#mobliving

[marriedtothemobnyc]

MONDILLZ - JULY EDITION!

[marriedtothemobnyc]

INSIDE THE WOLFPACK WITH DIRECTOR CRYSTAL MOSELLE

It seems strange to think that anybody growing up in the Lower East Side would have a sheltered life—quite contrarily, New York City childhoods are generally abundant with overexposure. We learn to take the subway by ourselves to go to school, make frequent bodega runs for after-class candies, and by the time we can read most of us are already well accustomed to the local demographics; unfazed by corner crackheads and other neighborhood characters.

But in a true stranger-than-fiction scenario, “sheltered” doesn't even begin to describe the reality of the Angulo children’s lives, a veritable tribe of seven who spent almost their entire youth locked away in a project apartment at the edge of the Williamsburg Bridge. The Wolfpack, directed by the amazingly talented Crystal Moselle, is the documentary that tells their heart-wrenchingly unique story, and since it’s official release last week the buzz and impact has been tremendous.

Crystal was sweet enough to invite us to a screening several weeks ago, and from the moment the film began I was immediately sucked in, fists clutched together in nervous anticipation as the bizarre tale unfolded. I was going to attempt and break down the inner workings of the plot for you guys, but there are so many indescribable twists and turns—it’s truly the kind of thing you have to see with your own eyes to believe. Not to mention, it’s just as visually arresting and mesmerizing as it is emotionally, laden with eerie TV-lit family shots, comically on-point movie reenactments, and plenty of unbelievable home movie footage. And while the overall reality of their childhood could be considered tragic, and I wanted to cry for them at some points, I ultimately left feeling incredibly drawn to and inspired by “the boys”—almost envious, even. Their character, their morals, their sensibilities, their interests, their tastes…everything was so pure and authentic, there’s no way you could ever replicate it.

I haven’t stopped visualizing them since the screening; a few days ago I found myself thinking, They’re kind of like the male versions of The Virgin Suicides—a clan of beautiful sibling dreamers, at the mercy of “overprotective” parents, who live vicariously through music or film. Luckily for our protagonists though, they managed to escape the darkness into what now seem to be very promising and fulfilling young adult lives.

Dying to know more about the project—from initially discovering the boys to forming that bond of trust between subject and filmmaker—I sat down with the brilliant Crystal to get the full rundown…

 Let’s start from the top. When and how did you discover the Angulo brothers?

I was walking down 1st Avenue and these boys ran past me—long hair, all wearing black and sunglasses. One boy ran past me and caught me eye, and then another one ran past and another one and another one, and my instincts took over and I ran after them. We met up at a cross-walk, and the first thing I asked was “Are you guys all brothers?” and they said yes and it blew my mind. I then asked them where they were from, and they said Delancey Street, and I was like, “What?! What are you talking about, I’ve never seen you around here.” The thing that touched me was one of them asked, “What do you do for a living?” And I replied, “I’m a filmmaker,” and he said, “Oh, we’re interested in getting into the business of filmmaking,” so that was how it all started.

 We became friends…it was just a friendship—I had no idea what their background or upbringing was, I was just more inspired by who they were and their personalities and their openness to life, which is so much different than all these jaded fuckers we come across every day [laughs].

 At what point did you realize that there was a deeper story there that you could make a film about?

I actually started filming them right away, because we were looking at cameras and I just did little interviews with them; I was like I’m just gonna make a doc on these kids and I’m not sure what’s gonna happen. We thought we could show them making a short film or doing their reenactments, focusing more on their craft, but as I got to know them more I realized there was a totally more in-depth story to tell.

 Is that generally how you try to operate as a filmmaker—just stumbling across something intriguing to you? Or are you actively seeking stories out that are as unique as theirs?

I don't actively seek stuff out; it usually just comes to me. Like I’m writing a narrative feature now—everything usually comes from something in real life. I’m just interested in really fascinating characters and fascinating stories.

 Just for my personal curiosity, around what age range were the boys when you first began filming?

When I first met them it was 11 to 19.

  I remember years ago, maybe almost a decade, you’d come over to film me for a Vice project having to do with teenagers. Would you say you’re most drawn to documenting adolescents? Why?

Yes, absolutely. I think partly because I literally never grew up from age 13—I dress the same, I probably act the same [laughs]. I’m very drawn to this transformation stage and growing up and coming into your own and figuring out who you are. That’s one of my favorite themes.

 Back to the brothers—it was evident from the film that even though they were totally cut off from society and reluctant to get personal with outsiders (even a therapist) they felt extremely comfortable with you. Talk a bit about how important that relationship between the filmmaker and subject is—how do you gain their trust and get so close?

There were never any plans, it just happened. We had something in common—we all loved movies and we loved to converse about films and learn together. They taught me a lot as well; they’re like little walking cinephiles. You have to have a synergy between you otherwise it wont work, because you’re gonna be spending a lot of time with the person [laughs]. There has to be something there and they have to trust your intentions—I really wanted them to know that my intentions were pure and that I just really wanted to follow their story because it was so interesting.

And as much as getting close is imperative, I would imagine that you’ve also gotta learn to disconnect yourself in some ways. As an outsider, there were certain scenes (like with the parents) that were so painful to watch—did the intensity of their situation ever start to weigh on you?

Oh yeah, during filming it was emotional. I was very close to them, so I think I was connected to them in a way that I might have broken some “documentary rules,” which I’m fine with [laughs], but we had this friendship that was very tight. It weighs on you a lot—it took over my entire life for quite some time.

 Judging from all the outside shots, like the Holiday Inn and billboard on Delancey Street, it seemed like all of this was filmed relatively recently—how long did the entire process take from start to finish?

Five years ago I started filming and I filmed for four and a half years.

 And how much of that time was actually spent with them; were you hanging out with them every day?

No, not every day—it depends what was happening. They’d be like “Oh we’re going to the beach today” so I’d follow them to the beach, or else they’d be like “We’re making this reenactment thing” and I’d stay with them for a few days as they did that. It was always different.

  As much as the circumstances of their youth were fucked up, I also found myself thinking that had it not been for all that, they wouldn't have turned out to be the incredibly intelligent, interesting, and unique men of substance that they became—which becomes especially evident towards the end. How personally fulfilling was it following them on that journey to freedom? Like going to Coney or their first movie theatre experience.

Oh God, it was so fulfilling. I just loved seeing them experience these things for the first time. I’m so happy with them discovering what they wanna do, and it actually happened already—they’re making their own films now and getting commissioned by people to do stuff; it’s amazing.

So you guys have remained close? I would imagine your subjects become like family after an experience like that.

Oh yeah, I was just with Mukunda at Vice—he’s doing a film with Vice right now.

 Now that you’ve finished this masterpiece, what’s next for you film-wise? Have you plotted out your next endeavor or subject matter?

I’m working on a narrative but I’m not gonna talk about it yet [laughs]; but it has themes of isolation and it’s referenced from this little town that I used to go to when I was younger…

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[marriedtothemobnyc]

GIRL TALK: MERCURY RETROGRADING & LEARNING TO LOVE YOUR BODY

Hi lovelies! I know I’ve been posting a day late for the last couple of weeks, and we’ll be back to our usual Wednesday posts by next week, but I am happy to say that I’m in a much happier writing mood than I was for my last two entries. This mercury retrograding shit, man—it’s nothing to be scoffed at. Pretty much everyone I know is going through some sort of depression or chaotic pattern right now, and as much as I normally don’t play into astrological theories, this is one of those things I legitimately believe in, like the moon affecting your menstrual cycle. But while some people look at it like impending doom, I feel like it’s kind of a relief; a reassurance that you’re not actually insane, and that the powers of the universe are simply playing tricks on your mind. In fact, it seems a great majority of our problems are like menacing mental mirages; evil demons dancing around the dark oases of your brain. Like my insecurities—most of those get created out of thin air. So are they really even there?

Speaking of insecurities, I’m on a detox this week! Well, since yesterday. Nothing fancy or specific—can’t afford the $15 juices—but just trying to stay off the carbs and sweets, AKA my life. I don’t like to get into it these days, but you long-time readers know about my old body and food issues. You guys know how far I’ve come—some of you are probably just as shocked as I am. I mean, I wasn’t ever massively overweight, but I was certainly bigger than a happy body should be, and the weight issue dominoed into all other physical aspects of my life. My face looked too round and childish, and my curves hadn’t properly developed, and the kind of clothes I liked didn’t fit right, so I was always cloaked in dense oversized hoodies and the same black pants. Ugh, just the thought of being outside in the summer during those times (sweating, uncomfortable, always trying to adjust my goddamn jeans because they didn't fit right) makes me cringe. But the physical transformation is only the tip of the iceberg—it’s the mental transformation that happens at the same time that’s truly beautiful. The discovery of confidence. It’s one of the greatest things I’ve gained in the last couple of years. On some #TransformationThursday shit! That’s why I love showing off my body now, and I make absolutely no excuses for it—I used to hate this body, like full-blown loathed it. I remember grabbing my fat rolls and trying to rip them off. I remember looking at myself naked and being so upset about what I saw that I’d trash my room and go cry into a bag of cookies. I remember feeling so disgusted with who I’d become that I mentally manipulated myself, the self-proclaimed gourmande, into becoming anorexic. But that shit is all behind me now. So now it’s time to adore myself, and shower myself with kisses in the mirror, and squeeze my titties lovingly in the shower, and slap my own ass every time I walk past its juicy reflection.

 Of course, I still have bad days. In fact, right now I’m not where I’m at physically at all. I look at photos of me, svelte as fuck when I first started dating my boyfriend, just the right amount of rib showing, and I miss that. But I don’t get hung up on those things the way I used to. I haven’t stepped on a scale in months. I know my triggers, so I blissfully ignore them. It’s not about numbers right now anyway, it’s about a feeling. Honestly, I think all women have a bit of body dysmorphia in them. Some days I wake up feeling bloated, and all I see is fat, cellulite, stretch marks, and jiggle. Other days I wake up feeling like, wow, I am a woman. Look how fucking hot I am from this angle. *turns* Look how fucking hot I am from this angle! On the bad days, I just have to remind myself that a good day is around the corner. Or I just decide to take action, like I did yesterday, and force myself to focus on squats, or eating better, or whatever it may be. It's amazing the difference even one day can make, and it’s also amazing how empowering it feels when you realize that the changes you want to make, can be made. You just have to truly push yourself.

 Ugly duckling syndrome does have subconsciously long-lasting remnants though. Back to the mention of body dysmorphic tendencies, even once you’ve outgrown your young, awkward stages in life, you tend to keep some of the mentality you had during that time whether you realize it or not. Some days I see 2015 Tabatha in the mirror, other times it’s like an optical illusion with high-school me hovering over the façade. Or another example—if you follow me on Instagram, most of you have probably seen the tastefully risqué shoot I did with this awesome photographer Sais a few weeks ago. It was my first time being shot by a man, and my first time being that exposed, period, but I felt like I was in the right mental space to do it. The whole time I was posing though, I kept envisioning what the photos he was taking looked like from his angle, or would end up looking like once developed. I imagined looking bloated and very hot in the face, with flushed cheeks and sweaty strands of hair stuck to my forehead. I saw me at 15, big, brace-clad grin spread out under big red cheeks. But the photos came out amazing, and I look womanly and sensual and alluring—just how I’d like to think I look most of the time. And so I think that was actually a very important and positive moment for me: exposing myself, as emotionally reluctant as I was, and actually loving the result. This might sound silly, and I know some of you might not share my views on female nudity and sharing that publicly, but if you’re feeling shitty about yourself, or lacking that confidence, take some sexy photos of yourself. Or have a friend or your significant take them. It’s a tiny exercise that even if only shared with yourself can instantly lift your spirits. Like when you and someone have a naughty secret, and you find yourself continuously thinking about it throughout the day, smiling coyly to yourself.

 I’d never dare act like I’m a role model or someone to look up to, necessarily, but I can say with all confidence that I know what it’s like to be at an awkward, terrible stage in your life, and to feel you’ll always be stuck there and that you can’t become the person you want to be, mentally or physically, but I promise that you get past it. Teenage me would have been feeling 24-year-old me so hard, and that alone brings the biggest smile to my face. Be your own muse…

[marriedtothemobnyc]

RANTING & RAVING AKA MENTAL AERATION

Well guys, I'm feeling utterly clueless in terms of post inspiration today—try as I might to focus, my abundance of split-ends keeps winning the battle. Even after putting a little callout on Instagram and getting some great suggestions, I can't seem to make my mind latch onto anything. Not having a full-time job has really put my head in the clouds, even though you'd think all this free-time would be creatively beneficial. Instead I fuss with my hair and ignore the growing heaps of lace and fishnet strewn about my room—like a slutty hoarder. It could also be the transitioning seasons, or the moon cycles, or the OG, or my increased summer libido, causing me to pounce on my man every chance I get. Whatever it is, it’s completely hindering my writing abilities. And as much as I could try and force myself to write about something, any time I do that I feel like it comes out sounding all contrived, and I’m constantly having to go back and alter a sentence or choose a better word. I like when the words just flow out and I’m barely able to keep up with them, like having a young pit at the end of a long leash.

I thought about doing a classic Ins & Outs post since I haven’t done one of those in forever, but I find myself wanting to be less and less judgmental as I get older. Even with something as silly and small as an outfit or annoying trend; I’d rather just look the other way than criticize now sometimes. Partially because it doesn't really matter, partially because I occasionally get perspective on myself, realize I’m completely imperfect and do things just as corny, and so then making fun of someone’s stupid Pharrell hat feels hypocritical. Not to say that I don’t do it anymore—just weeding it out little by little. But, for the sake of adding meat to this entry, I suppose I could air out a few grievances…

 Like the ‘normcore’ trend which has so ravenously taken over the Internet. When did chicks dressing like middle-aged White dads become the new thing? It went from Kimye camel coats with Stan Smith’s to now every other Tumblr girl having a pair of Air LD’s (New Balances) and the floppy, (presumably pink), worn-down baseball cap to match. Or there’s the other side of Internet girl culture, where everything is Clueless-feather-pen-meets-Generation-Girl-Barbie-meets-Teen-Nick-meets-Daddy-fetish shit. Like all you bitches want first-gen Tamagotchi’s so bad. It’s crazy because even though I’m only 24, these things do make me feel old. I’m like that annoying bitch I hated back in grade school who would tell me, “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

 Oh yeah, and my other huge peeve right now—what’s up with everyone calling people MOM on the Internet?! I feel like it all started with Gaga or Lana Del Rey or some shit, but it’s one of those things along with ‘fleek’ that I just can’t stand. Someone commented that under one of my photos on IG, and I know it’s out of love so no shade, but I was honestly tempted to delete it. I get that under a flick of Madonna, or Grace Coddington, or your mother, but some of you are just throwing that shit out there too willy nilly. And I’m way too young and fly to be your mom.

 Also—and you know I’m all for honoring the female form as a means of expression—but all these IG “photographers” doing streetwear shoots and getting women to sit their bare asses on subway platforms are OD. Licking some Jordan soles in a thong fashioned from Supreme laces does not a model make you.

 Anyway, there goes my attempt and not sounding judgmental—hopefully this rant/mental aeration will help me focus on a topic that’s actually meaningful next week. It’s tough finding a good balance on here sometimes too, because as much as I want to divulge the real juicy shit going on in my life, and all those very intriguing thoughts that spend their days eating away at my mind, it’s just much too personal. Sometimes I feel like I’m just blowing up my own spot, or my boyfriend’s, or whomever’s, and that’s tricky because to me really good writing always has to be totally honest. Alright, well, there’s my bullshit for this week. Now off to eat a quarter Xan and learn to shoot better 3’s in 2K14.

[marriedtothemobnyc]

COUPLES THERAPY - WHEN BOREDOM LEADS TO BICKERING

Ciao my darlings! I just (reluctantly) got back from a mind-blowing mini-vaca to Venice, Italy, where pieces of my heart will forever lay scattered amongst the bridges and cobblestone and four-hour-long-lunch-tables—that said, I am super happy to be back. Not only to my Coco and my man and my apartment and my good ol’ stanky New York, but to you guys too. And though this week’s post actually has nothing to do with Venice, it was inspired by some behaviors I found myself displaying in the midst of missing my boyfriend. Bored and lonely after dinner in my room one night—and stewing in the frantic thought-pool caused by too much Chardonnay—I picked a fight with him over some menial detail. Something along the lines of he wasn't giving me enough attention, or at least not fast enough, and instead of rationalizing or taking a deep breath, I launched into a tirade of angry texts, bringing all sorts of unnecessary issues into the equation. WHY? If you’ve never done this at some point in your relationship, I applaud you, but then you’re also probably lying or a cyborg. Picking fights with boyfriends can happen for all sorts of reasons, from justifiable misdoings, to lack of communication, to just being plain bored (which is super bitchy but in my opinion most common of all). So being that I felt residual silliness for days after, I thought this would be the perfect topic to attempt to break down for this week’s dissection—and hopefully it’ll save a few innocent boyfriends from being wrongly lashed out on in the future. Just a few though, they’re still all guilty somehow.

We’re all emotional volcanoes in some regard; some of us are dormant and just glide over all the bullshit (like my boyfriend, who’s a Taurus), some of us are constantly simmering, with little spurts of temper shooting out every so often, and then some are constantly erupting, for better or worse. I’d say I fall delicately between the latter and the middle, occasionally very rational and mature in thought, then totally unpredictable and inconsolable in the blink of an eye. That’s why it’s so important for opposites to attract and balance out those deficits. If I were with someone equally as quick-tempered and fragile, every day would be tears and tension. It’s like the ebb and flow of a tide complimenting one another.

 But while some fights get picked out of boredom or a need to bring some spice to a dulling situation, others are like signs or red flags to be heeded, especially if the underlying cause of the fight is recurring. If you’re always getting into it over the same thing (sex, money, jealousy, insecurity, etc.), then it’s probably time to hone in a little bit deeper on that one thing and see what can be done to fix it. One of the harshest realities, however—and it’s something I’ve even had to learn to deal with myself—is when you tap into the root of that problem only to discover there’s no solution. Or that the only solution is to accept it and move on, which is extremely difficult for me to do. In the case of most repetitive arguments, until you can learn to deal with a factor that can’t be changed, it’s generally the demise of the relationship. If you’re biggest problem is money, for example, and you can never see eye to eye on it, you eventually either become blind to it or just disband altogether. But having to look the other way is never a good solution regardless.

 And though too much bickering can be corrosive to love, eating away at it over time, it can also become like a filter of sorts, skimming the toxins off the top now and again to keep the water fresh. Aside from bringing to light unknown concerns, arguments can give you perspective; uncertainty and suspense—like that little pang of horror you feel the instant you realize you might have taken it too far or pushed too hard. You feel all your pride shoved up to the top of your throat, and you say something threatening you totally don't mean at all, but that just sounds powerful in the moment, like, “Well then maybe we shouldn't be together anymore.” And as soon as those cold words leave your lips, and you see their stoic reaction, you wanna inhale them back in and just shush everything and apologize and make it right. That’s why it’s always been so hard for me to have the strong last word—I always negate it with sorrow and empathy immediately after. Women like me will kick a man out, then hold onto his leg and get dragged out with him as he leaves.

 Most of this goes back to that piece I wrote a few weeks back on overthinking, and that’s why I got so mad at myself for flipping out on my man over dumb shit while I was in Italy. There I was on this beautiful island, in this chic hotel, where I should have been having total me time and ordering room service and being lavish, and instead that overthinking got me into a negative space I should never have even treaded into. So in conclusion, I’d say the point is to really think about the “issues” at hand when you’re about to lash out emotionally—is this something you actually need to sit down and have a discussion about, or is it just unnecessary craziness triggered by a selfish need for more attention? And if you can’t find a happy medium, it’s good to find a man who likes em crazy like I did.

[marriedtothemobnyc]

OVERTHINKERS ANYONYMOUS

Ugh, I’ve been sitting in front of this blank screen peeling my split-ends for the last 10 plus minutes, cloaked in another hazy cloud of writer’s block. I’ll usually start with some sort of idea, tap into it for a few sentences, and by the second paragraph things just take off by themselves, but today my mind is all tumbleweeds. My boyfriend is out of town in London on a work trip—welp!—so I thought about discussing dealing with distance in relationships, but it feels kind of weird to talk about my feelings in real time. It’s a bit too personal in the moment.

That said, the distance did make me realize something else yesterday, which I ended up discussing with a like-minded friend. Sitting on the train headed uptown, I found myself wondering about my boyfriend—where he was, what he was doing, etc.—and then suddenly I thought, ‘If you worried half as much about your own shit as you do his, you’d probably be pretty productive.’ Of course not all women are like me in that capacity; I know women who truly can’t be bothered by male bullshit. They’re too busy, too focused, too self-involved, or too independent, and I mean none of that negatively. In fact, it’s admirable. When I sit with women to commiserate over men and they’re just like, “Oh my boyfriend? I don’t give a shit was he’s up to,” I can’t help but be impressed. *Cue Applause* Alas, I’m just a natural born overthinker, always have and always will. I can give and receive all the good advice in the world, but at the end of the day I really don’t think a brain can be rewired this deep into life. Then it really becomes all about managing that accumulation of anxious thoughts—I’m trying to do it without Xanax. (Told you it always clicks in the second paragraph).

 So anyway, there I was on the 6, mulling it over, and I got to feeling really stupid. All I do is wonder about things I don't know, and not even in a curious, learning-about-shit kind of way. I speculate scenarios or thoughts—shit I’d never be able to know unless I read minds—when I could be focusing on what is real and tangible and manageable, which is my life. And it’s certainly not always my boyfriend I overthink about, it could be totally stupid shit that just gnaws at my mental little by little, like a shitty comment someone left me, or something even more menial than that. I’m too sensitive and emotional, and I suppose a lot of the time I’m just plain bored too, but like my friend and I discussed, sometimes we know we’re bored and we know what we could do to relieve it (go out, work, exercise, etc.) but we just choose to sit and absorb that cold, icky feeling until it consumes us.

 Yesterday felt really nice though; there’s something about going out and doing stuff without my boyfriend, now that we’re always around one another, that makes me feel like a little girl pretending to be grown up. I suppose that’s how I feel most of the time anyway. Deciding it was too beautiful a day to stay inside, I took a random trip up to the always-intriguing Upper East Side (talk about feeling like a child amongst grown-ups) to this adorable little miniature shop, Tiny Doll House. After gazing over all the petite treasures with child-on-Christmas-like merriment, I strolled around the streets and shops, admiring 3K puppies behind glass and chic market stands displaying $2.99 passion fruit. Bough myself some groceries to make ‘Moroccan Chicken’ for one, plus a new Nabakov book (Pnin), then headed back to my cozy little Bed-Stuy abode with Coco, rosé, and NY Housewives awaiting. In a way, it was kind of like an attempt to trick my mind, to just keep it busy and light and happy, and for the most part it worked. And it’s ridiculous to think like that, when I should just think, I had a nice day, rather than I had a nice day even though he’s not around.

 Ultimately, what I think it comes down to with overthinking girls like myself is that we’re constantly starved for stimulation. Some might call it attention—which I won’t rebut—but stimulation is the reason we want attention anyway. I always loved that scene in Lost in Translation, where they link up for shabu-shabu after he sleeps with the hotel singer, and he replies to her snarky insults with, “Wasn't there anyone else around to lavish you with attention?” We all wanna believe we’re Scarlett in that movie, and many of us kind of are. Like with most Coppola heroines, I always connected with that character very deeply. A smart woman who’s romantic but guarded, a half-dreamer half-realist conflicted by the paradox, confused about life, etc. And we all want attention, but women like that—like us—we need it in different ways, deeper ways, constantly. Some women just want to go on the vacation and get the purse and take the couple selfies, and that’s fine. But some of us need it so cerebrally, it’s no wonder our minds are always eating at us when we’re left alone.

 Anyway, that's my spiel for today. As hinted in the intro, it didn't have much direction, but sometimes you just gotta flush the little pieces of shit clinging to the toilet bowl of your mind before you can get something good out, you know? Sorry, that was disgusting—a bit of Tom Robbins crude prose must have trickled in after reading Still Life with Woodpecker.

[marriedtothemobnyc]

DISSECTING THE EMOTIONAL ARMOR THAT IS INTROVERSION

Going into last week’s post about standards for affection, I mentioned that I’ve become increasingly anti-social with age, and then someone left me a comment asking that I discuss introversion, so that’s where we’ll be taking it today. I wouldn’t say I’m fully introverted, but there’s no denying that I’m certainly on the path. And of all the things I feel I need to work on about myself—body image, insecurity,etc.—I’d say my biggest concern lately is that I just have this way of totally alienating the people I love and shutting them out of my life. It’s not even like I do it on purpose or out of spite; little by little, my anxiety and self-centeredness have just closed in and created this unintentional bubble around me. Every day I feel like a bad friend, or a bad person because of it, but as lucid as I am to that fact, it still feels impossible to change.

I think this subconscious attitude of reluctance developed during junior high school, if I really look back on it. Like most barely-pubescent girls, I had a little clique of homegirls, but the reality of most friendships that age is that they’re meaningless. That sounds super harsh, but how many good friends do you still have from then? Unless you grew up in a super small town or tightknit community, chances are zero. But they were totally substance-less relationships; lots of shit talking, plotting against one another, being mean and cutty, exiling chicks from the group—Mean Girls shit, basically. And that’s the reality of being a kid, and it’s a perfectly natural (though cruel) thing—but you either decide to keep running in those fake circles, or you just exclude yourself completely. I went with the latter. For 12 and 13-year-olds, these bitches had been such brutal little cunts. And so by the time I went into high school, I was in full loner-mode.

 I did make a couple friends in high school, but there were about 3,000 plus students, so you do the math. That was where I met one of my best friends, a girl just as removed from me, if not even more. And being that we both felt the same way about everyone else our age—that they were corny and wack—we spent most of our time not in school and cutting class with older people we assumed were cooler instead. In fact, 14-17 was one of the most social times in my life. Alas, right around that 17 mark was when my eating issues really set it, and that was definitely another defining moment in the alienation process. I’d become so obsessed with my own problems and self, that I literally left New York for the French countryside for two or three months, totally cut off from friends and family, just sulking in my depression.

 By the time I came home, even though I felt a bit better, naturally everything seemed sort of different. I tried to pick up where I left off with my friends, but I truly think something about that summer fucked that part of me up for a long time. And it honestly had nothing to do with them, it was really all me. When I try to understand why I’ve become like this, I think that maybe I just get so emotionally overwhelmed by everything in life, I can only deal with certain tiny sections of it at a time. When I feel sad or upset about something, whereas most people would phone a friend, I just sit in silence and stare at the wall. Half of me doesn't want to burden someone with my bullshit when we all have our own, the other half knows there’s nothing they can say to make me feel better. And I really hate to sound so pessimistic; sometimes I think about the way I felt about my besties in grade-school, how we were BFFs 4 Life and held hands and had sleepovers every night and made dance choreographies, and I get super sad.

 After things finally felt back to normal when I came back from France, around 18, I got into my first serious relationship. Once again, a total excuse for alienation. Little by little during our four-year stint, everything became increasingly all about us and nobody else. We were a complete ‘we’ couple *cringe* — we’re doing this, we’re doing that. As a matter of fact, that relationship was so alienating, I alienated my fucking self! By the time that was over I realized I didn't even know me that well anymore, which was horrible.

 Now all these years later, I’ve essentially done it again, just much more intentionally and hopefully without losing as much sight of myself. My current relationship (though we are a ‘we’ couple) is beautiful in that I actually discovered a lot about myself along the way, and in a much more positive, uplifting light. I felt tied down before—like a pressed flower trapped between the suffocating layers of an encyclopedia. Now I’m like roses on a vine growing up and up. But it’s also now that things are so good in that aspect that my hermit-esque social habits start to bum me out.

 I’ll think to myself, “I should call her and catch up,” but rarely does it ever move past thought. Why is that? Guilt, surely. Nervousness. Anxiety. Selfishness. I’m not too good to admit it. But like I said, changing these ways about myself, as aware as I am of their existence, often seems like an impossibility. And maybe that’s just my personality. Maybe in that way I’m like the ultimate Virgo. I’ve spent years and years creating and altering this little self-centered universe I live in, like a bird delicately building a nest, and the thought of leaving it paralyzes me. So I’m torn between accepting it and feeling culpable, but when I look at the 24-year path that led to where I’m at now, I can’t even fucking blame myself. If you consider yourself a realist, you’re probably conditioned similarly—our introversion is like a form of emotional armor, against vulnerability and judgment.  

 But all this said, I don’t want to come off like this miserable, selfish cunt who doesn't have a homie in the world. I look at my friendships like the one Larry David and Richard Lewis have. I adore my friends. The few solid ones that I have, I love like sisters. We're bonded. All my girls have seen me at my lowest—and some have seen me lower than others. Drugs. Breakups. Fights. Eating Disorders. Family drama. Youthful corniness. The way I see it, when you’re truly friends with someone, years could pass and you could still pick up where you left off. Not like these socially exhausting Sims relationships, where you have to call and hang out and chat every other day otherwise they won’t fuck with you anymore.

 So while I admit this is some shit I have to work on, I also realize it’s my nature—human nature. Even as a child, I would’ve rather colored inside or played with my toys alone than with a friend sometimes. And if you’ve seen all the Instagram photos that I post of my dollhouses and toys these days, you know not much has changed.  

[queenboom]

MILLIMOB X MTTM

Twas' the night before Christmas... the Corpus Christi streets were empty, yet alive with US! Grime time and a few shots I snapped of the lovely Millimob in the Future 2000 shirt by @leahMOB! Oh yes, the amazing-ness that is MARRIEDTOTHEMOB!

No further explanation needed.... ENJOY!

RIP NEKST

TEXAS MOB! since 2004

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