The Big Heart Reveal.

11 06 2012

At 4:30 in the morning most roads are clear. When the sun rises and the light bounces off the mountains it’s hard to think of a better way to wake up.

The trip down was supposed to take 6.5 hours. I got there in 5.5. I swear I went nearly the speed limit the whole time.

It was good to trust my instincts and go. The drive itself was worth it more than anything. I needed to find out if this was about love or lust and proceed accordingly. Either way I felt fear. I was afraid that if it was love, my life was about to get incredibly difficult. I was afraid that if it was about lust I had just wasted a good amount of time, energy, and money to figure that out.

But nothing was wasted necessarily.

Of course, the outcome wasn’t exactly what I wanted, but more than anything it was what I needed.

I needed to realize that it would never work. That there were too many flaws in the whole idea.

Maybe I went there all along subconsciously knowing I was going to look for these flaws because I needed to get over it.

Maybe it was always the logical choice.

Because if I didn’t go I wouldn’t be able to move on.

And now I can. Even though it is still sad. Though, not entirely.

I’m more relieved than anything. No longer in the state of in-between.

Back to the game, but I’m not jumping in full-force. Re-focusing my energy of my self–my body and mind.

New plan:

Find a favorite yoga class to go to once a week–body.

Write at length every day–mind.

New rule:

Boys come last.

I’m obviously searching for connections with other humans; but I fear I’ve been wanting it too badly. Must give up and allow it just to be. To arrive organically. And if it never does I guess I’ll just Emily Dickinson-it the rest of my life.

I’m Running Away. For Two Days.

9 06 2012

Or, going on a holiday, as the English say.

So. Most of you don’t know, due to the fact that I don’t like to talk about it–because as a “player” this is not something you’re supposed to blog about–if you want to keep playing.


Maybe I don’t wanna be a playa’ any more?

(I’m not a playa I just crush alot.)

Here’s the deal.

I have a mega thang for someone who lives really far away.

And many of you are probably thinking… “that’s okay Krystal, you can move any where, you can do anything, because currently you aren’t doing shit with your life.”

Okay, so that is technically true. But the major issue is that the guy I’m mega-crushing out on is stuck in this certain small-scale city in the middle of nowhere for the next four years. No matter how pretty a guy is (Don Draper jaw-line), no matter how smart a guy is (AirForce Secret Stuff), no matter how funny/clever/witty a guy is (the next Michael Bluth) I refuse to make major life decisions revolving around men, a man, ever again. Because this is MY life and it shouldn’t, and it won’t be, dictated by a dick (no matter how. . . dick-y it is? hahaha).

So. Yeah. I really. REALLY like this guy… but it is not a logical or feasible relationship. It’s just going to lead to too much emotional and financial strain.

I’ve had my romantic friends (and family members) tell me to just go for, while my logical friends tell me to run the opposite direction. And for once in my life–I’m choosing non-logical romance! I’m forgetting the expense, forgetting the future inevitable depressing heartbreak, and just going to have a great time. It’s a little crazy, but we all need these kinds of experiences don’t we?

I mean, I don’t want to look back ten years from now and kick myself for not going while I had the chance. So tomorrow, bright and early, I am road tripping down to New Mexico where this beautiful bloke and I will spend roughly 24 hours together.

Then we will part.


And then I will go to Taos, explore for a day and perhaps have a magical spiritual experience.

We shall see. Either way, it is bound to be a good time.

Wish me love-luck!

See you upon the return.

Don’t Call Me EVER!!!!

7 06 2012

A Video blog critiquing Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Call Me Maybe.”


(I will get better at this over time.)

We All Nasty.

6 06 2012

I will be the first to admit that I am not the smartest person in the entire universe. I will, more than likely, have plenty of grammar issues and whatnot throughout this post, as an example. But, I must declare that I am incredibly upset by our culture’s lack of taste.

We are the “white trash” country of the world.


I try to hide from it.

I’ve spent a majority of my time in life avoiding pop culture. I try not to listen to the radio. I try not to watch anything on television except Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune. I never read or watched Twilight. I don’t shop at stores that sell things new. I barely even read articles online anymore–and when I do they almost always come from Jezebel or I’ll catch of clip of Rachel Maddow while eating peanut butter off a spoon late at night after work. Usually, when I read an article or catch a clip I just end up getting pissed off, which annoys me, then I get more pissed off.

In other words, I attempt every day to not get pissed off.

I almost always fail.

Perhaps instead of avoiding that which pisses me off, I should confront it. I should embrace the fact that this shit exists and I should explain to people why they shouldn’t like it.

But who am I to be a cultural critic?

Am I qualified in any way?

What exactly makes my taste in things better than the average bear?

Just because I’m bitchy and judgmental and have been making fun of things for at least a decade?

Just because I went to school and have nothing better to do with my degrees?

I don’t know if I want to get involved in all this hoopla. It seems like I’d still be feeding into it even if what I was doing was analyzing it.

Perhaps if I’m bombarded by it with no choice over the matter– like I am at work with this”Call Me Maybe” shit feeding into my brain over and over all day long, then I am allowed to complain. Because no one deserves that kind of torture. It’s pure brain damage. And someone should STOP it.

All we can do it create better material and hope that it gains similar popularity. Though probably not possibly, at least the attempt is being made and there are alternatives.

Tomorrow: a video blog deconstructing Carly Rae and all who love her. You’re all going down.

Good Grief.

5 06 2012

I’ve mostly snapped out of the grumpy Debbie Downerness, just like I knew I would. Though this time it took longer than expected and more trial and error than usual.

I attempted almost everything.

Sitting with the feeling and really feeling it, allowing it to pass through my body–didn’t work.

A beer–didn’t work.

Masturbation–didn’t work.

Working out–didn’t work.

Writing–didn’t work.

Chugging an energy drink then talking to a ridiculously weird stripper–CHA CHING!

She and I bonded over our size 10 feet and “fought” over a cute pair of heels (that I’d never actually buy because I have no place to wear them AND they’re heels). She was wearing red glasses but one entire side was missing so they sat kind of lop-sided on her face. She was nervous about getting a server position at Shot Guns–never met anyone they didn’t hire–they called her right when she was getting ready to pay for the shoes so she ran out the door without getting them and I didn’t see her the rest of the night.

I’m sure we’ll meet again.

And I guess she’s not technically a stripper–but she will be soon (all “cocktail” waitresses end up dancing there, it’s inevitable).

My conclusion is that it was actually a combination of doing everything I could + time + distraction from thoughts that eventually allowed the grumpiness to escape.

Anyway. My own new glasses should give me a fresh perspective.

I appreciate everyone’s support, but it’s not an uncommon experience, for me. I don’t know how other people feel, if they ever go up and down–and what that range looks like to them. I have to accept that I will probably not understand how other humans function or why they make the decisions they do–and that’s okay–I don’t have to (even if I really want to know). I just need to focus on fixing the things I don’t like about myself. And maybe go buy some self-confidence somewhere. I think it was stolen years ago in grad school.

(One of my three new pair.)

25 Ways I’m a Fuck Up.

4 06 2012

So, I know the world needs more positivity, but somehow someway I can’t shake this bad mood. I’ve decided to just write down (almost) everything that’s wrong me with in an attempt to expel it out into the universe and focus more on the good things that are left.

25. I’m 60K in debt because I thought getting a good education would get me somewhere, when in reality only I can get me somewhere and I haven’t made the trip yet.

24. I work in retail—even though I despise the concepts of capitalism.

23. Not only do I work in retail, I’m unreasonably good at selling shit. (This could have less to do with me and more to do with people already wanting to buy stuff, but I’d like to think I’m good at peer pressure.)

22. I have zits. Still. After like 15 years of dealing with them.

21. I want to drink all the time. Luckily I have yet to actually get to that point; there is still slight self-control.

20. I do drink at least a french press full of coffee every day; sometimes I also have energy drinks. Weee!

19. My diet consists mainly of tortilla chips, pickles, and peanut butter.

18. I hate most people.

17. I’m highly considering a part-time job that goes against pretty much everything I believe in.

16. I wonder what I believe in every day.

15. I don’t like handholding. Couples doing it around me, you trying to do it to me. Let hands be FREE!

14. Sometimes I smoke cigarettes.

13. I never meditate enough for the mediators.

12. On occasion I have accidently not eaten vegan.

11. It seems everyone has it together way more than I do. Like, everyone I know has good to decent job titles, strong relationships, smiles. A life-plan perhaps? Or at least ideals they want to live for/towards. I feel blank.

10. I wonder if I’m losing my emotional range. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to laugh. I just want to be left alone, and yet to be around people so that I’m not.

09. I must suck at being a friend. I apologize to anyone who believes me to be a friend. Tell me what I can do to be better.

08. I dream about disappearing.

07. I only crush on guys who are impossible.

06. I don’t regret being a slut. I regret not being slutty enough.

05. I fear I will never love again. And not in this dramatic I’ll-always-be-alone way but more in this, I-don’t-understand-how-that-even-works, sort of way.

04. Along the same lines, every day I watch people and every day the less and less I understand how they function, how they get through the day and are okay at the end of it.

03. I’ve started to not care when people tell me stories, or ask my opinion. Like, you’re going to do what you want any way, and who am I to help you when I can’t even help myself.

02. I do the opposite of what people tell me to do.

01. It’s taking me forever to read Infinite Jest because a part of me is afraid I’ll pull a David-Foster-Wallace at the end of it.

Just 5 Examples of the Downfall of Humanity.

2 06 2012

What is Wrong with People?

1. I took a short cut through the alley; I had no intention of dumpster diving, but of course someone had thrown out a bunch of clothes so I took a peak. No good clothes but I found a bag of money. MONEY!!! Granted it was pesos but it was money nonetheless. Who throws away money?

“I don’t know, we’re probably not going to ever go back to Mexico, do we need this? No? Oh, it would be such a hassle to go to the currency exchange wouldn’t it? Yes. Okay, let’s just throw it out with these old sweat pants.”

2. I was standing in line for the restroom at this mexican restaurant on Broadway this 40-year-old woman comes out of the stall and says to her friend (but also everyone else in the room) “I’m not going to wash my hands!” I look at her and I go, “that’s disgusting!” She laughs and says, “But it’s so much work.”

Yeah, and giving everyone else your urine germs is so much better?

Then, while holding her rum and coke, she rummages through her purse and say, “I need to take some tylenol I’m getting a headache.”

I respond, “You really shouldn’t take tylenol while your drinking, your liver will hate you.”

She just looks at me for a split second and continues rummages.

The bathroom stall opens again, it’s finally my turn, I loudly reply, “FINE I’LL JUST BE THE MOM HERE THAT NO ONE LISTENS TO.” And then I go pee.

3. I am at an art gallery opening, there are stuffed animals of no real shape hanging from wire trees. This is art today.

4. Our neighbors have a dog with no manners. Still, after like 6 months, it growls at us. Lately our neighbors have been letting the dog sit outside on the porch with a pretty long leash. Now, if I were a dog owner I’d totally do the same thing, but the difference would be that I’d actually have control of my dog and I’d actually have a dog that liked people. She blocks the stairs. She scares our friends. She’s ugly. Sorry, it’s mean for me to say, but it’s true. Move that damn bitch.

(I wish she was as cute as this mean dog)

5. People are literally eating each other. Understandably, I don’t know how much of these stories I believe, but it doesn’t really matter how many of them are true–you know it’s happened at least once–and that’s enough.

The Punch Story. KaPow!

1 06 2012

After dealing with feng shui vagina guy amongst other weirdos I really needed a drink. My feet were killing me because I had, for some strange reason, gone for a run followed by cardio followed by standing on concrete for eight hours. My friend and I decided to go to the nearest bar–though not a favorite–it gets the job done.

We get into this pretty interesting conversation regarding men and their ownership of women due to financial domination.

Strippers for example use men to make bank because they know it’s going to pay much better than say a retail job. But men are in control of these women. The women must pretend they like these guys, which is pretty pathetic on the men’s part–but if the women don’t play the part right they don’t make the money. And men are in complete control of how they want the women to act, which is like a sex doll essentially.

That is a pretty obvious example.

But, my ultimate pet peeve, a common occurrence that I was 30 seconds away from writing my gender studies thesis on, was the smile. More specifically, when a man tells a woman to smile.

Don’t fucking tell me what to do with my body.

I do not have, and am not required, to look happy for your sake.

This is a subtle (but also glaringly obvious when one thinks about it) form of control.

Because our culture feeds off of this idea that we must “pursue happiness,” that we must exude happiness, women as a group take the brunt of this ridiculous theory because we’re stereotyped to not be taken as serious. To not be as serious, to always be cheerful, because why would we have any reason to NOT smile. We’re “beautiful,” but of course, we’d be so much prettier if we just smiled, wouldn’t we?

So yeah, we’re sitting at the bar talking about these ideas and this dude sits down beside me. Mid sentence he taps me on the arm. I think that perhaps he’s listening to our conversation and wants to chime in, which I would have been okay with had he had intelligent thoughts to add, but no. That is not what happened at all.

He taps me on the arm and asks if he can buy me and my friend a shot of whisky.

Thinking about it today, this is just another form of (perhaps unconscious but cultural) control because he cuts off our conversation and then if we accept the shot we feel an obligation of proper etiquette to include him in our group for at least a particular amount of time.

Of course we do, because it’s a free shot of jameson and we love to drink.

Plus, it never hurts to make a new friend. I enjoy meeting new people because they can almost always teach me something.

He was a rare exception to this concept.

He perhaps was the dumbest guy I have ever met. I don’t know if it was because he was really drunk or what. But I tried to have a conversation and all he did was repeat the same questions over and over.

When he stopped doing that, this is the dialogue that followed:

Him: “So you do smokes or pills?”

Me, being an asshole: “What? Do we smoke pills? How does one smoke pills?”

Him: “Oh, you know, you crush them up on foil and then light it.”

Me: “Like tylenol?”

Him: “Yeah, any pill!”

Me: “No. We don’t smoke pills.”

Him: *sad face*

Right at that moment my roommate and her friends walk in. Perfect timing really. So, we get up from the bar to move to a table and the guy leans over and says, “Let me know if it’s acceptable to join you.”

“Yeah, I’ll let you know.” And we walk away.

He sits at the bar alone.

We have a good time away from him.

Then some bald guy joins him.

My friend goes up to get another beer. She gets stuck talking to them for who knows how long. I don’t know how she put up with it. She is much nicer than I am. The bald guy gives her a necklace. I still don’t know what this means.

The bar closes. We’re all standing outside.

The bald guy and the pillsmoker guy come out. They are now best buds. Perhaps they shared a nice smoke of Excedrin in the bathroom. The bald guy comes up to us and says, “let me recite a poem!”

We all get excited. “Yes! Please recite a poem.” We all cheer.

Then he begins, “This poem is by E. G. Phillips” (I have no idea whose name he actually said…)

We all stop him. There’s like 5 of us shouting, NOOOOOO!!!! You can’t recite someone else’s poem! It must be your own!

And then I add, “And it if sucks one of us is going to punch you in the face!”

He agrees to this.

He begins:

“The leaves are turning yellow, the dirt is getting dirtier and I want to nuzzle my face in your breasts!”

Then he fucking attacks me and tries to stick his fucking head in between my boobs.

I am not making this up.

My roommate has to pull him off of me. 

I thought for a split second she was going to punch him. Which would have been AMAZING!!!

But instead, I did it myself.

Right in the stomach.

And it was then, when I realized I am not good at punching. Yes, I have done years and years of Taebo P90X, kickboxing, etc. But, I have never actually hit another person. I suck at it! Because I never really want to hurt anyone. Even when I was punching him I couldn’t really do it because deep down I felt his humanity and knew that even though he was a complete jackass loser hitting him wasn’t going to fix that problem. If hitting people made them become better people than I should have started punching them years ago.

In any case, we walked away from them and went and ate some hash browns. My roommate’s friend tried to give me tips for the perfect punch along the way, but in all honesty, I’d prefer not to get in that sort of predicament ever again. I think it’s time I stop wearing my pheromone oil, all that it attracts are fuck-ups and rejects. Is that who I’m destined to end up with? I sure hope not. I’d rather be alone than with an asshole.

But more on that another day.