I know I should be writing more and not just copy-pasting things from Thought Catalog. But my words have been failing me lately and Thought Catalog has been spot on a little too much. Does that count for a win-win?

I write so I remember. So here is me remembering. Dig in.

***

Be My Boyfriend

Jul. 6, 2012

By January Nelson 

I feel like I’m dead most of the time. Actually, that’s too harsh of a word. “Going through the motions” would be a more accurate thing to say. Less dramatic. Less of a cause for alarm, right? The “hilarious” part is that I don’t even really know that I’m going through the motions until something wakes me up. Only when I feel alive do I realize I had ever been dead. Isn’t that typically the way though? Sometimes you don’t even realize something is dirty until it’s been cleaned. Then you’re like, “Oh, I guess that’s the way it’s always supposed to look. Who knew?”

I won’t lie to you. This is about a boy. It always is. It will always be about a boy. Wanting, needing, getting, and eventually losing. The second I met this boy, I knew he was going to be an important part of my life. I rarely feel this way so when I do, I pay attention. I listen to myself. I investigate. “Who is this person and why do I think they’ll matter so much to me?” It’s so uncommon that I ever feel compelled to really get to know someone. I’ll meet them first and if we develop a good rapport, that’s great. If not, okay. It wasn’t meant to be. But with some people, I feel like I’m meant to know them and will pursue them relentlessly. Is this weird? Do others experience this? It makes me sound creepy. I swear I’m not. I just know what I like. (And it’s easy to know what you like when you seldom like anything.)

So this boy — I want to date him. I want to know his childhood secrets, his best friends, his family. I want to sit in his room and just absorb everything I see. I want to be a detective and look through his stuff. They’ll help give me clues as to who this person really is and provide me with shortcuts. I want to take care of him. Seriously, I want to take him in my arms and just… help him. I want to put his head on my chest and lay in bed with him and turn everything else in the world off so we are the only ones who are vibrating. I want to fall asleep with you in the backseat of the cab and I want to make you cum and I want you to know that if you ever happened to choke on a sandwich alone in your apartment and die, your body wouldn’t just sit there for days like a lonely, sad, single person. I would find you immediately. (SIGH, ROMANCE.)

I know I sound ridiculous. Maybe I’ve watched too many romantic comedies or something but I don’t think that’s exactly why I’m turning into such a pile of mush. Having a crush, potentially loving someone, is, like, the great equalizer for humans. We all act the same way, we all think the same sentimental crap. I’m just the one who writes about it.

Simply put, I want to make this dude into my boyfriend. I want to “wife” him up, as they say in 2012. I want to be his motherf-cking plus one. And you know what? I think I actually have a good chance of making it happen. I have a good feeling about this. There’s a tingling in my bones. I feel misunderstood 99% of the time, like a misanthropic nightmare, but I think I may have found someone who’s tuned into the same frequency as me.

Life feels easier to go through alone. I know many disagree and while I’m the first to admit that I’m not the happiest person ever, I still honestly prefer being single to settling with someone. I’ve done it before and it feels awful. Like someone gently dragging you across hot concrete. I’d rather be honest with myself than dishonest to another person. I don’t have it in me. Maybe I did when I was 19, 21, 23, but not anymore. Now I can only love the right ones. The only problem being, of course, that so few are actually right.
But not you. You sir are just right. And I just can’t wait love the hell out of you.

Joe's abs

I think I was one Facebook when I saw Six-Pack Abs in 12 Weeks| Yahoo Health. It has 2 of my favorite words, abs and Yahoo. So naturally, I have to click.

When I did, this was what I saw. Everybody, meet Joe's abs:

Photo credit: Yahoo Health

Great job to Joe for doing this in 12 weeks!

But on another (more important!) note, how come I find the rightmost photo the least attractive? I mean, I get that 5.5% body fat is noteworthy. But Joe's face (yes, first name basis kami haha) appears a little too gaunt for me. Does it follow, that when you lose the fat you lose the chest hair, too? Yes, that's me trying to be funny.

My best bet is Joe Week 1 or Joe Week 8. A little more cheek never hurt nobody :) Or I may be a teeny bit biased cos of the scruff?

Which version of Joe do you like best?

Just a Reminder

One day, I found Maria Popova and Brain Pickings on the internet. It was a happy day. Brain Pickings was kind enough to give out free subscriptions to a weekly newsletter sent to my email.

A few days ago, it sent a list of the 10 Best Books of 2012. One of the books on the list was Tiny Beautiful Things. This is a quote from the book author Cheryl Strayed aka Dear Sugar of The Rumpus.

Maria Popova writes:

The book, one of the year's finest reads in psychology and philosophy, is titled after Dear Sugar #64, which remains my own favorite by a long stretch. It's exquisite in its entirety, but this particular bit makes the heart tremble with raw heartness:

Your assumptions about the lives of others are in direct relation to your naïve pomposity. Many people you believe to be rich are not rich. Many people you think have it easy worked hard for what they got. Many people who seem to be gliding right along have suffered and are suffering. Many people who appear to you to be old and stupidly saddled down with kids and cars and houses were once every bit as hip and pompous as you.

When you meet a man in the doorway of a Mexican restaurant who later kisses you while explaining that this kiss doesn't 'mean anything' because, much as he likes you, he is not interested in having a relationship with you or anyone right now, just laugh and kiss him back. Your daughter will have his sense of humor. Your son will have his eyes.

The useless days will add up to something. The shitty waitressing jobs. The hours writing in your journal. The long meandering walks. The hours reading poetry and story collections and novels and dead people's diaries and wondering about sex and God and whether you should shave under your arms or not. These things are your becoming.

One Christmas at the very beginning of your twenties when your mother gives you a warm coat that she saved for months to buy, don't look at her skeptically after she tells you she thought the coat was perfect for you. Don't hold it up and say it's longer than you like your coats to be and too puffy and possibly even too warm. Your mother will be dead by spring. That coat will be the last gift she gave you. You will regret the small thing you didn't say for the rest of your life. Say thank you.