Confessions Part 3; Muggles and iPhones

iPhones are the closest things we muggles will ever get to a wand.

I want an iPhone. I’m not ashamed anymore, I refuse to hide it like the majority of the population. Sure, my friends have told me what a douchebag I’d be if I got one, how they’d refuse to sit next to me in restaurants and on the subway because I would compulsively Slide To Unlock and flick and swish and tap like a queen. I’ve even been dragged to an apple store so I could see first hand the douchey-jagoffs touching their iPads while they lean on the too-low counters and beckon to the employees to bring them more iPods. How I hate them. Yet, how I long to be amoung them.

It’s impossible not to want one. I know I need one, the commercials basically told me so. I cannot NOT have an iPhone. How wonderful it would be to turn off my lights, check into a hotel, or (last item of sentence omitted because I can never remember past the most recent iPhone commercial) from the comfort of wherever I am—be it not my house, not an airport, or (…yeah, I just cant remember past the fact that I can watch Finding Nemo on a tiny little box that turns off my lights.). The saddest part is, I have this terrifying little voice in my head that has suggested that the iPhone commercials might one day stop—perhaps right after I purchase my iPhone—and then I’ll be left with no promise of a better life, no taunting glimps of what heaven (or some lazy person’s paradise) could be. I want an iPhone, but that voice, that taunting, screaming voice reminds me how consumed with fear and confusion in a vastly unfuturistic future I just may wake up in one day.


I told myself: I deserve an iPhone because I’m planning on never buying a wedding dress.

That is the level of deception and acknowledged self disrespect I’m operating on to buy this product.

…I already have a list of apps I’m going to put on my boyfriend.


I mean iPhone.


Help me.

Confessions Part 2

My sexuality is like a gremlin that stands off to the side during dates just starts screaming at the most inappropriate times.

Life Advice

I got into an arguement with my mother 36 minutes before Mother's Day.


And saved 50 bucks.

"She looks EXACTLY like you!" and other horror stories

I had a really bad “That girl looks just like you!” incident at work. A co-worker came bounding toward me, pointing and gasping about some woman whose face was sitcom-idly hidden by people, objects and at one point even a menu, as she made her way to the lounge. Then another co-worker joined in the excitement. “Yeah! She looks SO MUCH like—well, she a bit heavier, but…”

“Yeah, she could be your SISTER!” My slightly heavier sister.

As in all situations when the idea of a doppelganger—heavier or not—is presented to me, I wanted to study her. I did a loop of the lounge, but couldn’t find her. I even sent Co-worker number 1 to go tell me what table she was at. He came back with, “She’s on the patio—and she looks JUST like you!”

I tried to spy on her from the patio door, but alas, another coworker was conveniently placed in the way. I was growing weary of my sitcom lifestyle choices.

Then, it happened.

I saw her.

My friend Emma and I once had a conversation about how we think we look. There’s what you hope you look like:

This chick obviously lives and works in the city and is a success her her chosen
field.

And what you’re afraid you look like

This ... needs no caption.

This person, bless her heart, had every single physical bad quality that I had spent years of my life debating whether or not was as bad as I sometimes imagined. Every little thing that made my heart sink whenever I would catch my reflection on a good day, or that I would laugh off when I caught myself at a good angle, was present on this person. The weird thing was, it wouldn’t change tomorrow because of the confidence inspired by some new eyeliner—no. this was 360 degrees of ‘oh my god, you look exactly like her!’

Yet it was another human being, so my insecurity-masking jokes about body-image issues would be considered mean, not just my regular brand of self-deprecating. It was a very confusing 60 seconds.

When I returned to my co-workers a little less than excited than them about the similarities towards me and Ugliest-Version-of-Kate-Girl, they seemed to instantly know this unfavorable comparison—though probably accurate—was not boding well for me. They explained, “Well, she’s a lot heavier than you!” “And I saw her up close, totally different. It’s mostly from far away that…she doesn’t REALLY look like you…” “I thought I saw you in that top once.” “Maybe she just looks like you in comparison to the other six billion people on the planet.” “She looks more like you than, say, Heidi Klum does.” “Only her PROFILE resembles you.” (Anyone who knows me knows my profile is what I’m the most self conscious of.)

In conclusion, it all made me ask a broader question: Does anyone have an accurate idea of what they look like? And--Should people tell you when you look like someone else? Like, is that necessary? People don't wanna know what they look like (except attractive people, and they can go fuck themselves), people just was to live and breathe and feel the wind on their hideous faces and let the water run over their rolls the whole time pretending they look like Claudia Schiffer or maybe even Alanis Morissette because someone kindly said that once in line for samosas at Family Bingo night at their middle school once or something. Is it wrong for a person to cling to that the same way they clung to their free samosa that day? Is it? IS IT?

If nothing else, I know now what Justin Bieber and several lesbians go through every single day.

Anyway, it all seemed to blow over until one co-worker, who was by all means a pretty, thin, sexy blond, pulled me aside and said, “Remember when we first met and I told you you reminded me of my friend Susie? Well, she’s GORGEOUS.”

Thank you, co-workers.

Extra! Extra! Justin Bieber exclaims mild approval of gender/age bracket!

Oh, hello MSN 'Today' box. What insightful, worldly news do you have to share with me in the two and a half seconds before I click on 'Mail'?

I enjoyed this because I picture some old-timey reporter guy with 'PRESS' thinger tucked into his hat and his trench coat flabbing wildly as he approached Justin Bieber just exiting his 'My World 2.0' tour bus and yelling, "Bieber! Hey, Bieber! I'm Carl Somebody, see, Chicago News. Can you tell me, Mr. Bieber, can you tell me where you stand on older women?! The world's gotta know, see?!" To which Bieber, who had his back turned and was ignoring the guy up until this point, turns back mid-shrug and says, "They're okay, I guess."

.

.

And then Carl Somebody made first page.

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(side note: I gotta know, how did YOU react to this? I didn't even get to the 'Cougar love' portion, which is confusing at best. If you could rephrase the headline "Cougar love: Justin Bieber says older women OK" to mean the exact same thing, how would you? I wresled with 'Bieber Fever: Not Just for Undersexed 12 Year Olds' or 'Bieber Sustains Erection at Mother's Tupperwear Party' or 'Justin Bieber has Libido of Any 16 Y.O. Boy')