Disturbed Thoughts

thoughts of the day

I drink my coffee with skim, but this morning I used low-fat milk. I just wanted to indulge in something 1 %.

I will live at home with my parents this summer. I am pre-emptively asking for extended hours.

I read the Book of John – that is, my Uncle John David’s copy of Stephen King’s The Shining. Not quite as revelatory as I was promised, but God knows it was juicier.

I wish my senior friends the best of luck on graduating – for they now symbolically break the ties of their youth. I hope they dream big about their successful futures over the next few months from the comforts of their childhood beds.

thoughts of the day

True story: I learned that when flipping a table, one must always yell “prostitution whore.” Otherwise you are just being mindlessly messy. And that is just rude.

It’s a shame, my friend has a lot of money but nothing looks expensive on her.

I like to cook with wine. Sometimes add food.

If truth is beauty, then after my finals I should collect ten dollars as the runner up at the beauty contest

 Two wrongs don’t make a right. But three rights do make a left (I know that’s not original, but hehehe)

When I said I wanted to be somebody when I grew up, I should have been more specific.

I like Sir Mix A Lot. But I really love to call my father “Sir,” a lot.

I never raise my hand in a fight. It leaves me vulnerable to a sucker punch. And I am no sucker.

I hate to worry because that is a waste of my imagination.

We have two ears and one mouth so that we may hear more and speak less. But we have ten fingers so we can blog the most.

A word for the wise is not necessary. Stupid people need more words

thoughts of the day

When you ask what I do, do you mean for money? Nothing.

My room tends to get messy, but I blame entropy.

I have high standards. How high? Even my most productive week I deem a failure – have you seen what God did in his first week? And that was even before employee training.

Generally, my mentality is to try until you fail. No one will stop you. And if they do, run.

Sometimes my soul gets so battered that the only balm is alcohol. And lots of it.

What shame is there in not showering? The French do it.

I sometimes worry that if my future boyfriend is an artist, my parents will be disappointed if that doesn’t mean he does advertising

I hope I never have to struggle to put food on the table. Though at the rate that of my alcoholism, I may have trouble putting that food into my mouth.

Flip a coin over and over again and call out heads each time. Half of the time people will tell you to stop.

Stay the course? I have been on the course. And I am still waiting to be impressed. Though the hedging is nice.

Saturdays are the best. I wake up in the morning and head to brunch. That’s a lie. I never get up until a few minutes after noon.

thoughts of the day

I never go to the movies because it is too expensive. I prefer to wait for them to come out on DVD. But I always forget to order them on Netflix.

All that glitters is not gold. That does not mean it does not all distract me.

Some say the Bible is the greatest story ever told. Really? I have a pretty good one involving my father dressing in drag for my eighteenth birthday party.

Revenge is a dish best served cold. Soup is a dish better served hot. So stop serving chilled watermelon soup. It offends me to have to use a spoon instead of a straw.

My car has an excellent sense of irony. It is a 1997 green Ford Expedition. Edie Bauer Edition (read: fancy!!). It leaks. It smells a bit like cat. Its bass makes the whole car vibrate. And yet it wears issue upon issue of East Hampton parking permits with pride.

I am sometimes a bit obsessive compulsive. If I were in the mafia, my crime would be overorganized.

I like to eat blueberries because I convince myself the antioxidants will flush out the family of free radicals that have made home of my body.

I sometimes like to think that the modern interpretation of trench warfare would be two white upper class women, one in Burberry the other in Moncler.

thoughts of the day

Today was a failure. I blazed no trails.

My uncle has a portugese water dog. He is a working dog, but I don’t know what he does.

Welfare reform can do whatever it wants with minimum wage. As long as it doesn’t touch maximum wage.

I have many friends, but none of their benefits.

I wish I won the lottery. What would I do with all that money? Thank you for asking, please have one hundred dollars for all of your words. But really, with all those millions I would freely donate my food to a hungry person. Namely myself.

If I were into bestiality, I would write and direct: Lassie Came at Home; Babe: Porked in the City; Jurassic Pork; Free Willy (really, that title was just asking for it); Black Beauty (that one too…); Lady and the Tramp (seriously?); The Rescuers Down Under (I’m not even kidding, this is a real movie) BiCurious George; Dr. Do-a-lot; My Dong Skip; Loud Yeller; Stuart Not So Little; and Turner and Hoochie Mama. 

thoughts of the day

Last summer I interned at a fashion design company. I was paid in cultural currency.

Funny thing about cultural currency – it is something that most people have access to, but no one actually enjoys.

Do you ever walk by people and see their names? I do. It’s like my own social media application in my head. I just worry that one day I will forget that I am in public and say their name aloud. Then I will be found out as the creepy stalker that I am.

If I could do college over, I would be an English and Africana Studies Major. And my name would be Loquacious.

Someone came up to me and apologized for her antics over the weekend. She thought I was someone else. I am.

Some things are best when left as a surprise. Like that brown smudge on your shoe. Whether that hair in your mouth is yours or the dining staff’s. The grade on that final you were too busy to study for…

Apparently the plural of “cul-de-sac” is “culs-de-sac.” I think that’s a suburban legend.

Am I happy, or just asymptomatic? I think I test positive for being negative.

thoughts of the day

I went to the movies the other night and the man behind the concession stand was dreamy – I bet corn isn’t the only thing he popped.

I have started to worry about death. Really though, I anticipate trouble in paradise – I’m not sure that the amenities will be up to modern standards.

Friday – in a celebratory spirit, I indulged in an epic case of the munchies. There was plenty of food to go around: some baked, some straight out of a bag, and some that in a clear mind and in the light of day would be revolting. Yet most was not enough.

My dermatologist suggested I stop eating peanut butter for the sake of my skin. I cannot live without peanut butter. It is my oxygen. Though I do need regular oxygen.

I am no idiot. I am a person who suffers from idiocy. I hear there is a cure, but I can’t seem to find it on Bravo.

I fancy myself a modern jack-of-all-trade. I can fix anything in a pinch. No really, I will just pinch you.

Last week I got my first paycheck. It was a hard earned $30 from walking around the Arctic Museum opening with a basket full of muskox hair. I don’t even feel the need to elaborate - the humor is inherent. My concern now is what to do with my windfall. I reject the idea of a nest egg, mainly because it would hardly be larger than hummingbird size, but also because I think I would crush it.

What is more desirable: to be admired from afar or loved at close proximity? I think Sting found the balance when he charmingly chanted: every breath you take, every move you make, I’ll be watching you. I could be his voyeur’s delight.

The presidential elections are fast approaching. Perhaps under a Republican president our struggles with terror will finally be over: I envision the day when the American puts down his gun and the terrorist puts down his bomb. And then the American will run into his fighter plane after his guise of reconciliation. Suckers.

A man once told me, “there’s a world that we know nothing about, that we can only imagine. And that is the world of books.” No truer words have been spoken, though I have no idea who that great man was. It is likely that he was homeless…

It goes without saying that French women lead a completely different lifestyle – something that can only be described as “frenchy.” There is no word for fat in the French dictionary. Except when used with confit. French femmes keep their shape by pushing food around their plate. Gesturing counts as formative exercise. The rest is compensated by that metabolically exhaustive angry stare.

It troubles me when wealthy people pretend to be poor. Perhaps that is just the cruel game the rich play.

Yesterday I had a bad day. I was in the most terrible mood. I thought I would never laugh again. And then I saw some boy trip. He quickly looked around to see if anyone saw. I did! Ahh, that gets me every time…

My friend stubbed her toe and asked to lean on me until the pain wore off. If you lean on me you will never get strong, I said, as I kicked her in the shin.

The worst part about living on campus is squeezing into those beds that in generous lighting are no wider than a plank. Really? Has the administration not seen the football team? They could use some kong sized beds.

thoughts of the day

I hope one day we will end discrimination of the Mockingbird and recognize it for its beauty and song. Let us end this tirade of hate and stop trying to kill it (that means you, Mrs. Lee).

I am afraid of death, only because I fear that everyone is invited to the afterlife except me. And even if I get an invite from a friend of a friend’s pen pal’s cousin who was twice removed, the bouncer will think my cause of death is false.

Money may not be everything, but it certainly gets you more than good health. I have yet to hear of a bartender who will barter a drink for clear skin or a pristine immune system.

Hard work does not get you far, unless you are a sled dog.

I made some cookies today. I am going to give them to a hungry person, namely me around 3 o’clock.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I have an astigmatism, so everyone looks pretty good to me.

I consider myself a pragmatist. I see the glass neither half full nor half empty, but lacking a lemon wedge.

I try to waltz through life, but my step more closely resembles the foxtrot.

It is a weakness if one banks on one’s weakness turning into strength. Vicious cycle.

I have a playful side and a serious side, but most people remember me for my front side.

I am quick with a laugh, but just as quick to point out what I am laughing at.  

thoughts of the day

I thought one day I would run off to college and study art history. Not because art particularly intrigues me, but because it has always been my dream to sound smart in a museum. One of those people who can draw a crowd in the Modern Wing not because I look like I am in the midst of performance art, but because I sound wise. That is not to say that I have never commanded a room in a museum. One step in the American Museum of Natural History and I can be your personal docent. But my accounts of the perils of the dinosaur and the life history of the blue whale come off less “smart” per se, and more “cool.” Perhaps “enviable” if you choose. Now, I look to wow a more aged audience, more of my peers than small school children.

I have created a bit of a guide for the next time I tour a museum, a code to highlight the drama, the tension, and the intrigue of various types of art.

Biblical Paintings

Paintings of Jesus in particular are rife with tension. I look at such works and thing, by whom am I to be more shocked? The rampant crowd in the background, or Jesus clad in a soiled diaper in the foreground? To be sure of my answer, I always try to flip over the painting to see if the artist scribbled the answer on the back. I have been asked to leave many museums because of my curiosity.

Still Life

I look at still lives and think, wow, what bounty! If only there existed such a place in our contemporary times where fruit, drink, and meat were on display. What a foolish thought. In those ye olde times, I would love to be the procurer of all that food and wine. But I would hate to be his son, whose pet rabbit and eel were just sacrificed.

Soft Sculpture

Now here is a medium that holds all of my respect. See how intricately that petal was sewn? Notice the tension of the flexibility of the cloth and the stability of the wire skeleton? What metaphor! This medium is a true representation of the human condition. No bullshit! Anyone who can master such a medium is a true artist indeed, one whom everyone should laud, freely and often.

Color Block

Seriously? I could do that (and this is when the interactive portion of my tour begins. I take out a can of paint, a rolly brush (the kind with a ten-foot long collapsible handle), and a canvas from my Mary Poppins bag and paint. I then hold up my painting to the “art.” Which one is better? Well, mine, obviously, because no other paint gives off sheen like infant blood I use).

Photography

Can you find the tension between the man who is down on his luck and the city landscape behind him? Or how about the migrant worker silhouetted by the setting sun on the crop field? Good, because I couldn’t.

Abstract Paintings

The abstractness reflects the uncertainty of the artist – no let’s try, the colors mirror the artists conflicted soul – wait that’s not good, how about the lack of true form is an existential statement. Fuck it, I give up.

What have I learned by studying art? Anyone with a hand can do it. Not even, I hear there is a dolphin that can paint. But really, to be a truly successful artist, name all of your work “Untitled.” That way if one work miraculously receives critical acclaim, no one will be sure which one it is.

thoughts of the day

An Ode to the Sleepless:

I have trouble sleeping. Well, no, that’s a lie. I can fall asleep just fine; buses, no problem; my bed, great; a classroom, fantastic. It is just staying asleep that is trouble. Sometimes I feel compelled to say, fuck it, I’m going to get up soon anyway. Might as well be now. Which would be wonderful if I could manage to be productive. But no, that never works.

When I am at school, my solution is to ease back with the television on. Those hellish twilight hours where the only show on television stars Jack Benny – a reference that I should be too young for, but alas, thanks to my many sleepless nights the show has become my guilty pleasure. I like to choose shows that distract me. While the Discovery Channel may be a mainstream choice – honestly who can watch a whole episode of men driving on ice without becoming weary-eyed – I often choose E!, because shows like the Kardashians numb my brain into a vegetative sleep.

Sometimes I like to contemplate. If I follow a train of thoughts eventually I will tire. Regardless, theories at night always seem profound. Last night thought about String Theory, and came to the conclusion that Frank Sinatra was in fact its original founder because he was the first to theorize that the world was on a string. I also thought I settled the Kennedy Assassination conspiracy. But no, I overlooked a minor detail called the Zapruder film that proves he did not shoot himself.

But my self-medication often fails. And when I am home I have Plan B. Send in the troop, my mother. She is the best. She is of the “just one more for the road” generation, which translates into generosity with drugs. The kindest sentence one could ever hear at 3:26 in the morning is, “would you like some ambien?” Drugged off bliss. See, my mother has the same insomniac problems. In fact, so do my sisters (nature vs. nurture, the debate goes on). She is often stirring when I wake up, most times with a bottle of her magic pills clutched in hand.

One could advise, Karoline: the solution is to take a sleeping pill before you fall asleep. But I retort, Person: I have tried. And I fear addiction. I worry about liking sleeping pills too much. If I were stranded on a desert island, I would spend countless hours starving while not nodding off in my sleep. Or how can I beat old age peacefully with a nap if I struggle to fall into one?

I am too young to have this problem. I should still sleep like a baby. I guess tonight I will think about why I am plagued. God knows I will have the time. And if that fails, maybe the Ice and Coco have some insight.