Crash

She said, "You know, you're kinda dark." " You aren't like anyone I've ever met." " You're mature." All of this because I expressed liking for a quote by a passionate photographer. All of this because I badly want a tattoo. It bothers me that she knows that part of the immense desire for the tattoo is the immense desire for the pain. I hate how transparent I am to her, but I also delight in it.

I am a passionate person. Everything I love incites a fire in me, a burning. I am easily swept up. I look for that quality in others.

Art will do it for me, photography and sculpture will too. Music, good writing, dance. Above all, seeing that fire burning in other people does it for me. I love the passion with which some people live. These fiery people are nearly always problematic. There is always something not quite right about them. All the fervency leaves them a little unbalanced. We all crash. This I love too.

Can anyone tell me that they do not love that ardor in others? There is nothing like seeing someone in their element. Nothing like seeing someone living for what they are doing. S was very much this way. She was a beauty, my ideal woman really. She loved to dance, she loved to play. We were very good friends. She moved to Arizona and we lost touch. This does not bother me as it would others. We are that type of people. We understand that friendships come and go. Ours would still be a friendship if she appeared unannounced on my doorstep, only to be gone in the morning. It is the passion. Those who have it are the only ones that understand it in others.

Maybe the passion is why I am so enamored with B. C does not understand it, because he is a rational being. He is a being seemingly without this passion. B has the fire. C hates it when I tell him I want to be near her because we are so alike. He does not see the likeness. B and I are very different people. Very different, but B burns, and B crashes.

He mocks me because I am so naive. He mocks me because I trust in people so easily. I feel the whole of the human race should support each other. A very naive view, apparently.

I understand flaws in others when they should not be understood. I am flawed. I know how wonderful it is for someone to tell me it is okay to be this imperfect person. It is such a cliché to say I want to help.

I will leave you with this quote, because it touches me. It always has.

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes, 'Awww!'" --Kerouac

Subversive?

No, I am indeed not perfect. I often think irrationally. I often get upset over nothing. I procrastinate in a way I am sure will injure me for graduate school. I am occasionally paranoid. I tend to dump my socks by the side of the bed instead of in the hamper. I forget most everything. My lies are more transparent than cellophane. I do occasionally lie.

These are the things I want to fix: Irrationality, mood swings, procrastination, memory lapses (it would be more accurate to tell you my memory is a lapse.)
I don't care all that much about my lack of organization, or occasional sink full of dirty dishes. I don't care about sleeping in too late and putting off washing the laundry. I don't care to fix my sexuality, or my incredible interest in raunchy comedy. I don't care to fix my obsession with cult films.
These things come up in conversation with religious people. No one was judging, this particular group is awesome. However, these lovely people remind me how much others condemn.
Since when does a clean house and non-interest in sex=good person?
I'm happier my way.

I've received a complaint or "I did not have sexual relations with that woman."

To whom it may concern:

I have received a complaint. A certain friend of mine believes that my answer to the question below, on a recently completed survey, is inappropriate and gives the reader "the wrong idea."

"18: Who was the last person you saw with their shirt off?
Jenny. Nice tata’s love"

I would like to clarify. Jenny and I used to date, yes. Jenny and I are still roommates, yes. However, we do not sleep together or even have the desire to do so. We are close friends. We are comfortable being close to each other, although in a purely platonic way. Some people find this odd. We do not.

I feel that the necessary parties (Me, Jenny, my boyfriend, and Jenny’s girlfriend) are aware of the platonic relationship we share. That is good enough for me. Also, The instance when I saw Jenny without her shirt was merely when I happened to glimpse Jenny in her sleeping attire...a sports bra and pajama pants. This is no cause for alarm, as most bathing suits cover far less skin. Also, I did not actually look at her breasts.

To cover myself more completely, I am not entirely sure why the maker of the complaint was offended. It may be because I refered to Jenny’s breasts as "tatas." The next time I refer to her breasts, I will make sure to employ a different word, such as "knockers," "melons," "dirty pillows," "tig old bitties," "gedoinkers," and/or "bahama mammas."

Thank you,
S

And it ruins it for me

Yes, I am procrastinating. But really, writing a blog is an adaptive way to get the creative juices flowing...preparation to "bs" the last two pages of my crazy long research paper. Several peoples' crazy long paper...not that I cheat, just that several people have to write one. Ohh, completely off topic...did you know that several college students I know feel that their success is merely the product of luck and easy professors? I didn't realize what a pervasive view that was. Similar train of thought: I also didn't know that the whole "feministic view" versus "settling down" conundrum is so pervasive. Why do people assume their thoughts have never been thought before? Originality doesn't really exist, we just put a new face on the same old thing. Which does indeed lead into the purpose of this blog...

I was reading earlier (like I do), and Penny came over. She asked me about the book, which was Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead. She promptly informed me that The Fountainhead was the new emo girl's bible....they all read Ayn Rand now to feel intellectual. Shock and dismay. Emo girl's bible? What?!? To my defense, I've loved Ayn Rand for quite a while, and do not relate to any of those emo frames of mind. I certainly don't read to feel intellectual. That's silliness. At least it encourages the younger ones to read stuff like that....Next, I expect, it will be emo to love film noir. What?!? It is emo to love film noir?! High school is dumb.

Soundin kinda drugged-but not

*Warning*...this blog serves no actual purpose, beyond random expression.

Jenny and I went to a frat party the other night...maybe it was the fact that we didn't know anyone there that made it so...yeah.

Maybe because I always just "happen" to be the DD. Or maybe because I stick out like a sore thumb. I'm not screwing around, possibly pregnant, throwing up, or involved in some very gossip-worthy scandal. How lame of me.

Maybe that "fun-loving" gene skipped a generation. Or just me.

I have noticed a very steep downward trend in my blog writing. I used to be so fucking cheery. Now I blog to vent. Sorry.

I read, clean house, do homework, sleep, work, worry about bills or the car breaking down, or worry about the extremely Christian girl in my stats class finding out that I'm gay. (She's scary!)

There are those who are glamourous "in" my life. Those who manage to do mundane things, like work, with a little extra pizzaz. Who don't care that the scary christian girl found out that they sleep with girls. Those who you love to hate. Or hate to love. Those constantly better than you....but stupidly worse as well. the arrogant ones-who have nothing to be so conceited about, but manage to make it appear otherwise.