a couple weekends ago, i flew home for a week and had some freakishly good-ass food. during the weekend, a bunch of us holed ourselves up in a van and trekked on up to vegas for some excellent partying and debauchery--but for a good reason! it was simone's 24th birthday (omg, we're aging ppl). the drive seemed like it took forever and we did not arrive until after midnight, but as soon as we set foot on the casino floor, we booked it straight to the bar and got it started. we all gambled and drank well into the morning hours. it would've been nice to sleep in the next day, however, we were all only afforded a few hours of sleep. we got up relatively early (i think noon?) and had lunch at paris, then gambled and drank more. 
friday night was MCPHS' annual Harvest Ball. although a little cheesy, i was excited for the opportunity to get fancy and have a nice dinner with all of my friends. the pre-party was at Kim's Bar (as always), where we had lots of delicious champagne, as well as a few shots of vodka to go along with it. by the time we left for the venue, i was pretty smashed. and no, dear and intelligent reader, the inebriation did not stop there. bits and pieces are missing from my memory banks, but i recall much good food, good drinks and good (assumingly) dancing. for the post-party, we again returned to Kim's Bar (everybody is always welcome at Kim's Bar) to hang out, watch chinese DVDs, eat chinese food, and have more drinks. 
Why do i have so much stuff?? Thank god for movers. My unwillingness to un-pack is eniant.
Despite it's clear appearance, that glass of liquid is not water. My friends, it is Grey Goose vodka. Doesn't it look terrible? I asked for a shot and they brought me a GLASS of vodka. And champion that I am (or blinding idiot, you pick), I chugged it all down in one swoop. It tasted about as bad as it looks. You'll be proud to learn (depending on who you are) that I did not gag nor did I yak.
this past weekend i did not make it to pismo beach, nor did i get to enjoy the glittering sins of las vegas (and this coming weekend, i will NOT be going to SF), but i still had myself a merry good time. there was a whole lot of drinking (shocked you are i'm sure), a whole lot of beach-ing, and even some pool and jacuzzi-ing, with a dash of disneyland-ing. "This is a tribute to the nice guys. The nice guys that finish last, that never become more than friends, that endure hours of whining and bitching about what assholes guys are, while disproving the very point. This is dedicated to those guys who always provide a shoulder to lean on but restrain themselves to tentative hugs, those guys who hold open doors and give reassuring pats on the back and sit patiently outside the changing room at department stores. This is in honor of the guys that obligingly reiterate how cute/beautiful/smart/funny/sexy their female friends are at the appropriate moment, because they know most girls need that litany of support. This is in honor of the guys with open minds, with laid-back attitudes, with honest concern. This is in honor of the guys who respect a girl’s every facet, from her privacy to her theology to her clothing style.
This is for the guys who escort their drunk, bewildered female friends back from parties and never take advantage once they’re at her door, for the guys who accompany girls to bars as buffers against the rest of the creepy male population, for the guys who know a girl is fishing for compliments but give them out anyway, for the guys who always play by the rules in a game where the rules favor cheaters, for the guys who are accredited as boyfriend material but somehow don’t end up being boyfriends, for all the nice guys who are overlooked, underestimated, and unappreciated, for all the nice guys who are manipulated, misled, and unjustly abandoned, this is for you.
This is for that time she left 40 urgent messages on your cell phone, and when you called her back, she spent three hours painstakingly dissecting two sentences her boyfriend said to her over dinner. And even though you thought her boyfriend was a chump and a jerk, you assured her that it was all ok and she shouldn’t worry about it. This is for that time she interrupted the best killing spree you’d ever orchestrated in GTA3 to rant about a rumor that romantically linked her and the guy she thinks is the most repulsive person in the world. And even though you thought it was immature and you had nothing against the guy, you paused the game for two hours and helped her concoct a counter-rumor to spread around the floor. This is also for that time she didn’t have a date, so after numerous vows that there was nothing “serious” between the two of you, she dragged you to a party where you knew nobody, the beer was awful, and she flirted shamelessly with you, justifying each fit of reckless teasing by announcing to everyone: “oh, but we’re just friends!” And even though you were invited purely as a symbolic warm body for her ego, you went anyways. Because you’re nice like that.
The nice guys don’t often get credit where credit is due. And perhaps more disturbing, the nice guys don’t seem to get laid as often as they should. And I wish I could logically explain this trend, but I can’t. From what I have observed on campus and what I have learned from talking to friends at other schools and in the workplace, the only conclusion I can form is that many girls are just illogical, manipulative bitches. Many of them claim they just want to date a nice guy, but when presented with such a specimen, they say irrational, confusing things such as “oh, he’s too nice to date” or “he would be a good boyfriend but he’s not for me” or “he already puts up with so much from me, I couldn’t possibly ask him out!” or the most frustrating of all: “no, it would ruin our friendship.” Yet, they continue to lament the lack of datable men in the world, and they expect their too-nice-to-date male friends to sympathize and apologize for the men that are jerks. Sorry, guys, girls like that are beyond my ability to fathom. I can’t figure out why the connection breaks down between what they say (I want a nice guy!) and what they do (I’m going to sleep with this complete ass now!). But one thing I can do, is say that the nice-guy-finishes-last phenomenon doesn’t last forever. There are definitely many girls who grow out of that train of thought and realize they should be dating the nice guys, not taking them for granted. The tricky part is finding those girls, and even trickier, finding the ones that are single.
So, until those girls are found, I propose a toast to all the nice guys. You know who you are, and I know you’re sick of hearing yourself described as ubiquitously nice. But the truth of the matter is, the world needs your patience in the department store, your holding open of doors, your party escorting services, your propensity to be a sucker for a pretty smile. For all the crazy, inane, absurd things you tolerate, for all the situations where you are the faceless, nameless hero, my accolades, my acknowledgement, and my gratitude go out to you. You do have credibility in this society, and your well deserved vindication is coming."
--Fu-Zu Jen
This rant was written because a nice girl finally snapped.
I've read the tribute to the nice guys; this is my response.
This is my tribute to the nice girls. To the nice girls who are overlooked, who become friends and nothing more, who spend hours fixating upon their looks and their personalities and their actions because it must be they that are doing something wrong. This is for the girls who don't give it up on the first date, who don't want to play mind games, who provide a comforting hug and a supportive audience for a story they've heard a thousand times. This is for the girls who understand that they aren't perfect and that the guys they're interested in aren't either, for the girls who flirt and laugh and worry and obsess over the slightest glance, whisper, touch, because somehow they are able to keep alive that hope that maybe... maybe this time he'll have understood. This is an homage to the girls who laugh loud and often, who are comfortable in skirts and sweats and combat boots, who care more than they should for guys who don't deserve their attention. This is for those girls who have been in the trenches, who have watched other girls time and time again fake up and make up and fuck up the guys in their lives without saying a word. This is for the girls who have been there from the beginning and have heard the trite words of advice, from "there are plenty of fish in the sea," to "time heals all wounds." This is to honor those girls who know that guys are just as scared as they are, who know that they deserve better, who are seeking to find it.
This is for the girls who have never been in love, but know that it's an experience that they don't want to miss out on. For the girls who have sought a night with friends and been greeted by a night of catcalling, rude comments and explicit invitations that they'd rather not have experienced. This is for the girls who have spent their weekends sitting on the sidelines of a beer pong tournament or a case race, or playing Florence Nightingale for a vomiting guy friend or a comatose crush, who have received a drunk phone call just before dawn from someone who doesn't care enough to invite them over but is still willing to pass out in their bed. This is for the girls who have left sad song lyrics in their away messages, who have tried to make someone understand through a subliminally appealing profile, who have time and time again dropped their male friend hint after hint after hint only to watch him chase after the first blonde girl in a skirt. This is for the girls who have been told that they're too good or too smart or too pretty, who have been given compliments as a way of breaking off a relationship, who have ever been told they are only wanted as a friend.
This one's for the girls who you can take home to mom, but won't because it's easier to sleep with a whore than foster a relationship; this is for the girls who have been led on by words and kisses and touches, all of which were either only true for the moment, or never real to begin with. This is for the girls who have allowed a guy into their head and heart and bed, only to discover that he's just not ready, he's just not over her, he's just not looking to be tied down; this is for the girls who believe the excuses because it's easier to believe that it's not that they don't want you, it's that they don't want anyone. This is for the girls who have had their hearts broken and their hopes dashed by someone too cavalier to have cared in the first place; this is for the nights spent dissecting every word and syllable and inflection in his speech, for the nights when you've returned home alone, for the nights when you've seen from across the room him leaning a little too close, or standing a little too near, or talking a little too softly for the girl he's with to be a random hookup. This is for the girls who have endured party after party in his presence, finally having realized that it wasn't that he didn't want a relationship: it was that he didn't want you. I honor you for the night his dog died or his grandmother died or his little brother crashed his car and you held him, thinking that if you only comforted him just right, or said the right words, or rubbed his back in the right way then perhaps he'd realize what it was that he already had. This is for the night you realized that it would never happen, and the sunrise you saw the next morning after failing to sleep.
This is for the "I really like you, so let's still be friends" comment after you read more into a situation than he ever intended; this is for never realizing that when you choose friends, you seldom choose those which make you cry yourself to sleep. This is for the hugs you've received from your female friends, for the nights they've reassured you that you are beautiful and intelligent and amazing and loyal and truly worthy of a great guy; this is for the despair you all felt as you sat in the aftermath of your tears, knowing that that night the only companionship you'd have was with a pillow and your teddy bear. This is for the girls who have been used and abused, who have endured what he was giving because at least he was giving something; this is for the stupidity of the nights we've believed that something was better than nothing, though his something was nothing we'd have ever wanted. This is for the girls who have been satisified with too little and who have learned never to expect anything more: for the girls who don't think that they deserve more, because they've been conditioned for so long to accept the scraps thrown to them by guys.
This is what I don't understand. Men sit and question and whine that girls are only attracted to the mean guys, the guys who berate them and belittle them and don't appreciate them and don't want them; who use them for sex and think of little else than where their next conquest will be made. Men complain that they never meet nice girls, girls who are genuinely interested and compelling, who are intelligent and sweet and smart and beautiful; men despair that no good women want to share in their lives, that girls play mindgames, that girls love to keep them hanging. Yet, men, I ask you: were you to meet one of these genuinely interested, thrillingly compelling, interesting and intelligent and sweet and beautiful and smart girls, were you to give her your number and wait for her to call... and if you were to receive a call from her the next day and she, in her truthful, loyal, intelligent and straightforward nice girl fashion, were to tell you that she finds you intriguing and attractive and interesting and worth her time and perhaps material from which she could fashion a boyfriend, would you or would you not immediately call your friends to tell them of the "stalker chick" you'd met the night prior, who called you and wore her heart on her sleeve and told the truth? And would you, or would you not, refuse to make plans with her, speak with her, see her again, and once again return to the bar or club or party scene and search once more for this "nice girl" who you just cannot seem to find? Because therein lies the truth, guys: we nice girls are everywhere. But you're not looking for a nice girl. You're not looking for someone genuinely interested in your intermural basketball game, or your anatomy midterm grade, or that argument you keep having with your father; you're looking for a quick fix, a night when you can pretend to have a connection with another human being which is just as disposable as the condom you were using during it.
So don't say you're on the lookout for nice girls, guys, when you pass us up on every step you take. Sometimes we go undercover; sometimes we go in disguise: sometimes when that girl in the low cut shirt or the too tight miniskirt won't answer your catcalls, sometimes you're looking at a nice girl in whore's clothing - - we might say we like the attention, we might blush and giggle and turn back to our friends, but we're all thinking the same thing: "This isn't me. Tomorrow morning, I'll be wearing a teeshirt and flannel shorts, I'll have slept alone and I'll be making my hungover best friend breakfast. See through the disguise. See me." You never do. Why? Because you only see the exterior, you only see the slutty girl who welcomes those advances. You don't want the nice girl.. so don't say you're looking for a relationship: relationships take time and energy and intent, three things we're willing to extend - - but in return, we're looking for compassion and loyalty and trust, three things you never seem willing to express. Maybe nice guys finish last, but in the race they're running they're chasing after the whores and the sluts and the easy-targets... the nice girls are waiting at the finish line with water and towels and a congradulatory hug (and yes, if she's a nice girl and she likes you, the sweatiness probably won't matter), hoping against hope that maybe you'll realize that they're the ones that you want at the end of that silly race.
So maybe it won't last forever. Maybe some of those guys in that race will turn in their running shoes and make their way to the concession stand where we're waiting; however, until that happens, we still have each other, that silly race to watch, and all the chocolate we can eat (because what's a concession stand at a race without some chocolate?)"
By Jessica Leigh Griffith
jlg421@psu.edu
Copyright 2004-2005 by Jessica Leigh Griffith
no more roots! back to basics. the color looks a darker than my actual natural color, but maybe now i'll try for a goth-ish look when i go out. the guy who shampooed my hair gave the BEST head massage. i could've died and gone to heaven. [sigh]
You Are 22 Years Old |
22 Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax. |
i spent the last part of my spring break in sf. i suppose i could interject a line from I Left My Heart in San Francisco, but i'm going to refrain simply because it really has nothing to do with me except that it's the only song i can think about right now with the words 'San Francisco.' we partied hardy, had some crab, and bought inordinate amounts of unncessary shoes.
MJ came back with me to Boston. being the ever lovely wifey, she could me a few meals (curry=yum!) and even tidied up the place. on tuesday we had delicious persian food at Lala Rohk and on wednesday we tried some seafood at the No Name (salmon was verra good). 
we tried out redline in cambridge. it was st. patty's day and the massachusetes masses were out to celebrate. i went out to drink with a mission... suffice to say, mission accomplished. i vaguely recall the bartender and bouncer getting us a cab and coming home, but other than that, neither mj or i could recollect the last half of the evening. heh... there are bits and pieces, especially some recounted to me by lynda, of whom i had un-recollectable drunke phone call with,, but they are on par with some of my worse drunk stories and so, only the priviledged few will get to hear it. ;)
Backbeat the word was on the streetas previously mentioned, Bryan Greenberg and Tyler Hilton did a rocking cover of this classic. *sigh*, not only is Bryan Greenberg adorable, he plays guitar and sings. swoon much?
That the fire in your heart is out
I'm sure you've heard it all before
But you never really had a doubt
I don't believe that anybody feels
The way I do about you now
And all the roads we have to walk along are winding
And all the lights that lead us there are blinding
There are many things that I would
Like to say to you
I don't know how
Because maybe
You're gonna be the one who saves me ?
And after all
You're my wonderwall.
--Wonderwall, Oasis
And it hurts to want everything and nothing at the same time
I want what's yours and I want what's mine
I want you
But I'm not giving in this time
Goodbye to you
Goodbye to everything I thought I knew
You were the one I loved
The one thing that I tried to hold on to
--Goodbye to You, Michelle Branch
And this year burned a hole in my hope
I got debts that could choke out a rope
And it's not my approach it's the way I go summing things up
And there's really nothing great about this bar
So here I am and right there you are
We're both shooting way under par
But soon we'll forget what par was
Yeah, sometimes you need a few drinks to fall in loveIf you need a few drinks
You might as well start with a couple of shots
Give a couple of winks
And later blame it all on the buzz
Sometimes, you need a few drinks to fall in love
--Few Drinks to Fall in Love, Gavin Degraw
'Cause this whole world needs an Anthem
And I'm trying to put the words where they belong
Yeah this whole world needs an Anthem
And I'm hoping everyone will sing along
Well I quickly got to work and put the song in gear
And my neighbor rang the doorbell said it caught his ear
I was playing it so loud the whole neighborhood could hear
And at night from every household it became quite clear
Everyone was singing along
The same notes the same song
Or maybe I heard it wrong
'Cause this whole world needs an Anthem
And I'm trying to put the words where they belong
Yeah this whole world needs an Anthem
And I'm hoping everyone will sing along.
--Anthem, Phantom Planet
yes, my adoration of them has been renewed. can you believe m5
used to open for pp, and now it's the other way around? i want
to see them again, but i'm not going to be in the right cities while
they're on their headlining tour, and i don't want to shell out bookoo
bucks when they open for sting.You are not what you seem
You are a mystery to me
Sometimes I just want to scream
I think you should just go away 'cause
There's no necessity for you to stay and
Next time you come around my way
Forget it baby
You're not comin' in
A heart ready for a life of sorrow
No you can't come back tomorrow
Shut my windows
Lock my doors
'Cause my heart won't be your ragdoll anymore
--Rag Doll, Maroon 5
i'll be seeing them again shortly at the Agganis Theatre at BU,
as well as the Anaheim Pond in May. also, Kressler just informed
me that they've scheduled a show in Vegas for June. i'm verra
tempted to go!!
definitely good times. peace and joy always.
