5 Randoms: Writing + Being Fat + Not Liking You.

18 06 2012

1.) I’m changing my habits, without reading the book about changing habits. I’m just going to do it, because I can. The biggest change—actually writing. This week I’m going to attempt 10 hours. And I hope to slowly grow to 20 hours a week. I just have to get into a pattern and get over my psychological fear of actually doing the thing I should be doing. I don’t know which is harder– the development of a pattern or  getting over the fear. The pattern is difficult because my work schedule changes every week and it’s usually something ridiculous like, close the store Monday, work a mid-shift Tuesday and open Wednesday. So yeah, establishing a routine isn’t very possible. But making sure every room is clean, dishes are washed, emails returned, phone calls made–just to distract myself from writing– also not easy to get over. A writer’s dilemma–or just our basic behavior?

2. I want to reward myself if I’m able to do it; nothing too big since I need to do it every week any way. It’s just the beginning changes that are going to be the most challenging. I can’t even think of a good/cheap reward except maybe a trip to the thrift store for a “new” outfit. Maybe some SWEET ACTION! The best ice cream around town (pretty much the only vegan ice cream around town).

3. Speaking of vegan, there are two things I’ve always been insecure about, my weight and my intelligence. It’s taken a lot of time to accept what I look like physically as well as accept my limitations mentally. When people make “jokes” about either though, I still get pissed. And I will probably continue to do so my entire life. People can make all the cracks they want to about vegans in general because I know it’s just a defense mechanism brought on by feelings of guilt that have nothing to do with me. When it starts to have something to do with me, I’m no longer going to play nice.

4. In regards to playing nice—I want to learn how to punch.

People say, “oh you just swing your fist at someone’s face/stomach/balls etc.,” but no, a good punch has more going on than just that. I’m almost entirely sure of it.

5. It’s super hot around here, which I don’t mind–except when it comes to coffee. I need some sort of wake-up boost in the morning, especially if I’m going to be writing for hours, but hot coffee is just not working. I’m going to have to start brewing it the night before and chilling it. It’s the only way.

Because I already drink too many energy drinks at work.

I’d say it’s a terrible habit, but to be honest, if drink one I can guarantee-sell high-end toys with a smile. If I don’t drink one, I really don’t give a F what people buy. So, they’re worth it. Even though I’m sure in ten years they will be the cause of every known new/weird/deadly disease out there.

This guy is helping me get through my writing day. 

Love is Down to Zero.

14 06 2012

If I thought May was Manless it has nothing on June.

My fwb found girlfriends (yes that’s plural). My lust turned to dust–after a long-weekend road trip. Random unclear communication via facebook messenger ended a fizzling flame. And a certain person that I may or may not work with appears to be incredibly flakey and I’m pretty sure a secret pick-up artist. When I said, “I’m reading The Game,” he quickly expressed that he had “never heard of it.” Which makes me think he had not only heard of it, but read it and practices it. Because most people would just be like–The Game? What’s that about. If they had indeed never heard of it. But, maybe I’m just paranoid now. (More on The Game another day.)

So yeah, I purposely gave up men in May, but now they all seem to giving up on me. I have been considering re-inabling my online dating account because I feel alone and it’s easy to get attention that way.

I have no qualms admitting that I enjoy attention from other people; I do in fact need it, at least a little bit of it so as I justify my existence to myself–I know that’s not healthy but at least it’s honest.

My roommate said I have no idea how to be alone. Or something equal to that.



That’s what I was trying to do in May. To learn how to be alone. And to be fine with it.

And I was fine with it. But I guess, I wasn’t really “alone” as I was still talking to guys all the time, I just wasn’t going out with them.

Now I’m doing neither.


I’m just bored. I want people to talk to in a meaningful way. I want someone to watch netflix with. I want someone to occasionally sleep in my bed (I say occasionally because I still prefer to sleep at a diagonal and I am not willing to give that up.) I want someone to challenge me, to push me to be my best self–and I to them. I want someone to rub my feet after I’ve been standing on concrete for eight + hours a day. I want to someone to laugh at my really bad jokes, and occasionally dish one out too.

This list could end up being a novel so I’m going to stop there.

. . . . .

Fine people. Fine. I’ll be alone.

I’ll start working on my book for real.

Forget what I want in my personal life. I don’t need one of those any way. . . I mean, yes I want one, but I guess I just have to accept the fact that I don’t have the personality for it and become a hermit writer, just like I am destined to be but somehow keep avoiding.

I Should Have Just Said No.

13 06 2012

I found drugs on the floor at work the other night. Since I have never consumed hard drugs before I’m still not entirely sure what it was, there were two bags. My educated guess–meth and coke. Or crack and coke. I still don’t know. It doesn’t matter any way because it’s all been flushed down the toilet.

I probably could have made bank from it. Or at least enough to buy myself a nice supply of drugs I actually consume–alcohol.

But the weirdest drug story actually happened last night.

I was working upstairs and these two middle eastern men were shopping around. One didn’t want my help, the other one wanted me to help him find a pill that one could take to make a person “smell” good.

I have never heard of such thing.

After that, the other guy tried to explain they were actually looking for a liquid substance that one could put in a woman’s orange juice or water so that she would “want to do it.”

I just stared at them.

I asked him to repeat what he wanted.

I stared some more.

All I could think of was that these guys we’re looking for GHB and wanted to go out and date-rape.

I pointed them to our G-Spark pill. And these “arousal” shooters we have.

The pills we have in the store would never knock a woman out; they probably really wouldn’t do much of anything as I’m assuming it’s much more placebo-effect than anything else.

I was still disturbed by the incident.

To be “slipped” something–whether all natural or chemically compounded is still a violation of human rights. It is in fact, deceit, and I was creeped out that these men were more than likely going to spike a woman’s drink because the women they knew didn’t want to be sexual with them to begin with.


I really didn’t know how to respond.

The two guys didn’t end up buying any, but then a third one came in an hour later and purchased a shooter.

I can only hope the woman is aware she is consuming it. I think I’m going to have to have a conversation with these men the next time they come in. Part of my job is to educate, so they’re going to get a ear-full.


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.