Ashley Madison

This #literally makes me feel like killing myself.

2011! Very New, Very Year (so far).

I know this is a trite topic at this point but I am completely serious when I say that my first concern is: what are we calling this? Two-thousand and eleven? Or Twenty-eleven? I cast my vote for the latter, because it lends itself to a whimsically childish pronunciation: "twenty-'leven". Aww.

Second concern: Have we all decided what we're going to do this year to avert or welcome the coming apocalypse? I mean, it's coming up. I'm falling squarely on the "welcome" side, but that's merely a function of my generally cynical outlook and not the obvious result of a miserable 2010. This year was hard in a lot of ways but the optimism I felt at the beginning of the academic year holds; I still feel like things are looking up.
I guess that kind of encapsulates why I so rarely have anything major to say on January 1st - I've always either been in school (and thus, already had a more significant New Beginning moment than one that occurs in the middle of the year by which I live my life), or working a job I hated (and generally pretty cranky about everything). Not to mention the fact that New Year's Eve is one of two nights out of the year that the amateurs come out and act like fucking amateurs...though there was merciful little of that going on at the party I went to, for which I am understatedly, but no less powerfully, grateful...though I did see a pair of rather poorly-disguised prostitutes! But I digress.

Anyway, in 2011 I plan to live a little more like this really is my last year ever: I want to take opportunities I would otherwise be afraid to. I want to experience something wild, something strange, something so completely other that my whole world is changed. When I ring in 2012, I want to look back and celebrate all I have accomplished. But first I want to take a fucking nap. Happy New Year!

Satan Posing As Meat

There's a new horror movie coming out soon, entitled "Chain Letter". I guess it's about all those chain letters you would get in grade school (first, actual letters with stamps and everything, later...emails in comic sans *shudder*) and how they would threaten you with "bad luck", death, even acne forever, if you broke the Chain. I wasn't aware that that was a widespread phenomenon. I never even figured out how you were supposed to choose the next person to send it to - as far as I knew, there was some secret code for divining who would play this game with fate...but not really. Basically every chain I was a part of died when the letter got to me. I didn't think it was very scary - I mean, comic sans? COMIC is right in the name!
If they really wanted to scare digital age kids, they should have called the movie:

SPAM MAIL - Time to take out the Trash Folder

Speaking of which, I just got this little gem:

Dear Beloved

I am Mrs. Elaine Albin from Malaysia, .I was married to late Engr. Fred Albin,
who worked with Shell Development Company for Twenty-Six years before he died in
the year 2005 after a brief illness that lasted for only five days.

When my late husband was alive he deposited the sum of US$14.5 M in a firm here.
Following my ill health(Cancer of the Lungs), my Doctor told me that I may not
live longer than required due to my health condition.I am looking forward to
seeing someone who can use this money in charitable works. More details will be
made known to you upon your response. May God Bless You.

Mother Elaine Albin.

I wonder who actually falls for this shit. I mean, I would really like to meet someone who lost their life savings on Nigerian Prince emails - I'd like to sit down with that person and get to know them, get to know what makes them tick. Just to see what it's like to stare into the void of human consciousness, a void similar, I'm sure, to the one experienced by the first organism capable of the first thought...a deep hunger, maybe, or longing, for something more. Something...bigger. Something like fate.

Facebook Reveals All

Devon: republicans are trying to make it so nothing gets done and then they can blame the inaction on the democrats
thats it, im moving to motherfucking mexico

Me: mexico, eeewwww

Devon: better than this stagnating shitfuck

Me: let's go to monaco
that way we can just like lay around on the beach and not pay taxes and drink all day

Devon: yessss

Me: our only expenses will be firefly vodka and prosciutto

Devon: hahahahahaha yesssss

Me: and clothes and shoes
and smokes
and internet
BUT THAT'S IT

Devon: and suntan lotion
and bentleys
and french bulldogs
and one pet chinchilla

Me: hahahahahaha
one french bulldog and one chinchilla
absolutely

I know, it sounds frivolous. He's right, though: I would need Bentleys. And a chinchilla. I mean, what's the point of living otherwise, right?

Tits or GTFO

Last night I had a dream where I accidentally said the word "tits" to someone in a position of power. I forget who that person was - it could have been my dad, but for some reason I think it was Lauren's parents. Anyway, I said "tits" and then I felt really horrible, but the one thing this person in my dream hated more than foul language was apologies (in fact, I think I said "t-" in some damning context, and the person to whom I was speaking said, "you were going to say tits, weren't you! JUST SAY IT. SAY TITS."), so I had to just sit there and stew in my own death wish. I could feel my skin getting hot, and I was starting to sweat.

And then I was at a baby shower.

Yeah, I don't get it either.

File Under D for: Distraction, Driven to

I'm back, finally. I had to log off everything and buy more internet time (Do you have any idea how far $10 will go at an internet cafe? It will go 300 minutes far! That's a long time!) And then when I logged back on I got distracted by Net-a-porter.com. Hey, it happens, and I don't need to justify myself to you. Okay, I'm going to justify myself to you. The Miu Miu belt that I've been coveting/stalking has been moved from the New Belts section to the SALE section, and I think I might buy it for myself soon. But I have not yet completely felt the fullness of time...which is a long way of saying that I just blew a wad of cash yesterday on Christmas presents (and a wholly selfish trip to Sephora), and spening yet more on myself would make me feel guilty. Excuse me, more guilty.

Los Angeles is the lonliest place in the world sometimes, and when I first moved here I felt like I would never have a friend of my own. A real friend, I mean. I'm gregarious enough to warrant "work friends" or to become friends with Kyle's friends, but those are different concepts altogether. I'm starting to feel like I'm acheving some coherence here now. I haven't yet figured out school, but I'm financially stable, and I have a nice place to live which is really coming together now (a bed, and last night Kyle brought home a 37 inch flatscreen TV. Sounds lavish, I know, but one of his friends from work is moving to Alaska to become one of those Perfect Storm fisher guys on Thursday and needed to get rid of everything ASAP, so he sold it to us for a fraction of its original price.), and my job is tolerable but leading somewhere better. And I have friends now. A couple of friends. It's nice, and getting nicer.

Kyle and I are very excited about Sweeney Todd coming out soon, and Juno. The previews for the latter was especially nice to see because it feels like a mini-Arrested Development-reunion with my two favourite guys. Except for Will Arnett, I liked him quite a bit too. Looks like he's too busy posing with his ridiculously cute wife in Gap ads right now, though. PSH.

The thing I'm most excited about this week, though, is my 3 year anniversary with Kyle. It's this Wednesday. THREE YEARS. Jesus Christ. I would think of something sappy to say but I don't really feel sappy. I feel astonished. Really purely surprised, in a way that I haven't felt since I tossed my hat in the air and realized that high school really truly was over. Where did all that time go? And on the other hand, it feels like it's been a lifetime. I complain a lot about him, but if it really had been that long, it wouldn't have been a bad life. It would have been the best.

Dreaming

Sometimes, I have nightmares that feature
various crises
in which my sidekick gets broken.

These dreams always end with me sitting
with my elbows on my knees,
cradling my phone with the screen
dangling
pathetically to the side.

In this moment, I dream that I'm trying
to imagine myself
making the best of it,
but I know deep inside that I will never love my phone the same;
I'm already plotting ways to get a replacement.

I sincerely hope to god that this is my brain dealing

with a metaphor

for some other struggle.