The 5 Benefits of Getting Dumped

As I typed the title of this post, I did, in fact, lol, because it sounds like complete bullshit. Hear me out, dear readers, hear me out.

With every even quasi-relationship I have been involved in, I have been the dumpee. Frankly, I have also 9/10 times been, uh, "let go" in kind of intensely bad ways. Like, a wee bit extreme, fellas. Unclear on what this says about me, have narrowed it down to a few likely options: (A) I am a truly insufferable human, destined to CATS and BAGS forever, (B) I am forever maybe too optimistic things will work out, (C) I know things won't work out, but I get lazy and think it's easier to deal with mediocre than go through the act of breaking things off. Praying to all gods and dark lords alike that it is not option (A), and chances are high that it has more to do with option (C).

Now that we have established my potentially unfortunate expertise in this dark, dark field. I proceed with my logic:

Statistically, it is less likely for you to look like/be the bad guy when you get broken up with. (I'm excluding scenarios of ~*dump that cheater*~ because I ain't no cheater and have no experience in said types of break ups.) Even if/when you see it coming, a break up is never easy, and, hell, it's really nice to be able to logically play the victim for a second. I am much less likely to deliver grilled cheeses to my friend when she decides to break up with her lovely boyfriend than when my lovely friend gets dumped and clearly needs hot cheese.

Now, I fully understand that there are types of people who are probably a lot stronger than I am and can detect when a relationship is over and end it. You are strong. I'll bring you hot cheese. You deserve it too. You probably are already aware, however, that you run the risk of looking like the emotional bully. You might deserve double hot cheese for this burden. OR, you might just actually be a bully and deserve no cheeses, heated or otherwise. I don't know your life.

Those who dump you in rude ass manners turn into anecdotes. I am able to write this in a lighthearted tone and jest about my experiences not because I am particularly evolved or beyond feeling sadness (if you have read literally anything else I have ever written, it's 98% about crying) because of just how ridiculous some of this shit was. People who have meant so much to me trickle down to anecdotes of "the guy who dumped me [insert scenario here]." While this can be sad, it can also be oddly empowering. Yes, these people meant a lot to you at one time in one place. However, if they cut you out of their life in some extreme and/or dickish manner, they totally deserve to be diluted into a story you tell you friends. Be warned, however, that the transition period between these two extremes really fucking blows. Going from feeling like you know someone inside and out to referring to them to your friends not by their name but by "the guy who dumped me on Valentines Day" (or whatever the situation might be) is a painful process, at least at first.

Ball is in your court for later friendship. I am, in general, a potentially too forgiving person. I have no problem with the idea of forgiving, forgetting, and being friends with exes. However, the control freak part of me genuinely loves the fact that when I am the one that got dumped, that ball is way more in my court than theirs. Like when another Sim starts a fight with your Sim and you can decide if you want to Appreciate-Compliment them or Fight. Like that, but with humans. I digress. Anyway, healing time is not only important, but necessary.

Let me emphasize the LATER friendship part here, because I am of the belief that you shouldn't be friends with your ex immediately. Yeah, exceptions, blah blah blah, but 99.9% of the time it is a terrible idea. I have tried this, and every time we hung out/talked as "friends" at least 1/2 of involved parties left crying. This includes after ICE CREAM. Literally no human is supposed to cry post-ice cream, I know that from science.

You're allowed a grace period of petty. When you have been broken up with, you are allowed a grace period in which you may roll your eyes, scoff, and otherwise make a big deal at the mention/sight/sound of your ex. The grace period depends entirely on the length of the relationship at hand, how bad the break up was, etc. I've been working on a precise equation, but it's a tough one. Basically, you're allowed to be a little immature if you need to, because sometimes that helps when dealing with shitty situations, and the world should understand that and roll its eyes with you. However, don't be a dick. Yeah, your ex dumped you. Yeah, he/she is seeing someone else now. Maybe you are still single, but that's not their fault. Maybe you are happy with someone else. You're allowed a single eye roll at their new Facebook-official relationship, and then you gotta let it lay, baby. You'll drive yourself crazy if you don't.

There are so many good break up songs. Like, so many. Rarely are they about healthy, mutually beneficial break ups, either. If you want to build a fort, call it "Heartbreak Hotel", and listen to an absurdly long playlist of break up songs, that is a goal you can logistically achieve. I won't even judge you [aloud] if one of your songs is Gotye's overplayed heartache gem "Somebody I Used to Know". I feel you, bro. Personal favorites include "The Bad In Each Other" by Feist and "Come Pick Me Up" by Ryan Adams.

See? It's not so bad, kiddos. Well, even if it is, it doesn't have to stay bad. Until then, eat whatever dairy products you want and believe every friend and loved one that tells you how you are "too good for them, anyway" because you probably are.

A Timely Review: The OC 01x09 "The Heights"

There are spoilers, you guys!!

Episode 9, Season 1. Back to school at Harbor High!!! It's Ryan's first day at his new school with all the ~*rich kids*~ so that's like, REALLY stressful for him. Marissa is torn between her cheating ex Luke and the ever-brooding Ryan. Seth Cohen is doing something adorable. Sandy Cohen's eyebrows are there.

Sandy Cohen w/ his eyebrows

This episode, like every episode, really enlightens the view to teen dramas/struggles that every teen realistically goes through as a teen. I remember when my environmental lawyer dad had to sue my mom's wealthy construction firm and they fought about it and it was really weird.

The above portion was a comedy joke pointing out how The OC is not relatable on many levels to 98% of the population. However, whenever the Anna/Seth/Summer love triangle is taking place I find myself shouting at the TV like a Jerry Springer audience member or doing this a lot. I just... I feel Anna so hard on this one, y'all. Like, I GET that Seth and Summer are "meant for each other" and when Adam Brody and Rachel Bilson broke up in '06 I knew true love wasn't real, but Anna is my GIRL. Nerdy teen girl who gets friend-zoned by a cute nerdy guy? Been there, girl, BEEN THERE. The amount of times I have thought "DON'T CRY ANNA YOU DESERVE SO MUCH BETTER COHEN DOESN'T GET IT!" is greater than twelve, pretty easily. Just WAIT from my review on the Christmukkah episode, coming sometime in the next year or two, or whenever I drink a bottle of wine and watch The OC as part of my observation of "Sad Sunday" again (read: next Sunday??).

Ugh, let's be real, Anna KISSES Seth at the carnival thing in this episode and he thinks she is still trying to help him get Summer. Um, no, you dumb ass. Also, Seth giving her his prize (a sock monkey aw) probably made the rest of her night terrible because she was pining. No, I'm NOT projecting my own experiences and feelings onto this show that is a really rude assumption thanks but no thanks.

What I'm saying is, fuck Seth Cohen. Anna forever. Some other things happened in this episode probably but whatever.

Holy shit this is actually a shot from the right episode. The research department did a really great job at getting this. The entire staff of this blog is so proud!!! ANNA YOU MY GIRL THO.

10 Songs To Feel Feelings To

Finals time is approaching in the next couple weeks, which basically means me reading and rereading and revising to death pieces I have already written until they're acceptable for a dang portfolio. That being said, I'm starting to hate every word that has come out of my dumb brain. Here is some cool music for you to play instead of read the words that come out of my brain. xoxo, Alicia

"Welcome Home" - Radical Face

"Yo Yo Bye Bye" - Why?

"The Bad in Each Other" - Feist

"Alone, Jealous, and Stoned" - Secret Machines

"Funtimes in Babylon" - Father John Misty

"Ultimatum" - The Long Winters

"John Allyn Smith Sails" - Okkervil River

"Leonard" - Sharon Van Etten

"Cheerleader" - St. Vincent

"Werewolf" - Fiona Apple

Appropriately Filtering Your Facebook

Facebook is good for a lot of things. Seeing which popular kids from high school got fat (almost all of them), mild to moderate internet stalking of your ex, sending YouTube clips of kittens to friends and acquaintances, etc. Otherwise, it's bad. It's very, very bad. There are ENDLESS opportunities in which you can make an ass of yourself to all of Internet friendship. Thus, let's all consider filtering our shit. Now, I can guarantee I will not do this, because of lazy, but I'll give y'all this unsolicited advice anyway.

Family Members

What they can see: Uh, nothing. Maybe like profile pictures where you look cute and aren't double-fisting two bottles of wine and statuses talking about how well school is going or how you love your job. In other words, nothing.
Make sure to hide: Nearly every tagged picture (or, god forbid, video) of you. Anything you post after 1 AM. Your Spotify history ("Who is ______, a rock group?" "Why do you have a playlist called 'Ladies Getting Head'? Who is Lil Wayne?"). Check-ins that are 98% bars.

Exes

What they can see: Keep in minimal. The less it looks like you're on the Internet, the cooler it makes you seem. Or it makes you seem kidnapped and murdered, which is super intriguing and will make them sad or something. Win/win!! Just kidding, but actually just emphasize how attractive you are and everyone you hang out with. Also, look worldly. What I'm saying is, learn Photoshop. Check-ins at concerts. Statuses about dates you're going on that totally aren't made up.

Make sure to hide: The status you posted about how you were listening to the "Ladies Getting Head" Spotify playlist while you were getting ready and eating cold pizza and you stabbed your eye with mascara so your eyes started watering so it looked like you were sitting on the floor, crying and eating cold pizza, crying to Lil Kim's "Suck My Dick". Don't tell them that.

Employers

What they can see: DON'T DO IT. NO. BAD.

Make sure to hide: EVERYTHING, THIS IS A TERRIBLE IDEA.

Friends

What they can see: Everything, man. They already like you. I mean, real friends, not just Internet friends. The ones who, if they see too much Taylor Swift on Spotify, know you're probably crying in the shower with a glass or six of wine and that they should come over and help. The people who will not judge you for your drunk statuses saying "HEY ANYONE WANNA CUDDLE" that you delete as soon as you're sober. The ones who understand that the Internet is hard, and life is hard, and feelings are feelings.

Make sure to hide: Apparently, some assholes think it's funny to 'like' every time a certain person (read: it's me, I'm the person) listens to her "Booty Bumpin Beats" playlist when this person is just trying to jam out.

Crushes

What they can see: Cute profile pictures, cute photos of you having an appropriate non-alcoholic amount of fun with attractive friends, but no one who is way more attractive than you. Witty Facebook statuses, nothing after 1 AM. Links you post to trendy~* music. Spotify listening that isn't Taylor Swift.
Make sure to hide: Most of what you say, because it's not as funny as you think to most people. Maybe text your friends your hilarious anecdotes until you have tricked crush into liking you back, then it's fair game. Hide pictures of you double-fisting drinks and cupcakes.


  Acceptable:

Serious. Posed. Showered. Homeboys wanna date the hell outta that (in theory).

 Unacceptable:

Why is there more than one photo in which I have a drink in one hand and a cupcake in the other. WHY. Like, I get why it happened, but photos do not need to document this. 

Serious Boyfriend Potential: Pt. 3

RECAP: Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Laaaaadieeees

Candidate #11:

Name: Penn Badgley

Profession: Actor, apparently singer

Top skills: Gossip Girl has made him maybe the acting game's top brooder. Good hair. GG keeps him pretty covered in ~*emotional writer*~ layers like sweaters and tears, but Easy A revealed that homeboy has a torso to be applauded and valued by all humans. ALL. HUMANS. Also, he plays Jeff Buckley in a movie coming out soon, and he sings in it. Like, pretty well. Also, aforementioned brooding comes into play big time. 

Favorite couple-tivities: Since I assume he basically just is Lonely Boy from Gossip Girl (seasons 1-3 until my hormones calmed down and I realized that show was real bad, y'all), I'm guessing a lot of coffee shops and writing about feelings.

Why it doesn't work out: Too many feelings. At first the constant caressing was really cute, and he's got that "great torso" going for him, but shit got real weird real fast. You have to break eye contact sometime. Also, he dated Blake Lively, so, like, you KNOW you'll never be hot enough. Unless you are her.

Candidate #12:

Name: Aaron Paul

Profession: Jesse Pinkman, he is Jesse Pinkman forever

Top skills: I don't know if it's a "skill", but he has eyes so pretty, the chances they'll ruin your life is 100%. To be honest, if he just looked at me hard enough, I would do meth. I would get addicted to meth. I'm assuming that's how he got the role on Breaking Bad. All of the sudden, I would be doing meth, my underwear would be gone, I'd be blind, probably because of meth (I don't know what drugs are), and I would REGRET NOTHING WOULD YOU LOOK AT HIM.

Favorite couple-tivities: He keeps talking on his Twitter about his "fiance" or something, so I guess that number one thing would be hiding from his fiance. After that, fashion shows and yelling about science.

Why it doesn't work out: Meth makes you ugly. :( :( (Or aforementioned fiance thing works out.)

Candidate #13:

Name: Jack Huston

Profession: Ol' Half-face from Boardwalk Empire

Top skills: Dude, I still thought this guy was attractive before I even saw his whole face. I don't know what that says about me, but this isn't about me, it's about this hot guy who even comes with a whole face. His character has one of the best memes on the whole internet. His aunt or some shit is Angelica Huston, aka Mrs. Zissou/Mrs. Tenebaum/everything cool. Marry into that family.

Favorite couple-tivities: You can do SO MANY activities when people have whole faces. I refuse to limit them here.

Why it doesn't work out: He uses his Richard voice in bed, which you'd think you'd be into, but it is actually just terrifying and you are terrified. 

Candidate #14:

Name: Colin Firth

Profession: Mr. Darcy, Oscar winner, professional sweater-wearer

Top skills: He literally only ever plays different versions of Mr. Darcy. Kings Speech? Probably Mr. Darcy. Love Actually? Mr. Darcy, in sweaters. He can really wear a sweater, y'all. The only time he wasn't Mr. Darcy was in Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy which is when he was a TOTAL BADASS so that works out. But, seriously, next time you're drunk just google "Colin Firth in a sweater" and nod solemnly at your phone/computer and tell me that you feel me, because I know you will.

Favorite couple-tivities: He just did an audiobook, so probably sit and listen to audiobooks. I feel like he'd like chess. And fireplaces. Sweater shopping.

Why it doesn't work out: "Age ain't nothin' but a number" can't last forever. One day you're just playing chess and the next day you're doing math and realizing the first time he did Mr. Darcy via BBC miniseries, you were like a toddler or something. Math ruins everything, just like it always does.

!!!BONUS ROUND!!!

The first time I saw this commercial, I literally went mute for a week. This kind of shit should be illegal. I still have no concept as to what this ad is for, but if it's claiming that whatever it's selling will make other humans even half as attractive as these humans, I implore everyone to buy it. But, like I said, way too distracted to figure out what the hell they are selling. Just look at 'em. Well, goodbye.

a Fictional Thing

For my creative writing class, our first assignment was a fiction short story. I never write fiction, but after infinite critiques/editing help from my angel friend Jenny, I am pretty happy with how it turned out. Sorry if you were hoping for more about fake ~*celebrity boyfriends*~ (that's probably the next post, don't worry). In the meantime, here is a fictional thing I wrote:

My mother’s room always smelled like her. This seems like an obvious statement, but I’ve never met anyone else with such a distinct scent. She smelled like lavender and lemongrass and laundry and tobacco and peroxide and brandy and she smelled like this all the time, not just sometimes. I spoke about this at her funeral, but it turns out I was the only one who noticed, which I suppose isn’t very surprising, since I was the only one who noticed a lot of things about my mother.

            I thought she was perfect my entire childhood: the smartest, most beautiful woman in the entire world. Maybe most kids think that about their moms, I don’t know. I don’t know most things about what a regular childhood is like, it turns out. Relating to other people’s memories of youth is often a difficult thing for me. So what I guess I’m saying is, let me tell you about my mother.

            I didn’t know anything about how she grew up until well after she died, which was fifteen or so years ago now. I realized that I knew countless details about her, what hair color she used and how she took her coffee (Platinum Blonde #105, black with a shot of brandy), her favorite Beatle and the TV weatherman she had a crush on (George and Wayne Baker from Channel 5). From all these countless details, I figured I knew her better than anyone, when it turns out I knew all the trivia of a mother and none of the facts of a woman. She never had a lot of friends or ran in the same circles for very long, so it took a while for me to learn more about her. I had to find old boyfriends and coworkers and I’ve had more comfortable and easier pastimes, but I had to know about her.

            My mother was born Christina Jacobs at her parents’ home just outside of Omaha. She was named after some aunt she had never met, I could never really get a clear answer on that. I do know that she hated the name and went by Chrissy by the time she was three. She was stubborn and strong-willed and had a personality far too big for the farm town her family lived in. I wanted to be like her. I still do, I think, even after I know everything I know.

            She was the popular girl in school, if you can say that about a school of maybe a hundred. She was bright and quick-witted, and had every cliché dream of leaving for the big city. She actually did it, though, as soon as she turned 18. Didn’t even wait to graduate high school. She never did get that diploma, at least as far as I could find.

            When she left home, she went to Las Vegas. I think she was looking for the brightest place she could find, and boy, did she find it. I spent my first few years with my mother in Vegas. We lived in a tiny apartment way too close to the strip that I thought was endearing at the time, but looking back it was probably just unsafe for the two of us, always walking alone at night. My mother decorated it in such a way, though, that there was no question of who lived there. Cramped at kitschy, with walls too dark and somehow too bright all at the same time. She never was a trendy woman, my mother.

            Before I was old enough to be in school, it was just me and her all day long before she went to work. She never kept the same job for very long, but she always worked at night, waitressing at one place or another. During the day it was just the two of us. She made me cereal and turned on cartoons so she could sleep longer; I was always an early riser, still am. When she got up for the day a few hours later, I would sit and watch her get ready for however long it took.

            I say that last part because my mother viewed everything as a performance, so sometimes her getting ready took a very long time. I was a captive audience. She would waltz around the apartment singing with her curlers in her hair. Her favorites were Billie Holiday and Patsy Cline. I think she genuinely thought she sounded like them when she sang, and I never corrected her. I sat on her bed and watched and listened. When she was done with her hairbrush, I would pick it up and try to mimic her motions. Her hair was smooth and blonde and short like a 50s movie star, and mine was mousy and frizzy, so the effect was never even close. I wasn’t the star, though, she was.

            “Ya know, Patsy Cline would’ve been much prettier if she were blonde. It’s just a fact, Sadie,” she would remind me every time “I Fall to Pieces” came on her Greatest Hits record. It was our favorite song, and it was getting worn out and would skip.

            “Would I be prettier if my hair was like yours?”

            “No, honey, we’ll have to figure something else out for you.” She would laugh and kiss me on the forehead and put on her lipstick, a shade called “True Red” we got at the drugstore, a new tube every month. My mother was the star of the show, and I was there to be the audience. I did a really good job at being her audience.

            It wasn’t until I started school that I realized that I was living a life anything less than ordinary. Mother would go to work at night and I would fix myself a TV dinner and read until I went to sleep. I only took a shower or two a week, maybe, and wore mostly hand-me-down clothes she got from other girls at work. I went to my first week of school looking dirty and dressed in mostly boy’s clothes.

Teachers would ask me questions about my mother, my home. The first time she came to my school, she won them over, though. She always won people over. My mother was the most magnetic person most people had ever met. No one could fault her for anything, no matter how much they wanted to before she walked in the room and sucked all the energy right out of it. The world was her stage and she relished in every moment of people trying to be upset with her. Having an audience made her stronger.

Even after I saw how other kids dressed and what other kids were allowed to do, I too never faulted my mother. How could you be mad at someone so beautiful? Our daily routine changed slightly with me being in school, but I was still home before she left for work, and I was still her audience, and I did a really good job at being her audience.

When I was a junior in high school, I was going to school and working at a diner. I wasn’t home as much, and it really bothered my mother. I think that’s when she started drinking more, or maybe that’s just when I figured out what brandy smelled like. I’d get home from work, and she still hadn’t left for her job yet. She’d ask me where I’d been, get upset, and I’d put her to bed by nine. Our daily routine had changed, but we still had one.

I loved school. I was a good student, always enthusiastic, had my work done on time and done well. I really excelled at math, and was seriously looking into some good colleges. I had saved up some money from my job, and was applying for scholarships. I could never understand why my mother wasn’t excited about these prospects for me. My friends’ parents were all happy for them, and even showed real enthusiasm for my future. My mother just appeared cold and bitter. She still looked beautiful, but just harder.

When I started receiving acceptance letters, my mother would throw them away before I got home. I didn’t find out about that until the admissions department of one of the schools called for me. That was the first time I was ever truly angry with my mother. After years of what was clearly questionable parenting, she had gone too far, and was losing her precious audience. I was eighteen when I finally figured out that my mother loved herself far more than she would ever love me.

            Everyone reacts to profound realizations differently. I reacted by making my first act of defiance against my mother: I left her. I left her alone, without an audience, to perform her act. I lived with friends until school started, which was only a few months, and then I was out of state, far from her. I think she stopped trying to call after a month or so, which I wish I could say was surprising. But it was never about me, it was about her, and she must have figured something else out. Maybe she got a boyfriend or a new job or something. I never asked, and hardly could even make myself care.

            When I found out that my mother died some ten years later, I wasn’t surprised. You can’t live a life like she did without paying the price at some point. From what her doctor told me, she just wore herself out. That was maybe the only surprising part. She always seemed like someone who would die in a much more theatrical way than “get sick”, but I guess everyone has to die somehow.

I wasn’t surprised either that I was the only one around to take care of things. I planned the funeral hastily. My husband told me that I should speak at the service, and I did, reluctantly. I talked about how my mother smelled, and how she took her coffee, and how she was beautiful. After all those years, even dead, she was still beautiful. Apparently it was a good speech. People got choked up. I didn’t feel too much of anything at the time, honestly. I didn’t know, and I still don’t know, how you’re supposed to feel when this kind of thing happens.

            Sometimes loving someone isn’t a choice, I think. My mother may not have loved me like she should have, but I do think she still did. Even in my anger, my years of bitterness, I know I loved her too.

            It’s been years, now. After a while, I realized that I could learn everything about my mother and ask everyone she had ever known any question, and I still would never truly know her. That’s the thing about being a performer all the time, no one ever really knows you. I think that’s what she wanted, though. She was a great performer and I, for a very long time, was a really good audience.

Serious Girlfriend Potential

In an effort to be an equal opportunity blog, I offer this: ladies I would like to date, thank you. I'm equally shallow toward both genders, do not fear.

Candidate #1:

Name: Aubrey Plaza

Profession: Actress/Dark Angel/Gothic Princess

Babest quality: Girl makes people so uncomfortable that they feel compelled to write a character for her. Her deadpan delivery and the fact that she is clearly the weirdest human makes her the babest babe. Also, her face.

Research Material: Parks and Rec, forever. Safety Not Guaranteed, where you will be forced to feel feelings forever. Music video for "Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings" by Father John Misty. Any late night interview she participates in.

Candidate #2:

Name: Jenny Lewis

Profession: Singer/Ginger

Babest Quality: THAT VOICE, ugh. Her songwriting ability is amazing, no matter what project she is working on, though I prefer the country twang Lewis. Also, whatever voodoo she does as a petite woman to make it look like she has legs for miles.

Research Material: I personally recommend "More Adventurous" from Rilo Kiley, and her first solo album (with the Watson Twins) "Rabbit Fur Coat".

Candidate #3:

Name: Amy Poehler

Profession: Comedian/Actress/Writer/Director/Literally Everything Cool

Babest Quality: Smart Girls at the Party. Amy and two of her best friends made this internet show that interviews girls who are passionate about everything from hip hop to yoga to basically everything. It encourages girls to be themselves, and that being unique is actually awesome and doesn't make you lame. I may or may not have teared up at an episode or four. Amy also does advice videos, and they are equally precious. There's all that, and I would argue that she's the funniest woman of ever. There, I said it.

Research Material: ABOVE LINK. All her SNL characters (esp. Kaitlin). Any interview she does with husband Will Arnett. Just everything.

Candidate #4:

Name: Carey Mulligan

Profession: Actress

Babest Quality: When she's on screen, it's impossible to take your eyes off her. Basically, she's a suspiciously good actress and suspiciously able to pull off any hair style really, really well. THUS, her babest quality is clearly whatever witchcraft she practices, because it is WORKING.

Research Material: An Education, which may or may not still be on Netflix. Never Let Me Go. Like... any picture of her face.

Candidate #5:

Name: Lizzy Caplan

Profession: Actress/JANIS IAN FROM MEAN GIRLS

Babest Quality: Soso funny, soso versatile. I would argue some of the best comedic timing in film/TV. She was in Mean Girls, which I didn't even realize until well after I had established myself as a straight up fan. Also, her drugged-up sex scenes in True Blood included swimming in the air through a mystical forest, so that was... a thing. Then all of Party Down.

Research Material: All of Party Down. Her couple of episodes on New Girl. Mean Girls, three times in a row. Season one of True Blood (then just stop watching).