Cold hands, cold heart

I am not sure how I developed this reputation at present but those surrounding me believe that I am a polite, delightfully reserved person. Never would I have thought this day possible. Yet if I disassemble the past few weeks, I realize this: I live my life in fear. Fear of what offense thing I might say. Fear of what obvious judgment I might throw around. Fear of what embarrassing moment might inflict its cruelty upon me. FEAR. It is a trepidation that only a greed so avaricious could burden me because truth be told I don’t give an effffff what fools like these think. I let shadows of my rightful nature creep out (naturally, for how else would representations of myself move about) which then cast a shadowy suspicion on the preconceived opinions. As I play rap music, I am flooded with statements of disbelief and recalibrating judgment: “I would have never pinned you as the type to like this kind of music.” In moments such as these, it is an internal struggle—a chasm, if I may be so bold—to keep the callous hip pop (no, not hip hop) and side-eye under wraps. Betch, please.

Don’t make me justified my thug.

Beauty is pain

The number of compliments that I get on this watch of mine is in every way proportional to its fantastical beauty. Just the other day, at Whole Foods no less, the cashier, who was the suave owner of great, flowing hair flattered my sense of style by declaring that my watch was wiiiiiild! Or at least, I took it as a compliment. He said it with such surprise that I sensed that it may have even offended him at first glance. Naturally that descriptive adjective causes me slight discomfort when used in my direction but I appreciated his interest. I was tempted to return the praise but I refrained from frantically declaring: Thanks your hair is WILD too. It was so silky… People with great hair probably live better lives than the rest of the world. They don’t even need to be that attractive because society perceives great hair as a rarity that forgives any shortcomings. If you think about it, a majority of the population has bad hair. I, myself, would categorize myself as the bridge that brings the two worlds together. Yes! I am the mediator that allows these two opposites to converse peacefully without inflicting churlish judgment. Without me this world would be polarized, I tell you! Society sees my hair and either mourns the unattended potential or rejoices in the valiant effort. Depends, depends…

But I digress, this fashionable watch, while rare in form but profuse in popularity, has caused me great unwarranted social grief. This watch is a conversation starter. And in my opinion, conversation starters only lead to personal damage and remorse. I don’t think I’ve ever had a conversation with a stranger that I have not regretted in some way. I leave each conversation a more miserable human being.

And I say that quite befittingly with a furrowed brow and a wicked cynicism far beyond my years.

Top that!

It’s days like these that unabashedly souligner my censored reasoning and my true hyperbolic nature. I possess the awkwardness of a pimply, “Teen Witch” loving twelve-year-old. For those who are unfamiliar with the masterpiece “Teen Witch,” I say this: you have not LIVED! ! I implore every man, woman and child to watch this visually stunning cinematic classic. Yes, wipe away the white crusty residue on that Proactive bottle because it will get wild.

Behold! Perrrrfection!!

Zachary Quinto is the owner of some magnificently prominent eyebrows. Those beautifully arched caterpillars are fantastically full. Worship them!

New York City, where dreams go to get roughed up a little bit

Imma keep this short since I’ve got some bizzzzness to take care of.

I knew New York and myself were an amiable match when walking along 6th Ave I heard an enthusiastic street performer singing an oddly upbeat rendition of Lionel Richie’s “Hello” with the help of a portable karaoke machine. Such fortune befell me to pass by just in time to feel the profundity radiating from this gifted, and possibly homeless, man. As he sang, “But let me start by saying… I love youuuu” and extended his arms to the only passerby (me.), I could feel the unhygienic love coming my way. SWOOOOONNNNN!

Scholastic inquiries

As I watch the steady rain wash away the dead heat of a summer’s day and baste the green life until permeated with a vibrant gloss, I begin to contemplate one of life’s more convoluted questions that only the cleansing rainfall can induce me to answer...

Why is it that the majority of cute kids—and I use the word “cute” hesitantly because let’s face it, a blob is a blob—seem to grow up fugly? Is it because they use up all their good looks early so the only natural progression is toward the disagreeable aesthetic? Interestingly enough, the other kids who are shunned by onlookers and questioned if it be a boy or girl tend to grow into their looks, and thus improve over time. THAT IS SOME BENJAMIN BUTTON SHIZ!

Now some of you may be shocked and horrified, but maybe some proof will put your outrage at ease:

To begin, here is George Clooney, then and now, as an extreme example of someone growing into their looks.












Almost unrecognizable!! Javier Bardem's No Country for Old Men character would be jealous of that coiffure. Based off of that hot mess to tha left, Mr. Clooney has come a long 'n triumphant way.

On to the next! Who else has fought the good fight and came out victorious? Drew Barrymore, for one.














It's a miracle!! Those brows once looked hopeless paired with that feathered 80s hair. But no more! Though Drew has experimented with an infinite number of hair colors and styles in the past, she has most certainly locked down a look that works for her now. Rejoice!

Andrew Lawrence is another champ that overcame the same adversities Drew Barrymore and George Clooney faced. You may recognize him from the Disney show Brotherly Love, though no one would blame you if you don't. You see, Andrew was unfortunate enough to have 2 attractive brothers while he was just a doughy kid with floppy hair. But behold the transformation!











Dayummm! And we all know what Joey Lawrence looks like now... I'm just saying...

But wait! They can't all be as fortunate as the examples above. It's a cruel world to some. My primary, and best, example is that little boy from the Jerry Maguire movie. Poor kid, he was at the top of his game at the age of 6. And now, look at him!!
















I know there are exceptions to this rule, or perhaps these are the exceptions, but you cannot deny it!!! I'm simply making observations (with irrefutable proof). Accept it, fools!!

It's jealousy but don't tell anyone!

Today power-hungry (or is it just hungry?) Oprah pityingly revealed another one of her secrets of the world that she hides in her inflated hair, which is filled with secrets. Filled! I would tell you, but I’m trying to collect my own secrets to form a kind of repertoire, if you will, so I too can benefit from the wonders of voluminous hair. By the end of summer, I hope to have the most grandiose hair and credit it, not to the vengeful humidity, but to my proliferated secrets. Pinky will ask me what we're doing tonight, to which I will respond: the same thing we do every night, Pinky, try and take over the world!!! With Oprah’s hair, there’d be no stopping me!