Not as dark and mysterious as Finding Forever and Common himself is definitely not a hobo anymore.
With Kanye and The Neptunes, it's more hipster hop than hip hop.
However, despite the risk-taking, it's still dance-able, society-conscious and strangely sexy.
I’ve been seeing stars for a few days. I felt like I needed to work on some eye-hand coordination to where it was. Then I discovered it, an opened figure drawing session out in Park Slope.
For 8 dollars, you get to sit in this laid-back studio with about 10 other people for two and a half hours with a nude model. No one is telling you how to draw; you don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to. And did I mention wine?
Too good to be true? It’s not.
It felt good. It felt right, unlike everything else in my life. For those two and a half hours, I’ve gained a part of myself back.
…And it’s fantastic to know I’m still here.
“ Why do we fall down, Bruce?” He would say with a serious face.
“ So we could learn to pick ourselves back up! Batman Begins.” I would say with confidence and enthusiasm, just ‘cause I like to be right.
My dad and Mr. Wayne just happen to have the same principles.
Since I fall a lot, it seems like I’m in a perpetual state of picking myself back up. And I’m alright with that. I’ve become quite good at it actually. However, when I fall really hard though, I still haven’t quite figured out if I have the timeframe that I need in picking myself back up.
I also blame the human nature to talk about other people. Don’t get me wrong, I do it too. To think about the secrets and scandalous stories that is being passed around like tampons in the girls’ bathroom. It’s like a tub of Half Baked ice cream from Ben & Jerry’s, it’s so good that you KNOW it has to be fattening. The newsstands full of tabloids are a strong enough evidence of this very fact.
However, as much fun as it is, when does it ever end? When does the line ever get drawn between being completely driven crazy and being adorably neurotic? Where do you put the line between the little social interactions that people get into and having it straight up ruin a relationship?
I’m taking a minor “emotional embargo” at the moment, mainly because I’m done and I need to take care of myself. It’s like the moment you realize at an-all-you-can-eat buffet that you’ve eaten so fast, you didn’t even notice that you were actually full about 30 minutes ago.
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My apartment has cockroaches living in it. I’m from a Third World country and I’ve never lived with this many. It makes me feel like I’ve become such a dirty slob, like Joe in Joe’s Apartment. I watched that movie right before I moved to NYC; I should have seen this one coming.
I found a baby cockroach today in one of the drawers in the kitchen. I got a piece of paper towel, softly grabbed the roach with it. I wanted to put the baby roach outside my window, so it’s out of my face but close enough for it to run back and find its parents.
I feel like I’m the faceless human in one of those Pixar films. Think about it, the baby roach is like Nemo, got taken out from its home by this huge faceless force (me) and has to spend the next hour and a half finding its way back.
However, when I tried to open the screen window, it’s stuck. Then I think, “shit. What the fuck, I’m holding a fucking cockroach wrapped in a cheap 79 cents paper towel, that’s fucking disgusting. “. I closed my eyes tight and pressed my thumb and index fingers together, resulting in the excruciatingly painful death of the baby cockroach. I mean, seriously, imagine being squashed up to death by cheap paper towel.
Said the man who’s been my lover before he walked out of my sight into the train station. It was my last night in the city I was happy to leave; it was our last kiss, our last lovelorn looks. I held him so tightly without saying a word but I think he might have heard it. My heart, I think it was beating too loud for my own good that night.
We gave each other a smile and that was it.
Because, you know, we’re mature, realistic people.
I remember this one night when I was sitting in his living room, tracing my eyes on him as if I had a pencil and he was my subject. He sits there in his underwear, with his guitar, singing a song about an old love who couldn’t keep him for long. Some people would see a red flag; all I saw was an inclination that I would continue to desire him.
I guess that’s me. The more tragic the better.
I wonder if it was just good chemistry; I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t left; I wonder if what we had was tangible, accountable, even. I wonder why I’m still wondering. I wonder if he wonders....
In the end, I’m a sensible, practical kind of girl. So I continue to be just as quiet when I’m away from him as I was when I first met him.
Of course I have fantasies of my romantic notions working out in my favor.
“For all the time that we spend on boys, we could have become Astrophysicists!” My roommate proclaims. Both having graduated with art degrees, I was a little perplexed.
I was in all-girl-schools from kindergarten up until the end of middle school, so I know a little bit about life without boys. I think back to the old days when boys weren’t a part of my environment. I was a pudgy anime geek who wore a retainer. I sat at the same table every lunch break with my equally geeky friends drawing comic books, obsessing about the new Limited Edition of Sailor Moon comics. It sounds unappealing now, but back then, I couldn’t have been happier. I also remember living in a boarding school, about thirteen years old, sleeping in the same room with six other girls and never talking about boys, unless they were coming from pages of Sugar magazines. Even then, I was so naive I didn’t really know what exactly I was supposed to swoon over.
Boys? What do they do?
Then the world shifted, I entered co-education.
Boys were everywhere. Suddenly, there were all these…creatures, running around with their crackling voices and they were looking at me funny. I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel about it. It seemed like my parents had overlooked the fact that I have been living on a completely different planet since I was 6 years old. Something told me I was supposed to look into it though, I mean, all the other girls were, the impressionable 14-year-old me couldn’t possibly help it.
I started having many unsuccessful crushes, mainly because I was awkward as hell and just pathetically hopeless. Then I started to obsess, about everything concerning boys and much less about everything else. The one thing that was never part of my life before became the only thing that existed. I became more and more of a boy-crazy wreck. The questions that I first proposed to myself went unanswered. It just changed from “what do they do?” to “how could I get one?”, like it was some kind of urgency for me to get boys to like me. At the time I didn’t know a lot, but I was sure about one thing: no boys like pudgy anime geeks. I had to make a change.
So, from unsuccessful crushes came unsuccessful relationships. I have on occasions lost sight of who I am, what I want and what I really need through the trails and errors of my relationships with boys. No one said it was ever going to be easy, so I never underestimated anything. I daydream about the 13-year-old me sometimes though; I guess I just miss my innocence, no matter how unrealistic it was to think that boys are never going to matter. But I’m happy to say that in ten years since the whole co-ed fiasco, I have proposed a new question to myself: what exactly am I looking for in them? I don’t think that I know exactly what it is just yet, being a late bloomer and all. However, after all the times I’ve put on lip-gloss for it, I have to hope that I’m getting closer.
I do have to give boys some credits, even after all the sleepless nights, painful obsessions and pleasure; through discovering them, I have also discovered me. Hopefully, it might even help me figure out what kind of a woman I am and wanting to be. From my first date at 15 to the last text message I received from a cute boy just a little over an hour ago, the giddiness stayed the same, however, something else has changed in me.
I have now happily embraced the anime geek that still lives and fantasize stories about fierce female superheroes. I have managed to make my way back to being who I originally was: the geek, just with a cuter outfit this time.
Found a couple of drawings done by an ex-boyfriend today, quietly hidden away in a shelf of crap I never look at, I suspect that it was tucked away by him. The lines are raw and so very real. I’m a drawer myself; I find that you can tell a lot about a person by the way they handle pencil on paper. From what I can tell, he’s complicated, passionate with just a dash of playful immaturity. I’ve always loved the way he handles his lines, among other things.
In the corner, there’s a text complaining about my snoring, scribbled carelessly with color markers, exclamation points and everything. I could see him now, sitting with a cigarette in my favorite rocking chair, hovering over this little piece of paper, utilizing my art supplies. I imagine him feeling suffocated in a room that he wasn’t used to yet, sharing this vacant full- size-bed with the girl who snores way to0 loud.
Suddenly, I feel lonely and, dare I say, a little relieved.
Lonely at the fact that he would never share this bed with my eyes trustfully closed again and out of nowhere, the bed seems even emptier. However, before I resign myself to the idea that I might be shit out of luck, I realized that this bed is anything but vacant.