During the "How I Met Your Mother" finale I went to get ice cream and decided to watch it on On Demand later. I didn't want it to end, I mean a lot of people were upset about the ending. Why? I wasn't, I thought the man got true love, like twice. What is there to cry about?
So I'm sitting at the ice cream shop, (I know, I know I'm allegedly on a diet). It's the first days of spring, give me a break. So I'm sitting there with my partner in crime when all of a sudden this guy walks up to us with a bunch of balloons. He asks us if everything is OK, but doesn't mention the balloons.
It was a situation.
Like a sitcom situation.
I thought maybe someone brought me balloons, but why would they bring me balloons? Because they love me? Who loves me? No occasion in sight. No surprise party. Just life.
Isn't life odd? HIMYM always showed the oddities of life.
I like gestures like you know, big gestures. Like asking someone to marry them in front of the crowd. I'm such a ham. Like Ted on HIMYM, he wanted to get married in a castle. But then didn't. I would think like that.
I want to feel special. But I know I'm not that special.
I know, how about I go on a good first date before I think about someone asking me to marry them. I've been asked before and it was nice, not really asked but sort of asked. Maybe more like told...actually forget that.
I would have been a good character on that show.
God I'm tired, it just hit me...it's not like I want someone who is obsessed with show and tell, showbiz and all that. I want someone who is real. But a little song and dance never hurt a body.
Serenaded, I would love to be sung to. A man with a guitar is extremely sexy. I would love to sing to someone, like his wife does in HIMYM, but I can't sing to save my life. (I got a good story about that I'll tell you later...) Like Ted, I'm full of stories.
Romance is nice, I mean, what happened to that? I get guys on the Internet who are telling me about my taco...what the?
What happened to beauty and love and poetry? This one guy wrote me bad poetry once, that was a shit show. He was the nicest guy but his poetry sucked.
I'm kind of a bitch right? That's why I'm alone, right?
I need a reason at this point. I don't get it, I mean I get it, but I wish it were different. Is it my fault?
Is it your fault? I don't know I need someone to blame.
You know some guy once told me he'd kill himself if I left him. He didn't. But that's not really the point. Is that love or is it just psychosis? Or is love psychosis? Or am I so naïve and it was just some manipulative bullshit?
It was a little bit of all of the above I think.
I have been in love before, with the wrong people.
All of a sudden I feel alone. Not lonely, but alone. I'm alone.
I want to share my life, I like life, I do. I want to be in love with it, you know life but I'm not there yet. However I think at some point I could share this life with someone. I could fall in love again.
The love of a good man is hard to find. A good man is hard to find.
Sometimes I put on the T.V. because no one is around at night in my bedroom. Is that sad?
Then I see Ted and Barney and I laugh at the absurdity of it all.
I know I'm not alone in being alone.
I know sometimes you get lonely too. Even if you are in a relationship. Doesn't matter.
But when the "How I Met your Mother" finale is the most romantic thing going on in your life, it makes you wonder.
It's funny, the joke to me is how my dad met my mother. It was arranged. It's a one episode story. But he saw like 25 women, and it was her he wanted. He chose her. She chose him.
They didn't know each other, but they fell in love.
Is it fate or like did they have to fall in love on their own because they had no choice? Who cares, they did. They still, forty some years later, love each other unconditionally. I don't want an arranged marriage but I want what they have.
Me and my friend have this joke, "Friends, countrymen, pimps and hoes, lend me your ears!" We think it is hilarious. Why? It's an inside joke.
I want that with a significant other.
I don't need actual fireworks, or diamonds.
I want that.
All I want is for us to laugh while no one else knows why we are laughing. I want us to love while no one else knows why we are loving.
I want someone to tell a story about how they met me.
nina
Aussi
Friday, April 4, 2014
Thursday, April 3, 2014
Let's Play Pretend
Do you remember being a kid? I used to play with this kid who lived in my backyard, he didn't actually live in my backyard, he lived in a home behind my home.
His mother, an extremely lovely motherly woman babysat me after school etc. I used to play with this boy who was two years younger than me, and we had a blast. We did boy things, and girl things, actually we mostly did boy things. I was at his house, it wasn't like a sexist thing. He didn't have any barbies.
We played a lot on his swing set. I mean I was an insecure like awkward little girl and I was never comfortable with myself. But I remember playing, I was good at it.
I could play like nobodies business. I could play the shit out of all of my friends. Make believe like role playing was my favorite stuff. I used to play with my girl cousin when we were kids and we would pretend we were young ladies in the city with boyfriends and jobs.
Me and my cousin would play endlessly. We grew up and got boyfriends and jobs and lost boyfriends and became unemployed and did it all over again. She got married and has kids, we played that game as well, but now she is a fabulous mother with amazing children and a rock star husband. She's a doctor for god's sake who claims she has imposter's syndrome and can't believe she actually is an adult.
The most fun I ever had in my life was when my two cousins lived with us for like sometime as a kid. It was brilliant. My cousins are brill, my male cousin would make up intricate booby traps, he is now a professor of philosophy and married with dogs. He was a mischievous kid, he once took all my mom's perfumes and mixed them together to create a potion. It was hysterical and smelly.
Then they moved away and I was devastated. They were the best playing team ever, we played until the sun came up, we played our hearts out. My sister too, the four of us. We were the dynamic foursome. When the four of us get together even today, we can't get enough of each other. It's a riot.
It was different when we were kids though, we all lived together, it was non-stop fun. The kid I used to play with behind my house played with us too. My friend who lived across the street who is now dead, she played with us too.
It was good times, even when a kid threw rocks at our window in 1984 because my uncle wore a turban. We were all together. We got through it, we played through it.
Then we got a little older and we still met up with my cousins, they moved two hours away. We all hit puberty together. That was a hot mess, as it always is. We pretended like it wasn't.
My best friend who lived across the street, her mother died of alcoholism. My friend has now passed as well, we lost touch so I don't know how she died, but I imagine.
That was right before I became a woman, and an adult, and things started getting real. I lived in an all white neighborhood until the age of twelve, I was the smartest kid in my class. Not so smart when I moved to an ethnically diverse and Asian filled school.
I went to high school and it was actually a bit of fun mixed with adolescent angst. I figured out that I was a writer, but thought I was gonna be a lawyer (i.e. get a real job). Hung out with the alternative/nerdy kids. Hung out with lots of Indian girls. Was always falling for white boys.
Applied to University of Michigan and barely got in by the skin of my ass, my essay was profound I think. That's my theory, my other numbers were very average. I'm intelligent in like a non-traditional kinda way. I know, it's shocking.
Had a blast in college, I mean seriously, had so much fun. I learned a thing or two. Oh my god was it fun. I just hung out all the time. Played.
Then I moved to D.C. and met a guy and then wanted to run away from him, moved back home. I wasn't ready for the real world. Too much boring work, not enough play.
Then I applied to grad school, and again, I bombed the GRE, but nobody cared, went to Columbia. Had some scary experiences with being diagnosed as Bipolar. The pretend and real was blurry for a while there. But after some time I had a blast at school, was writing a novel, doing readings.
And then I'm gonna stop here, the story does go on, I didn't realize I was writing my life story until I wrote half of it. But anyways, the past is the past, and it was good. I really can't complain. I was a relatively happy person for the most part.
Let's go back to playing, I like playing. Now as I get older the way I play with my friends is by talking, and laughing and food and drink is sometimes consumed. Sometimes Cards against Humanity are involved.
But you know I kind of think of writing as playing sometimes. It can be fun, like today I'm just having fun with it. I'm busting it out and feeling eloquent.
I just wanna play. Girls just wanna fun!
This is childhood. It doesn't have to end. We can still play pretend.
nina
His mother, an extremely lovely motherly woman babysat me after school etc. I used to play with this boy who was two years younger than me, and we had a blast. We did boy things, and girl things, actually we mostly did boy things. I was at his house, it wasn't like a sexist thing. He didn't have any barbies.
We played a lot on his swing set. I mean I was an insecure like awkward little girl and I was never comfortable with myself. But I remember playing, I was good at it.
I could play like nobodies business. I could play the shit out of all of my friends. Make believe like role playing was my favorite stuff. I used to play with my girl cousin when we were kids and we would pretend we were young ladies in the city with boyfriends and jobs.
Me and my cousin would play endlessly. We grew up and got boyfriends and jobs and lost boyfriends and became unemployed and did it all over again. She got married and has kids, we played that game as well, but now she is a fabulous mother with amazing children and a rock star husband. She's a doctor for god's sake who claims she has imposter's syndrome and can't believe she actually is an adult.
The most fun I ever had in my life was when my two cousins lived with us for like sometime as a kid. It was brilliant. My cousins are brill, my male cousin would make up intricate booby traps, he is now a professor of philosophy and married with dogs. He was a mischievous kid, he once took all my mom's perfumes and mixed them together to create a potion. It was hysterical and smelly.
Then they moved away and I was devastated. They were the best playing team ever, we played until the sun came up, we played our hearts out. My sister too, the four of us. We were the dynamic foursome. When the four of us get together even today, we can't get enough of each other. It's a riot.
It was different when we were kids though, we all lived together, it was non-stop fun. The kid I used to play with behind my house played with us too. My friend who lived across the street who is now dead, she played with us too.
It was good times, even when a kid threw rocks at our window in 1984 because my uncle wore a turban. We were all together. We got through it, we played through it.
Then we got a little older and we still met up with my cousins, they moved two hours away. We all hit puberty together. That was a hot mess, as it always is. We pretended like it wasn't.
My best friend who lived across the street, her mother died of alcoholism. My friend has now passed as well, we lost touch so I don't know how she died, but I imagine.
That was right before I became a woman, and an adult, and things started getting real. I lived in an all white neighborhood until the age of twelve, I was the smartest kid in my class. Not so smart when I moved to an ethnically diverse and Asian filled school.
I went to high school and it was actually a bit of fun mixed with adolescent angst. I figured out that I was a writer, but thought I was gonna be a lawyer (i.e. get a real job). Hung out with the alternative/nerdy kids. Hung out with lots of Indian girls. Was always falling for white boys.
Applied to University of Michigan and barely got in by the skin of my ass, my essay was profound I think. That's my theory, my other numbers were very average. I'm intelligent in like a non-traditional kinda way. I know, it's shocking.
Had a blast in college, I mean seriously, had so much fun. I learned a thing or two. Oh my god was it fun. I just hung out all the time. Played.
Then I moved to D.C. and met a guy and then wanted to run away from him, moved back home. I wasn't ready for the real world. Too much boring work, not enough play.
Then I applied to grad school, and again, I bombed the GRE, but nobody cared, went to Columbia. Had some scary experiences with being diagnosed as Bipolar. The pretend and real was blurry for a while there. But after some time I had a blast at school, was writing a novel, doing readings.
And then I'm gonna stop here, the story does go on, I didn't realize I was writing my life story until I wrote half of it. But anyways, the past is the past, and it was good. I really can't complain. I was a relatively happy person for the most part.
Let's go back to playing, I like playing. Now as I get older the way I play with my friends is by talking, and laughing and food and drink is sometimes consumed. Sometimes Cards against Humanity are involved.
But you know I kind of think of writing as playing sometimes. It can be fun, like today I'm just having fun with it. I'm busting it out and feeling eloquent.
I just wanna play. Girls just wanna fun!
This is childhood. It doesn't have to end. We can still play pretend.
nina
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
April Fools make May Tools!
Today I look on the calendar as I write this, and it's April Fool's Day and I want to play a practical joke on someone but I don't know how creative and adventurous I want to get. I mean not to get too philosophical on your ass, but the real practical joke is the one we are playing on ourselves.
Let me not fool myself, expecting to write a column every day is asking a lot of myself. Expecting you to read one every day is also asking a lot. Like I mean, seriously, I have put undue pressure and stress on myself.
The joke that I need to be crazily working all the time is on me. I'm looking for jobs people, I'm trying to get a book published. I got shit to do. This writing of a blog is recreational sometimes I think, although it's not, it's important for my profession. I want to write for publications that actually have a huge audience.
I'm sort of preparing this portfolio for the publishing community to look at. But it's OK if I can't get one out every day, it's hard to spill your heart out every goddamn day. And on top of it, I've got to think of something to say. I'm deathly afraid I will run out of ideas.
I need to not fear it. It will be OK.
The reason I love April fool's day is because I had this bus driver who was a riot in high school. And she said that she called her friend once and told her she was in jail, and the friend went to fucking jail, and she was standing there laughing her ass off, "April fool's day!" I kid you not she actually did this to her friend.
I respect humor, like practical jokes, I've never done any really but think it is funny. I hear like George Clooney is really into them. They make you laugh for a while, unlike a regular joke. Clooney and Brad Pitt, hotties are into practical jokes.
They can go too far, I heard a story about someone once sending someone a pile of shit in a candy box. That was the end of that friendship. I don't know I'm nervous, I tell people's stories online and one day somebody is gonna slap me.
A guy once asked me if I was gonna write about him in my blog. Well I am now. Don't be afraid to know me or tell me shit about your life, I'm trying not to exploit people, I really am. I'm trying not to exploit myself. It's hard.
I'm annoyed that privacy issues are part of my job description. I'm annoyed that I could hurt someone, especially myself. I'm annoyed that there are exploiters out there.
I'm annoyed everyone is not sitting at the edge of their seats waiting for a new blog entry from me. As I'm sitting at the edge of my seat waiting for inspiration. I have to write books too.
Every profession is hard work. Work is worship in many ways. Work is kind of a bitch in many ways. It's complicated.
Why is the writing thing a one way street, I tell all and you sit there and take it in and give me nothing of yourself? It's a lie I'm fooling myself, the process of reading itself is so giving. Thank you for giving me your time.
Sometimes it annoys me how straight forward I can be. I just told someone I don't know very well that I think he's hot, he's probably too young for me. Then I told him April fools! I'm embarrassed. I'm a fool.
April fools.
This married man is also after me and I told me we need to just be friends and I'm flattered because I'm actually very attracted to him. But I'm annoyed that I have morals. Am I fool to try to be good?
I don't have anyone in my life, but I'm sure of certain things in my life, I'm sure about what is right. About what is right for me.
I would be a fool if I got involved with a married man, even just for fun. I fool like me would fall in love. Maybe it's not just my moral stance on adultery its my common sense about adultery. Somebody gonna get hurt.
You watch Russell Peters ever?
I'm sure he would come up with some good pranks.
Fools are funny people, fools are funny. Maybe be you have to be a fool to be funny.
I'm too serious sometimes. Sometimes you got to just be foolish.
What am I talking about, I'm foolish all the time. Only fools fall in love people, listen to me.
Foolish heart...
nina
Let me not fool myself, expecting to write a column every day is asking a lot of myself. Expecting you to read one every day is also asking a lot. Like I mean, seriously, I have put undue pressure and stress on myself.
The joke that I need to be crazily working all the time is on me. I'm looking for jobs people, I'm trying to get a book published. I got shit to do. This writing of a blog is recreational sometimes I think, although it's not, it's important for my profession. I want to write for publications that actually have a huge audience.
I'm sort of preparing this portfolio for the publishing community to look at. But it's OK if I can't get one out every day, it's hard to spill your heart out every goddamn day. And on top of it, I've got to think of something to say. I'm deathly afraid I will run out of ideas.
I need to not fear it. It will be OK.
The reason I love April fool's day is because I had this bus driver who was a riot in high school. And she said that she called her friend once and told her she was in jail, and the friend went to fucking jail, and she was standing there laughing her ass off, "April fool's day!" I kid you not she actually did this to her friend.
I respect humor, like practical jokes, I've never done any really but think it is funny. I hear like George Clooney is really into them. They make you laugh for a while, unlike a regular joke. Clooney and Brad Pitt, hotties are into practical jokes.
They can go too far, I heard a story about someone once sending someone a pile of shit in a candy box. That was the end of that friendship. I don't know I'm nervous, I tell people's stories online and one day somebody is gonna slap me.
A guy once asked me if I was gonna write about him in my blog. Well I am now. Don't be afraid to know me or tell me shit about your life, I'm trying not to exploit people, I really am. I'm trying not to exploit myself. It's hard.
I'm annoyed that privacy issues are part of my job description. I'm annoyed that I could hurt someone, especially myself. I'm annoyed that there are exploiters out there.
I'm annoyed everyone is not sitting at the edge of their seats waiting for a new blog entry from me. As I'm sitting at the edge of my seat waiting for inspiration. I have to write books too.
Every profession is hard work. Work is worship in many ways. Work is kind of a bitch in many ways. It's complicated.
Why is the writing thing a one way street, I tell all and you sit there and take it in and give me nothing of yourself? It's a lie I'm fooling myself, the process of reading itself is so giving. Thank you for giving me your time.
Sometimes it annoys me how straight forward I can be. I just told someone I don't know very well that I think he's hot, he's probably too young for me. Then I told him April fools! I'm embarrassed. I'm a fool.
April fools.
This married man is also after me and I told me we need to just be friends and I'm flattered because I'm actually very attracted to him. But I'm annoyed that I have morals. Am I fool to try to be good?
I don't have anyone in my life, but I'm sure of certain things in my life, I'm sure about what is right. About what is right for me.
I would be a fool if I got involved with a married man, even just for fun. I fool like me would fall in love. Maybe it's not just my moral stance on adultery its my common sense about adultery. Somebody gonna get hurt.
You watch Russell Peters ever?
I'm sure he would come up with some good pranks.
Fools are funny people, fools are funny. Maybe be you have to be a fool to be funny.
I'm too serious sometimes. Sometimes you got to just be foolish.
What am I talking about, I'm foolish all the time. Only fools fall in love people, listen to me.
Foolish heart...
nina
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Is Facebook Killing you Softly?
Let's talk about Facebook for a second here, it's sometimes the first thing I look at in the morning. I have a blog and I like to see who has seen it and commented on it, etc. But let's be real who is looking at my blog in the middle of the night, although I do have an international audience, there are a couple people in the Ukraine who are reading this shit. Go figure. But, do I secretly need validation from the world on social media. I'm not gonna lie, I like to be liked.
Push that like button baby, push it.
Do I feel jealous when I see some of my friends go on their umpteenth vacation? I don't know. I've heard Facebook can cause social envy. You are looking at only the good parts of people's lives and your life looks like shit in comparison.
I don't know if I really have that problem because I generally don't feel shitty about my existence. I'm thinking about when I was depressed, Facebook did not even depress me then, it sort of made me feel connected to the world when I wasn't connected in other ways.
I look at the screen too much, I know that. I check my blog statistics too much to see how many hits I've gotten, I know that. I think it's fascinating that anyone would be interested in what I'm doing on the toilet.
I have hundreds of "friends" of Facebook, but who can I really call when I run out of gas? I can count those people on one hand. It's all fun and games until you run out of gas with a cat shitting in your car (refer to The Cat in the Shat). But it's funny and a good story.
These are the days of our lives, or the posts of our lives. What we post on Facebook is our scrapbook. I was recently thinking about getting into photography and I thought, wow I have an instant audience for my work if I do that, Facebook. I'm not into taking social pictures or pictures of myself as you may have noticed. I'm into random pictures of like fruit and the sky.
Am I overusing Facebook? Probably. But some of my best friendships have now begun by an encounter on Facebook. So how can I complain? I'm also using it to promote my writing and it's working.
I mean I think it's better to talk to people face to face than post shit about them on the Internet, but I don't think we are neccesarily headed towards hell because of social media.
There are bigger fish to fry I feel. Like I'm against the propagation of violence through video games. People will rail against Facebook but hard core pornography is still alive and well on the Internet.
My mom is against Facebook, she doesn't read my blog and doesn't know that I reveal far too much for her taste on it. She would be appalled. If you know her, please help me keep my secret for as long as humanly possible.
I hate pictures of myself, not just because I think I look fat, but because the camera does something funky to my face when it flips it backwards, it's horrible. I look like an alien. So I don't let pictures of me out there. It's not cause I hate my looks, it's because I hate my pictures.
However I like photography. So it's all a conundrum.
Sometimes I go as far as getting my news on Facebook, which is pathetic, I mean I should find other sources, but sometimes a hot news story that everyone is talking about is revealed to me. I get my news on the Daily Show with Jon Stewart as well, I'm not exactly fond of hard news.
I'm fond of my friend's news though. I like the idea of having a place to congregate online. I like having a place to brag and bitch. I don't know there might be some judgey people on Facebook and I have been warned that I might regret revealing so much of myself on there.
What about privacy? I feel like I'm on a reality show sometimes because I'm relaying embarrassing things that happen in my everyday life. I mean if Kim Kardashian can showcase how boring and irrelevant she is, than I can talk about my insecurities. Please tell me I'm more charming than Kimmie.
I want my blog to go viral one day, like that and winning the Nobel Prize in literature are my too professional dreams. Learning the difference between "too" and "two" is my second professional dream.
Speaking of reality shows, why is it they only show the reality of the rich and famous and beautiful? Why not show reality? I mean I get it but then what's the difference between reality and fantasy then. Hoarders is a real show, and it scares the shit out of me.
It's the same with Facebook, you don't often see people airing out their dirty laundry. It's a showcase for the pretty parts of ourselves. And that's OK, who wants to see the dirt anyways. I mean we dig dirt on each other in other ways as it is.
I was gonna write something about something on my blog, and a friend cautioned me that I might regret it because my blog is posted to Facebook and people in my community, in all communities can be judgy. Well I took her advice and didn't write about it and feel like she is right, I need to set boundaries while still being open and intimate and honest with my readers.
Honestly, I'm not going to be completely honest with you. I'm gonna dress up this dialogue with charm and hopefully some wit. I want to look pretty too. Just because I don't usually put pictures up doesn't mean I'm not vain.
Do I secretly want you to envy me? No. I want you to be moved by me and I want to make you think and sometimes make you laugh. I don't want to make your life hell. I want you to know me better and know yourself better.
I always wanted to be popular in high school and I have a friend who once told me the scar of not being popular in high school stays with you. Do I want fame so I can be popular? I want fame so I can be rich.
I will tell you honestly I saw pictures of a party I wasn't invited to on Facebook a little while ago and was a little hurt. Envy. I said I didn't have any. I didn't lie, I just didn't realize.
Being social and being on Facebook is part of this new electronic existence of ours. I like to be social, but I'm a little bit of an outcast in some ways, I'm not like other people in many ways.
I was always on this dead end search for people like me, a community of Ninas I could take to Ninaland with me. I think I'm begining to realize that one Nina is enough and I have made a really good community of like minded people and I am always on the look out for brilliant people, but more for the brilliance in people I already know.
So if I hang out with you, even if it's just online, remember you are special. Special to me.
nina
Push that like button baby, push it.
Do I feel jealous when I see some of my friends go on their umpteenth vacation? I don't know. I've heard Facebook can cause social envy. You are looking at only the good parts of people's lives and your life looks like shit in comparison.
I don't know if I really have that problem because I generally don't feel shitty about my existence. I'm thinking about when I was depressed, Facebook did not even depress me then, it sort of made me feel connected to the world when I wasn't connected in other ways.
I look at the screen too much, I know that. I check my blog statistics too much to see how many hits I've gotten, I know that. I think it's fascinating that anyone would be interested in what I'm doing on the toilet.
I have hundreds of "friends" of Facebook, but who can I really call when I run out of gas? I can count those people on one hand. It's all fun and games until you run out of gas with a cat shitting in your car (refer to The Cat in the Shat). But it's funny and a good story.
These are the days of our lives, or the posts of our lives. What we post on Facebook is our scrapbook. I was recently thinking about getting into photography and I thought, wow I have an instant audience for my work if I do that, Facebook. I'm not into taking social pictures or pictures of myself as you may have noticed. I'm into random pictures of like fruit and the sky.
Am I overusing Facebook? Probably. But some of my best friendships have now begun by an encounter on Facebook. So how can I complain? I'm also using it to promote my writing and it's working.
I mean I think it's better to talk to people face to face than post shit about them on the Internet, but I don't think we are neccesarily headed towards hell because of social media.
There are bigger fish to fry I feel. Like I'm against the propagation of violence through video games. People will rail against Facebook but hard core pornography is still alive and well on the Internet.
My mom is against Facebook, she doesn't read my blog and doesn't know that I reveal far too much for her taste on it. She would be appalled. If you know her, please help me keep my secret for as long as humanly possible.
I hate pictures of myself, not just because I think I look fat, but because the camera does something funky to my face when it flips it backwards, it's horrible. I look like an alien. So I don't let pictures of me out there. It's not cause I hate my looks, it's because I hate my pictures.
However I like photography. So it's all a conundrum.
Sometimes I go as far as getting my news on Facebook, which is pathetic, I mean I should find other sources, but sometimes a hot news story that everyone is talking about is revealed to me. I get my news on the Daily Show with Jon Stewart as well, I'm not exactly fond of hard news.
I'm fond of my friend's news though. I like the idea of having a place to congregate online. I like having a place to brag and bitch. I don't know there might be some judgey people on Facebook and I have been warned that I might regret revealing so much of myself on there.
What about privacy? I feel like I'm on a reality show sometimes because I'm relaying embarrassing things that happen in my everyday life. I mean if Kim Kardashian can showcase how boring and irrelevant she is, than I can talk about my insecurities. Please tell me I'm more charming than Kimmie.
I want my blog to go viral one day, like that and winning the Nobel Prize in literature are my too professional dreams. Learning the difference between "too" and "two" is my second professional dream.
Speaking of reality shows, why is it they only show the reality of the rich and famous and beautiful? Why not show reality? I mean I get it but then what's the difference between reality and fantasy then. Hoarders is a real show, and it scares the shit out of me.
It's the same with Facebook, you don't often see people airing out their dirty laundry. It's a showcase for the pretty parts of ourselves. And that's OK, who wants to see the dirt anyways. I mean we dig dirt on each other in other ways as it is.
I was gonna write something about something on my blog, and a friend cautioned me that I might regret it because my blog is posted to Facebook and people in my community, in all communities can be judgy. Well I took her advice and didn't write about it and feel like she is right, I need to set boundaries while still being open and intimate and honest with my readers.
Honestly, I'm not going to be completely honest with you. I'm gonna dress up this dialogue with charm and hopefully some wit. I want to look pretty too. Just because I don't usually put pictures up doesn't mean I'm not vain.
Do I secretly want you to envy me? No. I want you to be moved by me and I want to make you think and sometimes make you laugh. I don't want to make your life hell. I want you to know me better and know yourself better.
I always wanted to be popular in high school and I have a friend who once told me the scar of not being popular in high school stays with you. Do I want fame so I can be popular? I want fame so I can be rich.
I will tell you honestly I saw pictures of a party I wasn't invited to on Facebook a little while ago and was a little hurt. Envy. I said I didn't have any. I didn't lie, I just didn't realize.
Being social and being on Facebook is part of this new electronic existence of ours. I like to be social, but I'm a little bit of an outcast in some ways, I'm not like other people in many ways.
I was always on this dead end search for people like me, a community of Ninas I could take to Ninaland with me. I think I'm begining to realize that one Nina is enough and I have made a really good community of like minded people and I am always on the look out for brilliant people, but more for the brilliance in people I already know.
So if I hang out with you, even if it's just online, remember you are special. Special to me.
nina
Monday, March 31, 2014
I Wish I was Like You, Easily Amused...
I'm listening to Country music right now, and I'm not sure of myself. Like why do I kinda like it? Let's be real, I used to make fun of one of my friend's endlessly for listening to this crap. Why is it not that crappy, it's definitely sappy.
Whatever, I need to get a life before I have to put in my Match.com profile that I listen to country. It's embarrassing. I mean I need all the social status I can get considering that I listen to light FM while I'm working out.
I'm not a fast moving person, consequently I don't like really fast music. So sue me. I know, it's not cool to be slow.
You ever wonder if you are "cool" or not?
I don't know if I fall into the "cool" category or if I ever did. I think somewhere in my twenties I did, I had some kind of attitude about it. But I shed that shit. I mean where is the cool thermometer, how do you know if you are cool or not?
I live to do this, by the way, contemplate complete bullshit. Seinfeld was a show about nothing, my dream is to blog about nothing until it bothers me. I want to die trying, although I always come up with a point or two.
There is a fine line between meaning and meaninglessness. I like walking that line, it makes me feel close to infinity. What does that mean even. HA, or what doesn't it mean?
I don't know dude.
I know as little as you do about infinity and such things.
You know the other day I told an Indian guy who lives in India that he was cracking me up and he didn't understand what the phrase meant. That was interesting to me and I'm thinking of this now because it's a Saturday night and I'm watching an Indian movie with my parents. So not cool. I'm doing essentially nothing on a Saturday night.
It's an older movie and the man and woman are running in the forest, they are lovers. A beautiful song is playing. I only understand like half the words.
All of a sudden, for no particular reason, it occurs to me that everything is going to be OK. I didn't know that before this very second. I'm not even sure I know it after that second.
Indian movies are like fairytales, there is always love. I'm not cool enough to think this is dumb. I kinda think it's cute. I'm a romantic like that. Sometimes I think life is kinda like a fairytale.
I mean don't get me wrong there are some really bad Bollywood movies out there, but there are worse Hollywood movies. Just like there are good people and bad people.
My friend was telling me the other day that I'm not having success Internet dating because the majority of people are "Douches" as she put it so eloquently. (Is that how you spell that?) I don't know if I'm that jaded yet, the human race has not lost it's splendor for me still.
But I get it, what she's saying.
This is not a blog about nothing, is it?
I'm not successfully meaningless. C'mon, I'm not really trying.
I'm just being random at this point.
Are you easily amused? I think I might be, but I like to think I have a discerning sense of humor.
On a totally unrelated note, I'm having an epiphany and thinking of actually doing something serious about my weight.
Let's be honest, I'm a bit of a lazy ass when it comes to the gym. Can I change that? I mean I don't know, I'm gonna have to if I want my dreams of weight loss to come true. I can I just don't. I will.
I mean going to the gym and dieting is not my idea of a party, but I want to be the life of the party again. I mean, yes it's vanity, and health mind you. I have some health problems because of my weight already and they are a real bitch and I'm not even forty.
I want to feel good about myself, I want to be normal and feel normal and get laid. Let's be real.
Maybe I want to feel cool again.
I don't want to be the fat girl. I just don't. I don't know, am I crazy?
It's hard living in a world that values thinness so much. A world that is in fact so obese.
This is not because I don't love myself, I do. In some ways more than when I was much thinner.
I mean there is this whole element of wanting to feel sexy, to look sexy. Not that overweight people cannot be sexy. It's not exactly my style.
My look is not my style. I've never been rail thin, but I was always a little curvy, but it went out of control.
I know it's who I am that really matters, that jovial woman who is smart and nice. I know I'm beautiful now and always will be. So it doesn't really matter if I do this or not. But I'm gonna do it anyways.
I'm cool cause I say I'm cool. That's the law in Ninaland. I wanted this blog to be light and fluffy after such an emotional post but it turns out I'm very serious these days.
But you and I will always laugh together I hope, at these small moments of epiphany and cry together. Try being easily amused, it's a good trait.
Whatever, I need to get a life before I have to put in my Match.com profile that I listen to country. It's embarrassing. I mean I need all the social status I can get considering that I listen to light FM while I'm working out.
I'm not a fast moving person, consequently I don't like really fast music. So sue me. I know, it's not cool to be slow.
You ever wonder if you are "cool" or not?
I don't know if I fall into the "cool" category or if I ever did. I think somewhere in my twenties I did, I had some kind of attitude about it. But I shed that shit. I mean where is the cool thermometer, how do you know if you are cool or not?
I live to do this, by the way, contemplate complete bullshit. Seinfeld was a show about nothing, my dream is to blog about nothing until it bothers me. I want to die trying, although I always come up with a point or two.
There is a fine line between meaning and meaninglessness. I like walking that line, it makes me feel close to infinity. What does that mean even. HA, or what doesn't it mean?
I don't know dude.
I know as little as you do about infinity and such things.
You know the other day I told an Indian guy who lives in India that he was cracking me up and he didn't understand what the phrase meant. That was interesting to me and I'm thinking of this now because it's a Saturday night and I'm watching an Indian movie with my parents. So not cool. I'm doing essentially nothing on a Saturday night.
It's an older movie and the man and woman are running in the forest, they are lovers. A beautiful song is playing. I only understand like half the words.
All of a sudden, for no particular reason, it occurs to me that everything is going to be OK. I didn't know that before this very second. I'm not even sure I know it after that second.
Indian movies are like fairytales, there is always love. I'm not cool enough to think this is dumb. I kinda think it's cute. I'm a romantic like that. Sometimes I think life is kinda like a fairytale.
I mean don't get me wrong there are some really bad Bollywood movies out there, but there are worse Hollywood movies. Just like there are good people and bad people.
My friend was telling me the other day that I'm not having success Internet dating because the majority of people are "Douches" as she put it so eloquently. (Is that how you spell that?) I don't know if I'm that jaded yet, the human race has not lost it's splendor for me still.
But I get it, what she's saying.
This is not a blog about nothing, is it?
I'm not successfully meaningless. C'mon, I'm not really trying.
I'm just being random at this point.
Are you easily amused? I think I might be, but I like to think I have a discerning sense of humor.
On a totally unrelated note, I'm having an epiphany and thinking of actually doing something serious about my weight.
Let's be honest, I'm a bit of a lazy ass when it comes to the gym. Can I change that? I mean I don't know, I'm gonna have to if I want my dreams of weight loss to come true. I can I just don't. I will.
I mean going to the gym and dieting is not my idea of a party, but I want to be the life of the party again. I mean, yes it's vanity, and health mind you. I have some health problems because of my weight already and they are a real bitch and I'm not even forty.
I want to feel good about myself, I want to be normal and feel normal and get laid. Let's be real.
Maybe I want to feel cool again.
I don't want to be the fat girl. I just don't. I don't know, am I crazy?
It's hard living in a world that values thinness so much. A world that is in fact so obese.
This is not because I don't love myself, I do. In some ways more than when I was much thinner.
I mean there is this whole element of wanting to feel sexy, to look sexy. Not that overweight people cannot be sexy. It's not exactly my style.
My look is not my style. I've never been rail thin, but I was always a little curvy, but it went out of control.
I know it's who I am that really matters, that jovial woman who is smart and nice. I know I'm beautiful now and always will be. So it doesn't really matter if I do this or not. But I'm gonna do it anyways.
I'm cool cause I say I'm cool. That's the law in Ninaland. I wanted this blog to be light and fluffy after such an emotional post but it turns out I'm very serious these days.
But you and I will always laugh together I hope, at these small moments of epiphany and cry together. Try being easily amused, it's a good trait.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
What Else Can I Say?
Sometimes I feel like it's odd that I bare my soul for the public to see. Am I not even a little ashamed of my soul? I mean we all wear protective gear, where is mine? I mean I still believe it or not, don't tell my readers everything. There are things that are sacred, even for me.
My family is sacred. They may have a flaw or two and I know those flaws like the back of my hand, but I will never tell. I will tell you though that they are rock stars. Seriously, they took care of me, they take care of me, and I'm not like easy to take care of.
I don't know if you know anything about Manic Depression but it is very difficult to watch someone go through it. (Let me make one thing clear though, it was only when I was not taking medication that I was ill, there is a cure to my disease, the pills. I now take them everyday).
When I didn't take my medication, I was mean. There were times I was a straight up bitch.
My family loved me through it.
I wanted so badly to hate them, but they made it impossible with unconditional love. I'm not just saying that because I'm related to them. I mean my parents are Indian for god sakes, they wanted a normal daughter who would get married and be a doctor.
I'm none of those things, mainly I'm not normal. They I'm sure did not expect to love someone like me, but that is their way. They love their children, whatever way they turn out.
Not to say I turned out bad. I think in some kinda way I'm a rock star as well. I mean I'm beating a disease and I'm trying to live out my dreams and I'm kind. I'm not a hard person to love in general, but when I became crazy I was. And it was a disease and it was chemical and biological.
But it got personal.
My sister has never for one second held a single thing I said or did to her during that time against me. My sister is a truly beautiful person. Everyone loves the shit out of her.
Oh she has her share of spunk and she'll tell you what's on her mind, but she is all good inside. We are not friends, we are not enemies, we are not twins or anything.
We are the true definition of sisters. She could not be more different than me, but we share a sacred bond. She cares for me. She is a nurse practitioner now and helps me with medical issues as well.
I love her.
Look I got lucky. I live in the lap of luxury in Troy, Michigan with want for nothing. Yes, I'm thirty eight and live with my parents. I need a little assistance and when I'm ready, I will move out.
Sometimes I'm ashamed of this fact that I am allowing my family to take care of me. Then I think, Oh my God, thank you, I have a family that can take care of me.
Every time I have a conversation with my sister, she offers me money, and not in a derogatory fashion, but in a loving and decent way. I told her to wait, because there may be some time when I actually need money from her, and I know that I won't even have to ask.
My father put me through college as he went blind and still worked, my mother worked so hard all her life as a doctor to keep us in designer clothes.
So why am I ranting all the time about this difficult life that I have? You know human nature and all that crap. Fuck that.
I need to be grateful that I'm not living on the streets, where a majority of mentally ill people live. I broke bread with homeless people in psychiatric wards. I may have an Ivy League education, but the only thing that separates me from those that have to sell their body or drugs, is my family.
Straight up, they are the reason I'm still alive.
I ran away to New York when I was sick. I could have died out there, but I didn't because they came.
I told them not to come. I told them I hated them.
They came anyways. They came to Harlem, my dad with a blind man's cane, and my mother with a bad back, neck and shoulders.
I told them not to love me.
They say love is blind, I disagree because my father is blind but he can see me, he can see what I really am and he loves me still. Love is not blind, it can see, it is actually kind of stupid really. Love is rather misguided.
But my family is not stupid. And I'm not stupid. We are smart, and we still love each other even when it makes no sense.
Perhaps it is stupid for them to love me, but thank god for irrational, unconditional love.
Some people say there is no god, but I don't know who else could have made these people I proudly call my family.
My family is sacred. They may have a flaw or two and I know those flaws like the back of my hand, but I will never tell. I will tell you though that they are rock stars. Seriously, they took care of me, they take care of me, and I'm not like easy to take care of.
I don't know if you know anything about Manic Depression but it is very difficult to watch someone go through it. (Let me make one thing clear though, it was only when I was not taking medication that I was ill, there is a cure to my disease, the pills. I now take them everyday).
When I didn't take my medication, I was mean. There were times I was a straight up bitch.
My family loved me through it.
I wanted so badly to hate them, but they made it impossible with unconditional love. I'm not just saying that because I'm related to them. I mean my parents are Indian for god sakes, they wanted a normal daughter who would get married and be a doctor.
I'm none of those things, mainly I'm not normal. They I'm sure did not expect to love someone like me, but that is their way. They love their children, whatever way they turn out.
Not to say I turned out bad. I think in some kinda way I'm a rock star as well. I mean I'm beating a disease and I'm trying to live out my dreams and I'm kind. I'm not a hard person to love in general, but when I became crazy I was. And it was a disease and it was chemical and biological.
But it got personal.
My sister has never for one second held a single thing I said or did to her during that time against me. My sister is a truly beautiful person. Everyone loves the shit out of her.
Oh she has her share of spunk and she'll tell you what's on her mind, but she is all good inside. We are not friends, we are not enemies, we are not twins or anything.
We are the true definition of sisters. She could not be more different than me, but we share a sacred bond. She cares for me. She is a nurse practitioner now and helps me with medical issues as well.
I love her.
Look I got lucky. I live in the lap of luxury in Troy, Michigan with want for nothing. Yes, I'm thirty eight and live with my parents. I need a little assistance and when I'm ready, I will move out.
Sometimes I'm ashamed of this fact that I am allowing my family to take care of me. Then I think, Oh my God, thank you, I have a family that can take care of me.
Every time I have a conversation with my sister, she offers me money, and not in a derogatory fashion, but in a loving and decent way. I told her to wait, because there may be some time when I actually need money from her, and I know that I won't even have to ask.
My father put me through college as he went blind and still worked, my mother worked so hard all her life as a doctor to keep us in designer clothes.
So why am I ranting all the time about this difficult life that I have? You know human nature and all that crap. Fuck that.
I need to be grateful that I'm not living on the streets, where a majority of mentally ill people live. I broke bread with homeless people in psychiatric wards. I may have an Ivy League education, but the only thing that separates me from those that have to sell their body or drugs, is my family.
Straight up, they are the reason I'm still alive.
I ran away to New York when I was sick. I could have died out there, but I didn't because they came.
I told them not to come. I told them I hated them.
They came anyways. They came to Harlem, my dad with a blind man's cane, and my mother with a bad back, neck and shoulders.
I told them not to love me.
They say love is blind, I disagree because my father is blind but he can see me, he can see what I really am and he loves me still. Love is not blind, it can see, it is actually kind of stupid really. Love is rather misguided.
But my family is not stupid. And I'm not stupid. We are smart, and we still love each other even when it makes no sense.
Perhaps it is stupid for them to love me, but thank god for irrational, unconditional love.
Some people say there is no god, but I don't know who else could have made these people I proudly call my family.
Saturday, March 29, 2014
Thank You for Being a Friend...
So picture this: Oprah and Gail mixed in with Jimmy Fallon and Justin Timberlake. What do you get? You get me and my BFF's sitting around philosophizing in hilarious but useful ways that could solve the world's problems with a spiritual twist.
I mean me and my friends think we need to be the new writers for Saturday Night Live and that we need our own radio show that could rival Oprah. Of course I say radio because I've always had a face for radio.
The three things that me and my buddies love to do are:
A) Psycho-analyze the living shit out of each other
B) Solve the world's problems
C) Allow hilarity and wit to ensue
Let me tackle A first, we like to sit around being each other's therapists, talking about our fears and emotions and relationships until we are blue in the face. I'm speaking of me and my women friends of course, this is what girls like to do best and we are proud of our psycho-anlalytical abilities. Dr. Phil could take advice from a group of serious women breakin' it down.
B, we sit around and find simple ways that world peace could actually occur...this one's a little more difficult to explain but all I can say we are all one and love is all you need. We are hippies at heart and want peace on earth. You may say we are dreamers, but we are not the only ones.
C, now this is where it gets fun. Hilarity can ensue during A or B or both, and hilarity can just ensue on it's own. I have laughed so hard with my besties that I have literally stopped breathing and thought I was having a heart attack. I mean this shit is for real. It is off the hook...I think I'm funny I think my friends are funnier.
Let's face it the all of the above mentioned is what friends are for.
Some of the most important relationships in my life have been my friendships. Very recently, a couple of my closest friends had an intervention with me. They sat me down, looked me in the face and told me what was up. They were straight with me, they love me, they told me to get it together. I was kinda losing my shit so to speak and sinking into a depression.
They were not nice and they were not mean, they were real.
One of my friends was a friend of mine from a hundred years ago and another is a friend I recently reconnected with a year ago. The friend from a hundred years ago knows all my parts, my insecurities and my failings. She also knows my strengths and qualities as well. Surprisingly my new friend knows different aspects of all those things.
Surprisingly as well the true love of friends can transform you, as these two did, in one sitting. They scared the shit out of me, they hugged me while I cried.
See friends are just like family, just as important as significant others. And your real friends will tell it to you like it is.
A true friend does not worry about you liking them, they know you love them, but they know you need to hear the truth.
They told me the truth: That I'm worth their love. That I'm worth my own love. That I am loved.
See I got sick some years ago and lost some friends because I lost my sense of reality, I had a manic episode and hurt some people very badly. When you lose a good friend, you understand more how important friendship really is.
I still feel guilty to this day that I lost my mind and a friend, both at the same time. But I truly believe certain people come into our lives for a certain amount of time so we can experience something with them and then sometimes you have to go your separate ways. But it's hard.
But I still got my girls...
I mean picture it: 2044---I'm sitting on the dock of the bay, by the fire, with my third cat and three best buddies. There are three friends of mine that I went to high school with that I always picture I will become the Golden Girls with one day. I imagine we will live in the same house and drive each other nuts. Hilarity will ensue. And the theme song from Golden Girls will instantaneously play in the background whenever we start laughing so hard our guts hurts.
The song goes something like this: "Thank you for being a friend."
I mean me and my friends think we need to be the new writers for Saturday Night Live and that we need our own radio show that could rival Oprah. Of course I say radio because I've always had a face for radio.
The three things that me and my buddies love to do are:
A) Psycho-analyze the living shit out of each other
B) Solve the world's problems
C) Allow hilarity and wit to ensue
Let me tackle A first, we like to sit around being each other's therapists, talking about our fears and emotions and relationships until we are blue in the face. I'm speaking of me and my women friends of course, this is what girls like to do best and we are proud of our psycho-anlalytical abilities. Dr. Phil could take advice from a group of serious women breakin' it down.
B, we sit around and find simple ways that world peace could actually occur...this one's a little more difficult to explain but all I can say we are all one and love is all you need. We are hippies at heart and want peace on earth. You may say we are dreamers, but we are not the only ones.
C, now this is where it gets fun. Hilarity can ensue during A or B or both, and hilarity can just ensue on it's own. I have laughed so hard with my besties that I have literally stopped breathing and thought I was having a heart attack. I mean this shit is for real. It is off the hook...I think I'm funny I think my friends are funnier.
Let's face it the all of the above mentioned is what friends are for.
Some of the most important relationships in my life have been my friendships. Very recently, a couple of my closest friends had an intervention with me. They sat me down, looked me in the face and told me what was up. They were straight with me, they love me, they told me to get it together. I was kinda losing my shit so to speak and sinking into a depression.
They were not nice and they were not mean, they were real.
One of my friends was a friend of mine from a hundred years ago and another is a friend I recently reconnected with a year ago. The friend from a hundred years ago knows all my parts, my insecurities and my failings. She also knows my strengths and qualities as well. Surprisingly my new friend knows different aspects of all those things.
Surprisingly as well the true love of friends can transform you, as these two did, in one sitting. They scared the shit out of me, they hugged me while I cried.
See friends are just like family, just as important as significant others. And your real friends will tell it to you like it is.
A true friend does not worry about you liking them, they know you love them, but they know you need to hear the truth.
They told me the truth: That I'm worth their love. That I'm worth my own love. That I am loved.
See I got sick some years ago and lost some friends because I lost my sense of reality, I had a manic episode and hurt some people very badly. When you lose a good friend, you understand more how important friendship really is.
I still feel guilty to this day that I lost my mind and a friend, both at the same time. But I truly believe certain people come into our lives for a certain amount of time so we can experience something with them and then sometimes you have to go your separate ways. But it's hard.
But I still got my girls...
I mean picture it: 2044---I'm sitting on the dock of the bay, by the fire, with my third cat and three best buddies. There are three friends of mine that I went to high school with that I always picture I will become the Golden Girls with one day. I imagine we will live in the same house and drive each other nuts. Hilarity will ensue. And the theme song from Golden Girls will instantaneously play in the background whenever we start laughing so hard our guts hurts.
The song goes something like this: "Thank you for being a friend."
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