Monthly Archives: December 2012

My Photographic Journey Through 2012

 

Last year I posted a blog entry at the end of January to depict my photographic journey of 2011 , and while no one read it including myself, there was something gratifying about commemorating all of the non-moments in my life at once. So I’ve decided to do it again for New Year’s Eve.

I can only hope you have found a better way to spend New Year’s than reading amateur WordPress blogs. But on the off chance that your life is as uneventful as mine, enjoy! Or at least pretend to.

January 2012

 

jan

 

At some point in January I decided that cleaning my purse was easier than dealing with arthritis in my shoulder the rest of my life. I photographed my efforts and now have concrete evidence that at any given time I can be found carrying items ranging in unimportance from detached bra under wires to opened and unusable tampons.

Oh. And that’s my foot in the corner. Not typically found in my purse.

 

February 2012

 

feb

While this photograph mostly represents my narcissism, I am including it because it also represents the beginning of a long and disappointing journey known as “Lena’s 2012 employment history.” In 2012 I held 4 different jobs ranging from coffee shop waitress/concubine, receptionist in an administrative office at a college, front desk receptionist at a hotel, and admissions representative at a tech school. Who says college is a waste of time?

March 2012

march

During the last week of February and first week of March, I volunteered in the Dominican Republic. I can’t make this funny. It was one of the most profound, fulfilling experiences of my life and I feel extremely lucky to have had it. Plus I got hit on a lot there…score?

 

April 2012

april

After convincing everyone in my office to buy raffle tickets from a student organization trying to save a sick llama, the universe had my back and helped me win this wine basket.

This is without question the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me. Or at least that is what I told the student who brought it to our office.

June 2012

may

“This looks like a whore house.”

My mother, as I dried my clothes in her kitchen.

 

June 2012

july

This was my Bob Dylan vinyl collection back in June. I have since added five more. For Dylan geeks the total includes: Times They Are A-Changin, Another Side of Bob Dylan, Bringing it All Back Home, Highway 61 Revisited, Blonde on Blonde, John Wesley Harding, Greatest Hits Vol 1&2, Nashville Skyline, New Morning, Before the Flood, Blood on the Tracks, Desire, At Budokan, Street Legal, Empire Burlesque, Real Live, Modern Times, Bootleg Series Vol. 4 (Live in 1966), and a VERY rare bootleg recording from the mid 60’s.

Bad ass.

July 2012

july 2

In July I was Freshly Pressed and it brought me greater pride than any other accomplishment of my life, including birth and learning how to read.

September 2012

september

I’m not sure if you heard, but there was this thing called Hurricane Sandy. Because I’m unbalanced and deeply afraid of heavy wind, despite the relative mildness of the conditions in my area, I thought it necessary to relocate my mattress into the living room where there are no windows, but quite prevalent feelings of being locked in a dungeon. Don’t even tell me this was overkill!

October 2012

 

october 3

I am a high/existential bee. I also throw great parties and enjoy practicing calligraphy in my free time.

October 2012

october 2

She was drunk again, smiling and laughing in his orange face. He was contemplating a murder-suicide.

Pumpkin love between me and my boo.

Pun INTENDED. Hehehe.

Someone take away my blog.

October 2012

october

My boyfriend and I are in some ways the same person, hold the genitals, or however I can more discretely put that. Nevertheless we are into things like all natural soap-making and even more into talking about how it makes us better than everyone. This is an example of how.

November 2012

november

So we sort of like each other.

“Do you love me even when I’m crazy?”

“I love you especially when you’re crazy.”

I can dig that.

 

December 2012

dec 4

Both of our tongues are sticking out. Need I say more?

December 2012

dec 2

Being better than everyone we meet is exhausting, as evidenced in this handmade “basket” of handmade products given to our families for Christmas. Soap, lip balm, air fresheners, jam, and inconceivable arrogance.

December 2012

december 5

I…I don’t know what is wrong with me.

December 2012

december

You know you’re 1/4 Italian when after a lifetime of cooking a traditional Christmas Eve family recipe you still have no idea how to spell what you are making. You know your mother is 1/2 Italian when she tells you she will disown you if you share the recipe.

December 2012

dec 1

“I can’t see the TV, there are too many presents in the way!”

…First world problems?

December 2012

december 6

There is currently a gigantic ice sickle in my freezer. I think I will keep it and use it as a weapon when a heroin addict inevitably returns to my apartment in search of the former tenant.

 

So long, 2012! Howdy, East Orange.

 

Love,

The girl with no (public) resolutions, but many (private) disappointments

 

Dear Diary #1

Today I have done everything a sick person shouldn’t do including shoveling snow in a pair of shorts and eating undercooked chicken. But before that I was at work researching menstrual cups. Yes, menstrual cups. I’m not ashamed. If looking at menstrual cups online at work is wrong, I don’t want to be right.

I left work early because they made me, but also because I wanted to. Because I’m sick and it was snowing and since Pennsylvania likes to pretend it’s a southern state both politically and geographically, no one remembered to salt the roads in advance. So I drove 20 miles an hour the entire way home and as people passed me, I began to resent them for driving faster than me, having more reliable cars than me, and liking their jobs enough to not shop for menstrual cups while they are supposed to be working.

resentment

MSNBC Reports: “Marriage” – Legalized Slavery

Because I don’t have a legitimate parking space at my crackden apartment, I parked in a neighboring bank lot and proceeded to spend ten minutes cleaning off the cars of strangers who wouldn’t do it for me if the situation were reversed. At the time this made me feel like a good person, but now I just feel like a sucker. A sucker without a winter coat, boots, or any redeemable qualities to speak of.

Later in the night I caught up with an old friend via Facebook and discussed all of my life goals, including writing a best-selling novel, which will ultimately get adapted into a movie, with a television spinoff. When asked who I would cast as the lead female, this conversation took place:

Me: “I’d like a relatively unknown woman to fill the part of the lead. I think that would give it more authenticity. Like in Juno.”

Ryan: “Very wise. Just don’t put Michael Cera in it. Please.”

Me: “Oh no. The love interest in my book is highly attractive and confident and doesn’t look like a chicken dressed as a human”

uncanny

uncanny

Then I remembered how bad it feels to contribute nothing of value to the world. So I ate several handfuls of chocolate covered peanuts and determined it will never get better than this.

Love,

The girl who would sell her soul to have soft knee caps, but the market is down and no one wants it

Christmas, Gangsta Style

Either a gangsta or a Christmas penguin with polio.

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My money is on a penguin gangsta with Christmas polio. It’s a condition. Look it up.

Love,

The girl with penguin p0lio, Christmas gangsta style

Why I will Never Be A Strong, Confident, Sexy Woman

Everytime I begin to think I can be one of those strong, confident, sexy women, who can run in heels and wink without it being creepy, I do something like this:

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Yes, that is a hair tie around my leg underneath my tights.  

No, I don’t know how it got there.

Yes, it took my 6 hours to notice. 

No, I don’t have kankles….

It’s an unflattering angle!

No one looks good at work.

But this is proof that I will never be one of those women. Along with having hairties places they shouldn’t be (dirty!) and the inability to sit cross-legged without looking constipated, I am not self-involved enough to be put together. This is not to say that every woman who is put together is self-involved (although, come on) but rather that I am such a mess already, that it would take  such grandiose effort for me to be put together, that I would be forced to abandon all other facets of my personality and focus solely on my appearance in order to achieve this. Like Kim Kardashian, or Ryan Seacrest.

Kim-Kardashian-Ryan-Seacrest-E-News-Interview-062811-2-492x400

I’d rather run into a knife.

Love,

The girl with knives too dull to penetrate (dirty!) (ouch) (ew)

PS: I would like to reach 200 followers by the new year. It’s the only validation I get outside of watching people fatter than me exercise. If you read this blog and do not follow it, please do.

Overcoming those “brown streaks of greasy lard hardened to the bottom of my crock pot” People in Life

A few months ago my sink was leaking. I asked my landlord to fix it, but he was too busy not replacing the bathroom door that is too big for the frame and fooling the zoning board into believing my apartment is large enough for safe occupancy, to get to it. So I ignored the problem and stuck the ceramic insert of my crock pot underneath the leak.

This was months ago.

The leak has since been fixed by the able-bodied, bearded man who lives there 3 days a week. But the crock pot remains, surrounded by discarded by plastic shopping bags and kitchen utensils the crack-dealing tenant who previously inhabited my apartment left behind, and I never threw away, out of either respect or laziness but probably apathy. That’s how unsanitary I am.

So now the watery animal fat residue that once filled the pot has evaporated leaving nothing but a few brown streaks of greasy lard, hardened to the bottom of the formerly useful cookware, that has since been condemned.

It’s magnificent.1204122132

….

There are moments in life when I feel like humanity, at its best, is no better than the brown streaks of greasy lard hardened to the bottom of my crock pot, resting peacefully beneath the sink. Like when media-induced pregnancy terms (see what I did there?) turn trendy, and fully-functioning intelligent people start saying things like “preggers” and “baby bump.” Like when children dress like hookers prowling stage corners in Southern gymnasiums waiting to be judged by a panel of adults and a near empty room and TLC broadcasts it calling it “reality” TV. Like when I’m met with the realization that there might be people like this that actually exist.

Untitled

I think you get my point.

Today at work, the able-bodied, bearded man sent me a link of an article on Huffington Post about  New York Post’s most recent cover story, and I was reminded of these feelings.  If you aren’t completely dead inside, you may want to cover your eyes:

o-NY-POST-COVER-570

Being that I’m not dead inside, looking at this completely horrified me.

The very existence of this photograph, not to mention its publication seems to prove my previous statement to be completely true. Humanity is no better than the brown streaks of greasy lard hardened to the bottom of my crock pot.

1. How could a person(among others) stand by long enough to take a photograph and not stop to help the man in need?

2. How could a person use this photograph of someone else’s last moments to further themselves by having it printed by a major publication?

3. How can enough editors at that major publication come to the joint conclusion that printing this is acceptable?

I don’t get why we as a race feed on the destruction of our own. I used to believe this resulted from some sort of conditioning we undergo by exposure to the ultra violent mainstream media that closer resembles Quentin Tarantino storyboards than legitimate journalism. But from the Colosseum, to public hangings, to CNN video clips of soldiers being beheaded, the only thing I can conclude is that this sickening voyeuristic need humans have to continue diminishing the value of their own lives by diminishing the valviolenceue of others, is somehow natural. Though it has been tempered by Western culture, it is prevalent enough to allow individuals privileged enough to land jobs at major publications, to collectively agree that this sort of thing is ok.

So, is it okay?

No. At least I don’t think so. Although history has proven that it is somehow common for humans to behave this way, I still believe it is only natural to some people. Like drug addiction or bad taste in music.

Even so, the rest of us are very stupid creatures. We continue to find shock value in the same things. We continue to reinvent political correctness instead of questioning why we have to reinvent it at all. In the case of this story, I know there will be backlash and anger and New York Magazine may lose sponsors or pull copies, who knows. But in the age of the Internet, what good will that do? The story is out there. The picture is out there. And as long as it’s there, we will bring attention to it. Like I am right now.

What we need to do is redirect our attention from the scum-sucking backwash of failed humanity, to the astounding ways humanity has and will continue to flourish. We need to forcibly detach ourselves from the things and people no better than the brown streaks of greasy lard hardened to the bottom of my crock pot, and do good. Be good. Promote good in ourselves and in each other. It won’t change things. Bad things will always happen and those people will always be their to exploit them. But they don’t have to exploit us.

Love,

The girl who means everything she says, despite the fact that she has no intentions of cleaning her crock pot.

At all.

***Though I could write a book on how strongly she detests the New Yorker after this but would rather try to keep it short and divert your attention to this.