It's time to break up. I know we've talked about it before, but I think we both know that this time it's for real -- you have to admit things feel different this time around.
We've been together for so long! Since I was a naive and foolish co-ed at the age of 18. You got me through college, where we shared many magical nights of procrastination in its purest form. We've spent hours divulging my most dramatic and embarrassing secrets to each other, from silly boy crushes to non-particular witty every day observations. Ah, all those highs, lows, and mortifications we shared when we discovered that arbitrary individuals had discovered our love and your existence! I shall never forget these memories. You were after all, my first.
But it's time for me to move on. Being in such a committed relationship for so long has left me feeling constricted. I need liberation! Exploration! Experimentation! I need to be able to flirt with Blogger if I want to. I need you to not be mad at me if I makeout with WordPress! And if I happen to get drunk and sleep with TypePad, I'm sorry but you can't hate me for it anymore!
Also, there's no easy way to bring this up...but there's someone else. His name is Tumblr and I think I'm in love. The smooth interface, the sexy operability...the vibrant community...ohhh i must stop lest I become too inappropriate. But you get the drift.
Listen ol' LJ, we can still be friends! Sure it might be awkward for the first couple of months, but I'll still read your "friends page" and keep myself updated on what everyone in your community is up to. If that's okay with you, of course. Don't want to tread on your turf or anything.
And if you miss me, you can always come visit me at my new home(s) on Tumblr.
This weekend I explored the Chelsea art galleries with some pals. We went to see a small photo exhibit by Scott Schuman aka The Sartorialist
Read his blog for more photographic evidence of the beautiful and fashionably creative people that live in various metropolises around the globe. Of just stare at the *dreamboat* on the right in the above image.
College was a really fun time when I lived with two boys named Amir and Offer who made me be in funny videos with them. The videos would be short clips that were both comedic and sometimes tormenting, and Amir would post them on his website, www.beingfamous.com.
Since college, (and as often happens when you start to grow up), Amir, Offer and I have all went our separate ways. But luckily Amir and my paths often still cross as we ended up living 4 blocks away from each other 3000 miles away from where we used to live across the hall from one another. Beingfamous.com now hosts his writing/humorous musings instead of funny college roommate videos and he has a new funny dude/partner in crime/Offer replacement named Jake.
They make their own funny vids that live at jakeandamir.com. Recently, they filmed quite a gem for Amir's 25th birthday: http://www.jakeandamir.com/post/24576747
I have a cameo delivering a small and subtle line at the very end. I don't know what's weirder: the fact that I have been good pals with Amir for seven whole birthdays now, or that there were some old-skool beingfamous fans that mentioned recognizing me in the comments section! I think both of those things are pretty cool, actually.
Bush Admits Economy Faces Challenges By SHERYL GAY STOLBERG and DAVID M. HERSZENHORN
President Bush conceded that rising oil prices, the home mortgage crisis, and the weakening job market present new “economic challenges.”
Those are really good new observations/conclusions after 8 years in office. Are we sure this isn't a headline from The Onion?
Excerpt: After months of insisting that the economy’s fundamentals are strong — a theme he reiterated on Monday — Mr. Bush did not mince words. He acknowledged that “many Americans are anxious about the economy,” and he noted that “jobs are growing at a slower pace.” He said core inflation was low — “except when you’re going to the gas pump, it doesn’t seem that low.”
I am well aware that there exist only a few select individuals on this planet that have an innate appreciation for my sense of humor. And by that, I really mean people who fervently adore PUNS. So for those select few, this one goes out to you:
Dialogue over breakfast this morning:
Brother-in-law: Hey Pav, want to go out to lunch today with me and your sister? We were thinking of getting some pho.
In case you are wondering what exactly is "resting in peace," or are bad at deciphering acronyms (and therefore obvs NOT an avid reader of Pavla's Blah-Blahs!!), let me shed some light on the masked obituary for this long overdue entry: Here Lies, The Sadly Ended, The Much Enjoyed But No Longer, Please Do Not Weep, But Do Rest In Peace: Faux-Posh-NYC-Life-Style.
Not only have I been cut off from Uncle Sam's cousin, affectionately referred to as The Stafford Loan, but now they want me to actually pay that shit back! (I KNOW!!) Straddling Sir Stafford for two years allowed me to live a pretty worry-less life of lattes every morning and eating out every meal. But now my Stafford sugar daddy has left me for younger, firmer, more prime meat that is naive enough to entertain the idea of going to a private school. (fools!) Goodbye cappuccinos. Goodbye gourmet deli. Goodbye...
Okay, okay, no need to be such a square! So I'm a little dramatic. I mean, it's not like I had dollar bills coming out of my ears when my loans were deferred. That's why my life here in New York was so faux-posh. Whatever my bank account had in it wasn't really mine. So it was more like pastries and pilsners as opposed to porsches and prada. But you *know* how much I *love* pastries!!!
Thus, the difficulty in making the transition to "real proletariat nyc lifestyle" or "r.p.nyc.l.s." I know I am probably not the only one going through this right now, so I thought I would compile a list of helpful "quick tips" on how to commandeer your new foreign lifestyle, my dear readers:
-Seriously contemplate stealing rolls of toilet paper from the bathroom at work. And by "seriously contemplate", I mean that "you" should scan the ceiling for video cameras every time you pee. "You" will be surprised at how much "mad bank" there is to save on TP!
-Regular coffee is all that you know from here on out. Italy is now a social construct, and therefore, so are all the caffeinated beverages with fancy Italian names. Ordering a Latte should feel as foreign as speaking Latin.
-Spending an hour of "sampling" at the new Whole Foods definitely counts as a meal.
Things I refuse to resort to:
-Moving to Bushwick. (have you SEEN my *amazing* apt that i bled, sweated, and cried to find in the murderous wild goose chase that is finding an apt in new york?!)
-Drinking PBR or another type of "cheap, working class" beer. (sers, might as well be caloric water!)
-Buying generic cheese. (vom! might as well go vegan!)
I hope someone benefits from these very clearly useful tips. Each one is laced with only the most genuine empathy and encouragement. I'll keep you guys updated on how my new r.p.nyc.l.s. is shaping up.
i could try and tell you about all the exciting adventures i've had over the past 2 months, but does anyone really want to read a harry potter length entry about the romanticism and mystique of berlin, dresden, karlovy vary, prague, and ostrava? i'm sure no one *really* wants to hear about being caressed and tickled by the light fingertips that is the California sunshine for two weeks straight. and who could give less of a shit about the fact that i did little more than bask in the reunion of the genuine and sweet as cider friendships that I left behind in the golden state during my time there? and how ultimately boring is it to return to new york for the stagnant routine of summer rooftop parties, bbqs, and free shows?! ew, I KNOW!
so i will just continue in the theme of my previous post: friends that i miss and love.
july's installment: Eric.
i met eric on my birthday last year. he was/is the best friend of a former fling (and since then, admittedly, transformed to good friend) that i was livid with that night for not getting me anything to celebrate my day of birth. i mean, i am hands down probably the most low maintenance girl you will never fall for, but REALLY who dates a girl for an entire month and does NOTHING for her birthday?! not even a DRINK! but that is not the point here. the point is, ironically, that the same dude i thought was a total chump for getting me nothing for my birthday (not even a DRINK! i mean how EASY is it to do that?! STRANGERS have done that!), actually got me the best thing for my birthday: a new best friend to add to my very select, exclusive, and adored group of people who earn such a valuable title in my life. i quickly learned that hanging out with eric is like taking a pleasant bath in an interactive wikipedia article. these hot bubbly conversations can range from anything from scientology (which is all we talked about that pleasant spring evening of 2k6) to electric guitars to the latest gossip you never thought you would really know about that random person that you never thought you would really know. eric quickly became the most adored if not anticipated oakland to brooklyn perpetual visitor that will never have to become a transplant. he has had a much crazier life than you and i could ever dream up--no spoilers here, though, you'll just have to wait for the novel to come out. but somehow, despite the aforementioned crazy life and 3 hour time difference that separates us, he has never once failed to provide me with extensive phone conversations that calm me down from my latest generic floppy haired poor decision or social disaster. always offering an endless stream of advice, support, and reassurance, eric has become one of my favorite things about the bay area. i love him more than mission burritos, in-n-out grilled cheese sandwiches, and shakin' jesse milkshakes. he's one of the reasons my heart swells and glows every time i buy a ticket home.
Tonight I am sad. A friend that has become very dear to me over the past six months walked out of my immediate life tonight. My friend Ryan moved to Bangkok today. And during the debacle otherwise known as helping him pack, I selfishly and conceitedly realized why I had come to love him so much: he is the boy-verison of me! But only if I were a 100 times more endearing, a 1000 times more loving, 10,000 times more genuine, and about a million times better at being a good person. Oh yah, and a boy.
I think there's an 85% chance that I will never see him again. Not to sound morbid, but it's only because he's awesome. After Bangkok (where he's teaching english for 1 year +), he wants to do his master's in Berlin. Then med school somewhere, while I'm...who knows where I'll be or what I'll be doing. Given my recent motivation levels, things are looking a bit grey (green day reference, duh!). I saw him off, came home and smoked some pot, and then sobbed into Amir's shoulder.
"Pavla! What's wrong with you!!?" Amir exclaimed as I soaked his shirt. I don't even know why I'm being so emotional. Maybe it's because I only met Ryan this year, and unlike when parting ways with college friends, I don't have the confidence of a solid 4 years of friendship history that ease the fear of final goodbyes really being that final. Or maybe it's because he's exactly the type of friend I hoped to make when I moved to New York, and our time together feels short-lived and taken totally for granted on my side.
Whatever it was, I am sad because it's the end of familiarity. It's the end of sharing late night cabs home because we live 5 doors down from eachother, the end of burning frozen pizzas in the oven after aforementioned cab rides, the end of never getting mad at each other for being obnoxiously late to everything, the end of impromptu hangout sessions..it's the end of fond memories being made effortlessly.
Ryan is one of those people that I really hope to be good friends with for the rest of my life.
mitch: omg i've totally seen this video, it was on the sign-in page for my yahoo email account. mitch: you know those chinese people are gonna eat both of them once they're old enough me: LOL me: that is going in my blog. mitch: please note that i am chinese, so people don't think i'm being all offensive.
I was was on my way home from a show with some friends last night when we got distracted by a beautiful woman holding a kitten. There were two beautiful women, actually, but only one of them was holding a kitten. My friends and I stopped to talk to aforementioned beautiful women because the kitten (who we found out was just two months old) was wearing a tiny pink HOODIE with the fucking HOOD ON and it was just about the cutest thing I have seen all week. We were in the process of oggling and petting (I'm allergic so I didn't touch!) when a drunk man stumbled towards us and slurred, "Whoa whoa heeeyyyyy, look at this sidewalk full of seexxxyyy...mmmmmm!"
Not one to appreciate being objectified, my friend Ramona replied, "Oh, where'd you come from? Straight from prison maybe?" I thought this was kind of funny, but drunk man did not share my sentiment. Instead he yelled, "WHAT!? What the fuck, I'm not GAY! I fuck all three of y'all! I do it with my big-ass black cock, too!"
At this point we bid the two beautiful women and their pussy (har har!) farewell and scampered down the street towards home. I thought the most interesting part of this incident was the drunk man's automatic equating of the words "prison" and "gay." I don't know about you, but those aren't necessarily synonyms in my thesaurus.
Amir said that my reactions to this video were exactly the same as the girl who was taping it. I bet your's will be too. You *must* watch it until the end.
I have this necklace that i really like to wear, so sometimes I wear it all the time. It's the perfect combination of subtle, delicate, and cute. It's silver, with two tiny charms: a heart and a key.
Last night someone commented on it and I realized that their clever words were exactly what I was secretly waiting to hear during my entire career of wearing that necklace. We were at a party and I was being introduced to a friend of a friend. After shaking hands, friend of a friend (I am so bad with names :( ) looked at me with a quiet sadness and said, "Awww. The key to your heart is so small."
I got a record player for Christmas! At last! It's even one of those vintage 1950s kinds that come in a suitcase. Aren't my parents really cute and thoughtful? Admittedly, I have never purchased a single record. But working at various labels over the years has led me to accumulate a mini record collection that up until recently was always kind of frustrating to look at since I never had a working device with which to enjoy these cool acquisitions. But now that has all changed and I find myself enjoying a soundtrack of limited edition colored vinyl by the likes of Green Day (duh!), Screeching Weasel and even AFI.
Anyways, I was procrastinating from working on my thesis and digging through the bottom shelf of an old bookcase for aforementioned records I had forgotten about when I came across a white sprial-bound booklet. It turned out to be my 8th grade english class' literary magazine for which we were all required to submit three stories/poems/writings. I remembered that I disliked my 8th grade English teacher because I 1. was convinced she hated me for being an immigrant 2. she had a disturbing obsession with Tom Cruise, and 3. she favored the aryan-looking kids in the class, of which there were two, and seemed to be disgusted with everyone else.
I flipped through the book until I found my name and rewound myself exactly 10 years to a story I had written entitled, "George: The Secretly Evil Monkey." I have transcribed it below:
Ever since I was little, I knew my stuffed animals could secretly talk. I knew that every time my back was turned they started talking quietly or playing games. Therefore, I knew that they all had feelings as well. This was perfectly fine with me since I loved, and still love each one of them dearly. I assumed they loved me back, since I tried hard not to do anyting to them that would hurt them. And so everyone loved everyone, and everyone was happy.
Well, almost everyone. Each of my stuffed animals was happy except for George. He wasn't actually mine; he was my sister's but he hated everyone, except for my sister. Sure, he had a smile on his face and a bell in his ear so he would "ring" every time you picked him up, but I could just tell that he was not happy. He sat there on my sister's bed and every time our back was turned he would give everyone an awful glare. I know, because I caught him once. Yes, I caught him glaring at me, but, no one ever believed me. Then, he just sat there with a silly little smirk on his face. When I turned around the smirk was gone, but I knew it was there when no one was looking.
George's twin brother might have been the famous "Curious George," but they sure did not act anything alike. The Curious George on TV was nice and friendly, and loved everyone, but the George on my sister's bed was secretly evil. The only person he loved was my sister. He did not even like my uncle, who was the one who bought him! Yes, I keep my distance from George now. Maybe it's all the better that he moved away with my sister. I never know what he might have done if he had to stay here while my sister was in college. I had to baby-sit him once when my sister went skiing. It was awful! First of all, he insisted that he be the only stuffed animal on my bed. Then he stole all the covers at night! Oh, and then he blamed me for knocking him on the floor in the middle of the night.
I really do not know if George will ever come to peace with other people or other stuffed animals. For now, I shall keep my distance from him, and maybe persuade my sister to make him watch a couple of "Curious George" episodes.
I saw The Finches at the Cakeshop last Thursday with my friend Leti, and it was pretty much one of the cutest shows ever. There was a lot of banter about bay area love and even a shout-out to Berkeley, which sort of made my heart melt. After they had finished playing, Leti commented on how it had been a while since we'd been at the Cakeshop together..."not since we saw The Virgins here during CMJ, remember?" Her question made me realize that perhaps I need to not drink as much. I only had vague memories of seeing The Virgins at the Cakeshop because they were blurred with more vivid memories of drinking too much free Sparks and making Charlie take me home because I had convinced myself that drinking too much of the orange elixr would give me a heart attack. I also remember being really offended that the bartender automatically thought to hand me a BLUE Sparks LIGHT instead of regular orange.
Anyways, Charlie didn't want to leave so he told me that substance-induced heart-attacks usually only happen from acid and not Sparks. I believed him because Charlie is an astro-physics phD student at Princeton. He also suggested that I just try sitting down. I listened to him and the following kind of funny story happened, which Leti reminded me of with her question of if I remember seeing The Virgins.
I guess I did afterall:
I was sitting down towards the end of their set when a weird-looking-hipster-dude came over to me and said, "I thought I would introduce myself, my name is (don't remember)." Now, it was loud and crowded and my heart was pounding a mile a minute not because I was in love with this stranger but because I had just consumed 4 cans of Sparks for the sole reason that they were free. But I remember being intruiged because he had an Australian accent. I think I just sort of starred at him blankly until he continued with something like, "I'm from Australia. I know that this is going to sound really cliche, but I'm also in a band." At which point I managed to slur out the following conversation:
me: ha. okay. what's your band called? him: oh, you've probably never heard of us. me: okay. so what is it? him: the morning after girls. me: the morning-after girls? him: yah. me: that's sort of offensive. him: what? why? me: i mean. that's fine. i'm all for being bold and offensive in music. him: what? me: uhhh...do you not agree that certain people could perceive that as controversial? him: no, i think you've misunderstood. me: ... him: we're the morning after girls. morning. m-o-U-r-n-i-n-g. me: oh. like mourning after death? him: yah! me: oops. him: sooo..i'd love to see you again. me: what?? him: i said, i'd love--- me: *grab charlie and usher him towards the door*
I have been informed that there is a girl who is currently parading around NYU as an undergrad that looks like me. Over winter break while I was at home, my friend David (who is friends with her) sent me a picture of her when she was 15. She looked so much like pictures of me from when I was 18 that when I showed the photo to my own mother, she asked me where I got that "hat that you're wearing." I angrily yelled "THAT'S NOT A PICTURE OF ME! DO YOU NOT EVEN RECOGNIZE YOUR OWN NON-CHILD?!?!" This caused my dad and my sister to rush over to the computer and oggle over just how similar we did in fact look.
However, a good five years have gone by since either one of us has been 15 or 18, and I refer to her modern-day pictures (that I hella stalked and found on the internet, duh) as the "More Attractive Version of Me." This girl is cute. This girl is fashionable. This girl has nice, thick, great hair that my dad's side of the family from which I received my thin, bodyless locks could only dream of having. She has huge eyes, but they are an interesting blue instead of a comfortable brown. Basically, this girl looks so much more hip and savvy than I could have ever conjured up being when I was 20, that I am obviously starting to have a somewhat conceited femme crush on her.
Please compare the images below. One is of me. The other is not of me.
It's a little bit crazy, no?
So the point of this story is that I had the pleasure of meeting my fmavomc (faux-more-attractive-version-of-me-crush, DUH!!!) in a very funny way on Friday night. I accompanied David to a dance party that our mutual friends were dj-ing at and she was there, dancing cutely and fashionably away. At one point during the night, Bloc Party's Banquet came on. This song is funny to me and David because for some reason, anytime that song comes on in a dance party setting, I always somehow end up with someone's tongue in my mouth that I didn't plan on having a spit swapping session with, and David has witnessed this embarassing situation on more than one occassion. I don't know what it is, but I think it probably has something to do with the way Kele Okereke breathlessly sings "Cos I'm on fiiiirrreee" that tempts anonymous dirty boys to also breathlessly share my personal oxygen supply. Anyways, I was sitting on a couch with David as we both became aware of the opening chords to my sleazy fate. We started laughing hysterically and David started pushing me into the crowd to let destiny run its course. I was of course resisting, and in the process tripped over something, knocking a drink out of a girl's hand, and fall into another girl's lap. I look up from girl #2's lap which I am COMPLETELY sitting in at this point, and into her face, which I soon realize is just like looking into a very flattering mirror. Her eyes light up, and instead of wanting to cut my face for spilling her friend's drink all over her, she simply exclaims, "Hey! You're the girl that looks like me!"
I had come face-to-face with my more attractive doppelganger, to a soundtrack that was once beridden with sleaziness, shame, and overall hilarity! Perhaps the magic of meeting her in this teen movie-esque way could transform the underlying implications of this Bloc Party tune. I told her it was a pleasure to meet her, grabbed David, and used him as a human shield (just in case) for the rest of the song.
I am currently at the library working on my master's thesis. Intense-sounding, I KNOW!
An announcement just came on over the intercom that said, "The fire alarm is about to go off. Please disregard." I find it a little difficult to disregard loud beeps and flashing emergency lights for ten straight minutes while trying to formulate intelligent and scholarly thoughts. So I signed online and Amir immediately made me LOL in the not so silent library:
me: im at the library and the fire alarm is going off amir: currently? me: yes. they made an announcement to "disregard" and now its going EEERR ERRR ERRRR ERRR ERRRR amir: i went to max brenner [super good specialty chocolate shop in nyc] this weekend, just to poke in. and i was with diana and mitch and john me: yah? amir: and im like "those sandwiches look like pavla created them." it was a bagel with peanut butter and chocolate bars. and they're like "why" me: lol they asked why? amir: and im like "Cuz it looks like a retarded diabetic got a hold of ingredients" me: lol!! amir: just wanted to keep you abreast of pavla insults while you were in chicago me: AMIR!!!!
Oh yeah, I spent Presidents Day Weekend in Chicago with Kat, Nick, Agnes, Zach, and Goourje. Too many fun times were had, and too many Ferris Beuller and Wayne's World references were made (too annoyingly by me). One of the highlights occurred when 1979 came on the radio while we were driving around the city and we rolled down all the windows in the 20 degree frost and did that thing with our arms that D'arcy does in the video...Double cross the vacant and the bored, they're not sure just what we have in store (ha, see what i did there?)
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pavee's journal
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