Stupid Cupid

I ran across this today: What your dating profile says about you.

This article was hilarious. I mean, I thought it would be helpful my selfish self. But it wasn't. There were a lot of theoretical math equations about the looks in relation to messages received on a dating website.

I hate math.

I hate math in relationships. Relationships are not an "x+y=z". NOT AT ALL. I assume others will wholeheartedly disagree with me.

But what struck me as strange was when a group of me have polarizing views of a woman, somehow she becomes more attractive.
The article poses this with the following example:

"Suppose you're a man who's really into someone. If you suspect other men are uninterested, it means less competition. You therefore have an added incentive to send a message. You might start thinking: maybe she's lonely. . . maybe she's just waiting to find a guy who appreciates her. . . at least I won't get lost in the crowd. . . maybe these small thoughts, plus the fact that you really think she's hot, prod you to action. You send her the perfectly crafted opening message."

To me this means it is better to be ugly, than cute, but not as good as being hot. Which, to me, seems a little, shall we say, fucked up.
And the fact that this site (one that I love) is really playing up the look card on this, rather than the content card. I mean even some guys don't want anything beyond a one night-er with a girl who is as dumb as a box of rocks.

But so runs the way of the world.

This is the best comment ever:

In order to verify how much credence women will give this information, OK Cupid needs to apply a formula in which the value of increased dudely attention (d) from men worth ogling (o) is decreased in value by the increased incidence of unwanted advice from dudes (u), cockshots (c), hellishly long cries for attention (h), or from those you consider to be too elderly to date (e).

That formula would be:

d = o - (uche)

This formula is surprisingly fast and easy to use! You see the e-mail, think to yourself, "This is a douche!"

Read more: http://jezebel.com/5730907/reader-roundup--we-have-the-formula-for-online-dating-success#ixzz1AmfrMUfg

No... Really, relationships are complicated

After watching all the TV I can stand... I decided, relationships are NOT for TV.
I mean seriously, the Jersey Shore people swapping sloppy seconds... the Sister Wives trying to make their lives normal... Seriously.

REAL relationships are not meant to be on TV.
The silver screen sure... who doesn't love a good Rom-Com. or a good One-that-got-away.
I digress.

What I am trying to say, is that I feel the real intimacies of REAL relationships need not be broadcast-ed for all to see. I mean, really... Rachel Zoe's fear of getting fat from getting pregnant and seeing he husband pretty much BEG for a baby? Did we need to see those character flaws. I prefer to remember my RZ as the Starbux toting bug eye wearing waif that she was. And her husband, as well... her husband, not a baby crazed man.

No one wants to see the fights esp. the stupid ones over what to have for dinner or who left their contacts in the sink instead of rinsing them down the drain.

Admittedly, I briefly blogged about MY relationship. I realize now... That could have been done better, or not at all.

So, in my search for info on this... I found charts... WAY better than information.




Charts taken from here

Finally, I'm back... with a "bang"

I know I haven't been writing. I think I really was just waiting for the right piece of info to fall into my lap, and start a little blog-fire at my desk.

Ladies and gents, I give you: "THE "F*uck List"

NOW... this has been on the news (ok, the Today Show)

And this has some people in an uproar. I think this is completely misguided. This document was intended as a field guide for a small group of people whom the author knew (so the author says) and one of those people made the document public (the groupie owned up to this too). I think many of us have created documents meant to be seen by one or a few sets of eyes only, like a blog, diary, or just a friendly note passed from one to another... and at times, these documents get viewed by the wrong people or land in the wrong hands.

Personally I think emailing this power-point document (42 or so slides) was the authors downfall. I mean, honestly, I would really want a hard copy... not like a covered, nicely bound copy, but a generic copy paper style. Nothing says "I think you should have all this knowledge I have acquired" like a super thick (hah) document in my hands from a close personal friend (this is almost a 'that's what she said').

But let's be honest, let's brass tacks this...
1. This is what we women do with our friends (hellllo, Sex in the City, anyone?). WE compile our data over time (one night, one week, one year, whatever) and we will update our female cohorts and send out our queries to our close personal friends. We will ask, "Is the normal?", "Does this happen to you?", "What do I do?" etc. We will ask eachother these questions and listen and LEARN from one another experiences.

2. I actually commend this woman for compiling all this research and putting it in a easy to view format and GIVING it to her friends. I applaud the time, effort and money (alcohol costs money-- well, apparently until the new test subject starts buying the shots) into this labor of lust. OH and it has easy to read charts.

3. Critics are calling her a female Tucker Max. That is... horrible. Tucker Max is a self proclaimed asshole, narcissist, womanizer... This female author is claiming none of this. Honestly, I think she is a brainier Carrie Bradshaw with more details, pictures and sexts but possibly without the syndicated column and the closet.
She isn't selling this to make money (yet) as TM did (he wrote the book I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell, which was also made into a crap movie that I am sorry was ever in my Netflix queue). She did this for amusement (which we've ALL done) and entertainment (we've done this too). Someone she knew went a step to far by posting it for all to see.

But this, to me is the unmentioned kicker... How hard is it for some of those Duke boys to get a hookup now (esp after that lacrosse team incident a few years ago). I mean, now a portion (or all) of Duke women KNOW their size, their skill level... I mean, before these boys could use a certain amount of prowess or finesse with words to con a Duke woman into their unskilled, unsatisfying clutches (granted, based on the chart not all of them are unskilled and/or unsatisfying). And I imagine the ones ranking at the top are still filling their wants/beds/needs/etc. with little or no problem; they probably owe this woman a thank you letter.

OK... try again

I know I need to update more.

I know I have been saying that.

I know I need to follow through with it.

information junkie

I am an information junkie.
I have the constant yearning desire to always know more.

When a problem arises in my life, I Nancy Drew it for solutions. I consult, I research, I read, etc. I do whatever I can to find out more about the problem to generate better solutions.

My most recent problem has sent me to a myriad of sources... movies, classic novels, cosmo, web md, and lastly (and most recently i.e. today) the self-help section of the library. And after A LOT of reading... I am still at a loss. I didn't find solace in the information at my magazine inked fingertips.

Instead, I felt only more... lost. Like somehow the answer is SO simple, and I am too stupid to see it right in front of me. Like, somewhere along the way I learned this lesson... and now, it's like a pop quiz to see if I learned anything...
only, this isn't the right class, the test is in the wrong language and I lack the proper writing utensil.

Here and There

It has been MONTHS since I blogged.

A lot has gone down. A lot has gone up.
And currently... It seems... messy.

Days no longer matter, I no longer care what day of the week it actually is, I mean what does it matter if it Tuesday or Monday? It boils down to do I work or am I off work. That is how I judge My Time.
My Time is measured in 4 hour chunks... before work, work before break, break, work after break, after work, sleep.
It is just a swirl of repetition only distinguishable by the growing molehill of laundry.

I should put in the effort to put in time here...

heart stop loss

delicate, i laid you out...
gingerly placed you upon the bamboo cutting board.

sharpened knives
neatly in their holders
standing guard, up-right

the slow, room temperature thaw
loosening tendons
collapsing ventricals

what, was once an organic
beating life
takes on the mechanical tick of the timer.

burners warm
pots and pans gather round for the spectacle.

the sharp deft movement
of the blade
splicing the heart
neatly
into two.

resolution revolution

I decided to block most of 2009 out.
To me, it left a lot to be desired.
I mean sure, I set goals, I made resolutions… and well… I don’t even remember if I completed any of them.
I mean, for all intensive purposes I spent a painful amount of 09 in a disastrous relationship, spent time getting over it… then moved on with life like you are supposed to. I found a new relationship that is better and was luck enough to move on to a job that was better.

And I am looking forward to 2010.
I don’t know what is laid out before me. I don’t even know what to expect.
But I am open….

just a (shared) thought

Sometimes, when you press your forehead to mine and close your arms around me; I think you are trying to tell me something. Something, you can't quite say aloud... Either that or, you're trying to steal my own thoughts away from me. Or maybe, you're trying to read my own.

new gold standard

i have been measuring wrong all along.
what i told was gold, was clearly, well... not.
it was rather, pyrite (fool's gold)... it looks the same, shines the same, HOWEVER is not gold.
nothing gold about it, other the the namesake color.

upon learning this, i realized my entire system has to be re-calibrated to account for all the prior miscalculations.
whats a girl to do?

i mean, for years... things were all based on a certain series of semi-developed ideals. and now, they no longer seem to apply... but rather, a new... seemingly better system is being developed.

gold standard 2.0

FYI

everything i once had has been replaced by something else.
each little void, nook, cranny... subsequently filled with something new, better.

because everything shattered and pulled apart at the seams-- stretched beyond recognition. every sinew-y piece of fibrous matter frayed... unrepairable.

every nucleus of this, each clouded in its own hubris and falsity. self-created. self-perpetuated. only to bring about a demise of Homer proportions.


I don't want this.
I don't need this.
I will survive this.

heavy heavy low low

the words hang heavy in the air, like low slung clouds across the horizon before the storm. 

the theme music rolls in....

i see myself, examining the pieces under the microscope trying to match the fiber filiments a la csi. 

i cannot find the second shooter nor the owner of the size 5 womans shoe.

i look out the window as if the answer should be staring me in the face... only to find fog.

the fog surrounds the words with ethereal phospheressence; leaving me still just as lost as before.

winterize

I've become so warm...
so very warm.

The kind of warm, that melts the glacier
surrounding my heart...
instead of winterizing with a quart
of anti-freeze...

I belong in the burn unit,
with the fire you’ve lit underneath
my skin.

Patron and Twinkies

Christmas is a time of confession.
I mean, I have to be on my best behavior for Santa, right?

Well… I have a big one to admit. Sort of… I mean, let me explain.

I wrote a blog about this time last year about love. Just general thoughts/feelings on love/relationships. It was not a declaration. It was not a manifesto. More like a statement of feeling. SO… With that being said, here is my confession.

I, Stacy Swinney, have plagiarized my own writing to create a not so original love letter. I copied and pasted the following blog entry into an email and sent it off to a suitor who requested to know my feelings for him. Well, seeing is how I didn’t have feelings for the suitor, I couldn’t write something amazing and original… I instead was lazy and chose to copy/past and change a couple of pronouns.

Now maybe dear readers, you are horrified.
Or rolling in the aisle with laughter… Either way, I now have posted this here with the intention of making this a copy/paste love letter for all to have and enjoy. Feel free to edit it and make it your own.
I have also found out, with continual changes of pronouns it makes a great Dear John a.k.a. break up letter. It takes a bit more work… but it is worth it for the gentle yet firm you-don’t-light-my-fire let down that Hallmark doesn’t make.

And look! I have done this just in time for the holidays.
Need that NYE kiss? Send here this. Want to ditch the zero before NYE and start with a clean slate? Look no further.

Stacy Swinney’s Copy/Paste Love Letter
(or Dear John Letter)

There is only one question we need to ask ourselves: who knows how to make love stay? (Because, you see, its rare. it’s rare for it to last and it’s rare to find).
If you answer me that, I can tell you rather or not to kill yourself; if you answer me that I can ease your mind about time, space and the beginning/ending of time; if answer me that and I can tell you the purpose of the moon.

Above all of things, this, love, this infatuation is nothing but a patina glaze over the previous encounters. The encounters that had all but short of the lasting impression in pressed memories of vulture shadows and wolf howls, cocaine highs and explosives... and then some.
I've been nothing but burned, till now-- I think, and thusly I have a black belt in haiku and was practically a waitress at the last supper (thus enabling me to start over with our breakfast)... I have been through heart-break boot camp and now am a counselor in training. .

don’t think I am lamenting the fact that I have been loved, lost, fucked, found, beaten, broken and left standing alone... barely, but alone on my own two feet with all ten toes and ten fingers intact.
from all my lessons learned I know only this: I thought I knew what love was and how to make it stay, but now, I haven’t got a clue-- I am completely stupid on the subject, like convex vectors and how to translate homer.

But I did come up with way to try to convince love stay (aside from access to my bank account, pin 4456) 1) I’m telling love I am going to the sick deli off Franklin to get sandwiches and cheesecake, if it stays, love can have half (but that deli closed like a mo0nth or two ago so that is out. OR I have to find another equally great Italian style deli.). 2) Well... haven’t thought of a second one... even more so now that the first is out of commission.

Maybe a better way to put it is, the prince really IS a toad and you, the princess just has a reptile fetish OR even better, the princess has halitosis. People are never perfect but love can make you over look that; and the only way that the mediocre and vile are transformed by finding such a love (or an equally vile or mediocre person to attach too). Point being, loving makes love. Making it work makes love.

Or maybe; somehow love is this mythical ultimate outlaw. It just won’t adhere to the rules. The most any of us can do is sign on to be an accomplice, a partner in crime... and accessory. Instead of vowing honor to obey maybe we should swear to aid and abet. That would mean that security is out of the question and the words "make" and "stay" become inappropriate and no longer apply in this reality.

My love for you is free. Love for you is no strings attached; no back end deals with conditions or punishments but no strings attached in the purest sense of those words.
I thought hard. I thought I might want to follow you to the ends of the earth. And I could, if Columbus hadn’t fixed that.

I bet you are reading this, slightly confused, and a little amused. Glaring at the screen the way I glare when I need a vice fix: a smoke, a bite, coffee, piece of ass or fast story... and instead I get philosophy... or bad art. Or Wu-Tang.

So here, I sit, typing away spouting off random thoughts of love and the life altering/ending impacts they have and how to avoid the latter of the two choices. I sigh. I should be doing anything but this. Looking for a job, mending my life, figuring my shit out. I should... do whatever.
But I want this out and off of my chest.

So here I am, praying to Elmer, the Greek god of glue, that this sticks and it works.

All I want is someone to shoot patron and eat Twinkies with me. ;)

Pop Culture Infiltrates Life

I’m a big fan on honesty.

I mean, for the most part, it’s what each of us deserves right?

Well, sometimes other people’s honesty goes too far. It borders on too much information. And really, there are something’s that I have NO desire to know about.

Perfect example is a 334AM text message saying: “Smile like you mean it. I am in love with someone else.”

I had to read it twice it was so insane.

And then, my thought process was, “did you just quote the killers.” Followed by “wtf.”

That is when I saw the timestamp stating it was 334. At which point, I am sure this new “love” is not in the picture… and if he/she is, they have no idea that you are texting me when you should be sleeping/fucking or doing anything but texting yours truly.

The same morning at a more normal hour (11ish) I re-read this. And start to formulate the perfect answer back… using lyrics from The Killers. Because, I have the image of this guy searching painstakingly through the discography of The Killers catalogue trying to find the perfect line to sum up his… triumph? Of getting over the relationship and moving on… (This btw, as everyone knows was over before this. And he originally ignored the initial break-up) which took till 3am.

So here are the answers I considered sending:

“Mr. Brightside”

“Believe me, Natalie”

“Andy, You’re a Star”

“Nobody Dances with Michael”

“Somebody (already) Told Me”

“This Is Your Life”

“Goodnight, Travel Well” (the winner, in my book)

“Forget What I Said”

“I Can’t Stay”

In the end, I sent nothing.

Why open up that kind of damaging communication when my life is going perfectly fine, and this person tried to disrupt the universe.

So yea…

Between that and a series of unwarranted “imissyou” “istillthinkaboutyouallthetime” “icantlivewithoutyou” messages; there was a trifecta of crazy going on in text land. This is not fun for me.

But I powered through.

And got 2.5 minutes of amusement out of it.

thoughts

Just the thought…

If there was only one it would be so much easier. But instead, I am raked back by constant bombardment of thoughts and emotions that crash down in such swells that I am convinced I will crumble and erode away into some cavernous abyss where I will ultimately be labyrinth-ly lost.

The thoughts, they race, they are not competing but merely swirling and stewing in the cauldron of my mind… that I apparently left over the fire too long and now everything is this unidentifiable mush that looks like something that may or may not have carrots and potatoes in it.

Am a caught off guard by the magnitude of what I am feeling.

Because I have no way to approach, organize or even process them. The feelings rise up behind my eyes and burn. In the way only true things do burn from with in.

And instead of going with my instincts and trusting what nearly every fiber of my being is telling me. I cross-reference it… try to compartmentalize it and truss it up to be something else… anything else than what I know it might be.

And I know, that’s wrong. I know that that is not the right thing to do. I know where that puts me… smack in the middle of nonsensical circular logic.

But at the same time, how do you ignore something or even just accept something that is setting off so many DIFFERENT alarms. It’s like, even when the smoke detector goes off, you sniff for smoke, even if you know its just the cheese in the bottom of the oven, that has flaked off from the dozens of pizzas you made, burning, and re-burning. YOU KNOW it’s not a fire, you know its pizza. But you still double check.
And you are totally reassured that yes, yes, that is pizza in the oven… and damn, I am ready for some pizza.

finite?

One would have thought I had exhausted my capacity for emotion…Then you came along.

oh wow... that was easy?

So yesterday, I felt like a bigger failure than Bridget Jones...
And today... I am a little more Andrea Sachs.

I guess it really is "darkest before the dawn" or some other equally appalling analogy.
Literally, I mean last night I was pretty upset about my current situation (save for a couple of bright spots-- you know who you are and I am pretty sure I owe you my life in exchange for you unwavering support) and attempted to cure it with brownies and the Hills (p.s. wtf Speidi?! not to mention of girls like that, can get those kinds of jobs... why couldn't I get something. p.p.s. never use The Hills as a gauge for progress in your own life, it's dangerous.)

And this morning, I wake up to a "we would like to hire you" phone call. So, yea, things have turned upward most dramatically.
Just in time for me to blow my money on Christmas.
Which, honestly I can't wait to do. I mean... I have some people who really deserve something fairly amazing in the form of gifts.
But I am getting ahead of myself, Black Friday is still a couple of weeks away.

"What else can I say, I guess I am doing o.k"

I'll Take On WoW

This is my response to this piece by Tyler Curry on McSweeneys.

*please note, this is just a creative piece, it have nothing to do with anything*

So, thanks a lot, Chris. I really wanted to read about your take on our World of Warcraft stand off on your guild forum. But then again, that is what happens when I let you use MY computer, you left the window open. Just so you know, I wasn’t trying to get the keyboard through the monitor; you just happened to duck before it hit your head. Then you headed to the corner to cower. Seriously for being a brave “druid-master-magic-whatever” I thought you would have put up a little more resistance.

And you are still very much addicted to World of Warcraft. Don’t deny it. I mean you spend hours a day on this silly game. Yes, Chris, it is a game. A GAME. I would recommend a 12-step program for you—but I think it would only result in the sharing of “codes” or “spells.”

I would have let the library slide, but Chris, this is the third time you’ve done it. And yes, you should have know the library closed at 8, but apparently if it doesn’t come from the mouth of an elf-gnome-fairy-dragon it doesn’t matter and its not worth remembering. Oh you can remember where you got every piece of armor and how much you paid for it but nooooo you cant for the life of you (or your character) remember what time I asked you to pick me up. The crime rate in that neighborhood doesn’t really matter, I admit I exaggerated that part, it’s not safe to leave a girl alone in the dark for that long.

I don’t care that I was forgotten for a whole drove of gnomes or their stupid village. I don’t care that you were healing them for the “greater good.” I am your fiancée. We share a home. A bed. And if you would like to continue this arrangement you might want to consider who you need to saving. And seriously, if you quote Spock one more time…

I will remember this Chris, the freezing rain and being left behind for gnomes. I might magically forget to pay the cable bill and then where will you be? Internet-less Chris, that’s where.

You and you guild forum… Claim you don’t know the powers of Photoshop all you want. That’s fine, play dumb. I can’t believe that you posted those pictures! Never mind all the other totally normal and sober pictures we have TOGETHER, but no you pick the one from the party the girls threw me after we announced our engagement. Thanks. Thanks a lot. Don’t even get me started on you getting me fired, again. Seriously, how do I explain my fiancées abuse of World of Warcraft is what got me fired from my last two jobs?

Chris, I honestly don’t care about your World of Warcraft needs—any more than you care about mine of needing to be picked up out of the freezing rain, or from the airport.

I don’t know if you know this, but the real world does not care how many pieces of flair your character got from the bald eagle. Does your therapist know about your little “habit” or have you neglected to mention that at all? I am sure its totally normal for a man your age to be diligently clicking away instead of looking over your expense reports. And thanks for blabbing about my mom to the entire World of Warcraft world. There sympathy is non existent, unless it revolves around some fallen comrade.

As for the “blood elf” hooker I caught you with… it is sick. It is perverted. And that you called me by HER name is no coincidence. I think we might have to establish for “role-playing” rules. What do I have to do Chris, do I have make my own sexy-druid-elf character for you? Will that make you happy? Oh, it would… too bad Chris, I can’t do it. I can’t devote that much time to something that IS NOT REAL.

Warchief Thrall doesn’t have to wake up to your morning breath. Warchief Thrall doesn’t have to worry about your watermelon allergy. Warchief doesn’t have to deal with your mother. I don’t care that 8 months ago you made some silly allegiance online. YOU put the ring on my finger, aren’t I the one you need to be supporting… especially since YOU got me fired, again.

I hope you enjoyed this last “quest” because, sweetie, by the time you read this… I will have paid someone within your guild, with your gold to kill your character.

Thinking...

My sleep sched is a wreck!
I mean, it's my own fault for not doing important things like going to bed at a decent time. But so what, you only live once (that we know of) and you can sleep when you're dead, right? Right. So yea, going to bed before 1am is overrated, and frankly, I feel, unproductive.
I am sure this would change if my time was not divided up between doing nothing and working on my freelance writing projects.
And, this weekends zombie movie extravaganza probably did not help any. But hey, how often do you get to dress like a goth kid and then mega-morph into a zombie (ok for me, just this once). It was a blast! So fun. I was only an extra, but then had the privilege of being in charge of doing zombie make-up and costume fixes.
I was very much a Jane of all trades on the set.
I hope I get the make up credit... if not, oh well...
I will MOST definitely post a link if not the whole thing via youtube here.

Moving on....
actually no, there isn't much to move on to... just me being me.

I write, I photograph... and that's really all there is.