samantha tennant

Let’s pretend for a moment that we are all magically the sum of people from the past. Do you ever wonder about the things you do sometimes and think that it is your past life self doing things?

Because I feel my past life self was some British lady who liked tea, shortbread cookies, and gossip.

I had a dream the other night that startled me awake. Normally, I am able to fall back asleep, but this was different. I wrote it down. It’s simple enough, but even in my sleepy haze, I knew it was not good.

In my dream, my best friend Lauren and I were at dinner. Sometime during dinner, both of our wallets were stolen. The waiters and management at the restaurant started laughing at us since we couldn’t pay. For some reason, my parents were dining at a table across the room, and offered to pay. That’s when I woke up.

The next morning I looked all of this up on a dream dictionary. Here are the results:

  • To dream that you are in a restaurant suggests that you are feeling overwhelmed by decisions and choices that you need to make in your life. Alternatively, it indicates that you are seeking for emotional nourishment outside of your social support system.
  • To dream that you are a witness to a theft or a victim of theft indicates that someone is wasting your time and/or stealing your energy and ideas. Perhaps you feel robbed in some way.
  • To dream that you lose money suggests that you are lacking ambition, power and self-esteem. You are experiencing unhappiness and setbacks in your waking life. You may also be feeling weak, vulnerable, and out of control in your waking life.
  • To dream that you have no money indicates a fear of losing your place in the world. You are lacking the abilities needed to achieve some desired goal.
  • To dream that someone is mocking you or making fun on you indicates that you are suffering from low self-esteem. Perhaps you are too overly worried with what people say about you
  • To see your parents in your dream symbolize both power, shelter, and love. You may be expressing your concerns and worries about your own parents. Alternatively, it represents the merging of the female and male aspects of your character. 
I’ve never seen everything I’m feeling summed up all at once in such a neat little package. Even my dreams are depressing.
imremembering:

Quints
[flickr]

DUDE. I totally had these and the babillion accessories that came with them (who remembers the house?). It came with a name book, and for some reason, I thought “Sebastian” was a great name for a miniature boy doll. It was totally related to my love of The Little Mermaid. Clearly I was a special child…

imremembering:

Quints

[flickr]

DUDE. I totally had these and the babillion accessories that came with them (who remembers the house?). It came with a name book, and for some reason, I thought “Sebastian” was a great name for a miniature boy doll. It was totally related to my love of The Little Mermaid. Clearly I was a special child…

File this under “Good to know”

Writing a statement of purpose for grad school is extremely difficult when you don’t have a purpose… 

Book Club for One

I love to read. I’ve been reading on my own since age 4. Although, there is a video of a 2 year old me “reading” my favorite story, George’s Store. That was merely an adorable display of memorization— a 1980s version of “Your Baby Can Read,” if you will.

I’ve been to some book clubs, and my God, it makes me want to put down the books and pick up a drug habit. Why are they so awful? Being forced to read chick-lit is bad enough. When you add in a group of hens clucking about how deep and meaningful “Bergdorf Blondes" is, it just further rubs salt in the wound. I dared to disagree that chick lit novels are just stories that we read to escape to a world where you have the perfect everything. Whenever it was my turn to suggest a book to read, I often got a plethora of eye-rolls or was met with resistance.

"But that’s like over 500 pages!"

"It’s non-fiction?"

"This was written in the 1800s!"

"There’s a big word in the title, how am I supposed to read this?”

God forbid for one month out of the year I want to read and discuss something that isn’t Sex and the City in book form or a shitty Nicholas Sparks novel that is being made into an even shittier movie. I don’t like being shunned for calling Eat, Pray, Love "Narcissism for Dummies" or having to conceal my absolute white-hot hatred for the Twilight series. I’m sorry if I want to read about characters that have a multi-layered personality and aren’t vapid, carbon-copies of Carrie Bradshaw.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve watched Sex and the City. I’ve read some crap novels. But I take these things at face value. I realize that the characters’ lives are very unrealistic. I understand that the story that is being presented isn’t very deep. I think the clothes are pretty. I know it’s a fantasy. I sometimes read/watch this crap between reading/watching really interesting novels and documentaries. We all have our vices, but thinking chit* lit is worthy of a book club discussion is not one of mine.

This is why I’m starting my own book club. A book club where the books are decent at worst. A book club where no inane rambling about “finding oneself” will occur. A book club where sharing one’s thoughts and feelings isn’t required. A book club for one.

How will it work? It won’t. That’s the beauty of it.

Ok, so I’ll pick a book to read on the first of every month. Then during the month, feel free to read it. Or don’t. On the first of the following month, I’ll post the title of the next book and any thoughts on the book from the previous month. Feel free to share your thoughts. Feel free to ignore it. Be free from being forced to listen to a friend of a friend dither on about how Sophie Kinsella novels really speak to her.

February’s book is: The Lost Art of Keeping Secrets by Eva Rice. I’ve heard good things about this one. If you have suggestions for good reads, let me know. 

Happy reading.

*This was a typo. Then it all made sense, chick + shit = chit. I’ve created a subset of the genre. Hooray!

Indeed it is my thing.

Indeed it is my thing.

(Source: hydrotoxicity, via thewonderyears)

vicemag:

Girl News - Girls and Being Alone
I realized today how long it’s been since I’ve had sex. Is it a) three weeks b) two months c) eight months d) a backwards-shooting Jupiter-C rocket, the one that looks deceptively like a birthday-cake candle, moving with the speed and commitment of time, eventually destroying the citadel-like memory of what sex is even like? Because I can’t remember. Anyways, that realization, had on a sidewalk, alone, felt like being punched in the solar plexus (supposedly that hurts; I’ve only ever been punched in the face, and not that often).
It’s tough times, when you’re single and technically want to be and abstractly like it, but on the daily are ruined by the idea that you are alone. Because you are. Let’s not be tricksters about it.  Let’s adultishly admit that being outside of an OK relationship means that if you die on a sidewalk in the afternoon, you die alone.
NATURAL STATE
I don’t like to tell anyone if or who I’m in a relationship with because it feels fucking gross. The worst thing I can think of is a couple Facebooking each other. That said, my natural and normal state of being is definitely “in” because, I dunno, I like it. It’s not even better, it’s just normaler. When I’m single I move into a quieter, less-mascara-ed place of self-reflection and I’m not convinced that’s healthy. Except, ever since Kim and Thurston broke up it’s been very much like “Oh, so we’re done here? We’re single now? OK.”
Continue

vicemag:

Girl News - Girls and Being Alone

I realized today how long it’s been since I’ve had sex. Is it a) three weeks b) two months c) eight months d) a backwards-shooting Jupiter-C rocket, the one that looks deceptively like a birthday-cake candle, moving with the speed and commitment of time, eventually destroying the citadel-like memory of what sex is even like? Because I can’t remember. Anyways, that realization, had on a sidewalk, alone, felt like being punched in the solar plexus (supposedly that hurts; I’ve only ever been punched in the face, and not that often).

It’s tough times, when you’re single and technically want to be and abstractly like it, but on the daily are ruined by the idea that you are alone. Because you are. Let’s not be tricksters about it.  Let’s adultishly admit that being outside of an OK relationship means that if you die on a sidewalk in the afternoon, you die alone.

NATURAL STATE

I don’t like to tell anyone if or who I’m in a relationship with because it feels fucking gross. The worst thing I can think of is a couple Facebooking each other. That said, my natural and normal state of being is definitely “in” because, I dunno, I like it. It’s not even better, it’s just normaler. When I’m single I move into a quieter, less-mascara-ed place of self-reflection and I’m not convinced that’s healthy. Except, ever since Kim and Thurston broke up it’s been very much like “Oh, so we’re done here? We’re single now? OK.”

Got this today.
"Fire and water collide in your mind, yet your smile is pure temptation. People think you’re too nice. Surround your house with scaffolding to enjoy the consolation of solitude. It all started when your hair dryer set off sprinklers in a four-star hotel. Blame it on our times and stand up for your rights, honeybee."

Got this today.

"Fire and water collide in your mind, yet your smile is pure temptation. People think you’re too nice. Surround your house with scaffolding to enjoy the consolation of solitude. It all started when your hair dryer set off sprinklers in a four-star hotel. Blame it on our times and stand up for your rights, honeybee."

Today in oversharing…

Nothing like unloading all of the pent up emotions you have about being stuck in a job you hate to a former flame that is halfway around the world living their dream. Also, just letting loose about the fact that you’ve been really unhappy for the past 3 years and don’t know if going to grad school and changing your career path will even help. Also also, coming to these realizations in your cubicle over gchat and trying to keep it together and not completely have a meltdown. Ugh. 

At least he was cool about it. Thanks dude.

Note to self

Note to self: Listening (and rapping) to Xxplosive in a Michael Bolton from Office Space kind of way on the commute to your dull 9-5 cubicle job really doesn’t help to ease the pain of the life you feel you’re wasting working from 9-5 in a cubicle.

Laptop heating pad

My house has been extremely chilly the past few days. I’m not saying I used my laptop to warm up my bed before I got in it, but I’m also not not saying that. 

So, back when my age was in the single digits, I had a cat that looked a lot like Socks. I, for some reason, was really excited to have this in common with the First Family.
Naturally, I wrote a letter to the President. “He,” as in someone from his office, wrote back to me and included a signed picture of the President AND a picture of Socks. (!!!) The fact that they had taken professional pictures of the First Feline was (and still is) just so comical to me. It raises many questions, most importantly, how did you get a cat to be still and pose for pictures like that? Even in this picture, that cat seems pretty mellow. Also, how did you manage to get a leash on a cat? 
The next time I’m back at my parent’s house I will have to dig out those letters and pictures because I’m sure they are hilarious. 

So, back when my age was in the single digits, I had a cat that looked a lot like Socks. I, for some reason, was really excited to have this in common with the First Family.

Naturally, I wrote a letter to the President. “He,” as in someone from his office, wrote back to me and included a signed picture of the President AND a picture of Socks. (!!!) The fact that they had taken professional pictures of the First Feline was (and still is) just so comical to me. It raises many questions, most importantly, how did you get a cat to be still and pose for pictures like that? Even in this picture, that cat seems pretty mellow. Also, how did you manage to get a leash on a cat? 

The next time I’m back at my parent’s house I will have to dig out those letters and pictures because I’m sure they are hilarious. 

(Source: )