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| I partied semi-hardy until 5 AM last night, got home and chitchatted on AIM, and then went to bed at 7. All things considered, I should've been knocked out and gotten some awesome sleep until my alarm clock went off, right?
I started drifting towards consciousness around 10 AM. I asked myself why, and then realized my bladder was full. So I just laid there for 9 minutes or so, mad at my bladder before getting up and walking the 8 steps to my bathroom. I sat. Peed. Stood. And went back to bed.
Oh yeah, I sit for my days' first pees, especially if I work out my legs or play basketball the day before. I get lazy.
So in bed I told myself, "ok no matter what you do, don't think about fantasy basketball or else you're not going to go back to sleep." So here I am 2 hours later, mad at my bladder and mad at my lack of mental self-control. BUT I REALLY AM SO EXCITED ABOUT FANTASY BASKETBALL, DRAFT TOMORROW NIGHT, GAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!
But aside from the fact that I sit to pee in the morning, knowing me, the thing that should strike you as strange at this point is the fact that I didn't fall back asleep while lying on my bed for 2 hours. Cuz I mean you should recall that I can fall asleep anywhere anytime. I can fall asleep on cue in class or in a cafe quicker than you can say fast. I can do it in the pouring rain, running the train, when it's hot or when it's cold out. Or even in the library on top of books, but I can't snore too loud. I can sleep in a sauna, jacuzzi, in the back row at the movie, in the sun or up in the shade, on the top of my Escalade. I could go on forever, but you get what I'm trying to say:
I'm Ludacris.
Anyway, so yeah it's strange that I've had a really hard time falling asleep and staying asleep in Argentina. I mean I know what the problem is. You should too, maybe. I think when I was two, my parents gave me a second pillow to snuggle and sleep with. I grew taller, and so did the pillows I snuggled with. Pillows changed, but the fact remained, I had to snuggle. I basically can't live without it. Friends who have seen my bedroom at home or my dorm rooms should have seen this in action. I try to grab extra pillows in hotels, friends' houses, on vacation, and as a last resort, I bundle up the blankets between my knees in an attempt to simulate cuddling.
Here, though, there's no second pillow, and my blankets are ridiculously thin. I don't want to go BUY a pillow cuz I wouldn't take it back with me to the states or anything. So what am I to do? Our study abroad program also prohibits us from bringing guests to our host families' homes, so I can't just bring someone home and force him or her to snuggle with me.
On that note, though, don't even think about getting in this bed. It'll just be a lose-lose situation. Cuz I'll throttle the crap out of you. Or else when there's too much body heat I'll just roll over onto my back. And although I don't snore when I sleep on my side, I do snore some when I sleep on my back. Well I wouldn't really know. But that's what they say.
(The pillows)
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| Every 3 years or so, I think I alternate between periods of:
1. considering myself too wise, mature, and in control for relationship advice
2. feeling the urge to seek council and confide in a few people due to wild confusion, indecision, and/or romantic anxiety
In the shower today, I wondered what my dad would say if I were to ask
him some girl questions. Not like "Dad, are you an assman or a
tittyman?" but more like ... ideological questions dealing with love,
timing, knowledge, confession, forgiveness. I guess you could question
how applicable his advice would be because along with the fact that we
grew up in different generations, we grew up in different cultures,
different countries. I mean I wouldn't be surprised if 20% of Korean
marriages in his time still consisted of arranged marriages if you
consider all the more rural communities you know, but age and history
aside, love is love, isn't it? And actually, I definitely think
old-school love is to be all the more respected ... from my
understanding of it, things were more conservative, sex was more
revered, courting demanded more patience, and marriage demanded
eternity.
As opposed to my studying abroad here and now, let's imagine that you
and I live in Scotland in the 1600s. Walking to your house takes an
hour, talking to you means talking to your father first, and holding
your hand promises that I know no other comfort. I can't send you no
flirty text messages, call you to ask about your day, or spank ya butt
cheeks in public - or private for that matter. And let's imagine that
under some circumstance, my town's villagers agree that it'd be awesome
if I were sent to a culinary arts institute in Italy so that I may
provide ravioli and spaghetti for the community. So I take a carriage
13 hours east to the Atlantic port where I board my ship that during
the next 17 days will take me down the Atlantic, around the Iberian
Peninsula, and across the Mediterranean Sea before I finally arrive in
Rome.
I think of you without being able to tell you so. I write letters that
I cannot fully trust you will receive, but I do fully trust you despite
the silence, the distance, the absence. You listen to bagpipes while I
listen to opera. You eat potatoes while I eat pizza. You smell the
trees on the hills while I smell the salt of the sea. Within this
world, we are worlds apart, and if one of us loses faith, the game is
over. But we play. We play this game with time, and we test its powers.
Did you hear me right? We test time; time doesn't test us because
against us it can do nothing. Time will not change the essence of ziti.
I am ricotta. You are the tunnel-shaped pasta. Time will not change the
fact that cheese + pasta = ziti.
Ok I'm being a bit idealistic. I'm sure people cheated on each other
all the time in the 1600s, 1200s, or 800s B.C., but still. I think my
basic point it that love is love, and that I should be able to ask my
dad about it.
And not to pat myself on the back or anything, but I think I've always
been a faceman. I mean ... just based on the fact that it has more
facets that can either make or break beauty you know. If Martians were
to import 500 girls from Earth and note their female characteristics on
a checklist before stocking them up in inventory, what would the
checklist have as criteria for boobs? Ok excluding skin color as a
factor:
Please circle one: big / small
And butts wouldn't be much more complex: wide / narrow || concave / convex || happy / sad
But faces! Eyes, noses, nostrils, freckles, lips, chins, double-chins,
triple-chins, ears, teeth, and FACIAL EXPRESSIONS!! Who can ignore how
much a girl's beauty is reflected by her face's portrayal of playful,
witty, shy, grumpy ...
Besides, faces are what highlight our individual beauty. Isn't it
harder to find 5 faces that look exactly like yours as opposed to 5
identical sets of boobs?
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| "literally" ... the word and its use:
I feel like literally is just a word that shouldn't be used incorrectly, based on its definition. According to my homeboys, Merriam and Webster, here's the definition for "literally."
Literally: in a literal sense or manner
and "literal" is defined as
"adhering to fact or to the ordinary construction or primary meaning of a term or expression."
So let us use substitution (and some caps for emphasis) and define "literally" as ... "in a sense or manner that ADHERES to FACT or to the ORDINARY CONSTRUCTION or PRIMARY MEANING of a term or expression."
"Literal" is also defined as "free from exaggeration or embellishment."
So. Given the nature of its definition, can it really be used to exaggerate? Why do we abuse "literally" so much when we have all these other words to say what we actually mean: technically, metaphorically, figuratively, basically? I'm just whining cuz this is a pet peeve of mine, but really, let's just dwell on a few examples...
"I can, like, literally run 5000 miles, you don't understand."
"I literally am going to murder someone. Right now."
"Your mom is hot. Hot. Literally."
Like I don't understand it when people say something along the lines of, "Man, if the Celtics lose to the Cavs tonight, I'm just LITERALLY gonna cut my own balls off!" I mean. Are you really? Like. Anesthesia or no anesthesia?
As a ray of sunshine shining through this hateful rant, though, I do dig how British people say "literally." It's so hoity toity, almost sexy. It's like the 4-syllable word is now a 3-syllable word when they say "li-truh-lee," emphasis on the 1st syllable. For example: "i SAY, mah-tha, this is LI-truh-lee the dodgiest cup-o-tea i've eva tasted!!" Nah mean?
...
I'm sure many of you who keep up with the NBA have noticed by now that the home teams have won the vast majority of their games during the NBA conference semifinals (for the unfamiliar, the NBA's showdown of the last 8 teams, in other words). But to throw an actual statistic out there, home teams have won TWENTY of their combined TWENTY-ONE games. The Pistons are the only team to have won on the road during the conference semifinals, but really, the statistic is SO unbelievable! I mean more than the performance or health of any individual player, more than the coaching staff of any team, the most consistent, most decisive factor in victory has simply been home-court advantage. This 20 to 1 statistic is also one of the most lop-sided in NBA history, but really. Ok don't mind me and my crazy ramblings, I'm just Snoop Dogg. Literally. | | |
| Yet another Saturday morning, when I was fourteen, as my father was driving me to an extra tutorial at school, I began to ask myself what type of work I wanted to do. Would I be a doctor, lawyer or engineer, as most Haitian adults, including my parents, hoped their children would be ? Or would I do something else?
"Do you ever wish you could do something other than drive your cab?" I asked my father.
"Sure," he answered.
I thought I saw his hands shaking, his lips quivering. He bit down on the lower one, hard, to make the trembling stop. He probably thought I was judging him, telling him that what he was doing was not honorable, prestigious, intelligent enough. However, having started, I couldn't stop.
"What would you do if you weren't driving a cab?" I asked, watching his grip tighten on the wheel.
He stared ahead at the busy street as though it were a screen onto which he could project his life. Had his parents wished him to be a doctor, lawyer or engineer? A farmer? A fighter? Had he nursed some other dream for himself?
"If I could do something else," my father finally said, "I'd be either a grocer or an undertaker. Because we all must eat and we all must die."
- pg 122-123 ... Brother, I'm Dying
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| love, skepticism concerning it, and difficulties in defining it.
to a certain extent, love is held to the highest standard, and to
experience it, to exhibit it, to have it, or to understand it seems
either impossible or impossibly out of reach. held to that standard,
love is pure, love is trust, love is eternal, and only the most
dedicated, forgiving, and patient people can grasp it. but then by that
standard, so many of us fall short, and it almost seems as if we could
die without having loved, and i wonder if that in itself is possible,
that our existence is not associated with love, that to love is a
decision and not a condition of humanity. should we revere love in its
most unadulterated, perfect form (a form that we must actively,
fervently seek) or should we assume that all of us love something or
someone, that everyone has different standards for it, that someone who
claims he loves does, in fact, love? i lean more closely to the first
sentiment, but so many people define, negate, abuse, make, create, and
express love that i have a hard time deciding whether right&wrong
and true&false are even applicable parameters.
haha and i know i'm late on this, but "bleeding love" is just so
addictive and uplifting. if i had control for just 4 minutes of a
global sound system, i just might blast that song loud enough to
shatter everyone's eardrums. haha then they'd bleed from their ears!
bleeding love!
hooray for bad jokes. they make all the worthwhile jokes even better =]
but i don’t care what they say
i’m in love with you
they try to pull me away
but they don’t know the truth
my heart’s crippled by the vein
that i keep on closing
you cut me open and i
keep bleeding
keep, keep bleeding love ...
did you know that imagining infants, old people, and puppies with blood flowing down their ears is actually really morbid?
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