That time I crawled out of my time capsule & tried to date.

I don’t know if any of y’all have ever been through a break-up, but since we’re human and you, reader, are probably of dating age so you’ve probably experienced some sort of I-like/d-you-but-it-didn’t-work-out scenario and it sucks, right?

I’d go as far as saying it blows.

(Yeah, I went there.)

But unless you’re a total nutcase, nobody enjoys the feeling of someone reaching into your chest Indiana Jones style and tearing your heart out.

My heart got ripped out at the beginning of this year when my boyfriend of four years and I decided to call it quits due to life and adulting. It took me a while to scoop the bits of my heart goo off the floor and squeeze it back into my chest hole. It was hard; I still get sad sometimes.

*seemingly long, sad, awkward silence that actually only lasts four seconds*

But let’s move on, to something a little more amusing, yeah?

I decided to get back into the “dating game” by downloading Tinder and spending hours swiping and taking Reddit-worthy screenshots, usually while taking a bubble bath. It was a really weird, yet relaxing thing I did. But it seriously confused me…this is what I missed in 4 years? This is what we do now? This is what modern romance has been reduced to? A slight thumb movement to the right?

I mean, kind of.

I didn’t actually intend to meet anyone from Tinder in real life because I kind of liked watching my ego slowly inflate like a pathetic air mattress as strangers “liked” my face. I also didn’t want to take it much further than that because social awkwardness….until one night.


My friend and I went out to a bar to be adults, and we both ended up drunk, and my friend took my phone and asked some random Tinder match I had been chatting with to come meet us at the bar. We’ll call him Pat.

It was midnight, and Pat showed up, regardless of the fact he was 20-30 minutes away. By the time he got there I was completely sober and it was very, very uncomfortable and my emergency stash of social skills was running very, very low. He was 30-something, wore socks with sandals, and had the most ridiculous pseudo-Californian Surfer Valley Dude accent I’ve ever heard in my life. Each word dragged on for at least five unnecessary seconds longer than it should’ve. After probably a half hour of being cordial and laughing awkwardly and trying not to touch his being with my being by accident, we ended up leaving after he repeatedly asked for us to stay or go to another bar. We exchanged a very awkward hug, I slithered into an Uber and disappeared into the darkness.

I woke up the next day with my phone blown up with his texts that sort of went something like this:

Pat: Hi

Pat: Good morning

Pat: I had a lot of fun last night

Pat: Did you have fun?

Pat: Oh so we’re playing that game

Pat: I see how it is

Pat: Can you give me your friend’s number?

Me: WHAT?

Pat: Ha! Got you to respond.

Me: I was sleeping.

Pat: That’s what they all say.

Needless to say, it didn’t work out. He asked me for criticism of the date and him in general to which I said he might want to chill on the multiple texting. I want to say he heeded my advice, but I saw him still on Tinder the other day so I guess not.


I met a dude at a Fourth of July party at the beach house of a CEO who, for some reason, likes me enough to invite me to her vacation home. We can refer to this dude as Undercut, because he had an undercut hairstyle and after seeing it I realized I had a weird fetish for this haircut but that’s something we’re not going to discuss today.

Or probably ever.

Anyway, so Undercut was there and I hadn’t flirted in over four years so my attempt of flirting with this dude was to insult him like little kids do in Elementary School. I don’t know why my mind automatically went, “This guy is attractive, better come off as a total douche nozzle” but it did. I don’t know how to feel about my primal reaction to a possible mate being making myself as unattractive as possible, so let’s not overthink it. If I was an endangered animal my species would be extinct if it was up to me to keep it going.

I tried to redeem myself for this behavior by casually showing up at the bar he worked at over the following weeks and being amiable. We had small talk, but nothing earth-shattering, but still I was determined to go on a date and do whatever people my age do when they think someone’s cute. Touch his face? Something? What do I do with my hands? I’m not sure.

After about four visits to the bar, I was chatting with him outside before I left and mustered up the lady balls to ask him out. I had been reading a dating book and it basically Shia LaBeouf‘d me and told me to JUST DO IT. It went a little something like this:

Me: So, hey, would you want to get coffee sometime?

Undercut: Maaaybe

Me: “Maybe”?

Undercut: Sure. I mean, should I give you my number? Is that unorthodox?

Me: *nervous laughter because this is not going as planned and I temporarily forgot what “unorthodox” meant*

Undercut: *puts number in my phone* My name’s Undercut.

Me: I know your name…

Driving home I listened to Beyonce’s “Run the World” on repeat because I felt like a BO$$. I felt like I was in an episode of an empowering female-centric cable series and that I was supposed to go home and drink a giant glass of wine and jump around on the couch in my underwear in celebration of my ballsyness.

I texted him the next day.

Me: Hey, it’s Kelly from last night. How’s it going? I was wondering if you wanted to get that coffee or something sometime next week.

Undercut: Hi, I’m good.

Undercut: Yeah the thing is I might be sort of seeing someone but hanging out could still be a possibility.

Undercut: Do you hate me?

Me: Yeah…I totally hate you. No, it’s fine, whatever you’re comfortable with… We could always just hang with friends or something. Just let me know.

Undercut: Ok. I’m working tonight at the bar.

Me: Cool! I’m not working…

And then I went and dug a hole in my backyard and promptly curled up into it and died.

I actually saw him last week for the first time since this incident at a different bar. I was sitting with some friends and I hear behind me “K…Kelly? Kelly…..?” and I turned around and boom there’s Undercut, who no longer has an undercut, who now is just Dude With Normal Hair That Smokes Cigarettes Apparently.

We briefly chatted, I resisted the urge to yell “WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL ME I’M A VERY DESIRABLE INDIVIDUAL IF YOU HAVEN’T NOTICED” and I left.

Thought for a moment that he’d text me or Facebook request me after that.

He didn’t.

But it’s fine because I heard he’s notorious for crying before/after/during sex.

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I’m baaaaaaaaaack.

It’s Britney bitch, and I’m back.

 

Hello followers, I haven’t seen you since…the great war.

*stares longingly into the distance*

Or since college, I guess. Same thing.

Since I want to do something with my degree other than wipe dust up with it, I said to myself, “Hey, Kelly, you should try blogging again” to which I replied, “Well, Kelly, who’s going to read it? How are you any different than any other ‘twenty-something’ that literally can’t even?” to which I said back, “Fuck if I know, but you might as well try.”

And here we are, thus creating Talking At Myself.

I’ll try to post regularly. I’ll try to refrain from telling you about how all I want to do is eat a whole sleeve of Oreos while sitting on my couch alone Netflix bingeing without a bra on and I haven’t showered in days and men are terrible and I just want cats and I LITERALLY CANNOT. CAN’T EVEN.

Give me a break, ladies.

I’ll catch you on the FLIPPITY FLIP. With a new post…coming up…

soon.

Closing Time.

Couldn’t I think of a more creative title? How about “Good Riddance”? “Don’t You Forget About Me”? “The Graduation Song (Friends Forever)”?

I think “Closing Time” is suitable for this situation, I suppose.

Today was my last day at my internship. I know I haven’t written much about it (this is relatively new to me, ya know) but I’m sure in the next week I’ll go on a posting frenzy and talk about everything I’ve done here, all whilst crying in a bowl of Gorilla Munch cereal.

I worked at a print/online entertainment magazine for about two months–36+ hours a week. When I first went there I was terrified–I had little confidence in myself as a writer and always felt really uncomfortable just putting myself out there. It’s scary being around people that are so talented and well-known and I’m this little intern that waddles in not knowing what Drupal is or how to properly transcribe (still not that good at it..).

Over the weeks I became less scared and more confident with writing and taking initiative in the office. Some days were slow, but sitting in that environment for 9.5 hours four days a week were exhilarating nonetheless.

They even let me cover a few events, which is something I never imagined myself doing. I didn’t own a recorder (thank God for Best Buy) nor have I ever interviewed someone other than a college student or professor before. My first interview was with Michael C. Hall (for about three minutes, but still). The minutes leading up to it I had a full on panic attack for the first time since high school and was convinced I was going to just pass out/throw up during the interview. I took some deep breaths, put on my big girl panties (I always carry a few extra just in case I need some extra girl power) and followed the rep into a small room. Once I sat down on the couch I found myself not gushing over Dexter or asking him to slice my cheek, but having a conversation like a normal human being…and then promptly leaving.

I felt empowered! I met one of my favorite actors and found out that he was, in fact, human–like me.

My second event was at a fancy Los Angeles restaurant for an indie movie premiere party. There were actors and actresses there—notably Rashida Jones and Andy Samberg. I was once again anxious until I met with them face-to-face and thought, “Wow, they’re really nice people.”

People.

Working at the magazine made me realize a lot of things, but mainly this: actors, actresses, singers, etc are all just people. I began feeling sorry for celebrities every time I saw on Facebook what people were saying about them or the articles about crazy fans online (seriously…Justin Bieber fans are ridiculous). I kind of began to understand why celebrities would flip off the paparazzi or…you know, just punch them.

I learned how to report on celebrities in a respectful way, and avoid anything that wasn’t fact (or at least confirmed by their representative). I no longer had such a wary view on entertainment journalism, but in fact, enjoyed it.

Today, however, was my last day. I haven’t cried (yet), but I have bought a $7 chocolate covered strawberry from Godiva and ate some pasta (gluten free, of course).

After being there for 2 months, I probably didn’t make a huge impression on the company. I’m one person out of many interns, and many interns will come after me, and my name might just get lost in the emails one day. I recall a few days ago I said to another intern, “I’m afraid they’ll forget about me.” To which she responded, “They will. Just being honest.”

They may not remember me (although I hope they do!) but I will remember them. The two-month experience that woke up the confidence inside me and made me think and feel things I never thought I was able to before this (positive thoughts about myself? Who am I?).

The next few days will be spent packing up my small studio apartment into boxes and mailing them away. Saturday I’ll be hopping on a plane from LAX to TF Green and saying goodbye to the west coast for now, and returning to my low-middle class life on the east coast, working at a cashier in a department store. In September, I’ll have three more semesters at my school and I’ll graduate the end of summer ’13.

I feel kind of weird about it all right now and feel a bit ungrounded, but it’ll be nice to get away from the hustle and bustle for a month and see my friends (did I mention how much I miss them?). And who knows, maybe I’ll come back some day.

Applyin’ to California

I was never one of those kids that always wanted to go to California.

I never listened to “Dani California” on loop or had musicgasms when “California Girls” came on the radio.

I never had fantasies about being friends with the cast of Rocket Power or sitting next to Tupac singing “California Lovin'” with the top down.

(I did always want to go somewhere warm though–I have killer SAD.)

Anyway, so I transferred to a school in Boston in Fall 2012 from a much less expensive school in Rhode Island. Transferring was something I never planned on doing and I guess the confidence boost somehow made me think I could go to California in the summer for an internship program.

Let me add that “confidence boost” does not equal “enough money to travel” because I, in no way, have enough money to travel.

So at the end of Fall 2011, I applied for the LA internship program thinking I might not get in. The program was geared more towards film majors than lil ol’ lit majors like myself. I also was a transfer student without a GPA so my chances of getting in against my super-smart/snooty/rich competitors were pretty slim.

Until I got this email.

Dear Kelly,

Congratulations!

I’m pleased to inform you that you have been chosen to attend the Summer 2012 term at the Los Angeles Center.

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What?

Naturally I did what the only normal person would do: I danced around to “Club Can’t Handle Me” and called my mom.

I accepted the position, but I had a few challenges:

1. Find an internship in a place with mostly film and music companies and gossip columns

2. Find the money to get there.

I obviously got here, but it was a challenge with a few stories along the way. I’ll update more soon and post pictures as well!

Hello, WordPress.

I’ve been using Tumblr since probably around 2010.

I’m not quite sure how I found it, but I was so entertained by the memes and the fact that you could quite literally find anything on Tumblr. It was a user-friendly Reddit or 4chan, I really didn’t need to go to anywhere else on the internet. News, movies, music, jokes–hell, there’s basically even porn on Tumblr (that has unfortunately, and accidentally popped up on my dash). Why did I need another website?

I created my internet persona in 2010, I believe–might have been earlier than that. There really wasn’t a profound reason for The Whitest Girl U’Know (note the obvious familiarity to The Whitest Kids U’Know). I went to a local college where, I guess, I said a lot of “white” things–it was a lot more diverse than my high school with probably 10 non-white kids in my grade. So a few of my friends would laugh and say, “you’re so white” and eventually “you’re the whitest girl I know.”

Cheesy, right?

I’m just really bad at making blog titles. Why can’t I just be Kelly? Kelly’s not witty, I thought. Kelly is just… a person. I needed something more interesting. No one’s going to go online and say, “I’m going to look for that girl Kelly’s blog.”

So after much thinking and unoriginality, I came up with “The Whitest Girl U’Know” and later changed it from U’ to You.

What a big step.

I did spend $20 on a GoDaddy domain though. God, is that stuff confusing.

Anyway.

So I’d write occasionally about whatever I thought people thought was funny. Note how I said how I wrote for other people.

I’d sit in my bed and wrack my brain and go, “What do people think is funny?” and I finally realized that the majority of people, I found, like cynical, snarky, negative things presented in a somewhat witty manner.

Not many people want to read, “10 reasons why I’m happy today”…most people laugh at other people’s expenses. Or like to say, “hey, that stuff annoys me too!” I’m not trying to generalize here, there are plenty of positive people that like reading positive things, but look at websites like Cracked, CollegeHumor, The Oatmeal, or even Thought Catalog–how much happy-go-lucky stuff is on there?

So I probably wrote on the site for a little over a year–it’s been a year this past December. I became increasingly tired of it and unmotivated and ran out of ideas. I felt like my life was a little deeper than “10 Things I Hate About —-” like, that’s fine once and a while, but after a bit I was like, “Who cares? Why do I care? Why am I writing this?”

I wanted to write about school, I wanted to write about people, I wanted to write about happy times and hard times and that just didn’t fit into the TWGUK/TWGYK/w/e persona. I felt like I was torn between this Tumblr person and myself. I felt this divide–I literally had at one point (and still have most of these things) a personal Tumblr, my TWGUK tumblr, a personal Twitter, TWGUK twitter, personal FB, TWGUK fan page, personal email, school email, TWGUK email…. it was too much! It is too much.

I mean, I’m not trying to say it wasn’t nice. I came to my new school and people seemed to like it. There was even “Kelly Face Day” where I was made into a meme to promote my blog. I had some fans. I had a good amount of Tumblr followers…but I wasn’t really into it. I had to force myself to write things and say “I’m going to write a post every other day so I can get an Evvy” (which is complete bull, by the way).

Spoiler alert: I didn’t get an Evvy. I submitted to the Best Blog (or whatever) category and I didn’t even get nominated. The Fashion Society blog won, because, you know, my school’s all about that stuff.

I’ve ignored it for a few months, and I’m in Los Angeles now at an internship. I’m getting tired of Thought Catalog and I’m getting tired of the same old recycled internet blog humor. I feel like individual people are much more interesting than they make themselves out to be.

So from now on, I’m going to be me. Myself. Kelly. And if that’s not interesting to people, then at least I can say I was genuine.