“What significance such an association of one personality with another may have on the destiny of those associated? You know it’s a matter of a whole lifetime, and infinite multitude of ramifications hidden from us.”—
Fyodor Dostoevsky- The Idiot
So let’s get it on. This would be the best pick-up line. Ever.
so yesterday, i was day drinking with my friend at her pool and got a little too drunk. anyways, this kid came up to me and started talking to me, but for the life of me i couldn’t understand what he was saying. so i just kept making generic comments that i thought sounded like sobertalk back to him until he went away, and then as soon as he left i attempted to say “hey, i’m not talkin to no kids today, i do that shit five days a week i’m trying to chill right now” really discreetly to my friend, but i guess i wasn’t discreet and i got a really dirty and disapproving look from the kid’s dad. but then like ten minutes later, i looked back at him, and he had two coolers full of beer and i was like WTF.
this is why i always drink far, far away from where i work.
“Commonplace people are at every moment the chief and essential links in the chain of human affairs; if we leave them out, we lose all semblance of truth. To fill a novel completely with types or, more simply, to make it interesting with strange and incredible characters, would make it unreal and even uninteresting.”—
Fyodor Dostoevsky- The Idiot
So please, everyone, stop trying to be an Etsy featured seller and don’t feel ashamed of your regular 9-5 job. In fact, I admire blue-collar workers a whole helluva lot more than “baristas.”
“Well, you’ll get up and walk past me, and I’m looking at you and watching you. Your skirt rustles, and my heart sinks; you go out of the room, and I remember every little word of yours, your voice and what you said. And all last night I thought of nothing; I listened all the while how you were breathing in your sleep, and twice you stirred.”—
Fyodor Dostoevsky- The Idiot
I actually don’t have a snarky modern-day interpretation of this quote. I find it beautiful and gut-wrenching and some of the best words ever strewn together to describe love. Sorry to disappoint.
so today, at like 6:30 in the morning, i woke up because my cat kept jumping on my bed and meowing. i opened my eyes and there was this huge moth flapping all around the ceiling (because our central ac is out so we’ve had the windows open). i thought she’d just forget about it and then i’d go back to sleep, but she kept running around and meowing and knocking shit over trying to get to it on the ceiling, so finally, because i wanted her to stop, i got out of bed and picked her up and held her to the moth and she clapped it together in her paws and then started running after it on the ground because it couldn’t fly anymore. so then i was watching her for a second, and i looked at the clock
and i was like “wtf is wrong with me? i’m hunting a moth for my cat.” and said oh well and went back to sleep. she got it. and i think she ate it.
Found a really fabulous PDF of a whole writing unit for first graders which I’m finding extremely useful. Not that I’ll follow it to a T, believe me I only have a limited amount of time with my first grader, but this does help me brainstorm a bit.
As usual, I’m finding it difficult to gain footing with my young students. I never practiced or really studied early literacy because I always figured I’d be working with older kids. So…trust me, I’ve been learning a lot.
But yeah…totally never going to be a first grade teacher :)
If I were to look at my life from God’s perspective, what would I see? It’s kind of a scary question when one thinks about it. With all my faults exposed and my frailties laid bare, I think I would ask how God could possibly love me. On the other hand, I feel that I would see my actions from a…
So I subscribe to this tattoo blog (which shall remain nameless) and I really enjoy seeing all the artwork. But I am so so so so SOOOO close to unfollowing simply because I CAN’T. FUCKING. STAND. how every caption is:
"this is my new tattoo and i’m absolutely in love with it!!!!11!1"
"i’m in love with my tattoo!"
"i fell in love with it!"
YA BITCH YOU BETTER BE IN LOVE WITH IT IT’S ON YOUR BODY FOREVER NOW FIND SOMETHING FUCKING ORIGINAL TO SAY.
i gotta unfollow them right now. can’t take it anymore.
You were my “first love,” and by first love, I mean, the first boy that ever gave me the time of day and made me feel worth a damn. Probably not the healthiest basis for a relationship, but it was still so precious to me.
As most high school relationships do, ours ended terribly. I stayed in bed and cried for days. I wanted to key your car. You had cheated. A lot. And I was the last to know.
But months later, you wanted to make peace with me. You had to see me again. And though I knew better, and my friends knew better, and hell, you probably knew better too, we still decided to meet up.
So the night before, I sat around drinking vodka with some friends. You know, a little something to ease the nerves a bit. And I sipped and sipped and sipped. Though I left that night quite buzzed, I though hey, I’ll be good.
The next morning, however, as I was driving to meet you, the rotgut began. It all started with loud rumblings in my tummy. Then my bowels felt like they were twisting. Gurgly, acidy burps rose up my throat. At every stoplight, I laid my head on the steering wheel and prayed for God, dear, sweet God let me get to the restaurant without throwing up all over my car.
I found the parking garage, sweaty and unsure of the white skirt I was wearing. This would be a long lunch.
We met up, and sat at the bar so that you could nervously chain smoke. And as you are yapping, yapping, yapping about how you’re a changed man, my focus is only on the gut-wrenching stench of cigarette smoke and frying Chinese food. I break out in a cold sweat, and put my cold and perspiring glass of selzer water to my face.
You take my hand. I look into your eyes. “I am so sorry for everything I put you through,” you plead with me. You squeeze my hand a little tighter. “You are just the girl I met too early. You’re marriage material.” Stab. Clinch. Sear. “I love you and…” you Adam’s apple bobs a little, “you are the most genuine girl I ever met in my life.”
I look at you with alarm in my eyes, that I suppose you took for affection. As you were leaning in for a kiss, I was sliding off my bar stool and making a run for the ladies’ room. Vodka, selzer, lettuce wraps and all came up and (sadly to say) not in the toilet.
Though quite embarrassing, I like to think of this incident as a sign from God. Face it, first love, we were terrible together. You were heartless, jealous, impatient, and frankly, not very good at kissing or other bedroom activities. My projectile vomiting was my body’s way of letting me know that yes, I had been correct in ignoring you for all those months.
There I sat, on that nasty couch where so many homeless and smelly people had laid before me, in a beautiful blue dress that I had just bought with my paycheck. My best friend and I sat, sipping our beers, laughing at all the freaks of the week.
You approached then. I guess we looked like welcome faces for you to dish out your life story to. I was feeling particularly lonely that night and, not meeting anyone else interesting, decided I would give you a go. So we chatted….cabbages and kings. You recreationally enjoyed drugs. A lot of them. I enjoyed reading books. You had a SmartCar (that I secretly laughed at). I walked everywhere. You were a psychology major. Myself, I was an elementary education major.
Things were running smoothly, as far as drunken conversations go. I felt that maybe, after this, we could be friends. Have coffee talk every once in awhile. We could text silly observations to each other, or make book recommendations. You would smoke cigarettes and I would have a cup of tea, and our friendship would be delightful.
But then, you crossed the line.
"Yeah, I was pretty cool with my senior year of high school, but then I tried to kill myself."
A few drops of beer dribbled out of my mouth. “I’m sorry?” I asked, with no doubt in my mind that the horrible music drowned out what you really said.
"Well, like, you know, I got depressed and used to slash my wrists every now and then, but then I tried overdosing a few times. I got my stomach pumped once." You took a drag off your joint. "I think all the acid fucked with my brain."
I nervously checked my phone and looked around the room. Surprisingly, nobody had heard this deep revelation into your past.
You continued on this monologue of suicide and self-harm attempts past, and I was dumbfounded that nobody, absolutely nobody, around us heard these intimate and extremely personal details of your life. As you rambled on and on about your multiple hospital visits and voices in your head, I finally excused myself to the bathroom, shocked that I was witness to such horrifying events by a person I just met.
When you weren’t looking, I ducked out the front door and left for my apartment. We did not talk again. And that night, lying in bed and waiting for my buzzed sleep to arrive, I couldn’t help but think….
Come on, dude. You just met me. Who the fuck unloads that much history on someone they’ve only known ten minutes.
And the idea of our friendship went floating out the moldy window.
sooo i work with kids all the time, and there’s this guy that works there too that’s like a celebrity. he’s super good with the kids and all the parents love him and every time i see him he’s acting like he’s doting upon every single word the kids are saying.
so yesterday, i was up at the front desk and we were just chatting, and he totally dropped an fbomb and i think i legitimately had my jaw drop a little.
i played it cool, but in my head i was all “OMG. forgot you’re actually not mr. rogers. holy shit dude.”
and as soon as he left i totally texted my boyfriend and told him what happened.
Senior prom. ‘007. James Bond. You would think that the masses of high school kids would have been a little more creative that year, but alas, we are mistaken.
There I was, sitting on the back deck of some lousy post-prom party, where all there was to eat were donut holes and nobody was allowed inside because the parents were sleeping. Bored to tears, I drank as much beer as I could in hopes that it would quicken the evening.
That’s when you came and took a seat next to me. I suppose I looked lonely, but really I was enjoying the quiet time by myself. After a few back-and-forths, I realized that you were actually pretty smart. I was fascinated by the fact that you were from Russia, could speak Russian and write in the Cyrillic alphabet, and was genuinely interested in how your transition was to American life.
But, as with all high school events, you came with a date. A drunk date. A drunk jealous date that seemed like she would give you more than a good night kiss. And so she plopped down in the middle of our intellectual conversation with bullshit babbling about so-and-so’s dress and what a bitch that other girl is and where she should have gotten her hair done that afternoon. Sighing, you gave me a hopeless smile. Looks like you all were chained together for the night.
Who knows? Maybe my 17-year-old self felt we had a connection, maybe it was just dark out, maybe I just didn’t want to hang out with my actual friends. We kept on making attempts, grasping for our original conversation. You asked me what I was reading. I mentioned Dostoevsky.
"Dostoevsky!" you clicked, very impressed with my choice. I threw you my proudest smile.
"DOSTENKSY?!" your date shouted into the night. "DOSTENSKY!? WHAT’S THAT? A VODKA OR SOMETHING?"
My smile faltered, as did yours. With that, I realized the night was over, the hope for love a dead deal.
I quickly recovered though. And damn those donut holes were good.