You were my crutch
Now I've escaped your clutch
so how is that worm's eye view
I have grown two broad wings, and now I'm above you :)
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
Monday, July 7, 2014
True love
I hate modern dating rules. It makes honesty really difficult. I mean, I like you, but I'm not supposed to talk to you or something? That would be weird, right? I don't know. In my experience, more than half the time that I wanted to contact a guy, he also wanted to contact me. But we both didn't because we were equally worried about the other's response. And, of course, we discuss years later about our missed connection. Isn't that just complete BULLSHIT? It's like, if you feel a connection with someone, what if there is some sort of validation there? Maybe it isn't something you're just making up in your head. Maybe you guys are actually hitting it off, and you're not just imagining it all.
But then again, maybe you are. And maybe it's pretty awful. Maybe it's that every-time-your-phone-goes-off-you-hope-it's-him kind of thing. And you know that it's most likely your mom making sure you're still alive, or your boss calling you into work, so why are you so excited over your cellphone vibrating like it did every other day before you started thinking about him? And honestly, why would it be him? You hung out alone, like, twice. You already had sex, so it's basically over. Maybe technology is one of those things you just aren't ready for. Sounds like it's opening doors of entitlement and unfulfilled expectations. True love isn't going to manifest itself via SMS or Facebook, unfortunately. They've thought about it, looked into it. Lesson brutally learned by everyone but you.
Anyway, apparently it's not okay to feel this way anymore. If you have butterflies in your stomach, you better reel it in, because you are getting a little too carried away. No one wants you to text him good night or remember the sandwich order he made these days . That shit is creepy.
But then again, maybe you are. And maybe it's pretty awful. Maybe it's that every-time-your-phone-goes-off-you-hope-it's-him kind of thing. And you know that it's most likely your mom making sure you're still alive, or your boss calling you into work, so why are you so excited over your cellphone vibrating like it did every other day before you started thinking about him? And honestly, why would it be him? You hung out alone, like, twice. You already had sex, so it's basically over. Maybe technology is one of those things you just aren't ready for. Sounds like it's opening doors of entitlement and unfulfilled expectations. True love isn't going to manifest itself via SMS or Facebook, unfortunately. They've thought about it, looked into it. Lesson brutally learned by everyone but you.
Anyway, apparently it's not okay to feel this way anymore. If you have butterflies in your stomach, you better reel it in, because you are getting a little too carried away. No one wants you to text him good night or remember the sandwich order he made these days . That shit is creepy.
Sunday, July 6, 2014
anna's relationship science
You most likely won't end up marrying the guy you hooked up with the very first time you guys hung out. It's science.
Thursday, July 3, 2014
My letter to Steph Curry
I wrote this to him after Mark Jackson was fired
Dear Stephen Curry,
I know you may still be mourning the loss of your coach and mentor, Mark Jackson. As someone who would blindly marry you and bear your oatmeal-colored children, I want you to know that I'm here to help.
Mark Jackson has been a huge asset to your career and undoubtedly played an important role in your success with the Warriors. I know he provided you with motivation and positive energy. He saw what you were capable of, and most of all, he believed in you. If I had to make some sort of analogy here, which is custom in letters like this, I'd say he was the soil that helped you bloom. You're like a...I don't know, a sunflower. Which isn't a half-bad comparison when you think about it because, like a sunflower, you'll continue to reach great heights, even without that specific Jackson brand fertilizer. And you may or may not kill everything else around you in the process. We'll see.
So now, I suggest you take this time (this is what we call a "mourning period") to remember the good times you had with Mark--whether it was a poolside afternoon or a late-night heart to heart with a bottle of wine, or a crazy weekend on a houseboat with lots of other NBA players who are, for the most part, really tall and mostly good-looking. And maybe these things never actually happened, and I'm simply listing the things that you and I have done in my dreams (and can do in the future, might I add), but I'm sure the two of you have shared similar experiences. At the least, you know that there's been a couple of passionate locker room pep talks to take with you wherever you go.
The good news is that it's not like he's dead, so you guys can still be friends. Unless, of course, Steve Kerr doesn't let you talk to him anymore, probably because he's jealous and wishes that the two of you shared a similar bond, and he knows that he can never replace Mark Jackson in your heart, and it becomes this ever-present seed of doubt that grows inside of him until he decides that he has to BECOME Mark Jackson, so he starts doing everything Mark Jackson used to do until eventually he gets fired because the franchise is like, Wait, I thought we already fired Mark Jackson!? Then you guys can be friends again (this is what we call a "self-correcting problem"), but it's probably gonna be a little weirder now that you started hanging out with the NEW coach, since Mark's feeling a little slighted and all, and although he's not gonna make you feel bad about it since that's just how he is, there's definitely some awkwardness there.
Anyway.
From this moment on, your team will be different. Hopefully the change will bring you even more success than you've already had. I want so badly for the team to do well, and I have faith that this will bring good things for you guys. Next year, you will be #1 in the Western conference, and Mark Jackson will deserve credit for building you guys up to make it that far. And if not, and you guys just start sucking--like, REALLY sucking, like before 2012 sucking, like 2007 never happened sucking--at least you aren't a huge asshole like Blake Griffin, that ugly crybaby ass bitch. Honestly, I just really hate that guy, and this has nothing to do with you, but I would love so much for him to wake up one day to discover that he's playing for the Cavaliers, and no one even mean tweets about him anymore, and not even Baron Davis will return his phone calls.
But yeah, if you ever need a shoulder to cry on, or a hand to hold, or some random mostly white girl to make out with indiscriminately, you can always find me on Facebook and other various social media outlets, such as your Facebook, or your Instagram, or your Twitter.
Your's truly,
Anna Marie Hobbs
P.S. Please continue to wear checkered three-piece suits with a flower on the lapel, except next time, I think it'd be real funny if it was a water-squirting flower, and you squirted people in the face with it.
Dear Stephen Curry,
I know you may still be mourning the loss of your coach and mentor, Mark Jackson. As someone who would blindly marry you and bear your oatmeal-colored children, I want you to know that I'm here to help.
Mark Jackson has been a huge asset to your career and undoubtedly played an important role in your success with the Warriors. I know he provided you with motivation and positive energy. He saw what you were capable of, and most of all, he believed in you. If I had to make some sort of analogy here, which is custom in letters like this, I'd say he was the soil that helped you bloom. You're like a...I don't know, a sunflower. Which isn't a half-bad comparison when you think about it because, like a sunflower, you'll continue to reach great heights, even without that specific Jackson brand fertilizer. And you may or may not kill everything else around you in the process. We'll see.
So now, I suggest you take this time (this is what we call a "mourning period") to remember the good times you had with Mark--whether it was a poolside afternoon or a late-night heart to heart with a bottle of wine, or a crazy weekend on a houseboat with lots of other NBA players who are, for the most part, really tall and mostly good-looking. And maybe these things never actually happened, and I'm simply listing the things that you and I have done in my dreams (and can do in the future, might I add), but I'm sure the two of you have shared similar experiences. At the least, you know that there's been a couple of passionate locker room pep talks to take with you wherever you go.
The good news is that it's not like he's dead, so you guys can still be friends. Unless, of course, Steve Kerr doesn't let you talk to him anymore, probably because he's jealous and wishes that the two of you shared a similar bond, and he knows that he can never replace Mark Jackson in your heart, and it becomes this ever-present seed of doubt that grows inside of him until he decides that he has to BECOME Mark Jackson, so he starts doing everything Mark Jackson used to do until eventually he gets fired because the franchise is like, Wait, I thought we already fired Mark Jackson!? Then you guys can be friends again (this is what we call a "self-correcting problem"), but it's probably gonna be a little weirder now that you started hanging out with the NEW coach, since Mark's feeling a little slighted and all, and although he's not gonna make you feel bad about it since that's just how he is, there's definitely some awkwardness there.
Anyway.
From this moment on, your team will be different. Hopefully the change will bring you even more success than you've already had. I want so badly for the team to do well, and I have faith that this will bring good things for you guys. Next year, you will be #1 in the Western conference, and Mark Jackson will deserve credit for building you guys up to make it that far. And if not, and you guys just start sucking--like, REALLY sucking, like before 2012 sucking, like 2007 never happened sucking--at least you aren't a huge asshole like Blake Griffin, that ugly crybaby ass bitch. Honestly, I just really hate that guy, and this has nothing to do with you, but I would love so much for him to wake up one day to discover that he's playing for the Cavaliers, and no one even mean tweets about him anymore, and not even Baron Davis will return his phone calls.
But yeah, if you ever need a shoulder to cry on, or a hand to hold, or some random mostly white girl to make out with indiscriminately, you can always find me on Facebook and other various social media outlets, such as your Facebook, or your Instagram, or your Twitter.
Your's truly,
Anna Marie Hobbs
P.S. Please continue to wear checkered three-piece suits with a flower on the lapel, except next time, I think it'd be real funny if it was a water-squirting flower, and you squirted people in the face with it.
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
Technically, I've felt alone for a while. Not in that desperate, what am I gonna do no one loves me sort of alone. But in that separate sort of alone where I can't seem to feel like I'm actually a part of anything. It's as if life has always been a spectator sport for me, and I spend the majority of it wondering what I'm going to do with mine. I see other people, and they seem so thick with resolve. I wouldn't say that I'm envious of them, but studious. Curious. I wonder quietly what lessons they've learned that I seem to have missed. What insights into themselves that they've discovered in order to explain it all.
What I think is the most exasperating is that I know at this moment in my mid-twenties with a couple tens of thousands of dollars, I could do a lot of "fulfilling" things. I could pick up a hobby, travel the world, throw down on a condo, take out a loan and start a business. I am overwhelmed by this prospect. People always say, "You can be whatever you want to be if you try." As if the battle is trying. Whoever knows what they want is truly happy. I know I could do anything, be anything, work hard for anything. But I don't WANT anything. I don't CARE about anything. When I sit down and think, if I had no ties, no expectations, and all the money in the world, what would I do? Understand that I'm hoping the answer will reveal to me what I'm passionate about. But if I could have anything, it would be to no longer feel the need for fulfillment. Honestly, why can't I just be fulfilled by sitting around watching the NBA draft with a beer or reading the New Yorker in bed for three hours straight? I don't want to feel like I'm wasting my talent anymore by opting out of what some would call more "fulfilling" life choices. I want to be talentless, in order to save myself for this ever looming concept of unrealized potential. As a matter of fact, I want to have zero potential! That way when I finally DO do something, it's because I want to, not because I owe it to myself, or to society, or because it's a waste not to do it. Is that so much to ask?
The greatest thing that San Diego has taught me so far is that confidence is all you need. Literally, for anything, ever. Believing in yourself isn't overrated. In this life of utter bullshit, it's really really REALLY reassuring to know that you're not entirely worthless and you do deserve all the good things that you want. You actually really do. So no worries in the end, I guess. I'm just going to pretend that I drink a vial of Felix Felicis every day. If I just go with the flow and stay positive and be real, this alleged "potential" of mine will not be wasted.
What I think is the most exasperating is that I know at this moment in my mid-twenties with a couple tens of thousands of dollars, I could do a lot of "fulfilling" things. I could pick up a hobby, travel the world, throw down on a condo, take out a loan and start a business. I am overwhelmed by this prospect. People always say, "You can be whatever you want to be if you try." As if the battle is trying. Whoever knows what they want is truly happy. I know I could do anything, be anything, work hard for anything. But I don't WANT anything. I don't CARE about anything. When I sit down and think, if I had no ties, no expectations, and all the money in the world, what would I do? Understand that I'm hoping the answer will reveal to me what I'm passionate about. But if I could have anything, it would be to no longer feel the need for fulfillment. Honestly, why can't I just be fulfilled by sitting around watching the NBA draft with a beer or reading the New Yorker in bed for three hours straight? I don't want to feel like I'm wasting my talent anymore by opting out of what some would call more "fulfilling" life choices. I want to be talentless, in order to save myself for this ever looming concept of unrealized potential. As a matter of fact, I want to have zero potential! That way when I finally DO do something, it's because I want to, not because I owe it to myself, or to society, or because it's a waste not to do it. Is that so much to ask?
The greatest thing that San Diego has taught me so far is that confidence is all you need. Literally, for anything, ever. Believing in yourself isn't overrated. In this life of utter bullshit, it's really really REALLY reassuring to know that you're not entirely worthless and you do deserve all the good things that you want. You actually really do. So no worries in the end, I guess. I'm just going to pretend that I drink a vial of Felix Felicis every day. If I just go with the flow and stay positive and be real, this alleged "potential" of mine will not be wasted.
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