Sunday, March 27, 2011

i was a little girl once





I remember being small enough to fit into cupboards.

I remember having so much time.





If you're going then go.
-Avery Jalaine

Friday, March 25, 2011

Let's be honest: Arrested Development is clearly the most beloved tv show that has ever been made, Seinfeld aside.

Here's proof:


Oh, and...



Yeah.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

i am sixteen, going on seventeen.




Happy birthday to me.


It's tomorrow. The 24th of March. At this time on March 23rd 1994, I didn't exist (well, I did, but not in the air-breathing real world). That's funny, a time when I just.. wasn't. I can't imagine it (no kidding).

I feel like I'm hitting my midlife crisis thirty years early. Seventeen is
old. I figured it out yesterday: Thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen are really just preparing you to be a real teenager. Sixteen and seventeen you're in your prime. And then eighteen: you can vote; you're adult forever.


I never have wanted to grow up. I still don't.


Birthdays stress me out. I almost hate them (I pretty much do hate them, but people don't like me to say it). Not just my birthday: birthdays in general. I probably hate your birthday. It's the combined stress of parties and presents and remembering the right day and saying "happy birthday" lamely (or "thanks" lamely, on March 24th).

I just don't really tell anyone when it is. And let them feel bad about it sometime in the summer when they say "When are you turning 16?" and then I say "last March". It's fine.

Also, I hate that you have to be fake-nice to them the whole day long and let them get away with saying really stupid things and smile much more than usual. And laugh at their blatantly-
not-funny jokes.

The worst type of birthday people are the kind that really milk it for all it's worth. When they request that you do something ridiculous and you refuse, they go "Aw, but it's my birthday" and you have to do whatever it is, no matter how outrageous. It's unjust. It sucks. But unless you want to quickly end that relationship (in some cases you might, and then it's actually the perfect opportunity to get rid of them), you'd better just grind your teeth and buy them whatever they want.




That was the birthday rant. I feel sort of bad because what if someone reads this and their birthday is soon and I come up and say "Happy Birthday! I love you much more than I regularly do and also you're suddenly very attractive and important in my life" but they know that I'm really just sort of faking my enthusiasm? They'll know that I'm a fraud!



Not really, I still like you. Even on your birthday.


Unless I never liked you in the first place, in which case, I probably still don't. Even on your birthday.






You look like a monkey. And you smell like one, too.

-Avery Jalaine

Monday, March 21, 2011

mini posts





The Difference Between Love and Hate:


There isn't one really. Love just looks better on a Valentine.




Words that Rhyme with "Orange":






Zombies vs Unicorns:

No one can answer that.




The Reason Everything Sucks at 6 AM:


Because you're very tired at 6 AM, that's why.






A Short List of People Who Have Worn Parachute Pants and Still Are Cool:

1. No one, actually.







Sing Sang Sung.
-Avery Jalaine

Thursday, March 17, 2011

film noir




You know when you're watching a movie and the teenage femme fatale goes skipping down a dark, foggy alley where you know that the serial killer is lurking and it's so OBVIOUS and so you have to calmly tell the girl on the TV that "You are a moron and I feel bad and everything but it's apparent that you've got no brain and quite honestly deserve to die"?

Things in movies always seem so predictable, the characters so daft for not seeing the end coming. We think that it's unrealistic, but actually it's pretty accurate. The thing is, the characters in the movie don't realize that their life is a 2D approximation of the real world, they don't understand that they are fiction:
they don't know that they're just a movie. The characters, not the actors, believe in their little reality and to them, it's life. And truthfully, in real life we never think we're going to die. It's hard to predict our own endings because life isn't typically like the movies, and the characters in them don't think that theirs are either.

You don't know if you could find your life story on a shelf labeled "Romance", so it isn't predictable when your first great love falls into your lap. You don't know if you're a horror story, a drama, a fantasy-goth-indie flick you can only find in Wichita where it was made. Everything in your story seems original and fresh, but in all reality, you could be a clich
é, a throwback straight-to-video that is so overdone no one would rent it even if it were the last DVD on earth. But to you, this is so new, everything's a surprise.

Don't judge the girl in the 1980's slasher film, because you'd go down the dark alley, too.




Keep me posted.
-Avery Jalaine




p.s. I'm going to the first-ever screening of Unicorn City tomorrow (yes, THE Unicorn City ; ; my love, my joy!) and I'm so stoked. Aaah.



mint chocolate chip



Today Lorin said to me and Zack, "Avery hates everybody."


I don't hate everybody.

I don't even hate most people.
I just don't exactly like most people. But I do like to exaggerate.

So there you have it, me saying "I hate her" and "I hate him" and also "I hate you" left and right.

I don't hate everyone, just some people and then general dislike.


Take my hate with a grain of salt. Actually, take it pretty literally in most cases, because you never know. I just might hate everything.


Which, sometimes, I do.



Okay, I get it. Worst post ever. Happy St. Patrick's Day (Erin go bragh!)





Pinch me.
-Avery Jalaine

Monday, March 14, 2011

wayfarers, please








I was thinking I could just get some old black sunglasses and write "Ray-Ban" on the side with a silver Sharpie.

Think anyone would notice?



Or, donate to the Avery-wants-some-Wayfarers Fund. I take cash or check.




Love you long time.
-Avery Jalaine

Friday, March 11, 2011

judging books






I judge books by their covers.

I mean this in the most literal way: when I'm walking through the bookstore, my eyes fall on the irresistible titles and lovely fonts and magnetic colors of the book's spine. And if the spine catches my attention, I pull it out halfway, move on to the way the cover really looks. It's hard to define what I find appealing in a book's cover. Sometimes it's still life but sometimes it's a drawing. Sometimes it's dark photography or a lack of color. Sometimes it's abstract, or ugly in a pretty way. If I hate it, I slide it back in. Seek and destroy. But if it's worthy, I pull it off the shelf and finally read the words on the back, the thing that I should've done in the first place. I decide if it's a smart, solid read, if I'd want to keep reading it after the first page. This is a certain shallowness of mine. Me, who takes a lot of pride in having good taste in books. How many lovely books am I missing out on just because they had unfortunate cover art? How much knowledge and insight am I sliding back onto the shelf just because of a title that doesn't make my ears ring?

This brings me to my real point: I judge books by their covers.

I mean this in the most metaphorical way: when I'm walking around, my eyes fall on the irresistible haircuts and lovely cheekbones and magnetic eyes of the glimpse of the boy. And if he catches my attention, I examine him halfway, move on to the way he really looks. It's hard to define what I find appealing in a boy. Sometimes it's his heart-shaped face but sometimes it's the line of his shoulders. Sometimes it's dark eyelashes, or a lack of sleep. Sometimes he's fair-skinned, or ugly in a pretty way. If I hate him, I stop watching. Seek and destroy. But if he's worthy, I finally look at his personality, the thing I should've done in the first place. I decide if he's a smart, solid person, if I'd want to keep seeing him after the first day. This is a certain shallowness of mine. Me, who takes a lot of pride in having good taste in boys. How many lovely people am I missing out on just because they had unfortunate genes? How much knowledge and insight am I sliding out of my life just because of a face that doesn't make my ears ring?


I judge books by their covers. And I miss out on a lot of good things, good people.
Don't be like me.
Let's change together.




Hook. Line. Sinker.
-Avery Jalaine



p.s. sorry I've been such a bad blogger lately. my sudden tumblr relapse isn't helping anything.

Saturday, March 5, 2011

wishful thinking (with cats)




Oh, how I wish that I was a cat.



If you said something that I didn't like, I'd scratch your face.

If you blew on my ears, I'd scratch your face.

If you poked me because I was accidentally sleeping on the TV remote, I'd scratch your face.



If I hated you, I'd hiss at the sight of you.



If I was tired, I'd sit down on the floor and then go to sleep there.



If I was cold and you looked warm, I'd climb up on to you and put my head in your sweater.





Oh, fascination.
-Avery Jalaine