I'm a full-time student and stuff enthusiast. Usually, I talk too much which puts me in fairly embarassing situations. I have a lot of opinions about things, especially literature, science and body image. Also, I'm a big fan of snacking. Just a warning.
Today, I want to talk to all of you about the pervasive and all-encompassing epidemic that seems to be raging through all the youngsters of today.
Guys in Bands.
Disclaimer. This is my friend's band.
Why are there so many of them? Why? How can there possibly be this many guys who think that they and their little buddies are talented enough to start a band that people will want to listen to? How many nice young men these days are convinced they're the next big indie deal (so like, a big deal before being a big deal was cool)? How can so many guys sink so much time into writing lyrics, having practice and generally ignoring everything else in the entire world to play some stinky bar basement?
As a rule, guys in a band are
A. More predisposed to hipster cultural practices.
B. A little grungy. Sorry.
C. Romantic (codeword for insane/highly emotionally unstable) or the flipside, Psychopathic
D. A tad full of themselves
E. Crazy
Same friend, different band. He likes to move around a lot.
So how is that so adorable to me?
Despite being able to articulate all of the horrible/weird things about boys in bands, I can't help it. Maybe it's because they play an intstrument. Maybe because they're all creative souls, even if they're not that deep. Maybe it's the self-confidence thing.
The last 4 guys (including the boy) were all in bands. Alternative? Check. Grungy Punk? Check. Metal? Once, never again. Never again. Talking Heads Cover Band? Check.
I mean, they're so cute, with their little band practices and whatnot. Am I condescending? DARN RIGHT. But still, I mean, I have a thing, so it's alright to make fun of them a little.
So that's why I wanted just to warn all of you nice, blog-reading, food eating individuals to fear them. For some reason, they've been able to crack through my angsty and salty outer shell and actually get my seal of approval. Aliens? Perhaps.
My life is spend in a primarily all-female environment.
No seriously, 70% of my waking hours are spent in a place where the ratio of men-women is about 4-96 percent. I don't care, and could rant about the female empowerment and butterflies and rainbows. This is neither the time nor the post for that, however. It will come, sometime later, when I have posted more frequently.
Unfortunately, there's bound to be a lot of stereotypical behavior in an environment that's so one-sided. That's not always the case, and I'm not saying that stereotypes are true, but I hear a lot more about the drama that is Selena and JBeibs than I do about NASCAR.
But there are NASCAR fans too. Whatever, all PC stuff aside, I heard a ton about the SAG awards last night.
Not the winners or upsets, but what people were wearing. I'm a total clothes horse, but I totally failed to comprehend how people cared. Like, there were daggers and first-born claiming type arguments here. Blows were literally almost thrown.
I just don't get it. I mean, I really, really wanted to participate and care. I really did. And I like clothes! And sometimes, I know who famous people are! But I just couldn't possibly be interested. I mean, I sat there for a good 40 minutes trying to pay attention.
I broke my disinterest down into two catergories:
1. They all look nice.
As people argued about who was a fashion disaster and whatever, all I kept hearing was "Ew, she looked horrible," or "that was terrible." There was a lot of negative language, and I find that my inner three year old gets a little upset near mean stuff. Sorry. But the whole thing was, I guess I didn't understand the reference. I felt a little bit like the Canadians in SNL talk show sketch, where they do the fashion comparison and every answer is "They both look nice!"
All of these women looked totally fine to me. First of all, they're all either naturally or artificially beautiful, which even a really bad outfit can't ruin. Even in the most crunchy horrendous 80's prom dress, a pretty woman is gonna look pretty. Sorry. Secondly, they're all wearing really well made beautiful pieces of clothing that a lot of hard work went into. These were thousands of dollars of really expensive beading, handwork and fabric. They're nice looking, even if they were a little awkward at times.
People hated this look. Why? I mean, I've never looked that good.
She also looks really good. And people hated this. I just don't understand what they care.
2. I don't know any of these people personally.
And that was more of the point, I think. These women were all arguing about people they'd never met. I follow my fair share of fashion bloggers, but you get insight into their lives as well. You feel as if you know them, or at least, are familiar, because they give you context and life events too. I mean, I really could care one way or another how Jessica Chastian looked because I've never met her. I'm sure she's lovely, but I just have no connection. That's where it all comes down to, I think. I love talking about how nice my friends looked at parties and things, but it's because I know them and their personalities and their self concious-areas and whether they hated or loved their dress and whether it was borrowed or if their sister dressed them. Talking to them about what they wear is different, because the dress is subsequent to the friendship and the personality.
So that's it, I suppose. A little heady, perhaps a bit out of touch, but I guess that's it.
Also, sorry for the lack of posting last week. I sort of forgot I started blogging again. :(
I have gotten into the terrible habit of forgetting what my boyfriend looks like.
Okay, not that exactly, but along those lines. I keep mistaking people that I know (in the sense that I have have spoken to them, not that I ride the R5 four times a week in the same car as them so I feel like I know them because I can predict when they're going to get bored reading and stare out the window but really I've never spoken to them) for the boy.
Kind of like this.
Well the thing is, he's not entirely distinct looking. Light brown military-issue hair cut, fair skin, about six foot, he looks a little bit like--well, everyone else he knows-- from the back.
So this brings us to the main story. We were waiting in a parking lot to find out who's house we were going to for a party. It was full of the same basic dark blue SUVs (the ride of choice, naturally). I was leaning in the window of our friend Ryan's sedan, which stuck out...because it wasn't a dark blue SUV.
He gave me the name of the house he was going to and asked if we were too. I had left my car (henceforth known as "the magic school bus") at home so the boy was driving me. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a buzzed-cut light brown haired guy on the phone in a dark SUV. I didn't know which side of Ryan he had parked on, so I figured it was him.
So naturally, I smashed my face into the window and started yelling like a maniac.
Like this, only less cute.
It wasn't the boy. It was a friend of his who was on the phone with his sister. He started screaming and pulled the car out of the parking lot like some sort of action movie meathead. The boy was actually standing behind me, cracking up.
And this isn't the first time this has happened either.
....my life
The great and powerful snow beasts, or Jesus or whoever controls the weather where you live has decided that they wanted to bless the Philadelphia area with 3-4 glorious inches of snow.
The good kind, too. You know, that stuff that's perfect for snowballs and shoving inside the crack between your brother's jacket hood and his actual clothes? That kind.
Oh man, after that weird fluke-y October storm which left us all kinda baffled (like HALLO it wasn't even Halloween yet), we've been experiencing a bit of a dry spell. Literally. Actually, we've had some rain. Which isn't in the same catergory.
Check out that sweet ground cover. This is a weird angle, since I took it out the window of my attic.
But it snowed today. And like a happy little puppeh, I ran down the stairs and stared at it. Then I remembered that I'm 18 years old and that I live in Pennsylvania, so I dragged my sorry ass outside and shoveled.
I texted literally everyone I know. Like OHEHMGEE SNOW. Naturally, I got a lot of the same back.
Sitting here, I remembered something. Why was I so upset it had only snowed once this season? Snow turns into a real pain in the ass after awhile. One of the reasons that most of my friends are moving away next year is because it's cold, and they never cancel anything. I've gone to school in a parka and snowboots, five inches on the ground. Because that's just what we do.
By the 15th snowfall of the year, I'll be so sick and tired of this. It's friggin freezing. It's really hard to shovel at 6 AM before school, and I get really tired of the blinding snow-glare around 11 every day.
But for now, I'm as happy as a little clam. Just as long as it doesn't snow again for a few more weeks.
Everyone knows the saying, the four seasons of Pennsylvaina. Almost Winter, Winter, Still Winter and Road Construction.
Sometimes, and by sometimes I mean totally regular times of the day that aren't 4 AM when I wake up and think "this is the best idea my sorry ass has ever had", I get ideas that sound great. Then I realize that I did absolutley no thinking behind them, and that they'd actually suck. Some examples are:
(And this is usually post BBC murder-mystery) 1. How much I'd love living in the 1890-1900's period.
That's when I realize how much I liked not getting polio. And how much I like sneakers. And spray cheese, and the internet.
In all probablility, that poor SOB on the rock has like a 1/5 shot at this.
2. Telling people that I know how to write some code.
Telling people you know how to code is like telling them that you can do a standing backflip. They want you to prove it. Usually through asking you to verbally tell them how to code for something. I like to keep this one to myself. Follow up questions usually include: "Why don't you do it as your job?", "You can make a lot of money that way, did you know that?" and "So why do you use preformatted blogs/ why don't you do it still?" For reference, the answers are because I am a lazy and 18, yes I knew that and because, again, I am a lazy ass person who is alright with preformatting. It's less work and I don't blog that much. Also, because it takes a long time and I like sunlight. In that order.
This seems like a good idea. But seriously, does he have an end body tattoo somewhere else?
3.Turning down the Warrant/ Buying for the future
Sounds like I should be talking about phones, right? Nope, this is more in reference to my poor, dead sushi stapler. Which isn't dead, because it's a stapler. But it's fresh outta staples, which is highly dissappointing.
Mah preshissss
4. Making lists
I usually have one-four good ideas (in this case three) that I want to write out. And actually no other things to complete the list. Making them loose steam exceptionally quickly or very short.
Alright, I'll admit it. I'm a book snob. At least I'm not pretending that I'm not, right? I know how annoying book snobs can be. When I see/hear/perceive (because of my magical spidey senses) that there are other book snobs in the area, I automatically become highly defensive and a little douche-y. Just because I feel like I might have something to prove? Which, let's face it, is a little stupid in and of itself.
So to anyone who is reading the Twilight series near me, I apologize. I really can't help it. Don't think I'm just a random hater either. I read all of them. And actually, *don't crucify me for this or anything* I liked them at first. Now, I was in the 7th grade, but still. They're entertaining whether you're reading them for lulz or because you just really like imagining an icy old man and a teenager NOT getting down. Whatever floats your boat. But it's just like me to feel like it is my appointed right to tell everyone my thoughts on any book I've ever read. Just tell me to go away, I will, I swear.
Anyway, I've spent most of the last two years sitting on my butt in Starbucks/Saxby's/wherever reading REALLY IMPORTANT THINGS on my Kindle, which I will defend to the death. And by really important, I mean really self-righteous fairly-boring classical literature pieces that I will feign liking to impress people. I'm sorry, you guys, I really am. But when you can look up at people and say "Oh, I'm just casually reading the Return of the Native, I really am impressed by the way the author manipulated Egdon Heath from being a setting to being a character, it adds a certain panache to the story as a whole," you feel pretty good for a while. Then whoever you said that too thinks you're a monumental dillhole, and you feel like you want to punch yourself directly in the eye socket. At least that happens to me. Maybe English majors at tiny little New England liberal arts colleges can get away from that. But they can wear beanies and also be accepted by society, so they don't count. Here's where I'm probably just bitter that they can get away with the whole scarf thing and I can't.
I bet this skank pulls of scarves great. I hate her, on principle, of course.
The point of this story, my little croissants, is that in a moment of weakness, I pulled away from my persnickety year-long reading theme. Which, if you were wondering, is 18th and 19th century female characters of ill-repute (Theodore Dreiser, Flaubert and the like). This isn't because I'm fancy, but more because I like a good costume drama and have Irish Catholic level guilt when I haven't read the book first.
Don't pretend like you didn't love this even though it was confusing and weird and Bollywood-ish. Costume dramas.....drool.
I broke down, because of one sentence. Which was a surprised "Oh, *you* haven't read the Hunger Games series? I thought everybody had." The tiny little a-hole snob inside of me sputtered incoherently before spitefully buying them all on whispernet to shove a metaphorical boot up the intellectual ass of the person who had said that. Damn right I've read them, and I found some GD symbolism too. So nyah.
Just. Just. I can't explain it, ok?
Mature? Probably not. Actually not. But it broke me. This book series is my white whale. (Moby Dick reference, har har.) I cannot find a single thing I dislike about it. My alternate librarian jackass personality wants to hate them, but she just can't. Her name, for future reference, is probably something like Matilda.
Back to the point, everytime they introduced a new character, I wanted to be like "Well isn't that derivative?" Instead I was like this:
Please let there be more to this chapter. PEETA! OH MY GOSH ISN'T THAT SO CUTE? Wait, I bet this would be so exciting as a movie....HOLY CRUD it is going to be a movie. Danger, I love danger ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh they're in the capitol....I love Katniss, even though I'm nothing like her, I totally identify.
I looked like this when I was done.
Yes, that's right. I had a fangirl rant. Don't think this is going so far as to turn into creepy-stalky-fan-fiction emailing Suzanne Collins and asking weird hypothetical questions. But yes, I'm excited to see the movie. And, for those of you unfortunate lucky enough to know me, you can now use this against me.
