You have a relatively large face upon which to convey emotion, but I really only notice your eyes. You say everything with your eyes.
So many days have passed looking at those eyes, I still know nothing about them. The constant grimace that I once despised has grown on me - a look of anticipated disappointment, of high expectations not being met. Your nose crinkles as if you can smell failure. A frown and furrowed brow speak loudly, but those eyes... two icy blue pools of contempt.
Angering you is sensational, like playing with matches. Every harsh word I say is just to see those eyes fill with fire. The heat thrills me.
But it's your smiling eyes that are my favorite. Nothing beats those eyes, not even a thousand Christmas mornings.
Lately your eyes have been foggy. I don't know why. Sometimes I can still see a flicker of light in them.
I hope they clear up soon. I very dearly miss their company.
This is a puzzle that my Grandma has been working on since Christmas. She gets frustrated because the pieces are sometimes too small for her to see, so it's taken her an extra long time with this one. I think she secretly likes the challenge.
It's a little comforting to know that some really successful people struggled to get where they are today. Tina Fey worked the morning shift at a YMCA in Chicago, and was part of an touring improv group that paid $75 a show before she got her "big break." Mindy Kaling worked as a dog sitter. Or a nanny or something. I guess it's all about timing. At the right time, you'll meet the right person, and perhaps that person will lead you to your "big break."
I don't know when that big break is going to come. I have about 3 months to figure it out. That's when my lease expires. I'm incredibly stressed. I put that on myself though. I could have been trying since May. I always thought I had time. Turns out I don't. The only thing getting me through is believing that everything is going to work out for the best. I just have to give it everything I've got, and I'll end up somewhere. Hopefully that place is not in my parents guest room, or on the street, but hopefully a place of my own. A step forward.
Right now I feel like I'm looking at a table covered in a thousand puzzle pieces that haven't been put together yet. I can't see the end picture. All I have at the present time is one goal - to get to the end picture. Am I ever going to see that end picture clearly? Is life a series of puzzles, or is it one giant puzzle that we piece together as we go? I have no idea.
I do know that if I want anything to happen, I have to move. That's about all I can do right now. Just start putting pieces together and see where that gets me.
It's 12:50am. Still thinking about that guy who hardly knows you exist? Maybe start thinking about something else, or you will be labelled as "obsessive" and "creepy."
Here's some ideas:
- The meaning of life
- Time and Space
- Where you want to be in 5 years
- Analyze if Bert and Ernie were really lovers, or if it's all just rumors
- Think about how Sesame Street would be more awesome if it featured lessons from openly gay puppets in a domestic partnership
- Apparently there's some nuclear shit going on in North Korea. Think about that
- Replay Star Wars 4,5, & 6 in your head
- Imagine Ke$ha giving the State of the Union Address in place of Obama
- Imagine a Ke$ha presidency
- who would be VP?
- the first all gay cabinet?
- instead of First Lady, would have First Guy in Giant Teddy Bear Costume?
- Watch TV
- Watch an entire series on Netflix - Dance in front of your bathroom mirror
- Drink some wine, and become temporarily interested in learning about the wine making process
- Katy Perry's boobs at the Grammy's
- Solidify your stance on hot-button political issues, e.g. abortion, gun control, Joe Biden.
- Write down all your favorite things about yourself
- Write down all your favorite things about your mom
- Write down all your favorite things about Justin Timberlake
- Come up your "5 Celebrity Freebies" list
- How many squats and wall-sits would you have to do to get a butt like Beyonce's?
- While you're on that topic, think about things other than a baby that should be named Blu Ivy - Go shopping - Buy shit you don't really need, like black eye shadow! - Play with black eye shadow when you get home, make yourself look like a tranny whore
- Make a mental to-do list
- That will probably make you sleepy, so sleep
- Obsessively count all the calories you consume
- Think about contacting that friend or family member you've been meaning to talk to, forget about it almost immediately
- Make lists about stupid things to distract yourself
- Remember you have to wake up for work at 6:30, calculate how many hours of sleep you will be able to get
- Not very many, huh? Go to sleep then
- Picture Ryan Gosling telling you about how his day went, focus on his muscles and don't listen to him
- Shop online
- PINTEREST
- Make a brownie in a mug!!
- 4 tbs flour
- 4 tbs sugar
- 2 tbs cocoa powder
- 2 tbs oil
- 2 tbs water
Heat in microwave for 1 minute, top with a dollop of peanut butter
Pat yourself on the back for your small accomplishment.
Am I though? I feel like I am. I don't really do anything other than work. I feel like I'm stuck.
I watched The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills tonight. (THIS IS THE GRIPPING LIFE THAT I LEAD.) (ALSO THIS WAS WRITTEN ON A MONDAY SO THAT STATEMENT IS INACCURATE.) I really don't need excitement like that in my life. Their lives certainly aren't boring. Or maybe they are, and they are so bored that they have to create stupid drama* problems that aren't really problems, write books about their divorces**, spend lots of money, and get really drunk off of $100 bottles of champagne - no, no. That still sounds awesome.
I want to be so rich that I'm never bored. I want my wealth to make me delusional so I can write Best-Selling books about ordinary problems, or star in a reality show where I throw drinks at gay event planners. Is that too much to ask, universe?
Have you ever seen RHOBH? Those women act like high schoolers. I'd be lying if I said I didn't love it though. I like watching them get in fights about misunderstandings and accuse one another of being "on drugs." Instead of being a real-life bitch I can live vicariously through their bitchiness. Also they live such ridicu-fabulous lives. Honestly, if you took away the beautiful mansions, the expensive restaurants, and the regular trips to fancy resorts in various tropical locations, the show wouldn't be entertaining because the women would be normal. Those ladies can do anything they want, have tantrums at five star restaurants (you know if anyone tried to flip a table at T.G.I. Fridays, the police would be involved), and jet off to wherever.
I've hardly been out of the country. I went to Toronto in 8th or 9th grade to go to a wedding. The groom used to work with my parents. He married a girl from Nova Scotia I think. MY POINT: Canada does not count as out of the country. It hardly even counts as a country. Canada is the US's ugly hat that we can't take off. (It covers our bald spot.)
I see all these women who have done all these awesome things. They studied abroad in college. They take artsy pictures while mountain biking somewhere in the Pacific Northwest (where I have also been, for the record), they speak a language other than English. They pull off that whole "natural" look and no one asks them if they are sick/tired. BITCHES.
I guess what brought this on is all my fault really. It's a lesson in internet karma: If thou doth stalk thy person of interest (and in this case, his sister) (and his mom) , thou will find some superior women to compare thyself to, and thou shalt feeleth like dog shit. Creepy, uninteresting, uncultured dog shit.
The worst part of this whole experience is that I think I'm boring. I don't want to think I'm boring! I'm supposed to be my #1 fan! If I don't have my back then who will? I learned that from Beyonce. Me, Myself, and I, that's all I got in the end.
I need to get out of this rut and find a new adventure. Preferably one that's free and wont end in humiliation. So that eliminates anything involving gracefulness or upper-body strength...
*I want to stray away from using the word "drama" for every tense situation. I don't know, I'm really starting to hate that word. It's becoming a cliche. Girls say this crap all the time and it's hilarious: "I hate drama." If you have ever spoken those words you do not hate drama.
** Who keeps telling these women that writing about divorce is a good idea? They are not the first ones to get divorced. Literally HALF of this country has experienced divorce in some way. We all made it through okay without knowing what Brandi Glanville and her Botoxed Housewives friends had to say about it.
There are about a million other things I should be doing. Sleeping is one of them. Drunkenly yelling at gnats in my kitchen is not. Not that I was doing that...
But nonetheless, here I am. I'm very sad. I don't really feel like accepting the sadness and analyzing where it's coming from, so for now I need a distraction. And what better way is there to distract myself than cherry coke and bourbon, mini heath bars, and writing another fictional debate between the two presidential candidates featuring tired celebrities? NO WAY.
So without further ado, it begins. I apologize and congratulate those of you who don't get a word of this because you have better standards for entertainment that I do:
If you're an American who lives above ground, owns a television and accidentally flips over to cable news networks from time to time, you know that Election Day is fast approaching. President Barack Obama and Governor Mitt Robot Romney had their 3rd and final debate on Monday evening. Or so everybody thought. Turns out there was a fourth debate held this evening in private to give the candidates one last chance to make their case, and answer America's questions. With such short notice, it was a little hard to find a moderator and people to ask questions. As it turns out, MTV handles most of its programming by beating audiences over the head with dead-end reality shows, so they were able to book Dr. Drew as the moderator and the cast of Jersey Shore.
Even though he didn't have much room to talk in between all the inane arguing, as a moderator Dr. Drew I think handled himself and the two opposing sides very well. By the two opposing sides, I mean Nicole "Snooki" Polizzi and Mike "the Situation" Sorrentino. The drawn-out brawl between the two started back in Season 4 while the cast was in Italy. Sitch told the housemates and America that he and Snooki engaged in some vague sexual activity an unknown number of months ago. This set off the former-meatball, who at the time was dating her now fiance Jionni WhoGivesAShitWhatHisLastNameIs, and she of course claimed it was not true. It's not yet been decided by anyone who is telling the truth, and unfortunately, was dragged into this evening's debate after Snooki asked the first question to the candidates about their views on abortion and women's rights.
Snooki: As you both may know, my sexy gorilla-juice-head fiance and I had a baby a couple months ago. Because I am a mom now, I care about feminisms n' sh*t. So, say a guy and a girl smash and she gets preggers but isn't mature enough to handle it as good as me and she wants to get it [air quotes] 'taken care of.' Pauly D: AWW YEAH ABORTION YEAH. Snooki: What are your thoughts on this? President Obama: Well Ms. Polizzi, I've made my thoughts on women's right to choose abundantly clear. To be frank, I think if anything your situation is a case for abortion in itself. Snooki: Awwww!! Thank you Mr. President, that's so sweet of you to say!
At this point, her fiance Jionni got up to leave. Reporters who caught up to him outside said he didn't say anything, but he was clearly very embarrassed.
Governor Romney: Well, Miss Polizzi, I believe every child conceived is a precious gift from God. It's not our choice, it's his.
This is where the trouble started, as Sorrentino felt the need to chime in.
Situation: That's true, it is a gift. Whether it be a gift from Jionni, or Sitch, or whoever, yaknowwhaddimsayin? Hehehe... Snooki: [long string of expletives]
Dr. Drew: Michael, are you suggesting that you may be the father of Snooki's child? Snooki: [more expletives, continues loudly as the two men talk so hardly anyone can understand what's being said.]
Situation: I'm not saying anything, bro. I'm just saying ya know. Dr. Drew: Okay, because you realize that would be physically impossible given that the two of you allegedly copulated over 2 years ago?
Situation: It is what it is, Doc. Sitch gets it in, blows up grendades, DTF, fresh to death, ride or die, you feel me? Governor Romney: YES! I feel you, Mr. Situation. A Romney Presidency is ride or die, fresh to death, all of that, that you just said. The President, I'm afraid, doesn't feel you at a-- President Obama: --If you can tell me what DTF means Governor, I will forfeit the presidency right here right now--
Snooki: -- And that's why nobody likes you Mike! Dr. Drew: Alright, calm down please. Deena, I believe you had the next question.
As a defeated Snooki takes her seat, Deena Cortese stands up, and falls down because she is still drunk from last night/this morning. Once she gets herself situated, she speaks:
Deena: Mr. President, I have a hypothermical situation for you. If you do sex wit a guy you meet at the club because he says he loves you does that make you a slut? Oh wait, that wasn't my question. *hiccup* Hmm.... Mr. President, I have a pregnancy scare about once a month. Have you ever had a pregnancy scare?
President Obama: First of all Miss Cortese, your underwear is showing. Secondly, no I have not had a pregnancy scare. Because I don't have a uterus. Because I'm a man. Governor Romney: I have. I have a uterus. I know what it's like, Deena. Deena: It doesn't matter. The point is, does Obamacare cover the pill?
President Obama: *Sigh* Yes.
Deena: Cool. What about, uh, nose-ular reconstruction surgery? My boyfriend's been wanting to try something in bed, and I've just been kinda scared to go through wit it because I just got my nose done- Dr. Drew: Okay, that's enough. We're moving on. Deena... I think it's time you took a good long look in the mirror and asked yourself, "Is this the young lady I wanted to become?"
After vomiting on Dr. Drew, Deena was asked to leave the premises.
Dr. Drew: Let's move on to a different topic. Anyone? Sammi: Dr. Drew, I have a question about the environment.
Dr. Drew, shocked [like everyone else], allowed Sammi "Sammi Sweetheart" Giancola to proceed.
Sammi: I also have a hypothetical situation for yous. So like, pretend there's like these two polar bears, one's male and one is female. And like, the ice caps are melting, right? And that's like stressing them out. They need to unwind and go crazy, so they go spend the summer in Miami. Governor Romney: Wait, why would they --
Sammi: So like, while they're down there, the guy polar bear like goes out every night, gets smashed, and hooks up wit ugly girls and then after the fact comes home to the female bear, who is patiently waiting for him because she's a GOOD F***ING GIRLFRIEND-- Ron: --Oh for the love of God. Sammi: STAHP IT, I'M NAHT DONE TALKING RAHN. I'M NAHT DONE TALKING. And then he goes and gets in bed wit her and tells her he loves her and then they smush like nothing's wrong.
Ron: GET THE F*** OVER IT SAM GOD, IT HAPPENED LIKE 4 YEARS AGO, WHY DO YOU STILL CARE. Sammi: I WASN'T TALKING TO YOU RAHN, I WAS TALKING TO THE CANDIDATES ABOUT GLOBAL WARMING.
Governor Romney: [to the President] What is "smush?"
President Obama: Ya know, I really don't know.
Ron: [Another long string of expletives, constantly interrupted by Sammi yelling "RAHN" over and over again.]
Sammi: [in tears at this point] You know what? I'm sick right now. I'm done. DONE. Okay? So f*** you, have a nice life.
Giancola slowly walked towards the exit, took a dramatic pause about half way there to turn around towards Ortiz-Magro and once again say "F*** you, have a nice life," before finally leaving. A sigh of relief was heard about the room.
Dr. Drew: Does anybody actually have a real question they'd like to ask the candidates before time runs out? Vinny, you've been quiet all night. Something on your mind?
Vinny Guadagnino (It's okay, I don't know how to pronounce it either) just sat there and shrugged his shoulders.
Vinny: Honestly, this whole thing is pointless. Dr. Drew: Please, explain. Vinny: It seems like all that's happening is everyone is yelling at each other at the same time. No one can hear any of the arguments, and as a result none of the issues are actually being addressed, and no solutions are being discussed. Listening to people bicker about things when they are all too stubborn to take other points of view into consideration - it gets old, bro. It's just a lot of noise, and honestly Dr. Drew, I can't wait for it to be over so we can all move on with our lives.
Dr. Drew: That's actually very insightful Vinny. In fact, I think most of the country agrees with you. Vinny: I know, that's why I hate these reunion shows. Dr. Drew: Reunion? This... okay. You all were made aware that this is a presidential debate, right?
The cast became confused and angry, and after Snooki started throwing food at Dr. Drew and Jenni "JWoww" Farley attempted to start a fight with the first lady, the candidates made their closing statements:
Governor Romney: Vote for me, because Obama sucks. President Obama: I may suck, but I don't suck as much as Mitt Romney.
Recently, I was googling myself (don't act like you don't do it all the time), and I found something very disturbing.
After about 20 legitimate links to my different social networking pages, this blog and my youtube channel, was the worst possible thing that could ever be on the internet. EVER.
"Cheap Hooker Employee Search: List of Names & Contact Info" Underneath that: my name, age, hometown, and university. The same information that can be found on LinkedIn. All accurate. Clearly me. WHAT THE WHAT????????????
I panicked. How the HELL did google search make me out to be a "Cheap Hooker?" And cheap? REALLY?? What did all of this mean? Did someone steal my identity? Was I a cheap hooker in another life time?
And then it all came back to me.
The year was 2006, I'd just come back from theatre camp in Kentucky. I was 16 years old. I had been trying to connect with everyone at camp on facebook, but in Owensboro at that time, MySpace was bigger. I didn't have one because I thought MySpace was stupid. (In hindsight, I was right and should've trusted my gut) But, what can I say? I'm a people pleaser. So I made myself one. I didn't want to deal with all the notifications from MySpace as well as Facebook, so I made it under an old Netscape email address that was still active but I hadn't used in years. I know. Netscape. Damnit, we're old.
Now, for those of you who aren't familiar with the myspace format, it has a little section that helps people to further categorize you to accordingly make judgments based on stereotypes or decide if it's worth it to ask you for nude pics. You are to provide your astrological sign, sexual orientation, relationship status, Smoker/Non-Smoker, height, body type (wtf, right?), school, and occupation.
So, at age 16, I was still just as much of a smart ass as I am today. But with less of a filter. Or a strong grasp on actions and consequences. I filled out mostly all the information truthfully. And, thinking I was being hi-LARIOUS, I put "cheap hooker" as my occupation. *headdesk*
PROOF (see, just a typical wholesome teenage girl.)
You know what's really sad? I hardly EVER used that damn thing. I had like 25 friends max. I used it to fill out surveys when I was bored. But FOR SOME STUPID REASON, I apparently felt the need to update it a couple years later, to inform all 25 of my "friends" and the millions of creepy old men looking for cheap hookers on the internet, that I would be attending Belmont University.
That's not even the worst part. You wanna know what the worst part is? Since I never ever used it, I don't remember the password. And because I made it under an old email account that I never used, I don't remember the password to that either. So I can never take it down. It's going to stay there, for all eternity, just waiting for the perfect moment to come back and bite me in the ass.
I HATE MY LIFE.
This would happen to me, ya know? It just would.
To all individuals who ended up here from reading a sample of my writing provided with my resume, a) thank you for reading my other work, b) PLEASE believe me when I say this:
I, ELIZABETH (LIBBY) ANN GENZ, AM NOT, NEVER HAVE BEEN, AND NEVER WILL BE A CHEAP HOOKER. JUST A STUPID 16 YEAR OLD WITH A TASTELESS SENSE OF HUMOR.
And now please enjoy a song/omen my friend Molly Lewis wrote in 2008 about MySpace coming back to haunt us all in our adult lives:
It would be funnier if it wasn't so true.
Also, if anyone has any idea how to get rid of the connection between me and being a "cheap hooker," please let me know. I'd be happy to hear it.
