KYOKO HAS A BLOG.

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.

Im despondent and I need a vacation. Actually, I need a whole new life, but as long as I never go to bed, I feel as though I can postpone waking up for my current one.

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.