Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Relationship Status

More of this:

Less of this:

More ladies swooning over my creative genius;
less guys standing in front of BFF posters with me.
More artistic finesse; less awkward-ness.
More proportionate arm length; less disproportionate arm length.
(I mean, check out those arms? Have another look. It looks even weirder the second time).

Nothing against Steve, but he found a better BFF than long arms over there. So is it really too much to ask for the same? I'm talking ladies lined up at my front door and outside every class waiting to offer me their name, number, and favorite color. I can deal with that. But until then, I tell my dad, my hands are tied concerning the advancement of my relationship status. Pops isn't hearing it. You have to go looking, he says. What? Go looking? I don't have time for that. Plus, I liked the good old days in seventh grade when they came to me. And anyway, who said they could stop? Is my hair less attractive now? I used to have a bowl-cut. Maybe I should get one of those again--bring back a movement lost to the toddlers. What about a mullet--those are time-less? No? Well, come on Dad, what could it be then? I don't look 27. I'm as hot as I was at 21. And I didn't have to do much looking then. So when did the screening process turn into a hunt? What? Of course I brush my teeth, Dad. I'm telling you, it's got to be the hair or something. Personality? Well, I don't know. You may have something there, but again, that didn't used to matter. Girls dug my bowl-cut and personality was incidental. Maybe I should work on a few jokes or something--let them know I'm funny so they don't think I'm so into my hair, even though I can't stop thinking about it and how I'm going to lose this one if the wind doesn't stop fro-ing my curls out. If I'm funny, I'll have a personality right? Sort of? What do you mean 'sort of?' Long walks on the beach? Dad, you're killing me. How's that personality? No one does that up here. It's Ohio. And it's freezing anyway. Ok, so you think I should at least try to talk to girls somewhere, in some venue, somehow, about something. Nice. Well that just kills it doesn't it. Dad, you know I can't talk to girls. They're weird. And their brains work in a way I can't get. I never know if I'm speaking their language or not. They have this weird text language that gets into all forms of communication and I'm left squinting at them, something they don't always like. LOL, :), U R (a picture of a sun), all sorts of variations on a smiley face theme, about a billion of these !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and another lol. What are you saying (squint)? I'm no good at this pops. I don't know what it's going to take to match me up with a representative of the other gender, but if it ever happens, it will be a miracle. But I'm a big fan of miracles, so I'll bank on that.
Until then, "Table for one!"

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Win a Cruise! (please excuse model #4)

This is not now. This is months ago. This is not here. It's Taiwan. But you will pardon me, Steve took so many pictures I keep coming upon ones I've never seen. It feels new to me. My apologies to those of you who do not share this feeling. Congratulations on paying better attention than me. But indulge me. This shot reminds me of a Sears clothing ad of mixed decades and genres. Steve represents casual youth with his "Who Says" T-shirt and jean shorts. Mary goes back nearly six decades--the baby bottle, loud shades and a sun umbrella proving moms can still be fashionable. I'm obviously catering to the "wealthy business man on a cruise" group. And Sara? Sara kind of throws the whole thing into a satire. She fits in by undoing the accomplishments of models #1, 2,and 3. Nothing will sell now that suddenly we have a model looking at the camera, suddenly a model with a broken arm and a white cast in stark contrast to a black shirt, a model holding an umbrella blown inside out by an apparently angry wind. But stranger still, a model who is smiling despite frailty, a model that shows signs of being human. Models represent perfection and the non-existent world of human fancy. Ironically, that's how they sell. Steve, Mary, and I could be made of plastic for all anyone could care and they'd still bet on us, pay down the big money on a gamble for happiness. Model #4 isn't a model. She's obviously real. She'll make Sears no money . . . though she might make Hallmark some money if this picture included the caption: On your birthday we wish you all the love and joy money can buy! (Please ignore model #4).

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

. . . AFTER I go to Russia

Lena's right. What was I thinking? I won't go to Taiwan, I'll go to Russia.

Maybe I can go to Russia and then Taiwan, and then Russia again, and then Taiwan again to earn money, and then Russia again to spend it. Taiwan can fund my trips to Russia. Hurray.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

This year

If every night turns out to be an all-nighter,
If that guy in class doesn't stop spitting on me from trying too hard to make his point,
If I still haven't found enough time to get my bike fixed,
If Obama's grassroots blitz doesn't ease up once he's in the House,
If I haven't managed to get past High Street unmolested,
If I still can't feel comfortable with the other gender,
If none of my internships for this summer work out,
If I can't get funding for next year . . .

I'm going back to Taiwan.

Who's in?