Problematic

Sea teeth are frightening. The ocean is far more ferocious than we give it credit. Everything has sharp gnashing fangs. My sister used to be very into owls, and now it's otters...their teeth are not as frightening. I've been drunk-ish for the last four evenings. And tonight we are watching Blue Planet II, after finishing The Hookup Plan....which I desperately hope gets a second season, because I so need the fabricated romance in my life. I've finished 4 paintings. I have 4 left. I have finished one bottle of wine tonight, but I started it yesterday, so that's not quite correct. I finished two bottles the night before. And I am not sure how I drank before that. It's cocktail season. I can't bear to be cuffed by anything less than a warm buzz. I broke a glass container and I have kept the shards because in the dead of night I lay awake and dream of death. Crabs are freaks. I just read through a bit of a notebook I didn't realize I had been journaling

I am injured. It is not a physical injury, but a spiritual one. I could never be more hurt than to discover that my friends have been very poor ones, as I have been obsessed with my ex for years and not once did anyone think to hire a hot French escort for me. Not once!! I have a sister as well. I am aggrieved! Truly, I am alone in the world. Out on the streets trying to arrange my own dick appointments like a Dickensian orphan. "Please sir, can I have some more?" I have started watching The Hook-Up Plan. This is how I became aware of yet another short-coming of my social safety net. I suppose I should give them a bit of a break. It's probably marginally more difficult to find a French sex-worker here. Especially one that looks like a tall ethnically ambiguous Tom Hardy. I started watching the show because I decided I should start watching more foreign language things in order to practice listening. And I started with a French show rather than a Spanish show because I

I am starting my internship on Tuesday, so I am compelled to do as I always do, and cram for the test of life. Estoy empezando mi pasantia el martes. Asi, que estoy obligado a hacer lo que siempre hago. Google doesn't know the word for "cram." Google no sabe la palabra para "cram." I am trying to speak to the kitten in Spanish, because she's the only one I regularly talk to... Estoy tratando de hablar con la gatita en espanol porque ella es la unica con la que hablo regularmente. So I learned the things I normally say to her: Asi que apredi las cosas que normalmente le digo a ella "Who's a kitten?!" "Quien es una gatito?!" "Shut up" - which I technically already knew because of my sad sad childhood "Callate" - lo que tecnicamente ya sabia por mi triste infancia and y "No one will ever love you" -  which I say because I am a broken person and I am projecting "Nadie te ama

My mother has her final procedure today. Her final "surgery." She'll still need to have her fake nipple colored in. That's done in her plastic surgeon's office. I'm guessing it will be my mother's first tattoo. Not because I don't know if my mother has any other tattoos. Au contraire- I have now seen my mother in all her glory about 3 or 4 times, so unless she has some small tattoo between her toes or in the inside of her mouth, I know it would be her first tattoo. I just don't know if what they're going to do to color her nipple will be considered a tattoo. I should look it up, I guess. Maybe it's lasers. Everything is lasers these days. It's easy to understand all those drama plot-lines about hospitals becoming triggers when you've been in one as a repeat guest. There's a distinct energy to a hospital or a clinic. I imagine if it were common for people to die of complications in the middle of a Lowe's hardware store trau

I should be studying. This is a recurring theme. And an awareness that I never give credence. Or, perhaps, bearing on what I am doing. I did study. But not enough. I have a test on Monday that is very important. I thought I'd watch Destination Wedding. It was more than I could have hoped for, and still very problematic. So much so, that I can relate to Winona Ryder's character completely. I am so starved for a good adult rom-com that I'm willing to overlook a really horrendous male lead as long as he brings it home in the end. It's like if negging became a person became a movie. It's absolutely the kind of shit that I would have used 4 years into my 8 year relationship to justify putting up with a horrible dead-inside human being. The saccharine cynicism that broken narcissists can become something resembling whole when they're paired up, if they're pretty and witty. Or just talk very quickly. Every exchange is the kind of dead-pan cringe that soot

Let's write it out. We've been let down. Betrayed. We've been betraying ourselves. I can't help but think there are going to be shown tomorrow that young voters didn't make it out as much as we hoped. Latinos voted for Republicans despite the hateful rhetoric of their leader, and most of them directly. Women voted for people who don't understand our reproductive system. For people who claim transwomen are going to assault us in the bathroom. We made a man indicted for fraud our attorney general again... So where do things go? What do you want, Texas? Is this really who we want to be? It's comforting to think that maybe this is a simulation. This is my own personal hell. It's time to abandon the angry hurt whiteness of Texas, if I can. If this isn't beyond my control. No one can ever convince me that reality would be so warped as to allow Nazis in the street again. That someone who lies daily is so strongly supported. Never get your hope

My father has a metal tooth (I don't remember if it's silver or gold, I'll have to note it next time he smiles), a crooked smile (I think because of the tooth), a pot-belly and a big ego. Machismo, I think is the word. Something he got in Mexico, like the metal tooth. He's had it the whole time I've known him, and I am certain it is from Mexico because the only time I've been out of the United States was when we went to Mexico for my mother's dental work. I am also certain that it is very old work because I have never been offered a metal crown. I assume that it was the cheaper option at the time. I suppose that's one way that dentistry has improved, it surely isn't in the drills. My father worked as an interior painter for over 20 years, before he was fired, or laid off, I don't know how it was qualified. He was either fired for being his sort-of-fussy self, which he didn't expose to me often, but through his frequent arguments with my mot

This interpersonal communication class is not going well... I feel like I am becoming actively aggressive in communication toward other people because of how much I dislike this course. I have also discovered that I am a terrible actress; I'm too self-conscious. I was asked to make a video of my responses to some prompts as a way of completing the oral portion of the class, and, in reviewing my responses to edit them all together, I realized that I do not know how to communicate with others in a way that does not seem to have an underlying judgmental tone. Basically, this class is just reinforcing my sense that I will not advance in business based on my personality. Now, moving away from the last heavy-handed post about why I need feminism, I have further musings on why I probably need feminism: I have a type. A guy type. A type of guy that I cannot avoid becoming attracted to. Luckily/unluckily this type seems to exist solely in fiction, so I don't have to be too concerned

I'll take the time to find where the folds will be and draw pictures of us in the margins. Every note is an open secret. The loud whispers of a child, there's a foolish expectation you'll keep between us, but a deeper understanding that everyone will know. S'mores Halo Top is garbage. I don't know why I even got Halo Top, it's not like I felt diet ice cream was something I needed to add into my rotation of snacks. Today's vignettes: Like A Virgin There are a few things I have never forgotten. It's not really as though all of them are momentous occasions. I remember the difficulty of learning to ride a bike from my mom on our driveway. We live on a little hill. Perhaps not a hill. A mound? There's a significant slope to the drive way, either way, and it is cracked. The cracks aren't small, either. They're great big slabs of concrete that have broken away from the rest of the driveway and would wobble if you stood on them. This was not t

I have developed this terrible habit of staying up over-night every couple of days. I just find something to do and tell myself every hour that I will go to sleep until I edge so close to morning that it makes no sense to anymore. I am hoping that now that I have a job I will correct this behavior. It seems I spend a lot of time putting faith into my future self. I've also decided that I'm pretty well over school. As much as I enjoy this campus, I am ready to be in a different stage in life. Well, maybe I am not well prepared, but I am impatient- this is the term of my readiness.  Actually, my current classes have been very useful in enlightening me to the fact that I am highly unprepared for the work force. I have spent the last 10 years engaging with it almost completely incorrectly, it seems. I think I knew that in some ways, but I didn't think there would be nearly the same emphasis for networking with lower-level positions as there is. Hopefully this truly

The only path I have memorized is the one out of town. When I know how to get around I'll know it's time to move on. The contents of my life are as such: 2% wigs 10% costume clothing 20% shoes I don't wear 15%  notebooks with 5 pages written on 5% canvases 3% old textbooks 65% things that any reasonable person would objectively call garbage 9% not knowing how percentages work Life is a constant struggle of trying to determine how much ignorance I can play off as humor and the answer is typically not as much as I would like to. It's weird packing up my own life for part of the week then assessing and packing someone else's life. My sister has left some things in the house that she has vacated that I will be taking over. Last weekend I bought paint and I returned to find the walls pleasant shades of blue. This week I pulled over even more of the non-essential-but-clean items in my apartment. This included the kitten. She did not enjoy the ri

I think failure gets harder when you get older. It hurts more. There's a larger sense of permanence to it. When you're young everything is changing all the time. It's supposed to. Your body is constantly changing. Your class, your grade, your friends change annually and there's a safety in the consistent rate of change. The failures of yesterday aren't that important because the potential of the next year feels assured. And suddenly the constant change becomes a problem. At 30 if you are still making big moves on an annual basis there is something wrong. The safety nets are gone and all excusable drastic changes should have been made by 22. You're well past the acceptable age of a Taylor Swift song title or Adele album so you need to settle the fuck down. I live in a blue house. I think I want it purple. I'm finally making money. I want more. I don't know much else on the daily. I am constantly surprised that I seem to be keeping up with my ass

I need to get a skinny European boyfriend so I can call him my Blonde Flat White. As I have finished dinner I realize that I cannot become a rapper, because if I nervous-vomit before my rap battles I have no explanation for why there is celery in my mom's spaghetti. I don't think this is something that other rappers would just let slide. I certainly wouldn't. "Bitch, did you have papaya in- what...Shepard's pie?! Hell naw, I don't play with this." She might be a culinary genius. I do like the play on texture. It's been really hard to get myself into writing lately. I have a lot to do. I have three group projects that I don't completely understand. The amount of interaction I am being forced to sustain is becoming overwhelming. Outside of that I've been trying to foster good, consistent people-seeing in an effort to aid my socialization. I'm feral and I need puppets to play with to prove I can come inside the house. Before I go

Okay, so.... You have to binge On My Block IMMEDIATELY if you have not already. I am typing this through heaving sobs, it's so tragically fantastic. I will admit, that since my last post I still have not slept. And I know that does things to your brain parts and the emotion parts of your brain parts. I think this is more a product of how completely blindsided I was by the way this show evolved. It totally maintained the sometimes cheesy over-dramatic dialogue that I thought initially made it seem campy (probably, mostly, because I am using that term incorrectly.) But it transforms in these brilliant and meaningful ways that I just did not expect. It's a coming of age comedy, mixed with, what I assume, is the authentic drama of living in an LA hood (I have only ever lived near Houston hoods, so I can't like, definitively say it's authentic) and this insane treasure hunt. The characters are smart and have depth beyond the stereotypes they draw from, but there's so

So, I'm going to generalize a complaint about generalizing for a sec, because I just looked in the mirror. Here goes: transwomen and drag queens have this tendency to talk frankly about "passing" and how hard it can be for them sometimes with all their manly-man body hair and facial hair. This complaint is like, inadvertently throwing shade at my 5 o'clock shadow that totally does not need the help. I need some lightening cream, ladies, leave me alone. It's just silly fun that we're all hurting each other all the time. If I put a wig on and forget to do my eyebrows I am definitely going to be confused for someone in drag. Well, probably not. I have a pretty soft face, I might pass. Although, like, honestly, I don't know if I do identify as "a woman" or even want to- but I know that's what people immediately identify me as and that even though I biologically am, I don't really fit the standard because of my lack of care. I guess my point i

I think it might have rained. There were pools of water on the road that I don't remember being there when I left. I'm a firm believer that if you are going to do something you should commit to it. Subsequently, I do very little because I have real commitment issues. This is probably the extent of what I am willing to commit to, and that is probably not great. I've been wondering, based on the differences in views on several posts, if I title some things better than others, or if somehow the system is counting when someone accidentally clicks on the tab they left open with my half-read post up as a new view every time the person forgets to close it on their phone. I can also commit to cats. Cats and blogging. Although, I really haven't ever committed to a theme to this, so I wonder if that really counts? I guess, if we had to attach a real theme in order to categorize it would probably be a slice of life blog about a girl unable to commit to her own sense of menta

If you want to feel really weak, I would recommend stress-induced vomiting. It's a spectacular phenomenon. Vomiting, in general, is great because it's your body's way of telling you you are full of poison. Like when you've had 5 too many shots of vodka and your body is just, "Hey, wait- dude- do you know what this is? Like, we're going to die...I gotta get this out of here" and you throw up all over the stall of a bar you can never go back to, because it was 7pm and they're definitely going to remember you. But then you stress vomit. When someone has just been telling you that you live worse than a homeless person and you can't get a job because you physically look incapable. Your body gets the message that a bunch of little sad synapses are going off. Too many. Too fast. For too long. And then you have to leave so you can find a safe space to hide the embarrassment of needing to throw up because your feelings are hurt. I used to stress-vomit a l

It feels like ages since I've written something for you. I finally stopped sleeping with the light of the television on. Then I woke coughing and saw the kitten, in the darkness, looking into her room from the hall. Now there is no amount of light on the shores of the conscious that will make me feel safe to sleep. I've been sitting in the dim off-white glow of my dining room/bedroom anticipating my murder. It's been about 12 minutes. It was warm when I woke up. The chill of exhaustion is once more wrapping around, but I can't shut my eyes comfortably. Whatever is hiding in the other rooms will come for me. I don't think I can fight. I suppose, I patently know I have not been tested in this way, so it is unlikely I would be skilled at it. Every few weeks the issue of hand-to-hand combat pops into my head, but I haven't had the money or time to go about really training for apocalyptic scenarios. Or assassinations that seem entirely baseless. I guess there

I have a confession to make. I'm a psycho. And not in the cute "I'm just like Harley Quinn, I'm a bad girl with an attitude and daddy issues, I like to post memes about what a 'bitch' I can be" way. Not in a cool fun "I take a lot of drugs but can do insane knife tricks when I'm on them and we might go on a spree of felonies tonight, but we've never been so ALIVE" way. I'm damaged and I fuck things up. I know I've gone on like 4 tirades about how I am not damaged and toxic, but I think I was really just trying to talk myself out of it. I hurt people. I am childish and freak out about not getting what I want so I hurt people and I'm rude. When people show up to my parties in the wrong order I have a fucking episode. I touch penises I am not supposed to touch. I stand next to busy roads and have arguments with people holding a shitty lingering threat that if they say the wrong thing I'm going to throw myself into the str

I don't think I realized how much it would take to clean your scent off of me. It was foolish. A decade doused in your perfume, I should not have assumed it could be undone so easily. I wonder if it's healthy for me to want to remove so much of you. If I could, I would remove more than what is on me. It's an obsession so pervasive that it breeds other obsessions to try to take its place. I don't know if there will ever be another moment so critical to my growth. You're the thing that would induce me to cannibalism. I feel as though I am cannibalizing my life to eat you out of it. It's not the first time, and I wonder how damaging this will be. More people should watch Hannibal. I don't think I'll ever let that go. It's the greatest love story I've ever bore witness to. It feels so consuming that it is hard to imagine that you are not a direct witness of a cursed love blossoming. It's the kind of love that everyone says they want, but I don&

George Bush! Parents suck! They don't get that I'm not made for college! Celebrities are tools! No one understands me! I'm going to steal my friend's girlfriend... I spent the last two hours of work with the Spotify Pop Punk Powerhouses playlist. It was uniquely satisfying in how unsatisfying it was. It was the auditory equivalent of going to a German fetish hospital and having my balls squeezed. (You really ought to be watching Killing Eve, then you would understand.) It was fun to realize how unwarranted all of my anger was up to now. I don't think I even was angry, I just liked the idea of raging in a very commercially palatable way. And my pre-teen sexual awakening probably had a part in it, too. At least with The All-American Rejects for sure. That guy is still hot in a "I'm going to die of a heroin overdose someday" way. Who knows, though, he could survive well into his old age, like Kate Moss. He was in that cancer movie with Toni Co

If I were a baseball player they'd play the ending part of Roses, where they just repeat "crazy bitch" over and over, when I walked onto the field. I have been to two baseball games, so I know about things like this now. I think they also have theme songs in boxing? I am not aware of any personal theme songs in basketball, football or futbol. And that is all of my knowledge on sports. I have been working on a lot of posts. It's been a really productive time. I wonder if my habit of taking weekends off my meds is contributing to this in any way. Like how periodic fasting is supposed to be good for your body/metabolism based on the pseudoscience that all dietary recommendations are. Either way, I am getting a lot of stuff started, and potentially not going to finish any of it, as per usual. In this process of kind of cataloging my entire existence I decided that this is the new direction of the blog, for a little while at least. Which I guess was the original purpos