OR, you could say "Yeah, speaking of alleys..." then say something witty about your vagina.
-How to respond to an email sent by someone you think should ask you out
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Lessons in love from this idiot here.
-How to respond to an email sent by someone you think should ask you out
Monday, July 18, 2011
Love letter
Last week, in a moment of emotional distress and dramatic fanaticism, I expressed my adoration for a particular series of books and movies in the form of a love letter. It was posted on SpunkyBean.com. It is over-the-top, but I am damn proud of what I expressed. Also, I'm dead serious. I loved the hell out of this saga.
Dear Harry,
I was twenty-one years old when my best friend introduced me to you and your companions. In other words, I was way too old to be getting involved with a boy wizard, yet she and I both indulged in your story. At first, I thought it was the silliest damn thing my friend had ever suggested, and we were both silly enough as it was. How in the hell did she expect me to pick up a series of books that my pre-teen cousin deemed quality reading material? Magic and wizards? Was this a joke? Nevertheless, worried that I may destroy some bond of nerdy sisterhood, I gave into her demands.
Okay, so it was a mild suggestion. Some say I’m dramatic. Those people also say I’m obsessive. I prefer “passionate,” and it didn’t take long for me to pour that passion into reveling in your world. I was immersed and finally capable of appreciating what everyone was raving about nonstop.
Reading about your adventures was exhilarating. My heart raced, I was nervous, my stomach was in knots. You know how it is…when you’re falling in love. It wasn’t necessarily a romantic love, though you did occupy quite a bit of my free time. Between speculating as to what would happen in the next book to fawning over the spot-on casting for each movie, you became “my everything” in a way. I felt at home with familiar characters and enraged when their well-being was threatened. I cheered when there were triumphs and cried over deaths as if I’d lost members of my own family. And I think it’s safe to say that I latched onto a pop culture trend because there was depth and weight to it. Behind the lighthearted, kiddie facade of spells and wands and a school of adorable British children learning to be witches and wizards, there was heart and there were brains. You weren’t just another pretty face. I think anyone who has ever been crippled by the death of a loved one can relate to the tale of “The Boy Who Lived.” I know for a fact that great personal loss was what led me to you. It’s the crux of your entire story and the reason you came to be. It is also, unfortunately, a topic with which I was a bit too familiar to be so young at the time. And, as it is an unfortunate part of life, knowledge of and familiarity with those particular feelings only grow stronger. It is an event that we all will, undoubtedly, experience again and again, and it is dealt with so beautifully on page after page, in scene after scene of the Harry Potter series. How could I not be mystified?
But this is about those movies. Yes, there were movies- Sorcerer’s Stone and Chamber of Secrets. Not to discredit Chris Columbus for his tireless efforts. He built the legs on which this franchise now stands, and there is no denying how brilliant he was at visualizing and depicting the Potterverse. It wasn’t until Azkaban, however, that we were able to use to word “film” to refer to these on-screen representations. That was when I began anticipating the film releases as much as the book publishing dates. Another way to relish the journey! Soon the pictures in my head became synonymous with the cast Chris Columbus had assembled. I should send personal thank you letters to each crew and cast member for handling that precious material so delicately and loving it as much as any rabid fan. I should send fruit baskets (or some shit) to the force that is Maggie Smith, the incomparable Alan Rickman, the lovable Michael Gambon and the late (and perfect) Richard Harris, each and every actor with red hair in the series (dyed or natural), the charming cast of characters who portray Harry’s classmates, and even those fortunate enough to land roles as some of the most hated villains in the series. They are immensely talented, and it’s sickening in the best way. Thank you, Emma Watson, for being intelligent and likable. Thank you, Rupert Grint for just about everything you do. And thank you, Daniel Radcliffe, for becoming a surprisingly talented actor, a seemingly well-rounded human being, and adorably short-an unlikely hero. I’ll bet it was strange having the world watch you grow up, but you all did so with unbelievable grace. And, it’s odd, I feel proud of you in some strange way, as if you’re my younger siblings and I’ve watched you make your way in the world. I have no room or time to mention everyone and they won’t read this anyway, but please know how much I appreciate Gary Oldman and just about anyone else who appeared only a handful of times in the series.
Like any good love story I was reluctant to begin and now, here we are. Over the course of this wild and crazy decade, we’ve built a strong foundation. Seven books spawning ten years of movie making history and it all comes to a close this summer. The phenomenon has been nothing short of fascinating to watch. Those of us who “have stuck with Harry until the very end” will have seen all there is to see. Personally, I know that all good things must end eventually, but I am sad to let you go. I have so many memories tied to you; I’ve bonded with numerous people just by talking about you. You are, without question, one of the quickest and most absolute ways into my heart. All a person has to do is mention your name (with affection), and I’ll cling to them. Potter fandom is its own permanent stick charm, the secret to many friendships. Some have loved you longer, but I am more than willing to share. I may be putting you to rest, old friend, but I will not say goodbye. Farewells are a messy business. And besides, “the ones that love us, never really leave us.” It’s cheesy as hell, but the sentiment here is pretty legitimate. Damn, I hate to see you go.
Sincerely,
A loyal fan and friend
P.S. Read any good books lately? Seriously, I need to occupy the rest of my days…
Dear Harry,
I was twenty-one years old when my best friend introduced me to you and your companions. In other words, I was way too old to be getting involved with a boy wizard, yet she and I both indulged in your story. At first, I thought it was the silliest damn thing my friend had ever suggested, and we were both silly enough as it was. How in the hell did she expect me to pick up a series of books that my pre-teen cousin deemed quality reading material? Magic and wizards? Was this a joke? Nevertheless, worried that I may destroy some bond of nerdy sisterhood, I gave into her demands.
Okay, so it was a mild suggestion. Some say I’m dramatic. Those people also say I’m obsessive. I prefer “passionate,” and it didn’t take long for me to pour that passion into reveling in your world. I was immersed and finally capable of appreciating what everyone was raving about nonstop.
Reading about your adventures was exhilarating. My heart raced, I was nervous, my stomach was in knots. You know how it is…when you’re falling in love. It wasn’t necessarily a romantic love, though you did occupy quite a bit of my free time. Between speculating as to what would happen in the next book to fawning over the spot-on casting for each movie, you became “my everything” in a way. I felt at home with familiar characters and enraged when their well-being was threatened. I cheered when there were triumphs and cried over deaths as if I’d lost members of my own family. And I think it’s safe to say that I latched onto a pop culture trend because there was depth and weight to it. Behind the lighthearted, kiddie facade of spells and wands and a school of adorable British children learning to be witches and wizards, there was heart and there were brains. You weren’t just another pretty face. I think anyone who has ever been crippled by the death of a loved one can relate to the tale of “The Boy Who Lived.” I know for a fact that great personal loss was what led me to you. It’s the crux of your entire story and the reason you came to be. It is also, unfortunately, a topic with which I was a bit too familiar to be so young at the time. And, as it is an unfortunate part of life, knowledge of and familiarity with those particular feelings only grow stronger. It is an event that we all will, undoubtedly, experience again and again, and it is dealt with so beautifully on page after page, in scene after scene of the Harry Potter series. How could I not be mystified?
But this is about those movies. Yes, there were movies- Sorcerer’s Stone and Chamber of Secrets. Not to discredit Chris Columbus for his tireless efforts. He built the legs on which this franchise now stands, and there is no denying how brilliant he was at visualizing and depicting the Potterverse. It wasn’t until Azkaban, however, that we were able to use to word “film” to refer to these on-screen representations. That was when I began anticipating the film releases as much as the book publishing dates. Another way to relish the journey! Soon the pictures in my head became synonymous with the cast Chris Columbus had assembled. I should send personal thank you letters to each crew and cast member for handling that precious material so delicately and loving it as much as any rabid fan. I should send fruit baskets (or some shit) to the force that is Maggie Smith, the incomparable Alan Rickman, the lovable Michael Gambon and the late (and perfect) Richard Harris, each and every actor with red hair in the series (dyed or natural), the charming cast of characters who portray Harry’s classmates, and even those fortunate enough to land roles as some of the most hated villains in the series. They are immensely talented, and it’s sickening in the best way. Thank you, Emma Watson, for being intelligent and likable. Thank you, Rupert Grint for just about everything you do. And thank you, Daniel Radcliffe, for becoming a surprisingly talented actor, a seemingly well-rounded human being, and adorably short-an unlikely hero. I’ll bet it was strange having the world watch you grow up, but you all did so with unbelievable grace. And, it’s odd, I feel proud of you in some strange way, as if you’re my younger siblings and I’ve watched you make your way in the world. I have no room or time to mention everyone and they won’t read this anyway, but please know how much I appreciate Gary Oldman and just about anyone else who appeared only a handful of times in the series.
Like any good love story I was reluctant to begin and now, here we are. Over the course of this wild and crazy decade, we’ve built a strong foundation. Seven books spawning ten years of movie making history and it all comes to a close this summer. The phenomenon has been nothing short of fascinating to watch. Those of us who “have stuck with Harry until the very end” will have seen all there is to see. Personally, I know that all good things must end eventually, but I am sad to let you go. I have so many memories tied to you; I’ve bonded with numerous people just by talking about you. You are, without question, one of the quickest and most absolute ways into my heart. All a person has to do is mention your name (with affection), and I’ll cling to them. Potter fandom is its own permanent stick charm, the secret to many friendships. Some have loved you longer, but I am more than willing to share. I may be putting you to rest, old friend, but I will not say goodbye. Farewells are a messy business. And besides, “the ones that love us, never really leave us.” It’s cheesy as hell, but the sentiment here is pretty legitimate. Damn, I hate to see you go.
Sincerely,
A loyal fan and friend
P.S. Read any good books lately? Seriously, I need to occupy the rest of my days…
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Not for the fluttery of heart
Like how I no longer qualify as the "single one" among my friends, and yet I still think girls (and some guys) in relationships are gross? Me too.
Here's the thing-no one other than you cares how truly in love you are at this time, and though you may be feeling extreme joy after finding that "special someone" you're not the first person to feel that, and you certainly won't be the last. Also, call me a cynic, but that shit goes away. Your butterflies will subside. One day you might live with this person and they will most likely end up with a virus that gives them diarrhea or they'll vomit (Happens to most of us). Then, you're really being tested. I wonder why you aren't posting pictures of that on Facebook?
Caption: I am such a lucky girl! xoxo :)<3
My comment: It isn't that I don't care about you as a person or as a friend, and your happiness is more than welcome here. The details behind said happiness, however, may be the best secrets you will ever keep. For fuck's sake, please keep them.
And, once again, no one but you and the person with their face in the toilet would give a shit. Romantic love is a thing that should be shared between two people (or many if you're into polygamy), not between you, your lover (shudder), and your 500+ Facebook friends. Though we may feel as if the entire universe should know how elated we are, though it may seem cute to post the pictures of the flowers we got "just because! He's so great!", though we may want to shout our significant others' respective names from our own respective rooftops, it is not necessary. It comes across as if you are bragging that someone has picked you. Again, I have to say, happens to most of us.
Love can be a tumultuous and overwhelming cacophony of emotions on its own, so why don't you take it upon yourself to be the one who shuts up? It's kind of like this, I like McDonald's for what it is, but I cannot stand or understand the fascination with the McRib. I feel the same way about pictures of your Valentine's Day flowers and how you relate them to love. I just don't get it. Call me a nut bag, but I don't think that's romance.
Here's the thing-no one other than you cares how truly in love you are at this time, and though you may be feeling extreme joy after finding that "special someone" you're not the first person to feel that, and you certainly won't be the last. Also, call me a cynic, but that shit goes away. Your butterflies will subside. One day you might live with this person and they will most likely end up with a virus that gives them diarrhea or they'll vomit (Happens to most of us). Then, you're really being tested. I wonder why you aren't posting pictures of that on Facebook?
Caption: I am such a lucky girl! xoxo :)<3
My comment: It isn't that I don't care about you as a person or as a friend, and your happiness is more than welcome here. The details behind said happiness, however, may be the best secrets you will ever keep. For fuck's sake, please keep them.
And, once again, no one but you and the person with their face in the toilet would give a shit. Romantic love is a thing that should be shared between two people (or many if you're into polygamy), not between you, your lover (shudder), and your 500+ Facebook friends. Though we may feel as if the entire universe should know how elated we are, though it may seem cute to post the pictures of the flowers we got "just because! He's so great!", though we may want to shout our significant others' respective names from our own respective rooftops, it is not necessary. It comes across as if you are bragging that someone has picked you. Again, I have to say, happens to most of us.
Love can be a tumultuous and overwhelming cacophony of emotions on its own, so why don't you take it upon yourself to be the one who shuts up? It's kind of like this, I like McDonald's for what it is, but I cannot stand or understand the fascination with the McRib. I feel the same way about pictures of your Valentine's Day flowers and how you relate them to love. I just don't get it. Call me a nut bag, but I don't think that's romance.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Just cook a thing, dammit.
So, from what I can tell, this woman is famous for writing a blog about falling in love with and cooking for a cowboy. Any person out there familiar with this so-called "Pioneer Woman" think I'm way off base?
Her name is Ree Drummond, and her blog states- "I channel Lucille Ball, Vivien Leigh, and Ethel Merman." Fantastic. Those were some cool ladies, I suppose. And apparently she does cooking segments on the Today Show, a morning program that I love to hate more than America loves to hate Charlie Sheen. She prepared some sort of flank steak with pasta that did not look the slightest bit healthy which means it is probably delicious. She has red hair which almost always wins me over when it comes to people.
Her gimmick is what kills me. Ree Drummond is famous for falling in love, as far as I can tell. Any cooking segment that is littered with the phrase, "The first time I cooked this for my husband..." kind of just makes me want to upchuck, which is the opposite of what you want. Okay, I get it. You like that dude. I just want to hear how long you cook this flank steak. If I try this at home, I don't need to know how terrible it was the first time you prepared it or how sweet you thought it was that your "cowboy" ate it anyway.
I have said it before, and I will say it again. No one else in the world is as excited about your love life as you may be. It just isn't going to happen. Not even your mother cares that much. Please, just cook the damn steak.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
What it is, What it isn't
Love is not a prepackaged notion, a candy heart, a card, or a dozen roses
Love is not hasty in its arrival, but rather comes precisely when it is meant to
Love can be incongruent with your life, but will find a way to match you
Love will make you popcorn when you are too lazy to move from the sofa, and not complain
Love will surprise you, shock you, bewilder you
Love will listen to you while you're crazy and not expect you to apologize
Love is not like some bottomless pit into which one falls forever, as a poet would have you believe, but rather something like a second skin that moves and changes along with you
Love is a dork
Love is fucking scary, but only because you have anxiety
Love almost always has ice cream in the freezer
Love knows when you need wine
Love will find a way to keep your neck warm
Love will just sit with you and watch movies, even if it wasn't necessarily what you wanted to do, because that is what you need
Love is complicatedly simple, not designated to a specific date, time, or moment
Love is something you can undoubtedly live without, because it does nothing for you that you have not been able to do yourself, but you want it there
Therein lies the beauty of the gross thing
Love is not hasty in its arrival, but rather comes precisely when it is meant to
Love can be incongruent with your life, but will find a way to match you
Love will make you popcorn when you are too lazy to move from the sofa, and not complain
Love will surprise you, shock you, bewilder you
Love will listen to you while you're crazy and not expect you to apologize
Love is not like some bottomless pit into which one falls forever, as a poet would have you believe, but rather something like a second skin that moves and changes along with you
Love is a dork
Love is fucking scary, but only because you have anxiety
Love almost always has ice cream in the freezer
Love knows when you need wine
Love will find a way to keep your neck warm
Love will just sit with you and watch movies, even if it wasn't necessarily what you wanted to do, because that is what you need
Love is complicatedly simple, not designated to a specific date, time, or moment
Love is something you can undoubtedly live without, because it does nothing for you that you have not been able to do yourself, but you want it there
Therein lies the beauty of the gross thing
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Friday, July 23, 2010
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Thursday, March 4, 2010
I Must Pay Credit
There comes a time in every young woman's life when she is heartbroken by someone who will not return her affections. She cries and asks herself why this happened to her.
Then she sees a picture of that guy on Facebook where he isn't wearing a shirt and she knows the gods and goddesses of love were actually on her side the whole time.
Thanks, Venus, Aphrodite and friends.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
I wrote a poem
I think your black-rimmed glasses are the best
I like when you comb your hair that way
I guess I could be falling in love you'd say
Your oxfords and skinny jeans are cool
I'll bet you were teased in school
I fell head-over-heels in love today
I just need to know if you're hipster or gay
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