Category Archives: let’s just talk from our hearts

Mirror Error.

Aug

2011

I hate my stupid face.

I am not fishing for compliments. The point of this post is not to get comments like, “BUT OMG YOU’RE SO PRETTY!!!” or “LOL YEAH U R UGLY” or anything in between. The point is that you’re floating along in a cloudland where everything is great and you feel good about your cloudlife and then you see yourself on cloudfilm and you’re horrified and then it rains.

If it’s not one thing it’s another, right?

I’ve struggled with my looks my entire life. No wait, that’s not really true. I loved my looks up until puberty. Then my body said, “Hey this was fun, but LOL BYE” and then I got into an accident that messed up my nose and then everything just got worse. I fixed my nose but I realized a few days ago that I will never, ever be happy with it. I will never be happy with my body and I will wish for the days when I had the rail thin figure I had when I was twelve. And that’s sick. And I know that. One thing I’ve learned to like are my freckles on the bridge of my nose. I used to cover them with foundation until they disappeared. I thought that made me look older. But really it just made me look less interesting. (And for the rude person on twitter who commented that it looks like I have sun damage, I’ll have you know that some of those are blackheads.)

It’s not terrible. It’s not like I can’t look in mirrors. It’s not like I think I am a horrendous looking thing. But something happened to my face. It’s just different now. With every day I get closer and closer to looking like Mick Jagger. Sometimes my face gets so full and round that once when I uploaded a video to YouTube one of their suggested tags was “chipmunk.” Which, actually, is pretty hilarious.

I found a photo of how I looked my first year in college and I felt like I looked so much prettier and I got really sad but then something good was on the Internet so I got distracted. I think it was an article on Cracked.

Me, left, back in the days when people said I looked like Scarlett Johansson.

Look, I know. “Wah wah Almie/Apocalypstick, this is a stupid post and you’re an idiot and there are people dying around the world and you should focus on more important things” to which I say, you must be new. But hey, I’m allowed to feel down on myself. We all are. How can we not? We have images of celebrities that are so photoshopped that when we see candid photos of them we think, “Wow they’re so fat/short/etc.” No, they’re not. Everything is fucked up. That’s the problem. It’s like everyone is wearing a different pair of prescription lenses. Which, uh, I guess people are, because not everyone has perfect vision. But you get my point.

What do you think are your flaws? What don’t you like about your appearance and if money weren’t an issue, would you change it?

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This is real Real.

May

2011

portrait by the very talented Tyler Magyar

Next week I will be meeting lots of internets. There’s a blogger conference in vegas. I am excited but then I realized, wait, these internets are people and these people are going to see what I look like. That freaked me out. In (most) photos I look really good, but in person it doesn’t quite translate. People marvel at how tiny I am, but it’s not tiny as in skinny it’s tiny as in o hai David the Gnome’s wife. And there’s the whole, wow she looks thinner on The Internet thing. I can’t help it. This train of thought never stops. There are no stops. There is no conductor. This is hell train. Summer 2012. Starring Matthew McCougnahasysgef (I tried, really).

See, there’s going to be a period of time where we have a pool reserved, or something, I don’t really read things when I should, I think David Bowie was on TV. And there is no way — no way — anyone is going to see in my bathing suit. “Oh come on, you look fine” you might think. That’s the thing. I don’t want to look “fine.” I want to look HOLY FUCK!!!tastic. In a “DAMN NICE BOD” way, just to clarify. Not in a, “DAMN NICE BOD DAVID THE GNOME’S WIFE” way. I wish you guys scheduled this when I was going through personal turmoil, I got sooo skinny from stress. Oh hey formspring person who asked, that’s how I lost all that weight. Lots of stress. But now the stress pendulum is swinging the other way and so I am eating anything that isn’t metal or plastic.

I just can’t let people see me in a bikini. No way. I can’t let that happen. To quote Lily Allen, “Never gonna happen.” Or is it, “Not gonna happen”? See I am so bad at reading, it also doesn’t help that sometimes I see letters as numbers.

I know I sound like kind of an asshole. I know I am not what society considers fat, by any means. But my mind is messy and has no idea what’s going on. It doesn’t even know where Ireland is. It doesn’t even know.

JUST KIDDING.

…am I?

L O S T

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I’m (Not) Sorry.

Mar

2011

“No thanks, I’m good.” “This might be a stupid question, but…” “I think you already told me this, so forgive me, but…” “I have this idea, it might be silly, but…” “I don’t think I can make it, but I’ll try…” “I’m sorry”, “I’m sorry”, “I’m sorry”, and “I’m sorry.”

Any of these sound familiar?

My friends and I are a group of funny, smart, confident girls and yet…I’ve noticed that either bluntly or subtly, most of our conversation contains some form of apology. I’m sure there have been studies about this pattern of women apologizing more than men and it fascinates me, especially when I catch myself do it. Why am I apologizing for not remembering the friend of a friend’s brother’s name? Why do I shyly suggest something as thought I’m going to be burned with a cigarette if my idea is rejected? Why can’t I just say a firm but polite “no” instead of, “Naw I’m good”? Why do we do this?

I’m not saying all women do this. I’m relieved not all women do this. I wonder if it’s just a matter of being in a position of power. I suppose it makes sense if at work or on a job interview you have an apologetic tone (whereas the person interviewing you does not) because you don’t want to step on toes and admit it, you just want to be liked. (Again, I know, not all women share this thought, and that’s great too.) Is it our generation? Are we so used to texting and email that we’ve viewed the phone and “real-life” conversation as something uncomfortable? Once our computers are taken away from us, does our confidence go with it? The more I think about it, the more instances I find. Like the time some obnoxious guy hit on my friend for about half an hour until she finally had enough and ended it. The time I asked a question in acting class and prefaced it with, “This is going to maybe sound like an insult but I swear I don’t mean it that way, I just have a question…” or when my drink is made incorrectly at Starbucks and I practically fall over myself apologizing explaining that this wasn’t what I ordered and can you please remake it, I’m so sorry. Like it’s my fucking fault you made me a hot latte even though I asked for iced. And it’s not a big deal, that’s not my point. The big deal is that I feel like it’s my fault.

Be honest with yourself: is this something that you do? Really think about it. If someone asks you to attend something that you really don’t want to attend, do you hesitate, put on a happy face and say something like, “I don’t know, I’ll have to check my schedule, but it really sounds like fun, I hope I can make it, I’m sorry I just don’t know yet!”? I’m not saying you should reply, “Your party sounds like ass, fuck off” but there’s a polite yet firm way to say no. I hate when people say, “I wish I could be there.” There’s no wishing. If you want to be there, be there. You don’t need a genie in a bottle, you just need your car keys.

When I worked in retail I thought maybe part of the apologetic nature came from the fact that I was just a sales person and not the manager, but then I noticed that even the manager had a tone with customers of, “Let me help you please and I’m so sorry if you don’t want me to, I’m just trying to be helpful.” She would approach customers gingerly but sweetly and ask them, “Would you like me to pop open that jewelry case for you?” with about six question marks hanging in the air, as though they were going to brandish a machete at her for even asking.

Let’s make a conscious effort not to apologize for things that we have no need to apologize for. Don’t say “I should have”, “My bad”, “Is that okay with you?”, or any other form of apology unless it is absolutely necessary.

There are too many people who didn’t deserve my apologies and I just gave it to them anyway.

http://bitchmagazine.org/post/feminist-coming-out-day-blog-carnival

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It’s Not TV.

Feb

2011

You may have noticed that I haven’t posted about myself in a while. I’ve mentioned that a lot has happened in my life recently. I’m not going to get into all of it, but I’ll tell you this. I am going to move out with another single gal and we’re going to live together in a cute little house here in LA!

The other single gal is my mom.

Yes. I never, ever saw this coming. My mom and I are two single roomies. My friends say it sounds like a network sitcom but I think it’s more like a Showtime dramedy. Who would play me? You know that teen from Californiation, the one Duchovny effed? “Mia”? My mom thinks we look alike. She could play me. Shannen Doherty is too old now to play me now. I’d like Kat Dennings but she just got a show. So did the girl who played Janis Ian in Mean Girls and the indie girl in Cloverfield. When I was younger and blonder, right around when Lost In Translation came out, people told me I looked a lot like “that girl from that Bill Murray movie.” But then I guess I got uglier. Or maybe she just changed a lot. No one looks like me. I look like no one. This is a good thing but I don’t want to play myself in this show. I don’t even want to play it in real life. However I will take any offers and/or suggestions.

Suzanne Somers would be a great person to play my mom except she’s a little too old. Lauren Graham would be good, as we already have that Gilmore Girls vibe going, but that seems overdone with her now. I kind of want Lisa Kudrow, she would be good. She doesn’t look like my mom though. Ali MacGraw does, but my mom thinks that’s an insult (I have no idea WHY, MacGraw is stunning but O OK mom), and now MacGraw is too old anyway. If we’re going to do the sitcom route, it could be Jessica Simpson. That would be hilariawesome. But OK, sticking with the Showtime pitch that I do not have, I should suggest someone more like…Angie Harmon. But blonde.

I already wrote a pilot based on my blog but I’m wondering if I should go in a different direction. This mother/daughter thing might be worth looking into. There’s Gilmore Girls and Golden Girls, but are there any other good mother/daughter shows? And wtf, what is with adding “girls” to everything? Spice Girls. None of those women were girls. Backstreet Boys, Beach Boys, New Kids On The Block — your problem was not thinking of your future and injecting your band name with an idea of eternal youth that doesn’t hold up. The Rolling Lads? Yeah, no. Although The Beatles are my favorite band ever, I think that The Beatles is the worst band name ever. At least they didn’t go with “The Shoes.” Lennon suggested that name because he said the name didn’t matter, they could be anything. OH WOW, SO DEEP.

I kind of get what he means though. You could cast anybody as me or my mom and you could turn my life into any kind of show, and it would be different, but it would still be the same at the core. It wouldn’t matter because it’s from the same place, the same us, the same truth.

MONEY.

Find It — The Carrie Nations (Beyond The Valley Of The Dolls)

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Look At This Fucking New Year.

Dec

2010

Lately I’ve been changing the way I think about life. BY GETTING HAMMERED ALL THE TIME!!!! No, I’m kidding. That wasn’t even a funny joke. I’m sorry. Anyway. My default has always been to chose negativity over positivity. To be cynical, not sunny. I think I realized why I do this. I’m always bracing myself for disappointment. When I was a little kid, I thought I was fucking awesome. I mean I wouldn’t shut up about it. I was Kanye on the playground. I thought my life was awesome and would always continue to be awesome. Then I started to hear all of those sayings: “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch” “Not so fast” “Look before you leap” “Don’t put all your eggs in one basket” “Wait for the other shoe to drop” and so forth. And I started to think, maybe it’s arrogant to think that I’m going to be okay. Maybe I shouldn’t go through life with confidence. Maybe I should constantly brace myself for disappointment, and constantly put myself down even in a joking way, and maybe I should always tread lightly.

But the thing about disappointment is that there is nothing you can do to soften it. Disappointment is disappointment. Preparing for it doesn’t make it any better. You don’t purposefully drive with a flat tire to brace yourself just in case you get one.

When did it become tacky to believe in yourself? To say, things are going to work out for me and mean it and follow through with it? Why do we have to walk around apologizing for wanting success? And why is it so much easier, for me at least, to be negative than positive? Feeling positive feels so much better. Feeling negative takes up so much energy. It’s exhausting trying comparing myself and making myself feel bad, so why do I keep doing it? I need to change my roommate’s behavior. I am putting all of my eggs in one basket because if I drop the basket, it’s just a bunch of broken fucking eggs.

I don’t believe in high stakes anymore. I don’t believe that if I did this or this my life would change (or even worse, wouldn’t). My life is not supposed to be this difficult. I am allowed to love my life, and myself and I am allowed to believe in myself, and if that sounds like some stupid Marlo Thomas Childen’s Special I don’t even give a fuck. We are all allowed to have good, happy lives! Really! I know, right? Somewhere in between our transformation from children to teens to adults we got tricked into thinking that life was hard and that we have to make ourselves feel bad. There is absolutely no reason to do this. We’re all fine. We all have our strengths, our weakness, our likes, our dislikes, and there’s room for all of that and all of us. So what isn’t there to happy about? Leap and a net will appear — it appears because you want it to. All you have to do is want it.

Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make; you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won’t know for twenty years. And you may never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. Just try and figure out your own divorce. And they say there is no fate, but there is: it’s what you create. And even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes or it seems to but it doesn’t really. And so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope that something good will come along. Something to make you feel connected, something to make you feel whole, something to make you feel loved. And the truth is I feel so angry, and the truth is I feel so fucking sad, and the truth is I’ve felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long I’ve been pretending I’m OK, just to get along, just for, I don’t know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own. Well, fuck everybody. Amen. (“Synecdoche, New York”)

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Everything Sucks. But It’s Okay.

Nov

2010

Here’s the thing: I don’t want to admit that right now I feel like everything sucks.

I feel like I know that there is a bear in my house and that this bear will eat me if I don’t move. I don’t feel like leaving the house. That sucks.

But maybe I should just make peace with the bear. “Bear, I know you will one day eat me but I’m just going to do my thing, I’m just going to ‘be me’ and I’m not going to think about the day when you will eat me. Because that’s just life. I can wait for you to eat me or I can love life and accept my death.”

I don’t want to admit that I hate losing control. I don’t want to admit that every day I am in a constant struggle with a certain person. This person drives me fucking mad. This person nags, confuses, and makes me feel badly about myself. This person hates everything I do and is never satisfied with anything.

This person is me. (TWIST ENDING!!!!!)

Maybe you feel this way about yourself. If you do, I am so sorry. I know how hard it is having to put up with yourself. If I were my own roommate I would move out. “Almie, stop complaining. And stop eating all of the mini Kit Kats. Goddamn.”

We may not want to realize it, but we will always have this roommate. There is no moving out. Maybe you’re okay with this. Maybe your roommate is awesome and is good to you and makes sure that you always work out and eat right. Maybe it knows that you’re a great person and tells you every day. But if you’re like me, your roommate is a total asshole who won’t let you sleep because they’re watching Dr. Oz until 4 in the morning. They drink Diet Coke and leave the cans everywhere. And on top of all of this, they bring in this bear that they leave in the closet and tell you it’s fine, it’s going to eat you but whatever, enjoy life!

So okay then. Let’s make the best of this living arrangement. Tell your roommate to clean up their shit. Tell them shut up when they tell you how much you suck. Tell them that life isn’t so bad.

Because the moment we start to listen to this terrible version of ourselves is the moment life really does suck. And I do not want to admit that I feel like I suck. I do not want to admit that I have no idea what I’m doing. I do not want to admit that I am afraid. I do not want to admit that sometimes I say exactly the wrong thing. I do not want to admit that I did not work out today.

But I just admitted it and I’m still here. Maybe we should just admit these things. Just say them out loud. There’s no point in pretending that they’re not there or that there’s anything you can do to replace them with a different feeling. If you have a problem with your roommate, you don’t kill them. You try and work it out. You can’t pretend that their actions are okay. You can’t pretend that you’re okay with it. But you can change it.

I am done making myself feel bad and I am ready to feel better.

Now it’s your turn. What do you not want to admit? Do it here.

I’m The Best — Nicki Minaj

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Harsh Words.

Oct

2010

This is how it works: you’re young until you’re not. — Regina Spektor

I’m going to lay it down for everyone.

You are a total idiot if you text and drive. You’re also an idiot if you talk on the phone and drive, but if you do it on speakerphone or on a bluetooth then I guess it’s less dumb. They say that texting and driving is worse than drunk driving, which is a relief because now when I drive drunk I don’t feel so bad. KIDDING!!!!! Seriously though, don’t text and drive. It’s fucking distracting. When I’m on my way to meet you, don’t text me. I will not respond. You shouldn’t expect me to respond. Why? BECAUSE I’M DRIVING. If you need to reach me while I am on the way to meet you, either call me or wait until I get there. Pretend it’s 1994 if you have to, and cell phones are not common. If you are on your way to meet me, and you have to tell me something, LITERALLY CALL AND TELL ME. If you text me, I’m going to respond with “DON’T TEXT AND DRIVE.” If you do it again, I will call your ass and tell you to stop. It’s seriously the dumbest fucking thing you can prevent yourself from doing. We all make bad relationship decisions, money decisions, life decisions — don’t make this one. And don’t say to me, “I only text at red lights.” Would you get to a red light and close your eyes? No, because that’s dumb. So don’t text at a red light either, because although you may be stopped, other people are morons and could run the light, run into you, etc. Do not text and drive and if you do, don’t do it in front of me, unless you want me to think of you as a total dumbass.

Why are you jogging at night in the fog on Mulholland Drive? Are you fucking asking me to hit you? Are you fucking stupid? If you need to work out that badly, get a fucking treadmill. It’s like one of The Simpsons Halloween episodes where Ned Flanders says, “Time for my nightly fog walk!” and then is promptly hit by Homer with his car. It’s just ridiculous. You are asking people to hit you with your car when you powerwalk on streets that don’t have sidewalks after 8:00 PM in the fog. I can’t even–

Always RSVP. I cannot tell you how rude it is when you leave someone hanging. You’re not the fucking weather; I shouldn’t have to predict what you’re going to do. Either tell me that you’re coming, that you’re not, or that you’re trying to come. Don’t be lackadaisical about this shit. I admit, I have been done this before, but sometimes I go a few days without checking Facebook, which seems to be the main way to invite people to things. And why not? It’s easy, it’s quick, and everyone is on it. But then you never know if people are going to check it in time. But if you’re updating your goddamn wall and you still haven’t responded, then you should feel bad about yourself. You have failed at being a polite person. Mrs. Potts would be appalled. You are not Gaston. You are not exempt from behaving like a nice adult. Goddamn. And yes, I see the irony here in acting like a bitch while telling people to be nice. But I have the passion because I love. It comes from care and it comes from love. Or something.

Think I Wanna Die — Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin

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