Category Archives: Uncategorized

Good Cookies Vs. Bad Cookies: A Photo Guide

I just really like cookies…

Thought Catalog

Subway Cookies

SUBWAY COOKIES ARE ALWAYS A LEGITIMATE REASON TO CHEAT ON YOUR DIET — especially the white chocolate chip macadamia nut ones, but the others are nothing to scoff at. The ordering of a healthy sandwich is always negated when you’ve got these magnificent baked goodies staring at you all doughy-eyed, right before you pay. Like, c’mon, would you give an opportunity to buy scratch tickets at the end of a gambling addict meeting? Life has many crossroads and most of mine happen at the cash register of various Subways. “Anything else?” they ask, and I stand there, weak, vulnerable, and at the mercy of this diet killer disguised as a sandwich artist. Rating: 9.8/10

Oreos

These must be devoured one row at a time, like a classy savage, leaving your teeth temporarily stained in black, cookie residue. If you think about it, those chocolate cookies by themselves are…

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Past and Present Truths: The Great Gatsby

Here are three things I know to be true according to the 1974 version of The Great Gatsby:

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1. Robert Redford is way sexier than Leonardo DiCaprio as Gatsby. Those dreamy blue eyes carry all of his expressions throughout the movie. I haven’t planned on seeing the new version for anything except for the fashion but I have seen a crapload of footage and clips and although Leo is very good looking, in any role – except for when he played Arnie Grape, Redford could charm the pants off of any woman worth hers. On second thought, if we shared a similar mental capacity and Arnie took a bath, it could work.

2. Wealthy people are unable to be appreciative. I fully believe that you cannot be grateful for anything until you have been without. This includes food, shelter, education, opportunity, electricity, indoor plumbing, Salvatore Ferragamo shoes, etc. The wealthy have the ability to be humble and less judgmental than expected but just like in the movie, they treat other people and things as though they are toys, disposable, replaceable items. What’s even stranger is that this little theory of mine no longer just applies to the blue blooded folks in the world but now, also the nouveau riche. Gatsby, although he didn’t want anyone to know, was new to money and the only reason that he went as far as he did to get it was because he loved Daisy. He gave the ultimate sacrifice for her actions and ridiculously fleeting nature, only for her to build a new home with her cheating husband. He was always a toy to her. “A rich girl could never marry a poor boy!”.

3. It is not as difficult as it once was to amass a small fortune, hence why Gatsby owned an immaculate home on the wrong side of the bay, but it is more difficult than ever to remember what you came from. The behavior of reality stars prove this everyday. Take the “lovely”, always insanely overdressed Basketball Wives.

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There is a constant reference to their “inner circle” and Evelyn loves to remind the other girls how important she and Jen are in Miami. Had these ladies came from wealth or class there is no way the would have ever married or dated goons that throw sports balls. Millions or no millions, they would need a legacy. They don’t belong in that world, their lack of discretion proves this without my convincing. These ladies would be completely different and probably alot more useful, if they remained in the world from which they came or at least remembered where that was. I believe that Gatsby could have been happy, he could’ve lived well if he left the past behind him and lived for himself. Instead, he lived for wealth and status because of his love for Daisy. Like a reality star, he lusted for something he couldn’t handle, something he wasn’t bred for. The Great Gatsby has a very powerful message that rings true to today with all of our “idol worshiping” and overnight celebrity; it is best said by Kurt Vonnegut: “We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be”.

Prey

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A simple brush of the hand,

instantly bound,

an application of blush responds to an invite.

Bright light, dim eyes,

move slow – don’t disturb.

Come in, forever.

Desperation fills the air, dusk falls.

Inhale the weakness, sweeter than perfume.

The room spins, the floor quakes,

in a gaze, locked, no future no past.

Surely a mistake, but a sweet one no less.

Regret, merely a picture show – no sound no impact.

Seal the sentence with a kiss, forever marked.

Stripped bare, never to lock eyes again, damaged.

Never to be altered – it is fate and it is done.

The Sound Of Heartbreak

 

They met on a Van Gogh night.

shift – bang – crash, a distant universe collapses

The stars aligned for fate to move in. It swept across the city and faded into the eyes of the pair as their bodies wrestled lust back and forth.

boom – click, close the motel room door

They shared dreams and goals, family stories and what would come of the two of them. He would visit every weekend. Every weekend they would love and plan.

sniff – sniff, for a recreational daze

sip – sip, into inebriation

He would stare into her eyes as he drove. Something they had seen on a movie.

click – click – vroom, he shifted

He wouldn’t take his eyes off of her. He asked, “Are you scared?”. She would always reply, “Never.” – she put one hand on the wheel and one in his lap, then kissed him gently.

ring – ring, “Hey baby…”

They would talk for hours. Revealing secrets, making promises, begging for affection. I love you, I love you more, I love you most, I love you mostest – they would go back and forth to prolong the conversation that no longer had meaning, just for the comfort of the other’s voice.

ring – ring, no answer

beep – beep, it’s busy

ring – ring,  “Hello?”

“Is he there?”

“No”

ring – ring, “Hello?”

“Is he back yet?”

“No”

ring – ring, no answer

Something was different. Something had changed.

smash – she broke the bank

She used all of her money to buy a bus ticket, one way. The bus smelled like urine and the people just shadowy figures passing here and there. She kept her eyes focused on the passing scenery.

screech – “Last stop!”

She arrived. No bags, just her. She asked for quarters and found a payphone.

ring – ring, no answer

click – clack- clack, put the quarters back in

ring – ring, no answer. She left a message.

She used a strangers phone to call a friend. She was stranded – alone. He lived several miles away but it felt like they were on opposite ends of the earth.

A dark man came close in a red sedan filled with women of the night. Their faces painted for love. He asked if she was alone.

pop – boom, he stepped out of the car and walked over

He promised to take good care of her. The women in the lipstick stained car joined in the coax with squeals of drug-induced delight. She declined his offer and backed into the station unharmed.

knock – knock, “It’s me.”

Female wide eyes opened the door. His cousin and his girlfriend stared in disbelief. She pushed her way to his room, where her letters had been littered as old newspapers. Neatly on the wall were pictures of a new face and notes written, not by her hand, but another. She sat down, hot with anger.

gulp – gulp, bourbon

thud, put down the bottle

She cleansed her hurt with the elixir. The lump in her throat eased away the more she swallowed. It became the fuel to her flame.

boom, slam the car door

pop – pop – gulp, down goes the camouflage double stack and a pink lady to be sure

Minutes later, the country town was a distant memory. She smoked Marlboros slowly, while caressing the wind between her fingers.

boom – clap, the hurricane came to south Georgia that night

Her nose fell into white clouds that cried as her body became infested with alcohol and shrouded in cologne.

click – click, she rotated the barrel

pop – pop, it was empty for now

That night after drinking, snorting, popping, fucking, dancing, and laughing – she carved his name in the inside of her left wrist and the name of their unborn child in her right. She laid down.

sniff – gasp, “I loved you most.”

cold_heart_by_greenxin-d2i9knj

Aside

Italo Calvino said: The more enlightened our houses are, the more their walls ooze ghosts. I’m sure that we would love to say that our lives have been all roses and champagne, but that is rarely the case. It takes … Continue reading

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Laissé La Femme Se

“We lose more women to marriage than war, famine, and disease.” – Cruella De Vil

As a mother of three and a happily married wife – I still think this is true. Women are the most important component of life on earth. We are intelligent and resourceful, not to mention we have a high threshold for pain. We get married and we become second to ourselves, even if our partners put us first. It is our nature as nurturers. We then pour all of our best ideas and wealth of knowledge into our partners and children – in hopes that one day it will be a dream fulfilled. At this point, it is no longer our dream, idea, or knowledge. It is now passed on to be freely interpreted and carried out in a manner not of our own derivation. It is not ours anymore, we are then empty and we must start again in our finest hour. Although, in contrast, If you thought we were good then…come back in 20 years. Reinvention is the essence of our being – thank you, Madonna.

Burn Twitter – Burn

Sure, I have a twitter account. I have had one for several years. When I got it I wanted to show my talent to the world through photos, funny quips and inspiring thought in less than 140 characters. Turns out that very few people are interested in anything other than pictures taken of poorly dressed people on subway trains or a gif. of a monkey crushing a banana on its head. An honorable mention goes to Funkmaster Flex for his ability to find pictures of nude reality stars and celebrities – also a shameful hot topic. I spent countless hours competing for digital affection with people bragging about the company they keep or reassuring the rest of us in twitterdom that we were not as good as them – just in case we didn’t already know. What’s funny about it is that I mostly followed local people in the industries that I was pursuing and they became the reason as to why I hate it so much. Journey with me…

I began attending social events where the people I was following on twitter would be – they were nice enough to invite me. As I met them, one by one, I realized that they were all the same on the inside. I continued to try to find my place in this huge crowd despite my reservations. On one particular night, my husband and I got hoodwinked into buying a bottle of patron just to have seats at a show and the management was completely up our asses the entire time and we bought two more. There we were wasted with a trip to The Cheetah’s VIP under our belt and nearly $2600 later, we were the toast of the town. Everyone wanted to know us and the following day my timeline was popping at the seams. As people started to learn who I was – sober – I was too creative, my ideas were not tangible, I thought too far out of the box, and what’s even worse I had a family and a day job, unforgivable to them. I retreated, like a little school-boy bitch.

You could argue that I am bitter and I would mostly agree that I am. I dedicated time and effort to becoming someone that I wasn’t because of the pressure of the douchebags that rule the local twitterverse and my weakness to share my talent by any means necessary. When I graduated high school, it was one of the happier days of my life. I had an ok time in high school, but the people pleasing was to be left long behind me. Round 2 came along when someone invented that piece of shit social network and fascist Fuckerberg opened Facebook up to old people. Needless to say, I have a problem with Facebook too – that we will save for another post.

As a creator of all things beautiful, I have a very purist view on written word, art, fashion, music and things of the sort. As an adult, I expected these talents to stand on their own. I love enjoying time with my family and living in the moment. I have no desire to tweet that moment to 1,000 people that don’t care about me. I will continue my pursuit of creative happiness but by my own rules. I’m not like them and I never will be nor have I ever been. Boom – Thud goes the sound my drum. Oh, and yes, this will automatically post to Twitter.