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.