(402): i was just texting to let you know that my facebook chat is working again so you can talk to me more.

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Savannah Daniels

omg!

8 hours ago · Delete

Kyra Deutsch

true love, baby

4 hours ago · Delete

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That's all it takes, really. The significance an online relationship status change can have in an IRL (ahem, in real life) relationship is astounding nowadays. Due to our constant "communication" and total access we've given to one another, its come down to sheer lack of communicating that eventually dooms these same relationships.

Hearing a person say they care about you face to face tends to have a greater impact than words and symbols read off a screen. Yet we've shorthanded our lives to 140 characters or less and <3's have replaced saying to one another how we actually feel. If you've already texted the play by play of your day to someone, what's left to tell anyway? Even if it was just the abbreviated version.

Anyone who knows me knows that my Blackberry is pretty much an extension of my hand (expect when it's being drunkingly left in a cab...or burger king...or bar bathroom...or - Okay, you get the point). I've all but forgotten that yes it is rude to read and reply to text messages mid conversation with someone who is actually right in front of you. That blinking red light has become my heroin and when it vibrates the world will end if I don't check it that very moment. After all, Victoria's Secret's 20% off sale is ending tomorrow (!!!) and there's no way I could have lived without knowing this immediately.

Smart phones aren't even the half of it. It's the overexposure we've all grown accustomed to indulging in divulging these past few years. It started way back with beepers (suddenly we could reach out to each other no matter where they were and let them know we needed to speak to them RIGHT AWAY) , then evolved through INSTANT messaging, cell phones, text messages, online blogs (oh! hi =] ), social networking sites whose sole purpose is to tell the world just what you're doing at that very moment in time and everything in between. Yes, even websites devoted to broadcasting the dumb shyt we'd felt the need to share with people the night before.

But with all this so called 'communication', is anyone even saying anything anymore? I've said, and been told, countless times that emotions are all but impossible to decipher via an LCD screen. That as long as you throw a smiley face or strategically placed "LoL" into what you're typing, you can get away with anything. Hell, we even have an emoticon for when you just don't know what to say.

Isn't this evolving? Isn't this progress? Aren't these all ways to bring the world closer together? Sure...kinda. But whatever happened to that age old adage "absence makes the heart grow fonder"? Cause I for one know that even if you don't have physical contact with someone for weeks, months, YEARS even, it's more than likely that you'll still have a general idea of what is going on in their life. And no, not even through the grape vine of spoken communication as was done back in the dark ages of the early 1990's, but rather right here on the screen you're currently staring at. Progress has taken us so far that we need to hit a "block" or "ignore" button in order to erase a person from our lives.

And there are definitely times when my text messaging privileges should be revoked...namely after about three or four drinks (LoL).

18th and 2nd

Published: 5 hours, 59 minutes ago by Karen.w.



p.s. And just for the hell of it, I was on Look Books today =]

What I Really Meant To Say Was Nothing

Someone told me recently that because I'm such a seemingly open person that I must keep the darkest secrets to myself. This baffled me, because in all honesty I'd been just that...honest (well, with this person at least). If anything, maybe -probably- to a fault.

One of the few things I was able to take from my brief encounter with community college and my Oral Communications class many years ago (apparently they require you to actually go in order to pass courses and gain credits. Who knew?) was that relationships (either romantic or platonic) are built upon and grow from mutual disclosures about ones self. This can range anywhere from your favorite flavor of ice cream to being touched by your uncle when you were little (no, this is not implying anything about myself! I swear!). It's gradually testing the waters between the two of you and determining when it's okay to go a little deeper.

Most people keep a lot to themselves, I've learned. Which is understandable. There's a lot about me that, say, my parents don't know and for good reason. But then there's been people I've known who've lived entirely double lives even to their boyfriend, fiance, husband. Whether it be concerning their job, an addiction, a fetish, a health disorder, whatever. And that just seems exhausting.

My problem is pretty much the opposite. If I feel comfortable with someone, and want to be with someone, I open up entirely too soon and say things like the fact I'd most likely make myself throw up ice cream sooner than I'd say what flavor it'd be. Just as an example. I have a few theories as to why I'm like this. There's the "shock & awe" theory, to simply intrigue them with my extreme life stories, for fear of feeling boring otherwise. There's the "weeding out the 'weak'" theory, which means this is me, if you can't deal with me, don't waste either of our time...which could probably also be referred to as the "scare them away before they get close enough to hurt you" theory. Or there's the "I'm just being honest" theory which is that I feel not saying something is the same as lying about it.

Or maybe it's a little of all three. Needless to say, whichever or whatever it is, hasn't really worked for me thus far. Apparently you shouldn't tell a potential partner things you wouldn't tell your therapist and putting up walls is the best way to let someone in. This seems to be what "normal" people do at least. What my friends who've been with their significant others for years, are married and have kids do. They just...fail to mention that aspect of their past or current life. And if it never comes up? All the better.

Everyone has their skeletons. Most people just keep them in the closet whereas mine come out to the bar with me. I guess this must mean I have something even more sinister and dark in my closet. Like chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.

You Are Here.

You can speed it up.

You can slow it down.
You can even freeze a moment, but you can't rewind time.
You can't undo what is done.
- "Cash Back"

Sometimes its hard to believe the past actually happened. That memories are real and I did live the life I recall having lived.

I think this has always been the main driving force for my need to keep a journal, a blog, some sort of documented proof and account of how I ended up where I am as I write this. Living the 'now' that will eventually be looked back upon in the future the same way I recall my past at this moment.

When I was a little girl I'm not sure what I thought I would be doing with my life in November of 2009 (probably not typing this entry on a plane flying from my parent's home in Mexico to my Brooklyn apartment wondering how I'm going to get the money to turn my 'temporarily disconnected due to nonpayment' Blackberry back on, I'll say that much at least). To be honest, I didn't think about the future much at all. Just as I still don't. Its too vast, unknown and uncharted. It's admitting and accepting the fact I'm going to get older, and only continue to do so until I don't. Taking into account my chipped sparkle nail polish, the panda print t-shirt I'm wearing and a stuffed puppy named Wrinkles tucked away in my luggage beneath the plane, I think its safe to say this is a concept I've still yet to accept. The main difference is that 20 years ago, it'd have been a stuffed kitten named Copycat who now resides on top of a bookcase, her stitching worn thin and her traveling days over.

The only definitive action I knew I had to do was to write. Poetry, journals, diaries, dreams, even attempts at literotica (really). I have boxes of notebooks, some filled cover to cover, others abandoned half way through, beginning around 1990. Age five (yes, I already owned Copycat. Just in case you were wondering. She was my "show & tell" EVERY show & tell throughout kindergarten). I think it's due to this fact that my memory is as keen as it is (although there's a lot I wish I could forget). I knew that words, and the ability to manipulate them, was a powerful talent to possess. Words can get you what you want, they can transport you to different realities and they can tear a person apart from the inside out.

The thing about writing though, at least when it comes to writing ones own experiences and viewpoints, is that there IS no illuminated path to follow towards an ultimate predisposed destination. You can only write about the past or the present, and there's not much point in writing about the present (or more accurately, it's not really possible), so that leaves you with the past. Whether it's 20 years ago or 20 hours ago, its already happened and there's nothing more you CAN do but document it. You just have to be careful not to get hung up on or attempt to live in it - this will only cause your present to be put on pause resulting in a future not worth looking back upon, much less drowning in.

Sometimes I look back on my old diaries and wish I could reassure my past self that whatever was causing me to hurt would eventually cease. That the heartbreak of losing a hamster or losing a lover would subside. That time would pass, no matter how slowly it may seem to at the moment, and before I knew it I'd be an "adult" who should know better - but still doesn't. That I should just enjoy the present because eventually it will only be a memory, something to write about, and who wants a book full of long ago pain, no matter how trivial it will eventually become (or how well tragedy sells)?

I wish I could go back and tell that little girl this.

I wish my future self would come back and tell me this.

Even if she does still have a stuffed animal to keep her company.

Copycat Stock Photo

Copycat 2009

'Cause If I Remembered, It Wouldn't Have Happened

Drunkenness is nothing but voluntary madness.
~Seneca

The worst part of blacking out isn't forgetting everything that's transpired during those lost hours -no, if anything, that's the forgiving part. The worst part is that everyone else remembers. At best, you'll have walked into some doors, had a conversation with a plant and fallen asleep in the bathtub. These are the type of blackout nights where the only repercussions are being the punchline of a few recurring jokes and possibly a sore neck (next time, try to remember the bath mat is more comfortable).

These are also the types of blackouts which distinguish "us" from "them". A normal (smart? Responsible? Sane?) drinker would see this as an eye opening occurance and make it a point to never let themselves get That Way again. It'd be a story retold for years, laughed about and chalked up as an experience. "You haven't lived till...!".

Then there's the rest of us. Or rather, just "us" since I guess this category would put us in the minority here. For us, waking up and being told the worst thing we did was talk to a plant would be a sigh of relief. A neck pain would be all but expected. No major bruises? No swollen fingers (did I punch something...one?)? I'm wearing all articles of clothing and that's not an unfamiliar ceiling I'm staring at? Awesome. So, what bar do you guys want to hit up tonight? Are the liquor stores delivering yet? And so it goes.

Then the bad nights happen. The nights of narrowly being missed by ongoing traffic, of sleeping on friend's doorsteps, of losing panties in bar bathrooms and going home with strangers. Or so you learn the next morning. When the question isn't "did we have sex?" (although you'll ask that as well) but rather "did we use protection?".

It's the mornings of waking up in your own bed (thank God, thank God, thank God) but having a multitude of angry text messages from friends informing you of how ridiculous you were acting. That is, assuming your phone made it home with you at all. It's waking up and being told your behavior the night before, whether you remember it or not, has made someone important no longer want you to be a part of their life.

I'm not sure when the slip from 'being there' to simply...not, occurs exactly. If I did, I guess that would solve the problem. If I did, then the list of drunken nights I've blacked out, to some degree, wouldn't be longer than the list of those I hadn't. Sometimes I can recognize when I'm starting to lose awareness. I realize I'd slipped for a moment but have now returned to regain my mind, body and actions. If I'm lucky, this occurs around 4am or when the bottles are empty and I'm all but forced to "cut myself off". Usually though, I haven't made it that far and it just seems easier to wave the white flag of defeat, step back (from my mind, not the bar) and wish myself good luck. One day it may be "good bye" and my consciousness will have done nothing more than abandon a sinking ship.

But hey, I'm only an alcoholic when I drink, right? Right? I get funnier after a drink or two...I get even funnier after YOU'VE had a drink or two.

Ha...