I went to a bridal shower today. I took the R train to Herald Square, popped into Victoria’s Secret for a gift, took the Boltbus down to DC and then got a ride to the outer Virginia suburbs.
The bride-to-be was the only person I knew. When it was time for the shower to start, she was still in bed with a 103 fever. The show went on without her.
I was one of the first to arrive, so I sat at the only table with people in it. This turned out to be the groom’s family table. I sat there awkwardly among people I didn’t know talking about more people I didn’t know.
They all seemed so garishly American. Expressing worries about access to modern comforts on their upcoming trip to China to visit the bride’s parents. Being completely unembarrassed about their unmotivated and overweight children that still lived at home.
Still I felt the urge to impress them. Even though I’d probably never interact with them more than once more (at the wedding).
I found myself checking my level of enthusiasm- I must attain the optimal amount of engagement and casualness.
As the day went on, the cake came and I met other friends of the bride. I tried not to talk too much, but still tried to make people laugh. I tried not to look at the prettiest friend too much, lest I become another awkward girl feeding her ego.
My gauge for my behavior is the child version of myself. I try to see if the way I act bears any resemblance to the person I used to be. Back before all the bad feelings and the second guessing. Back before there was anything wrong with me.
It’s a nice feeling when a place becomes familiar. It’s familiar to me despite this neighborhood not really being my own. (This is where middle to high income white people land to procreate.) Despite the fact that I barely recognize myself.
Despite the inevitable growth of my waistline and a surprising willingness to believe in the potential positive effects of anti-aging eye cream (it used to be such a joke). And how three beers is getting to be too much.
This tree. I know why it’s like this. It fell down during Hurricane Sandy. No one’s moved it yet and it kind of looks cool.
In the morning, there’s always a trail of sticky liquid that leads to a big pool of liquid near each trash can. I’ve never met them, but it must be the bottle collectors making their early morning rounds.
I stopped walking by this place because I realized that no one else walks here and that there must be something wrong with it. They always walk on the other side of the street. But tonight, without thinking, I walked by my place and realized how much I missed it. Everything stayed exactly the same.
Free Hugs by Kittenkraze
i decided to not freak out about valentine’s day like i did about christmas.
so i bought him a tiny card that had a flower on it. and all i wrote on the inside is: “maybe we’ll just always be happier than ever.”
and that’s it.
now i worry about the grammar of that sentence. does that even make sense?
well, i already sealed the envelope. they must have invented envelope sealing for over thinkers like me.
er. i also bought a backup present. just in case.
hey, i’m feeling sort of crazy
like the female friend of the guy i spent seven months convincing that it was ok for me to touch his penis, that it was ok, i liked his brain the most, that he said the cleverest cynical self hating things, that i connected with him because i hated myself and the world too— i think i am going finally follow her tumblr
not crazy enough to follow his tumblr though
i saw a comedy show today. it wasn’t funny. it was so sad. i cried at the end. it was a 1.5 show of the saddest, commonplace, tragic, truthful, comedic through irony story ever. i made my secret crying face because i was among like 100 other people. it looks like a monster. a tear rolled down my cheek.
the last time tears came out of my face was when i watched Romona and Beezus on an airplane from india to london. four months ago. before that was 5 months ago when i thought the guy i spent 7 months convincing liked the girl whose tumblr i will follow today. before that, 1 year and 2 months ago, i got raped. before that, 2 years and four months ago, my best friend betrayed me.
i guess i am getting better at crying.
drunk at the reception: Pounding heart for Charlie Parker -
It is a folly to think that there ever was or ever will be a right thing to say, though I have hugged this notion for most of my life. The best that we can hope for is to not be guided by fear, but by something wholly other. This is not a “mere” thing, but the total of all possible triumph. To…
the sort of weariness you get when reading the personal blog of shallow, dim-witted person.
the sort of self-doubt you feel when you find yourself writing about this experience on a personal blog.
mixed with the uneasiness you feel when you sped through 30 pages of Infinite Jest (surely it couldn’t have been this easy, is it possible you completely missed the point?)
and the bad taste left in your mouth from running into an old high school classmate (last meeting, 2004, HS graduation) on the train going back to “the city”. he, too, was visiting his parents for christmas, but assumed that you still lived in your old hometown. you feel self conscious about all the bags you’re carrying (your mom sent you home with leftovers). he lives in midtown manhattan and considers brooklyn to be “a hike”. (you would never live in midtown, even if you could afford it, but never got a chance to say that because he prematurely cut the conversation off to “meet [his] sister at the front of the train” (you, the effortless stalker, saw him getting off at the terminal alone. no sister.)) he might not have remembered your name.
and the sense of dread that creeps and grows as you sit in your brooklyn apartment (let’s face it, it was a hike) with your coat still on, your jeans a little too tight, going through your ex-boyfriend’s tumblr who never called himself your boyfriend, when you really should be working on that paper for that academic conference that you’re supposed to care about.
a fresh sense of self loathing.
successful weekend! met my boyfriend’s parents and sister and didn’t fart in their faces and they seem to like me. WOOT.
i thought that maybe when i became an adult i would stop hating life. this hope has not panned out. i reject everything and i want to die. life only gets worse.