Songs to Cry To/About

Coldplay’s new single is called “Every Tear is a Waterfall.”

It’s rare that something is so corny and so factually inaccurate at the same time. Like, maybe three tears together could constitute a waterfall, but A SINGLE tear is not a waterfall. It is a waternothing.

Also wtf YOU ARE GROWN MEN, COLDPLAY MEMBERS. Can you imagine being an adult man and introducing yourself to someone like, “Hey, I’m in my 30s, I’m responsible, I pay my taxes. Oh and I also invented this great all-purpose saying, ‘Every Tear is a Waterfall.’ Excellent for Christmas, New Years, and birthdays!”

It’s so depressing I just want to cry and then go listen to “Cry Me A River,” a song about crying that makes sense. Britney SHOULD cry JT a river! And she probably did!

Face shirts

You know what makes sense? This:

Tupac’s face belongs on a shirt. He is important. He died tragically. I wouldn’t even hate if I saw Tupac face pants.

But today, I saw a dress with guess whose face emblazoned on it? Not Tupac’s. Not Biggie’s. Not even Reba McEntire’s. It was CHELSEA HANDLER’S FACE, my friends. All big and graffiti-style. On a sundress.

WHY. WHY. Watching YouTube clips of Chelsea Handler’s standup is literally what I do when I want to wallow in the depths of despair. Her standup is the saddest. She has a joke (literally! I am going to say literally a lot in this post because without saying it I don’t know how to talk about Chelsea Handler!) about how hard it is to divide numbers by twelve. Like, who can DO that? She also has a joke about how some babies are assholes, which sounds like it could be funny except that is the whole joke, beginning, middle, and end included: “Some babies are assholes.” She has another joke (I could do this all day, I hope somebody stops me soon) that goes “I pooped in my boyfriend’s bathroom, and it smelled.” If I had the power to read minds, I would never read Chelsea Handler’s because that shit would put me to SLEEP. I might wake up in the middle of sleeping and think, “Why don’t you learn some simple mental math tricks, Chelsea?!” but I would fall back asleep almost immediately.

I am happy (sort of) that Chelsea Handler is able to support herself, despite her chronically boring reflections on the human condition/her own poop, but her face does not belong on clothing. She is not on that level. Also, she is alive, and face clothing status is mostly reserved for dead people (and Reba. I like Reba! She seems very friendly!).

Everything I believe in (almost)

I typically enjoy hearing views that are different from mine.  It is educational. But there are some things I just do not see as up for discussion, and one of those things is emoticons. Here is what I believe: Emoticons are supposed to look like human faces, making some kind of expression.

You wouldn’t think that would come up against a lot of opposition, but that is because you haven’t met my phone. My phone has an emoticon button. You push the button, and it takes you to a menu of 27 (I just want to point out–a perfect cube! FUN WITH MATH) emoticons. And almost none of them look like faces making recognizable expressions. Instead they just look like CRAZY NOTHING.

EXHIBIT A: :-9 (What is this feeling? “My mouth has a tail”?)

EXHIBIT B: :-Q (“I’m about to perform fellatio!” Don’t even pretend you don’t see it.)

EXHIBIT C: :< (“I feel like I have no nose!” “I feel like I have no mouth!” “I feel like a mountain, and also an umlaut!” THESE ARE NOT FEELINGS PEOPLE HAVE.)

EXHIBIT D: _@/ (No facial resemblance. “I feel like a rose with two walls meeting at an obtuse angle behind it!”)

EXHIBIT E: (_)3 (Inexplicable on all fronts.)

EXHIBIT F: \\_/ (Also inexplicable. “I feel like I have three arms and no head and I am being viewed from above”?)

I do not even know anymore. I feel like this: :-sdjflsdfsfjd. And that looks more like a face than most of these! Maybe I should start a business – “Bad Stuff That Is At Least Better Than Terrible Stuff.” I think I will. It’s going to be huge. My business cards will say “I’m CEO, Bitch.”

I just want to know why you’re strangling me

It is always risky to go out in public. Exhibit A:

So the other day, I was on the bus. It was cold, and I was wearing a scarf.  You would think that in my many years of nonstop scarf wearing (in India! In spring, summer, fall, winter! In the shower!) I would have had some insight into how to keep a scarf on my neck. But no. My scarves come off my neck (there are better words for this… but what are they) constantly. THIS INFORMATION WILL BE IMPORTANT LATER don’t get bored.

Anyway. I’m on the bus, and this lady sits down next to me. She is also wearing a scarf. Her scarf-fringe kind of rubs against my shoulder and I think, oh no! My scarf is falling off! So I obviously, without looking, reach over and wrap one tail of her scarf around my neck.

Before she says anything (like “why are you trying to strangle me” or “this is the worst performance art ever”) I look down, realize what’s going on, unwrap her scarf and try to say “Sorry I tried to put your scarf on!” Except I am laughing so I actually just say, “HAHA sorry I tried to HEE HEE scarf!” + soundless wheezing.

Luckily the lady was very nice about it. “Don’t worry,” she said, using a facial expression that showed she was not going to call the police (yess!). “It happens sometimes. I mean, not to me, but you know… to you.”

Yours

So, no shame – I like Taylor Swift. I find her endearing. Everything she thinks about love, dudes, high school, and that’s pretty much all she thinks about so there’s the end of that list!, comes from 17th century Rome, but no worries. 17th century Rome was cool. I don’t think they had high schools in the conventional sense but luckily, this is not a history test.

Anyway, Taylor has a new video, and it is this:

The song is catchy, and I have listened to it somewhere between zero and 150 times (we don’t need to get into that… ever), but I have two comments about this video.

1) I highly doubt Taylor Swift would date a guy with a tattoo, unless maybe it said “PRINCESSES ROCK.” And even then, it would have to be in a nice wholesome font, like Comic Sans. Or whatever font she wants on her wedding invites (you KNOW she has picked a font).

2) Okay, Taylor, I get that you are into monogamy and commitment and calling your boyfriend a “thing” that has ever been yours. I respect that (except the “thing” thing). But GOOD GOD, is there a dude/any-gendered person who isn’t creeped out by you? A girl who prints a shit-ton of couple-y pictures and then hangs them from trees, creating a commitment shrine that is also a forest?  A forest that she then waltzes through, singing a song that just happens to be about POSSESSIVE LOVE?!?!?!

Dog. Let’s take it down a notch.

What Happens in Vegas? (Part 1)

So I got back from Vegas!  And while I was there, I went indoor skydiving!  I “achieved the dream of human flight” or whatever their motto is!  It was surprisingly undignified.  Like, in my dream of human flight, I am not wearing a unisuit that is awkwardly inflated by a high-powered fan.  And in my dream of human flight, I am able to keep my mouth closed.  Something about high powered fans just automatically opens my mouth. Is that oversharing?  I can’t tell…

ANYWAY, skydiving aside, the really interesting thing about Vegas is the kiosks.  We were staying in downtown Vegas, and right by our hotel there was a covered walkway chock full of specialty kiosks that were far superior to like, the dancing fountains at the Bellagio.  Or whatever is on the Strip.  Especially in terms of making me inexplicably (just kidding TOTALLY EXPLICABLY) depressed.  These kiosks included:

1. Pet Fashionista. It sounds like it would sell clothes for pets, but it actually sells human clothes with pictures of pets on them.  A lot of the pets are sitting in wicker baskets (score!).
2. Express Ur Cell.  It sells plastic cell phone accessories.  Two thirds of them are orange.  I would respect it more if they just went all the way and called it Express Ur Cellf.  Actually, on second thought, that isn’t true.
3. Rock Legands.  I would respect it more if they just went all the way and called it Rack Lagands.  Wow – still not true!
4. Sock and Socks.  They sold socks.  What they were playing at with that extra “sock” at the beginning is beyond me.  Maybe it was a pun on companies called like, Bernstein and Sons?  And then it just went too far?  Or maybe it’s a pun on… Rock and Rocks?  Except that isn’t a thing in the first place.
5. Let’s Party.  This is my favorite.  You would think this kiosk would sell party supplies, right?  WRONG.  They sold straw hats with brims.  Exclusively.  The brims were a little too conservative for them to be sombreros, so they were just semi-dignified sun hats.  It was like the kiosk owners knew nobody would like their hats, so they just named their kiosk after something unrelated that people actually do like: parties!  Probably if I went to the dentist in Vegas, it would also be called “Let’s Party.”  Maybe with an underkicker, like “A Dentistry Spectacle!”

The most baffling kind of skydiving

When school gets out, the first thing I am doing is going to Vegas with my dad. Duh.  Who else would I go to Vegas with?  A “peer”?  Don’t be ridiculous.

And when we get to Vegas, the first thing we are going to do is go indoor skydiving.  Double duh.  Is there something else people do in Vegas?  Gambling?  What is gambling?  Also, what is outdoor skydiving?  Vegas is where you go to jump inside, and so THAT’S WHAT I’M GOING TO DO.

You may wonder what indoor skydiving is.  I certainly do.  Not to be a hater, but indoors, there is no sky.  To dive out of.  Per se.  So I Googled indoor skydiving, and I found the least illuminating set of photos ever.  (Watch the photos go through a cycle and then ask yourself, “What?”  You will definitely not be able to come up with an answer.) All I know for sure from my research is that indoor skydiving involves a wind tunnel and takes an hour.

My research has left me with many unsubstantiated suspicions, however.  For example, I suspect that:

1) In Vegas, if I try, I will be able to find indoor skydiving porn.  Not that I will try, but the floating people… in the human bat costumes… wearing masks… you know someone is into it.

2) When I finish indoor skydiving, the first thing I am going to say to my dad is “We have achieved the dream of human flight at Vegas Indoor Skydiving!” Then we will high five. That’s not a suspicion, actually – that is an OATH.

3) This is actually some sort of cult recruitment ritual.  It just has that vibe about it. I would give my dad a heads up, but there’s no way he is backing out now.  He has a coupon, and there is nothing he loves more than having a coupon.  Sometimes, when he gets a really good one, he literally says “Oh boy, oh boy!”

TWICE.

So if I start acting a little culty in about a week, you’ll know why.

The sexy construction of space

I have a very talented friend.  She has normal talents – for school and being vegan and running – but what I am talking about right now is her outrageous talent for dirty talk.  She is so good at it, it makes me uncomfortable.  Once, I was sitting on her exercise ball.

“Oh my god, this feels so good,” I said (mistakenly).

“Does it?  Does it feel so good?  Tell me how good it feels,” she said.

“Um… it feels okay,” I said.  I stood up.

“Oh yeahhhh.  It feels okay.  How about now?  Do you like it now?  Do you like standing next to it? You love it, don’t you?”

I decided to strategically leave at that point.

Later, I was talking to her and I said, “How do you do that?  Can you do it about anything?” She said anything.  I could pick a topic.

I looked at my reading and picked the social construction of space.

“Oh yeah.  Construct that space for me.  Oh, construct it right there.  Oh my god, it’s so… social.  It’s so social!  Don’t stop socially constructing that space!  Don’t stop now!”

I have never felt more outclassed in my life.  I have no remotely comparable talent.  I guess I can transcribe dirty talk from memory, though? That is something. Meaningful.  Never mind I WILL GO FAR.

The Situation 2.0

Okay.  So I haven’t posted for a while.  I don’t think I will be posting for a while.  I am one busy mofo.  Also, nothing that whimsical has been happening.

I’m not going to post the thing I wrote in my nonfiction class last quarter.  It is too sad and it would be weird to post it in between like, a Justin Bieber video and a joke about ferrets.  I am taking another nonfiction class this quarter though, and I’m writing something that I’m pretty sure won’t end up sad – maybe sad in that it is low quality but definitely not sad as in somebody dies – so maybe I’ll post that someday.  It’s about Harry Potter.

Also, note to all the HP aficionados out there: I have been doing some “research” for my “piece” (I hate calling things pieces… pieces of what?!) and it involves reading slash.  Did you know that there is slash involving Snape?  Of course you did.  Here is what you didn’t know… there is slash involving Snape and JUSTIN FINCH-FLETCHLEY.  That random Hufflepuff kid who DOESN’T MATTER.  WHAT ON EARTH.

I am so upset.  That is just unrealistic.  Snape’s standards are too high for him to ever let JFF be his love muffin.  Yeah.  TAKE THAT INTERNET!!!  You contain low quality fanfiction.  I WENT THERE.

Animal, Vegetable, or Robin Williams?

I am home for spring break, and right by my house there is a parking garage (and a mall… but that is the secondary attraction, for this post/actually in real life) that I love.  The floors in it go by letter – the first floor is A, the second floor is B, up to F.  And then each letter stands for an animal.  When you push the elevator call button, a floor-appropriate animal noise plays over the loudspeaker.  FOREVER.

It’s pretty fun, especially on floor A, which stands for “anteater.”  The animal noise that plays over the loudspeaker there is the exact same noise Robin Williams makes when he pretends to have sex with his elbow (don’t make me explain DON’T MAKE ME just think about it) in one of his standup videos.  It is hilarious.  But I feel like a sexual predator when I push the button on the Anteater floor and there are children present.

(Speaking of feeling like a sexual predator… there are a lot of twelve-year-old boys in my neighborhood, and they hit on me ALL THE TIME.  They’re just like, “Hey baby, what’s up,” or sometimes there’s like five of them together and one of them says, “Call us.”  US?!  Like all five of you?  Why won’t they hit on twelve-year-old girls?  Or if they can’t find any of those then JUST HIT ON EACH OTHER AS A STOP-GAP MEASURE.)

But the point of my story is about the parking garage.  And kind of has nothing to do with what I said so far.  That is the beauty of having a blog – NO ONE CAN MAKE ME FOLLOW A LOGICAL PROGRESSION.  I am my own man.  AND my own woman.  BOTH. DON’T QUESTION IT.

Point being: I was in the elevator in the parking garage yesterday with three people, all of whom had dogs.  One of their dogs humped my leg.  It was fun.  (NOT REALLY don’t get any weird ideas if you’re reading this, twelve-year-olds from my neighborhood.)  But it was also weird, because normally there are no dogs in the elevator.  So I was like, huh.

And then ALL THREE OF THEM got off at the D is for Dog floor.

Can you believe that?  Next I’m going to be in an elevator with like sixteen anteaters and not even any people, and one of them will be like “Hey can you push the button for A for us?”  And then I will.  Because I’m nice.