In case you’re wondering, Robin exclaimed a variation of his “Holy….Batman!” catchphrase 359 times in the tv show.
Yeah, you weren’t wondering that. But you’re welcome anyway
In case you’re wondering, Robin exclaimed a variation of his “Holy….Batman!” catchphrase 359 times in the tv show.
Yeah, you weren’t wondering that. But you’re welcome anyway
I forgot all about you. Sorry about that. I made you a cake.
Whatever, I googled you a cake. Don’t be so ungrateful. It’s the thought that counts. And since I just admitted I forgot about you, it’s safe to say my thought doesn’t count for much either. Shit.
So I forgot about you and didn’t make you a cake. But in my own defense, I did say upfront I suck at blogging. I obviously KNOW I have this blog, I just forget to blog on said blog. But I’m going to pay more attention to blogging on my blog, since that’s what blogs are for.
I just said blog a lot.
Also, saying blog very many times within short span of time makes you really realize how dumb the word “blog” is.
It actually kind of sounds like the word for the sound someone makes when they dry heave.
And with that, I’m going to quit while I’m (not at all) ahead.
Happy 4th. Don’t blow your hand off lighting fireworks in your backyard. Or do- it’s a free country AND THAT’S WHAT TODAY’S ALL ABOUT. *allegedly
I was really hesitant about having a blog. I think for the most part they’re pretty self-serving unless it’s a specialty blog about “food” or “music” or whatever. I already have Facebook and Pinterest and Instagram, all of which are full of shit I like, and my dogs, or other dogs, or sharing funny/interesting/informative shit I find on the interwebz.
So when I started this blog I was pretty realistic and looked at it more as a way to be writing a little more for the sake of writing versus because there’s anything of value in any of these posts. Basically this blog, like most blogs, is a bunch of brain farts. Occasionally my brain farts are funny and twisted. I’d also like to think I’m a little more honest about that’s what this blog is.
I never and still don’t want to be known as a blogger. I’m a writer, and they are in no way the same thing. Now, you may have a writer that has a blog and blogs occasionally; but they usually are able to actually write something be it articles, stories, scripts, poems, etc. There’s more that goes into writing than just firing up a WordPress and declaring yourself a blogger. That’s like saying the person who happens to be in a restaurant while they’re filming a Real Housewives scene is an actor just because they signed a release for when the episode airs. Just because you say it, doesn’t make it so.
Writers are artists just like actors, musicians, artists, etc. They actually work at their craft, study it in their own ways, and possibly have mounds of things they have written and never let a pair of eyes read because they are fiercely critical of their own work. I never started calling myself a writer until I was actually hired, paid to write, and published. And even then, I was very timid about doing so. I respect the word and what it means to be qualified as a writer, and even though I do get hired to write and have entered writing contests, I still almost whisper the designation when I apply it to myself. Part of it is a confidence thing. Part of it is because my goal is to accomplish something bigger as a writer, and I feel like only then can I securely consider myself one.
But bloggers? There’s a scene in Bring It On that explains what bloggers are to writers:
It’s not the same thing. And it shouldn’t be considered the same thing. But we are in a day and age where mediocracy garners praise and everyone’s goal is to be a celebrity or to be famous. Everyone wants to be on the D List. It’s a time where people think we all want to see their OOTD, TBT,FBF, dozens of selfies and pictures of them out with their friends like their night is being covered by TMZ, and where having hundreds of thousands of followers on a social media network makes them famous.
Whenever I come across something like this, someone who’s internet footprint exists really to just talk about themselves like they’re auditioning for a role as a Kardashian friend, I always try to find what it is they actually DO. What do they provide? What service or art or product are they offering? What are they creating? It’s usually nothing but a lot of smoke and mirrors. A bunch of wannabes that never were and never will, hyping themselves up to anyone who will listen. And it is sad because among a sea of noisemakers there’s something or someone who has integrity and offers something of value that’s getting ignored.
Because let’s face it, everyone slows down to look at a car crash. And the internet is like one massive, multi-car pile up that we can get stuck on. But just like in real life, you can get off the highway and take another road.
There was a random cat meowing outside my house last night. It was a really sad meow, too. Like it lost it’s best friend or fave toy or, I don’t know, like IT WAS FUCKING FREEZING OUT so WHY IS THIS POOR CAT OUTSIDE?!?!
So me being me and liking animals better than most people and not able to sit in my warm house with my pups knowing this poor cat is miserable, I throw my Sorel boots and my North Face coat over my pi’s and go outside to find the cat. There’s ice and slush and snow everywhere and it’s dark as fuck out, so I turn on the flashlight on my iPhone to find the owner of the meowing. I’m looking under cars and in snow banks and realize two things:
1- This light is barely strong enough to find a lost earring under a seat in the movie theater. Fail on my part.
2- I look like a crazy person that is trying to break into someones house or car. And is really bad at it.
I keep hearing this meow and it’s making me sad for the poor cat. I can’t deal with the fact that tomorrow I may come back outside and have one of my dogs peeing on a frozen, dead cat during their walk. So I look around some more then notice down the block a bit is another cat. It’s sitting on the sidewalk, under the street lamp, looking up the street at me. I hear the sad, pathetic meow again, which is definitely coming from a different cat than the one down the street.
This would be a good time to mention that there’s a LOT of stray cats in my neighborhood. I’m pretty sure the number of stray cats is going to out number the amount of humans pretty soon, that’s how many there are. They’re like a violent street-gang that keeps growing in numbers when no one’s looking.
And this cat, the one under the street lamp, it’s just sitting there. It’s calm. It’s not even shivering and it was brick out last night. I can almost see it’s cat breath in the cold night air. Or, it could have been smoking a cigarette for all I know. Because the cats in my hood are gangster.
Then the meowing stops. And I’m still looking at that damn cat down the block. And suddenly I start to feel like Karen in Goodfellas when Jimmy tells her to go down the alley to go pick out some furniture.
For all I know, this is a ploy and the cats are going to kill me and then come into my house and eat all the food and look at porn on the internet. This is their payback for people leaving them out in the cold in the winter.
The lesson here is don’t leave your damn animals outside in the cold because one day an innocent person will be killed by zombie cats because of you!
I was in love once.
It’s the only time I can honestly say it was real love. It was everything that a rom-com was made of: angsty female lead that has all but given up on love( that’d be me), catchy soundtrack with a balanced representation of multiple genres, and of course the break-up and make-up. Only in my love story, it was a place and not a guy.
I was always in love with NYC. Since the time I was in elementary school I knew and planned on living in the city. Every class trip to the Museum of Natural History, every excursion to see a Broadway show ( which in elementary school meant Starlight Express. Don’t be jealous), I fell more and more in love.
Our relationship progressed naturally and for a while it seemed like we were destined to last forever. It started with the meeting at a young age to flirting dangerously as I got older. In high school my friends and I went to whatever bars in the village we had heard didn’t card, got into the Tunnel when it was the shit ( which I ironically hated considering years later I was the one of the group that became a clubber), and bought weed uptown.
From there I started working and partying in the city until one day I knew it was time to commit. I sold my car and used the money to move into the city when I was 25. Then spent the next decade or so as 1/2 of a beautifully dysfunctional relationship. We had ups and downs until ultimately one day I conceded that the magic was gone and we had run our course. We needed to be just friends.
Or friends with benefits.
But that’s the thing about those long relationships that start early on in life; they’re heavily based on nostalgia. And the friends with benefits thing never really works out. Because the next thing you know you’re thinking about how you should get back together when in reality you’re in a sex haze and everything else about that relationship was a hot mess. Side note- don’t ever make life decisions when you’re in a sex haze.
I’m writing this because I need it on record and we ALL KNOW in 2014 a shitty blog is an official record. Because I, like so many other people, have tried having those “friends with benefits” relationships with my exes and at times started thinking about how maybe we should just be together. Which is never the case and more than likely we probably shouldn’t have dated in the first place ( there is actually only one ex I and all my friends agree should have tried to make it work but that ship has long, long sailed. It’s ok. Don’t cry for me). And like with every other ex, I had that moment again with NYC. I thought and even verbalized how much I miss and love it only to realize half a block later that it’s changed and I’ve changed and what I miss is the OLD NYC, which it’s less and less of every day. In fact, 6,926 years of it’s essence has been wiped from existence thanks to Bloomberg.
So I needed to write this down. I need this post to serve as a reminder to myself that we, NYC and me, are better off as friends.
Also as a PSA to anyone reading that friends with benefits doesn’t work with an ex. Trust me it was my go to move because I believed in recycling ex-boyfriends so I could keep my overall number of people I slept with down, but really it’s just a lazy way of avoiding the whole dating thing. Eventually you need to move on.
We have all heard that saying about people and their opinions, right? How they’re like assholes; we all have them and sometimes they stink.
Often I say, think, or write things that other people don’t like or agree with. And that’s cool. I don’t say,think, or write any item of opinion with the intention of winning over or swaying someone into liking me because of it.
In fact- I have a shitload of opinions that people most certainly either don’t agree with or won’t admit to feeling the same way. Like:
- chocolate chip mint is the best flavor of ice cream
- I’m not attracted to red heads
- all babies are not cute
- all brides don’t look beautiful
- it’s not that dress “makes you look fat”; maybe you just gained weight and that’s what makes you look fat
-Ben Affleck will make a bad Batman
-congrats on your baby! Maybe even your first baby! But it’s not THE FIRST BABY ever. And because it’s yours, not mine, I don’t feel the same way about it you do. But when it gets a little older and develops a personality I may think that’s a cool ass baby. Still love you, though. Unless you’re an asshole in which case, why do I need to know your baby?
-if your dog/kid/cockatoo is an asshole I’m assuming you’re the asshole and they learned it from watching you
- pot should be legal
-Artichoke pizza in NYC is totally overrated
-I’d rather listen to Coldplay while eating Artichoke pizza and watching Glee than read a word of 50 Shades of Grey.
-Dane Cook still isn’t funny
-God’s a myth
- you’re religion isn’t better than or more right than their religion, and probably you’re both wrong.
-I couldn’t care less about The Royal anything.
All of these opinions of mine are exactly that: opinions. And if you don’t agree with me, it’s more than cool. I try not to judge people based on solely their opinions (other than liking Coldplay. I can’t overlook that). Of course if you’re of some kind of belief that causes direct harm to others, or it’s racist or homophobic or hurts puppies or that like of poor rationale, I am pretty firm in my belief that you’re either a shitty excuse for a human being or incredibly uneducated and ignorant. Maybe all 3. Other than that, think whatchya like.
What I do and will always judge is how people go about discussing or arguing their opinion. I have no issue with peoples opinions, even if they’re shitty or completing opposing my own. However, the moment someone argues their opinion by attempting to personally attack or insult someone who is on the other side of the fence, their entire argument and stance becomes invalid to me.
I also don’t apologize for how others take my incredibly generalized statements. I have no control over how another person internalizes and processes something that isn’t directly addressed to them and vice versa. I don’t know what kind of day you’re having. And I am almost certain it’s highly unlikely I had anything to do with it.
What I find baffling is how much people, as a whole, fight and argue over their right to their opinion and beliefs yet are so quick to condemn and even try to oppress others for theirs. Where’s the logic in that? I mean, I’m not even one of the most logical people I know and I can even see that shit makes no kind of sense.
At the end of the day it’s pretty simple- if you don’t like something another person says, thinks, wears, believes, then don’t overly concern or involve yourself with it or them. Don’t interject. Don’t even pay them any mind. Unless they are infringing on your life and imposing on your well-being, do not engage. Live and let live and all that.
I have a hard enough time navigating myself thru the bs life, I can’t possibly take on navigating another person.
So, to quote Madonna, ” I’m not your bitch. Don’t put your shit on me.”
Sometimes I make really silly assumptions. Like, I’ll assume people will just walk the 2 ft and throw out their garbage in the trash can versus just throwing it on the ground. Or I’ll assume that people will let others off the subway before trying to squeeze in. OR OR I’ll assume that a person realizes they are much larger than the free amount of space on a subway bench and not try to squeeze themselves onto two people just so they can sit. I know, silly me.
Here’s another silly assumption I make: I assume people would be smarter than to use fake pictures on an online dating site.
First, let me say that this is probably the 6th time I’m attempting online dating. These attempts never last more than about 30 days because someone usually ends up creeping me out so much that I deactivate my account. Plus, the whole online dating thing isn’t something I’m good at. DATING isn’t even something I’m good at, and I’m especially worse at it when it’s virtual in any way.
To be honest, my signing up for OKCupid is less about finding my other half in life than it is about me trying to make myself be more social. Because believe it or not, if I don’t know you or someone I know doesn’t know you, there’s a very high chance I will never talk to you. Unless I’m being paid to talk to you, in which case, you know, I’ll talk to just about anyone and be the most charming and “on” bitch you could ever meet. That girl, though, that girl isn’t naturally me. I’m some kind of bizarro introvert that seems like I’m outgoing be I’m really only outgoing if I HAVE to be or I already know and like you. If I don’t know you or like you, you pretty much don’t exist.
And I don’t mean that as badly as it sounds. Which, I know it sounds kinda bad. Like pretty bitchy. But I’m not a bitch. Well, I AM but I only use my powers for good and not just for the sake of being a bitch.
This is probably one of the reasons I suck at dating. First off, I think “dates” are bullshit and unless you’re someone I’m sleeping with and in a relationship with, the whole date thing is just awkward. I’m not impressed by going to a fancy restaurant or any of that. I know that’s probably against some kind of dating “rules” thing, but it’s just not my bag. I’d rather just hang out in a casual way, and if it happens, it happens. I’m not even sure what “it” is but I’m pretty sure everyone involved will just know when “it” occurs. Or at least, you know, pass me a note or something.
Remember when shit was that simple??? When you just passed notes to find out who liked who and by the end of Lunch Period you had a boyfriend and were french kissing on group dates to the movies with your friends? We really complicate things too much. ANY WAY… back to online dating. And fake profiles…
Even before Catfish existed, I was pretty awesome at spotting bullshit on the interwebz. The people who use the fake pics and write the fake profiles are rarely very good at it, which makes me wonder how stupid the people who get duped by them are? The best is when someone uses pics that are obviously professionally done, and even slightly more obviously of a model or something. Do these wannabe catfish not know that Google image search exists?
Also, what’s the motivation here? Why take the time out in your life to go through the tedious task of finding pics to use, fill out a profile ( which is a major time suck) and interact with people? When they fill out the essay parts, do they fill it out with their real thoughts and likes or are they making up a whole imagined backstory for this character?
See, it’s this shit that actually intrigues me WAY more than the possibility of meeting a real date. I find a fake profile and I’m wondering how much time went into writing it and answering all those lame, irrelevant questions OKC asks. And how they came up with the fake name for this imagined person they aren’t. Like, did they make a list and narrow it down until they landed on the one they went with?
Just so many questions I’ll never have the answers to.
Anyway, here’s “Keith”, who’s really a model named Mateus Verdelho.
I almost wanna pretend to let this person think they’re cat fishing me just for the entertainment factor. Or is that mean?