I Want To Say Things

I want to say things, but every time I do, I get weird and nostalgic sounding. I feel like every time I post on this blog, it's to be weird and nostalgic. I just wrote two large paragraphs of a blog post that were weird and nostalgic, and that wasn't my intention when I started at all. I don't know why I am that way.

I should just say that I went to New Orleans, I had a great time, I ate a lot of beignets, the city is beautiful, yes I saw devastation, yes they've been doing a good job of cleaning up some parts, the Saints game was great. Slumdog Millionaire and Benjamin Button were great. It was good to see movies again. But nobody really wants to read a blog about the mundane details of your life. In fact, I'm not really sure why anyone wants to read a blog, period. At least not this one. It doesn't actually say anything. It's just me sadly rambling. But whatever.

Sometimes, yes, I do say what I'm supposed to. And sometimes, I blurt things out. You know, though--it usually feels pretty good to say what you're thinking. Before I had this blog, and when Facebook was just starting out, I belonged to its rival, ConnectU, which was great for what it was. I only spoke to one person on it really, and then when they and I stopped speaking for about a month, the longest we had gone without speaking in as long as I could remember, and it happened to coincide with my father's cancer diagnosis, and wrote this ridiculously long, rambly blog that just YELLED. I wish I could still access it. It felt amazing.

Later on in life, now that I see the things that still bother me, I feel like I ranted about the wrong things. Well no, not the wrong things, per se, as apparently the friend who I thought knew my dad was sick did not, which made them call me, which made us talk, and we lived happily ever after. But maybe I should've done it before. Or maybe I shouldn't have. Had I written the blog senior year of high school, it probably would've sounded something like this:

Stop thinking that because I'm religiously observant that I'm judging you all the time I'm not freakin judging you I don't care what you do just stop pretending that I don't exist because I don't freakin wanna smoke pot and whatever you once liked about me is still there I'm not the one who changed and if you think that's the problem then I don't know what to say.

Or in Brovenders:

Maybe if this place wasn't an emotional sinkhole where everyone was judged by how much they learned and everyone else was completely ignored and everyone wasn't plagued with eating disorders I wouldn't be leaving school every single night to go drink in bars and by the way guy who shall remain nameless who I hooked up with on my 19th birthday and who seemed to think that I was obsessed with him because I had the nerve to text him on his own birthday four days later I have no idea what gave you such an ego and good god no i never had any romantic interest in you and do you really think its normal to react to your thinking i like you by passing me onto your friend who by the way was a way better guy then you'll ever be even though I "broke up" with said friend who never actually liked me to begin with like a psycho?

That said, I DID have an excellent time in New Orleans, the city IS beautiful, and I can't say enough good stuff about beignets. Plus, the city's super cheap, the streetcars are cute, and the souvenirs are fun. Also, there are dollar beers on Bourbon Street. Also, Slumdog Millionaire really is a great movie, and Benjamin Button is really good too, especially right after a trip to New Orleans. Just be prepared; it's a looong movie, and Brad Pitt doesn't get hot for a while.