Breaking up is hard to do

For now I'm not going to go into detail about it, but Seth and I broke up on Saturday. It sucked and it still sucks, but it could have gone a lot worse. Most breakups don't end with burgers and high fives. Ours did. Which is great, but we're still broken up and I'm still bummed about it.

I'm thankful that I have a lot of good friends who have been great to me these past few days. Encouraging me to go to brunch instead of moping around the house, listening to me bitch and whine, buying me snacks, distracting me, etc. My friends are a good group which is why I've kept them around so long.

Right now I am in a relatively grumpy mood because the "change personal appearance" phase of the breakup failed miserably. When I broke up with B (I mentioned him in this post) I immediately took a pair of kitchen scissors and chopped all my hair off. (Granted, that had been a pretty hard year: lost my father, broke up with the first guy I ever loved, almost had to repeat senior year...September 11th...The list goes on and on) So I felt that breaking up with someone who you honestly thought you would marry one day (i.e. Seth) would warrant some sort of image change, even if it was only temporary. So I bought some black hair dye. (Sometime last week I decided that if Seth and I broke up I would dye my hair black because...yeah, I might still be fourteen [at least I didn't rush out and buy "Crimson Glow." If you know what that's from I will love you forever]) Shitty shitty black hair dye which did ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO MY HAIR. So I wasted $7 and 20 minutes of my time and I am annoyed annoyed annoyed. I was really excited about being able to say things like "My hair is in mourning" or "It matches my heart." But no. Nothing happened.

So now I maybe have slightly darker hair and will most likely try again with a stronger (but still semi-permanent) formula sometime in the not too distant future.

Grumble.

(But hey! Look at me! I'm blogging again!) ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

Last Week and other things

I normally work about a 25-30 hour work week. Last week I worked 47 hours. I slept an average of six hours a night. Needless to say, I was exhausted, stressed out and fed up by the end of it. On top of that things that I would rather not blog, talk, or think about were (and are) going on. I'm a bit of a mess right now.

I don't want this blog to be all, "Wah wah wah, woe is me," but I also don't want to keep anyone out of the loop. So yeah, I'm a little stressed out right now, and a little worked up and probably acting like a bit of an ass. And it sucks, because I want to be in a place where everything is hunky-dorie and sweet. I want to not worry about money or school or, well, anything.

I think what I really need is an effing vacation. I used to have a habit of getting out of New York for at least a month a year. In 2004 I went to the west coast for two months. In 2005 I spent a month in Europe. In 2006 I spent a month in Pennsylvania. (Anything to get out of the rat race, you know? It doesn't have to be too far away.) Since then I haven't had more than a weekend away. Hell, I think a week somewhere else would do me some good. I feel boxed in and crazed. What I really want to do is go to my grandmother's house in France for a week or so. A dream I hope to realize this summer.

My grandmother lives in a tiny fishing village half an hour outside of Geneva, right on the lake. There is nothing to do there except read, hike, eat, read, eat, and walk. And then you read and eat some more. And sometimes you even go swimming. In the lake! It is really the most relaxing place in the world because if you don't want to do anything, you don't have to. When visiting most foreign places you feel the need to see the sights and imbibe the local culture. When you're at my grandmother's you are perfectly free to hang out inside, have a few beers and enjoy whatever book you have found in the nearest book shelf (there are about seventy-five at last count). That is the kind of vacation I need. Where I'm not stressed out about what I'm missing out on and instead just enjoying not having to do anything. No social obligations (except for going to say a quick hello to the various people I know in the village), no guided tours, no anything. Just eating and sleeping and maybe hopping in an inflatable kayak.

/End whining. ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

On Being an awful sixteen year old girl

When I was sixteen I had an online journal which I stumbled upon last night. Holy hell...I was terrible...

I was very upset about still being a virgin:

September 01, 2001 - 7:12 p.m.

I am really sick of people telling me about all I'm missing out on. So what if I'm a virgin and still in high-school? I may not know what I'm missing out on, but I do know I'm sick of hearing about it. SO QUIT IT. ALL OF YOU.

August 29, 2001 - 3:18 p.m.
[...] I am still a virgin [...]

August 16, 2001 - 6:28 p.m.
Two of my friends lost their virginities in my bed last night and I'm pissed because I wanted to lose mine before theirs

July 25, 2001 - 3:16 p.m
I spoke to my friend who has just lost her virginity and is now living with her boyfriend.

AND I wrote awful awful poetry. Here is an excerpt from an untitled poem I wrote in April of 2001:

I hate them.

They smile to my face and stab my back.

They think that I don't know.

They've made me an outcast,

They shut me out.

[...]

Fucking conformists,

Fucking mainstream.

I hate it.

I hate it all.

Oh yes, sixteen year old Sarah! Let the angst out! Let it run free!

Also, there was this gem:

June 4, 2001 - 11:11 p.m.

Forgotten By S.

Each leaf represents a memory,

Each sip a dream.

You live it, remember it, forget it.

We forget so quickly.

Will they? Will he?

Dreams happen and are gone in a flash, in a swallow.

His lips kiss the glass, and I wonder if he is dreaming of me,

Swallowing me,

drinking me down and remembering everything, every taste, every smell.

But how quickly will those swallows be forgotten?

How quickly will the dreams be gone?

How quickly will he forget my taste?

Like tea leaves I blow away, along with the memories of sips and swallows, along with the dreams for our future.

OMG BAAAAARRRRRRF.

Christ on a cracker. Reading through this thing is giving me seizures. All sixteen year old girls are this terrible, right?

RIIGHT? (Just agree with me, kay?)

(This will also be known as the entry that made Seth break up with me. In 2001 he was twenty six and most definitely past the deflowering/awful poetry stage (do boys even go through an awful poetry stage?). I was sixteen. This fact makes him nauseous, which is understandable...Hi Honey!) ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

Tax Season is over and my mother is a wonderful person.

Before I start, here are a couple of things you should know about me:
1) I am a HUGE procrastinator.
2) My mother does my taxes.

Kay?

K.

So last night I went to my mother's house with the last of my tax forms to get everything finished up by today. April 15th. The deadline.

There was only one small problem: someone had accidentally thrown out my W-2. Awesoooooooome. I got a new one today, and got my taxes done, but not until about nine this evening. (Thanks MOM!)

So I was one of those assholes you see on the news every year, up at the big post office in midtown, trying to get their taxes postmarked by midnight. Luckily, I got stamps before heading up there and was not forced to wait on line for hours. Woot.

Oh! And we (and by "we" I mean "my mom") worked out that I owed the New York State government money. Which was terrifying because, holy crap, I am perpetually broke. Guess how much I owed them. Come on...guess!


$11.27.

Can you imagine getting your balls busted over eleven dollars and twenty-seven cents? Eff that. ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

On moving to Boston.

On January 1st 2003 I moved from New York City to Boston Massachusetts to attend Northeastern University. What you see above is exactly what I looked like when I arrived. Short, messy black hair, cat-eye glasses, swollen lips, and a bruise the size of Jupiter on my chin. I was a sexy sexy beast. Let me tell you why I looked like that.

On December 31st 2002 it was really warm out. Freakishly warm. Approximately 50 degrees, if I remember correctly. Because of this the party I was at spilled out of the apartment and on to the roof. It was gorgeous outside and we were drunk, so it seemed like a wonderful idea! While up there a guy named Brett (who was approximately 5'6") was bet $20 that he could not beat a girl named Lizzie (who was approximately 6'1") in a wrestling match. He took the bet and the rest of the party gathered around to watch. (Again, we were happy about the weather and, oh man, druuunk.) So Brett and Lizzie wrestled and Brett won to the sound of boos and jeers coming from the female members of the crowd. Now all the girls want to wrestle this dude. One after another went up, and all of them lost. One, two, three, four, five...he took them all out. One after another. So I decide to go up. I had been drinking vodka cranberry's pretty steadily for approximately five hours at this point and it seemed like an AWESOME idea. As you may have judged from the picture above: it was not.

Brett and I began to wrestle and he (after what could only have been thirty seconds) pinned me. I. Was. Pissed. So I ran...and I dove...and Brett moved. And I dove face first into the roof. I don't think I will ever forget the "OOHHHHHHHHH!" from the crowd that followed that spectacular face-plant. I left the party in tears. My left hand was swollen to twice its normal size. My knees had criss-cross bruises on them from my fishnet stockings. My feet were killing me from the four inch heels I was wearing. Oh yes. I rooftop wrestled a dude while wearing a skirt and heels. I am one classy bitch.

The next morning I woke up in a horribly painful fog. My friend Will was going to be there to pick my mother and I up in less than an hour and I was not done packing! So I threw the last of my stuff into a suitcase and hauled it downstairs. (I did not shower. I threw on some clothes and tried not to throw up) When Will arrived we discovered that my suitcases? That I had spent the last week packing? Would not fit in the car. In a last minute hungover decision my mother and I shoved everything into garbage bags and shoved them into the trunk. Guh.

Approximately four hours and one stop at McDonald's later, we arrived in front of my new dorm. Will helped us drag the bags and my desk top(!) computer up to the third floor and left us to head to his own dorm. My mother and I were confronted with an entirely blond family. My roommate, her mother, her older brother and her little sister. We were confronted with a flowered designer comforter and fucking pink TOE-SHOES hanging from the bed. Keep in mind that I am at this point dark haired and had an almost entirely black wardrobe. I have not showered. I probably reeked of vodka. They all introduced themselves and announced quite happily that they were going to Target. (Pronounced "Tar-jay"). After the door clicked shut my mother lit a cigarette, turned to me and said, "This is not going to work."

Luckily, she was wrong and my first college roommate and I are still good friends. But our first meeting always makes for one heck of a story. ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

A Happy Accident

So I accidentally began quitting smoking this week. After my mother's birthday party on Saturday I (as she mentions) stayed in bed all day Sunday and didn't have a cigarette. Then yesterday I lit my first cigarette of the day at around 7pm and decided I didn't want it, so I tossed it. Today I have had about a cigarette and a half, but I haven't enjoyed it. And if I'm not enjoying it, then what's the point?

Actually, I'm smoking a cigarette right now because I made myself an enormous meal (not smoking makes me very VERY hungry) and I felt like it. But, again, I'm not completely enjoying myself. I usually love smoking. I know it's terrible, but I enjoy it, and I'm still quite young. What's the point in continuing if I know I want to quit one day? So I suppose quitting isn't exactly the right word, but cutting down tremendously. Oh and also? I live in New York City. Cigarettes are fucking expensive and they aren't getting any cheaper. In fact, they are going up by another $1.25 pretty soon, which is really not something I can afford. So if I cut down now I can quit when the price goes up, right?

Right. ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

OH! And ALSO.

If you ever read Go Fug Yourself, you know that Bai Ling is a special, mystical, multi-personalitied being from the planet crazy. And if you read Go Fug Yourself today you know that Bai Ling has a blog. And holy shit. It is insane.

Please enjoy the crazy:

http://ling-bai.blogspot.com/ ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

An update of sorts

I do want to update. I'm sitting at the computer thinking "What the hell am I going to write?" And only one thing has occurred to me, so here it is:

I recently discovered that two of my uncles and one of my aunts are on Facebook. I am not friends with them, and neither are their children. My aunt has one friend and the uncles each have a handful including Seth. (Which I think is funny because, awww, Seth likes my family and vice-versa! Yay!) I don't think I am going to become Facebook friends with them because there are far too many pictures of me on there doing, um, let's say "unladylike" things. (These things include but are not limited to: playing a drinking game in my bra, my first experience with a beer bong, grabbing my own boobs, and drunkenly kissing two of my best friends. Did I mention being drunk? Because...yeah.) Needless to say, these are not things my uncles and/or aunt need to see.

But the real question for me is: Why are they on there in the first place? We are talking people in their 40s and 50s here. Are they networking? Trying to keep up with youth culture? Spying on their children? Bored? I am honestly curious. I do not understand. Hell, I don't even understand why I'm on Facebook half the time. (Actually, that isn't true. I am on Facebook so I can find people I went to elementary school with and say things like, "I knew she would be a lesbian!" or "YOU GOT SO FAT. HA HA HA!" Because I'm a bitch like that.)

So can anyone explain to me why they are there? Does anyone else have older family members on Facebook? Is up down and left right? I need answers! ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves