The Comeback Kid
The title of this blog post sourced directly from season 4 episode 11 of Parks and Rec as in to say the bitch is back with not as many thoughts as I had during summer because I had way more idle time then than I do now butimherenow.gif truly. So anyway, what better way to start off this long awaited return to my blog than talk about none other than volleyball boy who will now be named Jack because that’s his real name and now he is no longer an obscure figure in my life in which I hope to see around mem gym but rather someone I drive to Costco and ask to grab me a sample too while he bounces from aisle to aisle. The conception of this blog last October? Whenever it was that I started writing these was pretty much also the conception of the figure formerly known as VB now to just be called Jack and anyway it’s legit just that back on my bullshit meme where I’m like back crushin on the same boy for the same reasons with the same end result: very exciting volleyball stories. But more importantly, I was texting Jack and Emmelyn the other day about a Costco trip in fact in which I remembered one time I was showing Emmelyn my texts with Jack once and she was like wow your texts with him are so funny and I was like obv girl obv I don’t have boring text conversations. And then she was like I would never text him like that, I feel like I’m always so formal with him and I was like formal with Jack?????? Of all people??????? And it’s interesting cause it’s like she’s so aware of the way she interacted with Jack, this was all last semester so maybe she was inspired to add a little more spice a little more fun to her texts with him or something, but anyway it’s interesting that she was aware of how she changed her tone when texting him and thinking about it it’s like no white boy could ever keep up with me over text anyway. I’m not scared of texting the way I usually do, especially not to white boys like if anything they’re the ones who can’t keep up with me!!!!! I’m the one carrying every god damn conversation I have I’m too spicy for them. We can extrapolate this further and take a look at my tinder conversations. Well, first of all I don’t respond to a lot of people because I forget to and then it spirals into days with sending a simple hey back but that’s not the point the point is that sometimes I do talk to boys on tinder and then I end up being the funny one every time. When will I ever find anyone else who can keep up with me? Where are the boys with next level humor? I realize again and again that I’ll probably be the funny one of any relationship I’m in. That’s a tough burden. There’s one tweet in my likes that’s like “when you send something in the group chat and everyone responds with ADLKSJFLKJFKL” and then it’s the beyoncewhydidgodgivememytalent.gif and that’s me. I feel that specific tweet on so many levels, layers, axes. I feel it. We’re connected, that tweet and me. So that’s what I think of texting white boys and more specifically why I text Jack the way I do because there is never any reason to be afraid of white boys over text messages. They’re not funny or spicy. But anyway, I’m due for some self crit with regard to attraction. Details on that coming up after the next six week long break from this blog.
Anyway, I made a mistake and tried to write this with only an hour and a half before class and now I’m fucked because I usually take like four hours to write these and also I think I’m out of ideas already. You know what, I probably only felt compelled to write because I needed to ventilate thoughts about Jack somewhere and this is the right place for it. If anything, the description of this blog would be: lots of word vomit about this one straight white boy who plays volleyball and has a girlfriend already, doing okay cultural critique, and talking about getting high. Anyway, I’ve been baking a lot recently. I just get the urge and then I wanna bake and then suddenly I’m throwing something in the oven and the baking signal goes out so that in a few hours I get the gratification of seeing people devour my baked goods. This is all in line with my true career goal of owning a bakery and living above it. Seeing as this is my true career goal obviously it’s time, with it being third year and all, to really crystalize my post-grad plans and that means choosing a theme, name, and menu for this imaginary bakery of mine. The bakery would have a cat seeing as Omar and I have been thinking about fostering a cat which we may end up doing but will require much more discussion and actual research of what that entails and conceptually it really rings true with Kiki’s Delivery Service seeing as she had a cat (Jiji in case you forgot all the little details of one of the best coming of age movies to ever exist animated or otherwise) that ended up hanging out at the bakery. Right so basically in part my life is meant to look like Kiki’s Delivery Service except that instead of being a witch I’m just gay and like baking. So cats, couple of plants and by plants I specifically mean leafy foliage preferably a very mature monstera that is 7 feet tall, exposed brick and wood, floor to ceiling windows somewhere in the bakery, uhhhhhhhh a Jackson Pollock piece in case my husband Oscar Isaac ever wants to reperform his monologue about automatic art from Ex Machina. I’d get to dj of course but there would be a system that allows song requests once every hour just so my playlist doesn’t get impeded that much like one song an hour is a good pace in which we can disrupt a well-crafted playlist. No one song can ruin the bakery’s vibe that much, I have faith in my imaginary customer base to also have at least an okay music taste. I mean, also the pressure that your song request would be played for everyone to hear, imagine the public anonymous scrutiny like what if I play your song and the immediate reaction from everyone in the bakery was like, who put this on?????? it’s bad. Even if no one knows it’s your song request they’re still judging your taste essentially. Bad songs immediately are filtered out through community policing.
Okay well last night got very busy and I am just leaving the stuff I wrote yesterday where it is. Now we’re here, I’m in fluid mechanics, only an apple to sustain my consciousness from 9:30 – 12:15. Anyway, while everyone’s sitting and waiting for class to start I hear these two white boys behind me talking about none other than: bubble tea. Cultural phenomenon for the yts. I love hearing them talk about boba. It’s always the same reaction every time. They were like, it’s kinda weird but it’s not bad but it was weird. Lmao like every first boba experience goes like this it’s just something about this “”””wild”””” food texture. Food texture is obviously like a huge part of the food experience but I don’t know what makes boba so perplexing. They’re just chewy? It’s tapioca????? You ever had that cozy tapioca pudding before? I used to love that shit when I was a kid. The worst was when my parents would get the rice pudding instead of the tapioca pudding and so there I would be, looking in the fridge for a fun snack and I’d see the cozy tub and I mean once that happened the decision process was over but then I’d grab the tub and it’d be the rice pudding and don’t get me wrong the rice pudding is good I am obviously a huge proponent of rice in general like as my carb of choice I will cape for it but rice pudding vs. tapioca pudding? Can’t relate. So then when I would grab it and find out it’s just rice pudding snack time was ever so slightly disappointing. So if this is in fact the universal cozy pudding experience across all childhoods, then it would be easy to see how tapioca in a drink would fucking floor you in a good way. Milk tea with boba as an extension of your childhood memories of cozy tapioca pudding can only mean that your reaction to your first bubble tea would be elation. These days though my aunt and mom only tell me that boba will give you cancer and that it’s made of plastic and idk whatever else they’ve read on their collective news outlets enabling such skepticism of all things fun. Also, as a truly evolved milk tea drinker i.e. I’ve been to gong cha multiple times obviously the right add-on to any milk tea is egg pudding and if they don’t have egg pudding it’s not a real milk tea place. Fly to SFO, drive an hour to Fremont, go to gong cha, order an earl gray milk tea less ice less sweet with egg pudding, and fucking live your life. I think about my first earl gray milk tea from gong cha #summer2k14 every time I want milk tea. Truly changed my life for the better. So basically what I’ve learned, or rather had reiterated to me today sitting here in class is that white boys lack culture, taste, etc. You name it, they don’t have it and that’s today’s tea.
What a gracious return to my ello account. It only took me two days to write. One day I will finally strike the perfect balance between a long winded, superfluous post that can also be finished within two hours. But anyway, and as always, stay tuned for the drama of it all.