I'm blogging. I'm aware that this is considered part of the social media world. But, much like Hollywood has affected every woman's idea of what romance is, social media is destroying our ability to communicate with each other. It's making us socially inept. And it's not just social media, it's all of it-email, texting, and whateverthehell is the communication trend of the day. Don't even get me started on Latitude.
I'm well aware of the benefits of the internet, texting, Google chat, etc, etc. I love being able to chat with my friends who I don't see on a regular basis during the day. Certain levels of communication are absolutely fantastic. But sometimes, it goes too far and it's slowing breaking us. Back in February I decided to take a break from Facebook because I felt too exposed. Yes, my fault, as I was a "power user." But then I stopped to think-do I really need 300 people knowing that I'm stuck in traffic or that I made a fantastic dinner? Do I need 250 people I never interact with on any sort of personal level knowing that my boyfriend and I just broke up? And do I need these people "liking" the fact that I caught a great sale on shoes today or commenting on whether or not my feelings on work are or are not valid? The clear answer for me was no I didn't, and by that point I kind of wanted to go live in a cave.
So with that, I left the world of Facebook. It became a fun experiment to see who actually kept in touch with me. People became confused. They didn't know what was going on in my life or how to invite me to events. There was even a rumor I left Facebook because I was being stalked. Awesome.
"I want to go," I said to a friend holding a charity event.
"But how do I invite you? You're not on Facebook," he replied.
"You have my phone number AND my email address."
I thought he was kidding-I hoped he was kidding-until a month went by with no invite in my inbox. Now maybe you're thinking, "Perhaps he just didn't want to invite you." Maybe you're right. But I like to think I'm not terrible to be around and, at a minimum, it was a charity event and one would think the more people attending the better. Anyway, I ended up going because someone else sent me the information and it was a great night. But, I digress.
I just think that we all need to remember what it was like to dial the phone, to have face-to-face conversations, and (I know I'm going out on a limb here) have some photographs printed and throw them in a frame instead of relying on Facebook to show off your latest trip to the Jersey Shore. A Cornell graduate asked me last weekend, "Well, say you go on vacation and you take pictures. What do you do with them if you don't post them on Facebook?" Come on now.
Please don't break up with me in a text message. Don't talk to my friend for two hours, not ask for her number and tell her you're going to look her up on Facebook. Don't text my friend to tell her you've decided to try to work it out with your ex-girlfriend after over three months. This is all not okay. Everyone is taking the easy way out and it's killing our character.
We can all sit around and feel special that we have 500 friends on the internet, but how much time have you taken lately to invest in your three real friends? You know, the ones who call when you need a pick me up, or the ones who know your birthday without getting a Facebook reminder. Stop thinking in 140 character increments. Let's all go for a picnic.
Jul 6, 2011
Jun 11, 2011
Hot Sauce Kicked My Drunk Ass
I like spicy food. I discovered this several years ago when I was in Beijing eating at a hot pot place across from the Olympic stadium. Since then, I've tried all different kinds of hot sauces (Sriracha, "The Hottest Fucking Sauce", Habanero) and spicy foods (Middle Eastern, Indian, Thai) but nothing prepared me for Cluck U chicken.
Around 3 a.m. Friday night, after the bar closed and I was fully saturated with beer, I wanted french fries. My friend suggested Cluck U. The fries were fine, but my friend ordered "Nuclear Chicken", and I was intrigued. Now, at Cluck U, there are several levels of hot. Since Nuclear was only two down from the top, and I didn't find it all that spicy, I decided to go for the "911" sauce. Drunk as we were, my friend encouraged me, knowing full well what I was in for.
After ordering the chicken and not purchasing a drink, I sat down at the table, excited to try the chicken. As soon as I opened the styrofoam container the scent hit my nose and it was unlike anything I had ever smelled before. But I remained undeterred. I took a big bite and waited. It was spicy but nothing crazy. But this spice, it seems, like it build suspense. Ten seconds later, I wanted to rip my mouth out. My eyes welled up and tears started pouring down my face. My gums, tongue, cheek and throat all felt like they were being burned, bit my bugs, and scraped with glass all at the same time.
Not knowing what to do, I ran to the bathroom and stuck my head under the faucet. That did nothing. The pain wasn't stopping. I was sweating, crying, and unable to control any of it. On the walk home I turned into a truck driver, spitting every ten feet because I was now salivating like a wild animal with rabies. By the time I got home, drinking the sour milk in the refrigerator was a great idea. After downing half of the carton, the pain finally let up.
But, I was still drunk and drunk reasoning is spotty at best. Now that I had the antidote, I thought, I can eat the chicken, having forgotten that only five minutes ago severing my own head seemed like a reasonable solution to get the pain to stop. So, I took another big bite and, as expected, repeated the entire fire dance all over again...and finished the sour milk.
I don't know what kind of fire breathing demons are injected into that sauce, but, dear God, I had no idea food could hurt so bad. But now I know and knowing is half the battle.
Around 3 a.m. Friday night, after the bar closed and I was fully saturated with beer, I wanted french fries. My friend suggested Cluck U. The fries were fine, but my friend ordered "Nuclear Chicken", and I was intrigued. Now, at Cluck U, there are several levels of hot. Since Nuclear was only two down from the top, and I didn't find it all that spicy, I decided to go for the "911" sauce. Drunk as we were, my friend encouraged me, knowing full well what I was in for.
After ordering the chicken and not purchasing a drink, I sat down at the table, excited to try the chicken. As soon as I opened the styrofoam container the scent hit my nose and it was unlike anything I had ever smelled before. But I remained undeterred. I took a big bite and waited. It was spicy but nothing crazy. But this spice, it seems, like it build suspense. Ten seconds later, I wanted to rip my mouth out. My eyes welled up and tears started pouring down my face. My gums, tongue, cheek and throat all felt like they were being burned, bit my bugs, and scraped with glass all at the same time.
Not knowing what to do, I ran to the bathroom and stuck my head under the faucet. That did nothing. The pain wasn't stopping. I was sweating, crying, and unable to control any of it. On the walk home I turned into a truck driver, spitting every ten feet because I was now salivating like a wild animal with rabies. By the time I got home, drinking the sour milk in the refrigerator was a great idea. After downing half of the carton, the pain finally let up.
But, I was still drunk and drunk reasoning is spotty at best. Now that I had the antidote, I thought, I can eat the chicken, having forgotten that only five minutes ago severing my own head seemed like a reasonable solution to get the pain to stop. So, I took another big bite and, as expected, repeated the entire fire dance all over again...and finished the sour milk.
I don't know what kind of fire breathing demons are injected into that sauce, but, dear God, I had no idea food could hurt so bad. But now I know and knowing is half the battle.
May 30, 2011
It's Thursday...
...and I'm bored. I got out near work early, so I decided to do some food shopping. Sirens wailed outside and I not so secretly hoped my office building was on fire. But alas, it was Chevy's. It provided about three whole minutes of entertainment though, as co-workers and I stood at the window and watched the smoke billow out over the trees. This is what life has become. Business casual fire watching.
May 5, 2011
Apr 21, 2011
Band of Motorists
We are human. We wage war, we lie, we cheat, we steal, we don't always tip well. We're petty, we're moody, we're unreliable, we're self-serving, we're spiteful. On the road we're angry, we're texting, we're cutting people off, and yelling obscenities. But somehow, out of somewhere, we all got together and decided it was us versus the police.
I don't know how or why flashing your headlights at an oncoming car became the universal sign for, "There's a copy ahead, hiding, trying to catch you speeding. As your fellow motorist, I've decided to alert you to this upcoming entrapment. Good day."
So, thanks to the guy who flashed his headlights at me on my way back to the office today. I salute you.
I don't know how or why flashing your headlights at an oncoming car became the universal sign for, "There's a copy ahead, hiding, trying to catch you speeding. As your fellow motorist, I've decided to alert you to this upcoming entrapment. Good day."
So, thanks to the guy who flashed his headlights at me on my way back to the office today. I salute you.
Apr 20, 2011
I Wish I Was a Video Game So I Could Punch Things and Get Rewarded for It
After weeks of suffering from moderate to severe abdominal pain, I had eagerly been awaiting test results to see what, if anything, was wrong and the best way to fix it. While I didn't want the answer to be ulcer, tumor, flesh-eating bacteria that maybe I picked up by a case of bad luck and poor timing, I had been hoping for something tangible with a concrete solution. If it turned out to be nebulous stress, that's tougher to solve, especially when I just want the pain to stop, and then carry on eating my Ben & Jerry's.
It's day six of waiting for my ultrasound results. I could easily just write a summary of the phone call I just had, but sometimes, when telling a story, the best way to have the reader experience the writer's emotions is with direct quotes. Show, don't tell—if you will.
Me: Hi, I had an ultrasound Friday, I'm calling to see if the results are in.
It's day six of waiting for my ultrasound results. I could easily just write a summary of the phone call I just had, but sometimes, when telling a story, the best way to have the reader experience the writer's emotions is with direct quotes. Show, don't tell—if you will.
Me: Hi, I had an ultrasound Friday, I'm calling to see if the results are in.
Nurse: Hold on.
(Time elapses)
Nurse: No, they are not in yet.
Me (now in my frustrated tone, since I also called yesterday): Well, I had the ultrasound Friday and they told me two days. I am WAITING to find out if something is WRONG with me so how you propose I go about getting the results?
Nurse: Please hold.
(Time elapses)
Nurse: Oh we did have them. I just didn't see them. Everything came back normal.
Me: So do I just keep taking these muscle relaxers then?
Nurse: Do you feel better?
Me: I feel better when I am on then, but as soon as I stop taking them the pain comes back.
Nurse: Please hold.
(Time elapses)
Nurse: Just keep taking the pills. You should probably go see a GI. Something might be wrong.
Apr 7, 2011
Should Probably Have Checked Out That Noise In the Kitchen
I'm working from home. It's wonderful. I also have a head cold. That is not so wonderful. Sometimes when I get sick, my nose plays tricks on me and things smell bad that don't really smell at all. Today may be one of those days, but I guess I won't really know until after the congestion goes away.
I got up early and went to the gym, trying to get my sinuses to clear. When I got home, I noticed a smell that I couldn't pinpoint. This happened once before and it ended up being bad turkey in the fridge. This time, I lit a candle in the bathroom, one in the kitchen, hopped in the shower and then went to the back of my apartment to my desk to work.
A couple of hours later, there was a noise in the kitchen. It sounded like my keys had fallen off of the table. Only slightly curious, I continued what I was doing. A few minutes later, remembering there was a candle burning that was nearing the end of its little candle life, I went to check it out.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear—but a small fire burning on my kitchen table! The glass the candle was encased in had exploded. I had the candle sitting on top of a yoga book I wanted to read, which was now being covered in liquid wax, glass particles were everywhere, tiny burning embers were strewn about the table and the top of my book was burning. Not sure what to do first, I tried to blow out the fire, which, as you can imagine, made it bigger. Deciding to ignore that for a second, I tried to get the burning embers off of my wooden kitchen table, so I picked them up. Yep, they're hot. So after burning my hand, I threw them on the floor and stomped on them with my slippers. Now there is charred candle bit smeared on my kitchen floor.
Back to the fire. I tried blowing it out again, this time harder. Luckily, it worked, but also just spread more wax everywhere. I got everything all cleaned up, but now I am left with burn marks on the table that Pledge cannot fix, a yellow burn on the book, a sore hand, a floor that needs cleaning and a burned placemat. It's really not that bad, had my laziness consumed me a little longer, it would have been much worse.
I think I'm ready to go back to bed.
I got up early and went to the gym, trying to get my sinuses to clear. When I got home, I noticed a smell that I couldn't pinpoint. This happened once before and it ended up being bad turkey in the fridge. This time, I lit a candle in the bathroom, one in the kitchen, hopped in the shower and then went to the back of my apartment to my desk to work.
A couple of hours later, there was a noise in the kitchen. It sounded like my keys had fallen off of the table. Only slightly curious, I continued what I was doing. A few minutes later, remembering there was a candle burning that was nearing the end of its little candle life, I went to check it out.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear—but a small fire burning on my kitchen table! The glass the candle was encased in had exploded. I had the candle sitting on top of a yoga book I wanted to read, which was now being covered in liquid wax, glass particles were everywhere, tiny burning embers were strewn about the table and the top of my book was burning. Not sure what to do first, I tried to blow out the fire, which, as you can imagine, made it bigger. Deciding to ignore that for a second, I tried to get the burning embers off of my wooden kitchen table, so I picked them up. Yep, they're hot. So after burning my hand, I threw them on the floor and stomped on them with my slippers. Now there is charred candle bit smeared on my kitchen floor.
Back to the fire. I tried blowing it out again, this time harder. Luckily, it worked, but also just spread more wax everywhere. I got everything all cleaned up, but now I am left with burn marks on the table that Pledge cannot fix, a yellow burn on the book, a sore hand, a floor that needs cleaning and a burned placemat. It's really not that bad, had my laziness consumed me a little longer, it would have been much worse.
I think I'm ready to go back to bed.
Apr 5, 2011
Maybe God Hates Tires
It's been a shitty couple of months. There's really no other way to describe it. Just shitty. I guess "shit show" could also be a fitting classification.
I've been doing little things to try to get out of this seemingly inescapable hole—yoga almost everyday, I started writing a book (something I've always wanted to do so yay!), and I've picked up my camera and started shooting again. All the things that used to make me happy. Hopefully, each in their own small way, they are giving me the stepping stones I need back to a time when everything was possible. I mean, it was only a year and a half ago, surely I can find my way back.
So anyway, I've been finding joy in the small things that occur in my daily existence. Today I woke up to rain, but was actually excited about it. My friend's husband had fixed my broken headlight and installed a new windshield wiper for me last Friday. Yes, just one. The store was out of the passenger side wiper, but my side was all better, and since I'm the one driving I considered it just fine. For the first time, I'd get to see just how good this new wiper was that he had spoken so highly of, and I was happy about that.
The walk to the car in the drizzle wasn't even terrible because it was finally warm out. This winter, much like the shit storm, has been relentless...but it's finally lifting. I made it to my car just in time for the drizzle to become a light rain when lo and behold! I had a flat tire.
My heart sank a little and I was once again feeling defeated by the endless kicks in the gut from the universe (I mean, that WOULD explain all the stomach pain). I don't really believe in God and, well, if there is a God, him and I are going to have a long chat at the end of this life that will likely start with me giving him the finger. Regardless, I blamed him for my morning.
I emailed a friend with a picture of my flat tire and said, "Good morning! God hates me." He responded, "Maybe God doesn't hate you. Maybe he just hates tires." And with a laugh, I was once again on track. Thank you, friend.
I've been doing little things to try to get out of this seemingly inescapable hole—yoga almost everyday, I started writing a book (something I've always wanted to do so yay!), and I've picked up my camera and started shooting again. All the things that used to make me happy. Hopefully, each in their own small way, they are giving me the stepping stones I need back to a time when everything was possible. I mean, it was only a year and a half ago, surely I can find my way back.
So anyway, I've been finding joy in the small things that occur in my daily existence. Today I woke up to rain, but was actually excited about it. My friend's husband had fixed my broken headlight and installed a new windshield wiper for me last Friday. Yes, just one. The store was out of the passenger side wiper, but my side was all better, and since I'm the one driving I considered it just fine. For the first time, I'd get to see just how good this new wiper was that he had spoken so highly of, and I was happy about that.
The walk to the car in the drizzle wasn't even terrible because it was finally warm out. This winter, much like the shit storm, has been relentless...but it's finally lifting. I made it to my car just in time for the drizzle to become a light rain when lo and behold! I had a flat tire.
My heart sank a little and I was once again feeling defeated by the endless kicks in the gut from the universe (I mean, that WOULD explain all the stomach pain). I don't really believe in God and, well, if there is a God, him and I are going to have a long chat at the end of this life that will likely start with me giving him the finger. Regardless, I blamed him for my morning.
I emailed a friend with a picture of my flat tire and said, "Good morning! God hates me." He responded, "Maybe God doesn't hate you. Maybe he just hates tires." And with a laugh, I was once again on track. Thank you, friend.
Mar 31, 2011
Searching...
Today is one of those days where I feel like I have A.D.D. I start thinking about one thing, which leads to something else, which leads to another, and it continues until I freeze, totally forgetting what it was I had set out to do. Somehow I got searching for an old photography project from college, which I thought I had backed up on Snapfish. Turns out, not so much. This will no doubt be a project for when I get home tonight...if I can find it.
Anyway, I came across this, which is actually from the project I was looking for, just seems to be the ONLY image I uploaded. This is from back when people used film in cameras. Remember film? Ha.
Mar 27, 2011
Schnackenberg's Luncheonette
With nothing to do on a Saturday afternoon, I headed uptown to the Hoboken Historical Museum, where I learned that Tootsie Rolls used to be made in town. Then I grabbed lunch at this great little throwback luncheonette at 11th and Washington.
Mar 20, 2011
Mar 18, 2011
March 18, 2011
I watched the sun sink behind the buildings on Park and sat a little tighter as a chill began to pass through the air. I took a breath and realized that what I was feeling was hope—something I believed one month ago I would never feel again. I was content, I was calm and I was hopeful.
I smiled, knowing that in that one moment, I was okay.
Feb 21, 2011
Dinner for One
I've been living in town over a year now and despite its benefits, I've found it's like high school at best and Hell at worst. And presently, it is Hell. At first, it was a needed change for me—new experiences, new friends and new love. But those new experiences quickly got old, most friends proved to be acquaintances (on a good day) and love, well, I've learned that it's fleeting.
I am once again spending my nights alone fighting with my guitar and wrestling my thoughts. The adjustment from two to one is always awkwardly familiar, like a friend you haven't seen in years and don't exactly remember where you've left off. The friendly encouragements of, "You will find someone, just wait and see," only make me wonder if maybe I'm just supposed to be alone. Maybe I am the one that doesn't find someone and dotes on my friends kids forever—crazy Aunt Jen.
As I lay down in the center of my now very empty king-sized bed, I can't help but reflect on how much of it all is my fault. Most nights I land near 50 percent, which I suppose is fair. But I wonder if I've learned anything worthwhile. I know that I trust people less, which I didn't think was possible, and that I should stay at an arm's length, where it's safer.
But I miss his laughter and I miss his warmth. All of the apologies in the world don't matter as I close my eyes and fall into another unsettled sleep. But I will wake up, and I will try again.
I am once again spending my nights alone fighting with my guitar and wrestling my thoughts. The adjustment from two to one is always awkwardly familiar, like a friend you haven't seen in years and don't exactly remember where you've left off. The friendly encouragements of, "You will find someone, just wait and see," only make me wonder if maybe I'm just supposed to be alone. Maybe I am the one that doesn't find someone and dotes on my friends kids forever—crazy Aunt Jen.
As I lay down in the center of my now very empty king-sized bed, I can't help but reflect on how much of it all is my fault. Most nights I land near 50 percent, which I suppose is fair. But I wonder if I've learned anything worthwhile. I know that I trust people less, which I didn't think was possible, and that I should stay at an arm's length, where it's safer.
But I miss his laughter and I miss his warmth. All of the apologies in the world don't matter as I close my eyes and fall into another unsettled sleep. But I will wake up, and I will try again.
Feb 6, 2011
Jan 20, 2011
Twelve Pink Apologies
It's been so long since I've gotten flowers...I went a little crazy taking pictures of them.
Dec 21, 2010
confessions of a depressive
The world has turned to shades of gray,
and the tears leak from an undying well.
The emptiness, the seemingly unfixable hole in my chest,
leave me waiting for the day that the sun shines through the blinds,
from the East, like it used to.
I stand lost amongst the masses, under the bullshit,
tucked away in my own little corner of the world,
where no one can hurt me, because no one gets in.
Should you be looking for me,
I'll be wandering in the shadows, with the ghosts,
with the memory of what I thought life had become.
And, hopefully, in the imagined solitude,
I will heal.
and the tears leak from an undying well.
The emptiness, the seemingly unfixable hole in my chest,
leave me waiting for the day that the sun shines through the blinds,
from the East, like it used to.
I stand lost amongst the masses, under the bullshit,
tucked away in my own little corner of the world,
where no one can hurt me, because no one gets in.
Should you be looking for me,
I'll be wandering in the shadows, with the ghosts,
with the memory of what I thought life had become.
And, hopefully, in the imagined solitude,
I will heal.
Dec 12, 2010
Dec 5, 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)