I will not lie to stroke his ego. I'm not going to giggle and pretend I'm into something I'm not just to make him feel like he's hot shit. If I don't care, sorry boutcha luck, but I don't care.
"No, I'm not into you're band. Hardcore death metal was maybe my thing for ten seconds when I was 15. I am now no longer 15. Thusly, it is not me anymore. Yes, you're totally cute and have a smirk I can't resist, but I don't care about your band. Sorry, man. Doesn't change the fact that I can't resist your smirk but I'm not gonna listen to your metal band."
I realize this means I fail utterly at flirting. Apparently, flirting means giggling incoherently and pretending that whoever you're flirting with is the Ultimate King of Awesome. Simpering, blubbering, nonsense. I opt out. I prefer not to let my brain drain out my ears when a cute boy is around, thanks. I'll stick with Gears of War and my friend-zone, if that's the alternative.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Friday, July 23, 2010
This is Why Boys Don't Like Me: Episode 1.5
I wear office supplies. This confuses boys. I guess the whole office supplies are for the office not for adornment thing. Boys confuse easily. Like cats. ^_^
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On Buffy
So I've just started watching Buffy and I'm in the second season. I've noticed a few things that strike me as odd.
Why does no one notice that Xander is hot? I feel like I'm taking crazy pills. Dude is not only adorably nerdy, but ripped! And no one can tell me he's younger than me playing that 16 year old. That man has graduated college. Nicholas whatever....
Why are Buffy's boobs like an independent character? She is always wearing a black bra with some white plunging shirt. my high school was relaxed with their dress code but.... Hell, she dresses more provocatively than that popular girl. You'd think someone, like her mother, might have said something like "don't dress you actual age, but the age of your character." something like that. buffy's boobs are everywhere!
Also: omg the 90s. and cibo matto? how cool is that? and why do they get a high school club and we didn't? the bronze? part of me thinks that's a brilliant plan. part of me thinks its idiotic. you could serve mocktails, but kids don't spend money...
so that's some random ramblings on the subject. I'm definitely enjoying it, though!
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This is Why Boys Don't Like Me: Episode 1
Rocking out to midis from Doom I and II at work.
Problems with this include:
1. Midis are so very antequated it makes me look retro in a bad way. People like people who don't live in the past. Not even a cool past. A past full of nerds. With gallons of gatorade and three-day-old pizza.
2. Boys don't like girls that like "boy type" things such as Doom. Guys like girls who are wholly different. Ethereal magical beings that shit rainbows and wear hooker heels. Not girls who wear combat boots and like violent video games. The mere mention of Doom makes boys put me in a category of "friend" rather than "potential date material". They simply aren't advanced enough to reconcile the two concepts. "Yes, I like violent video games and boys. No, I don't want to join your LAN party. I would rather dance. Yes, I still like video games. Ugh, just go away."
3. Rocking out. At all. People think I'm just crazy. "Oh, her? She's wiggling oddly. What's she listening to? I don't know, some weird computer sounds. Yeah, I know right? Superweird."
NOTE: Demons are cool. It is a proven fact. Demons = cool. I stand by my statement that got me kept after class in the 5th grade. Demons ARE cool. Glowing red eyes, blood dripping from their fangs, horns, creepy grins and all. Totally awesome. I know it's a boy thing or whatever, but I don't care. I'm not into dolphins, I like demons. Maybe I'll start saying, "DUDE that dress is SO DEMONS."
IRRELEVENT: I just found out who makes that song "Wishing Well" that I can't walk into a Marshalls/TJ Maxx without hearing. Terrence Trent D'Arby. WTF, dude? That shit is awful. In fact, I AVOID walking into Marshalls/TJ Maxx for fear of hearing that song, among a few others. "I Believe in Miracles" is one other. I can't handle it. Seriously, try walking into Marshalls TODAY, listen to the musaak and tell me it isn't Terrence Trent D'Arby. Maybe it's not playing immediately after you walk in, but it'll play if you actually shop. DO IT. You will see how right I am.
Problems with this include:
1. Midis are so very antequated it makes me look retro in a bad way. People like people who don't live in the past. Not even a cool past. A past full of nerds. With gallons of gatorade and three-day-old pizza.
2. Boys don't like girls that like "boy type" things such as Doom. Guys like girls who are wholly different. Ethereal magical beings that shit rainbows and wear hooker heels. Not girls who wear combat boots and like violent video games. The mere mention of Doom makes boys put me in a category of "friend" rather than "potential date material". They simply aren't advanced enough to reconcile the two concepts. "Yes, I like violent video games and boys. No, I don't want to join your LAN party. I would rather dance. Yes, I still like video games. Ugh, just go away."
3. Rocking out. At all. People think I'm just crazy. "Oh, her? She's wiggling oddly. What's she listening to? I don't know, some weird computer sounds. Yeah, I know right? Superweird."
NOTE: Demons are cool. It is a proven fact. Demons = cool. I stand by my statement that got me kept after class in the 5th grade. Demons ARE cool. Glowing red eyes, blood dripping from their fangs, horns, creepy grins and all. Totally awesome. I know it's a boy thing or whatever, but I don't care. I'm not into dolphins, I like demons. Maybe I'll start saying, "DUDE that dress is SO DEMONS."
IRRELEVENT: I just found out who makes that song "Wishing Well" that I can't walk into a Marshalls/TJ Maxx without hearing. Terrence Trent D'Arby. WTF, dude? That shit is awful. In fact, I AVOID walking into Marshalls/TJ Maxx for fear of hearing that song, among a few others. "I Believe in Miracles" is one other. I can't handle it. Seriously, try walking into Marshalls TODAY, listen to the musaak and tell me it isn't Terrence Trent D'Arby. Maybe it's not playing immediately after you walk in, but it'll play if you actually shop. DO IT. You will see how right I am.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
E
Always nice to me though he didn't have to be. He made me feel special and valued in a place i'd come to think of as home. He was the final thing to convince me I belonged. That I was supposed to be there, and I wasn't faking anything. I'd walk up and we'd exchange pleasantries and he'd stamp my hand, refuse my money and wave me in with a "sweetie" or a "baby" or a "honey". I wish i'd paid more attention to which he called me, but it made me feel nice, anyway. It was particularly fun when there were people behind me that he made pay. I felt like some VIP at a much fancier club. But this was my space, my home. And he made me feel welcome with a smile and a chuckle. I miss him already.
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Tuesday, July 20, 2010
flowers
It has never occured to me to express my thoughts through flowers. I mean, there are so many easier methods of expression. You could try writing or hell, the spoken word isn't dead yet and its less likely to be misinterpreted. What the hell can flowers really say, anyway? Sounds to me like a recipe for miscommunication. "hi, let's hang out, have a daisy!" "what?"
It's like epiphanies a la Wordsworth: "So I was walking and OMG DAFFODILS! Dude! Daffodils! I mean, like totally daffodils, you know?" "No. I'm sorry, sir. Your daffodils mean nothing to me."
Seriously, they're pretty and all, but they don't mean shit.
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Monday, July 19, 2010
Offspring's Smash
That album has been deeply appealing lately, and I don't know why. I remember listening to it during the science fair in the 6th grade when I was "going out" with Elliott. I just can't get enough, lately, of "Smash", "Come Out and Play", "Kilboy Powerhead" and "It'll be a long time". I've always loved this album but the last few weeks I can't get enough post-punk 90's screaming. I guess I'm just in the mood or something.
I have a real 90's problem. Gosh, when this album came out I couldn't have been any older than nine. Barely sentient. I was still way into Nickelodeon. I can't explain the deep fondness for 90's music. Perhaps it's the onset of cynicism without politics. Angst without sappiness. Raw, unchecked, frustration and anger without anything saving it from it's own destruction. Kurt Cobain died. Killed himself. He was the martyr or... something. It was a symbol of the mood of the decade. It was a depressing time. All culminating into Woodstock 99. A horrifying example of what happens when a decade of youths burn themselves to pieces and take down the previous generation's symbols with it.
The horror, the horror. But, maybe all that has something to do with why I love the 90s. Tortured, barely contained madness. A lack of personal identity directly proceeding a time of invention and innovation. Seems like a metaphor for my life.
I love it because it hurts. Because it's pain, anger, madness distilled into chords and beats and sweat.
My dad said to me recently, "I basically don't like metal. You basically do." I always think also of what he's always told me, "You can't like any music until you figure out how to dance to it." I realized how true it is. I've always known how to dance to metal, and grunge. Spasms of frustrated madness. Wrenching, tearing, beating. Feel the beat in your gut and burst out in ecstatic waves of everything you've ever hated and loved all at once. It's a dance I've always known. A dance I've always done. He's right. I basically love this, and always will. And I fully believe it's because my body innately knows how to move to it.
I have a real 90's problem. Gosh, when this album came out I couldn't have been any older than nine. Barely sentient. I was still way into Nickelodeon. I can't explain the deep fondness for 90's music. Perhaps it's the onset of cynicism without politics. Angst without sappiness. Raw, unchecked, frustration and anger without anything saving it from it's own destruction. Kurt Cobain died. Killed himself. He was the martyr or... something. It was a symbol of the mood of the decade. It was a depressing time. All culminating into Woodstock 99. A horrifying example of what happens when a decade of youths burn themselves to pieces and take down the previous generation's symbols with it.
The horror, the horror. But, maybe all that has something to do with why I love the 90s. Tortured, barely contained madness. A lack of personal identity directly proceeding a time of invention and innovation. Seems like a metaphor for my life.
I love it because it hurts. Because it's pain, anger, madness distilled into chords and beats and sweat.
My dad said to me recently, "I basically don't like metal. You basically do." I always think also of what he's always told me, "You can't like any music until you figure out how to dance to it." I realized how true it is. I've always known how to dance to metal, and grunge. Spasms of frustrated madness. Wrenching, tearing, beating. Feel the beat in your gut and burst out in ecstatic waves of everything you've ever hated and loved all at once. It's a dance I've always known. A dance I've always done. He's right. I basically love this, and always will. And I fully believe it's because my body innately knows how to move to it.
Rev. 22:20 (Dry Martini Mix)
I think this song might have lead directly to my downfall. Opens with Maynard James Keenan saying "Don't be aroused". Already I am and I can't help what I do after.
Hot boy next to me, sorry buddy, I pounce, apparently.
Wasn't fully aware of what this song did to me until it happened. Of all the movies, why Underworld? Why him? Why then?
So the story goes that I had some boy, no matter now who, at my house watching Underworld and he was doing everything right a la Bruce Willis. Then this song plays. And he's touching me. With hands that look like they've molded clay and massaged flesh. Sensual, strong, erotic hands. Or maybe it's the song. Maybe it's Maynard's voice, which has always meant sex and sensuality to me (since I was 12 and first heard Stinkfist. Does that make me a little fucked up? Probably).
And so rarely do I ever find a man so sensually attractive. Well, any that I don't already know well enough for it to be superweird. And my flesh craves attention. Powers up like a dead spaceship at the slightest touch. Any encouragement at all sets me against myself and well, we already know my body hates me. She says, "Fuck you, rationality!" and does whatever the fuck she wants.
Well, clearly rationality might have helped a bit in this case. Won't hear from that guy anytime soon.
Guess he's not a Maynard fan.
Hot boy next to me, sorry buddy, I pounce, apparently.
Wasn't fully aware of what this song did to me until it happened. Of all the movies, why Underworld? Why him? Why then?
So the story goes that I had some boy, no matter now who, at my house watching Underworld and he was doing everything right a la Bruce Willis. Then this song plays. And he's touching me. With hands that look like they've molded clay and massaged flesh. Sensual, strong, erotic hands. Or maybe it's the song. Maybe it's Maynard's voice, which has always meant sex and sensuality to me (since I was 12 and first heard Stinkfist. Does that make me a little fucked up? Probably).
And so rarely do I ever find a man so sensually attractive. Well, any that I don't already know well enough for it to be superweird. And my flesh craves attention. Powers up like a dead spaceship at the slightest touch. Any encouragement at all sets me against myself and well, we already know my body hates me. She says, "Fuck you, rationality!" and does whatever the fuck she wants.
Well, clearly rationality might have helped a bit in this case. Won't hear from that guy anytime soon.
Guess he's not a Maynard fan.
This blog thing is way more complicated than I'd bargained for
Dude, just going through the "Gadgets" features! I don't know about all that. Howabout I see if anyone will READ this shit before I go about surveying and counting and doing random fancy stuff?
Is it time for philosophy yet?
Anyway, I hate writing stuff about myself. I'll talk all day about what I think about anything else (think Anne Lamotte's One Inch Pictures on crack).
Pretzels? Yeah, I like 'em. When they try to make them flavored, with like wheat and honey and whetever else, they turn awful. Like supernasty. Normal, everyday pretzels, I'm all for. Tasty. And my mother's pretzel rolls! I could eat those all day! ^_^
Easy as a lion.
Ask me about myself, I got nothing. "Umm... I'm... a girl... I think... I mean, maybe I have to call myself a "woman" now or something, based simply on age. And I am somewhat annoyed with how my gender defines itself and identifies itself. Seriously, MUST we care about shoes and wear flowers? I mean, I care, I just hate everything. Wait... what was the question again?"
See what I mean? If anyone (of the two people I have so far told about this new gadget I've got), has anything they'd like to see me say about myself on my profile thingy, that'd be most helpful. It worked on all my other social networking things. Bryce wrote those. That's why they all talk about long walks in the pork and on the bitch. I don't even know what that means, but I don't really care. Dudes seem to still want to message me on OK Cupid, so he must have done something right. Best I could do was type up the lyrics to "Magical Trevor", so anything more must be an improvement.
Anyway, maybe I should also discuss my intent for this blog. In a more detailed way than my first post. I intend this to be a starting point for any further fleshing out of my ideas. Any ideas. As Anne Lamotte suggests, these posts I hope to make into some sort of "Shitty first drafts". I'm hoping to expand my horizons, though. Bleed into the relm of ranting and opinion writing. I need to make myself ok with that.
And already I have an idea. Next post! ^_^
Is it time for philosophy yet?
Anyway, I hate writing stuff about myself. I'll talk all day about what I think about anything else (think Anne Lamotte's One Inch Pictures on crack).
Pretzels? Yeah, I like 'em. When they try to make them flavored, with like wheat and honey and whetever else, they turn awful. Like supernasty. Normal, everyday pretzels, I'm all for. Tasty. And my mother's pretzel rolls! I could eat those all day! ^_^
Easy as a lion.
Ask me about myself, I got nothing. "Umm... I'm... a girl... I think... I mean, maybe I have to call myself a "woman" now or something, based simply on age. And I am somewhat annoyed with how my gender defines itself and identifies itself. Seriously, MUST we care about shoes and wear flowers? I mean, I care, I just hate everything. Wait... what was the question again?"
See what I mean? If anyone (of the two people I have so far told about this new gadget I've got), has anything they'd like to see me say about myself on my profile thingy, that'd be most helpful. It worked on all my other social networking things. Bryce wrote those. That's why they all talk about long walks in the pork and on the bitch. I don't even know what that means, but I don't really care. Dudes seem to still want to message me on OK Cupid, so he must have done something right. Best I could do was type up the lyrics to "Magical Trevor", so anything more must be an improvement.
Anyway, maybe I should also discuss my intent for this blog. In a more detailed way than my first post. I intend this to be a starting point for any further fleshing out of my ideas. Any ideas. As Anne Lamotte suggests, these posts I hope to make into some sort of "Shitty first drafts". I'm hoping to expand my horizons, though. Bleed into the relm of ranting and opinion writing. I need to make myself ok with that.
And already I have an idea. Next post! ^_^
I made Satan cry
So the last zine was a bust.
So was that comic I was never going to learn to do.
And that movie I'll never make.
And that novel I'll likely never write.
But this is a start.
Hi. I'm Blanche, and this is my blog.
The title comes from a dream I had a very long time ago. I made it into a poem some time ago. Revised it a while ago. Then, in a different age, I realized that making Satan cry is probably something to be proud of.
I'm someone different now. Different interests, priorities, and talents. I just need to keep reminding myself that I'm still the girl who made Satan cry. And that makes me at least a little bit of a badass.
So was that comic I was never going to learn to do.
And that movie I'll never make.
And that novel I'll likely never write.
But this is a start.
Hi. I'm Blanche, and this is my blog.
The title comes from a dream I had a very long time ago. I made it into a poem some time ago. Revised it a while ago. Then, in a different age, I realized that making Satan cry is probably something to be proud of.
I'm someone different now. Different interests, priorities, and talents. I just need to keep reminding myself that I'm still the girl who made Satan cry. And that makes me at least a little bit of a badass.
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