Batman vs Superman: Yawn of Justice

Batman vs Superman is actually the story of two dudes who can’t communicate at all.

The biggest problem in the plot of this mildly spoiler review is that both Batman and Superman are 10000000% guilty of hubris and neither of them admit it.
I went into Batman vs Superman (or vice versa) Dawn of Justice with the same level of meh as I approach most things that have been spoiled in every trailer, preview and sneak peek that a major movie can offer…which is to say I was passive aggressive teenage girl ambivalent to everything going on.
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The movie opens recreating the events of Man of Steel where instead of seeing handsome Henry Cavill we see WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON Ben Affleck’s Bruce Wayne driving through Metropolis with his woes (and the apocalypse raining down on him and his brand friendly Jeep). From that moment, 18 months ago, Bruceman er Batman is completely team “Fuck this guy”. For reasons not one person on the writing team for this movie can explain or cared to explore, Batman is reactivated across town in Gotham and wages a one man war, tearing through the streets of Gotham like a toddler mid temper trantrum. He doesn’t cause chaos in Metropolis, where the problem ACTUALLY is, but instead just beats mercilessly on petty thugs and crooks. The Daily Planet runs a piece on some asshole with a branding fetish leaving bat brands on the low lives of Gotham in thinly explained attempts to suss out the kinda racist sounding White Portuguese drug cartel and this is how you want to introduce the two leads? I end it with a question mark because I wasn’t even sure if this was an episode of The Wire, Breaking Bad or something else involved drug runners with cool names and thusly confused as to why Batwayne was so obsessed with figuring out who WP was/is because meanwhile here’s Superman doing Superman things like bailing cats out of trees, rescuing Russian Cosmonauts from explosions and otherwise being a god on Earth. Batwayne is every flavor of salty because he immediately zeroes in on SuperKent to figure out why he’s so hunky and dreamy. I mean…why he writes puff pieces on assholes in longjohns.
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Cut to bizarre party somewhere in wherever where Superman, Batman and Wonder Woman (she’s in the movie, did I forget to mention this?) are at a party but the punchline is the dialogue is garbage.
The dialogue is bad.
It’s REALLY a screenwriting 101 script written by casual Wikipedia enthusiast that was then passed off to someone else to polish and instead of actually proofing, they just post-it noted lines in before handing it to someone else and the only things that were filmed were the post-it scenes. The GLUE of a Post-It is what’s holding this mess together and even that isn’t doing much of anything.
Batwayne gets one upped by Wonder whatever her name is and he’s all beguiled and sad. SuperKent is confused because he only has heart boners for Lois Lane who’s given even LESS than Wonder Woman to work with the in terms of whatever post-it plots they came up with for this movie.
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The movie works best if we’re talking about the actual assembly of the JLA versus the grumbling mumbling hulking bros who just can’t get their shit together. The idea that Batman would actively want to beat the shit out of Superman because of damages and loss sustained during Man of Steel is cool and one man doing it is also cool but if he felt he was such a major threat, watching Batman recruit a batch other -snicker- metahumans to understand them and get them on the side of good would be a much more engaging movie than the one we wound up with.
Anyway more talking happens and some fun cameos occur that actually riled up the crowd I was with (we my have been drinking) and that made me want THAT movie, the one I made up with all my action figures and in my head that I hoped Hollywood would rip off. It never happens and that’s where the burden of what DC is doing becomes apparent. The writers (I’m being a savage and saying it was atleast ten people trying their best to mansplain years of nerd lore) tried to do what Marvel has done with four movies in one movie and it shows, good GOD does it show. It’s most apparent with how they’ve glossed over the rest of the league, wink and nods to each member in what is tantamount to a Veronica Mars tribute scene.
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The third act is cobbled together as complete 100% fan service to those poor fools who still think DC as a brand and entity respects them and I for one low key am pleased before I realize that I honestly could give a flying fuck about who wins the Batman vs Superman debate; the one who loses is the rest of us. How?! Man of Steel. We all lost by seeing that grim piece of shit overthought hunk of shit. We got a fantastic opportunity to tell the tale of a man stuck with being a god and spent it grim darkly trying to understand Kal-El’s beef with the world. Superman is an alien, an immigrant and we never in any permutation of him felt that loneliness and need to belong, to be respected; we have only ever gotten his god amongst men perspective. Conversely, Bruce Wayne is the little orphan shitshow that could. They are men burdened with being men who want to save a broken world but on their terms. In short, there’s not real risk choosing Batman or Superman; they’re not the dudes you want but the options you have. It’s basically like the 2016 elections so…
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Then, there’s Wonder Woman.
In the Synderverse she’s every humorless woman any basic fuckboy has told to smile; she hates everyone and would gladly squeeze the last breath from their lungs if it meant one less useless cretin in the world.

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So basically I’m in love.
She’s actually the reason to see this. With almost no dialogue, Gal Gadot’s Wonder Woman is probably the best part of this 2 hour therapy session. She stares a lot, analyses and disappears. When she appears, the theater erupts. I look forward to the one time I pay for this movie to experience that euphoria. The masses demand a woman who doesn’t give a fuck; that solves a problem and shrugs when everyone else is completely flummoxed.
Remember in IronMan 2 when Black Widow was completely down played? Same problem. Many a think piece is being written about how women in these movies are completely bypassed (merchandise and actual focal point) so really, it’s done and over with but honestly…
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The final sequence happens exactly as you would expect a video game or a great weed fueled story to go. Fast, mad cut scenes, bright lights, fan service and of course hero shit. There are no stakes raised, no sense of loss or gain in this as you watch it, just a lot of “cool” or “they should’ve cleaned that up more in post” and “that’s it?!” There’s no sense of ramped up world building that follows movies like this, just the simple nod and “I saw that it was ok” and then onto the next one.
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When the movie ended, my nerd cohorts all puzzled over where to go and if we should keep drinking; no one was bothered by the movie, there was a sad sense of acceptance. We knew it would blow but we didn’t expect to ALL be devastated by how truly bland a movie it was. It just washes over you in a wave of sad feelings.
As I walked out and had a drink with a coworker we spent more time arguing how good Marvel was at these movies than DC and a MAJOR conclusion was met; DC banks heavily on the name recognition while Marvel wants to seduce into their world and keep you there for as long as possible. Superman vs Batman only holds the door open long enough for you to walk in, have your ass smacked by the swinging door and by then you’ve already lost time and money to whatever is happening.
There’s no investment in your delight or engagement, just simple shrugging and plot holes. It’s terrible that the Snyderverse/Nolanverse is grim tones and too much reality for people to handle; the joy of these properties is that there is someone out there watching for us and protecting us from ourselves and the things that endanger us all. There’s no mirth or joy in this universe which is why it’s funny to think the heroes are so dark while the team on Suicide Squad clearly snorted alot of cocaine in Scarface’s Miami and candy coated the most violent batch of lunatics. Juxtaposing these two worlds adds to the other issue that weighs down this movie; neither the villains or the heroes seem to be aware of either’s existence. That’s terrible. You’re telling me that Superman was unaware of the Joker gang running the streets of Gotham before the Batman finished him? Superman had to know there was fuckery abounding. For your audience to walk out completely wigging out and confused by what they just watched…that kind of reaction can spell the end times for comic book properties as audiences reach a sympathy level of nope when it comes to how much you can ask a non comic book reader to suspend their belief in things.

Truth be told, the movie will make a shit ton of money and for that, we should be sad because there’s no reason for subpar movies to make that kind of bank and still be considered good. We deserve much better than what we’re getting with this second round of Bat/Sup movies but ultimately the fandom will split; they’ll pick another comic book franchise to get behind that won’t treat them like they’re stupid.

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I hope that Marvel, still humbled by missteps, take this into account when it comes to Captain America: Civil War as that movie hinges entirely on the fandom in both the MCU and comic book universe to really think about who they’ve aligned themselves with because that’s the real problem; Team Cap or Team Iron.

What I Learned: October 10

This week, I return to my comic book roots, get optimistic about text messages and try to not lose my head.

Last week was pretty busy and I’ve noticed that I’ve completely lost control

Previously:

After driving round in the rain yesterday and finding two action figures and buying two bluray movies at Target while hoping that Waffle would reconsider saying yes to me and a rainy joyride, I wind up at my brother’s house to deliver passes for NYCC. The college trip to Howard is cancelled thanks to the looming disaster that is Hurricane Joaquin and I’m allowed to sleep in a little bit, which, given how badly I’ve been sleeping is basically like being given a golden ticket.

Saturday:

I’m up early for no good reason other than I’m now waking up before my alarm clock. Either because I’m not sleeping right or because I know the sounds of shitty top 40 radio enrages me more than the braying sound the alarm makes so to avoid being cranky, I just wake up.

I’m feeling more and more tired as of late and it’s due to large part that my brain is screaming at me about the sleep thing and the fact that I’m just working nearly every day. The funny thing is that I’m also PAINFULLY aware of how close New York Comic Con is and all I want to do is spend time with Waffle in the confines of the smelly aisles of the Javitz Center because in my head I’ve made it my mission to win that heart back and I think that Stockholm Syndrome is a legitimate means of making someone fall back in love with you.

it worked for these two right?

I head to work and get in early enough to walk and watch something on Netflix before settling into an awkward work flow where we all want to be somewhere else and debate the merits of covering the Chik-Fil-A opening.

Mostly for science because supposedly it’s the greatest chicken ever but I feel a little weird wanting to try chicken as supplied by hyper religious bigots who would sooner throw said chicken at me for being bisexual.

I have fast hands and would catch it and eat it with joy but also that’s too much work.

Either way, we finish and walk over to see what the fuss is about and let me tell you, it’s a mile long line, no exaggeration.

I wind up getting Wendys.

BECAUSE THAT IS FUCKING DELICIOUS.

Sunday:

Sunday is much nicer weather wise than Saturday or Friday.

It might also be because I got an early morning text message from Waffle.

It’s sickening how my mood, my entire brain chemistry changes once I get a message from her; it’s almost as if I could take on the entire world with an arm strapped to my back, win and be home in time for Once Upon A Time with Waffle and chill. This kind of thing can kill me. In any case I enthusiastically answer the text with the kind of eagerness that basically is embarrassing.

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So we agree sorta to meet after work which mercifully goes by quickly.

Netflix and chill is not to be.

Waffle basically slept the entire day away.

I’m not crushed so much as I saw it coming because I’m pretty good at predicting that kind of thing. Either way, the little tingle still lingers.

I wind up doing laundry, eating a sandwich and watching last week’s Grey’s Anatomy On Demand. I wind up making gagging noises while Callie flexes on Arizona and her ‘new girlfriend’.

legit my OTP fight me

It’s like, c’mon man, fucking support the love and just…fix it.

FUCKKKKK.

They let all the other trash OTPs get atleast fifteen sporting shots before one of them dies or something Shondalandy happens. Callie goes through a fucking windshield, delivers her premie baby, survives heart failure and physical therapy, MARRIES Arizona who then loses her leg in a plane crash THEN cheats on Callie THEN buy a house together then…

the fuck man?!

Love works somehow in all of this and then they’re like, nah they’re good let them date other people.

My skin crawls.

it’s like no one knows what goes into being that open or vulnerable with humans. They’re awful. They’ll maim you. I believe that love works like a stronger friendship. I call you bro. My best friend. Not because I don’t respect you or don’t love you. You’re the best friend I have. Everyone else is trash.

Anyways. I continue with laundry and prepare myself to throw socks at the TV during Once Upon a Time.

Once Upon a Time and let me tell you…

If they’re not angling Regina and Emma together, they need to tell the production staff because for fuck’s sake, you don’t romcom zoom and light two people who are supposed to be plutonic bros. I mean if you casually cruise the Tumblr tags, it’s basically going to make you a believer.

also I just happen to think that chemistry is something you can’t fight.

PLUS.

They’re totally bros. They watch out for each other in ways that other people don’t.  It’s fuckin’ beautiful.

In anycase, I wind up watching that, getting caught in the feels and watching Fear the Walking Dead.

Then I get another text.

We wind up talking throughout the episode and I gotta say (I also have to admit that I know you’re probably reading this and if you are, well, hi.) it’s still a really nice feeling. I’m still optimistic as hell as evidenced by the most vivid dream I’ve had in a long time that only makes me feel like the universe is listening and for that, I’m thankful.

Monday:

The world is a blur and I’m told I have an insane task to pull off. Plan a massive field trip, plan an NBA interview, chase after Jack Hanna and his people for paperwork and keep my wits about me while balancing multiple shoots on one day.

It all falls into place somehow.

Tuesday:

I honestly don’t remember what happened but there was candy and everyone was happy about that.

Wednesday:

I’m in Brooklyn working on this project and I’m wandering the halls of the a government building and I can’t help but wonder if in another life, could I have actually gone into politics.

Nah.

I live in my head.

We have a great conversation about art and gentrification and I hope that I can find the brain power to really put together something dynamic.

In the meantime, two other shoots go off and I have to pat myself on the back for not completely melting down while exchanging confusing text messages about the status of comic con passes that have suddenly come up as available.

I’m good at multitasking I really am, I may be short circuiting a little because I can’t even come up with a good enough logical answer so I tuck my phone in my pocket and work work work.

I leave at 9.

I get home and watch TV and color. Yes. An adult coloring book works wonders. I have a decent talk with Waffle and for some reason, all the ghosts of the past drift into my mind and I’m immediately reminded that despite the petty arguments and sniping, we’re two people overworked, decently paid and sexless. I wonder if trying to diffuse the tension would help or only throw gasoline onto an already raging nuclear aftermath that is our lives. At this point, given my ranting on Sunday about OUAT all I want to do is find a goddamned happy ending.

Thursday:

Emergency packing and lunching for what will be the best weekend ever.

BUT FIRST.

Jack Hanna planning.

Friday:

Special edition.

What I Learned: September 11

This week, I like trains, Made In America is a dustbowl dance, drones are both awesome and terrifying, I have no idea what I’m doing and I have a dream where basically everything I want happens, I just need the universe to deliver.

Saturday

so basically I’m struggling with extreme anxiety which causes me to take a sleeping pill the night before (I got home at 9pm, ate nothing, took a shower, took a pill in bed at 10p. ON A FUCKING FRIDAY) and wake up in the early morning like a groggy drunk four times before the actual alarm goes off.

We’re off to a rolling start.

I head to the office early to pick up gear and race to Penn Station in the hopes of catching a 10 am Acela train to Philadelphia. I have a plan and everything seems to be in order but we all know that those things don’t actually mean a gotdamned thing.

We wind up getting on a  train a full hour afterwards that pulls us directly to Philly where we embark on what I hope will be the least anxiety inducing day of my young career.

Again.

THAT.

DOESN’T HAPPEN.

I get the passes from the wicked hotel, we head to the festival grounds and proceed to sweat.

The truncated version of this story goes like this:

  • I almost punched someone out during Modest Mouse.
  • Nick Jonas struggles WAY too hard to put soul into his voice. You’re on a Justin Timberlake track, just let it happen organically babe.
  • Glitch Mob plays a lot of moombaton
  • Drunk girls are the worst creatures on the planet, second only to drunk frat bros.
  • Cops on bikes are absolutely adorable.
  • Puke is gross, chunky puke grosser, beer puke is basically the reason why beer sucks.
  • Halsey is the day AFTER we leave; I won’t get to stare at her.
  • Deathcab for Cutie is immaculate live
  • meek mill got away with doing karaoke hits from other rappers, yelling and bringing out Nicki Minaj yet I’m still perplexed how his fans think he WON against Drake. He basically admitted he’s powerless.
  • Beyonce basically sounds like top 40 radio cranked to fifteen in hell, complete with overwrought wailing, unnecessary remixes to her own basic songs about female empowerment, a lot of circle ass movements and bamboozled everyone by performing a third of Destiny’s Child’s three albums (because she owns the rights to everything because of course she does)
  • Bar wings on an Amtrak are glorious but a whisky chaser and I’m basically living a golden life.

Sunday

Flying by the seat of my pants, spend an hour and change on the phone with my brother trying to remind myself that my depression shouldn’t keep sneaking up the way it does. He reminds me that every time I start to feel shitty its when I’ve had a major project that seems like it was a nightmare to even pull off. I tell him the two can’t be connected that’s just crazy.

OR maybe it’s not. It’s in my head.

I’m lucky to be working.

I get on the train and basically listen to Slipknot.

Monday

I struggle to avoid answering emails again but I do it and settle a few things.

I send a charming flirty text to Waffle asking about Shake Shack and a play day.

swing and a miss

I struggle to get out of bed. But I do that. I struggle to take a shower. I do that too. I wanted to get dressed and buy some half priced comics. I don’t do that. I read Libba Bray’s magnificent post about her struggles with depression. feel it on a deeper level and wind up finishing a project because I was holding onto it in the hopes that my genius (which is suffering) would shine through. I just press publish and wait for the responses at this point. I want it to be good but realize that I’ve been working on this for quite some time and they’re just for fun, they’re not my real works or passion but it’s keeping me busy and distracted.

I spend another hour and change on the phone with my brother. He knows I’m feeling lousy and doesn’t ask about my going over there. I owe him a big weekend.

Tuesday

I wake up highly motivated but by highly motivated I mean I wind up getting out of bed at a decent hour and attempting to dress. I do get dressed only to wind up getting food with mom. I wind up going upstairs and staying there.

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I wind up watching Serena/Venus knowing exactly how it’s going to end even though I want an insane upset but it doesn’t happen.

Wednesday

I start my day with another Waffle call and find that these things are starting to be a habit…which I like….and then that gross feeling of hope starts blossoming in my chest and try as I might, I can’t shake it at all. I don’t want to but It feels like that scene in Carmilla where Laura tells Carmilla not to kiss her or be around her because it’s y’know, feelings and stuff.

Fuck it.

I’m waiting on that payback Universe.

I do a terrific job of getting out of bed and out of my house to go to work and up comic books and action figures.

YES.

I do.

I talk myself out of buying a pile and get only the essentials because I have to be a decent person for fucks sake and also NYCC is coming.

nnmmmmmmmmmmmmohmygod

Thursday

Things happen. Honestly? Can’t remember.

mostly because an accidental ‘what up bro’ text turns into ‘bro, come to this event tonight’ which leads to 4am burgers at a diner.

SO.

I make an ass of myself with LA Reid (serverely distracted by work emails and texts so I COMPLETELY miss his speaking to me like a regular person. We’re talking about my Wen Kroy Danger cap (thanks Mighty Healthy) and I joke about not quizzing me about being a serious Rangers fan. I’m a certifiable moron.

this hat is basically my favorite hat ever.

So I go inside, get some Ketel One and Red Bull because I’m actually a college sophomore and those things excite me and listen to what is possibly going to be my favorite album ever once it’s released.

BIG GRAMS IS THE TRUTH

The quick jaunt out into the world turns into an adventure when we pile into an Uber and wind up at Webster Hall where, despite my VIP tags, I’m denied VIP Access but still wind up yelling most of the words to Cam’ron’s music as it blasts from the main stage because…he was there…

I have more Hypontiq in my body that I’ve ever had before…a full decade after I was old enough to buy it.

We walk out, sweaty and confused with ringing ears and end up eating burgers at a diner that I’ve come to love. I burn the shit out of my mouth, shovel all the food into my face hole and get home at 5am.

lit forever

Friday

I have to run a shoot for adidas.

BRANDING FOREVER.

It goes well and the funny thing is that I know the guy who’s running security because one of my past lives entailed my having to be a security/service person. My natural instinct is to make friends and pass cards with the staff; because, as previously mentioned those people will always be working and you want to have fun and they know you’re fun, they’ll share the fun. I can’t drink and work, its just not something that’s good to do.

I learned that I’m capable of much and many things this week but even superheroes have their limits.

god bod

it’s also bizarre to be at an event in SoHo where I can see the Lights…The weather was the same today as it was fourteen years ago. It’s strange to think that I was pocket sized, full of hope and never knew what was to come. It’s just a strange day and weekend because it doesn’t feel like we should be hobnobbing when people were killed nearly steps away from you and the fashion show. I know it’s been years and people learn to heal from it but it’s still a bit strange for me.

Whatever.

What I Learned : September 18th

This week, we return the scene of the crime, climb the (sorta) highest rooftop, get grenades lobbed into our chest cavities and buy hats

Saturday

Feels like a haze. Perhaps it’s due mainly to the fact that I’m running on irregular sleep, working long hours and the weather just can’t decide between hoodie and heatwave but it feels like everything is on fire.

This is not the first time I’ve used this meme.

Between the standard protocol for the day, there’s a shoot that I’m somehow pulled into coordinating on an equipment level and maybe it’s because I’m still trying to understand how the word, ‘No’ works, I wind up doing that plus freaking out about a million other things that after the fact aren’t even important, I just need to sit and be reminded that I’m not a surgeon, I’m not saving the world and no, no one gives a good goddamn about your feelings.

I should be on Grey’s Anatomy or something though…

A contact pulls through and I wind up going BACK to the event and this time, enjoying the space. I take a few pictures, have two glasses of white and feel like a snob.

Then she happened.

When you’re at a thing that you initially went with with other people (who left) and you’re there trying to figure out if it’s worth staying, you tend to do two things; stare off into space, or stare at your phone. I don’t have anyone really to talk to so I stare at the third option, my camera.

While there a sprite of a thing flits up to me and says, “You’ve got great energy.”

I am actauually standing in a corner with a bottle of water and my camera fidgeting and trying to not run home for more work to finish and sleep to catch up on. These are things I need kid, not your energy.

The strange thing about girls like these is that I keep attracting them. In a past life I had attracted Charlie and for a moment it made some kind of sense but I didn’t really see it as anything besides two people who genuinely liked each other but Charlie wanted more than I could give. Interestingly enough, it would be the things that happened with Charlie that would bring me to Waffle.

These girls convince you with their strange charms to do rails of cocaine and take selfies with cops.

(neither of these things happened)

They’re the kind of lightening in a bottle that all the terrible indie rom coms have fetishized to the point that when you see them, you want to run in the opposite direction.

Anyway, Dynamite convinces me to walk out with her and a friend where I wind up escorting them over to the East Village for dinner. I drag my sorry carcass the hell home…and deal with lousy trains because why not?

a girl like you should come with a warning sign

Sunday

My increasing panic allows me to multitask but I’ve also hit a personal breaking point.

I get home and sleep for twenty minutes, eat dinner then spend the next two hours in various sprawls on the couch until I drag my ass into bed to watch a lackluster episode of Fear The Walking Dead while simultaneously resembling the newly dead.

I vex on the title and ask Waffle is maybe it should’ve been named “Rise of The Walking Dead” or if that was too literal.

Monday

I sprint into Brooklyn, still wind up getting there late but am granted ten minutes to plot something on my left arm that I hope will bring me confidence I so desperately need. I’m continuing to build on armor that keeps me from the world and gives me something pretty to look at.

In the midst of all that, I oversee an edit on the project from Friday that looks pretty damned cool.

I get back into the city proper, wind up aimlessly wandering 14th Street and pick up Ant-man, a new book and wander into a bar.

BECAUSE IM TRASH.

I’m then given the worst batch of whiskey gingers I’ve had…and of course it’s from the pretty but stupid bartender. It’s her second day in and no one told her the dump the liquor skip the soda rule. She looks like Naya Rivera’s impression of Kim Kardashian.

just as vacant in the eyes too.

Of course the male clientele love it…I’m a mean bitch who just can’t tolerate pretty girls without a lick of sense.

A Jameson rep is MERCIFULLY at the bar today, shilling the nectar of the gods.

She gives the bar a free shot.

I close the tab.

Then remember the place has great burgers.

I move.

She follows me with those big dumb glassy eyes.

She tries to palm off a fucking GIN AND GINGER on me and I tell her, “WHISKY ginger and don’t charge me for that.”

I get a burger, pay only for the burger and wind up getting four more less than shitty whiskeys but have no buzz, an upset stomach and have been mansplained about digital.

I’m having a right proper Monday.

Waffle doesn’t text me again after starting my day with a ‘Do you think Old Navy is having a sale?’ text to which I replied, “More than likely, wanna meet and find out?”

Waffle: “I just got home, Im’ going to sleep.”

Then radio silence. You’d think I’d be used to it but it’s just one of those things where…here, I’ll let this clip describe it.

Every text message is the equivalent of “opening my heart with a knife and continuing to remind me that this could be us but I’m playing.”

I meet a lot of people they do nothing for me and my increasing distance with humanity is essentially alienating me from the rest of the world; I’m fine with that. I am. To a degree because as I get colder, I wonder if Waffle will even notice. there’s a gulf between us, life making it worse and ever the painful optimist, I keep building a bridge out of whatever I can find and securing it with whatever I can so that Waffle knows to cross it, meet me in the middle and let’s go through this together.

I wind up walking home after my less than stellar bar day, determined to never do it again because my jeans are fitting me awkwardly and the last thing I need is to be miserable AND overweight because they go hand in hand in the misery train.

Tuesday

I get an early morning text message and immediately backflip out of bed…

then fall back to sleep.

Waffle needs to go clothes shopping and of course, exhausted and grumpy as I am, I get up, get dressed and I’m out the door.

We text back and forth and maybe it’s the residual feelings from yesterday but I feel that stirring happen and I wind up flirting, poorly, but it happens. I had over a sticker that made me think of everything I believe because to be honest, I just need that magic to work and for Waffle to understand it works best when it’s believed in together. We get on the bus and talk the usual bullshit while I work from my phone. Try as I might, I just can’t not be working. Good bad, who knows. We wind up at the mall where I fallow Waffle around like the lovesick puppy I am. At Old Navy I stare and then try not to. At Hot Topic (shut up) I stare and flirt and I watch the way those cheeks pink with each bad pick up line. It’s so bad the girl behind the counter is giggling. We get brunch (legit, lunch was breakfast, I understand the hype behind brunch now) I get Dairy Queen and Waffle get’s Nathan’s. I stare again, and do my best to not look so thirsty but it’s one of those fuck it things at this point.

The day is nice until Waffle awkwardly, on a bus full of people, mentions that the odds of our getting back together after two years are not in my favor.

That sound you hear?

That’s another large chunk of my heart being shattered under them sneakers.

I hold it in and ramble things that I believe to be true and get the, “What do you want me to say?” answer over and over again.

I ramble and make a few coherent words and apologize for everything again. I wind up crying. I suck it up. “I just want you to see me the way you saw me the first time. I feel like you’re denying it, I feel like you’re doing your best to not feel that because it wasn’t the best towards the end. When I left the job (we were in mutual positions) the thing that upset me most was not having an excuse to see you every other day at work, not even that I’d been dropped from the roster. Isn’t that sad? The fact that not seeing you was more upsetting than not knowing how I was going to pay bills or take care of myself?”

I saw Waffle wiping away tears out of the corner of my eye and honestly, I couldn’t help the small twinge of joy that gave me.

I mention that we have mutual tattoos as well and that’s just a strange coincidence right? The quote that means a lot to me:

I mean

And another that mirrors mine; one that I got years back to impress Waffle in the first place. That was five years ago. I went alone and I got it done and showed it off. The look in those eyes.

I think I’ve romanticized something that’s slowly driving me insane.

I see the signs, I see the patterns, I frequently ask the universe and work and work and work and I just keep seeing the signs everywhere and I just can’t ignore them. I can’t.

Am I wrong?

I haven’t cried about it in awhile, stress and anxiety working their wonders to keep me from melting down into a pile of tears and sadness but I wind up falling to pieces as soon as I get home anyway. I also knock out a few pitches and ideas while trying to tell myself that these two days were supposed to be chill and relaxing, not bizarre and upsetting.

There’s another wonderful life lesson to learn: happy is just not something that I can actually be, neither is content or satisfied. I’m in perpetual state of ‘shit happens, deal with it, live fight die repeat.’

Instead of being a normal person and watching Narcos like all the cool kids I wind up watching the Strange Empire and having a deep heart eye emoji for Cara Gee.

I have a type.

Hours later I text a rambling message to Waffle that repeats everything I’ve been saying for the last two cringeworthy years only to basically get nothing in response even though it was something I was prepared for, it’s still not something that I wanted to get, y’know?

Meanwhile, whatsername from three weeks back keeps trying to talk to me and honestly, I don’t know how many ways I’ve said to go away without sounding like a prick.

The irony is, I was flattered for two minutes until whatername gave me Charlie vibes. I ran like someone lit my ass on fire and I’m still running…in the direction of the wall that Waffle put up.

There is nowhere else I want to be and nowhere else to go and Waffle knows it.

I’m trying, I am but out of everything in this world that could possibly mean more to me it’s that.

It’s true. You don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone.

In the middle of all of this, the video from Friday makes it onto the internet: 

PS. My neighbor’s choice in music is shitty.

Wednesday

Work starts off with an insane rush of things to get done. I have a shoot in Brooklyn that I haven’t had time to prepare for outside of the precursor questions and research that I’ve done on my days off. It feels good to be out in the field though, especially considering the fact that I don’t have a chance to obsess over the fact that I know damn well Waffle won’t be texting or calling me early in the morning for awhile.

A care package I’ve been meaning to deliver to my brother arrives courtesy of my mom and he texts me with OMG. So I guess it was a hit. I feel like an absentee parent when it comes to my brother. My days are pretty loaded and I don’t know how to unplug myself and just be in the moments anymore. I may also be suffering from that success thing and I don’t want it to stop because that’s what’s afforded me the ability to even indulge in the stupid things that we enjoy.

We hit Williamsburg for this shoot and we film in an amazing space and I hope to god that it’s a hit because it’s been such a bumble of a thing to work on. Everything from timing, to sound to picture has been a bit of a struggle but I have this weird faith it’ll all come together…mostly because there are worse things that can fall apart.

I climb onto the roof and sprain my thumb (self diagnosis, we’ll see what it looks like tomorrow) and film what I can in the heat and on a rooftop, making it up as I go along while my thumb is throbbing. I may be so tired, dazed and out of my own head that it doesn’t phase me, a person who’s uncomfortable with heights, am standing on a rooftop shooting skyline and painters. I think i’m just accepting that things have to be done and if I’m doing them, I’m gonna fucking do them.

I get back to the office with enough time to shovel food in my face (my lunch is now dinner) and finish out the day. I discover some fun features on Snapchat that I won’t use because you don’t need to be subjected to my face so, there, you’re spared. HOWEVER, my Snapchats tend to be hilarious as hell so, you should follow me on that. (invisiblecircus)

I get on the phone and talk to my brother for a half hour where we giggle about plans for Comic Con as I make my way over to Midtown Comics because I have a serious problem. I wind up picking up four comics and a Cobra New Era cap.

You have to respect the branding

I’ve basically taken to wearing caps because my hair is in a weird transitional phase, I’m too lazy to even style whatever it is living on my head and my self esteem is trash so…you know…dress it up.

I get home watch some of the debates and wonder how the hell these people even function in the world.

Fingers crossed I get to pull off two projects for work.

Thursday

I pull together a few things that work and by work I mean they don’t blow up in my face.

I spend some time in St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

Walk to the train and get home in no time.

Rewatching Grey’s Anatomy gets me mad though…Calzona…still broken up.

Friday

I get an early start and manage to get things done. I interview an intern, which is odd because what the hell do I know?

I offer to pick up beers for everyone and see the mood change. Liquor, the great uniter.

It’s funny because I always manage to make the things that seem improbably possible and while it’s a great trait to have, I don’t want to be the one who comes in and manages to make things happen with almost no planning.

Then again, like i said, my life is a strange trip.

What I Learned: August 21

This week, I get my cowgirl on (not in that way) and wrangle up some coworkers for micro tour of New York, get some damn fine barbecue in Brooklyn and discover that the joys of running and gunning is only as good as the subject you’re shooting.

Monday:

Starts with a groan since I’m convinced I overslept and continues with a WHAT THE FAK as the trains decide, ‘girl, you’re not going to go no place on time today’ I arrive to one of the cooler venues to shoot in, The YouTube Studios and do my very best to not cartwheel all around the place. (I can’t do cartwheels so it’s fairly easy to do) I’ve booked a guy who’s basically the shrunken stocky version of John Lequizamo as our driver for the day and that basically means, you’re gonna have a good time.

We’ve packed in all the talent into one studio space and they’re basically the goofiest group of mixed gender kids that I’ve encountered. It’s like S Club 7 without the British accents…sigh…I miss SC7.

I’ve no idea what happened to them (this is also not my group)

We pile into a fifteen passenger van like a bunch of exhausted school kids and head off to a space in Brooklyn that’s covered in artwork, some of which is related to the group that I’m working on my first production documentary on. It’s kinda magical how all of these lives and strings start threading together the way they have. From there, we shuttle to another place that’s lowkey nice and do another round of photos and some people do some power napping.

For someone who theoretically had 8 hours of sleep and is currently running on hour 12 by the time we wrap, I’m feeling ok.

I’m also off the next two days and when you have that kind of luck, you really wanna go all out y’know?

We wind up at Mabels for dinner and have a massive family style barbecue sitdown where I discover that I have serious maternal issues; I kept making sure everyone was eating, watered and taken care of before shoveling atleast a pound of various meats in my face. (Pause)

It should be mentioned that I wound up squaring up various bills and tabs, signing off on various pieces of paper and getting a free shot of whisky because I took care of our one bartender and the manager was super delighted with my automatic running around like a chicken with my head cut off tendencies.

There’s still tons of food left and I’m EXACTLY the type of person to ask for doggy bags and boxes. I ultimately pack up two large boxes of ribs, pulled pork, cole slaw, mac and cheese and some potatoes. I SAT ON THE TRAIN ON MY WAY HOME LIKE A BOSS with my food because…

Why not?

Tuesday:

I stay home, eat some leftovers with mom and process the paperwork from the night before. I am nothing if not completely obsessive and slightly workaholical. I go to the gym for once and manage to impress myself by not being too winded or flabby. I am however, exhausted and cut it short. I go home and get into a text talk with Waffle and it sounds like dinner was going to happen but I fall asleep for four hours and wake up to a ‘I’m going to work, talk to you later text’

you used to call me on my cell phone

Wednesday:

I decide today’s the day that I’m going to treat myself and I wind up going to the movies…and comic books. BUT FIRST. Let me look like a human female and get my eyebrows done. I wind up on Union Square, fraught with memories because I brought Waffle there all the time and it always sucks to do something when you know it’s much more fun with someone else. I go see Ant-Man which is pretty funny and enjoyable and for god’s sake would you look at Hayley Motherfuckin Atwell as Agent Carter in 1989.

stop being so awesome you savage

If I may…

Hayley Atwell is one of those people that’s just naturally charming and strange enough to make you wonder why God would be so cruel as to make a person witty, generous and hot. I mean there are goddesses and there’s this woman.

Shakin my head.

Anyways. I wind up not buying any comic books (I get them through Comixology) and pick up a Doctor Strange shirt because let’s face it, this guy is the gnarliest of the Marvel superheroes because he’s basically a creep magician.

I like that shit.

Thursday:

Did you know the thirst for Yeezy Boosts is real?

Did you know that raffle contests are the cause of passion and dedication?

Did you know that I spent five hours in the middle of a heatwave working on an internet banger?

The more you know.

The fun part of it was both of us were walking around looking for Adidas sneakers in Nike kicks.

I’m no hype beast but I gotta tell you, them kids are dedicated and for a moment, I almost caught the fever.

i need to go the gym. seriously.

When I get back, I get info on another shoot tomorrow afternoon. It’s in Connecticut with a major sneaker designer…and Nikki Bella.

Friday:

So this is where the week felt like a lifetime of experiences in one day. I start super early because, like I said, my personal life is a mess and I’m late to places but my professional life is as close to decent and timely as possible. At the start of the afternoon I’m told “It’s a Chevy Tahoe.”

I’m 5’7.

I’m not a Tahoe sized person.

I started to call myself an Uber

We load in for a fun-filled road trip to CT, where the app Waze (I’ve named her Laura) gets us from NYC to location and we spend time in a sneaker head’s fantasy.

I also take a rare selfie and hold the Diva’s championship belt while wearing a Xena shirt.

THE DIVAS’ BELT

DIVAS

BELT

XENA
SHIRT.

Video’s coming soon.

I may have also missed on an opportunity to go to SummerSlam.

*sobbing*

I get back to the city, swap gear and prepare for the next day: the Billboard Hot 100 Fest.

In. Jones. Beach.

There are times where I feel like I can do anything and other times where I’m like, ‘shit shit shit’ and just go with it. These are the times where I’m glad to be where I am and even more impressed that I’ve done what I have done in what feels like a matter of seconds. I have a hard time processing things because I unpack but the real take away is that I’ve really achieved something that borders on insane.

I spent a lot of time watching TV with strong characters and want badly to be like them because I’m just that kind of girl. I pulled a lot of inspiration and strength from them because they were role models that I needed and still need. I have to know that what I’m doing matters; what I’ve accomplished is important and that I’ve been delivering on what I’ve been tasked to do. I’ve been told I’m a warrior, I feel like I fight a dozen wars and I want to make this life truly something impressive. I just want to feel like I’ve done something and as of late, I’ve been scratching at that.

I just want to ease the anxiety and accept things for what they are.

Wondrously strange collection of experiences.

Maybe it’s not such a bad thing.

What I Learned: August 14

This week, I spend time in Tarrytown in a rental car listening to trap music, complete the lap that made me almost weep, learn that technology is not your friend and that being a workaholic is a better substitute for alcohol.

Saturday:

I’m up with the birds and armed with Apple Maps (which, fuck you by the way) I climb into rented Ford Focus and feel like I’m in a jet because I’m doing checks like a pilot. I have about 120,000 songs on an iPod and wind up listening to of all things…Fall Out Boy. Don’t judge me, it beat the radio at 7am.

It’s true what they say about driving, your mind completely blanks out and you focus more on piloting a massive machine through highways built years before you were a thought by people who didn’t think those roads would even be traveled for as long as they have been.

You get super philosophical.

I find parking relatively easy at 7:30am (I was in traffic to boot and DIDN’T drag race once it cleared up…) and run upstairs to make sure that everything is where it’s supposed to be. Again. My personal life, total shitshow, professional life sorta put together.

The team shows up and we load in for our epic journey to the most magical place on earth: the MSG Training Center in Tarrytown NY. While on the way, we encounter the fail that is Apple Maps.

Have you ever driven in near circles in the middle of a scenic part of a town and immediately think, we’re a car full of minorities, isn’t this is how horror movies start?

drive faster

I watch too many movies.

Anyways. We make a few turns and wind up where we’re supposed to be…fuck you Apple Maps…sincerely.

I’m about 5’7 which in the WNBA makes me a guard and probably a decent prospect; in the NBA that makes me the water girl. We arrive and check in and walk into the Liberty side of the basketball court.

I’m not gonna lie, I’ve been there before but I still kinda swoon because that’s what I do.

We land some hilarious interviews and shoot what could be the hit of our mini summer vacation.

We climb back into the car, strangely inspired by the entire day (it was two hours that felt like less than that which is saying something) get 5 Napkin Burgers (which is a miracle) and pile into the office for a late shift.

Sunday:

Even if you want to play a game of treat yo self, you still wind up being incredibly responsible and climb into the fray super early and with a box of bagels for your mom. You also want nothing more than to get another win in terms of getting that date to happen.

The date doesn’t happen.

The sobbing continues.

On the upside, we get two great videos lined up and good to go and I land another byline for work.

I learned that I have to master the art of multitasking.

Also. John Wick is awesome.

Adrienne Palicki, Bridget Reagan and Keanu Reeves carrying guns and being complete assholes. this is basically porn.

Monday:

Screaming matches over stupid things are always fun.

Driving around late at night is even more fun.

I tackled the FDR to the West Side Highway and like a superhero, sat and listened to Kid Cudi wondering about what the hell life is doing with me and my fate these days. I miss the opportunity to get Waffle for a drive around because Waffle being Waffle kept being Waffle and wiffled on me. I was tempted to be a creeper and sit in the car outside waiting but decided that I can’t keep reeking of desperation. The fact that Waffle would’ve gotten in the car with me for fun while I said nothing and blasted music and driven around until drop off at work. These are the things that make me feel all kinds of funny to be honest. I learned that I should just trust my lack of impulse control when it comes to these kinds of situations. Especially when I want to share views like this. IMG_2932

My drive looked nothing like this but I did in fact blast Steve Aoki, so I guess you could say, we were on track.

Tuesday:

So I had rum and cokes.

Wednesday:

Multitasking is multi-taxing but it’s done and honestly, I keep telling myself, I was unemployed last year. Stop bitching so fucking much.

I mean it’s one thing to be overwhelmed and completely burned out but it’s a whole other level if you’re completely like…miserable.

I can’t be miserable.

My brain can’t process that correctly.

My brain shorts out actually.

I know I’m due for a meltdown but I’m also due for an upgrade so I guess you have to burn things down to build something new from it.

I wind up in Jim Hanley’s Universe and have rather interesting conversations about some of the plot fuck ups in X-Factor (which I have admittedly not been keeping up with) but apparently, it’s a big nasty soap opera. I love the fact that out of many of the shops that I’ve been to, this is the only one that actively keeps you in the store with shit talk and comic gossip rather than aisle after aisle of things to look at and maybe consider buying. There’s a strange comfort in the nerd herd. Unsurprisingly, I pick up a bunch of titles that will take me until NEXT WEEK, to read but fuck it, I mean it’s what happens when you work; you get to do things you love.

One day I will write and work for Marvel.

It’s on the list of things to do before I die.

So’s a trip to London.

Fuck it, let’s do both.

Thursday:

Accomplished many a thing, including successfully feeding myself at a decent hour, addressing stuff and things and planning planning planning.

I wound up getting a preview screening pass to see Straight Outta Compton through work which was sweet. It’s insane that all this happened in my lifetime and I’ve basically grown up with this music; I lived through the of many anti-establishment movements fueled by music and made by people who just wanted their voices heard and the vision to just make shit happen. That doesn’t work anymore does it? That unyielding sense of success and self confidence that is needed to take what sounds like a failing idea or a longshot and make it actually happen. Think about it. Ice Cube was the hardest rapper in the game (still is) at the time and just transitioned because he just wanted to do it. Dre just wanted to make music that didn’t suck and E just had the momentum to bring everyone together. It’s probably one of the best made music biopics and some of the moments that happen made me oddly nostalgic for the time where my mom said I couldn’t listen to Metallica, NWA, Public Enemy and when she caught on, The Beastie Boys. Kids aren’t told ‘that’s bad for you’ and if they are, they don’t give a flying fuck. Go see it, it’s worth it.

It’s also creepy how damn near EXACT O’Shea Jackson Jr. resembles his father.

Best cosplay ever.

Friday:

For Whom The Bell Tolls indeed.

In on time despite a late start, doing a bunch of things for the next three days and eagerly anticipating…I dunno…a small moment to think, read a comic book and do more writing because I owe some people some of my letters rearranged into words.

Friday:

I had a salad. That’s not interesting until you realize and understand that my fat ass wants a burger and booze and to be left alone with Waffle on a romantic dinner date where all we do is talk shit and laugh at things.

I’m seeking a gal pal at this point.

An Angie to my  Peggy.

A Sandy to my Danny.

A Laura to my Carmilla.

Basically I’m just rehashing old feelings.

The weekend should be spectacular. Stay tuned.

tumblr_masstsvoKz1qcbgf2o6_500

What Romantic Movies Get Wrong About Romance

So, it’s not real secret that I’m in an awkwardly estranged relationship with Waffle. It’s going on two years I think and I’m still very much traumatized by the entire ordeal. I say estranged because we didn’t break up it was a break and we just kept staying very close to each other. Like, seeing each other every other day close. Waffle’s logic was being unhappy because, admittedly, we were fighting a lot but I challenge anyone who’s been in or is in a relationship to say you didn’t bicker. I’ll call you a liar. THE GRANDADDY OF ALL LIARS. Our arguments were typical, “What do you want to see?” “Why don’t you want to leave the house…” Waffle is a homebody and I’m pretty active so when it came to Netflix and chill, I was cool for awhile but then I wanted to be outside. Irony being what it is, I don’t want to be outside anymore because that means being alone and I can’t stand my own company.

-In all honesty, Waffle is a gift because of all the time we spent together, I felt like maybe I could be by myself but then was like, hell nope-

Romance is a strange thing. I’m romantic in a strange nerd way; I see something in a store and I pick it up and surprise you with whatever it is because I was thinking of you. I don’t do flowers because I tend to be allergic to them so by the time I deliver them my eyes are swollen and my nose is runny; I’m not very pretty so becoming the Zicam snot monster is kinda like…well…it’s just unpleasant.

I spend a lot of time secretly watching romantic comedies, especially off-beat ones where they’re so formulaic I can write them on a post it, mail it to some studio in LA and it’ll have Kiera Knightly or some other white girl in role with up and coming middle of the road sort of attractive twenty something male lead with an upbeat soundtrack and that one song that radio overplayed ad-nauseum. I’m obsessed to a degree with the movie “A Lot like Love” because at one point, I had a relationship like that. I use the word loosely in that regard; we were never going to be anything more than people who depended on each other until the right one came along. Charlie was already into someone else and I was just the support system until the other person got a hint. I haven’t seen Charlie in years and that was when Waffle and I started. My absolute favorite, kill me I have feelings movie is “Imagine Me & You” where the above header gif is from. Second place goes to “Saving Face” which perfectly captures the “holy shit I’m in love with you but I can’t really be all gay in everyone’s face about it but girl the world is yours” essence of just absolutely clicking with someone. Each of these movies have created an unrealistic view of love. They’re also INCREDIBLY gay but, whatever. It works in stages. You’re happy, madly in love, here’s a middle plot point that’s kinda meh (wanting kids, being out etc) and then someone makes the grand gesture.

Disney movies messed up other girls while I’m like, nahhhh kid, chill.

Just climb onto the roof of your parents Range Rover and yell:

I’m Han Solo in Star Wars; shooting the stormtrooper and winking.

I’m the guy at the end of whatever movie running in telling whoever they’re marrying the wrong person. (with my luck I’m the wrong person and that movie ends awkwardly)

I don’t date. I can’t. I don’t like people. I don’t trust them. Call it a survival skill. The farther away from them I am, the safer I feel. They’re savages. They just want to fuck and get it over with. I’ve only ever bonded with one person (which backfired after two years and resulted in the most abusive relationship I’ve ever been in) and the one person that I genuinely believe my soul is stuck with is Waffle. I just knew.

I do big things. I have done big things to get Waffle back because movies have made me think that these things are the things that need to be done to make it known that I’m not going anywhere. Sleep on the porch like Zac Braff’s character in “The Last Kiss” until his fiancé opens the door and let’s him back in even though I didn’t even cheat. (Sidebar: Waffle started listening to Coldplay because of this movie. First concert I took her to, Coldplay. DO YOU SEE?!) I’d fight bears, lions and tigers in Street Fighter. I’d cross oceans, roam caves, climb mountains just to make it known that I’m serious about this. I’ve messed up with our disagreements and think that not all horror movies are created equal and can love you better.

I probably told the story before of how we met so I won’t go over it again but the problem isn’t that the break was the most awkward thing in the world it’s that movies have made me think that time, patience and the belief in love conquering all can fix this. I’m a mess. Full disclosure. I’m working a great, stressful job, doing my best to keep my manic depression in check without medication, failing at a proper sleep schedule and the gym and I aren’t even talking to each other (it’s on the list of things that need to be fixed along with doing laundry regularly and not buying new bottles of whiskey) BUT this thing with Waffle is the thing that consumes me to the point of madness. I feel like utter shit because in all this time, the work, the effort, the achievement, means nothing compared to being able to look at Waffle with big stupid heart eyes and have them returned in kind. I’m jealous of celebrities and their romances. I never posted photos of us online because that was for me, for us. I didn’t want to put that out there where other people can judge and talk shit and throw comments. I was Waffle’s and Waffle was mine and that’s what mattered. What matters.

I sound insane.

I relate so hard to this

Romantic movies tell you that it’s all fixable. That you recover from heartbreak and fall in with someone else when you’re ready. That you’ll be sitting somewhere ready to move on and there they will be, standing there with a smile asking forgiveness and saying they want to try again. Romantic movies tell you it’s fine to lay in bed a few months and cry about it, know that they’re doing their own thing and they’ll regret it. They tell you get a revenge body, get even but the reality is, you’ll spend more time crying and more time eating and more time trying to understand why you’re so broken up about it that you’ll forget to think about them having a life and wonder what your own life is. Romantic movies have fun soundtracks and good lighting and sex scenes that make you miserable.

Infinite tenderness my aching ass.

Romantic movies complicate everything.

That’s what they get wrong.

They make it seem like within 90 minutes or three hours, you’ll have a solution. People just fall back into place after falling out of sync. They make it seem like there is some kind of solution and that everything works EXACTLY like this and you spend all this time looking for the signs to find your personal solution and resolve your own issue. You spend all this time analyzing and overthinking and dismantling and repairing before you can just admit it, you’re a mess and that person is the only one who can fix it so you wait and wait and wait for them to come to the same conclusion because that’s what happens right?

Romantic movies say that someone has a little lightbulb go off and they run run run run run back to you. They run and they catch you just before you get on the train, before you get on the plane before you leave them behind because you just can’t do it.

Nobody does that.

Nobody.

All my OTP’s are a total mess because nobody does that.

They won’t swallow their pride and try again and Waffle says there were attempts. (Odds are there were and I was too hurt to see them and fix them but to be fair, they weren’t identified as such). Nobody admits they were wrong and they want another shot, not in the way that romantic movies say they will. (I’m actually doing that all the time. My dignity can’t keep taking those hits but I have no shame or dignity and honestly I don’t have much else) No one fights for love anymore. They say it’s dead but that’s mostly because we’re all walking around broken from not trying; we let someone else beat us up and didn’t bother to fix any of it.

thanks Rick

Romantic movies, are garbage. They make you aspire to things that don’t exist. I’m here, literally and figuratively pouring everything out for Waffle and it’s not doing anything. I know there’s a million things happening in both of our worlds but it’s hell doing things alone and the thing is, neither of us have to be alone.

They can guide you, inspire you, they make you forget the world is trash and make you believe that you’ll find the one, make it work and get that happily ever after.

Love is compromise. You have to suck up certain things, concede other things, win and lose. You have to accept that the other person writes terrible Facebook posts, takes duck face selfies and has done the hip out, hair flip pose. You have to understand that they’re not as tech savvy as you are and that they don’t pay attention to the world the way you do. You have to accept that you’re both different and that kind of different is why you work. You can’t yell at them about something stupid, then demand a ring back and when they hand it to you, you can’t start crying and shove it back on their finger and tell them don’t be stupid and muttering I love you repeatedly into their mouths while you’re kissing them. you can’t. It’s why they leave you. It’s why you have to fight to get them back because it’s a compromise and you can only argue with yourself about nothing for so long before it starts to get painfully lonely and you stare at photos of the two of you wondering why you completely fucked up the best thing in your life. Suddenly you’re not the one wanting to chased, you’re chasing, even though you do. Love is desire. The need to be loved and love someone in the same way so it’s mutual and it works.

I still believe in us and that’s the saddest part about it. Maybe because it’s a movie and they’re supposed to kill time, the time that’s kill me  is the muddling middle of those movies; the part where the music swells and the tears fall and we just keep missing each other until we connect. Maybe I’m just a terrible optimist and I just keep holding onto the hope that it’ll all make sense that it’ll all get better and that things will end just like they do in the movies.