What, Where, Who Am I?

I'm getting old. Not the sexy, wise cougar old. The senile, drooling babbling kind of old. For a week I've been patiently observing my rapid deterioration and for a week I have slumped into a deeper and deeper state of depression and hopelessness. No! Nay! Don't try and stop this spiraling crazy (yes, I am referring to myself), just let it happen.

So Close to Twenty Followers... Sad.

No, my title has absolutely nothing to do with what I'm writing about today. I've decided my blog is going to rebel against sanity and all that is proper and decent. Nay, I will not be controlled by the "norm." Instead I will rave on incoherently, indefinitely, ridiculously. Actually, I have been mulling over a pretty serious topic of interest that has not only infiltrated the hearts and minds of the country but also irritates the hell out of people and can be extremely offensive. It's a question you're asked whenever you purchase that loaf of bread and eggs and lunch meat. Or every time you pile tofu, flax seed and oatmeal into your shopping cart. You know the question well, "Paper or plastic?" Nowadays that is almost like punching someone square on in the mouth. WHAT DID YOU ASK ME?! PAPER OR WHAT?! I HAVE MY OWN BAG THANK YOU. Ah, yes. The people who not only use age old rags fashioned into bags in order to avoid the blasphemous, sinful, just plain wrong option to take a plastic bag. Ok. Do not get me wrong. I LOVE MOTHER EARTH. I'm all for her flourishing forever and ever, living a long, healthy fulfilling life, BUT, I do have a problem with people who get incomprehensibly angry at people who don't use reusable bags and have an air of disgusting superiority that you cannot penetrate... without fists of fury. I'm really just mad at the people who are oblivious to class and don't see how this little privilege is just that- a privilege. Making blanket statements that smother logic and destroy my nerves. There's nothing wrong with being environmentally conscious. Hell I'm all for that shit. I love recycling. Upcycling is my new obsession, but let us not forget that it is a privilege. Sigh. Class. What a slippery slope. Man, I'm just a ball of sunshine today eh?

And to really drive it home... My new favorite song...



I'm out.

Race Riot

There's this whimsical, unrealistic illusion in society that race relations have magically disappeared and that everyone observes tact when speaking about their opinions on the subject. No. That no is emphatic with a touch of misery and disappointment. I realize that people are raised differently, exposed to different or not so different things and I don't hold that against anybody. You can't change where you grew up, however, I would hope that after 25+ years in the world there would be some kind of conversation with yourself about how to approach certain heated topics and situations. I would hope there would be some level of consideration when speaking so confidently about such a topic. Nay. There is nary a stutter when I hear off-hand comments carelessly spouted after two beers. I'm tired of it. I'm exhausted from all the excuses I formulate after speaking candidly with said people. I'm annoyed that people feel it's okay to say certain things in front of me assuming I won't mind or care. I'm tired of writing about these occasions so consider this the LAST POST I will write on the subject. My fingers are cramping over these keys, trying to get this shit out for the lasssttt timeeee. Alright, you and I both know that will not be the case, but at least for a while I will cease. No more. For a while. And now to cheer you up... my girl Ri Ri. Yes, it is ok that your jaw has hit the floor. I too am amazed at my seamless turnaround. All it takes is one video directed by Melina Matsoukas featuring Calvin Harris for me to drink the cool-aid. Man, I'm all up in it.



I'm out.

The Pursuit of Happiness

I've been asking myself this question for over 3 years now, "What makes me happy?" And depending on the time of day, the amount of food in my stomach, the weather, the company, the answer(s) change. The key is finding the constant. What constantly makes me happy regardless of outside, uncontrollable factors. I have come to the conclusion that not only does happiness lie within the beholder, but in all the important relationships that have manifested, sprang up, reigned down on me in the past, ones that I hope will form in the future and the ones that I cherish now. My happiness is also affected by what I do. For a long time I've been suppressing the obvious. Negating to tap into how I'm really feeling, I just kept ignoring my feelings of defeat and anxiety- mostly annoyance, now that I think of it. Everyone says you're suppose to hate your job. It's normalcy. And I used to agree. I used to accept the inevitable and struggle through my day praying that I would eventually become numb to the incessant insanity and dehumanizing task of folding clothes, tracking numbers, and pretending to care about something so trite and ultimately soul crushing. After a series of fortunate/unfortunate events I now realize what's important. Happiness. People. Life. And actually not loathing your job and everything it stands for. Life is on the up and up minus the awful down and down of the weekend.







I'm out.

Occupy Reality

After being deprived of a computer for I don't know how many months I have finally gotten hold of a machine long enough to update without feeling guilty, or worse- rushed. I've gone through a lot since the summer and I promise I won't bore you with the sad, gritty, head-scratching, exhausting, mildly amusing, gruesome,incredible stupid details. Recent events prevent me from speaking of frivolous summer follies and ridiculous regrets. You know what I'm talking about. Occupy Wall Street. The endless coverage, chatter, and arguments that have revolved around this... this thing that has grown into a massive, conflicting, contradicting, yet wholly beautiful collective of people- minus the disgusting, inexcusable behavior of law enforcement, of course, has leaked into so many conversations I've been having with people.

Here we have massive amounts of people gathered in front of, yep, none other than Urban Outfitters. They were marching down 6th Ave and apparently were attempting to lure the greeter to join them. I walked by wishing to sweet Jesus I was more impulsive and didn't need a job to survive.

I love all the people clinging to their UO bags as if they're protesting something entirely different. 'Cuz they are. They're like the anti-protesters, and I sadly am apart of they're putrid game. I know full well how dramatic I'm being. You shush.
FIGHT THE POWER.

This movement has been a chance to show the world that Americans are not as pathetically apathetic as everyone (including Americans) expected. However, there seems to be a slight problem with the fact that there is no single voice or reason behind the occupation. I personally like the idea of a fluid movement like this where ideas are constantly circulating , but to some it gives the impression of disorganization and whimsical idealism. I have no solution. I am merely talking about an issue I would like to know more about.
Many people I know are involved with OWS and I couldn't be prouder of them! For weeks now I have been trying to get down there and have failed at every attempt. I really have no excuse. It's actually getting kind of ridiculous at this point. I should give myself a date. I need some motivation, too, so if anyone feels so inclined to be my pushy, persistent OWS mate PLEASE lemme know!

Now I want to talk about how awesome my internship has been. So, as I have stated before I began working for this start up called Krrb and have fallen in love with the entire concept. Not only have I been learning massive amounts about social media, marketing and pr, but have been given opportunities to write. WHAT. SO GOOD. Anyway I'll stop talking about it now, but KNOW HOW AWESOME IT IS AND USE IT. It really is a breath of fresh air compared to the angry bowel of criagslist or the overwhelming sense of doom and disappointment associated with eBay or Amazon. OH! And we're teaming up with Film Biz Recycling and Jessi Arrington for a silent auction! COME. There will be $1 tacos from Oaxaca and FREE BEER from Brooklyn Brewery. Just $10 to RSVP! I'm super stoked about it. I've been blowing up every social media site I have about it. I'm sure I'm pissing people off ha and it's awesomeeeeeee!

Oh and yet another racist event has given me the willies. I can't go into detail, but the N-word was said in a kind of nonchalant way that almost made my eyebrows fall off and my brain leak out of my ears. You're very welcome for that beautiful delicious absolutely disgusting image. I am so completely naive to think talk like that nowadays is so uncommon. Obviously people are still stupid and will continue to be that way for oh EVER. It's just so disheartening when it's someone you were growing found of and looking forward to starting a friendship with. Sigh, the thought of amount of work/time that would be involved with de-stupifying (I made that up) this person is just plain nauseating.

Oh well...


I'm out.

You Have Got To Be Kidding Me

Over the past few days I have encountered numerous strange people and gone through some awkward occurrences. Let's list a few things that I have unfortunately experienced, greatly affecting my already jaded perception of reality:

1. This isn't so odd but by golly it's frustrating to see job posts with more misspellings than a dyslexic five year old's spelling test. If you don't know the difference between your and you're then why the hell should I?! And if I see one more scam job I think I might explode.

2. I was eating brunch and out of the corner of my eye I see this guy yapping away to himself with a haphazard, willy-nilly contraption on his back that had a rod that dangled a camera in front of his face. AWKWARD. I asked the friend I was with if this dude was crazy and he said no, he's just filming himself. I on the other hand am a little apprehensive to proclaim his sanity.

3. I had an interview at a place and was asked why I haven't worked in my field yet and thankfully before exploding with anger I calmly said I don't know instead of HAVE YOU BEEN LIVING IN THE SAME AMERICA I'VE BEEN LIVING IN?! YOU KNOW THAT THING CALLED THE ECONOMY?! IT's REALLY NOT DOING TO HOT WHICH IS CRAZILY ENOUGH HAVING AN ADVERSE AFFECT ON EMPLOYMENT OPPORTUNITIES!!! AHHHHHH!!! But I didn't say that. I should've, but I didn't.

4. There's this homeless guy that has set up shop near strand who I've been meaning to write about not because I think he's crazy or strange, but I have this weird admiration for him. Every time I see him he's reading something. Be it a novel, a newspaper, a magazine. He's always entranced by the words, ignoring the bustling world around him. He has a little, nonobtrusive piece of cardboard that politely asks to show some kindness and spare some change. I have a kind of disgusting, romanticized admiration for him, but I still haven't given him money yet. Errr....


If I remember more things I'll be sure to add them!







I'm out.

Fiction: part 2

She thought about it for a while. Weighing the pros and cons heavily. It felt like hours as she sat there wondering how she would explain checking herself in to an insitution to friends and family, who have no idea what she's been facing for months. She wondered how her mother would react. A simple woman with mild interest in her daughter's affairs and irresponsible with her own. She would probably encourage the break from society in hopes she would not have to deal with her daughter's detachment from reality herself. She would idly suggest a vacation or a nap. Laughing to herself, Cyrille dismissed the thoughts and decided to make the phone call. Looking at her phone thoughtfully she began to dial the numbers that would hopefully lead her to freedom and tranquility.
"New York State Psychiatric Institute. Beatrice speaking, how may I help you?" Her voice was warm and inviting. Cyrille almost hung up immediately but there was something in Beatrice's voice that made her stay on the line. She wondered if Beatrice was hired for that particular reason.
"Hi. I'm- uh..." She struggled to find words. This was the first time she spoke aloud to anyone about her ailments, "I have a problem. I would like to check myself in and was wondering what the procedure was?"
"Now, there is no reason to be nervous. I will gladly assist you. How are you feeling right now Miss-"
"Temple. Cyrille Temple."
"Yes, Miss Temple. How are you?"
"I feel absolutely insane." She blurted.
"Well, sweetie, where are you?"
"Home."
"I can send a vehicle to pick you up."
"Please." Cyrille was near tears. After exchanging information Cyrille hung up and began packing her belongings. Shortly after putting some jeans in a duffel bag she stopped. Everything seemed so futile. She would be wearing the same thing anyway and the though of changing outfits everyday made her nauseous. Clothing was a reflection of self and she had no idea who she was. A pair of jeans became a threat. A t-shirt was a mocking gathering of fabric and jewelry was diminutive, useless clutter. So she decided to sit and wait in the dark instead. Listening to the wind blow through buildings outside, wishing she felt as free as the air penetrating the city.



to be continued....

I'm out.