Tuesday, November 30, 2010

F**k You.

This is what I'm saying mainly to grad school right now along with so many other things:

F**K grad school for sucking the life out of me...F**K group project members for being flaky retards...all of said flaky retards are men, by the way, so F**K men too. And, F**K myself for leaving my entire notebook full of school stuff at home...F**K FedEx for having shitty overnight shipping and not delivering my notebook on time...or anywhere near on time. F**K having a test tomorrow and not understanding a damn thing that I will be tested over...F**K not having my notes to study with because my notebook is off in goddamn oblivion first because of my F**KING self then because of F**KING FedEx...F**K having to see a certain greasy F**Ktard in class twice a week for another two weeks...F**K having four presentations in a week...F**K the hoodrats on public transportation...F**K your mom...F**K freezing cold weather that I have to walk in all damn day...F**K me for not going to school in Florida...F**K having to go to grad school in the first place...F**K grad school for having finals week when in reality it's finals month...F**K parking in Denver...F**K not being able to sleep because my body is trying to decide whether it should have a heart attack or not from the stress...F**K not having time to unpack my suitcase from Thanksgiving break...F**K having a 17 hour work day yesterday with no pay...F**K looking like a hot mess...F**K naysayers...F**K FedEx...F**K FedEx...F**K FEDEX! F**K graduate school...F**K it all!

I'm sure there are other things I need to yell F**K at, but that will do for now. To avoid a meltdown...kind of...I'm blogging instead — I can't study anyway without a F**KING notebook — and listening to a certain song on repeat — Cee Lo Green's "F**k You." You might say, Harna, why are you using the little ** instead of just typing the whole word out? Well, that's how iTunes displays it, so I thought it might be more fun.

I first heard a cover of this at the Sara Bareilles concert I went to about two weeks ago, which was amazing and I still haven't gotten to write about because of F**KING grad school. The song and the video instantly made me feel better. There's just something about yelling 'fuck you' with some soul that makes everything OK. Unlike iTunes, YouTube proudly displays that ever important vowel and her friend "c," something I can fully respect.

My favorite parts are:

"Ooo, I really hate yo ass right now." (grad school)

"Ain't that some shit." (grad school)

and of course...

"Fuck you!" (grad school)


Thursday, November 4, 2010

Heave Ho

"I've been dating since I was 15. I'm exhausted. Where is he?!"
— Charlotte York, Sex and the City

Do I really feel this way? Absolutely. Do I let it control my life? Absolutely not.

I just wasn't put on this earth to marry a suitable man and shoot babies haphazardly (or planned, for that matter) from my loins.

When I was five, I played house, but strangely, there was never a pretend husband...just me and my baby...my freaky, little Cabbage Patch Kid.

At seven, I put on fake glasses, sat at the table and typed on an old electric typewriter as a "secretary." Do you know what my nameplate said? Ms. Jones, or something of that nature. Never Miss and certainly not Mrs. I was quite distinguished and very important.

By eight or nine, I had turned my parents house into a full fledged, operating hotel aptly named, "The Laraott." So, I might have ripped off the name from another popular chain after having the coolest dinner ever there one evening with my parents, aunt and uncle. Good 'ole Uncle Pete used to always come back from business trips with tiny soaps and mini shampoos to add to my collection and place in guest rooms, encouraging my then dreams of hotel mogul-ton.

See, now I've always been this way — a name in lights, make a difference, bust through walls, can-do, empowered, adventurous, career oriented, see where it takes me, I will succeed, dammit, even if I have to claw, scratch and shovel dog shit into metal cans along the way to do it, kind of a woman. And, here I am, hundreds of miles from home, in business school, making it happen. So, why the hell am I up at 2 in morning crying over some stupid, mediocre, not good enough for me guy?

This is total bullshit.

However, here's the answer: I'm EX-HAUST-ED...and I can't help it.

It's funny how the majority of business school students have this same voracious appetite for success. Whether it's an outward or internal power struggle to be the best, it exists. However, along with toughness, we're also taught the importance of human relations. Sometimes you want to rip your colleague's face off, but at the same time you have this overwhelming desire to be friends with them and see them succeed as well. My internal Type A personality was already delightfully clouded with the need to connect with people before any of these teachings came into play. I'm a crazed, competitive bitch with a soft spot. I'm tough, somewhat harsh and I expect a lot, but I care deeply for my people and they know it. And, from what we're being taught, this is the formula for a good leader.

I mean, what can I say? I want it all. I want success, but I also want that amazing connection with somebody.

Perhaps marriage is not at the top of my list, but it's on there. At this rate, though, could it become the seemingly not so difficult and secondary dream that slipped through my fingers?

I'll admit, the last couple years of my life have waxed and waned in preposterously huge waves, but there's one area of my life that has stayed on an even keel of absolutely and now becoming an embarrassingly gigantic pile of monkey shit...Oh dating, why are you such a dick? I hate you so, but at the very least, you're the one consistent thing in my life even if it is a consistent suck situation.

The amount of dating horror stories on this blog scares the living hell out of me. Well, first it makes me laugh, then the laugher turns into pity tears and I reach for the Ben and Jerry's, Shiraz and my credit card to buy clothing items online that make my ass look amazing. None of that is actually true, but I am starting to wonder what the hell is going on.

I've analyzed myself on numerous occasions thinking, maybe it's just me. But, after a year and a half of reflection in singletonville, with brief bouts of dating mishaps, I realized that some of it is me, but a lot of it is the fact that I attract some of the most bizarre situations combined with the most selfish little bastards on the planet.

I came into this newest relationship playing fair. My skeletons and issues had faded to nearly nothing after the length of time I had spent alone. My life was fresh, I was ready and he seemed worth my time for once. Then, of course, after an uncharacteristically short period of having my guard up, I laid everything out on the table as requested and I was criticized about things I didn't even know I possessed. All his skeletons and insecurities that he's struggling internally to overcome became my fault. It's like he just wanted to cut me down a notch for fun or to make himself feel better about his pathetic little self before he went along on his not so merry way.

Apparently a sophomoric sense of humor is overrated in that man's world, as if it wasn't blantantely apparent that it existed from day one. However, the fact that I was rejected because of my personality doesn't make me want to "change my ways," put on an apron, get knocked up, stand around barefoot in the kitchen and say bland, demure things like, "Oh honey, you're such a silly goose!" It makes me want to sing a shrilly, loud chorus of "Fuck, shit, dickbag, whore face, butthole, Barbara Streisand!" from the rooftop while firebombing everything in sight. If you hate the way I am, how about I kick it up a notch? It's a damn shame you don't like awesome, buddy.

I overlook things about people almost to the point where it's toxic, because I know the person I want to be is somebody who accepts others for who they are. Red flags blaze and I say, lets give them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe I'm stupid, but I'm simply practicing what I preach.

I stopped trying to be a perfect person a long time ago. I am who I am, no bullshit, no apologies and I love who I am, but I've failed to find any male that appreciates, admires or even acknowledges that fact. Perhaps it's an undesirable trait in a woman, but I could care less. I'm never letting go of it.

So, I was happy before he came along and I will continue to be happy and perhaps even happier now that he's gone and I've had the time to analyze all the things physically and mentally I hated about him, but had the integrity, compassion, balls and sense of humor to accept. All positive character traits he will NEVER possess. The rest of this semester should be interesting since I'll have the delight of seeing him twice a week for the remaining four weeks.

Well, another one bites the dust, kids. Surprise, surprise. Now, who dares to be the next victim to enter my torture chamber of love? Like I said before, this dungeon master is exhausted, so I think it's time for another and hopefully short hiatus from all the whipping and bamboo shoots under the fingernails.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Outside My Window

Oh holy shit! It's a blog!

Most of the time I find myself swirling around in this new life full of statistics, spreadsheets, group projects, leadership methods, new faces, unfamiliar smells, public transportation, bums, lattes and only a memory of a simple, seemingly peaceful life, hence the reason Chaotic Stability has been neglected...kind of ironic since I've been living the epitome of it.

Most of the time as I'm tromping my ass to the light rail everyday, I look up at the skyline, smile and think, I'm really doing this. However, every once in a while, I stop and stand still while it all flies around me and I think, what the hell did I do? The stress of being a full time graduate business student along with juggling a social life and wooing all the men folk affords me little time to grieve my former life, but the three seconds every couple of weeks that I do have time to think about it, I wonder if I'll ever get used to this place and this life. Nothing is the same as it used to be.

People constantly ask me, "After you graduate, do you think you'll stay in Colorado?" And, after three months of complete aimless wandering, searching for and somewhat succeeding in finding a couple of footholds, I honestly still don't know. I'm not sure what it's going to take to convince me, but I'm pretty sure it's time....so onward, I go.

I live above a yoga studio — yes, of course I do, this is Denver — and the constant smell of incense billows out of the curtained doors which apparently helps the people inside stand on their hands with their legs wrapped around their head much better than non-incense infused air. Of course, it's not the incense that makes me choke when I walk by...it's all the dudes prancing around in their spandex yoga pants with their bulges blazing. What? It's not like you can't not look...

And, speaking of surprises, I love walking past every small niche in a building and being scared shitless by a sleeping mound of human. I should learn to brace myself for this by now, since the majority of the trash filled nooks and crannies, especially on my walk home from school, are inevitably occupado with much more than pizza boxes and empty, brown paper bag sheathed vodka bottles. Much to my dismay, Andy gets all excited and tries to snuggle up inside their sleeping bags with them when we walk by. I'm like, no, dammit, that's not where you're supposed to look for your new daddy! I feel so neglectful...and confused as to why this city is so overrun with bums.

It's all part of urban living I guess and according to my apartment complex, where I live is "urban living at it's finest," which is code for, sleep with your windows open if you dare...or if you don't actually like to sleep. Forget the noise of cars, trucks and buses barreling down the one way street that the building sits on, I like the fact that nobody can just honk their horn when necessary, but feel the need to get out of their seat and place their ass on their steering wheel so the horn sounds for a good 30 seconds even at 3 a.m. I also like when they add commentary such as, "Where's your fucking turn signal douchebag?!" Another favorite was when bums decided to fight over corners and/or dumpsters right outside the window in the wee hours of the morning, which went something like, "Get the fuck out of here!" Over and over again.

However, the grand finale came when at 4 a.m., I heard a car alarm followed by a woman's voice screaming, "Hey, hey you running away, I saw you!" This is when I found myself extra grateful for a spot in a secured parking garage. Then, as 5 a.m. rolled around, the construction workers currently transforming a defunct gourmet grilled cheese restaurant into a pizza place next door to the yoga place, decided that hack sawing was a good idea. I'm glad I'm afforded the luxury of sleeping in.

The window has been closed ever since...except when Cheech and Chong decide to flood the hallway with some skunky, skanky herb they purchased and smoked to help cure their "aching backs."

*sigh* Remember when I worked at a doggie day care, collected unemployment and lived in a glorified old foggie apartment complex in the Kansas 'burbs? I'm not complaining, it's just insane how simple and long ago it all seems now...

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