I don’t remember when eating big meals became a chore for me.
It suddenly occurred to me one day that I didn’t exactly enjoy eating large portions of food anymore. I used to look forward to meals and certain foods or dinners out, but suddenly I realized this meant I would have to order some huge plate of food. The plate usually ends up three quarters full, while everyone else at the table has cleared theirs. The waiter comes around and looks at me, my plate, and then back at me. “Are you finished?” they ask. “Yes.” I say. “You sure?” they respond almost instantly. I want to scream, “Yes, I am fucking done! I’m sorry, I am so sorry. I know there are starving children all over the world. God, I am sorry.” But usually I just say “Could I get a box for this?” instead. At least that way they think I might finish it. This is why when a restaurant offers half salads or “smaller plates” I am ecstatic and dedicate myself to that part of the menu for the evening like it’s Jesus’ second coming.
Not that I like how people look at me when I order half a sandwich or just two chicken strips. I am already very skinny, and when an extremely thin girl with no fat or muscles whatsoever looks up and says “I’ll have half a salad”, the waiter usually thinks the worst. For once I wish I could gain some weight, just enough so that the person thinks “Oh yeah that’s fine she’s okay.” I feel funny when they’ve included “For those on a diet!” as part of the description of the smaller plates menu.
But let’s get this straight: I love food. I think it’s delicious and I have my favorites, like sushi and pasta. Food tastes amazing and for anyone to deny their human right to eat food is beyond me. I guess I mostly enjoy snacks here and there: coffee in a café, something in a bakery, a small appetizer. This is because these are easy to consume and small, and, having practically no appetite, it’s hard for me to eat a monstrous plate of salad. I like sitting and chatting and eating little bites of food here and there. It gives me something to do while I talk, almost like when a person who smokes only likes the motion and fashion of holding the cig for conversational purposes.
I like the social aspect of dining out. I like to be with people, to talk, to laugh. The eating part is a job I have to complete to make it to the enjoyable part. My burrito is a mountain to be scaled. If I can get through a good chunk, it will look like I tried my hardest. If I shove my salad around it will look more eaten.
I would love to eat out and order a salad, soup, an entrée, and then a great dessert. If my stomach would let me, I really would. The problem is, I get tired of dishes quickly and wish I could switch to something else in the middle of it. Life, unfortunately, does not work like that. Ever. Once you start something, you finish it. Only problem is, I never finish the food I order. Dining out I constantly wish I could switch my entrée platter halfway through eating because I am sick of the taste and how it looks and it’s smell. I become repulsed by the food. Then I get criticized for not finishing it. What can I do when each bite I take after it becomes boring to me makes me want to regurgitate everything?
Some times I’m sick of eating, but I can’t stop. When I’m bored, I eat. In class when I don’t want to work, I take constant sips from my iced tea or water bottle. At home, I snack here and there so big meals aren’t as hard to get through and I only take the minimum on my plate to eat.
Big portions scare me.
They’re intimidating.
When I do manage to get through almost an entire plate of food (this usually only happens when I am deciding my own portions), I cannot take the last bite. I always have to leave something on my plate. A few of my friends find this really annoying and kind of petty, but they have no idea what is going through my head. I cannot take that last bite or everything will end. How can they not see the balance of the world is left in that piece of tortilla or baby carrot? My god, people’s lives are at stake!
I suppose I don’t discuss this with people because, looking back, it sounds like I have some obscure eating disorder. This has been a topic of controversy in my circle for some time and I generally hate it when people think they are helping me with some intervention. I am not anorexic. Absolutely not. I just said I love food, didn’t I? I don’t hate food, I hate the amounts in which it is presented to me. In mountainous volumes, food makes me sick. I will push it away. I cannot understand how people finish the food restaurants serve these days.
I’d really prefer a half salad. Don’t look at me like that. I really do like salad.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
5 very embarassing things
Once again, I open my innermost secrets to all of you. Okay, so they're not life changing, scarring, or ruining, and you probably couldn't blackmail me with them, but they're pretty bad. Somehow though, sharing them makes me a little more self aware and happy. I guess in a way I am proud of the terrible things I love/do. Which sounds a lot more insinuating than I mean it to be. Whatever. Just read on. I hate introductions.
1) I have cried during a lot of Ugly Betty episodes
2) I enjoy Enya's music
3) Some of my favorite books are the "Shopaholic" series
4) When it comes to Rupert Grint, it's like I'm 13 all over again
5) I used to run about 5 or 6 fansites
And believe me, they were all for very embarrassing, stupid things. One was for Ron Weasley, another for Pippin from Lord of the Rings, and a third for Joel Madden from Good Charlotte. I swear to God, if you laugh, I will haunt you. I am opening up my soul to you by telling you these things. I loved making websites and would use basically any excuse to make one. Fansites seemed perfect! I put up loads of useless information that didn't do anything to advance humanity or create a better world at all! Their birthdays, favorite colors, and pets. I created galleries of images just of them! What better way to fill up the internet than with pictures of a little Hobbit and wizard boy? I can't think of any. Unless it's for pictures of a tattooed pop punk band lead singer with a whiney voice. Oh god, kill me.
Add to the list the fact that I rant on here to basically no one. No one that I'm aware of anyway. Until next time, keep it real like I just did. The world doesn't need any more lies.
Friday, July 17, 2009
urban outfitters needs to be taken down. now.
Before I say anything else in this piece, let me just start off by saying: I am underweight. Gasp! No! Yes. I am. And it's how I have been my whole life. I naturally have a very thin figure and I don't carry a lot of weight. So I have always looked very skinny. It's led to some awkward comparisons and a few nasty rumors at summer camp, but overall I have always been happy to be like this. I am proud of my body (daily affirmation: check).
In addition to this, I am often asked if I am a model because of my physique (I'm assuming, because it's certainly not because of my face), and even used to be a fit model when I was younger. I almost never have problems buying clothes because everything seems to fall on me pretty perfectly. While this is great, I do feel bad because I know it's those skinny ass jeans and tight shirts that lead to eating disorders and a general feeling of self loathing in America. But they do fit me! Gah! What am I gonna do? I know I am not an average girl, that I am much thinner, and probably look like a bit of a freak some times. They shouldn't be catering to people my size at all! I am the minority! Me! The size 2! Make more size 6 and 8 pants! For God's sake, that's what normal people wear.
Now bear all that incessant rambling in mind as I state the following: I have never worn anything that makes me look or feel fat. Obviously. I am tiny. How could this be possible. Well, reader, yesterday I put on a skirt and it made my thighs look huge.
Yes. My size 2 (or 4 depending on the store) thighs looked huge.
The store? Urban Outfitters. Those motherfuckers.
I'll admit I am a sucker for Urban Outfitter's clothes: they are adorable and trendy. However, because of their monstrous prices, my art student budget, and the general hipster attitude they perpetrate that I kind of try to veer away from, I usually find myself crossing the street to Forever 21 and buying something exactly the same for 30 bucks less. As a result of this, I rarely shop at Urban at all. But yesterday they were having a sale! Half off sale items! So freaking cheap. I had to go in. I found a few things: some skirts, two tops, and a tanktop. And I proceeded into the dressing rooms.
Obviously all the sizes I had picked were smalls. So imagine my utter terror when I put on the frst skirt and I can barely pull it over my underweight butt. What the hell is going on here? I thought in anger. This would never happen at Forever 21! Ashamed and hating myself, I pulled it off, threw it on the ground, lit it on fire, and burned the whole fucking store down.
Nah I'm kidding. I just took it off and kicked it to the side unhappily. But it was a deep passionate kick of hatred! Imagine how my mood decreased when I tried on the next skirt and got the same result. Istarted to convince myself that I had gotten fatter in the butt (oh, college, how I love you) but this is impossible because I am still wearing the same jeans from 11th grade. I started to feel horrible. Not only for myself, but for everyone who shops at this store. I mean, what the living hell?! Here I am, an underweight, tall, skinny, size 2 (or 4), model-body girl and I cannot fit into a size small at Urban Outfitters.
I find this outrageous on so many levels. What do they want girls to do to themselves, starve? Work out till they drop dead? Do the master cleanse once a month? Apparently. I want to take UO down, people. You should have seen how mad I was. I even Tweeted about it and called my friend Karina to yell.
On top of all this crap, I tried on one of the tops in a small and my boobs were showing because they couldn't fill the top. So...now they want us to have extremely small waists but huge boobs? Who runs this company, Playboy Magazine? Womanizers Inc?
Oh yeah, sidenote: they also price all their lomography cameras way too high. You're paying too much for a toy that you can find on Ebay for much less. So much less.
Fuck you, UO.
In addition to this, I am often asked if I am a model because of my physique (I'm assuming, because it's certainly not because of my face), and even used to be a fit model when I was younger. I almost never have problems buying clothes because everything seems to fall on me pretty perfectly. While this is great, I do feel bad because I know it's those skinny ass jeans and tight shirts that lead to eating disorders and a general feeling of self loathing in America. But they do fit me! Gah! What am I gonna do? I know I am not an average girl, that I am much thinner, and probably look like a bit of a freak some times. They shouldn't be catering to people my size at all! I am the minority! Me! The size 2! Make more size 6 and 8 pants! For God's sake, that's what normal people wear.
Now bear all that incessant rambling in mind as I state the following: I have never worn anything that makes me look or feel fat. Obviously. I am tiny. How could this be possible. Well, reader, yesterday I put on a skirt and it made my thighs look huge.
Yes. My size 2 (or 4 depending on the store) thighs looked huge.
The store? Urban Outfitters. Those motherfuckers.
I'll admit I am a sucker for Urban Outfitter's clothes: they are adorable and trendy. However, because of their monstrous prices, my art student budget, and the general hipster attitude they perpetrate that I kind of try to veer away from, I usually find myself crossing the street to Forever 21 and buying something exactly the same for 30 bucks less. As a result of this, I rarely shop at Urban at all. But yesterday they were having a sale! Half off sale items! So freaking cheap. I had to go in. I found a few things: some skirts, two tops, and a tanktop. And I proceeded into the dressing rooms.
Obviously all the sizes I had picked were smalls. So imagine my utter terror when I put on the frst skirt and I can barely pull it over my underweight butt. What the hell is going on here? I thought in anger. This would never happen at Forever 21! Ashamed and hating myself, I pulled it off, threw it on the ground, lit it on fire, and burned the whole fucking store down.
Nah I'm kidding. I just took it off and kicked it to the side unhappily. But it was a deep passionate kick of hatred! Imagine how my mood decreased when I tried on the next skirt and got the same result. Istarted to convince myself that I had gotten fatter in the butt (oh, college, how I love you) but this is impossible because I am still wearing the same jeans from 11th grade. I started to feel horrible. Not only for myself, but for everyone who shops at this store. I mean, what the living hell?! Here I am, an underweight, tall, skinny, size 2 (or 4), model-body girl and I cannot fit into a size small at Urban Outfitters.
I find this outrageous on so many levels. What do they want girls to do to themselves, starve? Work out till they drop dead? Do the master cleanse once a month? Apparently. I want to take UO down, people. You should have seen how mad I was. I even Tweeted about it and called my friend Karina to yell.
On top of all this crap, I tried on one of the tops in a small and my boobs were showing because they couldn't fill the top. So...now they want us to have extremely small waists but huge boobs? Who runs this company, Playboy Magazine? Womanizers Inc?
Oh yeah, sidenote: they also price all their lomography cameras way too high. You're paying too much for a toy that you can find on Ebay for much less. So much less.
Fuck you, UO.
Monday, July 13, 2009
the process of getting up
Waking up is a very ritualistic process for me. It has several steps and there are patterns I follow each morning. But I'm sure I am not exception to this rule; we all have our little quirks and mannerisms to waking up. Maybe you need a banana on your cereal to really start the day. Or you do 100 push ups. Or maybe you need to blast "One Week" by the Barenaked Ladies and strut around your room with no clothes on. Whatever that special something is, you feel required to stand by it for your day to operate correctly.
For me, waking up isn't so much what I do, but in what sequence I do it. I start work at the museum at 10am every day, and I set my alarm for 7:45. Not because I want to be up and at 'em at 8:00, but simply because I know it's going to take me some time to wake the hell up. And that it where it all begins...
7:45 A.M.
Alarm goes off. I roll over and turn it off, glance at it to make sure all is well, then snuggle back under my covers.
8:00 A.M.
My internal clock rouses me and I glance at the clock once more just to make sure all is going well. I fall back into a shallow sleep.
8:25 A.M.
I wake up again and this time I start to move around a little bit more to get myself up. I open my eyes slightly more than the two times before and even stretch my arms out. Serious morning stuff. I still get back under the covers though, not ready to face the cold hardwood floor. So cold on my feet, argh...
8:35 A.M.
One last opening of the eyes, and I am pretty much awake. Satisfied that I have spent almost an hour getting out of bed, I sit up, and take a moment to recollect myself so I don't run down the ladder from my loft bed and, in a dizzy fit, hurl all over my floor. Once I am down the ladder, there is no going back. I know it is time for me to face the day ahead of me. I turn on my computer, open the blinds, curse whatever the weather is for that day (foggy, it's too cold; sunny, it's too warm) and start to walk downstairs.
8:45 A.M.
Still in my pajamas (THIS IS CRUCIAL), I get a bowl of granola, a banana, and some unhealthy pastry like breakfast item (nutella on english muffins or cinnamon bread...whatever). I'll also either make tea or coffee, depending on my degree of laziness. Very lazy = coffee (we have a machine that does it all for you) Kinda lazy = probably still coffee. Not lazy, feeling good = tea. The only thing is, I drink decaf coffee, so this adds another degree of WAKE THE FUCK UP ON YOUR OWN to my day, except for the mountain of sugar I pour in, which probably is just enough to get me to work and to my desk.
9:00 A.M.
Back up in my room, I grab an outfit (one I probably thought of the night before; I've been getting into outfits lately). I'll probably convince myself it's not good enough to be seen, that I'm not good enough to be seen, and that I shouldn't even try any more.
9:06 A.M.
I check the train times online, check my email, check my tumblr maybe a little. I run to the bathroom and put on the necessary jewerly for the day. But, basically wishing I were a man half the time, I usually settle for one necklace and some earrings. I brush my teeth and floss as my dentist's voice rings in my head, and finally spray on maybe something to make me smell remotely like the lady I should be by now. Sorry, Mom. I don't even wear makeup, so this rapidly decreases my bathroom preparation time. Awesome.
9:10 A.M.
I check the train times once more and realize I have to get going like, right effing now. I run downstairs and pile an unholy amount of random snacks into my bag. I run back upstairs in a frenzy and turn off my computer, give myself one last look-over in the mirror (usually followed by a "Could be worse" kind of reaction), and pile my iPod, notebook, planner, and wallett into the bag with snacks. Usually, I forget a book to read. Which is annoying cause eating alone is already depressing enough. Eating alone and just staring into space is way worse.
9:15 A.M.
I am out the door and down four or five blocks to the train station by my house. I get on the train slightly sweaty and gross already, and try not to feel like not everyone is staring at me (I always feel this way on trains! I think they're all engrossed with my obvious sweatiness and music that is too loud through my headphones). I ride the train 6 stops, and the whole way I am a vulture for a seat.
9:45 A.M.
I get off the train, walk extremely quickly down the street (THIS ISN'T A CHOICE - I don't know why I can't slow the hell down now and then. I'm a monster). I go in the employee entrance, sign in, race upstairs, and plop down at my desk. It is 10 AM. Fuck yeah.
And here I am.
For me, waking up isn't so much what I do, but in what sequence I do it. I start work at the museum at 10am every day, and I set my alarm for 7:45. Not because I want to be up and at 'em at 8:00, but simply because I know it's going to take me some time to wake the hell up. And that it where it all begins...
7:45 A.M.
Alarm goes off. I roll over and turn it off, glance at it to make sure all is well, then snuggle back under my covers.
8:00 A.M.
My internal clock rouses me and I glance at the clock once more just to make sure all is going well. I fall back into a shallow sleep.
8:25 A.M.
I wake up again and this time I start to move around a little bit more to get myself up. I open my eyes slightly more than the two times before and even stretch my arms out. Serious morning stuff. I still get back under the covers though, not ready to face the cold hardwood floor. So cold on my feet, argh...
8:35 A.M.
One last opening of the eyes, and I am pretty much awake. Satisfied that I have spent almost an hour getting out of bed, I sit up, and take a moment to recollect myself so I don't run down the ladder from my loft bed and, in a dizzy fit, hurl all over my floor. Once I am down the ladder, there is no going back. I know it is time for me to face the day ahead of me. I turn on my computer, open the blinds, curse whatever the weather is for that day (foggy, it's too cold; sunny, it's too warm) and start to walk downstairs.
8:45 A.M.
Still in my pajamas (THIS IS CRUCIAL), I get a bowl of granola, a banana, and some unhealthy pastry like breakfast item (nutella on english muffins or cinnamon bread...whatever). I'll also either make tea or coffee, depending on my degree of laziness. Very lazy = coffee (we have a machine that does it all for you) Kinda lazy = probably still coffee. Not lazy, feeling good = tea. The only thing is, I drink decaf coffee, so this adds another degree of WAKE THE FUCK UP ON YOUR OWN to my day, except for the mountain of sugar I pour in, which probably is just enough to get me to work and to my desk.
9:00 A.M.
Back up in my room, I grab an outfit (one I probably thought of the night before; I've been getting into outfits lately). I'll probably convince myself it's not good enough to be seen, that I'm not good enough to be seen, and that I shouldn't even try any more.
9:06 A.M.
I check the train times online, check my email, check my tumblr maybe a little. I run to the bathroom and put on the necessary jewerly for the day. But, basically wishing I were a man half the time, I usually settle for one necklace and some earrings. I brush my teeth and floss as my dentist's voice rings in my head, and finally spray on maybe something to make me smell remotely like the lady I should be by now. Sorry, Mom. I don't even wear makeup, so this rapidly decreases my bathroom preparation time. Awesome.
9:10 A.M.
I check the train times once more and realize I have to get going like, right effing now. I run downstairs and pile an unholy amount of random snacks into my bag. I run back upstairs in a frenzy and turn off my computer, give myself one last look-over in the mirror (usually followed by a "Could be worse" kind of reaction), and pile my iPod, notebook, planner, and wallett into the bag with snacks. Usually, I forget a book to read. Which is annoying cause eating alone is already depressing enough. Eating alone and just staring into space is way worse.
9:15 A.M.
I am out the door and down four or five blocks to the train station by my house. I get on the train slightly sweaty and gross already, and try not to feel like not everyone is staring at me (I always feel this way on trains! I think they're all engrossed with my obvious sweatiness and music that is too loud through my headphones). I ride the train 6 stops, and the whole way I am a vulture for a seat.
9:45 A.M.
I get off the train, walk extremely quickly down the street (THIS ISN'T A CHOICE - I don't know why I can't slow the hell down now and then. I'm a monster). I go in the employee entrance, sign in, race upstairs, and plop down at my desk. It is 10 AM. Fuck yeah.
And here I am.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
clean the toilet seat. just clean it.
For this past week and all of next week, I have been/will be working at a museum for their exhibtions department. I've had this job twice before and it's a blast. I love it. I'm currently pursuing a career in working in modern art museums, so any kind of experience and/or knowledge is a plus for me. Plus, the work they give me here is petty yes, but somehow extremely fascinating to me. It would seem my love for all kinds of modern and contemporary art has rendered me totally blind to the intern bitch work. I just love being here, surrounded by art. What more do I want in my young, starving art student life?
I work in an office seperate from the main room of cubicles. I share the office with the Exhibitions Designer (who is kind enough to let some little intern sit by him every day and ogle all the design plans he has laid out for upcoming exhibits). Since I'm in this office seperated from the main throng of desks, I use the public restroom that is available to all the museum patrons.
Now, this is a museum, so it's fancy, right? Yes. It's clean, right? Yes. And it seems like everything is maintained to the utmost perfection, right? Absolutely. This museum is a miracle worker in lighting, presentation, smell, whatever. I love it. However yesterday, I proceeded to the restroom with my normal degree of excitement/involvement ("Okay, going to pee, I've ignored the urge for too long..."). There was one stall open, and yet people were waiting in a line. I asked if I could use it and they shrugged and said sure. So I went in.
And I saw why they had all been avoiding it: there was a sprinkle of pee all alongside the seat.
Okay, first of all, I never understand how this happens in women's restrooms. The only thing I can think of is someone brought their little son in to help pee. But if that's case, you are TOTALLY RESPONSIBLE FOR CLEANING THAT SHIT UP. Furthermore, even if it was a woman, not a little boy, you are STILL RESPONSIBLE FOR CLEANING THAT SHIT UP. And you are also responsible for figuring out what could be wrong with your vagina so that it does that.
And what makes me even more mad is that all these people were avoiding that stall just because there was some pee on the seat. Hell, anyone could clean that up! You grab some toilet paper, wipe it, and then you do your stuff. If you don't clean it, some poor underpaid union worker is going to have to do it anyway. So maybe you should suck it up for once! Why is it so hard?
I can undersatnd the clogged toilets thing. That's a broken toilet. Plus, poo is on a totally different level than pee. But man, if I could show you this one toilet I had to pee in in a Berlin art house...
Oh wait. I can.
Here it is (click that man, click it)
Yeah. Gross. But I did it. I fucking did it.
So, if I can pee into that, I think you can take three minutes to wipe up some pee in a posh metropolitan modern art museum bathroom.
If you'll excuse me, I am an all important intern with duties to attend to. Like cleaning restrooms, apparently.
I work in an office seperate from the main room of cubicles. I share the office with the Exhibitions Designer (who is kind enough to let some little intern sit by him every day and ogle all the design plans he has laid out for upcoming exhibits). Since I'm in this office seperated from the main throng of desks, I use the public restroom that is available to all the museum patrons.
Now, this is a museum, so it's fancy, right? Yes. It's clean, right? Yes. And it seems like everything is maintained to the utmost perfection, right? Absolutely. This museum is a miracle worker in lighting, presentation, smell, whatever. I love it. However yesterday, I proceeded to the restroom with my normal degree of excitement/involvement ("Okay, going to pee, I've ignored the urge for too long..."). There was one stall open, and yet people were waiting in a line. I asked if I could use it and they shrugged and said sure. So I went in.
And I saw why they had all been avoiding it: there was a sprinkle of pee all alongside the seat.
Okay, first of all, I never understand how this happens in women's restrooms. The only thing I can think of is someone brought their little son in to help pee. But if that's case, you are TOTALLY RESPONSIBLE FOR CLEANING THAT SHIT UP. Furthermore, even if it was a woman, not a little boy, you are STILL RESPONSIBLE FOR CLEANING THAT SHIT UP. And you are also responsible for figuring out what could be wrong with your vagina so that it does that.
And what makes me even more mad is that all these people were avoiding that stall just because there was some pee on the seat. Hell, anyone could clean that up! You grab some toilet paper, wipe it, and then you do your stuff. If you don't clean it, some poor underpaid union worker is going to have to do it anyway. So maybe you should suck it up for once! Why is it so hard?
I can undersatnd the clogged toilets thing. That's a broken toilet. Plus, poo is on a totally different level than pee. But man, if I could show you this one toilet I had to pee in in a Berlin art house...
Oh wait. I can.
Here it is (click that man, click it)
Yeah. Gross. But I did it. I fucking did it.
So, if I can pee into that, I think you can take three minutes to wipe up some pee in a posh metropolitan modern art museum bathroom.
If you'll excuse me, I am an all important intern with duties to attend to. Like cleaning restrooms, apparently.
Monday, July 6, 2009
frequently asked questions/statements about my name that annoy me
Just, as a precursor: if you didn’t know already, my name is India. Why yes, it is quite odd. So yes, it does prompt dumb questions/statements. I don't know why some people seem to get really nervous/stupid around me when they learn my name. Is it really that off putting? There are girls named Jordan and Darcy these days. There are boys named Phoenix, and babies named Apple. It's time to step into the next century! Hell, I was here before all of that crap. So maybe I'm the original.
In any case, my name has always been a great conversation starter. I like to talk about it, I really do. And most of the time, people say some really nice things and have very interesting observations. And I say that without a hint of sarcasm. At dinner parties and social gatherings, everyone seems genuinely interested in my name, which I find flattering and humbling at the same time. There are things you can totally ask me. Where my name comes from is suitable, yes. So is the story behind my name. It's just some times, people can be so oblivious! I get a lot of annoying questions and statements in response to a simple introduction. Here are my least favorites. And yes, they are all taken from real life situations.
1) “Are you named after the country?”
Why…why yes! Yes, I am. My parents love it more than me. Just the other day they were saying "Thank God we could take our only daughter in the whole world and dedicate her to a country we have never been to nor have any ties to at all! You are a shrine, India." "Thanks Mom and Dad! Looks like I am nothing more than a symbol to a people I have nothing to do with."
2) “Oh, are you Indian?”
Was it my white skin and obvious caucasianness that gave it away? Or just that my name is India? Because I hear people have been naming their kids after the place they're from A LOT lately. Like that friend I have named North Carolina. And that guy in my painting class named Ontario. Oh, and you can't forget Ireland! He's a champ! Except I AM KIDDING. Come on, really? Gimme a break.
3) “Where’s the jewel on your forehead? HAHAHA.”
Hilarious. And racist. Perfect. You people have really reached a new low with this one. What do you want me to do, laugh along with your stereotyping joke? Do I think it's funny that I don't have a jewel on my forehead but I'm named India? No. I don't. I think it makes sense. Why? Reread number 2, above. Some day I'm going to end up just saying something like "It fell off on the bus ride here. Damn it. Gotta order another pack tonight, I'm almost out." and then walk away. Then I'll get someone to describe the expression on the poor sucker's face to me because I don't want to turn around in fear I'll burst out laughing.
4) “Did your parents honeymoon in India?”
Thanks for putting scarring ideas and thoughts into my head. Also, isn't this a cocktail party? What kind of evening conversation starter is that?
5) “OHAI LOLZ, what’s your name again? China? Israel? LOLOLZERSS!!!!11”
I'm going to punch you.
6) “What’s up, Pakistan? Ha. Get it? It’s a country.”
Pakistan can be replaced with just about any country in the world, but believe me: I’ve heard them ALL. Yes, even The Democratic Republic of the Congo. You will not be original or funny or witty. Unless you are an extremely cute boy who is flirting with me, I will not find this charming or hilarious in the slightest. Go ahead. You can try. But I will probably smile bitterly, excuse myself, and then go cry in the bathroom. Plus I don't know what kind of social statement you're trying to make with replacing India with another country anyway...are we going to be talking about political parties? The cast system in Asian countries? Lemme just get out my notes.
7) “You must get this a lot, but…”
Then just don’t. Thanks.
8) “I bet you LOVE Indian food!”
What kind of fucked up logic is that? No. I do not. In fact, I don’t like it all. It's spicy and it burns and that hurts me and all I can eat is naan bread because I have a geographic tongue which makes me very susceptible to spices and citruses of all kinds (true condition - it's here). And now that you've made me feel like a close minded white Canadian-American who doesn't appreciate other cultures' foods, may I go? I'm craving some good old American cheddar cheese on Wonder bread.
That’s all I could come up with on the spot.
Isn’t that enough?
PS I do love my name though. A lot. And I love India. I want to go there so badly…
Thursday, July 2, 2009
things that really tick me off #2
It's another installment of "Things That Really Tick Me Off!" What useless object/opinion/horrible Creed-like band will I be bashing this time?
Flat soda
Yes, it's simple and stupid, but this really gets me mad. I can barely contain my anger when I open a bottle to a totally non-satisfying silence. Fuck you, I wanted this so badly to fizz with delight! This rarely happens with cans, which is really nice, and I always thought soda tasted better in cans anyway. But if you go to Bennington College (which I do) you know that we don't sell cans here (cause we're too good for them? too rich? too haughty? Who friggin knows). So I always get the bottle. And a lot of the time, my bottles open silently. Silence = bad.
This also seems to happen in the dining hall a whole lot. I'm already angry enough going to get my soda because they don't have Dr. Pepper, which is, and feel free to take me up on this debate, the best soda there is out there. No doubt. I adore it and think it tastes delicious. It's just a complex palette of flavor, something Coke doesn't do for me (and we're not even going to talk about Pepsi because I hate it's stupid face). But then I get even angrier after getting my Coke because I walk all the way back the table and it's flat And I swear to God it is always flat when I get it from the fountain. Or it was this last term. What's wrong with our soda fountain? How complex a piece of machinery is it to work? Everyone has one. I hear people have even been installing them in their homes (I might have made that up for argument's sake.)
So in the end, it just tastes like syrup water. I do NOT want to be reminded of what I'm drinking, thank you. Yes I know it's just sugar water. So sue me! I love it! I drink it a lot.
Now you all know of my unhealthy eating habits too. Whatever. I can never seem to get over 125 lbs. anyway. But a girl can dream, right? Gotta keep drinking that straight up Coca Cola syrup! Thanks Bennington!
PS Wait, wait...maybe I didn't make up that part about people putting soda fountain's in their homes! Look how easy it is to buy one ebay! And notice they call it a "Home" one! Plus there's this one all pro with logos and everything. Mm tasty. A sub-par yet filling meal was never so easy.
Flat soda
Yes, it's simple and stupid, but this really gets me mad. I can barely contain my anger when I open a bottle to a totally non-satisfying silence. Fuck you, I wanted this so badly to fizz with delight! This rarely happens with cans, which is really nice, and I always thought soda tasted better in cans anyway. But if you go to Bennington College (which I do) you know that we don't sell cans here (cause we're too good for them? too rich? too haughty? Who friggin knows). So I always get the bottle. And a lot of the time, my bottles open silently. Silence = bad.
This also seems to happen in the dining hall a whole lot. I'm already angry enough going to get my soda because they don't have Dr. Pepper, which is, and feel free to take me up on this debate, the best soda there is out there. No doubt. I adore it and think it tastes delicious. It's just a complex palette of flavor, something Coke doesn't do for me (and we're not even going to talk about Pepsi because I hate it's stupid face). But then I get even angrier after getting my Coke because I walk all the way back the table and it's flat And I swear to God it is always flat when I get it from the fountain. Or it was this last term. What's wrong with our soda fountain? How complex a piece of machinery is it to work? Everyone has one. I hear people have even been installing them in their homes (I might have made that up for argument's sake.)
So in the end, it just tastes like syrup water. I do NOT want to be reminded of what I'm drinking, thank you. Yes I know it's just sugar water. So sue me! I love it! I drink it a lot.
Now you all know of my unhealthy eating habits too. Whatever. I can never seem to get over 125 lbs. anyway. But a girl can dream, right? Gotta keep drinking that straight up Coca Cola syrup! Thanks Bennington!
PS Wait, wait...maybe I didn't make up that part about people putting soda fountain's in their homes! Look how easy it is to buy one ebay! And notice they call it a "Home" one! Plus there's this one all pro with logos and everything. Mm tasty. A sub-par yet filling meal was never so easy.
Monday, June 29, 2009
dissapointing albums
So, as some of you may know, I just finished my first year of college. Overall, it was awesome. 8/10. I had a wonderful year and all was dandy and drunken (and educational, of course. DUH).
But in my second semester, things had kind of gone haywire and the ridiculous small size of my school/it's remote location started to get to my head and I broke down. I got stressed out easily and ended up yelling at a lot of people (read: I was a bitch to most of my friends about half the time). I felt like everything around me was just disappointing and miserable, and to help solace this fact, I started to write a lot of lists. Most specifically, I made lists of things that had disappointed me in the past. This is one such list. It is a list of albums that put me off the second they dropped. I listened, I cried, I broke something, then I wrote a shitty review on some inane music website.
Wolf Parade's At Mount Zoomer
Seriously, what the hell? My brother says he blames Spencer Krug, but I don't think the whole thing can be caused by one person. It was kind of one giant mess and what made it even worse was that their first album was absolutely fucking incredible. To place them next to each other is kind of horrendous. This is all without even touching upon the titles of the songs, the title of the album, the lyrics, and the cover. Oh man.
Beirut's March of the Zapotec
A friend of mine put this in such a good way. He said he was sick of Zach Condon "butchering" different culture's music into "stereotypes." While I did really enjoy his first two albums, and I adored Lon Gisland EP, this semi-retarded third album really pushed the envelope. It is just terrible. Really terrible. It sounds like a mariachi band hired by some crap business for their company picnic that no one wants to attend. I say Zach should have stuck to the gypsy folk tunes.
of Montreal's Skeletal Lamping
Bah. I can't even talk about this. After the incredible Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer? I spent months and months waiting in anticipation for the follow up to a god-like album. Well, if Hissing Fauna was a god, Skeletal is some kind of poor mortal praying to be better. I did not enjoy it. In fact, I barely gave it a second listening before deleting it from my itunes (Itunes? iTunes? Whatever, Apple, suck it). You have to be kidding me, of Montreal. Lucky for you, I still bought a ticket to see your wonderful live show in July.
Swan Lake's Enemy Mine
Bad. Bad bad bad. It irks me that an indie super group like Swan Lake can't seem to make one solid album. "Beast Moans" had select tracks here and there that were very good but on a whole just couldn't seem to feel like a coherent set of songs. Not to mention some of the tracks were pretty terrible on their own. "Enemy Mine" is worse than this. Barely any of the songs stand on their own, however they don't work together either! There is no way out of this musical hell hole! You guys should be incredible! Sit down, stop trying to outdo each other in every track, and write a good song! I feel like Swan Lake's problem is that all the different members force feed their musical style and genres onto the other members. We've got some intense Sunset Rubdown references, mushed with New Pornographers barely making it in, finishing with a topping of Frog Eyes meets Destroyer. Not. A. Kosher. Mix.
Weezer's Green Album
Pinkerton to this? Oh god. They redeemed themselves a bit in the future, but...I miss really old school Weezer (and I was barely self aware for that period. Sad.)
Xiu Xiu's Women as Lovers
As someone who is not afraid to admit that Xiu Xiu is one of their absolute favorite bands (I own two shirts and every album), I was really upset when I heard this album. Even for Xiu Xiu it is pretty non-cohesive and nonsensical. This time it just doesn't happen in such a good way. I hope the next one, "Dear God, I Hate Myself", is much better. I already love that title. Jamie Stewart, make me proud.
Voxtrot's Voxtrot
I adored their EP and listened to it pretty regularly for a long time. I even saw them live and went backstage since a friend was dating the lead singer (score!). They were super nice guys and very down to earth. That's why I feel like this is a personal attack. So I will hold off on the insulting metaphors and similes and just say: this could have been much better. Besides "Kid Gloves", nothing hit me from this at all.
Architecture in Helsinki's Like It Or Not
I don't even really want to talk about this that much. Sorry. Just. Yeah. Fuck you AIH for courting me with your live show and then pulling this shit on me.
Bon Iver's Blood Bank
Okay, so, I'm not a huge Bon Iver fan to begin with. Sure, his music is pretty and ethereal, dreamy and haunting, but it's not that original. Nor is it overly gorgeous. I also find him to be kind of boring. But I liked the first album, "For Emma Forever Ago". I listen to it on occasion and if it comes up on shuffle, I won't skip it 8 times out of 10. But this Blood Bank crap? So awful. The songs are boring, without structure or purpose. It sounds like he was shooting for an experimental side but it just fell flat. "Woods" is the worst track. I can't even listen to the whole thing through.
The Beatles' Let It Be
Seriously, WHAT were The Beatles thinking? This badly written, messy, half assed album is an insult to musicians everywhere. When I first heard this after it came out, I was like, "Gimme a break Paul and John. Way to fuck things up at the last minute." I wrote them a strongly worded letter about how much they suck. A month later, they broke up. Sorry Beatles fans. Guess that was my bad.
(But I am kidding of course).
But in my second semester, things had kind of gone haywire and the ridiculous small size of my school/it's remote location started to get to my head and I broke down. I got stressed out easily and ended up yelling at a lot of people (read: I was a bitch to most of my friends about half the time). I felt like everything around me was just disappointing and miserable, and to help solace this fact, I started to write a lot of lists. Most specifically, I made lists of things that had disappointed me in the past. This is one such list. It is a list of albums that put me off the second they dropped. I listened, I cried, I broke something, then I wrote a shitty review on some inane music website.
Wolf Parade's At Mount Zoomer
Seriously, what the hell? My brother says he blames Spencer Krug, but I don't think the whole thing can be caused by one person. It was kind of one giant mess and what made it even worse was that their first album was absolutely fucking incredible. To place them next to each other is kind of horrendous. This is all without even touching upon the titles of the songs, the title of the album, the lyrics, and the cover. Oh man.
Beirut's March of the Zapotec
A friend of mine put this in such a good way. He said he was sick of Zach Condon "butchering" different culture's music into "stereotypes." While I did really enjoy his first two albums, and I adored Lon Gisland EP, this semi-retarded third album really pushed the envelope. It is just terrible. Really terrible. It sounds like a mariachi band hired by some crap business for their company picnic that no one wants to attend. I say Zach should have stuck to the gypsy folk tunes.
of Montreal's Skeletal Lamping
Bah. I can't even talk about this. After the incredible Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer? I spent months and months waiting in anticipation for the follow up to a god-like album. Well, if Hissing Fauna was a god, Skeletal is some kind of poor mortal praying to be better. I did not enjoy it. In fact, I barely gave it a second listening before deleting it from my itunes (Itunes? iTunes? Whatever, Apple, suck it). You have to be kidding me, of Montreal. Lucky for you, I still bought a ticket to see your wonderful live show in July.
Swan Lake's Enemy Mine
Bad. Bad bad bad. It irks me that an indie super group like Swan Lake can't seem to make one solid album. "Beast Moans" had select tracks here and there that were very good but on a whole just couldn't seem to feel like a coherent set of songs. Not to mention some of the tracks were pretty terrible on their own. "Enemy Mine" is worse than this. Barely any of the songs stand on their own, however they don't work together either! There is no way out of this musical hell hole! You guys should be incredible! Sit down, stop trying to outdo each other in every track, and write a good song! I feel like Swan Lake's problem is that all the different members force feed their musical style and genres onto the other members. We've got some intense Sunset Rubdown references, mushed with New Pornographers barely making it in, finishing with a topping of Frog Eyes meets Destroyer. Not. A. Kosher. Mix.
Weezer's Green Album
Pinkerton to this? Oh god. They redeemed themselves a bit in the future, but...I miss really old school Weezer (and I was barely self aware for that period. Sad.)
Xiu Xiu's Women as Lovers
As someone who is not afraid to admit that Xiu Xiu is one of their absolute favorite bands (I own two shirts and every album), I was really upset when I heard this album. Even for Xiu Xiu it is pretty non-cohesive and nonsensical. This time it just doesn't happen in such a good way. I hope the next one, "Dear God, I Hate Myself", is much better. I already love that title. Jamie Stewart, make me proud.
Voxtrot's Voxtrot
I adored their EP and listened to it pretty regularly for a long time. I even saw them live and went backstage since a friend was dating the lead singer (score!). They were super nice guys and very down to earth. That's why I feel like this is a personal attack. So I will hold off on the insulting metaphors and similes and just say: this could have been much better. Besides "Kid Gloves", nothing hit me from this at all.
Architecture in Helsinki's Like It Or Not
I don't even really want to talk about this that much. Sorry. Just. Yeah. Fuck you AIH for courting me with your live show and then pulling this shit on me.
Bon Iver's Blood Bank
Okay, so, I'm not a huge Bon Iver fan to begin with. Sure, his music is pretty and ethereal, dreamy and haunting, but it's not that original. Nor is it overly gorgeous. I also find him to be kind of boring. But I liked the first album, "For Emma Forever Ago". I listen to it on occasion and if it comes up on shuffle, I won't skip it 8 times out of 10. But this Blood Bank crap? So awful. The songs are boring, without structure or purpose. It sounds like he was shooting for an experimental side but it just fell flat. "Woods" is the worst track. I can't even listen to the whole thing through.
The Beatles' Let It Be
Seriously, WHAT were The Beatles thinking? This badly written, messy, half assed album is an insult to musicians everywhere. When I first heard this after it came out, I was like, "Gimme a break Paul and John. Way to fuck things up at the last minute." I wrote them a strongly worded letter about how much they suck. A month later, they broke up. Sorry Beatles fans. Guess that was my bad.
(But I am kidding of course).
Thursday, June 25, 2009
the curse of small breasts
From the title of this post, I really don't have to say this, but I'll say it anyway: I have small boobs. There. I said it. Happy? You know what, I am. I am happy. On most days I am excited and thrilled to not have monster breasts that weigh me down and require me to wear some bra size that sounds more like a rifle model or type of ammunition. With small boobs, I also avoid ogling on the bus, pervs copping a feel on the underground, and other unsightly difficult girl problems (and that's a whole 'nother 750 item list).
But there are downfalls, of course. And I was reminded of them today. I was cleaning out my drawers of clothes. Having not been at home for a while, there was a lot of useless crap I didn't wear at all any more (my jean skirt and Ron Weasley t-shirt definitely go under this category), and I wanted to feel productive on an otherwise morbidly dull day. I thought I could really just skip over my undergarments drawer, because, who really hangs onto a gross pair of underwear or a decrepit bra after two or three years? But as I pulled things out, I noticed, stuffed into the bottom under some socks, a white bra.
Then I remembered: this was THAT bra. That horrible bra that I had hid and refused to wear. Why? Because when I went bra shopping for the first time ever (yes, with my mom), they had measured me then taken me to a "special section" where a bunch of racks were marked "Nearly A!"
Nearly. Thanks a lot jack-asses. The exclamation point after the A doesn't do anything for me, sorry. And the bra I purchased had a wonderful green tag on it that said the same thing. Mortified, I hid it and went without a bra for as long as I could. That bra still had the "Nearly A!" tag when I found it today. Unbelievable.
The thing is though, bra shopping has never been enjoyable for me at all. Not one bit. Seriously. What the fuck is up with Victoria's Secret? They honestly believe their customers look like their models. I feel great about myself when they tell me the only bras that come in my size are push up bras. Way to set back the feminist movement like, twenty years fucking bra companies. I also love the fact that when I do finally find a bra that is my size, after hours of tear jerking searches through miles of racks (haha, no pun intended), it only comes in fugly ass colors, like beige or tan. Whee. I look so fine in gray. Thanks.
Okay, so I don't really mind that much. I'm the last person you'll find putting on sexy lingerie or entering a Victoria's Secret at all. But I do think it gets to my friends when I call my boobs "inflamed mosquito bites" in front of them all the time. Might wanna ease up on that one a bit...
But there are downfalls, of course. And I was reminded of them today. I was cleaning out my drawers of clothes. Having not been at home for a while, there was a lot of useless crap I didn't wear at all any more (my jean skirt and Ron Weasley t-shirt definitely go under this category), and I wanted to feel productive on an otherwise morbidly dull day. I thought I could really just skip over my undergarments drawer, because, who really hangs onto a gross pair of underwear or a decrepit bra after two or three years? But as I pulled things out, I noticed, stuffed into the bottom under some socks, a white bra.
Then I remembered: this was THAT bra. That horrible bra that I had hid and refused to wear. Why? Because when I went bra shopping for the first time ever (yes, with my mom), they had measured me then taken me to a "special section" where a bunch of racks were marked "Nearly A!"
Nearly. Thanks a lot jack-asses. The exclamation point after the A doesn't do anything for me, sorry. And the bra I purchased had a wonderful green tag on it that said the same thing. Mortified, I hid it and went without a bra for as long as I could. That bra still had the "Nearly A!" tag when I found it today. Unbelievable.
The thing is though, bra shopping has never been enjoyable for me at all. Not one bit. Seriously. What the fuck is up with Victoria's Secret? They honestly believe their customers look like their models. I feel great about myself when they tell me the only bras that come in my size are push up bras. Way to set back the feminist movement like, twenty years fucking bra companies. I also love the fact that when I do finally find a bra that is my size, after hours of tear jerking searches through miles of racks (haha, no pun intended), it only comes in fugly ass colors, like beige or tan. Whee. I look so fine in gray. Thanks.
Okay, so I don't really mind that much. I'm the last person you'll find putting on sexy lingerie or entering a Victoria's Secret at all. But I do think it gets to my friends when I call my boobs "inflamed mosquito bites" in front of them all the time. Might wanna ease up on that one a bit...
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
apparently, i belong in the 1940s
This is interesting because it pertains to my last two posts. I took a quiz to see what decade I should live in (oh, lazy summer afternoons of low productivity).
Here I was expecting the usual outcome of the 1960s, harboring the secret desire of getting placed in the 1920s. But the quiz surprised me. Well, actually, first it really pissed me off. The 1940s? You have got to be kidding me. The war effort. Racism. Lame clothes. Too much pro-America bull shit. World War II in general, and an overwhelming sense of pending doom for the whole decade and beyond. Awesome. Thanks, quiz.
But then I read the response and was surprised by it's relative accuracy. However, I was also scandalized, obviously. Let's take a look at this sucker (and let's also make fun of it because that's ultimately what I do best).
You belong in the 1940s!
You are the ultimate romantic at heart(1). You put a high priority on true love, patriotism, and dedication to honor and duty. Whether it be serving your country or serving your family, you have a very hard work-ethic balanced out by your whimsical, dreamy heart(2). You are willing to take risks, go where no one has gone before, and you have a sense of pride in everything you do(3). Just as you are in touch with your inner beauty, you also give just the right amount of focus on your outer beauty-- standing out with the latest fashions and getting in touch with your sensual side(4). Your sexiness is not scandalous but rather classy and poised. You are the envy of those around you because no matter how much tough work you have to do, you keep a smile and look good while doing it(5).
(1) As much as I hate to admit it, this is too true. I totally fall for the sappy crap of flowers, or the "they get back together at the end!", or "he doesn't get on the plane!", or "she doesn't get on the train!", or whatever. I have ideals about love that I don't discuss very often with anyone. In fact, if you ask me, I'll probably tell you I don't believe in true love or soul mates. But I guess that's why it says "at heart", right? My heart is private.
(2) Also too true. Look, I have dreams and aspirations. I day dream and have crazy ideas about things I want to do or see. But that doesn't mean I can't sit at a desk and file 300 copies of contracts in less than two hours (done and done). I work damn hard! There's lots to do people! Hurry the fuck up! I move fast and often work through lunch. But at the end of the day, I'm still a photographer, I'm still an artist, and I'm still kind of crazy.
(3) I would say this is entirely true, except that I don't think anyone can ever say this. Yeah, I was super dee duper proud when I went to see Good Charlotte in 9th grade! Well, I'm not proud now. Thanks a lot.
(4) Excuse me while I go laugh until my guts spill onto my keyboard and I die. L. O. Fucking. L. I guess you could call me stylish since nowadays it seems to be cool to mismatch your clothes and wear baggy shirts (god I had been waiting for this. Thank you, American Apparel). But sensual? Yeah. Go talk to my non existent love life then observe me awkwardly initiating conversation about glue sticks with a guy I like.
(5) Sounds like a line from Sex and The City (bleh), but shit - I can live with that. However if I am ever employed on a horse ranch, I promise you - I will not look good. Same goes with a zoo or fish market.
So there you have it. If I had to sum up this quiz's results in one sentence, looks like it'd be "I am a hot office babe and people love me." Nothing could be further from the truth. But it's all in sport.
What is interesting to delve into, however, is the fact that upon sneakily stalking my friend's results on Facebook, they are all pretty good descriptions of the people in a nutshell (give or take a couple - like that girl who is a huge bitch yet somehow still gets the "You're wonderful!" result. That's why people should let other people take quizzes for them).
I guess what I really believe though is this: you have a pretty good sense of yourself, at least on the subconscious side, and during a quiz, you are not actually actively participating in the quiz, but in fact, your subconscious is taking it for you. Thus, you know who you are, you know how to answer, and you know where you're headed for your results. It's all innate in the end. Like you really need a quiz to know which Hogwarts house you're in (sup, Ravenclaw, represent.)
Here I was expecting the usual outcome of the 1960s, harboring the secret desire of getting placed in the 1920s. But the quiz surprised me. Well, actually, first it really pissed me off. The 1940s? You have got to be kidding me. The war effort. Racism. Lame clothes. Too much pro-America bull shit. World War II in general, and an overwhelming sense of pending doom for the whole decade and beyond. Awesome. Thanks, quiz.
But then I read the response and was surprised by it's relative accuracy. However, I was also scandalized, obviously. Let's take a look at this sucker (and let's also make fun of it because that's ultimately what I do best).
You belong in the 1940s!
You are the ultimate romantic at heart(1). You put a high priority on true love, patriotism, and dedication to honor and duty. Whether it be serving your country or serving your family, you have a very hard work-ethic balanced out by your whimsical, dreamy heart(2). You are willing to take risks, go where no one has gone before, and you have a sense of pride in everything you do(3). Just as you are in touch with your inner beauty, you also give just the right amount of focus on your outer beauty-- standing out with the latest fashions and getting in touch with your sensual side(4). Your sexiness is not scandalous but rather classy and poised. You are the envy of those around you because no matter how much tough work you have to do, you keep a smile and look good while doing it(5).
(1) As much as I hate to admit it, this is too true. I totally fall for the sappy crap of flowers, or the "they get back together at the end!", or "he doesn't get on the plane!", or "she doesn't get on the train!", or whatever. I have ideals about love that I don't discuss very often with anyone. In fact, if you ask me, I'll probably tell you I don't believe in true love or soul mates. But I guess that's why it says "at heart", right? My heart is private.
(2) Also too true. Look, I have dreams and aspirations. I day dream and have crazy ideas about things I want to do or see. But that doesn't mean I can't sit at a desk and file 300 copies of contracts in less than two hours (done and done). I work damn hard! There's lots to do people! Hurry the fuck up! I move fast and often work through lunch. But at the end of the day, I'm still a photographer, I'm still an artist, and I'm still kind of crazy.
(3) I would say this is entirely true, except that I don't think anyone can ever say this. Yeah, I was super dee duper proud when I went to see Good Charlotte in 9th grade! Well, I'm not proud now. Thanks a lot.
(4) Excuse me while I go laugh until my guts spill onto my keyboard and I die. L. O. Fucking. L. I guess you could call me stylish since nowadays it seems to be cool to mismatch your clothes and wear baggy shirts (god I had been waiting for this. Thank you, American Apparel). But sensual? Yeah. Go talk to my non existent love life then observe me awkwardly initiating conversation about glue sticks with a guy I like.
(5) Sounds like a line from Sex and The City (bleh), but shit - I can live with that. However if I am ever employed on a horse ranch, I promise you - I will not look good. Same goes with a zoo or fish market.
So there you have it. If I had to sum up this quiz's results in one sentence, looks like it'd be "I am a hot office babe and people love me." Nothing could be further from the truth. But it's all in sport.
What is interesting to delve into, however, is the fact that upon sneakily stalking my friend's results on Facebook, they are all pretty good descriptions of the people in a nutshell (give or take a couple - like that girl who is a huge bitch yet somehow still gets the "You're wonderful!" result. That's why people should let other people take quizzes for them).
I guess what I really believe though is this: you have a pretty good sense of yourself, at least on the subconscious side, and during a quiz, you are not actually actively participating in the quiz, but in fact, your subconscious is taking it for you. Thus, you know who you are, you know how to answer, and you know where you're headed for your results. It's all innate in the end. Like you really need a quiz to know which Hogwarts house you're in (sup, Ravenclaw, represent.)
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