Yesterday at my party, this guy told me that he and his friends have a term for when you’re in a relationship but keep an eye on people you’re interested in on the backburner. That term is “stable”; you keep these romantic options waiting in a “stable” like horses.
I guess it’s common to harbor mini, harmless crushes that can’t come to fruition when we are seeing someone else exclusively. However, I found the term really brutal — the mere thought of my boyfriend having a stable makes me nauseous, and I am positive he has one.
Lev got a tattoo: “Three dots. The first two are exactly 1cm apart and the outer two are 1 inch apart. It comes in handy having a ruler on hand.”
“My boyfriend was an alcoholic. And everyone was telling me to leave him. He was 7 years older than me, and he was also a very smart and kind man, but my friends and family didn’t really know that side of him very well. When he drank, he would become a completely different person. It was difficult, but I knew that it was just a biological and physiological addiction, and it didn’t make him a bad person. I stayed with him and I am so, so happy I did, because he stopped drinking. And…I’m sorry…it’s just that I’m not going to see him for the next three months and I already miss him.
It’s not necessarily that everyone thought that he was a terrible person. I’m very ambitious, I have never had a ‘B,’and I think they thought that it wasn’t fair to me to have to deal with so much, or that I couldn’t handle it, and that I could date anyone I wanted to. But I don’t want to date the President! If I had listened to my parents, I probably would have left him. If I had listened to my friends, I certainly would have left him. But I realized that sometimes we know ourselves and the person we love, better than anyone else does.”
Annie: i got home at 3am from the date and slept with my neighbor
Annie: partially because i got locked out of my apartment
So I went on a really great OkCupid date on Saturday night and stumbled back home full of picklebacks and beer. When I tried to open my door, the door’s broken card-reader rejected my key again and again. Spotting my neighbor down the hall, I asked him if I could sleep on his couch. He was like, yeah, sure. (I have all of my classes with him; we are friends.) Then I watched TV with him and his roommate, somehow ending up in the roommate’s bed a short while later.
After the roommate finished, he said, “I’m glad you got locked out.” It worked out: he got laid, and I got a bed. As he lives down my hall, I’m dreading the fact that we’ll be forced to acknowledge each other’s presences for the rest of the year in this dumb dorm. It was really nice never having to greet him before since we didn’t know each other — I only admired him from afar.
Eyelids are to Asians what hair is to African-Americans. By which I mean, eyelids are a big fucking deal, beauty-wise, and are also wrought with cultural significance. The whole fuss of epicanthic folds versus double-folds aside, what really drives my sister and me insane is the fact that the size of our droopers varies from day to day, depending on such factors as lack of sleep, crying jags, drinking, and seeming randomosity.
Yesterday, in agony over the asymmetry of her eyelids, my sister texted me the following:
The poor girl was having what I like to call a “bad eyelid day.” It’s not just like, “Ugh, my eyelids look a little off.” No. To us, it’s the difference between having a spring in your step and not wanting to leave the house. If you’re still trying to understand the horror of having such a vital part of your appearance be so inconsistent, imagine this: when you wake up every morning, you have no idea what your nose will look like. Wouldn’t that suck? While asymmetry is a big offender, another example of what could happen on a “bad eyelid day” is that your eyelids shrink to a third of their normal size. This seems to happen whenever I travel, for some reason. I always have bad eyelids when I travel. :(
Okay, so my sister texted our mother about her problem. Aimy and Mother discuss:
Okay, first of all, my mother’s advice to call a doctor is absurd. My doctor is an old white man who has probably never thought about the state of his eyelids before, except maybe when he noticed that they’d started sagging. Secondly, it warms my heart that generations of women in my family have been struggling with the heartache of volatile eyelids - it’s like the thread that connects us! - such that they came up with crafty ways to fix the predicament as teenagers. Desperate for a solution, my sister followed the tip:
I’m sorry, I know I sound like an uneducated 12-year-old when I text. It’s only when I text with my sister because I don’t care if she respects me.
Anyway, I just wanted to take this as an opportunity to enlighten the public about eyelid problems. Feel thankful if your eyelids are always the same!