Typing this on an iPad

...is pretty much the only positive thing I can say about this post.

This weekend was exhausting. Some time after your second year of "adult life,", the day-after sensations of an evening conquered kind of fade and are replaced with tiredness and a hovering emotion of regret that you can never tie back to any particular event. It's one of those, "I could have stayed in and had a glass of wine and red a book" regrets. Pointless.

Anyways, life in general is great. I ended my time at the University of Texas on a higher note than expected, and my future in regards to my career and overall life excitement (one of the few intangible measures of happiness that can be somewhat quantified) seems confirmed. On the other hand, I have no tangible relationship, at least romantically, and grappling with my expectations of people continues to be a battle fought externally more often than not. As in, I don't need to dwell on my disappointments. I change what disappoints me or vent to close friends about whatever iniquity I'm faced with.

That's where this blog comes in. I usually don't even publish what I write--by the time I'm finished authoring a post, I've untangled whatever mess of feelings I have come to write about in the first place and no longer give a shit about sharing it.

Today, though, is different, because I don't even know what's wrong. I have externalized all of the hang-ups I could source, but right now I feel betrayed, abandoned and disrespected. It involves someone specific but is not necessarily their fault my emotions are pulverized. Pummeled is an appropriate verb to describe the process it took for me to arrive at this cold and disconnected place, because it happened so slowly and I felt every blow. I knew where the game was headed before the hammer was even raised.

And now I am lost in my own post, once again. I've nothing to say, and likely no real counsel can be given aside from "Awwww feel better!" If I can just hold others to their own standards rather than my own, perhaps I can find a little peace with human kind.

I hope you enjoyed getting lost in a directionless post for 45 seconds.

Mad Style: Texas Monthly

What is liberal, controversial and Texas all over?

Why, it's my spring internship.

A Look

I realized something this morning. Walking home from a friend's apartment--got in around 3:30 and woke up around 12--I was in a kind of woozy blur. Not a hangover (I slept through it), but that post-hangover euphoria where everything is slow-moving and forgettable.

Everyone has a look in Austin, Texas. The sorority chicks at AEPhi have a look: Nike running shorts and a longhorn sweater with tights and Uggs. My friend Christie has a look: Holly Golightly with a bit of Gwyneth Paltrow. Hell, even the homeless population in Austin have a "look."

And "look" is not just a way of dressing; it's an all-encompassing attitude, a way of walking and talking and a choice of whether to smoke cigarettes or not.

Anyways, what's so important about "look?" It's all about self-definition. Are you a hipster? Good God I hope you aren't. I actually watched an interesting documentary on the evolution of "the hipster" and now I'm paralyzed that my entire personal style boils down to being "hip." Granted, I don't fit the mold, technically; I don't dress ironically, I don't own anything from Urban Outfitters, and I have only one pair of skinny jeans--which I bought in Paris two years ago. But still. Hipsters are, apparently, wholly unaware that they are what they...er, are. I wear Oscar De La Renta sweaters and combat boots to school; am I preppy? Preppy-goth? Preppy-goth-alt? I'd honestly prefer to just be "preppy," but I will never wear khakis for fun.

AND THEN there's the question of labels. Like, "Duuuuude, don't put labels on it. You are what you are." (In case you were wondering, that is, in fact, a personal quote.) But that's so ridiculous; we live in a world of labels. There's nothing wrong with labeling others, the only thing that can hurt someone is when they label themselves. We can't understand others without boxing them in. It's a sad truth. We have our pothead friends and our party friends and our fratty friends and our just-in-school friends...this is getting a little self-righteous.

To finish up this (rare-ish?) personal rant, I'll go back to the whole "look" thing, since it seems to make the most literary sense. Bottom line, we all have a look, or at least an image we (prepare yourself) project for others to interpret. It doesn't ultimately matter, but it's important to anyone's self-actualization to meet physical needs. In fact, that's like Maslow's first pillar. So by meeting one's "look" requirement, one really is meeting a need. We need self-definition; different than labels, different than faking it: we are who we want to be.

Inside Duffy's Austin City Limits

This is the stage, sans-Duffy herself. She's coming on in, what, 30 minutes? I'm no huge fan, but this is a pretty cool experience.

Brandi on the green

I met Brandi briefly this afternoon before French. I had barely introduced myself and she was ready to go. Perhaps this isn't the first time she's been noted for her sartorial selections??

Notice the green glasses. They're my favorite part of this ensemble.


B's one of those women that has a natural femininity--the kind where, no matter your age, you possess a powerful female chemistry. Perfect foot arch for that shoe. (I don't think she knew I took this one!)