Misc Photos

NOTES: aperture: f/ 5.6;  shutter speed 1/30;  ISO 1600

NOTES: aperture: f/ 5.6;  shutter speed 1/60;  ISO 1250

NOTES: aperture: f/ 5.6;  shutter speed 1/4;  ISO 1600

NOTES: aperture: f/ 36;  shutter speed 1/30;  ISO 400

NOTES: aperture: f/ 29;  shutter speed 1/10;  ISO 100

Misc Photos

Foreshadowing: It’s Complicated

Wow, so I was looking for something on this blog, and I found this password protected post from the beginning of the year. And I totally forgot what it was about and so I reread it. And wow. It was pretty much acknowledging all the problems A and I had way back then. Which is crazy, because for things to have been bad in January, they were probably bad leading up to that for months. And it’s just amazing how much I didn’t trust my own instincts. How much I will willing to put aside my own intuition and keep on playing the fool. I am very annoyed at myself for doing this. I don’t know why I got suckered in so much (actually, I do have a good idea why – can you tell from the post? There’s a hint of it.)

It’s frustrating because these problems weren’t even really problems. They were just miscommunications. Had he stopped feigning ignorance and being all wishy washy and had just said, I think this is great, but no we don’t have a future, I like you, but maybe we’re going in the wrong direction. etc. etc. we would have altered the course of our relationship to something that worked better for each of us. But instead he snuck around behind my back and now there is absolutely no relationship, not even a friendship. It’s such a disappointment, and I just plea with all of you out there — be HONEST and upfront with your loved ones. Because there is no greater cruelty than not giving a loved one a choice in the matter. I’m a rational adult, I can handle the truth. I can’t handle being lied to and disrespected by those who claim to love me.

Trust your instincts and be honest. That’s all I can hope for in my friends and lovers. Ahh well. Want to read the original post? It’s Complicated.

Foreshadowing: It’s Complicated

The Year of Skirts

Today is day two of 365 days of skirts. I’ve been thinking about doing some sort of fashion challenge for a while now, and as everyone knows break-ups usually provoke a wardrobe upgrade, so I figure now is as good a time as any.

I did a food challenge back in 2007 — to be a vegetarian for one year — ¬†and it resulted in a new outlook on life, and three years later, I’m still a vegetarian. And I had been thinking about doing something about my clothes, but I wasn’t sure what. And yes, I am aware that this isn’t an original idea, Sheena Matheiken wore the same dress for one-year straight. It was both a statement on anti-consumerism as well as an opportunity to raise some money for children’s schools in India. While, going vegetarian was my own personal statement about the privilege of eating meat, the year of skirts is basically just for fun.

I thought about wearing the exact same thing year-round, but that was way too rigid. And then I thought about only wearing black for a year, and again that seemed too limiting because I do love things in yellow and red. So then I realize what I hated about my current wardrobe is how unflattering it is: jeans, t-shirt, sneakers. I mean what am I, a 12 year old boy? Basically I started dressing this way, because I was slowly adopting A’s sense of style (which is the same to say as I was losing all sense of style.) I remember once literally thinking, Well, if he’s not going to try to look good for me, I’m not going to bother trying to look good for him. And thus my wardrobe became a collection of free, ill-fitting t-shirts. Luckily, these are all gone now.

The other part that really prompted me to do this was that the NYTimes had an article about how French women age so gracefully. And I remember my Professor tell us, before our trip to Rome, to always look put together. That women in Italy didn’t take out the trash without putting on their mascara first. And while I think that’s a bit extreme, I understand it. They didn’t get done up just for themselves, or for their husbands, they got done up for the whole world.

I’m not necessarily trying to start fitting into that traditional, small box of what a “woman” looks like according to the US media and cultural stereotypes. I’m not looking to buy 40 beauty product that guarantee to transform me into some photoshopped actress. But I think I could wear skirts and dresses in my own way without succumbing to that mentality. And as a designer, as a person with a visual eye for things, I feel like the image of myself that I project onto the world should be more carefully crafted and considered. I guess the year of skirts is meant to make me more conscious about my own image and what I’m projecting. Because while I like having the fun-going, adventurous attitude of a 12 year old boy, I don’t like looking like one.

I think getting dressed up – even casual skirts and shirts – will help balance how not-quintessentially feminine I am. I also think it’ll help the self-esteem because for a while now I’ve just been treated like a best bud, instead of a lovely woman. So, while I may have a foul mouth, and I think scars are badass, and I know how to change a flat tire, from now on, I’ll look cute while doing it. I guess you all can expect more pics of me twirling in the future.

Photos courtesy of and (c) A. Izadi. 2010.

The Year of Skirts

It’s Hard to Write a Title When I Don’t Know What I’m Going to Write

Over the past ten days, I’ve had lots of ideas, lots of little aha! moments that I was going to write about. But none of them really seem worth an entire blog post. Here are a few of those ideas summed up:

  • I always think other people are having more fun than me. The grass is always greener, etc. I very much know this is not true.
  • Ithaca has townies who move to cool cities. Marylanders just move to Baltimore.
  • I have new photos to post, but not the time to post them.
  • My apartment looks so empty, wow I am really moving.

Tonight I’ve been throwing stuff away and packing my life up into boxes, and I feel really free. And it’s a really great feeling. Don’t worry married friends, I’m not insulting you, I enjoy the feeling of security and love too. But personal freedom is like equal parts first kiss and huge sigh of relief.

It’s funny how much I love my personal freedom and yet how easily I’m willing to settle. I’ve been thinking about some childhood stuff and realizing how sensitive I am to loneliness. It’s a terrible feeling – like a cold wave that washes through your body and takes your heart out to sea – that just makes me feel so sad. The closest way to describe it would be Beaudelaire’s ennui. And because I’ve felt alone for so much of my life (thanks childhood), I’m really looking for that person who’s not going to leave me alone. When, drumroll, we all know that one person is really just ourselves.

And when I moved to Baltimore four years ago (literally, I will be moving out to the day I moved in), I was just beginning this process subconsciously. I moved to a new place, I got to be whoever I really wanted to be, and I had all this freedom to make my own choices and do whatever the hell I wanted, whenever the hell I wanted. And no one knew me and none of their judgemental-ness could stop me. I had control and it was a great feeling.

And it is such a polar feeling to how I felt with A at the end. In the beginning, it ebbed and flowed with who had the upper hand, which is the way I think it’s supposed to be. I remember once I told him, how I couldn’t act like myself around him, and he told me that was ridiculous. So I decided to act like myself and if he didn’t like it, piss on it, because I hardly knew him anyway. Eventually though, that self-doubt no doubt came creeping back. And suddenly I stopped acting like myself, afraid to offend him or do something he didn’t like. I always felt like he had the upper hand. Granted, no wonder I felt that way when he was always so aloof and cold in the end. I gave up on so much of myself, little by little. Now, I realize how stupid it was to behave that way. Stupid and miserable.

So here’s to not settling. To having a partner who enhances my personal freedom. And most importantly, here’s to not getting overly involved again with someone who doesn’t.

[Update: I’m reading House of Leaves, and it’s describing the Greek myths about Echo: “…unfulfilled love results in the total negation of Echo’s body and the near negation of her voice. But Echo is an insurgent.” Seem familiar?]

It’s Hard to Write a Title When I Don’t Know What I’m Going to Write

Okay, Okay, Okay

Okay, so I decided to password protect “My Grievances … Part II.” Why you might ask? Well to understand that, you have to understand why I wrote it: 1. I was hurting real bad. 2. I wanted to make A hurt too. Considering, I have no control over how A feels anymore, 2 is a moot point. And regarding 1, at the moment I’m not hurting as much anymore. And it’s gotten way more exposure than I ever intended it to. I feel some remorse about it, since I do want to take the high road because 1. I am the better person, and 2. because even after everything,¬†the idea of intentionally making him hurt makes me feel worse (isn’t that ridiculous?!). So, while I might have violated his trust and preyed on his insecurities–like a bad person would do–I like to call A and I square.

Moving on…

To my critics: Why are you here? Why are you reading this? If you are friends or family of A, I’ve already done what I can to isolate myself from most of you. This blog is MY space. My safe space. Don’t like what you’re reading? Stop reading it. You’re not invited, not welcome, this isn’t for you or for him. It’s for ME. And I’ll say whatever I want, take back whatever I want, delete or approve¬†whatever want. You know why? Because this is MY blog.

To my friends: Thank you. I can’t tell you how much a few words makes a difference. I suppose I write this shit because I’m not very good at reaching out to people and asking for help when I’m hurting. So the fact that you would reach out to me instead, is something I really appreciate. And¬†no matter how small the gesture, each one¬†of you¬†is helping me through this.¬†Thank you. I promise to keep myself distracted with more healthy things, scouts honor. But when I fall again, please be there to help pick me up again. Sincerely yours.

Okay, Okay, Okay

My Grievances Towards Adam Hopkins (PART II)

I can’t sleep, so why not just blurt out everything I’m thinking onto the internet? Sure, sounds good.

I HATE how much Adam Hopkins lied to me:

  • When I repeatedly asked him how he was doing after his aunt died, and he said fine, fine. LIE.
  • When he wrote me an e-mail at Banff telling me I had nothing to worry about and that he was just making friends. LIE.
  • When he didn’t tell me Shannon was going to be in NYC. LIE.
  • When he told me he was going to stay an extra night in NYC, so he could “spend more time with TJ.” LIE.
  • When he told me our friendship was too important and that he wouldn’t go see Shannon again in Philly. LIE.
  • How he kept saying he “wasn’t ever going to see her again” and then repeatedly did. LIE.
  • When he told me he wouldn’t play on our co-ed softball team again. LIE.
  • When he said he would pay me for the beach house deposit. LIE.

I hate how¬†Adam Hopkins¬†tells people we broke up because he wouldn’t move in with me. Or how he “kissed” a girl like it was just some silly mistake, and not that she was a special girl who he spent three weeks developing feelings for her, the same girl he said he “was never going to see again” but saw her twice more. Stop lying about what went down.

I hate how when I had a kitchen fire, I didn’t even bother calling¬†Adam Hopkins¬†for help because I knew he wouldn’t leave his precious Out Of Your Head Collective. I just dealt with it on my own.

I hate how¬†Adam Hopkins¬†doesn’t clean his room or his car.

I hate how Adam Hopkins cheats on his taxes. Grow up. I hate how he barely has the money to support himself.

I hate how Adam Hopkins was a shitty helper at moving.

I hate how Adam Hopkins told me he “was practicing,” after I was in a car accident and wanted to see him.

I hate how¬†Adam Hopkins would¬†never go give blood even though he’s O positive. Saving three lives isn’t more important than playing his bass.

I hate how my birthday didn’t trump Out of You Head’s weekly meeting. Thanks for making me feel¬†so goddamn special.

I hate how my M.A. graduation was just an inconvenient blip on his radar because all Adam Hopkins cared about was Banff.

I hate how unadventerous and lazy Adam Hopkins was in bed. Catholic-guilt much.

I hate how¬†Adam Hopkins¬†made me think it was okay to go to bed at his parent’s house.

I hate how Adam Hopkins was never on time to see me Рever Рbut was never late to a gig.

I hate how disrespectful Adam Hopkins was to my parents, never shaving, never trying to make a good impression, never looking my dad in the eye.

I hate how his parents loved me more than he did.

I hate how even if I wanted to talk to him I can’t because all he does is lie now.

I hate how I’m the one lying in bed wanting to die when I didn’t deserve this.

I hate that all I ever asked for was honesty, and he couldn’t give me that. I hate how selfish Adam Hopkins is. He’ll do anything to be happy.

I hate how few of his friends ever tried to reach out to me. Just reinforcing that I am not special and that I did not matter to them. That I’ll be replaced soon enough.

I hate how his friends won’t care what a shitty person he is. That being a great bass player or great softball player somehow trumps crushing a human spirit.

I hate how Adam Hopkins made my friend sound trashy and immature because of her summer-camp drama/flings, and yet he goes off and has one of his own.

I hate how his new friends call him “Legend.” Piss off you egotistical ass.

I hate how Adam Hopkins would¬†never do the things I wanted to do, but if his friend suggested the same things, he’d be down.

I hate how Adam Hopkins just gave up on us, when we used to be pretty fucking awesome together.

I hate how¬†Adam Hopkins¬†calls Banff “the best time of his life.”

I hate how¬†Adam Hopkins¬†said my¬†being there for him during the worst year of his life, “didn’t make it any easier.”

I hate how¬†Adam Hopkins¬†said he “didn’t regret” the kiss with Shannon in NYC. Not even 24 hours after we “broke up.”

I hate how¬†Adam Hopkins¬†sends me e-mails at his convenience talking to me like we’re friends,¬†because he doesn’t have the balls to call me or see me face to face and actually see the pain he’s causing me. I hate how a few weeks ago after our break up, he had the NERVE to write “love.Adam”

I hate how he took a day off gigs and drove two hours to Philly to spend the day with Shannon, because she is so goddamn special after knowing her for six weeks. Grow up.

I hate his little unrequited love fantasy with Shannon. (You set yourself up with a girl you can’t be with – do you not realize how messed up that is of you?)

I hate how¬†Adam Hopkins¬†sat best man at his friend’s wedding when he knows nothing of love or marriage or commitment or sacrifice or honesty.

I hate how Adam Hopkins made such a big fucking deal about those baby teeth a few weeks ago. What did you think people would think?!

I hate how Adam Hopkins reads this blog, vicariously trying to be a part of my life. STOP IT.

I hate how Adam Hopkins made it sound like I was standing in the way of his dreams, when all I ever did was support that shit.

I hate how Adam Hopkins made me feel horrible about myself and my body.

I hate how often Adam Hopkins would say no to sex.

I hate how little Adam Hopkins said, I love you, back in the days when he might have meant it. I hate how often he said it once he didn’t mean it.

I hate how Adam Hopkins isn’t hurting.

I hate that I am.

My Grievances Towards Adam Hopkins (PART II)

I think I’m going crazy. Please god send someone to save me.

I can’t help but think that God gave only women the ability to bear children, because without it, men would rather annihilate us.