USE YOUR WORDS!

These words are so confusing. Love vs IN love? Infatuation? Like? Like like (courtesy of Hey Arnold)? I get so confused because I don't see how we tack these rigid four letter words on to insanely abstract emotions. Silly humans. Everyone feels things differently so why do we feel the need to name everything? Is it to categorize it? To express it to other humans? Honestly, I think descriptions would be so much more useful and alot less convoluted and lame. "I love you" is sweet and all..and I believe in it the way that I define it, but it can become so confusing figuring out what you're feeling exactly. For example, if I told a man I loved him, would he know what I was feeling? Probably not. Maybe? I really don't know. But if I said
-When you touch me, I hold my breath so I can hear your hands better.
or
-I wish monsters were real so they could hide in your closet and I could chase them away for you
or
-They should make shirts that feel like your fingertips so I can feel them all day

I think someone would know how I felt. Because I was telling them. Explicitly. Saying "I love you" can mean so many different things. You say the same thing to your mother, your grandma, your friends, the friends you don't like. How can we just use that one word? Is it really the same all around?

I don't think so. I think people need to USE THEIR WORDS..like your mom would tell you when you came home crying with snot running down your face. Use our words. And the next time someone asks how you feel, describe to them the specific feeling. Don't feel obligated to use the word LOVE, IN LOVE, LIKE, its cliche and confusing. I think this would make things a lot clearer and save people thinking you feel things that you don't. TRICK BAG.

Supermarket Temper Tantrums

The thing that I'm learning about this breakup process is that you are likely to feel wildly intense, vastly varied emotions from day to day, hour to hour, minute to minute, thought to thought. You never know when the urge may strike to throw your phone through the car window. Or dump your cheetos on the woman eating lunch next to you, and just look at her. Today, I threw a temper tantrum in the frozen food section of Giant. Hours before, I was telling myself how much better off I was, how it would never have worked cause he hates Zach Braff and eats Doritos before bed. Fuckin jerk. Who the hell hates Scrubs? Its the best show on television. Only losers hate Zach Braff. And Doritos make you smell like Doritos for 12 hours on average. Ha! so silly I wasted my time! I was feeling great....or so I thought....

(In the 3rd grade, there was a boy who had Doritos every day for lunch, and he smelled of Dorito to the point that we could smell him on the way into the classroom. "Where's J_____??" sniff* sniff* "oh here he comes now". We called him Dorito Boy (we were so creative) and i'm sure we scarred him for life. If you're reading this, I'm sorry. Kids are cruel cruel smelly sticky bastards. And I hope you don't smell like Doritos anymore. ew.)

Anyway, As I sauntered the aisles of Giant, I reached the snack aisle. I saw huge bags of Doritos... and an unfamiliar rage started to build in my stomach. I walked past the Triscuts as the anger continued to rise. it felt like i had acid reflux..the kind you get after you gobble down a large pizza by yourself. I laughed at myself and kept pushing my cart. Crossing the cheeze Its and Tostitos, I felt the anger in my temples. The "What the fuck?' thoughts raced through my mind like downtown crackheads holding car radios. At this point in the tantrum, I was thinking about all the time and emotions I wasted. And how empty it left me. At the end of the snack aisle, I stopped in front of the frozen food section and tried furiously to knock over my grocery cart. Unfortunately, one wheel was broken, so it wobbled but didn't fall. Which probably made me look like even more of a douche to the old woman selecting packages of chicken legs (for dinner I assume). After overexerting myself straining to knock over the broken cart, I stopped. Kicked the shopping cart, caught my breath, and walked calmly past the elderly woman clutching a package of poultry to her bosom, staring in fear.

As I got in the car, I realized how crazy it is to pretend to be she-HULK and try and break a wobbly shopping cart in a local super market. It just doesn't really scream "stable well-adjusted woman". But I didn't care.

There's no logical rationalizations or slow motion montage where Zach Braff narrates the message of the episode.
Sometimes heartache makes you into a crazy person.

Sandwiches

I will take the time to buffer this blog entry because I know how annoying it is when I go to check someone's blog, and all they write about is their sappy gay relationship/ lack thereof, or the douchebag that broke their heart. I would have liked to have kept this blog pure of that horrid gay nonsense. But two nights ago I found myself teetering on the edge of the insanity mountain (located in a remote village in my brain), and it was fascinating, scary, humiliating and hilarious all piled on to one crazy sandwich. A breakdown is like a delicious sandwich full of sorrow, confusion, frustration and disdain. and mustard (mine had mambo sauce). yummy yummy heartbreak.

Unrequited love is one of the worst things that can happen to a human. Period. It is like chasing a rabid dog through a field of knives. Or trying to win a stuffed animal out of one of those toy machines with the weak ass claw that they always have in arcades. (whoever thought of that idea, you are a douche and I hope you're lonely and insane. because thats how you feel leaving empty handed after a day of shoving quarters in that got damned machine. Just when you grab the toy with the claw, it drops it. fuck you.) As humiliating and embarrassing as it is, unrequited love happens to everyone at least once. It has happened to me. I realized it had gone too far when I found myself in my car crying, and completely oblivious as to whether the vehicle was in motion or not (luckily i was parked). I had turned the music up all the way because I got tired of hearing myself think. So there I was. sobbing wildly in a baby blue civic outside my house, music buzzing through the entire car. phone ringing. face streaked with mascara and snot and pathetic. head rammed into the steering wheel. bladder full ( i didn't care that I had to pee either). And i looked up and thought..how did i get here?

It easy, i said to myself. You were unrequited. And that can drive anyone to madness. Loving someone takes a great deal of energy and ability to be vulnerable. Choosing to love someone (because it is a choice) is like deciding to stand outside someone's doorstep with flowers. completely naked. and with at least one embarrassing mole shaped like a penis. No one can love with clothes on. It's impossible. Because for someone to know you really, you have to be able to be vulnerable (or ass naked). The problem arises when you are the only one naked and with flowers. And the other person has on a fucking snow suit in the summer time. These one-sided relationships enable one person to give..and give..and give..and one person to take and laugh and take more. and laugh. because you're naked for them, but they're safe inside their clothes. This situation can make both parties complete nutbaskets. the giver gets used to giving and not getting and crying in her blue civic. and the taker gets used to getting without giving (which is also crazy) and using the attention (the "i miss your face" texts, the "i can't be without you" face, the "please don't go" sighs) to feed his/her hungry hungry hippo bastard ego.

it's a trickbag
and I don't wish it on anyone. not even the asshole that made the claw machine.

The most frustrating thing about dealing with a situation where your feelings have not been returned, there isn't much chance for closure that you want. It's difficult for anyone to accept that all the giving was for no reason. Or that he/she just didn't like you enough. Or that all your love was an engagement ring that was sucked down a sink drain. I am in process of letting a person go out of my life, and it is extremely difficult. At first, you feel like you're cutting off a leg. Then you realize you can still walk, so it couldn't have been a leg that you amputated. Then you feel like its an arm. and so on..untill you feel like you just filed your nails down a little because they were way too long.

I haven't gotten to the manicured part of the breakup process as of yet. But i am greatly looking forward to it because my nails have gotten out of control, and I don't want to again have the crackheads on my block peer into my car window and ask me if I needed "sumthn" for the pain.

Prairies and Body Hair Coats

I am on a prairie. Yes. A prairie. HIl CIty, Kansas. There are no cell phone towers here (I called Tmobile, and they laughed at me). But there are mountain lions. It seems like a quiet town, nice people (who point and stare at me for being black) but when it gets dark, I always get the feeling that there will be some sort of chainsaw massacre/ mutant sewer gang activity going down here. The only restaurant is pizza hut (where the sewer mutants dine frequently..the pannormous is popular here). I find myself bored out of my skull, watching reruns of fresh prince, researching insane professions (I figured i could make lots of money as a rodent-whisperer. The city of New York could pay me to speak to their rat and mouse population, and politely ask them to leave and be celibate for a few years), keeping watch for mountain lions, or talking to my feet. I find myself wondering about what I could give my rabbit to make her bite people that smell like ham. Or why male ballet dancers never get boners on stage (they probably do when they're dancing with each other) or how many amphibians it took to make Eddie Murphy's suit for RAW, or WHY ZACH BRAFF LEFT SCRUBS or the movie FUR...

I must take a moment for this particular cinematic masterpiece. The film is supposedly about a photographer Diane Albus (played by Nicole Kidman, surprise surprise), and what her life could have been like. In reality, it is about what Diane Albus' life could have been like if everyone in it was a glue-huffing psychopath. This woman has a sexual fixation with body hair, and falls in love with a circus freak covered from head to toe in fur (Robert Downy Jr., another surprise). In his spare time he makes her wigs from the hair on his balls. And she is totally into it. After all, nothing says love like ball hair. The sex scene involves a very erotic shaving sequence and he sews her a fur coat (from his body hair) that she masturbates in.

(thats a real picture from the movie)


I wish i could make up shit that funny. I'm just not that good...yet. They call this movie an imaginary portrait of Diane Arbus. So i figured..why not ponder up an imaginary portrait of my own?

It would go something like this....I was born half zebra in the dunes of the sarenghetti. All my life I was heckled and teased. They called me swirl. I developed a deep seated resentment for my zebra father, who refused to see me and never paid child support. My mother drank heavily and brought horse after horse home, saying they were just friends. But I knew different. As I grew up, I discovered a love for literature, and fell madly in love with Omar Gooding from Wild N Crazy Kids. But after some years, I wasn't pleased unless he wore a sequin cape and a unicorn horn to bed. And our marriage came to bitter end...

This is how crazy Fur was to me. Though I understand how terribly romantic it is for a man to shave his balls and use the hair sew a coat for you, I hardly feel it is fit for anyone to actually view. It was like watching big girl xxx flicks...you don't want to watch, but you're eyes won't look away. Despite this, I want everyone to watch it and feel how uncomfortable it is to watch someone erotically shave someone else.

I can't wait to find a guy who will think...hmm..it's getting crazy down there..time for a coat for Anoa.

Operation Kill Big Bird

(Brought to you by the Letter H (H is for Headless and dead))

I have just finished my undergraduate career. I feel as though costumed midgets and fragrant acrobats should follow me flinging bits of confetti every so often. I haven't written in so long and my brain feels like it was raped (and not the good way). But I am determined to jump back on the horse (that's what she said). The blogging horse that is.

I have recently discovered Kermit the Frog. I knew him as a child, but i came across some of his songs on youtube and I'm afraid to say he melted my panties. Kermit the Frog is a sexy sexy muppet. He sings "It's not east being green" and i just wanted to scoop him up and stick him in my pants (notice is did not say pocket). Kermit is amazing, and think that everyone should take the time to look up his songs and allow him to take them away to a sexy muppet world where there are no problems and everyone is made of sexy felt.

If I lived on sesame street I would have a brownstone and big hair, and all I would do is sit on my stoop and sing rockin covers of awesome songs. I would need a guitar. (note to self. learn to play the guitar.) I would sing with duets with kermit (before doing him of course) and smoke with my man Snuff. Eat lots of icecream and pie. I would kick babies with grouch and perform tap dance numbers with pepe the shrimp. fuck man why can't the world be made of felt? I guess I would get bored on the sesame street. I would start to hate ms. Piggy's thirsty ass schemin on my man. The grouch would blow my life because he wouldn't want to do anything fun or cool (except for kicking babies). And he smells like soiled diapers and homeless man jizz. Big Bird...I'd probably kill Big Bird. He's big and creepy and he lurks. I'd make a thousand chicken quesadillas. Or a mountain of chicken patties. I could feed 3 African villages if I killed Big Bird. It would take a well thought out plan to kill him though. I'd have to gas him or shoot him. Maybe i could get Kermit to distract him with a sultry song while I creep behind him and choke him out. I would need all my sesame neighbors to help me feather him and cook him. I'm going to end this little daydream because plotting to kill Big Bird is probably high crime in sesame street. I'd probably get some years and then i'd be sexually harrassed and assraped by felt penises. Wait, I don't even know if muppets die. And if they do, where do they go after?

The point is that I'm back on the blog horse. Tommorow I will need help with something. THeres a guy on youtube and I can't figure out whether he's a gay or not. Investigation is necessary. Stay tuned love muffins (ew i fuckin hate b scott).

speaking of people I hate, I feel the need to begin a hit list of people I'd shoot if I wouldn't get time.

1. Big Bird
2. B. Scott
3. Plies
4. NV 69 (this would be a mercy murder)
5. Miss J from Tyra's Show
6. Tyra
8. Tyra's Show

I have more and I'll finish the list tomorrow. Im tired! night

Flashing: A Gender Stratified and Male Dominated Artform/Crime



I was reminded of my childhood today when my little brother put on my dad's creepy khaki trench coat. Interestingly, Flasher was the first thing to come to mind. When I was in Jr High at Alice Deal JHS, we were fortunate enough to have suffered a hilarious phenomena. There was a flasher lurking in the bushes nearby waiting till school's end each day to expose himself to unexpecting passersby (the flasher was also caught eating berries from the trees planted in front of the school, and I once saw him at a pta meeting). I recieved several serious pamphlets and brochures to take home to my parents concerning the flasher that was haunting the school pathway, and what to do if your child had been exposed to his genetalia. I thought this was funny when I was the 7th grade. And I think it's funny now..in the 16th grade. the humor is undeniable...Flasher- exhibitionist: someone with a compulsive desire to expose the genitals...My issues are not with the flashing itself (I think its great). My gripe with flashing lies in that it is a male dominated occupation. I wonder why there are so few females with the compulsive desire to expose the genitals. Is it because people wouldn't really be that offended? If i flashed my breasts to unsuspecting 7th graders, I'm sure they would be startled initially (especially if I screamed "how do you like THIS?!" mid-flash)... but I don't think it would be soo terrible that the parents and school would have sent home brochures and alerted the counselors. Flashing a vag isn't all that terrifying or fantastic either (unless the public hair were cornrowed or died green..that'd at least be creative). Penises are just so amazingly external and dangly. They're spooky and mysterious. Like a cloaked gargoyle.

ALSO, people see breasts on TV all the time. There's no mystery or wonder! There is soft porn on almost every channel after 2am, and if not on the actual program, then the very tasteful EXTENDZ penis enlarging commercial (woman: ever since he started using extendz *giggles*, I decided not to stop sexing his brother so often. thanks extendz *smiles*). I think this is a fucking crime. Lady goods are so overexposed that we can't even flash anyone and get a real scream! People are desensitized to the female form, which can sometimes be quite frightening. And rightfully so. But noooo penises are always a shocker. Mystifying scary penises. UNFAIR.

I also think its unfair that the only women that would get screams for flashing would be overweight. If Barbara Dean (from the Food Channel) or Star Jones (then and now) woke up one day with a pressing urge to expose their genetalia, their cascading mammories might get screams. But people would be more upset later than traumatized. (I do recall a homeless woman on Georgia Ave. lifting her loin flap to be and being very bothered by it.) But it just isnt fair. In a perfect world, I could walk to the nearest train station (with my trench coat of course), saunter up to an unsuspecting couple, and open my jacket to them. In a perfect world they would yell and run. But in this stupid unfair world, no one would care. They would just yawn, check the time and have me chased by the metro police. I'm pretty fast in my reboks though, so the chase might be really good.

I encourage everyone to take a really good look at this injustice. Thinking about flashing has me ready to lace up my reboks, grab the trench and head to a museum (I know its sick but somehow I think that when kids are flashed its funnier).

sugar and spice and e.v.o.o.

I feel like the legs of an elderly paraplegic man. Lame...and squishy. And its not like I don't have shit to do (I have an entire thesis to write)...Its just that nothing really really excites me anymore. Nothing gives me that thrill in my pants. (And things used to really excite me...**watches butterfly float away like egg from zoloft commercial, then wobbles away**)

I think getting bad news is like ramming a sledgehammer into your excitement bone. My excitement bone is broken and i have a cast on...its humiliating wearing a cast when your excitement bone gets broken, because the excitement bone is so close to your pubic bone, it looks like your wearing a paper mache diaper. And no one will date you when you have a diaper cast on because people will think you're an asshole..in a diaper cast.


Any who...I have been pondering what would make me excited again so that my life will stop feeling like a hairy useless leg. Again, I will suspend my imagination because mortal human earthy life is so restricting...like kanye's i'm so gay (but i'll never tellllllll) pants.

example...







anyway, Here goes:

Things that would spice up my bland bland white people food life

1. Chasing after the mailman while barking with toothpaste frothing from the edges of my mouth
2. Knocking door to door dancing for small donations to save the "last village of black gypsies"..dressed in a Walmart Jasmine (from Aladin) costume and my '99 new balances.
3. Setting off on a voyage to the underworld to collect my baby teeth back from the tooth fairy. (Yes, the toothfairy lives in the underworld because she is a lying sneaky thief. And its sick that she steals baby teeth..and makes jewelry out of it. How far is that from the Chainsaw Massacre mutant stealing peoples' faces and wearing them around? Not far, I say..not far enough)
4. Forging a ring of power from the smoldering lava of Mordor
5. Watching a toothless man gum someone angrily and with all his might
6. Smacking Rachel Ray in the face with a hot greasy herb-crusted chicken breast. (She's so fucking smiley all the got damn time with her unnecessarily gay acronyms (Add some E.V.OO!! vomit)).
7. Having a hot steamy awkward affair with Cedric Yarbrough.

I have to stop the list right now to properly express how much I love Cedric Yarbrough. For those that are lame, Cedric Yarbrough is the fine black guy from Reno 911. I know I sound creepy and weird but I don't care. I hear Alecia Keys "You don't know my name" in my head every time I watch Reno...Sometimes at night I pretend that we're on the phone saying sweet things to each other. (totally kidding.....) His humor makes my panties shimmy with glee.



DAMN DAMN DAMNIT ALL TO HADES!! I just found out he has a woman and she looks to be of caucasian persuasion. what the fuck (we will definitely have this talk later)

I want to erase what I wrote about loving him, but I'll keep it up cause I'm the bigger person.

Also: I am a big fan of the sexy affair..(would you like to make sexy time with me?)...but I have also seen it go horribly horribly awry. Good sex is wonderful...Great sex can land you in worlds of trouble. That shit will have you twitchin' and feindin like a fuckn basehead before you can say methlab. Your family will have to hide the electronics from you and feed you through the slit under the door to your room...and no matter who you are..it is not a good look. Beware.

I know Im supposed to be continuing my list, but I need to block normal programming in order to offer you the conversation I had with my older brother today...

Problem at hand: Black Women being "too independent for normal relationships" ?

Are some Black women too independent to maintain healthy relationships? I approached this question very carefully because as a black woman, I am painfully aware that there are many many types of black women (short, thick, sweet, psychotic (lets be honest)). After much thought, I answered the question, yes. There are some. I think that black women are socialized in different ways, some of us are socialized to rely almost entirely on a man and that man's wealth and status. There are mothers who tell their little brown girls to go out and find a rich man that will take care of you...love is a perk. On the contrary, some of us to taught never to rely on a man becaue he will always neglect us. Life has taught too many black women that the only one they can rely on is themselves. Our men are many times unable to love us properly (due to a range of other things i'll talk about later) and/or unavailable to our needs (also because of a lot of historical damage). Being left and neglected (or watching your mother be left and neglected) is enough to make a pact to do for self. The problem arises when a man that wants to do for that woman comes along. It is extremely difficult to break down barriers that you have spent a lifetime building brick by brick, tear by tear, restraining order by restraining order. When my heart is broken, I tend to turn inward and work on myself because thats the only thing positive I can think to do (stalking, slitting tires, and leaving consecutive messages are not really my thing)...I develop my independence. That's how we cope sometimes. Because what we learn while dating is-relying on him will probably get you hurt. I think that if we don't know how to take down the walls some for a good man though, we will be crushed under a pile of Zane novels, running through a maze of self fulfilling prophecies or soaking in a sad green-with-algae pool of loneliness. All of the above suck ass.

I know that no-one can "asshole-proof" their love lives...but if I could, I would. I would spackle, shrink wrap, cement, shelaq, plaster, nail, and jettison all the assholes out of my life for ever and ever amen..But unfortunately I can't. And I guess that's fine with me..because loving the way I have has built me (awesome brick by awesome brick) into the woman I am now.

Now all I need is a little spice and some e.v.o.o...

I hate rachel ray (whose name doesn't deserve to be in caps)

psst.....

Does Anyone Else think this is funny?

My Girl's got a Boyfriend

Sometimes my life reminds me of the zoloft anti-depression medication commercials starring the "sad egg". [There has been extensive debate concerning the nature and species of this "egg". It most reminds me of an egg. But some people are dumb enough to think that it is a ball of dough or something gay like that. Do balls of dough have feelings? Probably not. Eggs, however, are technically babies and can have feelings..and could even be depressed. Maybe it is a lone testical...that could be believable. Because two testicles= awesome...one testicle=sad and or funny] Commercial::"Are you sad?" * Egg nods yes with frown* "Things that used to make you happy just don't matter anymore?" *Egg nods yes.. gazes lovingly at a butterfly (that used to make it happy)...then sighs and wobbles away*:: Every time I see that commercial, I feel so bad about that egg. What is wrong with it? Does it have a broken heart? Does it owe loan shark eggs? Does it have aids? Did it get aids from a slut egg that broke its heart? What could possibly be making this egg so sad??

I am not as sad as the egg. I think the word for this feeling is... discouraged. DIS-COURAGE-D. My courage has been dissed (that was lame i know). Slapped in the face with the big cock of life. Mollywhopped if you will (look it up). Date-raped by Jack Nicholson....(What does a date-rapist look like? Jack Nicholson.)


Aside::: One of my best friend's new boyfriend and I are trying to be friendly..after all we are sharing the same girl. (I love my best friend. She humps my leg violently for fun and loves to sing popular songs in Old English vernacular: i.e. "Wilst Thou Allow me to Beat Beat Beat..?" She is the absolute greatest.) I don't know her new boyfriend yet, but they seem to be falling in love (or some degree of it) and I am trying to get to know him. To be quite honest, Im not always good with fostering hearty relationships with my friends' boy/girlfriends for a few reasons..
1. I don't like when my friends are lame and want to tack me on to the relationship because i'm single. Third wheels are the gayest of all the wheels.
2. I dont like being forced into liking someone. I'd rather chill..meet them when I meet them and like them if i like them. The pressure makes me awkward.
3. When boyfriends and girlfriends call me for advice about my friends i get put in the middle of a relationship of which I am not a part. I feel like being the one pickle on a chick fil-a sandwich..(why do they even bother putting those lonely pickles on the sandwiches..they should stop.)

So..anyway...my best friend's new boyfriend and I have been talking some. (I think my friend really cares what I think about him because theyre getting serious. Plus I am like her tumor (not cancerous of course..but complete with hair and teeth and a personality). I think that he is a very nice young man...but i fear our humors are on different ends of the spectrum. He is perky and optimistic..but in a way that forces me to be sarcastic and pseudo-mean in my jokes. Of course it is completely not personal..if any random person ended a conversation with me with "Hakuna Matata" it is my visceral reaction to laugh and call them gay. Problem: I want us to be cool. But I don't want to hide who I am. I'll find a happy medium. Today, he messaged me, and we had a very interesting convo. The thread goes as follows:

Dude: Ah Ha! Anoa has a bf. Strange pic
(referring to my facebook picture)

Me: thats not my boyfriend, hes one of my friends gay friends. i like the pic. how r u Mr. ______?

Dude: Ahh, I'm well. Anoa, do you have baby teeth?

Me: ...If you're asking whether i still have the teeth i had when i was a kid. no. are you serious?

Dude: an expression did your teeth develop a bit smaller than normal. noticed and asked.

Me: who starts a conversation like that? "do you have small teeth?" are you serious?

Me: my teeth are small. thank you for noticing them.

I love my friend and I trust her choices....I would like to show, however, what my responses would have been if I didn't care what him or my friend wanted or thought..

Dude: Ah Ha! Anoa has a bf. Strange pic
(referring to my facebook picture)

Me: No the guy in the pic is my friend's ex-gay. how r u?

Dude: Ahh, I'm well. Anoa, do you have baby teeth?

Me: I lost my baby teeth like every other human since the dawn of man..Do you have a baby penis?

Dude: an expression did your teeth develop a bit smaller than normal. noticed and asked.

Me: hmm thats funny. I noticed you look gay in your pic. Have you told your parents yet? I hear thats the hardest part.

Ok..i know I look like an asshole right now. But imagine meeting someone and the first thing they ask you is whether you have baby teeth. I will admit. I laughed first, and thought..this is either really lame or comic GENIUS. (I seriously doubt the latter...but i could be wrong. I hope i'm wrong.) Just to spite my friend, I am going to coerce my next boyfriend to say something strange and obscure when he meets her.

My friend: Hey! How are you! I'm ______!

My boyfriend: Your neck smells like celery seed.

So I will be actively trying to be a better person. Because I want to know who my friend is boning. End of Aside::::

Alright, so I had another PostSecret revelation the other day.. I happened upon this little ditty....



Alright guys. I stopped at this post secret because I feel like this situation happened to me. (I know i said i hate post secret but we're trying to make it work through the rough spots and crazy stupid weird secrets that sometimes come up) What logic goes behind this? So..basically, Castro, you're telling me that you like me too much to like me. That makes tons of sense. I understand that some people aren't ready to be with good people...But why not try and work through your problems with someone that loves you? Idk. Maybe i'm crazy, but when something good comes along, I don't pass it up cause i can't get over myself. I know that it might not be a bitch up...even though it looks, tastes and smells like one. Its also absolutely possible that this didn't happen to me though. Maybe someone better came along. And if so, I hope they get the herps.

I think that some people convince themselves that they are bad people and crazies so that they don't hold any responsibility to themselves or anyone else. Have you ever tried to rely on someone that you knew was truly crazy? No. (And if you did, it probably turned out really bad and made you not do it again) Its like..

You: hey, I needed ________ to help me and she promised, but never showed up.
Friend: eh..she's crazy
You: true.

end of conversation.

If i told people i was crazy, I could do anything I wanted to do. Its freedom. I wouldn't have to answer to anyone. And I wouldn't have to be anywhere I didn't wanna be....because i've convinced myself I'm crazy, and therefore do not have to act rationally. And if everyone thinks im crazy too, then they won't ask me for shit. Sweet. This, however, would probably make me a very sad, lonely person because at the end of the day, our relationships are all we have, and to build healthy relationships we need to get the fuck over ourselves and try.

I've gargled enough words for the day. time to rinse.

The word Gay As I see it

I want people to not be offended by my use of the word "gay" within this blog. It is purely for comedic and literary purpose. It is in no way, shape or form meant to degrade homosexuals or homosexuality itself. Don't be sensitive, gays. its all love.

-Anoa

Personal Rain Clouds and Asshole Talking Dogs

I wish people made "how to" books for shit you actually need. Like "How to tell your parents that you're changing your sex" or "How to tell your child his dad isn't his dad"..you know..practical stuff. Instead they try and unlock the secret mysteries of life...which is great and all, but i need help with the smaller things before i can tackle the hidden mysteries of life. I would like to buy a book on "how to deal with disappointment" and have it all in laymen simple language. It would piss me off the buy this book, then open it to find that it tells me to "ohm" myself happy, or envision success or some gay crap like that.

I consider myself a pretty positive person. I enjoy cupcakes and flowers. I give people rides. Love. Money when i'm not too poor. But everything i have attempted to do recently has fallen through and I have no idea why. It is extremely frustrating and horrendously gay that this is happening. I don't want to make it just about me...but this shit does not happen to everyone. I wish i had a small guru in my pocket to tell me that everything would be ok..and know it was true..because he sees the future. When my family or friends tell me everything will be ok...its nice and all, but i know they don't know that. Are they really credible sources? A guru i could actually believe.

But of course, where would I get my hands on a travel-sized holyman? The black market? (Where is the black market? People say they sell stuff like organs on the black market. I wish the black market was a place. Seems like it should be. Ive been hearing so much hype about it.) Maybe I could make that happen. Until I have a guru though, I am forced to swallow absolute uncertainty..which is nasty and a murky shade of green. And tastes like wheat germ and hobbit feet. Unfortunately I haven't gotten into any of my graduate schools, which sucks balls because I have worked extremely hard in undergrad.

UnUnfortunately, the guy I'd liked for a while...just doesnt. ("Doesn't what?" you may ask..and to that i say..He just...doesn't.) In the midst of this, my best friends are becoming wonderfully successful and are falling in love (This is great and I am so happy for them..timing however..is horribly ironic lol). So what would this book tell me? Would it tell me to stay positive? To persevere in the face of adversity? Probably. but that kinda blows me cause honestly, i'm mad. And I would want the book to be mad with me. example

Title: For AWESOME People Who Have Been Unfortunate Enough to Have Been Disappointed by Lame Gay People, Places and/or Things

Chapter 1: If schools wanna be gay and reject you
Chapter 2: If the lame jobs that you thought you wanted didn't call you back
Chapter 3: If that douchebag you liked was an asshole to you

you see where im going with this im sure.


I guess the problem is that when you're disappointed, the only thing that will make you un-disappointed is for the shit that disappointed you to change its mind. and stop being such a douche. For that school to call you apologetically and groveling..saying that they sent the rejection letter to the wrong address. Or for that guy/girl to text "im sorry. i love you". Or for that job to send a helicopter to your house in the morning, telling you that they are in dire need of your expertise for a special position...But when does that happen? Never. In movies maybe. Its about as improbable as a rich banker falling in love with and proposing to the whore he hired for the week he was in town on business..

When shit disappoints me, I feel like I was farted on by a large mammal. Or like charlie Brown must have felt when the rain cloud hovered above his head and rained on him as his friends played kickball in the sun. Or that my freshly piled ice cream cone has fallen face first into dirty zoo asphalt..only to be quickly eaten by a talking dog who after eating your icecream, licks his lips and describes how delicious it was.

I want that dog to die.

Ode to the Imaginary Friend

While parousing postsecrets yesterday….

If this entry were a movie, inserted right now would be a hazy flashback montage:

Postsecrets and I have a whirlwind love/hate relationship. [cuts of anoa scrolling through the website..getting angry and throwing the keyboard off the table in frustration] I abandon postsecrets every couple months tired and confused..when I just can’t take it anymore. I cannot silence the thought that postsecret is merely a group of 3 bored people writing THE most insane shit they can think up at any given moment, and pasting them to ironically relevant (or incredibly random), themed postcards. This crazy shit is submitted and posted and published in coffee table books (whose house would have a post secrets coffee table book? Jack Nicholson’s. There are so many deep interesting things to display on your coffee table for guests that you don’t know. But some choose crazy shit on post cards in oversized hardcover books..im not here to judge) and it makes me kinda angry because some of the shit is stupid, and some of it is just way too extra for me to ever believe it to be an honest confession. I mean..how many times will I see themes such as “I’m pregnant and my boyfriend doesn’t know”, “I am currently being molested..as I write this postcard” or “I am having an odd sexual affair with an elderly clergyman”… Can we please have some more uniquely themed cards? Do you guys recycle them, taking advantage of the fact that you know fans will ultimately get frustrated or weirded out, and leave? Get it together postsecrets.

-End of montage-

(I know that was an extremely insensitive montage. I’m sorry postsecrets. I will soon get over myself. Bear with me. )


I came across a post secret that I enjoyed, however, and it spurred a conversation with myself that I felt was noteworthy.

Here is the Postsecret- (Take it in…)



While reading it, I thought..this is truthy (possessing adequate amounts of truth). Adults have much more need for imaginary friends. We have much more complicated lives. We generally think further than whether tomorrow’s breakfast will be pancakes or nasty nasty oatmeal. (I say generally, because I cannot claim with honesty that I always think past tomorrow’s breakfast choice. Oatmeal is such a disappointment. It can ruin an entire day.) We have bills, credit scores, car notes, mortgages, relationships, bad relationships, worse relationships, bosses, professors and many many other sucktastic aspects of adult life that I don’t care to share.

Imaginary friends make life much better. We must face this fact before we can move on.

Benefits of Imaginary Friends:

1. When you are upset, they make you play with them. The next time your girlfriend blows your life, your imaginary friend will say…Hey! Lets go to the park?!....and You shall go and play and life will seem better. Life is always better in a park…unless you are homeless. Then it’s still sad.
2. They are always for YOU! 100% hater-proof, imaginary friends aren’t selfish fucking bastards or backstabbing Judases like human “friends” can be. They aren’t real so they don’t have shiesty motives. You can see through them.
3. You can talk to them about anything. And they won’t tell. If they do tell, they’re only telling other imaginary people. Who don’t matter.
4. You never feel alone. Because they’re always there. Unless you’re about to have sex and you ask them to leave…or not…Again, I’m not here to judge.

I know there are more, and I will add them as I see fit. Additional benefits are welcomed.

Bottom Line: Life is hard right now. The economy has slit it’s wrists, and is bleeding out in a bathtub of its own foreclosures and unemployment rates. Earth is on its last legs…Antarctica melted today. And elephants have taken to raping rhinoceruses (rhinoceri?). We cannot change most of the macro problems we face today. Imaginary friends are necessary.

It is extremely unfair that children can get away with this and we, as adults, cannot. I am admitting my already obvious jealousy and resentment. I would like to have and maintain an imaginary friend beginning today, but I cannot without becoming a social leper. Regardless of this unfortunate fact, I encourage anyone who wants to, to create an imaginary friend and cling to for dear life. Life is hard out here on these streets…and imaginary friends force you to realize that it’s awesome to be alive.

Warning: Ages of imaginary friend’s age…could get sticky. I would suggest your imaginary friend be of a similar age group…grown men playing with little boy imaginary friends…a little Ancient Roman Gay for my liking.

-Anoa

Velociraptors and Salt Piles

I admit it..I think that most bloggers are assholes (much like people that wear shades indoors, and people that drink beer from straws). Why is this you ask? Because one, "blog" is a stupid word. And two, why post your diary online so that the entire sick sad world has access to your feelings (no matter how shallow or stupid they are)? What does a blogger look like? I assume...Jack Nicholson. Jack Nicholson is my answer for most "look like" questions though. e.g. What does a rapist look like? What does a pedophile look like? What does a pedophilic rapist look like? what does a car salesman look like? I feel that in blogging, one assumes, also, that people will read your thoughts. And enjoy them. A bit smug, que no? What if you aren't interesting? Should you blog? If the answer is no (I was really leaning toward no) is Blogging therefore, elitist? Made only for the awesome? The world may never know. Well here i go, anyone reading can rate my level of asshole-ness accordingly.


Seeing Ex's Randomly:

I think that this is one of those things no one can prepare you for. What do you do? What do you say? Do you die? Do you fake die? Do you grow wolverine-inspired knuckle blades and attack? After having seen a few of my ex's randomly and in public, I have been trying to flesh out many of the ways one can react, especially after a horrific breakup. To explore all possibilities of this situation, I like to imagine that life is a cartoon. This way, you can do virtually anything (be thrown off a skyscraper, ingest poison, have your head eaten off, have your chest pound literally out of your chest) and not die. Please do not imagine anime because it is real-"ish" enough to be porn for japanese boys that have locked themselves in their rooms, and make love to everything in their rooms to pass the time between video gaming binges.

-Ways to react to seeing an ex...if/when life is like a cartoon-

1. Fake die...complete with X's on the eyes. And just lay there.. until they walk away awkwardly
2. Animorph into a wildcat an rip them into spaghetti. Then give them to a homeless person in a to go box.
3. Become a huge penis and smack them across the face. then turn back into yourself and walk away to shaft music.
4. Turn into the herps and jump into their pants
5. Melt them into liquid and pour them into a clogged nightclub toilet
6. just stare at them....until they feel weird and leave
7. Tell them you didn't recognize them. because theyre fat now. Or ask when they're due (even if theyre skinny and/or male)
8. Tell them that they remind you of candycorn...the worst candy ever invented.
9. Turn into Hagrid from Harry Potter, and teabag them while they cry..to the Harry Potter theme music of course.
10. Give them Willy Wonka gum that makes neon colored midgets violently attracted to them.

I have more, but this is just a start.

When I saw my ex last summer, I wanted to turn into a hundred little velociraptors and eat him alive. Or cry until I turned into a pile of salt.

Am i an asshole yet?

-Anoa