9 posts tagged “relationships”

I wouldn't say that the shit hitting the fan over at Jakob and Julia is hilarious... but it's definitely kind of awesome.

OK, no. It's definitely hilarious.

[UPDATE] OK, it's really not that hilarious. It's actually a little sad, and I wonder if either of them knew that when they decided to put their relationship on to the internet that something like this would eventually happen (like I'm pretty sure everyone else did.) I feel like I should also note that I am ashamed to have an opinion on this subject and the fact that I read all the blogs in the Lodwick/Allison blogiverse is just barely less humilating than the time I flipped face-first over the handlebars of my bike in front of my sixth grade crush.

Last night my worst-case-scenario in life came true. I walked in on my ex, who I still have feelings for, on a date with another girl.

I'm proud of the way I handled it. He is such a coward he would have ran the other way down the street, but I like to face my fears, so I walked over, played nice, introduced myself... I was a fucking champ.

I literally have nightmares about this scenario. In fact, the night before last I had a nightmare about that very situation-- walking in and seeing him with another girl somewhere.

I have nothing to say about her... She's very clearly not me, and if that's what he's going for these days, I guess I can't hold it against him. She seemed interesting in the "I went to Smith and now I'm an executive level assistant at Paramount" type of way. I'm not interested in making fun of her... I actually felt bad for her for a minute... like "Oh, poor you, you're the next one..."

I want to stick my head in the oven. I feel very betrayed by him because he ended our relationship because he wasn't ready to settle down... but he's still going on dates? What a dick...

Don't you hate how Google chat forces you to think of people you try and go days and weeks without thinking of just because you're checking your gosh darn email?

You know what I mean... You're checking your email and to the left of the screen pops up the name of a former friend or lover that you have managed to remove from your life in almost every capacity? It's like Google's inadvertent way of reminding you that you are a failure when it comes to human relationships.

I know there are options to remove G-Chat from your email screen, but I feel like that's admitting you've fucked up with many of your email contacts and that's just too much for me to give in to. I've been a silent sufferer up until this point and I will continue to put myself in this situation as a lesson to treat people better, especially those who have G-Mail accounts.

Boys in Los Angeles suck. Let me break it down for you....

Most of the dudes I meet out at night fall under the category of "Souless Hollywood Douchebags". There's this thing that happens to you when you live in this city for a prolonged period of time. Most people think that it only applies to industry types, but it's spread to the masses. What happens is this: you arrive in LA with a smile on your face and a song in your heart. You are approachable and kind. Then you meet enough people like the person you will eventually turn into and you trade your soul away because it's easier than trying to make it as yourself. After awhile, you will lie to your friends to smooth things over, cheat on your girlfriend and manage to muster up a list of reasons it was justifiable and stab your co-workers in the back to get ahead. This is the Los Angeles way of life, and this is what will happen to you if you allow it.

What is talking to a person like this in a bar like? Mind numbing. They want to talk about work and only work, which is fine... but they've somehow convinced themselves that they are important enough to be elusive when discussing whatever it is they do. Example:

Me: What do you do for a living?
Him: I direct.
Me: Films?
Him: Yes.
Me: Cool. I studied film in college. What kind of movies do you make?
Him: Small ones. Art movies.
Me: Totally.
Him: I don't really like to talk about what I do.
Me: OK, so what do you do for fun?
Him: Work.

Is that my cue to suck your dick in the bathroom? I don't get it.  If you were someone reasonably important, I can understand a stand-offish attitude about work, but "small art movie director" doesn't exactly put dollar signs in my eyes and send my heart racing. So why the 'tude? Because after living like a Souless Hollywood Douchebag for several years, you have a sense of self-importance that forbids you to relate to other human beings, even the ones you are trying to get into bed.

Obviously  these guys aren't the only problem. There are law school students who have yet to feel the burn of the real world, the boys who live off their parents and think I'm too jaded, the guys who are clearly too intelligent and successful to speak to the girl who pounded three cans of beer in the car before she even stepped foot in the bar (that'd be me).  Then there are the scenesters that can't see past my side part and Louis bag, the hipsters that are so broke and unmotivated that their issues would become mine, the gay boys who are so beautiful it's unfair, the unemployed actors who try desperately to convince you that they are decent people, and the has-beens who try and convince you they used to be someone. You can't mention any of these people without noting the boys who are new in town and still think LA is the shit, the Cholos whose pick-up lines sound like threats, the post-grads who still have Frat boy mentality... Los Angeles can feel like a pretty sad and desperate place when you are constantly confronted by people who are impossible to respect.

Ed and I have been talking recently about feelings of rejection, how bad it feels when you want someone who doesn't want you back. It's all very middle school. If there was a girl who I wanted to be friends with and she didn't like me I'd be over it, so why can't I think about guys that way?

I went on a date recently with a guy I met at an event I went to for work. He was all rugged and sexy...  He pulled up to meet me on a motorcycle. He was dirty in the perfect way-- like he hadn't showered in a hot minute, but you wouldn't need a tetanus shot if you were to make out with him.  I like my man to look and smell like he's been building houses all day, you know? It was kind of perfect, minus the fact that he clearly was not into me.

I will be the first to admit I sabotage myself on a regular basis when it comes to dudes. When I woke up that day and invited him out for coffee with me, I actually thought to myself, "dont go out of your way to look decent for this guy, because if he can't handle how you throw yourself together, then he can't deal with you, period." Fucked up, right? Anyway... I could tell he didn't think I was as cute as he remembered and I thought to myself "OK, good. You've proven this dude can't hack it. Fuck him...", but now I can't help but wonder what would have happened had I put a moment of effort into my appearance. I guess as a bottom line, I don't care. I was able to discern from a phone convo he had in front of me that he is probably a drug dealer. Not even a weed dealer...  it sounded like perhaps he was ordering multiple bricks of something, and things that come in bricks are usually pretty serious. Maybe it was weed, but usually if you want weed you're just all "Hey, I want some weed" and don't try and speak in some broke down code.

How did I get into all of that? When I sat down to write, I was planning on this being somewhat of a rant about these two ridiculously hot and intelligent seeming dudes who were sitting next to me at Snake Pit last night but never talked to me. Ed and I were sitting there thinking "Oooo, boyfriends!" but their prerogative clearly involved drinking Miller Lights and staring at each others faces. Whatever, it probably wouldn't work. I can't hang with Miller Light boys, anyway.

I hate MySpace profiles. Ever since I was selected at UCB to be a part of one of their MySpace shows, I have avoided that site like the plague. You see, I've realized something about MySpace that perhaps took me a moment too long, but there's just no way you can look like a cool person on that site. There's just no way. Anything you write into any of those sections totally can be interpreted in a way that you look like an idiot.

"I'm just a simple girl who likes running and hanging out with my girlfriends!"

That sounds like a desperate slut to me.

Recently I checked out the profile of my ex-boyfriend. I knew immediately upon seeing his page that there was no chance we'd ever get back together. Well, to be fair, I knew that before I went to his page, but his "About Me" section certainly confirmed that there was no chance of a reunion. It was just so thought out and calculated.

Today my friend told me that he's really into this guy that he knows from his gym. He was all, "he's so funny, you have to check out his MySpace profile". To be honest, it made me a little nervous for my friend-- who gives a fuck about MySpace profiles? I'd never be my friend if I saw my MySpace profile... but I did anyway and found exactly what I expected... a heap of lameness...

His "About Me" reads as follows:

Fuck Courtney Love. I'm America's Sweetheart. Built for speed, built to last. Low miles, high octane, extended warranty, money back guarantee.

I'm a good Southern boy, a little bit trashy (which I wear proudly...you can take the boy out of the south, but you can't take the south out of the boy). I'm a little dirty, and my style reflects it..."truck stop couture."

I'm nicer than I look, but not as nice as I should be. I'm smarter than I look, but not as smart as I'd like to be. I'm way more shy than my persona would imply. That's what makes it a persona. The 'fuck off' posturing is just the hard crunchy outside buffering the soft chewy inside. I try to go against the grain when possible. I don't like to blend in. I fully embrace my inner wierdo.

I love music - many kinds. Music that makes me shake my ass as much as music that makes me pump my fist. Music used to be my career, now it is but a hobby.

I love Starbucks. I wash, I rinse, I repeat. I can be funny, but prefer to do so only at inapproprate times. I'm a shameless pop culture junkie. I'm a little from column A, a little from column B. I'm looking for something but I don't know what...yet. I hate people who don't wave "thank you" when I let them cut in front of me on the road, and if I could go back in time like Superman, I wouldn't let them in again.

I love to kiss. If you're a good kisser, then it's game on. The last time I cried was the end of the Six Feet Under finale. I try my hardest not to judge other people. I don't always succeed. I try to remember though, that you never know what's going on with someone that causes them to do the things they do. My glass house is far too fragile for me to be throwing stones.

I'm pretty mad about the people in my Top 20. If they're on my Top 20, know that they kick ass and life would be a little less great without them. They also love me and think I'm the greatest thing in the history of the world. ; )

At the end of the day...it's all good. If it's not? Fuck it. It is what it is..

Rocking my iPod: Rocking my iPod: Bjork "Volta," Black Rebel Motorcycle Club "Baby 81," Johnny Cash "At Folsom Prison," Roxy Music "Country Life"

Reading: "Find It. Fix It. Flip It."

Yuck.