"Everybody don't got it the same. I could be complaining about it and bitching about it...or I could do what I know how to do and try to make it right along the way."

all's quiet on the western front.

You used to joke me, calling me Kimberly cause you knew I didn't like it. After all this time, I still have this soft spot for you, and even though we don't talk enough to be friends really, I'm glad you still come around, every so often.

baby, you've got to be more discerning, i've never known what was good for me, baby, you've got to be more demanding, what are you holding out for? what's always in the way? why so scared of romance? this modern love breaks me. this modern love wastes me. Do you wanna come over and kill some time? Tell me facts, tell me facts, tell me facts.

Note:

As much as the modern woman may hate it, the archaic rules of waiting for a man to pursue her are grounded in truth. We can chase after men all we want, but at the end of the day, if he wants to be with you — whether it's a relationship or just sex — he'll do something about it.

At the end of the day, modern technology or not, the old-fashioned rules in the pursuit of love remain. Say what you mean, mean what you say. If you want someone, go after them, tell them what's up and if they decline — i.e., they're busy, they're seeing someone, they're busy — move on. Life's too short to sit around waiting for someone to one day magically fall for you. We know there are always exceptions, but the hard truth is, if they want you, they'll pursue you.


Annoying as fuck isn't it?

Logging into Love: From friends to Facebook poking

It was the summer of our aging youth, dotted with morning afters, whiskey, rental cars, sunny southern California and men we believed we adored.  The stocks never got high, but it was a damn good time.

"The only people for me are the mad ones."

Two things tonight.

One. I don't think I have the emotional capacity for you.

Two. I miss Italy, so bad that it hurts.

I would go along with someone like you....that's the problem you see.

"You seem like the type to be in relationships," you said.

Never been in one, I replied.

Don't have the time? you asked.

No, 'cause we all make time for the things we want to make time for.  I just got, issues.

I hear you, you replied.




But you and me, we're not the same.

And I know, if I get caught up this time, nothing good will transpire.  But I've never been one for caution.  But we haven't even gotten anywhere yet, we're only at the point of friends we say, but we're not friends, I actually don't think I could ever just be your friend, but it already feels too heavy, too heavy.

I said, I was done with the experimental stage of my life, but I guess that shit's never over, never over.  But this is too heavy to be any good.

the dilemma

Men are completely weird, and girls are utterly confusing.  As a female, I will admit to that much.

So you like a guy, enough to hook-up with him and not want him to hook-up with anyone else, but you don't want him to be your man, per se.  But of course, we all have trouble separating the physical and the emotional, most of us are incapable of it.  So we get territorial and we get insecure and then we wonder what the hell we got ourselves into.  Because when you start something with a man, you guys usually lay out some ground rules.  You say, you don't want a relationship, so that's how he'll take it.  That he's free to do as he pleases, and he believes you understand this, that you'll be okay with this because that's what you told him.

But the problem is, nothing's ever black and white, and all lines become blurred when it comes to matters of the heart even when it ain't love, it ain't even close.

Bloc Party reminds me of the early '90s, warehouse parties, smoke-filled rooms, poker chips, cigars and unrequited love.

What are you sayin' son?

Spring is in the air, and ordinarily I don't believe in this spring fever crap, but it seems the past few weeks, the men have been coming around in hoards. Not just my life, but all my female friends as well (watch, I just jinxed myself).

Leaving us up to our ears in trying to decipher what the hell he's saying beneath the subtext. Because it seems, and I stand on this, men often times lack the balls to say what they really mean, leaving us reading a text, pondering over a conversation in bed or over aim and asking each other–what the fuck does that even mean?


Case 1: My friend has been seeing a guy. And by seeing, I mean properly dating, more or less. Dinners, meeting friends and yes, hooking up.

In bed the other day, in the middle of him listing everything he loves about her, how smart she is, how beautiful she is, he goes:

"Can we just have a purely physical relationship?"

She says, "um no, i think we're past that at this point....why can't it be mental and physical?"

He replies, "cause i'm so attracted to you mentally and physically, I know i'm going to just fall in love with you."

Translation: "Can we just be fuck buddies, but I don't wanna sound like an asshole."

on chances

After all this time, nothing's the same anymore.

Most days, really, most days, you don't cross my mind.

But sometimes, somedays, I wish I still knew you.


I guess this would apply all across the board.  All those I once had friendships with, and those events that transpired over tabletop conversations, the manner of ease in banter levied with subtext, but momentary leaps, without heart, don't really stand a chance against daylight, do they?

this day in 2009

I miss Italy today. This time last year, I was struggling through a 7,000 word paper, and for amusement I stole my housemate's wooden cat and we left ransom notes around the palazzo.  I'd forgotten about this one.  It read wear your stiletto boots and bring cookies "in class or else your cat will lose a limb every day." Before hiding it in a cabinet, we hung it from a shower and made a ransom video.  Yea, we were that tired of writing papers. She never gave into our demands, I never pulled the limbs off.

on my religion

via @CodyBrown Just read David Foster Wallace's Comencement Speech. Holy. Shit. http://bit.ly/9CDgKv Thanks for the link @joecoscarelli @timsteno

"Of course the main requirement of speeches like this is that I'm supposed to talk about your liberal arts education's meaning, to try to explain why the degree you are about to receive has actual human value instead of just a material payoff. So let's talk about the single most pervasive cliché in the commencement speech genre, which is that a liberal arts education is not so much about filling you up with knowledge as it is about quote teaching you how to think....the really significant education in thinking that we're supposed to get in a place like this isn't really about the capacity to think, but rather about the choice of what to think about."

For some time it was about natty lights, kegs, solo cups, makeshift beer pong tables, mostly from plywood over at Home Depot, and we'd take midnight runs to Sheets for peach tea, chats with H-burg cops, and roomie trips to Walmart for toilet paper runs, brownie mix and you used to steal kool-aid packets for jungle juice, cause it was silly to pay for those little things you said.

Some nights we'd walk over to Hunter's Ridge or the Commons for random parties. Other nights we'd chill over the hookah and random shit. I didn't know as much then.


Can't really listen to Matisyahu without thinking of all this.

There's a thin line between sincerity and just plain creepy.

I have this thing, within the first 5 minutes of speaking with someone, I usually make the decision on whether it's ever going to work out. And by working out, I mean something real. Within the first 5 minutes, I usually semi-subconsciously admit what I end up realizing. And oftentimes, even when, I know things won't work in the long run, I can't help wanting to figure him out anyway. Because I don't get him, because I don't get his lingo, because his taste in music makes me wonder about the kind of person he is, because he's admittedly polite, because of the life he used to live, because.....well, you know, all the reasons why you make these efforts to pursue something at the hopes of maybe proving yourself wrong.


But I've never been wrong.





I remember, it was your birthday that weekend, and I should've showed up. He called me up, told me to come out, they were celebrating your birthday, and I made up a lame excuse because I didn't want to be around you. It's for the birds, you used to say, and you barely knew what the fuck it meant. You were my kind of person, I used to think.

I was laying in bed last night, fiddling around Facebook, of course, what else is new.  And I started this message to this dood, I got a call, had to take care of something so I never finished it.  And then I went back to rewrite it, and I thought, what's the point?

I'm all about technology propelling the state of modern romance–hell, it's practically my bible.  Tragically, so.  But it's all so pointless.  This back and forth online banter levied with subtext, but it doesn't get anywhere.  I've never been one to keep my mouth shut when I find a guy particularly attractive, but as of late, everything's been so superficial.  He's got nice shoes, I like the way he moves.  But what's the physical to anything real?


It's sunny as fuck outside, and I kind of wish it were raining.

Anyway, off to start another day.