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First Date

This is a story I submitted to the Shouts & Murmurs section of The New Yorker. They didn't want it, I'm just too funny for them I guess. I don't normally post fiction on this blog but I like this piece a lot. I hope you all do too!

Again, I repeat, this is FICTION.

First Date

Ugh, I would do anything to not have to go on this date right now. I am such a loser. Why am I such a loser? If I wasn’t such a loser, I probably wouldn’t still be going out on dates and I’d be in a relationship by now. I just know how it’s going to go. But, of course, there is that small chance that this could go differently than the plethora of other failed dates I’ve been on. But it is such a small chance. Is it really worth all of this effort and all of this pain? And if this guy were the one, wouldn’t I be excited right now? I’m not saying I believe in love at first sight (which, yes, I really hate to admit that I do believe in). But all I’m saying is, wouldn’t I have a better feeling about this?

I can’t take another guy trying to impress me. I’m not saying the whole playing hard to get theory is true (which it is, but that’s not what I’m saying). I just want to be challenged. If another boy tells me I look pretty, I am going to vomit. On him. It’s just so fake! What, is he going to tell me that I look ugly? But even that would be a nice change. A surprise. I want to be surprised! Not by flowers or in that kind of way. Dating has become so predictable. So boring. Guys are so worried about trying to impress me that they forget to be themselves. Oh, I’ve spent all this time worrying and now I’m going to be late. What should I wear? I mean, I still want to look good. He could be the one.

Ok. Here we go. He’s here to pick me up. Picking me up. What century is this? If he holds the door open for me I’ll puke. I wonder what kind of car he drives. Not that it matters. I don’t need a guy who has a lot of money. I plan to support myself. Feminism. But I mean, it will say something about him. If he drives a hummer I’m turning around. I don’t need to find out what he is overcompensating for. Or anything with rims. I’m not exactly sure what rims are but they sound too flashy. Alright, normal car. I approve. Do we hug? Shake? Why am I so awkward? Hi, how are you? Oh, I look pretty? That’s so nice of you to say… so unexpected. Awkward silence. This is going great. What do we talk about? So… where are we going? Oh, sushi? I hate sushi. Great, I love sushi. At least now I won’t have to worry about eating too much. I think I have a milky way in my fridge. Now that’s all I can think about. I would do anything to not have to sit through this dinner.

You know how sometimes you think about something in your head, you build it up and then you think you know how it’s going to end? Let me tell you, this was better than I thought it would be. The swirls of chocolate and caramel together were really heavenly. I must be drunk because that was the best thing I’ve ever had. Or maybe it just seems that way compared to the disgusting sushi from earlier. I can’t believe I had to sit through that awful dinner with that awful guy just to come home and do exactly what I could’ve been doing all night. What’s the point in even going? I give up. They say you find him when you aren’t even looking. So from now on, I’m not going to look.

I can’t believe it’s been two days and he still hasn’t texted me. And I’m not texting him first. No chance. I don’t understand, I thought the night went really well. I’m not going to go there and say that he could be the one, but you never know. I’m very thrown. He probably wants me to text him. Which I’m not going to do. I had a great time but if he didn’t like me then it’s his loss. Even if I wasn’t my most fun self, I still looked good. Something must be wrong. Maybe he lost my number. Or his phone broke. That’s what happened, he lost his phone! Or something worse. Maybe something bad happened. Now I’m worried. He was so nice. Almost too nice. He would’ve texted me by now. If something bad happened, I don’t want to seem like the bitch who didn’t text him. I should probably text him. Just in case.

Oh wait, he just texted me. He wants to hang out tonight. I just saw him two days ago. It’s a little bit soon... a little bit desperate. I’ll respond later, maybe.

Permanently Hungover

I’m a nice person. I really am. Not necessarily a good person… but still a nice person. Yes, I am easily annoyed. And yes, I hate talking to people when I don’t want to be. But I don’t think that makes me a bad person. But I just went out to lunch.  As the hostess showed me to my table, she smiled and tried to make small talk. Because of this niceness, I conversed with her and forced myself to smile back. Sometimes one is just not in the mood to chat about nothing. Then the same thing happened with the waitress. Answering the same dumb questions over and over when all I want to do is to be left alone. But clearly now I sound like a bad person again. I’m not allowed to say that I don’t want to talk to random people and pretend to be in a good mood all the time. That’s not socially acceptable. Even though I'm pretty sure everyone secretly agrees with me.

But the other night I did something pretty rare. I went out. I’m not a big drinker, I don’t go out very often and when I do I usually leave decently early. I’m what people call “boring” or “a loser”. And those things are just to my face. I’m don’t even know what they say behind my back. But the other night I did it. It started with a glass of wine, or two. Then we ran out of that so we moved on to whiskey. We had nothing other than seltzer water so I tried it. I loved it. Once we got to the bar, I ordered my new favorite drink: whiskey soda. I sipped on this for a while. I think I had more than one. It’s really hard to remember now. On our way out, we decided that tequila shots were a good idea. Note to self: tequila shots are never a good idea on the way out.

Walking back to my friend’s apartment, we passed a cool speakeasy type bar that none of us had been to yet. Someone decided it was a good idea to go in for a drink. Probably the same person who suggested the tequila shots. I ordered a tequila drink. I chugged down this sugary margarita concoction…

Cut to: the next morning. Two advil and three bottles of water later, my head was still pounding, it hurt to move and all I wanted was fries. I basically wanted to die. But fries seemed more important than dying so I forced myself up and met my friend out for breakfast. She was in just as bad shape as I was. We looked like shit.

We chugged coffee and water and I ordered a hamburger and fries (at 9am). Did I mention this was a weekday? People from the wait staff were coming over to me to compliment “my style”. Nobody tried to talk to us for too long because it was very obvious how hung over and miserable we were.  When you’re hung over, you might as well have a giant sign around your neck that says ‘leave me the fuck alone’. Thankfully, everyone has been in this position before so you don’t need one. It’s universally understood.

Despite our awful appearance, disheveled hair thrown on top of our heads, sunglasses hiding our puffy makeup-less faces and baggy sweatpants from head to toe, the fact that we were in the worst mood possible, wanting nothing to do with anybody, and that we were stuffing our faces like animals… we somehow still seemed cool.

If I was completely sober this morning, after a great night’s rest, I could not get away with stuffing my face like an obese woman, wearing sunglasses inside and wanting to be left alone. I mean I could still do it but I’d be a bad person. I realized that being hung over is the only socially acceptable excuse to act like a bitch and get away with it.

So from now on, consider me permanently hungover.

The Unofficial Guide To Being A (Modern Day) Lady

1.     Get off your phone and talk to the people around you. You can text your friend later.

2.     Meet new people. You might learn something.

3.     Be open to new experiences.

4.     Travel.

5.     Have an opinion. Read more. Be knowledgeable. If you don’t have one, read some op-ed pieces. Making ditzy comments about politics is not cute. It’s not attractive to be dumb.

6.     Put some more clothes on. Showing your boobs and your butt will not get you a second date. Or any respect.

7.     Don't talk if you have nothing worthwhile to contribute.

8.     Exercise. Not for your appearance but for your self-esteem. It’s important to feel good in your own skin.

9.     Always offer to pay. If he insists, that’s his prerogative. But always offer.

10. Don’t curse. It’s not cute or classy.

11. Have ambition. Other than finding a man. Live your own life and do your own thing.

12. Stop idolizing celebrities.

13. Be successful. Don’t rely on other people.

14. Have a sense of style. But you don’t have to Instagram it everyday. I know you think its fashion blog worthy. It’s probably not.

15. Stop being so insecure. Confidence is attractive.

16. Have interests, passions and goals. Do something outside of work and getting drunk on the weekends.

17. Don’t drink too much. It’s annoying and your friends don’t want to deal with it. Blacking out isn’t cool after college.

18. If there’s something you don’t like about yourself, change it. Don’t just complain all the time and pity yourself.

19. Have friends. Appreciate them. Be a friend in return.

20. One real friend is more valuable than a group of seven girls that you pre-game with.

21. Always keep the ball in your court. Take control over what you want.

22. Being a slut does not get you respect. From them or from you.

23. Eat. We’re not fun when we’re hungry. Obsessing over weight is annoying. And you’re the only one who can notice the difference. Learn to be comfortable in your own skin.

24. Laugh more. Learn to see the humor in things. Especially when it comes to yourself.

25. Stop being obsessed with other girls. They’re not as cool as you think they are. Learn to love yourself.

26. Be cultured. There is a museum in your city. Go to it.

27. Stop gossiping and judging other people. Why do you care? Worry about yourself. You’re not perfect.

28. Get off Facebook. Once a day is enough. There is nothing that important happening in other people’s lives that requires you to check it five times a day.

29.  Stop taking selfies.

30. Most of all, be yourself. Don’t worry about what other people think of you. Be who you are and own it. Even if it means disregarding numbers 1-29 on this list.

Commitment Issues

Earlier this year, my younger sister Rachel bought a cat. Even though my family and I didn’t think it was the best idea for a sophomore in college to have a pet, we didn’t say anything. Well, I did, but not as much as I wanted to. The cat was adorable, so eventually we all were happy she had it. But then, in the way most people describe the addiction associated with getting a tattoo, she decided she needed a second cat. She went to the shelter and already knew which cat she wanted, no, needed. Why a 19-year-old girl in college needs one cat, let alone two, is beside me. My parents said absolutely not, no more cats. I told her that having one cat is already kind of weird and two cats is just asking to be called a cat lady. (We also have a cat at home).

Being the youngest child, she doesn’t know how to accept no for an answer. She needs to get her way. I think it’s a blessing and a curse. So she went and bought the cat. My parents threatened to cut her off and stop paying for college if she got the second cat. But too late, she already had it. She was in love. There was no way she was giving up this poor little thing that she bought from the shelter. In a similar fashion to a tattoo, if you wanted her to get rid of it you’d have to physically remove it from her body.

Something important to note is that she bought this kitten with the money that my parents have just threatened to stop giving her. She was in a bit of a pickle. What to do? I told her what any big sister would have told her, “If you had just listened to me in the first place, none of this would have happened.” So in typical little sister fashion, the only solution she could come up with was to ask me to fix it. She wanted me to take her cat. That way she could still see him and play with him and potentially steal him back one day and she wouldn’t really have to give him up.

After this story you might get the impression that I hate cats. But I actually love cats. Most of my bitterness from before most likely stemmed from jealousy. So Rachel started begging me to take her cat. She’d send me pictures of this tiny little thing, day and night. (He's pretty damn cute.)

She’d tell me all of the reasons why a cat would be perfect for me.  Before I knew it, I was really considering the idea of taking her cat. Even though I did feel as though I might be betraying my cat at home. I’m incredibly indecisive, so I started asking what other people thought. My mom said a cat might be good for me. Some companionship. My roommate was all for the idea, she had never had a cat. (She recently learned that she is highly allergic… so that would have been an interesting twist to this story.)

But a cat is a commitment. I can’t just get up and travel around the world if I have a cat. I plan to move to Paris in the semi-near future. Which, of course nobody believes that I’ll actually go. So now I might have to go just to prove everybody wrong. Would I bring this cat? My sister promised me that if I moved to Paris, she would help me out and take care of him for me. She is such a supportive sister. But more realistically, how would I go home for a weekend to visit my family? I went back and forth on this issue for a day. Two days. A week. Everybody in my office gave me their opinions: “Get a dog”, “I hate cats!”, “you are pretty and young, you do not need to get a cat. That is very weird”, “oh it’s so cute. Get it!”. All very helpful.

Finally I concluded that having a cat is a big responsibility and there is too much I want to do in life right now to have such a responsibility. I finally had to tell my sister that I was sorry but I just couldn’t take her cat. She got very angry at me and told me, “you have commitment issues!” I found this very interesting. I started thinking…

Over the past 6 years, I’ve lived in four different places. I grew up in New Jersey, went to school in Michigan for two years, moved to New York City for two years, then I recently moved to Los Angeles almost a year ago. I’m not exactly sure why I move around so much. Every time I moved I had a reason to leave. I left NJ for college, I was so miserable in Michigan I would have killed myself if I stayed another second, and I came to LA because I want to work in film. But every time I left I was also just very bored and ready for a change. I get bored very easily. Maybe I do have commitment issues? This might also describe why I’ve never been in a real relationship. Fascinating. My sister might be on to something.

But as I sit and write this, there is a girl sitting next to me on her phone. And sitting next to her is a very attractive man. I don’t mean like kind of good looking and put together the way most people here in LA are. I mean, a drop dead gorgeous Italian man who looks like some sort of angel. The type that would treat you nicely, wine and dine you, speak in Italian and be a version of every girl’s fantasy. He’s really not my type. Not the point of the story though. So the girl sitting between us over hears his conversation with his friend saying that he is a hairdresser. She politely interrupts his conversation to interrupt and ask if she heard him directly, is he a hairdresser? He says yes he is, right across the street. She works on this street as well. And what a coincidence, she really needs to get her hair done! She asks if he has a card, which he does not. She says that she just moved here and has been looking to find someone to cut her hair and didn’t know where to go. She is pulling the damsel in distress, lost in translation, help me I’m lost line. Before I know it he is putting his number into her phone! It worked! I am very impressed.

And suddenly I remember why I move around a lot. Why I love moving to new cities. Being new to a city is a very overlooked kind of super power. It’s a conversation starter. It’s an excuse to not be cool and not have friends and not go out a lot. “Oh, well I just moved here, so…” If I lived in a place for ten years my life would be considered sad and pathetic. But by leading the same life in a new place, suddenly the same exact life becomes exciting and interesting.

Plus, after living in a place for two years, everything becomes comfortable. Nothing is new. That’s no fun. Are there some underlying commitment issues here? Possibly. But I’m still young so it’s allowed. When you’re young, you can be bat-shit crazy but it’s still somehow charming and cool. At least that’s what I tell myself. But now all I can think about is sitting in a coffee shop in Paris, nibbling on a croissant and telling the beautiful man next to me that I would love it if he would help me learn French (I’m not going to let just anybody cut my hair, no matter how beautiful he might be).

blonde?

It has recently come to my attention that Emma Stone (not Emma Roberts.. I always get those people mixed up) who is the redhead that was in Superbad and Easy A.. is not a natural redhead. Apparently, when she was cast in Superbad she had blonde hair, then Judd Apatow had the idea that she should dye her hair red. I guess to make it more realistic that Jonah Hill could get her? Redheads have a really bad rep. Anyway, she dyed her hair red, really liked it and decided to keep it. Now she is unique for having red hair and has therefore become famous. It's hard to even imagine her with blonde hair. Go Judd Apatow.

Similar story. Turns out Sofia Vergara was blonde before she was in Modern Family. Google it, I swear. She dyed her hair brown so she could fit the "Columbian" stereotype. And look at her now. Famous and gorgeous. Looking back on her with blonde hair is just borderline uncomfortable.

Both people who had blonde hair.. dyed it.. and are now successful. Really makes you think.

I have blonde hair. My whole life my mother has refused to let me dye it. I know what you're thinking. Why does your mother not want you to be successful? Good question. I don't know. She told me that if I dye it I will never get my color back. So that scares me. That's a giant commitment. I don't like the words never or forever. I can barely make plans a day in advance. No, I've never had a long term relationship... Why?

I don't think I can handle red. I'm already awkward enough. Emma Stone seems chill so she can pull it off. Plus, my hair is curly. Curly, red haired, spastic, awkward girls don't get very far in life. Maybe as a writer though. Interesting.

But now I can't stop thinking I might look so much better as a brunette. How do I know that my blonde hair isn't holding me back? Why has my mom been trying to sabotage me? Maybe I should dye hair my brown and then I'd be famous. Or at least not sitting here alone on Friday night..

I guess the only rational solution would be to just ask Judd.

The Name Dilemma

I’m really bad at remembering people’s names. And I’m pretty sure I used to be good at it. I don’t know if it’s because college has taken its toll on me or if my friends are right and I am actually starting to lose my mind. But I’m pretty sure it’s because I just stopped caring. I’m great at recognizing faces; the names are my enemy. When I am introduced to somebody, my brain should send out an alert: about to hear name. Listen! In fact, I think I stop listening right before they say their name. There is so much else going on in my mind. All of my social anxieties just take over. Do we shake hands? Or is just a nod more appropriate? If I’m on my way into a restaurant or about to sit to eat, is there a bathroom or some sort of Purell near by for me to use afterwards? If not, how can I avoid touching you with my hands. Sometimes I do the “oh, sorry my hands are busying looking for something in my bag.” If it is somebody I actually could care less about, I might use the “let me just finish this text”.

If we’re in a bar or a more social situation, sometimes girls go in for the hug. Really? You’re hugging me? I barely let my parents hug me. I’d really prefer it if you don’t touch me. I am fully capable of totally avoiding the hug. Being rude isn’t something I’m afraid of. But I was raised in a nice household with morals and values so I do have a limit. The first stage of the almost-hug when they are about to extend their arms, when you can see it in their eyes, I just divert eye contact elsewhere and they get the idea. Still rude, but they get it. Maybe I’m a softy but when I see their hands come toward me (in slow motion- like its out of a horror film) and their most-likely-dirty hands are dangling in thin air waiting to grasp my shoulders, I find it hard to just walk away.

So first days of work (or in my case, internships) are always the worst. There are so many people to meet. People whose names you need to remember. Need to because in about an hour you are going to have to deliver them mail. I know it is customary for interns to be over qualified but really? I’d love to meet the kid who can meet twenty-five people and remember all of their names an hour after. And then people have the nerve to be offended.

So my most recent first day, I had to meet lots of people. Thankfully, this office was sympathetic to the very common intern dilemma and they have signs with everyone’s name next to their desk. It was great. I guess I’m more of a visual learner. So when it came time to meet my co-interns’ names, you’d think I would register that these names are crucial. I tend to make lots of jokes about the boss. And when I have to deliver something, usually I go to them to find out who is who. But of course I don’t remember their names either and have to ask them multiple times.

But then I was introduced to the interns in the other department. Seriously? Those are the least important names to know.. or so I thought. So I meet this girl, let’s call her Sarah. But I think her actual name starts with a J or a D or a K?

Fun fact: I interviewed for Sarah’s position a few months earlier and did not get it. Which was great because when the boss asked me what I wanted to do “in life” (oh how I love that question), and I answered, “write”, he kindly joked, “oh you should’ve been a writing intern”. Which then led me to have to admit that I interviewed for that position, and for the millionth time in my life, was rejected.

“So boss, who controls all progress and opportunities I get out of this internship, just so you know on the first day before you get to know me, the other interns are already better than me.” 

So I’m introduced to smiling Sarah who has the internship I wanted. I didn’t even try to hear her name. In my head I was just going over all of the reasons in which me and her differ and why I already don’t like her.

1.     She smiles. I don’t.

2.     She comes off as very nice and upbeat. I don’t.

3.     If she and I lived in the ‘60s, she would wear shirts that says ‘free hugs’. I would wear ones that say ‘don’t touch me’.

I really don’t blame people for not hiring me. Although I’m a great employee, I am horrible at interviews. I cannot, and will not, suck up to you. And I’m really bad at bragging about myself. If interviews weren’t based upon the false assumption that the intern is given actual responsibilities, I would do great. Why can’t everybody just be honest and acknowledge this.

Interviewer: “Why should we hire you?”

Me: “I’m really good at doing nothing. I have an expert knowledge of coffee. And I’m not the type to get up and ask if there is anything you need, so I definitely won’t disturb you.”

So I shake Sarah’s hand knowing I won’t be seeing this girl ever again. A goodbye handshake I can happily agree to. The rest of the day went great. I sat at my desk and did nothing but talk to my fellow intern about things completely unrelated to the internship. A pretty typical day for us unpaid interns. The day went well and not remembering any names didn’t bite me in the ass. I consider that a successful day.

The next day I’m going to class and I see her: Sarah. Why am I so bad at remembering names? She even had a sign next to her desk yesterday. I literally had to go up and offer her lunch. We interacted enough that I should know her name. When we make eye contact, I have to do the whole, “oh, you intern at the same..” “oh, hi! Yes!”. Still so peppy. There are no bosses here to impress. Why are you still smiling? And why can’t I remember your name?

Probably because I just spent the last fifteen minutes trying to avoid eye contact and avoid having this exact conversation. And probably because she just called me out on it. It was really hard avoiding eye contact and staring at the ground for so long. And in such a small elevator. Why do the elevators at NYU go so slowly? Of course it stopped at almost every floor on the way up. I really thought I was successful. I sprinted out of that little elevator so fast, never looking back. If I had, I would have seen that she was right behind me watching my attempt to escape.

After we finished our conversation and had to shake hands again, I went straight to the bathroom to wash them. And I bought a pocket sized Purell on my way home. At least she didn’t try to hug me.

ugly dogs

I don’t have many pet peeves. Really, I don’t. I’m a relatively even tempered person. There are just a couple hundred things that really piss me off… daily.

But one thing in particular, one small pet peeve, is ugly dogs. And I love animals. Especially dogs. My family has one. But lately, walking around New York City I have noticed that so many people have hideous dogs. Don’t get me wrong, I am very thankful for these non-superficial people out there who own these gross creatures. And I get it, personality over looks. But I’m certain that if I ever got a dog, it would be adorable. Similar to the one that is sitting by my feet as I write this. So far, in the past ten minutes at least five people have stopped to comment.  My dog would be so cute; cute to the point that everyone would have to stop. And that is exactly why I can never get a dog.

The idea that people are going to constantly stop me on the street to “oohh” and “aah” at my dog is enough to deter me from owning an adorable puppy. “Can I pet him?”. No you cannot put your filthy hands on my dog. “What’s his name?” Why does that matter? “How old is he?” How is that relevant to your life at all? The only possibly acceptable question (because I am guilty of having asked it in the past) is what breed of dog it is. Because that has a purpose.

Maybe this is a subconscious reason as to why I never go out with good looking guys. I’m going to go with this idea. Yes, it is a choice of mine to only date ugly men. It is definitely not that the only ones willing to put up with me are the totally desperately pathetic ones. No, it is a choice. I don’t want people stopping on the street to “ooh” and “ahh” at the person next to me.

So now that I think about it. If cute dogs are people magnets, that must mean that ugly dogs repel people. Interesting.. Maybe the people of New York are smarter than I thought.

I'm Back

So I apologize for my time away. I took a little hiatus from my blog writing. But I have good news, I'm back and funnier than ever. Well.. I'm back.

So my latest adventure is the improv classes that I started this week. After just two days, I've actually learned a lot.

The first thing that these classes have taught me is that some people are funny and some people are not. You can try to change who you are by taking improv classes and what not. And don't get me wrong, it takes a lot of courage to go to these classes. But I want to remind all of you not funny and annoying people out there, that it takes just as much courage to sit inside and do nothing. All of us out here in the real world that have to listen to your attempt at humor all day long would really respect you just as much for not coming to class. Just putting it out there.

Another thing I've learned is the first rule of improv is to always say yes. Improv thrives on agreement. One must always agree with their scene partner. So I had some trouble with that rule.. to say the least. I kept wanting to scream, no you are actually completely wrong, and correct my partner. Instead I practiced the art of saying "yes" with my mouth and "wow you're an idiot" with my eyes (Thanks Jim Halpert).

I've had about 12 hours of class so far this week. Someone laughed at me one time. It was awesome. We have a show at the end of the week. That should be more than interesting.

I will keep all of you loyal fans updated on my future adventures and endeavors. More blogs posts to come.

What do you do?

I was walking down the street today in the lovely metropolis that is NYC and saw a woman sporting a shirt that read "Dog walker. $10 an hour."At first I was amused by the shirt. Then, I thought to myself, this woman is on to something.

In our superficial society where looks are everything and our professions define who we are, we are all doing what this dog walker is doing, just being more subtle about it. Brands and labels are status symbols to tell those around us how much we make and therefore how much we are worth. We dress the way we want people to view us.

A wealthy banker strutting an Armani suit might as well just wear a shirt that reads "Banker. More than you.". The guy in the big glasses, paint stained shirt and ripped jeans might as well wear "Struggling artist. Broke but happy". The twenty something with gelled hair and the button down shirt might read "Assistant Regional Manager. Enough. (facebook me)." Or the girl in the tight black dress and four inch heels, "Desperate. Whatever you'll give me."

We spend our entire lives working to get the job we want. We study for years, go on countless interviews and pay our dues at unpaid internships to build up our resumes to get our dream jobs. We're all dying for everybody to know who we are and what we do. In this country, our profession is the culmination of everything we've done in our life up to that point. When you meet someone, one of the first things they'll ask is, "What do you do?". This, apparently, defines us. We want the world to know what who we are and what we do.

That's what style is after all, isn't it? A way to categorize ourselves; brand ourselves. Even the hipsters out there who are 'misunderstood' want the world to know they are misunderstood. Everybody wants to be noticed.

So this woman's idea of putting her business card on her shirt is really just a bluntly honest way of doing what we all do every day: selling ourselves through what we wear.

Stop And Smell The Roses

Today I came up with a great analogy for the way I view life. I was walking with my dad when we passed a bodega selling flowers. There were many types of flowers as well as an assortment of colors for each. So my dad's simple question of, "Which ones do you want?", would have been extremely difficult to answer for the old, indecisive me. But the new me had no problem with this simple decision. Actually, no problem is a little extreme, let's just say I've made progress.

Anyways, when choosing the color, I was drawn to a faded purple bouquet of roses. This was the only color that my dad didn't suggest (typical). As I grabbed the flowers, I commented, "I think the color of these roses will look really pretty when they're dead". Only after I heard those words come out of my mouth did I realize that this is a really bizarre way to think. Who chooses flowers based on what they'll look like when they die? Who looks at a beautiful bouquet of roses and thinks about death?

To a certain extent, I think we all do..

As I was putting the flowers in a vase, it occurred to me that if I didn't put them in water, they would die immediately. So I had a choice: don't put water in and immediately have my beautiful dried rose petals OR water them and keep them alive. I chose the latter. My reasoning was this: the flowers will eventually die. I will get what I want, so why not also enjoy them while they're alive, and have both.

THIS is a choice we are all faced with in our own lives. These flowers represent our childhoods. Nowadays, kids are so anxious to grow up and be adults, that they don't appreciate the beauty of their innocence. Once we kill the flowers, we can't bring them back to life. Once we lose our innocence, there's no getting it back. Flowers, as well as youth, have an ephemeral beauty. Meaning that there is an expiration date. We should enjoy the beauty of the living flowers, because once they die, there's no turning back.

Lately I've been thinking a lot about graduation, jobs and "the future". So, I think this is meaningful and relevant. You will eventually end up where you're meant to be, so why not make the best of the journey. What's the rush?

When you're old and wrinkly and gray, sitting on your couch with nothing more than your lovely bowl of potpourri, wondering where the time went (and how you became so boring)... you'll be glad to have the memories of the flower to entertain your thoughts.

Stop and smell the roses because they won't last forever.

What Is Normal?

Apparently I'm a really awkward person. I've always prided myself on my ability to not be awkward. I'm pretty sure I've even used the exact phrase "I just don't have the awkward gene". Well, I still personally don't think I'm awkward, but people seem to think otherwise.

This new realization started yesterday when I had my lunch break from my 8 hour class. It was pouring rain out as I left the school building to grab food. More than pouring. The type of rain that broke my umbrella as I trudged against the heavy wind, juggling my umbrella (which rendered useless) while attempting to keep my computer dry without dropping my cup of coffee (the most important part). 

When I arrived, soaking wet, all of my classmates were crowded around a tiny table eating. I didn't mind sitting alone at one of the many empty tables surrounding them to dry off. I had a bunch of calls to make and emails to send. The whole "sitting and eating alone" incident has happened before. In fact, I do it all the time. Apparently that's weird? I didn't think so, and still don't for that matter. After this incident, my classmates starting saying things to me, such as "too cool". This was pretty early in the semester. Since then, they've spent more time with me and have gotten to know me better.. that phrase hasn't been used since.

So I sit down at the empty table and begin dialing. Before I know it the entire table is turned around laughing at me. Not only are they laughing, but more than one of them has their cell phone out taking pictures of me. The word "loser" was shouted multiple times. So finally, after I finished my calls and such, I moved my chair over to their table (peer pressure is powerful). Here I sat outside of their circle of chairs peering over their shoulders to join in on conversation. This rendered useless so I just leaned back and didn't partake in the conversation at all. I might as well have just been sitting at a different table..

So that was my first sign that my ideas of "normal social behavior" were a little different from the people around me.

Later that night, around 7:30, a friend texted me asking if I wanted to go to dinner with him and some people. I responded that I had already eaten. So apparently it is also weird to eat before 7:30? There are so many rules on how to be normal, I can't keep up. He insisted that I could just get a drink with them and I should come. I then responded that I hadn't planned on going out. So again, apparently it's not normal for a twenty-year-old person to not want to go out on a Friday night. Long story short, I went.

Farther into the dinner conversation, as I cracked joke after joke (obviously), my other friend made a comment about how fun I am to talk to. How nice! Right? Just wait. I responded "because I am so funny?" He corrected me, "You aren't funny at all. You are just really awkward". I thought dinner had been going well. I thought I meshed well with the crowd.. but again, proven wrong.

After the whole night out, when I was thoroughly exhausted and finally going home (at 12:30), somebody texted me asking what I was doing. This is how that conversation went:

person: "I'm at a fun bar with a friend, you should meet up."
me: "I'm exhausted and going home. I'm a loser" [which I had learned earlier that day]
person: "Haha not cool"
me: "I'm sorry for misleading you into thinking I was cool."
person: "No it's ok, I was never misled"

I'm glad it's apparent to everybody just how awkward and uncool I am.  Awesome.

Photoshopped First Impressions

Facebook has completely changed the world of dating. We interact more with other people's facebook pages than we do with the actual people. Now, all that matters is how you look online. Think about it.

You're out, you're drinking, you're meeting people. The night continues, maybe you get lucky, maybe you don't. But for now, let's pretend you do. You hook up, the night is great- best night ever. The person you just got with is so hott. Next day, you wake up, look around. Shit, you're in the same clothes from last night. You were more drunk than you thought--that never happens! But wait.. you hooked up! Last night was awesome! He/she was so hott! Well, you thought she/he was. Let's check..

THIS IS THE MOMENT WHERE WHAT YOU LOOKED LIKE NO LONGER MATTERS. FROM HERE ON ALL WE REMEMBER IS WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE ONLINE. All those five minutes you (guys) spent getting ready just disappeared. Girls, well we won't talk numbers but about half of your day's thoughts just became meaningless (because they had so much meaning before)..

So here is the moment of truth. Even if that person looked amazing last night, if they look gross in their pictures, which do you think you are going to remember more: the way they looked when you were borderline blackout or how they look as you soberly stalk their entire lives?

[This is the reason that so many girls have since changed it so you can't see their photos, guys too. Yeah there are lots of reasons they'll give, but let's be real. Facebook was created so people could look at other people's pictures. What, they made their photos private for jobs? BS. If they're worried about jobs, they wouldn't write/post half of the stuff they do.]

Nobody remembers how you looked in the dark lit club when they were on their seventh shot.

A drunk person will get with anything. A sober person won't text/call anyone.

But to be fair, I said Facebook changed the world of DATING, not whatever we call what people do in "college".

So let's say you have groomed your facebook profile and you look good in it. Great in it. So the next morning, after you wake up and reaffirm last night's escapades, and then after you wait a day or so for the person to get over their ego and text you, you two decide to go on a date.

(If you are in college at any campus school, this no longer applies to you. BUT it could be useful after you leave the bubble of college and have to start talking to the opposite sex soberly. Also, potentially useful regarding a second "hook up".)

Before the date, your friends want to see who you are going out with. Is he hott? Is she slutty? The usual questions.. so you go to their facebook. And now, for the second or third (girls.. 10th or 11th?) time, "stalk" their profile. By the time you get to the date, you know who they are friends with, where they're from, where they work, their likes and dislikes. What else is there to talk about?

The "first date" has completely changed thanks to Facebook. The purpose of the first date used to be to get a sense of the person, to see if they are worth seeing again. But now, with social networking, we can find out so much about a person's life beforehand. The fact that you actually want to see them in person is a huge step. The first date is now more like a third or fourth date. Maybe that is why this generation is considered so sexually active and "fast".

So here are some guidelines to increasing your chances of an actual date (or second hook up):
1. Make your profile picture some sort of cartoon character and/or baby picture so we can get a sense of you but still have no idea what you actually look like.

2. Make all of your photos hidden.

3. Take all of the time you used to spend in front of the mirror trying to look like you rolled out of bed that way and now use that tactic for your Facebook page.

[There's always the option of not thinking so much about this stuff and maybe spend more time reading the news than stalking people's Facebooks.. but what kind of loser would do that?.. But then again, what kind of person spends his/her time writing a blog post about this stuff.. ]

Little Monsters

When I was in the fourth grade, a group of girls in my class kept getting in fights with one another. Not fun physical fights, but the annoying girl kind where people cry and it gets emotional. The kind of fight where we are taught to use our words to solve it. Well, little did those teachers know what kind of monsters they were creating. Maybe this is where I was conditioned to find all dramatic people horribly annoying and unnecessary in my life. And this is definitely when I realized that words are the most powerful tool (and/or weapon). If you have an understanding of a person, saying the right thing can hurt more than getting punched in the stomach, or for the guys, a little lower down.
I vividly remember my teacher bringing five of us girls out into the hallway and explaining the best way to solve a fight. She said, always start out with a compliment. Then, tell the person what they are doing that bothers you. For example (and what I immediately thought to myself): Ms. Purdue, I think you are a cool teacher but it really fucking pisses me off when you make me miss my recess to sit in this dumb hallway to listen to crying girls.

After that ridiculous hour of talking about our feelings, I was, and rightly so, not in the best mood. It wasn't about the fact that I had to miss my recess. It was that I had to listen to girls complain and whine and cry. So, just as I sat down for lunch, one of the girls in my class came over and tapped my shoulder. She wanted to talk to me for a second. Worst combination of words in the English language. I hate having to "talk".  She pulled me to the side of the cafeteria and said, "Hannah I really like your shirt today, but it really bothers me when...". Now she continued on to say something but I most definitely didn't hear it because I was LAUGHING too hard. (I know that makes me sound mean, but this girl was actually a huge bitch. So if I was mean, it was well deserved.)

I'm not insulting Ms. Purdue's method because it really does work. Over the years I perfected that method. By the seventh grade, I was a bitch. I'm not proud of it; I'm just being honest. But, only towards my friends and family (my poor mother). How I still have a loving family and good friends is beyond me. Not exaggerating, I still apologize and thank them to this day for staying my friends.

A few weeks ago, a friend told me we needed to "talk". She told me that because we are such good friends, she feels that she can be honest with me. And she is only telling me these things because she has my best interest in mind. She proceeded to tell me that I should stop trying to be someone that I'm not. (A little background on that comment: I just transferred schools, changed my major and for the first time in forever, I am actually happy.) So I would like to thank that friend for having my best interest in mind and being honest with me. I mean, what are friends for? Right?

After that comment, I started thinking about my younger self. I mean, I invented the "I'm just trying to help you" angle. And looking back, all of the mean things I said came from some sort of jealousy or insecurity. But most of all, it came from pretension: the "I'm better than you, so therefore, I can treat you however I want" attitude. The way in which I had no regard for other people's feelings.

The thing about looking back at our younger selves is that we have such a clearer understanding. We see things in ways we wouldn't have been able to comprehend back then. The funniest part about my "pretentious" attitude is that I in no way thought I was better than anybody. I had no confidence in myself. But the best way to cover up insecurities is to seem unbreakable. For guys, they become macho and strong. For a girls, they become mean, with no emotion. Nobody messes with the bully.

So now my sister is in high school. She is dealing with girls who are way meaner than I ever was. Now don't get me wrong, I still could put anybody in his or her place (it's a talent) but I have no interest. Maybe its the Buddhist in me. But high schools are becoming more vicious than I ever remember them being. As an older sister, I used to tell her that all she had to do was survive high school. That once she gets to college, everybody matures and there isn't as much drama. Turns out I was wrong.

So, my friend did open my eyes to something. People will never stop being mean and manipulative. No matter your age, even when you are way too old for petty high school bullshit, there will be somebody trying to put you down. So rather than telling my sister to wait for it to pass. I now tell her this, all you can do in life is focus on yourself. Figure out what you want to do and go for it. There will absolutely be people who tell you that you can't do it, that you're not good enough. Don't waste your time worrying about what other people say. Be who you want to be, try as hard as you fucking can, and ignore everyone else who tries to stop you.

[I know how corny that all sounds. But I do tell her that stuff. Ask her.]

My Sight and Sound film

"witty title"

The best part about living in this city and not knowing anyone is that I can be whoever I want to be. When I introduce myself to people and tell them that I plan on writing comedies, they just assume I'm funny. So when people think you're funny, you're more likely to actually be funny. It's a weird how it works. Like if someone tells you they think you're good looking, then you'll feel good looking, have more confidence, and therefore probably look more attractive. The only difference in my case is that I AM actually funny in the first place. People just haven't realized it yet.. or until now.

The second best part about living in such a cosmopolitan city is that people are from all over. So, my accents are only improving daily. Last night I met a kid from London and I spoke in a British accent the entire time while he attempted an American accent. A word of advice: if you ever meet anyone from either London, Australia and/or South Africa, make them speak in an American accent. It is hilarious. This is how the conversation will go.

you: speak in an American accent
British person: no
you: please
British person: what do I get?
you: "funny remark"
British person: what should I say?
you: anything
British person: blah blah blah I want a hamburger blah blah

you think I'm kidding. 80% of their responses will incorporate the word hamburger. Apparently foreign people think we use that word in every other sentence. Now that I think about it, considering the plethora of fast food chains out there, I guess majority of Americans are using that word. Foreign people are so wise.

The Obligatory

To Whom It May Concern,

I am one of those people who has a new thought every other minute of every day. I'm not talking about thoughts such as "what's for dinner" or "he's hott" (because those thoughts don't go through my mind daily) but rather, thoughts about my life, people (in the abstract sense, not petty gossip or bickering), society and the world. Yes, this probably sounds similar to all other bloggers who think that what they have to say is worth hearing--which it usually isn't. But here is the difference between this blog and all of the others. I don't think what I'm writing about is worth reading.

The sole reason I am creating this blog is for myself. Throughout my day, whether via phone call, text, aim and email (maybe the occasional in person conversation if I'm lucky) I divulge my daily epiphanies, unusual observations and random stories about my life to my friends: those who care about how I'm doing, are really bored in their class and/ or disguise their lack of interest enough for me to keep filling their inboxes. I might as well start writing everything in one place rather than copying and pasting all day. I'm making it seem as though I have a lot of friends..  But I'm pretty sure it can be assumed that people who spend their days writing down their thoughts usually don't have a lot of friends. I usually advocate against 'assuming' not because of the dumb saying which I'm not going to write, but because you can never really know things about people until you get to know them. But in this case, assuming might not be such a bad idea.

This blog is a direct result of my over anxious personality and my necessity to put my thoughts on paper (or this century's equivalent). Even though I prefer a pen and paper in a heartbeat over a computer. But because my thoughts are endless and I think faster than I write, typing is essential; a mindless, easy-on-the-wrists way to keep track of my excess of thoughts and ideas.

Most blogs have a purpose: maybe it is a music blog where the blogger knows a lot about new bands and new songs. I can't think of any other type of blog that people read--probably because I don't read blogs and I find them useless. I, for the most part, don't care what other people have to say. Not that I think I'm right and everyone else is wrong (which does happen a lot) but because I have better things to do with my time. Or, that used to be my reasoning. Now that I just moved to NYC, can count my friends on one hand and find myself alone a lot of the time.. I think I may need to start reading blogs. Any suggestions? I just don't know what I'd want to read about, maybe books?, but even then, how do I know whose opinion to trust? See what I mean? Random questions and thoughts.. all day long. It is exhausting.

Anyways, my blog has no purpose. No cute little characteristic to carry through, like Julie from Julie & Julia where she blogs about cooking. But, a few things that people might find useful from what I have to say: I love language. I know that sounds strange but the idea that there are multiple words that have similar meanings and how there are multiple ways to phrase the same idea all with different connotations. So pay attention to the words I use and how I phrase things, although it could easily be accidental, it most likely isn't. I'm not going to try and sound professional but I'm warning you: a lot of the time I speak extremely formally, as though I'm in an interview or writing a professor. I'm not sure why. People make fun of me for it a lot though. But, I like everything I say to be understood. I wouldn't have written: 'So pay attention to my syntax and word choice..' because that just makes me sound pretentious and nobody actually speaks like that. So note: there is a difference and do not get confused.

Even though only a handful of my friends are actually reading this (if even that many.. ), and they already know this. I'll tell you, (the ambiguous 'you' of whoever may be stumbling upon this). I'm good at giving advice. I tend to understand people. So even though my friends (well some of them) already come to me for advice, 'you' are more than welcome to also. Just make a comment with your question and I'd gladly answer it. No, this is NOT an advice column, but, I enjoy it and I'm good at it.. so why not offer my services. Also, feel free to comment about anything and everything. Even if it is a question about nothing related to anything I've said (written?). I thrive off of random questions.

So I guess this post has been essentially an 'About Me' which I really had no intention of creating. But, to do the obligatory, because half of what I say won't make sense if you don't know these things, here it is. I am a junior transfer student at NYU. I spent the last two years of my college experience at the University of Michigan. I'll refrain from giving any of my opinions because those will most definitely come up in future posts (especially because if I have to recount to one more person why I transferred, I'll kill myself). I need to come up with a funny response to that question, like the responses Campbell Alexander, the lawyer, in My Sister's Keeper gives when people ask him why he has a service dog, "I have an iron lung. He keeps me away from magnets." Yes, of course I had to look up his name and examples of his responses (everything is on the internet.. it's crazy). But, the point is that I remembered his witty remarks and I need something like that.. if anyone has any ideas.

So yes, I'm alone in this city, left to indulge my interests and curiosities, desperate for interesting conversation. There's obviously more to me but that's all you get for now. I am not going to list my favorite color, pets I may or may not have, what I like, what I dislike, where I've worked, what I do in my free time, etc.-- because frankly, it's irrelevant. But I promise, if at any point those boring conversation starters become relevant, I'll fill you in. But, until then, you'll have to wait. Plus, suspense is the force that drives the universe. After money and sex, of course.

I'm pretty sure the title of this blog is self-explanatory. If not, just keep reading and it will be soon.

And finally, the last thing that needs to be understood before you continue reading (yes, I'm aware that was a bold assumption). Majority of what I say is sarcastic and/or satirical with a cynical undertone. I understand it is hard to detect sarcasm online, but I am sorry that will not be stopping me. If ever you're unsure, assume I'm being sarcastic. If it continues to be a problem, then this blog just isn't for you.

Have fun,
Hannah