Musicals Have Got Me Feeling All Sappy

You know what's awesome about being single? Dreaming about prince charming. And I'm not referring to a regular, chivalrous guy. I'm talking about  your cookie-cut, Disney prince charming; a man that is symmetrically handsome, takes part in some royal legacy and an incredible vocalist that has no shame breaking into song.

Some women would say that it isn't healthy to have idealistic expectations of men because the idea of  "prince charming" isn't realistic. I would tell those women to kiss my clean, powdered and proper butt. I'm going to find him.

For the past couple of months, my friend has insisted that I watch Phantom of the Opera. Being that I love musicals and finally had sometime, I watched it with her this weekend. We started watching it around 2 o clock in the morning and I was pretty tired but found myself strangely engaged, almost like in a trance. Every time the Phantom sang, I could feel the hairs standing; praising on top of my arms. After listening to the album on loop for the past 4 days, its official. I'm in love. There is something about the way the actor sings that makes me feel so...tingly! I close my eyes and almost feel the vibrations of his voice, caressing the side of my neck and it's like an injection of passion being pumped into my veins. If you're feeling queasy from all the sappy language, feel free to vomit here.

Am I being dramatic? NO. Listen to the album. If you don't feel  like being kidnapped by a masked man  that is half sociopath, half Frankenstein then my friend, there is clearly something wrong with you.

In all honesty, I rarely swoon over men. Especially good looking men. I don't like giving them the satisfaction. There are a few celebrity exceptions of course. Joseph Gordon Levitt and Robert Downey Jr. I'm not going to lie, if I saw them in a bar I'd be all over that. There would be no hesitation and in that moment, becoming a rapist might seem just. Eh, but those are just celebrities.  I'll probably never meet them unless you're Joseph Godon Levitt reading this ( Robert Downey Jr, I know that you're married. I'm just getting over it), then...hello, I think we should meet. Talk over a glass of wine? I can show you how pretty awesome I am. I'll bring my extensive collection of Pokemon cards-dammit I've already said too much...

There are pretty much two things that will make me swoon. A good singing voice and really good cologne. That's it. I could care less about looks, job, pastime and drug history. Sure, I guess they're nice to have but I'm talking about that first instant of attraction; the feeling of an invisible magnet pulling you towards someone as you physically restrain yourself from looking too obvious.

If I could sing a love song with a man without it feeling weird, forced and in-genuine, I think that moment would be it.

I'm Sorry

When I'm in a public restroom and I hear someone in the near by stall fart, sometimes I want to break out of  the verbal silence and tell them that its okay.

Dude I know you were holding your butt cheeks together but one of the gases slipped out. Don't worry its totally cool.  I wont silently judge you when you come out to wash your hands.

Yea I know. Its been weeks since my last post and I'm writing about farting? FUCK YEA.
I'll break the myth right now, women fart. Women fart and they fart a lot. Oh yea and when they do, sometimes it stinks too. You know what's really annoying though? The fact that this is common knowledge. Something you learn while sitting on carpet with your entire class during reading time in kindergarten.

Being a woman, it kind of sucks that you have to pretend that you don't perform the most humane act of our existence. One time, while working for this cash advance company, one of my co-workers mentioned how much he hated girls farting and then bragged how his current girlfriend never farted in front of him. All I kept thinking was that if you stuck a board in between her butt cheeks, she'd probably break it, in half and it would be so precise you would of sworn it went thorough a chain saw. After holding in her fart for three years, she must of had buns of steel. That's impressive. That being said, among all other things, I'm kind of a snob about farting...it needs to be done right.

Okay so before I lose you, here's what I mean. Like with most things, there's a way to release our bodily fluids and gases properly in public like covering your mouth before you sneeze and burp. What I'm trying to introduce to you is the idea of a "fart etiquette". I mean it sort of already exists but it's never talked about. When I'm with my friends, I'm pretty cool about farting. I don't mind if they do it in front of me...unless it sounds like a whoopee cushion. Then we have a problem. Here's the thing about loud farts, if they're not followed by an apology, it rude and obnoxious. Point. Blank. Period. So you're probably upset. What about the first three paragraphs and its implementation of our freedom of farting? Relax dude. You can still fart when and wherever you want. All I'm saying is to control your fart's noise level and if you can't, at least apologize. Nobody wants to smell the digested version of your two-day-old pasta.

Freedom

If I could balance physics, I would fly my body into the eye of a hurricane. I could only imagine what it would be like to feel a cool, soft air, breaking onto my skin as I plunge forward, with my head struggling, pointing north, like the arrow of a compass. I would encounter rain and then it would stop. Rain. Then stop as the winds pick up and blow fast against my face. I would let it wave me like oceans ;wave me like flags. I want to conquer the air that is free in vertical direction and become a limitless pride.

The Ashtray

When I took a poetry workshop as an undergrad, I remember reading this poem about how we will eventually forget everything, even the most memorable events no matter how good or bad.  There was this section about 9/11 and how we'll forget about that too. In some sense , I think them poem is right. Every year on its anniversary , 9/11 is less significant with decreased press coverage every year. For the first time in 12 years, 9/11 felt like a normal day for me. I didn't have any flashbacks or anxiety of an impending attack. It was almost like nothing ever happened, like if my childhood was normal and scarless . A week ago, I watched a documentary that showed news clips of the first few hours after the terrorist attacks. After all these years, I thought I grown some immunity but when I saw people jumping out of the towers, I completely lost it and I was a confused, anxious, mortified, 12 year old girl in the 8th grade, contemplating my steps on my way to school.  For a few seconds, that moment was raw as it was 12 years ago when I stared at the tv silent, holding a full plate of breakfast in my right hand. The documentary played an audio clip of someone stuck in the towers, moments before the tower collapsed. He was talking to the 911 dispatcher and I could barley make out the words but he rambled something about the windows.   You could hear his voice trembling;mid-panting, mid- panicking, foreshadowing what came next. Loud crackles immediately overwhelmed the background as the panels ripped from the ceiling. Almost on cue, the film began to play a visual clip of the falling towers  in sync with the audio and the man screamed and gurgled. It was so loud that it became as dense as the metal bending behind him and even though it only lasted about two seconds, the milliseconds of the audio played even longer in my mind. I  placed my hands in front of my face and yelled, I can't, I can't . I started crying and the guy I was dating placed a hand behind my back and told me it was okay. He apologized for the film, saying that he didn't know I was going to react the way I did. I told him that I didn't know either. When I remembered how the towers fell, I pictured my mothers cigarettes, lighted and standing upright, burning slowly in levels and though they appeared to be standing on their on, I knew that somewhere two fingers held them in place.