I remember my youth, when I had over 300 contacts in my first cellphone, having “Who gets a call from me tonight” being the only concern I ever had. I had a sidekick, I had a nextel, and I had verizon — If people didn’t suspect already, I was on Drug Dealer status with all of my cellphones. My phone would ring at all hours of the night, and there was never a time when I didn’t have somebody to call just for the shits & giggles.
My bills got higher, Phones became obsolete, Parentals became the strong arm of the law, and My phone number had changed. All 300 contacts, turned into maybe a shaved 150. I still had the luxury of calling whomever I wanted, and being able to have a good conversation. But now, sitting in my almost mid 20’s I’ve realized that my phone contacts are sitting dusty at about 40, and the people that I call all the time? My parents.
Granted I probably send out over 10,000 text messages a month and probably recieve more than that — but on an actual phone call basis? Only two consecutive people, Mom and Dad. For the past two years that I’ve been with Chris I talked to him on the phone every night and saw him twice-three times a week. I went to school, came home to him, played xbox, maybe accepted friend requests on myspace and facebook, then went to bed. My boyfriend turned into my best friend, then suddenly — my only friend. It wasn’t on purpose, maybe it was.. But he never gave me the ultimatum of “Either lose your friends, or lose me” I lost them by choice. Friendships come and go, they are wild cards. My mom always told me that the girls you go to college with and graduate with always end up the girls that remain in your life. Thanks mom, I went to school with a bunch of boys and graduated with a bunch of boys. I had 2 best friends in high school, one has gotten married (I was in her wedding) and divorced already, and the other is about to have a baby boy. In the span of 4 years, we have collectivly probably only spoken 6 times over the phone. We don’t have anything really to say to anybody. But this doesnt go just for them, this is basically every friendship that I have in my contact list.
I have mastered the art of being anti-social. On one side, It does sadden me that I dont have the whole “Sex & the city” girlfriend circle to discuss fashion and what sex positions not to try, obviously I have to read Cosmo to get all of that filtered information. But on the other side, I enjoy being left alone. I enjoy not having to dumb myself down to understand a conversation or feel pressured to mimick their fashion sense, I drum to my own beat. Yes, I do find it pathetic that the only routine conversations I have are with my parents and their the only ones that really care about “What did you do today” or “Whats going on with you tomorrow.” I also find it just as pathetic that I talk to my school advisor more than any of my “Friends” who consider me their “Best Friend.” My advisor knows more about my epic crusades in atlanta, than anybody back home really cares to know.
I am no longer a social butterfly, I am now offically the fly on the wall. What changed? I don’t know. But either way, I didn’t go from friends coming out my wazoo to no real friendships at all in the span of a day. This took years, It took years to go from 300….150….to 40 and me being perfectly okay with that. If anything I always got my roommates, So If i ended up getting killed by a freak attack of falling pictures frames crashing down on my head that render me unconscience and dead, they’re atleast my emergency contact. I’m still good.
okay maybe not to that extent. I enjoy drinking overly amounts of vodka through shot glasses that have pirate’s on them and drunk driving on Halo 3. It’s usually an isolated incident, and even more so, I’m usually alone. Most times I wake up with a vodka bottle under my pillow, xbox controller in my hand and the other down my pants. Should I have worried if something XXX went down in the party live chat I was in with some UK, China, and Icelanders? Maybe. But fuck it, who cares. Viva la Vodka.
I’m not saying this is a usual nightly ritual, most of the time it’s only either once a month or once a week. It can be controlled, and it can be extreme. I’m not a mean drunk, I’m not a crazy drunk, however I am an incoherent drunk that says “Im sorry?” 800 times in a sentence while hiccuping. It’s not my finest hour, nor is it a very classy trait to have, but it is mine — and damnit I shall be proud of it. I could be doing worse, I could be riding the white pony, smoking up until my eyeballs bleed, or shooting shit through my veins, but I’m not. Instead, I have choosen drunkard.
Maybe you’ll look at me differently, maybe you’ll say “Fuck yeah this is a girl I can hang out”, or maybe you’re completely and utterly turned off. I’m a grown ass woman who’s about to graduate — again… Let me have my vodka & xbox. It’s the only enjoyment I get besides porn. Thank you.
To the guy that helped me chase down my Green Giant sweet corn can...
I know what you were thinking, “This girl has lost all of her marbles,” but i can reassure you my dashing white knight in the Target asile, I was never equipped with any.
I was standing in the Can food asile, twiddling my thumb between all the sale items deciding which canned corn would most suit my finacial budget. You, ever so graceful came down the asile with, one would assume a friend or roommate looking to get Ragu. You were wearing slightly fitted jeans, not skinny jeans, but fitted. You were wearing a GA State athletics Tshirt, and your skin was golden. I wasn’t sure if you were Hispanic, or a really tan white guy, But what I can confirm is that your Emo hair do was most envied on Myspace. I saw you glance at me in the corner of the asile. You smiled, I smiled, and that was the exchange. I’d most likely calculate you were confused to my atire to conculded (that was a lot of C words in one sentence) one or two things. Either A. This girl is a lesbian or B. Man she’s really rad with her boarder shorts and robot tshirt. Under all my wishes, I was hoping for conclusion B.
I continued on my journey up and down the asile looking for more vegetables, I’m a very big procrastinator about decision making, so I spend atleast over 10minutes in each aisle of a grocery store debating whether ill either use it or store it. You, my prince were going on and on about the Lakers, How kobe bryant was “THE MAN” and you needed to hurry up and make a decision about the sauce. I glanced over again, and you smiled — I quickly turned my head and proceeded to the nearest exit away from you. Just as God would have it, i dropped my basket. In all the glory of embarassment my groceries that I spent my very hardest collecting was spread all over asile 4 like a murder scene, the only thing left missing was the outline tape. To make matters worse my corn was missing, it was rolling away like a bat out of hell, escaping from the securities of my basket. I dropped the basket and ran for the can, but I was cut off — The guy I was smiling at, was chasing the corn FOR me. I swooned, but undercover. He stopped his Ragu searching, forgot about Kobe and decided to help a poor hungry corn eating girl chase her can down to the frozen food asile.
As soon as we captured the culprut, I put the can back in my basket, smiled and said “Thank you soo much.” and he laughed and replied “Your very welcome miss.” There was a linger, Like i should have started a conversation — but I dont exactly know how to pick up one after you chased a can of corn with me to start talking about Ragu choices, let alone the lakers. I saw you tried to start one yourself, but you were unsure if i was coming or going. So i panicked. I turned around and went crawling into the mouth wash asile hoping you’d leave to the checkout before me.
I’m pretty sure you live around my neighborhood, Maybe if its meant to be we’ll bump into eachother in the bread asile, or better yet the Frozen Food isle, they have doors on things. But you my Dear Gentleman, If i wasn’t such a pussy I would have asked for your number — and maybe if i stuck around long enough you would have asked for mine. Either way, there was a connection, a brief one.. and it all started with a can of corn.
Life is a popularity contest, you think some shit would change when you graduated college, but even in the necktie world — Its a popularity contest.
Case in point, Jane Austen wasn’t popular until years after her death. Why? Not only because as a woman people didn’t think she could sell let alone was educated enough, but she wasn’t popular — blame it on her gender, blame it on a man’s world, either way she wasnt favored.
Inspiring people, artistic people, truly revolutionary people are out there under the radar making a difference, making a masterpiece, making the world change and we don’t know it. We’re like moths heading straight into the same bug zapper. Its repeative, I’m tired of seeing popular people or popular by associate getting media attention, and noriety when they honestly don’t do shit. Nada. Nunca. Zero.
Maybe I sound like I’m on Hate o’clock or a bit bitter, but atleast i’m not heading back to the same bug zapper, I opted to get hit by the fly swatter.
The origin of Gnome napping is the greatest memory I had while living in Queens, New york. Being a savvy foreigner to America, I wanted to live the new york lifestyle ie; Tagging up trains, break dancing like turbo, get drawn nude by a manic depressant artist, and find the best weed in the city. The good life. But we are given the cards we have to deal with, and Non of them involved Turbo or the weed. I settled for the next best thing, Gnome Napping. We had an epidemic of Greeks in our neighborhood, and not to stereotype — But greeks had a various amount of front yard decorations. From fountains, fake flowers, flamingos, flags, and Gnomes. Looking at our backyard my mom had a small but respectable garden with maybe a frog and a bunny rabbit statue, I wanted to jazz our backyard up Greek style. While sitting on our stoop, my teenage friend at the time Wes, Had an outstanding idea, why don’t we take somebodies gnome? I mean really WHO would notice? Brilliance errupted, the heavens parted, angels were singing and the Gnome Napping plan had begun. It started out small and sometimes unsucessful. Our first heist was our neighbor 2 blocks down that had a Gnome with a polka dot hat and a shovel — I named him Fred, and he would be mine. We crept up on the lawn in our all black outfits, you could feel the anticipation, and you could hear the undertone giggles we were trying to hold back, are we really 16 years old right now stealing somebodies garden accessories? SNATCHED. Fred was thrown in a pillow case, and all the times spending doing the Mile run in gym class paid off. We walked into our bedroom victorious that night, it was a proud moment that only two people can share together, any other person — they might question either our maturity or our sanity. We went out a couple nights of the week just theiving gnomes off peoples lawns, it was a sick collection we started, and eventually people started to wonder where their Flamingos and Gnomes have gone. Once wes got his drivers licenses, we were able to do drive by’s and it was no longer Gnomes we were stealing, we were taking the bigger objects — Like the virgin mary or Buddah. We weren’t worried that people started pinning their objects down deeper into the ground, or that Gnomes were starting to become extinct from front lawns, It was the realization of “Where the fuck are we going to put all of this shit?” I had gnomes in my closet, gnomes under my bed, flamingos in the backyard that my mother too busy with her garden never questioned. I had gnomes in the attic and Im pretty sure i put the Virgin Mary behind the tree. Can you imagine if i suddenly got hit by a bus? or rabid bunnies chased me down the street and killed me off? My mother would be packing all my belongings and find my over amount of Gnomes that still had garden dirt on them. But that didn’t stop me. We had bigger fish to fry, more epic lawn ornaments to take and better hiding spots to put them. Needless to say once high school graduation came around, no front lawn was safe, and we had every Greek livid up to 12 blocks. Wesly & I would soon be parting to different colleges, he got accepted to Wake Forest and I got accepted to UCLA. There would be no more gnome napping, no more epic midnight adventures, and no more gnomes under eachothers bed. We ended up giving the gnomes back, well to the places we remembered stealing them from. I burried a few in the backyard (my favorites) and gave a few away to people that had no lawn decorations (figured that was our ticket to getting out of hell.) I haven’t been Gnome napping since, but I can tell you I sometimes get the urge when I see a very decorated front lawn when I past Little 5 Points.
There comes a time in everyone’s life where you just want to lay down in the middle of a highway during rush hour, you can do that whenever you want. Just Remember that I’ll always be standing right next to you.. directing traffic.
Will you shut the fuck up. I understand it’s a hard job to be a single mother to 3 kids and with you being only 21 years old, but do you realize that right now you are blasting Dolla (who granted is dead, NEVER HAD A FUCKING GREAT SONG and nobody heard of him until he was dead) at 3am while your 7 & 8 old son is outside skateboarding in the parking lot right across from the highway. You make the hallway reak of weed, and you bring over your hipster friends who spend countless hours tossing glow sticks from your balcony into other peoples patios, or the pool. Now as amazingly fun this little fucking spree is for you, people are attempting to sleep, and we are concerned for your children. If this shit continues for another week I swear on my life I will do something epic, and epic by college kid standards. Therefore something will get TP’d, shaved, gelled down, egged, or slicked up and not in a good way at that. One more fucking chance broad, I’ll give you. If you abuse that, It’s fucking war on your life in this complex, and I promise you — you will not win. I am the UCLA’s 04-06 egging bullshit champion.
It’s amazing how growing up as kid my brother thought I was the worse thing that could ever happen to him. My mother always told us we were meant to be ‘the only child’ and were seperated from eachother by an entire ocean. He grew up with my mom in New York, I grew up with my dad in Japan, we visited eachother every summer and every summer he hated me even more. He chris brown’d me in the nose, broke my arms attempting to do a ‘WWF’ move, and threw all my G.I joes in the river. Needless to say, no matter how hard I tried — He didn’t like me.
High school came, I moved over to live with my mom at 15 years old. I was scared shitless, my english wasn’t all that great and the only thing I knew about america culture is what Kurtis Blow and Masta Ace taught me. I was stoked to be living in New york. My brother was a Jr in high school and this was the first time ever we would be attending the same school together. I don’t know if it was the fact that I really was foreign and helpless or Maybe i warmed up to him. He protected me, he turned into the big brother that would threaten my first american boyfriend if he ever broke my heart he’d kill him. I was not allowed to talk to any of his best friends, and they weren’t allowed to talk to me. He came to my basketball games, track meets, and even acknowledged my presence when we were in the same room. This, was progression. But he still didn’t care to really get to know me, I was just his sister — somebody he saw during holidays/summer vacations.
I don’t know if was the death of our grandfather, or his sophmore year in college, but after that year — he called more. He hung out with me, he actually got to know me. We both were in college, he was going to Shippensburg in PA and I was going to UCLA, yet we called eachother every evening just to say hello and keep tabs on one another. I finally got a big brother. Now that we’re both out of college, he’s about to get married and I’m living my own life in Atlanta — he think’s im the coolest fucking person on the earth. He brags to his friends about how cool his baby sister is, and what she’s doing with her life. My brother is finally proud of me, and its a great feeling — its almost on lifetime channel level. Maybe he held the fact I stayed with my dad against me, or he felt that I abandonded him, but I don’t care if it took 20 years to make it happen, we’re a really tight duo.
Now we just have to work on him being nicer to our little step brothers.
I love being this independent woman and all that beyonce shit, but somedays I wake up and want to see my mom in the living room in Queens, or seeing my father outside in the yard watering the grass in DC.
Flying the coop was easier than breathing, it just came natural we all wanted to do our own thing, on our own time, on our own schedule. Have the freedom to come & go at any hour, wear PJ pants all week long, sleep in until 4pm, play xbox with the volume all the way up, invite some strippers over, and get trashed beyond belief waking up on top of a blow up doll. We had our ambitions, goals, and future expectations of how life would be without parental supervision. I got my college years in, my “I’ll be home for long weekends” turned into “I’ll be home for the holidays” to “I’ll see you on christmas.” My parents learned to deal without having me around, they didn’t like it —but they dealt with it. Now I’m setting up a life in Atlanta for the past 2 years, and instead of feeling the freedom of being able to start my own life it’s got me missing my family.
Granted, when I am home after 2 weeks the pixie dust ends up fading away and I remember why I moved away to begin with, but I want to be closer to home I guess. The 10hr drive between Atlanta to DC drives me completely bat shit, and then the extra 4hrs it takes to get up in Queens, fuck. I might just end up moving back to New York I think instead of staying down south. I can still get museum jobs in NY since its the art capital, put my degree to some use. Be with my mom, and only be 4hrs away from my dad instead of 10. I just don’t think I can take another year of missing birthdays, funerals, births, and family traditions. As much as i ran away from it as a teenager, Its very much apart of me that I need to get back.