I know, I know.

All my favorite pens are dying. It's like losing friends. So sad.

Mid-twenties Crisis: Yes, it really does happen.

And it entails the following:

-Glaring at 17 year old girls whose clothes are hipper, whose hair is styled, who don't have jobs and don't give a shit how much shit costs, and who don't have hips yet to make all their pants not fit. They make you insecure because in ten years they'll steal your husband, but you calm down by telling yourself that, at least for the time being, you can drink more and fuck better.

-You go through your entire wardrobe and pack up all your "skinny" clothes that no longer fit and tell yourself that some day they'll fit again, but knowing for damn sure they won't.

-You identify with the frumpy wife in Love, Actually. It makes you cringe because you're frumpy and you're not even a wife yet, so you begin going to great lengths to tone your flabby parts and update your wardrobe. You make secret vows to stay hot, buy lingerie and double-up on the blow-jobs. Especially the surprise ones.

-Floating in a weird limbo where you begin planning on getting married, finding a house or groovy apartment to settle in, and having kids some day. You begin not blowing all your money on concerts, crap from Hot Topic, and sneakers because you anticipate these future things happening and costing fortunes.

-You begin talking about your life as if you already have a husband, kids, or a house; what's worse is you talk about having to protect these things from slutty 17-year-old girls.

-You start drinking "mature", upper-shelf liquors like Johnnie Walker, Jameson, Seagrams, and Patron, but you're still young enough to feel fancy drinking wine from a box. The thought of Smirnoff Ice, Mike's Hard anything, Twisted Tea, Absolut flavored vodka (or vodka at all) upsets your stomach.

-Out to dinner, you order Manhattans and Sangria.

-You begin obsessing over how much weight you've gained since you were 19, and wonder if you're exes have noticed.

-Picking out dish sets, sheets, and throw pillows gives you jollies. To compensate, you buy expensive make-up and new shoes that you never wear because they're too fancy for anything you own, and you don't own anything nice because you never go anywhere nice, and you never go anywhere nice because you have nothing to wear. You reason this is why you're single and compensate appropriately by buying expensive make-up and shoes you never wear. And maybe a nice bra.

-

Note to self:

You should probably write new poetry. Giddy up.

Just submitted my Emerson application

I'M FREAKING OUT.


ohmygodohmygodpleaseacceptmepleasepleaseplease.

First post of 0-10!

Nothing like getting drunk with a house full of your best buds and shaking off the old skin of a year past to usher in a new beginning. Not that a new year is a new beginning. Nothing starts over just because a ball dropped. But I look at New Years as a sort of renewal. Yearly I gather with the same people (granted, some additions) to celebrate all the good and bad we went through together, to say 'fuck you' to things of the past, and to say: any year with you is a year I want to live through.

In all of the tom-foolery of the holidays I forgot that my Emerson application--the most important application of them all!--is due on Tuesday. Yikes. I best get on that.

In the meantime, here is my upcoming reading list for 2010:

1. No One Belongs Here More Than You - Miranda July

2. Slaughterhouse Five - Kurt Vonnegut (I know, shame on me for having never read a Vonnegut.)

3. Eating Animals - Jonathan Safran Foer

4. Maybe I'll finish reading Catch-22 or 1984 or To Kill a Mockingbird