Prosperity

I win.

Fourth of July Weekend

I look (and was) epically happy, which is reason enough to post on my blog

Alex and I

Alex, 3/4 of Me, Amy

Amy, Alex, and my rack

I managed to completely change my schedule around.. Three psychology classes was just too much, especially when only two count towards my major because the third is in a different department.
Current Courses:

• Topics: On The Road with The American Extreme V18.0180.003
• Archaeology: Early Societies and Cultures (V14.0003)
• Topics in Film and Literature: Immigrant Writing and Filmmaking in the First Person
• Abnormal Psychology

I’m dipping my toes in four different departments.  One for major, one for minor, two electives.

Archaeology: Early Societies and Cultures (V14.0003)

I’m one of those people that cry during the Into the Wild trailor, let alone the movie. Not because it’s a sad story, but because I’m watching myself.

Tomorrow I’m going into the wild

What constitutes as a good blog? Why are people coming back and reading my rants and banters? (Yes, I will take some cheese with that whine. I love cheese.) The most commercially successful blogs have themes: celebrity commentary, cooking, politics, etc. I tried starting a themed blog but just couldn’t go through with it. It felt empty, impersonal. I have a burning desire to litter the internet with my personal life and opinions. I suppose that builds some sort of character that all five of you seem to follow.

I’m well aware that my blog is the first thing that pops up when you type in my name but the thought still kind of frightens me. I’m exposing more of myself to a white screen than I normally do in “real life.” I frequently write things I wouldn’t want repeated out loud or used against me. Why publish them? Frankly, I don’t know. I collect my thoughts by writing these things and a public forum forces me to make some sense of them.

I reacted kind of oddly to all the media coverage for Michael Jackson’s death. I’m generally oblivious to mainstream media for the simple fact that I don’t own a TV, listen to the radio, or read newspapers.

I hate to sound existential and ridiculously pompous, but I can’t help but wonder what the point of all of this is. What’s the point of a high GPA to get into that highly regarded grad school to get that perfect job with the perfect salary. Will extra letters after my last name or a Dr. in front of it make me happier?  I frequently feel like I lost myself along the way of working towards getting accepted to a Big-Name-College. I got accepted to a Big-Name-School and then didn’t know what to do with myself afterwards. I worked so hard to fit some cookie cutter mold to the point where I lost the zealous passion I had prior to high school. I used to start projects for the sake of creating, not the recognition and praise of others. Suddenly everything had to have a point, and the point had to be “well, it’ll help me get into college.”

I still continually struggle with this. Doing something for the sake of doing it, not for the later gain. I hate being asked what I do for “fun” because I honestly don’t know. Clock in full-time in my part-time job? I know why I can’t  fall asleep at 2am every day: because I’m not living. I’m not climbing any mountains, swimming in any oceans, or having the out-of-body experiences I used to have when I searched for miniature adventures in the corners of Wallington, NJ or my block in Poland.

If my life ended tomorrow, would I look back and say, “Yep, I’ve lived life to my fullest capacity”? The frightening thing is that the answer is no.

It ain’t summer until I destroy my skin

I was far more adventurous when I lived in Cambridge, MA three summers ago. I was eight hours away from home, living in a new and very different part of the country, studying maps to make my way through a city that lacked any sort of logic. I’d literally pick a random spot on the map and travel there in the middle of the night. New York City offers more architectural eye candy and culture, but Boston just has that sense of chaos I’ve been craving. I never feel lost in New York City, and I can’t completely explain why that bothers me. I’m frequently asked if I’ll stay in NYC after I finish NYU. Honestly, I don’t know. I always thought I’d have a nomadic lifestyle. I love my current sublet but sometimes I think I can’t fall asleep because I’m not truly living. It’s one of the main reasons I’m considering anthropology as my major (double major?) because I want to travel and do fieldwork.

I’m about a month into my summer. I enjoy work and all, but I’m incredibly unfulfilled with this routine. I’m trying to spice things up with dating, but sometimes it feels like I’m just going through the motions. I wanna see the world. I want to enjoy a satisfying meal after being in the sun all day. I want to go days without technology and fall asleep without the use of multiple sleeping pills.

Where did my sense of adventure go?

I arranged four consecutive days off from work with the intention of doing something, traveling. Will I? I don’t know. I don’t drive and taking a four-day biking trip would probably be one of the craziest things I do. Of course trains are an option but I’m cheap and it’s not the same as physically controlling where you’re going.

Dear Diary,

How does a guy go from claiming he’s interested to ignoring my texts and blocking me on AIM?

Signed,

Adrianna

I never want to see a lamp shade ever again

I feel like I know more about lampshades than I’d ever care to. Why? Because I am dangerously clumsy. It’s astounding that I haven’t broken a bone. One never realizes the endless amount of possibilities of lampshades in shape, textures, sizes, and strange names like “empire” and “coolie.”

I heard a loud bang in the apartment so I stumble out of my room half asleep. I bumped into a chair which in turn pushed the table over, sending the lamp rocketing to the floor. I was imaging the lamp break into pieces, remembering that I broke a small dish earlier that week, as I managed to catch the lamp. I may have saved the lamp, but I destroyed the lampshade. It’s literally in pieces. Who the hell buys a paper lampshade that cracks like an eggshell?

The second thing I did (after cursing and hating my life) was google a series of keywords like “lampshade” and “nyc.” Oddly enough I stumbled upon a lampshade store that’s really close to my apartment. The name “Just Shades” should’ve scared me off. I went there this morning and it was just a bizarre experience, mainly being assisted by three different people in a room filled with the most boring lampshades you could imagine. They kept throwing all these technical terms around and telling me the dangers of buying a lampshade that’s too big. I kept repeating that this lamp wasn’t even being used, that it sat there, asking to be knocked down. I was just trying to replace the shade, hoping it looked the same so I wouldn’t have to tell her that I broke it. Ironically they indirectly talked me out of buying one of the lampshades that was the closest in size to the one I broke. (Again, because of the dangers of buying one too big) They didn’t have a return policy so I just walked out with my money. I could’ve gotten one custom-made but apparently it was astounding that I didn’t have three weeks and extra money to spend on shipping for a FUCKING LAMPSHADE. Is this seriously what people do with their time and money? Buy over-priced, neutral-colored lampshades that break like egg shells.

I just settled for a $15 lamp shade at K-Mart that didn’t look like the old one at all.

Judy: “You should make a blog and critic stuff”
Me: “I do have a blog, but all I do is bitch in it.”

Judy is the second person this week who told me that I should be a comedian. Other friends have said the same over the years. I mean, I out of all people recognize my brilliance and I have imagined the possibility (with a packed audience), but I don’t particularly “write” my material traditionally. A computer screen inspires me to complain, not write witty material. I need human contact; I need to feed off of the energy. I always manage to befriend that one person who understands my sense of humor and will just listen to me talk about my day with punch lines. It helps me find comical relief on a bad day. Textbooks will analyze my sentence and tone structure of the perfect punchline.

I guess most of all I make myself laugh. People continually comment and/or criticize my over-the-top laughter since I started high school. Face it: I’m a pretty miserable person. I appreciate anything that cheers me up. I’m sorry if it’s in your expense.

I really need to stop pursuing assholes.

Admitting is the first Step

I am a very angry person.

I never blog about my dates, flings, relationships, or sex. None are something to advertise if you wouldn’t want your mom finding out through google. It’s even more ironic as I’ve type this because the last three days I’ve been out on a date, saw a fling at the gym, and my high school ex-boyfriend contacted me.

Something about excessive relationship/sex talk just bugs me, mainly because it’s bragging. It’s one thing to say you think your boyfriend is hot, it’s another to send me a picture and get mad if I don’t care to comment and basically stroke your low self esteem. “He’s hot right? Translation: A hot guy actually likes me!” I’d like to think I’m above the phase of bragging since I’ve been through it when I was 15-17 whereas most peak in college and subsequently annoy the hell out of me. “A boy finally wants to touch me! Yay!” I guess most of all I pride myself on not being dependent on a male.

I always wake up before 6am the morning after something starts to develop. I woke up at 5:45am on Monday after passing around midnight after I got home Sunday night. I was completely disorientated because I haven’t done that in over two years. I tossed and turned for a few hours, which felt minutes because I’d doze off. When I was 13-15 years old it was that giddy feeling of “A boy likes me!” regardless of what actually happened or what was said.  Now I’m older and “wiser” so it’s more trying to decide what to do next and try to decide why I’m feeling what I’m feeling. Is it mutual? Based on what? Nothing physical happened, but would I have pulled away? No. For the right reasons? Probably not.

I’ve become so jaded with the opposite sex that I turned myself off to emotion and actually wanting someone under the premise that I’m career-driven.

I guess I’m scared to embrace developing feelings and attachment for someone instead of just using my overt sexuality to boost up my ego, a wonderful skill I discovered at 17.

Regardless of whether or not I want an ego boost, I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about him every day since.

Dear Diary,

I got screamed at by a psychotic customer/mother at work today before she stormed out of the store, dragging her daughter by the arm.

Yours Truly,

Adrianna

Dear Diary,

The summer is going swell – It’s barely 60 degrees on a New York City day in June!

I’m feeling more positive about work this week, mainly because I’m not deprived of hours while past employees have clocked in over 60 in a seven day week. Do I want to clock in over 40? No. Do I want the option? Yes. It’s the principle that matters. I’d like to think I’m good at my job so I don’t understand why my hours should be cut when cashiers stand around and read magazines.

A lot of different varibles were piling up, including the office politics aspect that seem to spawn multiple personality disorders. The hierachy of power in the store disgusts me, but I’m just biased since I’m on the bottom. Problems aren’t addressed directly to me, they have to run through at least one to three different people before the last person finally tells me.

I have at least two things working against me. I have tits and I’m 20 years old. Therefore, I am not taken seriously. I’m a bitch if I speak in a serious, commanding voice. Customers never talk down to my male co-workers or say, “are you sure?” when we don’t carry a book. More than once I’ve said “we don’t carry math or physics books here” and I get a nasty order from a senior citizen to check if we have the book. OH MY GOD WE DON’T HAVE IT I WONDER WHY.

It seemed that everyone was in a particularly bad mood last Thursday. Two women approached me and one was astounded that we didn’t have a section dedicated to “Heires.” She rose her voice more and more each time she spoke and walked away in a huff. I was later dusting the fiction section when I hear, “excuse me, do you work here.” I replied yes without looking up yet as I started to hear, “do you have a book called ‘heires.’ “
I looked her straight in the eye and said, “You asked me earlier. We do not carry that book.” I have to admit, the look on her face was priceless. I can’t describe the look people get when they have a relevation and realize they’re assholes. She muttered that she did ask me earlier and scurried out of the store.

The next woman an hour later or so was even more impossible. “Where are your collected stories.” Excuse me? I tried to get a title or author out of her but all I got was neurosis. Seriously, why are you getting angry? She was incredibly offended when I suggested the essays section. Somehow we found common ground about biography so I walk over there with her and of course she’s too angry with the world to look on the right side of the aisle. Then she finally SCREAMS the title at me after I asked her who it was about in the beginning of the conversation. Seriously, I can’t help you when you yell “I don’t know” at me.

Cunt didn’t even buy the book.

I realized that these are the type of things that form my satarical and [I'd like to think] comedic perception of the world. Or maybe I keep telling myself that so I don’t off myself.