12.27.07

Well, I guess that's it.

See you in January 11, 2008!

Kyla Minnig
c/o Tahiti

12.20.07

So there we were. Sitting and talking for a half hour. Only I couldn’t talk. I mean, we were having a conversation, but I couldn’t speak. Every time there was a lull in the conversation, my heart would speed up. What if I blurted out what I was thinking to fill the silence? What would you say? Which, I guess, is the question that consumes my thoughts. I’m a coward, this I know, but I just can’t say it when I don’t know what the answer is. You’d call me a scaredy cat, just because you know I’d be amused that you called me a form of a cat. And then there’s that moment, because there’s always a moment, when it’s on the tip of my tongue, and you look at me, and I think you know what I’m going to say, I mean, I’m sure you do, because you know me about as well, if not better, than I know me, and maybe you’re egging me on because you don’t want to say anything either, but then we’re just in a big mess of unsaid confessions. Am I misreading? Maybe that look is a plea to not say something so that no current status is compromised. And it’s not like I can handle this like how I normally handle these things, that is, to jump you and then we figure out all the complications later until we’re going down in flames after a (possibly not-so) valiant attempt. How can I do this? I can’t! I’ll choke up and get weird and girly. I refuse to initiate with a tech-no-lo-gi-cal romance. It has to be done in person, but I can’t. And what happens after, if anything? I’m probably one of the most jealous and stubborn people you’ll ever meet. And that works fine for now, and you always think you can overlook some flaw or abnormality when it comes to initiating these things, but then 3 months into it, you can’t stand it anymore. And there goes that, because you can’t stand how she gives you the third degree when you go out with someone unfamiliar. Unfamiliarity poses a threat, don’t you know. And then of course, there’s the hug. And I’ll be honest. It’s not so great. And you know how much I enjoy analyzing and obsessing over these things. So there’s another bullet in the “you’re wrong, he doesn’t” column. And this isn’t a rebound, I assure you. But is it an intermission? I’m weak, and with some well rehearsed words, I could fall. At some point, we will all fall. And that’s not fair to anyone. But what can I do? Be immature and spread rumors? So maybe one will get back to you and you can wonder why I couldn’t act my age and say something to you? I guess I’ll just sit and freak out, only I can’t call you about it this time.

There’s nothing profound about this. I have no deep analysis of this situation. Just scattered, grammatically incorrect thoughts.

12.16.07

....and from reviewing pictures from my trip spawns the obsession with going to UC San Diego.

12.15.07

"But that is life. If nothing else,that's life, you know. It's real. Sometimes it fucking hurts. To be honest, it's sort of all we have."

12.5.07

Two posts in one day!

"My two philosophies are:

1. You're a dick.
2. When you realize I'm right, you're going to know you're a dick."

12.5.07

That’s funny.

I started reading A Long Way Down, one of my senior project books, which is about 4 people who meet each other on New Year’s Eve as they all are planning to commit suicide by jumping off a building, and I put on iTunes, because, why not? Was that even a sentence, seriously. Anyways, what song should come up other than Self Conclusion by The Spill Canvas, the first lines of which are “fade in, start the scene, enter beautiful girl, but things are not what they seem, as we stand at the edge of the world.”

Ironic! Or is it coincidental? I can never distinguish between the two.

The aforementioned need to leave has now been replaced by the need to smash someone’s head into a wall. That’s healthy.

I have a funny story. I’m sitting here, downloading the “David Gray’s Greatest Hits” for Paige, because she said she wanted it at Whole Foods, but is apparently a retard at the computer, and so now I’m laughing (ok that’s a lie, I’m slightly smiling) at what happened in Newspaper. So Nick and I finally scored a computer with speakers AND iTunes, I know, right, and so I brought a bunch of music (such as The Spill Gay-vas) and Nick brought some (with very provocative, yet melodic, opening lines, if I may say so myself) and now we have dulcet tunes streaming into our ears while writing an article about the search for a new softball coach. But Courtney likes my music better, sorry Nick. So I’m playing Babylon by David Gray, and Courtney loves it, so she puts it on repeat. Which is fine, I guess, but it gets kinda annoying after the 10th time. Nick is sitting on a different table studying for SAT’s and I’m lying down on that same table because my back is killing me, so that’s why the computer wasn’t being used, since I know that’s a vital part of the story. Ok so the bell rings and so I sit up and walk back over to our computer, and try to pause the song – it won’t pause. Like I literally can’t click into iTunes. So I’m a retard with Macs, so I call Nick over because maybe things don’t pause on Macs like they do on PC’s? So he tries. And it still won’t pause. So what can we do? We use the keyboard controls to mute the sound. Scene 2. Monday morning. Mahoney locked the door to the back room because he wanted to talk to us. After I start talking to Nick, I remember that we left that song on infinite loop. He says well, I guess we’ll see when we look at the play count. Blah blah blah. That’s Mahoney rambling. Scene 3, Back room. I look at the computer screen and iTunes is still up. I move the bar over to see … 1003 plays. Hahahaha. That my friends, is the definition of wasting energy.

Mahoney’s doodles make my day, honestly. That man is one of the most hilarious people I’ve ever met, whether it’s intentional or not.

It’s funny, because everywhere I turn, people are diving fearlessly into relationships, and I still can’t take off my scaredy-cat hat and join them. Insert 30 Rock quote about being lured to the edge of a pool with a puppy here. So I guess I’ll just keep looking for opportunities to hold your hand. And maybe you’ll get it. And maybe you won’t be as afraid as I am.

11.29.07

Ergh. Ahhhhh. What the friiiiick. (said in Elliot voice)

First off, congratulations Kyla, on not spewing your thoughts for almost 3 months. Huzzah!

Secondly, how much longer until we’re out of high school? I’ve gone stir crazy. San Diego isn’t far enough.

You know you’re ready to leave somewhere when you don’t even feel like you’re friends with your friends anymore.

Things I am done with:
1. Rio freaking Americano. See caustic admissions essay for reasons why.
2. Facades. I’m such a hypocrite.

I came to a rather significant revelation tonight, but it’s too kyla-specific to be posted.

In any case, I’m done with trying to cling on to nothing. It’s time for everyone else to put in some effort.

Jokes do not a friendship make. You couldn’t list two things (not school related) that are currently affecting my life if you had a gun to your head.

9.2.07

do you know who i love? jerks. and i love how they love me right back.

7.19.07

Today has been a shit day.

Do you ever have that revelation that your friends aren't your friends? These fucking people parade around pretending to care about you, when the funny thing is, they could give a shit. I put myself last to a FAULT. I will put everyone else's needs before mine. Funny though, how no one would do that for me.

What about me screams, "take advantage of me!"? Fucking doormat Kyla, that's what I am. Go ahead. Walk all over me. Take advantage of that fact that I, unlike you, give a shit about my friends. Don't ask me how the fuck i'm doing, just tell me what you need me to do and expect me to do it for you. Lie to me, I won't find out. Don't fucking wait 24 hours, it's not like I'm worth it anyways. Hi, I'm Kyla. Could you use me, please?

I'm not saying this to get some bullshit "Kyla, i'm always here for you". Because the funny thing is YOU'RE NOT. Your life, your problems take fucking presidence over everything else in life, myself included. Hell, tell ME about your problems! Please! It's not like I ever have anything of value to say anyways!

And I'm not saying this so I can hear your sad little tales of how your friends forgot to invite you to a party once in your entire life.

And you're all sitting there, whether you'll admit it or not, thinking "man, Kyla's being a whiney little bitch".

Fuck it. I could give a shit.

7.10.07

Artists > Maria Mena > Fragile

I've been walking around all day,
Thinking.
I think I have a problem,
I think I think too much.
I've been taught to hold back my tears,
And avoid them.
But you make pain into something I could touch.

I've been walking around all day,
Laughing.
I think I'd be better off without you here.
And I bet you're sweet and hard to get over.
So I'll cry and people will stop and stare.
Now that's okay.
Let them stop and stare.

Cause I am fragile.
I am hopeless.
I'm not perfect.
But I am free.

I've been walking around all day,
Waiting.
And waiting is all I seem to do.
Cause I never get it unless I'm fed it.
But this time i'll just have to.
Yeah this time i'll just have to.

And I'm fragile.
I am hopeless.
I'm not perfect.
But I am free.

Say you're not around, Am I finished?
If you're not around, thats too bad.
Hope youre safe and sound,
not alone now.
Cause you know I believe in you.

7.9.07

I’ve recently been treating myself to some fantastic books. I don’t know why I don’t read for myself more often. Oh, that’s right, school.

The past few weeks have been me taking time to do things for myself. Which believe me, is rare – I live my life to do what others want from me. But! I’ve been taking time for myself (rare) and doing what I want to do (even rarer). I can only hope this is a more mature stage of life for young Kyla. I’m almost 17! It’s time to act like I’ll be able to live, responsibly, by myself in a year. Make less stupid, immature decisions – my resolution. I guess I’m not following it that well though, since I’m still picking dumb fights with Adam.

Funny, how I’m both so happy for you and so jealous at the same time. And only half the time is it a possessive jealousy, the other half of the time is a whole other monster entirely. Do you know what I’m talking about? No. But does it matter? You can relate without even knowing where this is coming from.

Anyways, how ‘bout them books, eh? I read another Jodi Picoult book, Mercy. After 3 novels, I find she writes very formulaic-ly, not unlike – dare I make the comparison? – Nicholas Sparks. Then I read Oh the Glory of It All, which was vaguely reminiscent of Girl, Interrupted. Only set in San Francisco and with a male lead character. And now, for the greatest summer reading of all time – One Hundred Years of Solitude! No, just kidding. Seriously, no. Middlesex, by Jeffrey Eugenides is probably one of the most amazing books I’ve read. And I’m only half way through! Luxuriate in this quote, won’t you?

“Emotions, in my experience, aren’t covered by single words. I don’t believe in “sadness”, “joy”, or “regret”. Maybe the best proof that the language is patriarchal is that it oversimplifies feeling. I’d like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic train-car constructions like, say, “the happiness that attends disaster.” Or: “the disappointment of sleeping with one’s fantasy.” I’d like to show how “intimations of mortality brought on by aging family members” connects with “the hatred of mirrors that begins in middle age.” I’d like to have a word for “the sadness inspired by failing restaurants” as well as for “the excitement of getting a room with a minibar.” I’ve never had the right words to describe my life, and now that I’ve entered my story, I need them more than ever. You can’t just sit back and watch from a distance anymore. From here on in, everything I’ll tell you is colored by the subjective experience of being part of events. Here’s where my story splits, divides, undergoes meiosis. Already the world feels heavier, now I’m a part of it. I’m talking about bandages and sopped cotton, the smell of mildew in movie theaters, and of all the lousy cats and their stinking litter boxes, or rain on city streets when the dust comes up and the old Italian men take their folding chairs inside. Up until now it hasn’t been my world. Not my America. But here we are, at last.”

I am in love with his writing.

I just poured my heart out

there's bits of it on the floor

And I take what's left of it

and rinse it under cold water

And call him up for more

And I say baby, yes I feel stupid to call you,
but I'm lonely

And I don't think you meant it
when you said you couldn't love me

And I thought maybe if I kissed the way you do,
you'd feel it too

He said I'm sorry

so sorry

He grabs my wrist

as my fingers turn into angry fists

and I whisper why can't you love me,
I'll change for you

I'll play the part

7.29.07

Why am I so annoyed?

Yes, I’m probably the most stubborn person you’ll meet, but I’m not going to take the blame for something that’s half your fault also. That just gets us no where fast.

07.26.07

FotC! I'm making a lasagna...for one.

7.20.07

Call a parade!

...I made a decision for the first time in my life. Hurrah!

I just hope it was the right one.

7.13.07

Hello Friends.

Remember me? Kyla? No, not Kayla Mining, Kyla Minnig…yes, that’s right, the one who likes the cats! Very good.

I guess I might as well get into it.

I have nothing to say. And I HAVE had nothing to say since summer started, more or less. This happens, every single summer, like clockwork. Since I don’t see everyone every day of my life, I get into my head, and stay firmly planted there. Not like there’s anything interesting going on in my life that I need to constantly ponder, but I just…am being incredibly solitary. I’m trying to be more social this summer, really. Going to Circus School helped facilitate long conversations with Best Friend and Dark Hell Lord Krotodrid. We will be spared when werewolves take over the earth because we told him how to pronounce proprietorship. But anyways.

I laugh uproariously, nay, chuckle inwardly, at what a hypocrite I am. All day long I spew my thoughts and advice on to uninterested ears. Were I myself in my situation, erm, reread that, it’ll make sense on the second try, I would say something along the lines of:

Look at history, you moron! Because nothing has changed, that’s for sure. How is this acceptable? I don’t expect anything better from him, but I expected much more from you, you pushover.

And I would say:

But I believe in the good in people, sometimes you have to take a risk to get something you want.

And in return:

That? You want that? Are you an idiot? Ah yes, drunkenly screwing around with other girls, only to recount his stories of glory to you the next day, what girl wouldn’t want that? Silly me, to have forgotten those traits of Prince Charming.

But for a rebuttal:

Everyone makes mistakes, sometimes people need another chance to prove they can do things right.

…fighting ensues, etc. I am bipolar, but only when I want to be. Because that makes sense.

I cannot make up my mind, just like with every other situation that’s ever presented itself in my vacillating life. Thus, he will decide for us, and I will accept it willingly, even if I don’t believe it, because that’s what I get for never making up my mind.

I am a sorry excuse for a homo sapien, me thinks. And a waste of a brain. Perhaps I shall give it to a lab monkey.

This has been a post full of nonsense.

Coming full circle, I have started listening to acoustic music, in keeping with the whole “not talking” theme. It was amazing, I told Adam what I was looking for, and he provided! Perhaps he is the music god, but he’s still fussy like a baby, and quite tense.

Check out Andy McKee. You don’t actually have to watch, but at least listen!

http://youtube.com/watch?v=Ddn4MGaS3N4

7.4.07

Happy 231st Birthday, USA!

As per Adam sending me this song, I thought I'd post the lyrics. Very cool, if you ask me. Enjoy?

Artists > Cursive > Excerpts From Various Notes Strewn Around The Bedroom Of April Connolly

Excerpts from various notes strewn around the bedroom of April Connolly:"Why I should leave . . . no - why I'm leaving you for him. Well, let's see here . . . well, let's see: where should I begin? Every night you get annihilated with all your friends,and every night I drink alone until you stumble home wanting some - like some fuck and run. I know you sleep around, I see it in the eyes of those girls. Those fucking girls . . . they smile and nod, but never offer a single word - I'm just in the way - I'm the ball and chain, you're the jailbird chirping, 'How hard life is in the cage!' How hard it is waking up next to me. Well, you've dug this hole, come on and fill me up. When you said you loved me, I knew I was getting fucked. You said you'd never let go - all that stopped . . . you used to turn me on, now we're just getting off. That's why I am leaving you."

And the drunken, erratic response from April's ex-boyfriend Trevor Post upon finding said various notes:"You really, really think this guy is going to make it all right? You told me you could never be in love with another man, 'Oh but this one is it!' But I remember when we met, we knew that this was the end. Yeah I remember - I remember everything - The haircuts, the dollar movies. We used to sneak a six pack in your bag, and wait for a girl to scream or a car to crash so we could crack open our cans. Or the the time you shaved my head in the front yard; a passerby stopped to take a picture - we ended up in the paper. And now you want to leave? Well, maybe I forgot a couple things, it doesn't mean I don't remember how it feels when you're laying naked next to me. Valentine, I want to feel your hips pressed up against mine. We'll push into each other - love's alive. It might be fleeting, but it's ours and it's tonight . . . so won't you reconsider love-lost lives? You might be lonely, but I'm still by your side. You might have to leave, but not tonight."

6.24.07

After quite some time, I return to this unfriendly template of a blog. Ironically, in this nationally recognized time of relaxation, I have been extremely busy.

But I will start with a quote from Jodi Picoult. Make fun of me at your discretion.

“Summertime, I think, is a collective unconscious. We all remember the notes that made up the song of the ice cream man; we all know what it feels like to brand our thighs on a playground slide that’s heated up like a knife in a fire; we all have lain on our backs with our eyes closed and our hearts beating across the surface of our lids, hoping that this day will stretch just a little longer than the last one, when in fact it’s all going in the other direction.”

However, Hannah and I are wasting our lives in Economics, aka Clown Class. Perks of Del Campo? It takes <5 minutes to get there, as opposed to the 30 minute commute to Rio. Downfalls of Del Campo? INEFFICIENT TEACHERS WHO MAKE UP FACTS. STUDENTS WHO CAN’T READ ALOUD. I can’t even begin to explain what a circus this class is, as it would end in my throwing the computer screen out the window. For more information, see Hannah or I’s notebooks full of quotes and list. Perhaps I am being a snob. Perhaps I have lived too privileged of a life, surrounded by Honors and AP students.

But, on to a more appropriate blogging topic. I am taken aback by the amount of people that go back to certain relationships, against all better judgment, advice from others, common sense, etc. I’m not just talking about the guy who broke your heart, but then you find yourself getting tangled in the same net that you know oh too well. I’m talking about the girl who goes all psycho-bitch on you, but yet you somehow find yourself talking to her again. The girl who told your deepest, darkest secret to the world, who you swore you’d never talk to again, showing up at your door to hang out. Is it because we’re too lazy to go out there and find a new person to replace them? We find it’s just easier to revert to the same person. Is there an unspoken plea when you restart communication? “Hey, this time, can you try not to hurt me this time?” or at least, “Could you maybe not hurt me as much?” We recognize it’s a problem, but prefer to turn the other way.

On a lighter note, we got a kitten and named it Kekoa. See picture below.

4.28.07

Happy (?) Memorial Day, everyone. Tonight, a very uncreative blog. I will simply be posting quotes from The Tenth Circle. Various quotes that changed my life. Enjoy. :)

“The process of growing up was nothing more than figuring out what doors hadn’t yet been slammed in your face. For years, Trixie’s own parents had told her that she could be anything, have anything, do anything. That was why she’d been so eager to grow up – until she got to adolescence and hit a big, fat wall of reality. As it turned out, she couldn’t have anything she wanted. You didn’t get to be pretty or smart or popular just because you wanted it. You didn’t control your own destiny, you were too busy trying to fit in. Even now, as she stood here, there were a million parents setting their kids up for heartbreak.”

“Hope was a pathological part of puberty, like acne and surging hormones. You might sound cynical to the world, but that was just a defense mechanism, cover-up coating a zit, because it was too embarrassing to admit that in spite of al the bum deals you kept getting, you hadn’t completely given up.”

“She found herself studying him not in terms of who he was, but who he wasn’t.”

“When you fooled around without the feelings attached, it might not mean anything…but then again, neither did you. Trixie wondered if there was something wrong with her, for not being able to act cool and nonchalant, like none of this mattered anyways, is that really what guys wanted? Or was it just what the girls thought the guys wanted?”

“When she stood next to him, he smelled of rum and indecision.”

“She wondered if they knew that their patient was a husk, a shell left behind by a snail because home didn’t fit anymore. You’d think someone who’d been to medical school would be able to hear through a stethoscope that somebody was empty inside.”

“You see outfits like those in fashion magazines, outfits so revealing they bordered on porn. Women glanced at those photo spreads and wished they looked that way, men glanced at them and wished for women who looked that way, and the sad reality was that most of those girls were not women at all, but all girls.”

“You couldn’t have strength without weakness; you couldn’t have light without dark; you couldn’t have love without loss.”

“What was the point of being able to forgive, when deep down, you both had to admit you’d never forget?”

“The saddest day in the world will be the one when she stops pretending.”

“Teenage girls want guys to be attracted to them, but no one’s taught them how to deal with the emotions that come up with that stuff.”

“There was a fine line between love and hate, you heard that cliché all the time. But no one told you that the moment you crossed it would be the one you least expected. You’d fall in love and crack open a secret door to let your soul mate in. You just never expected such a closeness, one day, to feel like an intrusion.”

“Like Daniel, Jason had learned the hard way that we are never the people we think we are. We are the ones we pretend, with all our hearts, we can’t become.”

“Disaster was an avalanche, gathering speed with such acceleration that you worried more about getting out of its path, not finding the pebble at its center.”

“Maybe you had to scrape bottom before you could push your way back to the surface.”

“Relationships always sounded so physically painful. You fell in love, you broke a heart, you lost your head. Was it any wonder that people came through the experience with battle scars? The problem with a relationship – or maybe its strength – was that it spanned a distance, and you were never the same person you started out being.”

“He was like some kind of soap opera actor whose tragic story line you fell madly for: beautiful to look at, but all the same, you knew what you were seeing wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.”

“Because the more you changed, the less of you there was.”

“It was not a coincidence, Trixie thought, that no and know sounded the same. You were supposed to be able to say the magic word, and that was enough to make your wishes – or lack of them – crystal clear. But no one over said yes to make sex consensual. You took hints from body language, from the way two people came together. Why, then, didn’t a shake of the head or a hand pushing hard against a chest speak just as loudly? What did you have to actually say the word no for it to be rape?”

“There were some people who hit your life so hard, they left a stain on your future. She understood how you might spend your whole life waiting for that kind of man to come back.”

“It was no coincidence that fear could move a person to extremes, just as seamlessly as love. They were the conjoined twins of emotion: if you didn’t know what was at stake to lose, you had nothing to fight for.”

4.20.07

Once again, dancing at Pacific Rim Street Festival was a blast. And being the conceited person that I am, thought I would post a picture of myself. But without facebook or myspace, where else am I supposed to post pictures?



Insert "You're a Hawaiian Poser" comments here. :)

5.19.07

Blame the lack of posts on AP tests, please.

What are our thoughts on second chances?

And by “our”, I mean the five people who read this.

I googled “second chances”, to try to steal other people’s opinions on the matter. Because as we all know, the best thing to do when you’re lost is to google a key word.

My results? Michelle Branch has a song called Second Chances, the lyrics of which, helped me this much: (). Also, there’s apparently a movie called “Second Chances”. The rest were about juvenile prisoners who were given second chances. Oh, and a pet adoption agency. But I didn’t click on that because otherwise someone would ring our doorbell on Monday with 5 cats in a box, and I’d have to pretend not to know anything while my mom freaked out.

So this is a short plea for advice.

People change. Sometimes you just have to give them the benefit of the doubt.

5.6.07

Desire is a funny little creature. A parasite, if you will. It burrows itself into your mind, without your consent, and flexes its power at the worst possible times. I think the word itself sneakily implies a want for something unattainable. Something you know you’re never going to get, or something you know you shouldn’t WANT to get, which, incidentally, makes you want it even more.

We have your test results, and Ms. Minnig, I’m afraid you’re suffering from an acute case of desire, in its later stages. And you can bet your bottom dollar it’s deleterious to your well being.

My will power, which has been remarkably on the rise these past few days, has reached a local maximum, and will thus begin to decrease on the interval [May 6, ?].

What do you mean I’ve been studying Calculus for too long? Take it back.

I’ve come to realize life happens when you least expect it. Who would’ve thought that mixing up directions to Jack in the Box would be so hilarious? Who would’ve thought that sitting in a car for an hour trying to identify the artist and song name would be so entertaining? Who would’ve thought a man helping me back up would make me laugh for the entire ride home?

But I felt more alive in that afternoon than I have in a long time.

I’d like to thank a handsome fellow with an umbrella who once saved my day.

5.6.07

Earlier this evening, sometime between waking up from my nap and making unnecessary cookies, an idea ripe for blogging presented itself. However, I still have to finish this ACLU essay, and aforementioned blogging idea will take much thought, so I will simply review a funny situation happened in my life recently. Things which I hope, you, valued reader, will also find hilarious. (As a quick side note, I realized my blogs are all the same. Different topics, yes, but I mostly just spew my thoughts all over the place like word garbage and sprinkle many, many questions throughout.)

As most (maybe I shouldn’t flatter myself. I change that “most” to “some”) of you know, I am a diligent student by day, and a money-making hula dancer by night. So this weekend, we had a performance for Intel’s company party in Folsom. Now, in my experience, company parties are always somewhat less enthusiastic than normal parties. Maybe people feel weird getting completely wasted around their co-workers? Not sure. Anyways. Ok, so to make our shows more…interactive, or…embarrassing, we go out into the audience, in search of unsuspecting men to bring on stage. Our musician plays some Tahitian drum music and we dance around them, they make an ass of themselves, but the crowd loves it, and when the crowd loves it, they give us tips, and when they give us tips, we get more money. Was that a run on sentence or was that a run on sentence? So anyways, the room is set up with like 40+ round tables, I go out into the audience, and this is my experience.

TABLE ONE:
Kyla: Can I interest anyone in coming up and dancing with me?
Some guy: NOSE GOES!! (Thank you, Sir. I didn’t realize we had teleported to second period Losada)
Table Members: Hahaha! You lost! (points at loser of nose goes)
Kyla: Ah, looks like you’re coming up with me!
Loser of Nose Goes: No.
Kyla: The rules of Nose Goes are pretty iron clad, I’m pretty sure you have to come up with me…
Other table members: Go! Go!
Loser of Nose Goes: No.
Kyla: Well, ok. If you’re sure…
L.O.N.G.: No.

Alright, so table one = lost cause. Please keep in mind that I have a smile plastered on my face, and I’m acting more jovial and friendly than you’ve probably ever witnessed. Or maybe I picked on some unsuspecting man with a speech impediment who could only say no. Anyways, moving on to table two…

Kyla: Can I interest anyone in coming up and dancing with me?
Table Members: Jason! Go!
Jason: Nooo, I don’t think so…
Table Members: C’mon! Go Jason!
Kyla: Yeah, c’mon Jason!
Jason: I don’t know…
Kyla: Put down your beer, come up and dance with me!
Jason: YOU’RE NOT MY AA SPONSOR!!!!

Ummmm….ummmm….hmmmm….ummmm…ok. So maybe it was best that I didn’t go with Jason, seeing as how…well, you know what? There’s a million things I could finish that sentence with, but I won’t. You pick your favorite and fill in the blank.

So, dejected and somewhat relieved I didn’t witness what would happen if I separated Jason from his beer, I finally get someone up from another table. Who turned out to be HILARIOUS. I’ve done this “pick up” thing many, many, many times, and this guy topped the charts. He was superb.

And that’s the name of that tune.

4.30.07

Yesterday, my life diverged from its normal monotony…I spent time outside. Yes, I actually made arrangements to spend an extended period of time outdoors. I like air conditioning. I like carpet. I like electricity. I like anything that is safely contained within walls. So you can imagine my surprise when I found myself in the backyard, stretched in a hammock, reading Gatsby, and enjoying all nature has to offer. I witnessed some diligently devoted doves tending to the nest they built on top of our outdoor speakers. I witnessed a high speed chase between two squirrels, taking place in the tree limbs above me. I listened to “The Birds and The Breeze”, the hot new single by the up-and-coming artist, Mother Nature. My sprawling limbs jumped at the opportunity to soak up some sun rays. Such a meeting has not happened, in California anyways, since the field trips of youth. In the Islands, I spend most of the day riding the waves, counting how many waves are necessary to sink my feet into the liquid-y sand of the shore, setting my schedule by high and low tide. Conduct on the Mainland is different, apparently from the lack of a near-by ocean. Time spent outside is an accident, a casualty of commute. Nature and I are completely different entities, results are best when not mixed.

But we are water and light and that is all. This is why the dawn of spring moves us so. Flowers are nothing but water and light. Our food is solely water and light, granted you don’t eat processed food in shiny and noisy packages. We even rock the same chemical happenings in us as a banana. According to the human genome, everyone on this planet is 99.9% identical. Only the slightest variation in our genes makes us appear different. You are light. I am light. I hate to admit it, but Lynette is light. Ha, ha. This is starting to sound like transcendentalist propaganda. I am not a transcendentalist, thus, I will stop. But I will leave you with an amazing passage from an amazing writer. It will amaze you. Or maybe not.

"Life is but a dream. There are no rules, only loves and fears. No one knows just why we are here and what the point is but we have figured out so far that it’s based on having experiences. We all get to have a wonderful time, even if it is limited, to dance and play out here on the surface on the earth, on the side of the rock, and thankfully we’re not sliding down to some bottom or being flung off the side of it as it spins and do-si-do’s around the galaxy. When was the last time you sat and thanked gravity for the rain or skydiving? The wonderful time is obviously introduced in so many different ways across the plains. Our parents and theirs before them set into motion where you would dance and how you might do it. From early on we became conditioned beings."

4.21.07

I return to this blog like it’s a cold toilet seat. You have to sit right down, dive right in. As familiar as the seat may be, you know the look is different than the feel. There’s no easing onto it. The same goes when entering the pool in this new season of pretend warmth. We get hot days, but lo and behold, below the surface those water molecules are clinging to the richness of winter still. The chill in our bones makes like a pre show to the goose bumps doing the wave across your body. You go into that pool one toe at a time. At waist level you curl your arms up like you’re a Tyrannosaurus trying to defy the laws of water physics. Mouth wide open in delight, a perfect companion to your body language, it looks as though you want to type something in the air, were two typewriters suspended above your shoulders about where the Y is to your M C A. In this case, the anticipation isn’t always best. Just go under already.

My fingers have been dyed a toasty, silver nitrate brown. And the tendons in my hand literally hurt. Could this be from the 17-ish paragraphs I wrote on Tuesday? Maybe. Or it could be from playing too much Guitar Hero II in Statistics. Or it could be from trying to catch Poage’s football passes by clapping my two hands together, miraculously hoping for that ball to land between them. Then, he had the audacity to give me tips on how to play football. I mean, honestly, who does he think he is, a varsity football player? Jerk.

So, today I learned that my 19, yes that’s NINETEEN, year old friend is five months pregnant. I assure you, I am not making a story more dramatic so that it’s better reading. Well, maybe I should explain the lead up, so that it’s just as shocking to you as it was to me. Although I kind of just told you the climax, but anyways. This morning, I wake up at 7:30, roll out of bed, shower, jump in the car, and start my tour of Northern Cali. First, I go pick up someone at Walnut and Marconi. Ok. Not too bad, about 10 minutes away. Then we drive out to Antelope, to pick up soon-to-be-mother. To get to the freeway, she takes me through North Highlands. This was literally the most frightening 10 minute (it felt like a half hour) drive of my life. They have a store called “Gold Teeth” whose storefront was, I am not joking you, a grill. I seriously pushed the speed limit through that entire neighborhood. Then we drive to Downtown Sac. Does anyone else hate driving Downtown as much as I do? Freakin’ one way streets. So us three, in the mini-van, are going to meet another three at Tower Café, next door to Tower Theater. They have the best French toast I’ve ever eaten, for anyone who likes French toast. And I consider myself a connoisseur of French toast. So, we’re talking and eating and laughing, and Tyra goes “So, Jenny, when are you thinking about moving?” The rest of us are like, “What? Why’re you moving?” Jenny, “Well, I’m pregnant.” and SHRUGS. SHRUGS. Now, perhaps I should’ve prefaced this with saying I like Jenny as much as I can like a fellow human being. But COME ON. You’re 19. She’s five months pregnant; her baby girl is due August 22nd. Thanks, gynecologist Kyla. You’re welcome, curious blog reader. She and her boyfriend, read BOYFRIEND, have been together 15 months. I’ve had crappy mascara in the bottom of my make up bag for longer than that. I was talking to her about it on the drive home, and she was like, “Well we were talking, and we were both just like, we’re kinda stuck with each other, aren’t we?” YOU’RE NINETEEN. YOU’RE NOT STUCK WITH ANYONE. Aren’t you still kind of deciding what you want to do with your life at NINETEEN? “I know everything about him; I helped him fill out his Java City application, so I know his social security number, his extra curriculars, and his full name!” THE MERE FACT THAT YOU THINK THAT DEFINES A RELATIONSHIP TELLS ME YOU’RE NOT READY. A picture of the two on her Myspace has the caption of: My Baby’s Daddy! THE FACT THAT THAT IS YOUR CAPTION TELLS ME YOU’RE NOT READY. Oh, well, I know his full name, so…it’s only the natural next step that we have a kid together, right? Now, I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not true. This girl is SMART. She is the sweetest person I’ve ever met. Well, Christy Cunningham might give her a run for her money.

I can’t even picture myself with a real, in-living-Technicolor boyfriend at 19. Heck, I can’t even imagine what I’ll look like at 19. Actually, I lied, I can. I’ll probably just look more like Aly. I CERTAINLY can’t imagine myself PREGGERS at 19. I can’t imagine myself pregnant…ever. When Seibel was talking about how giving birth changes you, blah blah blah, I thought to myself, “What’s the point?” Now, please understand the disclaimer to this entry: THESE ARE MY THOUGHTS OF RIGHT NOW. THIS IS NOT SET IN STONE. I really don’t want to have children, ever. It’s not just because of the video I was forced to watch about childbirth. But what’s the point? The earth is populated enough. Kids are expensive – yes, this is my frugal Asian facet showing itself. I teach hula to little girls. By the end of an hour and a half, my veins are so engorged with rage that I balloon up like that girl in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Veruca Salt? Was that her name? If I get annoyed after 1.5 hours, what’s that compared to the rest of my life? There’s the not wanting to die alone thing, and I’ll admit, that’s something to think about. But kids are a crap shoot. If technology has advanced enough that I can custom order my child, GATTACA style, perhaps I shall reconsider. But for now, I will uphold that I don’t want kids. However, I do want many, many cats. Ha. Joking. No I’m not.

4.14.07

Is everyone ready for a rant? Good, because that’s what this is going to be.

Tonight, something clicked. I only have a small handful of friends who will truly listen to me. Let me share some information with you.

I’m a private person. The closest people in my life don’t know half of what goes on in my life. I am not, I repeat, NOT a dramatic person. I don’t feel the need to share everything with everyone, after I make it uber-melodramatic, naturally. I think this mostly stems from not liking to talk about myself. I know it isn’t, but when I spend time talking about myself, I feel selfish. But then again, what is this blog? Anyways, in addition, I think my life is…boring. Why do people need to know every boring detail? They don’t. But even big things, like when we had to put our cat down or my grandpa died, I think I told two or three people. Point of this glimpse into my mind: if I tell you something personal, it’s a rare, big freaking deal.

So tonight I was sharing my most current, interesting news. Which, mind you, is still not that exciting. This is my conversation:

Kyla: blah blah blah
Friend: Oh my god, this is just like my situation with so-and-so! Like after we had blah blah blah….
Kyla: Oh, really? Yeah, so what should I do?
Friend: But then afterwards, so-and-so and I were like blah blah blah blah

…Friend did not even answer my question with her recount of a story that wasn’t even pertinent! (well, to be fair, I couldn’t see how it related) What the hell? I’m asking for five minutes of your time to talk about ME and MY situation. Not how my situation reminds you of YOUR situation.

How long have I spent listening to her and all her various situations and mini dramas? 10 minutes? And 7 months? And 3 years?

And what angers me the most, is how OFTEN this happens. I ask friends for MERE MINUTES to talk about me. Am I being selfish? Yes, if this happened every single day and I never let them talk about them. But honestly, sometimes I just need five minutes of uninterrupted “let’s talk about kyla” time. And this doesn’t just happen with “Friend”! It has happened OH SO MANY times in the past. What about me screams “just talk to me about everything on your mind, and I won’t ever ask to talk about myself in return, because you’re the only important person that matters. Oh, and did I mention you’re the center of everyone’s universe?? Because you are!!” And I realize I could be labeled with being passive aggressive, but in my defense, I didn’t realize how badly it annoyed me until tonight.

If I actually talked about how angry I am with one of my “it’s all about me” friends, this is what they’d say. “Oh, it’s because you’re such a good listener. I know I can talk to you about anything and you’ll have advice for me.” Bullshit! You just want to talk about yourself and know I won’t stop you!

I would like to take this time to genuinely thank the 4 people who read this blog. Because you let my have my much needed, uninterrupted, “let’s talk about kyla” time.

So, thank you.

4.10.07

Dear Trevor,

You won’t ever read this. I won’t print it out and mail it to you, as I’ve already erased your address from my address book. Which, perhaps, is for the best, since it was such a hassle for you to tell me your address when I wanted to send you a card for your eighteenth birthday. I won’t call and read it in a voicemail, seeing as how I promptly deleted your number out of my phonebook when you signed off. I won’t email it to you, I won’t post it as a comment, and I won’t instant message you. It’s not worth my time, broadband, minutes, or postage.

Can you believe it’s been a year since the inception of the debacle that was our “relationship”? A whole year. That’s a year’s worth of thoughts and emotions. A year more than you deserved. I spent a year on your back-burner, minding, but not saying anything, the times when you would put your car before me. I wasn’t a demanding girlfriend. All I asked was that you genuinely returned the same respect, concern, and compassion. What did I say when you forgot my birthday? Nothing? Oh, ok. What did I say when you told me, two days before, that you didn’t want to go to my homecoming after all? Nothing? Oh, ok. What did I say when you said you didn’t want to spend Valentine’s Day with me? Nothing? Oh, ok. What did I say to hurt you after you told me you had been in jail for the past two months? Nothing? Oh, ok. What did I say when you said, “you live too far away, it’s not worth the gas”? Nothing? Oh, ok. What did I say when you said, “I was just staying in town for you, and now that I don’t want you, why would I stay?”? Nothing? Oh, ok. You wonder how I became the “pathetic, no self confidence” girl I am today, not realizing that every hurtful comment you said to me cut deeper into wounds that were still healing.

Your words replay in my head. Words you don’t even remember saying. Words I’d reread at night and pretend you meant them. Take your words back.

I hate you for making me cry, again. I hate myself for settling for so much less than I deserve. I hate myself for drinking in all the bullshit you spoon fed me. But I hate you more. But I loved you more.

I did my share of staying on the bench. I did my share of forgiving. I did my share of compromising. You did your share of silent treatment. You did your share of guilt tripping. You did your share of ignoring.

I’ve rehearsed rejecting your apologies I know aren’t coming. You’ve rehearsed “I’ve never been this comfortable with anyone else” on other girls.

You came and went. I was always there when you needed me. And all the other hours of the day, every day of the week, every week of the month, every month of the year. Not that you ever noticed.

I want my words back. I want my time back. I want my texts back. I want my voicemails back. All I wanted was to be loved back.

This is it. No more. Goodbye.

4.9.07

BJ Novak.


Jason Mraz. (not smaller on purpose, I'm just too lazy to resize).

This will be like one of those "can you find the differences?" puzzles, like in the Sunday paper. (Which, for the record, I can never figure out.)

Do I have a type?

I'll let America decide.

...at a later date, I will hand you a photocopied Venn Diagram of their similarities and differences.

4.6.07

As I sit here, clicking my retainer on and off my teeth, I wonder: is there anything more attractive to a man than dental gear? Here’s how I see things happening in the future:

Man: Hey, Kyla, that was really average
Kyla: Thanks, I’m glad we had that moment of mediocre mattress mambo
Man: Whatcha doing there?
Kyla: You know, just popping in my retainer. *click* Wouldn’t want the hundreds of dollars my parents spent on orthodontics in my adolescence to go to waste!

(Orthodontics sparked something in my mind. Ready to see how I can relate anything to a TV show? The moth joke on Scrubs. I will now try my hardest to transcribe the joke, and hopefully not butcher it.

Hey, I heard a great joke. A guy walks into a dentist's office and says, “I think I'm a moth.” And the dentist says, “Well, if you think you're a moth, why are you at a dentist's office?” (Oh no, I forgot the punchline, stall!) ...So the moth says, “That's a good question. What kind of dentist are you?” And the dentist says, “Well, I'm a general dentist, but I do dabble in orthodontry…braces and such.” And the moth says, “Orthodontry? I hear there's great money in that.” (oh, because the light was on!) “But! To answer your original question, which was, if I think I'm a moth, why am I in a dentist's office? The answer is, Because the light was on!”

Oh, Scrubs. How I love thee.)

How disappointing is it that I’m only mediocre in my own scenarios? This feels rather blog worthy. Perhaps I will abandon my quest to find what dental gear is sexy. Tonight, I was on the Victoria’s Secret website, and I came to the only conclusion possible: VS models were sent here to make us normal females want to give up. In a world of Gisele’s and Heidi’s and Adriana’s, where do we rate? I was told, by two people who I think know me best, that I had self confidence issues. Which, somewhat ironically, made me feel even worse about myself. No, I do not parade around, fishing for compliments. Yes, I am my own biggest critic. No one knows my flaws better than me. I can alphabetize them, even recite them backwards (from purple to one…teen girl squad reference, hey-oh!), but I’m not hiding in corners thinking “if only I could blend into this taupe paint!” I think I’m a pretty shy, quiet person. I’m a firm believer of many things: FOIL-ing, not talking with your mouth full, and most pertinent to this discussion – not talking unless you have something interesting to say. Why fill the air with word garbage? Does my silence translate to lack of self confidence? I didn’t think so, but apparently…

So, let’s make this interactive: What are you most self conscious about?

But! To answer your (erm, my) original question, one day, I will find a man who will appreciate my mediocre mattress mambo skills. And we will have matching his and her retainer cases and be mutually glad that our parents didn’t waste their money. One day, I will find my own Mraz. Or BJ Novak. Hey, where’d that come from?

4.5.06

Fun Fact: Tonight, the Merrie Monarch Festival takes place on the big island of Hawaii. Arguably the most important competition in the hula world.

I’m impressed by the amount of mini-drama’s that occur in a week. Not for me, obviously, because the only drama I have is with my cat. Don’t underestimate that statement. When he smells another cat on me, things get intense. Tears, unreturned phone calls, the works. But enough about my relationship with Kini. In Stats, I sit next to Miss Pruitt, and around GALA time, all the Chatty Cathy’s in the class would come over to discuss GALA plans. In a period of oh, about 30 minutes, one visitor said, “I am just so over all the drama”… twelve times. Yes, I counted. That’s once every 2.5 minutes. Each time I heard it, my blood pressure rose just a little. I think all the dramatic high school TV shows are to blame. Laguna Beach, The (late) OC, One Tree Hill…if you friend isn’t pregnant, on drugs, cheating, or in a major fight, MAN do you have a boring life. Only boring….isn’t so boring. I think of it as uncomplicated. But as we all know, some people just can’t handle this. My question is this: why do people make unnecessary drama?

Hannah alluded to the impending train wreck that is sure to rattle our serene utopia. Oh, and I hope everyone understands that we’re making an analogy. The train tracks over by Cal Expo have seen enough drama for this season, I think. And I don’t even know where any other train tracks are, ha. So don’t go rushing to your local news station, or train station for that matter, to report an impending tragedy.

Riddle me this: if you had attempted a relationship with someone, and it had failed multiple, multiple, MULTIPLE times in the past, would you attempt to rekindle that relationship? CORRECT ANSWER: NO!!!! (Note the four !’s; I mean business) Personally, I like to keep my ex’s where they belong: in the past. In my fate governed universe, I think everything happens for a reason. Even if you don’t exactly know why your relationship imploded into a flaming black hole, pretend that made sense, it happened for a reason. But here’s where I become a hypocrite. In some cases, we shouldn’t let fate take the steering wheel. Like, for example, when you have a history of failure behind you. “Well,” you think, “we didn’t work out in September, October, or December of 2005, and add that to January, March, June, October, and December of 2006…but hey, why not give it a shot in April of 2007?” Oh, I don’t know, because that’s the worst idea since the Holocaust? (I apologize to any Jewish people I’ve just offended for comparing their genocide to a bad relationship) Maybe I just don’t understand what it’s like to be so inexplicably drawn to someone. Maybe I’ve morphed into a big ball of cynicism, dooming things before they even happen. Or maybe I’m just looking at this clinically, realizing that it’s a horrible idea and your chances of survival are zip to nilch.

“How does this relate to your first paragraph?” one might ask. Because all this relationship is doing is creating unnecessary drama!! (Only two !’s, I’m calming down) Drama, which attracts self-proclaimed drama queens and closeted drama kings like a fly strip. But then you get caught in the sticky-ness, and your ultimate demise was caused by this oh-so-attractive drama.

Well that’s enough for me. I’m going to sleep. I’m just so over all this drama.

4.4.07

I’ve been doing some reflecting, and I feel it is my obligation, nay, calling in life, to blog about it. But first, I need to collect my thoughts into coherent sentences. Because if I tried to write about it at this moment, it would be various four letter words with some nouns and possibly adjectives intermingled. So instead I will chronicle my Spring Break, thus far. Since I know the three people who read this are totally interested.

Friday of:

1st period – turned in JRP, spent the rest of the period freaking out about chemistry test. Ignored the video.

2nd period – also spent freaking about the chemistry test. Took half hearted Guerra notes, rejoiced when there wasn’t a quiz. Oh, a replacement Cometa! Adorable. Thanks, Lautaro!

3rd period – spent studying chem, was generally annoyed by all the people in Stats. Katie wasn’t there, thus making the hour 67x worse

4th period – counted 12 students present out of our 30+ student class, scored a 3/50 on aforementioned test, momentarily lost concentration when one of those stupid stinkbugs landed on my test.

5th period – was generally annoyed by the discussion in class. Somehow, we left English, went to the counseling office, and “Honors English 3” because “(insert last name here) family hour”. Most of the time, these students who just want to hear themselves speak about their problems at least TRY to weave in a pertinent point to our discussion. But Friday’s was a chorus of “well, my situation is…” and “in my case…” Maybe this is what Seibel was going for, but I was sitting there refraining from rolling my eyes at almost every case. Does this make me a horrible, insensitive person? I dunno, maybe. Or maybe it just makes me someone who doesn’t want to hear about how your parents pushed you to cheat. Because they didn’t.

6th period – watched the seconds tick by. Was embarrassed when Paul looked over and saw my drawing on my forearm with my pencil. And was even more embarrassed when I had to erase it to his snickers.

Saturday:

Finally!! Spring Break had come. And yet, I ended up waking up at like, 8. Drove to Julie’s Doughnuts and then to the library to get “Bel Canto”, as per Katie’s suggestion. Fast forward to the airport, where I was standing in line to board, this idiot couple was being…stupid and idiotic. I made the mistake of taking off my ipod and heard them talking to the woman behind me, who was only prodding their idiotic-ness. Highlight of the conversation: “Well, we’ll be getting off before you do”. Some of you might be wondering what this provocative, albeit retarded, resulted in. Let me tell you. Wait, not like that. Anyways, I see the stupid guy get out of his seat and go to the bathroom stall, then walk back and wink and smile to his wife? Fiancée? Girlfriend? And then I threw up all over the seatback pocket. And then the flight attendant said, excuse me ma’am, that’s what those little white bags are for, and I said, I know, but I’m sorry I couldn’t control it, you see that disgusting couple over there is trying to join the mile high club, and then she was like, well are you going to clean that up? And I was like no, and she started getting angry, but then we landed and I skeddadled.

Saturday – Tuesday: was generally annoyed by so much family time spent together, but it was nice to have Aly there, and the shopping, oh the shopping. So fantastic. Almost a reason to live in Palm Springs. Almost.

Wednesday: cracked my knuckles, in front of the bo-puter, in an effort to get ready to blog, but then realized all my thoughts were everywhere. Like that game “Canal Control” on my cell phone, I need to arrange the pipes before letting the water flow. So I will now complete an “all about me” survey before I go take a shower and think. Enjoy.

My name is: Kyla. Fun Fact: my parents thought I was going to be a boy, so they picked “Kyle” and then when I surprised them, they changed the “e” to “a”
My birthday is: September 23rd
My ipod is: blue, mini, and biased when on “shuffle”
My crush is: Mraz
My attitude is: sarcastic and critical
My music is: anything involving a man and one of the following: a guitar, drums, or a piano
My TV show is: Arrested Development, The Office, Futurama. Guilty Pleasures? Friday Night Lights, Best Week Ever, What Not To Wear, ANTM
My hair is: uncooperative
My handwriting is: varied. I capitalize random letter when I feel like it
My favorite lunch meat is: cracked pepper turkey!
My kids are: aborted
My journal is: lost. Actually, I guess this blog kinda took its place
My cereal is: Quaker oatmeal squares.
My ice cream is: Thrifty’s insanely cheap ice cream
My current song is: Makes Me Wonder by Maroon 5
My best feature is: physically? Probably my smile. I find smiling gets me pretty far. Not physically? I’d say I’m a pretty good friend.
My life is: privileged.

3.26.07

NOTE: to all you who dislike girly, somewhat sappy entries, this is not the entry for you to read. Check back later, thanks.

Also, I would like to point out that I am on some what of a role. This is my second post in a week. Or maybe I just have so many natural blogs pent up inside me, they’re just effusing. Finally, I’m slightly disappointed “blog” has crept into my vocabulary.

Anyway. Hi, my name is Kyla, and reflect-aholic. (Hi Kyla…) Seriously, I need a rear view mirror for all of my relationships. RELATIONSHIPS MAY APPEAR CLOSER THAN THEY ACTUALLY ARE. Ha. So let me share with you a little conversation from chemistry…

Elena: Oh, Kyla, are you still with…that guy?
Kyla: Oh, um, no, we broke up.
Elena: Oh, I’m sorry. When?
Kyla: About this time last week
Elena: When did you start dating?
Kyla: About this time last year

Although, in retrospect, (See? I’m doing it again. You’d think all this mental rear view mirror checking would translate into me being a good driver. Oh wait. I am.) Maybe I shouldn’t have referred to it as “dating”. I’m realizing that constant texting does not a relationship make.

Has it really been that long? To think, at this time last year, the Trevor relationship was so new and exciting. No foreseeable silent treatments, no two month long disappearances…I feel like I’m being unjust. It wasn’t ALL bad. It’s so much easier to complain about the negative than it is to share the positive. Like how I loved how he would push my hair back. Too bad I always ruined the moment by melting into a puddle, then he’d have to go run for a mop, wring me out in a bucket, wait for me to go through deposition and turn back into a human (oh yes, you chemistry buffs out there, that was for you)…and by that time, the moment was pretty much ruined. But the ratio to things I liked to things I didn’t was like, 8 : 37. (Don’t quote me on that. What, did you think I’d sit here and make a list? Well, for your information…I’m not that bored.) I suppose whatever boy is the next lucky contestant for my infatuation could be taught such maneuvers. But looking into my crystal ball, I’ll predict it won’t be quite the same.

My classes this year are such: 4 AP’s, 1 Honors, and Statistics. ‘Why Kyla, you brag so subtly,” you say. No, no, the point wasn’t to brag. It was to point out that I don’t cower in the face of hard work. So how is it that I’ll gladly substitute sleep for that A, but was too exhausted to keep working on my relationship? Towards the end, I’ll admit, “I’m too tired to do this,” would cross my mind when I could feel a fight brewing. Or why couldn’t I just admit that it wasn’t working? Maybe I thought I wasn’t trying hard enough. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to cope with it not working. The other day, I actually said, “feelings, shmeelings.” The shocking part here is not that I said “shmeelings”, although I will admit it was not a high point in the history of my word choices, but that I brushed FEELINGS off to the side. Emotions were transformed into things which could be forgotten at present, to be revisited later, or maybe never. Maybe I’m turning into a robot, and my RAM isn’t large enough to compute normal humanoid emotions.

For those of you who have talked to me for a total of at least 30 minutes, you will be able to corroborate with the following statement. My speech is comprised of the following: 1/3 sarcasm, 1/3 analogies, 1/3 quotes (from The Office, Scrubs, or Arrested Development). So as my closing thoughts, I will attempt a Trevor-Kyla Relationship analogy. Trevor was like an inert gas. Helium, Neon, Argon, Krypton, or…I can’t remember the rest. They say you can’t change a man; inert gases are steadfastly…inert. It’s a difficult concept, I know. I’m a chlorine-potassium compound. As chlorine, no matter how much shit (electrons) I took, I just couldn’t reach that coveted group 8A. As potassium, no matter how much I gave into him, I still couldn’t shake off that final restraint and reach those damn Noble Gases. Any bonding or sharing that might have occurred was fleeting, at best.

There you go. This was quite a chemistry related entry. It’s time for me to get out of the driver’s seat and stop looking back. Well, for now.

3.24.07

Time for another post, I suppose. I apologize for my erratic-ness. I write on a whim, and, to quote Hannah, when I have time to write a short novel.

As I investigate the available boys around me, I find they fall into two categories: the good boys, and the bad boys. Profound statement, I know. You can thank me for changing your life later. “That’s not rocket science, idiot. Open up any girl magazine and you’ll see that written on at least 10 of the 150 pages,” you say. Valid point. But Kyla the Dullard is just realizing the truth to that statement. So my question is this – why is it that we’re attracted to the bad boys?

First, let’s define the differences between this dichotomy of men. Obviously, you’d want to take your good boy home to the parents, out with friends, etc. (He sounds more like an accessory than a significant other in that definition. Maybe there’s a reason for that. Maybe he just acts like social security, so you can prove stability and good judgment to others.) He values studying over partying, avoids unnecessary conflict, just an all around nice guy. “Really? So he’s a nice guy? Thanks for clearing that up, I couldn’t have guessed that from the title.” Alright, Alright. I’m not trying to win any literary awards with this blog. Now for the bad boy. Rides a motorcycle, wears a leather jacket, and picks you up late…and wasted. Just kidding. He’s the guy who provokes fights, thinks ruining others people’s property is funny and appropriate repayment, is a master at weaving arrogance and jerk-ness into everything he says and does. He’s the guy who goes to jail for two months, and when he crashes his car says, “shit happens”. Hey, where’d that come from?

So why is it that we end up dismissing a boy who bought his own car for someone who doesn’t even have a checking account? They say that women like the chase. Alright, I will allow this statement. Granted, there’s a chase involved with getting the bad boy. But when does the chase-ee (I’m making up a lot of words today) become simply unattainable? Alas, this does not deter us. Why? Blame the person who taught you to work, unremittingly, for what you want. At the end of the day, what do you get with all your hard work? 13 sweet memories and 86 memories where you think of him fondly…as an asshole?

So what’s the point? Maybe we should change direction and start broadening our horizons to the nice boys. So maybe you’ll have to ride in a midsized sedan instead of a sports car. But what’s so wrong with a little more safety? At the end of the day, isn’t that really what we want?

3.12.07

So, I have had a change of address. One could say that I’ve moved back to Singletown, population: 1. It’s been a week, and like every other situation in my life, I’ve ended up taking a neutral standpoint on it. I’m the human equivalent of Switzerland. (Actually, it’s not so much “neutral” as it is…undecided. In my mind, each thought contradicts the next.) Those of you who know me, know “neutral” is a blatant lie. And those of you who don’t, well, I guess you just found out. But isn’t a girl who’s been moderately emotionally stable for the past couple of years entitled to a good cry? Depending on your gender, you’re probably having mixed reactions right now. Ladies, thank you for agreeing. Men, the correct answer to that question is “yes”.

The more I experience “love”, and all “love” related situations, the more I wonder about it. Countless songs have been written on this subject. Love being the greatest, love gone wrong, love lifting us up where we belong, love this, love that. Also, about half of the literature of the world has been written about it. (Don’t quote me on that statistic.) In “Love is Real” by Jason Mraz, he sings, “it [love]’s not just something you thought you felt back in high school”. I would have this tattooed on my arm if it didn’t seem so hypocritical. (As an unrelated note, do you think old men regret the tattoos of their youth? Like when you’re 80 and have the fading portrait of a mudflap girl tattooed on your saggy arm, do you think there’s any regret?) (Also, I lied. I wouldn’t get a tattoo if someone paid me a large sum of money.) I don’t doubt that there are high school couples who genuinely DO love each other, but I think the majority of us are lying. Deep down, when you breathlessly utter “I think I love you” (while avoiding eye contact, naturally) for that first time, do you? Really? Since grade school, it’s been hammered into our heads: there’s the whole bit about sitting in a tree, followed by kissing, which leads to love, directly resulting in marriage, then along comes a baby in a baby carriage! Are we really falling in love, or do we just assume that it’s the next logical step, after we’re done making out in a tree? (By the way, I am not drawing on personal arboreal experiences; I’m just following the rhyme. However, to anyone who has been in that situation, I’m thoroughly impressed by your cat-like balance.) Or maybe, it’s our knee jerk reaction to being in a relationship slump. When you shake your Magic 8 ball and ask, “where is this relationship going?”, do you just see a road of “liking” leading to the horizon? Is this actually the heartbeat of an exciting relationship flat-lining? Maybe we pretend to be in love to break up the monotony of a future of “like”. (As a quick side note, I feel very strongly towards people who say ‘I’m in like with him’. First off, it’s stupid. Second off, it doesn’t even really make sense. Why not just say you like him? But wait, maybe I jumped to conclusions. Maybe I should be applauding them for not lying about being in love? …Nope. It’s still stupid, final decision.)

Or maybe, we just claim to be in love to screw the other person over. Maybe we think it’s what our significant other wants to hear, so we say it to appease them, regardless of what we actually feel. In my opinion, this is the worst motive.

Anyways, back to the beginning subject. I shouldn’t have cried. And I don’t mean that in a “women-in-today’s-men-driven-society-can’t-show-any-form-of-weakness” way. In fact, the reason why I stopped was when heavy weight champion Logic won over “The Emotion-ator”. (Let’s pretend that was an awesome wrestling analogy.) I won’t go into specific, miniscule details, but let’s just say the method of breaking up involved message windows popping up on my PC. I thought of Sex and the City’s Carrie being broken up by Berger on a post-it. I’ve considered this from a clinical standpoint, and I ask you, is it too much to ask for a breakup that appropriately reflects the quality of the relationship? Maybe I wasn’t just crying because I was losing a boyfriend and a friend, (I admire those couples that are like, “we didn’t work, but let’s still be friends!”. I’m much more “we didn’t work out, you need not to exist”.) but because he couldn’t be bothered to pick up his cell phone, scroll through to “Kyla”, and call me. Maybe he didn’t want to be the bad guy. But here’s a tip, guys: trying to avoid the awkward break up conversation, THAT’S what makes you the bad guy! I do not mean any of this to be a bitter, passive aggressive, retort at my ex. In fact, I hope he’s happy. (To clarify, I do not mean that in a “well, I hope YOU’RE happy!” way.) But in my mind, you just moved into a cave in Serbia-Montenegro, and are hereby cut off from any form of communication with the outside world.

At the end of the day, maybe I lied. I’d like to believe that I truly experienced inconvenient, core-shaking love, but maybe, subconsciously, I couldn’t handle the impending monotony. Maybe I considered it to be a logical step forward. Maybe I just wanted to see his reaction. So, my closing thoughts are such: the more I marvel at “love”, the more I realize it’s an endangered species of emotion. Maybe it should just be accepted as an unattainable state of a relationship, reserved only for Hollywood and long distance commercials. Or, maybe someone should make a flow chart, to help people correctly identify how their feeling. “If you really think you’re in love with someone, then…”