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Stupid ipad work I hate you so this is not about you

Twenty-something and clueless- the never before told story of a lost young girl experiencing a quarter-life crises in a hipster city post-college, and in throes with her parents, and still coping with her childhood, which makes relationships a burden especially when she still sleeps with her ex because she is scared to go over a month without sex and so is he…yes the most original piece of literature to ever surface in this post-modern, existential, deconstuctionist capitalistic, overly-scholared American world. I would be at the forefront of groundbreaking beyond-hippie-hipster visionaries everywhere, embracing this new vision to pull us into 2012, and bridging the gap between driveling confused trust fund babies from gen X and soccer moms caught shopping at Forever 21 during school hours. In one book I would encompass a global view of communist capitalism from my experiences teaching abroad in Korea, which is like China but smaller and less original, and I would then blunder gracefully into stories about being unemployed post-teaching and college, confused about the ex thing, and trying to get inexpensive massages but failing after backpacking SE Asia, and being spoiled and no wiser than a fortune cookie, because my India and eastern spirituality loving ex ruined any ideas of enlightenment for me. He also failed to keep my cat alive when I moved abroad, and he gave me herpes so I lost a relationship with the next boy I really liked, which took me two years to find after I realized I had to move on, but you know, I’m not resentful or anything…I’m just a lost twenty-something writing an original tale about being lost in Portland, the capital of Happy Hour, bad credit, crack coffee, and tight pants.

I am returning from a hour at a Vietnamese beauty parlor where I entered to get my eyebrows waxed, and exited with my whole face waxed and freshly painted nails. I also had a mediocre foot massage from a lady called either Thing or Ting, who had named her 22month old Italy because her husband, who had two years ago returned to Vietnam to find a wife and tow her back to the states with him, had a soft spot for Italians. Ting/Thing and I threw at each other several questions in broken English like a crippled interview between Autistic teenagers, when she looked deeply into my eyes and asked, “Do you like Cocaine?” That’s what it sounded like and I stared at her and then asked her to repeat herself about ten times, each time she repeated “Cocaine, Coke-do you like?” and I finally was about to accept that my neighborhood Vietnamese community was submersed in drug culture, and maybe relate in choppy English phrases my most impressive cocaine story when I snorted about 22 lines in one night and talked about Nietzsche with a friend and decided by sunrise I was a genius and then crawled up in a ball and wanted to die…but then she spelled it out. “C-O-O-K’. Do you like? Coking?” Oh, that’s not as interesting a story, but yes, I like it.

I just cooked. I returned home, cleaned the litter box and then made dinner, and I really wanted protein so I opened a can of refried beans with a vision of Mexican tortillas, but the beans, after being coked up with cheese, onion, peppers and garlic, just looked like a big pile of colorful shit. But it tastes good.

So I just wanted to recount these stories, because they are going into this famous book I’m going to write about the nothingness of being nothing and getting old and feeling like I need to meet someone, and that every guy I pass is a potential husband, even the balding ones, because at least I know they are less likely to leave me or cheat on me, and at 26, you know I have a crippled heart and can’t take any more of that misery, because life is hard, and I still work retail.

PS. My Mucocele has gone down. In case you don’t know what that is, because I had it one month before I actually found it out on Google, it is (and this is according to Wikipedia): a swelling of connective tissue consisting of collected mucin due to a ruptured salivary gland duct usually caused by local trauma, in the case of mucus extravasation phenomenon, and an obstructed salivary duct in the case of a mucus retention cyst. The mucocele is a bluish translucent color, and is more commonly found in children and young adults.” It’s basically a lip cyst, or polyp for a friendly term. And to gross you out thoroughly let me tell you that I didn’t want to see a doctor and try to figure out the whole PSU insurance thing, because I hate insurance, bills, taxes and all of that boring shit, so I poked and drained the polyp twice (heavy drainage of mucus-like saliva liquid the color of faded yellow wallpaper), the first time a week ago, the second a couple days ago. And with the natural remedies prescribed by such reputable sources as Simplestepsdental.com and lumpinmymouth.com, I dabbed the drained lump with alum spice, bags of Hibiscus tea, colloidal sliver drops, and sea salt. My lip went from Hattie McDaniels- Mammie size (a Gone with the Wind reference that would be lost on most of my generation, and shunned by older righteous citizens for its political incorrectness), looking like I was punched in the face, to looking pretty normal now. I am relieved. I have a freshly waxed face, freshly painted dark blue nails, a whole new week of classes, a pile of shit at my side getting cold and hoping to be picked up and ingested immediately after I finish this rant of nonsense, and to be accompanied by a 3 dollar bottle of Trader Joes wine called Pink, and an instant netflix movie, probably something hip and unique and sexy because I don’t get laid enough and really need to live vicariously through my unlimited instant netflix movies, because they are reliable and committed and always await me after a long day of selling expensive shit to Mac-snobs, or bobbing around campus trying to pretend I still care about college, even though I don’t feel like a student because my professor doesn’t even know what avarice is and misspelled gluttony!; and I’m dreaming about traveling again or doing something, anything, but this…snagging that husband. Have you read this children’s book about a baby bird trying to find its mom? I can’t remember the title, something like , “Hi are you my mom?” or “Where’s my mom?” and so that is me lately, “Hi, are you my husband?” Pathetic.
I don’t even like responsibility. Imagine me in a committed anything. I can’t even imagine a rental that is more committed than month to month. This world completely befuddles me.

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upsetted by world…

hmph, at these times I want to curl up in a ball and act like the little girl that is still very much alive inside me… i’m not sure what my problem is but maybe it revolves around letting go. I just need to let things be. Like if someone says something and does the other, that’s what most people do and so let it go, I really can’t judge the why or what of it, I can only control myself only and how miserable or happy I am in response to something. And if Im confused then if there is no response I am best to forget and move on to something where giving energy is actually a positive. I’m probably preaching generalities, but they are things I lose track of, and when I’m blue it’s hard to be sensible and see the transience of a given situation. Instead I hear the clock tick-tocking in my skull, and my heart cramps and I feel claustrophobic from life, and terribly alone. But I’m not and life is giant, and I’m not ninety yet!

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Maybe it’s not friendship…

“I must do something or I shall wear my heart away”. (Charles Dickens) I will name the five now: Loren, Michael, Josh, Sean, Adam, and Jeremy. And the whole names to boot. It will make it easier for my self-reflection. Let’s evaluate. First there was Loren. I fell in love! Haha, this deserves a blunt list to organize my brain:
1. Loren: me 19 english/philosophy major UO, him 22 psych major UCB, coworkers at calpirg in Berkeley, he’s my instructor first day, first day he’s wearing gold shorts, flamboyant, if he’s not gay I will like him I note…he is also laughing with a girl he later was gaga over though she had a beau…sex twice, ecstasy three times, overdose once, rejection: began after initial sex, and full-blown after second time….I knew from his words I was a good lover. What was it? My bad response: calls, gaga eyes, completely smitten, annoying…
2. Michael and Josh: neither was a coworker. Josh: friend of friend, came up to me, drunk at a party, sex many times the first night, hip hop music (I was in a hip hop phase, the roots, black eyed peas…) he cut his achilles in the shower, lots of blood, stitches…I consoled him with Billie Holiday, bad luck, Me: sold guitar, gas money to visit him at Western Oregon, beach night, sex. Michael comes along: smitten immediately. Sex: 0 times. Make out, beach, hot springs, popsicles, and cigarettes not to mention lemon drops: many many. Outcome: wishy washy Josh declines, I am wrapped up in Michael. He follows me on the street on campus. Gives me a flower behind the ear. “Youre mine for the day”. We meet at the library, he passes a note of ISBN numbers. And then an email. “Want to get popsicles sometime?” I have concluded romantics can be the most devastating. He nearly gives me a heart attack at the hot tubs, my heart is beating so fast with excited romantic feelings. I nearly puke. Michael maybe meets someone then, because a decline. I’m being a weirdo. I like him alot. He knows it, and no chase. He declines more, and then beings this girl Windsor to a party. She has a high-pitched voice and is chubby. I hate. Then he sees Josh, and weird moment, (friends circle stuff). But I moved to Spain. Good thing too because I was starting to be smitten again with a friend of mine and that was getting wonky too…(“men and women can never be friends, the sex part always gets in the way” I feel jealousy from this old movie quote and how true it is for some boys)….Michael is still my friend, he writes randomly, he’s married. Josh: meh, who knows. I hear he’s married. I really could care less.
3. Sean: barely noticed him at first. As usual, he pursued me, my regular charming cashier at Sundance. Everyone liked him, that big smile, those sparkling eyes. I was indifferent. And then a night: wine, red tie, walk in the dark, stories. I always want to move slow. I absorb things slowly. I react slowly. I lose my heart and recover it slowly. But I move into these things too fast. So Sean: sex maybe 4 or 5 times. What then? His ex back in town. Post ex: less communication. Our friendship and laughs: declined. Good bike trips and parties without jealousy: 0. Me: devastated. Next step: he gets me a job there, a great place, Sundance. Only problem: he’s there. Big problem. He puts up a wall and I am no longer a friend, I am a stranger, I might as well have the ebola virus. There is no escape. Quit a great job and delusionally believe it had never happened. Or face it until things smoothed over. His friends: fuckers. The outcome: keep job and eventually notice my gaga-eyed coworker Adam. And he noticed me months earlier.
4. Adam. Charming. Weird, graduated, 26, from Illinois. Long hair. Wild. Protective. Pretty eyes. Maybe this was the first time I was in love. Me: I move into his complex o the 2nd floor, he is on the 3rd. We run into each other in the hall. I’m carrying a spatula. He is standing in the stair well and has no idea why. He comes in. For several nights we stay up til dawn talking. We make out over an algebra book. Everything is heaven. He only has to explain once that he still has feelings for the married woman coworker and that he will never marry and have kids. I still really like him. Sex, I like him more. We move in together. Fights, passion, etc. I move to Korea, my cat dies. I’m devastated. He likes a girl. The new girl at work. They close the store together now. I am alone in a foreign country. I want to die, like my cat. I curse them. And then he calls and they didn’t work out. I can use my webcam again. We talk. I return and we’re on and off for months. I’m unemployed, a nomad, lost, confused. He wants space. Visits me in Ptown once a week, once a month, never. No more. The summer is a blank one. I wanted to camp, I wanted to make love. I wanted another night on the beach. I wanted a lot, and I felt blue but not the sky, more like an early Picasso with old weathered men and poor, hungry children. I felt hungry but too tired to consume anything. Just able to walk and walk and walk as if searching for the light at the end. And the biggest consolation was that the foreign country, the year of loneliness miles away form anything familiar, was over. And my power source came in the strength I had hadfor a moment there overseas feeling solitude with peace, knowing I would return to something, and being immersed in the moment, not expecting, wanting, or wishing. Just knowing that that was all there was then, and whatever was ahead would be good, and more familiar. But this was my freedom. And no one was there to reject me. I wasn’t interested in anyone but myself; in that was a sort of peace. But a temporary, lonely one. It was a blind spot. I wanted to return and find love…
5. Jeremy. Takes me off facebook. Such a little action and so painful! But woah, let’s back up. 9 months in Portland and no job. In Thailand I had spilled tea on my keyboard. Time passed and it came back to haunt me. Kernel panic and a dead ibook, and Ian, my old boss’s neighbor sets up my new macbook pro. I love it. Aluminum. Shiny. Black keys. Backlit LCD screen. Liquid crystals. That’s beautiful. I remember this boy with longish dark locks sitting next to Ian. He seemed unapproachable. Later it’s Ian who helps get me an interview when they’re hiring, and Dan hires me right off. I meet Jeremy and he says something rude. Bad start. But then later we talk. We have things in common. And he sculpts. And I picture him sculpting me with his hands, and I want it to happen. I am determined to get to know him. Little did I know his roommate liked me and I had to maneuver around that. And then we see a play and I snap something and it irks him and I think, well that’s it. And I email him and then…he wants to hang out with me! He wants to bake cookies with me! So we do, and we talk about everything and I want to move slow but I also want him to sculpt me with his hands. And so we well, we don’t move slow. And I tell him I’m sensitive. And he says so is he. And I tell him I am picky. And he is too. And I tell him I really like him but I just came out of a confusing heartbreaking affair and things are better slow, I grow slow. So does he he says. It’s perfect. So we jump right in. Time: 1 1/2 months. Breaker: I have herpes. Who knew…I guess Adam had it. I guess I hadn’t even realized that it was a lifetime disease. it doesn’t go away and Adam had it and I now had it and I had given it. Without a single problem of my own here he was and he was a big mess. And he tried to deal. And we hung out. And we even had sex again: once. And then I don’t know, something fell apart. Something clicked. He made a decision. And on the phone he said no more. And at work he was cold. And again a wall. And I was scared. Here it was again. That inevitable hurt. That wall. That deep core of pain. I felt like I had been punched. I could barely breath. Should I quit. I couldn’t. Look at the unemployment rate. I swung back and forth between hope and hopelessness. And the hope was the worst. It was the worst. Because it was shadowed in hopelessness. And shadowed by other failures. And I’m still lonely.
But I named five guys, three coworkers. I have neglected Tynan and Colin. I have nearly forgotten oh what’s his name, Gabe, and Pablo, and honestly can’t think of the guy who took my virginity’s name at the moment (oh, ahem, Thor)…But all these I told to mosey on, and didn’t think twice. And Tynan, man I really messed him up. But wasn’t he just obsessed. Isn’t this unrequited love a sort of obsession? He had all these ideas of me and our potential, but what did he really know? ANd why did he want to be with someone who so obviously had had a change of heart. And he was a puppy dog, and it was pathetic. And so looking at it from that perspective, I might see myself more clearly and I feel like a fool. So I’ll weep in silence, and bit my tongue from now on, because this behavior, this need to just at least talk, well, it’s so unbecoming, and I am so much better than that. Plus with all these guys to think back on, I’m sure if I had played it more cool I could have saved myself a lot of heartbreak and dignity if not created more moments of free-loving adventure. And I’m not a longterm loose-skirt, and now, well with the H, I suppose I’m pretty prude until well into something, but let’s just agree to have a little more self-respect shall we, and not try to hard at the things that are not going to be…But you know, Adam really is an exception in all of this, and I’m not saying he’s the Mr. Big to my Carrie alter-ego, but he certainly has come and gone a few times and remains one of my dearest friends. Because I suppose he knows me. Maybe it’s not friendship in the normal sense of the word, but I like him in my life, he holds a part of my heart even after all of it or maybe because….and the special glimmer in his eye for me, well, that has always remained and I for him, and that’s more than I can say for some.
But back to my little lone apartment and my newish cat. Pizza and a movie for us, all right. I just guess I’m feeling the urge to get past all this and I’m disappointed that I can’t seem to yet. I want to settle down. No drama. No games. I just want a best friend/lover/dreamer/artist and lots of time in bed being lazy. Its really so simple. =)
But that’s more than enough for now, just words from a wise man:
“Don’t walk behind me, I may not lead. Don’t walk in front of me, I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend.” (Albert Camus)

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Just a bunch of gobbledeegoop…

In the beginning there was man. He talked a lot about his Transformer collection, and memorized quotes from the Big Lebowski or Nietzsche, depending on his daily leanings and mood, in order to impress his friends. And then he met a girl and she was heartbroken over a guy. He thought maybe he could help this girl feel better, and he liked how sad she felt next to him. And so he followed her around like a labradoodle. And then the girl became happy, and she made impossibly witty jokes with a straight face that could confuse people because she looked really sweet but she was downright caustic at times. But he liked it a lot and they lived happily ever after baking cookies, and talking about their dreams to make a darkroom, travel cross country to ghost towns interviewing redneck ranchers and diner waitresses, and try new sexual positions together. But this only lasted for a very short time because soon she was too happy and he saw another girl that was sad like this girl had been, smiling sweetly and nearly completely mute because it was so physically exhausting to be sad that talking was too much of an ordeal for her mouth. And so the guy started to fall in romantic love with the second girl, and I only say romantic love because it wasn’t obviously real love. Because real love doesn’t just transport itself from one girl to another the second aforementioned original sad girl starts to tell jokes and smile for real. It was only in this romantic love state that the Jung and Nietzsche and Osho and Blake quoting guy could stand up proud and say he was going to save another girl, like a knight, with a white horse, and shiny armor. But he stood and his zipper was unzipped, and he was embarrassed. And he took the new girl by the hand but her hand was clammy. And the original sad girl was sad again, so much so that she couldn’t form a sentence, and her eyes shone sparkly in the sun like pools of tears gathered between trees of lashes; and sad girl number two was too happy to even notice that the boy was unbearably discontent, like a horse with a barrel of bananas instead of carrots. And so there was man and being as he could never be happy with what he had man was eternally disappointed, and couldn’t think of a thing new to say that could impress even himself because all of the new movies had bad dialogue and relied on CGI effects to make them worth their insane ticket prices…and everything else had been written in real books with wisdom, but looked cheap in Kindles and therefore couldn’t be oralized with any gumption whatsoever. It was a really sad conclusion to man who as a boy had dreamt of meeting a strong happy girl, and as a boy had wanted to hold her hand as an equal, an artist, a lover, as a man.

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