Cubicles. Coffee. Calculating (the % risk your financial endeavors entail). M-F 9 to 5. This kind of confinement can drive any girl to make a few social missteps. Honestly, something about cubicles (and their eerie similarities to a cage)...typing away like a rat on a wheel...it transforms me into a fat, desperate girl with a ravenous appetite for only 2 things: attention and crispy creme donuts. After a few hours of staring blankly into my computer, I start hallucinating...around lunchtime, the 32 year old guy from the HR dept...whose got the wildest chicken legs and the most unsightly gut...starts looking "not so bad"!!! by 5 PM, "he could be on the cover of GQ".
It is in this state of deranged mentality that I completely faux-pauxed my way into social disaster. into a social ditch of hell and fury. That sounds dramatic. It is.
What's an appropriate name for a guy who has chicken legs, belly pudge, and occasionally movie-star good looks...how about, Tom? So one day around 4:55 pm...just when Tom "the guy from HR" was turning into Tom "the guy from Top Gun"...I get a new message on G-chat. It said: "you look beautiful today". It is exactly what I needed in that moment...when I was feeling especially deprived of superficial attention, vulnerable to my sweet-tooth, and dying for some mystery in my life. My instinctual reaction was to reply with something witty, playful, yet dense with sexual innuendos. Unfortunately for me, it was the end of a long day and I felt creatively drained , the best I could come up with: "I was hoping you would notice..."
Then a few minutes later, Tom walks by my cubicle with the largest grin on his face. I thought to myself "that was easy....secret admirer identified, mystery solved...i can live with that" But, then, I get a new message: "grace me with a date...dinner this Friday?" Tom could not have possibly reached his computer that fast, could he have? I was caught off guard. completely confused. To speed this story up (as i am about to pass out in my bed)...the "secret admirer" ended up being this geeky looking freak of nature who works down in the mail room. The mail room, for heaven's sake! Tom knew mystery man was sending me a message...Tom was grinning for his "bro's victory". Ugh, pure disgust.
I felt socially obliged to go on a date with the mailman, especially after his supposed "grand display of affection" (ha!...i always thought "grand display of affection" would involve a prince charming flying me to Paris for the evening, on his private helicopter...but no, I get the mail room guy g-chatting me for a domestic dinner.....at ARBYs!!!!!!). That was all quite traumatic...but the worst part is...Now, we are the office couple!!! And only after one date!! would you believe that? I throw up a little every time I picture other people picturing me and mailman doing ANYTHING together, in the same room...even in a 5-floor radius of one another. The mere thought makes my whole body shudder and twitch in aversion.
As if falling asleep isn't hard enough when you have clinical insomnia...now I've got this horrible incident to keep me tossing and turning.
Until next time,
ElyVas
3.29.2011
3.18.2011
In the Blink of an Eye
I used to have a friend named Bri. She was ridiculously beautiful and dangerously beyond her years. We both were obsessed with working out until our knees gave in and our lungs collapsed...that is basically what our bond consisted of, at least in the beginning. One day after a grueling two hour run, we were waiting for our ride. Standing outside that upscale gym, happily exhausted, we took note of how beautifully the sun sets, the way the sky appears smeared with pastel-colored romance...we were both entranced by the serenity of it all, how overwhelmingly powerful a simple moment can be! That peace, for those few minutes, was more significant to my life than I could have ever imagined...for it was the last time I experienced such a sensational comfort in being alive, in being myself, in being a kid at the brink of take-off.
Bri's friend, in his embarrassingly beat up Honda Accord...pulled up the same way he always did (which i later termed D's "signature screech"): sharp turn, tires screeching, abrupt brake...then, a loud honk. I couldn't understand why Bri was so infatuated by this guy, he represented everything we had denounced by the 7th grade. Aside from his age (which was always an ambiguous 20-something), he had nothing on us. Anyway, the next few minutes are kind of a blur, I can't remember exactly what happened but we exchanged hellos (or rather, head-nods)...and then he was gone. He had not come to pick us up after all...I was confused and waited for Bri to explain what had happened...but all she said was, "my mom will be here in 15...D never came by here and we haven't seen him all day, ok?"
I was 15 and I had (unknowingly) just witnessed my first drug deal.
Bri's friend, in his embarrassingly beat up Honda Accord...pulled up the same way he always did (which i later termed D's "signature screech"): sharp turn, tires screeching, abrupt brake...then, a loud honk. I couldn't understand why Bri was so infatuated by this guy, he represented everything we had denounced by the 7th grade. Aside from his age (which was always an ambiguous 20-something), he had nothing on us. Anyway, the next few minutes are kind of a blur, I can't remember exactly what happened but we exchanged hellos (or rather, head-nods)...and then he was gone. He had not come to pick us up after all...I was confused and waited for Bri to explain what had happened...but all she said was, "my mom will be here in 15...D never came by here and we haven't seen him all day, ok?"
I was 15 and I had (unknowingly) just witnessed my first drug deal.
3.03.2011
Wanna be (faKebook) friends?
It's interesting to think about how anonymous blogging can be and how completely true (or false) we can write our feelings...for all the world to read. there is no reference needed for your thoughts and alleged mishaps. you don't have to cite MLA format at the end of an emotional hodgepodge of run-ons and fragmented ideas. thank god for ellipses...and misplaced periods.
this infinite "freedom" to express what is in our minds to the best of our capabilities...through whichever avenue we see fit...is commonly interpreted as a blessing. like, for example, you could tweet furiously to appease your passive aggressive nature, without upsetting a single person. or vent on facebook to only a select group of people who are privy to the REAL you...the one who is jealous and insecure...and warrants the "mean girl/bitch" label. or if networking isnt your style...and you would rather have an entire page dedicated to your self...you can blog. about anything and everything. and most chances are someone out there in the webisphere will probably come across your page (and may even read it, if youre lucky).
thats nice to feel connected to other people who are also finding some level of solace in confiding to the entire universe and exposing their true selves. actually, i take that last sentence back...im pretty sure that nowadays people make their first virtual footprint consciously aware and egotistically optimistic that other people will catch on fast and love what they have to write. so our "true self" actually becomes masked by our "public self"...the self that seeks approval and will hope to gain it even at the expense of its own authenticity. so there's that issue. but theres an even larger problem with this uninhibited, free-for-all, public eagerness to share so much of our lives in so many different ways to so many different people...you see where i am going with this?
there are days when my facebook and twitter activities have reached the upper-level of normal (and healthy). in those moments, im on some sort of mission that even i don't really know much about...except that by the end of the web-posting massacre, i hope to be happier than i was when i began...and most importantly, i expect to be socially fulfilled...as if having erratic one-sided conversations can ever satiate that gnawing need for 3d human interactions. amusingly enough, i think the amount of time you spend "internet-ing" is inversely proportional to how content you feel. it's kind of like the "money can't buy you happiness" idea. in the sense that, money most definitely can buy you happiness, but with the presumption that you are not missing an essential element from the framework of humanity. i.e. support system/self-assurance/hope. in other words, if you aren't intrinsically fucked up...then $$$ can make your life more convenient which translates into a shopping bag full of happiness. so with that parallel in mind, i think socializing via the web can be appreciated but only in those who already have a consistent and concrete social income. (i.e. no psychological hangups, no DSM worthy diagnoses, no daddy-issues...etc etc).
i'm afraid i may be in the group of intrinsically fucked-up people...i mean, i'm not THAT far gone, because i obviously realize there is something wrong if i am searching in a small black box for the qualities normally found in a complex unpredictable human mind. at the end of my viral sprees filled with nonsense and meaningless bullshit, i usually feel cheap, as if ive just whored myself out like a low-class hooker. the comparison is harsh and probably a little extreme, but i'm being completely honest...that is exactly how i feel. mostly b/c i think i'm wanting some profound connection/meaningful interaction...but instead i'm getting back the same garbage i sent out...stale and thoughtless, small talk. after i stop feeling like a hooker, i start having regrets about how i've broken myself into a million little pieces, all thrown into different directions. im not completely whole anymore...what a tragedy... i'm violently exhausted.
until next time,
ElyVas
this infinite "freedom" to express what is in our minds to the best of our capabilities...through whichever avenue we see fit...is commonly interpreted as a blessing. like, for example, you could tweet furiously to appease your passive aggressive nature, without upsetting a single person. or vent on facebook to only a select group of people who are privy to the REAL you...the one who is jealous and insecure...and warrants the "mean girl/bitch" label. or if networking isnt your style...and you would rather have an entire page dedicated to your self...you can blog. about anything and everything. and most chances are someone out there in the webisphere will probably come across your page (and may even read it, if youre lucky).
thats nice to feel connected to other people who are also finding some level of solace in confiding to the entire universe and exposing their true selves. actually, i take that last sentence back...im pretty sure that nowadays people make their first virtual footprint consciously aware and egotistically optimistic that other people will catch on fast and love what they have to write. so our "true self" actually becomes masked by our "public self"...the self that seeks approval and will hope to gain it even at the expense of its own authenticity. so there's that issue. but theres an even larger problem with this uninhibited, free-for-all, public eagerness to share so much of our lives in so many different ways to so many different people...you see where i am going with this?
there are days when my facebook and twitter activities have reached the upper-level of normal (and healthy). in those moments, im on some sort of mission that even i don't really know much about...except that by the end of the web-posting massacre, i hope to be happier than i was when i began...and most importantly, i expect to be socially fulfilled...as if having erratic one-sided conversations can ever satiate that gnawing need for 3d human interactions. amusingly enough, i think the amount of time you spend "internet-ing" is inversely proportional to how content you feel. it's kind of like the "money can't buy you happiness" idea. in the sense that, money most definitely can buy you happiness, but with the presumption that you are not missing an essential element from the framework of humanity. i.e. support system/self-assurance/hope. in other words, if you aren't intrinsically fucked up...then $$$ can make your life more convenient which translates into a shopping bag full of happiness. so with that parallel in mind, i think socializing via the web can be appreciated but only in those who already have a consistent and concrete social income. (i.e. no psychological hangups, no DSM worthy diagnoses, no daddy-issues...etc etc).
i'm afraid i may be in the group of intrinsically fucked-up people...i mean, i'm not THAT far gone, because i obviously realize there is something wrong if i am searching in a small black box for the qualities normally found in a complex unpredictable human mind. at the end of my viral sprees filled with nonsense and meaningless bullshit, i usually feel cheap, as if ive just whored myself out like a low-class hooker. the comparison is harsh and probably a little extreme, but i'm being completely honest...that is exactly how i feel. mostly b/c i think i'm wanting some profound connection/meaningful interaction...but instead i'm getting back the same garbage i sent out...stale and thoughtless, small talk. after i stop feeling like a hooker, i start having regrets about how i've broken myself into a million little pieces, all thrown into different directions. im not completely whole anymore...what a tragedy... i'm violently exhausted.
until next time,
ElyVas
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