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

What's up, new decade?

Since I'm planning on being indisposed for the next 36 hours, at least, and since making lists is my only natural talent, I decided I would make a list of all things good 2009.

I wish I had read more books this year, as I wish every year. And as I resolve every January 1st, I hope to read more in 2010. My newly discovered favorite things to read are short-shorts. Short fiction in general, but short-shorts of 1,000 words or less (usually 500 or less) are more concentrated compared to normal-length short stories, and I find the scenes, however mundane or typical, are teeming with restrained emotions, so that a scene about buying oranges is never about oranges. Some are uncomfortable vignettes that make you feel like you intruded on the wrong hotel room. They show you the faintest breath of life before definitively shutting the door.

My favorite short-short anthologies of 2009 (both put out by Rose Metal Press):


Brevity & Echo: An Anthology of Short Short Stories. All stories in this collection are 1500 words or less, most of which are less than 400.

Excerpt from "I Always Know It's Over When They Say" by Melissa McCracken:

You never met a man like me before. My wife has nothing to do with this. You remind me of my mother. I want seven children. I have three kids. I'll never get over her. My ex wouldn't swallow. Lemme buy you a drink. I only drink when I'm depressed. My British accent only comes out when I'm drunk, Love. Last time, I wrecked the El Camino. I only bet on college ball. I haven't finished a book since high school. I quit the hard drugs. I can't wait till deer season.



A Peculiar Feeling of Restlessness: Four chapbooks of short short fiction by four women (Amy L. Clark, Elizabeth Allen, Kathy Fish, and Claudia Smith)


Excerpt from "I Tell / I Don't Tell" by Claudia Smith (I chose this one because it's strikingly similar to my own life...especially the prom part):

My prom date was gay. He wore a beautifully fitted tux. We went bowling instead of doing it, afterward.
I didn't know he was gay. Not for sure. I had him pick me up at my best friend's house. My own house smelled of rotting.
I lost pregnancies.
I won't tell the details, but some are sloppy.


My favorite albums of the year:

It's Blitz by Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Swoon by Silversun Pickups

To Be Still by Alela Diane

Crossing the Rubicon by The Sounds

Manners by Passion Pit

Best shows:

Alela Diane @ the First Unitarian Church, March 1st(my birfday present from Rachel. I got Alela Diane's new cd and her autograph, locked the keys in my dad's car, chatted with her drummer while waiting for AAA, and drove home in a blizzard...near white-out conditions. Truly a stupendous night.)

The Sounds + Foxy Shazaam @ the TLA (feel good show of the year)







Best movies:

Up

Brothers

Fantastic Mr. Fox (I haven't seen this one yet, but I'm adding it in anticipation.)







2009 was an odd year, no pun intended. Lots of ups and downs, as with any other year. It's strange to think that the first decade of the century is over. 10 years ago I was almost 15, adjusting to life without mom, and I was thinking how strange it felt to see a whole century end. It felt like being a part of history by default. Now I'm almost 25, and I cannot believe how far I've come. I'm very proud of myself. Way to be, me.

See you all next year!

My dad told me that Jonathan Safran Foer was on Ellen yesterday. I missed it :(

But for good reason ;)

idon'twanttogotoworkohmygodihateit.

Read Miranda July

I undeleted this blog for a second time. I plan to utilize it for book reviews (maybe music, tv and movies...whatever is in front of my face at the time) and better updates about my work. Etcetera. All writers have them. Let's be a writer, shall we?

Presently I'm reading (or preparing to read) No One Belongs Here More Than You, a collection of short stories by Miranda July. My first Miranda July experience involved Jeffrey Eugenides (The Virgin Suicides, Middlesex). You could say it was a menage, I'll allow it. Jeffrey Eugenides, perhaps my top-most favorite author, edited a wonderful and eclectic collection of love/anti-love stories called My Mistress's Sparrow is Dead. The anthology spans numerous decades--maybe centuries, I'm not sure--and it pulls from the oeuvres of classic greats such as Faulkner, Joyce, and Nabokov (who I find annoyingly verbose, but whatever), and it features contemporary lesser-knowns such as Miranda July.

Something That Needs Nothing is a witty tale about an 18-year-old girl's pathetic and painfully one-sided infatuation with her girlfriend (later, ex-girlfriend). I hate using the words "honest" or "real" when describing stories, so I'll refrain here. But July's story is a relatable and often humorous rendering of how embarrassing and pathetic we are in the wake of heartbreak and losing a significant other (who never really loved us) to another:

I could not let her leave the building. I ran down the hall and threw myself on her. She shook me off; I locked my arms around her knees. I was sobbing and wailing, but not like a cartoon of someone sobbing and wailing--this was really happening. If she left, I would become mute, like those children who have witnessed horrible atrocities. No one would understand me but those children. [...] Before they pulled away, I shut my eyes and hurled myself onto the sidewalk. I lay there. This was my last hope--that Pip would take pity on me.

As someone who jokes her way through difficult things, I fell in love with this story and immediately wanted to gorge myself on July's prose. Several months and one amazon.com wishlist later, I have the yellow version of No One Belongs Here More Than You (see also: green, pink, and orange). What makes me love her more is the fact that she is also a filmmaker, screenwriter, poet, and actor. Quintuple threat! She's also cute to boot.

Anyway, I hope to some day be a quintuple threat while maintaining my humble good looks. In the meantime, I'm reading this book.