Salacious

Every time I think about something for the first time, I start seeing it everywhere soon afterwards. Remember my last entry? Right after I wrote it, I saw a guy in my econ class leave a half eaten doughnut on his chair when class was over. I almost ripped off his face. The same day, a girl stood in the middle of the aisle to have a conversation with her friend when everyone was trying to leave the lecture hall. I almost chopped off her head. And that night, when I was in the dining hall with my friend, she made me wait an eternity for her while she searched the entire premises for a single cap for her drink. I almost unfriended her on Facebook.

This can also apply to other situations. Like for instance, whenever I learn a new word, I feel like it suddenly shows up in everything that I read. Salacious (ok, I implanted this one). And this one time, I was stalking a 14 year old boy and he mentioned something about Golden Corral, a place I'd never heard of before. The next day, I couldn't turn on the TV without hearing something about Golden Corral. In case you are wondering, it's a low-end restaurant and not a low-end cowboy fetish store.

I'm sure there is a psychological explanation for all of this. Perhaps we don't notice things until we think about them, and then they are everywhere. Perhaps I look for positive reinforcement for my theory and I ignore all the evidence that contradicts it. But I doubt I will ever know if this is all coincidence, divine intervention, or just a mean trick my brain is playing on me.

I have to say though, this phenomenon does not always work. Because I have been thinking about having a boyfriend for the past 5 years. And he has yet to materialize.

Let Me Get One Thing Straight

There's something about straight boys that makes my heart flutter. Could it be their cock swinging arrogance? Their swashbuckling demeanor? The way they always think about sex? The unkempt stubble on their faces? Their goofy smiles? Their silly talk about unimportant things like sports and cars? Yes. All of the above. I love me some hetero ass.

But this presents an interesting paradox. What's the point of being attracted to somebody that will never be interested in you? Is this an elaborate subconscious scheme to sabotage my own life? Is this an effort to keep love at bay so I can never have my heart broken?

No. Straight boys are so hot. I don't understand how anybody on this entire planet could not want to fuck a straight boy. I would give a kidney to fuck a straight boy. I would give up Desperate Housewives to fuck a straight boy. I would renounce Britney to fuck a straight boy. Straight boys are so hot. Girls, I don't blame you for getting in my way. If I were a girl, and not ugly, I would be a total slut. I would probably have sex with an entire sports team at once. Because straight boys are that hot.

If anything, my infatuation with straight boys is due to the fact that they represent everything I am not. They are confident and aggressive and rugged and beautiful. Straight boys complete me. They are the cheese to my macaroni, the peanut to my jelly, the Cannon to my Carey. And while they're so busy chasing girls and talking about the Superbowl, they don't even realize how happy we could be together.

Diatribe

Before I go on extended breaks, I tend to get frustrated with the people around me. "I don't care because I'm not going to see you for two months and when I come back I am going to have the body of Jessie Pavelka and you will be kicking yourself for making me mad. Bye. Die."

This is Jessie Pavelka's "About Me" on ModelMayhem.

My name is Jessie Pavelka. I am a fortunate yet unfortunate person just like all the rest of us. (That's deep.) Strengths and weaknesses, good and bad, happy and sad, you know the rest. (This sentence is missing three predicates.) I have decided to devote my life to chasing my dreams and aspirations w/(Is it really that hard to write it out?) no regret(s) and no fear in my heart. If things work out great, if things go on the way(one word)side(,) I accept and move on. Days get long and life gets short, but I keep on going. I am loved and loveable(maybe in person) and TRY to send out love even when (i)t is not received.(That's very big of you.) I am a spiritual being who strongly believes in God and Quantum Physics.(hah...) Things happen for a reason and at the exact time they are supposed to.(You won't be saying that when Dietribe is cancelled.) My thoughts control me and I control my thoughts.(That makes sense.) This is me. KEEP IT REAL My Heroe is Most definitley my Mother the strongest woman/human being(an unusual hybrid indeed) I have ever met and anyone with the courage (to) turn a thought into and idea(,) then impliment that idea into something great, something that matters....(transition?) I DO NOT DO NUDITY OF ANY KIND!! Thank you! (You're Welcome.)

Note: the misspelled words
lovable
hero
definitely
implement
with
it

Note: the capitalized words
TRY - meaning his attempts to send out love without recieving are mostly unsuccessful
Heroe, Most, Mother - none of those words should be capitalized under any circumstance
KEEP IT REAL - an impulsive statement that must have occurred to him suddenly while writing
I DO NOT DO NUDITY OF ANY KIND - i don't wanna talk about this

Also:
Why do they even call the show Dietribe? I get the whole "ha ha play on words" bit, but it doesn't even make sense. Diatribe means a bitter verbal attack (like I have just demonstrated). You can't just pluck words out of the dictionary that almost have the word diet in them and make a show out of it. It's completely irrelevant!


I'm going back to school tonight and I don't have the body of Jessie Pavelka.

It's A Good Thing

I was watching Martha Stewart this morning, (don't judge me), and Sigourney Weaver was the special guest. She was there to promote her new Lifetime movie Prayers for Bobby but somehow Martha suckered her into butchering a chicken on live TV. Anyway, back to the point. They played a clip from the movie where Sigourney's character goes, "I will not have a gay son," and the crowd gasped.

This surprised me. I would think that a room full of middle-aged white women would relate to that kinda of reaction. But upon further thought, any woman who watches Martha Stewart and has interest in trimming pillowcases and home made stationery would appreciate a gay son who can help them bake scones and plan weddings. Maybe people are more tolerant than I think. Next time I'm amidst a group of middle-aged white women, I'm coming out. They will give me hugs and invite me to their book club meetings.

As for the movie, I must say that it could be better. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for the the heartwrenching tear-jerkers that better "the cause", (as opposed to blatant insults like I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry and overrated pointlessness like Brokeback Mountain). But it's all kind of cliche and and the writing seems unnatural. Also, Bobby's constant face full of tears is overkill. Why not just do the lone tear down the cheek? But I love love love Sigourney Weaver. I love her. I will suffer through bad writing and bad acting to watch her. Saturday at 9pm. Who wants to make it a date with me?

Novel Idea #1

I have several ideas for novels swimming around in my head. The first one involves a beautiful young Indian girl named Deepa Chopra. She is tired of having no control over her life but keeps these feelings mostly to herself and confesses only to her free-spirited best friend, Sameena. Deepa lives with her two controlling parents who manage to maintain a stranglehold on her life while also owning and operating an Indian restaurant, The House of Kamal.

Every morning, Deepa wakes up at 5am and goes with her mother to Costco where they proceed to buy every single rotisserie chicken that the warehouse is willing to give them. Doctored up with some garam masala and ground coriander, they will be sold for triple the price at her parents' restaurant. Deepa reads the labels, "Not For Resale," every single time and feels badly about this practice. But she has no power over her mother and relents, feeling that the universe will right itself in other ways.

Deepa constantly daydreams of meeting the perfect man and being whisked away to a new life. But she is fully aware of her parents' intentions to arrange her marriage. Furthermore, she has come to the realization that her parents will select her husband based on their own criteria and that she will have no say. To her parents, he will be a nice man with an even temper and a stable job in IT that will be able to adequately provide for the family. To Deepa, he will be a boring man with an uninteresting and mindless job and whose favorite movie is something thoughtless and cliche like The Dark Knight. The idea of spending the rest of her life with somebody so uninspiring suffocates Deepa.

These thoughts compound her feelings of lack of control. She deals with these feelings in unconvential ways.


Ugh. I just ripped my jeans right below the pocket. My favorite $9 GAP jeans. FUCK. FUCK THIS STORY.

Circus

Temperatures in the DC area are dipping into the single digits and that has put me in the cuddling mood. Unfortunately, there are no live bodies to cuddle with. I have resorted to rolling my blankets into the shape of Channing Tatum and going to sleep with him. It suffices.

Inauguration is this Tuesday and I am twitching at the prospect of seeing Hillary in person. I feel, as a DC resident, a certain obligation to go and witness this historic event that is taking place right in my figurative backyard. However, several million people, whose literal backyards DC is not, are coming in from God knows where. (Obama's step-grandmother is visiting from Kenya. I wonder how often they actually speak and if he calls her granny.)

Downtown streets have restricted access. Bridges from Virginia are closed inbound. No bicycles allowed on the parade route. Smithsonian, National Archives, Judiciary Square, 7th St. Convention Center metro stations are closed. I heard a rumour that Beyonce has to walk on foot. I heard a rumour Oprah's secret lover tells all (but that's unrelated). It will be mayhem. It can not be missed.

Speaking of things that can not be missed, Britney Spears is coming to the Verizon Center in March. I want a ring seat so bad even though they are $3,000. Most likely I'll end up in the upper concourse; the section so high that moisture condenses into clouds that support a vast rainforest teeming with 50% of the world's bird species. But even those seats are $100 plus. But if Britney isn't worth it, I really don't know what is.

Stalk Me

Alas, there are three new ways to interact with me.

I've created a Facebook account (DC Cised, friend me!). Maybe I will take pictures of myself wearing a dark hoodie and a baseball cap and sunglasses in a dark room with no flash. Maybe I will take pictures of myself naked.

I've also created a Twitter, so you can go traipsing through my thoughts and read about my everyday life. Please follow me so I don't feel like a complete loser.

I've even created a fan page for you fans out there. Yes, all 3-4 of you. Now you can proudly proclaim your devotion to me on your profile. And your friends can stumble blindly into my blog and stop being your friends once they realize what it's actually about.

As always, you can chat with me on dccised (AIM) or email me at dccised@gmail.com. The funny thing about that is people often send me emails and message me, but after I respond, they just fall off the face of the Earth. Either they had a massive heartattack from all the excitment of talking to me or they figured out how stupid I actually am from my response. I'm hoping it's the first one.