Dear Best Buy :: Fuck You

Last night I dreamt of you. Your tallness proceeds you, even in my dreams. So do your eyes. We were on a train filled with other girls my age; you were the only male. I’m sure that says something about my low self esteem when comparing myself to other females, or some dream psychology mumbo jumbo like that. Anyway. I was on my way to do some important job related thing (the job, however, escapes me now), and you were accompanying me as a mentor of sorts. The stress of the trip was really beginning to get to me and I complained to you about a nagging headache. So you placed your long, spider-like fingers on my scalp and began to massage the precise area causing me grief. The feeling was orgasmic, and I turned to face you, your fingers now tangled up in my hair.  There was a moment where our eyes met, then suddenly it was our stop and we had to get off the train (but not before I threw a smug smile at the girls who were glaring enviously at me, ie. all of them). We walked through some undetermined city together, side by side, and off in the distance I saw The Avengers showing Spider-Man the ropes of working as a team. I asked you if you thought Emma Stone was nearby. You didn’t know who Emma Stone was. We kept walking. Eventually, we stopped to eat our lunch. You perched yourself on the ledge of a planter holding a tree in front of some fancy looking office building, and I stood facing you. We ate noodles out of yellow Tupperware; it looked as if it might have been Pad Thai. As we ate we made faces at each other, our mouths stuffed with food, and it was really unbecoming of the both of us. I had just shoved another forkful of noodles into my mouth when suddenly – without any warning – you vocalized how beautiful I was to you. I was speechless, and so you leaned in to gently kiss me. And what a kiss. After this, we parted ways. I’m not really sure what happened in between our separation (I probably went on to whatever the job related thing was), but later in the dream you sent me a note asking me to come visit you in your flat. I was flustered, and I hurried over right away. I remember quivering with anticipation as I knocked on your door. My eyes gazed on the address: 221b Baker Street. You opened it, smiled, and welcomed me in. You closed the door behind me, opened your mouth, and said –

And then Best Buy woke me up to let me know that it is going to cost $700 to fix my laptop. They waited for that exact moment to call me. They dream cockblocked me.

Best Buy is the reason I will probably never, in my life, get to have dream sex with Benedict Cumberbatch.

Fuck you, Best Buy.

listlistlistlistlist.

I know posting lists on my wordpress is generally a boring thing to write/read, but I care not. Here’s a list of everything I hope to accomplish this week:

• Start outlining my British Female Writers paper
• Find all the sources I need for my Human Sexuality paper
• Write up a (very) rough draft of my Technical Writing paper
• Workout every day (and run when I can)
• Watch all existing episodes of Veep
• Watch all existing episodes of Girls
• Finish Jane Eyre
• Start working on my next feature for Cool Gizmo Toys
• Successfully do my presentation for Spanish on Wednesday
• Babysit on Friday
• See The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel in theaters
• Write up a wordpress entry on Cool Gizmo Toys and my other writing gig (which shall be revealed soon…)

Yup. Boring entry is boring. So sorry.

Spring Awakening :: How a Musical Changed a Sixteen Year Old’s Life

Earlier this month, about two weeks ago, I saw a community theatre production of Spring Awakening up in Portland. It was very good for community theatre. The actors were great, the singing was phenomenal, and all the costumes, set, and lighting were superb (not the mention the kid playing Hanschen was sexy as all get out). I had seen Spring Awakening three years prior when it toured nationally, and I had forgotten since then just how enamored I was with the musical.

Spring Awakening is a musical about teenagers awakening to their sexual desires in 1892 Germany. The musical, written by Steven Sater and Duncan Sheik, is based on the play of the same name, written by Frank Wedekind. It was a very taboo subject for Wedekind to be writing about in 1906, since the play involves such themes as: abortion, rape, homosexuality, incest, suicide, child abuse, and intercourse amongst teenagers. The musical kept the same themes in it, but updated the dialogue to sound more modern and weaved in a gorgeous pop-rock score.

the boy from my past.

It’s strange to be stuck in a memory of something that never even happened. It could’ve happened, once, a while ago, but we missed our chance. Now all it has become is a missed opprotunity; a constant game of relationship tag. And that’s all right. We never would have worked, you and I. I know we’ve thought otherwise at other times, but I think we were always wrong. You would’ve driven me crazy. I would’ve wanted to take things slower than you’d have wanted. We wanted different things. In the end, we wouldn’t have meshed. Maybe it’s a good thing everytime there’s been potential for us our timing has been off. Maybe it’s a good thing you found your other half and I’ve moved on. Maybe it’s a good thing the only kiss we ever shared was in the presence of a room filled with other people, all their eyes watching.

But I think we would’ve made each other happy, even if it was only for a short while.

Maybe.

affliction.

It’s hard to fight for the cause you so righteously believe in when it seems like the cause may very well be pulling away from you, no matter how hard you try.

Maybe I should just tell you.

.asphyxiation.

Asphyxiation is not how I thought I would go,
but it seems the only option nowadays
as my lungs rapidly pull air in and out,
in and out,
out and in
until they can operate no longer
and dreadfully deflate inside my chest,
leaving me to wither and die
without a source of air
to depend upon.

I am an expert hyperventilater.

It’s an art.

Almost.

I am going to make it through this year
If it kills me

The more I listen to this song,
the more I think it makes for a terrible mantra,
seeing as I have no desire
to be dead. Not at
this age. Not at
twenty-one.

If it kills me
If it kills me
If it kills me

Twelve.

Twelve more months
and I’m through. Twelve more
fucking months of classes that mean diddly-squat
for my future.
Twelve more months of being
cooped up
in a tiny town that cannot contain me.
Twelve more months before
freedom.

Terrifying,
paralyzing,
horrifying,
glorifying
freedom.

When did I turn twenty-one?
When did I suddenly become this adult
that a younger me would barely
recognize?
I’m still a girl;
a toddler still learning how to toddle.
When did I learn to walk on my own two feet?
When did I stop believing in magic?
When did I suddenly understand how to cope with life?

When did I grow up?

I am going to make it
I am going to make it
I am going to make it

But it will never kill me

Remembering Past Friendships

Today this quote graced my tumblr dash and it got me to thinking:

“I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?”

It’s from the movie Stand By Me, which happened to be a constant in my life when I was twelve (and is probably the sole reason I started using profanity in the eighth grade). My friends and I watched that film repeatedly, each of us claiming which boy we were in love with, which caused a bit of squabbling. This quote, however, bears so much truth with it. In my current place in life I’ve got some really great friends. Best friends. Friends I wouldn’t replace for anything in the world… but I can’t help but to compare my friendships at twenty-one to the friendships I had when I was twelve. Back then I was literally inseparable from my closest friends. The five of us did everything together. Every other weekend was a sleepover. We went to the mall, we went and saw movies, we went roller skating, we made (shitty) home films, we hung out together at recess, and so on. All four of them were there for me when my mom died, and they kept me strong in my toughest hours. I told every little thing to these girls. Nothing was kept secret; nothing kept inside. Nowadays I find that there are certain things I don’t share with even my best of friends, but back then? It was never an issue. Maybe it’s because I didn’t really have much to hide back then, but I was so much more open and carefree about everything, probably because I knew there was no one I could trust more than those four girls.

I have so many memories. Trudging through the park filming Survival Pair 2: What If? Reading smutty fanfiction on my parent’s computer while they were out running errands. Hour long phone conversations. Playing the card game War all afternoon. Squabbling over which Sailor Moon characters we’d be. Coming up with code names for the boys we liked. Playing dress up and ponies. Putting movies on mute and talking for the characters (Agent Toast lives on). Trying to learn how to properly apply make up. Writing terrible, horrible fanfiction we were convinced was fantastic. Playing Barbies, even though we were at an age when we should have outgrown Barbies. Getting lost in sleeping bags. That game we played at recess with the rings. Seeing Return of the King opening day. Tickle Monster. Outlaw Star. Huggy tag. Wild Woman. Prank phone calls. Mad libs.

Those were some really fucking good times.

And it’s not to say that I don’t have good times now. The relationships and friendships I hold nowadays are much more mature, not to mention wonderful. My friends are the most important thing to me on this planet, each and everyone one of them.

And maybe I’m just getting old, which is making me – in turn – sentimental. All I know is nothing will replace swapping the eleven page roleplay with Jenna Saadeh during classes, freaking out when a bear started to charge in the deer hunting game Laura Bond owned, killing time during races at swim competitions with Stella Cheng, or staying up till the wee hours in the morning playing Nancy Drew video games with Aileen Sheedy.

These were the four girls that shaped my childhood; who made me who I am today. It’s sad to say that times change and people drift. I’m still friends with all of them, for certain, but it has been a while. While I’m still in touch with some more than others (Aileen and I still have sleepovers and play Nancy Drew video games), it’s been a long while since the gang’s reunited.

Which is a shame, because there are so many wonderful memories we have together:

Laura (top far left), Stella (third from top far left), Jenna (below Stella), and myself (the kid who is SO WHITE that it looks like her hair and her face are one… actually it doesn’t even look like I have a face)

Goddamn. Jacob Haas was tall.

We all have grown up and gone our separate ways, but I’ll never forget and I will always cherish the summers, weekends, trips, recesses, and sleepovers I shared with these four amazing girls from the fourth to the eighth grade.

Goddamn.

Those were the days.

lack of motivation.

The last half of spring term is the time of year where I am notoriously at my laziest. I’m at that point in the school year where I can almost taste the freedom summer brings about, and I become lazy in every aspect of my life. This is why I’ve been lacking in updates recently. I just can’t seem to find the motivation to write.

My goal of summer is to try to update once a day, so hopefully that endeavor will go well.

In other news.

Lessons learned from today:

• It’s good to be supportive of friends, even when it seems difficult
• Always back up your files before you bring your laptop in to get fixed. ALWAYS.
• Pinterest = where I shall plan out my future wedding and find all my future recipes from here on out
• Having amazing, awesome, wonderful friends makes life so much better (that means you, Beth, and your silly boyfriend too)
• I should always have my phone on me, because when I don’t I miss text messages from certain people and get all sad
• Homework is impossible to accomplish while Arrested Development exists on Netflix instant watch
• Not living close to work really sucks when I am bike-less and can’t get a hold of my roomamte

el fin.

The Lover, The Dreamer, and What He Means to Me

How do you express love for a person you don’t even know? A person you will never know, not really, and yet, a person you know so much about. Not only that, but a person who has effected, shaped, and touched your life in so many ways, and you know you are changed all because of this singular, extraordinary person. No person alive can be compared to them, not in a million years.

I am, of course, talking about Jim Henson.

Jim Henson passed away on May 16th, 1990. Forty-nine days before my birth. To have never truly inhabited the world at the same time as such an amazing person slays me.

I’ve spoken quite a lot in the past about how much the Muppets have effected me for the last sixteen months of my life, but I often neglect to go into detail about how much they effected me as a child. And they did. They really did. My family owned The Muppet Movie, The Great Muppet Caper, and Muppet Christmas Carol, which my brother and I watched enthusiastically on a regular basis, and I remember seeing Treasure Island in theaters with my cousins. My brother and I would play Muppet Babies during play time, letting our imaginations run rampant (I was always Rowlf, while he assumed the role of either Kermit or Animal). Then there was Sesame Street, which basically taught me all the general information of the world that I know today. I rocked out to Elmo’s World daily, I sang along with Big Bird, I helped Big Bird track down Ernie, and I anxiously anticipated Slimey’s return from the moon.

The Muppets and Sesame characters were always in my life, meaning that Jim Henson has always been a part of my life as well. I don’t know when I ever became aware of who Jim Henson was. I knew his name at a young age, long before I could recognize his face. After all, his name was attached to all the films and shows of his that I so loved. I feel like I knew his face long before (I have a very vague memory of asking my mother who Jim was at a young age), but the first concrete memory I have of Jim is my freshman year of high school. I passed his face almost every day on a poster in Mr. Housley’s AP Gov classroom.

Okay, so it was really a poster for Apple. Even so.

I was fourteen when I was a freshman in high school. That was about seven and a half years ago. Only six years later would it suddenly occur to me how wonderful, hilarious, and life changing the Muppets could be and how desperately I needed them in my day to day life; only six years until it really struck me what exactly this man had accomplished in his life time.

It’s always difficult to express my grief of Jim’s passing to people who are not Muppet fans and to explain why this day brings me down so much. How am I supposed to describe why the death of a man, a complete stranger whom I will never meet, grieves me so? The thing is though, Jim was not just a man. He was an innovator, a mentor, an artist, a builder, a giver, a performer, a friend, a dreamer. He saw the uniqueness and goodness inside each and every person. He truly believed he could help make the world a better place, he never judged by creed or race, just by the kindness in one’s heart. No, I think it’s fair to say Jim Henson was no ordinary man, and I will strive time and time again to explain the part he’s taken in shaping my life as a human being. Because this man… well, the word ‘magical’ springs to mind.

While Jim and many of the other greats are gone (Jerry, Richard, Don, Kermit Love, etc.), the magic that they brought to life lives on, and the beautiful worlds Jim Henson fabricated out of felt and fur forever frequent in our fantasies and futures.

Thank you, Jim.

PS) I just realized that this is my 100th entry in my The Girl Who Loves Muppets wordpress. How oddly appropriate.

Avengers :: How I was Reminded I Love Superhero Flicks

I finally saw The Avengers last weekend. I feel like I was the last person on the planet to see it, seeing as the majority of my friends had already seen it two or three times at that point, but oh well. At least I finally did.

I think this scale’s a bit wonky, or else Captain America somehow got a whole hell of a lot bigger.

I have a guilty confession to make: I went into The Avengers without having seen Iron Man 2, Thor, or Captain America, but I was familiar enough with all three of them that I knew I’d be able to pick up on what was going on in no time. Halfway through Avengers I found myself asking: why hadn’t I seen any of those films? I had heard great things about them and had said I remembered wanting to watch them, so why not? I grew up on superheroes. I read the Batman and Spider-man comics as a kid. I used to watch the Hulk, Superman, Xmen, and Iron Man Saturday morning cartoons. I’m pretty sure I even have a couple X-men fanfiction saved in the depths of my external hard drive (where it will remain, never to see the light of day, along with the rest of the awful middle school fanfiction I wrote).

Anyone remember the awesomeness of Fox Kids in the early 90’s? Anyone? Anyone? No? Just me? Right.

Analyzing my past with super hero films, I think I’ve drawn up the conclusion as to why I’ve been so desperately avoiding superhero films for the last six years. Fantastic Four 2, X-men 3, and Spider-man 3 all came out around relatively the same time, and in the end they all broke my heart. Well, okay, I never really cared for the Fantastic Four films, but Spidey and X-men? I adored the first two films in those series, and then the third ones took the sagas I so loved and demolished them. My little sixteen year old heart couldn’t take it.

“I’m so sad this movie exists…” Peter Parker whispered to himself.

Since 2007 I’ve pretty much stayed away from superhero movies for this particular reason. The only ones I’ve indulged in have been the Nolan Batman movies and the first Iron Man, but that’s really been it. My young, naive eyes saw how easy it was for Hollywood to take the comic book heroes I so loved growing up and destroy them, so I thought it best to stay away.

I also watched the Clooney Batman movie during this period of time. Worst mistake of my life.

But The Avengers… The Avengers reminded me why I so loved the comics, movies, and TV shows growing up. I love how, while they’re portrayed as powerful and mighty and kick ass, superheroes are, at the core, merely human (well, except Thor). Most of them deeply flawed in some way. Not to mention Avengers had so many fantastic relationships and, as a writer, I’m all about the characters and the bonds they make with one another. I loved how you could get a sense of all Natasha and Clint have been through, despite neither of them having their own movie, and the witty banter betwixt Tony and Bruce which, deep down, is so much more than merely banter.

The movie managed to balance out the action and the dialogue, and while the first half of the movie was spent reminding the audience of who everybody was and why they’re all essential to the story, it was done in a way that did not drag and was highly entertaining. Each character is given enough screen time that you as a viewer are easily able to draw a connection with them, empathizing with what they are going through. Black Widow ended up being one of my favorite characters in the film, and I find it surprising that so many articles and reviewers have stated that her only purpose is to be the “token girl in the team.” Hardly. She’s, without a doubt, the most calm, collected member of The Avengers and manages to accomplish tasks no other members of the team can (I don’t want to spoil anything, so I’ll just say: her little talk with Loki). Bruce ended up being another favorite, which was odd as the Hulk’s never really been my favorite comic book character. Even as a kid when I watched the cartoon he never really peaked my interest, but this time the Hulk was written right. While he’s always been a character that’s played up the Jekyll/Hyde aspect, this time we were actually able to empathize with him. The writing of his character was superb, and Mark Ruffalo’s portrayal of Banner was delightful to watch. I could get into why the Stark-Banner buddy relationship is also important, but, as River Song would say, “Spoilers”, so I’ll decline.

Plus? Above all else? It was just a really fun movie. I should’ve known it’d be safe in the hands of the amazing Joss Whedon.

The bright side: at least he only killed one character off instead of, y’know, all of them.

Now all of the superhero movies leading up to The Avengers reside in my Netflix DVD queue. I’m excited to go through all of them now, with a restored appreciation for the superhero/action genre of film, and look so forward to all the other superhero movies to come.