Well as we all know, Facebook is so the new Myspace. But doesn’t it annoy you when you have twenty new notifications and you realize that it was actually two of your friends having a conversation one of your photos? Julian Smith puts it best in his “25 Things I Hate About Facebook”:

And I figured, this would be the best time to fill this 25 random things that I was tagged in oh so long ago. So here it goes:

1. I want to be a writer: some days I want to write about fashion, some days I want to write about music, some days I want to write about culture, and some days I want to write about Darfur. I just can’t make up my mind. Oh, and I also want to be a photographer. And a historian.

2. Back in 5th grade, I liked this boy so much that I couldn’t even talk to him. I still struggle with this problem to this day.

3. I’d rather starve to death than not be able to spend money on new clothes.

4. I don’t know who Jesus, Mary or Joseph is. And I don’t understand religion.

5. I like to contradict people just for the sake of making them feel like they are wrong. But most of the time, I end up being wrong.

6. I don’t understand why chapstick tastes good when you put it on your lips, but when you just bite the chapstick, it tastes like poison.

7. I am extermely self-concious about people not liking me: probably from years of having to make new friends in new schools.

8. I use little inconsequential tidbits about my life to define who I am to others.

9. Out of all the fabulous places in the world I have lived in, I had to be born in New Jersey. My mother couldn’t be bothered to drive herself another hour North while in labor up to New York City to give birth to me.

10. I hate it when people change the volume on the TV or the radio to a number that’s not a multiple of five.

11. I love cameras. I have officially started my own camera collection. Currently, my camera count is 2.

12. Ever since Jack died and left Rose alone until she rotted like a dried up prune, I don’t believe in love. Or fate.

13. I have always felt destined for greatness. So far, this has been a total bust.

14. My dad almost named me Rafiki long before The Lion King came out.

15. My dog is my frenemy. I pretend to like it to it’s face, but then behind it’s back it secretly curse and despise it.

16. I was born 8 weeks early. This is why I only get jokes 8 weeks later.

17. I have never had a real boyfriend.

18. I hate television, yet I watch over 12 different TV shows religiously. Yes, I am a hypocrite.

19. My favorite vegetable is brussel sprouts, the universally most despised food known to man.

20. This summer, I am going to one of the most beautiful places in the world: Beirut.

21. Every morning, I wake up before my alarm clock goes off. And on weekends, I wake up especially early. All of this is completely unintentional and out of my hands.

22. I speak in “That’s What She Said” language. For some reason, everything that comes out of my mouth sounds dirty.

23. I don’t like wearing pants. Instead, I substitute them for skirts, shorts, leggings, dresses, jumpsuits, anything.

24. I am doing this to avoid writing my Spanish essay. I not-so-secretly despise Señora Hermosa.

25. I’m a lot less cooler in person than on paper.

If you’ve stuck with me throughout this whole fairly annoying post, I applaud you. Now go facebook stalk someone or something.

Laura Marianne

“Living here day by day, you think it’s the center of the world. You believe nothing will ever change. Then you leave: a year, two years. When you come back, everything’s changed. The thread’s broken. What you came to find isn’t there. What was yours is gone. You have to go away for a long time… many years… before you can come back and find your people. The land where you were born. But now, no. It’s not possible. Right now you’re blinder than I am.

Who said that? Gary Cooper? James Stewart? Henry Fonda? Eh?

No, Toto. Nobody said it. This time it’s all me. Life isn’t like in the movies. Life… is much harder.”

– Alfredo and Salvatore, Nuovo cinema Paradiso (1988)


On the 18th lunar year after my mother spent 9 hours of labor, my rebellious teenager phase finally kicked into gear. Today, I:

– Decided there wasn’t a chance in hell that I was going to go swimming in 10 degree weather on my birthday, so I forged a note in order to skip PE class.

– Waited over 30 minutes in traffic just to order a #1 at In n Out, which included a Double-Double, a Medium Coke, and Well-done French Fries.

– Spent more than an hour at the grungy-hip Haight Ashbury tattoo parlor. Mutilated my body with a tattoo. Almost fell asleep if it wasn’t for the incessant buzzing sound. And woke up with some black lettering on my upper back that will always be there. Great.

– Was hit on by middle aged, over-the-hill french waiters as their pot-bellies poked out from between their black capris and tight white and blue striped sailor shirts.

– Continued to consume alcohol illegally and “underage”.

– Ate a devilishly delicious crème brulée.

– Went to bed completely and irrevocably happy with a prominant sting on my left shoulderblade.

Couronnée de Lauriers

Hope your day wasn’t as great as mine,

Laura Marianne

When you know that the end is near, how do you react? Do you act differently knowing that everything will cease to matter in a few months? For example, when given a life sentence, whether it’s stage IV cancer or the death penalty, do you crawl into your corner waiting for the grim reaper? Or do you go out and surround yourself with anyone and anything that matters most? Do you try to fix all the harm that you have ever caused? Or do you live to the fullest not taking anyone else into account because soon enough you won’t be able to?

That got me thinking, I’ll soon be leaving this city called GAY. Whether it’s to listen to small indie rock bands and tortured poets in Seattle, to play beer pong and say “like” ever three words in Santa Cruz,  or to live and breathe coffee and cigarettes in London, I’ll be more or less away from here. So do I spend my last few months with the same three friends I’ve spent my last four years with? Or do I follow what my heart really wants and do things that I never would have before? Do I keep ignoring those few people that have plagued my high school career? Or do I search for redemption and acceptance leaving this place a fraction of a better person? Do I yell “Carpe diem” or whisper “forgive me father for I have sinned”?

Hippies lived their lives on drugs, content to be peaceful, and most of all, free of all worries.

Hippies lived their lives on drugs, content to be peaceful, and most of all, free of all worries.

Holding a grudge takes an enormously huge amount of effort, every day one has to remember and remind himself why he is angry and who he is angry towards. On the other hand, forgiving and accepting is extremely difficult as well, one must put behind the past and believe in change. And if you think about it, isn’t that what we all truly wish for?

But on the other hand, who matters more than oneself? Why would one intertwine and confuse himself in the tangled cool web of relationships and emotions. Why not wear those floral leggings you’ve always wanted to wear, but never had the guts to, afraid of what your friends would think? Or actually do your all of your homework one night because you want to go to a good university, but was always too lazy and pressured by your friends to not give a flying shit?

All in all, what is the recipe to happiness? Do we need the vital component of friendship and love? Or do we necessitate the clichéd self-acceptance and inner happiness?

And at that, I’m off to philosophy class,

Laura Marianne

“And you can tell Rolling Stone magazine that my last words were… I’m on drugs!”

– Russell Hammond, Almost Famous (2000)

With every rejection, I realize what was meant to be, and what was not.

With every acceptance, I find somewhere that is willing to take a chance on me, somewhere that believes of what I can achieve.

With every letter I get in the mail, I am one step closer to my future, to finding out who I am.

Everyday it gets easier. As my wrinkles soften and my nails grow out, I begin to accept the course of my life and deal with what is given to me. Today, I got into SEATTLE UNIVERSITY. Hmmm… Seattle………… When I think of Seattle, I think of Tom Hanks racing through the Empire State building taking his son into his arms, I think of trendy graphic designers rocking out on the bass with their fashion forward Asian drummer girlfriends, and I think of eccentric independent coffee houses covered wall to wall with multicolored piano lesson ads and miscellaneous band fliers.

Seattle sounds enticing, a whole new world of grunge music, hobo fashion, and aspiring writers.

What more can you ask for?

Laura Marianne

“I wanted to move to Seattle, sell my ass, and be a punk rocker, but I was too afraid.”

– Kurt Cobain

We like to think that ending up alone isn’t the end of the world: women force themselves to be The Independent Woman and men lie to themselves pretending to be The Ultimate Bachelor. However, from hooking up casually, to falling hard,  to getting dumped, we dissect our relationships, taking in every casual glance or hand gesture, trying to find a way for them to last.

As we grow older, and our beauty fades away, we are faced with the harsh reality that our personalities might not be enough for our “happily ever after”. So from a young age, we engulf ourselves in the tangled webs of love, dating, and the opposite (or same) sex. So I ask you, are we all really okay ending up alone? Or do we all just explain ourselves into relationships for the sake of being in a relationship?

For all those non Frenchies, the above title says: It’s better to be alone than in bad company. Sure, it seems easy to say that we’d rather be alone than date someone who you know is wrong for you, but like almost everything, it is easier said than done. The greatest fear for a woman is ending up alone with her twelve cats, dying in her sleep on either Tuesday or Wednesday because no one really knew… Except her cats of course. So instead, we fake it. We fake intimacy, love, orgasms, breasts, just to feel loved. If you really like someone, should you have to fake your orgasms? If you don’t really like someone but are afraid of being alone, is it right to fake intimacy?

A recently married friend of mine just told me “It’s better to marry someone who loves you more than you love them.” And she’s right, we don’t go out to find passionate head-over-heels, can’t-live-without-each other love, we search for comfortable showering-with-compliments love. Yes, love is a two way street, but hopefully on your side there are two lanes to welcome the love, instead of just one. This way, the ego is soothed and the end could still be “happily ever after”.

The Independent Woman and Ultimate Bachelor to the rescue!!!!

The Independent Woman and Ultimate Bachelor to the rescue!!!!

But for now, fake it ’till you make it,

Laura Marianne

“Charlotte: If I end up old and alone it’s all your fault.

Samantha: Charlotte, sweetie, we’re all alone even when we’re with men.”

Sex and the City, “They Shoot Single People, Don’t They?”, 1999

“Her heart did whisper that he had done it for her. But it was a hope shortly checked by other considerations, and she soon felt that even her vanity was insufficient, when required to depend on his affection for her— for a woman who had already refused him— as able to overcome a sentiment so natural as abhorrence against relationship with Wickham.”

– Jane Austen

Take me back to those times, to times when unintentional glances were the beginnings of an epic romance, where subtle concise vocabulary determined whether you were  admired or not. Now you think you’re in love when you are described as “hot”. Back in the day being romanced was not about just buying a dozen red roses as the local grocery store and a cheap Walgreens chocolate heart. It was about feeling wanted in a simple and sophisticated way. All romance is today is just a movie genre and an excuse for Hallmark’s existence.

Back in the time of Dukes and Duchesses, of detailed gowns and exuberant jewelery, of seven course meals and extravagant balls, everything just seemed more romantic. Electricity had yet to be invented, so dark rooms were lightened by candlelight as it shimmered off the room’s occupants’ flesh.  Today, in a time of guys and chicks, of mini skirts and tongue piercings, of half a dozen tequila shots and jam-packed nightclubs, things have changed. At sunset, the horndogs come out and our vision becomes impaired in dark rooms brightened by electric lights, blinding our eyes and our senses. With each others tongue down our throats, we have yet to realize the near extinction of romance.

 Lady Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire by Thomas Gainsborough

Lady Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire by Thomas Gainsborough

However, the seventeenth century carried with it mischievous lies and cruel affairs. Condemned to eternal unhappiness through fixed marriages, most found comfort in a different bed than their spouses’. Then again, is that really any different than today?

I’ll take the good with the bad.

Take me back,

Laura Marianne

“She’d stopped reading the kind of women’s magazine that talked about romance and knitting, and started reading the kind of women’s magazine that talked about orgasms, but apart from making a mental note to have one if ever the occasion presented itself she dismissed them as only romance and knitting in a new form.”

– Terry Pratchett, Good Omens, 1990

I fell upon this really interesting music video by Oren Lavie called “Her Morning Elegance”:

Then it got me thinking about dreams. We dream every night. Every night is a new adventure, and every morning is back to reality. I’ve been dreaming, and remembering my dreams, quite frequently lately. Simple, quiet, calm dreams sometimes buoy into the ocean of turbulent, disruptive, troubled nightmares. Most of my dreams consist of normal everyday scenarios scarred with a surreal event that I know is impossible but yet still feels real.

I wish we could control our dreams. If I could, I would only dream simple easy dreams, where everything seems right, and everything is effortless. You don’t have to think about getting in trouble, or getting hurt. You just are. Like the girl in the video.

We dream to escape what we live. I wish my subconscious knew what was right for my head, because I can’t keep dreaming of lions and tigers and bears. I wish I lived in a parallel universe of white clouds, blue sky and crisp sheets.What a naïve girl, you must think of me. But if it’s what I really want, I can dream, can’t I?

Yours truly,

Laura Marianne

“Make every thought, every fact, that comes into your mind pay you a profit. Make it work and produce for you. Think of things not as they are but as they might be. Don’t merely dream – but create!”
– Robert Collier (1885 -1950)

So I was looking through pictures of Fashion Week and I noticed a trend. Roberto Cavalli, Prada and Alberta Ferritti, to name a few original brands, all decided to go with a certain… look:

I’m sure you want to look just like them. Well instead of spending thousands of dollars on this fleeting look, I’ve made this Do-It-Yourself plan just for you (Make sure to starve yourself at least five days before beginning this DIY):

1. Start out by getting ready for a night out on the town. Take your eyeliner and eye shadow and paint your eyes black, starting at the bags under your eyes and go all the way up to your eyebrows. Put your hair up in a bun applying cans of hairspray.

2. After having successfully applied your makeup, go on said night out on the town. While painting the town red, you must do the following:

– Make sure to drink ten times your weight in alcohol.

– Cry, making sure the eye shadow smudges all around your face.

– Start a fight, preferably a catfight.

– Makeout with someone, assuring messy knotted hair.

3. Go home and fall into bed without removing makeup or clothes. Make sure you toss and turn while sleeping.

4. Wake up to knotted, frizzy, messed up hair, bare lips, pale skin, slightly green complexion and smudged bloodshot eyes.

5. Hit Catwalk.


I crack myself up,

Laura Marianne

But it is better to fail in originality than to succeed in imitation.”

– Herman Melville (author of Moby Dick, 1851)

What do you do when you hit rock bottom? When you truly have nothing else to hope for? Hope has gone out the window to follow Pain and Despair as it refuses to stay inside Pandora’s box any longer.

Every year at my birthday when the time comes to blow out my candles, I wish for the same thing. Happiness. And every year at my birthday when the time comes to blow out my candles, I realize, that my wish has yet to come true. Granted, I’ve had moments or pleasure, of sporadic happiness, but I’ve never felt a moment of genuine happiness, that I could just die at that moment and I would feel like my life would have been complete. Is that so much to ask for? I’m not asking for a pet rhinoceros or to be pretty because God only knows how that those are never going to happen. I just want everything to fit into place. I’m jealous of everyone who seems to have it together. That’s all I want… That’s all I really want.

It’s almost springtime right? Flowers are blooming, birds are singing, it’s supposed to be the happiest time of year. Yet, for some reason there’s always something wrong. Why is it that no one can truly have it all? Why can’t we all just find the perfect outfit, perfect man, perfect job, perfect family, perfect friends, and perfect life, according to our own demands? Is it really that much to ask for? Some people seem to have it all, while other seem to have nothing. Yet even these people, who have all the ingredients to happiness, don’t know what to do with them. They know others are so much worse off than them. So they live lives of quiet desperation, pretending everything is just fine. When nothing really is.

Valentine’s day is coming up, and instead of hoping and wishing to find Mr. Right now, I’ve given up. Is that normal? I see boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands and wives, happy as clams, and I just want to hurl. Pink makes me blind and dressing up in the morning seems pointless. Is it normal to be this cynical at such a young age?

From young adolescents, to middle aged housewives, to old tenure professors, none of us can be cured of this sickness. Is it so hard just to ask to be happy?

Confused at the bottom,

Laura Marianne

“It’s sad but it’s true how society says / Her life is already over / There’s nothing to do and there’s nothing to say /Til the man of her dreams comes along picks her up and puts her over his shoulder / It seems so unlikely in this day and age.”

Lily Allen, “22” It’s Not Me, It’s You (2009)

It’s self preservation. Everyone for themselves because it’s a dog eat dog world out there. Why put your heart out into the vulnerable world of love, if you know very well it’s just going to be ripped to pieces? It’s a suicide mission yet everyday people take the chance, they fall hoping someone will catch them. And I’ll tell ya, you’re one of the lucky ones if you don’t fall flat on your face.

Break my heart, baby, Ill love you for it.

Break my heart, baby, I'll love you for it.

We stick our hand in the dark hole, not knowing what’s in there, expecting the worst yet hoping for the best. Inevitably, our hand gets bitten off by the unknown. And the paradox is that with one hand gone, we stick the other right back in the dark hole again.

Why do we always hope for the best though? I mean once you learn that nothing good will come of it, why try again?

We say “never again” and “I learned from my mistakes”, but come Monday, and the pain of the weekend has washed away, those feelings wash away as well. We think, well it wasn’t that bad right? What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?! Pah, whoever said that certainly was never in love.

Don’t we ever learn?

Laura Marianne

“Here’s my philosophy on dating. It’s important to have somebody that can make you laugh, somebody you can trust, somebody that, y’know, turns you on… And it’s really, really important that these three people don’t know each other.”

– Brooke Davis, One Tree Hill