oh word? phrases that i hate

 allow me to get a pass on using this nonsense phrase that i hate…
“it is what it is”
zooey unsure

beg your pardon?

i hate it.
i do.
i hate the pervasiveness of it into our culture.
what it is tattoo

indeed.

I hate the fake-zen role the sayer takes on as they say this thing that
makes no sense.
say,
“i’ve got no answer to the dire conclusion that we have come to so
am instead going to make noises with my face
and pretend it is riveting conversation.”
or
“i’ve got no way to actively fix the conclusion that we have come to
so i’m going to reference the fact that i’ve go no way to actively
fix it by not even actively making sense.”
and most of all, I hate the fact that it makes no sense.
 by definition…
a thing..
IS. what. it. IS.
popeye yam what i yam

indeed.

and of course,
what else could it be? as it is by definition impossible to be what it is not?
the fact that it is doing what it is supposed to
and being what it is supposed to be
shouldn’t even be remarkable. 
it is what it is?
thats like saying
“look at that orange over there being an orange”
orange

completely unremarkable

well,
…yeah. of course.

it’s not pithy or even glib or trite.

it’s collective nonsense turned into slang.
(ok, when isn’t collective nonsense not turned into a thing? i’m looking at YOU-
every meme ever.)

condescending wonka

self-depreciating humor! meta!

why is it even a phrase?
it would be something to remark upon if say,
something is what is wasn’t or shouldn’t be.
for example:
“look at that purple orange.”
purple orange

slightly more remarkable.

or
“look at that orange doing graffiti.”
orange head graffiti

you should see his finger tattoos.

that is all, really.

don’t say it around me.
because i’ll hit you.
and when you complain

then i’ll say it.

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do over: I only wore the ugly shoes because you’re short

in my world, there are about three general responses i could have when i run into an Ex in the street.

1.Point and laugh.

2.Vomit.

3.Run.

(sometimes a combo.)

i imagine it is awkward under even the best of circumstances. not that i can really imagine what the best circumstances would be. perhaps:

1. You run into your Ex on the way into the book signing for your best selling novel.

hillary duff booksigning

“oh. hello…who is this made out to? jerkface? how do you spell that?”

2. You run into your Ex in the crowd at the ribbon cutting ceremony your hometown has just put on commemorating the library and park erected in your honor.
giant scissor

“oh. hello. could you hold my giant scissor?”

3.You run into your Ex at the airport baggage claim returning from your honeymoon in the Maldives with your new wife who is a rockstar-slash-underwear model-slash-biochemist. 
hot chemist

“that guy? i bet he knows nothing about the practical importance of a phenomenological theory of particles.” or “oh”

or

4.You run into your Ex in a late model pickup truck or SUV with stolen plates… reverse, and do it again. Then drive off into the night, cackling, vengeance yours.

truck

“boom”

I’m kidding.

Sorta.

but there’s always that one person from your past where the relationship went sour like milk and you wouldn’t even want to run into them in the street without a Nobel Peace Prize in one hand and a can of ‘told-ya-so’ in the other and yet you still effing do.  i know a guy like that.

in the first years and a half since that break-up i ran into that guy five times.
five fingers

FIVE.

(one of the run-ins was a semi-drunken late night exchange in front of a 24-hour McDonald’s walk-up window.  his friend threw a chicken mcnugget at my friend’s head. nothing good can come from french fries at 2am. nothing.)

my mother still occasionally asks
“whatever happened to that guy? he had such nice teeth!”
right. you know who else have perfect teeth, ma?
tom

sociopaths.

at first, i’d practice all the scathing remarks and perfectly arched eyebrows that would speak volumes, specifically “eat shit volumes 1 and 2”– that is, just in case i’m not walking with my rhodes scholar super hot french and cameroonian life partner because she’s off leading a pilates retreat in mexico that week.
or, alternately, pretend i am method acting for the lead in a movie about a blind woman by specifically not seeing him.
(constantly wearing sunglasses aids this method considerably)
or, channel my inner ancient ninja and disappear into a rice paddy or the crowd of hustling rush hour commuters.
but, none of these are the right thing to do. as i’ve said – with me as well as with jennifer aniston— the best response may be to ‘just keep livin’, but the best revenge is to
live well.
 
so even if my future life partner IS really a rockstar and a master yoga instructor teaching a course in mexico… but isn’t here with me at the moment of concern because i don’t actually know her yet– i STILL should act as tho’ oprah is about to endorse my book on the OWN network by next week. because without the drama from that guy in my life i AM living better than well.
double rainbow
ok, ok, ok. all of that best inner life, fully transcendant stuff is all well and good.
but if i WAS to run into that guy again, there’d be ONE snarky thing i would definitely have to say:
“I only wore the ugly shoes because you’re short”
ugly sneakers
that would probably settle that.

lost in the sandbox

how do you make friends as an adult?

coz i need more/better/new ones.
not that theres anything wrong with the ones i’ve got – i love them all truly, madly, deeply. but as is the course of friendships- you become friends because of shared interests and remain friends because of shared history. you know what you are going to GET with your peeps and thats what makes them YOURS.

knowing them as i do, i know the majority of mine arent going to want to go barhopping on a sunday night no matter how hard i beg. which is why i find myself writing a memorial to my social life. not of a year ago when i was a swinging single. nay. of about 25 years ago when i was in pre school and the easiest way to make a new friend was to plop down beside them in the sandbox and show them that you, too, liked to make gourmet  meals from play doh and it was game ON from there on out.

girl eating sand

sea food.

things ain’t that simple no more. majority of my friends now are in various relationship stages that are not conducive to stone chillin’ saturday nights as in the days of old. they’re either

A:coupled up – so do married type things on the weekend like antiquing upstate, or visiting their special person’s parents for long weekends on lumpy twin beds.

couple on twin bed retro black and white

"...but grandma's right next door."

or hang out with other couples who are married or married-like and talk about antiquing  trips upstate with the parents.

or B:  newly coupled-  which means they spend their entire weekend in bed discovering all the fascinating quirks about their partner that will annoy the shit out of them in 7 months but that at the moment they find adorable, or telling stories about things they did in junior high and drinking each others sweat.

couple on bed

can't blame 'em

until they come up for air there’s really  no room for a third in that party.

and the last group, the dying breed, i was the local chapter president of for longer than i remember –can’t hang out on weekends because they are

C:single and mingling.

party girl

what? olives are vegetables -- so this is heathy.

which means roughly a year ago today i was most likely drunk, doing something mildly inappropriate with someone who’s last name i didn’t know then and first name i can’t remember now. (ok. or home happily reading a book) either way, a complete 180 from tonight, where i bedrugingly took off my party clothes at 11pm and told myself I need to get a jump start on tomorrow’s work. which brings me back around to my original lament. where, as an adult do you make new friends? its not like picking up fruit (or tricks) in the supermarket, or books (or tricks) in the bookstore.

if you lean over to the interesting looking girl sitting next to you on the subway reading the fountainhead on her ipad (only after checking to see if her thick frame black glasses actually had a perscription in the lens. (score! they do. proceed) and ask her where she got that obviously eco-friendly backpack… she’s going to think you’re cruising her.

girl w glasses reading

mind yours.

aaaaaaand a year ago she would have been right.
or, when you’re at your local organic coffee place and that guy with the bike and the yogamat and the vintage sneakers saunters in blasting something out of his beats by dre that sounds kinda like starwars meets r&b meets 80s; if you grab him before he takes his soy latte to-go in order to ask what is he listening to and does he know if they touring locally? he’s going to think you are cruising him. aaaaaaaaaand again, a year ago he would have ended up as that fuck  friend you dont remember from last summer  and therefore he would have been right.

pharrell with bike

mind yours.

so whats a girl to do?
join professional clubs, do charity, get involved with your community, take a class?  could find tons of people with shared interest and you’ll have reasons to talk to them eliminating the awkward “hello” and the tamping down the automatic response of trying to formulate a meet-cute when all you want to do is find someone to talk about how much you still miss LOST.

lost on tv screen two sodas

one for me. one for the polar bear

and then what happens when it comes down to the main nerve-wracking event part where you exchange numbers – how do you ask someone out on a friend date without feeling date-like?

couple on date

im not on a date. are you on a date?

how do you cruise for platonic friends?

dear ironic hipster beard,

(aka “the brooklyn beard”)

you know who you are. and you know you are itchy.

hi,

that’s not ironic.

that’s gross.

you’ve got 70’s porn crotch on your face.

if you insist on coming into the bars with intentions of scoring some vagina (in your laconic, bored w everything hipster sort of way) it may behoove you to not arrive already wearing one on your chin.

just a thought.

furthermore, pls. take a shower.

thank you,

management

(am i the only one who hates seeing someone who looks like their ex everytime they go out?)

journal pull 8/ 17: enter the weasel

Remember MTV era Pauly Shore?

buuuuuuuuuuuuuu- dy

buuuuuuuuuuuuuu- dy

Here is where I would want to say I was easily amused as a kid –but I bet you a pair of acid washed jeans* that if Encino Man came on right this very minute I would watch with rapt attention.

My friends and I really thought it would bethe raddest thing ever to unearth, defrost and befriend an iceman at some point in high school.

Which one is the the cave man?

Which one is the the cave man?

Obviously, in real life he would have disentergrated by 2nd period. But that didnt stop us from digging up the backyard.

*That’s a good deal too. Apparently acid washed jeans are making an unironiccomeback**.

acid washed jeans

have i seen you somewhere before?

**is it not hipster but just tragic that really bad fashion is making an unironic comeback? (bc if the people rocking them on the subway next to me  don’t remember them from the first time its unfortunate and unironic)  hipster kids do it to be  all retrofutureirony or whatever but still… mainstream acid washed jeans? Again?

I am expecting hair metal aaaaaany day now.