OMG, I totes love [ ] too.

I have this thing, this fatal attraction to things.
It causes me to fall in love with things far too often and far too fast.

I've begun to find that this problem plagues many in my generation, the current twenty-somethings. We think our things are so precious we become infatuated with them. I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell and Catcher in The Rye are our Bibles, Lebron James and Lady GaGa are our Gods, and we make our required pilgrimages to Bonnaroo, Coachella, and Ultra. This seemingly individualistic culture has become the religion of the masses, and we've all blindly converted. And for me at least, when I meet a fellow convert, I think it's some kind of divine indication we are meant to be friends, we are meant to be lovers, we are meant to share our religious experience.

Only everyone loves music. Everyone loves books. Everyone loves food. Everyone loves sports. And though we seem to believe our tastes are tailored, we alone love these divine elements, and we alone know of their existences, it seems we all just drank the Kool-AId. Because when we all love these seemingly brilliant things, it may seem like when we meet someone else who loves them as well, that well, it's just fate.

It's not fate, it't actually fake. It's false perception that because you and someone else both love adore watching Lost and the same Tazo Tea flavor therefore for some reason you and this person somehow belong together.

How do you know what to believe when your own feelings are liars?

Try lying for a change, it's currency of the world.
-Closer

♥ Lini.

Rehearsal

A boy I went to high school with wrote this original post on his tumblr, and I found it quite moving. So, I wrote the female counterpart. The large bulk of it is his, and his is a lot more fluid. You should check it out at the above link. And just as a disclaimer, this is not based around my life or average weekend at all, or anything. Like really.

I know. Sometimes, I don’t. But sometimes, I know.

I know how it’s supposed to go – what I’m supposed to say. I know how to act normal – how to speak only in codes heavily laced with implications of my potential willingness. I know how to attract a boy. I know how to treat him with carefully balanced disinterest and enthusiasm – and show him that he’s not the first boy I’ve been with or around. And I also know that he likes that, for some reason. Knowing I’ve rehearsed the steps sufficient times to recall the choreography but not more times than I can count my dance partners. I know what I’m going to hear – he’ll probably [hopefully?] suggest it – and at what point in the night it can we slip away without causing an awkward silence?

I know how to fill the blanks in our conversation with carefully structured questions– I’ve got a whole list of ‘em. No way, you like music, movies, and food too?! You have career goals?! You grew up somewhere, in some city in this world?! Wow, I have a friend whose cousin’s dog groomer is from there, or something!

Blaring from speakers somewhere, the song changes.

I uncross and cross my legs.

The song changes again.

Tuck my hair behind your ear, bite my lip, drop my napkin, place my hand on his knee to brace myself as I reach for it. Gold star for locking eyes on the way back up.

The song changes again.

Yawn. People respond well to yawning. No one likes being boring.

The song changes again.

Close my bar tab.

I know to hold a boy’s hand when we walk down the street, pretending either of us truly believe in this implied affection. I let him give me his coat, because boys don’t feel cold, and that’s why girls don’t wear coats. To relieve boys from wearing theirs- those poor overheated creatures.

I know how to smile big when he walks on the outside of the sidewalk. Opens the car door. Offers to get me anything I need. Say no one ever does that anymore, haven’t had a door held for me in ages, you’re too sweet! I know how to laugh lightly and promise my apartment is a total mess too, no I don’t mind at all. Actually, I happen to love cheap American beer, that’s so funny and great that you have nothing else for me to drink! I know how to blush at innuendos – act totally surprised to discover why we’re in his apartment.

I know how to segue – by accepting an offer to see “posters in his room” which don’t exist, or to listen to “this great new album.” Before I know it, I’m in his bed, and we both know exactly why – and both know exactly how it will end. I know boys don’t like condoms, questions, or eye contact. I pick a couple to avoid, strike a pose maybe he hasn’t seen, and cue the one-night-only performance. No encore, Count 1-2-3…I-gotta-wake-up-early. I know how to do us both a favor and respond to his fabricated early morning study session with a 9’ o’clock yoga class or a headache. I know why I was there, I know that reason ceased to exist.

Simply put – I know how to get what I want. I know how to use the same gestures and identical formula to get the same result every single time. And when I’ve completed my task – I know how to watch them disappear, too. I know how to exchange numbers merely out of habit. I know how to microanalyze and repeat each second of the evening in conversation over a double pump latte and low-fat muffin with a friend as we search for any moment that might possess a shred of something genuine. I know how to eventually pretend the whole one-night thing never happened. And I know how to pretend it’s just another funny story, I’m just another Sex & City Samatha.

I know how it’s supposed to go.

& I know how it actually goes.

I watched Blue Valentine tonight, put me into perspective. Go see it though, a-m-a-z-i-n-g.

♥

Lini.

Love & Other Equally Temporary Drugs

My mother hates avocados.

She claims she ate far too many as a child. A lifetime's worth consumed far too quickly, now she can barely stomach the sight of them.

Seems a shame since she once loved avocados so much.

How do we learn to love things properly without destroying them? It's always too much, too little, too soon, or too late. When all around us relationships end, and generally either violently, legally, or publicly I just find it so hard to believe in long term commitment. The other day I caught myself being visibly angry at the shampoo I had been using for about three years because it just wasn't working out the same.

We broke up by the way. I'm seeing someone new in a sleeker bottle with a fresher scent.

What is the life expectancy of love? According to my calculations, if you factor in overinflated expectations, wandering eyes, the rare miracle of evoking genuine, reciprocated emotions, and the ever rising threshold of what it takes to keep people satisfied, love should last about 15.6 milliseconds. If a bottle of shampoo broke my heart, how can I trust a human being? I mean my hair follicles are sensitive, but I suspect my feelings may be a little bit more.

Just knowing myself, just seeing other people, just watching my generation evolve... I wonder if forever can be found, in anything from people to Pantene Pro-V*.

"I want so badly to believe that there is truth, that love is real."

-Clark Gable, Postal Service

*I do not use Pantene Pro-v. I do not recommend that use use Pantene Pro-V. It is just an example of shampoo.

♥ Lini.