that are no longer meaningful but are simply the blend of a boy, a girl, and colors as faded as the promises they once stood for. I see the happiness in the girl’s eyes as she clings to a boy who seems so hollow and abstract now. And I feel like I should cry--for the love, for the loss, for the fact that I always tend to be so damn dramatic. But my tears can’t reach the surface no matter how hard I strain my eyes and for the first time in a long time…no anger, bitterness, sorrow, longing.

For the first time in a long time I feel nothing. And for this, I am ecstatic.

what an almost-year of being noncommittal has taught me

I don't like needy. The more you leave me alone the better. I hate strings attached. Emotionally unavailable? That's a plus. Oh and if you have a girlfriend that's even better. I like texting but I don't want to have a continuous twelve-hour text dialog with you. Though I appreciate and enjoy the kind gesture, I don't want to be treated like a princess or placed on a pedestal. I'd rather that energy be put into a collective effort of training for a marathon together or volunteering at a soup kitchen (which, if a boy ever suggested any of those two activities, I would automatically be in love with him for life). I like pretty clothes and my nails are always painted but I'm not afraid to get dirty. Paying for my own burrito at dinner turns me on, as does driving my own car and not being chauffeured everywhere.

This knowledge, these preferences have been gained through experience with four males in particular. And yes, it's occurred simultaneously but unlike one of my best friends, I had no intention of "committing" in 2010. I hoped that singledom, or my liberation, so to speak, after three years of being dedicated would allow me to discover myself and whatever else those self-help books teach one about love, loss and moving on. I wanted to explore new activities, new people, redefine what is important in my life (yeah, I admit I read those self-help books). So this is what I've discovered.

I've currently reunited with a boy who six months ago hated my guts (for trivial reasons) and never wanted to speak to me again (though we spoke though friends of friends?). We click because we share mutual fondness for Mario Kart, daytime drinking, Panera, music and books. He smokes enough to either support Marlboro single handedly or spread lung cancer to an entire African village (take your pick) and has humor dry enough to leave my skin itchy and cracking for days (he also appreciates my lame puns and analogies). Bottom line: he's badass and treats me like relative shit.

I've been talking to another guy who either has no friends, has no life, or is completely in love with me though we met just a month ago. He is needy in every sense of the term and treats me like his personal Twitter account with updates on his meal choices and what he learned in class, complete with good night/morning texts EVERY SINGLE DAY (curse unlimited texting plans). He's sweet, funny and charming but my god dude, I also have homework, friends, attend social functions, talk to my mom, and eat food...every day. You do too? That's so cool.

There's another guy who, if possible, would give me the world. He comes up with the most far-fetched, yet amazing date ideas that I'm sort of a bitch to complain. He insists on driving an hour to see me and won't let me pay for anything (even if I'm playing the fake reaching for my wallet situation). When I was a budding feminist in eighth grade, and how this contradiction functions I'll never know, all I wanted in a boyfriend was a guy who would open doors for me, pay for my meals, etc. yet I believed in and supported the solidarity of womanhood by hanging a poster of Rosie the Riveter and defending Hillary Clinton's pantsuits. The somewhat wiser and more educated fourteenth grade me still believes in these ideals (to an extent) but for some reason I find this knight in shining armor's chivalry completely obnoxious.

The fourth gentleman in this situation falls under the unavailability phenomenon. There was a strong attraction upon first meeting him and when I learned that he was in a relationship, I was even more determined. Determined in what, one asks? I'm not really sure. Flirting? Breaking up his relationship? Whatever the case, (here's where Ives would refer to Aubrey Logic/Aubrey Games) I devoted the first three months of my life at a new university to hanging out with him whenever possible, taking up his free time and reveling in the fact that he would never be mine. Granted, he and Her (the other woman is always referred to as "Her") didn't work out. When this happened I generally lost interest. I pretended to comfort him on an In-n-Out run at one in the morning but I wasn't really feeling sorry for him, I was more pissed off that he was no longer my unattainable token. Since then, we've remained friends and see each other frequently. I called him one night last week to see if he'd like to see a movie but he denied. He's preparing for the MCATs. So the new woman is MCAT? I'm in, let the games begin.

So by now I probably seem like a selfish psychotic bitch. That's arguable but I remain firm in my half-joking motto of "too young for morals." I'm twenty now; I've entered what they call the 20s, a decade of celebrated one-night stands, drunken bar fests, and complete self denial of the fact that once one enters her 30s she's officially old and better have her shit together, get married, pop out a couple youngins, and exercise eight hours a day so her sugar daddy won't leave her for a twenty-something. And I guess the point of this really is a narcissistic, completely absurd shout out to my future lover saying, please ditch me every now and then for your friends, acknowledge my ability to drive a car and pay for a meal, respect my sense and love for freedom but don't take it as me not needing you, indulge my bro tendencies but also know that I'm kind of archaic and would love nothing more than to throw an apron on and bake for you and that my ideal routine activity involves picnics at the park and reading you passages from The Sun Also Rises.
Furthermore, I'm enjoying myself, my life and gaining experience that reinforces my promise of never marrying. Of course sometimes I get lonely and want that male counterpart to wake up with in the morning but I have Best Friend to get drunk with/get high with/take aimless drives with/eat with/study with/be a weirdo with or whatever else I'm missing. And if he happens to ditch me for another friend (god willing) I know I have like five other bests, the Parisians, who have and will cheer me up.

a list of "things" i like more than the average person.

list compiled while on a bus to and from san diego with a gaggle of environmentalists between bursts of eating dark chocolate-covered pomegranate seeds, reading Marx's commie manifesto, and sleeping off a hangover (okay, so i kind of spent this entire weekend drunk and/or hungover but really, no matter how academic a college student conference may seem, there are always festivities afterward)

1. mundane hygiene activities, most specifically eyebrow tweezing, teeth flossing, pumice stoning my skin.

2. taking vitamins. i'm up to six daily right now, all serving individual purposes.
3. getting really ridiculously sweaty. (gym-wise, of course)
4. making my steps match the beats to music when walking to class.
5. Target.
6. pretending that i hang out with Shaun White and photoshopping myself everywhere with him.
7. coffee.
8. peanut butter and apples.
9. Fellini
10. lazying at parks.
(11. and now composting)

oh p.s. SD is beautiful this time of year.