Sometimes I buy cards with no one in particular in mind.

i write, i write, i write. and none of this makes any more sense.

i don't know if this is a good idea. i don't know if it even carries any weight for you. i don't know how you caught me here. i don't really know what it's all about.

Am I fine? Yes. 

Am I happy? Somedays.

But you know those moments, that go on for days, weeks, where everything's so good, you just think, something bad has to happen because this feeling can't keep going on forever.

It's been awhile.

broken contracts

It's 2 a.m., and you're here. You've broken every rule you've made for me, he said.

Actually, I think that was your rule.

But I do make these rules, that I never seem to stick to. I don't really know what the point is, maybe it's just part of this game. This game we're always playing.

Just friends, huh.

I guess so.

Somehow, this is always how events transpire. No wonder I have no idea how to date. You're twenty-five kid, make the guy take you on a proper date, that's how it's supposed to be, that's how you know it'll turn into something worth anything, that's what convention says, and then I think, fuck it, I'm twenty-five, things are how they are, and I really can't sit around and have convention work itself out. I kind of just have to do what I want, even if it fucks me over (or vice versa). Why bother? Because I think, one of these days, one of these days, it'll work out.

I could be wrong, there's always room to be wrong.

Meghan: This is how I know Felicity still likes you. You ready?

Ben Covington: Yeah. Wha... what is it?

Meghan: Sarah McLachlan.

Ben Covington: What?

Meghan: When Felicity showed up last year, head over heels for you, Sarah McLachlan was all she listened to. If "Fumbling Towards Ecstasy" wasn't in the CD player, it was only so "Solace" could get a little airplay. I started calling it 'Ben music'... not to her face but behind her back. But then it went away, and I thought Sarah was gone for good. I almost started celebrating. And then you showed up again. You offered Felicity this cross-country trip of a lifetime, which means I got to memorize every lyric from "Surfacing"... all 10 songs! This year started off McLachlan-heavy, until the big break-up, and then all of Felicity's hair went away, and so did Sarah. Until you guys broke into the pool. Now maybe it was a coincidence, but guess who started to make a comeback? It was gradual, but constant, and now if you want me to, I can sing any song from "Mirrorball" which really annoys the hell out of me! So if you're ever curious about whether Felicity has the hots for you, just check her boom box.

Ben Covington: That's the dumbest theory I've ever heard.

Sean Blumberg: Well, I buy it.

Meghan: Let me put it this way, Greg knows how to work it. If she spends too much time with him, Sarah's going back on the shelf. -- IMDb Quotes: Felicity (1998 TV series)

lost things in series

 

__________________________________________________________

I have a habit of saving everything. Anyway, this day in 2009.

Matt: dude, not only can you rent them. you can rent them in order to toss them
Matt: they wear harnesses and you can physically toss midgets
Kim Ha: um
Kim Ha: why does this sound inhuman
Matt: well they get paid alot
Kim Ha: .....
Kim Ha: so do some hookers
Matt: exactly
Matt: so if they are willing to go through it, then its ok
Kim Ha: hahaha
Kim Ha: so
Kim Ha: senator fackner
Kim Ha: when you were 24 you rented a midget?
Kim Ha: hhahah
Kim Ha: best story ever
Matt: nope
Kim Ha: no if it was real
Kim Ha: please do it
Matt: ohthat would be funny
Matt: i'll rent the midgets you bring the keg
Kim Ha: NO
Kim Ha: i'm not going to bea part of the midget renting
Matt: what
Matt: it'll be my name
Matt: why are you so scared
Kim Ha: midgets don't do it for me matty
Kim Ha: now if it were a miniature midget, that's another story
Kim Ha: i had a bagel with cream cheese this morning
Kim Ha: it was yum
Matt: fuck
Matt: i want one
Matt: darn it
Kim Ha: mi dispiace

_________________________________________________________

some matters at hand

life goal #27 drive cross-country. note: will accomplish this, this summer.

#26 live abroad for a year.
#25 get an M.A. (x2)
#24 move out of my parent's house
#23 fall in love
#22 live in southern california or brooklyn
#21 travel around Asia
#20 travel around Europe
#19 live in London
#18 write a book and get it published
#17 write a screenplay
#16 help someone in some way that alters the course of the rest of their life
#15 travel to south america
#14 be homeless for a week or so
#13 drive stickshift
#12 a tattoo
#11 jump out of something
#10 get married
#9 procreate

Running away to Brooklyn.

So here we are

I thought my bi-annual quarter life crisis wasn't going to come around this year. And, it hasn't really. Cause somehow, even with life unplanned 3 months from now (and I always plan 6 months in advance.) I'm okay with where I am, and wherever the hell it takes me. My fortune cookie did say: you are heading in the right direction. And that's gotta be worth something.

But with that said, I still somehow, after a string of unexpected events, that's how they always happen, don't they? managed to deactivate my Facebook. And, if you know me, only under some dramatic circumstance would I go about doing this because, Facebook is my coke, and I'm not even saying that lightly.

But I won't last because I never do, and it's a good thing I've never done coke cause I've found, I'm an easy addict to the things I can't live without. Of course, it's only in the momentary do I believe this to be true.

I could give it up forever, and write a blog about it. Isn't that what we do? But nah, going on 6 hours. Will probably only last 24. Maybe 48, if this is incredibly severe.

We're having talks before things get too far, before lines get too blurred.  We're defining things, not yet worth defining, to save ourselves from past mistakes.  We're learning from old losts, though I'm not sure it's getting us any further.

We're growing up or something I guess.


Though, I must say, I'm really sick of guys telling me they're not one for relationships.  Because we always know, it's really a backhanded insult.  Whether they mean it or not.  None of us can help it, but the truth is, we're all the relationship type with the one we want to stick around for.


But hell, I've never managed to stick around. Even I don't know what this is all about.

"You know what I was thinking?  I can't believe you've never had a boyfriend."

Backhanded compliments all around.


Even when they're not worth much.

You know what's nice?  When guys come around with random apologies, months, years after the fact.


Makes you think, so you're not a total asshole.  And you did give a fuck. (And. I did matter.)


So, thanks.  Even with the late reaction.

(My own thanks, years after the fact. On account of a friends' random note.)

I don't know what you want from me, and it's not the kind of thing I want to ask.  Cause although I'm not really sure what I want from you, I also don't want to hear your reply.  Worst case scenario, you lie, worst case scenario, you tell me what I don't want to hear, worst case scenario, you tell me what I do want to hear, but none of this will work, none of this will work.

Maybe you're trying to get over someone.  I don't know, but maybe this is the case.  If so, a part of me thinks, so what's wrong with sticking around, but then the other part of me thinks, I don't want to be the girl that hangs around as you try to get over someone else.  I don't think it's a game I feel like playing.

I don't know any of this to be fact.  But I have this feeling, like something's off.  And I've never been wrong before. 


But the weird thing?  The weird thing is, being around you takes no effort.  As if we've been hanging out for years, as if you're an old friend, you know?  And I'm not quite sure why this is the case, but to me, being around you is comfortable.

And that's hardly ever been the case.

A few days shy of 3 year years ago, I graduated from undergrad. Here I stand, a few life goals accomplished, papers filed in overpriced diplomas, a few other lives lived, several countries over, some lessons learned in the plight of others, survivin' and matters of the heart, and still, miles and miles left to go.

"Everybody don't got it the same. I could be complaining about it and bitching about it...or I could do what I know how to do and try to make it right along the way."

all's quiet on the western front.

You used to joke me, calling me Kimberly cause you knew I didn't like it. After all this time, I still have this soft spot for you, and even though we don't talk enough to be friends really, I'm glad you still come around, every so often.

baby, you've got to be more discerning, i've never known what was good for me, baby, you've got to be more demanding, what are you holding out for? what's always in the way? why so scared of romance? this modern love breaks me. this modern love wastes me. Do you wanna come over and kill some time? Tell me facts, tell me facts, tell me facts.

Note:

As much as the modern woman may hate it, the archaic rules of waiting for a man to pursue her are grounded in truth. We can chase after men all we want, but at the end of the day, if he wants to be with you — whether it's a relationship or just sex — he'll do something about it.

At the end of the day, modern technology or not, the old-fashioned rules in the pursuit of love remain. Say what you mean, mean what you say. If you want someone, go after them, tell them what's up and if they decline — i.e., they're busy, they're seeing someone, they're busy — move on. Life's too short to sit around waiting for someone to one day magically fall for you. We know there are always exceptions, but the hard truth is, if they want you, they'll pursue you.


Annoying as fuck isn't it?

Logging into Love: From friends to Facebook poking

It was the summer of our aging youth, dotted with morning afters, whiskey, rental cars, sunny southern California and men we believed we adored.  The stocks never got high, but it was a damn good time.

"The only people for me are the mad ones."

Two things tonight.

One. I don't think I have the emotional capacity for you.

Two. I miss Italy, so bad that it hurts.

I would go along with someone like you....that's the problem you see.

"You seem like the type to be in relationships," you said.

Never been in one, I replied.

Don't have the time? you asked.

No, 'cause we all make time for the things we want to make time for.  I just got, issues.

I hear you, you replied.




But you and me, we're not the same.

And I know, if I get caught up this time, nothing good will transpire.  But I've never been one for caution.  But we haven't even gotten anywhere yet, we're only at the point of friends we say, but we're not friends, I actually don't think I could ever just be your friend, but it already feels too heavy, too heavy.

I said, I was done with the experimental stage of my life, but I guess that shit's never over, never over.  But this is too heavy to be any good.

the dilemma

Men are completely weird, and girls are utterly confusing.  As a female, I will admit to that much.

So you like a guy, enough to hook-up with him and not want him to hook-up with anyone else, but you don't want him to be your man, per se.  But of course, we all have trouble separating the physical and the emotional, most of us are incapable of it.  So we get territorial and we get insecure and then we wonder what the hell we got ourselves into.  Because when you start something with a man, you guys usually lay out some ground rules.  You say, you don't want a relationship, so that's how he'll take it.  That he's free to do as he pleases, and he believes you understand this, that you'll be okay with this because that's what you told him.

But the problem is, nothing's ever black and white, and all lines become blurred when it comes to matters of the heart even when it ain't love, it ain't even close.

Bloc Party reminds me of the early '90s, warehouse parties, smoke-filled rooms, poker chips, cigars and unrequited love.

What are you sayin' son?

Spring is in the air, and ordinarily I don't believe in this spring fever crap, but it seems the past few weeks, the men have been coming around in hoards. Not just my life, but all my female friends as well (watch, I just jinxed myself).

Leaving us up to our ears in trying to decipher what the hell he's saying beneath the subtext. Because it seems, and I stand on this, men often times lack the balls to say what they really mean, leaving us reading a text, pondering over a conversation in bed or over aim and asking each other–what the fuck does that even mean?


Case 1: My friend has been seeing a guy. And by seeing, I mean properly dating, more or less. Dinners, meeting friends and yes, hooking up.

In bed the other day, in the middle of him listing everything he loves about her, how smart she is, how beautiful she is, he goes:

"Can we just have a purely physical relationship?"

She says, "um no, i think we're past that at this point....why can't it be mental and physical?"

He replies, "cause i'm so attracted to you mentally and physically, I know i'm going to just fall in love with you."

Translation: "Can we just be fuck buddies, but I don't wanna sound like an asshole."

on chances

After all this time, nothing's the same anymore.

Most days, really, most days, you don't cross my mind.

But sometimes, somedays, I wish I still knew you.


I guess this would apply all across the board.  All those I once had friendships with, and those events that transpired over tabletop conversations, the manner of ease in banter levied with subtext, but momentary leaps, without heart, don't really stand a chance against daylight, do they?

this day in 2009

I miss Italy today. This time last year, I was struggling through a 7,000 word paper, and for amusement I stole my housemate's wooden cat and we left ransom notes around the palazzo.  I'd forgotten about this one.  It read wear your stiletto boots and bring cookies "in class or else your cat will lose a limb every day." Before hiding it in a cabinet, we hung it from a shower and made a ransom video.  Yea, we were that tired of writing papers. She never gave into our demands, I never pulled the limbs off.

on my religion

via @CodyBrown Just read David Foster Wallace's Comencement Speech. Holy. Shit. http://bit.ly/9CDgKv Thanks for the link @joecoscarelli @timsteno

"Of course the main requirement of speeches like this is that I'm supposed to talk about your liberal arts education's meaning, to try to explain why the degree you are about to receive has actual human value instead of just a material payoff. So let's talk about the single most pervasive cliché in the commencement speech genre, which is that a liberal arts education is not so much about filling you up with knowledge as it is about quote teaching you how to think....the really significant education in thinking that we're supposed to get in a place like this isn't really about the capacity to think, but rather about the choice of what to think about."

For some time it was about natty lights, kegs, solo cups, makeshift beer pong tables, mostly from plywood over at Home Depot, and we'd take midnight runs to Sheets for peach tea, chats with H-burg cops, and roomie trips to Walmart for toilet paper runs, brownie mix and you used to steal kool-aid packets for jungle juice, cause it was silly to pay for those little things you said.

Some nights we'd walk over to Hunter's Ridge or the Commons for random parties. Other nights we'd chill over the hookah and random shit. I didn't know as much then.


Can't really listen to Matisyahu without thinking of all this.

There's a thin line between sincerity and just plain creepy.

I have this thing, within the first 5 minutes of speaking with someone, I usually make the decision on whether it's ever going to work out. And by working out, I mean something real. Within the first 5 minutes, I usually semi-subconsciously admit what I end up realizing. And oftentimes, even when, I know things won't work in the long run, I can't help wanting to figure him out anyway. Because I don't get him, because I don't get his lingo, because his taste in music makes me wonder about the kind of person he is, because he's admittedly polite, because of the life he used to live, because.....well, you know, all the reasons why you make these efforts to pursue something at the hopes of maybe proving yourself wrong.


But I've never been wrong.





I remember, it was your birthday that weekend, and I should've showed up. He called me up, told me to come out, they were celebrating your birthday, and I made up a lame excuse because I didn't want to be around you. It's for the birds, you used to say, and you barely knew what the fuck it meant. You were my kind of person, I used to think.

I was laying in bed last night, fiddling around Facebook, of course, what else is new.  And I started this message to this dood, I got a call, had to take care of something so I never finished it.  And then I went back to rewrite it, and I thought, what's the point?

I'm all about technology propelling the state of modern romance–hell, it's practically my bible.  Tragically, so.  But it's all so pointless.  This back and forth online banter levied with subtext, but it doesn't get anywhere.  I've never been one to keep my mouth shut when I find a guy particularly attractive, but as of late, everything's been so superficial.  He's got nice shoes, I like the way he moves.  But what's the physical to anything real?


It's sunny as fuck outside, and I kind of wish it were raining.

Anyway, off to start another day.

People have been up in arms over AU sophomore, Alex Knepper's column in The Eagle "Dealing with AU's anti-sex brigade."

Some wonder how The Eagle could possibly publish such an inflammatory piece, from discussions at Jezebel to The Sexist at WCP.

In an editor's note the editor explained, "By publishing this piece, we were not trying to display our tacit support of Knepper’s views. However, as journalists, we are not in the business of censorship. As an editor, I would not feel right to fire or censor a writer who has offended people, because I believe that he has raised questions that warrant discussion."

"we want you back, you are on my shortlist of people that i'd like to come back to this country." 03.29.09

I've been busy, caught up.  I haven't seen you in awhile, in years actually.  I'm going to fix that one of these days.  Catch up over beers and your manner of making ordinary days into these stories.

Miss ya kid.

via Fuckyeahmashups by Immuzikation - All My Children (MGMT vs LCD Soundsystem)

I've handed out my fair share of unfiltered 2 a.m. intoxicated declarations.  What is it about those after hours moments, that we get this need to say precisely what's on our mind, even if in the morning after, we end up running back on everything we wrote or said, and apologizing profusely.

But for what?  In our moments of candor, we say these things we mean, but would never otherwise vocalize because we live behind these stuffy filters, for fear of rejection, for fear of a reaction, for fear of making the other person uneasy, or maybe they'll think we're completely weird.

Someone once told me, when you say something, and you mean it, don't take it back just because you're utterly mortified hours later.


My filter's never been too good, and I kind of like it that way.



Anyway, these are some I've received recently, that kind of stuck.  We don't say shit like this on the daily.  On this point, I know people say, oh, well they were drunk, but you see, it's in those moments, in that insistence to say, whatever they wanted to say, that makes it real.  Even if, only for that moment.


08.22.2009 – 4:41 a.m.

"fyi you are epic."

12.22.2009 – 1:25 a.m.

"i think i miss you."

03.20.2010 – 2:14 a.m.

"i need you to know how very platonically I love you. I love you like I love italy. And that's not to be taken lightly."

The length of the pacific is wider than we'd ever thought.


In the end, it's deeply ironic, how we define, a better life.


It's never going to be enough, is it.

I went to visit you today.  I don't know you.  And all this was just for a story.  But you spoke with me.  For hours.  In that waiting room.  You were incredibly charming, and incredibly young.  And I wish we'd met under different circumstances.  You made everything sound okay, as if living these years behind stone walls wasn't so bad.  You're probably stronger than most of us will ever be.

Everything that happened today feels like a dream.  As if you're not locked up, beyond the curve of the mountain, in that town up north.

"What an idea. A crazy, mad, wonderful idea."

-Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland

8-year-old: where do u always go in the summer? i ask your mom about you. she said paris....

It's funny how things sound coming from a kid.  She said it so wistfully. 

I went back to my old high school today.  Dropped by to pick up my cousin, he's a sophomore now.  And I took the wrong turn out through the neighborhood we shortcut through.  Has it really been that long?

In those days, we were just trying to get the fuck out of this town, and we succeeded, and now I'm back here, driving down the streets I've known for far too long.


But this time, this time I'm going to stick around for awhile. Make something of myself 'round here.

I kind of miss the good old days of John Cusack standing outside Ione Skye's window blasting Peter Gabriel's, In Your Eyes, from his boombox–you know the scene. It was so romantic–can you imagine the giant batteries it took to run?

We used to have a boombox, growing up–it was so ghetto, there was a dead roach stuck in between the radio needles. We used to live in an apartment, in a less comfortable part of town.

Another reason why J. J. Abrams and Matt Reeves rock–or rather, Felicity's music director. The end of the final scene of the pilot, they play Peter Gabriel, as she's walking down the streets of New York City, having made the decision to stay.

Anyway, back in those days, a guy wasn't going to bother stalking you, unless he had a real thing for you, because hey, it took effort. These days with modern technology, and all these various mediums, all he has to do is click a few buttons. Over the course of the past few weeks I've noticed an unnamed sort of stranger follow me around the internet world–from one blog to Gchat to Linkedin to Twitter. I guess I should be expecting a Facebook friend request soon.



But who am I to talk. I stalk doods around the internet all the time. Though, I usually just stick with one or two mediums, at least, until we become real friends.

"You made me fall in love with you!"
"You know what, you're acting crazy! How could you think that you're in love with me, you don't even know me!"

on world politics

your inability to understand frustrates me so. you know, i'm just trying to keep my sanity. but you say, school is a luxury. this is a luxury. i write. i write and i write for free because its what i do, and i love it. but it's hard. and you say, you don't understand. you ask, what about that other thing you get paid for. you don't understand these things that i've made matter.

but what can i really say. should i say you're right on all counts. should i let it go. afterall, you lived through a war. you survived a war. what do i know about that. what do i know about those days. you survived. education is a luxury. writing is a luxury. dreams are a luxury. and you survived, you're the embodiment of this dream, this american dream. but you don't understand. your mother died of an illness, she was cremated, after the war, your father, he took his own life, and your sister would do the same years later. and he left. and you survived.

so what can i really say.

"We only get what we give."

Even on a rebellious day

I still have to write these things.

In those days it was about surviving the war, leaving behind mother, father, sisters, 7 gold bars buys you another life.

How could you ever understand.

Happy Chinese New Year



It's not like it was when I was younger, it never is as it was.  These days it's this inability to understand, and this need to hold on to things as they were.  When you're younger you never consider these things, as if culture would matter, and then it does.

An experiment on modern dating––from sexting to real-life courtship.

Photo by woolloomooloo, courtesy of Creative Commons.

I should blog for school, but honestly, I got nothin'.

This snowstorm has totally killed my 'lead a healthier lifestyle' kick. The only time I move is to go down to my kitchen, and that's only to get food.

(December snowstorm +) 2 feet + another impending 10-20 inches. I've never seen this much snow in my life.


There's not much in this life that we have total control over, or sometimes, any control for that matter. Can't control death or illness or whether some guy takes an interest in you or whether someone will take to the shit you write. So then you turn to the things you can control.


Sometimes you do things just because you can.


I wonder if that's a good enough reason.

Will we ever make up and be friends? I was always a sucker for your lines, the charm of your diction, makes anyone forget the war.

Dreamers, the lot of us

in streaming

In the after years we ran away to nations and nation states, lectures on American imperialism and the affairs of Central and Eastern Europe, Turkey's fight and London's ambivalence, after hours we decompressed, fueled on euro birra coined from 24-hour vending machines on the stone steps of the old church, Irish pubs across the river filled with Americans we loathed, there in the wood-benched alcove, under 90's tunes of the American dot-com era, before the money woes, of another time, we cheered on Fiorentina v Milan, over-hyphenated societies and the inability to understand the plight of the ordinary, in the messiest of times our only anthem was living


no one ever knows what they're going to be when they grow up, even after they've grown up, it was never about the destination, the end result, it was always about the continuation, the continuum, they didn't all hear us, they didn't all understand but there was admiration, envy

plagued by unrest, begging change to the world in which we'd return

we came back to the world as we'd known it, over-worked Americana in over-populated suburbias.

I read your work and I wonder

what kind of person you came to be

between the details

the ache of your pen

diction pulled between the creases

of these ordinary moments.

i didn't know what to say

He said something about timing.

She said something about luck.


   missed connections all across the eastern front.

Only in madness may there be brilliance.


P.S.

I'm still stuck on that hooker/prison/day labor thing.

Breaking hearts to make the papers.

"We accept the reality of the world with which we're presented, it's as simple as that."

The Truman Show