Category Archives: Failure

Wanky Eye

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I came home tonight after having a rare “night” “out” and was greeted by my mom who looked at me and said “She finally returns” quickly followed by “You put eye makeup on?” What’s sad about that is:

A) I usually don’t bother with makeup except for “fancy” occasions because of numerous failed attempts to put it on due to inept eyelids (not related to epicanthal folds).
B) My night out consisted of dinner at an Indian buffet and an early evening showing of Slumdog Millionaire.
C) At this point out, getting dressed is considered dressing up, so maybe, time permitting (who am I kidding, all I have is time), I might have actually put eyeliner up before stepping out to a buffet. Flash forward to me in middle America eating at Hometown Buffet in sweats wearing drag queen make up.
D) I did not have eyeliner on, my mom was actually referring to my unusually large eyelid crease on my left eye, which flipped out more than usual because I slept too much, and the only reason I knew what my mom was talking about is because when this happens I can feel that my eyelid is not in its usual place.

Another International Sad-Sigh

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Went to Canada this weekend with my girlfriends.  The trip was really fun, until we attempted to cross back into the US.  We were “randomly” selected for a full car search at the border and “randomly” I (with my Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan visas) and my friend who has a student visa from Yemen, 4 stamps from Oman, and stamps from Qatar and Dubai were “randomly” interviewed by Homeland Security.  Pointed statements included “Did you go to Syria?  No?  Good” and some strange remarks about the “Islamists” in Norway.

But it was totally “random,” as they told us about 10 times.  And so that flag I heard them talk about that may or may not be on my passport now is totally “random” too, I bet.

Another awkward blog about my relationship troubles…

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When did I become the Cathy of Sad Sigh? And is Cathy even a relevant comparison anymore? Didn’t even SHE get married? Should I have said Bridget Jones? Or is THAT too outdated too. Oof. See? I’m even awkward about writing about relationships.

At the beginning of 2008, I made a deal with myself that I would put myself “out there” more (read: internet dating). Turns out, “out there” is a scary, scary place, full of insecure boys and terrifying facial hair. I have officially closed the Internet Dating Experiment because, in the end, this is what I got:

1. One relationship with a dude who told me he was interested in polygamy.

2. Three dates with someone who got progressively more insane as the evenings wore by, getting horrifically drunk on our last date and professing that he loved me. LOVED me. After a week and a half of knowing me.

3. A failed relationship with someone whose parting shot at me was that I was too smart to be dateable and who may or may not have had a small heart attack while we were having sex.

Sigh.

On top of which, I now have 4 weddings to attend in the latter half of 2009, and no one to attend with me, nor am I likely to meet anyone in Seattle, haven for the aggressively shy indie boy, a male type that drives me completely batty (except when this type comes in the form of the older brother of a high school chum, who I delight in flirting with as much as possible to make him feel uncomfortable). Another high school friend is engaged, and I seem to be the only person left from high school not in any sort of serious relationship. And, in the end, this blog is about making my high school friends feel extremely awkward with me oversharing, so I’m going to admit something on this blog that I would never, ever admit in person.

I AM AFRAID OF DYING ALONE.

Butchered at the tailor

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Sorry, Daniel, for making this public before you got to privately grieve, but I just had to post this.

Last week, Daniel and I had a townie afternoon that started with Rojoz and ended with wanting to die after shopping for a bit too long at Valley Fair and Santana Row. In between, we went to a tailor I had found on Yelp, one of the higher rated places in San Jose. I had four pairs of jeans to get hemmed, and Daniel had a hole that he wanted fixed. After a confusing conversation with two store owners he went ahead and decided that the “small patch” they would use plus sewing the hole shut would be a safe fix for his pricey designer duds.

The following Tuesday I went and picked up our jeans, paid, and went home. That’s when I saw it. The hot tranny mess they had turned Daniel’s jeans into. I called him, he didn’t pick up. I texted him, to try to soften the blow, and warned him I was not joking. I thought I had it bad that my jeans were hemmed slightly shorter than desired although they’re definitely still wearable. Daniel’s jeans, on the other hand, are highly questionable.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

I’m not really sure what is going on here, but it’s a confusion of thread and uncraftsmanlike conduct. It’s very possible that the thread will “melt away” when ironed, but something tells me that they either did not like Daniel’s attitude or they’re just completely moronic tailors who did not know how to fix the jeans and went apeshit. Anyway, this is Daniel’s first look at his ruined jeans and here’s hoping this can be reversed. Admittedly, if you’re not the victim, it’s pretty hilarious that you could walk into a tailor with a small problem and walk out with this. But for a tailor to botch a patch job this badly is fairly unreal.

SMRT

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Sigh.

Another relationship down the toilet.

And why?  Did I display an appalling act of drunkenness that sent my mature, older boyfriend running for the hills?  Did I cheat with an 18 year old?  Did I go on and on and on about how awesome New York City is and how I am trying to move there as soon as possible causing him to bash me over the head out of complete boredom for a topic I have talked about non-stop for years?

All of these things are possible and well within the scope of things I have done in past relationships.  And yet this time I did none of them.

No.  Instead, I received the following email after not hearing from my boyfriend for a week by way of kiss-off:

Honestly -
You are likely the smartest person I’ve ever dated. At least, if there were smarter, it wasn’t apparent.

I learned true ambivalence each time we got deep into a subject; enthralled at being able to have such a discussion, scared that I would never be able to hold my own in it.

That’s the truth. And yes, it is my own ego causing this problem within me. But you deserve to know.

So apparently I am un-dateable because I am too smart.  If anyone would like to let me know where I can get a cheap lobotomy, come find me.  I’ll be the nerd in the corner discussing the merits of Boethian philosophy as applied to post-modern theory.  Or the person sticking an ice-pick up her nose.