Thursday, October 30, 2008

Dancing in the Dark

I quit my job. I made Aubrey get up from her nap today to cover my shift. I motherfucking quit. GOODBYE VU. GOODBYE FOREVER. and Don't think I've forgotten about you, Kevin. You'll meet your end soon enough. You thought you could become Vu's ultimate prodigy child and rise above me in rank? hm? HM? I saw your window displays too. You know what I thought of them?? DO YOU? I THINK A RAT COULD HAVE MADE THOSE. oh wait... a rat did make them. LOOK IN THE MIRROR, BITCH.

I have officially snapped. Look what you people made me become. I'M A MONSTER.

I haven't gone to class(es) in a very very long time. I think I'm failing history and creative writing. I can't be forced to write. When I write, it needs to be in the moment, when I get little epiphanies... when I'm afraid of losing a memory. But now, everytime I wake up in the morning, I feel the self-deprecation come creeping from nowhere and I realize I really don't give a shit. I am constantly lethargic and apathetic towards everything. There is something wrong with me. I just can't pinpoint what's the problem. I'm just... dancing in the dark. I complain all the time. I complain about my shit life, my shit job, my shit classes, my shit appearance, my shit willpower....
I've lost the will to get up in the morning. I spend my nights watching Bleach/The Office/Conan/Cowboy BeBop/Always Sunny and playing WoW. Even in another world, I SUCK. I keep dying. I can't escape being a loser. That's my problem. I'm a worthless sack. I hate my life. I cannot stress this fact enough.
I use humor as a defense mechanism, so I know that if I were to actually change my life, I would have nothing to make fun of. I like being this empty meaningless shell - I have to, I mean, I've felt like this for the past 19 years; so I must like it. Otherwise, why would I keep living it?

I wish I was living a life like the people on Always Sunny in Philadelphia. I really really dig, Charlie. I've been called Charlie-esque. Prone to snapping, illiterate, and often sniffs glue. (Elmer's glue.) It just seems like when it comes to humor and pushing the boundaries - they really don't have any limitations. I would like to live my life like that. No boundaries. Constantly doing stupid shit. Drinking all the time. Uninhibited towards everything I do in life.

I'm glad I started this blog. I'm writing again. At first, I started this blog to make fun of Cherlaine, but now that I've gotten the hang of it, it's helping me be more expressive. So even though I am failing creative writing, at least I get points for writing about life outside of class. I've decided to finish my collection of essays. The collection that I've been working on for the past year that I've never been able to finish. Think David Sedaris meets Keroauc meets Jack Daniels (most of the essays have been written when I was super drunk). I'm planning on sending it to several publication houses. I got rejected from The New Yorker at 16, so I'm aiming to get rejected from Random House at 19.
Here's an excerpt from one of the essays. I would love some feedback:

This was intimacy.
This was what I had been afraid of for so long.
He sat up slowly and his lips went towards my throat. He didn’t kiss it. He lightly brushed it with his lips. I held his neck while he continued to examine my neck, my chest, and my stomach without ever kissing it.
His musky scent encapsulated me.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered into my ear.
I can always tell when people are bullshitting me. Mirrors never lie. But for some reason, I believed him. I believed him with all the truth I had acquired and learned of in the short span of my eighteen years. I believed him the way I knew that God wasn’t dead.
I left home at eighteen to find “God”. I had grandiose schemes of opening The New York Times and seeing in print that God Is Dead. I had visions of Johanna that Nietzsche was right. That The Joshua Tree album wasn’t complete bullshit; that Bono still hadn’t found what he was looking for. But most of all, I still had that sick hope that maybe I wasn’t alone after all.
Much to my dismay, I was proven wrong. College had proven me wrong. Life, in general, had failed me.
Now, I’m just looking for someone who is just as lonely as I am. It wouldn’t be the greatest love story ever concocted but there has to be something about finding the two loneliest people in the world – a kismet manifestation of meetings where unrequited love makes exceptions for the possibility of connection between two people’s happiness. The happiness part is debatable but it is present. The here of now though, is not.
I wanted him to be the one to save me.
He didn’t though.
I believed him fervently because he didn’t kiss me at all that night. He left after he said those two words. He went back to his apartment to be with his beautiful girlfriend of six years.
And I went back to being Carolyn, a drunk that had fallen in love too quickly with the unattainable, like I always do.

Goodnight, you princes of Maine. You kings of New England.




Your pal,

P.S. See you in psych tomorrow!

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Dear Cherlaine

I see that you've come over to the dark side and have entered the World of Warcraft; I congratulate you on your slow descent on becoming a certified spinster such as myself. Good work.
Now, let's move on to business.

Did you think you can just sit there on your computer and cut my character down bit by bit and not get away with it? Ho ho ho, I do believe this is war, my friend.
I suppose I could go the generic route and call you a whore, lesbian, hipster piece of trash, etc etc... there are just so many words to describe your personality. But no, I prefer to be classy about this. Afterall, I didn't turn out to be the person I am today without so much class. (Your mom.)
I think I can express my disdain towards your nasty-ass face in Warcraft-speak. I, beautiful, charming witty young gal that I am, is of course in Alliance. Why is this? Not only am I fighting on the good side, but I am a very strapping level 7 gnome. You, however, belong on the other side. HORDE. An explanation as to why you belong on the dark side of the moon isn't really needed. (Orc, Troll, Undead, Forsaken, Blood Elves, Tauren... I mean c'mon, it's self-explanatory. Hell, you don't even need to create your own character, they just use a real picture of you as the poster-child for the Trolls.)

Everytime I see you walk around the corner, I feel like a young freshman girl in high school who just so badly wants to fit into that size 2 skirt to impress the quarterback of the football team. In other words, you make me want to stick my head into the toilet and vomit.

Your pal,
Carolyn K. Huynh

P.S. Cuddle session would be lovely!

Monday, October 27, 2008

stayin' inside, doing whatever the TV tells me to do

You know your life is over when you start pining over anime characters. I never really got into the whole anime scene until I innocently watched a Bleach episode two weeks ago - and I never recovered. I acknowledge that I have an addictive personality. I KNOW I do. This was proven last night when I stayed up till 4:30 a.m. watching about 25 episodes of Bleach. I pine for the archer guy. He's so hot. I want him to shoot an arrow at me. Then grab me and start passionately ... FUCK JESUS CHRIST. I see the words that I am typing and I have never felt so ashamed.

On another note, world of warcraft is really starting to get on my nerves. I've died maybe about 22 times now. I can't level up. I hate myself. It's so easy, I understand the objective of the game, I know what I need to do, but my brain is missing this piece of my brain that contains logic. I've never had an ounce of logic inside of me - which explains why I easily snap and do stupid shit. Actually, I can't blame that on not me being logical, I'm just a stupid person in general.

Today is a beautiful day. Too beautiful. Too sunny. I am suspicious of the universe. It's just too much "happiness" for me. Which explains why I am inside in the dark, watching anime, continuously dying in WoW, in my pajamas and furiously chewing on a piece of gum to prevent me from smoking another cigarette. I want to say I hate my life - but that line has become too repetitive, too overused, too overdone. I say it the minute I wake up till the minute I go to bed. It's cyclical.
I went to Central today. First time in weeks. Aubrey had to wake me up, she slightly raised her voice at me, told me to get up and go to class. I groan, grunt, complain, tell her she's a whore, get up, put on the same old dirty pair of jeans as always, scowl etched on my face, walk the 4 blocks to central, walk up the 3 flights of stairs... and BAM class cancelled. FUCK YOU UNIVERSE FUCK YOU.

Reason number 3 why the universe is dicking me around today: I go grab some coffee at Stumptown. Fo Free. Coffee Cards FTW. I light up a cigarette, walk over to the library to meet my psych group. Wait inside for 20 minutes only to realize that nobody is coming. I become confuzzled. I walk outside and pace around. Abdul comes around the corner, talking on his phone. I say, "HEY, where is everyone?" He stumbles, turns around, is confused at who this small little Asian girl is, and realizes that it is the same girl that is in his goddamn group. Comes over, apologizes and tells me that the meeting was canceled. Irritation reeks from my pores.
I ask, "why didn't anyone call me?"
"Oh... we didn't have your number."
"I... gave it to you guys...."
"I guess none of us programmed it."
For fuck's sake.

I then proceded to go to UW campus today with Aubrey and we walked around and got pakistani food. We sat around the fountain and Aubrey proclaimed she wanted to be a duck. I smoked a cigarette. It was a real eventful day. Sarcasm. No, it was actually nice. We talked about the future. It's just so murky to us right now. I don't really know what I want to do, but I suppose combine journalism/writing with traveling/non-profit. National Geographic? Conde Naste Travel? Tater? I just want to be able to pay the bills with my pen.

I am often questioning myself as a writer. Am I actually good at writing? I have accumulated a pile of unfinished manuscripts from freshman year of high school till now. Unfinished plots, characters with no depth, various protagonists of the Holden Caulfield-archetype just trying to make it in this world... etc etc. I need to find my niche. I guess I'm funny when I write, but do I really want to be a clown to the mass hordes of robots? Or do I want to go the political route and change the world? Current events? Fashion? Page 6 NY Times? The answer is no. No, I do not. To ALL OF THE ABOVE. I do think that I would do well working for The Stranger though. Why? Because I'm a liberal piece of shit that uses the word FUCK all the goddamn time. They would love me. I would use "fuck" to start off every single sentence - hell, I'll just throw it in when it doesn't even make sense. That's my kind of journalism right there. Fuck.

Oh whatever. I'll say it one last time:
I hate my life.

I am going to go watch another episode of Bleach and die in WoW. Hope you guys are doing something productive/fun in the sunshine - cause lord knows I won't be.

Saturday, October 25, 2008

most of the time I'm clear focused all around...

World of Warcraft has begun - along with my slow withdrawal from the world. Nerdy Cash Register Man was eyeing me with hungry eyes when I bought the game yesterday. I knew exactly what he was thinking too. "WOMAN!!" dosen't matter how unattractive you are, as long as you have a vagina - you are a goddess in their world. ...I kinda dig it. I will worship you as well, Nerdy Cash Register Man.

I don't exactly remember the second half of last night. All I remember is a bottle of tequila and many many "half" shots. I do however, remember asking Cherlaine when I woke up this morning, if I took off my pants. And she said, "Yes, Yes you did Carolyn. Along with Aubrey. You guys both went crazy and sat in the fountain at Volcano park. Pants-less". I look up at her from my bed, barely able to raise my head from the weight of the hangover that loomed over me, my eyes smeared with black eye-liner, crusts around the edges, my breath reaking of tequila and morning breath, and I barely raise my head off my pillow as I muster up all the energy I have inside of me as I say, "hell yes!"

You know, I don't have much in this world, but when a good friend turns and looks at you - moments before you both know you're about to do something absolutely stupid, and they give you a handshake and say "I will always take my pants off with you, Carolyn" - darlings, that's pure love. Second time I've taken my pants off with Aubrey and the other time was in a different country.

Anyway, I'm currently in the library with my pysch 120 group. We were supposed to meet at 10:00 am but I overslept and showed up at 11:00. They were nice enough about it. They're all guys - so they have to be nice to the only girl. They're making me be the quiet little Asian girl - doing all the grunt work and talking while I just press the powerpoint button. I don't really give a shit either way, but they are also making skits to present in front of the class and they asked me to be the wife to the Arabian kid. I thought I would choose this moment to interject and use my humor as a defense mechanism.

Guy #1: Can you be Abdul's wife in this skit?
Hornygirl59: Okay, but he has to hold my hand.
Guy #2: Okay... you guys can do whatever you want.
Hornygirl59: And when Abdul "introduces" me, he has to say "this is my beautiful wife, isn't she gorgeous?" and EVERYONE in the skit has to agree.
Guy #2: Okay.... I suppose.... we can put that in...
Hornygirl59: Okay. Good. Now that all my demands have been met, I whole-heartedly agree to be your slut quiet Asian wife.

This is the point where all three guys stop and stare and they don't know if I'm kidding or not.

I am about to peace cause I'm about to go to the corn maze. CORNROWS OF WASHINGTON FTW

Thursday, October 23, 2008

fuck you, kevin.

You know what I live for now? New episodes of Always Sunny in Philadelphia being posted on I wish I could be like them all the time. I find that their humor does not relate well in real life. If I were to make racist jokes all the time - I'd just come off as a complete dick.
Pour example [true incident]:
Cherlaine and I are walking on campus.
We see an Arabian guy.
I yell terrorist.
She looks at me in shock and tells me I'm a terrible person.
Do you see what I mean??
It's not like I actually mean it. I'm not racist. Although, I am towards Koreans. I hate Koreans. But every other race is acceptable in my book. Especially Jews; you guys are more then welcome to leaf through my book anyday.

Anyway, today was once again another useless day in my existence. I woke up at 7:25 for my 8:15 am class. Looked up at my ceiling and said "I don't think so", went back to bed and missed my history 121 class and slept through my creative writing class at Central. I just don'tgiveashit. College has completely disappeared from my agenda. I haven't shown up to Central in a very long time, hell, I can't even remember the last time I went.

Went to work. Should've called in sick. I hate working there. Vu is driving me crazy. He gave me a lecture for an hour and a half about life and being a salesperson and trying to relate it to my major. I'm just so used to it by now that I've grown so apathetic towards whatever he says to me. It's like I have been desensitized to Gay Asian Designer Men. Today however, was especially terrible. I know what brought on this onslought of a lecture today too. It was Kevin. The other Gay Salesperson co-worker and Vu's prodigy child. The fucker ratted me out. I'm going to smash his face into jelly and eat his babies. VENDETTA!!! VENDETTTAAAA!!!!!!!

The worst part about working today was this slight little incident that was nobody's fault. Okay, it might've been my fault.

As I was reaching for the vaccum to clean the store, my shoe got caught on the dressing room curtain - unbeknowst to me - so I drag the vaccum out into the store but I am yanked back by my shoe being caught. I am caught off guard, grab the vaccum for support - fall down into the hardwood floor; smack my head into the vaccum then my head hits the floor and I pass out for a couple of seconds - this entire time my foot is in the air because it's still caught on the curtain - when I finally regain consciousness after a few seconds, I try and pull my foot off from the curtain but instead, the entire dressing room falls down and on top of me.

And that my friend, is why I have been fired from every single job that I have had.

fuck you, Kevin. I'll get you and your fucking hipster-ass scarf that you always wear. my revenge will be swift and you won't even KNOW WHEN IT HAS HIT YOU.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

part one

listening to Dylan at 11:41. what else is new.

I am slightly drunk after going to a bar tonight. I love writing when I'm shit-faced. Getting cocktail(s) with a friend is a great end to another shit day in my miserable excuse of a life. I love hearing life stories over a gin & tonic.

Confession time.
I am absolutely in love with this Jewish kid. The only thing that gets me out of bed is running into him on campus at random times during the day. Why? This kid makes me so goddamn nervous. I'll tell you why. Because he does not give a fuck about what anyone thinks about him. He is in his own little world. Yeah, I guess he gives me a reason to put makeup on in the morning, I guess he gives me an excuse to be more on campus, I suppose he makes me want to write more and be more interested in things... I just hate my infatuation with him. You know, I'm not looking for anything in anyone's eyes; but I know I am definitely missing something in my life. Drinking, smoking, what-the-fuck-have-you; I can do it on repeat every single day/weekend... but I feel so empty. I am empty. I feel nothing. I am just another robot in this so-called middle-classed faux utopia that I've created for myself.

I would like to consider myself religious – though of what religion, I have yet to discover, but I do have faith. I have faith in the present and my absurd perseverance in trying to discover that I have faith in something. In anything. This is what I see “God” as a representation of. I know that I am looking for all the wrong things in the wrong people. Wasting time, wasting precious moments of what could be geared towards something, well, epic. I want that feeling, I need that feeling, that longing, of being able to open up The New York Times and seeing in print that God Is Dead. I have Visions of Johanna that Nietzsche…and Elton John for that matter, is right. That The Joshua Tree album is not complete bullshit; that Bono still hasn't found what he is looking for. But most of all, I want to be able to discover that sick hope that maybe I am not alone after all. That maybe my mother is wrong about this. That maybe I could stray away from what every woman in my family has managed to do – that I can find a way for me to not be lonely. I could break the cycle. And that doesn't necessary have to constitute having a man present either.

I always fucking do this. I am a five-minute lover. Always has been. I will fall in love at a distance, make up little fantasies in my mind, drink a lot, smoke a lot, have a good cry session. Bam. Over it. So quick to fall in love, I am.

This is all shit. This is just drunk Carolyn talking. Only three people really read this; and I think that's a good thing.

I just feel so empty. I hate waking up in the morning and doing the same goddamn routine every single fucking day. I want earth-shattering moments. I want crazy crazy crazy passion. Somewhere between this time last year and up till now - I've lost a good chunk of what makes me content. I think it's the fact that I have been unable to watch Conan every single night - or maybe I just really need to get laid. Who the fuck knows. I just want an out.

I can basically sum up this entire entry in Joni Mitchell words:
"If you need me, I'll be in the bar."


Tuesday, October 21, 2008


I've been listening to a lot of Bob Dylan lately. Too much for my own good. I can even tell you the exact moment it started:

[disclaimer: this has been grossly exaggerated - although the epiphany did happen]
It all began when I woke up on Saturday morning. I went to the bathroom – as all normal humans do when they wake up to bad morning breath and a hangover.
As I reached for my toothbrush, my tongue scraped the underside of my bottom teeth. It brushed against something rough, scratchy… something raised?
I freeze.
I quickly opened my mouth and looked inside. There inside was a rough white patch that had seemingly invaded my mouth and had instantaneously spread rapidly overnight.
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
I gasp. Is it mouth cancer? I knew I was up to a pack and a half a day, but I figured I had at least six more years of being a smoker left before I would actually get hit with all the warnings that the Surgeon General (who I'm sure is some fat-ass old bag) left on the side of the box.
That was it. That was the moment.
I opened my mouth and raised hell. Shrieks of panic, complete hysteria, Amazon-warrior cries, giant fat tears rendered me blind.
Complete overreaction of course.
Especially when I woke up in the arms of my roommate, Aubrey Jackson, after I had passed out on the bathroom floor to her pouring water into my mouth and holding my hand.
I explained what had happened. My fear that it actually was mouth cancer and not my gums that had been infected with bacteria, that my dentist has been treating me for lately.
She walked over to the computer and typed in ‘Mouth Cancer’ in
As she was reading what the signs of mouth cancer were, she looked up at me and with all her vegetarianism-environmentalist-hotness-actually healthy-eats three meals a day-non-smoker glory- she opens her mouth and says the words that I’ve been hoping for someone to say to me for a very long time:
“It’s your fault, you know.”
I sighed. “I know.”

there you have it, kids. I haven't smoked a cigarette in the last four days and I don't intend to anymore. I am slowly replacing my addiction with World of Warcraft, Avatar/Bleach episodes, and bouts of crazy rants turned on randomly by the irritation of not having nicotine in my bloodstream. Why these certain interests you ask? Because I already acknowledge that I have an addictive personality - and I hear WoW is better then sex and even the obligatory cigarette after said coitral - I also intend to become the ultimate WoW player (better then you Sweden/Norway fucks) I will dominate. I will prevail. I will still be single.

I hate my life.