I've got the power! (Dun, dun dun, dun)

Reaching a long term goal is strangely both anticlimactic and terrifying. It's as if you reached the top of the staircase to nowhere, stepped off and realized oh fuck, there's nothing but air.

But you don't fall, you just aimlessly float. 

I got a job. A real effing job. I'm ecstatic. I'm mostly relieved. And I'm scared. What is my next goal? I guess it's to not suck. What if I suck and all this reaching was for naught?

I've been thinking about how much power I give people. How often I show my cards without them showing me theirs. Even in my current awesome relationship, I often feel I've given too much of myself and that the power is uneven. I'm a naturally passive and submissive person, so I don't mind, but sometimes I wish I had kept a little but more of myself. Love isn't about giving all of yourself, but just the best parts of yourself. And I've gone and given the most fucked up and nettled pieces of me to someone who may use it to fuel doubts. Doubts about us, about me. Whether I'm a person worthy of having a long term relationship with. 

Obviously, my boyfriend does think that I am or else I wouldn't still be mentioning him. However, I would like to have some of my power back. I'd like to have the ability to say something mean when I'm angry just because I feel it's merited. I would like to say "I want _____" and nt feel bad about it. 

I want my power back from all the words. Fuck the words, I won't let them hurt me as dearly as they have done before. I won't let someone try to belittle me by speaking my fears and insecurities. Like, so what? The bad things will always be there but they will always be surrounded by good things. Two truths. 

I've been trying to erase trauma and fear instead of coming to terms with it and surrounding it with feelings of comfort and assurance. My whole life I've been told to suppress my feelings until now they spill over like a boiling pot, when really I should just have felt them and let them pass until I could feel good things. 

I have a lot of catching up to do. 

So if I look for compliments or assurance, let me. Don't judge me for it. I'm just immortalizing you into a good thing. 

-grace #adulting

Entropy > Love

Today, I will not talk about me. Much.

Is your mind exploding yet?

*Disclaimer on slightly incorrect info, I haven't gone over biology in a while.

Anyhoo, I'm here to talk about the concept of endings. About what really constitutes an "end". How to know you've reached an ending, and sometimes, it isn't so terrible.

The universe has something called entropy, which in simple terms means the measure of disorder. In simpler terms, it actually describes the way the universe tends to fall into the disorder. In thermodynamics, the greater the entropy = the greater the energy from the change. When there is no entropy, that means there is no energy. No change. No life.

I once read on Human's Of New York's blog how a woman's theory to staying young was constantly staying in a state of change. Maybe this is why things deteriorate and die. Because they stop changing. But, as the law of entropy goes if one thing doesn't change the energy of something else we do will be applied and produce more entropy. So really, where it is we apply this change and how we use this energy is where we see what happens to end up dying or ending.

What if in trying to change one's self so much they didn't have any energy left over to apply it to someone else? What if one person refused to use any energy to change an aspect of their self that instead that energy spilled out in terms of blame and rage? What if love is not enough?

Love is not enough. The law of entropy always wins.

-Grace #Adulting

L.Imp Biscuits

So let me tell you about that time I got dumped after being hit by a car. 

Let's backtrack a bit. I had used okcupid on and off for several years at this point to various degrees of success. I had thought this would be one of the more successful times. We'll call him OCD, because I swear to the baby Jesus statue I once threw out by accident, this guy had it. He folded his dirty laundry INTO his laundry basket. The same basket where you then take OUT the clothes and THROW them in the wash. 

After he had thrown them in the wash, he would wipe down the basket with a wet paper towel. And I would pretend it was totally normal. Because, that's what a good girlfriend does.

Anyway, around the time of our demise I had a slight cancer scare involving my cervix, which it would hope merits me some free passes for being an emotional wreck. I also got banned from that doctor's office because she told me my friends weren't allowed to come with me again and I told her to go fuck herself. And then I told her I hope she gets aids. 

I have a bit of a temper. 

Anyhoo, one night out of the blue he tells me he's gonna swing by after band practice later the week to grab "coffee". And seeing that he didn't finish practice at 10 at night, I knew what "coffee" stood for. I had used this line before myself. Fuck you, OCD, I was the master of the coffee beak up. 

I have to say though,I handled it well. The next day as my friend Kate and I were standing by the bagel toaster, I announced:

Me: "OCD is gonna break up with me on Friday"

Kate: (perplexed) "well that's specific"

And so my week went. I recorded a super emo YouTube cover, I planned my dumped outfit, and night of it was raining and I decided I was going to get something from the supermarket. I think it was mallomars. So I lived by new Hyde park road at the time, which was generally a death trap and long islanders are terrible drivers to begin with. I was wearing a black jacket with a hood and I had the right to cross the road, so I did. 

And then I got punched in the face by a minivan. 

I spun with the impact, had a moment of toddler silent scream/sob, and then composed myself because douchebags were honking at me. The lady who hit me was very nice, she had her kids in the car and I assured her I was fine and didn't need to go to the hospital. I didn't take down her info either, because I wasn't hurt. 

So I continue on my journey, because now I REALLY need those mallomars. As I walk, I notice one of my shoes is getting considerably tighter. And my foot is going a little numb. I keep looking for mallomars anyway. I then call OCD, and tell him:

Me:"so I just got hit by a car"

OCD:"oh. Are you okay?"

Me: "yeah, but maybe I hurt my ankle"

OCD: "ok cool. I'll see you later then?"

Me: "yeah. Sure dude."

So let's analyze this for a second. A guy wanted to break up with me SO badly he didn't even let the fact I got hit by a car deter him. So if you're ever upset about that text message breakup, just remember this. 

So I call Sarah, and I inform her of what happened. Well, first I tell her to guess. And she first guesses struck by lightning. Second guess is getting hit by a car. I congratulate her. For some reason, she's not as happy as she should be about being right.

So I end up back at my apt after I buy an ice pack and ace bandaged and my ankle has swelled up to the size of my calf muscle. It hurts like a bitch, but I need to pull myself together because I'm getting broken up with and I refuse to look like a victim. I end up wearing the only shoes that fit that are now my rainboots as I wait for OCD to pick me up. 

He actually follows through with the charade of coffee. We're at the 711 and I'm pouring my coffee and I'm just like "ok dude, cut the shit. I know why you're here".

So fast forward in his car getting driven home. 

OCD: "I feel bad about doing this after you got hit by a car. I feel like I should get struck by lightning. "

Me: "if only". 

Finally the moment of truth. He's dropping me off. I wore my good butt jeans. I'm ready to swagger off with the booty he'll never get to touch again, but my foot is now twice the size it was and I stumble into the SEXIEST limp ever. 

I limped away with all the dignity I could muster. 

Later that night, and after recounting the story to my friends while laying on an air mattress in their room, I start simultaneously laughing and crying at the same time. It was then I decided that I would not let this defeat me. I was going to do something passive aggressive but in such a way people would think it was awesome. 

And that, ladies and gents, is why I changed my Facebook name to Spanish Thunder. 

-grace #Adulting

Now tell me whatchu want, whatchu really really want!

Today, I sent out 14 job applications. I'm pretty sure I was under-qualified for at least 5, but  potato POTAHTO, amiright??

Anyway, I'm exhausted because two of them required writing samples and essays. Which means I made some up on the fly, because I don't have any on me and they were due by 5 o'clock today. And goddamnit, I want a better job.

I want. I want I want I want. Today, thanks to a Cracked article, I really thought about what in the hell I wanted.

I thought I wanted to move out to escape my situation at home, because it's a bit unhealthy. If that were the case, I would have moved out 6 months ago, no matter if it meant eating ramen every night. So therefore, this is not WHY I want to move out.

The gun to my head isn't based on issues with my family. It isn't based on hating my space for what it is, but more for what it represents. Being in this place means I haven't moved forward, that I am not stable.

I want to move out because it would mean I was stable. 

This is why I won't move out without a salary position. This is why I'll spend my money right now on gifts for my boyfriend, or maybe a trip to Florida. Because I would rather sacrifice the apartment hunt for the ability to enjoy this time while I can.  Once I work 40 hours a week, I may be too exhausted between filming and work to really spend time with anyone.  I want to meet my boyfriend's grandfather, so that I can know a side of him I've never seen.

Maybe it's counter-intuitive, but I've always valued experiences over money. What's the point of working 100 hours a week if you can't enjoy what you make? Some people work for the day they retire. But how the fuck do they know they're gonna live that long? Most people in my family die in their 60's. I may as well party now. I would rather spend time with my boyfriend than go to school for something I may or may not really be cut out for. Maybe that makes me a weak person, or a terrible feminist, but my job won't keep me company when I'm old (again, if I get there) or mourn me when I'm gone. If I worked 100 hours a week to be rich, I wouldn't be able to have a dog. I wouldn't mind earning a little less so that I could have time for a dog. 

I'd rather take this time to find my passions, whether they end up being what I work in or something I work in order to take part in.

I will not push myself from one unstable situation into another, what would be the point? I can ignore my family, I'm used to it. I can channel the anger into things like this blog. Seriously, does anyone who's happy keep a blog?

I just take comfort in the fact that I am doing all the little steps I need to do in order to find a better job. Finding that better job will lead to me to looking for the right apartment. And when I do...

It will be glorious. I will probably (okay, definitely) ugly cry. I will have a whole new set of things to worry or get angry about, and a whole new set of goals to reach. But it will be well worth it.

-Grace #Adulting

The Walking Cliche

I have been 25 for roughly two days, and so far, it's a drag.

My birthday was lovely. Dinner was lovely. Everyone I spent it with was very kind to me and loving and I have never felt more cared for.

Or alone.

Not in the romantic sense, or even the familial sense; but in this all encompassing sense that stems from not feeling I am doing anything with my life other than just getting by.  Knowing another year has gone by and I feel like I have had to let go of so many dreams.  I didn't even know what to wish for when I blew out my candles, so I  made some vague and general wishes that seemed to be appropriate.

I may not believe in God, but I'm still not telling you my wishes, bitch.

I remember the first time I ever decided I wanted to be an actor.  I grew up on Selena and Annie, always performing my little cabarets in front of the mirror in my basement. I was so obsessed with Annie that even when I was turned down for the role in my second grade play I sang her songs backstage with such gusto the kids HATED me for it. But fuck them, they were all assholes.

I also used to pretend I was an orphan and purposely wore tattered clothes, which simultaneously worried my parents and just confirmed my mistrust in Child Protective Services.

Now I'm 25, and wondering what to do. I have little dreams: wanting to participate in roller derby, traveling all over the world, owning several dogs. I then have bigger dreams: Giving an uplifting speech in front of a ton of people (real scientific terminology here), inspiring people to adopt not shop through my own means or a non-profit, and I'd love to receive an award for something. It doesn't have to be anything major, but I haven't received an award since I graduated High School and  I miss the validation.

I'd like to be able to help my parents out when they're no longer able to work. I'd like to be completely independent.

I would like to wake up each morning without palpitations.

Who knows how many of these dreams I'll have to kill?  I already have a lot of blood on my hands.

-Grace #Adulting

Happiness: Flawed Coping Mechanism

Last night I had a nightmare that ended with me being in a broken pool full of people and once the pool broke, they all crushed me to death since it was on a slope.

Needless to say, I'm a little droopy. But today is also my boyfriend and I's one year anniversary, and I'm happy. But equal parts nervous.

I have never had a relationship outside of this one last this long, that was not long distance.  I have mulled over why not over and over in my head for years but could only assume I either had terrible taste, terrible timing, and a troubled mind.  And now, today, I finally have met a milestone various friends have both equally reached and surpassed various times with ease.

I don't want reaching a milestone in a relationship to be my biggest accomplishment. I think I'm afraid that I'm becoming dependent, or that I'll lose a part of myself now the more time I invest. My boyfriend has the more dominant persona, and that's fine because it's one of the things I like about him, but I fear my own persona being lessened because I get too involved.  With other men, it's always been baffling to me when I've finally mustered up the chutzpah to confront them about their poor treatment and they scatter like waves rather than engage or fight for me. Or disagree. Maybe I was the only one with balls to call them out on being terrible people.

I made the mistake of dating a younger guy last time. In my defense, he looked 30 (Russian men are strange that way) and had no idea his age until AFTER I had started liking him. So there's my justification. I still feel like a creeper.

Anyhoo, we started to date and it was so nice because he was so innocent. Seriously, I was probably his first real girlfriend (and first in a lot of other things, HIGH FIVE BRO) and it was nice. For a while. And then 3 months in, things changed.

For one, most of his friends (a select few are very nice and people I keep some contact with) are real douchebags. Actually, that word doesn't even capture the amount of terrible that runs through their veins, as one of his friends once beat the shit out of a girl for no reason other than she tried to step in front of him while he was beating up her boyfriend.  These are the people he hung out with, a lot.

So much so, that once I got a second job and he got a job, he would rather play football with them (and guys, it was MARCH) than hang out with me.  I don't think he ever even took me out to dinner in the whole 5 months we dated. And on Valentine's Day, I was fed up.  I had picked something out for us to do that was relatively inexpensive (yes, I PLANNED MY OWN ROMANTIC DAY) and bought him a card and soem chocolates he liked.  He calls me the night before and asks if we can go see Die Hard, because he spent all his money shopping for clothes and taking his parents out to dinner the day before Valentine's Day.

Normally that would be very sweet, but the poor timing was ridiculous. So we compromised on seeing warm bodies, I dressed up even. He didn't notice. I paid for my own halal food and movie ticket. We saw the movie, he left. I went to the thing I wanted to go to. I cried on the way home because I felt so undervalued  and foolish for investing so much time and effort into someone who would never, EVER appreciate it.

And how do I know he'll never appreciate it? Because a week after our "nice" breakup, he starts telling people I'm a huge slut and that he humped me and posts a bunch of articles about how you shouldn't date sluts.

This, people, is why I don't want to live on this planet sometimes. Because I know there are millions of people who have had this and WORSE happen to them. And they should all eat a bunch of

But then, sometimes something good comes along. And then, you realize you might be the one to fuck it up and be the only one to really feel the loss if you do, because that's the way of the world.

I feel better after getting all of that out. It's really terrifying to be this in love with someone, but also really rewarding.

I'm very lucky.

-Grace #Adulting