(no subject)
You guys, I'm pissed off. For various reasons.
I will begin with something important that I am not currently pissed off about, but will be by the end of the week if I don't hear from the people who know they're being addressed here: Anyone who has borrowed something of mine, please give it back. I've emailed a couple of you, I guess maybe the emails have gone unchecked, so perhaps Livejournal is the faster means of communication. I want my stuff back. If you owe me money, I'm willing to call that a wash if it's less than $100. But my stuff. I really want my stuff. I hate having to ask for my shit back but the fact of the matter is that no one who has actually borrowed anything, and there are a few of you, seems to be making great strides to get my things returned to me. And these are my things. And I want them back. K? K.
Now, on to the things I'm currently angry about...
How can a day that started off so awesome suddenly take such a turn?
Here's something I want: I want all the girls in the world, no matter what they look like, no matter their defects, to stop fucking criticizing themselves already. Stop worrying about your skin/hair/nails/cellulite/whatever, and stop comparing yourself against every other girl you see. And then make sure the boys know that looking at a girl and calling her fat or anything is not okay. I felt on display tonight, the way people were looking at me, talking low amongst themselves, looking back at me and laughing. What? What did I do wrong? Was it my face, my hair, my body, my clothes, what?? And more important, what does it matter? Because I felt fine until you fuckwads started comparing and tittering away amongst yourselves, as if I don't have ears, because of your fucking comparing. I hope I made you feel good about yourselves. I hope my love-handles made you feel thin, and that my messy hair made you feel stylish, and that my relatively cheap outfit made you feel wealthy. Because at least then, your outright mockery of whatever it was you were mocking me for serves something of a greater purpose.
I'm sick of all these skinny girls bitching that they're fat. There will always be someone thinner than you. There will always be someone fatter than you. Are you diabetic? Do you have heart disease? No? Well okay then. Those two packs a day/tanning habit are going to kill you long before your weekly Snickers does anyway, so might as well just enjoy it.
I'm sick of boredom and I intend to quash it. I'm sure greater ties of friendship will develop between the people who choose to accompany me. Everyone else will be forgotten, sooner or later.
I'm sick of people whose brains can only handle one subject at a time, ever-fixated on some mundane happening that nobody else in the fucking world gives a rat's ass about, and yet you can't seem to shut up about it. I'm sick of being nice to people because that's what you're supposed to do. After all, the saying goes, "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all..." I think I became too focused on the "saying nice" part and forgot about the option of not saying anything at all.
I'm sick of Livejournal, too. But you know I'll never leave.
Brighter aspects of today include joining Andrea on a wild-book-chase downtown... it just goes to show you the difference between talking on msn and actually talking. We've talked via lj/msn for how long now? But I never got a truly clear impression of quite how bubbly, friendly, and insightful this lovely lady is. It's nice, learning about people. I know that sounds trite, but there's no other way to put it, really.
I got a great good-morning from Zoey today, too. She bowled me right over. 82 pounds of Labrador Retriever, coming right at your knees... not a good scene. It's awesome how dogs can make you feel so loved. This is why I'm not a cat person. I like how Zoey cocks her head to the side when I'm talking at her, how she cuddles into my lap when I'm crying, how she rampages for me when I come home after sleeping at Dan's. Cats don't dance when you come home. At least, they don't put their ass into it. And that's just not worth the effort, really.
Even the hockey game was good tonight, considering we lost. One hell of a nail-biter. I was losing my shit, you guys! Like full on twitching, screaming, at times practically howling. I loved it. My throat hurts so bad now, you have no idea.
I've come to realize why NHL games are so friggin' exciting, even for a lukewarm hockey fan such as myself. I mean, I couldn't care less who takes the Stanley Cup. All it means is that you had the good fortune to score the most goals in a decision making game. It's rather meaningless, when you think about it. But I enjoy attending games at the Palladium (time for an anti-corporate revolution!)... that said, I only really enjoy them when we're winning. And I have a couple thoughts as to why this is...
#1, Hockey is like sex. You're in a heightened state the entire time, regardless of what's happening... but the true magic is when you see your team on the brink of getting a goal. Shit son, it's even called "scoring"! The anticipation... and yet the tension that he won't make it! The slow build up, you can see it coming... "Oh! Oh! OH!" He shoots, he scores! "YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHGUERHWEKHLAHKEHELHHAHEHEGAGUEUGHEunf!unf!unf!" There are a lot of sexual parallels here.
#2, in what forum other than sports can twenty thousand people come together in one room and then proceed to scream, swear, jump up and down, and like I said, even howl? There were times tonight when I was seriously baying like a hound dog. It felt amazing. There's something very primal about it all.
And of course, I don't have fun at the games when we're losing not because I particularly care about the game, but because I no longer have any reason to howl. There's no more anticipation, and certainly no more pseudo-orgasms. A losing game is just bad sex, really.
Best conversation of the night pertained, oddly enough, to cognitive psychology. Such is the merit of attending university; you get to have totally random, casual conversations about attentional resources as they pertain to goaltending. I hate pound-you-over-the-head, "look what I know!" conversations, but I love it when the concepts just kind of sneak in edgewise like that.
I really believe that going to university is little more than a giant, costly exercise in finding yourself. For all the things I'm pissed off about tonight, I'm equally pleased with other developments, and I suppose that's balanced. Your twenties are such a weird age... I feel like it's this time where you really have to start looking at your life, and you have to decide what's keeping you tied to the past that you're supposed to be over by now but let's be honest, who really is? ...and the future that you want for yourself but don't have any real idea how to achieve. Although... you know, thinking about it, maybe there's too much focus on the future anyway. Ultimately, it's really about choosing whether to cling to the remnants of your past, or achieve a present-tense that will give you great things to reflect on come your old age.
I wonder what my preoccupations will be 10 years from now.
I resolve to wake up tomorrow and feel happy for the things I have, and to stop feeling sad and angry over the things I only wish I had.
I will begin with something important that I am not currently pissed off about, but will be by the end of the week if I don't hear from the people who know they're being addressed here: Anyone who has borrowed something of mine, please give it back. I've emailed a couple of you, I guess maybe the emails have gone unchecked, so perhaps Livejournal is the faster means of communication. I want my stuff back. If you owe me money, I'm willing to call that a wash if it's less than $100. But my stuff. I really want my stuff. I hate having to ask for my shit back but the fact of the matter is that no one who has actually borrowed anything, and there are a few of you, seems to be making great strides to get my things returned to me. And these are my things. And I want them back. K? K.
Now, on to the things I'm currently angry about...
How can a day that started off so awesome suddenly take such a turn?
Here's something I want: I want all the girls in the world, no matter what they look like, no matter their defects, to stop fucking criticizing themselves already. Stop worrying about your skin/hair/nails/cellulite/whatever, and stop comparing yourself against every other girl you see. And then make sure the boys know that looking at a girl and calling her fat or anything is not okay. I felt on display tonight, the way people were looking at me, talking low amongst themselves, looking back at me and laughing. What? What did I do wrong? Was it my face, my hair, my body, my clothes, what?? And more important, what does it matter? Because I felt fine until you fuckwads started comparing and tittering away amongst yourselves, as if I don't have ears, because of your fucking comparing. I hope I made you feel good about yourselves. I hope my love-handles made you feel thin, and that my messy hair made you feel stylish, and that my relatively cheap outfit made you feel wealthy. Because at least then, your outright mockery of whatever it was you were mocking me for serves something of a greater purpose.
I'm sick of all these skinny girls bitching that they're fat. There will always be someone thinner than you. There will always be someone fatter than you. Are you diabetic? Do you have heart disease? No? Well okay then. Those two packs a day/tanning habit are going to kill you long before your weekly Snickers does anyway, so might as well just enjoy it.
I'm sick of boredom and I intend to quash it. I'm sure greater ties of friendship will develop between the people who choose to accompany me. Everyone else will be forgotten, sooner or later.
I'm sick of people whose brains can only handle one subject at a time, ever-fixated on some mundane happening that nobody else in the fucking world gives a rat's ass about, and yet you can't seem to shut up about it. I'm sick of being nice to people because that's what you're supposed to do. After all, the saying goes, "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all..." I think I became too focused on the "saying nice" part and forgot about the option of not saying anything at all.
I'm sick of Livejournal, too. But you know I'll never leave.
Brighter aspects of today include joining Andrea on a wild-book-chase downtown... it just goes to show you the difference between talking on msn and actually talking. We've talked via lj/msn for how long now? But I never got a truly clear impression of quite how bubbly, friendly, and insightful this lovely lady is. It's nice, learning about people. I know that sounds trite, but there's no other way to put it, really.
I got a great good-morning from Zoey today, too. She bowled me right over. 82 pounds of Labrador Retriever, coming right at your knees... not a good scene. It's awesome how dogs can make you feel so loved. This is why I'm not a cat person. I like how Zoey cocks her head to the side when I'm talking at her, how she cuddles into my lap when I'm crying, how she rampages for me when I come home after sleeping at Dan's. Cats don't dance when you come home. At least, they don't put their ass into it. And that's just not worth the effort, really.
Even the hockey game was good tonight, considering we lost. One hell of a nail-biter. I was losing my shit, you guys! Like full on twitching, screaming, at times practically howling. I loved it. My throat hurts so bad now, you have no idea.
I've come to realize why NHL games are so friggin' exciting, even for a lukewarm hockey fan such as myself. I mean, I couldn't care less who takes the Stanley Cup. All it means is that you had the good fortune to score the most goals in a decision making game. It's rather meaningless, when you think about it. But I enjoy attending games at the Palladium (time for an anti-corporate revolution!)... that said, I only really enjoy them when we're winning. And I have a couple thoughts as to why this is...
#1, Hockey is like sex. You're in a heightened state the entire time, regardless of what's happening... but the true magic is when you see your team on the brink of getting a goal. Shit son, it's even called "scoring"! The anticipation... and yet the tension that he won't make it! The slow build up, you can see it coming... "Oh! Oh! OH!" He shoots, he scores! "YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHGUERHWEKHLAHKEHELHHAHEHEGAGUEUGHEunf!unf!unf!" There are a lot of sexual parallels here.
#2, in what forum other than sports can twenty thousand people come together in one room and then proceed to scream, swear, jump up and down, and like I said, even howl? There were times tonight when I was seriously baying like a hound dog. It felt amazing. There's something very primal about it all.
And of course, I don't have fun at the games when we're losing not because I particularly care about the game, but because I no longer have any reason to howl. There's no more anticipation, and certainly no more pseudo-orgasms. A losing game is just bad sex, really.
Best conversation of the night pertained, oddly enough, to cognitive psychology. Such is the merit of attending university; you get to have totally random, casual conversations about attentional resources as they pertain to goaltending. I hate pound-you-over-the-head, "look what I know!" conversations, but I love it when the concepts just kind of sneak in edgewise like that.
I really believe that going to university is little more than a giant, costly exercise in finding yourself. For all the things I'm pissed off about tonight, I'm equally pleased with other developments, and I suppose that's balanced. Your twenties are such a weird age... I feel like it's this time where you really have to start looking at your life, and you have to decide what's keeping you tied to the past that you're supposed to be over by now but let's be honest, who really is? ...and the future that you want for yourself but don't have any real idea how to achieve. Although... you know, thinking about it, maybe there's too much focus on the future anyway. Ultimately, it's really about choosing whether to cling to the remnants of your past, or achieve a present-tense that will give you great things to reflect on come your old age.
I wonder what my preoccupations will be 10 years from now.
I resolve to wake up tomorrow and feel happy for the things I have, and to stop feeling sad and angry over the things I only wish I had.