Dear Lena of January 2014,
I hope when you are reading this your hair is clean because today it is not. Today you look like Courtney Love had sex with a mongoose and then got extensions.
So sort of like Nick Nolte.
If Nick Nolte had sex with Steve Buschemi…
and then grew a vagina
So like Charlize Theron in Monster.
Like Michelle Bachman on the cover of Newsweek.
How many images can I use in one blog post?
More than this many kittens.
I have a lot of plans for how I’m going to become you; a year older, clean-hair version of myself with a satisfying life plan and less shame bestowed upon my family. Here are some:
1. Reduce my butt watermark – I haven’t gone swimming in several years and although I don’t have a specific understanding of why, it might be because every time I have gone swimming and walked from a pool to a picnic bench, or a rock, or a bed, and sat down, I produced a monstrous butt watermark – the imprint of wet ass cheeks in cheap spandex left behind on a seat. As a child I would giggle at this. As an adult I feel inclined to pull out a tape measure and survey it for prospects of fitting into an airline seat. I don’t need this kind of math in my life. So I’m going to lose weight.
2. Reduce my dependence and use of technology – I admittedly do not have much work to do on this in comparison to my peers. I don’t have a smart phone and never will. I don’t have cable, an e-reader, a camera, an iPad, or a reliable source for hot water. But in comparison to the previous eras I admire and wish to emulate, I suck like Kristen Stewart.*
I spend a ridiculous amount of time on the Internet. Like. I’m embarrassed. I can’t help it when I’m at work, but there is no reason I should go home and continue the cycle. I realize that the Internet is very valuable and without websites like Google I might never know that the search “how do people start letters?” is related to “when do men start balding?” but there has got to be more to life than allowing automated search engines to connect the dots for me. So I’m going to transition out of Internet time-suck.
*This is not a vampire joke. Or a slut joke. But it does work well in both scenarios.
**I hope the person who told me they want more Kristen Stewart jokes is reading this. If not, I don’t see the point to my existence.
3. Finish my novel – It has been just over two years since I started my novel and now as I reach 50,000 words in I am on the slow decline. I can’t even joke about this. I am proud of it. When I read it I am happy not only with the writing but with the obvious evolution of self I have experienced in the two years since I started. So I’m going to finish this bitch once and for all, angry ex-husband style.*
*That was wrong.
4. Continue my education – This plan has always been there but has recently evolved into something I didn’t quite expect. Like starting this blog or falling in love again. More to come about this but let me say I’m really excited.
Now Lena, of January 2014, these aren’t so much resolutions, with the inevitable implication that they will be forgotten in two weeks, as they are intended life plans. Therefore, I intend to create you quite beautifully with my ability to follow-through. Lena of 2012 gave me a pretty good year, so I’m going to try to pay it forward.
So you better reflect these efforts. Like Jennifer Hudson in Weight Watchers ads only less digitally altered.
The girl who wrote you this letter
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.
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.
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?
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?
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.
“This looks like a whore house.”
My mother, as I dried my clothes in her kitchen.
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.
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.
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!
I am a high/existential bee. I also throw great parties and enjoy practicing calligraphy in my free time.
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.
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.
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.
Both of our tongues are sticking out. Need I say more?
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.
I…I don’t know what is wrong with me.
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.
“I can’t see the TV, there are too many presents in the way!”
…First world problems?
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.
The girl with no (public) resolutions, but many (private) disappointments
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.
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”
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.
The girl who would sell her soul to have soft knee caps, but the market is down and no one wants it
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:
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.
I’d rather run into a knife.
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.
Today while refreshing my “site stats” page and crying inside, I realized it has been a long time since I have incorporated Google search terms* into a blog post. I was sadenned.
I thought to myself, there MUST be a way to do this! But I have done just about everything with a Google search term, short of getting impregnated by one. Surely I could not come up with another way! But then it hit me…
“Do you realize, Lena, that you are the only person who will find any of this funny?” I thought to myself, whilst navigating Paint on my company computer. And to that I say, “you know it, ho.”
So with that I give you this:
Mitt Romney, Unplugged
I’m laughing. Even if you’re not.
The girl with classy but ghetto orangutan titties
*Google search terms that led people to my blog, taken verbatim from my site stats page
A few weeks ago I took a poll. Here are the results:
Because I have no concrete evidence of how many people actually participated in this poll, I can only speculate that with 183 subscribers, it was somewhere in the range of 6,072. In which case, I congratulate myself for having so many dedicated readers. There has never been a success in my life quite as remarkable as fabricated statistics.
The main thing I gather from these results is that the only thing people hate less than politics is calling me a pretentious shrew, which really is the mother of all compliments if you think about it. Yes. I can accept this world where beards are more important than love, and 50% of voters are completely indifferent to what I write. I accept it like I accept anything. Except Kristen Stewart. I don’t accept her. Not as an actress or as a human. That was not a vampire joke.
Anyhow. Thank you to everyone who participated in this. I appreciate your feedback.
And to those of you who did not, I invite you to stop being such a loser. It’s bad for your complexion.
The girl with a bad complexion
They say that you know you’re gaining weight when black guys start hitting on you.
I’m not sure if anyone says this.
But I know I am gaining weight because aside from black guys hitting on me and the self-abusive conversation I have with myself each morning about the progression of my third trimester (I’m not pregnant), I recently got a speeding ticket. I know that is not a measurable factor here, but I have never been ticketed in the past. This is typically what happens when I get pulled over:
I lean out the window and ask, frantic and alarmed:
“IS EVERYTHING OKAY?!?!?!”
As if I am being pulled over to counsel him on marital troubles or American Idol voting techniques. He replies something about a child chasing a ball, and no crossing guard around, and federal imprisonment. I sigh, relieved, and hand him my license, unable to find my insurance or car registration.
After about 12 minutes of probing questions, among other things 😉 I am asked to avoid schools zones and any properties containing live, white children, and detour through the ghetto anytime I want to drive recklessly.
But unfortunately that only works when your body is not protruding past the restraint of your seat belt and your eyes aren’t being forced back into their sockets by pounds of cheek and eyebrow fat. Therefore I maintain that the only explanation for my receiving a ticket is the blubber effect. Definitely not the driving 53 in a 25. No. That can’t be it.
I’m blaming my weight gain on a number of factors, most of which I will not have the time or patience to tell you about. Here are three I can stomach. Hehehe. I’m so clever.
1. My ever increasing American guilt. Perhaps it is my preference to radical liberal politics over false patriotic conservative politics that results in the inordinate amount of time I spend each day mourning Middle Eastern people I will never meet. Not just because they’re dead. But mostly because they’re dead. This leaves me depressed and anxious and forced to resort to binging on food no Middle Eastern person would ever eat. Not just because they’re dead. But, really, mostly because they’re dead.
2. Sushi. When eaten by Japanese people or bulimic teenagers, sushi can be very healthy. But when eaten by an American woman at a Chinese buffet 10 minutes away from her house, once a weekend, sometimes twice, depending on how much she hates herself that day, it is not good. It is embarrassing. Not quite a “legitimate rape” comment, but definitely a “binders full of women.”
3. Co-workers birthdays and other work-related food-oriented events. Every day in my office someone is either turning 50, hitting menopause, or inviting a politician to tour the school, all of which are equally disgraceful and handled with mass quantities of food. Even when I am trying to eat healthy I am bombarded with oatmeal cookies, or cheddar cheese slices, or Halloween candy hoarded away in my desk drawer. There is no escape!
I realize this doesn’t sound like a Thanksgiving Day post yet, but allow me to explain. My obsession with my weight sounds a little insecure. But I’m okay with that. In fact, I’m grateful that I am insecure and in a constant state of emotional anguish. Why? It keeps me from being a dick.
If you know anything about me, you know that the leading cause in my life is asshole prevention. If I lost weight and became confident and hot, I’d become even more self-involved and arrogant than I already am, and before you know it I’d be someone really evil like Kourtney Kardashian.
So to sum this whole thing up, this Thanksgiving I am grateful for many things.I am grateful for insecurities that keep me grounded. I am grateful for police officers that don’t tase me. I am grateful for the black guys who hit on me. I am grateful for my sister who is a registered dietician who will help me lose weight again. I am grateful for my boyfriend who I never talk about but exists quite fully in my life. I am grateful for the new wiper blades on my car. But lastly I am grateful for this, taken from the Facebook page of a person I actually know:
Doesn’t get much better than that.
Happy Thanksgiving everybody! I hope you are all grateful for something (me).
The girl who last year was thankful for assholes, but this year is thankful for mouths. Ew.