Trust is a Hard Thing to Come by These Days.

Yes, I am annoyed at people recently. This is nothing new.


But I still have to reanalyze how it is that my semblance of what is decent and normal and healthy apparently is so radically different from everyone I meet.

I just want honesty, that's all. I want people to think before they take actions that will influence other people's lives. And if they are so incapable of knowing what or how they're feeling, maybe they should realize that they aren't in a position to make adult choices.


I feel like I'm always coming from a place of understanding what I'm feeling, and not doing whatever pops into my head without considering the repercussions. If I don't want to be with someone, I know, and then I make sure not to make a move on them. If you don't know what you're doing, and you're acting in a sober environment where it takes your action to make things happen, then know what the hell you're asking for, or leave it well enough alone.

You fucking ought to stay the hell away from things you know nothing about.


And yet at the end of the day, I always pay for their errors in judgement, because I was being honest and weighing my options and decided that I wanted them, and they couldn't return the favor.


If you don't want anything serious, if you never want to see me again, then tell me before you show an interest in me. Sure, you might get less action that way, but it's called being a decent-fucking human being. Because I'm assuming when I get told that he relates to my loneliness, is always around if I need a friend, if he coerces me into hanging out with him, then springs a date on me and pursues me, he should at least understand what he's doing. It might not be 'wrong' in the strictest sense of the word, but it's still a douchebag move to make if he won't respond to your texts.


I know I should just let it go. But part of me wants to hang around, annoy the hell out of him, make him miserable, because he made ME miserable, and maybe he would learn a lesson not to be an irresponsible jerk. It probably won't work, but it's a sense of fair play that pushes me into doing it. I mean, I at least deserve an explanation.


And people need to stop being fucking assholes.



That is all.

Debut d'une Lutte Prolongee.

Mao! Mao!

A Ma Poupee D'Amour.

I may be

cruel and heartless.





But at least I'm not depraved.

My new discovery:

Erotic postcards from the early 20th century in Paris.



Not sure how beautiful stuff like this somehow evolved into the blond, fake-tanned, shaved and plastic-boobed excuse for sexuality that we have today.

What Turns Me On Is Not What Turns You On.

Pandora's Box

The Cold Truth.

Things that are easy: Saying "I love you."





Things that are apparently a lot harder: being a decent human being.

Hope?

Things are new again. Things are fun again. Maybe it's the summer or maybe it's the novelty of it, but spirits are up.


Will the feeling last? Who knows? Has it ever before? Not nearly long enough. But life seems to have a purpose again, or a destination, or a general feeling of possibility. Yes, my job sucks, yes, I'm poor, yes, I'm not appreciated enough. But I could be. And I might.


Ain't it funny how strangers find home in the strangest places?


The most unlikely of people open all the doors. I'm starting to think that it's less about sharing attributes, and more about gut feelings. If they can elate me, amuse me, make me forget about myself, then they are the right one. The rest is circumstances. But at the end of the day, feeling is what's more important. Living, not dying. Existing without fear and loathing.


The future looks great.

Men cluster to me like moths around a flame-

And if their wings burn, I know I'm not to blame. . . .

A Day In The Life:

5:39 : See extremely attractive man at H&M. Take note.

5:46 : See him again in the check-out line with a male friend, assume that he's gay.

5:50 : Hear that they are speaking in French to one another. Unassume gay factor.

5:51-5:54 : Glance at them intermittently, hoping to gain their slightest attention, to no avail.

5:55 : Decide to lose fifty pounds and study up on French.

6:15 : Order nachos.

Would You Even Know It If You Had It Anyway?

I'll tell you why I don't want to know where you are . . .

I got a joke I've been dying to tell you
The silent kid is looking down the barrel
To make the noise that I kept so quiet
I kept it from you, pitseleh

I'm not what's missing from your life now
I could never be the puzzle pieces
They say that god makes problems just to see what you can stand
Before you do as the devil pleases
And give up the thing you love

But no one deserves it

The first time I saw you, I knew it would never last
I'm not half what I wish I was
I'm so angry, I don't think it'll ever pass
And I was bad news for you, just because
I never meant to hurt you. . .

Rebirth.

Sometimes you have to lose it all to appreciate what you've got.


I suppose that's what's happened to me. Rock bottom. Nowhere to go but up. And I feel fine.



I've let everything go. I'm living in the moment. I'm not stressing about the future.



There are possibilities. There is even, dare I say it? Optimism.


I'm in no hurry. Things will happen as they should.


No comparisons. No more angst. Nowhere to go but up.


I feel childish again. Like there is a future. Like things might just turn out swell. . . .

Hopeless.

I really am hopeless at this point. My parents have a million recommendations: go to this agency! Ask your college career center what to do! Why bother? What do they care about me and my plight? No one's losing any sleep about my undesirability career wise. And it's not in my personality to ask and be whiny and demanding. It's not what I do. I don't ask for help, I don't want to have to admit how pathetic and useless I am. Shouldn't someone want me for who I am? Shouldn't I be able to find something when I've always been capable enough to take care of myself? Isn't all this what family friends are for?



I'm tired of thinking about my "career". I don't want a career. Never have, never will. My childhood was filled with the acquisition of completely useless skills. Horseback riding, piano lessons, things to make me "civilized", straight out of the 19th century. I wasn't prepared for a world of back-breaking work, I was prepared to be Scarlett O'Hara. And when I succeeded in academia, well, I assumed that because I was better than everyone else at that, then it meant I really was better than everyone else. Of course things would fall into my lap. How could they not?


Well, that delusion soon died off. But I still don't want to have to go beg from people who don't give a shit. It's like constantly calling a guy and begging them to fuck you- you just don't do it if you have any self-respect. There may have been points where I haven't had self-respect, but at least I knew him. I don't want to have to show all my cards to a total stranger, show them how no one cares about my livelihood and that I'm unhirable. And then have them say "no thanks" anyways.


Why can't I be a bohemian artist for just a few years of life? Why can't I live in the city and drink too much and go on obliquely about some stupid idea for a sculpture I had once? Why isn't it enough that I know everything? I can tell you facts and figures, I can explain basically any theory on art, politics, or society, but I don't know anything about management or IT or working multiline phone systems. I don't do accounting, I don't have experience at anything practical.


I would probably have a better chance surviving in the wilderness than surviving in today's job market, to be honest. I know about gardening and survival skills. I would be fine on a homestead. I can cook and clean if need be. But you don't learn how to become a consultant when you're seven. I don't even know what half the jobs out there actually entail. Sometimes I think the whole system is just an Office Space joke- no one really knows what they're doing, they just sit at a cubicle all day and twiddle their thumbs, so I might as well make shit up on my resume and learn to bullshit better, and I'd probably get a lot more interviews.


But that's not me. Isn't being a tastemaker enough? I'm sure I could write some books if I had enough spare time, or learn some fun new talents that would give me some artistic release. But am I really employable? Is everyone employable, or are there people who are just meant for decoration, to make the edge of life's knife blade a little duller?


Probably not anymore. You have to be hard and driven in this world. There's no room for someone halfway beautiful with a bit of a wit if she can't coerce and force her way onto a scene. I'm not imposing- maybe that's my problem. I'm not someone who demands things. I'd like to think it's my good breeding that prevents me from being rude and contradictory. I probably don't sound sure of myself. And I'm not. How could I be with a record like mine? It would take severe delusions to demand the things I deserve. If I deserve them so badly, then how come no one at all will give them to me?


The fact is that I've given up the fight. I was never prepared for a fight to begin with. I was expecting an extension of childhood, a good time, things taken lightly, taken up when wanted, and put away when they became dull. I expected people to find me desirable, that people would pay attention when I talked. I guess I just expected everyone to be civil. Instead, I was greeted with a picture more akin to a frantic stock market, with yelling and waving and shouting, arguments, everyone trying to find an ear to listen to them. Of course I would be drowned out in all the noise. That noisy world is for someone else. Not me.

Brudda Can You Spare A Dime?

This is the place you end up when you lose the chase. . .

Another set-back, another disappointment. I've had a lifetime's share in the last few months.


I try so hard to be ambitious, to think you have any future at all when all you get is a million setbacks.


I thought that by now things would be if not tolerable, then at least going somewhere. I applied for that World Affairs Council internship, and I got the e-mail today that "no thanks", but my talents were not good enough for them. Not good enough to provide 10-18 hours a week of free work, the work that they apparently so desperately rely on. Yes, this position, I thought, would help me when I applied to graduate school to show that I had some knowledge and potential in the world of International Relations and nonprofits. It would've been hard to work that much, but I suppose it would've been worth it. There's nothing else much in Seattle that would be similar that would have a real internship position. Believe me, I've tried.


And now they've told me "no thanks". Apparently a 3.91 GPA in the field isn't good enough. I'm not sure what I would need to have been good enough. Though I DID see that some extremely wealthy girl who was in my study abroad program and who was from the Seattle area had done it, as her picture was on the internship website. She was always going on about how her family knew the Nordstroms, and how Bill Gates lived next door to her. I suppose that's really what it takes: Claremont college education, rich well-connected parents, the same old same old, spoiled rich people, nepotism, that Old Boy's Club that I'm not invited to.



I guess it's funny that I always assumed I would be. Being the smartest kid all through High School and college wasn't enough, I guess. Because intelligence and competence isn't really what matters at the end of the day. Money talks; money is really the only thing with a voice anymore. I'm sure if I had parents who helped me apply to a bunch of Ivy League schools, including paying the $300 a pop application fees and who knew people who went there or if they had gone there themselves, things might be different. If my parents had known some well-to-do city folks who would give me an internship, well, even better. If I didn't have to worry about working and could take classes and do unpaid internships and still afford to eat, well, that would be awesome. But I don't have any of those things. I'm just a plebe working for the man, and the education I'm going to be indebted for for the next twenty years doesn't mean shit in the real world.


Now I'm thinking about graduate school. None of the prestigious ones will want me if my only work background is Macy's. And if I go to some shitty small school, well, where will I get a job then? Centralia College? If I'm lucky, maybe. Or even worse, I'll just be unemployed with another fifty grand of debt accumulated.


I guess I should just face it- I'm not qualified for greatness. I don't have the tools necessary to make something happen. I was operating under delusions of grandeur- the major, the studying French, the implication that I would somehow be a desirable addition to any organization. Truth be told, I probably should've gone to trade school, or learned about agriculture or something. Cream rises. It turns out, I'm whey. And there's no savior in sight, no likelihood of someone dropping some opportunity in my lap. Should I even try anymore? Or should I just accept my lot in life, to take what's given me and stop complaining? I've probably been trying to fit a square peg into a round hole my whole life. I mean, failing now and again is bound to happen, but at what point do you stop banging your head against a wall? It's not going to help, it's only going to be frustrating and painful. Maybe me moving back home is for the best after all. It's probably where I belong; clearly I couldn't hack it in the big city. Macy's barely even wants me, why should some impressive non-profit? The world just chewed me up and spat me out. I'm not a heroine, I'm a character from a Hardy novel. There is no happy ending. Just disappointment, economic impotence, and settling for something distasteful. But it's probably still better than begging and pleading for one chance to be someone in this world, and having the door to happiness slammed in your face, over and over.

Song of Myself.

I guess I've realized that if no one else will celebrate me, I'll just have to celebrate myself. If no one sees something fit to worship, than at least I do. My ivory skin, the dark hair, the curve of my neck, rosebud lips, every cliche imaginable, I am all that. I am the girl for the ages, that which has always been worshipped, the smell of roses and coffee, the stride, the surreal gaze. The mind, oh the mind most of all! The way she lounges on the couch, so soft and small, her arms so right to be held, but how frightening it is to think to touch something so fragile, a little china doll. The look of dissatisfaction on her face, aloof from the world. The way her flimsy nighthings cradle her body, how soft and white she is. How lovely to look at, to touch her is to die. Her gaze reveals that she knows more than you could ever imagine. Fickle and cruel, an impudent child. Yet powerful and wise, sophisticated and shy. The curve of her breast, the way she pretends that you're not watching her. The silk against her thigh, the arch of her foot. It's enough to make you spout this drivel. The way she holds herself, you couldn't resist her if you tried. And she won't resist you either, unless you become a bore. . . she knows what she wants, and she'll never be happy with a half rate romance. She deserves the world and she knows it.

Disappointment After Disappointment.

Yeah, I guess I'm ashamed. But mostly disappointed. Disappointed that I've whored myself out to anyone in this town I thought could help me get somewhere, help me be something. Knowing that connections are everything, trying to make friends, thinking if only I could know the right guy, then maybe I could be on my way to something better. Of course, here I am, with nothing at all to show for it. All those promises are gone, and I'm stuck in the ruins of the life I'd thought I'd have by now. I don't know anyone worth knowing. Those that are hate me now, for expecting something in exchange. For them to actually care about what became of me, for them to want me again.

I finally made it up here, thinking I was finally going to find friends, a great job, finally going to grow up. Five months later, it looks like I need to start packing up and heading home. Call it quits. Everyone I know loses everything the moment they meet me. Promises mean nothing. I have less than I started with. I can't afford rent in this town. I have no safety net, no friends who give a fuck, or could help me even if they did.

Looks like I'm not going to be something, not ever. He pats himself on the back for all he's accomplished, refusing to note that it was all because of the company he kept, company that he's never introduced me to. Yes, all his "hard work" couldn't help me find a job. It couldn't even afford to pay the rent.


Now I slave for minimum wage in this town, where minimum wage isn't enough to wipe your toilet bowl with. Now my hours are cut and I have no other options. There are no job openings for kids with too much education and no experience. I am unnecessary, of course I always have been. Guess it's time to finally take the hint. There is no knight in shining armor. Just this fucked up world that picks and chooses favorites, and nothing you can do will make you exceptional, not by a long shot. Accept your lot in life, live out your fate. Maybe this is a sign that I was meant for Lewis County after all, for some dolt from the local High School, for mediocrity. For working too hard for too little, for lower middle class angst.


Makes you wonder what the point of living at all is, at least for someone with my sensibilities. There is no bright side to my life; that was beat out of me long ago. The fact that you can hold onto your optimism is your own luck talking. Don't tell me my attitude has anything to do with the cold hard facts.


I don't know where to go. There's nothing I seemingly can do. So I guess I just wait to die, wait for the cards to fall, for the inevitable. Wait for my whole world to fall apart.

If you want to make it in this game, you gotta have the luck, you've gotta have the look.

I've been thinking lately about what it means to belong, and why I seemingly can't belong in this town.


To be in the "cool" set here, you have to be out every night, at shows, in bars. You have to have money. Furthermore, you have to put yourself out there. You have to put up with assholes and know the right people. And you have to worm your way in. Constantly. Maybe after several years, they'll accept you as one of their own. I used to want that, so badly, to finally be in the cool kid crowd. I knew I wasn't going to get there by being rich, I'm never going to be terribly bourgeouise (I wanted to at one point, but I think it's time I faced reality), but hey, I'm clever, I'm decent looking, I thought it could happen.



But at the end of the day, I'm a misanthropist. I don't like most people. I don't have the time to put myself out there, and I'm not naturally an extrovert. I want to be accepted and loved with no strings attached. The "popular" people won't give me that. Hell, the nerds won't even give me that. And so, I'll probably always be a fringe character in any given scene.



I have standards for friendship. High ones. If you are stupid, I'm sorry, but I'm just not interested. I am disgusted by a lot of people. I'm disgusted by the ones who think they can buy me for a few shillings and discard me when I'm no longer of use. I hate superficial people who want to go on about their money and boobs. These people are not just disgusting, they're downright rude. I'm tired of people who have been given the world and want to tell me about all their 'hard work'. I'm disgusted by the apathetic, those who can't bother to give a fuck.


Of course, things aren't much better, with the working poor. Uneducated, no DESIRE to be educated. Or super religious or something else off about them. I don't know who my people are, but there are very few of them, it seems. So I mostly stay alone. Maybe that aloofness is intriguing. Probably not. As much as I'd like to think that I'm watched and secretly admired, I'm quite certain that it's not the case.

I'm used to doing things alone. Going to the movies, going to rock shows, eating out. I've learned that I don't need companionship. I was in France for five months basically alone- I had friends in my group out of necessity, and now that we've parted, it's clear that there was nothing between us in the first place, really. I don't like doing it alone, but sometimes it's easier that way than trying to pretend with people you hate, or trying to hunt down reluctant friends. Sometimes it's all you can do. Sometimes it has to be enough.

Hi, shit. Say hello to fan.

Yeah, life fucking sucks right now. Just found out my hours are cut at Macy's. No longer a divisional, but I DO get the joys of working in shoes, and working totally part-time. 20 hours a week equals about $150/week short of what I was making before; also about $250 short of what I need to live an impoverished, yet reasonable life. Looking over the Craigslist job ads is pretty much a joke, as I'm not qualified for anything, really. Maybe a few "internships" (unpaid, obviously) I might get (if I'm lucky). It's a bad sign if you can't even GIVE away your time for free. Boyfriend is in equally dire straights. Grim future, that. I might just have to admit defeat and move home.


It's sad how the best of intentions have to go so wrong. How last summer it seemed that anything was possible, and how even this extremely meagre present life is going to be down-graded even more. Apparently I can get something even shittier than a studio at this apartment building. I might have to. If I can afford even that. Plus student loans plus the cost of just existing, eating, occasionally providing some distraction from the shittiness of your life, and finding even THAT's too expensive. . . well, hell.


And how there are people out there squandering all kinds of money, dumbass superficial bitches who get rich douchebag boyfriends and blow a hundred bucks on dinner, buy $400 shoes, pay $3,000 for rent, and the girls don't have to do one damn thing. They might "dabble" in something, or work "freelance" in some impossible "career". In reality, they don't do shit, and they know it. They have the privilege of having some arty hobby that they pretend is a job. And how exactly is this fair?


Life is not fair, I knew that long ago. It seems to be especially unfair for me. Everytime I think I stumble into a situation that seems like it will turn out for the best, misfortune strikes immediately, and I'm left with the tatters of what could have been. It's not a fun place to be. If I could honestly imagine a time when I would get the "good job", get the "connections", have one thing in life turn out the way it should, looking at my history, intelligence, and education, then I would be beyond shocked. This is the world for me right now.


And it's a nightmare.

Eff.

Yeah, basically my biggest style icon at the moment (ever?) is Effy Stonem from Skins, which is of course, my favorite TV show ever, because British teen dramas with lots of sex and drugs is the only escapism I can muster working full time for minimum wage in Seattle with no friends and no social life.
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Which makes Effy seem ever so appealing. Desirable, enigmatic, mysterious. Doesn't talk. Short skirts, skinny. Not impressed. Smoking.

Wanted. That's the main thing. Something about her that makes her wanted, being fit, beautiful, but no personality to speak of. Not sure how that works, but it's what I've always wanted, and it's what she has. Being the center of attention. Fucking with people. Playing games, being cruel. She's who I wish I had been in High School.






Now it's too late, though. It's the real world now, nothing to break your fall if you don't make enough rent money, if you spend too much. Can't quit the job you hate because there's no one else who would have you. Sometimes I wonder how some people get all the luck, never having to worry about this stuff. I haven't written lately because it's all been too stressful for me. Work is getting yelled at or ignored or asked to look up the same thing five times because they refuse to accept me saying that "we don't have it". Having to wait on ignorant people, getting asked if they can use a ten dollar off coupon on a pair of boots that's already only $19, getting treated like shit, basically. It's belittling, it's hard to remember your humanity. You get hard because of it. You get damaged. You get used to being treated like a subhuman. I don't like it. And me, after my amazing grades in college, the apple of my instructor's eyes. This is the best I can do.


So yeah, not having to worry about that shit and instead be some waifish silent girl who is wanted for doing nothing, well, it has it's vicarious appeal to me.

Relationship Advice (from someone who's never had luck in relationships)

and I'd like to think the reason why is because most people today are too tolerant of bullshit. If I enter into a relationship with someone, it's because I'm truly committed to making it happen. I know within the first ten minutes if this is something worth my time and effort. And certainly before there's anything physical, I know. I KNOW. I don't see why that's so difficult to understand and emulate.

But it seems most people today prefer being dishonest and hypocritical. They would rather carry on for a few weeks before "making up their mind", relegating any intimacy as you being slutty and them not being able to help themselves, and then they realize that "no, no thanks" after you've already made a commitment.


Well, my response to that is that if you're going to treat me like a whore, then I better get paid like one. Don't expect me to "understand" why you chose to be a total asshole, don't expect 'feminine' sympathy. You chose to be a dick, I'll choose to ruin your life.

My relationship theory revolves around that old Cold War truce of Mutually Assured Destruction. You fuck with me, you're going right down with me. Hypothetically, this should lead to peace. Perhaps I need to be more forthright with my theories, which I have tried to be. But I am still confused by why people are shocked at my attitude. What? you MIND getting treated like shit?! You expect RESPECT? DAMN, what's wrong with YOU? Where'd YOU come from?

Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I'm not just going to take bullshit lying down. Cruel treatment towards me will result on outright hate on my part. I'm not sorry for that. You've made me suffer, and I'll expect the same from you. No, we can't "still be friends", not that you want that anyways. If you hurt me, then you should be running scared of me. I want to see you squirm if you see me in public. I want to make your life a little harder because you made mine a bit harder. Anytime you're forced to think of me and suffer a bit for what you did, well, then things are a bit more even, I'm liking the sound of it more and more.


Too late for me to forgive and forget, now it's revenge.

It's not that hard. They never lack a choice. If they didn't find me relationship-worthy, then why try to have sex with me? I was never the aggressor. I made it clear I wasn't looking for cheap sex, why should they make assumptions? And saying they have no control over their genitals is a pretty pathetic excuse, if you ask me. It's called common decency not to have sex with people if you're not interested. Really, it's not that hard. And if you don't understand why someone should be upset over someone playing with their emotions, well, then you'll learn.


That's my particular stance on the matter. Thankfully, I haven't had to deal with total tools for a couple months at least, but perhaps if everyone out there decided 'No, I won't put up with this', then people would have to learn. Learn that you can't just stomp over people and use them without just retribution. Perhaps being the "crazy bitch" will make them think twice before they do it to someone else.


And this, my friends, is how we change the world.

I Cut Off All My Hair To Look Like Anna Karina.

Can you blame me?








More specifically from 'Vivre Sa Vie', which is basically a retelling of the Emile Zola character Nana, who finds herself resorting to prostitution to make ends meet now and again, and eventually resorting to it full-time, dying tragically; there is irony in the description "My Life to Live" (or directly, 'to live one's life') in that Nana's life, though she'd like to think she's made the choices, has been an act of desperation, being the object of other's recreation, and certainly her death was not her own choice, but a random act, the killing of a prostitute, who had no value to anyone, really. It's fallacious to think that you really can "live your own life" in a vacuum. And of course, Godard says all kinds of amazing stuff about everything (fangirl).

And Karina, well, her look is amazing, as always.

Ennui.

The problem with me is that I get bored easily. I can't focus on any one thing for too long. I like fashion one week; the next I think it's stupid. I get into silent films, then I'm bored again. I have trouble finding a career I actually want; every time I think I know what I'm going to do with myself, some new distraction comes in and I want my life to be different in every way.


How can you know what you want when the whole world is out there?

The Problem With Female Friends.

Today I had a female friend sort-of stand me up, again, and it's made me wonder about my relationship with women in friendships, and in general. I must begin by saying that I want to love women. I really want to. I want to snuggle up with them all and hold them tight and make them know that everything is all right and they deserve to be respected and loved. I want to fight tooth and nail for women to be treated as an equal, I want women to learn to love themselves, I want all that for them.


And yet I have hardly any female acquaintances that I get along with, nonetheless friends.


Why is it? There are a couple of reasons. One is that the majority of women don't see things like me. They aren't aware of the things that are influencing. They want to play dumb to get men's attention, talk about spending money on purses and the boob job they want, basically playing into every disgusting stereotype ever contrived of womankind. I don't exactly blame them for this; there are reasons women act like that, it's because it is rewarded in society. Women aren't supposed to be loud and have an opinion, women aren't supposed to question the status quo. Women are much easier to control when they talk bad about each other and preoccupy themselves with dieting and make-up. Defying this womanhood is to be a loud, demanding woman. To despise your body and to disown your sexuality is the only way women seem to know how to communicate with other women. In essence, most women talk about themselves like they'd talk about an object, completely internalizing the idea of a fetishized female form. Adornment and bragging seem the only way they can communicate themselves; they don't really seem to think in an organized fashion, they have trouble communicating. Theirs is the realm of playing dumb, for regarding their self-worth by the amount of male attention they get. Every day is a popularity contest and I can't stand it. It's not that I don't understand where they are coming from, but I am met with a hostile reaction towards my attitude. I am not flirtacious to get what I want, I demand it. I refuse to accept a lot in life that I find distasteful. I don't want to be a woman in its current manifestation. Other women don't agree with me on this point, and are downright hostile towards such an attitude. To demand satisfaction for yourself, to demand to be treated with respect is an affront when you have little self-esteem. It's easier in the end to criticize her as jealous of someone's looks or that she's cranky because she's not getting laid than to actually analyze your life and agree that it is in some degree lacking. At any rate, I don't know how to communicate with these people. I need something different, and even if I put myself out there, it's met with criticism. We are living in two different worlds, it seems.


Then, even when I find a woman I find intellectually appealing, one I admire and think has potential, she still seems in an irreconcilable way damaged. I see often a manifestation of the worst traits, often seen as "womanly": being conniving and desperate for attention, or being unable to disagree with others and assert her place in the world, or some other cliche of womankind. Hysteria, it seems, is common as well. I've suffered with depression my fair lot and I've had my down periods, but I don't feel I ever totally lost my voice because of it. But the women I meet, it's as though they're drowning and lost. They require so much time, so much of putting myself out there, only to reject or ignore me. I try to offer my unconditional love and support, I try to be there for them, but I feel like it's not reciprocal. I put myself out there, and I'm turned down. And then it seems like my "friends" are taking and taking, and my well of resources runs dry. I can put myself out there, again and again, at first 90%, but if they'll never meet even a quarter of the way, well what can I do? I can't give indefinitely, I can't let them rob me of my time and effort. I get the sense at times that I'm trying to save a drowning victim, but they're pulling me down with them. I want to be their friends, but sometimes it seems as if they're incapable of friendship. I understand where it's coming from, but it does make it much more difficult. It seems that with men, I at least get a straight answer; I know what's going on and how they really feel. I get a response to my queries, things aren't so complex. We hang out. We communicate. Things aren't up in the air so much. Yes, there can be a romance to a tortured personality, but there's little romance to a corpse. I want female friends, but it's just so much damned work, so much pain from being ignored and abused, I'm not sure how I can make it work.


It makes me feel almost misogynistic to say it. I don't know what it is. Do I consider myself man-like in my efficient and unemotional candor, and still feel that women are subpar? Or do I just refuse to accept women who seem to accept the stereotypical behaviors that propagate the idea that women aren't capable of certain things? I'd like to think the latter, but some traits much more common in women than men are off-putting to me. It's just still so hard for me to relate to most people in general, but especially with women, it seems. I wish it didn't have to be that way, though.

Louise Brooks.

Memory Lane. . .

So an old ex-friend of mine is getting married this week, and it had me wondering how we grew apart. I went through some of our old letters and things, and yes, I did get nostalgic, even though our friendship is beyond forgiveness. The girl I was five years ago is hardly recognizable. Yet it's sad that those who enter your life often must leave sooner than you'd imagined. Yes, she was witty, and fun to be around, but she had a manipulative, almost evil side to her. She would coo and coerce people with false compliments, and could worm her way into jobs, but they often found her personality eventually off-putting and would quietly get rid of her. In a way, I see in her untempered femininity, not normal woman behavior, but the socially constructed variety, the manipulative, sweet-talking, flirtacious, conniving way in which females sometimes behave. In a way, I wanted her power, her ability to befriend those she actually disliked to get what she wanted. But ultimately, it just seemed icky to me, to feign and coo, to build mock friendships with people you didn't actually like at all. . . I was never one for dishonesty. What began as friendship eventually went too far- she had insinuated herself into my family, she would begrudge things about me, she would be somewhat demanding.


Then a boy liked me, and I liked him. And she got jealous and he got jealous and they didn't get along. There was hostility. She gave me an ultimatum. I chose him. Who knows if it was the right choice. I was young, I was naive. We, of course, are no longer together. But a choice had to be made, and I needed to grow up.


The misunderstanding may have been forgivable, until she decided to destroy my life, or at least that's what I imagine her intentions must have been. She tried to stay really close with my parents, and I would find her over at my house at random times, sometimes by herself. She befriended my Grandmother. Everywhere I went, she was there. And then she got a job at my job, and somehow usurped my hours and started acting like she was the boss. I had to quit; it became intolerable. Finally, my parents got wise to her manipulations, and realized that if she was going to be hanging around our house, then I wouldn't be there. They would have to sacrifice their own daughter for this replacement, and fortunately, they preferred the original. But she was at my Grandfather's funeral, which I resented. And she still talks to my grandmother on a regular basis.


We went to the same school, but we didn't talk again. One time, she sent me an e-mail asking for all to be forgiven, but I couldn't respond. There was no forgiving the insanity it had all become. Once I knew what she was capable of, there was no way I'd play with fire again. I had moved on. I had a class with her once; she missed it often. She seemed to make a few friends. She eventually got a boyfriend. He seemed dull, and her life seemed a lot less interesting looking from the outside in. She worked at the school cafeteria, and was friends with the dorky, jock types. From overhearing my Grandma, she was really desperate for the boyfriend to propose. He seemed like the malleable sort, probably just her type. I wondered if I had been her type too, just someone to dupe, or if our friendship was genuine. I'd like to think that I was one of the few on the inside. It's a hard place to be, when you realize the source of the manipulations, but no one will believe you.


And now, finally, the boy is marrying her, in my childhood church. She is apparently the darling of the old church ladies. I wonder what gossip she's been spreading about me; probably telling them about my whoring around, like that one time she'd showed a blog entry to my Grandma. That was around the time she made soup for Grandma a day I had come out, caught at unawares. I was polite. She told me the soup had no meat in it, as I'm a vegetarian. Apparently, it was made with beef broth. I wonder if she's changed. She seems to have, at least superficially. She rarely wears make-up, and was often in sweats while we were in college. She lives in Olympia and works at a bank. She goes hiking with her boyfriend, doing really "outdoorsy" things, a far cry from her attempts at skiing with me, or in gym class. She has no social networking sites on the internet; her life is basically a mystery.


What a different world we now occupy. I couldn't dream of marriage for a long time. I'm too much of an intellectual, with a bohemian demeanor, to settle down in a small house in Yelm indefinitely, with the first boy I'd known. Perhaps I've just had to grow sager, and she could remain a bit of a child. Perhaps she grew out of her manipulative ways, or else she's just become more discreet. But our friendship could never recover. There are places you can't go back. The friendships of a fifteen year old are perhaps meant to stay in the past. For a long time, I couldn't even think about her, I found her so vile. Now, I see only a stranger, a vitriolic girl who I suspect wanted to make my life so miserable that I'd fold. But that always backfires. I didn't want to be controlled. And look at me now. I've escaped.

Una.

(Romaine Brooks)

I love images of early 20th century "inversion" among lesbian intellectuals, especially in Paris. It has an air of chic about it, even though it was a socially ostracizing deathknoll before the garconne look came into fashion.


I want to be extremely lithe+wear a monocle+dress in boy tuxedos.



Though in a way, reading my book "Women of the Left Bank", I feel as though I'm a "sell-out" by being straight. I guess I won't be subverting the patriarchy anytime soon, at least in a way that considers any heterosexual act as anti-woman. It's hard, because determining what you believe is impossible to separate from culture and social pressures and personal psychology. What is a belief? Can I ever be held responsible for my own? Is it all just a difference in circumstances? Is it just the roll of a dice that I didn't become a fundie christian who would already be married and having her second child, to raise for "God's purposes"? Could a random event have made me a completely different person? What an awful thing to think, that each action (or non-action) is setting a chain of events in motion. Yet, what else has life ever been?


Tonight we watched "The Scarlet Empress", Josef der Sternberg, Marlene Dietrich, about Catherine the Great's Russian reign. Of course I enjoyed the opulence, the odd German Expressionistic set design, the story of a naive girl turning into a powerful, seductive, cunning Tsarina. But I think my fascination with films from this time have severely hindered my comprehension of reality. Women, I learned, who ooze sexuality and who are "beautiful" may easily exploit others and loot the world of all its luxuries at a whim. But is that ever really the case? Why must the story always revolve around power, and cruelty, entwined with female sexuality? Yes, it's fun, but it is damaging to women, to associate sexuality with sin, vice, and "evil" behavior. There is a power through it, yes, but I have rarely seen it occur in real life.


It could be a class thing, though. In all the old movies, the beautiful woman is always an heiress, a performer, spoiled, or in some extremely lucrative profession, or generally has no occupation besides being object of admiration. She is always adorned in furs and decadent evening gowns. I always wonder what comes first: the beautiful woman who deserves money for adornments, or money and adornments making the woman appear beautiful.


Being a woman is complicated. If you haven't read "The Second Sex", you should be reading it. DeBeauvoir is probably my favorite author who addresses the subject, which she explores from every angle imaginable. In it, she describes the power of the hetaira being ultimately superficial, and I'd have to agree with her.

DIOR DIOR DIOR.

John Galliano always does it right. He makes me happy. It's always vintage-y and modern-y in just the right ways. He even made me want to wear peeptoe shoes again! Of course, I adore the equestrian-inspired clothing. Might start carrying a whip around. And the wicked eyebrows. It was pretty much perfect. Of course, Dior Couture rarely inspires cheapo places to make copies (because they can't afford it), but it's such an inspiration to me.

I am lazy and drunk.

That's all I have to say about today. That, and working is a bitch. That is all.

War Is Over.

Seattle.

I am concerned about Seattle. Perhaps I've just grown up, but it seemed it had more of a spark a few years ago. We were something of a cultural force to be reckoned with. Now, I feel we're all a bit washed up. Portland is the place that all the cool kids want to live, Portland has all the new cool bands coming out of it, Portland has a better fashion community. Seattle is stuck in some Microsoft North Face jacket-wearing, aging hipster limbo where nothing seems current enough, no one is creating culture here. Everyone goes around doing their thing, self-effacing, ironic, nothing means anything, everything is some postmodern symbolic rejection of meaning; everything is commodified. Fashion people think they know the people, but they're lagging years behind street style. They consider themselves arbiters of taste, but no one is listening; they talk only to themselves. If they mattered, they'd be in New York, we assume. Not that anything matters anymore. People on the streets don't care about fashion, they care about expression, the expression of a societal ennui. There is no local outlets for art because there is no art. (see: Jean Baudrillard's "The Conspiracy of Art")

Maybe we've all just been living off of the cool vibe that grunge gave us twenty years ago, still trying to hold onto something that's dead. Sure, we had Deathcab for Cutie, that was a brief phase, which is fortunately over. We've gone mainstream. Where are our emerging artists? What are we known for? We're losing to war to Birkenstock-clad mountain climbers.


I've given up on Seattle, and I've only been here a few months. If we're not the future, we could at least have a past. But the past we have is nothing much to brag about.


I keep waiting around to find my people, the ones who I think will create some sort of movement. But I'm afraid the time for movements has passed. I worry about the void left by postmodernism, it really does seem like the end of history, or at least the end of passion. Nothing means anything. Life is absurd. Wear a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, defy societal norms for the sake of irony. Rob the past and all its icons of meaning. Drink your PBR out of a can, steal things from other times, other classes, other cultures in order to prove that no object, no symbol is of any true value, it's all a commodity in a world where buying is the only job left.


I'd get upset about it, but it's all too goddamn ironic, too funny, too meaningless, too much ennui, not enough substance.


And as much as I'd like to deny it, I'm pretty sure it's the same thing everywhere. Seattle is the world. It's the end of culture.

Hope or Ennui?

I know, I know. I've been gone for a few days. This is partly because of working the overnight shift at Macy's, partly due to our internet going out, and partly an "I don't give a fuck" attitude. So sorry, y'all. I'm having some sort of crisis.


I need to get my life on track. I've decided to start applying to grad school ASAP, and I'm especially interested in going to Sciences-Po (Yes, THE Sciences-Po) in Paris to get my Masters in European Affairs (English Track). But until then, I need to look like I'm doing something somehow pertinent to France, government, etc.

I found out that there's an organization in Seattle called "Alliance Francaise", which basically has French classes and French events in the area. I figure I'll volunteer there, in their "mediatheque" (read: library) and maybe help with some events. Maybe by the Spring term, I'll be able to afford to take a French class or two.

So I got the so-desired call from Macy's, the one asking me about staying on as a regular. Of course, we've been playing phone tag now twice, so hopefully we get in touch eventually. It's nice to have a source of income, and it's such a pain to have to look for work, but if I'm going to improve in life, I suppose it must be done.


I was musing the other day about the system, how if you're under 25 years old, you are basically useless. Yes, you have a college degree, but do you have 3 years of experience? No? Then you must work for free, or work at McDonalds. Unless your parents will pay for you through the bulk of your twenties, you cannot achieve much career-wise. Which just completely refutes the idea that we live in some sort of meritocracy, which has always been fallacious, but which no one will acknowledge.


I've been reading some Henry Miller, and my book "Women of the Left Bank" in the last few days, and it's made me nostalgic for Paris. I need Paris, or what it represents for me. I'm not sure where the French infatuation came from, but it has followed me everywhere, and Paris is the only place I'll feel like I've achieved my dream in life. If I were to live in Paris, then what else would matter? Perhaps I'm foisting my insecurities in life on a fantasy city that no longer exists, but it suffices for now.

I'm also going to work on developing my writing, maybe write some short stories or even a novel. I have little practice in fiction, but I suppose the most important thing is to write, and worry about its quality later.


Things are looking up, but it's a long road ahead of me.

Juliet of the Spirits.

Well, I finally saw Juliet of the Spirits, and as usual, Fellini wowed me. Though this film was insanely styled, the clothing on it was amazing. It was basically like the characters lived in a haute couture show. It was a huge spectacle, and I loved it. I now want to be a voluptuous Italian woman with too much money looking completely over the top. This is my new life's goal. I wanna wear lingerie around with a veiled hat and that's it. I wanna cool tree fort with a basket, GODDAMMIT.


And now, some photos.

:<

I just got home from working at Macy's from 7:45-3:15 (That's three IN THE MORNING). During the hours spent counting and recounting belts and scarves for inventories, I developed a rather fiery manifesto about the way young people get screwed over by the figurative "man". I will elaborate tomorrow. But, it's 4:30 am. Time to sleep.

Renee Vivien

Je reviens chercher l’illusion des choses
D’autrefois, afin de gémir en secret
Et d’ensevelir notre amour sous les roses
Blanches du regret.

Women of the Left Bank.

I'm reading about Ex-Patriate Paris and the women writers who lived there. So far I'm reading about Natalie Barney. She was from bourgeouse origins, and became basically the most famous lesbian in Paris. Unlike Gertrude Stein, who considered women "weak" and thought of herself as "one of the boys", Barney attempted to encourage female authors and create a "New Lesbos" of Sapphic poets.


I just really wish I had been born around 1900 and could have been a part of the Modernist movement. Things today seem so blase. Basically it was a search for meaning in spite of the uselessness of the past and the hopelessness of the future. Now we've just given up even trying to do anything meaningful.

<3

Not going to lie. LOVING the mink leg warmers.

Louis Vuitton, Pre-Fall 2010

AHHHHHHHH!!!!

Jezebel tipped me off to this. Needless to say, I think they done went too (TOO!) far. I mean, ewh. I don't think using bestiality to sell clothes is a good idea. Or even if this were an editorial, it is simply not in good taste. It'd be one thing if it were a girl and her dog just hanging out, but the clearly sexual overtones, plus the scant clothes, PLUS o-face while the dog looks up her skirt? TOO FAR. Just, yuck. I have plenty of problems with bestiality in general, namely that you can't get consent from an animal (much as you can't from a child), and harm is generally done, or impossible to tell if it isn't. There's no reason anyone NEEDS to sleep with animals. Betraying an animals trust by using them as a sex slave is not okay by me. And glamorizing it is not much better- I'm sure they were trying to be 'edgy', but I don't think we're all being too sensitive when we give a collective YUCK. I don't necessarily think the dog was bothered/harassed by this, but it was definitely a mistake. A HUGE one.

Narwal Chic.

Worst ten minutes of my Life.

I had the misfortune of watching a few minutes of "The Hills" while at the gym today. Well, they were working for Teen Vogue, and went to New York. One of the girls got to meet Marc Jacobs. This spoiled brat DIDN'T EVEN STAND UP when they shook hands!!!! Apparently manners classes aren't taught in "The Hills". Or she just thought that she considered herself on celebrity par with him, even though he has talent, and she has none to speak of. The other girl made some kind of presentation, that appeared to me to be pretty ill-thought out and pathetic. But at the end, they explained that everyone loved her presentation. (Not because they were being filmed, no, NEVER).


Thank god I'll never have to do that again. That's what the "fuss" is about. Glad that's over.

My Name Is Lolita, and I, I'm not supposed to play. . . with boys!

So according to Style.com, the "Lolita" look is in for Spring.


But by "Lolita", they mean the sexed up Kubrick version and not the Nabakov's tomboyish object of affection.





*Pats self on back for rocking heart-shaped sunglasses circa last summer*



So bows, babydolls, and ankle socks are in in a big way. Because pedophilia is so sexy. Nabakov is one of my absolute favorite authors, and Lolita one of his best, such a satire on America from the point of view of European mutt Humbert Humbert.

Though I love how everyone has their ideas about what's trendy. First, New York Times article about how "silly" frills and bows are, because no one will take you seriously. Except for all this evidence pointing to demure child-like sexiness on the runway. Basically, I take "trends" with a grain of salt, because you can find evidence of any sort of "trend" if you pick and choose from collections enough.

I tend to think people go into two camps. Either camp minimalist, sophisticated, casual, etc., or camp over-the-top, strong point of view, lots of everything, all at once. I am definitely of the second mind. And I have to agree with Tavi, this obsession with "model off-duty" is pretty bland- yeah, skinny jeans, racer-back tanks with oversized sweaters and a hoodie really isn't much of a "statement". And the reason it looks good on models is, well, because they're models. It tends to look frumpy on the average person.


I look forward to more bows, more cute little dresses, more everything chic and adorable.


And I have to say, the last few years have been so good on fashion to me. Finally, stuff from the top reaching real people in some sort of timely fashion. I still remember looking for skinny jeans at a Macy's about five years ago, and having them have no idea what I was talking about, even though it was all over the runways and goddammit, I NEEDED a pair. Ditto looking for skirts that fell somewhere above the calf without being a short denim miniskirt. Maybe part of that was being in a small town with no real retail choices, but I think there's a definite shift to put decent clothes on everyone, immediately, in every price range. And that is definitely an exciting trend for me.

Love the Panties:

Crystal Renn for Glamour. I like this pic (though her face looks vaguely Sandra Bullock-esque, which is odd). It's not so "OMG this is a plus size model, see?!?!" Just a normal, gorgeous picture. Oh, and cute panties, as already noted above.

Contempt.

Yes, I love Brigitte Bardot. She was the first person to completely pull off the totally fake, total sexpot look. Have you looked at her hair? It is totally damaged, totally bleach blonde to all holy hell. She totally isn't put together at all. LOVE IT.


What I do not love? People like Lara Stone and her ilk trying to copy Brigitte. Yes, you've got the tooth gap. But you are no Brigitte. Girl's body is not to be messed with. She was all T&A, not a "curvy" size four. Also, French. Also, amazing. She kind of harkened the modern look. Unrepentant eyeliner, fraudulent everything. Love her.


My favorite movie of hers is obviously Contempt, as JL Godard is my homeboy. (Did I just actually say that? I believe I did). Also, Fritz Lang and total cinema for cinephiles is my favorite thing ever.




She's just complete sex. An idol of adoration who's totally over it. Gah I wanna be her so bad.




Love the nude "Do you like my ________?" "What about my _________?" thing going on. LOVE IT.



Then listen to this amazing song by "The Books". Ha. Love when my favorite bands reference my favorite films, etc.