I went to a comedy show Tuesday night. It was free and very entertaining. I laughed throughout most of it, but I also couldn't feel my face during much of that time, so my comedic sense may have been off.
But, one thing a guy said that made me both laugh and think is this: you can never say "I'm not gonna rape you" and have it be an ok, uncreepy thing to say. No matter where you put the emphasis, it's always going to scare the person you're talking to.
-I'm not gonna rape you. (that guy is)
-I'm not gonna rape you. (I'm just going to kill you)
-I'm not gonna rape you. (I already did)
-I'm not gonna rape you. (You want this)
-I'm not gonna rape you. (I'm raping your dad)
I pondered this and laughed. I wonder what I'd do if someone said that to me. I'd probably giggle uncomfortably and shrug my shoulders.
On another note, that same night, I ran into a friend of mine. When it came time to introduce her to Anthony, I said "Caroline, this is my..(lengthy pause)... Anthony." I still couldn't use that dreaded b-word.
We talked about it on the way home. It sounded like he was something I'd just picked up at the store. So now I've figured out what I feel comfortable calling him:
"Hell0, this is Anthony, my collector's item."
That'll make a person feel nice, right?
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
boyfriend- what a weird word
This last weekend was very a fun one. Friday night, Anthony and I met up with Nathan and some of his co-workers at this bar/pub called "The Deuce Pub and Pit". I was afraid to go for two reasons:
A) I feared it would be really fratty, which is not my ideal.
B) I wanted Anthony and Nathan to get along, and I was afraid they wouldn't.
But everything went smoothly. I started the night there by doing a tequilla shot, it was disgusting, though the people who took them agreed it was a very good kind. If what I had was very good I can't imagine what the cheap stuff tastes like. Yuck. After that, I sipped on vodka Sprites throughout the evening.
I got to do something I've always wanted to- play washers! It was so fun, like a weird version of horseshoes. Anthony and I were a team. I was great and carried us through-out the game. I kept nailing them. Anthony was not as good as me, but he did manage to get it in the hole, winning us three points, which was impressive.
After that bar, we went to the Penguin Bar, which is a piano bar. It was fun. We ran into Kirsten and doug, during which Kirsten asked me if Anthony was my boyfriend, a friend, or what. I didn't know what to say, so I just said he was a guy I knew and shrugged.
But that got me thinking: what were we? Where did we stand? So later that night, I asked him. We decided that we were indeed exclusive, but to make it really official, I told him, we had to make it known on Facebook. He agreed (of course, as if he could say 'no').
So now we're boyfriend/girlfriend. It has a weird ring to it. Boyfriend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend. What a weird sounding word- boooyfrrrriend. It sounds too mature for me. I'd rather call him dude. or lover. or my manfriend, or maybe even my boo.
I guess I'll get used to boyfriend.
A) I feared it would be really fratty, which is not my ideal.
B) I wanted Anthony and Nathan to get along, and I was afraid they wouldn't.
But everything went smoothly. I started the night there by doing a tequilla shot, it was disgusting, though the people who took them agreed it was a very good kind. If what I had was very good I can't imagine what the cheap stuff tastes like. Yuck. After that, I sipped on vodka Sprites throughout the evening.
I got to do something I've always wanted to- play washers! It was so fun, like a weird version of horseshoes. Anthony and I were a team. I was great and carried us through-out the game. I kept nailing them. Anthony was not as good as me, but he did manage to get it in the hole, winning us three points, which was impressive.
After that bar, we went to the Penguin Bar, which is a piano bar. It was fun. We ran into Kirsten and doug, during which Kirsten asked me if Anthony was my boyfriend, a friend, or what. I didn't know what to say, so I just said he was a guy I knew and shrugged.
But that got me thinking: what were we? Where did we stand? So later that night, I asked him. We decided that we were indeed exclusive, but to make it really official, I told him, we had to make it known on Facebook. He agreed (of course, as if he could say 'no').
So now we're boyfriend/girlfriend. It has a weird ring to it. Boyfriend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend. What a weird sounding word- boooyfrrrriend. It sounds too mature for me. I'd rather call him dude. or lover. or my manfriend, or maybe even my boo.
I guess I'll get used to boyfriend.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Give me my praise!
I'd been looking forward to Tuesday for some time. It was going to be my day. Praise was going to rain upon me and I was going to shine. I was ready.
Unfortunately, that didn't happen. Tuesday was the day I got to hear feedback from my fellow Advanced Fiction Writing classmates. I'd turned in a story last week and had patiently waited for Tuesday, my day.
The story I wrote wasn't the one I intended to write. I'd gotten sick and just didn't feel up to writing. The day before the story was due, I was like "damn, I have to turn in something tomorrow." So I wrote. It was a 13 page (short for me, my average tale is 20 pages) magical realsim story. It was wonderfully written. The writing itself was great, the backstory needed work, but the writing was great.
I knew this. Maybe I'm cocky/confident, but that's because I have the right to be. I just know that I am talented.
Anyway, I literally thought the room would errupt into cheers when I walked in.
"I'm so jealous of you!"
"Where do you come up with these things?"
"Can I be you?"
"You're great!"
"God's smiling on you!"
"Can I be you for a day?"
"Hooray Jess! Hooray Jess!"
That's just a sampeling of a few things I expected to hear. In one scenario I actually believed they'd throw me on their shoulders and exalt me.
What happened was this:
I get to class. No one says 'hello' to me. I was a bit disconcerted. The teacher comes in, we go over business, and then she decides we're going to critique Scott's story, he turned one in on the same day I did.
The class is 2.5 hours long. We spend 45 mins talking about his story. I wasn't a huge fan of it. We told him things he could change and how he could make it better- for the whole 45 mins. I was nice and told him some things I liked about it, though.
So after we're done with his, Marly, the teacher, says it's time to talk about my story. Yay! The time I've been dreaming about. It is finally here.
We spend a whopping 10 mins talking about it. They talked about how it needs more backstory. No one said good things about it. It was 10 mins of negative talk. I wasn't offended- I knew it needed more. But I wanted someone to say something positive about it. Tell me how great my style is.
When those measly 10 mins were up, I almost yelled and shrieked and told them it was my turn to shine! They needed to bestow me with praise! Instead I said nothing.
Later that day I went to the park and read their written critiques.
Everyone loved it. They said my style was great, it was funny and tragic, it flowed, blah blah blah. It was nice reading that, obviously, but it would've been better to hear it.
In case I haven't made it obvious enough, I know I'm a great fiction writer. I don't need people to tell me so to know it, but sometimes you just want to hear it. I wanted 45 minutes of praise and adulation and there's nothing wrong with that.
I guess, realistically, great writing speaks for itself, so you don't need to spend a lot of time dwelling on it.
My mom says I need to rewatch "A Christmas Story". She says there's a scene in a classroom I'd really relate to.
"Kudos, Jess, you're awesome!"
Unfortunately, that didn't happen. Tuesday was the day I got to hear feedback from my fellow Advanced Fiction Writing classmates. I'd turned in a story last week and had patiently waited for Tuesday, my day.
The story I wrote wasn't the one I intended to write. I'd gotten sick and just didn't feel up to writing. The day before the story was due, I was like "damn, I have to turn in something tomorrow." So I wrote. It was a 13 page (short for me, my average tale is 20 pages) magical realsim story. It was wonderfully written. The writing itself was great, the backstory needed work, but the writing was great.
I knew this. Maybe I'm cocky/confident, but that's because I have the right to be. I just know that I am talented.
Anyway, I literally thought the room would errupt into cheers when I walked in.
"I'm so jealous of you!"
"Where do you come up with these things?"
"Can I be you?"
"You're great!"
"God's smiling on you!"
"Can I be you for a day?"
"Hooray Jess! Hooray Jess!"
That's just a sampeling of a few things I expected to hear. In one scenario I actually believed they'd throw me on their shoulders and exalt me.
What happened was this:
I get to class. No one says 'hello' to me. I was a bit disconcerted. The teacher comes in, we go over business, and then she decides we're going to critique Scott's story, he turned one in on the same day I did.
The class is 2.5 hours long. We spend 45 mins talking about his story. I wasn't a huge fan of it. We told him things he could change and how he could make it better- for the whole 45 mins. I was nice and told him some things I liked about it, though.
So after we're done with his, Marly, the teacher, says it's time to talk about my story. Yay! The time I've been dreaming about. It is finally here.
We spend a whopping 10 mins talking about it. They talked about how it needs more backstory. No one said good things about it. It was 10 mins of negative talk. I wasn't offended- I knew it needed more. But I wanted someone to say something positive about it. Tell me how great my style is.
When those measly 10 mins were up, I almost yelled and shrieked and told them it was my turn to shine! They needed to bestow me with praise! Instead I said nothing.
Later that day I went to the park and read their written critiques.
Everyone loved it. They said my style was great, it was funny and tragic, it flowed, blah blah blah. It was nice reading that, obviously, but it would've been better to hear it.
In case I haven't made it obvious enough, I know I'm a great fiction writer. I don't need people to tell me so to know it, but sometimes you just want to hear it. I wanted 45 minutes of praise and adulation and there's nothing wrong with that.
I guess, realistically, great writing speaks for itself, so you don't need to spend a lot of time dwelling on it.
My mom says I need to rewatch "A Christmas Story". She says there's a scene in a classroom I'd really relate to.
"Kudos, Jess, you're awesome!"
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
The most unfortunate condition
Undressing a man for the first time is a very special, fun moment. It's full of excitement and promise. You try not to think about what he keeps in his pants, but you just know it's going to be something huge. You, after all, wouldn't pick up a shrimp at a bar. You have an eye for this sort of thing.
Finally, after hurrying through dinner, giving off random facts about yourself to make it seem like you actually care, you and your man are back at his apartment (you'd rather be there so you can get away as soon as you're through). You're kissing him and everything is great. You're now on the bed and things are progressing as they should. Finally, it's time. You get to unwrap the present and see the 9 inch wonder God has put into your life. This is it. He pulls off his boxer briefs...
And you squint? Where is it? This is a joke, right? You peer closer, thinking maybe the darkness is messing with you. Then you see it. It's the saddest thing you've ever seen. The lack of its presence makes you want to cry, or at least get up and leave.
Think of how he feels, knowing he's got nothing. Hopefully he's adept with his other appendages, if not, it's just sad.
This scenario breaks my heart more than anything in the world. Forget AIDS and cancer, this is a medical condition that needs attention. Every lady can imagine the sadness this situation can bring.
It's like that Christmas where you were expecting to get a Game Cube but your mom misunderstood you and got you a Rubic's Cube. It just isn't the same.
So until we find an easy cure for this unfortunate condition, maybe guys should have to wear their length on their forehead.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Micropenis
P.S- nothing in my current life inspired this. It's just a cause I'm fascinated by.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Predicament
I've decided that I have to get out of Columbia, like now. It's a fun place and I have friends, but i am in desperate need for a change of scenery. Now that Vox is done and Subway is closed for remodeling, I have nothing to do. Nothing. Many of the people I know haven't come back for school yet, and the ones that are here work a lot. Anthony is in indiana, so here I am, all by my lonesome. Literally, today, I put a Hershey bar in the microwave- still in the wrapper- for roughly 40 seconds until was melted. Then I cut a corner off, grabbed my laptop, hopped in bed and watched "30 Rock" while I sucked the chocolate out. I did all this naked. Yes, my life has come to this.
So I've decided to go home. I need a vacay. I've been here since last August- that's a year! That's the longest amount of time I've ever stayed in one state and it's making me anxious/antsy.
So the predicament is this: when do I come home? I have a work meeting Thursday at 2, which I'm hoping will be done around 3. If I leave at 3, then I won't get home till around 3 AM. I prefer driving at night, but it means I'll have to stop at creepy gas stations all by myself in the wee hours of the morning. That scares me. But I can't live in fear. My mom said I could stop at a hotel, but I'd feel like a pus if I did that.
I could instead leave early Friday morning. I'll be well rested and ready to drive. But then I'll be losing a day of home time.
At the current moment, due to my stir-craziness, I'm thinking I'll leave Thursday after work.
Still Alive
It's been a long time since I've posted anything.
Though I haven't written anything new, that doesn't mean nothing's been happening in my life. Quite the contrary, actually. Here is a list of things I've been up to:
1) A few weeks ago I taught myself to play the guitar. I can even play the chorus from "My Heart Will Go On." I went to the fair with this guy, Anthony, and he won me a guitar at a bb-gun game. Very impressive. So that was nice. I also got to pet a hog while I was there. Its skin felt like human skin. I didn't know how to feel about that, but it did grunt when I scratched its ear, and I was flattered.
At the fair, I was thisclose to competing in a Figure 8 race with some junkyard cars. It's where you drive old cars in a figure 8 pattern and crash. They announced a Powder Puff race, in which females in the audience could sign up, I reluctantly jumped at the chance. I found a nice boy who was willing to lend me his car, and even got him to let Anthony ride shotgun. Unfortunately, when it came time to race, all the other cars were "busted" so I'd be the only one on the track. We think they just didn't want girls driving.
2) I've gone to an Absinthe party, which is where my friends and I got together and drank Absinthe. It tastes so gross. Like pure licorice- the black kind, not the yummy Twizzler variety. Though I saw no green fairies, it was still a very fun evening.
3) I've said goodbye to three friends. Ameena and Ben left for Syracuse. Catherine left for (hopefully) Washington D.C.
4) I am officially done with Vox, thank God. While it was fun, I am more than ready to turn in my Steno pad.
5) I've started working at Subway. It's really not a bad job, kind of fun, actually. It's busy (usually) and keeps me on my toes, which I like.
Overall, life has been going very well, scholastically and socially. I'll try to be a better Blogger from now on.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
my octogenarian hottie
This is the old guy that I met that night I peed on my work.
http://jesscamp.blogspot.com/2009/06/part-one-meeting-gramps.html
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