you are a tourist

the place where i attempt to eloquently share my thoughts, but i probably won't make much sense.

[istillwriteincursive]

A sparkle in the dark dust

Today, on the way to Debra's house for our political grassroots potluck, Jacob and I were talking about the Strip district since we were going to drive through this lower-income, "scary" area called the Hill district, which was near the Strip district. Jacob wondered as to why there were so many nice restaurants in the Strip even though the Strip was kind of a shady area. I said that maybe since it was known for its lack of attraction or prestige back in the day, the land and building costs were probably cheaper. He kept trying to refute me for some reason or other, I can't really explain as to why he was except for him being earnestly contrary, but I remained to build on my theory, in a more airy sense, you could say. I said, well what if they just started their business ventures and they turned out really nice? "Oh, so you're saying they were surprised their food and restaurant's quality was good? They were just like oh hey! Our food's not so bad!! Nice!" And we both erupted with the purest laughter. I can't even describe the humor of my explanation, but we both found my intonation hilarious. And I kept saying, yeah, like they didn't think about it too much and they're food just turned out fancy! It was a brilliant moment in time, after having a pretty lame weekend of high expectations and lower outcomes (Jam on Walnut, Bernie Sanders rally). We've been in somber moods at times but this was the first time in a long time where we both just genuinely laughing, just playing. It also reinforced the idea that I need to start improv. I'm craving the frivolity of it. I'm shy as hell but I love building upon things based off of tangential yet unrelated thoughts, which seems like what improv is all about. It also made me happy that I could make Jacob laugh. I've been kind of depressed over the fact that our honeymoon period is coming to a close, it seems, and it doesn't look like fun and adventure are anywhere near in sight for me. Novelty is wearing off and neuroticism is kicking back in, as it sometimes does during the summer. But this laughter Jacob and I shared, was reminiscent to the laughs I shared with the one boy that made me forget about the world and my mortality. I loved it.

[istillwriteincursive]

good sex, good beds

I was sitting behind you, with my chin placed on your shoulder. My eyes naturally were fixed to your laptop screen. You were searching for a document.

And then you were in your journal. Oct 17th, 2016, you stopped scrolling. I tried to avert my eyes, but the corners became too curious. I see you write about your concerns of me. Something about how you want to be the man I deserve, and your analysis of your behavior, things you want to discuss with me. You use my name. You use my name. “Would Angelica want this, for us?” I become a tangible person throughout these lines.  And I realize, someone is writing, about me!

You love me in a way I didn’t think was possible 21 weeks ago.  It’s so weird to think that I am SOMETHING, to someone. 

You are the most dizzying thing that’s ever happened to me. I hate that the climate is gloomy. I hate that we elected somebody that’s going to be our shadow for the next for years. I felt so depressed on election night, because I want our story to be a paradise, forever. I don’t want anything to get in the way of that. You’re a total paradise. You say our infatuation of each other will die down someday, I don’t believe that. You say it will be replaced with a steady kind-of love, I think we already have that. 

You encourage me to chase my desires. It’s sad but you’re a cushion and I’m going to use it for as long as I’ve got it. I’ll draw, I’ll paint, I’ll sing, I’ll dance, I’ll scream, until I find something that fits me. Most people can get by without support. I guess not me.

I hope that our ages won’t affect us, the shiny marks of a 21 and 24 year old. There used to be 33 year old men who enveloped a sort of fantasy, and I used to dream about living in their 2 hour scenes of weird smells and whiskey and this intoxicating unfamiliarity, and I was like, they probably have something I don’t have. They have something I need, and I am going to get it. I’d be lying on a couch I had never previously lied on before, and I was like, this is how I’m going to get my happiness. Sure, it’s risky, but I’m in love with the ephemeral.

We both live with old skin marks, old bones. Exactly a year ago, we were both in one of the lowest points of our lives. Sure, mine was a bit more easy to swallow, and maybe I indulged in the sadness a little too much. I lost a friend. And it is so cool that I went through that pain. It’s so cool that I grew up, that I got my heart broken. It’s a passing thought, if that friend didn’t want to eject themselves from my life, from my contact list, where would we be now? Would his mom have liked me? Would I have even met her? And what would of happened to you? It’s not like we were action-types, where we did nasty things to each other. It was just a total slow-death. I’m not sure what happened to those people. But I can be a better person, with a better person for me, and still remember the sadness, like walking in an art gallery, and just basking in a darker blue square, with repeated brush marks, and the feeling settles. It’s familiar, and I’m bizarrely proud that the painting was made by me. You hold my hand as I look at the past. It’s okay. 

You have a totally different brain. But when you tell me you used to cry when you saw little children. “You will come back to them someday. They will remember.”, I tell you. The thoughts ran up behind my eyes, until they started pricking at them, and I started to cry. You have deeper gashes. A total fuck didn’t realize how wonderful you are, and I am grateful for that.

I mean, maybe she did realize it. Maybe she realized that she just wasn’t the fuck for you. Either way, I am grateful. 

[istillwriteincursive]

“and then I made it to the beach”

Precursor note: This blog is mostly where I process my life and emotions and relationships. Scrolling not too far down are posts about sadness and anxiety and yearning and chasing after people who had their backs turned to me and lovely nights and happy moments and they all sort of blend together, because that’s life. It’s weird to see the line, where I’ve been, and the drastic differences between these points. I used to frame my sadness and post it over my walls, sort of proud of it. I think I can do that with my happiness, too. I should not panic. I could be happy, if I let myself be happy, so I’m gonna try. Sorry for the tragic tone. I’m just a simple girl starting something new with someone exciting, and I think I’m at a good place now. It happened, just like they all said the would, when I was fine. I want to write about now.

I met him at a time where I was blissfully suspended in mid-air. I felt rejuvenated, underneath the summer sun. I was playing ping pong with a boy a few states away, and he was a wonderful companion, but the future was unc. Sure, we kept up with each other via Snapchat, but a dark stone still lingered around, a past heartbreak that seemed to be the backdrop of our dates, and our relationship was starting to seem.. unsustainable. The link was probably weak. He had a delightful laugh but I slowly felt my eyes telling my gut things that weren’t clicking. Typical: something was missing. And just as well, the previous ex was still an overcast cloud hanging over me, and for some reason this guy was simply not the affecting the weather at all.

I walked into class, as the new summer semester was starting. The professor walked in, and had a youthful look, but what struck me the most was how disheveled his appearance was. His hair was ruffled up, unintentionally, and his button-up was 2 sizes too large. He seemed flustered, and then I realized I was noticing things abnormal for me to notice in others. His emotional state was terribly transparent. He seemed a bit nervous, as if it had been his first lecture teaching or something. And then he spoke.

His voice, a complex combination of molecular strings and folds, cut through my skin. My ears were perked. It was rich, vibrant, dominant, not too rough, and every word that strutted out of his mouth, seemed to have been scanned through a careful mental test. He thought before he spoke. It was evident, you see. Not the other way around, like it happens with me, where I throw a bunch of words into the air and shuffle them around. Our juxtaposition must have seeped into my brain. Something in his voice struck me as purposeful. Opposites attract, I guess. Not too mention, it was hot. His voice was just hot.

I tried not to let it get to me. I mean, everything else about him seemed just okay. He wasn’t chiseled or anything. Not cosmopolitan, not trendy, the types I usually gravitate towards. But his voice. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. He peaked my curiosity. And then, the class went along just fine. 

We matched on tinder the second week of the semester. Classic.

He let it go, and so did I. The final grades were submitted. I did however, notice the way he quickly looked away during office hours. The way he made me shy. The way he seemed so comfortable around me. I was in a better mood, and all of a sudden, that cloud that had been hanging around for a while was starting to clear up. 

And then that weekend, after our class was over, my pseudo boyfriend visited me from out of town. After I dropped him off at the train station, I was sitting on a bus, heading back to campus. And all I could think about was the morning bus rides I used to take, and how nice it would be to go to his class, to hear him speak about heat equations or vector points or whatever. That’s when I knew. 

[istillwriteincursive]

holy. shit.

You know when you’re sitting in a pizza shop, slightly over the BAC limit, and you get the spins? Getting into a relationship with someone, someone you barely know, and going 0 to 100 with them, in a very short period of time, with someone so far out of your league, is kind of like that. I’ve never been good with change, whether that be positive or negative, and naturally, the anxieties over control and WHAT WILL HAPPEN and will I bore him? and what now? seep in. As they do. I guess I just have to sit and absorb the spins.

And I’m not saying I’m Jenny Slate and he’s some sort of Chris Evans type where he is sculpted and I’m a frump. I mean that intellectually, he is from another world, and it is so fascinating. He’s an analytic, I’m an improviser. I play, he philosophizes. I roll in aesthetics and analogies, he has no idea about style but thinks in numbers. We are so different yet connecting in a way that somehow overrides the difference, and it’s happening. He doesn’t believe in souls, yet I feel like he barres right into mine every time he looks at me. It’s been awhile since I’ve felt that, after 8 months of being in the Single World.

It has been two weeks. The ILY happened. He is physically everything I want. And emotionally... well, I have met my dependent, clingy match. He acts like a total dad. He is constantly in a state of improvement. He has changed my life in the matter of 14 days. This time last year, I would have never believed that this is where I would be. I was entrenched in the idea of somebody else, a perfectly fine someone who wanted nothing to do with me, and it was then, back then, that I quickly realized I had driven myself into a dead end, alone and singular. I had an intense soul encounter and they ran away. I didn’t know what was going to happen or where I was going. 

Then a year goes by, and I spend the summer crushing from afar on a professor so radically different from the rest. Something about how he kept things so personal in the classroom, the way he cared about our progression, the way he gave me a few months of an emotional distraction after a year of being sad sad sad about a guy. He was distracting me, FINALLY, and the daydreams kept me sane.

And then those daydreams come true.. and you’re like, holy. shit. 

[istillwriteincursive]

Why I broke up with my last boyfriend?:

Well, he was a pseudo-boyfriend, I guess. A monogamous but casual relationship. We dated for 3 months until I moved away. During that time, it felt I had found a best friend. I was doing an internship out of town and he was the only one who ever wanted to see me. I was lonely so he took me out to the city, although we never really did anything trendy or exciting, we’d just go to dinner and see a movie or whatever. At first, the sex was exciting and good, but he was also my first, and he was apparently small, but I didn’t know any better. I was satisfied for the time being. We were like-minded, and I always remember describing him as the boyfriend I would have imagined for myself when I was 16. Tall, nice hair, funny, etc. He was very smart. Throughout this time though, I was actually still pretty emotionally wounded over someone else, and there were many times where I felt something was missing. I kept thinking, could I date him for a long time? I believe it had something to due with my wanting to go out with other guys, after all, he was only my first. But also, even though on the last day before I moved back home, I cried a lot, as the months went by and I went back home, my feelings for him became less and less. I visited him once, and it was fun, but I knew that I probably couldn’t keep visiting him like this. The connection just wasn’t strong enough. The straw that broke the camels back was when he visited me. I felt very emotionally disconnected to him, I was interested in someone else, the sex was probably the worst we ever had, but I had to make the most of that weekend, and so I did. He is a good friend at this point. Things were missing. He wasn’t very emotional. He was a good person, certainly, but our communication styles were very different. I remember we would talk and sometimes I just wanted the relationship to be more intense, more romantic. 

[istillwriteincursive]

hello sexual prowess?

I almost backed out. It was 11:45 pm and I was so blatantly obvious with my request: “I was wondering if you could give me a message again??”, trying to be a bit innocuous with my desires. He had been acting flighty for the past week which caused no emotional impact on my part whatsoever, but trying to have sex with someone who isn’t as enthused to have sex with you can be a bit of damper, but thankfully that night he was responding with gusto.  He finally picked me up after presuming that I was simply going to take an uber to his house. Uhhh, I’m a classy lady, no jk, I just don’t want to deal with the social interactions of taking an uber late at night to someone’s house. Not that I care what they think, but because I’m terrible at lying and if I could avoid that social hassle, the better.

As I jumped into his Acura, I was surprised at how instantaneously at ease I am with him. I completely forgot how his face looked like, but it didn’t feel like I was going to my execution as it usually does whenever I go on dates and enter cars of Tinder men. He made me feel safe, despite his wild demeanor. With his NYC richboy paralegal sensibilities (LOLOL), his mind and experiences were probably things I would never catch up with, also not to mention, he was 33 to my naive 21. Woe is me. Regardless, I liked our banter a lot. Our mental connection wasn’t earth-shattering but he kept me on my toes, he wasn’t literal and liked to flirt, which was a necessity for “arrangements” like ours. Please don’t tell me what you think, just make me how you feel.

After dancing around his living room, with a high ceiling back-splash of a cool brick, jagging out of the edges of his wall, which ultimately screamed that particular artistic taste in interior design we DID have in common, he tells me to sit on his roll-up mat, which hurt. I couldn’t believe he used it for exercise, and I went on and on about this until he told me it was time for my message.  He sits down on his couch and makes room for me to sit in between him. A provocative position, I sit there with him having access to all of my back. He starts off by moving his hands onto my shoulders, and then slows down to the end of my spine, and then he goes back to my shoulders, starts growling against my neck, and puts a delicious amount of pressure near my neck. The room starts to spin. Suddenly his hands start slowly roaming everywhere and he goes back and forth from squeezing my breasts to methodically giving me a detailed message and it was so effective and naughty and all I can think is THIS IS WHAT I’VE WANTED FOREVER.

I will forever remember the strange instant connection between him and I, how he was able to send me higher than anyone else ever had. I remember standing on my knees on his bed, forgetting how I ended up there, and completely losing track with what he was doing with his hands except for the fact that he was making my vagina like it was about to explode. Nothing like a typical orgasm for me. The fact that it was the first time I was able to have PIV sex with no pain.. he would just thrust into me and make me scream and it was animalistic and his dominating but gentle maneuvers were one for the ages and he kept repeating the word “fuck” as he paced around the room, cleaning himself up after he had finished mounting me, for lack of a better word, and the fact of the matter is is that I’ll probably never see him again. I guess I’m a submissive, who knew.

[istillwriteincursive]

there have been a lot of days where I regretted sending that text. buying those tickets, scratching the impulsive urge. what was it all for? a stupid magical memory that now haunts you at night and taints a person’s image? a person, who was otherwise completely alright? those memories are now little specs blurring my vision of someone who virtually did nothing wrong to me. he could have been a trusty academic confidante. someone who made the tedium of everyday a little less tedious.

but I know it would have never gone away. That urge to get him alone, to kiss him, to work my charms on him. I would have been in the same place, just a little less hurt.  

[istillwriteincursive]

assessments when I’m alone

I’M SO BORED. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. For a single weekend, he wore a mystical mask. I obsessed for a day as to why he didn’t text me back the following day after our second date. He wasn’t elusive, I just thought he was. But when I thought he was, I was so entrenched in the idea of him. I wanted him then the most. Now, 6 months later, and I’m restless. Our geographical distance won’t change for another 12 months. He comes up on my phone and I feel nothing. I live my life, and instead of him enhancing the world, he has simply become an extension of it. Is that how relationships are like?

I go to the grocery store and see tall, well-dressed dads and they’re like these ethereal creatures, playing the part of that domesticated life that will hopefully be mine someday, and I think, could he be the one? I think these things. I’m 21 for Christ’s sake. 

But I am constantly missing the pressure. I miss the way every love song sounded louder and different as I drove through the city thinking about a crush, A completely different crush. I miss attaching meaning to things. I miss the fantasies. I hate how he talks AT me, not to me. He can go on and on about mathematical concepts and his thoughts, but never seem emotionally present or LASER in on me. When does he tell me that I am much more than what I am? When do I get to see his feelings about me, about his friends, about his job? When does he tell me that he’s crazy about me? And I know, why should I expect something I have yet to give, but that’s just it. I don’t even know what I would say. How can I say I’m in love when the world still looks just as the same as to before I met him? How can I say I’m in love when the love songs don’t sound any different? It’s just all so casual. He doesn’t tell me deep dark secrets. Sure, we can laugh and remark all day along about objective facts and details, constantly doing “the couple bit”, but I am craving the darkness. I am craving his bad days. I want to miss him. I am craving something primal and maybe we were never that. Maybe it was just a really good first date and he was tall and now he’s sort of family and was safe which is wonderful but now I’m bored. Now I fantasize about distant men who DO laser in on me, who do make me want to listen to songs. Maybe I’m the one who’s fucked up. 

[istillwriteincursive]

SOOO

I went on a date with Adam Pally’s doppelganger last night. He was Jewish, with the same gravely voice and sleazy demeanor, and apparently had the same dolphin socks that Adam Pally wore once? So uncanny. Easily the most weird, memorable time I’ve had in awhile. Not sure whether I should be proud or not.

[istillwriteincursive]

Meet Hedon-ist.

I want his dark and musky voice to overpower me as he whispers from behind, near my earlobes, long and low, things he’s been wanting to say to me for a long time, as he pushes me against a counter. 

I mean, this guy won’t be the one. God, hopefully not. He probably thinks I’m a dumb-shit, I’m probably not intellectual enough for him, and eh, I’m sure I’ll get bored of him. He isn’t funny. He wears Abercrombie, too. But here I am, wanting him, in the best and most empowering way. Emotions, locked. Locked locked locked away!!!!! I don’t want marriage. Unless it’s with a guy who’s tall and wears fancy shoes to the grocery and constantly riddles me. I want to marry an escape. I want to marry a guy who I can dance and do long and short form improv with.

It sounds OH SO dramatic, but I fell in love once. Saying it out loud is dumb. But trust me, it was fucking magical. The best night of my life. Didn’t even involve sex. I stayed up too late with a fellow and he did not touch me but he may as well have cut me open and see my insides, as I reached a level of intimacy that was more intimate than “getting intimate”. And then he broke me. Nobody likes black holes. Sometimes I wonder if I’m turning into one.  Not that it matters, because all I want is someone intense, someone who doesn’t make me think of the past or anything at all, someone someone someone

[istillwriteincursive]

did you ever get therapy for your anxiety probs?

Well, my anxiety improved in certain regards, but not so much in others. I actually just started to see a therapist!

[istillwriteincursive]

Mindy and Danny’s love for each other is so creepy and cute, I love it

[istillwriteincursive]

So I was on youtube and saw a clip of Jazz Jennings, that transgender teen who decided very early on that she was transgender and now has a TLC show. I noticed that she decided to take puberty blockers early on, which probably makes transition easier for kids. However, I find it fascinating but also mildly disturbing that puberty blockers exist for people that young. They are relatively new, or so I’ve read, and no long term studies have been done on them. Like???? Okay, yes, delaying puberty, for a trans girl for example, stops them from getting acne or differing their voice... but what happens when they stop taking medicine? Will they take medicine for all their life? How will they go through puberty of the gender they desire? What are the effects of delaying puberty by the time they’re 30? I guess maybe it isn’t really that different from people starting hormone therapy when they’re older but still, it’s pretty fascinating.

[istillwriteincursive]

why Mindy?

I don’t even know why I still watch TMP, probably cause I’m such a devoted fan. And I know, you’re trying to take off the Chris Messina training wheels, because the existential purpose of the show has always leaned towards his relationship with Mindy.

BUT JoDY!!!?

Sorry. I’m never gonna get into it. I know he isn’t endgame, but even having implications of Mindy having an emotional relationship with Jody feels weird, and tired. I’m tired of Jody. He looks like a diamond but god if he isn’t a bore. I know Danny is endgame, but what is the endgame after the endgame?

I liked that Princeton dude.. Sigh. Whatevs.

[istillwriteincursive]

I’m just suffering resting bored face is all. I remember Tyler looked at me at a party and said I looked so bored. And maybe that is my default demeanor.

Summer is always the worst, though. There is this pressure that if you are not having a magical time during the summer, you’re wasting your time. I’m getting antsy, I guess. I’ve had magical moments in my life, sparse but magical, and I am ready to be blown away again.  I keep thinking of the electricity I felt in that seminar for interns. That one dude struck me in my veins. Maybe I’ll meet him again.

[istillwriteincursive]

guilty biological human female!!

I remember back when my focus was all about John.

I rarely questioned whether I would ever leave him, if of course, we were together. We weren’t. We were never together. It was all I wanted, though. And I’m sure I fantasized about other men every once and awhile, but God, it was like a developed tunnel vision just surrounding him. I never doubted my feelings for him.

Today, I am with Dave. Dave is lovely and the sweetest and of the physical caliber I always wanted. Of course, biological habits will kick in and I’ll daydream about other men. After that’s over though.. I feel horrible. Sex dreams of John. Thinking of John. Where did this guilt come from? I’m a human, I don’t think I’ll marry Dave, going back to someone who doesn’t even want you is stupid, and I have heard it is perfectly normal to be attracted to other people.  So I’m fine.

I just wonder why that list of other people was shorter when all I knew was John. Oh, John. 

[istillwriteincursive]

to anyone under 30 who’s trying to get over someone who did nothing wrong:

I am telling myself to jump to an unrealistic height. This concept of “COMPLETE OVERNESS”, of 100% getting over someone. Does it exist? Of course it does. I guess, just not with every person you spend intermingling your mind and body with..

Because, the thing is, maybe you will just never get over him. For the first time in your life, you familiarized yourself with a good person, who did nothing wrong. How much easier it would be to dissolve the adhesion if, say, this person was shitty. OH IF ONLY they only had Tapout shirts hanging in their closet, or if he only wanted you because you were young and he was not and he missed his college glory-days in a creepy and lamenting sort of way, or if he had kissed you as if he was your own brother. Yeah, his rejection would have been a breeze if he was shitty. 

Unfortunately, you would still be in a relationship with him if the circumstances were different. Unfortunately, the only way you would truly get over this person is if you actually got to date him, instead of falling into the friends-with-2 timed benefits purgatory, which lead to your friendship’s current demise, which may be imaginary! You could be friends, if you swallowed your pride and let go of the idea of self-respect.  Unfortunately, you may never see how truly awful he is. You will never date him and view him in a tedious light, ultimately becoming disgusted with how he sits in his office, showing you that you were wrong all along. That you simply painted a fantasy. This test just isn’t always going to happen. What you guys had was uniquely exciting, monumental, and with my stupid artisitc eye, you solidified the pain in numerous and dramatic ways ie. redirect yourself to this post. It was a wonderful day at the beach. He was the final drop in Splash Mountain at Disney World. He was the bench you sat on at the end of the day, as you held onto an ice cream cone, that was dripping down the side of your hand. Your connection was a place and while it was nice that you got to spend time in this place, you simply could not stay. There’s barely time in this world. Time will iterate its markings. The house you grew up in Massachusetts? The winter camp you went to as a Girl Scout? You could go back to those places, and you know you won’t feel the same. You could go back to him, and in this current moment, it won’t be the same.  Don’t worry, as there are a million other places in the world. Time doesn’t stop. There is no law that says you will not be entranced, perplexed, or intrigued again. It will always be different. Accepting that returning to old places and realizing things have changed, that the color in the walls are stained, that new buildings are being constructed across the road, that time has passed, and that things are gone, will always feel like a band-aid being ripped off your arms. I think what I am trying to say is that it is okay to feel the slight pang. Sometimes the memories will stick, and sometimes they won’t. Human brains are weird in that regard when it comes to its random memory retrieval, (you know it isn’t random, you like the things you like for reasons) Regardless, in reality, it’s kind of cool.

xx