Tuesday, September 28, 2010

i am creepy; grass is green

I love love. I love being in love. I don't care what it does to me. Just kidding, those are lyrics by The Format. I've never been in love and that's probably because I'm really creepy.

I don't know if I'm creepier than the average loser but I am at least on par with her.  This one time, I found a kid from my class on facebook, looked through all his tagged photos, somehow came across his (unlisted) blog and read it from start to finish (to my credit it wasn't very long; he seemed something of a quitter).  I figured out his favorite band and, after determining precisely the right moment, weeks later, referred to them casually in conversation. I wasn't actually talking to him (NEVER), but to some girl who I used in my ploy to win this boy's heart. After naming the band a little too loudly, the boy's ears perked up and we exchanged a few glorious snippets of dialogue. A few days later, he told me I had 'rockstar hair.'  I almost pissed myself.
i imagine this is what our interaction looked like to outsiders
That was as much as we ever spoke.  He's 3 years younger than me, a few inches shorter than me and, let's be real, not cute enough for how hard I tried. Oh yeah, and his favorite band at the time was Fall Out Boy.

I can't help it.  The internet lends itself to full on sketch-fests.  All that information just waiting to be internalized.. memorized.. rehearsed.. brought out at just the right moment.. around just the right eligible bachelor:

been dying to see that
new movie? I had NO IDEA you were at the midnight screening, too!!  
got a favorite song? What's that about my ringtone? You like this song too? No way!
you posted your class schedule online? Why, yes, I did just transfer into your Film I class even though I'm majoring in political science!
you don't have a facebook?
That's okay, I'll find you.

Don't tell me you don't do it, too, because you're lying (...or have a life).  It's not like I hide in the bushes outside some guy's house, sit with binoculars and look through the windows. He'll never see me if I do that; I sit in a cafe across from his building at the same time every day.  Just kidding, I don't really do that (yet), but maybe I go to the same events he 'attends' (thanks Facebook).  How do I know the host of this housewarming party that's actually 50 miles out of the way from my apartment? and I don't drive?? Um... friend of a friend.. where's the vodka?

I probably sound worse than I actually am; it's not like I'm creating shrines or hurting anyone.
I admire Helga's dedication
Facebook is amazing, but I was obsessive well before the internet was cited as a stalker enabling tool.  In the 6th grade I had this huge crush on the only marginally attractive boy in my grade, Jose. He was nice to me because, like all my fellow classmates, he wanted to copy my homework.  I remained single and unpopular because I never let him, or anyone, take credit for my work (also because I was awkward and hideous). Thankfully, no one teased me because my mom is Puerto Rican fierce with a side of whoopass and those little bastards knew it.

Anyway, I have pages in my old diaries where I practiced my future surname (his). I volunteered to stay after school and help clean up the classroom whenever he had detention, on the off chance I'd sneak a glance at him (always), or that he would speak to me (never).  I also really liked sponging down the blackboard.  My favorite method of attack, though, was snapping photos of my fellow classmates just so I had an excuse to own photos of Jose (always lurking somewhere in the background since I could never work up the nerve to take one of just him). Things didn't work out between us.
Once myspace and, later, facebook were popularized, I had no need for my little picture trick anymore. But after so many years and even more photos, that creepy habit diverged into a true passion for photography, which I've actually kept up. It's like when inmates learn a new language in prison - a good thing can sometimes blossom from illegal activity.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

my life is an avril lavigne song

I am not inherently cool. I have a blog. I write posts about my cat. I listen to top 40 radio. I cried when I saw Lady Gaga in concert. None of it bothers me enough to better myself, though. I am mostly shameless now because it's too much work to hide this stuff. I used to be way cooler.

Like many teenagers, there was a brief window of time where I really tried to be liked.

High school is usually the place where you change yourself to impress all the assholes who will never really care about you because they're too busy caring about themselves. Why are 'popular' kids so publicly revered when they're actually violently feared and secretly loathed?

Upon entering my freshman year, I decided others would perceive me as the weirdo: someone shy, reserved, misunderstood, insert Fall Out Boy lyrics here. but I wasn't creepy or determined enough to be much of an outcast, so I chose instead to relate to my fellow classmates in painstakingly transparent fashion.

I started showering daily and stopped being a social recluse. I feigned apathy, began swearing and stopped carrying my Hello Kitty CD player with me. I downloaded "good" music and shunned pop. I started wearing eyeliner. I applied it, in true 16 year old fashion, very poorly and resembled an angry panda for a few months, all the while thinking I looked totally badass, so rock n' roll, Joan Jett would be proud. Kurt Cobain was suddenly the coolest dude I'd never met and I lived my life by the book of Jimi Hendrix.

I genuinely fell in love with plenty of rock, grunge and classic rock, but I also faked interest in way too many bands I just didn't like. I still have Jane's Addiction and The Smiths in my iTunes from when I pretended to like them. It is so painful to pretend to like a band especially when you are me. I was dedicated to the lie on the off chance I could impress a boy, which meant listening to their entire discographies, constantly. I'm talking b-sides, Japan-only releases, live recordings. I used to be creepily determined to get what I wanted, despite much failure.

I also knew who I was supposed to be to make it more believable. I couldn't care about fashion, babies, books, joy, etc. What was my favorite color? Black. My favorite time of day? Night. My favorite season? Winter. Favorite emotion? Death.

so disaffected, so sad, so hip
Of course none of it worked, so I abandoned it all in frustration. Who cares if I listen to the All American Rejects? They have perfected the art of catchy pop punk and I am no longer ashamed. I aired out my dirty little secret, you're not the only who needs to know.

It is rare that I get embarrassed over stuff I like anymore. Justin Bieber is one of the few exceptions to that. I know everyone in the universe and my life thinks it's creepy because I'm like 8 years older than him and probably 8 inches taller, but if putting "My World 2.0" on repeat during finals week is wrong, then baby I don't want to be right. It is not entirely without shame, though, - the first time I downloaded "Baby" I immediately changed the artist to "The Beatles ft Ludacris" so my last.fm wouldn't out me to the world as a 22 year old Belieber.

Once it was discovered that I wasn't listening to a mashup of The Beatles and Ludacris, I just had to own it. I'm not hip enough to like things ironically. Besides, nobody really likes anything ironically anyway.  You listen to Miley Cyrus as a joke? No you don't.  Go ahead, put your hands up, they're playing your song. You know you're gonna be okay. It's a party in the USA

Friday, September 17, 2010


this is Suzie

so cute (on the outside)

Suzie is the asshole cat who was in my grandfather's possession when he passed away. From what I remember of the first ten years of her life, she was meek, terrified and obese. Whenever I went to my grandfather's apartment to visit, she either hid, ran away or ate in the kitchen (about to run away), behaviors I, too, partake in when confronted with visitors every now and always.  Currently, however, she does none of those things. She struts all over our apartment like her name is on the lease and intimidates even the most seasoned pet lover (i.e. me). Her favorite activities include shitting all over my handbags (and literally rubbing it in with her grimy little kitty paws), peeing all over my door frame, terrorizing our other cat, Romeo, and chasing ribbon. She hates me.

i am not making this up


Just look at her in the header - floating down a river of apathy; she does what she wants. Which is wonderful and cool for her life because she's crazy and bitter like old ladies, but every time I hear the pitter patter of her little feet stalking down the hallway, my heart pauses into near cardiac arrest. She whips her head around at me and stares into the windows of my soul, her brow furrowed, her eyes daring me to just try and touch her. PET ME she taunts. So I do. So she lunges. So I bleed.

She hates when I touch her. Unless she is itchy, but I don't ever know if she's itchy because it's not like she communicates these feelings to me like a normal creature. Sometimes she'll rub under my foot which I (MISTAKENLY, ALWAYS MISTAKENLY) figure is an invitation for petting, but it is really an invitation for her to scratch the shit out of my hand once it gets even remotely close to her fuzzy little body. A bottle of peroxide is out chillin on my bathroom sink forevermore.

no for real this is her default face whenever i am around

I'm sure it seems like I'm exaggerating, or that I'm being too hard on her when it sounds like there was some emotional trauma/neglect/abuse going on (there wasn't). But here's the thing: she is in love with my brother. It makes me sick (with jealousy), because while I'm busy turning on the bathroom sink so she can lap at the faucet or carefully unspooling and untangling her favorite ribbon so she can play in peace, she cozies up to him, and glares at me all the while. She won't let anyone else hold her, pet her, hug her or love her.


This is a blow to my ego. Cats love me!! Dogs love me!! Gerbils love me!! Who needs friends!!

My problem with Suzie isn't that she's a douchebag in cat form, or that my bedroom reeks of that ammonia stench, or that I have essentially become my cat's bitch. I mean I guess those are all parts of the problem.. but the worst is that my brother has won. I'm a very sore loser, a sorry sport, there may be no I in team but there is certainly a "me," and admitting defeat is as painful to me as acid raining down from the sky.

Yet I have no choice but to mop up the piss and let my brother gloat.  In the end, I guess Suzie is the loser, here.  She's really just depriving herself of one of the greatest gifts of all: me.