Tuesday, December 22, 2009

If Alice Hadn’t Fallen…

If Alice Hadn’t Fallen…

Everyone has an Alice story; typically it is a situation that one feels uneasy in. I must have been born with an Alice chromosome. I stopped fitting in as soon as I realized what “normal” was. When I was 3 I would strip naked and sit behind my bedroom door. We had hardwood floors and I liked the way the cold floor felt on my bare bottom. I was not aroused, despite what weirdo doctors conclude, I just liked the sensation on my rear.

When I got a little older I still felt like I was still in Wonderland. I didn’t feel like the freak, I felt normal… and that perhaps the world around me was wrong. I thought that if I was from God than I must be normal (we were a religious family). However, the flaw in that mentality is… the rest of world was made by God too. So once again I was lost.

The difference in my self-awareness now is that I am fully aware that I am a mess. I wake up in the morning and say, Angie, you’re a little pudgy today… and then I smile and say, you are still you so what can ya do. And I swear everyday it makes me smile, could be a bad hair day, circles under the eyes or bloating. Whatever tizzy I may find myself in a simple proclamation of disgust with a smile washes away the feelings that the media so adamantly applies.

I may still be Alice at 33 but I am okay in my fallen state, probably because I don’t remember ever being any other way. My first memories all consist of a strange coexistence with mere mortals who strived for perfection. Perfection never existed to me, or maybe everything was already perfect the way it was before external perception was realized. When it was just me behind my door with my bare ass it was perfection… it wasn’t until my mother yanked me up and spanked it, that I realized there was something wrong with me.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Stranger than Fiction

I feel so silly, hanging on to old pictures of myself. I mean, we aren’t really who our pictures say we are anyway. It is merely a reflection of that time period… and really only a reflection of my shell. I mean, I’m not really into all that garbage about “society says we have to be beautiful on the outside so let’s just be a bunch of ugly pigs on the inside” anyway. Yeah, I am guilty when it comes to hygiene, even when it comes to being presentable. But I found myself tonight wanting to hang onto fragments of a moment of a fraction of a second… just because I liked the image staring back at me. There was a point in my life that I crudely and boldly proclaimed that “vanity is my vice”. That was before I realized vanity came with a price. I was always so unhappy and unfulfilled. I like who I am inside this shell now. I never did for like the longest time. Once I realized that the only validation I needed was in me it seemed like everything was alright. I still find myself lingering on those photos though. I am not talking about the ones on facebook… which by the way thank you all who have commented. I assure you however that I only post the “good” ones :D The pictures I refer to are of my modeling days. Beautiful photos to say the least, and short lived as well. I did it while in college my first time. I can’t toss them though, and I am sick of being reminded of the low in my life at the time. The torture I put myself through during that time is nothing less than scandalous. I no longer have an escape anymore. Reading isn’t an escape for me, my vanity has taken shape of a new monster and I see myself in the literature I read. Plagiarizing emotions and feigned love interests… that’s my new game. The funny thing is… no matter how arbitrary life seems to me I always see that glimmer of sunshine in the distance. So, basically I feel that I am already molded and my character will spew out of any outlet that my mind is engulfed in. It’s hard to slay a monster that I acknowledge but don’t fear.

Blah… an addict without an addiction is definitely stranger than fiction.

Floundering

I don’t understand. Why is it that I can’t stop wondering about people that are dead? Geniuses! My mind is always plagued with the likes of Henry Miller, Richard Wright, and Virginia Woolf… I want to be in the presence of someone who is garbled with constant nonsense. A person who is forced to find their way out of their own mind by any means possible; whether by means of a pencil, a paintbrush or constant painful soliloquies. These are the things I think about. When summer dies, I watch nature hibernate. I wonder if others pay attention to the small details, leaves dancing in the wind, bareness of the branches and the utter sadness and beauty that comes with fall and winter. I crave the rebirth of spring. It is a curse that I fall in love with dead people, their dead words seeping from their dead hands. I am alive but I do not find the life of the dead in the living. I just wish that these sort of people with a mind that never stops could have a heartbeat that to mimic the constant noise. I wish that noise could last forever. It is painful for me that it cannot. It reminds me too that I will not live forever. However, I feel what I offer is not nearly on such a grand scale. I will be planted as a protected tree in a forest preserve when I die. I will be cremated. Instead of having my life circulation take place through maggots and flies I choose my own path of reincarnation (so to speak). Even this does not calm my shaken thoughts. In Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch Miller says “Men are not suffering from the lack of good literature, good art, good theatre, good music, but from that which has made it impossible for these to become manifest” such clarity in those words. I soak up the words and art of others everyday. I steal my passion on days that I cannot bear to create my own. It’s not that I do not appreciate those simpler aspects of life, such as a good comedy and a beer. It’s just that conversation, music, art, literature rule my mind. The beauty of life is all encompassing, almost too beautiful to bear at times.

Toxic Emotion

Vomiting words up seems to come naturally these days. I have written five short stories and even an erotic one; so six. My husband sat and listened to it with a mixed look of horror and pleasure. It amused me, raw emotion usually does, that’s why I love to read my work to people and not have them read it silently. They can mask and cover their eyes when they read it, but when I slur where it needs a slur and purr when it needs a purr all they can do is sit, stare and desperately maintain composure.

Poor guy though, he does not just sit through the sensualness and ambiguous sexuality. He also sits through essays, poems, and random observations. I insist someone witness it all, I need someone to witness the creation; even if it is sometimes accompanied with a look of ennui.

Writing turns me on; it jars something loose in my head. When the motors start in my mind, my whole body rumbles and comes to life. No matter what the time I must arise, I always turn in between 3-4 in the morning. The clock is insignificant in comparison to the grander scheme of life. Sleep creates nothing but pointless, lucid dreams. Unfulfilled sensuality and truths no one should have to know about themselves.

My dreamscapes used to flourish the second I hit the sheets, but these days it tears through me roughly, maniacal I peer around the room… looking for the answers that would surely appear in the dark.

I remember this one consistency from the movie Love and Death that kept reiterating itself to me. He constantly questions God, saying “just give me a sign” that’s all he wants the whole time. And I laughed to myself because I thought, your sign was Death in the beginning… when he appeared to Boris as a child (as it did to Jung). Then as the movie continued on I began to realize that Death and God were different entities to Boris (or Allen; however you wish to interpret it). It was so strange a revelation to me because all this is rolled into a big source of the unknown to me. I have read The Divine Comedy, I have read Origin of Species, I have read the Incarnations of Immortality, I have read the Bible; the only thing I took from everything I have read is nothing is conclusive… it is wrapped together in philosophy, theology and botany. The most beautiful aspect of the clever ways literature depicts divination is that it is just that… it is prose, it is poetry, it is life, it is death, and it is love. I never separate entities, gods… I don’t separate myth from fact. Myth and fact combined would create the ultimate life. But we are a black and white society, it must be one or the other… it can never be all.

At some point you must realize there will never be answers, only questions. A friend and I mused at love tonight, talked about how love is the ultimate pyramid scam… only the pyramid never ends.

Death is the same way, I don’t fear death. When my friend Missy passed away, I thought to myself why couldn’t it be me? I was never afraid, I am afraid of a lot of things. Germs, the dark, the boogie man (his friends lol), but I have never feared death. When love failed me the first time, death was my friend and offered to ease my sorrow. Although I declined the polite invitation, it was still nice to have the company. Death stayed until I was able to stand and walk around. The ants were everywhere and my brother was scared. The poison and toxins in my system made it unbearable because the ants were everywhere, and the scratching on the window kept on for hours, with the eyes of my father looking down. I pushed the bed up against the wall; it was a mattress on the floor, I liked it there within reach of my books and cd’s. But the ants were getting on it, they were getting into everything. I sat with my recliner up and waited for the ants to leave, they wouldn’t. I was confused at the vacuuming and the stomping how they were multiplying. It was upwards of midnight and my brother was screaming at me to stop vacuuming. He was saying, “Angie the ants are not there, Angie you have been vacuuming for an hour.” Later he said he spied the empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the floor parallel to a half bottle of sleeping pills. I hadn’t contemplated suicide, just a long nap.

That is what love did to me. Love tore me from the inside out and bled me dry onto the carpet of ants. I never let it happen again, I put a shield up, a mixture of the different entities and became one with the soil… but only the soils surface. I realized I cannot stop love, death, life, time but I can work around it… I can structure myself to meet these needs.

All these things exist within me, without them I would not have passion, purpose or pulse. Even death serves me, Missy left something behind when she made her journey to swim with the dolphins in Maui; she gave birth to a new life in me. She reignited my soul, and reminded me that I had a spirit. Never let anyone die in vain, my friends, let them release unto you. I will never forget her, her significance, her forgiving heart, and her everlasting innocence.

A Past Life

A Past Life

A lot of you know me from high school; I was the awkward girl with crooked teeth. I leaned on my friends a lot for moral support and kind of thought high school was a joke. I hated most of my teachers, except for Mr. Spies who eventually furthered his education and got a job where he looks down on products of Waukegan Schools. The latter just proving that I should have been more thorough to start with in my collective loathing of the administration. I liked a lot of people but found many people didn’t really give me a chance. Most guys liked me for my boobs and most girls liked me initially because I wasn’t a threat in the looks department. I was a geek before being a geek was cool. However, I was never a loner, I always found people to be my favorite part of existence… hence, why I majored in Psychology.
What has made me take this trip down memory lame (pun intended lol), you may ask. Well I found someone I have been looking for. This search has been long, 20 years long. Because before I was the haphazard mess I was in high school, I was a girl that had a circle of friends in junior high… this was before Jefferson. This was in Great Lakes. This girl drove me crazy, she was prettier than me but was so evil and mean about it. She knew she was prettier than everyone else and made sure we didn’t forget it. We were a trifecta the three of us; we were best friends that detested each other.

We were camping one summer and a secret was told, a really disturbing one. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I told another friend and asked her advice about whether or not I go to the counselor. Well she was stumped, but secretly hated my friend and told the whole school. It leaked to the administration and they had to get involved. It was really that bad. The girl had to leave school because everyone knew. I was so ashamed, and she hated me. I really thought I was helping. I was 13, just turned it. However, this still haunts me even as an adult.

After years of looking for her I found her. But the shame still grips me; I have no right to apologize even now. I know the pain of constant ridicule and I do not need the apologies from those people today. Does she really need mine… I think it would be motivated by pure selfishness. Just because I didn’t get over it, doesn’t mean that she didn’t. And what if she has, drudging it up isn’t going to make anyone happy…

I remember being a good friend for the most part; I was confused when she revealed her secret. She was my best friend but didn’t want me to help her. Yet, if you were to ask me if I would have done the same thing today; I would have done worst; I would have just gone straight to my parents.

I am choosing not to contact her. I am choosing to finally set the demons free. I meant no harm in what I did. Apologizing to her is to declare a mishap on my part. I cared about her, I was jealous of her and disliked some aspects of her, but overall I loved her. I know this because even still I do.

You may think this is weird, but that is how I gauge what love is to me. If I still have a place in my heart for someone, I know that the love I had/have for them is real. I felt as if I never knew what love was when I was younger; it was just something I didn’t take lightly. I guess being abandoned by someone who is supposed to “love” you distorts the meaning and concept. Despite the latter I was able to find what it means to me.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Vanity and the Snake

Vanity and the Snake

Vanity to me is like being in the Garden of Eden but instead of the tree of knowledge in the middle of the garden there is a tree of mirrors. We are told in society that we must be confident, yet when we exercise confidence we are somehow seen as arrogant. People have very precise opinions about what the boundaries of humbleness and arrogance are. However, what gives someone else the right to dictate whether one is arrogant or confident. It all has to do with perception, if a person is predisposed to a low self-esteem than anyone with any type of self-esteem will seem arrogant. Yet, if a person is predisposed to self-love than he or she will likely see another likeminded person as being confident.

Arrogance is a love for oneself that supersedes love for everyone else. Just because a person likes being in the skin he or she is in does not mean that they are selfish and arrogant. It simply means that he or she has accomplished a goal that should be the goal of every sane person. Attaining confidence and self-preservation is not an evil, but rather leads to a rational state of mind. The person one must love before he or she can love purely and honestly is oneself.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

A Child with Child

I had not the option of a life of musing, I started my journey as a child bearing life that now breathes in their own trials and tribulations... I must guide, instruct, and give them direction. Everything I know, everything I am I forced down the hatch and would do it again. I let no one lead because I could never follow. I lead my own... one foot after another. Never claiming to bear the weight of all knowledge on these small shoulders, I am a sponge that leaches off the life of others. I once was the joke amongst men; I extracted their thoughts putting them to an end. My heart is pure of my own divine light, always challenging myself to another grand height.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Sex, an Inquiry into the Nasty: Part Two

Sex, an Inquiry into the Nasty: Part Two

I figured I should reiterate my prior statements because a couple of people misunderstood my intent. I do not think infidelity is appropriate, I said it was a natural disposition. My point is to help people find avenues of sexuality that include their partners. I guess I should state that for me it is not an option to be mundane, I bore easily, I am fairly sure I have some form of ADD that transcends to the bedroom. I am not necessarily bored with my partner; I am just intrigued by the unknown. He is a good sport for the most part; he is not 100 percent happy with some of the requests, so I subtract aspects that make him uncomfortable.

I used to consider myself a sexual idealist, for years I thought my optimism bordered nymphomania. That was until I grew up a little, stayed in a relationship long enough and stabilized. I began to wonder roughly two years ago why I was so different in my 20s than in my 30s. I began to realize that the culprit is marriage. There are tons of adages that mock marriage:

Marriage is like a phone call in the night; first the ring and then you wake up. – Evelyn Hendrickson

And my favorite poet said:

There may be good, but there are no pleasant marriages. – Rainer Maria Rilke

The puns that are innumerable exist for a reason. We love our spouses but something changes after I Do, after kids, after years of routine, after housework, after the 9-5, after… after… after…

It’s funny because once upon a time, we as people were more experimental because with youth came irresponsibility and with that came fun. We become responsible adults and forget how to be spontaneous young adults. True, if we didn’t grow up we would all be a bunch of promiscuous, out-of-control adult’s guest starring in Girls Gone Wild (guys, doing headstands on grills… or whatever the hell you do).

So how do we save ourselves, our marriages, our sanity? The answer isn’t just to spice things up. Because let’s be honest, there are no easy fixes. Generally people have a ton of excuses as to what the hindrance is in the bedroom. More often than not, I have heard children being around, fighting over finances, and simply skating around the issue through complete avoidance.

Part one states a few things a couple can do to take positive measures. But before we move on to part three I would like to state ways in which to get around the avoidance game. KISS; kiss like you did when you first started dating. If your spouse starts making excuses as to why they can’t kiss. Just say, “relax, a kiss is just a kiss.” Trust me; by the time they relax, they will be ready to do much more. Essentially this is where the problem in marriage comes in; relaxation is a premarital reality, but an illusion after marriage, kids et cetera. A simple nudge, reminder that “hey, you deserve to relax” is refreshing, because we don’t always remember that we don’t have to be stressed out.

TOUCH, touch a lot, touch, stroke and linger. The sexiest thing my husband has done this month was touch me; he stroked and grabbed and sleepily grazed along by body. The longer he did it the more turned on I became. In marriage people forget about eroticism, the word exists outside of marriage. I have heard people refer to porn as erotic, even movies… but never marriage.

Your spouse exists as lover, not just wife or husband, mother or father. It is so tempting to look at another person and say “that person does not have baggage” or “that person is nicer to me than my husband/wife”. That person also doesn’t have the drone job that comes with being spouse, and it is up to you to remind them that the job has perks too.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Children of Sin

Children of Sin

My mother is a Christian; my father is for lack of better words a Darwinian with tendencies towards Scientology. Although to my fathers credit he was waxing intellectually about alien’s way before Scientology was public knowledge. Leaving me to wonder where I got my spiritual beliefs. I am not one of those people that benignly confesses to spirituality, as if I would be a bad person if I confessed to having no soul. Essentially and according to Plato and the realms of Good, also known as the power of God in my opinion the soul is the essence of the man… in my case, woman. I have a soul, and the earth speaks to me; my spirituality exists, but on a more natural level.

Having read Origin of Man, I can say that I don’t take such a barbaric stance on humans. The term humanity exists because of what the term itself implies, the behaviors and motivations that are traits of the human being. Man is spirit, obviously and abundantly physical and profoundly emotional, but why is the spiritual in such contrast to the other two entities of being. The physical cannot function without the mental, yet the mental can function flawlessly without the physical. Yet, for spirituality to exist one must have all his or her mental faculties. Does this mean spirituality is just a result of an overactive imagination?

I am a humanist, amongst other things, that believes that all religions have a place. That place is within the heart of the believer. Spiritual righteousness is only seen when a person lacks faith in his or her respective higher power. It is much like Sigmund Freud’s defense mechanism projection. A person loses faith when he or she is not getting the desired results of a prayer. Looking at another individual and blaming a lack of faith on his or her part really just spares the believer from looking at themselves. Religious conversion to some degree depends on the active hand of the parishioners, to be sure. However, a gentle nudge is a lot different than a judgmental push.

Being a humanist I still have all the qualities seen in Buddhism, Christianity, Taoism et cetera I simply lack categorization. Some would say I am having my ecclesiastical cake and eating it too, but I’m not. I just choose to accept every religion as good, because the tenets of most religions are centered on good intentions. So you might say I take the positive in all of them and leave out the unnecessary. Some will say this is blasphemy and to them I say, let my creators be the judge and jury.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Sex, an Inquiry into the Nasty: Part One

Sex, an Inquiry into the Nasty: Part One

I love a fetish; I love the fetishes of other people. I can listen to the fantasies of others all day long. My husband and I do not easily deconstruct the topic of sex. I am free flowing with terminology and suggestions, but he typically recoils and changes the topic. What is it about the nasty that transforms some people into meek mice and causes others to plunge into the rabbit hole?

I have taken a liking to the ironic twist of a paradox personality… on one hand he or she is conservative and politically correct. Yet, in the bedroom this stone face will crack and reveal a grin that is laced with charm and seduction. This will be the individual that would suggest things so lewd that a picture of the parents would need to be put face down. These are the individuals that make you blush around the kids for weeks, just for fear that they might find out what a pervert you are, just by association.

I did a paper on sexual addiction, and William Clinton was my case study. The man was having inappropriate relationships with women as early as high school. Yet, who actually deemed a healthy sexual appetite as inappropriate. True, infidelity is a sin against god, but what about man, is it truly a sin against man? Jean Paul-Sartre was a philosopher and an atheist that insisted that god did not have to be evident in a moral code. An individual should be able to decipher between right and wrong based on not only a gut feeling, but also social responsibility. Infidelity is a concept that exists within a miniature subculture known as the family. The family or plural, are the only people that suffer consequences for the actions of said infidelity.

Bill: a man in a political relationship with a woman who has similar career goals.

Hillary: stayed with him because it was conducive to her political career.

America: had no business judging the president for something that is as common in the United States as eating or drinking. How is he different than Joe Jackass cheating on his wife with five different people? Clinton was a political and social icon, people looked up to him, and their illusions were shattered when a man of the highest power in our country showed that he was fallible.

Bill Clinton is human, he is not a pervert. Infidelity is the result of an inability to control oneself. If it weren’t a natural urge people would not have to control it. Hence, Clinton’s behavior did not breach any boundaries of normality.

Bill Clinton the flirt…

Flirtation is not infidelity though, is it? For some people flirtation is a controlled sexuality that is expressed without any real temptation. While others cannot resist temptation, in which flirtation becomes a weapon designated with infidelity in mind. My husband and I do not hinder a natural flirtation between us and others. We are both naturally charismatic and funny; we were literally born to flirt. I enjoy watching him, he smiles bigger, he hugs longer and he talks while grinning. And why shouldn’t he, isn’t flirtation a natural aphrodisiac. When all others leave we are flushed and looking at each other, there is no danger in being human. The danger exists in the unnatural jealousy that has only been perpetuated by false expectations by the media.

Jealousy is brought on by insecurity. It is not anything the lover has done that inspires the wild lunacy of the individual. Most of the time it is a former relationship that has the love-crazed loony looking for problems, an ex cheated, ergo, all men or women must cheat. The cure for jealousy is confidence. A confident person will eliminate the problem if it isn’t a figment of his or her imagination. Example: Dick likes to play poker with the guys on Tuesday… yet; the guys always call looking for him on Tuesday. It is evident that Dick likes to play more that poker on Tuesday.

Many times jealousy spawned from actual displays of infidelity are more than substantiated. Yet, the lover will simply spiral into a jealous craze until he or she is unrecognizable. Is this really fair to the person who is being faithful; yet, there are many innocent people accused of infidelity. And the truth is it can be insulting to many of these people because he or she has chosen a moral code that dictates infidelity as immoral. Ergo, you have just insulted his or her entire moral fortitude… and trust me, I used the right word.

Most couples have clear standards of infidelity. To eliminate stagnation couples may expand the playground, and turn the bedroom into a den of iniquity. This is not entirely unhealthy… there are circumstances in which it is, but for the most part a little spank and tank (role-playing) is perfectly normal. The naughty nurse with overflowing cleavage, the fireman with an ass that can crack walnuts and the mistress of blood, sweat and tears, a world that exists within the imagination can be as lucid and magnificent as your partner and you want it to be. Don’t fear that his or her desire is meant as a rejection to you, at best it should be mutually inclusive, otherwise another lusty avenue should be sought. There is no room for jealousy in a fantasy.

This goes for pornography as well, if you feel your spouse is more into the porn, first examine your logic and if it is sound, express your concern. If you know you are being unreasonable, take steps to work on what it is that is making you insecure. If you feel you are not up to snuff in comparison with the women or men in the videos… just remember that they are a fraction of a person as you know it. You are the person that wakes up next to him and her and make their day with your smile. You are the one that laughs at their jokes and in turn crack jokes for them to laugh at. Unless your spouse has a one track mind, these aspects of your personality will supersede his or her desire to see you tie a cherry with your tongue, bleach your hair, shave your testicles or wax your chest. Really, think about it, it is not your spouse’s fault that they have a natural desire to have variety. This is a safe and monogamous way to get a visual carnival of lust.

To be cont…

An Introduction about Blogging and being Oneself

First Blog

My husband’s aunt suggested that I start blogging, since my plans to freelance write have been shelved for some time. First let me start by saying, I like blogs. My husband has had one for about two years; it’s silly and funny just like him. I am a silly person but not always silly in my writing. This has been the source of much of my hesitance about starting a blog. A blog serves two purposes, it can be used for journaling or it can be used as a way to entertain your friends. And if your life is interesting enough, it can serve both purposes. My life is not, yet nor is it interesting enough to journal about. So I think I will do a combination of both depending on my mood.

My first blog is about being myself. So here it is…

WHAT IT IS TO BE BORN ME>>>>>>

I am the first to admit that I have tendencies that border on selfish and arrogant. I was born loud, had to tame the lioness, if you will, and make her socially astute. It wasn’t easy, I grew up with the nickname “Mouth” and it was definitely a name I earned. It never astounded me that I could talk all day long; I managed to get laryngitis in my childhood much more than typically seen. I used to think that my mom was a voodoo woman and made it so, she would be ecstatic every time I got it. Her teasing would make me loathe her, all I could think was why couldn’t she just try to understand me. And it wasn’t until I tried to follow along in conversations with a child that is everything I was, that I got it. It was nonsensical rambling. I digress though…

I learned how to listen to people, like really listen. I no longer have a preemptive conversation; I have learned to go with the flow of the conversation. I learned to improvise my articulation and deal with the fact that I could not control every aspect of my life, especially contributions by others. I would have thoughts while people spoke and sometimes I would consider them brilliant epiphanies. I realized that is a delusion of grandeur though; there are no brilliant epiphanies that are fleeting. Any blinding light will generally last through a segment of a conversation. If it dissipates it was probably just a fluke of genius. But even that is a delusion…

I used to go over conversations in my head, just to make sure I wasn’t offending anybody. So much wasted time wondering if my natural flow of thought should somehow be censored. I started letting the real me slip into conversations to gauge the response of my participants. It was usually positive. I came to the conclusion that I was the one being overly critical of myself. So, I started just saying anything that came to my mind. The result of which, my real friends stayed…

I lost friends as a result of being myself. It is okay, because I am a better person because of it. I am rambunctious, flirtatious, talkative and even crass and perverted at times. I am also compassionate, sincere, nice and would do anything to make my family and friends smile. I sleep in until 2pm on weekends, I am addicted to crappy television shows and I read philosophy books on the toilet. My secret (not so much anymore) behavior consists on putting gobs of lotion on my feet and socks over it, snacking on bubble gum and watching movies or talking on the phone until 2am. I find it hard to open up to people, cynicism being a trait I picked up in my early 20s. I think a little cynicism is good though, it keeps people from getting hurt.