Late night cravings, or: Perhaps I Enjoy Food a Little Too Much

Dear (friend):

You’re just going to tell me that I do this to myself, and that I need to get out of it.

And you’re right. (because you always are.)

But it’s like chocolate cake.  It’s absolutely sinfully delicious and it’s right there in front of me every. single. day., tormenting me with the knowledge of what it’s like and how good it is, even though it’s so very bad for me and makes me utterly miserable when I’m not, uh, regularly partaking.

I need to find a chocolate cake-free place, where I can go through my drug withdrawals and finally realize that oh hey, there are other delicious desserts out there, some of which might be better for me and make me happy in the long run.  Like tiramisu.  Or devils food cake.  Maybe even chocolate peanut butter ice cream.  (oh! java chip!)

But right now, the chocolate cake is controlling my life, and it is literally impossible for me to exercise my free will (aside from occasional bouts of lucidity at two am) as long as I see it every goddamn fucking day.  Because just when I’ve built up enough willpower to resist, it comes to me and tempts and teases and acts like it wants me and I’m lost again.

Even now, it’s only been two weeks since my last …binge, and instead of getting all powerful and pro-vegetable, all I want to do is find some red velvet cake to flaunt and see how I’m fine and happy with other desserts?  (But it’s only cause I want the attention, not because I’ve made any progress.)

Because the chocolate cake has decided itself that I need to “eat healthy” and it’s driving me up the wall because it’s just another fucking control technique and as soon as it decides that I’ve been ‘good’ long enough, it will come seduce the hell outta me.  And I can tell you right now, the overload will be delirious and blissful and it just makes me even more addicted with every cycle.  (This is round…6 or 7, I’ve lost track, and it’s so bad that I dream of cake during off periods.)

Something is very wrong with me.

(Okay, I also need to make sure I eat before going to bed.)

Just me, venting, and wanting to cry a little out of pure frustration and helplessness.  I can’t change it.  When it’s good I don’t WANT to because it is so. fucking. good., and when it’s bad, I hold on out of hope that the good times will come back.  (And they always do.)

Because the cake needs me, too.  It needs to know that someone wants it, even though it knows it’s horrible for human beings and there are people who actually hate it.  It needs me because it knows I am a wonderful person so if I want it then it’s not completely worthless and evil.  Plus it does care for me in it’s own demented cakeish way.

Ugh. Fml.  This is exactly how I lost sixty-five pounds.

Sent from my iPhone.
At two-forty-five am.
Because sleep is a thing of the past.
And I want to go kill something.
And I need a fucking chocolate fix.
I’m going to make this a blog post or something so more people can enjoy my angst and self-perpetuating cycle of doom and codependence.
At least there is Derek Morgan to believe in.
Even if he’s a fictional character.

My family never celebrated Halloween

Mainly because I grew up in a crazy place where the people got worked up about “Satan’s holiday” and all that lovely jazz.  And my family sorta went along with it because, well, rent was cheap.  Because nobody else wanted to live there.

Anyway, I never got to do the trick-or-treat thing, or dress up, or whatever.  yeah yeah, wah wah.  My point being this: I don’t really care about the holiday either way.  If I have a really good costume idea, then sure, I’ll go for it.  But other than that, meh.  I don’t see the point of getting all worked up about it.

All that to say, I turn into a total Mother Goose* when it comes to passing out candy.  I will flip my shit if we don’t have a good mix of the Proper kinds of candy: the Good Stuff like Hersheys, Reeses, Kit Kats, etc., and also other sugary goodness for the freaks people who don’t like chocolate.  And I ooh and aah over every costume and make the kids show off for me and it’s just so much fun.  I tend to get more excited when the doorbell rings than the kids on the other side waiting for free candy.

I told you that I live my life backwards.  I’m a complete grandma right now, but watch me go trick-or-treating when I’m 80.

And believe me, I’ll trick if you don’t have the right treats.

*(….I don’t even know what that means.)

Admitting defeat

I give up.  I admit it.

This is a relationship.  Perhaps not a traditional one, and certainly not one I would wish on anyone else, but I have stopped trying to fight the definition.  I do care about him more than I will readily admit.  I trust him with parts of me that I may never share with another living soul.  And, given the choice, he’s the one I want to spend time with, for any activity.

My friends don’t understand it.  I’ve been told that I need to head for the hills, run away fast, because he’s going to utterly destroy me in the end.  And yes, I know.  He is.  It will happen.  We’re careening towards the apocalypse, but by God I’m going to enjoy every last second in the process.

At least, at least I don’t love him.  Each day I can see him more clearly.  I see his quirks, his follies, his stunted emotional growth.  I see how incredibly empty his life is, when he’s not distracting himself with a new toy.  It makes me sad.  I wish he would want to change, to fulfill his (incredible and somewhat frightening) potential, but he won’t.  I used to wonder why he was still single, had never been married; now I know.  A friend told me recently (while warning me to stay away from him; he’s trouble) that he is going to die a lonely, bitter old man.  And I agree.

And that’s why he’s treating me this way.  Everything has a precarious, give-and-take tightrope quality.  With each step I get closer, so he pushes me back.  If he opens up to me casually in one area, he’ll be a jerk in public to make up for it.  If he lets me see his vulnerable side, he’ll refuse to stay the night.

I wonder why I stay.  I long for a relationship where I can say “I love you,” or kiss him in public.  I want to be able to freely admit that yes, I am seeing someone, instead of making vague excuses for why I’m mysteriously unavailable or suddenly called away.  I want someone who challenges me to be a better person instead of belittling the character traits I have.  I want to laugh freely without wondering when he’ll next make me cry.  I want to know how important I am to someone’s life instead of always questioning.

But I’m so hooked that I cannot contemplate leaving without feeling a hole in my soul gape open and scream.  This cycle has gone around three times now, and we’re on our way to the peak of the fourth.  It gives entirely new meanings to the term “dysfunctional codependency.”  He needs me to challenge him, to initiate leaving so that he can give chase and ‘win’ me back.  And with each victory of his, I become more entangled.  And I don’t know how to get out.  I don’t know if I even want to.

For now, honesty is my safest bet.  I am dangerously close to loving him, but still safe on this side of the ironclad fence.  The heights and depths are dizzyingly, terrifyingly intense.  Perhaps that’s why I stay; the emotional highs are my drug of choice.  It’s too bad that the withdrawals are so paralyzing.

(This has been brutally honest ramblings from yours truly, dear internets.  Please don’t use this to bite me in the ass.)

oh hi internets

It’s been a little while.  (You can tell that I stuck by all of my resolutions.)

In the time that has passed (has it been five months already?), I’ve gone through a few death spirals and come through in a manner not unlike the deep agony of the birthing process.  It’s been fun!

And I have a few stories for you!  Once I begin the arduous process of actually writing them down, you will be regaled with:

• tales of a crazy (literally) roommate,
• How I Broke Up With My Boyfriend and Managed to Come Out Looking Classier Than Ever By Turning Around and Immediately Falling In Love Infatuation with Someone Else,
• a list of reasons why you should always take a day off at least once a week instead of working two jobs for a month and a half without a break,
• and finally, the pinnacle, I Think I’m Stuck in an Abusive Relationship, Except Not Really Because We’re Not Actually Dating, so it Doesn’t Really Count.

I like lists.

a look at the past (and future)

Ah, the infamous “New Year’s Resolutions” post.

I know, I’m only checks watch thirty-one days late!  This is pretty impressive, considering I hit the ground running this year and haven’t had a chance to look back since.

Last year, I only had a few resolutions.  After all, I believe in keeping things simple, realistic, attainable.  [While it's healthy to achieve your aspirations in life, sometimes you have to make it entirely too easy.  Especially when you can barely meet vaguely important goals such as "pay bills this month" and "buy food" and "put gas in the car."  (stupid economy.)]
Let’s review my projected “self-improvement” attempts and see how they turned out, shall we?

Resolutions for 2009

1.  No soda.
I actually made it to about June or July on that one, before I gave up.  I crave root beer.  It’s in my blood.

2.  No “being stupid.”
I was pretty good with this one!  Also, I was able to successfully block my ex from every facet of my life, and even though he kept trying to get in (really, I don’t want to add your phone’s GPS to my google whatchamacallit so you can know where I am at all times, stop sending this stuff!), I did not respond or contact him at all.  I’m very proud of me.

3.  Think before I speak.
Um.  No comment.  (And no comments from you, Jo.)

Overall grade?  C-

Therefore, this year, I’m going to update my resolutions.
And I’m going to be hard on myself.

Resolutions for 2010

1.  No soda.
(except on Saturdays, or perhaps holidays like July 4th where it’s actually a sacrilege to abstain.)

Don’t laugh.  This is going to be hard.  But I believe I can do it.

2.  No more impulse spending.

Note to self: If you want something, walk away for at least a day.  If you still want it later, make sure it won’t dip into your buffer. Shopaholic is a warning, not a how-to guide! Stay away from Amazon.com / Barnes and Noble / Borders. Go to the library; there are twelve in the surrounding 30 miles!

Sadly, that’s going to be hard for me.  I have a good hold on my finances when I’m stretched thin, but my saving habits are abysmal.

3.  Read at least 3 books a week.

I’m actually serious about this.  I’ve already been on track for January, so why not continue the habit?  My 2010 booklist is already too long and growing rapidly, but I am going to attempt to read all of it this year.  I imagine this will be in the manner of Julie and Julia, but there’s no way I’ll have the time to write a review of each finished book.  Perhaps I’ll try to write an update each week.

4.  Blog smarter.

This began as a stream-of-consciousness endeavor, has fluctuated between my higher-handed (and humiliating) efforts at being intellectual, and slid back down into something of a virtual diary, resembling something that a twelve-year-old would create.  This is not what I want to display online for the world to see.  I want to clean everything up, and be proud of my efforts.

Plus I would like to write and maintain a blog that people will actually want to read.  (I think there’s a tiny bit of narcissism in all of us me.)

5.  Go walking at least once a week (drag the bff and/or the bf along).

We keep making plans to do this, but we have gotten off to a few false starts.  No longer!  This year is our year.  And realistically, once a week is probably the best it’ll get, because life has been pretty crazy so far.
(Incidentally, I’m on a first-name basis with all of the nurses in the C wing of the surgical ICU; day and night shift.)

6.  Catch up with LOST (and finally partake of the national sado-masochistic ritual that has become Tuesday nights at 9).

Ah, I can’t wait.  The bff and I are almost done with season 4, so we won’t make the premiere, but we WILL be watching religiously, starting next week.  And you will probably hear my soul writing in agony at being forced to wait for an entire week for an episode (as opposed to pushing “next” on the remote).  This is, of course, purely to help me learn patience.  It’s a valid character building exercise! Stop judging me.

Well, what do you think, internet?  Too lofty?  Completely attainable?

(Don’t make me snort root beer through my nose.)

why hello, 2010… why are you on fire?

There’s an old saying (and by “old” I mean only that my mother would solemnly state it on the 31st of December for as long as I can remember) which goes something along the lines of  ”Mark your behavior on the First Day of the Year, for the rest of the year will follow suit.”  (Yes, my mother sometimes speaks like this.)  I always interpreted this to mean “make damn sure that your first day of the new year is a good one, or else,” which usually resulted in either watching movies all day with my best friend or madly dashing from one “activity” to the next, resulting in stress and a cranky, not-so-happy-new-year Jo.

There was one year that a group of friends and I got together and watched all of the Lord of the Rings movies back to back… and they had been the extended versions.  Longest day of my life.
Actually, that year turned out to parallel the movies in some places… there was a Quest to Find my Car which had been wrongfully towed while I was in San Francisco, in which I swore to vanquish the SFPD, and we trekked around the entire city for a day and a half after we lost half our group.  Also I dated an orc.  (not literally.  although he did turn out to be a disgusting sleaze-ball.)
Maybe LOTR marathons should be consigned to the pit.

The end of 2009 was rather hectic for me, because, along with having the house crammed with 9 people and their egos, visiting the hospital to see my Grandpa every day, and working the holiday and end-of-year rush, I found myself a little busy.

(Oh, yes.  My grandfather has been in the hospital for a month.  I’ve gained new respect and gratitude for everyone in the medical profession.
I’ve also discovered that the stereotype about paramedics being attractive doesn’t seem to be a stereotype so much as a requirement.
And finally, I’ve never felt the urge to quote Friends more deeply than when my grandfather, a proud card-carrying member of his generation and all of their cliches, grumpily accosted the agreeable man in scrubs and demanded to know why he was a nurse instead of a doctor and what was wrong with him.
Ah, I love my family.)

So it came to pass that New Years Eve had not simply crept up on me, but it sprang suddenly, loudly, and without warning.  Screaming and bloodshed may or may not have been involved.

I am used to having the week between Christmas and New Year’s to relax and unwind from all the stress that the year had built up, and prepare myself for the year ahead.  Resolutions may or may not be made during that time period.  This year there was no such ‘unwinding,’ and I found myself scrambling on New Year’s Day, with a list of errands to complete.

About halfway down my List of Things To Do, in bold red pen, was:

Bake A Chicken.

I have done a lot of cooking in my life.  I’ve whipped up casseroles and thrown together roasts.  I’ve successfully fed up to twenty people at a time.  But the common factor throughout all of my culinary accomplishments is the fact that I had A) a somewhat clear mind, and B) time to plan my course of action.  (I need time to plan.  otherwise, Bad Things happen.)  I had neither of these things on New Years, for I was trying to finish everything before the arrival of one of my best friends from LA, who was driving down to see me that afternoon.

I’m sure you can see where this is going.

I pulled the chicken out of the fridge, where I had (thankfully!) had enough presence of mind to place it to defrost the day before, and eyed it thoughtfully.  It was a medium-sized chicken, big enough to feed the remainder of our tiny band of brothers, and I had wanted to try out a few new ideas for seasoning.  I began pulling ingredients and the various required baking pans, mixing things and enjoying the rhythm of cooking by myself.  Then I took a closer look at the chicken.

Still frozen.

WHAT… what happened?  Why hadn’t it been thawing properly?  I’d pulled it out a day ago!
Oh well.  I’d just have to bake it a little longer, while still making sure that it got cooked all the way through.  Simple enough, right?

I finished preparing the chicken, set the various timers (I always use two after a dreadful Pot Roast Incident), and set it in the oven with a happy sigh.  I finally had time to finish planning the rest of my day.  A little while later, I rotated the chicken and turned the oven up higher (this is the secret to a crispy outer skin, I was told proudly by my cookbook).

Perhaps fifteen, maybe twenty minutes of blessed peace reigned, when I was startled by a shrieking sound.  Something had set off the smoke detector.  I ran frantically back into the kitchen to see that sure enough, smoke was making its way out of the thrice-blasted oven.  I tried to discern the source of the smoke, but was distracted by the piercing (obnoxious, ear-shattering) beeps.  I must’ve run back and forth between smoking oven and screaming alarm three times, doing nothing, before finally deciding to pull the detector off of the wall and dismember it (with no small amount of satisfaction).

Once my ears stopped ringing, I made my way back to the stove, and discovered that the chicken, which had been coming along quite nicely not twenty minutes ago, had somehow managed to burn its way through what had once been water in the baking tray, and the ominously smoking remains of a lovely bed of diced onions were all that remained between the chicken and the pan.  Even as I stared in horror, I could’ve sworn one of onion slices started to curl and catch fire.  Damn cookbook.

I managed to pour more water into the tray, and check the temperature of the center of the lightly-smoking chicken, taking more than a little grim pleasure from stabbing it with the thermometer.  Crisis now averted, I set it back in the oven for a little while longer, opened all the windows, and went hunting for the fire extinguisher.  Which is missing.

The chicken finished roasting (now a literal term!) with no further disasters, and I was actually able to salvage most of it.  It turns out that the entire mishap gave the chicken a rather nice smoky flavor.  I also discovered that the gas oven here tends to run a teensy bit higher than normal ovens.  Good to know.  (I’d always pull things out a little early, but now I know why.)

My ex-roommate finally arrived, took one look at the remains of the kitchen as well as my bedraggled appearance and laughed till she cried, but helped me clean up the mess.  I love my friends.

Therefore, if I’m to learn anything about the future of 2010, it is to be sure to plan ahead, and always double-check recipes as well as baking appliances.

Also, I give you my first New Year’s Resolution of 2010:
Buy a fire extinguisher.

(I won’t add that this resolution has been echoed by the boyfriend.  can’t imagine why…)

oh the humanity

soooooo…

My family might be coming to see me for Christmas.

Let’s back up here.

I’m the oldest of four.  We’re spaced out over 10 years, so when I “grew up” the others were still a ways behind.  After I graduated high school, I turned 18 in June, and two months later left my home.  Kinda for good.  I went to university in a city two hours away, and while I came back to visit every month (if not more), I never really lived at home again.  I supposed it helped that my family expanded with something of a relieved sigh into the space I vacated, due to the fact that we lived in a tiny house and there weren’t enough rooms to fit everyone until I was gone.

I love my family.  But I love them much more (and much better) now that I do not actually live with them.  Or see them, all that often.  Absence makes the heart grow fonder, all that.

I’m a good daughter; I talk to my parents about once a week, my sisters and I are on a very close texting relationship, and my “little” brother, when he thinks of it, responds to me occasionally.  I love them lots.  I miss them lots.

But.

Dear God in heaven.

My family might be coming to see me for Christmas.

When I was still in college, my dad’s work closed up shop and moved three states over.  My family went with him.  I said, “Hell no,” and stayed where I was.  I still had another year of school to finish for my teaching credential, and I’d gotten used to the whole quasi-adult, living-with-other-people-my-age, paying-rent-like-a-real-grown-up life.

[Plus I really, really did not want to live in That State.  It is made of hicks, you guys.  I went to visit for Christmas two years ago, and no matter where you go, they have steak with every meal!  Who does that??]

Anyway, I’ve missed them a lot, but I’m also very much used to living on my own.  Sure I have problems, and I still call my mom in a panic every month or so with a new dilemma, but I’ve grown into myself.

This summer, I had to move back to my hometown after I lost my job.  I’ve been living in my grandparents’ winter home.  It’s got two bedrooms, and a living room/kitchen area that is sized somewhere between the average smallish apartment or a (very very) tiny house.

There are going to be 8 people.  Squeezed into this place.  For a week.

Another funny thing about my family?  We need lots of space.

We spread ourselves across the country as soon as humanly possible.  I live in California, my family lives in Texas, my grandparents live in Colorado, my little sister went to university in Indiana, and my other little sister is looking at university in Virginia.  And with my luck, my little brother will want to go to Massachusetts or something to study.  (actually….)

It’s going to be a bloodbath.  I know it.  I can feel it in my bones.

AND.

Part of the reason they’re coming out here is to re-meet my boyfriend and his family.  The boyfriend and I grew up together, so I’ve known his family really well, but my family always steered clear of them (because his family has plenty of their own issues) and vice versa.  It is going to be horribly awkward.  His mom likes me well enough, but she can be difficult (your typical future mother-in-law) and I’m afraid of how she’ll interact with my family.

And oh yeah.  My favorite part.

My mother could win medals with her passive-aggression.

God have mercy on me.

Do all grown-ups have this kind of panic whenever their parents visit?  Why don’t they tell you these things about adulthood?

New Moon: the movie event

[Uh.  sorta-spoilers, although unless you've been living under a rock, you already know what's up.]

I enjoyed it.  I think this is a case where the movie is much better than the book.
[This is, of course, because the book was so very, very bad.]  [SO.  BAD.]

But I would suggest to you, the casual viewer: save your money.  Or go to a matinee.  And bring some Pepto-Bismol; you’ll need it.

Fans will like it, maybe even love it.  Jacob is practically perfect, Edward flails about in full emo-drama-queen mode, and Bella stumbles around looking (very) pretty and helpless, while giving her vocal chords quite a workout.
(She screams.  A lot.  My unprofessional tally is as follows: inaudible wailing [6 or 7], “please” [9], “no” [7], “stop” [4].)

Ladies (and hey, gents), this movie is for you.  I’m pretty sure Jacob spent the entire film shirtless (worth the ticket price alone… but women, beware of accidental spontaneous ovulation), and there’s even an extended scene with Edward’s pasty pale glittering torso.  Carlisle is in full McSexy McSparkly mode, Charlie is absolutely adorable, and Emmett gets in a few good smoldering looks and fun lines for the .5 seconds of screen time he’s allowed.  I liked the four minutes of Jasper that we saw, even if his hair looks like he had it in curlers two minutes before rolling.

All in all, a good eye-candy film.
(Not much depth… at all.  Unless you want to delve into the abusive undertones overtones.)

Well.  Besides the scenes where Bella had a full psychotic break and sat in a chair for four months while the camera swept lovingly around her catatonic form while the seasons passed outside her window.  (and when Jacob disappears, she pulls another angst-driven, mopey, woe-is-me, I’m-so-very-alone-and-I-don’t-exist-outside-of-the-men-in-my-life tantrum.)
Viewers beware: take a chug of the P-B (or the hard alcohol of your choice) when you see Edward take her into the forest… it’s pretty rough going for a while.

But then comes Jacob.  And he really steals the movie.  I can’t say enough about him, so I won’t say anything at all.  After all, the boyfriend (who, to give him credit, stayed awake for the entire movie.  ready everyone?  awwww) wouldn’t be too pleased to hear my inner monologue.  And, uh, I’m pretty sure Taylor Lautner is still jailbait.  (yup.  except in England.)
But he’s hilarious!  You can tell he truly enjoyed doing this movie.  And we appreciate it.

Anyway. I think director Chris Weitz did a better job this time around, especially given what he had to work with.

I want to sleep, so I’ll just leave you with these final thoughts.  My complaints?  Mostly cosmetic.  (hooray!)

-the Cullens’ eyes.  Really?  Even the first movie’s vamp-eyes looked better.  They look like they’re on acid during the entire film.  dilated pupils, contacts could not look faker, etc.  While Edward wasn’t supposed to focus on Bella for the majority of his screen time, it still bothered me that it looked as if they’d filmed B & E on two separate planets locations and green-screened the actors together.

-the flower field scene(s).  Was it supposed to look like they raided the fake flowers aisles at Michaels and “planted” each sprig exactly two feet apart from the next?
[Edit:  Ebert agrees with me!]

The movie includes beauteous fields filled with potted flowers apparently buried hours before by the grounds crew, and nobody not clued in on the plot.

-Bella’s hallucinations of Edward.  Again, he never really looked at her.  CG has come a long way, guys.  Shame.

All in all?  I had fun.  I’ll probably see it again, although I will be fleeing the theater after the epic scene with the Volturi: it’s all downhill codependency from there.

Edit:
my favorite part about this movie craze is hearing people explain it to non-fans.

“Well.  He’s a vampire (but not the real kind) and she’s a human, and they’re dating, but he wants to eat her.  Then she gets a paper cut, so he breaks up with her and makes his family leave the country.  She lies around screaming and tries to walk the line between daredevil thrill-seeking and suicide.  He thinks she’s dead, so he goes to Italy to commit suicide too.  (Because there is nothing in this world worth living for if the girl he ditched like a three-day-old moldy taco is dead.)”

(at this point, someone usually says “How would a vampire kill himself if they don’t explode in the sun?”)

“I’m so glad you asked.  His plan is go to out shirtless in public at noon and… sparkle.”

(and now there are many blank stares, and a few people even walk away.)

“But wait!  There’s a shirtless werewolf boy!  And he doesn’t have a six-pack; he has an eighteen-pack!”

(“Okay.  I’m going over here now, and don’t you follow me.”)

and after the sugar rush comes the crash

Gag me with a spoon ladle.

I read New Moon.

It’s like she read Wuthering Heights and said, “Gee, those two kids aren’t nearly angsty or psycho enough; what can I do to add to that?”  Also she decided to portray them in a more “romantic” light by adding a thousand and one positive (or purple-prosaic) adjectives to the tale.  And she’s not so good at the subtle paralleling Romeo and Juliet, either.  (I always hated that story because the kids were far too impulsive for their own good.  And I had no patience for those who would romanticize them because they die.  What is the point of making a grand romantic gesture when it ends in death?  I fail to understand.  What, you’re punishing the people you’re leaving behind?  Uh… great.  Now what?  Are you happy, in your vindictive afterlife?)

Ugh.

Excuse me while I go throw up.

I have very little patience for her stubbornness and her inability to pull herself out of the moping.  SMeyer tries to make her sound heroic, cast her in a sympathetic light for all her suffering, but it just makes me wish I could reach into the book and throttle her.  I don’t blame any of her “friends” for refusing to speak to her.  (Poor, puny mortals with your normal lives and your average human qualities.)

Jacob is the healthiest of all the characters that she’s written.  (so far; I hear has a weird personality transplant in Eclipse.)  But honey, as the brilliant cleolinda puts it,

(Jacob, give up. Also, any guys somehow reading this: sometimes, girls get fixated on guys, to the point where they’ll drop whatever they’re doing, whoever they’re with, to run to them. Give up on those girls. If they can’t collect themselves and make that choice to stay with you, they’re not ready to treat you with any kind of respect. I’m saying this from an observer’s experience here.)

yeah.  It’s sad but true.  Don’t waste your time.  Somebody worthwhile is bound to notice you; don’t spend your time bashing your head against a brick wall.

also, she ties in WH very well.

[Jacob is] far too good and normal for her. Notice how she can’t even pay attention to him? It’s because she’s exactly like Cathy Earnshaw–she can’t function unless she’s got Heathcliff to bounce her angst off. (Have I ever told you my theory that Wuthering Heights is not romance but actually horror, about two emotional sadomasochists who lay waste to everyone around them, using them as pawns in their own personal war of attrition? Because, I mean… that’s pretty much the whole theory. ~The More You Know~)

It makes me sad fills me with frustrated bewilderment.  The whole “I’m not worth your love” angst that Bella has, Edward’s inability to understand how she could believe him when he lied to her face, and let’s not forget my favorite part: how she just kinda went “oh well I still love you let’s just forget anything bad ever happened” and got annoyed with her dad for being normal and a father…  yeah.  This is what I want my kids to read/model.

Update: I’m sure you’ve heard of this by now, but somebody brilliant compiled a checklist showing that Bella’s relationship with Edward is across-the-board, categorically abusive.

 

trivial pursuits, or It’s Not Stalking If It’s On The Internet

No, I’m not talking about the hypothetical occasional facebook-stalking of my ex.  (which never happens.)

Or my sick obsession with The Superficial.  (seriously, what is with that?  I can’t stand shows like The Real Housewives of Atlanta/OC/Trailer Trash and I really judge people who watch The Hills or anything affiliated with MTV or VH1, but that site is strangely addicting.  perhaps it’s his scorn for… well, everyone that amuses me.)
(who am I kidding; I secretly care about celebrities in ways I don’t want to examine too closely.  oh, the shame.)

I am referring to my newest internet crush: she (cleolinda) says brilliant things.  Things that answer all the questions to life.  For example, that bad boy obsession that all girls have, but are somehow unable to properly explain?

2) Girls like bad boys: Believe it or not, this is actually tied to Point #1. I’ve held this as a general theory for a while, so listen up, nice guys (or Nice Guys), but maybe not for the reason you’d think. I actually don’t think girls like a guy who treats them bad. But I do think they–we–get off a little on the idea of changing someone for the better, or the idea of having the power that someone loves us so much that he’ll change or sacrifice something for us. (I don’t have the patience for fixer-uppers in real life–if I’m going to be with you, I want you to be a fully formed, fully actualized self before I get there–but I’m a sucker for the trope in literature.) A nice guy doesn’t need to change, and, most importantly, he’s already nice to everyone. How do you know that you’re special if he treats everyone else with as much kindness and respect as he treats you? The “bad boy” type, though? He may range from simple, garden-variety jackhole (hello, Sawyer!) to appalling psychopath (hello, Dr. Lecter!), but you know he loves you because he’s completely different around you. You are an exception to his very nature. This is how “villain” ends up drifting towards “antihero”–Dracula, the Phantom of the Opera, Spike on Buffy, fanfic!Draco Malfoy–but you even see it with straightforward heroes: Mr. Darcy and Mr. Rochester are both cold, prickly, withdrawn types until Lizzie Bennet and Jane Eyre arrive, respectively, to bewilder and melt them. That’s the fantasy. (Note: this is not a comparison of quality.)

It’s true!  This is your answer, boys who are constantly confused by our compulsion to, as Chandler put it, “date leather-wearing alcoholics and complain about them… to you.”

Of course, most girls end up making the mistake of actually dating that type.  Then, when they meet a truly Nice Guy, they don’t quite know what to do with them and usually end up heading for the hills.  (He opens the car door for me, Mom.  Who does that? … I’m breaking up with him tomorrow.)  (no, I do not have personal experience in that area at all.)

I’ll see you guys later; I’m busy catching up on her deep and philosophical musings.

And reading Growing Up Cullen.

saint_renegade: let’s talk about Edward during most of new moon
saint_renegade: when he was away from bella/his family
oxymoronassoc: JAUNTING ABOUT
oxymoronassoc: BEING EMO
oxymoronassoc: IN SOUTH AMERICA
saint_renegade: you know he sent long letters to emmett/rosalie
saint_renegade: just weeping the whole time
saint_renegade: talking about his great woe

oxymoronassoc: he’s chilling, sparkling, under a mango tree in the amazon
oxymoronassoc: hoping to get eaten by a snake or whatever
saint_renegade: I AM A BOTTOMLESS PIT OF SADNESS
oxymoronassoc: I DESERVE NO LESS THAN TO BE STRANGLED BY THIS ANACONDA
saint_renegade: just lying there sobbing for days at a time
oxymoronassoc: the locals think the forest is haunted
oxymoronassoc: or that there is a cow
oxymoronassoc: slowly dying
oxymoronassoc: in some quicksand
oxymoronassoc: I HAVE SCARED AWAY THE LOCALS
oxymoronassoc: THEY COULD NOT BEAR THE SOUND OF MY ANGUISH
oxymoronassoc: NOW I MUST BEAR THAT BURDEN TOO: I AM A SOCIAL PARIAH

yeah.  will my life ever be normal again?