Peppered Hearts

I think I have twenty drafts on here. Most of them end mid-sentence because I suddenly realized something I had to do. I’m not going to do that with this one. This is going to be published, dammit.

Winter is a good time for soul-searching. You snuggle in under your covers and start thinking. I’ve been doing that a lot lately. I keep thinking about how easily I write people off. And by people, I mean guys. I tend to get bored and stop replying and putting effort into whatever we’re doing. It’s a shortcoming I’m aware of. One prime example is the guy who I made excuses up for. He actually didn’t need them, because we were talking a good amount over the break. But then my brain went all-or-nothing on me and I stopped thinking in terms of normalcy and not needing constant communication, which would have been much healthier. Like I said in my guest-post over on Cheryl’s blog, I want to go back to actually talking. Lately, when I talk to my friends from home I’ve been trying to eliminate texting and messaging. Instead we skype, where I can at least see their faces and hear their voices. This has suddenly become really important to me, being able to see someone’s face or hearing their voice.

Which is why I’m now stuck. I’ve decided that I should at least give the excuses guy a second chance because he didn’t do anything wrong and I kind of suck but I don’t want to go to texting. It just screams bad idea to me, especially with BBM and me being able to see if he’d read what I wrote. How do I go about introducing telephone calls instead of texts? Help?

You know that feeling where you can’t sit still and staring at the same four walls makes you want to go insane and jump up and down and you just need to move? When just a few minutes ago you were sitting quite happily, looking at something online, and then suddenly it happened. It’s come. That feeling. You can’t sit in the room anymore. Everything about your safe little room seems loud and small and overcrowded even though you’re completely alone in the room. And even though you feel like your room is small and your head is loud, the door seems so far away and going outside would be an escape but it’s snowing and dark and probably not the best idea. When all you want to do is run outside and just go. If you had a car you’d just drive and drive and drive. If I were home I’d drive to that perfect stretch of road that only locals know. That one behind the rink where it curves and suddenly you’re not in the middle of the town but in a forest and you can just put your foot down. But I’m stuck in my room in a snowstorm and my brightly colored scarves are annoying me and my room smells like food and suddenly I just really want a new bunch of flowers but the store is probably closed.

The feeling where everything is closing in. Not that anything happened today. But because it’s been a long month and it’s just overwhelming and the feeling comes from out of no where. If it were warmer, walking would be possible. A trip to Times Square to sit among the tourists and remember how lucky lucky lucky I am. But it’s snowing and the sidewalk is slushy. It’s dark and my phone is buzzing and everything is just driving me mad.

Wanderlust.

It hits me when it’s the most inconvenient. When snow is falling and it’s dark out and there’s no one to come with me. It overwhelms me and I sit here and try to wait it out but it won’t go away until my head feels like it’s going to explode. I need to move and scream and run but I can’t because I’m stuck here. What a convenient place to be stuck.

So I’ll sit here and wait. I’ll wait till my head stops feeling smaller and smaller. I’ll wait till Spring comes. I’ll wait for flowers. I’ll wait for everything to settle down. I’ll wait.

I’m not a Valentine’s Day kind of girl. I’ve never been one. I’ve only really spent one V-Day with a boyfriend and it was much too stressful, mainly because he could be a real jerk. This year my friend P and I celebrated by going to the Doughnut Plant which for some reason I want to call the Doughnut Planet but I’m not really sure why.

The Doughnut Plant is oh-my-God good, a there’s a crowd of people waiting an hour in the cold and wind outside to get donuts kind of good. P and I stood in that crowd, braving the arctic wind and it was delicious. And waiting in a line for an hour means you can’t just get one donut. You need more. So we each got two. I got Tres Leches and Rose Petal.

From here. Also, not the Doughnut Plant’s Tres Leches one because I am a terrible blogger who fails at taking pictures.

From here.

P had the Tres Leches and a Creme Brulee. The only thing is that the Creme Brulee is rather teensy. But still yummy.

Aside from celebrating Valentine’s Day by eating deliciousness, P and I went to Webster Hall yesterday. A friend mentioned that Ke$ha was performing and if you brought something of your ex’s, you could get in for free. Of course we had to get there before 11 but that’s no big deal if we get to save $30 and see Ke$ha.

Before Ke$ha came on, we watched two bands: The Frontier Brothers and Black Taxi. Both were good but I absolutely loved Black Taxi. Not only are they all absolutely adorable in their own way, they’re damned good. They switched instruments, threw water, clung to pipes, and sang their hearts out.

From here

Oh and the frontman, Ezra? Really hot. He came out in a pair of black and white striped pants and a bomb painted on his chest. He shook and shimmied and played the trumpet. At one point he had two megaphones in his hands. The whole band was phenomenal and I so desperately want to go see them again.

Ke$ha herself was alright. P and I intelligently avoided the packed downstairs and managed to get directly behind the lighting guys, meaning we were dead center on the second floor. I only knew one of her songs (Tik Tok) so maybe I would have liked her better if I knew more? But then again, maybe not because I had no idea about any of Black Taxi’s songs and I loved them. She put on a really short show, only four or five songs. If I had paid $30 like some people, I would’ve been pissed but for free? Eh. Whatever.

I don’t really understand why Ke$ha has a dollar sign in her name. Supposedly it’s because she isn’t in it for the money, which is bullshit. If she wasn’t in it for the money, she’d be performing in little bars in the middle of nowhere, having a good time and not giving a shit. Everyone is in it for the money.

Overall, I’ve only been awake for about 6 hours on Valentine’s Day. That, to me, makes it a damned good one.

Hope ya’ll all had a good one.

Today is my 20th birthday. I am no longer a teenager. I am a bona-fide adult. Jesus Christ.

Twenty is both a lot and a little. Twenty means I have to have my shit together. Twenty means that my parents no longer have a teenager in their family. Twenty means I’m almost twenty-one. Twenty means I’m in my twenties, which feels and sounds ridiculously old. I’m in my twenties. Oh my God. Ridiculous.

But twenty also means that I’m young. Twenty means I’m living in New York City, studying fashion, and have a fabulous view of the Empire State Building. Twenty means that I can look for internships, move to a different country, go dancing. Twenty means I have fantastic friends who help celebrate my birthday. Twenty means I get to have another birthday extravaganza with my friend Y. Twenty means we can go out to dinner and dance. Twenty means I’m old enough to live.

There’s a lot I’m grateful for. Too much to even begin listing. I have a wonderful family, a beautiful little niece, and marvelous friends. I live in the center of the universe, the city that never sleeps. I live in the city of cliches and exceptions to every rule. Even with the cold weather and the shortage of straight and non-asshole men (twenty feels too old to call them boys), I live a rather spectacular life in a stunning city.

I turned twenty listening to music from the 1990’s. The same songs I heard ten years ago, to be exact. The songs my brother played in the car when I got him to drive me places. The songs that we blasted on the way to Books-A-Million for his study sessions and my cup-of-hot-chocolate-and-a-book sessions. My brother stayed up late to wish me happy birthday last night. I think that’s one of my favorite things about turning old. My brother and I are nearly on the same page. We’re no longer just siblings. I’m not only his annoying little sister; I’m also his friend. That’s one of the beautiful things about becoming older.

Being a teenager was fun. I had my first heartbreaks, my first kisses, my first car. I did a lot of the traditional teenager things but there was no teenage rebellion. I was (and am) pretty much a goody-two-shoes. I spent most of my summers in Poland and got to even spend two months in Paris. I saw my cousin get married and danced at their reception. I held their baby, my wonderful little niece, the day she was born. I sang her the itsy-bitsy spider song (and often in public) just to get her to eat. I got to hear her laugh and see her smile when her daddy puts her on skype with me. Yeah, I’d say my teen years were pretty good.

But now it’s time for me to enter another decade. At the age of twenty, I’ve lived in two centuries and three decades. I was old enough to remember 9-11. I was in Times Square when the first African American President was elected. I even got to vote in that election. I saw Daniel Radcliffe naked and gave him a shirt with our numbers on it. I received my IB diploma. It was a good run.

I’m pretty sure my twenties will be even better.

Today I’m over here at Cheryl’s fabulous blog! My first guest post ever and I’m so excited!

I have never been on a date. No one has ever asked me out on one. Or at least not in so many terms. And I’m not quite sure why.

I’ve had a few boyfriends. I’ve met a few guys who didn’t end up being boyfriends but we hung out nonetheless. None of these boys ever asked me out on a date. We’ve gone to the movies. We’ve gone on walks. We’ve gone out to eat. We’ve just sat around and hung out in people’s rooms. But none of those have ever been called dates And so now I’m stuck here at nearly twenty wondering what the hell a date is and why haven’t I been asked out on one.

Obviously for it to count as a date both people must know that there’s interest in pursuing something more. I mean, you can’t just go around considering every male-female hang out a date unless you’re a certain creeper who goes to my school. He considers everything a date. Like having dinner together in the cafeteria by accident. Total date, by his standards. But not by mine and most non-insane people’s. Therefore, for it to be a date it must be mutual interest.

This is also where it gets a little hazy, at least to me. I’m absolute crap at being able to tell whether someone is interested in me. Especially in college, where most of the guys I know are gay and the ones that aren’t probably haven’t come out yet. The few straight ones that come along tend to throw me off. Add to that the fact that I really cannot tell if someone is just being nice or flirting, and I’m utterly hopeless. I tend to assume everyone’s just being friendly and they’re not interested in me, no matter how blatant it might sometimes appear. This is presumably how I’ve gotten myself into a situation where I don’t think I’ve ever gone out on a date before.

Another thing that confuses me as to the “date” aspect is the whole guy-paying thing. None of my boyfriends ever paid for me. Mostly because we were in high school and broke but that was never an issue for me. I don’t care if I pay. Sometimes I even prefer it. But when a guy goes out of his way to pay for your ticket, is that a sign that you’re on a date?

Or have we just stopped calling it a date altogether? Is hanging out now equivalent to going out on a date? Is hooking up the same as dating? Did I completely miss some memo explaining when guys stopped asking girls out on dates and we began hanging out? Because if so, I’d really like to see a copy of that.

I wish we could go back to fourth grade, where you passed a note saying “Do you like me? Check yes or no” because that would make my life much simpler. Can anyone clarify this whole dating nonsense for me? Because from where I’m standing, it’s a mess.

Source

I am the absolute queen of unspoken ultimatums. I will decide on something and you are so screwed if you have no clue it’s going on. And nine times out of ten you won’t have any idea because I haven’t bothered to tell you.

I don’t tell my ultimatums. Not because I’m lazy, which I am but not so lazy that I can’t tell a single person something, but because I change my mind too much. I don’t want to share my ultimatum because chances are I’ll change it. So it’s not even technically an ultimatum. It’s more like a suggestion that never really gets suggested. Whoops.

I give them most frequently to the various guys I meet. They just don’t know about them.

One is that you have one week to contact me after our initial meeting. Yeah, I know all about the three-day rule but I understand shit happens. If, however, said boy fails to text/call/carrier pigeon me, his number gets deleted. I don’t like temptations. If I have your number and I don’t plan on using it, goodbye sweetie pie.

But you know what else I’m really really good at? Making excuses for people. I mean I’m awesome at making up excuses for people as to why he (let’s be honest here and not even pretend we’re not talking about a guy) failed to contact me.

Here are some of the excuses I will think up for you, if you somehow don’t talk to me:

1. He does have a life. He could be off teaching poor kids how to read. Or sky-diving in Zimbabwe. Or swimming in Hawaii.
2. He’s sick. Like deathly ill. Can’t even move his hand to lift the phone up a little. And forget pressing buttons. That’d be much too strenuous for his sickly limbs. The boy’s dying and I’m bitching about his failure to text? Wow. Way to suck, me.
3. Work. Just because I have my winter break completely off doesn’t mean everyone does. He’s out there working his ass off and I’m sitting on mine and I expect him to take time out of his busy, busy day to say hi?
4. He lives in the middle of nowhere and has zero cell service. Maybe his family is secretly Amish and he’s protesting the way his family lives by going to school in NYC but when he’s home he can’t be as open about it. He has to climb out the third floor window, hop onto a tree branch, and shimmy down the barn’s walls to even get out of the house without his strict maternal grandmother knowing. We haven’t even gotten to the part about how he has to go past the cow pond and walk through four miles of thick snow to get to a place that has even a modicum of cellphone connectivity. And he has to go uphill. Both ways.
5. He has a wife, four kids, and a dog named Sophie. Sure, he’s only in his early early twenties but some people start young. He’s at home and his wife and kids are nagging and Jesus Christ, can someone please let the dog out? Dammit he works all day and he comes home to crying kids and he told you to take the damn dog out, Billy! There’s no food on the table and the youngest has a dirty diaper and the bills need to be paid and his wife thinks she’s pregnant with number five because he’s Amish after all and I’m assuming they don’t believe in birth control.
6. His cellphone doesn’t work. He got it wet while snorkeling off the coast of Jamaica and he can’t get a replacement phone because, hello, he’s in Jamaica and do you know how much it costs to get a package delivered to there? I don’t but I’m sure it’s like ridiculously expensive. And if he did try to get in touch he’d have to pay massive international fees because he’d be roaming like no other.

See? Don’t bother contacting me and I’ll have a bunch of excuses for you at the ready. All you’ve got to do is pick and choose. I’m going with the Amish theory right now. Because you know those Amish people get really spotty cellphone service.

I think I might have to put something up like this in my room when I get back to the city.

More found here.

Found here.